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ALEXANDER BLACKHEART'S^ 
 
 REVENGE, 
 
 AMD 
 
 ITS CONSEQUENCES 
 
 R 
 
 THE TWO CONVICTS. 
 
 BY MARTIN Vc^ B/BURCH. 
 
 
 ,t 
 
 ■ 
 
 / 
 
 ALBION: 
 
 PRINTED AT THE ALBION MIRROR OFFICE. 
 
 1869. 
 
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 PREFACE. 
 
 Authors of Fiction, as a general thing, have but two objects in view. 
 namely, Fame and Wealth. It may be well enough to hare these two 
 objects, but when an Author stops here he is unworthy f either 
 
 To do good, or at least to try and present some wholesome doctrine 
 in an attractive manner, should be the chief object; and, if an Author 
 gains Fame or Wealth thereby, he is deserving of it. 
 
 I have tried, in this little work, to show the evil consequences oj 
 Revenge, by taking incidents that I have read and arranging them so 
 as to form the story that 1 now present to the public. 
 
 If by reading this little ivork, any one is lead to stop and consider 
 before he commits some rash act. that by so doing he may bring ruin 
 upon himself and others, and will obey the voice of conscience, the Author^ 
 of this work has not labored in vain. ' v g BURCH 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 
 BY M. V. B. BUK^II, 
 1. the CLERK'8 On.,: 0> r ,: DISTRICT .',„ - oh M ^TEE. I »TR1C1 
 
 Of MICHIGAN. 
 
ALEXANDER BLACKHEART'S REVENGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Two MZescttei. 
 
 T7IND reader will you come with me, 
 IV And let your fancy roam. 
 Upon the plains of New South Wales, 
 The convicts' prison- home 1 
 
 If so. I'll tell to you a tale 
 
 That will repay the time, 
 That you do spend in reading it — 
 
 I'll tell it, too, in Rhyme ! 
 
 In eighteen hundred thirty-eight, 
 
 Not far from Sidney town, 
 There was a band of men at work 
 
 Though fierce the sun beat down. 
 Upon their almost naked forms. 
 
 The sun did send its heat; 
 And as the burning sand they trod 
 
 Thev blistered their. bare feer. 
 
 Oh, it seemed hard to see them toil 
 
 Upon this sultry day; 
 Although they were all criminals. 
 
 And had gone far estrav. 
 It vvas in vain to cry or groan — 
 
 They were beyond all aid ; 
 And if they did a moment lag. 
 
 The whip was on them laid. 
 
 There was but two in all this band, 
 
 Of thirty men or more, 
 But looked as though th y well deserved 
 
 This punishment so sore. 
 -But these two men, a stranger would, 
 
 ( If he can read man's face.) 
 Quickly say, this prison-land 
 
 Was not their proper place. 
 
 The eldest one of these two men, 
 
 Was nearlv thirty -five, 
 His health was good. hi. limbs were strong 
 
 In spite of his hard lite. 
 Not so the yountrer of the two, 
 
 Whose years were less bv t n ; 
 He looked as though the hoe and spade 
 
 Should be chang'd for the pen. 
 
 John Waldo was the strong man's name, 
 
 If I remember right. 
 And that of his companion was 
 
 Something like Frederic White. 
 Yes, Frederic was the young man's name ; 
 
 And I remember now, 
 What a despairing look there was 
 
 Upon his youthful brow. 
 
 He was not us'd to work like this, 
 
 Was very evident ; 
 He told the overseer so, 
 
 But he would not relent. 
 " You shall keep up, you thievish knave," 
 
 Was the harsh man's reply ; 
 " Have mercy," cried the trembling youth, 
 
 " Or I will surely die." 
 
 As higher in the heavens rose 
 
 The dreadful, burning sun, 
 Young Frederic's strength forsook him quite — 
 
 His mind began to run. 
 il I'm going home," he wildly cried, 
 
 " T<> my old home so sweet ! " 
 And now, completely overcome, 
 
 Fell fainting at John's feet. 
 
 Ere John could raise young Frederic up, 
 
 And take him from the place, 
 The overseer in ureat rage 
 
 Did strike him in the face. 
 '• Get, up, you lazy vagabond, 
 
 I've seen enough of this ; 
 Get up, I sav, or soon you'll feel 
 
 A blow from my bare list." 
 
 But. ere he could draw back and strike, 
 
 John gave him such a blow, 
 Thar laid him prostrate on the ground 
 
 Beside his victim low. 
 kw What means this interference, sir, 
 
 Between me and this man ? " 
 The enraged overseer cried, 
 
 As on his feet he sprang. 
 
Bl.AOKHRARTS REVKMiK. 
 
 '* It means," was fearless John's reply, 
 
 " That I'll not stand and see 
 You beat this helpless young man here, 
 
 While there is life in me. 
 You would not let the poor man rest, 
 
 You knew he was not well ; 
 Yet, tiger-like, you on him sprang, 
 
 When in a swoon he fell ! " • 
 
 " You wretched villain, you'll repent, 
 
 For talking thus to me, 
 As prostrate as this sneaking knave, 
 
 You very soon shall he !" 
 Then throwing off his coat and vest, 
 
 Likewise his old straw hat ; 
 And as he aimed a blow, he said : 
 
 " Sir, for your pains, take that !" 
 
 "And that, for yours !" was John's reply 
 
 As he struck off the blow, 
 And, in another instant more. 
 
 Knocked down his cruel foe. 
 " Help ! help !" resounded thro' the air 
 
 As off the coward ran, 
 And loudly did the convicts laugh, 
 
 At the now vanquish'd man. 
 
 But there was cow no need to cry, 
 
 For John did not pursue ; 
 And, ere the wretch had run a rod. 
 
 To Frederic's aid he flew. 
 He took young Frederic in his arms, 
 
 And carried him away; 
 Beneath a cool and shady tree 
 
 The faithful youth he lay. 
 
 While John was bathing Frederic's face. 
 
 He was surprised to see, 
 The Governor come riding up, 
 
 And stop beneath the tree. 
 " What caused the outcry that I heard, 
 
 A moment's time ago? 
 I thought I heard a cry for help. 
 
 Sir, tell me what you know ! " 
 
 " Kind sir," began our trembling John. 
 
 " This youth that's lying here,. 
 Fell fainting a short time ago — 
 
 He's dying now I fear. 
 And as he fell, the cruel man, 
 
 That oversees this band, 
 Flew in a rage, and like a fiend 
 
 Did strike this helpless man." 
 
 '• This cruel act enraged me so, 
 
 I lost all self-command, 
 And live or die, I did resolve 
 
 Between these men to stand. 
 As soon as I had thus resolved, 
 
 He drew to strike a blow. 
 But the next instant he did fall 
 
 Beside his victim low ! 
 
 ; ' Enraged at this he sprang at me, 
 
 With, all his rai^ht and main ; 
 But finding tha r he was well beat. 
 
 He roared with rage and pain. 
 It was his cry your Lordship heard, 
 
 Which called you from your way, 
 And oh, kind sir, protect this youth, 
 
 From this man's cruel sway." 
 
 " If what you say I find to be. 
 
 Upon inquiry, true. 
 I will of course grant your request 
 
 And punish the man, too. 
 But if I iind that you're the oue 
 
 That's made the mischief here, 
 You sadly will rue this dny's work, 
 
 But where's the overseer ?" 
 
 But while this taik was going on, 
 
 Under the shady tree, 
 The overseer remained not quiet, 
 
 As we shall quickly see. 
 Burning with malice and with rage. 
 
 And thinking naught but ill, 
 He went and called upon the guard 
 
 To execute his will. 
 
 His bloody, face full well did show, 
 
 His treatment at John's hands. 
 And soon the guards were on their way 
 
 To do this fiend's commands. 
 Sure of success, he led the men 
 
 Where he was so well beat 
 Not dreaming that 'twas possible 
 
 To fail of vengeance sweet. 
 
 <; Here is the rascal, bind him fast — 
 
 Guards do your duty well ! 
 We'll teach this man a lesson that 
 
 Will last him a good spell ! " 
 With these fierce words. he sprang at John. 
 
 And struck him to the ground. 
 Before he knew the Governor 
 
 Was any where around. 
 
 " Not quite so fast, sir, if you please, 
 
 I'll have a word to say : 
 And if you have no good excuse, 
 
 You will soon rue this day ! " 
 Thus spoke the noble Governor, 
 
 And in a moment more. 
 The overseer's hands were raised. 
 
 His mercy to implore. 
 
 ' I did not know that you were here." 
 He fault' ringly began : 
 
 ' So I should judge !" was the reply, 
 ' k But, sir. what have you done ?" 
 
 1 I tried to whip young Frederic White. 
 
 To make him go to work. 
 Then this rebellions convict, sir, 
 Fought fiercely for the shirk !" 
 
BLACK UKAKT S REVENGK 
 
 '• You wretched man, you know you lie I 
 
 You know that he's no shirk ; 
 You know that he is very sick. 
 
 And is not tit to work. 
 
 knowing this, you. like a fiend, 
 
 Did strike this fainting youtlj,; 
 Then this brave convict interfered ; 
 
 Sir. is not this the truth l\ 
 
 •■ It is. your Lordship, but — I — I. 
 
 Do beg your pardon, air," 
 Hep lied the wretch, who trembling stood. 
 
 Too terrified to stir. 
 " My pardon I do not often give. 
 
 To such a heartless one ; 
 And, as an Overseer, sir, 
 
 Your services are done !" 
 
 With these stern words he sent the guard. 
 
 Off with the wretched man, 
 Bound with the cords he brought lor Join 
 
 rightly around his hands. 
 Then turning to the fainting youth, 
 
 Who still did deathlike lay. 
 He looked at the youth's pallid face. 
 
 And then to John did say : 
 
 " I see that you have told the truth, 
 
 About this sad affair : 
 And I am very glad that you, 
 
 To interfere did dare. 
 
 |The wretched man I've sent away, 
 
 Shall dearly for this pay ! 
 But what to do with this poor man, 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 'He must have aid. 'tis very plain, 
 
 Or he will surely die ; 
 | He has a dreadful fever now, 
 
 His pulse runs very high. 
 The Hospital, I hear, is full. 
 
 So he can not go there ; 
 I know not what the youth will do. 
 
 Good nurses are so rare." 
 
 " Kind sir, if you will give me. leave, 
 
 I'll nurse this youth with care ; 
 | As nurse I've often been employed, 
 
 He can my cabin share." 
 '• That : I will very gladiy do," 
 
 He quickly did reply ; 
 "And I a Doctor soon will send, 
 
 Aud everything supply !" 
 
 John then took Frederic in his arms, 
 
 And bore him to his home : 
 : He had recovered from his swoon, 
 
 Bur his mind still did roam. 
 !" If these two men are criminals, 
 
 1 can not read aright," 
 Was Sir George Gipp's emphatic words, 
 
 Ere John was out of sight. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 JYavrat ive of Frederic White. 
 
 OR many days young Frederic White, In a few days young Frederic's strength 
 
 Upon his sick bed lay, 
 Unconscious of the care of John 
 
 Who watched him night and day. 
 But when at last the lever broke, 
 
 His senses did return ; 
 And John was almost overjoyed, 
 
 vVhen he this fact did learn. 
 
 " How came I here upon this bed 1 
 
 Whose cabin am I in 1 
 .How came my flesh to leave me so? 
 
 Why am 1 pale and thin ¥' 
 c: You have been dreadful sick, my boy. 
 
 And :-nust now quiet lie ; 
 1 wi:l explain all in due lime,". 
 
 Was watchful John's reply. 
 
 id no more but quiet lay, 
 And soon he fell asleep ; 
 His mind no more was wandering, 
 
 A smile was on his cheek. 
 " He lives ! he lives ! and will <^et well, 
 His mind no more rims wild."" 
 
 John, as Frederic fell asleep 
 As calmlv as a child. 
 
 Came slowly back to him ; 
 A healthy hue came o'er his face, 
 
 And soon he grew less thin. 
 John was well pleased to see these signs, 
 
 .Of health, in his young friend ; 
 But now, with sadness he did think 
 
 Their company must end. 
 
 Young Frederic heard him sigh, and said : 
 i4 Why do you sigh, my friend ?" 
 
 '* It is'beeause," was the reply, 
 
 ■ 'Our company must end. 
 
 Your health is now improving fast, 
 To work you soon will be, 
 
 And then, perhaps, we never more 
 Each other's. face shall see." 
 
 The tears did start in Frederic's eyes, 
 
 And down his cheeks they run ; 
 I'Twaa hard he thought, to leave his friend, 
 
 Who had his friendship won. 
 But when he could command his voice, 
 
 He eagerly did say : 
 ; How did you come to nurse me, John, 
 
 While I so sick did lay?" 
 
BI.ACKHBARTS REVUMJE. 
 
 At this request, John left his seat, 
 
 And shut the cabin door, 
 For the fast falling dew proclaimed 
 
 Another day was o'er. 
 Then sitting down h\ Frederic's side, 
 
 lie truthfully did tell, 
 What happened on the dreadful day 
 
 That in a swoon he fell. 
 
 When John had told all that took place, 
 
 The youth did deeply sigh : 
 " You stood a narrow chance, my friend 
 
 Who'd though! a friend was nigh? 
 And now. dear John, pray tell me why 
 
 ^ ou run the risk and fought, 
 Putting your life in jeopardy, 
 
 Pray was it death you sought?" 
 
 " Oh, no, my friend, it was not death — 
 
 I thought of no such thing ; 
 Bur. 'twas your utter helplessness, 
 
 That made me or. him spring. 
 I did not. stop to reflect how 
 
 A fight with him might end ; 
 
 I only saw that you were weak, 
 Aud needed a strong friend. 
 
 " Oh, noble John ! the weak man's friend 
 
 What can I do I pray 1 " 
 Said Frederic, gra.-ping his hard hand, 
 
 " Your kindness to repay 1 " 
 " I want no pay," was the reply, 
 
 " But will one favor ask ; 
 And if you'il grant it I'm repaid — 
 
 Say, will you do the task ? " 
 
 " I know not what you'd have me do, 
 
 But feeling confident 
 You would nor ask me to do wrong, 
 
 So gladly I'll consent." 
 " Then tell to me the story of 
 
 Your life, my dearest Fred, 
 And I will feel that I'm well paid 
 
 For watching by your bed." 
 
 II If you desire my narrative, 
 As pay for what you've done, 
 
 I'll gladh tell it to you, sir, 
 
 Though it is a *ad one. 
 And though you owe me nothing. John, 
 
 I would be glad to hear, 
 Your narrative, for I am sure 
 
 Your's is a strange career." 
 
 "Ah, what you say i? true, my boy, 
 
 And if it will please you, 
 I'll tell to you the story ot 
 
 My life when you get through." 
 Thus saying, John did strike a match, 
 
 And made a little li^ht, 
 For the bright sun had now gone down, 
 
 The moon did not shine bright. 
 
 " Well, I was born in Liverpool, 
 
 Twenty five years age ; 
 Of my poor parents' love for me, 
 
 I very little know. 
 Fur when I was but five years old, 
 
 1 wns. an orphan lone ; 
 My parents both died of a plague 
 
 Which tjrough the land did roam. 
 
 •• When my poor father was informed, 
 
 Thai he c uld not get well. 
 He sent for mother's brother, who 
 
 Did in the city dwell. 
 My unc.e quickly did appear, 
 
 My warden for to be. 
 My father placed me in his care, 
 
 Ah, sad it proved for me ! 
 
 '• When my poor parents were both dead, 
 
 And I was left alone, 
 My uncle Henry Truman cime, 
 
 And took me to his home." 
 When Frederic told his uncle's name, 
 
 John suddenly did start; 
 But Frederic did not notice him, 
 
 For the room was so dark. 
 
 " My uncle was not wealthy, but 
 
 lie was esteemed by all, 
 To be an upright any true man, 
 
 Beloved by great and small. 
 It wars his good name, I suppose, 
 
 That caused my father dear 
 To leave me in my uncle's care, 
 
 Yet that deed sent me here ! 
 
 •'My uncle had no children, and 
 
 I was soon at my ease ; 
 For both my uncle and my aunt, 
 
 Did all they could to please. 
 I love to look back on those days, 
 
 Of innocence and mirth ; 
 But. oh ! I never more shall see 
 
 Such happy days on earth ! 
 
 " My uncle was a Doctor, aDd 
 
 He had a thriving ride ; 
 His skill was great, and soon his fame 
 
 Was spread both far and wide. 
 All things WHiit on for a few years, 
 
 As well as one could ask ; 
 They took great pains in teaching me, 
 
 And 1 learned very fast. 
 
 " When I was fifteen years of age, 
 
 He did icsolve to send 
 Me to a noted College, so 
 
 I could my learning end. 
 Now, never having been from home, 
 
 It almost broke my heart 
 To be compelled to go away, 
 
 And with my loved frielids part. 
 
blackheart's rrvengb. 
 
 '♦'< You smile, dear John, at me I see, 
 
 But i: was even so 5 
 For I had lived so happy, that, 
 
 It then seemed hard to go. 
 My uncle and aunt Mary, too, 
 
 As yet had used me well. 
 And now they had a little girl, 
 
 Her name was Isabel ! 
 
 '" ft was the ties of home that. I, 
 
 Must for a while forsake, 
 That made the tears roll down my cheeks. 
 
 And made my young heart ache. 
 But. dning up my tears. I bade 
 
 My only friends good-bye, 
 And in a coach I rode away, 
 
 But it was with a sigh ! 
 
 tc My teachers were all kind to me, 
 
 And soon I (elt at home ; 
 But when my daily tasks were o'er, 
 
 My mind hack home would roam. 
 Thus passed a year quite swiftly by, 
 
 Then I at home returned ; 
 My uncle seemed well pleased to see 
 
 The Prizes I had* earned. 
 
 "My little cousin had improved, 
 
 In growth, and health, and grace, 
 So fast I hardly knew the pet 
 
 That ran to my embrace. 
 1 thought that nothing now would mar 
 
 My joyful spirits more, 
 But ah, alas ! I soon found out 
 
 My troubles were not o'er. 
 
 "Ere the vacation was half out, 
 
 My uncle came to me, 
 While I was in a room alone — 
 
 '• I've news for you,' said he. 
 " Well, uncle dear, what is your news? 
 
 I eagerly did ask ; * 
 Ah, well for me, if I had then 
 
 Seen through his cunning mask. 
 
 " With cautious words he did unfold 
 
 His long projected plan, 
 Of leaving our Old England home, 
 
 Eor some far western land. 
 1 New York, 5 said he, • is just the place, 
 
 To make my fortune grow ; 
 Your aunt has got a brother there, 
 
 He writes for me 10 go. 
 
 " It grieves me much," I did reply, 
 
 To have you go away ; 
 But if you think it best to go, 
 
 I have nothing to say. 
 I hate to leave my College here, 
 
 Though 1 suppose I could, 
 Find others. in Amarica 
 
 Whose teachers are as good." 
 
 " 'Undoubtedly there is, my boy,' 
 
 He quickly did reply ; 
 ' But if there is, 'twill do no good, 
 
 This is the reason why : 
 When your poor father left this world, 
 
 And left you in my care, 
 He charged me to instruct you well, 
 
 And no expenses spare. 
 
 ' The College that I've sent you to, 
 
 Is the pride of the land ; 
 Your father bade me spnd you there — 
 
 This was his last command. 
 So, my dear boy, I hope that you 
 
 Will now consent to stay, 
 Until your learning is complete, 
 
 Then you can come away.' 
 
 " If it was my dear father's wish, 
 
 For me to educate 
 In just this single College, sir, 
 
 His commands I'll not break ! 
 But uncle, there is still oae thing 
 
 1 do not understand, 
 About my father's leaving me, 
 
 With this and that command. 
 
 "One would suppose, my father was 
 
 Immensely rich or wild, 
 To hear you tell of his commands 
 
 To educate his child ! 
 It cannot be that he was rich — 
 
 Say, Uncle, is this so ? 
 Pray do not keep me in suspense, 
 
 But let me quickly know." 
 
 " 'Yes, child, your father at his death, 
 
 Was very" rich, 'tis true ; 
 Two hundred thousand pounds he left, 
 
 My dearest boy for you ! 
 It has not taken one quarter 
 
 Of the use of this great sum, 
 To clothe and educate you, my boy, 
 
 Tho' both hare been well done ! 
 
 • : Two hundred thousand pounds ! said I, 
 
 And all of it for me? 
 Why, Uncle, that's a princely sum, 
 
 You must be teasing me." 
 ' No, Frederic, it is even so ! 
 
 And" all of this great sum 
 I shall deliver up to you, 
 
 When jou are twenty-one.' 
 
 " Then, Uncle, if we are so rich, 
 
 You need not leave me here, 
 And go and toil in foreign lands — 
 
 Stay with me, Uncle dear ! 
 'Ah, boy ! 'tis you that's rich, not I,' 
 
 My Uncle did reply, 
 'And I've made up my mind to go 
 
 And (or a fortune try.' 
 
BLACKHEART S BKVENCJK. 
 
 " I saw that it was now no use, 
 
 For me to argue more, 
 And with a sigh L turned away, 
 
 My new grief to weep o'er. 
 He said no more to me that day, 
 
 But let me weep and sob, 
 And in my agony I wished 
 
 I lay beneath the sod. 
 
 " When I had somewhat calmer grown, 
 
 I went to him once more, 
 And asked him why he had not told 
 
 Me of my wealth before? 
 ' My boy,' said he, ' I know that those 
 
 Who are expecting wealth, 
 Will often contract habits that 
 
 Will ruiri fame and health. 
 
 (i T wanted you to make a man, 
 
 Of sound judgment and health, 
 And be an honor to your name 
 
 Without ihe aid of wealth. 
 .1 trust that such will be the case. 
 
 Yet had you known the truth, 
 I fear that ere this time you'd been, 
 
 A worthless spendthrift youth.' 
 
 " I thanked my uncle for his care, 
 
 And told him that I would 
 Strive hard to be just sucli a man, 
 
 As he had wished I should. 
 I then did ask him when he thought 
 
 He'd leave his native land? 
 And was dumfounded for to hear 
 
 The time was close at hand. 
 
 " : I thought,' said he, ' that it would be 
 
 The time to start away, 
 About the time you have to leave, 
 
 And so I'll go that day. 
 For then, my boy, your lessons will 
 
 Take up your time so well, 
 That soon your grief will pass away 
 
 And all will yet go weil.' 
 
 "Oh, sadly passed the few short days, 
 
 That I was now allowed, 
 To see the only friends I had 
 
 In the great city proud. 
 The dreaded day at last arrived, 
 
 When I must say Farewell ! 
 To my loved uncle and kind aunt 
 
 Arid little Isabel ! 
 
 "Oh. how my heart did throb with pain, 
 
 To see them sail away ; 
 And to the College I di 
 
 With a sad heart that day. 
 When to the College 1 came uear, 
 
 I did resolve to try 
 To meet my teachers and young friends, 
 
 Without a sing 
 
 '•'All went on well for a few months, 
 
 And soon the time drew near 
 When 1 began to look for news. 
 
 From the friends I held :Uiav. 
 Rut no news came': what all this meant 
 
 Was more than I could rell : 
 Oh, sir, I could not hide the grief 
 
 That did my bosom swell. 
 
 weing that i looked 
 As though aid went not well, 
 I Requested me to inform them 
 
 What mishap had befell. 
 |I then did briefly tell to them 
 What I have just told you. 
 About my uncle's leaving me — 
 i .Thev heaVd my story through. 
 
 •• -Poor boy.' said they in a sad tone, 
 I v We very much do fear, 
 jThai from vour ui.cle and your aunt 
 
 You never more will hear. 
 We fear that he has took this way. 
 
 if what you say is true, 
 ; About your having so much wealth. 
 
 To steal it all from you.' 
 
 |"Oh, my dear friend, my heart did sink 
 
 Within me for to hear, 
 Sueh talk as this — but that 'twas true 
 
 I did bejiin to fear. 
 But still 1 tried to think that aii 
 
 Things would at last end well. 
 But; as month after month rolled on. 
 
 My hopes were all dispelled. 
 
 <" Soon after this I learned that the 
 
 Ship was burned while in port, 
 But nothing of value was lost — 
 
 At least, so said report. 
 I have no doubt that he still lives. 
 
 Perhaps he Infs ehamrd his name, 
 So that he will not be founo out 
 
 And thus be brought to shame. 
 
 •• I've often wondered why it was 
 
 My uncle did reveal, 
 jThe fact that he held my great wealth 
 
 If it he meant to so 
 jJohn was about to make reply. 
 
 But Frederic did not hair ; 
 About his'days in College 
 
 Full half an hour did tail . 
 
 •• And when my learning was complete, 
 
 To Liverpool 1 w« 
 ;And, save the clothe- noon my back, 
 
 1 was not W( rth one cent. 
 But my kind friends al rote 
 
 And highly did commend. 
 My learning and my I 
 
 And soon I found a fri 
 
blackheart's revenge. 
 
 '* My new friend was a merchant, and 
 
 He owned a wholesale store ; 
 He did employ me — thus, you see — 
 
 My doubles were all o'er. 
 My honesty soon won for me 
 
 My kind master's {rood will ; 
 And when his head clerk went away 
 
 This high place I did fill. 
 
 *• One morning I was somewhat HI, 
 
 With a paiu in my head, 
 And sent the merchant word that I 
 
 Would have to keep my bed. 
 I was excused, but ere 'twas noon, 
 
 I was surprised to see 
 The merchant, pale as death, apuroach, 
 
 1 I'm robbed ! I'm robbed !' said he." 
 
 "Robbed ! I repeated, quite amazed ; 
 
 Sir, do I hear aright V 7 
 " Yes. and of twenty thousand pounds ; 
 
 The deed was done last night. 
 The score was locked, likewise the safe, 
 
 And nothing looked wrong, 
 But, going to the safe, I found 
 
 My money was all gone." 
 
 " If that's the case, was mv reply, 
 
 One of your clerks, no doubt, 
 Has robbed you of your money, sir, 
 
 Are any of them out ?" 
 " No, Frederic, they are all at work, 
 
 But, sir, I can not lay 
 The charge of this great crime to them, 
 
 But we must not delay." 
 
 " With these few hurried words we left, 
 
 And hastened to the store ; 
 All things there wore externally 
 
 The same look as before. 
 
 There had as yet been no alarm, 
 
 About this dreadful theft; 
 To make a seaich among the clerks, 
 
 The merchant thought 'twas beat. 
 
 " I had no fears about the search, 
 
 But sided in the hunt, 
 And to my horror we soon found 
 
 Some of it in my trunk ! 
 One thousand pounds of it there lay, 
 
 Exposed to master's view, 
 It seemed to say 'you are the thief!' " 
 . I knew not what to do. 
 
 ; ' I was arrested on the spot — 
 
 My guilt appeared so plain 
 There were not one to pity me — 
 
 All thought I was to blame. 
 I And when I was to trial brought, 
 
 My guilt was proved so clear, 
 I My Judges would no mercy show, 
 
 And so you see I'm here. 
 
 '•' This is the story of my life ; 
 
 And you can plainly see, 
 That it was my own uncle that 
 
 Has caused my misery. 
 He stole my proporty from me, 
 
 You know, when I was young ; 
 And now I have to suffer for 
 
 A crime I've never done." 
 
 " Poor boy, if you knew what I do 
 
 About your uncle's fate, 
 You'd quickly feel compassion for 
 
 The one that you now hate. 
 But hark ! I hear a cry for help, 
 
 Behind our cabin, Fred ; 
 " Make sure work of it !" cried a manj 
 
 As off he quickly sped. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Another Rescue. 
 
 S soon as those strange words did reachl Between two villians they did see, 
 
 The listening ears of John, 
 He did forget the subject that 
 
 He was just talking on. 
 " There's. -ome one in distress, my boy. 
 
 I hear a female's cry ; 
 I'll run and see what it can be, 
 
 And aid her I will try. 
 
 "And I will go with you, brave John, 
 
 Was Frederic's» quick reply ; 
 And in a moment more they were 
 
 Near where they heard the cry. 
 Oh, horror ! horror ! what a sight, 
 
 The pale soft moon did show? 
 It was enough to chill the blood, 
 
 That through their veins did flow ! 
 
 A damsel young and fair ; 
 Her eyes were closed, she seemed to be 
 
 The. picture of despair. 
 The villians knives were both upraised, 
 
 Ready to strike a blow ; 
 But ere they were aware of it, 
 
 Before them stood a loe. 
 
 " Hands off, you villains ! John did cry, 
 
 As on them he did spring ; 
 n Hands off, I say ! or your vile necks 
 
 I quickly off will wring !" 
 Qiuck as a flash, their knives did fall, 
 
 Ditto one of the men ; 
 And the vile cowards did not stay 
 
 For John to strike again. 
 
10 
 
 BLACKHRARTS REVENUE. 
 
 In Frederic's arms the young girl fell, 
 
 Unconcious that her foes 
 Had been compelled to go away, 
 
 By John's terrific blow*. 
 John was about to follow them, 
 
 But Frederic called to him 
 To help him hold the fainting girl, 
 
 For his head now did swim. 
 
 John was alarmed and quickly ran, 
 
 To aid his we;»k young friend ; 
 He had forgot that he was weak, 
 
 And dreadful sick had been. 
 " Oh, do not bo alarmed, dear John, 
 
 I am much hotter now ; 
 I did not know I was so weak, 
 
 But John what ails jour brow ? 
 
 John put his hands upon his face, 
 
 "With blood it was besmeared ; 
 But he did quickly find that it 
 
 Was nothing to be feared. 
 " 'Tis nothing hut. a slight flesh wound,-" 
 
 He calmly did reply ; 
 " The villains knife struck me I guess — 
 
 It struck quite near my eye." 
 
 In the meantime the young girl had 
 
 Recovered from her swoon ; 
 She was a beauty, they both thought, 
 
 Though dimly shown the moon. 
 " Oh. Ho not murder me !" she cried, 
 
 " What harm have I ere done 
 To you or any one on earth? 
 
 Oh, cousin, quickly come !" 
 
 " Be not alarmed, my gentle girl," 
 
 John soothingly did say, 
 " For you are in the hands of friends, 
 
 Your foes we've drove away." 
 " Oh. am I saved from cruel death? 
 
 And has my dream proved true ? 
 Or am I in the spirit land ? 
 
 Oh. tell me, tell me, do." 
 
 " Be calm young lady you are safe, 
 
 From those that vought your life ; 
 We've saved you from u dreadful fate, 
 
 Though doubtful seemed the strife. 
 Be calm and tell me where you live, 
 
 And I will see you home ; 
 It will not do for vou to go 
 
 Through these darn woods alone." 
 
 ** Oh, dear, kind sir, I have no home, 
 
 That you can take me to ; 
 I hare no friends in this wide world, 
 v At least, friends that are true. 
 The man that, does pretend to be 
 
 My father, has just tried 
 To have me murdered in these woodi, 
 
 By men that ho has bribed. 
 
 " Protect me fiym his cruel power, 
 
 And tak^ me to your home ; 
 And I will be a servant true. 
 
 And from you never roam." 
 ; ' Poorchild," said John. " I gladiy ^ould 
 
 Protect you from all harm, 
 But we are two>poor convicts, child. 
 
 Look at our uniforms. 
 
 '• But if you have no home my child, 
 
 You shall protected he, 
 In our poor cibin, for rhe night — 
 
 It is in sight you see. 
 And when to-morrow's sun does rise, 
 
 I'll seek you out a friend, 
 That can protect you from all harm 
 
 And will your rights defend." 
 
 " Oh, noble man ! I knew you could 
 
 Not find it in your heart, 
 To turn me from your home away, 
 
 In these lone woods so dark. 
 Although you wear the uniform, 
 
 That the convicts do wear, 
 I know you would not harm me, sir, 
 
 Your brave looks this declare." 
 
 " Well, if you feel safe in our hands, 
 
 We'll to the cabin go, 
 For it will be much darker soon, 
 
 The moon is now quite low. 
 Come, Frederic, lean upon my arm. 
 
 You are so weak I fear. 
 That the excitement of this night 
 
 Will prove to you severe." 
 
 'Twas well, the cabin was so nigh, 
 
 For Frederic was so weak. 
 That when they reached the cabin he 
 
 Could but just scarcely speak. 
 But John's attentive care soon wrought 
 
 A better change in him ; 
 His strength and spirits did return, 
 
 His head no more did swim. 
 
 He was so wakeful that he would 
 
 Not lie upon his bed : 
 John's words about his uncle did 
 
 Keep running through his head. 
 " I'll know the meaning of those words. 
 
 Ere I one moment sleep." 
 Thought Frederic, and he drew a sigh 
 
 That was both long and deep. 
 
 When John had thus revived his friend, 
 
 He was suprised to see 
 Thar the young girl that he had saved, 
 
 Well dressed appeared to be. 
 ••' 'Tis very strange," tho't he, " that this 
 
 Poor girl should friendless roam, 
 In these dark woods without a friend, 
 
 Likewise without a home. 
 
BLACKHEARTS REVENGE. 
 
 11 
 
 «• Young lady, will you please to tell 
 
 The names of those base men. 
 That sprang upon you with their knives. 
 
 Your young life for to end ? 
 If you can tell their names, perhaps, 
 
 They can arrested he ? 
 How many were there in the plot, 
 
 Say, were there two or three?" 
 
 11 There were at least three in the plot, 
 
 Although there were but two 
 That did attack ine i.» the woods, 
 
 And they were seen by you. 
 I do not know their names, but they 
 
 For my father do work ; 
 And for to kill me, they did hide, 
 
 Each one armed with a dirk. 
 
 " I thought you said that you'd no friends. 
 i And now you say these men 
 Work for your father. I can not, 
 
 Your meaning comprehend." 
 " I should have said, the men do work, 
 
 For one that does pretend 
 To be my father— but he's not, 
 
 My father nor my friend ! 
 
 " I've lived with hitn for many years, 
 
 And happy did I dwell, 
 Until about six months ago 
 
 He ceased to use me well. 
 To d*y he walked with me into 
 
 The woods you found me in ; 
 
 I felt that he seem'd very strange — 
 I saw mischief in him. 
 
 •• I knew not what the mischief was, 
 
 Nor in what shape 'twould come, 
 But I felt sure I never more 
 
 Should see my dreaded home. 
 While these sad thoughts were in my mind 
 
 The fiends did on me spring — 
 'Make sure work of it!' cried my guide, 
 
 As loud as he could sing. 
 
 <k He then did leave me to my fate, 
 
 And if you had not come, 
 The deed that was to take mv life 
 
 Would quickly have been done. 
 Now you can see he's not my friend ! 
 
 "JTou've saved me from the tomb, 
 And if you send me back to him 
 
 Dreadful will be my doom." 
 
 II Fear not, poor girl, you shall not be 
 Put in his power again — 
 
 You have escaped a dreadful death, 
 Plotted by wicked men ; 
 
 But it seems strange that you don't tell, 
 The name of this base man ; 
 
 No man had ought to have a name, 
 That can such mischief plan." 
 
 " He has a name, a dreadful name, 
 
 As ever you did hear; 
 'Tis Alexander Bl4CKHeart, sir, 
 
 His neighbors do him fear; 
 And well they may ! for such a man, 
 
 Is rarel.v to be (bund ; 
 1 do not think there is his match 
 
 Upon tin's earth so ruund," 
 
 Had a bomb-shell of monstrous size. 
 
 Been in the cabin hurled, 
 It would not paled the cheeks of John, 
 
 Like the words of the girl. 
 Young Frederic saw this sudden change, 
 
 And was about to speak, 
 But John did quickly make a sign 
 
 For him to silent keep. 
 
 The girl did also see the change, 
 
 In her protector brave ; 
 She knew not what to make of it, 
 
 Unless he knew the knave. 
 
 It must be this — he does not look 
 
 Like my detested foe ; 
 I think they are not relatives, 
 
 I hope they are not so !" 
 
 These tho'ts did flash thro' the girl's mind. 
 
 Much faster than I write, 
 Altho' my pen does swiftly scratch, 
 
 From early morn till night. 
 But the pale hue was on John's face, 
 
 But just one moment's time; 
 Perhaps, about as long as it 
 
 Takes me to write a rhyme. 
 
 But it was now becoming late, 
 
 And John did think 'twas best 
 To spread some clothes upon the floor, 
 
 And let the young girl rest. 
 So taking all the garments that 
 
 Each one of them could spare, 
 He spread them in one corner and 
 
 It was a bed quite rare ! 
 
 With thankful heart the girl laid down 
 
 Upon these garments few ; 
 Her bed she knew was very poor, 
 
 But her new friends were true. 
 With thoughts like these she fell asleep — 
 
 Twould take a dozen reams 
 Of fools-cap paper on which to write, 
 
 All of her pleasant dreams. 
 
12 
 
 M.ACKHEARTS REVENUE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 John Waldo tells his Friend a Portion of his History. 
 
 AS soon as the young, weary girl, 
 Was sleeping calm and sound, 
 Young Frederic- took his stool and went 
 
 To John's side and sat down. 
 " What was it John, if I may know, 
 
 That made you nun so pale. 
 When the poor girl that you have saved 
 Was telling her sad ta!e 1" 
 
 t: Before I do as you request, 
 
 I think you ought to hear 
 The story of your relatives, 
 
 'Twill shock you much I fear." 
 <: Oh, yes, I do remember now, 
 
 Dear John, what you did say, 
 Before we heard the cry for help, 
 
 That did call us away. 
 
 " Oh. have you seen my uncle, John 1 
 
 And if so, where and when? 
 I do begin to hope that I 
 
 Shall hear from him again. 
 I hope that he is not as had 
 
 As I've been lead to fear; 
 You see that circumstances do 
 
 Against him dark appear." 
 
 ' ; I did agree to tell the tale, 
 
 Of my strange life to you, 
 When you had kindly told to me 
 
 Your narrative quite through : , 
 But, sir, while you were telling it, 
 
 I saw that what I knew 
 About your uncle's dreadful fate, 
 • I'd have to tell to you. 
 
 " So, at this time I will not tell, 
 
 About my youthful days, 
 For you're so anxious that 'tis plain 
 
 You can brook no delays. 
 But strive to be calm while I tell, 
 
 The little that I know, 
 For you are now so weak I fear 
 
 'Twill be a dreadful blow. 
 
 " I was one of the Sailors of 
 
 The ship that bore away, 
 Your uncle and your loveiy aunt, 
 
 And little cousin gay. 
 I think I saw you on the wharves, 
 
 And that's tho reason why, 
 I wished to hear your narrative, 
 
 And promised to reply. 
 
 " When we'd got out two days from port 
 
 Oar ship was sailing well, 
 And all on board we're pleased to gee 
 
 The Ocean's gentle swell. 
 
 I stood upon our proud ship's deck. 
 
 Watching the rolling tide. 
 When I was startled by the sound 
 
 Of weeping at my side. 
 
 " I saw that 'twas the lady that 
 
 I'd seen you bid Farewell, 
 That was now weening at my side — 
 
 Large were the tears that fell. 
 She begged her husband for to lead 
 
 The way back to their room ; 
 She seemed to be greatly alarmed, 
 
 Bur. I knew not at whom. 
 
 " As they passed off I quite forgot, 
 
 This little incident; 
 For I thought that : twas naught to me, 
 
 And so I was content. 
 Soon after this I left the spot, 
 
 And happened to pass by 
 The door of the strange lady's room, 
 
 That I had just heard cry. 
 
 " As I was passing by the door, 
 
 I heard my Captain's name. 
 Fall from the lovely woman's lips — 
 
 She feared him much 'twas plain. 
 I did not wish to listen and 
 
 I turned to go away. 
 But as I turned I saw- a sight 
 
 That made me longer stay. 
 
 " I saw the Captain slying up 
 
 To hear the woman talk, 
 And instantly I did resolve 
 
 His base scheme for to balk. 
 I saw that there was mischief now, 
 
 By his malicious smile ; 
 I did not seem to notice him, 
 
 But watched him all the while. 
 
 • The Captain seemed to be much vexed 
 
 To have me in his way ; 
 But what I saw and heard did make 
 
 Me quite resolve to stay. 
 At last the Captain went away ; 
 
 He whistled as he went, 
 But I could see with all this show 
 
 His mind was not content. 
 
 " I did not hear much that was said", 
 
 For she spoke very low ; 
 But it appears by what I heard, 
 
 She did the Captain know. 
 I think she had refused to give, 
 
 Her heart and hand to him ; 
 And he had sworn to hav« revenge * 
 
 Upon her and her bin. 
 
blackheart's rrvbngb. 
 
 13 
 
 " It seems that she had just found out, 
 
 The Captsin was her toe ; 
 And now she feared that he would do 
 
 What he'd vowed years ago. 
 Her husband made light of her fears, 
 
 And said ' he had no boubt, 
 But what from her foe's memory 
 
 She'd long been blotted out." 
 
 " She shook her head and said, 'she fear'd 
 
 That ere they reached their home, 
 Thai he would to his sorrow find 
 
 That she was not unknown.' 
 I heard no more, but what I heard 
 
 Did rill my heart with dread ; 
 For I knew that the Captain would 
 
 Try and do as he had said. 
 
 " I longed to tell your uncle all 
 
 That I had just now seen ; 
 But I did fear that he would think 
 
 I had eaves-dropping been. 
 But I have often wished that I 
 
 Had told him that his foe, 
 Had not forgotten what he'd said 
 
 So many years ago. • 
 
 " I now resolved that I would try 
 
 To aid this woman (air. 
 For now I saw the Captain had 
 
 Prepared for her a snare. 
 I thought if I could only know 
 
 The way he did intend, 
 To pur, in practice his rash vow, 
 
 I could her rights defend. 
 
 " What I had seen did cause me to 
 
 Keep well upon my guard ; 
 For I well knew thfc Captain's heart, 
 
 Was very, very hard. 
 I watched ihe Captain closely now, 
 
 And to my sorrow found, 
 That he had an aid on board, 
 
 Who was on mischief bound. 
 
 "I saw them talking. many times, 
 But they were very sly ; 
 
 I could not hear one word they said. 
 Though often I did try. 
 
 I've seen a host of wicked men, 
 
 Upon both sea and land, 
 But Philip Preston takes the lead 
 
 Of the deceitful band !" 
 
 M Did you say Philip Preston, John? 
 
 Say do you speak aright ?" 
 Asked Frederic turning very pale, 
 
 Though dimly shown the light. 
 
 II Yes. sir, you understood aright, 
 But why do you ask me? 
 
 I hope you never knew the knave 
 Outside of Newgate free !" 
 
 I" What has rie done, pray let me know, 
 
 To merit such a place ? 
 jSay. can it be that my loved friend 
 
 Deserves this great disgrace ? 
 'He was employed in the same store 
 
 That I was employed in — 
 I We were great friend3, say, can it be 
 
 That there was harm in him ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ! if he worked in the store 
 
 That you were employed in, 
 You owe your long and dreary ride 
 
 O'er the blue sea to him !" 
 " Ah, John, you must be jesting now, 
 
 You do not mean to say, 
 That Philip Preston is the rogue 
 
 That did my trust betray ?" 
 
 " Yes Frederic, that's my meaning, and 
 
 When you do hear me through, 
 You will not entertain a doubt 
 
 But what you hear is true. 
 You'll have no doubt that he did steal 
 
 That money from the safe, 
 And put some of it in your trunk, 
 
 To bring you to disgrace. 
 
 " A few days after I had seen 
 
 What I've been telling you; 
 We had some stormy weather which 
 
 Hid the sun from our view. 
 We did not fear the storm though fierce, 
 
 For we were used to them ; 
 But our strange Captain's movements now 
 
 No one could comprehend. 
 
 " For while the sun was hid from view, 
 
 Our ship was headed wrong — 
 \Vhat this could mean, no one could tell, 
 
 But. sir, my fears were strong. 
 I now made up my mind to go 
 
 And tell your Uncle all ; 
 And tell him that I did much fear 
 
 Trouble would him befall. 
 
 " But every time I went to speak 
 
 To your poor Uncle, sir, 
 Pd find young Philip at his side, 
 
 And from him he'd not stir ! 
 I then resolved to go and see, 
 
 And ask the Pilot why, 
 Our ship was steered from her true course ? 
 
 I knew he would not lie. 
 
 ' : But to my sorrow I did find, 
 
 My Captain by his side ; 
 I saw and felt that I was foiled, 
 
 In every plan I tried. 
 What could this mean.no good 'twas plain j 
 
 Hence this strange secrecy — 
 Oh, how my heart did long to solve 
 
 This strange, strange mystery ! 
 
14 
 
 RLACKHEAKT S REVENUE. 
 
 " Another anxious day passed off, 
 
 Before I could lind out 
 Why these two men did act so strange, 
 
 Anil thus it came about. 
 "While I was standing out that night, 
 
 Upon the upper-deck, 
 I saw two men — they were my foes 
 
 I quickly did suspect. 
 
 '• I thought that it looked mean for me 
 
 To listen to their talk ; 
 But I could see no oilier wa\ 
 
 I could their foul schemes balk. 
 With cautious steps I did advance, 
 
 So I could hear them speak — 
 The conversation that I heard 
 
 Made the chills o J er me creep ! 
 
 " : Well. Captain, how has all things work'd, 
 
 Sir.ce we've together met ?' 
 1 All right!' the Captain did reply ; 
 
 All things work well as yet. 
 And if John Waldo don't succeed 
 
 And learn what we're about, 
 I think that our plot will succeed, 
 
 Of this I have no doubt,' 
 
 " '' He's not as cunning as he'd like 
 
 To make us all believe,' 
 Said Philip Preston sneermgly — 
 
 * Would he a bribe receive V 
 4 Oh. no ! no ! no ! ' the Captain cried ; 
 
 ' No ! this will never do ; 
 We never can the young imp bribe, 
 
 But why should we wish to?' 
 
 " Young Philip laughed at this an said 
 
 He merely spoke in tun, 
 And that he* did not think they would 
 
 Have a great risk to run. 
 But, Captain, I have not yet told 
 
 What I to-day have found, 
 And now, if you can guess aright, 
 
 I'll give you half a pound. 
 
 " The Captain eagerly did guess, 
 
 But failed to guess aright ; 
 He seemed to be much puzzled while 
 
 Philip laughed with delight. 
 ' I knew you would the money loose, 
 
 But try just one more time ; 
 Ah I you can never guess I see, 
 
 'Tis, sir, a rich gold mine ! ' 
 
 " 'A gold mine ! sir, what do you mean? 
 
 Have you become insane ? 
 I can not understand you, boy. 
 
 Come, come, you must explain. 
 You should not speak in riddles boy, 
 
 I'm slow to understand ; 
 So tell me plainly what you've found, 
 
 But speak low as you can. 
 
 " ' Well, Captain, I will speak more plain 
 
 And tell you what I've (bund ; 
 I'm sure you will be much surprised. 
 
 With joy your heart wi 1 bound. 
 Bur, tirst I'll tell you how I came 
 
 To be so fortunate. 
 And then I'll leave it to you, sir, 
 
 If I've not a shrewd pate. 
 
 i4 ' Some days ago you did request 
 
 Me to acquain ed get, 
 With Mr. Truman and his wife — 
 
 Since then we've often met. 
 They both seem quite well pleas'd with me r 
 
 And I of course with them ! 
 I've won his friendship— and he is 
 
 One of the best of men. 
 
 l< ' I went into their room to-day, 
 
 As oft I've done before. 
 To have a friendly chat with them, 
 
 About our native shore. 
 While I was setting in their room, 
 
 I saw a little chest ; 
 It sat wide open on the floor, 
 
 Behind his writing-desk. 
 
 " - 1 thought that I would like to peep 
 
 Into that littl 1 chest, 
 And see what kind of property, 
 
 The doomed man does possess. 
 The more I thought about this thing, 
 
 The stronger grew my wish ; 
 At last I hit upon a plan, 
 
 And, Captain, it is this : 
 
 v ' ' Would you not like, said I, to take 
 
 A walk upon the deck 1 
 Tlie weather is now fair again. 
 
 The sails are finely set. 
 They did comply with my request, 
 
 And to my joy the chest, 
 Was left wide open on the floor 
 
 Behind his writing desk ! . 
 
 ; ' ' While we were walking on the deck, 
 
 An object we did see ; 
 I knew that it was a sea fowl. 
 
 It seemed quite large to be. 
 They asked me if I owned a glass, 
 
 I told them that I had 
 A nice one in my room — and that. 
 
 To get it I'd be glad. 
 
 " ' You know that I do always keep 
 
 My spy-glass near at nand ; 
 'Tis always in my pocket, sir, 
 
 Upon both Bea and land. 
 jSo you can see, if I had not 
 
 An object in my view, 
 That I could hand them my glass 
 
 Without the least ado. 
 
BLACKHEARTS REVENGE. 
 
 15 
 
 They said that they would sta) and watch;)" 'That is just what I've thought myself, 
 
 So off I quickly went ; 
 But if they knew where I did go, 
 
 They would e'er this repent ! 
 You've always told me, Captain, that 
 
 Truman was very poor — 
 But w'.iat I've seen,. I'd judge he's rich, 
 
 You've been deceived I'm sure, 
 
 " 'I found, on going to- the chest, 
 
 That it contained much gold ; 
 A richer prize, spread out to view, 
 
 My eyes did ne'er behold ! 
 I stood entranced — ray eyes did feast, 
 
 Upon this yellow stone ; 
 I've seen much money in my day, 
 
 But ne'er 60 much before. 
 
 " 'I left the money in its place, 
 
 And hastened back on deck, 
 Where 1 had left my new made friends, 
 
 Friends that do not suspect ! 
 They said that it had done no good, 
 
 For me to get my glass. 
 As it was nothing but a bird, 
 
 Which out of sight had passed.' 
 
 " 'Your words astonish me, indeed, 
 
 I've been deceived that's sure, 
 For I have always been informed 
 
 That Truman was quite poor. 
 But I do plaimy see my boy, 
 
 That you do now intend, 
 To take possession of the chest 
 
 And the wealth of jour friend.' 
 
 ;f 'Why should we not, if we succeed 
 
 In our new enterprise? 
 The money will do him no good 
 
 Beneath the tropic skies ! 
 If we succeed in landing him, 
 
 Upon the Island small, 
 
 I do propose to pay ourselves, 
 
 By taking. his wealth all.' 
 
 <: 'Well, sir, you must remember that 
 
 I must this money share, 
 And if there is such a great sum 
 
 You can some of it spare.' 
 4 Why, yes, dear Captain, I intend 
 
 That you shall share with me ; 
 One half of this great sum I'm sure 
 
 Enough for me will be.' 
 
 II ; Well, if you will give me one half, 
 I will give my consent. 
 
 For you to take all you can find, 
 
 But we must act prudent. 
 If you haye found such a great prize, 
 
 And we can get it all, 
 I think we'd better settle down, 
 
 For our risk is not small.' 
 
 And 'twill be a good plan ; 
 Bu: I suppose we'd have to live 
 
 Off in some foreign land. 
 But have you yet made up your mind, 
 
 What to do with their child ? 
 She is her mother's image, sir. 
 
 Her eyes are blue and mild.' 
 
 " 'I think that if we settle down, 
 
 And live upon the land, 
 I'll take the ehtld to live with me — 
 
 How do you like my plan V 
 ' I fear that she is now so old 
 
 That she will bring us out ; 
 She is a little over five, 
 
 You'd be betrayed no doubt.' 
 
 "'Pshaw! Philip, the child's memorr 
 
 Will never us betray, 
 For she is young and will believe 
 
 Any thing that we say. 
 i Of course we'll make the child believe 
 
 Her parents are both dead ; 
 Her father certainlv will be, 
 
 Her mother I don't dread.' 
 
 :i 1 could not stand and hear any more, 
 
 And turned to go away ; 
 But by some chance my (but did slip, 
 
 My presence to betray. 
 The Captain with a fearful oath, 
 
 Did quickly spring on me, 
 And with the aid of Philip, I 
 
 Was soon thrown in the sea. 
 
 l" \s I fell in the dark blue sea, 
 
 I heard tlfe Captain cry : 
 ' There ! take that for your trouble, sir, 
 
 You will now surely die !' 
 I heard no more — lor the ship was 
 
 Now sailing very fast, 
 And ere I realized my fate. 
 
 She out of sight had passed. 
 
 " But in our struggle while on deck, 
 
 I kicked off a large plank, 
 And if it had not been for this, 
 
 In the deep sea I'd sank. 
 I will not try to tell you how 
 
 I suffered night and day, 
 For I cannot find language, sir, 
 
 My trials to portray. 
 
 *•' In mute dispair I fi.-mly clung 
 
 Hold of my only hope, 
 .But oft the waves would o'er me dash, 
 
 And would me almost choke. 
 At last I lost all consciousness 
 
 Of what was passing round, 
 But when at last i did awake, 
 
 I was all safe and sound. 
 
16 
 
 BLACKHEART S REVENUE. 
 
 " I was discovered by the crew, 
 
 Of a large whale ship, and 
 The Captain gladly took me in, 
 
 For he had lost a hand. 
 The Captain was as fine a man, 
 
 As ere sailed on the sea ; 
 I sailed with him for eight long years, 
 
 We always did agree. 
 
 " The whaleship was owned in New York 
 
 And when we went in port 
 I made inquiry for your friends, 
 
 But could Inar no report. 
 I also learned the ship was burned, 
 
 But no one seemed to know 
 Where I could find my Captain base, 
 
 And soon 1 had to go. 
 
 " We made one more successful trip, 
 
 But that one was our last ; 
 Our ship was drove upon the locks, 
 
 And was to pieces dashed. 
 The Captain and half of the crew 
 
 Did find a watery grave; 
 But fortune smiled on me once more, 
 
 And I again was saved. 
 
 t: The Captain that now saved my life, 
 
 Was bound for Liverpool ; 
 He did command an English ship, 
 
 And with oil it was full. 
 Thus after many years of toil 
 
 And dangers on the sea, 
 1 came bacji to my native land 
 
 But sad it proved for me. 
 
 " As soon as I was safe on land, 
 
 I did resolve to go 
 And find the owners of the ship 
 
 I sailed in years ago. 
 I did resolve that I'd find our. 
 
 Where my old foe did dwell ; 
 And see if they could inform me, 
 
 What had your friends befell. 
 
 " The sun was down ere I could land, 
 
 But yet I would not wait, 
 But started off at once to find 
 
 What was your Uncle's fate. 
 While passing through a lone, dark street, 
 
 I heard a poor man cry ; 
 I knew he was in great distress, 
 
 And to his aid did fly. 
 
 " But the poor man was beyond aid, 
 
 Ere I could get to him ; 
 The fatal knife had done its work, 
 
 His eyes in death were dim. 
 The murderer was still in sight, 
 
 And after him I ran ; 
 He had the poor man's purse of gold. 
 
 I snatched it from his hand. 
 
 " The man now dodged out of my sight, 
 
 And I ran back to see 
 If the poor man was still alive, 
 
 .And could yet aided be. 
 While I was stooping o'er the man 
 
 To see what could be done, 
 I felt a fierce blow on my head, 
 
 Which did me quickly stun. 
 
 " When I returned to consciousness 
 
 I was in prison bound ; 
 What means these chains I loudly cried, 
 
 That on me I have found ? 
 I was soon told that I had killed 
 
 A man upon the street ; 
 And that I would in a few days 
 
 With my stern Judges meet. 
 
 " When I was to my trial brought, 
 
 I told my truthful tale ; 
 But as my guilt appeared so plain 
 
 It proved of no avail. 
 And so like you, you see I am 
 
 Considered as a knave j 
 And all because I vainly tried 
 
 A fellowman to save. 
 
 " I'm very sorry that the man 
 
 That did commit the deed, 
 Could not be triad for his great crime 
 
 And justice strict receive. 
 But Providence does all things well 
 
 And I must not repine, 
 And now I am quite glad (hat I 
 
 Have been sent to this clime!" 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, what do you mean, 
 
 By saying that you're glad, 
 That you were sent to this vile land? 
 
 Pray are you turning mad? 
 ' ; No, Frederic, I'm not turning mad, 
 
 Though I don't think it strange, 
 That you are so surprised, my boy, 
 
 And think that I'm deranged. 
 
 ■' The reasons why that I am glad, 
 
 I will to you now tell ; 
 It is because I've saved jour life. 
 
 And that of Isabel ! 
 Your cousin Isabel I've saved, 
 
 This sleeping girl is she ; 
 Now, Fre 'eric, do you think it strange. 
 
 That I should thankful be? 
 
 * v I can not comprehend you John, 
 
 You say this young girl is 
 My cousin — but pray tell me how, 
 
 You cann to know all this ?" 
 Well, listen boy, and I will tell 
 
 How I did come to know, 
 That she was your own cousin who 
 
 Lived with you years ago. 
 
DLACKHEARTS RKVENGE. 
 
 17 
 
 " I've told you of the dreadful plot 
 
 My Captain vile did lay, 
 To take your little cousin from 
 
 Her mother quite away. 
 And now, the man that does pretend, 
 
 Her father for to be, 
 Is my old hated Captain, sir, 
 
 That threw me in the sea !" 
 
 " Oh, John, let's wake the young girl up. 
 
 And see if this is so ; 
 I'm sure that I can never rest 
 
 Until I more do know." 
 
 " No, no ! my boy, this will not do, 
 You're too excited quite ; 
 
 You must now let the poor girl rest, 
 She's had a dreadful fright." 
 
 " Well, John, I will do as you say, 
 
 But long the night will be ; 
 I do not thidk that I can sleep; 
 
 Until she does know me." 
 It was near mid-night ere these men 
 
 That night did go to bed — 
 And Frederic lay and pondered o'er 
 
 All that his friend had said. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Cause of Jtlrs. Truman's •llavm. 
 
 PERHAPS the reader now would like 
 To hear some more about 
 Young Frederic's uncle and his aunt — 
 
 Of this I have no doubt. 
 So I will leave the convicts safe, 
 
 In their own cabin small, 
 
 While I do tell you of the fate 
 
 That did this pair befall. 
 
 Young Frederic has told us how, that 
 
 His uncle went away, 
 Intending for to find a home 
 
 In North America. 
 But John has told us what he'd heard, 
 
 And we have also seen 
 That Blackheart took their only child — 
 
 Now, what does this all mean? 
 
 To answer this question I will 
 
 Have to rehearse the tale, 
 That John Waldo did partly hear, 
 
 But to hear all did fail. 
 He did not see, 'tis very plain, 
 
 What made the woman weep j 
 But he soon found that 'twas that one 
 
 That threw him in the deep. 
 
 The weather was still very fine, 
 
 The ship was sailing well, 
 And Mr. Truman and his wife 
 
 Admired the Ocean's swell. 
 But all at once she was alarmed, 
 
 And uttered a faint scream ; 
 " What is the matter, Mary dear? 
 
 What is it that you have seen ?" 
 
 c, Oh, Henry, take me to our room, 
 
 And I will tell you all ;" 
 Replied the trembling woman, and 
 
 The tears began to fall. 
 He quickly led her to her room, 
 ' And then did ask her why 
 She seemed to be so much alarmed, 
 
 And thus she did rep.'y : 
 
 "Oh, Henry, I am fearful that 
 
 We will soon ruined be ; 
 The Captain of this ship I'm sure, 
 
 Will ruin you and me !" 
 " Why, Mary dear, are you insane? 
 
 If not, pray tell me why, 
 You fear the Captain of this ship 
 
 So that you outright cry ?" 
 
 " Well, Henry, I will tell you why 
 
 I fear the Captain so ; 
 And I do hope you'll keep your eyes 
 
 Upon our dreadful foe. 
 I'm sure you will, when I do tell 
 
 You why I do fear him ; 
 And if I'd known he was my foe, 
 
 This ship I'd ne'er came in. 
 
 " Two years before I first saw you, 
 
 I did this Captain know ; 
 And it was then he did become, 
 
 And since, my dreaded foe. 
 He was quite young, and handsome too. 
 
 His manners pleased me well; 
 And of the love he had for me, 
 
 Ho was not slow to tell. 
 
 " My parents were both pleased with him, 
 
 And made him welcome quite ; 
 And be did very often come, 
 
 And spend a pleasant night. 
 Thus many months did pass away, 
 
 I liked him more and more ; 
 I did not dream be was this while, 
 
 My ruin plotting o'er. 
 
 " He also seemed to be quite rich, 
 
 Yet clear from haughty pride ; 
 And I looked forward to the day 
 
 When I should be his bride. 
 But I am thankful that that day, 
 
 Has not to this day come ; 
 For if it had I now would be, 
 
 By the foul knave, undone ! 
 
18 
 
 Ill.AC KHKAltT S KBVKNtiti 
 
 "One day as I was walking out, 
 
 In our great city proud, 
 I halted near a liquor store, 
 
 Just to avoid a crowd. 
 As I passed by I happened to, 
 
 By chance, to look within ; 
 But what I saw and heard has made 
 
 Me always detest him. 
 
 " I saw my suitor leaning o'er, 
 
 The counter of the shop : 
 What can be the cause of all this ? 
 
 Thought I, and nearly stopped. 
 I thought that tbis was very strange. 
 
 I thought him out of place ; 
 For he had often told me that 
 
 Liquor he would not taste. 
 
 " I quickly dodged out of their sight, 
 
 Before they did me see ; 
 And then I instantly resolved 
 
 The end of this to see. 
 So I walked up where I could see, 
 
 And hear all going on ; 
 And when I left my hiding place, 
 
 My love for him was gone. 
 
 "You shall not have another drop, 
 
 Until you pay your bill ; 
 You owe me now at least ten pounds, 
 
 You ne'er your words fulfill. 
 Now, sir, if you don't pay me up. 
 
 And that without delay, 
 I will this day send you to Jail 
 
 Until your bill you pay." 
 
 " Have mercy, sir, and I will pay 
 
 You all within one week ; 
 But if you send roe off' to Jail, 
 
 Your pay you ne'er will get." 
 " You've told me so time after time, 
 
 And every time you fail ; 
 80 all your talk with me you see, 
 
 Will prove of no avail." 
 
 " Have mercy, mercy, on me man," 
 
 My suitor cried once more; 
 " I'm in hard circumstances now, 
 
 But wealth does lay in store." 
 '*' Well, Blackheart. if you now can show 
 
 Me how you ere can pay, 
 I will not have you sent to Jail, 
 
 So tell me truly, pray." 
 
 ' l I do not like to tell you how, 
 
 I can the money get ; 
 But if you will have money, sir, 
 
 I will soon pay my debt." 
 '^Another sham ! 1 plainly see 
 
 That you don't mean to pay; 
 I will have you arrested, sir, 
 
 And that without delay." 
 
 " Hold, hold ! sir, if you must know all, 
 
 I'll tell you how I mean ; 
 To get the money to pay you, 
 
 Too tardy have 1 been. 
 And if you will the secret keep, ' 
 
 You will make much my friend, 
 For it will not be long before 
 
 I can much money spend." 
 
 " Well, let me know all of your plans. 
 
 I will your secret keep; 
 But, my dear sir, let's take a drink — 
 
 Remember, this's my treat." 
 Two glasses were filled to the brim. 
 
 And emptied by these men ; 
 My suitor was much pleased and said : 
 
 " That's good, that's good ! my friend.'* 
 
 When these two glasses were drained off,, 
 
 My suitor did begin 
 To tell how that he did intend 
 
 A fortune large to win. 
 '• There is a merchant in this place, 
 
 His name is Clarence, sir : 
 He has a lovely daughter and 
 
 I am in love with her ! 
 
 " Her father is both old and rich. 
 
 And what is better far, 
 I think she is the only one 
 
 That will his fortune share. 
 She has a brother it is true, 
 
 But he is far away ; 
 He is in business now I hear 
 
 In North America. 
 
 " When I did learn these pleasant facts, 
 
 I did resolve to try 
 And win the girl's love, if I could, 
 
 For my poor purse was dry ! 
 I did go to a friend of. mine, 
 
 And told him of my plan ; 
 And he has lent me some fine^clothes — 
 
 I pass as a rich man ! 
 
 ' The girl thinks that I am all right, 
 
 So does her parents old ; 
 And so nou see the game works well, 
 
 Although 'tis very bold. 
 I do intend to see her soon, 
 
 Perhaps I'll go to night, 
 If my kind friend can spare his clothes 
 
 So I can go all right. 
 
 " I do not fear but what she will, 
 
 Most gladly marry me ; 
 And if she does I'll soon possess 
 
 The old man's property ! 
 Ami when it is safe in rny bands, 
 
 I'll bid them ail farewell, 
 I And take the golden fleece with me 
 
 In distant Ian. is to dwell !" 
 
BLACKHKART'S rkvhmub. 
 
 19 
 
 
 " *\'ith aching heart I now did go 
 
 Back to my happy home, 
 That this arch fiend, in human form, 
 
 Was seeking to overthrow. 
 I kept my secret to myself, 
 
 To use wheuT saw fit ; 
 The time I knew would soon arrive, 
 
 When I could well use it. 
 
 " The evening came , and 'twas not long 
 
 Before Blackheart did come ; 
 But what I in the morning heard, 
 
 Did through my young head run. 
 And after paying his respects 
 
 To my poor parents dear, 
 I went into the sitting-room 
 
 My suitors words to hear. 
 
 " \s soon as we were seated he 
 
 Began to tell me, 
 How long I'd been the idol of 
 
 His heart, so young and free. 
 And with grandiloquence he talked, 
 
 About his wealth and fame ! 
 And last he closed by asking me, 
 
 Our wedding day to name ! 
 
 " The dreadful crisis had now come, 
 
 And I resolved that I 
 Would give him such a hint that he 
 
 No more base schemes would try. 
 So, stepping in front of the knave, 
 
 I asked him now to tell, 
 Into what distant land he r d take 
 
 The golden fleece to dwell?" 
 
 " It is a lie! a lie ! a lie ! 
 
 I never did say so ; 
 I'll shoot the knave that told you this! 
 
 Come ! let me his name know." 
 '•Oh, hold your temper now, my dear, 
 
 And do not shoot your foes ; 
 For I do fear you might get hurt, 
 
 And spoil your borrowed clothes ! 
 
 "And if you should receive no hurt, 
 
 I'm sure I ne'er could wed 
 A man who, in his anger, had 
 
 A fellow being bled ! 
 So, hold your temper now, my dear, 
 
 Or you will surely fail 
 To pay your liquor bill, and then 
 
 You'll have to go to Jail ! 
 
 " While I was talking thus to him, 
 
 His face was deadly pale ; 
 He looked me fiercely in t!ie face. 
 
 I did noi flinch or quail. 
 ' I see that you know all,' said he, 
 
 ' But you will rue this day !' 
 Oh, it is night, my dear, said I ; 
 
 So hold your temper pray." 
 
 " Well, Mary, make lightof my talk, 
 
 And lau^h at my defeat ; 
 But just remember that 1 will, 
 
 Somoiime, have vengeance sweet ! 
 If ever you do wed a man, 
 
 (Let him be lord or peer.) 
 I'll ruin him and you likewise, 
 
 Say, do you my vow hear 1" 
 
 " He spoke quite low, but I could see 
 
 That he meant all he said ; 
 And ere he did rise up to go, 
 
 My heart was filled with dread. 
 My parents were both greatly shocked, 
 
 When I did tell to them 
 What I had heard and done, but they 
 
 Feared I too rash had been. 
 
 " This happened many years ago — 
 
 I ney^r heard from him — 
 And as year after year rolled off, 
 
 My fears did grow less dim. 
 But, as we walked on deck just now, 
 
 I saw my dreaded foe ; 
 And I did quickly see that he 
 
 Your poor wife well did know. 
 
 " I fear that he has laid some snare, 
 
 To ruin you and me ; 
 And I do very greatly fear, 
 
 Our new home we'll ne'er see. 
 Oh, keep an eye upon the knave, 
 
 And all may yet go well ; 
 Remember, 'tis no idle tale, 
 
 That you have heard me tell." 
 
 "Oh, Mary, what a little goose 
 
 You are to fear this man ! 
 We are as safe from harm from him 
 
 As though we were on land. 
 I and the Captain are good friends, 
 
 And I do have no doubt, 
 But what from your foe's memory, 
 
 You've long been blotted out." 
 
 "Oh. Henry, I do greatly fear 
 
 That ere we reach our home, 
 That to your sorrow you will find 
 
 That I am not unknown. 
 Oh, do not trust this subtle knave, 
 
 Though he may seem to be 
 A f.-iend to you — I know he's not, 
 
 So listen unto me!" / 
 
 Thus plead the fearful woman, but 
 
 llii did make light of it ; 
 But he could not convince his wife, 
 
 And she was fearful yci. 
 He did, however, promise her 
 
 To keep well on his j^uard ; 
 But it was plainly to be seen, 
 
 All fears he did discard. 
 
20 
 
 BI.AOKHKAKTS HBVRN(JK. 
 
 But if be only could have known, 
 
 The pains that Blackheart took 
 To listen to the woman's talk. 
 
 He would in dismay shook. 
 But as he was so free from guile, 
 
 Others he thought were so ; 
 And thus he was quite unprepared 
 
 To shun the coming blow. 
 
 Thus far in life he had not had 
 Much trouble with mankind ; 
 
 Instead of doubting fallen man, 
 He trusted them too blind. 
 
 Oh. if mankind were just as free 
 From malice and from guile, 
 
 As Mr. Truman seemed to think — 
 To live would seem worth while ! 
 
 But I'll not stop and moralize, 
 
 And waste my time and ink, 
 To tell you what this noble man, 
 
 Of sinful men, did think. 
 But if you will your patience keep, 
 
 And still keep reading fast, 
 You will be very likely to — 
 
 Read this tale through at last ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 •4 Brief Sketch of Alexandei Blackheart. 
 
 WHEN Blackheart left the lady that 
 He had meant to deceive, 
 He was quite angry and he felt 
 
 Like a detected thief. 
 " I wonder how the witch found out, 
 
 My well matured plot? 
 I do believe the traitor is 
 That rascal at the shop ! 
 
 " I've sworn that I will have revenge — 
 
 I see she does me fear, 
 And I will keep my promise good, 
 
 And it shall be severe ! 
 But I see I must something do, 
 
 I can not idle lay ; 
 1 dare not in this city proud, 
 
 Reside another day. 
 
 " I've been deceived — I plainly see. 
 
 That I can trust no one — 
 So, what I in the future do, 
 
 Must by myself be done. 
 I'm young and strong — I'll go to sea, 
 
 And earn my livelihood ; 
 This idle way of living will, 
 
 I'm sure; end in no good. 
 
 •" I have an object now in life, 
 
 That object is revenge ; 
 And I will very gladly work 
 
 To carry out my ends. 
 I'll have revenge for this insult, 
 
 Revenge that will bo sweet ; 
 She'll have to work hard if she does 
 
 More of my plans defeat. 
 
 Thus mused he, as he passed along 
 
 The dark and lonely street, 
 Resolving thai he'd have revenge, 
 ( Revenge that would be sweet! 
 How base it was in this young man 
 
 To seek to overthrow, 
 The lady that had saved herself 
 
 From a deceitful foe ! 
 
 He went on board a ship that night. 
 
 That in the port did lay, 
 And ere the sun did rise again 
 
 He was sailing away. 
 The shopkeeper in vain did look 
 
 His ten pounds to obtain, 
 But it came not, and loud he cursed 
 
 To be deceived again. 
 
 Blackheart did quiclky prove himself 
 
 To be a sailor good ; 
 And he did strive his best to do 
 
 The very best he could. 
 His diligence was soon repaid, 
 
 For ere two years he'd sailed, 
 He was raised to his Captain's place, 
 
 Whose health at that time failed. 
 
 When the young Captain did return, 
 
 He did inquiry make, 
 About the woman that he did 
 
 With bitterness still hate. 
 He learned that she was married to 
 
 A skillful Doctor young ; 
 And now he was at a great stand 
 
 To know what could be done. 
 
 He learned the lady's father had, 
 
 In business failed find died ; 
 And had left nothing for his child, 
 
 When she became a bride. 
 The Captain now was very glad, 
 
 That he had not married her; 
 But from his hard and cruel heart. 
 
 His wrath did never stir. 
 
 But ere he could make up his mind 
 
 How he his vow could pay. 
 His ship was rilled and he did have 
 
 Once more to sail away. 
 And every time he came to port, 
 
 He met with some defeat ; 
 And he at last began to think. 
 
 He ne'er would wreak vengeance sweet ! 
 
BLACKHEART S REVENGE. 
 
 21 
 
 At last last he did make up his mind 
 
 That he must havo some aid, 
 For many years had passed away 
 
 Since he his vow had made. 
 He did not have to look in vain, 
 
 As we've already seen, 
 That Philip Preston was the man 
 
 To help this rascal mean. 
 
 Young Philip Preston was informed 
 
 Of the Captain's vile plan, 
 And the young rascal was not slow 
 
 To aid him heart and hand. 
 He did agree to keep an eye 
 
 On Truman's movements while 
 The Captain had to he away — ' 
 
 Ah, he was a rogue vile ! 
 
 Young Philip was an artful knave, 
 
 And he did often go, 
 Dressed in disguise, to Truman's house, 
 
 Their business for to know. 
 We've seen that Truman was so free 
 
 From malice and from guile, 
 That he would trust his fellow men 
 
 As fearless as a child ! 
 
 This fact the young knave soon found out. 
 
 And it did please him well ; 
 For he did know by this that he 
 
 Would all of his plans tell. 
 It was not long ere Truman told 
 
 How that he did intend, 
 To leave his native land before 
 
 The present year did end. 
 
 When Blackheart heard this pleasant news 
 
 His heart did leap for joy, 
 For he now greatly hoped that he 
 
 Could his fair foe destroy. 
 He thought that if Truman would sail, 
 
 With him upon the deep, 
 That he could execute his threats 
 
 And thus have vengeance sweet ! 
 
 Blackheart requested Philip to 
 
 Use all his skill and try, 
 To get Truman to sail with him, 
 
 And in his secrets pry. 
 Young Philip was quick to obey, 
 
 And well disguised he went; 
 He was successful as we've seen, 
 
 To get him to consent. 
 
 When Blackheart learn'd of his success, 
 
 His wicked heart did bound ; 
 His thirst for vengeance was so great, 
 
 That well this news did sound. 
 And as young Philip proved to be 
 
 Such a substantial friend, 
 Blackheart requested him to sail 
 
 And see how 'twould all end. 
 
 He did comply with this request, 
 
 And we've already seen 
 How, like a rascal, he did act 
 
 To gain Truman's esteem. 
 Oh, how deceitful man can be ! 
 
 How like a serpent vile, 
 He'll strive to seem an angel quite, 
 
 His victim to beguile. 
 
 John did give us a little light 
 
 About the Captain's plans, 
 Of wreaking vengeance on the one9 
 
 That were now in his hands. <r 
 But as my readers may not all 
 
 Through his plans clearly see, 
 Perhaps it will be proper to 
 
 More paraphrastic be. 
 
 It was the Captain's aim to make 
 
 The heart of his fair foe, 
 As wretched as a heart could be 
 
 Upon this earth below. 
 And so the miscreant did task 
 
 His subtle mind so vile, 
 To separate the woman from • 
 
 Her consort and her child. 
 
 There was an Island in the sea, 
 
 An Island small and bare ; 
 And this foul fiend in human form, 
 
 Meant to leave Truman there ! 
 With this intent he did instruct, 
 
 Young Philip to beguile 
 His victim, so he better could 
 
 Execute this deed vile. 
 
 And this was why the ship was turned, 
 
 From its course quite away ; 
 The desert Island in the sea, 
 
 Far to the south did lay. 
 When the vile wretch discovered that 
 
 John did uneasy seem, 
 He did his victim closely watch 
 
 As we've already seen. 
 
 But what he could do with the child, 
 
 Did puzzle him quite sore ; 
 It was a subject that he did 
 
 Oft ponder o'er and o'er. 
 But when young Philip told him that 
 
 He had found a great prize, 
 He did resolve to keep the child 
 
 Regardless of advice. 
 
 It was at this juncture that John 
 
 Unhapily did slip; 
 But as you all know the result, 
 
 I need not rehearse it. 
 John has told us the Captain did 
 
 In triumph loudly cry, 
 And told him that for his trouble 
 
 He now must surely die. 
 
22 
 
 BLACKHEART'S KKVENOK. 
 
 But his glad thoughts did quickly end : 
 
 " What have we done?" said he ; 
 ci "We've acted very rash indeed, 
 
 But John must rescued be." 
 ;c Fear not," was Philip's calm reply, 
 
 But let us leave the deck ; 
 No one has seen us, and I'm sure 
 
 No one will us suspect !" 
 
 The Captain qaickly took the hint, 
 
 And they did both retire ; 
 To rescue John from cruel death, 
 
 He did no more desire. 
 He now*thought that in all his plots 
 
 He'd soon successful he, 
 Foi now the only man he feared 
 
 Was drowning in the sea. 
 
 When John was missed, the dreadful news 
 
 Was soon spread ail around ! 
 That John Waldo, their brave comrade 
 
 Was no where to be found. 
 The Captain made a great ado — 
 
 He even shed a tear, 
 To think he had a sailor lost, 
 
 And one that he held dear I 
 
 But little did the sailors think 
 
 Their Captain was the one, 
 That threw their comrade in the sea. 
 
 Nor for what cause 'twas done. 
 Had tliey bat known their Captain vile, 
 
 Had done this dreadful deed, 
 It is supposed the reader would 
 
 No further have to read ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 .#« »<Mct of 
 
 GOOD morning, Mr. Truman, I 
 Have just called in to see, 
 If you would go on yonder Isle 
 
 A little while with me 1 
 The Caprain's going to send a boat, 
 
 To some fresh water find ; 
 And we can go on shore with them, 
 He says, if we've a mind. 
 
 "I ne'er was on a sbip before, 
 
 And dreary it does seem ; 
 And were I safely home again, 
 
 On ship I'd ne'er be seen. 
 The Captain laughs at me and says, 
 
 I'm getting home-sick quite ; 
 But a few hours on land I'm sure, 
 
 Will once more set me right. 
 
 We have been drove far from our course. 
 
 We're in a torrid clime ; 
 And I have always longed to see 
 
 The towering palm tree tine. 
 And now I have a splendid chance, 
 
 To satisfy this wish ; 
 And I would very foolish be, 
 
 This splendid chance to miss. 
 
 " Well, Philip, it will please me much, 
 
 To go on laud 'tis true ; 
 And if my wife will give consent, 
 
 I'll gladly go with you," 
 M I'm sure your wife a tyrant is," 
 
 Said Philip with a laugh ; 
 "If she does keep you on the ship, 
 
 Dreadlul will be my wrath ! 
 
 " You'er going now to freedom's land, 
 
 The laud of Washington ; 
 And you expect to reap the fruits 
 
 Of what that rebel done ! 
 
 Treachery. 
 
 You do expect that you will soon, 
 
 Indeed he very free ; 
 But, sir, you'll always be a slave, 
 
 Unless you hear to me ! 
 
 You must rise in rebellion and 
 
 Proclaim that you'll be free ; 
 Begin at once and say that you 
 
 Will go on Fand with me !" 
 Young Philip spoke so comical, 
 
 While he was talking thus, 
 That Truman and his wife did laugh, 
 
 And did no harm mistrust. 
 
 " The Captain says that he will lend, 
 
 To each of us a gun ; 
 Perhaps we can run on some game, 
 
 If so, we'll have some fun. 
 The boat will stay on shore some hours, 
 
 And we will rested get, 
 For we can have a better walk 
 
 Than we can have on deck." 
 
 " The boat is waiting," said a boy, 
 
 " The Captain has sent me, 
 To tell you if you wish to go. 
 
 You very 6pry must be." [come, 
 
 "Come, come !" said Philip, " you must 
 
 We'll have no other chance 
 To go on shore, so come with me, 
 
 Ere they the boat do launch." 
 
 Thus saying, Philip took his arm, 
 
 And did lead him away ; 
 His wife did wish to caution him, 
 
 But she did nothing say. 
 She fear'd that there was something wrong 
 
 And that danger was near ; 
 She rose to go and call him back, 
 
 And tell him of her fear. 
 
BLACKHEART'S REVENGE. 
 
 23 
 
 But the poor woman was too late, 
 
 For when she saw them more, 
 Her bushand was by Philip's side, 
 
 In the boat bound for shore. 
 The men did wave their hats and told 
 
 The woman not to fear ! 
 Ptfbr man, how little did he dream 
 
 That this ride would prove dear. 
 
 But when she saw he did remain, 
 
 Her fears did leave her heart; 
 For she feared that the Captain would, 
 
 With the boat's crew depart. 
 She watched the boat and saw it land, 
 
 Upon the Island lone ; 
 And when she went into her room, 
 
 Her dreadful' fears were gone. 
 
 She now began to hope her foe, 
 
 Had quite forgotten her ; 
 She'd been so fearful of her foe, 
 
 She'd scarcely dared to stir. 
 But while she stood upon the deck, 
 
 The Captain did appear ; 
 He spoke to her about the men, 
 
 And told her not to fear. 
 
 She watched him as he passed along, 
 
 But she could not detect, 
 By the vile Captain's looks that he 
 
 Did her the least suspect. 
 Oh. how her heart did leap for joy, 
 
 When she thought that her foe 
 Had quite forgotten his base vow, 
 
 Or her he did not know. 
 
 She tho't that her husband was right, 
 
 And that she'd foolish been, 
 To think the Captain would harm her, 
 
 Or any of her kin. 
 But still it did seem strange to her, 
 
 That he should her forget ; 
 Although it had been many years, 
 
 She did look youthful yet. 
 
 But still she felt all was not right, 
 
 Yet why she could not tell ; 
 She felt a vague fear in her mind. 
 
 vVhich she could not dispel. • 
 The hours passed off so very slow, 
 
 That each one seemed a day ; 
 She did not wish to be on deck, 
 
 But from it could not stay. 
 
 Her eyes oft wandered to the Isle, 
 
 Where the men had just gone ; 
 And often she did ask herself, 
 
 Why they were gone so long ? 
 Thus passed away three hours or more, 
 
 And very long they seemed ; 
 When she did see them coming back, 
 
 With joy she almost screamed. 
 
 But one thing did surprise her much, 
 
 And that was their great speed ; 
 They came much faster than they went, 
 
 This did seem strange indeed. 
 She thought if they had water found, 
 
 Their progress would be slow ; 
 What was the meaning of this speed, 
 
 She greatly wished to know. 
 
 She saw the Captain watching them, 
 
 With a spy-glass in hand ; 
 He would look at the boat awhile, 
 
 And then toward the land. 
 She saw a smile upon his face, 
 
 A wicked well known smile ; 
 Just such a smile as he did show, 
 
 When he made his threats vile. 
 
 When she looked at the boat again, 
 
 She could them plainly see ; 
 And soon with horror she did scream, 
 
 " Where can my husband be ? 
 Oh, he is gone ! without a doubt, 
 
 My husband dear is slain !" 
 She kept her eyes upon the bo^t, 
 
 Although it caused her pain. 
 
 When the boat did still nearer come, 
 
 With horror she did see, 
 That Philip's face and hands with blood 
 
 Much stained appeared to be ! 
 Her head now swam around and round, 
 
 And she did wildly cry — 
 (i Why have you left my husband, sir, 
 
 Oh, tell me l tell me why V s 
 
 She fainting fell upon the deck. 
 
 And to her room was borne, 
 By some kind-hearted sailors who 
 
 Did now see why she mourned. 
 "Hush ! hush poor child, thy father's dead, 
 
 And can no more come here ;" 
 Was the 6rst words that fell upon 
 
 The fainting woman's ear. 
 
 These words were spoken to Isabel, 
 
 Who much alarmed did stand ; 
 What caused her mother thus to swoon 
 
 She could not understand. 
 She called for her poor father to 
 
 Come and her mother wake, 
 When she was told that he was dead 
 
 And she must no noise make. 
 
 The woman heard these words and she 
 
 Did soon remember all, 
 The dreadful fears she had on deck, 
 
 Which made her swoon and fall. 
 Then rising up she did demand, 
 
 Of Philip who stood by, 
 What he had done with her husband? 
 
 And thus be did reply : 
 
24 
 
 BLACKHEART S REVENUE. 
 
 l( Poor woman, do try and keep calm. 
 
 And to you I will tell 
 All that's took place this dreadful day, 
 
 And how your husband fell. 
 I'm sure that I can ne'er forgive 
 
 Myself for asking him, 
 To go with me upon the Isle — 
 
 That Island tilled with sin ! 
 
 14 We landed safely on the Isle, 
 
 Perhaps you saw us land ; 
 The Island was quite beautiful, 
 
 Palm trees did thickly stand. 
 We stood entranced with the fine scene, 
 
 Of tropic beauty long ; 
 At last we went in search of game, 
 
 Thinking of nothing wrong. 
 
 " We wandered o'er the Island small, 
 
 But all our search was vain ; 
 Although we saw a few rare birds. 
 
 We could capture no game. 
 We did at last make up our minds, 
 
 That it was time to go ; 
 But every thing did look so gay 
 
 That we walked very slow. 
 
 M We were so charm'd with the fine scene 
 
 That we did loose our way ; 
 The trees did stand so tall and thick, 
 
 That it seemed not like day. 
 We loudly called and soon we heard, 
 
 Some voices in reply ; 
 This answer did put us at ease, 
 
 For they did seem quite nigh. 
 
 " We slowly walked towards the spot. 
 
 But all seemed death-like still; 
 A shudder did run through my frame, 
 
 My very blood seemed chilled; 
 I looked at Mr. Truman and 
 
 He did look deadly pale ; 
 His eyes were fixed upon the ground, 
 
 Upon a new-made trail. 
 
 n 'We're i os "t t> s ' a i(j he, "this trail is made 
 
 By many naked feet ; 
 And if we would our own lives save, 
 
 We quickly must retreat.' 
 But by what way we ought to go, 
 
 We neither of us knew ; 
 While we thus stood in doubt and fear, 
 
 An arrow by us flew ! 
 
 " We turned to leave the dreadful spot, 
 
 And in an ambush fell ; 
 More than a hundred savages, 
 
 Around our ears did yell ! 
 We knew that we must fight or die, 
 
 And fast our balls did fly; 
 And many of the wretches did 
 
 In a few moments die ! 
 
 "Our guns alarmed them very much, 
 
 And they did soon retreat, 
 We thought our danger was now o'er, 
 
 We thought our foes were beat. 
 We loaded up our guns once more, 
 
 And went to rind our men ; 
 But ere we had ten paces ran, 
 
 They were at us again. 
 
 " We turned on them and fired our guns, 
 
 But they did flinch no more ; 
 They rushed on us like very fiends, 
 
 Their yells made the woods roar. 
 Our balls did quickly thin their ranks, 
 
 But they the fiercer grew ; 
 At last they did surround us quite — 
 
 Our hopes for life seemed few. 
 
 %< The wretches were so close to us, 
 
 Our guns we could not load ; 
 But every one that we could reach, 
 
 Upon the ground was throw'd. 
 On, on they came like very fiends ! 
 
 But still we stood our ground ; 
 And many of the wretches fell, 
 
 And were quickly trod down. 
 
 " I did begin to hope that soon, 
 
 We would the victors be ; 
 But the black wretches fought like fiends. 
 
 We could not make them flee. 
 I saw one of the wretches raise 
 
 His club to strike a blow, 
 And ere I could prevent the stroke, 
 
 Your husband was laid low. 
 
 " I heard him cry aloud with pain, 
 
 But that cry was his last ; 
 For as he did attempt to rise, 
 
 A club did his head smash. 
 I laid the wretch dead at my feet, 
 
 And by my friend did stand ; 
 At last my faithful gun was broke,. 
 
 And wrenched out of my hand. 
 
 " I took your husband in my arm9, 
 
 And did attempt to run ; 
 But I was struck down by a blow, 
 
 From my own broken gun. 
 But ere the wretch could strike again, 
 
 I was upon my feet ; 
 Your husband's body he then snatched. 
 
 And with it did retreat. 
 
 " I now rush'd thro' their thinned ranks, 
 
 And swiftly did retreat ; 
 And off into the woods I ran, 
 
 Chased by a savage fleet. 
 The savage did run like a deer, 
 
 And he was very strong; 
 I thought my stay upon this earth, 
 
 Would not be very long. 
 
RLACKHBART S BKVBMGB. 
 
 *5 
 
 "As the fleet savage came near me, 
 
 I sprang behind a tree ; 
 And as he passed I snatched his club — 
 
 He died instead of me ! 
 I now began to hope that I, 
 
 Would from the Mends escape ; 
 And being almost tired to death, 
 
 I paused, some breath to take. 
 
 " But soon 1 heard more wretches \ ell, 
 
 They were upon my trail ; 
 My strength was now so well-nigh spent, 
 
 My heart began to fail. 
 But life is sweet aud I did strive, 
 
 With all my might and main, 
 To keep out of the wretches sight, 
 
 Though each step caused me pain. 
 
 " But ere they did appear in sight, 
 
 To my great joy I found 
 The trail that lead me to the boat — 
 
 Oh, how my heart did bound. 
 I soon did reach the boat but I 
 
 Was very, very weak; 
 1 sprang into it and then told 
 
 The sailors to be fleet. 
 
 "The sailors were greatly alarmed 
 
 And to their oars they flew; 
 And they did row the boat so fast 
 
 My foes came not in vew. 
 
 This is my sad and truthful tale, 
 
 It grieves me mutch to tell 
 How that your kind and noble man 
 
 By savage hands has fell. 
 
 " My bloody hands and face do show, 
 
 That dreadful was the strife ; 
 It is ten thousand wonders that 
 
 I did not lose my life ! 
 But here I am without a bone ' 
 
 In my poor body broke ; 
 But my left arm is now quite lame 
 
 By warding off their strokes. 
 
 " But now poor woman I must go 
 
 Into my room, for I 
 Am now so very weak and tired, 
 
 It seems that I must die. 
 Oh, if I could have saved his life, 
 
 How happy I'd now be ; 
 But I did do my very best 
 
 To fetch him back with me. 
 
 " Your husband is now free from pain. 
 
 In manhood's prime he fell, 
 But oh, kind lady do not weep, 
 
 But comfort Isabel. 
 Thus talked the would-be-hero but, 
 
 Kind reader was he so? 
 When you a little farther read 
 
 I'm sure you'll answer no ! 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Plotting •Again. 
 
 rPHE full round moon is beautiful, 
 J_ When it shines clear and bright ; 
 And it is worthy of its name, 
 
 For it's the kt Queen of night." 
 She sheds her grateful light on all, 
 
 And makes "grim darkness flee ; 
 She guides the landsman on his way, 
 
 The sailor on the sea. 
 
 5 Twas such a lovely night as this 
 
 That did succeed the day, 
 That Mr. Truman was enticed 
 
 From his friends quite away. 
 The moon shown bright upon the ship, 
 
 As it ploughed through the deep, 
 And all was still upon the deck, 
 
 All seemed to be asleep. 
 
 But soon there did appear a man, 
 
 Upon the proud ship's deck ; 
 He looked uneasy and he seemed 
 
 Some danger to suspect. 
 He did not have to stand alone, 
 
 But a few moments' time, 
 When a young man walked up to him, 
 
 But gloomy seemed his mind. 
 
 "• Well, Philip, how do you succeed ? 
 
 Not very well I fear, 
 For you do seem to be cast down, 
 
 Pray let me the worst hear. 
 I have not dared to speak to you, 
 
 For fear some of my men 
 Would think that all you're said was false, 
 
 So careful I have been." 
 
 " Well, Captain, I am very glad 
 
 To have you careful now, 
 For we're suspected by the witch ; 
 
 I fear she'll cause a row. 
 jl did deceive the sailors so, 
 
 I thought all would go 'well; 
 l But she did fiercely look at me, 
 
 Though why I could not tell. 
 
 " I quickly saw that she did not 
 
 Believe what I did tell, 
 Although I did look solemn and 
 
 Did tell my story well. 
 When the kind ladies left her room, 
 
 I lingered by her door, 
 To see what the woman would do 
 
 When quite alone once more. 
 
26* 
 
 bi.ackhkart's rrvrnuk. 
 
 " She looked around in mute despair, 
 
 Her grief seemed lo be great. 
 I did not know one spell but what 
 
 The woman's heart would break. 
 At last she did become more calm, 
 
 And from her couch did rise; 
 I left some blood upon a chair, 
 
 On this she fixed her eyes. 
 
 " I saw a'change come o'er her face. 
 
 She soon did dry her tears ; 
 That. blood I left upon her chair, 
 
 Made her look wild and fierce ! 
 I thought that this seemed very strange, 
 
 T knew not what it meant ; 
 But I did watch her very sharp, 
 
 Until away she went. 
 
 " She went and got a little box, 
 
 Out of her writing-desk ; 
 She then did scrape the blood in it 
 
 And locked it in the chest ! 
 While she was thus employed I did 
 
 To my grate dismay see, 
 Why the sad woman's face did change, 
 
 'Tis this that troubles me. 
 
 " The blood that I pretended did 
 
 From Mr. Truman flow, 
 Was taken from a jet black bird, 
 
 I think it was a Crow. 
 But in my haste to daub my hands, 
 
 And face with this bird's blood, 
 I happened to, oh, sad mishap, 
 
 Some feathers from it rub ! 
 
 " The sailors were so much alarmed, 
 
 They scarcely looked at me ; 
 And so they saw the feathers not, 
 
 Nor through my cheat did see. 
 Not so, the woman that you hate, 
 
 For fiercely she did look ; 
 It seemed that she could read my tho'ts 
 
 As though I was a book. 
 
 " She- looked upon my bloody face, 
 
 With an inquiring eve ; 
 And now I have no doubt but what 
 
 She did the feathers spy. 
 But whether she saw them or not 
 
 Is more than I do know ; 
 But I did leave some on the chair. 
 
 With the blood of the Crow." 
 
 " Well , Philip, if this is all true, 
 
 Our race is well nigh run ; 
 Undoubtedly the woman will 
 
 Strive hard to have us hung. 
 If she succeeds in hanging us, 
 
 She will persuade my men 
 To run the ship back to the Isle 
 
 And get Truman again." 
 
 Oh, Captain, do not be alarmed, 
 
 Our cause is not so dark ; 
 Our present danger is now o'er 
 
 So easy make vour heart. 
 I have no doubt but what she thinks, 
 
 The sailors are combined 
 To help you in all your plans, 
 
 This once the witch is blind. 
 
 •' If she intended to get aid 
 
 To rum you and me ! 
 While she is sailing on the ship. 
 
 She would more cunning be. 
 She would have called the sailors in, 
 
 So they could see my cheat ; 
 If she had done this. I am sure 
 
 Our hearts would not long beat! 
 
 £; She's hid that blood away so that 
 
 When we arrive on land, 
 She can show it to prove our guilt, 
 
 I think this is her p^an. 
 But if she dose me thus entrap, 
 
 She'll have to cunning be ; 
 And if she does not have a care. 
 
 More of my tricks she'll see !" 
 
 " But. Philip, how are we to shun 
 
 The woman's threatened blow? 
 I can see no way that we can. 
 
 If she our secrets know. 
 I fear we will that money loose, 
 
 If not our lives likewise ; 
 We'll have to let this thing alone, 
 
 Though tempting is the prize." 
 
 " No. Captain, we have worked too hard. 
 
 To tamely yield the prize; 
 And for to get that chest of gold, 
 
 We must some way contrive. 
 I have a plan now in my mind, 
 
 To you I will it tell ; 
 If vou'll agree to it. we'll get 
 
 The gold and Isabel !" 
 
 " I will agree to any thing, 
 
 That will this great scheme aid ; 
 For I do wish to execute, 
 
 All the vows I have made." 
 " My plan, sir, is to burn the ship," 
 
 Was Philip's prompt reply, 
 " To burn the ship while she does still 
 
 In New York harbor lie !" 
 
 Ct To burn the ship ! why, Philip, you 
 
 Are not in earnest now ? 
 What, earthly good will this do us? 
 
 I ne'er can it allow." 
 • l Yes, Captain. I'm in earnest now, 
 
 As you will quickly see ; 
 And I know that to burn the ship, 
 
 You gladly will agree. 
 
BLACKHBART'S RKVBNGR. 
 
 27 
 
 " The woman, seeing through our plot, 
 
 Has nearly spoiled our fun ; 
 But if we rightly play the game, 
 
 The prize can yet be won. 
 We've gone so far we might as well 
 
 Venture a little more ; 
 If we succeed — I know we will — 
 
 We'll get that yellow store. 
 
 " She will undoubtedly strive hard, 
 
 Our company to shun ; 
 But I do not think that she'll dare 
 
 To make her knowledge known. 
 If what I say proves to be true, 
 
 Ere she sets foot on land, 
 We'll play off a trick on her 
 
 She can not understand. 
 
 " If she intends to expose us, 
 
 (And, sir, she does no doubt,) 
 She'll do it ere we leave the port, 
 
 Upon our homeward rout. 
 So you can plainly see that we 
 
 Must sharply play our game, 
 Or else this lady that you hate 
 
 Will soon bring us to shame. 
 
 "As I have said, she will us shun, 
 
 So we must try and see 
 If we can't make the woman tiust, 
 
 The little girl with me. 
 I've thought of many plans, but none 
 
 Did suit my fancy quite, 
 Until I thought to burn the ship, 
 
 Which you seem to dislike. 
 
 «* We must contrive to get that chest, 
 
 And I can see no way 
 That we can now the money get, 
 
 Unless we sharp do play ! 
 My plan is to burn the ship. 
 
 An excitement to cause, 
 So that the passengers will not 
 
 Upon the ship long pause. 
 
 " The passengers will be alarmed, 
 
 And for their friends will seek ; 
 I will then be upon my guard, 
 
 And to the woman speak. 
 She will not dare refuse my aid, 
 
 And I will help her well ; 
 And for my pay of course I'll take 
 
 Her chest and Isabel ! 
 
 s * If we can manage matters so 
 
 That we could reach the port, 
 In the evening, then I am sure, 
 
 We can have some fine sport. 
 We'll manage things so that we can 
 
 Get on another ship, 
 With all her money and her child 
 
 And thus give her the slip ! 
 
 " Before she'd realize her loss, 
 
 We would be far away ; 
 This is my plan, now, Captain dear, 
 
 Do you say nay or aye ?" 
 " Your plan is good, I will consent 
 
 To all that you have said ; 
 And if the woman will keep still, 
 
 Her arts we'll not long dread. 
 
 " I'll try to manage the ship so 
 
 We'll reach the port at dark ; 
 I then will find a ship so that 
 
 We can quickly depart. 
 Ha, ha ! but won't the woman rave, 
 
 When she finds out our game? 
 She's thinking now no doubt, that she 
 
 Will soon bring us to shame !" 
 
 Thus talked these wretches vile, about 
 
 One that had done no harm ; 
 Oh, that some friendly voice could speak, 
 
 And this fair lady warn. 
 But no, no mortal man did know, 
 
 (Save these tw£» wretches vile,) 
 That there was a plot on foot 
 
 To rob her of her child. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Plot Proves Successful. 
 
 WHEN two more weeks had pass'd away 
 On the swift wings of time, 
 We find that Blackheart. ready is 
 
 To execute his crime. 
 He'd managed as he did agree, 
 
 To have the ship sail in 
 The harbor after dark, so that 
 None could detect his sin. 
 
 He then did toll the passengers 
 
 That they had better stay. 
 On board the ship that night, for 'twould 
 
 In a few hours be day. 
 
 They all agreed that this was right, 
 
 And quickly did consent 
 To stay on board another night. 
 
 And all retired content. 
 
 The Captain then did leave the ship, 
 
 Under pretence that he 
 Had pressing business upon land 
 
 Which he must go and see. 
 He was not gone more than an hour, 
 
 Before he did come back; 
 He wore a smile upon his face, 
 
 What mischief was he at? 
 
28 
 
 IU.ACKHF/ART 8 REVENGE. 
 
 " Well, Captain, I do plainly sec, 
 
 Our scheme is working well, 
 By the glad smile upon your lace — 
 
 Come, your adventures tell." 
 " Well. Philip, you have guessed arigh 
 
 All tilings work like a charm ; 
 And ere io-morrow's sun does shine, 
 
 We will be safe from harm. 
 
 " The first vessel tlfat I came to, 
 
 Was just about to sail 
 For Cuba, and a thought struck me 
 
 For to the Captain hail. 
 He did at first refuse to wait, 
 
 For his sails were all set; 
 His sailors had been on a spree, 
 
 And he was in a pet. 
 
 "At last I told him if he'd wait, 
 
 But just three hours for me, 
 That I would give him twenty pounds 
 
 Besides the usual fee. 
 He did consent to this at last, 
 
 And now if we succeed, 
 We'll soon be sailing from this port, 
 
 And from all danger freed. 
 
 *' The Captain and the sailors are 
 
 All Spaniards to a man ; 
 So you can see the girl can not 
 
 Their language understand." 
 "Well, Captain, this is fortunate, 
 
 For I have always thought 
 That the young girl would tell he name. 
 
 And would our plans all balk. 
 
 " I understand the Spanish tongue, 
 
 And speak it with great ease ; 
 And if I'd known you could it speak, 
 
 We could have had more peace. 
 We could have talked fearless of harm, 
 
 And might have saved John's life; 
 But then, perhaps, he now" would be, 
 
 Ready for some Dew strife. 
 
 " But, Captain, we must be to work, 
 
 Or we will be too late ; 
 You know, to get the ship on fire, 
 
 Much precious time will take. 
 I've got the tar nicely arranged, 
 
 To fire it Pll now go ; 
 But do not make an outcry till 
 
 I come up from below." 
 
 Thus raying, Philip went below, 
 
 To set the ship on fire ; 
 He quickly did the dreadful deed, 
 
 And then he did retire. 
 The burning tar did swiftly spread, 
 
 And filled the ship with smoke ; 
 And soon the silence of the night, 
 
 By fearful cries was broke. 
 
 A fire on land is bad enough, 
 
 But on the raging deep 
 A ship on fire will chill the heart, 
 
 And make the fearless weep. 
 The cry of fire did startle all ; 
 
 Confusion reigned supreme — 
 The women were greatly alarmed, 
 
 The children loudly screamed. 
 
 But soon the Captain's voice was heard, 
 
 He told them no; to be 
 Alarmed but quickly leave the fire, 
 
 And from the ship to flee. 
 The boats were quickly loaded by 
 
 The sailors of the ship, 
 And swiftly did the many boats 
 
 O'er the dark waters skip. 
 
 Young Philip soon found to his joy, 
 
 His victim got no aid 
 From the afrighted passengers, 
 
 That on the ship still staid. 
 He went to her and ask'd her if 
 
 She any aid did need? 
 And oh ! this injured woman did 
 
 The rascal'3 aid receive. 
 
 He did collect the woman's goods. 
 
 And laid them in a heap ; 
 So when another boat arrived, 
 
 She safely could retreat. 
 He spilled a box with pictures filled, 
 
 Upon the cabin flour ; 
 Instead of finding them again, 
 
 He scattered them the more. 
 
 When Philip saw the boats arrive, 
 
 He told her that he'd spilled, 
 When he was in her room just now, 
 
 A box with pictures filled. 
 'Oh, sir," said she, " that box was filled 
 
 With pictures of my kin ; 
 My husband's was among the lot, 
 
 Please, sir, go and find him !" 
 
 •' I'd gladly do as you request. 
 
 But see, the boats have come ; 
 I'll have to put your things in them, 
 
 It quicklv must be done. 
 But while I'm filling up a boat. 
 
 You can leave your girl here, 
 And run into your room and find 
 
 The pictures you hold dear. 
 
 '' The fire is not gaining much now, 
 
 They may yet put it out; 
 You need not fear no danger there, 
 
 You'll find them all no doubt. 
 I'll keep your daughter from all harm. 
 
 So do not tarry here ; 
 You havy so many things on board, 
 
 They'll fill two boata I fear." 
 
BLACK HEART S RfiVE.VOB. 
 
 29 
 
 The woman stayed to hear no more, 
 
 And to her room she went ; 
 But, for this act, she many years 
 
 Did bitterly lament. 
 How little did the woman dream, 
 
 Of the great grief in store, 
 When she did go to search for the 
 
 Pictures upon the floor! 
 
 Young Philip seized the chest of gold. 
 
 Blackheart the woman's child, 
 And in a moment more they were 
 
 Upon the waters wild. 
 Thus the foul deed at last was done, 
 
 The dreadful vow fulfilled; 
 ^Laugh, laugh, vile monster while ye cafe 
 
 Your foes are not all killed ! 
 
 The little girl had fell, asleep, 
 
 And she did sleep so sound 
 That when she did awake again, 
 
 Her friend was not around. 
 Blackheart did tell a dreadful tale 
 
 About her mother's fate ; 
 But at another time we will 
 
 These things more clearly state. 
 
 " vVell, Captian, was not this well done ?" 
 
 Said Philip in great glee, 
 When they had got out of the light 
 
 So that none could them see. * 
 
 -• Things did look very dark at first, 
 
 But did at last come right ; 
 I guess the woman will not soon 
 
 Forget my aid to night ! 
 
 "'Twas well I spilled those pictures fine 
 
 In the way that I did ; 
 I hope she'll find her husband's face 
 
 Among the others hid. 
 Ha, ha, I guess she smells a rat, 
 
 I'm sure I heard her scream ; 
 I guess that when she finds us out, 
 
 She'll wish she'd careful been !" 
 
 The Spanish ship was quickly reached, 
 
 And soon they sailed away, 
 Well pleased with all they had just done. 
 
 Oh, wretches vile were they ! 
 Blackheart did tell the Spaniards that 
 
 He had just lost his wife ; 
 And that he wished to Cuba go. 
 
 And there to end his life. 
 
 The knaves could now lay ail their plan", 
 
 What to do when on land ; 
 For not a man upon the ship, 
 
 Could English understand. 
 They often laughed at what they'd done. 
 
 With Truman and his 'wife ; 
 And often wondered if the man 
 
 Upon the Isle still lived. 
 
 They did agree that 'twould be best 
 
 To settle far. from sea, 
 vSo that they could enjoy their lives 
 
 And from danger be free. 
 The Isle that they were going t« 
 
 They thought was just rhe place 
 To cover up their sinful crimes, 
 
 And save them from disgrace. 
 
 When they arrived upon the Isle, 
 
 They looked around with care, 
 To find a hotel where they. could 
 
 In safety now repair. 
 They soon found one to suit their minds, 
 
 Kept by a Spanish man, 
 Who could not speak no other tongue, 
 
 Nor English understand. 
 
 They feared the child would them betray, 
 
 If she saw any one 
 That she could prattle to about, 
 
 Her lost friends and her home. 
 Blackheart did think she'd soon forget, 
 
 About her sorrows sore ; 
 And he was very kind to her 
 
 And soon she wept no more. 
 
 Blackheart became acquainted with, 
 
 A Spanish lady fair; 
 They seemed to like each other well-, 
 
 And soon they married were. 
 He told her that the child he had, 
 
 Was a poor orphan lone, 
 That he had saved from cruel death 
 
 Far from her native home. 
 
 The lady had a tender heart, 
 
 As well as a face sweet; 
 And the sad tale that Blackheart told, 
 
 Did cause her for to weep. 
 She saiofshe would a mother be, 
 
 To the poor orphan girl ; 
 And she did always keep her word, 
 
 While she liv'd in this world. 
 
 They now began to look around 
 
 To find a pleasant farm, 
 Far from seaooast, so that they 
 
 Would be safe from all harm. 
 Young Philip heard of a fine farm 
 
 Which far in-land did lay, 
 And fearing that it would be sold 
 
 He quickly went away." 
 
 The chest of gold which they had srole, 
 
 From off the burning ship, 
 Had all been counted, but it had 
 
 Not been divided yet. 
 It was left in the little chest, 
 
 To be kept from all harm. 
 While Philip went away to see 
 
 If he could buy a farm. 
 
30 
 
 R L A C K It U A KT's K K V K XU R . 
 
 But often strange things will take place, jBut. ere 1 tell of this event, 
 
 Among both mice and men, 
 And soou the author of this tale 
 
 A strange event will pen. 
 But then, perhaps, some one will sa\ 
 
 " All that you've wrote is strange; 
 We never read a stranger tale, 
 
 We're 9ure you are deranged !" 
 
 I will have to return 
 Back to the ship which we have seen, 
 
 Was by these two men burned. 
 And when I tell you the sad tale, 
 
 Of Mr Truman's wife, 
 I will tell you the story of 
 
 Blackheart's great cheat and life. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 »?Irs. Truman beeome§ aware of her L,o$i. 
 
 ¥1TH nimble steps the woman went, 
 Into her room to find 
 The pictures of her relatives. 
 Whom she had left behind 
 Young Philip had took so much pains, 
 
 To scatter them around, 
 That she did have to look with care 
 Before them all she found. 
 
 At last she found all that she wished, 
 
 And quickly went away ; 
 Rejoicing that she soon world be 
 
 Out of all danger's way. 
 But horror ! horror ! not a trace, 
 
 Of her child could be seen ; 
 Half dead with fright she gazed around 
 
 And then did loudly scream : 
 
 " Where have the wretches took my child ? 
 
 Oh ! tell me, tell me, do ? 
 My husband they have took from me, 
 
 Now Isabel's gone too.'" 
 Thus saying, she did swoon and fall 
 
 Upon the burning deck ; 
 The sailors bore her senseless from 
 
 The now fast sinking wreck. 
 
 When she returned to conciousness, 
 
 She found herself on land ; 
 And many friends around her stood 
 
 To lend a helping hand. 
 She told them that she feared her foes. 
 
 Had stole her only child ; 
 But the kind-hearted sailors thought 
 
 That she was very wild. 
 
 They told her not to be alarmed. 
 
 And all would soon come right ; 
 For that the fire was gaining fast, 
 
 Was what did cause their flight. 
 But when the sailors did inquire, 
 
 For the false-hearted men ; 
 And found that no one saw them land, 
 
 Began to comprehend. 
 
 That the poor moraan's fe;irs were not 
 Groundless as they supposed, 
 
 And for to aid her find her child 
 They many plans proposed. 
 
 But all their searching proved in vain, 
 
 For no one even thought 
 The knaves were still upon the deep ; 
 
 And so in vain they sought. 
 
 When the kind-hearted sailors heard 
 
 How she had been deceived, 
 By the young knave upon the ship, 
 
 Their wrath was great indeed. 
 And now the woman saw with grief, 
 
 That she had acted wrong ; 
 [By not informing them that she 
 
 Suspected him so strong. 
 
 [Had they suspected that Truman 
 
 Had been enticed away, 
 And then betrayed and left behind, 
 
 In solitude to stay. 
 They would have rendered justice strict 
 
 To the false-hearted men ; 
 And run the ship back to the Isle, 
 
 And rescued him again. 
 
 But the poor woman thought they all, 
 
 Against her were combined ; 
 And that hei safety did require 
 
 Her silence for a time. 
 She had resolved to have the men 
 
 Arrested for this deed ; 
 But now, alas ! they had escaped, 
 
 And left her in great need. 
 
 For the vile wretches, as we've seen, 
 
 Not only stole her child. 
 But stole her property likewise, 
 
 In the confusion wild. 
 The loss that caused her the most pain, 
 
 (Except her grief intense ;) 
 Was the directions where to find 
 
 Her brother's residence. 
 
 Her brother had not lived in the 
 City but a short time. 
 
 When he did write the letter that 
 Called Truman to this clime. 
 
 And now she knew not where to go 
 To find her only friend ; 
 
 And all her seeking proved in vain- 
 How is this all to end? 
 
BLACKHEARTS REVENGE. 
 
 31 
 
 Bereft of both husband and child, 
 
 And in a strange land too ; 
 There seemed to be no ray of hope 
 
 To cheer this woman true. 
 With hope high bounding in her heart, 
 
 She left her native land ; 
 But now, alas ! her friends were gone. 
 
 And she alone must stand. 
 
 When she did find that she could not 
 
 Find her loved brother's home, 
 She knew not hardly what to do, 
 
 But something must be done. 
 She still did think that her child was 
 
 In the great city hid : 
 And she resolved that she would stay, 
 
 If men her work would give. 
 
 With this intent she sold some things 
 
 That the knaves had not stole ; 
 And rented a small room so that 
 
 She could work, and behold 
 The people as they did pass by 
 
 Her dwelling to and fro; 
 She fondly hoped that in this way, 
 
 She'd soon detect her foe. 
 
 But as day after day passed by. 
 
 Without her seeing him, 
 Her hopes of finding her loved child, 
 
 Did daily grow more dim, 
 But still she sewed, and as she work'd 
 
 She'd often cast an eye, 
 Out on the passing throng below, 
 
 In hopes her foe she'd spy. 
 
 One day as she was seeking work, 
 
 She happened io pass by 
 The Postoffice, and as she passed 
 
 A notice she did spy. 
 She paused to read it and soon found, 
 
 To her joy and surprise, 
 There was a lette-r there for her, 
 
 Among those advertised. 
 
 With eagerness she called for it, 
 
 And with surprise did see, 
 That it was mailed at Havana — 
 
 "From whom is this," thought she. 
 She quickly returned to her home, 
 
 To see from whom it came ; 
 It was from Blackheart — and I will 
 
 Have to insert the same : 
 
 " Detested Madam ! thinking that, 
 
 Perhaps, you'd like to hear 
 A few words from me, and your child, 
 
 Who did leave \ou so queer ; 
 Not wishing you to fret yourself 
 
 About us any more, 
 I thought I'd write and let you know, 
 
 Wbv I came to this shore ! 
 
 »* Long years ago I courted you, 
 
 Your riches to obtain, 
 But by some chance you found me out, 
 
 Ere I your wealth did gain. 
 But not content to let me go, 
 
 In peace away from you, 
 You treated me with great disdain, 
 
 And in a rage I flew. 
 
 •'• Your cruel taunts enraged me so 
 
 I then and there did say, 
 That I would on you have revenge ; 
 
 This vow I meant to pay. 
 When I did learn your father failed 
 
 And lost his property, 
 I was quite ^lad we did not wed 
 
 And heir his poverty. 
 
 You do, perhaps, remember that 
 
 I told you that the time, 
 That if you ere did wed a man 
 
 I'd ruin him sometime. 
 Perhaps I have not paid this vow, 
 
 And then, perhaps, I have ? 
 This is a nut for you to crack — 
 
 When crack'd, you'll weep or laugh. 
 
 '• I hope you will not take it hard, 
 
 Because I took your cash ; 
 For 'tis expensive, you well know, 
 
 To rear in style a lass. 
 Now, having heard from us, I hope 
 
 You will contented be, 
 To let me live and long enjoy 
 
 Your well-earned misery ! 
 
 '*' But should you take it in your head, 
 
 To try and seek U5 out, 
 Your daughter's life isn't icorth a Jig — 
 
 So, mind what you're about." 
 Thus wrote the villain, to the one 
 
 That he had brought to grief, 
 Because she had in early life 
 
 Despised the shameless thief. 
 
 Oh, how the woman's heart did ache, 
 
 When she read these base lines ; 
 She knew 'twould be a hopeless task, 
 
 Her darling child to find. 
 She knew he would her daughter slay, 
 
 Ere her he would restore ; 
 And thus she mourned for many years, 
 
 About her losses sore. 
 
 I will not tire the reader with 
 
 The details of her life, 
 For time and space will not permit 
 
 To tell how she did strive. 
 For seven long years the woman did 
 
 Her needle swiftly ply ; 
 But at this time her health did fail, 
 
 She felt that she must die. 
 
32 
 
 BLAOKHBART 8 RKVK\<iK. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Btnrhhcm'S dt-c rives his *0ccomptiee and gors to .Tfir South Wales. 
 
 WHEN Blackheart sent the letter that 
 We spoke of in our last, 
 Ho did begin to realize,. 
 
 What, from his pen had pass'd. 
 He did begin to fear his foe 
 
 Wouid his threat disregard ; 
 ' : I must," thought he, u be careful now, 
 And keep well on my guard." 
 
 Young Philip had not yet returned 
 
 From the place where he went. 
 To see and bargain for a farm 
 
 That would these men content. 
 But I have said sirange things take place, 
 
 A mong both mice and men ; 
 And did agree some time ago, 
 
 A strange event to pen. 
 
 One day, soon after Philip went 
 
 To see about the farm. 
 Blackheart went to the chest of gold ; 
 
 It had received no harm. 
 While he was viewing this great wealth, 
 
 A thought came in his head — 
 "Oh, how I wish this chest of cold, 
 
 Could all be mine !" he said. 
 
 He gazed upon the yellow coins, 
 
 With quite a greedy eye ; 
 And ere he turned to go away. 
 
 A paper he did spy. 
 He took it up and read it through, 
 
 'Twas filled with glowing tales, 
 About a counti'3' new and fair, 
 
 Whose name is New South Wales. 
 
 " If all this paper says is true, 
 
 That is a splendid place ; 
 If I was in that far off land, 
 
 I'm sure I'd feel more sale. 
 I fear the woman will soon try 
 
 To find and get her child ; 
 Oh, what a fool I was to write, 
 
 I'm sure that I was wild." 
 
 He turned his eyes toward the chest, 
 
 A smile came o'er his face ; 
 " I'll act upon this thought," said he, 
 
 And quickly left the place. 
 What strange tho't had come in his mind. 
 
 What mean thing can it be ? 
 My answer to this question is. 
 
 Read on and you will see ! 
 
 He went and did some paper find, 
 And thus the knave did write: 
 
 " Dear Philip : I have heard some news, 
 That does me greatly (right. 
 
 When we did leave tiie burning ship, 
 
 We thought no one did see, 
 In what direction we did l'o, 
 
 But sadly fooled are we. 
 
 f 'A man who saw our movements did 
 
 Watch us w T here we did go, 
 And has reported what he saw 
 
 To my detested foe. 
 She has olfered a great reward, 
 
 To capture you and me ; 
 And I do very greatly fear. 
 
 That soon \ve r il trouble see. 
 
 "Oh, how I wish that you was here, 
 
 I know not what to do ; 
 In all my troubles hitherto, 
 
 I have been helped by you. 
 I'm sure that 'twill be quite unsafe. 
 
 For us to settle here ; 
 But ere this time you've bought the place, 
 
 I very much do fear. 
 
 " There is'a ship in port that will 
 
 For New Orleans set sail, 
 And to that place I now shall go 
 
 To throw her off our trail. 
 If I had time 1 would divide 
 
 That money in the chest, 
 And leave your share, in some one's care, 
 
 So you would feel at rest. 
 
 " But time is very precious now, 
 
 And as it is nor safe 
 To settle in this Island, sir, 
 
 You'll have to leave the place. 
 So I will take the chest with me, 
 
 And leave this place to-day ; 
 I hope that \ou will follow'me, 
 
 Without the least delay. 
 
 "And when we meet again, my boy. 
 
 We never more will pari! 
 To leave you thus upon this Isle, 
 
 Does almost break my heart. 
 But in a few short days we'll meet. 
 
 And io some place we'll go, 
 Where we will never be disturbed 
 
 By my long hated foe." 
 
 " There, that will throw him off my track 
 
 As neatly as a pin ; 
 But won't he rave when he finds out, 
 
 How I have thus fooPd him. 
 Well, let him rave, he will not dare 
 
 To tell about this wrong ; 
 For, if he does, his days on earth 
 
 Will not be very long." 
 
BLACKHEARTS RRVENGB. 
 
 33 
 
 Thus Blackhearr, to himself did talk, 
 
 About what he did write ; 
 To thus deceive his friend in crime, 
 
 Did give him great delight. 
 i( Ha, ha !" laughed he, "when we do meet 
 
 We never more will part ; 
 But we never will meet again, 
 
 If I do now depart. 
 
 " He'll quickly go to New Orleans. 
 
 Expecting to find me; 
 But by that time I will be far, 
 
 Off on the dark blue sea. 
 In New South Wales I'll settle down. 
 
 And lead a peaceful life, 
 For if I stay with Philip he 
 
 Will always be in strife. 
 
 " I do suppose I ought to leave 
 
 Some of the stolen gold, 
 But if I do he '11 seek for me 
 
 And so I'll keep the whole. 
 He is so luckey that he'll find, 
 
 Enough that he can steal ; 
 So he can live like a great prince, 
 
 And seem to honest deal." 
 
 Thus talked the wrethch of one 
 That had assisted him, 
 
 To execute his dreadful vow 
 Against the woman's kin. 
 
 One would supose that he would feel- 
 That he was doing wrong, 
 
 To cheat his young accomplice thus, 
 That had helped him so long. 
 
 But when we look back and see, 
 
 How heartless he had been 
 To the poor woman he did hate, 
 
 Our wonderment must end. 
 Young Philip Preston lelt the gold, 
 
 Without a fear of harm, 
 In Blackheart's hands, while he did go 
 
 To see and buy the farm. 
 
 But Philip did deserve to be, 
 
 Thus treated by his friend ; 
 Although the Author's heart is far 
 
 From stealing to commend. 
 If he had known the heart of man, 
 
 (Although a hardened thief,) 
 He would not frust a man who had 
 
 A female brought to grief. 
 
 But Providence is always just 
 
 Though we can't always see — 
 That all her ways are just and right, 
 
 As they do prove to be. 
 Had Philip thought that his base friend 
 
 Would steal away his gold, 
 It is supposed, by one who knows, 
 
 This tale would ne'er been told. 
 
 But I'm digressing from my tale, 
 
 And to it must come back ; 
 For Blackheart is a dreadful rogue, 
 
 We must not lose his track. 
 Soon after he did write that lie, 
 
 About his being found, 
 By the woman he did hate, 
 
 He mused awhile profound. 
 
 '* Yes, I will go to New South Wales, 
 
 That is the land for me ; 
 Ere Philip to this city comes, 
 
 I far away will be. 
 As luck will have it, there's a ship 
 
 That will to-morrow sail; 
 I'll go and see the Captain now, 
 
 So my plan can not fail." 
 
 He quickly went on board the ship. 
 
 The Captain for to see, 
 And make arrangements, so that he 
 
 Could on the morrow flee. 
 •But there was something that did vex 
 
 Him very much indeed, 
 And that was to contrive some plan 
 
 His fair wife to deceive. 
 
 " Ah, now I have it — I will tell 
 
 That I have heard from him, 
 And that he can not buy the land 
 
 That he to see has been. 
 I'll tell her that he's wrote to me, 
 
 For New South Wales to go ; 
 And that he has already gone — 
 
 She'll be deceived I know. 
 
 " When Philip reads my letter through, 
 
 He'll not inquire for me ; 
 But quickly leave Havana and 
 
 To New Orleans will flee. 
 But if he should enquire for me, 
 
 I'll tell the people here 
 That I to New Orleans have gone — 
 
 He'll follo-v without fear." 
 
 He then did go and tell his wife, 
 
 All he intended to ; 
 And told her that they'd have to go, 
 
 To that famed country new. 
 She was surprised to hear of this 
 
 But quickly did prepare, 
 To leave her friends and kindred dear 
 
 And on the ship repair. 
 
 I will not tire the reader with 
 
 The details of their voyage, 
 For 'tis my aim to be quite brief 
 
 And minor things avoid. 
 At last they did arrive quite safe 
 
 To that far distant land, 
 And the vile wretch was greatly pleased 
 
 With his successful plan. 
 
34 
 
 BLACK HKAltT 8 REVK.NUK. 
 
 But he was somewhat at a loss 
 
 For to some way contrive, 
 To tell why Philip was not here 
 
 To satesfy his wife. 
 While he was thinking of these things, 
 _ He heard of a line ship 
 That had been lost, and he told her 
 
 That Philip went in it. 
 
 She did believe his cunning talk, 
 
 And he now felt at rest ; 
 He now could use without a fear, 
 
 The wealth that he posessed. 
 He looked around the colony, 
 
 And then did settle down, 
 Upon a large and pleasant farm, 
 
 Not far from Sidney town. 
 
 He was unfriendly to all men, 
 
 His neighbors did him shun; 
 He would not trust his fellow man 
 
 For fear he'd be undone. 
 Thus he was soon without a friend, 
 
 Save his fair wfie and child ; 
 To whom he did seem much attached, 
 
 While fortune on him smiled. 
 
 All went on well for many years, 
 
 His wealth did fast increase ; 
 And this bad man seemed destined to 
 
 Enjoy a life of peace- 
 He owned the largest flocks of sheep 
 
 To his rich pastures graze, 
 Of any one in all the land — 
 
 With pride he on them gazed. 
 
 Though fortune may for a long time 
 
 Smile on the unjust man, 
 And frown upon the humble yet 
 
 'Tis to aid some wise plan. 
 Had Blackheart been unfortunate, 
 
 In all he undertook, 
 He would undoubtedly have soon 
 
 Sheep raising quite forsook. 
 
 The more he got the more he craved, 
 
 And soon his flocks did feed 
 Far from the place where he did dwell, 
 
 To satisfy his greed. 
 But "riches will take wings and fly," 
 
 Says an old proverb true. 
 And sometimes does disappear, 
 
 Like the fine evening dew. 
 
 Undoubtedly you all do know 
 
 That this fair sunny land, 
 Is often scouraged by dreadful drouth, 
 
 Too terrible to stand. 
 
 This is the greatest draw back to 
 
 This interesting place, 
 But, oh, it is a dreadful sight 
 
 •Their ravages to trace. 
 
 About six months before the time, 
 
 Our thriving tale begins, 
 There was another dreadful drouth, 
 
 The greatest that had been. 
 The grass became dry as the sand, 
 
 The few streams too was dry ; 
 And many thousand splendid sheep 
 
 Did in a few weeks die. 
 
 Blackheart sustained a dreadful loss, 
 
 And ere the drouth was o'er, 
 His beautiful and tender wife 
 
 Did droop to rise no more. 
 Thus in a few short months his wealth 
 
 Which had increased three fold, 
 Did dwindle down so that he had 
 
 Not much more than he stole. 
 
 His neighbors now witn sorrow saw, 
 
 That the young girl he had 
 Stole from her mother years ago, 
 
 Looked very pale and sad. 
 They thought at first that it was grief, 
 
 Caused by her mother's death, 
 That caused the lonely girl to weep, 
 
 And seemed so much depressed. 
 
 But soon they saw that Blackheart did 
 
 111 treat the injured one, 
 Although they little did suspect 
 
 Why the sad change come. 
 He had till now been very kind, 
 
 Her wishes was his law ; 
 But now, alas ! he wrath fully, 
 
 Was watching every flaw. 
 
 They did supose that his great loss, 
 
 Was the true cause of this ; 
 And that he would in a short time, 
 
 Well treat the lovely Miss. 
 They did not dare to intercede, 
 
 In the poor girl's behalf ; 
 Although they sympathised with her, 
 
 They feared the wretches wrath. 
 
 The reader has already seen, 
 
 How she has been waylaid ; 
 And would have been slain in the woods. 
 
 If she had not had aid. 
 But we will drop this subject now, 
 
 And at some future time 
 Will let the young girl tell her tale, 
 
 And tell of Blackboards crime. 
 
BLACKHEART'b HKVEXGE. 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Jflr. jf'rtiutan en the Island. 
 
 ¥HEN Mr. Truman reached the Pie, 
 With his pretended friend. 
 They loaded up the muskets that 
 
 The Cup tain did them lend. 
 They did not stand as Philip said 
 Entranced with the tine scene, 
 Although it was a lovely spot 
 As their eyes ere had seen. 
 
 They soon set out to seek for game, 
 
 Leaveing the men to fill [them, 
 
 The casks that they had brought with 
 
 From a small but clear rill. 
 They wandered over the western part 
 
 Of the small Island lone, 
 But saw no game that they could shoot, 
 
 The} feared that there was none. 
 
 At last young Philip shot a bird, 
 
 Which was quite large and black ; 
 But would not hear to Truman's words, 
 
 That they should now turn back. 
 He said the men would call to them 
 
 When it was time to go. 
 And that he did intend to try 
 
 And shoot another Crow. 
 
 Soon after he did kill the bird, 
 
 He did propose that they 
 Should make a circuit of the Pie, 
 
 To see what they could slay. 
 He said the Island was so small, 
 
 They could each other hear ; 
 And when they heard the sailors' call, 
 
 Eor the boat they could steer. 
 
 But Mr. Truman said he feared, 
 
 That this plan was not good ; 
 For though the Island might be small, 
 
 'Twas filled with vines and wood. 
 He thought they should together keep, 
 
 For it would be more safe ; 
 " And now," said he, "'tis nearly time, 
 
 We should our steps retrace." 
 
 Young Philip seemed quite angry but 
 
 He did try to keep calm, 
 But ever and anon he'd speak 
 
 Of" his defeated plan. 
 Kind hearted Truman saw this change, _ 
 
 But he did nothing say ; 
 And soon the young man's anger did 
 
 Seem to all pass away. 
 
 Soon after this Truman did shoot 
 
 And wounded a fiue'Hare, 
 That did quite near its burrow stand, 
 
 And at the strangers stare. 
 
 lit ran into its burrow ere 
 
 The men could reach its hole, 
 
 But the fresh blood did plainly show 
 That his true aim had told. 
 
 Well, I declare this is too bad, 
 
 I thought we'd get him sure 
 To lose the little fellow thus, 
 
 Is more than I'll endure." 
 
 But how," said Mr. Truman, "will 
 
 You get the creature out! 
 His hole appears to be quite deep, 
 
 We'll lose him without doubt." 
 
 " Oh, no my friend, we've walked to far, 
 
 To let the fellow go, 
 And if you'll stay and watch the hole, 
 
 I'll run and get a hoe. 
 I'll soon be back the boat can not 
 
 Be very far from here ; 
 I'm sure we will the creature get, 
 
 If we but persevere." 
 
 Thus, saying, Philip hastened off, 
 
 As fast as he could go, 
 Leaving his friend to watch the hole, 
 
 While he ran for the hoe. 
 But just as soon as he did get, 
 
 Completely out of sight, 
 He daubed his face and hands with blood, 
 
 The sailors for to fright. 
 
 We've seen why he did thus betray, 
 
 His unsuspecting friend ; 
 And so I will not in this place, 
 
 Rehearse it o'er again. 
 The plot to fool the sailors did, 
 
 As I've already shown, 
 Prove to successful and the man 
 
 Was left to die alone. 
 
 But Mr. Truman did not know, 
 
 That he was thus betrayed ; 
 And not suspecting any harm, 
 
 Before the hole long staid. • 
 But when his friend did not return, 
 
 At the appointed time, 
 He feared that he had missed his way, 
 
 And could not the boat find. 
 
 At last he did become alarmed, 
 
 And from the hole did go ; 
 And soon, to his astonishment, 
 
 He found young Philip's Crow. 
 The bird was torn from limb to limb, 
 
 " What can this strange sight mean. 
 Thought Mr. Truman, in alarm, 
 
 But were the reason seen. 
 
 [For continuation of thin chapter see page 37.] 
 
36 
 
 BLACKHBAKTS KEVK.MtiR. 
 
 " Alas, my friend I knew him well, 
 
 But he is now no more ; 
 He died about the time you tbo't you 
 
 Did leave your native shore. 
 His beautiful and tender wife, 
 
 Did die at the same time ; 
 And nothing now does mark their graves 
 
 Excepting a small pine." 
 
 " Alas, there seems to be no hope, 
 
 All does seem dark and drear ; 
 I thought that there would be no doubt, 
 
 Of finding Charly here. 
 But did he not some children leave ? 
 
 I know he did have one, 
 A little boy of three years old, 
 
 When I did start to come. 
 
 "I never knew he had a'child — 
 
 I knew not of his wealth — 
 He was not then in business here, 
 
 For he did have poor health. 
 He did his trading at my store. 
 
 But all at once he ceased ; 
 I knew not what to make of this. 
 
 For with me he seemed pleased. 
 
 " One of my clerks then told me that, 
 
 Tbe poor man was found dead, 
 About a week before this time, 
 
 Reclining on his bed. 
 Now this is all that I have learned, 
 
 Perhaps his child lives yet ; 
 I'll do my best to find him out, 
 
 And information get. 
 
 *■'• Well, my dear sir, what would you do 
 
 If you were in my place ? 
 I do not know how I can find, 
 
 Of my friends any trace." 
 " Your question is quite hard my friend, 
 
 But I will answer you, 
 And tell you how, I think you can, 
 
 From your friends find a clue. 
 
 " You say that you a Doctor are, 
 
 Your skill is great no doubt ; 
 And I do* hope by this you can, 
 
 Your friends and foes find out. 
 'Tis now a very sickly time. 
 
 And you will patients find ; 
 And what is more, you can inquire 
 
 For your friends all the time. 
 
 " You will have time to write to friends, 
 
 That does in England dwell ; 
 And thus find out if those you love, 
 
 Are there alive and well. 
 Perhaps they in this city are, 
 
 If so your trade will help 
 To find your family at last, 
 
 In sickness or in health." 
 
 " My friend your plan is very good, 
 
 But you can see that I 
 Am now so poor that I can not — 
 
 It is no use to try. 
 The Captain that did take me here, 
 
 Did a few dollars give ; 
 So that while I've been staying here, 
 
 I have made out to live, 
 
 " Despond not friend, I'll give you aid, 
 
 And that with pleasure to ; 
 I owe your father a great debt, 
 
 Which I will pay to you." 
 ; ' You owe my father, did you say? 
 
 Pray, how can this thing be ? 
 He has been dead this many years, 
 
 You must explaiu to me. 
 
 " Yes, friend, I owe your father much, 
 
 And it you'll list to me, 
 I'll tell you something now about 
 
 My early history. 
 My father died when I was young, 
 
 And he did nothing leave 
 To my poor mother who was old 
 
 For to her wants relieve. 
 
 " With my good health though young in 
 
 I did make out to earn [years. 
 
 Enough to feed and clothe us both, 
 
 My mother did me learn. 
 Thus all went well while health was good, 
 
 And I was happy quite ; 
 With cheerfulness I worked all day, 
 
 And learned by candlelight. 
 
 li When I had reached my eighteenth year, 
 
 One of my legs I broke ; 
 Thus I was helpless and cast down, 
 
 By an unlooked for stroke. 
 My mother sent a little lad, 
 
 To a young Doctor near, 
 But knowing that we were quite poor, 
 
 The brute would nothing hear. 
 
 t( My limb was swelling very bad, 
 
 Each hour did seem an age ; 
 No friendly Doctor did come near, 
 
 For my pain to assuage. 
 My mother was quite feeble but 
 
 She could not see me lay, 
 And suffer thus without some aid, 
 
 With tears she went away. 
 
 " Two Doctors did refuse to cotno, 
 
 But she did not despair : 
 And when she did another find, 
 
 He to me did repair. 
 This noble man soon set my limb, 
 
 And when he heard my talo. 
 He gave my mother twenty pounds, 
 
 To use till I got well. 
 
RI.ACKHEARTS REVENGE. 
 
 37 
 
 He followed on in Philip's trail, 
 
 And soon he came in sight 
 Of the fine place where they did land, 
 
 He now thought all was right. 
 He kuew not what the silence meant, 
 
 That now reigned all around ; 
 None of the sailors were in sight, 
 
 And he heard not a sound. 
 
 But all the casks, with water filled, 
 
 Were standing by the rill, 
 Near by the place where they did land, 
 
 At the foot of a hill. 
 But what the death-like silence meant. 
 
 Was more than he did know. 
 And with a fearful heart he did 
 
 In search of the boat go. 
 
 " The boat and all the men have gone, 
 
 On purpose to tease me," 
 Thought Truman, as he climbed the hill 
 
 To look out on the sea. 
 Oh, horror, horror! what a sight, 
 
 Did meet the poor man's eye ; 
 He saw the men all in the boat, 
 
 And to the ship were nigh. 
 
 But when he did remember that 
 
 The casks were left on land, 
 He thought that they would soon return, 
 
 And he became more calm. 
 But his fond hopes were quickly dash'd ; 
 
 He saw. to his dismay, 
 That when the boat did reach the ship 
 
 She quickly sailed away. 
 
 When he saw this he fell prostrate, 
 
 With grief upon the ground ; 
 And ere he was aware of it, 
 
 The bright sun had gone down. 
 For half a day he thus did lay, 
 
 With almost bursting heart, 
 To see his dearest friends on earth 
 
 From his kind care depart. 
 
 " Why am I left upon this Isle, 
 
 This Island small and lone, 
 Far off from all the aid of man, 
 
 Without a friend or home V 
 These questions he did ask himself, 
 
 But he did not mistrust 
 For many, many weary hours, 
 
 Why he had been served thus ? 
 
 At last he thought of what his wife 
 
 Had told him o'er and o'er, 
 About the Captain of the ship, 
 
 He doubted now no more. 
 " Alas,!" said he, "fool that I am. 
 
 To be by them deceived ; 
 Why did I laugh at my poor wife, 
 
 Why did I not believe ?" 
 
 When he made up his mind that he 
 
 Was ruined by this man, 
 He did remember some strange things 
 
 He ne'er did understand. 
 He did remember how these men, 
 
 (The Captain and his friend,) 
 Had spent much time together and 
 
 Had seem'd to shun the men. 
 
 "Alas ! how trusting I have been, 
 
 And trusting, too, to one 
 That had himself a rascal proved, 
 
 While yet in years was young." 
 But while he thought upon these things, 
 
 The sun was sinking down ; 
 And the poor man did have to lay 
 
 Once more upon the ground. 
 
 He lay down near the water casks, 
 
 Hoping that the bad men 
 Would yet some pitty take on him, 
 
 And come for him again. 
 But at this time the wicked men 
 
 Were sailing far away, 
 And were this moment making sport 
 
 Of those they did betray. 
 
 The morning came and still the ship 
 
 Had not yet come in sight, 
 And the poor man did now despair, 
 
 And well the poor man might. 
 The morning sun was shining bright, 
 
 The happy birds did sing ; 
 The wind now blowing from the south, 
 
 Did balmy odors bring. 
 
 I Yet he saw not the morning sun, 
 
 He heard not the birds sing ; 
 He noted not the cool soft breeze 
 
 Which odors sweet did bring. 
 His mind was now upon the sea, 
 
 In search of his fair wife, 
 And likewise his young daughter dear, 
 
 Whom he lov'd more than life. 
 
 With bitter tears he thought upon, 
 
 The way he was betrayed ; 
 And now he vainly wished that he, 
 
 Upon the ship had stay'd. 
 He now remembered how that he 
 
 Had been pursuaded by 
 Young Philip, to come upon land, 
 
 And how his tongue did fly. 
 
 Fie also did remember now 
 
 How angry he did seem, 
 When he refused to separate 
 
 The day before with him. 
 "Alas ! how blinded I have been, 
 
 By this deceitful knave, 
 To be thus taken from my friends, 
 
 Is cruel as the grave." 
 
38 
 
 m.ACKllKA!!'!' S RF.VRNGE. 
 
 Thus the poor man did weep and mourn, 
 
 His heart did almost break, 
 While he did thick about his friends, 
 
 And of his own hard late. 
 His grief was still so very sore, 
 
 He took no note of time ; 
 And ere he was aware of it, 
 
 The sun did cease to shine. 
 
 In mute despair he did lay down, 
 
 Upon the ground again ; 
 For two long nights he had no slept, 
 
 For he watch'd for the men. 
 But now he did not look for them. 
 
 And soon he fell asleep ; 
 He dreamed he saw some one approach, 
 
 And to him thus did speak : 
 
 <k Bad men have planned your ruin, sir, 
 
 But they will not succeed ; 
 Your wife and child you yet will see, 
 
 Your foes shall come to grief. 
 Go to the south, you'll find a friend, 
 
 So. do not lay and weep ; 
 But ere you see your child again, 
 
 Three times you'll cross the deep." 
 
 With a glad cry he did awake — 
 
 " Who spoke to me ?" he said ; 
 <c Alas, alas ! it is a dream, 
 
 That has pass'd through my head. 
 The sun was shining bright and clear, 
 
 All nature seemed to be 
 Dressed in a splendid robe of green, 
 
 From shrub to the tall tree. 
 
 But he was still insensible, 
 
 Of what was passing 'round ; 
 The charms of nature he saw not, 
 
 His grief was so profound. 
 His grief was for his wife and child, 
 
 Who was now far away, 
 And in the hands of those arch fiends 
 
 Who did their friends betray. 
 
 But hunger now began to warn 
 
 Him of his dreadful fate. 
 For since he left the ship he had 
 
 Not yet one mouthful ate. 
 " Go to the south, you'll find a friend," 
 
 Kept running through his head ; 
 These words he dream'd the night before. 
 
 While on his cold damp bed. 
 
 "Alas ! I'll quickly find a friend, 
 
 But that friend will be Death ; 
 My troubles all will soon be o'er, 
 
 I soon will be at rest." 
 Thus saying, he went to the rill, 
 
 And quenched his burning thirst ; 
 Then thinking of his dear lost friends, 
 
 Into tears he did burst. 
 
 At last he did become more calm, 
 
 And knowing he must die, 
 If he could find nothing to eat, 
 
 He rose up with a sigh. 
 " I can but die if I go south, 
 
 I can not live long here ; 
 I'll go and meet my friendly death. 
 
 And meet it without fear." 
 
 He rose to go, but he was weak 
 
 For want of food and rest, 
 But thought he'd take his gun along — 
 
 'Twas all he did possess. 
 Then looking where the casks did lay, 
 
 He heav'd a bitter siirh ; 
 Then, to the south he bent his steps, 
 
 Not doubting he must die. 
 
 With weary feet and aching heart, 
 
 'The poor man walked along. 
 Until at last his little strength 
 
 Seem'd to be almost gone. 
 " If I must die. I will die here 
 
 Beneath this tall palm tree ; 
 Come, welcome death ; do not delay, 
 
 But quickly set me free." 
 
 In calm despair he did sit down. 
 
 Beneath the tall palm tree. 
 Desiring that the hand of death ' 
 
 Would quickly set him free. 
 He was soon lost in revery — 
 
 All nature did seem gay — 
 A little bird high o'er his head, 
 
 Did tune her cheerful lay. 
 
 The little bird might sang till dark, 
 
 Without attracting him, 
 If he'd not fancied that he heard 
 
 A distant Violin. 
 He rose to listen, but the bird 
 
 Was all that he could hear ; 
 He thought that 'twas her joyful nong, 
 
 That did attract his ear. 
 
 He did resume his seat again, 
 
 To think about his woe. 
 When, in the distance, he did hear 
 
 A voice both sweet and low. 
 It sounded louder than before 
 
 And in a plaintive tone : 
 The poor man fancied that he heard, f 
 
 The well known tune — "sweet home!' 
 
 With new formed hopes within his heart. 
 
 The poor man did arise. 
 And soon a joyful sight he saw 
 • With his almost dim eyes. 
 He saw a man beneath a trco, 
 
 Not far off from a tent ; 
 And with a very thankful heart, 
 
 Towards the man he went. 
 
KLACK H RA RT'S RKV ENGB. 
 
 39 
 
 When the lone stranger first did see, 
 
 The poor man coming near, 
 lie lay'd his hands upon his gun, 
 
 But he soon lost all fear. 
 He ran to meet the poor weak man, 
 
 Who now could scarcely stand, 
 And lead him quickly to his tent 
 
 That stood quite near at hand. 
 
 The stranger brought Truman some food 
 
 Which soon revived him quite ; 
 And then he told to him his tale, 
 
 And what he dreamed last night. 
 The stranger heard his story through, 
 
 And then did tell his own, 
 Which did explain how he did come 
 
 Upon the Island lone. 
 
 "About ten days ago," said he, 
 
 " The ship that I sail'd in, 
 Did come in sight of this fair Isle, 
 
 Drove by a dreadful wind. 
 The pilot strove with all his might, 
 
 To steer the ship from land ; 
 But all his labors were in vain, 
 
 She on the rocks did strand. 
 
 " We did expect each moment that 
 
 She would to pieces fall ; 
 The stoutest heart upon the ship 
 
 For mercy loud did call. 
 The boats were quickly in the sea, 
 
 And loaded by the men ; 
 I was the last one on the ship, 
 
 I meant to go with them. 
 
 " But ere I could get in the boat, 
 
 It broke loose from the ship. 
 And soon I saw a dreadful wave 
 
 Completely capsize it. 
 Thus I was left upon the ship, 
 
 My comrades were all dead — 
 The\ lay beneath the dark blue sea, 
 
 The waves they no more dread. 
 
 " With aching heart I left the deck, 
 
 And went into my room, 
 Expecting that my cabin would 
 
 Ere morning be my tomb. 
 With thoughts like these I fell asleep, 
 
 And when I did awake 
 The sun was shining bright and clear, 
 
 The ship no more did shake. 
 
 U In great surprise I went on deck, 
 
 To see what I could do ; 
 The Island that we are upon 
 
 Did lay within my view. 
 I went to work and made a raft, 
 
 And came upon the land : 
 I found one of our boats quite whole, 
 
 Though nearly filled with sand. 
 
 " I soon did. get the boat clean'd out, 
 
 And to the ship I went ; 
 The pile of goods that you now see, 
 
 Shows my time was well spent. 
 I have secured quite food enough, 
 
 To last us many years ; 
 But being left here quite alone, 
 
 Has caused me many tears. 
 
 " Four days ago the wind did blow, 
 
 The ship from where she lay ; 
 But she was damaged, so that she 
 
 Did not in sight long stay. 
 My boat did get loose from the shore, 
 
 And drifted from my sight ; 
 And now I am quite thankful that 
 
 I work'd with all my might. 
 
 "After the ship and boat were gone, 
 
 Sc I could no more get, 
 I went to work with all my might 
 
 To things in order set. 
 This tent did cost me many hours 
 
 Of labor to get up, 
 For I did have to go quite far 
 
 To find these poles to cut. 
 
 !" Three days ago while at my work, 
 
 I was thrown in a fright, 
 By hearing, as I thought, a gun 
 
 Far off towards the right. 
 I feared that savages had come 
 
 From a large Island near, 
 That we did pass the day before 
 
 That I was shipwreck'd here. 
 
 k ' But as I did not hear no more, 
 
 I thought it might be 
 My fancy, or a falling limb, 
 
 Which had so startled me. 
 jSo to my work I bravely went, 
 
 With all my strength and might, 
 'Ana soon I had my tent more fit 
 
 To shelter me that night. 
 
 "At last I had my tent complete, 
 
 And did sit down to rest, 
 But sadly did I muse upon 
 
 My state of loneliness. 
 I cast my eyes upon a box, 
 
 Which I knew did contain 
 One of the sailors' violins, 
 
 The sight did cause me pain. 
 
 " 'Take out the violin and play,' 
 
 Seemed whispered in my ear ; 
 I looked around but all I saw 
 
 Was a fine parrot near. 
 I knew not what to think of this, 
 
 But the voice did sound like 
 The owner of the violin, 
 
 But it caus'd mc no fright. 
 
40 
 
 KIATKHKARTV ^bvk.xur. 
 
 " With feelings of awe in my lieart, 
 
 I did begiu to play, 
 And in a low and plaintive tone 
 
 I played a well known lay. 
 1 Play louder,' sounded in my ear, 
 
 I quickly did obey — 
 And soon I heard your footsteps, sir ! 
 
 'All's well !' the voice did say." 
 
 Tears stood in the kind Truman's eyes, 
 
 He thought about the dream 
 That he did have the night before, 
 
 When all so dark did seem. 
 A hope now entered his sad heart, 
 
 That it would all prove true : 
 " Oh, friendly voice ! why did I doubt. 
 
 Thy cheering words so true ?" 
 
 'Twas well the stranger had secured. 
 
 The food from off the wreck ; 
 For many years did pass away, 
 
 Before they more could get. 
 Yes, reader, seven long dreary years, 
 
 These poor men had to stay 
 Upon this little Island lone, 
 
 Ere they could get away ! 
 
 At the end of this dreary time, 
 
 They did one morning see 
 A ship at anchor not far off, 
 
 Which fill'd their hearts with glee ! 
 A boat with sailors soon was manned, 
 
 And row'd towards the spot 
 Where these two lonely men had built 
 
 A little humble cot ! 
 
 The sailors did not seem to know, 
 
 That any one did see 
 Their movements, for they loudly laugh'd 
 
 And merrv seem'd to be ! 
 
 At last one of the men did point 
 
 Towards the anxious men ; 
 They dropp'd their oars, with one accord. 
 
 And wouderiog look'd at them ! 
 
 The grotesque dress of the poor men, 
 
 Did cause them much alarm ; 
 But Truman told them to approach, 
 
 And nothing would them harm. 
 When they discovered that the raeu 
 
 Could their own language talk, 
 They did resume their oars again, 
 
 But they did often halt. 
 
 When they were quite sure that the men 
 
 Did not intend them harm, 
 They did aDproach to where they stood, 
 
 Ashamed of their alarm. 
 They come to see if they could find 
 
 Some water on the Isle, 
 For their ship had been drove before 
 
 Wrong winds for a long time. 
 
 When the kind hearted Captain heard 
 
 The tale of the lone men, 
 He freely did them passage give, 
 
 For once he'd shipwreck'd been. 
 The ship was going to New York, 
 
 With a cargo of tea ; 
 And thus these men, after much toil, 
 
 Was from the Isle set free. 
 
 Oh ! how their hearts did leap for joy ! 
 
 To thus at last be found ; 
 Their food was nearly eaten up, 
 
 And no seed in the ground. 
 The ship was soon upon her way. 
 
 And swiftly she did sail 
 Towards the land of Washington, 
 
 Before a steady gale. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 •fly. Truman meets a friend. 
 
 ¥HEN Mr. Truman did arrive 
 In New York city great, 
 He had some hopes that he could find 
 His friends, though they were faint. 
 For many days he searched in vain, 
 
 To find some trace of them ; 
 At last he did make up his mind, 
 That they had murder'd been. 
 
 "Alas," said he, '•' my wife and child, 
 
 Undoubtedly are dead; 
 Unless, oh, may this hope prove true, 
 
 The\ to their home have fled. 
 If they are not in Liverpool, 
 
 Then I am left to moan 
 In this unfriendly world of sin, 
 
 And end my days alone. 
 
 '-'- But if they are in Liverpool, 
 
 How can I go to them ? 
 The money my friend gave to me, 
 
 I soon shall have to spend. 
 If I had money for to get 
 
 The things that I shall need. 
 To practice my profession here, 
 
 I soon could be relieved." 
 
 While he was, thinking of these things. 
 
 He was surprised to see 
 A man intently watching bim — 
 
 He seemed to friendly be. 
 A sudden hope came in his heart, 
 
 Though why he did not know ; 
 He wished the man would speak to him, 
 
 Whether a friend or foe. 
 
blackheart's revenge. 
 
 41 
 
 The stranger did at last arise, 
 
 And by Truman did stand ; 
 " Premit me, sir," said he, <; to ask 
 
 Is this your native land ?" 
 " No, sir,"l was in England born," 
 
 Was the poor man's reply ; 
 " In Liverpool I did reside. 
 
 And there I hope to die." 
 
 •' Is not your name Henry Truman, 
 
 Archiabal Truman's Son, 
 Whose fame, some forty years ago, 
 
 Was upon every tongue ? 
 " Yes, you have rightly guessed my name; 
 
 Sir, ha^ve you e'er seen me 1 ? 
 I never knew you I believe, 
 
 Yet you know me I see." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I saw you when a child, 
 
 But you've changed much since then ; 
 It i3 your father's looks in you 
 
 That makes you known, my friend. 
 My name is Marcus Newton, sir, 
 
 And I would happy be 
 To hear your narrative, my friend, 
 
 Please tell it, sir, to me?" 
 
 With tears the poor man did comply, 
 
 And did his tale relate ; 
 And after he got through he asked 
 . What course 'twas best to take. 
 " I see, my friend." the kind man said, 
 
 " That you think that your wife 
 Has gone back to her native home, 
 
 If Blackheart spared her life. 
 
 " I hope you'll find that this is so, 
 
 But I do greatly fear 
 That if your wife is still alive, 
 
 She has not gone from here. 
 
 It seems your foe did not intend, 
 
 That you would e'er come 
 To this great city, where you did 
 
 Intend to found a home. 
 
 " It seems to me that 'twas his plan 
 
 To take you from your wife, 
 So that she would unhappy be 
 
 And live a lonely life. 
 Undoubtedly the wretches stole 
 
 Your Nephew's chest of gold, 
 Which you tell me you had on board, 
 
 If he'd dare be so bold. 
 
 " If they stole all your property, 
 
 Which they would likely do, 
 She could not go back to her home — 
 
 Is not this plain to you?" 
 
 Alas, my friend, I never thought 
 
 Of these things, but I tear 
 That what you say is true, and that 
 
 From my wife I'll ne'er hear. 
 
 u The only hope that I now have, 
 
 Is that my wife has found 
 Her brother who lived in this place, 
 
 But he is not around. 
 I have not found a person that 
 
 Can give me any clue 
 To his whereabouts, and I do hope 
 
 He's gone to England too. 
 
 •'What was her brother's name,my friend? 
 
 Prehaps I have seen him, 
 For I have lived long in this place, 
 
 There's few that I've not seen." 
 " Charles Clarence is her brother's name, 
 
 He was a wealthy man — 
 He wrote for me to come and live 
 
 In his adopted land." 
 
 [For a portion of this Chapter now read page 36.] 
 
 " When I got well I went to him, 
 
 To learn how much I owed ; 
 To this kind man who set my limb, 
 
 And had me money loaned. 
 But judge of my asthonishment, 
 
 To have the man refuse 
 To let me pay him the great sum, 
 
 Which had been by us used. 
 
 " At last it seems to satisfy 
 
 My wounded pride,' said he, 
 4 That at some future time he might 
 
 Need as much aid from me. 
 So, my dear b/>y, pray be content, 
 
 And let this matter rest ; 
 And if I ever come to want, 
 
 I then will you address. 
 
 •* Or should you ever wealthy grow, 
 
 And my son should need aid, 
 Remember then my kindness, sir, 
 
 And the debt is paid. 
 I promised that I would do this, 
 
 And we did separate ; 
 And in a few years I did come, 
 
 To this proud city great. 
 
 " The man that did this noble act 
 
 Was your loved father, and 
 I now shall claim the privilege, 
 
 Of giving you a hand. 
 If you'll consent to tarry here 
 
 Until you hear from home, 
 I'll furnish you with all you need, 
 
 For I have wealthy grown. 
 
42 
 
 BLAt'KHEARTS REVENUE. 
 
 ° But if you choose to go back now, 
 I'll freely pa\ your fare ; 
 
 And give you, sir, a handsome sum, 
 To use when you get there." 
 
 " Dear sir, I'll follow your advice, 
 And practice here awhile ; 
 
 But, oh, I (ear I never shall, 
 Hear from my wife and child !" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 .JtTr, Truman fittdi his Wife* 
 
 ¥ 
 
 HEN Marcus Newton told his friend,! 
 
 That 'twas a sickly time, 
 He told the truth, for Truman did 
 
 Soon many patients find. 
 But the poor man could nothing learn, 
 
 From either wife or child ; 
 And my kind readers may well judge, 
 
 His grief was great and wild. 
 
 The winter came with all its woes, 
 
 To the surrounding poor, 
 Who had to toil from morn till night 
 
 And the cold wind endure. 
 The chilling blasts of winter are 
 
 To the poor city man, 
 The greatest trouble he endures — 
 
 But this he has to stand. 
 
 Upon a cold and windy day, 
 
 Our friend Truman did stand, 
 In his warm office looking out 
 
 On the snow-covered land. 
 "Alas !" said he, " in this great place 
 
 Are many helpless ones, 
 That this cold day will greatly try, 
 
 But, hark, some one now comes ! 
 
 He looked around and saw a boy, 
 
 Without a hat or shoe ; 
 His little naked feet were cold, 
 
 So cold that they looked blue. 
 "Kind sir, will you please come and soe, 
 
 Said the boy with a sigh, 
 " A lady who is very sick, 
 
 I fear that she will die !" 
 
 " Yes, my poor boy, I'll go with you," 
 
 Was the kind man's reply ; 
 "Come to the fire and warm yourself, 
 
 You're cold enough to die." 
 While the poor boy stood by the fire 
 
 Mr. Truman went out, 
 But he did soon return with a 
 
 Warm suit of clothes throughout. 
 
 " Here, my dear boy," 6aid he to him, 
 
 " You are too thinly dressed — 
 For it is bitter cold to day, 
 
 You'll surely freeze to death." 
 The boy's astonishment was great, 
 
 He was too full to speak ; 
 But fast the grateful tears did roll, 
 
 Down his young manly cheek. 
 
 " Come, dry your tears my little lad, 
 
 And quickly lead the way. 
 Where I can find your mother dear, 
 
 Who now so sick does lay ." 
 " Oh, sir, the woman that is sick, 
 
 Is not my mother dear ; ^ 
 
 I have no friends now left on earth, 
 
 My sad young life to cheer. 
 
 " The woman is a stranger, sir, 
 
 Who did take care of me, 
 Last summer when I was quite sick : 
 
 Ah, very kind is she. 
 But I am now ready to go, 
 
 And lead you to her room ; 
 But I do fear you are too late 
 
 To save her from the tomb." 
 
 Thus saying, he did lead the way 
 
 As fast as he could go ; 
 The sweat did stand on Truman's face, 
 
 Though fierce the wind did blow. 
 At last he reached the woman's room, 
 
 All did seem death-like still ; 
 The room was very, very cold, 
 
 It seemed that he would chill. 
 
 The room was very neat and clean, 
 
 Though he did plainly see 
 [That the lone inmate of the room, 
 
 Quite poor appeared to be. 
 The woman lay upon her bed, 
 
 Her eyes were closed in sleep ; 
 Her death like face did plainly show, 
 
 The marks of sorrow deep. 
 
 He saw this at a single glance, 
 
 But something else he saw ; 
 The little boy who led him there, 
 
 Was struck with fear and awe. 
 The poor man's face turned deadly palo, 
 
 As he looked on her face ; 
 And soon the tears come in his eye<?, 
 
 And down his cheeks did trace. 
 
 Was it the woman's misery — 
 
 Was it the signs of woe — 
 I That was now portrayed on her face, 
 
 That caused his tears to flow ? 
 ;No, reader, this was not the»cause, 
 
 For he had often been, 
 Among the wretched and the poor, 
 
 Such sights he'd often seen. 
 
BLACKHEARTS REVENGE, 
 
 43 
 
 N o, it was not the cold, cold room, 
 
 That caus'd the man to weep; 
 But, reader, he did know the one, 
 
 That on the bed did sleep. 
 His long lost wife before him lay, 
 
 In this lone room so cold ; 
 But little did the woman dream, 
 
 Who now did her behold ! 
 
 *« 'Tis she, alas ! my daughter's dead, 
 
 She's died in poverty ; 
 But, oh ! I must not stand and weep, 
 
 This room must warmer be !" 
 Thus thought the poor man to himself, 
 
 He dared not speak aloud ; 
 Oh ! what a train of anxious thoughts 
 
 Did on his brain now croud ! 
 
 He motioned to the little boy, 
 
 And softly left the room ; 
 His smiling and good natured face 
 ■ Was overspread with gloom. 
 He'd found his wife, but he did fear 
 
 That she would droop and die, 
 Perhaps before that she could learn 
 
 Her husband was so nigh. 
 
 He then disguised himself so that 
 
 His wife would not him know, 
 For he did fear that she could not 
 
 Stand any sudden blow. 
 He then did get some fuel and 
 
 Back to her room he went, 
 And soon he had a blazing fire 
 
 That would a prince content. 
 
 When the poor woman did awake, 
 
 She was surprised to see 
 A man and boy in her lone room, 
 
 " What does this mean ?" said she. 
 " r'oor woman, do not be alarmed ! 
 
 This boy for me did run ; 
 He says that you are very sick — 
 
 So, to cure you I've come. 
 
 " I see that the brave boy is right, 
 
 But I think some light food 
 And a good nurse is what you need, 
 
 So keep your courage good." 
 With words like these he talk'd to her, 
 
 And bidding her keep still, 
 He did at last rise up and go, 
 
 Though much against his will. 
 
 He went and got a lady to 
 
 Go up and nurse his wife, 
 For nothing but good care he knew 
 
 Oould save the woman's life. 
 He dared not trust himself with her, 
 
 For fear she'd find him out ; 
 " She must not know me yet awhile, 
 
 'Twould kill her I've no doubt!" 
 
 Thus he kept from her a whole week, 
 
 It seem'd an age to him ; 
 The woman's strength quickly return'd, 
 
 And soon she grew less thin. 
 But little did the woman dream, 
 
 Her husband was alive ; 
 And that it was his care that did 
 
 Her health once more revive. 
 
 A.t last he got so anxious to 
 
 Learn his poor daughter's fate, 
 That it did seem to him that he 
 
 Could not much longer wait. 
 So, in disguise he went to her, 
 
 Fully resolved to hear, 
 If the poor woman's health would bear, 
 
 To speak of his child dear. 
 
 ' Good morning, madam ! I am glad 
 
 To see you look so smart ! 
 Yet by your looks it seems you have, 
 
 Some great grief in your heart. 
 If you have no objections. I 
 
 Would like to have you tell, 
 The story of your lonely life, 
 
 And why alone you dwell." 
 
 The woman looked into his face, 
 
 With an inquiring eye ; 
 Her face turned pale, and with a scream 
 
 Into his arms did fly ! 
 " Oh ! Henry, Henry ! it is you ! 
 
 I know your voice quite well! 
 Oh ! are you, are you yet alive ! 
 
 Oh ! husband quickly tell !" 
 
 Yes, dearest Mary ! I'm alive ! 
 
 As you can plainly see ; 
 But pray be calm, or I dare not 
 
 Long m your presence be. 
 I knew you when I first did come, 
 
 Into your cold lone room ; 
 But I did very greatly fear, 
 
 You'd soon be in your tomb. 
 
 if I dared not let myself be known, 
 
 While you so weak did lay ; 
 And this is why I have so long 
 
 From you kept quite away. 
 But our dear Isabel's not here, 
 
 I could no longer wait 
 And so I come in this disguise, 
 
 To learn the poor child's fate." 
 
 " Oh, Henry ! they have robbed us of 
 
 Our only darling child ! 
 They stole her from the burning ship, 
 
 In the confusion wild." 
 Cl Oh, Mary, Mary ! is this true V* 
 
 Said he in agony ; 
 " If this is true pray let me know, 
 
 Where they with her did flee?" 
 
44 
 
 BLACKHEART S REVENUE. 
 
 The woman did not answer him, 
 
 But to a chest did go, 
 And from it took a letter large — 
 
 u Read this and you will know ." 
 Thus, saying, she sat down by him, 
 
 Her face was very pale ; 
 With eagerness she watched his eyes. 
 
 While he read the sad tale. 
 
 The letter that she gave 10 him, 
 
 Was the one Blackheart wrote ; 
 And when the poor man read it through, 
 
 With grief and rage he spoke. 
 " That fiend will yet repent of this, 
 
 I'll search from pole to pole ; 
 But what I will, in life or death, 
 
 My daughter's face behold. 
 
 " But now, dear Mary, tell me all 
 
 You've had to undergo ; 
 Since we've been separated by 
 
 Your base and subtle foe. 
 Oh, had I heard to you and watched 
 
 The movements of this fiend, 
 He never could have scourged us so, 
 
 Nor caused our heats to bleed. 
 
 The woman told him all she'd done, 
 These long and dreary years ; 
 
 And how she'd mourned his cruel death, 
 With bitter, bitter tears. 
 
 The poor man heard her story through, 
 
 And then did his relate ; 
 And told her all he had endured 
 
 Since they did separate. 
 
 " But, oh ! dear Mavy, we are not 
 
 All that has ruined been ; 
 Our Frederic is now a great thief, 
 
 I have just heard from him. 
 The papers say that he has stole, 
 
 Some twenty thousand pounds, 
 And that he will undoubtedly 
 
 For New South Wales be bound. 
 
 " Before we left our native land, 
 
 I foolishly did tell 
 Him of the wealth his father left, 
 
 In this I did not well. 
 I fear he thinks that I have stole, 
 
 What I did hold for him ; 
 And that to partly make this up, 
 
 He has done this great sin. 
 
 " But I will have to leave you now, 
 
 But pray do quiet keep ; 
 I have a friend in this great place, 
 
 Whom I must go and seek. 
 Keep up good courage, for I trust, 
 
 We'll yet our daughter see ; 
 But I must take this dreadful note, 
 
 Which your foe wrote, with me." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 •llr. Truman consults tcith his friend and is advised to go to JLirrrpooI. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Truman left his wife, 
 He left with joy and grief; 
 He was rejoiced to find his wife, 
 
 This gave him much relief. 
 But he did grieve for his lost child, 
 
 Which his vile foe had stole ; 
 " Oh, why ?" tho't he, "could they not be, 
 Content to take the gold." 
 
 With thoughts like these he did arrive 
 
 At the store of his friend, 
 His agitation was still great — 
 
 His grief did his heart rend. 
 " What is the matter now, my friend ?" 
 
 Said Newton in suprise ; 
 '* You have done nothing while in here, 
 
 But drawing long deep sighs. 
 
 " It seems to me that you have met, 
 
 With some great joy or grief; 
 Now tell me frankly which it is, 
 
 Come do my mind relieve?" 
 i( Both," was the poor man's brief reply, 
 
 t: Both joy and grief, my friend ; 
 I've found my wife, but lost my child, 
 
 Thus joy and grief contend ." 
 
 " Have found your wife — why> my dear 
 
 This is good news indeed \ [friend, 
 
 But I am very sorry that 
 
 Your only child is dead." 
 " I did not say that she was dead — 
 
 Ah ! this is not her fate ; 
 If she was dead and in her grave, 
 
 My heart might cease to ache-" 
 
 " My friend, what mishap has took place ? 
 
 I thought by what you said 
 About your loosing your poor child, 
 
 Thai she of course was dead. 
 Something outrageous has took place, 
 
 That I can plainly see : 
 I hope you'll quickly ease my mind, 
 
 By telling all to me ." 
 
 " Yes, my dear friend, I came to tell 
 
 You of my grief so sore, 
 And as your counsel has been good 
 
 Ask your advice once more. 
 You told me that you greatly feared, 
 
 That the vile wretches stole 
 The chest that I tbld you about, 
 
 Which did contain much gold. 
 
black-heart's revenge. 
 
 45 
 
 Alas ! vour fears have all proved true. It would be folly for me, sir. 
 
 And they the gold have stole ; 
 But if they'd let my child alone, 
 
 I could forgive the whole. 
 But they have stole my only child ; 
 
 Sir, read this cruel note, 
 And tell me if you think there is, 
 
 Still for me any hope." 
 
 Thus, saying, Truman handed him 
 
 The aforementioned note ; 
 t: This, sir," said he, " will explain all ! 
 
 You see by whom 'tis wrote." 
 The kind man read the letter through, 
 
 His eyes with anger flashed 
 When he did read the cruel threats, 
 
 Wrote down towards the last. 
 
 " Foul wretch, foul boaster of thy crimes, 
 
 How could you write to one 
 That by your words seems to have ne'er 
 
 You any injury done. 
 Thus the kind hearted man did speak, 
 
 When he had read it through ; 
 His face was almost black with rage, 
 
 'Twas terrible to view. 
 
 But soon he did more calmer grow, 
 
 And turning to his friend — 
 Said he, " these are most dreadful threats, 
 
 That does this letter end. 
 You say you came to ask advice, 
 
 I fear to give it you ; « 
 
 But you must very careful be, 
 
 Rashness will never do. 
 
 i: You seem to think your cruel foe, 
 
 Is yet in Cuba's Isle ; 
 But I know that's not the place, 
 
 For you to seek your child. 
 The villain would not dare to stay, 
 
 After he had thus wrote ; 
 I have no doubt he left the Isle, 
 
 Soon as he sent this note. 
 
 'Undoubtedly he feared your wife, 
 Would send detectives round ; 
 
 And so he wrote to her and told 
 Pier where he might be found. 
 
 But ere a man could reach the place, 
 He might be far away — 
 
 I have no doubt he left the Isle, 
 Without the least delay." 
 
 II But. friend, where can the villain be, 
 And how can I him find? 
 
 If he has left the Island fair, 
 Which seems to be your mind. 
 
 Could I but get on track of him, 
 I'd follow in his wake, 
 
 But what I'd find my darling child, 
 If it ten years should take." 
 
 To try and answer you ; 
 But I will tell you, my duar friend, 
 
 What I think that I'd do. 
 I have no doubt but what your foes, 
 
 Did set the ship on fire ; 
 So they could safely perpetrate, 
 
 All that they did desire. 
 
 " Now the best plan for you I think, 
 
 Is to Old England go, 
 And find the owners of the ship, 
 
 And let them this thing know. 
 Perhaps they know where he does dwell, 
 
 [ But this I greatly doubt ; ] 
 They would undoubtedly aid you, 
 
 To seek the villain out." 
 
 " Oh, my dear friend, your plan is good, 
 
 I will do as you say ; 
 As soon as my wife able gets, 
 
 I'll quickly go away. 
 1 thank you, sir, with all my heart, 
 
 For your aid and advice ; 
 'Tis owing to your counsel that 
 
 I have found my poor wife." 
 
 ' ; You're welcome, sir, to all I've done, 
 
 And I am very glad, 
 That I've been prospered so that I 
 
 Could aid you as I have. 
 And now as you're about to leave, 
 
 I want you to agree 
 That if you ever find your child, 
 
 You will send word to me. 
 
 " That I will very gladly do. 
 
 And should we never meet 
 I'll often think of you, my frieud, 
 
 And of your kindness speak." 
 Thus, saying, he held out his hand, 
 
 To grasp that of his friend — 
 They parted, but not without tears, 
 
 Never to meet again. 
 
 With lighter heart the man returned, 
 
 Back to his anxious wife ; 
 His cheerful look did seem to give 
 
 The sick woman new life. 
 He told her what he'd been advised, 
 
 By his friend kind and true ; 
 " And now, dear Mary, I do hope 
 
 Our daughter we'll yet view." 
 
 " Oh, husband dear, this may be so, 
 
 But I do greatly fear 
 That we will never see our child. 
 
 Nor never from her hear. 
 But still I think your plan is good. 
 
 And I will gladly go, 
 Back to our native land again, 
 
 In search of our base foe. 
 
46 
 
 Bl.ACKHKAKT .s KEVKMJR. 
 
 " Bi4, Henry, I do wish you would, 
 
 Adopt the little boy 
 Who went and got you to come here, 
 
 It will give me much joy." 
 " That, 1 wiil very gladly do, 
 
 If the boy will consent; 
 He seems to be uncommon bright, 
 
 And with his lot content. 
 
 " How did he come to go for me, 
 
 Through the cold ice and snow ? 
 It was a very bitter day, 
 
 And fierce the wind did blow. 
 I thought the poor brave boy had froze, 
 
 His little naked feet; 
 And ere I'd let him venture out, 
 
 His dress was more complete. " 
 
 " The little boy was very sick, 
 
 Last summer for a while, 
 And no one did take pity on 
 
 The poor and lonely child. 
 I had him taken to my room, 
 
 Though my own health was poor, 
 And nursed him till he did get well 
 
 And could some work endure. 
 
 When he got well I found a place 
 
 For him to go and live, 
 But he was not well treated and 
 
 They would him nothing give. 
 The morning that he went for you, 
 
 He was turned from his place ; 
 Without a friend in the wide world, 
 
 The cold, cold wind to face. 
 
 " In his despair he thought of me, 
 
 And to my room he came, 
 But found nae in a slumuer sound 
 
 In which I had long lain. 
 He saw that I was very pale, 
 
 And soon made up his mind 
 That I would die unless he could, 
 
 Some skillful Doctor find. 
 
 " Kind Providence did him direct, 
 
 To my own husband dear, 
 Whom I supposed had long ago 
 
 Died on an Island drear. 
 Since then he has attentive been — 
 
 He's very kind and good — 
 He is now helping a blind man, 
 
 Saw up a pile of wood." 
 
 " He is a noble little boy, 
 
 I'm sure I'll like him well ; 
 But, Mary, dont you think he looks 
 
 Like our lost Isabel ?" 
 " Yes. Henry, I have thought the same- 
 
 But, pray, why do you ask? 
 You can not think my brother's boy 
 
 Is this poor young outcast?" 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing, 
 
 But, pray, do his name tell ! 
 'Tis strange the boy should look so much, 
 
 Like our lost Isabel." 
 " He says his name is Charles, but I 
 
 Have never thought to ask 
 His sirname, for while he is here, 
 
 He's busy at some task." 
 
 " But hark, I guess the boy has come — 
 
 Yes, Mary, it is he ; 
 Pray do keep calm — I'll his name know, 
 
 No doubt lie' 11 tell it me." 
 " Come here my little man," said he, 
 
 " And tell me how you like 
 Those clothes that I did get for you ? 
 
 You look more warm and bright." 
 
 " They're very, very nice, indeed," 
 
 Said the boy with a sigh ; 
 " They are the best that I have had 
 
 Since my loved friends did die. 
 I used to have nice clothes and toys, 
 
 But this was long ago ; 
 I can but just remember it, 
 
 But it is even so." 
 
 •' I have no doubt of it, my boy, 
 
 But will you tell your name ? 
 I know 'tis Charles but what, dear boy, 
 
 Does make you look so sham'd ?" 
 " Oh, please, sir, do not angry be, 
 
 I dare not tell my name ; 
 I have been nearly killed for this — 
 
 Please, sir, do not me blame." 
 
 " My dear boy, do not be alarmed, 
 
 No one shall beat you now ; 
 I see you've greatly injured been, 
 
 I know not why or how. 
 Tell me your name, no one will dare 
 
 To interfere with you ; 
 I will protect you from ail harm, 
 
 Now, tell me, quickly do." 
 
 " Kind sir, ray name is Charles Clarence, 
 
 Though its been many years 
 Since I have dared to speak it out. 
 
 So great have been my fears. 
 I have been beat almost to death. 
 
 For telling my own name ; 
 And, oh, kind sir. protect me now, 
 
 For I am not to blame." 
 
 ce Come to my arms my darling boy, 
 
 You are my brother's son, 
 Cried the kind woman joyfully, 
 
 No harm to you shall come." 
 The boy's astonishiment was great, 
 
 To hear these words so strange ; 
 And at his uncle and his aunt 
 
 Ho long did wond'ring gaze. 
 
BLACKHEART'S KGVKNiiti. 
 
 47 
 
 " But when the boy had calmer grown, 
 
 All was explained to him ! 
 And he was almost overjoyed 
 
 To learn they were his kin. 
 He told to them how that he had 
 
 Abuse to under go, 
 Since his kind parents had both died 
 
 So many years ago. 
 
 " Soon after my poor father died, 
 
 A fierce bad man did come 
 And drove away my poor kind nurse, 
 
 And lived in ray own home. 
 He did command me not to tell, 
 
 My name to any one : 
 But this command I oft forget, 
 
 And oft the blood would run. 
 
 " The brutal man would give to me, 
 
 Nothing but rags to wear ; 
 And he would often beat me too, 
 
 My life he'd scarcely spare. 
 
 .At last he drove me from his home, 
 [Or I should say from mine,] 
 
 And bade me never more return, 
 Back to my home so fine. 
 
 " He told me if I ere did tell, 
 
 My name to any man, 
 That he would cause me to be slain 
 
 'Heed,' said he, 'this command.' 
 I never dared to tell my name, 
 
 Since that eventful day ; 
 I know not where I used to dwell, 
 
 For I've strayed far away." 
 
 But, reader, I've not space to tell, 
 
 The story of this boy, 
 Although 'twould interest you all, 
 
 I'm sure 'twould cause no joy. 
 Kind hearted Truman did prevail, 
 
 Upon ihe nurse and lad, 
 To go with them to Liverpool — 
 
 The boy to go was glad. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Phitip 
 
 WHEN Mr. Truman did arrive, 
 In his own native land, 
 He was so anxious he would not 
 
 In idleness long stand. 
 But just as soon as he could get 
 
 His family at rest, 
 In the new home he did provide. 
 For aid he went in quest. 
 
 To the shipowners he did go, 
 
 And told his story through ; 
 But they believed not what he told, 
 
 And they would nothing do. 
 It seemed the ship was well insured, 
 
 So they no loss sustained ; 
 And so the poor man got no aid, 
 
 And could no knowledge gain. 
 
 With heavy heart the man returned, 
 
 Back to his anxious wife, 
 And told her the desponding news 
 
 That he alone must strive. 
 " I feared that they would nothing do. 5 
 
 The woman did reply ; 
 " But, Henry, we'll not yet despond, 
 
 But other means must try. 
 
 " Your fortune is not large enough, 
 
 For us to travel far ; 
 And if it was, we do not know 
 
 Into what land repair. 
 I think it best for to keep still, 
 
 And go to work again, 
 At your profession for awhile, 
 
 Till you some knowledge gain. 
 
 Preston's Confession* 
 
 il Remember that this is the way, 
 
 You found the boy and me ; 
 Perhaps this is the way destined 
 
 That we our girl shall see. 
 So, Henry dear, do not despond, 
 
 Though all does seem dark now ; 
 I trust that all will yet come right, 
 
 I know not why or how." 
 
 " Yes, Mary, this is a good plan, 
 
 But I do greatly fear 
 jThat we will never see our child, 
 
 And from our foes ne'er hear. 
 [But I will do the best I can, 
 
 To find the missing one ; 
 JAnd nothing that I can think of, 
 
 Shall e'er be left undone." 
 
 !In a few days this noble man, 
 
 Was at his work again ; 
 His skill was great and soon he won, 
 
 The esteem of all men. 
 His wealth increased from day to day, 
 
 But this eased not his heart ; 
 To have his child restored to him, 
 
 With wealth he'd gladly part. 
 
 For many months he labored on, 
 
 But did no tidings hear 
 From his base and decietful foes, 
 
 Nor from his daughter dear. 
 And had it not been for his wife, 
 
 He'd give up in despair; 
 But she now firmly did believe, 
 
 They'd find their daughter fair. 
 
48 
 
 Rl.ACKHKAKT S REVENUE. 
 
 One night he was sent for in haste, 
 
 To see a sick young man 
 Who was prostrated suddenly, 
 
 By the destroyer's hand. 
 When he did reach the young man's room. 
 
 He was surprised to see 
 Him wildly stare and loudly scream, 
 
 He frightened seemed to be. 
 
 " Oh, take this dreadful ghost away. 
 
 His flaming eyes so fierce, 
 Will cause my death, I know they will 
 
 My very vitals pierce." 
 The young man sank back on his bed, 
 
 The picture of despair; 
 He trembled like an aspen leaf. 
 
 And straight did stand his hair. 
 
 " Who is this fearful young man here, 
 
 Cried Trumau in alarm? 
 To those that stood around his bed, 
 
 And held the young man's arm." 
 Cw His name is Philip Preston, sir, 
 
 Though none of us can tell 
 What makes the young man act so strange, 
 
 He seems to know you well." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. ghost, that is my name, 
 
 Your ghostship knows me well ; 
 'Tis all a sham your asking, sir. 
 
 These men my name to tell. 
 Ha, ha ! you've come to make me own, 
 
 What a base knave I've been ; 
 But you're too late to harm me now, 
 
 For soon my breath will end." 
 
 " Oh, Philip, I am not a ghost. 
 
 As you can plainly see ; 
 But I am now a living man, 
 
 So do not frighten'd be. 
 I did escape from off the Isle, 
 
 And I havo found my wife ; 
 And if you will restore my child, 
 
 I'll lead a happy life. 
 
 " I will forgive you all you've done, 
 
 If you'll restore my child ! 
 Remember, that you're very sick, 
 
 So calm your fears so wild. 
 Feel of my hands, I'm not a ghost, 
 
 But am alive and well; 
 You havo but a short timo to live, 
 
 So do your secrets tell." 
 
 " You lie, you lie ! }ou know you do. 
 
 You know that you're a ghost; 
 You know that you have now appeared, 
 
 To break my iong repose ! 
 But, Mr. ghost, you are too late. 
 
 To harm me save in name ; 
 Ha, ha! you've been quite kind. 
 
 In shielding me from crime. 
 
 j (; I thought that I could die in peace, 
 
 But now, alas ! you've come 
 To make. me own before these men, 
 
 All the crimes that I've done. 
 I fain would have the world believe, 
 
 That I from guile am free : 
 But, Mr. ghost, you've come at last. 
 
 To make me speak to thee." 
 
 He then did seem to calmer grow, 
 
 And minutely did tell 
 How he did help the captain base, 
 
 To ruin him so well. 
 'Twill be remembered how Black heart, 
 
 The cunning youth did cheat, 
 vVhile he w T as off to buy the farm, 
 
 Of this he now will speak. 
 
 " When I had bargained for the farm, 
 
 I to Havana went, 
 But judge of my surprise to find 
 
 He'd gone with every cent. 
 But soon my mind was set at rest, 
 
 By having handed me 
 A note from my deceitful foe, 
 
 Which bade me quickly flee. 
 
 " He said he'd gone to New Orleans, 
 
 To keep clear ©f his foe, 
 And did advise me quickly to 
 
 The same place straight to go. 
 I was alarmed and quickly went. 
 
 But he had not been there ; 
 And soon I did begin to think, 
 
 He was not acting fair. 
 
 " But, Mr. ghost, I did not dare 
 
 To publish in that place, 
 ;The tale of Blackheart's wrongs to me, 
 
 For it would me disgrace, 
 j While there! managed for to steal, 
 
 Enough to bring me here ; 
 | Where Blackheart is I cannot tell, 
 
 Whether far off or near. 
 
 I" For many years I stole enough. 
 
 To keep me in good trim ; 
 ! And no one of my many friends, 
 
 Docs dream of such a thing. 
 At last I did make up my mind, 
 
 I'd cease this petty strife, 
 And wait with patience for a chance 
 To make me rich for life. 
 
 " Kind fortune seemed to smile on me, 
 
 And soon a chance I found: 
 JTo rob a banker of his wealth. 
 
 I struck him to the ground. 
 |But as he fell he loudly cried, 
 
 But that cry was hi« last, 
 iFor. in an instant, my sharp knife 
 
 Quite through his heart did pass. 
 
BLACK HEART'S REVENGE. 
 
 49 
 
 ** I quickly did secure the gold, 
 
 And left the murdered man ; 
 But a stout 9ailor followed me 
 
 Aud snatch'd it from ray hand. 
 He then ran back to the dead man, 
 
 To aid him I suppose ; 
 But the poliecemen then came up, 
 
 And did around him close. 
 
 <; In their great haste to capture him. 
 
 They struck him, I've heard say ; 
 And while he was insensible, 
 
 They did take him away. 
 And when he was to trial brought, 
 
 I went in the Court room, 
 To see the man that I had wronged, 
 
 And learn his dreadful doom. 
 t 
 " But judge of my astonishment, 
 
 To see the very man 
 That I helped throw into the sea, 
 
 Before the stem Judge stand. 
 I left the room ere he did see 
 
 The one that had wronged him, 
 And he was sent to New South Wales, 
 
 To atone for my sin. 
 
 " Soon after this I found employ, 
 
 In a large wholesale store ; 
 To rob its safe 1 many plans 
 
 Did study o'er and o'er. 
 One day the head clerk, Frederic White. 
 
 Tut the key in the lock, 
 And being called in haste to go, 
 
 To take it he forgot. 
 
 " Ere he came back I took it out, 
 
 And stamped a piece of wax, 
 So I could see what size to get, 
 
 And quickly put it hack. 
 We both lodged in the same hotel, 
 
 Young Frederic's room joined mine j 
 Together we did often set, 
 
 To while away the time. 
 
 " He often left his trunk unlocked, 
 
 And I made up my mind 
 That I'd give him a present large 
 
 For the sheriff to find. 
 When I was sure the safe contained 
 
 A large amount of gold, 
 I let myself into the store 
 
 And robbed it of the whole. 
 
 '• I took one thousand pounds of it, 
 
 And went in Frederic's room ; 
 I found him sound asleep and I 
 
 Had my work well done soon. 
 I hid the rest of it away, 
 
 Until the storm passed o'er ; 
 And did appear to all the world 
 
 As honest as before. 
 
 (; Young Frederic sent the merchant word, 
 
 That he was somewhac ill, 
 And asked to be excused that day, 
 
 So that he could keep still. 
 He was excused, but before noon 
 
 They did unlock the safe, 
 And found the money was all gone, 
 
 But the thief left no trace. 
 
 " The merchant quickly went for him, 
 
 And he came to the store, 
 And did advise him for to search 
 
 The clerks all o'er and o'er. 
 They thought that this was a good plan, 
 
 And soou were on their way 
 To the hotel where all the clerks, 
 
 Or most of them did stay. 
 
 <J As Frederic was the head clerk they 
 
 Began the search with him ; 
 But little did the merchant think, 
 
 That he had done this sin. 
 But judge of his astonishment, 
 
 And wrath for to behold, 
 When they did open the man's trunk, 
 
 To find some of the gold. 
 
 !i The young man was quite overcome, 
 
 When he this sight did see ; 
 And he did try to clear himself — 
 
 For mercy was his plea. 
 But his guilt did appear so plain, 
 
 That none did pity him, 
 And he was sent to New South Wales, 
 
 To a:one for my sin. 
 
 " Now, Mr ghost, there's nothing more, 
 
 Of note for me to say, 
 Unless I tell these men where I 
 
 Have hid the gold away. 
 Oh, yes, there is just one thing more, 
 
 That I do wish to say — 
 'Tis, get the men that I have wronged, 
 
 Pardoned without delay." 
 
 With broken words the dying man, 
 
 Disclosed where he did hide, 
 The money he stole from the safe, 
 
 And in despair he died. 
 Thus ended the career of one 
 
 Where life was one black blot — 
 A man in whose whole history, 
 
 We can find no bright spot. 
 
 The money was found in the place 
 
 Where it for months had lain, 
 And Frederic's innocence of crime 
 
 Was now proved to be plain. 
 A pardon was quickly obtained 
 
 For him and John the brave, 
 And every body was amazed 
 
 At the crimes of the knave. 
 
50 
 
 bi.ackheart's rbvbnur. 
 
 When Mr. Truman told his wife, 
 
 All that he'd heard that night, 
 She was surprised and quickly said — 
 
 '• All things wilJ soon come right. 
 Now, Henry, why can we not take 
 
 The pardon to the boy ? 
 I'm sure it would give the poor youth 
 
 That we do love much joy. 
 
 " It seems our daughter is not here, 
 It grieves us thus to speak 
 
 Let's go and get the boy and then 
 Together for her seek. 
 
 [Your trade is such that you can earn 
 Much wealth in any place ; 
 
 JAnd, oh, I hope that thus we will 
 Soon see our daughter's face."' 
 
 I The poor man did agree to this, 
 
 And once more he prevailed 
 I Upon the nurse and boy to go, 
 
 And soon away they sailed. 
 'Oh. how their hearts did beat for joy, 
 
 To know the youth was free ; 
 To take the pardons to their friends. 
 
 They braved the raging sea ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Frederic White makes himself known to his Cousin. 
 
 YOUNG Frederic's mind was ill at ease, 
 When he did go to bed ; 
 The narrative of John Waldo, 
 
 Kept running through his head. 
 'Twas nearly morning e're he could 
 
 Compose himself to sleep, 
 But when at last he closed his eyes, 
 His sleep was long and deep. 
 
 The sun was shining bright and clear, 
 
 When the youth did awake ', 
 But to collect his scattered thoughts, 
 
 Did many moments take. 
 '•' Have I been dreaming," he did muse, 
 
 "John, John ! pray where are you?" 
 But John was nowhere to be seen, 
 
 The girl was missing too. 
 
 While he lay musing thus alone, 
 
 He saw John coming back ; 
 He was alone, what could this mean ? 
 
 He eagerly did ask. 
 " Oh, do not be alarmed my boy, 
 
 The girl is safe and sound ; 
 I've hid her in the woods where she, 
 
 By Black heart can't be found." 
 
 u Have hid her, John, what do you mean ?" 
 
 Said Frederic in surprise ; 
 He now seemed to suspect foul play, 
 
 With anger flashed his eyes. 
 " Ha, ha ! my boy, you're angry now !" 
 
 Replied John with a smile ; 
 " But listen to me and I'll tell 
 
 Why I have hid the child. 
 
 " You still remember that I said, 
 
 The girl your cousin is : 
 And I propose to keep her safe, 
 
 And, sir, my plan is this. 
 The wretch that stole her from her friends, 
 
 Will seek for her no doubt, 
 And if she's seen around this place, 
 
 He'll surelv find her out. 
 
 " You know there scarcely is a day. 
 
 But what some one is in ; 
 And I'm dertermined the poor girl 
 
 Shall ne'er be took by him. 
 So ere 'twas light, I bade her rise. 
 
 And take a walk with me ; 
 And now she is securely hid, 
 
 I trust from danger free." 
 
 j"But, John,. do you propose to keep 
 
 The poor girl hid away, 
 ;In the damp woods in solitude, 
 
 I'm sure she dare not stay ?" 
 I No, Frederic, she'll not leave the spot, 
 1 That I have placed her in ; 
 jl told her that I'd go for her, 
 
 When it was dark again. " 
 
 f Oh, long and dreary seemed the day, 
 
 To anxious Frederic White ; 
 And oft he earnestly did wish, 
 
 That it would soon be night. 
 But the provoking sun would not 
 
 Increase her speed that day, 
 And her accustomed time she did 
 
 High in the heavens stay. 
 
 At last the sun did hide her face, 
 
 In the far distant west; 
 The convicts retired to their huts, 
 
 From their labors to rest. 
 True to his promise John did go, 
 
 And get the timid girl. 
 Who had began to fear that she 
 
 Had no friends in this world. 
 
 When John did reach his humble home, 
 
 With the girl safe and sound, 
 Young Frederic did feel thankful quite — 
 
 With joy his heart did bound. 
 He was so fearful that some ill 
 
 Would the poor girl befal, 
 That through the day he oft did list 
 
 In vain to hear her call. 
 
BLACKHRARTS RRVBNGE. 
 
 51 
 
 The girl did eagerly enquire, 
 
 If they had seen her foe ; 
 And whether John had found a home, 
 
 Where she could safely go. 
 •She was well pleased to learn her foe 
 
 Had not been seen around, 
 But her bright eyes'did fill with tears 
 
 To learn no home was found. 
 
 ' ; Poor girl, "said John, "don't be cast dowD 
 
 For all will soon come right, 
 Although to keep you hid away 
 
 I very much dislike. 
 The course I'm taking now no doubt, 
 
 To you seems very strange ; 
 Jf I'm successful in my plans, 
 
 Your prospects soon will change. 
 
 " La^t night when we, to save your life, 
 
 Did from our cabin run, 
 We heard you very loudly call — 
 
 ' Oh ! cousin quickly come !' 
 You also say the wretched man, 
 
 Who would your life betray, 
 Is not your relative or friend, 
 
 How came you with him, pray 1 
 
 r: If you .can answer me, I trust 
 
 I can to you explain 
 The reason why I wish you to 
 
 Awhile with us remain. 
 Thus, saying, John did close the door. 
 
 For he did greatly fear 
 
 I" Poor child ! did you your parents see, 
 
 After their fatal end 1 
 Or h^ve you not by Blackheart's lies. 
 
 Greatly deceived have been ?" 
 The girl looked up in mute surprise — 
 
 Into John's face she gaz'd — 
 " Dear sir, why do you ask me this? 
 I I'm sure I am amazed ! 
 
 " 'Tis true I did not see my friends, 
 
 After they met their death ; 
 But of their death I ne'er did doubt; 
 
 Say, can suspicion rest 
 jUpon Blackheart? oh ! say, dear sir, 
 
 Can there yet be a ray 
 j Of hope that they are yet alive ? 
 
 Oh ! answer me, sir, pray." 
 
 ** I fear, poor child, that they are dead, 
 
 At least your father kind ; 
 IBut of your mother's death there is 
 
 Some doubt yet in my mind. 
 [But, pray go on and tell us how 
 
 Blackheart did you obtain 1 
 (And also how long it has been, 
 
 Since he to this land came '?" 
 
 [The reader has already read 
 
 Of Blackheart's vile career, 
 I So 1 will not the reader tire 
 
 By telling it o'er here. 
 | She told the story of her life, 
 
 And all that did take place, 
 
 That Blackheart, or his men, might comelUp to the time that Blackheart's wife 
 If they were lurking near. Finished her mortal race. 
 
 -' I know not why it is, kind sir, 
 
 But oft I tried to speak 
 To her about my parents kind, 
 
 Who died upon the deep. 
 But every time that I did try, 
 
 Something would seem to say — 
 !' Keep silent, all will yet come right' — 
 
 'Tis well I did obey. 
 
 i l Kind sir," the young girl did reply, 
 
 •* I still believe you true ; 
 Although I'm disappointed much, 
 •I'll strive to answer you. 
 The tale you ask me now to tell 
 
 Is very strange, indeed ; 
 Much stranger than the fairy tales 
 
 Which I did use to read. 
 
 ■" When I was quite a little girl, 
 
 1 had a pleasant home 
 In a large city, but its name 
 
 To me is now unknown. 
 My father and my mother kind, 
 
 Took me upon the sea ; 
 But soon, alas! they did both die, 
 
 And in strange hands left me.' 
 
 " Had my poor parents died on land, 
 
 And in a common way, 
 It would not seem so strange to me ; 
 
 But terrible died they. 
 My father was by bad men slain, 
 
 While on an island small ; 
 And mother on the ship was burned, 
 
 Or in the sea did fall." 
 
 !" When we returned from mother's grave. 
 
 (I loved and called her so,) 
 jWe talked together of our loss, 
 
 And thus commenced my woe. 
 {Our loss is very great, said I ; 
 
 I lov'd her quite as well 
 As though she was my mother real — 
 
 Of my real mother tell. 
 
 ct I saw his face grow deadly pale, 
 
 He trembled like a leaf; 
 I knew not what to make of this, 
 
 Whether 'twas wrath or grief. 
 I was not kept long in suspense — 
 
 1 Who told you this V cried he, 
 'I'll rend in pieces the vile one 
 
 That told this tale to thee. 
 
52 
 
 blackheart's revenge. 
 
 " I was quite frightened by his words, 
 
 But he commanded me 
 To tell him everything I knew. — 9 
 
 I told what I've told thee. 
 He listened wiih a frowning face, 
 
 But I could plainly see 
 That what I told did trouble him, 
 
 And that he hated me. 
 
 " 'Who helped you to invent this lie?' 
 
 Said he when I got through ; 
 Tor every word you've said is false, 
 
 And you well know it too. 
 This is a pretty story, child, 
 
 To tell a father kind; 
 You'll rue the day that you've thus talk'd. 
 
 If well you do not mind. 
 
 ' Sir," I replied, " you have been kind 
 
 To me until this day ; 
 But you well know I have not lied, 
 
 You know 'tis truth I say. 
 I'm sure I thought there was no harm, 
 
 To of my parents speak, 
 But as it does offend you, sir, 
 
 This tale I'll ne'er repeat." 
 
 " ''Tis well you will agree to this,' 
 
 He said with a forced smile ; 
 'And let me warn you once for all, 
 
 Ne'er to my temper rile. 
 You have no mother now to hide 
 
 Your many faults from me ; 
 And your audacity this day, 
 
 Will make me plainer see." 
 
 "Alas ! he did make true his threats — 
 
 He seemed to take delight 
 In finding fault and scolding me, 
 
 From early morn till night. 
 But to rehearse the dreadful wrongs, 
 
 I suffered at his hands, 
 Would only make your anger rage 
 
 At this detested man. 
 
 " Three nights we were alone, 
 
 As oft we'd been before ; 
 He had his papers this day got, 
 
 At night he looked them o'er. 
 He had not read long ere I saw. 
 
 That he had something found 
 That frightened him, for with an oath 
 
 He to his feet did bound. 
 
 " 'The puppy vile has told it all — 
 
 Alas! what shall I do?' 
 He said no more but in a rage 
 
 Ho from my presence flew. 
 I know not what the vile man read, 
 
 That should him so affright ; 
 But I believed some eVil deed, 
 
 He's done has come to light. 
 
 " That night I had some dreadful dreams, 
 
 But soon there did appear 
 A man whose looks, upon my word, 
 
 Resembles your friend here. 
 Said he, 'I am your cousin, child, 
 
 When you in danger are, 
 If you will loudly call for aid. 
 
 Strong hands of you'll take care." 
 
 '• When I awoke I tried to think, 
 
 If I a cousin knew; 
 I thought of one he lived with us, 
 
 When I had parents true. 
 Ah ! well do I remember him, 
 
 His name was Frederick White ; 
 To- know what has become of him, 
 
 I very much would like." 
 
 Young Frederick White could stand no 
 
 Bui did make known his name [more 
 To the asthonished girl, and why 
 
 He to this island came. 
 She was amazed when she did learn, 
 
 The plot that John did hear 
 Between young Philip and Blackheart 
 
 Against her parents dear. 
 
 " And now, "said John, "I'd like to know * 
 
 Why he should now harm thee? 
 Unless his deeds have been found out, 
 
 And he does wish to flee. 
 If that's the case I will him thwart, 
 
 For to his house I'll go ; 
 I do not doubt but I can learn 
 
 All that I wish to know." 
 
 Young Isabel and Frederic White, 
 
 Did try to him persuade 
 Not to thus venture off alone, 
 
 But he was not afraid. 
 What he did learn I will you tell, • 
 
 But 'twill a chapter take ; 
 And other things I now must write, 
 
 To keep my story straight. 
 
 W 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 tllnvder by Blarhlteart frustrated by thr Cimricls. 
 
 JELL tr^ight base Blackheart be aiarm'd, I Yes, in the papers he did read, 
 
 How Philip had made known 
 To Mr. Truman, all the crimes 
 That thev'd together done. 
 
 Well might he cry alas ! 
 For in the papers he did learn, 
 His crimes were known at last. 
 
BLACKHEAUT 8 KKVK.MiK. 
 
 53 
 
 He learned that Truman and his wife, 
 
 Were hoth alive and sound ; 
 And now with pardons for two friends, 
 
 For New South Wales were bound. 
 Had this been all that he did read, 
 
 He would have frightened been ; 
 But what did Irighten him the most, 
 
 Remains yet to be seen. 
 
 The paper stated "that the crimes, 
 
 Which the base men had done, 
 Had so enraged ihe people that 
 
 A search had been begun. 
 And now base Blackheart's hiding place. 
 
 At last- has come to light; 
 But we for bare to name the place, 
 
 Made known by Joseph Bright. 
 
 *'Ha,ha !" laugh'dBlackheart when alone, 
 " They think I'm caged at last ; 
 
 They dare not tell my hiding place, 
 They think to hold me fast 
 
 "I thought to frighten her with threats, 
 
 I thought to thus succeed ; 
 But I do very plainly see 
 
 She does not me believe. 
 She has not called me father since 
 
 The time we first fell out, 
 I think if she could ruin me 
 
 She'd do it without doubt. 
 
 " 'Twill be impossiable to keep 
 
 The papers from her sight, 
 It is a wonder I did not 
 
 Ask her to read to night. 
 I wish the art of printing had 
 
 Ne're to mankind been known, 
 ,'fhen with my plunder and the girl 
 
 I could be let alone. 
 
 |" 'Twill do no good to set and whine, 
 
 And my hard lot bewail ; 
 For if I do not quickly act, 
 Mv plans will surelv fail. 
 Who would have tho't that Joseph Bright, ;My hated foe it seeme's has found 
 
 The convmt that did work The man whom I thouL'hi 
 
 For me while he was in this place, 
 Should make known where I lurk. 
 
 " It seems that Truman and his wife, 
 
 Do not suspect I'm here ; 
 It will not be but a few days 
 
 Before they come I fear. 
 But I have sworn my hated foe 
 
 Shall ne'er her daughter see, 
 Ana i will keep my promise good, 
 
 For with her I will flee. 
 
 " No, no ! this plan will never do, 
 
 With her I must not flee ; 
 For she now knows I'm not her friend, 
 
 I soon betrayed would be. 
 Alas ! how foolish. I hare been — 
 
 How foolish and how blind — 
 Oh. that I bad not been so vain 
 
 And did young Philip mind. 
 
 <; He told me that I'd be betrayed, 
 
 If I kept her with me ; 
 Oh, -hat I had not been so base, 
 
 As from the youth to flee. 
 He said the child would ne'er forget, 
 
 She other parents had ; 
 I laughed at him, but now I see 
 
 I've acted vain and mad. 
 
 ight dead ; 
 |And if she finds her daughter here, 
 Woe, woe ! upon my head ! 
 
 Isc This shall not be, I've made a vow 
 
 That she shall never see 
 JThe child that I did rake from her, 
 
 To cause her misery. 
 The child shall die, and my own hand, 
 
 If I can get no aid, 
 ! Shall take away the young girls life 
 
 And hide her in her grave. 
 
 . 
 :; Ha, ha ! I have it — those two men 
 
 That work for me no doubt 
 ! Would like to their own freedom gain, 
 
 I'll see them and find out. 
 If they will do my bloody work, 
 
 And hide the girl from sight, 
 I'll give them money and some clothes, 
 
 So they can take their flight." 
 
 The base man found it hard work to, 
 
 The convicts to persuade 
 To execute his bloody plot. 
 
 'Twould fail they were affraid 
 13ut as their crimes had been so great. 
 
 And they still long must stay 
 jUpon the Island, they at last 
 
 Concluded to obey. 
 
 I 
 " 'Tis strange the child did never speak, (How they succeeded in the plot, 
 
 To me or to my wife, Has all related been ; 
 
 About her parents and the scenes But how base Blackhcart was deceived, 
 
 Of her eventful life. Remains vet to be seen. 
 
 She is a cautious little witch, The reader has already seen 
 
 Just like her mother too ; How Blackheart ran away, 
 
 I fear my plans will fail at last, ; And left, he thought, to cirtain death, 
 
 J know not what to do. The girl he did betray. 
 
54 
 
 BLACKHEART S REVENGE. 
 
 Had Blackheart stay'd and help'd the men 
 
 Or tried the plot alone, 
 He might have did the bloody deed, 
 
 Ere any aid could come. 
 But he did choose to let the men 
 
 His poor young victim bleed, 
 And he did quickly leave the spot 
 
 As fast as he could speed. 
 
 'Twill be remembered how, that John 
 
 One of the men knocked down, 
 And how the other ran away. 
 
 But soon he turned around. 
 Fcr he did see that he was not 
 
 By the brave men pursued, 
 And that the plot was at an end 
 
 By those that did intrude. 
 
 He saw with joy the men did not 
 
 Secure his fallen friend — 
 He hoped that he was not much hurt, 
 
 And would escape from them. 
 Ere many seconds did elapse, 
 
 He saw his friend look round, 
 And ere brave John did see him move, 
 
 He out of sight did bound. 
 
 They ran in scilence for some rods, 
 
 But as no one did chase 
 They did a little safer feel, 
 
 And slacken'd their wild pace. 
 " This is a pretty business, Bill, 
 
 To be compelled to run ! 
 Alas, we've lost our liberty, 
 
 That we thought almost won I" 
 
 " No, Jim, our freedom we will win, 
 
 If you will me obey ; 
 And as our foes do not pursue. 
 
 List unto what I say." 
 Thus, saying, the man that was struck, 
 
 Senseless by brave John's blows, 
 Did seat himself upon a log, 
 
 And did his plan disclose. 
 
 " You know old Blackheart did agree, 
 
 If we would the girl slay, 
 To give us each a suit of clothes 
 
 So we could run away. 
 He also did agree to give 
 
 To each one hundred pounds ; 
 To claim the clothes and money, Jim. 
 
 I am now fully bound." 
 
 " But, Bill, we have not killed the girl. 
 
 We can not claim our pay ; 
 I wish we had not undertook, 
 
 The pretty girl to slay. 
 If we could gain our liberty, 
 
 I'm glad we did not slay, 
 The pretty little harmless maid, 
 
 Whom Blackheart did betrav." 
 
 " Yes, Jim, and he will rue the day, 
 
 He hired you and me 
 To do his bloody work, if you 
 
 Will to my plan agree. 
 What is there, sir, to hinder us, 
 
 From claiming our full pay { 
 Before he finds he is deceived 
 
 We will be far away. 
 
 " Instead of helping kill the girl 
 
 As he agreed to do, 
 He, coward like, did slink away 
 
 But this act he will rue. 
 We'll tell him that we've killed the girl, 
 
 Just as we did agree, 
 And buried her, in the lone woods, 
 
 And then demaud our fee. 
 
 " To pay us he'll not dare refuse, 
 
 We've got him in our power; 
 For he well knows that we could cause 
 
 His arrest any hour. 
 My conscience will be much more clear 
 
 To this ba*se man deceive, 
 Than it could be it we'd shed blood, 
 
 I'm glad she was relieved. 
 
 " Now, Jim, we've lead a wicked life, 
 
 And we've been punished dear ; 
 If we succeed in this new plan, 
 
 Lets stop our wild career. 
 Why should we prey upon mankind ? 
 
 Why can't we honest be ? 
 1 am determined thus to live, 
 
 If ever I get free." 
 
 " Yes, my dear friend," the other said, 
 
 " Like you I will agree, 
 To try and live a better life, 
 
 If ever I am free. 
 I think we should our freedom gain, 
 
 Our chances are now good ; 
 How came you to think of this plan, 
 
 I'm sure I never should." 
 
 " It came into my head, my friend, 
 
 While on the ground I lay ; 
 I'm glad you do endorse my plan, 
 
 No doubt we'll get away. 
 But we must hasten to Blackheart, 
 
 To tell him what we've done, 
 For we must be upon the sea, 
 
 Before we see the sun." 
 
 | Blackheart did do as ho agreed, 
 
 And paid the men their Ice ; 
 |And ere the morning sun did shine, 
 
 They were far out at sea. 
 | ''Ha, ha !" laughed Blackheart when they 
 
 These men have earned their pay ; [left, 
 , Aa soon as I can sell my land, 
 
 I, too, will sail away 
 
BLACKHEARTS REVENGE. 
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Itlachheart is arrested. 
 
 FEARLESS of harm, brave John did|At_last an Aunt in England wrote, 
 For the home of his foe, [start 
 
 He now felt sure he could learn 
 
 How to deal him a blow. 
 " 'Tis very strange indeed," thought he, 
 
 As he did walk along, 
 " That Blackheart does not seek the girl, 
 I'm sure there's something wrong." 
 
 To let me have her go 
 And live with her a year or two, 
 She went two days ago." 
 
 As he came near to Blackheart's house, 
 
 He saw a man go in ; 
 He knew the man was not his foe, 
 
 Although the moon shown dim; 
 He now derterrained that he'd list, 
 
 And thus perhaps might hear 
 The plans of his cold hearted foe, 
 
 Who had been so severe. 
 
 Kind fortune seemed to favor him, 
 
 For as be did come near 
 He saw the men both near the door, 
 
 So he could see and hear. 
 Oh ! how the blood did tingle in 
 
 The veins of the brave man, 
 When he first saw his brutal foe 
 
 And heard his voice so bland. 
 
 " I understand, friend Blackheart, that"- 
 
 The stranger did begin — 
 " You do intend to sell your land, 
 
 So I have now called in 
 To learn the price you hold it at ; 
 
 And if we can agree 
 I will be glad to purchase it, 
 
 If 'tis all clear and free." 
 
 " There is nothing against it friend, 
 
 My title is as sound 
 As any document can be, 
 
 For British land ere found. 
 But ere I state to you my price, 
 
 I must to you unfold 
 Why I propose to sell so cheap, 
 
 So cheap for ready gold. 
 
 '* You well remember how the drouth, 
 
 Did thin my thriving flocks ; 
 Hundreds and hundreds were struck down 
 
 And on the plains now rot. 
 Misfortune seems to seek me out, 
 
 Though why I can not see ; 
 For I am just and upright, sir, 
 
 As mortal man can be. 
 
 " Ever since my poor wife did die, 
 
 My daughter's been so sad 
 And lonesome that I sometimes feared, 
 
 That she would yet go mad. 
 
 " Why, Blackheart, how could you allow, 
 
 So frail and young a child 
 To take so great a journey, sir, 
 
 I'm sure you must be wild. 
 I had not heard that she was gone, 
 
 Or did intend to go; 
 If you sell out as' you intend, 
 
 You'll see her soon I know." 
 
 '•' Yes, that I will, though when she went 
 
 I did not think to sell ; 
 But, sir, you can not think how much 
 
 I miss my Isabel ! 
 Last night I nearly lost my life, 
 
 It happened in this way — 
 The convicts that have work'd for me. 
 
 Last night did run away. 
 
 " Before they went, they came to me 
 
 And told me that they had 
 Made up their minds to run away — 
 
 Poor boys, said I, you're mad. ' 
 'No sir,' said they, ' you soon will find 
 
 'Tis true what we now say; 
 We're going to leave, sir, in the ship 
 
 That now lies in the bay. 
 
 " 'We know that you have money, sir, 
 
 Of some we stand in need ; 
 If you will give us a few pounds 
 
 Upon our way we'll speed.' 
 They spoke so calm and confident, 
 
 I lost all self control, 
 And rushed at them to drive them out, 
 
 But despair made them bold. 
 
 " They sprang on me and tied my hands, 
 
 And told me not to cry ; 
 And with a fearful oath they swore 
 
 I should keep still or die. 
 I saw 'twas useless to contend, 
 
 So I my struggles ceased, 
 And said I'd give them twenty pounds, 
 
 If they would me release. 
 
 But now they said I'd been so mean, 
 
 That I should dearly pay, 
 For trying thus to drive them off, 
 
 Empty handed away. 
 They searched until they found my gold, 
 
 Two hundred pounds or more ; 
 They took it all ! aye, every cent, 
 
 J^ot one would they restore. 
 
,56 
 
 RI.ACKHKART S REVENUE. 
 
 i: Thcj' then discovered my new clothes, 
 
 (I had just bought two suits ;) 
 They did disrobe themselves and soon 
 
 Were dress'd from hat to boots. 
 Then making a low bow to me, 
 
 And bidding me good bye, 
 They left me still bound down with cords, 
 
 And on their way did fly. 
 
 " For three long hours I helpless lay, 
 
 My wrists began to swell; 
 The agony I did endure, 
 
 Was more than I can tell. 
 At last I thought if I could rise, 
 
 And to the table go, 
 I could burn off my cruel bonds, 
 
 And thereby end my woe. 
 
 " The villains had left me my lamp, 
 
 Burning with cheerful light 
 Upon my table, and ere long 
 
 My cords did feel less tight. 
 This last misfortune, sir, has made 
 
 Me quite resolved to leave ; 
 The place that seems by fate to yield, 
 
 Me naught but loss and grief. 
 
 "I paid two hundred thousand pounds, 
 
 And that when land was cheap, 
 For my estate, and you well know 
 
 'Tis a fine place for sheep. 
 But I am now resolved to sell, 
 
 And leave this dreary land ; 
 I'll throw off fifty thousand pounds, 
 
 For pay down understand." 
 
 " Well, Blackheart.I will take your land- 
 To-morrow I will come 
 
 And have the writings all made out, 
 If you want it soon done. 
 
 'Tis growing late, I'll have to go. 
 While the moon gives some light; 
 
 To-morrow noon I will be here, 
 So, friend Blackheart, good night." 
 
 Thus, saying, the strange man did rise, " Sir," said the wretched man," yon are 
 
 And briskly walk away, Mistaken, I am not 
 
 While John stood so that he could see |The man you seek — he lives in that 
 
 And not himself betray. Fine house in yonder lot. 
 
 "Ha, ha !" laughed^ Blackheart, whenthell always thoguht he was a knave, 
 
 Had got far out of sight; [man! And so it does appear 
 
 ' : Kind fortune seems to favor mc, That he stole the ^irl he calls his, — 
 
 I soon shall be all right. But. oh, sirs, who comes here ?" 
 
 " But the fine story that I told 
 
 About my being robbed, 
 By the two convicts that I hired 
 
 To do my bloody job, 
 t)oes satesfy me that 1 can 
 
 Rely upon myself; 
 And now, hereafter, no one shall 
 
 For planning get my pelf. 
 
 •' Now if this man does buy my land, 
 
 I'm sure he'll not back out, 
 To-mcrrow night, e're this, I will 
 
 Get started on my route. 
 Oh ! then how free my mind will be, 
 
 From this dreadful suspence ; 
 But hark ! I surely hear footsteps 
 
 Not far off from the fence. 
 
 John Waldo had been so intent 
 
 In hearing the vile knave. 
 That he'd not noticed the footstep 
 
 Till Blackheart warning gave. 
 But now it was to lare to leave, 
 
 Without his being seen ; 
 So he did quickly hide himself, 
 
 To see what he did mean. 
 
 Blackheart sprang up to bolt the door, 
 
 But this move was to late, 
 For he was seized by two stiong men, 
 
 With fear he now did quake. 
 " What means this roughness with me. 
 
 Why do you enter here ? [sin 
 
 And thus take hold of an old man 
 
 Who, sirs, has no friend near?" 
 
 '•' It means," replied one of the men, 
 
 " That you're our prisoner, and 
 You are arrested for great crimes ; 
 
 And, sir, you soon must stand 
 Before the woman you have wronged — 
 
 Before two men likewise — 
 | Where is the girl that you did steal, 
 
 When you stole your great prize?" 
 
 " How little does the man now dream, 
 
 Why I do wish to go ; 
 But tis no matter what he thinks, 
 
 He'll ne'er my secret know. 
 How neatly I have fooled him, too, 
 
 About young Isabel ; 
 Young Philips Preston, when alive. 
 
 Could not have lied as well. 
 
 " 'Tis I, you guilty wretched man, 
 
 Whom you threw in the sea : 
 ! And would you now deceive these men 
 
 That have arrested thee I" 
 Thus spoke brave John, who had heard 
 
 And seeing 'twould he safe. [nl\ 
 
 iCame from his hiding place and Bpoke 
 
 To pi event his escape. 
 
BLACK HKART'S KKVENGE. 
 
 57 
 
 The wretched man dumbfounded stood, 
 
 And gazed into John's face, 
 While drops of sweat did quickly form, 
 
 And down his face did trace. 
 " Ah ! well you may now tremble knave, j He took the money from the safe, 
 
 The girl you meant to slay And did contrive to place 
 
 Is yet alive and safe from harm, iSoine of it in your young friend's trunk, 
 
 Your convicts sharp did play." To bring him in disgrace. 
 
 " The man that you did try to 
 Was by this young man killed ; 
 
 Ah, sir, he was a dreadful rogue, 
 And in great crimes was skilled. 
 
 Then turning to the officers, 
 
 He briefly did relate 
 How he had saved the stolen girl 
 
 From a most dismal fate. 
 " And now the knave says he is not, 
 
 The man that you do seek ; 
 'Tis but a ruse to get away — 
 
 'Tis false all he does speak." 
 
 When John got through, one of the men 
 
 Said — I have news for you ; 
 To-morrow, ere 'tis noon, I trust. 
 
 Your convict days are through. 
 Your pardon is now in the hands 
 
 Of Truman and his wife, 
 Young Philip did confess his crimes 
 
 At the close of his life. 
 
 i" Your kind friend and his wife did start, 
 
 One week before we sailed ; 
 jBut we passed them one day ago, 
 
 Our Captain their ship hailed. 
 iThey knew not that this knave is here, 
 
 His wherabouts came to light 
 j Soon after Truman did set sail, 
 
 But now kind, sir, good night." 
 
 JThus, saying, they led Blackheart off, 
 ! And with joy John did go 
 Back to the hut where he did dwell, 
 
 Now fearless of his foe. 
 'Tis useless to try and discribe, 
 
 Or try to even tell, 
 I How these glad news did cheer the heart, 
 
 Of Fred and Isabel! 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 IT being night when Truman and 
 His wife came in the bay, 
 They were obliged to yet endure 
 
 A few more hours delay. 
 But ere the sun was very high, 
 
 They safely came to land; 
 And soon the pardons they did bring 
 They to George Gipps did hand. 
 
 The Governor did read with joy 
 
 The pardons of the men, 
 That he about one month before 
 
 So bravely did defend. 
 With glowing language he portrayed 
 
 The noble act of John, 
 When he saw the base overseer 
 
 Knock feeble Frederic down. 
 
 Just at this moment the two men, 
 
 That did Blackheart arrest, 
 Came in the room and did relate 
 
 To him their great success. 
 " Of whom are you now speaking,sir," 
 
 Said Truman in surprise, 
 For he tho't he heard Blackheart's name, 
 
 And his own child likewise. 
 
 Truman did hear in mute surprise, 
 The tale these men did tell ; 
 
 Until they told how John Waldo, 
 Had saved young Isabel. 
 
 " Great Heaven be praised ! how little I 
 Did dream, when I came here, 
 
 That I should find my long lost child '( 
 How this my heart does cheer." 
 
 It may be well suposed that he, 
 
 And his now eager wife, 
 Did not lose much time ere they saw 
 
 Those whom they lov'd as life. 
 But it would be a vain attempt 
 
 For me to well describe, 
 The meeting of their little band 
 
 Once scattered far and wide. 
 
 Each one had to inform the rest, 
 
 What trials they'd passed through ; 
 And ere they were aware of it, 
 
 The sun was hid from view. 
 Soon after dark a man did come, 
 
 For Truman in great haste, 
 | To go and see his dreadful foe, 
 
 Ere his death did take place. 
 
 When Blackheart found that ho could not 
 
 From justice strict escape, 
 He did in despair resolve 
 
 That he his life would take. 
 As soon as he was left alone, 
 
 He did this rash act try, 
 But he did not stab in the place 
 
 To make him quickly die. 
 
58 
 
 BLACKHEART'S REVK.\<ih. 
 
 While he thus lay in agony 
 
 Of body and of mind, 
 He did resolve to confess all 
 
 Before death did him blind. 
 So, when Mr Truman arrived, 
 
 He freely did confess. 
 His dreadful crimes and did restore 
 
 To him all he possess'd. 
 
 Soon after, all things were made right, 
 
 And he'd forgiveness asked 
 Of all that he had injured here, 
 
 His spirit from earth pass'd.' 
 Thus ended the career of one 
 
 Whose aim in life had been, 
 Revenge against a woman true— 
 
 Ah ! dreadful was his end. 
 
 Thus after all these strange events, 
 
 Truman at last obtained 
 The property for Frederic White, 
 
 All in his hands again. 
 Although Blackheart had had bad luck 
 
 In raising Sheep of late, 
 The property was worth as much 
 
 As all that he did take. 
 
 When Frederic was informed of this, 
 
 He quickly did declare, 
 That his friend. had been kind to him 
 
 And should his fortune share. 
 He did insist, his uncle kind, 
 
 Should end his days with him. 
 And that none of this band should part 
 
 Till death their eyes did dim. 
 ******* 
 
 Ten more short years have passed away 
 
 From off the shores of time, 
 Since the events that I have penned, 
 
 In this, my simple Rhyme. 
 But I'll not stop and moralize, 
 
 On Time's unceasing roll, 
 For it is getting about time 
 
 This little tale was told. 
 
 We have already seen that the 
 
 Heroes of this strange tale, 
 Have met together, and now live 
 
 In far off New South Wales. 
 But in the time that we have skipped, 
 
 Great changes have took place ; 
 Although none of this happy band 
 
 Hare not yet run their race. 
 
 It would be cruel for me not 
 
 Some marriages to note, 
 Which in due time did thers take place, 
 
 Among ihie happy group. 
 John Waldo found in the kind nurse 
 
 A faithful loving wife. 
 And Frederic White and Isabel 
 
 Are mated, too, for life. 
 
 But we must not forget the boy, 
 Charles Clarence, who did go 
 
 For a Physician^in New York, 
 ^ Barefooted through the snow. 
 
 Kind Providence has smiled on him 
 He has regained the wealth 
 
 That his poor father did possess, 
 Before he lost his health. 
 
 The friend of Truman in New York, 
 
 Chanced in an insane house, 
 And saw a raving maniac 
 
 Dying with keen remorse. 
 He learned of him that years before, 
 
 He had by fraud obtained 
 The property of a dead man, 
 
 None did dispute his claim. 
 
 He told how he had turned into 
 
 The street a little boy, 
 And from that hour he had not had 
 
 A moment's peace or joy. 
 And when the wretched man did die, 
 
 The friend of Truman wrote 
 And sent the youth his property 
 
 Which he for him had got 
 
 " Ah ! friends," said Mr. Truman, when 
 
 He heard of this event, 
 " Tis better for all men to be 
 
 With honest deeds content. 
 When we look back upon our lives, 
 
 And see what we've passed through, 
 And how our enemies have failed. 
 
 It proves this theory true !" 
 
 Now, reader, I have told my tale, 
 
 I've told it too in rhyme ; 
 I hope, in reading it, you have 
 
 All had a pleasant time ! 
 I hope none of my readers will. 
 
 Their ducks and goslings drown, 
 With tears shed o'er the many wrongs, 
 
 Upon these pages found. 
 
 THE END 
 
''IB mm «Wc ' 1 m Wu'mm ii 1 mm { W 
 
 W. W. DOUGLASS' 
 
 stiw c&OTBnra stork 
 
 NEW GOODS and NEW PRICES. 
 
 .A. ICA-SO-IE STOCK OF 
 
 TS dJ OA 
 
 e sold at PRICES that DEFY COMPELTJ 
 
 MERCHANT TAILORING. 
 
 In the manufacturing line he has a full corps of experienced workmen, with 
 Col. Boon as Cutter and general manager. With the best selection of Cloths, 
 Cassimeres and Vesting?, he was never better prepared to please all who may 
 favor him with 'heir patronage. 
 
 W. W. DOUGLASS, AlbUw, Mich. 
 
 Dairy tuple's New Block, Superior S*r*»«fc 
 
 DEALER insr 
 
 OOTS | SHOE 
 
 HATS ty CAPS. 
 
 R. EL WOOD, 
 
 DEALEB I3ST 
 
 Watches, Clocks & Jewelry. 
 
 REPAIRING NEATLY DONE, 
 
 No. 34 SUPERIOR STREET, - - - ALBION. MICHIGAN. 
 
TEMPLE of FASHION ! 
 
 I. BING'S 
 
 CLOTHING STORE! 
 
 ^ISTID SEE THE 
 
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 A general assortment of every article kept in a store of that kind, from a 
 
 DBESS COAT TO A PAPEH COLLAR. 
 
 jniiRenjajvT tjhlorjijyg. 
 
 I am also in receipt of the largest stock of fine Cloths and Cassimeres ever 
 brought to this village. Suits or parts of suits made as desired. Cutting done to 
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 Albion, Mich. 
 
 A. P. GARDNER, 
 
 deal.be ijnt 
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 Manufacturer of 
 
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 I have also on hand a large stock of 
 
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 C 32.' 89 ^-HaRDNER, Albion, Mich. 
 
^Va.o v.. 
 
 
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