1828.) — True Story of a Storm at Sea. 14] 
the old monumental statues that are placed on tombs, to represent the 
heavenly repose of the inhabitant beneath. 
The only other persons whose conduct, on that (to me) memorable 
night, I can recur to the recollection of, without calling up mingled 
feelings of grief and shame for the weakness and folly of poor human 
nature, were a new married couple (such at least I judged them to be), 
who occupied a situation close to that where I was placed during the 
greater part of the night ; and even of these the husband would, I con- 
fess, have excited little or no interest in me, but for that which was, as 
it were, reflected on him from the wife: for in himself he appeared to 
be little better than a cold, lifeless statue, awakened into something of 
an artificial existence by the warmth of her love for him. Not that he 
did not seem to feel for her all the love that he was capable of feeling for 
any thing ; but his cold, still, statue-like, yet intense expression of face, 
seemed to indicate that in him “ passion had raved itself to rest.” 
About himself, and all things but her, he seemed totally indifferent ; 
and even his feelings towards her seemed to be so entirely under his 
own command—at least so far as regarded any outward manifestation 
of them—that, in speculating on the probable conduct of the different 
persons about me, in case of the worst, I had said to myself—*< That 
man evidently loves his wife better than any thing else in the world, 
or than all things else; and yet he will see her sink into the deep with 
an unmoved countenance, and hear the last gasping sound of her voice 
without uttering an answering exclamation ; and, supposing the spot 
where we are to be lost should be one from which there is no hope 
of rescue or escape, he will yield her up without an effort to save 
her, and will wait till it-is his turn to follow her, with the same unmoved 
look that he would follow her funeral to the grave.” Luckily, I had 
no means of verifying this prediction: we will, therefore, turn at once to 
the lady. 
Though altogether different in appearance from the young girl I have 
described above, she was scarcely less beautiful, and even more interest- 
ing, on account of the circumstances which were acting upon her. She 
appeared to be in an extremely delicate state of health, and was reclining 
at her full-length on one of the black horse-hair mattresses provided for 
the purpose—for there were no beds any where but in the small inner 
cabin I before named. Her husband was seated on the same mattress, 
at her feet ; and in this position (except that the husband two or three 
times went up the cabin-stairs for a moment to look at the weather) they 
remained the whole night. But what I would more particularly wish to 
describe (if I were able) was the face of this lady ; for if ever the poetry 
of true passion was written on a human countenance in characters not to 
be passed over or mistaken, it was there. I must insist that 
nn’ {here 18 2 Skill 
tty To read the mind’s observance in the face ;” 
; rather, there is an instinctive feeling that supersedes the necessity of 
ill, and that nothing but artificial circumstances can destroy, or render 
ant. For those who are susceptible of natural impressions, to look 
this lady’s face was to see delineated there the history and the 
heey blended of an all-absorbing passion—a passion that had been 
he one moving principle of her past life, and was to remain so through 
1e future, in spite of all chance or change in other things—a passion 
