[ 584 >] [Dxc. 
THE WINTER CRUISE. 
A custom exists among the smugglers and fishermen, in the towns 
and villages on the Kentish coast, of engaging with shipowners residing 
there for the perilous adventures of a cruise to effect the landing of con- 
traband goods on some.distant shore. Ireland is chiefly the course these 
expeditions are bound for ; and many a smuggler’s wife, while listening 
to the dashing of the rough waves on the shore of her home, and the 
loud winds blowing harmlessly over the roof of her dwelling, has 
breathed a prayer that the same storm may be landing her husband’s 
cargo in safety on some unguarded beach, or filling the sheets of his 
good ship in eluding the pursuit of a revenue-cutter. These outfits 
are invariably made on the approach of November, and are denominated 
«The Winter Cruise.” The vessels are the property of individuals who 
have realized considerable sums in these speculations, and a fortune is 
frequently embarked in one vessel. The smuggler looks forward to the 
success of these adventures with sanguine hopes and beating heart ; and, 
while lamenting over past favours, prays for future good luck, which, 
if but moderate, makes him comfortable for life. During the absence of 
the men, their wives are allowed by the proprietors of the vessels a 
weekly stipend, sufficient for their maintenance ; but, on the arrival of 
disastrous news, the payments are discontinued. Many a hard hand has 
been softened by the tears mutually shed at the departures for the Win- 
ter Cruise ; and many a young wife has seen all that she loved launched 
on the ocean, to sleep in its bosom for ever. A mother, while bestow- 
ing her best wishes for a son’s success, and endeavouring to smile away . 
her apprehensions of what might befal, has looked upon him for the last 
time ; he has departed—hoping much, fearing littlk—never more to be 
seen or heard of. 
Folkstone, the scene of this tale, is only relieved by the hereditary 
good-nature of the inhabitants from a prevailing melancholy which every 
where presents itself, as bereaved mothers are pointed out to you, and 
widowed homes marked in every street. 
It was late one night in the month of January, when the flower of the 
young men of Folkstone were absent on the Winter Cruise, that fou: 
women were seated round a sea-coal fire, listening to the heavy rain fall- 
ing in the street, and the scolding wind as it echoed and rumbled in the 
chimney of the warm fire-place. One of the party—from her occupying 
the low-seated, patchwork-covered chair, and the peculiar attention paid 
to her by an indolent cat, who stretched, and purred, and quivered her 
nervous tale, while peering sleepily in her protector’s face—appeared to 
be the mistress of the house: she was a young woman, about five-and- 
twenty, with all the happy prettiness of a country beauty—albeit an 
indulged grief had thrown a pale tinge over the clear red that still shone 
in her cheek, as if struggling for mastery with an intruding enemy. 
Her features, though somewhat irregular, if but carelessly viewed, failed 
not to secure the, beholder’s stedfast observance, from the peculiar 
interest which a full blue eye and light arched brow lent to the contour. 
She was resting her face upon her hand, and looking at the red coals in 
the stove before her ;—the others seemed to have just concluded a bit 
of country scandal, or the success of the sale of a secreted tub of hollands, 
from the pursing-up of their lips, and the satisfaction with which each 
appeared to lean back in her chair. 
