LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3906, 23 October 1880, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A MYSTERIOUS VISION,

(HarperS 3l On tldy.)

In the month of November, 1845, the ship Sophia Walker sailed frcm Boston, bound for Palermo. Ihe ownera, Messr3 Theophilus and Nathaniel Walker, had invited their brother-in-law, the Rev Charles Walker, to go out to Palermo, as passenger, for tho benefit of his health. Among the crew was a young ninn named Frederick Stutaon. Jliwas the eldest son of the Rev Caleb Stetson, at that time pastor of the Unitarian Church, in Medford, Massachusetts. Frederick had been in a slort« in Boston, but, not being well, returned homo, to be under the care of a physician. His health did not improve, and Drßemi.i, of Medford, advised a sea voyage as most likely to restore his vigour. Frederick was delighted with this prospect, and bis parents reluctantly consented It was thought best for his 1.- lth that he should go on board as a pallor, :-ufc a contract •was made vriLh Captain Cof'n,*-' 'hat in case Frederick should become wtm • f his duties he shonld be admitted lo !■■■ iiibinnscnptain's clerk. From the fact tr.ac ihe Rev hir Stetson was a neighbour and friend, I became acquainted with the circumstances at the young man left home and embarked on board the Sophia Walker. The lather also requested my husband to speak to Captain Codman, his former pupil, in regard to the youth. In common with other friends, I sympathised deeply with Mr and Mrs Stetson in parting from their son under these painful circumstances ; but domestic cares and other Bcenea gradually effaced these impression c, until I forgot the length of time he expected to be absent, and indeed lost all recollection of his voyage. I relate these circumstances in detail that the reader may understand more fully the remarkable facta which followed. During the latter pstt of February, 1816, the death of my mother, Mm Leonard Woods, of Andover, was succeeded by my own dangerous illness. In March I wu<? seized with hemmorhago of the lungs, and lay for days hovering between life and death. One night, when tho crisis --'ems to hare passed, a member of my husl' nd's church, Mrs Sarah Butters, who had I* en watching •with, me, retired soon after midnight to give place to my husband, who was lo watch with me till morning. I had taken the medicine prescribed by my physician, and was endeavouring to compose myself to sleep, when all at once, with the vividness of a flash of lightning, the following scene was before me : — A tremendous ocean storm ; a frail vessel pitching headlong into the trough of the sea ; a billow mountain-high ready to engulf her ; a slender youth clingiDg to the masthead ; a more furious blast, a higher ware, and the youth, whom notwithstanding the darkness I instantly recognised as Frederick Stetson, fell into the foaming, seething deep. As he atruck the water I shrieked in agony j and my husband sprang to my side, expecting to see the crimson drops again oozing from my lips. My countenance, full of horror, terrified him. "What Hit?" he asked. I motioned him to silence, unable to withdraw my thoughts from the sjene. I still heard the roaring of tho angry billows, the shouts of the captain and crew. "Man overboard!" "Throw a rope!" "Letdown the life-boat!" "It's no use; the Bhip has pitched beyond his reach !" Fresh groans from my lips brought new anxiety to my faithful watcher. Ho seized my trembling hand, placed hi 3 fingers on my pulse, and 6tarted back with dismay when he felt their feverish bound. II What i 3 it ? Are you in more pain ? Shall I go for the doctor P" 11 Oh, it's dreadful," I gasped ; " I can't tell. It's awful." Then I parsed into a still more rema'kable state. Heretofore I bad seen what was going on at the moment ; now my mind went forward, and I Eaw events that had occurred two, three days, two weeks later. The storm had abated. The vesael, though injured, was able to proceed on her way. It was the Sabbath; the crew were sitting in silent reverence, white the clergyman, the Rev Mr Walker, read, prayed, and preached a funeral sermon, caused by the late s-' 1 -^vent. Every eye wa3 moistened, every bre n • ;ushed, as the speaker recounted the circur ees connected with Frederick's voyage, eu leavoured to impress upon the minds < [3 hearers the solemn truth of the ur^ nty of life. Another ocene. Our own c-.. t aber ; a messenger coming in haßte witu a letter from Captain Codman announcing Frederick's death. The wordo of the letter I could read. One mofo oceno. I seemed to be aguin on board the Sophia Walker. Mr Stetson was there, standing by Frederick's open chesb, into which the captain had thoughtfully placed every article belonging to hia late clerk. Tho father's teaw fell copiously while Captain Codman dilated on Frederick's exemplary conduct during the entire voyage. When they reached Palermo, he had expressed hii. wish to enter upon the duties of a clerk, nccording to their contract, if tired of a sailor's life, and sinca that hour had taken his place with the oulcers in the cabin. All this passed before my mind with the rapidity of lightning. I lay trembling with agitation, until startled to present realities by my husband's voice, while lip held a spoon to my lips. The firat question I ■ ked was, 41 What day of tho montl. 1 it ? " " The 10th" of March." "What time did you come ■■.ro the room." "It was past twelve when ; you your medicine. Soon after, you > emed greatly distressed. Can you tell mo now what it was?" , "It is dreadful," I whispered, gasping between every word, " Frederick Stetson is drowned j I saw him fall into the sea." " Ob, no," waß the cheerful reply j " you have thinking of him, and dreamed it." " No, I was wide awake. I saw him fall. I have not once thought of him for weeks. Oh, what will his parents say ? " Soon after this, exhausted by my terrible excitement, I fell into a troubled sleep. When I awoke it waa dawn, and I immediately commenced narrating to my husband the scenes I had witnessed, he making a note of them, and their precise date. Perceiving that this conversation greatly agitated me, he left the chamber to inquire whether the Sophia Walker had come into port, and promised to direct our son, a schoolmate of Edward Stetson, to ask whether Frederick had returned from his voyage. This he did, thinking to allay my nervous excitement, which he fully believed to be the result of a fevered dream. At an early hour Dr Daniel Swan, one of my physicians, came to my bedside, He expressed his disappointment at finding my pulse greatly accelerated, and asked the cause. I then, though not without great exhaustion, repeated to him what I had seen, my husband being present, Mrs Butters (the lady referred to), and a woman who had lived in family for years. In the course of a week several persons were made acquainted with these facts, though, from the fear lest they should reach tho ears of the parents, they were told under an injunction of secrecy. In the meantime I listened eagerly to my son's daily bulletins from his schoolmate. •'Fred is coming Boon." 11 Mother has his clothes all ready." "Father says he may bo here any day now." "The Sophia Walker is duo this week." It was two weeks before the Bhip arrived in port, but I was so far convalescent that I was permitted to sit up, wrapped in blankets, for an hour ox 1 two each day. On one of these occasions, while Mr Baker and the family were at dinner, the bell rang, and presently I heard my husband, in answer to the summons of the servant, hurry to the door. Scarcely a minute had elapsed before he entered my chamber, palo, and evidently trying to conceal his emotion. Ho had on open letter in hia hand, upon which his eye 3 were fastened. "You havo Captain Codman's letter," I said. "Yes," he answered, "and in nlmo3t the words you repeated to me." I held my hand out for the sheet, and my teera fell fast as I read the following lino?, evidently written in great haste : — " Rev Mr Baker. — My dear Sir,— l must beg you to perform a painful duty. Poor Frederick was lost overboard in a gale on the 10th. You must tell his father. I cannot. I never had anything occur that has given me sd much pain. Ho was everything that I could desiro ; and I can truly say that I never had occasion to reprovo him, and that his uniform good conduct won the esteem and love of us all. There was this satisfaction — that no one of us was so well prepared for death. I will detail tho circumstances at more leisure ; but enough to say row, he was lost from the fore-topsail yard in a gale of wind, and human exertions could not save

him. You can best administer the corsolation to hia distressed parontc. Show them the sermon preached on tho Sabbath following his death, whioh accompanies this, and assure them of my heartfelt sympathy.— Yours truly, J. Codmaw. — March 25, 1846." (To be continued.)