until by sunset it blew a gale. Reefed down, we were travelling south with terrific speed and no inclination did our skipper evince of heaving to or further shortening sail. In toward the land he had seen lights that he believed to be the lights of Sol Jacobs, and had he not registered a silent vow to be the first to keep the old tryst just to the northward of "Hatteras?" As the storm increased in fury, muttered dissent arose at our skipper's too apparent recklessness. "What's the use of getting there first," growled old Bill Jeffs, "if you arrive on the ground with both spar out of her and your rudderhead gone?" Now yawing to protestingly at the weight she was carrying, now burying herself in the bed of foam. she ploughed out for herself, the vessel drove on before the gale. The night fell, and with it came the lightning, the thunder and the rain, the rain descending in a way that northern waters know not of, the heavy downpour levelling the heads of the great seas. All hands were on deck, "oiled up," wrapped in a strange enjoyment, for the exhilaration born of such a time displaces fear. "Maintopsail's adrift, sir!" cried out some one suddenly. The skipper looked aloft: "Whose work is that?-lay aloft, there, and take care of that sail!" The fact that my watch-mate and I had furled this sail at the commencement of the blow left no doubt as to whose duty it was to respond to the order. It was a dangerous bit of work under the existing conditions, but topsails are topsails and without a word in protest I followed Langdon into the rig ging, up the slippery shrouds and through the cross-trees. There, amid frequent flashes of lightning, the wailing storm in our ears, the pelting rain lashing our faces, now swaying far out over the dark sea that was lighted up, ever and anon, by the fitful flash of a billow, now struggling to maintain our hold on the reeling mast, we beat the wet and thrashing sail into place and secured it. Our task finished, I turned to descend, was making sure of my foothold on the first ratline, when a lurid seam of light chasmed the eastern sky. So swiftly did flash follow flash that there seemed to be but one intense auroral wave sweeping from horizon's verge to horizon's verge. The whole firmament was lighted up. What a scene! The dome above o'er-canopied by flying scud and cloud, the driving rain transformed into a vivid mist, the league on league of ocean with its transient gulfs, its mountain waves, numberless for multitude, the storm-driven vessel, hurled on from sea to sea, every individual rope, every strand of every shroud, every thread of every sail, -all was bared and distinct under that white-heat glow. A pin could have been seen on the deck beneath. A period of Egyptian darkness blotted out the sublime spectacle. Enveloped in that absolute night, my dazzled senses were awakened by a piercing shriek from my companion. "It's here!" he screamed, "it's here!" My heart seemed to cease its beating, the thought of encountering some uncanny thing, of witnessing some hideous struggle on that reeling, storm-swept height, paralyzed me. "Help, mate!" he screamed again, "help! help!" As if the cry had called it forth, a terrible thunder crash burst directly above our heads. The masts rocked and leaped in response to every peal, and as that awful roar crashed down the sky, it seemed as if the girders of the firmament itself were being sundered. Even with the reverberations a bolt of lightning passed between our spars. We had run into the very centre of the storm. In an instant our vessel was encircled by a ring of fire. Round and round our rails the lightning raced in a fiery and a continuous stream. From the tip of every spar and boom and down the chainplates forked tongues of light escaped into the air and into the sea. The illumination revealed my companion on the lee cross-trees. His Sou'wester was gone, the rain was beating into his wide-opened mouth, his arms were about, his face-terror convulsed, was pressed against the spar. Was it my super-heated imagination, was it a trick of the lightning's play, or did I see spectre arms encircling his form, phantom fingers clutching at his throat! "Help! mate," he panted. "help!" Again that Egyptian darkness, again the blood curdling cries from the haunted man. There came one last gleam of light and by its glow I saw the form of Langdon launched into space and strike, head downward, the sea beneath. God deal unkindly with me and mine if I did not see a spectre shape in an exulting dance above the arm that reached out from the crest of a great wave. "Man overboard!" I shrieked. "Man overboard!" echoed from the deck below. The shock and the situation sickened me at heart. I felt my senses reeling, my strength passing, and I knew that I must reach the deck instantly or I would be lost. Although my nether limbs seemed to be but leaden weights and my hands were cushioned by an electric thrill, I managed to twine my legs about the main-back-stay. With a muttered prayer that God would vouchsafe me one moment more of consciousness, I let myself go. As I struck the rail some one drew me, half-fainting, to the deck. The futility of hauling to, of attempting to launch a boat in that wind and sea, was recognized by all. If this should meet the eye of any one that knew the man, they will now have learned how and where James Langdon died. The Rhododendron Swamp By GRACE STONE FIELD Where the tangled forest stretches Like the princess in her tower, Drawbridge drawn and moated deep, Safely shielded from invasion Dreamlessly the blossoms sleep. Breaking buds, with opal tinted Sleeping beauties, grimly guarded, Hush the forest, murmuring faintly, Arching aisles of green and gloom, UN Weymouth, Ancient and Modern By GEORGE WALTER CHAMBERLAIN NDER the gentle breezes of an August sky, making for a broad, deep inlet within whose spacious cove the angry waves of the Atlantic were stilled, anchored two small vessels, the "Charity" and the "Swan." Allured to the shores of the New World by the mysteries of the unknown and surrounded by dense forests whose towering heights raised their lofty tops, higher and higher, as turning their eyes eastward toward Great Hill and King Oak Hill and then westward toward the Blue Hills and the boundless forests beyond, Mr. Thomas Weston and his company of able-bodied men stepped upon the virgin soil of ancient Wessagusset. Sheltered from the chilly winds of the bleak Atlantic on the MRS. MARIA (WESTON) CHAPMAN excepting Plymouth, one of the most ancient in New England, was begun on the "South Shore" in the old days. Of those pre-historic beginnings no clear account has been found; no artist left even a background of that crude settlement. Here and there has the antiquary been able to glean through the dim and imperfect annals of early chroniclers meagre and isolated references to the pioneers of ancient Wessa gusset. east, and with the deep, gigantic forests stretching to the unknown westward, this motley company from "London Town," without a clearly defined purpose, landed near Hunt's Hill in Weymouth, erected a block-house and began to make a clearing in the early autumn. of 1622. And so the first settlement within the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and Such as they are, they are most picturesque and romantic. During the first winter these pioneers fell into disfavor with the natives, who plotted their destruction. Through an unbroken forest in mid-winter, "the old planter," Phineas Pratt, made his way in a most perilous journey to Plymouth to inform the authorities there of the troubles at Wessagusset. Captain Myles Standish with a small body of men set out for the settlement in open boats, and arrived before the Indians had accomplished their designs. On an April day in 1623, Myles Standish, in a hand to hand encounter, slew bold Wattawamat and the boasting Pecksuot A WEYMOUTH SHOE FACTORY OF 1850, THE STETSON SHOE COMPANY'S EXHIBIT IN "THE PARADE" in the rude blockhouse at Wessagusset. This encounter between the English and the Indians on the shore of Boston Bay and in the town of Weymouth furnished an episode from which Longfellow created an important part of the "Courtship of Myles Standish." "Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward. Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers." Nor did the death of Wattawamat and Pecksuot bring the troubles at Wessagusset to an end. The chroniclers tell that in the company was a thief who was found guilty of stealing from the Indians. He was given into the hands of the savages for them to deal with as they should see fit. These natives of the "forest primeval" refused to receive or pun ish the offender, and his companions took him out before the natives and hanged him themselves. Some forty years later Samuel Butler gave to the world his version of this second Weymouth episode in "Hudibras"-the most popular English book of that day. Butler drew his satirical inspiration from the 'New English Canaan" of which the humorous Thomas Morton of May-pole fame was the author. Finding in this false account of Morton, material with which to dress the Puritanism of the times in a ridiculous garb, Butler gave a most inaccurate version of the execution at Wessagusset, claiming that an old, innocent, decrepit weaver was executed to appease the savages instead of the real culprit. In the town seal something of the history of the town has been graphically and appropriately represented. The sword of Standish crossing the knife of Pecksuot symbolizes the |