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 his own race, but yet loved nature, would choose a nook at the base of the Chine for his dwelling. No stranger, at least, would disturb him; for if he did not pass by the edge of the cliff, in the way-side, as he probably would, without knowing it, he would shudder and start back from the sight:--there is something threatening, appalling, in the lonely sublimity, and even in the intense, strange solitude of the place. But ah! if he knew, as I do, its history! Four times, if not more, since my brief acquaintance with this charming Island began, have gallant ships gone down, in storm and surge, in this fatal cove. I learned the history of one of these hapless companies from the marbles of the church-yard of Chale. There they were buried, with the sad solemnities suited to such an occasion, and with all the tenderness needed to soothe their hearts who were watching now so eagerly for the return of a long-expected ship. What a picture of human life, what a passage of human history it is! “Sermons,” indeed, “in stones!” Six of the passengers were of one affectionate family; a gallant naval officer, coming home from a long service, with his wife, a babe, and three elder and beautiful daughters. The brother of this lady had been expecting them daily. He was one of the first on the Island to be informed of their coming --and of how they had come ;--and to behold a spectacle which I will not describe. Let us hasten from the church-yard of Chale. The name is a knell in my memory. A glance at the burial-place of the United Brethren near Ballvmena in Ireland, may be a relief to the reader.
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