malice alone that causes it to offend, or to be injurious to others-the simple want of consideration alone, not unfrequently leads us to inflict wounds most painful to bear, and often fatal in their consequences. Frank Markham was one of those thoughtless young men, who, loving to hear themselves talk, talk often for talking sake. By deed he would have injured no man; he was spoken of as a good-tempered fellow, not overburdened with brains, ready to do an act of kindness to any one, provided the opportunity presented itself, for it must be confessed he never went out of his way to seek it. He had, however, a defect, or, as it might be called, a habit, which rendered him a dangerous acquaintance, and lowered him in the estimation of all who were aware of it. Yielding without reason or reflection to the mere impulse of the moment, he would make remarks upon persons, assert opinions as those of others, or ascribe sentiments and even actions to individuals, for which he had no authority whatever. The habit was so well known, that though occasionally a friend might be startled at first at something related to him, the quarter from whence the information or charge proceeded was no sooner known, than surprise or anxiety ceased. "Frank Markham said so."-It was enough; the smile that followed showed how little either he or his words were regarded: while he himself, when the expressions he had used were repeated to him, almost invariably answered, "What nonsense! I had no meaning for what I said; who's to look at every word he says before he utters it, or can stop to weigh its force? there would be no such thing as conversation in the world. I had no wish to hurt any one, and never have; you know my way; and it is your fault if you make my ant-hills mountains." It happened one day that Frank was travelling in a railway-carriage with an elderly gentleman, who was a total stranger to him, and another with whom he was partially acquainted as living in the same town with himself. The speed of Frank's tongue fully verified the quaint but correct assertion, that tongues generally, and his in particular, ran the faster for having no weight to carry. He had something to say to each of his fellow-travellers; he knew everybody, everything; knew to whom this estate belonged, to whom that-who inhabited one pretty house, who the other; nor were the proprietors themselves, according to him, strangers to him, or their private affairs a secret to him. "You seem well acquainted with everyone in this neighbourhood," said the old gentleman at length, for, taciturn himself, he had at first seemed annoyed at Frank's loquacity. "From your general knowledge of these parts, and all connected with them, I suppose you are an inhabitant of D-y." 66 "I am," returned he; our family has lived there for generations (he forgot that his father and mother were natives of Macclesfield); from the most ragged-headed boy in Layton Lane to our respected member, Mr., I know men, women, and children." "Of course then you know the family of the Montagues," said the stranger. "To be sure I do, as well as possible," returned Frank. "Mr. Montague died suddenly of apoplexy, I was told;" then looking mysteriously, he added, "sudden deaths are always suspicious. There was a good deal said about it at the end, but with what foundation is another matter." The stranger looked very grave, and for a short time was silent; then turning abruptly to Frank he said, "Are you acquainted with Lawrence Montague?" Acquainted with him!" repeated he, "Lawrence and I have always been on the most intimate terms. I question whether I know myself better than I know him." "What sort of a young man is he?" asked the other. Frank laughed. "I see you don't know him," replied he, "then I'll tell you. rollicking, harum-scarum fellow as you please, when he likes." He's a "I thought he was a remarkable steady young man," said the stranger quickly, fixing his eyes almost sternly on Frank. "And so he is in a general way," replied Frank; "but, as I told you before, he can be-" "What?" demanded the other. "As wild as the best of us," returned he, laughing; "up to anything and everything." "You greatly surprise me," said the stranger, and his look, to Frank's delight, showed that he really was so. "And his mother-does she sanction such conduct?" "I should not think that she troubles herself much about it,” replied he. "She is wonderfully particular in some things, and as to her opinions on certain points, it is perfectly marvellous how prejudiced she is ;--but she can be like other people after all. I have heard a good many people say they should not be surprised at her marrying again, and that at no very distant period." "Marry again!" repeated the other, "you must be mistaken, sir." "Oh no, I am not," said Frank; it's no make-up of my own I assure you. I have heard it a dozen times. I'll tell you the name of the gentleman-if I-" At that moment, however, the guard's voice proclaimed the station at which they had arrived. Frank and his townsman left the carriage, with an intent to take a cross train which was expected shortly. By way of passing away the time, they walked up and down the platform. "I wonder who that old fellow is!" said Frank. "Who? the person standing there?" returned the other, whose name was Osborne, pointing to a gentleman standing at a short distance from them. "No, no," replied Frank; "the old fellow that was in the carriage with us: that man's face is summer and sunshine to look upon, the other's pretty much as sour as the north side of a crab-tree." "I know nothing of him," returned he; "but I must own to you I am sorry that you said what you did about young Montague and his mother. You must excuse me, but I think you went a great deal further than you had any authority to go." "Why, what did I say?" asked Frank. "You said that Montague was a 'rollicking fellow,' replied he; "now let me ask what idea you intended to convey by that word?" "What idea?" repeated he. "Pshaw! it's one matter to make use of a word, and another exactly to define it; there are few of us who would cut a good figure if we were to be brought to book in this manner. Rollicking, full of fun, mischievous, and all that; not vicious, though. To tell the truth, I saw the word for the first time in a tale I was reading the other day, and I was so pleased with it, that it popped into my head as a good opportunity to make use of it." "A bad opportunity, I think," said Osborne, shaking his head. "At least, unless I am greatly mistaken, the expression was ill applied in this case. I have always looked upon Lawrence Montague as a very steady young man; and as to his mother, she is a most exemplary woman. I have not heard a word about her marrying again." "Nonsense," cried Frank: "if the old fellow knows them, which I don't care whether he does or not, he will know that I had no meaning in what I said, and if he does not know them, what does it signify if I had said fifty times as much as I have? If you are to be bound to say just so much of a person, and no more, for fear you should say something more than is exactly correct, who is to live in society? I could not." "The more the pity," replied Mr. Osborne; "in this boasted age of general information and knowledge, one might think that conversation could be carried on without making our acquaintance the subject of it, or of using mere embellishments to our remarks, by the way of rendering them the more agreeable." Frank did not feel quite so easy as he desired to appear, and he was glad to get rid of the discourse. 66 Ay, well," said he, "it's done now, and there's an end of it. The old fellow has forgotten it all by this time, I dare say; so, know them or not, no harm's done." But Frank was mistaken, harm was done; the stranger was an uncle of Mrs. Montague. Displeased at her marriage with her late husband, merely because he wished to have seen her united to a wealthy person of his own choosing, he had abstained from all intercourse with her for many years. By the death of Mr. Montague, she had been left in very indifferent circumstances, and anxiety for her son had led her, after many struggles, to make application to her uncle for assistance; he was rich and unmarried, and her son's education was not complete. She wrote with all the eloquence of maternal feeling, and, judging by the tears her letter had cost her to indite, she thought it could scarcely fail to touch the heart of its reader. Nor was she mistaken; her powerful and pathetic pleading shook the resolution of Mr. Shenley, and he yet wavered between a determination to maintain his obduracy and an inclination to become reconciled to his niece. It was in this frame of mind that he encountered Frank Markham. The information he received from him, given, as it appeared to him, by one who could neither be mistaken in what he advanced, nor could have any motive to mislead another, at once provoked and decided him. Immediately on his return home, he wrote to Mrs. Montague, refusing her request, and couching his denial in severe terms. This was a heavy blow, and rendered the more so from the hope she had indulged of success. What was to be done? alas! there was no alternative; she was obliged to accept the friendly offer made her by an acquaintance of her husband, to send out her son as a clerk in a merchant's office in Jamaica. Had Mr. Shenley relented, and afforded her the aid for which she sued, Lawrence would have been able to keep his last term at Cambridge, and the long-cherished desire of his heart, to take holy orders, would have been gratified. As it was, his prospects were blighted for ever. Mother and son parted, and parted too, to meet no more. Cholera was raging in the island when Lawrence landed, and he fell almost immediately a victim to the dreadful malady. "What a savage that uncle of Mrs. Montague's was to refuse the assistance she asked of him, rolling in riches as he is, and neither chick nor child to claim a farthing from him!" cried Frank Markham to Mr. Osborne, who was speaking of the circumstance, which had soon got wind, and was much commented upon. "Poor Lawrence's death may fairly be laid at his door. I wonder what excuse he could make for such barbarous conduct." "It is said," replied the other, "that the old gentleman gave as his reason, when the subject was afterwards named to him, that he had been credibly informed the young man was not one who deserved to be encouraged. I was told that he even declared he was on his road to for the express purpose of seeing Mrs. Montague, and ascertaining what could really be done for Lawrence, when, hearing this disparaging character of him, he altered his intention, returned home, and wrote a denial as unkind as it was peremptory." "What a shame !" cried Frank; "a double shame; a shame to him for being so ready to believe anything against the poor fellow; and a shame to the person who said it; he deserves, let him be who he will,—————” 66 Stop !" exclaimed Mr. Osborne, "do you remember travelling with an elderly gentleman some little time ago, when we were going to ? that gentleman was no other than Mr. Shenley; I have since seen him, and recognised him as our companion. If you have forgotten what then occurred, I have not. I told you, if you recollect, how sorry I was that you had spoken of Mrs. Montague and Lawrence as you had done, and I much regret that I suffered your words to pass unnoticed." Frank coloured deeply. "Impossible!" cried he, "any one might have seen that I had no meaning in what I said." His heart throbbed, however, as he spoke, and he felt, as his countenance betrayed, much grieved and annoyed. "You must excuse me," said the other, "when presuming on the privilege of an elder, I tell you, that you and every one, ought to have a meaning in what you say. No word, particularly when we speak of others, is unimportant; and to give a false impression of another's character, because we are careless of the terms we use in speaking of him, is a fault of no trifling description. The wise man employs his words as the experienced and skilful soldier employs his weapons,-for defence or lawful attack; the simple one plays with his words, as a child with a firebrand, causing the ruin of others, whilst simply diverting himself. Take this advice for the future: feel the value of your expressions before you utter them, and always be careful not only to convey a meaning to them, but such a meaning as will do justice to others, as well as credit to yourself." THE CHRISTIAN TRAVELLER. "A BLACK cloud makes the traveller mend his pace, and mind his home, whereas a fair day and a pleasant way wastes his time, and stealeth away his affections, in the prospect of the country. However others may think of it, yet I take it as a mercy that now and then some clouds do interpose my sun, and many times some troubles do eclipse my comforts. For I perceive if I should find too much friendship in my inn in my pilgrimage, I should soon forget my father's house and my pilgrimage."-LUCAS. He that rises first to prayer, has a more early title to a blessing; but he that changes night into day, labour into idleness, watchfulness to sleep, changes his hopes of blessing into a dream. THE HOME FRIEND; A WEEKLY MISCELLANY OF AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION. PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, No. 29.] [PRICE 1d. A VISIT TO AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD REGIONS-No. V. PORT PHILLIP BAY is one of the most magnificent harbours in the world, and would afford safe anchorage for the whole mercantile navy of England. The width of the entrance at the Heads of Port Phillip is about two miles; and the entrance passed, the shores recede away on either side so as to give it an immense width. About half-way up, it throws out an arm to the westward, which is about ten miles wide at the mouth, and which, as we VOL. II. 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