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foresait—up and shake a reef out get ready the foretopmast studding sail,” and away the vesses went bowling away before it to the southward. The ‘Mid then descended to the cabin, leaving his subordinate in command, in order to investigate the state of the victualing department. . The vessel was from the Havannah, however, and there was not much in that way of a very tempting nature to any but a hungry Mid—she was laden chiefly with segars and sugars. The Mid was no great smoker, but the Spaniard smoked incessantly, and so urged him to participate in the pleasure, that, tempted also by the praises and the fragrance of such segars as might have tempted a veteran smoker, to use a sailor's expression,--to “ murder his father and mother and turn Turk” in order to possess them, he could not re-ist, and what with smoking, and the exhilaration of his spirits at the thought of being chief, and careering gloriously along towards the warmer region of the south, and a soupçon ef grog, he got rather elated, and going on deck gave the crew a dram, and having plenty of sea room, ordered the youngster to carry on like blazes and turned in : The second in command soon followed the example, and the prize was left to the care of the man at the helm. To be sure the Mid was called at the end of call watch, but there was no temptation to leave his snug warm berth and face the northerly gale still blowing. The vessel bounded along gloriously with a fair wind, and in three days left snow and sleet and frost behind, and entered a milder climate. Nothing occurred of importance—one day passed away much like the other, eating, drinking, sleeping, and snoking Havannah segars being the sole occupatians, the careful Mid in charge having no sextant and no chronometer, no lunars, of course, and nothing but dead reckoning to trust to, instead of making the hypotheneuse or direct line to his position, was obliged to make nearly two sides of the triangle—that is to say, running down to the southward into the latitude of the island full a degree and a half or two degrees to the eastward of it, and then steering due east in the parrallel of it, the

only sure way of making such a speck in the ocean by dead reckoning. All went on smoothly, he

got into the parrallel of the island, about seventy miles from it, when one morning a strange sail was seen. Desirous to speak her, the water on board having run short, sail was made. The Spanish detent was a rakish lookin: craft; and the stranger had no desire to be nearer, but he could not help himself, and soon perceiving this, hove his main-topsail to the mast. When the prize came near him, however, he again took the alarm, and hauled on board his fore and main tacks, but the Mid was not long in following his example, and sending a King's messenger, alias a shot, after him. He again brought to, and the boat being lowered, water was obtained, and the longitude by chronometer, as the vessel was a smart West Indiaman well appointed. It o that the prize was only some thirty miles of Bermuda instead of seventy, as we had supposed. At noon the latitude observed was that of the south end of the island -it was nearly calm, and the vessel for two hours had made scarcely any progress, a faint westerly air was fanning her along at the rate of about one mile an hour.

The island of Bermuda is approachable only on the south-east side ; on the north and west it is surrounded by rocks to the distance of ten and more than ten miles in some places, and vessels approaching it steer for a Volcanic peak, at the southern extremity called Wreck Hill, keeping it bearing to the northward of east, an i if night comes on ere they get sight of their landmark, are directed to heave to, with their heads to the southward. The Mid in charge was well aware of these Peculiarities. He had before brought in several prizes, and felt quite confident.

The weather was beautifully fine, like a calm summer's day in England, the large white clouds seemed painted on the blue sky, and the surface of the heaving ocean, almost glassy smooth; the sails flapped heavily against the masts, and the vessel had scarcely steerage way. At sun-set the Mid went aloft taking his hopeful assistant with him ; the look-out-man at the mast head was questioned— he could see nothing —and all three agreed that it was because—nothing was in sight. The Mid culculated the dis ance of the horizon, the limit of vision from aloft, to be full five leagues, and therefore argued, that if the lofty peak of Wreck Hill were not much further off it must be seen ; the vessel was suffered to crawl on therefore till 8 o'clock at night, when she was hove to, with her head to the northward. The reason was, that the Miu having twice before hove to at night with his head to the southward, had found himself drifted so far to leeward with a north-west wind and current, that he had been greatly delaye in getting into port. Not dreaming of any danger, however, he went to bed,

leaving the best of the seaman in charge of the first watch, giving the youngster the middle, and desir.

ing to be called at four in the morning to bear up and make sail; and, of course, at any time in the night, if a breeze should spring up. At four o'clock he was called, the youngster was snug in his bed. When he went on deck, he was surprized to find that there was a fine breeze, the vessel forgeing ahead, and no one could tell exactly when it had come on. He gave his orders however : —“Up with the helin—shiver the main topsail - hoist away .." foresail—steer East by South.” In five minutes there was a grinding noise as of a cable surging in the hawse, but no shock. It startled the Mid, he seized the helm, but the rudder moved freely, he feared, however, the vessel had struck, and immediately shortened sail, and brought the vessel to the wind or rather attempted to bring her, for she came round about three points only, when bang she come against a rock under water, and

went off with a rebound. “ Brail up the spanker—square the main yard—hard a starboard—clear

away one of the bower anchors,” cried the Mill. She came round three more points on the other tack, and bang she came against a rock on that side ; it was then clear, that the only clear water was forward and aft, the vessel forging ahead further had touched a midship, the wind was right aft, and the anchor was let go to prevent her running further on the reef. It was still dark, nothing to be seen; but a gun was fired as a signal for distress. The noise of these manoeuvres, and the gun, brought the alarmed skipper on the deck in his shirt. He was a spare Don Quixote kind of man, but without any of the Knight's courage. He was perfectly beside himself with fight. The crew had soon clued up and furled the sails and were clearing away the long boat, seeing the thout, or pins for the oars, the oars, &c. all ready, and getting the tackles up to hoist her out, when the skipper who had never spoke a word of English, now began to attempt our language —“De boat, de boat-life is dear—cut, cut away, no mind Je boat;” meaning that it would save time to cut away the slight bulwark of the vessel and launch the boat. It might, no doubt, but with a detained vessel that did not suit the Mid's ideas, and so spite of the clipper's clamour they proceeded to hoist out the boat, intimating to him, that it was not for the purpose of taking him or any body ashore, but for he Purpose of sounding and laying out an anchor astern to heave the vessel off. He roared and danced about the deck like a madman, and so amused the crew and especially the younger Mid, that the work in hand was actually interrupted by him. At length day-light appeared, and we had soon some twenty boats alongside very eager to take out the cargo, of which the Mid would not hear, having soon ascertained that the flood was just making, and knowing that the rise of water though only four or five feet, would float the vessel. At length she did float, and a skillful Mudian Pilot guiled her through the most intricate passage. Treading her way through rocks round the east point of the island, she got to an anchorage called Ireland, where there is what may be termed a back entrance to St. George's Harbour. The Captain left the ship on the first boat, but as soon as the vessel was snugly moored he came on board again, and would fain have hugged in his arms in a loving embrace the Mid, whom he called his preserver. He shewed his gratitude afterwards by filing an afidavit against him in the Admirality Court, accusing him of wasting the stores of the vessel, and allowing the men to plunder her; but the affidavit was never brought forward. Strange to say, the vessel was released, although neither the midshipman who condemned her, nor any of her crew were ever examined, and thus the prize proved a blank.


The following is a mere fragment, but a very characteristic one, from an article entitled First Impressions of India.

• Poor G., though not a smart seaman, he knew what belonged to a sailor's duty, and had all the frankness and generosity of the profession. He had come home to England in command of a ship —his first command, and he lost the vessel in Mount's Bay in a dark winter's night. He was one of your easy going Captains, and his officers followed his example. The ship was manned with lascars, the finest seamen in the world in their own genial climes, as far as readiness and activity are concerned, (though they are deficient in physical strength,) the worst in the inclement weather of an English winter. By some oversight or want of observations the vessel made the Scilly Islands, and narrowly escaped being wrecked. A course was then shaped to pass between St. Agnes and the seven stones up channel. The wind was fair but drew more to the southward during the night; the Cap'ain, not aware how much the strength and direction of the current are it fluenced by the wind, steering a mid channel course, was under no apprehension and carried on a press of sail. This is a common but perhaps not a judicious practice where the wind is from the northward or southward setting upon either coast of the channel and the wenther threatening, for in case of any accident requiring the vessel to be suddenly rounded to, a ship with whole topsails is reduced to a very critical predicament. Anxious again to set foot on his native soil, however, poor G. cracked on all sail, the evening was passed in jollity more non ico and all were anticipating the pleasure of joyous anchoring in a home port on the morov. The vessel flew on like the Demon Ship with all canvass spread, the wind increased, the night was pitchy dark—the bower and sheet anchors were got over, the cables bent and ranged – when soon after midnight the man forward sung out “land a-head " All was confusion—the helin was put up however, and the ship wore round under the supposition that it was a head land they might clear on the other tack—the people were called out to reef the topsails but in vain, and was discovered a head again - confusion worse confounded then ensued—“The ship's embayed " was the cry –“ let go the anchors - cut away the masts " the bower anchors were let go–the main and mizon masts cut away after much noise and delay, but the anchors held only for a time, “Let go the sheet !” the sheet anchor was let go ; but the inner end of the cable not being clinched, (made fast below,) the whole cable run out at the haws-holes and the ill-fated vessel drove among the breakers.

- Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave.

Put dangerous as the position wa. though the waves broke fearfully over the vessel, she held together and in the morning had been forced into a nook in Mount's Bay, where the crew and passengers were got on shore, by means of hawsers and seats slung upon them. Such was the windup of poor G,’s first command. He and the officers and crew lost their pay and were glad enough to work their passages out in another ship belonging to the owners, then a firm of prosperous gentlemen long since ruined, and the head partner of which died not many years ago in a uni-erable plight in this very Calcutta, where he had once lived in splendour ! Such are the vicissitudes of fate |

The following passages are from two articles on Insincerity.

Is friendship then, compatible with perfect sincerity Who will be bold enough to answerin the affirmative 2 Is there one man or woman of all I address who can lay his hand on his or her heart and say that there is in existence another man or woman to whom he or she has ever observed perfect since,ity I will answer for then.—No. . The thing is impossible. To convince ourselves of this truth we have only to consider some of the cases that occur in friendship which test our sincerity. Let us suppose our friend is going to marry a woman of whom we have the worst opinion. I.e comes to us as usual in such affairs, after his mind is male up, descants on the blessings of matrimony in the abstract, the considerations which lead him to seek happiness in that state, and then dwells on his singular good fortune in meeting with one gifted with every quality that can give prom se of connubial biss. At this stage of the consultation, of course he deals in ecstatics:– “My dear fellow, such a charming creature such vivacity tempered by such genuine modesty and good tast, 1–such accomplishments' such elegant manners' and only ten years younger than myself! in short, my dear Jack, I cannot describe to you how elated I feel at the idea of being about to possess such a delightful creature ; for my part I had deemed such happiness as much, Leyond my hopes as my merits, and wiren I first met the dear soul, it seemed to me that"—

It were all one That I should love a bright particular star - And think to wed it; - - - - - -

" but still, you know, I never do anything without consulting you : now do, there's a good fessow, give me your advice”—or perhaps ere he gets so far you interrupt him after this fashion :-" Well, Tom, dismount a moment from your stilts and tell me who is vour fair friend ?" – and then out comes the secret that she is some giddly girl young enough to be his grand-daughter; or, if he is a young man, some widow of motoriety old enough to be his grandunother, “fat, fair, and forty,” who has been ogling every man in the parish for ten years previously. Your look of dile amazement and distress you can't avoid—that he misinterprets ; but what do you say " -unless you're an idiot you know that he has taken out the license and bought the ring ere he came to you. Suppose then you were to be sincere, and say, “well then, Tom, you have acted the part of a minny, you are going to marry a demirep, and the only sensible step you can now take, is to "low out your braias or hang yourself on the next tree immediately.” Is it to be supposed that your opinion would alter his purpose? No; then what does sincerity do in this case ? Make him your enemy for life.

Take another case of friendship. Your friend is an author. He, instead of your enemy, has written a book, which is—trash. He comes to you in the usual way. “Now, my dear Jack, I wish you to look over this manuscript and give me your candii opinion of it." You take the M. S. with sad misgivings; but you can't refuse. You wa le through the whole not very patien ly in the hope of meeting with some redeeming points; but your hopes are defeatel-there is not a redeeming point in the whole - not one grain of wheat in the entire bushel of chaff. Your friend calls at the appointed time for the candid opinion of his work. If you are very conscientious you venture on a “ but"—you tell hin that really it seems to you a very able production, but that he has paid you too high a compliment in consulting your juigment since he has attempted a subject which is far beyond the range of your capacity and attainments, and you strongly recominen him to consult some one better able to appreciate what appears to you so meritorious. He answers with more sincerity that he is perfectly satisfied with your opinion, that you lo y o is elf injn-lice :-but I need not dwell on this illustration of the necessity of insidecrity in frien ship, for few of your readers can be ignorant of the exquisite case in point of the Archbishop of Toledo and Gil Blas. If you were to be sincere and tell your friend his book was trush, he would be very ap' to imitate the Aschbishop's example, to bid you stiewell for ever, wishing you all on unner of prosperity—and, a little more taste. A hundred other iliustrations present thoselves ; but enough his been advanced to prove that perfect sincerity is incompatiole with friendship. Non bene coroiu at nec in was sede morantur.

In the ordinary intercourse of society the absolute necessity of insincerity is universally admitted either tacitly and practically, or expressly, and all the sarcosus which have been directed against it have failed of diminishing it in the slightest degree. It was a fine idea of the Cyn.c Philosopher, to wish that every man should have a window in his breast, so that all the workings of his mind might to seen, like that of the machinery of a skeleton clock in a glass case ; but it requires not au hour's experience of society to satisfy us that until the Millennium comes, when the Leopard may change his spots and the Ethiopian his skin, the realization of such an idea would destroy society. Let us only try to imagine the confusion that would arise from the sudden introduction of such a change—the exposures—some lullicrous some sad – whic, it would occasion, and we shall feel still more forcibly the necessity of in-inverity. If then insince ity be indispensable in love, in friendship, in the ordinary intercourse of society, (and I could easily prove it to be so in the learned and warlike professions)—if it promotes the kindliest feelings – the most agreeable associations, prevents quarrels, preserves peace, enhances virtue, where she is and imitates her actions where she is not, who shall say that insincerity is an evil—that it is not a positive good and is so, do we not approach near to n conclusion as parodoxical as Doctor Maudeville's 2 aa if, moreover, society be agreeable in proportion to the degree of insincerity which prevails in it, what a delightful society Inust that of Calcutta he The degree of in-ince ity aye there's the lubs for the question next arises, whether in this same article of insincerity, there in ly not be too much of a good thing and this leads to the discus-ion on the possible, I will not say probable, ba effects of so useful a vice as insincerity—the per contra of the account, which, with your permission, I reserve for my next in which al-o i may possibly endeavour to strike the balance.

The insincerity that destroys friendship, is not merely that we praise where we should censure; for such is the self-love of our nature that in general that tenderness for it is necessary to preserve friendship. Exceptions there may be, but as a general rule it is certain, that men who would lay down their lives for one another, would not bear to be told by each other of some of their faults and weaknesses. A friend of mine, a very amiable creature, once took an invincable dislike to a lad who frankly expressed a very contemptible opinion of one of his drawings on which he prided imo. It was a proof of bad taste in her and of gross ignorance of human nature; but I believe she esteemed him very much although she did not think him a painter. It may be excused then, that we should not point out to a friend his faults; but should we not be tender in speaking of them to others So far from that, l'have known men who took a pleasure in making the faults and weaknesses of their friends – of men whom they esteemed and would have gone far to serve at least—the theme of their ridicule and sarcasm. Here insincerity is revolting, and the exercise of it is, to repeat my politicoeconomical phrase, a “reproducible capital” of hypocrisy. As one lie begets another, so does this hypocrisy lead to more. The injured party hears of it and he imitates the conduct he erst despised. He has not the moral courage to tax his friend with duplicity and cut him for ever; but he meets. him as usual with a candid greeting and the smile of amicable welcome. Out on't I 'tis a vile world; but although there is no open rupture, coufidence, which is a sine qué non of friendship, is gone for ever.

There is a minor insincerity in friendship less odious, but still upardonable, and without any excuse of necessity, founded on the weakness or self-love of mankind, that which leads your friend to pour into the ear of another his complaint against you for some fancied slight, instead of coming to yourself; it teaches you in considence-oh! that confidence! you cannot repeat it—and thus

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confidence between you and your friend is destroyed. How many friendships are blighted by this pitiful want of candour. If I ever imagine that a friend has slighted me, I tell him of it at once, and in many instances I have had reason to rejoice at the practice ; but then I have violated all etiquette by such a proceeding – I have sacrificed false pride - and, In short, been most outrageously unfashionable, and that is the sin beyond redemption in polished society, in which candour is pronounced vulgar. These specimens of insincerity are bad enough, but how much more revolting is the scandal of the male gossips of society, who damn the reputation moral and intellectual of every man with a “ but !” “He’s a worthy fellow—but I tell you what he has not behaved well to so and so; and, between you and I-but don't mention it again—I think he's been the cause of so and so; but mind I don't desire to injure him ; far from it, I have a very great regard for him.” If the absent man's talents are mentioned, these also he can disparage by damning them, with faint praise. “Oh yes, he's clever—a man of talent, no doubt, but greatly overrated. There's nothing new, you know, in what he writes, nothing original; however, I would not be understood to depreciate him; far from it, I have often spoken highly of his ability"—and thus your male gossip murders a reputation with as much sang froid as he would kill a musquito ; only that he proceeds less boldly about it and prosesses kindness where he means injury-

Willing to wound but yet afraid to strike,
He hints a fault and hesitates dislike.

But male gossips are rare, you will say. So far from it, they are plenty as blackberries in June; and, in fact, nine inen out of ten are addicted to this scandalous gossip. In all the cases indicated there is too much of the useful vice insincerity, a degree of it which involves hypocrisy. I had proposed to draw the line between the use and abuse of insincerity; but I must waive the task,for I find it beyond my limited ability ; and, indeed, the tone of my communication is wholly different from that which I intended it to be when I last addressed you. I would fain be a philosopher, and so I am in some things; but there are others which touch me too nearly, and stir up too strongly within me feelings which no philosophy can controul, and therefore, lest I should become too didactic, 1 bid you adieu.

We shall give one more especimen of Mr Sutherland's style, and then conclude our extracts.


Johnson has somewhere remarked, that the man who rides for an appetite degrades the dignity of human nature; and if we are to suppose that the ride be taken merely for the sake of enabling a man to eat more vigorously; in that case I think Johnson was, right but if the ride were taken for the purpose of preserving general health, then I should decidedly enter my protest against such a doctrine, which I suppose is equally applicable to walking, and therein would touch me nearly.

The morning walk not only invigorates the constitution, and thereby the mind which depends so much on the state of the health, but it is neither anti-social, anti-sentimental, nor in any sense antiintellectual. Anti-social it cannot be, for though without a companion in the ordinary acceptation of the world, the walker will encounter many walkers, and the very birds will supply him with com. panionship if he bath the spirit to enjoy it ; but the human bipeds he meets are not all strangers, there are some familiar faces which greet him with their early welcomes, and smile a salutation to him and the morn. Anti sentimental the walk cannot be, for his mind must be singularly constituted who cannot in a solitary ramble on the banks of the Hooghly find food for sentiment. Antiintellectual the morning walk cannot be, for it is pregnant with material for the poet, the painter, the hilosopher and the man of science-so much for a general defence of the morning constitutional, but et us descend to particulars and endeavour to supply a sketch of one.

Your regular walker is out before the gun fires. If he takes the river side he will make it a point of honour indeed to be at least abreast of the battery ere the usual explosion announces to the ditchers that a new day has commenced. The poet and the painter then, will both find subjects of contemplation in the rapidly changing hues of light from the sober solemn grey which succeeds the funeral gloom of night to the golden brightness of the full born day, and in all the objects gradually brought out in these changes, which form a part of the scene that is opening upon him. The very fort itself at first seems scarcely more than a dingy mass in the palpable obscure; the ships are in the same manner darkly shadowed forth, and the miserable natives creeping to their early labour, wrapt in their white garments, like funeral cerements glide past him in the dim and uncertain light, as did the shades in the region of Pluto past the Trojan Hero: “A solemn stillness reigns around,” broken only by the occasional splashing of an oar, or the “Ram . Ram " of some pious Hindoo, teaching his parrot to be as godly as himself. Anon, the gun fires, and soon the objects before and around the walker seem to burst forth from the mists of darkness which enveloped them—the drum and the ear-piercing fife summon the soldiery from their sleep with their reveille ; the painted sides of the ships shine forth with lustre not all their own ; and some one of them, destined perhaps for England, dear England, becomes by that destination a link in the chain of association which connects him with our native land, she has a soft band which greets him with some air that reminds him. possibly of departed joys and soothes him into melancholy, musing contemplation.

And as secure the painted vessel rides,
The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides,

- While melting music steals upon the sky
And softened sounds along the waters die—
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play,
The sun shings forth and all the would seems gay;


but that vessel calls forth recollections of those far away, and the morning “peripatetic” is wasted in imagination to the scenes of his boyhool. Here again he wants neither sentiment nor compapionship. His still loved home rises before him —he enters it, he witnesses again the smiles of affection—he feels the warm embrace once more cheer his heart—he converses with those for whon, in absence he had so often sighed, and with them arranges the plans of the future. He is not a Nabob, but he has where withal to secure the comforts of life—and he is rich in love if not in wealth. He thinks not how short a period those long years of exile have left him for enjoyment, no thought of that kind intrudes to embitter the first hours of his return to the sweet home which he had never forgotten, which was the ultima thule of his wishes on earth in his long banishment from it. He is happy. Such is one of the waking reveries of the morning walker, but, alas ! he cannot dwell long in the bright land of imagination. We may dream.

of straying through fairy bowers, Far, far away from earthly sphere;

but alas ! it is but a dream

And wordly sounds will soon destroy
These visioned scenes of heavenly joy.

Some quid nunc meets the dreamer and recals him to the dull world of reality, by the usual “How do t” succeeded by the equally customary “ any news?" and then ensues a gossip if both are going the same way de onnibus rebus, which belong to the gossip of the day. This, however, is all optionai with the walker. He may avoid it and stroll on wrapt in his own meditations if he pleases—the thing is understood, and here we are not in unuch danger of meeting one of Horace's Button twisters, “ won nobis notwa nomine tuntum,” with his “... quid, agts dulcissione rerum !” We manage these things better in our morning walks. Occasionally, indeed, we may, very rarely, encounter a man with one idea who fastens upon us without mercy and bores us with his one loved subject till his own breath is exhausted, our patience nearly in the same condition, and the walk terminated ; but these cases of exception are too rare to afford serious argument against the morning constitutional.

We will go on then. Our walker having shaken off his gossiping companion, unless he is fortunate enough to meet with a walker after his own heast, Jogs on cue wing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy. He has strolled as far as the bridge over Tolly's Nullan, beyond which it is a matter of conscience with a genuine Mahratta D.tcher not to proceed, lest he should become too enlightenel; and he is returning; and now the whole scene before and around is one of busy life. On his right the troops are parading, on his left steamers are clearing their rapid way over the waters of the Hooghly, innumerable boats are spread over its outlao, aul a forest of slips occupies the stream, some few of which are dropping down with the tide.. The city is before him, with the Government house in all its pride, pomp and circumstance-with wisdon towering in the skies over its lofty dome—the signs of life and the symbols of wealth, the evolences of the progress of the arts, the spread of civilization, are every where in view, and yet are these mingled with the unequivocal evidences of a superstition that has indured for ages, and a backwardness in the useful arts which is truly barbarian. The steamer that is rapidly cleaving the tile and the . Majestic vessel at anchor in the stream, some of those fine vessels that trade between England and laula, are splendid specimens of the progress of science; but our boats, the bundles of boards called dunghies, are precisely the same sort of boats which navigated the river probaby four thousand years ago ; for the Hindoos are profound venerators of the wisdom of their ancestors and never depart, from their hallowed customs. can the walker, if he is a reflecting being and something of a philanthropist, mark this contrast without thinking of the benefits which knowledge must conter on these people, even as respects their physical comforts and the development of the resources of a country with which the progress of the oséful arts is every where attended ! In no country in the world is the highest civilization and the lowest degree of it, brought into such conuaual Proximily and such marked and striking contrast as in British india—that contrast is forced upon the attention of the morning walker at every step he takes, and he gets into a train of reflection on the mighly consequences which must inevitably result to this fair portion of God's goodly creation the world, from those philanthropic efforts to disseminate the light of knowledge over the country which are now in operation, and perhaps his imagination penetrates far into the long vista of futurity and beholds India olessed with a wise Government and a moral, intelligent and enterprizıug people rivalling the new world in those arts and sciences to which they owe their power and their wealth.

But the European, such is the selfishness of our natire, is recalled from his dream of Indian improvement to objects which come more immediately home to him. He is passing Chandpaul ghaut and sees a party of passengers land from a vessel recently from England. One beautiful young creature attracts his notice, whose countenance wears the roseate hue of health, whose eyes beam with hope and pleasing anticipation, but alas, what is her destiny –and why is she come to a climate so destructive of hope and so fatal to beauty 1. To join her relatives Yes, indeed, but to get married—to get settled in life and to quit them for ever—and how married ? To such an object as her love's young dream has presented to her 1 Some youth the beau ideal of her fancy 1 So she hopes, poor thing; but her choice must bend to the dictates of worldly prudence, she may even endure a little proflagacy, but she will be warmed against poverty-and early imbued with a sense of its chilling influence on the affections.

And love grew cold as the witch drew nigh; and if she may choose youth and intelligence, she must find it within the pale of the local aristo

cracy. She is unsophisticated; but a new lesson in education awaits her, she must learn now to be-but to seem natural when she is most artificial-to look coldly on those to whom her heart

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