CHAPTER VI.

And art thou then Acasto's dear remains?
She whom my restless gratitude has sought
So long in vain? O heavens! the very same,
The softened image of my noble friend,

Alive his every look, his every feature,
More elegantly touched.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

MANY lonely months elapsed ere they heard of the safe arrival of Ernest, but letters came at last-letters full of interest, giving glowing pictures of the beauty of the lovely island; the strange and varied feelings occasioned by the difference in the modes of living and acting, and even thinking of those around him-for alas! at that time slavery still existed in this nominally British colony-to all that he had been accustomed to; the great variety, so interesting

to youth especially, of people, and tongues, and costumes; French and English, Indians and Arabs; negroes of all shades of colour, and from different localities; the gay and cheerful tone of the society; far-famed beauty of the ladies; their love of music and dancing; the hospitality and good living of the planters-all this formed the bright side of the picture-to which there was a dark and sad reverse-of irreligion, of immorality, and carelessness, and indifference to all those things which are "lovely and of good report among Christians; but those days are past; and we must hope that more than thirty years, passed under the government of a land which boasts of its profession of the true faith, of its missionary church, of its Bible societies, its schools, its reverence for the sabbath, and holy things, has worked a great and important change, and that it cannot now be said, no man cares for the souls of those around him, and that those lines of the sainted Heber, written of another spot of romantic beauty, "Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile,"

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are not any longer applicable to either of these lovely islands.

But Ernest had soon to communicate that some of his day-dreams were bidding fair to be realized; he was 66 on the staff." He had found in the governor an old friend and companion in arms of his father. From the first day of his arrival, he had been treated by him with hospitable kindness and favour; but, the health of his aide-de-camp having failed, and he having obtained leave of absence to return to England, Ernest had been nominated, to his great joy, to succeed him. "Now, dearest mother," he wrote, "I can afford to place dear Frederick at a good school, and give him the education his talents and steadiness would do justice to; so let him, if you please, be considered as my own especial charge." But Mrs. Rivers, too, had pleasant news to tell. She no longer required the aid of her son. Frederick was already with a man of the highest eminence and attainments, one far

above even what the sanguine hopes of Ernest had anticipated; whose pupils, limited to three in number, paid three hundred a-year each, their parents being only too happy to procure for them the instructions of one venerated for his learning, and beloved for his piety. He had come to Bas minister of the New Church, and inhabited one of those terrace houses by which little Frederick daily passed on his way to school. At the hour when the boy was wending his way thither, not

Creeping like a snail unwillingly to school,"

but frequently repeating to himself, with a countenance beaming with energy and intelligence, his appointed task, Mr. Maitland was taking his usual morning walk. At first, the beauty of form and countenance, the gentlemanly carriage and bearing of the boy attracted him; next, his punctuality, and the cheerful, yet studious air, with which he was evidently conning his lesson. He accosted him at length,

and his cultivated tone of voice and ready reply convinced him he was 66 no common boy." The friendly greeting was then daily exchanged; and, as Mr. Maitland became more and more interested in him, he would endeavour to detain him by prolonging the conversation, but Frederick, respectfully reminding him that he must not forfeit his place in his class, by late attendance, would pass on. He, however, became himself interested in his " new old friend,” as he called him, and asked his mother if he might leave home a little earlier, and see if "his friend" would be out; and then they might have a little longer converse together. He did not know who the gentleman was, but he knew he was one of those whom he had been always taught to "honour for his work's sake." "He knew he was one of "Christ's ambassadors," and that, like his Lord and Master, "gracious words proceeded from his mouth." His mother readily consented: and Mr. Maitland smiled with pleasure, and held out his hand to greet