is shut out, and where there is joy for ever. Already are apparent through breaks in the foliage wooded precipices glowing with the warm hues of summer, and here and there a solitary peak which, but for the superior claims of illustrious neigh bours, might be received as mountains. The great Alpine summits are seen only at intervals, and might be white clouds bounding the view, so smoothly are they blended into a mass, and so faint an idea do they give as yet of the grisly giants that rise, rugged and sundered, thousands of feet into the sky, and have so towered for countless ages -the everlasting hills! The ridges and precipices that overlook the road are great blocks of marble, and the many-coloured scratches on their faces are the work of the quarrymen or the wounds caused by the winter's avalanches. What a soft, dark green is on the woods about their bases, and what abodes of quiet seem the villages that nestle in the indents of these woods! Anon the rocks and pinnacles become higher, and the road is in a narrow valley across which are flung deep shadows which end in an irregular outline against the opposite side; and above the outline of the shadows strike the sun's rays in full glory, crowning the great boundary wall with colours in endless variety. My road is still through flowery meadows and generally beside a blue rivulet whose waters

of the Alpine family, and leading up to peaks and ridges diminished by distance but attesting their eminence by the white streaks and pinnacles-wilds that have been white since the first snow fell on them. And all along that vista, the sunshine, striking in between the mountains, diversified the scene with light and shade and colour, and in the distance played upon the snows with gorgeous hues which dissolved and were illumined fitfully above the mass of blue that darkened the bases of the farthest hills.

Suddenly occurred an incident which slightly interrupted the enjoyment of the views. My coachman, who had been hitherto conducting himself in English fashion and taking the left of the few vehicles that we met, varied his practice, and charged fiercely to the right of an approaching carriage, rousing my instinct with apprehension of a collision. None, however, took place; and I was enlightened as to the coachman's proceedings when the driver of the other vehicle called out that the waggon with my baggage was stopped at the customhouse. For we were now no longer in Austria, but had passed the frontier into Bavaria, where the laws of the road prescribe the right hand instead of the left. A few yards further on I found the baggage waiting, and I dived into my pockets for keys which were likely to be wanted; first, however, uncovering to the grim gentleman in the cocked-hat, who stood eyeing my trunks very much, I thought, as a wolf may eye a lamb before they get within embracing distance. My physiognomical talent was, however, at fault in this instance, or else my salutation had produced a softening effect; for the dread functionary came and placed his hands upon the side of the carriage, there

them very economically, a small salt-cellar full of wine or spiritsand-water being served out every night till finished, except a bottle of rum and one of wine, which were buried for the use of the sick. Mr Walker's child, Watty, suffered dreadfully: he was a lively little child, and talked on board the ship, but nothing but moans and whimpering could now be got out of him, and his little body was covered a good deal with sores; he seemed to have shrivelled up-his knees drawn up to his chin, his bony shoulders up to his ears, and about the size and weight of a lean turkey. Besides the dread of being compelled to stop long on the island, our fuel was nearly finished, and we were contemplating the prospect of eat ing the meat raw. I ate two small birds raw, and a piece of another, by way of accustoming myself to it; but ugh! it was bad. If it had

come to our being obliged to eat the meat raw, I had arranged a dish for my mother of minced liver, heart, and "greens" (the moss that I have mentioned), seasoned with gunpowder as a substitute for salt; of that article we had none, and were obliged to put salt water in our soup to give it a taste. After

wards when we cooked in stones, and had lots of burning material, some of us used to make salt; but it took such a time for the salt water to evaporate, and so small were the results that ensued, that none of us kept this up regularly. I think I was the first to make salt on the island. Another dish I often got ready for my mother, when she could not eat the flesh, was the brains taken out of the birds' heads and fried. That was considered one of our delicacies; and was also one of the inventions of my culinary genius.

At last the firewood was finished, except a few sticks, which were used for killing our birds. Efforts

had been made to keep up a fire with a kind of turf found on the island, but it would merely smoulder slowly, and that only when there was a strong draught; when luckily somebody threw a skin on this kind of fire, and to the delight of everybody it burnt pretty well. So here was this difficulty bridged over, and we should not want fire as long as we could get birds; then to save matches, of which we had only half a boxful of Bryant and May's safeties, we scraped the fat off the skins, melted it down into oil, made a sort of lamp out of a piece of tin, and a wick out of the cotton padding in coats, &c., and burnt it whenever the fire was put out. Though the lamp sometimes went out, the upper shanty would most likely have a light, so we got it rekindled without reducing the stock of our precious matches. An ordinary housewife would be rather puzzled to keep up a fire with birdskins-it requires experience.

We had been about a month on the island when the mollyhawks commenced to lay, and there was great rivalship between the two shanties to get the eggs, one striving to steal a march on the other by getting up before daylight, which was very cold work, having to grope our way in the dim light of the moon or breaking daylight over the frozen ground, with mere apologies for shoes, generally struggling against a high wind, for it was nearly always blowing a gale in that bleak quarter of the world, with snow, hail, and rain to make it worse, and our inner man very indifferently replenished; but the eggs were good and saved my mother's life, for at that time a few mouthfuls of the soup we made was all that she could take of the former food. There was never a time when she was at her worst, but that something turned up just in time to save her.

Aug. 31st, every one was startled by the cry of Sail ho! and immediately we were in the highest state of excitement and hope; but it was a great deal too far off for them to see us, or we to signal them. Poor Mr Henderson, who had been ill and low-spirited since we landed, got worse. I daresay the raised hopes that had so suddenly come and gone with the ship, were too much for him in his enfeebled state, and he died Sept. 2d. His body was mere skin and bone. He had been ill with a never-ceasing diarrhoea which nothing could stop. On account of the severe frost and bad weather we could not bury him for two or three days. His limbs up to the last were quite supple, and that was the case with all those who died after having been any time on the island. We seldom could clean ourselves; the dirt was too fast on us to allow of water alone taking it off, and the weather was so bitterly cold that we could only dabble a very little in it. But we had a mode of cleaning our faces a little by means of bird's skin, rubbing ourselves with the greasy side first, thereby softening the dirt, and afterwards rubbing that off with the feathery side. Our clothes were black with smoke and very filthy, and we were crawling with vermin, which we could not get rid of. There was little of the birds that we did not find a use for; even the entrails were roasted and eaten, and the large guts we stuffed with chopped-up meat, and tried to imagine them sausages; but there was no such thing as anything with a taste on the island, except the soup when plenty of salt water was put in it.

We got very hard up for anything to eat at one time; one day there were only one or two mollyhawks for our last meal, and Black Jack's tent had had nothing to eat all day. We were very weak and low-spirited.

I felt as if all the moisture in my joints was dried up, and I fancied I could almost hear them creak as I dragged myself along. It was with a heavy heart I went out to hunt, and instead of climbing up the hills, I went down by the side of the island, where I remembered to have seen a large quantity of nests, built of mud, smooth and round, about a foot from the ground, looking at a distance like the turrets of a small castle. Down the rocks I went, and saw, to my great delight, a quantity of beautiful white birds. We named them the "Freemasons," but we afterwards discovered their real name was mollyhawk. I killed about fourteen of these, as they let me come quite close to them, when I knocked them down with a club. They even flopped down among my feet. I carried about half of my prize down to the tent, and great was every one's delight and astonishment at the increase of our larder. Many of the others went out, and killed about a hundred in all. Such a feast of tails we had then! That appendage was cut off close to the back, the long feathers pulled out, and being burnt for a time in the fire, was considered a great delicacy, and one of the perquisites of the hunter. About this time, seven or eight who had been engaged building a shanty for themselves removed to it, thereby leaving us a little more room. Our larder being always supplied with the new birds, we began to look about us more, and shanty No. 4 was started; also another great and real delicacy came in about this time-viz., the mutton birds." We found the young, but never, I think, the old ones, who seemed most mysterious birds. Their nests were under the ground, and to find them we had to stamp about till we discovered a hollow place, our feet very often going right through the surface into their

nests, when we had only to put in our hand and pull out our treasure. They had a delightful flavour, and were covered with beautiful fat. We also had whale-birds, divers,* and what we called "the whistlers," from the noise they made. All these smaller birds lived in burrows underground, something after the manner of the mutton-bird. The whale-bird laid, I think, two eggs of a delicate pale colour: the little diver's egg was noted for its size compared to its own bulk. We were visited also in great numbers by a ferocious brown hawk; they were most audacious birds, and if their nests were interfered with, they attacked with vehemence the trespassers. The underground residents, whale-birds and divers especially, were wofully preyed upon by these hawks; the latter would stand patiently for hours near their burrows, like keen terrier dogs watching a rat-hole, ready to pounce upon the unwary who ventured from their fortresses.

The weather was now getting rather less severe, but we could only recollect three fine days all the time we were there, and we always had to pay dearly for them. Another shanty was being built, and I was promised a very small old one for my mother and myself, which a third-class passenger had previously built, and had kindly offered us. On a cold, stormy day, September 13, a vessel, a full-rigged ship, under reefed topsails, as far as we could make out, came between Hoggs Island and ours, then, running close along our island, kept away to the east. I was in what was called the Skinning Cave, and saw the ship and gave the alarm first. Away went some of us, as hard as we could

run, with blankets and counterpanes to the flagstaff, our black figures showing well against the snow-covered hill, so that I believe they could not have helped seeing us. The blanket-flag was up in a very short time, and the ship, when she had got past the end of the island, came into the wind, I believe, for previously she had been. running with the wind aft, and we all thought that she had seen us, and was going to stay for us till finer weather came to take us off, when a squall of snow came on and hid her from view. She had gone off a little in the squall, but some of the men said she was still "hove to." She had not increased her distance much, but eventually she took to her heels. Of course it was a great disappointment, but we expected when in port she would report us, and hope kept us up for about a couple of months. But no; we never heard anything more of her. Now I am sure she saw us, and to desert us thus was abominable. She was near enough to let us see her topmast and top-gallant and rigging; and when we could see all that, how could she not see our black figures and a large blanket and counterpane flying against a clear sky? Except during the squall the air was beautifully clear, and they must have had glasses, which we had not. Mr Peters has the date of this ship's appearance, and I should like to find out her name.

About the end of September the penguins first made their appearance. They are a most remarkable set of birds, if we may call them so; for they have no wings, but just flippers, and their coats look more like fur than feathers; in fact I think them not unlike seals. It

THE gift of genius is, in many ways, the best and most happy gift bestowed on man. Yet its possessors in general have not been happy. Something too much of expectation, a hope too highly placed, a conception of pleasure beyond anything that is to be obtained in this dim world, may be the cause; or perhaps the unconscious exaggeration in their eyes, the glorifying and elevating influence which embellishes the earth wherever they move, have even a practical effect, bewildering their steps, and betraying them into devious ways. It is hard to estimate the advantages of a mere commonplace footing on solid ground, when that ground is wrapped in all the glorious sheen of the ideal, glowing with light and colour unseen to common eyes. The practical genius of the great soldier, the great administrator, has no such dangerous weakness connected with it. It is the poet alone, or at least above all others, who arrays the world in garments brought out of heaven, and who, in consequence, gets most often bewildered in the darkling ways upon which no such reflection can be got to gleam, and which are not dreamed of in his philosophy. And, strangely enough, his own errors and weaknesses, from which he is no way guarded by his supreme endowment, do not suffice to warn him that the charm is not real which it is his faculty to throw around him.

He may be fickle and changeable himself, but the lovely truth which, being of all things the loveliest, is in his eyes to glorify the world, is what he looks for with childlike certainty; and he is deceived. He may be cold-hearted, self-regarding; but love always more beautiful than

selfishness is what he demands from others: and he fails in finding it, even as other men do who have no such expectation or certainty. Poetry is no creed of morality, no source of elevated personal sentiment for its possessor. Yet as it is his office for the good of humanity to add beauty to everything he sees, and to see all the loveliness of which earth is capable, and to persuade other men of its reality, so he is himself the first and most easily deceived. Some few there are, strongly fashioned and of robust character, calm men of wholesome condition like Wordsworth, like Goethe-perhaps, for all we know, like Shakespeare himself.

who have sufficient breadth of constitution to bear and to accept the shock. But the greater number are of less vigorous frame, and feel to their hearts the fading of the finer tints their imagination creates, even when themselves endowed with no portion of that celestial clothinga paradox which is as wonderful as any of the other paradoxes which surround mankind.

It is this, perhaps, which justifies the popular idea of the poet, as one of the unfortunates of the earth, subject to more painful downfalls, more dismal disappointments than other men, and also unhappily prone to go further astray than other men, when beguiled, as we permit it to be said, by the light from heaven

though we are all well aware that light from heaven never yet led human nature astray, and that it is not Genius that is to blame, but the mortal companion to whom it is committed, whom it makes glorious, but cannot preserve from sin or sorrow. And there could be no fitter illustration of this theory than the sad than the sad and pitiful figure