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and, as I saw his youthful and delicate form tossed to and fro amid the boisterous element, I could not help thinking for a moment what would have been the sensations of his mother, had she beheld him in such a situation. As it grew darker, we fastened a white pockethandkerchief to the end of the boat-hook, in the hopes of attracting the attention of the ship; and when this miserable scanty flag was suspended aloft, and was scattered in the wind and spray, it looked indeed like a "forlorn hope." At first we imagined that this expedient had been successful, for the ship seemed bearing down upon us, and we were flushed with expectation. But in a few minutes she tacked, and all possibility of reaching her seemed at an end. If I live to be an old man, I shall never forget the sensations of that moment-it were ridiculous to attempt a description in words; but I am sure it is a terrible thing to meet death with open eyes and the full possession of all one's faculties. Still we did not utterly despair-there was yet a little light left: the ship might possibly change her course; but fear seemed to have paralized our efforts-the oars were almost useless-we made no way, and for many minutes there was no rational expectation of saving our lives. Of what occurred during this horrible interval, I have a very indistinct recollection. I remember, however, being struck with the various forms in which fear displayed itself some were silent, some talkative, some prayed, some laughed. One young man lamented bitterly his disappointment in not having tasted the Malmsey Madeira, and the grapes he had promised himself; and another, a young officer, seated at my right, was eternally occupied in letting fall and picking up his sword and sash, which his fingers seemed incapable of detaining in their grasp. My own arm was perfectly black, the next morning, from the violence with which it was seized by my companion on the left. These and other such things were hardly noticed at the time, but were recollected upon afterwards comparing notes.

We were roused from a sort of stupor by a sudden squall and shift of wind, accompanied with heavy rain, which obliged our ship to go upon another tack. We emerged from our despair to the wildest exultation; for a few minutes brought us so near to each other that our cries were heard, though it was then too dark to see us till we were close alongside. In a word, we exchanged our frail vessel for an ark of comparative safety: our drenched clothes were put off, and the fried bacon and mutton-chops that were eaten that night (though no very savoury dainties in their way), and the punch that was drunk (which really was very choice), will, I make no doubt, be remembered by all who composed the party to their dying day. I recollect reading when a schoolboy, in Campbell's Overland Journey to India, an account of a shipwreck, and being much struck with a passage in which he relates, that as the ship was near going down, he saw a little black boy seated on the poop, crying most bitterly, and at the same time voraciously devouring some mangoes that were in a basket beside him. This always appeared to me a most unaccountable story; but I can now perfectly comprehend it. So much for the dangers of the sea; but allow me to add, that it is worth while being a little initiated into these mysteries, if it be only to enjoy Falconer's Poem, which cannot be truly relished but upon the high seas, and may therefore be called a

Water-piece with as much propriety as the compositions of Handel bearing that name.

We were becalmed four weeks in the latitude of two degrees south of the Line. We were scorched under a tropical sun, till we were become irritable and alive to every foolish impression. Our stock and water were rapidly decreasing. We had been an unusual time without a breath of wind, and the sailors had begun to throw out their superstitious hints that some ill luck was hanging over us : we became infected with their folly. We quarrelled with our captain for not having a steam-engine on board. We did a thousand absurd things, and really began to think we never should stir again, when one morning at daybreak I was awakened from a deep sleep by the noise of men trampling above my head. I thought I could distinguish the cheering voices of the sailors, as if they were bracing the yards, and that hissing sound which a ship makes in going through the water. Was it a dream? No. I started up in ecstasy, and running upon deck, found many of our compagnons de voyage in the same picturesque dress as myself, to wit, en chemise, gazing in stupid astonishment at the sails that were actually filled and bellying with the wind. The glazed surface of the ocean-that dreadful sameness which made the very eye-balls ache to look on it, was gone, and with it went our looks of gloomy despondency. We were really sailing five knots before the wind. There was a tone of bustle and animation from captain to cabin-boy. It was a fresh departure; and from that hour to the time of our landing in India, I do not know that we had half a dozen calm days to complain of. If you ever go to sea, pray to be delivered from a long calm-a gale of wind is nothing to it. Human beings are the worst of all luggage to carry when stowed closely together. If they have nothing wherewith to kill time, they immediately begin to think of killing each other; thanks to the devil, who, to spare us a world of ennui, always occupies a man whom he finds idle. Luckily for us, we had no duelling pistols on board; but there was frequent "note of preparation" heard, and sundry arrangements were made for future bloody combats, which, like the silly petitions addressed to Jupiter, were all dissipated by the wind.

I made some experiments on books which may be interesting to you. It is related in some Life of Fox, that when he was travelling by the Treckshuyte, through the uninteresting flats of Holland, he chose that opportunity for reading aloud every day a portion of Tom Jones; the eternal bustle, life, and variety of which composition was rendered ten times more striking and enjoyable when contrasted with the monotony of such a stirless tour. However, one morning a sail was proclaimed, and all eyes and glasses were put in requisition. Some said it was a cloud-some a sun-beam-some a water-spout; and if old Polonius had been there he might with perfect safety have said it was "a mountain or an elephant." Long before we could satisfy ourselves upon these points, the sailors had made out her royals, and coursers, and flying jib, &c.; and in a word, a ship it most certainly was. Then we looked at the strange sight with as much agitation as Robinson Crusoe at the print of a footstep in the sand. It might be a pirate :-we had ten guns and

plenty of fools to fight, but no ammunition. Whatever she might be "were her intent wicked or charitable ?"-all was uncertainty. There was scarcely any wind, but we gradually neared each other, and at eight o'clock at night (it was a beautiful moonlight night) the stranger had dropped close astern. We waited in breathless expectation. Presently a loud voice sounded along the water, demanding our name, &c. and was immediately answered by our captain. There was something awful in the manner in which these stately preliminaries were flourished forth in the silent night. It was much above the tone and key of an ordinary address, and well suited to the element and the occasion. I could fancy Neptune trumpeting his orders to the winds in some such fashion.

"Maturate fugam, regique hæc dicite vestro,

Non illi imperium pelagi sævumque tridentem,

Sed mihi sorte datum

Surely one would suppose that a man on going to sea might pack up his hospitality, together with sundry other virtues, and reckon upon no inconvenience for the want of them; but here, at one thousand miles from land, were strangers waiting for an invitation for supper. And supper they had, for she was a Liverpool vessel bound to Madras; and for two days, while the weather continued moderate, we continued interchanging visits with mutual satisfaction.

Before we bid good-bye to the sea, I have one more remark to make a long voyage is an excellent preparative towards an accurate examination of men, manners, customs, and things. You are so long and so thoroughly abstracted from the business of life, that you come fresh to the task with all old prejudices and points of comparison fading away. You are half way towards the happy condition recommended by Des Cartes, who declares that (if you would attain true wisdom) you must begin by rubbing out all former opinions and principles; and when your brain is a perfect tabula rasa, then philosophy may begin to indite good sound matter thereon.

I shall not trouble you with the delights of landing after a voyage; I might as well talk to you of the delights of eating green cabbage, after having lived six weeks upon farinaceous matter, when I promise you, you would be more in danger of gluttony than at any venison-feast. My first evening at Calcutta was a sort of fairy-like existence. Transported from a crowded cabin, white faces, and a noisy element, to a spacious and palace-like building (the house of Mrs. -) with a host of black attendants, and all the magnificence of the gorgeous East, I was for a time fairly bewildered. I envy a Russian his faculties, who can walk from a hot bath to a cold bath and then back again, and perhaps do a hundred other absurdities with equal facility. For my part, I sat after a late and sumptuous dinner, gazing first at the brilliant assemblage of Europeans, my own dear beautiful countrywomen, and then at the tall black forms that flanked this white assemblage, with their turbans, and eyes that flashed light at every moment

"Each giving each a double charm,
Like pearls upon an Ethiop's arm-"

And then the waving of punkahs-such a delicious breeze, and the silent hurrying to and fro in the distance of the lofty and ample apartment-it was too much for me-my brain grew dizzy-I thought of the Arabian Nights-the Sultana-the enchanters; and a thousand wild and incoherent visions flitted before me; and in fine, I remember nothing till I awoke on the following morning. The light was streaming through the Venetian blinds. I started up, and hastily drawing them aside, beheld (open your eyes well, I pray you) ten good miles of India. The Hoogley, a branch of the Ganges, was rolling beneath me its majestic volume of waters, glittering in the beams of the morning sun. Numberless vessels were plying to and fro; and in it a hundred Hindoos were performing their morning ablutions, washing and praying, and praying and washing, in all sorts of attitudes. Scrubbing seems at first view a singular act of devotion; but we Christian good folks, and Englishmen of India in particular, are not without absurdities to rival those of the Hindoos. As an instance of this, though it is, as I have said, warm, and occasionally even unto scratching, for new comers (I wonder, by the way, they have not blacks to scratch as well as fan), though Nature here keeps a muslin-shop on purpose, and says as plainly as she can say it," make unto yourselves raiment of this commodity-loose bishop-like sleeves and wavy-pantaloons;" yet our excellent countrymen must needs array themselves in Andrè's hats (helmets they might be called), and in Stultz's padded coats. When you dine out, you must appear in an English full dress; but having made your appearance, and demonstrated to the company that you have a wardrobe of such useless things, you are then permitted (unless it be an occasion of state and ceremony) to . retire and doff these horrible incumbrances for your white linen jacket, &c. A fashionable Englishman should certainly have his Hoby boots, his coat, and some new waistcoat patterns stuffed into his coffin with him, as some Indian tribes bury their dead with their hatchet, flint, &c.; for I am confident they will never be happy in this world or the next without such things. As for the military, I say nothing about their costume; first, because the red coat seems a necessary component part of a young soldier, and Heaven forefend that our army in India should want recruits; and, secondly, because in these latitudes it quickens promotions, and I have a younger brother a subaltern. But for us civilians-if the good lady of the house must be convinced that we have a coat, &c. why not send them upon a pole before us, and let them flourish free and fair like a Roman trophy? Or, if it be absolutely necessary selves and our garments should make one, why not do, at all events, as the Highland regiment did, when, with a view to doing away the national dress of petticoats and bare legs, they were ordered to appear the next field-day with breeches? They came, men and officers, with the breeches under their arms.

that our

But I see my carriage and horses, that is, my palanquin, waiting below; therefore, for the present, adieu. You may, perhaps, hear from me shortly, when I can furnish you with more interesting details of what I shall have seen and heard in this country. I begin to be wonderfully impressed with the dignity of colours; and

these palanquins are the most delightful things imaginable. Let them talk in England as much as they please about "trampling upon the heads of the people," and riding the people to death, and such like stuff; trust me it is only in India we have a true ascendancy over the "lower orders." I will be free, however, to confess between ourselves (for it would be criminal to whisper such things here) that I am sometimes silly enough to imagine, that if there be any retribution in a future state, some of us will be turned into palanquin-bearers.

H. H.

TO JULIA.

BREATHE not again that tender air,
To other strains attune your strings,
It once could charm me from despair,
But now-despair is all it brings!

Oh! it recalls a pang so keen

Of budding joy-of promise blighted!-
Tells me of Love that once hath been,
Reminds me how that Love was slighted!

With smiles my early hopes she fed,

With passion-flowers my forehead shaded;
Her smiles were false-my hopes are fled-
And every flower of Love hath faded!

Thus sunny beams delight the bee,

As o'er the fragrant bower he hovers,
Selects the fairest flower, like me,

And dreams not of the snake it covers.

For Hope had painted scenes so bright,
Without one single tinge of sorrow;-
But, ah! those scenes are closed in night,
A night, alas! without a morrow!

Yet in my heart she buried lies,
Still, still her memory I nourish ;
Again you bid her image rise-

But, ah! her falsehoods with it flourish.

Like you she sang-like you she play'd,

Her eyes, like yours, with smiles would glisten;
I dread, lest I'm again betray'd,

I fear I'm lost, and yet I listen.

Then play no more-no more then sing,
Let not her words again be spoken-

For, oh! you touch too keen a string
Upon a heart already broken!

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