Sivut kuvina

The morning after I last laid down my pen, we arrived at a small island, which the benignant hand of nature seems to have (erected) in the midst of the mighty ocean, as a convenient * Choul. trie, for the floating caravanseras that traverse its watery bofom. Here we fpent nearly twenty days, and were entertaired by the inhabitants, who appear a gay and lively people, with much kind. nefs and hofpitality. 19;. • The change of the feene was relished by all the party, but by none so much as "the niece of the Dewan; to whom the uniform life we ted on board ship, was become altogether infupportable. She had indeed for a long time, been at a most pitiable loss for employment. The contents of her library, which I imagined, would have afforded her a fund of amufement and edification, during the course of her voyage, were foon exhausted. Having once found out how all the wished-for marriages, of all the heroes and heroines, were brought about; and been let into the secret of the furprising disco. veries, tucky accidents, and miraculous combination of circumstances, which uniformly led to that happy event, she had

the niece life we led on fupportable.

* Choultries, are houses built in India, for the accommodation of travellers.

no further interest nor. curiosity concerning them. These hooks had, nevertheless, by giving constant fuel to the vivid flame of youthful imagination, created such an insatiable craving for novelty, as rendered every other fort of reading tasteless and infipid. Even the ever entertaining conversation of our intelligent companions, had no charms for her. I have frequently known the chain of an interesting argument, to which I have been listening with avidity and delight, all at once interrupted, by her abruptly asking, when we should see land? Whatever gave the promise of variety, seemed to re-animate her flagging spirits. Whether it was the appearance of a flyinghth-or the rumoured approach of an enemy; the drowning of a kitten, or the indications of a coming storm, all were equally acceptable; so that they relieved her, from the tedious task of thought. The approach to St. Helena, made her almost wild with joy. No sooner was it announced, than the flew to her cabin, to take from her trunk, some particular dresses, which she had reserved for the occasion, and hastily displaying them before the amiable widow, asked her fifty questions in a breath concerning the important point, of which was most beconjing.

Besides the novelty of the Scenes, and amusements at St. Helena, she there made another acquisition, which, I hope, will afford her fufficient variety of entertainment for many weeks, to come. This is no other than a fresh supply of novels. This fhe happily accomplished, by exchanging the contents of her library, with another reading fair one, whom she accidentally met at a ball, and with whom, on an acquaintance of three days, the commenced an extreme and ardent friendfhip. The great loquacity with which her prefent flow of fpirits has inspired this votary of fancy, is fometimes no less teazing than the effets of her former ennui; to the elegant, but fomewhat too faftidious Delomond, it is peculiarly irkfome. • In truth, it is not a little to be re, gretted, that this amiable man frequent: ly indulges a certain foreness of mind, which may not improperly bę termed the illegitimate offspring of fenfibility. What proves its fpurious birth, is, that while genuine fenfibility is ever alive to the feelings of others, this bastard branch of the family, is only mindful of its own. By being ever ready to take offence, without confidering whether offence was intended to be given, it frequently inflicts a wound in the bofom of friend hip; but is unfeelingly insensible to the pain which it bas produced. What a pity it is, that this ini postor, should ever find a place in the breast of a worthy man! I cannot without pain, behold it cherished by the dignified mind of Delomond, and would not fail to remonstrate with him concerning it, was. he not fa easily hurt, that I fear an estrangement of his friendfhip might be the consequence. Fatal propensity! which presents a barrier to the wholesome fuccour of advice, and cuts off retreat from error. In the va. rious sketches which this amiable, and accomplished Saib, has given me of his life, and his misfortunes, I can plainly dil cerp, that the disposition I have just now alluded to, has been no lefs detrimental to his fortune, than injurious. to. his felicity.

I suspect, that you are now almost as much tired of the voyage, as the niece of the Dewan, and begin to re-echo her interrogatory, of when Ihall we see land? But courage, keep, up your spirits, your patience will not be put to a much longer trial.-Land has been just discovcred from the topmast-head. I cannot avoid envy. ing the happy failor, who from the giddy height catches the first view of his dear native country. Ah! what pleasing images play about his heart! in that little speck

appearing in the distant horizon, he beholds his little home; his tender 'wife; bis cndearing infants; and already, in imagination, feels, and retorns their soft caresses. I go to participate in the joy of these honest people, it is a bad heart to which the happiness of a fellow' mortal can be indifferent. · Ah! Maandaara, how astonishingly great has been my disappointment ! Instead of the expected appearance of felicity, I beheld in the countenances of the 'hitherto bearty, and contented failors, the strongest indications of consternation, terror, and dismay! On enquiring into the caufe of this alarm, I was told, ihat it arofe from the rumoured approach of. a press-gang; a press-gang I never before heard of, but from the degree of terror it infpires, I can easily conceive it be some infernal species of monster ; fome cruel servant to the genii of the deep, to whom the long-ablent failor is an acceptable sacrifice. Accurfed fpirits! the terror of whose name, can put to flight the tender images of hope, and can induce despair at a moment when the sweetest impulses of nature have kindled the torch of joy! · At the moment I laid down my pen, a fine boy of about fixteen years of age, who had frequently in the course of the

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