then that this tale of a true heart was told me,—then I learned the joyful tidings, that honesty had not quite departed, that honour was still something more than a

name.

I have crossed many seas, I have traversed many climes. I have smoked my hookah with the Hindoo, I have feasted on frogs with the French, I have drank Sherbet with the Turk, and I have wrung the hand of the Red Indian in the backwoods of America. I am now returned to rest my weary bones in the land of my birth, for my experience has taught me the lesson, that "home, after all, is the best place on earth." In spite of all our efforts, the heart still will cling to the spot of its earliest associations.

In the midst of all my wanderings, there is one precious little volume, that I have carefully preserved above all others. It is a copy of the Holy Bible, doubly dear to 'me from the circumstance of its having been the parting gift of one who is now no more, when, at my earnest desire, I was

On

sent to push my fortune in the world. the morning of my departure, my stepmother, who was more than a mother to me, took me into her room, and, after giving me her blessing, presented me with this book. The good creature besought me, with tears in her eyes, to read a portion of the sacred volume daily. She said, "you will always find that you have a friend there to guide and direct your footsteps." Often have her words recurred to me, and I must take credit to myself for having acted up to her advice, even at times and in places where Religion was scoffed at, and where the Scriptures were despised.

But I grow tedious, and I know there are very few of my readers who will make allowances for the garrulity of an old fellow, whose chief delight now lies in recalling to his memory the greenest spots on the desart of his existence.

I LEFT Edinburgh on the 16th March 181-, and embarked at Leith, on board the Smack Matchless for London.

It was the custom in the Leith smacks in those days to stow two cabin passengers into one bed, and I had the misfortune to be coupled with an uncommon large brewer, who, being constantly sick, lay the whole passage in bed, to my great annoyance.

passengers; the table

We had a merry set of was cleared away, and we

had a dance in the cabin

every night. Among the passengers were two young ladies, who, on the vessel's arrival at Downe's wharf, went ashore promising to call back for their trunks, and pay their passage, but they were never more heard of; the trunks, when opened, were found to contain stones carefully covered with matting and old rags.

On the 15th April I joined the bound to Bengal. She was lying at Gravesend, and I went down by one of the Gravesend boats.

We sailed from Gravesend on the 11th May, and on the 14th, at 1 P. M., we shortened sail and hove to in the Downs, when an officer came on board from the Admiral and mustered the crew; but as we were outward bound he did not impress any of our men; his object in paying us a visit was to look after deserters. At past 5 P. M. we anchored at St. Helens in seven fathoms water, off shore about three miles.

15th May. At 9 A. M. we weighed and made sail, and at 1 P. M. we anchored at the Mother Bank, and moored ship, where we lay waiting for a fair wind.

21st May. Two of the seamen were flogged for desertion. These men are the first I have seen flog

ged, and really the torture and mangling inflicted upon their backs almost made me sick the boatswain, a strong heavy man, gave each stroke of the cat with all the force he could exert, and before they had received a dozen lashes each, the poor men's backs were mangled in the same way as if they had been cut with a cross saw; they roared for mercy at every stroke, alternately, to the Lord God Almighty and the Captain of the ship. As soon as they had received their punishment they were cut from the gratings, and the doctor's mate attended to dress their wounds.

28th June. At 2 P. M. the cabin passengers came on board. Notwithstanding the bustle and excitement of departure, it was evident that a gloom hung over their minds; the ladies were hoisted up on deck in a chair, half dead with alarm. Then came the last farewell to those friends who had accompanied them on board, which was in general followed by a flood of tears, when they thought they had severed the last link that bound them to home; for however bitter we may feel the pang of separating from friends, when we go on board, it is not till our last friend leaves us that we feel the utter desolation of being alone and friendless in the wide world.

1st July. At day-light, signal was made to