equanimity of the commissioner, who was beginning to exhibit signs of impatience and excitement.

'Holata Mico' next rose on the opposite side-a mild and gentlemanly Indian, and one of the most regarded of the chiefs. He was in ill health, as his appearance indicated; and in consequence of this, his speech was of a more pacific character than it might otherwise have been; for he was well known to be a firm opponent of the removal.

"We come to deliver our talk to-day. We were all made by the same Great FATHER; and are all alike his children. We all came from the same mother; and were suckled at the same breast. Therefore, we are brothers; and, as brothers, should not quarrel and let our blood rise up against each other. If the blood of one of us, by each other's blow, should fall upon the earth, it would stain it, and cry aloud for vengeance from the land wherever it had sunk, and call down the frown and the thunder of the great spirit. I am not well. Let others who are stronger speak, and declare their minds.'

Several chiefs rose successively and delivered their opinions. Those for removal followed the strain of Omatla and the Black Clay. They were 'Ohala' (the big warrior), the brothers Itolasse and Charles Omatla, and a few others of less note.

In opposition to these, spoke the patriots 'Acola,' "Yaha Hajo' (mad wolf), 'Echa Matta' (the waterserpent), Poshalla' (the dwarf), and the negro 'Abram.' The last was an old 'refugee,' from Pensacola; but now chief of the blacks living with the Micosauc tribe, and one of the counsellors of Onopa, over whom he held supreme influence. He spoke English fluently; and at the council-as also that of the Oclawaha-he was the principal interpreter on the part of the Indians. He was a pure negro, with the thick lips, prominent cheek-bones, and other physical peculiarities of his race. He was brave, cool, and sagacious; and though only an adopted chief, he proved to the last the true friend of the people who had honoured him by their confidence. His speech was brief and moderate; nevertheless, it evinced a firm determination to resist the will of the agent.

As yet, the king' had not declared himself, and to him the commissioner now appealed. Onopa was a large, stout man, of somewhat dull aspect, but not without a considerable expression of dignity. He was not a man of great intellect, nor yet an orator; and although the head 'mico' of the nation, his influence with the warriors was not equal to that of several chiefs of inferior rank. His decision, therefore, would by no means be regarded as definitive, or binding upon the others; but being nominally 'mico-mico' or chiefchief, and actually head of the largest clan—the Micosaucs-his vote would be likely to turn the scale, one way or the other. If he declared for the removal, the patriots might despair.

There was an interval of breathless silence. The eyes of the whole assemblage, of both red men and white men, rested upon the king. There were only a few who were in the secret of his sentiments; and how he would decide, was to most of those present a matter of uncertainty. Hence the anxiety with which they awaited his words.

At this crisis a movement was observed among the people who stood behind the king. They were making way for some one who was passing through their midst. It was evidently one of authority, for the crowd readily yielded him passage.

The moment after, he appeared in front-a young warrior, proudly caparisoned, and of noble aspect. He wore the insignia of a chief; but it needed not this

• The Micosauc (Mikosaukee) or tribe of the 'redstick' was the largest and most warlike clan of the nation. It was under the immediate government of the head-chief Onopa-usually called Miconopa.'

to tell that he was one: there was that in his look and bearing which at once pronounced him a leader of men.

His dress was rich, without being frivolous or gay. His tunic, embraced by the bright wampum sash, hung well and gracefully; and the close-fitting leggings of scarlet cloth displayed the perfect sweep of his limbs. His form was a model of strength-terse, well-knit, symmetrical. His head was turbaned with a shawl of brilliant hues; and from the front rose three black ostrich plumes, that drooped backward over the crown till their tips almost touched his shoulders. Various ornaments were suspended from his neck; but one upon his breast was conspicuous. It was a circular plate of gold, with lines radiating from a common centre. It was a representation of the rising sun. His face was stained of a uniform vermilion red; but despite the levelling effect of the dye, the lineaments of noble features could be traced. A wellformed mouth and chin, thin lips, a jawbone expressive of firmness, a nose slightly aquiline, a high, broad forehead, with eyes that, like the eagle's, seemed strong enough to gaze against the sun.

The appearance of this remarkable man produced an electric effect upon all present. It was similar to that exhibited by the audience in a theatre on the entrée of the great tragedian for whom they have been waiting.

Not from the behaviour of the young chief himself— withal right modest-but from the action of the others, I perceived that he was in reality the hero of the hour. The dramatis persone who had already performed their parts were evidently but secondary characters; and this was the man for whom all had been waiting.

There followed a movement-a murmur of voicesan excited tremor among the crowd-and then, simultaneously, as if from one throat, was shouted the name:

'OÇEOLA!'

CAPTAIN VERSUS CREW.

THE traditional sailor has a place only in the melodrama. There he rolls about the stage like a graceful porpoise, shivering his timbers, and scattering his money with a feeling of equal benevolence, faithful alike to his lass and his grog, and ready at any moment to sink with his ship, to him the Image of a Catholic idolatry, the symbol of love, loyalty, and honour. The actual sailor is not so fine an animal by half. He is still brave, still fond of battle at the rare time he can get it; but the traditions, of which he once formed a part, are gone, and the poetical part of his character is gone with them. The ship is now too costly for a rough seaman's devotion. Since it cannot be floated about the waters in a bandbox, it must be anxiously taken care of, and kept quite out of the way of rocks, shells, and other marine curiosities. The money value of a thing is what Jack is taught to venerate, and the lesson goes home to his own business and bosom. His wages occupy his thoughts, in the way of getting, not spending; his very grog is to some extent stopped, and he gets elevated instead with books; and even his unthinking lass, disliking the prosaic turn he has taken, deserts him for the song-making shoemaker or the taproom-haunting tailor. All influences, whether of soul or sense, whether good or bad, work against the sailor, because they are all jumbled and inconsistent.

For some time past, a new source of sympathy has been sought to be opened on his behalf. The captain turns out to be a sea-ogre, and the moment the innocent and unhappy crew are in blue water, they are subjected to all manner of cruelties and tyrannies. Sometimes they are even driven to mutiny, and melodramatic Jack, for this enforced infidelity to his salt

(water), finishes the voyage in irons. Unluckily, however, as it is now said, the insubordinate spirit of the crew goes on all the same, whatever be the character of the captain; and in the merchant-service, more especially, it is described as getting worse every day, and that from the most mean and sordid motives. The subject is treated incidentally in a pamphlet printed in Bombay by W. Walker of that city, the object of which is to examine critically the various descriptions of goods imported into India from this country.* Mr Walker seems to be a man of large experience-an experience,' he tells us, 'gathered at sea and on shore, in the army, in the navy, and the merchant-service, in all quarters of the globe'-and as he has now retired into some civil employment connected with ships and merchandise, his testimony is the more trustworthy. Our author by no means denies the existence of tyrannical captains, and it would be absurd to do so. Why should there not be tyrants at sea as well as on shore ? Why should there not be tyrants in ships as well as in barracks, warehouses, and mills? Mr Walker, however, denies that salt water breeds more ogres than solid land. He says that in the course of his own multifarious experience, he never met with more than one cruel captain, and he was in the navy; and that he never heard from man or boy he sailed with that he had ever experienced much rougher fortune. Public sympathy and public indignation are awakened, then, by exceptional cases which, occurring at sea, and in the peculiar community thrown together in a ship, have a strong and strange interest of their own. It was thought that the Mercantile Marine Act of 1850 had defined and protected the respective rights of captains and seamen; but the puzzling thing is, that it is precisely since then that the semi-mutinous conduct of the crew has grown to the worst, while the bearing of the officers has become more refined and gentlemanly. We would suggest in explanation, that the difference may be merely that of education-that the officers understand their position, while the more ignorant men abuse their advantages, since they enjoy them in spite of their superiors. But a more alarming change is behind. Not only has the conduct of the seamen deteriorated,' says Mr Walker, but they are deficient in seamanship as compared with sailors of ten or fifteen years ago, and to an extent which is quite startling to old-salts. I do not exaggerate in putting forward these opinions. I feel confident that the truth can be vouched for by many foremast hands themselves, and certainly by all commanders of ships now serving, as well as those who have retired from a maritime life.'

One cause of this unhappy change seems to be the partial abandonment of the apprenticeship system-a system which is no longer compulsory. It is but just to observe that many shipowners were far-sighted enough not to avail themselves of this privilege, as they probably well knew that unless they trained sealads they would fall off in the number of seamen to man their ships. This has now come to pass; and the captains of ships are loud in their complaints as to the want of seamanship in men who now unblushingly enter ships as able seamen, and when they get to sea the captain finds they are unable to take the helm, or a cast of the lead.' The apprentice system, thus left to the discretion of the shipowners, has officered our ships; or, as Mr Walker expresses it, has found a captain for every one of the splendid fleet of merchant-ships (100 sail) now in our harbour' (Bombay). And what are the qualifications demanded in these captains, requiring the development of apprenticeship? A captain is required to be well versed in navigation in

• Facts for Factories; being Letters on Practical Subjects, suggested by Experiences in Bombay. Printed at the Education Society's Press, Byculla. 1857.

all its branches, from plane trigonometry to great circle-sailing, and from finding the latitude by a meridian altitude to the longitude by a lunar observation. He must be able to conduct his ship to all parts of the world, and to keep her clear of lee-shores, rocks, shoals, and sand-banks. Many captains are even kept on shore by owners to see a new ship built from keel to top-rail. By this experience, thus gained, he becomes an adept in applying a remedy when a defect appears. He must be perfectly acquainted with various trades, such as sailmaker, carpenter, cooper, blacksmith, and sometimes cook. As a doctor, he has to prescribe medicines for his crew, and if, like his prototype on shore, he kills his patient, as a clergyman he has to read the funeral-service over his remains. He must be thoroughly conversant with the maritime laws of all nations. Many of them are invested with the full duties of the merchant, in which capacity he has to exhibit the care and cunning of the lawyer in drawing charter-parties, bills of lading, &c. He is supposed to be a kind and humane man, slow to anger, and of great command of temper; he must on no account ever allow himself to be so irritated as to lift his hand (be the provocation ever so great) against one of his crew. So sure as he does, the poor ill-treated (and insolent) sailor gets public sympathy, and a reward for his conduct; while the brutal captain gets either a heavy fine or imprisonment, or both, and public censure, for his conduct, without any consideration as to the heavy responsibility, anxiety, and frequent difficulty of governing unruly crews.'

What is the difficulty of governing unruly crews? Is it not looked to in the Mercantile Marine Act? To this extent-that insolence or contemptuous language or behaviour to the master or any mate, is punishable by a fine of one day's pay; and striking or assaulting any person on board, two days' pay. An unruly sailor, therefore, is kept in check by the knowledge that he cannot indulge in pummelling his captain at a smaller expense than three shillings and fourpence. When the captain imposes the fine, he is obliged to enter the crime in the log-book, call the offender into the cabin, and read the entry to him. This is still more injurious to discipline than the inadequacy of the punishment; for it shews the ruffian that nothing is trusted to the captain, that his displeasure is of no consequence, except in the literal matter of the three shillings and fourpence. The captain is thus reduced to a state of helplessness: he has no power like him of the navy to enforce his orders; and he is deprived by the laws of the prestige which formerly served as his protection. The Mutiny Act, for extreme cases, is the sole guard of life and ship.

Melodramatic Jack is content and ready to sink with his ship whenever her time comes; but actual Jack has no ship in particular to sink with. He changes every voyage, if he can, and gets up a row to accomplish it. "The modern merchant-sailor ships in a vessel for a foreign port, and as soon as cables are unbent and anchors stowed, he is ready for his game of insolent insubordination, with a view to his discharge and re-entry into some other service that may captivate his vagrant fancy.' If he can find no fault with the captain, and if the ship is unexceptionable, he has recourse to the bad-provision dodge; and in some cases he is known to have himself tampered with the articles complained of to gain a verdict. But money is the grand motive for leaving his ship. When a seaman enters this port, and learns that, whilst he is working for L.2, 10s. a month, the wages given out of Bombay is L.4, he braces up his mind for a row, refusal to do duty, and their consequent penalties-the shadiest wall lounge of the House of Correction, where he can conditions.' This costs him but a trifle of the wages smoke the calumet of peace without its moral binding due to him, and when the pleasant incarceration is

all the other details which accompany them, he is greatly mistaken.

Within a year or two, a sum of over L.10,000 has been raised for schools and other parochial purposes, and all the heavy and complicated machinery connected with this branch of duty has been set agoing. This alone would have seemed enough for one man's work, taking men in general as our standard; but there is still more to be told of the labours of 1857. 'During the year,' again writes our author, I have been honorary secretary to four religious societies, and to a fifth whose operations terminate with the year. Of two of these, the duties were merely nominal, but in two others they required very great attention. I am chairman of one permanent committee, and treasurer of two; and during the year, I attended 221 meetings. Now, keeping in mind the occupations already specified, I would direct attention to the diligence which could still find time for attending the meetings of these societies, and managing their affairs and finances. Many industrious men might have found even this last department of labour quite as much as they could manage; but taken in a cumulative sense, along with what had gone before, we feel quite astounded; and are disposed at length to say with uplifted hands and eyes: 'Ohe jam satis!' No such thing! Full as the list may appear to unpractised eyes, there are in the capabilities of this man, some portions still unoccupied, a corner or two into which some small odds and ends' of employment may still be packed. Listen once more: The avoidance of meetings, especially in the evenings, has increased my time for intellectual pursuits. I have read about ninety volumes on various subjects, exclusive of pamphlets, reviews, &c. I have also written five magazine articles, three short papers for learned societies, twelve articles of a more fugitive character, on literature, science, and education; and an elaborate paper of instructions for my teachers on the subjects of school-organisation and discipline. I have made twenty-one speeches, and delivered nine public lectures, besides editing a pamphlet of about ninety pages in extent, and, with some assistance, an important volume of 300 pages. But the most tedious intellectual operation was the construction of two ethnological maps of a kind wholly new, and from materials which are common and accessible in every county in the kingdom. Each of them required a minute analysis of about 20,000 facts, yet any of the numerous details indicated may be tested in an instant.'

This paragraph shews that an active mind may be lodged in an active body, and that local and corporeal mobility of a very unusual kind may be associated with mental activity no less remarkable.

But, reader, we have yet more to tell; one more short extract will bring us to the end of this tot, et tanta, negotia.

You will say that, in whatever way we are to account for the performance within the year, and even within 288 days of it, of so much physical and intellectual labour, along with the 165 separate days on which the claims of social relaxation were attended to, this would, at the least, entail a necessity for a very snail-like power of staying at home. Again, I say, no such thing. You would further suppose that epistolary correspondence, which, in a small way, so many of us find it hard enough to get through from day to day, could find no place in these herculean labours. Listen, then, once more: 'My correspondence has extended to 1200 letters. I have visited Wales three times; Ireland, twice; the Isle of Man, once; and London and Oxford, once!'

Now, with all this, should you have supposed that there was any room for mechanical occupations within doors? Allow me one 'more last word,' and you shall

hear: 'I have occupied myself at intervals with mechanical duties, which may be described as amateur book binding.'

There, reader, is a man for you! I know of nothing to compare with him, either on sea or land, but one whom I had thought the inimitable' Dr Livingstone. It is true that this latter personage, with the true modesty of greatness, says that he is but a man. I can only reply, that to be a man after the fashion of the heroic doctor and our Lancashire incumbent, is to be one in no ordinary sense of the term. This paper may fall under the observation of more than one before whom a professional career, no matter of what sort, is just opening out, and whose success must depend mainly upon his courage, activity, integrity of heart and purpose, and self-reliance. Let such a one read over at his leisure, again and again, the details given above; let him observe how much may be done by determining that it shall be done, and by the force of an indomitable will; let him understand the value of time well laid out and carefully divided; and although he may very naturally despair of equalling the very extraordinary achievements of this striking exemplar, he will attain all the more for studying and aiming at a really high standard of excellence.

It must be allowed that a clergyman's life admits of a variation in employment which cannot be obtained in other professions. The example is, therefore, chiefly valuable to the clerical brethren of the incumbent, who can, like him, vary the modus operandi at pleasure, provided that within a certain time a required result be produced.

The principle, however, which may be educed from a consideration of this remarkable case is one of the utmost value, and of universal application. As such, I heartily commend it to the careful study and conscientious imitation of my younger readers, whose characters and professional habits may still be in a great measure unformed, and who may be on that account within reach of its salutary influence. If we cannot do all we would, let us determine to do all we can.

D'ABORD DU M E R.

FROM A FRENCH SONG.

ALONG the shore, along the shore
I see the wavelets meeting,
But thee I see-ah, nevermore,

For all my wild heart's beating.
The little wavelets come and go;
The sea of life ebbs to and fro,
Advancing and retreating :

But from the shore, the steadfast shore,
The sea is parted never:
And mine I hold thee evermore
For ever and for ever.

Along the shore, along the shore

I hear the waves resounding,
But thou wilt cross them nevermore

For all my wild heart's bounding.
The moon comes out above the tide,
And quiets all the waters wide

Her pathway bright surrounding:
As on the shore, the dreary shore,
I walk with vain endeavour;
I have thy love's light evermore,
For ever and for ever.

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by WILLIAM ROBERTSON, 23 Upper Sackville Street, DUBLIN, and all Booksellers.