or Swan-River, St. Helena or Bahia, the Cape Verds or the Antilles.* We were thrown into no little trepidation. Providentially, Mr. Beauchamp had set his watch by the best chronometer a few days before; and the Mate using it, decided that the nearest land was the island of Rodriguez, for which we accordingly shaped our course. To our great surprise, we fell in with the island the next morning; for we had not expected to do so until after at least another day's sail. Now, knowing exactly our position, we resumed our course. The next day we rejoiced to see a sail; for though in so early a stage of the voyage, our provisions were already short. We had killed the last sheep the day we crossed the line; the few remaining fowls had for some time been in reserve for the sick; and bread, and many other articles, were either wanting, or of a quality utterly unfit for persons in delicate health. It was at once resolved to apply to the stranger. The Captain was dying, the Second Mate was off duty, and the First Mate had to abide by the ship: it fell upon me to take charge of a boat, though little accustomed to command on the high seas. Mr. Beauchamp, judging that our 66 owner" would be as well pleased that our comforts should cost him nothing, put me in a condition to pay for whatever we might obtain, by giving me a blank check on his agents. The Doctor accompanied me, in hope of finding some medicines. The stranger proved to be a Scotch barque, without passengers, and bound for the Mauritius. Being so near her port, the stores were low: one solitary fowl was the only live stock; this the Captain offered, but we declined it. We obtained two bags of yams, and one of bread; while the Doctor, besides some drugs, found one bottle of port wine, and one of brandy,-both of which articles were desiderata in our ship. The bread, though common sailors' biscuit, was free from vermin, and therefore a most welcome addition to our luxuries.

By this time our regular leakage, when we had anything of a breeze, was seven inches per hour. The pumps were of the old up-and-down model, and drew off the water slowly; so that every hour the men had a long "spell," against the labour of which they murmured sorely; sometimes expressing their fears that the "old basket" (a term applied to a leaky, as "tub" is to a slow, vessel) was bound for the bottom; and often wishing that they had the "owner" at the pump, promising him such entertainment as would teach him not to deal in leaky ships. So long as the poor Captain was about, he firmly defended the character of his vessel; averring that she was the best craft his "owner" had ever possessed; that he had brought home three leaky ships for him, and he would bring her home; and that she would make a good passage of it yet. To console us for the scantiness of provisions, he assured us that, on the voyage to Van-Diemen's Land, they had lived with even lavish profusion.

It was the most stormy season of the year when we neared the Cape; and there was every reason to fear that one severe gale would increase the leak to a fatal amount. When approaching the land, a fine stiff breeze, lasting for three successive days, sorely tried our pumps, and made the men more than once exclaim, "If we get her into port, it will be the greatest mercy that ever was!" but it also sped us forward; and, after bringing us

* The method is very simple. The chronometer keeps Greenwich time. You observe the sun at noon, and for every minute that he reaches the meridian before your chronometer points to twelve, you are one-fourth of a degree to the east, for every minute after, one-fourth of a degree to the west, of Greenwich. Every four minutes of difference between the sun and the chronometer is a degree; every hour, fifteen degrees.

close upon the land, fell into a mild breeze. Our navigation was not remarkably accurate; wide discrepancies frequently occurred between the reckoning of two successive days; but it was all laid upon the currents. To-day the current would set us half a degree to the east; to-morrow, two degrees to the west! This made an approach to land rather anxious; for though, in the wide sea, one can very well afford to blunder a few degrees, it will not do for a dangerous coast. There was no one on board who had been into the Cape; nor had we "Horsburgh," that faithful guide to eastern navigation; but, instead, we had the remains of a Directory, venerable, if not for authority, at least for age. One day the Mate confidently predicted that we should "sight the land" before sunset: two or three times the men thought they saw it; but soon reported that it had been "Cape Fly-away;" and sunset came without any land. We stood on, with a brilliant moon. About one o'clock in the morning, the Mate called me to see the ship "hove-to close under the land." There lay the little barque riding the waves, with her sails glistening in the moon: close by, against the deep blue heaven, was reared a pile of black cliffs, skirted at the base by a waving line of white, where the breakers were loudly sounding. The Mate said we were off the mouth of False-Bay, and only waiting for the morning, to enter. We presently saw a sail just to the eastward; and a trim schooner, sweeping along, with exquisite grace, in the moonlight, passed close by us. I advised the Mate to speak her; but we had no trumpet! and though she came so close, that he might have put a question without it, he felt so confident of his position, that he did not think it worth while. Not being equally confident, I watched the direction of the schooner; and left the deck with an impression, that if we were in the mouth of False-Bay, she was standing right for the rocks, which I deemed the less probable alternative of the two.

On the western coast of Africa, about thirty miles from its southern extremity, is Table-Bay; immediately to the east of that extremity is False-Bay Cape-Town is situated on the former, Simon's-Town on the latter. The neck of land between the two bays is about twenty miles wide; and the strip of land, which they form into a little peninsula, is an elevated ridge running for about thirty miles from north to south, and terminating on the north in Table-Mountain, on the south in the Cape of Good Hope. Table-Bay is exposed to the gales which prevail in winter, and is then unsafe; False-Bay, being sheltered from those gales, is at that season the preferable harbour. Arriving in the depth of the southern winter, (July,) we made for False-Bay.

In the morning I found that a thick fog concealed the whole coast, except a low headland to the east, and a flat-headed eminence, for which we appeared to be steering. A curvature was observable; but it at once struck me as being far too slight to answer to an opening so spacious as False-Bay. The more I looked, the stronger this doubt became; till at length I ventured to express it. The Mate assured me we were entering the bay. "That," pointing to the low headland, "is Cape Lagullas; and that," pointing to the eminence, "is Table-Mountain." "Why," I replied, "Cape Lagullas and Table-Mountain are ninety miles apart it is impossible we should see them both at the same time." Rather embarrassed, he went below; and, on returning, said, "I have examined the chart, and no other part of the coast answers to the bearings." I presently consulted the chart and Directory, which convinced me that our "Table-Mountain" was the Gunner's Quoin, situated seventy miles from that celebrated elevation.

Returning on deck, I found we were rapidly nearing the coast; on our larboard, the land was seen very distinctly; we could hear the surf rolling but before us the mist covered all, except "Table-Mountain." The oldest of the sailors happened to pass me, and grumbled, "I wonder where we're a goin' to there's no bay there, I know." Thus confirmed in the impression already made by the coast and the chart, I asked whether the high land might not be the Gunner's Quoin. The Mate was piqued, asserted that he was right, and added, "You may depend that you will dine in Simon's-Town." Most willing to believe what was so desirable, though unable to reconcile appearances, I went below, to arrange matters for landing. In a few minutes, Mr. Beauchamp came down, smiling, and said, "The fog has cleared away: there is no bay, and 'Table-Mountain' is the Gunner's Quoin." We were now inside a long reef of rocks; and had the wind either increased or changed, should have been placed in circumstances the least desirable. But Providence favoured us; the wind blew steadily from the safest quarter, and presently the heavy old ship was clear of the breakers; on which we began to run along the coast to the west.

The day and scene were charming: the bluff, blue headlands stood up boldly between sea and sky, the wind swept along with equable vigour, the sea rolled in full round waves, and the sky glowed as on a bright May-day in England. Ever and anon, in the west, we observed a blue speck in the sea, cut off by the waves from the line of coast; but, as we approached, it rose and spread, till at length it stood out in full view, not an island, but a sea-side hill. Towards evening, one of these appeared far beyond the most distant point in the continuous range of coast, and evidently not in the same line. Its insular character appeared unquestionable; and yet the chart did not indicate an island there. Presently a second island appeared by its side the chart was still at fault. The sun was hasting down; it was the very season for those terrible "south-westers,” which lay so many gallant ships on that hard coast; and this unexpected island perplexed us as to our position. We eagerly resorted to the old Directory: a hint was discovered, that, in coming from the east, the Cape itself first appears like an island; the rapid rise out of the sea of a line of coast running north and south, and terminating in the supposed island, satisfied us that this solution of the difficulty, which was so welcome, was also true. We no longer doubted that we were in the mouth of our "desired haven ;" and, fearful to risk a gale in the bay during the night, we hove-to.

The following morning was foggy, with scarcely any wind: we crept slowly up the bay, straining our eyes, and teasing our glasses, to distinguish Table-Mountain; but in vain. That celebrated land-mark was not to be found; and though all other appearances accredited False-Bay, we felt a slight misgiving. "Where is Table-Mountain ?" asked every one; and no one could answer. Could it be possible that we, were wrong again? Most narrowly we scanned every lineament of the hill-tops; but could find no table. As we approached nearer and nearer to the north-west corner of the bay, where we ought to find Simon's-Town, our anxiety to discover the decisive land-mark increased; but no trace of it appeared. At length, on the bleak side of the mountain, we observed a solitary patch of white, like a cottage; and, examined by the glass, it proved to be a neat little house, commanding the entrance of the bay, and apparently of European mould; but no other habitation of man was visible. About the same moment, some one declared he fancied that he saw the masts of a ship: this was denied, corroborated, denied again, and finally confirmed by the glass. Presently

some one announced a buoy: the Mate, turning his glass on the spot, pronounced it a buoy with a flag; but it proved to be a boat, bearing the owner of the cottage on the mountain-side, who sailed under the welcome colours of the British pilot-flag. One of the first questions asked him was, "Where is Table-Mountain?" "What!" said he, with an air of surprise, "did you expect to see Table-Mountain from False-Bay? You must get to the other side of the Cape, first." The fault was chargeable partly on our own ignorance, partly on a miserable Directory. Just as twilight was falling on the ridge of hills which all along the bay rises precipitously from the water's edge, it broke off into a crescent equally precipitous, within the arms of which lay a smooth basin, where rode two large Indiamen, and a man-of-war brig. Simon's-Town ran for a considerable distance round the foot of the concave hill, and at some points stretched up its sides: one building stood above all the rest, and from it the Sabbath-bell was chiming. Those were the very tones that, at the close of an anxious voyage, one would have wished to hear first from land. I little thought that they were calling a congregation to the funeral sermon of one whom I had seen depart from England in the full vigour of youth; but so it was. That building was the Wesleyan chapel; and that night the people were admonished to profit by the early removal of Mr. Goodrick, one of their Pastors, who had just closed a career bright with unusual piety and zeal. The sound of the bell made me long to be there; but the necessity of waiting till the ship had been visited by a medical officer, prevented our landing that night.

The two large Indiamen had just arrived, and both of them had suffered heavily in storms off the Cape. The larger of the two, a noble ship of one thousand four hundred tons, had lost her fore and mizen top-masts, and her main top-gallant-mast, beside having one of her officers carried overboard. As it was almost certain that our crazy barque would have perished in such a storm, we saw more and more our debt to that Providence which had sheltered us from it, though coming from the same direction as the vessels that encountered it, and nearly at the same time.

(To be concluded in our next.)

AN INDIAN ARGUMENT.

"Sup

A WHITE man and an Indian were both brought under conviction for sin about the same time. The Indian, whose conviction was pungent, soon found joy and peace in believing, while the white man continued in darkness and distress for a long time. Seeing the Indian one day, who enjoyed the sweet consolations of religion,-"Why," says the white man, “should there be such a difference? Why has God forgiven your sins, while I go mourning? I have done all that I can do, but find no comfort." pose," says the Indian, "there come along a great Prince. He hold out to you a suit of clothes, and says, 'Here, take these, and welcome!' You look around, feel ashamed, and say, 'No, my clothes pretty good yet; they do little longer; thank you, Sir.' Then the Prince, rather angry, says, 'Here, Sam, take the suit.' I look; my old blanket all rags, cold and dirty thank you, thank you, kind Sir! Poor Indian now be warm and happy.""

THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.

ABOUT fifteen years since, in the glow of early summer, a young stranger, of pleasing countenance and person, made his appearance at Niagara. It was at first conjectured that he might be an artist, as a large portfolio, with books and musical instruments, were observed among his baggage. He was deeply impressed by the majesty and sublimity of the cataract and its surrounding scenery, and expressed an intention to remain a week, that he might examine it accurately. But the fascination which all minds of sensibility feel in the presence of that glorious work of the Creator grew strongly upon him; and he was heard to say, that six weeks were inadequate to become acquainted with its outlines. At the end of that period, he was still unable to tear himself away, and desired to "build there a tabernacle," that he might indulge both in his love of solitary musing, and of nature's sublimity. He applied for a spot upon the island of the Three Sisters, where he might construct a cottage after his own model, which comprised, among other peculiarities, isolation by means of a draw-bridge. Circumstances forbidding a compliance with his request, he took up his residence in an old house upon Iris Island, which he rendered as comfortable as the state of the case would admit. Here he continued about twenty months, until the intrusion of a family interrupted his recluse habits. He then quietly withdrew, and reared for himself a less commodious shelter, near Prospect-Point. His simple and favourite fare of bread and milk was readily purchased; and whenever he required other food, he preferred to prepare it with his own hands. When bleak winter came, a cheerful fire of wood blazed upon his hearth; and by his evening lamp he beguiled the hours with the perusal of books in various languages, and with sweet music. It was almost surprising to hear, in such depth of solitude, the long-drawn, thrilling tones of the viol, or the softest melodies of the flute, gushing forth from that low-browed hut; or the guitar, breathing out so lightly amid the rush and thunder of the never-slumbering torrent. Yet, though the world of letters was familiar to his mind, and the living world to his observation, for he had travelled widely, both in his native Europe and the East, he sought not association with mankind, to unfold or to increase his stores of knowledge. Those who had heard him converse, spoke with surprise and admiration of his colloquial powers, his command of language, and the spirit of eloquence that flowed from his lips. But he seldom and sparingly admitted this intercourse, studiously avoiding society, though there seemed in his nature nothing of moroseness or misanthropy. On the contrary, he showed kindness to even the humblest animal. Birds instinctively learned it, and freely entered his dwelling, to receive from his hands crumbs or seeds. But the absorbing delight of his existence was communion with the mighty Niagara. Here, at every hour of the day or night, he might be seen, a fervent admirer. At grey dawn he went to visit it in its fleecy veil; at high noon he banqueted on the full splendour of its glory; beneath the soft tinting of the lunar bow he lingered, looking for the angel's wing, whose pencil had painted it; and at solemn midnight he knelt, soul-subdued, as on the footstool of Jehovah. Neither storms nor the piercing cold of winter prevented his visits to this stupendous fall... .His feet had worn a beaten path from his cottage thither. .Among his favourite daily gratifications was that of bathing...................... One bright, but rather chill, day, in the month of June, 1831, a man