which hides from you the deep indentation of Largo Bay, juts out upon the Firth, lies a little vessel, looking like a diminutive Arabian horse, or one of the aristocratic young slight lads who are its officers, with high blood, training, and courage, in every tight line of its cordage, and taper stretch of its masts. Before it, arrested in its way, lies a helpless merchant brig, softly swaying on the bright midwaters of the Firth, with the cutter's boat rapidly approaching its side.

Another moment and it is boarded; a very short interval of silence, and again the officer-you can distinguish him with that telescope, by his cocked hat, and the flash which the scabbard of his sword throws on the water as he descends the vessel's side-has reentered the cutter's boat. Heavily the boat moves through the water now, crowded with pressed menpoor writhing hearts, whose hopes of home-coming and peace have been blighted in a moment; captured, some of them in sight of their homes, and under the anxious straining eyes of wives and children, happily too far off to discern their full calamity.

A low moan comes from the lips of that poor woman, who, wringing her hands and rocking herself to and fro, with the unconscious movement of extreme pain, looks pitifully in Willie Morison's face, as he fixes the telescope on this scene. She is reading the changes of its expression, as if her sentence was there; but he says nothing, though the very motion of his hand, as he steadies the glass, attracts, like something of occult significance, the agonised gaze which dwells upon him.

"Captain, captain!" she cried at last, softly pulling his coat, and with unconscious art using the new title"captain, is't the Traveller? Can ye make her out? She has a white figure-head at her bows, and twa white lines round her side. Captain, captain! tell me for pity's sake!"

Another long keen look was bent on the brig, as slowly and disconsolately she resumed her onward way.

"No, Peggie," said the young sailor, looking round to meet her eye, and to comfort his companion, who stood trembling by his side-" no,

Peggie-make yourself easy; it's no the Traveller."

The poor woman seated herself on the grass, and, supporting her head on her hands, wiped from her pale cheek tears of relief and thankfulness.

"God be thanked!-and, oh! God pity thae puir creatures, and their wives, and their little anes. I think I have the hardest heart in a' the world, that can be glad when there's such misery in sight."

But dry your tears, poor Peggie Rodger-brace up your trembling heart again for another fiery trial; for here comes another white sail peacefully gliding up the Firth, with a flag fluttering from the stern, and a white figure-head dashing aside the spray which seems to embrace it joyfully, the sailors think, as out of stormy seas it nears the welcome home. With a light step the captain walks the little quarterdeck-with light hearts the seamen lounge amidships, looking forth on the green hills of Fife. Dark grows the young sailor's face as he watches the unsuspicious victim glide triumphantly up through the blue water into the undreaded snare; and a glance round, a slight contraction of those lines in his face which Katie Stewart, eagerly watching him, has never seen so strongly marked before, tells the poor wife on the grass enough to make her rise hysterically strong, and with her whole might gaze at the advancing ship; for, alas! one can doubt its identity no longer. The white lines on its side-the white figure-head among the joyous spray-and the Traveller dashes on, out of its icy prison in the northern harbour-out of its stormy ocean voyage-homeward bound!

Homeward bound! There is one yonder turning longing looks to Anster's quiet harbour as the ship sails past; carefully putting up in the coloured foreign baskets those little wooden toys which amused his leisure during the long dark winter among the ice, and thinking with involuntary smiles how his little ones will leap for joy as he divides the store. Put them up, good seaman, gentle father!-the little ones will be men and women before you look on them again.

For already the echoes are startled, and the women here on shore shiver and wring their hands as the cutter's gun rings out its mandate to the passenger; and looking up the Firth you see nothing but a floating globe of white smoke, slowly breaking into long streamers, and almost entirely concealing the fine outline of the little ship of war. The challenged brig at first is doubtful-the alarmed captain does not understand the summons; but again another flash, another report, another cloud of white smoke, and the Traveller is brought to.

There are no tears on Peggie Rodger's haggard cheeks, but a convulsive shudder passes over her now and then, as, with intense strained eyes, she watches the cutter's boat as it crosses the Firth towards the arrested brig.

“God! an' it were sunk like lead!" said a passionate voice beside her, trembling with the desperate restraint of impotent strength.

"God help us!-God help us!cursena them," said the poor woman with a hysteric sob. "Oh, captain, captain! gie me the glass; if they pit him in the boat I'll ken Davie-if naebody else would, I can-gie me the glass."

He gave her the glass, and himself gladly turned away, trembling with the same suppressed rage and indignation which had dictated the other spectator's curse.

"If ane could but warn them wi' a word," groaned Willie Morison, grinding his teeth-" if ane could but lift a finger! but to see them gang into the snare like innocents in the broad day-Katie, it's enough to pit a man mad!"

But Katie's pitiful compassionate eyes were fixed on Peggie Rodgeron her white hollow cheeks, and on the convulsive steadiness with which she held the telescope in her hand.

"It's a fair wind into the Firth there's anither brig due. Katie, I canna stand and see this mair!"

He drew her hand through his arm, and unconsciously grasping it with a force which at another time would have made her cry with pain, led her a little way back towards the town. But the fascination of the scene was too great for him, painful as it was,

and far away on the horizon glimmered another sail.

"Willie!" exclaimed Katie Stewart, "gar some of the Sillardyke men gang out wi' a boat-gar them row down by the coast, and then strike out into the Firth, and warn the men."

He grasped her hand again, not so violently. "Bless you, lassie! and wha should do your bidding but mysel? but take care of yoursel, Katie Stewart. What care I for a' the brigs in the world if onything ails you? Gang hame, or—

"I'll no stir a fit till you're safe back again. I'll never speak to ye mair if ye say anither word. Be canny -be canny-but haste ye away."

Another moment and Katie Stewart stands alone by Peggie Rodger's side, watching the eager face which seems to grow old and emaciated with this terrible vigil, as if these moments were years; while the ground flies under the bounding feet of Willie Morison, and he answers the questions which are addressed to him, as to his errand, only while himself continues at full speed to push eastward to Cellardyke.

And the indistinct words which he calls back to his comrades, as he "devours the way," are enough to send racing after him an eager train of coadjutors; and with his bonnet off, and his hands, which tremble as with palsy, clasped convulsively together, the white-haired Elder leans upon the wall of the pier, and bids God bless them, God speed them, with a broken voice, whose utterance comes in gasps and sobs; for he has yet another son upon the sea.

Meanwhile the cutter's boat has returned from the Traveller with its second load; and a kind bystander relieves the aching arms of poor Peggie Rodger of the telescope in which now she has no further interest.

"Gude kens-Gude kens," said the poor woman slowly, as Katie strove to comfort her. "I didna see him in the boat; but ane could see naething but the wet oars flashing out of the water, and blinding folk's een. What am I to do? Miss Katie, what am I to think? They maun have left some men in the ship to work her. Oh! God grant they have ta'en the young men, and no heads of families wi'

bairns to toil for. But Davie's a buirdly man, just like ane to take an officer's ee. Oh the Lord help us! for I'm just distraught, and kenna what to do."

A faint cheer, instantly suppressed, rises from the point of the pier and the shelving coast beyond; and yonder now it glides along the shore, with wet oars gleaming out of the dazzling sunny water, the boat of the forlorn hope. A small, picked, chosen company bend to the oars, and Willie Morison is at the helm, warily guiding the little vessel over the rocks, as they shelter themselves in the shadow of the coast. On the horizon the coming sail flutters nearer, nearerand up the Firth yonder there is a stir in the cutter as she prepares to leave her anchor and strike into the mid-waters of the broad highway which she molests.

The sun is sinking lower in the grand western skies, and beginning to cast long, cool, dewy shadows of every headland and little promontory over the whole rocky coast; but still the Firth is burning with his slanting fervid rays, and Inchkeith far away lies like a cloud upon the sea, and the May, near at hand, lifts its white front to the sun-a Sabbath night as calm and full of rest as ever natural Sabbath was-and the reverend Elder yonder on the pier uncovers his white head once more, and groans within himself, amid his passionate prayers for these perilled men upon the sea, over the desecrated Sabbath day.

Nearer and nearer wears the sail, fluttering like the snowy breast of some sea-bird in prophetic terror; and now far off the red fishing-boat strikes boldly forth into the Firth with a signal flag at its prow.

In the cutter they perceive it now; and see how the anchor swings up her shapely side, and the snowy sail curls -over the yards, as with a bound she darts forth from her lurking-place, and, flashing in the sunshine like an eager hound, leaps forth after her prey.

The boat-the boat! With every gleam of its oars the hearts throb that watch it on its way; with every bound it makes there are prayers prayers of the anguish which will take no discouragement-pressing in at the

gates of heaven; and the ebbing tide bears it out, and the wind droops its wings, and falls becalmed upon the coast, as if repenting it of the evil service it did to those two hapless vessels which have fallen into the snare. Bravely on as the sun grows lowerbravely out as the fluttering stranger sail draws nearer and more near-and but one other strain will bring them within hail.

But as all eyes follow these adventurers, another flash from the cutter's side glares over the shining water; and as the smoke rolls over the pursuing vessel, and the loud report again disturbs all the hills, Katie's heart grows sick, and she scarcely dares look to the east. But the ball has ploughed the water harmlessly, and yonder is the boat of rescueyonder is the ship within hail; and some one stands up in the prow of the forlorn hope, and shouts and waves his hand.

It is enough. "There she goesthere she tacks!" cries exulting the man with the telescope, “and in halfan-hour she'll be safe in St Andrew's Bay."

But she sails slowly back-and slowly sails the impatient cutter, with little wind to swell her sails, and that little in her face; while the fisherboat, again falling close inshore with a relay of fresh men at the oars, has the advantage of them both.

And now there is a hot pursuitthe cutter's boat in full chase after the forlorn hope; but as the sun disappears, and the long shadows lengthen and creep along the creeks and bays of the rocky coast so well known to the pursued, so ill to the pursuer, the event of the race is soon decided; and clambering up the first accessible landing-place they can gain, and leaving their boat on the rocks behind them, the forlorn hope joyously make their way home.

"And it's a' Katie's notion, and no a morsel of mine," says the proud Willie Morison. But alas for your stout heart, Willie ! alas for the tremulous startled bird which beats against the innocent breast of little Katie Stewart, for no one knows what heavy shadows shall veil the ending of this Sabbath-day.

THE man who, having recently built a house and planted a garden, capriciously abandons his commodious dwelling and pleasant parterres for uncultivated solitudes, there to recommence the work, is open to a charge of eccentricity, if not of folly. It may be said that, to a considerable extent, this has been the conduct of the great North American nation. With abundant room to double and to treble itself, the population of the States has yet felt cramped within its ample limits, and has pushed forward, westwards to the Pacific, and southwards into the heart of Mexico. Gold discoveries may recently have stimulated, but had nothing to do with the origin of this migratory impulse, which we cannot doubt has been communicated by Providence to one of the most numerous, energetic, and intelligent of existing races, that the barren places of the earth may be fructified, and barbarism gradually be everywhere replaced by civilisation. Contrary to what might have been expected, the impulse has lately been less manifest in the European AngloSaxons than in those of America. From Great Britain-which, in a bird's-eye view, would seem a teeming ant-hill-where a crowded population is pent in scanty compass by encircling seas, where professions and trades are overstocked, and the battle of life is fought at disadvantage by reason of the narrow field, the great streams of emigration should, it may be thought, proceed. There are reasons, however, for the contrary. Without impeachment of the patriotism of our Transatlantic cousins, we suspect that love of country is far stronger in the breast of an old nation than in that of a young one. This is easy to understand, if there be value in things and in ideas which most men prize and cherish-in ancient monuments, glorious traditions, timehonoured associations, and the memory of the illustrious dead. The Americans seem to us to be more remarkable for love and admiration of

themselves than of their country. The Englishman talks of "dear Old England;" the Yankee tells you of "the greatest nation in creation." To an Englishman, the soil of his country and bricks of his towns, the streets, rivers, and hills, and the very roads, are objects of affection; because with all those things are indissolubly associated so much of which he is justly proud; an American places his pride in introducing into new regions the banner and institutions of his restless, enterprising nation. We believe that a great many Englishmen, even of classes with whom physical wellbeing might be supposed a paramount consideration, would rather toil for a crust at home than wander to distant lands, with a prospect of improved condition on easier terms. It may be doubted whether recent Governments have properly aided, directed, and encouraged British emigration, and whether they have not suffered the current to be diverted to the shores of America, when a little judgment and guidance might have led it to our own colonies. As regards the lower classes of Irish emigrants, we confess that we would rather know them in the States than in Australia; the more so, because recent statistics prove that, upon American soil, and when amalgamated with the American people, the great majority of them speedily cast off the detestable yoke of Rome. But it is to Australasia emigrants from Great Britain should be directed; and we gladly observe the tide setting strong in that direction. It is useless now to inquire whether this might not earlier have been the case, had proper facilities been afforded, and had means been taken to shorten the passage to the Antipodes. Gold discoveries have at last given the signal, and private enterprise has taken the matter in hand. To it we already owe the direct steam transit from this country to Australia, round the Cape, and shall shortly be indebted for one which promises to be still more

rapid, via the Isthmus of Panama. Certainly the state of public feeling at the present time calls loudly for accelerated communication with our southern colonies. Emigration bids fair to proceed on a large scale. On all sides the note of preparation is heard, sounded by a class of emigrants superior to the majority of those who have hitherto replenished our colonies -by young men beginning life, who take out with them courage and energy unimpaired by failure and reverses. Doubtless most persons, of the many thousands who read these lines, have knowledge of such preparations-have friends, acquaintances, or relatives, fitting for the distant pilgrimage, or perhaps already shipped, and waiting but the anchor's trip to bid a long farewell-whose lingering regrets are tempered by bright hopes to the land of their birth, but not to its laws and institutions-to many whom they love, but not to the society of those who speak the same tongue, and whose hearts throb to the same sympathies.

To all intending emigrants and emigrants' friends, to all who take an interest in our noble southern colonies, to all who love spirited narrative of adventure, and lively description of distant lands, we cordially recommend the volumes lately published by Colonel Mundy, who has given a worthy successor to his pleasant book of Indian Sketches. Let us not be misunderstood. We do not vaunt the Colonel's work as a Colonist's Manual or Handbook to Australasia; we do not pronounce it, according to a favourite formula, as indispensable a part of au emigrant's baggage as a shirt or a hairbrush, or declare that its possession will smooth every difficulty in the path of newly-arrived pilgrims in the lands it treats of. Its author himself has no such pretensions. He speaks of his work with more modesty than is always found in gentlemen who publish, in portly octavos, the results of five years' distant rambles. The soldier displays his colours at starting. He goes off with a distinct declaration that the book is intended to be a light one, but that he shall rejoice if he has incidentally supplied useful information. In another place he goes still farther, and calls his journal trifling.

VOL. LXXII.-NO. CCCCXLIII.

It does comprise a certain amount of pleasant trifling; but the intending colonist will glean from it many valuable hints, whilst to all it will afford more or less information.

Colonel Mundy sailed for Sydney in the spring of 1846, as Deputyadjutant-general of the Australian colonies. He returned to England in January of the present year. The interval was passed in New South Wales, Victoria, Van Diemen's Land, and New Zealand-besides visits to sundry small islands. Sydney was his headquarters during the greater part of his five years' abode in the Far South, and thence he made numerous excursions into the interior. He kept a regular diary, which it was the amusement of his leisure hours to cast into the form of a book; -so that the production of twelve hundred copious pages was distributed over several years, and was really a labour of love. To this we must attribute-as well as to the author's good temper and happy dispositionthe unflagging spirit and vivacity of the work, whose last chapter is as freshly written as its first, and as free from appearance of effort.

But a few months had elapsed after Colonel Mundy's arrival in the colony of New South Wales, when there occurred to him a most favourable opportunity of visiting the interior. His Excellency, Sir Charles Fitzroy, proposed making a tour of inspection through the inland counties, and through some of the districts beyond the boundaries of location-usually called the Squatting Districts. The party consisted of the governor and his lady, the private and colonial secretaries, five servants, a couple of mounted policemen as escort, and of Colonel Mundy, who was invited to accompany it. Sir Charles Fitzroy, described by an Australian innkeeper as "the most sportingest" of all governors, drove himself, being a first rate whip, in a sort of mail phaeton, built for the purpose, with hood, rumble, and capacious boot, and drawn by four horses. The Colonel and the Colonial Secretary each put a horse into a light open carriage; two servants in a dog-cart brought up the rear. At first, during the early part of Trip No. 1, which

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