This change did not trouble him much, for he recollected that Sir Plausible Promiseall had some time before offered to procure him a place under government. He had declined this offer, because he disliked the drudgery of business, and could do without it. Now, however, as he must absolutely exert himself, he wrote immediately to inform Sir Plausible that the change in his circumstances having removed his objections to business, he was willing to accept of the place, and would be glad also to have it immediately. After a few hums and haws, Sir Plausible was sorry, very sorry, that his friend Mr. Falkner had taken so much time to make up his mind; things of that nature seldom went a begging; he was sure that the place which he had had in view was given away, and it was very unlikely that another opportunity would occur of serving him; if it should, Mr. Falkner might depend upon his endeavours. But in the mean time, if he might advise, Mr. F. should try his other friends; no doubt there were some of them who could do something or other for him. As he concluded this civil speech, the polite baronet wished him good morning, called at the same time to his valet, to desire one of the footmen to open the door for Mr. Falkner. I fancy, dear reader, we need not accompany George in his visits to all his fashionable friends; your own experience may perhaps render it easy for you to credit, that some among them behaved even worse than Sir Plausible. Despairing at last of obtaining any provision through their kindness, he appealed to their justice, and demanded payment of different sums which he had lent to them: but he was not more successful in this respect than in the former. Some denied their debts; others were very sorry they could not pay; and many were astonished at the fellow's impudence, in claiming money which he actually forced upon them against their inclination: in short, our unfortunate soon found himself in the high road to starvation; but his creditors, though they had not obtained the amount of their debts, were more merciful than his friends; and they made up a small sum among themselves for him. He had acquired wisdom enough to know, that his last chance of procuring the means of existence depended upon a judicious use of this money; and as his spirit revolted against remaining near his former friends, he resolved to try whether G. 28. D d he could not obtain a clerkship at one of our commercial towns. Accordingly, he took his place on the top of a stagecoach and quitted London, execrating high life and highlived connections, and recollecting, with bitter reproaches on his own folly, his total desertion of the only companion he had ever had who was likely to have proved a true friend. He had nearly reached his journey's end, when, by the coach being overturned, he broke his arm; and to add to this misfortune, the accident happened at some distance from any house. This seemed the climax of his misery: heat, fatigue, and vexation, combined with the accident, produced an immediate effect upon his blood; he was seized with a burning fever, and carried in a state of insensibility to the nearest house, the master of which, who happened to be passing as the other passengers were deliberating what was to be done with him, humanely offered to receive him. Here, during three weeks, he lay in a state which gave little hope of recovery; at last his senses returned, but his weakness was so great, that his life was very doubtful, and he himself thought his last moment was approaching. He perceived that he was assiduously attended by two females, who, from their ages, appeared to be mother and daughter. As soon as they saw that his senses had returned, the eldest of the two spoke to him in the kindest terms: she assured him he was among friends, who would do every thing in their power to forward his recovery; but she begged he would not attempt to reply, as his only chance depended on being kept perfectly quiet. "You are mistaken," said he, "I know that I cannot recover; but it is a comfort to me, that at least I have experienced kindness and humanity at the end of my life. I can do little to repay it, but I beg you will accept of what I leave behind, except my watch; that I should wish to send to one that I am sure loved me, if he is yet living; if not, it will be yours. His name is Tom Rigby; it is now twelve years since I have heard of him, and then he lived in the town of we were boys together;-I used him very ill, but if he ever knows what I have suffered, he will forgive me." "I do forgive thee, with all my heart, dear George," cried a young man, rushing forward, and clasping one of the in valid's hands, who, overcome by so unexpected a sight, fainted, to the great terror of poor Tom. His mother-in-law, the old woman who had so kindly attended George, forced him out of the room, and applied herself to the recovery of her patient, not without some fears that Tom's indiscreet appearance had actually killed him. Her fears were luckily vain; he soon recovered his senses, and from that hour he grew gradually better, and in a short time he was pronounced out of danger. When he was able to converse, they each related what had passed during their separation. George found that his friend disliked the business to which he had been apprenticed, and, having a little legacy left him, he bought out the remainder of his time, and purchased a small farm. He soon found that a farmer wants a wife; he had the luck to get a good one; she was an excellent manager. Her mother, who was a widow, lived with them, and assisted in the care of the household; and from the time of his marriage, every thing prospered with him. He was now about to take another farm, and he urged George to stay with him, and assist in the management of it. Falkner was grateful for the offer; he accepted it, conditionally, that he should find himself capable of the business. In a few years he became a good practical farmer; he married a worthy girl, whose little portion enabled him to take some land into his own hands. He formed his habits by those of his friend, became useful and happy, and they both lived to be surrounded by children and grandchildren, who were brought up in habits of virtuous industry, and to whom they often repeated," Cherish your old friends, and beware how you form new ones." THE FAIRY DELL. There is a dell, —a fairy dell, Which warms me with a secret spell; At noon the wild bee oft would come, The dew drops seem'd like sapphire pearls Deal. The ripling of the streamlet's rills,— The imag'd flower, the sunless bough, Romantic dell! thou didst nurse me, Ev'n as I weep, hope's beam appears, REGINALD AUGUSTINE. EXTRAORDINARY ESCAPE OF AN AMERICAN TRAVELLER. On the twenty-second day of April, our party set sail in a large schooner from Fort George, or Niagara Town, and in two days crossed Lake Ontario to Kingston, at the head of the river St. Lawrence, distant from Niagara about 200 miles. Here we hired an American barge, (a large flat-bottomed boat,) to carry us to Montreal, a further distance of 200 miles; then set out for Kingston on the twenty-eighth of April, and arrived the same evening at Ogdensburgh, a distance of 75 miles. The following evening we arrived at Cornwall, and the succeeding night at Pointe du Lac, on Lake St. Francis. Here the bargemen obtained our permission to return up the river, and we embarked in another barge, deeply laden with potashes, passengers, and luggage. Above Montreal, for nearly 100 miles, the river St. Lawrence is interrupted in its course by rapids, which are occasioned by the river being confined in comparatively narrow, shallow, rocky channels; through these it rushes with great force and noise, and is agitated like the ocean in a storm. Many people prefer these rapids, for grandeur of appearance, to the falls of Niagara. They are from half a mile to nine miles long each, and require regular pilots. On the thirtieth of April, we arrived at the village of Cedars, immediately below which are three sets of very dangerous rapids, (the Cedars, the Splitrock, and the Cascades,) distant from each other about one mile. On the morning of the first of May, we set out from the Cedars, the barge very deep and very leaky. The captain, a daring, rash man, refused to take a pilot. After we passed the Cedars rapid, not without danger, the captain called for some rum, swearing at the same time, that God Almighty could not steer the barge better than he did! Soon after this, we entered the Split-rock rapids by a wrong channel, and found ourselves advancing rapidly towards a dreadful watery precipice, down which we went. The barge slightly grazed her bottom against the rock, and the fall was so great as to nearly take away the breath. We here took in a great deal of water, which was mostly baled out again before we were hurried on to what the Canadians call the Grand Bouillon, or Great Boiling. In approaching this place the captain let go the helm, saying, By God, here we fill!" The barge was almost immediately overwhelmed in the midst of immense foaming breakers, which rushed over the bows, carrying away planks, oars, &c. About half a minute elapsed between the filling and going down of the barge, during which I had sufficient presence of mind to strip off my three coats, and was loosening my suspenders when the barge sunk, and I found myself floating in the midst of people, baggage, &c. Each man caught hold of something: one of the crew caught hold of me, and kept me down under water, but, contrary to my expectation, let me go again. On rising to the surface, I got hold of a trunk, on which two other men were then holding. Just at this spot, where the Split-rock rapids terminate, the bank of the river is well inhabited; and we could see the women on shore, running about much agitated. A canoe put off, and picked up three of our number, who had gained the bottom of the barge, which had upset and got rid of its cargo; these they landed on an island. The canoe put off again, and was approaching near to where I was holding on |