tinuing favourable, they felt it was better to complete everything which might be necessary to encounter any heavy gale to which they might be subjected. How fearfully had their numbers decreased! Of the eight who left St Helena, two alone remained alive. Before leaving the ship, they wrapped the bodies of the dead in a torn sail, and with some heavy shot attached, launched them in their common coffin into the deep. What a contrast was there now between their condition four days ago and their present one! A fine breeze carried them onward; they had abundance of all the necessaries of life, and were daily recovering strength; but many days passed before their eyes were gladdened by a sight of land; and when at length their feet once more touched dry ground, they found that their trials were not yet over. After returning thanks to the Almighty Being who had thus far preserved them, they were walking towards a fort which they observed along the coast, when they found themselves surrounded by a party of Portuguese soldiers, who, roughly seizing them, dragged them before the commandant of the fort. Here they were unceremoniously consigned to a miserable dungeon, to await an investigation of their cha

racter.

X.

We now shift the scene of our story to St Helena. On the occasion of the desertion which has been narrated, the fate of the unhappy men was not believed to be doubtful. No sooner had the authorities notice of their disappearance, than an embargo was laid on all the ships in the harbour, with the hopes of compelling them to return; and this it was which prevented the American from keeping his promise. As, however, they did not return, they were supposed to have perished miserably. A new governor had been appointed, by whose enlightened, though strict management, a spirit of perfect subordination had been introduced among the troops under his orders. One day, about a year after the dismal events narrated, he was walking on a terrace overlooking the sea, in front of his residence, when a young man, in the costume of a sailor, presented himself before him.

“What is it you want, my good man?" said the governor.

"I come, your excellency, to fulfil a duty I owe to my country, and to accomplish a vow," answered the young man in a deep voice, slightly trembling with agitation.

"What is this? I do not understand you," replied the governor, thinking his visitor was affected in his mind.

"You see a man who has deserted from his colours, and has returned to deliver himself up to justice," said the stranger.

A heavy offence, young man, and one which must be severely punished," said the governor.

"I am ready to undergo any punishment the laws of the service may inflict," said the stranger.

"You! What are you talking about? There have been no desertions since I came to the island, full ten months ago," answered the governor mildly. "But stay, young man," he continued, regarding him earnestly; "I never forget a countenance I have once seen, and those features of yours I know well. What is your name?"

"Hardy was the name under which I enlisted," answered the stranger.

"But not the one you always bore?" answered the governor, eyeing him still more attentively. "You say that you enlisted: in what corps, then? and how do I see you with the appearance of a seaman?"

"I assumed the dress because I acted as one to work my passage here," answered Hardy; and then, as rapidly as the governor would allow him with his frequent interruptions, he narrated all his adventures. How he had escaped from the Portuguese fort with Jackson; how he had reached Pernambuco; and from thence, with numerous hardships, had arrived at Rio de Janeiro, from whence he worked his passage in an English ship to the Cape of Good Hope, and so back to St Helena.

When he had concluded, the governor, instead of ordering him into instant confinement, calmly addressed him. "Your fault in deserting was a heinous one for a soldier; but in your case there are many extenuating circumstances, and you have already been most severely punished. Your conduct, too, in returning as soon as you had the power, in spite of all difficulties, and with the uncertainty of how you might be treated, is worthy of all commendation. This should be a set-off against all your previous faults, had we not the acknowledgment of that unhappy man, Captain Pieman, on his deathbed, that he had treated you most unjustly. I now remember all the circumstances, for I made full notes of them on my arrival. He even intreated that Hall might be pardoned, for he recovered from the wound inflicted by that unhappy man, and died only a few months ago from another cause. So far, I may congratulate you, young man, on your providential preservation; and now, tell me the name you bore before you enlisted-I have my reasons for wishing to know?"

"I would rather it were never heard till every stain of dishonour had been washed from it," answered Hardy in a faltering tone.

"You are right; and if I mistake not, it is one as noble as any in the land. Your accents betray the station to which you were born. Do I mistake you?"

"Your excellency is, I firmly believe, correct: my name is Hastings."

"I thought so. Your father was my earliest friend, and

often have I seen you during his lifetime.

For his sake, as well as for your own, the first commission I can bestow shall be yours."

"Pardon me," exclaimed Hardy, scarcely able to express himself from emotion; "I am not ungrateful for the kind interest you show; but after what has occurred, I cannot accept your offer. I must win my way to the rank you would bestow, and not receive it as an undeserved gift. Then may I be able to lift my head among my equals, and defy the malice of my enemies."

"I applaud your determination, and it shall be as you wish. The eye of those with more power than I have shall be upon you; and if the chances of war allow it, your fortune shall be in your own hands. Farewell, Mr Hardy; my heart is with you, though from henceforth you must assume the station you have chosen. A ship is expected shortly, to convey troops to India. You shall join them. In the meantime enlist again, and do your duty here under the name you have chosen."

The kind governor made a sign to Hardy to leave him; and the latter, with feelings of heartfelt gratitude, and a firm resolve to deserve his good fortune, forthwith went about the duties he had been ordered to perform. Hardy's return, and many of the circumstances connected with the fate of his companions, were well known at the time in St Helena, though his real name never transpired.

XI.

Several years after these events, as Mr and Mrs Ravenhurst were seated one lovely evening in summer in the drawing-room of their beautiful villa on the coast of Devonshire, with their lovely children playing round them as they gazed forth on the moonlit dancing waters of the ocean, the servant announced a visitor.

"Who did you say?" asked Mrs Ravenhurst. But before an answer could be returned, a stranger entered, and bowing to the master and mistress of the house, took the seat which was offered him.

"My intrusion at this hour may appear strange," he observed; "but I am anxious to make inquiries respecting a dear friend, a near relative of yours, I understand-Henry Hastings-Colonel Hastings, I ought to say."

A deep sigh escaped the bosom of the lady. "I once had a brother of that name," she answered; 66 an affectionate, noble brother. But he, we have too much reason to fear, has long been dead."

"And yet I can scarcely be mistaken," observed the stranger, as if musing. "We were in India together but a few months ago,

and quitted it at the same time. He himself assured me of the relationship."

"Sincerely do I wish you are not mistaken," said Mrs Ravenhurst. "It would indeed be an unspeakable increase to my happiness to have my long-lost brother restored to us.",

"Did he tell you the reasons for keeping us so long in ignorance of his existence, sir?" said Mr Ravenhurst, wishing to ascertain the truth of the stranger's statements.

"His adventures were romantic in the extreme, and having already given his sister cause to mourn his death, while every day the reality was so likely to occur in the chances of war, he was unwilling to give her the additional grief should he fall. That she was happily married to the man of her choice, he had heard, and he therefore determined to remain unknown till he had won the station and name for which he panted. You have seen, probably, the name of Colonel Hardy mentioned in the accounts of the late wars in India?"

66

Frequently-one of the most gallant and fortunate officers in the service!" exclaimed the husband and wife in the same breath.

"Such was the name your brother assumed," said the stranger in an agitated tone. Just then the servant entered with lights. Both Mr and Mrs Ravenhurst started, and gazed earnestly at the stranger.

"Henry!" exclaimed the husband, hastening towards him. "My brother!" cried the lady, throwing her arms round his neck, and bursting into tears-but they were tears of joy. It was Colonel Hastings, once the deserter from St Helena-the sole survivor of the misguided party; and few can tell the agony of mind and the physical suffering he endured before he once more trod the pathway to honour.

NUMBER of years ago there lived a respectable widow lady in an old-fashioned court in the Lawnmarket of Edinburgh. Her name was Mrs Grinton. She was the widow of a magistrate in the town, and her means of subsistence were chiefly drawn from a moderate annuity settled on her for life. Fortunately, her family was not large, consisting of only a son and daughter, who engaged her attentions, and to whom she looked for comfort in her old age. Nothing particular marked the character of young Charles Grinton in his early years; but on his approaching the age at which it is usual to make choice of a profession, it was found that he was disinclined to settle steadily to any line of life. He was fond of trifling away his time on the Castle Hill, gazing at the soldiers on parade, or playing on the streets with any idle lads who were as inconsiderate as himself.

Among his various juvenile acquaintances, there was a boy, George Macqueen by name, whose character was really worthy of serving as an example. George was the son of persons in exceedingly humble circumstances. His father had been a gardener in the employment of a nobleman in Fife, and having been dismissed when past the prime of life, to make room for one who was younger, and more able to endure fatigue, he removed to Edinburgh, and gained a livelihood by dressing the flower-pots and small gardens of gentlemen's houses in the outskirts of the town. His residence was in the cellar floor of the same tenement