will disappear in future editions, such as doubtless will be called for; and we are happy to have had this opportunity of calling attention to a new work proceeding from a gentleman standing so deservedly high with the public, and for which, moreover, he possesses several special qualifications.

THE PARADISE IN THE PACIFIC.

It was a chosen plot of fertile land,
Amongst wide waves set like a little nest,
As if it had, by nature's cunning hand,
Been choicely picked out from all the rest,
And laid forth for ensample of the best.

Fairie Queen.*

WHERE IS IT?

THIS is the glorious FIRST OF JUNE!-and it is set like a gem in the centre of the London season. Oh, mighty, multitudinous London, how thou art enjoying thyself! All thy bravery is on, all thy misery is hidden; and here are youth, beauty, age, wisdom, valour, genius, loyalty, all surrounding Queen Victoria, giving them enchanting reception, dispensing regal hospitalities-ay, not to her own loving subjects alone, but to the representatives of all the great potentates and people of the earth; for, vast as is her empire, she is† at peace with all the world. "Tis often said, and it has become splendidly stereotyped in English phraseology, that the sun never sets on her empire; and the Queen, much as her anxieties are occupied with north, south, east, and west, had recent reason to muse, not unpleasantly, on a certain little speck in the Southern Pacific Ocean, where she is specially loved, and where, after their humble fashion, they celebrate her natal day with flag fluttering gaily, and bell-ringing, and singing and dancing-the only day, it seems, in the year, in * This quotation is taken from the motto of a little volume which will be mentioned in due time.

which Terpsichore can find time from her other engagements to show her merry face and foot, with feathery touch, for a moment-and, hark! the boom of a gun, forsooth, all on the same day, and to glorify the same occasion! But what a gun! In the language of the inhabitants of this little paradise, of which we are about to speak, that gun " for fifty-five years had been deposited at the bottom of the sea, on a bed of coral, guiltless of blood, during the time so many thousands of mankind became in Europe food for cannon!" Her Majesty, amidst all the splendours which surround her, may hear with pleasure how her royal name was used at a certain tiny speck in the Pacific Ocean, with all the aforesaid splendid accompaniments, on Tuesday the 24th of May 1853::

"The Queen! the Queen! our gracious Queen!

Come, raise on high your voices,

And let it by your smile be seen
That every heart rejoices !
Her natal day we'll celebrate
With ardour and devotion,
And Britain's festal emulate
In the Pacific Ocean!

"Now let Old England's flag be spread—

That flag long famed in story;

And as it waves above our head,
We'll think upon its glory!

Then fire THE GUN-the Bounty's gun

And set the bell a-ringing,

And then with hearts and voices one,
We'll all unite in singing—

"The Queen! the Queen! God bless the Queen,
And all her royal kindred ;

Prolong'd and happy be her reign

By faction never hinder'd!

May high and low, the rich and poor,

The happy or distressed,

O'er her wide realm, from shore to shore,

Arise and call her blessed!"

These are words that come echoing cheerily from the Pacific, and may fitly find their way to the regal solitudes of Osborne and Balmoral. Both Queen and Prince know who wrote these lines of simple loyalty and love; nay, they have seen and spoken with him, and that within these last few months, and at Osborne aforesaid. But he has since travelled from the royal presence, exhilarated with its cheering brightness, ten thousand miles and more, and doubtless joined in singing these same verses at that speck in the Pacific, on the 24th of May, now immediately last past. The news has come rather quickly, to be sure; but there is the fact-and it has also come without the aid of the submerged electric wire!

Well! where is it? "Tis Queen Victoria's-but somewhat out of the reach of her gay little Fairy, and, therefore, the Queen may never take a trip to see it! Four years ago, a French military gentleman made his appearance there, with a party of friends, all in military uniform, and politely asked, through our poet, of whom more anon, in broken English, "Veder de people had heard of Prince Louis Napoleon and de French Republique? and would dey enlist demselves under it?" And then he took out a paper for their signatures; but our poet aforesaid quietly pointed to the little English flag waving over their heads at that moment, assured the complaisant visitor that they knew all about Louis Napoleon and the French Republic, but that all the people there were faithful subjects of VICTORIA, QUEEN OF ENGLAND; on which the polite Frenchman bowed, begged pardon, returned the paper to his pocket, and said that "he did not know it was a colony!" Nor is it; but its inhabitants are entirely English; and, says their recent historian, “such a loyal and united community, as a whole, cannot be found in any of the colonies or dependencies of the British empire! The English union-jack is hoisted on all grand occasions; and to England the people would look for protection, should any attempt be made to disturb their position."

Ay, and as fast as steam or sail could bring their protectors, they would go! And one of them-as brave and good an admiral as ever strode quarterdeck-has recently been to this mysterious place, and speaks of it as we do. แ "I stayed," says he, "four days upon that speck on the ocean, but rising like a paradise from its bosom!"** * "Away! away!" says one who accompanied him, "we are off to the world again, truly sorry to leave this island ; their happiness in this life consists solely in virtue, and their virtue is their truest pleasure!" Ay, admiral! as you stood on the quarterdeck, while your noble ship fired twenty-one guns in honour of her Majesty's flag, they said, in thundering tones, "Queen Victoria will protect you," as far as she can; but, dear islanders, you are safe under the protection of a higher Power, who listens well-pleased to the voice of prayer and praise ever ascending the heavens from your swelling wilderness of waters.

But where is it? If we had an eight-thousand-mile boring iron, after it had passed through heaven only knows how many miles, as Humboldt would tell us, of boiling granite, and vacant space, or water, or whatever else constitutes the globe which is favoured with the existence of London (at which point the boring iron would enter), it would come poking out at the antipodes, not so very far from our little paradise. We say, not so very far — but, in operations on so grand a scale, we must be allowed literally a little latitude-and longitude. But our island, for island it is, is to be found in the waters which contain the island-home of immortal Robinson Crusoe! No gold has been found there, but a much more remarkable article. Yet it will tempt none of our venturous Californian and Australian emigrants to go in quest of it: it is, VIRTUE grown out of VICE: INNOCENCE out of GUILT! Ah! what a thrilling page of man's history chronicles that same little spot! Let us read it off in our own way, and take our own time in doing it. We ought all to take pains with our task; for-shall