were promptly obeyed. Scarcely was the staysail half hoisted, when the wind rent it into a thousand shreds this accident did not, however, prevent the vessel paying off slowly, but in doing so she rolled gunwales under, and lost the greater portion of them, at the same time straining severely every mast and rope. This could not last long without serious damage, and consequently we were not surprised to see the topmast backstays break, leaving the vessel in a most perilous position.

We were now again forced to run before the terrific gale, the terrors of which were increased by dark heavy clouds lowering overhead, by incessant thunder, which appeared to burst directly over the ship, and by such lightnings as made not only one, but all on board, exclaim, as each flash was felt, yes! actually felt-"I thought it had struck me blind." The idea of being blinded at this terrible moment roused a feeling of awe in every breast.

We had scarcely finished the necessary repairs before the heavy rolling of the ship again broke the backstays; but notwithstanding, as running was become too serious a matter, it was again determined to "heave to" at all risks. The ship was, however, prevented coming to the wind on account of the foresail. This then required to be removed, and the crew, consisting entirely of Lascars, were called to do it. They one and all refused to obey the order to go aloft, on account of the perilous condition of the masts. From this embarrassing situation the second mate rescued us, by hastening aloft without the slightest hesitation, and cutting the head of the sail adrift, when it blew all away. The crew in the meantime believing every moment that the mast would go over the side, looked on in breathless suspense; the captain also, after watching with painful anxiety the

progress of the mate, knowing how much the safety of the vessel depended on the performance of the hazardous task, could not refrain from shouting at the top of his voice, "Come down: For God's sake come down, or you will be lost." At this moment a fearful crash was heard-an ominous sound-that struck terror into every soul.

(Continued.)

THE MONTH OF MAY.

How charming and how lovely a month is May! The most distinguished of our poets, and the most celebrated of our painters, notwithstanding the utmost efforts of their genius, have been unable to represent adequately to us its elegance and beauty. In this month, all nature, dressed in her best attire, seems proud of the wondrous transformation she has undergone. The gloom of winter has disappeared, and the beauty of spring is now to be succeeded by the sublimity and grandeur of this bright and happy season-the forerunner of summer.

Let us look around, and we see the trees covered with thick foliage, and the fields beautifully ornamented with thousands of wild flowers; while the tuneful lark, and the gentle murmuring of the silver brook, mingled with the cheerful song of the light-hearted peasant as he busily performs his labours, give life and soul to the inanimate. landscape. Alas! this beautiful scene is now for ever snatched away from our eyes, however closely memory may cling to it.

All of us may have often, in the cool and refreshing evenings of this month, walked through the fields, or sat listening beneath the shelter of some tall and sturdy oak, to the artless story of a brother or sister, or to the fond

tuition of wise and pious parents, as they pointed out how plainly the wisdom and love of God were demonstrated by surrounding objects. Oh! how sweet is the recollection of the blissful moments we have spent in bygone days; so impressed are they on the memory, that they never can be effaced until memory itself refuses to perform its office.

But although for a season we are deprived of these enjoyments, let us consider it all for the best; and if we patiently wait God's own time, we shall surely see that He does not willingly afflict the children of men. It is true there are no pleasant fields, no stately trees to attract our attention-no music of the lark to charm our earsbut we have something equally if not more sublime.

The sun has risen in the eastern sky, and its bright rays are seen reflected on the surface of the broad Atlantic, which, like a gorgeous carpet, covers the wide expanse. Our gallant ship moves gracefully along, while the snowy spray plays like a cataract round her bows; and the flyingfish, and the nautilus-with its wings of pink and crimson-come forth as if to congratulate us. The serenity of the atmosphere, the invigorating influences of the gentle breezes, with the beauty of the sky, that like a majestic canopy hangs above our heads, as if to shelter us from danger, and thrusting as it were upon our notice the glories of another world, shed such brilliancy and lustre, such glory and excellence upon this grand and wondrous prospect, as are altogether indescribable.

Oh, may our hearts be filled with love and admiration at the goodness of God in conferring such rich blessings on such worthless creatures as we are! Although up to the present moment we may have refused all his overtures of mercy, and thereby grieved his Holy Spirit, yet even

now He waits to be gracious, and is willing to bestow upon us that peace which the world cannot give, and which is but an earnest of that uninterrupted felicity and inconceivable bliss which all those who truly and sincerely repent of their sins, and steadfastly believe and rely on Him, shall be partakers of. If such should be the happy result of this voyage (oh! that it may be), we shall have cause to say that May on board the "Pestonjee Bomanjee" was the brightest and happiest month we ever experienced. J. A. *

SKETCH OF THE SCENERY ROUND HOBART TOWN.

In the month of August, ninety-eight days from the time of our departure from England, we arrived in Storm Bay, the embouchure of the river Derwent, and the entrance to the port of Hobart Town. If, after a long voyage, the traveller, weary of the unchanging aspect of the sea and sky, views with delight the tamest shore, what must be his sensations when he finds himself surrounded by bold and picturesque scenery? On the right hand, Cape Raou rises perpendicularly from its wave-worn base, and presents that bold and castellated contour which the basalt of which it is formed is observed so generally to assume. On the left hand lie the gentle declivities of Bruné Island, with its shaggy primeval forest waving over a rugged shore, or shading little emerald valleys that wind backwards from small sheltered bays, bordered with white sand. In the distance, wooded hills, increasing in elevation as they recede, not formed into groups or regular ranges, but crowded together in the most fantastic dis

* Vide Note, p. 41.

order, possess a wild, rugged profile, that under the circumstances in which we first beheld them, conveyed an idea of grandeur and sublimity.

Heavy masses of clouds, driven before a south-western gale, swept along their shaggy sides, or lay loweringly on their summits. Sleet and snow-storms pursued each other, sometimes completely obscuring every distant object, and again revealing them in new points of view, but always hanging like thick drapery overhead, thus giving a gloomy indistinct character to the whole, which the wind, whistling through our rigging, and the waves splashing against the sides of the ship, tended still further to heighten.

As we advanced, however, the feelings thus excited were dispelled by the increasing beauty of the scenery; the channel, winding through projecting headlands, resembled in all respects the broad expanse of a noble river. Little homesteads, surrounded by clearings, became more frequent on the shelving banks, awakening thoughts of happy homes, where the expatriated pioneers of our race are extending over a rugged wilderness the germs of life and civilisation. A sweet little valley-called Brown's River with its chequered cultivated patches and embowered cottages, had a peculiarly fascinating appearance, reposing in a bright circumscribed sun-light of its own, when observed by the writer.

Before expanding into the basin that forms the harbour of Hobart Town, the channel, contracted into a narrow neck, runs obliquely to its general course, so that a view of the city-if it be allowable to call it such-and the surrounding scenery, is obtained suddenly, and at the most favourable distance for displaying their beauties. The pleasure one experiences is perhaps owing in some measure to the