may give a call to your neighbour. Every hut has its kitchengarden and its rural promenade; you are at one and the same time in the country and in the town.

There is no college either at St. Denis or at St. Paul: the people of course are ignorant, not because they will not learn, but because they cannot. The old and the young are almost exclusively engaged in agriculture; and it must be confessed, that if they have not in general that brilliancy which distinguishes the inhabitants of the Isle of France, their judgment is, perhaps, sounder. A fine clove-tree is worth more, in their estimation, than a fine verse; and they would not hesitate a moment between the possession of a few acres of land, and the ability to produce a capital poem. Such were not the sentiments of Parny and a Bertin, whose native soil I am now treading.

Ships may anchor, it is true, in the road of St. Denis, but they must always be prepared to get under way. South-east winds, of excessive violence, frequently compel captains to veer the cable away to the end, and to seek shelter at St. Paul, where, however, they are very little safer.

In the hurricane season, that is, January, February, and March, the sea there is calm indeed; but what a calm it is! Can the prudent and attentive captain, who has but once witnessed one of those calamities which in a few hours blast the hopes of the most flourishing houses, enjoy a single moment's tranquillity*? During the other seasons of the year, hurricanes are less

* In the last hurricane which ravaged this colony, a negro slave had already saved from certain death, and at the risk of his own life, five unfortunate persons who were struggling with the waves. He was about to plunge, for the sixth time, into the sea, when he was withheld by the affrighted colonists, who told him that he had won his liberty. There is another who is drowning!' cried the black: 'I shall be free a quarter of an hour later;' and another wretched creature was rescued from destruction.

to be apprehended, though the sea is tremendous, and it is impossible to feel perfectly secure beside those enormous perpendicular rocks.

The landing-place is dangerous. A wretched bridge, supported by enormous cross-beams, which project several fathoms along the pier, serves for the embarkation of goods. When the sea is smooth, this is the way by which people come on shore ; but when there is too great a swell, active and experienced pilots equip a boat on the beach, with which they quickly push out as soon as a wave has broken, or avoid it with wonderful address, which sometimes, however, cannot prevent them from upsetting, and incurring imminent danger. When the weather is too tempestuous, a flag is hoisted in front of the quay, and all communication is then cut off: Bourbon is a real place of exile.

Though the trip is commonly made in twelve hours, yet, owing to contrary winds, we were three days in reaching our anchorage. I am fond of land and dislike the water: without calculating, therefore, whether it was dangerous or not to proceed to the town with a stiff breeze and a high sea, in a frail boat, I embarked the day after our arrival for St. Denis, which, however, I fortunately reached. Experience, indeed, should have taught me more prudence; and since the moment is past, and your friendship, being spared the alarm, will not reproach me, I must give you an account of an accident by which I had well nigh perished at the Isle of France.

M. Lienard, a respectable merchant, to whom I had been furnished with a letter of recommendation at the Cape, and who contributed to render my stay at the Mauritius so agreeable, invited me to go a fishing in one of his boats, and to spend a Sunday with him in the Tomb Bay. His invitation was too flattering to be refused, and as he wished to have some more companions, proposed M. Duperrey, one of our ensigns, and M.

Berard, midshipman, both friends of mine, and desirous to be of the party. It was agreed that we should start early the next morning.

The wind was high, blowing in gusts, the sea rough, and we knew that the boat was small, though a good sailer. My three companions called upon me in high spirits, and we proceeded to the harbour. We were all swayed by the same sentiment, but produced by different causes. M. Duperrey thought it very imprudent to set out in such weather, but durst not say so, lest his courage might be suspected; M. Berard was an excellent swimmer, and relied more on his luck than on the goodness of our vessel; and M. Lienard, who remarked that the wind was violent, at the same time extolled the qualities of his boat, but secretly hoped that we would beg him to postpone the excursion to another day. For my part, I, who can swim very little, was sensible also of the danger, but my vanity was stronger than my fear. The blacks, who were to work the boat, obeyed without a word. In short, away we went, loudly promising ourselves a great deal of pleasure, but inwardly anticipating some dangerous accident during our trip.

We set sail and had got out into the road, when the wind suddenly shifted, and laid the sail aback; we eased off the sheet, but as it is difficult to furl sails of cotton stuff, the blacks, who were on their legs, performing these operations, gave more scope to the wind by lightening the bottom of the boat: a sea came and completely upset her, and there we were all in the water, scrambling to get hold of something or other. Messrs. Lienard and Duperrey kept themselves for some time astride on the boat, which was also attacked by the blacks, on whom respect has no influence at such moments. Berard perceived a buoy, to which he swam; and I, regardless of what was passing around me, supported myself and was measuring distances. How correct the

:

eye is in such a situation! I should not have been a foot wrong in two hundred but as a person is somewhat flurried at so critical a moment, I did not think of every thing. I had imagined that I might reach the nearest vessel, a short quarter of a league distant; but I had not remarked that the current was against me, and that my clothes absorbed two-thirds of my strength. Before I had got many fathoms, I found myself disheartened; but as I perceived a boat putting off from the nearest ship, and was aware that I should always be in time to let myself go to the bottom, I kept afloat, swallowing now and then a mouthful of salt water with which the wind treated me, and which I did not relish any the better for my situation. situation. At length I beheld the friendly boat bearing down right upon me, and even perceived the exertions of the rowers; she approached, and I verily thought she must have cut me asunder, when a judicious turn of the helm made her tack, and I seized an oar that was held out to me: judge whether I grasped it tightly or not!... The officer commanding on board seized me at the moment when my strength was quite exhausted, and pulled me into the boat. How comfortable I felt under the feet of the sailors, and how little I regretted the lock of hair that was pulled from my head!... Other boats arrived, and picked up my companions; Berard was the last taken on board. He was found at a considerable distance, sitting contentedly on his buoy, which he had already once quitted, to save his portfolio of sketches*.

We got home thoroughly drenched, and firmly resolved to go henceforward on no more such parties of pleasure, unless in more

* M. Lienard lost his plate and provisions, M. Duperrey his epaulettes, which were fished up two days afterwards; and I a portfolio of sketches, some money, and an elegant and convenient stand, which I used for drawing in my excursions, and which I owed to the friendship of M. Taunay.

PART I.

X

favourable weather and with a calmer sea. promise.

I shall keep my

In vain do I seek, my friend, I can find nothing to praise at St. Denis, excepting the public garden, which is small, but laid out with taste. It is the only spot in the town where you may enjoy at all hours of the day an agreeable coolness.

The church is small, naked, and unworthy of the majesty of our religion. It contains but three pictures: the first, which adorns the high-altar, is a Christ, that appears to me to belong to a very good school. It has great breadth of touch; the colouring is faint, but in harmony; and the figures are grouped with skill: I conceive it to be the work of an eminent master. The second, a St. Denis carrying his head in a silver salver, is a poor performance in comparison with the former. The third, a mere daub, is supposed to represent M. de la Bourdonnaie. Over it is this glorious inscription: To his exertions we owe the salvation of two colonies. I had real pleasure in contemplating this monument of gratitude, which will long survive, for it is environed by respect.

LETTER L.

St. Denis, Isle of Bourbon.

I HAVE spoken too slightingly of the inhabitants of Bourbon, and with pleasure I do them, in this letter, the justice which they deserve. My precipitation in giving my opinion of this colony needs an excuse, and here it is—I had just quitted a magnificent island, where, at delightful balls, and surrounded by elegant and lovely women, I had very often forgotten my