M. de Belval was reinstated in his function of chief engineer; and determining to return to the islands, took Virginia with him. They embarked at L'Orient in the St. Gerant, a vessel of the East India Company. A young lady, so pretty and fascinating as Virginia, could not remain long on board without attracting the attentions and admiration of all who surrounded her. M. Longchamp, of Montendu, a lieutenant of the vessel, was the first to pay her homage. He was twentysix years of age, tall, well made, of a character mild, tender and enthusiastic. He very soon discovered the virtues and exalted character of Virginia, and gave her his vows of eternal love. Her conduct, during a long voyage, did not discredit the opinion he had formed of her on their first acquaintance. There can be no stronger trial of a disposition than a tedious voyage. So many persons, with so little congeniality of sentiment, embarked together, without having met before, crossed by the elements, and fretting and worrying each other, become at length so irritable, that they can no longer restrain themselves, and discover all the asperities of temper, which vanity or the restraints of society may have hitherto enabled them to conceal; dislikes are engendered which augment the horror of a situation, already too trying by the maladies attending a long voyage. Virginia was always the same; the presence of so many men, the attentions she received, changed not in the least the retiring modesty of her character.

The sight of land can only be appreciated by those who find again, after a long absence, a cherished object. Land was seen from the St. Gerant in the evening of the 17th of August, 1744. The joy, the negligence, the too great security of the officers, were the cause of the sad calamity which ensued. M. de la Marre, captain of the vessel, confided her direction to those who knew the coast better than himself. He took in sail to wait for day; but the wind and current carried her towards the shore. Believing they were too near, he gave orders to veer the ship at two in the morning; but it was too late. Scarcely had the orders been given, when she struck; the rudder was carried away, and the waves beating over the deck, threw her against a chain of rocks. Nothing could resist the shock; the masts were broken, and, falling with violence, crushed the sides of the ship. It being now evident that the vessel was lost without any resource; every

one embraced, and gave and took a last farewell. M. Longchamp did not abandon Virginia; he saw that all the boats were destroyed, and resolved to swim to the Isle of Amber, which was about a league distant, promising Virginia to return for her in a canoe. He threw himself into the sea, and reached the shore without accident. This would appear incredible to you, did I omit to mention that the shallows and numerous rocks, while they increased the dangers, afforded him rest. All the men followed the example of M. Longchamp, though but few with the same success; the sea was covered with the fragments of the wreck, and night rendered their situation more appalling. M. de la Marre, who refused to undress, thinking it unbecoming his station, placed himself on a plank, which he soon after quitted for a raft, on which he was overwhelmed by the waves and drowned. At day-break the vessel split asunder, and opened a grave to about one hundred unfortunate creatures, who, sick in their hammocks, were unable to succour themselves. Virginia was almost alone upon the wreck. I leave you to judge of the horrors of such a situation. The image of death was presented in shapes the most shocking to the feelings; she was surrounded by the dead and dying, who were crushed by the floating timber, whose cries and groans mingled with the din It would seem, however, that we become familiarised to the idea of death, under whatever form he presents himself. Either Providence, merciful in his most severe judgments, softens the aspect of the destroyer in such frightful moments, or human nature, exhausted by such protracted suffering, gladly receives relief from pain in the arms of death. M. Longchamp, on reaching the shore, sought in vain for succour; till the rising of the sun he paced the then uninhabited coast, casting mournful glances around, in the hope of finding some means of assistance. He fixed his eyes upon the wreck, and, to complete his despair, he saw, or love made him believe he saw, his dear Virginia. A prey to all the feelings that agitate a generous and tender heart, he lost the natural desire of preserving his own life, and, listening alone to the dictates of love and friendship, threw himself into the sea, and, avoiding with incredible skill and courage the pieces of the wreck floating around him, he arrived in sight of Virginia. presence animated his exertions-he was soon on board.

of waters.

Her

He employed all the resources of his reason and imagination to induce her to undress, as indispensable to her safety. She was inexorable in her refusal; their situation admitted not of delay, her lover threw himself into the sea, and took her upon his shoulders. For some time his strength continued and enabled him to swim, but at length, borne down by a weight so dear, and confined in his movements by the garments of Virginia, he was unable to resist the power of a turbulent ocean. His strength failed. In this fatal moment, Virginia and her lover encircled each other in a last embrace, and gave and received reciprocally the last sigh. The sea espected so sacred an union, and carried them to land, where they were found firmly locked in each other's arms.

Such was the end of these unhappy lovers, victims to a passion the most faithful and generous; and to the unfortunate delicacy of Virginia. A delicacy that, at an age more ripe, she would without doubt have sacrificed to the duty of saving her life and that of her lover, who thus perished for her. Though the fate of these ill-starred lovers will excite our tears, may we not still call them happy, in having known each other but to love, and to share the same destiny. No stone transmits to posterity the memory of these interesting beings, whose noble and generous conduct was a tribute to virtue, and to the purest love.

Of two hundred and fifty persons on board the ship, but eight sailors and one officer were saved. The loss was not known at Port Louis until two days after it occurred, when succours arrived, only to bury those who were cast on shore. The curate of the parish of Pamplemousse attended on this solemn duty. I have examined the register of the church, but found no mention of the lovers. "" Cape Misfortune" is so called from the numerous chain of rocks which surround it; the " Bay of the Tomb" receives its name from an Hollander having been buried there, in the time when the island belonged to that nation. The St. Gerant was lost about a league west of the Isle of Amber, and a league and a half from the Isle of France. It has given name to a passage you will find marked upon the maps of Mr. Bellin.

K.

A RETROSPECT.

BY SHELTON MACKENZIE, AUTHOR OF "LAYS OF PALESTINE."

"Aspice retro."

In the despair that wrings my soul, great God, I turn to thee, Thy aid alone can yield relief to this my misery;

For, in the sadness and the gloom of this disastrous hour, Nothing can soothe this bursting heart save thy Almighty Power.

Too long, O Lord! have I withheld this haughty heart from thee;

Too seldom in thy temples have I bow'd with humble knee; Unfrequent in thy solitude have I knelt before thy throne; Too little of thy saving grace, ALMIGHTY! have I known.

But now, when sickness racks my frame, when sorrow pales my cheek,

All worldly pride is laid aside-thy help, O God, I seek! And humbly prostrate heart and soul before thy glorious shrine,

Secure that thou canst give relief, even to despair like mine.

For slow to anger, Lord! art thou, and ready to forgive,
For at thy beck we perish, and at thy will we live :
Creatures of dust, and things of clay, thine own, we are,
O Lord!

And when we claim thy mighty aid, thou dost thy help afford.

I am not now, as I have been, in youth's gay summer hour, Sporting amid the sweets of life, 'mid many a fragrant flower; Affliction's dart hath done its part, and laid my proud hopes

low;

The bloom of youth hath fled this soul, it lingers on my brow. It lingers yet upon my brow, as roses wave above

The lowly pall, that covers all the heart of man may love : When the bright star of beauty, that shone above his path, Is hid from earth, eclips'd and quenched by the mighty tempest's wrath.

It lingers yet upon my brow, a mockery of the grief
That eats into this bosom's core, and cannot hope relief;
Or as the fitful glory that consumption's tints bestow
Upon the peerless victim's cheek, that soon will feel its throe.

Or as the light that shines o'er graves in midnight's solemn hour,

Or in the silent calm of night, or when the tempest's lour; So doth that bloom of youth, that glows even yet upon my

brow,

Seem but a wild and dreary mark of the grief that sits below.
In other days I have not been as now,
alas! I seem,
But the joys of earth have glided o'er my spirit like a dream;
And thus I am, with breaking heart, in an unmirthful mood,
Mourning the sad reverse that makes my paths all solitude.

I cannot weep; no tears have I to shed above my doom,
It comes, it came to this lone heart, like the desert's wild

samoom,

Destructive and devouring, and I know not how to weep, I only feel, I only know, that pang that will not sleep.

I had a friend-he pass'd away, with fortune's fickle smile, And there he sought to work my ill, and, smiling, stabb'd the while :

False friend-false friend, I will not name your name,
I grieve above your cold deceit—I only mourn your shame.

I loved!-alas-alas! how soothly doth there spring
A gush of feeling through my frame, at love's imagining!
I thought I was beloved again, but the fickle maiden gave
Her heart, her false heart, to another, and left me sorrow's

slave.

Ambition chain'd me, for awhile, to her dark iron car,* And my youthful spirit bounded at the trumpet call of war; But, ere my sword was girded on, the flag of peace unfurl'd Its radiance, and its splendor, over an angry world.

* When murder bared his arm, and rampant war
Yok'd the red dragons of her iron car.

Campbell's Pleasures of Hope.