have cast forth its torrents of liquid fire, and shot up its fiery rocks and smoke until this day, had not an opposite element gained access to the horrid abyss, and confined its action to the perpetual boiling of waters. With the account of a night passed in this wild and savage place-full of great descriptive force-we conclude our present sketch of the wonders of the Hauk islands.

The

"Exhausted by the fatigues of the day, by mephitic vapours and excessive heat, we resolved to pass the night on the periphery of the crater, and return the ensuing morning to Ribeira Grande, night was highly interesting. Several beautiful picturesque effects were produced, which were not common to the day. The huge summer clouds which are formed by the action of the sun on the surrounding ocean, collected round the brim of the vortex, and blended their watery bodies with the sulphurous and mineral vapours which were already like so many other mountains piled up on top of the volcano. The black stormy clouds passed swiftly over, and at times covering the whole, or a part of the bright column of vapour, at other times clearing away and giving a full view of it, with the various tints produced by its reverberated light, formed such a scene as no power of art can express. When the surcharged clouds passed for any time away, the vapour rose in puffs from the vortex as clear as can possibly be imagined, and succeeding each other hastily, increased in volume and size to the amazing height of five thousand feet in the air, or till their brightness and height were intercepted by clouds of greater density and darker hue. At this interruption, or at the very moment of union between the clouds and the vapour, a bright but pale electric fire is observed playing briskly in zig-zag lines, a phenomenon probably occasioned by the clouds having acquired a great degree of heat in coming in contact with vapour formed by volcanic fire. At some intervals, when the moon was obscured, and when the clouds forced the vapour to roll down the sides of the volcano, there was a mixture of colour in the clouds over the crater, a ruddy dismal light, which augmented the horror of the region, and made a most uncommon and surprising appearance, while at other intervals, when the electric shocks caused the clouds to disperse, or when the wind was sufficient to carry the clouds from the summit of the crater, they would retire by degrees, and form a black and extensive curtain, which makes the finest contrast imaginable with the splendid vapour which then rises without interruption to the view. These are the most remarkable circumstances which I could collect concerning this uncomm.cn NO. 1371.

subject of natural curiosity. The appear. ances I have mentioned continued the whole of the night, at the close of which the scene was entirely changed. No sooner did the sun dispel the clouds, than the vapour arose in a conical form, and as the wind was westwardly, it directed the vapour of the eastern horizon, where the sun gave it the appearance of ignition or clouds of fire, more diversified and beautiful than can be conceived."

The Three Suitors.

Patty Leslie was an orphan, living with an aged aunt in the village of Eastbourne. With the precise locality of the place our readers have nothing whatever to do; suffice it for them to know that such a village did exist, and that Patty lived there. Every one loved her. No one could resist her bewitching smile, her merry gladhearted laugh, and the happy glances of her bright black eyes. The ringlets of jet that clustered round her snowy brow, and fell in dark masses over her neck and shoulders, as she shook them off her face every time she burst into one of her merry laughs, added a fresh attraction to her countenance. No sport could proceed in the village, without her aid; May Day had no queen, if she came not; the dance was dull to all, but more especially to Arthur Melville, the lawyer's son, who, in order to have the privilege of dancing with pretty Patty, often joined in the amusement going forward, to the no small astonishment and pride of the young people of the village.

Everybody thought it a matter of course that Arthur loved Patty, and vice versâ. Not a single person ventured to dispute the fact, for it had been whispered that he had been seen frequently at the cottage, carrying either books or flowers for her gratification, and some one had also actually met them walking out together.

One morning, the whole village was thrown into a state of considerable excitement by the announcement that a grand post-chaise had stopped at the inn. "Who has come?"-" what was it?"—" have you seen them?" were the questions passed hurriedly to and fro, while many stragglers went on excuses down to the inn, to ascertain the precise nature of the new arrivals. Their disappointment was great. No one had descended from the post-chaise but an old gentleman, very yellow, very cross, and very much muffled up. No one else? Was it possible? Where was he going? What had he come for? All alone too. An hour passed, when suddenly the old gentleman was seen to emerge from the inn, preceded by the ostler, who walked

near him, apparently answering a multitude of questions, for he pointed now here, now there, and occasionally threw his thumb over his shoulder, as he directed the stranger's glance towards the churchyard. Many stole to the windows, and pulled aside the curtains to see him pass; while some came out to the doors, and children, disturbed from play, gaped with open mouth as he passed on, and stopped at length opposite the door of Patty Leslie's cottage, from which at that moment emerged the tall figure of Arthur Melville, who could not refrain from casting a scrutinising glance at the new comer, in whom, however, he had no reason to dread a rival.

This is the place, sir," said the ostler. “Thank you. Now you may go," said the stranger, giving him his reward.

"Thank ye, your honour;" and away sped the ostler, well pleased with the ge. nerosity of the new comer.

Patty's laughing eyes were already engaged in quizzing him through the window, well stocked with geraniums and other flowers. But when he knocked, she ran trippingly to the door, and admitted him, making, as she did so, a low curtsey.

"Is Miss Leslie at home?"

"Yes, sir. Aunt, aunty dear," for the old lady was rather deaf, "a gentleman wants to speak to you. Please to walk in, sir. Will you sit down? Here is a chair."

The aunt had by this time risen and put on her spectacles, through which to scan the stranger more at her leisure.

"Martha," said the old gentleman, in a rather softer tone than he had spoken before, "don't you know me?"

"Know you? Why-let me see, sir. Oh, isn't it Mr.—no, it can't be. Well! Patty-here!"

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I don't think she can help you," said the stranger, smiling, "for I suppose she couldn't have been born when I left this place."

"Sure I know the voice," and the old lady pressed her thin and trembling hand to her forehead, as if to recal back the fast fading scenes of her early youth. Then her eyes became suddenly moistened with tears, and she threw her aged arms round the stranger's neck, and wept for joy.

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My brother Robert-my dear brother, that we thought dead."

"Yes, indeed, Martha, your brother," said the stranger, returning her embrace; “but none are here to welcome me besides you and

His eye rested on Patty.

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Why don't ye come forward, child? I had almost forgot you. Here's your uncle, child; your own uncle; ain't you glad, that thought you were so friendless?"

Yes, I saw her once before I left. Was this the only child?"

His sister shook her head.

"Oh no, Robert; they all lie up yonder; she's the youngest. When poor Edward died, he left her to my care.'

The stranger gazed a moment or two out of the window, as if engaged in musings on the past; and then the three happy relations sat down, and over a comfortable tea, prepared by Patty, talked long over their prospects.

The risings and subsidings of emotions in very aged hearts are feeble. They burst slowly into life, manifest themselves weakly, and pass away quietly, whether awakened by joy or sorrow. So Martha Leslie listened, now with a tear, now with a smile, to her brother's relation of his adventures. He had returned to England a wealthy man, and expressed his resolution of adopting Patty, of taking a large house in the vicinity of the village, and having his sister as housekeeper.

All these arrangements were very quietly effected. Patty, though very grateful to her uncle for his kindness, was the least overjoyed, since she could not bear the idea of exchanging her happy village life for one passed in grandeur at the manor-house. All her expeditions to the woods must be given up, the dance on the green, the companionship of her friends, and, above all, her walks with Arthur Leslie.

"Him I won't give up," she mentally protested, "until he gives me up.”

The very morning on which this prudent resolve was come to, Martha Leslie summoned her niece into her room, and with a very grave face bade her sit down, for she had something to say to her.

Patty did as she was desired, and prepared to listen with a very demure countenance.

"You know, my dear," said her aunt, taking off her spectacles, and wiping them with the corner of her apron, "that a change in circumstances makes a change in everything."

The old lady paused, awaiting a reply; but as her niece made none, and only looked on the floor and pouted a little, she continued:

"Now what I mean to say is this-Mr. Arthur Melville I am going to speak of, my dear."

"Yes, aunt."

"I always thought he was," said Miss Leslie.

"Yes, aunt, and so did I."

"I am happy to hear you say did, my dear, for I was going to say that it would be much better for you not to give him any sort of encouragement now, under present circumstances. Don't you think so?"

66 'No, aunt."

"Why, my dear? I shall think you are mad."

"Why, aunt?"

"If you don't agree to what I say. But you must not listen to me with that smile, because I don't like it at all. I only encouraged Mr. Melville's attentions while you were poor, when I thought he would make a good match, and make you respectable, that hadn't a friend. Now it's quite a different thing. And I say, miss, that neither I nor your uncle will ever hear of him any more. I am sure I don't know what he would think of me for encouraging you."

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So, aunt," said Patty, looking really serious, "now, because I am richer than Mr. Melville, I am to give him up?"

"Yes, Patty."

"Well, I only know that I am my own mistress so far, that I won't marry anyone else."

"Oh, that's all very fine now; only wait till a tall rich gentleman comes and asks you."

"Aunt, you are very unkind indeed; but," she continued, "I know no one can force me to give him up."

Go away, Patty, you are an ungrateful girl; go, and don't let me see you again all day."

"Thank you, aunt," said Patty to herself, as she hastened to obey her injunctions, and put on her bonnet. One minute carried her to the bottom of the garden; in another, she crossed the little paddock beyond; and a few moments more, and she was in the wood, roving by his side whom they had forbidden her to see.

A few days passed thus, and opposition only seemed to make a person endowed with a character like Patty's more determined, when one morning her uncle joined her in the garden, and, after a few questions concerning the progress of her flowers, abruptly asked her:

"Should you not like to be married, my dear?"

"I, uncle? I?—oh, amazingly," and she burst into a merry laugh, "if you let me choose for myself."

"Oh, yes, my dear, you shall choose for yourself."

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May I, uncle? Indeed you mean it?" "Yes."

"Then I will," and she laughed again.

"So you shall. Now make yourself as pretty as you can in the next few days, and we shall see.'

And the uncle looked particularly knowing as he spoke.

The village was soon thrown into another fit of excitement by the following remarkable occurrence. About a week after the date of the above conversation, a gentleman on horseback, with a travelling portmanteau behind him, arrived at the inn precisely at ten o'clock in the morning, and inquired the way to the great manorhouse. He was tall, thin, and gaunt, and seemed about fifty years of age. His question answered, he passed on. Half an hour afterwards, another gentleman, with only one leg and a half, rode up and inquired the way. This was quite sufficient to arouse curiosity in so small a place, where everybody's minutest actions are scrutinised, and where everybody knows everybody. But tenfold was that curiosity increased when another gentleman, considerably disfigured by the remains of scars and wounds, and boasting some fifty summers, arrived, covered with dust, and also requested to be shown the way to the great manor-house.

At that place a scene of the greatest ceremony was being performed. These three gentlemen were friends of Mr. Leslie's, whom he had selected as likely to make one of them a suitable husband for his wealthy niece. And on the morning of their expected arrival, to pass some time on a visit to Mr. Leslie, Miss Leslie, superbly attired, and looking as stiff as a walking stick, sat in the drawing room with Patty at her side, very simply dressed, waiting to receive the expected guests.

"Don't laugh, my dear, in that very ridiculous manner," said Patty's aunt. "Oh, let her laugh, by all means.' "But, brother, supposing they should come?"

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Well, they will like her all the better for that."

Just at this moment the first visitor made his appearance, and by the time his welcome had been given, and a few reminiscences had been gone over between Mr. Leslie and Mr. Burford, the new comer, Mr. Scalding, the second suitor, was ushered in. Last came Major Gunner. The whole party having assembled, and all introductions over, Mr. Leslie's proposal to the gentlemen of a walk round the grounds being accepted, afforded Patty an opportunity for giving vent to her laughter.

"My dear, you quite vex me with your rude behaviour."

"Oh, aunt, I cannot help it; indeed, I cannot," and she laughed again. "Oh!

Patty, before the day was over, took an opportunity of relating to Arthur the events of the morning, and giving him a description of the three suitors.

"You will not be tempted to forget me, for the sake of the Major, will you, Patty?" said Arthur.

"I will, if you ask me anything half so ridiculous," said Patty, with a toss of the head.

"And your fortune? Shall you not regret it," continued Arthur, who happened to be in one of those moods so common with some people—a teazing mood, "when you are the poor lawyer's wife?"

"Yes I shall. That is the answer you deserve, and none other you shall have. I must go now and dress for dinner, and make myself charming for the Major-so good bye."

And without waiting one instant, off she ran, leaving her lover half pleased, half displeased, at her behaviour.

A fortnight had slid rapidly away, and no one could detect to whom pretty Patty afforded the preference. She behaved with equal complacency to all three. If she bestowed a smile on one, she was sure to pass it on to the others too, so that her uncle and aunt, as well as the unhappy gentlemen, began to despair. Mr. Leslie at length spoke to her upon the subject, and desired that either to her aunt or to himself, she would intimate her preference. "Well, uncle, I tell you what I will do. I will go into the garden after dinner, and if you will send them all one after the other out to me, I will give a rose to the one whom I think I prefer; and this will," continued she, casting her eyes upon the ground very modestly, "be, I think, a very good plan."

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"Yes, my dear," said her uncle, patting her on the head; I will do as you wish." The dinner passed. Patty's eyes looked brighter than ever, as they always did when she was meditating mischief, and at length she disappeared from the table, and went into the garden. She had not wait ed long before the Major sauntered out, and, with a happy smile, advanced to meet her. They all three liked the young lady extremely, but they liked her fortune far better.

After a few minutes passed in chit-chat,

Patty plucked a half-blown rose, and exclaimed, "Sir Major, look at this beautiful flower. Will you have it? But I dare say you would not prize it, if I gave it to you?"

"Prize it! I would keep it for ever-" "And a day! I suppose: but will you wear it this evening?"

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If it will please you."

Yes, it will. By the way, have you seen the cascade at the end of the walk leading through the shrubbery?"

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No; will you show it to me!"

Oh, there's no occasion to show you; if you walk straight on you will be sure to find it. I will come to you shortly. Now go, or I shall take back the flower-I assure you it is well worth seeing."

The innocent Major most obediently marched off, thinking this a most delightful method, on the part of the young lady, for making an assignation. Mr. Burford now came out, and slowly strode down the gravel path towards Patty, who was engaged in admiring a rose which she had just picked.

"Just in time, Mr. Burford, I know you are fond of flowers, and here is one for you."

you."

"Very pretty," said Mr. Burford, “like "Thank you, Mr. Burford. Are you fond of scenery-landscapes, and all that sort of thing?"

"Very."

"Oh, then, will you just walk down after the Major; he has gone, on my recommendation, to see the cascade. I am going there soon-I know you will like it."

Without another word Mr. Burford followed her directions, and placing the rose in his button-hole, as his rival had done before him, walked away.

Last came Mr. Scalding, bowing, smiling, and laughing towards pretty Patty, as she walked, apparently unheedingly, to and fro.

"Ah, Miss Patty, always amongst the flowers-sympathy I suppose-like they say sweets to the sweet; eh, Miss Patty?" "What did you say, sir?" inquired Patty.

But it was too much of her to expect that Mr. Scalding, the hero of the cork leg, was going to repeat his speech.

"May I ask for a flower from that bouquet in your hand?"

"Oh, by all means-here is a rose." "The emblem of love," said he, fixing it in his button-hole, quite proud of his acquisition.

"I hope it may prove so. Have you seen the cascade? Your two friends have gone there-won't you go?" "If you will go with me!"

This was a consummation which Patty by

no means desired, but she obeyed with a good grace, in order not to excite suspicion. When she had reached the end of the walk, she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! pray go on; I forgot something." And away she bounded back, and slipping by another path to the wood, sought refuge in the society of Arthur from the rage of her aunt, the mortification of her rivals, and the ill-temper of her uncle.

Arthur could not help laughing as heartily as Patty herself at the mischievous trick she had played.

"I shall hear of this in the morning," said she; "but I don't care."

The morning came, and with it a summons to the library. Patty knew this meant a lecture, so taking her pocket handkerchief with her, she obeyed the call, fully prepared to use it to hide her laugh or her tears, as the occasion might require. Mr. Leslie looked stern, and bade her sit down, with a very serious countenance, while he proceeded to explain to her that both he and her aunt were extremely angry with her, and had come to the determination of making her choose that very morning which of the three gentlemen she would have for husband.

After a few minutes' pause, occupied by Patty in stifling a laugh, and getting up a sob, she replied:

"If I must have either, sir, why I—I like the Major best."

"That's a good girl; I admire your choice. Kiss me why you can cry and laugh with equal facility. I am so happy; the marriage shall take place immediately."

"Uncle!"

"Yes, my dear; I'll go and tell your

aunt."

The marriage was determined on. The happy Major was happier every day, while the others submitted with a good grace to what could not be avoided. A splendid trousseau was provided, with which Patty expressed herself much delighted; and the morning of the wedding-day was ushered in by a bright blue sky and glorious sunshine. The bride was dressed, and the assembled guests were waiting her appearance in the drawing-room. But the patience of all was at length exhausted, and Miss Leslie was despatched in search of the young lady. No bride, however, was to be seen. All was consternation. Where could she have concealed herself? Her uncle immediately conceived that it was some harmless frolic on her part, and bade them have patience. But at length it became evident that no bride was forthcoming; and Susan, the housemaid, rushed in with the intelligence that Fanny, the lady's-maid, had also disappeared, and that Tom, the gardener, had come from

the village with the intelligence that a post-chaise had been seen whirling rapidly along the high road. Pursuit was resolved on instantly; but ere the party could sufficiently collect their scattered senses, the fugitives were far on their way, and were actually married by license at the next town before Patty's enraged uncle came up with her.

Matters being thus brought to a crisis, Mr. Leslie thought the most prudent plan was to forget and forgive; and after a little scene of crying and kissing, the bride and bridegroom returned to eat the wedding feast prepared for the gallant Major and pretty Patty.

People of Character.

BY JOHN HERAUD.

The importance of a good character is one of those practical truths which are generally acknowledged. But there is still something more important—to have a character, at all events.

"Most women," said

Pope, with a sneer, "have no characters at all;" and men of whom the same can be alleged, are usually condemned for effeminacy. The world requires decision of

character from those who are candidates

for its favour. Like the fair, it countenances the brave. The world has a reason for it; notwithstanding it looks itself so strong and bold, it needs protection. The world, large as it is, is fragile. It is held together by the rottenest ligaments. It is a bundle in which every unit has a separate self-interest at war with its neighbour. It threatens to fall asunder every moment. Nothing keeps it together but an affected ignorance on the part of its members of this lamentable fact.

The

great thing, then, is to preserve appearances; and thus it is that the world prefers those who can put the best face on the matter, and lend it the character that itself wants.

There is another reason for the world treating with respect people of decided character. It is afraid of them. It dreads lest some day they may tear off the mask, and expose its hideous deformity—to itself! The possible discovery of a falsehood is a thing to stand in awe of the world would avoid detection. It therefore finesses and conciliates the man or woman of determination, whose straightforward behaviour threatens an eclaircissement that might be