hand of iron; thou hast lived for thyself; and therefore, henceforth for ever thou shalt subsist alone. From the light of heaven, and from the society of all beings, shalt thou be driven; solitude shall protract the lingering hours of eternity, and darkness aggravate the horrors of despair.' At this moment I was driven by some secret and irresistible power through the glowing system of creation, and passed innumerable worlds in a moment. As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the shadows of total and boundless vacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eternal silence, solitude, and darkness! Unutterable horror seized me at the prospect, and this exclamation burst from me with all the vehemence of desire: O that I had been doomed for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence and guilt! Their society would have alleviated the torment of despair, and the rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light. Or if I had been condemned to reside on a comet, that would return but once in a thousand years to the regions of light and life; the hope of these periods, however distant, would cheer me in the dreary interval of cold and darkness, and the vicissitude would divide eternity into time.' While this thought passed over my mind, I lost sight of the remotest star, and the last glimmering of light was quenched in utter darkness. The agonies of despair every moment increased, as every moment augmented my distance from the last habitable world. I reflected with intoleranble anguish, that when ten thousand thousand years had carried me beyond the reach of all but that Power who fills infinitude, I should still look forward into an immense abyss of darkness, through which I should still drive without succour and without society, farther and farther still, for ever and for ever. I then stretched out my hands towards the regions of existence, with an emotion that awakened me. Thus have I been taught to estimate society, like every other blessing, by its loss.

My heart is warmed to liberality; and I am zealous to communicate the happiness which I feel to those from whom it is derived; for the society of one wretch, whom in the pride of prosperity I would have spurned from my door, would, in the dreadful solitude to which I was condemned, have been more highly prized than the gold of Africa, or the gems of Golconda.”

At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan became suddenly silent, and looked upward in an ecstacy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude were struck at once with the precept and example; and the Caliph, to

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whom the event was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, commanded it to be recorded for the benefit of posterity.

THE MISSIONARY'S CHILD.

AT the bend of the river, the romantic cottage of the Missionary suddenly appeared in view in a lovely and secluded spot. The garden was full of flowers-of sweet English flowers-roses, stocks, and mignonette. The cottage, the situation, the people, and everything around them, were picturesque. The Missionary and his wife received us with the utmost hospitality, and we remained with these worthy people during the next day.

I had not long entered the house before a sweet little girl, with a fair complexion and long flaxen ringlets, came running up to me. It was pleasant to hear, in this secluded spot, the prattle of a little English child: she lisped to us of the roses she had been gathering, and said that the rain had made them so pretty. Thus the prattler went on; when I observed in the next apartment, upon a sofa, a delicate and sickly boy who was suffering from a disease of the heart. "Do you paint portraits?" enquired the father of me, with a look of almost agonizing earnestness. I guessed his meaning, and glanced at the sick boy on the pink sofa. He said no more; but I felt that it was in my power to make the hearts of these anxious parents happy; for I knew they expected to lose their child. It is a blessed thing to have the power of contributing one's mite towards mitigating the

rials of the Missionary. On the following morning, I made a sketch of the boy; the father was overjoyed, and the mother's looks told what she had not words to express.

Beside the dark Waikato's stream,

That mother watched her dying child;
Brooding, as one in a fitful dream,
With mingled hopes and fancies wild..
Like Hagar and the desert child,
She bowed before her Maker's will;
A stranger in the distant wild,

Beside that river dark and still.
"Twas a sweet spot wherein to die-

Too bright a spot to call a grave-
Beneath the tree fern's shade to lie,
Beside Waikato's murmuring wave.

Angus's Life in New Zealand.

The whole of human virtue may be reduced to speaking the truth always, and doing good to others.

only feel grateful to a long-tried public servant, but that they wish to consolidate a portion of their gratitude in acts. And let that act be a fitting substantial memorial to the one who so well merits it. Let the offering be as national as the wishes and labours of Joseph Hume to promote the interests of his country have been national, and it will be one in which the present generation will rejoice in, and posterity will be proud of. We erect statutes to warriors, and we exhibit them in our market-places and pleasure-grounds; let us also manifest our respect for one who had battled against corruption, who has wielded facts and arguments for the promotion of healthy fiscal changes, the realization of political reform, and the advancement of national freedom. Having thrown forth the above sugges tions and reflections, we leave them in the hands of those who may feel an interest in the matter to carry them out. We can only now say, we shall return to the subject in an early number, when it is likely we shall have some other thoughts to offer.

A PEDESTRIAN TOUR IN NORTH WALES.

ONE great feature of the present age is a desire in all ranks of life to search for the beautiful or the sublime in nature. The mechanic, in his darkened workshop, wanders in fancy through groves, by streams, or struggles through the tangled thickets of overgrowing forests. The poet, whose imagination is already excited by storied fancies of classic climes, pants to climb the rugged mountain, to stem the torrent, or watch from castle walls, crumbling beneath the touch of time, the rolling river or wide stretching main.

This enterprise of spirit may be safely viewed and calculated upon as being a powerful evidence of the progress of society to a happier condition, and we consider the time has now fully arrived when public attention should be drawn to the best means for directing and regulating the summer recreations of the middle and poorer classes, in the selection of localities noted for beauty, historical associations, or architectural treasures, and when we should treat with a welcome any one who willingly throws his mite into the treasury of public amusements.

Animated, then, with these views, and feeling desirous at the same time to jot down a few circumstances in our own history, we offer the enclosed sketch of a pedestrian tour in North Wales. We have carefully preserved the route, as being

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least expensive or incommodious to the tourist.

"Man wants but little here below,"

is an aphorism which it would be well for the pedestrian tourist to strictly observe. We believe it is Pennant, the author of a descriptive Wesh tour, who remarks, that he could make his way through North Wales with a tooth-brush and one or two additional essentials. Let those who are disposed to act upon the experience of others (a rare thing, though, by-the-bye) bear Mr. Pennant's remark in mind, if they contemplate taking a similar journey, or they will have heavy reasons to regret neglecting such an excellent piece of advice.

CHESTER.-This being considered the point from which the tourist is generally supposed to start upon his expedition, we made our way to this city, and now, considering our readers and ourselves as being if they will wander with us in thought from duly introduced, we shall be most happy, this stronghold of the Romans, to the unscaled bulwarks of the ancient Britons, the cloud-capped mountain towers of Snowdonia.

One of the most remarkable features of Chester is the construction of its rows of houses, by which each side of the main street is made to possess two fronts of shops. The carriages drive eight or ten feet below the rows in which are ranges of shops and a good paved footpath for passers by.

The city walls are worth a considerable share of attention. Built for the uses of warfare, they are now converted into means of healthful recreation. And on those heights from whence death once dealt forth his terrible missals, the citizen can now wander in peace, reflect on the follies of the past, and marvel, as the locomotive monster of the modern Frankenstein, George Stephenson, hurries past upon its wonderful mission, accompanied by its whispering partner, whose wires declare rapid thoughts, with a tongue of fire.

On these walls there is an excellent pathway, about two yards in width, and guarded outside by a parapet about four feet high, and inside by wooden and iron railings. The country around presents a variety of pleasing views.

The Cathedral, the old Tower (Julius Cæsar's Tower, and about the sole remaining monument of the Castle), the new bridge over the Dee, and Eaton Hall are well worth the attention of the tourist; and if his anxiety is not too great to reach the mountain land, a few days may be most agreeably spent in the city of Chester.

BANGOR.-The highly favoured town

Bangor, nursed in the lap of beauty, cradled in grandeur, is likewise the theatre of two of the greatest works of modern science, viz:-Telford's suspension bridge, and Stephenson's tubular bridge. The former is probably more interesting to the observer than the latter, from its remarkable grace and beauty. From a distance it looks like a fairy pathway suspended by silken threads over a yawning gulph, and as you approach, its magical appearance, though magnified, is yet preserved. But still its burly neighbour must hold a high place in the wonder of the spectator, and though not so interest ing in its appearance, even the unscientific must be aware of the greatness and importance of its undertaking, and the honour its completion will confer upon its talented projector.

Bangor and its neighbourhood may be said to possess an almost infinite variety of beautiful walks, and interesting and delightful scenery.

Garth Point, the eastern extremity of Pen'r-alt a short distance from the town, where a ferry crosses to the coast of Anglesey, is indeed magnificent. Sea, land, and mountain, vie with each other in forming pictures of the most perfect beauty and sublimity. This spot must surely be unrivalled !

In the vicinity of this town there are likewise several objects of curiosity. Penryhn Castle, slate quarries, Ogwen Bank, Aber, Llanberris, Beaumauris, Penmon Monastery, &c., &c. But more immediately in connexion with the place itself the Cathedral is highly deserving the attention of the visitor, not so much from any amount of architectural display, as its seeming suitableness in all points for the performance of public worship.

CAERVARVON.-A man must indeed be insensible to the charms which nature dis plays with such gratifying ostentation in this peaceful country, if he is not delighted with the walk from Bangor to Caernarvon. A great portion of the road continues within range of the Menai Straits, and the scenery, though not so bold as might be expected, presents many pleasing pictures to

the eye.

The pedestrian may be well repaid in this part of his journey, by occasionally arresting his walk and looking at the scenes behind him, when, if he fortunate in his selection, he will be well remunerated for halting in his career. He will probably, as he approaches the slate-quarries, be startled by a rapid rushing sound beneath his feet; but his surprise will be turned into amusement when he ascertains the cause, which will be discovered, by his getting nearer the

water, and glancing up deep tunnels, he will observe waggons filled with slates coming down from the quarries to the vessels alongside, and the empties returning at the same speed, which must be a most expeditious and saving arrangement. The city of Caernarvon may be seen to the greatest advantage from the top of Twthill, a rock beyond the Uxbridge Arms hotel, which is easily accessible, and from which a most extensive prospect may be obtained. This view, the Castle, and the terrace walk outside the walls, and by the side of the Menai, may be safely considered as the most interesting objects in Caernarvon.

As Mr. Bingley is admitted to have given one of the best accounts of the Castle, we attach an extract from his writings upon the subject :-"The entrance into this stupendous monument of ancient grandeur is through a lofty gateway, over which is yet left a mutilated figure, supposed by most writers to be that of Edward I. In this gate there are the grooves of no less than four portcullises, evidences of the former strength of the fortress. The building is large but irregular, and much more shattered within, than from viewing it on the outside one would be led to imagine.

The towers are chiefly octagonal, but three or four of them have each ten sides: among the latter is the Eagle Tower, the largest and by far the most elegant in the whole building. This tower, which received its name from the figure of an eagle yet left, though somewhat mutilated at the top of it, stands at one end of the oblong court of the castle, and has three handsome turrets issuing from it. It was in the Eagle Tower that Edward, the first Prince of Wales, afterwards Edward II., was born, on St Mark's Day, 25th April, 1284. From the top of this tower I was highly gratified by a very extensive view of the Isle of Anglesey, the Menai, and the country for many miles around."

Here,

BEDD-GELERT.-Upon leaving Caernar von to go to Bedd-gelert, the tourist will be quite justified in allowing his imagination to paint scenes of perfect beauty, for the realities will outvie all his efforts. he treads upon the feet of mountains, whose heads are lost in clouds, and he views foaming cataracts being tossed disdainfully from rocky beds, and listens to their dying murmurs as they sink into the greedy earth. We have at times indulged in the fanciful idea, that there are some spots of earth which have been rendered more beautiful than others, as being the favoured abodes of higher orders of beings, before the impiety of men had finally terrified them from

our planet; and that they had rendered such spots still more transcendantly lovely upon leaving them, by casting upon and around them the melancholy shadows of their own regrets. Be this as it may, we are indulged to hope that even the most determined practical thinker would be temped to graft his satire in a smile at our remarks, if we were but once encaged in this prison of beauty.

Upon arriving at Pitt's Head, a rock so called from a similarity being traced in it to the profile of England's once prime minister, William Pitt, the traveller soon reaches a little gate at the base of the giant, Snowdon. But instead of pursuing his way up the mountain alone, we strongly recommend him to continue his course to Bedd-gelert, from where he can, at leisure, hire a guide, and accomplish the task with much greater ease, and, we trust, gratification. We speak thus doubtingly of gratification, because we fear very few obtain it upon the summit of Snowdon, the clouds generally conspiring to keep Heaven and Earth both carefully concealed from the anxious eye. When the sun does conquer the mist, or the clouds rend asunder, then, indeed, there is a scene of such surpassing beauty opened before the entranced gazer that would require a very able pen to depict with any thing like success.

The situation of Bedd-gelert, Mr. Pennant observes, is the fittest in the world for religious meditation, amid lofty mountains, woods, and murmuring streams,—

The mountains huge appear

Emergent, and their broad backs upheave Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky, and their rugged sides seem here to close and impose an invincible barrier into the interior of the country.

A limited sketch, like the present, would not even admit of our describing the beauties of this delightful place. We, however, direct attention to the view behind the old public-house, Llyn Dinas, or the Pool of the Fort, Cwm Lian, Llyn Gwynnant, and Pont Aber-Glaslyn, or the Bridge of the Conflux of the Blue Pool. The Church, the Grave of the Hound, Gelert, (which tradition states, was slain in error, by Llywelyn the Great, who, supposing the hound had killed his child, when the sagacious creature had, in fact, destroyed a wolf which had prowled into the place). The hut in which Llywelyn is supposed to have resided, are also well worth observation and regard.

There is an excellent Inn here-the "Goat;" and the fishing in this neighbourhood is considered very good.

The best evidence we can give of the combination of some of the beauties of this

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place, is rendered in the pleasing description of Mr. Bingley, who observes :

"While I was staying at Bedd-gelert, I found myself one evening almost devoid of employment, and the moon shone so beautifully bright, that I was tempted to ramble alone as far as the bridge. There never was a more charming evening. The scene was not clad in its late grand colours, but now more delicately shaded and arrayed in softer charms. The darkening shadows of the rocks cast a gloom, and the faint rays in some places faintly reflected, gave to the straining eye a very imperfect glimpse of the surfaces it looked upon, while in others, the moon shot her silver light through the hollows, and brightly illumined the opposite rocks. All was solitude, serene, and mild. The silence of the evening was only interrupted by the murmuring of the brook, which lulled to melancholy."

FFESTINIOG. Upon arriving here, we were much pleased at the kind and benevolent reception we met with from Martha Owen, the hostess of the Pengwern Arms. This village stands on an eminence above the Vale of Maen Twrog. It is remarkable for its serenity, beauty, and the purity of its atmosphere. The falls of the Cynfael are well worth a visit, even at some personal labour and expense.

BALA. The lake for which Bala is principally celebrated is within a quarter of a mile of the town; and is a fine expanse of water, being nearly four miles long, and 1,200 yards wide. The scenery surrounding the lake is grand and imposing. Inspiration, an author observes, breathes around it, and every object awakens to enthusiasm.

LLANGOLLEN. To view Llangollen right, ascend the steep hill upon which some ruins of the Castle of Dinas Bran still exist. The eye will then be deeply gratified by the marvellous beauties of the place. The town nestling itself for shelter beneath the towering rock; the river Dee, rolling in its happy course, and gambolling with little cataracts over beds of rocks; the bright vale of Llangollen studded with pretty residences, and the peaceful vale of Crucis, and the ruins of its old Abbey, form pictures with which memory delights to store her gallerys; upon which the mental eye can, at all times, speculate for its improvement, gathering and concentrating new beauties, and gilding sterner thoughts, with the bright smiles borrowed and copied from the face of Nature.

And now, farewell, Snowdonia; farewell, thou land where beauty keeps her constant holiday; where the mightiness of great minds is imaged in the stern realities of