wards to Hudson's Bay to serve in the same capacity as chaplain. But at the same time he wished to open a way for preaching the gospel to the savages further south, who hitherto had been without any instruction. He soon however found himself so disabled, that he was under the necessity of embarking to return to Quebec, where he has never yet entirely recovered from the maladies he contracted at the Bay. On my arrival in Canada, I was destined to the same duty, which I will not conceal from you was contrary to my inclination. My design in leaving France was to devote myself as far as possible to the service of the Indians, from which by this arrangement I found myself still farther removed.

The late M. d'Iberville, one of the bravest captains we have had in New France, had received orders to make himself master of some posts which which the English had occupied on Hudson's Bay. For this purpose he had equipped two ships of war, the Poli, on which he was about himself to embark, and the Salamandre, commanded by M. de Serigny. Having requested from our Father Superior, a missionary who might serve as chaplain to the two ships, the Superior elected me, apparently because having lately arrived, and being as yet entirely unacquainted with any of the Indian languages, I was the least necessary in Canada.

We accordingly embarked on the 10th of August, 1694, and towards midnight anchored opposite to Cape Torment.* We doubled it on the 11th at 7 or 8 o'clock in the morning, but in consequence of a head wind made but little during the rest of that day or the three following days. I therefore availed myself of this leisure to engage the greater part of the crew in celebrating the Festival of the Holy Virgin. On the 14th I distributed in the Poli, the images of Our Lady which had been given me at Quebec by Madame Champigny, Lady of the Intendant of Canada, and passed all the evening and the next morning in hearing confessions. Many received the communion on the day of the festival. When I had finished the service of the mass, the wind changed, and they set sail immediately. On the 20th, however, the wind having again entirely died away, I passed from the Poli to the Salamandre, to see M. de Serigny, and to celebrate the

This cape is only eight leagues distant from Quebec. It is called Torment, because with the least wind the water is agitated as in the open sea.

mass on board.

The crew were very much delighted, and many availed themselves of this occasion to go to confession and receive the sacrament.

On the 21st we passed Belle-Isle. This island, which is circular in shape, is as high as 52° North Lat. and distant 220 leagues from Quebec, in the midst of a strait which forms the island of Newfoundland, (Terre-Neuve) by separating it from the main land of Labrador. We began from this time to come in sight of the high mountains of ice which float in these seas, of which we saw perhaps one and twenty. They appeared at a distance like mountains of crystal, and some like rocks with rough bristling points.

On the 23d, we had in the morning a perfect calm, but towards midday a head wind sprung up, and continued to blow very violently during the 24th and 25th. The two following days we had a return of the calm, which was equally prejudicial to us as the head wind. The season was already far advanced-we were in a country where winter came at once, without being preceded by Autumn; we were at the height of 56°, and much of our voyage still remained to be accomplished, over a sea dangerous on account of the great banks of ice which are generally found there, but through the middle of which it was necessary that we should make our passage as high as the 63o.

(To be continued.)

SMILES AND TEARS, OR THE COUSINS.

BY MARY LESLIE.

CHAPTER III.

We could not, while the rose was bright,
Its leaves so fresh and fair,

See that the bud was blasted,

A worm was lurking there.-M. Leslie.

IN the most fashionable part of the city of New York, in a magnificently furnished apartment in a large and spacious house, sat Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Singleton. Mirrors were hanging from every side, and the soft rays of a solar lamp falling on heavy crimson curtains, threw a beautiful light on the pale features of the wife of a "man of fashion." Ella Singleton was dressed in the deepest mourning; her beautiful dark hair was drawn tightly back and confined in a Grecian knot behind, throwing into bold relief a profile a little too sharp to be perfect: her eyes were strangely bright at times, and then again we thought their light a shade or two softer than when we bade her farewell as a bride. With an imploring and pitiful glance she turned to her husband and said, "Do, dear Alfred, pass the evening with me; I will promise to be so very agreeable; for she saw him rising from a sofa impatient to join his club. "Why Ella, how very fond you are of me don't you know love is out of fashion now-a-days: why, it is positively vulgar to dote upon any thing, unless it be one's horses, one's club, or it may be one's dog, said he, addressing a noble hound. "Come, Victor, Frank Walton will be waiting;" and as he left he hummed his favorite air, "To love and linger near thee," and the notes with his footsteps were soon lost in the hum of Broadway. But how little did Alfred know, how those few careless tones had touched the chords of his young wife's heart, and found there already a sad echo, for memory had stirred its thousand strings, and was playing that same sweet air as she

had once heard it in her sunny home, in the now far off South. In that crowded and fashionable street there were no friendly faces, no kindred spirits, but it was full of cold and fashionable and stranger hearts. As Mrs. Singleton sat silent and alone, she thought of the past and her childhood's home. Loved companions, gentle friends, in memory ye have all come back, and how does the heart cherish the recollection; but ye have come only to scatter your ashes over the past, or chaunt a requiem to the blasted hopes and wasted love of Ella Singleton.

And he had lingered, when the bridal train

Had gone; to soothe the hearts

Of those he fancied dying

To heal the wounds which deeply he had made
In hearts "so fresh"

He almost heard them sighing.-M. Leslie.

So crammed as he thinks with excellencies,

It is his ground of faith that all who look on him love him.
--Shakspeare.

"Ah, Alf, how are ye, I'm dev-e-leesh glad to see ye—I've made a pretty stay of it at the South. I'm quite used up, that is, ess-entially, heartily sick of Nig-yars and lazy Southerners. But what makes you look so down? tired of matrimony, eh! well, I thought it would n't agree with you; but seriously, Alf, I've been thinking of the grand scheme myself. I was almost in for it' with sweet piquante Fannie Linwood. I left the dear creature terribly in love with me; she won't live till fall, I'm certain; but I couldn't marry her; 'pon my soul I could n't, for that old griffin of an Aunt hugs her money and the fair Fannie too tightly, and the old thing is so tough she'll never cut up.' “But Frank, how have you managed that affair with the heiress Ada Jones? I surely thought that would be a 'go.' I would have bet on it." "Oh no, the estates have passed down far too long a line of ancestry. You know they are in tobacco land. It was quite currently rumored, the yield was not very overwhelming this year, 'cause why, Alf; like your friend, they are most used up.'" A laugh in a high sharp key rung out on the smoky atmosphere as Frank Walton became more voluble. "I tell you I can't go it ou an uncertainty. This is far too fine a capital,” added he (surveying himself in an opposite mirror, and adjusting a scant moustache,) "to invest without the best of security." Seating himself, he drew

from his pocket a delicately perfumed mouchoir, which simple act scattered a quantity of withered rose-buds, delicately wrought safety chains, and several long curls of silky hair. Mr. Walton soon gathered them, and seemed to enjoy their destruction as he saw the flame of the grate slowly consuming them. "There they all go, Alf, trophies of a season at the sunny South; but I declare if it had not been for that straight lock of black hair, I should have quite forgotten the fat Senora Cortez: she is to be sure a bona fide heiress, but a hundred and fifty pounds of fat is far too large a mortgage to accept with the property; but by Jupiter I've had a rich time out of this flirtation; a greener subject it has never been my good fortune to meet. Oh, if you could have seen her when I told her how bright her eyes were; the poor soul little thought I saw the old Don's Spanish shiners in them; and when I gave her a leaf of geranium, with the language of course, she looked like a heaving billow, when she sighed and poked it away in her sash, to dream on, no doubt, and of her very devoted lover and your humble servant, Mr. Frank Walton. I have not finished this flirtation, Alf, and must have a little more fun out of it yet, so I'm off again next season to New Orleans, where the old Don resides. Give me another cigar, friend; I can't make a go of this. I guess it is some of the heiress's tobacco, and like her love for me, will end in a puff. I'll help you drive away care, Alf, for as Sam Weller says, I am afraid you are a wictim of connubiality; if not, you are certainly a practical lesson to your old and best friend, not to yield himself a wictim to sighing young ladies;" and Mr. Walton sung out in rather a shrill voice,

"First love is a pretty romance,

Though not quite so lasting as reckoned,
For when one awakes from the trance,
There's a vast deal of truth in the second;
And e'en should the second subside,

The lover need hardly despair,

For the world is uncommonly wide,

And the women uncommonly fair."

་

"So here goes the song; and Mr. Frank Watson free and unincumbered, is my motto." We will follow the conversation no farther. We have only given a sketch of Alfred Singleton's most intimate friend. Our inclinations or tastes never lead us to a club room, and many a neglected wife will echo our thoughts when