the youngest there was a sense of gratitude which answered to this appeal, and bursting into tears he expressed his sorrow for his conduct, and his willingness to return. Still the eldest remained obdurate. Neither arguments persuaded him, nor warnings alarmed him. The carriage had been repeatedly refused; he had made up his mind to go to sea, and to sea he would go. 66 "Then," said Mr. Griffin, come with me to my house, I will get you a ship, and you shall go out as a man and a gentleman." This he declined, assigning as a reason that it would make his parents feel to have it said that their son was gone as a common sailor; as a common sailor, therefore, he would go. "Is that your disposition?" was the reply. "Then, young man, go," said Mr. Griffin, "and while I say, God go with you, be sure your sin will find you out, and for it God will bring you into judgment." With reluctance they left him; the younger son was restored to his parents, while all traces of the elder one were lost, and he was mourned for as one dead.

Mr.

After the lapse of a considerable time a loud knocking was heard at Mr. Griffin's door. This was early in the morning. On the servant's going down to open the door she found a waterman, who wished immediately to see her master. Griffin soon appeared, and was informed that a young man under sentence of death, and about to be executed on board one of the ships in the harbour, had expressed an earnest desire to see him, urging, among other reasons, that he could not die happy unless he did. A short time found the minister of religion on board the ship, when the prisoner, manacled and guarded, was introduced to him, to whom he said, "My poor friend, I feel for your condition, but as I am a stranger to you may I ask why you have sent for me? it may be that you have heard me preach at Portsea." "Never, sir. Do you not know me?" "I do not." 66 Do you not remember the two young men whom you some years since urged to return to their parents, and to their duty ?" "I do, I do remember it, and remember that you were one of them." "I have sent then for you to take my last farewell of you in this world, and to bless you for your efforts to restore me to a sense of my duty. Would God that I had taken your advice, but it is now too late. My sin has found me out, and for it God has brought me into judgment. One, and but one consolation remains; I refused the offer of going to your house until I could be provided for, assigning as a reason that it would make my parents feel to have it said their son was a common

sailor. A little reflection showed me the cruelty of this determination; I assumed another name, under which I entered myself; and my chief consolation is that I shall die unpitied and unknown."

What the feelings of Mr. Griffin were at this sad discovery may be more easily conceived than described. He spent some time with him in prayer, and offered him that advice which was best suited to his unhappy case. The prisoner was again placed in confinement, and Mr. Griffin remained with the officer who was then on duty. "Can nothing be done for this poor young man?" was one of the first inquiries made after the prisoner was withdrawn. "I fear not," replied the officer," the lords of the admiralty have determined to make an example of the first offender in this particular crime. He unfortunately is that offender, and we hourly expect the warrant for his execution." Mr. Griffin determined to go immediately up to London, and, in humble dependence upon the Lord, to make every effort to save the criminal's life, or to obtain a commutation of the sentence.

It was his lot, on the day of his arrival in the metropolis, to obtain an interview with one of the lords of the admiralty, to whom he stated the respectability of the young man's connexions, his bitter and unfeigned regret for the crime which had forfeited his life; and, with that earnestness which the value of life is calculated to excite, ventured to ask if it were possible to spare him. To his regret he was informed that the warrant for his execution had been that morning signed, and was on its way to the officer, whose melancholy duty it was to see it executed. With compassion the nobleman said, "Go back, sir, and prepare him for the worst. I cannot tell what is to be done, but we are shortly to meet his Majesty in council, and all that you have urged shall be then stated; may it prove successful." Mr. Griffin returned, but discovered that the morning of his reaching home was the time appointed for the young man's execution. Joy and fear, and anxiety by turns, possessed his mind, as within a few minutes after his arrival came a pardon, accompanied with the most earnest request to go immediately on board, lest the sentence of the law should be executed before he could reach the ship. Upon the issues of a moment now rested the life of a fellow creature, and perhaps the salvation of an immortal soul. The minister reached the harbour, and saw the yellow flag, the signal of death, flying, the rigging manned, and, for aught he knew to the contrary, the object of his solicitude at the last

He reached the ship's side,

moment of his mortal existence. and saw an aged man leaving it, whose sighs, and groans, and tears, proclaimed a heart bursting with grief, and a soul deeper in misery than the depth of the waters he was upon. It was the prisoner's father! Under the assumed name he had discovered his wretched son, and had been to take his last farewell of him. Yes, it was the father who had brought him up in the fear of the Lord; who in his earliest days had led him to the house of God; and who, when lost, had often inquired in prayer, "Lord, where is my child?" Fearfully was he answered; he had found him, but it was to part, never in this world to meet again. Such, at least, must have been his conclusions in that moment, when, having torn himself from the embrace of his son, he was in the act of leaving the ship. The rest is told in a few words; with Mr. Griffin he re-entered the vessel at the moment when the prisoner, pinioned for execution, was advancing toward the fatal spot, when he was to be summoned into the presence of God. A moment found him in the embrace, not of death, but of his father; his immediate liberation followed the knowledge of his pardon, and a few days restored the wanderer to the bosom of his family. James's Young Man from Home.

A VIEW FROM THE GOVERNMENT HILL AT PENANG, NOVEMBER 4, 1823.

NEAR where the equator parts the torrid zone

There is an island, called from royal race
The Prince of Wales's Island, or by those
Who knew it earlier, and whose name survives
The lapse of rolling years, Pulo Penang,
The isle of Betel-nut, whether from shape,
Or what it once produced, the muse knows not;
What she hath seen and loved she would describe.
This island toward the east a plain displays,
Formed of alluvial soil; but from the points
Where Boreas reigns, and Zephyr holds his court,
And where the glorious orb of day, to give
The labouring nations rest, quenches his fires,
The great Creator has upreared in air
Mountains of solid granite, which would seem
The giant steps to his exalted throne.

Among these mountains rises one whose top,
Though wrapped in snowy clouds, I toiling gained,
To paint from dizzy height the scene below.

North, west, and south, behold the beauteous scene
Presented by the hills! not like the rocks
Of polar regions, having nought to show

312 A VIEW FROM THE GOVERNMENT HILL AT PENANG.

Save naked pines complaining of the cold;

But clothed with verdure, which from various hue
And shape of blossom, leaf and branch, and tree,
Tempts my bold pencil, yet defies my power.
Here the huge peaks, in Nature's grandeur clad,
Are covered with the woods which she has reared;
Where hide the seed-bedecked ferns and flowers
Of beauty rare, and fruits on low bent boughs,
Affording food to numerous beasts and birds;
While here and there the inquiring eye explores
Some rich plantation, where the nutmeg tree,
The clove and cinnamon, all in long rows,
At measured distance planted, offer fruits,
Or flowers, or scented bark. The coffee shrub,
Studded with berries, green and pink, here seeks
The shade, its loved retreat. Here, all profuse,
The pepper, trained on living trees or poles,
Like well-known hops, presents its climbing arms,
Laden with bunches; currant-like they seem,
As Phoebus dyes them green, or red, or brown:
While fruits and forest-trees, and garden flowers,
With house commodious built for planter's use,
By turns present themselves and crown the view.
When morn triumphant dissipates the night,
How glorious the wide scene these hills unfold!
Have you beheld the prospect, when the sun
With genial warmth has melted half the snow
Which lies upon the fields of northern climes,
In striking contrast with each earthlier hue?
So here I gaze on clouds of purest white,
Lying like snowy carpet at the feet,
Or resting on the bosom or the head
Of hills, in freshest vegetation clothed.
The shapes fantastic they assume, their rise,
Unveiling gradually the spots they hid,
Till others take their place, and interchange
Of light and shade continue, and the contrast
Of snowy white with green of every hue,
May be imagined, but may not be told.

The east presents you with a scene as fair,
But far below you, and in miniature,
The busy town with all its motley show
Of warehouses and shops, houses and grounds,
Of men and cattle, roads and vehicles;

Whether the two-wheeled buggy, or, for man's
Still greater comfort found, the palankeen

Drawn by a pony brought from neighbouring isles,
Sumatra, Java, or the Celebes;

Or else the cart, which from its stupid steed,
Its rude construction and its lazy guide,
Seems only formed to imitate the snail.
The smooth-backed beetle and the cocoa tall,
The umbrageous tamarind and pumplenose,
Present themselves to view, while far-famed fruits,

For which Bengal and Europe sigh in vain,
The mangastin and hairy rambutan,
And sulphur-scented luscious durian,
Mingle with orange, citron, and the pine,
To add a finish to the picture fair.

Beyond this plain, though oft invisible
Through dark or fleecy clouds which roll below,
There is the land-locked harbour, where the ships
Of distant nations ride secure from storms;
Their size diminutive, as though the men
Of far-famed Lilliput had here been building
A navy suited to their wants and powers;
Within these waters fish in millions sport,
Affording sustenance to all around.

And when at night your boat their bosom skims,
A light phosphoric marks your devious way;
And as your oars repeat the powerful stroke,
And raise small portions of the fiery waves,
Each watery drop appears a sparkling gem.

Stretching the eye across this narrow strait,
The Queda shore is seen, a fine champaign
Watered by rivers, and producing crops
Of rice and sugar; and behind it far,

Range beyond range, the hills which bound the view.
In the dim distance rises Queda's Peak,

Whose towering summit cheers the sailor's heart,
As from his ship he views the well-known mark.
On northern side the rugged Laddos rise;
In weather clear, when clouds are far away,
The eye can stretch to yonder distant spot
Where Pulo Banton* rises tall and round.
Towards the setting sun the towering woods,
Which rise in noble grandeur on the ridge
Of Western Hill, so called, confine our view:
But to the south we catch a distant glance
Of Dinding True and False, and on the coast
Pera's high land presents itself to view.
When the United Provinces the rank
Of Portugal assumed, and in their ships
The treasures of the east were chiefly brought,
This Pera owned their empire, and was made
To yield her share of tin and precious dust;
But now the scenes are shifted, and the Dutch,
No longer able to maintain a trade,
By craft and selfish policy, desert,
Or yield unwillingly to better hands
The posts they once commanded.

O Britain! when I think of all the crimes
Thy commerce has occasioned, of the rest
Foremost in sin, thy trade in human flesh,
I blush for thy transgressions, so like hers, †
Whose we are now deploring. Oh that He,
+ Holland.

*Sixty miles distant.