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ACCOUNT OF A SUTTEE. “One morning my munshi came to me, and told me that a Suttee, or widow, who was going to burn herself on the funeral pile of her husband, was about to pass by the garden gate. I hastened to obtain a sight of her. She was dressed in her gayest attire; a crowd of persons followed her, as she walked forward with a hurried and faltering step, like that of a person about to faint. A brahmin supported her on either side, and these, as well as many around, were calling loudly and almost fiercely upon the different Hindu deities; and the name which was most repeatedly and most earnestly called upon was that of Jaganath ; but I do not know whether they alluded to the great idol of Bengal, or to some local divinity. Jugu signifies a place, and nath is a Sanscrit word for lord, or master, applied to Vishnu, or Krishna. Her countenance had assumed a sickly and ghastly appearence, which was partly owing to internal agitation, and partly, as I was informed, to the effects of opium, and bang, and other narcotics, with which she had been previously drugged in order to render her less awake to the misery of her situation. She was not, however so insensible to what was passing as to be inattentive to two persons in particular, amongst several others who were stooping before her, and were evidently imploring her blessing:—they were probably near relations. She was presented at intervals with a plate of moist red colour, in which saffron was no doubt an ingredient, and into this she dipped the ends of her fingers, and then impressed them on the shoulders of the persons who stooped before her in order to be thus marked. In about half an hour the preparations were completed. She was regularly thatched in, upon the top of the pile, whilst her husband's body yet lay outside. It was finally lifted up to her; the head, as usual was received upon her lap: the fire was applied in different parts; and all was so quickly enveloped in a shroud of mingled flame and smoke, that I believe her sufferings to have been of very short duration, as she must almost immediately have been suffocated."-Vigne's Kashmir.

THE PILCHARD FISHERY. This fish arrives about the third week in July, and remains to the end of September. The seine, or net, in which they are


taken, measures from 220 to 260 fathoms long, or more than a quarter of a mile, and is sixteen fathoms broad in the middle. It is carried in a boat of about eight tons burthen, folded so as to be thrown overboard by two strong experienced men, without the least entanglement; one at the head-rope or corked side, the other at the foot-rope or leaded border. In the seine boat there are five rowers besides the bow oarsman, who watches the “ huer," and directs the steering from his signals. The huer, from the French word “huer,” “to call" or cry out," is always a man of great experience; since upon his judgment depends the success of the fishery. Before dawn he is upon some lofty cliff, ready to observe the sea, just at that part of the summer when a warm July or August haze comes over its surface, which the people say, brings “heat and pilchards," from their occurrence at the same season. From the cliffs a shoal of fish is readily perceived by an experienced eye, as it is accompanied by a change in the hue of the water over them, which is shaded on the surface by their uncountable multitudinousness; the shadow or peculiar tint they cause moving along with them. The

grey of morning heralds the sun's appearance,-now his disc is upon the horizon that is streaming with the new born light -and the huer may be descried with his gaze directed over the

In each hand he carries a green bough, with which to telegraph his orders. Morn advances yet more, and the sun's orb bathes the eastern horizon in gold,,but to the sun, the huer's back is turned, his regard is where, below him in another direction, the waveless ocean sleeps, like "an unweaned child.” All is silent, or the silence is only broken by the gentle, soothing music of the ripple upon the yellow sand, borne upon air“ fresh as a bridegroom.” Still the huer makes no signal ; the streets being yet voiceless, and the beach deserted. On a sudden he looks more attentively to seaward,- looks again,--shifts his position, and looks still more intently,—now he sees the approaching shoal. He makes the signals to the boats; one of their crews, left in charge, rushes up the beach into the streets, crying out“ Huvar! havar !" from the old Cornish word “havas," “ Found ! found!” The word is caught up and rings from house to house along the shore. The boats are fully manned, three in number, and push off; while many smaller craft along-shore are getting ready to follow at the proper time, to land the fish. One and all,the Cornish watch word, unites the spectators and the actors in the busy scene; and, “ Havar, havar .!" echoes among the rocks. The fine athletic form of the huer is descried urging forward the boats, the crews of which are tugging at the oar with all their might.


For a time all is uncertainty; at length the huer sees a moment which he deems opportune ; he makes the signal to weigh anchor and remove the tarpaulin from over the seine. All is now silent, and every eye is fixed upon the chief, who, calm and collected, is too absorbed in his business to employ his thoughts upon results in place of existing action. He is anxious that the shoal should not give him the slip, which too frequently happens. He makes the signal to throw over the seine, which being Aung out, the ends are brought round so as to meet; the fish being enclosed in the circumference, the leads and lower side resting upon the sand at the bottom of the sea. The fish are now safe, and might remain for days, or even weeks, in security, unless a gale of wind were to arise. The seiners' crews and those of the numerous boats that have joined them from the shore, give three huzzas, by way of salute to the huer, who stands afar and alone as before. These are answered by the people on shore, till the cliffs ring again. Nothing can be more animated than the scene, combined as it is with the glories of land, ocean, and sky. The next thing done is to drop the tuck seine within the larger net, in order to bring the fish to the surface, and load the boats which throng to the spot to carry them on shore. This generally takes place at low water, and is often prolonged into the night, the soft moonlight night of summer. No sight can be more enchantingly beautiful. The tranquil sea, broken by the numerous oars, that seem sporting with brilliants, heightened by contrast with the black boats continually in motion over its bosom, shines like one measureless and glorious mirror, to where the sky melts into its lustre. There is so little difference in Cornwall between the warmth of the night and day at this season, that no chill damps the pleasure of the time spent in watching the busy labour. The fish, lifted out of their native element, are literally poured into the boats as the tuck seine is emptied, and their white wet sides look like streams of liquid silver. The joy of human hearts, flung into the extreme beauty of the picture, renders it one of the most interesting which imagination can conceive. - Redding's Cornuall.


(From the East London Monthly Record.) I am about, little children, to tell you a tale. Let us suppose you

all drawn round the fire, which mamma has just stirred up; and now the tea-things are taken away, the blinds are drawn down, and all is comfortable to hear the story. Little John is almost asleep, but what of that? The rest have their ears and their eyes awake, and are desirous of instruction and improvement.

Now, my children, this tale is not like some graceful stories which are told you, though its design is to make you wise, and holy, and good. The things I am going to tell you did not happen in the country, among green lanes, and old churches covered with ivy, and tombs of ancient knights, and hawthorn blossoms smelling sweetly in spring, and trees, and flowers, and sunshine. Willie Jones was born in the very middle of a large smoky town. The street was dark and dingy. The houses were old and creaked in the wind; and as he grew to be a little boy, he saw nothing beautiful of natural things but a few pots, in which his mother reared mignionette, and one or two stunted geraniums. His mother was a good woman. She had taken him to church, when a very little baby, feeling about with his hands in the air, and scarcely seeing or knowing anything, and had dedicated him to Jesus Christ in baptism. She was a poor woman, and her husband was a day labourer, earning only eighteen shillings a week, when times were brisk; and now and then she obtained a day's charing at the rectory ; so you see, she had little to spare; yet her husband and she had money in the Savings' Bank, and something for charitable purposes besides. What was far better than all this, they both went up regularly to the house of prayer. They loved the church, and they found a good provision of free seats in the best part of the building; which, perhaps, made them like it better, because as I said, they were comparatively poor. You saw no unnecessary work or improper amusement going on in their house on Sunday. All was calm, quiet, and still. You might peep in at the window between the hours of public service in church, and you might see Willie sitting on a low stool, learning the collect and gospel; and an old dog they called “ Smiler" (though I do not know why, for he growled a good deal) lying on the clean hearth before him, and Mrs. Jones in a good old-fashioned three-cornered chair, reading a


large family Bible-both the book and the chair reminding her of Willie's grandfather, who had long been dead. On the other side of the fire-place sat Mr. Jones, in a neat suit of clothes, not aping his betters, but adapted to his station as a working man; and hard at his book, improving his mind in the things that related to his everlasting peace. God bless them both! I fancy I see them sitting before me now, and the boy beside them; not forgetting their favourite, “Smiler.” They did their duty in their generation. They fulfilled contentedly the design for which they were created. Such working people as these have ever been the glory of old England. For they always kept in mind one motto, which had been specially pressed upon them by their good father just before he died. The hand of death was upon him; Mrs. Jones was wiping the cold dew that gathered on his face, when the pious aged man, as though he would leave them a legacy better than rubies, feebly, yet significantly, raising himself up in the bed, gazed at his daughter and son-in-law, and faltered forth, “REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY TO KEEP IT HOLY."

He fell back on the couch, and whispering “ Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” calmly committed his soul to a faithful Creator. The family never forgot his words. They seemed to help them out in pursuing their Christian course, and God made every syllable a means of grace to their minds.

The house in which Mrs. Jones lived was part of an old family residence. The ancient nobility had long left it; but some relics of the former inhabitants remained. The sitting-room fire-grate had a number of Dutch tiles round it, and the pious Dutchmen who made these tiles had represented several lessons in pictures. Among the rest was a set, which seemed to show the blessedness of observing the Lord's day, and Willie's mother would often, when she was not labouring for his bread, explain these pictures, and tell him, with tears in her eyes, what his grey headed grandfather had said just before he died :—"REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY TO KEEP IT HOLY.”

Next door to Willie (who grew in wisdom as he grew in stature, and as I believe, in favour with God and man), lived another boy: his name was Thomas Tresham. He was a very sharp clever lad, and knew more than was good either for his body or soul. He could tell you every penny theatre in the whole parish. He was a

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