YOUTHS' MAGAZINE;

OR

Evangelical Miscellany.

JULY, 1829.,

MUSSULMAN DANDEES (THE CREW OF A VESSEL) AT DINNER.

THE Vessel in which we are, is commanded by one of the senior pilots of the Company's service; he and his mate are the only Europeans on board; the crew, forty in number, are Mohammedans, middle-sized, active, and vigorous, though slender. Their uniform is merely a white turban, of a singularly flat shape, a white shirt, and trowsers, with a shawl wrapped round their hips. I was amused to-day, by seeing them preparing and eating their dinner, seated in circles on the deck, with an immense dish of rice, and a little sauce-boat of currie, well seasoned with garlic, set between every three or four men; the quantity which they eat is very great, and completely disproves the common opinion, that rice is a nourishing food. On the contrary, I am convinced, that a fourth part of the bulk of potatoes would satisfy the hunger of the most robust and laborious. Potatoes are becoming gradually abundant in Bengal; at first they were here, as elsewhere, unpopular; now they are much liked, and are spoken of as the best thing which the country has ever received from its European masters. At dinner these people sit, not like the Turks, but with the knees drawn up like monkies.

Their eating and drinking vessels are of copper, very bright and well kept, and their whole appearance cleanly and decent; their countenances more animated, but less mild and gentle than the Hindoos. They do not seem much troubled with the prejudices of Mohammedanism, yet there are some services which they obviously render to their masters with reluctance. The captain of the yacht ordered one of them, at my desire, to lay hold of our spaniel; the man made no difficulty, but afterwards rubbed his hands against the side of the ship with an expression of disgust which annoyed me, and I determined to spare their feelings in future, as much as possible. HEBER.

MY LITTLE RED BOOK.

Part the 2nd.

(Continued from page 190.)

In my last account I described myself as being in a very cold and hardened state of mind; and very slightly, if at all, influenced by any feelings of religion. Soon after the events had taken place which I mentioned in the former part of my narrative, my father having been drenched in a shower, and obliged to keep his wet clothes upon him for some hours, was seized with a shivering fit, which alarmed my mother very much, and though every care was taken, he continued so unwell as not to be able to leave his bed for several days. Whilst he still remained in this condition, my godmother arrived at the neighbouring town, and sent to request my company at the inn where she proposed staying several days. She was on her road to Barmouth, and as soon as we met she set my spirits all in agitation, by saying that it was her intention to obtain permission from my parents to take me with her.

I was perfectly aware that my parents did not think the influence of my godmother was beneficial to me. They

are lovers of simplicity, and have always wished to bring up their children in it, but my godmother is a lover of the world, and hence their modes of thinking are utterly opposed to her's, and her's to theirs. However I did not despair of the effects of my godmother's personal persuasions, and I was not disappointed. My father gave an unwilling consent to my journey, and during the few following days, every hand was engaged in preparing my wardrobe.

My clothes were packed up by my two elder sisters, my mother being engaged with my father. I handed the things to them as they knelt on the floor by the boxes, and I remember, that amongst other things, I presented my little Red Book, not that I cared whether I had it with me or not, but that I thought it would not look well to leave it behind me.

"Had you not better put that book into your pocket, Louisa," said my eldest sister-"you will want it on the road-it will be several days before you can open your boxes." "I forgot that circumstance," I replied; "yes, it will be better to put the book into my pocket," and to that repository it was accordingly committed, and there it lay undisturbed till my pockets were changed at the end of the journey, when it was transferred from those I took off to those I put on, and so on throughout the whole of my time at Barmouth.

I was in hopes I should have seen my father a little better before I left home, but I had not that satisfaction; he was in bed when I took leave of him on the morning of my departure, and he looked so very pale, that for a moment I almost wished that I had not united with my godmother to obtain permission for my journey; but when I got into the coach, and saw new faces, and new scenes, I soon lost these tender feelings, and was wholly occupied with the anticipation of the pleasures I was to enjoy at the public place to which I was bound.

Whoever has been at a public watering place knows what a crowd of vanities burst upon the senses of those who first enter into such scenes. In these places it often seems as if it were the sole business of life to dissipate time, to see and be seen, and to enjoy every folly as it passes. It is not well to be severe, yet surely it cannot be consistent with dying yet immortal creatures, to cultivate only those things which have a reference to this present life. Ought a traveller to settle himself so comfortably at an inn as to forget his home, with all its domestic joys, and interesting duties?

During the first few days of our residence at Barmouth, I thought so much of the company and the fashions, that I quite forgot the state of my poor father, and was therefore a good deal hurt when a letter came to tell me that he was no better. I soon however recovered my spirits, and another fortnight passed, during which I had no letter. At length a lady who was at Barmouth from our neighbourhood, called and informed me that she was about to return the next day, and would take me home if I wished to be present to assist my mother in nursing my father. I had several pleasant schemes in view at that time, and could not think of giving them up, and this was the more wicked in me, because my godmother left it entirely to my choice to do as I liked.

That same evening I had a letter from my eldest sister, saying that my father continued very ill, and hinting in a kind sisterly manner, that she thought it would please my parents much if I would return with our neighbour; but I was eager at that time in the pursuit of pleasure; that is, I was a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God. I paid no attention to my sister's hint, and let my neighhour depart without me, though I gave her a letter to carry to my mother, in which I tried to excuse myself for my want of feeling, though I had little to the purpose to

say for myself. I did not however gain any thing by my undutiful conduct; for two days afterwards my godmother was sent for home on a very mournful occasion, and after a melancholy and rapid journey, was obliged to hasten forwards without rest, after having delivered me over to the charge of the innkeeper's wife in the town which is near to my father's house.

It was so late when I arrived at the town, that I could not go home that night, I therefore slept for an hour or two at the inn, and early in the morning having procured a porter to accompany me, and carry my luggage, I set out to walk home. It was so early that I met no one by the way, of whom I could ask any news of my father. Judge then my reader, if you can what I must have felt when having knocked at the hall door, a servant looked out of the window, and exclaimed, "O Miss! is it you? how unfortunate, but you must not come in."

"Not come in" I asked, "what can be the meaning of this, and I thought of every thing that is horrible; but as I do not wish to speak very largely of this part of my story, I shall inform my readers, in a few words, of the true state of the case. It seems that my father's illness, which had begun with a sort of langour and slight feverishness, had ended in a decided putrid fever. This fever had spread its contagion to my two elder sisters, before it had been ascertained, and my little sisters had been preserved from the infection, only by having been sent out of the house to some distance. The servant also told me that my father was in great danger, and that my mother having been up all night, had just retired to get a little rest. Oh! who can tell what I endured at that moment? I begged, I entreated to be let in, that I might see my father, and die with him. In my agony I endeavoured to force the door open, but the servant who had been long in our family, entreated me to be more