as they shall become aware of the security which they enjoy under French supremacy, they will spend the treasures which they formerly hid. They have already become the wealthiest Mussulman population in the world; moreover, the wealth has been diffused among them generally. It is not only the chiefs, but all the members of the tribe who grow rich. It is impossible that such a change should not engender great results in their social condition; so much the more, as in all the cities Arab schools have been established by the French government for the natives, and two Mussulman colleges have been endowed in Algiers and Constantine. On the whole, therefore, we may justly state, that a great improvement in the lot of the Algerine Arabs has been the result of their conquest by France; and if European colonization has not as yet succeeded in proportion to the enormous sacrifice of the mother country, the increased wealth and civilization of the natives might, at a not very distant period, make Algeria a valuable acquisition to France, and rouse a spirit in the Mussulman population which should tend to a higher development and revival of energies among the millions belonging to that creed."

Emm. THE FEMALE MISSIONARY INTELLIGENCER* has just come. It contains very interesting information respecting the working of an humble, but useful society. The letter from Miss Cooke of Singapore, giving an account of a new Topsy, is particularly pleasing.

Ed. Very well, we will extract it for our next Number.

Emm. Do if you please, I am sure our readers will like it. Aug. Don't you think the "Times" has been rather hard upon Lieutenant Royer on account of his laudatory narrative of Russian imprisonment?

Ed. Perhaps a little too severe; yet it is a pity the Lieutenant did not see that some ulterior object rendered the Russian kindness more policy than charity. He might have appended a note to his non-uninteresting narrative, just to say that he did not belong to "the family of the Greens," although he had much enjoyed the hospitality of the Emperor and his court.

Emm. I suppose the Russians wanted to make up for their previous firing upon a flag of truce.

Ed. Probably they did. Probably, also, they made this Lieutenant pass in popular estimation for an officer of high rank, and so induced the populace of St. Petersburgh to believe that they had ocular proof of the capture of some great English Admiral.

* London: Wertheim & Macintosh.

T would be difficult to find in the whole range of fiction, a more affecting incident than is contained in the following extract from a letter written by a British soldier, now serving in the Baltic, to his wife, who resides in the neighbourhood of Boston, in Lincolnshire. The letter is dated, "Hango Roads, May 22." It was his first service as a soldier, having been sent on shore with a boat's crew of marines to silence a fort and take some guns.

"We dispersed at a few hundred yards' distance from the beach, to keep the coast clear whilst the

Y

boat's crew made prizes of the guns. The enemy had the advantage of the wood, and also knowing the country well, and a troop of them shewed in advance. We were ordered to fire. I took steady aim and fired on my man at about sixty yards. He fell like a stone. At the same time a broadside from the went in amongst the trees, and the enemy disappeared, we could scarce tell how.

"I felt as though I must go up to him, to see whether he was dead or alive. He lay quite still, and I was more afraid of him lying so, than when he stood facing me a few minutes before. It's a strange feeling to come over you all at once, that you have killed a man. He had unbuttoned his jacket, and was pressing his hand over the front of his chest where the wound was. He breathed hard, and the blood poured from the wound, and also from his mouth every breath he took. His face was white as death, and his eyes looked so big and bright as he turned them and stared at me- -I shall never forget it. He was a fine young fellow, not more than five and twenty.

"I went down on my knees beside him, and my breast felt so full, as though my own heart would burst. He had a real English face, and he did not look like an enemy. What I felt I never can tell; but if my life would have saved his, I believe I should have given it. I laid his head on my knee, and he grasped hold of my hand and tried to speak, but his voice was gone. I could not tell a word he said, and every time he tried to speak, the blood poured out so, I knew it would soon be over. I am not ashamed to say, that I was worse than he; for he never shed a tear, and I could not help it.

"His eyes were closing, when a gun was fired from the to order us aboard, and that roused him. He pointed to the beach, where the boat was just pushing off with the guns, which we had taken, and where our marines were waiting to man the second boat; and

then he pointed to the wood, where the enemy was concealed-poor fellow, he little thought how I had shot him down! I was wondering how I could leave him to die and no one near him, when he had a something like a convulsion for a moment, and then his face rolled over, and without a sigh he was gone. I trust the Almighty has received his soul. I laid his head gently down on the grass and left him.

"It seemed so strange when I looked at him for the last time I somehow thought of everything I had heard about the Turks and the Russians, and the rest af them-but all that seemed so far off, and the dead man so near."

Multiply such incidents as the foregoing a thousand fold, and you have what people call, a Glorious Victory!

BUT Huéline had not swooned; for, while the shock was very great, and nearly overpowered her, it did not render her insensible, though the temporary suspension of life would have been happiness compared with the torture that wrung her spirit as the extent of their peril flashed before her. For ane brief instant she tasted the bitterness of death; the yells of the infuriated multitude echoed in her ears, the dreadful scene passed before her eyes as vividly as though she stood within the blood-stained streets of Paris, and the vision was so horrible, that reason almost yielded to the realization of her dim shapeless terrors. But when her husband raised her from the ground, and fondly bade her take courage, and not believe what was probably but an idle rumour, while his constrained cheerfulness, and ill concealed anxiety, belied his words, she repressed her violent agitation, and spoke quietly to him.

"If what Michaud says be true," and in spite of her assumed calmness, she shuddered, "you must fly, Victor; you are too well

known, and have been too much hated to hope for mercy; and it is your duty to preserve a life so valuable to our holy cause." "But it is not-cannot be correct," interrupted the count.

"Stay, St. Jules," and she laid her hand upon his arm, and raised her eyes imploringly to his face; "if this report be not true, and God Almighty grant that it may be without foundation-you must go nevertheless; your journey must not be deferred. The soldiers that the king promised should attend you, may be wanted to quell this riot, for such it must be, so do not wait for them. You will go, will you not?" she repeated earnestly.

"It would be of no avail, sweet wife; for I have not received my credentials. Francois Bethune de Rosni, who is to be of our company, will bring them from the palace, and I must wait his coming, unless indeed I seek him, for I marvel at his long delay."

"No, no, no," cried the countess ; "leave the city, I conjure you, by the river path, and do not thurst yourself into danger, do not go among those cruel men, or brave their wrath while their passions are so stirred."

"My lady says well," observed the aged servant. "The people are maddened, they will slay all that cross their path, and their cry is, 'Death to Coligni, to Condé, and St. Jules.""

As they walked towards the house, a groom, almost speechless with dismay, met them and confirmed the statement of Michaud, adding what further intelligence could be gleaned from the incoherent and contradictory accounts of such as had sought refuge beneath the roof of their leader; and when St. Jules and Huéline entered the dimly lighted hall, hung with rusty armour and torn banners, where the terrified group was assembled, they beheld men and women, with infants in their arms, and children clinging to them, praying, weeping, or eagerly questioning each other with looks of distraction and bewilderment. One alone

retained a firm composure. This was Pierre Duchesne, a Huguenot divine, of fervent piety and unfailing zeal, tempered with charity. He had been the friend and adviser of Jeanne of Navarre; and after her death, he had entered the household of her son. Many were the dangers through which he had passed, and bitter were the persecutions that he had endured; and though he had remonstrated against weapons of death being used in defence of the Gospel of life, like Moses, he had prayed while the hosts fought, and he had ministered to the dying in the pesthouse, or on the field of battle, with the same unshaken fortitude with which he now stepped forward, and, while an expression of lofty faith lighted up his venerable countenance, in the Scriptural language, then generally among those of the reformed faith, he exclaimed, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help