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THIS island is one of the most windward or eastern of the West India Islands; and in that group, which, by the French, are styled the Antilles. This (Basse-terre) is the seat of government; its port, if it may be so called, is but an open road in the Caribbean Sea, the water of which is beautifully clear. We are, as you may observe by the map, a little lower than the sixteenth degree of latitude, on the south-western side of the island. The town is small, but it contains two parishes; the number of inhabitants between five and six thousand, a poor fort and good barracks, and an excellent hospital, served by Sisters of Charity. It is the residence of the governor of Guadaloupe and its dependencies; that is, Guadaloupe and Grande-terre, which appear on our maps as one island, Marie-Galante, Desiderada, Petite-terre, and farther west, a small cluster round two islands, called Saintes, St. Martin, and a few other specks, the entire population of which is upwards of 100,000, about half of whom are slaves, and nearly

half the remainder free persons of colour, from jet to pale lemon tinge.

On Friday morning we discovered the island to the west, as we had gone considerably to the east for the purpose of getting into the trade winds. The appearance of the island was very beautiful. Points-de-chateaux presented to us the appearance of four or five bold castles rising above the horizon, and stretching off to the east from the land of Grande-terre, which raised the dusky summit of its regular hills in a long line, till lost in the distance, and in the gray of twilight. Occasionally the hoary surf threw a mantle of white over the dark walls of these ancient fortifications. Half an hour, however, detected the illusion, and showed us the work of nature, and not of art, in the masses of rock, which opposed themselves as castles to the billows of the Atlantic. A strong current, of nearly half a mile wide, ran impetuously between the outer and the inner masses. We now had the land at a mile distant. The coffee-trees, the sugar-cane, the cocoa, and occasionally the palm-tree, gave a beautiful verdure to a varied and broken country, richly studded with dwellings, and the hills topped by several windmills. The island of Marie-Galante now appeared about from fifteen to twenty miles to the south on our larboard. It is bold and lofty, and served to diversify the scene; whilst a fine brig, working up for Pointe-àPitre, gave life and animation to the whole. This was soon increased by half a dozen small sails of boats and little trading smacks, that run be

tween the islands. None of the hills of Grandeterre seemed to rise higher than the Giant's Stairs near Cork, but the scenery was nearly as rich as that on your right hand from Lough Mahon to that city. About ten o'clock the mountains of Guadaloupe showed darkly and boldly, mingled with mists upon the western horizon: a few land squalls gave activity to our crew, and motion to our ship; the brig led the way; the entrance towards the harbour of Pointe-à-Pitre began to open; the tri-colour was hoisted at the stern of each ship; her consignee's signal was now substituted for the pilot-flag, which came down from the foremast, as the boat which contained this important being was seen to approach.

DR. ENGLAND.

LESSON XVII.

JEPHTE'S DAUGHTER.

THE tears upon her cheek were dried,
Her song of mourning ceased to swell,
And its last cadence gently died,

In that dark word of grief-farewell!
The virgins took their last embrace,
But on her calm and saintly brow

No earthly feeling left a trace,

For all was sacred triumph now.

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Like some sweet flower, on whose pale bloom
The shadowy rain-drops lightly fade,
When trembling from the tempest's gloom,
It smiles, in summer pride arrayed.
'Twas thus the victim, on whose head
The garland shone--each grief beguiled,
As brighter hopes their glory shed-
In her pale beauty sweetly smiled.

She kissed her father's hand, which shook
With pain above her bosom's swell,
She fixed above, her stedfast look,
And, like the wounded dove, she fell.
"Twere vain to tell the joy disclosed
In her dark eye-the triumph sweet,
Ere yet the trembling lid had closed,
And her young heart had ceased to beat.

Then rose a wild and deep lament

From those who clasped her hand in death; But he who madly o'er her bent,

Could he lament, could he forget? They wailed by Galilee's dark strand, O'er Sion's hill and Jordan's water, And many a year through Judah's land

They mourned the fate of Jephte's daughter.

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THE reasons which are now adduced, in proof of the spherical figure of the earth, are so simple; and the principles on which they are based, so evident, that we are astonished to think how the ancients could remain so long ignorant of this fact. The opinions of those among them, who imagined it to be cylindrical, or in the form of a drum, approached nearest to the truth; but the general notion was, that the earth was a vast extended plane, bounded by the ocean. This, perhaps, is the idea which every common observer would form. The more attentive inquirer will, however, easily perceive the visible effects of the globular form of the earth from the following appearances. A person on shore can see the masts and rigging of a vessel at sea, when the hull is entirely concealed by the convexity of the water, As the vessel approaches the place of observation, she seems as if ascending a gentle acclivity, and the contrary appearance takes place as she recedes from the shore. The phenomena will be precisely

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