all suffering from a severe attack of Gallomania, and which in many of us became chronic.

In our own islands the black women were frantic with joy at the sight of the Prince, 'Bless him for his mudder's sake!' being heard on all sides. I was standing behind a stout old party just as the Prince passed her, when she threw up her arms, exclaiming, ‘Lord, let now thy servant depart in peace!' and down she flopped, overcome by the intensity of her feelings.

We took a part of the battalion of marines to Vera Cruz to co-operate with the French Mexican expedition, but which we afterwards happily withdrew from. The skill with which the Mexicans throw the lasso is quite marvellous. Our fellows used to allow them to ride at them and throw it, and do what they could by running away, throwing their arms up, or trying to dodge it, they never could prevent the noose falling over them, and themselves being brought to the ground.

CHAPTER XVI.

FROM the West Indies we went up to Halifax, and spent four months in those universally popular quarters, where the charms of society terminate so frequently in the matrimonial felicity of naval and military admirers. My strong point of attachment, however, to Nova Scotia lay in its rivers and lakes, and with the happy trout who swim there. From the first moment of putting one's rod together until we shouldered our baskets in the dusk of evening, each day was one of exhilarating enjoyment. And then, on getting on board, the pride with which we would spread the spotted beauties out in answer to the standard enquiry of 'Well, what luck?' and the history there was to tell of each, fishermen only can comprehend.

Few things are more conducive, I think, to a devotional frame of mind than fly-fishing. By wooded banks, sitting down at high noon when the sleek trout are too lazy to rise, unless

you drop your fly most deftly upon their very

noses; when the sun leaves dances on the

quivering through the pools, and the watersurface; when dragon

insects skate along its

flies jerk past, and birds chirp and twitter in the trees, and are too full of happiness to remain quiet for a moment; when you yourself are all aglow with health, and drain from earth, and air, and sun, gladness, and vigour, and gaiety of heart; when care, and weariness, and dimness of purpose have been swept away by the magic of that hickory rod and silken line, and nature's electric influences-a heathen in the worst of senses you must be if you do not put your pipe down and look up and thank your Heavenly Father, and worship Him there and then in his temple for his love and boundless mercies.

On happy hunting mornings, too, one feels the spirit of devotion rise within one far stronger and more earnestly than, very often, in temples of God made with hands. Therefore I say, that to the devout mind the tendency of fishing and hunting is good and blessed; and, moreover, what is inherently good need not be out of place in the land of all good,

especially when it is divested of whatever stains are attached to it here.

The belief of primitive races in the 'happy hunting grounds' in the kingdom of the AllFather may rest on deeper foundations than we deem of. Numberless people, either from circumstances or from disposition, cannot enter into the joy of field sports, and they, of course, will not allow that these things, or something similar, may be among the joys of heaven, in other globes as wonderful as this on which we live; and they believe that all differences. of disposition and character will be merged and lost in a ceaseless uniformity of tastes and occupations. With reference to that common idea I sympathise with the rustic who said—

I'd rather stay six feet in clay, where the woods and brambles. grow,

Than be sitting aloft in cloudland, with the good folks all in a row.

In heaven, we may rely upon it, that laughing joyousness, and the love of kindred, and ardent heroic enterprises, and all occupations. and delights in harmony with the varied individualities and characteristics which God has endued us with, will exist in illimitable diversity. When I became a fisher of boys, and gave away

my top-boots, spurs, and rods six years ago, I involuntarily sighed and said to myself, 'Ah, well! there will be glorious hunting ranges and wondrous streams up yonder.' I may be a heathen in this, or--I may be not.

From Halifax home, under close-reefed topsails before a westerly gale; then a bright summer in the Baltic, and flying visits to quaint old towns in North Germany; a stay at Stockholm, the Venice of the North:' thence to Cronstadt, where we lay under its mighty fourtiered batteries, and visited St. Petersburg, all ablaze when the sun shone on its gilded spires and domes.

At Cronstadt the Emperor of all the Russias came on board-a tall, intellectual-looking man, with an anxious look. As he passed down the ranks of the marines he stopped to look at their Baltic medals and smiled. A brave, devout, generous young nation are the Russians, with a great future before them; but, unfortunately, we see too little of one another.

I am reminded of a jovial supper on board a Russian frigate in the Mediterranean some few years after the Russian war. The Russian