a fond husband, whose wife is torn from his sight, and carried he knows not whither? Nothing, except it be that of an affectionate wife, who has been abduced from a loving husband; for it is, I believe, a justly received notion, that women's feelings are more sensible than men's. Think, too, of that dreadful, that indescribable sensation, which a father would experience on the invisible death of a darling daughter! Reflect upon what a mother must endure, who has lost the child from her breast; not by the natural stroke of fate, but by villanous treachery. Surely, some regulation or enactment ought to be passed to prevent the harrowing mischief of a traffic in females!

It happened that there lived, in the province of Malabar, a young man of the Teerettee tribe, named Mootee Moota. He was not only respected for his good qualities, by his immediate neighbours, but the odour of his character perfumed the whole coast, from Cape Comorin to Malabar Point, and from the lofty heads of the Ghauts to the blue ocean that kisses the lovely region which they overlook, in all the majesty of gigantic pre

eminence.

In person Mootee Moota was equal to Krishna. He had a smiling face, a keen black eye, a Grecian nose, and teeth white as Ceylon pearls. His skin was bright as amber, and shining with health and careful ablution. The lock of hair which hung from the crown of his head was platted with taste, and drawn round to the left ear. He was a man of good sense, sweet temper, and such excellent judgment, that, in cases of emergency, the oldest person in the country sought his advice. All things appeared to prosper under his care. His cottage peeped from amongst a grove of bannanas; the pepper vine was seen creeping all around his lovely and peaceful dwelling; and the lofty jack, with the cool banyan, rose over all, like a fine canopy, to exclude the oppressive glare of light, the burning rays of a meridian sun. He had herds of buffaloes, flocks of goats, fine rice fields, plantations of betel, forests of cocoa-nuts, and gardens of arrow-root, tobacco, and spice. The chief ornament, however, of his Indian cottage was his young, blooming, and lovely wife. It was to please her that he platted his forelock, and kept his head shaved so neatly. For her sake the

glittering oil, scented with uttur of roses, gave glossy softness to his body; always naked to the waist. O, how he danced before her! O, how he loved to see her bright eye following him! But I need say no more: Hattima was the light of his eyes, the idol of his devotion, the life of his heart, and the hope of his soul.

How shall I describe her? Hattima was, like many of her tribe, almost a Circassian in complexion and feature. Her bright black hair was drawn back around her shining forehead, and gracefully braided with flowers. No diamonds, after the most careful polish, ever outsparkled her eyes. A little blood might be seen mantling in her cheek; but her lips-O they were as ripe as two cherries; and her teeth like burnished ivory. She was as soft and sweet as one of her own plantains. Her little hand and taper fingers, her small foot, and delicate ankles, ornamented with bracelets and rings, were never surpassed in the imagination of a statuary. No one could look upon her form with indifference. All that Milton said of Eve was true of Hattima:

"Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love! "

Then her dress was so becoming. A white muslin robe folded round her slender waist, and falling in graceful folds to her ankle, served as a beautiful drapery to her figure. Across her bosom a thin piece of white muslin was carelessly passed over one shoulder, and under the other arm; being made fast, after coming round the back, to the petticoat. This displayed the beautiful texture of a considerable portion of her body, and its glossy softness, without exposing more than delicacy could justify. The swelling beauties of her bust were left to imagination; but all who saw her face would draw a mental picture fine as nature ever produced, of what was concealed. Such was Hattima, according to my feeble sketch. All gentleness and goodness, she knew that she was adored by Mootee Moota, and he was the object of her gratitude and adoration. O with what pleasure did she breathe the perfume of the betel-nut, according to the custom of Hindoo ladies, on her lover! he never deeming any

aromatic half so sweet as Hattima's fragrant kiss. She prepared the finest rice for her Mootee Moota's repasts; her soft hand mixed the ingredients for his curry and mulgatawny; the jib, and sugared morsels he loved were all doubly delicious from Hattima's hand; and his cocoa-nut hoppers* were refreshing, after the pressure of her dear little fingers. In short, they were supremely happy. All the monsoon, or rainy season, was spent by these fond doves in love, song, and dance for Hattima was a perfect nightingale. The woods were charmed by the sweetness of her voice; not a monkey would chatter on the jacktrees while she was singing; no peacock would scream; no green parrots would prate; the squirrels stood still; the birds of richest plumage ceased to hop about admiring themselves; and the snakes and lizards, charmed by her music, approached too near.

Yes-and they were happy, too, in a pledge of love. Long will the people talk of the looks which Mootee Moota cast on his Hattima, as she nursed her bright angel-like infant; how he

* Cakes made of rice and cocoa-nut milk.