well-over the first surf-shall we ever be over them all?"

"I hope we shall," returned Peregrine, taking upon himself to answer the question.

"You do-do you? so do I," growled the invalid. "What a wretched place this Madras is to be sure-one can't approach it without doing penance. I didn't want to come here-who does, at such a time of year as this—and they call it an accommodation boat, do they?—why it is not half so good as the common boleau (boat) in the Hooghly-Now, hold tight there-here's another surf-if you don't, you'll have to be picked up by one of those catamaran fellows along side."

only

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Poggleton, think-to be picked up by one of those-I'd rather die first-hold fast, Julia."

Nothing more was said, and in a little time the last and highest surf was approached. Mr. Poggleton folded his arms and endeavoured to look resigned; Mrs. Poggleton held on grimly to the side of the boat, whilst Peregrine slid his arm round Julia's waist, and took advantage of the confusion to give her a tight hug, and whisper into her ear something or other about "sweetest girl," which was responded to by something or other very much indeed like "dear Peregrine." The boatmen, as the round-bottomed vessel ascended the mountain of waters, begun in chorus to clamour for burees, and to rest on their oars as they did so, whilst the proprietors of the

catamarans along side of the boat looked out for a good opportunity of body-snatching out of a watery grave.

Up! prow forward, amidst noise and confusiona moment balanced on the summit of a breaker, louder and louder grew the cry for buxees; tighter and tighter grew Peregrine's grasp of the sweet Julia's waist-and then back went the mass of water, breaking and foaming on the sandy beach, as the boat with a shock that would have discomposed a rhinoceros, was dashed flounderingly on the sloping shore. Mrs. Poggleton was thrown shrieking right into her husband's lap, for his side of the boat was down, whilst the other was high in the air, and Peregrine, managing in the midst of the confusion to snatch a kiss, slipped Julia between his knees and prevented her falling forward; Peer Khan was nearly crushed by the descent of a heavy box, whilst the whole party with the exception of Julia, who was effectually screened by the broad back of her lover, were drenched to the skin by the breaking surf; and had scarcely time to make the discovery, before the swarm of boatmen had scrambled into the water, and, whilst Mrs. Poggleton was thinking that she was on the point of being drowned, hauled the boat high and dry on the beach-and thus our party were-landed at Madras.

CHAPTER VII.

Embracing a Period of some Months, and containing some "Rough Notes" of a Visit to Madras.

As we are " acknowledged good hands" at the pathetic, we shall leave our readers to imagine how truly affecting a scene we might make in this place, were we so inclined, of the parting--a sad thing at the best-a very sad thing indeed—of Peregrine Pultuney from his beloved Julia, on board the Leander, when that vessel, after a week's sojourn at Madras, sailed out of the roads, with as fair a wind. as could be expected at that season of the year. Every reader's imagination will, we have no doubt, furnish him with a sufficiently romantic picture of the young people's distress; and if it does not, we have only to say that if we were to have exerted ourselves, our exertions would have been very much thrown away upon such unimaginative beings.

But the Leander sailed, taking with her the Poggletons, and leaving Peregrine at Madras, of which place we think it is incumbent on us to offer something in the way of description. Now, Madras is

a very funny place—an excessively funny place indeed, for the people live there without punkahs, and the sheep have hair on them instead of woolthe servants all talk English, "like natives," and there is no rain and no cold weather. The roads are good and the shops are bad, and the houses not much better, and there is nothing in the whole place worth talking about but the chunam,* the club, and Sir Thomas Monro's statue. People live there as far apart as the poles, and it takes a fortnight to pay a round of visits. New books and new fashions are as much unknown there as ice, and buggies are called bandies. Officers are not allowed to move out without their swords, and there is neither a town-hall nor a theatre. It is nevertheless a very nice place indeed, and in about three centuries and half, will be equal, in many respects, to what Calcutta is at present. Perhaps we have understated the probable time, but we are very partial to Madras, and have always a good word to say for her, when an occasion offers of speaking it out.

What Peregrine thought of Madras we scarcely know, for he was so unhappy for a whole week that he found it difficult to think about any thing at all, save his own gigantic distress. He was really very much attached to Julia Poggleton, and, although sunny-hearted in the extreme, he had strong feelings within him, (stronger, perhaps than they were deep), which sometimes, though not very often, we admit,

* A kind of lime made of burnt shells, admitting of a very high polish.

overshadowed his summer-day brightness. For a whole week, therefore, after the departure of the Leander, he felt himself solitary, miserable. There could not have been a more agreeable fellow in the world than the gentleman, a particular friend of his cousin's, at whose house Peregrine was staying; but the young gentleman was moody and reserved, went about like a ghost alive, and scarcely said any thing, except in answer to the questions which his kindhearted host put to him. His cousin was at a civil station on the southern coast, between a hundred and a hundred and fifty miles from the presidency, and, therefore, he had written to Madras to request his friend to receive Peregrine on his arrival. Peregrine, however, had been invited to Mr. Havasall's, and, as may easily be believed, had accepted the invitation and been scarcely absent from Julia for a minute. The departure of the Leander, however, made him think it advisable to change his residence, and partake of the hospitality of his cousin's friend. This he did, resolving to leave Madras in a fortnight and proceed by dâk to Civilianpore.

For the first week, as we have said, Master Peregrine Pultuney was unhappy and unsociable; his new friend endeavoured to divert him, but met with failures many and signal. They went out visiting together, and Peregrine, when he returned home, scarcely remembered any thing more than that he had been a very great distance indeed, and entered some half dozen houses, with a most intolerable lare in them all, and a punkah in only one. Then