seamen) receive only from L.2 to
L.2, 5s.; and 'ordinary' hands only from L.1, 10s. to L.1, 15s. In the
navy, the pay is still less than in the merchant service, which is the
reason why our best men so constantly desert to the American navy,
where they obtain, on an average, about twelve dollars a month. It
ought to be added, that when one of our ships is short of hands in a
foreign port, these rates do not prevail. Captains are sometimes
obliged to bid as high as L.6 a month, to make up their complement.

EXCESSIVE MODESTY.

D'Israeli tells us of a man of letters, of England, who had passed his
life in constant study; and it was observed that he had written
several folio volumes, which his modest fears would not permit him to
expose to the eye even of his critical friends. He promised to leave
his labours to posterity; and he seemed sometimes, with a glow on his
countenance, to exult that they would not be unworthy of their
acceptance. At his death, his sensibility took the alarm; he had the
folios brought to his bed; no one could open them, for they were
closely locked. At the sight of his favourite and mysterious labours,
he paused; he seemed disturbed in his mind, while he felt at every
moment his strength decaying. Suddenly he raised his feeble hands by
an effort of firm resolve, burnt his papers, and smiled as the greedy
Vulcan licked up every page. The task exhausted his remaining
strength, and he soon afterwards expired.

THE KHUNJUNEE.

[The little, disregarded wagtail of our own land, which we may
frequently see wherever insects abound--on the green meadow, or
by the margin of the brook--is the khunjunee of the Hindoo, by
whose romantic and fanciful mythology he has been made a holy
bird, bearing on his breast the impression of Salagrama, the
stone of Vishnoo, a sacred petrified shell. Protected by this
prestige, the little creature ranges unmolested near the
habitations of man, and may in this respect be styled the robin
of the East. To Europeans in the East, this bird is also an
object of interest, as being a precursor of the delightful cold
season, the advent of which is anxiously looked for by every
Anglo-Indian. The little khunjunee makes his appearance in the
early part of November, and departs as the hot season
approaches--I think in March or April. The note of this little
bird can hardly aspire to be called