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TOMB OF THE MARQUIS OF HASTINGS.

of arms, statues, among others, that of the immortal Jean de Lavalette, who, in 1665, victoriously withstood eighty thousand Turks, commanded by Solyman; a statue unworthily overthrown and profaned, at the time of the invasion of the revolutionary barbarians, who forgot that the hero was a Frenchman.

The present governor is general Ponsonby, whom I knew in 1810 in Spain, where I served as general.

Among his predecessors, the one who has left the most honourable memorials at Malta is the marquis of Hastings, who died there a few years since. None has performed his functions in a more noble, more disinterested, more generous manner. He had previously been governor of India, and had there won general esteem. I was acquainted with him when he bore the name of Lord Moira: he honoured me with his warm friendship, and took pleasure in giving me proofs of it. I deemed it a duty owing to gratitude to visit his tomb, at which I tarried a considerable time.

Among the persons whom I had formerly known, and whom I found here, there are few that I have again met with so much pleasure as Mr. Frere, the English minister in Spain at the time of my sojourn in that country. Informed, at the very first moment, of my arrival, he lost no time in calling to see me, and he has continued ever since to give me the most amiable testimonies of his kindness. He is the father of the poor at Malta; it is his happiness to relieve, as far as lies in his power, all distresses, all misfortunes. His name is, consequently, revered by the inhabitants.

Malta, though fallen from the high rank in which it

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was placed by its destination till the end of the last century, and, notwithstanding all the calamities that it has suffered, is still worthy of the whole attention of the traveller. Its numerous monuments, religious, civil, and military, its churches, most of them very remarkable, and among which is particularly distinguished that of St. John, the patron of the Order, its statues of St. Paul, which are met with in every quarter, its hospital, its aqueduct, a work worthy of the Romans, which conveys the water necessary for all purposes from one city to the other, its magnificent quays, its extensive dock-yard, its immense basins, the fortifications with which its soil is thickly set, will long attest what religion and glory have made of that rock where Lille-Adam, when he took possession of it, could scarcely find a house to dwell in, where the commanders and the knights had, at first, no other alberghi than a few wretched fishermen's huts. And to those to whom such great works shall fail to proclaim to what men they are due, the monuments of the dead will speak. Vandalism had not time to execute what it meditated, to scatter the dust of the sepulchres, to break the stones, or to efface the inscriptions. In the chapels are still to be found the tombs of the grandmasters, which record their piety, their valour, and their exploits. I have visited those august tombs, my dear friend, and I have dropped a tear upon them. I have mourned before them over Europe, so blind to her dearest interests, as to do with her own hand what the Mussulman had in vain tried for ages to effect, and to sanction the destruction of an establishment which was one of the firmest props of Christian society, its defence,

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and the terror of its foes. A member of that Order, which a false wisdom allowed to perish, a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, I wished at least to carry with me the consolation of having pressed my lips to the venerable names recorded on those monuments, and deposited in the sanctuaries which contain them my homage, and my regret..

While penning this effusion, my dear Charles, I have received letters, the contents of which derange all my plans. Painful as is to me the idea of renouncing the visit to Italy, and to Rome in particular, I am compelled to add that sacrifice to so many others. Important business calls me elsewhere, and will detain me for a time that I cannot yet calculate. If I can meet with a vessel for Genoa, I shall not fail to take advantage of it, and, unless fresh obstacles arise, I shall proceed immediately by the shortest route to the Abbey of St. Urban. If any thing can mitigate the pain of so unexpected a disappointment, it is the good news brought me by the same letters, that our monks of La Trappe are happily reinstated in the monastery of the Mount of Olives, from which they were cruelly expelled, that they are now living there in peace, and that I am permitted to return to my brethren.

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LETTER LVIII.

DEPARTURE FROM MALTA-VIOLENT STORM - ARRIVAL AT MARSEILLES - RETURN TO THE ABBEY OF ST. URBAN.

St. Urban, December 22nd, 1833.

Here I am, at the end of my pilgrimage, my dear friend; I am at St. Urban.

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I had reckoned upon obtaining a passage from Malta to Genoa, as I told you in my last letter. After waiting much longer than I liked for some ship, and waiting in vain, I changed my plan, and resolved to trust myself to the Eagle, an English brig, bound to Marseilles. The weather was terrible: we were forced to make our passage amidst continual storms. Never did I suffer so much at sea in my life. For twenty-four hours, at least, our situation appeared desperate: we gave ourselves up for lost. I could read in every face the apprehension of an imminent, inevitable catastrophe, and I shared the general anxiety. In this alarming state, the crew, harassed to death, exhibited a most affecting religious spectacle. Notwithstanding the incessant howling of the wind, notwithstanding the rapid succession of the lightning, notwithstanding the frequent bursts of thunder that rolled incessantly over our heads, evening prayer was not once interrupted. Never, in the silence and the seclusion of the convent, did I hear the anthems and the litanies of the blessed Virgin sung with greater fervour and devotion. The captain was the first to set the example. The tones of his powerful and sonorous voice, to which those of all the sailors unanimously responded -those strains animated by a lively faith and confidence— at times got the better of the din of the angry elements. Our prayers were heard the vessel escaped all dangers, and reached her port without accident.

From Marseilles I pursued my way to St. Urban, travelling rapidly through France, wholly engrossed by my sorrow at not having it in my power to go to Rome. had nothing to console myself but the thought that I was

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going to rejoin those good monks who had before given me an asylum, and to return to my worthy and reverend Father, the abbé Dom Pierre, and my brethren, to receive new testimonies of their charity, and to derive from the daily example of their virtues new strength and new courage for worthily finishing the career of penitence, which the Lord has granted me the grace to pursue.

At length, yesterday evening, the gates of the hospitable abbey opened to admit me. The community had been forewarned of my speedy return. I was impatiently expected, and welcomed with a lively but perfectly Christian joy, with that joy which is expressed by bursts of grateful piety, by eagerness to return thanks, by fervent prayers in behalf of him whom infinite goodness has deigned to protect, and to bring back without accident into the bosom of the religious family.

Farewell, my dear Charles! Mingle your thanksgivings with our's remember me always before God, and be assured that in my retirement I shall never forget you. Christians love each other for eternity.

THE END.

LONDON:

F. SHOBERL, JUN., PRINTER, 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET.

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