MAURITIUS TO ENGLAND.

April 29th.— In the morning we passed round the northern extremity of the Isle of France. From this point of view the aspect of the island equalled the expectations raised by the many well-known descriptions of its beautiful scenery. The sloping plain of the Pamplemousses, scattered over with houses, and coloured bright green from the large fields of sugar-cane, composed the foreground. The brilliancy of the green was the more remarkable, because it is a colour which generally is only conspicuous from a very short distance. Towards the centre of the island, groups of wooded mountains rose out of this highly-cultivated plain; their summits, as so commonly happens with ancient volcanic rocks, being jagged into the sharpest points. Masses of white clouds were collected around their pinnacles, as if for the sake of pleasing the stranger's eye. The whole island, with its sloping border and central mountains, was adorned with an air of perfect elegance: the scenery, if I may use such an expression, appeared to the senses harmonious.

I spent the greater part of the next day in walking about the town, and visiting different people. The town is of considerable size, and is said to contain 20,000 inhabitants; the streets are very clean and regular.