one wave comes up after another, and is for ever dashed in pieces—like human hopes, that swell to be disappointed. We advance—up springs the shining froth of love or hope, ‘a moment white, and gone for ever.’ The land view, with its cocoa and palm trees, is very striking; it is like a scene in the Arabian Nights. Of a night the beauty is very remarkable; the sea is of a silvery purple, and the moon deserves all that has been said in her favor. I have only once been out of the fort by daylight, and then was delighted. The salt lakes were first dyed a crimson by the setting sun; and as we returned, they seemed a faint violet in the twilight, just broken by a thousand stars; while before us was the red beacon-light. The chance of sending this letter is a very sudden one, or I should have ventured to write to General Fagan, to whom I beg the very kindest regards. Dearest, do not forget me. Pray write to me, ‘Mrs. George Maclean, Cape Coast Castle, care of Messrs. Forster and Smith, 5, New City Chambers, Bishopsgate-street.' Write about yourself; nothing else half so much interests your affectionate
The verdict was "that the death of Mrs. Maclean was caused by her having taken an over-dose of prussic acid, which, from evidence, it appeared she had been in the habit of using as a remedy for spasmodic affections, to which she was subject."
By a curious coincidence, the following sweet poem from her pen was published in the ‘New Monthly Magazine' on the morning of the day upon which the news of her death reached London:
