England revisited-Metcalfe's Reception-Residence at Fern Hill-Expenses of Living-Rumored Appointment to Bombay-The Seat in ParliamentOffer of the Government of Jamaica-Farewell Entertainments-Departure for the West Indies.

In the lives of some men a long sea voyage is a blank. No period could be a blank in the life of Charles Metcalfe. So long as there were human beings around him, there was free scope for the exercise of some of his finest qualities,

In that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of charity and love.

And yet they were not "unremembered." His overflowing kindness and courtesy towards all on board the St. George, down to the youngest sailorboy in the ship, are still held in grateful recollection. It was continually his study to contribute to the happiness of his fellow-voyagers; * and when the

* Among the passengers on board the St. George was Dyce Sombre, the adopted son and heir of the Begum Sumroo, who had held Metcalfe in such high estimation when he was

Resident at Delhi. This gentleman had taken his passage for England in another vessel, but upon hearing that Sir Charles Metcalfe was going home in the St. George, he gave up his

passage, a brief and prosperous cae, was concluded, all classes addressed him, each after its kind, in language of grateful affection and respect. He gave freely to all who had rendered any assistance to himself and his dependents; and there were some, then met on board for the first time, who excited an interest in him which only ceased with his life.

Before the end of May Charles Metcalfe, after an absence of thirty-eight years, again planted his foot upon English soil. He 'anded at Bristol, and proceeded at once to his sisa's residence, and for a little time was in the enjoyment of perfect peace.

His reception in England was all that his affectionate heart could desire. And it was all that his ambition craved. The remaining members of his own family were few; but many of his old Indian friends had preceded him to the home of their childhood, and were now eager to extend to him a hand of welcome.* Leners of affectionate orngratulation on his safe return poured in from all parts of the country. Every one who had known him in the East, was now eager

RECEPTION IN ENGLAND.

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to embrace him in the West. It was pleasant to find at least that he had not grown out of their remembrance.

He remained at Clifton till the middle of June; after which he spent a few days at Richmond with Lady Ashbrooke, and thence proceeded to the metropolis. If he had desired to renew his boyish recollections of a London season, he could not have had a better opportunity. London was in an unusual state of fashionable excitement. Preparations were then in an advanced stage of progress for the coronation of our youthful Queen. The great capital was unwontedly full; and every one was in a state of expectancy. But the spectacle over, the excitement passed away; and then he saw London and its people in their every-day costume.

From many of the leading statesmen of the day Metcalfe received marked attention. First one member of the Ministry, then another, sought his acquaintance. From several of his old masters, the Directors of the East India Company, he met with a cordial reception. But nothing gratified him so much as the renewal of personal intercourse with Lord Wellesley. Their first meeting was a remarkable one. The Duke of Wellington was with his brother, and for a while the three talked over old times, and exchanged their recollections of the many stirring military and diplomatic incidents of the first great Mahratta war.*

* It is source of regret that I have not been able to find any account, under Metcalfe's own hand, of this interesting meeting. He wrote all the circumstances of it to his friend and

correspondent, the late Colonel John Sutherland; but I have not been able to discover what has become of the papers of that much-lamented officer.

After some little time spent in necessary sacrifices to society, Sir Charles Metcalfe took up his abode on his paternal estate of Fern Hill, near Windsor. It need scarcely be added, that he was soon surrounded by his friends. He had transplanted to the woods of Berkshire the exuberant hospitality of Allipore and Garden Reach. His house was continually crowded with visitors; and he soon began to find that the repose and retirement which he sought were not within his reach.

He complained of the unsatisfactory life which he was compelled to lead at this time. It was, indeed, a strenuous idleness extremely distasteful to him. He was wasting both his time and his money on what afforded him no pleasure, and often caused him some self-reproach. In truth, he had not long occupied the family mansion before he began seriously to contemplate the expediency of breaking up his establishment, taking a smaller house, and reducing his expenditure. He was familiar with the charges attending the most princely style of living in India; but he had no conception of the expenses of a "gentleman's establishment in England." He whose purveyor had charged him for 3000 eggs used on the occasion of a single Calcutta entertainment, stood aghast before the indefinite waste of the "servants' hall."

The career of such a man as Charles Metcalfe supplies many great lessons; but none greater than that of the true uses of wealth. He had returned to England with a moderate fortune, only a part of which had been acquired in the East. His paternal

inheritance, which under skilful husbandry had been fructifying for a quarter of a century, was, I believe, the real "Pagoda-tree" which it was now his privilege to shake. And he did not like to shake it into the plush pockets of fastidious flunkeys. He could not be happy whilst he was expending his income on "what is termed living." He desired a large margin to enable him to relieve the wants. of others to whom Providence had been less bountiful. Twenty-eight years before, he had written to his aunt, Mrs. Monson, that he would "never consent to spend all his income on dinners and balls, houses, coaches, and servants." "Money," he added, "was made for better uses, and, by God's grace, I hope to apply mine to some of them."* And now that the future of which he then spake had become the present, he wrote with remarkable consistency, in the same strain, to the same beloved correspondent:

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I am not sure that I shall ever see you again at Fern Hill; for I have serious thoughts of abandoning it. I must either do that, or change my mode of living. If I do the latter-that is, if I must refrain from seeing my friends, of what use is a large house and establishment to me? At present my expenditure threatens to exceed my means, or at least to absorb them so entirely, as to leave little or nothing for the best use of affluence-assistance to those in need of it."-[ Fern Hill, Nov. 9, 1838.]

"I feel a reluctance to abandon Fern Hill which makes me hesitate. The difference would be this-Here I shall always have a struggle to keep expenditure within income, and the