Woman's Island," or Colabah. The Donna Pascoa, and the Lord William Bentinck, two noble vessels, were wrecked here, a short time before my arrival. The south-west monsoon was raging at the time, when one of them ran upon the reef of rocks; and, expecting to go to pieces every moment, they burnt a light in her bow, and sent up rockets, in the hope of gaining some assistance from those on shore. While in this distressing position, the Lord William Bentinck was making for Bombay harbour; and seeing this light burning on board the ship ashore, and another in the light-house not far off, her captain became confused, and altered her course a little, and, in consequence, struck upon a bar at the entrance of the real harbour. The scene next morning was described to me as an

awful one; but many of the passengers were saved. I had the pleasure of seeing a poor little girl, who had been washed out of the arms of her mother, and was driven ashore, alive, upon the breast of a heaving

wave.

Colabah can now scarcely be called an island, as a splendid valade, built at a great expense, for the accommodation of the public, unites it, at its most southern point with Bombay. A melancholy and romantic story is still told of Colabah. Before Bombay was united to Colabah by the valade alluded to, it was often impossible, though the distance was very trifling, to go from one island to the other without a boat; for, during the rise of the tide, the sea rushed through this little strait with great force and rapidity,

although at low water a person might have walked across, I believe, without wetting his feet. A young girl, of the Mohammedan faith, was on her road to pay a visit to some natives, who resided in Colabah; and having arrived in her bullock-gharry, just when the tide was rising in this place, she thought, that as the water was not deep, she might cross without danger, and ordered her syce, or driver, to urge the timid bullocks across the stream. He did so; but before they had proceeded many yards, the animals became restive and obstinate, and refused to go one way or another; the wheels became entangled among the rough stones; the gharry was upset, and the poor girl, being thrown into the rapidly increasing current, was swept out into Back Bay. This scene was witnessed, most fortunately, from the Colabah side, by an Englishman, who had up to this moment been a passive spectator. In an instant his coat was off, and he was breasting the foaming tide after the drowning girl; whom, at the risk of his own life, he succeeded in bringing safely to the shore. He accompanied her home to Bombay, where he received the thanks and benediction of her parents.

Strange to say, but not

more strange than true, an attachment sprang up between the young Englishman and the Hindoo lady whom he had rescued from a watery grave; and many were said to be the private meetings that took place between the two lovers-unknown, of course, to the unsuspecting parents. At length, the Englishman, though he well knew that his religion would be an

insuperable objection, determined to solicit, from her father, the Mohammedan girl's hand in marriage. He did so, and the haughty man of high caste at once indignantly spurned his proposals. He acknowledged that he loved the fair Englishman, but he never could be one of his people; so he bade him depart in peace. The sequel was very sad. The Hindoo maiden disappeared. Rumours were current, in Bombay, that she had been privately murdered by her enraged relatives; but I do not suppose it was ever certainly known what became of her, though the matter was said to have been investigated by those in authority. One of rumour's hundred reports at length reached the ears of our poor countryman, who had "loved not wisely, but too well;" the shock was too great to bear; he died suddenly, the victim of a broken heart. The whole family of the maiden left the island, in consequence of the suspicion attached to them; and so ended this strange eventful history. After hearing this story, I seldom passed over the valade, without thinking of the poor drowning girl, and of my own brother, who had nearly lost his life in the same way, before this dangerous place had been made secure to travellers in all states of the tide.

The small promontory of Colabah is naturally connected with Bombay by a mass of whinstone rocks, which, however, do not rise above the surface of the waters. It runs out for about two miles into the sea, in rather a south westerly direction, and forms a sort of tongue between Bombay harbour and Back Bay.

On its extreme point is erected a light-house, which rises one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the ocean, and may be seen, in clear weather, at the distance of seven or eight leagues from the coast. It is considered a healthy place of residence, being freely exposed to the sea-breeze; and its beauty is greatly enhanced by the charming view which it commands on all sides. In consequence of these advantages, it is crowded by English, Parsee, and Portuguese bungalows; which are all detached residences, surrounded by luxuriant gardens, redolent of sweet flowers. The walks are very cool, being well shaded from the sun; and there is a delightful drive through the island to the battery, which is built near the lighthouse. The property on this island belongs, principally, like much of the property in Bombay, to Parsees; and a great number of the houses are rented solely by English merchants, who rejoice to live there; being able to see, from their terraces, every vessel that enters the harbour, and to catch the first glimpse of the overland mail, the monthly bearer of joy or sorrow, as she steams up to her anchorage off the Apollo bunda, and announces her arrival by the cannon's mouth. The boundary-hedges are enriched by a charming creeping plant, which bears a scarlet, and sometimes a rich mazarine-blue pea-flower. When in full bloom, these plants add greatly to the beauty of the compounds. The "morning's glory," a majestic description of convolvulus, wraps itself, after the conclusion of the rainy season, round the palms, and

perfectly enchants you by its exquisite colours, as its blossoms swing from the crowned top. This island, like Bombay and many others in its neighbourhood, was originally covered with dense forests of the cocoapalm and other trees, but they have been cleared away in many places, to make room for public buildings, roads, &c.

In one of the delicious compounds of Colabah, I had an opportunity of examining, for the first time, the nest of the "tailor-warbler." A pair of these interesting little birds had selected the large leaf of a plant growing in a stand close to the porch of a bungalow, and having curiously drawn the edges of the leaf, three or four inches above the foot-stalk, together, had secured them effectually in that position, by sewing them with some fine vegetable fibre; thus forming a cone, in which they had deposited their nest, which was a beautiful specimen of bird-architecture, composed chiefly of cotton wool, and of other soft downy materials, carefully interwoven together. The nest was not entirely concealed, for a portion of its rim was so contrived as to hang over the side, and thus giving additional support to the fabric when occupied. The leaf, though thus confined, appeared to be healthy; for instinct had taught its little tenants not to wound with their bills, when sewing it, the large arteries which nourished it. These little birds were carefully protected by the lady of the house, who took a great interest in their welfare; and the servant had strict orders to avoid, as much as possible,