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down and opened his jaws, which stretched right across the rocks! No sooner did Paramore see this, than he out with his box of poison and threw it in the water, above where Cucullin was drinking. The giant swallowed the whole, and then lay down on this bank to sleep. He tossed about, tearing up the earth, but soon sickened, and died. Paramore then rushed upon him, and taking out his knife, cut off his head, which he carried home to make his people believe that he had killed him in battle. They buried the great giant where he lay, and put some large flat stones over his grave, with one huge one at his head, and a lesser at his feet. And so, my young lady and gentleman, that was the end of Cucullin the great giant. Paramore killed him, you see, as Squire O'Niel got his lands, by cunning; for cunning is a match for either strength or wisdom, since it lost all of us the garden of Paradise."

Martin rewarded the garrulity of the old sibyl with a piece of silver, which she clutched within her bony and shrivelled fingers, pouring out thanks to both; blessing the fair face of the young lady, and praying that the "elegant young gentleman" might "win and wear a gold watch as big as a forty-shilling pot, with a chain as long as the Boyne water."

"A genuine Irish hyperbole," exclaimed the lady; "but let us not read fortunes in the twilight. It bodes ill, you know, Judith, and see, the sun is fast descending."-Hand in hand the youthful lovers then left the vale, forgetting the lingering superstitions of the land in reveries more delightful; for, in the beautiful language of Coleridge,

"Hope grew round them like the twining vine, And fruits and foliage, not their own, seem'd theirs."

STANZAS TO

By Henry G. Bell.

I WISH-I wish that thou couldst sing! For many a wayward mood have I, When nought but music's murmuring Can wean me from my misery.

I wish I wish that thou couldst sing Like her whom once I lov'd before; O! every note could touch a string

That thrill'd into my bosom's core.

There's more than language in thine eye,
There's more than beauty in thy form;
Thy soul is generous and high,

Thy heart is pure as it is warm ;—

Yet still I wish that thou couldst sing

The songs that charm'd me so of yore;

For round thee then my thoughts would cling, And my whole soul would love thee more.

Ah! dearest, he who once has dwelt,
All rapt, on every golden tone
Of one loved voice, whose notes he felt
Were breathed for him-for him alone,-

May in some careless mood forget-
Some careless mood of after days;
May idly smile or rashly fret,
As o'er life's weary path he strays ;—

But never, never in him dies

The blessed memory of the past;

As beams that break through evening skies, Its long-hush'd echoes wake at last.

She, whom I loved, is now to me
Even as a thing that never was ;
And when that thought comes chillingly,
My very heart's blood seems to pause ;-

Yet still in music she is mine,

In many a sad and simple air; Each rapid burst-each swelling line, Thrills me as if her soul were there.

Yet all who warble to me now,

How feeble when compared with her! Mere types-like flaunting flowers that grow Above young beauty's sepulchre.

And yet, methinks, if thou couldst sing,
I would not deem thy music such;
'Twould give me back my life's fresh spring,-
I'd love, as I loved her, too much.

Perchance 'tis better as it is,

I love thee, sweet, for what thou art; And she, midst life's realities,

Rests as a dream within my heart!

MY TWO GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS.

By Robert Chambers, Author of " Traditions of Edinburgh," "Histories of the Scottish Rebellions," &c. &c.

EVER Since I can remember, I have been the fondling and protegé of old people. I was altogether nursed in the laps of great-grandmothers, in whom I was singularly fortunate, having no fewer than two, who survived, with entire health and intellect, to the period of my early youth. Of mothers I knew nothing, for mine died when I was a mere child; and even of grandmothers I had comparatively little experience, my paternal one having died ere I was born, and the other being at feud with my father, who had offended her dignified ladyship by marrying her "right honourable daughter." It is to greatgrandmothers alone that I look back with reverential gratitude for the little real knowledge I possess, and the boundless treasures of traditionary gossip with which my mind is now stored. Well do I remember their rich, stiff, flowered silk-gowns, of which the posterior plaits were daubed with greasy hair-powder, perhaps half a century old! Neither can I forget the profuse and voluminous angularities of their old lace-caps, or their long, graceful waists, their plump amber ear-rings, and their fine old seventeenth-century faces!

I had a country great-grandmother and a town greatgrandmother. With the first I was most familiar in my childhood, ere I had left my paternal dovecot-like castle in Clydesdale. She was a lady full of old family ballads and local legends of the "riding times," of which I even yet remember a vast number of unmeaning fragments, which I would not exchange for so many whole volumes of modern poetry. But my memory does not retain such fond remembrances of this great-grandmother as of the other; for it so happened, that her affections ever were divided between me and a certain race of remarkable bantams which it was her pleasure to rear, and feed regularly four times a-day, and which it became my particular pains to annoy with pebbles and the town-colleys regularly all day long. True, I sometimes was coaxed by the good old lady into granting an indulgence for a given time to her feather-legged favourites, by the seductive promise of the long ballad upon my knightly ancestor, the friend of Bruce, to be that night recited for my particular edification; and while I listened to her low voice, which very feebleness made more plaintive, crooning the monotonous, but simple and touching measure of that wild and singular tale, my heart was softened towards her, and I inwardly vowed never again to throw so much as a handful of gravel at either cock or hen of hers-no! nor pursue them across her elaborately soilless washings, as they lay bleaching or drying by the water-side in the holm,-nor ever to excite her consternation by proposing to throw

myself in the way of horses and carts, as they rattled along the road,-nor to risk my little frog-like person upon the broad back of Tam Bo, the mill-aiver, even though the miller might ask me to water him! All this, and more, I would half resolve while the spell was upon me; yet, somehow or other, I never (then nor since) could contrive to keep a resolution longer than till the opportunity occurred of breaking it; and so, after peaceably permitting myself to be transported bedward by Nurse Jenny, and lulled asleep, though only seven o'clock, with the song of the Lariston worm-fit afterpiece to my relative's tragic ballad-I usually awoke next morning no better boy than ever, and, like the washed sow, fell to, as stoutly as ever, to the great business of the day --laying waste the barn-yard of all its bantams, insulting the aristocratic feelings of the turkey-cock, clinging to the heads of cart-horses (all in my great-grandmother's sight), and taking rides wherever, and upon whatsoever horses, I could get them.

"blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!" and her ladyship and many others shuffling with their feet, and coughing as if they would have fainted, while a Highland veteran, who had lost a hand at Culloden, clappered upon the desk to admiration with its iron substitute, not one word of the bishop's benediction upon his most gracious Majesty was heard by a single individual present. One old door-keeper, or other official, who had certainly lived since the skulking days of good Bishop Forman, felt so indignant at the conciliatory spirit thus evinced by modern pastors, that he rose from his seat and walked out till the prayer was over, and I have been informed that he continued to do so for several years, or as long as he lived.

My great-grandmother was quite enchanted with the energy and success of my "blast ;" and when we got to the carriage, caressed me without mercy, till the titillating grains which I drew up from her muslins, made me both cough and sneeze in good earnest. I was highly complimented, too, by many of her ladyship's unqualify

culous sound I had produced quite as good a hit at their Bishop Abernethy, as that which had that day befallen Mr Alexander Allan, the clergyman of the neighbouring chapel, where a jacobite maniac, called Laird Robertson, rose from his seat on hearing the prayer for the royal family, shook his stick in the minister's face, and exclaimed, “De'il but an ye had the hale pack o' them at the bottom o' your stamack, Sanners!"

This bad conduct of my juvenile years prevented me from ever being upon thoroughly good terms with my country great-grandmother, and, I believe, had the effecting friends, who declared that they considered the ridi of losing me the legacy of her inconceivable treasure of crown-pieces, (the profit of sixty years' good spinning,) which, according to the belief of our domestic, she kept in three large wechts, and brought out of doors every Sunday forenoon, while the rest were at church, to air in the sun! Peace, however, to her ashes, and peace to those delicious bread-and-butter. days, of which the dear recollection is so closely associated with her memory! She was ever kinder to me than I deserved, and her wecht-fulls of crown-pieces were perhaps, after all, better bestowed upon my poor far-away cousin, young Blawi'-ma-lug, who, by their means, went to college, and afterwards became an acceptable preacher of the word.

This ludicrous exploit of mine, I am convinced, saved me good three months of the High School, at which a close attendance of four or five years to come, was the occasion of my father placing me under the protection of my town great-grandmother-this constituting a great proportion of the education of young country gentlemen of my time. Her ladyship, out of fondness for me, and anxious to have more of me to herself, wrote to my father that it was absurd to think of placing so little and gentle a boy as I (for I had made myself a perfect lamb to her) among such a parcel of bears as the High School boys, who were then the very terror of the town; though, when I was afterwards placed in the "gaits' class" of this renowned seminary, I must confess that, with my robust, rustic strength, I found no difficulty in licking all the boys the length of Cornelius Nepos, and even had one or two drawn battles with some so far in as Cæsar.

My remembrances of my town great-grandmother are much more unqualifiedly beatific. With her memory is associated the delight I experienced on first approaching and residing in the romantic and (to me) wonderful city of Edinburgh, the transport with which I alighted at her magnificent door in Teviot Row,—the kind reception which she gave me,—and the great progress which I immediately made in her favour, to the evident death of her ladyship's huge Tom cat, who took to his rug soon after my arrival, and, in spite of his mistress's attentions and assurances of unabated esteem, never more caught mouse or combed whisker in this sublunary world. I also remember, with feelings of great pleasure, being taken for I had now succeeded in completely ingratiating myself the first time, in my lady's carriage, to what I then with my great-grandmother, and was almost constantly thought a splendid Episcopal chapel, in Skinners' Close, in her society. She did not keep much company; for, her ladyship being of that persuasion, as her father, the in truth, all the friends of her early days had died away great persecutor of the second Charles's time, had been from around her, and she could not accommodate herself before her. It was a somewhat singular occasion; for to the new fashions and feelings of those younger persons the nonjurant clergy had that day determined, in conse- who might have aimed at succeeding to them in her esquence of the Chevalier's death, to pray publicly for the teem. Neither did she stir much out of doors; and as king de facto, and a great part of their congregations had, for employing her time in reading, that was entirely out on the contrary, resolved to cough and snuffle down the of the question, for she had not the least taste for polite detested innovation. My great-grandmother was of this letters; and, as it had not been the fashion for young way of thinking, and went with the avowed purpose of ladies in her time to study aught in the shape of books, setting her face against what she conceived to be a base saving the Bible and the Shorter Catechism, she considerconcession to the powers that were; while I had instruc-ed it a duty to persist in rejecting all less severe modes of tions to contribute my nose (none of the shortest) and throat to the good cause, as, she said, the testimony of babes and sucklings was sure to be of account upon this occasion. On entering the chapel, which was in the topflat of a house at the bottom of the close, I was so entranced in admiration of the altar-piece and furniture, which it is needless to say were humble enough, that I could not have mustered breath for so much as a sneeze though my life had depended upon it. But towards the conclusion of the service, when the abhorred words came to be pronounced, I had quite regained my composure, and was fully prepared to justify the calculations which my lady had formed respecting the powers of my nasal organ. When she gave the preconcerted signal, therefore, I

mental exercise and improvement. I was almost her only companion, and when I was not with her, she would sit, silent and alone, for whole forenoons, upon a high-backed elbow-chair in the parlour, looking out at the large round stones of the old Town-wall, which fronted her windows,

her strange black eyes wide open, her noble old figure quite erect, her neck enveloped in a white plaited ruff, like that in which the old Countess of Mar (the preceptress of James the Sixth) is painted,--and her long bony arms, half-shrouded in black silk mitts, hanging listlessly over the lateral projections of her chair. What was the tenor of her cogitations, or if she thought at all, on these occasions, I never could discover. I have come quietly into the room unheard, approached her person, and even,

in familiar simplicity, looked into her round, full eyes— those deep, dark fountain-mouths of the unsearchable soul-yet she never started on observing my presence, but merely seemed to transfer her gaze from the old wall to my face, and, by as simple a movement, her thoughts, from whatever they might be turned upon, to the trivial subject of my visit. Her life had not been very eventful; she had never experienced any serious misfortunes, if the having outlived every one who began the career of life with herself might not be classed as such; nor had she any matters of worldly moment upon which she could employ her mind, for she lived peaceably and securely upon a dotarial allowance, which was now burdening the fourth generation of her posterity. It was now nearly half a century since she had ceased to be affected or engrossed by any of the cares of life; for she was then left at once widowed and childless, and had nothing farther to do on earth but to prepare to leave it. Life, since then, had been but a long, straight avenue, with death in the vista. This she trod with constant and equal steps, undisturbed by the full prospect and contemplation of the objectless expanse which gradually dilated to her eye. It did not appear that she was gifted with much religious feeling; for, though the chapel in Skinners' Close had no closer attendant, it was evident that this arose rather from a wish to support the established church of her forefathers, and from the vanity of being a leader in its little community, than from the purer enthusiasm of sincere devotion. Yet what might be the real and the deepest strain of the thoughts of a woman who had seen and known so much of this world, and so long pondered upon and looked at the next, ever was to me uncertain and unimaginable.

It sometimes occurred to me, that she busied herself in composing poetry; for she had been a noted ballad-writer in her youth, and was the secret author of one or two popular Scots songs, to which modern collectors, I observe, assign the most remote antiquity. But this was not very probable, as no relics of her muse were discovered in her repertories after her decease, and no one had heard of her writing any thing for many years before. Perhaps she thought poetry; and, while her eyes were fixed stolidly upon an unmeaning wall, her mind might be as a theatre of glorious ideas, called up, embodied, grouped, and again dispersed, like unembodied spirits assembled by the wand of a magician, and scattered at his word. Perhaps her thoughts wandered back to the days of her early years, and dwelt with fond regret upon the smiling familiar faces which then rendered life a blessing, but which had been long exchanged for objects, newer and gayer perhaps, but uncongenial, strange, and cold.

I have more to tell of my great-grandmother, but my readers must wait for a week or so.

THE LAST CRUSADER'S SONG.

By Charles Doyne Sillery.

O! FOR each Knight with his falchion bright-
His helmet, and cuirass, and shield in a blaze!
For the waving crests that shaded the breasts

Where beat the brave hearts of ancient days!
When bugles were blowing, and purple streams flowing,
And Barons loud shouting," Huzza! huzza!"
When falchions were flashing, and panoply crashing,
And turban'd foes flying-away! away!
When lances were glancing, and bending plumes dancing,
And multitudes falling like dross-like dross!
When thousands were roaring, mid steel showers pouring,,
"Down with the Crescent !-the Cross!--the Cross!"

CHORUS.

O for each Knight with his falchion bright-
His helmet and panoply all in a blaze!
For the waving crests that shaded the breasts

Where beat the brave hearts of ancient days!

SOME ACCOUNT

OF

EUGENE BULGARIS, THE FOUNDER OF THE PRESENT SCHOOLS OF PHILOSOPHY IN GREECE.

By Alexander Negris, Author of the Article upon Modern Greek Literature, in the last Number of the North American Review.

THE late revolution in Greece has opened a new field of contemplation to the inhabitants of Europe. Hitherto an object of mere melancholy interest, she is now likely to engage the attention both of the political and learned world. While her existence as an independent state will give her new importance in the eyes of the former, the latter will expect, with the recovery of her freedom, the restoration of her ancient pre-eminence in letters, and watch, with increasing anxiety, the dawn of a new day of literary glory. Every information with regard to her will acquire value; her history during the period even of her captivity, will become the subject of much interesting enquiry, and when it is found how unavailing the chilling hand of despotism has proved to restrain the vigour of her mind, and to silence her poets and her philosophers, the hopes entertained of her will seem less unfounded and visionary. Among the many distinguished men she has to boast of in modern times, none is, perhaps, better entitled to her gratitude, or to the admiration and esteem of mankind, than Eugene Bulgaris, the author of the Reformation of Philosophy in the Schools of Greece.

This man, known in Greece by the title of the Celebrated (spinos), was born at Corfu in 1716. After acquiring at home a complete knowledge of his mothertongue, he went to Padua, where he applied himself to the study of philosophy, with all the changes which it had till then undergone. After a residence of some years at this University, he returned to Greece, his mind glowing with the patriotic desire of imparting to his countrymen something of the vast knowledge he had himself acquired, and there joined the illustrious and wealthy family of Maroutzi, then residing at Venice, by whose generous assistance he succeeded in forming a school at Jannina, where he sowed the first seeds in Greece of modern philosophy. His reputation quickly spread, and his country echoed with the praises bestowed on his learning, on the ease and elegance of his compositions in ancient Greek, his poetical talent, his piety, and his zeal for the interests of science and of his native land. There were some, however, whom envy prompted to tarnish, if they could, the lustre of his splendid abilities, by maliciously misrepresenting the patriotic and virtuous designs of this great and good man. How often have the highest aims of ge

nius been thus counteracted!

This, and other reasons which it is needless to mention, induced Bulgaris to leave Jannina, and to teach successively at Kozani in Macedonia, at the celebrated school of Mount Athos, and the Patriarchal college of Constantinople. His stay in Greece, as a teacher, did not exceed ten years; but his powerful and impressive lessons had given a noble impulse to the minds of the Grecian youth, a new range to the course of instruction, and struck out a path for the investigation of truth till then unknown. What Bacon first did in England, what Descartes did in France, and Leibnitz in Germany, Eugene Bulgaris may, with truth, be said to have done in Greece. Each of these great men is celebrated for the abolition in his country of the scholastic philosophy; this is also what Bulgaris accomplished in Greece, introducing in its stead the methods which the modern school had proposed and followed, with the improvements of those, who, from their time till his, had assisted in the restoration of true science.

From this period is to be dated the cessation of the philosophical despotism of Aristotle, to whose writings,

disfigured as they were by the commentators, the mind of youth had been for ages kept in the most servile subjection. Following the example of our philosopher, most of the instructors of youth turned from the old systems of Corydalæus and others to explain the opinions of the moderns. The Logic of Bulgaris, especially after the publication of the author's edition at Leipsic in 1766, became the common text-book of our schools, and was taught throughout Greece with distinguished success, particularly at Turnavo in Macedonia, by the Reverend Professor John Economus. The immense acquirements of the author have enabled him to display a peculiar tact in this book, where he has introduced examples drawn from different sciences, calculated to excite in the youthful mind a thirst for general information. Thus, many sciences formerly unknown in Greece, have been introduced under the pretext of illustrating obscure passages in the Logic of Bulgaris. Many Greeks still living, and well known in the literary world, are indebted for their reputation to this celebrated work, the study of which first called forth the latent energies of their mind; and it is sufficient here to mention the opinion expressed by Coray, in his work "On the present state of Civilization in Greece," published in 1803:--" Eugene Bulgaris was one of the first whose efforts effectually contributed to that moral revolution now in operation amongst us; and it is with particular satisfaction that I pay my share of the tribute of gratitude due to him by the nation, as I shall never forget the emulation excited in my young mind by the publication of his Logic, to which I owe the little knowledge I possess."

The advantageous offers made to Bulgaris by the Empress Catherine induced him to settle in Russia, but not until he had left to his countrymen, besides his Logic, his works on Physics and Metaphysics, written in ancient Greek, with a number of pupils to teach in their schools. During his residence in Russia, where he was nominated Archbishop of Cherson, he published several theological works, and, by express order of the Empress, translated the Eneid of Virgil into elegant Homeric verse.

He

died at St Petersburg in 1806, deservedly regretted by his country and his friends. After his death, the jealousy excited in the minds of some, by his talents and reputation, was speedily extinguished, and the well-earned tribute is unanimously rendered to his memory at the present day, and will be so for ever.

It is interesting to observe, in perusing the biography of this great man, that by his introduction into Greece of those improvements in philosophy to which Britain has so essentially contributed, the latter has been enabled, in some degree, to repay in kind the advantages derived by her from the precious monuments and examples of classic lore, handed down to her and to the modern world by the ancient sages of the former.

THE RESTING-PLACE OF THE DEAD, WAITING FOR THE LIVING.

By W. M. Hetherington, Author of " Dramatic Sketches, illustrative of the Pastoral Poetry of Scotland."

HERE rest the Dead! in silence rest-
Waiting the Living! Mortal, come,

Gaze on the many-heaving breast

Of this lone spot, thy final home!
Whatever thou art now, they were,

While vain life's busy dream swept past;
They wait thee here, for thou must share
With them the Grave at last.

Art thou a Chief of daring breast,
Of lofty brow, and kindling eye?

Is thine the flaring meteor-crest

That bursts through battle's lurid sky?

O, warrior! doff thine eagle-plume,
Resign thy war-steed, brand, and spear;
Disarm'd, imprison'd in the tomb,

Thy comrades wait thee here.

Art thou a King, an Emperor, one
At the dread bidding of whose word
The grisly war-fiend buckles on

His panoply, and bares his sword?
Halt mighty conqueror! blanch thy cheek,
Quell the red terrors of thine eye!
Here earth's proud thunderers, silent, weak,
To wait thy coming lie.

Art thou a man of loftiest mind,

Statesman, philosopher, or bard? One whose great soul can only find

In native worth its high reward? Oh! pluck the bright wreath from thy brow, And leave it in the hall of fame! Here wait the glorious dead, each now The shadow of a name!

Art thou a youth of gentle breast,-
A roamer by romantic streams,
With love's delicious woes opprest,

And haunted with fantastic dreams?
Shake the soft fetters from thy heart,

Dreamer! the partners of thy fate, Subdued by Death's, not Cupid's dart,

Thy coming here await.

Woman! young mother, tender wife!
Ye dearest forms of mortal birth!
Sweet soothers of poor human life!

Fair angels of the happy hearth!
Or matron grave, or widow drear,
Whate'er thou art, cherish'd or lone,
The dead beloved await thee here!
The grave will have its own!

Thou, too, bright blooming beauty! thou,
The load-star of a thousand eyes,
That liquid eye, that marble brow,

That cheek of spring-dawn's loveliest dyes,Oh! veil those charms! they too must share, Alas! the universal doom;

The beauteous dead, where are they? where?
They wait thee in the tomb.

Here rest the dead! waiting the hour,
When the last sob of living breath
Shall have expired beneath the power

Of that grim phantom-dreaded Death.
They rest in hope; waiting till He
Who died, and lives for aye, shall come,
To give them immortality,

And call them to His home!

CHRISTMAS IN THE WEST INDIES.
"The slaves are happy, and the planters humane.
A Motto by the Author.

"CHRISTMAS comes but once a-year," and it is right that this should be the case. Were such Saturnalia an every-day occurrence, both the old and the young children would soon sicken, like boys in a sugar-barrel, or a man condemned to read nothing but Hood's Puns for a month. But as it has ever been my maxim, that it is preferable, in telling a story, to dive at once into the middle, as an alderman would his spoon into a basin of turtle or mulligatawny, I shall begin with my tale, and not with my

self.

It was Christmas Eve, and I lay lolling on my sofa. with a basket of delicious shaddocks glistening like gold beside me, tempting the eye and delighting the palate.

when my cogitations were interrupted by the appearance
of Agrippa at the door, with my portmanteau on his
shoulder, grinning most portentously, and chattering out,
“Ebbery ting ready, massa." I sprang up, and followed
him to the beach, where a boat with two hardy rowers
lay waiting me. When we reached the canoe, Agrippa
turned sharp round on me, and grinned out,
"Massa,
alway keep a Crissmas a true Buckra style; no a nigger
able a work a two day after, for em drink." He added,
"Aggie berry good nigger-a nebber was drunk; a hate
sangaree, and a like you berry much for a massa, if you
buy me; and if you do, me nebber sham sick, nor go to
hospital." At the conclusion of this speech, he pitched
my portmanteau into the canoe, jumped in himself, roar-
ed lustily for me to follow, and, to show his zeal for me,
swore as lustily in negro French and sailor's English to
his fellow-niggers to pull off. The rowers shook their
heads in token of assent, and, stretching forth their brawny
arms, their oars parted the calm blue waves of one of the
loveliest and largest bays our West Indies can boast; and,
after a few minutes' rowing, we shot round a sharp pro-
montory, and our frail bark floated on the Atlantic.

It was a lovely evening; never shall I forget its gorgeous brightness. It was the farewell of what Alfieri has well called a "giornata stupendo." The sun was setting in a fiery glow, and slanting his last rays across the unruffled bosom of the vast Atlantic. All was calm and still; not a breath of wind was stirring; no movement on the face of nature, save the undulating swell of the glittering sea, whose waves seemed to heave up to the sun, as if sad at the parting, and as if anxious to catch and reflect some of his still lingering glory. And surely never did a scene more fit the gorgeous light thrown over it. We coasted a lovely island.

ing a tumbler of sangaree, and reeling to a hammock hung for me in an open gallery over the principal entrance to the house, but, in order to attain which desirable elevation, I had to be assisted by my companions in misfortune, Agrippa and Nero. Here a sound sleep speedily overtook me, and closed my Christmas Eve.

I wakened from the midst of a horrible dream,-a more complete mixture of drowning, and death, and the devil, and raw head and bloody bones, than ever poor Fuseli met with after a supper of uncooked pork; but, alas! I was only out of one Pandemonium into another ;-my ears were assailed by the noise of Tamboos and shock-shocks, mingled with the singing of the negroes below among the negro houses. I tossed about in a sort of yawny torpor

for a considerable time, till the nuisance of noise should stop-infatuated as I was, to think that any thing on earth would stop a negro on Christmas day! Suddenly a scraping of fiddles and clattering of tamborines vexed the ears of morning and myself, accompanied by the rattling of huge bludgeons and clubs against the wooden walls of the house, which only ceased at intervals, to admit the more horrid screaming of the whole gang of negroes, who had come up to wish my friends and myself a bon fite, as they called it. Three times did they perambulate the mansion, when slap went every door, and in they rushed like ants, when their dwelling is attacked. Hell seemed to have opened, and all the devils to be making holiday; but there was method in their madness. They first rushed to the bedroom-door of my friend their master, where they struck up a modulated yell, which I afterwards understood was their Christmas jubilee. After performing this, seemingly much to their own satisfaction, they proceeded to the middle of the hall, and there they capered

cellent manager's whole collection of dancing Indians in the farce of "Robinson Crusoe." I imprudently protruded too much of my person over the edge of my hammock, when my white nightcap catching their eyes, they made me the centre of attraction, and in a moment, men, women, children, fiddlers, fifers, drummers, and dancers, were pirouetting round me. I instinctively drew in my head, and nestled in the bed-clothes till they disappeared.

A huge, but beautifully rich and mag-away in a style that would have put to the blush our exnificent, mass of verdure rose from the clear and mirrored deep, ending in immense mountains, clothed to the top with foliage of a bright beauty, that shamed the dingy dye of European forests, broken here and there with patches of brushwood, and studded with negro gardens; while at every turn lovely valleys opened to the view, richly cultivated, and waving with canes, while down to the water's brink all was verdure, and the sweet soft turf seemed to kiss the wild wave into quietness. To me it appeared like Fairyland-some bright vision of another world. All that poets have written-all that painters have createdseemed tame, and paled their ineffectual fires in the comparison. There were bays, such as Dian would have loved to lave in, on whose sides

"Hill upon hill uplifts his spicy breast,

And rich woods wave above the watery waste;"streamlets, to which those of Castaly are a mockery, descending like silver threads from the mountains ;-rocks, woods, and headlands, heaped one on another in a profusion that enchanted, while it amazed; and sea-ward on the horizon, clusters of lovely islands, like captain jewels in a carcanet," studded the ocean's edge, "flooded in light that flamed like molten gold."

Fearing another assault, I jumped up, and, dressing
with all possible dispatch, walked forth to breathe the
morning air. Lovely was the face of that morning!
The sun shot forth his rays with a glow and splendour
unknown even in our warmest summer. Joy and happi-
ness beamed on every countenance, and all nature seemed
enlivened. At one part of the lawn in front of the house
were assembled a large circle of the negroes dancing, and
at another were to be found a party of singers. I was no
sooner out of doors than I was surrounded, almost to the
danger of suffocation. "Bon jour, massa,'
""Bon fite,

massa," were vociferated from a dozen dusky throats at
once. "Iss, massa, you be my massa's friend, massa,——
I lub you, massa; iss, I lub you too much. I very like
you, massa; I very like my massa, a ma misses, a ma
young misses, massa. I be a good neger, massa; I big
like Massa Horse foot (my friend Horseford), he one good
massa for me, I tell you for true." Then came the beg-
ging. "Gib me one dag for buy tabaka, massa;
I no
hab tabaka long time. Come, strike up and gib us a
tune." Like lightning they formed a ring round me, and
they capered away till, afraid of having my toes annihi-

Long ere we reached our destination the sun had set; but the moon's sweet and almost painfully clear light helped us on our way; and, as we neared the shore, the shadows of the immense dark tall trees, the growth of ages, were flung across our path. In a few moments we were running the canoe up a small creek, through a plaguy jabble, caused by the meeting of a roaring, boisterous tor-lated, I made a desperate leap over two joined arms, and rent with the tide of the Atlantic. The water being rough, and the boat rotten, an unlucky jolt, as I was preparing to spring on shore, took our frail bark in the side, and sent myself, Agrippa, Cæsar, and Nero Wilberforce, splash into the water. However, as the place was shallow, and plenty of hands waiting our arrival, we recovered our feet in what the niggers called soon time; but my head was swimming, and I was perfectly confused. All I remember was my entering, or rather being entered into, a room steaming with heat and hundreds-swallow-tea-and-toast affairs. Ham, eggs, fowle, fish, flesh, a

cleared the ring, nor did I stop till I regained the hall. But if they were bad with me, they were a thousand times worse with my friend their master. I never expected to see him alive again; but about breakfast time he returned, and I went down with him to the works, to give out the allowances to the negroes, every one of whom, man, woman, or child, got three pounds of pork, ditto of sugar, and a bottle of rum. After this, we returned to breakfast; and such a breakfast-none of your consumptive-looking

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