ment have been to extinguish this trade-how little good is done by cruisers upon the coast, to seize the slave-ships-how often a vessel is given as a ruse, to enable the others to pass through the lines. It is through the natives alone that any permanent reformation can be effected; it is but the progress of civilization that can give the death-stroke to this blot upon the civilized nations of the world. We have, however, tarried too long upon the path of the travellers; but not as long as the witchery with which Mrs. Lee invests the subject would induce us to linger for adventure presses upon adventure, and the travellers are scarcely relieved from one dilemma until they are plunged into another. To proceed, however, Carlos and Antonio are taken by a predatory band, and sold as slaves to a wealthy Moor, who makes every effort to induce them to embrace Mahometanism, but without effect. Attached to his suite, they create great astonishment, by their musical and mechanical abilities; and are conveyed, in his company, to Yahndi, a flourishing and populous town, of which the following description is given :— "The houses of Yahndi were most of them extremely well built, and consisted of various apartments round a series of courts, the principal entrance to which, being the usual open reception-room, faced the street. The lower and outer portions of these rooms were constantly washed with red ochre; the upper were covered with the most elaborate patterns, formed in relief with pliant wood, and washed over with white clay. The roofs, supported by square pillars, were sloping, made of palm leaves, and having rafters of bamboo inside, which were blackened and polished. The street rooms were halls of audience for men of consequence; the doors within were richly carved, and coloured with various pigments, procured chiefly from vegetable substances." Carlos and Antonio, during the confusion of the preparations for an impending war, contrive to make their escape from Yahndi, and fly to Koomassie. Upon arriving at the outskirts of this town, they are attracted by the regular tolling of a bell, which they discover proceeds from a Wesleyan chapel. They enter, and once more hear the glad sounds of a preacher's voice, conveying instruction to an attentive congregation. The minister receives them hospitably, and informs them that letters had been forwarded from England, descriptive of their persons, to all the kings, consuls, missionaries, and persons likely to meet with them, as they were supposed to be wandering about the settlements. From this they proceed to Cape Coast, where they meet with every attention which sympathy can dictate; and end their wanderings by embarking for Liverpool, where they arrive without further adventure. THE USURPER. BY JOHN FISHER MURRAY. (Suggested by seeing a beautiful child, a friend of the author, playfully ascend the Throne, in the Presence Chamber, at Windsor Castle.) Right royally attended-on thee wait Thy heaven-born ministers-youth, beauty, health. Rarely hath earth-born crown, Bowing the wearer down, Gems priceless, like to these, thy glory and defence ! Nor garter, star, Nor cloth of gold or purple need'st thou wear- More real majesty Than has been born with thee? Thou, nature all, how great-and these, how mean, all art! Greater art thou than queens! Thee might we fondly dream The visible angel of a good queen's throne! Nor art thou empireless Love shall enthrone an empire in thine eyes, Man's misery or happiness To make or unmake, ban or bless, Still to subdue, and conquering, save mankind! Thou shalt not ever know The sorrows of that state thou apest now- The valleys' leafy sheen, While all around is dark, and desolate, and drear! Could'st thou but dream The mingling hopes and fears of worst and best, For many a queenly one, Guileless usurper, thy young tears would flow! Thou lookest around With glances innocent of pleased surprise, Alas! can gilded toys Or over-arching canopies Gild the departing hour, or canopy the heart? Descend, my queen, descend, yet keep thy state, When thou art seen Enthroned in the heart Of him whose choice thou art Thou of that happy heart, the proud domestic queen! Then shalt thou truly reign, While round thy knees thy little lieges play; To dignify thy throne, Unsworn allegiance, fealty unbought. Thine be a reign of peace, The rich excess Of love thy treasury Of heart and eye, Which, squander as thou may'st, thou never canst make less. Of earthly mould In boundless realms of joy, Once and eternally TO REIGN WHERE EMPIRE DIES NOT, NOR GROWS OLD! 2 Merrion-square, South, Dublin, Dec. 11, 1847. November, 1847. The woodman's axe is ringing, ringing That shakes the mountain side?— It falls but hush!-what wailing, wailing, And lo! from out the sylvan cave Who comes with slow and solemn mien ? "Ah, woe is me !"-thus sighing, sighing, Of what was once the forest's glory! That count a century and more? My own, my beauteous sycamore! And down from cloudless skies the beam Of bees that clustered 'mid thy bowers! Shall waft a fragrance round!" Aghast-appalled-in deep despair He flies! the wreck his soul amazes. "Where are my trees," he cries, "oh, where?" And echo answers, "Gone to blazes!" Nay, reader, start not-it is true, Safe in the cellar stored, for you, They lie, and all kind friends. H. A DEATH PRAYER. BY A DREAMER. ["The circumstances of death,' he used to say, 'weighed with him even more than death itself.' He had a horror of dying at night, amidst the gloom that is made visible by the glimmering taper. Awful as darkness is, enveloping one, as it were, with a dense pall-yet, the gloom created by sealing up the eyes' (I quote for you his own expressive words), never has the same sensation as that produced by blackness falling on the opened eye-balls. We stare into the vacancy, forming out of it images of fear; but, with the closed lids, come visions of peaceful security alone.' Nor would he die in the dreary season of the year, when the birds were gone, and flowers were dead; for, he could not have his favourites near him then, to take of them his last adieu. And the Saviour's precept, Pray ye that your flight be not in the winter,' seemed to him, he would say, to acquire a depth of tender meaning, from remembering this feeling of his own. But, he would fain depart on a calm evening of summer, and fade away with the waning Sunlight. And his prayer was granted. At such a time, with the last beams of day streaming through his opened casement, full of tranquillity and joyful hope, he 'fell on sleep.'"-MS. Letter, detailing a friend's decease. Not in the hours of Night; Not in the darkness of the silent room, Where shadows stretch across the mantling gloom, Thronging around, as if to chide delay, Would my fond lingering Soul from this world flee away. The quivering taper's beam The still'd and lonely house-the absence drear All were too crushing in that time of woe, Nor in sad Winter's reign; No: burdened in that hour Of Nature's wretchedness, I could not find Heaven would seem shut against me, as in wrath, But, let bright Summer wreathe Then will each silent thought within me be Link'd with Earth's blessed time of calm tranquillity. |