have a fit opportunity of cursing tiled floors, and of relieving yourself of all the spleen in your nature before the next morning. Then, if both your lover and the day be favourably disposed, sally forth to the eastern corner of the town, and you will have a fair view over one of the loveliest valleys that nature's profuse hand ever gifted with beauty. The soft clear stream of the Vire winding sweetly along between the green sloping hills and the rich woods, and the fields and chateaux, and hamlets, and the sunshine catching upon all its meanderings, and the birds singing their song of love, as its calm waters roll bountifully by them. Look upon it, and you will not find it dificult to imagine how the soul, even of an obscure artisan in a remote age, warmed into poetry and music in the bosom of that valley, and by the side of that stream. It was, then, in that beautiful Vale of Vire, some twenty years agone, that Francois Lormier went out to take his last May walk with Mariette Duval, ere the relentless conscription called him from his happy home, his sweet valleys, and his early love. It was a sad walk, as may well be imagined; for though the morning was bright, and nature, to her shame be it spoken, had put on her gayest smiles as if to mock their sorrow, yet the sunshine of the scene could not find its way to their hearts, and all seemed darkened and clouded around them. They talked a great deal, and they talked a long time; but far be it from me to betray their private conversation. I would not, for all the world -especially as I know not one word about it-except, indeed, that Francois Lormier vowed the image of Mariette should remain with him for ever; should inspire him in the battle, and cheer him in the bivouac; and that Mariette protested she would never marry anybody except Francois Lormier, even if rich old Monsieur Latoussefort, the great Foulan, were to lay himself and fortune at her feet; and, in short, that when his "seven long years were out," Francois would find her still a spinster, and very much at his service. "Mais si je perdois un jambe?" said Francois Lormier." Qu'est ce que c'a fait ?" replied Mariette. They parted,--and first to follow the lady. Mariette wept a great deal, but soon after got calm again, went about her ordinary work, sang her song, dan ced at the village fete, talked with the talkers, laughed with the laughers, and won the hearts of all the youths in the place, by her unadorned beauty and her native grace. But still she did not forget Francois Lormier; and when any one came to ask her in marriage, the good dame her mother referred them directly to Mariette, who had always her answer ready, and with a kind word and a gentle look sent them away refused, but not offended. At length good old Monsieur Latoussefort presented himself with all his money bags, declaring that his only wish was to enrich his gentle Mariette; but Mariette was steady, and so touchingly did she talk to him about poor Francois Lormier, that the old man went away with the tears in his eye. Six months afterwards he died, when to the wonder of the whole place, he left his large fortune to Mariette Duval! In the meanwhile Francois joined the army, and from a light handsome conscript, he soon became a brave, steady soldier. Attached to the great Northern army, he underwent all the hardships of the campaigns in Poland and Russia, but still he never lost his cheerfulness, for the thought of Mariette kept his heart warm, and even a Russian winter could not freeze him. All through that miserable retreat, he made the best of every thing. As long as he had a good tender piece of saddle, he did not want a dinner; and when he met with a comfortable dead horse to creep into, he found board and lodging combined. His courage and his powers of endurance called upon him, from the first, the eyes of one whose best quality was the impartiality of his recompense. Francois was rewarded as well as he could be rewarded; but at length in one of those unfortunate battles by which Napoleon strove in vain to retrieve his fortune, the young soldier in the midst of his gallant daring was desperately wounded in the arm. Pass we over the rest.-Mutilated; sick, weary and ragged, Francois approached his native valley, and doubtful of his reception-for misery makes sad misanthropes-he sought the cottage of Madame Duval. The cottage was gone; and on enquiring for Madame Duval, he was directed to a fine farm-house by the banks of the stream. He thought there must be some mistake, but yet he dragged his heavy limbs thither, and knocked timidly against the door. "Entrez !" cried the good-humoured voice of the old Dame. Francois entered, and unbidden tottered to a chair. Madame Duval gazed on him for a moment, and then rushing to the stairs call ed loudly, "Come down, Mariette, come down, here is Francois returned!" Like lightning, Mariette darted down the stairs, saw the soldier's old great coat, and flew towards it-stopped-gazed on his haggard face, and empty sleeve; and gasping, fixed her eyes upon his countenance. "T was for a moment she gazed on him thus, in silence; but there was no forgetfulness, nor coldness, nor pride about her heart-there was sorrow, and joy, and love, and memory in her very glance. "Oh Francois, Francois!" cried she, at length, casting her arms round his neck, "how thou hast suffered!" As she did so, the old great coat fell back, and on his breast appeared the golden cross of the legion of honour. "N'importe !" cried she, as she saw it, "Viola ta recompense." He pressed her fondly to his bosom. "My recompense is here," said he, "my recompense is here!" LAUGH AND GET FAT! Lack we motives to laugh? Are not all things, any thing, every thing, to be laughed at? And if nothing were to be seen, felt, heard, or understood, we would laugh at it too 1 Merry Beggars. THERE'S nothing here on earth deserves Half of the thought we waste about it, And thinking but destroys the nerves, When we could do so well without it: If folks would let the world go round, And pay their tithes, and eat their dinner, Such doleful looks would not be found, To frighten us poor laughing sinners. One plagues himself about the sun, And puzzles on, through every weather, What time he'll rise-how long he'll runAnd when he'll leave us altogether: Now matters it a pebble-stone, Whether he shines at six or seven? If they don't leave the sun alone, At last they'll plague him out of Heaven! Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at every thing! Another spins from out his brains Fine cobwebs, to amuse his neighbours, And gets, for all his toils and pains, Reviewed, and laughed at for his labours: Fame is his star! and fame is sweet; And praise is pleasanter than honey,I write at just so much a sheet, And Messrs. Longman pay the money! Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at every thing! For tears are vastly pretty things, But make one very thin and taper; Please Goi! I'll keep on "never-mind- Never sigh when you can sing, Oh! In this troubled world of ours, A laughter-mine's a glorious treasure; And separating thorns from flowers, Is half a palu and half a pleasure: And why be grave instead of gay › Why feel a thirst while folks are quaffing? Oh! trust me, whatsoe'er they say, There's nothing half so good as laughlog! Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at every thing! Leaving the Literary Souvenir, which exhibits no diminution of power or genius, we come to Too oft in pure Religion's name And Pride hath claimed a Patriot's fame, Oh! look not on the field of blood- Her battle-field is solitude Her only watch-word, Prayer! If shrines, by which their Fathers knelt, Not theirs the heart, that spiritless That veils an earthly cause. THUS ends our notices of those ANNUALS already published: in a future number we shall serve up another mental dish, containing the essence of those to come, of which we believe there are nearly a dozen. i FIFTY-3ixty-seventy (any given number of) years ago, the West Indies were not as they are now, in these days of purity. Then, Lord Dunderhead was Secretary of State for the Colonies, and Mr. Bribely was his secretary. The pains which the former took with his department were prodigious. It was his estate. He had the same care for it, was as jealous of it, and farmed it out precisely in the same manner as a landlord does his acres. John Pitchfork was not, indeed, landlord of Thistledown Farm: but General Gubbins, grown grey in the service (by walking daily from the Horse Guards to Bond street), was appointed Governor of Denierara or Berbice ;-or Sergeant Kitely was appointed Judge:-and each duly rendered to the "noble Secretary," in the shape of rent, two-thirds of the supposed profits of his appointment. And as Lord Dunderhead mulcted the GoVOL. VI. Ꮓ See page 855 vernors and Judges, so did Mr. Bribely fleece the underlings ;--and as the Governors and Judges paid for their dignities, so did they make the most of them. Imprisonment, flogging, fining, favouring, delaying,-these were the methods of collecting the revenue; these, too, were the weapons with which their Arrogances' in black and scarlet, tamed down the spirit of their subjects, and widened the space between the colony and Great Britain. The colonists, themselves, were not what they are at present: that is to say, they were not then meek, modest, humane, temperate, independent people, and lovers of liberty:-on the contrary, thay were boastful, and loved Scheidam and pine-apple rum, worshipped their superiors in station, and despised every body below themselves. Thus the newly imported Englishers held the regular colonists in utter contempt: the colonists (a white race) requited themselves, by contemning the mustees and quadroons: these last, on their parts, heartily despised the half-caste; who, in turn, transmitted the scorn on to the 159 heads of the downright blacks. Whom the blacks despised, I never could learn, but probably all the rest; and, in fact, they seem to have had ample cause for so doing, unless the base, beggarly, and cruel vanity imputed to their "superiors," be at once a libel and a fable. Such was the state of things in the colony of Demerara, in the year 17-, when a young Englishman went there, in order to inspect his newly-acquired property. His name was John Vivian. He came of a tolerably good family in -shire; possessed (without being at all handsome) a dark, keen, intelligent countenance; and derived, from his maternal uncle, large estates in Demerara, and from his father, a small farm in his own county, a strong constitution, and a resolute, invincible spirit. Perhaps, he had too much obstinacy of character-perhaps, also, an intrepidity of manner, and carelessness of established forms, which would have been unsuitable to society as now constituted. All this we will not presume to determine. We do not wish to extenuate his faults, of which he had as handsome a share as usually falls to the lot of young gentlemen who are un der no controul, though not altogether of precisely the same character. In requital for these defects, however, he was a man of firm mind, of a generous spirit, and would face danger, and stand up against oppression, as readily on behalf of others as of himself; and, at the bottom of all, though it had lain hid from his birth, (like some of those antediluvian fossils which perplex our geologists and antiquaries) he had a tenderness and delicacy of feeling, which must not be passed by without, at least, our humble commendation. Exactly eight weeks from the day of his stepping on board the good ship, "Wager," at Bristol, Vivian found himself standing on the shore of the river Demerara, and in front of its capital, Stabroek. In that interval, he had been tossed on the wild waters of the Atlantic-had passed from woollens to nankeens-from English cold to trophic heat-and now stood eyeing the curious groups which distinguish our colonies, where creatures of every shade, from absolute sable to pallid white, may be seen-for the trouble only of a journey. But we have a letter of our hero's on this subject, written to a friend in England, on his landing, which we will unfold for the reader's benefit. Considering that the writer had the range of foolscap before him, and was transmitting news from the torrid to the temperate zone, it may, at least, lay claim to the virtue of brevity. Thus it runs :-- "To Richard Clinton, Esq. &c. &c. Middle Temple, London, England. "Well, Dick-Here am I, thy friend, John Vivian, safely arrived at the country of cotton and tobacco. Six months ago, I would have ventured a grosschen that nothing on this base earth could have tempted me to leave foggy England; but the unkennelling a knave was a temptation not to be resisted; and accordingly I am here, as you see. "Since I shook your hand at Bristol, I have seen somewhat of the world. The Cove of Cork-the Madeiras-the Peak of Teneriffe--the flying fish-the nautilus-the golden-finned doradothe deep blue seas-and the tropic skies-are matters which some would explain to you in a chapter. But I have not the pen of a ready writer; so you must be content with a simple enu meration. "My voyage was, like all voyages, detestable. I began with sea-sickness and piercing winds-I ended with headache and languor, and weather to which your English dog-days are a jest. The burning, blazing heat was so terrifie, that I had well nigh oozed away into a sea-god. Nothing but the valiant army of bottles which your care pro vided could have saved me. My mouth was wide open, like the seams of our vessel; but, unlike them, it would not be content with water. I poured in draught after draught of the brave liquor. I drank deep healths to you and other friends; till, at last, the devil, who broils Europeans in these parts, took to his wings and fled. Thus it was, Clinton, that I arrived finally at Demerara. "But now comes your question of 'What sort of a place is this same Demerara?' I'faith, Dick, 'tis flat enough. The run up the river is, indeed, pretty; and there are trees enough to satisfy even your umbrageous-loving taste. It is, in truth, a land of woods—at least, on one side; and you may roam among orange and lemon-trees, and guavas and mangoes, amidst aloes, and cocoanut, and cotton, and mahogany trees, till you would wish yourself once more on a Lancashire moor. Stabroek, our capital, is a place where the houses are built of wood; where melons, and oranges, and pine-apples grow as wild as thyself, Dick; and where black, brown, and whitey-brown people, sangaree and cigars, abound. Of all these marvels I shall know more shortly. I lodge here at the house of a Dutch planter, where you must address me under my travelling cognomen. John Vivian is extinct for a season; but your letter will find me, if it be addressed to 'Mr. John Vernon, to the care of Mynheer Schlachenbruchen, merchant, in Demerara.' That respectable individual would die the death of shame, did he know that he held the great proprietor,' Vivian, in his garret. At present, I am nothing more than a poor protege of Messrs. Greffulhe, come out to the hot latitudes for the sake of health and employ ment. "You shall hear from me again speedily in the mean time, write to me at length. This letter is a preface merely to the innumerable number of good things which I design to scribble for your especial instruction and amusement. It bears for you only a certificate of my safe arrival, and the assurance that I am, as ever, your true friend, "VIVIAN." Vivian was, in truth, tolerably pleased with the banks of the river, fringed as it was with trees, and spotted with cottages: but when he actually trod upon the ground of the New World, and found himself amidst a crowd of black and tawney faces-amidst hats like umbrellas, paroquets, and birds of every colour of the rainbow, and children, almost as various, plunging in and out of the river like water-dogs or mudlarks-he could not conceal his admiration, but laughed outright. He was not left long to his contemplations, however, for the sea-port of a West India colony has as many volunteers of all sorts as Dublin itself. A score of blacks were ready to assist him with his luggage, and at least a dozen of free negresses and mulattoes had baskets of the best fruit in the world. He might have had a wheelbarrow for sixpence, and the aid of a dozen Sambos for an insignificant compliment in copper. Neglecting these advantages, Vivian made the best of his way to the house of the Mynheer Schlachenbruchen, the Fleming, which was well known to all the clamorous rogues on the quay. The merchant was not at home; having retired, as usual, to sleep at his plantation-house, a few miles from town. Our hero, however, was received, with slow and formal respect, by his principal clerk, Hans Wassel, a strange figure, somewhat in the shape of a cone, that had originally sprung up (and almost struck root,) somewhere near Ghent or Bruges.Holding Vivian's credentials at arm's leng h, this "shape" proceeded to decypher the address of the letter through an enormous pair of iron spectacles. In due time he appeared to detect the hand-writing of the London correspondent; for he breathed out, "Aw! Mynheer Franz Greffulhe!" and proceeded to open a seal as big as a saucer, and investigate the contents. These were evidently satisfactory; for he put on a look of benevolence, and welcomed the new comer (who was announced as Mr. Vernon) to Stabroek. "You will take a schnap?" enquired he, with a look which anticipated an affirmation. "As soon as you please," replied Vivian; to which the other retorted with another "Aw!" and left the room with something approaching to alertness, in order to give the necessary orders. The ordinary domestics of the Fleming were much more rapid in their movements; for Vivian had scarcely time to look round and admire the neatness of the room, when a clatter at the door compelled him to turn his eyes to that quarter. He saw a lively-looking black come in, with a large pipe of cu rious construction and a leaden box containing tobacco, followed close by his co-mate Sambo, (another "nigritude,") who bore, in both hands, a huge glass, almost as big as a punchbowl, filled to the brim with true Nantz, tempered, but not injured, by a small portion of Water. justly proud of his burthen, which he placed on the table in its original state of integrity; for, after looking for a moment lovingly at the liquid, he turned round to Vivian, and said, exultingly, Dere, massa!" Sambo appeared But we will not detain the reader with any detail of our hero's movements on his arrival in the colony, excepting one or two, which have direct reference to our present narrative. He was introduced to Mynheer Schlachenbruchen and his wife, each of whom, were our limits larger, might fairly lay claim to commemoration. As it is, we must pass them by, and content ourselves with stating the fact of their (the merchant, at all events) treating Vivian with more consideration than his ostensible rank demanded, and introducing him to their acquaintance. The person, however, into whose society Vivian was more especially thrown, was a young girl, who performed the offices |