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And gently casts its pale beams from afar: Or, where the gathering clouds at distance break,

Appears, in bright array, the evening star, 'Tis now the hour when fancy's magic sway Can thrill to ecstacy the youthful heart; Or memory now a busy part will play,

And bid each ray of happiness depart. Can there be one who at this silent hour"

No fond remembrance of the past can move, Of some sweet scenes, or now deserted bower, Some long-forgotten tale of early love. Oh, night! too soon thy dusky shadows fly, Oft with regret I mourn thy transient reign. And when the last faint sunbeams leave the sky,

I gladly welcome thy return again.

Long ere the hand of time had rudely swept. One trace of pleasure from my inmost mind, I've watch'd the wavering stars while others slept,

And fancied music in the evening wind. Perhaps, now in regions far remote from this, Some dear-loved friend is gazing on that beam,

Who, lost amidst the varied scenes of bliss, Thinks of the feast, as of a midnight dream,

From me the dreams of life have passed away, And retrospection chills each rising flame; The fairest flowers of hope I've seen decay,

And all that's left of pleasure is the name.
H.F.S.

WALTER VIVIAN, THE CORNISH
SMUGGLER.
Continued from page 283.

Vivian was speedily made acquainted with the conditions on which he was wafted to the western world. But remonstrance was in vain. Money he had none - friends he dared not seek -escape he dared not attempt-complaint he dared not utter, for his employers, or rather his owners, had been made acquainted with his name, his conduct, and the transaction which had exposed him to the resentment of the government and the laws. The terrors of outlawry were still held over his head; each emotion of disappointment

only provoked new indignities, and riveted more closely his chains. Letter after letter he wrote to his wife and family, but they never found an exit from Virginia. Years rolled on-time silvered his locks-hard and galling labour bent his form-sorrow ploughed deep its furrows on his brow-but of wife, or home, or friends, he had literally heard nothing. His wife alone, lived in his heart; but none knew the anguish that corroded and wasted that heart.

We cannot follow him through the rica. Twelve years he passed, in a latter part of his eventful life in Ametion of the Indians opened a new chapstate of slavery. At length an irrupter in his history. A band of these redmen of the wood broke in on the repose of his master during the night, and destroyed, in one conflagration, the greater part of his household, all his buildings and wigwams, and nearly all his property. Our hero and his owner's child made their escape, but were retaken by the Indians, and carried up the country. The interesting incidents of the succeeding seven years would fill a volume; but we must pass them over.

When nearly twenty years in America, and the last seven of the twenty in its deepest forests, where no white man had been seen before, he was permitted to return to the coast, or rather his departure was connived at, by the chief of the tribe. He there obtained permission to work his passage to England. He was landed in Cornwall, a forlorn man, emaciated with grief, like one who had risen from the dead, to of those he had left alive at his departsearch among the tombs for the remains ure. He bent his way, leaning on an old bamboo walking stick, towards the beautiful village where he had laughed, and roamed, and been beloved in childhood. He had travelled during the night a summer's night from Falmouth. Day had broken long before be reached it. His heart beat with increasing pulsation the nearer he approached it. The sun shone bright in the sky, when he arrived at the high land that overlooks it. It was as still and beautiful as ever, as if, like him, it had just awakened from a sleep of twenty years. The river was as placid -the bay as serene- the smoke, curling up among the trees, as clear and blue-the fishermen preparing their nets as silently-as he had seen them yesterday in his dream. The grass in the church-yard did not seem to have

been trodden-the bell in the tower did not appear to have been rung since the day of his marriage. There was a small trim lugger in the harbour, which might have passed for the eldest daughter of his own Belle Amy-but he could look no longer-fancy was touching a tender and a painful chord: he wiped the tear from his cheek, and paced on in gloom and silence.

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Unhappy man! Unaltered as the village externally appeared, it had with in, as regarded him, undergone a melancholy change. The house where he first beheld the light, and which was occupied by his elder brother when he last saw it, was now tenantless. The windows were broken, the doors off their hinges, and the roof fallen in. And his wife, too, was dead! For six years she had mourned his absence day after day had looked for his return, or some tidings of his fate. Her aged grandmother divided with her her small annuity her friends consoled herthe smile of her infant daughter light ened her melancholy-hope flattered her till its monitions had no longer any charm-her own heart, so early desolate, so wedded to her exiled husband, repelled as long as it could the dark misgivings of despair; but it was a broken heart-its chords were all rent -it burst, and she died! The Vivians, if they knew, never disclosed the fate or the destination of their brother. They even attributed to his roving disposition his neglect of his wife and his indifference towards his family.

When the first violent pangs of afffiction were over, Walter found in his blooming daughter, born a few weeks after his departure, that charm of life which he expected to find in her mother. Both brothers had died, just as the last remnant of their wealth had begun to melt away; but this remnant had descended to the orphan child. She grew an untended rose, without a sister, beautiful as her mother, unconscious of the sorrow which had deprived her of one parent, or of the love which had restored to her another. Life would have been a burden to the exile, but for this child. He would, ere a few moons, have slept by his Tracy's side, but for this tie on mortality. Her smile gave him new life, her vivacity restored him to convalescence, the lineaments of her face carried him back to earlier days; the tones of her voice, the gentleness of her manners, the intuitive fondness she manifested for the worn-out man, wean

ed him from his cares. He gazed on her with a pure delight which none but a father-which none but a father such as he—can feel.

The contraband trade had greatly diminished when Vivian returned from exile. His enemies either slept in the churchyard, or at the bottom of the sea, or had, by the process of nature, been divested of their jealousies; for he found that all his neighbours were his friends. The place was indeed secluded; but he was considered to be old, and frail; and if the government knew of his return, certain it is they did not molest him. No magistrate inquired into his conduct; and in the society of his daughter he was the happiest of beings. On the sea-beach in the morning he was seen straying with that beloved child; in the cool of the evening they were observed walking together; in the pew at church they sat side by side-his heart beat but for her; her sinile, her happiness, were dearer to him than his own life.

But the outlaw was the heir of a dark destiny. It was not fated that_the_happiness he now experienced should be of long duration. The snatches of impassioned felicity he had enjoyed were but angel visits. They were to his heart like the occasional drop of rain to the parched lip of the Arab in the desart. They but excited hopes which, alas! were not to be realised. He had suffered more than most men, but he had not yet suffered enough. He had drank deeply of the cup of misery, but he had not yet half quaffed its contents; and he was doomed to drain these to the very dregs. The angel's tear, if it had fallen on his early sins, had not yet washed them from the re cords of heaven. The penitent had not been absolved. He had the blood of his fellow-men on his breast; a dark, lurid, damning spot, which a whole life of anguish could not wipe away.

Tracy Vivian was young and beautiful, full of life and vivacity; her eye the deep luscious blue of ripe youth, her cheek streaked with the rose, her brow pale as the purest Parian, her lip round and ruby, her step light, and her smile soft, tranquil, and lovely as the beam

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so doted upon was ere long to lend
far below the lilies of the Valley,
her father once more to walk the earth
a childless, desolate man.

In the midst of life, Tracy was on the threshold of the tomb. More rapidly and imperceptibly than is usual with that insidious destroyer, she pined away. Her father's prayers availed not. He called on God to take him, and spare his child; but the lamb only could be accepted as the sacrifice. The bloom lingered on her cheek, her eye beamed more bright, but the tones of her voice daily became more than mortal. The old man gazed upon her as serenely as ever; her smile was returned with undiminished affection; but the dew of the sepulchre was on her brow. Medicine could not arrest e disorder. For a

the proper she was confined to her passed upon the life of Tracy, and bef

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the P
pangs that w
bosom. It
was far in the morning, when the pa-
tient had fallen into one of those brief
slumbers with which she was occasion-
ally visited and relieved at that hour;
the nurse had retired for the same pur-
pose. The moon, as it shone over the
silvery estuary, darted its waning ray
into the sick apartment. All around,
in heaven and on earth, was still as the
grave. The moon itself was an emblem of
death. Its ray was feeble; it

the decline, and it was near the set-
ting. Favoured by the stillness, Vivian
left his chair, and approached the win-
Targ od bad beha

pictorial beauty:-the fertile Forth assumes its dappled tracks through enchanting and diversified portions of the country, sinewing itself into playful and attractive peninsulas of the most exquisitely touching affinities. On the other side, the Highland mountains, like the guardians of Nature, intended to protect the more genial growth of sylvan culture, give a closing and calm relief to the prolific vernabries of the Strath of Monteith so that

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the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream." The eye is carried forward, with surprising reality, from the towns of Alloa, Clackmannan, Falkirk. and along the Frith of Forth, till the landscape allures it over the country to Edinburgh.

Varieties.

CLAY-EATERS.

The hamlet of Uruana is inhabited by the Otomacs, one of the rudest of the American tribes. These Indians swallow quantities of earth for the purpose of allaying hunger. When the waters are low they live on fish and turtles; but when the rivers swell, and it becomes difficult to procure that food, they eat daily a large portion of clay. Humboldt found in their huts heaps of it in the form of balls, piled up in pyramids three or four feet high. This substance is fine and unctuous, of a yellowish gray colour, containing silica and alumina, with three or four per cent. of lime. Being a restless and turbulent people, with unbridled passions, and excessively given to intoxication, the little village of Uruana is more difficult to govern than any of the other missions. By inhaling at the nose the powder obtained from the pods of the Acacia niopo, they throw themselves into a state of intoxication bordering on madness, that lasts several days, during whtch dreadful murders are committed. The most vindictive cover the nail of the thumb with the curare poison, the slightest scratch being thus sufficient to produce death. When this crime is perpetrated at night they throw the body into the river.

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Every time," said the monk, "that I see the women fetch water from a part of the shore to which they do not usually go for it, I suspect that a murder has been committed in my mission.”

Another admirable feature, of inspir. ing interest, is the representation of the annual meeting of the Highland Society. The space in the esplanade, allotted to this purpose, though not the precise historic spot of the battle of Bannockburn, is disposed with judgment; and, in this particular, enhances the value of the Panorama; inasmuch as it leads the mind to reflection and the heart to the effect produced. The Scottish sceneries are reposed in varied tints, and the lurid waters relieve the sun and shade with the pencil of truth to nature. A corresponding unity pervades the painting, which is as worthy of the talent of Mr. Burford as any of his foreign predecessors. The lovers of the pretty bits in the Fine Arts will be de lighted by the reality of the soldiers going into the Castle-the gardener the sheep feeding among the ridgesGOOD ACCOMMODATIONS. On the the little vessels tracing the waters- first evening of the late convention in the holes in the road- the tinted moss New England, a Leamster drove up to the combat-the piper the lassies- the door of one of the principal inns, the assemblies in their gaieties as spec- and asked, "Can I have a bed?"tators the soldiers a Highland gal- No!" Well-part of a bed!”. lant leading a beautiful woman down" Every bed in the inn has two at the steps, actually stepping out of the least. "Can you let me sleep in the canvas the female reading - the play- parlour "No! we are going to put ful child, and the dog watching the up seventeen beds there directly."sport the group near the Castle wall- "Lend me a buffalo skin, I will stretch with other attractive beautiful speci- somewhere and discommodate nobody." mens of nature. "No! I shan't have you in the entry; we shall be up all night, and I don't want any folks clittering and sprawling about the floor where people are passing all the time." Well! you are an accommodating fellow. I say (pointing to the coat-rack), what will you take to let me hang all night on one of them there pegs ?" The disconcerted landlord at once said, that an effort should be made to accommodate such a good humoured fellow.-Amer. paper.

So far from the density of the atmosphere being unfavourable to the representation, as some may suppose, our friends may be assured it is quite the reverse; and that, having once viewed Mr. Burford's performance, they will not be satisfied without the treat of a second sight in the realms of mist.

GOOD NATURE.

Good nature, like the dawn of sunny day,
Beams forth a smile of pleasure in its ray.

J.R.P.

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WHILE an inhabitant of Cape Town, it was my lot to become acquainted with a good-natured old Dutchman, named, Klaas Van Winkelboom; from hin I had the circumstances on which the following tale is founded, which occurred a few years previous to the settlement of the English in the colony, shewing the evil effects of the ill-treatment of slaves, who were completely under the despotic sway of their masters in the time of the Dutch. The particulars of this occurrence, my informant himself extracted from a Malay boy, who witnessed the transaction. Having thus given the reader to understand the source from whence my materials were derived, I commence my narrative without further preliminary. VOL. X.

"Peter, I say," roared old Cornelius Van Klomp, "Peter, thou black rascal,

where art thou ?"

Here, massa," responded Peter. ately, and light Mynheer Droogsloot "Run for thy lantern then, immedihome."

"Iss massa, him fetch him lantern 'rectly, massa."

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"Donner an hugel! haste thee then, thou sooty scoundrel," growled the impatient Dutchman; quick, I say, and he added a kick to his exclamation that might have stove in the ribs of a bullock, which tended to accelerate the motions of the slave, who made. his exit, howling piteously from the effects of his salutation.

Gabriel Droogsloot, who was a rich merchant of Cape Town, had been carousing with his friend, Van Klomp; they had kept up their baccanalian devotions to a late hour, and the potent effects of the schedam, which he had swallowed in deep and copious quantities, had reduced him to that condition, which sometimes passes under the denomination of "how came you

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