next morning after breakfast they donned their hats, mounted their steeds, and we wished them a very good journey. A mulatto, who dined with us the next day, met the party at the bottom of the mountain, completely soaked, and I thought of the hats and the rose-coloured shoes.

About four leagues from the fazenda resided one of the red men, the aborigines, and rightful owners of the soil, from which they have been driven more to the interior, the few that remain being more suppressed than incorporated with their ancient invaders. He was a squatter, that is to say, he established himself upon the estate about ten years ago, cut down some virgin wood, and built his house upon the stumps, in spite of all the efforts made to expel the intruder. He threatened to shoot any one who molested him, and, under those circumstances, nobody did molest him. Having roofed in his house, he made himself a little plantation, and there he was established for life, living entirely by the fruit of his spade and his gun. I heard so much of this Indian, and of his primitive way of living, that I resolved to satisfy my curiosity, coute qui coute; but no companion could I find. So I saddled a mule, poncho'd myself, and bent my steps, or rather those of the mule, to the habitation of my red friend, feeling very much as if I was going to pay a morning visit to an ogre or the giant Cormoran. I scrambled through the forest, leading my mule with one hand, and cutting down branches with the other, armed with a huge knife for that purpose. Roads are frequently made in this manner, which answer the temporary purpose of pushing on very well, although it would hardly serve as a sample for paving Oxford Street. At last I found myself near a small plantation of Indian corn and potatoes, varied with beans, and twelve little coffee-trees, on the top of a hill, like the tuft of hair on Thersites' head. A single horse was grazing in the distance, which, with a few cackling fowls, comprised the whole of the farm-stock.

I was now at the door of the cottage, and having no letter of introduction, was rather at a loss for an excuse; but I knocked at the door with my knife, and two girls came out. They wore nothing but a very short blue petticoat, and their hair was streaming down their backs. They were as dark as mulattos, but with a slight tinge of colour, large black eyes, and teeth as white as snow, arch and gipsy-like in the extreme, but without very pleasing faces. I told them I had lost my way, and begged them to point me out the shortest road to the fazenda. The youngest answered me directly in Portuguese, making a thousand gestures, and speaking with much volubility. At this moment the thunder rattled amongst the mountains, and the rain descended in torrents, and the young ladies insisted upon my taking shelter. They told me that their father was in the woods hunting; but they thought he would soon come back to eat. I thought of the ogre again. The youngest told me that her mother died some time ago, and was buried in the wood. I asked her if she had ever been out of the wood. "Never," was the answer. It will be allowed that to sustain a very long conversation with a couple of damsels who had never quitted their native shrubbery, was somewhat difficult. Presently I saw a red man running down the mountain with the agility of a tiger-cat, and in another instant he sprang into the cottage. His skin was quite red, with black glossy hair, and a long beard; his gun was slung behind him, and he was dressed in a monkey-skin jacket,

with a cap and continuations of the same material, or rather abbreviations, for they only reached to the knee. His nose was curled, and very prominent, and his large black eyes rather deep in their sockets; his arms, breast, and feet were bare, the feet small, and delicately formed. I explained to him that I was the nephew of the Senhor, and had lost my way; upon which he brought me a sack of Indian corn to sit upon, apologised that he had no wine or cachaça (the common spirit of the country), but that his feizao would soon be ready. He then talked about his plantations, and the success of his day's chase. He complained that he had only killed an armadillo and a capivara; but had seen a deer, and missed her. He then said, "If you like to come and hunt porcos de mato (wild pigs), and will bring powder and shot, I will lend you a gun." I answered, that nothing would give me greater pleasure, and asked him what countrywoman his wife was. He replied, that she was a mulatto,-which accounted for the daughter's nondescript complexion. The feizao now made its appearance in the skin of a large gourd, and we got round and helped ourselves with our fingers. The second course consisted of a large pail of cedar wood, with a huge peeled pumpkin inside. The eldest daughter took a quantity of Indian corn and threw it into the pail with both hands, and in went our fingers as before. At the conclusion of the repast they brought me some water and a banana leaf, which made a very good towel. One of the girls took a great fancy to my white cotton gloves, and put them on several times. I was glad to repay their hospitality at the price of a pair of Berlin gloves, so I presented her with them, to her great delight. I then shook hands with the red man, and, after another invitation to come and hunt wild pigs, I took my departure.

If liberty, independence, and à quoi vivre, can render a man happy, my red friend ought to be perfectly so.

BALLAD.

BY ALEXANDER M'DOUGALL, ESQ. OF NOVA SCOTIA,

“Оè come to me, my only love !—the sun has sunk to rest,
His latest ray has faded from the lofty mountain's crest;
And, as if mourning for his flight, soft as the lover's sigh,

The night-breeze, while it fans my cheek, goes faintly murm'ring by.
"Oh come to me, my only love !-the moon is shining bright,-
The stars that form her coronet are mellow'd by her light,
And soft and sweet her glances fall upon the open bay,
Where bright the silver waters dance, and sparkle far away.

"Oh come to me! in safety come !-the tower is dark and lone,-
No hostile sound shall there be heard, no voices save our own.
The stream that glides beneath the bank is flowing fast and free,—
The bark that floats upon its tide is waiting, love, for thee.
"Long have I had thy father's hate, and long endured his scorn,
And still in silence, for thy sake, I'd bear as I have borne;
But now, should fortune smile, I'll change, ere yonder moon decline,
The angry flashes of his eye for beams of love from thine."
The maiden came-the morning sun rose joyously and fair-
They sought her in the lonely tower-the maiden was not there;
But one small foot-print on the sand, one line upon the stone,
In haste engraved, sufficed to tell her sire that she had flown.

HARKAWAY SKETCHES.

BY JOHN MILLS.

THE BATTU.

THE sun had just risen, and his rays were streaming into my bedroom, as I leaped from repose fresh as a three-year old. It was indeed as beautiful a morning as ever cheered the heart of a mortal; the refreshing mist still hung upon the glittering grass in graceful folds, like the bridal veil shading, but not concealing, the covered charms. Hastily I completed my toilet, and descending the stairs, I found my host cleaning his gun in the hall, with his keeper standing idly by, surrounded with pails of hot water and cold, heaps of tow, rags, and cloths of many sizes and descriptions.

"Good morning, good morning! What! you could get up before ten for this sport, eh?" said he. "I expect you'll hold him straight to-day."

;

Expressing a hope that I should, I asked why he was preparing his gun, thinking it no peculiarly pleasurable occupation. "In my young days, Squire," he replied, men used to be thorough-going fellows, that knew how a gun should be kept, made, and held. They knew how to breed a dog, break, and hunt him but now, hang me, if they do either. Everything's done for them; and, something like the King who was surprised how the apples got into the dumplings, wonder how the devil they miss, when they fire with both eyes shut. Look at this gun: I've shot with it for thirtytwo years. No one has ever cleaned it except myself, and never shall; for when I've finished it, I'm satisfied that it is in good condition. I KNOW that it is; but how should I, if I didn't do it myself?"

My host was of the old school, not of that obsolete one when gentlemen could not approach a trout-stream without velvet caps, or tally-ho" a fox unless decked in court-wigs, perfumed and powdered; but he eschewed the dandyism of sporting practised universally by the Nimrods of the present day. To see a particularly wellcut tight-waisted shooting-jacket, a swaggering tasselled cap, light boots, a conspicuous cravat, scratchless stock, with the usual trifling accompaniments of the September outfit, were to him objects of supreme contempt. He looked upon the owner as one disgracing the manly amusement; and he that once "turned out" thus vainly equipped with old John Goodwin, would most assuredly avoid a second experiment.

On the fourth of October my host had invited his select friends for a choice day's pheasant shooting. His preserves were well filled with game; and the annual treat of "a battu" was anticipated with great pleasure by numbers of sportsmen.

"Map, are the spaniels in trim ?" inquired my host of one admiring keeper, who stood grinning with a dog-whip in one brawny hand, and some couples in the other.

"I should say they gist was, sir," replied Map, with a knowing nod of satisfaction.

"Are those boys got to beat for us?"

VOL. VIII.

D

"Yes, they be, sir."

"Have you looked at the threads this morning?" asked the master, stopping in his task, and looking in the keeper's face, inquiringly.

"I should think I gist did, sir, afore daylight. Not one broke. All's right as a trivet.'

It was a plan of my host to fix pieces of thread across the woods in various parts. So that, in case of poachers visiting these sancta sanctorum without being seen by his watchful keeper Map, and his supernumeraries, it might be known by the thread being broken.

The cleaning of the gun being finished, we sat down to a breakfast of substantials that would have broken the hunger of a regiment of Irish dragoons. A huge piece of beef stood in the centre of the polished oak table, surrounded with cold chickens, ham, tongue, pigeon-pie, eggs, rounds of buttered toast, and other suitables too numerous to mention.

"Come, my boy, come, you must drink a pint of this stiff ale;" and, setting the example, he divided the snowy froth, and quaffed a draught both deep and long from a large brown jug, which was handed to him by the attentive Map, who had just drawn it from a capacious butt in the jaws of a cellar beneath, of dangerous dimensions for an explorer. So long was the pull at Sir John Barleycorn by my host, that Map began to fear the remainder in reversion would be short commons for him.

I took the jug, and drank of the strong beer, giving the sentient toast of "The trigger," as a preliminary, and " May we have as good sport as the quality of the ale," by way of a finish.

"Some of the early birds will be here soon now," said my host, looking at his antiquated watch.

"Here comes one on 'em, sir!" exclaimed Map, pointing to an equestrian cantering up the gravel drive towards the house upon a fine-looking horse, followed by a mounted groom with a gun-case under his whip-arm.

"It's Tom Merryweather, as usual," said my host. "First for the meet, first at the death, and the last to leave good wine. Ha! ha! ha! Tom's a sad dog!"

Tom entered the room with a remarkably unceremonious air, and seizing my host's hand, extended for the grasp, they both indulged in a loud hearty laugh, without either uttering a word, which clearly signified the extreme good terms existing between the cachinnatory indulgers. After my formal introduction to Tom Merryweather, another jug of ale was brought by Map, who offered it to him.

"That's your sorts!" exclaimed Tom, with Goldfinch, in "The Road to Ruin,"-" That's your sorts for me!" And his voice was silenced for a few moments, while he swallowed the potent liquid in very considerable quantities.

The host stood watching with goodnatured smiles the huge drink of the thirsty sportsman, and said, when the jug was brought gradually from his lips, "You can't whistle, Tom, now-ha! ha! ha!"

Tom screwed up his lips with a good endeavour; but nothing but a pant came from them. "By wetting my whistle so much, I've drowned it, farmer."

Here followed a second edition of uproarious mirth from the two jolly light-hearted fellows.

"Here they come! here are the boys, as thick as hops!" exclaimed my host, as a neat buggy quickly approached, followed by a dashing tandem, and a dog-cart, full of merry fellows, all laughing and smoking best Havannahs.

After mutual congratulations upon the fineness of the weather, introductions, and large libations of the admirable beer, the party, consisting of ten, armed with double barrels of the best kind, followed our entertainer and his keeper. Immediately preceding were six lubberly bumpkins, carrying long sticks in their hands to beat out the game with, and two brace of diminutive spaniels were obediently treading upon the heels of Map, much against their inclination. In this order we arrived at the first wood, and before the bumpkins and dogs were permitted to enter, we were requested to take our positions, according to our tastes or knowledge of the location. After each had settled the exact place for his range, Map heard the exclamation of "All right!" from his master. The little anxious spaniels, with a cheerful cry, sprang into the thick cover to the given order, followed by the motley group of bumpkacious bipeds. was placed by the side of my worthy friend, who said,

"Take 'em right and left. Never mind me, Squire. I'll strike a light at 'em when you are done with the tinder."

The dogs were now yelping their musical cries, having started some rabbits or hares, which, from feelings of self-preservation, continued in the wood, despite of the exertions to make them fair marks. The beaters hallooed, and thrashed the trees and bushes, and all the guns were prepared for a crack at anything that might present itself to the ready trigger.

"Mark!-mar-r-rk!" hallooed Map, as his well-tutored ear caught the first flap of a pheasant.

High over the trees I saw him mount a long distance from me. On he came towards where I stood, with his many-coloured and beautiful breast glittering in the sun. Momentarily I expected to see him fall before some well-directed aim. Bang! bang! snapped a double barrel; but on he came unscathed, with his neck stretched out.

you."

"Missed!" whispered my friend. "Take it coolly. He's for I raised my gun, covered, pulled, and down the fine fellow plumped in the long grass at my feet, fluttering in the convulsions of death.

"Well shot, Squire !-well shot!" said my friend, picking up the bird; " and a young cock, too," continued he, looking at his spurs. As I was charging, a rabbit popped out of the underwood with the swiftness of light, and as suddenly ran into it again. I started as a loud roar, resembling the report of a cannon, issued from my host's long piece close to me.

"What use was that?" said I. "It was impossible to kill it." He looked at me with a good-humoured smile, and going to the verge of the cover, knelt down. Creeping almost the length of his body into it, after a short time he backed out, dragging the rabbit riddled through the head.

"They never show a tip of their listeners to me without-" And he concluded by giving a very knowing nod with his left eye shut, and holding up the shattered head of the ill-fated rabbit.