"Come in," said Donald. The door opened, and enters, very politely, with a low bow and hat in hand, Tower Hill.

"How you do, sir. I hope you bera well. Massa Punch, de head-driver jus' now bring a 'strawdinary piece of news of a regular working nigger, Massa Cumba, a bera nice nigger, eberybody like him; him wife too, eberybody like him. But him no been in da field neider yesserday nor to-morrow."

"If he is sick," said the overseer, "he had better be conveyed to the hospital at once; and see, Tower Hill, that he takes the cines prescribed to him by the doctor."

"Iss, massa."

proper medi

Mr. Gillies M'Carty, the proprietor of Cashew, riding through his plantation a few days after, saw his gang of negroes at work, and Cumba, who was a young and strong negro, not among them, so he inquired after him. Tower Hill came forward.

"How you do, sir? I hope you bera well. Massa Cumba been sick dese two, tree, four days, sir. I tink him die bera fast. De buckra doctor see him bot' to-day, to-morrow, and yesserday, and say, he do nuttin' for him. He bera 'fraid dat somet'ing wrong on he mind, and he bera sure dat physic no do him good."

"Why not?"

"Oh! sir, dere hab been a quarrel between him and buddee Cudjoe. At one time, sir, dey hab no dissensions, no jealousies, no t'iefings, no plottings, no obeahings. When de labour of de day ober, dey go to de village, and, in de ebening, dey hab de song and de dance, and den go to deir beds wid deir hearts full of love for one anoder. But now de times change. Massa Cudjoe hab been to Ben Soco, to mak' de old man work obeah for him buddee."

"Work obeah for him! Pshaw!"

"Oh! massa, dere been no 'pshaw' in dis case. If massa no b'lieb in obeah, he no b'lieb in de great Massa who lib abob de clouds. Ben Soco been rale Obeah-man, and he damn Obeah-man. De oder day he bury piece o' whangra-root on Brimstone Hill; de oder day, 'gain, he bury glass bottle; de oder day, 'gain, he bury rusty nails: so buddee Cumba go sick and go dead."

"Ben Soco is a very great old rogue," said Mr. Gillies M'Carty, with emphatic slowness. "The next time he comes here, send him to me."

"Iss, massa."

Seven days after this transaction, Ben Soco came to Cashew; he was sent to Mr. Gillies M'Carty.

"How do you do, Ben ?"

"How you do, sir?"

"If you will carry a letter for me to your master, Ben, I will give you half a dollar."

"Tank you, sir; me do um and wid pleasure."

Mr. Gillies M'Carty sat down and wrote a letter to Ben Soco's master, begging him to take and give the bearer a sound whipping. With this letter Ben Soco set out on his journey, but had not gone far, before he suspected all was not right; so he drew the letter from his pocket and peeped into the corner, but not knowing how to read, he could not, of course, make out a syllable. In spite of his ignorance, his good-fortune did not desert him. Just then seeing a lusty negro be

longing to Mr. Gillies M'Carty going along a byway, he called out to

him

Hoday nigger, hoday!" The negro stopped and looked around. "Hello, nigger! dis way.-Now, nigger, your massa hab jus' send me to meet you, and bid you carry dat letter to Shafstone, and return as soon as you can."

"Iss, buddee, me do what massa tell-a me," said the negro; and, believing Ben Soco, he carried the letter to Shafstone, where he received a sound whipping for his pains. When this news was brought to Ben Soco, he was whetting his knife on a grinding-stone at Shafstone. Without leaving off his occupation, he observed, in a quiet manner, to some negroes standing round him.

"Well, good chillern and buddees, you see how de 'perit of Ben Soco sabby eberyt'ing; and hab him here, dere, and eberywhere at one and the same time, and all at once; and hab him know wrong doings when oder people only 'spec 'em. Massa buckra no try servee me such a trick again, when him hear dat him own nigger get de fum-fum. Cha cha cha!" and the old man laughed with much glee and with a great expansion of jaw. "Humph!" he thought when alone, and frowning, "so buddee Cumba been tell he massa, I s'pose, I been practise 'gain him life. Dat not so good he 'peak 'bout dat. He mus' trimmel and be vera fraid of Obeah-man, and swear on the nigger grave dirt dat him nebber tell tales of Ben Soco, de great Obeah-man of St. Kitt'stopher's."

Scraping some dirt off his father's grave, and putting this in a calabash, Ben Soco trudged away with it to Cashew. Meanwhile, as he was journeying thither, Quasheba, weeping and wringing her hands, went to her master, and, with the usual loquacity of a negro, burst out into,

"Oh! massa-God bless you, massa! you nigger come ask a faber, massa! Me know me massa lub me, and me lub me massa, and me massa bera good, so we quite happy wid him, till buddee Cumba fall sick. Den we hab sore heart, and we pray to de great Massa who lib abob de clouds to cure buddee, but God Almighty shake he head and say no, and buddee go dead; and it bera certain de buckra doctor no do buddee good, and so he now want to go to de black doctor Crab who b'long to de buckra Mass' Ghumbs."

"If the black doctor," said Mr. Gillies M'Carty, "understands the illness of your husband better than the white one, Quasheba, Cumba shall go to him; but Crab must not attempt to cure him by charms or spells or anything but medicine."

"Oh! lard, no, massa; dere been no trick in Crab. Him no Obeahman. Him good too much. Him better far dan white man, for him come from Africa, and Africa been good place."

Quasheba and her friends then got Mr. Gillies M'Carty's leave to carry Cumba to the black doctor. They started with him almost immediately for the beautiful part of the country where Crab lived. It was toward the close of the afternoon when they came in sight of the grove of cocoa-nut, palmetto, and bread-fruit trees, by which Plaintain Garden River was surrounded. Going up the single street of houses by a road shaded on each side with trees, and strewn, as if with dust, by the beautiful small crimson blossoms of the Tahitian apple, they came to Crab's dwelling. Crab was at home taking care,

with the old women, of the children; for he was excused from work on account of his old age and feebleness; and he was playing on the fiddle when Cumba was brought into his hut in a kind of litter between two bamboo poles.

"How old Massa Crab?" said Cumba; "I see him dis once, and nebber again. Me go dead soon now. God bless Massa Crab; him

always good to nigger."

"I gie you welcome to Plaintain Garden River, buddee. I been bera glad to see you and to hab you."

"Tank you, Massa Crab. I been come to you, howsomeber, to lie down and go dead."

"No say dat, buddee. I know eberyt'ing, and can do eberyt'ing. I can tend you, and can cure you too."

But Crab was a wicked Obeah-man; and as Obeah-men always act upon the principle of affording each other mutual assistance, he was in league with Ben Soco, and, though nothing could be more cordial than his reception of Cumba, he went on to Shafstone that afternoon to apprise Ben that Cumba was in his power.

"Den him die 'fore to-morrow sunrise," said Ben Soco: “look, buddee," and the old rogue showed his back marked with recent lashes. "Cumba's Massa do dis. He see me in him nigger-yard dis morning, looking for buddee Cumba, wid he nigger grave-dirt in de calabash, and him send me wid two of him niggers back to de aboshee, and mak' 'em gie me, dis bera afternoon, a blessed good fum-fum-ing. But nigger Cumba, who been tell tales of me, s'all peris' dis bera night for dis."

Muttering curses against Cumba, he set out with Crab for Plaintain Garden River, which he reached some time after the sun had gone down. Cumba was sitting over a blazing fire with a couple of blankets on his shoulders, when the door opened, and Crab, leading the way, entered.

"Old Massa Crab too good," said Cumba, "him come see a we again. Lard o' mercy!" This last exclamation of surprise was made on Cumba seeing the frizzly head of Ben Soco peeping over Crab's shoulder.

"How day, Massa Cumba?" said Ben Soco; "I bring you cole guinea-fowl and ham, buddee. A we[been frien's at last; and as dis been fis'sing day, I bring you some crawfis' and some eggs for you

supper.

The faint gleam of twilight entering through the window, gave brightness to the drops of perspiration which hung on Cumba's brow. He made no reply, and such deep silence followed this speech of Ben Soco, that the tambourine and banjar could be distinctly heard from the other end of the village, and the obtuse sound of naked feet stamping on boards; for the negroes were dancing the John-John.

"Massa Cumba sick, buddee," said Crab in a low voice, "let he be. Gie me de crawfis', buddee, and me put him in de warter. Gole! he look fres'."

66

By

Flop" went the fish into the water: the wood crackled, the fire burned, the water bubbled, and the cray-fish soon began tumbling over each other, and diving from one end of the pot to the other, assuring Crab, who had his nose over the kettle, that they were beginning to boil very fast. Cumba hung dejected over the log of wood on which he sat ;

and Ben Soco went hunting over the hut for a calabash and water to make rum bombo for the sick man. The nature of this beverage was well known to Cumba. He smacked his lips as he saw the liberal quantity of rum that Ben Soco poured from his capacious bottle into the pure and milky amalgamation of water and lime-juice; and, though he had made up his mind not to take anything to eat or drink compounded by Ben Soco, he could not resist rum bombo. This was truly lamentable. For Ben Soco, having resolved to kill "de damn nigger dat bera day at las'," dropped, unobserved, into the liquor that deadly. poison, the worm of the cassava root, which he had brought with him under his thumb-nail. He offered the drink to Cumba, who took and tippled it off, and smacked his lips, afterwards exclaiming, "Ah! him damn good rum dat! I guess him pure old St. Kitt'stopher's rum."

But though no one in the hut had observed Ben Soco drop the cassava worm into the drink, there were two outside who had seen him distinctly enough. These were Punch and Tower Hill, who, on their way back to Cashew from Shafstone, stopped at Plaintain Garden River, when the shades of evening had set in; and, seeing a light twinkling through the trees from Crab's hut, they struck off into a side path which wound round the hut, and, gaining the back of it, they observed through the knot-holes and the open joints of the hanging windowshutters everything passing inside. It was then that, by the light of a candle burning on a deal table, they saw Ben Soco, with his back turned to Camba, drop the worm into the drink which he afterward offered to his victim. As upon such occasions a negro never interferes, but views with the utmost indifference a fellow-creature put to death, Punch and Tower Hill walked quietly away, only observing to each other that they would tell "deir Massa what Ben Soco do." The next day, the manager on Plaintain Garden River, on going to Crab's hut, saw the dead body of Cumba exhibiting strong symptoms of having been poisoned. This he made known to Mr. Gillies M'Carty, who, from that communication and what he heard from Punch and Tower Hill, sent those two negroes with some constables to Shafstone to take Ben Soco into custody to stand his trial for Obeahism and murder. He was carried that night to Basseterre, to a building which had formerly been an old fortification. There he was confined in a solitary cell, about eight feet long, six high, and four wide, with a shelf for him to lie on, and but the bare earth for the floor. What occurred subsequently may be learnt from the following observations. "Hey, buddee," said one negro to another, as they met in a gallery in Mount Misery, "you hear de news jus' now? Old Ben Soco was catched de oder day and tried at Basseterre by the judge and sebben niggers in de box. Yesserday in the afternoon dey hang de old rebel: he hab a grin on him face all de time dey sun-dry him; and when me t'ink upon him hangin' from de gallus, by grim I don't it jus' mak' me trimmel and 'fraid!"

THE WILDS OF THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF

IRELAND.

Adventurous Passage from Dingle to Kells.-Old Carnes.-Mr. O'Connell's Birthplace.-Valentia. Slate Quarries. - Harbour.-The Great Skellig. -A Pilgrimage to the Holy Cross on its summit.-Melancholy Tale of the Guide.

An invitation to the house of a friend lying, perdu, in the midst of the Dingle chain of mountains, extending from Tralee to Dunmore Head, presented so favourable an opportunity for seeing the coast of Ireland, that I determined on embracing it, and accordingly found myself one evening last summer, after a long and fatiguing day's journey, entering the small hamlet of B- near which the house of

my friend was situated.

As I presented myself at the door, the fast-falling shades of night rendered it difficult to discern the surrounding scenery; but I was too glad to find a hearty Irish welcome, seconded by a most substantial repast, to regret the absence of the picturesque.

I shall not, however, soon forget the scene that met my eyes the following morning. In front of the house rose a lofty mountain, the sides of which were robed with rich heather, and, by a singular freak of nature, a cut, or glen, of very narrow dimensions, divided this to the base, and opened a view of the Bay of Dingle, bounded on the opposite side by the Kerry mountains. A small river ran through the glen, and discharged its waters at the head of a miniature bay, the shores of which were dotted with fishing boats, and crowded by the peasantry of the neighbourhood.

Behind, or to the north, rose the lofty chain of the Dingle mountains; that called Coom Dhuv, or the Black Pass, being the most conspicuous as it towered immediately over a host of others; and in the vale between these two mountain ranges reposed the small hamlet, its few houses nestling together, as if company was scarce in so remote and wild a region. One of the most characteristic features of the scene was the absence of wood. A few stunted and stag-headed shrubs, scattered here and there, formed the only apology for trees. The prevailing westerly gales are the chief cause of this failure, and it was curious in some places to see from this cutting effect how the bushes were trimmed with all the demureness of a Cockney's privet hedge.

Early one morning I left the house for the purpose of taking a ramble, but being attracted by a more than usual number of individuals on the beach, I followed the path which wound through the glen, and in a few minutes arrived at the head of the small bay.

Early as it was, there could not have been less than five hundred persons of both sexes present. This assemblage had formed a large circle, within which were four fishing-boats, hauled-up, as the sailors say, high and dry. On addressing myself to a peasant for explanation, I learned that the parish priest was about to say mass over the boats, which had not been so successful during the past night's herring-fishing as their rivals.

At the time of my visit, the quantity of herrings in the bay exceeded anything before known, and the success generally attendant on