It is easy to distinguish between the intonation of an Indian and a white man. The men whose conversation reached our ears were whites-their language was our own, with all its coarse embellishments. My companion's discernment went beyond this-he recognised the individuals.

'Golly! Massr George, it ar tha two dam ruffins -Spence and Bill William!'

Jake's conjecture proved correct. We drew closer to the spot. The evergreen trees concealed us perfectly. We got up to the edge of an opening; and there saw the herd of beeves, the two Indians who had driven them, and the brace of worthies already named.

We stood under cover watching and listening; and in a very short while, with the help of a few hints from my companion, I comprehended the whole affair. Each of the Indians-worthless outcasts of their tribe-was presented with a bottle of whisky and a few trifling trinkets. This was in payment for their night's work-the plunder of lawyer Grubbs's pastures. Their share of the business was now over; and they were just in the act of delivering up their charge as we arrived upon the ground. Their employers, whose droving bout was here to begin, had just handed over their rewards. The Indians might go home and get drunk: they were no longer needed. The cattle would be taken to some distant part of the countrywhere a market would be readily found-or, what was of equal probability, they would find their way back to lawyer Grubbs's own plantation, having been rescued by the gallant fellows Spence and Williams from a band of Indian rievers! This would be a fine tale for the plantation fireside a rare chance for a representation to the police and the powers.

Oh, those savage Seminole robbers! they must be got rid of-they must be moved' out.

As the cattle chanced to belong to lawyer Grubbs, I did not choose to interfere. I could tell my tale elsewhere; and, without making our presence known, my companion and I turned silently upon our heels, regained our horses, and went our way reflecting.

I entertained no doubt about the justness of our surmise no doubt that Williams and Spence had employed the drunken Indians-no more that lawyer Grubbs had employed Williams and Spence, in this circuitous transaction.

The stream must be muddied upward-the poor Indian must be driven to desperation.

CHAPTER XXIII.

REFLECTIONS BY THE WAY.

At college, as elsewhere, I had been jeered for taking the Indian side of the question. Not unfrequently was I 'twitted' with the blood of poor old Powhatan, which, after two hundred years of 'whitening,' must have circulated very sparsely in my veins. It was said I was not patriotic, since I did not join in the vulgar clamour, so congenial to nations when they talk of an enemy.

Nations are like individuals. To please them, you must be as wicked as they-feel the same sentiment, or speak it-which will serve as well-affect like loves and hates; in short, yield up independence of thought, and cry 'crucify' with the majority.

This is the world's man-the patriot of the time. He who draws his deductions from the fountain of truth, and would try to stem the senseless current of a people's prejudgments, will never be popular during life. Posthumously he may, but not this side the grave. Such need not seek the 'living fame' for which yearned the conqueror of Peru: he will not find it. If the true patriot desire the reward of glory, he must look for it only from posterity-long after his 'mouldering bones' have rattled in the tomb.

Haply there is another reward. The mens conscia recti is not an idle phrase. There are those who esteem it-who have experienced both sustenance and comfort from its sweet whisperings.

Though sadly pained at the conclusions to which I was compelled-not only by the incident I had witnessed, but by a host of others lately heard of— I congratulated myself on the course I had pursued. Neither by word nor act, had I thrown one feather into the scale of injustice. I had no cause for selfaccusation. My conscience cleared me of all ill-will towards the unfortunate people, who were soon to stand before me in the attitude of enemies.

My thoughts dwelt not long on the general question scarcely a moment. That was driven out of my mind by reflections of a more painful nature-by the sympathies of friendship, of love. I thought only of the ruined widow, of her children, of Maumee. It were but truth to confess that I thought only of the last; but this thought comprehended all that belonged to her. All of hers were endeared, though she was the centre of the endearment.

And for all I now felt sympathy, sorrow-ay, a far more poignant bitterness than grief-the ruin of sweet hopes. I scarcely hoped ever to see them again. Where were they now? Whither had they gone? Conjectures, apprehensions, fears, floated upon my fancy. I could not avoid giving way to dark imaginings. The men who had committed that crime were capable of any other, even the highest known to the calendar of justice. What had become of these friends of my youth?

My companion could throw no light on their history after that day of wrong. He "sposed tha had move off to some oder clarin in da Indy-en rezav, for folks nebba heern o' um nebber no more arterward.'

Even this was only a conjecture. A little relief to the heaviness of my thoughts was imparted by the changing scene.

Hitherto we had been travelling through a pineforest. About noon we passed from it into a large tract of hommock, that stretched right and left of our course. The road or path we followed ran directly across it.

The scene became suddenly changed as if by a magic transformation. The soil under our feet was different, as also the foliage over our heads. The pines were no longer around us. Our view was interrupted on all sides by a thick frondage of evergreen trees-some with broad shining coriaceous leaves, as the magnolia that here grew to its full stature. Alongside it stood the live-oak, the red mulberry, the Bourbon laurel, iron-wood, Halesia and Callicarpa, while towering above all rose the cabbage-palm, proudly waving its plumed crest in the breeze, as if saluting with supercilious nod its humbler companions beneath.

The

For a long while we travelled under deep shadownot formed by the trees alone, but by their parasites as well-the large grape-vine loaded with leaves-the coiling creepers of smilax and hedera-the silvery tufts of tillandsia shrouded the sky from our sight. path was winding and intricate. Prostrate trunks often carried it in a circuitous course, and often was it obstructed by the matted trellis of the muscadine, whose gnarled limbs stretched from tree to tree like the great stay-cables of a ship.

The scene was somewhat gloomy, yet grand and impressive. It chimed with my feelings at the moment; and soothed me even more than the airy open of the pine-woods.

Having crossed this belt of dark forest, near its opposite edge we came upon one of these singular ponds already described-a circular basin surrounded by hillocks and rocks of testaceous formation-an extinct water-volcano. In the barbarous jargon of

the Saxon settler, these are termed sinks,' though most inappropriately, for where they contain water, it is always of crystalline brightness and purity.

The one at which we had arrived was nearly full of the clear liquid. Our horses wanted drink-so did we. It was the hottest hour of the day. The woods beyond looked thinner and less shady. It was just the time and place to make halt; and, dismounting, we prepared to rest, and refresh ourselves.

Jake carried a capacious haversack, whose distended sides-with the necks of a couple of bottles protruding from the pouch-gave proof of the tender solicitude we had left behind us.

The ride had given me an appetite, the heat had caused thirst; but the contents of the haversack soon satisfied the one, and a cup of claret, mingled with water from the cool calcareous fountain, gave luxurious relief to the other.

A cigar was the natural finish to this al fresco repast; and, having lighted one, I lay down upon my back, canopied by the spreading branches of an umbrageous magnolia.

I watched the blue smoke as it curled upward among the shining leaves, causing the tiny insects to flutter away from their perch.

My emotions grew still-thought became lull within my bosom-the powerful odour from the coral cones and large wax-like blossoms added its narcotic influences; and I fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A STRANGE APPARITION.

I had been but a few minutes in this state of unconsciousness, when I was awakened by a plunge, as of some one leaping into the pond. I was not startled sufficiently to look around, or even to open my eyes. 'Jake is having a dip,' thought I; an excellent idea-I shall take one myself presently.'

6

It was a wrong conjecture. The black had not leaped into the water, but was still upon the bank near me, where he also had been asleep. Like myself, awakened by the noise, he had started to his feet; and I heard his voice, crying out:

'Lor, Massr George! lookee dar!-ain't he a big un? Whugh!'

I raised my head and looked toward the pond. It was not Jake who was causing the commotion in the water-it was a large alligator.

It had approached close to the bank where we were lying; and, balanced upon its broad breast, with muscular arms and webbed feet spread to their full extent, it was resting upon the water, and eyeing us with evident curiosity. With head erect above the surface, and tail stiffly 'cocked' upward, it presented a comic, yet hideous aspect.

'Bring me my rifle, Jake!' I said, in a half-whisper. "Tread gently, and don't alarm it!'

Jake stole off to fetch the gun; but the reptile appeared to comprehend our intentions-for, before I could lay hands upon the weapon, it revolved suddenly on the water, shot off with the velocity of an arrow, and dived into the dark recesses of the pool.

Rifle in hand, I waited for some time for its reappearance; but it did not again come to the surface. Likely enough, it had been shot at before, or otherwise attacked; and now recognised in the upright form a dangerous enemy. The proximity of the pond to a frequented road rendered probable the supposition. Neither my companion nor I would have thought more about it, but for the similarity of the scene to one well known to us. In truth, the resemblance was remarkable-the pond, the rocks, the trees that grew around, all bore a likeness to those with which our eyes were familiar. Even the reptile we had just seen -in form, in size, in fierce ugly aspect-appeared the

exact counterpart to that one whose story was now a legend of the plantation.

The wild scenes of that day were recalled; the details starting fresh into our recollection, as if they had been things of yesterday-the luring of the amphibious monster-the perilous encounter in the tank-the chase-the capture-the trial and fiery sentence-the escape-the long lingering pursuit across the lake, and the abrupt awful ending-all were remembered at the moment with vivid distinctness. I could almost fancy I heard that cry of agony-that half-drowned ejaculation, uttered by the victim as he sank below the surface of the water. They were not pleasant memories either to my companion or myself, and we soon ceased to discourse of them.

As if to bring more agreeable reflections, the cheerful 'gobble' of a wild turkey at that moment sounded in our ears; and Jake asked my permission to go in search of the game. No objection being made, he took up the rifle, and left me.

I re-lit my 'havanna '-stretched myself as before along the soft sward, watched the circling eddies of the purple smoke, inhaled the narcotic fragrance of the flowers, and once more fell asleep.

This time I dreamed, and my dreams appeared to be only the continuation of the thoughts that had been so recently in my mind. They were visions of that eventful day; and once more its events passed in review before me, just as they had occurred.

In one thing, however, my dream differed from the reality. I dreamt that I saw the mulatto rising back to the surface of the water, and climbing out upon the shore of the island. I dreamt that he had escaped unscathed, unhurt-that he had returned to revenge himself that by some means he had got me in his power, and was about to kill me!

At this crisis in my dream, I was again suddenly awakened-this time not by the plashing of water, but by the sharp spang' of a rifle that had been fired

near.

6

is a good shot, and not likely to miss. If'My reflections were suddenly interrupted by a second report, which, from its sharp detonation, I knew to be also that of a rifle.

'My God! what can it mean? Jake has but one gun, and but one barrel-he cannot have reloaded since? he has not had time. Was the first only a fancy of my dream? Surely I heard a report? surely it was that which awoke me? There were two shots-I could not be mistaken.'

In surprise, I sprang to my feet. I was alarmed as well. I was alarmed for the safety of my companion. Certainly I had heard two reports. Two rifles must have been fired, and by two men. Jake may have been one, but who was the other? We were upon dangerous ground. Was it an enemy? I shouted out, calling the black by name.

I was relieved on hearing his voice. I heard it at some distance off in the woods; but I drew fresh alarm from it as I listened. It was uttered, not in reply to my call, but in accents of terror.

Mystified, as well as alarmed, I seized my pistols, and ran forward to meet him. I could tell that he was coming towards me, and was near; but under the dark shadow of the trees his black body was not yet visible. He still continued to cry out, and I could now distinguish what he was saying.

'Gorramighty! Gorramighty!' he exclaimed in a tone of extreme terror. 'Lor! Massr George, are you hurt?'

'Hurt! what the deuce should hurt me?' But for the two reports, I should have fancied that

he had fired the rifle in my direction, and was under the impression he might have hit me.

'You are not shot? Gorramighty be thank you are not shot, Massr George.'

'Why, Jake, what does it all mean?'

At this moment, he emerged from the heavy timber, and in the open ground I had a clear view of him. His aspect did not relieve me from the apprehension that something strange had occurred.

He was the very picture of terror, as exhibited in a negro. His eyes were rolling in their sockets-the whites oftener visible than either pupil or iris. His lips were white and bloodless; the black skin upon his face was blanched to an ashy paleness; and his teeth chattered as he spoke. His attitudes and gestures confirmed my belief that he was in a state of extreme terror.

As soon as he saw me, he ran hurriedly up, and grasped me by the arm-at the same time casting fearful glances in the direction whence he had come, as if some dread danger was behind him!

I knew that under ordinary circumstances Jake was no coward-quite the contrary. There must have been peril then-what was it?

I looked back; but in the dark depths of the forest shade, I could distinguish no other object than the brown trunks of the trees.

I again appealed to him for an explanation. 'O Lor! it wa-wa-war him; Ise sure it war him.' 'Him? who?'

'O Massr George; you-you-you shure you not hurt. He fire at you. I see him t-t-t-take aim; I fire at him-I fire after; I mi-mi-miss; he run away-way-way.'

"Who fired? who ran away?'

'O Gor! it wa-wa-war him; him or him go-goghost.'

"For heaven's sake, explain! what him? what ghost? Was it the devil you have seen?'

"Troof, Massr George; dat am de troof. wa-wa-war de debbel I see: it war Yell' Jake.' 'Yellow Jake?'

It

CURIOSITIES OF STEAM-POWER. So great are our obligations to this prime mover, and so important is its place in modern civilisation, that any information relating to it is interesting. Those who have studied the subject will receive with some little surprise the new facts to which we now propose to direct their attention, and which may be said to be of somewhat an anomalous character.

The first of these facts is, that, in the process of condensation, another circumstance than the mere presence of cold water is necessary, at least as regards condensation in tubes; and the second is, that the steam itself may be made to produce a vacuum, the use of which in working engines promises to be of very great importance. We shall endeavour to place both these matters briefly before our readers.

assurance of scientific men, we believe if steam be passed through a dry tube, passing through cold water, most of it will issue at the other end of the tube unchanged. If, on the other hand, a certain quantity of hot water, formed from former steam, remains in the tube, bent for the purpose of retaining it in the hollow, then all the steam will be condensed, and flow out in the state of water.

Thus the recovery of any quantity of used steam may be provided for without any necessity for admixture with salt water. It is only necessary to pass this used steam into a tube running a certain way through a body of cold water, and having a bend near the point of final escape containing a little hot water, and all the steam will reappear as hot water. The importance of this to marine steam-navigation is obviously incalculable: its advantages, in point of facility and simplicity, over other modes of accomplishing the same object, must be plain at the first glance to all who are in the least acquainted with the subject.

But it has to be considered that one advantage of the old mode of condensation is, that the used steam escapes into a vacuum, and consequently with much greater facility than it would even into a space filled with air, not to mention one filled with elastic steam.

The mode of producing this vacuum by the agency of the steam itself, and which we shall now attempt to describe, strikes us as being extremely interesting. Let us suppose a boiler generating and sending forth steam through a conducting tube into a cylinder. This steam will drive the piston along, until, finding a valve open, its own elasticity causes it to rush into the space left free to it beyond the valve. Here, in the old system, it was met, as before observed, by the cold-water 'dash,' and, as steam, destroyed; now, it will be allowed to escape into the bent tube above described, and will be propelled along this tube at the presumed rate of pressure-about thirty pounds to the inch. The effect of the cold water outside, and the hot water in the bend of the tube, will cause it to condense as we have said; but the vacuum into which the water may run has still 'to be provided.

To effect this object, the bent tube is connected with wards, and thus the first operation will be the filling a closed vessel fitted with a valve at top opening outthe whole apparatus with steam at a certain pressure; but when the water condenses in the tube, for the reasons mentioned above, the supply of steam is cut off, the valve of the closed vessel will shut, and prevent the entrance of air, and thus a vacuum will be formed by the simplest and most natural means, and the flow of the condensed steam, in the form of water, into the vessel, will go on in vacuo. Thus, the same advantages will be secured in the new as under the old system, so far as the vacuum is concerned; but, in addition, the water thus recovered will be returned to the boiler, not only free from all impurity-as distilled fresh water, in fact-but also at a heat which will promote economy in fuel to a considerable extent.

It would be quite superfluous to insist upon advantages so obvious as these; and we have no doubt that the ascertained laws relating to them will allow of their being fully realised in the way proposed. The great desideratum, in the absence of any less complicated prime mover, is obviously some certain mode of preventing the waste of water-that is, of fresh water

Here a most curious fact presents itself. Upon the

much to meet the case; but a moment's reflection will enable the reader to see that, in the way now proposed, the object will be accomplished on the most advantageous and economical principle; and although the assertion may seem somewhat rash, in presence of ever-progressing improvements, it seems as if we had reached the point where nothing more can be desired, in this way the limit of perfection having been attained.

LOST IN THE MIST.
THE thin white snow-streaks pencilling
The mountain's shoulder gray,
While in the west the pale-green sky
Smiled back the dawning day,
Till from the misty east, the sun
Was of a sudden born
Like a new soul in paradise-

How long it seems since morn

One little hour, O round red sun,
And thou and I shall come
Unto the golden gate of rest,
The open door of home;
One little hour, O weary sun,
Delay the murky eve,

Till these tired feet that pleasant door
Enter, and never leave.

Ye rooks that wing in slender file

Into the thickening gloom,

Ye'll scarce have reached your old gray tower

Ere I have reached my home:

Plover, that thrill'st this lonely moor

With such an eerie cry,

Seek you your nest ere night falls down,
As my heart's nest seek I.

O light, light heart, O heavy feet,
Beat time a little while;

Keep the warm love-light in these eyes,
And on these lips the smile.
Outspeed the mist, the gathering mist
That follows o'er the moor;
The darker grows the world without,
The brighter shines that door.
O door, so close, yet so far off;

Grim mist that nears and nears;
Coward! to faint in sight of home,
Blinded-but not with tears;
"Tis but the mist, the cruel mist,
That chills this heart of mine,
My eyes that cannot see the light,
Not that it ceased to shine.

A little further-further yet;

How the mist crawls and crawls!
It hems me round, it shuts me in
Its white sepulchral walls:

No earth, no sky, no path, no light;
Silence as of a tomb:

Dear heaven, it is too soon to die-
And I was going home!

A little further-further yet:

My limbs are young; my heart—

O heart, it is not only life

That is so hard to part:

Poor lips, slow freezing into calm,
Numbed hands, that nerveless fall;
And a mile off, warm lips, safe hands,
Waiting to welcome all!

I see the pictures in the room,
The light forms moving round,
The very flicker of the fire

Upon the patterned ground;
O that I were the shepherd dog

That guards their happy door!
Or even the silly household cat
That basks upon the floor.

O that I lay one minute's space
Where I have lain so long:
O that I heard one little word
Sweeter than angel's song!
A pause-and then the table fills,
The mirth brims o'er and o'er;
While I-oh, can it be God's will?
I die, outside the door.

We are informed by the Meteorological Report from Wellington Road, Birmingham, that last year was remarkable throughout, with the exception of the month of April, for its high mean temperature. The excess was greatest in summer and autumn; while in December the temperature was seven degrees above the average. The reporter attempts to account for the warmth being retained during the later months of the year by the comparative paucity of clear nights: 'It appears to me to be pretty clear that the moist state of the atmosphere, accompanied by a high barometric pressure, has had an influence in retaining a portion of this high temperature during the latter part of the year. Whenever the surface has been cooled down by night radiation under a clear evening sky, fog, and subsequently cloud, has almost invariably been the result, and thus the earth has been shielded from the cooling process. Indeed, I cannot call to mind many nights during the fall of the year which have been clear from sunset to sunrise.' While such was the state of the temperature, the quantity of rain that fell during the year was about an average; it was more evenly distributed throughout the months than usual; but September shewed the largest collection, and December the smallest.

'MANY THOUGHTS ON MANY THINGS.'

The book recently published with this title is a marvellously substantial quarto of 'selections from the writings of the known great and the great unknown,' by Henry Southgate (Routledge). It serves the purpose of a dietionary of quotations; and being analytically arranged, is a readable book besides; giving the opinions and fancies, in prose and verse, of numerous authors, ancient and modern, on each subject referred to. The motto on the title-page, from Coleridge, may be cited as a specimen of the work itself, as well as an apology for its publication: Why are not more gems from our great authors scattered over the country? Great books are not in everybody's reach; and though it is better to know them thoroughly than to know them only here and there, yet it is a good work to give a little to those who have neither time nor means to get more. Let every bookworm, when in any fragrant, scarce old tome he discovers a sentence, a story, an illustration, that does his heart good, hasten to give it.'

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by WILLIAM ROBERTSON, 23 Upper Sackville Street, DUBLIN, and all Booksellers.