to cultivate cotton, it seemed likely that | Viscount Lavridio, the Viscount de-lu-da their strong propensity to trade might be Bandeira, and others, are as anxious to easily turned to the advantage of our own see the abolition of the slave-trade as country as well as theirs. And here, I could be desired; but the evil is done by beg to remark, that on my first journey, the assertion in Europe of dominion in my attention not having then been turned Africa, when it is quite well known that to the subject, I noticed only a few cases they were only a few half-castes, the chilof its cultivation, but in this I saw much dren of converts and black women, who more than I had previously any idea of. have actually to pay tribute to the pure The cotton is short in the staple, strong, natives. Were they of the smallest and like wool in the hand-as good as benefit to Portugal; if any one upland American. A second has been made a fortune and went home to spend introduced, as is seen in the name being it in Lisbon, or if any pleasure whatever foreign cotton, and a third variety of very could be derived by the Portuguese govsuperior quality, very long in the fibre, ernment from spending £5000 annually though usually believed to belong to on needy governors, who all connive at South America, was found right in the the slave-trade, the thing could be undermiddle of the continent, in the country of stood. But Portugal gains nothing but a the Makalolo. A tree of it was eight shocking bad name, as the first that began inches in diameter, or like an ordinary the slave-trade, and the last to end it. To apple - tree. And all these require reus it is a serious matter to see Lord Palplanting not oftener than once in three merston's policy, which has been so emiyears. There is no danger of frosts either nently successful on the west, so largely to injure the crops. No sooner, however, neutralized on the east coast. A great had we begun our labors among the Man- nation like ours cannot get rid of the obganja than the African Portuguese, by ligations to other members of the great instigating the Ajawa, with arms and community of nations. The police of the ammunition, to be paid for in slaves, pro- sea must be maintained, and should we duced the utmost confusion. Village send no more cruisers to suppress the after village was attacked and burned, slave-trade, we would soon be obliged to for the Manganja, armed only with bows send them to suppress piracy, for no and arrows, could not stand before fire- traffic engenders lawlessness as does this arms. The bowman's way of fighting is odious trade. The plan I proposed reto be in ambush, and shoot his arrows quired a steamer on Lake Nyassa to take unawares, while those with guns, making up the ivory trade, as it is by the aid of a great noise, cause the bowmen to run that trade that the traffic in slaves is away. The women and children become carried on. The government sent out a captives. This process of slave-hunting steamer which, though an excellent one, went on for some months, and then a was too deep for the Shire. Another panic seized the Manganja nation. All steamer was then built at my own exfled down to the river, only anxious to pense; this was all that could be desired, get that between them and their enemies; made to unscrew into twenty-four pieces; but they had left all their food behind and the Lady Nyassa, or Lady of the them, and starvation of thousands ensued. Lake, was actually unscrewed and ready The Shire valley, where thousands lived for conveyance, at the foot of Murchison's at our first visit, was converted into liter- Cataracts, when, the people being swept ally a valley of dry bones. One cannot away in the manner I have mentioned, a now walk a mile without seeing a human work was hindered which I confidently skeleton; open a hut in the now deserted believed would have entirely changed the villages, and there lie the unburied skele- state of the country. It was the steamer tons. In some I opened, there were two Lady of Nyassa that took me across the skeletons and a little one, rolled up in a Indian Ocean, and in it I purpose to try mat, between them. I have always hated again. Were I young again I would putting the blame of being baffled upon gladly devote my time to the missionary any one else, from the conviction that a work; but that must be done by younger man ought to succeed in all feasible pro- men, specially educated for it-men willjects, in spite of everybody; and more- ing to rough it, and yet hold quietly and over, not to be understood as casting a patiently on. When I became consul it slur on the Portuguese in Europe, the was with the confident hope that I should be able to stop the slave-trade. I do not mean to give up. If being baffled had even made me lose heart, I should never have been here in the position which by your kindness I now occupy. I intend to make another attempt, but this time in the north of Portuguese, and I feel greatly encouraged by the interest you show, as it cannot be for the person, but from your sympathy with the cause of human liberty throughout the world. It startles us to see a great nation of our own blood despising the African's claims to humanity, and drifting helplessly into a war about him, and then drifting quite as helplessly into abolition and slavery prin ciples; then leading the Africans to fight. No mighty event like this terrible war ever took place without teaching terrible lessons. One of these may be that, though on the side of the oppressor there is power, there be higher than they." With respect to the African, neither drink, nor disease, nor slavery, can root him out of the world. I never had any idea of the prodigious destruction of human life that takes place subsequently to the slave-hunting till I saw it; and as this has gone on for centuries, it gives a wonderful idea of the vitality of the nation. POETRY. Little Bell sat down amid the fern- Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, Little Bell looked up and down the glade- Come and share with me! Down came squirrel, eager for his fare- The rocks sit gray and lone; The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry, Stirring it with rude moan: Only some weedy fragments idly thrown After the mountains rise, A bird? Nay, seems it rather to these eyes A spirit, o'er Eternity's dim sea Calling "Come thou where all we glad souls be." Wert thou the spoil of some loved playmate's hand? Sleep on, poor flow'ret; softest showers of spring, To bring again the lost. Ah, could we turn Gathered in dewy hours of life's young morn, -Chambers's Journal. THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD. "THEY tell me thou art come from a far world, Babe of my bosom! that these little arms, Whose restlessness is like the spread of wings, Move with the memory of flights scarce o'er ON A DRIED WILD-FLOWER IN AN OLD That through these fringed lids we see the soul SCHOOL-BOOK. RELIO of early days! My casual hand Or marked and measured task. I look on thee, Steeped in the blue of its remembered home; Upon thy baby lips that smile of heaven. And what is thy far errand, my fair child? Into my guiding hand this wanderer, Hails with sweet recognition, be to her A voice to call her upward, and a lamp To lead her steps unto thee!" BY THE RIVER. We went wandering down through the woodlands, How clearly before me that memory stands, We pushed our way through the tangled wood, All the brown woods were silent overhead; The gold moss that clung on the gray rock's side, And the dark-green ferns dripping into the tide, Lived again in the stream below. And she twisted the berries into a crown For her gleaming gold-bright hair; To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste, "Too deep for swift telling: and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee tonight." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took -Miss Ingelow. APPARENT FAILURE. "WE shall soon lose a celebrated building." No, for I'll save it! Seven years since, Saw, made my bow, and went my way: I took the Seine-side, you surmise, Thought of the Congress, Gortschakoff, Cavour's appeal and Buol's replies, And the face from the bank looked laughing down So sauntered till-what met my eyes? At the face in the water there; Only the Doric little Morgue! The dead-house where you show your drowned Petrarch's Vaucluse makes proud the Sorgue, Your Morgue has made the Seine renowned. One pays one's debt in such a case; I plucked up heart and entered-stalked, Keeping a tolerable face Compared with some whose cheeks were chalked: Let them No Briton's to be baulked! First came the silent gazers; next, A screen of glass, we're thankful for ; Last, the sight's self, the sermon's text, The three men who did most abhor Their life in Paris yesterday, So killed themselves: and now, enthroned Each on his copper couch, they lay Fronting me, waiting to be owned. I thought, and think, their sin's atoned. Poor men, God made, and all for that! Each coat dripped by the owner's bed, Some arch, where twelve such slept abreastUnless the plain asphalte seemed best. How did it happen, my poor boy? And could not, so it broke your heart? Were, red as blood, a socialist, THE DIFFERENCE. In the parting glow of the summer sun, Close to the heart that had loved her so well, Its hope in another's song Speaking a verse that floated through My memory as we watched the day "Twixt crimson portals fade away Into the dark of dusky blue ! Her trembling hand fell away from my arm; I seized her hand and looked down in her eyes, Can life know moments so fleeting and blest! In the parting glow of the winter sun, On earth I could hold her so- Lying out in the bitter cold. I murmured her name in passionate tones; The chamber of death echoed only groans, Then I kissed once more her pallid, still brow, Ever sounds in my soul sad memory's strain! AFTER THE BATTLE. HOLD the lantern aside, and shudder not so! There's more blood to see than this stain on the snow ! There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there, And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked hair! Did you think, when we came, you and I, out tonight To search for our dead, yon would be a fair sight? You're his wife; you love him-you think so; and I Am only his mother: my boy shall not lie You will go then no faintings! Give me the light, And follow my footsteps!-my heart will lead right! Ah, God! what is here? a great heap of the slain, weep, Ye weep, oh, ye weep o'er this terrible sleep! More more! know Ah! I thought I could nevermore Grief, horror, or pity for aught here below, Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor fright, That your red hands turn over towards this dim light These dead men that stare so? Ah, if you had kept Your senses this morning ere his comrades had left, You had heard that his place was worst of them allNot mid the stragglers-where he fought he would fall! There's the moon through the clouds: Christ, Christ, what a scene! Dost thou from thy heavens o'er such visions lean And still call this curst world a footstool of thine? Hark! a groan; there, another-here in this line Piled close on each other.-Ah, here is the flag, Torn, dripping with gore-Pah! they died for this rag! Here's the voice that we seek.-Poor soul, do not start: We're women, not ghosts.-What a gash o'er the heart! Is there aught we can do? a message to give To any beloved one? I swear, if I live, To take it for sake of the words my boy said, "Home," "mother," "wife "-ere he reeled down 'mong the dead! But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood? Speak, speak, man, or point!-'twas the Ninth!Oh, the blood Is choking his voice !-what a look of despair! There, lean on my knee, while I put back the hair |