peasant nature, cast them back to their homes rifled of their simplicity, and tainted with all the bad of the "clique" which had dragged them from obscurity, to be with, though not of, their own particular class or coterie. Matthew Whitelock knew nothing of this; he saw in the papers that the "Northamptonshire peasant," or the "Farmer's boy," or the "Ettrick shepherd," had been at some Lady Bluebottle's conversazione; he saw the new volume with an overwhelming list of five shilling patrons, had frequently thought how beautiful Richard's head would look as a frontispiece to his poems-it was such a fine head-and he had more than once commenced a sort of fiddling calculation with his pencil, as to what would be the trade cost of a volume (supposing Richard did write a whole volume). It was just a pastime, to ascertain what it would cost, bound and lettered, with gilt edges, and a famous list of subscribers, and then Richard would be sure to be lionized; and he was so well bred, naturally, he would never be awkward, like the shepherd or farmer's boy. Mr. Whitelock was a worthy, honest man-a good man-who hated slavery and Smithfield, and would have given a large donation to the baths and wash-houses, if such things had been thought of then; but it was not given him to understand the inspirations of country life, he had a great idea that people must congregate together, and talk over their poetry to each other to make it good; and Richard never would talk of anything he had written. Mr. Whitelock knew nothing of the true dignity, and silence, and solitude of genius; he fancied country folk must be "dull;" he could not have comprehended the holy happiness of a peasantpoet on the mountain, watching the coming of the stars, as first alone, and then in countless multitudes, they glorified, with their beauty, the blue firmament of heaven; he knew nothing of the excursive soul, winging from star to planet, and pouring its inspirations into the warm and breathing clay, wherein for a season and a time, God had commanded it to dwell. He knew nothing of the whispering voices which breathe into the poet's ear from moss and harebell, from the leaping brook, and the mysterious cells of the butterfly and the ant. His cheek had never been brushed by the transparent wing of the wavering bat, nor did the grave moth ever sit upon his hand, as if it had been the sheltering leaf of the early primrose. He had never seen the sun rise, not even from Highgate, how could he tell what it was for the shepherd to see from his mountain throne the earth flooded in glory-while every

2

insect and every leaf quivered with joy, and the lark, all confiding and nothing daunted, his perfect love casting out fear, rose to meet the morning, while every other bird chorused his anthem--and he, poor town-bred man! would deem it a distinction for him, who had heard GOD in the thunder, and watched him in the whirlwind, yet knew that he would not smite the young lambs, and that the brood of the wild bird should continue in safety-he would consider that man, upon whom the sacred fire descended, and over whose dreams angels watched and wondered, a great, free, spiritual man, God-like, God-gifted, he would, in his own money-working way, think him honoured by an invitation, to be stared at by a sweltering multitude, or by his name being mingled with the time-serving, bought and sold paragraphs of a morning paper!

But the subscription list was, so to say, the coronet of Matthew Whitelock's hopes; yet, with it, to do him justice, came no one feeling of selfishness, it was all for Richard, and Richard's blind mother; and now mark the inconsistency, the worthy man's imagination had elevated Richard-the boy Richard-into a poet, a celebrated boy-poet. At all events, he had been invited and fêted, his beautiful head was engraved, the book was open in all the shop windows at the portrait; and with the money realized by the sale of the poems, Richard, forgetful of the glitter and celebrity of his feted life, forgetful of sweet smiles and bright eyes, forgetful of his portrait, was to enter the murky, greasy, inky atmosphere of a printer's office, and become a second Benjamin Franklin-as if Benjamin Franklin had began life as a poet— with the millstone of a subscription list round his neck, to drag him into the mire of dependence.

Still Matthew Whitelock reasoned rather according to his knowledge than according to his ability, for he was a kind man, shrewd in some things, and seemingly simple in others— simple, because his ways and means of observation were limited. It was his new-year's-day, also, and he sat in his little parlour, absolutely making out the subscription list for his protégé, wondering if the gentleman would come to his penny "tryste," and also wondering if he should hear as good a sermon that new-year's-day, as he did the last; for he liked to begin the year well, and would not have "missed church" that day upon any consideration. He felt in a contented, happy mood; the world had gone well with him, and he had gone well with the world. Peter, too, looked as fat and as sleek as he had looked five years ago; and Martha, when she wished him "a happy new-year, and

a great many of them," had not marred it with her heretofore observation, of "praise to the holies that you was not found dead in your bed this blessed new-year's morning, as you may be the next, who knows! and we all grow nearer death every year of our lives! Man's but a shadda' or woman either." In fact he was disappointed when Martha disappeared without an unpleasant observation of any kind, but his disappointment was not to continue. He had just counted up two-and-thirty names, when Martha rushed into the room—

I thought I was right, sir!" she exclaimed, "indeed, I knew I was-an imposther—a regular town-built imposther! a false name, and an orange shawl on the back of a green one, think of that! insulted both ways-and he to say, if I knew who he was-"IF!" I wonder is it Henry the Eighth, or the Pope of Rome, or the Lord Mayor of the City of London, he wants to be? Well, I'm sure! and here he is, hot foot after me; but I may be insulted! I'm nothing but an Irish woman, such as they put in the newspaper, "No Irish need apply;" orange and green! one on one shoulder, the other on the other; to live to see it, and hear it, and all of a new-year's-day! there's only one comfort-only one-here we are, three, one ould, one middle-aged, one young! and we may never see another!"

"I am so sorry, sir, Martha should misunderstand a little token of kindness I offered

her," said Richard, apologetically, from behind the door. Now those who knew Matthew Whitelock best, never could say that he was given to jesting, but when the words, "she misunderstood a little token of kindness I offered her," were spoken, the quiet bookseller glanced up, and inquired in a voice sufficiently loud not to be mistaken

"Was it a kiss?"

Martha answered by a scream, and tossing her arms wildly in the air, dived at once into the lower regions, declaring she would not remain in the house.

"A shawl, sir," replied Richard, blushing, "only it was unfortunately a green one, which I chose in compliment to her country, and when she objected to that, I offered to exchange it for an orange one, which seemed to make it worse. I lost my temper, I fear, a bit, which was very wrong, and said, that if she knew who I was, she would be sorry for her words."

The bookseller's face lit up, he knew, as the keeper of a circulating library, the value of a mystery, and that Richard should be a mystery was quite beyond his hopes. "And who are you?" inquired Matthew.

The clock broke into a little click, to notify it was going to strike, which it did, ten times.

May I tell you when I return, sir? it is now something about the time I promised to meet the old gentleman at Covent-garden.

VOL. I. N. S.

T

DURING the month of November, 183-, I was serving as midshipman on board his Majesty's ten-gun brig, the, then on her passage from the river Gambia to Sierra Leone; when off the Rio Pongo, the wind became very light, in fact, almost a calm.

His Majesty's brig was never at any time a good sailer; she had originally been built for blockading in the North Sea, during the late war; her draught of water was very light, thus enabling her to cruise near the shore, which, on the western coast of Africa, is a great advantage.

She was commanded by a lieutenant, with a complement of sixty officers and men; the commander, who had long served on the coast of Africa bitterly lamented her dull sailing, for he was well aware of the fastsailing qualities of the greater part of the slavers; however, he promised us the chance of a capture, with the aid of the boats, should it fall calm off the entrances of the three rivers we were then near; viz., the Rio Grande, Rio Nunez, and the Rio Pongo, all noted as the resort of slavers.

While in the latitude of the last named ' river, and just off the shoals to the westward of it, the wind entirely left us, and the sea became like a vast mirror; suddenly the lookout man at the masthead called out, "Sail right ahead." It being my watch, I was ordered up to see what I could make of the strange sail, with a telescope. After a long look, in which most of the officers joined, we came to the conclusion that she was a foretopsail schooner, with only her upper sails visible above the horizon, evidently becalmed like ourselves; from her position she appeared to have either lately left the Rio Pongo, or was about to enter it. It being one o'clock, and the crew at dinner, nothing was done until their meal was over, when the boats, arms, and provisions were prepared, and the men told off for the cutting-out expedition, should the stranger prove suspicious and the weather remain calm. At last, it struck the officers from the masthead that the schooner appeared to near us; she was standing towards the brig, but as far as the eye could reach, not a ripple appeared on the horizon.

The schooner still neared us, until her hull was visible from the masthead. Various were the conjectures now amongst the officers and men as to what the strange vessel could be;

those who had previously been on the coast, said, it could not be a slaver, for slavers always keep a look-out man at the masthead, and generally see the cruisers as soon as they are seen themselves, and then make the best of their way off.

The schooner still approached fast; at last the look-out man at the masthead called out, that he now could see the hull, and also that the stranger was sweeping towards us-this accounted for the rapid approach. All hopes of promotion and prize-money were now at an end; no slaver, the commander said, would thus throw himself in the way of a man-of-war; it must be some vessel in distress.

I had now an excellent view of the stranger from the masthead, with a powerful telescope of the commander's; her snow-white canvas, large sails, and low, black hull, with the rapid movement of the sweeps on the smooth, glasslike surface of the sea, were all distinctly visible. The schooner being now in sight from the deck, and still nearing us, the commander ordered the master to take a boat, and see what was required. The whale-boat, a very fast-pulling one, was accordingly selected; moreover, from being painted white, it would not be noticed so easily as the others which were black. The master left with eight men, well armed, and pulled in the direction of the schooner, now not more than three miles distant, still sweeping towards us, the weather calm as before. Everything on board was ready for hoisting out the pinnace-men all prepared at a moment's notice. The schooner, which could now be plainly seen, was a beautiful vessel, with a very low, black hull, painted with a thin, white streak; her deck appeared crowded with men. The whale-boat rapidly neared her, when suddenly the schooner, about two miles distant, altered her course, and commenced sweeping away in the opposite direction, at the same time firing guns at the whaleboat. From the first manoeuvre and wreath of smoke seen on board the schooner, all had been excitement with us; the pinnace was immediately hoisted out, and hastened to the assistance of the whale-boat, the schooner opening her fire on both boats, and sweeping away towards the shoals at the entrance of the Rio Pongo.

It was approaching sunset; there being little or no twilight in the tropics--and as there were indications of a light air from the

westward, which would favour the schooner, without making much impression on our dullsailing brig, the chances of success were very much against us. In the meantime the chase continued; the boats at first rapidly gaining on the schooner, and the latter firing with greater precision at them.

After sunset, a light air enabled the shooner to get away a little from the boats; but our men pulled away, cheering each other. It soon became quite dark; two men were seriously wounded in the pinnace, the schooner keeping up an incessant fire of great guns and musketry. The brig showed her position by occasionally burning blue lights and firing rockets, and the effect of the firing from the schooner and boats, in the dark, was very singular to those on board the brig. The boats now began to near the schooner, when the bows of the pinnace were pierced by three grape shot, and one of our best men, an old quarter-master, shot through both thighs; the whale-boat now pulled for the larboard side of the schooner, and the pinnace for the starboard, the marines picking off the crew of the schooner, when they became visible by the flashes of their musketry. Both boats now got close to the schooner, the shouts of the captain, urging his crew for a last effort, could be plainly heard; and just as the pinnace got alongside, three more of our men were laid in the bottom of the boat, seriously, but not mortally wounded, and on the whale-boat touching the other side, a marine was shot through the arm; as the men jumped up from the boats, a gun, that was pointed into the pinnace, missed fire, this was the last shot attempted to be fired from the schooner; the resistance of the crew was of short duration, they were soon overpowered, our men being exasperated by the long pull and the sight of their wounded messmates. A Frenchman, who had steered the vessel during the chase, made a most desperate resistance; he had been twice shot before the boats boarded, and was not overpowered until he had shown himself worthy of a better cause; he never left his station until he fell covered with wounds.

Several of the crew jumped overboard, the slaves below made a dreadful noise; one of the crew who had been cut down, fell across the grating of the slave-room, his blood dropping on the slaves below, roused them to madness. The crew were soon driven off the upper deck, many had thrown themselves into the sea, and were drowned, the remainder hid themselves below in the forepart of the vessel, sentries were immediately placed over the hatchways.

The light air having freshened into a breeze from the westward, the schooner, now our prize, was steered towards his Majesty's brig.

The master and one of my messmates were wounded, not seriously, seven of our men badly, and four slightly. The first care was to collect the crew of the slaver, several of whom remained on deck badly wounded; those who were in the forepart refused to come on deck, it was not until one had been wounded with a bayonet that they came up; they seemed a very villanous set of ruffians.

But where was the captain? at last he was found in his berth in the cabin, under two mattresses, entreating for quarter as our men dragged him from his hiding-place; he had urged his crew until our men boarded; it was he who attempted to fire the last gun, which, in the hurry, from the cartridge not being pricked, missed fire, then he had rushed below and hid himself. Had that gun gone off, the pinnace's fate would have soon been decided, for it was pointed right into the boat.

Upon being questioned, the captain, a Portuguese, said, his vessel had left the Rio Pongo the evening before, that he was bound for the island of Boa Vista, one of the Cape Verd Islands, with 180 slaves, which were to be shipped on board a large vessel bound to the Brazils, and after delivering the first cargo, he was to return to the river for another; his crew consisted of fifty-six men besides the officers, they were chiefly Spaniards and Por tuguese; upon being asked why he swept his vessel towards us, he said, he thought we were one of the outward-bound English merchant vessels going to Sierra Leone for a cargo of timber, and that he wanted to purchase an anchor and cable; he had no idea we were a man-of-war, until he saw the boat pulling towards him. There is no doubt, from what was afterwards found in the vessel, that he committed piracy as well as slave dealing, whenever chance favoured him, and had he found us a trading vessel, ours would not have been an enviable position.

During the struggle on the schooner's deck, a Spaniard, who had jumped overboard, swam to the pinnace-which, with the whale-boat, was fastened to the schooner's stern, and contained all our wounded men who were unable to get up the vessel's side-his life was spared by the old quarter-master. A painful thing happened at the same time: a seaman, who had never seen a slaver, hearing the dreadful noise below, fired into the woman slave-room, and wounded a poor young woman with an infant at her breast, fortunately not a very