woodman to his petty losses; and he unhesitatingly ascribed his good fortune to the weird influence of the Indian demon who was the depredator upon his stores. Even if he sometimes questioned this influence, he was not permitted to question other facts in his experience, which could be ascribed to no other cause. If his stores disappeared during his absence, he found himself supplied by the same mysterious visitor with things which seemed intended to compensate him for them. From this time he never had occasion to supply himself with wood and water. Huge piles of oak and lightwood were always to be found in the corner of his room, and his bucket of water was always full and fresh from the spring. He resigned himself gracefully enough to the wizard influence which thus provided for his comforts, and saw his stores of corn and peas diminish daily, in supplying the demands of two mouths instead of one; the Logoochie was evidently a great feeder. Besides, Larkins now had companionship. He was never lonesome. His violin, as we have said, found a listener nightly without his cabin, and an eldritch, but not disagreeable chuckle of satisfaction, acknowledged the excellence of his reels. As time advanced, Larkins sometimes found himself welcomed, on his return home, by strange creakings of his favourite instrument, which saluted his ears when within fifty or a hundred yards from his home; but he never found the goblin at the instrument, nor was it ever injured by his uncouth performances. Logoochie drew a severe bow, but never a musical one; and the tones from the violin, when in his hands, were uniformly monotonous—a mere sawing to and fro of the bow, as if drawn by exceedingly long and heavy arms. At length the woodman obtained glimpses of the creature. He was now conscious of a strange shape sidling into the wigwam, at the late hours of night; when lying in a state between sleep and waking, he saw the fire about to sink, and when the crimson shadows were growing faint upon the wall, he could see the strange visitor, a mere outline, short, thick, and seemingly wrapped in bark and moss, throw himself down beside the fire, and there lie till morning; stealing away with the first grey streaks of dawn. Larkins felt extremely happy in this sort of companionship. He had a sense of society, associated with a superior sense of safety. He lost nothing. He feared no enemies, and he had no wants. His petty affairs prospered as they had never done before; he worked more regularly, more successfully, and accumulated the means for more

expensive luxuries. He soon found that he needed them. The goblin's wants increased also. Larkins soon found that he began to prey upon his coffee as he had preyed upon his grain; eating the parched berries with avidity, without requiring them to be ground, and dissolved into the purple beverage. It was necessary to check this penchant of Logoochie, and the good-natured woodman, after a good deal of cogitation, concluded that the only way to do this was to teach his companion the proper method of using it; in other words, to make a sufficient supply of the coffee nightly for the use of his eldritch guest, and inform him of his wishes. He did so one night, when, after a long flourish upon his violin, he was apprised, by the chuckling from without, that Logoochie was at his post. He laid down his fiddle, and brought out his calabash of ground coffee. He knew that the goblin was watching all his movements. He poured out a more than double portion of the grain, separating it at first into two parts. This done, he apostrophized the listener, to whom he had long since given the name of 'Old Moosfoot,' on account of his sly and stealthy movements.

"Mossfoot," says he, "old boy, coffee ain't to be eaten like peas or corn; it's to be drunk, jest as you drink water. Now, you see, here's more than enough to make two quarts of the liquor. This heap here would make a leetle under one quart, and, seeing as how that was always enough for me, of a night, I reckon, if I more than double it, the rest will be quite enough for you. Now, you see, I'll put both together, and give it a great b'iling. When it's done, I'll put mine in this mug, and put the bigger mug on the window for you. I'll sweeten it fair, and you must drink just as you see me drink. So, old boy, you'll onderstand. You mustn't eat any more of the coffee. Taint the nateral way to use it, no how."

A chuckle of approbation from without, followed his speech, by which he understood that the terms of compact were quite agreeable. Sure enough, the coffee was placed, according to arrangement, upon the sill of the open window, and very soon disappeared. Larkins quietly drank his share, never once looking up. But after awhile a good-natured grunt at the window caused him to turn his eyes in that direction, and there he beheld the pitcher. He suffered it to remain awhile, then took it in, without seeing anybody, and, filling his pipe, he proceeded to smoke, aware, from long experience, that the fumes of the tobacco was always grateful to the nostrils of his goblin, though he was never conscious of

any disposition on the part of the latter to "blow a cloud" himself. He puffed for an hour by his fireside, in a condition of great content with the world around him, then played a few tunes upon his violin, and retired for the night to his mattress of "shuck and moss." For a while he lay awake, and, before he slept, he heard his door creak upon its hinges, and distinguished the rude outlines of his companion as he quietly entered, and stretched himself, a mere log, enveloped in bark and moss, in front of the decaying embers. The events of this one evening were of nightly recurrence, with little variation, for months afterwards. Still, Larkins prospered after a moderate fashion; increasing his profits in a small way, and multiplying his own comforts and those of Logoochie. At length he was invited by no less a person than the Landgrave, or Baron, upon whose estate he was a squatter. You know that, in Carolina, under the institutions ascribed to Locke and Shaftesbury, we had a provincial nobility: a Landgrave was one of the highest rank, next to that of Palatine, and by the laws of the province, was required to own at least twenty-four thousand acres of land. The title survived, by courtesy, the abolition of the legal distinction. The Landgrave in question, whose name is no longer remembered, was a North Briton, and a very avaricious and selfish person. He had driven up from the city, on the route to his stately residence on Cooper river, and had taken a somewhat circuitous progress, in order to see Larkins. His purpose was to set him to work as a woodcutter; one of many whom he employed to load a couple of schooners which he kept continually plying between his plantation and the city. He found no difficulty in engaging Larkins, at a very low price, paying him by the cord of wood for his labour. His waggons were to arrive weekly, at the clearing ground, to haul away to the river the wood as it was accumulated. The contract made, the Landgrave disappeared a stately personage who terribly awed our simple woodman, by his pride and splendour; and, the next day, the labour was begun, in the immediate neighbourhood of Larkins's wigwam. The good fellow hewed all day with tolerable industry, and supposed himself to have cut up, perhaps, a couple of cords. But he did not measure it, and went to bed somewhat more tired than usual. For him, indeed, the day's work had been a hard one. In the night he did not see the goblin appear, as before; though the pot of coffee, placed on the window, had been drunk, and he had heard his chuckle one or twice VOL, I. N. S.

without the wigwam. But it seemed to him that he could hear, in the pauses of the night, the sound of an axe in the wood; a notion, however, which he ascribed to his dreams, which might naturally be supposed to run upon the labours of the day. When, however, he went to work next morning, he was struck by the appearance of a greater pile than he had left the evening before. This might be a fancy also, so he congratulated himself on his own efficiency, and went to work with renewed vigour. Next night, he again fancied that he heard his axe, and the next day he was again impressed with the unexpected magnitude of his pile; and so it continued throughout the week. When he proceeded to cord his wood, it far exceeded all his calculations. The waggon was filled, and filled, and still there was much more wood. The Landgrave, who was profiting by the wants of the city, was compelled to send the waggon thrice a week, and, finally, every day. Larkins was making money. The amount paid to him was quite enormous, in his humble imagination. He felt where his gratitude was due. He increased his supplies of coffee and sugar, and doubled his allowance to his serviceable goblin, whose increased chucklings betrayed his increased satisfaction. Our Landgrave, not satisfied with his own gains, was now intent on diminishing those of the woodcutter. He paid him a second visit, in the same state as before; and the simple Larkins was persuaded to a new contract, in which, instead of being paid for the quantity cut-by the cord, he was paid by the day for his labour. The Landgrave thus withdrew the stimulus to performance as well from Goblin as Woodman. His calculations were not based upon any just knowledge of human nature, or any proper consideration of the motives by which it was influenced. The consequence might have been foreseen. The supplies of wood fell prodigiously. Larkins was conscious, himself, of very far inferior results from his own labours; and he was now struck with the additional fact, that his piles, instead of increasing nightly, as before, now underwent a singular diminution. But his pay must nevertheless continue the same, and so he suffered from no serious annoyance. Not so with our Landgrave. Being really anxious for the wood, his purpose in making the new bargain with Larkin, was, not to lessen the supply, but to lessen the compensation. When he found that the quantity furnished from this quarter was so greatly diminished, he paid the woodman a third visit, in the same state as before, in a fine carriage drawn by four horses, and attended by outriders in a rich livery of

U

gold and green. He found Larkins languidly at work in the forest. He alighted from his vehicle and approached him. He spoke to him sharply, as having defrauded him of his rightful labour-spoke to him, in short, as, in that day, nobility and wealth were but too apt to speak to poverty and dependence,--as one speaks to a worthless dog, or a lazy horse. In doing so, he leaned against a short stump, seemingly a very old tree, and was suddenly pierced as by a thorn. He started up with a slight cry, and turned to examine the stump, but he found no thorn, and ascribed the hurt to some sliver or splinter of the wood. The stump looked innocent enough. Larkins only smiled, looked affectionately at it, but said nothing. The result of the visit was favourable to our woodcutter The Landgrave had to resume the old arrangement, paying Larkins by the cord, instead of by his day labour. Then followed the history, as before. The wood accumulated amazingly, beyond all previous experience. The night, to Larkins's eyes, seemed to double fully the showings of the day. His own prowess increased in like proportion; and, wondering at results so infinitely superior to those produced by the toils of any other of his employés, our Landgrave proceeded again to visit our woodcutter, as well in the hope to drive some better bargain, as to inquire into the secret of such great performance. As before, he found Larkins in the wood, and busy with the fate of his forest victims. Never did the stately visitor behold such rapid execution. The green heads of the great trees went down thundering in the twinkling of an eye. The havoc was very fearful. Great gaps of an acre were made daily in the thick woods. The measured cords rose like great batteries on every hand. The axe revolved like lightning around the head of the woodcutter, and every stroke seemed to bury itself fatally in the hearts of the most gigantic victims. Larkins seemed to require few pauses, and but little rest. At such periods, however, the Landgrave observed that he drew nigh to a short rugged stump of an ancient tree, that seemed a nondescript, on the top of which lay probably a dozen of the smaller gourds or calabashes, such as the farmers of the country used as drinking vessels. These might contain from two gills to a pint. The Landgrave saw that each of these was stopped with a cork made of the light wood called the tupelo. Our woodman emptied one of these at one draught. Then he renewed his toils with wonderful increase of strength. He scarcely seemed to flag after an hour's incessant chopping. He paused only to renew his draught. The Landgrave was

curious. He drew nigh to the stump, took up one of the gourds, and had succeeded in drawing the stopper and testing the liquor—when he suddenly felt a heavy strike on the side of his head, as from one of the calabashes. His eyes flashed fire, and, furious as a wild beast, he lifted his whip, and, with a terrible oath, struck desperately at poor Larkins, to whom he ascribed the blow. But the lash was caught in an ungainly branch of a stunted tree, that had entirely escaped his sight before, and was thus jerked suddenly out of his hand. Bitter were the imprecations which he bestowed upon our wood-cutter, who found it difficult to persuade him that he had not administered the blow. Looking up, the secret seemed to explain itself. A dozen calabashes were hanging by their vines in the branches overhead. That one of them should have descended upon his sconce, just at that moment, was something of a coincidence, but nothing more; and the humble assurances, and the submission and very regretful demeanour of our wood-cutter, served to mollify the wrath of the baron. When he became quieted, he remembered the taste of the liquor with which he had been allowed only to wet his throat, and was reminded that it was gratefully pleasant, of a nutty flavour, slightly sweet, and somewhat oleaginous. What could it be? He determined to taste again, and again resorted to the calabashes. This time, however, the result was not so satisfactory; and he dropped the calabash as soon as he had swallowed. The liquor was now of a nauseous bitter. Unfortunately, with the most pleasant recollections of his previous taste, and, resolved not again to be disappointed, he had eagerly gulped an entire mouthful. The result was such a spluttering and spitting, such a coughing, and such contortions, on the part of the nobleman, that Larkins was fain to lay down the axe, and yield himself up entirely to laughter. But he dared not. He was too greatly in awe of the dignitary. What, however, he dared not do, was done with impunity by his double. Such a chuckling ensued throughout the forest, seeming, in a sudden, to arise from every possible quarter, that the Landgrave recoiled in horror.

"What does it mean, Larkins ?"

"Ah, Lord! your honour, there's no telling! These are mighty strange woods, I tell you! They're full of sperrits! I hear 'em pretty often, with all sorts of noises."

The visit of the Landgrave was not much prolonged after this. He paid Larkins a sum of money in gold, and hurriedly took his leave. When he was gone, our woodman gravely ad

ous intellect peculiarly qualified for the position which he occupies. Neither the philosophy nor poetry of the preceding age are unknown to him he comprehends all the problems of science, he possesses all the treasures of art, and merrily bears the artillery of ancient Germany in the midst of the revolutionary expeditions of an emancipated generation. None but himself could thus smile in the midst of ruins. With infantine cruelty, with sadness mingled with indifference, he appears to delight in raising flowers on the field of deathflowers lovely, yet empoisoned! Perfumes of every species there meet, and are united, and it is impossible to inhale them without experiencing at once pleasure and sorrow. Is he sad? Is he joyous? Is it the triumph of the free-thinker that sparkles in his gaiety? Is it the melancholy of the disappointed poet that lies concealed under the mask of irony? Doubt on this point is indeed permissible—or rather, we may affirm, that these two opposite sentiments form in him an union which composes the very originality of his works. It is assuredly the free-thinker who makes the haughty declaration:-"I have never considered poetry as aught but a sacred toy, a means consecrated to a divine end. Whether my songs are praised or blamed, it matters little to me; place a sword on my grave after my decease-yes, a sword! for I have ever been a good soldier in the war of deliverance for the human race." But the poet is no less sincere when he exclaims :"My poem is the dream of a summer's night; it has no object, like life, like love!" Or, again :-"I am the last songster in the boundless and vernal forests of romance." Unite these two opposite ideas; picture the harmony which these contrasts, when blended, will produce; form a complete being of this valiant free-thinker and this poet enamoured of his fancy, and you will have the representative of the period that succeeded Goethe and Hegel; you will have the author of the Reisebilder and the Book of Songs, the author of Atta-Troll and the Romancero-the brilliant, the fanciful, the incomprehensible Heinrich Heine.

We have now an opportunity of appreciating the complete works of Herr Heine. Formerly, amidst the brilliant productions of an inexhaustible imagination, and the various parts acted by the humorist, criticism naturally hesitated in passing an opinion; it could but follow the rapid flight of his imagination, mark the phases of his evolutions, and indicate the connection of the poet's writings with the times in which they were composed, and the influence he designed them to exercise. Hen

rich Heine has now completed the circle of his poetry, his entire works are before us, and we can, as it were, cause his whole life to pass in review before our eyes. His life has been one continued act of homage to fancy; it will end as it commenced, with the charming gaiety and poetic aspirations of youth. In vain have years succeeded years-in vain has agonising and relentless suffering placed her leaden hands on his winged fancy-imagination has triumphed and soared “to the heights that overlook creation." Behold him on his sick couch; admire his pensive and intelligent countenance, which testifies at once to physical suffering and mental tranquillity! The delicate and interesting features, the faint smile of the lips, the half-closed eyes, bear undeniable marks of impassible calmness, of the triumph of humour over the most cruel sufferings that fall to the lot of man.

The scholastic terms, sensuality and spirituality, appear to be incorrectly applied in connection with him. The soul of his poetry is, strictly, neither ideal enthusiasm, nor love of material beauty, but humour-humour! that literary mysticism peculiar to the north; fanciful garb of intelligence, concealing grief beneath joy, and tenderness beneath jest; delicate irony, establishing itself on the highest pinnacles of thought, and clothing the universe in its all comprehensive soft veil; sporting playfully with heaven and earth, with the real as well as the ideal.

As we found Heinrich Heine five-andtwenty years ago, when writing the satirical pages of the Reisebilder-young, fearless, at once joyous and sad-the very same do we now find him, triumphing over grief by poetry, and inditing the brilliant stanzas of the Ro

mancero.

Heinrich Heine was born on the banks of the Rhine, in the city of Dusseldorf. The date of his birth has not hitherto been rightly ascertained by his biographers: they almost all assign it to 1800; the real date is 1799. The following lines, which he has given to satisfy our curiosity, will furnish not only the definitive solution of a doubtful question, but also additional information respecting the mind of the poet :

"My health is too delicate at present to permit me to furnish you with notes; I can merely inform you that the date of my birth has not been cor rectly stated in the biographies you may have seen of me. This inaccuracy, I confess, between our selves, arises from an error voluntarily committed in my favour, at the time of the Prussian invasion, to withdraw me from the service of his Majesty the King of Prussia. Since that period, all our family