"Ay, why," cried I, and dropped a tear, Adoring, yet despairing e'er To have her to myself alone"Why was such sweetness made for one?"

But, growing bolder, in her ear
I in soft numbers told my care;
She heard, and raised me from her feet,
And seemed to glow with equal heat.
Like heaven's too mighty to express,
My joys could but be known by guess;
"Ay, fool!" said I; "what have I done,
To wish her made for more than one?"

But long she had not been in view
Before her eyes their beams withdrew;
Ere I had reckoned half her charms
She sunk into another's arms.

But she that once could faithless be
Will favor him no more than me:
He too will find he is undone,
And that she was not made for one.

Still to be pinioned down to teach
The syntax and the parts of speech,
Or, what perhaps is drudgery worse,
The links and points and rules of verse;
To deal out authors by retail,
Like penny pots of Oxford ale;
Ola, 'tis a service irksome more
Than tugging at the slavish oar.
Yet such his task-a dismal truth-
Who watches o'er the bent of youth,
And while, a paltry stipend earning,
He sows the richest seeds of learning,
And tills their minds with proper care
And sees them their due produce bear,
No joys, alas! his toil beguile :

His own lies fallow all the while.

ROBERT GOUld.

ROBERT LLOYD,

A SCHOOL-USHER.

WERE I at once empowered to show

My utmost vengeance on my foe,

To punish with extremest rigor
I could inflict no penance bigger.
Than, using him as learning's tool,
To make him usher of a school.
For, not to dwell upon the toil
Of working on a barren soil,
And laboring with incessant pains.
To cultivate a blockhead's brains,
The duties there but ill befit
The love of letters, arts or wit.
For one, it hurts me to the soul
To brook confinement or control;

None pause to give thee suc

cor and to guide.

But, lo! there cometh with

Samaritan stain

One who will bind thy wounds, relieve thy pain-—

One of a hated race-a friend to thee

When thine own people aid thee not, but

And who with clear account remarks
The ebbings of his glass
When all its sands are diamond sparks,
That dazzle as they pass?

Oh, who to sober measurement

Time's happy swiftness brings, When birds of paradise have lent Their plumage to his wings?

S

WILLIAM R. SPENCER.

THE SHADOW.

EVENTEEN long years ago, and still The hillock newly heaped I see Which hid beneath its heavy chill

One who has never died to me,
And since the leaves which o'er it wave

Have been kept green by raining tears: Strange how the shadow of a grave

Could fall across so many years!

Seventeen long years ago! No cross,

No urn nor monument, is there,

But drooping leaves and starry moss

Bend softly in the summer air; The one I would have died to save

Sleeps sweetly, free from griefs and fears: Strange how the shadow of a grave

Could fall across so many years!

Seventeen long years ago! I see

The hand I held so long in vain, The lips I pressed despairingly

Because they answered not again;

I see again the shining wave

Of the dark hair begemmed with tears: Strange how the shadow of a grave Could fall across so many years!

Seventeen long years ago! The hand Then fondly clasped still holds my own, Leading me gently to the land

Where storm and shadow are unknown; The summons which I gladly crave Will come like music to my ears And the chill shadows of the grave Be changed to light ere many years.

A DREAM.

FLORENCE PERCY.

Raised a head or looked my way;

She lingered a moment: she might not stay.

How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah, mother dear, might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were
prest!

On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men,
Many long forgot, but remembered then.

night;

I went to the window to see the sight

All the dead that ever I knew

Going one by one and two by two.

On they passed, and on they passed,
Townsfellows all, from first to last,
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quenched in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates marching as when we played
At soldiers once, but now more staid :
Those were the strangest sights to me
Who were drowned, I knew, in the awful sea.

Straight and handsome folk, bent and weak. too;

Some that I loved and gasped to speak to; Some but a day in their churchyard bed; Some that I had not known were dead.

A long, long crowd, where each seemed lonely;

Yet of them all there was one, one only,

MONG other characteristics, the Waguha and Wabujwé are very partial to the arts of sculpture and turning. They carve statues in wood, which they set up in their villages: Their house doors often exhibit carvings resembling the human face, and the trees in the forest between the two countries frequently present specimens of their ingenuity in this art. Some have also been seen to wear wooden medals whereon a rough caricature of a man's features was represented. At every village in Ubujwé excellent wooden bowls and basins of a very light wood (Rubiaceae), painted red, are offered for sale.

Beyond Kundi our journey lay across chains of hills of a conical or rounded form, which enclosed many basins or valleys. While the Rugumba, or Rubumba, flows north-westerly to the east of Kundi as far as Kizambala, on the Luama River, we were daily, sometimes hourly, fording or crossing the tributaries of the Luama.

Adjoining Ubujwé is Uhyeya, inhabited by a tribe who are decidedly a scale lower in humanity than their ingenious neighbors. What little merit they possess seems to have been derived from commerce with the Wabujwé. The Wahyeya are also partial to ochre, black paints and a composition of

black mud, which they mould into the form of a plate and attach to the back part of the head. Their upper teeth are filed"out of regard to custom," they say, and not from any taste for human flesh. When questioned as to whether it was their custom to eat of the flesh of people slain in battle, they were positive in their denial, and protested great repugnance to such a diet, though they eat the flesh of all animals except that of dogs. Simple and dirt-loving as these poor people were, they were admirable for the readiness with which they supplied all our wants, voluntarily offering themselves, moreover, as guides to lead us to Uvinza, the next country we had to traverse.

Uvinza now seems to be nothing more than a name of a small district which occupies a small basin of some few miles square. At a former period it was very populous, as the many ruined villages we passed through proved. The slave-traders, when not manfully resisted, leave broad traces wherever they go.

A very long march from Kagongwe, in Uvinza, brought us to the pleasant basin of Uhombo, remarkable for its fertility, its groves of Guinea-palms and its beauty. This basin is about six miles square, but within this space there is scarcely a twoacre plot of level ground to be seen. whole forms a picture of hilltops, slopes, valleys, hollows and intersecting ridges in happy diversity, Myriads of cool, clear

The

streams course through, in time united by the Lubangi into a pretty little river flowing westerly to the Luama. It was the most delightful spot that we had seen. As the people were amiable and disposed to trade, we had soon an abundance of palm-butter for cooking, sugar-cane, fine goats and fat chickens, sweet potatoes, beans, peas, nuts and manioc, millet and other grain for flour, ripe bananas for dessert, plantain and palm wines for cheer, and an abundance of soft, cool, clear water to drink. Subsequently we had many such pleasant experiences, but, as it was the first, it deserves a more detailed description.

Travellers from Africa have often written about African villages, yet I am sure few of those at home have ever comprehended the reality; I now propose to lay it before them in this sketch of a village in the district of Uhombo. The village consists of a number of low conical grass huts ranged round a circular common, in the centre of which are three or four fig trees, kept for the double purpose of supplying shade to the community and bark-cloth to the chief. The doorways to the huts are very low, scarcely thirty inches high. The common, fenced round by the grass huts, shows plainly the ochreous color of the soil, and it is so well trodden that not a grass-blade thrives

upon it.

On presenting myself in the common, I attracted out of doors the owners and ordinary inhabitants of each hut, until I found myself the centre of quite a promiscuous population of naked men, women, children and infants. Though I had appeared here for the purpose of studying the people of Uhombo and making a treaty of

friendship with the chief, the villagers seemed to think I had come merely to make a free exhibition of myself as some natural monstrosity.

I saw before me over a hundred beings of the most degraded, unpresentable type it is possible to conceive, and, though I knew quite well that some thousands of years ago the beginning of this wretched humanity and myself were one and the same, a sneaking disinclination to believe it possessed me strongly, and I would even now willingly subscribe some small amount of silver money for him who could but assist me to controvert the discreditable fact. But common sense tells me not to take into undue consideration their squalor, their ugliness or nakedness, but to gauge their true position among the human race by taking a view of the cultivated fields and gardens of Uhombo, and I am compelled to admit that these debased specimens of humanity only plant and sow such vegetables and grain as I myself should cultivate were I compelled to provide for my own sustenance. I see, too, that their huts, though of grass, are almost as well made as the materials will permit; and, indeed, I have often slept in worse. Speak with them in their own dialect of the law of meum and tuum, and it will soon appear that they are intelligent enough upon that point. Moreover, the muscles, tissues and fibres of their bodies, and all the organs of sight, hearing, smell or motion, are as well developed as in us. Only in taste and judgment based upon larger experience, in the power of expression, in morals and intellectual culture, are we superior. I strive, therefore, to interest myself in my gross and rudelyshaped brothers and sisters. Almost burst