helped him on, and he turned his face homeward with a sigh. But all the way home he was thinking upon a thing the pedlar had told; and of all the strange things he knew, that was the strangest.

"Take a bull calf, nine months old—' so it ran- rub the spot where butchers feel, with unsalted butter from his dam's milk, put a spear of mint under his tongue, and if you mount him while the clock strikes twelve, you may ride twenty miles and back within the hour; but take care not to speak a word while on him, for this would deliver you to an evil power, and consign you to a violent death.' Now it so happened that Bill had a calf of the genuine Durham breed just of the age prescribed, and while thinking of the circumstance, he recollected that his wife had churned that very day, and the butter must be at that moment, lying in the dairy, ready for market on the morrow; the Durham's butter was always kept separate, being very rich and, intended for a particular customer; and that there was a mint bed near the gate, Bill knew from daily experience. Opportunity is a stronger temptation than want, and Bill felt an undefined foreboding, as the singular coincidence became manifest, that this night would prove the power of the charm, and that he was destined to perform the daring feat. It was dangerous and it was terrible to be flying over the country at that hour; but he might as well try, and the calf might not go off after all. I half think' said he, 'it's all a lie of that funny rogue, for he seemed to look at me mighty cunning. I've never seed the thing that could throw me yet, and if Bill Haddon can't hold his tongue, I don't know who can, that's all. So I hope Betty has'nt salted all that butter.'

"He reached home, stabled his horse, and as he passed the dairy door pushed it wide; a number of prints lay on the shelf, and near them a lump of rich yellow butter, which a peculiar and familiar impress of Betty's knuckles assured him was what he sought. He separated a small quantity with his thumb nail, and submitted it to his palate-'twas guiltless of salt, then securing a larger portion, he proceeded towards the house, and finished his preparations, by plucking a few spears of mint as he entered the gate.

"The most profound silence reigned as he entered the little enclosure, and Bill stepped as carefully as if he was afraid of waking some one, though he knew a cannon shot would hardly disturb his slumbering household. There was a candle burning in the little parlor, and as he gazed through the uncurtained window, at the broad square face of the wooden clock upon the mantel, he saw that the iron hand was hard on to twelve, and heard the sudden rattle of the wheels which indicates its intention to strike in a few moments; in an instant more the opportunity would be lost. This decided him; he strode into the field, and skilfully seizing the Durham by the tail and ear, brought him struggling before the door; then having performed the witching operations, looked at the clock and found the time almost expired. The devoted animal now lay perfectly still. The dogs, after manifesting some curiosity at these unu

sual proceedings, retired to rest in the shadow of the house, and Bill heard nothing but the ticking of the clock and the thumping of his heart beating in double quick time. This awful period passed slowly away; but at length the whizzing of the wheels warned him to seize hold, and as he did so the first stroke rang upon his ear, and he heard no more. Away sprang the calf like lightning, followed by the baying of the startled dogs, and the daring rider soon found himself moving over the fields at much faster rate than he had ever followed fox or hound. Fences were no impediments, gullies (and they are many, wide, and deep here) were passed like last year's furrows in a cornfield; away he flew over the hills, up one side and down the other, through rocks, and streams, and fallen timber, with such ease and activity that Jack, who was an excellent judge of horse flesh, began to lose his confusion in the admiration excited by his singular steed. He began to think this was a very pleasant as well as expeditious mode of conveyance, and was endeavoring to hit upon some means of profiting by the extraordinary qualities of his beast, when he was aroused by the roar of the river, which he perceived by wellknown signs he was fast approaching. Rather a dangerous course this,' thought he, and well he might, for the river at that place was bordered by high and broken cliffs, and rushed through the defile with great rapidity; so he pressed the calf's neck in token that he would have him change his course, but the dumb little innocent could not understand it; he raised his car and tried to pull his head to the required direction, but the obstinate little brute rushed straight onward as if bent upon the destruction both of himself and his rider. 'Stubborn fool,' inly ejaculated Haddon as he seized both ears, and tugged with all his force to turn or stop his bedevilled steed. But his efforts were vain; the neck of the cursed beast was as rigid as iron, and he was hurried along with undiminished rapidity, kicking and struggling, to his doom. It was while hurrying forward with dreadful speed, that Bill saw before him a human figure, and as he passed recognized the pedlar, who shouted to his flying victim- A pleasant journey, and a safe return. Poor Bill could only shake his fist in return. He felt himself entrapped into the power of the evil one, and he doubted not the pedlar was an agent sent for his destruction. The roar of the waters grew loud on his ear, and in another moment he saw the foaming waves raging far below. He closed his eyes on the dreadful gulf, and was trying to form a prayer when he felt the powerful bound of the animal beneath him, and was safely landed on the other side. That's a good jump for a calf,' cried he, joy and wonder dissolving the caution which terror had but more firmly impressed. Misplaced exultation! the fatal words broke the charm; a dreadful roar burst from the bewitched animal; his eyes, burning like coals of fire, were turned upon his rider, whom with one bound he hurled into the stream. Haddon fell like stone, the raging floods bore him on, dashing and whirling him among the rocks till no spark of consciousness remained. Much was Betty's surprise and deep apprehension when she found next

morning her husband still absent. She went to the stable; his horse was not there, but on returning to the house, the first sight that met her eyes was the ghastly but still breathing form of her husband. His negroes going out to work had found the horse grazing near a ditch, at the bottom of which was his master, who had apparently fallen off in attempting to leap it. How he came there was a matter of deep surprise to him, but not so to his wife; she lectured him soundly on his bad habits, as she called them, and laughed at him when he told the story of the calf. Indeed, she easily persuaded him that it had all been a dream-especially as the pedlar came there next day, and sold them some excellent bargains; so he agreed to lay it all on the rum, and to drink no more, except in moderation. This promise he kept most righteously until his wife's death, after which he stuck to rum toddy and his story of the calf with great constancy for the remainder of his days."

Here ended the story of Bill Haddon, with which the company seemed vastly pleased; and when I retired, excusing myself on the score of a fatiguing ride of sixteen miles, I heard renewed bursts of laughter, whether at Haddon's ride or mine I had no way to ascertain.

THE FAIRY ISLE.

In the far off South, where no rude breeze
E'er sweeps o'er the breast of the halcyon seas;
Where the airs breathe balm, and the heavens smile
With a glorious radiance, a fairy isle

Lolls on the breast of the mother deep,
With a dimpled cheek like a babe asleep.

There forests sloped from the silver flood
To the sunlight lift their tall green-wood,
With bowers beneath, through whose tendrils gleams
The fitful light with its softened beams,
And embroiders around, with its golden sheen,
The velvet moss of the alleys green.

There beetling cliffs and mountains high
Their dark brows rear to the arching sky,
With winding grottoes that flash with gems
Richer than sparkle on diadems.

There the crystal waters gently chime
With a mellowed tone or a voice sublime-
The streamlet's murmur, the fountain's call,
And the bounding rush of the waterfall--

Till the echoes within their thousand caves
Laugh at the sound of the joyous waves.
The ocean ripples, with gentle flow,
Sweep over sands like the drifted snow,
And ring with a chime of mimic bells,
Among shining pebbles and purple shells
That echo again their ocean tone,

As heart responds to a heart like its own.

But the richest treasures of earth and main Have not been garner'd up there in vain,

To deck for many an ocean mile

In tranquil beauty the fairy isle,

From the wrath of waves and the breath of storms,
For life is there in its rarest forms.

The speckled fish in their sportive play,
Throw up from the waves the silvery spray;

The sea-fowl winnow the waters o'er,

Or unfold their wings to the sun on shore.
From flowers that blush with a thousand dyes,
And blossoms gleaming like angel eyes,
'Mid the dewy leaves of the waving trees
That fragrance shed on the passing breeze,
In the calm of the twilight hour is heard
The warbling of many a forest bird,
That thrills the eve with its tones, and illumes
The dark green shades with its golden plumes.

From the mossy cliff, there Ocean's daughters
Their green locks dress in the crystal waters;
And the mermen gambol, and pelt with pearls
And golden spangles, the naiad girls.
At eve, in the dance, at music's call,
On velvet alleys the footsteps fall
Of the fairy forms that in daylight sleep
In winding shell, or in cavern deep;
And some sail on wings of glorious light,
Through the soft and perfum'd air of night,
While the car-like shell of the Fairy Queen,
Who reigns supreme o'er the lovely scene,
O'er the moonlit waters is seen to glide,
With her swanlets breasting the rippling tide.

REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCES OF AN

OLD SOLDIER.

NO. II.

Tent making in the army-A choice of comfortable quarters in a storm-A woodcutting party-The Dutchmen's dispute-The Dutch poultry made to pay for their owners' want of patriotism-The tax collector in a cistern--The Tories" sleigh-ride, and a spill out, proving that Dutch tricks are equal to Yankee onesAn Indian alarm, and the party's successful measures to preserve their sealps.

At the close of the campaign of 1775, the enemy having retired to winter quarters in New York, we were left to make ourselves as comfortable as we could. We proceeded to erect barracks, yet, as two rather important articles, viz: boards and nails, were almost wholly wanting, the success of our architectural efforts was not very gratifying. If the reader will form an idea of the best hut that could be created out of the following materials, viz: two boards, one slab, half a dozen nails, some seventy or eighty pine poles, and an abundance of turf, he will understand what kind of a thing it was that mess No. 6 inhabited during the long and dreary winter.

We had just finnished it when a rain-storm set in. For a time we were secure from all water, except that which flowed in from the surface of the earth-that portion of the surface that constituted our floor having become a little lower than the level of the surrounding plain. we were congratulating ourselves on our ability to keep the upper side dry, (the size of our dwelling rendered it convenient for us to preserve a horizontal posture most of the time) when, alas, just at night-fall, the turf above us gave evident signs of saturation, and of a disposition to deposite its superfluous moisture on the animate strata below. Accordingly our upper sides received their share, and the equilibrium of wetness was thus restored. A council was held, and it was decided that the water direct from the clouds was preferable to that which had passed through a layer of clay and loam. We accordingly adjourned to the open air.

It was in vain to look for other quarters; every dry corner was occupied. I chose a station for the night beneath a tree whose roots gave a little elevation to the soil, causing the descending flood to run off. As I lay thus during the long night drenched to the skin, and shivering with cold and cramps, I confess I had strong doubts as to the wisdom of my conduct in exchanging my father's house for the camp, and whether liberty was altogether as fine a thing as it was cracked up to be. Indeed, I would that night have willingly paid King George his tax on tea, for a good bed at home, where I could hear the rain patter on the roof instead of feeling it patter on my face. Whether modern patriotism is made of