We have selected the following Tale from the London "Forget me not," of 1828, in the belief that it will attract the attention and gratify the taste of our readers, while it affords correct representations of African scenery, characters, and habits, and faithfully (though very imperfectly) describes the horrors of the Slave-trade. The author, Mrs. BowDICH, (relict of the accomplished English officer who visited Ashantee) is a lady of rare talents and acquirements, who accompanied her husband on his second voyage to Africa, where death deprived her of his love and protection.

Mrs. Bowdich is about to publish a very beautiful work on the Fishes of England, all the drawings of which have been made from life, and are in all the copies to be coloured by her own hand. We hope that such an honourable specimen of her skill and perseverance, will not fail of its merited reward.

A few words in the succeeding story, we have ventured to omit; but we have not broken the continuity or taken any thing from the value of the narrative. Alas! this picture is but faint; nor is the human imagination capable of bringing before us horrors dark and dreadful as the realities of the Slave-trade.

"THE Village of Melli, in the country of Booroom, stood close to an im mense forest; and almost within the forest was the dwelling of Amanqua, the chief. At the back were plantations of various kinds; maize, rice, yams,

tobacco, &c. On the one side were poultry-yards and pens for sheep and cattle; and these, as well as the plantations, were fenced round with high bamboo stakes, to prevent the approach of panthers, lions, and other wild beasts: on the other side was the forest. The residence itself was an assemblage of white buildings, thatched with palm-leaves, ranged round a square court. The hall of audience fronted the street, the chief's own sleepingroom stood opposite; the rest of the quadrangle was occupied by the apartments of the women, children, and slaves, mingled with offices for cooking, store-rooms, and the like.

None but Amanqua, his favourite wife, and his visiters, were permitted to enter through the great hall, but there were three other means of ingress and egress: one led into the plantations, and was always fastened, to prevent depredations; a second opened upon the village, and through this came the provisions. With them came all the gossips of the place, who, under pretence of bartering goods, curing disorders, shaving children's heads, and procuring charms, retailed all the scandal they could pick up, or, in the dearth of realities, invented all the falsehoods which they thought might amuse the wives of Amanqua, or wheedle them out of a few beads, a little snuff, a looking-glass, or a share of the delicacies destined only for the table of the chief. The third door opened into the forest, and through this was conveyed the refuse thrown to the hyenas and vultures. It was a forbidden pass to the women and children; but there the slaves stole out with their own secret little hoards, to sell them in the market-place; there they assembled at night, to indulge in the noisy and mirthful sports denied them within the quadrangle, and many a peal of laughter, ringing through the forest, finished the narrative of the light-hearted negro, enjoying only the present, and careless of the morrow.

The interdiction placed on the above door only made the children more desirous of profiting by it, and they slipped through it at every opportunity, to practise their gambols in the forest, or to listen to the marvellous tales related by their father's followers. Two of these children were distinguished above the rest by their personal beauty and the affection of Amanqua.They were the only offspring of his darling wife Zabirma, who was sister to a neighbouring chief, herself superior in person and disposition to the generality of Booroom women. Kobara, the eldest, was sixteen, and, according to the line of succession in that country, was heir to his maternal uncle. Early impressed with the importance of his prospects, in comparison with the rest of his father's children, he was grave and thoughtful; but being kind and generous in his nature, instead of assuming any airs of consequence, his principal aim was to afford assistance and protection to his youthful companions; and he only used his influence with his father to obtain indulgences for others, or forgiveness for an offending culprit. His sister, Inna, resembled him in the sweetness of her disposition, but was a complete contrast in manner and habits. While he formed his brethren and friends in

to a little army, and commanded it with becoming dignity, or called his little council around him to settle the affairs of his tiny state, Inna would be laughing and romping with her companions, clambering over the stakes in order to race through the plantations, or riding on the shoulder of a slave through the village. Not a hut was there at which she was not known; not a child who had not gamboled with her; not a sport at which she was not an adept: mirth and gladness danced in her eyes, archness lurked in the dimples of her cheek, and, more graceful than the antelope which bounded past her door, she alike disarmed both gravity and reproof. One thing alone seemed to tame this laughter-loving spirit. Sickness she knew not from personal experience, but the sight of it in others transformed this wild gazelle into a gentle, soothing being, unwearied with long watching, meekly bearing the petulance of suffering; whose light, airy step was unheard by the patient, and whose activity was solely directed to the contrivance of means for affording relief. Her father, her mother, even the slaves of the household, had benefitted by her gentle cares; but when her dear Kobara was stretched on the bed of sickness, no hand but hers placed his cushions, no fingers but hers bathed his burning temples with limejuice; motionless she watched his slumbers, and the moment of his waking was the moment of her alacrity.

"It will never do, Inna; you must not leave us," said Kobara, one day, raising his languid head from his pillow.

"Leave you, Kobara,-what mean you?" exclaimed Inna.

"Know you not, Inna, that old Amoo, the Caboceer of Moisin, seeks you in marriage?"

Kobara's information was correct. The fame of Inna's beauty, and the knowledge that Amanqua was too rich to exact a large sum for his daughter, and generous enough to make her handsome presents, had attracted many suitors, most of whom retreated before the wealthy and powerful Amoo, who, notwithstanding the burden of years and infirmities, sought this youthful prize, and by his offers and consequence had tempted Amanqua at least to deliberate. This was the first intimation of it to Inna, who for an instant stared with astonishment; but the person and decrepitude of her lover started into her imagination, so much alive to the ridiculous, and instantly hobbling up to Kobara's side with a perfect imitation of Amoo's walk and gestures, she threw herself upon the mat near his cushions, and burst into an excessive fit of laughter. In spite of his better reason, Inna's mirth was contagious, and her brother joined in the laugh for a few moments; but reflection restored him to seriousness, and commanding compo. sure on her part, he told her, that, independent of his unwillingness to lose her, he could not bear that she should be given to Amoo, who was so aged, that in all probability he could not live long, and it was very likely that she might be one of those selected to accompany him to the next world, and be put to death on his grave: "but," added he, to these representations, which