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could learn about them was that they had gone West. After many fruitless attempts to discov er their location, he returned to the city, and de voted himself to the duties of his profession. CHAPTER Xt. After a lapse of eight years, let us again look m upon Alice. Her father has long since gone to his final rest —“a shock of corn fully ripe/’ The girlish curls no longer flow about her shoul ders, but she looks none the less lovely, with her soft brown hair comlied smoothly over her temples. The light, ringing laugh of girlhood has given place to the quiet smile of the digni fied matron. The expression of her counten ance is no less spiritual, no less heavenly, than when she triumphed over the first and bitterest trial of her life. Her beauty, though changed, is not impaired. Two noble boys, bearing the respective names of George and Alfred, and a lisping girl, call her by the holy name of mother. A look of quiet happiness usually rests upon her placid face, but now there is a shade of anxiety deepening the faint lines just discernible upon her brow. Her husband's health has been for some time failing. The hectic flush upon his cheek has been increasing, and his eyes have shone with more than their natural brilliancy. That insidi ous destroyer, consumption, has been preying upon his vitals. Ho knows that the time for him to leave the world is near, but he is ready. He has committed his wife and children into the hands of Him who has promised to be a “ Fath er to the fatherless, and the widow’s God;” and now he calmly awaits the summons that will call him hence. To-day he has seemed much better than usual. He has even been able to walk out on the piazza, and inhale the soft breath of the early spring. But now, a severe fit of coughing has seemed to exhaust his strength, and lie lies upon the bed, apparently asleep. His wife has just noticed an expression in his countenance which alarms her. While wondering what it can mean, he opens his eyes, and with a smile beckons her to him. As she bends over him, he whispers: “Alice, love, my time has come—l am going home. You have been a kind and loving wife to me—meet me in Heaven;" and, without a struggle, liis spirit wings its flight from its earthly tenement to the mansions of the blest. Bowed by the dead body of him she had faithfully loved, Alice wept iong and bitterly. Nature demanded those tears, but Faith tri umphed, when, rising from her knees, she said: “ The Lord gave, aud the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be His holy name.” A few weeks after the decease of her husband, Alice dispatched a sen-ant to the nearest county town, to request a lawyer there, in whose hands her husband had informed her some time before his death that he had placed his will, to attend to the opening and reading of the same. The lawyer himself was absent, but a gentleman who had recently become associated with him in the practice of the law, and who transacted all the business of the firm in his absence, volun teered to attend with the will. As he entered the room where she was sitting, Alice started suddenly to her feet. Surely she had seen that face before. That broad, full brow, and the dark eyes, had a very familiar look; but recollecting herself, she invited him to bo seated. The stranger, on his part, regarded her curiously, but after a few common-place remarks, proceeded to open and read the Last Will and Testament of Alfred Wells. After the usual preliminaries, he read: “ I give and bequeath to my dearly beloved Alice—” The stranger paused and again regarded her with a scrutinizing look. She seemed much agitated, and ho proceeded with the reading. The second bequest read: “ To my eldest son, George Hastings—” The lawyer sprang to his feet, and seizing her hand, exclaimed: “ I cannot bo mistaken. This is no other than the friend and companion of my childhood and youth, Alice Lee.” Yes, Alice had seen that face before, for it was the face of George Hastings. Each learned from the other the history of their respective lives since they had met last, and a feeling of joy pervaded the bosom of George at the thought that, like himself, she was now free; but he remembered what was due to the memory of the dead, and repressed his feelings. He became, however, a frequent visitor at the house of Mrs. Wells, and she was socn convinced that, whatever had been the feelings of his youth, he now entertained for her something more than a brotherly affection. Who can realize th ? emotions which a know ledge of this awakened ? Surely, none but those who have loved like her. CHAPTER XII. “Judge Hastings is in the parlor,” said a ser vant to Mrs. Wells, one bright spring morning, about a year after the death of her husband. Alice immediately laid aside the work on which she was engaged, and entered the parlor. She looked very interesting in her black robe and widow’s cap—at least, so thought George, as he took a seat beside her on the sofa. “ Alice,” said he, “ I have been waiting a long time to speak to you on a subject which engros sed much of my thoughts. I think you will not now consider me premature, when I ask you to lot me fill the place in your heart which was oc cupied by your late husband. I have always loved you, even when, fascinated by her beauty, I asked another to take the place which should have belonged only to you. Have you—can you now love me ?” Alice was very pale, and she remained silent for a moment, while the closely compressed lips told of the struggle that was passing within ; but when she spoke, her tones, though low, were clear and firm. “ I have loved you, George: how well, God only knows, and when I saw another preferred before me, He alone knows what it cost me to conquer my sinful passion. I love you now, and were none but myself concerned, I should lay this weary head on your bosom, and feel that it had found its place of rest. But I must now live for my chi dren, and not for myself. I have carefully revolved this subject in my mind, for I have seen what were your feelings toward me, and I have decided that we can never bo more to each other than the brother and sister that we once were.” George was thunderstruck. He had never once dreamed of Alice rejecting him. He had only feared that she would insist on a longer delay than would be agreeable to him, out of respect to the memory of her husband, and he could scarcely believe that he had rightly under stood her. “Alice! Alice 1 you surely do not mean to say that you will never marry me ?" “ Yes, George, that was what I meant, and I beg you will not urge mo farthor; for you know not how hard it has been for me to make this decision.” “ Then why not rescind it at once ? What possible reason could you have for making it ? I shnll love your children as my own. I will TME SOVVSIK&ff WIEEB HI be to them a father in every respect. lam alone in the world, and I long for something on which to lavish my affection. Tell me, Alice, that you retract what you have said—that you will yet be mine. I will wait any time you may desire, but tell me you will some day be my wife.” In his excitement he had risen, and stood be fore her, holding her hand clasped in both of his. How noble he looked! How the old love in her heart plead for him! But the love of the moth er triumphed. “ You know not, George, what you promise,” she replied. “No human being can love the children of another as his own. Nature will not permit it You may be kind to them—you may love them even, but it will not be with the love of a father. You can not look with the same leniency upon their faults that a father w-ould. As a judge, you have long been accus tomed to repress all the tender feelings of your heart, and regard only the stern dictates of jus tice. In your family, you w-ould still be the in flexible judge. Had you children of your own, nature would sometimes be heard, and the judge would give place to the father, but toward the children of another this could not be. Your namesake, my little George, already shows a disposition which requires a hand gentle, as well as firm. While I entertain high hopes of what he may be, if, by the grace of God, lam enabled to train him up aright, I know that any undue severity would be his ruin; and it is his good that I have particularly regarded in mak ing this decision. Let us be brother and sister as we used to be, if you will, but ask nothing farther, for I can not give it." As she said this, in a firm voice, George drop ped the hand he held, and paced up and down the room with folded arms and compressed lips. At length he paused before Alice, who had been watching him with tearful eyes, and taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips, saying in a voice husky with emotion, “ Farewell, my sister—if so it must be. You have sounded the death knell of all my hopes,” and rushing out, he sprang on his horse and galloped away. Alice w-atched his receding form till it disap peared at an angle in the road, and then, with hands tightly clasped against her heart, she sought the privacy of her own room. “ Mother,” said little George, as two hours af terwards she descended, pale but calm, to the dining-room, “ what made Judge Hastings go away so soon ? Aunt Dinah said she knew he’d come to ask you to marry him, but I hope you told him no, for I shouldn't like him for a father.” “ Why not, my son ?” asked his mother, in a low tone. “ Because ho always looks so cold and stern, only when he is talking with you. I knew he would never love any of us but you,” sQid the boy. “ Judge Hastings will never be your father,” she replied, “ but ho is your mother’s friend, and I wish you always to regard him as such." “ I will do anything you wish, mother,” said the beautiful boy, “ but I am so glad he is not going to be my father.” “Don’t speak of it again,” said his mother, and he was silent. Would you learn the result of the sacrifice of love, recorded in the preceding chapter? Go to the halls of our National Representatives at Washington. Do you see that man so nobly as serting the rights of his constituency, and de fending them against the attacks of sectional fanaticism ? You will not recognize him by any name that I have given, but in the tall form, ex panded brow and flashing eyes, you will recog nize one of the noblest sons of the South, whoso fearless advocacy of right, in whatever form it may appear, has won for him the undying love of his constituents, and honor and respect from his opponents. Alice Wells resides now with her eldest son, in one of the fairest of the Southern States. Her second son is a devoted minister of Christ, and a talented preacher. Her daughter is the cherished wife of one high in official position in her native State. There are many snowy lines mingling now with Alice’s brown hair, but she has the same placid countenance that marked the happy days of her married life. Twice every year, the now venerable Judge Hastings comes to spend a week or two with her; and the coming of brother George, as sho now calls him, is always hailed with pleasure. As together they read the honorable mention, everywhere, of her son's position in Congress, or peruse one of liis thrilling speeches, the Judge will often exclaim: “Ah, Alice; you made George what he is. You did right when you refused to marrv me, for I never could have borne with his youthful waywardness as you did.” My lady readers—“a word in your ears.” George Wells is yet unmarried. His mother is, in his eyes, tho perfection of female excellency; and the model after which is formed the ideal wife he sometimes dreams of. Are there are any among you who could realize that ideal? The Slaveholder Abroad; —OR— Billy Buck’s Visit with his Master, to England. INTRODUCTORY LETTER. From Dr. rieasant Jones to IF. T. Thompson, Esq. Cotton Cot (nkak Pineviile), May Ist, ISM 1 . Dear Mu. Thompson : I yield to your sugges tion, and consent that my letters from England to Major Joseph Jones shall be published. I do so, relying very much upon your judgment; for I am not conscious that I possess any spe cial gift in tho book making line. Indeed, I had supposed that there was enough of that sort of thing in the family, when my cousin, the Major, took to the business. Not that I wish to be un derstood as intending to utter a word of dispar agement of the Major’s books, Mr. Thompson ; for I must confess that they have exhibited one of the most satisfactory tests of success—they have put and are continuing to put, money into the pockets of their publishers. It cannot be denied, therefore, that there is something more of interest about the Major's literature than the grotesque infelicities of its orthography and syntax, hideously fascinating as these sometimes are. This feature, however, was intended, I suppose, only as a sort of bush to the wine that was within. Mr. Titmarsh Thackeray, nearly about the same time, I believe, was finding a similar expedient quite successful in attracting attention to the entertainments of the admira ble Mr. Charles Edward Fitzroy Yellowplush.— Still, I could not but feel that possibly there was some luck in the Major’s success, and that, pro ceeding upon a calculation of the doctrine of chances, Fortune may have exhausted her favors in this line for the family. You seem to think otherwise. lam persuadod to submit, therefore, and so I consent to the publication of such of my letters as may be selected for that purpose. Some explanation, as to the how and wherefore of their being written, should precede them, I think : and this I will proceed to give. I have had no higher ambition during my life, as you know, than to be a successful planter.— It is true that, after coming to man’s estate, I studied medicine, took a course of lectures, and graduated as M. D. But I preferred the occu pation of a planter to the practice of my profes sion ; and, marrying early in life the girl of my heart, I settled down upon my little patrimony, near Pineviile, and devoted myself to agricul ture. In this pursuit I have thriven as well as ’ could be expected, and have cause to be very i grateful. Several promising children have been j bora to us, all but one of whom tarried but a j little while, when a Hand came out of the dark : ness and hurried them away. After some years, | constant occupation, cares, and the loss of these I little ones, so tried my health as to very much impair it. As it was with poor oid Tobit in the times of the Apochrypha, and as it has been with thousands since, in all ages of the world, “ I went to the physicians, but they helped me not.” They advised me, however, to travel —to try a trip to Europe. The World’s Fair, then in contemplation, and in process of preparation in London, was exciting an interest even among our piney-woods. I had just invented a new plow, having an attachment for cutting roots, which I thought merited a premium ; and, as I had acquired a taste forpremiums and silver cups at our own State Fair, through the aid of some fat calves and fatter pigs, I yielded to these sug gestions, and determined to visit Europe for the benefit of my health and the gratification of bringing back with me a gold medal for a prize plow. What to do for some one to go along with, and take care of me, in case of increasing illness, was my greatest difficulty. Circumstances made it im possible for my wife to leave home. My cousins, and your friends, Maj. Jos. Jones and Dr. Peter, were both in tho same situation. The former, indeed, said that nothing him bet ter than to go abroad, and perhaps write a book about what he saw there: “but it was impossible; for at the first mention of the thing, doar Mary had taken on so, as almost to break her heart— she had always been so afraid of the sea, since the President wasn’t heard of.” Now the truth was, as I afterwards learned, that to this appeal, after the manner of the melting mood, “ dear Mary ” added more decidedly, that “ it wasn’t just to her, for him to go traipsing off to Eng land, and leaving her a houseful of children to take care of; to say nothing of tho everlasting little negroes, and that he couldn't do it with her consent —that was flat.” And so she put her foot down on it, and it was flat. This difficulty presented a serious obstacle for • time, but was finally overcome by the sugges tion of my wife, that I had better take Buck (my most trusted and efficient servant) with me. “ The truth is,” said she, that next to myself and Sally, (Buck’s wife) “ I had rather trust you in his hands, than in those of any one else.” I thought the idea a good one, especially as Buck knew better than any one else how to operate my plow, how to give it that sort of a twisting jerk—a wire-dire ho called it —which best served to snap the roots asunder. It was therefore ar ranged that Buck and I should voyage together. After resolution formed, our preparations were soon made, and we embarked for England, from the port of New York, in ihe summer of the year 1851. As the servant who accompanied me, figures frequently in the letters, whoso pub lication you recommend, I will tell you some thing more about him. His tree name is Wil liam ; but in upper Georgia, for somo reason which I never understood, William is frequent ly changed iDto the soubriquet, Buck. It is by this convenient monosyllable my servant is gen erally called. He is my confidential servant — a negroe of the negroes—bora my father’s prop erty: his father and grandfather before him having been owned by the family. He is slight ly older than myself, but was my playmate in childhood, when he was almost indispensable to my happiness —though ho occasionally ad ministered a threshing to me. On one of these occasions I informed my father of it. He in quired into the circumstances, found that I had been to blame in the quarrel, and decided that it was wrong in Buck to strike me, and he must not do it again : but that I had deserved all that I had got. After that, when I caught it too hea vily from him, I made report to his mother, “ Aunt Becky;” who occasionally gave him “ brinjer," as she called it, when he was too hard on me. But the luxury of licking me he reserved to himself alone among the boys. If any others undertook tho same thing, he pitch ed into them without delay. He has been al ways sincerely attached to me, I believe, and to my family. And for the matter of that, his re gard is reciprocated. He has been loved by my little ones, too; has guarded and protected them, and has wept over their beds of death. — Thoroughly identified with my interests, he has felt himself about as much the proprietor of me and my estate as I was of him. In fact, neither he nor any others of my slaves seem to feel that I have any exclusive right to what property I possess ; for they speak of it only as “ ours;” as, indeed it is, for most of the substantial com forts of life.. I wish, truly, that they could share its cares and responsibilities with me sometimes, and- shift the burthen of some of their own creation from my shoulders to theirs. Buck is decidedly “ smart,” as we say in Georgia, and, for a negro, has not a little vanity ; and, though not brought up regularly to house-work, he is very handy. Like most of his race, he is amia ble and cheerful, and has an unusual talent for drollery and practical fun —perhaps by habit ac quiring some of that from bis master’s family, and Georgians generally He speaks our lan guage as well as many whites, except when lie choses to do otherwise. When possessed of some droll conceit, or desirous of making some “ divarsion,” as he calls it, lie frequently resorts to a sort of African patois, or broken speech, which he has acquired from some of the old ne groes with whom he associated in his earlier years—all of whom have now departed, I be lieve. except Ins grandmother, Mom. Dinah, now nearly a hundred years old, and for more than thirty years the superannuated slave of my fa ther and myself. Buck is sometimes quite amu sing in this imitation —an instance of which, and of his drollery, occurred in a scene on board our steamer after we had been several days at sea. Among the passengers, there was a Quaker gentleman, a member of the Society of Friends in England, an ardent abolitionist and anti-sla very man. By the time referred to, I had be come acquainted with many of my fellow-pas sengers, and with this gentleman among others. Buck had been at first quite sick; and, as I was somewhat a better sailor, I looked after his com fort as well as I could until he grew better. — When rougher weather came, and I went down in my turn, he was in condition to serve me, which he did with his usual faithfulness. These things, and the relations between us, had been observed by the Quaker; and one day, when wo were enjoying the fine weather on deck he said to me, “I perceive, sir, that thou art attend- ed and served by one who calls thee master. Is he thy slave ?” I replied that he was. Quaker —“Art thou not afraid to take him with thee to England ? Thou knowest that the law forbids slavery in that country : and that when ; he lands on British soil, he ceases to be thv slave.” 3 Myself—-' I know sir, that such is the theory of the thing; but I know at the same time, that it will not prove to be true in point of fact” Quaker— (With an expression of much sur prise.) “ How so, friend ? Ido not understand thee." Myself —•• Perhaps I may say I mean geueral i ly that theoretical freedom and slavery, and practical freedom and slavery, by the laws of Great Britaiu, are very different things. But , what I mean now' specially to say is. that if my man be left free to choose aud act whilst we are in England, all the laws in the kingdom cannot break those ties of affection, of thought, of hab it, of nature, by which he is bound to me : and therefore cannot sever the relations which exist ' between us, nor prevent his clinging with uu- I yielding tenacity to those relations. Os course, j if he is not left free to choose, he will to that ex i tent, be enslaved by those who coerce him ; aud , there fact and theory will certainly clash.” Quaker —“ That, Doctor, is a view of the case : which has never presented itself to me before. Thy servant seems much attached to thee; more than usually so, I suppose.” Myself —“ He is attached to me, certainly, and Ito him. But so it is, though in a less degree, with my slaves generally. And I and my slaves are not exceptions to a rule. I think I may say the same thing of most of my neighbors. But there is my man. Supposo you talk with him on the subject. You may say what you piease to him, and when you please, without offence to me. He is called Buck.” Buck, who had been loitering near, and heard some portions of the conversation, I suppose, was addressed by the Quaker, and told to approach more closely. Quaker —“ I understand thou art named Buck.” Buck— -(Taking off’ his hat, bowing, and scrap ing his right foot backwards, two feet.) “ Billy Buck, massa—sem time for short, da calls me Buck.” Quaker —“ Billy Buck, I understand thou art a slave, and thy master tells me that thou desirest not to be free, but art content to remain in sla very.” Buok —“ Me slave, massa ? I sprise at my massa ! He know belly well, he been work lie self ’most to def at home for he nigger, and da bleege to sen him way wid me to save he life. — He de slave—me de gemmon what keeps care of him. Dat trute, massa.” “ Come, come, Buck,” said I, amid roars of laughter on the part of the bystanders. “Come, come, Buck, have done with your fun. This gentleman desires to understand from you some thing about the way our slaves are treated, and their situation and feelings. Be serious; answer his questions, and tell him what you know, and conceal nothing.” Thereupon Buck at once changed what there was of the ludicrous in his face and attitude, aud said, simply and distinctly, “As well as I can, marster.” A conversation ensued, with which I will not trouble you, Mr. Thompson—only add ing, that it seemed greatly to impress the Qua ker and some others present, and to give them views of slavery which they had never dreamed of before. From what I have said, you may perceive that I had a travelling companion, who was a cause of no little amusement to me whilst in Europe; and who was himself not unfrequently a source of interest and curiosity to others—sometimes to my annoyance but never did I hare any trou ble with him, from the cause suggested by tho good Quaker. My first intention was to remain in England until the close of the Great' Exhibition, when I proposed to make a short visit to the Continent, and then return home. But when that period arrived I was advised to remain longer where I was; and thus my stay in Europe was indefi nitely prolonged. My first letters, you will see, relate chiefly to my private affairs, and to such casual observation and personal experience as I thought might interest my family and friends. But during the year 1842 Mrs. Stowe’s book, “ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” was published, and it created a great sensation in England. It was soon in the hands, heads and mouths of all clas ses; and I, being from a Slave State, a slave holder, and having a black slave as my constant attendant, was continually made the centre of a little circle of excitement and discussion on tho subject of slavery. In these conversations the various features of our social polity in the Slave States of North America were frequently talked of, with me, or in my presence. This na turally excited my attention, and pointed it in the direction of the contrasted features of tho social economy among that people with whom I was sojourning, and set my sharpened faculties to the task of ascertaining in some degree what these accurately were. In a short time, and en gendered by the excitement which Mrs. Stowe’s book had created, appeared an appeal by the Stafford House ladies, (as they were called,) at the head of whom was the Duchess of Suther land, to the women of America. * * * * * * By this time I had seen enough to become satisfied that this, and all such inteference, was grossly unjust. I had perceived, that a clever book, written by a woman of genius, founded on an exaggerated and extorted view of slavery —a view which presented tho exception for the rule, and left out of sight everything which might tend to elucidate the new rule; and which book abounded in ingenious appeals to the best sym pathies of human nature against oppression, and in favor of helpless sufferers: —that such abook had succeeded in exciting excellent people of all classes in Great Britain, until they had become totally blind to the truth ih connection with the subject,—blind to the corruption, rottenness, op pression, outrages and wrongs, with which their own nation abounded, and which should have kept their sympathies where charity begins—at home; at least until they had wrought such changes and reforms there, as might enable them to bring other nations into a court of conscience with clean hands. From my own observations, I had by this time become convinced, Mr. Thompson, that in Great Britain there was more of social profligacy than in our Slave States, among whites or blacks; more of suffering, destitution, crime, brutality, outrages upon the unoffending and the helpless; more of cruelty and oppression in the treatment of women and children, and all inferior depend ents : more of all these things, in a most painful degree, than in our Slave States. I could not, therefore, but feel how cruel, how sinful, indeed was any such attempt to excite the women of our favored land on the subject of this feature in our social system, whilst wrongs and evils Buch as these, surrounded the homes, and ever lay along the pathways, of those virtuous ladies on every side. And I could not but think, that, even if slavery were sinful and wrong, and our i system in this respect needed reform, such an exhortation to make it, came with an exceeding bad grace Irom those who were members of a body-politic which was productive of more and greater evils. Under the infljjence of feelings and reflections such as these, I commenced to take notes of such facts as were continually occurring around me made memoranda of some that had previously come to my knowledge, and collected reports or notices of others from the public press. When I wrote, as I frequently did, to our friend the Major, I communicated this information, as a method of giving form and embodiment to the contrast and comparison of social institutions, which, as I have suggested, I was anxious to have made. It is my wish that only such of my letters written from Europe as relate to, or have a bearing upon, this particular subject, shall be published; unless an exception be made of two or three letters only, which have reference to the Great Exhibition. This may leave a con siderable hiatus, (or interval unoccupied with letters) during the year 1852 and early part of 1833; but the reason for this can be readily found in the suggestion which I have made.* I will add, that all the statements which I have made, as statements of material facts, un less it be such as are notorious among educated persons, and all the charges affecting the char acter of individaals, or of the British people as a nation, are based upon their own accounts of themselves, which accompany these charges, or distinctly refer to the authority upon which the statement is made ; and I have ventured to make such charges only where I could furnish some such evidence of their correctness. In the form of an Appendix, or of Notes to these letters, I will submit such facts and sta tistics, as will serve the reader in the effort to compare important features in the social econo my of our slaveholding community, with those of Great Britain as exhibited by these letters; and will enable him, for himself, to contrast the con duct and character of our people with those of the British people, aud so endeavor somewhat to ascertain the effect of slave-institutions upon the virture and happiness of a nation. I am tempted to add, Mr. Thompson, that, if the public should ratify your opinion of these letters from Old England, I may give them, one of these days, the benefit of similar missives from (and of a visit by Billy Buck and myself to) New England. These are the explanations which I thought it proper to make; and I am, dear sir, Very respectfully, Your ob’dt serv’t, P. Jones. To W. T. Thompson, Esq., Savannah, Geo. LETTER i. Arrival in London—Buck visits the Crystal Pal ace—llls Description of it. London, July Btli, 1851. Dear Major:—l have arrived safely in London. I came on after resting one night only in Liver pool; so anxious was Ito reach the Great Ex hibition as soon as possible, and have my plough regularly entered for the race. I had some difficulty in procuring lodgings, owing to the press of people brought here from so many nations by this great Fair; and really I believe I should have had to sleep in the streets, or have taken up with lodgings some thing worse, but for the aid of a gentleman whom I met by accident. My lodgings are upon a somewhat small scale, though comfortable; and I find the people of the house accommodating enough, though their manner of doing things is so different from that to which I have been ac customed as to keep me somewhat ill at ease. I have been otherwise unwell, too, ever since my arrival, and have not left my room, though it has been with difficulty that I have restrained my self from going out to the Crystal Palace. Buck has made his visit there, however, and has given me the benefit of the impression which it crea ted upon him. Finding it advisable for me to keep my room tills morning, and having no need for his services, I gave him permission to “ go out and see the sights.” He tricked himself off in his best apparel, and started. Soon after he left the room, hearing his voice below the win dow, I looked out upon the following scene: “ Mister,” said Buck to one of the waiters, taking off his hat quite politely, “ Mister, can you tell me the way to the Christian Palace ?” “ Will you ’ave a cab ?" asked the waiter. “ No, thank you,” said he, with a scrape of his foot; “ it's tho Great Exerbishun I’m axiu’ for sir.” “ Ob, yer are, are yer ? How will yer take it —warm with, or cold without ? P’raps yer’d prefer it iced ?” “ No, I'm obleeged to you ; I wouldn’t chooso any,” said Buck, humbly and puzzled; “ I wants to go the Christian Palace, I say, Mister.” “ Oh, yer do, do yer ? So I heered yer say, yer ugly old lamp-post; and I asked yer if yer’d ave a cab. P’raps yor’d like mo to get yer a ’ansom.” [Hansom, you know, Major, is the name of a vehicle which is used in London for • the transportation of passengers.] “ Look here, Mister,” said Buck, “don’t call names. Es lam ugly, lam as God made me ; and I shan’t go to you to get handsome, I can tell you; becase you haint got none of that ar article to spar, Mister.” Buck strode away quite indignant, and work ed his way, by hook or by crook, to the Crystal Palace. He returned after some hours, in a state of great excitement “ How did you like the Crystal Palace ?” said “ First-rate, Marster. But this here London town is curoser than it I never spected to see sich a place in all my born days. Why, Mars ter, hits so big, tell you, can’t tell you how big hit is—whar hit begins, nor what hit eends. I sorter used to think that Pineville was some pun kins, tell I seed Augusty, and hit tuk the shine out of it; then I seed New York, and Augusty was no whar ’longside of it But Marster. you might take Pineville, an’ Augusiy, an’ New York, and wrap ’um all up together, and put ’urn all into one of the pockets of this big town, an’ then you couldn’t find ’um ’thout sarchin’ mighty close.” ***** * The Doctor’s wish has been complied with. —Louis Spour, the composer, died recently at Cassel, at the age of seventy-six. The clas sical violinist, the lover of sublime oratorio, and the admirer of German opera may alike have cause to regret the decease of one of the great est professors of their art. It is but one year since that Spohr retired from his duties as Ka pellmeister to the Grand Duke. Old age mak ing him longer unequal to the task of directing, ho thus became musically dead to tho world, and the parting was a heavy one, but we hardly ex pected that the morta 1 parting should follow so swiftly on the other. His “Last Judgment,” his quartettes and massive violin duets, and other of his compositions will live through all time. 235