have been worth five in England; but the example, not the value, determined me upon giving a colour of infinite importance to the case. After the depredation had been made known to me, and when the workmen had assembled to receive their week's wages, two shillings per diem each man, I called them all into my office, merely for the sake of exhibiting myself in the highest possible degree of dignity (a clerk never looks so dignified as behind his own counter) and whilst they stood like culprits in humility before me with their hats off, I sat proudly elevated upon my judgment-seat with my hat on, and in my hand a pen, just emblem of my office, it is true, but at the same time calculated to convey terror to the mind of the thief, who knew that, if detected, I should instantly employ it in an application to the alcalde for the infliction of fine and imprisonment. When I had fixed the attention of the party, I commenced the dread inquisition. Alas! many of their forefathers, for crimes of as little note, or even the bare suspicion of them, had been condemned by a more horrible inquisition, and before judges less disposed to render justice and mercy than their present one, although it will appear that even he was obdurately relentless. I put the question. Who stole my pick-axe?'-dead silence; each looked at each, and all looked at me. Who stole my pick-axe, I say?" • Quien sabe?' said a low voice in the crowd. Who knows?' said I, 'why some of you, and I, too, must know, before I pay you one rial of your wages.' I then proceeded to question each individual by name. Gregorio Medrano, did you steal the pick-axe ?—No, Señor.' "Marcelino Guaylla, did you?'- Yo! no, Señor.' "Bernardino Murquete, did you steal the pick-axe?'—' No, Señor.' 666 Nepomuceno Mamani, did you?'-'No, Señor.' "Casimiro Chambi, did you?'-'No, Señor.' And so on through the whole list, with the same profitless result. "The Indians, like the lower class of Irish, preserve inviolable secrecy respecting their own concerns; an informer is looked upon as a wretch unworthy to live among honest men, or if permitted to live is loathed as a dæmon. Assured, therefore, that I should never succeed in detecting the actual thief, although we all well knew he was one of the party present, I proceeded to judgment upon all of them. 'Know then, hermanos mios, (dear brothers) that my sentence is this, that the major-domo do now, immediately, and on the spot, put into his hat as many grains of mais as there are of you here present; that those grains shall be all white, save one, which shall be black; and he who draws that black grain shall-pay for a new pick-axe.' Here consternation became general and evident, but, from the natural darkness of the Indian complexion, it was impossible to discover the delinquent from any change produced on his countenance by the inward workings of his mind. Now, Señor major-domo, shake your hat well-shake it, I say, that no suspicion of partiality may be entertained. Let each man in succession now put his hand in and take one grain of mais, then withdraw it, taking care to keep his hand shut, and not to open it until ordered so to do.' This being done, they all stood before me with their right arms stretched out at full length, and the hand firmly closed. Now for the detection of the thief!-Open!-Que es eso? (What is all this?) Major-domo! what is the reason of this?' said I, for, to my astonishment, every hand was empty!' 'I really don't know, sir, they must have drawn the grains and swallowed them, for not a single one remains in my hat!' said the major-domo, turning his hat mouth downwards to prove that nothing was there. Amazement was at its height; it was evidently a case of bruxeria (witchcraft); mira que demonio! (the devil is in the dice). Juaquinito Sambrano observed that it was the miraculous interference of Saint Dimas*, to prove that there was no thief amongst them. But, notwithstanding my surprise and confusion, I determined that the saint should not keep my pickaxe without paying for it. I desired the major-domo to give me his hat, upon examining which, the bruxeria was explained. In obeying my order to shake the hat well,' every grain of maize absconded through a rent in the crown, and the floor being covered with thick straw matting, they fell upon it unheard. We therefore proceeded with more caution to a second drawing, when the black bean appeared, on the show of hands, in that of Basilio Calamayo, from whose wages I directed the major-domo to purchase the best pick-axe that could be had in Potosi. From that hour I never heard of any pilfering in either mines or ingenio." The method by which females in Peru are accustomed to mount en croupe behind a horseman, and which proves the extreme gentleness of the animal, is represented in the subjoined cut. A knot is tied in the horse's tail; into this the foot is introduced as into a stirrup; the female then gives one hand to the rider and is by him assisted into her place on the back of the animal, which, habituated to this contrivance, never thinks of resenting the indignity. DEATH-SONG OF HARMODIUS. BY M. L. B. Of Harmodius, an ancient Athenian flute-player, it is recorded that, determined to surpass every rival in his art, so violent were his exertions one day at the Theatre, that, in the act of blowing his flute, he fell back upon the stage, and immediately expired. Stern hearts, and cold, were thrill'd; Innum'rous eyes; as one seraphic flute To this dark world before, till bliss was mute. Enchanter, in his silv'ry reed's wild song- Hence urgeth me this hour Into the world unseen, but kenn'd of long. "I feel-in terror feel- Impelling me to Art, which draineth breath; Future and past-to labour which is death. "Convuls'd, I scarce respire Yet my breast's curbless fire This conflict-yet, when past, "Hark! phrenzied, lost, I hear "Far-far-and farther still I gasp-I sink-but higher yet, and higher- On my enraptured gaze Now streaming full-ascends the spirit-choir. ""Tis vain-I know it vain- And Drain'd are the founts of life, my soul passes in her last, wild song!" PARTING. THE driver sounded his horn, and in one hour more I was to depart in the stage for my native county. The idea of revisiting the home of my childhood, of returning to my brothers and sisters, and once more beholding my aged parents, before the grave should hide them for ever from my sight, filled me with rapture that I never experienced before. Already transported in imagination over the long journey, I received the joyous welcome from the happy family. My good old father met me at the gate with the kindest demonstrations of affection-my mother, now feeble with years, and trembling with affliction, tottered half-way down the steps to grasp my hand, and, unable to sustain the shock of joy, she burst into tears, whilst my little serious sister Clara ran to my arms, and, folding her's about my neck, could not refrain, even in the midst of gladness, from affectionately chiding me for not answering her letters. Blest little sister! I kissed her pretty black eyes, and promised to do better in future, and there was a pleasure, ay, a bliss, even in this reverie of imagination, which, if it could but last, I would not barter for the wide world's wealth, and all its honours besides. But every bliss has its bane. There is not a glad emotion that ever enters the human heart but it is quickly chased by some obtrusive care. The thought that I had to part with Fanny Morrison, whom I so much loved, even unto adoration, soon put an end to the glow of happy feeling, and spread over my heart a corresponding poignancy of misery. This is the nature of human happiness. The visits of Joy are as short as those of the votaries of fashionable life, and the breast that is elated by her transitory presence will as surely experience an equal depression at her departure. Her smiles are like the vivid flashes of lightning, that cast a momentary splendour on the brown cheek of Night, but vanish in an instant, and leave behind fourfold darkness. I thought of home, and my soul expanded-I thought of Fanny, and I sank into dejection. I loved this fair and excellent creature, not that the beauty of her whole sex seemed epitomised in her form and face; but more for the higher brilliancy of her polished mind; and, above all, for her unsophisticated purity of heart. My love was reciprocated. Daily we renewed our vows of perpetual constancy, and the green-eyed monster, jealousy, never sullied our minds or disturbed our peace--but, mutually confiding, we enjoyed the luxury of tenderest affection, unmixed with the bitterness of doubt and distrust; and if there be such a thing as positive happiness on earth, it is this. Blest in each other's society, we seldom sought any other, and from our first acquaintance we had never been separated even for a week at a time-to part with her now, and possibly for ever-it seemed like death. I had already taken leave of her on the evening of the preceding day, but now that I was about to enter on my journey almost immediately, I could not suppress a rising desire, that increased in ardour as the time for departure drew nearer, to gaze upon her sweet innocent face once more-once more to seize her white hand, and say, "Good bye." I hastened to her dwelling. She was at her piano, playing the plaintive air of "Roy's wife," the very tune which, of all others, I most delighted to hear; and she could play, too, with such enchanting skill, so touching to the heart! On my entrance, she suspended the music, but quickly resumed it at my request, and accompanied the instrument with her voice, which possessed the very soul of melody, and breathed a feeling, and a pathos, as soul-subdu- · ing as the magic harmony of Nourmahal. She sang, "Fare thee well, for I must leave thee, But oh! let not our parting grieve thee, 1 And there was an applicability in these words to my situation, such a suitableness of sentiment to the occasion, that made them sink "deep into my burning heart," and though I cannot say that the music, like St. Cecilia's, "drew an angel down," I will say she sung like an angel, and wore all the celestial loveliness of one. As soon as she had finished the strain, she closed the lid of the piano, and turning her beamy face, with her "bonny blues" towards me, she said, "I now have a task for you to perform, and it is a compliance with your promise, made a long time ago, to write an original piece in my Album. The evening is favourable to poetry, and I must insist upon your writing." At first I thought this merely intended to divert my mind from the melancholy which she perceived gathering on it, for I was so far from ever being guilty of writing poetry, that I could not for a moment suppose that she believed me capable of such a crime. But before I could make her any answer, she hastily took from her piano-drawer a neatly, or rather elegantly bound Album, and spreading it on a table where pen and ink were previously placed, she invited me to the task, in a manner too serious not to convince me that the request was made more in earnest than through courtesy. What should I do? I had not the heart to refuse, nor the genius to comply. My brain was as dry as the remainder biscuit after a voyage.” Never did I stand in need of mind, or deplore its want, so much as on this occasion. 'Tis true, the evening was serene and beautiful, and might have warmed the breast that had the least spark of poetic feeling about it; but mine had no dormant energies of that kind to awaken, and neither the kindling influence of fine weather, nor the more inspiring power of Fanny's presence, could remove my constitutional inability to rhyme. Should I attempt it, I knew very well that the failure would be so completely shameful that I should lose much of her esteem, and not to do it must inevitably incur her most serious displeasure. I determined, however, to risk the attempt, and seating myself at the table, I seized the pen in despair, dipped it in the stand, and turning my eyes (not in "fine frenzy rolling") toward the ceiling, I began cogitating on what to fix my fanciful effusion. 66 Suddenly my musings were interrupted. The whole family were in busy uproar, all engaged in cleaning and decorating the house. Some were hanging new curtains of damask over the windows; some regulating glasses upon a well-loaded sideboard; some replenishing the flower-pots with water and roses, and Fanny's youngest sister |