Fanny. She turned her fading eyes on Walsingham, and ejaculated, "Do not suffer my corse to be insulted by the conquerors." In the lapse of a minute she was no more, and the helmsman, profiting by a fresh breeze, overturned the boat at some distance from its exulting pursuers. No shriek burst from the lips of the smugglers, as Walsingham and his sister descended to the depths of the sea.

Deal.

REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

THE CONVICT.

The verdict was given, the sentence past,
But he saw not the gloom before him ;
He heard not his fate, but he star'd aghast,
As a feverish dream pass'd o'er him.

They bore him in haste to his darksome cell,
Keen rose each varied emotion !

His heart-riv'n thoughts on his children dwell,
Left to buffet life's troublous ocean.

And can he the wife of his bosom leave?

And not think of her high-wrought anguish ?
Oh! who can her woe-fraught heart relieve,
Left in widowed sorrow to languish?

He had bade farewell to each tender tie,

Ere night's murky shades were retreating;
But his wan, wan cheeks, and his sunken eye,
Display'd not each pulse which was beating.

They bore him, at length, to the fatal tree,
And they plac'd the man of God near him;
And he kneeled down, ere his soul should flee,
And he pray'd the Almighty to hear him.

Some minutes were spent in his final prayer,
When the last awful signal was given;
In a moment was finish'd his earthly care,
And, ah! flew not his spirit to heaven?

T. C.

BORNOUESE WAR SONG.

Thou God of our prophet! whose strength we all own,
Whose smile is all sunshine, but tempest his frown;
Look forth on the fight, make our spears like thy flame,
To scathe where they strike, and to strike in thy name.
Make the battle to us like the gay wedding feast,
And the neigh of our steeds like thy bolt in the east,
To the ears of the Kerdies: let us the fight wage
With the strength of the elephant-buffalo's rage.

Make us rush upon danger, with death in full view,
For glory is sweeter than honey when new;
And the faithful who fight for their prophet and creed,
Shall never expire, though in battle they bleed.

And now for Mandara! the battle of spears,
The thunder of strife and the blood-stream of tears.
Wherever we strike, may wild terror prevail,

And the might of our strength make the Kerdies bewail.

Our spears now shine forth like the red lightning fire,
To shed the foul blood of the foes who conspire
To scoff at our prophet, his shiek and his laws-
The all-seeing eye that looks down on our cause.

Stronger than rocks, than the lion more fierce,
Our forest of spears shall the enemy pierce,
For who can the rage of the Bornouese restrain?
The flame of his fix'd eye what foeman sustain?

Till prostrate on earth, they our mercy implore,
Acknowledge our prophet, and vow to adore,
Spear them, nor cease till the sun sees their bones,
And hyænas feast in the midst of their groans.

The timbrels and zemtoos now bid us prepare,
The yerma is floating too, proudly in air;
Then onward, believers, then onward! away!
The sword of the prophet must conquer to-day.

THE LAST PINCH.

As I am a faithful christian man,
I would not pass another such a night

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.

Shakspeare.

Entranced in a heavy and uncomfortable slumber, I thought myself in the streets of a city; but I was not that which I had been: I was poor-miserably poor; but my poverty afflicted me only as it incapacitated me from replenishing my snuff. box. I rapped on the lid, and never shall I forget the hollow sound which my box emitted; it still rings in my ears—it still dwells in my memory with all the semblance of reality. I raised the lid—what a distressing scene met my view! my box, which had been so regularly filled with the "best brown,' was almost empty; the melancholy sight overcame me. felt my heart turn sick within me; my eyes filled with tears, and my nose felt, Oh, I shall never forget how it felt; even at this distant period, I shudder to think of it.

But description is of no avail; those alone who know the luxury of a pinch of snuff, and what a misfortune it is to be kept without it, even for an hour, can form any idea of my feelings. I rubbed my finger round the interior-I gathered the little which remained into one place; I was about to raise it to my nose, when a breeze, "a killing breeze," robbed me of it, and scattered it abroad as the dust of the earth.

Now was my existence become a burthen to me; the cup of misery had been full, and I had drained it to the dregs. Hunger and thirst, and heat and cold, and the sneers of the world, I could have borne; but to see my nose deprived of its accustomed food was death. I sat me down to contemplate my box-a train of sad ideas presented themselves to my mind; it appeared to be impossible to live without my accustomed pinch, and, in the anguish of my spirit, I cried," I will die." I arose, my box still in my hand, and went towards a river: I reached its banks, and in a moment its waters were closed about my head.

When I recovered from the feeling, or rather shock, which (as all know who have tried the experiment) stuns one at his sudden plunge into the water, I found myself at the side of an G. 28.

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