to render it very probable that it would give way under our weight. This same bridge, whose appearance was indeed most perilous, is built at a considerable height over a broad and rapid stream, called the Neuse, the colour of whose water we had an excellent opportunity of admiring through the numerous holes in the plankage, over which we walked as lightly and rapidly as we could, stopping afterwards to see our coach come at a foot's pace after us. This may be called safe and pleasant travelling. The ten miles which followed were over heavy sandy roads, and it was near sunset when we reached the place where we were to take the railroad. The train, however, had not arrived, and we sat still in the coaches, there being neither town, village, nor even road-side inn at hand, where we might take shelter from the bitter blast which swept through the pine-woods by which we were surrounded; and so we waited patiently, the day gradually drooping, the evening air becoming colder, and the howling wilderness around us more dismal every moment.

In the meantime the coaches were surrounded by a troop of gazing boors, who had come from far and near to see the hot-water carriages come up for only the third time into the midst of their savage solitude. A more forlorn, fierce, poor, and wild set of people, short of absolute savages, I never saw. They wandered round and round us, with a stupid kind of dismayed wonder. The men clothed in the coarsest manner, and the women also, of whom there were not a few, with the grotesque addition of pink and blue silk bonnets, with artificial flowers, and imitation-blonde veils. Here the gentlemen of our party informed us that they observed, for the first time, a custom prevalent in North Carolina, of which I had myself frequently heard beforethe women chewing tobacco, and that, too, in a most disgusting and disagreeable way, if one way can be more disgusting than another. They carry habitually a small stick, like the small implement for cleaning the teeth, usually known in England by the name of a root, this they thrust away in their glove, or their garter-string, and, whenever occasion offers, plunge it into a snuff box, and begin chewing it. The practice is so common, that the proffer of the snuff-box, and its passing from hand to hand, is the usual civility of a morning visit among the country people, and I was not a little amused at hearing the gentlemen who were with us describe the process as they witnessed it in their visit to a miserable farm-house across the fields, whither they went to try to obtain something to eat.

It was now becoming twilight, and the male members of our caravan held council round a pine fire as to what course had better be adopted for sheltering themselves and us, during the night, which we seemed destined to pass in the woods. After some debate, it was recollected that one Colonel, a man of some standing in that neighbourhood, had a farm about a mile distant immediately upon the line of the railroad, and thither it was determined we should all repair, and ask quarters for the night. Fortunately, an empty baggage-car, or rather a mere platform upon wheels (for it was nothing more) stood at hand upon the iron road, and to this the luggage, and the women and children of the party, were transferred. ber of negroes, who were loitering about, were pressed into the service, and pushed it along, and the gentlemen, walking, brought up the rear. I don't know that I ever in my life felt so completely desolate as during that half-hour's slow progress. We sat cowering among the trunks, my faithful M and I, each with a baby in

A num

our arms, sheltering ourselves and our poor little burthens from the bleak northern wind that whistled over us. The last embers of daylight were dying out in dusky red streaks along the horizon, and the dreary waste around us looked like the very shaggy edge of all creation. The men who pushed us along encouraged each other with wild shouts and yells, and every now and then their labour was one of no little danger, as well as difficulty, for the road crossed one or two deep ravines and morasses at a considerable height, and, as it was not completed, and nothing but the iron rails were laid across piles driven into these places, it became a service of considerable risk to run along these narrow ledges, at the same time, urging our car along. No accident happened, however, fortunately, and we presently beheld, with no small satisfaction, a cluster of houses in the fields at some little distance from the road. To the principal one I made my way, followed by the rest of the poor womankind, and, entering the house without further ceremony, ushered them into a large species of wooden room, where blazed a huge pine-wood fire. By this welcome light we descried, sitting in the corner of the vast chimney, an old ruddy-faced man, with silver hair, and a goodhumoured countenance, who, welcoming us with ready hospitality, announced himself as Colonel —, and invited us to draw near the fire. The worthy Colonel seemed in no way dismayed at this sudden inbreak of distressed women, which was very soon followed by the arrival of the gentlemen, to whom he repeated the same courteous reception he had given us, replying to their rather hesitating demands for something to eat, by ordering to the right and left a tribe of staring negroes, who bustled about preparing supper, under the active superintendence of the hospitable Colonel. His residence (considering his rank) was quite the most primitive imaginable,—a rough brick-and-plank chamber, of considerable dimensions, not even whitewashed, with the great beams and rafters by which it was supported displaying the skeleton of the building, to the complete satisfaction of any one who might be curious in architecture. The windows could close neither at the top, bottom, sides, nor middle, and were, besides, broken so as to admit several delightful currents of air, which might be received as purely accidental. In one corner of this primitive apartment stood an exceedingly clean-looking bed, with coarse furniture, whilst in the opposite one, an old case-clock was ticking away its time and its master's, with cheerful monotony. The rush-bottomed chairs were of as many different shapes and sizes as those in a modern fine lady's drawing-room, and the walls were hung all round with a curious miscellany, consisting principally of physic phials, turkey-feather fans, bunches of dried herbs, and the Colonel's arsenal, in the shape of one or two old guns, &c. According to the worthy man's hearty invitation, I proceeded to make myself and my companions at home, pinning, skewering, and otherwise suspending our cloaks and shawls across the various intentional and unintentional air-gaps, thereby increasing both the comfort and the grotesqueness of the apartment in no small degree. The babies had bowls of milk furnished them, and the elder portion of the caravan was regaled with a taste of the Colonel's home-made wine, pending the supper, to which he continued to entreat our stay. Meantime he entered into conversation with my husband; and my veneration waxed deep, when the old man, unfolding his history, proclaimed himself one of the heroes of the revolution,-a fellow-fighter with

Washington. I, who, comforted to a degree of high spirits by our sudden transition from the cold and darkness of the railroad to the light and shelter of this rude mansion, had been flippantly bandying. jokes, and proceeded some way in a lively flirtation with this illustrious American, grew thrice respectful, and hardly ventured to raise either my eyes or my voice as I inquired if he lived alone in this remote place. Yes, alone now; his wife had been dead near upon two years.

Suddenly we were broken in upon by the arrival of the expected cars. It was past eight o'clock. If we delayed we should have to travel all night; but, then, the Colonel, pressed us to stay and sup (the bereaved Colonel, the last touching revelation of whose lonely existence had turned all my mirth into sympathising sadness). The gentlemen were famished, and well inclined to stay; the ladies were famished too, for we had eaten nothing all day. The bustle of preparation, urged by the warm-hearted Colonel began afresh'; the negro girls shambled in and out more vigorously than ever, and finally we were called to eat and refresh ourselves with-dirty water-I cannot call it tea,-old cheese, bad butter, and old, dry biscuits. The gentlemen bethought them of the good supper they might have secured a few miles further, and groaned; but the hospitable Colonel merely asked them half a dollar a-piece (there were about ten of them ;) paying which, we departed, with our enthusiasm a little damped for the warrior of the revolution, and a tinge of rather deeper misgiving as to some of his virtues stole over our minds on learning that three of the sable damsels that trudged about our supper service, were the Colonel's own progeny. I believe only three,-though the young negro girl, whose loquacity made us aware of the fact, added, with a burst of commendable pride and gratitude, Indeed, he is a father to us all!' Whether she spoke figuratively, or literally, we could not determine. So much for a three-hours' shelter in North Carolina.

GUY'S CLIFFE MILL.*

AN EVENING SKETCH.

BY WILLIAM JONES.

A TRANQUIL beauty marks the spot
Where stands the ancient mill;
The fetter'd water heaveth not,
The noisy wheel is still!

Ev'ning with ling'ring step, draws on,

As though it fain would stay

Its reign awhile, subdued and lone,

To aid the parting day.

A light gleams from the miller's home,
His cheerful meal is spread,

The tankard wreathes itself in foam,
The fire is amply fed.

This is one of those beautiful points of scenery with which Warwickshire is so plenteously studded. An additional charm belongs to this venerable structure from the fact of a mill having occupied its site long anterior to the Norman Conquest, which was bestowed by Geoffrey de Clinton on his newly-founded monastery at Kenilworth, together with, as Dugdale quaintly observes, 'both the miller and his children.'

The good-man from his toil doth rest
And with a smiling mien,
Shares in the story and the jest,
That cheerful intervene.

No lot more favour'd or secure
Could man in truth desire,

Than that where comfort's thrifty store
No further wants require.

Content grows with them; who shall say
It is not happiness?

Where envious thoughts can have no sway,
And means, though few, can bless.

Have ye not feelings near akin

To awe, as thus ye stand
Beside the pile, that erst hath been
The work of Saxon hand?

Time after time, this site hath stood,
Devoted, as 'tis now,

Yielding to monk and baron, food,
The produce of the plough.

By belted knight it hath been held
And for his soul's estate,

The holy father's lands hath swelled,
(A goodly estimate!)

Sacred from spoil, the feud's dark rage

Hath pass'd it harmless by,

And left it firm and strong, though age
Hath graven deep its dye.

Here, from yon sanctuary oft,

When sky and earth grew dim,

Would breathe around in accents soft
The hallow'd vesper hymn!

And as the solemn Ave smote

Upon the pilgrim's ear,

His heart hath risen with each note

In calm and thoughtful pray'r.

Here, too, the murd'rous culverin

The forest glades bath woke

From some near field of strife, whose din
The fane's deep rest hath broke.

And here the dying hath been laid
All blood stain'd to be shriven,

Whilst, bending o'er, the priest hath bade
Their last looks turn to Heaven!

Now all is chang'd, the woods are raz'd,
The solitary's cell;

The chantry where a host hath prais'd,
Their sites alone doth tell!

But this old pile yet standeth now,
Unsear'd and quaint in form,
With added strength upon its brow,
To cope with age and storm!

The moon is shaded by a cloud,
Night closes round its vest,

The dew floats in a misty shroud

Upon earth's slumb'ring breast;

Whilst, through the gloom that gathers round,

The old mill seems to be

A temple in the waste profound

To Nature's deity!

THE ABSENT MANAGER.

BY DRINKWATER MEADOWS.

'All the world's a stage.'

MR. THORNTON was for many years the manager of several theatres in the west of England. He was a most eccentric, absent, and forgetful person; and for an actor to be absent or forgetful, is most intolerable, and not to be endured.' Mr. Thornton's lack of memory was most extraordinary, particularly so for an actor, and above all for a manager.

In a country theatre, no more cats are kept than catch mice,' as the saying is, and each man in his time plays many parts,' frequently two in the same piece, which is professionally called 'doubling." Actors have been known, for lack of numbers, to double Las Casas with the Sentinel, and Orozembo with the Blind man (Pizarro), Tressel with the Earl of Richmond, and the Lieutenant of the Tower with the Duke of Buckingham (Richard the Third) and Juliet has been known to sing at her own funeral, with her back to the audience.

The variety of characters performed by most actors in small country companies is also very great to wit,' Young Norval and Lubin Log. I have seen Doctor Panglos, Sir Charles Rackett, and Peter Fidget played, on the same night, by the same actor, in his own hair, so wonderfully transformed,' as to answer for these very opposite characters; and on another occasion the same gentleman acted, on the same night, Hamlet and the Clown in a pantomime.

By such means only, in those days, could country managers keep their theatres open, every actor being engaged to make himself generally useful; in a few instances, menial business excepted' was inserted in the engagement. There was this advantage in performers thus acting everything, they discovered at length what they were best adapted for. Leading tragedians have, in many instances, commenced their theatrical career as comedians, and several first-rate comedians have started as tragedians. We know what we are, but know not what we may be.'

Mr. Thornton was a manager who always had an eye to economy, and the lowest peace establishment.' He was always foremost himself in taking parts at 'a short notice,'-I cannot say studying them; for he either had not the application or the memory requisite for study. He was always ready to double or treble; for his own good all causes did give way.' He never paused to consider what he could or could not do, when there was any difficulty in obtaining a representative for any particular character, but instantly undertook it.

On one occasion he undertook to go on' for Baron Wildenheim, in Lovers' Vows, the actor who usually played that part being too ill to appear. An apology was made, and the usual kind indulgence' of the audience claimed for Mr. Thornton, who had undertaken the character at a very short notice.'

He went through his first scene tolerably correctly for him; but, alas! when he was called for his second, he had lost all recollection