these old French Creole villages, for the inhabitants have a hereditary love for balls and fêtes; if they work but little, they dance a great deal, and a fiddle is the joy of their heart.

What had sent Compere Martin travelling with the grand-signior, I could not learn: he evidently looked up to him with great deference, and was assiduous in rendering him petty attentions; from which I concluded that he lived at home upon the crumbs which fell from his table. He was gayest when out of his sight, and had his song and his joke when forward among the deck-passengers; but altogether Compere Martin was out of his element on board a steam-boat. He was quite another being, I am told, when at home, in his own village.

Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he, too, had his canine follower and retainer-and one suited to his different fortunes-one of the civilest, homebred, most unoffending little dogs in the world. Unlike the lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had no right on board the steam-boat! if you did but look hard at him, he would throw himself upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring mercy.

At table, he took his seat at a little distance from his master; not with the bluff confident air of the mastiff, but quietly and diffidently; his head on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched, the other hopefully cocked up; his under-teeth projecting beyond his black nose, and his eye wistfully following each morsel that went into his master's mouth.

If Compere Martin now and then should venture to abstract a morsel from his plate, to give to his humble companion, it was edifying to see with what diffidence the exemplary little animal would take hold of it, with the very tip of his teeth, as if he would almost rather not, or was fearful of taking too great a liberty. And then with what decorum would he eat it! How many efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it stuck in his throat; with what daintiness would he lick his lips; and then with what an air of thankfulness would he resume his seat, with his teeth once more projecting beyond his

nose, and an eye of humble expectation fixed upon his

master!

It was late in the afternoon when the steam-boat stopped at the village which was the residence of my fellowvoyagers. It stood on the high bank of the river, and bore traces of having been a frontier trading-post. There were the remains of the stockades that once protected it from the Indians, and the houses were in the ancient Spanish and French colonial taste, the place having been successively under the domination of both those nations prior to the cession of Louisiana to the United States.

The arrival of the signior of 50,000 dollars, and his humble companion, Compere Martin, had evidently been looked forward to as an event in the village. Numbers of men, women, and children, white, yellow, and black, were collected on the river-bank; most of them clad in old-fashioned French garments, and their heads decorated with coloured handkerchiefs, or white night-caps. The moment the steam-boat came within sight and hearing, there commenced a waving of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling of greetings, and salutations, and felicitations, that baffle all description.

The old gentleman of 50,000 dollars was received by a train of relatives and friends, and children and grandchildren, whom he kissed on each cheek, and who formed a procession in his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, following him to a large old-fashioned French house that domineered over the village.

His black valet-de-chambre, in white jacket and trousers, and gold earrings, was met on the shore by a boon, though rustic companion-a tall negro fellow, with a long good-humoured horse-face, which stood out in strong relief from beneath a narrow-rimmed straw-hat, stuck on the back of his head. The explosions of laughter of these two varlets on first meeting with each other, and exchanging compliments, were enough to electrify the whole country round.

The most hearty reception, however, was that given to Compere Martin. Everybody, young and old, hailed him

before he got to land. Everybody had a joke for Compere Martin, and Compere Martin had a joke for everybody. Soon his little dog appeared, to partake of his popularity, and to be caressed by every hand. Indeed he was quite a different animal the moment he touched the land. Here he was at home; here he was of consequence. He barked, he leaped, he frisked about his old friends, and then would skim round the place in a wide circle, as if mad.

I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to their home. It was an old ruinous Spanish house, of large dimensions, with verandas overshadowed by ancient elms. The house had probably been the residence, in old times, of the Spanish commandant. In one wing of this crazy but aristocratical abode, was nestled the family of my fellow-traveller; for poor devils are apt to be magnificently clad and lodged in the cast-off clothes, and abandoned palaces of the great and wealthy.

The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed by a legion of women, children, and mongrel curs; and, as poverty and gaiety generally go hand and hand among the French and their descendants, the crazy mansion soon resounded with loud gossip and light-hearted laughter.

As the steam-boat paused a short time at the village, I took occasion to stroll about the place. Most of the houses were in the French taste, with casements and rickety verandas, but most of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the wagons, ploughs, and other utensils about the place, were of ancient and inconvenient Gallic construction, such as had been brought from France in the primitive days of the colony. The very looks of the people reminded me of the villages of France.

As I passed by one of the houses, the hum of a spinningwheel came issuing forth, accompanied by a scrap of a song, which a girl was singing as she sat at her labour. It was an old French chanson, that I have heard many a time among the peasantry of Languedoc; and the sound of it brought many a bright and happy scene to my remembrance. It was doubtless an old traditional song,

brought over by the French emigrants, and handed down from generation to generation.

Half-a-dozen young lasses emerged from the adjacent dwellings, reminding me, by their light step and gay costume, of scenes in ancient France, where taste in dress comes natural to every class of females. The trim bodice, and coloured petticoat, and little apron, with its pockets to receive the hands when in an attitude for conversation; the coloured kerchief wound tastefully round the head, with a coquettish knot perking above one ear; and then the neat slipper and tight-drawn stocking, with its braid of narrow ribbond embracing the ankle where it peeps from its mysterious curtain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends his most inciting arrows.

While I was musing upon the recollections thus accidentally summoned up, I heard the sound of a fiddle from the mansion of Compere Martin, the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I was disposed to turn my steps thither, and witness the festivities of one of the very few villages that I had met with in my wide tour that was yet poor enough to be merry; but the bell of the steam-boat summoned me to re-embark.

As we swept away from the shore, I cast back a wistful eye upon the moss-grown roofs and ancient elms of the village, and prayed that the inhabitants might long retain their happy ignorance, their absence of all enterprise and improvement, their respect for the fiddle, and their contempt for the almighty dollar. I fear, however, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In a little while, the steam-boat whirled me to an American town, just springing into bustling and prosperous existence.

The surrounding forest had been laid out in town-lots; frames of wooden buildings were rising from among stumps and burned trees. The place already boasted a court-house, a jail, and two banks, all built of pine-boards, on the model of Grecian temples. There were rival hotels, rival churches, and rival newspapers; together with the usual number of judges, and generals, and governors; not to speak of doctors by the dozen, and lawyers by the score.

The place, I was told, was in an astonishing career of improvement, with a canal and two railways in embryo. Lots doubled in price every week; everybody was speculating in land; everybody was rich, and everybody was growing richer. The community, however, was torn to pieces by new doctrines in religion, and in political economy; there were camp-meetings and agrarian-meetings; and an election was at hand, which, it was expected, would throw the whole country into a paroxysm.

Alas! with such an enterprising neighbour, what is to become of the poor little Creole village?

ORATOR HENLEY.

'Imbrowned with native bronze, lo! Henley stands,
Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.
How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue!
How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung !

O great restorer of the good old stage,
Preacher at once and zany of thy age!

O worthy thou of Egypt's blest abodes,

A decent priest where monkeys were the gods!'-&c.

THESE verses refer to a man who was perhaps the most notorious in London during the reigns of the two first Georges, though now nearly forgotten for all but the notice taken of him by Pope. John Henley, descended of a race of clergymen of the Established Church, was born at Melton Mowbray, in Leicestershire, in 1692. He received a regular clerical education at St John's College, Cambridge, whence, in 1712, he addressed a whimsical letter to the Spectator, with the signature of Peter de Quir, which was printed in the 396th number of that work. He was distinguished among his companions for lively talents, and took the degrees of bachelor and master of arts; but, even at this early period of his life, he shewed symptoms of that insubordination to established systems