At length I sat upright in bed to take a good look at them; but the moment they observed me watching them, their forms faded gradually away, till at length they only appeared like thin mists waving about. When I laid my head down again, they appeared to be more at their ease, dipping, and splashing, and throwing the water about at one another. After amusing themselves in this manner for about an hour, one of them took hold of the hearth-broom, and sat herself astraddle on it; the two others got on behind her, and they all three flew up the chimney together, broom and all. I could hear the thick end of the broom knocking against the sides of the chimney all the way up to the top, first on one side, and then on the other." Pray, sir, did not the fire burn blue all this time ?" asked an old woman in a plaid cloak, who had been listening with breathless interest.

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"Very blue," was the reply.

"When I went down to breakfast in the morning, I told my host that something very extraordinary had happened to me in the night, and I related to him all that I had seen."

"There is nothing at all extraordinary in that," was his reply. "If you leave your foot-tub in your room, the witches always do come and bathe in it. Nobody in the Highlands ever leaves a foottub that he has washed his feet in, in the room. I do not know that I can remember an instance of it of late years, except, indeed, one, and that was a man in Inverness gaol, who was sentenced to solitary confinement-and he did it for society."

The story being concluded, its hero passed through his cluster of listeners, lounged up and down the deck, affecting a kind of aristocratic superiority. He felt conscious that his story had told well, and that he was for the moment the lion of the party; he flattered himself that he had thrown both Mr. Winterblossom and Mr. Brown altogether into the shade. His triumph, however, was but shortlived; for soon afterwards, as we were looking towards the island, I observed to the antiquary,

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That high peak that we see is St. Katherine's, the highest point of the island, is it not?"

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"Yes," he replied, "St. Katherine's is at present the highest point of the island."

"Is at present! Why, you do not mean to say that there ever was a time when its elevation was different?"

"but it appears very

"That I know nothing about," he replied; probable that Shanklin Down will soon overtake it in height." Why, you don't mean to say that Shanklin Down is growing higher ?

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"That, indeed, appears to be the case, or, at any rate, relatively to other heights in the island. The inhabitants of Chale will tell you that formerly Shanklin Down, from the interference of Week Down, could only be seen from the top of St. Katherine's, whereas it is now visible from Chale Down, which is much lower; conse. quently, unless Week Down has sunk lower than it was, Shanklin Down must have risen considerably. Now, if Week Down is sink. ing, it is very probable that St. Katherine's is slipping down too; so that, whether Shanklin Down is growing higher or not, it seems very probable that it will in the course of time overlook all the rest of the Isle of Wight."

536

"Very curious," said the hero of the foot-tub, with a kind of supercilious air. "I suppose the two hills are playing at see-saw.— Now we go up, up, up; and now we go down, down, down. Very curious,-very," picking his teeth incredulously between the two last words.

"There is no animal," thought I to myself, "so jealous of another of the same species as your regular story-teller."

STANZAS.

Remember, it is now considered both ignorant and inelegant to mention any flower except by its botanical name."-Work on Education, 1839.

FAIR flowers! beloved flowers!

Charm of the summer hours!

In all her freshness the exulting earth,
Like a young mother, joys in your sweet birth.
The stars with loving eye

Gaze on you from on high,

And the soft breezes leave the waves at rest,

To sink with deep delight into your fragrant breast.

Fair flowers! ye brilliant things!

The fond imaginings,

Of which the restless heart is ever full,
Can fancy naught in heaven more beautiful.

Oh! ye were sent to prove

Envoys of peace and love.

Your presence were a mockery here, sweet flowers!
If guilt and grief had claim on all our mortal hours.

Even your names are fraught

With treasures of deep thought.

The poets of our land have sung your praise,
Linking your charms with their celestial lays.
The golden cowslip well

Might lift her pendent bell

In pride, to be by Shakspeare's hand impress'd
With the same crimson drops as Imogen's white breast.*

For me each flower that blows,

From the voluptuous rose

To the meek daisy, with its starry eyes,
That has inspired such gems of poesy,t
Has some peculiar claim,-

And each accustom'd name

Seems of the flower itself a beauteous part,

That, like its rich perfume, sinks deep into the heart.

But they exist no more,

Those charm'd sounds of yore,

Familiar to my fancy. Science grave
Recalls those simple names our fathers gave;
And my own favourite flower

(Chosen in childhood's hour)

Now fades within my bosom-loved too well!—

With a long Latin name I cannot speak or spell!

M. TORRE HOLME.

"A mole cinque spotted, like the crimson drops in the bottom of a cowslip." Cymbeline.

+ Chaucer, Burns, Montgomery, &c.