the list. Thus, I am told, the sea is 'Fetiche' to the king of Dahomey himself, and he is forbidden to disturb its sacred character. Feathers, stones, lizards, snakes, insects, sticks, and a multitude of other things, according as fancy and accident may influence the people, are converted into Fetiche,' and either kept at home as domestic 'Penates,' or exposed in public places for public veneration and respect. And such is the mental blindness of these superstitious tribes, that when animals and birds have devoured and drank up the food and liquids which they place before their clay divinities, and other objects of worship, they firmly believe that the works of their own hands have partaken of their offerings, and will act as mediators with the Great Spirit, whose existence they acknowledge. The king himself is 'Fetiche,' and hence the blind worship and devotion his subjects pay him, extending to life, body, soul, will and property. But beside the Dahomian divinity, trees and snakes are the standing, regular, superior class of Fetiches,' and once clothed with the sacred character, to touch, injure or kill them, exposes the offender, whether accidental or intentional the deed, to the sacrifice of his life, or the payment of a heavy fine, with which a slave is purchased and offered up, a hapless victim, in expiation of the unpardonable sin. When then you meet a serpent coiled on your path, or see a tree to which you may take a fancy to for a cane or specimen, gaze but touch not, for there is death or danger in the act. Innocent or guilty, the superstitious mob will make you pay dearly for the deed, and show no mercy for offence so shocking in their eyes. Another specimen of their superstition is the mode of medical practice in this neighborhood. A man falls sick, and into the hands of the doctors. The bark of medicinal trees and sanitive herbs have been applied in vain. The friends of the patient are then invited to attend, and the sick man is produced, and the ceremony begins. Goat's flesh, or other animal food, is then prepared, and after the wool or skin has been distributed among the bystanders, who keep their respective portions as 'Fetiche,' the animal is cooked in palm oil, and the vultures and other birds called to the banquet by beat of triangle, which summons they know and attend to. The doctor, patient and spectators anxiously await the result. If the birds approach and consume the articles exposed, the sick man will recover; if left untouched, he dies. Cases of the latter kind have been known, and it is believed by those who informed us of the fact, that the medicine men' have more to do with the exit of the patient than they are willing to acknowledge, or the people give them credit for, the dusky sons of Galen thus playing the prophet, and taking care that the prophecy be fulfilled.

Were I, however, to indulge myself in noting down all the scenes and things we saw and heard, I should spin too long a yarn for most of your readers, to follow in its length and windings. My narration, like our promenade, must be irregular and tortuous; and if I omit any thing that ought to have been noticed, the omission proceeds from the embarras des richesses,' and the difficulty of selection. We were all surprised at the number of houses and inhabitants in this wild-looking and irregular place. Long did we stroll, winding along

6

the mud and rudely-wattled enclosures, and yet hovel after hovel, crowds upon crowds, Fetiche after Fetiche, met us at every step. In one of our walks we were led to a remarkable Fetiche tree, just outside the town. It is a species of cotton-tree, or at least resembles it, and looms out on this prairie-country large and prominent. For size and singularity, it is worthy of peculiar honor. At its base and roots it has a circumference of about one hundred and twenty to one hundred and fifty feet, narrowing as it ascends, yet several feet up measuring fifty, or therabouts. Its roots extend like enormous ser. pents from the parent stem, and small trees, like young children sheltered under the paternal shade, spring up in the giant embraces of the massive trunk.

As we returned from this excursion, we passed by a large walled enclosure, with a number of houses within, the residence of some of Señor de Sonza's wives, here placed on the retired list. Farther on we came to his great store-house, a large, long and substantial building, where we rested awhile, and there, with appetites somewhat keen from exercise, soon made our way to our point of departure, and enjoyed the plentiful and well-prepared 'déjeûner à la fourchette,' which the Señor had prepared for our discussion. As our time was now getting short, and soon would arrive the hour for taking to our hammocks again, on our return to shipboard, after the necessary refreshment and repose we once more sallied out to pay visits to the native governor, and the residents at the French fort. The governor's residence is in the heart of the town, and is surrounded by an extensive mud wall, enclosing a large park or garden, and quite a number of low clay and straw-roofed huts, not much better, if at all, than the general kind of native hovels you see outside in your walks. After entering the gateway from one of the narrow streets or alleys, while passing along between the humble tenements included within the Court District, among a number of other Fetiches and oddities stuck up around, we lifted a coarse mat which covered the window or door of a small mud building, and were surprised to see three figures squatted in a row, made apparently of plaster of Paris, of more pretensions to symmetry and human looks than any thing of the kind we had yet seen, each wearing a species of cocked hat, and evidently idols of a superior order and aristocratic air. These, I suppose, are the favorite divinities of the governor, and may be, for aught I know, a 'dash' from the great monarch of Dahomey himself. Thinly clad, grinning and staring natives, young and old, male and female, lined the path as we made our way to the presence of the royal representative. We found him standing in a low, close and confined hut, surrounded by several of his counsellors and officers. We had interrupted, it seems, a cabinet council, for the officials, from the Cabocere down, had their foreheads daubed with red clay; but this made no difference in our reception, nor did it cause any delay; so we were respectively introduced to His Excellency, and had each a hearty shake of the hand, followed by a snapping of the fingers on both sides, a ceremony always practised on such occasions. The governor then asked us to follow him into the open air, considerately observing

that it would be too close and hot to remain where we then were. So out stalked this dignitary, attended by his cabinet and aids-de-camp, followed by our party. Chairs and native ornamental carved stools were placed in a large semicircle under the shady trees, just outside the houses, and one of the De Sonzas acted as interpreter. The Cabocere is a remarkable looking man. His physical development is astonishing. His head is large and round, with a broad set of features, full of good humor, and rather an intellectual expression, his head set upon his shoulders by a neck of massive proportions. His frame is of unusual weight and substance, his walk dignified, and even pompous; and yet, despite his size and weighty poroportions, the governor rejoices in a pair of feet which would adorn a ball-room, and delight the heart and challenge the skill of the most fashionable boot-maker in Paris or London.

THE Warrior came with his banners unfurled,
And his hosts all ranged in battle-array,
And he proudly trod on a prostrate world,
That bent to his iron sway.

And the Warrior said: 'I will write my name
On History's goodliest, fairest page,

In letters of blood and letters of flame,
And 't will last to the latest age!'

And History's broadest page was filled

With the deeds he did, and the blood he spilled;
But year followed year, and age followed age,
And the mildew gathered upon that page,
And it crumbled down to the dust at last,
And his name and deeds from memory passed:
And this was the Warrior's fame!

The Poet came with his golden lyre,

And a new world sprang from his teeming brain,
And his words gushed forth like a stream of fire,
As he wove his lofty strain.

And the Poet said: 'In every clime,

My strains will dwell in the hearts of men,
And my fame may end with the end of time,
But never, O never till then!'

And his name became as a household word

In every land where its sound was heard;

But others arose and filled his place,

As the river of Time flowed on apace;

And his name was cast from its sweeping wave,
And Oblivion's gulf closed o'er his grave:
And this was the Poet's fame!

The Statesman came with his powerful pen
And his eloquent tongue's resistless force,

And he turned about the hearts of men
As a horseman turns his horse.

And the Statesman said: 'I have made brave laws,
And on them I willingly rest my fame;

I have toiled in a mighty nation's cause,

I shall die with a deathless name!'

And the fame he sought the Statesman found,
And his name went forth like a trumpet's sound;
But on and on Time's course still lay,

Till his very nation passed away,

And curious men, with toil and pain,

Dug deep for that nation's laws, in vain:

And this was the Statesman's fame!

The Architect came with his skilful hand,
And his mind endued with conceptions high,
And the temple arose at his command,
And the pyramid pierced the sky.
And the Architect said: 'Perpetually

My name will live in the changeless stones,
And in far, far future times will be

Familiar as childhood's tones.'

And he filled the world with his stately piles,
And basked awhile in Fame's bright smiles;
And long-succeeding ages gazed

On the wondrous works that his art had raised;
And their names sounded in every clime,
But his was lost in the mists of Time:

And this was the Architect's fame!

The Christian came with his faith and zeal,
And his fervent love to God and man;
And he strove to live for other's weal,
While his earthly course he ran.

And the Christian said: "By the help of GOD,
I will strive to glorify His name,

And to tread the path that my SAVIOUR trod
Shall be my constant aim.'

The Christian was laid in his lowly lair,

And the world asked not who was slumbering there;

But his name to the hosts of heaven was told,

And they saw it traced in letters of gold,

And they wreathed it round with eternal bays,
And mingled its sound with their songs of praise:
And THIS was the Christian's fame!

Oh! better than Poet or Statesman's art,
Than Architect's skill, or Warrior's might,
Is the faithful love, and the contrite heart,
And the spirit renewed in light!

I have heard a voice, in my soul's young dreams,
That spoke of the joys of earthly fame,
And I idly yearned that its glittering beams
Might shine on my humble name.

But I leave the dangerous road untried,
With its envies, cares, and thoughts of pride,
And lift my eyes to a nobler prize,

A crown of life in the upper skies;

That this humble name, when glory's gleam
Has passed away like a morning dream,
May live in eternal fame !

IOTA,

THE TIMES AND POETRY OF CHAUCER.

BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

'He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced;

As some vast river of unfailing source,

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And oped new feelings in the human heart.'

POLLOK.

WE shall not sketch the life of Chaucer, but give form to our notions of what Poetry is; notice the character of the times in which he lived; the condition of English poetry previous to his day; the merit and usefulness of his writings; his genius, and his claim on all who speak the language of his native land, for unfeigned gratitude. There is a charm in the poetry of a master of the human heart. Like the lute of Orpheus:

'WHOSE golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans

Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands,'

is the poet-soul which struck, yields music that takes strong hold of the heart of man; it makes a conquest more glorious than that acquired by use of bayonet; for it is bloodless. It has a charm for the soul; lifts it up, to all that is lofty and grand, or guides its musings on the simpler and more unpretending beauties of Nature and Man's creation. The character and amplitude of actions and events which form the subject of the historian's pen are not enough to satisfy the mind; we need the poet's fire to awaken in our bosoms feelings of sympathy with the glowing world around us, and his creative energy to invent more heroic actions, and paint more uncommon events, at which we may gaze in silent wonder, and feel ourselves in the presence of some enchanting though invisible power.

History can tell us only of what has been, while Poetry may range over the whole mighty Past, the living Present, and the years pregnant with intensest interest which are To-come. Philosophy can serve us only as it observes the facts of experience, and deduces from them a knowledge of material and spiritual laws. Eloquence may raise her voice and still the chafing multitude, but it works only on the crowd who gather for a day; the present is all it has in which to accomplish its high mission. Poetry has the vantage-ground, for it can create facts, most credible, of which Time never heard; its influence dies not with the generation of to-day, but if it be genuine, such as a Shakspeare, or even a Bryant or a Halleck pens, it lives to stir up the hearts of all succeeding generations. She creeps along the earth, or like the eagle, soars toward Infinity. The records of the past may give us an occasional beam of light; the transcript of the poet's soul is like the full-orbed sun. It throws a radiance of glory over a world of darkness, despondency and doubt, and bids man look up and follow Hope. Its teachings are not illusions, but the truest