Of the blood-avenging sprite ; 'Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight!'

"I took the dreary body up,
And cast it in a stream—
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The death was so extreme
(My gentle boy, remember this
Was nothing but a dream).

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge And vanish'd in a pool ;

Anon I cleaned my bloody hands,

And wash'd my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young That evening in the school.

“Oh heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim!

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn;

Like a devil of the pit I seem'd

'Mid holy cherubim.

"And peace went with them one and all,

And each calm pillow spread; But Guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed,

And drew my midnight curtains round,

With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That racked me all the time, A mighty yearning, like the first, Fierce impulse unto crime!

"One stern, tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave-

Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave!

"Heavily I rose up as soon
As light was in the sky-
And sought the black, accursed pool,
With a wild misgiving eye,

And I saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;
But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,

I took him up and ran―

There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began!

In a lonesome wood with heaps of leaves,

I hid the murdered man!

"And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was otherwhere;
As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there:

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!

"Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep,

For I knew my secret then was one

That Earth refused to keep;

Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep!

"So wills the fierce avenging sprite
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh-
The world shall see his bones!

"Oh God, that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing that pursues my soul-
It stands before me now!"

The fearful boy looked up and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin's eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;

And Eugene Aram walked between,
With gyves upon his wrist.

BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN.

ALL at once Miss Morbid left off sugar.

She did not resign it as some persons lay down their carriage, the full-bodied family coach dwindling into a chariot, next into a fly, and then into a sedan-chair. She did not shade it off artistically, like certain household economists, from white to whitey brown, brown, dark-brown, and so on, to none at all. She left it off, as one might leave off walking on the top of a house, or on a slide, or on a plank with a further end to it, that is to say, slapdash, all at once, without a moment's warning. She gave it up, to speak appropriately, in the lump. She dropped it,-as Corporal Trim let fall his hat, dab. It vanished, as the French say, toot sweet. From the 30th of November, 1830, not an ounce of sugar, to use Miss Morbid's own expression, ever "darkened her doors."

The truth was she had been present the day before at an AntiSlavery Meeting; and had listened to a lecturing Abolitionist, who had drawn her sweet tooth, root and branch, out of her head. Thenceforth sugar, or as she called it "shugger," was no longer white, or brown, in her eyes, but red, blood-red-an abomination, to indulge in which would convert a professing Christian into a practical Cannibal. Accordingly, she made a vow, under the influence of moist eyes and refined feelings, that the sanguinary article should never more enter her lips or her house; and this pretty parody of the famous Berlin decree against our Colonial produce was rigidly enforced. However others might countenance the practice of the Slave Owners by consuming "shugger,” she was resolved for her own part, that "no suffering sable son of Africa should ever rise up against her out of a cup of Tea!"

In the mean time, the cook and house-maid grumbled in concert

at the prohibition: they naturally thought it very hard to be deprived of a luxury which they enjoyed at their own proper cost; and at last only consented to remain in the service, on condition that the privation should be handsomely considered in their wages. With a hope of being similarly remembered in her will, the poor relations of Miss Morbid continued to drink the "warm without," which she administered to them every Sunday, under the name of Tea: and Hogarth would have desired no better subject for a picture than was presented by their physiognomies. Some pursed up their lips, as if resolved that the nauseous beverage should never enter them ; others compressed their mouths, as if to prevent it from rushing out again. One took it mincingly, in sips,-another gulped it down in desperation, a third, in a fit of absence, continued to stir very superfluously with his spoon; and there was one shrewḍ old gentleman, who, by a little dexterous by-play, used to bestow the favor of his small souchong on a sick geranium. Now and then an astonished Stranger would retain a half cupful of the black dose in his mouth, and stare round at his fellow guests, as if tacitly putting to them the very question of Matthews's Yorkshireman, in the mail-coach-"Coompany!—oop or doon ?"

--

The greatest sufferers, however, were Miss Morbid's two nephews, still in the morning of their youth, and boy-like, far more inclined to "sip the sweets" than to "hail the dawn." They had formerly looked on their Aunt's house as peculiarly a Dulce Domum. Prior to her sudden conversion, she had been famous for the manufacture of a sort of hard bake, commonly called Toffy or Taffy,-but now, alas! "Taffy was not at home," and there was nothing else to invite a call. Currant tart is tart indeed without sugar; and as for the green gooseberries, they always tasted, as the young gentlemen affirmed, "like a quart of berries sharpened to a pint." In short, it always required six pennyworth of lollipops and bulls'-eyes, a lick of honey, a dip of treacle, and a pick at a grocer's hogshead, to sweeten a visit at Aunt Morbid's.

To tell the truth, her own temper soured a little under the prohibition. She could not persuade the Sugar-eaters that they were Vampyres ;-instead of practising, or even admiring her