of spirit in the house, Billy. "I have been keeping up Jack's alive for the last day or so with some of my neighbours, and the kegs are completely drained. But Mac, d'ye see, shall be sent off in the morning for a supply; in the meanwhile, (pointing to an opossum skin bed-cover, coiled up near the fire-place,) make for yourself a shakedown; as to me, I can't keep my peepers open no longer, so, good night!"

"Adieu! all's well!" ranted out the broker, who, as passively as a Russian guardsman in Peter's, surnamed the Great, reign, laid down his pipe of consolation, unlaced his boots, and folding around his form the before-mentioned furry comforter, reclined before the ruddy embers, and in a few minutes was performing, rather sonorously, a snoring duet with his entertainer.

Time hurries on, however, both for the weary and the wakeful; not only for the victim, but for the murderer!--and Billy, awakened by the grateful orisons of chanticleer, arose, for the last time in this world, to gaze upon the glorious sun, as in a gold and crimson-tinted robe of majesty, he ascended above the previously mistenveloped mountains; and, as that faintly azure mist itself curled up, waning paler and yet paler as it curled, until, it at last radiantly floated as a cloud of liquid and semi-transparent silver in the heavens! There is, gentle reader, a peculiar charm in the beauty of a fine morning, when the beholder can feast his admiring eyes on picturesque, magnificent, and lovely views of promontories, the sea, vales, rivers, and ever-green woodlands, such as abound in Tasmania; and hence, as poor Billy glanced from one attraction to another, he felt a rapturous, though but momentary elevation, beyond the grovelling feelings of common life. He knew not, that he was as a serpent in the path of wretches, who had doomed him to the slaughter; and that, ere night, he would lie like a pebble, a shell, or a fragment of wreck upon the ocean-beach, a breathless atom! No, all he knew, was, that the works of nature, as displayed before him, were most pleasing-that he had business to perform that morning—and that he did not care how soon he could have his breakfast, and the expected grog, so that he might prosecute his journey. To expedite matters, therefore, he contrived to make, seemingly by accident, a noise sufficient to break the slumber of a dormouse; and, lingeringly, with a gape, a stretch, and a few of those other queer grimaces, that show as plainly as words can you have waked me too soon," R. left his pallet, and dipped his head in a bucket of water.

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This here is always my way after a drinking bout," said he to the broker;—" I finds it vastly relieves me, you must know, especially if I follows it up by a Doctor, which, by the soul of my grandmother, I must have, and no mistake; so, Billy, just step to the mens' hut, will you, and tell Mac I want him.”

On cheerfully approaching it, a piercing groan met his ear, and, on his opening the door, he beheld with consternation and alarm, writhing, apparently in dreadful agony, the man whose services were

required. "What's the matter, Mac?" he kindly and hastily asked, "say, can I assist you?" For a considerable while, the poor sufferer could not reply, except by a melancholy shake of the head, and by significantly pointing, first to a blazing log, and then to his stomach,-but ultimately, although with extreme labour, he indistinctly and gutturally half-articulated, Mi-s-t-e-r S-! s-a-v-e -h-i-m, I'm p-o-i-soned! "For heaven's sake," exclaimed the broker, "say, by whom?" The wretched man's only answer was, "y-o-u're i-n i-n-O!" and, with another heart-rending scream, his soul quiveringly winged her flight to the awful presence of that God, "to whom all hearts are open, and from whom no secrets are hid."

It would be needless to minutely observe on the confusion that ensued; suffice it, that R. evinced a strong degree of sorrow, and in a way so natural and effecting, as to leave no doubt but that he had really been attached to the deceased; whilst, in the absence of the shepherd and the stock-keeper, to whom Mac's complaint at the early hour they had left the hut, seemed to be the cholic, Billy was sent off to apprize the nearest magistrate of the melancholy and mysterious circumstance.

With alacrity the broker departed, and, to save time, approached the coast by a foot-path, which wound round an almost impervious coppice of mimosa trees, when, after advancing within about a pistol-shot of high water-mark, he was hailed by one of the three wretches, against whom he had authority to act.

"You're in a cursed hurry!" growled the ruffian, “What's your news?"

"Poor Mac has been poisoned."

"Indeed! and are you sure he is dead? speak man!"

"Too surely," said the broker, "I saw him, when, some hour since, he breathed his last, with a pang I shall long remember." "Pho! not long" (with a hideous smile, replied the callous miscreant,) "not long! life, you know's very unsartin."

"Yes, I am well aware of it," said Billy, "but methinks 'tis very awful to die by such a death," and, glancing at his companion seemed to add; "you hear of so dreadful an affair with wonderful indifference!" As these thoughts passed successively, the thinker could not but notice a malignant triumph, blended with something like blood-thirsty anticipation, evidenced by the scowling brow, distended nostrils, and deeply-hued lip of his interogator. "I'm going at last," said he, "to inform the Coroner of the poor fellow's fate! But, perhaps, you'll be at home in the afternoon, should I call upon you? "Not quite so fast, my covey," gruffly exclaimed his assassin, "not quite so fast, I say; I know what you've come from the Derwent for, and so does who're now within hail." So saying, he coo-heed, and was instantly answered by a similar mode of Austral-asiatic signalizing.

and

In a few minutes, the pure dew-drops of morning were crushed by the heavy tread of guilty mens' footsteps; and, at oft recurring

intervals, the crackling of tempest-riven branches, as alternately mangled by iron-studded hunting-boots, bespoke the approach of the villain's confederates.

"Caught by G-!" triumphantly exclaimed he, as he saw them approaching, and pointed to the broker. "Well, dash me, if this arnt the devil's luck and our own too! what think you my boys?" "Billy," said one of them, whose face betrayed less of bad feeling than that of his companions; "Billy, for the sake of all that is dear to you, give up to me the writ of execution; if you levy, I am done for!"

“Why, I should be sorry to hurt any man,"answered the broker, "and you in particular, Mc as you're a family man; but, I've a duty to perform-an unpleasant duty, 'tis true, but"

"I must perform it," mockingly yelled the first of the conspirators, who, with an herculean grasp, compressed the unfortunate broker's throat, until, after some horrible convulsions, he passed from life to death-from time into eternity.

(To be concluded in our next.)

A FRIEND.

He is a friend, who scorns the little sphere
Of narrow self, and finds a joy sincere
To see another blest, whose generous heart
To all around would happiness impart
If happiness were his; whose bosom glows
With warmth, the frozen stoic never knows.
Divine benevolence, where friendship reigns
And piety the sacred flame maintains.
This is the tie inviolate, which binds
In mutual friendship harmonizing minds.
A friend thus formed, is formed to give delight,
To brighten joys, and gild affection's night.
His heart exults whene'er his friend's rejoice;
And every pleasing power at friendship's voice
Awakes to life, and bids the transport rise
In grateful adoration to the skies.

But ah! how short the bright untroubled hour!
Soon clouds arise, and storms impending lour,
And oft they burst upon the fainting heart;
Then frendship shows her noblest, kindest art;
Sustains the drooping powers, and helps to bear
The well-divided load of mutual care.

If griefs oppress, or threatening woes impend,
Dear solace then, to find a real friend.
He is a real friend, whose passions know
The anguish of communicated woe;

Who feels the deep distrees when sorrow mourns,
And from his inmost heart the sigh returns.
The kindred sigh conveys a strange relief,
How cordial is society in grief!

Less are the woes, and lighter are the cares,
That gentle sympathising friendship shares.
When humbly at the throne of grace we bend
And ask its kindest blessing for a friend----
When for a friend our warmest wishes rise,
In holy breathings to the pitying skies—
The sacred precept warrants these desires,
And heaven will sure approve what heaven inspires:

Oh! may I make my friend's distress my own,
Nor let my heart unhappy grieve alone;

In sorrow may I never want a friend,

Nor when the wretched mourn, a tear to lend.

DINNER.

DINNER! what art thou, that thy savoury rays
Can make the stomach from the centre roll
Its whole long course?—a sad and shadowy maze!
Thou midnight or thou noon-tide of the soul!
One glorious vision lighting up the whole
Of the wide world; or one deep wild desire,

By day and night, consuming cod and sole;

Till taste and relish, nay, till hunger's fire

Desert the weary jaws-a cold and mouldering pyre!"

CROLY'S "ANGEL OF THE WORLD," altered.

"A good DINNER is the summum bonum of all earthly felicity."

HUME'S ESSAYS.

"Give me a good DINNER, and an appetite to eat it, and I will be happier than the mightiest potentate which this world can produce, surrounded by his satellites, and rioting in the indulgence of immeasurable power. Satisfied in this respect, I should pass my time in unalloyed happiness, and pity those whom fate had excluded from a similar enjoyment, as the victims of chance and the slaves of misery."

DR. JOHNSON.

"I do not think there can be any thing in the world of more vital importance to the high and aspiring energies of man than-a good dinner. Vide my Book on Cooks and Cookery." DR. KITCHENER.

"Nunc eadem labente die convivia quærit."-VIRGIL.

Reader! Dost thou love a good dinner? That liquorish sparkle of the eye tells me thou dost. And why should'st thou not?— seeing I have given thee some most encouraging examples of the great and the good, in favor of such a predilection. But to love an object is one thing to possess it another: where, then, shall we hie in search of what Hume called-" the summum bonum of

arthly felicity." We must remember, that we are not now in London, and that we have not before our eyes the "glorious vision" of the Albion, or the Freemason's, or the City of London, or the Crown and Anchor-or any other of those splendid taverns, dear to the gourmand's memory. "Visions of glory!" spare our aching sight! Yepast born ages, croud not on our soul. Alas, Alas! We are here in quiet, dull, sedate Hobart Town, sixteen thousand miles from the scene of all these glories.

But, nevertheless, even here, in this same dull Hobart Town, a good dinner is sometimes come-at-able. It is true we have neither calipash nor calipee-nor the savoury haunch, nor, exactly, that enticing variety of game, which so delightfully embellishes an English dinner. We have substitutes, however, which, in skilful hands, are not by any means to be despised; and which would, perhaps, from their very novelty, prove more gratifying to a new árrival.

I remember once disputing most vehemently with a learned friend of mine-now, alas! no more,-touching the supreme felicity of a good dinner. He contended, and with more warmth and acrimony, methought, than became philosophy, that dining was a sad waste of time, a pastime idle and unworthy-" flat, stale, and unprofitable." He quoted, I recollect, divers tremendous passages from Hippocrates, Erasistratus, Asclepiades, Celsus, Paracelsus, Galen, Rufus, Abernethy, and, if I mistake not, even from the great Confucius himself, in support of this absurd and unnatural doctrine. Poor devil! I little imagined how feelingly he argued! I have since learned, that many were the days which passed by, leaving him pennyless, dinnerless, supperless! His extensive and, indeed, extraordinary attainments could not, at times, procure him even the evanescent gratification of a meal! With talents at once splendid and surprising, he often concealed, under the semblance of a stoical virtue, the pangs of hunger, and the galling bitterness of suppressed and irritated pride. He died young in years, but old in misery. His heart, too tender and sensitive to sustain the rude shock of an unsympathizing world, was broken, ere he had reached his thirtieth year. Alas! that such a spirit should have been so bruised and broken by a blind, unfeeling, and ungrateful world! But so it was; and I must return to my prandial lucubrations.

The Romans, both as to the time, place, and manner of their entertainments, were extravagantly magnificent. Their dinners, for such may we consider their grand meal of the ninth hour, were conducted in a style, every way worthy of the august masters of the world. Plutarch tells us that Julius Cæsar, in the dinners which he occasionally gave his friends, had no less than twenty two thousand seats, or triclinia. These, to be sure, were public dinners, but what feast in modern times could display so many as sixty-six thousand guests; for be it remembered that a couch, or triclinium, supported usually three persons. Verily, the feasts of our grocers, goldsmiths, fishmongers, and vintners; or even of our princes or