been doing. M. Rodatz, master of the German brig "Alf," coming up the country for a cargo of animals for Mauritius, gave me a copy of "Peter Simple," the first English book, besides the Bible and Nautical Almanac, that I had seen for more than two years. As soon as I was alone, I of course sat down, and began greedi ly to feast on its contents, though I had read it several times before leaving England. “Lemdy” was as usual seated beside me, at times quietly looking at me, occasionally catching a fly, or jumping on my shoulder, endeavouring to pick out the blue marks tattooed there; at last I got up to light a pipe, and on my return found she had taken my seat with the book on her knee, and with a grave expression of countenance was turning over the leaves, page by page, as she had observed me to do; and with the difference only, that not being able to read their contents, she turned one after the other as quickly as possible, and that from her arms being short, and she not yet much used to books, she tore each page from the top nearly to the bottom. She had completed the destruction of half the volume before I returned. During my momentary absences, she would often take up my pipe, and hold it in her mouth till I came back, when she would restore it to me with the utmost politeness.

If you happened to travel along the great turnpike road that leads from the Land's End to London, and especially if you happened to travel on that part of it which lies between the very small town of Baverstoke, and the larger one of Dunford, you might observe a small cart containing probably various parcels, baskets, or boxes, drawn by a dark-brown donkey, advancing steadily along; and walking by the side of the donkey, a boy of about six years old, in a widebrimmed hat, a small white round frock with a leathern belt round his waist, a stout cart-whip very much longer than himself in his hands, and round his neck a leather post-bag with a lock and key. Now that is little Drake, and the cart and the dark-brown donkey belong to his father,

VOL. XIII.

H

JULY, 1854.

who is a carrier, and old Drake, and the cart, and the brown donkey, and little Drake himself, travel regularly every day from Baverstoke to Dunford in the morning, and return regularly every day from Dunford to Baverstoke in the evening, and the distance is, let me see, certainly full eight miles, and a hilly road besides. Jack the donkey, as you may guess, does not travel very fast. It takes him a long time when his cart is well loaded, poor fellow, to get up Scraps Hill, or that very up-and-down bit of road between Lowfield and Baverstoke, and so it often comes to pass, that old Drake is stopping some way behind to have a chat with some acquaintance whilst his small son is taking entire charge of Jack and the cart, walking steadily along with the stout whip in his hand, as I mentioned before. The stout whip, however, is, I must think, more for show than anything else. It is certainly possible that old Drake may find it necessary to make use of it now and then; for though Jack is a pattern donkey, he may of course make mistakes sometimes; may stop at Lowfield Gate when there is no parcel to take up, and he ought to get on as fast as possible to Mrs. Sharpe's, who is waiting with half a dozen at least to send to Dunford. Or he may be so hurt and annoyed at having to pass the Feathers where he puts up at Dunford, and go on farther into the town to leave his load, as to seem almost determined against moving another step anywhere; but as to little Drake ever doing anything more than just let the end of the lash play for a moment across Jack's back, or give a cheerful smack with it by his side as

he goes along, I do not believe it, and nobody could think it possible, for if there is such a thing as true affection in the world, it is that which exists between Jack the donkey and little Drake. Little Drake is just two years younger than Jack, and the first thing that he could recollect if he were asked, and will always recollect, even if he should live to be a hundred, is being carried out in the sun one day to give Jack a bit of bread and stroke his nose, and then twisting his hand into the bushy hair hanging over Jack's eyes, and Jack pulling his head away all at once, and leaving three of his hairs between Drake's little fingers. He could remember, too— but that was of course when he and Jack were a good bit older-the latter being harnessed for the first time into the cart one fine summer evening, and what an odd little fellow he looked, and how oddly he went, and how they all went together, his father, and his mother without her bonnet, for it was very warm-all the way up the long hill out of Baverstoke, he and little Dick, who was a baby then, in the cart, and his father at Jack's head, just to see whether Jack was strong enough to draw now, and Jack pulling very hard and even trying to trot up the hill. And then they all came down again, and Jack would have liked to gallop, only his master would not let him. But he was not at all tired, and clearly showed what a good servant he meant to be, doing even more than could be expected of him, as brave spirits will.

Then came the time when Jack first went to Dunford; but that was an unhappy day to little

Drake, for though he had heard his father and mother speak of it some time before, he could not really believe that poor Jack would be taken upon such a journey as that for a long while yet, and what a terrible thing it would be if he should fall down upon the road for want of strength to bring the cart home again. Jack's mother was not then sold, but she was getting old, and came in very tired sometimes from her day's work, and so no doubt old Drake thought it a good thing to give her a rest, by beginning to take Jack sometimes in her place.

It was a very foggy morning in February, and not yet full day-light when Jack started on his expedition, and as little Drake stood at the door, and saw him and his cart disappearing in the fog down the long straggling street at the end of which they lived, his little heart sank within him, for he thought how may hours must pass before they could return, if even Jack had strength to get back at all that evening. It had been deeply in little Drake's mind to ask to be taken to Dunford too. The thought of it had come into his head the day before, had kept him awake for more than an hour after he was in bed, and made him dream strangely of riding in the cart along the cold misty road, and getting to Dunford at last; and somehow losing his father and Jack in the streets there, and being told by an old man with a long stick, that they bad set off home an hour before, and then running after them as fast as he could, till he was panting for breath, and still could not see them; and at last, just as he was going to sit down by