him further instructions what to do. This was very discouraging. However, as there was no alternative, he set off for the village, where he found, to his great disappointment, that no person would admit him into his house. The prejudice which the inhabitants had formed against white people, induced them to regard him with astonishment and fear; and he was obliged to sit the whole day, without victuals, in the shade of a tree.

The night seemed likely to be a very unpleasant one; for the wind rose, and the clouds gathered above his head with every appearance of heavy rain. The wild beasts, too,

were so numerous in the neighbourhood, that he would have been under

the necessity of climbing up the tree,

and resting among the branches. About sunset, however, as he was preparing to pass the night in this uncomfortable manner, and had turned his horse loose, that he might graze at liberty, a woman, returning from the labours of the field, stopped to observe him; and perceiving that he was weary and dejected, enquired into his situation. He briefly explained it to her; after which, with looks of great compassion, she took up his saddle and bridle, and told him to follow her. Having conducted him into her hut, she lighted up a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told him he might remain there for the night. Finding that he was very hungry, she said she would procure him something to eat; and returned in a short time with a very fine fish,

a

which she had broiled upon the em bers, and then gave him for his supper. The rites of hospitality being thus performed towards stranger in distress, his worthy, benefactress pointed to the mat, and told him that he might sleep there without apprehension; calling at the same time to the female part of her family, who had stood gazing at him all the while in great astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they continued to employ themselves till after midnight. They beguiled the passing moments, and lightened their labour, by songs; one of which was composed extempore, for he was himself the subject of it. It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive,

and the words, literally translated, were these: "The winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk: no wife to grind hist corn.-Chorus. Let us pity the white man. No mother has he to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn."

This little incident, as you may suppose, greatly affected him. Hitherto alone and abandoned in the interior regions of Africa, he rejoiced to find one, whose kind hand was stretched out to sooth his sorrows, and whose affectionate heart was willing to participate in his grief. On parting, on the morrow, with his compassionate hostess, he presented her with two of the four brass buttons which remained

on his waistcoat, the only recompense he had it in his power to make her. But I doubt not she was remembered in his prayers; and that, on his return to England, he often recurred, with grateful delight, to the night he had spent in the reed-thatched hut of the peasant of Bambarra.

CAROLINE.

I like this anecdote, mamma, better than any you have related before; and especially the song that the spinning-girl sang: it is so sweet and so simple,