like other English dinners, was rather his gentlemen, and escorted to the casnoisy, but rendered highly agreeable by tle. Thence we went to the residence the perfect good feeling that prevailed. of Mr. Bannerman. He is the great At eight in the evening, we returned man of Accra, wealthy, liberally eduon board, though strongly urged to sleep cated in England, and a gentleman, on shore by the Governor and all our although with a deep tinge of African other friends. Such hospitality, though blood in his cheeks. But when native unquestionably sincere, and kindly blood is associated with gentlemanly meant, it was far better to decline than characteristics and liberal acquirements, accept; for it was much the same as if it becomes, instead of a stigma of disDeath, in the hearty tone of good-fellow- honor, an additional title to the respect ship, had pressed us to quaff another of the world; since it implies that many cup and spend the night under his roof. obstacles have been overcome, in order Had we complied, it would probably to place the man where we find him. have cost the lives of more than one of This, however, is a view not often taken us. Our captain took wisdom by the by those who labor under the misfortune sad experience of the English brig, (for such it is, if they so consider it) of which had lost her purser and master having African blood in their veins. by just such a festivity, prolonged to a late hour, and finished by the officers passing the night on shore. The fever of the climate punished their imprudence.

All vessels, except those of our own navy, allow their officers to sleep on shore. They expect to be taken sick, but hope that the first attack of fever will season them. Possibly, this is as wise a course as the British officers could adopt; for, unlike ourselves, they are compelled by duty to trust themselves in pestiferous situations, particularly in the ascent of rivers, where there is scarcely a chance of escaping the deadly influence of the atmosphere. They therefore confront the danger at once, and either fall beneath it, or triumph over it.

4.-Governor McLean, and all the officers of the castle and brig, dined on board. The table was laid on the quarter-deck, and was the scene of much mirth and friendly sentiment. In the evening, the theatre was open, with highly respectable performances; after which came a supper; and the guests took their leave at midnight, apparently well-pleased.

6. We sailed yesterday from Cape Coast Castle, and anchored to-day at Accara, abreast of the British and Dutch forts.

7.-Early this morning, we were surrounded with canoes, filled with articles for sale. The most remarkable were black monkey-skins. There are seven vessels at anchor here, including our own, and an English war-steamer. Three of the seven, a barque, brig, and schooner, are from the United States. Landing in a canoe, we were met on the beach by the Governor and some of

8.-A missionary, on his way to the Gaboon, and two American merchantcaptains, Hunt and Dayley, dined with us in the ward-room. The latter are respectable men. The missionary, Mr. Burchell, seems much depressed. He has had the fever at Cape Palmas, the effects of which still linger in his constitution; while his companion, the Rev. Mr. Campbell, although but recently from America, has already finished his earthly labors, and gone to his reward. We left them only a month ago at Cape Palmas, in perfect health.

9. My impressions of Accra are more favorable than of any other place which I have yet seen in Africa. British and Dutch Accra are contiguous. The forts of the two nations are within a mile of each other, situated on ground which, at a little distance, appears not unlike the "bluffs" on our western rivers; level upon the summit, with a precipitous descent, as if the land had "caved in;" from the action of the water. The country round is level, and nearly free from woods as far the rise of the hills some ten miles distant. About three miles to the eastward, Danish Accra shows its neat town and wellkept fortress. I did not visit the place, but learn that it is fully equal to its neighbors. Thus, within a circuit of three or four miles, the traveller may perform no inconsiderable portion of the grand tour, visiting the territory of three different countries of Europe, and observing their military and civil institutions, their modes of business, their national characteristics, and all assimilated by a general modification, resulting from the climate and position in which they are placed. There seems

THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK.*

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

[A part of this poem was published in the Democratic Review for last September. By an unfortunate accident the remainder, which was to have appeared in the succeeding number, failed to come to hand, having been lost by the way. What adventures the missing packet may have gone through by field and flood, we cannot divine; we only know that, at last, on the 23d of April, after being about nine months on the short journey from Amesbury, Massachusetts, to New York, it made its welcome appearance, safe and sound. The length of time that has elapsed since the publication of the first part induces us therefore now to give the whole at once in unbroken connection. The reprinting of a few pages of Whittier's poetry is what no reader will be disposed to complain of.]-ED.

WE had been wandering for many days

Through the rough northern country. We had seen
The sunset, with its bars of purple cloud

Like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake

Of Winnepiseogee; and had gone,

With sunrise breezes, round the leafy isles

Which stoop their summer beauty to the lips

Of the bright waters. We had checked our steeds,
Silent with wonder, where the mountain wall
Is piled to heaven; and, through the narrow rift
Of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet
Beats the mad torrent with perpetual roar,
Where noonday is as twilight, and the wind
Comes burdened with the everlasting moan
Of forests and of far-off water-falls,

We had looked upward where the summer sky,
Resting its bases on the abutting crags,
Sprung its light arch, sun-gilded and serene,
Across the deep abysm. We had passed
The high source of the Saco; and, bewildered
In the dwarf spruce-belts of the Crystal Hills
Had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud,
The horn of Fabyan sounding; and atop
Of old Agioochook had seen the mountains

Piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick
As meadow mole-hills-the far sea of Casco

A white gleam on the horizon of the east;
Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and hills;
Moosehillock's mountain range, and Kearsarge
Lifting his Titan forehead to the sun!

And we had rested underneath the oaks

Shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken

Winnepurkit, otherwise called George, Sachem of Saugus, married a daughter of Passaconaway, the great Pennacook chieftain, in 1662. The wedding took place at Pennacook (now Concord, N. H.), and the ceremonies closed with a great feast. According to the usages of the chiefs, Passaconaway ordered a select number of his men to accompany the newly-married couple to the dwelling of the husband, where in turn there was another great feast. Some time after the wife of Winnepurkit expressing a desire to visit her father's house, was permitted to go accompanied by a brave escort of her husband's chief men. But when she wished to return, her father sent a messenger to Saugus, informing her husband, and asking him to come and take her away. He returned for answer that he had escorted his wife to her father's house in a style that became a chief, and that now if she wished to return, her father must send her back in the same way. This Passaconaway refused to do, and it is said that here terminated the connection of the newly-wedded pair.- Vide Morton's New Canaan.

By the perpetual beating of the falls

Of the wild Ammonoosuc. We had tracked
The winding Pemigewasset, overhung

By beechen shadows, whitening down its rocks,
Or lazily gliding through its intervals,

From waving rye-fields sending up the gleam
Of sunlit waters. We had seen the moon
Rising behind Umbagog's eastern pines
Like a great Indian camp-fire; and its beams
At midnight spanning with a bridge of silver
The Merrimac by Uncanoonuc's falls.

There were five souls of us whom travel's chance
Had thrown together in these wild north hills :-
A city lawyer, for a month escaping

From his dull office, where the weary eye

Saw only hot brick walls and close thronged streets—
Briefless as yet, but with an eye to see

Life's sunniest side, and with a heart to take
Its chances all as God sends; and his brother,
Pale from long pulpit studies, yet retaining
The warmth and freshness of a genial heart,
Whose mirror of the beautiful and true,
In Man and Nature, was as yet undimmed
By dust of theologic strife, or breath
Of sect, or cobwebs of scholastic lore;
Like a clear crystal calm of water, taking
The hue and image of o'erleaning flowers,
Sweet human faces, white clouds of the noon,
Slant starlight glimpses through the dewy leaves,
And tenderest moonrise. 'Twas, in truth, a study,
To mark his spirit, alternating between
A decent and professional gravity

And an irreverent mirthfulness, which often
Laughed in the face of his divinity,

Plucked off the sacred ephcd, quite unshrined
The oracle, and for the pattern priest.

Left us the man. A shrewd, sagacious merchant,
To whom the soiled sheet found in Crawford's inn,
Giving the latest news of city stocks

And sales of cotton, had a deeper meaning
Than the great presence of the awful mountains
Glorified by the sunset ;-and his daughter,
A delicate flower on whom had blown too long
Those evil winds, which, sweeping from the ice
And winnowing the fogs of Labrador,

Shed their cold blight round Massachusetts' bay,

With the same breath which stirs Spring's opening leaves And lifts her half-formed flower-bell on its stem, Poisoning our sea-side atmosphere.

It chanced

That as we turned upon our homeward way,
A drear north-eastern storm came howling up
The valley of the Saco; and that girl
Who had stood with us upon Mount Washington,
Her brown locks ruffled by the wind which whirled
In gusts around its sharp cold pinnacle,

Who had joined our gay trout-fishing in the streams
Which lave that giant's feet; whose laugh was heard
Like a bird's carol on the sunrise breeze

Which swelled our sail amidst the lake's green islands,

Shrank from its harsh, chill breath, and visibly drooped
Like a flower in the frost. So, in that quiet inn
Which looks from Conway on the mountains piled
Heavily against the horizon of the north,

Like summer thunder-clouds, we made our home;
And while the mist hung grey upon the hills,
And the cold wind-driven rain-drops, all day long
Beat their sad music upon roof and pane,
We strove to cheer our gentle invalid.

The lawyer in the pauses of the storm
Went angling down the Saco, and returning,
Recounted his adventures and mishaps;
Gave us the history of his scaly clients
Mingling with ludicrous yet apt citations
Of barbarous law Latin, passages

From Izaak Walton's Angler, sweet and fresh
As the flower-skirted streams of Staffordshire
Where under aged trees the south-west wind
Of soft June mornings fanned the thin white hair
Of the sage fisher. And, if truth be told,
Our youthful candidate forsook his sermons,
His commentaries, articles and creeds
For the fair page of human loveliness-
The missal of young hearts, whose sacred text
Is music, its illumining sweet smiles.
He sang the songs she loved; and in his low,
Deep earnest voice, recited many a page
Of poetry-the holiest, tenderest lines
Of the sad bard of Olney—the sweet songs,
Simple and beautiful as Truth and Nature,
Of him whose whitened locks on Rydal Mount
Are lifted yet by morning breezes blowing
From the green hills, immortal in his lays.
And for myself, obedient to her wish,

I searched our landlord's proffered library :

A well-thumbed Bunyan, with its nice wood pictures
Of scaly fiends and angels not unlike them-
Watts' unmelodious psalms-Astrology's

Last home, a musty file of Almanacs,
And an old chronicle of border wars
And Indian history. And, as I read
A story of the marriage of the Chief
Of Saugus to the dusky Weetamoo,
Daughter of Passaconaway, who dwelt
In the old time upon Merrimack,
Our fair one, in the playful exercise
Of her prerogative-the right divine
Of youth and beauty, bade us versify
The legend, and with ready pencil sketched
Its plan and outlines, laughingly assigning
To each his part, and barring our excuses
With absolute will. So, like the cavaliers
Whose voices still are heard in the Romance
Of silver-tongued Boccacio, on the banks
Of Arno, with soft tales of love beguiling
The ear of languid beauty, plague-exiled
From stately Florence, we rehearsed our rhymes
To their fair auditor, and shared by turns
Her kind approval and her playful censure.