of her hammock, and there was a fine pleasant warm breeze. 'Now stretch out, and beat the pinnace, my men,' says his lordship, so that the doctor may be roused out all ready for the wounded that's in her. Give way, my lads, with a will! And I'm blessed if we didn't give way, and soon passed the pinnace, where we could hear the poor fellows groaning, and we warn't many minutes in getting alongside. Lord C-ford run up the gangway, and presently he and the skipper came and looks over, and there was orders for the chair. But Never mind,' says his lordship; Julia can get aboard without slings; and so he comes down into the boat, and with both our helps she mounts the side-steps, and gets on deck like a rigger. Poor Muster Shauginsea was a long time in danger, and at last was invalided home: but I've seen him since then, when he was first leftenant of a frigate that fitted out at Deptford; but he died shortly arter. The poor little midshipman was buried with military honours at Port Royal, and the dead seamen (for we brought away both killed and wounded) were sewed up in their hammocks, and consigned to the deep. My eyes! but we'd plenty of grog that night, and no watch; and I got my hundred guineas as snug as a cockroach. There, your honors, is a bit of a yarn; and now, mayhap, Captain Hawser wlll tail on to it, and tell you how his lordship came to be there." "With all the pleasure in life," said the captain cheerfully, "provided that it is agreeable to all hands.” A ready assent was given. "But I say, Nipper," exclaimed Mr. Parrallel, who in all cases was a sort of matter-of-fact man, "I say, you haven't told us how his lordship went aloft from the rudder-chains to the taffrail." "No more I arn't," returned Andy; "but I can, sir, for I axed his lordship, and he said somebody threw it, or somehow or other a rope came over the starn-it was the eend of the boom-sheet; and so whilst I was thinking of someut else, and was rather bothered about Davy Jones, he grabs hould without my seeing it, and souses me under, whilst he went up hand over hand, and when he was on deck he sends it down again for me." "Very good, Andy, very good," rejoined the master; "and now, Captain Hawser, if you 'Il please to favour us, I 'm all at tention." SONNET TO— WHILE Conning o'er the lays of olden time, Descriptions, born of love, by passion nursed, Were, to my sceptic reason, pictured then Or essences too pure for mortal ken. O disbelief of the poetic quire! Dark dream of doubt!--distrust of nature's skill, That might have rapt my veiled vision still, Had it not waken'd on that star-gemm'd night, When THY bright beauty burst upon my sight.-W. H. W: GRIFFONE. A TALE OF THE PENINSULA. CHAPTER THE FIRST. BY LIEUT.-COLONEL NAPIER, AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF 66 THE PENINSULAR WAR." At a short distance from Celorico, and high up on the steep side of a mountain which curves in such a manner as to form a profound basin, stands the village of Des Iras, which is the most beautiful in the world. The houses, better built than the generality of Portuguese habitations, do not stand contiguous to each other but are cast in groups most picturesque without and clean and cool within. A spring of water large enough for the head of a river, gushes out of a rock just above the village, and pours through all the streets in clear gurgling streams one or feet deep even in summer; and they are so full in winter, that the doors of the houses opened upon pathways raised six, and, in some places, as much as ten feet high, to protect the villagers from the freshes. Vines, trained on slender rods which stretch from roof to roof across the street, form an awning of the richest hues, and, beside the beauty and pleasure of the fruit, which hanging in heavy and richly tinted clusters tempts the hand to gather and the mouth to taste, this many-coloured covering keeps out the sun, and softens the fierce climate to a delicious temper ature. Here and there, also, are open spaces adorned with natural fountains, and waterfalls, and archways, and grottoes, worn through huge masses of a porphyry-coloured sandstone by the never ceasing streams. In fine the whole village is a labyrinth of vines, and trees, and houses of fantastic rocks, with everything that is pretty and fresh, and everything that is sublime in form, to delight the eye: to excite the imagination, and to cast the mind into a state of voluptuous sensibility. All around are objects of pleasure to meet the sight. Stately cork-trees, and giant chestnuts, and patriarch oaks abound; and amid grapes, and oranges, and mulberries and pomegranates and irrégular masses of houses, disposed in the most delightful manner, the pretty peasant girls are to be seen, dressed in bright blue or red, or yellow, after the manner of the country, now sauntering with a slow pace along the windings and wooded pathways, now stopping to converse in groups, or gathering round the fountains in graceful attitudes to wash or spread their linen, while the air resounds with the warbling of birds and with the clear musical voices of the girls singing,-sometimes singly, and sometimes in cho rus. Look down the mountain, and the eye fails to pierce the dark abyss ; but slight silvery streaks of light mark the course of the waters as they wind and tumble through the thick-standing chestnut and ilex trees, which hang in heavy umbrageous masses on the sides of the basin, the rich green and brown tints of their foliage deepening into blackness as they descend; until day itself is lost in the gulf below, from which, however, an agreeable hum, as if from ten thousand swarms of bees, comes up with a soothing sound. Look up, and the eye encounters enormous grey slate rocks, peering above the tops of the loftiest trees, while, high over all, the huge Estrella peak though several miles distant appears a part of the mountain on which the village stands, and so nigh that it would seein an outstretched hand might take snow from its hoary head. This is the valley of "Des Iras," which means the Valley of Wrath. It is so called because formerly a wizard, being offended with the ba ron of the valley, foretold a violent death, at a certain hour, for the lord's son. To evade this prophecy, the babe was put by its parents into a tower without doors, and guarded with the utmost care; but it was nevertheless killed at the fated time by the malignant wizard, who, changed into a serpent, went up in a basket of provisions, and thus fulfilled his own prophecy. The lord went mad and disappeared, the lady died of grief, and the tower was thrown to the ground by a thunderbolt. None know what became of the wizard, but it was said he could never recover his human shape again, and that he glides perpetually in the gloomy hollows of the basin below. And ever since that time a "Griffone," supposed to be the lord, comes every fourth year to the valley of Des Iras, and remains for one month. He generally sits upon a large branch of one enormous tree; he is very stately to look at, and very melancholy, but at certain periods of the night he sails slowly over the dark basin with a continual moaning, and finally, hovering for a time over the place where the tower stood, gives two loud, shrill, threatening cries, and returns to his tree. He is a fierce enemy to all snakes, pouncing upon and tearing them to pieces, and he carries a ring of gold upon his right leg, with an inscription purporting that he had been once caught at Constantinople. Whether he escaped from confinement, or was purposely liberated, is not known; but he comes every fourth year without fail to the valley to sail over the gulf, and to make his moan. In the year 1810, just before Massena's army entered Portugal, an English officer who had been wounded in the battle of the Coa, was sent to this beautiful and retired village to recover his health, and while there a lively Portuguese boy told him the story of the wizard and the tower, and said he had himself seen "Griffone," who would certainly come again in a month, seeing that the fourth year had now arrived. Being laughed at, the boy got very angry, and, repeating his assertion, drew a figure of a griffin such as they have them on the coach-panels in London. He said that was the shape and manner of the bird which he had seen, and that the officer should see it also, if he would wait for a month in the valley. He knew a vulture, he said, and an eagle,and well he might, for there were thousands of them in that neighbourhood, but they were not like " Griffone." The invading French army came up so soon afterwards, that the officer never saw this wonderful bird; yet he did not the less prove in his own person that the time for strange adventures in the valley of wrath had not yet passed away. His wound was in the hip, and, as it was still open, he was unable to walk much, and used, for want of other employment, to pass many hours sitting on one of the natural benches of stone listening to the sound of the fountains around him, and either admiring the extreme beauty of the place, or pondering in his memory the many tales of love and danger which he had read in Spanish romances, and of which his well-stored memory was very tenacious. It was morcover his habit so to abstract his mind on such occasions, that he actually at times believed himself engaged in such adventures, and was nearly as mad as Don Quixote himself. Indeed everything that could excite a young imagination worked in his brain. At one mo ment, intent upon the war then raging, he saw nothing but French grenadiers, with their fiery eyes, large mustachios, and red tasselled shacos at another the beautiful scene before him was filled with genii and nymphs, and knights and fairies, with whom he loved to converse, while the material world vanished altogether. One day, being deeply immersed in reveries of this nature, he was startled by a half-suppressed laugh, and looking up, beheld the arches and openings in the rocks around filled with female faces, all lighted up with smiles, and sparkling eyes, such as he had in his waking dreams given to imaginary nymphs. For a moment he thought it an illusion; but the laugh repeated on all sides convinced him that it was a charm. ing reality, and he sprang forward from his seat to take a nearer view of these joyous beings of the grottoes. Alas! his wound broke with the exertion, a stream of blood flowed down his side, the sudden pain deprived him of power, and he sunk down again at the foot of the seat he had so hastily quitted. A cry of fear and pity was immediately raised by the beings who had thus so strangely and suddenly appeared, and the next instant he was surrounded by eight or nine lovely Portuguese girls, from thirteen to seventeen years of age, and, by their dress, evidently not peasants. Their heads were crowded about him; their long tresses, escaping from confinement, fell upon his arms and shoulders; their eager hands helped him up; their large dark eyes glistened with tears, and their musical voices continually uttered words of condolence and sorrow, such as, "Muita triste,"--" Coitadinho,”—“ Pobrezinho,"- -" Sta ferido,"—" Senho Cabo,"—" Cabocino," &c. That is to say, "very sorry,"-" poor thing,"-" dear little fellow," he is wounded,"—" Mr. Corporal,"—" poor little corporal." While thus supported, the officer, who shall be henceforth called Guillelmo, had no desire to appear stronger than he really was, and he leaned and reclined with all possible languor upon their assisting arms; but his military pride was hurt at being called a "little corporal," for he was tal!; and, being at that time unacquainted with Napoleon's cognomen, rather emphatically assured the girls that he was a captain. They, however, would not believe him, for his wardrobe was but ill furnished, his epaulettes were not on, and his clothes, being the same he had worn in the action where he received his wound, were stained in various places with blood. "Ah! Nao, nao! No sta capitao,-Sta cabocino;-Sta ferido. No captain he is a little corporal. Poor little corporal !—he is wounded!" they all exclaimed at once; and half in earnest, half in frolic, they supported him to his quarters, which were close by, and then, bid. ding adieu to "Senhor Cabocino," they left him. That night the officer slept little, and when he did sleep he thought he heard voices at times repeating the words "Cabo, cabocino," which he vainly endeavoured to turn into capitao. The next morning he put on his epaulettes very ostentatiously and repaired to his haunt near the fountains, hoping that he looked pale and interesting enough to attract the nymphs again. But none of the wayward creatures appeared; and as he was unable to walk much he got upon his horse, a little fiery chestnut barb full of fun and wickedness, and who took a strange delight in running open-mouthed after all the ducks, and geese, and hens which happened to cross his path. This propensity, it is true, had been encouraged and fostered by his rider, who was equally fond of throw. ing the jereed, that is to say the long cane of the country, at the scream. ing feathered bipeds. But the horse took to the sport kindly; and with a sure foot, and all signs of gladness, would dart at full speed along the narrow winding root-tangled paths of the mountain, snorting, and champing, and turning, and jumping, and prancing, on the edge of the most abrupt declivities, in a way that to anybody unacquainted with his temper and agility, would seem very dangerous. Mounted on this little fiery animal, the officer felt certain that he should quickly discover his fair laughing acquaintances, and had little doubt that he should easily persuade his intelligent horse to hunt petticoats as eagerly as hehs. The first day, however, he failed entirely; and on his return, a new adventure chased the remembrance of the old one clean out of his head,-for hitherto it had gone no further or deeper. When he had dismounted and entered his quarters, he was surprised to find his servant, an eccentric Irishman, sitting down in the entrance |