fellow to her arms, and is as happy as the day is long. I do not know a more beautiful sight, indeed, than to look at my friend Mrs. Carlton, with all her children

about her'

1829.

THE PLANTER.

FIFTY

sixtyseventy (any given number of) years ago, the West Indies were not as they are now, in these days of purity. The colonists were not then meek, modest, humane, temperate, independent people, and lovers of liberty. On the contrary, they were at that time boastful, and luxurious; loved scheidam and pine-apple rum; worshipped their superiors in station, and despised everybody below themselves. Thus the newly imported Englishmen held the regular colonists in utter contempt; the colonists (a white race) requited themselves, by contemning the mustees and quadroons; these last, on their parts, heartily despised the half castes; who, in turn, transmitted the scorn on to the heads of the downright blacks. Whom the blacks despised, I never could learn, but probably all the rest: and, in fact, they seem to have had ample cause for so doing, unless the base, beggarly, and cruel vanity imputed to their superiors,' be at once a libel and a fable.

6

Such was the state of things in the Colony of Demerara in the year 17-, when a young Englishman went there, in order to inspect his newly acquired

property. His name was John Vivian. He came of a good family in D-shire; possessed (without being at all handsome) a dark, keen, intelligent countenance; and derived from his maternal uncle large estates in Demerara, and from his father a small farm in his own county, a strong constitution, and a resolute, invincible spirit. Perhaps, he had too much obstinacy of character; perhaps, also, an intrepidity of manner, and carelessness of established forms, which would have been unsuitable to society as now constituted. All this we will not presume to determine. We do not wish to extenuate his faults, of which he had as handsome a share as usually falls to the lot of young gentlemen who are under no control; although not precisely of the same character. In requital for these defects, however, he was a man of firm mind, of a generous spirit, and would face danger, and stand up. against oppression, as readily on behalf of others as of himself; and, at the bottom of all, though it had lain hid from his birth, (like some of those antediluvian fossils which perplex our geologists and antiquaries,) he had a tenderness and delicacy of feeling, which must not be passed by, without, at least, our humble commendation.

Exactly eight weeks from the day of his stepping on board the good ship 'Wager,' at Bristol, Vivian found himself standing on the shore of the river Demerara, and in front of its capital, Stabroek. In that interval, he had been tossed on the wild waters of the Atlantic; had passed from woollens to nankeens, from English cold to tropic heat; and he now stood eyeing the curi ous groups of the colony, where creatures of every

shade, from absolute sable to pallid white, might be seen, for the trouble only of a journey.

But we have a letter of our hero on this subject, written to a friend in England, on his landing, which we will unfold for the reader's benefit. Considering that the writer had the range of foolscap before him, and was transmitting news from the torrid to the temperate zone, it may at least lay claim to the virtue of brevity. Thus it runs :

"To Richard Clinton, Esq., &c., &c., Middle Temple, London, England.

'Well, Dick! Here am I, thy friend, John Vivian, safely arrived at the country of cotton and tobacco. Six months ago, I would have ventured a grosschen that nothing on this base earth could have tempted me to leave foggy England; but the unkennelling a knave was a temptation not to be resisted, and accordingly I am here, as you see.

'Since I shook your hand at Bristol, I have seen somewhat of the world. The Cove of Cork, — the Madeiras, the Peak of Teneriffe, the flying fish,the nautilus, the golden-finned Dorado, the deep and the tropic skies, some would explain to you in a chapter. But I have not the pen of a ready writer; so you must be content with a simple enumeration.

blue seas,

are matters which

'My voyage was, like all voyages, detestable. I began with sea-sickness and piercing winds; I ended with headache and languor, and weather to which your English dog-days are a jest. The burning, blazing heat was so terrific, that I had well nigh oozed away

into a sea-god. Nothing but the valiant army of bottles which your care provided could have saved me, My mouth was wide open, like the seams of our vessel; but, unlike them, it would not be content with water. I poured in draught after draught of the brave liquor. I drank deep healths to you and other friends; till, at last, the Devil, who broils Europeans in these parts, took to his wings and fled. Thus it was, Clinton, that I arrived finally at Demerara.

'But now comes your question of "What sort of a place is this same Demerara?" I' faith, Dick, 'tis flat and stupid enough. The run up the river is, indeed, pretty; and there are trees enough to satisfy even your umbrageous taste. It is, in truth, a land of woods,at least, on one side; and you may roam among orange and lemon trees and guavas and mangoes, amidst aloes and cocoa-nut and cotton and mahogany trees, till you would wish yourself once more on a Lancashire moor. Stabroek, our capital, is a place where the houses are built of wood; where melons, and oranges, and pine-apples grew as wild as thyself, Dick; and where black, brown, white, and whity-brown people, sangaree and cigars, abound. Of all these marvels I shall know more shortly. I lodge here at the house of a Dutch planter, where you must address me under my travelling cognomen. John Vivian is extinct for a season; but your letter will find me, if it be addressed to "Mr. John Vernon, to the care of Mynheer Schlachenbrüchen, Merchant, in Demerara." That respectable individual would die the death of shame, did he know that he held the great proprietor," Vivian, in his garret. At present,

66

I am