obstacle to troops advancing against Puerto
Cabello from the interior; for, being compelled, in
order to take it, to camp in the jungle, they have
always suffered terribly from yellow fever, and in
some cases have been quite destroyed by this
fearful scourge. Some idea of its ravages may
be formed from the fact that M. Julien, principal
surgeon of Puerto Cabello, at the time of
Humboldt's visit, told that traveller that in seven years
he had had eight thousand cases of yellow fever
in his hospital alone. Previous to that, things
had been even worse, for in 1793, when Admiral
Ariztizabel's fleet lay in the harbour, every
third man died of the disease. Subsequently,
during the War of Independence, an European
regiment that was sent down to besiege the
castle, died almost to a man, and more recently
there have been instances of the entire crews
of ships in the harbour perishing, so that
the authorities have had to take charge of the
deserted vessels. Some good has been done
lately by cutting down the mangroves, which
filled the port with decaying vegetation, but
until the swampy jungle for miles round shall
have been drained and cleared, pestilence will
always hold its head-quarters at Puerto Cabello.
After walking round the wharves, and throwing
various things into the sluggish waters, in
the vain hope of getting a rise out of the
monstrous ground-sharks that swarm at the bottom,
I paid a visit to the largest private store in the
town. It was about a hundred and fifty feet
long, and contained all sorts of European imports,
from calicoes to penknives and pale ale. But
there was one article in immense quantities,
which rather surprised me—Chinese crackers.
"Good Heavens," I said, "what gluttons the
children here must be of squibs; why, English
boys are moderate in comparison!" " It is not
the children," replied C., smiling, "that have
such an appetite for fireworks, but the saints.
All these crackers will be used up at the holy
ceremonies during the fiestas of the next few
months." Behind this building was a coffee
store, in which heaps of the shining berry were
being packed for exportation. The coffee is
brought down from the interior on mules. Every
mule carries two bags, containing each a quintal,
or hundred-weight, worth, at the time of my
visit, sixteen dollars. The native bags, of which I
saw forty-two thousand lying in the store, are not
stout enough for stowing aboard ship, and much
time is lost in transferring the coffee from them
into strong canvas bags. The coffee is judged
of by the smell, and according to the evenness
of size of the berries. I was told that the
proprietor of this store, an Englishman, who had
resided about twenty years at Puerto Cabello,
was just going home with a fortune of seventy
thousand pounds. From the store, I went to
look at the aqueduct, which supplies the town
with excellent water from the Rio Estéban, a
distance of about three miles. It is a useful
work, but there is nothing remarkable in its
construction. The village of Estéban is a favourite
resort of the Cabellians for pic-nics; for
they are a pleasure-loving race, in spite of
earthquakes, intense heat, and yellow fever.

           STAPLEFORD GRANGE.

I HEARD the following narrative at a dinner-party
in a country-house about five miles from
the place where the events referred to occurred,
and it was related to me by the chief actress
in it—a pretty, lady-like girl of twenty, the
daughter of the rector of the parish in which
Stapleford Grange is situated. I had sprained
my ankle in the morning, and instead of going
in to dinner with the rest of the party, was
made to lie on a sofa in the drawing-room;. and
it was after the ladies came in from the dining-room
that pretty Cissy Miles, at her hostess's
urgent request, related it to me. I give it, as
nearly as I can remember, in her own words.

It was the Saturday afternoon before Christmas
Day, nearly two years ago, when my six
brothers, all younger than myself, and I were
skating on our squire's fish-pond. We had
been skating since dinner, and it was not till
the wintry daylight was beginning to wane that
the recollection rushed across me that I had
entirely forgotten to do a commission my mother
had given to me in the morning. This
commission was to walk to the Grange, a big
farm-house, and bespeak some geese for dinner on
New Year's Day. My mother had said decidedly,
"Those geese must be ordered to-day, Cissy,"
so I knew that I should have to go: although
the Grange was a mile off, although it was
very cold, and darkness was coming on, and
although I was terribly afraid of a big black
dog which was chained up just in front of the
Grange back door.

"Who'll go with me to the Grange?" I called
out quickly, as this remembrance occurred to
me, sitting down and beginning to unstrap my
skates. "I've forgotten all about the geese,
and mamma said I was to order them to-day."

No one answered. The next day was Sunday,
and it might thaw before Monday. Every boy,
big or little, seemed laudably desirous of making
the most of present opportunities.

"I daren't go by myself," I called out in a
pathetic tone; "it would be quite dark before I
got home again."

"Tell the truth, Cis," called out Charlie, a
quick, good-natured boy of fifteen, "and say
you're afraid of Jip. Never mind, I'll come
with you, if you must go." And he joined me
on the bank, and proceeded to take off his
skates.

"What'll you bet, Jim," he called out, during
this operation, " that we ain't at home by a
quarter to five? It's exactly four now."

"A bob," was the answer, as Jim whirled by.

"Done; and remember you dub up. Now,
Cis, come along, and I can tell you you'll have
to run."

Thanks to all my brothers, I was a pretty