Mou-Mou, a one-eyed chief, suddenly ap- | pain, he started to his feet, and tried to peared at the door of Melville's lodging, and said to him in a low tone," Toby pemi ena," (Toby has arrived here.) Gracious Heaven! what a tumult of emotions rushed through Melville's breast at this news! Insensible to pain, he leaped to his feet, and called wildly to Kory-Kory. The startled islanders sprang up, and all made for the Ti, Melville on the shoulders of Kory-Kory. All he could understand from Mou-Mou, as they hurried along, was, that his longlost companion had come in a boat; and he was anxious to proceed at once to the sea, lest something should happen to prevent their meeting. This they would not consent to, and took him into the Ti, where Mehevi and other chiefs were assembled. Almost frenzied with suspense, Melville passionately besought Mehevi to let him proceed. He felt that, whether Toby had come or no, his own fate was about to be decided. Again and again he urged Mehevi; and, at last, the latter, regarding him with a serious eye, reluctantly granted his request. Accompanied by some fifty natives, he now pursued his journey at a rapid trot, sometimes on the back of one, sometimes of another. After proceeding four or five miles, they were met by a party of twenty, and an earnest conversation ensued. These brought the information that the report was false, and that Toby had not arrived. This was a death-blow to Melville. The savages refused to go on, and took him into a house, and laid him on the mats. He felt convinced that some strangers had entered the bay, and, reckless of make his way out of the house; but the fierce savages blocked up the passage. He then appealed to Mou-Mou, who was the head of the party. Probably, in consideration of his lameness, the chief gave him permission; but no one would carry him. Kory-Kory was nowhere to be seen, and, perfectly desperate, Melville seized a spear, and made an attempt to hobble to the beach by himself. The natives soon surrounded him again; and now it seemed that there was a difference of opinion among them, and the two parties engaged in a violent altercation. In the midst of the tumult, old Marheyo came to his side, and, with a benevolent expression of countenance, placed his arm upon Melville's shoulder, and pronounced the only two English words he had been taught "Home" and "Mother." Fayaway and Kory-Kory were both at his side, weeping violently; and the latter, at the command of his father, once more shouldered our hero, in spite of the opposition of Mou-Mou. The bright billows were now flashing through the trees, and soon they entered the open space between the groves and the sea. An English whale-boat was just outside the surf, manned by five islanders; and just at the edge of the water was a tall figure, whom Melville recognized with joy as Karakoee, whom he had often seen aboard the Dolly, and whose person he knew was tabooed throughout the island. He had various articles in his hands, and was evidently endeavoring to barter for Melville's freedom with the chiefs. His offers were indignantly refused, and this self-denial gave a new proof of their fixed determination not to part with Melville. In the mean time, a new contest arose between the two parties of those who had accompanied Melville to the shore. Blows were struck, and all flocked to take a part in it, excepting Marheyo and his two children. Melville looked imploringly at Marheyo, and moved toward the beach. Tears were in the old man's eyes, and he did not attempt to hinder him. Karakoee ordered the boat to pull in as near as the surf would permit. Melville gave a parting embrace to the weeping Fayaway, and, the next instant, was in the boat. The merchandise was tumbled out as parting presents, and Karakoee told the rowers to give way. captain to get him off, if he would give him some suitable articles of traffic. To this the captain consented. The ship lay off-and-on, outside the bay; and, not long after entering the boat, Melville was hoisted over her side. Here every attention was bestowed on him; but three months elapsed before he recovered his health. Of Toby he could get no information, and he left the island without getting any clew to his mysterious disappearance. Not long after the publication of "Typee," it was announced in the newspapers, that Toby was living in the city of Buffalo, in the capacity of a barber, and that the first intimation he had received of Melville's escape from the island and safe return, was from the perusal of his book. The two comrades in affliction soon had an interview, and Toby related to Tommo the following account of his adventures after their parting in the valley of Typee: Mou-Mou and six or seven warriors rushed into the sea, hurled their javelins at the fugitives, and then, running to a headland, plunged in, to cut off their course. The wind was right in their teeth, the tide was coming in, and it was a pull for dear life. The ferocious wretches were now breasting the rough sea, MouMou leading the way with his tomahawk griped between his teeth. Melville seized the boat-hook, and the oarsmen held their knives in their mouths, ready to cut the hands of any who should touch the boat. As Mou-Mou approached, Melville dashed the boat-hook at his throat, and forced him under the water. Only one other reached the boat, but the knives compelled him to quit his hold. The next moment, Jemmy informed Toby that he was they were safe, and Melville fell back taboo throughout the island, and had been fainting into the arms of Karakoee. *** speaking to the natives on the subject of The circumstances which led to Mel- his release. He said there was a ship in ville's escape were, briefly, these: A the other harbor, short of hands, and that, whale ship had arrived at Nukuheva, short if he would go with him, he might make of hands. Karakoee learned from Mar- his escape. noo that an American sailor was detained a prisoner at Typee; and he offered the Toby set off in company with a party of the natives, and, after various delays, at length reached the sea. Here he saw a large concourse of men and women, and amongst them an old sailor named Jemmy, whom Toby had often seen at Nukuheva. Toby refused to go without Melville, and proposed to return for him. To this the old sailor objected; saying that they Melville's narrative, of his escape and could not get Melville over the mountains, safe return to the United States. and that if Toby would go with him over land, he would return in a boat for his comrade, the islanders having promised to bring him down to the beach. Toby was still resolute, and tried to return alone, but they would not permit him. Indeed Jemmy knew that both would not be permitted to go, and it was best for him to get Toby off alone. He assured him, therefore, that the only chance of effecting Melville's escape was to go with him aboard the vessel. Toby was forced to trust to him, and started off with a heavy heart. They passed through the valley of the Happars, and, arriving toward night at Nukuheva, paddled off to the whale-ship in a canoe. The captain agreed to ship him with his comrade, as soon as he should arrive. The next morning, Jemmy started with two of the ship's boats, manned by tabooed natives. He begged hard to accompany them, but was refused permission. At night, they returned, but no Tommo was with them. Toby upbraided Jemmy for deceiving him. The old fellow made various excuses, and promised to go again in a French boat, the next morning. Toby was not allowed to accompany him, and hardly was the boat out of sight, when the captain prepared to weigh anchor and set sail. Toby had no redress. His complaints were disregarded, and he was powerless. At the end of two years he reached America, never expecting again to see his unfortunate companion. His joy then may be imagined at learning, through E The Dahlia. VERY person acquainted with flowers is familiar with the beautiful dahlia, which has, within a few years, become a universal favorite, not only in this country, but in Europe. The exquisite symmetry and noble size of this flower, when perfect, render it one of the most showy of all garden plants. The dahlia is of American origin. It was discovered in Mexico by the scientific traveller Baron Humboldt, in 1789. He sent the flower to Professor Cavanilles, of the Botanic Garden at Madrid, and the latter named it in honor of the Swedish naturalist Professor Dahl. A plant of it was presented by Cavanilles to the Marchioness of Bute, in England; and from this have proceeded nearly all the dahlias now cultivated in that country. These comprise ten or twelve distinct species, the varieties of which are almost innumerable. The common dahlia, in its wild state, is a bushy, herbaceous plant, seven or eight feet high, bearing single purple or lilac flowers, by no means remarkable for beauty. In cultivation, however, it is so readily improved in size and form, and sports into such endless varieties in stature, leaves, and flowers, that it has become the most extensively cultivated florist's plant of the present day. Each season produces its favorite varieties, and these are, in their turn, eclipsed by others of a newer and choicer form. An old writer, describing this superstition, says, "And if that the bowls of curds and cream were not duly set out for Robin Goodfellow, the friar, and Sisse the dairy-maid, why, then the pottage was burnt next day in the pot, or the cheeses would not curdle, or the butter would not come, or the ale in the vat never would have good head." Reginald Scot, in his "Discovery of Witchcraft," also says, “Your grandam's maids were wont to set a bowl of milk for him, for his pains in grinding malt and mustard, and sweeping the house at midnight. This white bread and milk was his standing fee." Shakspeare, in his wild and romantic play of the "Midsummer Night's Dream," thus describes this frolicsome creature: "Either I mistake your shape and meaning quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, Called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he That fright the maidens of the villagery, Skim milk, and sometimes labor in the quern, And bootless make the breathless housewife churn? And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm, Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good luck." And, leading us, makes us to stray, He doth with laughter leave us." One of his pranks is thus described by an old writer: "How Robin went in the shape of a fiddler to a wedding, and of the sport that he had there: First, he put out the candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears. They, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting one with the other, so that there was not one of them but had either a broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did not scape him; for the handsomest he kissed; the others he pinched, and made them scratch one another as if they had been cats. Candles being lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after to supper. Supper being ended, a great posset was brought; at this Robin Goodfellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not keep from it. To attain his wish, he did turn himself to a bear. Both men and women, seeing a bear amongst them, ran away, and left the whole posset to Robin Goodfellow, who quickly made an end of it!" Puck, or puke, is an old Gothic word, signifying a spirit. In New York, a ghost is called a spook, from its Dutch name. Robin Goodfellow's other appelDrayton, in his poem entitled "Nym-lation of Hobgoblin was originally Hopphidia," also introduces this familiar per- goblin, because he was always hopping and frisking about. sonage. "He meeteth Puck, which most men call Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall. This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged colt, Of purpose to deceive us; TITLES of honor are like the impressions on coin, which add no value to gold or silver, but only render brass current. |