vermin and
venom. Confined to bed by sudden and violent fever, he received every
kindness and attention from his friendly host, who, on leaving him at
night, placed an open cocoa nut by his bed-side, a simple but delightful
fever-draught. Awaking with a parched tongue and burning thirst, he
sought the nut, but it was empty. The next night the same thing
occurred, and he could not imagine who stole his milk. He ordered two
nuts and a light to be left near him: towards midnight a slight noise
attracted his attention, and he saw two small beasts steadily and
cautiously approach, stare at him with their protruding eyes, and then
dip their ugly snouts into his cocoa nuts. These free-and-easy vermin
were _geckos_, a species of lizard, about a foot long, of a pale
grayish-green colour, spotted with red, having a large mouth full of
sharp teeth, a long tall, marked with white rings, and sharp claws upon
their feet. Between these claws, by which they cling to whatever they
touch, is a venomous secretion that distills into the wounds they make.
Dr. Selberg was well acquainted with these comely creatures, and had
even bottled a couple, which now grace the shelves of a German museum;
but, in his then feeble and half delirious state, their presence
intimidated him; and, fancying that if he disturbed their repast, they
might transfer their attentions to himself, he allowed them to swill at
leisure, until an accidental noise scared them away. Their visit was,
perhaps, a good omen, for, on the following day, the doctor found
himself sufficiently recovered to return on board his transport. After
some buffeting by storms, and a passing ramble in St. Helena, he reached
Europe, his cravings after Eastern travel tolerably assuaged, to give
his countrymen the benefit of his notes and observations upon the fair
but feverish shores of the Indian Archipelago.

THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES;

AND HOW THREE OF THEM FARED IN NEW ENGLAND.

"Oliver Newman" is a poem which I opened with trembling; for the last
new poem that ever shall be read from such an one as Southey, is not a
thing that can be looked upon lightly. Then it came to us from his
grave, "like the gleaming grapes when the vintage is done;" and the last
fruit of such a teeming mind must be relished, though far from being the
best; as we are glad to eat apples out of season, which, in the time of
them, we should hardly have gathered. But this is not to the purpose. I
was surprise