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but when the visitors saw a house of very
modest and moderate dimensions, with a
"corridor" in which two servants could
not pass one another abreast, even in ante-crinoline
days, they were astonished, and
learned something about the value of evidence
of dimensions. The whole was an
extraordinary instance of successful perjury,
in which a large number of witnesses
stood cross-examination to the satisfaction
of a jury.

The moment that the guilty flight of Miss
Glenn and Mr. Tuckett was known, the Examiner
broke forth with its usual generous
violence at the grievous wrong that had been
done to Mrs. Bowditch and her fellow-sufferers,
and at the gross way in which the
judges had been deceived by foul arts and
audacious perjuries. Redress was demanded
for " the aged and widowed mother of a
family still dependent on her for support,"
who, having been pronounced guilty on perjured
evidence, and denied a second trial,
had suffered eighteen months' imprisonment
in a crowded and expensive jail one hundred
and fifty miles from her place of abode, and
finally liberated, laden with two thousand
five hundred pounds costs, without strength,
spirits, or means of subsistence, to return
home and take a last look of the fields she
and hers had for so many years contentedly
cultivated. The Examiner complained bitterly,
also, of Mr. Justice Park and Mr.
Bankes, M.P., the foreman of the Dorchester
jury, for their eagerness against
the Bowditches and their palpable bias and

But the law is slow to acknowledge its
faults, and nothing material was done to
atone for the unjust punishment inflicted
on an imprudent, but by no means a guilty,
woman. As an instance of resolute and
audacious perjury, carried out by a young
person hitherto apparently innocent, the
case has no parallel, except in the celebrated
case of Elizabeth Canning, in 1752,
who was transported for having obtained
the punishment of an old gipsy and another
woman, who, she swore, had imprisoned
her in a house near Enfield Wash.


MY experience of the Spanish West
Indies warrants me in the assertion that
a tropical climate has but one season
throughout the year, and that season is
summer. The months of August and September,
however, are favoured with a special
season of their own; but the prevailing
temperature can scarcely be defined by
mounting mercury, neither can it be adequately
described. It is during these blazing
hot months that the ever-azure firmament
seems to blink with blue: that the
roads and pavement blister the soles of your
feet; and that the gay-coloured house-fronts
scorch your clothes of white drill and tan
your Anglo-Saxon complexion. The Cubans
have a mania for painting the fronts of
their town residences a celestial blue, a
blinding white, or a feverish yellow ochre:
colours singularly trying to the eyes, and
figurative eyesores to artists in search of the
harmonious. It is at this oppressive season
of the year that I would relieve my exhausted
vision with the grateful greens of
the dusky olive, the pale pea, and the
lively emerald. I pant for a plantation
which shall shelter and not suffocate.

The realisation of my desire is kindly
brought about by my intimate friend Don
Miguel, who hospitably places at my disposal
his hacienda in the country. Thither
he himself is bound with Doña Cachita his
wife, his children, certain friends, and domestics.
So I make one of his party. Don
Miguel is a wealthy planter, with I know
not how many acres of rich soil, where the
coffee-plant grows, yielding a couple of
crops or so per annum to the labour of a
small battalion of blacks.

On the morning of our departure for
Don Miguel's coffee estate, Don Miguel is.
in the patio, presiding over the saddling
and harnessing department; for some of
us are to bestride horses. The ladies and
children are to drive; mules, and carts
drawn by oxen, are reserved for the conveyance
of the luggage and the domestics.
By way of dispelling our lingering somnolence,
and fortifying us for the heavy
journey before us, cups of strong coffee are
handed round; and, with a view to getting
over as much ground as possible before
blinding daylight shall appear, we start at
three o'clock to the minute.

The kitrinslight gig vehicles on wheels
six yards in circumference, with shafts sixteen
feet long, and drawn by mules bearing
negro postilions in jack-bootslead,
the way. The equestrians follow at a jog-trot;
the extreme tips of their buff-coloured
shoes lightly touching the stirrups; their
knees firmly pressed against the saddles;
their figures bolt upright and immovable.
Then come the carts with shady awnings
of palm leaves, drawn by oxen with yokes
fastened to the points of their horns. The
drivers probe them with long iron-tipped
lances, and further goad them on by shouting