gentleman begged very earnestly for her pardon; and from the smile which passed over the harsh features of the man, he thought his request was complied with. The day passed very rapidly, and our traveller was delighted with all he saw. His host was all attention, pointing out to his notice whatever he thought would amuse; and when dinner was announced, ushered him into his hut with the air of a French _petit-maitre_. The dinner table was laid out in the English style, in compliment to his guest; and the calabashes which contained the water &c. were beautifully carved and stained. The first refreshment introduced was soup, which was contained in an English tin tureen, that shone like silver; and from the keen air of the mountain, and the exercise he had taken, our traveller made a very hearty repast upon it. After its removal, and while waiting for the other viands, the host asked—“How he liked Carib soup?” “Excellent!” said the gentleman—“very delicious—I must beg a few receipts from your _cookery book_.” “O, it’s very simple,” replied the old Carib, “if you have the proper articles to make it of: what you have been eating was made from the hands and feet of the girl you were begging for this morning!” What were the feelings of the traveller at this horrible information can be better imagined than described. The repast he had _shared in_, the fate of the poor girl, and his own situation amid a race of cannibals, filled him with horror, and almost drove reason from her throne. It is almost unnecessary to state that he left the scene of bloodshed as soon as possible; and never, never more did he think of visiting a Carib, or partaking of _Carib soup_. I have given the story as I received it; as to its _authenticity_, I will not take upon myself to vouch for it.