the uncongenial soil of Ireland.-This is true only in part. If we have no ghosts, we are not without miracles. Wonders have happened in these United States.-Mysteries have transpired in the valley of the Mississippi. Supernatural events have occurred on the borders of " The beautiful stream;" and in order to rescue my country from undeserved reproach, I shall proceed to narrate an authentic history, which I received from the lips of the party principally concerned.

A clear morning had succeeded a stormy night in December; the snow lay ankle deep upon the ground, and glittered on the boughs, while the bracing air, and the cheerful sun-beams invigorated the animal creation, and called forth the tenants of the forest from their warm lairs and hidden lurking places.

The inmates of a small cabin on the margin of the Ohio, were commencing with the sun, the business of the day. A stout, raw-boned forester plied his keen axe, and lugging log after log, erected a pile in the ample hearth, sufficiently large to have rendered the last honours to the stateliest ox. A female was paying her morning visit to the cow-yard, where a numerous herd of cattle claimed her attention. The plentiful break_ fast followed; corn-bread, milk, and venison crowned the oaken board, while a tin coffee-pot of ample

dimensions supplied the beverage, which is seldom wanting at the morning repast of the substantial American peasant.

The breakfast over, Mr. Featherton reached down a long rifle from the rafters, and commenced certain preparations, fraught with danger to the brute inhabitants of the forest. The lock was carefully examined, the screws tightened, the pan wiped, the flint renewed, and the springs oiled; and the keen eye of the backwoodsman glittered with an ominous lustre, as its glance rested on the destructive engine. His blue-eyed partner, leaning fondly on her husband's shoulder, essayed those coaxing and captivating blandishments, which every young wife so well understands, to detain her husband from the contemplated sport. -Every pretext which her ingenuity supplied, was urged with affecting pertinacity;-the wind whistled bleakly over the hills, the snow lay deep in the valleys, the deer would surely not venture abroad in such bitter, cold weather, his toes might be frost-bitten, and her own hours would be sadly lonesome in his absence. The young hunter smiled in silence at the arguments of his bride, for such she was, and continued his preparations.

He was indeed a person with whom such arguments, except the last, would not be very likely to prevail. Pete Featherton, as he was familiarly

called by his acquaintances, was a bold, rattling Kentuckian, of twenty-five, who possessed the characteristic peculiarities of his countrymen-good and evil-in a striking degree. His red hair and sanguine complexion, announced an ardent temperament; his tall form, and bony limbs, indicated an active frame inured to hardships; his piercing eye and tall cheek-bones, evinced the keenness and resolution of his mind. He was adventurous, frank, and social-boastful, credulous, illiterate, and, at times, wonderfully addicted to the marvellous. He loved his wife, was true to his friends, never allowed a bottle to pass untasted, nor turned his back upon a frolic.

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He believed, that the best qualities of all countries were centered in Kentucky; but had a whimsical manner of expressing his national attachments. He was firmly convinced, that the battle of the Thames was the most sanguinary conflict of the age, and extolled colonel J-n, as a severe colt."-He would admit that Napoleon was a great genius; but insisted that he was "no part of a priming" to Henry Clay.-When entirely "at himself," to use his own language,-that is to say, when duly sober, Pete was friendly and rational, and a better tempered soul never shouldered a rifle. But let him get a dram too much, and there was no end to his extravagance. It was

then that he would slap his hands together, spring perpendicularly into the air with the activity of a rope dancer, and, after uttering a yell, which the most accomplished Winnebago might be proud to own, swear that he was the "best man " in the country, and could "whip his weight in wild cats!" and after many other extravagances, conclude, that he could "ride through a crab-apple orchard on a streak of lightning."

In addition to this, which one would think was enough for any reasonable man, Pete would brag, that he had the best rifle, the prettiest wife, and the fastest nag in all Kentucky; and that no man dare say to the contrary. It is but justice to remark, that there was more truth in this last boast, than is usually found on such occasions, and that Pete had no small reason to be proud of his horse, his and his rosy-cheeked companion.

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These, however, were the happy moments, which are few and far between; for every poet will bear us witness, from his own experience, that the human intellect is seldom indulged with those brilliant inspirations, which gleam over the turbid stream of existence, as the meteor flashes through the gloom of the night. When the fit was off, Pete was as listless a soul as one would see of a summer's day-strolling about with a grave aspect, a drawling speech, and a deliberate gait, a stoop

of the shoulders, and a kind of general relaxation of the whole inward and outward man-in a state of entire freedom from restraint, reflection, and want, and without any impulse strong enough to call forth his manhood--as the panther, with whom he so often compared himself, when his appetite for food is sated, sleeps calmly in his lair, or wanders harmlessly through his native thickets.

It will be readily perceived, that our hunter was not one who could be turned from his purpose by the prospect of danger or fatigue; and a few minutes sufficed to complete his preparations. His feet were cased in moccasins and wrappers of buckskin and he was soon accoutered with his quaintly carved powder-horn, pouch, flints, patches, balls, and long knife;-and throwing "Brown Bess"for so he called his rifle-over his shoulder, he sallied forth.

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But in passing a store hard by, which supplied the country with gunpowder, whiskey, and other necessaries, he was hailed by some of his neighbours, one of whom challenged him to swap rifles. Pete was one of those who would not receive a challenge without throwing it back. Without the least intention, therefore, of parting with his favourite rifle, he continued to banter back-making offers like a skilful diplomatist, which he knew would not be accepted, and feigning great eager