THE CHILD ANGEL.—THE MAIDEN'S FIRST DREAM, ETC.

It is our blessing that her lot was fair-
The precious birth-right of the dew and air,
The green and shade of woods, the song of birds,
And dreams too bright for words;

All that makes moonlight for the innocent heart,
And love, that in its bud, was still its crowning part.

The sadness of the spring-time in the shade
Of dusk-the shadows of the night array'd,
By stars in the great forests, as they look,
Glistening, as from a brook;

And stillness, in the night, that seems a sound,

Breathed up, unconscious out, from nature's great profound ;

Fancies, that go beside us when we glide

Still seeking no companion-prompt to guide,
Even where we would not-to the saddest grove,
Where one still weeps for love,

Still nursing ever a most sweet distress,

That through our very sorrow seems to bless;

These, since the child's departure, still declare,
Her precious birth-right in the dew and air-
And I, that do inherit them from her,

Do feel them minister,

As with new voices never felt before,

To love that, in my heart, still groweth more and more.

THE MAIDEN'S FIRST DREAM OF LOVE.

I.

Soft, O! how softly sleeping,
Shadowed by beauty she lies,
Dreams, as of rapture, creeping,

Smile by smile, over her eyes;
Lips, O! how sweetly parting,
As if the delight between,

With its own warm pulses starting,

Strove to go forth and be seen.

Dream of delight, thus ever,

Wait on the innocent maid.

165

To resume our mountain history. If to get back to the miserable cabin, where we found our temporary abode, was an object of the very last importance to us while we wandered bewildered on the mountain, blinded by the storm and benighted in its blackening masses to provide for our other wants, when we had got there, was now much the most imposing consideration. In fact, famine was staring us in the face Our provisions had been fed out, agreeably to our instructions, to the starving family that we left there, and where to procure food for ourselves was a question of serious concern. But even our wants ceased to gnaw, when we surveyed the condition of these wretched mountaineers. Positively, the spectacle was enough to rend the most stubborn heart. Even our rough and savage guide, Beck, who, in the course of a very desultory life, had a thousand times been made to suffer from the pangs of hunger, and had quite as frequently beheld cases of a like suffering in others, could not stand that harrowing picture of wretchedness which was spread before our eyes. He could understand, much better than ourselves, how real, how certain and deep, was the misery which we saw. To describe it is impossible. Let it not be thought that I am ambitious of the melo-dramatic in this narrative. This is no tale of fiction, seeking, by elaborate artifice, to impose upon the best feelings of humanity. The scene of destitution which I describe is utterly undistorted, and the recollection of it brings the tear, even now, into my eyes, as certainly as the living circumstances made us all weep then. The wretched mountaineer, more like a ravenous wolf than a merely famished man, leapt over the fence of his little cultivated patch, and tearing away a few ears of the unripe corn, he re-appeared among us. I fancy, even now, that I behold the expression of his emaciated face-his teeth set with the silent passion of despair-his eyes glaring

with a wild ferocity most akin to madness. To grate the corn thus gathered, with an ancient curry comb, was the work of a few minutes. The grains thus scraped away from the cob, were softened in salt and water, converted into a paste, and then set to bake among the embers of his hearth. Of course, this was to be our supper. But though we had been for thirty hours without food, we would not have taken one morsel from the yearning children. It would have been a cannibal action to have done so. But to remain longer in the sight of so much misery-misery which we could not relieve-was not in nature; and our vigilant guide, discovering, by this time, some very decided symptoms of another storm, we forced a few dollars into the hands of the unhappy mother of this destitute flock, and cleaning out our saddle bags for their benefit, took a hasty leave of them. Here, we had seen how great human misery could be-and yet with what religious patience was it borne by that woman. Here in the land of equal liberty and plenty, we had seen starvation-a difficult problem only to be accounted for, by a reference to the baneful consequences of the "Land and Gold Lottery Scheme"-exemplified in the case of this little family, who, once in a condition of comfort, had sacrificed every thing to this pernicious policy. Pierson was a thriving farmer in North-Carolina, until allured from home, as were so many others, by the seducing prospect of a rapid fortune. Selling out his comfortable homestead, he emigrated to the gold region, and gradually srunk from moderate affluence into destitution. By degrees, his resources were dissipated, he sold his little movables, incurred debt, and fled from the face of the sheriff. His terrors of the law took him to the mountains, and it was as the supposed emissaries of justice that we had nearly fallen victims to his rifle. How he now lived, we have seen. His cabin gave him shelter, and his corn-field, and the uncertain produce of his skill in hunting, were the only means by which his wife and children found their bread. The history was a sad one to think of, and it added greatly to our grief that we could do so little to relieve the misery, which we seemed ourselves to share, so vividly were we troubled by its aspects.

We had been on the road but a very few hours, when dense leadcolored clouds came rolling in upon us, like so many billows of an angry sea, from every point of the compass. The wind rose with them, and the rain finally came down in torrents. Our personal discomforts soon relieved us from our melancholy reflections upon the woes of others. To be caught in a storm among those mountain passes of Georgia -particularly on an empty stomach-is no small woe of its own. We rode forward briskly, and, under the conduct of Beck, soon spurred our way to a cottage, into which we did not hesitate to penetrate, without waiting for any invitation from our new landlord, who sat composedly whistling in his chair-whistling, but it would be difficult to say what tune-and looking, for all the world, like one to whom storm and sun were equally indifferent matters. His mellifluous name was Teague, and he promised to be one of the most liberal and satisfactory of landlords. All that we needed-so he assured us was to be found in his larder. To give us proof of

this, he led us to a huge apartment, which might have justified his assurances of comfort, but that the rain had forced its way through the roof, forming in the middle of the room just such a pleasant little lakelet as a gang of urchins would delight to float their tiny argosies upon. This was the larder, which was well stored with the eternal "tetters," which we were at liberty to cook to our own liking. The culinary art was a portion of polite education, which, in the case of Mr. Teague, had been most lamentably neglected. But we were of that happy nation, all cooks and dancing masters, who know, it is understood, some two hundred modes of dressing this root, so very susceptible of tender impressions. This task, therefore, which he devolved upon us, gave us no uneasiness. Bread would have been a luxury, but our landlord had no flour-but he nevertheless continued to promise every thing, just as, in the Spanish posadas, the host invites you to every choice dish in his recollection, and seats you at last before one of oil, onions and garlic.

It was at the critical moment when we began to apprehend that our sole reliance must be the "tetters" and our French dexterity in dressing them, that three Indians came in sight bearing a fine deer upon their shoulders. Our honest guide here played interpreter for our wants, and for a few dollars we became the fortunate possessors of the meat. If we were sure of our excellence in the art of dressing the potatoes, Beck was quite as much at home in cutting up the deer. His appetite, as keen as ours, seemed to add something to the sharpness of his knife. This was one of those formidable instruments, known in western dialect by the particularly petite epithet of the "Arkansas Tooth-pick." Armed with this delicate instrument, he tucked up his sleeves and proceeded to flay our game-a task which he executed in a style which, with all our civilization we could not but consider secundem artem. Sweet were the savoury steaks, unctuous the elaborate stew, and strikingly impressive to sense and sight the platoon of potatoes, which, roasted in the ashes, were as flankers, scouts and videttes to our battle array. Our table occupied the only part of the extensive apartment that had not been invaded by the rain, which a rousing fire assisted to make us regard with comparative indifference. You should have seen the devouring eyes which our landlord cast upon our plates. You should have seen how his mouth watered at a prospect which, from his liberal promises, had evidently warmed his imagination before-his big sleeves passing every now and then over the moistened lips, in the manner of an appeal, which could as little be withstood as misunderstood. We had been too long starving ourselves, not to feel bowels of compassion for our neighbor, and we bade him sit down with us, and "cut and come again"—an invitation which we did not have occasion to repeat. So diligent did he prove himself in this business that he fairly foundered. It was as much as his life was worth to have added another morsel to the masses he had already stowed away beneath his belt. Satisfied of this himself, by repeated efforts, he at length gave it overand after several shows of modesty and struggles with himself, evinced by fidgetting in his seat, and clearing his gorge by repeated hems, he

looked at us inquiringly, as he demanded -"Strangers, have you any baccy among ye?" "Baccy!" we exclaimed in a breath. We were again confounded by the vernacular. "Baccy!" said Beck scornfully, withdrawing his jack-knife from between his teeth-"Baccy means" here his brows were elevated, and a slight smile curled his lips"He means to say "Tobaccy."

The storm continued with unabated fury all that night. There, accordingly, we cast anchor. The cottage of Master Teague had but a single sleeping room, round which we beheld something like an apology for beds. We must now reveal some of his farther possessions. He was the fortunate sire of four as cherry-lipped and lovely looking damsels as one would wish to encounter among wild mountains, and some hundred miles from any civilization. When bed time came, we wrapped ourselves up in our cloaks, and couched it "as we were"-the candle was then blown out by the host, and those who could, resigned themselves to sleep. Those who were less successful were soon made conscious of the variety of musical tones which voluntary lungs, acting upon the vents of natural instruments can easily produce. In one corner might be heard a gentle breathing most like a sigh, such as would not annoy the most delicate nervous system in the world. Anon there was a suspicious shuffling, and finally came that most woful acknowledgment from narrow proboscis, the snore and the snort of which has the effect upon all, of the voice which, in the house of Macbeth, followed upon the murder of Duncan. Still it cried

"Sleep no more to all the house."

How long we obeyed the injunction from the nostrils of our landlord, we cannot say, but not long. Our supper, and the travels of the day, soon wrought their proper effects upon us; and, first assured that Teague himself, and all his daughters, were soundly lappied in poppies, we yielded to the same soliciting, and rose, with the birds of morning, at the same moment with the sun. But we were not so soon, but that the birds which slept in the same chamber with us, had taken wings and gone. Their nests were empty as we arose, but their roguish faces might be seen, a moment after, buried under a neighboring shed in a bowl of the cool water from the mountain, which they kept in a constant bubbling by the motion of their rosy lips.

Scarcely had we followed this example, when we saw hobbling towards us an elderly man on crutches. He had almost wholly lost the use of his limbs. He was the father of the four mountain lazzaroni, described already; and, with their rifles escorting him, they formed quite an imposing body guard. His quest now was for medical assistance. It was supposed that the traveller, who could tell the height of a mountain with an instrument no more complicated than a clarionet-was endowed with sufficient knowledge to heal the sick, and they had brought their worthy sire that we might bestow some healing trick upon his ailing. Neither myself nor friend had ever boasted the sheepskin of any medical faculty; but in the absence 15

VOL. II-NO. III.