whose horse it struck, was far in advance of his companions. As the animal received the bullet in his shoulder, the fright and pain together, made him wheel aside and dash off in an opposite direction. His rider, finding it impossible to hold him in, fixed himself firmly in his seat, threw the bridle over his arm, then writhing about in his saddle, he levelled his carbine and shot the savage through the heart. In the moment of his mortal agony, he leapt with a terrific yell, into the air, then fell forwards, dead before he touched the water. Twenty bayonets were darted into the prostrate carcass, twenty horses leapt on and over it, before it could be rescued from the vindictive fury of the men. The brave Capt. L. who had slept so late that morning, covered the body with his own, and protected it from farther outrage. The trumpet sounded "the assembly"-the dragoons sullenly recov ered their ranks, and order was finally restored. While this act of death was in progress, the curtain of the night was falling. The sun went down amidst a flood of glory. The infantry joined us shortly after, and bivouacking near the lake, we made our arrangements to follow up the trail at dawn. But one day's scout will suffice for a single sitting. We may resume our narrative hereafter. We buried the Micasukee chief at midnight, an hour most appropriate to his gloomy and desperate career.

ON A MOUNTAIN SCENE IN VIRGINIA.

'Tis glorious all!-Here nature spreads
Her haughty heights, her verdant meads,
And, lavish of her beauties still,

Adorns them well with bloom and rill;
Relieves, with swelling steeps, the plain,

Then gently smoothes to lawns again;

Or, in a bolder mood, uprears

The mountain brood of thousand years,

That tow'ring boldly to the sky,

Would seem its heights to scale, its thunderbolts defy.

Here may the eye, with eager ken,

Survey smooth grove, and sudden glen,

And, with a spirit rivalling,

Our own up-soaring eagle's wing,

Track the huge masses that grow proud,

In garments of the storm and cloud;

Or, in their azure mantles seem,
The happy realm of many a dream,

Where still the red man's spirit roves,

In search of blessed airs and flowery groves.

Yet with reluctant spirit still,
I feel soft vale and rugged hill;

Not half the rapture they impart,
Which else had swell'd this truant heart,
Wert thou, thus far remote, but here,
With me these new delights to share;

With me to climb the hill, and rest
In hollows near the eagle's nest,

And, while the clouds swim far below,

Behold, with eyes of mine, in dream, the wondrous show.

NO MORE.

BY ADRIAN BEAUFAIN.

My heart is in the yellow leaf,

I feel that spring of life no more,
That once, when all my hours were brief,
Could every blessed hour restore;
Could bring to life the perish'd joy,
And still recall with morning hours

The evening vision, sweet but coy,
That waved my fancy on with flowers.

-No more!

Ah! very sad to memory's heart,

The mournful truth that all is o'er;

The things most dear to love depart,

Still murmuring, though we plead, 'no more;'

Our bird, whose gay, beguiling song,

Still spell'd our steps through love's domain;

And all that countless, happy throng,

That we may hope to meet again-

-No more!

Ah! words that strike with icy thrill,

That chide us with defrauded hours,

That rob us of our moonlight still,

Our evening breeze, our morning flowers;

Our faith in fancy-all that glows,

For boyhood's blessing, all his dreams His shadows crowning with repose,

His love that most immortal seems.

-No more!

OUR progress now was a dreary one. We rode for many miles in these mountain ranges without finding a single habitation. The sun was excessively hot, and more than once we felt like yielding by the way, and resigning ourselves, like children exhausted with play, to slumber beneath the neighboring trees. But, a strong effort of will restored our energies, and a little before noon we were rewarded for our extra exertions by glimpses of a little hovel, that seemed, at a distance, to promise refreshment and repose. Before the door of this wretched dwelling stood four tall fellows armed with their rifles. Their gigantic statures reminded us of that ancient brood, who, piling Pelion upon Ossa, had attempted the walls of heaven. Truly, the comparison was by no means a strained one, in those mountainous regions. The forms of these lads of the forest were as symmetrical as tall. Their long, lustrous, black hair, clustering from under large brimmed hats, descended in massve curls down their athletic shoulders. Their keen dark eyes followed our every movement, with a vigilance which could not have been more piercing had they meditated mischief. Suffering from excessive thirst, we asked for milk. "Milk" said one of the Anakites-"we haint got: we keeps no cow."

Seeing our looks of disappointment, he added kindly-"but we have tetters!"

"Tetters!" We were mystified. My friend and self exchanged glances of doubt and inquiry. "Tetters" might be a good substitute for milk-some famous beverage perhaps-which would answer the purpose just as well. While we mused with this new hope, our mystification was farther increased, by the additional suggestion of the spokesman-"and they are mighty sorry tetters, too, stranger"

The sphynx, this time, had made her enigma still more intricate. Neither my friend nor myself claimed to be an Edipus. "Mighty sorry tetters," threw us all aback. We might have stomached the tetters alone, but the compounds plagued us, and, puzzling our brains in vain, we turned to Beck for a solution of the mystery. The fellow was looking on with a sly squint in his hither eye, amusing himself with our embarrassment. Our silent appeal at length brought him forward. He threw himself into the attitude of the Dragoman. If he had served his apprenticeship at Stamboul, he could not have looked the character better. Flourishing his arms, with profound importance-waving them as it were, over the heads of the rusticshe patronizingly remarked:

"These here crackers don't know much about good English. When they say 'tetters' they mean 'potetters.' 'Mighty sorry' is 'monstrous bad' or 'powerful bad'-jest which you like best."

A long involuntary groan followed this lucid explanation. Our supposed substitute for milk, was not likely to answer. We alighted from our steeds, however, and, in the absence of a better beverage, rambled off to the waters of a little brook, gliding over a floor of pebbles, which stole away but a stone's throw from the wretched habitation.

Their

If our giants had been for us objects of interest, our appearance was no less of a marvel and curiosity to them. M. Nicollet, carried his barometer, slung in its wooden case over his shoulders; and on mine was strapped the sextant, in the fashion of a knapsack. wonder kept them silent for a while, but, with evident self restraint, and an uneasiness which at last found vent for question. "Stranger," said the lad who had puzzled us about the "tetters-"I say, stranger, are you a doctor? You carry your truck, your plunder, I reckon, in

this here box?"

"Truck and plunder!" what could the fellow mean. I was mystified once more. It was I who was addressed, but I had no answer. I was compelled again to look to our Dragoman. Beck felt that his consequence was rising. Employed as a guide only, he had suddenly risen to the dignity of interpreter. He was a man of tongues-a fact which, I venture to say, he never before suspected. "Truck," said he, looking complacently about him, "means physic-plunder, baggage.'

The barometer next fixed the attention of our companions, who, assuming it to be an instrument of music, would have M. Nicollet play for them. They were hardly satisfied to believe any of our explanations. While this by play was in progress, we were all going forwards to the top of the mountain, where it was proposed that we should take an observation with the portable barometer. This point reached, we halted and began our preparations. It happened that while I was opening the box containing the quicksilver, one of our tall recruits brushed my elbow inadvertently, causing me to spill a small quantity of the subtle fluid upon the ground. Its light and shining particles at once drew their attention, and, simultaneously, they resolved that it was one of the precious metals, and a scramble ensued for its recovery. The scramble became a scuffle, in which, I regret to say, that the ties of blood were seemingly forgotten. Cuffs and kicks were the common counters among these unnatural brothers, and leaving them, now grappling their mutual throats, and now, on their knees, pursuing the fugitive liquid, we hurried off to pursue our discoveries in less troublesome and doubtful companionship.

It was seven in the evening. The sun had already disappeared from our sky, for our route led us through a deep and winding gorge in a secluded portion of the mountains. The twilight was but an

The Dragoman was not altogether right in this explanation. Truck and plunder, in the patois of the Southern country, are synonymes, and signify wares, baggage, merchandizes, medicine, or, indeed, any thing which the traveller carries with him. It is, in brief, his load, his burthen. The wonder of the forester was at the shape and appearance of the box, being unlike any that he had before seen for carrying the baggage of the traveller, or the wares of the tradesman.

instant pause between the sinking of the sun, and the rising up of the dusky shadows which precede the night. The trees were massing themselves in one dense outline of wall. We could no longer individualize, with any certainty, the objects that were spread around us. Emerging at last from the gorge of this narrow defile, we came into a more open, but still solitary dell. Here, the first object that arrested our attention was a fence. Against this we beheld, in a nearly erect position, something that seemed to us a stick of timber. But it was soon perceived that the timber had some motion. An instant after there was a gleam as of some bright object. A beam of light seemed levelled before our advance. We grew nervous. What could this be? We were answered by the slightest noise in the world, no less than the gentle clicking of a gun-lock. We got anxious. That we should be thus suddenly put in bodily danger, without a word of warning, without sound or summons from human throat, was any thing but agreeable. We could no longer doubt that a rifle pointed at us with its unerring bullet, and that some reckless savage crouched behind it, with his finger already on its trigger. Before we had made this discovery, Beck was already on his feet. His practised eye, which seemed quite as admirable by night as by day, had made out the danger as soon as we had caught our first glimpse of the object. Crouching to the earth, gliding from bush to bush, he advanced towards the danger. His own rifle had been cocked as soon as that of the other, and the promptness with which he had taken the several steps in his progress-the skill, the readiness, the vigilance-at once gave us a happy idea of the resources for war, native and acquired, of the American forester. Beck was no longer in sight. Suddenly, however, his approach became known to the person who watched us. "Stop!" was his summons-"who comes!" Then we heard Beck's answer-as smooth and quiet, as if all was perfectly right: "Friend!”— "I said 'friend,'" was the remark of our guide afterwards, "but I was ready to give him a crack for all that." Other words ensued, then a pause, and a good understanding soon followed between the parties. Their weapons were lowered, and, creeping out from his defences, a dark giant figure crawled slowly towards us, his rifle on his arm— that constant companion of the forester-but without other garment than his inexpressibles. His manner was rude and scornful. His tones were gruff, and spoken with the snarling, snapping voice of a cur dreading the loss of his bone. "What do you want?" he demanded. We told him that we were strangers, travelling for curiosity, and designing to encamp for the night in that part of the mountain. To propitiate this wild man of the woods, we added, that we should be obliged to him for any services that he might render, and would reward him for them. Muttering something by way of invitation, he pointed in the direction of his cabin, and showed us the way over his fence. He gave us no explanation of his condition, and of the reason for his military watch upon the road. Doubtless, he had good cause for the latter; and, for the former-let us seek it, dear reader, in the interior of this low and blackened hovel. What a picture of wretchedness is here! Verily, to live, great are the straits to which

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