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34
fW ritten fur the Southern Field uid Fireside.]
THE DELUGE.
BY HIXIT fLKTBLABI'.
Twas a calm and happy summer day,
The old at toil, the young at play;
The sunbeams strayed through verdant bowers,
Kissing the children, hissing the flowers;
The birds arose on quivering wing.
To float in the seas of light, and sing;
Or darted down, with a music shrill,
To slake their thirst in some sparkling rill.
The earth, the sky, the far off sea,
Were calm as the soul of purity;
And the glorious sun, as It shown above,
Looked down on the Earth with a smile of love.
That was the Earth, the glorious Angels saw,
Ere yet were known the terrors of the law,
Or heard the threat which through creation ran—
“My spirit shall not always strive with man
That maiden Earth, fresh from the hand of God,
Scarce dry the turf that drank np Abel's blood 1
Tet beautiful as in her morning hour.
When God created bird, and tree, and flower;
O'er hill and dale his verdant mantle spread.
Made trees to bend with luscious fruits for bread;
Embroidered nature with eternal bloom.
Strewed Heaven with stars at night's approaching gloom.
Tanght bright winged birds, the melody of love.
Awoke with heavenly notes each silent grove,
Breathod into man the life He had to give,
And crowned creation with the gift of Eve 1
Tet calm and bright as nature seemed,
Twas the hush before the storm !
For the seed of Cain and Sethhad sinned.
And mercy had veiled her form.
And th e man of God, on the lonely plain.
Was building the mighty ark —
So soon to float o'er a buried world.
When the flame of hope grew dark.
Twas the scoff—that ark—of the world around;
But still the wonder grew;
And beast and fowl of all the earth,
Came to it, two and two.
Then the few went in, and the doors were shut,
And the wings of Hope were furled;
For the closing doors announced at hand,
The doom of a sinning world!
Then, a gentle rain from the clouds came down ;
To men 'twas a welcome shower ;
But to those who knelt within the ark.
The sign of the awful hour.
For the windows of Heaven to open wide,
And the waters above to descend 1
Tet the people laughed at the fear of ill.
And waited to see it end.
Bain ! Rain! Kain ! Rain! The flood uprose.
And bore the ark on its breast,
’Till only the lofty hills were seen—
The waters covered the rest 1
And the hills were thronged with human forms,
With despairing, trembling crowds.
Who gazed below on the watery waste,
And up at the pouring clouds!
But, hark! above the screams of drowning men,
Above the torrent's roar—unheeded then,
Above the mother's wall of wild despair,
Above the blasphemies, that Ailed the air.
Is hoard a sound, strange, distant and most dread!
For io! Oh horror! Ocean leaves its bed I
The searching flood had broke the earthquake's sleep 1
Burst were the fountains of the mighty deep!
And writhing, Nature, from her depths uphurled,
And rolled a world of waters o'er tho world!
The cities, first, upon each earthly shore,
Beheld the ruin come, and saw no more I
The tower-crowned hills, the ancient forest trees,
Were swept In turn by the o'crwhelmlng seas;
Earth's wretched offspring thronging trembling there,
Scarcely had time to shriek their wild despair—
Ere theengulpblng sea o'er all had rolled,
Enwrapping ail in its remorseless fold!
The Earth, and all of Earth's, accursed of God,
Are silent 'neath the universal flood t
Tho Angel Death his dusky wings now furled.
And thunders peeled the requiem of tho world!
But arc all lost? has the wild wave
Burled humanity In one wide grave?
Does Earth, a tear from its Creator's face,
Float like a dew-drop on the void of space?
Ah I no, for where the loftiest billows roll
The ark sustained its freight, immortal soul;
Faith bore it safe uj>on tbe watery realm.
And God's own hand was resting on the helm.
Through the long waste of days and dreary nights,
Its windows showed hope's last, but steady light;
And after forty days, God bade it stop,
Safe upon Ararats' tremendous top.
The dove went forth and brought the olive home—
Token that Noah was no more to roam.
Then he and his, and ail the beasts went forth.
And, lo! beneath their feet the wreck of Earth!
And Noah built an altar on the sod—
As friend with friend, held converse with his God;
Prayed that he would in time repeat no more
The baptismal sea that rolled without a shore;
Jehovah listened, heard, would not deny,
And wrote his smiling answer on the sky.
The Old Oaken Bucket. —This beautiful and
popular song, or ballad, is said to have its origin
under tbe following circumstances, which give it
additional interest:
Some years ago, when Woodworth, the print
er, and several other “ Old New Yorkers,” who
were brother typos in a printing office which was
situated at the corner of Chestnut and Chambers
streets, they dropped in an establishment kept
by Mallory, on Franklin street, for the purpose
of taking some “brandy and water,” which
Mallory was famous for keeping.
The liquor was super excellent, and Wood
worth seemed inspired by it; for, after taking a
draught, he laid his glass upon the table, and
smacking his lips, declared that Mallory’s eau
dvie was superior to any he had ever tasted.
‘‘No,” said M., “you are quite mistaken;
there was one thing whicli, in both of our esti
mations, far surpasses this, in the way of drink
ing.” “What was that?” asked Woodworth,
dubiously. “That draught of pure fresh water
that we used to drink from the old oaken bucket
that hung in the well, after our return from the
labors of the field on a sultry day in summer. ”
The tear drop glistened for a moment in Wood
worth’s eye. “ Trae ! true!” he replied, and
soon after quitted the place. He returned to
the office, grasped his pen, and, in half an hour,
“The Old Oaken Bucket,” one of the most de
lightful compositions in our language, was ready
in mauuscript, to be embalmed in the memories
of succeeding generations.
»t> -■
A grand juror having applied to the judge to
be excusod from serving, on account of deafness,
tbe judge said; “ Could you not hear my charge
to the jury, sir?” “ Yes, I heard your honor’s
charge, said the juror, “but I couldn’t make any
sense of it.” He was excused.
Two passengers were conversing in a railway
carriage, Said one to tho other, “Do you know
the‘Barber of Seville?’” “No,” replied, tho
latter, “ I always shave myself.”
Douglas Jerrold preserved as a curiosity the
following bill of his veterinary surgeon at Put
ney. Referring to a sick horse, the bill ran,
“ His nose was warm, his ears were cold, and
everything gave signs of approaching desolation,
£0 ss. Od.”
XSK SOtfXKKKSE FXK&B MB FIBJKSMK.
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS,
08.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN.
BY WSL W. TURNER.
CHAPTER IV.
Behold me, then, a mere youth, hardly old
enough to be away from my mother's apron
strings, starting out, in search of adventure, ac
companied only by my faitliful negro, Howard.
It was a bright morning when I left the “old
folks at home,” to be gone from them a much
longer period than ever before. Being an only
child, I had, hitherto, scarcely ever left thorn. —
They had managed, although allowing me lib
erty to run about a good deal, to be nearly al
ways with me; and now that I was about to
part with them, for so long a time, the tears
would almost flow, in spite of my efforts to re
main firm.
My mother, although she had used her efforts
to procure my father's consent to the journey,
looked sad. and troubled, and her voice faltored
as she bade me farewell. Even my father’s tone
was not so firm as usual when he told me good
bye. But I jumped hastily into the carriage, and
drove rapidly off, turning to look at the gray
front of the old house, the stately old oaks, and
the beautiful green carpet spread’ beneath them.
As long as these were in sight I gazed; and
when they were lost to my vision, I gave my
self up to anticipations of the future.
The cars whiskod mo over tho Georgia Rail
Road ; and Atlanta, with its numerous converg
ing routes of travel, was soon reached. Manag
ing, in spite of the many trains; to get my bag
gage on the right one, I was soon riding after
tho iron horse across the State. The boundary
between us and Alabama was passed, and still
on we sped, till we halted on the banks of the
river Alabama, in the beautiful little city of Mont
gomery.
Tho State legislature was in session, and un
usually gay was the metropolis.
“Waiter,” said I to a darkey, the first evening
after my arrival, “what amusements have you
here?”
“Oh! plenty,” was tho answer, “have some
thing interesting every night.”
“Well, what is there, on this particular night ?”
“Why, Uncle Dabney Jones, from Georgia,
delivers a temperance lecture, to try to persuade
folks to quit drinking liquor.”
“Do you think lie will succeed in that ?”
“Sir ? no sir I He’ll have to waste lots o’ breath
before ho can shut the bar rooms in Montgome
ry. But they say he’s mighty funny though; so
you'd better go out to hear him, boss.”
I followed this gratuitous advice, and went to
hear Uncle Dabney. I had often heard of him,
but had never seen him. He had made some
reputation as a temperance lecturer—and I knew
that he was a preacher, either Baptist or Metho
dist. The lecture-room was pretty well filled
with gentlemen, and a tolerable sprinkling of la
dies. The speaker was introduced to the au
dience, and I saw a low, square-built, middle
aged man, with a rather sombre countenance.
He commenced in an indifferent stylo, and for
sometime he made no impression. But by and
by, a humorous vim began'to be visible. His
face lighted up, and then I perceived he was as
funny-looking a mortal, as I had ever seen.—
The hearers began to laugh. Stroke after stroke
of humor was delivered, and tho lecturer had
fully gained tho ear of his audieuce. He was
not at all choice and fastidious in liis choice and
use of means. His wit was of tho broadest.—
Ho did not disdain to make use of the most com
mon arts of buffoonery—grimace, and odd gestic
ulation. Indeed, I never saw or heard a more
complete comedian.
And I say this, with no intentional disrespect.
It is only what Uncle Dabney would acknowl
edge himself. He knows that he must get
men in good humor, if ho would lead them, and
he goes on the principle that all his fair in war.
But let us listen to him a little farther. He
has just delivered some broad witticism, or
told some side-splitting anecdote, with all the
aids used by the low comedian, and his audi
tors are convulsed with laughter, when, sud
denly, he glides off into pathos so genuine and
deep, that tears are flowing from those, who,
a moment before, wero shakiug with mirth. The
little, ugly, funny-looking buffoon, has become
transformed into the thrilling orator, and strains
of pure eloquence come from his lips, moving
and subduing those under the sound of his
voice.
And of such mosaic consists his lecture.
Mirth-provoking witticisms, pathetic appeals,
ludicrous anecdotes, and noble oratory —all
coming from one who, it is evident, has no
great claims to the character of scholar as that
term is understood. But he has studied human
nature. He has learned to touch the strings of
its passions, like a ready and skillful musician.
It is certain that, with an education, in addition
to his excellent natural parts, he would have
become a distinguished orator.
Such is my recollection of Uncle Dabney.
Perhaps if I were to hear him now, I might
not think so highly of him. It is a long while
since I listened to his voice, and I cannot recall
to mind, very distinctly, any thing he said. I
only record the impressions he made on my
youthful mind.
I spent the next day in strolling about the
town, and that evening I attended a ball. I had
letters of introduction to several young men,
and they showed me every attention. There
were a great many beautiful ladies. lam con
vinced that no whore on earth can be collected
together, at short notice, more lovely females
than in our own sunny South. Os course, young
and susceptible as I was, I selected one “bright
particular star,” before whose shrine to offer my
heart’s devotions. It is useless to tell the color
of her hair and her eyes. It is sufficient to say
that, for the time, I was entirely captivated by
her beauty and the amiable politeness of her
manners.
I had been introduced by unexceptionable
endorsers and in very flattering terms. I was—
whatever I may be now—l was very—at least
tolerably—good looking, rather dashing and
taking in my manners; and then, as to my clothes
why Charley Hampton had taught me something
of the art of dressing. At any rate, I made
myself rather agreeable to Miss Lisle, whether
by one, or all these means, and I sought her
hand in the dance, often, and—obtained it.
At one time, though, when the set was called,
and I went to lead her out, just as I was taking
her hand, I felt a touch on my shoulder, and
heard:
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe Miss
Lisle is engaged to dance.this set with me.”
I turned, and saw a tall Allan, with a face
tolerably handsome, and at first sight of rather
distingue and even noble appearance. A closer
scrutiny, however, enabled me to discover, as I
thought, something sinister, as there certainly
was something supercilious, in his countenance.
His voice was decidedly arrogant in its tone.
“The lady,” answered I, “certainly knows to
whom she is engaged.”
“Generally, ladies do,” said ho in a slightly
jeering tone. “Sometimes they forget, though.
Miss Lisle, I hope you will not be oblivious in
this instance.
“I think, sir,” said I, very coolly, considering
how youthful I was, “ that the lady has already
decided, in as much as she started to take her
place with me.”
“You will certainly allow her to have a voice
in the matter?”
“Ofcourse, sir; that is what I wish. Miss
Lisle, shall we take our places?”
“1 think I am engaged to Mr. Hopeton, this
lime, Mr. Lorraine," said the lady.
“You forget," was the reply. “ You promised
early in the evening to dance this set with me."
“Let us pass, sir, if you please,” said I, lead
ing my fair partner off, and bearing Lorraine back
with my arm.
I was irritated at his pertinacity, and at his
standing directly in the way, as if to provent our
taking a place in the cotillion. I could see that
he was very angry; but it was evident also that
he was a man who had great self-control, and no
outbreak followed, as would have been the case
with one who had less command over himself.
Seeing my firm demeanor, he drew back with a
pretty good grace.
But in spite of his bow, and his careless bear
ing, I could see that his eye gleamed with a
deadly hatred, as he followed us with his gaze.
Several times during the dance, as I looked to
ward him, I encountered a glance of fixed, stern,
malignity; and in return, I always gave him
one of angry defiance. Immediately, though,
his eye would assume an expression of sneering
coolness, and wander over, by, and away, from
me. It was not averted quickly, as if its owner
were embarrassed or frightened; but it turned
deliberately and easily, as if he had merely
gazed on me a moment through idle curiosity,
and had not found me worthy of much regard.
At length, I asked Miss Lisle who tho gentle
man was.
“He is a sojourner here," said she. “I think
he resides in North Carolina, where he practiced
law, and is said to have acquired an immense
fortune.”
“ I believe you called him Lorraine?”
“Yes."
“Isn't he rather arrogant in his deportment ?”
“ You see for yourself."
“ Well, has he not that character ? But I beg
pardon; lam inquisitive.”
“ Never mind; it is no matter. But I know
very little of Mr. Lorraine. I have already told
you all I can.”
Os course, I asked no more questions. So
many and impertinent were tho glances Lor
raine threw on me, at the same time that he
baffled every attempt I made to fix his gaze, that
at length I determined to seek him—rash boy
that I was—and demand an explanation. After
I had come to this resolution, I looked toward
him no more till the cotillion was over. When
1 had conducted my partner to a seat, I turned
to find my gentleman. He was not to be seen,
in the place I last beheld him.
I sought him through the whole of tho crowd
ed room, but he was gone, and I saw him no
more that night. It was now very late, and the
ball being over, I returned to the hotel. The
dancing had somewhat tired me, and I was soon
asleep.
Strolling to the State-house the next day, I saw
my rival of the night before, standing on the
steps of the building, and conversing with a
group of gentlemen. I passed as slowly as I
possibly could, to give myself an opportunity of
observing him. He appeared to boa middle
aged man, in good preservation, with a counte
nance which would be called noble and command
ing. It presented on apjtearance of considerable
intellect, but at the same time there were per
ceptible indications of craft, which detracted
considerably from an otherwise prepossessing set
of features. Still, I was already prejudiced
against the man, and perhaps was hardly able
to form an unbiased opinion.
Os one thing I was sure—that he was an ex
ceedingly sensual man, if the form of the mouth
and the glance of the eye meant any thing.—
His voice was deliberate, full, and rich—just the
sort to command attention. His companions
seemed to listen with considerable deference,
though they all appeared to bo easy, familiar
acquaintances.
As I sauntered slowly along, I caught his eye,
and looked steadily into it, to read its meaning.
For a moment it kindled, and he seemed about
to lose hie imperturbable self-possession. But
he appeared to think better of it, and, as his
glance wandered off, he continued his conver
sation in the same quiet tone.
Nothing of interest was going on in either of
the legislative halls, and I wandered out as
listlessly as I had gone in. There was nothing
to detain me longer in Montgomery, so I took
the boat for Mobile. Thence, the “ Oregon” con
veyed me to the Crescent City. As I jogged
along in a cab over the rough pavement, on my
way to the Verandah, my impressions were by
no means favorable. Such constant and uniform
jolting I had never experienced.
But the sources of amusement, and also of ex
pense, are numerous in New Orleans, and I
spent several weeks there pleasantly enough—
having brought letters of introduction. My
time was passed, as might be expected of a youth,
away from home, and with plenty of money at
his disposal.
A day or two before I left for the prairies, I
received a letter from my father, a part of which
I will lay before my readers:
“My Dear Boy”—it began— “ A day or
two after you left home, I went to see old Mr.
Warlock. No one was in his room besides him
self, except his faithful Dick. His face was ex
pressive of great mental anguish, in spite of a
sort of stupor that seemed to overspread it.
"‘lam glad you have comesaid he, reach
ing out his hand to me. ‘My sons have deserted
me. They never come in my room. I don’t
know that their presence would be much grati
fication to me, but I cannot help feeling their
entire neglect. Great God I how the sins of our
youth are visited upon us in our old age. How
terribly am I rewarded for the manner in which
I raised my children! Oh remorse! remorse!’
“ He was becoming very much excited.
“ 4 Mr. "Warlock’, said I to him, 1 recollect that
your physician charged you to keep quiet. Has
he been to see you this morning ?’
“ 1 You are right’, was the reply. ‘ I must
keep cool. Yes, the Doctor has been here this
morning, and he says I am doing very well, but
he knows nothing of the wound here,’ striking
his hand on his breast, ‘ though it has been fes
tering there for years. I will be calm,’ continued
he, seeing remonstrance in my face.
“‘ I hope you will,’ said I. l lt is absolutely
necessary that you should.
“ ‘ True” said the old man. 4 And yet it is
next to impossible for one to do this, and make
the communication I am thinking of.’
“ ‘ Then sir, you must postpone it till I come
again, which will be in a few days.’
“ 4 Let me tell it now,’ he exclaimed. 4 Let me
tell it; it will do me good.’
44 But I saw plainly that it would not do for
him to speak of a subject which agitated him so
much, so I firmly refused to listen to him, and
took my leave, promising to call again when he
had gained more strength.”
44 4 That may never be,’ said he, gloomily, as I
left the room.
“I called repeatedly, he insisting that he
should make his communication; but, although
my curiosity was strongly excited, it was only
a day or two ago that I thought it prudent to
listen to him. On that occasion, as I entered
the house, Jake and Joe Warlock were sitting
in the porch, smoking, in 'silence. It was the
first time I had seen them, since the unfortunate
fracas. With a slight salutation, and inquiry af
ter their father, I passed on to Mr. Warlock’s
room.
44 1 found him sitting up.
44 4 Your visits,’ said he, ‘are the only events
which break up the monotony of my horribly
lonely life. My former companions, finding there
is to be no more carousing and gambling here,
do not come near me; and, in keeping at a dis
tance, they act in accordance with my wishes.
My respectable neighbors still avoid me. They
have no faith in my reformation, and I cannot
blame them.'
“‘They will soon find,' answered I, ‘that
you have renounced your habits of dissipation,
and then they will be very kind to you.’
44 4 It makes little difference,’ was the melan
choly reply; ‘there is not much life left for me,
and none of the happiness of life.’
“ 4 Let me persuade you to indulge a more hope
ful vein of thought’
44 4 You do not know all, or you would perceivo
how impossible it is for me to do so. But when
I requested you to come and see me, I expected
to make some confessions with regard to ray
past life. Since tlien, however, I’ve concluded
to draw up a written statement, which I now
hold in my hand. You see it is sealed, and I
bog you will not open it till after my death.
Besides this, I wish to entrust you with my
will.’
44 4 1 am perfectly willing to take charge of it; _
but why not give it to your sons?’
44 ‘Are you not aware that I have no confidence
in their integrity ?’
44 4 True; but as they are your only heirs, Ido
not see whom they can cheat.’
44 4 You are mistaken. I have left at least half
my property—as you will see, on reading the
will —to my nephew.’
44 4 Do I say my property?’ he added, after a
moment’s pause. 4 1 have only mado arrange
ments to restore it to its right owner.’
44 4 Your nephew’s name is—what?’ I asked.
44 4 You will find full information in tho sealed
package, which I have delivered to you, as to
who he is. You must advertise for him. You
are appointed one of my executors. The half of
my property, or, more properly, all that I possess
rightfully, is devised to my sons; and they are,
also, appointed executors.’
44 4 1 must bo candid with you,’ he continued,
4 and say to you that the execution of that will
may involve you in personal danger. At least,
it will expose you {to the enmity of my sons.
Indeed, if they find out that you have this, my
testament, in your hands, and become acquaint
ed with its provisions, I do not know what des
perate game they might attempt. I have select
ed you; out of the number of men whom I know,
to undertake this trust, because I believe you to
be just and fearless. Now, may I rely on you?’
44 4 Give me the will,’ said I. 4 Let the man
who would bar the course of justice con
front me.’
44 ‘lt may seem very strange to you,’ answered
Mr. "Warlock, after expressing satisfaction and
relief at my receiving the will; 4 it may seem
very strange that I request you not to open
that confession till after my death, and that I do
not give you '. verbal account of my wickedness;
but it is a long, sickening tale, and I could not
muster the nerve to go through with it.”
44 ‘Never mind,’ answered I, 4 let it pass. I
hope it will not prove so bad as you represent it.
I must go now, but will not neglect to visit you
again. Good bye."
44 So I left the room. As I came into tho porch,
the young men eyed me suspiciously,, wonder
ing, no doubt, what my long interview with their
father meant. I sat down without an invitation,
and commenced a conversation with them about
the crops, Ac. I thought there had best be a
good understanding between us, since I had
fully convinced them that it would be useless to
try to intimidate me. After a few words, one
of them mustered civility enough to offer me a
cigar, which I accepted. Tho crops - did not
seem to interest them much, so I passed from
these to horses and dogs, drawing them out, un
til they conversed freely, in spite of themselves.
44 ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said I, at length, 4 we have
had two rows. You commenced .with the idea
of frightening me; but you find you do not suc
ceed. I want to know if you are satisfied. I
offer you peace, if you will havo it, and I beg
you will be sincere, so that I may know what
to rely on. If you don’t 11-0111 to be friendly,
say so. If you wish to forget our differences,
give me to understand it.”
44 ‘I am willing to be friendly,’ said Joe, after
a moment’s hesitation. 4 You and the old man
are such great cronies, and I’m satisfied, any
way.”
44 ‘Well,’ said Jake, ‘there’s no use in being
stubborn about the matter, so here’s my fist.’
“Now, I have not unlimited confidence in
this suddenly made up friendship. Indeed, if
the boors were not satisfied with their former at
tempts at bullying, they would doubtless try it
again. Ido not think, however, they will mo
lest me any farther, even if they discover that I
have in my possession a will cutting them out
of one-half of the property in their father’s pos
session.”
This is all the letter which is necessary to
my narrative. It contained much matter for
speculation. I was satisfied, however, with my
father, that the Warlocks would bo willing to
let him alone; otherwise, I should have set out
immediately for home.
chapter v.
A little incident occurred, before I left Now
Orleans, which I must record. I was walking,
one night, along a narrow, ill-lighted street,
where scarcely a person was to be seen. Occa
sionally, I met a solitary pedestrian, and several
passed me, for I was going slowly, being in a
musing frame of mind. At length, a couple pass
ed, who attracted my attention. A female,
closely veiled, was attended by a man. The
former seemed trying to get rid of the latter,
judging from her rapid gait, and the* manner in
which she kept to the extreme outer edge of the
side-walk, as if to avoid the possibility of con
tact.
When they had gore a little ahead of me, the
man spoke;
“Why are you so coy, my pretty bird ? Why
avoid me so ?”
At the same time, as if oblivious of the fact
that some one was just behind him, he attempt
ed to pass his arm around the woman’s waist.
“ Oh, you wretch!” exclaimed the latter, in a
voice trembling with both indignation and fear.
“Leave me! Begone sir!”
“Not yet, my lassie," replied the brute, still
endeavoring to force his companion to submit
to his familiarity. “Don't push my arm so. How
active you are. Such a face I I’ll Ret before
you.”
“And I’ll avoid you thus.”
“Whatl crossing to the other side? You for
get that I possess the powers of locomotion also.”
My curiosity was aroused, and I went over
to the other side-walk, at some distance behind,
to see how the affair could result. We now met
several other persons, and the couple before me
were quiet; the female, however, still continuing
her rapid walk, and the man dropping a little
behind. The former soon increased her gait to
a run, but her persecutor quickly overtook her.
“Now,” said ho, “we have passed the last
person we’ll see soon. You find running is of
no use, so you’d as well be quiet. Let me see
those pretty eyes," he continued, trying to
remove the veil from her face.
“For God's sake, sir 1 if you have any of the
feelings of a gentleman, I appeal to them. Leave
me I”
“Well, just lot me put my arm around your
waist and we’ll walk along quietly and talk the
matter over.”
“You shall not I will alarm the street”
“Alarm the devil! There's no body here will
care for your screeching. Be a good girl now,
and just give me one sweet kiss. Perhaps I’ll
listen to reason then;” and he tried to snatch
what he had asked for.
During all this time I had walked along
among some trees, so that I had avoided being
observed by the persons I was watching, al
though they had several times turned to see if
any one was behind.
“Never shall my lips be polluted by yours,"
was the answer to the man’s last speech. “I had
rather die I”
“You are a fool,” was the brutal rejoinder.
“I've tried fair moans, and now I’ll try foul;”
and he reached his arm to seize her.
Nimbly eluding him, she started to run, and was
pursued. I followed quickly, having determined
to protect the girl—boy and chivalrous as I was.
The man soon overtook the object of his chase,
but just as ho did so, she turned suddenly into
an ally so dark, that though the pursuer follow
ed as quickly as he could, I hesitated a moment
before entering it. In that time ho had again
overtaken her.
“Ah, you vixen I” said he; “now, I’ll pay you
for your obstinacy.”
“Then, if you will persist,” was the answer,
“God have mercy on your soul.”
“You infernal she-devil! you’ve stabbed me;
but I’ve got hold of your wrist, and you shall
suffer; just feel the blood spouting from the
wound. Wait till I get the knife out of your
hand, and—"
Here the struggle beoame so severe, I could
distinguish nothing that was said. The screams
of the female mingled with the chrses and
threats of the man. At the first mention made
of stabbing, I had rushed forward. Though
young, I was uncommonly strong and active.
Seizing the man by the coat collar, I gavo his
heels a sudden trip, which brought him heavily
to the ground. My repeater was in hand—for he
is but a fool who wanders through certain parts
of New Orleans, alone and unarmed.
“Who are you. sir, and what do you moan ?’’
exclaimed my antagonist, as he rose to his feet,
pud began to feel for a weapon.
“It matters not,” said I, “you were acting the
scoundrel, and I came up to protect the person
you were insulting.”
“Oh! how can I thank you ?” now exclaimed
the female, whom I thought I could discover to
ibe a lovely young girl. “The blessed Virgin
1 must have sent you.”
I “No—but perhaps you are right. I was go
| ing to say, that accident sent me. You, how
i ever, perhaps, have assigned the true cause of the
1 interposition.”
| “I shall never be able to repay you sir.”
“Your gratitude is sufficient,” answered I>
“But sir,” broke in the picked-up man, “do
you suppose I am going to allow this interfer
ence in my affairs ?”
“You can hardly prevent what has already
taken place; and besides, one of the parties in
this affair seems to bo very much pleased with
my action in the matter.”
“My arm is already sore and stiff, from the ef
fects of that knife, or you should not escape un
punished.”
“As to that, please call at the Verandah to
morrow, and if you are a gentleman, you shall
have satisfaction.”
Just then, a man passed with a lantern, and as
the light fell on the face of my antagonist, I re
cognized Lorraine. He knew me at the same
moment.
“So you are the impertinent boy I met in
Montgomery," said he. “This is the second time
you have crossed my path. You’ll rue it! No
one ever mars my plans with impunity.”
“Your wound protects you now, or you should
rue your impertinence. I scorn your throats.”
“Very good,” said Lorraine. “Wo part now,
but will meet again.”
“Whenever you please,” was my answer.—
“Perhaps you will bo so good as to appoint a
time and method now.”
“You don't understand my way of settling
these things; but you will one"day,” was the re
ply of Lorraine, as he walked off.
The girl had hastened oft", as soon as the lamp
was seen coming, so I made the best of my way'
back to the hotel. I staid in New Orleans one
day after this, but saw nothing of Lorraine; and
a short time afterwards, I was on the prairies,
in company' with a party' of rangers and hunts
men. These latter were composed of amateurs,
and veteran woodsmen, hired to accompany them.
They were all strangers to me, personally; though
starting with the letters of introduction my fath
er gave me, I had managed to get one to the
Captain of the rangers, of which, the following
is a copy:
“Dear Preston: The bearer of this is a youth,
desirous of ‘adventuring.’ Can’t you put him
in the way? Seriously, my young friend wants
to see a little frontier life, and you will particu
larly oblige me by affording him all the facilities
in your power, and at the same time, taking care
that he is not exposed to too many hardships.
“Yours, H .”
“There,” said my excellent friend, “that will
ensure you a welcome from the very man, of all
others, who is calculated to “put you through’
your intended expedition in the most comforta
ble style.”
“Comfort I” exclaimed I. “What does a man
want with comfort, on a trip like this ?”
“Ah I that speech of yours convinces me how
lucky you are in happening along just as Cap
tain Preston is about to start; for he wiil make
you comfortable, in spite of yourself. But see
ing how very raw you are, just let me add a
postscript to that letter.”
I had at least sense enough to acquiesce with a
good grace, being convinced that a man who
had travelled ought to know better than a tyro.
So there was added the following:
“ P. S.—Jack Hopeton is a fine, spirited young
fellow, but green as the old scratch, provided
the figure will do; and has taken up a notion
that comfort is to bo dispensed with, on a prairie