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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