Pardon my gossipry, ah! kindest of Editors! while I ask if you believe in the lastingness of primary impressions? And furthermore, is a countenance pleasant or otherwise from the humor with which you regard it? Is a place forever associated with the rain or sun that falls upon it at your first acquaintance? In running over the brightest of my pleasant days at St. Augustine, and there are few links wanting in that brilliant chain, I am just now reminded of lounging one morning at the market, with mind and waistcoat thrown open to all sunny impressions, when I observed afar off a small colored gentleman, who was coming toward me with a directness of motion quite unusual to people of his class.

As the morning was a little breezy and he had but one simple garment, rudiment, so to speak, between him and the outer world, I attributed his precision and firmness of step to a sense of delicacy as commendable as it is rare in those parts, and immediately resolved that I would look with a kind regard upon that individual: I would parley with him, detain him with some idle thought, while, all unknown to him, I could seize that moment to pry into his dark and mysterious nature, and if he proved modest and upright, as no doubt he would, how would I astound him with a gratuitous half-bit! Or if he resented that, (it might be,) I would have him at nine-pins; I would send him of errands; make up objectless and boot-less employment, if necessary, and so contrive to benefit him unawares; to cherish and sustain his high moral tone, and at some future day, (it was not impossible,) raise him to the dignity of trowsers! I would do this without casting a single shadow upon his unsophisticated nature; I would not deepen his complexion with a single blush!

On coming nearer, I discovered that he was carrying suspended in one hand what appeared to be specimens of some rare and curious vegetable; strange roots, medicinal perhaps; bulbous, yet elongated, and beet-like at the lower extremity, but dark and rough like an artichoke; which, on close examination, proved to be young alligators. The little nigger had them by the tail, and they were moaning like kittens in the blindness of their first days. I afterward discovered that they were not in good voice, from the circumstance of being carried so long in that unnatural manner. But what was my surprise, my delight, that an animal so Egyptian in association, so hieroglyphical, so suggestive of dragons and monsters, could be so delicately small, so infantile, so perfectly harmless! There were three of them, each about six inches long, counting the tail; but how long they had been that long, or whether they had ever been shorter, it was impossible to say. One could not but ask, were they weaned, or were they just 'out?' but no one could divine. We may be tolerably certain, however, that their mother was not aware they were out, otherwise small Bob would doubtless have had no farther rolling of marbles in those parts; no riding of my little gray all over town 'just to air him' as he said; no running for Massalini, the triangle and the tambourine, for our evening dances. They were not very lively, being, as I have stated, almost gone with grief or pain, one could hardly tell which, not being acquainted with their manner of expression. Placed upon the ground, they were quite still and speechless; no throbbings of fright; no extraordinary circulation, as far as I could discover. It was at this time, however, that on looking closer, I observed a strange expression of countenance; a wild look in the eye; a kind of mute horror there expressed; wondering at which, the popular belief flashed upon me at once, and I gave small Bob a look which puzzled him exceedingly. 'Can it be then,' said I, chasing this thought about in a distracted manner, 'can it be possible that their mother would not have defended them from small Bob?—but that, on the contrary, (it is a horrible thought,) she would—would have anticipated that nigger? Were they born with an instinctive dread of that mother? Did they look shudderingly from some pin-hole in their shells before venturing into a wet and miserable world, where their first and last thought must forever be to avoid, as death and destruction, those who should have brought them their first morsels; who should have warned them of the rattlesnake; who should have preserved them from the cat-fish? Alas! here was the bitterness of that knowledge of evil at the first breath of life!

But waiving all this: how readily you will anticipate, Mr. EDITOR, that I at once said to myself, I would possess those alligators. I did. They were put up at auction, and the whole lot came down to me at half-a-bit each, the smallest coin of the country, but a fortune to small Bob. Bob and I went home with a new sensation! Apples and marbles to Bob; to me, something to study, to fuss over, to care for. How refreshing, after the excitement of balls and late suppers, to retire, and still better to rise, upon alligators! How primitive, how scriptural, how pyramidal in suggestion! A large tub with sufficient water to cover them well, was placed in the yard, and tilted a little, so that they could crawl out into the sun; a choice of vegetables and meats thrown in for supper; and the whole family of blacks, by virtue of half-bits, were put in special charge of the contents. As additional security, the old dog was shown, and disliked them; cats were banished; the bear's chain made stronger; and, not unimportant, my room looked out upon the tub. The next morning they were inspected and found to be a trifle better in condition; but I was mortified more than I care to express, that they had wholly refused the dainties we had given them. And this they continued to do, so that for more than a week thereafter, no one had seen them eating. If they had manifested any dislike to any thing we offered, it would have been something to build, to speculate upon; and with my after experience, I should have had my suspicions; but all our relishes, and different solutions, salt water and fresh, and half-and-half, were received with the same indifference. Notwithstanding this, they grew livelier every day, and as I thought, in better spirits. Held up by the tail, they would bark something like a puppy when he first begins to think himself a dog; a quick bark, with a brusque abruptness, and wondering intonation, as though equally surprised and delighted at being able to speak so well. From this circumstance, Mrs. ——, who roomed next door, and had a great variety of lizards, as pets, very early exhibited a decided repugnance to mine, which I found it impossible to remove. She thought they were vicious. I maintained the contrary; insisted that they were a species of enlarged lizard; and that to take any thing by the tail was always a severe trial of temper. 'Not to inquire,' said I, 'as to the affinity in the words cauda and chordis, (the heart and tail of all things,) I beg to remind you, Madam, how irresistible is the wag of the dog's tail when he is pleased; how graceful the curl of the cat's; and how earnestly the calf, that model of innocence, laboreth to raise his what little he can; and as to being held by the tail, what are the facts? The dog is indignant, the cat is furious; in short, all animals resent it as an impertinence; and I submit, could an alligator do less?' But Mrs. —— refused to like them. I was one day taking my half dozen puffs at a cigar, (quite enough in that climate if you would avoid the siesta,) looking down from the balcony with an air of abstraction upon that tub, and puzzling myself as to what could be the particular whim, the acceptable morsel to the palate, of a young alligator, when the thought of fiddlers, the frisking, tempting inimitable fiddlers, came to my mind so easily, that I was vexed so evident a thing could have been overlooked. At that moment Bob was stirring up the bear with a long pole. 'Bob,' said I, shouting across the yard, 'Bob! fiddlers!' 'Eh?' said Bob. 'Fiddlers, Sir, fiddlers, you rogue; run and get a bucket, a whole bucket full.' The fiddlers were soon brought, and a handful of them thrown into the tub, when to my utter astonishment the alligators sidled off to high-water mark, and wholly declined their acquaintance. But here was an excitement at all events. They were not indifferent. And now, were they disgusted, or did they affect that? It was difficult to say; but the next morning the fiddlers had disappeared! If fiddlers had not been abundant in that country they would now have been at a premium, for they continued to disappear as often as they were furnished; and as evidence that they did not escape from the tub, the 'pets' now grew sensibly, barked louder and with more firmness, and were in some degree playful. I do not mean that they had any of that silly affectation which we see in most young animals; such as the kittenish grasping at imaginary mice, or the dog's shaking of a stick, with the idea that it is something very vicious; fallacies all, which seriously considered are so pitiable and lamentable; I could detect nothing of that credulous nature; but sometimes, on coming suddenly upon them, I would find them lying side by side, their fore-feet put forward, and their three noses laid together on the sunny side of the tub, with an air of confidence and trust that was very interesting to witness. Indeed, there was something kindlier in it than you would think of an alligator.

As to my object in keeping them, there were various rumors afloat about town, in the utterance of which, libellous as some of them were, Mrs. —— was perhaps the loudest and most malicious; she having hinted, among other scandalous conjectures, that the soup from alligator-tail being very palatable and delicate, a speculation was afoot contemplating the supply of the northern market with that article. About this time, also, some of her lizards were missing, and thought to have found their way to the tub; but all surmises were soon cut short by the first cold night of that winter, (one of them in February,) which chilled the water so that the 'pets' next morning were quite stiff, and apparently dead. By careful nursing, however, two of them were thoroughly revived, and made to articulate distinctly; but having no thought of a second cold night in the same winter, the waters closed over them again, a thin ice shut out the air, (they had not presence of mind, I suspect, to come to the surface,) and on the morning of the second day they were quite gone. And now, in closing this history, I do not want to be uncharitable, but I suspect Mrs. —— was privately rejoiced at their death; indeed, the whole community, otherwise very sensible and not devoid of sentiment, seemed to regret the circumstance much less than would have been expected.

It will be seen, Mr. EDITOR, from this account of the alligator, that I can say nothing as to what habits he may form in after-life; what evil he may learn, what original sins he may develope and mature; what temptations his power and bloody instincts may present to him; what evil resorts he may be driven to, in an ungrateful world, when he has become case-hardened and impenetrable to outward impressions; or, in short, what contempt he may acquire for the fiddlers and cabbage-leaves of his early days. And what he may do in those vast lagoons where he is undoubtedly master, or in the black depths of the St. Johns, where the water hides the blood he may shed, and the long moss screens him from the tiger; what orgies he may celebrate, what abominations he may practice, when there is none to call him to account; all this I can only conjecture; but I conjecture on the charitable side. In the upper waters of the St. Johns I have seen them in their death-throes; huge animals, at least fifteen feet long; seen them in scores at a time, some swimming about, some tumbling in clumsily, some sprawled on shore, apparently asleep, and some raising their black claws as if to call down vengeance upon us, gnashing their teeth, and lashing the water in their death-agony; but the howlings and smothered thunder that others tell of, came not to my ears; and the exhibition, so furious to others, was to me only the involuntary muscular action of pain and dissolution. Extravagant stories are told of their great strength and tenacity of life, and wonderful exploits are recounted by the great mass who have lived since Agamemnon. While staying over night, not in Egypt, but at the plantation of Doctor W——, a short time before his place was despoiled by the Indians, he related an encounter, which though not so remarkable, is undoubtedly true to the letter.

The doctor in his earlier days had been in some sharp battles against Napoleon, having been a staff-officer to one of the smaller kings of Europe; and although an exceedingly kind and benevolent man, his skirmishing faculties were still lively and unimpaired. In this fight, which came off at Indian River, he of course commanded the engagement, but as it proved, not with his usual success. The alligator, one of enormous size, was so far from the river when discovered, that the doctor had time to call in his gang of men, and make a general attack. Seizing an axe in one hand, and shouting 'Charge!' to his men, all who could get a footing mounted the back of the animal, with a view to stay proceedings till the doctor could despatch him; but to their surprise, the old fellow walked off with his burden with apparent ease. The doctor then waived off his men, and mounting himself, drove the bit of the axe through his hide, probably at the fore-shoulder; but from wrenching, or some other cause, it was found impossible to remove it. The doctor hinted that the heart clasped the bit by strong muscular exertion, with a view to his own private use; but this being speculative merely, I only mention the fact. As he was now nearing the water rapidly, a rope was slipped round the butt of the helm, a quick turn made around a stiff sapling on the bank of the river, and all hands made fast to the rope. At this moment, just as they were all braced, the alligator made his plunge into the water, and the sapling, I don't remember how large, very large however, came up by the roots, and they all went to the bottom together! Some of the negroes, however, came back.

Another Doctor W——, who, unlike his venerated namesake, still lives to relate the marvels of a life unusually varied, has a remarkable store of incidents, encounters, and other matters, quite alligatorical. The doctor will forgive me, if I mistake, but I think he told me that the monsters in the neighborhood of his plantation had in several instances stolen his butcher-knives and chopping instruments; a fact which he made quite certain, by seeing them use the knives in a family way on the other side of the lagoon; and that on one occasion, he was quite astounded at seeing a large alligator making tracks for the water on three legs, with a pitch-fork and crow-bar in his jaws, and a hand-saw erect and glittering from his right arm! Upon these last, however, I do not pronounce.

And now to sum up my opinion of the animal. I believe that notwithstanding these astounding tales, he is rather peaceful and well-disposed, when properly trained, but hath very strangely fixed upon him an idea, not entirely original with him, that the world owes him a living; that he makes drafts that way to an advanced age; that he is non-committal, except upon such matters as he can commit to his private keeping; that his stomach in that respect has great capacity; that he is not over-nice in his diet; is plain and unassuming; is not puffed up, seeing that his hide will not much admit of it; and if he resemble himself to a log adrift, he considereth not what foolish creatures may alight upon his back, or swim within his jaws; he barks no invitation, nor does he flourish with his tail to excite their curiosity; and if they happen in his way when he has done yawning, it is their business, not his.

Lastly, what do I say to the prevalent notion that the waters of the St. Johns, which resemble brandy and water, half-and-half, are colored by the blood of his victims? Answer—it is not so. I have drank of those waters for weeks together (stopping occasionally) and even deepened the color, in a manner peculiar to those who travel in those parts, without feeling half as sanguinary as I do at this moment, from the bare thought of that foul and malicious slander.

These are the matters of faith; the facts, I give you are but two, and perhaps only true of his younger days; that he eateth fiddlers in secret, and dies in a temperature of twenty-six Fahrenheit.



AN EPITAPH.

This shell of stone within it keepeth One who died not, but sleepeth; And in her quiet slumber seemeth As if of heaven alone she dreameth. Her form it was so fair in seeming, Her eyes so heavenly in their beaming, So pure her heart in every feeling, So high her mind in each revealing, A band of angels thought that she Was one of their bright company; And on some homeward errand driven, Hurried her too away to Heaven.



THE CHURCH BELL.

I.

That old church bell is dear to me, When from its ancient tower Its silvery tones sound solemnly, To tell the service-hour; It seems as if it almost spoke The words of trustful prayer, And promised to the spirit broke With sin, a pardon there.

II.

I love it when it sadly tolls The knell of life departed, And gently murmurs sympathy To mourners broken-hearted; It whispers of a spirit passed From doubt and pain and care, And tells of heaven, and bids them hope To meet the lost one there.

III.

I love it when its merry peal Welcomes the coming day, And rouses me from peaceful sleep My gratitude to pay; It bids me pray for strength to do My daily duty given; To hope that each successive morn May find me nearer heaven.

VI.

Then dear is that old bell to me, And dear its merry peal; For 'tis a voice of sympathy With human woe and weal; Whether my heart with sadness sink, Or light with pleasure dance, It speaks to me in every tone Of Life's significance.

J. O. W.



THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.

Harry Harson.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Harry Harson strode into his own house, with his jolly face brimful of cheerfulness. It shone out of his eyes; out of the corners of his half-closed mouth; and even out of his full, round double chin. Every part of him seemed glowing with it; and no sooner had he got in his parlor, than he flung his hat on the table; snapped his fingers over his head in perfect ecstacy; made the hazardous experiment of a slow pirouette around the table, and concluded his performances by making two or three passes with his cane at the nose of Spite, who had been watching his conduct with an air of extreme surprise, not unmingled with disapprobation. The attack upon himself was carrying the joke too far; and after several ineffectual attempts to avoid the point of the cane, with a discontented grumble, between a whine and a growl, he retreated under an old side-board, sadly troubled with misgivings as to the state of his master's intellect.

'Ha, ha! old pup! you don't understand the science of fence; but don't take it hard. I've got a drop of comfort in store for you; for we're to have a blow-out, Spite—a real, regular, out-and-out blow-out—ha! ha! And you shall be under the table during the whole of it,' exclaimed Harson, rubbing his hands together, and chuckling with indescribable glee. 'I'll speak about it at once.' He opened the door and bawled out, in a voice that made the old house shake: 'Hallo! there, Martha, Martha, come here, quick!'

A frantic rush across the kitchen was heard, succeeded by a violent clatter of slip-shod shoes through the entry; for Martha, since the late burglary, being haunted in idea by shabby looking gentlemen with pistols in their pockets, and dark lanterns under their arms, even in broad daylight, was on the look-out for emergencies, and had every thing ready for speedy egress to the street, either through the front door or the cellar window; and the tone of Harson's voice being that of a man in extremity, had such an effect upon her, that when she reached the door, she could only gasp out:

'Lor' me! is they here ag'in?'

'Who?' demanded Harson, not a little surprised at the pale face of his housekeeper.

'The robbers.'

'Poh, poh, nonsense!' replied he, perhaps not a little annoyed by the reflection that his own manner had contributed to her mistake. 'There are no greater thieves here than our two selves. Perhaps I did speak rather loud; but I was not thinking of what I was about. I shall have some friends to dine with me to-morrow, and you must get things ready for them. There may be six, or eight, or a dozen; damme! I don't know how many; but have enough for twenty; d'ye hear?'

Martha curtseyed, at the same time intimating in a faint tone, that she did hear; for she had not entirely recovered from the embarrassment attendant on the precipitancy of her advent into his presence.

'And hark ye!' continued Harson, warming as he went on; 'Frank's the very devil and all; we'll tap the cask in the corner of the cellar. It's prime stuff, which I've kept for some great occasion; and this is a glorious one. And there's the fat saddle of mutton, hanging in the store room: we'll have that. It'll be the very thing for the half-starved boy we've found; and bring down a bottle or two of the red-seal wine; that of 1812. It'll wake up old Dick Holmes, and make him ten years younger. There's no fear of giving him the gout. Ha, ha! Dick Holmes with the gout! I'd like to see that!' exclaimed he, bursting out into a broad laugh at the bare idea of such a catastrophe. 'Well, well,' added he, after a minute's consideration, 'you may go, Martha. Upon the whole, I think I'll get the things myself, and go to market too. There, that's all.'

Harson's spirits however were too exuberant to permit him to remain quiet; for after he had returned to the room, drawn a chair to the fire, thrown on a few sticks of wood, seated himself with a foot on each andiron, folded his hands complacently over his abdomen, and fixed his eyes upon the clock, as if it were a settled thing that he was to retain this attitude for at least an hour, or perhaps a year, he suddenly started up, thrust his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, and walked up and down the room, whistling with all his might; but even by whistling, he was unable to work off his surplus of buoyancy. It was evidently gaining ground upon him, do what he would. He had reached his present state by rapid stages. From a feeling of complacency he had passed to one of high satisfaction; from that to one of mirthfulness; thence he advanced rapidly to one of joviality; and he was now fast verging upon one of uproariousness. Something must be done! Excessive steam bursts a boiler; why should not a similar surplus of delight burst a man? He wouldn't risk it! He must find some vent for it. Ha! ha! It just occurred to him that the widow hadn't heard the news. He clapped on his hat, seized his cane, and sallied out into the street, in his haste shutting in Spite, who had started to follow him, and who yelped mournfully for an hour afterward, to the great edification of a thin maiden lady, who resided next door, and was indulging herself with a nervous head-ache.

There must have been something in the expression of Harson's face which bore the stamp of his feelings; for as he trudged along, with a free independent air, striding as lustily as if only twenty instead of sixty years had passed over his head, and as if every sinew were as well strung, and every muscle as firm as ever; not a few turned to take a second look at his hearty, honest face; for such an one was not often met with; and as they did so, observed: 'There goes a jolly old cock.'

Rap! rap! rap! went the head of his cane against the door of Mrs. Chowles's blinking old house; but he was too much at home to think of waiting for a reply, and had gone through the ceremony only for the purpose of removing from his entrance all appearance of being underhanded or surreptitious; for no sooner had he knocked with one hand, than with the other he raised the latch and walked without hesitation toward the widow's little parlor.

'Ah, ha! my visit will be a surprise to her!' thought he, as he took the knob of the door in his hand. He was a true prophet. A faint scream escaped the lady, for she was opening the door to come out at the very moment he was doing the same to enter; and as the movements of both were rapid, the lady precipitated herself into his arms, which in a most unexpected manner closed about her, while three hearty smacks were deposited on her forehead before she well knew where she was.

'Mr. Harson!' exclaimed she, extricating herself, though without any appearance of anger; 'is it you?'

'By Jove, I believe it is!' replied Harson. 'If it isn't, it's some gay fellow of twenty or thereabout, for I haven't been so young for thirty years as I am to-day.'

Mrs. Chowles saw from his manner, and knew from the unusual hour of his visit, that there was something on his mind which he had come to communicate; and as she was not of that class who take pleasure in keeping others in suspense, especially when she was liable to be a fellow-sufferer, she drew an easy chair to the fire, and taking a seat in another, said: 'Sit down, Harry. Now, what is it? what ails you?'

'What ails me?' exclaimed her visitor, turning his round joyous countenance to her; 'look at me. Don't you see what a boy I've grown; how the wrinkles have gone from my cheeks, and how clear and bright my eye is! Look at me, from top to toe. See how jolly I am, and hear how loud and lusty my laugh is: Ha! ha! ha!'

The lady did look at him; and did observe all the peculiarities to which he called her attention; and did listen to his loud ringing laugh; and then, not knowing what to make of him, drew away.

'Aha! widow, you're frightened at finding yourself alone with such a gay fellow!' said he, laughing still more merrily. 'Well, well, don't be alarmed, for I'm not in the least dangerous; and to tell the truth, I am so overjoyed to-day that I may be indulged in a little foolery. But I'll keep you no longer in suspense. You recollect little Annie, the little child who fled to my house for protection?'

'Yes; well?'

'And you remember too, how often I told you that that poor starved, cast-off little thing looked to me like one born for a better destiny, and like one who had seen brighter times; and how often you ridiculed me, when I spoke of the faint recollections which still flitted through her mind of sunnier hours; and how you said that they were merely dreams, and that I was almost as great a child as she was, to attach any weight to them; though you admitted—I'll give you credit for that—you did admit that she was a beautiful, good little thing, and worthy to belong to the best in the land. And when I said that Providence never would have sent such a frail being as that into the world as a beggar's brat, you told me, on the contrary, that HE might have cast the lot of that child, frail, feeble, sickly as she was, amid the very outcasts of the earth for wise purposes, which we never could fathom; and that I had no right to reason in that way on the subject, or to comment on HIS doings. And there, widow,' added he solemnly, 'you were right, and I was very wrong. But I was correct in my surmises as to the child. She was born for a brighter destiny, even than my humble roof; although,' added he, his voice somewhat choked, 'she'll never be where they'll love her more. But it's all right, and she must go; for her parents are discovered. They are of the best in the land; she is not a beggar's brat. Her brother too, is found; a miserably, thin hollow-eyed fellow; but we'll put flesh on him. This is not all,' added he, 'every body seems in luck to-day. Old Jacob Rhoneland has escaped scathless out of Rust's clutches. Rust himself is on his way to the devil post-haste, and there is nothing left to be done but to heal the breach between Jacob and Ned. This matter settled, I hope to see Kate's cheeks once more plump and round and rosy. I hope not only to see them, but to kiss them too. I'm not too old to fancy such things, I can tell you; and now, widow, hadn't I a right to be a little boisterous? Ah! I see that you think me excusable; but bring me a pipe, and I'll give you all the particulars over that. I'm a little thirsty, too; for I've already told a long story, and have yet a longer one to tell.'

The pipe was produced; the small three-legged table was placed at his side, to support his elbow; and Harson, having carefully lighted his pipe, suffered the smoke to eddy about his nose, while he arranged his ideas, and cleared his throat; and then he entered into a full and faithful detail of the proceedings which had been taken to unmask the villany of Rust; and the various steps and precautions which had finally led to success.

It was a pleasant sight to see two such persons as Harson and his crony, both in the autumn of life, but with the charities of the heart yet green and unwithered, talking and gossipping together, with eyes bright and beaming with mutual admiration; each fully aware of the foibles of the other, but carefully indulgent to them; for each knew that the heart of the other was an odd casket, encasing a gem of the noblest kind, from which radiated love, charity, and benevolence to man. Oh! Harry, Harry! how joyously and yet mildly you looked into that widow's dark liquid eyes; and how gently and confidingly she returned that look! What a risk you both ran! Had you and she been but a few years younger, had either of you cherished a whit less tenderly the memory of those who had once been all in all to you, and whose forms were slumbering under the green sod, that widow might have been a wife, and Harry Harson no longer a stout, sturdy old bachelor; for it cannot be denied, that he did become a little animated as he proceeded; and that he did take the widow's hand in his, and did squeeze it, perhaps with a little too much freedom, and did look into her eyes, as if he loved her with his whole soul and body into the bargain; nor can it be denied that she was pleased with these tokens of esteem, or love, or friendship, or whatever else she might have thought them; for she did not withdraw her hand, and she smiled when he smiled; and there certainly was a strong sympathy apparent in their looks; and even when in the fervor of his feelings he held his pipe between his teeth to free the hand which held it, and deliberately squeezed both of her hands in his, still she did not appear embarrassed, nor vexed; and when he had released it, quietly went on with her sewing, as composedly as if what he had just done was quite usual, and a matter of course.

'And now, Mrs. Chowles,' said Harson, as he concluded his narrative; 'upon the strength of our success we are to have a jollification to-morrow at my house; and we'll have Dick Holmes there, and Kate, and Ned Somers, and Kate's father. He must make up with Ned then, if not before. He knows he was wrong, and he must give up.'

'But will he?' inquired the widow, anxiously. 'You know Jacob's a wrong-headed old man, in some things. Will he?'

'Wont he?' ejaculated Harson, with a peculiar wink and nod of satisfaction, as if he and himself were on excellent terms, and understood what they were about perfectly well. 'I tell you what it is,' added he, in a more grave tone; 'Jacob has had his own way, or rather Michael Rust's way, in this matter, too long. He shall have it no longer. He shall not break his child's heart. I will not permit it.' He took his pipe from his mouth, and slapped his knee emphatically. 'Have you observed no change in the girl, since then? If you have not, I have. She is still the same devoted, affectionate child to that warped old man that she always was; but look at her face and form, and listen to her voice. She was once the gayest, merriest little creature that ever lived. It threw sunshine into one's heart only to look at her; and when she spoke, did you ever hear a bird whose voice was half so joyous? Poor thing! when she laughs now, it makes my heart ache. It's like the smile of one dying, when he is trying to whisper hope to those who are weeping over his death-bed. God bless her! and how should it be otherwise? But no matter; the worst is past. And now,' said he, 'I must be gone. I came here to tell you the story, and to ask you to dine with us; and between you and me, perhaps you had better come early in the day, and keep an eye over Martha; for the idea of a dinner party has quite frightened her; and there are so many little things to be done, which I know nothing about, and which you understand, and without which we should have every thing helter-skelter, that you must come, or I'll never forgive you.' Harry made this last menace with so fierce an air, and his mouth pursed up in so ferocious a manner, although his eyes were dancing with fun, that the lady consented at once.

'It's well for you that you did,' said Harson, rising and putting on his hat; 'if you hadn't, I don't know what I should have done; but it would have been something dreadful. I'm a terrible fellow when fairly roused.' Then shaking the lady's hand, as if he intended to dislocate her shoulders, he put his cane under his arm and went out.

'Ha! ha! old Jacob! you and I must have a tussle. Ha! ha!' exclaimed he, still carrying his cane under his arm, and his hands under his coat tails, 'you must hear a little of what I think. A few words of wholesome advice will do you no harm, and will rub off the rust that old age has fastened upon you.'

With this hostile resolution upon his tongue, the old man made the best of his way to Rhoneland's house. Jacob was there, dozing in his chair, with his white locks hanging loosely over his shoulders; and Kate was sitting at his side engaged in sewing. She was paler than usual; and there was a nervous restlessness in her manner, which did not escape the quick glance of Harson. He thought too that she seemed somewhat thinner than she was wont to be. It might be mere suspicion, but still he thought so.

'It's too bad,' muttered he; 'but I'll set matters right, or my name's not Harry Harson.'

There was something in the hearty greeting of the old fellow, as he took her hands in his and called her his bright-eyed girl, so full of happiness that it was impossible not to catch the same feeling as he spoke; and even Jacob, as he felt the cordial grasp of his hand, assured himself, and assumed something like a cheerful smile.

'Well, Kate,' said Harson, drawing a chair between her and her father; 'I've news for you; and for you too, my old fellow,' said he, turning to Rhoneland; 'we've used Rust up.'

Jacob stared at him, smiled faintly and half doubtfully, and then sank back in his chair without speaking.

'Do you hear me?' exclaimed Harson, seizing him by the collar and shaking him; 'do you hear me? Why don't you jump up and hurrah at the downfall of such a scoundrel? Ha! ha! We've been on his track for months; but we've run him down at last; and then he made a virtue of necessity, and told all—all about the children, and about you, and about Ned; all lies, all lies—every word of them: Ned he swore was as honest a fellow as ever lived, or something to that effect. You, he admitted, had committed no forgery; not a word of truth in it; but all invented, to force you to consent to his marriage with my own little sweet-heart, Kate. God bless me! how near I was to losing her! Perhaps you don't know that I intend marrying her myself? Why don't you get up now, and hurrah? Confound it, I never saw such people in all my life. Halloh! by Jove! Kate, quick! some water! I swear, the old fellow has fainted!'

As he spoke, Rhoneland's head fell back, and the color forsook his cheeks. Harson caught him, while Kate ran for water and brandy, a small quantity of which being poured into his mouth, soon brought him to himself. Having waited until he was sufficiently composed to listen, Harson commenced from the beginning of his story, and detailed to both of his listeners much that they already knew, and not a little which they had never dreamed of; the causes which had first led to the enmity between Grosket and Rust, and then, step by step, what they had done to detect and bring to light his villany. 'Rust manoeuvred well and skilfully,' said he, 'for he was a bold, reckless man, who stuck at nothing, and fought to the last. It is doubtful whether he would not have got the better of us in the end, had not a sudden misfortune fallen upon him, which prostrated his energies and broke his hard heart. After that, he was no longer the same man; but confessed every thing, and among other things, that it had been his intention to become the husband of Kate, and finding that you were opposed to it, he tried the effect of a display of wealth upon you. This failed. Then he resolved to see what fear could do; and threatened to have you indicted for forgery; and admitting that you were innocent, he yet showed so clearly how he could support his charge, and succeed in blasting your character, that you shrunk from collision with him: still you would not consent to sacrifice your child, although you dared not give him such an answer as would shut out all hope. There was another obstacle in his way. This was a certain young fellow, who as well as Rust, had an eye on Kate, and whom perhaps Kate did not think the worst man in the world. Rust determined to be rid of him; so he basely slandered him to you; and you, not suspecting Rust's veracity, as the knowledge which you already had of his character should have induced you to do, rashly forbade his rival the house; and I am sorry to say, added harsh words to the wrong which you were already committing. I need not tell you who that young man was. He came to me shortly afterward and told me what had occurred. He's a noble fellow, for not one hard word or epithet did he breathe against you. He said he was aware that for a long time back some person had been endeavoring to poison your mind against him. He had observed it in the gradual change of your manner, and in your avoiding his society. He had hoped, he said, that in time, when you found out that his character was fair and irreproachable, that these hard feelings would wear off, and you could again meet as heretofore. But this was not to be. Instead of diminishing, your hostility to him increased, until one day when he was in your own house, you used language to him which left him no alternative but to quit it forever. The charges which you made against him were very grave, Jacob, and very vile; and when you made them you had no right to withhold the name of the person on whose authority you accused him; but you did; and although Ned might and did suspect one person, Michael Rust, to be the kind friend to whom he owed your ill will, yet he had no proof of it that would justify him in calling him to account. Ned had a hard task before him; for the charge you made against him was that of harboring evil thoughts and of cherishing unfair designs against your child. It was a serious charge, and one that he could not refute; for a man's thoughts are not susceptible of proof; all that he can do in justification, is to point to his past life and say: 'Judge by that;' and unless Ned could impeach the character of his traducer, of whom he was then ignorant, but who now stands revealed in the person of Michael Rust, as great a scoundrel as ever lived, he had no alternative but to submit, and to hope that time would exculpate him. Now Jacob, even supposing Rust had not confessed that the tales which he had told you respecting Ned were calumnies, is there any thing in Ned's past life to justify the suspicion you have cherished against him? Answer candidly, and you will answer 'No.' Rust's motive was clear enough; he feared Somers, and wished to drive from you one who might be a friend in time of need, and who might one day stand as a shield between you and his dark purposes. Come, Jacob, Rust has confessed all; what he did, what his motives were; and now, tell me, whether you cannot say, from the bottom of your heart, 'Ned Somers, I have wronged you?''

He paused, and looked earnestly at Rhoneland, while every feature glowed with the fervor of his feelings. 'Come, Jacob, what do you say?'

There was one other person too who leaned forward to catch the reply; but Rhoneland answered:

'She's my only child, and she's very dear to me. It was a cruel suspicion, and perhaps I did act hastily. I will not say that I did not, for I was greatly excited, and said many things that I have since forgotten. But it was better that he should go. Wasn't it, Kate?'

He turned to his daughter, took her hand, and repeated his question. 'Wasn't it better that he should keep away Kate?'

Kate's voice trembled as she asked: 'What harm did he do, father, in coming here? If his character is fair, why should he not come?'

Her father eyed her with an uneasy look. In truth, he feared Ned's presence; for he knew that he loved Kate, and that she reciprocated the feeling; and with the selfishness which old age sometimes brings with it, he was unwilling that she should care for another than himself, or that another should have a claim upon her. At last, he replied rather sharply: 'The reason why he should not come, is because I don't want him.'

Kate drew back, and said not another word; but Harson saw from her compressed lip that the reply had cut deeply; and catching her eye, he made a sign to her to leave them. Kate took the hint, and went out; and Harson, after looking Rhoneland steadily in the face for some time, said, 'Jacob, you have given your reason why Ned Somers should not come here. It's a very poor one, and not such as I expected. Now I'll give you mine why he should: Kate loves him, and he loves her.'

Jacob knit his brows, but made no reply.

'And let me tell you, too, that unless you do consent, your child will die. I'm in earnest. There are some who fall in love, as they call it, a hundred times; bestowing their affections, such as they are, sometimes on one, sometimes on another; until at last perhaps the owner of a handsome face offers his hand and gets in return the tattered thing they call their heart. God help me! this is called love. But thank God, for the credit of human nature, there are others who love as they should—purely, nobly, with their whole soul. These love once, and only once; and wo to the man who unwisely, or for his own selfish ends, crosses them! The sin of a broken heart too often lies at his door. Jacob, you're an old man; but you are not too old to have forgotten the wife who once was yours. You loved her well, my dear old fellow, I know it,' said he, taking his hand. 'She deserved it too. Kate is very like her. What would have been your feelings had any one stepped in between you and her?'

Rhoneland grew very pale, and the tears came in his eyes.

'Come, come, Jacob, I'll not press the matter now; but you must reflect on what I've said; and you must not forget how much Kate has at stake. Ned's a glorious fellow, and will make your house very cheery.'

'Well, I'll think of it,' replied Rhoneland, after a short pause.

'Do; that's a good fellow. I'll consider it a personal favor; and I do think you owe me something for the pains I've taken in aiding to rid you of that rascal, Rust.'

'I do indeed owe you much,' replied Rhoneland, earnestly, 'and I am sincerely grateful.'

'Well, well, we wont speak of that; only reflect on what I have just said; and by the way,' added he, rising to go, 'you must oblige me in another matter. Two or three friends are to dine with me to-morrow; you and Kate must be of the party.'

'We will,' was the reply.

'Good! Now go up stairs and comfort Kate.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

A bright glowing day was the following one, the day of the dinner party; and right gladly did the golden sun beam out from the deep fathomless sky, as if from his lofty look-out he were aware of what was going on in this world below, and rejoiced in the failure of the evil machinations which had been so long disturbing the tranquillity of the worthy individuals who have figured in this history. And fortunate it was that neither clouds nor rain obscured his face, for had the latter been added to the cares which the approaching dinner-party had already accumulated upon the culinary department of Harson's household, the house-keeper in the tall cap with stiff ribbons would have gone stark-mad. Miserable woman! how she worked and fumed, and panted and tugged, and kneaded and rolled, and stuffed and seasoned, and skewered and basted, and beat, on that day! From soup to dessert and from dessert to soup, over and over again, she toiled; fish, flesh, fowl, vegetables, gravies, were all mingled in her head helter-skelter. She had dreamed of nothing else during the whole of the previous night, excepting a short interlude in the aforesaid dream, when she was night-mared by a fat pig, bestrode by a half-starved boy, who was all eyes. And now, as the day waned and the hour of the dinner approached, her ferment increased, until, to use a metaphor, she had worked herself up into a mental lather. Her voice was in every quarter, and so was her quick, hurried step. She was in the entry, up stairs, in the pantry, in the kitchen and in the cellar; at the street-door giving orders to the grocer's dirty boy to bring the cinnamon and allspice, and not to forget the sugar and butter, and to be sure to recollect the anchovies and pickles. The next moment she was scolding the butcher, because he had been late with the chops and cutlets; and every five minutes she thrust her head into the room to look at the clock, lest Time should steal a march upon her. Eleven, twelve, one, two o'clock. The tumult increased. Mrs. Chowles, punctual to her promise, made her appearance; forthwith dived into the kitchen, and did not emerge until dinner-time. The only person utterly unmoved was Harson, who had attended to his part of the business by looking after the wine, and who now sat with his feet to the fire, resolved to trouble his head about nothing, and apparently more asleep than awake. At times, however, he rose and went to one corner of the room, where a small boy who seemed to be worn down by suffering, lay coiled up and sound asleep on a chair-cushion. The old man bent over him, gently parted the hair from his forehead, and then rising up, somewhat red in the face from the exertion, rubbed his hands one over the other by way of indicating that all was as it should be; stole back to his seat on tiptoe, lest he should awaken him, and forthwith relapsed into his former state of dreamy abstraction. Nothing could arouse him; not even the house-keeper when she dashed into the room with a face at roasting heat, and demanded the key of the wine-cellar. It was handed to her mechanically, and mechanically pocketed when she brought it back.

But the hour of dinner drew near; and a smell began to pervade the house which aroused Harson at last. He sat up in his chair and smacked his lips; and Spite, who for an undue curiosity as to the contents of a small pasty, exhibited early in the day, had been escorted into the room by the house-keeper aided by a broomstick, sat under the same chair licking his lips and slavering profusely.

Again the red face of the house-keeper was projected in the room, and as instantly withdrawn. It wanted half an hour to the time. In and out again; it wanted twenty-five minutes. In and out again; twenty minutes. The matter was growing serious, and there was something frantic in her looks. But this time Harson caught her, and told her that it was time to put an end to that performance, as he expected his friends every minute; that she must guess as to the time; and that he would ring when she was to serve the dinner.

A rap at the door! and before it could be answered, a heavy step crossed the ante-chamber.

'There's Frank,' said Harson, rising and facing the door; and in came the doctor. But he was not alone; for close behind him followed Ned Somers, dressed in his best. Harry shook hands with them; but before he had time to do more than that, Jacob Rhoneland entered with Kate on his arm, looking very rosy from her walk.

What could it be that caused Ned's heart to flounce and dance about as wildly as a caged bird; and his cheek to grow at first pale, and then burning hot; and his lips to quiver, and his voice to tremble so that he could scarcely speak; and for a moment was unable even to tell Kate that he was glad to see her? Whatever the complaint was, it was infectious; for Kate's heart certainly did beat very rapidly; and her color went and came, until it settled into a deep burning blush, as she turned and saw Ned there, looking at her as if he had eyes for nothing else.

'Good morning Mr. Somers,' said she, at last, in a tone that was neither firm nor clear.

'Call me Ned, Kate,' said he in a low voice; 'don't say Mr. Somers. Wont you shake hands with me? There can be no harm in that.' He extended his hand; she placed hers in it, and at the same time whispered in his ear, (for Harry, seeing that there was some by-play going on, kept Jacob busy,) 'Speak to father as if nothing had happened. I think he's inclined to make up. Do, Ned.'

Turning from him, she commenced talking to the Doctor, while Somers, after a moment's hesitation, went up to the old man and offered his hand.

Rhoneland hesitated, for he experienced the reluctance which old age always evinces to succumb to those younger in years; and it was not very pleasant to admit that his conduct toward Ned had been wrong. But there was something in the expression of Ned's face, and even in the way in which he offered his hand, which showed that the past was forgiven; and beside that, what had already happened could not be mended by holding out; so Jacob grasped his hand, and said frankly:

'Ned, my young friend, I wronged thee sadly. I hope you will pardon it.'

'That's right, Jacob! Spoken like a whole-hearted old fellow, as you are!' exclaimed Harson, patting him on the shoulder. 'To be sure he will forgive you, and thank you for the chance. If he doesn't he's not what I take him to be. Don't you pardon him?' demanded he, turning to Somers, and at the same time casting a quizzical look in the direction of Kate.

Ned laughed; said something about pardon being unnecessary, where no offence had been taken; and then commenced talking about indifferent matters.

Presently Holmes came in; and after him Grosket; and one or two cronies of Harson's; and then the little girl; so that the room became quite full. The boy too, aroused by the noise of talking, awoke; stared wildly around him, and though a boy of genteel lineage, evinced a great distaste to mingling in society; and fought manfully to retain his position in the corner, when Harson attempted to lead him out. His sister endeavored, in an undertone, to impress upon him the propriety of adapting his manners to the change in his situation; but it must be confessed that her success was but indifferent; and it is a matter of some doubt whether he would ever have emerged, had not a tall, awkward boy, (a second cousin of the housekeeper, and apprenticed to a tailor,) who had been borrowed to officiate as waiter on this eventful occasion, thrust his head in the door and remarked, 'Cousin Martha says you may come to dinner just as quick as you like,' and forthwith disappeared, slamming the door after him, and clattering across the entry as if shod with paving-stones.

This aroused the company; and this too emboldened the small boy, who being restrained by his sister from rushing in the room before any one else, nevertheless crowded in, and secured a seat at the table, opposite the best dish.

What a sight! A table loaded with fish and flesh and fowl; glittering and glowing with cleanliness; linen as white as snow, and plates and dishes that glistened and shone until you could see your face in them, while the steam alone, which arose from each of them, might have made a lean man fat; and then there were the decanters too, in which the ruby wine sparkled, until it made even Dick Holmes smack his lips.

'Aha!' ejaculated one of the neighbors, a thin, hungry fellow, with large eyes; 'aha!' And he snuffed up the dinner as if he intended to appropriate it all, and as if, mistaking the table and its contents for a snuff-box, he supposed his nose to be the only member destined to play a part there.

Harry paused at the head of his table, and said a short grace; and then seizing a carving knife, he plunged it forthwith into the fat saddle: right merrily the red gravy spirted out; and as he drew the knife along the bone, and cut out the long strips, the steam and savor filling the room, it was to be feared that the thin neighbor would have gone beside himself, lest his pet piece should be given to some one else before his turn came. But such a dinner as graced that table is a thing to be eaten, not spoken of; and so thought the small boy, who notwithstanding his genteel extraction, brought with him the appetite which he had acquired by education. A dreadful havoc he made in that fat saddle! It was labor lost for his sister to kick and pinch him under the table, in hopes of checking his course. He kicked backed again, but could not pinch; his hands were too busy. What eyes he had for the meats and gravies! what a deaf ear he turned to all invitations to waste his energies on bread and vegetables, or trifles of that sort! His appetite, though belonging to a child, was full grown, and needed no assistance. All that he required was quantity—and he got it.

'Help yourself, my son,' said Harson, actually growing hungry by seeing the child eat. 'Don't spare any thing.'

The boy looked up at him, and said nothing. He was a fellow of few words, but of great action; and for one of six years of age, he was a phenomenon; and displayed a capacity which would have done credit to a man or a barrel.

The first course went off, and so did a second and third. Martha had excelled herself; a cooking-stove was nothing to her. Everything was praised; and at every fresh eulogy, the tall boy was missing from his attendance on the table. He had darted to the kitchen, to communicate the intelligence to his aunt. How he enjoyed that party! how he skimmed his fingers round the plates, as he took them through the entry; sucking the ends of them so loudly, that his aunt thought that corks were flying out of the porter-bottles! He was perfectly happy. One thing alone puzzled him; that was the knotty question why people couldn't eat every thing off the same plate.

It was remarked, that when the dinner was over, some of the guests were uncommonly mellow; and it is credibly asserted, that Dick Holmes, who had spent his life among parchment and cobwebs, had during the meal buried his mouth in the bosom of his own waistcoat, and had there been heard confidentially singing to himself a short song of an Anacreontic character. But be that as it may, when he rose from the table, his eye certainly was a little lively, and his spirits were high. Nor was there any flagging among the rest; for whether the jests were good or bad, or the songs poor, or the conversation common-place, certain it is, that a more jovial set had never met. Every one seemed to have been placed beside the person who suited him; Harry sat with Jacob on one side of him, and the widow at the head of the table, with the Doctor at her right hand; and Dick Holmes and Grosket together; and Ned and Kate, so close that their elbows touched; and Annie beside her brother; and her brother, although somewhat incommoded by his sister, directly opposite the fattest part of the saddle of mutton! And then the one or two neighbors, who knew no one except each other, seated in a knot, contrived to grow moist and merry, because the others did, and laughed because Harry did. Choice spirits! who could split their very sides, without a joke to abet them in it; weren't they the fellows to help out a dinner party?

When they separated, it was late at night. The doctor gallantly volunteered to escort the widow to her abode, which offer was accepted without hesitation. Harry remarked that as it was a fine night, he thought he would walk too.

'Come, Jacob, you and I will go together,' said he, taking the old man by the arm; 'and Ned, you look after Kate. No grumbling, but make yourself useful.' Saying this, he trudged rapidly on, dragging the old man with him.

What passed between him and Jacob, or what took place between Ned and Kate, I cannot say; but they certainly were the two tardiest people that ever walked; for long after Harson and Rhoneland had reached the end of their journey, and stood waiting in front of Rhoneland's door, they were not in sight; and when they did at last appear, it seemed a perfect eternity before they were within calling distance; and then even longer before they reached to the door. And although from the pace at which they had come, it might have been argued that one or the other of them was laboring under extreme debility or fatigue, yet it was a remarkable fact, that the looks of neither justified such a conclusion; for Kate appeared uncommonly lively and buoyant, and Ned seemed as if he only required two fiddlers and a tambourine to perform his part in an imaginary quadrille in the street.

'What idlers you are!' exclaimed Harry, as they came up! 'As for you,' said he, turning to Ned, 'such a loiterer should be trusted to escort no one unless it were his grandmother or a rheumatic old lady of seventy.'

Ned Somers laughed, as he answered: 'We don't all walk as rapidly as you do.'

'The more shame for you,' exclaimed Harson. 'Upon my life! I believe I'm younger than any of you. Look to yourself, my lad, or I may take it into my head to cut you out of a wife; and if you lose her, you won't require the snug little legacy which I intend to leave you when I'm under ground. Come; shake hands with the girl, and bid her good night: you've kept her in the street long enough. Good night, Jacob—Good night, Kate.'

He took her hand, and whispered, 'Be of good heart; your father is coming round.'

His mouth was very near her ear; and as he whispered, Ned happened to be looking at them, and thought that the communication did not stop with the whisper; and Harson himself looked very wickedly up at him, as much as to say: 'Do you see that?—you had better have a sharp eye to your interests!'

Long and earnest was the conversation which ensued between Harson and Somers on their way home; and nobly did the character of that old man shine out, as he detailed his future views for his young friend's welfare.

'You need not thank me,' said he, in reply to Ned's warm acknowledgments. 'The best return that I can have will be, to find you always in word and deed such that I may be proud of you; and hereafter, when I see others looking up to you, and hear you spoken of as one whose character is above all reproach, that I may say to myself: 'Thank God, I helped to make him what he is.' This is all that I want, Ned; and your future life will be your best acknowledgment, or will prove your heartless ingratitude. Let neither success nor failure tempt you to swerve from what your own heart tells you to be right and fair. Turn out as your schemes may, never forget to keep your motives pure; and believe me, that come what will, you'll find an easy conscience a great comforter in the hour of trial. Your father was one of my oldest friends; a noble upright man he was; and it would have wounded him deeply that any one belonging to him should have been otherwise; and it would give me many a heavy hour if his only child did not turn out all that I expect him to be. I am right glad to learn that you are getting bravely on in your business; and as for this matter with Kate,' said he, pausing, for they had come to where their routes separated, 'it can easily be made right. I love her as my own child; and I would not have her thwarted for the world. I'll see Jacob again to-morrow; and have no doubt that he will give his consent at last. Perhaps it would be better for you not to present yourself at his house too soon. Work your way back to where you were, cautiously, and say nothing to him about marrying Kate, until you and he are on your old terms of good fellowship. It wont be long, depend on it: and now, recollect what I told you a few moments ago. If you want any assistance in your business, or if a loan of a thousand or two dollars, or a good word from me, will push you on, you shall have it. Good night!' And Harson had not gone a hundred yards, before he was whistling so loud that he might have been heard half a mile.

'God help you, Harry!' muttered Somers, looking after the stout, burly figure of his friend; 'God bless your warm old heart! What a glorious world this would be, if there were more in it like you!'



LITERARY NOTICES.

NARRATIVE OF THE TEXAN SANTA FE EXPEDITION: Comprising a description of a Tour through Texas, and across the great South-western prairies, the Camanche and Cayguea Hunting-grounds, with an account of the suffering from want of food, losses from hostile Indians, and final capture of the Texans, and their march as prisoners to the city of Mexico. By GEORGE WILKINS KENDALL. In two volumes. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

This is by far the most racy and interesting book of travels we have read for a long time. Every body is of course acquainted with the general history of the expedition; its romantic projects, its speedy defeat, and the calamitous sufferings which its members were forced to undergo. But ill-fated as it was, the rich and most amusing personal incident with which every step of its progress appears from this book to have been crowded, commends it most forcibly to our admiration. We cannot say that we should have been quite willing to accompany our friend KENDALL through all the severities of his adventurous journey; nor can we refuse our sincere sympathy with him and his brave companions, in the terrible scenes through which they passed. But he has told all these adventures in so pleasing and interesting a manner, and has so sprinkled through the narrative sketches of personal incident, abounding with wit and humor, that the volumes must be read with a delight as keen as the sufferings recorded were real and severe. Mr. KENDALL writes in a style admirably adapted to the narration of just such a history as he has given; it is simple and clear, aiming at nothing more than to give a plain statement of actual occurrences; and yet it is remarkably spirited, and distinguished at times by great felicity of expression. He is a capital traveller, never shrinking from any danger or difficulty, close in his observation, and gifted with a love of fun, and a 'touch' of humor which no extremity, however terrible or threatening, can wholly repress. The reader of the work must be continually surprised at the repeated instances which occur where this disposition is strongly manifested; and while it must have relieved to a considerable degree the sufferings which he was forced to undergo, it gives to the book increased and attractive interest. We should be glad to follow Mr. KENDALL through his journey, and present copious extracts from the account he has given of its progress and incidents; but this our limits will not allow; and we can only glance at the general history of the expedition, and copy a tithe of the passages we have marked in reading the two excellent volumes he has given us.

At the opening of his book, Mr. KENDALL gives us a statement of the motives which induced him to join the expedition, and an introduction to the persons of whom it was composed. His purposes, of course, were entirely pacific, growing out of a desire to recruit his health, a wish to procure new materials for writing, and a love of adventure in general. He took care to provide himself with passports from the Mexican authorities, which he naturally supposed would protect him, as an American citizen, from molestation and injury. The first part of their journey led them over the vast prairies and hunting grounds of Western Texas; and their adventurous progress is admirably sketched in his flowing narrative. Their exploits in hunting buffalo; their frights from, and encounters with, the wild Indians; their serenades from the wolves, and all the incidents by which a journey of so large a troop over ground before almost untrodden, would naturally be distinguished, are most graphically and humorously described. We copy the following interesting description of a stampede, or flight of terror, with which great numbers of horses or oxen are sometimes seized, with a humorous sketch of the exploits in this line, of one of the nags of the expedition:

'Nothing can exceed the grandeur of the scene when a large cavallada, or drove of horses, takes a 'scare.' Old, weather-beaten, time-worn, and broken-down steeds—horses that have nearly given out from hard work and old age—will at once be transformed into wild and prancing colts. When first seized with that indescribable terror which induces them to fly, they seem to have been suddenly endowed with all the attributes of their original wild nature. With heads erect, tails and manes streaming in air, eyes lit up and darting beams of fright, old and jaded hacks will be seen prancing and careering about with all the buoyancy of action which characterizes the antics of young colts; then some one of the drove, more frightened than the rest, will dash off in a straight line, the rest scampering after him, and apparently gaining fresh fears at every jump. The throng will then sweep along the plain with a noise which may be likened to something between a tornado and an earthquake, and as well might feeble man attempt to arrest either of the latter.

'Were the earth rending and cleaving beneath their feet, horses, when under the terryfying influence of a stampede, could not bound away with greater velocity or more majestic beauty of movement. I have seen many an interesting race, but never any thing half so exciting as the flight of a drove of frightened horses. The spectator, who may possibly have a nag among them which he has been unable to get into a canter by dint of spur and whip, sees his property fairly flying away at a pace that a thorough-bred racer might envy. Better 'time,' to all appearance, he has never seen made, and were it not that he himself is as much astounded as the horses, there might be very pretty betting upon the race.

'On one occasion, when a closely-hobbled horse was rushing madly along the prairie under the influence of fright, his owner coolly remarked: 'I wish I could make that critter go as fast on my own account without hobbles, as he can on his own with them—I'd gamble on him sure.' And so it is. No simile can give the reader a fair conception of the grandeur of the spectacle, and the most graphic arrangement of words must fall far short in describing the startling and imposing effect of a regular stampede!

'While upon this subject, I should not, perhaps, neglect to notice one of the little private stampedes my friend Falconer's horse was in the habit of occasionally getting up, principally on his own individual account and to gratify his own peculiar tastes and desires, entirely regardless, all the while, of his master's convenience as well as of the public safety.

'He was a short, thick-set, scrubby, wiry nag, tough as a pine knot, and self-willed as a pig. He was moreover exceedingly lazy, as well as prone to have his own way, and take his own jog—preferring a walk or gentle trot to a canter; and so deep-rooted were his prejudices in favor of the former methods of getting over the ground, that neither whip nor spur could drive him from them. He possessed a commendable faculty of taking most especial good care of himself, which he manifested by being always found where water was nearest and the grass best, and on the whole might be termed, in the language of those who consider themselves judges of horse flesh, a 'tolerable chunk of a pony' for a long journey.

'He had one bad quality however, which was continually putting his master to serious inconvenience, and on more than one occasion came near resulting seriously to all. One day we stopped to 'noon' close by a spring of water, and had simply taken the bridles from our horses to give them a chance to graze, when he improved the occasion to show off one of his eccentricities. Falconer had a way, as I have before stated, of packing all his scientific, cooking, and other instruments upon his horse, and on the occasion to which I have alluded, some one of them chanced to chafe or gall the pony, inducing him to give a kick up with his hinder limbs. The rattling of the pots and pans started him off immediately, and the faster he ran the more they rattled. We immediately secured our horses by catching up the lariats, and then watched the fanciful antics of the animal that had raised all the commotion.

'He would run about ten jumps and then stop and kick up about as many times; then he would shake himself violently, and then start off again on a gallop. Every now and then a culinary or scientific instrument would be detached from its fastenings, when the infuriated pony would manage to give it a kick before it struck the ground and send it aloft again. The quadrant took the direction toward the sun without taking it; the saucepan was kicked into a stew; the thermometer was up to an hundred—inches above the ground, and fell to—worth nothing. To sum it all up, what with rearing, pitching, kicking, and galloping about, the pony was soon rid of saddle and all other incumbrances, and then went quietly to feeding, apparently well satisfied with all the trouble he had given his owner.

'The whole affair was ludicrous in the extreme, defying description. The rattling of the tin, earthen, and other ware, as the pony snorted, kicked, and pranced about, made a noise resembling that produced at a charivari. His antics were of the most unseemly nature, too—and the cool philosophy of Mr. Falconer, as he quietly followed in the wake of the vicious animal, picking up the fragments scattered along, completed a picture which would have made the fortune of Cruikshank, had he been on the spot to take it down. Some time after this adventure the Indians stole the horse, but they made a bad bargain of it.'

There are scores of passages, describing the burning of a prairie, hunting buffaloes, fighting the Indians, camping out at night under a deluge of rain, and other scenes by which their journey was marked; but we must pass to the following account of the feelings which attend starvation, which we copy for its intrinsic interest, and as an instance of the fearful extremities to which the expedition was sometimes reduced:

'I have never yet seen a treatise on dissertation upon starving to death; I can speak feelingly of nearly every stage except the last. For the first two days through which a strong and healthy man is doomed to exist upon nothing, his sufferings are, perhaps, more acute than in the remaining stages; he feels an inordinate, unappeasable craving at the stomach, night and day. The mind runs upon beef, bread, and other substantials; but still, in a great measure, the body retains its strength. On the third and fourth days, but especially on the fourth, this incessant craving gives place to a sinking and weakness of the stomach, accompanied by nausea. The unfortunate sufferer still desires food, but with loss of strength he loses that eager craving which is felt in the earlier stages. Should he chance to obtain a morsel or two of food, as was occasionally the case with us, he swallows it with a wolfish avidity; but five minutes afterward his sufferings are more intense than ever. He feels as if he had swallowed a living lobster, which is clawing and feeding upon the very foundation of his existence. On the fifth day his cheeks suddenly appear hollow and sunken, his body attenuated, his color an ashy pale, and his eye wild, glassy, cannibalish. The different parts of the system now war with each other. The stomach calls upon the legs to go with it in quest of food: the legs, from very weakness, refuse. The sixth day brings with it increased suffering, although the pangs of hunger are lost in an overpowering languor and sickness. The head becomes giddy; the ghosts of well-remembered dinners pass in hideous procession through the mind. The seventh day comes, bringing increased lassitude and farther prostration of strength. The arms hang listlessly, the legs drag heavily. The desire for food is still left, to a degree, but it must be brought, not sought. The miserable remnant of life which still hangs to the sufferer is a burden almost too grievous to be borne; yet his inherent love of existence induces a desire still to preserve it, if it can be saved without a tax upon bodily exertion. The mind wanders. At one moment he thinks his weary limbs cannot sustain him a mile—the next, he is endowed with unnatural strength, and if there he a certainty of relief before him, dashes bravely and strongly onward, wondering whence proceeds this new and sudden impulse.

'Farther than this, my experience runneth not. The reader may think I have drawn a fancy sketch—that I have colored the picture too highly: now, while I sincerely trust he may never be in a situation to test its truth from actual experience, I would in all sober seriousness say to him, that many of the sensations I have just described I have myself experienced, and so did the ninety-and-eight persons who were with me from the time when we first entered the grand prairie until we reached the flock of sheep, to which more pleasing subject I will now return.'

The history of the base betrayal of the party to the Mexicans by one of their members named LEWIS, gives us a picture of Mexican duplicity most vivid and striking: but it is only the prelude to cruelties more barbarous and revolting than have recently stained the acts of any but the most savage and uncultivated natives. After being disarmed, under pretence that it was only a formality, and then promised that their arms would be at once restored, they were seized and ordered to be shot; but from this they were saved by the interference of one of the Mexican officers less blood-thirsty than the rest. They were immediately started off for Santa Fe, half-starving and worn down by fatigue, and heard the bloody order given to the armed guard which attended them: 'If any one of them pretends to be sick or tired on the road, 'Shoot him down and bring back his ears.'' The following extracts describe some of the scenes they were forced to witness:

'A walk, or rather a hobble of two hours, for we were so stiff and foot-sore that we could not walk, brought us once more to the plaza or public square of San Miguel. The place was now literally filled with armed men—a few regular troops being stationed immediately about the person of Armijo, while more than nine-tenths of the so-called soldiers were miserably deficient in every military appointment. A sergeant's guard of the regular troops was immediately detailed to take charge of our little party, and after bidding adieu to Don Jesus, as we hoped forever, we were marched to a small room adjoining the soldiers' quarter. This room fronted on the plaza, and had a small window looking out in that direction; but the only entrance was from a door on the side. Sentinels were immediately placed at the little window and door, leading us to suppose that this was to be our regular prison-house; but we had scarcely been there ten minutes before a young priest entered at the door, and said that one of our party was to be immediately shot! While gazing at each other with looks of eager inquiry, wondering that one was to be shot and not all, and while each one of us was earnestly and painfully speculating on the question which of his fellows Armijo had singled out for a victim, the young priest raised himself on tiptoe, and looking over our heads, pointed through the windows of our close and narrow prison. We hurriedly turned our eyes in that direction, and were shocked at seeing one of our men, his hands tied behind his back, while a bandage covered his eyes, led across the plaza by a small guard of soldiers. Who the man was we could not ascertain at the time, but that he was one of the Texans was evident enough from his dress. The priest said that he had first been taken prisoner, that while attempting to escape he had been retaken, and was now to suffer death. A horrible death it was, too! His cowardly executioners led him to a house near the same corner of the square we were in, not twenty yards from us, and after heartlessly pushing him upon his knees, with his head against the wall, six of the guard stepped back about three paces, and at the order of the corporal shot the poor fellow in the back! Even at that distance the executioners but half did their barbarous work; for the man was only wounded, and lay writhing upon the ground in great agony. The corporal stepped up, and with a pistol ended his sufferings by shooting him through the heart. So close was the pistol that the man's shirt was set on fire, and continued to burn until it was extinguished by his blood!

'Howland's hands were tied closely behind him, and as he approached us we could plainly see that his left ear and cheek had been cut entirely off, and that his left arm was also much hacked, apparently by a sword. The guard conducted their doomed prisoner directly by us on the left, and when within three yards of us the appearance of his scarred cheek was ghastly; but as he turned his head to speak, a placid smile, as of heroic resignation to his fate, lit up the other side of his face, forming a contrast almost unearthly. We eagerly stepped forward to address him, but the miscreants who had charge of us pushed us back with their muskets, refusing even the small boon of exchanging a few words with an old companion now about to suffer an ignominious death. Howland saw and felt the movement on our part. He turned upon us another look, a look full of brave resolution as well as resignation, and, in a low but distinct tone, uttered: 'Good-bye, boys; I've got to suffer. You must——' But the rest of the sentence died on his lips, for he was now some yards in the rear of us, and out of hearing.

'The guard who had charge of us now wheeled us round, and marched us in the same route taken by our unfortunate guide, and within ten yards of him. A more gloomy procession cannot be imagined. With Howland in advance, we were now conducted to the plaza, and halted close by the spot where, in plain sight, lay the body of our recently-murdered companion. A bandage was placed over the eyes of the new victim, but not until he had seen the corpse of his dead comrade. Worlds would we have given could we be permitted to exchange one word with our unoffending friend—to receive his last, dying request—yet even this poor privilege was denied us. After the cords which confined his arms had been tightened, and the bandage pulled down so as to conceal the greater part of his face, Howland was again ordered to march. With a firm, undaunted step he walked up to the place of execution, and there, by the side of his companion, was compelled to fall upon his knees with his face towards the wall. Six of the guard then stepped back a yard or two, took deliberate aim at his back, and before the report of their muskets died away poor Howland was in eternity! Thus fell as noble, as generous, and as brave a man as ever walked the earth.'

The following passage narrates another barbarity of the same character:

'Just as we were starting, a man named John McAllister, a native of Tennessee and of excellent family, complained that one of his ankles was badly sprained, and that it was utterly impossible for him to walk. The unfortunate man was naturally lame in the other ankle, and could never walk but with difficulty and with a limp. On starting, he was now allowed to enter a rude Mexican cart, which had been procured by the Alcalde of Valencia for the purpose of transporting some of the sick and lame prisoners; but before it had proceeded a mile upon the road it either broke down or was found to be too heavily loaded. At all events, McAllister was ordered by Salazar to hobble along as best he might, and to overtake the main body of prisoners, now some quarter of a mile in advance. The wretch had frequently told those who, from inability or weakness, had fallen behind, that he would shoot them rather than have the march delayed; not that there was any necessity for the hot haste with which we were driven, but to gratify his brutal disposition did he make these threats. Although he had struck, and in several cases severely beaten, many of the sick and lame prisoners, we could not believe that he was so utterly destitute of feeling, so brutal, as to murder a man in cold blood whose only fault was that he was crippled and unable to walk. He could easily have procured transportation for all if he had wished, and that he would do so rather than shoot down any of the more unfortunate we felt confident: how much we mistook the man!

'On being driven from the cart, McAllister declared his inability to proceed on foot. Salazar drew his sword and peremptorily ordered him to hurry on, and this when he had half a dozen led mules, upon either of which he could have placed the unfortunate man. Again McAllister, pointing to his swollen and inflamed ankle, declared himself unable to walk. Some half a dozen of his comrades were standing around him, with feelings painfully wrought up, waiting the denouement of an affair which, from the angry appearance of Salazar, they now feared would be tragical. Once more the bloodthirsty savage, pointing to the main body of prisoners, ordered the cripple to hurry forward and overtake them—he could not! 'Forward!' said Salazar, now wrought up to a pitch of phrenzy. 'Forward, or I'll shoot you on the spot!' 'Then shoot!' replied McAllister, throwing off his blanket and exposing his manly breast, 'and the quicker the better!' Salazar took him at his word, and a single ball sent as brave a man as ever trod the earth to eternity! His ears were then cut off, his shirt and pantaloons stripped from him, and his body thrown by the roadside as food for wolves!'

In the following extract, of a different description, we have a sketch of a real 'character:'

'Entering an estanquillo, or shop licensed to sell cigars, we met two or three faces so decidedly Anglo-Saxon in complexion and feature that we at once accosted them in English, and were answered by one of the party with a drawl and twang so peculiarly 'Down East,' that Marble, Hackett, or Yankee Hill, might have taken lessons from him. We soon ascertained that they belonged to the American circus company then performing at San Luis, and on telling them who we were, they at once invited us to their meson to supper. The first speaker, who proved to be a regular Vermonter, was not a little surprised to see us out without a guard, and asked if we had received permission to that effect. His astonishment was removed when we told him that we were allowed to leave our quarters on parole.

'In five minutes after our arrival at the hotel of the equestrians, I found that our Vermont acquaintance was one of the quaintest specimens of the Yankee race I had ever seen, and not a few examples had I met previous to my encounter with him. He had a droll impediment in his speech which gave to his actions and gestures a turn irresistibly comic, and then he told an excellent story, played the trombone, triangle, and bass viol, spoke Spanish well, drove one of the circus wagons, translated the bills, turned an occasional somerset in the ring, cracked jokes in Spanish with the Mexican clown, took the tickets at the entrance with one hand, while with the other he beat an accompaniment to the orchestra inside on the bass-drum, and, in short, made himself 'generally useful.' After partaking of an excellent supper, we spent an agreeable hour in his room, listening to story after story of his adventures. He 'come out' to Mexico, to use his own words, by way of Chihuahua, accompanying the traders from Jonesborough, on Red River, in the first and only expedition across the immense prairies. They were some six or eight months on the road, and suffered incredible hardships for want of water and provisions. Our Yankee was a stout man when we saw him, but he told us that he was a perfect transparency when he first arrived at the Mexican settlements—so poor, in fact, that according to his own account, 'a person might have read the New-England Primer through him without specs.'

'When ten o'clock came we rose to depart; but the droll genius insisted that we should first partake of a glass of egg-nog with him, and then help him to sing 'Old Hundred' in remembrance of old times. There are few persons in the New-England States who cannot go through this ancient and well-known psalm-tune after some fashion; and although neither time nor place was exactly befitting, we all happened to be from that quarter, and could not resist complying with his comico-serious request. He really had a good voice, and, for aught I know, may have led the singing in his native village church. After humming a little, apparently to get the right pitch, he started off with a full, rich tone; but suddenly checking himself in the middle of the first line, said that the thing was not yet complete. Taking a double-bass from its resting-place in one corner of the room, he soon had the instrument tuned, and then recommenced with this accompaniment. Never have I heard a performance so strangely mingling the grave and the comic. It was odd enough to see one of his vocation in a strange land thus engaged; and then the solemnity and zeal with which he sawed and sang away were perfectly irresistible. I did not laugh; but thoughts arose in my mind very little accordant with the earnest and devotional spirit with which our strange companion went through his share of the performance. This curious scene over, a scene which is probably without a parallel in the history of San Luis Potosi, we took leave of our singular acquaintance, who promised to call at the convent early the next morning, and do every thing in his power to assist those among the Texans who were the most destitute.'

But we have space only for one more extract, an account of certain 'extra observances,' which, in the order of their devotion, the prisoners while in Puebla, introduced into the service of the Catholic church:

'Every Sunday morning, the prisoners confined at Puebla were compelled to attend mass, in chains, at one of the churches. The floors of all the religious establishments of note in Mexico are of stone or marble, without seats of any kind, and those in attendance must either kneel or stand during the ceremonies. In the present instance, the Texans were paraded in rows before the altar, and compelled to fall upon their knees while mass was said; but they were not obliged to go through all the little forms and ceremonies which the Catholic Church in Mexico exacts of its votaries, such as crossing themselves, smiting their breasts, and other outward observances. Well drilled, however, were they in all the minutiae of these demonstrations; and in addition, one of the jokers, who had acted as the prosecuting attorney at San Cristobal, and who was a great mimic, taught them a few original 'extras' and 'fancy touches,' which he had ingrafted upon the regular Catholic ceremonials. So well had he disciplined his brother prisoners, that they could go through all his ritual with as much promptness and precision as could the best military company in existence go through its simplest manoeuvres.