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Mississippi Historical Society.
design?these noble instincts of her nature? Her character, her deep devotion and unalterable affection, ever ready to fly from the grandeur of the world, to endure poverty with the hunted and traduced object of her first attachment, are admirably illustrated by the much criticised but beautiful lines of Moore :
?Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer!
Tho? the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;
Here still is the smile no cloud can o'ercast,
And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last.?
It is not, then, a matter of surprise that we find the sex, throughout the world, partial to whatever is most tender and beautiful in nature. To love a delicate flower is in keeping with the character of an amiable woman. It must be cherished to bloom. The slightest change affects it. She watches its delicate petals, its maiden blush, its meridian beauty, its fading hues, and then she places it in her own generous bosom, with the precious instinct of her nature, to nourish and preserve it. The psychologists tell us that there may be a strong sympathy between a young girl and the flower she loves; alas, she may too often perceive in it the emblem of her own destiny.
About noon, in the warmest day of July, we crossed a clear, deep stream, which, after meandering down a narrow ravine, leaped foaming over a huge bed of sandstone rock, and then spread itself out into a broad lake, fringed around with alder, sumach and evergreens. A cottage stood immediately on the brink of this crystal sheet, and the flowers in the porch above and the ever changing hues of the tinted sky were mirrored in the water below. Two old, long-armed beech trees stooped towards the lake so low that every breeze which ruffled its surface must have dashed the spray up among the glistening leaves. Jessamine, honeysuckles and grape vines twined their tendrils on porch and tree, and completely veiled this picturesque resting place from the noonday sun. In all our journeying we had seen no place so inviting. No one met us, as is usual in that hospitable region, at the gate. It was the holy Sabbath, and its blessed influence had hushed all things to repose. The hour was that, when in our climate, at that season of the year, all nature seems to slumber and be still as at the "witching hour
A Trip Through the Piney Woods.?Claiborne.	527
of night.? The hum of the wild bees was no longer heard; tired of toil they lay deep in the bosom of the flowers, seeking shelter from the sunbeams. The industrious wood-pecker ceased its tap and the musical breeze itself languished away, or was heard only in the Memnon-like voice of the distant pines. The leaves no longer gayly fluttered, but hung drooping from their stems, and the peaceful herds lay sleeping in the shade.
The cottage itself, though rustic in its materials, was quite a gem. The whitewashed walls, the polished floors, the cots and lounges scattered about, the roses that peeped in with their smiling faces at every window, as if to welcome us, leaves of music and volumes of poetry, whispered to us some delightful presentiments. Seeing no one, we passed into the garden, and there, in a festooned bower, stood two young persons, not conscious of our approach. They were lovers, and she an only child, the sole remnant of an ancient and honored race of Scotch Presbyterians.
All her lovely companions Are faded and gone;
No flow?r of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh.
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
Her aged parents were at their solitary place of worship, and here on this blessed day, in this fairy spot, the two were keeping their tryst. The young man had evidently just poured out his impassioned soul and kissed from her dewy lip the first sweet confession of love. One arm was around her tiny waist, and with the other he pressed her lily hand to his burning bosom.
' Her cheek glowed with blushes, and no jewel could equal the luster of her eye, though it swam in tears. With one hand she was trying to mask her beautiful face with her flowing hair,
? but it twined round the neck of her lover and lay floating in his arms. Thus they stood, entranced, intoxicated, empara-dised, enjoying in one moment an age of bliss. Enchained for an instant by a spectacle so interesting, we silently retired to the house. They soon followed us there. Though not conscious that we had witnessed the recent eclaircissemeni, they were evidently confused, but joy, hope, the sunshine of the future, beamed in his ardent gaze and sparkled in her ?sidelong looks of