would give the impression of vigilance on our part. And every creature that met us would rely upon us for quartering.* All this, and if the separate links of the anticipation had been a thousand times more, I saw, not discursively, or by effort, or by succession, but by one flash of horrid simultaneous intuition. Under this steady though rapid anticipation of the evil which might be gathering ahead, ah! what a sullen mystery of fear, what a sigh of woe, was that which stole upon the air, as again the far-off sound of a wheel was heard! A whisper it was a whisper from, perhaps, four miles off secretly announcing a ruin, that, being foreseen, was not the less inevitable; that, being known, was not, therefore, healed. What could be done-who was it that could do it to check the flight of these maniacal horses? Could I not seize the reins from the grasp of the slumbering coachman? You, reader, think that it would have been in your power to do so. And I quarrel not with your estimate of yourself. But from the way in which the coachman's hand was viced between his upper and lower thigh, this was impossible. Easy, was it? See, then, this bronze equestrian statue. The cruel rider has kept the bit in his horse's mouth for two centuries. Unbridle him, for a minute, if you please, and wash his mouth with water. Easy, was it? Unhorse me, then, that imperial rider; knock me those marble feet from those marble stirrups of Charlemagne. The sounds ahead strengthened, and were now too clearly the sounds of wheels. Who and what could it be? Was it industry in a taxed cart? Was it youthful gaiety in a gig? Was it sorrow that loitered, or joy that raced? For as yet the snatches of sound were too intermitting, from distance, to decipher the character of the motion. Whoever were the travellers, something must be done to warn them. Upon the other party rests the active responsibility, but upon us-and, woe is me that us was reduced to my frail opium-shattered self-rests the responsibility of warning. Yet, how should this be accomplished? Might I not sound the guard's horn? Already, on the first thought, I was making my way over the roof to the guard's seat. from the accident which I have mentioned, of the foreign mails being piled upon the roof, was a difficult and even dangerous attempt to one cramped by nearly three hundred miles of outside travelling. And, fortunately, before I lost much time in the attempt, our frantic horses swept round an angle of the road, which opened upon us that final stage where the collision must be accomplished, and the catastrophe sealed. All was apparently finished; the case was heard; the judge had finished; and only the verdict was yet in

arrear.

But this,

Before us lay an avenue, straight as an arrow, six hundred yards, perhaps, in length; and the umbrageous trees, which rose in a regular line from either side, meeting high over head, gave to it the character of a cathedral aisle. These trees lent a deeper solemnity to the early light; but there was still

* "Quartering." This is the technical word, and, I presume, derived from the French cartayer, to evade a rut, or any obstacle.

light enough to perceive, at the further end of this Gothic aisle, a frail reedy gig, in which were seated a young man and, by his side, a young lady. Ah! young sir, what are you about? If it is requisite that you should whisper your communications to this young lady-though really I see nobody at an hour and on a road so solitary likely to overhear you is it therefore requisite that you should carry your lips forward to hers? The little carriage is creeping on at one mile an hour, and the parties within it, being thus tenderly engaged, are naturally bending down their heads. Between them and eternity, to all human calculation, there is but one minute and a half.

Oh! heavens, what is it that I shall do? Speaking or acting, what help can I offer? Strange it is, and to a mere auditor of the tale might seem laughable, that I should need a suggestion from the "Iliad" to prompt the sole resource that remained. Yet so it was. Suddenly I remembered the shout of Achilles, and its effect. But could I pretend to shout like the son of Peleus, aided by Pallas? No; but then I needed not the shout that should alarm all Asia militant; such a shout would suffice as might carry terror into the hearts of the two thoughtless young people and one gig-horse. I shouted—and the young man heard me not. A second time I shouted-and now he heard me, for now he raised his head.

Here, then, all had been done that by me could be done; more on my part was not possible. Mine had been the first step; the second was for the young man; the third was for God. "If," said I, "this stranger is a brave man, and if indeed he loves the young girl at his side-or, loving her not, if he feels the obligation pressing upon every man worthy to be called a man, of doing his utmost for a woman confided to his protection-he will at least make some effort to save her. If that fails, he will not perish the more, or by a death more cruel, for having made it; and he will die, as a brave man should, with his face to the danger, and with his arm about the woman that he sought in vain to save. But if he makes no effort, shrinking without a struggle from his duty, he himself will not the less certainly perish for this baseness of poltroonery. He will die no less: and why not? Wherefore should we grieve that there is one craven less in the world? No; let him perish, without a pitying thought of ours wasted upon him; and, in that case, all our grief will be reserved for the fate of the helpless girl who now, upon the least shadow of failure in him, must, by the fiercest of translations-must, without time for a prayermust, within seventy seconds, stand before the judgment-seat of God."

But craven he was not; sudden had been the call upon him, and sudden was his answer to the call. He saw, he heard, he comprehended the ruin that was coming down; already its gloomy shadow darkened above him, and already he was measuring his strength to deal with it. Ah! what a vulgar thing does courage seem when we see nations buying and selling it for a shilling a day. Ah! what a sublime thing does courage seem when some fearful summons on the great deeps of life carries a man, as if running before a

hurricane, up to the giddy crest of some tumultuous crisis, from which lie two courses, and a voice says to him audibly, "One way lies hope; take the other, and mourn for ever!" How grand a triumph if, even then, amidst the raving of all around him, and the frenzy of the danger, the man is able to confront his situation is able to retire for a moment into solitude with God, and to seek his counsel from Him!

For seven seconds, it might be, of his seventy, the stranger settled his countenance steadfastly upon us, as if to search and value every element in the conflict before him. For five seconds more of his seventy he sat immovably, like one that mused on some great purpose. For five more, perhaps, he sat with his eyes upraised, like one that prayed in sorrow, under some extremity of doubt, for light that should guide him to the better choice.

Then suddenly he rose-stood upright-and by a powerful strain upon the reins, raising his horse's fore-feet from the ground, he slewed him round on the pivot of his hind-legs, so as to plant the little equipage in a position nearly at right angles to ours.

Thus far his condition was not improved, except as a first step had been taken towards the possibility of a second. If no more were done, nothing was done; for the little carriage still occupied the very centre of our path though in an altered direction. Yet even now it may not be too late. Fifteen of the seventy seconds may still be unexhausted, and one almighty bound may avail to clear the ground. Hurry, then, hurry! for the flying moments, they hurry! Oh, hurry, hurry, my brave young man for the cruel hoofs of our horses, they also hurry! Fast are the flying moments; faster are the hoofs of our horses.

But fear not for him, if human energy can suffice; faithful was he that drove to his terrific duty; faithful was the horse was the horse to his command. One blow, one impulse given with voice and hand by the stranger; one rush from the horse; one bound, as if in the act of rising to a fence, landed the docile creature's fore-feet upon the crown or arching centre of the road. The larger half of the little equipage had then cleared our over-towering shadow: that was evident even to my own agitated sight. But it mattered little that one wreck should float off in safety, if upon the wreck that perished were embarked the human freightage. The rear part of the carriage, was that certainly beyond the line of absolute ruin? What power could answer that question? Glance of eye, thought of man, wing of angel, which of these had speed enough to sweep between the question and the answer, and divide the one from the other? Light does not tread upon the steps of light more indivisibly than did our all-conquering arrival upon the escaping efforts of the gig. That must the young man have felt too plainly. His back was now turned to us; not by sight could he any longer communicate with the peril; but by the dreadful rattle of our harness, too truly had his ear been instructed-that all was finished as regarded any further effort of his. Already in resignation he had rested from his struggle,

and perhaps in his heart he was whispering, "Father, which art in heaven, do Thou finish above what I on earth have attempted!"

Faster than ever mill-race we ran past them in our inexorable flight. Oh, raving of hurricanes that must have sounded in their young ears at the moment of our transit ! Even in that moment the thunder of collision spoke aloud. Either with the swingle-bar, or with the haunch of our near leader, we had struck the off-wheel of the little gig, which stood rather obliquely, and not quite so far advanced as to be accurately parallel with the near-wheel. The blow, from the fury of our passage, resounded terrifically. I rose in horror to gaze upon the ruins we might have caused. From my elevated station I looked down, and looked back upon the scene, which in a moment told its own tale, and wrote all its records on my heart for ever.

Here was the map of the passion that now had finished. The horse was planted immovably, with his fore-feet upon the paved crest of the central road. He, of the whole party, might be supposed untouched by the passion of death. The little cany carriage-partly, perhaps, from the violent torsion of the wheels in its recent movement, partly from the thundering blow we had given to it as if it sympathised with human horror, was all alive with tremblings and shiverings. The young man trembled not, nor shivered. He sat like a rock. But his was the steadiness of agitation frozen into rest by horror. As yet he dared not to look round; for he knew that, if anything remained to do, by him it could no longer be done. And as yet he knew not for certain if their safety could be accomplished. But the lady! But the lady! Oh heavens, will that spectacle ever depart from my dreams, as she rose and sank upon her seat, sank and rose, threw up her arms wildly to heaven, clutched at some visionary object in the air, fainting, praying, raving, despairing? Figure to yourself, reader, the elements of the case; suffer me to recall before your mind the circumstances of that unparalleled situation. From the silence and deep peace of this saintly summer nightfrom the pathetic blending of this sweet moonlight, dawnlight, dreamlight, -from the manly tenderness of this flattering, whispering, murmuring love— suddenly as from the woods and fields-suddenly as from the chambers of the air opening in revelation-suddenly as from the ground yawning at her feet, leaped upon her, with the flashing of cataracts, Death, the crowned phantom, with all the equipage of his terrors, and the tiger-roar of his voice.

The moments were numbered; the strife was finished; the vision was closed. In the twinkling of an eye our flying horses had carried us to the termination of the umbrageous aisle; at right angles we wheeled into our former direction; the turn of the road carried the scene out of my eyes in an instant, and swept it into my dreams for ever!

69

A STRANGE DUEL.

Na scorching day in July, 1830, whilst I was seated under a venerable live oak, on the evergreen banks of the Teche, waiting for a fish to bite, I was startled by the roaring of some animal in a canebrake a short distance below me, apparently getting ready for action. These notes of preparation were quickly succeeded by the sound of feet

trampling down the cane and scattering the shells. As soon as I recovered from my surprise, I resolved to take a view of what I supposed to be two prairie bulls mixing impetuously in battle, an occurrence so common in this country and season.

When I reached the scene of action, how great was my astonishment to behold, instead of bulls, a large black bear reared upon his hind-legs, with his fore-paws raised aloft, as if to make a plunge! His face was besmeared with