Rolls the black hurricane. The summer-noon
Prevails. An universal hush,
Absorbs the drowsy hours; and Nature droops,
With sweetness, as upon the listless eyes
Of beauty, steal the images of dreams,
Made up with star-crown'd hopes and truest loves,
And joys our purple prospects. The still air
Falters with perfume of delicious fruits ;-
The orange flings its fragrance to the seas,
Wooing the zephyr thence ;-and lo! he comes,
Fresh from the toiling conflict with the deep,
Upon whose breast, subduing and subdued,
He snatches fitful rest. The glassy wave
Smooth and serene as heaven, is broken now
Into complaining ripples. Now his breath
Sweeps the rush islands, while the tall reed stoops
Its feathery crest to ocean. The grey sands,
Whirled suddenly beneath his arrowy tread,
Pursue his flight in vain ;-and now he g ides
Over the sacred bay, whose elear serene
Is wimpled by his wing. Anon, he stirs
The orange blossoms,-drinks full surfeit thence,
And sleeps among their leaves.

I lay me down

In the sweet keeping of the wilderness,
Listless and blest as he! No wild to me,
Though lonely, are the silent groves and streams,
That slumber in my glance. For, I have been
A wanderer; and denied all human ties,
I made my friends among the hills and streams,
Least loved or sought by man. To me they wear
Voices call

Aspects of love and kindness.

And fair hands beckon me from alleys green,
Amidst a world of shadow,-solitudes
That woo the thoughtful footstep and persuade
To realms of pensive silence-beautiful groves,
Sad only, as their beauty blooms unsought.

These win me from my path. I turn aside;
My heart drinks in the sweetness of the scene,
I gaze on; and how lovlier grows the spot,
To him who comes in love! I bow my head-
Where still she holds her matchless sov'reignty-
To all-endowing Nature. Here she sits,
Supreme in tangled bow'r, and scurvey mead,
And high umbrageous forest. At her feet,

Broad lakes spread forth their bosoms to the skies,
Whose beauties still they bear. Sweet fountains swell,
From loneliest depths, among the hidden dells,
That crouching 'neath the sway of sullen hills,
Yet send their crystal sorrows down the stream,
In secret channels; that the world may seek,
And free them from their darksome prison-place.
Tree, flower and leaf, conserting with her wood,
Impress their calm on mine. I lay me down,
Within her solemn temple. Altars rise
About me,
of green turf; and tufted beds,

Of grassy and blue flow'rs, beneath my head
Pillow it gently. Mightiest subjects stand,
Living, and rooted in her meteor breast,—

Dies not when it hath perished. Long will speak,---
Tradition, and the venerable groves,

With mounds, and fragments of old implements,
Even for the savage ;---as, in temples, books,
Old columns, and the echoes of deep strains
From Phoebus-smitten minstrels, still survive
The proofs of mightier nations. Godlike proofs,
That challenge human toil, the tooth of Time,
And speak when he is tottering. These connect
Races that mingled not ;---whose separate eyes,
By years and oceans separate,---never saw
Their mutual aspects; yet, by sympathies,
Born of like trials, strifes and mightiest deeds,
Yearn for communion,---yearn to see and love;
And when the earthquake threatens, bear in flight
Each glorious token of the transmitted race.

Thus lives the savage god. Here, still, he roves
Among his hills made consecrate. Here, still,—
By this broad glassy lake, among these groves,―
Of yellow fruits and fragrance-o'er yon isles,
The limit of his reign,-his old grey eye
Still ranges, as if watchful of the trust,
His sway no more may compass.-
-Yet, no more,

Gather the simple tubes that bow'd the knee,
In love, or deprecation of his wrath!
No more from plain to hill top glows the pile,
Fired in his sacrifice ;---and, to glad his ear,
Rolls the deep strain of forest worshippers,---
As wild and antique song of faith and fear,---
No more--no more! ---

Tis sure a dream that stirs
These sounds within my soul; or, do I hear
A swell of song,---sweet, sad, upon mine ear,
That, like a wayward chaunt from out the sea,
Rises, and floats along the yellow sands !---
A note most like the wind-harp, hung in trees
Where the coy zephyr harbors. Still, it comes,

In more elaborate windings; with a tone
More human, and a fitfulness of sound,
That speaks for various woes; as if it linked,
The deep, despairing, still defying cry,
From man in his last struggle,---with the shriek
Of passionate woman, not afraid to die,
Though pleading still for pity,---and the scream
Of childhood, conscious only of the woes,
It feels not, but beholds in those who feel
Unutterable still! A long-drawn plaint,
It swells and soars, until the difficult breath,
Fails me ;---I gasp;---1 may not follow it,
With auditory sense! It glows---it spreads,
"Till the whole living atmosphere is flush
With the strange harmony; and now it sinks,
Sudden, but not extinguished! A faint tone,
Survives in quivering murmurs, that awhile
Tremble like life within the flickering pulse
Of the consumptive. Losing it, we hush
Our breathing; and suspend the struggling sense,
Whose utterance mars its own; and still we hear
Its mellow and lone cadences, that float,
Prolonged, and finally lost, as the deep sounds,
Superior, rise, of winds and waving trees!

It is a sweet tradition of these shores,
Told by the Choctaw, that, when ages gone,
His savage sire descended from the west,
A dark and desperate Hunter,-all these woods,
From the rich valleys, where the Missouri bounds,
To mix his turbid waters with the streams,
Of him the Sire of Waters,*-to the blue hills
Of Apalachia,-dwelt a numerous race,
Named The Biloxi.' Towns and villages,
Cities and Cottages, and various arts,

Exulting. When he heard their songs of love,
That floated upward on the perfumed air,
And saw below, their loose effeminate forms
Linked in voluptuous dance, he shouted loud,
His scornful satisfaction, while he bade
His warriors nigh, to look upon their homes,
And mark their easy victims. They, below,
By happiness made deaf and arrogant,
Heard not the mighty discord, which above,
Mock'd their soft harmonies. Their dream went on;
The midnight dance and revel; the sweet song
Of love and gold-eyed fancy; and the prayer,
Unbroken, of true genius, in his cell,
Toiling with pen or pencil, to prepare
His triumph for the adoring eyes of day!
But with day came the conflict. The fierce tribes,
With hellish shout that shook the affrighted walls,
Till the high temples quaked, rush'd down the vale,
Smiting with heavy mace; or, from above,
Shooting their poisoned arrows, at each mark,
Unerring. Surprised, the Biloxi fought,
Vainly; but with an ardency of soul,
Superior to their strength. The savage press'd,
More resolute when baffled. Day by day,
Some citadel was won-some lovelier town
Despoil'd by the barbarian. Thousands fell
In conflict; yet the thousands that remained,
Breathed nothing but defiance. With each loss,
'Rose a new spirit in their hopeless breasts,
That warm'd them with fresh courage; and they swore
A terrible oath, with link'd hands, each in each,
And all, to their old Deities, to yield

Life first and freedom last! And well they kept
Their sacramental pledges. They could die,
But could not conquer. Yielding sullenly,
Each foot-hold, they departed from the towns,
They could no more maintain; and fighting, fled;
"Till from the hills of Memphis-from the springs
Of Loosahatchie, and the golden ridge,
Where the gay streams of Noxabee arise,-
Contented captives, that complain not oft
Against the rocks, that, from the western streams,
Barr their free passage-gradual still, they fled,
Still turning, still at bay, and battling oft
With the pursuer.

-To this spot they came,-
They pitch'd their tents where Pascagoula flows,
Through shallows of grey shells, and finds its way
To the embraces of the purple gulf.

"Here!" said the prince-his subjects gathered round"Make the last stand! The land beneath our feet Slips rapidly, and farther flight is none, Save to the ocean. We must stand and die!"

Sad were their hearts, but fearless. Not a lip Spoke for submission. Soul and arm were firm, And here, in resolute silence, they threw up Their earthen ramparts. On the narrow walls Of their rude fortress, in that perilous hour, Ranged their few champions. To the hills, their eyes

Turned ever, till the Savage rose in sight;

Then took they up their weapons. Flight, no more
Was in their choice; but, in its place there came,
From hopelessness, resolve; and such resolve,
As makes man terrible as fate. They stood,
Silent, with lips compressed. No answering shout,
Admonish'd the invader of the strength

They stood under; and down his warriors rush'd,

As to an easy conquest; but they shrunk,

That eve, while yet within the western Heavens, Lingered the rosy sunset---while the waves Lay calm before them in the crystal bay, And the soft winds were sleeping, and a smile,

So sudden, of a race so feeble late!

Days, weeks and months, and the Biloxi fought,
Invincible. Their narrow boundary grew
More strong, commanding, in the invader's eyes,
Than had been their sole empire. Spring, at length,
Put on her flowers; green leaves and blossoming fruits,
Declared for mercy; but the barbarian tribes,
Strengthened by fiercer thousands from the west,
Maintain'd the leaguer. Rescue there was none;
Despair had no more strength, for famine stopp'd
The hearts of the Biloxi. One bright noon,
Beheld them met in council: Women and men;-
The mother newly made, with the young babe,
Unconscious, striving at her bloodless breasts;-
For all are equal in the hour of wo,
And all are heard or none !-

-It needed not

That they should ask what doom awaited them;-
They saw it in the tottering gait, the face,
Pinch'd by lean famine;-the imperfect speech,
That faltered in the syllable prolonged;-
The hollow eyes from which a spiritual glare
Shot out like death's. They saw it in all sights,
And sounds, that fate, in that protracted term
Of struggle and endurance, still vouchsafe ;-
And there was silence-a long, dreary pause,
Broken by femenine sobs. Then spoke the Prince,
Last of a line of kings!-

"Shall we submit,

To bonds and possible torture, or go forth,

Made free by death?"

Brief silence follow'd then:

In that brief silence, memories of years
And ages crowded thick. Years of delight-
Ages of national fame! They thought of all
The grace of their old homes,-the charm, the song,
Pure rights and soothing offices,—and pride,
Made household by the trophies richly strown
Through court and chamber, of creative art,---
All lost!---and then the probable doom of bonds,-
Worst form of slavery,-the superior race
Bowed to the base and barbarous,-and one voice,
Proclaimed the unanimous will of all---to die!

Who still had shared their fortunes;---then, the chiefs,
And soldiers-few but fearless;-the old men,
Patriarchs, who still remained, memorials
Of the more fortunate past; and, last of all,
The women and the children. "Twas an hour,
When Nature craved a respite from her toils,
And from the strife withdrawn the savage foe
Were distant, to their woodland tents retired.
These started with strange wonder to behold
The solemn march, unwitting of its end
And noble purpose; nor strove to disturb
The rites which they divined not. On they went,
That ancient nation. Weapons bore they none,
But with hands crossed upon their fearless hearts,
The warriors led the way. The matron clung
To her son's arm that yielded no support.
The infant hushed upon its mother's breast,
Was sleeping, but the mother's sobs were still
Audible with her song;-and with her song,
Rose that of thousands, mingling in one strain!
The art which, in their happier days had been
Most loved among them, in spontaneous song,
Unsummon'd, pour'd itself upon the air,
As, slowly, but with steps unfaltering still,
March'd the pale band, self-destined, to the deep!
Never had ocean in his balmiest hours,
Looked less like death-less terrible, less wild!
An infant's slumber had not been more free
From all commotion. Beautiful and bright,
In that declining sunset lay the scene,
That witnessed the sad sacrifice; and, sweet,
Like the fair prospect, was the united song,-
That Epicedium o'er a nation's fate,
Self-chaunted, which went with them to the waves;
And still survives them; breathing from their graves,
The story of their Empire,-of its fame,-

Its fall, and their devoted faith that knew
No life unblessed with freedom. Sweetest strain!-
Once more it rises into sounds, that grow,
Human, in strength; and now, it floats away,
Subdued and sinking, as in that sad hour,
When its last breathings from the warrior's throat,
Stopp'd suddenly, and through the desolate air,
Went a more desolate hush that told the rest!

CHAPTER VII.

GEORGE BECOMES CONNECTED WITH A CASE OF

BIGAMY.

A few days after the departure of McGregor, George, while testing the practicability of establishing a bank without capital, was visited by Mr. Horatio Tynte. This visit surprised him, especially as Tynte looked extremely pale, and trembled, as he entered, with violence.

'Mr Julian,' said he, and he seemed almost breathless as he spoke, 'I have to make a thousand apologies for calling, but I am at the present time in a position so dreadful that unless you consent to aid me, I am ruined!'

'Indeed!' cried George. 'Explain to me the nature of your position; and if I can render you any assistance, I will.'

'Mr. Julian, if, when I have explained all, you find that you cannot, you will not betray me?' 'I will not: no, upon my honor.'

'Had I not the utmost confidence in you, although a comparative stranger, I should not have thus ventured to call; nor would the confidence I repose in you alone have induced me to do so; but having heard so much of your talent and ingenuity, I looked upon you as being the only man in existence capable of enabling me to avert the destruction with which I am menaced. I am, Mr. Julian, a married man: I have been married for years; but six months ago, being dreadfully poor, I advertised for a wife, with the view of making money, and the result of the advertisement was a secret introduction to a young lady with ten thousand pounds at her command. I had no intention of marrying her!-not the slightest at first; but as I found it impossible to obtain possession of any part of her property without, I eventually did

'Your former wife being still alive?-Well, sir?'

'Well, Mr. Julian, after marriage all was confidence on her part, all happiness and devotion. I found her an affectionate, amiable creature, whom I hated myself almost for having deceived: still all went on well-for, of course, she had not the least suspicion,-until yester. day, when to my horror I found that, by some means with which I am as yet unacquainted, she has ascertained all! She knows the very date of my first marriage, the church, the minister, in fact, every thing connected with it; and now I am threatened with an indictment for bigamy, which to me, known so well as I

am, will amount to transportation for life! Can you aid me? Can you point out any means by which I can escape? If you can, sir, for mercy's sake do!'

'Allow me a few minutes,' said George, calmly, 'to reflect upon the matter.

And he buried his face in his hands.

"This,' thought George, 'is a heartless villain: a wretch! I could suggest the means by which his escape might be accomplished, but should I be justified in doing so? This is the question I have now to answer to myself. What if he be punished by transportation? He deserves it richly, but what advantage will be derived from that punishment by the poor devoted heart-stricken creature whom he has deceived? None. But can his escape be beneficial to her? This is the point. I consider her only in this matter, I have no consideration for him.'

Having dwelt upon this point for some time, he raised his head and found that Tynte had been watching him with an anxiety the most in

tense.

'You of course,' said he, 'obtained full possession of the ten thousand pounds?' 'I did,' replied Tynte.

'Has she any other property?' 'Not any."

'No expectations?' 'None.'

"Then in the event of your being transported I say in that event, she will be left completely destitute?'

'She has an aunt, but I believe that she is poor.' 'How much of the ten thousand pounds have you spent? Deal fairly and openly with me, and you have a chance; but if any thing be concealed, you have none. How much have you spent?'

'I should say that I have spent and lost nearly six thousand.'

'Six thousand: a thousand a month. Well, you have now therefore, four thousand pounds in your possession!'

About four ' "Where is it?'

'Oh, I have it about me in cash. When I ascertained that all had been discovered, I of course thought it better to secure it.'

"Of course! very prudent, especially if you were now to be taken into custody! But, independently of that consideration, and without entering into the slightest explanation, having reference to my view of your conduct, seeing that that would be perfectly useless, I see my

way so clearly in this matter, that I am prepared to come to terms with you at once. In the first place, I'll undertake to get you so entirely out of this difficulty that, even in the eye of the law, you shall be in the same position as you were before the marriage took place.'

By getting hold of the register?'

'No: there are witnesses, I presume, whose evidence can be had! This is not an old affair, you will remember.'

'But can it be done without its being necessary for me leave England?'

:

'It can I repeat to you, that you will be in the same position as you were before; that no law in existence relating to bigamy, can afterwards touch you; that you will be able to set law at defiance; that you will, in short, be a free man.'

'But how is this to be done?'

That I will explain when our contract is finished! My part of it I have stated; the performance of your part will be far less difficult; it being, in fact, simply this—that in consideration of the service proposed, you agree to secure that four thousand pounds to her whom you have so deeply injured.'

'What, the whole?' exclaimed Tynte, with an expression of amazement.'

'The whole,' replied George.

'And leave myself utterly destitute?'

'Look at the utter destitution of her-but I will not moralize; painful as it is to me, and as it would be to any man blessed with the feelings of a man, I consent to treat this cruel affair as a matter of business merely.'

'But consider, Mr Julian! I shall scarcely have a single pound left.

'I do consider, sir:-see exactly what you have.'

Tynte drew forth his pocket-book and counted the notes. He found there were four thousand two hundred pounds.

'Well,' said George, 'in order that you may not be without a pound, keep the two hundred, and deliver up the rest.'

'These are very hard terms, Mr Julian!' 'On no other terms will I consent to interfere; and unless I do, recollect nothing can save you.' 'Well, but let us say two thousand?'

'No; nothing less than the four, sir, will do. I pledged my honor that I would not betray you; that pledge shall remain unbroken; but I strongly advise you to come to my terms, and that immediately, for now every hour teems with danger.'

'But when the money is given up, how am I to be secure?'

'You said you had confidence in me. I will not, however, test that confidence further. You know Bull to be a responsible man. Let the money be placed in his hands, and I will give him at the same time authority to return it, if my part of the contract be not faithfully performed. Shall I send for him "'

Tynte hesitated.

'Remember,' continued George, 'in this matter there must be no delay. I do not, for obvious reasons, appeal to your sense of justice; I

am anxious for you to look at the thing solely with a view to your own safety! Is he to be sent for?'

Well, I must submit; let him come.' George then despatched a message to Bull, requesting him to come without delay; and in the mean time he drew up two papers, one authorizing the payment of the money to Tynte's second wife, setting forth her maiden name; and the other directing it to be returned to Tynte, in the event of the conditions therein named not being fulfilled. These papers were duly signed and sealed; and as Bull, in a state of trembling anxiety, soon appeared, Tynte was requested to put down the money.

'Mr Bull,' observed George, 'here are notes to the amount of four thousand pounds. Will you do me the favor to hold them? It will be but for a very few days. Here are also two documents, the seals of which are not to be broken till application be made for the money. You will be kind enough to take possession of them?'

Certainly, certainly!-oh, certainly replied Bull, who looked as if the thing was not exactly clear to him.

'Thank you,' said George; 'you will excuse my troubling you; but I knew that they could not be placed in safer hands than yours.'

Bull looked at the packet, and then at George, and then at Tynte, in a very mysterious manner; but, perceiving that nothing more was required of him then, he slowly moved towards the door. He did feel, he could not help feeling, that a little additional explanation would not be by any means unpleasant; but as it was, why, he left with all his characteristic grace.

'Now,' said George, 'I must get you indicted.' "What! exclaimed Tynte, starting up with an expression of rage.

'Be calm, sir; be calm,' said George.

'Calm!'

'If you will not hear me, how can ceed?"

we pro

'Am I after all to be betrayed?' 'No!--Listen. I must get you indicted-indicted for bigamy. Now don't be impatient!you must be tried, when, as I shall arrange it, you must be acquitted, and when you are, you will be, in the eye of the law, in precisely the same position in which you stood before the marriage, seeing that no man can be tried the second time for the same offence.'

Tyne's countenance instantly changed, and he at once resumed his seat.

'But,' said he, after a pause, 'is it possible for this to be done?'

'I undertake to do it. The laws of England, sir, are so conveniently framed, that in almost any case it is possible to escape them.'

'But will it be safe?'

'Nothing can be more so. The ordeal through which you will have to go may not be pleasant; but you will have the satisfaction of knowing that, having passed that ordeal, you will be a free man. Now, for the next few days you must be absent; you must, in fact, keep out of the way until I want you. Let me know where you are, and let me also have the address of