Old Martha held a vial which had contained quinine, now nearly emptied of the precious powder. "Look here, missus, the quinine is most gone, so I thought I'd bring this, what's left, to you, to keep for the blessed children. You know it's onpossible to get any more here in this 'ere wilderness. "Louise looked up from her task of bathing Philip's burning head with cold water. 'Is that all that's left, Martha?' "Every grain; you see the measles left all them children so weak I had to give it to them pretty free.' "Yes, I know; but how are Jenny and Sally? Did you give them the doses I ordered for them?' "No, I never, missus; seeing how little was left, I thought you ought to keep it.' it.' 666 'But, Martha, those children will die without the tonic - they must have ""Deed then, missus,' persisted Martha, shaking her gray head, 'I know your own babies will need it.' 666 'Then, Martha, we will have to trust in God. I can't rob those little negro children of their only chance for life. My own may never need it.' A groan escaped Louise's pale lips. "Go,' continued Louise, waving her hand to the faithful slave; 'give the medicine as I ordered it.' "Louise bent again over her infants. "Oh, Lucia! I would almost give my life for one piece of ice to cool my poor baby's head. See how hot it is! how he suffers! My child! my little wee one!' "O God! the sorrow of this night! The babies are dead; - sweet Amenaide! - bright little Philip! "I have just aided Louise to dress the pure forms of clay, and have covered them with wild flowers, verbenas, and long fern-leaves. My poor Louise, she does not shed a tear! She moves like an automaton, or a woman of stone; she gives every necessary order in a cold, constrained, clear voice, that rings sharply on the ear. It makes me put my fingers in my ears to hear her speak-there is such piercing heart-break in her voice. Not a word of natural grief out of those compressed lips! It is an eagle stricken to the heart. "We have no coffins for the little ones no means of procuring one in this trackless wilderness! Louise, with her own hands, has wrapped the fine linen sheet about her precious children; sewed it firmly around them. Then she took a white satin skirt of a dress of hers, ripped it from the waist, and made a shroud, and folded it over them; then a costly shawl, then a soft blanket over all. "The children were laid on their sides, with their arms clasped about each other. . . . . . . Louise took her prayer-book, some holy water, and a gold crucifix - motioned the negroes to follow with her children's bodies. The negroes all crowded about her; they wept bitterly: they had lined the grave with fine foliage and soft ferns. The little bodies were laid down tenderly. Louise placed the crucifix upon them; she sprinkled the holy water abundantly over them. She took up her manual to read, but it was too much; the book dropped from her hand. 'O God! I cannot!' I caught her as she fell forward heavily insensible in my arms. The negroes filled the grave while we carried Louise back to the empty, noiseless tent." M MRS. MARIE BUSHNELL WILLIAMS. RS. M. B. WILLIAMS is a native of Baton Rouge, La. Her father, Judge Charles Bushnell, came to this State from Massachusetts within the first decade after the purchase of Louisiana had been accomplished, and in due time married into a Creole family of substantial endowments and high repute. Judge Bushnell was well and favorably known at the bar of Louisiana. He was a gentleman of great legal erudition; but, though devoted to his profession, he found time to cultivate the general branches of literature, and to participate in their elegant enjoyments. His favorite daughter, Marie, early manifested a studious disposition. She was a fair, bright-eyed, spiritual girl, of more than ordinary promise. Though slight in figure, she was compactly formed. Her features were cast in nature's finest mould, and her clear dark eye and smooth fair brow were radiant with intellectual light. When this description would apply to Miss Bushnell, she became the élève of Alexander Dimitry, whose fame as a scholar has since become world-wide. The management of a pupil so richly dowered with God's best gifts was a pleasing task to the professor, and he soon imparted to her not only the fresh instruction which she required, but a deep and profound reverence for learning akin to that which he felt himself. This relation of teacher and scholar continued for several years, and was not severed till Miss Bushnell became a complete mistress of all the principal modern languages. Indeed, the range of her studies was quite extended, and we hazard very little in saying that she was, when they were completed, the most learned woman in America. At length, when she had rounded into perfect womanhood, physically as well as mentally, the honor of an alliance with her was sought by many of the proudest and wealthiest gentlemen of Louisiana. The successful suitor proved to be Josiah P. Williams, a planter of Rapides, and since the date of her marriage, in 1843, she has resided near Alexandria, on Red River, with the exception of a brief experience of refugee-life in Texas when the war was at its height. As a wife, and the mother of an interesting family of children, Mrs. Williams performed her whole duty. But though the domestic virtues found in her a true exponent, they by no means lessened her interest in literary pursuits. For her own amusement and that of a choice coterie of literary friends her constant visitors. - she was accustomed to weave together legends of Louisiana, both in prose and verse, which soon established her reputation among those who were admitted into the charmed circle. She, however, had no fancy for the plaudits of the world. For years she refused to appear in print, but when at length a few of her articles found their way into literary journals, she was at once admitted to an assured position among judges as a singer and a teacher. With a vast fund of acquired knowledge; a mind original, philosophic, and sympathetic; a fancy at once brilliant and beautifully simple, added to a mastery of language when force of style was found necessary, and an easy, happy facility in all the lighter phases of literary effort,— Mrs. M. B. Williams will yet, when the world knows her merits and does her justice, take her place among the first of the distinguished women of America. We have not before us any complete list of the productions of her pen, nor shall we attempt any critical analysis of those specimens which are to follow this article. They shall be left to the good taste and judgment of our readers, with a full confidence that they cannot fail to please. We shall merely say, in conclusion, that Mrs. Williams suffered severely by the reverses which marked the latter years of the "lost cause." The death of her husband was her first great sorrow: the destruction of her beautiful residence, "The Oaks," by the vandal followers of Banks in his Red River raid; the wounding of one son; the untimely death of another; the material misfortunes which reduced her from affluence to poverty, all followed in such disheartening succession, that few indeed could have borne up under such a series of calamities. But her faith was strong. She could look religiously through the storms of the present into the calm and glory of that peace which is to come. Few have ever met reverses with greater fortitude, or fought the battle of life more bravely. For years past she has been a constant and valued contributor to the New Orleans “Sunday Times," and while her writings have proved her a brilliant thinker, they show no traces of egotistic grief. The sorrows by which she has been surrounded are mourned by her only as sorrows common to the whole desolated South. Mrs. Williams has in preparation, to be published in a volume, "Tales and Legends of Louisiana," in a lyrical poema poem which we hope will introduce her talents to the whole country, making her name familiar as a "household word." As a translator from the French, German, and Spanish, Mrs. Williams is deservedly successful, her translations from the German language being very felicitous and faithful. PLEASANT HILL. Roll my chair in the sunlight, Ninetta, See the golden-hued wreaths of the jasmine, How the notes of the mocking-bird, ringing Ah! beauty and music and gladness, The breeze, in its pure balmy freshness, Seems fanned from some bright angel's wing. Look yonder and see, little daughter, Where locust-trees scatter their bloom, Have the pansies, in velvet-eyed sadness, Peeped yet through the turf near the tomb? Nay, then, turn not aside, my Ninetta; |