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ing silverly in the moonlight, sometimes pausing to fill large, still pools fringed with ferns and green mosses. Such numbers of glow-worms too: the grass and mosses are all alive with these tiny living lamps of love. The flowers are peculiar in these pine forests. It seems to be as if they all assume pyramidal spiked forms; for instance, the eupatoriums, which are so profuse in clusters of round, flat, feathery blossoms, or hang in tufts upon rampant vines near the river in the swamps of Louisiana, here take the stiff, pyramidal shape, and grow up pointed bloomheads of low shrubs. I find a number of strange plants. The insects, too, are eccentric. So many-jointed, horsehair-looking creatures that seem spikes of pine, green and vegetable in aspect, but with such long, awkward legs, with which they scamper off in the twinkling of an eye on being touched. But I don't like the numerous caterpillars and spiders, and even snakes. Sometimes we see them gliding away under the dead wood through the thin, wiry grasses.

"The crossing the ford of Black River this morning was very picturesque. This stream here had subsided within its banks, receding into the very narrow channel in its centre, leaving a broad stretch of entirely level meadowland running along each margin, extending, perhaps, a hundred or more yards from the brink of the present river to the bases of the ridges or high crests, rising so much, probably, as forty or fifty feet perpendicularly, which form, in the flood or winter time, the customary banks of the river. These high ridges were wooded with primeval forest-trees to the very edge. The river makes a sudden bold curve just above and also below the crossing, widening in the turn, but bringing, by this abrupt curvature, the lines of stately forest-trees together, forming thus a magnificent amphitheatre of several miles' dimensions.

"The short level sward of this artificial central meadow was emerald-green, till it met on either side the pure limpid water, flowing in liquid crystal, winding in its heart. Beautiful cattle, white, speckled, and mixed with red, were quietly feeding on the rich grasses. Some of the negroes, mounted on horses of varied color, white, black, and sorrel, were splashing across the sparkling, shallow stream; the heavy wagons, slowly descending or ascending the precipitous roads cut through the high banks on either side; the negroes swarming about these wagons, clinging around them like so many bees about their comb; the variety of color in costume; the heavier grays and purples relieved by garments more fanciful of bright crimsons or yellows; the laughing, shouting, heaving, pulling, holding back by the huge wagons, and the brilliant, radiant canopy of blue fire we call 'sky,' over it all,―made one of the most striking landscapes I have ever seen. The day was glorious in its sunshine. The green of the woods and the grasses and the water was almost scintillating, brilliant in beauty, and the rich deep brown of the steep, rugged banks that perfect chocolate-brown-gave tone and contrast to all the lighter colors.

"I crossed first in my carriage, taking little Philip and Amenaide with me to keep them out of harm's way. The little creatures are so fearless they dart off from their nurse unexpectedly like humming-birds, and fly in the midst of the negroes, and sometimes in dangerous proximity to heavily laden wagons lumbering down these descents. They are so lovely, so full of life and spirit - little sparks of fire. Louise followed; and while I sat down holding the babies fast by their wee hands, watching the crossing from the height of a safe hillock, she stood directing and advising, both with hand and voice, the crossing of the caravan with its heavy freight of human life. If I had Millias' pencil, I would like to paint this scene.

"Often in travelling along on our slow journey, little Philip and Amenaide grow weary of the confinement of the carriage, and begin to cry and fret. The elder negro men or women approach and ask to have the children lifted out. They take the tiny creatures up in their arms, seat them on their shoulders, talk to them, fill their little hands with wild flowers or large pineburrs, and in a few minutes the weary children are laughing, prattling away merrily, happy as imaginary kings and queens, or a Scandinavian prince exalted on his shield, in the midst of their sable attendants. Louise never feels the slightest timidity or anxiety about her little ones while in the hands of her slaves. Sometimes we drive on rapidly to the camping-ground for the night, and the negroes, walking with her babes on their shoulders, do not come up for a half hour or so; but she is never uneasy. If I express any anxiety, she laughs at me. 'That's your English prejudice, Lucia. The negroes love my babes and love me. I am not at all afraid to trust them.'

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"We have been nearly two months en route. We travel only ten miles per diem, as the negroes walk for the most part, and the roads are sandy and often very heavy.

"The measles have broken out among the slaves. Louise is very troubled and most unhappy about her little children; still she will not desert her sick slaves. We have pitched our camp in a shady pine-grove, and wait till the epidemic abates. She devotes herself to the sick.

"Louise's children are both ill this morning. It is piteous to see the dry agony of their mother's eyes! The little creatures lie tossing in delirium on their bedspread on the carpet on the ground in Louise's tent. Several of the negroes have died. Louise had them decently buried, and, taking her manual, she read the office for the dead over each one, as far as it was lawful for a lay person to read it. Before the children died (the negroes, I mean) she baptized them with her own hands. She spoke so tenderly, so kindly to the weeping mothers!

"Louise's babies are very ill. Old Martha, the 'plantation nurse,' came to-day to Louise's tent, where we were both kneeling down by the sick babies.

Old Martha held a vial which had contained quinine, now nearly emptied of the precious powder.

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"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?'

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'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?'

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'No, I never, missus; seeing how little was left, I thought you ought to keep it.'

it.'

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'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.'

"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.

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