my way among dried leaves and twigs with a con- "rough and tumble" fight, I was a mere infant in his sciousness that my safety depended somewhat upon powerful arms. Expecting nothing but instant death, my discretion. Before I had reached the half mile II was murmuring a silent prayer, when his hold rehad supposed intervened, I was suddenly "brought laxed, and he said, slowly and calmly, and in his sinto" by a stern voice, which exclaimed, in tones of gular way, "You're not Steve White? I should thunder, the mystic word "Stand." I did stand with know him among ten thousand. His features, though astonishment, and, as I looked up, saw, within fifty they were changed and altered to a woman's or devil's, yards of me, one of the most ferocious looking mon- couldn't deceive me. You ain't Steve White-pooh, sters that ever crossed my path. His beard was at pooh, I should have known that before. Git up, man, least a foot in length, and as black as the charred coal git up, and thank your luck that I looked into your of my fire-place, while his hair hung down his shoul-face before I cut your heart to pieces." ders like the mane of a wild horse. He was clothed I arose quite crest-fallen, rightly concluding that from head to foot in skins, no portion of his body showing a remnant of cloth or leather. Upon his head was a rude, clumsily fashioned cap of the skin of a wild cat, with the tail hanging down behind, and his arms and legs were encased in an apparent bag of undressed buffalo skins, giving him the appearance of a bison biped. Over his shoulder hung a thong of the buffalo, to which was attached a rude powder horn and bullet pouch. Taken altogether I had never seen a more remarkable looking personage, and though unaware of his color, nature, or even humanity, I deter mined to speak to him. After hoisting the butt of my rifle in token of submission, for his "sight" was upon me, I asked, in a loud voice,

"Are you friend or foe?"

66

I am friend to nobody," he answered very quietly; "whether I'm a foe depends upon circumstances." As he lowered his rifle while speaking I ventured to approach him cautiously.

"It's the natur of man to be unfriendly," said he, " and I always like to keep my eye bright for a fight; mayhap, though, I do you wrong, for you do look as if you might mean well. I'll venture to shake your hand, because in close quarters I know I'm more than your match."

So saying this singular specimen of the human race shook me warmly by the hand.

May I ask," said I, "what you are doing as far from the settlements as this?"

"In course you may," answered he, " and I'll do the same with you. As for me I live nigh here, and go out once in a while to pick up a stray deer or so." "How long have you lived in these parts?" said I. Four or five months, more or less," answered he. "I generally camp down in one spot about that time. I shall move next week farther south."

May I ask what is your object in moving so often from one place to another."

"Of course you may. I'm hunting after a chap who lives somewhere out here if he's alive, (which I pray to God is the case,) and I've been all above here without finding him. Mayhap you know him. His name is Stephen White. I call him, for short, Steve White."

Had a tiger dropped from a branch above at my feet I could not have screamed out louder than I did. "And your name is Andy Powell ?"

Quicker than the flash of my own rifle was his primed and aimed at my breast, but standing as I did within three feet of him, it was an easy task to grasp it, and the contents passed harmlessly into the air. Before I could move an inch, however, I was in his terrible embrace and borne to the ground. How I then cursed myself for the folly of addressing a madman-of inciting the passions of a fiend. Though a very powerful man, and afraid of no one living in a

this was more of an adventure than I had bargained
for. When I had told him my name and brought to
his mind my participation in his quarrel twenty years
before, he shook me cordially by the hand and ex-
claimed, "If you've got room for a black bear like
me, I'll go to your hut. If not, say so,
for I ain't par-
ticularly fond of company."

Of course I invited him to share the hospitalities of my rude home, and after cutting up the deer which his rifle shot had killed, we set out for my abode.

After dinner I determined to inquire into the cause of his long absence from home, and evident determination to follow up a chase which could not be very promising in its results, and was certainly the emanation of a madman. I could hardly'reconcile to myself that it was the once handsome, good humored Andy Powell, the pride of our little coterie of young hunters who now stood before me, in the bronzed, hard featured savage of the woods. The causes of his curious course were so very singular and yet founded upon the principles of acute judgment that I will give them in his own words as nearly as possible.

"When Steve White put that ragged piece of lead into me for whipping him in a fair trial of skill," said he, "I sort of concluded that friendship or intimacy warn't of any kind of use in the woods, where a man has to take care of himself. So I just concluded to load and prime my rifle, step out of the entire settlements, and look to Billy here for help in the hour of need. I thought also that if Steve White would murder me for being his better, I could do no less than murder him for being worse than myself. It was rather necessary that I should find him though, before I showed him my knife, and the only difficulty with me seemed to be where to find him. I knew enough of the natur and disposition of the crittur to see that he wouldn't steer for the settlements, and accordingly set straight out for the unexplored regions, where, in the back grounds, near the Indians, I hoped to find him. I knew the man thought he had blood on his soul, and wouldn't rest satisfied to live where he could be seen and talked to. I knew that his conscience,for a murderer has more conscience than half the honest fools who struggle through the world-wouldn't let him sleep where he might chance to wake up among some of the friends of the murdered man, and so I set out for the wild woods to find him. I have travelled and tramped from east to west, from north to south, searching out unknown hunters and spying among the Indians for some mysterious hunter whose movements were always guarded and obscure. I have spotted and searched out more than twenty, ay. more than fifty such in dark nooks and corners, but so far have not yet found the man. But I shall find him yet; I shall, before long, track him out and trace him to his den, and the only favor I have to ask at the

hands of the Great Spirit, the only boon I ask for the | need, can bite. Have you a bite of any thing handy
long life of toil and hardships I've led is, the chance, to stay a man's stomach for supper, friends," he con-
the opportunity, of meeting, face to face, the only man tinued to me.
on earth to whom I owe any sort of a debt. Steve
White I do owe something, and if I ever cross his
path I'll settle up in full all my arrears and give him
a quit claim. Ragged bullets, eh? Here's one of
them. I have kept it a long time-it's now almost
worn smooth, though once there were some sharp
corners as I can swear most willingly."

So saying, he drew from an unseen pocket an old ragged bullet, showing some deep indentures, evidently the work of years before, and held it up admiringly before me. After gazing pleasantly upon it for a few moments he placed it away as though afraid its contamination with common air might in some degree affect its purity.

As I rose without answer to attend him, my eyes involuntarily turned to Andy's face, and I recoiled with a sort of unspeakable horror I could not explain. Never in my life did I look upon such a picture of malignant hate, allied to a species of joy, which pained by its very intensity, as was then presented to my gaze. His eyes seemed as though starting from their sockets, his cheeks appeared the receptacle of all the blood of his veins, his hands twitched with a convulsive energy that marked the presence of powerful excitement, while his manner bespoke the inward workings of a passion whose force would soon burst the bounds of all control, and deluge us with its power. His very soul seemed reading the stranger's heart, and cross-questioning his every thought-while big drops of sweat.upon his brow too plainly proved the volcano raging within.

With a show of calmness which ill accorded with his looks, he said to the stranger

I knew not what to think of him now. Crazy he evidently was not, for he conversed rationally upon every subject advanced, though with the air of a man who had but one object in view, and wished other matters to assume a secondary interest. Morose and sullen he certainly was not, though obstinately revengeful, and I at last concluded that he was rational upon all subjects save that of inveterate pur-ter suit of his old and bitter enemy.

At last evening came and found us still conversing over a bright, fire of the knots of pitch pine. We needed no other light, for the brilliancy streamed through the room, and lent an air of comfort to the apartment, anything but cheerless and unpleasant.Suddenly, during a pause in the conversation, which up to this time had been incessant, a knock was heard at the door, so loud and startling that we both involuntarily rose to our feet and examined the priming of our rifles simultaneously. Such an event as a call at my door I had never known, even in the day time, and thus to be aroused in the night was something for which I was quite unprepared. But these thoughts did not detain me long. I opened the door, and before me stood an apparition of an armed man as it seemed, so clothed and covered was he with weapons from head to foot. His dress was the common garb of the hunter, but so encumbered by offensive implements that I could scarce distinguish the hunting shirt which encompassed his broad chest. In his hand was a common rifle, evidently used to hard usage, for the stock bore the marks of many a hand-to-hand conflict, while from his shoulders depended a broad belt literally filled with pistols and hunting knifes. I had never before seen so complete an impersonation of warfare, and hardly knew whether to give him a welcome or shut the door in his face. The former suggestion triumphed, and I invited him in. Without speaking a syllable he strode into the room and coolly took the seat nearest the fire, placing his rifle on the floor beside him.

May I ask the favor of your name, sir?"

Yes," answered he, "but it don't foller as a matof course that I shall tell you. And, begging your pardon, don't you think it rather of an impertinent question?"

66

Prehaps 'tis," answered Andy, with no manifestation of anger at the repulse; "but may I ask if you aint a shoot from the west slope of the Alleghanies?" "Prehaps so, prehaps not," answered the stranger quickly. Why?"

I'll warrant you've forded the head waters of the
Great Kanawha time and agin, if the truth was known.
Now, haint you?" continued Andy, without noticing
his abrupt replies.

Maybe," was the wily response of the other.
"And I haint any doubt you got a sharp cut once
over your left eye from somebody in a quarrel.?"
The stranger for the first time looked his questioner
in the face and put his hand to his belt. He spoke not
yet a word.

"And I'd swear from your eye you've shot larger
game than deer or bears in your time. I would'nt
be surprised if you'd even brought down your man—
of course in fair fight, in no other way, I'll be bound?"

Still the stranger spoke not. His eyes gleamed forth an aspect more plain to be understood than the words he wished to utter.

As abrupt as a transition from smiles to tears were Andy's next words. His voice, his look, his gesture before but the pleasant sallies of a jesting mindwere now transformed into the incipient demonstration of a denunciation of terrific power.

"Did you ever shoot a friend down when his back was turned-and think, think, I say, a ragged bullet would make his body a resting-place for the worms that creep the earth? Stephen White, your hour is come! Twenty years, drawn out to eternity, have I lived in hope of meeting, of clasping you. Twenty years of a pilgrimage for revenge have I trod the for"I am agreeable to either," answered Andy prompt-ests, a wanderer, a self-exiled outcast, living, breathly," but as I don't see any need of a fuss, 'spose we say friendly."

"All friends here, or inclined for a fight?" he asked after a moment's pause, and in a bullying tone I did not much relish; "I always like to know how I stand in company."

"Good!" said the stranger. "I don't like to quarrel; for, when I quarrel, I sometimes use one of my playthings here, and they're not so comfortable when in motion, you know. I never bark, but when there's

ing, gloating, fattenning on the thoughts of this
blessed hour. My food by day, and my sleep by
night, have been sanctified to me by the hope of this
consummation, and now I am repaid-yes, fifty times
over-for the blank in my existence your cursed hand
marked out. I had not hoped for such a meeting,

1

though. I had not even dared to hope that I could meet you manfully, and in a fair struggle tear your heart from your body. Throw aside your rifle now, and hand to hand, with none to molest us, we'll renew the struggles of our young days, with more of bitterness and deadly intent than ever you felt when you stooped to an act unworthy of an Indian."

the wretched man. Volumes of hate—that hate which groweth unto death-were written on his brow, and I turned my head to miss the fatal blow. I heard a slight struggle from the prisoner when his conqueror sought with his hand for the sharpened knife, a violent roll of his body for the ascendancy, and then with full force, through the leather of his pouch and the During his speech the outlaw spoke not a word, cloth of his garments, sped the instrument of death lifted not his hand, and save a deadly paleness which to the heart of the victim. The knife was not raised covered his face, showed no sign of emotion. But for the second blow-the first had done its duty. now his fingers raised a pistol with the suddenness of thought, and ere the trigger could be pulled, it lay in a corner of the room, where the strong arm of Andy Powell had launched it. Another moment, and the strong men grappled !

Without an oath, without a word, without a thought of other than deadly strife, they clung to each other like ferocious tigers. Both were herculean in strength and gigantic in proportions, which inclined the victory for a while to neither side. But at last the tremendous nerve and inexhaustible strength of Andy conquered, and with a crash like the fall of a dead tree of the forest, White fell to the ground beneath the body of his antagonist. He spoke no word, he asked no reprieve from his fate, but lay powerless and ready to meet his doom. There was a triumph in the eye of Andy, which augured no sympathy, no hope for

Not a syllable was spoken by either of us that night. We retired to our beds in silence, each with the conviction that justice had been meted out with a liberal hand.

When I arose the next morning, the dead body of a man, pierced to the heart, lay on the floor before me. The log of the floor was perforated an inch by the blade of the knife, and clotted gore had run down and covered the hearth-stone with its muddy hue. Death and desolation had within a few hours been busy in their labors.

On the door of the cabin was written these few words "In another land I'll lay my bones; this one I leave content. Farewell, my friend—Farewell "" Andy Powell and all belonging to him had vanished. B. BLANQUE.

LAMENT OF THE BROKEN HEARTED.

BY A. FELLOE.

[ORIGINAL.]

In the beautiful church-yard of the village of L-stands a plain, unassuming tablet of marble, on which is inscribed the simple words "Martha W-, aged 17 years, died May 11th, 1847, of a broken heart.

Angels ever bright and fair

Take, O take me to your care,
Speed to your own courts my flight,
Clad in robes of virgin white."

Stimulated by curiosity I inquired into the particulars of her history. It was a short one, and contained nothing of romance. "It was an ower true tale" and the counterpart of hundreds of similar ones. She was the daughter of the clergyman of Land the affianced bride of Edward D, a young man of the neighborhood. He suddenly forsook her and the news of his betrothal to another was conveyed to her. She shed no tears, betrayed no outward signs of sorrow, uttered no words of reproach, but like the summer rose gradually and gently faded away till the very day before the marriage of her first love, when she yielded up her spirit to God without a murmur. Many, ay, many graves in our midst are consecrated by commingling with such holy dust.

The feeble throbs of my wearied pulse
In fainter circles dart,

So press me close in thy welcome arms,

For, sister, we must part;
Yet ere I go I would unfold

The tale of a broken heart.

Uplift the blind of the casement, Kate,

I long for the sinking rays

Of the glorious orb the King of kings
Unfolds to our earthly gaze;

No cheerful beams of such radiaut light
Around my fancy plays.

To-morrow, Kate, two varied peals
Will ring from our church bell;
The one a paan of purest joy
Upon the air will swell,
The other mournfully proclaim
Poor Martha's solemn knell.

A wedding, Kate, in the village church-
His wedding-O that I

Could hover o'er the altar's verge,

Unseen but to his eye;

O God! but for one blessed glance,
Ten thousands deaths I'd die.

One speaking glance! 'Twould tell a tale
Of deep embodied woe;

Not tears that stain the roseate cheek
With grief's momental glow,
But graven on my very soul
Despair's immortal throe.

The sunken eye and the pallid cheek,
Fit allies of my grief,

Would rise in their deformities,
And claim of him relief:

The budding flower of a season past

Is now but a faded leaf.

In the pleasant hours of childhood, Kate,
That happy, merry time,

When to the goal of womanhood
The path seemed smooth to climb,

I little thought my fancied joys

Would perish ere their prime.