hed our wounds and bound them up, and we dragged
ourselves into the blockhouse, and lay down upon our mattresses of dry
leaves. And Godsend loaded the rifles and a dozen Spanish muskets that
were lying about, to be in readiness for another attack, and the women
kept watch while we slept. But the Spaniards had had enough, and we saw
no more of them. Only the next morning, when Jonas went down the ladder
to reconnoitre, he found thirty dead and several others dying, and a few
wounded, who begged hard for a drink of water, for that their comrades
had deserted them. We got them up into the blockhouse, and had their
wounds dressed, and after a time they were cured and left us."

"And were you never after attacked again?" said I. "I wonder at your
courage in remaining here after becoming aware of the dangers you were
exposed to."

"We reckoned we had more right than ever to the land after all the blood
it had cost us, and then the news of the fight had got carried into the
settlements, and up as far as Salt River; and some of our friends and
kinsfolk came down to join us, and there were soon enough of us not to
care for twice as many Spaniards as we had beaten off before."

While he was speaking the old squatter descended the ladder, and led us
out of the forest and over the ridge of a low hill, on the side of which
stood a dozen loghouses, which cast their black shadows on the moonlit
slope. We found a rough but kind welcome--few words, but plenty of good
cheer--and we made acquaintance with the heroes and heroines of the
blockhouse siege, and with their sons and daughters, buxom strapping
damsels and fine manly lads, Yankees though they were. I have often
enjoyed a softer bed, but never a sounder sleep than that night.

The next day our horses were brought round from the swamp, and we took
our departure; but as hardships, however painful to endure, are pleasant
to look back upon, so have I often thought with pleasure of our
adventures in the prairies, and recurred with the strongest interest to
old Nathan's thrilling narrative of the Bloody Blockhouse.

COMMERCIAL POLICY--EUROPE

The land absolutely groans under over-material-production of every sort
and degree, as on all hands is now acknowledged. The foundations of
Manchester tremble under the ponderous piles of Cobden's calicoes, in
Cobden's warerooms, ever, like the liver of Prometheus, undiminished,
though daily devoured by the vulture of consumption. The