a scene worthy of a sweeter strain. And this scene lay not upon
the classic shores of the Hellespont--not in the famed valleys of Alp
and Apennine--not by the romantic borders of the Rhine, but upon the
banks of _Mud Creek_ in the state of Tennessee! In truth, it was a
lovely landscape, or rather a succession of landscapes, through which I
rode, after leaving the cabin of my hospitable host. It was the season
of "Indian summer"--that singular phenomenon of the occidental clime,
when the sun, as if rueing his southern declension, appears to return
along the line of the zodiac. He loves better the "Virgin" than
"Aquarius;" and lingering to take a fond look on that fair land he has
fertilised by his beams, dispels for a time his intruding antagonist,
the hoary Boreas. But his last kiss kills: there is too much passion in
his parting glance. The forest is fired by its fervour; and many of its
fairest forms the rival trod of the north may never clasp in his cold
embrace. In suttee-like devotion, they scorn to shun the flame; but,
with outstretched arms inviting it; offer themselves as a holocaust to
him who, through the long summer-day, has smiled upon their trembling
existence.

At this season of the year, too, the virgin forest is often the victim
of another despoiler--the _hurricane_. Sweeping them with spiteful
breath, this rude destroyer strikes down the trees like fragile reeds--
prostrating at once the noblest and humblest forms. Not one is left
standing on the soil: for the clearing of the hurricane is a complete
work; and neither stalk, sapling, nor stump may be seen, where it has
passed. Even the giants of the forest yield to its strength, as though
smitten by the hand of a destroying angel! Uprooted, they lie along the
earth side by side--the soil still clinging to the clavicles of their
roots, and their leafy tops turned to the lee--in this prostrate
alignment slowly to wither and decay! A forest, thus fallen, presents
for a time a picture of melancholy aspect. It suggests the idea of some
grand battle-field, where the serried hosts, by a terrible discharge of
"grape and canister," have been struck down on the instant: not one
being left to look to the bodies of the slain--neither to bury nor
remove them. Like the battle-field, too, it becomes the haunt of wolves
and other wild beasts; who find among the fallen trunks, if not food, a
fastness securing them from the pursuit both of hound and hunter.