appearance; and the cattle grazing at intervals, while their bells keep time with their teeth, reminded me of something more than The Cotters' Saturday Night.' Felicia fluttered and floated

about like a young ethereal; Rosa's spirits were as gay and as tireless as the wings of the humming bird; and my own heart was an overflowing fountain of joy.

"Yesterday Felicia was out visiting with Judge Penn's little girls. The rain fell fast; but their tiny feet flew faster; and, judging from the appearance of their pantalets, the mud flew fastest. If Felicia's face is the thermometer of her spirits, I should judge they had nearly reached the boiling point."

Her next letter contains the following paragraphs:

"I am comfortable and well cared for. Judge Penn and his family show me all possible attention, and seem to take real pleasure in rendering me happy.

*

*

*

*

"Every morning brings its sunshine, and every day its shower. And in spite of its consequences, I cannot say that I regret to see it come down, the baptism is so refreshing to vegetation. And then, to see the grass all strung with diamonds from the clouds, and the evanescent rivulet tripping along in its miniature grandeur, as consequential as if freighted with the commerce of a continent, is

enough to compensate for a whole week's imprisonment. Sometimes we are all dressed for a walk; and then a shower will dodge down so suddenly, that one is ready to conclude it only comes from the eaves; and anon it clears off as quickly as a child laughs away its tears.

I

"I have as yet seen nothing of Covington, except in a carriage. Walking is almost out of the question. The red bug is more than a match for my dexterity. I give it up. I am conquered by an animalcula. I could meet an open foe; but an insect in ambush, oakbush, elmbush, thornbush, pinebush, every bush, is more than I can combat. believe this little pest will cut off one of my richest sources of enjoyment, namely, intercourse with nature. What though the long green grass of Louisiana, like the white daisy fields of England, 'stretches onward forever?' What though the many-voiced mocking bird trills his choicest melody, and is answered by the chorus of breeze and brook? The red bug flourishes his flaming sword, and the gate of Paradise is not passed with impunity.

"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh;' and so does the pen; and you will excuse this digression when I tell you that I returned from my ride the other day literally covered with these detestable tormenters. Like the glad music of Memnon's lyre, inspired by morning sunshine, I greet the day; but when evening comes, I pay dear enough for all my rural joys; and all night long

I am dreaming of groves, and lawns, and moonlit walks, where there are no red bugs to molest, or make me afraid. And poor little Felicia, with the bee and the butterfly, is fluttering incessantly from flower to flower; but the thorn ever springs up with the rose, and in her sleep the dear child is in perpetual warfare with the despicable foe."

CHAPTER XVII.

TEARS OF LOVE.

"Roses bloom, and then they wither;
Cheeks are bright, then fade and die;
Shapes of light are wafted hither,
Then like visions hurry by."

Percival.

ON the tenth day of August, Mrs. Cross gave birth to a beautiful daughter, and called her Leila Thalia. This event unsealed in her heart a new fountain of love and joy. The happy state of her mind, doubtless, facilitated her recovery; and the prospect seemed fair for better health than she had enjoyed since the days of her childhood.

"But human hopes, alas! like flowers,
Are cherished but to fade.”

On the eighth of September, having been called to a chair in Transylvania University, I started for Kentucky. The next day, "The dear little Poetess" was taken slightly ill. But there were no alarming symptoms, and no apprehensions of a serious result. She arose and dressed herself every morning, and took her accustomed walk every evening. On the twelfth she came in with her apron full of flowers, sat down and wove them into a crown, which she placed upon her head. her head. On the thirteenth she went

up to wear an unfading wreath in heaven!

This bereavement was a dreadful blow to my poor Leila. It threw her into a fever, from the effects of which she never recovered. More than two weeks she was confined to her bed; and though subsequently convalescent, she remained very feeble, and kept her room. Her attachment to the deceased, and the feelings occasioned by her loss, will best appear from her own language. October thirteenth, she writes:

"Felicia Hemans has left us forever. Dear little angel! she returned to God just a month ago.today. Ah! how much I miss her! Wherever I look, I read her name on flower or star. And then, the thousand traces of her little hands-O! my heart is sick!

'I little dreamed the fairest flower
Would be the first to fall.'

But life is full of solemn lessons; and I have, perhaps, many a bitter truth to learn. This is the first storm that ever swept over me, and no wonder it has bowed me to the earth. Friends are kind— kind beyond my largest claim, and streams of sympathy come flowing in on all hands to refresh my weary spirit; but there is a cloud over half my heaven —a dark and cheerless cloud, invoving all the winter of sorrow.

'Like autumn leaves upon the ground.

My earthly hopes are strown,

And cherished flowers lie dead around,

And singing birds are gone.'”