A STOKM SCENE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 



In the year 18 — , we found ourselves travelling on horse- 

 back, "low down on the Mississippi." The weather was 

 intensely hot, and as we threaded our way through the 

 forests and swamps, through which the river flows, a 

 silent and stifled atmosphere prevailed, such as required 

 little wisdom to predict as the forerunner of a storm. 



The insects of the woods were more than usually 

 troublesome and venomous. The locust would occasion- 

 ally make its shrill sounds as on a merry day, then sud- 

 denly stop, give a disquiet chirp or two, and relapse into 

 silence. The venomous mosquito, revelled in the damp- 

 ness of the air, and suspending its clamor of distant 

 trumpets, seemed only intent to bite. The crows scold- 

 ed like unquiet housewives, high in the air, while higher 

 still the buzzard wheeled in graceful but narrowed 

 circles. 



The dried twigs in our path bent, instead of snap- 

 ping, as the weight of our horses' hoofs pressed upon 



