CRAVEN COUNTY, SOUTH CAROLINA. 91 



every sweep who ascends the chimneys of Paris, has 

 constantly in his mind the picture of some cherished 

 nook in the Savoy Alps, the hope of returning to 

 which, as its owner, gives him courage to toil and 

 fortitude to save the rewards of his labors. Think 

 not, as you view the uninteresting faces of these 

 apparently hapless children of poverty, that all is 

 dark and desolate within their bosoms. They are 

 animated with a hope which many a more fortunate- 

 looking man might envy. Their hearts retain viv- 

 idly the impressions of happiness once enjoyed, and 

 beat with exultation as each hour of toil brightens 

 the prospect of resuming it. What to them are the 

 tall and gloomy chimneys of the gay metropolis? 

 They are the portals through which they approach 

 their Alpine farms. But alas ! well has the old 

 French romancer sung : 



" Oh ne le quittez pas ; c'est moi qui vous le dis 

 Le devant de la porte ou Ton jouait jadis ; 

 L'eglise oti tout enfant, d'une voix douce et claire, 

 Vous chantiez a la messe aupres de votre mere ; 

 Et la petite ecole, 011 trainant chaque pas, 

 Vous alliez le matin — oh ne la quittez pas." 



He who would be happy amid the scenes of his 

 infancy must so live as to preserve the freshness of 

 that age. Time and absence efface nearly all that 

 was hallowed to the youthful mind, and too fre- 

 quently the success of the young adventurer, instead 

 of leading him to the realization of his happiness, 



