A STORM 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 
