23 2 
THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, 
ling, they took to their heels, and were all in a few mo- 
ments invisible in the verdant depths of the plains, and we 
saw them no more. 
ii It was in the first opening of spring, after a slow and 
easy journey of five weeks from Natchitoches, that we 
arrived at last in view of that immense chain of moun- 
tains, commonly denominated “ the Rocky Mountains,” 
at the point where the Arkansas finds its way from among 
them to the plain. No time will erase from my mind the 
impressions of awe and grandeur, excited by the distant 
view and the gradual approach to this sublime chain of moun- 
tains. We had been prepared for this impression by an 
approach of two hundred leagues, through a level plain of 
short and soft grass, seldom able to discover in our whole 
horizon, a tree, a shi’ub, an eminence, or any other object 
but herds of animals, to diversify the scene.” 
•if? ^ 
“I arose early in the morning to make the circuit of 
this lovely vale. At the extremity of the village, the 
torrent, whose sources were in the mountains, poured 
down, from a prodigious elevation, a white and perpen- 
dicular cascade, which seemed a sheet suspended in the 
air. It falls into a circular basin, paved with blue lime- 
stone of some rods in circuit. The dash near at hand has 
a startling effect upon the ear. But at a little distance, it 
is just the murmur to inspire repose, and it spreads a deli- 
cious coolness all around the place. From the basin the 
stream seems to partake of the repose of the valley; for it 
broadens into a transparent and quiet water, whose banks 
are fringed with pawpaw, persimon, laurel, and catalpa 
shrubs and trees, interlaced with vines, under which the 
green carpet is rendered gay with flowers of every scent 
and hue. The soil is black, tender and exuberantly fer- 
tile. The coolness of the vale and the shade, together 
with the irrigation of the stream, cover the whole valley 
with a vivid verdure. The beautiful red-bird with its 
crimson-tufted crest, and the nightingale sparrow, pouring 
from a body scarcely larger than an acorn, a continued 
stream of sound, a prolonged, plaintive, and sweetly mo- 
dulated harmony, that might be heard at the distance of 
half a mile, had commenced their morning voluntary. 
The mocking-bird, the buffoon of songsters, was parody- 
ing the songs of all the rest. Its short and jerking notes, 
at times, imitated bursts of laughter. Sometimes, laying 
aside its habitual levity, it shows, that it knows the notes 
of seriousness, and trills a sweetly melancholy strain. 
Above the summits of these frowning mountains, that 
mortal foot had never yet trodden, soared the mountain 
eagle, drinking the sunbeam in the pride of his native in- 
dependence. Other birds of prey, apparently poised on 
their wings, swam slowly round in easy curves, and seem- 
ed to look with delight upon the green spot embosomed 
in the mountains. They sailed back and forwards, as 
though they could not tire of the view. The sun, which 
had burnished all the tops of the mountains with gold, and 
here and there glistened on banks of snow, would not 
shine into the valley, until he had almost gained his me- 
ridian height. The natives, fleet as the deer when on ex- 
peditions abroad, and at home lazy and yawning, were 
just issuing from their cabins, and stretching their limbs 
supinely in the cool of the morning. The smoke of their 
cabin fires had begun to undulate and whiten in horizon- 
tal pillars athwart the valley. The distant roar of the cas- 
cade, like the gong in Chinese music, seemed to mingle 
and harmonize all other sounds in the valley. It was a 
charming assemblage of strong contrasts, rocky and inac- 
cessible mountains, the deep and incessant roar of the 
stream, a valley that seemed to sleep between these im- 
pregnable ramparts of nature, a little region of landscape 
surrounded by black and ragged cliffs, on every side dot- 
ted thick with brilliant and beautiful vegetation, and fra- 
grant with hundreds of acacias and catalpas in full flower, 
a spot sequestered like a lonely isle in the midst of the 
ocean; in the midst of it a busy, simple, and undescribed 
people, whose forefathers had been born and had died here 
for uncounted generations: a people, who could record 
wars, loves, and all the changes of fortune, if they had 
had their historian. Such was the valley of the Comman- 
ches.” 
DEER HUNTING IN SOUTH CAROLINA. 
Our Deer hunting commences on the 1st of August, 
and usually terminates about the 1st of November, when 
we commence fox hunting. Our party, generally, con- 
sists of that veteran and accomplished sportsman, Major 
T , Captain B. F. T , Messrs. J. R , J. W , 
and Colonel H ; and our pack, of ten couple of first 
rate dogs. Having but few Deer on our side of the river, 
we usually hunt eight or ten miles on the other side. 
Various causes delayed our sport this season until the 12th 
of September, on which day our party rendezvoused at 
Platt’s Springs. In the afternoon of the same day, three 
couple of stanch dogs were thrown into cover at Muller’s 
Drive. The sonorous tongue of Kate, and the deep 
challenge of old Clinker, soon announced the presence of 
game. 
After an intricate drag of more than a mile, a burst, 
and then the clear, loud, and protracted halloo, from our 
driver, indicated that the game had been roused, and was 
taking the proper direction. In breaking from cover, the 
