has he been devoted to the labors of both, and so much has the product of the one grown out of the other. No writer has so unvariedly and so entirely won the admiration of readers of the most refined sentiment and the daintiest fancy, and at the same time the full sympathy of the masses of all tastes and calibres. This result comes from that proper blending, of which we have before spoken, of the two natures, both so manifest in Mr. Willis's character, the physical and the æsthetic-the social feeling which sends him for his themes to the actualities, great and trivial, of daily passing life, and his poet's vision, through which he sees them, instantly and instinctively in their broadest and most striking lights, and is enabled to present them, decked in all the richest glories of the palette, and with a point and force quick and dazzling as the lightning. He is essentially the man of genius, as that term is understood in contradistinction to talent and learning merely. Fanciful, and perhaps unreal, as the plots of his stories may sometimes seem, and scanty as are the incidents, the reader is always carried away captive, and, as by magic, into entire sympathy with the author's mind and imagination. Even the vagaries and eccentricities of his language have their value, as growing out, necessarily, of his singularly unique and original style, and as they never overstep the pale of idiomatic English. "The life and fertility of the mind of Mr. Willis," says Dr. Griswold, in his Prose Writers of America, "are very remarkable. His spirits and faculties seem to have been bathed in perpetual freshness. The stream of thought and feeling in him is like the bubbling outspring of a natural fountain, which flows forth with gayety and freedom, if it flows at all. His powers seem never to be lessened by exhaustion. His fancy is never soiled by fatigue. He never copies others, and he never repeats himself; but always prompt and always vivid, his mind acts with the certainty of a natural prism which turns every ray that reaches it into peculiar beauty." We have made allusions to the gradual failure of Mr. Willis's health of late years. It is very generally known that he is an invalid, but not to what extent. To see him about his home, on foot or horseback, or in Broadway, with his wonted elasticity of step, his air of habitual easy grace, his tall and elegant figure as much obeying the volitions of his will as the smile on his lips; his rosy cheeks, the still joyous luxuriance of his clustering hair, as though his body had, like his mind, been bathed in the fountain of perpetual youth and freshness, the stranger would not think that he owed him any great debt of sympathy as a sick man, and yet it is only the patient philosophy and the cheerful endurance with which he has borne his maladies, and the heroic courage with which he has struggled against them, that has kept him alive. Let us hope that he may be able still to fight the good fight victoriously for many a long year to come. NUPTIAL VERSES. I. Two souls are blended into one, Then wake! my Muse, my Lyre awake, Tune up a joyful note, As sweet as comes at morning's break From the linnet's silver throat. II. Let no rude touch a discord make, III. Hark! in what sweet and solemn strains The answering Lyre replies; How fast the tears come trickling down To dim the brightest eyes! And yet the strain, it is not sad, "Tis not of Sorrow born, Not happier did the young stars sing Upon creation's morn. IV. "Children of love, and faith, and joy! A Husband and a Wife: how much And make it throb again; Of changing hopes and fears, How much of life, how much of death, Of blended smiles and tears! V. "Children of Love! unite your prayers, And yours be Virtue's charm VI. "Children of Joy! go forth anew; Your union, let it be What God requires of ye- A WINTER IN THE SOUTH. Fourth Paper. "Good Ceres, with her plump, brown hands, "No lands of fat increase may vie AN INTERIOR. With their brave wealth, for heart and eye, "That is strikingly true, Sir," replied Larkin, demurely; "for who would have thought that we three could, by our unaided efforts, have emptied this bottle of apple-jack at a sitting, and be none the worse for it?" "Is it empty, Robert? God bless me; then we may as well go to bed." Next morning, before the frost melted, our adventurers had bid adieu to Burnsville, and were on their way to the Bald Mountain, fourteen miles distant. This peak rises from the its proudest neighbors. Its smooth, rounded summit is covered with a rich growth of grass, and is entirely bare of trees; from which peculiarity it takes its name. complacency, "how well I have borne these un-nessee to a height but little inferior to that of usual hardships. What with my age and previous habits of life, I did not believe myself capable of such efforts; but, bless me, a man never knows what he can do until circumstances develop his powers." HARDSHIPS. With the object of their journey in full view, our travelers rode rapidly along the mountain road, discoursing pleasantly upon such subjects as were suggested by their surroundings. "This country," said Larkin, "is certainly the grandest in its physical features that I have seen in the United States; yet by no means so savage and inaccessible as many other regions I have visited, where the elevation is much less; and while abounding in beauty and sublimity, in every element of the picturesque, the idea of sterility, the usual concomitant of mountain scenery, is not suggested here." "On the contrary," said the Squire, "the mountains are cov "That sentiment," quoth the Squire, "is more natural than rational." 66 And," said Jones, "it all only amounts to this-our friend don't admire cant: cant only disgusts us without affecting that which is intrinsic. ered with good soil and timber to their very | by every litterateur, artist, and snob in Europe summits; and where trees are wanting, their and America." place is supplied with fine summer pastures instead of arid and frightful rocks. The valleys and rolling hills between the great ranges appear to be well adapted to cultivation and cattle raising. There is another observation which I have made, also indicating a more genial soil and climate than belongs to our mountain regions farther north; that is, the extraordinary beauty of the children and young people we have seen. Have you not marked them, Robert ?" "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." " The horsemen reached the foot of the Bald Mountain about mid-day; but being entirely uninformed in regard to the neighborhood, they spent some time riding up and down in search of a guide. The first house at which they call "Indeed I have, Sir, the girls especially; but I did not suppose you had been so observed was empty; and the next, about half a mile ant." distant, although sufficiently populated with women and children, afforded them even less satisfactory information in regard to the object of their wishes. "All extremes," continued the Squire, "are prejudicial to the perfect development of the human species. It is in the temperate zones that man attains his greatest perfection, and there always in that condition of life which is midway between hardship and ease, privation and luxury, and, to my eye, the greatest charm that any country can possess is a handsome, healthful, and vigorous population. "Right hardy are the men, I trow, Who build upon the mountain's brow, And love the gun, and scorn the plow. "Not such soft pleasures pamper these As lull the subtle Bengalese, Or islanders of Indian seas. "A rugged hand to cast the seed, A rifle for the red deer's speed, With these their swarming huts they feed. "Such men are Freedom's body-guard; On their high rocks, so cold and hard, They keep her surest watch and ward.'" "Those verses are very beautiful," said the Tennesseean, "and evidently written by one who drew his inspiration fresh from Nature, just such Nature as this by which we are surrounded. What themes for the poet lurk in these shadowy vales! how full of wild romance the history of the simple and hardy race which inhabit them!" At length they met a tall, wiry mountaineer, somewhat advanced in years; and on entering into conversation with him, ascertained that he was no other than Thomas Wilson, Senior, uncle to the sturdy pioneer of the Black. After some little hesitation, Uncle Tom consented to accompany them himself, and without more words they started on their way. The ascent of the Bald, from the North Carolina side, is through an open forest; and after the savage scenes through which our adventurers had lately passed, it appeared to them a matter of no moment. It was accomplished without dismounting, and without an incident worthy of note. When they arrived at the edge of the open ground near the summit, the guide gave them some directions for descending on the western side; and, taking a friendly leave, returned from whence he came. Left to themselves, our friends struck into a cattle-path, which led them by a circuitous route to the summit of the Bald Cone on the southern end of the mountain its peculiar feature and highest point. The panoramic view from this peak is simi"Ah!" said the artist, "these mountains have lar in its general features to that obtained from a charm for me that neither Alps nor Apen- the Roane; but of this latter, the summit itnines possess. One soon gets tired of the ever- self presents many points of grandeur and inlasting ice and snow, and sooner of the tree-terest, with its dark groves of balsams, huge less, shrubless hills, and castle-crowned rocks of Italy; but the sylvan beauty of these scenes, the glory of these virgin forests, hold my fancy with a power like fascination. Were it not for the cold, and other engagements, I would wander about here for the next six months, and explore every part of this magnificent region." "Nevertheless," replied the Tennesseean, "I have always entertained a great desire to see those castled rocks and snow-capped peaks of which you speak.' "Well," said Bob, thoughtfully, "they are, in truth, very grand, well worth seeing. Perhaps I am splenetic, but I never could appreciate sights or endure countries that have been so inked over with dottings and jottings, etchings and sketchings-besmoked, besmeared, bedaubed, bepainted—gaped at and slavered over, heaps of disjointed rocks, and frightful precipices; while the crown of the Bald is tame, and, instead of pictures, only affords good pasturage. In recompense for these defects, this knoll is furrowed with a rectangular ditch, or sort of intrenchment, of considerable extent, whose singular history invests it with peculiar interest. It is said to have been the work of one Davy Grier, who went mad for love, filed from society, and lived a hermit on the side of this mountain, whose romantic life and death still furnish themes for the log cabin fire-side for a hundred miles around. But the surroundings are too extensive for a sketch-too sublime for description. Our friends stood enjoying them in silence-now looking westward over the vast rolling plains of East Tennessee-now recognizing the Roane among his towering brothers to the northward—now | sides of the mountain appeared to be quite glancing regretfully at the Black, whose peaks practicable, free from rocks and undergrowth; that day rose clean and clear against the east- now let us take a free path down, and trust to ern sky; then to the southward, from the mag- fortune for the result." nificent valley of the French Broad, the soul, incapable of satiety, might quaff draughts of loveliness and grandeur, as it were, from a mighty bowl. But it was long after mid-day, and the breeze cut sharper than a knife- so, leading their horses down the slope, they sought a place protected from the wind, and proceeded to refresh themselves with rolls and ham, the produce, as Squire Broadacre said, of their experience on the Black Dome. This frugal repast concluded, they again mounted, and in a careless, rollicking manner, went in quest of the path by which they were to descend. The Squire took the lead, and under his guidance they rode for some distance along the open ridge without finding the object of their search. Now and then they were deluded by the appearance of cow-paths, which seemed to lead in the proper direction; but as these invariably terminated in a frozen lick or a laurel thicket, the bewildered travelers would return to the summit, after a disputatious consultation, to renew the fruitless search. As the sun was rapidly declining, and the icy northwester hissed through the naked woods, these consultations at length degenerated into an open wrangle. Mr. Jones declared that, if he had been consulted in the first place, they would already have been half-way down the mountain. Larkin swore that they had passed the place two miles back; that he had remarked it at the time, but no one chose to listen to him, although he knew more about mountains than any one else. "I'll warrant you do," said the Squire, sharply. "Look you, youngster; you are my kinsman, and you came of an arrogant and conceited race - people who always knew more about every thing than every body else, and who would butt their brains out against a mountain rather than acknowledge an error." "All true enough," retorted Larkin; "and, unfortunately, age, instead of curing, rather increases the family peculiarity." Here the Squire began to thrash his horse, and the Tennesseean spoke up: "Gentlemen, the heat of your argument will scarcely prevent our freezing if we remain here. We must adopt some plan of action, and that right speedily. See, the sun is setting." The Squire's steed, impatient of the unmerited blows, had carried him under the branches of a scrub oak, which scraped his hat off. The old gentleman regarded his fallen head-gear with a look of direst vexation, and with an audible groan prepared to dismount. Before he could do so, however, Larkin sprung to the ground and politely handed him the hat. "Gentlemen," continued Mr. Jones, "hear what I have to propose. As we ascended, the "That is bold counsel, and timely," said the Squire. "Lead on!" The last gleam of sunlight shone upon the weather-beaten and determined faces of the three travelers as they started down the steep mountain side, dodging the limbs of the dwarf oaks, and with whip and rein warily urging their horses over the loose and moss-covered rocks. For half a mile or more they pursued their zigzag course without meeting with any serious obstacle. Soon, however, the hill-side grew steeper, and was furrowed with deep-washed gullies, half filled with ice and snow. Dark thickets of rhododendron were visible in every direction through the trees, while impenetrable abattis of fallen timber effectually closed the passages between the ravines. The horses were already panting from exhaustion, while the horsemen were wet with toil and vexation. In attempting to cross a deep gully the Squire's horse lost his footing, and with his rider went crashing into a briery thicket. By Larkin's ready aid both man and beast were presently rescued without damage. "Bob," said the old man, "I knew your father well. The Larkins were a spirited race, and always showed best in times of trouble and danger." It soon became manifest that such times were at hand. Precipitous ledges of rock were now seen towering above the trees, their dark faces grinning with icicles; the ravines had increased in size and depth until they were impassable. Between, a steep stair-way of loose, angular rocks, rendered more slippery and dangerous by a crust of snow, was the only road. The horsemen dismounted, and with voice and whip urged their beasts down the dangerous path, which seemed hardly safe for a practiced footman. In the patience and ingenuity with which they strove and struggled, avoiding a precipice on this side, a mass of fallen timber on that, tearing through a tangled thicket here, there forcing their reluctant steeds to some more desperate leap; in the uncomplaining fortitude with which they suffered scratches, cuts, and bruises, in the general recklessness of life and limb exhibited in their movements, one might perceive that the circumstances of our travelers were becoming well-nigh desperate. Sliding, jumping, tumbling down a break-neck declivity, Larkin was at length brought up with a jerk which threw him across a moss-covered rock at the bottom. The Black stood naked and smoking beside him; the saddle, baggage, and equipments being strewed in pieces along the steep descent. His companions arrived immediately after, hardly in better plight. The crown of the Squire's respectable hat flapped up and down like a smoke-jack, and the knees of the Tennesseean's horse were cut and bloody. They stood upon the brink of a precipice, over | still and rested, until their beards and hair were which poured a mountain torrent with a clear white with frost. Anon, Larkin's voice was leap of fifty feet. heard, sharp and scornful, as if reading a passage from a newspaper. The first movement of the travelers was to quench their fiery thirst, and the next to attend to the wants of their whinnying companions. Then they sat down quietly, face to face, to see what cheer and counsel could be gathered from communion. The roar of the torrent made the woods tremble. The twilight was fast deepening into utter darkness, but it was still light enough to see the awful loneliness that hemmed them in, and read despair in each other's faces. No one had any thing to suggest, so they sat "In the month of December last, three gentlemen, who had visited the Bald Mountain, attempted to descend on the Tennessee side without a guide. In so doing they lost their road, and perished, it is supposed, from cold and exhaustion. Their bodies were found half devoured by the wolves." The Squire seized the speaker's arm. "Robert, my boy, you have aroused me from a pleasant dream." "Friends," said the Tennesseean, "this is not a time for rest or dreams. Listen to me. We can get no farther with the horses-that is evident. I suppose they must perish; it is hard, but we can't help them. Perhaps we have still spirit and stamina enough to save ourselves." "Skin for skin," groaned Squire Broadacre. "Yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life." "All, uncle-save his honor. Shall we desert the faithful brutes ?" "Bob Larkin," returned the Squire, "we must not sacrifice ourselves to a sentiment. Besides, boy, they are only hired horses, and I'll warrant have left no colts at home to whinny after them." Putting their bruised and benumbed limbs again in motion, not without difficulty, our travelers gathered their gear in a heap, and tethered the horses as securely as possible to some laurels that overhung the It was then resolved to follow the course of the stream until they reached the valley, where they would without doubt soon find a settlement. They would thus have a clew whereby they might return to their horses, and, with assistance from the mountaineers, possibly rescue them from their present plight. Cheered by these new-formed hopes, they resumed their toilsome and hazardous march with an appearance of alacrity. "Stop a moment!" cried Larkin. And hurrying DESCENDING THE TUMBLING FORK. |