_"Here we rest."_


The hoarse panting of the steam-pipes, the clangor of bells, the
splashing of the paddle-wheels, died away in the distance as I stood
upon the landing watching the receding boat steaming down the Alabama
River on its way to Mobile.

Ah, how lovely appeared the woodland scenery around me! The sombre
green of pines, and the equally dark though glossy foliage of oaks,
were beautifully enlivened by lighter greens, and by the brilliant
hues of the sassafras-tree. Here climbed in tantalizing
beauty--tempting as insidious vice, which attracts but to destroy--the
poison-oak vine. Cherokee roses starred the hedges, or, adventurously
climbing the highest trees, flung downward graceful pendants. Upon the
edge of the bank stood a lofty pine, branchless and dead, but, by the
law of compensation which nature delights to execute, clothed to the
very top with closely-clinging vines of mingled green and brightest
red.

Standing upon the bluff above the river, drinking in the beauty of the
scene, listening to the murmur of waters, the song of birds, the weird
music of the pines, I repeated to myself the sweet name _Alabama_ with
a new sense of its fitness: sweet quiet and restfulness seemed to
belong to the spot.

Surely, the noise of battle, the suffering and sorrow I had so lately
witnessed, could never invade this abode of peace. Walking towards the
house where I was to await conveyance to the plantation of my uncle, I
heard the moaning of one apparently in deep distress. At the door the