Unfeared and unfearing we'll traverse the wood,
Where pours the rude torrent its turbulent flood:
The forest's red children will smile as we scour
By the log-fashioned hut and the pine-woven bower;
Thy feathery footsteps scarce bending the grass,
Or denting the dew-spangled moss where we pass

"What startles thee? 'Twas but the sentinel gun
Flashed a vesper salute to thy rival the sun;
He has closed his swift progress before thee, and sweeps
With fetlock of gold the last verge of the steeps.
The fire-fly anon from his covert shall glide,
And dark fall the shadows of eve on the tide.
Tread softly--my spirit is joyous no more.
A northern aurora, it shone and is o'er;
The tears will fall fast as I gather the rein,
And a long look reverts to yon shadowy plain."


* * * * *

There is more of it, but nothing to the purpose of the present history.
It cost me something to transcribe this, so vividly is the past recalled
by it. Would to God I might more fully devote to his service every day
of the life so wonderfully preserved by him.

In addition to this continuous preservation on horseback, I experienced
the same interposing providence when violently upset in a gig. The road
where it occurred was strewn with broken rocks on either side, for
miles; and scarcely one clear spot appeared, save that on which I was