I had left the village of Shawaney, situated on the banks of the Ohio, on my return to Henderson, which is also situated on the banks of the same beautiful stream. The weather was pleasant, and I thought not warmer than usual at that season. My horse was jogging quietly along, and my thoughts were for once, at least, in the course of my life, entirely engaged in commercial speculations. I had forded Highland Creek, and was on the eve of entering a tract of bottom-land, or valley that lay between it and Canoe Creek, when on a sudden I remarked a great difference in the aspect of the heavens. A hazy thickness had overspread the country, and I for some time expected an earthquake, but my horse exhibited no propensity to stop and prepare for such an occurrence. I had nearly arrived at the verge of the valley, when I thought fit to stop near near a brook, and dismounted to quench the thirst which had come upon me.

I was leaning on my knees, with my lips about to touch the water,

when, from my proximity to the earth, I heard a distant murmuring sound of an extraordinary nature; I drank, however, and as I rose on my feet, looked toward the southwest, where I observed a yellowish, oval spot, the appearance of which was quite new to me. Little time was left me for consideration, as the next moment a smart breeze began to agitate the taller trees. It increased to an unexpected height, and already the smaller branches and twigs were seen falling in a slanting direction toward the ground. Two minutes had scarcely elapsed, when the whole forest before me was in fearful motion. Here and there, where one tree pressed against another, a creaking noise was produced. similar to that occasioned by the violent gusts which sometimes sweep over the country. Turning instinctively toward the direction from which the wind blew, I saw, to my great astonishment, that the noblest trees of the forest bent their lofty heads for a while, and, unable to stand against the blast, were falling into pieces. First, the branches were broken off with a crackling noise; then went the upper part of the massy trunks, and in many places whole trees of gigantic size were falling entire to the ground. So rapid was the progress of the storm, that before I could think of taking measures to insure my safety, the hurricane was passing opposite to the place where I stood. Never can I forget the scene which at that moment presented itself. The tops of the trees were seen moving in the strangest manner, in the central current of the tempest, which carried along with it a mingled mass of twigs and foliage, that completely obscured the view. Some of the largest trees were seen bending and writhing under the gale; others suddenly snapped across, and many, after a momentary resistance, fell uprooted to the earth. The mass of branches, twigs, foliage, and dust that moved through the air, was whirled onward like a cloud of feathers, and, on passing, disclosed a wide space filled with fallen trees, naked stumps, and heaps of shapeless ruins, which marked the path of the tempest. This space was about a fourth of a mile in breadth, and to my imagination resembled the dried-up bed of the Mississippi, with its thousands of planters and sawyers strewed in the sand, and inclined in various degrees. The horrible noise resembled that of the great cataracts of Niagara; and as it howled along in the track of the desolating tempest, produced a feeling in my mind which it is impossible to describe.

The principal force of the hurricane was now over, although millions of twigs and small branches, that had been brought from a great distance, were seen following the blast, as if drawn onward by some mysterious power. They even floated in the air for some hours after, as if supported by the thick mass of dust that rose high above the ground. The sky had now a greenish, lurid hue, and an extremely disagreeable sulphureous odor was diffused in the atmosphere. I waited in amazement, having sustained no material injury, until nature at length resumed her wonted aspect. For some moments I felt undetermined

whether I should return to Morgantown, or attempt to force my way through the wrecks of the tempest. My business, however, being of an urgent nature, I ventured into the path of the storm, and after encountering innumerable difficulties, succeeded in crossing it. I was obliged to lead my horse by the bridle to enable him to leap over the fallen trees, while I scrambled over or under them in the best way I could-at times so hemmed in by the broken tops and tangled branches, as almost to become desperate. On arriving at my house, I gave an account of what I had seen, when, to my surprise, I was told there had been very little wind in the neighborhood, although in the streets and gardens many branches and twigs had fallen in a manner which excited great surprise.

The valley is yet a desolate place, overgrown with briers and bushes, thickly entangled amid the tops and trunks of the fallen trees, and is the resort of ravenous animals, to which they betake themselves, when pursued by man, or after they have committed their depredations on the farms of the surrounding district. I have crossed the path of the storm at a distance of a hundred miles from the spot where I witnessed its fury, and again four hundred miles farther off, in the State of Ohio. Lastly, I observed traces of its ravages on the summits of the mountains connected with the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, three hundred miles beyond the place last mentioned. In all these different parts it appeared to me not to have exceeded a quarter of a mile in breadth. J. J. AUDUBON.

THE RAINBOW.

A rainbow and the sun breaking through cloud.
Discourage not yourselves, although you see
The weather black, and storms prolonged be.

What though it fiercely rains and thunders loud,

Behold there is a rainbow in the cloud,

Wherein a trustful promise may be found,

That quite your little worlds shall not be drown'd.
The sunshine through the foggy mists appear,
The low'ring sky begins again to clear;
And though the tempest yet your eyes affright,
Fair weather may befall you long ere night.

Such comfort speaks our Emblem unto those
Whom stormy persecution doth inclose;
And comforts him, that for the present sad,
With hopes that better seasons may be had.
There is not trouble. sorrow, nor distress,
But mitigation hath, or some release.

Long use or time the storm away will turn,
Else patience makes it better to be borne.
Yea; sorrow's low'ring days will come and go,
As well as prosp'rous hours of sunshine do;
And when 'tis past, the pain that went before
Will make the following pleasure seem the more.
For He hath promis'd, whom we may believe,
His blessing unto those that mourn and grieve;
And that though sorrow much dejects their head,
In ev'ry need we shall be comforted.
This promise I believe; in ev'ry grief
Perform it, Lord, and help my unbelief.
So others viewing how thou cheerest me,
Shall in all sorrows put their trust in thee.

GEORGE WITHER, 1558-1667.

XXV.

Medley.

THE STORY OF AARON THE BEGGAR.

FROM THE SWEDISH.

K

ANGAS lieth in Sioni; 'tis a homestead that scarce has an equal; Plenteous in wood and in corn-fields, with rich grassy meadows and moorland.

This won my father, in wedding the farmer's fair daughter;
And here he grew old, like a summer's eve calmly declining.
From him came the farm unto me; and here, like my father,

I spent the best years of my life, and dwelt like a king amid plenty.
Servants I had; men servants to plow with my oxen;

And maids in the house, too; and children, the joy of their mother
And the hope of my eye, who grew up like olive-plants round us.
Thus sowing and reaping in comfort, from season to season abode I,
Envied by many, but having the good-will of all men.

At length came misfortune, and so put an end to my gladness.
The frost of one night destroyed all my yet unreaped harvest,
Wolves killed my cattle; and thus passed a winter of sorrow.
Again I sowed rye-crops, looking for profit in autumn;