stead, with its chunked and daubed walls; the cherry-trees under which she had played in childhood; the flowers she had planted; and then to see the dear old furniture auctioned off -the churn, the apple-butter pot, the venerable quilting frame, the occasion of so many social gatherings. But harder than all it was when her own white cow was put up; her pet'that, when a calf, she had saved from the butcherit was too much, and the tears trickled afresh down Sally's blooming cheeks. "Ten dollars, ten dollars for the cow!' 'Fifty dollars!' shouted Bates. "Why, Sammy,' whispered a prudent neighbor, 'she hain't worth twenty at the outside.' "I'll gin fifty for her,' replied Sam, doggedly. "Now, when Sally heard of this piece of gallantry, she must needs thank the purchaser for the compliment, and commend Sukey to his especial kindness. Then she extended her plump hand, which Sam seized with such a devouring grip that the little maiden could scarcely suppress a scream. She did suppress it, however, that she might hear whether he had any thing further to say; but she was disappointed. He turned away dumb, swallowing, as it were, great hunks of grief as big as dumplings. When every thing was sold off, and dinner was over, the company disposed itself about the yard in groups, reclining on the grass or seated on benches and dismantled furniture. The conversation naturally turned on the events of the day and the prospects of the Jones family, and it was unanimously voted a cussed pity that so fine a girl as Sally should be permitted to leave the country so evidently against her will. "Hain't none of you sneaking whelps the sperit to stop her?' asked the white-headed miller, addressing a group of young bachelors lying near. The louts snickered, turned over, whispered to each other, but no one showed any disposition to try the experiment. "The sun was declining in the west. Some of those who lived at a distance were already gone to harness up their horses. To-morrow, the Belle of Cacapon Valley would be on her way to Missouri. Just then Sally rushed from the house, with a face all excitement, a step all determination. Arrived in the middle of the yard, she mounted the reversed apple-butter kettle: I don't want to go West-I don't-I don't want to leave Old Virginia; and I won't leave, if there's a man among ye that has spunk enough to ask me to stay.' "But where is Southern Chivalry? withered beneath the sneers of cold-blooded malignity?-choked by the maxims of dollar-jingling prudence?-distanced on the circular race-course of progress?-bankrupt through the tricks of counterfeiting politicians? Deluded querist, no! Like a strong and generous lion it sleeps-sleeps so soundly that even apes may grimace and chatter insults in its face, and pull hairs from its tail with impunity; but give it a good hard poke, and you will hear a roar that will make the coward tremble and the brave prudent. The "Hearken to the sequel of Sally Jones: "Scarcely had she finished her patriotic address when there was a general rush. less active were trampled over like puffed goatskins at a bacchanalian festival: 'Miss Sally, I axes you;' 'Miss Sally, I spoke first;' 'I bespeaks her for my son Bill,' squeaked an octogenarian, struggling forward to seize her arm. To hide her confusion, Sally covered her face with her apron, when she felt a strong arm thrown round her, and heard a stentorian voice shout, 'She's mine, by Gauley!' "Sam Bates cleared a swath as if he had been in a grain-field, bore his unresisting prize into the house, and slammed the door on the cheering crowd. "The wedding came off that night, and on the following morning Sam rode home, driving his white cow before and carrying his wife behind him." Porte Crayon took his leave, and hastened up the road. He overtook his companions just as they were crossing a brook that came brawling down through a gorge in the mountains. As they tarried upon the bank, Minnie remarked that the stream reminded her of Passage Creek, in the Fort Mountains. "Truly it does," said Crayon; "and the resemblance recalls a pretty allusion which you THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. "Ah, cousin! do by all means write me some verses; you know I adore poetry. The piece shall be set to music, and Fanny will sing it." "I never heard that Cousin Porte could write poetry," said Dora, innocently. Porte, who had hitherto made a show of resistance, appeared to be piqued by this remark, and seating himself upon a rock, he drew forth pencil and paper with an expression that seemed to say, I'll show you, Miss, in a few minutes, whether I can write verses or not. Crayon whittled his pencil with a thoughtful and abstracted air. "This scene," said he, "does very much resemble the other in its general features, but the season is farther advanced, and nature wears a drearier aspect. Yet the fresh beauty which she has lost still blooms in your cheeks, my fair companions; seat yourselves near me, therefore, that in your loveliness I may find inspiration for an impromptu." The girls laughingly did as they were commanded, while Porte Crayon alternately pinched his eyebrows and scribbled. Presently, with an air of great unconcern, he handed the results to Cousin Minnie, who read first to herself, and then, with some hesitation, aloud, the following verses: THE WATER-SPRITE. Bright flashing, soft dimpling, the streamlet is flowing; 'Twas a voice-is she dreaming?-that rose from the water, Heed not, list'ning maiden, the Water-Sprite's song, No mortal heart throbs in her shivering breast, When the hemlock's spire towering the red levin rendeth. warm, And strong arms may guard thee through danger and storm; And love that can brighten the winter of years. The verses were highly commended, and Dora expressed herself greatly astonished that any one who could write such poetry had not written books of it, and become famous, like Milton and Lord Byron, or at least have published some in the newspapers. Crayon made a deprecatory and scornful gesture-"Trash!" said he, "mere trash, jingling nonsense; versification is at best but a meretricious art, giving undue value to vapid thoughts and sentiments, serving to obscure and weaken sense that would be better expressed in prose." "Why, cousin," exclaimed Minnie, "are these your real sentiments, or is it merely a way of underrating your own performance? Hear what Shakspeare says of poets: "The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen "Upon my word," said Dora, "one would think that Shakspeare had seen Cousin Porte writing verses." "Well, well," said our hero, shrugging his shoulders with an air of resignation, "when one has condescended to a business only fit for scribbling women-" "Scribbling women!" repeated Fanny; "why, brother, you ought to be ashamed to talk so, when you have been at least a month writing this impromptu." "Truly, Miss, how came you to know what I have been studying for a month past? Is my skull so transparent, or have you more shrewdness than I have been accustomed to allow your sex?" "Indeed, Porte, it required no great shrewdness to make the discovery, for about three weeks ago I found this bit of paper in the bottom of the carriage." Our hero examined the scrap to convince himself of its authenticity, which he acknowledged by immediately tearing it up. Observing, however, that Minnie had secured his verses in that charming receptacle where a lady hides whatever she thinks too precious to be trusted in her pockets or work-basket, and consoled that they had thus reached their destination, he bore the laugh with reasonable fortitude. Repeating a harmless line from Martial, "Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est," our author turned his back on the pests, and starting up the road at a rapid pace, was soon out of sight. It was near sunset before the carriage overtook him. He was then standing, with folded arms, absorbed in the contemplation of a view which was presented for the first time through a vista in the forest. To the right of the road, and at an immense distance below, appeared a champaigne country, stretching away in endless perspective, the line of whose horizon was lost in mist. In front rose a lofty conical peak, whose sharp forked apex was yet gilded by the rays of the declining sun, while its base was enveloped in misty shadows. As Crayon ascended the carriage, he informed the ladies that they saw to the right a portion of the map of Old Virginia, and before them stood the South Peak of Otter, one of the twin-kings of the Blue Ridge, crowned with his diadem of granite-a diadem so grand and so curiously wrought withal, that it remains equally the admiration and the puzzle of artists and philosophers. His brother, the Round Top, was then hidden by a spur of the Ridge, but would be visible shortly. The Peak loomed in the gathering twilight, and our travelers gazed in silence on his unique form and gloomy brow-a silence that was not broken until winding down the notch between the two mountains they halted at the gate of the Otter Peaks Hotel. This celebrated hotel might readily have been mistaken by the inexperienced traveler for a negro cabin, for it was nothing more than a log-hut, showing a single door and window in front. Yet, to the more knowing, its central and commanding position, amidst the group of outbuildings of proportionate size and finish, proved it unmistakably the dwelling of a landed proprietor-what the negroes call sometimes, by excess of courtesy, the "Great House." Crayon's ringing halloo was answered by the appearance of a full pack of dogs and negroes, whose barking and vociferation were equally un- | guests desired to ascend the Peak in time to intelligible. The travelers disembarked at a ven: see the sun rise, that she might arrange her ture, and were met at the door by a smiling moth-housekeeping accordingly. The idea was favorerly woman, who ushered them into the great parlor, reception-room, and chamber of the hotel. The bare log walls and cold yawning fire-place were made dimly manifest by the rays of a single tallow dip; but the united labors of the land- | lady, her little son and daughter, four negro children, and a grown servant-woman, soon rem-high in the heavens and dim twinkling stars in edied all deficiencies. An enormous fire roared and crackled in the spacious chimney, the rafters glowed with a cheerful ruddy light, and a genial warmth pervaded the apartment, which soon restored our chilled and disappointed adventurers to their accustomed good-humor. The supper, which was excellent beyond all expectation, furnished Porte Crayon an occasion to lecture on "the deceitfulness of appearances in this sublunary sphere," and also to narrate a pleasant anecdote concerning a supper that his friend Jack Rawlins and himself had eaten in this house, while they were on that famous pedestrian tour, so often alluded to heretofore. According to his statement, Jack had eaten twenty-two goodsized biscuit, duly relished with bear-steak, broiled ham, preserves, and buttermilk. Porte credited himself with sixteen biscuit only. ny, who understood something of domestic arithmetic, immediately did a sum in multiplication, based upon the supposition that twelve gentlemen had stepped in to supper at the Hall. ably received by the party, and it was unanimously determined to carry it out. The coachman was instructed to arouse Mr. Crayon at the proper hour; and then, by the landlady's advice, they all went to bed. 66 What time the glittering belts of Orion hung How dare Go help Apollo to the alborescent east gave token of approaching Our friends were consoled for the loss of the sunrise view by a comfortable breakfast between Fan-eight and nine o'clock. In answer to their apol ogies for changing their plans, the hostess informed them she had rather calculated on their not going, as most of her visitors did the same thing, especially in cold weather. "Two hundred and sixty-four biscuit!" exclaimed she. "Porte, I don't believe a word of it." Dame Wilkinson, who had just entered, was appealed to by Crayon to verify his story. "Madam, do you recollect ever having seen me before?" The hostess adjusted her cap and twisted her apron, but was finally forced to acknowledge her memory at fault. Porte then went on to give the date and details of the transaction, when a ray of remembrance lighted the good woman's perplexed countenance. The Peaks of Otter are in Bedford County, on the southeastern front of the Blue Ridge, and about sixteen miles distant from the Natural Bridge. Their height above the level country at their base is estimated at four thousand two hundred and sixty feet, and more than five thousand feet above the ocean tides. They have heretofore been considered the highest points in Virginia, but by recent measurements the Iron Mountains appear to overtop them. The North Peak, called the Round Top, has the largest base, and is said to be the highest, but the difference is not appreciable by the eye. From a distance, its summit presents an outline like a Cupid's bow. The South Peak is considered the greater curiosity, and receives almost exclusively the attention of visitors. Its shape is that of a regular cone, terminating in a sharp point or points formed by three irregular pyramids of granite boulders. The largest of these heaps is about sixty feet in height, and upon its apex "Well indeed, Sir, I do remember them boys. They come here a-foot and did eat enormous. Of that, Sir, I tuck no account, for I like to see folks eat hearty, especially young ones; but when they come to pay their bill they said it was a shame to charge only three fourpenny bits for such a supper, and wanted to make me take double." "And you refused. My good woman, I was stands an egg-shaped rock about ten feet in one of those boys." "God bless you, Sir! is it possible? Why your chin was then as smooth as mine, and I should have expected to have seen you looking fatter, or maybe something stouter than you are." "A very natural supposition," replied Mr. Crayon, with a sigh, "but these things are controlled by destiny-I must have been born under a lean star." Mrs. Wilkinson had come in to know if her diameter. It seems so unsecurely placed that it would require apparently but little force to send it thundering down the side of the mountain. It has nevertheless resisted the efforts of more than one mischievous party. The remarkable regularity of this peak in all its aspects would give the impression that it owed its formation to volcanic action, but there is nothing more than its shape to sustain the idea. The hotel is situated in the notch formed by the junction of the peaks, about midway be-1 tween their bases and summits, and travelers starting from this point have to ascend not more than two thousand or twenty-five hundred feet. To persons unaccustomed to such exercise this is no trifling undertaking, and horses are frequently in requisition to perform a part of the journey. Our friends, however, fresh from the Alleghanies, and vigorous from four weeks' previous travel, scorned all extraneous assistance, and started from the hotel on foot. As the fallen leaves had entirely obliterated the path, a negro boy was detailed to lead the way. Porte Crayon followed next, with his rifle slung and knapsack stuffed with shawls and comforts, to protect the ladies from the keen air of the summit. The girls straggled after in Indian file, with flying bonnets, each holding a light springy staff to steady her in climbing. Mice, armed with a borrowed shot-gun, brought up the rear. For a mile they tugged along with great resolution, pausing at intervals to rest on the sofas of rock and fallen timber so temptingly cushioned with moss. At length they arrived at a small plateau where the horse-path terminates, and as there seemed no further necessity for a guide, the boy was here dismissed. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.' Poor things! how they struggle," said l'orte. looking back at his wards, who, with disheveled hair and purple cheeks, staggered up the diflicult pathway. "Ah!" cried Minnie, "Who can tell how hard it is to climb;" and she sunk exhausted and palpitating upon a rock. "This does seem like waging an unequal war indeed," said Porte. "Come, child, your hand the road to the Temple of Fame is nothing to this. In fact I've been led to suspect lately that there must be a railroad up to it, from the marvelous celerity with which some people have accomplished the ascent. Mice, help the hindmost." What with the assistance of the men and frequent rests, they at length reached the summit. Here, between the granite pinnacles, they found a little level, carpeted with dried grass and protected from the wind by the rocks and stunted thickets. The shawls were immediately produced, and the ladies nestled in a sunny corner, while Crayon and his man kindled a brisk fire of dried sticks. A brief repose served to recruit the energies of our fair travelers. A rude ladder assisted The ascent from this point is much more difficult. The path becomes steeper and more rug-them in the ascent of the largest pinnacle, which ged, a sort of irregular stairway of round rocks, that often shakes beneath the traveler's tread, and affords at best but an uncertain footing. "Now, girls, is the time to show your training. Forward-forward!" shouted Crayon, as he bent his breast to the steep ascent. "Non sotto l'ombra in piaggia molle Tra fonti e fior, tra Ninfe e tra Sirene, Ma in cima all' erto e faticoso colle Della virtù, reposto e il nostro bene.' ASCENT OF THE PEAK. looks eastward; and then (first carefully assuring themselves of their footing) they turned their eyes upon the glorious panorama that lay unfolded beneath them. The sensations produced by this first look would be difficult to describe. The isolation from earth is seemingly as complete as if you were sailing in a balloon-as if the rocks upon which you stood were floating in the air. For a few moments "the blue above and the blue below" is all that is appreciable by the eye, until the lenses are adjusted properly to take cognizance of the details of the landscape. Looking east, a vast plain rises like an ocean, its surface delicately pictured with alternating field and woodland, threaded with silver streams, and dotted with villages and farmhouses. Sweeping from north to south, dividing the country with the regularity of an artificial rampart, its monotonous length broken at intervals by conical peaks and rounded knobs, the endless line of the Blue Ridge is visible, until in either direction it fades out in the distance. Westward, rising from the valley, are discovered the unique forms of the House Mountains; and beyond them ridge peeps over ridge, growing dimmer and dimmer until you can not distinguish between the light clouds of the horizon and |