About the middle of October, a small Christian chapel
was, one night, filled to overflowing; and deeply impressive
was the sadness and solemn hush of the congregation!
They were listening to the farewell address of Charles
Clarence! while the voice of the wind moaning in the dying
woods around, came upon our hearing in fitful gusts like
passionate gushings of lamentation for the fading away of
their glories! Our injured and persecuted friend concluded
thus:—

EXTRACT.

“— — But I must cease, and that with no expectation
that I shall ever more preach to you; or you ever again
listen to me. This is sufficiently solemn and mournful; yet
other things exist here to deepen now my sorrows. For
some years this has been my home—nay, why conceal it?
I had once cherished the hope it was to be my home for
years to come! It was in my heart to live and die with
you! I came to be a Western Man—but God forbade it.
I have shared your prosperity and adversity; and in your
hopes and fears, your joys and griefs. We have interchanged
visits of mutual good-will; we have worshipped in

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the same temples; we have solaced each other in afflictions!
We have met at the same house of feasting,—alas!
oftener at the same house of mourning! Yes!—my children
lie together, in their little graves, amidst the graves of
your children—that moaning wind is stirring now the
leaves over them!—dust of mine is mingling with yours!
* * * Can these and other ties be so unexpectedly
sundered without pain?—without emotion? But the hour
is come—we part! Come, fellow citizens and Christian
friends, let us mutually forgive one another. If I have
aught against the misled I have forgiven it; if any have
aught against me, I pray such forgive me! Kindly do I
thank many for past kindness, and more especially for the
healing of their balm-like sympathy: and now let us say,
not in indifference, much less in anger, but in manly, hearty
good-will—Farewell!”

In the morning his house was tenantless;—Clarence had
gone very early away with his family—and Woodville
with its pleasures and pains was to him as all other dreams
of this life—past!

Soon after, the fragments of my shattered fortunes being
collected, we too were ready to bid adieu to our home:—
home! did I say? Yes; had we not graves there? Alas!
we had them elsewhere too!—

It was a rainy morning; but, notwithstanding, our little
wagon and horses were at the door. All had been arranged
and prepared for this morning, and all farewells, as we
thought, had been spoken; and why should rain delay those
that had endured so many storms? Emily Glenville was
to go and share our fortunes—but Aunt Kitty—poor Aunt
Kitty was to stay; for we were wandering forth we knew
not whither, and she in her old age must remain till we

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found a resting-place. Home we expected to find no more—
(nor have we ever)—and we had then the desolate hearts
of pilgrims—as now and often since!

Farewell!—dearest Aunt Kitty!—ah! break not our
hearts by that convulsive sobbing!—Farewell! * * * *—
and then we were all in our wagon—but just as we moved,
a well-known, a rough, yet softened voice in a tone of
melancholy reproach sounded at our side:

“Bust my rifle! Mr. Carltin, you ain't a puttin off without
biddin me and Domore good bye!?”

“My honest old friends! no, never!—but I could not
find you yesterday when we went round bidding all the
citizens good bye—”

“Well, we was out arter deer, for, says I to Domore,
Domore, says I, lets git a leg or two for Mrs. Carltin afore
they goes—and we've fetch'd 'em along in this here bag—
if you kin find room for 'em in this here waggin.”

“Thank you, my kind friends, with all our very hearts!—
I do wish we could make you some return—we should
be so glad to be remembered when we are away—”

“Bust my rifle—if I ever forgit you—and Domore wont
nither—”

“No, indeed, Mr. Carltin—and if you chance to come our
way like, Domore's cabin will be open as in old times—”

“Yes!—Mr. Carltin—and me and Domore and you'll
have some more shots with the rifle—good bye, Mr. Carltin—
God bless you—good bye!”

“Good bye, my friends!—I have no home now—but
cabin or brick house, wherever you find us—I say to you
and all other frank-hearted honest woodsmen, as the old
General said to you—`you will never find the string
pulled in!”'

Here I started my horses; and then the last we ever
heard of Woodville was something very like:—“Poor Carltin!—
God bless him—poor feller!—he's most powerful

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sorry—and don't like to go back to the big-bugs!” And
then through the uproar of the increasing storm came the
voice of the two hunters united in a loud, cordial, solemn,
last Farewell!

Many years after this, on the pinnacle of the Great Cove
Mountain of the Alleghanies, and leaning against a tree,
stood a solitary traveller, who, after contemplating for some
minutes the setting sun, thus broke forth into a soliloquy:

“Yes! O Sun! thou art unchanged!—melting away to
rest amid the same gorgeous clouds, piled on those distant
mountains! I remember thee rising in the brilliancy of
that Spring morning! Here Clarence stood and looked towards
the Elysium of that Far West—and she was in his
thoughts! There is the rock where Brown, and Wilmar,
and Smith rested a moment! — Sad remembrances!—
bitter emotions! O! Sun! as glorious thou as ever!
those sumptuous curtains of woven cloud around thy pavilion
as matchless!—I am changed—alas! how changed!

“Far West!—that name has power to heave the bosom
with sighs—but it can call up no more forever the illusions
of the dreamy days! I know what is in thee, land of the
setting Sun!

“A world of shadows is coming over yon vallies—
darker ones are on my soul! That Spring Morning!
The comrades of that day—where? The scenes!—the
sufferings!—the disappointments!—in that far away forest
land! Graves of my dead!—why need I care to weep,
where there are none to mock. * * * * * *

“World of Spirits!—around and near me! No dreams—
no shadows there! Sun, farewell!—thy last rays are
falling across those graves in that leaf-covered resting place!

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But they shall see thee fall, to rise and set no more!
Home!—I have none now:—but there is a home!

“Awake! from this dreamy life! True, perfect, uninterrupted
happiness is neither in the far East, nor in the
far West:—it is in God, in Christ, in Heaven!”

Reader! dear reader! the lesson in that soliloquy is for
thee! Ponder it; live according to it; and thou wilt not
have read this work in vain!