f the tedious clouds, that, with my
telescope, I might gaze on the wonders and beauties of the worlds
above. But never did I bend a more anxious eye to the darkened
firmament, than in my solitary wanderings over the Georgia hills that
memorable night. But all in vain; no North Star appeared to point with
beam of hope to the land of the free.

At length I started off on the road that I thought most likely to lead
me in the right direction; but as usual I had the misfortune of being
wrong; for after I had gone a long distance, the moon broke through a
rift in the clouds, and for a moment poured her light down on the dark
forest through which I was passing. That one glance was enough to show
me that I was heading back toward the railroad I had left in the
morning. Wearily I turned and retraced my tedious steps.

One of my feet had been injured by an accident three mouths before,
and now pained me excessively. Still I dragged myself along. My nerves
had become completely exhausted by the long-continued tension they had
sustained, and now played me many fantastic tricks, which became more
vivid as the night waned away. I passed the place where I had made the
wrong choice of roads, and still toiled on.

The rain fell in torrents now. I was thinly clad, and as the wind,
which was blowing quite hard, drove the falling showers against me, my
teeth chattered, and I shivered to the bone. I passed many houses, and
feared the barking of the dogs might betray me to watchers within; but
my fears were groundless. The storm, which was then howling fearfully
through the trees, served to keep most of those who sought our lives,
within doors. Even the barking of the bloodhounds was heard but
seldom, and then far in the distance. I seemed to have the lonely,
fearful, stormy night to myself.

At last all thoughts gave way to the imperative necessity of repose. I
reeled to a large log that lay by the side of the road, on the edge
of a small patch of woodland, and crawling close under the side of it,
not for shelter from the driving rain, but for concealment from my
worse-dreaded human foes, I slept in peace.

Up to this time the image of that terrible night is graven on my
memory with a scorching pen of fire. After this it changes, and with
the exception of a few real incidents that aroused me from my trance,
it floats before me in more than the voluptuous splendor of an
opium-dream. The cause of this change is a curious chapter in menta