e, is becoming
desolate, the decaying embers sometimes starting into a brief
brilliancy, and then fading into a gloom more sad, more silent, than
ever. Soon will be scattered, as by the winds of heaven, the last ashes
that remain. Think of it, O legislator! as thou standest in the Capitol,
the great council-hall of thy country; plead for them, "upon whose
pathway death's dark shadow falls."

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=_Mary E. Moragne,[54] 1815-._=

From "The Huguenot Town."

=_227._= RUINS OF THE OLD FRENCH SETTLEMENT.

An ignorance of the common methods of agriculture practised here, as
well as strong prejudices in favor of their former habits of living,
prevented them from seizing with avidity on large bodies of land, by
individual possession; but the site of a town being selected, a lot of
four acres was apportioned to every citizen. In a short time a hundred
houses had risen, in a regularly compact body, in the square of which
stood a building superior in size and construction to the rest....

... The town was soon busy with the industry of its tradesmen; silk and
flax were manufactured, whilst the cultivators of the soil were taxed
with the supply of corn and wine. The hum of cheerful voices arose
during the week, mingled with the interdicted songs of praise; and on
the Sabbath the quiet worshippers assembled in their rustic church,
listened with fervent response to that faithful pastor, who had been
their spiritual leader through perils by sea and land, and who now
directed their free, unrestrained devotion to the Lord of the forest.

... The woods still wave on in melancholy grandeur, with the added glory
of near a hundred years; but they who once lived and worshipped beneath
them--where are they? Shades of my ancestors,--where? No crumbling
wreck, no mossy ruin, points the antiquarian research to the place of
their sojourn, or to their last resting-places! The traces of a narrow
trench, surrounding a square plat of ground, now covered with the
interlacing arms of hawthorn and wild honey-suckle, arrest the attention
as we are proceeding along a strongly beaten track in the deep woods,
and we are assured that this is the site of the "old French town" which
has given its name to the portion of country around.

[Footnote 54: One of the best female writers of South Carolina, who has
of late years laid aside her pen.]

* * * * *

=_Richard H. Dana, Jr., 1