he heart of the Ethiopian. Grace of God to the sons of
Ham--merciful compensation for mercies endured by them from the day
Canaan was cursed, as it were a doom from the dawning of creation!

Just such a train as described is that commanded by Colonel Armstrong,
_en route_ towards Western Texas. Starting from Natchitoches some
twenty days ago, it has reached the Colorado river, crossed it, and is
now wending its way towards the San Saba, a tributary of the former
stream.

It is one of the largest caravans that has yet passed over the prairies
of Texas, counting between twenty and thirty "Conestoga" wagons, with
several "carrioles" and vehicles of varied kind. Full fifty horsemen
ride in its front, on its flank, and rear; while five times the number
of pedestrians, men with black or yellow skins, keep pace with it. A
proportionate number of women and children are carried in the wagons,
their dusky faces peeping out from under the tilts, in contrast with the
colour of the rain-bleached canvass; while other women and children of
white complexion ride in the vehicles with springs.

In one of the latter--a barouche of the American build--travel two young
ladies, distinguished by particular attentions. Half a dozen horsemen
hover around their carriage, acting as its escort, each apparently
anxious to exchange words with them. With one they can talk, jest,
laugh, chatter as much as they like; but the other repels them. For the
soul of the former is full of joy; that of the latter steeped in
sadness.

Superfluous to say, they are Jessie and Helen Armstrong. And needless
to tell why the one is gay, the other grave. Since we last saw them in
the hotel of Natchitoches, no change has taken place in their hearts or
their hopes. The younger of the two, Jessie, is still an expectant
bride, certain soon to be a wife; and with this certainty rejoices in
the future. Helen, with no such expectation, no wish for it, feeling as
one widowed, grieves over the past. The former sees her lover by her
side living and loving, constantly, caressingly; the latter can but
think of hers as something afar off--a dream--a dread vision--a cold
corpse--herself the cause of it!

Colonel Armstrong's eldest daughter is indeed sad--a prey to repining.
Her heart, after receiving so many shocks, has almost succumbed to that
the supremest, most painful suffering that can afflict humanity--the
malady of _melancholia_. The word conveys but a faint