erfect happiness we enjoyed. In our case, the
delight of anticipation could not be enhanced by actual possession:
since we had possession already.

We arrived safely in Swampville. In the post-office of that interesting
village a letter awaited me, of which "jet black was de seal." Under
ordinary circumstances, this should have cast a gloom upon my joy; but
candour forces me to confess that a perusal of the contents of that
epistle produced upon me an effect altogether the reverse. The letter
announced the demise of an octogenarian female relative--whom I had
never seen--but who, for a full decade of years, beyond the period
allotted to the life of man--or women either--had obstinately persisted
in standing betwixt me and a small reversion--so long, indeed, that I
had ceased to regard it as an "expectation." It was of no great amount;
but, arriving just then in the very "nick o' time," was doubly welcome;
and under its magical influence, a large quantity of superfluous timber
soon disappeared from the banks of Mud Creek.

Ah! the squatter's clearing, with its zigzag fence, its girdled trees,
and white dead-woods! It is no longer recognisable. The log-hut is
replaced by a pretentious frame-dwelling with portico and verandahs--
almost a mansion. The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent,
is now a splendid plantation, of many fields--in which wave the golden
tassels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenous
vegetable--the aromatic "Indian weed," and the gossamer-like florets of
the precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcely
recognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob,
with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after the
affairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threaten
the young corn with their destructive depredations. It is not the only
plantation upon Mud Creek. A little further up the stream, another is
met with--almost equally extended, and cultivated in like manner. Need
I say who is the owner of this last? Who should it be, but the young
backwoodsman--now transformed into a prosperous planter? The two
estates are contiguous, and no jealous fence separates the one from the
other. Both extend to that flowery glade, of somewhat sad notoriety
whose bordering woods are still undefiled by the axe.

Not there, but in another spot, alike flowery and pleasant, the eye of
the soaring eagle, looki