ulting a major, when a huge
seven-foot Kentuckian gentleman horse-dealer, asked of the
heavens to confound them both, and bade them sit still and be
d--d. We too thought we should share this sentence; at least
sitting still in the cabin seemed very nearly to include the rest
of it, and we never tarried there a moment longer than was
absolutely necessary to eat.

The unbroken flatness of the banks of the Mississippi continued
unvaried for many miles above New Orleans; but the graceful and
luxuriant palmetto, the dark and noble ilex, and the bright
orange, were every where to be seen, and it was many days before
we were weary of looking at them. We occasionally used the
opportunity of the boat's stopping to take in wood for a ten
minutes' visit to the shore; we in this manner explored a field
of sugar canes, and loaded ourselves with as much of the sweet
spoil as we could carry. Many of the passengers seemed fond of
the luscious juice that is easily expressed from the canes, but
it was too sweet for my palate. We also visited, in the same
rapid manner, a cotton plantation. A handsome spacious building
was pointed out to us as a convent, where a considerable number
of young ladies were educated by the nuns.

At one or two points the wearisome level line of forest is
relieved by _bluffs_, as they call the short intervals of high
ground. The town of Natches is beautifully situated on one of
these high spots; the climate here, in the warm season, is as
fatal as that of New Orleans; were it not for this, Natches would
have great attractions to new settlers. The beautiful contrast
that its bright green hill forms with the dismal line of black
forest that stretches on every side, the abundant growth of
pawpaw, palmetto and orange, the copious variety of sweet-scented
flowers that flourish there, all make it appear like an oasis in
the desert. Natches is the furthest point to the north at which
oranges ripen in the open air, or endure the winter without
shelter. With the exception of this sweet spot, I thought all
the little towns and villages we passed, wretched looking, in the
extreme. As the distance from New Orleans increased, the air of
wealth and comfort exhibited in its immediate neighbourhood
disappeared, and but for one or two clusters of wooden houses,
calling themselves towns, and borrowing some pompous name,
generally from Greece or Rome, we might have thought ourselves
the first of the human race who