made to discover
Mayall's place of residence; but it all proved useless, as no trace of
his place of retreat could be found. The father and mother of Nelly G.
lived and died without seeing again the face of their lovely daughter.
Soon after Nelly G. changed her name to Nelly Mayall her father and
mother met with many reverses of fortune, their property vanished away
like dew before the morning sun. The Revolutionary war broke out, a
party of Tories and Indians visited the Valley of the Mohawk for
plunder, their buildings were burned, their property taken, and they
fell a sacrifice to the tomahawk and scalping-knife. After the war had
ended, and one adventurer after another came to the Valley of the Adaca
to select homes, Nelly Mayall learned of the sad fate of her parents.
She dressed her hat with the dark plumes of the birds of the forest, and
for a time mourned their sad fate. Time passed on--the changing beauties
of the forest scenery, the kind attention of her devoted husband and the
prattling of her children, once more revived her drooping spirits, and
she was again Nelly Mayall, with all her youthful charms.

CHAPTER II.

"Fresh from the fountains of the wood
A rivulet to the valley came,
And glided on for many a rood,
Flushed with the morning's ruddy flame;
The air was fresh and soft and sweet,
The slopes in spring's new verdure lay,
And, wet with dewdrops, at my feet
Bloomed the young violets of May.
No sound of busy life was heard
Amid those forests lone and still,
Save the faint chirp of early bird,
Or bleat of deer along the hill.
I traced the rivulet's winding way,
New scenes of beauty opened round.
Where woody shades of brightest green
And lovely blossoms tinged the ground.
'Ah, happy valley stream,' I said,
'Calm glides thy waters 'mid the flowers,
Whose fragrance round my path is shed
Through all the joyous summer hours.'"

After the storm of the Revolution had passed away, and the Angel of
Peace once more brooded over the forest, there was a daring hunter with
his family found living in the Valley of the Adaca, now called Otego
Creek, by the name of Mayall, who had become perfectly familiar with
every hill, mountain, valley and glen for many miles around his humble
cottage. He led a wild and romantic life, living and lodging wherever
night overtook him, when the distance was so great that