The south-western. [volume] (Shreveport, La.) 1852-1870, 1856-03-26
SHREVEPORT, LOUISIANA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH &c, 1856
Kate and Mary.

a, " EI)NESD
Kate and Mary.
BE mine, dear Mary, be mine, and the
winds Of heaven shall not fan thy brow toe
rough1y!'
Henry, Mr.. Boswell, you know not what
you ask. Little think you Of the state Of the
heart you think to win. True, it has loved, de-
votedly loved. but now it is as barren as that
hot-bed plant, as yonder spearless heath.
Speak not thus, Mary. The FIRE of your
dark, spiritual eye, the ardor of your feelings
forbid, utterly forbid such belief Love
beams from that eye, blooms upon that cheek,
heavenly love is shed forth in all your conduct.
You will, you must be mineP
7 will tell you my story, Mr.. Boswell, here
in full view Of the tragedy Of my life. and then
you will know that. such love as you require
can never be given by heart so scared by
sorrow as my own. / can love you as friend,
but my love can be nothing more than truly
platonic. Shall | relate to you my story?'
Let us first take walk along the shore of
this dark river, for if is sad Story, we must
mingle our thoughts with some dark object, for
the doctrine of correspondence is fayorite
one with me. 54s s#
While these two are walking, will tell my
readers something of them by way of introduc-
ton.
It was on a beautiful evening in midsummer
that the above conversation occurred between
this couple. Mr.. Boswell had been on a hunt
ing expedition in the forests Of the Shenandoah
river, called at the cottage Of Mr.. Campbell, and
feeling much at home there, repeated his vis-
its often, till, at last, on this evening he had
made the declaration recorded above. He was
man somewhat advanced in years, of fine APP
pearance, and foreign air, though quite Amer
lean in other respects. His companion was
lady Of the old Virginia stamp, on the shady
side OF thirty, yet beautiful and pure as the
flowers of the mountains.
Her home was an antiquated cottage on a
slope Of the Blue Ridge mountains, which gent
l1y ascended from the margin Of the Shenando-
ah river, just where itmingles its own dark wa
ters with the silvery waves the old Potomac,
at Harper's ferry, Virginia.
Mary Campbell had, for long years, .dwelt
in this cottage with her aged father; and at the
time we present her to our readers, was his on
ly companion and friend, save faithful old
colored servant and his watch dog.
Seated again on the rude sofa Of boards be-
meath the spreading elms, Mary commenced
the recital of her story, and as she proceeded,
had she observed the face OF her auditor, she
surely would have made the great discovery
sooner.
We were not always obscure and isolated.
the aristocracy of Virginia. He lived high,
spent much money, and finally lost all his pro-
perty, save the antiquated little cottage where
we now reside. We came here from the gay
metropolis Of our State. My mother, very
devoted woman, died soon after our removal
hither; and my sister Kate and Iwere the chief
CONSIDERS ofmy fathers altered fortunes.
We retained in our service few domestics,
among whom was my fathers favorite valet,
Uncle Jarvis, who, good old man, yet attends
upon his dear old master.
This was thena beautiful spot The Shcn-
andoah winding his way along the noble hills
of azure until, as if from some great commo-
ton of nature, it burst through the mountain,
united with the Potomac, and formed the great
gap at Harper's ferry; which, Thomas Jeffer-
son said, was worth voyage across the Atlant-
ic to behold. But at that period we were far
from society, and had no companion but our
father and the faithful old Lewis, who was
sort Of protection to our loneliness.
The wild Indian reared his hut, or wigwam,
in sight of our dwelling, and Kate and T. though
accomplished and beautiful, felt that we were
doomed to be shut out from the world We
had an instrument, harpschord. as it was
then called, but more recently dignifcd by the
name of piano. We played and sung for our
own amusement, and often would our savage
neighbors surround the house 70 listen to the
music.
Among them was young warrior, tile son
of a chief, who seemed most particularly pleas
ID with all he could see of the interior Of our
louse. He was brought more especially 10 our
notice By an incidentwhich had well nigh prov
d fatal TO Kate and myself, and consigned us
ga watery grave beneath the dark waves Of
he Shenandoah. We were padding up the
stream, which is beautiful when calm, but tur
oldand dreadfulwhen disturbed. A rude blast
rom old Boreas admonislied us that the storm
pirit hovered near, and we drew in our lite
raft, but twas too late; our canoe tipped over,
implying US into the stream. The current was
apld, and we were almost gone, when the form
+ the young warrior approached US, beating
he he waves, waves, as thouShC Ihey were noGhln55. lie
'ore US to the shore in triumph, and from
henceforth became a favorite in our house
often he came accompanied BY young squaw,
9 listen to the pale faced maiden's play and
ong OF their tame ballads as lie called them,
contrast with his war songs and whoops.
Cornstalk was the name Of the Indian brave
Tho rescued US from the wave, and his squaw
+ lady love was called Silken Tassel. They z
ecame quite civilized, and doubtless would
ave improved much had not Silken Tassel I
'und IN an evil hour that the heart Of Corn
.alk, which had hitherto been exclusively her
wn, had been deeply touched BY an arrow
ON the bow Of Cupid, and that the image Of
" sister Kate dWelt in his heart, haunted him
BIS day dreams, and appeared to him in the y
hadows Of the night.
The Indian MAIDEN could not brock this blow Il