Weekly Trinity journal., 1862-05-10
Number II.

legs grew longer, and the long legs shorter, and
what but moment before had been an object OF
wonder and uncertainty, became an old white
sow, roofing in the plo~ed ground
Again, when about eighteen years old. in War
rem county, Indiana, to which State my father
moved when was in my tenth year, eNperlenc-
ed an auracular illusion as strange as the optical
ones which have already related, and as Tac
In Hoosier phrase, had been out courtlng, on
Sunday night, and was returning home late as
usual ia such cases, somewhere in g the wee sma
hours nyont the twal,' when was surprised to
hear dog, seemingly flee, swapping and smart
inr at my horses heels | urged the horse To
greater speed, but still the swapping and snarlng
continued. Wondering that The animal rode,
spirited three year old, showed no restles'cs' or
sign of fear at being thus assNied, got down to
drive the dog away. But no dog was there
No sooner, however, had | taken my seat in the
saddle and started, than the swapping and snatl-
ing commenced again Once more | allghted'
and once more | satisfied myself that no dog was
there. Bounding into the saddle, urged my
horse to the top of his speed, but still close AZ
his heels for the whole distance home-some three
or four mles-that phantom dog kept up his
snappingi
Before | awoke nest morning, old Sol had
climbed high up into the eastern sky, and was
gazing through the window, full into my face
| was leverishanJ remembered that hud dream
ed lrigbtful dream. | had seen fair maiden
set upon by thousand dogs, and before ] could
interfere to prevent it, torn 10 pieces before my
very eyes | knew twas all a dream, but still
as | recalled to mind the horid sight which in
my dream had been so viyidlv portrayed, the
blood seemed motonlcss within my veins, and II
deep shuldcr ran through my frame. The rild,
dcsporing look which in my dream had seen
settling upon that fair face could not, for the
life of me, forget, and the piercing shrek of that
well known voice, still rang in my ears. Was
this an evil omen, presentment? ! dare not
say no, and will not say yes. Certain it is that
before one short week had passed that fair maid
en- was sleeping quietly in the ehurchyard of
little village near the banks of the Wabash river.
Sixteen times, since then, have the brighteyed
daughters of spring blooned above her resting
place. and rs often, in Autumn, has the whippo-
will chantcd hssorrowfnl drgc amidst the boughs
of the old oak that stands beside her grave =
But truce to such bitter memories, and your
pardon gentle reader for this aggression.
In 1850 came overland TO California. One
evening, about the middle of June, when we had
got to within two or three d9ys travel of Bear
river, Jagged behind the train To which | be-
longcd, and at length, iatgue9 with walking, sat
down bnsiIp n guriuy thnI UoACpd nuI al the
of n hill, to rest my weary limbs. A strange
feeling came over me--n sense OF loneliness, and
naturally, my mind wandered bach 10 that home
and friends whom | almost wished, even then,
(how deeply wish it now, none but mysclf can
ever know had never left. | thought awhile,
and finally fell into II profound reVerie, from
which | passed, unc0nSciously, to dream hand :
howcry wales. don't know how long | slept,
but when | aWGke the sun was near his resting
place. behind the western hills. The first object
upon which my eyes rested after waking, was
long range of mountains, far in the distance, to
the westward. As looked, IL female figure, tai
lcr apparently, than the TALES; pine, dressed in
IL long, flowing robe Of spotless white, and Of ma
tcrial seemingly thin us gau2e, glided slowly and
majcstcally from the northern to the southern
end Of this range Of mountains, where, stopping
for few seconds it seemed with its long, white
arm, to yarn me back! Can it be that this was
my guardian angel, and that that wave Of the
hand was the last warning | was ever to receive
of the dangers 50 thickly set along the path was
destined to travel in the Golden State? If so,
the kind warning was dsregarded, and it is now
too late nothing can save me from that raging
micstrom which has since then caught me in its
fearful whrls j. Mo-.