inspiring sound. Nor did it cease; for the loud strain was carried from city to city, and from State to State, till not a tongue was silent throughout this wide Republic, from the lisping infant to the tremulous old man. All were united in one wild shout of gratulation. The voices of more than ten millions of freemen gushed up towards the sky, and broke the stillness of its silent depths. But one note, and but one tone, went to form this acclamation. Up in those pure regions, clearly and sweetly did it sound-"Honor to Lafayette!" "Welcome to the Nation's Guest!" It was Lafayette, the war-worn veteran, whose arrival upon our shores had caused this wide-spread, this universal joy. He came among us to behold the independence and the freedom which his young arm had so well assisted in achieving; and never before did eye behold, or heart of man conceive, such homage paid to virtue. His whole stay amongst us, was a continued triumph. Every day's march was an ovation. The United States became for months one great festive hall. People forgot the usual occupations of life, and crowded to behold the Benefactor of mankind. The iron-hearted, greyhaired veterans of the Revolution thronged around him, to touch his hand, to behold his face, and to call down Heaven's benison upon their old companion-in-arms. Lisping infancy and garrulous age, beauty, talents, wealth and power-all, for a while, forsook their usual pursuits, and united to pay a willing tribute of gratitude and welcome to the Nation's Guest. The name of La Fayette was upon every lip, and wherever was his name, there too was an invocation for blessings on his head. What were the triumphs of the classic ages, compared with this unbought love and homage of a mighty people? Take them in Rome's best days-when the invincible generals of the Eternal City returned from their foreign conquests, with captive kings bound to their chariot wheels, and the spoils of nations in their train; followed by their stern and bearded warriors, and surrounded by the interminable multitudes of the seven-hilled city, shouting a fierce welcome home,--what was such a triumph, compared with that of Lafayette? Not a single city, but a whole nation, rising as one man, and greeting him with an

affectionate embrace!

One single day of such spontaneous homage, were worth whole years of courtly adulation; one hour might well reward a man for a whole life of danger and of toil. Then, too, the joy with which he must have viewed the prosperity of the people for whom he had so heroicaly struggled! To behold the nation which he had left a little child, now grown up in the full proportions of lusty manhood! To see the tender sapling, which he had left with hardly shade enough to cover its own roots, now waxing into the sturdy and unwedgeable oak, beneath whose grateful umbrage the oppressed of all nations find shelter and protection! That oak still grows on in its majestic strength, and wider and wider still extend its mighty branches. But the hand that watered and nourished it, while yet a tender plant, is now cold: the heart that watched, with strong affection, its early growth, has ceased to beat.

Virtue forms no shield to ward off the arrows of death. Could it have availed, even when joined with the prayers of a whole civilized world, then indeed, this mournful occasion would never have occurred; and the life of Lafayette would have been as eternal as his fame. Yet though he has passed from among us-though that countenance will no more be seen, that used to lighten up the van of Freedom's battles, as he led her eaglets to their feast-still has he left behind his better part -the legacy of his bright example-the memory of his deeds. The lisping infant will learn to speak his venerated name. The youth of every country will be taught to look upon his career, and follow in his footsteps. When, hereafter, a gallant people are fighting for Freedom against the oppressor, and their cause begins to wane before the mercenary bands of tyranny-then will the name of Lafayette become a watchword, that will strike with terror on the tyrant's ear, and nerve with redoubled vigor the freeman's arm. At that name many a heart before unmoved, will wake in the glorious cause; many a sword, rusting ingloriously in its scabbard, will leap forth to battle. And even amid the mourning with which our souls are shrouded, is there not some room for gratulation? Our departed friend and benefactor has gone down to the grave,

peacefully and quietly, at a good old age. He had performed his appointed work. His virtues were ripe. He had done nothing to sully his fair fame. No blot or soil of envy or calumny can now affect him. His character will stand upon the pages of history, pure and unsullied as the lilied emblem on his country's banner. He has departed from among us; but he has become again the companion of Washington. He has but left the friends of his old age, to associate with the friends of his youth. Peace be to his ashes! Calm and quiet may they rest upon some vine-clad hill of his own beloved land! And it shall be called the Mount Vernon of France. And let no cunning sculpture, no monumental marble, deface, with its mock dignity, the patriot's grave: but rather let the unpruned vine, the wild flower, and the free song of the uncaged bird—all that speaks of freedom and of peace, be gathered round it. Lafayette needs no mausoleum. His fame is mingled with a Nation's History. His epitaph is engraved upon the hearts of

men.

CHAPTER VII.

Letters-Voyage to New York-His First Visit Hcme-Letters-Serious AccidentIs elected a Member of the Legislature-Entrance into Political Life-Anecdote of a Backwoods Speech-Session of the Legislature-Letters Home-Visit to Kentucky-His Trips up and down the Mississippi-Scenery and Scenes on the River--Vicksburg in 1836-7.

I have just returned to Vicksburg, after an absence of six weeks on business. At least two-thirds of my time is spent from home, in attendance upon courts and other professional engagements. This is the occasion of the irregularity which has, of late, crept into my correspondence. Though I arrived here but yesterday, I am compelled to leave again tomorrow, and shall not be back for several weeks. Indeed, my business presses me so much, that I have hardly time to write the few lines you are reading.

Our weather has been exceedingly warm till within two or three days, since which time it has been as cold, I think, as I ever knew it in Maine. Even now, as I write, I hear the carth bursting, and the vessels breaking every instant. It seems, indeed, like old times. I think there is nothing now within the ordinary occurrences of life, that can prevent my coming home next summer. I shall not be able to start till some time in the latter part of June. I anticipate a degree of pleasure beyond anything I have known for years, in this visit.

I am in a great hurry, and will have to crave your indulgence for so poor an epistle. I know, however, that I can rely on it.

for you are well assured that, whatever may be wanting in my letters, there is nothing wanting in the feelings and warm affec tions that dictate them. My love to you all; and, with the hope of seeing you soon, I remain

Your affectionate son,

SEARGENT.

то THE SAME.

VICKSBURG, May 11, 1885.

MY DEAR MOTHER:

For the first time since I have been in this country, I have to inform you that I have been a little indisposed; but then I have the satisfaction of telling you that I have entirely recovered from it, and am again as well as ever I was in my life. And what do you think has been the matter with me? Nothing more nor less than the varioloid. Soon after my last letter, I learned that a particular friend of mine at Natchez, Mr. Huston, was lying at the point of death with the small-pox. I went immediately down to see him, and found that he had, indeed, a terrible case of that loathsome disease. I stayed with him two or three days, and finding that he had passed the crisis, and would probably get over it, I returned to Vicksburg. As I had a good vaccine mark on my arm, and knew you were always careful to have the children vaccinated, I felt no alarm—although I could not recollect that I ever had been vaccinated. But, thanks to your care, it had been done and well done; otherwise I should have had the worst kind of small-pox. Even as it was, after having returned about ten days, I had the varioloid, and was laid up for just a week. There was very little eruption, and it will not mark me in the slightest degree. I have been out now several days. I am glad of the occurrence, as I now need have no fear whatever of the small-pox.

I cannot tell even yet exactly when I shall start for home. Our court here is now in session; but there is one more court, where I have important business, requiring my personal attention, which does not sit till the middle of Juune. If that court should be certain to sit (which I have not yet ascertained), I