JUSTICE IN THE BACKWOODS.

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ing his intent, warned him of the prescript upon their statute book. But he, as young gentlemen are apt to do, esteemed the old men a pack of old fogies, and went as before, upon his whistling way. They gave him the notice; he disregarded it; the penalty was upon his own head. A writ was served upon him, and he was deposited for safe keeping in the jail, or, as they figuratively call it, the jug. Advertisement is made, a crowd assembles; he is carried by. the sheriff into the middle of the public square, mounted on a horse-block, put up at auction, and knocked down to the highest bidder. The highest bidder is the village blacksmith, who, fastening a chain around his leg, conducts him to the forge, where he keeps him secure, and for three months, from sun inducts him into the craft of blowing and striking. The law's stern lesson taught him, our gambling gentleman is set at liberty, when he "makes tracks,' his back upon Kentucky, swearing it the "meanest country a white man ever got into."

to sun,

III.

THE SADDLE-BAGS.

As these hardy adventurers, bent upon perilous enterprise, are thrusting themselves into the occupancy of a new world, I see approaching another class, with many traits in common with them; yet, many differing. They, too, are of large build, and robust strength; they, too, are inured to exposure and privation; they, too, have nerves that never thrill with fear. Sun and storm have bronzed them; hunger, frost, and loneliness are to them familiar acquaintances. Gaunt poverty keeps even pace with them as they ride, and shall accompany them until they reach the last stage of their journey-the house appointed for all living. Wherefore are they in the wilderness-for they have neither rifles nor axes?

They are generally on horseback, and when they are, you may accept the fact as prima facie evidence that the beasts they ride are good ones; for they are great judges of horse-flesh. I have even heard it whispered that they are a little dangerous "at a trade"--but that, of course, is scandal.

Their symbol is the saddle-bags, which go with them in all their wayfarings-beneath them as they ride upon their arm in walking. In the capacious ride-upon

PREACHERS IN THE WILDERNESS.

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pockets is snugly deposited their library, consisting of the Bible, hymn-book, and, probably, the "Pilgrim's Progress," "Paradise Lost," and the "Night Thoughts;" their few changes of what we shall poetically call clean linen; i. e., very coarse cotton-together with such odds and ends as they may chance to own.

These men are here in obedience to the command of him who said, "Go into all the world, and preach my gospel to every creature;" in imitation of him. who " came to seek and to save that which was lost," and who went about doing good. They are here to do the work of evangelists, and to make full proof of their ministry, warning "every man, and teaching every man in all wisdom, that they may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus." Another wolf is there than the grey one of the forest. Shall not the flock be fed and folded while the lambs are carried in their bosoms?

Through the instrumentality of these humble men, a cabin, similar to the one already described, but used for a widely different purpose, is reared in many a settlement. It serves as a school-house and a sanctuary-symbol of the country's strength and purity. Unlearned themselves, they were, nevertheless, the first patrons of literature and science-founding academies and colleges. I have known many a man of this class, who could not construct half-a-dozen sentences grammatically, yet bestowing half his slender yearly stipend to establish an institution of learning. Traversing the trackless mazes of the woods, they are not seldom greeted by the crack of a rifle, and a bullet whistling near their ear from an Indian ambuscade. Their journeys take them through

boundless reaches of uninhabited country. The canebrake, the swamp, the moss at the foot of a tree, are their only beds for more than half the year. Their saddle is their pillow, with no tent but the canopysave as the snow may wind its wintry sheet about them. They live by rule. Four o'clock of the morning finds them stirring. The knee is bent in fervent, simple prayer. The soul's health thus cared for, and the body's welfare commended to an Almighty Friend, the faithful horse, loved as a companion, hobbled near at hand, claims the next attention; familiarly patted and talked to, he is carefully rubbed and curried, if a comb be at hand. Soon as the light is strong enough to serve, the little Bible is taken from the pocket or saddle-bags, and chapter after chapter is studied on the knees, while ofttimes, tears course their way down the weather-beaten cheeks, bedewing the sacred page. I have seen more than one of these volumes, the text-book and solace of many a year, with its print so dimmed as to be illegible to any eyes but those accustomed to read it every day. These men were mighty in the Scriptures. Here found they panoply and arsenal. Then mounting, hymn-book in hand, they start upon their trackless way, guiding themselves by the sun, if he be visible; by the courses of the streams, or the different shades and textures of the bark upon the trees. The bee's line is not more accurate than their direction. Never was lover more true to his tryst than these men to their appointments. The hour for meeting is scarce more sure to come than they. No matter whether the day be Saturday or Monday, for they preach on all days alike; no matter whether the

congregation consist of one or a thousand, the service. is performed, and performed with fervor, impressiveness, and solemnity. They have come to meet the exigencies of the country and the time, and they never flinch. Over their patriotic countrymen who have fallen on the red field of Indian battle, they perform the rites of Christian burial. To the lonely cabin where sits the broken-hearted widow with her brood of helpless orphans, they come to teach the doctrines of Jesus and the resurrection; to tell of a Father, who will "never leave them, nor forsake them," and of a land where "God shall wipe away all tears, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying." The drunkard is counselled, the swearer reproved, all forms of vice admonished, and every man warned to "flee the wrath to come, and lay hold on eternal life." No occasion is omitted, no opportunity lost. The man whom the preacher meets to-day, may be dead to-morrow, and "lifting up his eyes, being in torment." From behind his stool, in the corner of the cabin, or mounted upon a stump at the cross-roads, does he beseech men "by the love of Christ to become reconciled to God.”

Let the following incident stand as illustrative of the character of these men.

A few months ago, in December, 1855, there died, in the city of Cincinnati, a man nearly ninety years of age, whose name was William Burke. He had been almost in the van of these pioneer ministers. He entered the West when the contest with the Indians was at its hottest. He travelled through what is now Western Virginia and North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Ohio. There was scarce a