given to an Indian mother who had lost her
child, and who, according to the usage
of those tribes, adopted her and cherished
her.

The chief event in the War of Independence
waged in the valley of Wyoming was a
disastrous battle in which the small band of
patriots was routed and massacred. In that
battle there were two brothers, Henry
and John Pencil engaged on opposite sides.
Henry Pencil fled with the patriots, swam
a river, having thrown away his arms, and
hid with others in a covert on an island.
John Pencil was among those in pursuit
who swam to the island with their guns,
and when they had landed, wiped and
loaded them. John, when the covert was
searched, found his brother, stopped suddenly,
and said:

"So it is you, is it?"

The brother fell upon his knees, promising
to be John's slave for life if he would spare
him.

"All this is mighty good," was the loyal
answer; "but you are a rebel." And,
deliberately shot him dead on the spot.

When the national war ended, civil war
was resumed in the Happy Valley, between
the Yankees and Pennamites. Pennsylvania,
obtaining an arbitration in her favour,
proceeded to take possession of the soil upon her
own principle of tenure by ejecting the
freeholders from their estates. Against this
hard measure the tenants contended. Even
women threatened to knock down with their
hoes any officer of injustice who attempted to
make forcible entry. Once, five hundred men,
women, and children, with scarce provisions
to sustain life, were turned adrift; most of
them on foot, the road being impassable for
waggons. Mothers carrying infants waded
streams in which the water rose up to their
armpits, and at night slept on the naked earth
with scarcely clothes to cover them. Afterwards,
Pennsylvania receded from the rigid
working out of her one sovereign principle,
and the feud, though still hot, was less
mortal—John Franklin being chief of the
Yankee party, and Timothy Pickering the
advocate of Pennsylvania. At a great meeting,
held seventy years ago, it was rather
informally agreed to sustain the laws of
Pennsylvania and to accept a proposed compromise;
but not until the dispute had grown
so warm that the debaters, having no
sticks with them, adjourned to a grove hard
by for clubs to fight with. At last, the
Yankee leader being apprehended and
imprisoned, sued for pardon and conceded his
allegiance. Strife was at an end; and, under
the established rule, Wyoming began to
prosper.

The valley has been found to form part of
one of the richest basins of anthracite coal in
Pennsylvania. Its traders thrive. Its Indians
are gone. The steam engine shrieks between
its hills, and this important place of business
is but a few hours' journey from New York
or Philadelphia. Hills, lake, and river make
it also a fit place of summer pleasure; to
which the daughter of the New York
merchant may betake herself, and where she
may, like Gertrude—

    Delight, in fancifully wild costume,
    Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume.

         A TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCE.

IT is highly important to those who travel
from London to Edinburgh in a day, and
who cannot read or go to sleep in a railway
carriage, to secure for themselves an agreeable
travelling companion.

Having to take this journey very often,
and labouring under the above disadvantages
as I do, the practice of looking out for eligible
fellow passengers, at King's Cross or Euston
Square, has made me pretty perfect in my
judgments. The most cursory of glances
suffices to convince me of Who's Who, in the
nine, a.rn., in the case of four-fifths of its live
stock, whose rank and situation I can
approximate to with the fidelity of a collector
of income-tax, and whose very opinions I
can often predicate without giving them the
trouble of opening their lips.

Four-fifths of the human race—or, at all
events, of so much of it as travels in the
first-class by railway—can be assorted in
about half-a-dozen pigeon-holes, and when
you have seen a specimen of each description,
you have seen all, the rest being but
duplicates.

Club fogy, army swell, man of business,
country gentleman, parson, and individual
with a grievance; very nice people all, without
doubt, and may they live a thousand
years at the very least, but just conceive an
eleven hours' journey in the same carriage
with any one of them!  Of the gentler sex I
say nothing, save Bless their hearts, and may
they never grow a day older! For as to
being shut up for eleven hours with the same
female, I am very sure that the honour would
be altogether too much for me.

My sphere of choice, then, being thus
narrowed to one-fifth of the human race (male)
who travel in first-class carriages, and my
eye being, as I have said, unerring, I
generally choose the carriage which is occupied by
the most intelligent man in the train. I never
indeed made a mistake, that I can remember,
but once, when, at the same instant in which
I deposited myself and my carpet-bag in a
carriage, the individual whose appearance
had captivated me, walked straight out of it
with his hands in his pockets.

On Tuesday, the twentieth of July last, I
had occasion to set out northward, as usual,
from Euston Square. I was a little late and
hurried, and there was not a very varied
collection of passengers to choose from. As I
walked hastily by the side of the already