“I can’t account for our bad luck in catching trout today,” said my post-office friend; “but I do assure you that a couple of young men named Hyatt, and myself, once went a fishing in the Sweet Water, and we took one hundred and seventy-five trout. But this is not to the purpose. On that occasion we fished up the stream; and when we came to the mouth of the chasm, we saw a big buck, which we frightened towards the falls as we ascended. When we came near the falls, one of the Hyatts and myself stopped fishing, and went to work to corner the buck, and see if we could kill him with stones, or cause him to drown himself. There was no way for him to make his escape, except by running directly over us, and this we did not suppose he would dare attempt. He made many desperate efforts to get away, and at one time managed to climb an almost perpendicular wall of rock to the height of some twenty feet, when he lost his foothold and fell into the pool below. He now became very much enraged, but we continued to pelt him with stones, though without effecting any serious injury. After bothering him for at least half an hour, the creature finally got upon the rocks at the lower part of the pool, when he swept by us with great fury, and started down the chasm, making some of the most fearful leaps that I ever saw. And now it so happened that we saw the younger Hyatt standing upon a rock and casting his fly upon a pool, where we thought the deer must pass in his downward course, and we immediately shouted to the angler to ‘look out.’ He did so, and immediately drew out a hunting-knife which he had in his pocket, and as the deer tumbled into the pool, young Hyatt actually jumped upon his back, and succeeded in giving him a fatal stab, so that the animal merely crawled upon the rocks to die. It was quite late in the evening before we started for home, and we only brought the skin along with us; but as we left the chasm, we saw a large panther descending one of the cliffs of the gorge, as if hastening to have a feast upon the dead deer.”

The “story” of my lawyer friend, or rather a fragment of his entertaining conversation was as follows: “As it is important, Mr. Lanman, that you should not leave our country without learning something of our great personages, and as our companion here is a modest man, I will give you a brief sketch of his character. He is a gentleman of some property, for he not only owns the plantation where we took supper, but one or two others of equal value. He is one of the oldest residents in this mountain region—a gentleman of fine moral character, and with a heart as guileless as that of a child. He is a passionate lover of scenery, and has probably explored the beauties of this mountain land more thoroughly than any other man now living; he is also a great lover of botany, geology, insectology, and a dozen other ologies, and I believe has made a number of discoveries in all his favorite studies. As you have heard, he tells a capital story, and, as you may see by looking into some of our southern newspapers, he uses the pen with ease and a degree of elegance. He cherishes a love for the ‘angle art,’ and I must say usually succeeds in his fishing exploits much better than he has to-day. By profession he is a knight of the needle; but, being somewhat advanced in years, he amuses himself by fulfilling the duties of deputy postmaster in the village of Franklin.”

The lawyer was here interrupted by the hero of his story, who insisted upon his changing the “subject theme,” and the consequence is, my readers will be disappointed in obtaining any more information respecting the scientific deputy postmaster of the Alleghany mountains.

But, leaving the intellectual out of view, the most interesting character whom I have seen about Franklin is an old Cherokee Indian. His name is Sa-taw-ha, or Hog-Bite, and he is upwards of one hundred years of age. He lives in a small log hut among the mountains, the door of which is so very low that you have to crawl into it upon your hands and knees. At the time the greater part of his nation were removed to the Far West, the “officers of justice” called to obtain his company. He saw them as they approached, and, taking his loaded rifle in hand, he warned them not to attempt to lay their hands upon him, for he would certainly kill them. He was found to be so resolute and so very old, that it was finally concluded by those in power that the old man should be left alone. He lives the life of a hermit, and is chiefly supported by the charity of one or two Indian neighbors, though it is said he even now occasionally manages to kill a deer or turkey. His history is entirely unknown, and he says he can remember the time when the Cherokee nation lived upon the shores of a great ocean, (the Atlantic,) and the color of a white man’s face was unknown.

In the immediate vicinity of this place may be seen another of those mysterious Indian mounds which we find beautifying nearly all the valleys of this land. And here it may not be out of place for me to introduce the opinions concerning their origin which prevail among the Indian tribes of the South. By some they are said to have been built by a race of people who have become extinct, and were formerly used by the Cherokees merely as convenient places to have their dances and their games. A superstition also prevails, that in the ancient days every Indian brought to a certain place a small bark full of the soil which he cultivated, as a tribute to the Great Spirit, who in return sent them a plenteous harvest. Some allege that they were the burial places of great warriors and hunters; some that they were erected as trophies of remarkable victories; others that they were built as fortresses; and others still that upon them were performed the more sacred of religious rites. There is also a tradition existing among the Cherokees that these mounds formerly contained a species of sacred fire; and it is well known that an Indian has never been known to deface one of them, and to see them defaced by the white man always seems to make them unhappy. The only light (in the way of opinion) that I can throw upon these mounds is, that they owe their origin to some aboriginal custom similar to that which has brought together the huge piles of stones which the traveller meets with in various portions of the southern country. But all this information is traditionary, the builders of these mounds are unknown, and all that even the wise of the present generation can do is to look upon them in silence and wonder.

The gentleman upon whose property the above mentioned mound is situated is the nabob of the place, an intelligent man, and an old resident. I am now his guest and he lives in comfortable style, his dwelling being surrounded with a score or two of out-houses. He carries on an extensive farming business, and is the owner of a goodly number of tidy, respectful, and industrious slaves. Though situated almost within rifle-shot of an impassable mountain, his residence is associated with clover-fields, a well-managed garden filled with flowers and vines, ancient trees where sing the katydids in the evening hours, and above which swoop the joyous and noisy martin and the beautiful dove; and also with meadow-fields, where horses and cattle graze during the long summer day. But there is one association connected with this farm-house which is still ringing in my ears: I allude to a perpetual chorus of an everlasting quantity of jackasses, peacocks, and guinea-hens. My host seems to have a passion for these apparently accidental or unfinished specimens of natural history; and I must say that I have never before been privileged to enjoy such unearthly music as I have on his plantation. The painful braying of a jackass awakens his household from their slumbers, and the same braying, accompanied by the screams of the peacock and guinea-hen, continues without ceasing until the twilight hour, when the whippoorwill takes up her evening lay, and the world lapses into its nightly repose.

Having spent a Sabbath in Franklin, I obtained a little information with regard to the religious condition of the people in this section of country. The only denominations who have preaching here are the Methodists and Baptists. Among the latter class, the Bible custom of washing feet is still kept up with rigor. The preachers of both denominations are itinerants, and, so far as I have seen, are worthy upright, and sensible men. They seem to think more of preaching the doctrines of Christ than proclaiming their own learning or advocating their own opinions, and it is therefore always a pleasure to hear them; they know their duties, and faithfully fulfil them, and I believe accomplish much good. The people attend the Sunday meetings from a distance of ten and fifteen miles; and, as the men and women all ride on horseback, and as they often come in parties, their appearance on approaching the church is often exceedingly picturesque.

On the day of my arrival in this village, a negro teamster met with an accident while passing over a neighboring mountain, which resulted in his losing one of his four horses, which happened to step over a log, and, on being cut loose, fell down a precipice of forty feet into a pool of water. On being questioned as to the manner in which the animal fell, the negro briefly but tellingly replied, “Ka wallup, ka wallup, ka wallup, ka swash!” I thought this a most forcible description, and could not but admire the man’s ingenuity in representing each somerset by a single word.

Within a few days past I have become acquainted with two insects which I have never seen described, but which are found in abundance throughout the South. I allude to the dirt-dauber and the stump-stinger. In their general appearance they both resemble the wasp. The first lives in a cell, which it builds on the inner side of a shed or piazza. It is a noted enemy of the spider, and possesses the art and the habit of killing that insect in great numbers. But what is really remarkable, they have a fashion of stowing away the carcasses of their slaughtered enemies in their dwellings, as if for future use; and after the cell is full, they close it with mud, and proceed to build another cell, so that the opulence of one of them may be calculated by the number of his closed dwellings. The stump-stinger is remarkable for having attached to the middle of his body a hard and pointed weapon, with which he can dig a hole one inch in depth in the body of even a hickory tree. This weapon he usually carries under his tail, but when about to be used makes him resemble a gimlet in form. The instrument is very hard, and composed of two pieces, which he works up and down, like a pair of chisels. It is supposed that he makes this hole for the purpose of depositing an egg, and it is alleged that the tree upon which he once fastens himself always falls to decay.

But this allusion to insects reminds me of an incident connected with the ant which I lately noticed in one of my mountain rambles. While watching an ant-hill, I discovered that the little creatures were busily engaged in enlarging the hole of their miniature cavern. While watching their movements with intense interest, my eyes chanced to fall upon another detachment of the same insect, who were approaching the hole in question with the dead body of a grasshopper. The moment this party was discovered by those at the hole, the whole multitude fell to work and tumbled their dead booty along at a more rapid rate than before. On reaching the hole an attempt was made to drag the grasshopper into it, but without success, for it was too small. A movement to enlarge the hole was then immediately made, and in a very few moments the slain creature was out of my sight, and I could almost fancy that I saw the ants clapping their tiny hands and congratulating themselves upon the feat they had accomplished. Upon the whole it was one of the most interesting little incidents that I ever witnessed, and I left the spot feeling that I understood the words of Scripture which say, “Go to the ant, thou sluggard, and be wise!”

And now, as the desultory character of this letter will probably fully satisfy my readers, I will bring it to a close, promising to be somewhat more circumspect in the future.