On one hand lay the town of Natchez, sunk in repose; the moon at full, was sleeping over it, in as pure a sky as ever poet drank joy and inspiration from; far below, wrapt in shade, lay the scene of my almost dream, the line of houses denoted by a few scattered lights, and in its front was the mighty Mississippi; rolling on in its majesty through a dominion created by itself, through regions of wilderness born of its waters and still subject to its laws; I could distinctly hear the continuous rush of the strong current; it was the only sound that moved the air. I hearkened intently to this rushing; it had indeed an absolute fascination for the ear: it was not like the hoarse roar of the ocean, now breaking along a line of beach, then again lulled as though gathering breath for a renewed effort; it was a sound monotonous and low, but which filled the ear and awed the very heart. I felt that I was listening to a voice coeval with creation, and that ceased not either by night or day! which the blast of winter could not rouse, or the breath of summer hush; a voice which the buzz and bustle of noon might drive from the ear, but which the uplifting of the foundations of the world alone could silence. _Saturday, 14th._--This being my last day in Natchez, I employed it in visiting any lions that might hitherto have escaped me; amongst other unlooked-for wonders, was an exhibition of pictures advertised from England, and purporting to be a choice collection of ancient and modern masters. One picture, a Bacchus and Ariadne, was finely painted; but had suffered a good deal from time and travel, combined with a dip in the Mississippi. The remainder of the collection was composed of worse pictures than are offered to connoisseurs at a pawnbroker's sale in London. The proprietor informed me that they were to be brought to the hammer and sold without reserve in a few days, when he anticipated a lively sale for the large pictures, the quantity of raw material used up in the work being a great consideration with the lovers of art here. I looked upon the mere fact of such a speculation being made in these countries as creditable to the people and worthy of notice. Natchez will, no doubt, one day have an academy of her own; men can hardly fail to paint where nature offers so much that is beautiful for their imitation; and, indeed, I have in the remotest places seen attempts by self-taught artists that have convinced me example and encouragement alone are needed.