a daughter, and he told me that the exhibition we witnessed was the sole remaining convulsive movement that the lady had contracted in those fervid camp-meeting scenes which gave many people in the pioneer days what was known as 'the jerks—a sort of choreal malady springing from excessive excitement."

What these "camp meetings" were like, Mitchel had an opportunity of seeing later on.

I have said that Mitchel heard of a valley in the mountains called Tucaleechee Cove. The place, as described to him, promised to be lovely and secluded enough to satisfy his most misanthropic mood, and he accordingly determined to explore that part of the country.

For a few days after their arrival in Knoxville, Mitchel and his family had stayed at a hotel called the "Coleman House." Then they took lodgings at the house of a lady in the town, where they had neat and pleasant quarters. Having thus got his family comfortably housed, Mitchel felt more at liberty to proceed with his explorations in the surrounding country.

On the morning of April 1, 1855, John Mitchel and his son James started from Knoxville on foot, bound for Tucaleechee Cove. They walked all day, mostly through a thickly wooded country, but every now and then coming upon a clearing with its log house. At noon they stopped for dinner at one of the log houses, and then continued their walk till sundown, when they arrived at the entrance of the valley known as Tucaleechee Cove. Having rested for the night at a farmhouse, they started early on the following morning to explore the valley. Mitchel was much struck by the beauty of the place. As they neared the upper end of the valley, two men who were planting corn in a twenty-acre field observed them, and came over to speak to them. One of these men was the owner of the

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farm, and was anxious to sell out. Mitchel asked his price, and was answered-ten dollars an acre. The farm contained about one hundred and forty acres, of which some forty or fifty acres were in cultivation. The house was beautifully situated, but it was a somewhat sorry sort of dwelling for people who had been accustomed to live in comfortable houses in cities. It was a log house, with two rooms and a loft. The place was situated thirty-two miles from Knoxville, and twenty-two from the nearest village. As far as regarded solitude and retirement, the place was certainly all that could be desired. After a careful inspection of the farm and buildings, Mitchel and his son returned to Knoxville to hold a family council. The decision of the council was in favour of Tucaleechee. The farm was purchased, and they at once set about their preparations for this new migration.

I have said that the general tone of Knoxville did not suit Mitchel; but I would not have the reader infer from this that all the society of Knoxville was distasteful to him. This was by no means the fact. Mitchel formed several friendships, even during his first short stay at Knoxville, which lasted his life. When the time for leaving came, he parted from those friends with regret :

Knoxville begins to be pleasant to us in some degree. Several ladies have called on my wife; and besides the native Tennesseean citizens, we find here a most agreeable colony of French-Swiss people from the Canton de Vaud. The head of one of these families is a clergyman of the Swiss national church, with the Puritan name of Esperendieu, a most excellent and accomplished gentleman, who has created for himself fruitful fields and a fine vineyard. For East Tennessee, amongst its other noble destinies, is to be a most abundant wine country. Everybody laughs when we name Tucaleechee Cove. Nobody of our acquaintance had ever penetrated to that valley; some did not know that any such place existed. My friend, Mr. Swan, assured me that we would

all soon tire of such an abode; and that the people there were barbarians. But I scorned his words; told him I wanted to find barbarians to live amongst; and that I intended to become a barbarian myself, and bring up my family in that line of life.

On the evening of May 1, 1855, Mitchel and his family reached their new habitation in Tucaleechee Cove. The log-cabin looked dismal enough as they approached it. Two or three waggons came with them, bringing their furniture. All the children were brought, excepting the eldest daughter, Henrietta, and the eldest son, John. John was at this time studying the profession of an engineer upon a railroad in northern New York. Henrietta, in order that she might continue her study of French and music, remained at Knoxville, at the house of a Swiss lady, who had become a friend of the family during their brief stay. The four others-James, Willie, Minnie, and Isabel-went with their parents to the farm.

For nearly a year and a half-that is, from the spring of 1855 to the fall of 1856, the Mitchels continued to reside at Tucaleechee Cove. As was natural, and as might have been expected, Mrs. Mitchel never liked the life. It was so entirely different from anything she had been accustomed to. Life in log-cabins on the confines of civilization may be all very well in theory; but in practice it is not always so very pleasant. Men can often stand it well enough; but for a lady, who has been accustomed to the refinements and the social intercourse of cities, the sudden change to a life without society and without domestic help, is extremely trying. Mrs. Mitchel stood it as long as she could, and tried to make the best of it for her husband's sake. But at length her health began to give way, and, moreover, the life did not seem to agree well with her daughter Isabel. This was the main reason why Mitchel, who was always most devoted to his

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family, finally decided to leave the Cove. But this came later.

During the years 1855 and 1856, and during the greater part of 1857, Mitchel did not have any newspaper work to do. In reading through his correspondence, it is easy to fix his periods of leisure. While he was engaged in journalistic work, he commonly wrote few letters. When he was free from the necessity of writing a certain amount each week, he seems to have enjoyed writing letters every now and then. The quality of his correspondence was always good, but the quantity varied much—mainly in the way just described. During the residence at Tucaleechee Cove, and the earlier part of the Knoxville period (previous to the starting of the Southern Citizen), the letters are abundant. They gave a full description of the farm at Tucaleechee and the life led there.

Believing that the letters themselves will be more interesting to the reader than a narrative grounded on them, I shall not hesitate to quote from them at some length. What I give, however, is only a small fraction of the whole. I would gladly quote more fully, but am restrained by the desire to keep this book within certain bounds.

The following passage is taken from a letter written to John Dillon from Knoxville shortly after Mitchel's arrival there. The friendship between Mitchel and Dillon had ripened during the former's stay at New York. He now counted both Mr. and Mrs. Dillon as among the friends he would least like to lose :

The

You would be amused at the press of Tennessee. Boanerges of the profession is one Brownlow of this town, a Methodist preacher, who once preached with pistols and a bowieknife on the Bible before him; who is systematically, chronically frantic in his personal abuse of all and sundry, and is generally

understood to be perfectly ready to gouge any fellow-creature at a moment's notice. He is editor of the Knoxville Whig, a furious Know-Nothing organ; and as all the papers here were bound to have articles on me after my arrival, Mr. Brownlow had his--said the people of Tennessee were glad to see Mr. Mitchel; but would give him to understand from the start that he was welcome to live in Tennessee, but by no means to dictate to Tennessee. Further, that from his, Brownlow's, personal observation, he could say this, Mr. Mitchel was genteelly dressed, talked rather reasonably, and appeared to have been "well raised." Lastly, that the Tennesseeans were not the men to declare open war upon a stranger instanter, and would treat the distinguished stranger as a gentleman till he proved himself none. So this is the footing upon which I stand in the Whig office. No land taken yet. But we are very comfortably housed in a private family of this place; that is, my wife and children are comfortably housed; for I have little share in it as yet. I am always roving about the country, sleeping in farmers' houses, living on pig and corn bread. Soon, I think, I will have secured a small tract of barren mountain. . . . Give my warmest regards and my wife's to Mrs. Dillon. I wish you and she would think of settling in East Tennessee. You might live quietly here, but not presume to dictate.

A few days after the arrival of himself and family at Tucaleechee Cove, he writes to his brother William :—

We are here for six days, having arrived on Tuesday evening last in the midst of a thunderstorm. The valley looked grand enough, but the little log house excessively desolate. If we were even moderately comfortable here, it would be a delightful place to live; but being, in truth and in fact, immoderately uncomfortable, we have not so much leisure or disposition to enjoy the new state of existence. We have no help as yet, male or female. As to field work, I can get, and do get, such help as I want from the neighbouring "mean whites" of these parts; but James and I milk the cows, drive them out, drive them in, separate them twice a day from their calves, a task of much labour and sweat, feed horses, drive nails, light fires, make up fences; and I rode this day five miles down the valley on my horse bare-backed for a bag of flour, which I "toted" on the horse before me on my return.