Mighty and glorious are the days of youth; happy the moments of the lover, mingled with smiles and tears of his devoted, and long to be remembered are the achievements which he gains with a palpitating heart and a trembling hand.  A bright and lovely dawn, the harbinger of a fair and prosperous day, had arisen over the beautiful little village of Cumming, which is surrounded by the most romantic scenery in the Cherokee country.  Brightening clouds seemed to rise from the mist of the fair Chattahoochee, to spread their beauty over the the thick forest, to guide the hero whose bosom beats with aspirations to conquer the enemy that would tarnish his name, and to win back the admiration of his long-tried friend.  He endeavored to make his way through Sawney’s Mountain, where many meet to catch the gales that are continually blowing for the refreshment of the stranger and the traveler.  Surrounded as he was by hills on every side, naked rocks dared the efforts of his energies.  Soon the sky became overcast, the sun buried itself in the clouds, and the fair day gave place to gloomy twilight, which lay heavily on the Indian Plains.  He remembered an old Indian Castle, that once stood at the foot of the mountain.  He thought if he could make his way to this, he would rest contented for a short time.  The mountain air breathed fragrance—­a rosy tinge rested on the glassy waters that murmured at its base.  His resolution soon brought him to the remains of the red man’s hut:  he surveyed with wonder and astonishment the decayed building, which time had buried in the dust, and thought to himself, his happiness was not yet complete.  Beside the shore of the brook sat a young man, about eighteen or twenty, who seemed to be reading some favorite book, and who had a remarkably noble countenance—­eyes which betrayed more than a common mind.  This of course made the youth a welcome guest, and gained him friends in whatever condition of life he might be placed.  The traveler observed that he was a well-built figure, which showed strength and grace in every movement.  He accordingly addressed him in quite a gentlemanly manner, and inquired of him the way to the village.  After he had received the desired information, and was about taking his leave, the youth said, “Are you not Major Elfonzo, the great musician—­the champion of a noble cause —­the modern Achilles, who gained so many victories in the Florida War?” “I bear that name,” said the Major, “and those titles, trusting at the same time that the ministers of grace will carry me triumphantly through all my laudable undertakings, and if,” continued the Major, “you, sir, are the patronizer of noble deeds, I should like to make you my confidant and learn your address.”  The youth looked somewhat amazed, bowed low, mused for a moment, and began:  “My name is Roswell.  I have been recently admitted to the bar, and can only give a faint outline of my future success in that honorable profession; but I trust, sir, like the Eagle, I shall look down