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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e6fba3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55942 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55942) diff --git a/old/55942-0.txt b/old/55942-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e1d9a20..0000000 --- a/old/55942-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8782 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iris, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Iris - An Illuminated Souvenir for MDCCCLII - -Author: Various - -Editor: John S. Hart - -Release Date: November 12, 2017 [EBook #55942] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRIS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was -produced from images made available by the HathiTrust -Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - -THE IRIS. - - - - -[Illustration: PRESENTED To - - C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph. - -LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.] - - - - -[Illustration: The IRIS - -Souvenir - - C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.] - - - - - THE IRIS: - An Illuminated Souvenir, - FOR - MDCCCLII. - - EDITED BY - JOHN S. HART, LL. D. - - PHILADELPHIA: - PUBLISHED BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO. - SUCCESSORS TO GRIGG, ELLIOT & CO. - 1852. - - - - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, - BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO., - In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of - Pennsylvania. - - C. SHERMAN, PRINTER. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -Captain Eastman, of the United States Topographical Corps, having -been stationed for nine years on our northwestern frontier, among the -Indian tribes, at and around Fort Snelling, made a series of drawings -of some of the most striking and remarkable objects connected with the -Indian traditions. His accomplished lady, who was with him seven years -of this time, collected the traditions themselves, and wove them into -tales and poems that let us into the very heart of Indian life. The -whole of this valuable and original collection has been secured for the -Iris, and gives to the volume for 1852 its distinguishing feature. To -make the illustrations conform more to the character of the subjects, -they have all been printed in colours, in the style now so deservedly -popular. Last year the publishers gave only four of these gorgeous -illuminated pages. The present volume contains no less than twelve, all -from original designs, and all printed in ten different colours. The -happy blending of the colours in these pictures, the disposition of the -light and shade, and the skill with which they are printed, give them -the appearance of paintings rather than of prints. Such a collection -of gems of art in one volume, could not be made without a heavy -expense. But the publishers were desirous of making the Iris, as to the -splendour of its appearance, not unworthy of the celestial visitant -from which it has been named, and of the very marked favour with which -its predecessor of the last season was received. - -The literary matter, like that of the former volume, is entirely -original, and with the exception of the beautiful poem by Miss Bremer, -entirely American, both as to subjects and authorship. Though there are -various shades of thought and feeling in these effusions of genius, -each subject being coloured according to the mental constitution of the -writer, yet, as in the divine bow of promise, all colours are blended -and harmonized in the one aim to place before the beholder a new token -of hope and gladness. - - - - -[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS - - C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - SUBJECT. AUTHOR. PAGE - - PROEM. SARAH ROBERTS. 19 - - THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN. THE EDITOR. 21 - - DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS. FREDRIKA BREMER. 26 - - WE-HAR-KA, OR THE RIVAL CLANS. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 29 - - THE LAUGHING WATERS. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 69 - - O-KO-PEE, A HUNTER OF THE SIOUX. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 72 - - CHEQUERED CLOUD, THE AGED SIOUX WOMAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 80 - - FIRE-FACE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 84 - - DEATH-SONG OF AN INDIAN PRISONER. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 91 - - THE FALSE ALARM. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 95 - - INDIAN COURTSHIP. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 101 - - THE SACRIFICE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 104 - - AN INDIAN LULLABY. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 113 - - SOUNDING WIND, THE CHIPPEWAY BRAVE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 117 - - AN INDIAN BALLAD. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 124 - - OLD JOHN, THE MEDICINE-MAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 127 - - A REMONSTRANCE. ELIZA L. SPROAT. 136 - - A FINE ART DISREGARDED. ELIZABETH WETHERELL. 139 - - MISSION CHURCH OF SAN JOSÉ. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 151 - - HAWKING. EDITH MAY. 155 - - HILLSIDE COTTAGE. MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR. 156 - - SUNSET ON THE DELAWARE. J. I. PEASE. 177 - - FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. S. A. H. 178 - - CASTLE-BUILDING. JAMES T. MITCHELL. 180 - - THE LOVER'S LEAP, OR WENONA'S ROCK. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 185 - - THE INDIAN MOTHER. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 191 - - THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 194 - - ALICE HILL. MRS. M. E. W. ALEXANDER. 196 - - DR. VANDORSEN AND THE YOUNG WIDOW. ANN E. PORTER. 206 - - A CENOTAPH. A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH. 225 - - THE DREAMER. MARY E. HEWITT. 244 - - WHITE MOON AND FIERY MAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 245 - - THE RAIN-DROP. MISS E. W. BARNES. 276 - - A PLEA FOR A CHOICE PICTURE. MISS L. S. HALL. 279 - - LOST AND WON. CAROLINE EUSTIS. 281 - - THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE. A WESTERN MISSIONARY. 283 - - A NIGHT IN NAZARETH. MARY YOUNG. 290 - - TEARS. CHARLES D. GARDETTE, M.D. 293 - - INCONSTANCY. E. M. 295 - - CROSSING THE TIDE. MISS PHŒBE CAREY. 297 - - - - -THE IRIS. - - - - -PROEM. - -BY SARAH ROBERTS. - - - They have christened me Iris; and why? oh, why? - Because, like the rainbow so bright, - I bring my own welcome, and tell my own tale, - And am hailed by all hearts with delight: - And this, this is why - I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky. - - The rainbow, it cometh 'mid sunlight and tears,-- - The tears it soon chaseth away; - I banish all sighs for the year that is passed, - And the future in sunlight array: - And this, this is why - I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky. - - The rainbow, it telleth of promise and love, - Of hope, with its gay, golden wing; - It whispers of peacefulness, purity, heaven,-- - Of these lofty themes do I sing: - And this, this is why - I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky. - - The rainbow is painted in colours most fair, - By the hand of the Father of love; - So the genius and talent my pages bespeak, - Are inspired by the Great Mind above: - And this, this is why - I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky. - - - - -THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN. - -BY THE EDITOR. - - (See the Frontispiece.) - - -The first landing of William Penn at Newcastle, in 1682, is one -of those striking historical events that are peculiarly suited -for pictorial illustration. The late Mr. Duponceau, in one of his -discourses, first suggested the idea of making it the subject of an -historical painting. This idea is seized with avidity by Mr. Dixon, the -most recent biographer of the great Quaker, and the circumstances of -the landing are given accordingly, with much minuteness. The artist who -designed the picture that forms the frontispiece to the present volume -has had this description in view. I cannot do better, therefore, than -to quote the words of Mr. Dixon as the best possible commentary upon -the picture. - -"On the 27th of October, nine weeks after the departure from Deal, the -_Welcome_ moored off Newcastle, in the territories lately ceded by the -Duke of York, and William Penn first set foot in the New World.[1] His -landing made a general holiday in the town; young and old, Welsh, -Dutch, English, Swedes, and Germans, crowded down to the landing-place, -each eager to catch a glimpse of the great man who had come amongst -them, less as their lord and governor than as their friend. In the -centre of the foreground, only distinguished from the few companions -of his voyage who have yet landed, by the nobleness of his mien, and a -light blue silken sash tied round his waist, stands William Penn; erect -in stature, every motion indicating courtly grace, his countenance -lighted up with hope and honest pride,--in every limb and feature -the expression of a serene and manly beauty.[2] The young officer -before him, dressed in the gay costume of the English service, is his -lieutenant, Markham, come to welcome his relative to the new land, and -to give an account of his own stewardship. On the right stand the chief -settlers of the district, arrayed in their national costumes, the light -hair and quick eye of the Swede finding a good foil in the stolid look -of the heavy Dutchman, who doffs his cap, but doubts whether he shall -take the pipe out of his mouth even to say welcome to the new governor. -A little apart, as if studying with the intense eagerness of Indian -skill the physiognomy of the ruler who has come with his children to -occupy their hunting-grounds, stands the wise and noble leader of the -Red Men, Taminent, and a party of the Lenni Lenapé in their picturesque -paints and costume. Behind the central figure are grouped the principal -companions of his voyage; and on the dancing waters of the Delaware -rides the stately ship, while between her and the shore a multitude of -light canoes dart to and fro, bringing the passengers and merchandise -to land. Part of the background shows an irregular line of streets and -houses, the latter with the pointed roofs and fantastic gables which -still delight the artist's eye in the streets of Leyden or Rotterdam; -and further on the view is lost in one of those grand old pine and -cedar forests which belong essentially to an American scene." - -I take much pleasure in quoting also, in this connexion, another scene -of somewhat similar character, though greatly misrepresented in the -ordinary pictures of it heretofore given. Penn's personal appearance -has been even more misapprehended than his character. He was, indeed, -one of the most handsome men of his age, and at the time of his first -coming to America he was in the very prime of life. West makes him an -ugly, fat old fellow, in a costume half a century out of date. So says -Mr. Dixon. The passage referred to, and about to be quoted, is from a -description of the celebrated Treaty with the Indians at Shackamaxon. - -"This conference has become one of the most striking scenes in history. -Artists have painted, poets have sung, philosophers have applauded -it; but it is nevertheless clear, that in words and colours it has -been equally and generally misrepresented, because painters, poets, -and historians have chosen to draw on their own imaginations for the -features of a scene, every marking line of which they might have -recovered from authentic sources. - -"The great outlines of nature are easily obtained. There, the dense -masses of cedar, pine, and chestnut, stretching far away into the -interior of the land; here, the noble river rolling its waters down -to the Atlantic Ocean; along its surface rose the purple smoke of the -settlers' homestead; on the opposite shores lay the fertile and settled -country of New Jersey. Here stood the gigantic elm which was to become -immortal from that day forward,--and there lay the verdant council -chamber formed by nature on the surface of the soil. In the centre -stood William Penn, in costume undistinguished from the surrounding -group, save by the silken sash. His costume was simple, but not -pedantic or ungainly: an outer coat, reaching to the knees, and covered -with buttons, a vest of other materials, but equally ample, trousers -extremely full, slashed at the sides, and tied with strings or ribbons, -a profusion of shirt sleeves and ruffles, with a hat of the cavalier -shape (wanting only the feather), from beneath the brim of which -escaped the curls of a new peruke, were the chief and not ungraceful -ingredients.[3] At his right hand stood Colonel Markham, who had met -the Indians in council more than once on that identical spot, and was -regarded by them as a firm and faithful friend; on his left Pearson, -the intrepid companion of his voyage; and near his person, but a little -backward, a band of his most attached adherents. When the Indians -approached in their old forest costume, their bright feathers sparkling -in the sun, and their bodies painted in the most gorgeous manner, the -governor received them with the easy dignity of one accustomed to mix -with European courts. As soon as the reception was over, the sachems -retired to a short distance, and after a brief consultation among -themselves, Taminent, the chief sachem or king, a man whose virtues -are still remembered by the sons of the forest, advanced again a few -paces, and put upon his own head a chaplet, into which was twisted a -small horn: this chaplet was his symbol of power; and in the customs of -the Lenni Lenapé, whenever the chief placed it upon his brows the spot -became at once sacred, and the person of every one present inviolable. -The venerable Indian king then seated himself on the ground, with the -older sachems on his right and left, the middle-aged warriors ranged -themselves in the form of a crescent or half-moon round them, and the -younger men formed a third and outer semicircle. All being seated in -this striking and picturesque order, the old monarch announced to the -governor that the natives were prepared to hear and consider his words. -Penn then rose to address them, his countenance beaming with all the -pride of manhood. He was at this time thirty-eight years old; light and -graceful in form; the handsomest, best-looking, most lively gentleman -she had ever seen, wrote a lady who was an eyewitness of the ceremony." - -[Footnote 1: "Watson, 16; Day, 299. The landing of Penn in America -is commemorated on the 24th of October, that being the date given by -Clarkson; but the diligent antiquary, Mr. J. F. Watson, has found in -the records of Newcastle the original entry of his arrival."] - -[Footnote 2: "The portrait by West is utterly spurious and unlike. -Granville Penn, MSS."] - -[Footnote 3: "Penn. Hist. Soc. Mem., iii. part ii. 76."] - - - - -DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS. - -BY FREDRIKA BREMER. - - - I was in company - With men and women, - And heard small talk - Of little things, - Of poor pursuits - And narrow views - Of narrow minds. - I rushed out - To breathe more freely, - To look on nature. - - The evening star - Rose grave and bright, - The western sky - Was warm with light, - And the young moon - Shone softly down - Among the shadows - Of the town, - Where whispering trees - And fragrant flowers - Stood hushed in silent, - Balmy bowers. - All was romance, - All loveliness, - Wrapped in a trance - Of mystic bliss. - - I looked on - In bitterness, - And sighed and asked, - Why the great Lord - Made so rich beauty - For such a race - Of little men? - - I was in company - With men and women, - Heard noble talk - Of noble things, - Of noble doings, - And manly suffering - And man's heart beating - For all mankind. - - The evening star - Seemed now less bright, - The western sky - Of paler light, - All nature's beauty - And romance, - So lovely - To gaze upon, - Retired at once, - A shadow but to that of man! - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph. - -WE-HAR-KA.] - - - - -WE-HAR-KA, -OR, THE RIVAL CLANS. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -The Indian settlement, the opening scene of our story, presented a -different appearance from what we call an Indian village at the present -day. The lodges were far more numerous, and the Indians were not -drooping about, without energy, and apparently without occupation. The -long line of hills did not echo the revels of the drunkard, nor were -the faces of the people marked with anxiety and care. The untaught and -untamed dispositions of the red men were as yet unaffected by the evil -influences of the degenerate white man. - -The Sioux[4] were in their summer-houses, and the village stretched -along the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile. It reached back, -too, to the foot of a high hill, and some of the lodges were shaded by -the overhanging branches of the elm and maple. Above the homes of the -living might be seen the burial-place of the dead; for, on the summit -of the hill the enveloped forms of the departed were receiving the last -red beams of the retiring sun, whose rising and repose were now for -ever unnoticed by them. - -The long, warm day was closing in, and the Indians were enjoying -themselves in the cool breezes that were stirring the waves of the -river and the wild flowers that swept over its banks. They were -collected in groups in every direction, but the largest party might be -found surrounding a mat, on which was seated the old war-chief of the -band, who had long dragged a tedious existence, a care to others and -a burden to himself. The mat was placed near the wigwam, so that the -sides of the wigwam supported the back of the aged and infirm warrior. -His hair was cut straight over his forehead, but behind it hung in long -locks over his neck. - -Warm as was the season, the buffalo robe was wrapped around him, the -fur side next to him, while on the outside, in Indian hieroglyphics, -might be read many an event of his life. Around the edge of the robe -was a row of hands painted in different colours, representing the -number of enemies he had killed in battle. In the centre of the robe -were drawn the sun and morning star, objects of worship among the -Sioux, and placed on the robe as a remedy for a severe sickness which -once prostrated his vital powers, but was conquered by the efficacious -charm contained in the representation. Ornaments of different kinds -adorned his person; but his limbs were shrunken to the bone with age, -and the time had long since come to him when even the grasshopper was -a burden. - -The features of the Sioux were still expressive, though the eyes -were closed and the lips thin and compressed; he was encircled with -a dignity, which, in all ages and climes, attaches itself to an -honourable old age. - -Close by his side, and contrasting strongly with the war-chief, was one -of his nearest relations. She was his granddaughter, the orphan girl of -his favourite son. She was at once his companion, attendant, and idol. - -They were never separated, that old man and young girl; for a long time -he had been fed by her hands, and now he never saw the light of the sun -he worshipped except when she raised and held open the eyelids which -weakness had closed over his eyes. She had just assisted his tottering -steps, and seated him on the mat, where he might enjoy the pleasant -evening-time and the society of those who delighted in the strange -stories his memory called up, or who were willing to receive the advice -which the aged are ever privileged to pour into the hearts of the young. - -The evening meal of the warrior had been a light one, for We-har-ka -still held in her small and beautiful hand a bark dish, which contained -venison cut up in small pieces, occasionally pressing him to eat again. -It was evident there was something unusual agitating his thoughts, for -he impatiently put aside the hand that fed him, and taking his pipe, -the handle of which was elaborately adorned, he held it to have it -lighted, then dreamily and quietly placed it in his mouth. - -He had long been an object of reverence to his people; though -superseded as a warrior and a leader, yet his influence was still -acknowledged in the band which he had so long controlled. He had kept -this alive in a great measure by the oft-repeated stories of his -achievements, and above all, by the many personal encounters he had -had, not only with his enemies, but with the gods, the objects of their -devotion and fear. - -The pipe was soon laid aside, and his low and murmuring words could not -be understood by the group, that, attracted by the unusual excitement -that showed itself in the war-chief's manner, had pressed near him. - -After a short communing with himself he placed his hand upon the head -of the girl, who was watching every change in his expressive face. "My -daughter," he said, "you will not be alone--the Eagle Eye will not -again see the form of his warrior son: he would have charged him to -care for his sister, even as the small birds watch and guard around the -home of the forest god. - -"The children of the Great Spirit must submit to his will. My heart -would laugh could I again see the tall form of my grandson. I would see -once more the fleetness of his step and the strength of his arm; but -it is not to be. Before he shall return, crying, 'It is for my father, -the scalp of his enemy,' I shall be roaming over the hunting-grounds of -the Great Spirit. Do not weep, my daughter; you will be happy in your -husband's wigwam, and you will tell your children how the Eagle Eye -loved you, even till his feet started on the warrior's journey. - -"Your brother will return," he continued, "and it is for him that I lay -aside the pipe, which I shall never smoke again; the drum that I have -used since I have been a medicine-man, I wish laid near my side when I -shall be dead, and wrapped in the buffalo robe which will cover me. - -"You, my braves, shall know whence I obtained this drum. It has often -brought back life to the dying man, and its sound has secured us -success in battle. I have often told you that I had seen the God of the -Great Deep in my dreams, and from him I obtained power to strike terror -to the hearts of my enemies. Who has shouted the death-cry oftener -than I? Look at the feathers[5] of honour in my head! What enemy ever -heard the name of Eagle Eye without trembling? But I, terrible as I -have been to my enemies, must grow weak like a woman, and die like a -child. The waters of the rivers rush on; you may hear them and trace -their way, but soon they join the waves of the great deep, and we see -them no more--so I am about to join the company in the house of the -Great Spirit, and when your children say, 'Where is Eagle Eye?' you may -answer, 'The Great Spirit has called him, we cannot go where he is.' - -"It was from Unk-ta-he, the god of the great deep, that I received that -drum. Before I was born of woman I lived in the dark waters. Unk-ta-he -rose up with his terrible eyes, and took me to his home. I lived with -him and the other gods of the sea. I cannot to you all repeat the -lessons of wisdom he has taught me; it is a part of the great medicine -words that women should never hear. - -"There, in the home of the god of the sea, I saw many wonders--the -large doors through which the water gods passed when they visited the -earth, the giant trees lying in the water higher than our mountains. -They had lightning too, the weapons of the thunder birds;[6] when the -winds arose, and the sea waved, then did Unk-ta-he hurl the streaked -fire to the earth through the waters. - -"The god of the great deep gave me this drum, and I wish it buried with -me; he told me when I struck the drum my will should be obeyed, and it -has been so. - -"When my son returns, tell him to let his name be terrible like his -grandfather's. Tell him that my arm was like a child's because of the -winters I had seen, but that he must revenge his brother's death; then -will he be like the brave men who have gone before him, and his deeds -will be remembered as long as the Dacotas hate their enemies. The -shadows grow deeper on the hills, and the long night will soon rest -upon the head of the war-chief. I am old, yet my death-song shall call -back the spirits of the dead. Where are the Chippeways, my enemies? See -their red scalps scorching in the sun! I am a great warrior; tell me, -where is the enemy who fears me not!" - -While the voice of the old man now rose with the excitement that was -influencing, now fell with the exhaustion, which brought big drops of -perspiration on his face, the Indians were collecting in a crowd around -him. - -It was, indeed, a glorious evening for the war-chief to die. The -horizon was a mass of crimson clouds, their gorgeous tints were -reflected on the river; the rocky bluffs rose up like castle walls -around the village, while on the opposite shore the deer were parting -the foliage with their graceful heads and drinking from the low banks. - -We-har-ka wiped the forehead and brow of her grandfather. There was -something of more than ordinary interest about the appearance of this -young person: her features were regularly formed, their expression -mild; her figure light and yielding as a young tree; her hair was -neatly parted and gathered in small braids over her neck; her dress -well calculated to display the grace of her figure; a heavy necklace of -wampum[7] covered her throat and neck, and on her bosom was suspended -the holy cross! - -Her complexion was lighter than usual for an Indian girl, owing to the -confinement occasioned by the charge of her infirm relative; a subdued -melancholy pervaded her features, and even the tone of her voice. - -There was a pause, for the warrior slept a few moments, and again -his voice was heard. Death was making him mindful of the glorious -achievements of his life. Again he was brandishing his tomahawk -in circles round the head of his fallen foe; again he taunted his -prisoner, whose life he had spared that he might enjoy his sufferings -under the torment; again, with a voice as strong as in early manhood, -he shouted the death-cry--it was his own, for not another sound, not -even a sigh escaped him. - - * * * * * - -Gently they moved him into the wigwam. We-har-ka stood by his head. -There was no loud wailing, for he had outlived almost all who were -bound to him by near ties. - -Those who stood around heaped their most cherished possessions on his -feet: the knife, the pipe, and the robe were freely and affectionately -offered to the dead. - -We-har-ka gazed earnestly upon him: large tears fell on her bosom and -on the old man's brow. Some one drew near and respectfully covered his -venerable face: the drum was placed, as he requested, at his side. - -One of the men said, "Eagle Eye takes proud steps as he travels towards -the land of souls. His heart has long been where warriors chase the -buffalo on the prairies of the Great Spirit." We-har-ka drew from her -belt her knife, and cut long, deep gashes on her round arms; then, not -heeding the wounds,[8] she severed the braids of her glossy hair, and -cutting them off with the knife, red with her own blood, she threw them -at her feet. - - -How did the holy cross find its way to the wilds of a new country? -A savage, yet powerful nation, idolaters at heart and in practice, -bending to the sun, the forests, and the sea--how was it that the sign -of the disciple of Jesus lay glittering on the bosom of one of the -women of this heathen race? - -Did the Christian hymn of praise ever rise with the soft and silvery -vapours of morning to the heavens? Had the low and earnest Christian's -prayer ever sounded among the bluffs that towered and the islands that -slept? Never, and yet the emblem of their faith was there. - -But, to what region did not the Jesuit penetrate? Hardly were the -resources of our country discovered, before they were upon its shores. - -They were there, with their promises and penances, their soft words and -their Latin prayers, with purposes not to be subdued in accomplishing -the mission for which they were sent. Was it a mission of faith, or -of gain? Was it to extend the hopes and triumphs of the cross, or to -aggrandize a Society always overflowing with means and with power? -Witness the result. - -Yet they poured like rain into the rich and beautiful country of -Acadie.[9] See them passing through forests where the dark trees bent -to and fro "like giants possessing fearful secrets," enduring hunger, -privation, and fatigue. See them again in their frail barks bounding -over the angry waters of Huron, riding upon its mountain waves, and -often cast upon its inhospitable rocks. - -Follow them as they tread the paths where the moccasin-step alone had -ever been heard, regardless of danger and of death, planting the cross -even in the midst of a Dacota village. Could this be for aught save the -love of the Saviour? Those who know the history of the Society founded -by Loyola, best can tell. - -Among the ranks of the Jesuit were found the Christian and the martyr, -as, among the priesthood of Rome, in her darkest days, were here and -there those whose robes have, no doubt, been washed in the blood of the -Lamb. - -Those hearts that were really touched with the truth divine, drew -nearer to the path of duty by the solemn spectacle of man, standing on -the earth, gay and beautiful as if light had just been created, yet not -even knowing of the existence of his great Creator. - - -Not far from the wigwam of the dead chief, Father Blanc knelt before -the altar which he had erected. He wore the black robe of his order, -and as he knelt, the strange words he uttered sounded stranger still -here. On the altar were the crucifix and many of the usual ornaments -carried by the wandering Romish priests. - -Flowers too were strewn on the altar, flowers large and beautiful, such -as he had never seen even in _la belle France_. He chaunted the vespers -alone, and had but just risen from his devotions when the dying cry of -the war-chief rung through the village. - -The priest walked slowly to the scene of death. Why was he not -there before with the cross and the holy oil? Ah! the war-chief -was no subject for the Jesuit faith--he had worshipped too long -Wakinyan-Unk-ta-he to listen to the words of the black robe. There were -no baptisms, no chauntings of the mass here; there was no interest at -stake to induce the haughty Sioux to the necessity of yielding up his -household gods. They were not a weaker party warring with the French, -and obliged from motives of policy to taste the consecrated wafer. -Contrasted with the Indian's ignorance was his native dignity. When -Father Blanc told them there was but one religion and that was the -Roman Catholic, and that the time would come when all would be subject -to the man who was in God's place upon the earth, who lived at Rome, -then would the Sioux laugh, and say, "As long as the sun shines, the -Dacotas will keep the medicine feast." - -In vain were the pictured prayer-book and the holy relics exhibited. -What were they to the tracks of Haokah the giant, or the gods' house, -under the hill which reared itself even to the clouds, under which the -gods rested themselves from their battles. - -The priest wept when he thought of the useless sacrifice he had made: -he could not even gain the love of the strange beings for whose sake he -had endured so much. They were not like the Abnakis, "those men of the -east," who so loved and obeyed the fathers who sojourned among them. - -And the useless life he was leading, how long might it last? -Restrained, as the Sioux were, only by the laws of hospitality and the -promise they had made to the Indians who conducted him hither, how soon -might these influences cease to affect them? - -We-har-ka alone spoke gently and kindly to him. She knew that his -heart, like hers, vibrated beneath a load of care; she found too a -strange interest in his stories,--the woman's love of the marvellous -was roused; the miracles of the saints delighted her as did the feats -of the gods. - -But only so far was she a Christian; though she wore a gift from the -Jesuit, the consecrated sign. Perhaps in the after accounts of his -converts she was reckoned among them. We are told by one of the Jesuit -fathers of the true conversion and Christian death of a Canada Indian. -"While I related to him," said he, "the scene of the crucifixion, 'Oh! -that I had been there,' exclaimed the Indian, 'I would have brought -away the scalps of those Jews.'" - -The war-chief was arrayed in his choicest clothing; and, but for -the silence in the wigwam, and the desolate appearance of the young -person who was alone with her dead, one would have supposed that he -slept as usual. The charms were still to be left about his person -for protection. The body was wrapped in skins: they were as yet laid -but loosely about him, ready for their final arrangement, when, with -the face towards the rising sun, the warrior should be laid upon the -scaffolding, to enjoy undisturbed repose. - -But a few hours had elapsed since he sat and talked among them; but -now each of the group had returned to his usual occupation. Even his -daughter sat with her face drooping over her hands, forgetting for the -moment her grief at his loss, and endeavouring to anticipate her own -fate. The twilight had not yet given way to night, but the sudden death -that had occurred had hushed all their usual noisy amusements. Nothing -was heard but the subdued voices of the warriors as they dwelt on the -exploits of Eagle Eye, or speculated on the employments that engaged -him, now that their tie with him was sundered. Sometimes the subject -was changed for another of more exciting interest. A party that had -gone in search of the Chippeways,[10] who had been hovering near their -village, was expected to return, and there was some little anxiety -occasioned by their prolonged stay. Among the most noted of the party -was the brother of We-har-ka and a young brave called the Beaver. These -two young men, aspirants for glory and the preference which, among the -Indians, is awarded to bravery, cunning, and the virtues, so considered -among them, belonged to different clans. The rivalry and hatred between -these clans raged high, more so at this time than for some years -previous. - -The Indian lives only for revenge; he has neither arts nor learning to -occupy his mind, and his religion encourages rather than condemns this -passion. - -The daring showed by the Chippeways had only stimulated them to greater -acts of bravery; they were determined that the tree of peace, now torn -up by the roots, should never be planted again on the boundaries of the -two countries. - -We-har-ka had arisen from her recumbent attitude, and stood by the side -of her dead relative. She had not time to reflect on the loneliness of -her position. - -She had only laid her hand on the cold forehead where Death had so -recently set his seal, when the well-known triumphant voice of her -brother echoed through the village. - -Hardly had she turned towards the door when another yell of triumph, -sounding even louder than the first, was heard. She knew that voice -too, for the colour mounted to her cheeks, and her breath came short -and quickly. - -A chorus of yells now rent the air, answered by the Indians who had -joyfully started up to meet the party. How every eye shone with -delight, every feature working with convulsive excitement; all the -fierce passions of their nature were aroused. Those prolonged and -triumphant shouts had prepared them for what was to come. Already they -longed to see the blood-dyed scalps, and, it might be, the face of some -prisoner in whose sufferings they were to revel. - -The figures of the successful war-party soon made themselves visible in -the moonlight. One by one they turned the winding trail that led to the -village. Over their heads they bore the fresh scalps; and as they came -in view, a piercing universal shout arose from all. The eagerness of -the women induced them to press forward, and when it was impossible to -gain a view, from the great crowd in advance, they ascended the nearest -rock, where they could distinctly see the approaching procession. - -After the scalps and their bearers were recognised, another deafening -shout arose. The prisoners were descried as they neared: it was seen -there were two men and a woman. The arms of the men were pinioned back -between their shoulders. Nearer still they come, but the shouting is -over: intense curiosity and anxiety have succeeded this eager delight. - -The prisoners and scalps were their enemies, but over every heart the -question passed, Have they all returned? Has each husband been restored -to his family, each child to the parent? But not long did these softer -feelings influence the conduct of the Sioux. They had now nearly met, -and the war-party, with the prisoners, had reached the outskirts of -the village. Here the confusion had returned and attained its greatest -height; welcomes had been said, and the crowd pressed around the scalps -to feast their eyes on the precious sight. There were but four, and -they had been taken in the hurry of flight: they were round pieces, -torn from the top of the head, and from one of them fell the long, -glossy hair of a woman. - -There was nothing in the carriage of the prisoners to denote their -condition, their attitude and demeanour proclaiming the conqueror -instead of the conquered--the haughty determination of their looks, -the bold freedom of their steps, their gait as erect as possible, with -their hands bound behind them. Even the insolence of their language, -in reply to the taunts of their victors, showed they were prepared for -what was inevitable. - -The calm, pale face of the young Chippeway girl showed that she had -determined to brave the blood-loving Sioux, and let them see that a -woman could meet death as well as a warrior. - -The procession stopped, and one of the Sioux women called for her -husband. "Where is he, warriors? give me back my husband." - -"You will not weep," said one of the men; "here is the Chippeway who -killed him," pointing to the younger of the male prisoners. "You may -stone him, and then you may sing while the fire is burning under his -feet." - -A loud laugh of defiance was heard from the prisoner. "The Sioux are -dogs," he said; "let them hurry; I am in haste to go to the land of -souls." The words were not uttered ere a dozen spears pricked his body. -There was no cry of pain; he only laughed at the anger he had excited. - -The attention of the Indians was now withdrawn from their prisoners, -for We-har-ka was rapidly walking towards them. Even the arrangement -of her dress was distinctly visible as she approached them: her long -and glossy hair disarranged purposely, to mark the intensity of her -grief; the blood was still trickling from her arms; her pale face -looking even paler than it was, by the moonlight and its broad shadows. - -She was hastening to meet her brother, yet she did not offer him one -congratulation on his safe return. "My brother," she cried, "your -grandfather is dead. He lies cold and still, as the large buffalo when -he has ceased to struggle with our hunters. Go to his lodge and tell -him of your prisoners, and your scalps. For me, I will go myself to -shed tears. I will follow the fresh tracks of the deer, and by the -wakeen-stone,[11] in the prairie, I will sit and weep where no eye can -see me but the Great Spirit's. While the moon walks through the sky, -the spirits shall hear my voice." - -She was listened to in silence, for the Indians always showed respect -to We-har-ka; her being constantly with the war-chief had made them -look upon her almost with reverence, as if she might have obtained from -him some supernatural power. - -"The Sioux listen to the words of a woman," said the old prisoner, -as We-har-ka turned towards the prairie. "Why do they not make her a -war-chief, and let her take them to battle?" - -"We will," answered her brother, "when we go again to bring home old -men. I would not have been troubled with your old carrion, but I thought -to let my father return the kind treatment you once gave him; and I -would kill you now, but that I would rather the women would do it." - -"The Sioux are brave when their prisoners are bound," again taunted the -prisoner; "let them do their will: the Chippeway fears neither fire nor -death." - -The rage of the Sioux was unbounded; the cold unconcern of their -prisoner almost destroyed the pleasure of victory. The women -clamorously demanded that he might be delivered over to them. They -seized him, and moved forward to a large tree, whose massive trunk -indicated its strength. Here they bound him with strong sinews and -pieces of skin. His hands were tied in front, and a strong cord was -passed about his waist, and with it he was fastened to the tree. - -This was all the work of the women, and they evinced by their -expedition and hideous laughs the pleasure they found in their -employment. - -The Sioux then went to see the body of their venerated chief; on their -return they found their victim firmly secured to the tree. The son was -bound at some little distance from the father, while the daughter was -sitting, hiding her face between her hands, weeping for her father's -situation. Pride had all gone, only affection occupied her heart. The -old Chippeway was convinced now of his immediate sufferings; he had -been tranquil and unmoved until the return of the warriors. Suddenly he -shouted, in a loud voice, the wild notes of his death-song. - -There was no failing in his voice; even his daughter turned towards -him with satisfaction as he extolled his life, and expressed pleasure -at the prospect of seeing the hunting-grounds of the Great Spirit. - -As he ceased, Chashé told him he must rest from his journey ere he -commenced his long way to the land of souls. "A great many winters -ago," said the young Sioux, "my father was in your country; you took -him prisoner, you bound him, and you told him what a good warm fire he -was to have to die by. - -"You said you loved him too well to let him be cold; but while you -were binding him he was too strong for you. Unk-ta-he had made him -brave; he bounded from your grasp in sight of your warriors. He flew; -your bravest men chased him in vain. He came home and lived to an age -greater than yours. - -"The old war-chief is gone, or he would tell you how welcome you are -to his village. He was always hospitable and loved to treat brave men -well. But we must eat first, or we cannot enjoy ourselves while you are -so comfortable with your old limbs burning." - -Expressions of approbation followed this speech on the part of the -Sioux, but there was no notice taken of it by the Chippeway, who was -now occupied in contemplating his daughter. He had before seemed to be -unconscious of her presence. - -No bodily torture could equal the pang of the father, who saw the -utterly helpless and unhappy situation of his child. His own fate was -fixed--that caused him no uneasiness. There was even a feeling of -enthusiasm in the prospect of showing his enemies how slight was their -power over him; how little he cared for any tortures they might inflict. - -But his young daughter, who would have been safe now among her own -people, but for her affection for him, which induced her to remain by -his side, refusing the opportunity of escape. - -The Sioux saw his concern and rejoiced that this pang was added to the -torture: not only his own fate to bear, but the consciousness that he -had caused the destruction of both his children. His son was surrounded -while endeavouring to protect his father. - -Thus will nature assert her right in the hearts of all her children; -but the Chippeway closed his eyes to all, save the effort of appearing -indifferent to his sufferings. Again he sung his death-song, while the -Sioux stretched themselves upon the grass, eating the tender venison -which had been prepared for them, occasionally offering some to the -Chippeway, advising him to eat and be strong, that he might bravely -walk on his journey to the land of souls. - -While the Dacotas were eating and resting themselves, the Chippeway -chaunted his death-song; his son, apparently, was unmoved by his own -and his father's desperate situation, but the daughter no longer -endeavoured to restrain her grief. Exhausted from fatigue and fasting, -she would gladly have known her own fate, even if death were to be her -mode of release from her distressing position. - -The Indians frequently offered her food. Chashé tried to persuade her -to eat: she indignantly rejected the attention, her whole soul absorbed -in her father's painful situation. - -She saw there was no hope: even had she not understood their language, -she could have read all in the fierce glaring eyes of her enemies, -the impatient gestures of the men, and the eager, energetic movements -of the women. The latter were not idle: they were making arrangements -for the burning of the prisoner. Under his feet they piled small round -pieces of wood, with brush conveniently placed, so as to kindle it at -a moment's warning when all should be ready. To their frequent taunts -their victim paid no attention: this only increased their anxiety to -hasten his sufferings, young and old uniting their strength. - -One woman struck him with the wood she was about to lay at his feet, -another pierced him with the large thorn she had taken from the branch -she held; but the loudest cries of merriment and applause greeted the -appearance of an old creature, almost bowed together with the weight of -a load she was carrying, large pieces of fat and skin, which she was to -throw in the blaze at different times when it should be kindled. - -The glare of day could not have made more perceptible the horrid faces -of the savages than did the brilliant moonlight. Every sound that was -uttered was more distinct, from the intense quiet that pervaded all -nature. The face of the victim, now turned to the sky, now bent in -scorn over his enemies; that of his son, pale, proud, and indifferent; -the unrestrained grief of the girl, who only raised her head to gaze at -her father, then trembling, with sobs, hid it deeper in her bosom; the -malignant triumph of the Sioux men, the excitement and delight of the -women;--all these were distinctly visible in the glowing brightness of -the night. - -Was there no hope for the aged and weary old man? no chance that -these stern, revengeful spirits might relent? Will not woman, with her -kind heart and gentle voice, ask that his life may be spared? Alas! -it is woman's work that we are witnessing: they bound his limbs, they -have beaten him, and even now are they disputing for the privilege of -lighting the fire which is to consume him. Loud cries arise, but the -contention is soon quelled, for the deep bass voice of the medicine-man -is heard above theirs, and he says that the newly made widow, and she -alone, shall start the blaze, and then all may join in adding fuel to -the fire, and insult to the present disgrace of the Chippeway warrior. - -And now the brush is piled round the wood and touches the victim's feet, -and the men lie still on the grass, knowing their work will be well -done, and the women who are crowded together make a way for the widow to -advance. See her! the tears are on her cheek, yet there is a smile of -exultation too--the blood is streaming from her bosom and her arms. - -With her left hand she leads her young son forward. In her right she -holds a large and flaming torch of pine. The red light of the burning -wood contrasts strangely with the white light of the moon; the black -smoke rises and is lost in the fleecy clouds that are flying through -the air. - -The silence is broken only by the heart-breaking sobs of the Chippeway -girl. The Sioux woman kneels, and carefully holds the torch under the -brush and kindling-wood. She withdraws her hand, and soon there is -something beside sobs breaking the stillness. The dry branches snap, -and the women shout and laugh as they hear the crackling sound. The men -join in a derisive laugh; but above all is heard the loud, full voice -of the victim. His death-chaunt drowns all other sounds, yet there -is not a tone of pain or impatience in the voice; it is solemn and -dignified; there is even a note of rapture as he shouts defiance to his -enemies and their cruelty. - -The dry twigs snap apart, and the smoke curls around the limbs of the -prisoner: now the bright red flames embrace his form. - -The warrior is still; he is collecting his energies and challenging his -powers of endurance. - -Chashé stood up. "My father," said he, "fled from the fire of the -Chippeways; but you like the fire of the Dacotas, for you stand still." - -"The Sioux are great warriors," replied the Chippeway, "when they fight -old men and children," looking at the same time towards his daughter. - -"But, is he an old man or a girl?" asked Chashé, pointing to the -younger Chippeway. - -"He is a great warrior," said the father, "but he was one against many. -He could not see his father and sister scalped before his eyes. Had -he fought man to man he would have showed you the sharp edge of his -tomahawk; but he is a Chippeway, and knows how to suffer and to die." - -The noise of the fire drowned the old man's words, for the women were -amusing themselves by throwing on small pieces of dry wood and portions -of deer-fat, which, crackling as it burned, rapidly consumed the body -of the unfortunate man. - -No suffering had, as yet, forced from him any cry of pain; it was -evident that nature would soon relieve him of his agony. His heart had -nigh ceased "beating its funeral march." Even he, an untutored savage, -felt that - - "Dust thou art, to dust returnest, - Was not spoken of the soul." - -His fortitude to endure was increased by the thought that soon the -brilliant but mysterious future would be opened to him. - -The Sioux were disappointed at his courage, and longed to have their -gratification completed by some acknowledgment of his agony. An old and -fierce-looking woman drew her knife from her belt, and springing upon -the high roots of the tree, cut a deep gash between the shoulders of -the prisoner, then stooping, she raised in her hand a flaming torch, -which she applied to the fresh wound she had just made. This agony was -unendurable: a deathlike struggle convulsed the heroic countenance -of the sufferer; he uttered a sharp and piercing cry; then, as if -apologizing for his want of firmness, exclaimed, "Fire is strong!" - -This sufficed for his enemies, and shouts of joy echoed through the -village, while the agonized daughter, unable longer to endure the -dreadful sight, sunk insensible on the grass at her brother's feet. - -It was not long ere another shout announced the relief of the -Chippeway. The sweet hours of night had passed away while they watched -his noble firmness, and awaited his last breath. During the last hour, -long, low, black clouds had been deepening in the far west; now and -then a distant murmur was heard, and faint flashes gleamed athwart the -water. A slight murmuring of the waves witnessed the rising of the -wind, and the Sioux separated to take a rest, which they all needed. - -Seeing that their other prisoner was securely bound, they left him -to face the storm and the hideous spectacle of his father's remains. -Chashé raised the lifeless form of the girl and carried her to his -sister's wigwam. - -We-har-ka had taken no interest in the scene that had been enacting; -she slept soundly, fatigued with her wanderings on the prairie and the -indulgence of her grief. Chashé laid his unconscious burden by the side -of his sister. Enemies as they were, the looker-on might observe a -strong bond of sympathy between them. Their young faces were shadowed -by grief,--that link which should unite, heart to heart, every child of -earth. - - * * * * * - -The low sigh with which the Chippeway girl awoke from her deathlike -trance, did not awaken We-har-ka. Starting up, she in a moment recalled -the sad tragedy which had just been enacted before her eyes, yet she -could not account for her being where she was. The wigwam was dark, -except when illuminated by vivid flashes of lightning, which showed -her the few articles of furniture and comfort that adorned an Indian -woman's home. - -The occasional pealing of the thunder, and We-har-ka's breathing, were -the only sounds she heard. A thousand painful thoughts drove slumber -from her eyelids. Her father she knew was gone: she pressed her hand -before her eyes to recall, and then to chase away, the dreadful memory -that tortured her. She was spared; it might be for a slave, or to be the -wife of some one of her enemies. Her brother, she had no doubt, was still -living: he had been reserved for protracted tortures. Overcome by these -thoughts she sank again upon the ground, but not to sleep. - -Could nothing be suggested to give her comfort? She cautiously raised -the door of the wigwam, and by the red lightning she saw her brother -bound as she had left him. Despair had nearly overpowered her once -more, but the natural energy of her mind returning, she looked again to -her own heart, to see if there was any hope. Should she never see again -the home so dear to her! Were she and her bold brother to die by the -hands of her father's murderers! Oh! that she possessed a sharp knife, -to sever the thongs that bound him, how soon would they flee away as -the birds do when winter's winds are heard from the north! - -The idea once prominent in her mind, there was hope. Another flash -showed her the most minute objects in the wigwam. Another directed her -to the knife of We-har-ka, which lay glittering by her breast. A few -moments of intense thought decided her: nerved by a sense of her own -and her brother's danger, she no longer hesitated. What horrors could -be greater than those by which she was surrounded! What if she were -detected and murdered at once! Far better than to witness her brother's -fate, and endure her own. - -She placed herself near We-har-ka, then gently endeavoured to remove -the knife she coveted. The young heart throbbed against her hand. Again -she endeavoured to slide the knife from its place. We-har-ka turned -upon her side as if disturbed. After a few moments had elapsed she -once more made the effort; and now, as it is clasped in her hand, her -senses have well-nigh left her, for this time she is successful. - -But, well she knew there was no time for delay, nor even for -consideration. The deepest darkness of night was now upon them; before -long the morning twilight would be again resting over the earth. - -The perfect and unusual repose of the Sioux was in her favour; and, -excited even to desperation, she determined to endeavour to free her -brother, and secure his and her own escape. - -She first endeavoured to recall the situation of the principal objects -in the village. She did not, however, require any effort of memory, for -she could see distinctly where her brother was bound, and the path that -led to this point. The storm's spirits were her friends: without the -lightning she could have accomplished nothing. - -There was a turn in the path that led through the village, and once -or twice she was at a loss how to proceed. She would not be dismayed, -though at times she feared her enemies would hear the loud beatings of -her heart. Guided by the lightning, and resting for a moment when she -feared her footfall would give the alarm, she at length reached the -spot. - -There had been no rest for the younger Chippeway. With the -heart-crushing spectacle before his eyes, he had only given way to a -horror at his father's sufferings, far more dreadful to witness than to -endure. There was, besides, the anticipation of his own. - -Again and again he looked at the strong cords that bound him. Could he -for a short time possess the knife his enemies had wrested from him! - -Useless, indeed, to him, without assistance! - -Softer feelings, too, came in turn. His wife had been murdered before -his eyes, his young son crushed under the feet of those who now lay -sleeping tranquilly around him. - -The weary night was wearing on. There would be no breaking of the -day to him. There was no hope, but that which pointed to the unknown -future; no light but that which glimmered from the silent land. - -A slight noise arouses his acute senses, and he turns his head to that -part of the village where were the greatest number of lodges. It might -be that the footstep was that of some one of his foes, determined -alone to enjoy the sight of his death. Oh! what joy thus to be saved -the reproaches of his enemies, the laughing of the women, the sneers -of all. Eagerly he peers through the darkness, and the first brilliant -flash shows him the pale face of his sister, as she advances towards him. - -Very near him slept, in a wigwam, two warriors who had the charge of -him. They might awake: this thought made the very pulses of his life -stand still. - -For at once he understood his sister's intention. He knew her courage; -he also knew that without an object she would not be thus incurring the -risk of arousing their enemies. - -Another flash, and she stood close by his side--her hand was upon -his, as she felt for the thongs that bound him. One by one they were -cautiously severed--slowly, for the slightest noise might be fatal. - -It was hard work, too, for the maiden, for the sinews were like iron, -and her strength failed her under the repeated efforts she was obliged -to make. There was no word uttered,--their hearts silently conversed -with each other. Time passed, and he was almost free; he was himself -severing the last bond that detained him. - -It yielded. Once more he could stretch out his muscular arm. Grasping -his sister to his side, covered by the darkness and the thunder, and -the heavily commencing rain, they made their way under the edges of the -bluffs. The young Chippeway knew the route: a short peace had existed -between the tribes, and he had more than once passed through the -village. - -At first their progress was slow and deliberate. There was no -faltering, though. They were without weapons, with the exception of -We-har-ka's knife. Hunger and faintness were oppressing them, but the -danger they were in braced their hearts. As they began to leave the -Sioux village in the distance, hope gave vigour to their frames. - -After the day broke, the clouds were scattering, and the sunbeams were -dotting the hills that lay between them and their foes. Still they -could not rest. The wild plum was their only nourishment; nor was it -until night had again shrouded the earth, and the young man laid his -sister in the hospitable lodge of a Chippeway village, that he realized -that he had been a prisoner and was again free. - -It were impossible to describe the rage of the Sioux on ascertaining -the escape of their prisoners. Chashé went soon after their flight -to his sister's wigwam. His sleep had been restless, he thought of -his dead relative, but he thought more of the Chippeway girl, whom he -had resolved to adopt[12] in place of his young wife, who had died -recently. Seeing his sister alone, he anxiously inquired of her what -had become of the girl. What was his surprise when she told him there -had been no one there; that when she arose, the storm was passing -over, but it was still dark, but that no one had been in the lodge -since then. Her brother, much irritated, contradicted her, using the -most violent language; yet it was evident to him that his sister was -unconscious of his having laid the girl by her side. - -He turned away, and sought the scene of the last night's torture. There -were the burnt fagots, and the ghastly remains. The smoke still curled -and slowly rose from the ashes, but neither of the prisoners was to be -seen. The thongs with which he had been bound lay on the ground. - -There was no room for doubt: brother and sister had fled; and they -lived so near the borders of the Chippeway country that there was every -reason to believe they were beyond the reach of recovery. - -Disappointment and rage overspread his features. He threw up the door -of the lodge where the sentinels still slept calmly. Pushing the -foremost over with his foot, "Where is your prisoner?" said he. "You -are brave men, that cannot take care of one Chippeway!" - -Starting to their feet, the sentinels at once became aware of what had -occurred. "Where is the girl?" they asked of Chashé. - -"They are both gone," said he, "and they must both have passed near you." - -"And where were you when the girl went?" replied one of the sentinels. -"You took her off with you, and if we could not keep the man, you could -not keep the woman." - -The inmates of the different lodges came forward to learn what had -happened. Here advances a brave, followed by his young sons. The women -throw down their bundles of sticks, to feast themselves with a sight -of the Chippeways ere they commenced their usual avocations; but they -only expressed their sorrow by groans of disappointment. It was decided -that the fugitives should be pursued. A party of the younger men set -out without delay; they were warned, however, not to go too near their -enemy's country. - -Glowing with the expectation of recapturing the prisoners, and, it -might be, of bringing home more scalps, they were anxious to set out. -The old medicine-men reminded them of their duty, gave them advice -suitable to the occasion, and then, with uplifted hands, called upon -Wakeen Tonca, Great Spirit, Father, to help them against their enemies. - -The close of another evening found the Sioux quiet, and busy in drying -venison, and the usual occupations of the season. With the day, however, -were closing their labours. Often a cry of lamentation was heard from -the lodge of the Sioux who had recently been killed in battle. - -The body of Eagle Eye was deposited upon a high scaffolding. His two -children were still engaged at the burial-ground. All cries of sorrow, -usual at such times, were hushed. The sides of the high hills were -tinged with gold and crimson. Some of these "mountains rose high, high -up, until they could look into the heavens and hear God in the storm." -The river was as calm as if no scene of cruelty had ever been enacted -on its banks. - -Round the frame where Eagle Eye's form was laid hung his medicine-bag. -Chashé placed a vessel of water near the body. We-har-ka lightly lifted -the bark dish of buffalo-meat[13] and wild rice, where the soul of the -departed warrior could take it, and be refreshed when tired and hungry. -Very near him was buried his wife. Her bones had been gathered and -buried under the ground; branches of trees and solid pieces of wood had -been placed crosswise over her grave, to protect it from the wolves. - -The graves and scaffolds were continued to the very edge of the -bluff, while flowers of the most brilliant hue sprung up at the feet -of the mourners, and clung to the low small bushes that grew on the -hilltop. The brother and sister were preparing to come down, when -We-har-ka perceived the priest seated by one of the graves, apparently -unconscious of all that was passing around him. She approached him, and -softly laid her hand upon his shoulder. He turned to her slowly, as -if aroused from a dream of long past years, and followed them to the -village. - -His lodge was near hers, and she listened to his full rich voice as he -chaunted the vespers. Totally ignorant of what he said, she was yet -soothed by the sweet sounds, and after they had ceased, unobserved by -others, she sought him in his lodge, and night was closing over the -earth as the voices of the two mingled in earnest conversation. - - * * * * * - -The Jesuit had long been anxious to take advantage of the first -opportunity that offered to return to Canada. Here, his time was wasted -and his health impaired to no purpose. He had succeeded in learning the -language of the savages, so as to converse with them tolerably; but his -mission was as useless here as it would have been among the wild beasts -of Africa. - -Constantly exposed to danger, without the means of living, except what -he received from We-har-ka, and occasionally from others, his time -unoccupied, his life was a burden. His health was not strong enough to -enable him to join in the hardy exercises and sports of the red men. -How anxiously, then, did he await the means of deliverance. - -There was an occasional intercourse with the tribes that lived in the -region of the great lakes: in this way he had come among the Sioux, -and he hoped thus to return to Acadie. He passed hour after hour -watching the approach of canoes, hoping to recognise the tall, gaunt -forms of the Hurons, or some of those with whom the Sioux were on -friendly terms. Over but one human being, We-har-ka, had he acquired -the slightest influence. We have before alluded to the rivalry of the -two young men, Chashé and the Beaver, for the disputed honour of being -the war-chief of the band. They belonged to opposite clans, which were -almost equally divided. It appeared evident that it could only be -decided by some act of bravery performed by one of the parties. - -The aspirants had equal claims. They were each daring in the greatest -degree. Young, athletic, inured to fatigue and hardships, thirsting -like the war-horse for the battle. Chashé owed his reputation in some -degree to the reputation of his grandfather, while on the other hand -the Beaver's courage made him feared by his own and the opposite clan. - -The long-continued feud between the two clans had been more violent -than ever since the death of the younger brother of Chashé. His -sickness was attributed to a spell having been cast upon him by some -one of the other clan. Eagle Eye attributed his death to the family -of the Beaver; and so great was the hatred of the two clans[14] that -murder after murder occurred, and every sickness and disaster was -charged upon some individual, and thus revenge was constantly sought. - -Especially was Eagle Eye dreaded; his powers as a medicine-man -were rated so high, that in passing by him many avoided his -observation--they dreaded lest he should, by an undefined power, bring -upon them the wrath of an evil spirit. And each warrior wore beneath -his richly embroidered hunting-dress a charm, to protect him from a -machination that he feared. - -Yet did the Beaver love the sister of his rival, and he had induced -her to defy her brother's hot temper, and promise him all her young -affection. Love had made him eloquent, and he persuaded her out of all -the opinions she had imbibed from the time she was capable of forming -one; while he, blind to the attractions of all others, could only see -grace in her person. - -It was not likely his life would be safe should he marry her, and -remain among his own people; and could he yield the chances of his -high position among the braves with whom he had grown up to the love -of woman? He knew that We-har-ka would leave all for him. The only -question was, could he make the sacrifice? - -They had closely kept their secret. We-har-ka had been promised to a -young man of her grandfather's clan. She had from time to time delayed -the marriage, by her influence over the old man. The husband they had -chosen for her was the tried friend of her brother, styled among the -Indians, a comrade. Well did We-har-ka know how determined was her -brother's temper, and that he would force her into the marriage after -her grandfather's death, and that, unless by some great effort, there -was no hope. - -On the night of the return of the party, and the burning of the -prisoner, she had, indeed, gone to the prairies to weep; but it was -as much over the difficulties of her position as the death of her -relative. It was not without an object that she had come forward to -meet the war-party, and told them her intention. When the excitement of -the burning of the Chippeway was at its height, her lover had left the -group of young men, and a short time brought him to We-har-ka's side. -After a few moments passed in the joy of reunion, We-har-ka told him -that her fate must soon be decided, and implored him to take her away -from their home, as their only chance of happiness. They could go, she -said, among the Sioux who lived on the Missouri, and there live free -from care. - -The young man did not answer her at first, and We-har-ka, startled with -the boldness of her own proposal, awaited his answer, standing. Her -arms were clasped over her breast, and her eyes bent to the ground: the -moonlight glittered on the wampum which lay on her bosom, and flashed -from the silver cross suspended from her neck. - -At length the Indian broke out into angry abuse of her brother and all -connected with her. The colour varied in her cheek, and her lips were -more firmly compressed when he charged them with cowardice, but still -she spoke not. She had counted the cost of his love, and knew, that to -retain it, she must resign even the natural impulses of her heart. - -She waited until the torrent of his passion had ceased, then pointing -to the dark clouds that were gathering in the west, reminded him that -they would be missed. The shout that came from the village warned them -too of the necessity of separation. He then marked the agitation of her -manner, bade her return home, telling her that, after her father was -buried, he would come to the lodge of the Jesuit: at what time he could -not say, but not until some amusements should engage the Sioux: then he -would tell her his determination. We-har-ka, overpowered with fatigue -on her return to her lodge, slept soundly, even with the Chippeway girl -by her side. - - * * * * * - -We-har-ka sat in the wigwam of the Jesuit, listening to the accounts -of the grandeur of the churches and the magnificence of the altars in -the country where Father Blanc had passed his youth. He pointed to -the small figure of Christ, on the altar of cedar wood, which he had -constructed, then told her of the large one of gold which he had often -knelt before in assisting in the ceremonies of the church. We-har-ka, -whose thoughts had been wandering in quest of her lover, asked him -again of the ever interesting story of the death and sufferings of -the Saviour. Like those who witnessed the crucifixion, she wondered -that that Great Being should submit to such indignities. Her religion -would have justified resenting them. Yet she did not believe it was -true, loving still to hear it told over and over again; especially -was it agreeable to her now to while away the hour until her lover, -under pretence of speaking to the priest, should find a chance of -acquainting her with the plans he had formed. She looked again at the -familiar objects on the altar. Again, as ever, she told the priest he -was good and kind, but that she knew the Great Spirit was the father -of all. Father Blanc's insinuating eloquence touched her feelings, but -her heart was unaffected: yet the father, glad of a listener, even in -the untutored Indian girl, dwelt on scenes long past, and it might be -forgotten by all but him. - -When the moon rose they sat outside the lodge on a mat. They were now -both silent. The thoughts of the Jesuit wandered far and wide: memory -transported him to the forests of Languedoc. - -There he pursued his studies, full of high hope and youthful happiness. -He wandered through the most beautiful scenes of nature, and there was -one by his side; her smile was bent upon him, as she parted the long -ringlets from her brow. He gazed again as he was wont when he bade her -good night, and wondered if angels smiled so sweetly when they bore the -dead to the regions of Paradise. Memory changes the scene. Death and -desolation are met; darkness and beauty are blended strangely. Those -angel eyes are closed, but the sweet smile is there. - -Hushed lips bend over the bier where roses are lavishly strewed. -Echoes of grief are heard along the halls, as they pass on with their -beautiful burden to the house of death. Then come the long nights -of sorrow, the vigils of despair, the renouncing of the hopes and -pleasures of life: then the morbid restlessness, the wish for death -and forgetfulness. Afterwards, the solitary life of the student, then -the seclusion of the cloister, and the longing to wear out life under -a different sky. He traced again his course, until he sat here, a -wanderer, by the side of the Indian girl. - -Her eyes were wandering over the brilliant scenes. The stars seemed -almost to rest on the body of her relative, as she looked towards the -burial-ground where she had passed the day. - -The branches of the large trees were in perfect repose: there was no -wind to disturb them; and the gorgeous reflection of the moon on the -river seemed almost to illuminate the village. - -Richly endowed with the poetry of nature, the anxious girl felt calmed -by the beauty and tranquillity of the scene. The evening was passing -away, and he had not come. Confident of his affection, she determined -to be patient. Sometimes her friends would pass along and converse with -her; but they knew her heart was sad, deprived of the affectionate -caresses of her relative. Her brother she had not seen since they had -returned together from the burial-ground, but she supposed he was in -one of the groups which were enjoying the lovely quiet of the evening. - -Suddenly a wild and piercing cry arrests her attention. Starting to her -feet, almost frantic for a moment, she recognised her brother's voice. -Again it fell in one long, rich, full cry on her ear. - -There was something unusual in that sound. There was no defiance, no -fear, no excitement in the voice. It was as if the bald eagle, long -watching and hovering over its prey, had at length planted her talons -in its side, and was fleeing away far from human hope or protection. -So clear was the sound, so long its echo, that some doubted if it were -indeed a human voice. - -Not so with We-har-ka: pressing her clasped hands tightly over her -heart, turning her marble face to the heavens, she knew it all. That -was not the cry indicating the presence of enemies; her heart would -not have quailed before it as it did now: it was the announcement of -the gratification of a long-cherished revenge. Her lover's absence was -explained. Only a moment, however, was given to conflicting thoughts. -The young girl moved forward, and, as it were, pioneered the others to -the quarter from whence the sound proceeded. There was no shrinking in -her slight form: she might have been taken for some spirit returned to -earth to accomplish some high purpose, unconscious of aught save its -own mission. - -Passing on to a rock, whence you could see the beautiful valley that -spread out before them, the whole story was told in a moment. - -Chashé stood as if expecting witnesses; in his bearing there was a -frightful exultation that ill accorded with the other circumstances of -his position. In his hand he held the knife, from which drops of blood -were slowly falling on his dress. He watched them with a savage laugh -of delight. His figure seemed taller, by half, in the moonlight, its -long shadow fell so darkly over the grass. He was not alone, for easily -could all recognise the manly and noble form of the man he hated, at -his feet. Well they know that it was death alone that could keep him -there. The blood was oozing from his heart: and they could, even at -the distance from whence they first saw him, distinguish the marble -paleness of his features. - -A loud shout now arose from the Indians as they pressed forward. They -were divided as to the interest in this scene. The friends of Chashé -exulted with him, and those of the other clan called for revenge. It -seemed uncertain how the excitement of the crowd would show itself, -when it was diverted for a moment by the appearance of We-har-ka. She -rapidly slid down the rocks, which it was necessary to pass, in order -to reach the two young men. None of them could keep up with her, so -quick and shadowy were her movements. - -Throwing herself on the ground beside her lover, she made the most -frantic efforts to staunch the flowing of the wound. She tore up the -grass, and pressing it together, placed it against the wound; but the -blood continued to flow in spite of all her efforts. Her bearing, calm -and collected at first, now changed with the evident hopelessness of -the case; her wild and frantic screams pierced the air as she threw -herself upon his body. Her brother seized her roughly by the arm, -indignant at this show of affection; but she shrank from his touch, and -again springing to his side, before he could divine her purpose, she -had wrested the knife from his grasp and pierced it deep in her own -breast. Chashé caught it from her ere she could a second time bury it -in her bosom; but she glided from him and ascended the bluff over which -she had passed to reach the dreadful spot. A stream of blood follows in -her path. Now she has reached the edge of the precipice: she springs, -and the noise of the dashing waves mingles with the cry of horror that -arises from the witnesses of her self-destruction. - -The Indians were obliged to return to their village in order to arrive -at the place where were their canoes. Every effort was made, but in -vain, to recover the body of the unfortunate girl. She was never seen -again. - -Father Blanc soon after returned to Acadie with a party who were going -that route. He was thankful to leave the scene of such accumulated -horrors. He had become warmly attached to the young Sioux maiden, whose -early sorrows had been impressed on his memory. The horrors of that -night were written in characters of blood: nor did he ever relate the -incident without trembling at the recollection. He found in the Canada -Indians more tractable scholars,--at least, when they feared the cannon -of the French. - -There is reason to conclude that the efforts of the Jesuits among the -aborigines of our country left no abiding impression of good: but, like -the waters which the tall ships have passed over, they were agitated -for a while from their usual course, then returned to their restless -surging as before. - -[Footnote 4: The names Sioux and Dacota are applied to the same nation; -the Indians themselves recognising and preferring the latter name. The -little that is known of them is given in the introduction to Dacota, -or Legends of the Sioux. They have, for many years, been considered a -powerful, warlike, and interesting people. They formerly possessed the -knowledge of many things of which they are now totally ignorant. They -retain the greatest attachment to their country and their religion.] - -[Footnote 5: For every scalp taken by a Sioux in battle he is entitled -to wear a feather of the War Eagle. This is an ornament greatly -esteemed among them.] - -[Footnote 6: The Dacotas believe thunder to be a bird. It would be -impossible to enumerate their gods, they are so numerous; but the -thunder is much feared as being one of the most powerful. In living -among them you constantly see representations of these gods, drawn and -carved on the various articles that are used among them.] - -[Footnote 7: Wampum is a long bead made of the inside of a shell, white -and of dark purple colour; it is very much valued by the Indians, used -as necklaces; the women esteem nothing more highly than a string or two -of wampum. It has frequently been used as currency among the different -tribes; but in making treaties it is strung and made into a belt, and -at the close of a speech is presented to the other party as a pledge of -good faith.] - -[Footnote 8: Among the Sioux it is customary to inflict wounds, -sometimes deep and severe ones, upon themselves on the occasion of the -death of a friend. The arms of aged people are frequently seamed with -scars.] - -[Footnote 9: Acadia, or Acadie, was the ancient name for what is -now called Nova Scotia. Before the latter name was used in the act -of incorporation by the British Parliament, Acadie was within the -jurisdiction of Lower Canada.] - -[Footnote 10: The Sioux and Chippeways seem to be natural enemies. -Peace has been declared between the two nations time and again, but -never has it been sustained, although the United States Government -has made every effort to and even compel them to forego their ancient -enmity.] - -[Footnote 11: Wakeen-stone. The Sioux choose stones as objects of -worship. We find them frequently on their thoroughfares; they never -pass these without stopping to smoke, or to make some slight offering, -such as tobacco, a feather, an arrow, or a trinket.] - -[Footnote 12: Young persons taken prisoners in battle are often -adopted, in the place of some lost relative. They are then treated with -the kindness usually shown towards a dear and valued friend.] - -[Footnote 13: The Sioux believe in the duality of the soul,--one going -to the land of spirits, while one hovers round the grave, requiring -nourishment. Some few of their wise people believe that each body -claims more than two souls, assigning an occupation for each; but this -is not the prevailing opinion.] - -[Footnote 14: In a Sioux village there are different clans, known by -the peculiar medicine that each uses, each clan claiming superior -power, resting in a spell, which the medicine man or woman can throw -upon those of the opposite party.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph. - -THE LAUGHING WATERS, -Three miles below The Falls of S^{t.} Anthony.] - - - - -THE LAUGHING WATERS. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - A few miles from the Falls of St. Anthony are The Little Falls, or, as - the Sioux call them, The Laughing Waters. - - - Do you know where the waters laugh? - Have you seen where they playfully fall? - Hid from the sun by the forest trees green, - (Though its rays do pierce the vines between,) - Dancing with joy, till, night-like, a screen - Comes down from the heavens at the whippoorwill's call. - - Come with me, then, we will tread - On a carpet of long grass and flowers. - The wild lady's slipper we'll pluck as it droops, - We will watch the proud eagle, as from heaven she stoops, - A seat we will take by the dark leafy nooks, - Where a fairy might while away summer's bright hours. - - From on high, the gay waters come! - At first, how they lazily creep - O'er embedded rocks, while agates so bright - Here and there greet the sun, by noonday's strong light, - And again dimly glance when stars come at night, - To watch where the Father of Waters' waves sleep. - - How mildly they laugh as they haste! - Now they near the spot where they will spring, - Lightly clearing the distance to the pebbles below, - Where, tired with the effort, more calmly they flow, - While the glistening spray, and the foam white as snow, - Their light o'er the rocks and the dancing waves fling. - - At evening how often will come - The wild deer to drink and to rest; - Till frightened away by the nighthawk's loud scream, - They flee to the shades where the wood spirits dream, - And sink to repose by the moonlight's fair beam, - Like the babe by its mother's soft smile lulled to rest. - - And here does the tall warrior stand, - With the maiden he loves by his side! - He tells her to list while the fairies do quaff - Their cupful, and shout, and then wildly laugh, - For they know that she leans on his love like a staff, - Which will ever support her in life's changing tide. - - 'Twould be well, did ye weep, waters bright! - Soon no more to thy banks will they come,-- - The maiden who loves, or the warrior so brave, - The wild deer at eve, in thy waters to lave, - The song-bird to dip its bright wing in thy wave, - When the shadows that fall with the night are all gone. - - The Indian's reproach ye might hear, - Did ye listen, fair waves, to the sound! - Are you gay, when you know of the tears we have shed, - When profaned are the graves of our fathers long dead, - When haunted our lands, by the white man's proud tread, - As he passes o'er rock and o'er prairie and mound? - - For ages we've loved thy fair stream! - No more can we claim thee, no more - Will the warrior sing his war-song in thy ears, - Will the mother who comes for her child to shed tears, - Will the maiden who prays to the spirit she fears, - Gaze on thy bright waves, or rest by thy shore? - - - - -O-KO-PEE. -A MIGHTY HUNTER OF THE SIOUX. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -It is impossible for one possessed of kind and generous feelings to -pass a grave without mournful reflections. Though a stately monument -rise over it, it covers the work of death. The mouldering form was -once as full of joy and care, of tears and rejoicings, as we;--a being -who performed his part in the theatre of life, but who has now, for -ever, taken his place behind the closed curtain. And if it be the -resting-place of the poor and unknown, we must feel too: the rude -stone at the head, the weeds springing up, the indifference of the -merry children as they play around it, do not take from the claim that -was once possessed by the form that is fast mingling with its native -earth, to have been one of the many toilers after a happiness never -obtained, a rest never enjoyed on earth! How have passed away many of -the nations of the earth. Some have noble monuments. Egypt, Greece, -Rome, Palmyra, and the Aztecs, who flourished upon our own shores--gems -of wealth and learning are heaped upon their graves; the undying wreath -of fame crowns their memory. The older the world, the better they will -be known. As time advances, so will increase our knowledge of their -history and laws--their hieroglyphics will be understood, throwing -light upon things hitherto a mystery to us. - -But not so with our Indian nations; they must depart with hardly a -memorial of their existence. Few now care to learn aught that one day -may be spoken in memory of a noble people passed away; few now reflect -that the soul of this people stands winged for its flight. - - * * * * * - -Some recollections of the time passed among the Northwestern Indians -are very delightful to me, but many are equally sad--none more so than -the history of a poor idiot creature with whom we were well acquainted. - -O-ko-pee, "The Nest." I have often reflected upon his eventful life, -and melancholy death--his patience and humility, the muscular strength -of his form, and the passionless expression of his features. The -mortal tenement was able and healthful when I first knew him, but the -spiritual no longer animated it; indeed, as a companion he was no -better than the game he hunted, for his mind was gone. - -When overcome with hunger he would tell us how very long it was since -he had eaten. He knew, too, when he was cold, for he would direct our -attention to his threadbare clothing. Like the prairie deer or buffalo, -he would seek shelter from the storm or burning sun; but though he -might once have reflected upon the occupations of a disembodied spirit, -when it should be released from the shackles of earth, he had long -since ceased to do so. His mind floated on the stormy waves of life, -like the wreck at sea, far alike from light, hope, or help. - -His life was an eventful one for an Indian's. Born when the Sioux were -not dependent upon white people, he trod his native earth with the -consciousness of owning it. He routed up the timid grouse from the -prairies, and brought down the red-head and wood-duck on the wing, -never fearing that they and he would be chased from the haunts they -loved. Often, when a small boy, would he kill the plover and woodcock -in numbers, carrying them to his mother as trophies of his skill. How -gaily he laughed as for the first time he stayed the fleet course of -the wild deer, and watched her panting, as she lay beside the brook, -looking for the last time at her own image in its clear waters, longing -to suage the thirst of death with its refreshing coolness. - -His bones were still tender and his frame small when he sped his wild -horse among the buffalo, sending his lance into their sides, and -shouting as they tore up the earth, roaring in their agony. Was he in -danger from the restiveness of his horse? he knew he had only to fix -his black eye upon the revengeful buffalo, and, by the power of the -soul speaking there, subdue his rage. The eye of man meeting the eye of -beast, never turning or yielding its glance, would quell the passions -of the animal, and he would be safe. - -He could not stay in the wigwam, even for an hour: child of the woods -and prairies, he needed only their companionship. The streams, the -rocks, and hills were the friends whose society he loved. Among them he -could "commune with his own heart, and be still." - -Threading the passes among the hills, or stepping from point to point -on the dangerous rocks by the shore, he ever took the lead in the -chase, and early gained the reputation of being the most famous hunter -among the Sioux. How he obtained the soubriquet of "The Nest"[15] I -know not, but he retained it through all the varying events of his life -on earth, and it has followed him to the Indian's unhallowed grave, -over which hovers no spirit of hope, but the dark and fallen angels of -ignorance and superstition. - -As O-ko-pee approached to manhood, the English claimed and obtained -jurisdiction over the Sioux. But the hunter, well acquainted with his -own laws, showed no inclination to meddle with those of another nation, -who showed the might of right. - -Perhaps he did not feel with the many, who were more sensitive and less -happy, the soul-destroying anticipation of slavery. So long as he had -his lance and bow and arrow, what cared he for innovation? and he was -too ignorant of the economy of nations to recognise the fact that when -a people loses the right of self-government, it yields for ever the -power of advancing in strength or happiness. - -Living in his own world, turning his eyes in adoration to the sun he -worshipped, he believed the Great Spirit would not interfere with his -concerns farther than to punish him should he neglect to celebrate -the feasts and customs of his nation, or turn from the faith of his -ancestors. Never was he happier than when listening to the flapping of -the wings of the mischievous thunder-birds, the gods of his nation, as -they roused themselves at the bright and forked streaks in the heavy -clouds. - -There were many, however, among the Sioux who would not willingly yield -to the oppressions of the English, as they now would gladly resent, -had they the power to do so, the encroachments of the people of the -United States. Thus, a Dacota, who had received a personal injury from -an Englishman, determined to take an opportunity of resenting it; he -did so, according to Indian rules of strategy. He watched when his -victim was unawares, and took aim successfully, then plunging into -the thick forests, was lost to the search of his foes, as was the -dead Englishman, to the distress of his family. The English pursued -a system then which has since been adopted by our own countrymen; a -system sometimes productive of great injustice, yet, under the peculiar -circumstances, the best one that could be fixed on. I allude to that of -taking hostages, and retaining them until the offender should be given -up. - -O-ko-pee, who had dreamed away his childhood among the most beautiful -scenes of nature, found himself a prisoner, torn from the objects which -were dear to him as life; nay, they were his life, for deprived of them -he sunk to the level of the beasts of the forests. - -Immured in a prison, far from the refreshing air of his native hills, -shut in by the bars he vainly strove to loosen or to break, seeing -no more the bear, the buffalo, the otter, or the deer, his heart was -broken. - -After many years of imprisonment, useless, for the real murderer -never was found, he was turned loose, like an animal from whence the -owner can no longer derive either amusement or profit: he returned -mechanically to his former occupation. Once again free in the woods, he -was soon a laughing-stock for the Sioux. "He has no heart since he was -prisoner to the white man!" they cried, as he passed to the prairies, -with his vacant look and humbled demeanour. Where was the proud glance -and the free step? Ask those who with the iron arm of power punished -the innocent for the guilty. - -Still, as ever, he followed the chase--thirteen deer did he kill in -one day, and never tired of hunting, even as age advanced seemed to -increase his passion for roaming. - -Often has he come to us with every variety of game, never breaking -his word, whatever might be the state of the weather. But in coming -or going, giving or receiving, his demeanour and countenance never -changed; his eyes were wandering in vacancy, save when the fire-water, -given by the white man in exchange for the soft furs he brought him, -would tinge his sallow cheeks with the flush of madness, and lighten -his eye with the glances of a fiend, and change from the sober quiet -and calmness of the unhappy idiot to the noisy, reeling, hellish -figure, which seemed a visitant from the world of darkness rather than -a suffering inhabitant of earth. - -O-ko-pee is dead. It is not mine to say whether or not, in another -state of existence, he enjoys happiness sufficient in degree to make up -for the heavy trials of life: I have only to do with him here; and as -I have said he lived a sacrifice to the all-conquering and indomitable -spirit of the Saxon race, so did he die. - -Some years ago, a band of Sioux, distant from Fort Snelling, attacked a -party of Winnebagoes, taking fourteen scalps. Hearing that the scalps -were carried from village to village, and danced round day after day, -there was a party sent from the Fort to take these scalps from the -Indians, as there was a fear lest the hot blood of the young warriors -should be roused, and serious difficulties would then occur between the -two tribes. So the scalps were brought into the Fort; the affair was -reported at Washington. The Winnebagoes asked for indemnity for the -injuries they had received, and the authorities at Washington decided -that four thousand dollars should be paid to the Winnebagoes out of the -annuities received by the Sioux from our own government. It was in the -summer: the Indian potato, hard and indigestible, was just ripening: -the corn was green. The Sioux were without flour and other provisions; -even if game had been abundant, they had neither powder nor shot. -They pined away by fever and weakness; death stalked among them like -a giant, laughing as he crushed to earth men who were like children -beside him. - -Was there no help for them? the mandate had gone forth. The children -fell to the ground dying for want of nourishment; the strong man clung -to the trees for support, and the gray-haired leaned against the -insensible rocks. Few there were who could bring down the game with -their bows and arrows as did their forefathers, and the white people -were crowding in their country and driving the game back where they -were too feeble to pursue it. - -Then came forward the kind missionaries to the aid of their unhappy -friends. How liberally they shared with them all that they possessed, -striving too to quiet their minds, agitated by burning fever. They gave -them medicine and food, supporting the dying mother and taking charge -of the infant and the aged. They sought to assuage the agonies of -exhausted nature, directing in its flight the restless spirit standing -upon the borders of life to that happy place where hunger and sickness -are unknown. - -It was on one of the warmest days of summer when my little children, -with their father, crossed the St. Peter's, and advanced towards the -trading establishment at Mendota. On the shores of the river one wigwam -was placed, and, attracted by the groans of anguish which proceeded -from it, they entered. It was O-ko-pee dying; yes, dying as he had -lived, a sacrifice to the white man's rule--dying as he had lived, -alone. - -No friend supported his aching head, which was burning with fever, or -chafed the cold limbs covered with ashes. Indeed, his head was pillowed -on a bed of ashes. He recognised his visiters, and seeing their young -faces solemnized by what they had never before witnessed, the presence -of death, he spoke to them by name, said he was sick, and asked them -for medicine. It was too late for medicine or sympathy; in another hour -O-ko-pee, the hunter of the Sioux, was gone for ever from the earth. - -[Footnote 15: It is customary, when an Indian advances towards manhood, -for him to lose the name bestowed upon him in childhood, obtaining -another by some peculiarity of appearance or conduct, some daring -action or violent passion; thus, Sleepy Eyes, is the name of a chief -among the Sioux, from the drowsy expression of his countenance.] - - - - -CHEQUERED CLOUD. - -THE AGED SIOUX WOMAN. - - - I would tell you of a friend of mine: - She's neither rich nor fair; - The snows of many winters - Have bleached her raven hair. - The brightness of her large black eye - Has been dimmed for many years; - And the furrows in her cheek were made - By time and shedding tears. - - She is an Indian woman, - And me has often told - Traditions of her native land, - And legends sung of old; - Of battles fiercely fought and won, - Of the warrior as he fell, - While he tried to shield from a fearful death - The wife he loved so well. - - Ask her whence her nation came: - With a smile she will reply, - "The Dacotas aye have owned this land, - Where the eagle soars so high; - Where Mississippi's waters flow, - Through bluffs and prairies wide; - Where by Minesota's sandy shore - The wild rice grows beside." - - Ask her of her warrior sons, - Who rose up by her side-- - Enah! in the fearful battle, - And by sickness they have died-- - And of her gentle daughter: - See the tear steals lowly down, - As the memory of the slaughter - Of that frightful night comes on. - - Many have been her sorrows, - While ever to her breast - Sickness or want or suffering came, - Like a familiar guest. - Yet, she says there was a time - When her step was light and free, - And her voice as joyous as the bird - That sings in the forest tree. - - I said she was my friend:-- - I am not one of those, - Who from the wealthy or the great - Companionship would choose. - The soul that animates her frame - Is as gifted and as free, - And will live for ever,--like the one - That God has given me. - - She worships the Great Spirit, - Yet often does she tell - Of the fairies that inhabit - Mountain, river, rock, and dell. - She will say to kill a foe - Of religion is a part; - Yet underneath her bosom beats - A kind and noble heart. - - She has ever loved to listen - To the savage shout and dance; - To see the red knife glisten - O'er the dying Chippeway's glance. - To watch the prisoner, burning, - Confronting at the stake - His enemies, who vainly strive - His spirit proud to break. - - Judge her kindly,--and remember, - She was not taught in youth - To bend the knee and lift the heart - To the God of love and truth. - "Love ye your foes," said He who brought - To us the golden rule; - But "eye for eye," was the maxim taught - In the ancient Jewish school. - - We know it was a beggar - Who in Abraham's bosom slept,-- - And, haply, her ancestors - By Babylon's waters wept. - While poor, like Lazarus, it may be, - From Israel's stock has come - The red man, tracing out on earth - His God-forgotten doom. - - Well I knew, when last we parted, - That, if ever we met more, - 'Twould be when life's sweet sympathies - And painful cares are o'er. - She said, while down her aged face - The tears coursed rapidly, - "Many a white woman have I known, - But you were kind to me." - - Not half as dear to the miser - Is the yellow gold he saves,-- - Or the pearl, to the venturous diver, - Which he seeks beneath the waves, - Or the summer breeze, to the drooping flower, - Fresh from the balmy South, - As those grateful words which slowly came - From the Indian woman's mouth. - - She has struggled with the ills of life; - For her no parent's prayers - Have risen to the throne of God, - To sanctify life's cares. - But God will judge her kindly: - He sees the sparrow fall; - And, through his Son's atoning blood, - May he mercy show to all! - - - - -FIRE-FACE. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -Fire-face was willing to die, he said, but not until he had killed -another white man. He was sincere in acknowledging hatred towards the -people of the United States. There was no doubt but he had stained -his hands with the blood of one white man; but this did not satisfy -him: let him take the life of another, and he was willing to be made -prisoner, and to meet what punishment might be designed for him. The -mantle of Cain had indeed fallen upon him; his heart was turned even -from his own people, and angry threatenings were ever upon his lips, -against those with whom he had grown up side by side. Wabashaw, chief -of one of the bands of Sioux on the Mississippi, left his home, where -the prairies stretch out to the distance, without even a hill to -relieve the level sameness, or trees to shelter them from the short -but intense heat of the summer, to encamp, by permission, on the St. -Peter's River, opposite Fort Snelling. Fire-face, one of the band, was -with them, accompanied by his two wives. - -He was feared by all of the band; even the brave chief Wabashaw, whose -life he had threatened, turned from the fierce gaze of the man, over -whom had been cast a spell from the spirits of evil, for he frowned -alike upon friend and foe. Only his wives seemed easy when he was -near, and they not only feared but loved the strange being, whose hand -was against every man's. - -He passed the most of his time seated near his lodge, with his -medicine-bag hanging near; his implements of war and hunting glistening -in the light, and his loaded gun ever by his side. - -Many efforts had been made to apprehend this desperate man, yet he had -always eluded the pursuit of the soldiers; and now, although aware of -the danger he was in, when living so near the garrison, he appeared -to be perfectly unconcerned, saying, he knew the soldiers would make -every effort to arrest him; but that he would never be taken until -another of the pale faces had fallen by his arm. Wabashaw, the chief, -frequently visited the Fort, always accompanied by his late friend Many -Lightnings, and on every occasion he pressed the necessity of taking -Fire-face prisoner. "He was a bad Indian," said Wabashaw, "who loved to -see blood; and, if allowed to go at liberty, some one would be murdered -by him." - -The chief said that he did not sleep at night in his own lodge, but -went for safety to the near village of Mendoto, where he remained until -the sun was high in the heavens the next day. In consequence of these -representations, a party of soldiers was sent to arrest him, and the -Indians were to assist in the capture. - -Fire-face was on the lookout: he appeared to show himself in the way -of danger for the pleasure of overcoming it. He would remain at ease -until the party was near him; and then, like an arrow from the bow, -he would fly through the village, no man daring to stay him: and you -might as well have attempted to catch the sunbeam on the waters as the -hunted man. Pursuit was unavailing, and the soldiers each time returned -disappointed to the Fort. - -He would soon come back to the encampment. What a courage was his, -thus purposely throwing himself in the way of danger, knowing too that -he had not one friend to whom he could turn. His frightened, helpless -family alone cared for him. It was evidently a pleasure to him to be in -a situation of peril, to show his adroitness in extricating himself. - -About ten o'clock one night he sat in his lodge, gloomily meditating on -his position. Could he eventually escape the pursuit of his enemies? -Was he not a doomed man, when the bands of friendship were severed -between him and those with whom he had fought, and whose lives had been -tracing an even course with his? - -The children's heavy breathing was the only sound that could be heard. -His wives sat mute in the lodge. He had been hunted to the death, and -now sleep was overcoming him, and his watchfulness was yielding to his -fatigue; while he thought to lay his tomahawk beside him, and seek -repose, the door of his lodge was turned aside, and the long-knives (as -the soldiers were called) were upon him. - -Their exulting looks were met by his calmest demeanour: he offered no -resistance; but when the soldiers placed their hands upon his wrists to -secure the captive, he glided from their grasp as easily as a serpent -might pass from the touch of a child; he bounded from their sight, and -again they vainly sought the strange man: the protecting shades of -night were about him, and he knew full well the hiding-places of the -neighbourhood. When out of their reach he laughed as he looked at his -oiled hands and arms, for _there_ was the secret of his escape. - -Morning found him again in his lodge, calm, fearless as ever. The Sioux -thought he must wear a charmed life, and they kept from the reach of -his arm: and the children, even his own, played where they could not -see his dark face as he watched their amusements. - -There is a spell, however, that few Indians can resist; it is to them -an unfailing quietus for care: they can fancy they are free when -fire-water quickens the coursing of their veins. They curse the white -man from the heart, and hope and look forward to the time when the red -man shall have his own again. They then forget that the outstretched -arms of desolation are ready to clasp them, and that destruction, -like the night-bird, is hovering over their heads with its hoarse cry -sounding to their hearts. - -Fire-face could not refuse the charm. The Indians pressed it upon -him, and then informed the soldiers that they were going out with the -intention of hunting, as Fire-face thought, that on this occasion he -might be followed and taken. - -The party went on their route, stopping occasionally to drink and to -smoke. Fire-face, overcome by the liquor he had drank, could hardly -keep up with them. His gun swung carelessly from his shoulder, and his -usual gravity was changed for a loud and boisterous cheerfulness. - -"The white people fear me," he said, laughing; "well they may, for my -arm is strong, and before I die I will kill another of them. I have -already murdered a white man, and should be satisfied if one of their -women died by my tomahawk. I should like to take her scalp with the -long light hair hanging from it." - -The Indians still encouraged him to drink, and as the morning advanced -he became the more unfitted to pursue his way. From a state of passion -and excitement he had passed into one of stupor: at length he rested -himself against a tree, and alternately muttered and dozed. - -In the mean time soldiers were following him up. Wabashaw gave -information of the path Fire-face had taken, and they were soon upon -him. - -He was a prisoner at last, and that consciousness sobered him. His -hands were bound. One of the Sioux, indignant at this proceeding, -attempted to cut the straps, but was pushed off. After a slight delay, -the soldiers returned with him to the garrison. - -He continually reproached himself with his own unwatchfulness, telling -the soldiers that he had always intended killing one of them ere he -should be in their power. He mournfully said it was too late now to -accomplish his purpose. - -At about six o'clock in the afternoon he was brought into the Fort. -The news of his capture had reached the encampment of Wabashaw on the -opposite side of the river, and as he approached the guard at the gate -of the Fort, a number of Sioux wore seen watching him. His two wives -stood there, and as their husband's figure passed, guarded and bound, -they literally lifted up their voices and wept. - -Fire-face, in the mean time, was turned over to the tender mercies of -the guard, and he was soon seated at the grated window of his cell. I -had heard a great deal of the man, and thought that one who combined -so many terrible traits of character must show it in his countenance: -in order to see this singular being, I determined to visit him in his -cell. We passed the guard-room and entered his dark and dreary-looking -place of confinement. His back was to us, as he was looking through -the bars of his window towards his home. Hearing some one approach, -he turned to us with an expression of face entirely mild; there was -neither passion nor murder portrayed in his features, not even a -restlessness in his manner--only a quiet dignity, a calm unconcern. - -He begged of the commanding officer to be shot at once, deprecating the -thought of imprisonment--only let him die or be free. It was in vain to -remind him of his offences: the laws of the white man were not for him. -He then said that he wished to see his wives. The request was granted: -they were sent for, and after a little while they, trembling with fear, -passed the terrible-looking guard and entered their husband's cell, -with their faces covered with their blankets. - -The next day a council was held at the council-house, and I could not -resist the wish I had to be present. I longed to see the aborigines -of my country presiding as it were in their own halls of legislature. -There was always a charm and freshness in listening to their unstudied -eloquence. - -When I reached the council-house the speaking was nearly over, but the -scene repaid me for the trouble I had taken to witness it. - -The warriors were seated in rows round the room on the floor, with the -exception of Wabashaw, Many Lightnings, and a few of the principal -men,--these occupied a bench. - -Their dresses were very rich; their fans were of large feathers, -stained in many colours. "The Owl" was looking grave, for he had been -reproved for interfering with the soldiers, by attempting to cut -the prisoner's straps. One old man was in mourning, and he looked -particularly _en dishabille_, his clothing (and there was little of -it) was dirty in the extreme. His face he had painted perfectly black; -his hair he had purposely disarranged, to the greatest degree. Thus -he presented a striking contrast to the elaborately adorned warriors -around him. - -Many Lightnings was dressed with scrupulous care. He had been presented -with an old uniform-coat, which he wore with the utmost complacency. -We noticed the warriors were almost all young: we asked where were -all their old men. Wabashaw said, they were all carried off by the -small-pox, which had nearly destroyed their band some years before. -Several of them, besides the chief, were deeply marked from this -disease. - -When we left Fort Snelling, Fire-face was still in confinement, but -was soon to go to Dubuque for trial. I learned some months after, that -he had escaped: I thought then, his long-cherished wish might still be -gratified. - - - - -DEATH-SONG -OF AN INDIAN PRISONER, FOR A LONG TIME CONFINED AT FORT SNELLING. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - Here, in these hated walls - A prisoner I; - Vainly my young wife calls, - As night-winds sigh. - Brightly the white stars shine: - Upwards I gaze, - Seeking this soul of mine - From earth to raise. - - Strong Wind, my comrade brave, - Looks sternly by, - Watching the death-film dim - His brother's eye. - Chained are these useless hands; - Cold is my heart; - Soon to the spirits' land - Must I depart. - - Pacing my prison dark, - Arms do I see,-- - While measured the sentry's step,-- - Glance gleamingly. - Once, like the wild deer, - Or eagle, as free,-- - Now, closely guarded here, - Prisoners we! - - When has the red man felt - Woman's weak fears? - But from these wearied eyes - Fall warriors' tears. - Father of Waters, I - Ne'er shall see more,-- - List to its waves pass by, - Beating the shore. - - Sleeps my brave comrade now?-- - Dreams he of home? - See, o'er his haughty brow - Dark shadows come. - Like me, he fain would be - Where, from the bow, - Piercing the wild deer's side, - Swift arrows go. - - When from the waters bright - Fades the red sun, - Following the evening light, - Darkness comes on. - So has my spirit drooped, - Since from my home - Traced I my weary steps, - Ne'er to return. - - Hark! in the evening air - Low voices come,-- - Bring they to this sad heart - Breathings of home. - Now do the whispers rise, - Mighty the sound, - Like the thunder-bird,[16] from the skies - Hurled to the ground. - - "Come to our hunting-lands! - Proudly we roam - Here, where the white man - Never may come. - From our forests on earth - Oft driven back, - We are free now, and follow - The buffalo's track. - - "Here is the bright glance, - From maiden's dark eye; - While the song of the feast and dance - Rings through the sky. - Here do we wait thy step, - While soon, for thee, - Bursted the prison bars, - The warrior free!" - -[Footnote 16: This is an allusion to the battles of the gods of the -Dacotas. The Thunder (believed to be a bird) is sometimes conquered and -cast to the earth by the god of the woods or the god of the waters.] - - - - -THE FALSE ALARM. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -"Yes," said We-har-ka, who had outlived children and grandchildren, whose -face and neck were covered with wrinkles, but who still could walk with -the youngest and strongest, "the old woman must pick up what she can -get to eat. I hate the white people. Have I forgotten the death of my -son? Do I not see him now as he fell dead by the gate of the Fort? What -if the Dacotas had killed some Chippeways! The Dacotas have a right -to kill their enemies. Enah! I hate the Chippeways too. If I were a -warrior, I would ever be tracking them and shooting them down, and I -would laugh when I saw their blood flow." - -"The white people caused the death of your son," said Harpen. - -"I hate them both," replied We-har-ka. "My son and two others killed some -Chippeways, and they were taken, prisoners, to the Fort, because the -long-knives had said we must not kill our enemies. Then the Chippeways -wanted the Dacotas who murdered their friends, that their women might -cut them in pieces. So the long-knives told the Dacotas they might -start from the gate of the Fort, and run for their lives; but they told -the Chippeways to be there too, and they might fire at them and kill -them if they could. The Chippeways fired, and the three Dacotas fell. -The Chippeways shouted and were glad, and the Dacota women wept. I lay -on the ground many days, with my limbs bleeding. See the scars on my -arms! With this very knife did I make these wounds. I, a widow, and -childless, who has there been to give me food since? - -"When Beloved Hail was killed," continued the old woman, "the white men -would not let our warriors go to war against the Chippeways. Red-boy, -too, was wounded by the Chippeways, and even he could not go out to -fight them. Our warriors are like children before the white men." - -"Red-boy was badly wounded," said Harpen. - -"Yes, he was badly wounded: I saw him at the time. If I were Red-boy, -I would only live to revenge myself on those who had tried to take my -life." - -While the woman talked, little Wanska sat by them, playing with her -wooden doll. "Grandmother," said she, "may I take your canoe and go -over to the village? You can come home with the others. I want to talk -to my mother about Red-boy." - -"Go, go," said We-har-ka, "our brave men may no longer do brave deeds, -and by the time that you are a woman, there will be no more warriors. -It has been five winters since Beloved Hail was killed and Red-boy -wounded, and no one has avenged them yet." - -The child entered the canoe and paddled towards the village, thinking -all the while of what she had heard. "Grandmother says, by the time I -am a woman, there will be no more warriors: what will I do then for a -husband?" and thus divided between the disgrace of not being married, -and the remembrance of Red-boy's wound, which she thought had occurred -recently, she entered the village in a state of trepidation, which -was yet exceeded by the condition in which her mother was thrown, -on hearing the announcement that Red-boy was badly wounded by the -Chippeways; that We-har-ka had seen the wound; that all the old women -were very angry with the Chippeways and white people; then, bursting -into tears, the girl of ten years added: "Mother, the Chippeways and -white men are going to kill all the Dacota warriors, so that, when I am -a woman, I can never have a husband!" - -Up rose the eyes and hands of the mother, and down went the moccasins -she was making to the ground; and up and down she made her way -through the village, giving the alarm, that Red-boy was killed by the -Chippeways! - -Shall I tell of the scene that followed? Oh! for a pen of magic, to -describe how Red-boy's relations cried, and how everybody's relations -cried with them; how the children ran to their mothers, sheltering -themselves under their _okendokendas_.[17] How the dogs yelped and -howled, and sprung on the children's backs, ready to go wherever -prudence might dictate. How the old men started from sleeping in the -lazy summer's sun, and held their tomahawks as firmly as if time were -made to be laughed at, and the young men throwing away the pebbles with -which they were playing a game of chance, walked swiftly on, bent on -avenging Red-boy. - -How the wind all at once began to rise, and the very fish leaped out of -the water, as if they would like to fight too; while already, Indian -runners were far on their way to tell the news at Man-in-the-cloud's -and Good-road's villages, and to give the word to those whom they might -meet, who would take up the cry, and rush forward with revenge on their -lips, and murder in their hearts. - -On they went, until they reached the house of the Interpreter, near -Fort Snelling, and then he went with them, to report to the officers at -the Fort of the outrage; that Red-boy was killed, and that the Dacota -warriors wished to go and avenge the death of their friend. - -This was, of course, considered an infringement of the treaty of peace -then existing between the two tribes; and the Chippeways had showed -their daring by committing a murder so near the walls of the Fort. It -was immediately determined to send a detachment of soldiers to arrest -the offenders. - -In ten minutes a number of men were on the parade-ground, ready to -march, looking as fiercely at the officers' quarters as if they were -about to enter into mortal combat with the doors and windows; obeying -the word of command as quickly as it was reiterated, while the ringing -noise of their ramrods sounded through the garrison. - -The Dacotas were perfectly satisfied with the promise made them, -that the Chippeways should be punished in a manner satisfactory to -themselves, for the death of Red-boy. - -We women felt quite solemn in the Fort. The Chippeways might resist: -in fact, there was no saying what they might, or what they might not -do. The command in garrison was very small: we felt as if we had been -"through seven wars, and this was the worst of all." - -Retreat, the assembling of the command at sundown, came--the evening -gun was fired, and the flag was lowered--and nothing was heard of the -war-party, white or Indian. Tattoo had come, the soldier's bedtime, -and our anxieties were not at rest. Towards twelve o'clock the men -returned with their officer, without having had even a show of fight. -To their intense mortification and disappointment, Red-boy had been -seen, and talked with, large as life. He had eaten a saddle of venison -that day, without any assistance, and was, accordingly, in a good state -of preservation, having received no wound since the one of five years' -standing, the scar of which he showed. - -Now, we know that among white people, as well as Indians, women have -the credit of raising all the false reports, and circulating all the -scandal that is going the rounds. Most unjust charge! and all men, red -skins and pale faces, are defied to prove it. Among the Indians women -have no chance whatever. Is an Indian charged with stealing pork from -the traders? It was not the warrior who did it, but his wife. Has a -party of Indians been admitted into the Fort, and some loaves of bread -and pieces of meat been abstracted? Somehow or other the women are sure -to be in fault. Has the garrison been alarmed, and a party of soldiers -sent out uselessly? As usual, the women made the trouble. - -Yet, with a sigh from my heart, I must confess that appearances are -against the sex. - -There were many threats of vengeance made against We-har-ka in the -present instance, for the trouble which her longings for vengeance had -occasioned; but she was not afraid: she had taken care of herself for -nearly a hundred years, and would be apt to do so during the short -remnant of her life. - -Indian women will talk of their wrongs as long as they feel them, and -that will be until the heart has ceased to beat, and the tongue is -silent for ever. - -We-har-ka lives on the memory of her sorrows. She holds them to her -heart, as does the mother her child of a day old. They are dear to her -as would be the hope of vengeance. - -I say she lives, but I know not. Seasons have gone since I bade adieu -to her home, and it may be, she is all unconscious that winter is gone, -and that summer's breath is waving the green boughs of the forest trees -as they lift up their branches to the heavens. - -It must be soon, if not now, that her form, covered with garments of -poverty and misery, and perhaps shielded from the gaze of passers-by by -the tattered blanket of some friend poor as she, reposes quietly near -the river bank. - -Would you not like to have heard her talk of her amusements as a -child, and her happiness when a maiden--of the scenes of pleasure she -remembers, and of terror from which she has fled--of the pains, the -hunger, the watchings she has endured--of the storms and sunshine of a -life passed away? - -[Footnote 17: An Okendokenda is a part of an Indian woman's dress, -somewhat resembling the sack worn by ladies at the present time, -more open, displaying the throat and chest. It is generally made of -bright-coloured calico.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph. - -INDIAN COURTSHIP] - - - - -INDIAN COURTSHIP. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - Show me a brighter scene - On our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream! - - * * * * * - - Tell me where, rocked by the billows high, - The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky, - Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave-- - Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave. - Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand, - Like matins that ring in a far-off land. - Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice, - And the lava speeds with its fiercest course; - Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray, - And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway. - Yet show me a brighter, a fairer scene - On our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream, - Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave, - As their boughs are bent to the river's wave; - Than here! where night and the white stars come, - Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home. - - Now o'er the waters bright - Glides his canoe, - Throbbing his warrior heart, - Maiden! for you. - Roused from your dreamy sleep, - Bend low and list; - Not once has his well-known tread - Your loving heart missed. - - Not far from the wigwam door - Rests he awhile-- - But from far has he journeyed - To meet your bright smile. - He speaks to your heart - By the flute's slightest sound, - And its low notes are echoed - By that heart's wildest bound. - - He knows if you love him - You'll surely come forth, - And modestly plight him - A maiden's pure troth. - Then come! he will talk - Of his sweet forest home, - Which you will make brighter; - Come! maiden, come! - - You move not. Ah! woman, - He will not despair: - He has medicine tied - In the braids of his hair. - Love-medicine, bound - In the white deer's soft breast, - 'Twill charm you at last - On his bosom to rest. - - Should he wait for your coming - This fair night in vain, - No faint heart has he-- - He will charm you again. - A spell he will cast - On your slight graceful form; - Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe, - Maiden, you'll come. - - To your parents he'll presents give: - Bright things and new-- - Ah! young wives are bought and sold - Among Indians too. - Then, from the mother's side - You will go forth, - The star of a warrior's home, - The light of his hearth. - - Come! ere the morning star - Lures him away; - He must meet with the wise men - When breaks the blue day. - Your soft voice must greet him - Ere homeward he turn, - Then close to his throbbing heart - Come, maiden, come! - - - - -THE SACRIFICE. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -Far away in one of the fair valleys of the West, where dark forests -frown alike in summer, when the richly clad boughs wave to the passing -breeze, and in winter, when the bare maple and thick evergreens are -covered with snow,--far away, just on the borders of the valley, close -by the huge rocks which rear their heads above the bluffs that hang -over the water,--an Indian village, with its many-sized lodges rising -here and there, reposed, as it were, without fear from storm, or the -sun's heat, or the aggressions of enemies. Sometimes, indeed, the -mighty thunder rolled angrily towards it, and the streaked lightning -called over and over again, to the many hills around, to rouse up the -tardy storm-spirits; but they loved not to linger here. Their voices -could be heard in angry murmurs, then they would pass on in the river's -course, with many a wild shout, to seek some spot less lovely on which -to spend their wrath. - -A very few miles below the village, an Indian might be seen, slowly -paddling his canoe over the placid waters. The dark lines of his face -were fixed in deep thought. His countenance was pale, though the hue of -his race was there; his nostrils large, and quivering with the remains -of passion; his eyes bright and lustrous, as if with fever; but around -his mouth might be traced an expression which seemed to indicate -that grief as well as passion was struggling with him. As he slowly -touched with his paddle the passive waters, he looked around him with a -bewildered air. - -Suddenly, he started, as his eye fell upon something that lay in the -bottom of the canoe; he raised it: 'twas the arrow of his child. How -came it there? and why should the father, forgetting all, as he dropped -unconsciously the paddle into the waters, cover his face with both his -hands, and while the tears forced their way through his fingers, tremble -with remembrances too strong even for him, the Iron Heart, to bear? - -All was quiet and peace. Not a voice was heard; even nature's was -still. No human eye looked upon the warrior as he wept. Silence and -solitude surrounded him. The vast prairie that stretched abroad might -have recalled to his mind the unending future, which he was to spend in -the society of the honoured dead. The soft vapoury clouds of evening -that hung over him, might have told him, as they have told many, that -it is not far from the wretched to the land of spirits. The waters, -on which his canoe rested almost motionless, might have called to his -remembrance, that life was a sea, sometimes troubled and sometimes -calm, over which the mortal must pass to reach immortality. - -But no such tranquillizing thoughts calmed the tempest which was raging -in his bosom; his bare chest heaved with emotion; but at length he -raised his head, and taking another paddle from the bottom of his canoe -in his right hand, with the other he threw the small arrow that had -occasioned him so many painful thoughts, and watching till the waters -closed over it, he made his way towards the bend in the river, where -lowlands and prairies were no more to be seen, and an hour's time -brought him in sight of the village, and soon he was clambering over -the rocks towards it. - -When he met his friends, there was a stern coldness in his manner, and -he replied fiercely to the greeting salutations of his younger wives, -and called for his daughter Wenona, whose mother had long since been -dead, to prepare him some food. - -Wenona obeyed with alacrity her father's commands, at the same time -glancing uneasily towards her two step-mothers, whose smothered wrath -she knew would break forth at some future time. They sat silent on the -ground in seeming submission to the will that wrested from them their -rights, in favour of the child of a dead rival; but those accustomed -to read the writing on a woman's countenance, could see they were -rebelliously inclined, but were forced to conceal their vexation under -a calm demeanour. - -It was in August, "the moon that corn is gathered." Wenona had during -the long day paid the penalty of her father's love; she had toiled -unceasingly, though the sun scorched her face and bosom; the watchful -eyes of her father's wives were upon her, and when he was absent, they -hardly allowed her a moment's rest. Her young companions wondered -at the little spirit she showed; but Wenona was of a peace-making -disposition, and preferred submission to contention. The large bundles -of corn she had gathered during the day were hanging outside the -wigwam to dry. Not even had she allowed herself time to join the other -girls, who were diving at noon in the cool waters, and raising their -heads up to call Wenona, looking like mermaids as the water flowed from -their long, unbraided hair. - -It was not long before she placed before Iron Heart his evening meal, -venison and boiled corn--while her face was so good-humoured, and her -motions so easy and graceful, that one would suppose the wrath of the -evil spirits themselves would have been disarmed, much less the anger -of those to whose children she so often sung sweet lullabies. Iron -Heart did not relish his food; but tasting the venison, then lighting -his pipe, he appeared lost to what passed before him: he often looked -in Wenona's face, with a strange repentant look, as if he had done her -an injury, but sought to conceal it in his own bosom. - -After a while he rose, and joined a group of warriors, who were seated -without the wigwam, Wenona following in his protecting shadow, out of -the reach of complaint or reproof. - -The group that Iron Heart joined was composed of the principal men of -the band, who were listening to the words of one of their wisest men. -No one interrupted him, as he boasted of the feathers he had won, as -he told of the bears and buffaloes he had destroyed; no one showed -impatience as he dwelt upon the time when he was young, and all admired -his feats of valour and strength. Respect and attention were on every -countenance, as the white hair of the old man was lifted from his brow -by the evening breeze. - -He told them they had long been at peace with the Chippeways; -their young men were becoming like women, without the ennobling and -exciting employment of war. That the edge of the tomahawk was blunted -for want of use. He said the Chippeways had again intruded on their -hunting-grounds, and it was time that the war-cry of the Dacotas should -be heard, to show their enemies their power. - -The old man, who had lived nearly a century, ceased speaking, and The -Buffalo, who leaned against a tree near the others, turned towards -them, as if he, too, would speak. - -"My words are not good, like the words of the aged; my voice is low, -like the sound of the waters in a small stream, but the wise speak, and -the sound of the Father of many Waters is in your ears. But our brave -men say they are at peace with the Chippeways: they promised they would -bury the hatchet deeper than the roots of our tallest trees; they said -we would live together like friends, and that the war-cry only should -be heard when we joined together against our enemies." - -The old man prepared to answer him: his limbs shook with rage and -excitement; he raised his finger, and pointed towards The Buffalo, -then, when the crimson blood dyed his cheeks, he said, "Shame on the -coward who fears his enemies: go gather corn with the women, and the -old and feeble man will die with his tomahawk raised against those who -hate his nation." - -In vain The Buffalo essayed to speak: they would not hear him; and he -left the council amid the sneers of all. - -War was decided upon; and night was fast approaching when Wenona, with -pale and agitated looks, pressed forward among the warriors. "My -father," said she, "where is my brother?" - -Iron Heart started; but recovering himself, he replied, "I know not. -Seek him yourself, if you would find him." - -"I have sought him," she said, "but the old woman, Flying Cloud, tells -me I may seek him no more, for she saw his body floating down the -river, as she came up in her canoe. She laughed, too, and said I would -see him one day in the land of spirits." - -All looked towards Iron Heart, but he made his way among them, and -returned to the wigwam. In vain Wenona wept, and besought him to go in -search of her brother; not even would he inquire of Flying Cloud. - -"I will go, then, and look for him myself," said the girl. "Is he not -my brother, my mother's son?" - -"Cease your noise," said her father, sternly. "If the Great Spirit -have called my son, is he not already a brave warrior in the city of -spirits?" - -Wenona was quiet at her father's rebuke, but her heart was ill at ease. -She hoped he would return in the night. She remembered that Flying -Cloud was always bitter and ill-tempered; and besides, was not her -brother at home on the water? Could he not swim as easily as he could -tread down the grass on the prairie? She reasoned herself into the hope -that Chaské had been tired, and had laid down to rest; and she fell -asleep with the expectation that his merry voice would arouse her at -break of day. - -And how did he sleep in whose heart lay the secret of the death of his -son? in whose ear was sounding the voice of that son's blood? - - * * * * * - -In vain might we seek to follow Wenona in her untiring search for her -brother--she knew all his accustomed haunts--at one time making her way -over rock and crag, to find out the eagle's home; at another, pushing -her small canoe up the stream, where the beavers made their houses; -weeping, yet hoping too. - -Day after day passed thus: and ever as she returned to the village -would Flying Cloud tell her she must go beyond the clouds to seek him. - -Iron Heart neither assisted in the search for the boy, nor spoke of his -loss. He was calm as usual: yet in the last four days he seemed to have -lived as many years. - -He employed himself sharpening the instruments he was soon to use -against the Chippeways, while hanging near the medicine-sack, which was -attached to a pole outside the wigwam, was a knife which glittered in -the sun, which was only touched or moved by himself. - -Days and weeks passed by: Wenona ceased to look for her brother, or -hope for his return; yet still she wept. The heart of the motherless -girl clung ever in thought to him who had been not only her companion, -but her charge from his birth. She had taken him from her mother's -bosom when dying; she had watched his childish sports, and sung to him -the legends of her people. Could she have closed his eyes, and wept at -his feet, her grief would not have been so hopeless. It often occurred -to her that her father was not unacquainted with the circumstances of -his death. - - * * * * * - -Strange and solemn was the secret of the death of the Indian boy. -Dearly loved by his father, they stood together one day by the river's -side. "Did you not say, my father," said the boy, "that we would go to -the forest for the deer? Let us go now; my arrows are swift and strong, -and to-morrow the girls will come and help us drag them in. Come, my -father, your looks have been sad for many days, but you will laugh when -you see the red deer fall as we strike them. The old woman, Flying -Cloud," continued the boy, "says she knows what is going to happen to -me. She says I will never go to war against the Chippeways; that my -knife shall never sever the scalps from the head of my enemy; that my -voice shall not be heard in the council, nor shall my wife ever stand -at the door of her lodge to wait my coming. But I laughed at her: she -is old and poor; she loves not the young and happy. See her now, my -father, as she stands upon that high rock, waving her arms to me. What -have you done to her that she hates you so? She says she has cast a -spell upon our race." - -"Flying Cloud is not of our clan, my son," replied Iron Heart; "her son -died, and she says my mother caused his death. She says she cannot die -till my mother is childless like herself. But come, before the night we -must kill many deer." - -"Is your knife sharp?" said the boy; "you know we must draw the skins -off while they are warm. My sister will work our moccasins and leggins. -She says she is never so happy as when she is sewing for me." - -Shall we follow them--shall we penetrate the deep forests to see the -father raise his knife to pierce from side to side the strong, healthy -frame of his son! - -Not in anger did he take the life that was dearer to him than his own. -Was the burden of his sins lying heavily against his heart? Who shall -tell his agony when he saw the blood flow! Who shall say how his soul -was wrung with grief as the reproachful face of his much-loved child -was turned towards him in death! - -The wild deer flew past, but he saw them not. The serpent glided by as -it did in Paradise, but its stealthy motion was unobserved. The sweet -song-birds raised their notes to the sky, but they all fell unheeded on -the ear of the father who had taken the life of his son. - -Raising the form of the boy in his arms, he bore it carefully to the -shore, and casting it where the current hurried impetuously on, the -dead boy was borne along to share the lot of many who will rest in their -ocean grave, till the land and the sea shall alike give up their dead. - -When I reflect on the tradition of the Sioux, that once only has human -life been offered in sacrifice, and then a father took the life of his -son--when in the quiet night I mind me of those whose destiny seems now -to be in our power for good or evil, I remember that when the world -was new, Abraham, in holy faith, yet with a breaking heart, led his -much-loved child--the child of hope and promise, to sacrifice his life -in obedience to the command of God. Can you not see his lip quiver and -his cheek turn pale as he lays him on the altar? Can you not hear the -throbbings of his heart as he binds him to the wood? - -Abraham's son was spared, but I mind me of another sacrifice, where -God spared not his own Son, but yielded him, the pure and sinless, a -sacrifice for the guilt of all. - - - - -A LULLABY. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - Lo! by the river-shore Wenona weeping, - Lashed to its cradle-bed her young child sleeping, - While 'neath the forest trees the dead leaves lying, - Mournful, and sad, and low, the autumn winds are sighing. - Lists she to hear his footstep proud advancing? - Gazes, to see his tomahawk brightly glancing? - Watching the tossing waves, weary and lonely, - Faithful her breaking heart, loving him only. - Raising her drooping form, hearing her infant cry, - Pressing him to her breast, sings she a lullaby. - - Sleep on, my warrior son! - Ne'er to his childhood's home, - Waiting our greeting smile, - Will thy brave father come. - - Shouting the loud death-cry - With the grim warrior band, - Singing the giant's songs, - Dwells he in spirit land. - Turning from brave to brave, - See his keen eye - As he glances around him, - And smiles scornfully. - - I knew when he left me, - (The strawberries grew - On the prairies green, - And the wild pigeon flew - Swift o'er the spirit lakes,) - Then o'er my heart - Came a dark shadow - Ne'er to depart. - - I watched, from the door - Of my tupee,[18] the band - As they turned from their home - To the Chippeways' land. - I watched and I wept, - As thy father, the last - Of the many tall braves, - From my tearful gaze passed. - - Wake not, my young son, - For thy father sleeps sound, - And his stiffened corse lies - On his enemy's ground. - Wake not, my brave child, - Thou wilt wrestle, too soon, - With the miseries of life,-- - 'Tis the red man's dark doom. - - O'er the fate of the Indian - The Great Spirit has cast - The spell of the white man-- - His glory is past. - Like the day that is dying - As fades the bright sun, - Like the warrior expiring - When the battle is done. - - Soon no more will our warriors - Meet side by side, - To talk of their nation, - Its power and pride. - 'Tis the white man who rules us - And tramples us down; - We are slaves, and must crouch - When our enemies frown. - - Sleep on, my young son, - I'd fain have thee know - As the warrior departs - Did thy brave father go. - He feared not the white man, - While the Chippeway knew - He could boast when he scalped - The Dacota he slew. - - Sleep on, to our desolate - Tupee we go; - Soon the winter winds come, - And the cold and the snow. - He is gone who would bring - To us covering warm, - Would supply us with food, - And would shield us from harm. - - I have listened full oft, - As the white woman told - Of the city of life, - Where the bright waters rolled; - Where tears never come, - Where the night turns to day,-- - I gladly would go there, - But know not the way. - - Ah! ye who have taken - From the red man his lands, - Who have crushed his proud spirit, - And bound his strong hands; - If ye see our sad race - In ignorance bowed down, - And care not to see it, - Ye have hearts made of stone. - - Sleep on, my young son, - For soon will we know - If to the heaven of the white man - The Dacota may go. - We are children of earth, - We must meekly toil on - 'Till the Great Spirit call us, - My warrior son! - -[Footnote 18: Tupee is the Dacota word for house or wigwam.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph^{a.} - -SOUNDING WIND. -The Chippewa Brave.] - - - - -SOUNDING WIND; -OR, THE CHIPPEWAY BRAVE. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - Hast thou mourned! oh mourn no longer: - Death is strong, but love is stronger. - - -The amnesties that have been made between the Sioux and Chippeways for -many years have been of short duration: it appears now that the two -nations will be friendly only when the lion and the lamb shall lie down -together, should the two nations exist at that happy period. The sight -of each other's blood is as precious to a Chippeway or Sioux as would -be the secret of perpetual youth to an octogenarian, who eagerly grasps -his tenure for life, loving, and fearing to lose it to the last. At the -time of my story, a longer peace than usual had existed between the -two nations. They hunted and danced, and even married together. Many -a child, that had never trembled at hearing the war-whoop, wondered -at the old men's stories, that invariably closed with the triumph of -the Dacota tomahawk over the weaker blade of the enemy: but that child -grew to be a man only to hate a Chippeway, as his father had done in -youth; one offence had brought on another, and the slumbering spirit -of vengeance that had reposed in the hearts of the red men was roused -up, and with a double vengeance foe sought foe. In vain were the women -and children hidden in the holes of the earth at night for safety; -they were hunted out, as the starving wolf scents its prey: after the -desperate fight was over, when the strong were laid low, then were the -aged and the infants dragged from their hiding-places. - -The red morning sun, parting the sullen clouds, hid again from the -sight of the blood that was covering the ground, and dyeing the very -stream where but yesterday the village belle, seated by its fair banks, -listened to the words that every maiden loves to hear. - -A sad scene was presented at the village of Gray Eyes: the old chief -lay helpless among those who had obeyed his slightest word, the glaze -of death dimming an eye that for more than eighty winters had watched -the snow, as it drifted from vale to vale. Life had not yet departed: -you could feel the pulse still flutter, and the heart faintly beat, but -the thoughts of the chief were in spirit-land, and his soul hasted to -burst its prison bars, that it might renew the combat where the Dacotas -would aye be the victors. - -A gleam of life and consciousness passed over his faded features, as an -Indian girl advanced towards him: it was a child he dearly loved, soon -to be left without a protector. - -"My daughter," said the old man feebly, as the maiden threw herself on -the ground beside him, and covered with her tears his cold hands; then -raising herself, as she saw the wound still bleeding, she tore a piece -from her okendokenda, and endeavoured to staunch it. "It is too late, -my child; the soul of your father longs to join the warriors who live -in the land of spirits. Where are your brothers?" - -"There!" said the weeping girl, pointing to the dead bodies that lay -across each other. - -"And your mother?" - -"There too," she answered; "all are gone, my father, but you and me. -I knew how the rocks lay, and where I could hide myself, and there I -stayed, hearing my mother's cries, and my brothers' shouts, as they -died. I saw, too, the Chippeways, as they carried away the scalps. When -you are gone what will become of me? Who will care for Wenona?" - -"Not Wenona," said her father, "but 'The Lonely One.' That will be your -name when you will have neither father nor brother left. But see," -continued the old man, "our enemies' blood! Your brothers fought well: -they have already passed the warriors' road to the City of Spirits." - -His breath came quickly--big drops stood on his forehead--another -struggle--a last sigh--and Wenona was indeed "the lonely one." - -The attack of the night before had not been unexpected. The Sioux had -placed pickets around their village, and a guard had been kept; but -their enemies were too wily for them. The violent storm that raged -during the battle was favourable to the Chippeways; they were upon the -Sioux ere the watches had heard the slightest sound, except the wind, -and the peals of thunder that shook the earth. Some escaped with their -families from the lower end of the village, but almost all who remained -to fight for their families were massacred with them. - -While Wenona awaited the struggle, she was overcome with fear and -excitement; but now she was as one without hope. The blow had been -struck. Chippeway and Sioux had fallen in the death-struggle, locked in -the embrace which bound foe to foe. She had given her heart's devoted -love to one whom she must now consider as her enemy. Sounding Wind, a -noble young Chippeway, handsome in person, and already favoured among -his own people, had promised to take her to his wigwam when the two -nations were at peace, though there were many then who foreboded the -strife that would rend the ties of friendship between the nations. Even -after hostilities had commenced, Sounding Wind had sworn to himself the -woman he loved should be his wife, though every brave in the nation -might stand between him and the accomplishment of his vow. - -Wenona, as she rose from her father's body, gazing upon the scene of -terror before her, looked like the flower beside her, which still -reared its head, though its fair companions were all crushed to the -earth by the storm of the night. Silence and death reigned here--nature -was as tranquil as the hearts of her children. Near by swept the lake -of the thousand isles: undisturbed were its waters; there was no -requiem for the dead, even in the passing breeze. - -"My heart weeps," murmured the girl; "but shall the bodies of my -friends remain until night brings the wolves and hungry birds? Sounding -Wind has forgotten the maiden who loves him. He told me our village -should be safe; that he would talk like a wise man; that he would lead -the Chippeways far away from us: that, as the little islands sleep -peacefully in the lake through the long summer's day, so might I rest -from fear for myself and for my friends. - -"I will go alone and find our people, that they may come and help me -bury our dead. Why should I fear, when all who have loved me are gone, -and he who once loved me would take my life as he would pierce the deer -on the prairie?" - -Wearily she turned her steps, intending to go to the nearest village, -avoiding the dead bodies at every step: yet her moccasins were red with -blood, which, as she pursued her way, crimsoned the earth at her feet. -The reverence that every Indian woman feels for all things connected -with death, gave her courage to undertake the task before her. Every -change in the scene brought with it some reminiscence: grief for the -dead were connected with each, but there were thoughts of the living -hard to bear. - -_Here_ had she sat with her mother, working with porcupine quills gay -garments for her brothers. _Here_ had she stood and watched the canoe -of her lover; here had he given her the charm which she still wore -about her neck: it was to secure her from any accident till she had -left her friends, and until the gods that the Chippeways worshipped -were hers. - -She pursued her way; but as the waters became bright with the warm rays -of the sun, and the pleasant breezes were wafted to the shore, a sense -of oppression and fatigue overcame her. - -In vain she essayed to rouse herself to the task before her: it was, -indeed, in vain, for at last she threw herself under a large tree, and -yielded to the repose which exhausted nature demanded. She slept on for -hours as calmly as if she could only remember and look forward to joy. -Bright eyes were glancing before her--laughter greeted her ears, she -was a child again in her dreams, and passing over the gay waters with -her boy lover by her side. - -Sounding Wind, we have said, was already a man of consequence in his -tribe; but he had refused to accompany the war-party of the preceding -night, nor did he seek to hide his reasons. They had lived peaceably -with the band that lived near the Lake of the Thousand Isles. While he -was willing to resent the aggressions of the band that by treacherous -acts had broken their faith, he would not assail those who had given -them no cause of offence. - -A better reason was in his heart: the love he bore to Wenona was -strong, even stronger than death; and could he raise a murderous -tomahawk against her family? He was anxious to know the result of the -attack on the Sioux. He met the Chippeways as, taking the trail by the -river, they were on their way home. - -Shortly after he joined them, they seated themselves by the great tree -whose branches sheltered Wenona. They were resting and eating. Sounding -Wind stood by them: no one interfered with his gloomy mood--there was -that in him that kept them in control. They were all silent, when -suddenly a sigh of grief and fatigue was uttered near them. Startled by -it, each warrior rose to his feet and grasped his knife and tomahawk. -Sounding Wind sprung over the bushes that were between them and the -spot from whence the sigh issued. - -At his feet, just rousing from slumber, was the girl who was dearer -to him than home or friends. One gleam of joy at seeing her again, -one shade of terror at her probable fate, and the young man, placing -himself between her and the Chippeways who had followed him, showed -himself ready to protect her so long as his arm could wield the -tomahawk that glistened in the sun. - -"Come not towards her," he said to them, for they had recognised her by -her dress, "she is my prisoner. I first touched her--I claim her before -you all. I am your chief. I have led you against the Sacs and Foxes, -and I will lead you against the Dacotas, who have become our enemies, -but this girl's life shall be spared, for she is to be my wife. - -"I have taken her prisoner: I shall spare her life. Am I not a -Chippeway? and shall I forget my promise to her, to make her my wife?" - -Wenona had covered her face with her hands, every moment expecting the -blow that would terminate her sorrows; but no one offered to touch her. -They were many and strong in the love of revenge. Sounding Wind was -but one; but stronger than a host was the love that made him brave the -stern spirits before him. - -She arose at the bidding of her lover. She eat of their food, and -pursued, without fear of harm, her journey to her new home. There, -amid the struggles of the Sioux and Chippeways, she was ever safe. -And happy, too, save when the remembrance of the fate of her family -came between her and the bright visions that cheer and gladden even an -Indian woman's home, when the love of her husband and children hallow -it. - - - - -AN INDIAN BALLAD. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - "Take me away," said one they called the "Drooping Eye," - "Bear me where stoops the deer to drink at eve." - She would behold the clouds of heaven float gently by, - And hear the birds' sweet song ere earth to leave. - - Close is the wigwam,--oh! give her light and air; - Say, can her spirit wing itself for flight, - Losing the perfume borne from flowers fair, - As comes on them and her the gloom of night? - - On them and her,--but they will bloom again, - When breaks the day on earth, by sleep spellbound,-- - Refreshed by morning winds, or summer's rain, - Gilding with colours bright the dewy ground. - - Oh! bear her gently; lay her feeble form - Close by the lake, where beam the waters bright: - Oft has she watched from here the coming storm, - And oft, as now, the glow of evening's light. - - Why weep her friends that fails her parting breath, - That cold the pressure of her powerless hand! - List!--Ye may hear from far the voice of death, - Calling from earth her soul to spirits' land. - - Well do they know the fairies of the lake, - That with its waves have mingled oft her tears, - Here would she nature's solemn silence break - With the death-song of woman's hopes and fears. - - I go,--I go, - Where is heard no more - The cry of sorrow or pain; - I will wait for you there, - Where skies are fair, - But I come not to earth again. - - Mother, you weep! - Yet my body will sleep - Right near you, by night and by day: - And, when comes the white snow, - You will still weep, I know, - That the summer and I've passed away. - - When the storm-spirit scowls, - When the winter-wind howls, - Oh! crouch not in cowardly fear. - Not unwatched, then, the form - That with life once was warm,-- - My spirit will ever be near. - - My sisters! full well - A dark tale I could tell, - How my lover in death slumbers sound: - My brother's strong arm, - Made the life-blood flow warm: - And he laughed as it covered the ground. - - I heard his deep sigh, - I saw his closed eye, - I knew that life's struggle was past. - When his heart ceased to beat, - Then I wept at his feet,-- - My first love, my only, my last. - - Well my proud brother knew - That my heart was as true - To my love as the bird to its mate. - I go to him there, - Where flowers bloom fair: - Will his spirit the Drooping Eye wait? - - Comes quickly my breath! - The dampness of death, - Oh! wipe from my brow with thy hand. - Earth's sorrows are o'er, - I may weep never more,-- - Tears are not in that bright spirits' land. - - - - -OLD JOHN. -THE MEDICINE-MAN. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -If ever "life was a fitful fever," it was with Old John, the -Medicine-Man. - -Coming to the Fort at times when you would not suppose any human -being would expose himself to the elements,--always laughing, always -hungry--seating himself before the fire to sleep, and starting up the -moment his eyelids closed over his restless, twinkling eyes--talking -for ever and singing in the same breath--troublesome and intrusive, -yet always contriving to be of use. And useful he often was to an -artist who was with us; for he would stand, sit, or lean, assuming and -retaining the most painful attitudes, looking good-humoured all the -time, and telling of his many wonderful adventures and hairbreadth -escapes. - -He came to us one day in the middle of winter, for the picture of the -medicine-feast was in progress, and he had promised to show how the -priest was to be represented, that the white people might know in very -truth how were conducted the sacred ceremonies of the Dacotas. - -While he warms himself, and eats, and smokes, he has as usual a great -deal to say, and this in a half-muttered tone; for he is a little -drowsy from the effect of the fire on his chilled limbs. - -He takes from his head the three-cornered cloth hood which is worn by -the men in severe weather, and throws his blanket a little from his -shoulders, displaying his handsomely embroidered coat. - -There is the strongest odour of smoke and stale tobacco from his dress, -and he laughs heartily as we throw open the doors and windows for the -benefit of the fresh air. - -How many strange stories he has of the different medicine-feasts, -and in each he figures largely. About some portions of the dance he -is silent; you may question him closely, but you get no satisfactory -answer. - -He tells that the feast commences when there is no sun in the heavens; -at midnight, when often even the moon and stars are hiding their light. -He cannot tell white people what occurs then, nay, even the uninitiated -Indians would not dare intrude themselves upon the scene; only the -medicine-men and women are allowed to be present. Neither entreaties -nor bribes have any effect: he will not intrust to your keeping the -solemn secret. All we may know of this part of it is, that the feast -is given in honour of some departed friend, and these ceremonies are -taking place near where lies the body. A conversation is carried on -with the dead, and food is placed near, that the spirit may eat. - -"Bury my dead out of my sight." This is not the sentiment of the Dacota -mourner. The mother wants her child to rest on the boughs of the tree, -under which she has sat and lulled it to sleep in her arms. Here, -while she works, she can see its form swayed by the branches, rocked -by the summer winds: its innocent spirit, according to her faith, must -still guard the decaying frame. She feels not the separation so keenly, -when she fancies the soul of her first-born is hovering round her. She -steals away from the noisy revelling in the wigwam to weep. She can -hardly recall the bright eye and healthy glow, which once belonged to -the lost one, but the suffering countenance and wasting frame are ever -before her; and in the loud call of the night-bird, she often fancies -she hears again the cry with which her young child yielded up its life. - -Old John is telling of the medicine-feast. He shows us the medicine-bag -which he uses: it is an otter skin, though sometimes a mink, a swan, or -even a snake, is used, and often has he performed wonderful cures, or -executed terrible vengeance, by the power of this medicine-bag. - -He will not say what is the medicine which the skin contains; whether -it is a root, or the leaf of a tree, a precious gum, a mineral -substance, or the bone of some animal which has been preserved for -centuries. He says that he breathed into the nostrils of the dead -animal, and thus imparted to it qualities which made it sacred. Thus -has he often restored to life the dying man, and by the same power has -he cast the spell of misfortune, disease, and even death, upon one he -hated. This is why he is so much feared. - -Feared by all, but most by the women, Old John's eyes twinkled until -you could only see a black line, when he told how he could frighten the -women in the dance, by holding towards them the skin which contained -the medicine of his clan. - -As if to afford him an opportunity of proving the truth of his -statements, two or three squaws had just brought venison to the -kitchen, and we sent for them to pay them, and, at the same time, to -give them the chance of talking a little--a privilege of which all -women are glad to avail themselves. - -The picture was half done; the medicine-man was to be represented -jumping towards the women, with his dreaded medicine-bag; and Old John -assured us it was invariably the case that the person he selected from -the crowd fell down as if in a fit. This, he insisted, was purely the -effect of his medicine. He offered to prove this by exercising his -prerogative as a medicine-man upon the women who had just entered the -room. The women were much fatigued, and glad of a chance to rest. They -little expected to see any part of a medicine-feast celebrated in a -white man's house. - -The artist seated himself before his easel, and commenced sketching the -figure of the medicine-man. Old John stoops, and holds the bag with -both hands, as if ready to dart it towards some person. You wonder how -he can retain his painful position so long a time. The veins in his -temple swell, and his hands tremble, yet he does not offer to move -until the sketch is made. Then, when told he is at liberty to sit down, -he gives a merry, mischievous look towards us, and commences going -round the room, singing with a loud voice, holding the bag as if about -to avenge on some one present a long-remembered injury. - -The women were taken completely by surprise. From the moment Old John -commenced his performance in earnest, they showed every symptom of -terror, now covering their faces with their hands, and crying "Enah! -Enah!" and again, as the medicine-man passed round the room, looking -after him as if he were something supernatural, instead of being -a compound of art and wickedness. He was now going to embrace the -opportunity that had presented itself to convince us of the ease with -which he could excite the superstitious fears of these women. - -He continued going round the room in measured time, and it was -impossible not to observe the increasing awe which was stealing upon -the women. He kept perfect time to his own music, stopping the while, -as if absorbed in the thoughts attendant on the celebration of a -religious ceremony--when suddenly he sprang towards the women, holding -the bag close in the face of one of them. - -The woman sank to the ground: a severe and stunning blow could not have -had a more immediate effect on her system than the terror into which -she had been thrown. She lay on the ground motionless, with her hands -pressed over her eyes. Old John, perfectly satisfied with the result of -his experiment, laid down his medicine-bag, and seated himself on the -carpet. - -We spoke to the woman, and endeavoured to rouse her. For some minutes -she appeared not to hear; but, after arising, she looked as pale and -ill as if she had indeed been in the presence of an evil spirit; and -she was at that very time, for I doubt if in the Sioux or any other -country a more determined and hopeless reprobate could be found than -Old John. - -I wondered to observe the trepidation into which a female of so strong -and healthy a frame could be thrown. To what could it be ascribed, but -to the influence of an all-powerful superstition on a mind chained by -ignorance to its natural estate of dark degradation? - -Among the most curious ideas of the Sioux are those concerning the -Aurora Borealis, which is considered a kind of goddess of war. Old John -will tell you all about her; for not only is he skilled in all that -relates to the mysteries of his religion, but, if you will take his -word for it, he has seen all kinds of visions. He will tell you how the -gods look--for he has seen them at different times--and to no better -person could you apply for information about the Aurora (as they call -her, Waken-kedan, the old woman). He will tell you that she is one of -their chief objects of worship; that her favour and protection are -invoked as a necessary preparation for going to war. - -Old John declares he has had several visions of the goddess. When she -has appeared to him, she has given him the most minute directions as to -the hiding-places of the enemy. Sometimes she insures success to the -party;--if, however, she predicts misfortune, it is sure to occur. - -The goddess, he says, wears little hoops on her arms. When she appears -to the war-chief, if they are to be successful, she throws as many -of these hoops on the ground as they are to take scalps. These hoops -resemble the hoops that the Indians use in stretching the scalps of -their enemies, when they are preparing for the scalp dance. But, -should the goddess throw broken arrows on the ground, woe to the -war-party! for this tells the chief how many of his comrades are to be -scalped, an arrow for a scalp. - -Sometimes, when the successful party is on its return, it is made more -triumphant by the appearance of the goddess. She does not then take -the form of a woman, but quietly enfolds the heavens with her robe of -light. This they interpret as a favourable omen. The heavens, they say, -are rejoicing on their account; the stars shine out brighter in honour -of their victory; while, to use the Indian warrior's own words, it is -as if their goddess said to them, "Rejoice and dance, my grandchildren, -for I have given you victory." "The old woman," he says, wore a cap, -on the top of which were little balls or knots, of the same kind -with which warriors adorn themselves after having killed an enemy. -She held in her hand an axe, with a fringe fastened to the handle: -this represents an axe that has killed an enemy, as it is a universal -custom among the Sioux to attach a strip of some kind of animal to the -implement that was used in battle. - -The Aurora appears and disappears at the pleasure of the goddess, or -as she is sometimes called, "the old woman who sits in the north." -It is not to be wondered at that the minds of this people should be -thus impressed with the brilliant flashing of the Aurora, in their far -northern home. - -Her appearance is not always considered a favourable omen. Sometimes -it is a warning of coming danger. The mind, overwhelmed with ignorance -and superstition, is apt to read darkly the signs of nature; while a -prospect of success in any contemplated undertaking will change the -interpretation. - - * * * * * - -Old John loves to tell of another of his gods, the meteor; of this god -they stand in great awe, calling him Waken-ne-ken-dah, or man of fire. -He strides through the air to punish recreant Indians, who forget the -claims of the Great Spirit upon them. Around this god is ever a circle -of fire, while small meteors flow from this "great fiery man." In each -hand he holds a war-club of bone, and every blow is fatal to that Sioux -who deserves his condemnation. He is said to be very wily, attacking -the Indians when they are asleep. - -On this account Sioux are often timid about sleeping out of doors; they -have traditions of Indians having been carried off by these errant -meteors. - -Old John thinks the "great fiery man" does not deserve a reputation for -bravery, as he never attacks a waking foe. He says there was once a -Sioux who, tired and sleepy, laid down, rolling himself in his blanket, -though the weather was hot, for the musquitoes were biting him, and -rendering it impossible that he should obtain any rest. The first thing -of which he was conscious was the sensation of being whirled through -the air, passing over miles of prairies and forests with the speed of -light. - -All at once they approached a small pond, which was full of mallard -duck. The appearance of the meteor threw the inhabitants of the lake -into the greatest trepidation, and in consequence a most unearthly -quacking took place. The fiery man not being aware of the cause of this -commotion, never having seen a duck, dropped his affrighted burden, -gladly making his way back to the regions of space. - -But it will be impossible to get anything more from Old John to-day: -the savoury fumes of the kitchen have reached our sitting-room. He has -done with the arts and with religion; he is enough of a philosopher to -take the goods "the gods provide:" and the hearty dinner that he ate -showed that the mystical attributes of a medicine-man did not prohibit -him from the indulgence of his appetite; while the Sioux women were -well repaid for their venison and their fright by some gaudy calico, -for okendokendas, and a few needles, thread, and some other "notions," -of great value among them. - - - - -A REMONSTRANCE. - -BY ELIZA L. SPROAT. - - - While the warm, sweet earth rejoices, - And the forests, old and dim, - Populous with little voices, - Raise their trilling hymn,-- - Chime _our_ notes in joyous pleading - With the million-tonéd day; - We are young, and Time is speeding-- - Sweet Time, stay! - - We would hold the hasty hours, - Ope them to the glowing core, - Leaf by leaf, like folded flowers, - Till they glow no more. - We are mated with the Present, - Bosom friends with dear To-day: - Loving best the latest minute, - Sweet Time, stay! - - Sovereign Youth! all dainty spirits - Wait on us from earth and air; - From the common life distilling - But its essence rare. - Golden sounds, to Age so leaden, - Eden sights, to Age so drear: - Sweet illusions, subtle feelings, - Age would smile to hear. - - Happy Youth! when fearless bosoms - With their wealth of follies rare, - Loose their thoughts, like summer blossoms, - To the generous air, - When we sit and mock at sorrow, - Looking in each other's eyes; - Greeting every new to-morrow - With a new surprise. - - Father Time, if thou wert longing - For a luxury of rest, - I know where the moss is greenest, - Over toward the west: - I would hide thee where the shadows - Cheat the curious eye of day; - I would bury thee in blossoms-- - Sweet Time, stay! - - Where the bees are ever prosing, - Lulling all the air profound; - Where the wanton poppies, dozing, - Hang their heads around; - Where the rill is tripping ever, - Trilling ever on its way, - Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, - All the happy day. - - I would keep thee softly dreaming, - Dreaming of eternity, - Till the birds forget their sleeping - In the general glee; - Till the stars would lean from heaven - In the very face of day, - Looking vainly for the even-- - Sweet Time, stay! - - Hope is with us, chaunting ever - Of some fair untried to be; - Lurking Love hath prisoned never - Hearts so glad and free: - Yet, unseen, a fairy splendour - O'er the prosing world he flings; - Everywhere we hear the rushing - Of his rising wings. - - As the tender crescent holdeth - All the moon within its rim, - So the silver present foldeth - All the future dim: - Oh! the _prophet_ moon is sweetest, - And the life is best to-day; - Life is best when Time is fleetest-- - Sweet Time, stay! - - - - -A FINE ART DISREGARDED. - -BY ELIZABETH WETHERELL, - - AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD." - - "A man that looks on glass - On it may stay his eye; - Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass: - And then the heaven espy." - - -I took a walk with my father last evening. Now the pleasure of this -walk was so great that I will even jot down some notes of its history. - -It was just the pretty time of a summer's day,--the sun's "parting -smile," when he has a mind to leave a pleasant impression behind him: -the hot hours were past; the remnant of a sweet north wind, which had -been blowing all day, just filled the sails of one or two sloops, and -carried them lazily down the bay; and the sun, having taken up his old -trade of a painter, coloured their white canvass for the very spots it -filled in the picture: the same witching pencil was upon a magnificent -rose-bush at the foot of the lawn, tinting its flowers for fairy-land; -and had laid little stripes of fairy light across the lately-mown -grass; and, through a slight haze of the delicious atmosphere, the -hills were mellowed to a painter's wish. - -My father and I strolled down the walk, and took one or two turns -almost in silence, tasting all this too keenly at first to say much -about it. There were beauties near hand too. The rose-trees had shaken -out all their luxuriance, and defied the eye to admire aught else. -Yet, but for them, there was enough to be admired. The pure Campanulas -looked modestly confident of attractions; little Gilias filled their -place in the world passing well; the sweet double pinks gave us a most -good-humoured face as we went by; the tall white lily-buds showed -beautiful indications; and some rare geraniums, and my splendid English -heart's-ease quietly disdained or declined competition. And in that -evening-light, even the flowers of humbler name and lower pretension, -looked as if they cared not for it. Sprawling bachelor's-buttons, and -stiff sweet-williams, and pert chrysanthemums, all were pretty under -the sun's blessing; I think none were overlooked. - -"How much pleasure we take in at the eye!" said my father. - -"Where the eye has been opened," said I. - -"Ay. How many people go through the world with their eyes tight -shut;--not certainly to every matter of practical utility, but shut to -all beautiful ends." - -"Oh, those practical eyes!--the eyes that have no vision but for the -_useful_,--what wearisome things they are!" - -"It is but a moderate portion of the useful that they see," said my -father;--"it was not an empty gratuity that things were made 'pleasant -to the eyes.'" - -"But how the eye needs to be educated," said I. - -"Rather the mind, Cary," said my father. "Let the mind be educated to -bring its faculty and taste into full play, and it will train its own -spies fast enough." - -"It was that I meant, papa,--that cultivation of taste;--I was -thinking, before you spoke what a blessing it is." - -"Why, yes," said my father; "with that piece to bring down game, one is -in less danger of mental starvation. But hush; here comes somebody that -won't understand you." - -And as he spoke, I saw the trim little figure of Mrs. Roberts, one of -our neighbours, come in sight round a turn in the shrubbery. - -"What a lovely evening, Mrs. Roberts," said I, as we met. - -"Delicious!--such charming weather for the grass and the dairy, and -everything. It was so fine, I told Mr. Roberts I would just run down -and see your mamma for a minute; I wanted to ask her a question. I -shall find her at home, shan't I?" - -I satisfied Mrs. Roberts on that point, and my father and I turned to -walk back to the house with her, thinking that our pleasure was over. - -"The roses are in great beauty now," I remarked. - -"Beautiful!--and what an immense quantity of them you have. I don't -know what ails our roses, but we can't make them do, somehow. They seem -to get a kind of blight when they're about half open, and what are not -blighted are full of bugs. What do you do with the bugs? I don't see -that you have any." - -I suggested the effectiveness of daily hand-picking. - -"Oh, but bless me! it's so much trouble. Mr. Roberts would never let -the time be taken for it. How stout your grass is! It's a great deal -stouter than ours. There's half as much again of it, I'm sure. And -you're cutting it! We haven't begun to cut yet; Mr. Roberts thought -he'd let it stand as long as he could, to give it a chance; but I'm -sure it's time. What do you do with all your roses?--make rose-water?" - -I said no. - -"I never saw such a quantity! I'll tell you what--if you'll send me a -basket or two of 'em, _I'll_ make some rose-water, and you shall have -half of it. Oh, what beautiful heart's-ease! My dear Caroline, you must -just give me one of those for my girls, for a pattern; you know they -are making artificial flowers, and they want some of these for their -bonnets. Really, they are quite equal to the French ones, _I_ think, -and--thank you!--that is superb. Now, my dear Caroline, one more--that -one with so much yellow in it;--want a little variety, you know. They -will be delighted. You know it is just the fashion." - -"I did not, indeed, Mrs. Roberts." - -"Didn't you? They wear little open bonnets of some light straw--rice is -the prettiest, or some kind of open-work--and here, at the side, just -here, a bunch of heart's-ease, right against the side of the head;--it -is very elegant." - -"Caroline has bad taste," said my father gravely; "she never wears -heart's-ease in a bonnet." - -"O no, of course, not these,--she is too careful of them--but you know -false heart's-ease, I mean. No, go on with your walk--you shall not -come in--I am not going to stay a minute." - -And my father and I quietly turned about and went down the walk again. - -"False heart's-ease!" said my father. - -"What a different thing all this scene is to those eyes, and to ours, -papa." - -"Yes," said my father. "Poor woman!--she carries a portable kitchen and -store-closet in her head, I believe, and everything she sees goes into -the one or the other." - -"Poor Mrs. Roberts!" said I, laughing. "Now that is the want of -cultivation, papa." - -"Not entirely, perhaps. There must be soil first to cultivate, Cary." - -"Well, her want is the same. And how much is lost for that want!" - -"Lost?--what is lost?" said another voice behind us; and turning, we -welcomed another and a very different neighbour, in our old friend Mr. -Ricardo. - -"What is lost?" - -"Happiness," said I. - -"For the want of what?" - -"For the want of a cultivated taste." - -"Pshaw!" said Mr. Ricardo, letting go my hand. "_That_ has nothing to -do with happiness." - -"Do you think so, sir?" - -"Certainly. What can a cultivated taste do for you, but create -imaginary wants, that you would do just as well without?" - -"If you have not them, you have not the exquisite pleasure of -gratifying them." - -"Well, and what if you haven't? How are you the worse off? The want -that is not known is not felt." - -"But the range of pleasure is a very different thing without them," -said I. - -"And character is a very different thing," said my father. - -"Character?" said Mr. Ricardo. - -"Yes," said my father. - -"I should like to hear you make that out." - -"And so should I," said I. "I was arguing only for enjoyment--I did not -venture so far as that." - -"Well, enjoyment," said Mr. Ricardo. "Do you think you have more -enjoyment here now, than one of the plain sons of the soil, who would -see nothing in roses but roses, and who would call 'Viola tricolor' a -'Johnny-jump-up?'" - -"In the first place, learning is not taste; and, in the second place, -you do not mean what you say, Mr. Ricardo. You know what Dr. Johnson -says of the quart pot and the pint pot--both may be equally full, but -the one holds twice as much as the other." - -"Ah, Dr. Johnson!" said Mr. Ricardo, with an odd little flourishing -wave of his hand; "you delude yourself! The quart pot is twice as -likely to be spilled. If you have some pleasures that other people -haven't, you have pains of your own, too, that they are exempt -from. Now I suppose a little mal-adjustment of proportions--a -little deviating from the exquisite line of correctness in men or -things--would overturn your whole cup of enjoyment, while his or mine -would stand as firm as ever." - -"But perhaps a sip of mine would be worth his entire cupful." - -"Now," said Mr. Ricardo, not minding me, "I fell in with a family -once--it was at the West, when I was travelling there. They were good, -plain, sensible, excellent people, happy in each other, and contented -with the rest of the world. They had everything within themselves, and -lived in the greatest comfort, and harmony, and plenty. I was with them -several days, and it occurred to me that people could not be happier -than they were." - -"But for your bringing them up as instances, I suppose their having -'everything within themselves' did not include the pleasures of a -cultivated intelligence?" - -"Well, I don't suppose they would have quoted Dr. Johnson to me. But -now of what use to them would be all that extra cultivation?" - -"Of what use to you," said my father, "is that window you had cut in -your library this spring, that looks to the west?" - -"Of very little use," said Mr. Ricardo, "for my wife sits in it all the -time." - -"Ah, Mr. Ricardo!" said I, laughing. - -"Well, now," said he, but his face gave way a little, "how are you any -better off than those people?" - -"I don't wish to make myself an example, sir; but put them down here -this evening, and what would they see in all this that we have been -enjoying?" - -"They would see what you see, I suppose. They had reasonably good -eyes--they were not microscopes or telescopes." - -"Precisely," said my father. "They would see what mere ordinary vision -could take in, _without_ the quick discernment of finely trained -sensibilities, and without the far-reaching and wide views of a mind -rich in knowledge and associations. Where cultivated senses find a -rare mingling of flavours, theirs would at best only perceive the -difference of stronger or fainter--of more or less sweet." - -"Senses literal or figurative, do you mean?" - -"Both," said my father. "You rarely find the one cultivated without the -other." - -"You may find the other without the one," said Mr. Ricardo. "I knew a -man once who had no aptness for anything but judging of wines, and he -was curious at that. He did it mostly by the sense of smell, too. All -the mind the man had seemed to reside in his nose." - -"That is an instance of morbid development," said my father, smiling, -"not in point." - -"You would have thought it was in point, if you had seen him," said Mr. -Ricardo, glancing at my father. - -"But the pleasures of a cultivated taste, Mr. Ricardo," said I, "may -be constantly enjoyed; and they are some of the purest, and most -satisfying, and most unmixed that we have." - -"And, I maintain, of the most useful," said my father. - -"To the character," said Mr. Ricardo. "But I do not believe that, where -they most prevail, are to be found in general the strongest minds or -the most hopeful class of our population." - -"My good sir," said my father, "do not confound things that have -nothing to do with each other. That may be true, and it may be equally -true of sundry other matters, such as correct pronunciation and the -usages of polite society, Mocha coffee and fine broadcloth,--none of -which, I hope, have any deleterious effect upon mind." - -"Well, go on," said Mr. Ricardo, without looking at him, "let us hear -how you make out your case." - -"Learning to draw nice distinctions, to feel shades of difference, -becoming alive to the perception and enjoyment of most fine and -delicate influences, the mind acquires a _habit of being_ which will -discover itself in other matters than those of pure taste. This faculty -of nice discrimination and quick feeling cannot be in high exercise in -one department alone, without being applied more or less generally to -other subjects. It will develope itself in the ordinary intercourse -and relations of social and domestic life, and the _tendency_ will be -to the producing or perfecting of that nice sense of proprieties, that -quick feeling of what is due to or from others, which we call tact." - -"But tact cannot be given, papa," said I. - -"And how is it useful if it could?" said Mr. Ricardo. - -"Useful?" said my father, meditating--"why, sir, the want of it is a -death-blow to I know not what proportion of the efforts that are made -after usefulness. How many an appeal from the pulpit has been ruined, -simply by bringing in a coarse or unhappy figure, which the speaker's -want of cultivation did not allow him to appreciate! How many a word, -intended for counsel or kindness, has fallen to the ground, because the -kindly person did not know how to work out his intentions!" - -"But, you cannot give tact, father," I repeated. - -"No, Cary--that is true--tact cannot be _given_; it is the growth -only of minds endowed with peculiarly fine sensibilities; but the -mind trained to nice judging in one set of matters can exercise the -same acumen upon others, so soon as its attention is fairly called -out to them. Taste is a thing of particular growth and cultivation in -each separate branch; but certainly the mind that has attained high -excellence in one is finely prepared to take lessons in another." - -"There may be something in that," said Mr. Ricardo, as if he thought -there wasn't much. - -"But, beyond that," said my father, "the cultivation of taste opens -truly a new world of enjoyment utterly closed to every one destitute -of it. Nature's stores of beauty and wonder, the fine analogies of -moral truth that lie hidden under them, the new setting forth of nature -which is Art's beautiful work,--how numberless, how measureless the -sources of pleasure to the mind once quickened to see and taste them! -Once quickened, it will not cease to rejoice in them, and more and -more. And as the mind always assimilates itself to those objects with -which it is very conversant, and as these sources of pleasure are all -pure, it follows, that not only a refined but a purifying influence -also is at work in all this; and the result should be, if nothing -untoward counteract, that everything gross, everything _improper_, in -the strict sense of the word, everything unseemly, unlovely, impure, -becomes disgustful, and more and more. And whatever is the reverse of -these meets with a juster appreciation, a keener relish, a truer love -than could be felt for them by a mind not so cultivated. This refining -and purifying effect will be seen in the whole character. It will make -those solid qualities, which are, indeed, more worth in themselves, -show with yet new lustre and tell with higher effect, and not the -outward attire only, but the very inward graces of the mind will be -worn with a more perfect adjustment." - -"Hum--well," said Mr. Ricardo, about a minute after my father had done -speaking, "you have made a pretty fair case of it." - -My father smiled, and we all three paced up and down the walk in -silence. I thought we had done with the subject. - -"That's a beautiful sky!" said Mr. Ricardo, coming to a stand, with his -face to the west. - -"Look down yonder," said my father. - -In the southwestern quarter lay a beautiful fleecy mass of cloud: the -under edges touched with exquisite rose-colour, sailing slowly down the -sky--pushed by that same faint north wind. Just over it--just over it, -sat a little star, shining at us with its unchanging ray. - -"Would your Tennessee friends see enough there to hold their thoughts -for half a minute?" said I, when we had looked as long; but Mr. Ricardo -did not answer me. - -"That painted cloud," said my father, "is like the pleasures of -earth--catching the eye with fair hues; the star, like the better -pleasures, that have their source above the earth. That light fills, -indeed, it may be, a much smaller space in our eye, or our fancy, than -the colours on the cloud; but mark,--it is pure, bright, and undying, -while the other is a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then -vanisheth away." - -I looked at the star, and I looked at my father, and my heart was full. -I thought Mr. Ricardo had got enough, and I think he thought so too, -for when we reached the far end of the walk, he left us, with a very -hearty shake of the hand, indeed. - -My father and I walked then, without talking any more, till glow after -glow passed away and night had set in. The little cloud had lost all -its fair colours, and had drifted far down into the southern sky, -a soft rack of gray vapour, and the star was shining steadily and -brightly as ever in the deepening blue. - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Phil. - -MISSION CHAPEL OF SAN JOSE, NEAR SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS.] - - - - -THE MISSION CHURCH OF SAN JOSÉ.[19] - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - Not far from San Antonio, - Stands the Church of San José; - Brightly its walls are gilded - With the sun's departing ray. - The long grass twines the arches through, - And, stirred by evening air, - Wave gracefully the vine's dark leaves, - And bends the prickly pear. - - High, from its broken, mouldering top, - The holy cross looks down, - While round the open portals stand - Figures of saints in stone. - And round its ancient spires, - In the turrets wide and high, - While you watch the night-birds flap their wings, - You hear their piercing cry. - - And ever and anon the bats, - In clusters, seek their homes, - As night, with shrouding mantle, - On the Mission Chapel comes. - Oh! 'twas not thus, when Jesuit priests - Their chaunt at evening sung, - As, echoing o'er the river's shores, - The vesper bells were rung. - - Now, while we linger round its walls, - Its history would we learn?-- - How San José's walls and spires rose up?-- - To its legends we must turn. - In learning high, and cunning deep, - With wealth and numbers, come-- - Christians to make the red men all-- - These haughty priests of Rome. - - Did they tell them they were brothers? - That every human heart - Was a link in love's great chain-- - Of salvation's scheme a part? - Not they: they bade them hew the stone, - And bear its heavy weight; - And, while they used the Indian's strength, - They gained his fiercest hate. - - But towers, and spires, and steeples rise, - And the Church of San José - Arrests the traveller, who kneels, - Then passes on his way. - Turning once more, to bend before - The Virgin and her Son, - The Cherubim and Seraphim - From his strained gaze are gone. - - No converts from the red men - Made these haughty priests of Rome; - But still on ignorance and vice - The holy cross looked down, - Though Jesus, with the crown of thorns, - The offering made for sin, - And the vase of holy water, - Borne by angels, stood within. - - Rich tapestries, and gilded signs, - And images stood forth, - And the patron saint, San José-- - Were all these nothing worth? - "The red man's heart is adamant," - Thus do the Jesuits say; - "Unmoved they see these splendours-- - Unchanged they turn away." - - Not under stern and unjust rule - The red man's heart will melt, - But by such gentle, sorrowing love, - As Christ for mortals felt. - Oh! that the star might shine for them, - That unto us is given, - To cheer our dreary path on earth, - And guide our steps to heaven. - - Let the ruins of her glory stand, - A monument to art; - But the temple of the Living God - Should be the human heart; - While mouldering in tower and wall, - And bending in decay, - Do we gaze upon this chapel fair, - The Church of San José. - -[Footnote 19: San José is the most interesting of the ruins of the -mission chapels in Texas. There are five of them,--the chapel of -the Alamo, at San Antonio; Chapel of Conception, two miles from San -Antonio; Chapel of San José, five miles from San Antonio; Chapel of San -Juan, ten miles from the same place; and one other near Goliad. These -chapels were built by the Jesuits, at the time when they contemplated -Christianizing the Indians of Mexico. The Indians were obliged to -assist in the labour. The chapels are all in a state of ruin. On the -top of San José, near the large cross at its foot, a peach tree grows. -Occasionally there is some sort of service performed in them. There is -a great deal of carving about them, and remains of former splendour; -but they have become refuges for the bats and owls, which are for ever -flying in and about them.] - - - - -HAWKING. - -BY EDITH MAY. - - - She had drawn rein within the castle court - Under its arching gateway, and there stood, - Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs, - Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward. - Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips, - Parted and eager, seemed to drink the air - Now fresh with morning, and her light form kept - Its throne exultingly. A single plume - Waved from her hunting-cap, and the quick wind - Close to the floating ringlets of her hair - Pressed down its snowy fringes. But the folds - Of her rich dress hung motionless, and its hem - Swept to the shaven turf. Near by, a page - Held in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawk - Sat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist. - - - - -HILLSIDE COTTAGE. - -BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR. - - -There was no spot in all Elmwood that we children so dearly loved -to visit as Hillside Cottage. No matter where our wanderings -began--whether we started for the meadow, in pursuit of the rich -strawberry--for the thick woods, where the wild flowers bloomed so -luxuriantly, and the bright scarlet clusters of the partridge-berry, -contrasting beautifully with its dark green leaves, sprang up at our -feet--for the brook, to gather the shining pebbles, or to watch the -speckled trout, as they darted swiftly through the water--no matter -where our wanderings began, it was a strange thing if they did not -terminate somewhere about the sweet wild place where Aunt Mary lived. - -Now, prythee, gentle reader, do not picture to your "mind's eye" a -stately mansion with an unpretending name, when you read of Hillside -Cottage. Neither was it a cottage _ornée_, with piazzas, and columns, -and Venetian blinds. It was a low-roofed dwelling, and its walls had -never been visited by a single touch of the painter's brush: but the -wild vines had sprung up around it, until their interlacing tendrils -formed a beautiful network nearly all over the little building; and -the moss upon the roof had been gathering there for many years, -growing thicker and greener after the snows of each succeeding winter -had rested upon it. It stood, as the name given it by the villagers -indicated, upon the hillside, just in the edge of the woods that nearly -covered the rounded summit of the hill; a little rivulet danced along, -almost beneath the very windows, and at a short distance below fell -over a ledge of rocks, forming a small but beautiful cascade, then, -tired of its gambols, it flowed onwards as demurely as if it had never -leaped gaily in the sunlight, or frolicked, like a child at play, with -every flower that bent to kiss its bright waters. We thought there was -no place where the birds sang half so sweetly, or where the air was so -laden with fragrance; and sure am I there was no place where we were -more cordially welcomed than in Aunt Mary's cottage. - -I well remember Aunt Mary's first arrival in Elmwood. For two or three -weeks it had been rumoured that the cottage on the hill was to receive -a new tenant. Some slight repairs were going on, and some one had seen -a wagon, loaded with furniture, unladen at the door. This was enough to -excite village curiosity; and when we assembled in the church, the next -Sabbath, I fear that more than one eye wandered from the pulpit to the -door, to catch the first glimpse of our new neighbour. Just as our old -pastor was commencing the morning service, a lady, entirely unattended, -came slowly up the aisle, and entered the pew designated by the sexton. -Her tall and graceful figure was robed in deepest black, and it was -evident that grief, rather than years, had dimmed the brightness of her -eye, and driven the rich colouring of youth and health from her cheek. -But there was something in the quiet, subdued glance of those large, -thoughtful eyes, in the intellect that seemed throned upon her lofty -forehead, and in the sweet and tender expression that played around -her small and delicately formed mouth, that more than compensated for -the absence of youthful bloom and freshness. I did not think of these -things then; but, child that I was, after one glance I shrank back in -my seat, awe-struck and abashed by the dignity of her bearing. Yet when -she rose from her knees, and I caught another glimpse of her pale face, -my little heart seemed drawn towards her by some powerful spell; and -after service was concluded, as we passed down the aisle side by side, -I timidly placed in her hand a wild rose I had gathered on my way to -church. She took it with a smile, and in a sweet low voice thanked me -for the simple gift. Our homes lay in the same direction, and ere we -reached my father's gate I imagined myself well acquainted with Miss -Atherton. - -From that hour my visits to Hillside Cottage were neither "few" nor -"far between." My parents laughed at my enthusiastic praises of my new -friend; but they soon became assured that they were well grounded: -and it was not long before the answer, "Oh, she has only gone to see -Aunt Mary," was the most satisfactory one that could be given to the -oft-repeated query, "Where in the world _has_ Jessie gone now?" - -She lived almost the life of a recluse; seldom mingling with the -villagers, save in the services of the sanctuary, or when, like a -ministering angel, she hovered around the couch of the dying. Formed to -be an ornament to any circle, and to attract admiration and attention -wherever she moved, she yet shrank from public notice, and was rarely -seen, except by those who sought her society in her own little cottage. -To those few it was evident that her love of seclusion was rather the -effect of some deep grief, that had in early life cast its shadow over -her pathway, than the constitutional tendency of her mind. Hers was -a character singularly lovely and symmetrical. With a mind strong, -clear, and discriminating, she yet possessed all those finer shades of -fancy and feeling, all that confiding tenderness, all those womanly -sympathies, and all that delicacy and refinement of thought and manner -which, in the opinion of many, can rarely be found _in woman_, combined -with a high degree of talent. Love of the beautiful and sublime was -with her almost a passion, and conversing with her, when animated by -her favourite theme, was like reading a page of rare poetry, or gazing -upon a series of paintings, the work of a well-skilled hand. - -Years passed on. The little village of Elmwood had increased in -size, if not in comeliness: the old church had given place to one -of statelier mien and prouder vestments, and the winding lane, with -its primroses and violets, had become a busy street, with tall rows -of brick bordering it on either side. But still the cottage on the -hill remained quiet and peaceful as ever, undisturbed by the changes -that were at work beneath it. A silver thread might now and then be -traced amid the abundant raven tresses that were parted on Aunt Mary's -forehead; and my childish curls had grown darker, and were arranged -with more precision than of yore. Yet still the friendship of earlier -years remained unbroken, and a week seldom passed without finding me at -Hillside Cottage. My visits had of late been more frequent than ever, -for the time was drawing near when our intimacy must be interrupted. I -was soon to leave my father's roof, for a new home in a far-off clime, -and to exchange the love and tenderness that had ever been lavished -upon me there for a nearer and more engrossing attachment. - -It was the evening before my bridal. I had stolen away unperceived, for -I could not resist the temptation of one more quiet chat with Aunt Mary. - -"I scarcely expected you to-night, my dear Jessie," said she, as I -entered, "but you are none the less welcome. Do you know I am very -selfish to-night? When I ought to be rejoicing in your happiness, my -heart is heavy, because I feel that I can no longer be to you what -I have been, chief friend and confidant. Oh! I shall indeed miss my -little Jessie." - -"You will always be to me just what you have been, Aunt Mary," I -replied, and tears filled my eyes, as I threw myself upon a low seat -at her feet. "You must not think that because I am a wife, I shall -love my old friends any the less: and you of all others, you who have -been to me as a dear, dear elder sister,--you who have instructed and -counselled me, and have shared all my thoughts and feelings since I was -a little child; oh! do you think any one can come between our hearts? -We may not meet as frequently as we have done, but you will ever find -me just the same, and I shall tell you all my thoughts, and all my -cares and sorrows, and all my joys too, just as I always have done." - -"No, no, Jessie, say not so. That may not be. You may love me just as -well, but you will love another more. Your heart _cannot_ be open to -me as it has been, for it will belong to another. Its hopes, its fears, -its joys, its sorrows, its cares, its love, will all be so intimately -blended with those of another, that they cannot be separated. No wife, -provided the relations existing between her husband and herself are -what they should be, can be to _any_ other friend exactly what she was -before her marriage." - -"Why, Aunt Mary!--you surely do not mean to say that a wife should -never have any confidential friends?" - -"The history of woman, dear Jessie, is generally simply a record of -the workings of her own heart; in ordinary cases, she has little else -to consider. 'The world of the affections is her world,' and there -finds she her appropriate sphere of action. What I mean to say is,--not -that a wife should have no friend save her husband,--but that, if the -hearts of the twain are as closely linked together as they should -be, if they always beat in perfect unison, and if their thoughts and -feelings harmonize as they ought to do, it will be difficult for her -to draw aside the veil from her own heart, and lay it open to the gaze -of any other being, without, in some degree, betraying the confidence -reposed in her by him who should be nearer and dearer than all the -world beside. The heart is like a temple, Jessie. It has its outer and -its inner court, and it has also its holy of holies. The outer court -is full: common acquaintances,--those that we call friends, merely -because they are not enemies,--are gathered there. The inner court but -few may enter,--the few who we feel love us, and to whom we are united -by the strong bonds of sympathy; but the sanctum sanctorum, the holy -of holies, that must never be profaned by alien footsteps, or by the -tread of any, save him to whom the wife hath said, 'Whither thou goest -I will go, thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'" - -The deepening twilight hung over us, wrapping all things in its sombre -mantle, and its solemn stillness fell with soft, subduing power upon -our hearts, as we sat, for many moments, each lost in reverie, ere I -spoke again. - -"Aunt Mary, why were you never married?" - -"Rather an abrupt question that, my love. What if I say, in the words -of the old song, because 'nobody ever came wooing me?'" - -"Nay, nay, Aunt Mary, I know you have never passed through life -unloved, and I have sometimes fancied not unloving either. But pardon -me, I fear my obtrusive curiosity has given you pain," I added quickly, -as in the dim light I saw that her pale cheek was growing still -paler, and that deep, though subdued, anguish was stamped in legible -characters upon her brow. - -"I have nought to pardon, my child, for our long familiarity has given -you a right to ask the question; and I wonder that you have never made -the inquiry before, rather than that you make it now. The history of my -early life is a sad one, but you shall hear it, and know why I am now -such a lone and isolated being. - -"Upon the early part of my life it will be necessary for me to dwell -but slightly. My childhood passed dreamily away, marked by no event of -sufficient importance to leave a very deep impression upon my mind. -An only child, I was my father's idol, and he loved me none the less -tenderly, because the destroying angel had snatched his young wife -from his bosom, and I was all that was left to him of her. I was very -young when my mother died--too young to appreciate the magnitude of -my loss, or to feel that I was motherless. Yet I have an indistinct -recollection of a sweet, girlish face, that used to bend over my couch, -and of a melodious voice that was wont to lull me to my baby slumbers. -The remembrance is a very faint one, but I have never thought of angels -in my dreams, or in my waking hours, when the vision did not wear the -semblance of my mother's face, nor of angel voices without in fancy -hearing again my mother's low, soft tones. - -"As I grew older, the best instructors in the country were procured for -me, and I was taught all the accomplishments of the day, while, at the -same time, I was not allowed to neglect any of the plainer, but equally -important branches of female education. At last my education was -completed, and 'I came out' under auspices as flattering as those under -which any young girl ever made her debut upon the stage of life. The -harsh fingers of Time have wrought such changes upon my face and form, -that you may find it difficult to believe that in my youth I was called -beautiful. Yet so it was, and this, together with my father's station -in society and reputation for wealth, drew a crowd of admirers around -me. One of my father's chief sources of delight, was the exercise of -an almost prodigal hospitality, and he dearly loved to see me, attired -with all the elegance that his ample means could afford, presiding at -his table, or moving among our guests, in his fond eyes 'the star of -the goodly companie.' - -"It was by the bedside of his dying sister, that I first met Walter -Elmore. Effie had been a schoolmate of mine, and an intimate friendship -had sprung up between us. Sisterless as I was, I had learned to cherish -for her almost a sister's love. Soon after we left school, her father -removed his residence from a distant part of the country to the city -near which mine resided, and our girlish attachment was cemented -and strengthened, as we entered, hand in hand, upon the duties and -pleasures of early womanhood. - -"Effie's constitution was naturally weak, and she had been subject from -her childhood to a slight cough; but her friends gave little heed to -it, as the buoyancy of her spirits and her unchanged demeanour seemed -to preclude the idea of any seated complaint. But the destroyer came, -and disease had made fearful havoc before we awoke to a sense of her -danger. I was with her day and night for a few weeks, and then Effie -Elmore, in her youth and loveliness, slept the 'sleep that knows no -waking.' - -"Her brother, of whom I had often heard her speak in terms of -enthusiastic fondness, had been abroad, completing his studies, and I -never met him until we stood, side by side, gazing upon the calm, still -face of the beautiful being whom we both so tenderly loved. - -"It is needless for me to say that from that hour we met often. At my -father's house he became a frequent and a welcome guest; and we met -too, at no distant intervals, by Effie's grave, in her favourite walks, -and in every nook that had been made sacred by her presence. We thought -that it was our mutual love for the departed that drew us together; we -thought it was her memory, and the recollection of the hour when first -we met, that made us seek each other's society, and that rendered the -moments we spent together so dear to us both; but ah me! but few months -had rolled over our heads before we found that it was even a stronger -tie; that it was the mystic chain that binds heart to heart, the deep -love of congenial spirits. - -"And Walter Elmore was indeed one that any maiden might be proud of -loving. His face and figure were cast in nature's finest mould. But -that were nothing--it is of the nobleness of his character of which -I would speak. Proud and high-spirited even to a fault, he could not -stoop to a mean or unworthy action. Generous and confiding, his soul -was filled with all true and noble impulses, and his heart was the home -of pure and elevated affections. His intellectual powers were such as -to win the admiration and esteem of all who knew him, and he possessed -also the rare gift of eloquence,--a gift that seldom fails to find its -way to a woman's heart. What wonder was it then that I yielded mine -to him wholly and unreservedly, and soon learned to listen for his -footstep, as I listened for no other? My father smiled upon his suit, -and gave it his unqualified approbation. Elmore was not wealthy, but -his family was one of the first in the country, and my father was proud -of his brilliant talents and untarnished name. I had wealth enough for -both, and it was decided that upon my twentieth birthday our nuptials -should be celebrated. - -"Alas! how little know we of the future! Ere that day came, I was -penniless--I had almost said a penniless orphan. My father's capital -was all invested in the business transactions of two of the oldest, -and, it was supposed, the wealthiest houses in New York. Two successive -weeks brought news of the failure of both firms, and he found himself, -when far advanced in life, stripped of the fortune he had acquired by -his own hard exertions in earlier years, and utterly destitute. He sank -beneath the blow, and for weeks I hung over his couch, fearing each -night that the next rising sun would see me an orphan. - -"He rose at length from that bed of suffering, but oh, how changed! -His hair, which had before but lightly felt the touch of time, was -white as snow; his once erect form was bent and trembling; his eye had -lost its lustre, and what was far more sad than all, his mental vigour -had departed, and he was as imbecile and feeble as a little child. -Accustomed as I had ever been to lean upon his strong arm for support, -to look to him for guidance and direction in all things, I was now -obliged to summon all my fortitude, and be to him in turn protector and -guardian. - -"The whole of our property was gone, our ruin was complete, and for a -time I was overwhelmed by the new and strange cares that were pressing -so heavily upon me. But I soon found that it was time for me to _act_ -rather than mourn, and I began to look around me for some means by -which to obtain a comfortable livelihood for my poor father. I might -have obtained a situation as governess, where the labour would be -light, and the salary more than sufficient for my wants; but in that -case I must be separated from my parent, and leave him to the tender -mercies of strangers. The same objection arose in my mind in connexion -with almost every course that presented itself, and I finally concluded -upon renting a small house in a pleasant little village not far from -the city, where I could obtain a few pupils, and still be able to watch -over my feeble charge. - -"It was in the 'merry, merry month of May,' that the news of our -reverses came, but it was late in October before we left our home, that -home rendered sacred by so many hallowed associations. The intervening -months had been spent by me in watching over the sick couch of my aged -parent, in striving to compose my own agitated spirits, and to gain -sufficient courage to gaze unshrinkingly upon the new and strange -pathway I was about to tread. - -"Slowly and wearily passed they away, and the day at length dawned -that was to witness our departure. All was bright and joyous in the -outer world. The air was soft and balmy as a morning in June. The trees -were just changing their green summer robes for the gorgeous attire of -autumn, with its rich colouring and brilliant dyes; and the sky was -as cloudless as if the storm-king had been dethroned, and his banners -furled for ever. The house, and everything around it, presented much -the same appearance as in happier days; for the gentleman who had -purchased it had bought the furniture also, with the exception of a few -indispensable articles, that the kindness of the creditors allowed us -to retain for our new dwelling. - -"But oh, the darkness of the inner world! the gloom in which my own -soul was wrapped, when I awoke from a short and troubled sleep, and -the thought fell as a dull, sickening weight upon my heart, that I -had slept for the last time in that quiet chamber! I passed from room -to room, and every step but added to my grief. Here was the nursery -and the little crib, where I could just remember sleeping in my very -babyhood; here the retired study, with its perfect stillness, and the -light coming in so stealthily through the stained glass; here the -library, my father's favourite apartment, and there, in the recess -with its bay window, the arm-chair that had ever been his chosen -resting-place; and here the room where my mother had lain, in her quiet -beauty, ere the coffin-lid was closed, and she was borne hence for ever. - -"In a distant part of the grounds, where the forest-trees had not yet -fallen, and where the hand of art had done little more than to clear -away the tangled underbrush, there was a small plot enclosed by a stone -wall, over which wild vines and running mosses had been trained until -the gray stones were almost entirely hidden. The grass in the enclosure -was of the deepest green, and shaded though it was by the overhanging -trees, there had not a faded leaf or a withered branch been suffered to -rest upon it. In the centre was a mound of earth, and over it a slab -of white marble, upon which lay the sculptured image of a woman, young -and of surpassing loveliness. She lay as if in sleep, one rounded arm -thrown over her head, and the other dropping by her side; while from -the half-opened hand a white rose-bud had seemingly just fallen. It was -my mother's burial-place, and I bent my steps thitherward that I might -cast one farewell look upon it, before it passed into the possession of -strangers. A tide of softening recollections swept over me as I stood -by the grave, and falling upon my knees, I poured out my full heart in -prayer. - - "'Oh, when the heart is sad--when bitter thoughts - Are crowding thickly up for utterance, - And the poor, common words of courtesy - Are such a bitter mocking--how much - The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!' - -I rose from my knees calmer than I had been for many weeks. I was sad, -but not despairing,--and felt again, what in my despondency I had -well-nigh forgotten, that I was in the hands of One who careth for His -children. - -"When I returned to the house, I found the vehicle that was to convey -us away waiting at the door. My father was already in his seat, and I -sprang quickly in, not trusting myself to cast another look around me. -He--thanks to his weakness and imbecility--had partaken little of my -dread or agony. Provided his daily wants were supplied, it mattered -little to him where his lot was cast." - -"But, Aunt Mary, where was Walter Elmore all this time?" - -"I should have told you, my love, that business of vital importance -called him to a distant part of the country a short time previous to -our misfortunes, and there detained him. He was kept apprised by my -letters, however, of all that had befallen us, and hastened to my side -as soon as he returned. He vehemently opposed my pursuance of the -course I had marked out for myself, and with all the eloquence and -earnestness of love, besought me to become his wife at once, and give -him a right to protect and guard me. - -"But fervently as he prayed, and strongly as my own heart seconded -his entreaties, I could not yield. I had thought that it was to be my -blessed privilege to aid and assist him I loved; to place him where -it would no longer be necessary for him to confine his noble mind to -close and ceaseless drudgery, and constant toil for his daily bread. -And how could I now consent to be a drawback upon his efforts, and to -burden him with the care of my helpless parent? - -"'No, no, Walter,' said I, in reply to his oft-repeated solicitations; -'urge me no longer. For the present our paths must be separated. Your -task will be hard enough, while you are taking the first steps towards -acquiring a name and a competence, even if you have no interests but -your own to regard. Were I alone in the world, I would joyfully link my -fate with yours, and we would toil together, side by side. But as it -is, it may not be. My father cannot understand why he need be deprived -of any of his accustomed luxuries. Be it my care that he misses them -not. I will labour for his sustenance and my own, until you are so -circumstanced that, without detriment to your own prospects, you can -relieve me of the charge. _Then_ come to me, and the hand pledged to -you in brighter days shall be yours!' - -"A year passed not unhappily away in the earnest and faithful discharge -of the new duties devolving upon me. My school flourished beyond my -expectations. I had gained the esteem and confidence of those around -me, and I found no difficulty in supplying our daily wants. Elmore was -in an adjacent city, in the office of an eminent lawyer, who, it was -imagined, would ere long make him a partner in his business. During the -last few months his visits had been less frequent than of yore. Rumour -told strange tales of a young and exceedingly beautiful girl, the -sister of his employer, who was playing the mischief with the hearts -and brains of half the young men in M----, and more than hinted that -my lover was among the number of her admirers. Things went on thus for -some time. I fancied that, when we met, which was rarely, his manner -was cold and reserved, and that he seemed to shrink from my presence. I -now know that my own jealous fancies threw a false colouring over all -his actions, and that, if there was any coldness in his demeanour, it -sprang from the unusual, and, in fact, unintended reserve of mine. - -"At last I heard, from the lips of one whose veracity and friendship -I thought I could not question, that his leisure hours were all spent -in the society of my supposed rival, and that, when rallied by some of -his associates with regard to myself, he had denied our engagement, and -spoken lightly and contemptuously of the 'school-mistress.' - -"A thousand contending passions were striving for the mastery in my -breast, when, upon the evening of that day, after its weary labours -were over, I threw myself upon a low seat in the room that served -alike as school-room and parlour. Woman's pride--and who does not know -that 'there is not a high thing out of heaven her pride o'er-mastereth -not?'--was all aroused. Memory was wide awake, bringing back the -recollection of by-gone days, when my hand had been sought by the -proudest in the land. Then came thoughts of our early love--of the -exquisite happiness that had filled my heart, when I had so rejoiced -that wealth was at my command, and that I could place it all at the -feet of one whom I deemed so noble and so pure--and of a later period, -when, rather than place the slightest barrier in his way to fame and -fortune, I had resisted all his entreaties, and confined myself to -close and unremitting toil. It was at this very moment when I was half -maddened by the retrospect, that the door opened, and Walter Elmore -entered. - -"Hastily rising, with every appearance of calmness, I received him with -a cold and stately courtesy, surprising even to myself. - -"'What means this, Mary?' said he; and I could see that his lip -quivered, and the hand he had extended trembled. 'Why do you greet me -thus coldly?' - -"'Let your own heart answer the question, Mr. Elmore. To that and -to your own words I refer you for reasons why we must henceforth be -strangers.' - -"'You speak enigmas to-night, my dear Mary. My heart tells me no tale -that can enable me to comprehend this unlooked-for change in you. It -will take more than your simple assertion that we are strangers, to -render us such; and he again attempted to take my hand. - -"I drew back more haughtily than before, and words that I cannot now -repeat burst from my lips. I can only tell you that they were harsh, -stinging words--words fraught with contempt and bitterness--words that -a proud spirit like Elmore's could not brook. - -"He sought no farther explanation. 'Be it as you will,' he said, and -his manner was as stern as my own; 'I have asked you to account for -this change, and you refuse compliance, couching that refusal in terms -that I can hear twice from no one, not even from yourself. We meet no -more; but remember, Mary Atherton, the words you have this day uttered -will ring in your ear until it is closed to all earthly sounds. You -have given heed to some idle tale of calumny, and have wantonly flung -away a heart that was filled but with your image--a heart that had -centred upon you its every dream and wish for the far future--that -lived but in the hope of one day calling you its own--and that looked -forward to that period as to the commencement of a better and a happier -existence. The hour will come when you will feel that this is true, and -then will you bewail the step you have now taken!'--and without one -farewell look he rushed from the room. - -"This prophecy was fulfilled almost before the echo of his departing -footsteps had died away. I felt that I was labouring under some strange -delusion, and bursting into tears, I wept long and bitterly. I would -have given worlds to recall him; but his fleet steed was bearing him -from me, as on the wings of the wind. Yet, hope whispered: 'We shall -surely meet again. My harsh words angered him; but he has loved me so -long and so fondly, that he will not resign me thus easily. All will -yet be explained.' - -"But day after day passed and he came not; and my heart was as if -an iron hand was resting upon it, pressing it downward to the very -earth. The excitement of passion had died away, and I could now see -how greatly I had erred, in not telling him frankly the tale that -had reached my ears, and thus giving him an opportunity to exculpate -himself from the charge. Alas! for pride and anger, how often does the -shadow of one unguarded moment darken our life-paths for ever! - -"Two weeks had elapsed; and one night, after vain attempts to sleep, I -rose from my couch and threw open the lattice. The glare of daylight -was wanting; but the moon poured forth such a flood of radiance that -the minutest object was distinctly visible. All heaven and earth were -still; the very leaves upon the trees hung motionless as those painted -upon canvass. The perfect silence was becoming painfully oppressive, -when a low sound, like distant footsteps, fell upon my ear. Nearer and -still nearer it came, and I could distinguish a faint murmur, as of -half-suppressed voices. Then a group of men approached. They walked -slowly and heavily, and as they drew near I perceived that they bore a -dark object. Soon, by their reverential mien, and by the unyielding, -uneven nature of their burden, the stiff outlines of which were -discernible beneath the mantle thrown over it, I knew they were bearing -the dead. - -"They were passing directly beneath my window, when a sudden movement -of the bearers disarranged the pall, and the moonbeams fell clear and -soft upon the uncovered features. I leaned forward, and--oh, God! it -was the face of Walter Elmore! - -"With a shriek that rang out fearfully upon the night-air, I rushed -forth, and threw myself upon the motionless form. The men paused in -astonishment; but I heeded them not; I lifted the wet, dark locks from -his forehead: more than living beauty rested upon it; but it was cold, -icy cold,--so cold that the touch chilled my very life-blood. I placed -my hand upon his heart: but it beat no longer. I kissed his pale lips -again and again, and wildly called him by name, and prayed that he -would speak to me once, _only once_ more; but he answered not. They -thought I was mad, and attempted to raise me, and bear the body on; -but I clung to it with a frenzied clasp, exclaiming: 'You shall not -separate us,--he is mine,--he is mine!' Then, suddenly, in thunder -tones, a voice from the depths of my own spirit sounded in my ears: 'He -is not yours: your own hand severed the ties that bound you. What dost -thou here?' and I fell senseless to the ground. - -"When I next awoke to consciousness, the snow had rested for many weeks -upon the grave of Walter Elmore. - -"I cannot dwell longer upon this theme. Years have fled since that name -has passed my lips, until this evening; but my brain whirls, even now, -when I recall the agony of that moment. Elmore had been crossing a -narrow bridge, when his foot slipped, and he was precipitated into the -water beneath. The current was strong; and his body was found, by some -travellers, washed on shore some distance below. - -"I learned, before many months had passed, that the tale to which I -had given credence was an entire fabrication, having its origin solely -in jealousy and malice. He had never swerved from his fidelity, even -for one moment; but I,--oh! would to God that my spirit might but for -once hold communion with his, that I might humble myself before him, -and implore forgiveness for the injustice and coldness of our last -interview! - -"Little more remains to be told. Shortly after, my father sank to his -rest; and the death of a distant relative placed me in possession of a -small annuity, which enabled me to purchase this cottage. Here I shall -probably live until called to rejoin my loved ones in a happier clime." - -Aunt Mary's story was ended. My heart was too full for utterance, and -silently I pressed my lips upon her pale forehead, and wended my way -homewards. - -The next morning I left Elmwood. When I again revisited my early home, a -plain slab of marble in the churchyard bore the name of Mary Atherton. - - - - -SUNSET ON THE RIVER DELAWARE. -A SONNET, TO "SIBYL." - -BY J. I. PEASE. - - - A day of storms!--But, at its latest close, - _Beyond_ the cloud, comes forth the glowing sun, - Kissing the waves to dimples, one by one, - O'er which our homeward bark serenely goes. - The blue expanse with tremulous lustre glows, - As the warm hues of evening fade to dun; - And the still twilight hour comes softly down, - Like blessed, eyelids, for the day's repose. - And thus _our_ day!--The heavy clouds rolled past, - The dark eclipse of doubt and fear is o'er; - The tides of life flow calmly as before, - And love's pure tranquil moon shines clear at last. - Oh, may this hour of beauty and of rest - Bring peace undreaming to thy troubled breast. - - - - -FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. - -BY S. A. H. - - - I saw a noble bark upon the angry main-- - The foamy billows pressed upon her track; - Now high, now low, I saw her timbers strain, - As forth she bounded o'er the waters black. - But ever, as a deeper plunge she gave, - Phosphoric brightness gleamed along the wave: - And thus, I said, wide o'er Life's stormy sea, - Glances the light of Faith, so pure and free. - - I marked a threatening cloud hang o'er the western sky, - And throw its blackness o'er the landscape fair, - Whence lightnings flashed, whence pealed the thunder high, - And wide re-echoed through the trembling air. - The sun broke forth, and all its dark array - Was gilded with the hues of parting day: - And thus, I said, can Hope's bright rays illume, - And richly paint the darkest days of gloom. - - I saw, at twilight eve, a snowy flower-- - It closed its leaves and drooped its tender bud; - Cold came the dew, and blightingly the shower - Swept o'er the plant in swift destructive flood. - But, bending o'er its tender charge its leaves,[20] - Bows the strong branch, and needed shelter gives: - And thus, I said, does Charity descend, - And proves to every drooping one a friend. - -[Footnote 20: The tamarind plant, which closes its leaves over its -young fruit and flowers.] - - - - -CASTLE-BUILDING. - -BY JAMES T. MITCHELL. - - - At twilight, when the deepening shades - Of humid night are closing fast, - When o'er bright fields and green arcades - The dazzling beams of gold are cast, - Another day its weary round - Of mingled joys and pains has run, - And clouds, with golden fringes bound, - In beauty veil the setting sun,-- - - A silence, pleasing, calm, profound, - Falls soothing on the raptured brain; - The hum of busy life is drowned, - On crowded street and lonely plain; - The soul, in dreamy reveries lost, - To shadowy realms far distant roves, - In stormy waves of ether tost, - Then wandering wild in heavenly groves. - - And cloud-built castles, towering high, - O'er gorgeous scenes that fancy rears, - Where laughing orbs illume the sky, - Seem mansions for our future years; - And, while the spirit gazing stands, - Enwrapt with pleasure at the scenes - Which fill Imagination's lands - With palaces for fairy queens, - - The view is changing--all is gone-- - The castles, fading slow away, - As misty shapes at early dawn, - Vanish before the coming day; - And storm-clouds now are lowering round; - Wild demon shapes are flitting by; - Fierce flames are rising from the ground, - And lurid lightnings cleave the sky. - - Bleak snow-capped mountains o'er us frown, - While, gray and grim, through darkened air, - Towers and turrets, looking down - From rocky heights o'erhanging there, - Seem prisons for the wandering brain, - Within whose deep and caverned walls - 'Tis doomed for ever to remain, - 'Mid shrieks as from demoniac halls. - - But pyramids above these rise, - Whose summits, gleaming gaily bright, - Inspire with hope the fainting eyes, - As bathed they stand in golden light, - Lifting their peaks high o'er the dark, - Like shining spots, that on the breast - Of darkened Luna, seem to mark - Some towering Etna's blazing crest. - - Perched on these lofty granite piles, - Rise adamantine domes of power, - Secure from treachery, force, or wiles, - Reared in Ambition's happy hour, - When, having left the storm behind, - Of raging battles, fears, and hates, - He spurns their threats as empty wind, - Himself the guardian of the gates. - - Here in these grand, but lonely halls,-- - Unmingling with the crowd below, - And all unharmed by what befalls - Poor wanderers in this world of woe,-- - Ambition, well-directed, dwells, - While songs of sorrow, care, and grief, - Give place to martial music's swells, - Which proudly hail the victor chief. - - Yet not alone--without a friend - To share his toil-bought honours great, - And by congenial spirit lend - New splendour to his regal state-- - Celestial Hope dwells ever near, - And Happiness, her sister gay; - And thus they live, while year on year - With rapid pinions rolls away. - - But gazing from these lofty walls, - A landscape rises bright and fair, - Where happy light serenely falls - On scenes of gorgeous beauty there. - Here crystal founts, 'mid orient flowers, - Which radiant shine in varied hues, - Flow joyous through an Eden's bowers, - Where perfume loads the falling dews; - - While here and there, these laughing streams, - Dimpling and eddying ever gay, - Rippling o'er golden sand, that gleams - Like the Golcondian diamond's ray, - Leap headlong down a rocky dell, - And o'er the heaven's ethereal azure - Cast many a rainbow's glittering spell, - That chains the heart in silent pleasure. - - And 'neath the heaven's o'erarching bow, - Bloom laurels proud, and violets low, - In fragrance sweet, and beauty rare, - With graceful rose, and lily fair; - The mirthful grape, and crocus glad, - Yet here and there, geranium sad, - With hawthorn, and ambrosia kind, - And 'mongst them all is ivy twined. - - Amid these blooming spirit-lands, - Mid chaplets wreathed by Love's own hands, - The glowing flowers of Love are found - With which his shining locks are crowned; - He sings a song, through all the day long, - Of joy, and of gladness, and glee, - And he sits so light, on his throne so bright, - Oh ever a conquering king is he! - - But when the sunset's golden dyes - Have faded away from the western skies; - And these fairy gardens are seen by night. - Over their moonlit waters bright, - On which, as they're merrily flowing and dancing, - The light of the stars is twinkling and glancing, - There's a charm in that silent midnight hour, - They only can tell who have felt its power. - - There's a mystic spell in its silence sweet, - And a magic thrill through all who meet, - Where kindred thoughts together stray, - Whispering beneath pale Luna's ray; - Then is the time for poet's song, - When his voice on the zephyr is borne along, - And slumbering echo, like fairy fay, - Murmurs the words of his wakening lay. - - But the rosy beams of the coming morn - Tell us how fast the night has worn, - How far and free the soul has strayed, - Wandering 'mong scenes in fancy laid; - And the heathcock's note, or the matin bell, - As the morning breeze brings its pealing swell, - Recalls the soul from its musings there, - To find its "Castles"--built in air. - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph^{a.} - -WENONA'S LEAP. LAKE PEPIN, MISS. RIVER.] - - - - -THE LOVER'S LEAP: -OR, WENONA'S ROCK. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -Love, which "rules the court, the camp, the grove," is not without a -share of influence in the wigwam. - -It is true that in a polished and refined society, woman is more likely -to receive a just appreciation, than where the intellect of man is -like the one talent rolled in a napkin, useless, because neglected and -unimproved. In an enlightened country, woman is not considered as being -only created to perform the household duties of a wife and mother. She -is a companion, in the highest sense of the word. Her aim, like his, -may be towards the great purposes of life. - -Not unmindful of her first duties, those which lie in her province -alone, she can go on towards that exalted state of perfection of which -the soul is capable, though not to be attained here. Religion, that -teaches her "that the price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies," -also commends her that "she openeth her mouth with wisdom." We find -her in the sacred history not only the friend, the mother, and the -wife, but the poet, the heroine, the prophetess, and even the judge. -But among Indian nations we find her position more than equivocal. -Her influence is undoubted in the domestic relations, but she is still -a slave. She was born to labour--what merit then in her strongest -efforts! She is an inferior--how then can she hope for justice? - -Among the Sioux, the men appear indeed to be a superior class of -beings. They are noble-looking, while the women are often repelling in -appearance. The difficulties with which they must contend in the harsh -climate of their country; their poverty increasing year after year; -their frequent and long fastings: these all make the men more hardy, -more capable of a continued struggle, but they have a different effect -upon the women. They are compelled to remain in the lodge; the care of -their children obliges them to forego the excitement of seeking for -food, and thus sickness and even death is often brought upon them that -could otherwise have been avoided. They are often found buried in the -snow in winter, prevented by sickness from making such efforts as saved -the lives of their husbands and brothers. - -But their noble courage, where the emotions of the heart are concerned, -gives them the first place in the romantic traditions of their country. - -The Sioux will soon have taken a farewell look of the lands which the -Great Spirit gave them in the olden time. The lodge and its occupants -are vanishing away. The occasional war-whoop will soon be forgotten -where it has been heard in unrecorded ages. The scenes of many a -romantic tradition will be forgotten by those who succeed the valiant -but doomed people, who must look upon them no more. The hunter and his -wild steed depart, and the white man, the axe, the plough, and the -powder-horn take their place.[21] The fairy-rings[22] on the prairie -must be trodden down. Spirits will no more assemble where are heard the -noise and excitement of advancing civilization. The same sun gilds the -hills, the same breezes play upon the waters--but the red man must go. - -He must, with his heart full of patriotism and sorrow, find another -site for his lodge, another country for his hunting-grounds. The -wakeen-stone to which he was sacrificed is no longer his. The graves of -his ancestors reproach him as he departs. - -The illustration of Wenona's Rock presents one of the most striking -and beautiful scenes in Indian country. Even were there no tradition -connected with it, its wonderful beauty must give it interest. One must -indeed feel that God made it. That huge rock with its worn and broken -sides--the lake that reflects it in her placid bosom--the everlasting -hills stretching out before the eye,--these would show the Creator's -handiwork. - -But there is an additional interest in viewing it when we recall the -tale of sorrow and passion connected with it. When we recollect that -_here_ a young heart throbbed its last emotions--that from that high -eminence the sweet notes of woman's voice pealed forth their last -music. That _here_ her arms were raised to heaven, appealing for that -justice which earth had denied her. - -[Illustration: - - C. S. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph^{a.} - -MARRIAGE CUSTOM OF THE INDIANS.] - -But it is not only on Wenona's Rock that the devotion of an Indian -woman's love is recorded. Go among them and hear the traditions of -each band; how many have loved and died. Learn of the sacrifices that -only woman can make--of the devotion that only woman can feel--of the -sorrows that only woman can endure. - -You may see one, who, though past her youth, still attracts you by the -full and expressive glances of her dark and brilliant eyes. Her hair -(a marvel among Indians), waves along her forehead--and when damp from -heat or bathing, divides itself into locks, that would with any pains -be formed into ringlets. Her smile lights up her countenance, for her -white teeth shine, and her mouth, though large, is expressive. She will -not open her heart to a stranger, but to one she loves, she told all. - -She had seen but fourteen summers when she left her mother to go to her -husband's lodge. She loved to dwell upon that time, for no bride ever -boasted greater adornment, and her marriage was celebrated according to -the old and venerated customs.[23] - -She was a whole morning preparing herself, for her mother loved her, -and was proud of her. She had obtained from the traders gay beads of -every colour, and brooches in numbers, too. - -Her father was a favourite of the traders. He carried them so many -beautiful furs--for he was a great hunter--that they gave him trinkets -for her in abundance. They gave him, besides, fire-water; and then she -and her mother used to leave the wigwam and hide, for fear he would -kill her. - -When she was ready to go to her husband's lodge, her father and two of -her brothers attended her. Her cousin, Whistling Wind, came to meet -her, and, taking her upon his back, carried her in and placed her by -her husband's side. - -She was very happy at first, for her husband loved her; but many moons -passed away, and she had no child. - -Her husband reproached her, and she could only weep--and no infant's -voice was heard in their lodge. - -At last her husband brought home another wife, and she was forgotten. -Soon she watched him as he carved the thunder-bird on his son's cradle; -and the second wife laughed at her, because she could not be a happy -mother like herself. - -He has beaten her sometimes--for he drinks fire-water too. - -She might return to her mother, for her family is a powerful one, but -she cannot leave her husband. She cannot forget the love of her early -youth. She stays by him, for he is often sick, and she can take better -care of him than his other wife, who has many young children. - -Wherever is man, with his proud, exacting spirit, there is woman, with -her devoted and enduring love. There are many instances of heroic -affection, not recorded in the traditionary annals of the Sioux; but -Wenona's Rock will stand, as long as the world lasts, a monument in -memory of woman's love. - -[Footnote 21: The Seal of Minesota, adopted in 1850, represents an -Indian warrior departing on his steed: while a husbandman is in the -foreground, surrounded by the implements of civilization,--the plough, -axe, and rifle. The scene is located at Anthony's Falls.] - -[Footnote 22: On the prairies we frequently observe what the Sioux -call Fairy-rings. These are circles, occasioned by the grass growing -in this form, higher and of a darker colour than that around it. -Medicine-Bottle, an inferior chief, living now about twenty miles from -Fort Snelling, says that "they are the paths in which their ancestors -danced their war-dances;" the Indians at Lac qui Parle say the same -thing. In confirmation of this opinion, it may be stated, that these -circles of dark grass vary about as much from true circles as do the -paths in which the Sioux dance at the present time. Chequered Cloud, a -medicine-woman, much esteemed among the Sioux, says "that these circles -were made, in the first instance, by one of their gods, Unk tomi sapa -tonka, the large black spider, for the warriors to dance in." I will -observe that Dr. Williamson, a missionary among the Sioux, requested -from the two Indians mentioned their opinion on this subject, telling -them I had asked it. Dr. Williamson gives his own opinion, or rather -observation, thus:--"It seems to me, from the appearance of these -circles, that they enlarge every year: and I have thought it probable -that they originated from the death of some large animal, or other like -cause, destroying the common grass of the prairie and enriching the -ground, thus starting grass of another kind, or weeds which grow rankly -in this manner, and overshadowing, and to some extent destroying the -surrounding grass, the next year taking possession of the ground from -which the common grass has been destroyed, &c." - -"On mentioning this and your letter to Mr. G. H. Pond," Dr. W. -continues, "he said, Lieut. Mather, the geologist, who visited this -country (Minesota) with Featherstonhaugh, many years ago, had advanced -the same opinion. In confirmation of it, I would observe, that in the -large prairies up the St. Peter's River, I have often seen buffalo -bones in these circles." Mr. Pond, the Doctor adds, did not think -these circles originated in this way: saying, some supposed they were -caused by a mineral in the soil, and that he had observed, that when -cattle came on or near these circles, they always eat the dark grass in -the ring close to the ground, neglecting or passing over that growing -elsewhere.] - -[Footnote 23: The marriage custom of the Sioux is given in "Dacota, -or Legends of the Sioux." The ancient form, as represented in the -illustration, is still venerated, and frequently, though not always -celebrated.] - - - - -THE INDIAN MOTHER, -AND THE SONG OF THE WIND. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - - Softly the Indian mother[24] sings-- - "Woman's heart is strong, - When she works for those she loves, - Through the summer's day so long. - Hark! to the wind's wild voice, my babe-- - What may its story be, - Stirring thy cradle-bed, securely laid - In the arms of the forest tree?" - - "We have travelled afar, but we come again; - We have passed o'er the couch of weakness and pain; - We have seen the gifted from earth depart; - We have fanned the brow of the broken heart; - We have fled from the shrieks of the mighty in death, - From the battle's rage and the victor's breath; - We have been at the grave--at the infant's birth; - We know all the cares of the children of earth. - - "Our wail is heard o'er the mighty deep, - In whose breast the loved and lost ones sleep, - When, sweeping in rage, the hurricane blast - Tosses to heaven the waters vast. - When we bear o'er the foaming and dashing main - The voices that ne'er will be heard again; - Yet we come and go at His will, who said - To the sea 'Be still!' and its waves obeyed. - - "The air was still as we stayed our breath, - While the mother wept o'er her young child's death-- - A fatherless child; 'twas peacefully laid, - So placid and calm, 'neath the curtain's shade. - Yet, pressing the clay to her throbbing breast, - 'Oh! when,' she cried, 'will I be at rest?' - We sang for the child a requiem low, - And the mother's to sing on our way we go. - - "But why should we chaunt of sorrow and gloom, - Of night and the tempest, of tears and the tomb? - Those who are parted shall meet again-- - The sea yield her victims, the earth her slain; - Our mission we haste o'er ocean to bear; - We tell of his glory whose servants we are. - We quell with our tidings the idol's dark power, - That the cries of its victims be heard never more. - - "We raise from the earth the spirit crushed; - At the sight of the cross its murmurs are hushed. - Our voice is heard, and the wandering son - In spirit turns to his long-left home. - He remembers his father's voice in prayer, - And he kneels by the side of his mother there; - And he cries, while his steps are homeward trod, - 'Oh! be thou mine, my father's God!' - - "Alike is the charge and the mission given - To the faithful heart and the winds of heaven, - To tell how the Saviour came to earth, - How poor he was from the hour of his birth: - His own griefs unheeded, for others he sighed; - Of the life that he lived, of the death that he died. - To earth's farthest shore these tidings we bear-- - All glory to Him whose servants we are." - - Again the Indian mother sings-- - "Woman's heart is strong, - When she works for those she loves, - Through the summer's day so long. - I would know what the wild winds said, my babe-- - What could their story be, - Stirring thy cradle-bed, securely laid - In the arms of the forest tree?" - -[Footnote 24: Indian women take great interest in listening to -instruction connected with religious subjects. They often deplore the -difference in their position from that of the white woman, desiring for -themselves and their children the thousand comforts and advantages they -observe the wives and children of the white man possess. Only can they -ever hope to enjoy them when their nation becomes a Christian one.] - - - - -THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - Those who have lived among the Indians are accustomed to their faith - in the protecting power of the Spirits of Nature. Especially powerful - is the god of the woods and forests. - - - Day with its gorgeous light passes away, - Shadows of coming night darken the way. - Who is the wanderer - With the long braided hair? - 'Mid the tall evergreens, - She like a fairy seems; - Know ye the maiden young, - Wood Spirits, say? - - Know we the maiden young--mark well her form, - Like the tall pine tree, when rages the storm. - How like the dark bird's wing - Glistens her braided hair. - When watching o'er her birth, - Sang we a song of earth, - We were her guardians made, - She was our child. - - Soon o'er her body cold, chaunt we her funeral hymn, - Wild branches, torn and old, timing the requiem. - Why does she wander here, - With the long braided hair? - Why is the maiden pale-- - Why does her breathing fail? - Now, by the moonbeams fair, - See her dimmed eye. - - She loved as maiden loves, she wept as woman weeps. - Soon will her restless frame sleep where her lover sleeps. - Then to our far-off groves - Will we her spirit hear. - When heaves her parting sigh, - When closed her lustrous eye, - We will her guardians be,-- - She is our child. - - - - -ALICE HILL. - -BY MRS. M. E. W. ALEXANDER. - - - Fast by a brook, whose murmuring streams - Reflected heaven in angel dreams, - Embosomed in a quiet wood, - An old and storm-rent school-house stood. - All brown with age and worn by rains, - Rude winter shook the shattered panes, - That shivered in their casements light, - Like goblins' teeth on windy night. - But when the sun shone down the hill, - On smiling field and gushing rill, - And by the school-house danced the brook, - Through hidden course or leafy nook, - On shattered panes in casement light - Its summer rays streamed clear and bright. - Of pleasant ways and knowledge fair, - Blithe Alice Hill reigned mistress there,-- - Nor birchen rod nor oaken rule - In terror held this woodland school; - Love awed the spirits bold and wild, - Love won the most rebellious child,-- - O, Alice Hill! just sweet sixteen, - Of pleasant ways and courteous mien, - With glowing cheeks and eyes of blue, - And glossy hair of golden hue, - O God! that I should ever live, - Such sad account of thee to give! - - In Moreland vale brown Autumn's tilth, - Impatient waits the reaper's scythe: - Where, scattered with a bounteous hand, - Luxuriant harvests thickly stand. - The sunlight bathes the waving grain, - That sweetly smiles to sun again; - The landscape lies in green and gold, - And purple clouds in ether rolled, - Or gentle blue now smile above - This earthly scene of Eden love. - - With dashing wheels and flying steed, - Nor whip nor spur to urge their speed, - To view his land Fitch Moreland came, - The eldest of his honoured name, - And heir of all, the green-crowned wood, - In which the low-roofed school-house stood, - The wide-spread fields, the meadows broad, - The fruitful land and grassy sward, - And near embraced with roses wild - The old brown house that through them smiled, - Where Alice Hill had passed her days - Unnoticed by a flatterer's gaze; - And Rudolph Hill, a farmer skilled, - The fields had reaped, the lands had tilled, - Fitch Moreland's tenant, prompt to pay - His rent and taxes gathering day. - - Just free from school, with shout and song, - Fitch Moreland met a joyous throng, - And joined their sports, with heart as gay, - As boyhood had not passed away; - Till seated in a fairy glade, - Beneath an elm tree's grateful shade, - Sweet Alice Hill fell on his sight, - With glowing cheeks and eyes of light: - Around her neck, her hair unbound, - In floating tresses swept the ground, - And pupils kneeling at her side, - Wild flowers in graceful garlands tied, - A coronal as fresh and gay - As ever crowned "the Queen of May." - - With courteous words and city mien, - Fitch Moreland joined the rustic scene. - Quick beat the heart of Alice Hill, - Her pulses woke a music thrill: - Her glowing cheek with crimson flushed, - And in her heart tumultuous gushed - A spring of thought, so sweet and rare, - It might have claimed the name of air, - Its unseen visions came so bright, - To shed on life a holier light. - O ye who wear love's gentle spell, - And bless the bondage, can ye tell - Blithe Alice Hill if this was Love,-- - That like a homeless, wandering dove, - Beat at her fluttering heart, and sought - An altar for his blissful thought? - - No longer now, like placid streams, - Life passes by in quiet dreams; - But hurried, feverish pulses shake - The beating heart they may not break,-- - Hope, fear, desire, and all that stored - The spring of life, hung on his word: - There was no life without his smile, - Nor dreamed she that a heart of guile - Beat in so fair and smooth a shrine, - That other eyes for him might shine, - And softer voices breathe his name! - O, Alice Hill, love's vestal flame - Hath many a false, misguiding light, - To cheat young hearts, with promise bright. - And strew life's shores with dearer wrecks - Than perish from our wave-washed decks. - - The fowler laid a cunning snare: - The timid bird was fluttering there, - And paused on half-suspended wing, - To hear the subtle charmer sing; - Close to the brink, with dizzy sense, - She hung upon his eloquence; - Lured by the magic of his eye, - She quite forgot her power to fly, - Till reeling, powerless with the spell, - She lost her fragile hold and fell. - - The fowler saw his lovely spoil - Entangled in the dazzling toil, - A few frail threads of woven gauze, - But deadly as the lion's jaws. - Not till her golden wings were shorn, - The timid bird escaped forlorn-- - To soar with flocks of grosser mould, - An alien from the heavenly fold, - - The timid bird, a human heart-- - The snare, a smooth seducer's art-- - How can my pitying pen rehearse - The burden of its mournful verse, - Since he who triumphed in his power - To crush so meek and low a flower, - Contemptuous spurned it from his path, - To die a lone neglected death, - And to the winds his bauble tost-- - Left Alice Hill, betrayed and lost. - And, Alice Hill, his haughty name - Will never hide thy maiden shame-- - And though he swear it on his life, - Thou'lt never be Fitch Moreland's wife! - - "Farewell, my own, my waiting bride! - Though I am wandering from thy side, - And from these favourite haunts afar, - I see thine eyes in every star, - I hear thy voice in every breeze, - That floats through summer's radiant trees; - And thou shalt wear our bridal ring, - And wear it as a holy thing, - Till, to the sacred altar led, - It be the seal by which we wed." - - Years rolled down Time's resistless tides - Where Time, Eternity divides; - Fitch Moreland, high in hall and state, - Cared not that by the elm tree sate - Poor Alice Hill, to reason lost, - Like oarless bark on ocean tost; - Not wildly crazed to tear her hair, - But mute and sad, as if despair - Had worn away life's tuneful strings, - And sealed to Thought its gushing springs. - But on that ring mute Alice Hill - For ever looks, as if a thrill - Of reason shot across her brain, - And darted gleams of mental pain. - - Bold Winter lay on Moreland Vale. - His bearded crown of ice and hail, - And columns wreathed in feathery snow, - How childhood dreams of glory show. - Fast by these piles, on reeking steed, - A post-boy checked his furious speed, - And whispered to a gaping wight, - "Fitch Moreland takes a wife to-night." - Mute Alice Hill the echo caught,-- - With stealthy steps the town she sought, - That three leagues off in beauty lay - Along Wamphassock's lovely bay-- - With hair arranged and graceful dress, - None would have dreamed such loveliness - Concealed a heart to reason lost, - Like oarless bark on ocean tost. - - Light, glorious light, streamed clear and wide, - Through the proud dome of Moreland's bride, - And mirth and music chid the hours - Lost in a maze of thornless flowers. - His eye erect in manly pride, - Fitch Moreland stood beside his bride, - Nor dreamed he that his Eden bough - Hung on a false and perjured vow. - The holy priest in scarf and bands - With holy words had joined their hands, - And as to make more strong an oath, - When each had pledged their plighted troth, - A gleaming ring in diamonds set, - That hid a lock of glossy jet, - The fragile finger graceful pressed, - As sunlight lies on ocean's crest. - - A maddened brain, a spirit strong, - Has pressed aside that startled throng. - With glaring eyes and purple cheeks, - Fitch Moreland's side a woman seeks, - While o'er her half-ethereal frame - The altar sheds its holy flame. - The grasp on Moreland's arm was light, - But those wild eyes, so wildly bright, - His craven soul with terror fill, - For now he knows crazed Alice Hill. - A ring she from her finger drew, - And held it forth to Moreland's view, - And murmured low, in tones that thrilled - His thickly throbbing pulse, and stilled - The awe-struck guests, as if a breath - Had touched them from the wing of death: - "Four times twelve months have quickly fled-- - This be the seal by which we wed, - And in this light empyreal bow, - To consecrate, our bridal vow! - I sit beneath the elm alone - Since thou, my own, my love, art gone. - Where hast thou trifled on the way, - Like truant-boy forbid to stay? - But hush, my heart, thou needst not chide: - Fitch Moreland claims his waiting bride! - My beating heart, what raptures thrill, - Tumultuous heart, be still! be still!" - - A sturdy arm grasped Alice Hill, - Who struggling fiercely, shrieking shrill, - Out from the door was rudely cast, - Though storms were out and tide and blast. - There shivering on the pavement cold - Sat Alice Hill, with spirit bold, - Roused by a blow, revenge to claim - For reason lost and peace and name. - The holy priest completes his task, - And bride and groom his blessing ask. - - What benediction can reverse - A wronged and ruined woman's curse? - With fettered hands and ringlets shorn, - Poor Alice Hill, a maniac, borne - On to the mad-house's gloomy walls, - For ever on Fitch Moreland calls,-- - "I am not mad! Unloose these bands! - See here my tortured, bleeding hands! - On Moreland's ring a crimson stain: - It shall not plead my wrongs in vain; - For in my heart revenge lies deep-- - Its glassy eyes shall never sleep, - Till at the altar, live or dead, - This be the seal by which we wed!" - - A pallet, undisturbed by night, - Fell on the careful matron's sight. - And Alice Hill from thence had fled, - With shoeless feet and naked head. - Long was the search, and every track - Pursued to bring crazed Alice back. - But vain pursuit, reward in vain, - To bring crazed Alice back again. - Wrapped in a cloak of faded red, - With shoeless feet and naked head, - And ringlets shorn, a woman stood - Half muttering, in a crazy mood, - And watched with glazed and jealous eye - A gorgeous equipage move by. - Reined in the light of glaring lamps - The restless steed his bridle champs. - - A form alights with agile bound, - But reeling, totters to the ground. - They said, who passed, a weapon's gleam - Danced in the moonlight's silvery beam. - Crowds gathered round, a crimson tide - Was slowly ebbing from his side, - When on their sight a weapon flashed, - And feet that living current plashed, - Till bending o'er his shivering frame - A woman wildly shrieked his name. - "Turn on me now your treacherous eyes! - Speak, lying lips, while perjury dies, - See what a work a falsehood wrought, - My love with life were dearly bought, - But peace and reason with it fled-- - Eternal curses on your head! - You stole my love, an artless child - By sacred promises beguiled, - Then left me to a blighted name, - To add new laurels to your fame;-- - To death's avenging altar led, - This be the seal by which we wed." - - Upraised, the weapon gleamed again - On coward hearts and awe-struck men: - Beside Fitch Moreland, fainting, dead, - Lay Alice Hill, their spirits wed - In that eternal, dreamless sleep, - Where souls their solemn bridals keep. - - - - -DR. VANDORSEN AND THE YOUNG WIDOW. - -BY ANN E. PORTER. - - -To assure my readers that I am telling them what is truth, and -not drawing upon the treasury of fancy for a sketch, I will first -relate to them in what manner I became acquainted with the Doctor -and the Widow. I was once a teacher: yes, for seven years I held -sway in the school-room, and learned by severe discipline the art -of self-government, and to bear in secret many a sorrow of which -the cherished daughter in the domestic circle remains in blissful -ignorance. Whenever I see a young lady, at the close of school-hours, -turning with a weary step to her solitary room in some boarding-house, -my first impulse is to go and ask her to share my own fireside, sit -down at my table, and forget for a while, in my little family circle, -that she is away from the loved ones of her own home. - -I shall never forget my first preparations for leaving home. I was -to go eight hundred miles,--a long journey in the days of stages and -canal-boats. My little purse grew thin and lank under the unusual -exertion. I had a trunk and a large bandbox (the latter article I have -since learned to dispense with): in this was placed all the "varieties" -of my wardrobe, as Parson Milton would call them; or the accessories to -strengthen the arsenal, as Bonaparte termed the feminine requisites -to the toilet. My little store of collarets, ribbons, and cravats, my -lace capes and fancy handkerchiefs were all folded in one box, and -placed inside the larger one. They were few in number; but what girl -of eighteen does not cherish her own small hoard of treasures? I was -to go as far as Pittsburg in the company of a lady and her brother, -a boy of sixteen. Three days and nights we were to travel by stage, -stopping only for meals, and occasionally an hour for rest, besides the -intervals caused by changing horses. Two strangers, young gentlemen -from Philadelphia, joined us at the latter city, and remained with the -party to Pittsburg. Nothing, perhaps, makes people better acquainted -with the disposition of their companions, than the old-fashioned mode -of coach-travelling; the petty troubles and peculiar annoyances excite -the mirth of some, but elicit only the grumbling of others, so that for -days together we are entertained by the fun of laughter-loving girls, -and gallant young gentlemen, with growling interludes from some gouty -old man, or the groans of an epicure, who talks only to condemn the -dinner, and curse the cooks. - -I had never spent a whole night out of my bed before, and though the -excitement kept me up at first, I found myself so exhausted by the -middle of the second night, that it was with difficulty I could retain -my seat. - -One of the passengers, perceiving my situation, and alarmed by my -almost deadly paleness, requested the driver to stop, and ordered a -cup of tea. This, and a resting-place for my poor head, relieved me a -little; but with what joy did we hail, the next day at evening, the -smoky city of Pittsburg. - -"Ladies, shall we have the pleasure of meeting all our little party -together in the parlour this evening?" said one of the gentlemen. The -next morning we were to separate, taking three different routes. We -therefore cheerfully acquiesced, and Miss S. and myself repaired to our -rooms to dress. What was my astonishment to find my treasures gone, and -with them a valuable breastpin, the gift of my grandfather, shortly -before his death! I was weary, sick, and sad; but at the earnest -request of my companion, I put on a black silk dress, and felt not a -little refreshed by my bath, and the privilege of using thoroughly the -brush and comb, which, denied me for two days and nights, had given -to my head, with its exuberance of hair, a most moppish appearance on -the outside, while the brain within seemed to share the entanglement -without. - -But the efforts of my companions could not chase away the homesickness -of the heart. The morning would find me alone in the world. Sixty miles -of my journey were yet to be travelled: and, wearied in body and faint -in spirit, I longed to see my dear father, and be at home again under -his protection. I shrunk, too, from the duties before me: they seemed -more arduous and difficult as I approached them; and with a sad feeling -of my own incompetency and the lack of personal charms, which might -prepossess my employers, I laid my head upon my pillow that night and -watered it with my tears. Sleep! blessed, blessed Sleep! Thou dost take -the burdens from the weary and fling them into the waters of oblivion; -the infant, in its guileless rest, is pillowed on thy lap, and the -aged lean lovingly on thy shoulder. Merciful was the great Father of -all, that he did permit thee to follow Adam from Paradise, and travel -with his children in this world of guilt,--thus are we permitted to -forget, for a while, at least, our sorrows and our sins. Early the next -morning I went on board a steamboat for Wheeling, and though shrinking -and timid, I still found protection and kindness when needed; but when -we arrived, at midnight, in the village of P., and I found myself alone -in a large, desolate-looking room of the hotel, all the former feeling -of sadness came over me, and with them an indefinable dread of the -future. - -I must send word to the patrons of the school that I had arrived: -and fearful that their expectations would be disappointed, I could -not sleep. The next morning I despatched a messenger, and two of the -trustees called. They were polite, but said little, excepting what -related to business; but when they left me, remarked, "We will procure -a more agreeable home for you than this." I thanked them with my lips, -but they little comprehended how earnestly the heart craved for a home -again. The day passed, and I saw no one till the twilight shadows were -creeping into that lonely room, and with them also dim visions of home -and friends, bringing with them that sad heart-longing which the young -feel during their first absence from home, when I was startled from -my reverie by a gentle knock at my door. I opened it, and an old lady -stood before me, so kind, so motherly in her appearance, and so plainly -yet tastefully dressed, that my heart clung to her at first sight. If -my Father in heaven had sent an angel to me, I should certainly have -chosen just such a face and garb, in my present condition, rather than -the white robes and bright-winged cherubs of Raphael's glorious fancy. - -"Why, my dear child," said she, as if struck at once by my girlish -figure and pallid face, "you must have been lonely here to-day, and you -need a mother to nurse and take care of you after your long journey. -My name is Warner, and I am going to take you home with me, if you -will go. My brother called this morning, and my husband would have -accompanied me, but he was very busy; and I was so fearful that you -would be homesick, that I thought I would come and introduce myself." - -My heart bounded with delight, and I could hardly speak for gratitude; -and I said so little, and that in such a blundering way, that I was -afraid she would not know how much relief she had brought me. - -"Come, my dear, get your bonnet," said she pleasantly, "and I will send -for your baggage." - -I obeyed, and in a few minutes we stopped at a large but neat -residence, almost hid in a profusion of shrubbery. The climbing -multiflora rose covered one side of the house, and, with welcome -intrusiveness, peeped into the chamber windows, while a honeysuckle and -woodbine threw their mantle of green over the door, and mingled their -blossoms with those of a tall snowball tree, which had grown high, and, -clinging to the house, showered a white welcome upon every corner. A -few steps from the house, on the right side, but in the same enclosure, -was a small brick office;--on the other side a cottage, shaded by two -large beech trees, children of the forest, spared by some merciful -woodman when the land was cleared. Such was the outward appearance of -my new home--a word as to its inmates. My companion ushered me into a -small sitting-room, prettily furnished, and occupied at the time by two -persons,--one a tall, white-haired old gentleman, with spectacles on -nose, reading the newspaper--the other Mrs. Travis, a young widow, the -daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Warner, who had returned again to the home of -her youth. She was sewing as we entered, but, laying aside her work, -rose to greet us. Her countenance was plain, but a pair of sparkling -black eyes gave animation and expression to her features; and, as I -returned her salutation, I thought her welcome not quite so cordial as -her mother's. It seemed to express this--"Whether you and I like each -other will depend on circumstances." But the old gentleman looked at -me for an instant over his spectacles; then, laying them aside with -his paper, rose, and taking my hand, welcomed me to the West with a -hearty greeting; then, placing a chair near to his own, begged me to be -seated. His whole countenance was expressive of goodness; and, as I sat -down by his side in all the timidity of a girlish stranger, I felt, for -the first time since leaving home, a delicious sense of security and -peace. It seemed as if the wing of some guardian angel was over me, and -a refuge opened in time of sorrow. - -And here, _en passant_, I must add, those first impressions never -changed; and, from that hour till the day when that blessed spirit -was carried by angels to its own pure home in heaven, I always found -consolation in trouble, advice in perplexity, and gentle reproof in -error, by the side of the good old man. How sweet was the fragrance -of his daily life, and how precious the kiss he imprinted upon my -forehead, and the blessing he implored upon my head when I bade him -farewell! Oh! the hopeless darkness of atheism, which draws the veil -of oblivion between us and all further intercourse with such spirits! -No, no!--let us rather say with St. Paul, "I _know_ in whom I have -believed;" and with Job, "I _shall_ live again." - -But my limits forbid any extended notice of the members of the family, -though the years I spent under that charmed roof are marked in my life -with a white stone. There I emerged from the bashful, timid girl, into -the more active, energetic woman; and under the blessed influence of -love I trust I grew wiser and happier. - -When, at nine o'clock, the family Bible was opened, and father - - "Read a portion with judicious care, - And 'Let us worship God,' he said with solemn air;" - -and all knelt at the family altar in prayer, my own heart was full, -and I was thankful that no eye could see my face. Soon afterwards the -old lady said, "You look tired, and must retire; I will show you to -your room." Then, leading me through a small entry, she opened the door -of a commodious room, saying, as she did so, "This will be yours." It -was carpeted, a centre-table was in the middle of the room, an open -stove with its grate, ready at any chilly hour for coal, and a nice, -cosy-looking bed in one corner of the apartment. The old lady lighted -a candle, and bade me good night. Did she, or did she not, think I was -a cold-hearted little thing, that I said good night in such a low, -tremulous tone? I know not; but this I do know, that, as soon as she -had left the room, I sat down, and, laying my head on the table, burst -into tears. - -They were tears of thankfulness and joy, and they refreshed the heart, -as a summer shower the parched earth. - -I seemed a child again, and, with my childhood's prayer upon my lips, I -dropped to sleep that night. I would love to sit and write till night -about my after-life there, but I have limited myself to one little -episode, and to that I will proceed. I had been there some months; -Elizabeth had learned that we were so unlike that we could love, and -neither be enemies nor rivals. Her high, ambitious, buoyant spirit had -nothing to fear from the timid, yielding, sensitive girl who was to -be her companion. Not a single trait in the character of each came in -collision. One was self-reliant, could keep her own secrets, extricate -herself from her own difficulties, feared none but God, cared little -for the opinion of others, loved deeply, hated cordially. The other -had an inordinate "love of approbation," lacked hope and courage, but, -supported by a stronger arm, could endure the bitterest trial even to -the end. The one was proud to uphold, the other loved to trust. - -And thus we moved on, loved and loving, whereas, had we resembled each -other more closely, bitter heart-burnings and jealousies might have -been the result. One day we sat together in the little sitting-room. -We were reading "Deerbrook," by Miss Martineau, and wondering that -such want of trust and faith should ever take place between sisters, -when the door-bell rang, and a young gentleman, a total stranger to -us, was ushered in. He was a tall young man, with a fresh countenance, -a somewhat diffident manner, and gray eyes, which had a downcast -expression. It was difficult for him to observe that simple rule of -politeness, "Look directly at the person to whom you speak." Mr. Warner -endeavoured to make him more at his ease by casual remarks upon the -weather, and other topics of the day; but he elicited little besides -"Yes, sir," "No, sir," "I agree with you perfectly, sir," and suchlike -replies. At last he drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. -Warner, saying, "I have been in town some days, and am looking out for -an office. Learning that the one near your house is unoccupied, I have -made an early application." - -"I will think of it," said the old gentleman. "This is Dr. Vandorsen, -ladies, come to take up his residence in our village." This somewhat -awkward introduction over, I took the opportunity to slip out of the -room, just as they commenced talking upon the terms of rent and other -business matters. - -"Well, now," said Elizabeth, as she came hastily into my room, an hour -afterwards; "what do you think of the Doctor?" - -"Why, I haven't thought of him since I left the room; I have been -preparing my lesson in Butler's Analogy, and I assure you it requires -all the strength of my feeble brain to grasp his arguments and make -them clear to my class." - -"A truce to such work! I thought you had been studying the young -stranger's physiognomy, and were prepared to give me an analysis of his -character." - -"Let me see," I said; "I cannot give you his character, but I believe -his personal appearance I can remember; cheeks like your rusty-coat -apples, rusty brown with a touch of red, foxy eyes, slick, _very_ -slick hair, as the Yankees say, an inflexible spine, and in one respect -only like St. Paul." - -"Pray what is that?" - -"Brethren, I came unto you in much _weakness of speech_." - -Lizzy's eyes snapped, and she looked, for a moment, almost angry. -"Then," said she, "I really thought you had some penetration of -character, but I must be mistaken. Did you not see the evidence of -fine feelings beneath that bashful exterior? And then he was so modest -and unassuming; why I no sooner heard his errand than my fancy drew a -beautiful picture in perspective. He seemed so much like yourself,--you -that we are beginning to love so much, that I thought it would be love -at first sight. Father will let him have the office, and then here's -the cottage: a nice, snug place it would be for you, and we could have -you always with us, and a doctor handy to cure 'the ills to which flesh -is heir.'" - -"You have a vivid imagination, truly; but let me tell you that you are -right in supposing that I have very little penetration of character. -I have none; but sometimes, though I cannot account for it, I have a -strong aversion to a person on the first meeting; and when it is so, I -never overcome it." - -"Nonsense," said Lizzy, "that is all imagination; a belief without -reason, but it cannot be so in this case." - -"We will leave this for the present," I said; "and I will take more -particular notice of the Doctor the next time. If you like him, I have -no doubt I shall also. But why so disinterested? why not take the good -Doctor yourself, and then the office and cottage will follow as a life -possession for him?" - -"Why, don't you know, my dear child, he is not the man for me? I should -be the death of so amiable a personage in two years. If I marry again, -it must be a man of boldness and spirit. I care not if he have the -temper of Bonaparte, if he have his courage and spirit." - -"And could you endure like Josephine? You forget the broken vows and -crushed hopes." - -A shade passed over her countenance a moment. - -"Let us not talk about marriage now," said she. - -"Agreed," I replied. "I must study, and bury all other aspirations for -the present in my school." - -The next day the Doctor took possession of the office, and long rows -of vials and boxes of bones usurped the place of law books and deeds. -The boy pounded medicines in the morning, and the Doctor played on his -flute at night. - -He was neighbourly, and very attentive to both the young ladies, -evidently studying to make no difference in his attentions. To be sure, -he talked most with myself, and I noticed whenever an opportunity -occurred, Lizzy would direct the conversation to some subject in -which I was especially interested. Every Wednesday evening we went to -a lecture, and he was usually present to accompany the family. The -whole family seemed interested in him, and good old Mr. Warner too, -especially as he now spoke of his intention to join the church. When -that event did take place, I found some excuse for staying at home. The -more I tried to overcome it, the stronger my aversion became. I thought -it must be groundless--the rest of the family had more experience -and wisdom than myself,--why then should I feel such an unaccountable -prejudice towards an innocent young gentleman who had done me no harm? - -I determined to overcome it, and most severely did I blame myself for -suspecting that any other than holy motives led to this public act -of consecration. The next evening, when he proposed to me that we -should take a short walk, I cheerfully consented. As we passed a large -flouring mill, he said, "This, I believe, is Mr. Warner's?" - -"Yes," I replied. - -"It seems, to be a very valuable one." - -"One of the most so in the region. The old gentleman came to this -country many years ago. Like Abraham, he went forth, not knowing -whither he went, and like him has he been prospered. He has flocks and -herds, houses and lands, and, what shall I call _those_?" I asked, as a -drove of swine marked by him came grunting along with their snub noses -in the gutter. - -"Oh, that is but one species of property," he remarked, "and has its -value. The good old man seems to be very worthy." - -"Worthy!" I repeated to myself--what harm in that, and yet I didn't -like the question, or rather the tone of the remark. - -"He is one of the excellent of the earth--belonging to that species of -salt which never loses its savour." - -"They seem to be a very affectionate family, no wonder they feel almost -idolatry for their interesting daughter. Did you know her husband?" - -"Not at all," I replied, and by my silence indicated that I had no wish -to continue this conversation. - -The very next morning I had occasion to go into the private room or -study of the old gentleman, to deposit in his hands a sum of money, -the proceeds of my labour, and for which he gave me good interest -and security. I found the old lady there, and as I opened the door -she remarked, "Oh yes, husband, lend him freely if he needs; he is -young, and a hundred dollars may aid him greatly now; I have perfect -confidence in the Doctor." - -I bit my lip, for I found myself inclined to smile, and did not wish -to be observed. But the old gentleman remarked the expression of my -face, and looking over his spectacles archly said, "Ay, ay, my little -schoolma'am! and so you don't think so highly of the Doctor as the rest -of us, or do you sail under false colours just now?" - -"I have no cause for that," I replied, "and if I had, your penetration -would find it out; so honesty is really my best policy, for no other -reason than because I can have no other." - -"Well, time works wonders; I only desire that you settle among us, and -I must say, prudence would hardly advise the Doctor at present; so -take good care of yourself and all will come right," so giving me my -receipt and a kiss on the cheek, I left the good couple in the act of -counting out a hundred dollars for the Doctor. Weeks passed, and Lizzy, -delighted at every new patient the Doctor had and at the increasing -reputation she thought he was gaining, always had some interesting fact -to relate to me when I returned from school at night. At one time he -had refused all pay from a sick old woman, one of Lizzy's protégés, -whom he visited daily. At another time, he had spent half a day in -the garden with her good mother, budding, trimming, and tying up her -bushes; again, he had gone into the field and mowed for three hours, to -help her father, when there was a prospect of rain. "And wouldn't he -make a good husband, Sissy dear?" she said. - -"Yes, love, if he was only a little more fiery, like Bonaparte, and had -the courage and spirit of a hero." - -Lizzy looked annoyed. In the mean time, common report had, to my great -vexation, coupled the Doctor's name with mine; but to attempt to stem -the current of village gossip is like using Dame Partington's broom -to sweep the sea. Firmness and patience are the only salves for such -annoyances. Happily, a vacation of a week occurred, and I was to spend -it with one of my pupils. - -On my return, it was a pleasant summer's evening, the doors were open, -and the same vines and trees which the year before looked so inviting -to the little homesick girl, were again loaded with blossoms. The old -folks sat just inside the door enjoying the mild air, and Lizzy on an -ottoman, which stood on the broad step. The Doctor, with a hideous -black patch on the side of his forehead, and one arm in a sling, stood -leaning in a picturesque attitude by her side. Lizzy's eyes looked -milder than I ever saw them before, and when she turned them upon the -Doctor, there was an expression of interest and sympathy which I had -never noticed before. "The victory is won," I said to myself, and then, -like a shadow on my heart, came those first impressions, which no after -acquaintance had removed. Mr. Warner came forward to welcome me, and -wait upon me into the house, saying to the Doctor, with a smile, "We -will excuse all want of gallantry this evening." - -"And excuse me, also," he replied, "I will do myself the pleasure of -calling on Miss Porter to-morrow," he said. - -"What in the name of wonder has happened?" I said to Lizzy, who had -flown to my side as the Doctor left. - -"Oh, it is quite a story, I assure you; but I ought not to tell you, -for I shall spoil it for the Doctor to-morrow. He tells it so well; -you'll find that your stammering St. Paul can speak with the tongue of -an angel sometimes." - -But my curiosity would not allow me to wait: and in truth, neither -would Lizzy's enthusiasm permit her to do the same; so she gave the -outlines, promising that the Doctor should fill them up in the morning. - -"Would you believe it," she commenced, "the Doctor has been robbed and -shot at, and"-- - -"Shot at, and then robbed, Sis," said the old gentleman. - -"There, I knew I should spoil the story." - -"Never mind, do go on," I said, "where, pray?" - -"Why, on the turnpike road to McConnelsville; don't you remember a -piece of woods there?" - -"Why, yes; but honest black Gassoway's house is near about half way as -you pass the woods. I came from there on horseback, at eight o'clock in -the evening, only two weeks ago." - -"You must never go there again, my child," said Mrs. Warner, in a sort -of sepulchral tone; "it may be the death of you." - -"Just as the Doctor came to where the woods commenced, two -horrible-looking ruffians with masks came out of the woods, and while -one seized the horse's bridle, the other pointed a pistol to his heart, -and demanded his money. He had two hundred dollars by him, which he was -then taking to a man he owed. It was all the spare money he had; you -know the Doctor is just commencing his profession, and he does not wish -to urge his debtors too hard at present. But he was too brave to yield -at once; he knocked the pistol aside, but it went off, grazing his arm; -but after a hard fight with his opponents, he found they were too much -for him, and after resigning all his money he came back home. Isn't it -too bad, so industrious and prudent as he seems to be?" - -"It is a hard case surely; but for the life of me I cannot imagine how -robbers dared come so near the town; the pistol-shot must have been -heard at Gassoway's." - -"No, it was midnight, and they were sound asleep, probably. I wish they -had heard and gone in pursuit." - -The next day was Sunday, and, as usual, I went to meeting in the -evening. Lizzy complained of slight indisposition, and did not -accompany us; but when we returned we found the two invalids together, -and one at least looking very agreeable, though Lizzy's face expressed -embarrassment whenever she caught my eye. - -The next morning the good old lady called me into her room a little -while before the hour of school, and, bidding me sit down by her side, -said affectionately, but seriously, - -"My child, do you love the Doctor?" - -Though not naturally mirthful, I could scarce refrain from laughing -in the old lady's face. Respect forbade, and I answered, with all the -seriousness I could command, - -"Dear Aunty, because you and Lizzy wished it, I have tried hard to do -so; but I do not love him, and I am convinced I never can." - -The good woman looked relieved, and said, "I am glad it is so; you are -far away from home and friends, and I should be sorry to have you in -trouble while with us. Come to me at all times with your sorrows, and I -will try and be a mother to you." - -The smiles were now exchanged for tears. What in the world does any one -wish to cry for, when they are grateful? But some seem to have that -unfortunate propensity. - -"I was only to add," said the old lady, "that the Doctor loves Lizzy; -and I feared," she said, "it might make one heart sad. We fancied you -felt more interest in the Doctor than you are willing to acknowledge." - -"I now give you a solemn promise," I said, and it was sealed with a -kiss, "that I will always speak the truth to yourself." - -This conversation only gave me new cause for regret. I could not see my -dear Lizzy married to the Doctor, so long as I was unable to shake off -my own dislike to him, and my own mouth was fettered by the suspicions -concerning myself. For two days I was pondering in my own mind what -could be done; and learning that Mr. Warner would permit no engagement -to take place at present, concluded that time and patience would bring -all right. - -Thus I mused, with my book open, but my mind wandering, when Lizzy -burst into the room. - -"Heigh-ho! my little hypocrite, you never can keep a secret, you say. -Is that the truth?" And she held a card towards me. - -"I never had any secrets to keep, Lizzy, so I don't know how much -strength I possess." - -"Well here, then--'Joseph Dushey, St. Louis, Mo.'" - -"Upon my word, Lizzy, I know no more about this gentleman than -yourself. Does he wish to see me?" - -"That he does, and is waiting your ladyship's presence in the parlour." - -"Some business relating to the school," I said. "I must not keep him -waiting." - -So to the parlour I went, and soon found myself in the presence of a -gentleman upon whom nature had put her unmistakeable sign of nobility. -His address and manner were those of one accustomed to refined -society, and his ease and suavity quite overcame my own timidity. But, -after a few minutes' general conversation, it was his turn to become -embarrassed; and, after apologizing for interference in my private -affairs, he said that, hearing that an engagement of marriage existed -between myself and Dr. Vandorsen, he had felt it his duty to expose the -character of the Doctor. It was painful, but it seemed to him an act of -justice and mercy. He then related the history of this adventurer--a -reckless swindler, ingratiating himself into the favour of others, -and then repaying kindness with black ingratitude. "I have often," he -said, "from regard to his father, helped him to money. He is owing me -now; and, learning that I was in the vicinity, he invented the account -of the sham robbery, which he says took place on Saturday evening." -He then placed in my hands the papers containing proofs of that which -he had asserted, and again, with much delicacy, apologized for his -intrusion. - -I thanked him most sincerely for what he had done, and assuring him -that no such engagement existed between us, yet these papers were -valuable as guarding against future trouble for others. - -He allowed me to retain them. On going to my room I sat down and -examined them carefully, and blessed God that I had it in my power to -save Lizzy from a dreadful sacrifice. I laid them aside, determined to -place them in the hands of Mr. Warner in the morning. - -When morning came, the Doctor's office was found deserted; the key hung -upon the outside, his valuables were removed, and from that time to -this I have heard nothing from Dr. Vandorsen, nor has my good mother -Warner or her family. Neither have the two hundred dollars, which they -at different times loaned him, ever been returned. - -Lizzy is most delightfully situated, and I know of but one drawback -to her perfect happiness, viz., that her husband is one of the most -amiable of men, never allowing his temper to conquer his reason, and -never likely to allow ambition to overpower the deep affection he bears -his wife. - - - - -A CENOTAPH. -AUGUST, 1776. - -BY ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH. - - "It was a notion of the ancients, that if one perished at sea, or - where his body could not be found, the only way to procure repose - for him was to build an empty tomb, and by certain rites and - invocations, call his spirit to the habitation prepared for it." - - ESCHENBURG. - - -I. - -1. - - The memory of Nathan Hale, - Who, in the days of strife, - For freedom of our native land, - Laid down his noble life. - - Lord Howe, Cornwallis, Percy earl - Were come in wide array, - And from Long Island to New York - Had pushed our guns away. - - Our Father looked across the Sound, - Disaster groaned behind, - And many dubious, anxious thoughts - Were labouring in his mind. - - "Knowlton," said he, "I need a man, - Such as is hard to meet, - A trusty, brave, and loyal man, - And skilful in deceit. - - "The British, now in Brooklyn lodged, - May divers plans pursue: - Find me a man to go and spy - What Howe intends to do." - - Said Knowlton, "Sir, I make no doubt - Many apt men have we." - He went. At nightfall he returned - With Hale in company. - -2. - - "Young friend," said Washington to Hale, - "It much imports to know - What mischief Howe is brooding on; - Which way intends to go. - - "But though you might, with help of Grace, - Unmask his schemes of ill, - I will not risk your generous blood - Without your perfect will." - - "Grave Sir," said Hale, "I left my home, - Not for the love of strife, - But for my country's cause resolved, - Knowing I risked my life. - - "Between my duty and my will, - In service light or sore, - It is not now for me to choose, - For that was done before. - - "Let not your Excellency poise - What may to me ensue; - But weigh the service to be done, - And judge my power to do." - - "Well said; then briefly thus:--Put on - Some other self-disguise-- - And by to-morrow morning be - Among our enemies. - - "Go safely curious how you will, - And spy whate'er you may, - Of how their troops have borne the bruise - They gave us yesterday. - - "And deeper else--our chief concern, - And study at this hour-- - Find if their guns are hither aimed; - Or, with divided power, - - "Cleft from the rearward of their force, - While we stand here attent; - Or farther south, or farther north, - They mean to make descent. - - "Brooklyn to them is vantage-ground. - Find what you can. To know - The mischief in a foeman's thought - Is half to foil a foe. - - "The moon goes down"--"By nine," said Hale. - Said Knowlton: "Nay, at ten." - "Can you be off so soon as that?" - "I hardly think by then: - - "Nor would--for let me plead that I, - Herein, may yield my breath; - And mine affairs I would devise - As if before my death. - - "God knows what hearts may crack for this. - But failure, or no fail, - To-morrow morning I'll be there, - As I am Nathan Hale." - - "Bravely, my boy! Such soul as this - Is better than a host. - To dare is little, if to dare - Unmindful of the cost." - -3. - - The night was broadly overcast, - And the scant moon and stars, - From the dim dungeons of the clouds, - Looked through their iron bars. - - "My worthy lad," said Washington, - "We seek without despair, - Although we find, in all yon arch, - No sign of morning there." - - "And know whose gracious hand it is - That times the darkest sky," - Said Hale. "Adieu!" said Washington, - "God keep you,--go,--good-bye!" - - -II. - -1. - - The flitting Hours, with golden brands - Once more adorned with flame, - Beheld our land in busy act, - Where war was all the game. - - Out of his cups of deep carouse, - That reeled till morning shine, - The Provost of the Lion camp - Came forth the tented line. - - An ugly man,--a tiger soul, - Lodged in a human house,-- - With whiskey fuming from his hide, - And hair about his brows. - - And Hale had hid his skiff, and now - Was coming by the shore, - Thinking of many serious things - He never thought before. - - He mused of all the hard assays - Of this our mortal state; - The bitter bruise, and bloody blows - Of Virtue matched with Fate. - - He heard the larks and robins sing, - And tears came in his eyes, - To think how man, and man alone, - Was cast from Paradise. - -2. - - "Well Hodge, how's turnips? What's in this?" - "Now who be you?" said Hale, - "I aint no Hodge,--taint turnips,--stop,-- - Let go,--this here's for sale." - - "Powder and grog! be quiet, lad. - Tobacco! by my soul! - Rebel, we've come to take the land,-- - Hands off!--I seize the whole." - - The Provost wheeled towards the camp. - Hale followed with a cry: - "Give me my pack--now--come--you sir!" - "Clod-shoes, get home!--not I." - - But epaulettes were on the road.-- - The trick was getting worse. - The Provost dumped the pack aside, - With a substantial curse. - - "Wa'al, mister, that's the han'some thing! - That are tobaker's prime. - I knowed you didn't mean to grab,-- - I knowed it all the time. - - "I'm goin' to peddle, up to camp, - And if you only would - Go snacks, and help me sell, you might. - Come, I should say you could." - - "Yorky, pick up your pack, hook on, - Hook on, we'll make it even." - The lines were passed, the countersign,-- - "Whither away,"--was given. - - "I see," said Hale, within himself, - "This man's internal shape,-- - The Devil can do a gracious turn, - To shy a graceless scrape." - -3. - - Gay was the camp with liveried men; - Some trimmed the gun and blade, - Some chatted in the morning sun, - Some slept along the shade. - - And some bore out the soldier dead - On his unfollowed bier-- - The soldier dead, the hapless dead, - Who died without a tear. - - So lately wept from England's shore, - And winged with prayers afar, - To feel the piercing thunder-shock, - Gored by the horns of War. - -4. - - Cried Hale, "Who buys? who buys? who buys? - Hearts! Boys! My lads! Hooraw! - Thrippence a junk, Britannia rule-- - Don't any of you chaw?" - - And all the while his wily eye - Was taking curious notes - Of men, and arms, and sheeted carts, - And guns with stoppered throats. - - "Boys, what you goin' to doin' on? - Hello!--this way that beer. - You goin' to captivate New York? - Pine-shillin' piece--look here--" - - "Sing us a song." "'Bout what?" said Hale. - "Sing us 'All in the Doons'-- - 'Britannia Rule'--'God save the King'"-- - Said Hale, "Don't know the tunes." - - Cornwallis now came walking by,-- - "The Capting, hey?" "It is." - Hale folded up an ample slice: - "D'ye s'pose he'd 'xcept of this?" - - Mad with the thought, to see the clown - Break his own pate with fun, - "Do it," said they. Said Hale, "I will." - "Jerry's respects"--'twas done. - - And back he came with open grin; - "Took it like ile!" said he. - "I swow! I done the handsome thing-- - He done it, too, to me." - - -III. - -1. - - Sins are like waters in a gap; - Like flames to leap a check; - If cable Conscience crack a strand, - A man may go to wreck. - - Sins never shut the doors of hearts - That give good cheer to sin, - But always leave them open wide, - For others to come in. - - Disdaining ours, for England's camp, - There lurked a man about, - Who, flushed with shame and rage of heart, - Like Judas, had gone out. - - He left us, and he swore revenge, - And vengeance did not fail. - The courteous fiend, who led his steps, - Conducted him to Hale-- - - His kinsman--one whose generous hand, - Impelled by bold desire, - Had saved him once, and still endured - The seal of it in fire. - - He met him coming from the camp; - He saw--he knew the hand-- - He saw the whole--and in the road - He made a sudden stand. - - "Hum! ha!--It's Captain Hale, I think. - Nathan, how do you do? - Sorry I am to see you here-- - Sorry I am for you." - - Off from the sudden heart of Hale - All his disguises fell: - "Cousin! good God!--go back with me. - And all shall yet be well." - - "It cannot be. You came to dare, - And you must take the rod." - Said Hale, "This hand, at Judgment day, - Will fan the wrath of God." - - "Speak not of God," the traitor said; - "A good French faith have I-- - 'No man hath seen Him,' Scripture saith, - And 'all is vanity.'" - - Hale, finding how the scoundrel feared - Nor God's nor man's award, - Looked for a handy stick or stone, - To quicken his regard. - - But, tiger-soon, the renegade - Had gripped his arms around: - "Ah, ha!--yes, yes--help! help!" he cried, - And crushed him to the ground. - -2. - - Fettered on straw, with soldier guards, - The tent-lamp trembling low, - The morrow was his day of doom, - That night a night of woe. - - And half the night the gallows sound - Of hammers filled his ears, - Like strokes upon a passing-bell, - Telling his numbered years. - - His numbered years--alas! how brief! - And Memory searched them back, - Like one who searches, with a light, - Upon a midnight track. - - The fields, the woods, the humming school, - The idly-pondered lore, - And the fair-fingered girl that shared - His dinner at the door; - - His room, beneath the homestead eaves, - Wherein he laid his head; - His mother, come to take the light, - And see him warm in bed. - - These, and their like, distinct and bright, - Came back, and fired his brain - With visions, all whose sweetness now - Was but exalted pain. - - -IV. - -1. - - Ere silence droops her fluttering wing, - The pang may all be past; - And oft, of good men's latter hours, - The easiest is their last. - - The morn was up, the flickering morn - Of summer, towards the fall. - "Bravely is all," the guardsman said; - Said Hale, "God's grace is all." - - And now the Provost-Marshal came - With soldiers--all was ripe; - But out of Hale's tobacco, first, - He filled and smoked a pipe. - - Forth passed the man, through all disguise, - With look so sweet and high; - He showed no sort of dread, at all, - Of what it was to die. - - Come to the cart, whose doleful planks - Beneath his feet did creak, - He bowed, and looked about, and stood - In attitude to speak. - - "Holloa! hoa! drummer, bring your drum, - Play Yankee Doodle here-- - Play, while we crack the rebel's neck." - Earl Percy then drew near: - - "Provost," said he, "I shame at this. - Let the lad have his say, - Or you shall find who rules the camp;" - And so he walked away. - -2. - - "Soldiers," said Hale, "you see a man - Whom Death must have and keep; - And things there are, if I should think, - I could not help but weep. - - "But since in darkness, evermore, - God's providences hide, - The bravely good, in every age, - By faith have bravely died. - - "That man who scorns his present case, - For glorious things to be, - I hold that in his scorn he shows - His soul's nobility. - - "Though George the Third completely scourge - Our groaning lives away, - It cannot, shall not be in vain - That I stand here to-day. - - "Oh take the wings of noble thought! - Run out the shapes of Time, - To where these clouds shall lift, nor leave - A stain upon the clime. - - "Behold the crown of ages gone, - Sublime and self-possessed; - In empire of the floods and shores - None so completely blest. - - "This land shall come to vast estate, - In freedom vastly grow, - And I shall have a name to live, - Who helped to build it so. - - "Ye patriots, true and sorely tried, - When the dark days assail, - I seem to see what tears ye shed, - At thought of Nathan Hale. - - "Where is that man among ye all, - Who come to see me die, - That would not glory in his soul, - If he had done as I? - - "Judge, then, how I have wrecked my life. - And in what cause begun. - I sorrow but in one regret, - That I can lose but one. - - "In Thee, O Christ! I now repose-- - Thou art my All to me; - And unto Thee, thou Triune God-- - Oh make my country free!" - - Then turning to a guard, who wept - Like sudden April rain, - And scattered from his generous eyes - The drops of holy pain. - - "Unto your honest tears I trust - These letters to convey." - Then, to the Provost-Marshal, Hale - Did mildly turn, and say: - - "Before from underneath my feet - The fatal cart is gone, - I fain would hear the chaplain pray; - Sir Provost have you none?" - - As when a dreadful lion roams - The torrid sands, and sees - A fawn among the valleys drink, - Beneath the tuneful trees; - - If, 'chance, he sees the tender hind - Just move behind an oak, - He snaps his teeth, and snaps his tail, - And makes the desert smoke. - - So, when the Provost witnessed Hale - To softer hands convey - His parting love, and heard him ask - To hear the chaplain pray, - - He jumped like mad, he danced about, - Did dance, and roar, and swear-- - The furies in his furnace eyes, - And in his rampant hair. - - "Dog of a thief! ere you shall have - Priest, book, or passing-bell, - Your rebel hide shall rot in air, - Your soul shall roast in hell!" - - "God's will be done!" said Nathan Hale: - "Farewell to life and light!" - They pulled the cloth about his eyes, - And the slack cord was tight. - - -V. - -1. - - Once more the rack, along the Sound, - Curled to the mounting sun, - That kissed, with mercy's beams, a world - Where such strange things are done. - - Along our lines the sentry walked; - The dew was on his hair; - He felt the night in every limb, - But kept his station there; - - And watched the shimmering spires, and saw - The swallows slide away; - When, o'er the fields, there came a man, - Rough, and in rough array. - - "Holla, you Yankee scout!" said he, - "They've caught your Captain Hale, - And choked him for a traitor spy, - Dead as a dead door-nail. - - "Run--use your rebel soldier legs-- - Tell General Washington. - Don't wait--you'll be promoted for't-- - I'll stand and hold your gun." - - Out spake the guard--"You British crow, - Curse on your croaking head! - Move off, or else, I swear, you'll get - The cartridge and the lead." - -2. - - Full of his news, the sentry soon - To Knowlton told the same. - Knowlton, with tears in either eye, - To the head-quarters came, - - And told to General Washington - Poor Hale's unhappy case. - Nought answered he, but bowed awhile, - With hands upon his face. - - Then rising, steadfast and serene, - The same great master still-- - Curbing a noble sorrow down - With a more noble will-- - - "Bring me," said he, "my writing-desk, - And maps last night begun; - Send hither Putnam, Lee, and Greene, - For much is to be done." - - So perished Nathan Hale. God grant - Us not to die as he; - But, for the glorious Stripes and Stars, - Such iron loyalty. - - - NOTE.--Nathan Hale was a native of the town of Coventry, in - Connecticut; and graduated at Yale College, in 1773. He entered the - army of the Revolution at an early period, as a captain in a light - infantry regiment, under command of Colonel Knowlton. After the - defeat of the 27th August, 1776, and the retreat of the Americans - from Long Island, Washington became exceedingly desirous to gain - some information respecting the future operations of the enemy, and - applied to Colonel Knowlton, through whom Hale was introduced, and - volunteered his services. - - He disguised himself, crossed to Long Island, procured admission to - the British camp, obtained the information desired, and was about - leaving the Island, when a refugee and a relative recognised, and - betrayed him. - - The case was clear. Hale confessed; and Sir William Howe ordered - him hung the next morning. He suffered like a patriot and a - Christian. "I lament," said he, "that I have but one life to - lose for my country." The provost-marshal, who superintended the - execution, was a savage-hearted man, and refused him the attendance - of a clergyman, and the use of a Bible, and destroyed letters which - he had written to his mother, and other friends, making the remark, - that "the rebels should not know that they had a man in their army - who could die with so much firmness." - - An aged physician, recently deceased, was accustomed to relate an - anecdote that is worthy of preservation. The Doctor, when a small - boy, attended a school taught by Hale in the town of East Windsor, - Connecticut. One day Hale was standing at his desk, in a deep - study, when certain wide-awake boys began to take advantage of his - inattention. - - The narrator thereupon went softly to his side, touched him, and - pointed to the scene of mischief. Hale, without turning his head, - dropped a look[25] upon the little informer--a mild look, but full - of rebuke,--"Go back to your seat," said he. The boy slunk away, - and neither misunderstood nor forgot this rebuke of the ungenerous - and disloyal, from his true-hearted teacher; and associated as the - incident became with the subsequent fate of Hale, it made a deep - and affecting impression upon his memory. - -[Footnote 25: The Doctor described Hale as having had remarkably fine -and expressive blue eyes.] - - - - -THE DREAMER. - -BY MARY E. HEWITT. - - - Last night he kissed me,--kissed me in my dream! - He unto whom I with pure flame aspire,-- - His eyes poured down on mine love's kindling beam,-- - Through all my being ran the immortal fire, - I felt cold doubt within my breast expire,-- - I felt his clasp, as gently he enwound me; - I felt his heart beat, as he closer bound me; - He kissed me! measure of my soul's desire; - He kissed my down-drooped eyelids,--kissed my brow; - Felt he no thrill, my well beloved one, - While passed the vision that enchains me now? - Ah, no! the ecstasy was mine alone; - And, while the memory on my spirit lies, - I fear, lest he should read my dream within my eyes. - - - - -[Illustration: - - C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. - Chromolith of P. S. Duval Phil. - -FALLS OF S^{T.} ANTHONY] - - - - -WHITE MOON AND FIERY MAN. -A LEGEND OF THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY. - -BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. - - -CHAPTER I. - -The glowing noonday's sun was resting over the rocks that lay and the -waters that dashed in the region of St. Anthony's Falls. The long row -of hills in the distance was tinged with gold, which mixed gaudily -with their purple hues. The dark green of the trees that grew on the -opposite shore interposed between the brightness of the hills beyond -and the white glare of the foaming waters. - -Above the Falls, large trees lay fixed in the river, notwithstanding -the efforts the waves appeared to be making to remove every obstacle -that lay in their way, which led to the edge of the precipice, where -they threw themselves into the abyss below. - -Large and small fragments of rocks dotted the water in every direction, -and in the centre of the Falls lay a number of rocks reposing against -each other, with rich, luxuriant shrubs and trees rising from among -them. - -Notwithstanding the noise of the falling waters, and the roaring of the -boiling waves below, there was great beauty mingled with the grandeur -of the scene. The width of the river at this point made the height of -the Falls appear less than it really was. The association connected -with the death of Wenona,[26] the injured, but loving wife, gave a -romantic cast to the red man's thoughts, as he rested from the toils of -the chase near this beautiful scene. He could identify the very spot -where she raised her arms, while the notes of her death-song pealed -above all other sounds, as her slight canoe bent towards her child's -and her own grave. He marvelled that the boiling of the waters did not -appal her, or that the voice of her husband did not rouse her from her -fatal purpose. - -But now there is no person near, to take from the solitary beauty of -the scene. If the screaming of the loon were heard, it was immediately -followed by the flapping of her wings, as she passed to the spirit -lakes, over whose quiet surface she loved better to rest. The deer were -all far distant;--the shade of the forest trees was more acceptable now -than the rays of the summer's sun. Whatever might be the burden of the -song of the waters, it was unheard, save by the spirits that are ever -assembled in numbers around this hallowed spot. - -When the intense heat had passed away, a fresh, invigorating wind was -felt among the rocks and waves. Evening was unfolding her mantle, and -her breath was playing over the bright flowers that even here enjoy -their short season of life. The flitting clouds were gathering towards -the horizon, constantly changing their hues, and resting in golden -lines above the hills. Large fish, the bass, and the pike, moved at -their ease in the restless waters, as if there were no fear of being -bearded in this their stronghold. The beautiful red deer, too, has -been tempted to come and be refreshed,--ever on their guard, though, -as might be seen by the tossing of their heads when the winds rose and -whispered over the earth. - -Now they start and flee like lightning, for the light sound of woman's -step is heard; and in the very spot where one of them rested, looking -over the waves, stands a slight figure, bearing in her face and form -the marks of youth, while her short and richly embroidered skirt, and -the crimson okendokenda, that partly covered her arms and chest, showed -her to belong to a family at least not unimportant among her people. - -She stood still for some moments in a listening attitude, her face -pale, and every feature fixed in intense thought. She carried a bundle -of small size: this she seemed to think of value, for she grasped it as -if her life depended on the preservation of what it contained. - -Turning towards the course of the rocks by the river's edge, she -surveyed their way; then, bending where she stood, she looked -unappalled at the waters becoming dark by the shadows of evening. - -There was but little current where she stood, for the position of the -rocks prevented this, though quite near them the impetuous stream -hurried on like one tired of existence, eager only to reach and be -lost in the great ocean of forgetfulness. - -There was evidently some great difficulty in her position, for her -colour flushed and left her, and she pressed her hands across her -bosom, without quelling its tumult: yet it was equally evident her -object was self-preservation. Life was dear to the young and active -blood that animated her veins. There was too much brightness in the -depths of those dark eyes to be quenched by death. She looked all -around her; and well might she have asked if the red man's heaven -boasted a more beautiful picture than the one now before her. - -The sound of voices has recalled her from her meditations. Loud, stern -voices, speaking in tones of anger and disappointment. They were not -yet very near, but she knew them well. The language was her own, but -the lips that spoke it were threatening death to her. She recognised -his voice--her husband's--he was the pursuer. And she smiled a bitter -smile as she listened to the harsh sounds. Notwithstanding the perils -that surrounded her, she was as calm as when she sat by her mother's -door, in the far-off home of the Indians, who live by "Le Lac qui -Parle." All her terror, all her restlessness was forgotten. She raised -her arm to its greatest height, and elevating her lithe frame too, she -threw her bundle as far as her strength enabled her; listening till -the voices sounded nearer, and the steps could be distinguished in the -dead leaves that lay in their path, she swayed her form to and fro, and -sprung, laughing as she did so, from the rocks. Then swimming round -them, disappeared, concealed by the overhanging precipices, as well as -by the thick foliage that grew close to the water's edge. - -Hardly was she out of sight when her place was again occupied. A large, -fierce-looking Sioux stood where she had been standing. He looked round -as if the object of his search might be hid among the rocks and bushes. -The waters laughed just as she had, as he complained of fatigue and -disappointment. He looked like a fiend who had forced himself where -but a moment ago some gentle spirit had been resting. The passions in -their prime worked in his haughty face. Stripes of different-coloured -paint lay across his cheeks and around his eyes. His broad chest and -brawny arms were uncovered--he raised his hand, and moving it in a half -circle, as he turned towards his companions, "I have looked for her -until I am tired," he said; "perhaps she has killed herself; if she is -living, my vengeance shall yet reach her,--I will tear her heart from -her breast." - -Then turning, wearied and angered beyond endurance, he strode back -towards his home. His giant figure rose far above his companions. His -eye flashed like the lion's deprived of his prey. Well might they call -him the Fiery Man. - - -CHAPTER II. - -We must go back two days before this incident occurred. In a large -wigwam were two persons. The one, a young, pale woman, seated on a -mat. The white lips and the black shadows beneath the eyes, told of -watchings and despair. No tear moistened the colourless eyelids, no -sigh relieved the overburdened heart. Still as death itself, the young -mother gazed on the unconscious cause of her agony. - -There it lay, peaceful and calm, against her throbbing heart. There it -lay, as it was wont, when seated on the high rocks by the Mississippi, -it heard the sweet tones of a mother's voice. There it lay, never to -hear even them again. - -Absorbed in her grief, the mother knew not that there was another in -the wigwam. She was recalling, as she gazed on the crushed flower thus -rudely torn from her love, the many and strange changes of the past -year. She had once looked forward to the future, as the young always -do. She loved and was promised to the one she loved. - -Fiery Man came from afar, with his powerful, athletic frame, and his -deep and piercing eyes, and his voice so low and solemn. He stopped at -her father's village, returning from a successful expedition against -the Sacs; and he was full of proud boastings. He said he was "a great -warrior, and hunter too, for his lodge was always full of game; that he -had taken more scalps than any brave of his band; that when he held his -enemies, they were like children in his large hand." - -In an evil hour his eye fell upon White Moon. He loved her because -she was the opposite of himself. He fancied the gentle and submissive -way in which she received the directions of her parents. When he saw -her eyes droop and her cheek mantle when the warriors danced--when he -watched her and marked that she only looked at one--when he inquired, -and learned that to that one was she destined, then did he mark her for -his own; he was as cool and determined as if he had been aiming his -arrow at the frightened grouse; as sure of his prey as if the bird lay -already bleeding at his feet. - -He went to her mother, and showed her the rich crimson cloth he had -received from the traders on his way. - -Other presents he laid before her, very valuable then; for traders were -just coming in the country, and articles for use or adorning were rare -among the Sioux. - -The mother told him her child was promised,--that White Moon loved -the noble young warrior she was to marry, and she could not break her -daughter's heart. - -The father came in, and Fiery Man showed him his new gun,--they were -scarce then, and were deemed wakun (supernatural). Fiery Man enlarged -upon its merits, and he pressed on the foolish old man the advantages -of securing him as a friend, by giving him his daughter in marriage. - -White Moon's mother interfered, saying, "her daughter was a good girl, -and deserved to be happy. She was not like the other girls, always -running away to look among the rocks in the water for young beavers; -but she was steady and industrious, and should make herself happy by -marrying the man she loved." - -Fiery Man stamped, and his eyes were bloodshot with rage. He showed the -parents his medicine-bag; he would make them know what it was to refuse -a medicine-man; he would charm them; he would dry up the red rivers of -life; he would make their steps feeble. - -Already would White Moon have trembled, had she been present. - -Fiery Man saw his advantage, and continued: he was the friend of -Chat-o-tee-dah, the forest god, and he could go where no other Indian -could, protected by this powerful friend. He was strong and brave, and -it was well for the woman who married him, and for her family too. - -The old man had kept his eyes fixed on the gun. Fiery Man told him to -follow him; he did so, but could hardly keep pace with the strides of -the tall warrior. Fiery Man led him towards the lowlands, where, among -the trees, the woodcock were in numbers. They seated themselves on a -mound, the work of their more enlightened ancestors; they were quiet at -first, only listening to the passing of the birds through the low trees. - -Fiery Man pointed the gun, and fired; the birds fell to the ground. The -old man laughed, and Fiery Man showed him the powder and shot. - -He took the gun and explained to his companion the mode of preparing -it to fire. "Ha!" said he, "you cannot shoot as well as I; but try and -bring down one." The old man pointed, and fired; his aim was sure: -again a bird fell before his astonished gaze. - -"It is yours," said Fiery Man, "and the girl is mine. We will go back -and tell her mother what we have agreed upon." - -Again he led the way, and the old man followed him back to the wigwam. -There they found mother and daughter. There were tears upon the cheek -of the latter; she was soon to know how vainly they were shed. She -turned away from the gaze of her tall lover, and hid her face against -her mother's bosom. - -"Tell her," said Fiery Man to White Moon's father; but the old man -knew of the bitter dregs he would stir up in the fountain of life -before him: he could not find words to tell the young maiden her doom. - -Fiery Man could not brook the delay. He laid his brawny hand on the -young head that had not yet been lifted from its refuge-place. "She is -mine," he said to the mother; "I have bought her. That wakun gun is -her father's, that red cloth is yours. White Moon must go with me to -my lodge: she must give me warriors like myself for sons. She will be -obedient and happy, because her husband is powerful, and feared." - -White Moon raised her head and looked in his face; for hope? as well -might she have asked it in the glancing of the tomahawk of a Chippeway. - -That dark, stern face was softened, it is true: but it was from -the contemplation of her attractive features; pride was changed to -satisfaction: but it was because he knew that the graceful figure which -clung to her mother for protection would soon lean only on him. She -sighed and turned away her face; she trembled and sank upon the mat -with weakness; no hope--all her bright visions changed: darkness and -gloom had come where day had presided in all her brightness. - -A short time saw Fiery Man lead to his wigwam his sad young wife, -wearied to death with her long journey. Could love have consoled her, -she had been happy: for she was as dear as life to the heart of the -passionate, overbearing man. As he led her into the wigwam, he pointed -to its present occupant. He said she was his sister, but the first -glance did the same. There was the tall, gaunt figure; the fierce, -flashing eye; the passionate, commanding countenance; but far more -repelling in her than in him. White Moon read her own fate; she was to -endure hatred as well as love. She could see no shelter from the storm -that was settling over her head. - - -CHAPTER III. - -The sister of Fiery Man stood unnoticed, we have said, in the lodge -where White Moon sat with her dead child. On her back she carried a -large bundle of wood. As she threw it to the ground, the noise roused -White Moon from her dreams. She rose from her mat, clasping the child -yet more closely to her breast. Giving one look towards her sister, in -which was concentrated all the passion and all the harshness of which -she was capable, she left the lodge. The crimson flush soon died away -from her face, and she was calm and pale as before. - -Assisted by several of the women, she proceeded to place her child upon -its last resting-place. It was at some distance from the lodge, yet in -sight. She returned, and carried to the place of burial the cradle and -some little trinkets belonging to the child, and hung them in reach of -the infant's hand, on the scaffolding. - -All day she sat on the ground near it. She wept there, as only a mother -can weep, for her first and only child. She refused the food the women -offered her; she had not eaten since its death. - -Even when night came, she was still there, through its long watches -giving vent to her violent grief. The breaking of the morn found -her sleeping for a short interval on the ground; on awakening, she -remembered there were duties that still claimed her care. Her new -buffalo-skin lodge was still unfinished, and she had promised her -husband she would be in it on her return. The one they were living in -was her sister's; it was an old one, torn, and admitting the rain, so -that it was not comfortable. Some of the women had assisted her in -making it, and she had still to finish and set it up before the evening. - -On the day of the child's death she had been obliged to leave her work, -to go out at some little distance to cut wood. She did not, as usual, -take her child with her: it was asleep in its carved board cradle, -and she left it in charge of a girl, the child of one of her friends. -Fiery Man's sister had gone out, telling White Moon she should be away -all day. So great was her dread of this proud woman--so fearful was -she that she would revenge on her child the hatred she felt towards -herself--that otherwise she would not have left the infant at home. - -The anticipations of White Moon at her first interview with her -husband's sister were all realized. This woman possessed all the bad -qualities of Fiery Man, without any of his redeeming ones. - -She had been married, and was a widow. Both of her children were dead: -there was no avenue by which kindness could find its way to her heart. -She disliked White Moon, because she had so won her brother's love. But -there needed to assign no reason, for she disliked all who were better -off than she. - -It is not only in civilized life that the dread passion of envy -has full sway: the human heart, the same by nature, varies only by -association and circumstance. - -Had it not been for the unhappy disposition of Fiery Man's sister, -White Moon had been happy. She could not but be proud of her husband, -and of his affection for her: it was not in the nature of a Sioux woman -to see unmoved the many trophies of his skill and bravery. But the -curse of envy was about her; and when White Moon smiled over her boy, -and Fiery Man exulted in the pride and affection of a Sioux father for -his son, his sister could not rejoice with them--she envied and hated -them. - -Fiery Man exacted the most implicit obedience from his wife, and from -all around him. He would not have brooked the slightest contradiction -from her; but she did not attempt it. - -In most cases an Indian wife is little more than a serving-woman to -her husband. To this White Moon was accustomed from observation, -and from her short experience. She trembled at her husband's voice, -though against her it had never been raised in anger. But the violent -passions, the abusive language, the frequent blows--these, coming from -one who ought to have no power over her, made her often wish for death. -Yet so great was the likeness of brother and sister, that she bowed to -the tyranny of the one, from having done so to the other. Her spirit, -too, was broken. She could easily submit, but not forget. When she left -her child in the wigwam it was quietly sleeping; when she returned it -still slept. She had been a long time away, and yet the rest of the -infant appeared to have been unbroken. - -She missed the girl who had promised to remain with the child. She had -brought a heavy burden of wood to her lodge, and she sat down by the -child to rest, and to watch its awakening. - -Its unusual paleness alarmed her; she held her own breath that she -might distinguish the breathing of the child, but in vain. She placed -her hand before its parted lips; the warm breath of infancy did not -play upon it. - -She thought it strange; but death did not present itself to her mind. -Going to the door of the lodge, she looked around, and saw her sister -gazing, with fixed attention, towards the wigwam. This alarmed her, -and she returned to her child; again she listened for its breath: she -pressed its small and clammy hand. Then did the real truth flash across -her. She took in her arms the infant and rushed with it into the open -air. - -As she stood outside calling for help, the Indians collected around her. -Her sister, calm and unconcerned, approached with them and looked on. - -The Indian doctors were there, and White Moon, under their direction, -carried her child back to the lodge. She placed it on a buffalo-robe, -which was folded on the floor. Red Head, the great medicine-man, seated -himself near it. He held the sacred rattle, shaking it, and chaunting -in a loud voice. He shouted to the women to stand off, for near him, on -the ground, he had laid his pipe and medicine-bag. - -White Moon alternately wept and hoped; she knew Red Head was a -powerful medicine-man: but still her baby showed no signs of life. -Despairing, at last, and frantic with grief, she broke in upon his -incantations. She raised her child, and placed its little face against -her breast. She knew this test would be decisive. - -There was no motion, on its part, to receive the offered sustenance. -She raised her despairing eyes, and they met the cold glances of her -sister. Then she told Red Head there was no hope. She asked to be left -alone with her dead; she wept until the power of weeping was gone: and -then, until the time was come to place it in its cradle grave, she held -it to her heart. She did not dare reflect on the passionate grief of -the father, when he should return, and ask of her his son. - -She could not rouse herself to say, what she believed to be the case, -that his sister had destroyed it. There was no mark,--no apparent cause -for its sudden death. - -On returning to the wigwam, after the burial of the child, she found -her sister there, more than usually bent upon an altercation. She -endeavoured to avoid it by employing herself in silence. She eat for -the first time since her child's death, and then applied herself to the -task of finishing her lodge. Her bereaved condition might have excited -the pity of her companion; but there was no sympathy in that breast. -For a time, White Moon would not reply to her taunts. This the more -enraged the other, who at length charged the heart-broken mother with -the murder of her child! - -White Moon heard her in stupified horror and amazement. That a -mother could destroy her infant,--no such sentiment could reach her -understanding or her heart. Yet again and again did her sister repeat -the charge, dwelling upon the impossibility of the child's dying -without a cause. No one, she said, had been with the infant during her -absence; the young girl, who had promised to take care of it, having -gone off soon after White Moon left. She then insisted, that as White -Moon had been forced to marry her brother, she had thus resented upon -him her wrong. She had killed his child, forgetting it was her own. - -The despairing woman was roused by a sense of the injustice done her. -She saw, too, her position,--the danger in which she stood. She felt, -in anticipation, the reproaches, the hot anger of her husband. - -She was roused even to madness. Her many wrongs stood up in witness -against the woman who, in her deep sorrow, thus goaded her. Her slight -frame expanded; the gentle and obedient wife, the submissive woman, -had become a murderer; her knife lay in the heart of her husband's -sister,--the strong had bowed before the weak! - -The act was so instantaneous, that White Moon stood alone to behold the -consequences of her passion. It was during the hottest part of the day, -and their lodge stood apart from the rest. Most of the men were on the -hunt with Fiery Man; the women, some sleeping away the sultry hours, -others off at their different employments. - -The hoarse groans of the dying woman were not heard outside the -lodge, so that White Moon was not detected. On one of the mats lay -the embroidered dress of a young warrior that Fiery Man's sister had -just finished. She immediately determined upon making her escape, -and taking these clothes with her as a disguise. She made them into -a bundle before the eyes of the dying woman, and resolved upon flying -from her husband's resentment. - -How often she had called for death, yet how closely she now clung -to life. The violent excitement through which she had passed had -brought again the colour to her cheek. Brightness had succeeded to the -expression of languor in her eyes. There was no tie to keep her in -her husband's home. She now only thought of him as the avenger of his -sister's blood. - -She left the lodge without even a glance towards the cause of her -misery and her sin. She turned from the places which would now know her -no more. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -Fiery Man and the large party of hunters came in sight of their home -on the evening of the same day. They had brought a large number of -buffalo, and were glad to reach the vicinity of their village, where -their wives and other women came forward to relieve them of their -burden. Merry work it was to them on this occasion, until they learned -some of the hunters were missing. - -Fiery Man looked to see his wife and child among them, and was -disappointed and irritated at not seeing them; but he remembered White -Moon was always backward in joining these noisy parties, and thus he -accounted for her absence. - -His tall figure was slightly clad, for the weather was warm--in his -right hand he held a spear, and on its top was a scalp recently taken. -He strode on without waiting to explain the occasion of this, only -thinking of his wife and son. He did not miss his sister, though he -might well have done so, for she was always ready with her strong arm -to assist the hunters, and her loud voice to give directions to the -women. - -There was a great deal of confusion as they entered the village, for -the absence of the three hunters had been accounted for, though not by -Fiery Man, who had passed forward towards his lodge. - -The hunters, enthusiastic with their success, (for the number of -buffalo they had killed was unusually great,) were surprised by a party -of Iroquois, and in the sudden terror three of the Sioux, who had laid -down their arms, intending to sleep, were killed and scalped. These -Iroquois had come from a great distance; their villages were in the -western part of New York. They were then in the height of their power, -and constantly performed exploits that astonished other Indian nations. - -But that a small party should have travelled four hundred leagues, -living by chance, surrounded by their enemies; that they should venture -among so powerful a people with such an object, is indeed remarkable; -that they should have been successful, is still more so. - -They lost one of their party. Fiery Man pursued them, with some others, -as they endeavoured to make their escape, and killed one, whose scalp -adorned his spear. - -The lamentations of the families whose relatives had been killed, their -affectionate but melancholy reception of their dead bodies--for they -had been wrapped in skins and brought home--the loud talking of those -engaged in caring for the immense quantities of buffalo-meat and the -valuable skins,--all these were unnoticed and indeed unheard by Fiery -Man. - -Even his stout heart quailed before the silent and gloomy appearance of -his lodge. There was not even an evidence of habitation. - -The lodge on which White Moon had been engaged lay heaped up near it; -but there was no one there to welcome him. - -He threw up the door and looked in; then started almost affrighted at -what he saw. His sister lay dead--and the only creature near her was -the small dog that had been always by her side during life. He could -not mistake the horrible symptoms,--the fallen jaw, the dark-looking -blood, the face calm and composed in its expression, as it never had -been in life. - -He turned again from the lodge to seek his wife and child,--the former -with her timid and almost fearful salutation, the latter with his merry -infant laugh, as he reached forth his hands to be taken close to his -father's heart. - -He looked around among the groups talking here and there. They were -gazing at him, with doubt and consternation in every countenance; -for who would dare tell him of all?--who would expose himself to the -violence of his wrath?--who but feared to see that iron frame bowed -with the tale of horror he must hear? - -He hastened towards them, and shook Harpstinah roughly by the arm. -"Where is my wife?--my child? Speak!" he said, as the woman, in her -fright, seemed to have lost the power of speech. - -An old man, who had not accompanied the hunting party, on account of -his age, came forward. "There is your son," he said, pointing to the -burial-ground. "Your wife left him asleep, and your sister--" - -Harpstinah, having recovered herself, interrupted him: he had but a -confused notion of the state of things. She told Fiery Man all the -circumstances, even to her going to the lodge, drawn thither by the -continual crying of the dog, and finding his sister there in her -death-pangs. She had tried to make Harpstinah comprehend a message to -her brother, but had expired with the effort. Previous to that she had -told several persons that White Moon had killed her child, but no one -believed it. The affectionate care of the mother was too well known; -besides, the girl who had been left in charge of her, said the infant -had awakened a short time after White Moon had left, and had then -fallen asleep again. - -White Moon had been seen as she hurried from the village, but no one -had seen her return. Harpstinah had heard angry words passing between -them, but did not know that anything more serious had occurred, -until some time after, when she entered the lodge, as she had before -described. All presumed it must have been the act of White Moon, as she -had expressed previously her intention of remaining at home, in order -to finish her lodge. - -This was the substance of the intelligence, to which Fiery Man listened -with an ashy countenance and a trembling frame. His wife, whom he had -so loved--his boy, the noble, healthy child, whose growth he had -watched day by day! As he bent forward to listen, large tears rested on -his cheek. The women moved off affrighted at the spectacle, that tears, -such as women shed, should be seen there. - -There was one who still remained beside him. Fiery Man had not heard -the charge brought against his wife of the murder of her child. So -stricken was he, that he only heard and felt that they were gone. -The Fawn still remained beside him: she had loved Fiery Man, and had -hoped to be his wife. She waited to speak when he should arouse from -the first stupor of his grief. He turned to go, he knew not where; he -heard his name called, and saw the Fawn beside him. "Your sister said -that White Moon had never loved you, and was now revenged; that you had -torn her from all she had loved; that even her old mother had wept, and -asked you to leave her with her, but in vain; and it was for this White -Moon had killed your child, that you might have sorrow too." - -Then came back the colour to the bronzed cheek of Fiery Man, and the -flashing to his eye. Then did he stand erect, like one that had never -known grief--then did love change to bitter hatred. The wife of his -bosom was his worst enemy. There were no more tears, but loud threats -of vengeance--no trembling, but firm purposes of revenge. - -He went again to the lodge, to look at his sister's body. He left her, -and stood by the grave of his child. He laid his hand upon the little -body, and stood thus while he decided what to do. He shouted for the -young men, and told them to go and hunt for his wife, and bring her -back to him. - -It was fearful to see the paroxysms of his hot anger. He lay down on -the grass near his child; he rested, but not with sleep. He sought his -wife through the night, but in vain. He went into the thick forests; -he remembered Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, was his friend; he -prayed to the god; he sacrificed to the wakeen-stone; but still he was -unsuccessful. - -He knew neither sleep nor rest until the evening of the next day, when -he was forced to yield to his overtaxed condition. There did he stand, -by the Laughing Waters, where she had stood. The White Moon was making -her way, slowly and sadly, but clinging to life--full of grief, but -fearing the avenger--living on the berries of the woods, and sleeping -where the red deer and its young lie down to rest. - - -CHAPTER V. - -A short time after the events we have noticed, a young and -slight-looking Sioux warrior entered one of the villages of that -nation. He was a stranger and alone. This was enough to insure him a -hospitable reception. On approaching the lodges which were nearest him, -he seemed to hesitate as to what course he should pursue as regards -making himself known. In the mean time his appearance had attracted a -good deal of attention. - -His limbs were slight but well formed, his figure denoting agility -rather than strength. His dress was new and handsomely ornamented; -his leggins were of very fine deer-skin, dressed so as to be white and -soft, and these, as well as his coat, were richly embroidered with -porcupine quills. He had no blanket, nor were there any war-eagle -feathers in his head; his pipe, made of an earthen material, was -large and heavy. He was without arms of any kind: this was the most -remarkable feature in his appearance. - -He was pale, as if he had been ill, and there was at times an -expression of wildness, almost amounting to ferocity, in his -appearance. He advanced towards a lodge outside of which stood the -family; they spoke to him at once, telling him to sit down and rest -himself. One of the women seeing his mocassin was torn, untied it, -saying she would mend it. - -Before asking him his name or errand, they insisted upon his eating, -knowing from his features and dress he was a Sioux. - -His feet they found blistered and inflamed. The women of the lodge got -some herbs, laid them in cold water, and applied them to the inflamed -parts. - -They gave him wild rice, in an earthen bowl of a kind manufactured -by themselves, the art being now lost. They were then destitute of -metallic vessels of any kind. - -The young warrior, after he had eaten, proceeded to give an account of -himself. He said he had come a great distance in search of an uncle who -had suddenly disappeared from among them. He was a very important man -among them, famous for his wisdom, and for knowing all the history of -their people, the Mendewakantonwau Dacotas. He could always tell them -the year when buffalo would be the most plentiful; he could direct -them to the very spot where the largest herds could be found. - -His people, he said, lived on the banks of the Minesota; the mouth -of this river, his uncle said, lay immediately over the centre of -the earth, and under the centre of the heavens: the Great Spirit had -ordered this, that they might know they were his favourite people, -superior to all other nations. - -All these things his uncle had learned in dreams; and often he spoke of -them to the young people, that they might be proud of their country, -and might remember who was their Great Father and friend. - -On one occasion he had assembled the young people, and told them of -the bloody battles they had fought with the Sacs and Foxes and other -nations. Some of the Dacota bands had been destroyed by them, but they -had been saved because they were under the centre of the heavens, and -the eye of the Great Spirit was always upon them. They knew more too -than the other bands, and were in consequence much better off. - -On that occasion he had talked nearly all night, and after that they -all retired to rest. On awaking, the old warrior had disappeared, and -since then had never been seen. Whether Unk-ta-he had drawn him into -the deep, or Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, had drawn him under -the earth, or the Great Spirit had taken him, no one knew. He was no -more among them. - -The young man went on to say he had had a dream, in which he was told -to array himself in new clothing, and to go in search of his uncle. He -was forbidden to take arms or provisions of any kind; and in a short -time he would have an interview with his uncle. This he had done in -spite of the objections of his friends, who urged him at least to take -his bow and arrows, but he had refused to do so, preferring to follow -implicitly the directions he had received in his dream. He had been in -the woods a long time, and was almost despairing, when one night he -fell into a deep sleep, and his uncle stood before him; not old and -wrinkled and time-worn, as he remembered him, but erect and firm. His -voice was strong too, and he could have been heard a long way off, he -spoke so loud and distinctly. - -He said that the Sioux need not any more look for his return, for -that in the far-off country where he lived, he had none of those -weaknesses and pains to contend with, which are constantly among the -aged on earth: he had wanted to try the bravery of his young nephew, -to see whether or not he would have courage to do as he was told. He -was glad he had done so, for now he would be a favourite of the gods, -who delighted in courageous acts. He directed him as to what route he -should take, telling him of everything that would happen to him on his -way to the village, and charged him to say to them, that he should be -furnished with a lance, bow, and arrows, and also have given to him a -comrade, and be allowed to stay in the band. The Indians were overcome -with admiration at the courage shown in these adventures, and they -immediately presented him with the arms he required, and in every other -way gratified his wishes. - -He accepted these things proudly, as a right, rather than a favour; -this bearing made him still more popular with his new friends. -One of them came forward and told him he should have his oldest -daughter--pointing to the well-pleased maiden--for a wife: the stranger -said he had promised his uncle he would not marry until he had killed -three Winnebagoes, and wore the feathers of honour he had thus earned. - -He continued to grow in their favour, and was preparing to accompany -some of their braves on a war-party, when, one morning, a party of -Sioux approached the village. One of the men was much taller and larger -than all the rest, his eagle feathers towering above their heads. The -hospitable people pressed forward to welcome them: and when they were -rested, and had eaten and smoked, the chief missed their stranger -friend. He was not to be seen; when they found he did not return to -them, they told his strange story to Fiery Man and his band. - -The wretched man knew it was his wife who had thus baffled him. He -went on his way, but some evil spirit stood between him and the -accomplishment of his purpose. She was not to be given to his vengeance -or his love. There was happiness yet in store for White Moon. - - -CHAPTER VI. - -Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods and forests, holds a high rank -among the Sioux; by some he is considered even greater than the -Thunder-Bird. Were it not for the great number of Thunder-Birds, that -race would long since have been extinct; so many battles have they had, -and so powerful is the god whose home is in the dark woods, whose -guardians and servants are every bird that rests itself in the branches -of the trees, whose notes welcome the coming of the day. - -Chat-o-tee-dah passes by the shrubbery of the lowlands, and makes his -home on the largest tree on the highest eminence of the forest; his -dwelling is in the root of the tree. He is not confined to this part of -it, but comes out when occasion may require. - -Is he hungry? he takes his seat upon the branch of the tree, and, by -his power of attraction, he is soon surrounded by the winged messengers -of the forest, ready to do his bidding. While he is thus holding his -court, the limb of the tree on which he is seated becomes smooth as -glass. - -Chat-o-tee-dah and the Thunder-Bird, as I have said, are enemies: and -many hard battles have been fought between them, the god of the woods -being generally the victor. - -This is to be ascribed, in a great measure, to the attachment and -vigilance of his body-guard, the birds of the forest. - -At the slightest commotion in the heavens, whose stormy portents -indicate the coming of the Thunder-Bird, Chat-o-tee-dah is roused from -his sleep, or whatever occupation may engage him at the time, by his -servants; he has thus ample time to make his arrangements. - -While the clouds roll swiftly and angrily towards the habitation of the -water god, and streaked lightning plays in vivid flashes on the earth, -Chat-o-tee-dah is coolly making his preparations for the work of death, -assured, by his very calmness, of victory. The little birds, hid in -the dark branches of the trees, are faithful sentinels, momentarily -making their report, while the god of the woods keeps safely hid in the -root of the tree, his stronghold in time of danger. - -The Thunder-Bird resorts to cunning. He takes the form of a large bird, -but his disguise is always penetrated by the smallest forest-bird; they -know him, and, like faithful servants, keep near their lord. Again and -again the thunder rolls, and the lightning plays about the branches -of the tree. The waters swell and rise up to anger the Thunder-Bird, -and to tempt him to do battle, but he has too many quarrels to resent -against the forest gods, and the day of his vengeance is come. It is -not often that he has courage to tempt the forest god to battle, for he -knows his power; but now he will show him his own strength, when he is -roused. - -There is a stillness of the elements, and now again the deafening sound -is heard, and the lightning pierces the home of the forest god; but -Chat-o-tee-dah is safe, for there is a communication with the roots of -the tree and the waters, and he passes through it safely, hearing the -while the noise of the elements, while he descends to the great waters -below. - -Again the earth shakes, for the Thunder-Bird has cast forth his -lightning, and pierced the root of the tree; but he is again defeated -by the cunning of the god, who has found a refuge in the dominions of -Unk-ta-he. - -But at last the forest god is angry, and he has determined to come -forth from his watery retreat, and beard the Thunder-Bird with his own -weapons. He hurls back at him the lightning;--in an instant the daring -invader is dead at his feet. - -The battles of their gods are unending themes of adventure among the -Sioux. Conversing upon them, the hours are whiled away from evening -until midnight, and often from midnight to morn. The intellect must -have occupation. How many a noble mind has thus gone to waste! - -We may judge, from the importance attached to these fanciful stories, -how hard must be the work of the Indian missionary. What a system of -error to uproot! We may also look into our own hearts:--which is the -greater absurdity, the worship of Chat-o-tee-dah or mammon?--the bowing -down to the glorious works of the hand of God, or devotions paid to the -gilded idol of this world? - -Fiery Man no more boasted of his intercourse with the gods; they seemed -to have forgotten they were his friends. - -He had sought far and near for his wife. At times his heart was full -of revenge: that she should have destroyed his son was the bitterest -reflection of all. His sister's blood seemed still to be flowing before -him; vengeance was called for on her who had made his lodge dark for -ever. Then a different mood would affect him. She would stand before -him, obedient, docile, and timid, with her soft, fearful voice, so -different from the loud tones of his sister's. He could remember her -so distinctly, as she held up her child for him to see, as he left the -lodge to go with the hunting party. Her long, braided hair, falling -about her shoulders, as her infant's cheek lay pressed against hers. -For the first time he thought she looked sad at parting with him, and -he had treasured the thought. He knew _then_ she never raised her hand -against her child. He would have crushed his evil-minded sister for the -suggestion, had she stood before him in life. He would sit buried in -thought, the storms of passion breaking away from his heart; but this -did not last, and woe to the man who came before him in his fierce mood. - -He died in battle; but the Indians said he gave his life away, for he -met his enemy as if he were in a dream, and shouted no cry as he was -wont. They brought his body back and buried it by the side of his son: -and even death did not break the spell of awe connected with him, for -the women were afraid to sit and plait grass near his grave. Harpstinah -moved her lodge from where it stood, saying, she must live farther off -from the graves, that she might not hear Fiery Man in the night calling -for vengeance on his wife, who had deserted him, and murdered his child. - -No one could tell the fate of White Moon. Her parents died soon after -her disappearance. But the Black Eagle, who some years after visited -the Sioux who live among the thousand isles at the head of Rum River, -said, that when he arrived there, White Moon's old lover took him to -his lodge, and that his wife helped him off with his snow-shoes, and -made him broth, for he was nearly perished with cold and hunger, having -been at one time covered with snow for several days and nights, as his -only chance of life. - -When he told them he had come for some of the stone that lay on the -shores of that river, to make knives, the war-chief asked him what band -he belonged to, and that while he was answering, the woman ceased her -employment, listening intently to him. That the war-chief asked him -what had become of that tall chief called the Fiery Man; and that while -he was telling of his death, and of his strange condition before it, -the woman laughed, and said that after all Chat-o-tee-dah had not been -as true a friend as the warrior thought, for a weak woman had escaped -from his fiercest anger; and that when he asked her if she had ever -known Fiery Man, her husband was angry, and told her to hush, saying, -women always talked too much, and that it was time she had done his -leggins, which he wanted to wear in the morning, when he met the wise -men of their band in council; that when she returned to her work, as -she was told, that he was reminded of the quiet obedience with which -White Moon ever listened to the commands of her husband, that tall -warrior, Fiery Man, who had gone to that country where thousands of -warriors assemble and shout through the heavens their song, as they -celebrate the medicine feast. - -[Footnote 26: The story of Wenona is given in "Dacota, or Legends -of the Sioux," in almost the words of the Sioux themselves. It has -been often told by travellers, and there is no doubt but it actually -occurred. [N. B. This tradition, as given in a letter from Miss Bremer -to myself, during her visit to the Falls of St. Anthony, will be found -at the end of this story.--J. S. H.]] - - -NOTE. - - A TRADITION OF THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY.--There is a little island, - just below the Falls, surrounded by their spray, with picturesque - rocks and dark cedars, looking lonely and romantic, more attractive - than the Falls, through its peculiar looks, and its story, - connected with the Falls and with the people which still hovers - around them, on the territory of Minesota, raising tents of one - night soon to depart, kindling fires soon to be quenched. It is - called the _Spirit Island_, and its tale is that of many an Indian - woman,--is in fact the poetic truth of woman's fate among the red - men. It tells: - - There was once a hunter of the tribe of the Dacotas (or Sioux) - living near the Falls of St. Anthony. He had but one wife, and - loved her and was loved by her so well, that the union and the - happiness of the hunter and his wife, Ampota Sampa, was talked - of among the tribe as wonderful. They had two children, and lived - lonely and happy for several years. But as he became known as a - great hunter, and grew rich, several families came and raised their - tipis (lodges) near that of the happy pair. And words and whispers - came to the young man that he ought to have more wives, so that he - might enjoy more happiness. He listened to the tempters, and soon - made a choice among the daughters of his new friends. But when he - had to tell his first wife thereof, his heart smote him, and, to - make the news less painful to her, he began by telling her that he - had bethought himself that she had too many household cares, and - that she wanted somebody to help her in them, and so he would bring - her that help in the form of a young girl, who was to be his second - wife. - - Ampota Sampa answered "No!" She had not too many cares. She was - happy to have them for him and his children. She prayed and - besought him, by their former love and happy life, by every tender - tie, by the love of their little ones, not to bring a new love, a - new wife, to the lodge. He said nothing. But this same night he - brought home to the lodge his new wife. - - Early next morning a death-song was heard on the waters of the - Mississippi, and a canoe was seen gliding swiftly down the rapids, - above the Falls of St. Anthony, and in the canoe was sitting a - young woman with two little children folded to her bosom. It was - Ampota Sampa; and in her song she told the cause of her despair, - of her death, of her departure for the spirit-land. So she sat, - singing her death-song, swiftly borne onward by the rapids to the - edge of the rocks. Her husband, her friends, heard her and saw her, - but too late. In a few moments the canoe was at the top of the - Falls; there it paused a second, and then, borne on by the rush - of the waters, down it dashed, and the roaring waves covered the - victims with their white foam. - - Their bodies were never seen again; but tradition says that on - misty mornings, the spirit of the Indian wife, with the children - folded to her bosom, is seen gliding in the canoe through the - rising spray about the Spirit Island, and that the sound of - her death-song is heard moaning in the wind and in the roar - of the Falls of St. Anthony. Such is the legend of the Indian - wife.--FREDRIKA BREMER. - - - - -THE RAIN-DROP. - -BY MISS E. W. BARNES. - - - It quivered on a bended spray-- - A rain-drop, bright and clear-- - Though beautiful, it waked sad thoughts, - 'Twas so like sorrow's tear. - - And on its crystal surface lay - Reflected, calm as heaven, - The glories of the summer sky, - With purple tints of even; - - And earth's transcendent loveliness - Was also on its breast, - As with her dewy smiles she made - The parting sunbeam blest. - - I loved the rain-drop, as it hung - So trustingly the while-- - The verdant earth, the glowing heaven - Reflected in its smile. - - A symbol seemed it to mine eye - Of the loving human heart, - That lives but in the smile of God, - Which earth and heaven impart. - - I gazed into its tiny sphere-- - In miniature it lay, - A world of beauty, trembling there, - And soon to pass away-- - - To pass from earth, and leave no trace, - But the memory divine - Of beauty, which, within the heart, - Erects its own pure shrine. - - The breeze passed by; it swayed the bough - Where the sweet gem was hung; - But, with tenacious grasp, it still - Fondly and closely clung. - - Nor, till with a resistless power - The mighty wind swept by, - Did the frail thing, so beautiful, - In shattered fragments lie. - - And thus, though moved by every breeze - That sweeps along our way, - Our hearts still cling to life, and still - The world asserts its sway. - - But, like the rain-drop, pure and clear, - That hangs upon the bough, - Oh! soul of mine, give back earth's light, - Reflect its glories, thou! - - Give back the summer's rosy tints, - The verdant tree, the flower; - Give back the mountain and the mead, - The summer sun and shower. - - But ah! in thy far deeper depths - May heaven reflected lie; - Its holy calm--its voiceless wave, - Serene as yon soft sky. - - Unruffled be those silent depths-- - Calm, though the tempest lower. - My Saviour! walk thou on the wave, - And let it feel thy power. - - Speak to the troubled waters, _Peace_, - And passion ne'er shall rise, - Nor doubt, nor care, to dim the light - That greets me from the skies. - - - - -A PLEA FOR A CHOICE PICTURE. -TO A GENTLEMAN WHO UNDERVALUED IT. - -BY MISS L. S. HALL. - - - Nay, do not say my favourite is tame-- - Her soul lies dreaming in its tranquil depths, - And 'tis not every passive breeze can wake - The slumberer from her peaceful reverie. - The sheltering wings of Faith, and Hope, and Love - Are folded round the temple of her heart, - Perpetual guardians of its altar place; - And they, of wingéd feet, who go and come, - Must pass beneath their penetrating gaze; - Unhallowed sentiments may enter not,-- - Where these stand sentinels, 'tis hallowed ground. - - Speak but a thrilling word, and you shall meet - In those so dreamy eyes, that heed you not, - The shadow of your own ecstatic thoughts,-- - Those lips, so passive now, shall echo back - The earnest tones of your own eloquence. - But do not measure her internal strength - By any standard of man's magnitude. - Nor think to fathom what no eye can reach,-- - She hath a woman's heart, and it hath been - The constant struggle of her watchful life, - To curb her will, and bend her energies, - And train her nature for her destiny; - And conscious that she hath a marshalled host, - Obedient to the mandates of her soul, - She wears a placid brow, and dreads no foe. - - A thoughtless word upon affection's tongue, - A look of coldness from a cherished friend, - A hardened thought, that wrongs her of her due, - And makes her seem what she would scorn to be, - Imputing motives she would blush to own,-- - Her spirit, safe from storms and rude alarms, - Is too susceptible to wounds like these; - But that calm face will ne'er reveal to thee, - Nay, from her dearest friends she'll most conceal, - The bitter anguish they can measure not. - - Then do not say her tranquil brow is tame. - A passive soul hath ne'er the dignity - That sits, a queen, upon her passive face; - 'Tis nobler far to rule the spirit realm, - Than gather laurels from the battle-field. - - - - -LOST AND WON. - -BY CAROLINE EUSTIS. - - - Lost the freshness of life's morning; - Lost the tints of rosy light, - Which like daylight, perfect dawning, - Covered all with glory bright; - Lost the golden locks which shaded - Brow so smooth, and eyes so blue, - And the happy smile has faded - Round those lips of rosy hue. - I have lost,--but I have won. - - Lost the kind oblivious sleeping, - Which enshrouds the little child, - Like the holy angels keeping - Saintly watches,--calm and mild. - Lost the dreams of sunny hours, - Where no terror dare intrude; - Lost the dreams of love and flowers, - Of the beautiful and good. - I have lost,--but I have won. - - Lost!--oh, most of all the losses!-- - Lost the childlike, earnest faith, - Loving on mid joys and crosses, - Thankful still for all it hath. - I have lost youth's simple pleasures, - Each departed, one by one; - But--oh, blessing without measure!-- - I have lost,--but I have won. - - I have won, through earnest striving, - Guerdons above all the loss, - Hopes once faded, now reviving - Twining round the sacred Cross: - Sorrow pale hath been my teacher; - Hopes bereft, my gentle friends; - Graves of the loved, my silent preacher, - Where dust with dust so sadly blends. - I have lost,--but I have won. - - I have won, through tribulation, - Title to a heavenly home, - Working out my own salvation - Through the blood of Christ alone. - Oh, my future brightest seemeth, - Eye of faith, exchanged for sight, - With celestial splendour beameth - On through darkness into light. - I have lost,--but I have won. - - I have won bright hopes immortal - Of a heaven of peace and rest; - E'en now I linger at the portal, - As a kindly bidden guest. - Lost and won!--oh earth! oh heaven! - Hark!--I list the angels' strain, - Voices in the silence even! - Small the loss, and great the gain! - I have lost,--but I have won. - - - - -THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE. -A WESTERN SKETCH. - -BY A MISSIONARY. - - -It was the close of a cloudy afternoon, about sunset, in February, -1818, and I began to think it high time to seek a lodging-place. The -prairie--the first I had seen, unless it might have been a patch of -a few acres, the day before--was covered with snow; and, although a -good many bushes grew on it, and it was somewhat "rolling"--I hope my -readers know what _that_ is--I confess its aspect was to me, just then, -more dreary than picturesque. Our road is best described by the term -which designated it, "The old Rocky Trace," by which may be understood -the "blazed" road usually travelled from Shawneetown to Kaskaskia. -The dwellings were not very numerous--indeed, we had the privilege of -considerable exercise in passing from one to another. Now and then -a block-house, in good condition, showed the rather recent Indian -troubles, which had frequently compelled the inhabitants to "fort." - -The sight of a cabin, after a while, was quite cheering. My wife was -somewhat tired of carrying the babe all day, and was glad to see a -prospect of rest and shelter. We drove up, and inquired, as usual, if -we "could get to stay," not doubting an affirmative answer. And so we -had; yet there was difficulty in the case. - -"I'm afeard, stranger, you'll have to go furder. _Our_ childer's got -the hoopin'-cough, and maybe you moughtn't like yourn to go whar it -mought git it--'less it's had it. You may stop, ef you're a mind to -resk it, for I don't never turn anybody away; but I didn't like to let -you carry your baby in without lettin' you know." - -Here _was_ a difficulty. We had had the child vaccinated at -Pittsburg, on our way, but had used no precautionary measure against -hooping-cough, and in "the dead of winter" there was some hazard in -it. I looked at my wife: she looked troubled. Our friend--for he _was_ -friendly--told us there was "a house on the Turkey Hill Road, a mile or -two ahead; but it was a smart little bit on the _Rocky Trace_, afore -we'd git any place to stop." The roads forked just where we stood, and -we might choose either, to go to St. Louis; but some circumstance made -it necessary for me to go through Kaskaskia. - -"What shall we do, wife?" - -"I really don't know what to advise. I am afraid to expose Amy to the -hooping-cough, and I am afraid to go on far. It will soon be dark." - -I was irresolute and anxious. We would have "timber," and probably a -stream to cross; and, with my little "dearborn," it might be somewhat -hazardous in the dark. The man sympathized with us--told us we "were -welcome to stay, ef we'd a mind to resk it;" but then, if we did stay, -we would have to be huddled in the same room with the family, and I -don't know how many of "the childer" had the dreaded disease. - -All this while my wife was sitting in the wagon, and, if not freezing, -was sufficiently cold to wish for a good fire. We had hardly observed -another man standing near, with whom the man of the house had been -talking. He listened in silence for a considerable time, but at length -spoke. - -"Ef you'll put up with sech as I have--it's tol'able poor--you can go -to my house and stay." - -I looked now at the speaker, and discovered an elderly man, in a -mixed jeans hunting-shirt--it was not the fashion to call it a blouse -then--tied round the waist, a 'coon-skin cap, and "trousers accordin'." -He had a rifle, or an axe--though I think it was the latter--lying -across his arm, and looked wrinkled, and rough, and all drawn up with -the cold. The twinkle of his deep-set eyes might be merry, or it might -be sinister. I inquired where he lived. - -"Why, it's rayther on the _Turkey Hill_ Road, and about a mile from -t'other; but I can go in the mornin' and show you the way. It's mighty -easy gittin' over from thar to yon road." - -It occurred to me that his neighbour had not once referred to _him_ to -solve the difficulty, and I wondered why; but he now rather intimated -that I might as well take up with the old man's offer. I did so, -without consulting my wife's opinion. - -He trudged on, and I trudged after him, leading my horse,--which I did -much of the way across the State,--through the snow. After a little -while I discovered that we left the road, and were winding through a -sort of ravine, or rather depression of the prairie, almost deserving -the name of valley. The snow-covered ground--the brown, or bare -bushes--the bleak, though diminutive hills--all looked cold, and wild, -and dreary. My guide still trudged on, seldom looking round; and we -seemed to be travelling without a road to "nowhere." My wife called me -to her. Her looks gave token of alarm. - -"Do you think it safe to go on with that old man? I don't like his -looks, and this is a wild place. Hadn't we better go back, or try some -other way? I feel afraid." - -I laughed at her, but her fears troubled me. She was not given to false -alarms; or, if she ever felt them, she never annoyed me with them. I -cannot say that I participated in her fears now. Indeed I did not. The -old man looked anything but terrible. I thought his countenance mild -rather than austere. Still, these backwoodsmen were famous for a quiet -ferociousness that could do a brave or terrible deed without the least -fuss. I did not know what to think. But what to _do_ seemed to admit -of but one answer--I must go on with him, and trust Providence, who -had brought us safely some fifteen hundred miles. My wife shuddered, -perhaps trembled, and hugged the child closer; but she submitted -quietly--I may say trustfully. She certainly gave _him_ no hint of her -fears. - -At length--for the time did not seem very short to me, and doubtless -stretched out much longer to my wife--but at length, after a long and -very gradual slope down a hollow, such as I have _failed_ to describe, -we saw the habitation of our guide. It was a cabin of the rudest -sort and smallest size, in what had perhaps in "crap time" been an -enclosure on the ascent of a slope beyond a little wet weather brook. -I took notice--for it was an _interesting_ fact to me--that for the -accommodation of my horse there was a "rail-pen," though, whether it -was covered with straw, or "shucks," or prairie hay, or the cloudy sky, -I do not now remember; for I have seen more such many a time since -then; but there was "cawn" in another rail-pen close by. So my horse -was supplied. But my wife and child must be got into the house first; -and in we went. - -Reader, in that little dearborn-wagon was all I had in this world, or -of it; and though, to say the truth, all, except the wife and child, -might have been well sold for a very few hundred dollars--and probably -that is an enormous over-estimate--yet it was precious to me, for much -of _their_ comfort depended on its preservation. And a _few_ hundred -dollars--nay, a few _dollars_--would make quite an addition to the -comforts of the habitation we entered, and of those who dwelt in it. -There was neither table nor chair. The puncheon floor was not air-tight -nor a dead level. The stick chimney and hearth were covered with clay; -but there was a fire in it. The bed--but we have not got to the bed yet. - -I suppose it happened very well that we had our provisions with us, -for I saw no cooking nor anything to cook. I forgot to say, that the -inmates when we arrived were a boy, dressed something like his father, -and a girl, whose single garment--we judged from appearances--was a -home-spun cotton frock, not white, though I think it had never been -dyed. Both were barefoot. They might be twelve and fourteen years old. - -"Whar's yer mammy?" - -"Mom's went over to Jake Smith's; and she haint never come home yit. I -reckon she's agwine to stay all night." - -I don't know what made me think so, but I remember I _did_ rather -surmise that it was just as well for us. _Something_ made me think of a -shrew. - -Presently, while my wife was spreading the table (i.e. a short bench, -usually a seat) for our supper, I observed the old man seated on -something, with a plate on his knees, plying his hunting-knife on -some cold meat and corn bread for his. I suppose the children had -eaten before our arrival. We had, I believe, our provision-box and an -inverted half bushel for seats, and ate our supper with commendable -appetites; for by this time I think my wife's fears were sensibly -abated. At length bedtime came, and what should be done? There was -a bed, or something like one, in a corner, but that would hardly -accommodate all five of us and the baby. Soon, however, that doubt was -solved. The girl spread a pallet on the floor, taking the straw bed -for the purpose; and the feather bed--yes, _feather_ bed--was made -up on the bedstead for us. That bedstead would be a curious affair, -doubtless, in a Philadelphia furniture store. I will endeavour to -describe it. It consisted of one post and three rails; or rather, what -was intended to correspond with those parts of a bedstead. The post -aforesaid was a round pole, with the bark on, reaching from the floor -to the joist or rafter, inserted at top and bottom into auger-holes. At -a convenient height, a branch cut off not quite close on each of two -sides, formed a rest for two of the poles that served for a side and -foot rail, the other end being inserted in auger-holes in the logs -which constituted the wall of the house. One end of the other side-rail -rested on the foot-rail. Across the two longest poles, or side-rails, -split clapboards rested; and on the scaffold thus formed, the bed was -made. I remember that it was comparatively clean; and the bedstead -being quite elastic, and my wife's fears now entirely removed by the -cheerful consent of our host to unite in family devotion, we slept well -and soundly: while the family reposed no doubt quite as sweetly on -their bed on the floor. - -After we had breakfasted, our host, for whom we saw no more preparation -than on the night before, piloted us through a grove of tall trees to -the Kaskaskia Road, and pointed out our course; when we went on our way -rejoicing, and saw that day, for the first time, a herd of seven wild -deer together. - -But the old man! What became of him? Didn't you pay him? - -He turned homeward, and we saw him no more. We did pay him his full -charge, amounting to twenty-five cents! - -I do not think my wife was ever afraid of a man after that, because he -looked rough in his dress. As for Amy, she had the hooping-cough; I -don't remember how soon, but she survived it; and has weaned her eighth -baby. - -Does the reader want an apology for a dull story? - -"Story--God bless you, I have none to tell." - -I could have _made_ one, embellished with various incidents; could have -had a rifle pointed, or frozen all our hands and feet at least, "or -anything else that's agreeable;" but it would not then have been, as it -is now, the simple truth. - - - - -A NIGHT IN NAZARETH. - -BY MARY YOUNG. - - "But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the - Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of - David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is - conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost."--MATTHEW i. 20. - - - Stern passions rose, and won wild mastery - In Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on, - From the calm fountain and the olive grove, - Toward the wilderness, as he would find - Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts. - Long had he loved her with a matchless love, - Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth; - And she was his--by every sacred tie-- - His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt - On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell, - That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses: - Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal - To her large, azure eye a startled glance - Of sad, deep questioning, and she would turn - Appealingly to heaven, with trembling tears-- - Yet was it she--the very same he saw, - Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton. - - One fearful word broke from the quivering lips - Of the young Hebrew, as at last alone, - By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock, - He sank in agony; and then he bent - His forehead down to the cool, mossy turf, - And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants, - And one long spray of the white thornless rose, - Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft sound - Of far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear, - Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept. - Ere long his ear heard not: all things around, - The present and the past--the painful past-- - Became as though they were not. Joseph lay, - With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peace - Breathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one, - Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth, - Bending in kindness o'er him. - - Calmly still, - Although to ecstasy his being drank, - The fathomless, pure music of the voice - Heard in that visioned hour, as once again - He stood by the low portal of the home - Of Mary. He passed in with noiseless step. - Through the dim vine-leaves of the lattice - Not a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer ray - Than ever streamed from alabaster lamps, - Lit the white vesture and the upturned face - Of her who knelt in meekness there. Her lips - Were motionless, and the slight clasping hands - Pressed lightly on her bosom, but a high - Seraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hush - Of the pure, radiant features; for she held - Unsoiled communion with her spirit's lord. - - Slowly away faded that glorious trance, - And the white lids lifted as though reluctant. - She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flush - Swept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still, - She felt, and painfully, that at the bar - Of manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness. - But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered brow - Of Joseph, told no anger. He drew near, - And knelt beside her; and the hand she gave - In greeting was pressed close and silently, - With reverent tenderness, upon his heart. - - - - -TEARS. - -BY CHARLES D. GARDETTE, M.D. - - - 'Tis said, affliction's deepest sting - Some token of its pain will bring - In tears of bitter flow; - But they who thus judge sorrow's smart, - Know not the pang that wrings the heart, - With withering tearless woe! - - The scorching grief that blasts the fount, - And dries its tears, ere yet they mount, - To soothe the burning eye; - That speeds the blood with torrent force - Through every bursting vein to course, - Yet leave each life-track dry! - - The grief that binds with rankling chain - Each feeling of the heart and brain, - Save sternness and despair; - And crushes with relentless hand - Each hope religion's trust had planned, - Planting rebellion there! - - Such grief, not one of these have known, - Who say that flowing tears alone - Proclaim the bosom's throes! - Tears are the tokens God designed - For lighter griefs of heart and mind, - Such as pure child-life knows; - - And therefore, hath He so ordained - That infant-tears be not restrained, - But lightly caused to flow, - That these, who cannot tell their grief, - Shall find in weeping, such relief - As manhood may not know! - - - - -INCONSTANCY. - -BY E. M. - - - They told me he'd forsake me; that the words - With which he charmed my very soul away - Were like the hollow music of a shell, - That learns to mock the ocean's deeper voice. - For he had listened to love's tones, until - His ear and lip, though not his heart, had grown - Familiar with their melody. Nay, more,-- - They said his very boyhood had been marked - By worse than a boy's follies; that in youth, - The season of high hopes, when lesser men - Put on their manhood, as a monarch's heir - Rich robes and royalty, his poor ambition - Asked but new charms and pleasures; newer loves; - New lips to smile until their sweetness palled, - And softer hands to clasp his own, until - He wearied even of so light a fetter. - Thus did they pluck me from him, but in vain; - For when did warning stay a woman's heart? - I knew all this, and yet I trusted him. - Yea, with a child's blind faith I gave my fate - Into his hands, content that he should know - How absolute his power and my weakness. - Speak not of pride, I never felt its lash. - There is no place for fallen Lucifer - In the pure heaven of a sinless love. - And when he left me, as they said he would, - My spirit had no room for aught save grief. - Giving the lie to my own conscious heart, - I taxed stern truth with falsehood to the last. - But when to doubt was madness, when, perforce, - Even from my credulous eyes the scales were fallen, - What was the cold scorn of a thousand worlds - To the one thought, that for a counterfeit - I'd staked my woman's all of love--and lost! - - - - -CROSSING THE TIDE. - -BY MISS PHŒBE CAREY. - - - Fainter, fainter, all the while - On us beams her patient smile; - Brighter as each day returns, - In her cheek the crimson burns; - And her tearful, fond caress - Hath more loving tenderness,-- - Saviour, Saviour, unto her - Draw thou near, and minister! - - And when on the crumbling sand - Of life's shore her feet shall stand; - When the death-stream's moaning surge - Sings for her its solemn dirge, - And our earthly love would shrink, - Trembling, backward from the brink. - Saviour, Saviour, take her hand, - That her feet may safely stand! - - Firmly hold it in thine own, - Gently, gently lead her down; - And when o'er the solemn sea - Safely she shall walk with thee, - Nearing to that other shore. - Whence a voice hath called her o'er. - Saviour, Saviour, from the tide, - Aid her up the heavenly side! - - Lead her on that burning way, - Brighter than the path of day, - Where a thousand saints have trod - To the city of our God; - Where a thousand martyrs came - Shining on a path of flame; - Saviour, till her wanderings cease - On the eternal hills of peace. - - - THE END. - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - - Footnotes have been placed at end of their respective chapter, poem or - note. - - Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations - in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and - punctuation remains unchanged. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iris, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRIS *** - -***** This file should be named 55942-0.txt or 55942-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/9/4/55942/ - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was -produced from images made available by the HathiTrust -Digital Library.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .25em; - } - - table { - width: 100%; - max-width: 100%; - } - - .tdl { - padding-left: 1em; - text-indent: -1em; - padding-right: 0; - } - - .pagenum { - display: none; - page-break-before: avoid; - } - -} - - - -@media handheld - -{ - - body {margin: 0;} - - hr { - margin-top: .1em; - margin-bottom: .1em; - visibility: hidden; - color: white; - width: .01em; - display: none; - } - - blockquote {margin: 1.5em 3% 1.5em 3%;} - - .transnote { - page-break-inside: avoid; - margin-left: 2%; - margin-right: 2%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - padding: .5em; - } - - .chapter-beginning { - page-break-before: always; - } - - .poem - { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - - .hideepub {visibility: hidden;} - -} - - </style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iris, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Iris - An Illuminated Souvenir for MDCCCLII - -Author: Various - -Editor: John S. Hart - -Release Date: November 12, 2017 [EBook #55942] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRIS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was -produced from images made available by the HathiTrust -Digital Library.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage hideepub"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="title_page" /> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - -<p class="half-title in0">THE IRIS.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_frontis_a.jpg" alt="frontispiece" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="smcap">Presented</span><br />To<br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del.   Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span> - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_frontis_b.jpg" alt="frontispiece" /><a id="frontis"></a> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del.   Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN. - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_frontis_c.jpg" alt="frontispiece" /> - <div class="caption"> - The IRIS<br />Souvenir<br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del.   Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span> - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - -<h1>THE IRIS:<br /> -An Illuminated Souvenir,<br /> -FOR<br /> -MDCCCLII.</h1> - -<p class="in0 center bold"><span class="small">EDITED BY</span><br /> -<span class="large">JOHN S. HART, LL. D.</span><br /> -<span class="vspace"> </span><br /> -PHILADELPHIA:<br /> -<span class="large">PUBLISHED BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.</span><br /> -<span class="small">SUCCESSORS TO GRIGG, ELLIOT & CO.</span><br /> -<span class="large">1852.</span></p> - - - - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage center bold in0">Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,<br /> -BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.,<br /> -In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.<br /> -<span class="vspace"> </span><br /> -C. SHERMAN, PRINTER.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">xiii</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> -</div> - -<p>Captain Eastman, of the United States Topographical Corps, -having been stationed for nine years on our northwestern frontier, -among the Indian tribes, at and around Fort Snelling, made a series -of drawings of some of the most striking and remarkable objects -connected with the Indian traditions. His accomplished lady, who -was with him seven years of this time, collected the traditions themselves, -and wove them into tales and poems that let us into the -very heart of Indian life. The whole of this valuable and original -collection has been secured for the Iris, and gives to the volume -for 1852 its distinguishing feature. To make the illustrations -conform more to the character of the subjects, they have all been -printed in colours, in the style now so deservedly popular. Last -year the publishers gave only four of these gorgeous illuminated -pages. The present volume contains no less than twelve, all from -original designs, and all printed in ten different colours. The -happy blending of the colours in these pictures, the disposition of -the light and shade, and the skill with which they are printed, give -them the appearance of paintings rather than of prints. Such a -collection of gems of art in one volume, could not be made without -a heavy expense. But the publishers were desirous of making the -Iris, as to the splendour of its appearance, not unworthy of the -celestial visitant from which it has been named, and of the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">xiv</a></span> -marked favour with which its predecessor of the last season was -received.</p> - -<p>The literary matter, like that of the former volume, is entirely -original, and with the exception of the beautiful poem by Miss -Bremer, entirely American, both as to subjects and authorship. -Though there are various shades of thought and feeling in these -effusions of genius, each subject being coloured according to the -mental constitution of the writer, yet, as in the divine bow of -promise, all colours are blended and harmonized in the one aim to -place before the beholder a new token of hope and gladness.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_xiv_a.jpg" alt="illustration_list" /> - <div class="caption"> - ILLUSTRATIONS<br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del.   Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span> - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">xv</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdc"><span class="xsmall">SUBJECT.</span></td> - <td class="tdc"><span class="xsmall">AUTHOR.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><span class="xsmall">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">PROEM.</td> - <td class="tdl">SARAH ROBERTS.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE EDITOR.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS.</td> - <td class="tdl">FREDRIKA BREMER.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">WE-HAR-KA, OR THE RIVAL CLANS.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE LAUGHING WATERS.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O-KO-PEE, A HUNTER OF THE SIOUX.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">CHEQUERED CLOUD, THE AGED SIOUX WOMAN.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">FIRE-FACE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">DEATH-SONG OF AN INDIAN PRISONER.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE FALSE ALARM.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">INDIAN COURTSHIP.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE SACRIFICE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">AN INDIAN LULLABY.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">SOUNDING WIND, THE CHIPPEWAY BRAVE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">AN INDIAN BALLAD.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">OLD JOHN, THE MEDICINE-MAN.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A REMONSTRANCE.</td> - <td class="tdl">ELIZA L. SPROAT.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A FINE ART DISREGARDED.</td> - <td class="tdl">ELIZABETH WETHERELL.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">MISSION CHURCH OF SAN JOSÉ.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">HAWKING.</td> - <td class="tdl">EDITH MAY.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">HILLSIDE COTTAGE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">SUNSET ON THE DELAWARE.</td> - <td class="tdl">J. I. PEASE.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.</td> - <td class="tdl">S. A. H.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">CASTLE-BUILDING.</td> - <td class="tdl">JAMES T. MITCHELL.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE LOVER'S LEAP, OR WENONA'S ROCK.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE INDIAN MOTHER.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">ALICE HILL.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. M. E. W. ALEXANDER.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">xvi</a></span>DR. VANDORSEN AND THE YOUNG WIDOW.</td> - <td class="tdl">ANN E. PORTER.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A CENOTAPH. A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE.</td> - <td class="tdl">ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE DREAMER.</td> - <td class="tdl">MARY E. HEWITT.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">WHITE MOON AND FIERY MAN.</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE RAIN-DROP.</td> - <td class="tdl">MISS E. W. BARNES.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A PLEA FOR A CHOICE PICTURE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MISS L. S. HALL.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">LOST AND WON.</td> - <td class="tdl">CAROLINE EUSTIS.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE.</td> - <td class="tdl">A WESTERN MISSIONARY.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A NIGHT IN NAZARETH.</td> - <td class="tdl">MARY YOUNG.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">TEARS.</td> - <td class="tdl">CHARLES D. GARDETTE, M.D.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_293">293</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">INCONSTANCY.</td> - <td class="tdl">E. M.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_295">295</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">CROSSING THE TIDE.</td> - <td class="tdl">MISS PHŒBE CAREY.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter-beginning"> -<p class="center in0"><span class="xxlarge">THE IRIS.</span></p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">PROEM.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY SARAH ROBERTS.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">They have christened me Iris; and why? oh, why?</div> -<div class="i2">Because, like the rainbow so bright,</div> -<div class="i0">I bring my own welcome, and tell my own tale,</div> -<div class="i2">And am hailed by all hearts with delight:</div> -<div class="i8">And this, this is why</div> -<div class="i0">I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The rainbow, it cometh 'mid sunlight and tears,—</div> -<div class="i2">The tears it soon chaseth away;</div> -<div class="i0">I banish all sighs for the year that is passed,</div> -<div class="i2">And the future in sunlight array:</div> -<div class="i8">And this, this is why</div> -<div class="i0">I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The rainbow, it telleth of promise and love,</div> -<div class="i2">Of hope, with its gay, golden wing;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> -<div class="i0">It whispers of peacefulness, purity, heaven,—</div> -<div class="i2">Of these lofty themes do I sing:</div> -<div class="i8">And this, this is why</div> -<div class="i0">I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The rainbow is painted in colours most fair,</div> -<div class="i2">By the hand of the Father of love;</div> -<div class="i0">So the genius and talent my pages bespeak,</div> -<div class="i2">Are inspired by the Great Mind above:</div> -<div class="i8">And this, this is why</div> -<div class="i0">I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY THE EDITOR.</p> - -<p class="center in0">(See the <a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a>.)</p> - - -<p>The first landing of William Penn at Newcastle, in 1682, -is one of those striking historical events that are peculiarly -suited for pictorial illustration. The late Mr. Duponceau, in -one of his discourses, first suggested the idea of making it -the subject of an historical painting. This idea is seized -with avidity by Mr. Dixon, the most recent biographer of -the great Quaker, and the circumstances of the landing are -given accordingly, with much minuteness. The artist who -designed the picture that forms the frontispiece to the present -volume has had this description in view. I cannot -do better, therefore, than to quote the words of Mr. Dixon -as the best possible commentary upon the picture.</p> - -<p>"On the 27th of October, nine weeks after the departure -from Deal, the <i>Welcome</i> moored off Newcastle, in the territories -lately ceded by the Duke of York, and William Penn -first set foot in the New World.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> His landing made a<span class="pagenum"> - <a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> -general holiday in the town; young and old, Welsh, Dutch, -English, Swedes, and Germans, crowded down to the landing-place, -each eager to catch a glimpse of the great man -who had come amongst them, less as their lord and governor -than as their friend. In the centre of the foreground, only -distinguished from the few companions of his voyage who -have yet landed, by the nobleness of his mien, and a light -blue silken sash tied round his waist, stands William Penn; -erect in stature, every motion indicating courtly grace, his -countenance lighted up with hope and honest pride,—in -every limb and feature the expression of a serene and manly -beauty.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> The young officer before him, dressed in the gay -costume of the English service, is his lieutenant, Markham, -come to welcome his relative to the new land, and to give an -account of his own stewardship. On the right stand the -chief settlers of the district, arrayed in their national costumes, -the light hair and quick eye of the Swede finding a -good foil in the stolid look of the heavy Dutchman, who -doffs his cap, but doubts whether he shall take the pipe out -of his mouth even to say welcome to the new governor. A -little apart, as if studying with the intense eagerness of Indian -skill the physiognomy of the ruler who has come with -his children to occupy their hunting-grounds, stands the wise -and noble leader of the Red Men, Taminent, and a party of -the Lenni Lenapé in their picturesque paints and costume. -Behind the central figure are grouped the principal companions -of his voyage; and on the dancing waters of the Delaware -rides the stately ship, while between her and the shore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> -a multitude of light canoes dart to and fro, bringing the passengers -and merchandise to land. Part of the background -shows an irregular line of streets and houses, the latter with -the pointed roofs and fantastic gables which still delight the -artist's eye in the streets of Leyden or Rotterdam; and -further on the view is lost in one of those grand old pine -and cedar forests which belong essentially to an American -scene."</p> - -<p>I take much pleasure in quoting also, in this connexion, -another scene of somewhat similar character, though greatly -misrepresented in the ordinary pictures of it heretofore -given. Penn's personal appearance has been even more -misapprehended than his character. He was, indeed, one -of the most handsome men of his age, and at the time of -his first coming to America he was in the very prime of -life. West makes him an ugly, fat old fellow, in a costume -half a century out of date. So says Mr. Dixon. The passage -referred to, and about to be quoted, is from a description of -the celebrated Treaty with the Indians at Shackamaxon.</p> - -<p>"This conference has become one of the most striking -scenes in history. Artists have painted, poets have sung, -philosophers have applauded it; but it is nevertheless clear, -that in words and colours it has been equally and generally -misrepresented, because painters, poets, and historians have -chosen to draw on their own imaginations for the features -of a scene, every marking line of which they might have -recovered from authentic sources.</p> - -<p>"The great outlines of nature are easily obtained. There, -the dense masses of cedar, pine, and chestnut, stretching far -away into the interior of the land; here, the noble river<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> -rolling its waters down to the Atlantic Ocean; along its surface -rose the purple smoke of the settlers' homestead; on -the opposite shores lay the fertile and settled country of -New Jersey. Here stood the gigantic elm which was -to become immortal from that day forward,—and there lay -the verdant council chamber formed by nature on the surface -of the soil. In the centre stood William Penn, in costume -undistinguished from the surrounding group, save by -the silken sash. His costume was simple, but not pedantic -or ungainly: an outer coat, reaching to the knees, and -covered with buttons, a vest of other materials, but equally -ample, trousers extremely full, slashed at the sides, and tied -with strings or ribbons, a profusion of shirt sleeves and -ruffles, with a hat of the cavalier shape (wanting only the -feather), from beneath the brim of which escaped the curls -of a new peruke, were the chief and not ungraceful ingredients.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> -At his right hand stood Colonel Markham, who -had met the Indians in council more than once on that -identical spot, and was regarded by them as a firm and -faithful friend; on his left Pearson, the intrepid companion -of his voyage; and near his person, but a little backward, -a band of his most attached adherents. When the Indians -approached in their old forest costume, their bright feathers -sparkling in the sun, and their bodies painted in the most -gorgeous manner, the governor received them with the easy -dignity of one accustomed to mix with European courts. -As soon as the reception was over, the sachems retired to a -short distance, and after a brief consultation among themselves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> -Taminent, the chief sachem or king, a man whose -virtues are still remembered by the sons of the forest, advanced -again a few paces, and put upon his own head a -chaplet, into which was twisted a small horn: this chaplet -was his symbol of power; and in the customs of the Lenni -Lenapé, whenever the chief placed it upon his brows the -spot became at once sacred, and the person of every one -present inviolable. The venerable Indian king then seated -himself on the ground, with the older sachems on his right -and left, the middle-aged warriors ranged themselves in the -form of a crescent or half-moon round them, and the younger -men formed a third and outer semicircle. All being seated -in this striking and picturesque order, the old monarch announced -to the governor that the natives were prepared to -hear and consider his words. Penn then rose to address -them, his countenance beaming with all the pride of manhood. -He was at this time thirty-eight years old; light and -graceful in form; the handsomest, best-looking, most lively -gentleman she had ever seen, wrote a lady who was an eyewitness -of the ceremony."</p> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1">1</a> "Watson, 16; Day, 299. The landing of Penn in America is commemorated -on the 24th of October, that being the date given by Clarkson; -but the diligent antiquary, Mr. J. F. Watson, has found in the records of -Newcastle the original entry of his arrival."</p> - - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2">2</a> "The portrait by West is utterly spurious and unlike. Granville Penn, -MSS."</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3">3</a> "Penn. Hist. Soc. Mem., iii. part ii. 76."</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY FREDRIKA BREMER.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I was in company</div> -<div class="i0">With men and women,</div> -<div class="i0">And heard small talk</div> -<div class="i0">Of little things,</div> -<div class="i0">Of poor pursuits</div> -<div class="i0">And narrow views</div> -<div class="i0">Of narrow minds.</div> -<div class="i0">I rushed out</div> -<div class="i0">To breathe more freely,</div> -<div class="i0">To look on nature.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The evening star</div> -<div class="i2">Rose grave and bright,</div> -<div class="i0">The western sky</div> -<div class="i2">Was warm with light,</div> -<div class="i0">And the young moon</div> -<div class="i2">Shone softly down</div> -<div class="i0">Among the shadows</div> -<div class="i2">Of the town,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> -<div class="i0">Where whispering trees</div> -<div class="i2">And fragrant flowers</div> -<div class="i0">Stood hushed in silent,</div> -<div class="i2">Balmy bowers.</div> -<div class="i0">All was romance,</div> -<div class="i2">All loveliness,</div> -<div class="i0">Wrapped in a trance</div> -<div class="i2">Of mystic bliss.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I looked on</div> -<div class="i0">In bitterness,</div> -<div class="i0">And sighed and asked,</div> -<div class="i0">Why the great Lord</div> -<div class="i0">Made so rich beauty</div> -<div class="i0">For such a race</div> -<div class="i0">Of little men?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I was in company</div> -<div class="i0">With men and women,</div> -<div class="i0">Heard noble talk</div> -<div class="i0">Of noble things,</div> -<div class="i0">Of noble doings,</div> -<div class="i0">And manly suffering</div> -<div class="i0">And man's heart beating</div> -<div class="i0">For all mankind.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The evening star</div> -<div class="i2">Seemed now less bright,</div> -<div class="i0">The western sky</div> -<div class="i2">Of paler light,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> -<div class="i0">All nature's beauty</div> -<div class="i0">And romance,</div> -<div class="i0">So lovely</div> -<div class="i0">To gaze upon,</div> -<div class="i0">Retired at once,</div> -<div class="i0">A shadow but to that of man!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_028a.jpg" alt="WE-HAR-KA" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - WE-HAR-KA. - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>WE-HAR-KA,<br /> -<span class="small">OR, THE RIVAL CLANS.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>The Indian settlement, the opening scene of our story, -presented a different appearance from what we call an Indian -village at the present day. The lodges were far more numerous, -and the Indians were not drooping about, without -energy, and apparently without occupation. The long line -of hills did not echo the revels of the drunkard, nor were -the faces of the people marked with anxiety and care. The -untaught and untamed dispositions of the red men were as -yet unaffected by the evil influences of the degenerate white -man.</p> - -<p>The Sioux<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">4</a> were in their summer-houses, and the village -stretched along the bank of the river for a quarter of a -mile. It reached back, too, to the foot of a high hill, and -some of the lodges were shaded by the overhanging branches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> -of the elm and maple. Above the homes of the living -might be seen the burial-place of the dead; for, on the summit -of the hill the enveloped forms of the departed were -receiving the last red beams of the retiring sun, whose rising -and repose were now for ever unnoticed by them.</p> - -<p>The long, warm day was closing in, and the Indians were -enjoying themselves in the cool breezes that were stirring the -waves of the river and the wild flowers that swept over its -banks. They were collected in groups in every direction, but -the largest party might be found surrounding a mat, on -which was seated the old war-chief of the band, who had long -dragged a tedious existence, a care to others and a burden -to himself. The mat was placed near the wigwam, so that -the sides of the wigwam supported the back of the aged and -infirm warrior. His hair was cut straight over his forehead, -but behind it hung in long locks over his neck.</p> - -<p>Warm as was the season, the buffalo robe was wrapped -around him, the fur side next to him, while on the outside, -in Indian hieroglyphics, might be read many an event of his -life. Around the edge of the robe was a row of hands -painted in different colours, representing the number of enemies -he had killed in battle. In the centre of the robe were -drawn the sun and morning star, objects of worship among -the Sioux, and placed on the robe as a remedy for a severe -sickness which once prostrated his vital powers, but was -conquered by the efficacious charm contained in the representation. -Ornaments of different kinds adorned his person; -but his limbs were shrunken to the bone with age, and the -time had long since come to him when even the grasshopper -was a burden.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span></p> - -<p>The features of the Sioux were still expressive, though the -eyes were closed and the lips thin and compressed; he was -encircled with a dignity, which, in all ages and climes, attaches -itself to an honourable old age.</p> - -<p>Close by his side, and contrasting strongly with the war-chief, -was one of his nearest relations. She was his granddaughter, -the orphan girl of his favourite son. She was at -once his companion, attendant, and idol.</p> - -<p>They were never separated, that old man and young girl; -for a long time he had been fed by her hands, and now he -never saw the light of the sun he worshipped except when -she raised and held open the eyelids which weakness had -closed over his eyes. She had just assisted his tottering -steps, and seated him on the mat, where he might enjoy -the pleasant evening-time and the society of those who delighted -in the strange stories his memory called up, or who -were willing to receive the advice which the aged are ever -privileged to pour into the hearts of the young.</p> - -<p>The evening meal of the warrior had been a light one, for -We-har-ka still held in her small and beautiful hand a bark -dish, which contained venison cut up in small pieces, occasionally -pressing him to eat again. It was evident there was -something unusual agitating his thoughts, for he impatiently -put aside the hand that fed him, and taking his pipe, the -handle of which was elaborately adorned, he held it to have -it lighted, then dreamily and quietly placed it in his mouth.</p> - -<p>He had long been an object of reverence to his people; -though superseded as a warrior and a leader, yet his influence -was still acknowledged in the band which he had so long -controlled. He had kept this alive in a great measure by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> -the oft-repeated stories of his achievements, and above all, -by the many personal encounters he had had, not only with -his enemies, but with the gods, the objects of their devotion -and fear.</p> - -<p>The pipe was soon laid aside, and his low and murmuring -words could not be understood by the group, that, attracted -by the unusual excitement that showed itself in the war-chief's -manner, had pressed near him.</p> - -<p>After a short communing with himself he placed his hand -upon the head of the girl, who was watching every change in -his expressive face. "My daughter," he said, "you will not -be alone—the Eagle Eye will not again see the form of his -warrior son: he would have charged him to care for his -sister, even as the small birds watch and guard around the -home of the forest god.</p> - -<p>"The children of the Great Spirit must submit to his will. -My heart would laugh could I again see the tall form of my -grandson. I would see once more the fleetness of his step -and the strength of his arm; but it is not to be. Before he -shall return, crying, 'It is for my father, the scalp of his -enemy,' I shall be roaming over the hunting-grounds of -the Great Spirit. Do not weep, my daughter; you will be -happy in your husband's wigwam, and you will tell your -children how the Eagle Eye loved you, even till his feet -started on the warrior's journey.</p> - -<p>"Your brother will return," he continued, "and it is for -him that I lay aside the pipe, which I shall never smoke -again; the drum that I have used since I have been a medicine-man, -I wish laid near my side when I shall be dead, -and wrapped in the buffalo robe which will cover me.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span></p> - -<p>"You, my braves, shall know whence I obtained this drum. -It has often brought back life to the dying man, and its -sound has secured us success in battle. I have often told -you that I had seen the God of the Great Deep in my dreams, -and from him I obtained power to strike terror to the hearts -of my enemies. Who has shouted the death-cry oftener -than I? Look at the feathers<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> of honour in my head! What -enemy ever heard the name of Eagle Eye without trembling? -But I, terrible as I have been to my enemies, must grow -weak like a woman, and die like a child. The waters of -the rivers rush on; you may hear them and trace their way, -but soon they join the waves of the great deep, and we see -them no more—so I am about to join the company in the -house of the Great Spirit, and when your children say, -'Where is Eagle Eye?' you may answer, 'The Great Spirit -has called him, we cannot go where he is.'</p> - -<p>"It was from Unk-ta-he, the god of the great deep, that -I received that drum. Before I was born of woman I lived -in the dark waters. Unk-ta-he rose up with his terrible -eyes, and took me to his home. I lived with him and the -other gods of the sea. I cannot to you all repeat the lessons -of wisdom he has taught me; it is a part of the great -medicine words that women should never hear.</p> - -<p>"There, in the home of the god of the sea, I saw many -wonders—the large doors through which the water gods -passed when they visited the earth, the giant trees lying in -the water higher than our mountains. They had lightning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> -too, the weapons of the thunder birds;<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> when the winds -arose, and the sea waved, then did Unk-ta-he hurl the -streaked fire to the earth through the waters.</p> - -<p>"The god of the great deep gave me this drum, and I -wish it buried with me; he told me when I struck the -drum my will should be obeyed, and it has been so.</p> - -<p>"When my son returns, tell him to let his name be terrible -like his grandfather's. Tell him that my arm was like -a child's because of the winters I had seen, but that he -must revenge his brother's death; then will he be like -the brave men who have gone before him, and his deeds will -be remembered as long as the Dacotas hate their enemies. -The shadows grow deeper on the hills, and the long night -will soon rest upon the head of the war-chief. I am old, yet -my death-song shall call back the spirits of the dead. Where -are the Chippeways, my enemies? See their red scalps scorching -in the sun! I am a great warrior; tell me, where is the -enemy who fears me not!"</p> - -<p>While the voice of the old man now rose with the excitement -that was influencing, now fell with the exhaustion, -which brought big drops of perspiration on his face, the Indians -were collecting in a crowd around him.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, a glorious evening for the war-chief to -die. The horizon was a mass of crimson clouds, their gorgeous -tints were reflected on the river; the rocky bluffs rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> -up like castle walls around the village, while on the opposite -shore the deer were parting the foliage with their graceful -heads and drinking from the low banks.</p> - -<p>We-har-ka wiped the forehead and brow of her grandfather. -There was something of more than ordinary interest -about the appearance of this young person: her features -were regularly formed, their expression mild; her figure light -and yielding as a young tree; her hair was neatly parted -and gathered in small braids over her neck; her dress well -calculated to display the grace of her figure; a heavy necklace -of wampum<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> covered her throat and neck, and on her -bosom was suspended the holy cross!</p> - -<p>Her complexion was lighter than usual for an Indian girl, -owing to the confinement occasioned by the charge of her -infirm relative; a subdued melancholy pervaded her features, -and even the tone of her voice.</p> - -<p>There was a pause, for the warrior slept a few moments, -and again his voice was heard. Death was making him -mindful of the glorious achievements of his life. Again he -was brandishing his tomahawk in circles round the head of -his fallen foe; again he taunted his prisoner, whose life he -had spared that he might enjoy his sufferings under the -torment; again, with a voice as strong as in early manhood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> -he shouted the death-cry—it was his own, for not another -sound, not even a sigh escaped him.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>Gently they moved him into the wigwam. We-har-ka -stood by his head. There was no loud wailing, for he had -outlived almost all who were bound to him by near ties.</p> - -<p>Those who stood around heaped their most cherished possessions -on his feet: the knife, the pipe, and the robe were -freely and affectionately offered to the dead.</p> - -<p>We-har-ka gazed earnestly upon him: large tears fell on -her bosom and on the old man's brow. Some one drew near -and respectfully covered his venerable face: the drum was -placed, as he requested, at his side.</p> - -<p>One of the men said, "Eagle Eye takes proud steps as he -travels towards the land of souls. His heart has long been -where warriors chase the buffalo on the prairies of the Great -Spirit." We-har-ka drew from her belt her knife, and cut -long, deep gashes on her round arms; then, not heeding the -wounds,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> she severed the braids of her glossy hair, and cutting -them off with the knife, red with her own blood, she -threw them at her feet.</p> - - -<p class="p2t">How did the holy cross find its way to the wilds of a new -country? A savage, yet powerful nation, idolaters at heart -and in practice, bending to the sun, the forests, and the sea—how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> -was it that the sign of the disciple of Jesus lay glittering -on the bosom of one of the women of this heathen race?</p> - -<p>Did the Christian hymn of praise ever rise with the soft -and silvery vapours of morning to the heavens? Had the -low and earnest Christian's prayer ever sounded among the -bluffs that towered and the islands that slept? Never, and -yet the emblem of their faith was there.</p> - -<p>But, to what region did not the Jesuit penetrate? Hardly -were the resources of our country discovered, before they -were upon its shores.</p> - -<p>They were there, with their promises and penances, their -soft words and their Latin prayers, with purposes not to be -subdued in accomplishing the mission for which they were -sent. Was it a mission of faith, or of gain? Was it to extend -the hopes and triumphs of the cross, or to aggrandize a -Society always overflowing with means and with power? -Witness the result.</p> - -<p>Yet they poured like rain into the rich and beautiful -country of Acadie.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> See them passing through forests where -the dark trees bent to and fro "like giants possessing fearful -secrets," enduring hunger, privation, and fatigue. See -them again in their frail barks bounding over the angry -waters of Huron, riding upon its mountain waves, and often -cast upon its inhospitable rocks.</p> - -<p>Follow them as they tread the paths where the moccasin-step -alone had ever been heard, regardless of danger and of -death, planting the cross even in the midst of a Dacota -village. Could this be for aught save the love of the Saviour?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> -Those who know the history of the Society founded by -Loyola, best can tell.</p> - -<p>Among the ranks of the Jesuit were found the Christian -and the martyr, as, among the priesthood of Rome, in her -darkest days, were here and there those whose robes have, -no doubt, been washed in the blood of the Lamb.</p> - -<p>Those hearts that were really touched with the truth -divine, drew nearer to the path of duty by the solemn spectacle -of man, standing on the earth, gay and beautiful as if -light had just been created, yet not even knowing of the -existence of his great Creator.</p> - - -<p class="p2t">Not far from the wigwam of the dead chief, Father Blanc -knelt before the altar which he had erected. He wore the -black robe of his order, and as he knelt, the strange words -he uttered sounded stranger still here. On the altar were -the crucifix and many of the usual ornaments carried by -the wandering Romish priests.</p> - -<p>Flowers too were strewn on the altar, flowers large and -beautiful, such as he had never seen even in <i>la belle France</i>. -He chaunted the vespers alone, and had but just risen from -his devotions when the dying cry of the war-chief rung -through the village.</p> - -<p>The priest walked slowly to the scene of death. Why was -he not there before with the cross and the holy oil? Ah! the -war-chief was no subject for the Jesuit faith—he had worshipped -too long Wakinyan-Unk-ta-he to listen to the words -of the black robe. There were no baptisms, no chauntings -of the mass here; there was no interest at stake to induce -the haughty Sioux to the necessity of yielding up his household -gods. They were not a weaker party warring with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> -the French, and obliged from motives of policy to taste the -consecrated wafer. Contrasted with the Indian's ignorance -was his native dignity. When Father Blanc told them there -was but one religion and that was the Roman Catholic, and -that the time would come when all would be subject to the -man who was in God's place upon the earth, who lived at -Rome, then would the Sioux laugh, and say, "As long as -the sun shines, the Dacotas will keep the medicine feast."</p> - -<p>In vain were the pictured prayer-book and the holy relics -exhibited. What were they to the tracks of Haokah the -giant, or the gods' house, under the hill which reared itself -even to the clouds, under which the gods rested themselves -from their battles.</p> - -<p>The priest wept when he thought of the useless sacrifice -he had made: he could not even gain the love of the strange -beings for whose sake he had endured so much. They were -not like the Abnakis, "those men of the east," who so loved -and obeyed the fathers who sojourned among them.</p> - -<p>And the useless life he was leading, how long might it -last? Restrained, as the Sioux were, only by the laws of -hospitality and the promise they had made to the Indians -who conducted him hither, how soon might these influences -cease to affect them?</p> - -<p>We-har-ka alone spoke gently and kindly to him. She -knew that his heart, like hers, vibrated beneath a load of -care; she found too a strange interest in his stories,—the -woman's love of the marvellous was roused; the miracles of -the saints delighted her as did the feats of the gods.</p> - -<p>But only so far was she a Christian; though she wore a -gift from the Jesuit, the consecrated sign. Perhaps in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> -after accounts of his converts she was reckoned among them. -We are told by one of the Jesuit fathers of the true conversion -and Christian death of a Canada Indian. "While I -related to him," said he, "the scene of the crucifixion, 'Oh! -that I had been there,' exclaimed the Indian, 'I would have -brought away the scalps of those Jews.'"</p> - -<p>The war-chief was arrayed in his choicest clothing; and, -but for the silence in the wigwam, and the desolate appearance -of the young person who was alone with her dead, one -would have supposed that he slept as usual. The charms -were still to be left about his person for protection. The -body was wrapped in skins: they were as yet laid but -loosely about him, ready for their final arrangement, when, -with the face towards the rising sun, the warrior should be -laid upon the scaffolding, to enjoy undisturbed repose.</p> - -<p>But a few hours had elapsed since he sat and talked -among them; but now each of the group had returned to -his usual occupation. Even his daughter sat with her face -drooping over her hands, forgetting for the moment her -grief at his loss, and endeavouring to anticipate her own -fate. The twilight had not yet given way to night, but the -sudden death that had occurred had hushed all their usual -noisy amusements. Nothing was heard but the subdued -voices of the warriors as they dwelt on the exploits of Eagle -Eye, or speculated on the employments that engaged him, -now that their tie with him was sundered. Sometimes the -subject was changed for another of more exciting interest. -A party that had gone in search of the Chippeways,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> -had been hovering near their village, was expected to return, -and there was some little anxiety occasioned by their prolonged -stay. Among the most noted of the party was the -brother of We-har-ka and a young brave called the Beaver. -These two young men, aspirants for glory and the preference -which, among the Indians, is awarded to bravery, cunning, -and the virtues, so considered among them, belonged to different -clans. The rivalry and hatred between these clans raged -high, more so at this time than for some years previous.</p> - -<p>The Indian lives only for revenge; he has neither arts -nor learning to occupy his mind, and his religion encourages -rather than condemns this passion.</p> - -<p>The daring showed by the Chippeways had only stimulated -them to greater acts of bravery; they were determined -that the tree of peace, now torn up by the roots, should never -be planted again on the boundaries of the two countries.</p> - -<p>We-har-ka had arisen from her recumbent attitude, and -stood by the side of her dead relative. She had not time -to reflect on the loneliness of her position.</p> - -<p>She had only laid her hand on the cold forehead where -Death had so recently set his seal, when the well-known triumphant -voice of her brother echoed through the village.</p> - -<p>Hardly had she turned towards the door when another -yell of triumph, sounding even louder than the first, was -heard. She knew that voice too, for the colour mounted to -her cheeks, and her breath came short and quickly.</p> - -<p>A chorus of yells now rent the air, answered by the Indians -who had joyfully started up to meet the party. How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> -every eye shone with delight, every feature working with -convulsive excitement; all the fierce passions of their nature -were aroused. Those prolonged and triumphant shouts had -prepared them for what was to come. Already they longed -to see the blood-dyed scalps, and, it might be, the face of -some prisoner in whose sufferings they were to revel.</p> - -<p>The figures of the successful war-party soon made themselves -visible in the moonlight. One by one they turned the -winding trail that led to the village. Over their heads they -bore the fresh scalps; and as they came in view, a piercing -universal shout arose from all. The eagerness of the women -induced them to press forward, and when it was impossible -to gain a view, from the great crowd in advance, they ascended -the nearest rock, where they could distinctly see the -approaching procession.</p> - -<p>After the scalps and their bearers were recognised, another -deafening shout arose. The prisoners were descried as they -neared: it was seen there were two men and a woman. The -arms of the men were pinioned back between their shoulders. -Nearer still they come, but the shouting is over: intense -curiosity and anxiety have succeeded this eager delight.</p> - -<p>The prisoners and scalps were their enemies, but over -every heart the question passed, Have they all returned? -Has each husband been restored to his family, each child to -the parent? But not long did these softer feelings influence -the conduct of the Sioux. They had now nearly met, and -the war-party, with the prisoners, had reached the outskirts -of the village. Here the confusion had returned and attained -its greatest height; welcomes had been said, and the -crowd pressed around the scalps to feast their eyes on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> -precious sight. There were but four, and they had been -taken in the hurry of flight: they were round pieces, torn -from the top of the head, and from one of them fell the long, -glossy hair of a woman.</p> - -<p>There was nothing in the carriage of the prisoners to denote -their condition, their attitude and demeanour proclaiming -the conqueror instead of the conquered—the -haughty determination of their looks, the bold freedom of -their steps, their gait as erect as possible, with their hands -bound behind them. Even the insolence of their language, -in reply to the taunts of their victors, showed they were prepared -for what was inevitable.</p> - -<p>The calm, pale face of the young Chippeway girl showed -that she had determined to brave the blood-loving Sioux, -and let them see that a woman could meet death as well as -a warrior.</p> - -<p>The procession stopped, and one of the Sioux women -called for her husband. "Where is he, warriors? give me -back my husband."</p> - -<p>"You will not weep," said one of the men; "here is the -Chippeway who killed him," pointing to the younger of the -male prisoners. "You may stone him, and then you may -sing while the fire is burning under his feet."</p> - -<p>A loud laugh of defiance was heard from the prisoner. -"The Sioux are dogs," he said; "let them hurry; I am in -haste to go to the land of souls." The words were not uttered -ere a dozen spears pricked his body. There was no -cry of pain; he only laughed at the anger he had excited.</p> - -<p>The attention of the Indians was now withdrawn from -their prisoners, for We-har-ka was rapidly walking towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> -them. Even the arrangement of her dress was distinctly -visible as she approached them: her long and glossy hair -disarranged purposely, to mark the intensity of her grief; -the blood was still trickling from her arms; her pale face -looking even paler than it was, by the moonlight and its -broad shadows.</p> - -<p>She was hastening to meet her brother, yet she did not -offer him one congratulation on his safe return. "My -brother," she cried, "your grandfather is dead. He lies -cold and still, as the large buffalo when he has ceased to -struggle with our hunters. Go to his lodge and tell him of -your prisoners, and your scalps. For me, I will go myself to -shed tears. I will follow the fresh tracks of the deer, and -by the wakeen-stone,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">11</a> in the prairie, I will sit and weep -where no eye can see me but the Great Spirit's. While the -moon walks through the sky, the spirits shall hear my voice."</p> - -<p>She was listened to in silence, for the Indians always -showed respect to We-har-ka; her being constantly with -the war-chief had made them look upon her almost with -reverence, as if she might have obtained from him some -supernatural power.</p> - -<p>"The Sioux listen to the words of a woman," said the old -prisoner, as We-har-ka turned towards the prairie. "Why -do they not make her a war-chief, and let her take them to -battle?"</p> - -<p>"We will," answered her brother, "when we go again to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> -bring home old men. I would not have been troubled with -your old carrion, but I thought to let my father return the -kind treatment you once gave him; and I would kill you -now, but that I would rather the women would do it."</p> - -<p>"The Sioux are brave when their prisoners are bound," -again taunted the prisoner; "let them do their will: the -Chippeway fears neither fire nor death."</p> - -<p>The rage of the Sioux was unbounded; the cold unconcern -of their prisoner almost destroyed the pleasure of victory. -The women clamorously demanded that he might be -delivered over to them. They seized him, and moved forward -to a large tree, whose massive trunk indicated its -strength. Here they bound him with strong sinews and -pieces of skin. His hands were tied in front, and a strong -cord was passed about his waist, and with it he was fastened -to the tree.</p> - -<p>This was all the work of the women, and they evinced -by their expedition and hideous laughs the pleasure they -found in their employment.</p> - -<p>The Sioux then went to see the body of their venerated -chief; on their return they found their victim firmly secured -to the tree. The son was bound at some little distance from -the father, while the daughter was sitting, hiding her face -between her hands, weeping for her father's situation. Pride -had all gone, only affection occupied her heart. The old -Chippeway was convinced now of his immediate sufferings; -he had been tranquil and unmoved until the return of the -warriors. Suddenly he shouted, in a loud voice, the wild -notes of his death-song.</p> - -<p>There was no failing in his voice; even his daughter turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> -towards him with satisfaction as he extolled his life, and -expressed pleasure at the prospect of seeing the hunting-grounds -of the Great Spirit.</p> - -<p>As he ceased, Chashé told him he must rest from his -journey ere he commenced his long way to the land of souls. -"A great many winters ago," said the young Sioux, "my -father was in your country; you took him prisoner, you -bound him, and you told him what a good warm fire he -was to have to die by.</p> - -<p>"You said you loved him too well to let him be cold; -but while you were binding him he was too strong for you. -Unk-ta-he had made him brave; he bounded from your -grasp in sight of your warriors. He flew; your bravest men -chased him in vain. He came home and lived to an age -greater than yours.</p> - -<p>"The old war-chief is gone, or he would tell you how -welcome you are to his village. He was always hospitable -and loved to treat brave men well. But we must eat first, -or we cannot enjoy ourselves while you are so comfortable -with your old limbs burning."</p> - -<p>Expressions of approbation followed this speech on the -part of the Sioux, but there was no notice taken of it by the -Chippeway, who was now occupied in contemplating his -daughter. He had before seemed to be unconscious of her -presence.</p> - -<p>No bodily torture could equal the pang of the father, who -saw the utterly helpless and unhappy situation of his child. -His own fate was fixed—that caused him no uneasiness. -There was even a feeling of enthusiasm in the prospect of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> -showing his enemies how slight was their power over him; -how little he cared for any tortures they might inflict.</p> - -<p>But his young daughter, who would have been safe now -among her own people, but for her affection for him, which -induced her to remain by his side, refusing the opportunity -of escape.</p> - -<p>The Sioux saw his concern and rejoiced that this pang -was added to the torture: not only his own fate to bear, but -the consciousness that he had caused the destruction of both -his children. His son was surrounded while endeavouring -to protect his father.</p> - -<p>Thus will nature assert her right in the hearts of all her -children; but the Chippeway closed his eyes to all, save the -effort of appearing indifferent to his sufferings. Again he -sung his death-song, while the Sioux stretched themselves -upon the grass, eating the tender venison which had been -prepared for them, occasionally offering some to the Chippeway, -advising him to eat and be strong, that he might -bravely walk on his journey to the land of souls.</p> - -<p>While the Dacotas were eating and resting themselves, -the Chippeway chaunted his death-song; his son, apparently, -was unmoved by his own and his father's desperate -situation, but the daughter no longer endeavoured to restrain -her grief. Exhausted from fatigue and fasting, she -would gladly have known her own fate, even if death were -to be her mode of release from her distressing position.</p> - -<p>The Indians frequently offered her food. Chashé tried to -persuade her to eat: she indignantly rejected the attention, -her whole soul absorbed in her father's painful situation.</p> - -<p>She saw there was no hope: even had she not understood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> -their language, she could have read all in the fierce glaring -eyes of her enemies, the impatient gestures of the men, and -the eager, energetic movements of the women. The latter -were not idle: they were making arrangements for the burning -of the prisoner. Under his feet they piled small round -pieces of wood, with brush conveniently placed, so as to -kindle it at a moment's warning when all should be ready. -To their frequent taunts their victim paid no attention: this -only increased their anxiety to hasten his sufferings, young -and old uniting their strength.</p> - -<p>One woman struck him with the wood she was about to -lay at his feet, another pierced him with the large thorn she -had taken from the branch she held; but the loudest cries -of merriment and applause greeted the appearance of an old -creature, almost bowed together with the weight of a load -she was carrying, large pieces of fat and skin, which she was -to throw in the blaze at different times when it should be -kindled.</p> - -<p>The glare of day could not have made more perceptible -the horrid faces of the savages than did the brilliant moonlight. -Every sound that was uttered was more distinct, -from the intense quiet that pervaded all nature. The face -of the victim, now turned to the sky, now bent in scorn over -his enemies; that of his son, pale, proud, and indifferent; -the unrestrained grief of the girl, who only raised her head -to gaze at her father, then trembling, with sobs, hid it deeper -in her bosom; the malignant triumph of the Sioux men, the -excitement and delight of the women;—all these were distinctly -visible in the glowing brightness of the night.</p> - -<p>Was there no hope for the aged and weary old man? no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> -chance that these stern, revengeful spirits might relent? -Will not woman, with her kind heart and gentle voice, ask -that his life may be spared? Alas! it is woman's work that -we are witnessing: they bound his limbs, they have beaten -him, and even now are they disputing for the privilege of -lighting the fire which is to consume him. Loud cries arise, -but the contention is soon quelled, for the deep bass voice -of the medicine-man is heard above theirs, and he says that -the newly made widow, and she alone, shall start the blaze, -and then all may join in adding fuel to the fire, and insult -to the present disgrace of the Chippeway warrior.</p> - -<p>And now the brush is piled round the wood and touches -the victim's feet, and the men lie still on the grass, knowing -their work will be well done, and the women who are -crowded together make a way for the widow to advance. -See her! the tears are on her cheek, yet there is a smile of -exultation too—the blood is streaming from her bosom and -her arms.</p> - -<p>With her left hand she leads her young son forward. In -her right she holds a large and flaming torch of pine. The -red light of the burning wood contrasts strangely with the -white light of the moon; the black smoke rises and is lost -in the fleecy clouds that are flying through the air.</p> - -<p>The silence is broken only by the heart-breaking sobs of -the Chippeway girl. The Sioux woman kneels, and carefully -holds the torch under the brush and kindling-wood. -She withdraws her hand, and soon there is something beside -sobs breaking the stillness. The dry branches snap, and -the women shout and laugh as they hear the crackling -sound. The men join in a derisive laugh; but above all is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> -heard the loud, full voice of the victim. His death-chaunt -drowns all other sounds, yet there is not a tone of pain or -impatience in the voice; it is solemn and dignified; there is -even a note of rapture as he shouts defiance to his enemies -and their cruelty.</p> - -<p>The dry twigs snap apart, and the smoke curls around -the limbs of the prisoner: now the bright red flames embrace -his form.</p> - -<p>The warrior is still; he is collecting his energies and challenging -his powers of endurance.</p> - -<p>Chashé stood up. "My father," said he, "fled from the -fire of the Chippeways; but you like the fire of the Dacotas, -for you stand still."</p> - -<p>"The Sioux are great warriors," replied the Chippeway, -"when they fight old men and children," looking at the -same time towards his daughter.</p> - -<p>"But, is he an old man or a girl?" asked Chashé, pointing -to the younger Chippeway.</p> - -<p>"He is a great warrior," said the father, "but he was one -against many. He could not see his father and sister scalped -before his eyes. Had he fought man to man he would have -showed you the sharp edge of his tomahawk; but he is a -Chippeway, and knows how to suffer and to die."</p> - -<p>The noise of the fire drowned the old man's words, for -the women were amusing themselves by throwing on small -pieces of dry wood and portions of deer-fat, which, crackling -as it burned, rapidly consumed the body of the unfortunate -man.</p> - -<p>No suffering had, as yet, forced from him any cry of pain; -it was evident that nature would soon relieve him of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> -agony. His heart had nigh ceased "beating its funeral -march." Even he, an untutored savage, felt that</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,</div> -<div class="i0">Was not spoken of the soul."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p>His fortitude to endure was increased by the thought that -soon the brilliant but mysterious future would be opened to -him.</p> - -<p>The Sioux were disappointed at his courage, and longed -to have their gratification completed by some acknowledgment -of his agony. An old and fierce-looking woman drew -her knife from her belt, and springing upon the high roots -of the tree, cut a deep gash between the shoulders of the -prisoner, then stooping, she raised in her hand a flaming -torch, which she applied to the fresh wound she had just -made. This agony was unendurable: a deathlike struggle -convulsed the heroic countenance of the sufferer; he uttered -a sharp and piercing cry; then, as if apologizing for his want -of firmness, exclaimed, "Fire is strong!"</p> - -<p>This sufficed for his enemies, and shouts of joy echoed -through the village, while the agonized daughter, unable -longer to endure the dreadful sight, sunk insensible on the -grass at her brother's feet.</p> - -<p>It was not long ere another shout announced the relief of -the Chippeway. The sweet hours of night had passed away -while they watched his noble firmness, and awaited his last -breath. During the last hour, long, low, black clouds had -been deepening in the far west; now and then a distant -murmur was heard, and faint flashes gleamed athwart the -water. A slight murmuring of the waves witnessed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> -rising of the wind, and the Sioux separated to take a rest, -which they all needed.</p> - -<p>Seeing that their other prisoner was securely bound, they -left him to face the storm and the hideous spectacle of his -father's remains. Chashé raised the lifeless form of the girl -and carried her to his sister's wigwam.</p> - -<p>We-har-ka had taken no interest in the scene that had -been enacting; she slept soundly, fatigued with her wanderings -on the prairie and the indulgence of her grief. Chashé -laid his unconscious burden by the side of his sister. Enemies -as they were, the looker-on might observe a strong -bond of sympathy between them. Their young faces were -shadowed by grief,—that link which should unite, heart to -heart, every child of earth.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>The low sigh with which the Chippeway girl awoke from -her deathlike trance, did not awaken We-har-ka. Starting -up, she in a moment recalled the sad tragedy which had -just been enacted before her eyes, yet she could not account -for her being where she was. The wigwam was dark, except -when illuminated by vivid flashes of lightning, which -showed her the few articles of furniture and comfort that -adorned an Indian woman's home.</p> - -<p>The occasional pealing of the thunder, and We-har-ka's -breathing, were the only sounds she heard. A thousand -painful thoughts drove slumber from her eyelids. Her -father she knew was gone: she pressed her hand before her -eyes to recall, and then to chase away, the dreadful memory -that tortured her. She was spared; it might be for a slave, -or to be the wife of some one of her enemies. Her brother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> -she had no doubt, was still living: he had been reserved for -protracted tortures. Overcome by these thoughts she sank -again upon the ground, but not to sleep.</p> - -<p>Could nothing be suggested to give her comfort? She -cautiously raised the door of the wigwam, and by the red -lightning she saw her brother bound as she had left him. -Despair had nearly overpowered her once more, but the -natural energy of her mind returning, she looked again to -her own heart, to see if there was any hope. Should she -never see again the home so dear to her! Were she and -her bold brother to die by the hands of her father's murderers! -Oh! that she possessed a sharp knife, to sever the -thongs that bound him, how soon would they flee away as -the birds do when winter's winds are heard from the north!</p> - -<p>The idea once prominent in her mind, there was hope. -Another flash showed her the most minute objects in the -wigwam. Another directed her to the knife of We-har-ka, -which lay glittering by her breast. A few moments of intense -thought decided her: nerved by a sense of her own -and her brother's danger, she no longer hesitated. What -horrors could be greater than those by which she was surrounded! -What if she were detected and murdered at once! -Far better than to witness her brother's fate, and endure -her own.</p> - -<p>She placed herself near We-har-ka, then gently endeavoured -to remove the knife she coveted. The young heart -throbbed against her hand. Again she endeavoured to slide -the knife from its place. We-har-ka turned upon her side -as if disturbed. After a few moments had elapsed she once -more made the effort; and now, as it is clasped in her hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> -her senses have well-nigh left her, for this time she is successful.</p> - -<p>But, well she knew there was no time for delay, nor even -for consideration. The deepest darkness of night was now -upon them; before long the morning twilight would be again -resting over the earth.</p> - -<p>The perfect and unusual repose of the Sioux was in her -favour; and, excited even to desperation, she determined to -endeavour to free her brother, and secure his and her own -escape.</p> - -<p>She first endeavoured to recall the situation of the principal -objects in the village. She did not, however, require -any effort of memory, for she could see distinctly where her -brother was bound, and the path that led to this point. The -storm's spirits were her friends: without the lightning she -could have accomplished nothing.</p> - -<p>There was a turn in the path that led through the village, -and once or twice she was at a loss how to proceed. She -would not be dismayed, though at times she feared her enemies -would hear the loud beatings of her heart. Guided by -the lightning, and resting for a moment when she feared her -footfall would give the alarm, she at length reached the spot.</p> - -<p>There had been no rest for the younger Chippeway. With -the heart-crushing spectacle before his eyes, he had only -given way to a horror at his father's sufferings, far more -dreadful to witness than to endure. There was, besides, -the anticipation of his own.</p> - -<p>Again and again he looked at the strong cords that bound -him. Could he for a short time possess the knife his enemies -had wrested from him!</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span></p> - -<p>Useless, indeed, to him, without assistance!</p> - -<p>Softer feelings, too, came in turn. His wife had been -murdered before his eyes, his young son crushed under the -feet of those who now lay sleeping tranquilly around him.</p> - -<p>The weary night was wearing on. There would be no -breaking of the day to him. There was no hope, but that -which pointed to the unknown future; no light but that -which glimmered from the silent land.</p> - -<p>A slight noise arouses his acute senses, and he turns his -head to that part of the village where were the greatest -number of lodges. It might be that the footstep was that -of some one of his foes, determined alone to enjoy the sight -of his death. Oh! what joy thus to be saved the reproaches -of his enemies, the laughing of the women, the sneers of all. -Eagerly he peers through the darkness, and the first brilliant -flash shows him the pale face of his sister, as she advances -towards him.</p> - -<p>Very near him slept, in a wigwam, two warriors who had -the charge of him. They might awake: this thought made -the very pulses of his life stand still.</p> - -<p>For at once he understood his sister's intention. He -knew her courage; he also knew that without an object she -would not be thus incurring the risk of arousing their enemies.</p> - -<p>Another flash, and she stood close by his side—her hand -was upon his, as she felt for the thongs that bound him. -One by one they were cautiously severed—slowly, for the -slightest noise might be fatal.</p> - -<p>It was hard work, too, for the maiden, for the sinews -were like iron, and her strength failed her under the repeated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> -efforts she was obliged to make. There was no word -uttered,—their hearts silently conversed with each other. -Time passed, and he was almost free; he was himself severing -the last bond that detained him.</p> - -<p>It yielded. Once more he could stretch out his muscular -arm. Grasping his sister to his side, covered by the darkness -and the thunder, and the heavily commencing rain, -they made their way under the edges of the bluffs. The -young Chippeway knew the route: a short peace had existed -between the tribes, and he had more than once passed -through the village.</p> - -<p>At first their progress was slow and deliberate. There -was no faltering, though. They were without weapons, -with the exception of We-har-ka's knife. Hunger and -faintness were oppressing them, but the danger they were -in braced their hearts. As they began to leave the Sioux -village in the distance, hope gave vigour to their frames.</p> - -<p>After the day broke, the clouds were scattering, and the -sunbeams were dotting the hills that lay between them and -their foes. Still they could not rest. The wild plum was -their only nourishment; nor was it until night had again -shrouded the earth, and the young man laid his sister -in the hospitable lodge of a Chippeway village, that he -realized that he had been a prisoner and was again free.</p> - -<p>It were impossible to describe the rage of the Sioux on -ascertaining the escape of their prisoners. Chashé went -soon after their flight to his sister's wigwam. His sleep -had been restless, he thought of his dead relative, but he -thought more of the Chippeway girl, whom he had resolved to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> -adopt<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">12</a> in place of his young wife, who had died recently. -Seeing his sister alone, he anxiously inquired of her what had -become of the girl. What was his surprise when she told him -there had been no one there; that when she arose, the storm -was passing over, but it was still dark, but that no one had -been in the lodge since then. Her brother, much irritated, -contradicted her, using the most violent language; yet it was -evident to him that his sister was unconscious of his having -laid the girl by her side.</p> - -<p>He turned away, and sought the scene of the last night's -torture. There were the burnt fagots, and the ghastly -remains. The smoke still curled and slowly rose from the -ashes, but neither of the prisoners was to be seen. The -thongs with which he had been bound lay on the ground.</p> - -<p>There was no room for doubt: brother and sister had fled; -and they lived so near the borders of the Chippeway country -that there was every reason to believe they were beyond -the reach of recovery.</p> - -<p>Disappointment and rage overspread his features. He -threw up the door of the lodge where the sentinels still -slept calmly. Pushing the foremost over with his foot, -"Where is your prisoner?" said he. "You are brave men, -that cannot take care of one Chippeway!"</p> - -<p>Starting to their feet, the sentinels at once became aware -of what had occurred. "Where is the girl?" they asked of -Chashé.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span></p> - -<p>"They are both gone," said he, "and they must both -have passed near you."</p> - -<p>"And where were you when the girl went?" replied one -of the sentinels. "You took her off with you, and if we -could not keep the man, you could not keep the woman."</p> - -<p>The inmates of the different lodges came forward to learn -what had happened. Here advances a brave, followed by -his young sons. The women throw down their bundles of -sticks, to feast themselves with a sight of the Chippeways -ere they commenced their usual avocations; but they only -expressed their sorrow by groans of disappointment. It was -decided that the fugitives should be pursued. A party of -the younger men set out without delay; they were warned, -however, not to go too near their enemy's country.</p> - -<p>Glowing with the expectation of recapturing the prisoners, -and, it might be, of bringing home more scalps, they were -anxious to set out. The old medicine-men reminded them -of their duty, gave them advice suitable to the occasion, and -then, with uplifted hands, called upon Wakeen Tonca, -Great Spirit, Father, to help them against their enemies.</p> - -<p>The close of another evening found the Sioux quiet, and -busy in drying venison, and the usual occupations of the -season. With the day, however, were closing their labours. -Often a cry of lamentation was heard from the lodge of the -Sioux who had recently been killed in battle.</p> - -<p>The body of Eagle Eye was deposited upon a high scaffolding. -His two children were still engaged at the burial-ground. -All cries of sorrow, usual at such times, were -hushed. The sides of the high hills were tinged with gold -and crimson. Some of these "mountains rose high, high<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> -up, until they could look into the heavens and hear God in -the storm." The river was as calm as if no scene of cruelty -had ever been enacted on its banks.</p> - -<p>Round the frame where Eagle Eye's form was laid hung -his medicine-bag. Chashé placed a vessel of water near the -body. We-har-ka lightly lifted the bark dish of buffalo-meat<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> -and wild rice, where the soul of the departed warrior could -take it, and be refreshed when tired and hungry. Very -near him was buried his wife. Her bones had been gathered -and buried under the ground; branches of trees and -solid pieces of wood had been placed crosswise over her -grave, to protect it from the wolves.</p> - -<p>The graves and scaffolds were continued to the very edge -of the bluff, while flowers of the most brilliant hue sprung -up at the feet of the mourners, and clung to the low small -bushes that grew on the hilltop. The brother and sister -were preparing to come down, when We-har-ka perceived -the priest seated by one of the graves, apparently unconscious -of all that was passing around him. She approached -him, and softly laid her hand upon his shoulder. He -turned to her slowly, as if aroused from a dream of long -past years, and followed them to the village.</p> - -<p>His lodge was near hers, and she listened to his full rich -voice as he chaunted the vespers. Totally ignorant of what -he said, she was yet soothed by the sweet sounds, and after -they had ceased, unobserved by others, she sought him in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> -his lodge, and night was closing over the earth as the -voices of the two mingled in earnest conversation.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>The Jesuit had long been anxious to take advantage of -the first opportunity that offered to return to Canada. -Here, his time was wasted and his health impaired to no -purpose. He had succeeded in learning the language of the -savages, so as to converse with them tolerably; but his mission -was as useless here as it would have been among the -wild beasts of Africa.</p> - -<p>Constantly exposed to danger, without the means of -living, except what he received from We-har-ka, and occasionally -from others, his time unoccupied, his life was a -burden. His health was not strong enough to enable him -to join in the hardy exercises and sports of the red men. -How anxiously, then, did he await the means of deliverance.</p> - -<p>There was an occasional intercourse with the tribes that -lived in the region of the great lakes: in this way he had -come among the Sioux, and he hoped thus to return to -Acadie. He passed hour after hour watching the approach -of canoes, hoping to recognise the tall, gaunt forms of the -Hurons, or some of those with whom the Sioux were on -friendly terms. Over but one human being, We-har-ka, -had he acquired the slightest influence. We have before -alluded to the rivalry of the two young men, Chashé and -the Beaver, for the disputed honour of being the war-chief of -the band. They belonged to opposite clans, which were -almost equally divided. It appeared evident that it could -only be decided by some act of bravery performed by one -of the parties.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span></p> - -<p>The aspirants had equal claims. They were each daring -in the greatest degree. Young, athletic, inured to fatigue -and hardships, thirsting like the war-horse for the battle. -Chashé owed his reputation in some degree to the reputation -of his grandfather, while on the other hand the Beaver's -courage made him feared by his own and the opposite clan.</p> - -<p>The long-continued feud between the two clans had been -more violent than ever since the death of the younger brother -of Chashé. His sickness was attributed to a spell -having been cast upon him by some one of the other clan. -Eagle Eye attributed his death to the family of the Beaver; -and so great was the hatred of the two clans<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> that murder -after murder occurred, and every sickness and disaster was -charged upon some individual, and thus revenge was constantly -sought.</p> - -<p>Especially was Eagle Eye dreaded; his powers as a medicine-man -were rated so high, that in passing by him many -avoided his observation—they dreaded lest he should, by an -undefined power, bring upon them the wrath of an evil -spirit. And each warrior wore beneath his richly embroidered -hunting-dress a charm, to protect him from a machination -that he feared.</p> - -<p>Yet did the Beaver love the sister of his rival, and he -had induced her to defy her brother's hot temper, and promise -him all her young affection. Love had made him eloquent, -and he persuaded her out of all the opinions she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> -imbibed from the time she was capable of forming one; while -he, blind to the attractions of all others, could only see -grace in her person.</p> - -<p>It was not likely his life would be safe should he marry -her, and remain among his own people; and could he yield -the chances of his high position among the braves with -whom he had grown up to the love of woman? He knew -that We-har-ka would leave all for him. The only question -was, could he make the sacrifice?</p> - -<p>They had closely kept their secret. We-har-ka had been -promised to a young man of her grandfather's clan. She -had from time to time delayed the marriage, by her influence -over the old man. The husband they had chosen for her -was the tried friend of her brother, styled among the Indians, -a comrade. Well did We-har-ka know how determined -was her brother's temper, and that he would force -her into the marriage after her grandfather's death, and -that, unless by some great effort, there was no hope.</p> - -<p>On the night of the return of the party, and the burning -of the prisoner, she had, indeed, gone to the prairies to weep; -but it was as much over the difficulties of her position as -the death of her relative. It was not without an object that -she had come forward to meet the war-party, and told them -her intention. When the excitement of the burning of the -Chippeway was at its height, her lover had left the group -of young men, and a short time brought him to We-har-ka's -side. After a few moments passed in the joy of reunion, -We-har-ka told him that her fate must soon be decided, and -implored him to take her away from their home, as their -only chance of happiness. They could go, she said, among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> -the Sioux who lived on the Missouri, and there live free -from care.</p> - -<p>The young man did not answer her at first, and We-har-ka, -startled with the boldness of her own proposal, awaited his -answer, standing. Her arms were clasped over her breast, -and her eyes bent to the ground: the moonlight glittered -on the wampum which lay on her bosom, and flashed from -the silver cross suspended from her neck.</p> - -<p>At length the Indian broke out into angry abuse of her -brother and all connected with her. The colour varied in -her cheek, and her lips were more firmly compressed when -he charged them with cowardice, but still she spoke not. -She had counted the cost of his love, and knew, that to retain -it, she must resign even the natural impulses of her heart.</p> - -<p>She waited until the torrent of his passion had ceased, -then pointing to the dark clouds that were gathering in the -west, reminded him that they would be missed. The shout -that came from the village warned them too of the necessity -of separation. He then marked the agitation of her manner, -bade her return home, telling her that, after her father was -buried, he would come to the lodge of the Jesuit: at what -time he could not say, but not until some amusements should -engage the Sioux: then he would tell her his determination. -We-har-ka, overpowered with fatigue on her return to her -lodge, slept soundly, even with the Chippeway girl by her -side.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>We-har-ka sat in the wigwam of the Jesuit, listening to -the accounts of the grandeur of the churches and the magnificence -of the altars in the country where Father Blanc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> -had passed his youth. He pointed to the small figure of -Christ, on the altar of cedar wood, which he had constructed, -then told her of the large one of gold which he -had often knelt before in assisting in the ceremonies of the -church. We-har-ka, whose thoughts had been wandering -in quest of her lover, asked him again of the ever interesting -story of the death and sufferings of the Saviour. Like -those who witnessed the crucifixion, she wondered that that -Great Being should submit to such indignities. Her religion -would have justified resenting them. Yet she did not believe -it was true, loving still to hear it told over and over again; -especially was it agreeable to her now to while away the -hour until her lover, under pretence of speaking to the -priest, should find a chance of acquainting her with the -plans he had formed. She looked again at the familiar -objects on the altar. Again, as ever, she told the priest he -was good and kind, but that she knew the Great Spirit was -the father of all. Father Blanc's insinuating eloquence -touched her feelings, but her heart was unaffected: yet the -father, glad of a listener, even in the untutored Indian girl, -dwelt on scenes long past, and it might be forgotten by all -but him.</p> - -<p>When the moon rose they sat outside the lodge on a mat. -They were now both silent. The thoughts of the Jesuit -wandered far and wide: memory transported him to the -forests of Languedoc.</p> - -<p>There he pursued his studies, full of high hope and youthful -happiness. He wandered through the most beautiful -scenes of nature, and there was one by his side; her smile -was bent upon him, as she parted the long ringlets from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> -brow. He gazed again as he was wont when he bade her -good night, and wondered if angels smiled so sweetly when -they bore the dead to the regions of Paradise. Memory -changes the scene. Death and desolation are met; darkness -and beauty are blended strangely. Those angel eyes -are closed, but the sweet smile is there.</p> - -<p>Hushed lips bend over the bier where roses are lavishly -strewed. Echoes of grief are heard along the halls, as they -pass on with their beautiful burden to the house of death. -Then come the long nights of sorrow, the vigils of despair, -the renouncing of the hopes and pleasures of life: then the -morbid restlessness, the wish for death and forgetfulness. -Afterwards, the solitary life of the student, then the seclusion -of the cloister, and the longing to wear out life under a -different sky. He traced again his course, until he sat here, -a wanderer, by the side of the Indian girl.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were wandering over the brilliant scenes. The -stars seemed almost to rest on the body of her relative, as -she looked towards the burial-ground where she had passed -the day.</p> - -<p>The branches of the large trees were in perfect repose: -there was no wind to disturb them; and the gorgeous reflection -of the moon on the river seemed almost to illuminate -the village.</p> - -<p>Richly endowed with the poetry of nature, the anxious -girl felt calmed by the beauty and tranquillity of the scene. -The evening was passing away, and he had not come. Confident -of his affection, she determined to be patient. Sometimes -her friends would pass along and converse with her; -but they knew her heart was sad, deprived of the affectionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> -caresses of her relative. Her brother she had not seen since -they had returned together from the burial-ground, but she -supposed he was in one of the groups which were enjoying -the lovely quiet of the evening.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a wild and piercing cry arrests her attention. -Starting to her feet, almost frantic for a moment, she recognised -her brother's voice. Again it fell in one long, rich, -full cry on her ear.</p> - -<p>There was something unusual in that sound. There was -no defiance, no fear, no excitement in the voice. It was as -if the bald eagle, long watching and hovering over its prey, -had at length planted her talons in its side, and was fleeing -away far from human hope or protection. So clear was the -sound, so long its echo, that some doubted if it were indeed -a human voice.</p> - -<p>Not so with We-har-ka: pressing her clasped hands -tightly over her heart, turning her marble face to the -heavens, she knew it all. That was not the cry indicating -the presence of enemies; her heart would not have quailed -before it as it did now: it was the announcement of the -gratification of a long-cherished revenge. Her lover's absence -was explained. Only a moment, however, was given -to conflicting thoughts. The young girl moved forward, and, -as it were, pioneered the others to the quarter from whence -the sound proceeded. There was no shrinking in her slight -form: she might have been taken for some spirit returned -to earth to accomplish some high purpose, unconscious of -aught save its own mission.</p> - -<p>Passing on to a rock, whence you could see the beautiful -valley that spread out before them, the whole story was told -in a moment.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span></p> - -<p>Chashé stood as if expecting witnesses; in his bearing -there was a frightful exultation that ill accorded with the -other circumstances of his position. In his hand he held the -knife, from which drops of blood were slowly falling on his -dress. He watched them with a savage laugh of delight. -His figure seemed taller, by half, in the moonlight, its long -shadow fell so darkly over the grass. He was not alone, -for easily could all recognise the manly and noble form of -the man he hated, at his feet. Well they know that it was -death alone that could keep him there. The blood was -oozing from his heart: and they could, even at the distance -from whence they first saw him, distinguish the marble -paleness of his features.</p> - -<p>A loud shout now arose from the Indians as they pressed -forward. They were divided as to the interest in this scene. -The friends of Chashé exulted with him, and those of the -other clan called for revenge. It seemed uncertain how the -excitement of the crowd would show itself, when it was -diverted for a moment by the appearance of We-har-ka. -She rapidly slid down the rocks, which it was necessary to -pass, in order to reach the two young men. None of them -could keep up with her, so quick and shadowy were her -movements.</p> - -<p>Throwing herself on the ground beside her lover, she made -the most frantic efforts to staunch the flowing of the wound. -She tore up the grass, and pressing it together, placed it -against the wound; but the blood continued to flow in spite -of all her efforts. Her bearing, calm and collected at first, -now changed with the evident hopelessness of the case; her -wild and frantic screams pierced the air as she threw herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> -upon his body. Her brother seized her roughly by the arm, -indignant at this show of affection; but she shrank from his -touch, and again springing to his side, before he could divine -her purpose, she had wrested the knife from his grasp and -pierced it deep in her own breast. Chashé caught it from -her ere she could a second time bury it in her bosom; but -she glided from him and ascended the bluff over which she -had passed to reach the dreadful spot. A stream of blood -follows in her path. Now she has reached the edge of the -precipice: she springs, and the noise of the dashing waves -mingles with the cry of horror that arises from the witnesses -of her self-destruction.</p> - -<p>The Indians were obliged to return to their village in -order to arrive at the place where were their canoes. Every -effort was made, but in vain, to recover the body of the unfortunate -girl. She was never seen again.</p> - -<p>Father Blanc soon after returned to Acadie with a party -who were going that route. He was thankful to leave the -scene of such accumulated horrors. He had become warmly -attached to the young Sioux maiden, whose early sorrows -had been impressed on his memory. The horrors of that -night were written in characters of blood: nor did he ever -relate the incident without trembling at the recollection. -He found in the Canada Indians more tractable scholars,—at -least, when they feared the cannon of the French.</p> - -<p>There is reason to conclude that the efforts of the Jesuits -among the aborigines of our country left no abiding impression -of good: but, like the waters which the tall ships have -passed over, they were agitated for a while from their usual -course, then returned to their restless surging as before.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4">4</a> The names Sioux and Dacota are applied to the same nation; the Indians -themselves recognising and preferring the latter name. The little -that is known of them is given in the introduction to Dacota, or Legends of -the Sioux. They have, for many years, been considered a powerful, warlike, -and interesting people. They formerly possessed the knowledge of -many things of which they are now totally ignorant. They retain the greatest -attachment to their country and their religion.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5">5</a> For every scalp taken by a Sioux in battle he is entitled to wear a -feather of the War Eagle. This is an ornament greatly esteemed among -them.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6">6</a> The Dacotas believe thunder to be a bird. It would be impossible to -enumerate their gods, they are so numerous; but the thunder is much feared -as being one of the most powerful. In living among them you constantly -see representations of these gods, drawn and carved on the various articles -that are used among them.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7">7</a> Wampum is a long bead made of the inside of a shell, white and of dark -purple colour; it is very much valued by the Indians, used as necklaces; -the women esteem nothing more highly than a string or two of wampum. -It has frequently been used as currency among the different tribes; but in -making treaties it is strung and made into a belt, and at the close of a -speech is presented to the other party as a pledge of good faith.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8">8</a> Among the Sioux it is customary to inflict wounds, sometimes deep -and severe ones, upon themselves on the occasion of the death of a friend. -The arms of aged people are frequently seamed with scars.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9">9</a> Acadia, or Acadie, was the ancient name for what is now called Nova -Scotia. Before the latter name was used in the act of incorporation by the -British Parliament, Acadie was within the jurisdiction of Lower Canada.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10">10</a> The Sioux and Chippeways seem to be natural enemies. Peace has been -declared between the two nations time and again, but never has it been sustained, -although the United States Government has made every effort to -and even compel them to forego their ancient enmity.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11">11</a> Wakeen-stone. The Sioux choose stones as objects of worship. We -find them frequently on their thoroughfares; they never pass these without -stopping to smoke, or to make some slight offering, such as tobacco, a -feather, an arrow, or a trinket.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12">12</a> Young persons taken prisoners in battle are often adopted, in the place -of some lost relative. They are then treated with the kindness usually -shown towards a dear and valued friend.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13">13</a> The Sioux believe in the duality of the soul,—one going to the land of -spirits, while one hovers round the grave, requiring nourishment. Some -few of their wise people believe that each body claims more than two souls, -assigning an occupation for each; but this is not the prevailing opinion.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14">14</a> In a Sioux village there are different clans, known by the peculiar medicine -that each uses, each clan claiming superior power, resting in a spell, -which the medicine man or woman can throw upon those of the opposite -party.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_068a.jpg" alt="St. Anthony Falls" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - THE LAUGHING WATERS,<br />Three miles below The Falls of S<sup>t.</sup> Anthony. - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE LAUGHING WATERS.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p class="center in0 p1t p1b">A few miles from the Falls of St. Anthony are The Little Falls, or, as the Sioux call them, The -Laughing Waters.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">Do you know where the waters laugh?</div> -<div class="i4">Have you seen where they playfully fall?</div> -<div class="i2">Hid from the sun by the forest trees green,</div> -<div class="i2">(Though its rays do pierce the vines between,)</div> -<div class="i2">Dancing with joy, till, night-like, a screen</div> -<div class="i0">Comes down from the heavens at the whippoorwill's call.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">Come with me, then, we will tread</div> -<div class="i4">On a carpet of long grass and flowers.</div> -<div class="i2">The wild lady's slipper we'll pluck as it droops,</div> -<div class="i2">We will watch the proud eagle, as from heaven she stoops,</div> -<div class="i2">A seat we will take by the dark leafy nooks,</div> -<div class="i0">Where a fairy might while away summer's bright hours.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">From on high, the gay waters come!</div> -<div class="i4">At first, how they lazily creep</div> -<div class="i2">O'er embedded rocks, while agates so bright</div> -<div class="i2">Here and there greet the sun, by noonday's strong light,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> -<div class="i2">And again dimly glance when stars come at night,</div> -<div class="i0">To watch where the Father of Waters' waves sleep.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">How mildly they laugh as they haste!</div> -<div class="i4">Now they near the spot where they will spring,</div> -<div class="i2">Lightly clearing the distance to the pebbles below,</div> -<div class="i2">Where, tired with the effort, more calmly they flow,</div> -<div class="i2">While the glistening spray, and the foam white as snow,</div> -<div class="i0">Their light o'er the rocks and the dancing waves fling.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">At evening how often will come</div> -<div class="i4">The wild deer to drink and to rest;</div> -<div class="i2">Till frightened away by the nighthawk's loud scream,</div> -<div class="i2">They flee to the shades where the wood spirits dream,</div> -<div class="i2">And sink to repose by the moonlight's fair beam,</div> -<div class="i0">Like the babe by its mother's soft smile lulled to rest.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">And here does the tall warrior stand,</div> -<div class="i4">With the maiden he loves by his side!</div> -<div class="i2">He tells her to list while the fairies do quaff</div> -<div class="i2">Their cupful, and shout, and then wildly laugh,</div> -<div class="i2">For they know that she leans on his love like a staff,</div> -<div class="i0">Which will ever support her in life's changing tide.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">'Twould be well, did ye weep, waters bright!</div> -<div class="i4">Soon no more to thy banks will they come,—</div> -<div class="i2">The maiden who loves, or the warrior so brave,</div> -<div class="i2">The wild deer at eve, in thy waters to lave,</div> -<div class="i2">The song-bird to dip its bright wing in thy wave,</div> -<div class="i0">When the shadows that fall with the night are all gone.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">The Indian's reproach ye might hear,</div> -<div class="i4">Did ye listen, fair waves, to the sound!</div> -<div class="i2">Are you gay, when you know of the tears we have shed,</div> -<div class="i2">When profaned are the graves of our fathers long dead,</div> -<div class="i2">When haunted our lands, by the white man's proud tread,</div> -<div class="i0">As he passes o'er rock and o'er prairie and mound?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">For ages we've loved thy fair stream!</div> -<div class="i4">No more can we claim thee, no more</div> -<div class="i2">Will the warrior sing his war-song in thy ears,</div> -<div class="i2">Will the mother who comes for her child to shed tears,</div> -<div class="i2">Will the maiden who prays to the spirit she fears,</div> -<div class="i0">Gaze on thy bright waves, or rest by thy shore?</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>O-KO-PEE.<br /> -<span class="small">A MIGHTY HUNTER OF THE SIOUX.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>It is impossible for one possessed of kind and generous -feelings to pass a grave without mournful reflections. -Though a stately monument rise over it, it covers the work -of death. The mouldering form was once as full of joy and -care, of tears and rejoicings, as we;—a being who performed -his part in the theatre of life, but who has now, -for ever, taken his place behind the closed curtain. And if -it be the resting-place of the poor and unknown, we must -feel too: the rude stone at the head, the weeds springing -up, the indifference of the merry children as they play -around it, do not take from the claim that was once possessed -by the form that is fast mingling with its native -earth, to have been one of the many toilers after a happiness -never obtained, a rest never enjoyed on earth! How have -passed away many of the nations of the earth. Some have -noble monuments. Egypt, Greece, Rome, Palmyra, and -the Aztecs, who flourished upon our own shores—gems of -wealth and learning are heaped upon their graves; the undying -wreath of fame crowns their memory. The older the -world, the better they will be known. As time advances,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> -so will increase our knowledge of their history and laws—their -hieroglyphics will be understood, throwing light upon -things hitherto a mystery to us.</p> - -<p>But not so with our Indian nations; they must depart -with hardly a memorial of their existence. Few now care -to learn aught that one day may be spoken in memory -of a noble people passed away; few now reflect that the -soul of this people stands winged for its flight.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>Some recollections of the time passed among the Northwestern -Indians are very delightful to me, but many are -equally sad—none more so than the history of a poor idiot -creature with whom we were well acquainted.</p> - -<p>O-ko-pee, "The Nest." I have often reflected upon his -eventful life, and melancholy death—his patience and humility, -the muscular strength of his form, and the passionless -expression of his features. The mortal tenement was -able and healthful when I first knew him, but the spiritual -no longer animated it; indeed, as a companion he was no -better than the game he hunted, for his mind was gone.</p> - -<p>When overcome with hunger he would tell us how very -long it was since he had eaten. He knew, too, when he -was cold, for he would direct our attention to his threadbare -clothing. Like the prairie deer or buffalo, he would seek -shelter from the storm or burning sun; but though he might -once have reflected upon the occupations of a disembodied -spirit, when it should be released from the shackles of earth, -he had long since ceased to do so. His mind floated on the -stormy waves of life, like the wreck at sea, far alike from -light, hope, or help.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p> - -<p>His life was an eventful one for an Indian's. Born when -the Sioux were not dependent upon white people, he trod -his native earth with the consciousness of owning it. He -routed up the timid grouse from the prairies, and brought -down the red-head and wood-duck on the wing, never fearing -that they and he would be chased from the haunts they -loved. Often, when a small boy, would he kill the plover -and woodcock in numbers, carrying them to his mother as -trophies of his skill. How gaily he laughed as for the first -time he stayed the fleet course of the wild deer, and watched -her panting, as she lay beside the brook, looking for the last -time at her own image in its clear waters, longing to suage -the thirst of death with its refreshing coolness.</p> - -<p>His bones were still tender and his frame small when he -sped his wild horse among the buffalo, sending his lance -into their sides, and shouting as they tore up the earth, -roaring in their agony. Was he in danger from the restiveness -of his horse? he knew he had only to fix his black -eye upon the revengeful buffalo, and, by the power of the -soul speaking there, subdue his rage. The eye of man meeting -the eye of beast, never turning or yielding its glance, -would quell the passions of the animal, and he would be -safe.</p> - -<p>He could not stay in the wigwam, even for an hour: -child of the woods and prairies, he needed only their companionship. -The streams, the rocks, and hills were the -friends whose society he loved. Among them he could -"commune with his own heart, and be still."</p> - -<p>Threading the passes among the hills, or stepping from -point to point on the dangerous rocks by the shore, he ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> -took the lead in the chase, and early gained the reputation -of being the most famous hunter among the Sioux. How -he obtained the soubriquet of "The Nest"<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> I know not, but -he retained it through all the varying events of his life on -earth, and it has followed him to the Indian's unhallowed -grave, over which hovers no spirit of hope, but the dark -and fallen angels of ignorance and superstition.</p> - -<p>As O-ko-pee approached to manhood, the English claimed -and obtained jurisdiction over the Sioux. But the hunter, -well acquainted with his own laws, showed no inclination -to meddle with those of another nation, who showed the -might of right.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he did not feel with the many, who were more -sensitive and less happy, the soul-destroying anticipation of -slavery. So long as he had his lance and bow and arrow, -what cared he for innovation? and he was too ignorant of -the economy of nations to recognise the fact that when a -people loses the right of self-government, it yields for ever -the power of advancing in strength or happiness.</p> - -<p>Living in his own world, turning his eyes in adoration to -the sun he worshipped, he believed the Great Spirit would -not interfere with his concerns farther than to punish him -should he neglect to celebrate the feasts and customs of his -nation, or turn from the faith of his ancestors. Never was -he happier than when listening to the flapping of the wings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> -of the mischievous thunder-birds, the gods of his nation, as -they roused themselves at the bright and forked streaks in -the heavy clouds.</p> - -<p>There were many, however, among the Sioux who would -not willingly yield to the oppressions of the English, as they -now would gladly resent, had they the power to do so, the -encroachments of the people of the United States. Thus, -a Dacota, who had received a personal injury from an -Englishman, determined to take an opportunity of resenting -it; he did so, according to Indian rules of strategy. -He watched when his victim was unawares, and took -aim successfully, then plunging into the thick forests, was -lost to the search of his foes, as was the dead Englishman, -to the distress of his family. The English pursued -a system then which has since been adopted by our own -countrymen; a system sometimes productive of great injustice, -yet, under the peculiar circumstances, the best one -that could be fixed on. I allude to that of taking hostages, -and retaining them until the offender should be given up.</p> - -<p>O-ko-pee, who had dreamed away his childhood among -the most beautiful scenes of nature, found himself a prisoner, -torn from the objects which were dear to him as life; -nay, they were his life, for deprived of them he sunk to the -level of the beasts of the forests.</p> - -<p>Immured in a prison, far from the refreshing air of his -native hills, shut in by the bars he vainly strove to loosen -or to break, seeing no more the bear, the buffalo, the otter, -or the deer, his heart was broken.</p> - -<p>After many years of imprisonment, useless, for the real -murderer never was found, he was turned loose, like an animal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> -from whence the owner can no longer derive either -amusement or profit: he returned mechanically to his former -occupation. Once again free in the woods, he was soon -a laughing-stock for the Sioux. "He has no heart since he -was prisoner to the white man!" they cried, as he passed to -the prairies, with his vacant look and humbled demeanour. -Where was the proud glance and the free step? Ask those -who with the iron arm of power punished the innocent for -the guilty.</p> - -<p>Still, as ever, he followed the chase—thirteen deer did he -kill in one day, and never tired of hunting, even as age advanced -seemed to increase his passion for roaming.</p> - -<p>Often has he come to us with every variety of game, -never breaking his word, whatever might be the state of the -weather. But in coming or going, giving or receiving, his -demeanour and countenance never changed; his eyes were -wandering in vacancy, save when the fire-water, given by -the white man in exchange for the soft furs he brought him, -would tinge his sallow cheeks with the flush of madness, -and lighten his eye with the glances of a fiend, and change -from the sober quiet and calmness of the unhappy idiot to -the noisy, reeling, hellish figure, which seemed a visitant -from the world of darkness rather than a suffering inhabitant -of earth.</p> - -<p>O-ko-pee is dead. It is not mine to say whether or not, -in another state of existence, he enjoys happiness sufficient -in degree to make up for the heavy trials of life: I have -only to do with him here; and as I have said he lived a -sacrifice to the all-conquering and indomitable spirit of the -Saxon race, so did he die.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span></p> - -<p>Some years ago, a band of Sioux, distant from Fort Snelling, -attacked a party of Winnebagoes, taking fourteen scalps. -Hearing that the scalps were carried from village to village, -and danced round day after day, there was a party sent -from the Fort to take these scalps from the Indians, as there -was a fear lest the hot blood of the young warriors should -be roused, and serious difficulties would then occur between -the two tribes. So the scalps were brought into the Fort; -the affair was reported at Washington. The Winnebagoes -asked for indemnity for the injuries they had received, and -the authorities at Washington decided that four thousand -dollars should be paid to the Winnebagoes out of the annuities -received by the Sioux from our own government. It -was in the summer: the Indian potato, hard and indigestible, -was just ripening: the corn was green. The Sioux -were without flour and other provisions; even if game had -been abundant, they had neither powder nor shot. They -pined away by fever and weakness; death stalked among -them like a giant, laughing as he crushed to earth men who -were like children beside him.</p> - -<p>Was there no help for them? the mandate had gone forth. -The children fell to the ground dying for want of nourishment; -the strong man clung to the trees for support, and the -gray-haired leaned against the insensible rocks. Few there -were who could bring down the game with their bows and -arrows as did their forefathers, and the white people were -crowding in their country and driving the game back where -they were too feeble to pursue it.</p> - -<p>Then came forward the kind missionaries to the aid of -their unhappy friends. How liberally they shared with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> -them all that they possessed, striving too to quiet their -minds, agitated by burning fever. They gave them medicine -and food, supporting the dying mother and taking -charge of the infant and the aged. They sought to assuage -the agonies of exhausted nature, directing in its flight the -restless spirit standing upon the borders of life to that happy -place where hunger and sickness are unknown.</p> - -<p>It was on one of the warmest days of summer when my -little children, with their father, crossed the St. Peter's, and -advanced towards the trading establishment at Mendota. -On the shores of the river one wigwam was placed, and, attracted -by the groans of anguish which proceeded from it, -they entered. It was O-ko-pee dying; yes, dying as he had -lived, a sacrifice to the white man's rule—dying as he had -lived, alone.</p> - -<p>No friend supported his aching head, which was burning -with fever, or chafed the cold limbs covered with ashes. -Indeed, his head was pillowed on a bed of ashes. He recognised -his visiters, and seeing their young faces solemnized -by what they had never before witnessed, the presence of -death, he spoke to them by name, said he was sick, and -asked them for medicine. It was too late for medicine or -sympathy; in another hour O-ko-pee, the hunter of the -Sioux, was gone for ever from the earth.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15">15</a> It is customary, when an Indian advances towards manhood, for him -to lose the name bestowed upon him in childhood, obtaining another by -some peculiarity of appearance or conduct, some daring action or violent -passion; thus, Sleepy Eyes, is the name of a chief among the Sioux, from -the drowsy expression of his countenance.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CHEQUERED CLOUD.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">THE AGED SIOUX WOMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I would tell you of a friend of mine:</div> -<div class="i2">She's neither rich nor fair;</div> -<div class="i0">The snows of many winters</div> -<div class="i2">Have bleached her raven hair.</div> -<div class="i0">The brightness of her large black eye</div> -<div class="i2">Has been dimmed for many years;</div> -<div class="i0">And the furrows in her cheek were made</div> -<div class="i2">By time and shedding tears.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She is an Indian woman,</div> -<div class="i2">And me has often told</div> -<div class="i0">Traditions of her native land,</div> -<div class="i2">And legends sung of old;</div> -<div class="i0">Of battles fiercely fought and won,</div> -<div class="i2">Of the warrior as he fell,</div> -<div class="i0">While he tried to shield from a fearful death</div> -<div class="i2">The wife he loved so well.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Ask her whence her nation came:</div> -<div class="i2">With a smile she will reply,</div> -<div class="i0">"The Dacotas aye have owned this land,</div> -<div class="i2">Where the eagle soars so high;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> -<div class="i0">Where Mississippi's waters flow,</div> -<div class="i2">Through bluffs and prairies wide;</div> -<div class="i0">Where by Minesota's sandy shore</div> -<div class="i2">The wild rice grows beside."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Ask her of her warrior sons,</div> -<div class="i2">Who rose up by her side—</div> -<div class="i0">Enah! in the fearful battle,</div> -<div class="i2">And by sickness they have died—</div> -<div class="i0">And of her gentle daughter:</div> -<div class="i2">See the tear steals lowly down,</div> -<div class="i0">As the memory of the slaughter</div> -<div class="i2">Of that frightful night comes on.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Many have been her sorrows,</div> -<div class="i2">While ever to her breast</div> -<div class="i0">Sickness or want or suffering came,</div> -<div class="i2">Like a familiar guest.</div> -<div class="i0">Yet, she says there was a time</div> -<div class="i2">When her step was light and free,</div> -<div class="i0">And her voice as joyous as the bird</div> -<div class="i2">That sings in the forest tree.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I said she was my friend:—</div> -<div class="i2">I am not one of those,</div> -<div class="i0">Who from the wealthy or the great</div> -<div class="i2">Companionship would choose.</div> -<div class="i0">The soul that animates her frame</div> -<div class="i2">Is as gifted and as free,</div> -<div class="i0">And will live for ever,—like the one</div> -<div class="i2">That God has given me.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She worships the Great Spirit,</div> -<div class="i2">Yet often does she tell</div> -<div class="i0">Of the fairies that inhabit</div> -<div class="i2">Mountain, river, rock, and dell.</div> -<div class="i0">She will say to kill a foe</div> -<div class="i2">Of religion is a part;</div> -<div class="i0">Yet underneath her bosom beats</div> -<div class="i2">A kind and noble heart.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She has ever loved to listen</div> -<div class="i2">To the savage shout and dance;</div> -<div class="i0">To see the red knife glisten</div> -<div class="i2">O'er the dying Chippeway's glance.</div> -<div class="i0">To watch the prisoner, burning,</div> -<div class="i2">Confronting at the stake</div> -<div class="i0">His enemies, who vainly strive</div> -<div class="i2">His spirit proud to break.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Judge her kindly,—and remember,</div> -<div class="i2">She was not taught in youth</div> -<div class="i0">To bend the knee and lift the heart</div> -<div class="i2">To the God of love and truth.</div> -<div class="i0">"Love ye your foes," said He who brought</div> -<div class="i2">To us the golden rule;</div> -<div class="i0">But "eye for eye," was the maxim taught</div> -<div class="i2">In the ancient Jewish school.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">We know it was a beggar</div> -<div class="i2">Who in Abraham's bosom slept,—</div> -<div class="i0">And, haply, her ancestors</div> -<div class="i2">By Babylon's waters wept.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> -<div class="i0">While poor, like Lazarus, it may be,</div> -<div class="i2">From Israel's stock has come</div> -<div class="i0">The red man, tracing out on earth</div> -<div class="i2">His God-forgotten doom.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Well I knew, when last we parted,</div> -<div class="i2">That, if ever we met more,</div> -<div class="i0">'Twould be when life's sweet sympathies</div> -<div class="i2">And painful cares are o'er.</div> -<div class="i0">She said, while down her aged face</div> -<div class="i2">The tears coursed rapidly,</div> -<div class="i0">"Many a white woman have I known,</div> -<div class="i2">But you were kind to me."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Not half as dear to the miser</div> -<div class="i2">Is the yellow gold he saves,—</div> -<div class="i0">Or the pearl, to the venturous diver,</div> -<div class="i2">Which he seeks beneath the waves,</div> -<div class="i0">Or the summer breeze, to the drooping flower,</div> -<div class="i2">Fresh from the balmy South,</div> -<div class="i0">As those grateful words which slowly came</div> -<div class="i2">From the Indian woman's mouth.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She has struggled with the ills of life;</div> -<div class="i2">For her no parent's prayers</div> -<div class="i0">Have risen to the throne of God,</div> -<div class="i2">To sanctify life's cares.</div> -<div class="i0">But God will judge her kindly:</div> -<div class="i2">He sees the sparrow fall;</div> -<div class="i0">And, through his Son's atoning blood,</div> -<div class="i2">May he mercy show to all!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>FIRE-FACE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>Fire-face was willing to die, he said, but not until he -had killed another white man. He was sincere in acknowledging -hatred towards the people of the United States. -There was no doubt but he had stained his hands with the -blood of one white man; but this did not satisfy him: let -him take the life of another, and he was willing to be made -prisoner, and to meet what punishment might be designed -for him. The mantle of Cain had indeed fallen upon him; -his heart was turned even from his own people, and angry -threatenings were ever upon his lips, against those with -whom he had grown up side by side. Wabashaw, chief of -one of the bands of Sioux on the Mississippi, left his home, -where the prairies stretch out to the distance, without even -a hill to relieve the level sameness, or trees to shelter them -from the short but intense heat of the summer, to encamp, -by permission, on the St. Peter's River, opposite Fort Snelling. -Fire-face, one of the band, was with them, accompanied -by his two wives.</p> - -<p>He was feared by all of the band; even the brave chief -Wabashaw, whose life he had threatened, turned from the -fierce gaze of the man, over whom had been cast a spell -from the spirits of evil, for he frowned alike upon friend -and foe. Only his wives seemed easy when he was near,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> -and they not only feared but loved the strange being, whose -hand was against every man's.</p> - -<p>He passed the most of his time seated near his lodge, -with his medicine-bag hanging near; his implements of war -and hunting glistening in the light, and his loaded gun ever -by his side.</p> - -<p>Many efforts had been made to apprehend this desperate -man, yet he had always eluded the pursuit of the soldiers; -and now, although aware of the danger he was in, when -living so near the garrison, he appeared to be perfectly -unconcerned, saying, he knew the soldiers would make -every effort to arrest him; but that he would never be -taken until another of the pale faces had fallen by his arm. -Wabashaw, the chief, frequently visited the Fort, always -accompanied by his late friend Many Lightnings, and on -every occasion he pressed the necessity of taking Fire-face -prisoner. "He was a bad Indian," said Wabashaw, "who -loved to see blood; and, if allowed to go at liberty, some -one would be murdered by him."</p> - -<p>The chief said that he did not sleep at night in his -own lodge, but went for safety to the near village of Mendoto, -where he remained until the sun was high in the -heavens the next day. In consequence of these representations, -a party of soldiers was sent to arrest him, and the -Indians were to assist in the capture.</p> - -<p>Fire-face was on the lookout: he appeared to show himself -in the way of danger for the pleasure of overcoming it. He -would remain at ease until the party was near him; and then, -like an arrow from the bow, he would fly through the village, -no man daring to stay him: and you might as well have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> -attempted to catch the sunbeam on the waters as the hunted -man. Pursuit was unavailing, and the soldiers each time -returned disappointed to the Fort.</p> - -<p>He would soon come back to the encampment. What a -courage was his, thus purposely throwing himself in the -way of danger, knowing too that he had not one friend to -whom he could turn. His frightened, helpless family alone -cared for him. It was evidently a pleasure to him to be in -a situation of peril, to show his adroitness in extricating -himself.</p> - -<p>About ten o'clock one night he sat in his lodge, gloomily -meditating on his position. Could he eventually escape the -pursuit of his enemies? Was he not a doomed man, when -the bands of friendship were severed between him and those -with whom he had fought, and whose lives had been tracing -an even course with his?</p> - -<p>The children's heavy breathing was the only sound that -could be heard. His wives sat mute in the lodge. He had -been hunted to the death, and now sleep was overcoming -him, and his watchfulness was yielding to his fatigue; while -he thought to lay his tomahawk beside him, and seek repose, -the door of his lodge was turned aside, and the long-knives -(as the soldiers were called) were upon him.</p> - -<p>Their exulting looks were met by his calmest demeanour: -he offered no resistance; but when the soldiers placed their -hands upon his wrists to secure the captive, he glided from -their grasp as easily as a serpent might pass from the touch -of a child; he bounded from their sight, and again they -vainly sought the strange man: the protecting shades of -night were about him, and he knew full well the hiding-places<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> -of the neighbourhood. When out of their reach he -laughed as he looked at his oiled hands and arms, for <i>there</i> -was the secret of his escape.</p> - -<p>Morning found him again in his lodge, calm, fearless as -ever. The Sioux thought he must wear a charmed life, -and they kept from the reach of his arm: and the children, -even his own, played where they could not see his dark face -as he watched their amusements.</p> - -<p>There is a spell, however, that few Indians can resist; it -is to them an unfailing quietus for care: they can fancy -they are free when fire-water quickens the coursing of their -veins. They curse the white man from the heart, and hope -and look forward to the time when the red man shall have -his own again. They then forget that the outstretched -arms of desolation are ready to clasp them, and that destruction, -like the night-bird, is hovering over their heads -with its hoarse cry sounding to their hearts.</p> - -<p>Fire-face could not refuse the charm. The Indians pressed -it upon him, and then informed the soldiers that they were -going out with the intention of hunting, as Fire-face thought, -that on this occasion he might be followed and taken.</p> - -<p>The party went on their route, stopping occasionally to -drink and to smoke. Fire-face, overcome by the liquor he -had drank, could hardly keep up with them. His gun -swung carelessly from his shoulder, and his usual gravity -was changed for a loud and boisterous cheerfulness.</p> - -<p>"The white people fear me," he said, laughing; "well -they may, for my arm is strong, and before I die I will kill -another of them. I have already murdered a white man, -and should be satisfied if one of their women died by my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> -tomahawk. I should like to take her scalp with the long -light hair hanging from it."</p> - -<p>The Indians still encouraged him to drink, and as the -morning advanced he became the more unfitted to pursue -his way. From a state of passion and excitement he had -passed into one of stupor: at length he rested himself against -a tree, and alternately muttered and dozed.</p> - -<p>In the mean time soldiers were following him up. Wabashaw -gave information of the path Fire-face had taken, -and they were soon upon him.</p> - -<p>He was a prisoner at last, and that consciousness sobered -him. His hands were bound. One of the Sioux, indignant -at this proceeding, attempted to cut the straps, but was -pushed off. After a slight delay, the soldiers returned with -him to the garrison.</p> - -<p>He continually reproached himself with his own unwatchfulness, -telling the soldiers that he had always intended -killing one of them ere he should be in their power. He -mournfully said it was too late now to accomplish his purpose.</p> - -<p>At about six o'clock in the afternoon he was brought into -the Fort. The news of his capture had reached the encampment -of Wabashaw on the opposite side of the river, -and as he approached the guard at the gate of the Fort, a -number of Sioux wore seen watching him. His two wives -stood there, and as their husband's figure passed, guarded -and bound, they literally lifted up their voices and wept.</p> - -<p>Fire-face, in the mean time, was turned over to the tender -mercies of the guard, and he was soon seated at the grated -window of his cell. I had heard a great deal of the man,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> -and thought that one who combined so many terrible traits -of character must show it in his countenance: in order to -see this singular being, I determined to visit him in his cell. -We passed the guard-room and entered his dark and dreary-looking -place of confinement. His back was to us, as he -was looking through the bars of his window towards his -home. Hearing some one approach, he turned to us with an -expression of face entirely mild; there was neither passion -nor murder portrayed in his features, not even a restlessness -in his manner—only a quiet dignity, a calm unconcern.</p> - -<p>He begged of the commanding officer to be shot at once, -deprecating the thought of imprisonment—only let him die -or be free. It was in vain to remind him of his offences: -the laws of the white man were not for him. He then said -that he wished to see his wives. The request was granted: -they were sent for, and after a little while they, trembling -with fear, passed the terrible-looking guard and entered their -husband's cell, with their faces covered with their blankets.</p> - -<p>The next day a council was held at the council-house, -and I could not resist the wish I had to be present. I longed -to see the aborigines of my country presiding as it were in -their own halls of legislature. There was always a charm -and freshness in listening to their unstudied eloquence.</p> - -<p>When I reached the council-house the speaking was nearly -over, but the scene repaid me for the trouble I had taken to -witness it.</p> - -<p>The warriors were seated in rows round the room on the -floor, with the exception of Wabashaw, Many Lightnings, -and a few of the principal men,—these occupied a bench.</p> - -<p>Their dresses were very rich; their fans were of large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> -feathers, stained in many colours. "The Owl" was looking -grave, for he had been reproved for interfering with the -soldiers, by attempting to cut the prisoner's straps. One -old man was in mourning, and he looked particularly <i>en -dishabille</i>, his clothing (and there was little of it) was -dirty in the extreme. His face he had painted perfectly -black; his hair he had purposely disarranged, to the -greatest degree. Thus he presented a striking contrast -to the elaborately adorned warriors around him.</p> - -<p>Many Lightnings was dressed with scrupulous care. He -had been presented with an old uniform-coat, which he -wore with the utmost complacency. We noticed the warriors -were almost all young: we asked where were all their -old men. Wabashaw said, they were all carried off by the -small-pox, which had nearly destroyed their band some -years before. Several of them, besides the chief, were -deeply marked from this disease.</p> - -<p>When we left Fort Snelling, Fire-face was still in confinement, -but was soon to go to Dubuque for trial. I -learned some months after, that he had escaped: I thought -then, his long-cherished wish might still be gratified.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>DEATH-SONG<br /> -<span class="small">OF AN INDIAN PRISONER, FOR A LONG TIME CONFINED AT<br /> -FORT SNELLING.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Here, in these hated walls</div> -<div class="i2">A prisoner I;</div> -<div class="i0">Vainly my young wife calls,</div> -<div class="i2">As night-winds sigh.</div> -<div class="i0">Brightly the white stars shine:</div> -<div class="i2">Upwards I gaze,</div> -<div class="i0">Seeking this soul of mine</div> -<div class="i2">From earth to raise.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Strong Wind, my comrade brave,</div> -<div class="i2">Looks sternly by,</div> -<div class="i0">Watching the death-film dim</div> -<div class="i2">His brother's eye.</div> -<div class="i0">Chained are these useless hands;</div> -<div class="i2">Cold is my heart;</div> -<div class="i0">Soon to the spirits' land</div> -<div class="i2">Must I depart.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Pacing my prison dark,</div> -<div class="i2">Arms do I see,—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> -<div class="i0">While measured the sentry's step,—</div> -<div class="i2">Glance gleamingly.</div> -<div class="i0">Once, like the wild deer,</div> -<div class="i2">Or eagle, as free,—</div> -<div class="i0">Now, closely guarded here,</div> -<div class="i2">Prisoners we!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">When has the red man felt</div> -<div class="i2">Woman's weak fears?</div> -<div class="i0">But from these wearied eyes</div> -<div class="i2">Fall warriors' tears.</div> -<div class="i0">Father of Waters, I</div> -<div class="i2">Ne'er shall see more,—</div> -<div class="i0">List to its waves pass by,</div> -<div class="i2">Beating the shore.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Sleeps my brave comrade now?—</div> -<div class="i2">Dreams he of home?</div> -<div class="i0">See, o'er his haughty brow</div> -<div class="i2">Dark shadows come.</div> -<div class="i0">Like me, he fain would be</div> -<div class="i2">Where, from the bow,</div> -<div class="i0">Piercing the wild deer's side,</div> -<div class="i2">Swift arrows go.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">When from the waters bright</div> -<div class="i2">Fades the red sun,</div> -<div class="i0">Following the evening light,</div> -<div class="i2">Darkness comes on.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> -<div class="i0">So has my spirit drooped,</div> -<div class="i2">Since from my home</div> -<div class="i0">Traced I my weary steps,</div> -<div class="i2">Ne'er to return.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Hark! in the evening air</div> -<div class="i2">Low voices come,—</div> -<div class="i0">Bring they to this sad heart</div> -<div class="i2">Breathings of home.</div> -<div class="i0">Now do the whispers rise,</div> -<div class="i2">Mighty the sound,</div> -<div class="i0">Like the thunder-bird,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">16</a> from the skies</div> -<div class="i2">Hurled to the ground.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Come to our hunting-lands!</div> -<div class="i2">Proudly we roam</div> -<div class="i0">Here, where the white man</div> -<div class="i2">Never may come.</div> -<div class="i0">From our forests on earth</div> -<div class="i2">Oft driven back,</div> -<div class="i0">We are free now, and follow</div> -<div class="i2">The buffalo's track.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Here is the bright glance,</div> -<div class="i2">From maiden's dark eye;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> -<div class="i0">While the song of the feast and dance</div> -<div class="i2">Rings through the sky.</div> -<div class="i0">Here do we wait thy step,</div> -<div class="i2">While soon, for thee,</div> -<div class="i0">Bursted the prison bars,</div> -<div class="i2">The warrior free!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16">16</a> This is an allusion to the battles of the gods of the Dacotas. The -Thunder (believed to be a bird) is sometimes conquered and cast to the -earth by the god of the woods or the god of the waters.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE FALSE ALARM.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said We-har-ka, who had outlived children and -grandchildren, whose face and neck were covered with -wrinkles, but who still could walk with the youngest and -strongest, "the old woman must pick up what she can get -to eat. I hate the white people. Have I forgotten the -death of my son? Do I not see him now as he fell dead -by the gate of the Fort? What if the Dacotas had killed -some Chippeways! The Dacotas have a right to kill their -enemies. Enah! I hate the Chippeways too. If I were a -warrior, I would ever be tracking them and shooting them -down, and I would laugh when I saw their blood flow."</p> - -<p>"The white people caused the death of your son," said -Harpen.</p> - -<p>"I hate them both," replied We-har-ka. "My son and -two others killed some Chippeways, and they were taken, -prisoners, to the Fort, because the long-knives had said we -must not kill our enemies. Then the Chippeways wanted -the Dacotas who murdered their friends, that their women -might cut them in pieces. So the long-knives told the -Dacotas they might start from the gate of the Fort, and -run for their lives; but they told the Chippeways to be -there too, and they might fire at them and kill them if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> -they could. The Chippeways fired, and the three Dacotas -fell. The Chippeways shouted and were glad, and the -Dacota women wept. I lay on the ground many days, -with my limbs bleeding. See the scars on my arms! With -this very knife did I make these wounds. I, a widow, and -childless, who has there been to give me food since?</p> - -<p>"When Beloved Hail was killed," continued the old -woman, "the white men would not let our warriors go to -war against the Chippeways. Red-boy, too, was wounded -by the Chippeways, and even he could not go out to fight -them. Our warriors are like children before the white -men."</p> - -<p>"Red-boy was badly wounded," said Harpen.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he was badly wounded: I saw him at the time. If -I were Red-boy, I would only live to revenge myself on -those who had tried to take my life."</p> - -<p>While the woman talked, little Wanska sat by them, -playing with her wooden doll. "Grandmother," said she, -"may I take your canoe and go over to the village? You -can come home with the others. I want to talk to my -mother about Red-boy."</p> - -<p>"Go, go," said We-har-ka, "our brave men may no -longer do brave deeds, and by the time that you are a -woman, there will be no more warriors. It has been five -winters since Beloved Hail was killed and Red-boy wounded, -and no one has avenged them yet."</p> - -<p>The child entered the canoe and paddled towards the -village, thinking all the while of what she had heard. -"Grandmother says, by the time I am a woman, there will -be no more warriors: what will I do then for a husband?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> -and thus divided between the disgrace of not being married, -and the remembrance of Red-boy's wound, which she -thought had occurred recently, she entered the village in a -state of trepidation, which was yet exceeded by the condition -in which her mother was thrown, on hearing the -announcement that Red-boy was badly wounded by the -Chippeways; that We-har-ka had seen the wound; that all -the old women were very angry with the Chippeways and -white people; then, bursting into tears, the girl of ten -years added: "Mother, the Chippeways and white men are -going to kill all the Dacota warriors, so that, when I am a -woman, I can never have a husband!"</p> - -<p>Up rose the eyes and hands of the mother, and down -went the moccasins she was making to the ground; and -up and down she made her way through the village, giving -the alarm, that Red-boy was killed by the Chippeways!</p> - -<p>Shall I tell of the scene that followed? Oh! for a pen -of magic, to describe how Red-boy's relations cried, and how -everybody's relations cried with them; how the children -ran to their mothers, sheltering themselves under their -<i>okendokendas</i>.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">17</a> How the dogs yelped and howled, and -sprung on the children's backs, ready to go wherever -prudence might dictate. How the old men started from -sleeping in the lazy summer's sun, and held their tomahawks -as firmly as if time were made to be laughed at, -and the young men throwing away the pebbles with which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> -they were playing a game of chance, walked swiftly on, -bent on avenging Red-boy.</p> - -<p>How the wind all at once began to rise, and the very fish -leaped out of the water, as if they would like to fight too; -while already, Indian runners were far on their way to tell -the news at Man-in-the-cloud's and Good-road's villages, and -to give the word to those whom they might meet, who would -take up the cry, and rush forward with revenge on their -lips, and murder in their hearts.</p> - -<p>On they went, until they reached the house of the Interpreter, -near Fort Snelling, and then he went with them, to -report to the officers at the Fort of the outrage; that Red-boy -was killed, and that the Dacota warriors wished to go -and avenge the death of their friend.</p> - -<p>This was, of course, considered an infringement of the -treaty of peace then existing between the two tribes; and -the Chippeways had showed their daring by committing a -murder so near the walls of the Fort. It was immediately -determined to send a detachment of soldiers to arrest the -offenders.</p> - -<p>In ten minutes a number of men were on the parade-ground, -ready to march, looking as fiercely at the officers' -quarters as if they were about to enter into mortal combat -with the doors and windows; obeying the word of command -as quickly as it was reiterated, while the ringing noise of -their ramrods sounded through the garrison.</p> - -<p>The Dacotas were perfectly satisfied with the promise -made them, that the Chippeways should be punished in a -manner satisfactory to themselves, for the death of Red-boy.</p> - -<p>We women felt quite solemn in the Fort. The Chippeways<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> -might resist: in fact, there was no saying what -they might, or what they might not do. The command in -garrison was very small: we felt as if we had been -"through seven wars, and this was the worst of all."</p> - -<p>Retreat, the assembling of the command at sundown, -came—the evening gun was fired, and the flag was lowered—and -nothing was heard of the war-party, white or Indian. -Tattoo had come, the soldier's bedtime, and our anxieties -were not at rest. Towards twelve o'clock the men returned -with their officer, without having had even a show of fight. -To their intense mortification and disappointment, Red-boy -had been seen, and talked with, large as life. He had eaten -a saddle of venison that day, without any assistance, and -was, accordingly, in a good state of preservation, having received -no wound since the one of five years' standing, the -scar of which he showed.</p> - -<p>Now, we know that among white people, as well as Indians, -women have the credit of raising all the false reports, -and circulating all the scandal that is going the rounds. -Most unjust charge! and all men, red skins and pale faces, -are defied to prove it. Among the Indians women have no -chance whatever. Is an Indian charged with stealing pork -from the traders? It was not the warrior who did it, but his -wife. Has a party of Indians been admitted into the Fort, -and some loaves of bread and pieces of meat been abstracted? -Somehow or other the women are sure to be in fault. -Has the garrison been alarmed, and a party of soldiers sent -out uselessly? As usual, the women made the trouble.</p> - -<p>Yet, with a sigh from my heart, I must confess that appearances -are against the sex.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span></p> - -<p>There were many threats of vengeance made against We-har-ka -in the present instance, for the trouble which her -longings for vengeance had occasioned; but she was not -afraid: she had taken care of herself for nearly a hundred -years, and would be apt to do so during the short remnant -of her life.</p> - -<p>Indian women will talk of their wrongs as long as they -feel them, and that will be until the heart has ceased to -beat, and the tongue is silent for ever.</p> - -<p>We-har-ka lives on the memory of her sorrows. She holds -them to her heart, as does the mother her child of a day -old. They are dear to her as would be the hope of vengeance.</p> - -<p>I say she lives, but I know not. Seasons have gone since -I bade adieu to her home, and it may be, she is all unconscious -that winter is gone, and that summer's breath is -waving the green boughs of the forest trees as they lift up -their branches to the heavens.</p> - -<p>It must be soon, if not now, that her form, covered with -garments of poverty and misery, and perhaps shielded from -the gaze of passers-by by the tattered blanket of some friend -poor as she, reposes quietly near the river bank.</p> - -<p>Would you not like to have heard her talk of her amusements -as a child, and her happiness when a maiden—of the -scenes of pleasure she remembers, and of terror from which -she has fled—of the pains, the hunger, the watchings she has -endured—of the storms and sunshine of a life passed away?</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17">17</a> An Okendokenda is a part of an Indian woman's dress, somewhat -resembling the sack worn by ladies at the present time, more open, displaying -the throat and chest. It is generally made of bright-coloured -calico.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_100a.jpg" alt="Courtship" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - INDIAN COURTSHIP - </div> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>INDIAN COURTSHIP.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i16">Show me a brighter scene</div> -<div class="i0">On our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream!</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Tell me where, rocked by the billows high,</div> -<div class="i0">The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky,</div> -<div class="i0">Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave—</div> -<div class="i0">Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave.</div> -<div class="i0">Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand,</div> -<div class="i0">Like matins that ring in a far-off land.</div> -<div class="i0">Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice,</div> -<div class="i0">And the lava speeds with its fiercest course;</div> -<div class="i0">Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray,</div> -<div class="i0">And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway.</div> -<div class="i0">Yet show me a brighter, a fairer scene</div> -<div class="i0">On our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream,</div> -<div class="i0">Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave,</div> -<div class="i0">As their boughs are bent to the river's wave;</div> -<div class="i0">Than here! where night and the white stars come,</div> -<div class="i0">Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">Now o'er the waters bright</div> -<div class="i8">Glides his canoe,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> -<div class="i6">Throbbing his warrior heart,</div> -<div class="i8">Maiden! for you.</div> -<div class="i6">Roused from your dreamy sleep,</div> -<div class="i8">Bend low and list;</div> -<div class="i6">Not once has his well-known tread</div> -<div class="i8">Your loving heart missed.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">Not far from the wigwam door</div> -<div class="i8">Rests he awhile—</div> -<div class="i6">But from far has he journeyed</div> -<div class="i8">To meet your bright smile.</div> -<div class="i8">He speaks to your heart</div> -<div class="i8">By the flute's slightest sound,</div> -<div class="i6">And its low notes are echoed</div> -<div class="i8">By that heart's wildest bound.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">He knows if you love him</div> -<div class="i8">You'll surely come forth,</div> -<div class="i6">And modestly plight him</div> -<div class="i8">A maiden's pure troth.</div> -<div class="i6">Then come! he will talk</div> -<div class="i8">Of his sweet forest home,</div> -<div class="i6">Which you will make brighter;</div> -<div class="i8">Come! maiden, come!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">You move not. Ah! woman,</div> -<div class="i8">He will not despair:</div> -<div class="i6">He has medicine tied</div> -<div class="i8">In the braids of his hair.</div> -<div class="i6">Love-medicine, bound</div> -<div class="i8">In the white deer's soft breast,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -<div class="i6">'Twill charm you at last</div> -<div class="i8">On his bosom to rest.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">Should he wait for your coming</div> -<div class="i8">This fair night in vain,</div> -<div class="i6">No faint heart has he—</div> -<div class="i8">He will charm you again.</div> -<div class="i6">A spell he will cast</div> -<div class="i8">On your slight graceful form;</div> -<div class="i6">Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe,</div> -<div class="i8">Maiden, you'll come.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">To your parents he'll presents give:</div> -<div class="i8">Bright things and new—</div> -<div class="i6">Ah! young wives are bought and sold</div> -<div class="i8">Among Indians too.</div> -<div class="i6">Then, from the mother's side</div> -<div class="i8">You will go forth,</div> -<div class="i6">The star of a warrior's home,</div> -<div class="i8">The light of his hearth.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">Come! ere the morning star</div> -<div class="i8">Lures him away;</div> -<div class="i6">He must meet with the wise men</div> -<div class="i8">When breaks the blue day.</div> -<div class="i6">Your soft voice must greet him</div> -<div class="i8">Ere homeward he turn,</div> -<div class="i6">Then close to his throbbing heart</div> -<div class="i8">Come, maiden, come!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE SACRIFICE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>Far away in one of the fair valleys of the West, where -dark forests frown alike in summer, when the richly clad -boughs wave to the passing breeze, and in winter, when -the bare maple and thick evergreens are covered with -snow,—far away, just on the borders of the valley, close -by the huge rocks which rear their heads above the bluffs -that hang over the water,—an Indian village, with its -many-sized lodges rising here and there, reposed, as it were, -without fear from storm, or the sun's heat, or the aggressions -of enemies. Sometimes, indeed, the mighty thunder -rolled angrily towards it, and the streaked lightning called -over and over again, to the many hills around, to rouse up -the tardy storm-spirits; but they loved not to linger here. -Their voices could be heard in angry murmurs, then they -would pass on in the river's course, with many a wild shout, -to seek some spot less lovely on which to spend their wrath.</p> - -<p>A very few miles below the village, an Indian might be -seen, slowly paddling his canoe over the placid waters. -The dark lines of his face were fixed in deep thought. -His countenance was pale, though the hue of his race was -there; his nostrils large, and quivering with the remains of -passion; his eyes bright and lustrous, as if with fever; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> -around his mouth might be traced an expression which -seemed to indicate that grief as well as passion was struggling -with him. As he slowly touched with his paddle -the passive waters, he looked around him with a bewildered -air.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, he started, as his eye fell upon something that -lay in the bottom of the canoe; he raised it: 'twas the -arrow of his child. How came it there? and why should -the father, forgetting all, as he dropped unconsciously the -paddle into the waters, cover his face with both his hands, -and while the tears forced their way through his fingers, -tremble with remembrances too strong even for him, the -Iron Heart, to bear?</p> - -<p>All was quiet and peace. Not a voice was heard; even -nature's was still. No human eye looked upon the warrior -as he wept. Silence and solitude surrounded him. The -vast prairie that stretched abroad might have recalled to his -mind the unending future, which he was to spend in the -society of the honoured dead. The soft vapoury clouds of -evening that hung over him, might have told him, as they -have told many, that it is not far from the wretched to the -land of spirits. The waters, on which his canoe rested almost -motionless, might have called to his remembrance, -that life was a sea, sometimes troubled and sometimes calm, -over which the mortal must pass to reach immortality.</p> - -<p>But no such tranquillizing thoughts calmed the tempest -which was raging in his bosom; his bare chest heaved -with emotion; but at length he raised his head, and taking -another paddle from the bottom of his canoe in his right -hand, with the other he threw the small arrow that had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> -occasioned him so many painful thoughts, and watching -till the waters closed over it, he made his way towards the -bend in the river, where lowlands and prairies were no -more to be seen, and an hour's time brought him in sight -of the village, and soon he was clambering over the rocks -towards it.</p> - -<p>When he met his friends, there was a stern coldness in -his manner, and he replied fiercely to the greeting salutations -of his younger wives, and called for his daughter -Wenona, whose mother had long since been dead, to prepare -him some food.</p> - -<p>Wenona obeyed with alacrity her father's commands, at -the same time glancing uneasily towards her two step-mothers, -whose smothered wrath she knew would break -forth at some future time. They sat silent on the ground -in seeming submission to the will that wrested from them -their rights, in favour of the child of a dead rival; but those -accustomed to read the writing on a woman's countenance, -could see they were rebelliously inclined, but were forced -to conceal their vexation under a calm demeanour.</p> - -<p>It was in August, "the moon that corn is gathered." -Wenona had during the long day paid the penalty of her -father's love; she had toiled unceasingly, though the sun -scorched her face and bosom; the watchful eyes of her -father's wives were upon her, and when he was absent, -they hardly allowed her a moment's rest. Her young -companions wondered at the little spirit she showed; but -Wenona was of a peace-making disposition, and preferred -submission to contention. The large bundles of corn she -had gathered during the day were hanging outside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> -wigwam to dry. Not even had she allowed herself time to -join the other girls, who were diving at noon in the cool -waters, and raising their heads up to call Wenona, looking -like mermaids as the water flowed from their long, unbraided -hair.</p> - -<p>It was not long before she placed before Iron Heart his -evening meal, venison and boiled corn—while her face was -so good-humoured, and her motions so easy and graceful, -that one would suppose the wrath of the evil spirits themselves -would have been disarmed, much less the anger of -those to whose children she so often sung sweet lullabies. -Iron Heart did not relish his food; but tasting the venison, -then lighting his pipe, he appeared lost to what passed before -him: he often looked in Wenona's face, with a strange -repentant look, as if he had done her an injury, but sought -to conceal it in his own bosom.</p> - -<p>After a while he rose, and joined a group of warriors, -who were seated without the wigwam, Wenona following in -his protecting shadow, out of the reach of complaint or reproof.</p> - -<p>The group that Iron Heart joined was composed of the -principal men of the band, who were listening to the words -of one of their wisest men. No one interrupted him, as he -boasted of the feathers he had won, as he told of the bears -and buffaloes he had destroyed; no one showed impatience -as he dwelt upon the time when he was young, and all admired -his feats of valour and strength. Respect and attention -were on every countenance, as the white hair of the -old man was lifted from his brow by the evening breeze.</p> - -<p>He told them they had long been at peace with the Chippeways;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> -their young men were becoming like women, without -the ennobling and exciting employment of war. That -the edge of the tomahawk was blunted for want of use. -He said the Chippeways had again intruded on their hunting-grounds, -and it was time that the war-cry of the Dacotas -should be heard, to show their enemies their power.</p> - -<p>The old man, who had lived nearly a century, ceased -speaking, and The Buffalo, who leaned against a tree near -the others, turned towards them, as if he, too, would speak.</p> - -<p>"My words are not good, like the words of the aged; -my voice is low, like the sound of the waters in a small -stream, but the wise speak, and the sound of the Father of -many Waters is in your ears. But our brave men say they -are at peace with the Chippeways: they promised they -would bury the hatchet deeper than the roots of our tallest -trees; they said we would live together like friends, and -that the war-cry only should be heard when we joined -together against our enemies."</p> - -<p>The old man prepared to answer him: his limbs shook -with rage and excitement; he raised his finger, and pointed -towards The Buffalo, then, when the crimson blood dyed his -cheeks, he said, "Shame on the coward who fears his enemies: -go gather corn with the women, and the old and -feeble man will die with his tomahawk raised against those -who hate his nation."</p> - -<p>In vain The Buffalo essayed to speak: they would not -hear him; and he left the council amid the sneers of all.</p> - -<p>War was decided upon; and night was fast approaching -when Wenona, with pale and agitated looks, pressed forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> -among the warriors. "My father," said she, "where -is my brother?"</p> - -<p>Iron Heart started; but recovering himself, he replied, -"I know not. Seek him yourself, if you would find him."</p> - -<p>"I have sought him," she said, "but the old woman, -Flying Cloud, tells me I may seek him no more, for she saw -his body floating down the river, as she came up in her -canoe. She laughed, too, and said I would see him one day -in the land of spirits."</p> - -<p>All looked towards Iron Heart, but he made his way -among them, and returned to the wigwam. In vain Wenona -wept, and besought him to go in search of her brother; -not even would he inquire of Flying Cloud.</p> - -<p>"I will go, then, and look for him myself," said the girl. -"Is he not my brother, my mother's son?"</p> - -<p>"Cease your noise," said her father, sternly. "If the -Great Spirit have called my son, is he not already a brave -warrior in the city of spirits?"</p> - -<p>Wenona was quiet at her father's rebuke, but her heart -was ill at ease. She hoped he would return in the night. -She remembered that Flying Cloud was always bitter and -ill-tempered; and besides, was not her brother at home on -the water? Could he not swim as easily as he could tread -down the grass on the prairie? She reasoned herself into -the hope that Chaské had been tired, and had laid down to -rest; and she fell asleep with the expectation that his -merry voice would arouse her at break of day.</p> - -<p>And how did he sleep in whose heart lay the secret of -the death of his son? in whose ear was sounding the voice -of that son's blood?</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>In vain might we seek to follow Wenona in her untiring -search for her brother—she knew all his accustomed haunts—at -one time making her way over rock and crag, to find -out the eagle's home; at another, pushing her small canoe -up the stream, where the beavers made their houses; weeping, -yet hoping too.</p> - -<p>Day after day passed thus: and ever as she returned to -the village would Flying Cloud tell her she must go beyond -the clouds to seek him.</p> - -<p>Iron Heart neither assisted in the search for the boy, nor -spoke of his loss. He was calm as usual: yet in the last -four days he seemed to have lived as many years.</p> - -<p>He employed himself sharpening the instruments he was -soon to use against the Chippeways, while hanging near the -medicine-sack, which was attached to a pole outside the -wigwam, was a knife which glittered in the sun, which was -only touched or moved by himself.</p> - -<p>Days and weeks passed by: Wenona ceased to look for her -brother, or hope for his return; yet still she wept. The -heart of the motherless girl clung ever in thought to him -who had been not only her companion, but her charge from -his birth. She had taken him from her mother's bosom -when dying; she had watched his childish sports, and sung -to him the legends of her people. Could she have closed -his eyes, and wept at his feet, her grief would not have been -so hopeless. It often occurred to her that her father was -not unacquainted with the circumstances of his death.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>Strange and solemn was the secret of the death of the Indian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> -boy. Dearly loved by his father, they stood together one -day by the river's side. "Did you not say, my father," said -the boy, "that we would go to the forest for the deer? Let us -go now; my arrows are swift and strong, and to-morrow the -girls will come and help us drag them in. Come, my father, -your looks have been sad for many days, but you will laugh -when you see the red deer fall as we strike them. The old -woman, Flying Cloud," continued the boy, "says she knows -what is going to happen to me. She says I will never go -to war against the Chippeways; that my knife shall never -sever the scalps from the head of my enemy; that my voice -shall not be heard in the council, nor shall my wife ever -stand at the door of her lodge to wait my coming. But I -laughed at her: she is old and poor; she loves not the young -and happy. See her now, my father, as she stands upon -that high rock, waving her arms to me. What have you -done to her that she hates you so? She says she has cast -a spell upon our race."</p> - -<p>"Flying Cloud is not of our clan, my son," replied Iron -Heart; "her son died, and she says my mother caused his -death. She says she cannot die till my mother is childless -like herself. But come, before the night we must kill many -deer."</p> - -<p>"Is your knife sharp?" said the boy; "you know we must -draw the skins off while they are warm. My sister will -work our moccasins and leggins. She says she is never so -happy as when she is sewing for me."</p> - -<p>Shall we follow them—shall we penetrate the deep forests -to see the father raise his knife to pierce from side to side -the strong, healthy frame of his son!</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span></p> - -<p>Not in anger did he take the life that was dearer to him -than his own. Was the burden of his sins lying heavily -against his heart? Who shall tell his agony when he saw -the blood flow! Who shall say how his soul was wrung -with grief as the reproachful face of his much-loved child -was turned towards him in death!</p> - -<p>The wild deer flew past, but he saw them not. The -serpent glided by as it did in Paradise, but its stealthy motion -was unobserved. The sweet song-birds raised their -notes to the sky, but they all fell unheeded on the ear of -the father who had taken the life of his son.</p> - -<p>Raising the form of the boy in his arms, he bore it carefully -to the shore, and casting it where the current hurried -impetuously on, the dead boy was borne along to share the -lot of many who will rest in their ocean grave, till the land -and the sea shall alike give up their dead.</p> - -<p>When I reflect on the tradition of the Sioux, that once -only has human life been offered in sacrifice, and then a -father took the life of his son—when in the quiet night I -mind me of those whose destiny seems now to be in our -power for good or evil, I remember that when the world -was new, Abraham, in holy faith, yet with a breaking heart, -led his much-loved child—the child of hope and promise, to -sacrifice his life in obedience to the command of God. Can -you not see his lip quiver and his cheek turn pale as he lays -him on the altar? Can you not hear the throbbings of his -heart as he binds him to the wood?</p> - -<p>Abraham's son was spared, but I mind me of another -sacrifice, where God spared not his own Son, but yielded -him, the pure and sinless, a sacrifice for the guilt of all.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A LULLABY.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lo! by the river-shore Wenona weeping,</div> -<div class="i0">Lashed to its cradle-bed her young child sleeping,</div> -<div class="i0">While 'neath the forest trees the dead leaves lying,</div> -<div class="i0">Mournful, and sad, and low, the autumn winds are sighing.</div> -<div class="i0">Lists she to hear his footstep proud advancing?</div> -<div class="i0">Gazes, to see his tomahawk brightly glancing?</div> -<div class="i0">Watching the tossing waves, weary and lonely,</div> -<div class="i0">Faithful her breaking heart, loving him only.</div> -<div class="i0">Raising her drooping form, hearing her infant cry,</div> -<div class="i0">Pressing him to her breast, sings she a lullaby.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Sleep on, my warrior son!</div> -<div class="i12">Ne'er to his childhood's home,</div> -<div class="i10">Waiting our greeting smile,</div> -<div class="i12">Will thy brave father come.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Shouting the loud death-cry</div> -<div class="i12">With the grim warrior band,</div> -<div class="i10">Singing the giant's songs,</div> -<div class="i12">Dwells he in spirit land.</div> -<div class="i10">Turning from brave to brave,</div> -<div class="i12">See his keen eye</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> -<div class="i10">As he glances around him,</div> -<div class="i12">And smiles scornfully.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">I knew when he left me,</div> -<div class="i12">(The strawberries grew</div> -<div class="i10">On the prairies green,</div> -<div class="i12">And the wild pigeon flew</div> -<div class="i10">Swift o'er the spirit lakes,)</div> -<div class="i12">Then o'er my heart</div> -<div class="i10">Came a dark shadow</div> -<div class="i12">Ne'er to depart.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">I watched, from the door</div> -<div class="i12">Of my tupee,<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> the band</div> -<div class="i10">As they turned from their home</div> -<div class="i12">To the Chippeways' land.</div> -<div class="i10">I watched and I wept,</div> -<div class="i12">As thy father, the last</div> -<div class="i10">Of the many tall braves,</div> -<div class="i12">From my tearful gaze passed.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Wake not, my young son,</div> -<div class="i12">For thy father sleeps sound,</div> -<div class="i10">And his stiffened corse lies</div> -<div class="i12">On his enemy's ground.</div> -<div class="i10">Wake not, my brave child,</div> -<div class="i12">Thou wilt wrestle, too soon,</div> -<div class="i10">With the miseries of life,—</div> -<div class="i12">'Tis the red man's dark doom.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">O'er the fate of the Indian</div> -<div class="i12">The Great Spirit has cast</div> -<div class="i10">The spell of the white man—</div> -<div class="i12">His glory is past.</div> -<div class="i10">Like the day that is dying</div> -<div class="i12">As fades the bright sun,</div> -<div class="i10">Like the warrior expiring</div> -<div class="i12">When the battle is done.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Soon no more will our warriors</div> -<div class="i12">Meet side by side,</div> -<div class="i10">To talk of their nation,</div> -<div class="i12">Its power and pride.</div> -<div class="i10">'Tis the white man who rules us</div> -<div class="i12">And tramples us down;</div> -<div class="i10">We are slaves, and must crouch</div> -<div class="i12">When our enemies frown.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Sleep on, my young son,</div> -<div class="i12">I'd fain have thee know</div> -<div class="i10">As the warrior departs</div> -<div class="i12">Did thy brave father go.</div> -<div class="i10">He feared not the white man,</div> -<div class="i12">While the Chippeway knew</div> -<div class="i10">He could boast when he scalped</div> -<div class="i12">The Dacota he slew.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Sleep on, to our desolate</div> -<div class="i12">Tupee we go;</div> -<div class="i10">Soon the winter winds come,</div> -<div class="i12">And the cold and the snow.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> -<div class="i10">He is gone who would bring</div> -<div class="i12">To us covering warm,</div> -<div class="i10">Would supply us with food,</div> -<div class="i12">And would shield us from harm.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">I have listened full oft,</div> -<div class="i12">As the white woman told</div> -<div class="i10">Of the city of life,</div> -<div class="i12">Where the bright waters rolled;</div> -<div class="i10">Where tears never come,</div> -<div class="i12">Where the night turns to day,—</div> -<div class="i10">I gladly would go there,</div> -<div class="i12">But know not the way.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Ah! ye who have taken</div> -<div class="i12">From the red man his lands,</div> -<div class="i10">Who have crushed his proud spirit,</div> -<div class="i12">And bound his strong hands;</div> -<div class="i10">If ye see our sad race</div> -<div class="i12">In ignorance bowed down,</div> -<div class="i10">And care not to see it,</div> -<div class="i12">Ye have hearts made of stone.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">Sleep on, my young son,</div> -<div class="i12">For soon will we know</div> -<div class="i10">If to the heaven of the white man</div> -<div class="i12">The Dacota may go.</div> -<div class="i10">We are children of earth,</div> -<div class="i12">We must meekly toil on</div> -<div class="i10">'Till the Great Spirit call us,</div> -<div class="i12">My warrior son!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18">18</a> Tupee is the Dacota word for house or wigwam.</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_116a.jpg" alt="Chippewa" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph<sup>a.</sup></span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - SOUNDING WIND.<br />The Chippewa Brave. - </div> -</div> - - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>SOUNDING WIND;<br /> -<span class="small">OR, THE CHIPPEWAY BRAVE.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Hast thou mourned! oh mourn no longer:</div> -<div class="i0">Death is strong, but love is stronger.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p>The amnesties that have been made between the Sioux -and Chippeways for many years have been of short duration: -it appears now that the two nations will be friendly only -when the lion and the lamb shall lie down together, should -the two nations exist at that happy period. The sight of -each other's blood is as precious to a Chippeway or Sioux as -would be the secret of perpetual youth to an octogenarian, -who eagerly grasps his tenure for life, loving, and fearing -to lose it to the last. At the time of my story, a longer -peace than usual had existed between the two nations. -They hunted and danced, and even married together. -Many a child, that had never trembled at hearing the war-whoop, -wondered at the old men's stories, that invariably -closed with the triumph of the Dacota tomahawk over the -weaker blade of the enemy: but that child grew to be a -man only to hate a Chippeway, as his father had done in -youth; one offence had brought on another, and the slumbering -spirit of vengeance that had reposed in the hearts of -the red men was roused up, and with a double vengeance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> -foe sought foe. In vain were the women and children hidden -in the holes of the earth at night for safety; they were -hunted out, as the starving wolf scents its prey: after the -desperate fight was over, when the strong were laid low, -then were the aged and the infants dragged from their -hiding-places.</p> - -<p>The red morning sun, parting the sullen clouds, hid again -from the sight of the blood that was covering the ground, -and dyeing the very stream where but yesterday the village -belle, seated by its fair banks, listened to the words that -every maiden loves to hear.</p> - -<p>A sad scene was presented at the village of Gray Eyes: -the old chief lay helpless among those who had obeyed his -slightest word, the glaze of death dimming an eye that for -more than eighty winters had watched the snow, as it -drifted from vale to vale. Life had not yet departed: you -could feel the pulse still flutter, and the heart faintly beat, -but the thoughts of the chief were in spirit-land, and his -soul hasted to burst its prison bars, that it might renew the -combat where the Dacotas would aye be the victors.</p> - -<p>A gleam of life and consciousness passed over his faded -features, as an Indian girl advanced towards him: it was a -child he dearly loved, soon to be left without a protector.</p> - -<p>"My daughter," said the old man feebly, as the maiden -threw herself on the ground beside him, and covered with -her tears his cold hands; then raising herself, as she saw -the wound still bleeding, she tore a piece from her okendokenda, -and endeavoured to staunch it. "It is too late, my -child; the soul of your father longs to join the warriors who -live in the land of spirits. Where are your brothers?"</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p> - -<p>"There!" said the weeping girl, pointing to the dead -bodies that lay across each other.</p> - -<p>"And your mother?"</p> - -<p>"There too," she answered; "all are gone, my father, but -you and me. I knew how the rocks lay, and where I could -hide myself, and there I stayed, hearing my mother's cries, -and my brothers' shouts, as they died. I saw, too, the -Chippeways, as they carried away the scalps. When you -are gone what will become of me? Who will care for Wenona?"</p> - -<p>"Not Wenona," said her father, "but 'The Lonely One.' -That will be your name when you will have neither father -nor brother left. But see," continued the old man, "our -enemies' blood! Your brothers fought well: they have -already passed the warriors' road to the City of Spirits."</p> - -<p>His breath came quickly—big drops stood on his forehead—another -struggle—a last sigh—and Wenona was indeed -"the lonely one."</p> - -<p>The attack of the night before had not been unexpected. -The Sioux had placed pickets around their village, and a -guard had been kept; but their enemies were too wily for -them. The violent storm that raged during the battle was -favourable to the Chippeways; they were upon the Sioux -ere the watches had heard the slightest sound, except the -wind, and the peals of thunder that shook the earth. Some -escaped with their families from the lower end of the village, -but almost all who remained to fight for their families -were massacred with them.</p> - -<p>While Wenona awaited the struggle, she was overcome -with fear and excitement; but now she was as one without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> -hope. The blow had been struck. Chippeway and Sioux -had fallen in the death-struggle, locked in the embrace which -bound foe to foe. She had given her heart's devoted love to -one whom she must now consider as her enemy. Sounding -Wind, a noble young Chippeway, handsome in person, and -already favoured among his own people, had promised to -take her to his wigwam when the two nations were at peace, -though there were many then who foreboded the strife that -would rend the ties of friendship between the nations. -Even after hostilities had commenced, Sounding Wind had -sworn to himself the woman he loved should be his wife, -though every brave in the nation might stand between him -and the accomplishment of his vow.</p> - -<p>Wenona, as she rose from her father's body, gazing upon -the scene of terror before her, looked like the flower beside -her, which still reared its head, though its fair companions -were all crushed to the earth by the storm of the night. -Silence and death reigned here—nature was as tranquil as -the hearts of her children. Near by swept the lake of the -thousand isles: undisturbed were its waters; there was no -requiem for the dead, even in the passing breeze.</p> - -<p>"My heart weeps," murmured the girl; "but shall the -bodies of my friends remain until night brings the wolves -and hungry birds? Sounding Wind has forgotten the maiden -who loves him. He told me our village should be safe; that -he would talk like a wise man; that he would lead the Chippeways -far away from us: that, as the little islands sleep -peacefully in the lake through the long summer's day, so -might I rest from fear for myself and for my friends.</p> - -<p>"I will go alone and find our people, that they may come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> -and help me bury our dead. Why should I fear, when all -who have loved me are gone, and he who once loved me -would take my life as he would pierce the deer on the prairie?"</p> - -<p>Wearily she turned her steps, intending to go to the nearest -village, avoiding the dead bodies at every step: yet her -moccasins were red with blood, which, as she pursued her -way, crimsoned the earth at her feet. The reverence that -every Indian woman feels for all things connected with -death, gave her courage to undertake the task before her. -Every change in the scene brought with it some reminiscence: -grief for the dead were connected with each, but -there were thoughts of the living hard to bear.</p> - -<p><i>Here</i> had she sat with her mother, working with porcupine -quills gay garments for her brothers. <i>Here</i> had she -stood and watched the canoe of her lover; here had he -given her the charm which she still wore about her neck: -it was to secure her from any accident till she had left her -friends, and until the gods that the Chippeways worshipped -were hers.</p> - -<p>She pursued her way; but as the waters became bright -with the warm rays of the sun, and the pleasant breezes -were wafted to the shore, a sense of oppression and fatigue -overcame her.</p> - -<p>In vain she essayed to rouse herself to the task before -her: it was, indeed, in vain, for at last she threw herself -under a large tree, and yielded to the repose which exhausted -nature demanded. She slept on for hours as calmly as if -she could only remember and look forward to joy. Bright -eyes were glancing before her—laughter greeted her ears,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> -she was a child again in her dreams, and passing over the -gay waters with her boy lover by her side.</p> - -<p>Sounding Wind, we have said, was already a man of consequence -in his tribe; but he had refused to accompany the -war-party of the preceding night, nor did he seek to hide -his reasons. They had lived peaceably with the band that -lived near the Lake of the Thousand Isles. While he was -willing to resent the aggressions of the band that by treacherous -acts had broken their faith, he would not assail those -who had given them no cause of offence.</p> - -<p>A better reason was in his heart: the love he bore to Wenona -was strong, even stronger than death; and could he -raise a murderous tomahawk against her family? He was -anxious to know the result of the attack on the Sioux. He -met the Chippeways as, taking the trail by the river, they -were on their way home.</p> - -<p>Shortly after he joined them, they seated themselves by -the great tree whose branches sheltered Wenona. They -were resting and eating. Sounding Wind stood by them: -no one interfered with his gloomy mood—there was that in -him that kept them in control. They were all silent, when -suddenly a sigh of grief and fatigue was uttered near them. -Startled by it, each warrior rose to his feet and grasped his -knife and tomahawk. Sounding Wind sprung over the -bushes that were between them and the spot from whence -the sigh issued.</p> - -<p>At his feet, just rousing from slumber, was the girl who -was dearer to him than home or friends. One gleam of joy -at seeing her again, one shade of terror at her probable fate, -and the young man, placing himself between her and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> -Chippeways who had followed him, showed himself ready -to protect her so long as his arm could wield the tomahawk -that glistened in the sun.</p> - -<p>"Come not towards her," he said to them, for they had -recognised her by her dress, "she is my prisoner. I first -touched her—I claim her before you all. I am your chief. -I have led you against the Sacs and Foxes, and I will lead -you against the Dacotas, who have become our enemies, but -this girl's life shall be spared, for she is to be my wife.</p> - -<p>"I have taken her prisoner: I shall spare her life. Am I -not a Chippeway? and shall I forget my promise to her, to -make her my wife?"</p> - -<p>Wenona had covered her face with her hands, every -moment expecting the blow that would terminate her -sorrows; but no one offered to touch her. They were -many and strong in the love of revenge. Sounding Wind -was but one; but stronger than a host was the love that -made him brave the stern spirits before him.</p> - -<p>She arose at the bidding of her lover. She eat of their -food, and pursued, without fear of harm, her journey to -her new home. There, amid the struggles of the Sioux -and Chippeways, she was ever safe. And happy, too, -save when the remembrance of the fate of her family -came between her and the bright visions that cheer and -gladden even an Indian woman's home, when the love of -her husband and children hallow it.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>AN INDIAN BALLAD.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Take me away," said one they called the "Drooping Eye,"</div> -<div class="i2">"Bear me where stoops the deer to drink at eve."</div> -<div class="i0">She would behold the clouds of heaven float gently by,</div> -<div class="i2">And hear the birds' sweet song ere earth to leave.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Close is the wigwam,—oh! give her light and air;</div> -<div class="i2">Say, can her spirit wing itself for flight,</div> -<div class="i0">Losing the perfume borne from flowers fair,</div> -<div class="i2">As comes on them and her the gloom of night?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">On them and her,—but they will bloom again,</div> -<div class="i2">When breaks the day on earth, by sleep spellbound,—</div> -<div class="i0">Refreshed by morning winds, or summer's rain,</div> -<div class="i2">Gilding with colours bright the dewy ground.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Oh! bear her gently; lay her feeble form</div> -<div class="i2">Close by the lake, where beam the waters bright:</div> -<div class="i0">Oft has she watched from here the coming storm,</div> -<div class="i2">And oft, as now, the glow of evening's light.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Why weep her friends that fails her parting breath,</div> -<div class="i2">That cold the pressure of her powerless hand!</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> -<div class="i0">List!—Ye may hear from far the voice of death,</div> -<div class="i2">Calling from earth her soul to spirits' land.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Well do they know the fairies of the lake,</div> -<div class="i2">That with its waves have mingled oft her tears,</div> -<div class="i0">Here would she nature's solemn silence break</div> -<div class="i2">With the death-song of woman's hopes and fears.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i16">I go,—I go,</div> -<div class="i10">Where is heard no more</div> -<div class="i8">The cry of sorrow or pain;</div> -<div class="i10">I will wait for you there,</div> -<div class="i10">Where skies are fair,</div> -<div class="i8">But I come not to earth again.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i12">Mother, you weep!</div> -<div class="i8">Yet my body will sleep</div> -<div class="i8">Right near you, by night and by day:</div> -<div class="i10">And, when comes the white snow,</div> -<div class="i10">You will still weep, I know,</div> -<div class="i8">That the summer and I've passed away.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i10">When the storm-spirit scowls,</div> -<div class="i10">When the winter-wind howls,</div> -<div class="i8">Oh! crouch not in cowardly fear.</div> -<div class="i10">Not unwatched, then, the form</div> -<div class="i10">That with life once was warm,—</div> -<div class="i8">My spirit will ever be near.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i12">My sisters! full well</div> -<div class="i12">A dark tale I could tell,</div> -<div class="i8">How my lover in death slumbers sound:</div> -<div class="i10">My brother's strong arm,</div> -<div class="i10">Made the life-blood flow warm:</div> -<div class="i8">And he laughed as it covered the ground.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i12">I heard his deep sigh,</div> -<div class="i12">I saw his closed eye,</div> -<div class="i8">I knew that life's struggle was past.</div> -<div class="i10">When his heart ceased to beat,</div> -<div class="i10">Then I wept at his feet,—</div> -<div class="i8">My first love, my only, my last.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i12">Well my proud brother knew</div> -<div class="i12">That my heart was as true</div> -<div class="i8">To my love as the bird to its mate.</div> -<div class="i10">I go to him there,</div> -<div class="i10">Where flowers bloom fair:</div> -<div class="i8">Will his spirit the Drooping Eye wait?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i12">Comes quickly my breath!</div> -<div class="i12">The dampness of death,</div> -<div class="i8">Oh! wipe from my brow with thy hand.</div> -<div class="i10">Earth's sorrows are o'er,</div> -<div class="i10">I may weep never more,—</div> -<div class="i8">Tears are not in that bright spirits' land.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>OLD JOHN.<br /> -<span class="small">THE MEDICINE-MAN.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>If ever "life was a fitful fever," it was with Old John, -the Medicine-Man.</p> - -<p>Coming to the Fort at times when you would not suppose -any human being would expose himself to the elements,—always -laughing, always hungry—seating himself before -the fire to sleep, and starting up the moment his eyelids -closed over his restless, twinkling eyes—talking for ever -and singing in the same breath—troublesome and intrusive, -yet always contriving to be of use. And useful he often -was to an artist who was with us; for he would stand, sit, -or lean, assuming and retaining the most painful attitudes, -looking good-humoured all the time, and telling of his -many wonderful adventures and hairbreadth escapes.</p> - -<p>He came to us one day in the middle of winter, for the -picture of the medicine-feast was in progress, and he had -promised to show how the priest was to be represented, -that the white people might know in very truth how were -conducted the sacred ceremonies of the Dacotas.</p> - -<p>While he warms himself, and eats, and smokes, he has -as usual a great deal to say, and this in a half-muttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> -tone; for he is a little drowsy from the effect of the fire on -his chilled limbs.</p> - -<p>He takes from his head the three-cornered cloth hood -which is worn by the men in severe weather, and throws -his blanket a little from his shoulders, displaying his handsomely -embroidered coat.</p> - -<p>There is the strongest odour of smoke and stale tobacco -from his dress, and he laughs heartily as we throw open -the doors and windows for the benefit of the fresh air.</p> - -<p>How many strange stories he has of the different medicine-feasts, -and in each he figures largely. About some -portions of the dance he is silent; you may question him -closely, but you get no satisfactory answer.</p> - -<p>He tells that the feast commences when there is no sun -in the heavens; at midnight, when often even the moon -and stars are hiding their light. He cannot tell white -people what occurs then, nay, even the uninitiated Indians -would not dare intrude themselves upon the scene; only -the medicine-men and women are allowed to be present. -Neither entreaties nor bribes have any effect: he will not -intrust to your keeping the solemn secret. All we may -know of this part of it is, that the feast is given in honour -of some departed friend, and these ceremonies are taking -place near where lies the body. A conversation is carried -on with the dead, and food is placed near, that the spirit -may eat.</p> - -<p>"Bury my dead out of my sight." This is not the sentiment -of the Dacota mourner. The mother wants her -child to rest on the boughs of the tree, under which she -has sat and lulled it to sleep in her arms. Here, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> -she works, she can see its form swayed by the branches, -rocked by the summer winds: its innocent spirit, according -to her faith, must still guard the decaying frame. She -feels not the separation so keenly, when she fancies the -soul of her first-born is hovering round her. She steals -away from the noisy revelling in the wigwam to weep. -She can hardly recall the bright eye and healthy glow, -which once belonged to the lost one, but the suffering -countenance and wasting frame are ever before her; and -in the loud call of the night-bird, she often fancies she -hears again the cry with which her young child yielded up -its life.</p> - -<p>Old John is telling of the medicine-feast. He shows us -the medicine-bag which he uses: it is an otter skin, though -sometimes a mink, a swan, or even a snake, is used, and -often has he performed wonderful cures, or executed terrible -vengeance, by the power of this medicine-bag.</p> - -<p>He will not say what is the medicine which the skin -contains; whether it is a root, or the leaf of a tree, a precious -gum, a mineral substance, or the bone of some animal -which has been preserved for centuries. He says that he -breathed into the nostrils of the dead animal, and thus -imparted to it qualities which made it sacred. Thus has -he often restored to life the dying man, and by the same -power has he cast the spell of misfortune, disease, and even -death, upon one he hated. This is why he is so much -feared.</p> - -<p>Feared by all, but most by the women, Old John's eyes -twinkled until you could only see a black line, when he told -how he could frighten the women in the dance, by holding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> -towards them the skin which contained the medicine of his -clan.</p> - -<p>As if to afford him an opportunity of proving the truth -of his statements, two or three squaws had just brought -venison to the kitchen, and we sent for them to pay them, -and, at the same time, to give them the chance of talking -a little—a privilege of which all women are glad to avail -themselves.</p> - -<p>The picture was half done; the medicine-man was to be -represented jumping towards the women, with his dreaded -medicine-bag; and Old John assured us it was invariably -the case that the person he selected from the crowd fell -down as if in a fit. This, he insisted, was purely the effect -of his medicine. He offered to prove this by exercising his -prerogative as a medicine-man upon the women who had -just entered the room. The women were much fatigued, -and glad of a chance to rest. They little expected to see -any part of a medicine-feast celebrated in a white man's -house.</p> - -<p>The artist seated himself before his easel, and commenced -sketching the figure of the medicine-man. Old -John stoops, and holds the bag with both hands, as if ready -to dart it towards some person. You wonder how he can -retain his painful position so long a time. The veins in his -temple swell, and his hands tremble, yet he does not offer -to move until the sketch is made. Then, when told he is -at liberty to sit down, he gives a merry, mischievous look -towards us, and commences going round the room, singing -with a loud voice, holding the bag as if about to avenge on -some one present a long-remembered injury.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span></p> - -<p>The women were taken completely by surprise. From -the moment Old John commenced his performance in earnest, -they showed every symptom of terror, now covering -their faces with their hands, and crying "Enah! Enah!" -and again, as the medicine-man passed round the room, -looking after him as if he were something supernatural, -instead of being a compound of art and wickedness. He -was now going to embrace the opportunity that had presented -itself to convince us of the ease with which he could -excite the superstitious fears of these women.</p> - -<p>He continued going round the room in measured time, -and it was impossible not to observe the increasing awe -which was stealing upon the women. He kept perfect time -to his own music, stopping the while, as if absorbed in the -thoughts attendant on the celebration of a religious ceremony—when -suddenly he sprang towards the women, holding -the bag close in the face of one of them.</p> - -<p>The woman sank to the ground: a severe and stunning -blow could not have had a more immediate effect on her -system than the terror into which she had been thrown. -She lay on the ground motionless, with her hands pressed -over her eyes. Old John, perfectly satisfied with the result -of his experiment, laid down his medicine-bag, and seated -himself on the carpet.</p> - -<p>We spoke to the woman, and endeavoured to rouse her. -For some minutes she appeared not to hear; but, after -arising, she looked as pale and ill as if she had indeed been -in the presence of an evil spirit; and she was at that very -time, for I doubt if in the Sioux or any other country a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> -more determined and hopeless reprobate could be found -than Old John.</p> - -<p>I wondered to observe the trepidation into which a -female of so strong and healthy a frame could be thrown. -To what could it be ascribed, but to the influence of an all-powerful -superstition on a mind chained by ignorance to its -natural estate of dark degradation?</p> - -<p>Among the most curious ideas of the Sioux are those -concerning the Aurora Borealis, which is considered a kind -of goddess of war. Old John will tell you all about her; -for not only is he skilled in all that relates to the mysteries -of his religion, but, if you will take his word for it, -he has seen all kinds of visions. He will tell you how the -gods look—for he has seen them at different times—and to -no better person could you apply for information about the -Aurora (as they call her, Waken-kedan, the old woman). -He will tell you that she is one of their chief objects of -worship; that her favour and protection are invoked as a -necessary preparation for going to war.</p> - -<p>Old John declares he has had several visions of the goddess. -When she has appeared to him, she has given him -the most minute directions as to the hiding-places of the -enemy. Sometimes she insures success to the party;—if, -however, she predicts misfortune, it is sure to occur.</p> - -<p>The goddess, he says, wears little hoops on her arms. -When she appears to the war-chief, if they are to be successful, -she throws as many of these hoops on the ground -as they are to take scalps. These hoops resemble the -hoops that the Indians use in stretching the scalps of their -enemies, when they are preparing for the scalp dance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> -But, should the goddess throw broken arrows on the -ground, woe to the war-party! for this tells the chief how -many of his comrades are to be scalped, an arrow for a -scalp.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, when the successful party is on its return, it -is made more triumphant by the appearance of the goddess. -She does not then take the form of a woman, but quietly -enfolds the heavens with her robe of light. This they -interpret as a favourable omen. The heavens, they say, -are rejoicing on their account; the stars shine out brighter -in honour of their victory; while, to use the Indian warrior's -own words, it is as if their goddess said to them, -"Rejoice and dance, my grandchildren, for I have given -you victory." "The old woman," he says, wore a cap, on -the top of which were little balls or knots, of the same kind -with which warriors adorn themselves after having killed -an enemy. She held in her hand an axe, with a fringe -fastened to the handle: this represents an axe that has -killed an enemy, as it is a universal custom among the -Sioux to attach a strip of some kind of animal to the implement -that was used in battle.</p> - -<p>The Aurora appears and disappears at the pleasure of the -goddess, or as she is sometimes called, "the old woman who -sits in the north." It is not to be wondered at that the -minds of this people should be thus impressed with the brilliant -flashing of the Aurora, in their far northern home.</p> - -<p>Her appearance is not always considered a favourable -omen. Sometimes it is a warning of coming danger. The -mind, overwhelmed with ignorance and superstition, is apt -to read darkly the signs of nature; while a prospect of success<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> -in any contemplated undertaking will change the interpretation.</p> - -<div class="tb"> - * <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span> -</div> - -<p>Old John loves to tell of another of his gods, the meteor; -of this god they stand in great awe, calling him Waken-ne-ken-dah, -or man of fire. He strides through the air to -punish recreant Indians, who forget the claims of the Great -Spirit upon them. Around this god is ever a circle of fire, -while small meteors flow from this "great fiery man." In -each hand he holds a war-club of bone, and every blow is -fatal to that Sioux who deserves his condemnation. He is -said to be very wily, attacking the Indians when they are -asleep.</p> - -<p>On this account Sioux are often timid about sleeping out -of doors; they have traditions of Indians having been carried -off by these errant meteors.</p> - -<p>Old John thinks the "great fiery man" does not deserve -a reputation for bravery, as he never attacks a waking foe. -He says there was once a Sioux who, tired and sleepy, laid -down, rolling himself in his blanket, though the weather -was hot, for the musquitoes were biting him, and rendering -it impossible that he should obtain any rest. The first -thing of which he was conscious was the sensation of being -whirled through the air, passing over miles of prairies and -forests with the speed of light.</p> - -<p>All at once they approached a small pond, which was full -of mallard duck. The appearance of the meteor threw the -inhabitants of the lake into the greatest trepidation, and in -consequence a most unearthly quacking took place. The -fiery man not being aware of the cause of this commotion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> -never having seen a duck, dropped his affrighted burden, -gladly making his way back to the regions of space.</p> - -<p>But it will be impossible to get anything more from Old -John to-day: the savoury fumes of the kitchen have reached -our sitting-room. He has done with the arts and with religion; -he is enough of a philosopher to take the goods "the -gods provide:" and the hearty dinner that he ate showed -that the mystical attributes of a medicine-man did not prohibit -him from the indulgence of his appetite; while the -Sioux women were well repaid for their venison and their -fright by some gaudy calico, for okendokendas, and a few -needles, thread, and some other "notions," of great value -among them.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A REMONSTRANCE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY ELIZA L. SPROAT.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">While the warm, sweet earth rejoices,</div> -<div class="i2">And the forests, old and dim,</div> -<div class="i0">Populous with little voices,</div> -<div class="i2">Raise their trilling hymn,—</div> -<div class="i0">Chime <i>our</i> notes in joyous pleading</div> -<div class="i2">With the million-tonéd day;</div> -<div class="i0">We are young, and Time is speeding—</div> -<div class="i10">Sweet Time, stay!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">We would hold the hasty hours,</div> -<div class="i2">Ope them to the glowing core,</div> -<div class="i0">Leaf by leaf, like folded flowers,</div> -<div class="i2">Till they glow no more.</div> -<div class="i0">We are mated with the Present,</div> -<div class="i2">Bosom friends with dear To-day:</div> -<div class="i0">Loving best the latest minute,</div> -<div class="i10">Sweet Time, stay!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Sovereign Youth! all dainty spirits</div> -<div class="i2">Wait on us from earth and air;</div> -<div class="i0">From the common life distilling</div> -<div class="i2">But its essence rare.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> -<div class="i0">Golden sounds, to Age so leaden,</div> -<div class="i2">Eden sights, to Age so drear:</div> -<div class="i0">Sweet illusions, subtle feelings,</div> -<div class="i2">Age would smile to hear.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Happy Youth! when fearless bosoms</div> -<div class="i2">With their wealth of follies rare,</div> -<div class="i0">Loose their thoughts, like summer blossoms,</div> -<div class="i2">To the generous air,</div> -<div class="i0">When we sit and mock at sorrow,</div> -<div class="i2">Looking in each other's eyes;</div> -<div class="i0">Greeting every new to-morrow</div> -<div class="i2">With a new surprise.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Father Time, if thou wert longing</div> -<div class="i2">For a luxury of rest,</div> -<div class="i0">I know where the moss is greenest,</div> -<div class="i2">Over toward the west:</div> -<div class="i0">I would hide thee where the shadows</div> -<div class="i2">Cheat the curious eye of day;</div> -<div class="i0">I would bury thee in blossoms—</div> -<div class="i10">Sweet Time, stay!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Where the bees are ever prosing,</div> -<div class="i2">Lulling all the air profound;</div> -<div class="i0">Where the wanton poppies, dozing,</div> -<div class="i2">Hang their heads around;</div> -<div class="i0">Where the rill is tripping ever,</div> -<div class="i2">Trilling ever on its way,</div> -<div class="i0">Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,</div> -<div class="i2">All the happy day.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I would keep thee softly dreaming,</div> -<div class="i2">Dreaming of eternity,</div> -<div class="i0">Till the birds forget their sleeping</div> -<div class="i2">In the general glee;</div> -<div class="i0">Till the stars would lean from heaven</div> -<div class="i2">In the very face of day,</div> -<div class="i0">Looking vainly for the even—</div> -<div class="i10">Sweet Time, stay!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Hope is with us, chaunting ever</div> -<div class="i2">Of some fair untried to be;</div> -<div class="i0">Lurking Love hath prisoned never</div> -<div class="i2">Hearts so glad and free:</div> -<div class="i0">Yet, unseen, a fairy splendour</div> -<div class="i2">O'er the prosing world he flings;</div> -<div class="i0">Everywhere we hear the rushing</div> -<div class="i2">Of his rising wings.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">As the tender crescent holdeth</div> -<div class="i2">All the moon within its rim,</div> -<div class="i0">So the silver present foldeth</div> -<div class="i2">All the future dim:</div> -<div class="i0">Oh! the <i>prophet</i> moon is sweetest,</div> -<div class="i2">And the life is best to-day;</div> -<div class="i0">Life is best when Time is fleetest—</div> -<div class="i10">Sweet Time, stay!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A FINE ART DISREGARDED.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY ELIZABETH WETHERELL,<br /> -AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD."</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"A man that looks on glass</div> -<div class="i2">On it may stay his eye;</div> -<div class="i0">Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass:</div> -<div class="i2">And then the heaven espy."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p>I took a walk with my father last evening. Now the -pleasure of this walk was so great that I will even jot -down some notes of its history.</p> - -<p>It was just the pretty time of a summer's day,—the -sun's "parting smile," when he has a mind to leave a -pleasant impression behind him: the hot hours were past; -the remnant of a sweet north wind, which had been blowing -all day, just filled the sails of one or two sloops, and -carried them lazily down the bay; and the sun, having -taken up his old trade of a painter, coloured their white -canvass for the very spots it filled in the picture: the same -witching pencil was upon a magnificent rose-bush at the -foot of the lawn, tinting its flowers for fairy-land; and had -laid little stripes of fairy light across the lately-mown grass; -and, through a slight haze of the delicious atmosphere, the -hills were mellowed to a painter's wish.</p> - -<p>My father and I strolled down the walk, and took one or -two turns almost in silence, tasting all this too keenly at -first to say much about it. There were beauties near hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> -too. The rose-trees had shaken out all their luxuriance, -and defied the eye to admire aught else. Yet, but for -them, there was enough to be admired. The pure Campanulas -looked modestly confident of attractions; little -Gilias filled their place in the world passing well; the -sweet double pinks gave us a most good-humoured face as -we went by; the tall white lily-buds showed beautiful -indications; and some rare geraniums, and my splendid -English heart's-ease quietly disdained or declined competition. -And in that evening-light, even the flowers of humbler -name and lower pretension, looked as if they cared not -for it. Sprawling bachelor's-buttons, and stiff sweet-williams, -and pert chrysanthemums, all were pretty under the -sun's blessing; I think none were overlooked.</p> - -<p>"How much pleasure we take in at the eye!" said my -father.</p> - -<p>"Where the eye has been opened," said I.</p> - -<p>"Ay. How many people go through the world with -their eyes tight shut;—not certainly to every matter of -practical utility, but shut to all beautiful ends."</p> - -<p>"Oh, those practical eyes!—the eyes that have no vision -but for the <i>useful</i>,—what wearisome things they are!"</p> - -<p>"It is but a moderate portion of the useful that they -see," said my father;—"it was not an empty gratuity that -things were made 'pleasant to the eyes.'"</p> - -<p>"But how the eye needs to be educated," said I.</p> - -<p>"Rather the mind, Cary," said my father. "Let the -mind be educated to bring its faculty and taste into full -play, and it will train its own spies fast enough."</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> - -<p>"It was that I meant, papa,—that cultivation of taste;—I -was thinking, before you spoke what a blessing it is."</p> - -<p>"Why, yes," said my father; "with that piece to bring -down game, one is in less danger of mental starvation. But -hush; here comes somebody that won't understand you."</p> - -<p>And as he spoke, I saw the trim little figure of Mrs. -Roberts, one of our neighbours, come in sight round a turn -in the shrubbery.</p> - -<p>"What a lovely evening, Mrs. Roberts," said I, as we met.</p> - -<p>"Delicious!—such charming weather for the grass and -the dairy, and everything. It was so fine, I told Mr. -Roberts I would just run down and see your mamma for a -minute; I wanted to ask her a question. I shall find her -at home, shan't I?"</p> - -<p>I satisfied Mrs. Roberts on that point, and my father and -I turned to walk back to the house with her, thinking that -our pleasure was over.</p> - -<p>"The roses are in great beauty now," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"Beautiful!—and what an immense quantity of them -you have. I don't know what ails our roses, but we can't -make them do, somehow. They seem to get a kind of -blight when they're about half open, and what are not -blighted are full of bugs. What do you do with the bugs? -I don't see that you have any."</p> - -<p>I suggested the effectiveness of daily hand-picking.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but bless me! it's so much trouble. Mr. Roberts -would never let the time be taken for it. How stout your -grass is! It's a great deal stouter than ours. There's half -as much again of it, I'm sure. And you're cutting it! We -haven't begun to cut yet; Mr. Roberts thought he'd let it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> -stand as long as he could, to give it a chance; but I'm sure -it's time. What do you do with all your roses?—make -rose-water?"</p> - -<p>I said no.</p> - -<p>"I never saw such a quantity! I'll tell you what—if -you'll send me a basket or two of 'em, <i>I'll</i> make some rose-water, -and you shall have half of it. Oh, what beautiful -heart's-ease! My dear Caroline, you must just give me one -of those for my girls, for a pattern; you know they are -making artificial flowers, and they want some of these for -their bonnets. Really, they are quite equal to the French -ones, <i>I</i> think, and—thank you!—that is superb. Now, my -dear Caroline, one more—that one with so much yellow in -it;—want a little variety, you know. They will be delighted. -You know it is just the fashion."</p> - -<p>"I did not, indeed, Mrs. Roberts."</p> - -<p>"Didn't you? They wear little open bonnets of some -light straw—rice is the prettiest, or some kind of open-work—and -here, at the side, just here, a bunch of heart's-ease, -right against the side of the head;—it is very elegant."</p> - -<p>"Caroline has bad taste," said my father gravely; "she -never wears heart's-ease in a bonnet."</p> - -<p>"O no, of course, not these,—she is too careful of them—but -you know false heart's-ease, I mean. No, go on with -your walk—you shall not come in—I am not going to stay -a minute."</p> - -<p>And my father and I quietly turned about and went -down the walk again.</p> - -<p>"False heart's-ease!" said my father.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span></p> - -<p>"What a different thing all this scene is to those eyes, -and to ours, papa."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said my father. "Poor woman!—she carries a -portable kitchen and store-closet in her head, I believe, and -everything she sees goes into the one or the other."</p> - -<p>"Poor Mrs. Roberts!" said I, laughing. "Now that is -the want of cultivation, papa."</p> - -<p>"Not entirely, perhaps. There must be soil first to -cultivate, Cary."</p> - -<p>"Well, her want is the same. And how much is lost for -that want!"</p> - -<p>"Lost?—what is lost?" said another voice behind us; -and turning, we welcomed another and a very different -neighbour, in our old friend Mr. Ricardo.</p> - -<p>"What is lost?"</p> - -<p>"Happiness," said I.</p> - -<p>"For the want of what?"</p> - -<p>"For the want of a cultivated taste."</p> - -<p>"Pshaw!" said Mr. Ricardo, letting go my hand. "<i>That</i> -has nothing to do with happiness."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. What can a cultivated taste do for you, but -create imaginary wants, that you would do just as well -without?"</p> - -<p>"If you have not them, you have not the exquisite -pleasure of gratifying them."</p> - -<p>"Well, and what if you haven't? How are you the worse -off? The want that is not known is not felt."</p> - -<p>"But the range of pleasure is a very different thing without -them," said I.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> - -<p>"And character is a very different thing," said my father.</p> - -<p>"Character?" said Mr. Ricardo.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said my father.</p> - -<p>"I should like to hear you make that out."</p> - -<p>"And so should I," said I. "I was arguing only for -enjoyment—I did not venture so far as that."</p> - -<p>"Well, enjoyment," said Mr. Ricardo. "Do you think -you have more enjoyment here now, than one of the plain -sons of the soil, who would see nothing in roses but roses, -and who would call 'Viola tricolor' a 'Johnny-jump-up?'"</p> - -<p>"In the first place, learning is not taste; and, in the -second place, you do not mean what you say, Mr. Ricardo. -You know what Dr. Johnson says of the quart pot and the -pint pot—both may be equally full, but the one holds twice -as much as the other."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Dr. Johnson!" said Mr. Ricardo, with an odd little -flourishing wave of his hand; "you delude yourself! The -quart pot is twice as likely to be spilled. If you have some -pleasures that other people haven't, you have pains of your -own, too, that they are exempt from. Now I suppose a -little mal-adjustment of proportions—a little deviating from -the exquisite line of correctness in men or things—would -overturn your whole cup of enjoyment, while his or mine -would stand as firm as ever."</p> - -<p>"But perhaps a sip of mine would be worth his entire -cupful."</p> - -<p>"Now," said Mr. Ricardo, not minding me, "I fell in -with a family once—it was at the West, when I was travelling -there. They were good, plain, sensible, excellent -people, happy in each other, and contented with the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> -of the world. They had everything within themselves, and -lived in the greatest comfort, and harmony, and plenty. I -was with them several days, and it occurred to me that -people could not be happier than they were."</p> - -<p>"But for your bringing them up as instances, I suppose -their having 'everything within themselves' did not -include the pleasures of a cultivated intelligence?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't suppose they would have quoted Dr. -Johnson to me. But now of what use to them would be -all that extra cultivation?"</p> - -<p>"Of what use to you," said my father, "is that window -you had cut in your library this spring, that looks to the -west?"</p> - -<p>"Of very little use," said Mr. Ricardo, "for my wife sits -in it all the time."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mr. Ricardo!" said I, laughing.</p> - -<p>"Well, now," said he, but his face gave way a little, -"how are you any better off than those people?"</p> - -<p>"I don't wish to make myself an example, sir; but put -them down here this evening, and what would they see in -all this that we have been enjoying?"</p> - -<p>"They would see what you see, I suppose. They had -reasonably good eyes—they were not microscopes or telescopes."</p> - -<p>"Precisely," said my father. "They would see what -mere ordinary vision could take in, <i>without</i> the quick discernment -of finely trained sensibilities, and without the far-reaching -and wide views of a mind rich in knowledge and -associations. Where cultivated senses find a rare mingling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> -of flavours, theirs would at best only perceive the difference -of stronger or fainter—of more or less sweet."</p> - -<p>"Senses literal or figurative, do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Both," said my father. "You rarely find the one cultivated -without the other."</p> - -<p>"You may find the other without the one," said Mr. -Ricardo. "I knew a man once who had no aptness for -anything but judging of wines, and he was curious at that. -He did it mostly by the sense of smell, too. All the mind -the man had seemed to reside in his nose."</p> - -<p>"That is an instance of morbid development," said my -father, smiling, "not in point."</p> - -<p>"You would have thought it was in point, if you had -seen him," said Mr. Ricardo, glancing at my father.</p> - -<p>"But the pleasures of a cultivated taste, Mr. Ricardo," -said I, "may be constantly enjoyed; and they are some of -the purest, and most satisfying, and most unmixed that we -have."</p> - -<p>"And, I maintain, of the most useful," said my father.</p> - -<p>"To the character," said Mr. Ricardo. "But I do not -believe that, where they most prevail, are to be found in -general the strongest minds or the most hopeful class of -our population."</p> - -<p>"My good sir," said my father, "do not confound things -that have nothing to do with each other. That may be -true, and it may be equally true of sundry other matters, -such as correct pronunciation and the usages of polite society, -Mocha coffee and fine broadcloth,—none of which, I hope, -have any deleterious effect upon mind."</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well, go on," said Mr. Ricardo, without looking at him, -"let us hear how you make out your case."</p> - -<p>"Learning to draw nice distinctions, to feel shades of difference, -becoming alive to the perception and enjoyment of -most fine and delicate influences, the mind acquires a <i>habit -of being</i> which will discover itself in other matters than -those of pure taste. This faculty of nice discrimination and -quick feeling cannot be in high exercise in one department -alone, without being applied more or less generally to other -subjects. It will develope itself in the ordinary intercourse -and relations of social and domestic life, and the <i>tendency</i> -will be to the producing or perfecting of that nice sense of proprieties, -that quick feeling of what is due to or from others, -which we call tact."</p> - -<p>"But tact cannot be given, papa," said I.</p> - -<p>"And how is it useful if it could?" said Mr. Ricardo.</p> - -<p>"Useful?" said my father, meditating—"why, sir, the -want of it is a death-blow to I know not what proportion of -the efforts that are made after usefulness. How many an -appeal from the pulpit has been ruined, simply by bringing -in a coarse or unhappy figure, which the speaker's want of -cultivation did not allow him to appreciate! How many a -word, intended for counsel or kindness, has fallen to the -ground, because the kindly person did not know how to -work out his intentions!"</p> - -<p>"But, you cannot give tact, father," I repeated.</p> - -<p>"No, Cary—that is true—tact cannot be <i>given</i>; it is the -growth only of minds endowed with peculiarly fine sensibilities; -but the mind trained to nice judging in one set of -matters can exercise the same acumen upon others, so soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> -as its attention is fairly called out to them. Taste is a thing -of particular growth and cultivation in each separate branch; -but certainly the mind that has attained high excellence in -one is finely prepared to take lessons in another."</p> - -<p>"There may be something in that," said Mr. Ricardo, as -if he thought there wasn't much.</p> - -<p>"But, beyond that," said my father, "the cultivation of -taste opens truly a new world of enjoyment utterly closed -to every one destitute of it. Nature's stores of beauty and -wonder, the fine analogies of moral truth that lie hidden -under them, the new setting forth of nature which is Art's -beautiful work,—how numberless, how measureless the -sources of pleasure to the mind once quickened to see and -taste them! Once quickened, it will not cease to rejoice in -them, and more and more. And as the mind always assimilates -itself to those objects with which it is very conversant, -and as these sources of pleasure are all pure, it follows, that -not only a refined but a purifying influence also is at work in -all this; and the result should be, if nothing untoward counteract, -that everything gross, everything <i>improper</i>, in the -strict sense of the word, everything unseemly, unlovely, impure, -becomes disgustful, and more and more. And whatever -is the reverse of these meets with a juster appreciation, -a keener relish, a truer love than could be felt for them by -a mind not so cultivated. This refining and purifying effect -will be seen in the whole character. It will make those solid -qualities, which are, indeed, more worth in themselves, show -with yet new lustre and tell with higher effect, and not -the outward attire only, but the very inward graces of the -mind will be worn with a more perfect adjustment."</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p> - -<p>"Hum—well," said Mr. Ricardo, about a minute after -my father had done speaking, "you have made a pretty fair -case of it."</p> - -<p>My father smiled, and we all three paced up and down -the walk in silence. I thought we had done with the subject.</p> - -<p>"That's a beautiful sky!" said Mr. Ricardo, coming to a -stand, with his face to the west.</p> - -<p>"Look down yonder," said my father.</p> - -<p>In the southwestern quarter lay a beautiful fleecy mass -of cloud: the under edges touched with exquisite rose-colour, -sailing slowly down the sky—pushed by that same faint -north wind. Just over it—just over it, sat a little star, -shining at us with its unchanging ray.</p> - -<p>"Would your Tennessee friends see enough there to hold -their thoughts for half a minute?" said I, when we had -looked as long; but Mr. Ricardo did not answer me.</p> - -<p>"That painted cloud," said my father, "is like the pleasures -of earth—catching the eye with fair hues; the star, -like the better pleasures, that have their source above the -earth. That light fills, indeed, it may be, a much smaller -space in our eye, or our fancy, than the colours on the cloud; -but mark,—it is pure, bright, and undying, while the other -is a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth -away."</p> - -<p>I looked at the star, and I looked at my father, and my -heart was full. I thought Mr. Ricardo had got enough, and -I think he thought so too, for when we reached the far end -of the walk, he left us, with a very hearty shake of the -hand, indeed.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span></p> - -<p>My father and I walked then, without talking any more, -till glow after glow passed away and night had set in. The -little cloud had lost all its fair colours, and had drifted far -down into the southern sky, a soft rack of gray vapour, and -the star was shining steadily and brightly as ever in the -deepening blue.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_150a.jpg" alt="Chapel" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Phil.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - MISSION CHAPEL OF SAN JOSE, NEAR SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS. - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE MISSION CHURCH OF SAN JOSÉ.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">19</a></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Not far from San Antonio,</div> -<div class="i2">Stands the Church of San José;</div> -<div class="i0">Brightly its walls are gilded</div> -<div class="i2">With the sun's departing ray.</div> -<div class="i0">The long grass twines the arches through,</div> -<div class="i2">And, stirred by evening air,</div> -<div class="i0">Wave gracefully the vine's dark leaves,</div> -<div class="i2">And bends the prickly pear.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">High, from its broken, mouldering top,</div> -<div class="i2">The holy cross looks down,</div> -<div class="i0">While round the open portals stand</div> -<div class="i2">Figures of saints in stone.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> -<div class="i0">And round its ancient spires,</div> -<div class="i2">In the turrets wide and high,</div> -<div class="i0">While you watch the night-birds flap their wings,</div> -<div class="i2">You hear their piercing cry.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And ever and anon the bats,</div> -<div class="i2">In clusters, seek their homes,</div> -<div class="i0">As night, with shrouding mantle,</div> -<div class="i2">On the Mission Chapel comes.</div> -<div class="i0">Oh! 'twas not thus, when Jesuit priests</div> -<div class="i2">Their chaunt at evening sung,</div> -<div class="i0">As, echoing o'er the river's shores,</div> -<div class="i2">The vesper bells were rung.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Now, while we linger round its walls,</div> -<div class="i2">Its history would we learn?—</div> -<div class="i0">How San José's walls and spires rose up?—</div> -<div class="i2">To its legends we must turn.</div> -<div class="i0">In learning high, and cunning deep,</div> -<div class="i2">With wealth and numbers, come—</div> -<div class="i0">Christians to make the red men all—</div> -<div class="i2">These haughty priests of Rome.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Did they tell them they were brothers?</div> -<div class="i2">That every human heart</div> -<div class="i0">Was a link in love's great chain—</div> -<div class="i2">Of salvation's scheme a part?</div> -<div class="i0">Not they: they bade them hew the stone,</div> -<div class="i2">And bear its heavy weight;</div> -<div class="i0">And, while they used the Indian's strength,</div> -<div class="i2">They gained his fiercest hate.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But towers, and spires, and steeples rise,</div> -<div class="i2">And the Church of San José</div> -<div class="i0">Arrests the traveller, who kneels,</div> -<div class="i2">Then passes on his way.</div> -<div class="i0">Turning once more, to bend before</div> -<div class="i2">The Virgin and her Son,</div> -<div class="i0">The Cherubim and Seraphim</div> -<div class="i2">From his strained gaze are gone.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">No converts from the red men</div> -<div class="i2">Made these haughty priests of Rome;</div> -<div class="i0">But still on ignorance and vice</div> -<div class="i2">The holy cross looked down,</div> -<div class="i0">Though Jesus, with the crown of thorns,</div> -<div class="i2">The offering made for sin,</div> -<div class="i0">And the vase of holy water,</div> -<div class="i2">Borne by angels, stood within.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Rich tapestries, and gilded signs,</div> -<div class="i2">And images stood forth,</div> -<div class="i0">And the patron saint, San José—</div> -<div class="i2">Were all these nothing worth?</div> -<div class="i0">"The red man's heart is adamant,"</div> -<div class="i2">Thus do the Jesuits say;</div> -<div class="i0">"Unmoved they see these splendours—</div> -<div class="i2">Unchanged they turn away."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Not under stern and unjust rule</div> -<div class="i2">The red man's heart will melt,</div> -<div class="i0">But by such gentle, sorrowing love,</div> -<div class="i2">As Christ for mortals felt.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> -<div class="i0">Oh! that the star might shine for them,</div> -<div class="i2">That unto us is given,</div> -<div class="i0">To cheer our dreary path on earth,</div> -<div class="i2">And guide our steps to heaven.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Let the ruins of her glory stand,</div> -<div class="i2">A monument to art;</div> -<div class="i0">But the temple of the Living God</div> -<div class="i2">Should be the human heart;</div> -<div class="i0">While mouldering in tower and wall,</div> -<div class="i2">And bending in decay,</div> -<div class="i0">Do we gaze upon this chapel fair,</div> -<div class="i2">The Church of San José.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19">19</a> San José is the most interesting of the ruins of the mission chapels in -Texas. There are five of them,—the chapel of the Alamo, at San Antonio; -Chapel of Conception, two miles from San Antonio; Chapel of San José, -five miles from San Antonio; Chapel of San Juan, ten miles from the same -place; and one other near Goliad. These chapels were built by the Jesuits, -at the time when they contemplated Christianizing the Indians of Mexico. -The Indians were obliged to assist in the labour. The chapels are all in a -state of ruin. On the top of San José, near the large cross at its foot, a -peach tree grows. Occasionally there is some sort of service performed in -them. There is a great deal of carving about them, and remains of former -splendour; but they have become refuges for the bats and owls, which are -for ever flying in and about them.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>HAWKING.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY EDITH MAY.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She had drawn rein within the castle court</div> -<div class="i0">Under its arching gateway, and there stood,</div> -<div class="i0">Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,</div> -<div class="i0">Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.</div> -<div class="i0">Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,</div> -<div class="i0">Parted and eager, seemed to drink the air</div> -<div class="i0">Now fresh with morning, and her light form kept</div> -<div class="i0">Its throne exultingly. A single plume</div> -<div class="i0">Waved from her hunting-cap, and the quick wind</div> -<div class="i0">Close to the floating ringlets of her hair</div> -<div class="i0">Pressed down its snowy fringes. But the folds</div> -<div class="i0">Of her rich dress hung motionless, and its hem</div> -<div class="i0">Swept to the shaven turf. Near by, a page</div> -<div class="i0">Held in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawk</div> -<div class="i0">Sat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>HILLSIDE COTTAGE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR.</p> - -<p>There was no spot in all Elmwood that we children so -dearly loved to visit as Hillside Cottage. No matter where -our wanderings began—whether we started for the meadow, -in pursuit of the rich strawberry—for the thick woods, -where the wild flowers bloomed so luxuriantly, and the -bright scarlet clusters of the partridge-berry, contrasting -beautifully with its dark green leaves, sprang up at our feet—for -the brook, to gather the shining pebbles, or to watch -the speckled trout, as they darted swiftly through the water—no -matter where our wanderings began, it was a strange -thing if they did not terminate somewhere about the sweet -wild place where Aunt Mary lived.</p> - -<p>Now, prythee, gentle reader, do not picture to your -"mind's eye" a stately mansion with an unpretending name, -when you read of Hillside Cottage. Neither was it a cottage -<i>ornée</i>, with piazzas, and columns, and Venetian blinds. -It was a low-roofed dwelling, and its walls had never been -visited by a single touch of the painter's brush: but the -wild vines had sprung up around it, until their interlacing -tendrils formed a beautiful network nearly all over the -little building; and the moss upon the roof had been gathering -there for many years, growing thicker and greener after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> -the snows of each succeeding winter had rested upon it. It -stood, as the name given it by the villagers indicated, upon -the hillside, just in the edge of the woods that nearly -covered the rounded summit of the hill; a little rivulet -danced along, almost beneath the very windows, and at a -short distance below fell over a ledge of rocks, forming a small -but beautiful cascade, then, tired of its gambols, it flowed -onwards as demurely as if it had never leaped gaily in the -sunlight, or frolicked, like a child at play, with every flower -that bent to kiss its bright waters. We thought there was -no place where the birds sang half so sweetly, or where the -air was so laden with fragrance; and sure am I there was -no place where we were more cordially welcomed than in -Aunt Mary's cottage.</p> - -<p>I well remember Aunt Mary's first arrival in Elmwood. -For two or three weeks it had been rumoured that the cottage -on the hill was to receive a new tenant. Some slight repairs -were going on, and some one had seen a wagon, loaded with -furniture, unladen at the door. This was enough to excite -village curiosity; and when we assembled in the church, -the next Sabbath, I fear that more than one eye wandered -from the pulpit to the door, to catch the first glimpse of our -new neighbour. Just as our old pastor was commencing -the morning service, a lady, entirely unattended, came -slowly up the aisle, and entered the pew designated by the -sexton. Her tall and graceful figure was robed in deepest -black, and it was evident that grief, rather than years, had -dimmed the brightness of her eye, and driven the rich -colouring of youth and health from her cheek. But there -was something in the quiet, subdued glance of those large,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -thoughtful eyes, in the intellect that seemed throned upon -her lofty forehead, and in the sweet and tender expression -that played around her small and delicately formed mouth, -that more than compensated for the absence of youthful -bloom and freshness. I did not think of these things then; -but, child that I was, after one glance I shrank back in my -seat, awe-struck and abashed by the dignity of her bearing. -Yet when she rose from her knees, and I caught another -glimpse of her pale face, my little heart seemed drawn -towards her by some powerful spell; and after service was -concluded, as we passed down the aisle side by side, I -timidly placed in her hand a wild rose I had gathered on -my way to church. She took it with a smile, and in a -sweet low voice thanked me for the simple gift. Our homes -lay in the same direction, and ere we reached my father's -gate I imagined myself well acquainted with Miss Atherton.</p> - -<p>From that hour my visits to Hillside Cottage were neither -"few" nor "far between." My parents laughed at my enthusiastic -praises of my new friend; but they soon became -assured that they were well grounded: and it was not long -before the answer, "Oh, she has only gone to see Aunt -Mary," was the most satisfactory one that could be given -to the oft-repeated query, "Where in the world <i>has</i> Jessie -gone now?"</p> - -<p>She lived almost the life of a recluse; seldom mingling -with the villagers, save in the services of the sanctuary, or -when, like a ministering angel, she hovered around the -couch of the dying. Formed to be an ornament to any -circle, and to attract admiration and attention wherever she -moved, she yet shrank from public notice, and was rarely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> -seen, except by those who sought her society in her own -little cottage. To those few it was evident that her love of -seclusion was rather the effect of some deep grief, that had -in early life cast its shadow over her pathway, than the -constitutional tendency of her mind. Hers was a character -singularly lovely and symmetrical. With a mind strong, -clear, and discriminating, she yet possessed all those finer -shades of fancy and feeling, all that confiding tenderness, -all those womanly sympathies, and all that delicacy and -refinement of thought and manner which, in the opinion of -many, can rarely be found <i>in woman</i>, combined with a high -degree of talent. Love of the beautiful and sublime was -with her almost a passion, and conversing with her, when -animated by her favourite theme, was like reading a page -of rare poetry, or gazing upon a series of paintings, the work -of a well-skilled hand.</p> - -<p>Years passed on. The little village of Elmwood had -increased in size, if not in comeliness: the old church had -given place to one of statelier mien and prouder vestments, -and the winding lane, with its primroses and violets, had -become a busy street, with tall rows of brick bordering it on -either side. But still the cottage on the hill remained quiet -and peaceful as ever, undisturbed by the changes that were -at work beneath it. A silver thread might now and then -be traced amid the abundant raven tresses that were parted -on Aunt Mary's forehead; and my childish curls had grown -darker, and were arranged with more precision than of yore. -Yet still the friendship of earlier years remained unbroken, -and a week seldom passed without finding me at Hillside -Cottage. My visits had of late been more frequent than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> -ever, for the time was drawing near when our intimacy -must be interrupted. I was soon to leave my father's roof, -for a new home in a far-off clime, and to exchange the love -and tenderness that had ever been lavished upon me there -for a nearer and more engrossing attachment.</p> - -<p>It was the evening before my bridal. I had stolen away -unperceived, for I could not resist the temptation of one -more quiet chat with Aunt Mary.</p> - -<p>"I scarcely expected you to-night, my dear Jessie," said -she, as I entered, "but you are none the less welcome. Do -you know I am very selfish to-night? When I ought to be -rejoicing in your happiness, my heart is heavy, because I -feel that I can no longer be to you what I have been, chief -friend and confidant. Oh! I shall indeed miss my little -Jessie."</p> - -<p>"You will always be to me just what you have been, -Aunt Mary," I replied, and tears filled my eyes, as I threw -myself upon a low seat at her feet. "You must not think -that because I am a wife, I shall love my old friends any -the less: and you of all others, you who have been to me -as a dear, dear elder sister,—you who have instructed and -counselled me, and have shared all my thoughts and feelings -since I was a little child; oh! do you think any one -can come between our hearts? We may not meet as frequently -as we have done, but you will ever find me just the -same, and I shall tell you all my thoughts, and all my -cares and sorrows, and all my joys too, just as I always -have done."</p> - -<p>"No, no, Jessie, say not so. That may not be. You -may love me just as well, but you will love another more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> -Your heart <i>cannot</i> be open to me as it has been, for it will -belong to another. Its hopes, its fears, its joys, its sorrows, -its cares, its love, will all be so intimately blended with -those of another, that they cannot be separated. No wife, -provided the relations existing between her husband and -herself are what they should be, can be to <i>any</i> other friend -exactly what she was before her marriage."</p> - -<p>"Why, Aunt Mary!—you surely do not mean to say -that a wife should never have any confidential friends?"</p> - -<p>"The history of woman, dear Jessie, is generally simply -a record of the workings of her own heart; in ordinary -cases, she has little else to consider. 'The world of the -affections is her world,' and there finds she her appropriate -sphere of action. What I mean to say is,—not that a wife -should have no friend save her husband,—but that, if the -hearts of the twain are as closely linked together as they -should be, if they always beat in perfect unison, and if -their thoughts and feelings harmonize as they ought to do, -it will be difficult for her to draw aside the veil from her -own heart, and lay it open to the gaze of any other being, -without, in some degree, betraying the confidence reposed -in her by him who should be nearer and dearer than all -the world beside. The heart is like a temple, Jessie. It has -its outer and its inner court, and it has also its holy of holies. -The outer court is full: common acquaintances,—those -that we call friends, merely because they are not enemies,—are -gathered there. The inner court but few may enter,—the -few who we feel love us, and to whom we are united -by the strong bonds of sympathy; but the sanctum sanctorum, -the holy of holies, that must never be profaned by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> -alien footsteps, or by the tread of any, save him to whom -the wife hath said, 'Whither thou goest I will go, thy -people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'"</p> - -<p>The deepening twilight hung over us, wrapping all -things in its sombre mantle, and its solemn stillness fell -with soft, subduing power upon our hearts, as we sat, for -many moments, each lost in reverie, ere I spoke again.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Mary, why were you never married?"</p> - -<p>"Rather an abrupt question that, my love. What if I -say, in the words of the old song, because 'nobody ever -came wooing me?'"</p> - -<p>"Nay, nay, Aunt Mary, I know you have never passed -through life unloved, and I have sometimes fancied not -unloving either. But pardon me, I fear my obtrusive -curiosity has given you pain," I added quickly, as in the -dim light I saw that her pale cheek was growing still paler, -and that deep, though subdued, anguish was stamped in -legible characters upon her brow.</p> - -<p>"I have nought to pardon, my child, for our long familiarity -has given you a right to ask the question; and I -wonder that you have never made the inquiry before, -rather than that you make it now. The history of my -early life is a sad one, but you shall hear it, and know -why I am now such a lone and isolated being.</p> - -<p>"Upon the early part of my life it will be necessary for -me to dwell but slightly. My childhood passed dreamily -away, marked by no event of sufficient importance to leave -a very deep impression upon my mind. An only child, I -was my father's idol, and he loved me none the less tenderly, -because the destroying angel had snatched his young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> -wife from his bosom, and I was all that was left to him of -her. I was very young when my mother died—too young -to appreciate the magnitude of my loss, or to feel that I -was motherless. Yet I have an indistinct recollection of a -sweet, girlish face, that used to bend over my couch, and of -a melodious voice that was wont to lull me to my baby slumbers. -The remembrance is a very faint one, but I have -never thought of angels in my dreams, or in my waking -hours, when the vision did not wear the semblance of my -mother's face, nor of angel voices without in fancy hearing -again my mother's low, soft tones.</p> - -<p>"As I grew older, the best instructors in the country were -procured for me, and I was taught all the accomplishments -of the day, while, at the same time, I was not allowed to -neglect any of the plainer, but equally important branches -of female education. At last my education was completed, -and 'I came out' under auspices as flattering as those -under which any young girl ever made her debut upon the -stage of life. The harsh fingers of Time have wrought such -changes upon my face and form, that you may find it difficult -to believe that in my youth I was called beautiful. -Yet so it was, and this, together with my father's station in -society and reputation for wealth, drew a crowd of admirers -around me. One of my father's chief sources of delight, -was the exercise of an almost prodigal hospitality, and he -dearly loved to see me, attired with all the elegance that -his ample means could afford, presiding at his table, or -moving among our guests, in his fond eyes 'the star of the -goodly companie.'</p> - -<p>"It was by the bedside of his dying sister, that I first met<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> -Walter Elmore. Effie had been a schoolmate of mine, and -an intimate friendship had sprung up between us. Sisterless -as I was, I had learned to cherish for her almost a -sister's love. Soon after we left school, her father removed -his residence from a distant part of the country to the city -near which mine resided, and our girlish attachment was -cemented and strengthened, as we entered, hand in hand, -upon the duties and pleasures of early womanhood.</p> - -<p>"Effie's constitution was naturally weak, and she had been -subject from her childhood to a slight cough; but her -friends gave little heed to it, as the buoyancy of her spirits -and her unchanged demeanour seemed to preclude the idea -of any seated complaint. But the destroyer came, and disease -had made fearful havoc before we awoke to a sense of -her danger. I was with her day and night for a few weeks, -and then Effie Elmore, in her youth and loveliness, slept -the 'sleep that knows no waking.'</p> - -<p>"Her brother, of whom I had often heard her speak in -terms of enthusiastic fondness, had been abroad, completing -his studies, and I never met him until we stood, side by -side, gazing upon the calm, still face of the beautiful being -whom we both so tenderly loved.</p> - -<p>"It is needless for me to say that from that hour we met -often. At my father's house he became a frequent and -a welcome guest; and we met too, at no distant intervals, -by Effie's grave, in her favourite walks, and in every nook -that had been made sacred by her presence. We thought -that it was our mutual love for the departed that drew us -together; we thought it was her memory, and the recollection -of the hour when first we met, that made us seek each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> -other's society, and that rendered the moments we spent -together so dear to us both; but ah me! but few months -had rolled over our heads before we found that it was even -a stronger tie; that it was the mystic chain that binds heart -to heart, the deep love of congenial spirits.</p> - -<p>"And Walter Elmore was indeed one that any maiden -might be proud of loving. His face and figure were cast in -nature's finest mould. But that were nothing—it is of the -nobleness of his character of which I would speak. Proud -and high-spirited even to a fault, he could not stoop to a -mean or unworthy action. Generous and confiding, his -soul was filled with all true and noble impulses, and his -heart was the home of pure and elevated affections. His -intellectual powers were such as to win the admiration and -esteem of all who knew him, and he possessed also the rare -gift of eloquence,—a gift that seldom fails to find its way to -a woman's heart. What wonder was it then that I yielded -mine to him wholly and unreservedly, and soon learned to -listen for his footstep, as I listened for no other? My father -smiled upon his suit, and gave it his unqualified approbation. -Elmore was not wealthy, but his family was one of -the first in the country, and my father was proud of his -brilliant talents and untarnished name. I had wealth -enough for both, and it was decided that upon my twentieth -birthday our nuptials should be celebrated.</p> - -<p>"Alas! how little know we of the future! Ere that day -came, I was penniless—I had almost said a penniless -orphan. My father's capital was all invested in the business -transactions of two of the oldest, and, it was supposed, -the wealthiest houses in New York. Two successive weeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> -brought news of the failure of both firms, and he found himself, -when far advanced in life, stripped of the fortune he -had acquired by his own hard exertions in earlier years, -and utterly destitute. He sank beneath the blow, and for -weeks I hung over his couch, fearing each night that the -next rising sun would see me an orphan.</p> - -<p>"He rose at length from that bed of suffering, but oh, how -changed! His hair, which had before but lightly felt the -touch of time, was white as snow; his once erect form was -bent and trembling; his eye had lost its lustre, and what -was far more sad than all, his mental vigour had departed, -and he was as imbecile and feeble as a little child. Accustomed -as I had ever been to lean upon his strong arm for -support, to look to him for guidance and direction in all -things, I was now obliged to summon all my fortitude, and -be to him in turn protector and guardian.</p> - -<p>"The whole of our property was gone, our ruin was complete, -and for a time I was overwhelmed by the new and -strange cares that were pressing so heavily upon me. But -I soon found that it was time for me to <i>act</i> rather than -mourn, and I began to look around me for some means by -which to obtain a comfortable livelihood for my poor father. -I might have obtained a situation as governess, where the -labour would be light, and the salary more than sufficient -for my wants; but in that case I must be separated from -my parent, and leave him to the tender mercies of strangers. -The same objection arose in my mind in connexion with -almost every course that presented itself, and I finally concluded -upon renting a small house in a pleasant little village<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> -not far from the city, where I could obtain a few pupils, -and still be able to watch over my feeble charge.</p> - -<p>"It was in the 'merry, merry month of May,' that the -news of our reverses came, but it was late in October before -we left our home, that home rendered sacred by so many -hallowed associations. The intervening months had been -spent by me in watching over the sick couch of my aged -parent, in striving to compose my own agitated spirits, and -to gain sufficient courage to gaze unshrinkingly upon the -new and strange pathway I was about to tread.</p> - -<p>"Slowly and wearily passed they away, and the day at -length dawned that was to witness our departure. All -was bright and joyous in the outer world. The air was -soft and balmy as a morning in June. The trees were just -changing their green summer robes for the gorgeous attire -of autumn, with its rich colouring and brilliant dyes; and -the sky was as cloudless as if the storm-king had been -dethroned, and his banners furled for ever. The house, and -everything around it, presented much the same appearance -as in happier days; for the gentleman who had purchased -it had bought the furniture also, with the exception of a -few indispensable articles, that the kindness of the creditors -allowed us to retain for our new dwelling.</p> - -<p>"But oh, the darkness of the inner world! the gloom in -which my own soul was wrapped, when I awoke from a -short and troubled sleep, and the thought fell as a dull, -sickening weight upon my heart, that I had slept for the -last time in that quiet chamber! I passed from room to -room, and every step but added to my grief. Here was -the nursery and the little crib, where I could just remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> -sleeping in my very babyhood; here the retired study, with -its perfect stillness, and the light coming in so stealthily -through the stained glass; here the library, my father's -favourite apartment, and there, in the recess with its bay -window, the arm-chair that had ever been his chosen resting-place; -and here the room where my mother had lain, in -her quiet beauty, ere the coffin-lid was closed, and she was -borne hence for ever.</p> - -<p>"In a distant part of the grounds, where the forest-trees -had not yet fallen, and where the hand of art had done -little more than to clear away the tangled underbrush, -there was a small plot enclosed by a stone wall, over which -wild vines and running mosses had been trained until the -gray stones were almost entirely hidden. The grass in the -enclosure was of the deepest green, and shaded though it -was by the overhanging trees, there had not a faded leaf or -a withered branch been suffered to rest upon it. In the -centre was a mound of earth, and over it a slab of white -marble, upon which lay the sculptured image of a woman, -young and of surpassing loveliness. She lay as if in sleep, -one rounded arm thrown over her head, and the other -dropping by her side; while from the half-opened hand a -white rose-bud had seemingly just fallen. It was my -mother's burial-place, and I bent my steps thitherward -that I might cast one farewell look upon it, before it passed -into the possession of strangers. A tide of softening recollections -swept over me as I stood by the grave, and falling -upon my knees, I poured out my full heart in prayer.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"'Oh, when the heart is sad—when bitter thoughts</div> -<div class="i0">Are crowding thickly up for utterance,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> -<div class="i0">And the poor, common words of courtesy</div> -<div class="i0">Are such a bitter mocking—how much</div> -<div class="i0">The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!'</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="in0">I rose from my knees calmer than I had been for many -weeks. I was sad, but not despairing,—and felt again, -what in my despondency I had well-nigh forgotten, that I -was in the hands of One who careth for His children.</p> - -<p>"When I returned to the house, I found the vehicle that -was to convey us away waiting at the door. My father -was already in his seat, and I sprang quickly in, not trusting -myself to cast another look around me. He—thanks to -his weakness and imbecility—had partaken little of my -dread or agony. Provided his daily wants were supplied, -it mattered little to him where his lot was cast."</p> - -<p>"But, Aunt Mary, where was Walter Elmore all this -time?"</p> - -<p>"I should have told you, my love, that business of vital -importance called him to a distant part of the country a -short time previous to our misfortunes, and there detained -him. He was kept apprised by my letters, however, of all -that had befallen us, and hastened to my side as soon as -he returned. He vehemently opposed my pursuance of -the course I had marked out for myself, and with all the -eloquence and earnestness of love, besought me to become -his wife at once, and give him a right to protect and -guard me.</p> - -<p>"But fervently as he prayed, and strongly as my own -heart seconded his entreaties, I could not yield. I had -thought that it was to be my blessed privilege to aid and -assist him I loved; to place him where it would no longer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> -be necessary for him to confine his noble mind to close and -ceaseless drudgery, and constant toil for his daily bread. -And how could I now consent to be a drawback upon his -efforts, and to burden him with the care of my helpless -parent?</p> - -<p>"'No, no, Walter,' said I, in reply to his oft-repeated -solicitations; 'urge me no longer. For the present our -paths must be separated. Your task will be hard enough, -while you are taking the first steps towards acquiring a -name and a competence, even if you have no interests but -your own to regard. Were I alone in the world, I would -joyfully link my fate with yours, and we would toil together, -side by side. But as it is, it may not be. My -father cannot understand why he need be deprived of any -of his accustomed luxuries. Be it my care that he misses -them not. I will labour for his sustenance and my own, -until you are so circumstanced that, without detriment to -your own prospects, you can relieve me of the charge. -<i>Then</i> come to me, and the hand pledged to you in brighter -days shall be yours!'</p> - -<p>"A year passed not unhappily away in the earnest and -faithful discharge of the new duties devolving upon me. -My school flourished beyond my expectations. I had -gained the esteem and confidence of those around me, and -I found no difficulty in supplying our daily wants. Elmore -was in an adjacent city, in the office of an eminent lawyer, -who, it was imagined, would ere long make him a partner -in his business. During the last few months his visits had -been less frequent than of yore. Rumour told strange tales -of a young and exceedingly beautiful girl, the sister of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> -employer, who was playing the mischief with the hearts -and brains of half the young men in M——, and more than -hinted that my lover was among the number of her admirers. -Things went on thus for some time. I fancied -that, when we met, which was rarely, his manner was cold -and reserved, and that he seemed to shrink from my presence. -I now know that my own jealous fancies threw a -false colouring over all his actions, and that, if there was -any coldness in his demeanour, it sprang from the unusual, -and, in fact, unintended reserve of mine.</p> - -<p>"At last I heard, from the lips of one whose veracity and -friendship I thought I could not question, that his leisure -hours were all spent in the society of my supposed rival, -and that, when rallied by some of his associates with regard -to myself, he had denied our engagement, and spoken lightly -and contemptuously of the 'school-mistress.'</p> - -<p>"A thousand contending passions were striving for the -mastery in my breast, when, upon the evening of that day, -after its weary labours were over, I threw myself upon a -low seat in the room that served alike as school-room and -parlour. Woman's pride—and who does not know that -'there is not a high thing out of heaven her pride o'er-mastereth -not?'—was all aroused. Memory was wide -awake, bringing back the recollection of by-gone days, -when my hand had been sought by the proudest in the -land. Then came thoughts of our early love—of the exquisite -happiness that had filled my heart, when I had so -rejoiced that wealth was at my command, and that I could -place it all at the feet of one whom I deemed so noble and -so pure—and of a later period, when, rather than place the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> -slightest barrier in his way to fame and fortune, I had resisted -all his entreaties, and confined myself to close and -unremitting toil. It was at this very moment when I was -half maddened by the retrospect, that the door opened, and -Walter Elmore entered.</p> - -<p>"Hastily rising, with every appearance of calmness, I received -him with a cold and stately courtesy, surprising even -to myself.</p> - -<p>"'What means this, Mary?' said he; and I could see that -his lip quivered, and the hand he had extended trembled. -'Why do you greet me thus coldly?'</p> - -<p>"'Let your own heart answer the question, Mr. Elmore. -To that and to your own words I refer you for reasons why -we must henceforth be strangers.'</p> - -<p>"'You speak enigmas to-night, my dear Mary. My heart -tells me no tale that can enable me to comprehend this unlooked-for -change in you. It will take more than your -simple assertion that we are strangers, to render us such; -and he again attempted to take my hand.</p> - -<p>"I drew back more haughtily than before, and words that -I cannot now repeat burst from my lips. I can only tell -you that they were harsh, stinging words—words fraught -with contempt and bitterness—words that a proud spirit -like Elmore's could not brook.</p> - -<p>"He sought no farther explanation. 'Be it as you will,' -he said, and his manner was as stern as my own; 'I have -asked you to account for this change, and you refuse compliance, -couching that refusal in terms that I can hear twice -from no one, not even from yourself. We meet no more; -but remember, Mary Atherton, the words you have this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> -day uttered will ring in your ear until it is closed to all -earthly sounds. You have given heed to some idle tale of -calumny, and have wantonly flung away a heart that was -filled but with your image—a heart that had centred upon -you its every dream and wish for the far future—that lived -but in the hope of one day calling you its own—and that -looked forward to that period as to the commencement of a -better and a happier existence. The hour will come when -you will feel that this is true, and then will you bewail the -step you have now taken!'—and without one farewell look -he rushed from the room.</p> - -<p>"This prophecy was fulfilled almost before the echo of -his departing footsteps had died away. I felt that I was -labouring under some strange delusion, and bursting into -tears, I wept long and bitterly. I would have given worlds -to recall him; but his fleet steed was bearing him from -me, as on the wings of the wind. Yet, hope whispered: -'We shall surely meet again. My harsh words -angered him; but he has loved me so long and so fondly, -that he will not resign me thus easily. All will yet be -explained.'</p> - -<p>"But day after day passed and he came not; and my -heart was as if an iron hand was resting upon it, pressing -it downward to the very earth. The excitement of passion -had died away, and I could now see how greatly I had -erred, in not telling him frankly the tale that had reached -my ears, and thus giving him an opportunity to exculpate -himself from the charge. Alas! for pride and anger, how -often does the shadow of one unguarded moment darken -our life-paths for ever!</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> - -<p>"Two weeks had elapsed; and one night, after vain -attempts to sleep, I rose from my couch and threw open -the lattice. The glare of daylight was wanting; but the -moon poured forth such a flood of radiance that the minutest -object was distinctly visible. All heaven and earth -were still; the very leaves upon the trees hung motionless -as those painted upon canvass. The perfect silence was -becoming painfully oppressive, when a low sound, like distant -footsteps, fell upon my ear. Nearer and still nearer it -came, and I could distinguish a faint murmur, as of half-suppressed -voices. Then a group of men approached. -They walked slowly and heavily, and as they drew near -I perceived that they bore a dark object. Soon, by their -reverential mien, and by the unyielding, uneven nature of -their burden, the stiff outlines of which were discernible -beneath the mantle thrown over it, I knew they were -bearing the dead.</p> - -<p>"They were passing directly beneath my window, when -a sudden movement of the bearers disarranged the pall, -and the moonbeams fell clear and soft upon the uncovered -features. I leaned forward, and—oh, God! it was the face -of Walter Elmore!</p> - -<p>"With a shriek that rang out fearfully upon the night-air, -I rushed forth, and threw myself upon the motionless -form. The men paused in astonishment; but I heeded -them not; I lifted the wet, dark locks from his forehead: -more than living beauty rested upon it; but it was cold, -icy cold,—so cold that the touch chilled my very life-blood. -I placed my hand upon his heart: but it beat no longer. -I kissed his pale lips again and again, and wildly called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> -him by name, and prayed that he would speak to me once, -<i>only once</i> more; but he answered not. They thought I was -mad, and attempted to raise me, and bear the body on; -but I clung to it with a frenzied clasp, exclaiming: 'You -shall not separate us,—he is mine,—he is mine!' Then, -suddenly, in thunder tones, a voice from the depths of my -own spirit sounded in my ears: 'He is not yours: your -own hand severed the ties that bound you. What dost -thou here?' and I fell senseless to the ground.</p> - -<p>"When I next awoke to consciousness, the snow had -rested for many weeks upon the grave of Walter Elmore.</p> - -<p>"I cannot dwell longer upon this theme. Years have -fled since that name has passed my lips, until this evening; -but my brain whirls, even now, when I recall the agony of -that moment. Elmore had been crossing a narrow bridge, -when his foot slipped, and he was precipitated into the -water beneath. The current was strong; and his body -was found, by some travellers, washed on shore some distance -below.</p> - -<p>"I learned, before many months had passed, that the tale -to which I had given credence was an entire fabrication, -having its origin solely in jealousy and malice. He had -never swerved from his fidelity, even for one moment; but -I,—oh! would to God that my spirit might but for once -hold communion with his, that I might humble myself -before him, and implore forgiveness for the injustice and -coldness of our last interview!</p> - -<p>"Little more remains to be told. Shortly after, my -father sank to his rest; and the death of a distant relative -placed me in possession of a small annuity, which enabled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> -me to purchase this cottage. Here I shall probably live -until called to rejoin my loved ones in a happier clime."</p> - -<p>Aunt Mary's story was ended. My heart was too full -for utterance, and silently I pressed my lips upon her pale -forehead, and wended my way homewards.</p> - -<p>The next morning I left Elmwood. When I again revisited -my early home, a plain slab of marble in the -churchyard bore the name of Mary Atherton.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>SUNSET ON THE RIVER DELAWARE.<br /> -<span class="small">A SONNET, TO "SIBYL."</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY J. I. PEASE.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A day of storms!—But, at its latest close,</div> -<div class="i2"><i>Beyond</i> the cloud, comes forth the glowing sun,</div> -<div class="i2">Kissing the waves to dimples, one by one,</div> -<div class="i0">O'er which our homeward bark serenely goes.</div> -<div class="i0">The blue expanse with tremulous lustre glows,</div> -<div class="i2">As the warm hues of evening fade to dun;</div> -<div class="i2">And the still twilight hour comes softly down,</div> -<div class="i0">Like blessed, eyelids, for the day's repose.</div> -<div class="i0">And thus <i>our</i> day!—The heavy clouds rolled past,</div> -<div class="i2">The dark eclipse of doubt and fear is o'er;</div> -<div class="i2">The tides of life flow calmly as before,</div> -<div class="i0">And love's pure tranquil moon shines clear at last.</div> -<div class="i0">Oh, may this hour of beauty and of rest</div> -<div class="i0">Bring peace undreaming to thy troubled breast.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY S. A. H.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I saw a noble bark upon the angry main—</div> -<div class="i2">The foamy billows pressed upon her track;</div> -<div class="i0">Now high, now low, I saw her timbers strain,</div> -<div class="i2">As forth she bounded o'er the waters black.</div> -<div class="i0">But ever, as a deeper plunge she gave,</div> -<div class="i0">Phosphoric brightness gleamed along the wave:</div> -<div class="i0">And thus, I said, wide o'er Life's stormy sea,</div> -<div class="i0">Glances the light of Faith, so pure and free.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I marked a threatening cloud hang o'er the western sky,</div> -<div class="i2">And throw its blackness o'er the landscape fair,</div> -<div class="i0">Whence lightnings flashed, whence pealed the thunder high,</div> -<div class="i2">And wide re-echoed through the trembling air.</div> -<div class="i0">The sun broke forth, and all its dark array</div> -<div class="i0">Was gilded with the hues of parting day:</div> -<div class="i0">And thus, I said, can Hope's bright rays illume,</div> -<div class="i0">And richly paint the darkest days of gloom.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I saw, at twilight eve, a snowy flower—</div> -<div class="i2">It closed its leaves and drooped its tender bud;</div> -<div class="i0">Cold came the dew, and blightingly the shower</div> -<div class="i2">Swept o'er the plant in swift destructive flood.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> -<div class="i0">But, bending o'er its tender charge its leaves,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">20</a></div> -<div class="i0">Bows the strong branch, and needed shelter gives:</div> -<div class="i0">And thus, I said, does Charity descend,</div> -<div class="i0">And proves to every drooping one a friend.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20">20</a> The tamarind plant, which closes its leaves over its young fruit and -flowers.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CASTLE-BUILDING.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY JAMES T. MITCHELL.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">At twilight, when the deepening shades</div> -<div class="i2">Of humid night are closing fast,</div> -<div class="i0">When o'er bright fields and green arcades</div> -<div class="i2">The dazzling beams of gold are cast,</div> -<div class="i0">Another day its weary round</div> -<div class="i2">Of mingled joys and pains has run,</div> -<div class="i0">And clouds, with golden fringes bound,</div> -<div class="i2">In beauty veil the setting sun,—</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A silence, pleasing, calm, profound,</div> -<div class="i2">Falls soothing on the raptured brain;</div> -<div class="i0">The hum of busy life is drowned,</div> -<div class="i2">On crowded street and lonely plain;</div> -<div class="i0">The soul, in dreamy reveries lost,</div> -<div class="i2">To shadowy realms far distant roves,</div> -<div class="i0">In stormy waves of ether tost,</div> -<div class="i2">Then wandering wild in heavenly groves.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And cloud-built castles, towering high,</div> -<div class="i2">O'er gorgeous scenes that fancy rears,</div> -<div class="i0">Where laughing orbs illume the sky,</div> -<div class="i2">Seem mansions for our future years;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> -<div class="i0">And, while the spirit gazing stands,</div> -<div class="i2">Enwrapt with pleasure at the scenes</div> -<div class="i0">Which fill Imagination's lands</div> -<div class="i2">With palaces for fairy queens,</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The view is changing—all is gone—</div> -<div class="i2">The castles, fading slow away,</div> -<div class="i0">As misty shapes at early dawn,</div> -<div class="i2">Vanish before the coming day;</div> -<div class="i0">And storm-clouds now are lowering round;</div> -<div class="i2">Wild demon shapes are flitting by;</div> -<div class="i0">Fierce flames are rising from the ground,</div> -<div class="i2">And lurid lightnings cleave the sky.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Bleak snow-capped mountains o'er us frown,</div> -<div class="i2">While, gray and grim, through darkened air,</div> -<div class="i0">Towers and turrets, looking down</div> -<div class="i2">From rocky heights o'erhanging there,</div> -<div class="i0">Seem prisons for the wandering brain,</div> -<div class="i2">Within whose deep and caverned walls</div> -<div class="i0">'Tis doomed for ever to remain,</div> -<div class="i2">'Mid shrieks as from demoniac halls.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But pyramids above these rise,</div> -<div class="i2">Whose summits, gleaming gaily bright,</div> -<div class="i0">Inspire with hope the fainting eyes,</div> -<div class="i2">As bathed they stand in golden light,</div> -<div class="i0">Lifting their peaks high o'er the dark,</div> -<div class="i2">Like shining spots, that on the breast</div> -<div class="i0">Of darkened Luna, seem to mark</div> -<div class="i2">Some towering Etna's blazing crest.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Perched on these lofty granite piles,</div> -<div class="i2">Rise adamantine domes of power,</div> -<div class="i0">Secure from treachery, force, or wiles,</div> -<div class="i2">Reared in Ambition's happy hour,</div> -<div class="i0">When, having left the storm behind,</div> -<div class="i2">Of raging battles, fears, and hates,</div> -<div class="i0">He spurns their threats as empty wind,</div> -<div class="i2">Himself the guardian of the gates.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Here in these grand, but lonely halls,—</div> -<div class="i2">Unmingling with the crowd below,</div> -<div class="i0">And all unharmed by what befalls</div> -<div class="i2">Poor wanderers in this world of woe,—</div> -<div class="i0">Ambition, well-directed, dwells,</div> -<div class="i2">While songs of sorrow, care, and grief,</div> -<div class="i0">Give place to martial music's swells,</div> -<div class="i2">Which proudly hail the victor chief.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Yet not alone—without a friend</div> -<div class="i2">To share his toil-bought honours great,</div> -<div class="i0">And by congenial spirit lend</div> -<div class="i2">New splendour to his regal state—</div> -<div class="i0">Celestial Hope dwells ever near,</div> -<div class="i2">And Happiness, her sister gay;</div> -<div class="i0">And thus they live, while year on year</div> -<div class="i2">With rapid pinions rolls away.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But gazing from these lofty walls,</div> -<div class="i2">A landscape rises bright and fair,</div> -<div class="i0">Where happy light serenely falls</div> -<div class="i2">On scenes of gorgeous beauty there.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> -<div class="i0">Here crystal founts, 'mid orient flowers,</div> -<div class="i2">Which radiant shine in varied hues,</div> -<div class="i0">Flow joyous through an Eden's bowers,</div> -<div class="i2">Where perfume loads the falling dews;</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">While here and there, these laughing streams,</div> -<div class="i2">Dimpling and eddying ever gay,</div> -<div class="i0">Rippling o'er golden sand, that gleams</div> -<div class="i2">Like the Golcondian diamond's ray,</div> -<div class="i0">Leap headlong down a rocky dell,</div> -<div class="i2">And o'er the heaven's ethereal azure</div> -<div class="i0">Cast many a rainbow's glittering spell,</div> -<div class="i2">That chains the heart in silent pleasure.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And 'neath the heaven's o'erarching bow,</div> -<div class="i0">Bloom laurels proud, and violets low,</div> -<div class="i0">In fragrance sweet, and beauty rare,</div> -<div class="i0">With graceful rose, and lily fair;</div> -<div class="i0">The mirthful grape, and crocus glad,</div> -<div class="i0">Yet here and there, geranium sad,</div> -<div class="i0">With hawthorn, and ambrosia kind,</div> -<div class="i0">And 'mongst them all is ivy twined.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Amid these blooming spirit-lands,</div> -<div class="i0">Mid chaplets wreathed by Love's own hands,</div> -<div class="i0">The glowing flowers of Love are found</div> -<div class="i0">With which his shining locks are crowned;</div> -<div class="i0">He sings a song, through all the day long,</div> -<div class="i2">Of joy, and of gladness, and glee,</div> -<div class="i0">And he sits so light, on his throne so bright,</div> -<div class="i2">Oh ever a conquering king is he!</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But when the sunset's golden dyes</div> -<div class="i0">Have faded away from the western skies;</div> -<div class="i0">And these fairy gardens are seen by night.</div> -<div class="i0">Over their moonlit waters bright,</div> -<div class="i0">On which, as they're merrily flowing and dancing,</div> -<div class="i0">The light of the stars is twinkling and glancing,</div> -<div class="i0">There's a charm in that silent midnight hour,</div> -<div class="i0">They only can tell who have felt its power.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">There's a mystic spell in its silence sweet,</div> -<div class="i0">And a magic thrill through all who meet,</div> -<div class="i0">Where kindred thoughts together stray,</div> -<div class="i0">Whispering beneath pale Luna's ray;</div> -<div class="i0">Then is the time for poet's song,</div> -<div class="i0">When his voice on the zephyr is borne along,</div> -<div class="i0">And slumbering echo, like fairy fay,</div> -<div class="i0">Murmurs the words of his wakening lay.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But the rosy beams of the coming morn</div> -<div class="i0">Tell us how fast the night has worn,</div> -<div class="i0">How far and free the soul has strayed,</div> -<div class="i0">Wandering 'mong scenes in fancy laid;</div> -<div class="i0">And the heathcock's note, or the matin bell,</div> -<div class="i0">As the morning breeze brings its pealing swell,</div> -<div class="i0">Recalls the soul from its musings there,</div> -<div class="i0">To find its "Castles"—built in air.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_184a.jpg" alt="Lake_Pepin" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph<sup>a.</sup></span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - WENONA'S LEAP. LAKE PEPIN, MISS. RIVER. - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE LOVER'S LEAP:<br /> -<span class="small">OR, WENONA'S ROCK.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p>Love, which "rules the court, the camp, the grove," is -not without a share of influence in the wigwam.</p> - -<p>It is true that in a polished and refined society, woman -is more likely to receive a just appreciation, than where the -intellect of man is like the one talent rolled in a napkin, -useless, because neglected and unimproved. In an enlightened -country, woman is not considered as being only -created to perform the household duties of a wife and -mother. She is a companion, in the highest sense of the -word. Her aim, like his, may be towards the great purposes -of life.</p> - -<p>Not unmindful of her first duties, those which lie in her -province alone, she can go on towards that exalted state of -perfection of which the soul is capable, though not to be -attained here. Religion, that teaches her "that the price -of a virtuous woman is far above rubies," also commends -her that "she openeth her mouth with wisdom." We find -her in the sacred history not only the friend, the mother, -and the wife, but the poet, the heroine, the prophetess, and -even the judge. But among Indian nations we find her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> -position more than equivocal. Her influence is undoubted -in the domestic relations, but she is still a slave. She was -born to labour—what merit then in her strongest efforts! -She is an inferior—how then can she hope for justice?</p> - -<p>Among the Sioux, the men appear indeed to be a superior -class of beings. They are noble-looking, while the -women are often repelling in appearance. The difficulties -with which they must contend in the harsh climate of their -country; their poverty increasing year after year; their -frequent and long fastings: these all make the men more -hardy, more capable of a continued struggle, but they have -a different effect upon the women. They are compelled to -remain in the lodge; the care of their children obliges them -to forego the excitement of seeking for food, and thus sickness -and even death is often brought upon them that could -otherwise have been avoided. They are often found buried -in the snow in winter, prevented by sickness from making -such efforts as saved the lives of their husbands and -brothers.</p> - -<p>But their noble courage, where the emotions of the heart -are concerned, gives them the first place in the romantic -traditions of their country.</p> - -<p>The Sioux will soon have taken a farewell look of the -lands which the Great Spirit gave them in the olden time. -The lodge and its occupants are vanishing away. The occasional -war-whoop will soon be forgotten where it has been -heard in unrecorded ages. The scenes of many a romantic -tradition will be forgotten by those who succeed the valiant -but doomed people, who must look upon them no more. -The hunter and his wild steed depart, and the white man,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> -the axe, the plough, and the powder-horn take their place.<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> -The fairy-rings<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">22</a> on the prairie must be trodden down.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> -Spirits will no more assemble where are heard the noise and -excitement of advancing civilization. The same sun gilds -the hills, the same breezes play upon the waters—but the -red man must go.</p> - -<p>He must, with his heart full of patriotism and sorrow, -find another site for his lodge, another country for his hunting-grounds. -The wakeen-stone to which he was sacrificed -is no longer his. The graves of his ancestors reproach him -as he departs.</p> - -<p>The illustration of Wenona's Rock presents one of the -most striking and beautiful scenes in Indian country. Even -were there no tradition connected with it, its wonderful -beauty must give it interest. One must indeed feel that -God made it. That huge rock with its worn and broken -sides—the lake that reflects it in her placid bosom—the -everlasting hills stretching out before the eye,—these would -show the Creator's handiwork.</p> - -<p>But there is an additional interest in viewing it when we -recall the tale of sorrow and passion connected with it. -When we recollect that <i>here</i> a young heart throbbed its last -emotions—that from that high eminence the sweet notes of -woman's voice pealed forth their last music. That <i>here</i> her -arms were raised to heaven, appealing for that justice which -earth had denied her.</p> - - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_188a.jpg" alt="Marriage_Custom" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph<sup>a.</sup></span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - MARRIAGE CUSTOM OF THE INDIANS. - </div> -</div> - - -<p>But it is not only on Wenona's Rock that the devotion -of an Indian woman's love is recorded. Go among them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> -and hear the traditions of each band; how many have -loved and died. Learn of the sacrifices that only woman -can make—of the devotion that only woman can feel—of -the sorrows that only woman can endure.</p> - -<p>You may see one, who, though past her youth, still -attracts you by the full and expressive glances of her dark -and brilliant eyes. Her hair (a marvel among Indians), -waves along her forehead—and when damp from heat or -bathing, divides itself into locks, that would with any pains -be formed into ringlets. Her smile lights up her countenance, -for her white teeth shine, and her mouth, though -large, is expressive. She will not open her heart to a -stranger, but to one she loves, she told all.</p> - -<p>She had seen but fourteen summers when she left her -mother to go to her husband's lodge. She loved to dwell -upon that time, for no bride ever boasted greater adornment, -and her marriage was celebrated according to the old -and venerated customs.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">23</a></p> - -<p>She was a whole morning preparing herself, for her -mother loved her, and was proud of her. She had obtained -from the traders gay beads of every colour, and brooches in -numbers, too.</p> - -<p>Her father was a favourite of the traders. He carried -them so many beautiful furs—for he was a great hunter—that -they gave him trinkets for her in abundance. They -gave him, besides, fire-water; and then she and her mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> -used to leave the wigwam and hide, for fear he would kill -her.</p> - -<p>When she was ready to go to her husband's lodge, her -father and two of her brothers attended her. Her cousin, -Whistling Wind, came to meet her, and, taking her upon -his back, carried her in and placed her by her husband's -side.</p> - -<p>She was very happy at first, for her husband loved her; -but many moons passed away, and she had no child.</p> - -<p>Her husband reproached her, and she could only weep—and -no infant's voice was heard in their lodge.</p> - -<p>At last her husband brought home another wife, and she -was forgotten. Soon she watched him as he carved the -thunder-bird on his son's cradle; and the second wife -laughed at her, because she could not be a happy mother -like herself.</p> - -<p>He has beaten her sometimes—for he drinks fire-water -too.</p> - -<p>She might return to her mother, for her family is a -powerful one, but she cannot leave her husband. She cannot -forget the love of her early youth. She stays by him, -for he is often sick, and she can take better care of him -than his other wife, who has many young children.</p> - -<p>Wherever is man, with his proud, exacting spirit, there -is woman, with her devoted and enduring love. There are -many instances of heroic affection, not recorded in the -traditionary annals of the Sioux; but Wenona's Rock will -stand, as long as the world lasts, a monument in memory -of woman's love.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21">21</a> The Seal of Minesota, adopted in 1850, represents an Indian warrior -departing on his steed: while a husbandman is in the foreground, surrounded -by the implements of civilization,—the plough, axe, and rifle. The -scene is located at Anthony's Falls.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22">22</a> On the prairies we frequently observe what the Sioux call Fairy-rings. -These are circles, occasioned by the grass growing in this form, higher and -of a darker colour than that around it. Medicine-Bottle, an inferior chief, -living now about twenty miles from Fort Snelling, says that "they are the -paths in which their ancestors danced their war-dances;" the Indians at -Lac qui Parle say the same thing. In confirmation of this opinion, it may -be stated, that these circles of dark grass vary about as much from true -circles as do the paths in which the Sioux dance at the present time. -Chequered Cloud, a medicine-woman, much esteemed among the Sioux, -says "that these circles were made, in the first instance, by one of their -gods, Unk tomi sapa tonka, the large black spider, for the warriors to -dance in." I will observe that Dr. Williamson, a missionary among the -Sioux, requested from the two Indians mentioned their opinion on this -subject, telling them I had asked it. Dr. Williamson gives his own -opinion, or rather observation, thus:—"It seems to me, from the appearance -of these circles, that they enlarge every year: and I have thought it -probable that they originated from the death of some large animal, or -other like cause, destroying the common grass of the prairie and enriching -the ground, thus starting grass of another kind, or weeds which grow -rankly in this manner, and overshadowing, and to some extent destroying -the surrounding grass, the next year taking possession of the ground from -which the common grass has been destroyed, &c."</p> - -<p>"On mentioning this and your letter to Mr. G. H. Pond," Dr. W. continues, -"he said, Lieut. Mather, the geologist, who visited this country -(Minesota) with Featherstonhaugh, many years ago, had advanced the -same opinion. In confirmation of it, I would observe, that in the large -prairies up the St. Peter's River, I have often seen buffalo bones in -these circles." Mr. Pond, the Doctor adds, did not think these circles -originated in this way: saying, some supposed they were caused by a -mineral in the soil, and that he had observed, that when cattle came on or -near these circles, they always eat the dark grass in the ring close to the -ground, neglecting or passing over that growing elsewhere.</p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23">23</a> The marriage custom of the Sioux is given in "Dacota, or Legends of -the Sioux." The ancient form, as represented in the illustration, is still -venerated, and frequently, though not always celebrated.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE INDIAN MOTHER,<br /> -<span class="small">AND THE SONG OF THE WIND.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">Softly the Indian mother<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">24</a> sings—</div> -<div class="i8">"Woman's heart is strong,</div> -<div class="i6">When she works for those she loves,</div> -<div class="i8">Through the summer's day so long.</div> -<div class="i6">Hark! to the wind's wild voice, my babe—</div> -<div class="i8">What may its story be,</div> -<div class="i6">Stirring thy cradle-bed, securely laid</div> -<div class="i8">In the arms of the forest tree?"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"We have travelled afar, but we come again;</div> -<div class="i0">We have passed o'er the couch of weakness and pain;</div> -<div class="i0">We have seen the gifted from earth depart;</div> -<div class="i0">We have fanned the brow of the broken heart;</div> -<div class="i0">We have fled from the shrieks of the mighty in death,</div> -<div class="i0">From the battle's rage and the victor's breath;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> -<div class="i0">We have been at the grave—at the infant's birth;</div> -<div class="i0">We know all the cares of the children of earth.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Our wail is heard o'er the mighty deep,</div> -<div class="i0">In whose breast the loved and lost ones sleep,</div> -<div class="i0">When, sweeping in rage, the hurricane blast</div> -<div class="i0">Tosses to heaven the waters vast.</div> -<div class="i0">When we bear o'er the foaming and dashing main</div> -<div class="i0">The voices that ne'er will be heard again;</div> -<div class="i0">Yet we come and go at His will, who said</div> -<div class="i0">To the sea 'Be still!' and its waves obeyed.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"The air was still as we stayed our breath,</div> -<div class="i0">While the mother wept o'er her young child's death—</div> -<div class="i0">A fatherless child; 'twas peacefully laid,</div> -<div class="i0">So placid and calm, 'neath the curtain's shade.</div> -<div class="i0">Yet, pressing the clay to her throbbing breast,</div> -<div class="i0">'Oh! when,' she cried, 'will I be at rest?'</div> -<div class="i0">We sang for the child a requiem low,</div> -<div class="i0">And the mother's to sing on our way we go.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"But why should we chaunt of sorrow and gloom,</div> -<div class="i0">Of night and the tempest, of tears and the tomb?</div> -<div class="i0">Those who are parted shall meet again—</div> -<div class="i0">The sea yield her victims, the earth her slain;</div> -<div class="i0">Our mission we haste o'er ocean to bear;</div> -<div class="i0">We tell of his glory whose servants we are.</div> -<div class="i0">We quell with our tidings the idol's dark power,</div> -<div class="i0">That the cries of its victims be heard never more.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"We raise from the earth the spirit crushed;</div> -<div class="i0">At the sight of the cross its murmurs are hushed.</div> -<div class="i0">Our voice is heard, and the wandering son</div> -<div class="i0">In spirit turns to his long-left home.</div> -<div class="i0">He remembers his father's voice in prayer,</div> -<div class="i0">And he kneels by the side of his mother there;</div> -<div class="i0">And he cries, while his steps are homeward trod,</div> -<div class="i0">'Oh! be thou mine, my father's God!'</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Alike is the charge and the mission given</div> -<div class="i0">To the faithful heart and the winds of heaven,</div> -<div class="i0">To tell how the Saviour came to earth,</div> -<div class="i0">How poor he was from the hour of his birth:</div> -<div class="i0">His own griefs unheeded, for others he sighed;</div> -<div class="i0">Of the life that he lived, of the death that he died.</div> -<div class="i0">To earth's farthest shore these tidings we bear—</div> -<div class="i0">All glory to Him whose servants we are."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">Again the Indian mother sings—</div> -<div class="i6">"Woman's heart is strong,</div> -<div class="i4">When she works for those she loves,</div> -<div class="i6">Through the summer's day so long.</div> -<div class="i4">I would know what the wild winds said, my babe—</div> -<div class="i6">What could their story be,</div> -<div class="i4">Stirring thy cradle-bed, securely laid</div> -<div class="i6">In the arms of the forest tree?"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24">24</a> Indian women take great interest in listening to instruction connected -with religious subjects. They often deplore the difference in their position -from that of the white woman, desiring for themselves and their children -the thousand comforts and advantages they observe the wives and children -of the white man possess. Only can they ever hope to enjoy them when -their nation becomes a Christian one.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p class="center in0">Those who have lived among the Indians are accustomed to their faith in the protecting power -of the Spirits of Nature. Especially powerful is the god of the woods and forests.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Day with its gorgeous light passes away,</div> -<div class="i0">Shadows of coming night darken the way.</div> -<div class="i8">Who is the wanderer</div> -<div class="i8">With the long braided hair?</div> -<div class="i8">'Mid the tall evergreens,</div> -<div class="i8">She like a fairy seems;</div> -<div class="i8">Know ye the maiden young,</div> -<div class="i8">Wood Spirits, say?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Know we the maiden young—mark well her form,</div> -<div class="i0">Like the tall pine tree, when rages the storm.</div> -<div class="i8">How like the dark bird's wing</div> -<div class="i8">Glistens her braided hair.</div> -<div class="i8">When watching o'er her birth,</div> -<div class="i8">Sang we a song of earth,</div> -<div class="i8">We were her guardians made,</div> -<div class="i8">She was our child.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Soon o'er her body cold, chaunt we her funeral hymn,</div> -<div class="i0">Wild branches, torn and old, timing the requiem.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> -<div class="i8">Why does she wander here,</div> -<div class="i8">With the long braided hair?</div> -<div class="i8">Why is the maiden pale—</div> -<div class="i8">Why does her breathing fail?</div> -<div class="i8">Now, by the moonbeams fair,</div> -<div class="i8">See her dimmed eye.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">She loved as maiden loves, she wept as woman weeps.</div> -<div class="i0">Soon will her restless frame sleep where her lover sleeps.</div> -<div class="i8">Then to our far-off groves</div> -<div class="i8">Will we her spirit hear.</div> -<div class="i8">When heaves her parting sigh,</div> -<div class="i8">When closed her lustrous eye,</div> -<div class="i8">We will her guardians be,—</div> -<div class="i8">She is our child.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>ALICE HILL.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. M. E. W. ALEXANDER.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Fast by a brook, whose murmuring streams</div> -<div class="i0">Reflected heaven in angel dreams,</div> -<div class="i0">Embosomed in a quiet wood,</div> -<div class="i0">An old and storm-rent school-house stood.</div> -<div class="i0">All brown with age and worn by rains,</div> -<div class="i0">Rude winter shook the shattered panes,</div> -<div class="i0">That shivered in their casements light,</div> -<div class="i0">Like goblins' teeth on windy night.</div> -<div class="i0">But when the sun shone down the hill,</div> -<div class="i0">On smiling field and gushing rill,</div> -<div class="i0">And by the school-house danced the brook,</div> -<div class="i0">Through hidden course or leafy nook,</div> -<div class="i0">On shattered panes in casement light</div> -<div class="i0">Its summer rays streamed clear and bright.</div> -<div class="i0">Of pleasant ways and knowledge fair,</div> -<div class="i0">Blithe Alice Hill reigned mistress there,—</div> -<div class="i0">Nor birchen rod nor oaken rule</div> -<div class="i0">In terror held this woodland school;</div> -<div class="i0">Love awed the spirits bold and wild,</div> -<div class="i0">Love won the most rebellious child,—</div> -<div class="i0">O, Alice Hill! just sweet sixteen,</div> -<div class="i0">Of pleasant ways and courteous mien,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> -<div class="i0">With glowing cheeks and eyes of blue,</div> -<div class="i0">And glossy hair of golden hue,</div> -<div class="i0">O God! that I should ever live,</div> -<div class="i0">Such sad account of thee to give!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">In Moreland vale brown Autumn's tilth,</div> -<div class="i0">Impatient waits the reaper's scythe:</div> -<div class="i0">Where, scattered with a bounteous hand,</div> -<div class="i0">Luxuriant harvests thickly stand.</div> -<div class="i0">The sunlight bathes the waving grain,</div> -<div class="i0">That sweetly smiles to sun again;</div> -<div class="i0">The landscape lies in green and gold,</div> -<div class="i0">And purple clouds in ether rolled,</div> -<div class="i0">Or gentle blue now smile above</div> -<div class="i0">This earthly scene of Eden love.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">With dashing wheels and flying steed,</div> -<div class="i0">Nor whip nor spur to urge their speed,</div> -<div class="i0">To view his land Fitch Moreland came,</div> -<div class="i0">The eldest of his honoured name,</div> -<div class="i0">And heir of all, the green-crowned wood,</div> -<div class="i0">In which the low-roofed school-house stood,</div> -<div class="i0">The wide-spread fields, the meadows broad,</div> -<div class="i0">The fruitful land and grassy sward,</div> -<div class="i0">And near embraced with roses wild</div> -<div class="i0">The old brown house that through them smiled,</div> -<div class="i0">Where Alice Hill had passed her days</div> -<div class="i0">Unnoticed by a flatterer's gaze;</div> -<div class="i0">And Rudolph Hill, a farmer skilled,</div> -<div class="i0">The fields had reaped, the lands had tilled,</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland's tenant, prompt to pay</div> -<div class="i0">His rent and taxes gathering day.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Just free from school, with shout and song,</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland met a joyous throng,</div> -<div class="i0">And joined their sports, with heart as gay,</div> -<div class="i0">As boyhood had not passed away;</div> -<div class="i0">Till seated in a fairy glade,</div> -<div class="i0">Beneath an elm tree's grateful shade,</div> -<div class="i0">Sweet Alice Hill fell on his sight,</div> -<div class="i0">With glowing cheeks and eyes of light:</div> -<div class="i0">Around her neck, her hair unbound,</div> -<div class="i0">In floating tresses swept the ground,</div> -<div class="i0">And pupils kneeling at her side,</div> -<div class="i0">Wild flowers in graceful garlands tied,</div> -<div class="i0">A coronal as fresh and gay</div> -<div class="i0">As ever crowned "the Queen of May."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">With courteous words and city mien,</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland joined the rustic scene.</div> -<div class="i0">Quick beat the heart of Alice Hill,</div> -<div class="i0">Her pulses woke a music thrill:</div> -<div class="i0">Her glowing cheek with crimson flushed,</div> -<div class="i0">And in her heart tumultuous gushed</div> -<div class="i0">A spring of thought, so sweet and rare,</div> -<div class="i0">It might have claimed the name of air,</div> -<div class="i0">Its unseen visions came so bright,</div> -<div class="i0">To shed on life a holier light.</div> -<div class="i0">O ye who wear love's gentle spell,</div> -<div class="i0">And bless the bondage, can ye tell</div> -<div class="i0">Blithe Alice Hill if this was Love,—</div> -<div class="i0">That like a homeless, wandering dove,</div> -<div class="i0">Beat at her fluttering heart, and sought</div> -<div class="i0">An altar for his blissful thought?</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">No longer now, like placid streams,</div> -<div class="i0">Life passes by in quiet dreams;</div> -<div class="i0">But hurried, feverish pulses shake</div> -<div class="i0">The beating heart they may not break,—</div> -<div class="i0">Hope, fear, desire, and all that stored</div> -<div class="i0">The spring of life, hung on his word:</div> -<div class="i0">There was no life without his smile,</div> -<div class="i0">Nor dreamed she that a heart of guile</div> -<div class="i0">Beat in so fair and smooth a shrine,</div> -<div class="i0">That other eyes for him might shine,</div> -<div class="i0">And softer voices breathe his name!</div> -<div class="i0">O, Alice Hill, love's vestal flame</div> -<div class="i0">Hath many a false, misguiding light,</div> -<div class="i0">To cheat young hearts, with promise bright.</div> -<div class="i0">And strew life's shores with dearer wrecks</div> -<div class="i0">Than perish from our wave-washed decks.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The fowler laid a cunning snare:</div> -<div class="i0">The timid bird was fluttering there,</div> -<div class="i0">And paused on half-suspended wing,</div> -<div class="i0">To hear the subtle charmer sing;</div> -<div class="i0">Close to the brink, with dizzy sense,</div> -<div class="i0">She hung upon his eloquence;</div> -<div class="i0">Lured by the magic of his eye,</div> -<div class="i0">She quite forgot her power to fly,</div> -<div class="i0">Till reeling, powerless with the spell,</div> -<div class="i0">She lost her fragile hold and fell.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The fowler saw his lovely spoil</div> -<div class="i0">Entangled in the dazzling toil,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> -<div class="i0">A few frail threads of woven gauze,</div> -<div class="i0">But deadly as the lion's jaws.</div> -<div class="i0">Not till her golden wings were shorn,</div> -<div class="i0">The timid bird escaped forlorn—</div> -<div class="i0">To soar with flocks of grosser mould,</div> -<div class="i0">An alien from the heavenly fold,</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The timid bird, a human heart—</div> -<div class="i0">The snare, a smooth seducer's art—</div> -<div class="i0">How can my pitying pen rehearse</div> -<div class="i0">The burden of its mournful verse,</div> -<div class="i0">Since he who triumphed in his power</div> -<div class="i0">To crush so meek and low a flower,</div> -<div class="i0">Contemptuous spurned it from his path,</div> -<div class="i0">To die a lone neglected death,</div> -<div class="i0">And to the winds his bauble tost—</div> -<div class="i0">Left Alice Hill, betrayed and lost.</div> -<div class="i0">And, Alice Hill, his haughty name</div> -<div class="i0">Will never hide thy maiden shame—</div> -<div class="i0">And though he swear it on his life,</div> -<div class="i0">Thou'lt never be Fitch Moreland's wife!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Farewell, my own, my waiting bride!</div> -<div class="i0">Though I am wandering from thy side,</div> -<div class="i0">And from these favourite haunts afar,</div> -<div class="i0">I see thine eyes in every star,</div> -<div class="i0">I hear thy voice in every breeze,</div> -<div class="i0">That floats through summer's radiant trees;</div> -<div class="i0">And thou shalt wear our bridal ring,</div> -<div class="i0">And wear it as a holy thing,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> -<div class="i0">Till, to the sacred altar led,</div> -<div class="i0">It be the seal by which we wed."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Years rolled down Time's resistless tides</div> -<div class="i0">Where Time, Eternity divides;</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland, high in hall and state,</div> -<div class="i0">Cared not that by the elm tree sate</div> -<div class="i0">Poor Alice Hill, to reason lost,</div> -<div class="i0">Like oarless bark on ocean tost;</div> -<div class="i0">Not wildly crazed to tear her hair,</div> -<div class="i0">But mute and sad, as if despair</div> -<div class="i0">Had worn away life's tuneful strings,</div> -<div class="i0">And sealed to Thought its gushing springs.</div> -<div class="i0">But on that ring mute Alice Hill</div> -<div class="i0">For ever looks, as if a thrill</div> -<div class="i0">Of reason shot across her brain,</div> -<div class="i0">And darted gleams of mental pain.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Bold Winter lay on Moreland Vale.</div> -<div class="i0">His bearded crown of ice and hail,</div> -<div class="i0">And columns wreathed in feathery snow,</div> -<div class="i0">How childhood dreams of glory show.</div> -<div class="i0">Fast by these piles, on reeking steed,</div> -<div class="i0">A post-boy checked his furious speed,</div> -<div class="i0">And whispered to a gaping wight,</div> -<div class="i0">"Fitch Moreland takes a wife to-night."</div> -<div class="i0">Mute Alice Hill the echo caught,—</div> -<div class="i0">With stealthy steps the town she sought,</div> -<div class="i0">That three leagues off in beauty lay</div> -<div class="i0">Along Wamphassock's lovely bay—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> -<div class="i0">With hair arranged and graceful dress,</div> -<div class="i0">None would have dreamed such loveliness</div> -<div class="i0">Concealed a heart to reason lost,</div> -<div class="i0">Like oarless bark on ocean tost.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Light, glorious light, streamed clear and wide,</div> -<div class="i0">Through the proud dome of Moreland's bride,</div> -<div class="i0">And mirth and music chid the hours</div> -<div class="i0">Lost in a maze of thornless flowers.</div> -<div class="i0">His eye erect in manly pride,</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland stood beside his bride,</div> -<div class="i0">Nor dreamed he that his Eden bough</div> -<div class="i0">Hung on a false and perjured vow.</div> -<div class="i0">The holy priest in scarf and bands</div> -<div class="i0">With holy words had joined their hands,</div> -<div class="i0">And as to make more strong an oath,</div> -<div class="i0">When each had pledged their plighted troth,</div> -<div class="i0">A gleaming ring in diamonds set,</div> -<div class="i0">That hid a lock of glossy jet,</div> -<div class="i0">The fragile finger graceful pressed,</div> -<div class="i0">As sunlight lies on ocean's crest.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A maddened brain, a spirit strong,</div> -<div class="i0">Has pressed aside that startled throng.</div> -<div class="i0">With glaring eyes and purple cheeks,</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland's side a woman seeks,</div> -<div class="i0">While o'er her half-ethereal frame</div> -<div class="i0">The altar sheds its holy flame.</div> -<div class="i0">The grasp on Moreland's arm was light,</div> -<div class="i0">But those wild eyes, so wildly bright,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> -<div class="i0">His craven soul with terror fill,</div> -<div class="i0">For now he knows crazed Alice Hill.</div> -<div class="i0">A ring she from her finger drew,</div> -<div class="i0">And held it forth to Moreland's view,</div> -<div class="i0">And murmured low, in tones that thrilled</div> -<div class="i0">His thickly throbbing pulse, and stilled</div> -<div class="i0">The awe-struck guests, as if a breath</div> -<div class="i0">Had touched them from the wing of death:</div> -<div class="i0">"Four times twelve months have quickly fled—</div> -<div class="i0">This be the seal by which we wed,</div> -<div class="i0">And in this light empyreal bow,</div> -<div class="i0">To consecrate, our bridal vow!</div> -<div class="i0">I sit beneath the elm alone</div> -<div class="i0">Since thou, my own, my love, art gone.</div> -<div class="i0">Where hast thou trifled on the way,</div> -<div class="i0">Like truant-boy forbid to stay?</div> -<div class="i0">But hush, my heart, thou needst not chide:</div> -<div class="i0">Fitch Moreland claims his waiting bride!</div> -<div class="i0">My beating heart, what raptures thrill,</div> -<div class="i0">Tumultuous heart, be still! be still!"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A sturdy arm grasped Alice Hill,</div> -<div class="i0">Who struggling fiercely, shrieking shrill,</div> -<div class="i0">Out from the door was rudely cast,</div> -<div class="i0">Though storms were out and tide and blast.</div> -<div class="i0">There shivering on the pavement cold</div> -<div class="i0">Sat Alice Hill, with spirit bold,</div> -<div class="i0">Roused by a blow, revenge to claim</div> -<div class="i0">For reason lost and peace and name.</div> -<div class="i0">The holy priest completes his task,</div> -<div class="i0">And bride and groom his blessing ask.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">What benediction can reverse</div> -<div class="i0">A wronged and ruined woman's curse?</div> -<div class="i0">With fettered hands and ringlets shorn,</div> -<div class="i0">Poor Alice Hill, a maniac, borne</div> -<div class="i0">On to the mad-house's gloomy walls,</div> -<div class="i0">For ever on Fitch Moreland calls,—</div> -<div class="i0">"I am not mad! Unloose these bands!</div> -<div class="i0">See here my tortured, bleeding hands!</div> -<div class="i0">On Moreland's ring a crimson stain:</div> -<div class="i0">It shall not plead my wrongs in vain;</div> -<div class="i0">For in my heart revenge lies deep—</div> -<div class="i0">Its glassy eyes shall never sleep,</div> -<div class="i0">Till at the altar, live or dead,</div> -<div class="i0">This be the seal by which we wed!"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A pallet, undisturbed by night,</div> -<div class="i0">Fell on the careful matron's sight.</div> -<div class="i0">And Alice Hill from thence had fled,</div> -<div class="i0">With shoeless feet and naked head.</div> -<div class="i0">Long was the search, and every track</div> -<div class="i0">Pursued to bring crazed Alice back.</div> -<div class="i0">But vain pursuit, reward in vain,</div> -<div class="i0">To bring crazed Alice back again.</div> -<div class="i0">Wrapped in a cloak of faded red,</div> -<div class="i0">With shoeless feet and naked head,</div> -<div class="i0">And ringlets shorn, a woman stood</div> -<div class="i0">Half muttering, in a crazy mood,</div> -<div class="i0">And watched with glazed and jealous eye</div> -<div class="i0">A gorgeous equipage move by.</div> -<div class="i0">Reined in the light of glaring lamps</div> -<div class="i0">The restless steed his bridle champs.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A form alights with agile bound,</div> -<div class="i0">But reeling, totters to the ground.</div> -<div class="i0">They said, who passed, a weapon's gleam</div> -<div class="i0">Danced in the moonlight's silvery beam.</div> -<div class="i0">Crowds gathered round, a crimson tide</div> -<div class="i0">Was slowly ebbing from his side,</div> -<div class="i0">When on their sight a weapon flashed,</div> -<div class="i0">And feet that living current plashed,</div> -<div class="i0">Till bending o'er his shivering frame</div> -<div class="i0">A woman wildly shrieked his name.</div> -<div class="i0">"Turn on me now your treacherous eyes!</div> -<div class="i0">Speak, lying lips, while perjury dies,</div> -<div class="i0">See what a work a falsehood wrought,</div> -<div class="i0">My love with life were dearly bought,</div> -<div class="i0">But peace and reason with it fled—</div> -<div class="i0">Eternal curses on your head!</div> -<div class="i0">You stole my love, an artless child</div> -<div class="i0">By sacred promises beguiled,</div> -<div class="i0">Then left me to a blighted name,</div> -<div class="i0">To add new laurels to your fame;—</div> -<div class="i0">To death's avenging altar led,</div> -<div class="i0">This be the seal by which we wed."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Upraised, the weapon gleamed again</div> -<div class="i0">On coward hearts and awe-struck men:</div> -<div class="i0">Beside Fitch Moreland, fainting, dead,</div> -<div class="i0">Lay Alice Hill, their spirits wed</div> -<div class="i0">In that eternal, dreamless sleep,</div> -<div class="i0">Where souls their solemn bridals keep.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>DR. VANDORSEN AND THE YOUNG WIDOW.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY ANN E. PORTER.</p> - -<p>To assure my readers that I am telling them what is -truth, and not drawing upon the treasury of fancy for a -sketch, I will first relate to them in what manner I became -acquainted with the Doctor and the Widow. I was once a -teacher: yes, for seven years I held sway in the school-room, -and learned by severe discipline the art of self-government, -and to bear in secret many a sorrow of which the -cherished daughter in the domestic circle remains in blissful -ignorance. Whenever I see a young lady, at the close -of school-hours, turning with a weary step to her solitary -room in some boarding-house, my first impulse is to go and -ask her to share my own fireside, sit down at my table, -and forget for a while, in my little family circle, that she is -away from the loved ones of her own home.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget my first preparations for leaving -home. I was to go eight hundred miles,—a long journey in -the days of stages and canal-boats. My little purse grew -thin and lank under the unusual exertion. I had a trunk -and a large bandbox (the latter article I have since learned -to dispense with): in this was placed all the "varieties" of -my wardrobe, as Parson Milton would call them; or the -accessories to strengthen the arsenal, as Bonaparte termed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> -the feminine requisites to the toilet. My little store of collarets, -ribbons, and cravats, my lace capes and fancy handkerchiefs -were all folded in one box, and placed inside the -larger one. They were few in number; but what girl of -eighteen does not cherish her own small hoard of treasures? -I was to go as far as Pittsburg in the company of a lady -and her brother, a boy of sixteen. Three days and nights we -were to travel by stage, stopping only for meals, and occasionally -an hour for rest, besides the intervals caused by -changing horses. Two strangers, young gentlemen from -Philadelphia, joined us at the latter city, and remained -with the party to Pittsburg. Nothing, perhaps, makes -people better acquainted with the disposition of their companions, -than the old-fashioned mode of coach-travelling; -the petty troubles and peculiar annoyances excite the -mirth of some, but elicit only the grumbling of others, so -that for days together we are entertained by the fun of -laughter-loving girls, and gallant young gentlemen, with -growling interludes from some gouty old man, or the groans -of an epicure, who talks only to condemn the dinner, and -curse the cooks.</p> - -<p>I had never spent a whole night out of my bed before, -and though the excitement kept me up at first, I found -myself so exhausted by the middle of the second night, -that it was with difficulty I could retain my seat.</p> - -<p>One of the passengers, perceiving my situation, and -alarmed by my almost deadly paleness, requested the -driver to stop, and ordered a cup of tea. This, and a -resting-place for my poor head, relieved me a little; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> -with what joy did we hail, the next day at evening, the -smoky city of Pittsburg.</p> - -<p>"Ladies, shall we have the pleasure of meeting all our -little party together in the parlour this evening?" said one -of the gentlemen. The next morning we were to separate, -taking three different routes. We therefore cheerfully acquiesced, -and Miss S. and myself repaired to our rooms to -dress. What was my astonishment to find my treasures -gone, and with them a valuable breastpin, the gift of my -grandfather, shortly before his death! I was weary, sick, -and sad; but at the earnest request of my companion, I -put on a black silk dress, and felt not a little refreshed by -my bath, and the privilege of using thoroughly the brush -and comb, which, denied me for two days and nights, had -given to my head, with its exuberance of hair, a most -moppish appearance on the outside, while the brain within -seemed to share the entanglement without.</p> - -<p>But the efforts of my companions could not chase away -the homesickness of the heart. The morning would find -me alone in the world. Sixty miles of my journey were -yet to be travelled: and, wearied in body and faint in -spirit, I longed to see my dear father, and be at home again -under his protection. I shrunk, too, from the duties before -me: they seemed more arduous and difficult as I approached -them; and with a sad feeling of my own incompetency and -the lack of personal charms, which might prepossess my -employers, I laid my head upon my pillow that night and -watered it with my tears. Sleep! blessed, blessed Sleep! -Thou dost take the burdens from the weary and fling them -into the waters of oblivion; the infant, in its guileless rest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> -is pillowed on thy lap, and the aged lean lovingly on thy -shoulder. Merciful was the great Father of all, that he -did permit thee to follow Adam from Paradise, and travel -with his children in this world of guilt,—thus are we permitted -to forget, for a while, at least, our sorrows and our -sins. Early the next morning I went on board a steamboat -for Wheeling, and though shrinking and timid, I still -found protection and kindness when needed; but when we -arrived, at midnight, in the village of P., and I found -myself alone in a large, desolate-looking room of the hotel, -all the former feeling of sadness came over me, and with -them an indefinable dread of the future.</p> - -<p>I must send word to the patrons of the school that I had -arrived: and fearful that their expectations would be disappointed, -I could not sleep. The next morning I despatched -a messenger, and two of the trustees called. They -were polite, but said little, excepting what related to -business; but when they left me, remarked, "We will procure -a more agreeable home for you than this." I thanked -them with my lips, but they little comprehended how -earnestly the heart craved for a home again. The day -passed, and I saw no one till the twilight shadows were -creeping into that lonely room, and with them also dim -visions of home and friends, bringing with them that sad -heart-longing which the young feel during their first absence -from home, when I was startled from my reverie by -a gentle knock at my door. I opened it, and an old lady -stood before me, so kind, so motherly in her appearance, -and so plainly yet tastefully dressed, that my heart clung -to her at first sight. If my Father in heaven had sent an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> -angel to me, I should certainly have chosen just such a face -and garb, in my present condition, rather than the white -robes and bright-winged cherubs of Raphael's glorious fancy.</p> - -<p>"Why, my dear child," said she, as if struck at once by -my girlish figure and pallid face, "you must have been -lonely here to-day, and you need a mother to nurse and -take care of you after your long journey. My name is -Warner, and I am going to take you home with me, if you -will go. My brother called this morning, and my husband -would have accompanied me, but he was very busy; and I -was so fearful that you would be homesick, that I thought -I would come and introduce myself."</p> - -<p>My heart bounded with delight, and I could hardly speak -for gratitude; and I said so little, and that in such a blundering -way, that I was afraid she would not know how -much relief she had brought me.</p> - -<p>"Come, my dear, get your bonnet," said she pleasantly, -"and I will send for your baggage."</p> - -<p>I obeyed, and in a few minutes we stopped at a large but -neat residence, almost hid in a profusion of shrubbery. -The climbing multiflora rose covered one side of the house, -and, with welcome intrusiveness, peeped into the chamber -windows, while a honeysuckle and woodbine threw their -mantle of green over the door, and mingled their blossoms -with those of a tall snowball tree, which had grown high, -and, clinging to the house, showered a white welcome upon -every corner. A few steps from the house, on the right -side, but in the same enclosure, was a small brick office;—on -the other side a cottage, shaded by two large beech trees, -children of the forest, spared by some merciful woodman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> -when the land was cleared. Such was the outward appearance -of my new home—a word as to its inmates. My companion -ushered me into a small sitting-room, prettily furnished, -and occupied at the time by two persons,—one a -tall, white-haired old gentleman, with spectacles on nose, -reading the newspaper—the other Mrs. Travis, a young -widow, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Warner, who had returned -again to the home of her youth. She was sewing -as we entered, but, laying aside her work, rose to greet us. -Her countenance was plain, but a pair of sparkling black -eyes gave animation and expression to her features; and, as -I returned her salutation, I thought her welcome not quite -so cordial as her mother's. It seemed to express this—"Whether -you and I like each other will depend on circumstances." -But the old gentleman looked at me for an -instant over his spectacles; then, laying them aside with -his paper, rose, and taking my hand, welcomed me to the -West with a hearty greeting; then, placing a chair near to -his own, begged me to be seated. His whole countenance -was expressive of goodness; and, as I sat down by his side -in all the timidity of a girlish stranger, I felt, for the first -time since leaving home, a delicious sense of security and -peace. It seemed as if the wing of some guardian angel -was over me, and a refuge opened in time of sorrow.</p> - -<p>And here, <i>en passant</i>, I must add, those first impressions -never changed; and, from that hour till the day when that -blessed spirit was carried by angels to its own pure home -in heaven, I always found consolation in trouble, advice in -perplexity, and gentle reproof in error, by the side of the -good old man. How sweet was the fragrance of his daily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> -life, and how precious the kiss he imprinted upon my -forehead, and the blessing he implored upon my head when -I bade him farewell! Oh! the hopeless darkness of atheism, -which draws the veil of oblivion between us and all further -intercourse with such spirits! No, no!—let us rather say -with St. Paul, "I <i>know</i> in whom I have believed;" and -with Job, "I <i>shall</i> live again."</p> - -<p>But my limits forbid any extended notice of the members -of the family, though the years I spent under that charmed -roof are marked in my life with a white stone. There I -emerged from the bashful, timid girl, into the more active, -energetic woman; and under the blessed influence of love I -trust I grew wiser and happier.</p> - -<p>When, at nine o'clock, the family Bible was opened, and -father</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Read a portion with judicious care,</div> -<div class="i0">And 'Let us worship God,' he said with solemn air;"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="in0">and all knelt at the family altar in prayer, my own heart -was full, and I was thankful that no eye could see my face. -Soon afterwards the old lady said, "You look tired, and -must retire; I will show you to your room." Then, leading -me through a small entry, she opened the door of a commodious -room, saying, as she did so, "This will be yours." -It was carpeted, a centre-table was in the middle of the -room, an open stove with its grate, ready at any chilly -hour for coal, and a nice, cosy-looking bed in one corner of -the apartment. The old lady lighted a candle, and bade -me good night. Did she, or did she not, think I was a cold-hearted -little thing, that I said good night in such a low, -tremulous tone? I know not; but this I do know, that, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> -soon as she had left the room, I sat down, and, laying my -head on the table, burst into tears.</p> - -<p>They were tears of thankfulness and joy, and they refreshed -the heart, as a summer shower the parched earth.</p> - -<p>I seemed a child again, and, with my childhood's prayer -upon my lips, I dropped to sleep that night. I would love -to sit and write till night about my after-life there, but I -have limited myself to one little episode, and to that I will -proceed. I had been there some months; Elizabeth had -learned that we were so unlike that we could love, and -neither be enemies nor rivals. Her high, ambitious, buoyant -spirit had nothing to fear from the timid, yielding, sensitive -girl who was to be her companion. Not a single trait in -the character of each came in collision. One was self-reliant, -could keep her own secrets, extricate herself from -her own difficulties, feared none but God, cared little for -the opinion of others, loved deeply, hated cordially. The -other had an inordinate "love of approbation," lacked hope -and courage, but, supported by a stronger arm, could endure -the bitterest trial even to the end. The one was proud to -uphold, the other loved to trust.</p> - -<p>And thus we moved on, loved and loving, whereas, had -we resembled each other more closely, bitter heart-burnings -and jealousies might have been the result. One day we sat -together in the little sitting-room. We were reading "Deerbrook," -by Miss Martineau, and wondering that such want -of trust and faith should ever take place between sisters, -when the door-bell rang, and a young gentleman, a total -stranger to us, was ushered in. He was a tall young man, -with a fresh countenance, a somewhat diffident manner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> -and gray eyes, which had a downcast expression. It was -difficult for him to observe that simple rule of politeness, -"Look directly at the person to whom you speak." Mr. -Warner endeavoured to make him more at his ease by -casual remarks upon the weather, and other topics of the -day; but he elicited little besides "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "I -agree with you perfectly, sir," and suchlike replies. At -last he drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. -Warner, saying, "I have been in town some days, and am -looking out for an office. Learning that the one near your -house is unoccupied, I have made an early application."</p> - -<p>"I will think of it," said the old gentleman. "This is -Dr. Vandorsen, ladies, come to take up his residence in -our village." This somewhat awkward introduction over, -I took the opportunity to slip out of the room, just as they -commenced talking upon the terms of rent and other business -matters.</p> - -<p>"Well, now," said Elizabeth, as she came hastily into -my room, an hour afterwards; "what do you think of the -Doctor?"</p> - -<p>"Why, I haven't thought of him since I left the room; I -have been preparing my lesson in Butler's Analogy, and I -assure you it requires all the strength of my feeble brain to -grasp his arguments and make them clear to my class."</p> - -<p>"A truce to such work! I thought you had been studying -the young stranger's physiognomy, and were prepared -to give me an analysis of his character."</p> - -<p>"Let me see," I said; "I cannot give you his character, -but I believe his personal appearance I can remember; -cheeks like your rusty-coat apples, rusty brown with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> -touch of red, foxy eyes, slick, <i>very</i> slick hair, as the Yankees -say, an inflexible spine, and in one respect only like St. -Paul."</p> - -<p>"Pray what is that?"</p> - -<p>"Brethren, I came unto you in much <i>weakness of speech</i>."</p> - -<p>Lizzy's eyes snapped, and she looked, for a moment, -almost angry. "Then," said she, "I really thought you -had some penetration of character, but I must be mistaken. -Did you not see the evidence of fine feelings beneath that -bashful exterior? And then he was so modest and unassuming; -why I no sooner heard his errand than my fancy -drew a beautiful picture in perspective. He seemed so -much like yourself,—you that we are beginning to love so -much, that I thought it would be love at first sight. Father -will let him have the office, and then here's the cottage: a -nice, snug place it would be for you, and we could have you -always with us, and a doctor handy to cure 'the ills to -which flesh is heir.'"</p> - -<p>"You have a vivid imagination, truly; but let me tell -you that you are right in supposing that I have very little -penetration of character. I have none; but sometimes, -though I cannot account for it, I have a strong aversion to a -person on the first meeting; and when it is so, I never overcome -it."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," said Lizzy, "that is all imagination; a belief -without reason, but it cannot be so in this case."</p> - -<p>"We will leave this for the present," I said; "and I will -take more particular notice of the Doctor the next time. -If you like him, I have no doubt I shall also. But why so -disinterested? why not take the good Doctor yourself, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> -then the office and cottage will follow as a life possession -for him?"</p> - -<p>"Why, don't you know, my dear child, he is not the -man for me? I should be the death of so amiable a personage -in two years. If I marry again, it must be a man -of boldness and spirit. I care not if he have the temper of -Bonaparte, if he have his courage and spirit."</p> - -<p>"And could you endure like Josephine? You forget the -broken vows and crushed hopes."</p> - -<p>A shade passed over her countenance a moment.</p> - -<p>"Let us not talk about marriage now," said she.</p> - -<p>"Agreed," I replied. "I must study, and bury all other -aspirations for the present in my school."</p> - -<p>The next day the Doctor took possession of the office, and -long rows of vials and boxes of bones usurped the place of -law books and deeds. The boy pounded medicines in the -morning, and the Doctor played on his flute at night.</p> - -<p>He was neighbourly, and very attentive to both the -young ladies, evidently studying to make no difference in -his attentions. To be sure, he talked most with myself, and -I noticed whenever an opportunity occurred, Lizzy would -direct the conversation to some subject in which I was -especially interested. Every Wednesday evening we went -to a lecture, and he was usually present to accompany the -family. The whole family seemed interested in him, and -good old Mr. Warner too, especially as he now spoke of his -intention to join the church. When that event did take -place, I found some excuse for staying at home. The more -I tried to overcome it, the stronger my aversion became. I -thought it must be groundless—the rest of the family had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> -more experience and wisdom than myself,—why then should -I feel such an unaccountable prejudice towards an innocent -young gentleman who had done me no harm?</p> - -<p>I determined to overcome it, and most severely did I -blame myself for suspecting that any other than holy motives -led to this public act of consecration. The next evening, -when he proposed to me that we should take a short -walk, I cheerfully consented. As we passed a large flouring -mill, he said, "This, I believe, is Mr. Warner's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," I replied.</p> - -<p>"It seems, to be a very valuable one."</p> - -<p>"One of the most so in the region. The old gentleman -came to this country many years ago. Like Abraham, he -went forth, not knowing whither he went, and like him has -he been prospered. He has flocks and herds, houses and -lands, and, what shall I call <i>those</i>?" I asked, as a drove of -swine marked by him came grunting along with their snub -noses in the gutter.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that is but one species of property," he remarked, -"and has its value. The good old man seems to be very -worthy."</p> - -<p>"Worthy!" I repeated to myself—what harm in that, -and yet I didn't like the question, or rather the tone of the -remark.</p> - -<p>"He is one of the excellent of the earth—belonging to -that species of salt which never loses its savour."</p> - -<p>"They seem to be a very affectionate family, no wonder -they feel almost idolatry for their interesting daughter. -Did you know her husband?"</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span></p> - -<p>"Not at all," I replied, and by my silence indicated that -I had no wish to continue this conversation.</p> - -<p>The very next morning I had occasion to go into the -private room or study of the old gentleman, to deposit in -his hands a sum of money, the proceeds of my labour, and -for which he gave me good interest and security. I found -the old lady there, and as I opened the door she remarked, -"Oh yes, husband, lend him freely if he needs; he is -young, and a hundred dollars may aid him greatly now; I -have perfect confidence in the Doctor."</p> - -<p>I bit my lip, for I found myself inclined to smile, and -did not wish to be observed. But the old gentleman remarked -the expression of my face, and looking over his -spectacles archly said, "Ay, ay, my little schoolma'am! -and so you don't think so highly of the Doctor as the rest -of us, or do you sail under false colours just now?"</p> - -<p>"I have no cause for that," I replied, "and if I had, -your penetration would find it out; so honesty is really my -best policy, for no other reason than because I can have no -other."</p> - -<p>"Well, time works wonders; I only desire that you -settle among us, and I must say, prudence would hardly -advise the Doctor at present; so take good care of yourself -and all will come right," so giving me my receipt and a -kiss on the cheek, I left the good couple in the act of -counting out a hundred dollars for the Doctor. Weeks -passed, and Lizzy, delighted at every new patient the Doctor -had and at the increasing reputation she thought he -was gaining, always had some interesting fact to relate to -me when I returned from school at night. At one time he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> -had refused all pay from a sick old woman, one of Lizzy's -protégés, whom he visited daily. At another time, he had -spent half a day in the garden with her good mother, -budding, trimming, and tying up her bushes; again, he had -gone into the field and mowed for three hours, to help her -father, when there was a prospect of rain. "And wouldn't -he make a good husband, Sissy dear?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, love, if he was only a little more fiery, like -Bonaparte, and had the courage and spirit of a hero."</p> - -<p>Lizzy looked annoyed. In the mean time, common report -had, to my great vexation, coupled the Doctor's name with -mine; but to attempt to stem the current of village gossip -is like using Dame Partington's broom to sweep the sea. -Firmness and patience are the only salves for such annoyances. -Happily, a vacation of a week occurred, and I was -to spend it with one of my pupils.</p> - -<p>On my return, it was a pleasant summer's evening, the -doors were open, and the same vines and trees which the -year before looked so inviting to the little homesick girl, -were again loaded with blossoms. The old folks sat just -inside the door enjoying the mild air, and Lizzy on an ottoman, -which stood on the broad step. The Doctor, with a -hideous black patch on the side of his forehead, and one -arm in a sling, stood leaning in a picturesque attitude by -her side. Lizzy's eyes looked milder than I ever saw them -before, and when she turned them upon the Doctor, there -was an expression of interest and sympathy which I had -never noticed before. "The victory is won," I said to myself, -and then, like a shadow on my heart, came those first -impressions, which no after acquaintance had removed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> -Mr. Warner came forward to welcome me, and wait upon -me into the house, saying to the Doctor, with a smile, -"We will excuse all want of gallantry this evening."</p> - -<p>"And excuse me, also," he replied, "I will do myself -the pleasure of calling on Miss Porter to-morrow," he said.</p> - -<p>"What in the name of wonder has happened?" I said to -Lizzy, who had flown to my side as the Doctor left.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it is quite a story, I assure you; but I ought not -to tell you, for I shall spoil it for the Doctor to-morrow. -He tells it so well; you'll find that your stammering St. -Paul can speak with the tongue of an angel sometimes."</p> - -<p>But my curiosity would not allow me to wait: and in -truth, neither would Lizzy's enthusiasm permit her to do -the same; so she gave the outlines, promising that the -Doctor should fill them up in the morning.</p> - -<p>"Would you believe it," she commenced, "the Doctor -has been robbed and shot at, and"—</p> - -<p>"Shot at, and then robbed, Sis," said the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>"There, I knew I should spoil the story."</p> - -<p>"Never mind, do go on," I said, "where, pray?"</p> - -<p>"Why, on the turnpike road to McConnelsville; don't -you remember a piece of woods there?"</p> - -<p>"Why, yes; but honest black Gassoway's house is near -about half way as you pass the woods. I came from there -on horseback, at eight o'clock in the evening, only two -weeks ago."</p> - -<p>"You must never go there again, my child," said Mrs. -Warner, in a sort of sepulchral tone; "it may be the death -of you."</p> - -<p>"Just as the Doctor came to where the woods commenced,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> -two horrible-looking ruffians with masks came -out of the woods, and while one seized the horse's bridle, -the other pointed a pistol to his heart, and demanded his -money. He had two hundred dollars by him, which he -was then taking to a man he owed. It was all the spare -money he had; you know the Doctor is just commencing -his profession, and he does not wish to urge his debtors too -hard at present. But he was too brave to yield at once; -he knocked the pistol aside, but it went off, grazing his -arm; but after a hard fight with his opponents, he found -they were too much for him, and after resigning all his -money he came back home. Isn't it too bad, so industrious -and prudent as he seems to be?"</p> - -<p>"It is a hard case surely; but for the life of me I cannot -imagine how robbers dared come so near the town; the -pistol-shot must have been heard at Gassoway's."</p> - -<p>"No, it was midnight, and they were sound asleep, probably. -I wish they had heard and gone in pursuit."</p> - -<p>The next day was Sunday, and, as usual, I went to -meeting in the evening. Lizzy complained of slight indisposition, -and did not accompany us; but when we returned -we found the two invalids together, and one at least looking -very agreeable, though Lizzy's face expressed embarrassment -whenever she caught my eye.</p> - -<p>The next morning the good old lady called me into her -room a little while before the hour of school, and, bidding -me sit down by her side, said affectionately, but seriously,</p> - -<p>"My child, do you love the Doctor?"</p> - -<p>Though not naturally mirthful, I could scarce refrain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> -from laughing in the old lady's face. Respect forbade, and -I answered, with all the seriousness I could command,</p> - -<p>"Dear Aunty, because you and Lizzy wished it, I have -tried hard to do so; but I do not love him, and I am convinced -I never can."</p> - -<p>The good woman looked relieved, and said, "I am glad -it is so; you are far away from home and friends, and I -should be sorry to have you in trouble while with us. -Come to me at all times with your sorrows, and I will try -and be a mother to you."</p> - -<p>The smiles were now exchanged for tears. What in the -world does any one wish to cry for, when they are grateful? -But some seem to have that unfortunate propensity.</p> - -<p>"I was only to add," said the old lady, "that the Doctor -loves Lizzy; and I feared," she said, "it might make one -heart sad. We fancied you felt more interest in the Doctor -than you are willing to acknowledge."</p> - -<p>"I now give you a solemn promise," I said, and it was -sealed with a kiss, "that I will always speak the truth to -yourself."</p> - -<p>This conversation only gave me new cause for regret. I -could not see my dear Lizzy married to the Doctor, so long -as I was unable to shake off my own dislike to him, and -my own mouth was fettered by the suspicions concerning -myself. For two days I was pondering in my own mind -what could be done; and learning that Mr. Warner would -permit no engagement to take place at present, concluded -that time and patience would bring all right.</p> - -<p>Thus I mused, with my book open, but my mind wandering, -when Lizzy burst into the room.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span></p> - -<p>"Heigh-ho! my little hypocrite, you never can keep a -secret, you say. Is that the truth?" And she held a card -towards me.</p> - -<p>"I never had any secrets to keep, Lizzy, so I don't know -how much strength I possess."</p> - -<p>"Well here, then—'Joseph Dushey, St. Louis, Mo.'"</p> - -<p>"Upon my word, Lizzy, I know no more about this -gentleman than yourself. Does he wish to see me?"</p> - -<p>"That he does, and is waiting your ladyship's presence -in the parlour."</p> - -<p>"Some business relating to the school," I said. "I must -not keep him waiting."</p> - -<p>So to the parlour I went, and soon found myself in the -presence of a gentleman upon whom nature had put her -unmistakeable sign of nobility. His address and manner -were those of one accustomed to refined society, and his -ease and suavity quite overcame my own timidity. But, -after a few minutes' general conversation, it was his turn -to become embarrassed; and, after apologizing for interference -in my private affairs, he said that, hearing that an -engagement of marriage existed between myself and Dr. -Vandorsen, he had felt it his duty to expose the character -of the Doctor. It was painful, but it seemed to him an act -of justice and mercy. He then related the history of this -adventurer—a reckless swindler, ingratiating himself into -the favour of others, and then repaying kindness with black -ingratitude. "I have often," he said, "from regard to his -father, helped him to money. He is owing me now; and, -learning that I was in the vicinity, he invented the account -of the sham robbery, which he says took place on Saturday<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> -evening." He then placed in my hands the papers containing -proofs of that which he had asserted, and again, with -much delicacy, apologized for his intrusion.</p> - -<p>I thanked him most sincerely for what he had done, and -assuring him that no such engagement existed between us, -yet these papers were valuable as guarding against future -trouble for others.</p> - -<p>He allowed me to retain them. On going to my room I -sat down and examined them carefully, and blessed God -that I had it in my power to save Lizzy from a dreadful -sacrifice. I laid them aside, determined to place them in -the hands of Mr. Warner in the morning.</p> - -<p>When morning came, the Doctor's office was found deserted; -the key hung upon the outside, his valuables were -removed, and from that time to this I have heard nothing -from Dr. Vandorsen, nor has my good mother Warner or -her family. Neither have the two hundred dollars, which -they at different times loaned him, ever been returned.</p> - -<p>Lizzy is most delightfully situated, and I know of but -one drawback to her perfect happiness, viz., that her husband -is one of the most amiable of men, never allowing his -temper to conquer his reason, and never likely to allow -ambition to overpower the deep affection he bears his wife.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A CENOTAPH.<br /> -<span class="small">AUGUST, 1776.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"It was a notion of the ancients, that if one perished at sea, or where his body could not be found, -the only way to procure repose for him was to build an empty tomb, and by certain rites and invocations, -call his spirit to the habitation prepared for it."</p> - -<p class="sigright"><span class="smcap">Eschenburg.</span></p> -</blockquote> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">I.<br /> -1.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The memory of Nathan Hale,</div> -<div class="i2">Who, in the days of strife,</div> -<div class="i0">For freedom of our native land,</div> -<div class="i2">Laid down his noble life.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lord Howe, Cornwallis, Percy earl</div> -<div class="i2">Were come in wide array,</div> -<div class="i0">And from Long Island to New York</div> -<div class="i2">Had pushed our guns away.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Our Father looked across the Sound,</div> -<div class="i2">Disaster groaned behind,</div> -<div class="i0">And many dubious, anxious thoughts</div> -<div class="i2">Were labouring in his mind.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Knowlton," said he, "I need a man,</div> -<div class="i2">Such as is hard to meet,</div> -<div class="i0">A trusty, brave, and loyal man,</div> -<div class="i2">And skilful in deceit.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"The British, now in Brooklyn lodged,</div> -<div class="i2">May divers plans pursue:</div> -<div class="i0">Find me a man to go and spy</div> -<div class="i2">What Howe intends to do."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Said Knowlton, "Sir, I make no doubt</div> -<div class="i2">Many apt men have we."</div> -<div class="i0">He went. At nightfall he returned</div> -<div class="i2">With Hale in company.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">2.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Young friend," said Washington to Hale,</div> -<div class="i2">"It much imports to know</div> -<div class="i0">What mischief Howe is brooding on;</div> -<div class="i2">Which way intends to go.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"But though you might, with help of Grace,</div> -<div class="i2">Unmask his schemes of ill,</div> -<div class="i0">I will not risk your generous blood</div> -<div class="i2">Without your perfect will."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Grave Sir," said Hale, "I left my home,</div> -<div class="i2">Not for the love of strife,</div> -<div class="i0">But for my country's cause resolved,</div> -<div class="i2">Knowing I risked my life.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Between my duty and my will,</div> -<div class="i2">In service light or sore,</div> -<div class="i0">It is not now for me to choose,</div> -<div class="i2">For that was done before.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Let not your Excellency poise</div> -<div class="i2">What may to me ensue;</div> -<div class="i0">But weigh the service to be done,</div> -<div class="i2">And judge my power to do."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Well said; then briefly thus:—Put on</div> -<div class="i2">Some other self-disguise—</div> -<div class="i0">And by to-morrow morning be</div> -<div class="i2">Among our enemies.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Go safely curious how you will,</div> -<div class="i2">And spy whate'er you may,</div> -<div class="i0">Of how their troops have borne the bruise</div> -<div class="i2">They gave us yesterday.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"And deeper else—our chief concern,</div> -<div class="i2">And study at this hour—</div> -<div class="i0">Find if their guns are hither aimed;</div> -<div class="i2">Or, with divided power,</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Cleft from the rearward of their force,</div> -<div class="i2">While we stand here attent;</div> -<div class="i0">Or farther south, or farther north,</div> -<div class="i2">They mean to make descent.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Brooklyn to them is vantage-ground.</div> -<div class="i2">Find what you can. To know</div> -<div class="i0">The mischief in a foeman's thought</div> -<div class="i2">Is half to foil a foe.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"The moon goes down"—"By nine," said Hale.</div> -<div class="i2">Said Knowlton: "Nay, at ten."</div> -<div class="i0">"Can you be off so soon as that?"</div> -<div class="i2">"I hardly think by then:</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Nor would—for let me plead that I,</div> -<div class="i2">Herein, may yield my breath;</div> -<div class="i0">And mine affairs I would devise</div> -<div class="i2">As if before my death.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"God knows what hearts may crack for this.</div> -<div class="i2">But failure, or no fail,</div> -<div class="i0">To-morrow morning I'll be there,</div> -<div class="i2">As I am Nathan Hale."</div> -</div - -><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Bravely, my boy! Such soul as this</div> -<div class="i2">Is better than a host.</div> -<div class="i0">To dare is little, if to dare</div> -<div class="i2">Unmindful of the cost."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">3.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The night was broadly overcast,</div> -<div class="i2">And the scant moon and stars,</div> -<div class="i0">From the dim dungeons of the clouds,</div> -<div class="i2">Looked through their iron bars.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"My worthy lad," said Washington,</div> -<div class="i2">"We seek without despair,</div> -<div class="i0">Although we find, in all yon arch,</div> -<div class="i2">No sign of morning there."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"And know whose gracious hand it is</div> -<div class="i2">That times the darkest sky,"</div> -<div class="i0">Said Hale. "Adieu!" said Washington,</div> -<div class="i2">"God keep you,—go,—good-bye!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">II.<br /> -1.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The flitting Hours, with golden brands</div> -<div class="i2">Once more adorned with flame,</div> -<div class="i0">Beheld our land in busy act,</div> -<div class="i2">Where war was all the game.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Out of his cups of deep carouse,</div> -<div class="i2">That reeled till morning shine,</div> -<div class="i0">The Provost of the Lion camp</div> -<div class="i2">Came forth the tented line.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">An ugly man,—a tiger soul,</div> -<div class="i2">Lodged in a human house,—</div> -<div class="i0">With whiskey fuming from his hide,</div> -<div class="i2">And hair about his brows.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And Hale had hid his skiff, and now</div> -<div class="i2">Was coming by the shore,</div> -<div class="i0">Thinking of many serious things</div> -<div class="i2">He never thought before.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">He mused of all the hard assays</div> -<div class="i2">Of this our mortal state;</div> -<div class="i0">The bitter bruise, and bloody blows</div> -<div class="i2">Of Virtue matched with Fate.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">He heard the larks and robins sing,</div> -<div class="i2">And tears came in his eyes,</div> -<div class="i0">To think how man, and man alone,</div> -<div class="i2">Was cast from Paradise.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">2.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Well Hodge, how's turnips? What's in this?"</div> -<div class="i2">"Now who be you?" said Hale,</div> -<div class="i0">"I aint no Hodge,—taint turnips,—stop,—</div> -<div class="i2">Let go,—this here's for sale."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Powder and grog! be quiet, lad.</div> -<div class="i2">Tobacco! by my soul!</div> -<div class="i0">Rebel, we've come to take the land,—</div> -<div class="i2">Hands off!—I seize the whole."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The Provost wheeled towards the camp.</div> -<div class="i2">Hale followed with a cry:</div> -<div class="i0">"Give me my pack—now—come—you sir!"</div> -<div class="i2">"Clod-shoes, get home!—not I."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But epaulettes were on the road.—</div> -<div class="i2">The trick was getting worse.</div> -<div class="i0">The Provost dumped the pack aside,</div> -<div class="i2">With a substantial curse.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Wa'al, mister, that's the han'some thing!</div> -<div class="i2">That are tobaker's prime.</div> -<div class="i0">I knowed you didn't mean to grab,—</div> -<div class="i2">I knowed it all the time.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"I'm goin' to peddle, up to camp,</div> -<div class="i2">And if you only would</div> -<div class="i0">Go snacks, and help me sell, you might.</div> -<div class="i2">Come, I should say you could."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Yorky, pick up your pack, hook on,</div> -<div class="i2">Hook on, we'll make it even."</div> -<div class="i0">The lines were passed, the countersign,—</div> -<div class="i2">"Whither away,"—was given.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"I see," said Hale, within himself,</div> -<div class="i2">"This man's internal shape,—</div> -<div class="i0">The Devil can do a gracious turn,</div> -<div class="i2">To shy a graceless scrape."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">3.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Gay was the camp with liveried men;</div> -<div class="i2">Some trimmed the gun and blade,</div> -<div class="i0">Some chatted in the morning sun,</div> -<div class="i2">Some slept along the shade.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And some bore out the soldier dead</div> -<div class="i2">On his unfollowed bier—</div> -<div class="i0">The soldier dead, the hapless dead,</div> -<div class="i2">Who died without a tear.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">So lately wept from England's shore,</div> -<div class="i2">And winged with prayers afar,</div> -<div class="i0">To feel the piercing thunder-shock,</div> -<div class="i2">Gored by the horns of War.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">4.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Cried Hale, "Who buys? who buys? who buys?</div> -<div class="i2">Hearts! Boys! My lads! Hooraw!</div> -<div class="i0">Thrippence a junk, Britannia rule—</div> -<div class="i2">Don't any of you chaw?"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And all the while his wily eye</div> -<div class="i2">Was taking curious notes</div> -<div class="i0">Of men, and arms, and sheeted carts,</div> -<div class="i2">And guns with stoppered throats.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Boys, what you goin' to doin' on?</div> -<div class="i2">Hello!—this way that beer.</div> -<div class="i0">You goin' to captivate New York?</div> -<div class="i2">Pine-shillin' piece—look here—"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Sing us a song." "'Bout what?" said Hale.</div> -<div class="i2">"Sing us 'All in the Doons'—</div> -<div class="i0">'Britannia Rule'—'God save the King'"—</div> -<div class="i2">Said Hale, "Don't know the tunes."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Cornwallis now came walking by,—</div> -<div class="i2">"The Capting, hey?" "It is."</div> -<div class="i0">Hale folded up an ample slice:</div> -<div class="i2">"D'ye s'pose he'd 'xcept of this?"</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Mad with the thought, to see the clown</div> -<div class="i2">Break his own pate with fun,</div> -<div class="i0">"Do it," said they. Said Hale, "I will."</div> -<div class="i2">"Jerry's respects"—'twas done.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And back he came with open grin;</div> -<div class="i2">"Took it like ile!" said he.</div> -<div class="i0">"I swow! I done the handsome thing—</div> -<div class="i2">He done it, too, to me."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">III.<br /> -1.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Sins are like waters in a gap;</div> -<div class="i2">Like flames to leap a check;</div> -<div class="i0">If cable Conscience crack a strand,</div> -<div class="i2">A man may go to wreck.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Sins never shut the doors of hearts</div> -<div class="i2">That give good cheer to sin,</div> -<div class="i0">But always leave them open wide,</div> -<div class="i2">For others to come in.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Disdaining ours, for England's camp,</div> -<div class="i2">There lurked a man about,</div> -<div class="i0">Who, flushed with shame and rage of heart,</div> -<div class="i2">Like Judas, had gone out.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">He left us, and he swore revenge,</div> -<div class="i2">And vengeance did not fail.</div> -<div class="i0">The courteous fiend, who led his steps,</div> -<div class="i2">Conducted him to Hale—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">His kinsman—one whose generous hand,</div> -<div class="i2">Impelled by bold desire,</div> -<div class="i0">Had saved him once, and still endured</div> -<div class="i2">The seal of it in fire.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">He met him coming from the camp;</div> -<div class="i2">He saw—he knew the hand—</div> -<div class="i0">He saw the whole—and in the road</div> -<div class="i2">He made a sudden stand.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Hum! ha!—It's Captain Hale, I think.</div> -<div class="i2">Nathan, how do you do?</div> -<div class="i0">Sorry I am to see you here—</div> -<div class="i2">Sorry I am for you."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Off from the sudden heart of Hale</div> -<div class="i2">All his disguises fell:</div> -<div class="i0">"Cousin! good God!—go back with me.</div> -<div class="i2">And all shall yet be well."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"It cannot be. You came to dare,</div> -<div class="i2">And you must take the rod."</div> -<div class="i0">Said Hale, "This hand, at Judgment day,</div> -<div class="i2">Will fan the wrath of God."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Speak not of God," the traitor said;</div> -<div class="i2">"A good French faith have I—</div> -<div class="i0">'No man hath seen Him,' Scripture saith,</div> -<div class="i2">And 'all is vanity.'"</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Hale, finding how the scoundrel feared</div> -<div class="i2">Nor God's nor man's award,</div> -<div class="i0">Looked for a handy stick or stone,</div> -<div class="i2">To quicken his regard.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But, tiger-soon, the renegade</div> -<div class="i2">Had gripped his arms around:</div> -<div class="i0">"Ah, ha!—yes, yes—help! help!" he cried,</div> -<div class="i2">And crushed him to the ground.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">2.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Fettered on straw, with soldier guards,</div> -<div class="i2">The tent-lamp trembling low,</div> -<div class="i0">The morrow was his day of doom,</div> -<div class="i2">That night a night of woe.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And half the night the gallows sound</div> -<div class="i2">Of hammers filled his ears,</div> -<div class="i0">Like strokes upon a passing-bell,</div> -<div class="i2">Telling his numbered years.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">His numbered years—alas! how brief!</div> -<div class="i2">And Memory searched them back,</div> -<div class="i0">Like one who searches, with a light,</div> -<div class="i2">Upon a midnight track.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The fields, the woods, the humming school,</div> -<div class="i2">The idly-pondered lore,</div> -<div class="i0">And the fair-fingered girl that shared</div> -<div class="i2">His dinner at the door;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">His room, beneath the homestead eaves,</div> -<div class="i2">Wherein he laid his head;</div> -<div class="i0">His mother, come to take the light,</div> -<div class="i2">And see him warm in bed.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">These, and their like, distinct and bright,</div> -<div class="i2">Came back, and fired his brain</div> -<div class="i0">With visions, all whose sweetness now</div> -<div class="i2">Was but exalted pain.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">IV.<br /> -1.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Ere silence droops her fluttering wing,</div> -<div class="i2">The pang may all be past;</div> -<div class="i0">And oft, of good men's latter hours,</div> -<div class="i2">The easiest is their last.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The morn was up, the flickering morn</div> -<div class="i2">Of summer, towards the fall.</div> -<div class="i0">"Bravely is all," the guardsman said;</div> -<div class="i2">Said Hale, "God's grace is all."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And now the Provost-Marshal came</div> -<div class="i2">With soldiers—all was ripe;</div> -<div class="i0">But out of Hale's tobacco, first,</div> -<div class="i2">He filled and smoked a pipe.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Forth passed the man, through all disguise,</div> -<div class="i2">With look so sweet and high;</div> -<div class="i0">He showed no sort of dread, at all,</div> -<div class="i2">Of what it was to die.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Come to the cart, whose doleful planks</div> -<div class="i2">Beneath his feet did creak,</div> -<div class="i0">He bowed, and looked about, and stood</div> -<div class="i2">In attitude to speak.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Holloa! hoa! drummer, bring your drum,</div> -<div class="i2">Play Yankee Doodle here—</div> -<div class="i0">Play, while we crack the rebel's neck."</div> -<div class="i2">Earl Percy then drew near:</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Provost," said he, "I shame at this.</div> -<div class="i2">Let the lad have his say,</div> -<div class="i0">Or you shall find who rules the camp;"</div> -<div class="i2">And so he walked away.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">2.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Soldiers," said Hale, "you see a man</div> -<div class="i2">Whom Death must have and keep;</div> -<div class="i0">And things there are, if I should think,</div> -<div class="i2">I could not help but weep.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"But since in darkness, evermore,</div> -<div class="i2">God's providences hide,</div> -<div class="i0">The bravely good, in every age,</div> -<div class="i2">By faith have bravely died.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"That man who scorns his present case,</div> -<div class="i2">For glorious things to be,</div> -<div class="i0">I hold that in his scorn he shows</div> -<div class="i2">His soul's nobility.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Though George the Third completely scourge</div> -<div class="i2">Our groaning lives away,</div> -<div class="i0">It cannot, shall not be in vain</div> -<div class="i2">That I stand here to-day.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Oh take the wings of noble thought!</div> -<div class="i2">Run out the shapes of Time,</div> -<div class="i0">To where these clouds shall lift, nor leave</div> -<div class="i2">A stain upon the clime.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Behold the crown of ages gone,</div> -<div class="i2">Sublime and self-possessed;</div> -<div class="i0">In empire of the floods and shores</div> -<div class="i2">None so completely blest.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"This land shall come to vast estate,</div> -<div class="i2">In freedom vastly grow,</div> -<div class="i0">And I shall have a name to live,</div> -<div class="i2">Who helped to build it so.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Ye patriots, true and sorely tried,</div> -<div class="i2">When the dark days assail,</div> -<div class="i0">I seem to see what tears ye shed,</div> -<div class="i2">At thought of Nathan Hale.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Where is that man among ye all,</div> -<div class="i2">Who come to see me die,</div> -<div class="i0">That would not glory in his soul,</div> -<div class="i2">If he had done as I?</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Judge, then, how I have wrecked my life.</div> -<div class="i2">And in what cause begun.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> -<div class="i0">I sorrow but in one regret,</div> -<div class="i2">That I can lose but one.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"In Thee, O Christ! I now repose—</div> -<div class="i2">Thou art my All to me;</div> -<div class="i0">And unto Thee, thou Triune God—</div> -<div class="i2">Oh make my country free!"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Then turning to a guard, who wept</div> -<div class="i2">Like sudden April rain,</div> -<div class="i0">And scattered from his generous eyes</div> -<div class="i2">The drops of holy pain.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Unto your honest tears I trust</div> -<div class="i2">These letters to convey."</div> -<div class="i0">Then, to the Provost-Marshal, Hale</div> -<div class="i2">Did mildly turn, and say:</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Before from underneath my feet</div> -<div class="i2">The fatal cart is gone,</div> -<div class="i0">I fain would hear the chaplain pray;</div> -<div class="i2">Sir Provost have you none?"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">As when a dreadful lion roams</div> -<div class="i2">The torrid sands, and sees</div> -<div class="i0">A fawn among the valleys drink,</div> -<div class="i2">Beneath the tuneful trees;</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">If, 'chance, he sees the tender hind</div> -<div class="i2">Just move behind an oak,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> -<div class="i0">He snaps his teeth, and snaps his tail,</div> -<div class="i2">And makes the desert smoke.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">So, when the Provost witnessed Hale</div> -<div class="i2">To softer hands convey</div> -<div class="i0">His parting love, and heard him ask</div> -<div class="i2">To hear the chaplain pray,</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">He jumped like mad, he danced about,</div> -<div class="i2">Did dance, and roar, and swear—</div> -<div class="i0">The furies in his furnace eyes,</div> -<div class="i2">And in his rampant hair.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Dog of a thief! ere you shall have</div> -<div class="i2">Priest, book, or passing-bell,</div> -<div class="i0">Your rebel hide shall rot in air,</div> -<div class="i2">Your soul shall roast in hell!"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"God's will be done!" said Nathan Hale:</div> -<div class="i2">"Farewell to life and light!"</div> -<div class="i0">They pulled the cloth about his eyes,</div> -<div class="i2">And the slack cord was tight.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">V.<br /> -1.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Once more the rack, along the Sound,</div> -<div class="i2">Curled to the mounting sun,</div> -<div class="i0">That kissed, with mercy's beams, a world</div> -<div class="i2">Where such strange things are done.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Along our lines the sentry walked;</div> -<div class="i2">The dew was on his hair;</div> -<div class="i0">He felt the night in every limb,</div> -<div class="i2">But kept his station there;</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And watched the shimmering spires, and saw</div> -<div class="i2">The swallows slide away;</div> -<div class="i0">When, o'er the fields, there came a man,</div> -<div class="i2">Rough, and in rough array.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Holla, you Yankee scout!" said he,</div> -<div class="i2">"They've caught your Captain Hale,</div> -<div class="i0">And choked him for a traitor spy,</div> -<div class="i2">Dead as a dead door-nail.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Run—use your rebel soldier legs—</div> -<div class="i2">Tell General Washington.</div> -<div class="i0">Don't wait—you'll be promoted for't—</div> -<div class="i2">I'll stand and hold your gun."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Out spake the guard—"You British crow,</div> -<div class="i2">Curse on your croaking head!</div> -<div class="i0">Move off, or else, I swear, you'll get</div> -<div class="i2">The cartridge and the lead."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">2.</p> - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Full of his news, the sentry soon</div> -<div class="i2">To Knowlton told the same.</div> -<div class="i0">Knowlton, with tears in either eye,</div> -<div class="i2">To the head-quarters came,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And told to General Washington</div> -<div class="i2">Poor Hale's unhappy case.</div> -<div class="i0">Nought answered he, but bowed awhile,</div> -<div class="i2">With hands upon his face.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Then rising, steadfast and serene,</div> -<div class="i2">The same great master still—</div> -<div class="i0">Curbing a noble sorrow down</div> -<div class="i2">With a more noble will—</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">"Bring me," said he, "my writing-desk,</div> -<div class="i2">And maps last night begun;</div> -<div class="i0">Send hither Putnam, Lee, and Greene,</div> -<div class="i2">For much is to be done."</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">So perished Nathan Hale. God grant</div> -<div class="i2">Us not to die as he;</div> -<div class="i0">But, for the glorious Stripes and Stars,</div> -<div class="i2">Such iron loyalty.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<hr class="style1" /> - - -<blockquote> -<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—Nathan Hale was a native of the town of Coventry, in Connecticut; -and graduated at Yale College, in 1773. He entered the army of the -Revolution at an early period, as a captain in a light infantry regiment, -under command of Colonel Knowlton. After the defeat of the 27th August, -1776, and the retreat of the Americans from Long Island, Washington became -exceedingly desirous to gain some information respecting the future -operations of the enemy, and applied to Colonel Knowlton, through whom -Hale was introduced, and volunteered his services.</p> - -<p>He disguised himself, crossed to Long Island, procured admission to the -British camp, obtained the information desired, and was about leaving the -Island, when a refugee and a relative recognised, and betrayed him.</p> - -<p>The case was clear. Hale confessed; and Sir William Howe ordered him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> -hung the next morning. He suffered like a patriot and a Christian. "I -lament," said he, "that I have but one life to lose for my country." The -provost-marshal, who superintended the execution, was a savage-hearted man, -and refused him the attendance of a clergyman, and the use of a Bible, -and destroyed letters which he had written to his mother, and other friends, -making the remark, that "the rebels should not know that they had a man -in their army who could die with so much firmness."</p> - -<p>An aged physician, recently deceased, was accustomed to relate an anecdote -that is worthy of preservation. The Doctor, when a small boy, -attended a school taught by Hale in the town of East Windsor, Connecticut. -One day Hale was standing at his desk, in a deep study, when certain wide-awake -boys began to take advantage of his inattention.</p> - -<p>The narrator thereupon went softly to his side, touched him, and pointed -to the scene of mischief. Hale, without turning his head, dropped a look<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">25</a> -upon the little informer—a mild look, but full of rebuke,—"Go back to -your seat," said he. The boy slunk away, and neither misunderstood nor -forgot this rebuke of the ungenerous and disloyal, from his true-hearted -teacher; and associated as the incident became with the subsequent fate of -Hale, it made a deep and affecting impression upon his memory.</p> -</blockquote> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25">25</a> The Doctor described Hale as having had remarkably fine and expressive blue -eyes.</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE DREAMER.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MARY E. HEWITT.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Last night he kissed me,—kissed me in my dream!</div> -<div class="i2">He unto whom I with pure flame aspire,—</div> -<div class="i0">His eyes poured down on mine love's kindling beam,—</div> -<div class="i2">Through all my being ran the immortal fire,</div> -<div class="i2">I felt cold doubt within my breast expire,—</div> -<div class="i0">I felt his clasp, as gently he enwound me;</div> -<div class="i0">I felt his heart beat, as he closer bound me;</div> -<div class="i2">He kissed me! measure of my soul's desire;</div> -<div class="i0">He kissed my down-drooped eyelids,—kissed my brow;</div> -<div class="i2">Felt he no thrill, my well beloved one,</div> -<div class="i0">While passed the vision that enchains me now?</div> -<div class="i2">Ah, no! the ecstasy was mine alone;</div> -<div class="i0">And, while the memory on my spirit lies,</div> -<div class="i0">I fear, lest he should read my dream within my eyes.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter newpage"> - <img src="images/i_244a.jpg" alt="Falls" /> - <div class="caption"> - <span class="xsmall">C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap<sup>t.</sup> S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Phil.</span><br /> - <span class="vspace"> </span><br /> - FALLS OF S<sup>T.</sup> ANTHONY - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="style1" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>WHITE MOON AND FIERY MAN.<br /> -<span class="small">A LEGEND OF THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.</p> - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER I.</p> - -<p>The glowing noonday's sun was resting over the rocks -that lay and the waters that dashed in the region of St. -Anthony's Falls. The long row of hills in the distance -was tinged with gold, which mixed gaudily with their -purple hues. The dark green of the trees that grew on -the opposite shore interposed between the brightness of the -hills beyond and the white glare of the foaming waters.</p> - -<p>Above the Falls, large trees lay fixed in the river, notwithstanding -the efforts the waves appeared to be making -to remove every obstacle that lay in their way, which led -to the edge of the precipice, where they threw themselves -into the abyss below.</p> - -<p>Large and small fragments of rocks dotted the water in -every direction, and in the centre of the Falls lay a number -of rocks reposing against each other, with rich, luxuriant -shrubs and trees rising from among them.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding the noise of the falling waters, and the -roaring of the boiling waves below, there was great beauty -mingled with the grandeur of the scene. The width of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> -river at this point made the height of the Falls appear less -than it really was. The association connected with the -death of Wenona,<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">26</a> the injured, but loving wife, gave a -romantic cast to the red man's thoughts, as he rested from -the toils of the chase near this beautiful scene. He could -identify the very spot where she raised her arms, while the -notes of her death-song pealed above all other sounds, as -her slight canoe bent towards her child's and her own -grave. He marvelled that the boiling of the waters did -not appal her, or that the voice of her husband did not -rouse her from her fatal purpose.</p> - -<p>But now there is no person near, to take from the solitary -beauty of the scene. If the screaming of the loon -were heard, it was immediately followed by the flapping of -her wings, as she passed to the spirit lakes, over whose -quiet surface she loved better to rest. The deer were all -far distant;—the shade of the forest trees was more acceptable -now than the rays of the summer's sun. Whatever -might be the burden of the song of the waters, it was unheard, -save by the spirits that are ever assembled in numbers -around this hallowed spot.</p> - -<p>When the intense heat had passed away, a fresh, invigorating -wind was felt among the rocks and waves. Evening -was unfolding her mantle, and her breath was playing over -the bright flowers that even here enjoy their short season<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> -of life. The flitting clouds were gathering towards the -horizon, constantly changing their hues, and resting in -golden lines above the hills. Large fish, the bass, and the -pike, moved at their ease in the restless waters, as if there -were no fear of being bearded in this their stronghold. -The beautiful red deer, too, has been tempted to come and -be refreshed,—ever on their guard, though, as might be seen -by the tossing of their heads when the winds rose and whispered -over the earth.</p> - -<p>Now they start and flee like lightning, for the light -sound of woman's step is heard; and in the very spot where -one of them rested, looking over the waves, stands a slight -figure, bearing in her face and form the marks of youth, -while her short and richly embroidered skirt, and the -crimson okendokenda, that partly covered her arms and -chest, showed her to belong to a family at least not unimportant -among her people.</p> - -<p>She stood still for some moments in a listening attitude, -her face pale, and every feature fixed in intense thought. -She carried a bundle of small size: this she seemed to -think of value, for she grasped it as if her life depended on -the preservation of what it contained.</p> - -<p>Turning towards the course of the rocks by the river's -edge, she surveyed their way; then, bending where she -stood, she looked unappalled at the waters becoming dark -by the shadows of evening.</p> - -<p>There was but little current where she stood, for the -position of the rocks prevented this, though quite near them -the impetuous stream hurried on like one tired of existence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> -eager only to reach and be lost in the great ocean of forgetfulness.</p> - -<p>There was evidently some great difficulty in her position, -for her colour flushed and left her, and she pressed her -hands across her bosom, without quelling its tumult: yet it -was equally evident her object was self-preservation. Life -was dear to the young and active blood that animated her -veins. There was too much brightness in the depths of -those dark eyes to be quenched by death. She looked all -around her; and well might she have asked if the red man's -heaven boasted a more beautiful picture than the one now -before her.</p> - -<p>The sound of voices has recalled her from her meditations. -Loud, stern voices, speaking in tones of anger and -disappointment. They were not yet very near, but she -knew them well. The language was her own, but the lips -that spoke it were threatening death to her. She recognised -his voice—her husband's—he was the pursuer. And -she smiled a bitter smile as she listened to the harsh sounds. -Notwithstanding the perils that surrounded her, she was as -calm as when she sat by her mother's door, in the far-off -home of the Indians, who live by "Le Lac qui Parle." All -her terror, all her restlessness was forgotten. She raised -her arm to its greatest height, and elevating her lithe frame -too, she threw her bundle as far as her strength enabled -her; listening till the voices sounded nearer, and the steps -could be distinguished in the dead leaves that lay in their -path, she swayed her form to and fro, and sprung, laughing -as she did so, from the rocks. Then swimming round them, -disappeared, concealed by the overhanging precipices, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> -well as by the thick foliage that grew close to the water's -edge.</p> - -<p>Hardly was she out of sight when her place was again -occupied. A large, fierce-looking Sioux stood where she -had been standing. He looked round as if the object of his -search might be hid among the rocks and bushes. The -waters laughed just as she had, as he complained of fatigue -and disappointment. He looked like a fiend who had forced -himself where but a moment ago some gentle spirit had been -resting. The passions in their prime worked in his haughty -face. Stripes of different-coloured paint lay across his cheeks -and around his eyes. His broad chest and brawny arms -were uncovered—he raised his hand, and moving it in a -half circle, as he turned towards his companions, "I have -looked for her until I am tired," he said; "perhaps she has -killed herself; if she is living, my vengeance shall yet reach -her,—I will tear her heart from her breast."</p> - -<p>Then turning, wearied and angered beyond endurance, -he strode back towards his home. His giant figure rose far -above his companions. His eye flashed like the lion's deprived -of his prey. Well might they call him the Fiery -Man.</p> - - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER II.</p> - -<p>We must go back two days before this incident occurred. -In a large wigwam were two persons. The one, a young, -pale woman, seated on a mat. The white lips and the -black shadows beneath the eyes, told of watchings and despair. -No tear moistened the colourless eyelids, no sigh relieved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> -the overburdened heart. Still as death itself, the -young mother gazed on the unconscious cause of her agony.</p> - -<p>There it lay, peaceful and calm, against her throbbing -heart. There it lay, as it was wont, when seated on the -high rocks by the Mississippi, it heard the sweet tones of a -mother's voice. There it lay, never to hear even them -again.</p> - -<p>Absorbed in her grief, the mother knew not that there -was another in the wigwam. She was recalling, as she -gazed on the crushed flower thus rudely torn from her love, -the many and strange changes of the past year. She had -once looked forward to the future, as the young always do. -She loved and was promised to the one she loved.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man came from afar, with his powerful, athletic -frame, and his deep and piercing eyes, and his voice so low -and solemn. He stopped at her father's village, returning -from a successful expedition against the Sacs; and he was -full of proud boastings. He said he was "a great warrior, -and hunter too, for his lodge was always full of game; that -he had taken more scalps than any brave of his band; that -when he held his enemies, they were like children in his -large hand."</p> - -<p>In an evil hour his eye fell upon White Moon. He loved -her because she was the opposite of himself. He fancied -the gentle and submissive way in which she received the -directions of her parents. When he saw her eyes droop -and her cheek mantle when the warriors danced—when he -watched her and marked that she only looked at one—when -he inquired, and learned that to that one was she -destined, then did he mark her for his own; he was as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> -cool and determined as if he had been aiming his arrow at -the frightened grouse; as sure of his prey as if the bird lay -already bleeding at his feet.</p> - -<p>He went to her mother, and showed her the rich crimson -cloth he had received from the traders on his way.</p> - -<p>Other presents he laid before her, very valuable then; -for traders were just coming in the country, and articles -for use or adorning were rare among the Sioux.</p> - -<p>The mother told him her child was promised,—that -White Moon loved the noble young warrior she was to -marry, and she could not break her daughter's heart.</p> - -<p>The father came in, and Fiery Man showed him his new -gun,—they were scarce then, and were deemed wakun -(supernatural). Fiery Man enlarged upon its merits, and -he pressed on the foolish old man the advantages of securing -him as a friend, by giving him his daughter in marriage.</p> - -<p>White Moon's mother interfered, saying, "her daughter -was a good girl, and deserved to be happy. She was not -like the other girls, always running away to look among -the rocks in the water for young beavers; but she was -steady and industrious, and should make herself happy by -marrying the man she loved."</p> - -<p>Fiery Man stamped, and his eyes were bloodshot with -rage. He showed the parents his medicine-bag; he would -make them know what it was to refuse a medicine-man; -he would charm them; he would dry up the red rivers of -life; he would make their steps feeble.</p> - -<p>Already would White Moon have trembled, had she -been present.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man saw his advantage, and continued: he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> -the friend of Chat-o-tee-dah, the forest god, and he could -go where no other Indian could, protected by this powerful -friend. He was strong and brave, and it was well for the -woman who married him, and for her family too.</p> - -<p>The old man had kept his eyes fixed on the gun. Fiery -Man told him to follow him; he did so, but could hardly -keep pace with the strides of the tall warrior. Fiery Man -led him towards the lowlands, where, among the trees, the -woodcock were in numbers. They seated themselves on a -mound, the work of their more enlightened ancestors; they -were quiet at first, only listening to the passing of the birds -through the low trees.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man pointed the gun, and fired; the birds fell to -the ground. The old man laughed, and Fiery Man showed -him the powder and shot.</p> - -<p>He took the gun and explained to his companion the -mode of preparing it to fire. "Ha!" said he, "you cannot -shoot as well as I; but try and bring down one." The old -man pointed, and fired; his aim was sure: again a bird fell -before his astonished gaze.</p> - -<p>"It is yours," said Fiery Man, "and the girl is mine. We -will go back and tell her mother what we have agreed -upon."</p> - -<p>Again he led the way, and the old man followed him -back to the wigwam. There they found mother and -daughter. There were tears upon the cheek of the latter; -she was soon to know how vainly they were shed. She -turned away from the gaze of her tall lover, and hid her -face against her mother's bosom.</p> - -<p>"Tell her," said Fiery Man to White Moon's father; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> -the old man knew of the bitter dregs he would stir up in -the fountain of life before him: he could not find words to -tell the young maiden her doom.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man could not brook the delay. He laid his -brawny hand on the young head that had not yet been -lifted from its refuge-place. "She is mine," he said to the -mother; "I have bought her. That wakun gun is her -father's, that red cloth is yours. White Moon must go -with me to my lodge: she must give me warriors like -myself for sons. She will be obedient and happy, because -her husband is powerful, and feared."</p> - -<p>White Moon raised her head and looked in his face; for -hope? as well might she have asked it in the glancing of -the tomahawk of a Chippeway.</p> - -<p>That dark, stern face was softened, it is true: but it was -from the contemplation of her attractive features; pride -was changed to satisfaction: but it was because he knew -that the graceful figure which clung to her mother for -protection would soon lean only on him. She sighed and -turned away her face; she trembled and sank upon the mat -with weakness; no hope—all her bright visions changed: -darkness and gloom had come where day had presided in -all her brightness.</p> - -<p>A short time saw Fiery Man lead to his wigwam his sad -young wife, wearied to death with her long journey. Could -love have consoled her, she had been happy: for she was as -dear as life to the heart of the passionate, overbearing man. -As he led her into the wigwam, he pointed to its present -occupant. He said she was his sister, but the first glance -did the same. There was the tall, gaunt figure; the fierce,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> -flashing eye; the passionate, commanding countenance; but -far more repelling in her than in him. White Moon read -her own fate; she was to endure hatred as well as love. -She could see no shelter from the storm that was settling -over her head.</p> - - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER III.</p> - -<p>The sister of Fiery Man stood unnoticed, we have said, -in the lodge where White Moon sat with her dead child. -On her back she carried a large bundle of wood. As she -threw it to the ground, the noise roused White Moon from -her dreams. She rose from her mat, clasping the child yet -more closely to her breast. Giving one look towards her -sister, in which was concentrated all the passion and all -the harshness of which she was capable, she left the lodge. -The crimson flush soon died away from her face, and she -was calm and pale as before.</p> - -<p>Assisted by several of the women, she proceeded to place -her child upon its last resting-place. It was at some distance -from the lodge, yet in sight. She returned, and -carried to the place of burial the cradle and some little -trinkets belonging to the child, and hung them in reach of -the infant's hand, on the scaffolding.</p> - -<p>All day she sat on the ground near it. She wept there, -as only a mother can weep, for her first and only child. -She refused the food the women offered her; she had not -eaten since its death.</p> - -<p>Even when night came, she was still there, through its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> -long watches giving vent to her violent grief. The breaking -of the morn found her sleeping for a short interval on -the ground; on awakening, she remembered there were -duties that still claimed her care. Her new buffalo-skin -lodge was still unfinished, and she had promised her husband -she would be in it on her return. The one they were -living in was her sister's; it was an old one, torn, and admitting -the rain, so that it was not comfortable. Some of -the women had assisted her in making it, and she had still -to finish and set it up before the evening.</p> - -<p>On the day of the child's death she had been obliged to -leave her work, to go out at some little distance to cut -wood. She did not, as usual, take her child with her: it -was asleep in its carved board cradle, and she left it in -charge of a girl, the child of one of her friends. Fiery -Man's sister had gone out, telling White Moon she should -be away all day. So great was her dread of this proud -woman—so fearful was she that she would revenge on her -child the hatred she felt towards herself—that otherwise -she would not have left the infant at home.</p> - -<p>The anticipations of White Moon at her first interview -with her husband's sister were all realized. This woman -possessed all the bad qualities of Fiery Man, without any -of his redeeming ones.</p> - -<p>She had been married, and was a widow. Both of her -children were dead: there was no avenue by which kindness -could find its way to her heart. She disliked White -Moon, because she had so won her brother's love. But -there needed to assign no reason, for she disliked all who -were better off than she.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span></p> - -<p>It is not only in civilized life that the dread passion of -envy has full sway: the human heart, the same by nature, -varies only by association and circumstance.</p> - -<p>Had it not been for the unhappy disposition of Fiery -Man's sister, White Moon had been happy. She could not -but be proud of her husband, and of his affection for her: -it was not in the nature of a Sioux woman to see unmoved -the many trophies of his skill and bravery. But the curse -of envy was about her; and when White Moon smiled over -her boy, and Fiery Man exulted in the pride and affection -of a Sioux father for his son, his sister could not rejoice -with them—she envied and hated them.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man exacted the most implicit obedience from his -wife, and from all around him. He would not have brooked -the slightest contradiction from her; but she did not -attempt it.</p> - -<p>In most cases an Indian wife is little more than a serving-woman -to her husband. To this White Moon was accustomed -from observation, and from her short experience. -She trembled at her husband's voice, though against her -it had never been raised in anger. But the violent passions, -the abusive language, the frequent blows—these, coming -from one who ought to have no power over her, made her -often wish for death. Yet so great was the likeness of -brother and sister, that she bowed to the tyranny of the -one, from having done so to the other. Her spirit, too, -was broken. She could easily submit, but not forget. -When she left her child in the wigwam it was quietly -sleeping; when she returned it still slept. She had been a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> -long time away, and yet the rest of the infant appeared to -have been unbroken.</p> - -<p>She missed the girl who had promised to remain with -the child. She had brought a heavy burden of wood to -her lodge, and she sat down by the child to rest, and to -watch its awakening.</p> - -<p>Its unusual paleness alarmed her; she held her own -breath that she might distinguish the breathing of the -child, but in vain. She placed her hand before its parted -lips; the warm breath of infancy did not play upon it.</p> - -<p>She thought it strange; but death did not present itself -to her mind. Going to the door of the lodge, she looked -around, and saw her sister gazing, with fixed attention, -towards the wigwam. This alarmed her, and she returned -to her child; again she listened for its breath: she pressed -its small and clammy hand. Then did the real truth flash -across her. She took in her arms the infant and rushed -with it into the open air.</p> - -<p>As she stood outside calling for help, the Indians collected -around her. Her sister, calm and unconcerned, -approached with them and looked on.</p> - -<p>The Indian doctors were there, and White Moon, under -their direction, carried her child back to the lodge. She -placed it on a buffalo-robe, which was folded on the floor. -Red Head, the great medicine-man, seated himself near it. -He held the sacred rattle, shaking it, and chaunting in a -loud voice. He shouted to the women to stand off, for -near him, on the ground, he had laid his pipe and medicine-bag.</p> - -<p>White Moon alternately wept and hoped; she knew Red<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> -Head was a powerful medicine-man: but still her baby -showed no signs of life. Despairing, at last, and frantic -with grief, she broke in upon his incantations. She raised -her child, and placed its little face against her breast. She -knew this test would be decisive.</p> - -<p>There was no motion, on its part, to receive the offered -sustenance. She raised her despairing eyes, and they met -the cold glances of her sister. Then she told Red Head -there was no hope. She asked to be left alone with her -dead; she wept until the power of weeping was gone: and -then, until the time was come to place it in its cradle grave, -she held it to her heart. She did not dare reflect on the -passionate grief of the father, when he should return, and -ask of her his son.</p> - -<p>She could not rouse herself to say, what she believed to -be the case, that his sister had destroyed it. There was -no mark,—no apparent cause for its sudden death.</p> - -<p>On returning to the wigwam, after the burial of the -child, she found her sister there, more than usually bent -upon an altercation. She endeavoured to avoid it by employing -herself in silence. She eat for the first time since -her child's death, and then applied herself to the task of -finishing her lodge. Her bereaved condition might have -excited the pity of her companion; but there was no -sympathy in that breast. For a time, White Moon would -not reply to her taunts. This the more enraged the other, -who at length charged the heart-broken mother with the -murder of her child!</p> - -<p>White Moon heard her in stupified horror and amazement. -That a mother could destroy her infant,—no such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> -sentiment could reach her understanding or her heart. Yet -again and again did her sister repeat the charge, dwelling -upon the impossibility of the child's dying without a cause. -No one, she said, had been with the infant during her absence; -the young girl, who had promised to take care of it, -having gone off soon after White Moon left. She then -insisted, that as White Moon had been forced to marry her -brother, she had thus resented upon him her wrong. She -had killed his child, forgetting it was her own.</p> - -<p>The despairing woman was roused by a sense of the -injustice done her. She saw, too, her position,—the danger -in which she stood. She felt, in anticipation, the reproaches, -the hot anger of her husband.</p> - -<p>She was roused even to madness. Her many wrongs -stood up in witness against the woman who, in her deep -sorrow, thus goaded her. Her slight frame expanded; the -gentle and obedient wife, the submissive woman, had become -a murderer; her knife lay in the heart of her husband's -sister,—the strong had bowed before the weak!</p> - -<p>The act was so instantaneous, that White Moon stood -alone to behold the consequences of her passion. It was -during the hottest part of the day, and their lodge stood -apart from the rest. Most of the men were on the hunt -with Fiery Man; the women, some sleeping away the -sultry hours, others off at their different employments.</p> - -<p>The hoarse groans of the dying woman were not heard -outside the lodge, so that White Moon was not detected. -On one of the mats lay the embroidered dress of a young -warrior that Fiery Man's sister had just finished. She -immediately determined upon making her escape, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> -taking these clothes with her as a disguise. She made -them into a bundle before the eyes of the dying woman, -and resolved upon flying from her husband's resentment.</p> - -<p>How often she had called for death, yet how closely she -now clung to life. The violent excitement through which -she had passed had brought again the colour to her cheek. -Brightness had succeeded to the expression of languor in -her eyes. There was no tie to keep her in her husband's -home. She now only thought of him as the avenger of his -sister's blood.</p> - -<p>She left the lodge without even a glance towards the -cause of her misery and her sin. She turned from the -places which would now know her no more.</p> - - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER IV.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man and the large party of hunters came in sight -of their home on the evening of the same day. They had -brought a large number of buffalo, and were glad to reach -the vicinity of their village, where their wives and other -women came forward to relieve them of their burden. -Merry work it was to them on this occasion, until they -learned some of the hunters were missing.</p> - -<p>Fiery Man looked to see his wife and child among -them, and was disappointed and irritated at not seeing -them; but he remembered White Moon was always backward -in joining these noisy parties, and thus he accounted -for her absence.</p> - -<p>His tall figure was slightly clad, for the weather was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> -warm—in his right hand he held a spear, and on its top -was a scalp recently taken. He strode on without waiting -to explain the occasion of this, only thinking of his wife and -son. He did not miss his sister, though he might well have -done so, for she was always ready with her strong arm to -assist the hunters, and her loud voice to give directions to -the women.</p> - -<p>There was a great deal of confusion as they entered the -village, for the absence of the three hunters had been accounted -for, though not by Fiery Man, who had passed forward -towards his lodge.</p> - -<p>The hunters, enthusiastic with their success, (for the number -of buffalo they had killed was unusually great,) were -surprised by a party of Iroquois, and in the sudden terror -three of the Sioux, who had laid down their arms, intending -to sleep, were killed and scalped. These Iroquois had -come from a great distance; their villages were in the -western part of New York. They were then in the height -of their power, and constantly performed exploits that -astonished other Indian nations.</p> - -<p>But that a small party should have travelled four hundred -leagues, living by chance, surrounded by their enemies; -that they should venture among so powerful a people with -such an object, is indeed remarkable; that they should have -been successful, is still more so.</p> - -<p>They lost one of their party. Fiery Man pursued them, -with some others, as they endeavoured to make their escape, -and killed one, whose scalp adorned his spear.</p> - -<p>The lamentations of the families whose relatives had been -killed, their affectionate but melancholy reception of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> -dead bodies—for they had been wrapped in skins and -brought home—the loud talking of those engaged in -caring for the immense quantities of buffalo-meat and the -valuable skins,—all these were unnoticed and indeed unheard -by Fiery Man.</p> - -<p>Even his stout heart quailed before the silent and gloomy -appearance of his lodge. There was not even an evidence -of habitation.</p> - -<p>The lodge on which White Moon had been engaged lay -heaped up near it; but there was no one there to welcome -him.</p> - -<p>He threw up the door and looked in; then started almost -affrighted at what he saw. His sister lay dead—and the -only creature near her was the small dog that had been -always by her side during life. He could not mistake the -horrible symptoms,—the fallen jaw, the dark-looking blood, -the face calm and composed in its expression, as it never -had been in life.</p> - -<p>He turned again from the lodge to seek his wife and -child,—the former with her timid and almost fearful salutation, -the latter with his merry infant laugh, as he reached -forth his hands to be taken close to his father's heart.</p> - -<p>He looked around among the groups talking here and -there. They were gazing at him, with doubt and consternation -in every countenance; for who would dare tell him -of all?—who would expose himself to the violence of his -wrath?—who but feared to see that iron frame bowed with -the tale of horror he must hear?</p> - -<p>He hastened towards them, and shook Harpstinah roughly -by the arm. "Where is my wife?—my child? Speak!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> -he said, as the woman, in her fright, seemed to have lost -the power of speech.</p> - -<p>An old man, who had not accompanied the hunting -party, on account of his age, came forward. "There is -your son," he said, pointing to the burial-ground. "Your -wife left him asleep, and your sister—"</p> - -<p>Harpstinah, having recovered herself, interrupted him: -he had but a confused notion of the state of things. She -told Fiery Man all the circumstances, even to her going to -the lodge, drawn thither by the continual crying of the -dog, and finding his sister there in her death-pangs. She -had tried to make Harpstinah comprehend a message -to her brother, but had expired with the effort. Previous -to that she had told several persons that White Moon -had killed her child, but no one believed it. The affectionate -care of the mother was too well known; besides, -the girl who had been left in charge of her, said the infant -had awakened a short time after White Moon had left, and -had then fallen asleep again.</p> - -<p>White Moon had been seen as she hurried from the village, -but no one had seen her return. Harpstinah had -heard angry words passing between them, but did not -know that anything more serious had occurred, until some -time after, when she entered the lodge, as she had before -described. All presumed it must have been the act of -White Moon, as she had expressed previously her intention -of remaining at home, in order to finish her lodge.</p> - -<p>This was the substance of the intelligence, to which -Fiery Man listened with an ashy countenance and a -trembling frame. His wife, whom he had so loved—his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> -boy, the noble, healthy child, whose growth he had watched -day by day! As he bent forward to listen, large tears -rested on his cheek. The women moved off affrighted at -the spectacle, that tears, such as women shed, should be -seen there.</p> - -<p>There was one who still remained beside him. Fiery -Man had not heard the charge brought against his wife of -the murder of her child. So stricken was he, that he only -heard and felt that they were gone. The Fawn still remained -beside him: she had loved Fiery Man, and had -hoped to be his wife. She waited to speak when he should -arouse from the first stupor of his grief. He turned to go, -he knew not where; he heard his name called, and saw the -Fawn beside him. "Your sister said that White Moon -had never loved you, and was now revenged; that you had -torn her from all she had loved; that even her old mother -had wept, and asked you to leave her with her, but in -vain; and it was for this White Moon had killed your -child, that you might have sorrow too."</p> - -<p>Then came back the colour to the bronzed cheek of -Fiery Man, and the flashing to his eye. Then did he stand -erect, like one that had never known grief—then did love -change to bitter hatred. The wife of his bosom was his -worst enemy. There were no more tears, but loud threats -of vengeance—no trembling, but firm purposes of revenge.</p> - -<p>He went again to the lodge, to look at his sister's body. -He left her, and stood by the grave of his child. He laid -his hand upon the little body, and stood thus while he -decided what to do. He shouted for the young men, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> -told them to go and hunt for his wife, and bring her back -to him.</p> - -<p>It was fearful to see the paroxysms of his hot anger. -He lay down on the grass near his child; he rested, but -not with sleep. He sought his wife through the night, but -in vain. He went into the thick forests; he remembered -Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, was his friend; he -prayed to the god; he sacrificed to the wakeen-stone; but -still he was unsuccessful.</p> - -<p>He knew neither sleep nor rest until the evening of the -next day, when he was forced to yield to his overtaxed -condition. There did he stand, by the Laughing Waters, -where she had stood. The White Moon was making her -way, slowly and sadly, but clinging to life—full of grief, -but fearing the avenger—living on the berries of the woods, -and sleeping where the red deer and its young lie down to -rest.</p> - - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER V.</p> - -<p>A short time after the events we have noticed, a young -and slight-looking Sioux warrior entered one of the villages -of that nation. He was a stranger and alone. This was -enough to insure him a hospitable reception. On approaching -the lodges which were nearest him, he seemed to hesitate -as to what course he should pursue as regards making -himself known. In the mean time his appearance had -attracted a good deal of attention.</p> - -<p>His limbs were slight but well formed, his figure denoting -agility rather than strength. His dress was new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> -and handsomely ornamented; his leggins were of very fine -deer-skin, dressed so as to be white and soft, and these, as -well as his coat, were richly embroidered with porcupine -quills. He had no blanket, nor were there any war-eagle -feathers in his head; his pipe, made of an earthen material, -was large and heavy. He was without arms of any kind: -this was the most remarkable feature in his appearance.</p> - -<p>He was pale, as if he had been ill, and there was at -times an expression of wildness, almost amounting to ferocity, -in his appearance. He advanced towards a lodge -outside of which stood the family; they spoke to him at -once, telling him to sit down and rest himself. One of the -women seeing his mocassin was torn, untied it, saying she -would mend it.</p> - -<p>Before asking him his name or errand, they insisted upon -his eating, knowing from his features and dress he was a -Sioux.</p> - -<p>His feet they found blistered and inflamed. The women -of the lodge got some herbs, laid them in cold water, and -applied them to the inflamed parts.</p> - -<p>They gave him wild rice, in an earthen bowl of a kind -manufactured by themselves, the art being now lost. They -were then destitute of metallic vessels of any kind.</p> - -<p>The young warrior, after he had eaten, proceeded to give -an account of himself. He said he had come a great distance -in search of an uncle who had suddenly disappeared from -among them. He was a very important man among them, -famous for his wisdom, and for knowing all the history of -their people, the Mendewakantonwau Dacotas. He could -always tell them the year when buffalo would be the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> -plentiful; he could direct them to the very spot where the -largest herds could be found.</p> - -<p>His people, he said, lived on the banks of the Minesota; -the mouth of this river, his uncle said, lay immediately -over the centre of the earth, and under the centre of the -heavens: the Great Spirit had ordered this, that they might -know they were his favourite people, superior to all other -nations.</p> - -<p>All these things his uncle had learned in dreams; and -often he spoke of them to the young people, that they might -be proud of their country, and might remember who was -their Great Father and friend.</p> - -<p>On one occasion he had assembled the young people, and -told them of the bloody battles they had fought with the -Sacs and Foxes and other nations. Some of the Dacota -bands had been destroyed by them, but they had been saved -because they were under the centre of the heavens, and the -eye of the Great Spirit was always upon them. They knew -more too than the other bands, and were in consequence -much better off.</p> - -<p>On that occasion he had talked nearly all night, and after -that they all retired to rest. On awaking, the old warrior -had disappeared, and since then had never been seen. -Whether Unk-ta-he had drawn him into the deep, or Chat-o-tee-dah, -the god of the woods, had drawn him under the -earth, or the Great Spirit had taken him, no one knew. -He was no more among them.</p> - -<p>The young man went on to say he had had a dream, in -which he was told to array himself in new clothing, and to -go in search of his uncle. He was forbidden to take arms or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> -provisions of any kind; and in a short time he would have -an interview with his uncle. This he had done in spite of -the objections of his friends, who urged him at least to take -his bow and arrows, but he had refused to do so, preferring -to follow implicitly the directions he had received in his -dream. He had been in the woods a long time, and was -almost despairing, when one night he fell into a deep sleep, -and his uncle stood before him; not old and wrinkled and -time-worn, as he remembered him, but erect and firm. His -voice was strong too, and he could have been heard a long -way off, he spoke so loud and distinctly.</p> - -<p>He said that the Sioux need not any more look for his -return, for that in the far-off country where he lived, he had -none of those weaknesses and pains to contend with, which -are constantly among the aged on earth: he had wanted -to try the bravery of his young nephew, to see whether or -not he would have courage to do as he was told. He was -glad he had done so, for now he would be a favourite of the -gods, who delighted in courageous acts. He directed him -as to what route he should take, telling him of everything -that would happen to him on his way to the village, and -charged him to say to them, that he should be furnished -with a lance, bow, and arrows, and also have given to him a -comrade, and be allowed to stay in the band. The Indians -were overcome with admiration at the courage shown in -these adventures, and they immediately presented him with -the arms he required, and in every other way gratified his -wishes.</p> - -<p>He accepted these things proudly, as a right, rather than -a favour; this bearing made him still more popular with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> -new friends. One of them came forward and told him he -should have his oldest daughter—pointing to the well-pleased -maiden—for a wife: the stranger said he had promised -his uncle he would not marry until he had killed -three Winnebagoes, and wore the feathers of honour he -had thus earned.</p> - -<p>He continued to grow in their favour, and was preparing -to accompany some of their braves on a war-party, -when, one morning, a party of Sioux approached the village. -One of the men was much taller and larger than all -the rest, his eagle feathers towering above their heads. The -hospitable people pressed forward to welcome them: and -when they were rested, and had eaten and smoked, the -chief missed their stranger friend. He was not to be seen; -when they found he did not return to them, they told his -strange story to Fiery Man and his band.</p> - -<p>The wretched man knew it was his wife who had thus -baffled him. He went on his way, but some evil spirit stood -between him and the accomplishment of his purpose. She -was not to be given to his vengeance or his love. There -was happiness yet in store for White Moon.</p> - - -<p class="p2t center in0 nobreak">CHAPTER VI.</p> - -<p>Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods and forests, holds a -high rank among the Sioux; by some he is considered even -greater than the Thunder-Bird. Were it not for the great -number of Thunder-Birds, that race would long since have -been extinct; so many battles have they had, and so powerful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> -is the god whose home is in the dark woods, whose -guardians and servants are every bird that rests itself in -the branches of the trees, whose notes welcome the coming -of the day.</p> - -<p>Chat-o-tee-dah passes by the shrubbery of the lowlands, -and makes his home on the largest tree on the highest -eminence of the forest; his dwelling is in the root of the -tree. He is not confined to this part of it, but comes out -when occasion may require.</p> - -<p>Is he hungry? he takes his seat upon the branch of the -tree, and, by his power of attraction, he is soon surrounded -by the winged messengers of the forest, ready to do his -bidding. While he is thus holding his court, the limb of -the tree on which he is seated becomes smooth as glass.</p> - -<p>Chat-o-tee-dah and the Thunder-Bird, as I have said, are -enemies: and many hard battles have been fought between -them, the god of the woods being generally the victor.</p> - -<p>This is to be ascribed, in a great measure, to the attachment -and vigilance of his body-guard, the birds of the -forest.</p> - -<p>At the slightest commotion in the heavens, whose stormy -portents indicate the coming of the Thunder-Bird, Chat-o-tee-dah -is roused from his sleep, or whatever occupation -may engage him at the time, by his servants; he has thus -ample time to make his arrangements.</p> - -<p>While the clouds roll swiftly and angrily towards the -habitation of the water god, and streaked lightning plays -in vivid flashes on the earth, Chat-o-tee-dah is coolly -making his preparations for the work of death, assured, -by his very calmness, of victory. The little birds, hid in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> -the dark branches of the trees, are faithful sentinels, momentarily -making their report, while the god of the woods -keeps safely hid in the root of the tree, his stronghold in -time of danger.</p> - -<p>The Thunder-Bird resorts to cunning. He takes the -form of a large bird, but his disguise is always penetrated -by the smallest forest-bird; they know him, and, like -faithful servants, keep near their lord. Again and again -the thunder rolls, and the lightning plays about the -branches of the tree. The waters swell and rise up to -anger the Thunder-Bird, and to tempt him to do battle, -but he has too many quarrels to resent against the forest -gods, and the day of his vengeance is come. It is not -often that he has courage to tempt the forest god to battle, -for he knows his power; but now he will show him his -own strength, when he is roused.</p> - -<p>There is a stillness of the elements, and now again the -deafening sound is heard, and the lightning pierces the -home of the forest god; but Chat-o-tee-dah is safe, for there -is a communication with the roots of the tree and the -waters, and he passes through it safely, hearing the while -the noise of the elements, while he descends to the great -waters below.</p> - -<p>Again the earth shakes, for the Thunder-Bird has cast -forth his lightning, and pierced the root of the tree; but he -is again defeated by the cunning of the god, who has found -a refuge in the dominions of Unk-ta-he.</p> - -<p>But at last the forest god is angry, and he has determined -to come forth from his watery retreat, and beard the Thunder-Bird -with his own weapons. He hurls back at him the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> -lightning;—in an instant the daring invader is dead at his -feet.</p> - -<p>The battles of their gods are unending themes of adventure -among the Sioux. Conversing upon them, the -hours are whiled away from evening until midnight, and -often from midnight to morn. The intellect must have -occupation. How many a noble mind has thus gone to -waste!</p> - -<p>We may judge, from the importance attached to these -fanciful stories, how hard must be the work of the Indian -missionary. What a system of error to uproot! We may -also look into our own hearts:—which is the greater absurdity, -the worship of Chat-o-tee-dah or mammon?—the -bowing down to the glorious works of the hand of God, or -devotions paid to the gilded idol of this world?</p> - -<p>Fiery Man no more boasted of his intercourse with the -gods; they seemed to have forgotten they were his friends.</p> - -<p>He had sought far and near for his wife. At times his -heart was full of revenge: that she should have destroyed -his son was the bitterest reflection of all. His sister's blood -seemed still to be flowing before him; vengeance was called -for on her who had made his lodge dark for ever. Then a -different mood would affect him. She would stand before -him, obedient, docile, and timid, with her soft, fearful voice, -so different from the loud tones of his sister's. He could -remember her so distinctly, as she held up her child for -him to see, as he left the lodge to go with the hunting -party. Her long, braided hair, falling about her shoulders, -as her infant's cheek lay pressed against hers. For the first -time he thought she looked sad at parting with him, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> -had treasured the thought. He knew <i>then</i> she never raised -her hand against her child. He would have crushed his -evil-minded sister for the suggestion, had she stood before -him in life. He would sit buried in thought, the storms of -passion breaking away from his heart; but this did not last, -and woe to the man who came before him in his fierce -mood.</p> - -<p>He died in battle; but the Indians said he gave his life -away, for he met his enemy as if he were in a dream, and -shouted no cry as he was wont. They brought his body -back and buried it by the side of his son: and even death -did not break the spell of awe connected with him, for the -women were afraid to sit and plait grass near his grave. -Harpstinah moved her lodge from where it stood, saying, -she must live farther off from the graves, that she might -not hear Fiery Man in the night calling for vengeance on -his wife, who had deserted him, and murdered his child.</p> - -<p>No one could tell the fate of White Moon. Her parents -died soon after her disappearance. But the Black Eagle, -who some years after visited the Sioux who live among the -thousand isles at the head of Rum River, said, that when -he arrived there, White Moon's old lover took him to his -lodge, and that his wife helped him off with his snow-shoes, -and made him broth, for he was nearly perished with cold -and hunger, having been at one time covered with snow -for several days and nights, as his only chance of life.</p> - -<p>When he told them he had come for some of the stone -that lay on the shores of that river, to make knives, the -war-chief asked him what band he belonged to, and that -while he was answering, the woman ceased her employ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span>ment, -listening intently to him. That the war-chief -asked him what had become of that tall chief called the -Fiery Man; and that while he was telling of his death, -and of his strange condition before it, the woman laughed, -and said that after all Chat-o-tee-dah had not been as true -a friend as the warrior thought, for a weak woman had -escaped from his fiercest anger; and that when he asked -her if she had ever known Fiery Man, her husband was -angry, and told her to hush, saying, women always talked -too much, and that it was time she had done his leggins, -which he wanted to wear in the morning, when he met -the wise men of their band in council; that when she -returned to her work, as she was told, that he was reminded -of the quiet obedience with which White Moon -ever listened to the commands of her husband, that tall -warrior, Fiery Man, who had gone to that country where -thousands of warriors assemble and shout through the -heavens their song, as they celebrate the medicine feast.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26">26</a> The story of Wenona is given in "Dacota, or Legends of the Sioux," -in almost the words of the Sioux themselves. It has been often told by -travellers, and there is no doubt but it actually occurred. [N. B. This tradition, -as given in a letter from Miss Bremer to myself, during her visit to -the Falls of St. Anthony, will be found at the end of this story.—J. S. H.]</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="style1" /> - -<p class="p1t center in0 nobreak">NOTE.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><span class="smcap">A Tradition of the Falls of St. Anthony.</span>—There is a little island, -just below the Falls, surrounded by their spray, with picturesque rocks and -dark cedars, looking lonely and romantic, more attractive than the Falls, -through its peculiar looks, and its story, connected with the Falls and with -the people which still hovers around them, on the territory of Minesota, -raising tents of one night soon to depart, kindling fires soon to be quenched. -It is called the <i>Spirit Island</i>, and its tale is that of many an Indian woman,—is -in fact the poetic truth of woman's fate among the red men. It tells:</p> - -<p>There was once a hunter of the tribe of the Dacotas (or Sioux) living -near the Falls of St. Anthony. He had but one wife, and loved her and -was loved by her so well, that the union and the happiness of the hunter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> -and his wife, Ampota Sampa, was talked of among the tribe as wonderful. -They had two children, and lived lonely and happy for several years. But -as he became known as a great hunter, and grew rich, several families came -and raised their tipis (lodges) near that of the happy pair. And words and -whispers came to the young man that he ought to have more wives, so that -he might enjoy more happiness. He listened to the tempters, and soon -made a choice among the daughters of his new friends. But when he had -to tell his first wife thereof, his heart smote him, and, to make the news -less painful to her, he began by telling her that he had bethought himself -that she had too many household cares, and that she wanted somebody to -help her in them, and so he would bring her that help in the form of a -young girl, who was to be his second wife.</p> - -<p>Ampota Sampa answered "No!" She had not too many cares. She -was happy to have them for him and his children. She prayed and besought -him, by their former love and happy life, by every tender tie, by -the love of their little ones, not to bring a new love, a new wife, to the -lodge. He said nothing. But this same night he brought home to the -lodge his new wife.</p> - -<p>Early next morning a death-song was heard on the waters of the Mississippi, -and a canoe was seen gliding swiftly down the rapids, above the Falls -of St. Anthony, and in the canoe was sitting a young woman with two little -children folded to her bosom. It was Ampota Sampa; and in her song she -told the cause of her despair, of her death, of her departure for the spirit-land. -So she sat, singing her death-song, swiftly borne onward by the -rapids to the edge of the rocks. Her husband, her friends, heard her and -saw her, but too late. In a few moments the canoe was at the top of the -Falls; there it paused a second, and then, borne on by the rush of the -waters, down it dashed, and the roaring waves covered the victims with -their white foam.</p> - -<p>Their bodies were never seen again; but tradition says that on misty -mornings, the spirit of the Indian wife, with the children folded to her -bosom, is seen gliding in the canoe through the rising spray about the -Spirit Island, and that the sound of her death-song is heard moaning in the -wind and in the roar of the Falls of St. Anthony. Such is the legend of -the Indian wife.—<span class="smcap">Fredrika Bremer.</span></p> -</blockquote> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE RAIN-DROP.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MISS E. W. BARNES.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">It quivered on a bended spray—</div> -<div class="i2">A rain-drop, bright and clear—</div> -<div class="i0">Though beautiful, it waked sad thoughts,</div> -<div class="i2">'Twas so like sorrow's tear.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And on its crystal surface lay</div> -<div class="i2">Reflected, calm as heaven,</div> -<div class="i0">The glories of the summer sky,</div> -<div class="i2">With purple tints of even;</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And earth's transcendent loveliness</div> -<div class="i2">Was also on its breast,</div> -<div class="i0">As with her dewy smiles she made</div> -<div class="i2">The parting sunbeam blest.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I loved the rain-drop, as it hung</div> -<div class="i2">So trustingly the while—</div> -<div class="i0">The verdant earth, the glowing heaven</div> -<div class="i2">Reflected in its smile.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A symbol seemed it to mine eye</div> -<div class="i2">Of the loving human heart,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> -<div class="i0">That lives but in the smile of God,</div> -<div class="i2">Which earth and heaven impart.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I gazed into its tiny sphere—</div> -<div class="i2">In miniature it lay,</div> -<div class="i0">A world of beauty, trembling there,</div> -<div class="i2">And soon to pass away—</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">To pass from earth, and leave no trace,</div> -<div class="i2">But the memory divine</div> -<div class="i0">Of beauty, which, within the heart,</div> -<div class="i2">Erects its own pure shrine.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The breeze passed by; it swayed the bough</div> -<div class="i2">Where the sweet gem was hung;</div> -<div class="i0">But, with tenacious grasp, it still</div> -<div class="i2">Fondly and closely clung.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Nor, till with a resistless power</div> -<div class="i2">The mighty wind swept by,</div> -<div class="i0">Did the frail thing, so beautiful,</div> -<div class="i2">In shattered fragments lie.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And thus, though moved by every breeze</div> -<div class="i2">That sweeps along our way,</div> -<div class="i0">Our hearts still cling to life, and still</div> -<div class="i2">The world asserts its sway.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But, like the rain-drop, pure and clear,</div> -<div class="i2">That hangs upon the bough,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> -<div class="i0">Oh! soul of mine, give back earth's light,</div> -<div class="i2">Reflect its glories, thou!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Give back the summer's rosy tints,</div> -<div class="i2">The verdant tree, the flower;</div> -<div class="i0">Give back the mountain and the mead,</div> -<div class="i2">The summer sun and shower.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">But ah! in thy far deeper depths</div> -<div class="i2">May heaven reflected lie;</div> -<div class="i0">Its holy calm—its voiceless wave,</div> -<div class="i2">Serene as yon soft sky.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Unruffled be those silent depths—</div> -<div class="i2">Calm, though the tempest lower.</div> -<div class="i0">My Saviour! walk thou on the wave,</div> -<div class="i2">And let it feel thy power.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Speak to the troubled waters, <i>Peace</i>,</div> -<div class="i2">And passion ne'er shall rise,</div> -<div class="i0">Nor doubt, nor care, to dim the light</div> -<div class="i2">That greets me from the skies.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A PLEA FOR A CHOICE PICTURE.<br /> -<span class="small">TO A GENTLEMAN WHO UNDERVALUED IT.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MISS L. S. HALL.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Nay, do not say my favourite is tame—</div> -<div class="i0">Her soul lies dreaming in its tranquil depths,</div> -<div class="i0">And 'tis not every passive breeze can wake</div> -<div class="i0">The slumberer from her peaceful reverie.</div> -<div class="i0">The sheltering wings of Faith, and Hope, and Love</div> -<div class="i0">Are folded round the temple of her heart,</div> -<div class="i0">Perpetual guardians of its altar place;</div> -<div class="i0">And they, of wingéd feet, who go and come,</div> -<div class="i0">Must pass beneath their penetrating gaze;</div> -<div class="i0">Unhallowed sentiments may enter not,—</div> -<div class="i0">Where these stand sentinels, 'tis hallowed ground.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Speak but a thrilling word, and you shall meet</div> -<div class="i0">In those so dreamy eyes, that heed you not,</div> -<div class="i0">The shadow of your own ecstatic thoughts,—</div> -<div class="i0">Those lips, so passive now, shall echo back</div> -<div class="i0">The earnest tones of your own eloquence.</div> -<div class="i0">But do not measure her internal strength</div> -<div class="i0">By any standard of man's magnitude.</div> -<div class="i0">Nor think to fathom what no eye can reach,—</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> -<div class="i0">She hath a woman's heart, and it hath been</div> -<div class="i0">The constant struggle of her watchful life,</div> -<div class="i0">To curb her will, and bend her energies,</div> -<div class="i0">And train her nature for her destiny;</div> -<div class="i0">And conscious that she hath a marshalled host,</div> -<div class="i0">Obedient to the mandates of her soul,</div> -<div class="i0">She wears a placid brow, and dreads no foe.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">A thoughtless word upon affection's tongue,</div> -<div class="i0">A look of coldness from a cherished friend,</div> -<div class="i0">A hardened thought, that wrongs her of her due,</div> -<div class="i0">And makes her seem what she would scorn to be,</div> -<div class="i0">Imputing motives she would blush to own,—</div> -<div class="i0">Her spirit, safe from storms and rude alarms,</div> -<div class="i0">Is too susceptible to wounds like these;</div> -<div class="i0">But that calm face will ne'er reveal to thee,</div> -<div class="i0">Nay, from her dearest friends she'll most conceal,</div> -<div class="i0">The bitter anguish they can measure not.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Then do not say her tranquil brow is tame.</div> -<div class="i0">A passive soul hath ne'er the dignity</div> -<div class="i0">That sits, a queen, upon her passive face;</div> -<div class="i0">'Tis nobler far to rule the spirit realm,</div> -<div class="i0">Than gather laurels from the battle-field.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>LOST AND WON.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY CAROLINE EUSTIS.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lost the freshness of life's morning;</div> -<div class="i2">Lost the tints of rosy light,</div> -<div class="i0">Which like daylight, perfect dawning,</div> -<div class="i2">Covered all with glory bright;</div> -<div class="i0">Lost the golden locks which shaded</div> -<div class="i2">Brow so smooth, and eyes so blue,</div> -<div class="i0">And the happy smile has faded</div> -<div class="i2">Round those lips of rosy hue.</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lost the kind oblivious sleeping,</div> -<div class="i2">Which enshrouds the little child,</div> -<div class="i0">Like the holy angels keeping</div> -<div class="i2">Saintly watches,—calm and mild.</div> -<div class="i0">Lost the dreams of sunny hours,</div> -<div class="i2">Where no terror dare intrude;</div> -<div class="i0">Lost the dreams of love and flowers,</div> -<div class="i2">Of the beautiful and good.</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lost!—oh, most of all the losses!—</div> -<div class="i2">Lost the childlike, earnest faith,</div> -<div class="i0">Loving on mid joys and crosses,</div> -<div class="i2">Thankful still for all it hath.</div> -<div class="i0">I have lost youth's simple pleasures,</div> -<div class="i2">Each departed, one by one;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> -<div class="i0">But—oh, blessing without measure!—</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I have won, through earnest striving,</div> -<div class="i2">Guerdons above all the loss,</div> -<div class="i0">Hopes once faded, now reviving</div> -<div class="i2">Twining round the sacred Cross:</div> -<div class="i0">Sorrow pale hath been my teacher;</div> -<div class="i2">Hopes bereft, my gentle friends;</div> -<div class="i0">Graves of the loved, my silent preacher,</div> -<div class="i2">Where dust with dust so sadly blends.</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I have won, through tribulation,</div> -<div class="i2">Title to a heavenly home,</div> -<div class="i0">Working out my own salvation</div> -<div class="i2">Through the blood of Christ alone.</div> -<div class="i0">Oh, my future brightest seemeth,</div> -<div class="i2">Eye of faith, exchanged for sight,</div> -<div class="i0">With celestial splendour beameth</div> -<div class="i2">On through darkness into light.</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">I have won bright hopes immortal</div> -<div class="i2">Of a heaven of peace and rest;</div> -<div class="i0">E'en now I linger at the portal,</div> -<div class="i2">As a kindly bidden guest.</div> -<div class="i0">Lost and won!—oh earth! oh heaven!</div> -<div class="i2">Hark!—I list the angels' strain,</div> -<div class="i0">Voices in the silence even!</div> -<div class="i2">Small the loss, and great the gain!</div> -<div class="i6">I have lost,—but I have won.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE.<br /> -<span class="small">A WESTERN SKETCH.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY A MISSIONARY.</p> - -<p>It was the close of a cloudy afternoon, about sunset, in -February, 1818, and I began to think it high time to seek -a lodging-place. The prairie—the first I had seen, unless -it might have been a patch of a few acres, the day before—was -covered with snow; and, although a good many bushes -grew on it, and it was somewhat "rolling"—I hope my -readers know what <i>that</i> is—I confess its aspect was to me, -just then, more dreary than picturesque. Our road is best -described by the term which designated it, "The old Rocky -Trace," by which may be understood the "blazed" road -usually travelled from Shawneetown to Kaskaskia. The -dwellings were not very numerous—indeed, we had the -privilege of considerable exercise in passing from one to -another. Now and then a block-house, in good condition, -showed the rather recent Indian troubles, which had frequently -compelled the inhabitants to "fort."</p> - -<p>The sight of a cabin, after a while, was quite cheering. -My wife was somewhat tired of carrying the babe all day, -and was glad to see a prospect of rest and shelter. We -drove up, and inquired, as usual, if we "could get to stay,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> -not doubting an affirmative answer. And so we had; yet -there was difficulty in the case.</p> - -<p>"I'm afeard, stranger, you'll have to go furder. <i>Our</i> -childer's got the hoopin'-cough, and maybe you moughtn't -like yourn to go whar it mought git it—'less it's had it. -You may stop, ef you're a mind to resk it, for I don't never -turn anybody away; but I didn't like to let you carry your -baby in without lettin' you know."</p> - -<p>Here <i>was</i> a difficulty. We had had the child vaccinated -at Pittsburg, on our way, but had used no precautionary -measure against hooping-cough, and in "the dead of winter" -there was some hazard in it. I looked at my wife: she -looked troubled. Our friend—for he <i>was</i> friendly—told -us there was "a house on the Turkey Hill Road, a mile or -two ahead; but it was a smart little bit on the <i>Rocky Trace</i>, -afore we'd git any place to stop." The roads forked just -where we stood, and we might choose either, to go to St. -Louis; but some circumstance made it necessary for me to -go through Kaskaskia.</p> - -<p>"What shall we do, wife?"</p> - -<p>"I really don't know what to advise. I am afraid to -expose Amy to the hooping-cough, and I am afraid to go -on far. It will soon be dark."</p> - -<p>I was irresolute and anxious. We would have "timber," -and probably a stream to cross; and, with my little "dearborn," -it might be somewhat hazardous in the dark. The -man sympathized with us—told us we "were welcome to -stay, ef we'd a mind to resk it;" but then, if we did stay, -we would have to be huddled in the same room with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> -family, and I don't know how many of "the childer" had -the dreaded disease.</p> - -<p>All this while my wife was sitting in the wagon, and, if -not freezing, was sufficiently cold to wish for a good fire. -We had hardly observed another man standing near, with -whom the man of the house had been talking. He listened -in silence for a considerable time, but at length spoke.</p> - -<p>"Ef you'll put up with sech as I have—it's tol'able poor—you -can go to my house and stay."</p> - -<p>I looked now at the speaker, and discovered an elderly -man, in a mixed jeans hunting-shirt—it was not the fashion -to call it a blouse then—tied round the waist, a 'coon-skin -cap, and "trousers accordin'." He had a rifle, or an axe—though -I think it was the latter—lying across his arm, and -looked wrinkled, and rough, and all drawn up with the -cold. The twinkle of his deep-set eyes might be merry, or -it might be sinister. I inquired where he lived.</p> - -<p>"Why, it's rayther on the <i>Turkey Hill</i> Road, and about a -mile from t'other; but I can go in the mornin' and show -you the way. It's mighty easy gittin' over from thar to -yon road."</p> - -<p>It occurred to me that his neighbour had not once referred -to <i>him</i> to solve the difficulty, and I wondered why; -but he now rather intimated that I might as well take up -with the old man's offer. I did so, without consulting my -wife's opinion.</p> - -<p>He trudged on, and I trudged after him, leading my -horse,—which I did much of the way across the State,—through -the snow. After a little while I discovered that -we left the road, and were winding through a sort of ravine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> -or rather depression of the prairie, almost deserving the -name of valley. The snow-covered ground—the brown, or -bare bushes—the bleak, though diminutive hills—all looked -cold, and wild, and dreary. My guide still trudged on, -seldom looking round; and we seemed to be travelling -without a road to "nowhere." My wife called me to her. -Her looks gave token of alarm.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it safe to go on with that old man? I -don't like his looks, and this is a wild place. Hadn't we -better go back, or try some other way? I feel afraid."</p> - -<p>I laughed at her, but her fears troubled me. She was -not given to false alarms; or, if she ever felt them, she -never annoyed me with them. I cannot say that I participated -in her fears now. Indeed I did not. The old man -looked anything but terrible. I thought his countenance -mild rather than austere. Still, these backwoodsmen were -famous for a quiet ferociousness that could do a brave or -terrible deed without the least fuss. I did not know what -to think. But what to <i>do</i> seemed to admit of but one -answer—I must go on with him, and trust Providence, who -had brought us safely some fifteen hundred miles. My -wife shuddered, perhaps trembled, and hugged the child -closer; but she submitted quietly—I may say trustfully. -She certainly gave <i>him</i> no hint of her fears.</p> - -<p>At length—for the time did not seem very short to me, -and doubtless stretched out much longer to my wife—but -at length, after a long and very gradual slope down a hollow, -such as I have <i>failed</i> to describe, we saw the habitation -of our guide. It was a cabin of the rudest sort and -smallest size, in what had perhaps in "crap time" been an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> -enclosure on the ascent of a slope beyond a little wet weather -brook. I took notice—for it was an <i>interesting</i> fact to me—that -for the accommodation of my horse there was a "rail-pen," -though, whether it was covered with straw, or -"shucks," or prairie hay, or the cloudy sky, I do not now -remember; for I have seen more such many a time since -then; but there was "cawn" in another rail-pen close by. -So my horse was supplied. But my wife and child must be -got into the house first; and in we went.</p> - -<p>Reader, in that little dearborn-wagon was all I had in -this world, or of it; and though, to say the truth, all, except -the wife and child, might have been well sold for a -very few hundred dollars—and probably that is an enormous -over-estimate—yet it was precious to me, for much of -<i>their</i> comfort depended on its preservation. And a <i>few</i> hundred -dollars—nay, a few <i>dollars</i>—would make quite an addition -to the comforts of the habitation we entered, and of -those who dwelt in it. There was neither table nor chair. -The puncheon floor was not air-tight nor a dead level. The -stick chimney and hearth were covered with clay; but there -was a fire in it. The bed—but we have not got to the bed -yet.</p> - -<p>I suppose it happened very well that we had our provisions -with us, for I saw no cooking nor anything to cook. -I forgot to say, that the inmates when we arrived were a -boy, dressed something like his father, and a girl, whose -single garment—we judged from appearances—was a home-spun -cotton frock, not white, though I think it had never -been dyed. Both were barefoot. They might be twelve -and fourteen years old.</p> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span></p> - -<p>"Whar's yer mammy?"</p> - -<p>"Mom's went over to Jake Smith's; and she haint never -come home yit. I reckon she's agwine to stay all night."</p> - -<p>I don't know what made me think so, but I remember I -<i>did</i> rather surmise that it was just as well for us. <i>Something</i> -made me think of a shrew.</p> - -<p>Presently, while my wife was spreading the table (i.e. a -short bench, usually a seat) for our supper, I observed the -old man seated on something, with a plate on his knees, -plying his hunting-knife on some cold meat and corn bread -for his. I suppose the children had eaten before our arrival. -We had, I believe, our provision-box and an inverted half -bushel for seats, and ate our supper with commendable appetites; -for by this time I think my wife's fears were sensibly -abated. At length bedtime came, and what should -be done? There was a bed, or something like one, in a -corner, but that would hardly accommodate all five of us -and the baby. Soon, however, that doubt was solved. The -girl spread a pallet on the floor, taking the straw bed for -the purpose; and the feather bed—yes, <i>feather</i> bed—was -made up on the bedstead for us. That bedstead would be -a curious affair, doubtless, in a Philadelphia furniture store. -I will endeavour to describe it. It consisted of one post and -three rails; or rather, what was intended to correspond with -those parts of a bedstead. The post aforesaid was a round -pole, with the bark on, reaching from the floor to the joist -or rafter, inserted at top and bottom into auger-holes. At -a convenient height, a branch cut off not quite close on each -of two sides, formed a rest for two of the poles that served -for a side and foot rail, the other end being inserted in auger-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span>holes -in the logs which constituted the wall of the house. One -end of the other side-rail rested on the foot-rail. Across the -two longest poles, or side-rails, split clapboards rested; and -on the scaffold thus formed, the bed was made. I remember -that it was comparatively clean; and the bedstead being -quite elastic, and my wife's fears now entirely removed by -the cheerful consent of our host to unite in family devotion, -we slept well and soundly: while the family reposed no -doubt quite as sweetly on their bed on the floor.</p> - -<p>After we had breakfasted, our host, for whom we saw no -more preparation than on the night before, piloted us through -a grove of tall trees to the Kaskaskia Road, and pointed out -our course; when we went on our way rejoicing, and saw -that day, for the first time, a herd of seven wild deer together.</p> - -<p>But the old man! What became of him? Didn't you -pay him?</p> - -<p>He turned homeward, and we saw him no more. We -did pay him his full charge, amounting to twenty-five cents!</p> - -<p>I do not think my wife was ever afraid of a man after -that, because he looked rough in his dress. As for Amy, -she had the hooping-cough; I don't remember how soon, -but she survived it; and has weaned her eighth baby.</p> - -<p>Does the reader want an apology for a dull story?</p> - -<p>"Story—God bless you, I have none to tell."</p> - -<p>I could have <i>made</i> one, embellished with various incidents; -could have had a rifle pointed, or frozen all our hands and -feet at least, "or anything else that's agreeable;" but it -would not then have been, as it is now, the simple truth.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>A NIGHT IN NAZARETH.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MARY YOUNG.</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a -dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is -conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost."—<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> i. 20.</p> -</blockquote> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Stern passions rose, and won wild mastery</div> -<div class="i0">In Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on,</div> -<div class="i0">From the calm fountain and the olive grove,</div> -<div class="i0">Toward the wilderness, as he would find</div> -<div class="i0">Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts.</div> -<div class="i0">Long had he loved her with a matchless love,</div> -<div class="i0">Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth;</div> -<div class="i0">And she was his—by every sacred tie—</div> -<div class="i0">His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt</div> -<div class="i0">On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell,</div> -<div class="i0">That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses:</div> -<div class="i0">Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal</div> -<div class="i0">To her large, azure eye a startled glance</div> -<div class="i0">Of sad, deep questioning, and she would turn</div> -<div class="i0">Appealingly to heaven, with trembling tears—</div> -<div class="i0">Yet was it she—the very same he saw,</div> -<div class="i0">Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">One fearful word broke from the quivering lips</div> -<div class="i0">Of the young Hebrew, as at last alone,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> -<div class="i0">By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock,</div> -<div class="i0">He sank in agony; and then he bent</div> -<div class="i0">His forehead down to the cool, mossy turf,</div> -<div class="i0">And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants,</div> -<div class="i0">And one long spray of the white thornless rose,</div> -<div class="i0">Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft sound</div> -<div class="i0">Of far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear,</div> -<div class="i0">Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept.</div> -<div class="i0">Ere long his ear heard not: all things around,</div> -<div class="i0">The present and the past—the painful past—</div> -<div class="i0">Became as though they were not. Joseph lay,</div> -<div class="i0">With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peace</div> -<div class="i0">Breathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one,</div> -<div class="i0">Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth,</div> -<div class="i0">Bending in kindness o'er him.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i25">Calmly still,</div> -<div class="i0">Although to ecstasy his being drank,</div> -<div class="i0">The fathomless, pure music of the voice</div> -<div class="i0">Heard in that visioned hour, as once again</div> -<div class="i0">He stood by the low portal of the home</div> -<div class="i0">Of Mary. He passed in with noiseless step.</div> -<div class="i0">Through the dim vine-leaves of the lattice</div> -<div class="i0">Not a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer ray</div> -<div class="i0">Than ever streamed from alabaster lamps,</div> -<div class="i0">Lit the white vesture and the upturned face</div> -<div class="i0">Of her who knelt in meekness there. Her lips</div> -<div class="i0">Were motionless, and the slight clasping hands</div> -<div class="i0">Pressed lightly on her bosom, but a high</div> -<div class="i0">Seraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hush</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> -<div class="i0">Of the pure, radiant features; for she held</div> -<div class="i0">Unsoiled communion with her spirit's lord.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Slowly away faded that glorious trance,</div> -<div class="i0">And the white lids lifted as though reluctant.</div> -<div class="i0">She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flush</div> -<div class="i0">Swept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still,</div> -<div class="i0">She felt, and painfully, that at the bar</div> -<div class="i0">Of manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness.</div> -<div class="i0">But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered brow</div> -<div class="i0">Of Joseph, told no anger. He drew near,</div> -<div class="i0">And knelt beside her; and the hand she gave</div> -<div class="i0">In greeting was pressed close and silently,</div> -<div class="i0">With reverent tenderness, upon his heart.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>TEARS.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY CHARLES D. GARDETTE, M.D.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">'Tis said, affliction's deepest sting</div> -<div class="i0">Some token of its pain will bring</div> -<div class="i8">In tears of bitter flow;</div> -<div class="i0">But they who thus judge sorrow's smart,</div> -<div class="i0">Know not the pang that wrings the heart,</div> -<div class="i8">With withering tearless woe!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The scorching grief that blasts the fount,</div> -<div class="i0">And dries its tears, ere yet they mount,</div> -<div class="i8">To soothe the burning eye;</div> -<div class="i0">That speeds the blood with torrent force</div> -<div class="i0">Through every bursting vein to course,</div> -<div class="i8">Yet leave each life-track dry!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">The grief that binds with rankling chain</div> -<div class="i0">Each feeling of the heart and brain,</div> -<div class="i8">Save sternness and despair;</div> -<div class="i0">And crushes with relentless hand</div> -<div class="i0">Each hope religion's trust had planned,</div> -<div class="i8">Planting rebellion there!</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Such grief, not one of these have known,</div> -<div class="i0">Who say that flowing tears alone</div> -<div class="i8">Proclaim the bosom's throes!</div> -<div class="i0">Tears are the tokens God designed</div> -<div class="i0">For lighter griefs of heart and mind,</div> -<div class="i8">Such as pure child-life knows;</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And therefore, hath He so ordained</div> -<div class="i0">That infant-tears be not restrained,</div> -<div class="i8">But lightly caused to flow,</div> -<div class="i0">That these, who cannot tell their grief,</div> -<div class="i0">Shall find in weeping, such relief</div> -<div class="i8">As manhood may not know!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>INCONSTANCY.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY E. M.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">They told me he'd forsake me; that the words</div> -<div class="i0">With which he charmed my very soul away</div> -<div class="i0">Were like the hollow music of a shell,</div> -<div class="i0">That learns to mock the ocean's deeper voice.</div> -<div class="i0">For he had listened to love's tones, until</div> -<div class="i0">His ear and lip, though not his heart, had grown</div> -<div class="i0">Familiar with their melody. Nay, more,—</div> -<div class="i0">They said his very boyhood had been marked</div> -<div class="i0">By worse than a boy's follies; that in youth,</div> -<div class="i0">The season of high hopes, when lesser men</div> -<div class="i0">Put on their manhood, as a monarch's heir</div> -<div class="i0">Rich robes and royalty, his poor ambition</div> -<div class="i0">Asked but new charms and pleasures; newer loves;</div> -<div class="i0">New lips to smile until their sweetness palled,</div> -<div class="i0">And softer hands to clasp his own, until</div> -<div class="i0">He wearied even of so light a fetter.</div> -<div class="i0">Thus did they pluck me from him, but in vain;</div> -<div class="i0">For when did warning stay a woman's heart?</div> -<div class="i0">I knew all this, and yet I trusted him.</div> -<div class="i0">Yea, with a child's blind faith I gave my fate</div> -<div class="i0">Into his hands, content that he should know</div> -<div class="i0">How absolute his power and my weakness.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> -<div class="i0">Speak not of pride, I never felt its lash.</div> -<div class="i0">There is no place for fallen Lucifer</div> -<div class="i0">In the pure heaven of a sinless love.</div> -<div class="i0">And when he left me, as they said he would,</div> -<div class="i0">My spirit had no room for aught save grief.</div> -<div class="i0">Giving the lie to my own conscious heart,</div> -<div class="i0">I taxed stern truth with falsehood to the last.</div> -<div class="i0">But when to doubt was madness, when, perforce,</div> -<div class="i0">Even from my credulous eyes the scales were fallen,</div> -<div class="i0">What was the cold scorn of a thousand worlds</div> -<div class="i0">To the one thought, that for a counterfeit</div> -<div class="i0">I'd staked my woman's all of love—and lost!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr /> - - <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CROSSING THE TIDE.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">BY MISS PHŒBE CAREY.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Fainter, fainter, all the while</div> -<div class="i0">On us beams her patient smile;</div> -<div class="i0">Brighter as each day returns,</div> -<div class="i0">In her cheek the crimson burns;</div> -<div class="i0">And her tearful, fond caress</div> -<div class="i0">Hath more loving tenderness,—</div> -<div class="i0">Saviour, Saviour, unto her</div> -<div class="i0">Draw thou near, and minister!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">And when on the crumbling sand</div> -<div class="i0">Of life's shore her feet shall stand;</div> -<div class="i0">When the death-stream's moaning surge</div> -<div class="i0">Sings for her its solemn dirge,</div> -<div class="i0">And our earthly love would shrink,</div> -<div class="i0">Trembling, backward from the brink.</div> -<div class="i0">Saviour, Saviour, take her hand,</div> -<div class="i0">That her feet may safely stand!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Firmly hold it in thine own,</div> -<div class="i0">Gently, gently lead her down;</div> -<div class="i0">And when o'er the solemn sea</div> -<div class="i0">Safely she shall walk with thee,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> -<div class="i0">Nearing to that other shore.</div> -<div class="i0">Whence a voice hath called her o'er.</div> -<div class="i0">Saviour, Saviour, from the tide,</div> -<div class="i0">Aid her up the heavenly side!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i0">Lead her on that burning way,</div> -<div class="i0">Brighter than the path of day,</div> -<div class="i0">Where a thousand saints have trod</div> -<div class="i0">To the city of our God;</div> -<div class="i0">Where a thousand martyrs came</div> -<div class="i0">Shining on a path of flame;</div> -<div class="i0">Saviour, till her wanderings cease</div> -<div class="i0">On the eternal hills of peace.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="center p2t in0">THE END.</p> - - - - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak p1">Transcriber's Note</h2> - -<p>Footnotes have been placed at end of their respective chapter, poem or note.</p> - -<p> Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged.</p> -</div> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Iris, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRIS *** - -***** This file should be named 55942-h.htm or 55942-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/9/4/55942/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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