I 
 
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 \ j i J&} >/j, 
 
 ii5 vki^4* ^JL>, 
 
 
 
 EXTRA SERIES. 
 
 Itacp^comracto onr powers; ^or tl,c r^ole bonnblcss continent is onro." 
 
 ! 3ET. 
 
 ~OLUME II. 
 
 27,28. 
 
 NEW- YORK, OCTOBER, 1842. 
 
 Nl MB! 
 
 Original American Jftroel. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, 
 
 BY PARK BENJAMIN , 
 In the Clerk s Office of the Southern District of New York. 
 
 THE 
 
 WESTERN CAPTIVE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TIMES OF TECUMSEH. 
 
 BY TH. 
 
 " Hearing olieiv .imes 
 The still, sad music of humanity." WORDSWORTH. 
 
 TO THOSE OF HER SEX, 
 
 THE DESIRE FOR UTTERANCE, OS. THE NECESSITIES OF LIFE 
 HAVE CALLED FROM THE SANCTITY OF WOMANLY SECLUSION, 
 THESE PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I.-FREEDOM. 
 
 " Thy birth-right was not given by human hands : 
 Thou wert twin-bora with man. In pleasant fields , 
 While yet our race was few, thou satt st with him, 
 To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars." BRYANT. 
 
 THE greatness of an enterprise is to be tested, not by the splendor 
 of its achievment, but by the magnitude of difficulties overcome in 
 its conception. Patriots have struggled and fallen, having accom 
 plished nothing, it may be, in their career, except to add one more im 
 pulsive throb to the great beating of the universal heart for freedom 
 yet time may fail to reveal how essential was that one throb to tlx- 
 high interests of humanity. We may deplore the fate of the indivi 
 dual, at the same time that we rejoice for man. History is full o! 
 illustration slowly but surely is the race advancing to a goal wherr 
 the chain shall of itself fdll from the free limb ; and the eye, wander 
 ing backward through the long vista of despotism and revolution, 
 shall behold how strong men were stricken in the race, that tin y 
 might become heralds and guide-marks for others. Such was the 
 Fate of Tecumseh doomed, not to realize the high designs he had 
 conceived, but to add one more to the list of those who have labon d 
 for the enfranchisement of a people, and to prove that, in every grade 
 of society, the yearnings of the heart are still for freedom; and th .1 
 the first and great principles of legislation hare their elements in thr 
 mind itself; and the ra fore, the untutored savage being nearer the 1 
 threshold of truth, may be better able to expound her doctrine*, 
 than the statesman, enveloped by custom and the v hu&e, intricacits 
 of government. 9;>5 
 
 Tecumseh beheld with dismay the encroachment of t-, 
 man upon the aoil of his people, and saw that their system f pur 
 chase, as it was called, would soon leave them scarce a place for 
 burial, while the infusion of rice among a primitive people was ra 
 pidly sealing their destruction. Thence, his active and powerful 
 mind conceived the vast plan of union and peace between those 
 western tribes, occupying the great valley of the Mississippi. He 
 proposed consolidating them into one grand confederation, oae of 
 the principle articles of which should be, the non-barteriag of their 
 lands. Vast as was the design, it scarcely exceeded the personal 
 sacrifices and hazirds necessary to put it in execution. 
 
 At the period of the Council of Fort Wayne, in which several of 
 ; the tribes ceded their lands to our Government under the agency of 
 General Harrison, Tecumseh was absent upon a minion in the 
 ! southern tribes, that he might obtain their assent to the terms of the 
 league, which had already been obtained from all their northern 
 brethren. 
 
 The ceding of lands, therefore, at the Council of Wayne, was is 
 violation of a solemn pledge, and was thence not binding in 
 itself, but also exposed the recreant leaders to the vengeance of the 
 remaining tribes. The followers of Tecumseh and of El ; skwatawa, 
 " the open door," or, as he is most commonly called, " The Pro- 
 phet," remained at their town upon the T:ppecanoe, gloomy and 
 inactive, waiting the return of the great chief from his southern cru 
 sade. They held little communication with the chiefs of the seced 
 ing tribes, regarding them as traitors to the common cause, and un 
 worthy to partake of the high destiny reserved, even now, degene 
 rate and weakened as they were, for the proud and independent 
 children of the woods. They waited impatiently the return of that 
 remarkable man, who united in his own person the bravery and skill 
 of an accomplished warrior, the far-seeing and truth-discerning spirit 
 of a reformer, with the power and persuasive eloquence of the orator. 
 The chiefs of the several tribes had bound themselves by solemn 
 vews and severe penalties, never to part with a foot of their land to 
 the white man, to resume as far as possible the primitive habits of 
 their people, and thus to throw off their yoke of dependence upon 
 the white intruders. All the trrwia bordering upon the great Inke* 
 of the north, those upon the Mit^pppi and its noble tributaries, 
 even to the wilderness of the far west, had bound themselves by 
 like oath ; and now the eloquent warrior was preaching.hi* crusafe 
 at the south, confident of returning with a like pledge from those 
 distant and excitable people. Skilful were the weapons to be used, 
 and persuasive the tongue which was to give utterance to the con 
 ceptions of a great mind, about to realize the hopes and expectations 
 nf a patriotism, pure and engrossing, as ever swayed the besom of a 
 Roman in the proudest days of her freedom. He could not fail of 
 success, for he was a Shawanee, and endowed with even more than 
 the ordinary share of the hardihood and talent belonging to that ex 
 traordinary people. He could bring up the traditions of their old 
 men, when the Shawanee dwelt upon the beautiful savannas of the 
 south, and hunted game where the wild grape hung in festoons upon 
 the palmetto, and the moss waved solemnly in the wind, as if a gray 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 pall were hung upon the forest, aad the white magnolia perfumed 
 the air with its blossoms. He could tell of his mother, who was a 
 Cherokee, and of the wondrous circumstances of his own birth. 
 How every night, when his mother lay down to rest, a manitou, in 
 the shape of a massasauga,* glided to the cabin door and slept be 
 side her skins ; and how the manitou disappeared only when the 
 young mother lay dead within her wigwam, and three sons in their 
 helplessness beside her, thereby pointing plainly to the great union of 
 the tribes the brotherhood of the north, the south, and the west. 
 
 The boys grew, in their solitariness, strong and beautiful ; " the sun 
 their father, the earth their mother, and they reposed upon her bo 
 som." The Great Spirit talked with them in the strong wind that 
 shook the forest, in the stillness of the midnight stars, and in the 
 soft dews of the morning. He taught them to regard all the red men 
 as brothers. The Great Spirit had, in his displeasure, permitted the 
 whites to wrest from them a part of their land, but now he warned 
 them to unite to forget all animosities among themselves, and com 
 bine in one grand effort to keep the whites east of that high ridge 
 which he had raised to guard the tributaries of the Mississippi. He 
 would have the tribes become one, to guard sacredly the old hunting- 
 grounds of their people, the graves of their fathers, and the ancient 
 stones of their council-fires. He would crowd back the whites to 
 the south and east of the Ohio, and the Alleghanies, or the time 
 would come wken the retreating tribes would stand upon the shores 
 of the great waters that receive the setting sun, and there fight oaly 
 to perish in its bosom. 
 
 The tribes met in solemn council, and the pledge that was to bind 
 in one great confederation all the tribes of the north, the south, and 
 the west, was given in the midst of solemn and mysterious rites ; 
 and from henceforth the Indian should dwell securely in his wigwam 
 should traverse the deep forest, bound over the wide prairie, and 
 launch his canoe upon the noble stream of the west, and the white 
 man no more should molest or make him afraid. The tomahawk 
 should rest in the earth, or be dug up only to repel aggression. The 
 white man should dwell in peace beyond the mountains, but only 
 there should his steps encroach upon the soil they were now 
 pledged to defend, in whatsoever point, it should be common cause 
 with the tribes; all holding themselves in readiness to resent the 
 injury, to drive back the intruder, and preserve undivided the heri 
 tage of the tribes. They were now to be one. One in peace, one 
 in war. Tribe should no more war with tribe, for they were all 
 brethren. 
 
 The great mission was accamplished. Wherever the skilful ora 
 tor appeared, his earnestness and address had won him the hearing 
 and the assent of his people ; for where was truth ever presented in 
 its purity and sincerity, without hearts to respond to its utterance 1 
 They had listened te his teaching, as to the communications of an 
 invisible spirit, whose eye beheld the past and the future. The long 
 story of the wanderings of their people from land to land, led ever 
 by the Great Spirit ; their appearance in the mighty solitudes of the 
 west, their divisions, their wars, their thousand suns of increase and 
 prosperity, and the final scourge of the whites; all the past history of 
 their nation, all the fears and hopes of the future, passed in vivid re 
 view before them. They seemed to stand with him upon a height, 
 commanding a prospect of all the tribes, where the children sported 
 by the threshold, and the white hairs of the aged floated in the air 
 as they bowed themselves in the sunshine ; fields of grain glanced in 
 tho light, and measureless hunting-grounds, full of game, swept 
 away in the distance, swelling into hills or towering into mountain 
 peaks; they heard the war of many waters, and the swaying of the 
 old woods : they bent the ear to listen with hearts exulting in the 
 goodly heritage of the red man. In sympathy with the fervid action 
 of the speaker, tears rushed to their eyes they started from their 
 seats, and spread out their anas with him as if to embrace the whole 
 tribes as one. 
 
 Such had been the eloquence of Tecumseh, such his success; and 
 now he turned his steps northward, with many fears, but many 
 hopes. He knew the nature of his people, their proneness to im 
 pulse, and reckless disregard of the future ; yet it is the nature of 
 elevated motives to inspire trust and hope, and there was that about 
 himself that forbade dispair. 
 
 The modern rail-road, that still preserves its directness in spite of 
 hill, valley, or interposing river, is but a more thorough illustration of 
 the mode of travelling practiced by the savage in his long and pe- 
 nlous journeys through the wilderness. The experienced eye of Te. 
 cumaeh discerned every feature of the immense country through 
 which he was passing, and with no guide but his own sure judg- 
 
 * A rattlesnake, 
 
 ment and unerring instinct, he could preserve his direct route with 
 scarce the variation of a mile, even from the council-fires of the 
 southernmost Creeks, to the head waters of the Wabash. The so 
 litary canoe was paddled up the then silent rivers, and on the shoul 
 ders of his followers was carried around falls and dangerous rapids. 
 He knew where the branches of different streams approximated, 
 making what they usually termed a " carrying place ;" acd there 
 it was again borne across the country, to be launched once more 
 upon a stream whose waters should mingle with the great Lakes, 
 take the dizzy leap ef Niagara, and find their way to the ocean 
 through the St. Lawrence ; and that too, while the bark still drip 
 ped with the waters that should mingle with the Ohio and the far-off 
 Missouri, bearing its tribute from the Oregon mountains, the melted 
 snow of their summits, to be sunned under the citron and cocoa, to 
 glitter in the shadow of the palm-tree, and mingle its melody with 
 birds of the tropics. 
 
 It was mid-day when Tecumseh reached the town of the Prophet 
 upon the banks of the Tippecanoe. His step was firm and haughty, 
 and there was an elevation in his look and mein betokening a man 
 whose energies are swayed by great and noble principles, and who 
 is on the verge of realizing all the proud dreams of his imagination. 
 Unlike the few followers who attended him, he was unadorned with 
 a single ornament. Leggins of deerskin with a tunic of the same 
 material, a belt of warnpum. and upon his head a helmet with a 
 tuft of the feathers of the war-eagle, indicating his rank as a warrior, 
 and some curiously carved shells fastened upon one side, denoting 
 the number of wounds he had received in battle, completed his cos 
 tume. The followers of himself and the Prophet had thrown aside 
 the blanket, as an innovation introduced by the whites. The ap 
 pearance of Tecumseh contrasted powerfully with that of his bro- 
 ther,Jwho had followed him in his southern campaign. While Elis 
 kwatawa lived in the mysterious visions of the future, practising 
 the greatest austerity, and living apart from his fellows, as one 
 called by the Almighty to reveal his will to his children ; Tecumseh 
 mingled so much with them as to preserve a degree of sympathy 
 and companionship, devoting the best energies of his EOU! to the 
 good of his country. Patriotism and glory were the idols of hie 
 heart, and he knelt at no meaner shrine. Unlike these, the third 
 brother, Kumshaka, would gladly have throw.n off the yoke which 
 the loftier spirits of his brothers imposed upon him ; and, disre 
 garding the past history of the tribes, their present debasement, or 
 future expectations; would gladly have sought the retiremeEt of a 
 green-wood lodge, and with some beautiful daughter of the forest, 
 have found that peace which the dreams of ambition can never re 
 alize. But it could not be the spell of his birth and the power of his 
 brothers was upon him, and he followed in the path prescribed, 
 powerless to turn aside. He was less in height and muscular de 
 velopment than Tecumseh, but possessed the same regularity of 
 features, and even more of symmetrical beauty. The maidens, who 
 could never win a smile from the one, were sure of the most approv 
 ing glances of the other ; and though Kumshaka s voice might be 
 of little note in the council, where the. sterner spirits of his brothers 
 prevailed, yet in the green-wood bower,none could win greater favor 
 from the dark-eyed daughters of the woods. He was a good hunter, 
 and the scalps at his belt and plumes upon his helmet, betokened a 
 warrior too. Yet Kumshaka, the admired of his people, could not 
 submit to the stern symplicity that governed them. The gay belt, 
 the ornamented moccasin, and deerskin robe, elaborately adorned 
 with the quills of the porcupine, had been the labor of many fingers 
 and were the reward of many smiles. Trinkets that Tecumseh re 
 garded with contempt, were the envied perquisites of his brother. 
 
 They had reached the borders of the village, and Tecumseh, stand 
 ing upon an elevation that commanded a prospect of the surrounding 
 country the wide-spread prairie, the undulating hill, dressed in ver 
 dure, the great Lakes, beaming like molten silver in the sunlight, 
 the river, glittering like a string of gems, trailed in the solitudes of the 
 great wilderness, and the far-off streams, giving tokens of their pre 
 sence by their belt of mist rising in the distance might have been 
 taken for the Genius of the tribes, looking down benignly upon their 
 heritage. 
 
 At a signal, the Prophet and his followers emerged from the village. 
 Tecumseh s brow fell, as, file after file, a thousand warriors ap 
 proached, each with his visage painted black, and arms depressed. 
 Gloom and disaster were written upon every brow. The women and 
 children remained in their cabins, while, solemnly and in silence, 
 the chiefs assembled around him. Tecumseh moved not. Slowly 
 the files opened, and the Prophet, bearing a belt before him, ap- 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 T-HE NEW WORLD. 
 
 proached the chief. Raising it "in the air, he wrenched it asunder, 
 and flung the pieces from him. 
 
 Lightning seemed to dart from the eyes of the stem warriorj as 
 
 this gesture of the Prophet revealed the breaking of the compact j! burst from every lip. 
 
 u.d we dare not revenge it. We are weary of rest. Show us the 
 smoke of their cabins, that we may put it out with their blood." 
 A thousand tomahawks glittered in the light, and the war-whoop 
 
 the severing of the bonds of the confederation of the tribes. 
 
 "They shall die!" he exclaimed, vehemently. "Summon the 
 
 Tecumseh stood unmoved till the tumult had ceased. 
 
 " Chiefs, they are our brethren. The Great Spiiit hath stamped 
 
 chiefs who have drank of the strong-water of the white man, an J Id the same features upon his red children everywhere. I have been 
 The spirit of the red man is dead within them let them , ; where our brothers hunt the bear amid the ice of the great lakes, the 
 
 Tdlo by the mountains of the setting sun, and where the alligator 
 
 them die. 
 die !" 
 
 Messengers were dispatched to the recreant tribes, calling upon 
 them to appear in council at Tippecanoe, and answer for the crim* 
 of breaking the pledge that forbade the sale of Indian lands to the 
 whites. 
 
 Whatever might have been the internal suffering of Tecumseh, 
 thus to behold the thwarting of his great plans for the union and 
 protection of his people, he showed no other emotion than what was 
 requisite to decide upon their fate. His countenance resumed its 
 tranquil and sad expression, for deep thought is sure to leave an 
 impress of sadness calm, beautiful sadness that seems to look 
 away from the present, far onward, into the unseea and eternal. 
 When, therefore, Tecumaeh led the way for his followers, they 
 might have sought in vain any response to their own wild turbulence 
 
 i* dragged from the rivers of the burning sky. The red man is the 
 same everywhere. The Great Spirit made him of the color of the 
 land he hath given us lo inherit. It is ours. The white man shall 
 not wrest it from us. We will tell their great chief so, and he will 
 restore it. The Great Spirit is angry with us, that we slay one 
 another. Chiefs, hear me : 
 
 " The red fox and the gray fox were originally of the eame 
 stock. The red fox wandered away, and finding the country warm 
 and abounding in game, he did not return to hia old haunts. 
 After many suns, the foxes increased so that they often met ia. 
 pursuing game; and, as the red fox had grown very expert, a 
 treaty was agreed upon, and they were henceforth to live in unity 
 to hunt together, and uuite in repelling the wolf, who was growing 
 
 of passion. His calm, stately bearing awed them into submission, j j every day more troublesome. At length it was discovered that the 
 now as ever; and yet his was not the finesse of one willing to control, gray foxes were selling their game to get possession of some choice 
 
 by practising the arts that are sure to impress the multitude ; but the 
 simple majesty imparted by purity and greatness of sentiment. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 That pale-face man came out alone 
 From the moaning wood s deep shade. SEBA. SMITH- 
 WHEN the day set apart for the meeting of the council arrived, 
 instead of the gathering of dusky chiefs and the wise men of the 
 sever?.! tribes, a solitary youth was seen leisurely riding in from the 
 prairie, habited in the simple uniform of the north-west, being little 
 more than a huntsman s frock, a low cap surmounted with a black 
 feather, and a belt containing a knife, pistols and powder-horn. 
 
 meat, which the wolf only could procure. The red foxes determined 
 upon revenge. A great battle took place. The wooda were full of 
 the slain foxes. The scent attracted their enemies, the volves, and 
 they poured in upon them, devouring all, without atoppiag to se* 
 whether they were red or gray: they were all foxes. It was too 
 late for defence. The foxes have ever since been inferior to the 
 wolves in power and numbers. But it taught them that cunning 
 which has ever since distinguished them." 
 
 A smile mantled the visages of the chiefs as each one made the 
 application, and Tecumseh slowly retired. 
 
 The tall figure of the Prophet next appeared. He bore in one 
 hand a rude vessel of earthen, through the pores of which large drops 
 of water were oozing, and hanging in heavy beads looking deli- 
 
 tising with them feats of strength and agility ; then returning to the 
 log-cabin of his parents, to con with greater zest the treasures of his 
 father s small library, and indulge in the ease which an abundance 
 of the good things of life afforded. He was well known, and a 
 
 o i UK watwa IT vj 
 
 Henry Mansfield was a native of Vincennes, where his father had J c i OU sly cool in the hot atmosphere; in the other, he held two dry 
 built the first log house of the opening. Mr. Mansfield, being of an j pieces o f wood . A i OBg deerskin robe, covered with numerous 
 open generous temper, and withal, fond of the adventurous life of devices, swept upon the ground, confined at the waist by a belt of 
 the back-woods, had associated familiarly with the Indians, always j | w *mpum. Hoofs of the wild deer depended in a long string from 
 ready to relieve their necessities, and often to share in their hunting \ ^ 9 nec i l> an d the rattles of the massasauga fastened upon the sleeves 
 expeditions. Henry, his only child, had lived a demi-savage life,| o f n i s 10 b e , shook at every motion. An immense skin of the same 
 roving for days with the natives in the wild woods, chasing with j i animal, preserved with great skill the fiery tongue still projecting, 
 them the fleet deer to its covert, managing the light canae, and prac- 1 1 an d the spiral tail borne aloft with its many rattles was flung acroas 
 
 one shoulder, and at the other hung the bow and quiver. 
 
 Passing slowly around the assembly, he sang in a monotonous tone : 
 
 i "A poison lurked in the veins of the red man, but it is passing away. 
 
 i It sapped the strength of our warriors, but their might shall return. 
 
 favorite with the youth of the different tribes ; and, when General | [ Children were fading from our wigwams, and old men from the 
 Harrison selected him to convey a message to the brothers at Tippe- |j council hall. They shall sport once more at our thresholds, and the 
 canoe, he could not have chosen one more acceptable. Tecumseh [> nea d of snow shall smoke the council-pipe." 
 
 himself welcomed his young frieml to the village, and, calling theii Tlien ra j g ; ng tne veS8e l of water aloft, he scattered its contents 
 principle warriors together, listened to the talk of the white j| among tne assembly. 
 
 Father. "This was the drink of our fathers; it came leaping from the 
 
 General Harrison desired the Prophet and Tecumseh to meet him j mountains, or was poured out from the hand of the Great Spirit. It 
 at Vmeennes, to make known their claims to the land sold by the i ma d e them strong. It was no burning serpent, to steal away their 
 Indians at the Council of Fort Wayne, and also desired that the j| brains." 
 
 chiefs engaged in that treaty might net be disturbed, till the white. Rubbing the dry pieces of wood together, a fhme burst forth, and 
 Father and Tecumseh should hold a council together: moreover, it 
 was the will of General Harrison, that no more than forty warrion 
 should attend the brothers at Vincennes. 
 
 he kindled a fire with the dry leaves at his feet : 
 
 " Thus did our fathers light the fire of our cabins. The musket 
 Further, he desired thai O f the white man, the flint and the steel, and the water of flame were 
 
 unknown to them. Thus did they bring down the game to supply 
 
 their wants." 
 He disengaged the bow from his shoulder, and an eagle, soaring 
 
 the murderers engaged in the slaughter of the Darand family, should 
 be delivered up to justice. 
 
 Tecumseh waved Tiis hand impatiently. "The white Father, 
 
 General Harrison, is a great chief so is Tecumseh. The land sold jj like a speck in the thin atmosphere above, wavered in its flight, 
 upon the Wabash does not belong to the tribes who sold it, bui , shivered its heavy wings, and fell to the ground. A cry burst from 
 every red man has a right therein. No one tribe can sell without the j the assembly: " Let us do as our fathers did, that their strength may 
 consent of all. I will meet the General in council. I do not desire : | oe ours." 
 
 war. The red man has buried his talons deep in his flesh : he may j Eliskwatawa stood, as the arrow had sprung from the bow, with 
 be handled like the cub of the panther, when it sports among our jj foot advanced, his shoulders thrown back, the bow still elevated, hia 
 children. It is many suns since the Durand family were slaughtered. ; prO ud head raised to the sky; while his deep flittering eyes were 
 
 The murderers are not with us : they belong to the Crooked Path 
 Winnemac. We will meet in council." 
 
 Low, guttural sounds of displeasure broke from one of the younger 
 members of the council. Mayeerah sprang from his seat : 
 
 " While we smoke the pipe at the council of the white man, the 
 chiefc will be saying there is no union of the tribes it is broken 
 
 fixed upon the group before him. The skin of the massasauga had 
 slid from his shoulders, and lay like a living thing at his feet. W<h- 
 out changing bis position, he continued in a deeper tone, with his 
 teeth clenched in the strength of his emotion : 
 
 " Our fathers were strong men. Like the massasauga, they gave 
 the alarm: but their blow waa deadly." 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 His arm fell to his side, and, moving onward, he sang in the samej wrought in the same manner, while a like facing passed up the bust 
 
 low key with which he had commenced : | in front, leaving it partially open, and spreading off upon each shoul- 
 
 "The strong arm shall return, and the smoke of our cabias shall |!der, descended the arm upon both sides of the sleeve to the elbow; 
 
 go up from every valley." 
 
 One after another the chiefs arose to depart, with arms folded upon 
 their bosoms and head depressed ; as men swayed by great purposes, 
 and resolved to do all things for the furtherance of the vast scheme 
 that was to restore the tribes to their primitive greatness and 
 simplicity. 
 
 When Henry Mansfield retired from the council of the chiefs, the 
 long shadows lay upon the grass, and the sun glittering through the 
 leaves of the trees, fell upon the river as it rippled by, lighting it up 
 as if a shower of gems were sparkling and heaving in the light, j 
 The old men had seated themselves at the doors of their wigwams, 
 smoking, while the younger portion were disporting themselves into 
 groups, practising games of hazard or feats of strength. Children 
 were collected upon the area in front of the village, trying their skill 
 with the bow, and their strength in poising the javelin. In the rear j 
 of the cabins might occasionally be seen a canoe in the progress o| 
 construction, while the women were busy in preserving beans, corn, 
 and other seeds for the winter stock, or spreading fish upon rude flakes 
 to dry in the sun. Though the blankets and many other articles in 
 troduced by the whites had been thrown aside, and moit of the males 
 were clad in the primitive garments of the tribe, the women still 
 retained many of the obnoxious articles, such as rings for the ringers 
 and arms, and a profusion ef colored beads ; and in more than one 
 instance might be seen, suspended upon the breast, a plate of silver 
 rudely chased, and of the size of an ordinary saucer. 
 
 Mansfield had determined to await the marching of Tecumseh 
 and his guard to Vincennes, and he sauntered leisurely through the 
 village, recognizing old acquaintances, and remarking the progress 
 of the several amusements, well pleased when the lofty chief, Te 
 cumseh, left him to the more companionable Kumshaka. Adopting j 
 at once the Indian mode of locomotion, which consists in always 
 preserving a direct line, stepping one foot upon the line of the other, 
 with no turning out of the toe, as is the case with Europeans, 
 he kept within the foot-paths of the natives, though no wider than 
 the foot. These were always worn to the hardness of a rock, and in 
 tersecting each other in all directions, looked like serpents gliding 
 through the green grass. Following his companion, they reached 
 the banks of the river as the last ray of sunset glittered a moment 
 upon a lofty pine, that towered up above the natives of the forest ; 
 
 the two portions of which were joined together by a row of small 
 white shells. In this way the neck and shoulders were left exposed, 
 and the bust but partially concealed. Her hair was drawn to the 
 back of the head, and fell in long braids below the waist ; a string of 
 the crimson seeds of the wild rose, encircling it like a coronal of ru 
 bies. She was rather above the ordinary height, delicately, and yet 
 so justly proportioned, as to leave nothing to desire. There was a 
 freedom and grace iu her stately step, totally unlike the long trot of 
 the natives. Mansfield was a young man, and familiar with classi 
 cal allusion ; and he thought, as might have been expected, of Diana 
 and her nymphs, and the whole train of goddesses from Juno down ; 
 and concluded, by turning as if to follow in the direction of the maiden. 
 Kumshaka arrested him. 
 
 " The Ssvaying-Reed is a proud maiden, and fit for the councils of 
 our people." 
 
 " Can it be, that she belongs to the tribes 1 I thought she must be 
 some white girl from the settlement, who perhaps in sport had adopted 
 your dress." 
 
 " A white girl !" retorted the chief, scornfully ; " a white girl, with 
 a step like the fawn in its stateliness or speed, an eye that can bring 
 the eagle from the cloud, and a hand to paddle the birch canoe over 
 the rapids, to the very verge of the cataract !" 
 
 " Surely, surely," said the other, " she can be no Indian maid } 
 with those soft features ; and where the wind lifted the hair from 
 her brow it was pure, as as" in his eagerness he was at a loss for 
 a comparison, and the Indian laughed at his perplexity. 
 
 " She is beautiful, resumed Kumshaka, " for she hath lived in 
 the freedom of wood and mountain. The spring-time blessom hath 
 slept upon her cheek, and the red berry clustered about her mouth. 
 The brown nut hath painted her hair, and the dusky sky looked 
 into her eyes. The wind that swayeth th young woods hath lent 
 her its motions, and the lily from the still lake made its home 
 upon her bosom. But the Great Spirit hath given her a proud heart, 
 and wisdom to mix in the councils of old men." 
 
 Mansfield did not press his inquiries, for he saw that his compan 
 ion was adroit in evasion ; and though inwardly resolved to fathom, 
 if possible, the history of the fair girl whose appearance had so fired 
 his imaginatian ; this, his first essay, had taught him the necessity of 
 caution in pursuing his inquiries. He threw himself upon his bed 
 
 its polished spires quivering like myriads of tiny spears, and then asj| of gkins and s j ept SO undly until morning, for the fatigues and excite- 
 the light receded, softly resuming their bright green hue, and fading j \ ments of the day had so predisposed him to slumber, that even the 
 away to the sombre shade of the dim woodland. j ; lmage of lhe Swaying-Reed, the last that dwelt upon his memory, 
 
 Scarcely had they seated themselves upon a point projecting into! j wa g D i nsu fficient to drive the god from his pillow, 
 the river, when Kumshaka sprang to his feet, and sent a keen glance! 
 down the river. Mansfield followed the direction of his eye, but 
 nothing was obvious to the senses. At length a. faint plashing of the 
 water fell upon the ear, but whether from the dip of an oar or the 
 wing of a wild duck, he could not determine. The sounds approached, 
 and he could distinguish the measured fall of a paddle, and soon 
 a slight curve of the river revealed to him a canoe of diminutive di 
 mensions, propelled by a single voyager. The youth sprang forward 
 with eager surprise, as a moment more revealed the occupant to be j j LEAVING Mansfield and his companion at the verge of the river r 
 a young girl of surprising beauty ; her slight figure gently bent, as, j; the Swaying-Reed passed onward to the t-nt of the Prophet, where 
 with the least imaginable effort, the small paddie sent the canoe rip- ;j Tecumseh, and some of the older chiefs were assembled. Pausing 
 pling over the water. Filled with her own sweet thoughts, her lips i at the threshold with her fingers carelessly interlocked, and arms 
 were slightly parted, and her head thrown back, revealing an outline 
 that a sculptor might envy. Her deep, expressive eyes, were fixed 
 upon the pile of gorgeous clouds that draped the pavillion of the set- 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When the hunter turned away from that scene, 
 
 Where the home of his fathers once had been, 
 
 And heard by the distant and measured stroke, 
 
 That the woodman hewed dowi) the giant oak ; 
 
 And burning thoughts flashed over his mind 
 
 Of the white man s faith, and love unkind. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 ting sun, and occasionally a few notes of a wild song burst from her 
 
 falling down before her, she said in a rich, low voice, 
 
 " The chiefs have left a woman to seek out the. councils of their 
 foes. Winnemac is too wary to be caught in the snare, or to be 
 
 tracked home to the den." She pursued her way, leaving them to 
 ! divine as best they might the meaning of what she had said. 
 
 lips, as if she sang in the very idleness of delight. " It is the Sway 
 ing Read," whispered Kumshaka. It is impossible to say what vague reminiscences the appearance 
 A few strokes of the paddle brought the slight barque under the i f Henry Mansfield had awakened in the bosom of the forest girl, 
 shadow of a tree, almost at the feet of the young men. Kumshaka! When she sought the wigwam of Mother Minaree, she scarcely re- 
 leapt to her side, artd took the canoe from the water to the green ! plied to the gratified welcome of the good woman, but throwing her- 
 bank. A sweet, but haughty smile played for a moment over the ! self upon the skins, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears, 
 face of the girl, and then a blush mantled her cheek and bosom as! Minaree tried to console her, by applying the most endearing epithets 
 she perceived his companion. An instant her full eye rested upon! of which her language was capable. " Tell me what shadow has 
 his face, and then she passed en, her small slender fingers instinctively fallen on the head of the Swaying Reed, and I will chase it away." 
 grasping the robe that shaded and yet revealed her besom. Her ! " Call me Margaret, dear Minaree," said the weeping girl, 
 dress was a mixture of the savage, with a tasteful reference to the 1 ! Minaree sank on the skins beside her, and tears gathered in her 
 civilized mode. It was composed of skins so delicate in their texture, aged eyes, 
 and so admirably joined together, as to give the appearance of a con- < \ " Margaret is tired of her Indian mother. She longs to be with 
 
 us piece, the whole resembling the richest velvet. The robe , her own people." 
 
 reached but little below the knee, with a narrow border of the po rcu- 1 " No, no, mother, but a weight is upon my breast, and the shadows 
 pine quills, richly colored. It was confined at the waist by a belt! of many years are crowding back upon me." 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 She raised herself up, and began to caress a snowy fawn that had 
 laid its head upon her shoulder to attract her attention. 
 
 " I lore you, Minaree, you have been a mother to me. I have 
 none to love amongst my own people : I will listen to the singing of 
 the night-bird, and my heart will be light again." 
 
 She threw a string of wampum over the neck of her favorite, and 
 disappeared in the thick foliage that skirted the river. 
 
 The cabin of Minaree possessed many points to distinguish it from 
 the others of the village. It stood upon the very outskirts, and a 
 slight sweep of the stream brought the waters within a few paces of i 
 the threshold. Margaret had trained the wild rose, and the -wood- \ 
 bine, and the delicate clematis, to the very roof, so that the dwelling 
 could scarcely be distinguished from the surrounding shrubbery, i 
 Upon each side were patches of flowers, which she had sought in the | 
 woods and transplanted to embellish her dwelling. Where the green 
 sloped to the river, a wild vine had draped the trees into a natural 
 arbor, and Minaree had helped her foster-child to weave about it a 1 
 lattice and seats of osier. 
 
 The interior of the cabin, likewise, combined an air of taste and 
 comfort, which could only have been supplied by the recollections 
 of Margaret. Minaree still spread her skins upon the floor, and 
 seated herself upon them in a mode resembling the Turk upon his ot 
 toman ; but Margaret s couch was woven of osier, raised about a foot 
 from the floor, and covered with skias of snowy whiteness. Small 
 stools of the same construction occupied one side, and a bow and 
 arrows, light paddles for a canoe, nets, strings of wampum, embroid 
 ered belts, moccasins, and rude ornaments, were suspended from the 
 walls. A heavy skin of the buffalo concealed the entrance, which 
 in the day time was turned upon one side, by means of a loup fasten 
 ing it to a peg driven into one of the frame logs of the house. 
 
 Away from the sympathy and condolence of her foster-mother, 
 Margaret abandoned herself to the luxury of weeping alone, in the 
 secrecy cf her own heart, with none to wonder thereat, and none to 
 attempt the futile task of consolation, gathered, as it too often is, from 
 the very sources that but aggravate the poignancy of grief. With instinc 
 tive gentleness of heart, she threw one arm over thi neck of her 
 favorite fawa, which looked mutely in her face, as if it sympathized 
 in her sufferings. She bowed her head upon her hand, and wept 
 freely; for the sight of one of her own people had awakened the deep 
 echoes of other years, and brought back the voices of the dead, and 
 the long-buried recollections of childhood. A new sense of solitude 
 weighed heavily upon her, and she felt as one who had been severed 
 from the loves and kindnesses of her race, and abanded to the wild and 
 strange destinies of another people. H-r heart yearned for the voice ] 
 of kindness, for the household tones of other days, for the holy obser 
 vance of an enlightened faith, and the refinements and quietude of 
 civilized life. She would once more have nestled in the lap of affec- j 
 tion, with the security and confidence which only peace and love ( 
 can bestow. 
 
 The thick clusterings of the vine were lifted up, and Tecumseh 
 stood in the little bower. Margaret raised her head, and arose list- 
 lessly to her feet. 
 
 " The night-dew hath weighed the Swaying Reed to the earth- 
 can Tecumseh brush it away 1" and the voice of the chief was low 
 and musical, a? he bent his brow ever the beautiful girl. 
 
 "Call me Margaret, chief; call me by the name of my child 
 hood ;" and the poor girl looked imploringly, and with an expression 
 of utter wretchedness, into the face of the warrior. A sharp expres 
 sion of pain cams to the features of the chief, and he placed her upon 
 the rade seat, while he laid him self upon the turf at her feet. 
 
 The blossom pines for the soil in which it was first nurtured- 
 for companionship like its o wa-for the long-remembered dew aad sun 
 shine of other skies. The will of the maiden is law with Tecumseh. 
 She shall return to her people." 
 
 Margaret s hands were clasped, and her eyes fixed as one that sees, 
 and yet regards not ; and her utterance was as one that talks to him 
 self, or murmurs in unquiet slumbering. " I behold a dwelhng i 
 the deep woods, with its vines and blossoms. I behold a stern man, j 
 wrestling in prayer; prayer to the true God, whom I have forgotten, , 
 or worship under the name of the Great Spirit. There is a sn 
 with her bird-like voice, and brow of gentleness, ana she folds me to 
 her bosom, as the shadows of night gather around us. A pale, ca 
 face is bending over us, with a sweet smile, but full of sadness, and . 
 ske calls me child. Dreams, long-long dreams of sunshine, of pea< 
 and love are with me. There is the brook, where the gay fish leaped 
 ia the light the bridge which my sister helped to build the verge < 
 the dark woods where the fox came out to bark the pasture wher< 
 we gathered the ripe berries. Hark !" and she sprang wildly from he 
 
 seat, overcome with the vividness of the picture which her own fancy 
 had brought before her; "hark! I hear ydls and shrieks! The 
 feeble woman is covered with her own blood, and the terrified eyes 
 of the child meet mine, as it swings in the air to be dashed against 
 the tree ! The stern man is writhing and prostrate, and I am power 
 less!" She sank backward, pale and trembling,. and the chief re 
 garded her with that awe, with which all are inclined to listen to 
 those suddenly bereft of reason ; as if their speech were akin to in 
 spiration the spontaneous utterance of the divine soul. 
 
 A gush of tears came to her relief, and the chief, with native refine 
 ment, did not interrupt their flow. After a pause, in which she 
 recovered her wonted composure, she remarked : 
 
 "The nest of the bird was riven, and scattered to the winds; but 
 it sought a shelter in the bosom of Tecumseh." 
 
 For a moment, a melancholy smile played over the face of the girl, 
 but it yielded to a quick expresaion of suffering, as painful memories 
 had driven the blood back to her heart ; and she replied with that 
 apathy which misery alone can bring ; 
 
 A thankless boon, Tecurrueh ; life, only life, which we hold ia 
 common with the reptiles at our feet. A wretched booa. A breath 
 ing existence of solitude and misery." 
 
 The chief sprang to his feet, and a tomahawk glittered in the moon 
 light. Margaret, without life or motion, lay at his feet. He threw 
 the tomahawk aside, and raised her gently in his arms, while he held 
 back the thick vines, till the night-winds brought the color to her lips. 
 
 " Margaret, is life valuless 1 I did bat jest with thee ;" and then, 
 in a deeper voice, as one whose holiest emotions have been stirred 
 from their fountain, he went on. " Maiden, I will restore thee to 
 thy people ; I will give thee back to those who will speak thee fair, 
 ivith hollow hearts, where kindness will be as water spilled upon the 
 earth; and the poor Indian is but a beast of the woods, to be hunted 
 down, and destroyed. Go go, it will but take a beam of light from 
 the eyes of Tecumseh." 
 
 Margaret bent her head as if listening to the tones of pleasaat 
 music, with her hands folded, and tears trembling upon her eye lids. 
 Crowding back the tumultuous recollections of other days, she replied 
 solemnly. 
 
 " No, Tecumseh, the Swaying Reed will return no more to her 
 people. There is none left for her to love. I would this stranger 
 had not appeared among us, for he brought back what I fain would 
 have forgotten. It is past now, and I am again one of the red people. 
 Their wrongs are mine : I will suffer with them die with them." 
 
 The chief bowed his head, admiringly. "The tongue of the 
 Swaying Reed is as the melody of a bird; it livethon the ear, whea 
 the sound hath passed from the lips. Tecumseh has wept at the sor 
 rows of the Swaying Reed, and her pale, proud beauty amid the 
 dark maidens of his tribe, has always gone to his heart. She has 
 been as a fawn deserted of its dam, and the red man has sheltered, 
 and nourished her. In the long march he has saved her from toil, 
 and returning from the hunt, he has laid his spoils at the door of her 
 wigwam. She has been light, and beauty, and gladness to the 
 heart of Tecumseh. He has wept, when the maiden wept, for her 
 sorrows have been his own. He knoweth of the deadly vengeance 
 of his people ; that it can never slumber ; but the white man fi 
 put blood upon his face. The innocent now suffer with the guilty, 
 but the fault is his own. The Indian mother paddled her canoe upon 
 the river ; her infant slept upon her bosom, aad her children dipped 
 their fingers in the water, over its edge. The white man s rifle a 
 sure and deadly the child swallowed blood for its milk, and t 
 cano e floats idly down the stream. The old man, and the he plea 
 maiden, are robbed, or murdered, in the wantonness of blood, 
 there is none to do them justice. There is no help for the poo 
 d.an. Wrong and outrage are heaped upon him and there , non, 
 to hHp The Great Spirit hath cast a cloud of blackness about h,m. 
 The stars tell of war and disaster, and the dreams of our old men are 
 full of wo The strong water of the white man stealeth .way tb 
 ibrams of his red brother, and he birtereth away the village whr 
 
 s children have sported ; the graves of his fathers, the old hunting. 
 
 ! g s and couac l-fires, and the ancient mounds, that tell our 
 
 children of the battle-grounds of warriors, and the graves of gr.at 
 
 h fe There is no home for the red man. His fires have gone out 
 
 n a LU and vallies, and the ploughshare of the white man pasae-h 
 
 L 
 
 u 
 
 from the earth. He m.I be as . 
 
 more. 
 
THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 There was a tone of H-.3 deepest pathos in the utterance ot the isky of its pathway blue intensely and beautifully blue, like a sea of 
 chief; and after his voice ceased, the melody of its tones seemed to \ azure, on which the eye rested with a sense ef quiet luxury. The 
 linger upon the ear. He stood with his head inclined, the flexible 1 1 long, shrill notes of the locust arose like an alarum in the still woods, 
 lip parted, and his dark eye fixed in melancholy vacancy. jaud was then silent. The butterfly poised itself long upon the bios- 
 
 Margaret was about to Jeply, when a slight rattling and stirring of 
 the vines arrested her. She clung to the arm of the chief, pale with 
 terror. 
 
 "Fear it aot, maiden. It is the good manitou of the Shawanee 
 a aoble reptile ; it telleth of its presence, and striketh only when 
 molested. Tae Great Spirit hath sent it to speak hope to the heart 
 of Tecumseh. But, alas ! the spirit of the red man hath departed. 
 The Swaying Reed is wise and noble, like the manitou of the Sha- 
 
 soms and the mute dragon-fly, with its mottled wings, darted every 
 where over the still pools, in the very ecstasy of its bliss. The saucy 
 squirrel sat with its tail erect upon the branches, and held its nuts 
 with infantile dexterity, the shells rattling upon the dry leaves be 
 neath. It was the very Sabbath of nature its fullness of repose, 
 when the human soul goes out in sympathy with it ; and its owa 
 growth in the good and the spiritual, is as unmarked as the silent 
 operations of the great mother, when thus she seems to rest, and yet 
 
 wanese. Did she seek out the councils of the Crooked Path 1" 
 * Winnemac is with the white chief at Vincennes. All the chiefs 
 
 that have taken of the strong water are with him." , c , 
 
 , , , -j T \ftJ, , J;of harmony; for even the deer had laid aside its timidity, and was 
 
 Tecumseh s brow contracted sharply. "Said I not the spirit of !,;_,, , .__._ , . u . 
 
 is elaborating her beautiful creations. 
 Kumshaka stalked onward, the one discordant link in thi? chain 
 
 the red man, has departed V He stood a moment wrapped in 
 thought, and then taking the hand of Margaret, he led her from the 
 arbor, passing the massasauga, as it lay coiled in the moonlight, its 
 fcuraished folds gleaming and changing like a heap of gems piled on 
 the green earth. It moved not as they went by, though Margare 
 eould plainly see its strange, glittering eyes, motionless in their re 
 pose ; and she felt, as all do on looking into the eyes of the brute 
 creation, a mixture of dread and wonder, as if one sought to pene 
 trate the mystery of its being, learn what were its thoughts, if any 
 it had, while looking back into the depths of a human eye. There 
 ta something so oppressive in that half-animal, half-intelligent ex 
 pression, that tempts one to believe in the doctrine of metempsycho- 
 asjasif those huge and uncouth forma concealed the imprisoned 
 souls of the unhappy, who thus look mutely from their prison-hosses, 
 Co ask of us sympathy and condolence. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A youth as tall, as straight as I, 
 As quick a quarry to descry : 
 A hunter skilful in the chase, 
 As ever moccasin did lace. HOFFMAN. 
 
 WHEN Minaree raised the entrance to her cabin the next morning, 
 a parcel, rolled in the thinnest bark of the birch tree, and tied with 
 wampum, lay at the threshold, with a boquet of fresh water lilies 
 Sh&brought them to the ceuch of Margaret, saying, "Tecumseh 
 woojd take away the light of my eyes." 
 
 llargaret smiled mournfully, and a blush ttole upon her cheek. 
 She andiclthe parcel. It was a robe of delicate feathers, exquisitely 
 wrpoght. She looked upon the inside, and beheld a small turtle 
 paiated upon the lining, with a rattlesnake sleeping upon a rock. 
 Tli* device told her it was from the hand of Kumshaka, for the token 
 af Tecumseh would have been the same animal in the act to spring 
 
 Minaree seemed gratified at the mistake " Kumshaka will help 
 to paddle the canoej and .gather in the corn he will smile in his 
 cabin, and talk with his children. He is a good hunter, and much 
 w^ispn will be found in his wigwam." 
 
 The girl ree uclosed the parcel, and, sinking carelessly upon her 
 Dueh, desired Minaree to carry it {o the cabin of the donor. The 
 tyoman looked disappointed ; but so accustomed was she to 
 acquiescence to the wishes of Margaret, that she did so now 
 mechanically. 
 
 Henry JMansfield was the first to observe the package at the cabin 
 his host, and his knowledge of Indian customs at once re 
 the secret. 
 
 \Vhat! Kumshaka rejected by the maidens ! Had it been Elis- 
 kwatawa, or.Tecumseb, I should not marvel or even myself; but I 
 
 thought Kumshaka the idol of the girls of his tribe, 
 name of the cruel fair one. 
 
 Tell me the 
 
 The youth, though evidently annoyed at the raillery of hiscompa 
 Moa, could not resist the flattery it implied, and he walked before the 
 dosr with his arms folded, occasionally glancing complacently at his 
 own- fine proportions, and the trinkets that adorned them. 
 
 ** Tell me the name of the cruel fa.ir, and she shall never have bead 
 or ribbon from the hands, of Henry Mansfield. Even the Swaying 
 Rasd, proud AS she seems, ould not resist a gift like this, and from 
 gudfa a giver." 
 
 f The Swaying Reed, like my two brothers, lives in the greatness 
 f her own thoughts. Few would dare seud gifts to her cabin. She 
 is too proud and too beautiful for love." 
 
 So saying, he. threw-. a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, and 
 1 into the forest. The day .was one of unclouded beauty the 
 
 reclined upon the margin of the streams where the trees clustered 
 i thickly ; and a solitary panther had stretched itself upon a huge 
 [limb of an oak, its claws retracted, its head upon its paws, and its 
 terrible eyes winking with the quietude of a cat. Instantly, as the 
 [ chief perceived it, she raised her head, and began to rip the bark 
 ! with her talons, for instinct had revealed the presence of a foe. 
 ; The chief adjusted an arrow, without once moving his eyes from 
 j those of the beast, and, true to the skill of years, it leapt to its very 
 I heart. The panther sprang forward with a fierce and appalling roar, 
 i that waked up the silent echoes, and sent terror to the hearts of the 
 [feeble. Kumshaka had sprung to one side, and he watched the im 
 potent rage and the frightful writhings of its dying agony with a sense 
 of delight. In his own rage and disappointment, the repose of na 
 ture appalled him ; but his own hand had produced, in its stead, a 
 state akin to himself, and the consciousness gave him joy. If he 
 might never win the love of the Swaying Reed, his was the power 
 at least of causing her the pangs of suffering. If she loved not him, 
 wo to whomsoever might win her love. The vengeance of Kum 
 shaka might never slumber. He would pursue them with his hatred 
 till life should be a burden of misery. For her sake, too, others of 
 her sex should know the agony that unrequited love can inflict ; and 
 his eye kindled as he thought of one, the beauty of the tribe, who 
 had long loved him in vain. He took an intense delight in dwelling 
 jupon all that aggravated his own sense of misery, because it assured 
 him that Ackoree had suffered the same. 
 
 In the two days that intervened between his arrival in the village, 
 ! and the departure of the chiefs for Vincennes, Mansfield found abun 
 dance of amusement among the simple inhabitants. A few trinkets 
 and yards of gay ribbon established him as a fav? rite, and gave him 
 access to every wigwam. 
 
 Observing a group of maidens seated in a thicket on the verge of 
 the river, plaiting baskets, he joined them, and witnessed the grace 
 and ease of their motions. At a little distance, the eldtrly ma 
 trons were engaged in coarse work of the kind, their children creep 
 ing about in the green grass, or crawling to the water side, where 
 they splashed it about with bursts of noisy merriment. The air was 
 excessively sultry, and the inhabitants were mostly gathered on the 
 banks of the stream, where a light wind broke it into ripples. A 
 boy of some dozen years appeared sustaining the feeble steps of a 
 woman, nearly blind, and bowed with age. He assisted hergc-ntly to a 
 seat in the shade, and disappeared amid murmurs of approbation. 
 "He will be the glory of Jus tribe. Children shall learn goodrtesa 
 from him, and wisdom shall be found in his path," with similar ex 
 clamations, were on every lip. 
 
 Mansfield looked about, and almost blushed at the color of his own 
 jskin. " This is the people," he thought, " whom our nation regard 
 ; with so much abhorrence;, and hunt from the earth. Surely the lan- 
 Iguage of the Savior may not be inapplicable to them The foxes 
 ; have holes, and the birds of the air hive nests, but the poor Indian 
 ! r hath not where to lay his head. What is the value of a territory to 
 us, compared with the infringement of rights we are bound to re 
 spect, and local attachments that ought to excite our reverence 1 A 
 country based upon injustice can never prosper. The blood of the 
 red man will call from the ground as did that of Abel of old, and wo 
 to us when the great Parent shall deman3, where is thy brother V " 
 Oppressed with these reflections, the gaily of the girls, pursuing 
 their light employment, graied upon his feelings, aud he regarded 
 them with emotions similar to those which a spectator must feel at 
 the cheerfulness of one about to be Jed forth to execution. There 
 .was. so mach of ease and abandonment to the quiet happiness of the 
 moment in all their looks and manners, that it would seem asif care 
 
CAPTIVE/ 
 
 mark, and low, musical laugh relieved without disturbing their vo- 1 
 luptuous indolence, and only lent a new grace to the softness of the 
 lip. The careless play of the small fingers seemed rather in obedi- 
 ence to an instinct of nature, than an effort of the will. 
 
 Margaret had just completed a small basket of exquisite color and | 
 finish, when she presented it to Mansfield, saying, " Let this remind 
 the white man that peace is to be found in an Indian wigwam." 
 
 Kunuhaka was leaning against the bole of a tree, bitterly regarding 
 the group about him, when the action and voice of Margaret arouse d 
 him, and he turned his fierce eyes upon her, and a scowl lowered 
 upon his brow. Margaret was unmoved, except perhaps a prouder 
 expression grew upon her lip, and a slight look of defiance gleamed 
 from beaeath the dark lashes of her eye. 
 
 " Beautiful, mysterious girl," broke unconsciously from the lips of 
 the youth. Margaret returned his impassioned look with one of cold 
 indj^erence, aad the blush that faded from her cheek gave place to 
 a fearful paleness, and a sharp expression of suffering. Conscious of 
 his error, awed by the simple majesty of the girl, and yet desirous to 
 return some token of remembrance, he took a small hoop of gold 
 from his finger, and with a manner most provokingly and unaccount 
 ably awkward, begged she would wear it for his sake. Margaret 
 withdrew her hand, and bending her head over the osiers in her lap, 
 replied, "The Swaying Reed takes her gifts only from the Great 
 Spirit, but a drop hath fallen upon the fountain of her heart to re 
 main there for ever." 
 
 Moved in spite of himself, he turned away and beheld Kumshaka 
 bending over, as if to catch the very breathing of the beautiful girl, 
 and his countenance expressive of the most intense pleasure. Mar 
 garet had witnessed the same thing, but she gave no token of hr 
 consciousness. A moment more, and the proud and gratified chief 
 stood erect, and was carelessly replying to some light remark of a j 
 forest girl. Mansfield at once understood the secret of his evasion ! 
 in regard to the history of the girl. When Margaret rose to return 
 to her cabin, he followed by her side, hoping to ascertain something 
 of her history, and certainly with an indefinite wish that she should 
 be rescued from her woodland life, and be restored to society. Mar 
 garet moved on with her cold and calm manner, scarcely glancing at 
 her companion. 
 
 When they reached the arbor of vines, she paused for a moment, 
 and then motioned him to the wicker-chair, while she remained 
 standing. The young man, too courteous to permit this seated him 
 self upon the turf, and she occupied the rejected seat. More than 
 once he attempted to break the awkwardness of silence, but the 
 large dark eyes of the girl, fixed upon his face, and the composure 
 with which she regarded him, operated like a spell Of all the 
 pretty nothings that had hitherto crowded upon his lips, not one would 
 come at his bidding. 
 
 " The white youth has forgotten the purpose of his coming," at 
 length said the maiden. 
 
 " No, no ; but I know not how to say it you are not one of this 
 people, your looks, manner, all betray it Can I not procure your 
 release 1 Will you not return to the settlements I I " he 
 blushed and hesitated at this moment a sharp whizzing cut the air, 
 and an arrow quivered in the truuk of the tree just above his head 
 Mansfield sprang to his feet, and looked forth ; nothing was visible 
 ashamed at his perturbation at what might have been entirely ac 
 cidental, he returned to the arbor. Margaret retained her position 
 unmoved, and a careless smile rested upon her lips. 
 
 " The white man is safe," said the girl, " the arrow was only sent in 
 warning. The Swaying Reed is beloved by the tribe, and non- 
 may dare to take her away. She is her own mistress, and goes and 
 comes at the bidding of none." 
 
 " But you are not one of them I heard you called Margaret, and 
 your looks are not such as to deceive. The white mother weeps for 
 her lost child, and children miss her at their sports. Can the white 
 girl be happy here, away from her people 1 Let me seek out her i 
 parents and restore them their child." 
 
 While the youth uttered this in a deep earnest voice, the maiden 
 fixed her sorrowful eyes upon his face, and there was a slight quiver 
 ing of the lip, betraying the presence of emotion. But she did not 
 interrupt him, or change her position of tranquil indifference ; and j 
 yet she seemed to listen, pleased at the language of her own people. 
 "None are left to mourn for the Swaying Reed. Blood hath 
 swallowed the fire from her hearth-stone. None will weep for her. 
 She is happy with he red people. The Great Spirit is here in the 
 solitude of the woodsto take care of her;" and she arose to depart. 
 Mansfield took her hand respectfully. " But, maiden, there is a 
 voice powerful alike in the forest or city the Indian will lay hie 
 
 offerings at the door of your cabin, and who will counsel the Ion. 
 girl 7 who will protect her 1 " 
 
 Margaret withdrew her hand one instant her eys fell beneatk 
 his, and a burning blush mantled her cheek; then she raised them fa) 
 the blue sky, panted upward, aad was gone. A low laugh, uttered 
 at the very ear of the youth, caused him to turn, and he beheld the 
 glittering eyes of Kumshaka, peering ihr6ugh the leaves of OK 
 vine. 
 
 "Doth the honey of the white lips sink into the heart of the fore* 
 The Swaying Reed is no white maiden to be lured by smootk 
 words. She has no love for gay robes and trinkets and turu 
 away from the spoils of the chase-even the scalps ef war may not 
 win her She has a great soul. She looks all night upon the stara. 
 and will tell us their language. When the Great Spirit layeth his 
 broad shield over the mooa, at her prayers he moves it aside little 
 by little, till it is left to shine again and light us to the chase. Whe 
 the star with its long fiery train appeared in the sky, she warned 
 that war and bloodshed should appear. My brothers ask coutael of 
 the maiden, for strange wisdom is upon her lips but love hath M 
 place in her heart." 
 
 The chief had leaned against tke smooth bole of a tree, and gave 
 utterance to his thoughts in a low and measured cadence, like ont 
 communing with himself. 
 
 Mansfield, baffled and perplexed, full of a strange interest in tke 
 mysterious maiden, so gifted and beautiful, and throwing the power 
 of her own greatness over the strange people who had adopted her, 
 turned away from the chief almost with abhorrence, while he thu 
 acknowledged his attachment for one so unlike himself. He felt as 
 if the very circumstance of her having awakened an attachment i* 
 such a mind, unrequited though it evidently was, were like a stain 
 upon her purity. All the virtues and accomplishments of the chief 
 were so many crimes, when the possibility occurred to his mind, 
 hat they might at some time plead in his behalf to the heart of the 
 white girl. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Love knoweth every form of air, 
 
 And every shape of earth, 
 And conies, unbidden, everywhere, 
 
 Like thought s ray steriou s birth ! WILLII. 
 
 HUMAN passions are the same everywhere, whether amid the 
 plendors of a palace or the homeliness of a savage wigwam. la 
 he one, the conventionalisms of polite society prompt to their con 
 cealment; in the other, the subtle motives of reveage,fpolicy or pride, 
 produce the same result. Love is everywhere the tyrant, and hii 
 supremacy is everywhere acknowledged. The delicate girl, whae 
 bosom swells beneath its silken boddice, and whoe tears wet her 
 embroidered pillow whose jewelled brow throbs beneath the dainty 
 hand that supports it ; is moved by the same passion that sways the 
 untutored girl in the solitude of the overhanging woods, with her 
 heaving breast, swelling its zone of shells and robe of miniver. The 
 smile of hope is the same the fear, the doubt, the long deep agony 
 of despair are one and the same. L;t the mystery of the heart be 
 wrought out where it may its hopes, its fears, : -s passions are the 
 same. It might not be difficult to imagine the whole universe one 
 mighty heart, with its great throbbing*, its rapid pulsations, it 
 breathless pauses, and its flood-gates of passions ; and each separate 
 person a miniature resemblance of the whole. 
 
 As the day declined, on which Mansfield held his interview witfc 
 Margaret, she sought the repose and coolness of the river bank, for 
 scarcely a breath of air stirred the leaf of the trees, that hung mo 
 tionless upon the branches. The sky was without a cloud, and the 
 red rays of sunset still lingered like a robe of crimson in the wesC 
 The distant hills grew blue and indistinct, save where, at the weat, 
 they lay bold and dark against the sky, and one tall peak hung like 
 a white cloud in the horizon. The river was smooth as a mirror of 
 steel, and every object upon its brink was penciled upon its bosom 
 with a softness and fidelity, operating like fascination upon one, 
 looking down upon its clear depths. A solitary water-fowl had sta 
 tioned himself upon a rock, and so still and motionless did he remain, 
 that his shadow below looked like the reflection of a sculptured 
 bird, standing as the genius of the place. Margaret descended the 
 verdant bank, for so luxuriant was the soil that vegetation continned 
 to the very brink of the water, every stone and uncouth root bei ig 
 draped with its heavy coating of moss, into which the foot pressed 
 as into a velvet carpet- Winding round th* little promontory be 
 fore mentioned, the river widened, forming a beautiful basin, 
 tered by tall trees, that even at midday cast a refreshing gloom 
 
 oer 
 
8 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 the waters. * The vine, springing from amid the rocks and dipping 
 its roots into the stream, sent forth its long twisted arms, embracing 
 the old trees, and mingling its cheerful foliage with their sombre 
 hues; then springing away arch above arch, presented from the cen 
 tre of the basin a lofty dome, rising far above its bosom, and admit 
 ting occasionally a glimpse of the blue sky through the clustering 
 leaves. A bald eagle, that had stood for hours upon the naked 
 branch of a gnarled oak, spread forth his broad pinions, fanned the 
 air slowly, and soared off into the thin atmosphere, as if the hush of 
 the earth and ?ky had been too deep and beautiful for him to 
 disturb. 
 
 Margaret descended the bank, intending to seat herself upon a 
 shelf of the rocks, worn by the action of the water at the time of 
 high freshets in the spring of the year ; but a light splash of the water, 
 as if a pebble had been cast into it, caused her to look over, and she 
 beheld the place occupied by Ackoree, the beauty of the tribe, who 
 sat collecting the pebbles at her side, and casting them impatiently 
 into the stream. She had loosened her moccasons, and dipped her 
 feet into the watr, where they gleamed up from beneath. Her 
 unbound hair also floated off in long dark threads, sprinkling the 
 river, and as she stooped over the water, her brilliant eyes looked 
 up with wild and sparkling radiance. When Margaret stooptd 
 over, her face also was reflected from beneath. Ackoree turned her 
 head, and a frown darkened her brow. Gathering her feet from the 
 water, and wringing the drops from her hair, she was about to de 
 part, when Margaret detained her. " The white girl crosses my 
 path everywhere," she muttered in a low voice, as she concealed a 
 string of coral beads beneath her robe. 
 
 " Nay, Ackoree, do not hide them, they are the gift of the youth 
 from the white settlements. But sit here, and tell me why you call 
 me the white girl; you are not used to such a term." 
 
 Ackoree smiled scornfully, and pointed to the water beneath, 
 where the images of the two girls were reflected, each in her mar 
 vellous beauty ; the one tall and reed-like, with the high, round fore 
 head, the compact features, the large dark eyes, and thin chiselled 
 nostril, the rich hair waving in long curls, and that air of sleeping 
 passion ; which contrasted finely with the angry, almost fierce, ex 
 pression of her companion. The other, less in height, and fuller ia 
 proportion, with her long jetty hair falling in heavy masses nearly 
 to her feet, and her figure bent over to the stream, the eyes flashing 
 with neir terrible beauty, the nostrils dilated, and the lip parted in 
 scorn. A moment they stood in the position we have described, and 
 Ackeree dropped her attitude of scornful attention, and stooped to tie 
 the moccasons upon her feet. 
 
 "Ackoree," said Margaret, in a low voice, " do you love this 
 white stranger V 
 
 Ackoree had bent upon one knee, while she adjusted the mocca- 
 eon, and she now sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Love him ! what, him who gives tokens to all the maidens, and 
 then seeks out the girl of his own color to whisper the tale of his|! 
 No : Ackoree is too proud for that." 
 
 arrow to the fawn that lieth panting at the stream, already pierced 
 with many darts." 
 
 But you love the chief, Kumshaka," interrupted the other 
 eagerly. 
 
 " No, never, Ackoree I can never love him. Does the chief 
 know that the beautiful Ackoree regards him with affection 1" 
 
 The girl dropped her head upon her bosom, and a smile stole to 
 her lips. She did not reply, but the string of coral had slipped from 
 its coacealment, and a part of it lay upon her bosom. She seized it 
 eagerly, and was about to dash it into the water, when the few rays 
 of light falling upon its brilliant color, revived that native love for 
 ornament, so predominant in the sex, of whatever condition, and 
 she sat with her eyes fixed upon it for a moment, and then threw it 
 over the neck of Margaret. Her companion suffered it to remain, 
 and Ackoree s eyes kindled with delight as the rich, deep hue 
 of the bauble contrasted with the fairness of her neck and shoulders. 
 And then it would seem that a sudden jealousy awoke in her mirl, 
 for she turned her head and half whispered," Would that Ackoree 
 were as fair." 
 
 Margaret restored the beads to the neck of the maiden, and they 
 arose from the shadow of the wood, each with a lighter heart. Ac 
 koree, relieved from the suspicion that Margaret loved Kumshaka; 
 and the other, rejoiced to learn the state of her companion s heart, 
 as she thus hoped to be relieved from the importunities of the chief. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 I look don ths maiden s rosy cheek, 
 
 And her lip so full and feright, 
 And I sighed to think that the traitor, love, 
 
 Should conquer a heart so light. MRS. EMBCHT. 
 
 THE morning had arrived on which the embassy to Vincennes was 
 totake its departure. The area in front of the village presented a 
 scene of activity and preparation, motley in the extreme. Tall war 
 riors were engaged in painting their bodies in the most formidable 
 manner, and ornamenting their heads with decorations warranted by 
 their bravery or skill, and the choicest robes were brought forth for 
 the great occasion. War-clubs and spears, bows and arrows, all in the 
 last state of perfection, were piled about, and the long mysstic pipe, 
 with the odorous weed, was carefully bestowed, the one emblem of 
 peace in the midst of all warlike preparations. Pouches filled with 
 dried fruits and venison, were brought forth by the women, as pro 
 vision for the march ; trusting mostly, however, to game that might 
 
 love 1 
 
 "Sit by me," said Margaret, " and I will tell you more of this." 
 She epoke so low and calmly, that the girl did as she desired, and 
 looked into her pale face with an expression of surprise. 
 
 " The youth, Ackoree, is one of my own people, and I felt a strange 
 sympathy in hearing the utterance of my own language, but I do not 
 leve him. He urged me to return to my people but he spoke not 
 the language of love. Do not, Ackeree, call me the white girl do 
 not look coldly upon me, for I am alone with your people, alone on 
 the earth there is none, no, not one, to love me" and the tears 
 gushed through the long slender fingers she had pressed to her eyes 
 Ackoree was softened, and pulled the wild flowers at her feet, un 
 conscious of what she did. At length she cried, " Margaret is too 
 proud to love one of the red men ; she despises the warriors of the 
 tribe." 
 
 A burning blush stole over the face of Margaret, and she turned 
 her eyes from the scrutinizing glance of her companion. In a mo 
 ment the fierce passions of Ackoree were awakened. 
 
 "Aye, I see it all j the Swaying Reed loves but revolts at the 
 thought of dwelling in a hunter s cabin-of being the wife of the des 
 pised Indian. Had Kumshaka been" 
 
 Margaret laid her hand gently on the robe of Ackoree, and inhaled 
 
 long breath, as one relieved from sudden pressure. 
 
 " A< * oree T hear me - I shall never be a wife. The Great Spirit 
 
 so decreed Am I not adaughter of the tribe 1 Hav, I not been 
 
 id with indulgence and reverence 1 Why should I despise those 
 
 who have chenshed me 1 Ackoree, you wrong me. You send an 
 
 be killed on the way. The youth indolently watched the progress of 
 preparation, while the boys adorned themselves in grotesque imita 
 tion of their seniors; amid shouts of merriment snapping their tiny 
 bows, discharging arrows, and shaking the hoofs of the wild deer, 
 while they advanced and retreated in semblance of battle, raising 
 with shrill voices the war-whoop of the tribes. Horses tethered in 
 the vicinity, gave notice of their presence by loud neighs and tramp 
 ing, that swelled the tumult of preparation. 
 
 The dew still hung upon leaf and twig, and the threads of the spi 
 der, travelling from shrub to shrub, swung laden with gems, glittering 
 
 !in the morning sun. The early carol of the birds had hardly died 
 away, when Tecumseh gave the signal to commence their march. 
 
 Tecumseh appeared, clad in that stern simplicity which accorded 
 best with the character of his mind. He wore neither scalp nor co 
 lored quill ; but a silky robe of the beaver, girded by a belt of wam 
 pum, hung in massive folds about him, in its simple dignity, resem 
 bling the Roman Toga. Upon his helmet appeared the plumes and 
 other tokens of his rank, which the nobleman of the woods assumes 
 as testimonials of his merit, in the same way as the champion of 
 knighthood binds upon his person the various insignia of the orders 
 to which he has been admitted ; nor would the unworthy assumption 
 of the one excite in the public mind more contempt and indignation 
 than the other. 
 
 Slowly, and in silence, the chiefs moved on the rays of the morn 
 ing sun lighting up the jetty crest, and playing upon feathery robe 
 and pointed spear. Women and children were collected to witness 
 their departure ; and on a rising ground might be seen the tall form 
 of the Prophet, spreading out his arms with the skin of the rattle 
 snake aloft, and chanting a song, the burden of which seemed to be 
 death to the violators ef oaths. The deep measured cadences came 
 upon the ear of the retreating party when far on their way now in 
 low gutteral notes of sorrow, now prolonged to the wail of heart 
 rending wo ; and anon rising to the shrill and rapid intonations of 
 triumph. 
 
 Henry Mansfield lingered behind to exchange a farewell with Mar 
 garet, and to urge, if possible, her return to the settlements. 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 She laid her hand within his, saying, " May peace be the portion 
 of my white brother," and was about to depart. 
 
 " Stay one moment," said the young man ; " say only that I may 
 use my influence to procure your release ; that you maybe prevailed 
 upon to return to the settlements. This mode of life must be revolt 
 ing to you say only that you will return." 
 
 " Never," she replied ; " my fate is fixed ;" and waving adieu, 
 she suddenly disappeared, ju3t as the glittering eyes of Ackoree 
 gleamed through the shrubbery that surrounded them. 
 
 "Aye, "said the Indian maiden, " the white girl loves the red 
 chief; she will never return to her people she will dress the veni- 
 Bon of the hunter, and work his moccasous. Is the thought sweet to 
 the white man"!" and she laughed a bitter and taunting Uugh. 
 
 It would be difficult to analyze the feelings of the youth, while the 
 beautiful, but fiend-like girl, gave utterance to this mixture of truth 
 and falsehood, solely as it would seem to torture her hearer. When 
 she ceased, she threw the string of coral at his feet, and departed 
 with the same cruel laugh. 
 
 Henry kicked the bauble aside, and follewed the retreating army 
 with a listlessness and heaviness of feeling which he in vain tried to 
 dispel. He was not in love ; of this he was quite sure : she was too 
 cold, and too proud, to awaken such a sentiment; and yet this very 
 manner, to one accustomed to the smiles of ladies, awakened an in 
 terest he could not deny the stronger it may be, from the wounding 
 of his self-love. 
 
 From his own sense of mortification, it became easy to reproach 
 the cause of it ; and he blamed the perversity and distortion of taste 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 Oh, woman ; lovely in thy beauty s power ! 
 Thrice lovely when we know that thou canit turn 
 To duty s jiath and tread it with a smile. Mm. C. OILMAN. 
 
 WHEN General Harrison invited Tecumseh and the Prophet to 
 i meet him in council at Vincennes, he expressly stipulated, that they 
 ! should appear with but few followers ; a request which probably 
 would have been complied with, had it not been for the knowledge 
 of Tecumseh that Winnemac and other chiefs, violators of the oaths 
 of confederation, had sought refuge from the penalty of their crime 
 with the white authorities of Vincennes. Under these circumstances, 
 he chose to appear with a force sufficient for his own protection, 
 and to awe the obnoxious chiefs. Accordingly the inhabitants of 
 the country, already terrified by repeated acts of violence, which 
 even the influence of Tecumseh was insufficient to prevent, and 
 which the crooked policy of Winnemac served to encourage, were 
 appalled at beholding four hundred warriors, painted and fully 
 armed, on their way to the infdnt city of the west. The terrified in 
 habitants closed their doors, and prepared for defence ; workmen 
 left their utensils in the field, nd sought a place of refuge ; children 
 gathering fruit by the way side, might be seen huddling together in 
 mute terror, their wild eyes gleaming out from amidst vines or 
 ihrubs to which they had fkd for concealment. 
 
 At the suggestion of Mansfield, Tecumseh encamped his army in 
 a wood, at a short distance from the city, while he should report 
 their arrival to General Harrison. 
 
 He did so accordingly, and the next day was appointed for the 
 holding a council. In the meanwhile, Mansfield amused himself by 
 
 Passing in the neighborhood of one of the houses on the outskirts 
 of the place, he was attracted by the peculiar air of thrift and neat 
 ness evident in all its arrangements. It was a large sized log-build 
 ly constructed, and surrounded by an enclosure in which 
 of all kinds were growing in the greatest luxuriance. 
 ! Woman s taste was visible in the rude piazza over which clustered 
 ~ the wild vine, and the abundant sweet-brier that shaded the small 
 windows, draped with curtains of the purest white. Morning-glories 
 
 that made her adhere to this wild life, as evidences of an inherent || going about tlie B< . u i eme nt, observing the changes which a few 
 depravity of mind. But then came up the image of her calm, sad|| mon hg had prod uced, exchanging congratulations, and becoming 
 voice, and that infinite grace and dignity of manner, that seemed to|) acquainted with many w ho had recently sought protection in the 
 act as a spell upon all who approached her, awing even the rudest of c ;, y . f or , he news O f tne great number of warriors collected at the 
 the tribe into respect and submission. He felt the suspicion to be i town o f the p r0 phet, had spread a panic throughout the countiy, and 
 as unjust to her as it was unworthy of himself. Giving spurs to his dr i ven many f rorn their insulated farms to the more compact settle- 
 horse, he sought to lose the sense of depression by the rapidity of i ment at Vincennes. The humble dwellings ef the emigrants were 
 his movements. hospitably opened to the fugitives, and filled to overflowing. 
 
 There had been still another spectator to the interview we have 
 described. Scarcely had Mansfield retired from the ground, when 
 Kumshaka picked up the beads and followed the retreating youth 
 with his eyes, while a vindictive smile gathered upon his counte 
 nance. Ackoree was at his side, and a kindred expression grew 
 upon her own. 
 
 " The white girl delights in those of her own color, 
 turn, like the bird lured from the woods, to her own haun(s. She 
 
 does well to talk of peace to the red man it is to save her own JV"^^} the shrubg> and the charr.omile, tansey, wormwaod, and 
 people." ! other medicinal shrubs, evinced rural skill and forethought. In the 
 
 "True, true," cried the chief; and he looked for the f time. ^^ where & Jedge of rockg broke from the r i cn 80 il, might be seen 
 with admiration upon the cruel girl, whose feelings corresponded so i pang O f brown earthenware, left to scald in the sun. Tubs and bowls 
 well with his own. : j O f wood> rounded at the angle?, and white with careful scouring, and 
 
 Ackoree saw the interest she had awakened, and desirous for the snowy churn inverted, with its dash crossed upon the bottom, 
 sympathy from the chief, if it were but the sympathy of revenge, she were arranged Up0 n a neat platform of raised timber. A pole, sup- 
 continued : j i ported by two upright sticks notched at the top, was hung with long 
 "Does the white girl love the white youth 1 or is her love fixed ske j ns O f blue and white yarn, and a young, brisk-looking woman 
 upon one of our own people 1" And then, as if speaking to herself, ( j waa spr i n kling water upon lines cloth, spread to bleach in the sun. 
 she added, "no, she despises the Indian. It is well. The fawn seeks h Henry gtood adm i r ing this picture of rural comfort, drawing up 
 not companionship with the wolf ; nor the fox with the beaver -" , he j ma g es O f the inhabitants to his mind s eye, and had just coc- 
 Ackoree fixed her bright eyes upon those of the chief, and slowly i vince[j himself that the fat, curly-headed babe that sat in the door- 
 dropped the lids, while a sigh stole from her bosom. i! way, now patting its shapeless hands together, and crowing to the 
 Whether it was that the rejection of his suite had extinguished poul try tliat cac kled about the door ; now venturing on all-fours to 
 his attachmeat for Margaret, or the beauty of Ackoree had made its! (he wrge of the wh i te s [\\ t ant j cautiously reaching over to tl 
 impression ; whether the import of her words, while they half re- ! below . then prud nl i y retreating at the vague presentiment of t 
 vealed her own attachment, had also produced their effect upon his and bruises te be encountered in the attempt to go out, muet 
 judgment and fotacy, or all combined to produce the result, we will ,, property O f tne young woman whom he had seen fpnnklin 
 not affirm. Certain it is, however, that as the chief fixed his eyea,j upoll the yam . when out rusne d a little urchin of some h 
 upon the speaking face of the girl, it was with an expression not to j; yearg> qtjUe red in the face , an d looking very fierce ani c 
 be mistaken; and when he threw the rejected coral over her neck, Hfi WM fo!low( . d by a young woman of perhaps 
 Ackoree raised her eyes to his face with a look of wild dejight, and fine i y . mou id e d features and graceful air struck hi 
 bounded away with the coyness and transparent artifice of an un- [na gengej lhat hc had seen the same somewhere 
 tutored heart. The chief bent his plumed head to catch the last b( T came amU3e d in observing the little scene b. 
 glimpse of her retreating figure, and then speaking to himself, said (Q no(ice the gir j 
 
 " True, each delights only in its kind. But let the Swaying Reed 
 dare, to love another, and she shall know the vengeance of the In 
 dian. Ackoree is most beautiful, but she has not the loftiness and 
 wisdom of the Swaying Reed. She shall bring the game to the cabin 
 of Kumshaka. He will sit at rest, and mark the glitter of her eyes, 
 and the white girl shall sing the songs of her people, and her voice, 
 choked with sobs, will be like the sound of waters in the still night 
 sad, but pleasant to the ear." 
 
 > 
 The ch.ld 
 
 go _ go let go my hand> j te ll you ; I will go 
 yQU can>t gtop me> 
 
 d j wm tc) , you a s , oiy aboul t h fm , 
 
 knQW you Jove me . 
 
 , and let her retain his hand, though 
 and looked with open mouth 
 colorless. 
 
10 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERK 
 
 " Tell me the story quick, Ally, for I mean to ge soon asyou r 
 done; and make it short, Ally." 
 
 " No, no : yeu must go in first." 
 
 "I won t, I won t; let go, I say ;" and the boy jerked away his 
 iand and ran off with his eyes wide open, looking back at Alice, and 
 ucreaming, " I will, I will," at the top of his lungs. In the midst of 
 his career he waa arrested by a sun-burnt, cheerful-lookiag farmer, 
 ia his shirt-sleeves, who quietly raised him from the ground and 
 awung him over his shoulders, where the boy hung, his feet sticking 
 straight out, and his face red and swollen in his impatient struggles 
 to free his arms from the man s grasp. 
 
 By the time they had reached the door -step, the young woman 
 was standing there with water-pail in hand, and. her naturally good- 
 natured face gathering into something like a frown. 
 
 " That boy will be the death of us yet ; he wears poor Alice to 
 death, with his tantrums." 
 
 Not quite," said the father, patting her cheek playfully, and 
 glancing at the grotesque image of the child over his shoulder; and 
 then swinging the baby on his back, he seated himself en the 
 door-sill. 
 
 The young woman looked on, half smiling, and yet half deter 
 mined to be pettish : " I tell you what it is, Mr. Mason, if that was 
 my child, I would whip him smartly every time he got into these 
 tantrums, till I broke him of them." 
 
 Mr. Mason very gravely brought the child over his knee, and hold 
 ing his clothes tightly down, said, " There, Anny, there s a chance 
 for you ; pay on well." 
 
 Instantly the buzz of a small linen-wheel was suspended, and a 
 thin, wrinkled old lady, with her spectacles pinning back the border 
 of her white cap, appeared upon the scene. 
 
 Holding up her shrivelled hand, with an attitude of defiance, she 
 cried in sharp broken tones 
 
 " Let her lay the weight of her hand upon the child of my poor 
 Mary, and she will rue the day. And you, John Mason, is it you 
 that can so soon forget the love of a father 1" and she half spoke 
 and half shouted in a cracked voice, and with a taunting smile about 
 If r mouth, 
 
 " A mother s a mother all the days of her life 
 A father s a father, till he gets a new wife." 
 
 heed to yourself, I say :" and she began to sing the old song of Lady 
 Isabella s tragedy, in a shrill cracked voice, selecting it would seem, 
 those verses in which the obnoxious word, step-mother, most fre 
 quently occurred, groaning out the syllables with peculiar zest. 
 
 " Therefore her cruel step-mother 
 
 Did envye her so much, * 
 That daye by daye she sought her life, 
 Her malice it was such. 
 
 She bargained with the master-cook 
 
 To take her life awaye ; 
 And taking of her daughter s book 
 
 She thus to her did saye." 
 
 After leaping over the intermediate stanzas, she broke out ia a 
 | shriller voice at the scene where the bereaved Lord returns from the 
 | chase, and calls for "his daughter deare to come and serve his 
 jmeate ;" and when she is nowhere to be found, he vows to neither 
 j eat nor sleep until she is forthcoming. At this crisis, the old lady 
 i recommenced 
 
 " O then bespoke the scullicn-boye, 
 
 With a loud voice so hye, 
 If now you will your daughter see, 
 Pray Sir, cut up that pyc ; 
 
 Wherein her flesh is Evinced smail, 
 
 And parched with the fire ; 
 All caused by her step-mother, 
 
 Who did her death desire." 
 
 From this she jumped to the catastrophe, which was screamed out 
 with a peculiar tone of satisfaction. 
 
 " Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 
 
 And for his daughter s sake, 
 He judged her cruel step-mother 
 
 To be burnt at the stake." 
 
 All this time poor Anna s tears were falling upon the cheek of her 
 babe, and Jimmy, lulled by the monotony of the tune, and uncon 
 scious of its import, had fallen asleep upon her lap. Mr. Mason 
 having quietly drawn the door to, was saying all that kindness could 
 dictate to soothe the outraged feelings of his wife, who tried to 
 smile, in spite of the pain she experienced. 
 
 Henry retired, wonderifig at the strange perversity of the human 
 heart, thus wantonly to dash the cup of happiness from the lips of 
 another, because it has ceased to be mingled for ourselves. He 
 thought of the apparently unfavorable position for the growth in 
 virtue in the little group he had seen, and yet here were all the evi 
 dences of its existence. He had witnessed tenderness, and forbear 
 ance under provocations, trifling, it is true in themselves, but yet 
 
 All this time she was pulling vigorously at the child, who clung to 
 its father s knee with the tenacity of a young bear. 
 
 " Don t, Grandmarn, don t," said Anny, observing a shade of dis 
 pleasure upon the face of her husband. " Nobody want s to hurt 
 the child, do let him alone." 
 
 " No, and nobody shall hurt him, mind that, Ann Spaulding, mind the more galling from their very littleneS > and their frequency of 
 that," hissed out the old woman, giving a desperate pull at the boy ! recurrence. We arm ourselves with fortitude for the endurance of 
 that laid them both upon the floor. The child sprang to his feet |j grcat trials and glory il may be> in tribulations > as th e test of our 
 nd ran, but not till the grandmother, enraged at the accident and power and the evidence of our virtue 5 but h is > after all > in the con- 
 the perversity of the child, had applied a well-aimed blow upon his ! stant> everv da y trials of life > that the real excellence of the character 
 shoulders, whi ch quickened his speed, and sent him to the door ! is to be tried> Few are called to heroic acts of virtue but a11 suffer 
 step, where he susked in his breath, and burst into a sort of hysterical < : more or less the daily mart > rdom of life - Ie is PbabJe that virtue 
 laugh. i assumes a more distinct and positive character in the midst of 
 
 Anny drew him toward her, and gently smoothed his hair and hindrances, and therefore all the obstacles it meets ia its progress 
 thislast winding up of the affair in his behalf, produced one of those 1 ontribute to its d evelopment. 
 strange reactions te which we are all liable, and the little fellow laid . While the youth m homeward, philosophizing as he went, 
 
 kia head in her lap, and burst into sobs and tears. 
 
 some trifle broke the thread of his reflections, and presented to his 
 
 Mr. Mason laid his arm over the shoulder of his young wife and fancy the image f the fair gul wh had first a PP eared in the cottage 
 began to tickle the cheek of the babe as it drew its nourish ment from ; scene> H * r air and countenance haunted him with a strange con 
 ker bosom, kicking its feet and winking its bright eyas in efforts to vlctlon lhat he had S6en somethlll ana lagous somewhere, but when 
 repel the approach of slumber. lastantly the child sprang from its or where he could D0t fix Up n his memor y- He ^traced his steps 
 iccumbent position, sending the white fluid over the face of little to the cotta 8 e > h P n S to catch a S hm P e of the unknown, and thus 
 Jimmy, who was about to sob himself to sleep, and Jimmy s griefs ; to restore the links of association. 
 
 were at once forgotten ; he buried his he?.d in the baby s lap, and As he neared the dwelling, he saw the old lady seated upon the 
 they tickled and struggled together, while the parents looked on <*oor-sill alone > while from v - it"in were heard the vigorous play of 
 with a quiet smile. 
 
 I do wish she wouldn t call me Ann Spaulding," said the wife 
 alow voice to her husband. 
 
 Now, whether the old lady s senses were in reality keener than ; a smi!e lurked at the corners of her thin lips, that seemed to say, 
 what she was always willing to allow, or whether her passion had i is no Hesn aEd blood of mine : letit cry> " 
 stimulated them to unwonted activity, or whether there is really a Presently Mr. Mason and his wife appeared, each bearing pails of 
 consciousness in the individual when he is the subject of remarks ! i milk filled to the brim tne subs i din foam bubbling upon the surface. 
 from others, as the common opinion seems to countenance, we will Allce wa l ked b > lne Slde of Mr3 Mason > carrying a small pail con- 
 
 the infant s lungs, holding its breath, and then relieving itself with 
 those reiterated screams that seem to challenge instant attention; but 
 the old ckme listened with great composure, if not satisfaction, for 
 
 It 
 
 not stop to consider ; but no sooner had Anne made the remark 
 than the old lady cried out from the wheel 
 
 " Mind how you talk about me, Ann Spaulding. I shall call you 
 by your name. You ve no right to the title of my poor Mary, four 
 
 she was cold, and the grass could take root over her coffin. Take ! son was about to comply with his request, when the sound of her 
 
 taiaing what is technically called the strippings, being the last 
 milk of the aaimal when the more abundant supply has been ex 
 hausted. 
 
 Accosting them with that freedom tolerated in new communities, 
 Mansfield desired a drink of the milk to allay his thirst. Mrs. Ma- 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WOR 
 
 child s cries fell apon her ear, and she set down her pail and started 
 upon a full run to the house. 
 
 Alice prssented her pail to the stranger, with a slight blush upon 
 her cheek ; and to his grateful acknowledgments she returned a 
 graceful inclination of the head, and a smile, the composure of which 
 again perplexed him as something he had seen elsewhere. While 
 making these observations, he had time to notice the roundness of j 
 the white arm, bare to the elbow, and the delicate symmetry of the 
 figure, simply clad in a blue gingham frock, so exactly fitting, that 
 the elegance of the bust became visible, notwithstanding the hirh 
 drapery that concealed all but the white throat. Herhair wls 
 combed nearly plain from the forehead, and braided upon the back, 
 two glossy curls being left to fall behind each ear. 
 
 Mr. Mason had placed his pails upon the grass, and was ready 
 to start off upon any topic which might be broached ; the weather 
 the crops, the Indians, or what not. 
 
 " Alice is a nice tidy gal," said he, following the eyes of the 
 youth. 
 
 Henry colored, and stated his perplexity as an apology for ob 
 serving her. 
 
 " Very like," said the other; "it s mighty strange to me how 
 folks that s nowise akin will look so alike. In the same stock its 
 nowise strange, but in the matter of strangers, tis mighty puzzlinV 
 
 Henry assented, and added, "And yet, the greatest mystery after 
 all, is, that among so many inhabitants as there are in the world, all 
 with the same features, there should be such infinite combinations, 
 all resulting in individuality of form and expression." 
 
 The farmer looked a little perplexed, though he had certainly 
 caught the idea. 
 
 " I m thinking, sir, it is because the great Maker never is at a loss. 
 Look at the leaves upon a tree ; you will never see any two alike, 
 
 
 
 nor any two blades of grass with the same streaks. Now, if a man 
 makes a machine for any purpose, every one of the kind is after 
 the same pattern, and just like it. He can t change, and yet have 
 the same thing ; but God can." 
 
 " Is the young woman, Miss Alice, a relative of yours 1" asked 
 Mansfield, after a pause; feeling, perhaps, that the subject was 
 growing a little too philosophical. 
 
 " No, no; she s an orphan. She has neither kith nir kin in the 
 whole world. They were all killed by the Ingins, I dare say you ve 
 heard of the murder of the Durand family." 
 
 A sudden flash mantled the brow of Mansfield at the recollection 
 of the mysterious maiden he had seen at Tippecanoe, and the like 
 ness, and yet unlikeness, of the two ; for nothing could be more dis 
 similar than the cold, haughty bearing of the one, contrasted with the 
 winning gentleness of the of the other. And yet there was the same 
 contour of features, the same smile, and the same intonations of 
 voice. 
 
 " Are you quite sure, that none were saved ? Might not a part 
 have been carried into captivity 1" 
 
 " No : they were all butchered ; their house burnt down, and their 
 bodies charred like cinders." 
 
 Saying this, he took up the pails, desiring Henry to return to the 
 house with him ; adding, " but you must not say anything about 
 this conversation to poor Alice, for it has gone well-nigh to kill her 
 now. And here are these painted varmints come now to kill us, for 
 what I know." 
 
 Mansfield excused himself, and retired ; but not until he had pro 
 mised to pay his respects again to the family. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Tho summer sun is flaming high 
 
 She from her lattice hangs, 
 Piues she far home and distant lands 
 
 With disappointment s pangs. MRS. SKJOURXEY. 
 
 MR. MASON had, some years before, emigrated to the west, bring 
 ing with him a young and affectionate wife and her mother: for 
 Mary was an only child, and she could not find it in her heart to 
 abandon her aged parent. The infirmities of the old lady s temper 
 were well known ; but Mary, always accustomed to them, and ha 
 bituated from childhood to submission, probably feit them lesj thin 
 others; and the less, it may be, because her mother lavished all the . 
 affection of which she was capable upon this, her only child, and j 
 the only object left to love. Mr.?. Jones was always ready to ar- 1 
 raign, in set terms, any omission of tenderness on the part of othe-r?, ! 
 while she reserved the whole right of tormenting her to herself, being I 
 her natural parent. 
 
 We ought to havejincluded, in the enumeration of the goods and 
 
 , 
 
 grace o a willing mind. Bar. unfortunately, e w 
 ; and the Imle Anna became the property of the publ c and 
 
 ; matr Bly CharitiC3 f the * 
 
 tins department of the institution. Here she was t 
 
 h r ^ t0 , d needlework and P"form .11 domestic t 
 and being of a cheerful disposition, and quick to learn, she b* 
 came a great favorite. When, therefore, Mr. Mason proposed te 
 her into his own family, or, in other words, have her boa^T 
 to him .until the age of eighteen, the good woman pari-d with 
 her with tears m her eyes, and gave her a Bible, as a special toke* 
 of her good will and approval. 
 
 Anna soon became as much a favorite in the family of Mr. Maron, 
 as she had been in the almshouse, and as invaluable in household 
 matters. In truth, she had no reason to find fault with her condition, 
 if we except the trials to which the ill-humor of Mrs. Jones the 
 mother of Mrs. Mason, subjected her. But Anna s goodness of heart 
 was proof even against these, and she was never known to rebel, ex- 
 c*pt in one instance, when, after years of submission to the oppro 
 brious epithets of the other, she one day declared solemnly she 
 would " never again no, never, do anything she was ordered to do, 
 under the name of work-house gall." 
 The old lady took the hint, and substituted in its place Ann Span!- 
 
 ding, which being her real name, she could not complain of, though 
 she would rather have chosen the more affectionate appellation of 
 Anny, always used by her employers. 
 
 Soon after the arrangements we have named, Mr. Mason deter 
 mined to remove to the west ; the rich and luxuriant soil of that 
 region holding out incalculable inducements to the farmer, acca- 
 tomed to the scanty crops of our eastern shores. Anna accompanied 
 them, and here her patience, cheerfulness, and abilities, were beyond 
 all price. Poor Mary s health declined under the effects of the 
 climate, and Anna watched over her with the solicitude of a sister. 
 With endearments and caresses she strove to wile her from that 
 sickness of the heart, that too often comes over tlie exile in his latf. 
 moments, when he pines for the land of his birth, to breathe once 
 more the air of his childhood, and to lay his head to rest as he did 
 n years gone by. Oh, who can foretell that weariness of the heart, 
 which absence from the familiar scenes of our early and innocent day* 
 >rings to the way-worn pilgrim ! Who calculate the strength of the 
 >ands that bind him to home ! 
 
 Mary was too gentle and lo\ingto bear the rude tempests of life; 
 he could never smile while a shadow lay upon her sunshine; her 
 oul was made up of love and tenderness, and it went forth in it 
 ovingness to the bird and the blossom, the moss upou the rock, and 
 water of the lapsing brook. These were beautiful to her in all 
 laces, but doubly so in her native place. Her thoughts were there, 
 tinging, in the fondness of memory, to every nook and dell endeared 
 ythe recollections of childhood, and when she turned her cheek t 
 umber she was there in her visions. This could not last. Day after 
 ay her strength declined, and at length she died, leaving her only 
 child to the care of Anna, imploring her to guard its infancy, and be 
 a mother to it. Anna promised every thing; and, in the fullness of 
 her sorrow, was ready to do any thing by which she might testify 
 her affection for the dead. Day and night she devoted herself to the 
 helpless infant, anticipating its many wants with the tenderness of ft 
 parent. 
 
 Mr. Mason could not be insensible to the goodness of the affec 
 tionate and devotsd girl. He felt solitary and depressed, and insen 
 sibly found himself lingering by the side of Anna to caress his child* 
 unaware that the earnest kindness and unconscious Emiles of the 
 humble maiden were bringing relief to his sorrow. Anna regarded hint 
 as her guardian, and, in the simplicity of her heart, exerted all her 
 talsnts to please him. She never dreamed of the result. He was La 
 affliction, and she strove to comfort him. She had always been 
 mindful of his comfort, and now that he was alone and in sorrow, 
 she became doubly so. One evening she had sung little Jimmy t 
 sleep in her arms, and the child lay upon her lap, its sleeping face 
 turned to the light ; Mr. Mason seated himself beside her, and im 
 plored her to become, in reality the mother of the child, even as she 
 
12 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 had been in kindness. Poor Anna looked half bewildered into his 
 face, and burst into tears. For the first time in her life she felt that 
 she was a servant. 
 
 " No, oh no," she answered. " I am your servant, bound to do 
 your will as such. I cannot be your wife." Aad she buried her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 Mr. Mason was greatly shocked. It was true indentures had 
 been drawn up and duly signed, but the paper had been locked up in 
 a drawer in the old black-walnut desk, unthought of for years. Mrs 
 Jones had undoubtedly helped to keep the memory alive in the 
 mind of the poor girl ; but neither herself nor Mary had ever re 
 garded her in any other light than as an equal in the family ; one 
 bound to them by no ties other than those of mutual kindness and 
 affection. Mr. Mason arose, and taking the papers from the desk, 
 threw them into the flames, and besought her to regard herself only 
 as the friend of Mary, and to become his wife, and the mother of 
 his child. 
 
 Anna was for a while silent, and during this silence, such a pic 
 ture of opposition on the part of Mrs. Jones, so much of petty an 
 noyance, and daily intangible persecution presented itself to her 
 mind, that she turned from the prospect with a feeling of horror 
 and she begged him to drop the subject now and for ever, adding, 
 " I could never, as your wife, submit to the degrading treatment ] 
 now receive." 
 
 Mr. Masoa understood her, and he walked the room in painfu 
 agitation. Respect for Mary had enabled him to endure patiently 
 all the ill-humor of her mother; but was it now his duty to see the 
 peace of his family destroyed by one whose claims were so doubt 
 ful 1 He wavered for a moment, and then again addressed her. 
 
 " Anna, I might say that Mrs. Jones will seek a home elsewhere 
 that she has no right to expect one here, only as she can bring 
 peace to the household. But, Anna, the law of God forbids us to 
 cast out the widow, and her that has no helper. She must remain 
 I will wrestle with God in prayer, and he will make the path o 
 duty plain and pleasant before me." 
 
 Anna listened with surprise to the commencement of Mr. Mason 
 but as he went on, a smile of approval grew to her lip, and .she 
 held out her hand confidingly, saying, "All will be for the best 
 Duty can never point but one way at the same time, as you have 
 often said. Should my presence bring you discomfort, I will go ou 
 from you, as did the bond-maiden of old." 
 
 Mr. Mason s brow contracted sharply. " Do sot, dear Anna, ever 
 speak of bonds again," and he stooped down, and for the first time 
 in his life, impressed a kiss upon, her burning cheek, and then lef 
 the room, for the step of Mrs. Jones was now upon the threshold. 
 
 Anna was undoubtedly sincere in her rejection of Mr. Mason, bu 
 his subsequent powers of persuasion were by no means inconsidera 
 ble, if we may judge from the fact, that, six weeks after, she was 
 duly installed as mistress of the mansion; and little Jimmy began to 
 call her mother, to the great annoyance of his grandmother, who 
 called her " AnnSpaulding," with more vehemence than ever. She 
 even, in the first transports of her rage, threatened to leave the 
 house forever ; and in fact did, to the great grief of Anna, go for a 
 few days to the house of a neighbor, declaring she could never sub 
 mit to see another in the place of her " poor Mary." It is probable 
 that the transitory fit of beaevolence and neighborly kindness on 
 the part of the hostess, soon evaporated, when thus heavily taxed 
 for the old lady returned, more out with the world than ever, de 
 daring her determination to remain and protect little Jimmy from 
 all ill-usage. Anna was glad of her return, whatever might be the 
 motive, for she could scarcely have absolved herself from blame had 
 she left the house OH account of her marriage. 
 
 Years passed away, and Anna was even beyond her expectations 
 ft happy wife. True she had her trials, for what woman is withou 
 them 1 but then her cheerfulness and unfailing good temper were 01 
 themselves a perpetual source of happiness, and with Anna there 
 was never but one way, and that was the right way, and she had a 
 perception to discover it as by instinct. 
 
 Little Jimmy was a lively, self-willed boy, whose attachment for 
 his step-mother increased just in proportion as it gave discomfort to 
 his grandmother. It must be that the sense of virture is deeply 
 rooted in the very constitution of the human mind, and that it is its 
 nature to discover its affinities just as chemical compounds repel o 
 assimilate together. This principle may be stronger in some minds 
 than mothers; for some become the victims of untoward circum 
 stances and mal-education, while there are others that nothing can 
 corrupt or degrade ; whose path is onward in spite of all obstacles 
 
 led by the inward light alone, which God haa implanted in the hu 
 man heart. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Jones was always saying, " No step-mother shall ever lay 
 the weight of her finger upon the child of my poor Mary," which 
 Mrs. Mason had no desire to do; yet her unvarying firmness and 
 kindness of manner insured his obedience, and Mr. Mason was care 
 ful to uphold her authority. Jimmy, therefore, became, as it were 
 monopolized by his grandmother, whom he teased and caressed, 
 amused and annoyed, as suited him best. Sometimes, having pro 
 voked her ire by his childish love of fun, he would flee to Anna for 
 protection, who would envelope him in her robe, and whirling 
 round and round good-naturedly, screen him from the effects of her 
 wrath, till even she would laugh at the thrilling merriment of the 
 child ; for it is difficult for even the most irascible long to retain their 
 anger against a lively child, however wayward he may be. 
 
 Notwithstanding these somewhat discordant materials, few fami 
 lies were more cheerful and happy than the one we have described. 
 The out-breaking of passion on the part of the old lady were things 
 counted on and expected, and therefore of less effect, while the 
 equanimity of the remainder was an unfailing source of contentment. 
 Mr. Mason had been educated in the rigid school of Presbyterian 
 sanctity ; and though a shade of severity might mingle itself with 
 his religious belief and Sabbath-day observances, it could not for a 
 moment interfere with the habitual cheerfulness of his deportment. 
 Now that he was debarred from the public worship of his Creator 
 iu a temple consecrated for that purpose, he found the overhanging 
 woods and the blue canopy of heaven a more worthy dome in 
 which to offer up the sacrifice of a humble and believing heart. 
 Away from the actual temptations of life, too, he was apt to observe 
 closely the workings of his own mind, and he learned to detect 
 errors, t? combat evils, and to settle cases of conscience with a skill 
 that the most subtile casuist might have envied. Every Sabbath he 
 read aloud passages from the few books that ornamented the walnut 
 desk, consisting of two or three bibles ; one of great size, embel 
 lished with mysterious-looking cuts of wood, and being protected 
 with a stout covering of sheepskin in addition to its original bind 
 ing. There was besides Doddridge s Rise and Progress, Masan 
 on Self Knowledge, Scongal s Life of God in the Soul of Man, 
 which was an especial favorite, Pilgrim s Progress, Fox s Book 
 of Martys, with hideous illustrations, and an old Commentary and 
 Concordance for the study of the Bible. There were also a few 
 books of a miscellaneous nature, which Mr. Mason was wont to de 
 nominate secular, such as Weems Life of Washington, Life 
 of Marion, Goldsmith s England, and the Campaign of the 
 Grand Army, &c. &c. 
 
 Night and morning he was accustomed to read a portion of Holy 
 Writ from the great Bible, when little Jimmy was taught to sit per 
 fectly still, and even the grandmother seemed to feel the softening 
 influence of family worship. She bowed her head upon her hands, 
 while her son-m-law, erect, with his two hands restieg upon the 
 pummels of his chair, uttered the strong and fervent petitions for a 
 pious heart, often couched in the elevated and mystical language of 
 scripture. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The vciy echoes round this shore, 
 
 Have caught a strange and gibbering tone ; 
 For they have told the war-whoop o er, 
 
 Till the wild chorus is their own. S. G. GOODRICH. 
 IN sketching the family of Mr. Mason, we have, in part, anticipa 
 ted events, and must go back to the period of the second marriage, 
 when the relations of the natives with the whites had begun to as 
 sume, even then, appearances of hostility. Acts of violence were not 
 rare, the uncertain tenure of land, and the scattered condition of the 
 population, enabling them to be perpetrated almost with impunity. 
 Necessarily subjected to the disadvantages of a territorial govern 
 ment, removed at a distance from the sources of the law, the infre- 
 quency and perils of travel rendering communication with other parts 
 of the country next to nothing; the inhabitants were compelled as it 
 were to take the administration of justice into their own hands, and 
 there is reason to fear it was often of an unwarranted and summary 
 character. When it is remembered, likewise, that an almost univer 
 sal prejudice existed against the poor Indian, that he was regarded 
 as a prowling beast of the woods, divested of the attributes of hu 
 manity, and having no claims upon its sympathies, there can be no 
 I doubt that often, very often, the tender mercies of the whites wers 
 cruel. 
 
 The population of this part of the country consisted of emigrants 
 from all parts of the Union, intermingled with foreigners, whom the 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 13 
 
 tumults of European politics had compelled to seek security and re 
 pose amid the solitudes of the western world. Many of these were 
 French, and they and their descendants, from the ease with which 
 they accommodated themselves to the circumstances of their lot, be 
 coming almost one with the savages, adopting their costume and 
 sharing their perils, were less obnoxious than those of any other na 
 tion. Many of the French clergy, too, men of ardent piety and great 
 courage in the cause of their divine Master, had labored m their 
 midst, aad left the impression of their kindly humanity and untiring 
 Christian devotion. 
 
 The family of Durand was of this description. Living upon the 
 out-skirts of the white population, having but little intercourse with 
 them, shunning obsirvation, and yet averse to companionship with j 
 the natives. He was, in fact, a man of stern and unyielding integ 
 rity, ofsevere, almost fanatical, views upon religious subjects, making 
 it rather a life of penance and physical abasement, than of internal 
 spiritual worship. Early disappointments, it was said, had driven 
 him from society, and shadowed, if they had not unsettled, the ba 
 lance of his mind. He gave evidence of considerable literary attain 
 ments, and his small dwelling contained articles of luxury and ele 
 gance little to bz expected in such a place. A single black servant 
 was man of all work in the household, and seemed bound to the fam 
 ily by no ordinary ties of attachment. He was never weary, never ; 
 fatigued, when aught could be done to promote their comfort. 
 
 Mrs. Durand was a slender, delicate woman, whose affection for 
 her husband was so blended with timidity, as to make it doubtful 
 whether the feeling did in reality exist. It was hinted that this had 
 not always been the case, but that strange passages had transpired to 
 make her what she was. Certain it is that a painful apathy chilled 
 her faculties, except where her feelings were elicited in behalf of her 
 children, then she was all tenderness and devotion her soft eyes ra 
 diant with love, and her low voice meltingly sweet. There was won 
 drous fascination in the half-indobnt, half -impassioned grace of her 
 manner, which the spectator could never forget. The few that had 
 seen her felt that she was no less beautiful than unhappy, and had 
 not failed to observe the strange mixture of gentleness and fear with 
 which she would raise her eyes to those of her husband, and then al 
 low them to fall again under the deeply fringed lid. Her history was 
 a mystery, and all felt it must be a painful one. She was the mother 
 of three children, and her attachme.it for them could in no wise sur 
 pass that by which they were regarded by their father, especially the 
 second daughter; who was said to inherit more of his looks than the 
 rest, and much of his pride and loftiness of character. 
 
 Thus were they circumstanced, when a party of savages, in the 
 broad light of day, and without provocation, fell upon the house, and 
 mercilessly butchered its inhabitants. Alice, the oldest daughter, es 
 caped, she could hardly tell how. She recollected witnessing, in 
 part, the horrible work of destruction, and then she became insensi 
 ble. Upon recovery, she found the house inflames, the dead bodies 
 of her friends partially consumed, and the shadows of evening begin 
 ning to fall. Weak and bewildered, beref of happiness and almost 
 of reason, she turned mechanically to the direction of Mr. Mason s, 
 that being the nearest family with which they had held any commu 
 nication, although that was many miles distant. The particulars of 
 that long and dreary journey through the untrodden forests, the perils 
 from savage beasts and savage men, can never be known. Alice 
 only]retained a vague impression of darkness and hunger, weariness 
 and sleep; of long, longjonrneyings, borne down with a fatigue that 
 seemed scarcely to be endured ; of fierce, glaring lights, like balls of 
 lire, and hideous tramplings, and midnight howliags. How she was 
 preserved, and how led through that desolate wilderness, can be 
 known only to Him who heareth the young ravens when they cry, 
 and who tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb. We can only pic 
 ture to ourselves the feeble steps of the lone child, her slumbers be 
 neath the midnight canc-py upon the leaves heaped by the winds, 
 and believe that the wing of Him who never slumbereth was spread 
 over her, and behold Angels ministered to her. 
 
 Anna was just barring the door for tne night, when a faint knock 
 und a low wail fell upon her ear. Breathless with terror, she fld I 
 her husband, believing it to be the panther, which is said to irmtz 
 the voice of human suffering in order to delude his prey. Mr. Mason 
 then laid aside his book and opened the door, when the form of i 
 child, with its hands spread out, fell prostrate before him. He raise 
 her in his at ms and carried her to the light, and for a while all believed 
 that life was extinct. Slowly she returned to consciousness, but s 
 eafecbled, that for many days all nourishment was given her with 
 spoon, as a nurse would feed a sick babe. Then fever and delirium 
 succeeded, and she lay long, verging upon the very threshold of th* 
 
 , grave. The story of the disaster became spread abroad, and excited 
 great sympathy; for the beauty of the lady, and the mystery that 
 ! enveloped her, left much for the imagination, and through that me- 
 |dium awakened universal commiseration. It was a fearful tragedy; 
 years of sorrow, of concealed, heart-felt wo, with its close of blood 
 and death. 
 
 Anna nursed the poor orphan with untiring solicitude, soothing 
 her delirium, and calling her back to life and hope with all thatflove 
 could suggest. She felt a double sympathy for her, as well for her 
 great suff-rings as her state of orphanage, thereby recalling the pain 
 ful passages of hfr own life. Youth and its tenacity of life at leggth 
 prevailed, and the lone child, with her pale, sad face, become every- 
 : where the companion of Anna. She clung to her as if fearful that 
 i this last stay might be removed, and she be left utterly desolate. She 
 seemed indeed too fragile, too sensitive and loving for a creature of 
 earth, and her mild eyes and quiet smile had in them something al- 
 I most too spiritual. Gradually her health became established and her 
 cheerfulness returned, though the unbidden tears often sprang to her 
 eyes, and her friends knew it was in memory of those who so fear- 
 : fully perished. Mrs. Mason found in her a friend and companion, 
 whose amiable and elevated thoughts helped to relieve the homeli 
 ness of household duties, to invest them with the dignity of moral 
 sentiment, and make things, vulgar in themselves, assume a degree 
 of elevation by the motives that dictate their performance. Even 
 the ill-humor of Mrs. Jones became mitigated under the influence of 
 her gentleness; for they ceased to regard it as an error to be cured, 
 but the natural consequence of age, and ita maoy infirmities, its soli 
 tude and hopelessness, demanding renewed tenderness and forbear 
 ance on the part of others. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 There stood the agei chieftain, rejoicing in his glory ! 
 How deep the shaJe of sadness that rests upon his story . 
 Forthe white rain came with power like brethre* they met ; 
 Bat the Indian fires went out, and the Indian sun has set. 
 
 Mm. L.L. FOLLEW. 
 
 IT had been arranged by General Harrison, that the council should 
 be held in a small grove apart from the settlement, partly because 
 the city afforded no convenient place of shelter, public buildings be 
 ing at that time unknown, and partly to relieve the axxiety of the 
 inhabitants, who beheld with disma y the numerous assemblage of 
 dusky warriors in their immediate neighborhood. 
 
 It was a still, sultry day, in the month of August, when the mem 
 bers of the council made their appearance upon the ground ; Gene 
 ral Harrison, in the simple garb of the West, accompanied by his 
 aids and a guard of a dozen men. It was an imposing spectacle, 
 when this handful of men seated themselves in the midst of two 
 hundred warriors, armed and painted, conscious of their superior 
 numbers, stung by wrongs and disappointments, and resolved upon 
 redress. When all were assembled, Winnemac and his warriors 
 placed themselves by the side of General Harrison. The Shawanese 
 neither by look nor motion betrayed surprise, and the teacheroua 
 Potiwatamy scrutinized them in vain. 
 
 When all was arranged, General Harrison opened the council in a 
 concise speech, in which he urged Tecumseh to explain his claim* 
 upon the ceded territory, and demanded the cause of his hostility tc 
 ttie friendly chief, Winnemac; closing with an allusion te the war 
 rior s present, calculated to allay any feeling of resentment or w 
 picion which they might be supposed to entertain. 
 
 Tecumseh listened apparently with deep interest, and when he n 
 ceased, arose to reply. His voice was calm and exceedingly i 
 in its varied modulations, and he gathered up the thread of dis< 
 with a tact and eloquence worthy of the most accomplished ore. 
 His action was at first subdued, and full of the lofty composure of the 
 reat subject winch engrossed him ; but as his theme enlarged the 
 voice and even the person of the speaker seemed to dilate with 
 and he went on gathering volume and power, like the torren tin itt 
 course drawing to itself the waters of many streams, till it roll 
 ward to the ocean a mighty river! 
 
 "Brothers : The bird will sing all day upon the branches, content 
 with its own melody the bee will go from blossom to blossom, seek 
 ing the store of sweet dropa-aud eachu content with ,u 
 deer sports itself in the moonshine, and the b.aver looks ** 
 mud-house-both are content. They disturb the r.ghts of aone 
 wis h to be undisturbed. But go to the nest of the bird to tear it 
 youn. from their home, and the helpless becomes strong, 
 home of the bee, and you feel.* .ting. Tear the fawn from t 
 doe, and it turns at buy. The beaver will retreat through ma y 
 windings, and when yetreat i. no more, U stays to peri* with it 
 
14 
 
 THE NEW WORLD:. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 young. Thus is it with the red man. I will not recount his wrongs, | wh ; ch, General Harrison perceiving, instantly sent him one, saying, 
 
 I will not tell of the white man s weakness, and his wants, when he 
 held up his hands to the poor Indian and asked for bread. I will ! 
 not tell how the red man spread his skins to succor him, aad his | 
 venison to give him strength. I will not tell of this. But look abroad 
 did not the Indian succor him 1 Lo, the whole land is wrested 
 from the red man, and he is driven from the very soil where once 
 the white man begged for a piece of earth in which to lay the bones 
 cf his dead. The white man has chased his red brother across ths 
 Alleghanies, and now he must come at bay. The weak is to grow 
 strong in self-defence. He is to gather up the ashes of his dead, and 
 here, on his own hunting-grounds on the hearth-stones of his cabin, | 
 with his women and children about him, he is to stand on his defence j 
 The Indian will do it. Here he must live; or if he must die, it ehali j 
 he here, on this soil this grant of the Great Spirit here, with his j 
 women and his children about him. If he perish, the smoke of his! 
 cabins shall go up and light the great prairies; and if the white man i 
 carries his plough here, it must be over the graves of the last of our 
 people! 
 
 " Brothers : We are weary of blood. The corn that we eat is red i 
 with blood ; there is blood upon the leaves of the tree ; the flower ; 
 is streaked with blood. We are weary of slaughter. We would 
 bury the tomahawk deep in the earth; the rain and the dew should 
 fill it with rust, till it should be no more found. But we dare not bury 
 it. We wear it at our belt, that the white man may remember that 
 the Indian has a weapon, and he will use it; but only to defend his 
 own land his own cabin fire. Let the white man stay where he is, 
 and the tomahawk is quiet in its place : let him step his foot but its 
 length further, and it is red with his blood. Let him remember this 
 " Brothers: The Great Spirit has taken a cord, and has bound all 
 the red men together. They have all spread out the hand, and gnsped 
 each the hand of his brother. There is one great chain of red men, 
 with lin ced hands, from the big lakes to the warm waters of the 
 south. Tae whole land west of the great mountains belongs to this 
 one people. No tribe shall again say, This land is mine I will seli 
 it for strong drink, and muskets, and blankets; for it is the property 
 of the whole. The Indian shall not be driven from his fields and 
 hunting-grounds, because strong drink has taken away his heart 
 He is beund by the great bonds of our people to defend and preserve 
 It. We are no more many tribes we are one people. 
 
 "Brothers: The whites were once many tribes : they were feeble 
 Ships came over the big waters, and armed men to rob them. They 
 united for defence : they became a strong people, and their enemies 
 hurried away. So it is with the red man : he was once many now 
 he is one." 
 
 Turning to Gen. Harrison, and addressing his discourse particularly 
 to him, he went on : 
 
 "Brother: You have been told that we desire war. It is fake 
 The Indian is only resolved to defend his own. There is now one 
 great union of the tribes. We must be treated as one people : our 
 land belongs to the whole : our Great Father at Washington must 
 treat us as one people : we shall make peace or war as one people 
 I shall visit our Father at Washington, and tell him of the union ef 
 the tribes, and he will put a stop to this bartering of our rights. He 
 will meet us as the messengers of a great people. He will put up a 
 barrier to hold back his people. He must do it, for the Indian has 
 now taken his stand he is fixed to the soil. 
 
 " Brother : Should he fail to do this should he put his hand be 
 hind him, when his red brother crosses the Alleghanies, and offers the 
 pipe of peace, it must come to blood. He may sit over the mountains, 
 and drink his wine and smoke his pipe, "and you and I must fight it 
 out. 
 
 " Brother : You ask why we call upon the members of the Council 
 of Fort Wayne to answer for their conduct. 
 
 "Brother: They had taken the oath of confederation, whose pe 
 nalty was death. They had clasped the hand of fellowship that made 
 us one, and death only can restore the links. They have done rob- 
 
 bery, in selling what was not their own, but had become the property i 
 of the whole. They have bartered, for things that decay in using. 1 
 the everlasting rights of our people the old hills, and broad hunting- ! 
 grounds, willed us by the Great Spirit. Death only can wipe out the 
 guilt. The.Crooked Path only sees the sunshine of to-day: he looks 
 not at the shadows of yesterday, nor the black clouds gathering upon 
 the distant mountain. He sees only the smoke of his own pipe. He ,, 
 must die! 
 
 " Brother, I have done." 
 
 Turning to seat himself, the chif found noplace prepared for him ; 
 
 The white father desires you to be seated. 
 The proud lip of Tecumseh curled with scorn, and he replied : 
 " The sun is my father, the earth my mother : I will repose upon 
 her bosom:" and he seated himself upon the earth. 
 
 The reply of General Harrison was mild and conciliatory ; but he 
 had to do with an acute reasoner, and one having truth and justice 
 on his side. He refused to recognize this new feature in the nego 
 tiations with (he Indians, and contended that the chiefs who attended 
 the Council of Fort Wayne, were the rightful owners of the land there 
 ceded, and had received a fair equivalent therefor. He knew no 
 thing of the union of the tribes, and declared that the great Father 
 at Washington would never recognize their pretensions. The union 
 was a dream. Such a thing could not exist could not be recognized. 
 A smile, half mournful, half incredulous, rested upon the face of 
 Tecumseh, at the close of this address. He sat, with his arms folded 
 upon his bosom, involved in painful reverie, when he was roused by 
 the voice of Winnemac, who entered upon his defence. Tecumseh 
 arose, and vehemently stretched forth his hand : 
 
 "Let not the traitor dare to speak here, and to this a?semblage, of 
 his crime. He shall appear before the council of his own people, 
 and plead there. He has broken his oath, and must answer for it to 
 those who helped to administer it." 
 
 Observing a determination in the chief to go on, Tecumseh s toma 
 hawk leaped from his belt, and he sprang forward, as if about to sink 
 it into the brain of the traitor chief. His followers obeyed the same 
 mpulse, and stopped short, as their leader, always preser\ing the 
 command of his passions, even while he seemed to give them rein, 
 paused midway in his advance. 
 
 General Harrison unsheathed his sword, and calmly pronouaced 
 their deliberations at an end; uttering, at the same time, some words 
 f reproach, that, for a brief moment, sent the fierce blood to the 
 cheek and eye of Tecumseh; but immediately his proud form was 
 erect and composed, and, waving his hand to hrs followers, he put 
 himself at their head, and slowly retired from the council-ground. 
 
 The report of the tumultuous close of the council, created not a 
 little of terror in the minds of the inhabitants. Weapons of every 
 description were brought from musty retreats, and made ready for 
 service. Sundry kettles of water, with dippers of goodly length, 
 might be seen boiling, ready for use, and pokers and tongs were 
 statiened by the doors, while broomsticks suddenly grew into great 
 demand. When the troop, in a long file, paraded the streets of the 
 infant city, it was hushed and motionless, as if under the influence of 
 some powerful spell. More than one musket might be seen pro 
 truded through one of the two holes cut in the top of the doors, 
 evidently for the purpose of letting in light, and letting out light also, 
 in the shape of a rifle shot : but now the vibratory motion of said 
 muskets gave strong indie:. lion of the s.tate of nerves incident to the 
 holder. Windows and shutters were closed, and not a child visible, 
 except where the wild eyes of some daring little urchin were seen 
 peering through koles in the shutter, made in the form of a heart, 
 whither he had climbed, by the aid of tables and chairs, to get a 
 sight of the show, or the battL?, as the case might be. But the troop 
 silently wended their way to the camp, and the inhabitants cau 
 tiously crawled out from their concealment, each casting an in quiring 
 glance at the scalp of his neighbor, to see if that appendage still 
 retained its allegiance. When the night closed in, precautions 
 were not neglected, for many were assured that this appearance of 
 quietude was only a feint, to throw them from their guard ; and the 
 stillness of the night was reserved for the attempt at destruction. 
 Some of the more adventurous, among whom was Henry Mansfield, 
 visited the camp at night, and were witness to the order and disci 
 pline that prevailed. It was a pleasant sight to beho.Vi the brisk 
 fires sparkling in the green woods, the torches gleaming in long 
 streams of light, and the dasky warriors collected in groups, or 
 wrapped in skins, composed to undisturbed repose, while the sentries 
 remained motionless as the huge bolea against which they reclined. 
 The night wore on in its quietude and beauty, with nothing to disturb 
 its repose. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The monarch rose- in musing mood, 
 And silent for a moment stood, 
 Wrspp d in himself, is though he sought 
 To grasp som^ hkldjn. vaniihei thought, 
 Which, rayless, vague, and undefined, 
 Still seemstt flit bek/e the min-*. SEBA SMITH. 
 
 THE more Mansfield pondered upon the resemblance of the two 
 girls, the more probable did it appear to"hirr, that one cf the Dura-nd 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 15 
 
 family might have escaped, and have been carried into captivity 
 while the burning of the house rendered it difficult to ascertain the 
 fact frcm the partial destruction of the bodies by the flames, and wiL 
 animals attracted to the spot. 
 
 Full of these convictions, desirous to ascertain the truth, and ye 
 fearful of awakening hops that might never be realized, he hesitatec 
 what course to adopt. At length, bethinking himself of the litil 
 basket presented him by Margaret, he determined to take it with 
 him, and call upon the family ; making it in one way, as circum 
 stances might direct, the vehicle of communication. 
 
 The door of the dwelling was open, and, as he entered the little 
 gate, he observed the family motionless about the room, and caugh 
 the sounds of Mr. Mason s voice, reading the Scriptures. He spoke 
 in deep and solemn tones, as if every word of the divine Psalmist 
 all the fervency of petition and humility of self-abasement, were 
 echoed from his own heart. " Enter not into judgment with me, 
 Lord, and deal not with me according to my transgressions." 
 
 It was now too late to retreat, for Mrs. Mason quietly beckonec 
 him to approach, and Alice in silence pointed to a chair beside her 
 blushing slightly, and covering her eyea with her hand, while tke 
 reading went on. Mr. Mason appeared unconscious of his presence 
 The babe aroused, and gave two or three lively springs in its mother s 
 lap; but Jimmy sat with his head back, his mouth open, and starin 
 with great perseverance at the new comer. When the chapter was 
 finished, Mr. Mason laid the Bible reverently aside, and uttering the 
 words, "Let us pray," the whole family ross up, and continued 
 standing over the L-;ck of their chairs, while the saint, the husband, 
 and the father prayed. It was a simple, beautiful acknowledgment 
 of the Divine presence in that little dwelling, and even Mansfield 
 wondered at the fervency of his own feelings, as his thoughts wen 
 up with that devout wrestler in prayer in the quietude of the even 
 ing twilight. He at first wondered at the evidently sincere con 
 fession of errors and "short comings in duty," from the lips of one 
 whose life was apparently so blameless; but reflection soon taught 
 him that errors are not to be estimated merely by the external mani 
 festation of them, but by their presence in the heart. One s sense o: 
 wrong-feeling. producing a sense of wrong-doing, in proportion as the 
 standard of moral excellence is exalted or otherwise. 
 
 The half-reckless and unreflective life he had hitherto lee!, 
 seemed suddenly checked, and the holiness of the atmosphere he 
 now breathed, come down like a refreshing, and a new beauty upon 
 him. He cast his eyes around upon the little family, and beheld the 
 softened look of the old dame, the hushed spirits of the gay boy 
 and Mrs. Mason, who had seated herself in the discharge of her ma 
 ternal duty, was looking down upon her sleeping child, a soft smile 
 about her mouth, her eyes full of maternal love, and that whole air 
 of quietness and content which can only spring from a heart filled to 
 the brim with its unpretending happiness. Alice, too, was at his 
 side ; her form slightly inclined, the round lips compressed, and a 
 holy cemposure resting upon the sweet face, as far as it \vas left 
 visible by the small hand pressed upon the eyes. 
 
 When Mr. Mason at length pronounced the word " Amen," the 
 youth started, as if the straying of his thoughts from the sacred duty 
 for which he had risen, were known to all present. 
 
 Mr. Mason now came forward and shook him heartily by the 
 hand, and the rest of the family j oined in the expressions of a hospi 
 table welcome. It was evide.-.t that the labor of the family closed 
 wit i the setting of the sun, for all the implements of industry were 
 carefully bestowed in their appropriate places. The wheel of the 
 old lady was placed in a corner, behind the cradle of the babe, and 
 Mrs. Mason s scissors and skein of thread were hung on one nail that 
 supported the little looking-glass, while on the other hung a pin-ball 
 and her thimffle. The table beneath was scoured to the l?st degree 
 of whiteness, and on the carefully folded linen cloth, might be seen 
 the epen spectacles of the grandmother. A small birch-bark box, 
 wrought with the quills of the porcupine, curiously colored, con 
 tained a silver thimble, some cotton, the MS3. of some old verses 
 neatly copied, and knitting needles, with the stitches of a little sleek- 
 ing for the bibe. Jimmy^socn laid hold of the basket and carried it 
 to Alice for her to admire. Its delicate construction attracted all 
 eyes, and when Jimmy returned it to the owner, in obedience to the 
 commands of his mother, Henry desired him to carry it to Miss 
 Alice, and ask her to keep it, adding, " It was the gift of a young 
 girl at the Indian town, remarkable fur her resemblance to herself. 
 "Alice don t look like an Injin,"said the child, stopping short. 
 Alice colored, and looked up in some contusion. 
 Oh, no; it was not an Indian, bat a" (he was about to say 
 
 beautiful, but he checked himself, and added) "a white girl, who 
 seemsd to have been adopted by the tribe." 
 
 Alice half rose from her chair: "Did you say she resembled my- 
 selfl" she atked faintly. 
 
 | Remarkably ; except that she was taller and darker." 
 
 " It is Margaret !" murmured the poor girl, in a scarcIy audible 
 voice, and sinking into a chair with a face pale as marble. 
 
 The good Anna came to her assistance, and Mamiif Id blamed hi* 
 awkwardness and precipitancy in giving utterance to his conviction*. 
 When restored to consciousness, Alice desired him to describe the 
 girl he had seen; and she listened with a trembling of the lip, a 
 painful, earnest expression about the eye, and an anxiety of the 
 brow, that showed that self was entirely forgotten in the interest 
 excited by the detail. When he dwelt upon the haughty expression 
 about the lip, Alice shook her head, Oh, no : Margaret was so 
 light, so joyous ; and yet, when teased, she would look proud and 
 queenly, and never cry like children of her own age. She must be 
 greatly changed." 
 
 Placing a finger upon her brow, she bent her head as ia deep 
 thought, as if striving to restore the severed links of memory. At 
 length she commenced in a low voice, and with the manner of one 
 forcibly dragged back to the contemplation of horrors which he 
 would fain avoid, and without raising her eyes from the floor. 
 
 " les, I think I see now how she was saved. I was always fear 
 ful and timid, but Margaret was brave. I shrank from the tempest 
 and the lightning, but Margaret delighted in beholding all that was 
 wild and terrible. I could never see a savage without a shudder, as 
 if I felt the edge of the tomahawk ; but Margaret had learned their 
 dances, would adorn herself with their ornaments, and listen to their 
 wild tales. We had been out gathering berries, when the sound t>{ 
 shrieks and yells caused us to turn homeward. We reached the 
 
 house just to behold the babe dashed against a tree, and my mother 
 
 but I can say no more. Half in weakness, for my limbs refused to 
 bear me, and half in cowardly fear, for my flesh winced as if the 
 plunge of the kaife were in my own body, I sank dowa by a pile of 
 wood near the house, and remained concealed. Bitterly have I de 
 plored that moment of weak terror. But the noble and intrepid 
 Margaret hastened forward, and laid hold of the savage hand about 
 to take the scalp from the head of my father. I shall never forget 
 the laugh of the Indian as he dropped my father s gray locks, and 
 seized the long curU of my sister : I grew dizzy, a mist came before 
 my eyes, and a sensation as if a cauldron of burning lead were poured 
 upon my brain. "at I forced all back and looked on. I saw a tall 
 powerful chief approach, with uplifted hatchet Margaret stretched 
 out her pale arms, and rushed forward, with wild and staring eyes. 
 [ saw no more. A mortal sickness came upon me, and when I awoke 
 [ was deathly cold, the house was in flames, and the Indians goae. 
 [ looked in the spot where I had last seen Margaret. I could find no 
 trace tt any all, all were gone. There was nothing left but blood, 
 blood everywhere ; and there it was upon the tree, and there was a 
 few hairs from the head of the dear dear babe. I grew wi. -i and 
 reckless, and wished I too had died ; and yet, would you think it, 
 when I thought of the terrible mode of the cold, sharp steel, I rushed 
 away into the woods in search of life for it struck me that the sav- 
 icres might return. Now that I recall all the circumstances of the 
 case, it is more than probable that Margaret s fearless demeanor 
 aiigh t have won the admiration of the Indians, and have induced them 
 
 to spare her." 
 
 Alice ceased, and all thought it at last appeared plausible. Mr. 
 VI *oa however, cautioned Alice to think calmly upon it, for after 
 ill it might not be Margaret ; and if it were so, nothing could be 
 -ainedby undue solicitude, while if it were not, all the time spent in 
 anriety would be just so much waste of life : for, L^ added, " every 
 moment should carry with it right and good thoughts, or it is worse 
 than lost to us." 
 
 <T sure it M Margaret," said Anna, "I feel as if it must be so, atd 
 w when that is the case, I know just how things will come 
 - ^e , va t her arm about the waiste of Alice and laid her 
 i"her shoulder. Alice felt too intensely and painfully for 
 
 Ut on" 
 
 on 
 b t she sat helpless, and breathing short, her face pale as 
 
 ^Never worry," said the old lady, "I am sure tis little, Marge- 
 
 But iust think how she ll be changed : She s half Injin now, 
 
 Banner of doubt. She s as good as lost, you see, for she ll 
 
 ITbftek again to live like other folks. She ll be kind of 
 
 j i:ir. tl wander in the woods, and hate all manner of work, 
 
 rt ild, and HKC lt> " . , <! _ 
 
 you see. I remember there was Sam Shaw ; he was earned el 
 
24 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERNS 
 
 the Injins, when he was nigh about ten years old, and he lived with 
 them till he was nigh on to thirty, and then his folks hearn that he 
 was alive so his brother started off to bring him home. At first 
 Sam wouldn t come, but when he was told about his poor mother 
 who could never forget him, and who had grown gray in her trouble 
 for him, Sam couldn t help feelin it, and he come home. But twas 
 a dreadful sight. He come home, you see, with his blanket over his 
 shoulders, and leggins on, and a belt with his scalpin -knife and toma 
 hawk, and head stuck chock fall of feathers. His poor mother threw 
 her arms abost his neck, for she knew him for all that, and kissed 
 his cheek and mouth; and don t you think, there stood Sam, bolt up 
 right, and never moved an arm, or said a word, only a foolish kind 
 of look about the face. It enymost killed his mother. He weuldn t 
 never hear no preaching nor praying, and nobody could make him 
 learn to read. He couldn t lay in a bed no how, and used to get up 
 before day-light and go off a shooting. Sometimes he would shoot 
 the neighbor s pigs a.nd poultry, and if they said one word, the next 
 night he d shoot more. He never would go to work, but there he 
 set all day, smoking, smoking, and saying nothing to nobody. His 
 mother took on terribly ; things couldn t last so long, and at last she 
 died. The very next day Sam was missin". He left all his clothin , 
 and took his gun and blanket, and twas supposed he went back to 
 the Injins; bat nobody knew, for he was never seen after." 
 
 All listened to the recital with a sort of painful apathy, and Alice 
 never raised her eyes from the floor. When she ceased, Mr. Mason 
 replied i 
 
 " It may be as you say, grandmother, for it is no ways likely that 
 she will appear as if brought up with the whites ; still I am thinking 
 that girls don t forget such things so quick as boys. Somehow they 
 never lose these little nice ways, when they once get them, and Mr. 
 Mansfield says she seems nowise like an Injin." 
 
 " O let us not talk of it," said Alice, " but she must be brought 
 home. Can we devise no method 1" 
 
 "I will go myself to the Indian town," said Mansfield, " and do 
 all I can to restore her." 
 
 Alice raised her eyes full of gratitude, to his face, and then they 
 fell and tears gathered beneath the lids. The youth could not but 
 look upon her sweet pale face, and he thought again hew like it was 
 to Margaret s, and yet how much it lacked that lofty look and bearing 
 which added so much to the interest ef the other. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 For vain yon army s might, 
 While for thy band the wide plain owned a tree, 
 
 Or the wild vine s tangled shoots, 
 
 Or the gnarled oak s mossy roots 
 Their trysting place might be ! LUCY HOOFER. 
 
 UNWILLING to lose any opportunity to conciliate the powerful in 
 fluence of Tecutnseh, General Harrison resolved to pay him a visit 
 at his encampment, in the hope that he might be won overdo the 
 American policy. 
 
 Tecumseh received him courteously, and motioned him to a seat 
 upon the turf beside him, at the same time that he presented the 
 lighted calumet in token of friendship. General Harrison was a 
 brave man and familiar with Indian customs, and he seated himself 
 with a single attendant, unarmed in the midst of these warriors of the 
 woods, armed to the teeth. He was well aware of the effect likely 
 to be produced upen their wild and generous natures by such tokens 
 of confidence; and he remained for some time smoking the pipe in 
 imitation of their own taciturnity. Occasionally, the two leaders 
 cast looks of scrutiny upon each other, but each was an adept in the 
 power of guarding the expression of the face, and nothing could be 
 gathered. In the mean time the IncMan fires were lighted in various 
 directions, and the game, secured by the dexterity of the hunter and 
 trapper, was in process of preparation. Flitches of deer, with squir 
 rels, rabbits and other small game were suspended on wooden spits, 
 or roasting on the coals, while those of the party whose repast wa= 
 over were amusing themselves in adorning their persons, or in the 
 many ganres so much in vogue with a rude people. Gradually the 
 gamesters removed from the vicinity of the older chiefs, who had seated 
 themselves macircle about Tecunneh and the white General; and the 
 low hum of their voices, mingled with the singing ot the birds acd 
 the crackling of the fires. 
 
 The sheila of the squirrel rattled down upon the old leaf benea h 
 ree, and the mght-dew still gemmed the filaments of the spider 
 
 ?JS2 iT tl r head of the wild blossern - The miet frc 
 
 e rive aad the level prairie was sailing lightly off to mingle with 
 that of thegreatlake,, while in the direction Opposite theeun.the T 
 
 reposed like an immense dome of deepest azure. Softly above the 
 trees arose the slender spires of thin smoke, as if many altars had 
 been reared in the great wilderness to burn incense to Him, who is 
 invisible. 
 
 General Harrison laid his pipe aside, and Tecumseh assumed an 
 attitude of attention. 
 
 " Brother : We heard your talk of yesterday with regret, for we 
 thought you had been bought over to the English; that you are be 
 coming the foes of our white Father, the President. 
 
 " Brother : We are told that the war-belt haa been sent around 
 among the tribes v and that you only wait the movements of the Brit 
 ish to come down with all your people to kill our women and burn 
 our villages. Tecumseh is a great chief, but he is trying to blow 
 smoke into the eyes of his white brothers. He talks of peace whea 
 he is planning for war. He talks of a union of the tribes for their 
 own security, when he is planning to fight egainst our Father, the 
 President, and to aid his foes." 
 
 Tecumseh replied calmly, though a fierce light burnt in his eye, 
 and there was a slight expression of scorn about the lip, 
 
 "Brother: The path of the white man is crooked like that of the snake 
 in the grass. The red man has tried the same path; but now it is 
 straight forward like that of the arrow from the bow. The white 
 man cannot understand it. He covers his face with his hand, and 
 then says he cannot see. He puts his fingers in his ears, snd says he 
 cannot hear. Let him open his eyes and ears, and his heart will un 
 derstand. 
 
 " Brelher : Once the tribes were a great people, their smokes went 
 up from a thousand hills ; they were like the leaves upon the trees. 
 They are passing away. The fox is crouched in his wigwam. The 
 moss is thick upon his council-stones. The vine clingeth about the 
 spear of the warrior, and the old canoe rotteth beside the lake. We 
 are bowed and feeble. We look away to the hills, and behold the 
 spirits of our people gathering in the land of shadows. We see them, 
 departing like the wings of the bird when storms come upon the. 
 earth. 
 
 "Brother: The Great Spirit hath revealed his will to his children. 
 He hath bound us in one brotherhood. He opened the eyes of his 
 red children, to perceive that his white brothers were crowding him 
 from the earth. The plan of our white Father, the President, ia 
 buying our land, is like a mighty water that will swallow up the red 
 men. The union of the tribes is a dam to hold it in check to keep 
 back this mighty water. It is no dream. The tribes are one. We 
 will sell no more of our land. 
 
 "Brother: You have evil counsellors. They tell you we ar- 
 leagued with your enemies, the British. It is false. There is no 
 treaty except that which binds the tribes into one. If you and the 
 British go to war you must fight it out. The Indian will fight for 
 neither. What have we to gain by your wars ? Nothing, but to be 
 still more weakened, and then to fall a prey to one or the other of 
 you. No : the Indian will defend his own hearths, his own graves, 
 and only hear the roar of your battle afar off. 
 
 " Brother : The wampum-belt has been sent amongst the tribe?, Uut 
 it is in amity. It is the pledge of faith between us, and it means too, 
 that we will fight against you or the British, whichever shall molest 
 us. liespect our rights and you have nothing to fear. Plant your 
 foot upon the red man s soil and it is felt- from the Lakes, to the 
 mouth of the great river Mississippi." 
 
 Tecumseh was followed by others, who replied at length to the 
 charges of Harrison, and dwelt long upon the aggressions of the 
 whites. The General, finding it vain to hope for any arrangement in 
 accordance with his own views, arose to depart. 
 
 At this moment, Mansfield, who had accompanied him, bsheld Mr. 
 Mason and Alice approaching the spot. The former addressed them . 
 without hesitation, while Alice stood a little apart, looking anxiously 
 upon the array of dusky warriors. 
 
 " Good morning, Gineral, you re ^lirrin^airly this mornin . These 
 varmint7s7erri"to be mighty stiil here. Don t you thinklhe re hatch- 
 in some plot to butcher usl" and then, without waiting for a reply, 
 he went on. 
 
 "This young woman here is named Durand. She was one of the 
 family murdered by the Injins, and now she is persuaded that a sister 
 of hers is among them; only because Mr. Mansfidd saw a white 
 girl living there who happened to loek like her. But I am more 
 thinking it may be one of those French gals, that seem to like the 
 Injins about as well as the whites. Howsomev?r, nothing would do 
 but she must come out here to see Tecumseh about her, and see what 
 can be done to bring her back." 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 17 
 
 The General addressed her courteously, and returned where Te- ! from surprise, from skirmishes with ambushed foes, and the fatigues 
 cumseh remained standing against the trunk of a tree. j and sufferings of a long journey to one delicately nurtured, to say 
 
 Instantly, as Alice beheld him, she exclaimed, " It is the very chief nothing of the dangers of a residence with them, and the improba- 
 to whom my sister fled for protection :" and then, forgetful of all but > bility that Margaret would be prevailed upon to return to the settle 
 ments. All these things crowded upon his mind, and filled him with 
 perplexity. The more he thought upon it, the more preposterous 
 did the project appear Its terrors grew upon the imagination every 
 
 her own anxious thoughts, she addressed him. 
 
 " Tell me, O chief, were you not of the party that destroyed the 
 family of Durand V 
 
 The warrior at once dropped the expression of apathy he had be 
 
 moment, aad when Alice placed her arm within that of Mr. Mason, 
 
 fore worn, and started forward with a look of fierce displeasure, the : waving him* cheerful good morning, he followed her retreating 
 
 attitude of a tiger about to spring upon his prey : " Tecumseh wet 
 not his tomahawk in the blood of women and children. Who can 
 point to the cabin fired by his hand 1 or show the scalp of an old man 
 among his trophies !" 
 
 figure as that of one doomed to unknown suffering. 
 
 He returned to the city, silently, by the side of General Harrison, 
 inwardly resolving to follow tha natives to Tippecanoe, and as fax 
 as possible shield the footsteps of the devoted girl. The good Gene- 
 AssurmHg his wonted look of dignified composure, he folded his ral came to his aid by proposing to make him the bearer of a meg- 
 anus and looked upon the face of Alice, as she stood shrinking, yet ,sage to the chiefs, recommending Miss Durand to their protection, 
 resolute to pursue her holy mission. Slowly a smile grew upon the ! i He hinted, too, the propriety of delaying his departure, as well 
 face of the chief, one of those inexpressibly beautiful smiles which from respect to Alice as public opinion. The youth of course ac 
 quiesced, but deprecating in round terms the baseness of idle scandal, 
 and the propensity of the world to interfere with that in which it 
 had no concernment. His feelings softened again as he thought of 
 
 rendered him so remarkable. His lips parted, displaying teeth white 
 and even, and he waved his hand in token of silence as he was about 
 to speak. 
 
 "Did not the maiden creep beneath a heap of wood, her lips red 
 
 the maindenly refinement of Alice ; her gentleness combined with 
 
 with the wild berry, and cheek white and cold, and there behold the: dignity ; the dignity not of manner, which can be easily assumed, 
 
 death of her kindred T 
 
 "Most true," replied Alice, "I was fearf . .I and selfish. 
 
 But 0! 
 
 bitterly, most bitterly have I deplored. Margaret was bold and gene 
 rous, and she plead to preserve the life of those she loved. She held 
 up her arras to you did you spare herl does she live 1" She spoke j 
 in a deep tremulous voice, her features contracted into an expression 
 of intense anxiety, her breathing short and hurried, as if life itself! 
 hung upon her reply. 
 
 Tecumseh seemsd willing to sport with her emotion. He appeared 
 studying the lineaments of her face as it was raised to his own, and : 
 his reply was clear and studied. 
 
 " Tecumseh goes to war only with men. The blood of a child 
 never stained his weapon. He heard the shrieks of the dying, while 
 the followers of Winnemac, the friend of the white man," and h<- 
 glanced derisively at General Harrison, " had sunk their tomahawks 
 into the skull of their white friends. I beheld the maiden in her 
 paleness aad terror as she lay concealed, and the noble girl who would 
 have Sived the scalp of her father. Tecumseh spread his shield over 
 her, and she was safe !" 
 
 During this recital Alice had gazed upon him with parted lips; 
 when he ceased she breathed heavily, and would have fallen to the 
 
 but that which arises from native innocence, the majesty with 
 which goodness is always wont to invest her votaries. He recalled 
 her smile, the tones of her voice, till the course that she would have 
 dictated became the best of all others, and the one to be adopted by- 
 himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 We in one mother s arms were locked 
 
 Long be her love repaid ; 
 In the same cradle we were rocked, 
 
 Round the same hearth we played. Cms. SPRAOPI. 
 MRS. MASON looked in the face of Alice sadly for more than a 
 minute, without speaking, when told of her determination to seek 
 her sister in the Indian settlement. She then gently undid her boa- 
 net, divested her of her shawl, and stroked the soft hair upon her 
 brow tenderly, as she would caress a sick child. 
 
 " Poor dear child," she said, " you are ill. I will make you a 
 drink of herb tea, and pat you to bed, and you will soon be better. 
 Your hands are cold, and head burning hot. These troubles are too 
 much for you, poor child. Grandmam, please touch the cradle with 
 your foot, while I take care of Alic?." 
 
 I must be ready to go at early dawn," said Alice, as she looked 
 
 ground, had not Mansfield sustained her. Pressing her hand to her | round upon the familiar room ; and it may be the thought cross 
 brow, and declining further aid, she arose and again addressed the mind that she might never raturn, for tears gathered in her e>es, ai 
 
 she bent down to kiss the cheek of little Jimmy, who was regarding 
 
 chief. 
 
 Can my sister be restored to us! 
 
 Will she not leave her wild 
 
 her with open mouth. 
 
 life, and come to live with us again 1 We are both desolate. Let us Have you gone crazy, Alice r said the child, spea 
 dwell together. I will go with you, and she cannot refuse the plead- peeping at a little distance, 
 ings of a sister " " Crazy ! no indeed ; what made you think 
 
 As she uttered this she laid her hand within that of the chief, and : ] Why, mother says you are, and she shall 
 looked up with an expression akin to that of her more daring sister, ^shan t go to the Injms." 
 
 . , v Tames I am coin" to bring home a dear sister. The in- 
 
 repeating, "I will go with you." JN > Jal! 
 
 Tecumseh * brow relaxed with another of those winning smiles ildians wont hurt me." 
 as he replied "They will, they will;" returned the boy, beginning 
 
 "There spoke the spirit of the Sway ing-Reed. Margaret is brave j j They will take your hair off your h 
 and beautiful-her step is light as the fawn s upon the hill. She has I , Don t go, don t go : and he clung his arms around 1 
 the eye of the hunter, and the heart of the warrior. Wisdom is upon ing and sobbing, 
 her lips. Why should she be confined to the toil of the white man s 
 
 Q&ttSZ^*t^~%\Z^~tttXX+ ;; 
 
 ^ehM be cc-i ssi-ti-jSi-r! isstttt& 
 
 wilderness to seek that which was lost! Indeed, Anna, can yon 
 
 7 ana s juuiug. . 
 
 Dear Anna," said Alice, observing her about to make the h 
 don t make anything for me. I am perfectly well. 
 
 ,,,.., wirena.b.r .o.he,, ,ea,, our 
 pr,ye r ,,nd A.wi.1 return," the . gathered , he, own ,,ev 
 and she turned to conceal them. 
 
 "The maiden shall go with me," replied the chief, " and **| 
 shall be safe." , 
 
 "It must not be," eagerly returned Henry Mansfidd ; for if she! 
 
 goes I will be her protector." 
 
 Alice looked up, and a blush overspread her cheek and neck 
 
 "I feel that I shall be safe under the prote ct.on of thisge neroj. 
 
 chief. It were not maidenly to receive other aid. Mr. Maasfi 
 
 jg.rdin 
 
 " 
 
 ,, 
 ,, , the old W, ., re- 
 
 , . hirtpr look 
 
 muMnotweep; 
 
 an d I have loved you most tenderly. 
 
 make m e happy, and the Almighty 
 f . B A the face o f Margaret gleams upon 
 dS when our father laid his hands upon 
 
 poormoth er P rest her lips to ours. Oh, Ann,, 
 * 7P ^ ^ ^ ^.^ ^^ fhou]d g<> 
 
 
18 
 
 THE NEW WQRLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 " No, child," she said, " it s nowise strange you should want to|| to the Indian village in search of a lost sister, many of the inhab- 
 go and find your sister, and if Ann Spaulding had any kind of feel- ! j itants of the city came out to get a glimpse of her sweet face, and 
 
 I advise you to go, you ll never be i | to utter a benediction upon her innocent head. Though personally 
 
 known to few, her misfortunes were known to all ; and scarcely a 
 dry eye followed the beautiful white girl, as her slight figure disap 
 peared in the distance, where she rode beside the stately form of 
 Tecumseh. 
 
 Henry Mansfield had not ventured to say adieu, and for awhile 
 
 ing, she would not think it was. 
 the worse for it." 
 
 No sooner had Mrs. Jones commenced her reproaches, than 
 Anna s tears were dried as if by magic. She wiped her eyes, and 
 removing her apron, replied, 
 
 " I am sure, Alice, you doa t think I meant to blame you for any 
 thing. But when you spoke so tenderly of a sister, I thought of; | Alice looked searchingly among the crowd, hardly daring to say 
 myself." Here her tears flowed afresh. Suppressing them with an i even to her own heart, it was for him; but when he came not, a 
 effort, she went on. " I thought if I only had a relative in the wide j faint sigh stole from her lips, and she inwardly said, " I ought not-to 
 world, I would do just so. I would go into the woods, miles and; have expected it." She had known so much of sorrow, that disap- 
 miles. I would suffer hunger and fatigue, anything to tell them ofl| pointment never came unlocked for. In the meanwhile, Henry 
 my attachment, and to win their love. But oh, Alice, strangers are jj stood apart, leaning against a tree, his arms folded across his breast, 
 often kinder to us than those of our own blood. Can t we, by ! and his face pale as marble. He looked upon her white cheek and 
 being loving ourselves, teach children to love 1" and she drew little i slight frame, and shuddered to think of the sufferings to which she 
 Jimmy to her side and kissed his cheek. jj might be exposed. When General Harrison gave her his paternal 
 
 "I am sure, mother, I love you," said the boy, "and Alice, and j[ benediction, he envied him the privilege and the assurance which 
 father, and grandmam, and the baby;" and he began to tumble and Jhis age and character imparted, and thought hew he should have 
 -frolic with it as he spoke. 
 
 "And we all love each other," said Mr. Mason, as he entered the 
 door, and hung his hat upon a peg behind it. " I do wish, Alice, 
 
 i stammered in uttering the simplest thing at such a time, 
 the crowd dispersed, each with his own comments, and all omimous 
 of evil. Many were the glances sent to catch a last glimpse of the 
 
 you would abandon this project. It seems to be so dangerous ; and! fair girl; and her beauty, her gentleness, and misfortunes became 
 .Mr. Mansfield says if you will, he will go back to the town and see j the more impresshe, as perils thickened about her. So Death, the 
 
 if he can prevail upon her to return to us." 
 
 Alice blushed deeply. " You know he told us that she declared 
 her determination never to return. I must go. I must see her. 
 She grows every momen-t more dear te me ; and if she will not 
 -come with us, I must btay with her." 
 
 "That is rather cruel, Alice," said Mr. Mason, reproachfully. 
 
 " Pardon me, I meant not so. I do appreciate all your kindness; 
 but you cannot tell how my heart is drawn out in love to that com 
 panion of childhood." 
 
 " Say no more, Alice, say no more. I do understand all you feel ; 
 and I know that He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb will 
 
 great scorcher of living hearts, buries the faults of the dead only to 
 open the eyes of the living to their own, and all errors are the more 
 glaring as the spirit brings all things to recollection, whatsoever 
 was lovely in the departed. 
 
 Alice had mingled but little among them, and her face was 
 scarcely known; and now, as they beheld it for the first time, and 
 in the act of self-sacrificing affection, it became invested with a 
 mysterious and spiritual beauty, which all were ready to believe 
 ominous of the doom that awaited her. 
 
 Mansfield saw and felt all this, and the tears started to his eyes as 
 he thought his should be the privilege to be with the sweet girl in 
 
 make all things work together for your good. Let us a:semble j j the long and perilous march, to shield her from evil, and anticipate 
 around the family altar, and ask His blessing upon all that we do. j her wants ; and so respectful should be his attentions, that even 
 Taking down the large bible, he read the beautiful and affecting Ian- i ! Alice, delicate and maidenly as slw was, should receive them as from 
 guage of the Saviour as given by St. John, "Let not your heart be ija brother : for was she not as a sister to hitnl He trembled as he 
 troubled," &c , then laying aside the sacred volume, he, with more : thought; for the emotions awakened by her calm and simple beauty, 
 than his ordinary fervency, poured out his desires before the Infinite, j j were so unlike those from beholding the more radiant Margaret, 
 the Great Father, who knoweth all our wants, and is ever ready toll that he was sure they could be no more than the tenderness one 
 impart wisdom and strength. i would feel for a gentle and suffering sister. 
 
 When Alice retired to her bed, it was with more of hope and hap- : ! Tecumseh had sent on the main body of his warriors in advance 
 pinfss than she had known for many years. She could think of ;! of his own little escort, that was to accompany Alice ; and he now 
 Margaret only as the same ardent, joyous being she was at the time adapted his pace to her comfort, with a refinement worthy of a 
 of their cruel separation, and she doubted not her heart would as | higher state of cultivation. Alice, though apparently timid and dis- 
 Teadily respond to the laaguage of affection. Then, she thought of trustful, had still all a woman s fortitude and resolution, when thrown 
 the young stranger who had so kindly interested himself in her be- i upon her own resources. As the dangers of her situation grew upon 
 half. She tried to think it but the dictate of common humanity ; j her imagination, and, in the solitudes of the forest, appeared greater 
 but still she dwelt upon his noble features, his manliness and kind- i j than they were in reality, she felt her own nature grow strong within 
 ness of manner, till even his image grew indistinct in the shadowy j her, and resigned herself to her situation with a spirit prepared for 
 
 visions that gathered around her slumbering pillow. 
 
 any emergency. She looked in the face of her noble conductor, and 
 
 ice to do anything for herself. Tne old lady busied herself ! ! that swept across their path, he took the bridle of her horse, and led 
 iaring dough-nuts and other little dainties for her use on the i him through the torrent, gratified to perceive in her no womanly to- 
 
 With those in the middling classes of life, benevolence is not con- n read there so much of all that is best in the human heart, that a 
 fined to its mere expression: it goes forth into active kindness, and } strange and unlooked-for sympathy took the place of that awe with 
 prompts to a thousand offices of love and forethought, scarcely ; which ehe had hitherto regarded him She saw him choose out the 
 dreamed of by those who entrust everything to the care cf servants. : smoothest and most sheltered paths, that the low wood or the burning 
 The simple wardrobe of Alice was arranged entirely by Mrs. Ma-ijsun might not incommode her; and that, too, while hia followers 
 son; for in the tenderness of her solicitude, she would scarcely al-!| dashed on, regardless of all impediments. In fording the streams 
 low Alice 
 in preparin, 
 
 journey, sewing them into the white napkin with her own trembling 
 bands. 
 
 It was a sad day when Alice mounted the steed prepared by Mr. 
 Mason, and bade adieu to the little family. Many were the tears 
 shed, and the last words of caution and advice; and then, when the 
 sound of her horse s feet died away in the distance, Anna threw 
 herself upon her bed, and sobbed as if her heart would break. She 
 wondered more than ever that she could have parted with her, and 
 she felt how lonely would she herself be in the long summer days 
 when her husband was away m the field^and she should have no 
 
 kens of fear. At noon, he spread skins for her to repose under the 
 shadow of the woods, and brought water with his own hands from 
 the brook, as she partook of their simple repast. His words were 
 few, but always in a voice low and winning, with that same remark 
 able smile, that contrasted so strongly with the usual sad and even 
 stern expression of his face. 
 
 They had emerged from the woods, and were in the outskirts of a 
 prairie, that undulated far off upon the horizon like a sea of verdure, 
 when Tecumseh paused upon the elevation they had gained, and 
 cast his eye over the broad prospect that opened before them. In 
 
 one to speak to, no kind face to which she might appal when! the rear, growing dim and indistinct in the distance, appeared the 
 wearied with the ill-humor of the old lady. Even the old dame sat j | clustered dwellings of the white settlers, with their waving fields of 
 rockiBgher body back and forth, occasionally giving utterance to ajj grain and cultivated enclosures. At their right swept far offa forest 
 
 deep groan, and an ejaculation, "It is the Lord s will. 
 
 Mr. Mascn took his leave as the Indian cavalcade commenced 
 their march. When it was rumored that Alice Durand was geing 
 
 i of greea trees, as^yet untouched by the axe of the settler; the old 
 | primeval woods ^reposing in the dim majesty of many centuries, and 
 I their giant arms outstretched in the rega^pomp of by-gone and un- 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 counted years. At the left were vistas in the green woods, bright 
 streams, smiling and singing onward in the summer light, ehaets of 
 water in which the water-fowl dipped its beak, and the trees stoeped 
 down to the very brink, as if in love with their owa images reflected 
 iu the crystal beneath. The smoke of the Indian wigwam went up 
 like a scarcely perceptible mist in the thin air, and through the long 
 perspective might be seen herds of deer, with their antlered heads 
 proudly elevated, and their penciled limbs scarcely visible in the speed 
 of their motions. In front was the great prairie, relieved by a long 
 line of hills painted upon the horizon, and the mist that hung over 
 the great lakes disposing itself into clouds of every variety of form, 
 stretching high up into the azure vault, or reposing like fairy isles in 
 a sea of blue. 
 
 Tecumseh drew to the side of the maiden. 
 
 " Is it not a worthy inheritance V he said, as he stretched out 
 his arm, and circled slowly the glorious picture belieath them. 
 
 "Beautiful! most beaatiful !" responded Alice; and in the gush 
 of her enthusiasm, the tears gathered to her eyes, and sh turned 
 from the beauty of the earth and looked in the face of her noble 
 conductor. . 
 
 Tecumseh regarded her with a saddened smile ; and Alice felt, 
 were it not for the majesty of his sorrow, she might have dared to 
 pity the chief, whose thoughts she knew were dwelling upon the 
 former glory of his people, and their present feebleness and decay. 
 As it was, she could feel nothing but a strange admiration and sym 
 pathy. Her eyes fell slowly, and a sigh escaped her bosom. The 
 chief moved not, but he answered the sigh heavily. 
 
 " Maiden, the white man is spared, only that ths Indian remembers 
 that such as thou art dwell with him. But the Indian s wrongs are 
 many and great. Look around us : all that you behold was once 
 his : it was the gift of the Great Spirit. He built his fires and pur 
 sued his game, and there was nothing to make his heart faint. But 
 it is past. The Indian is an outcast and a wanderer. The white 
 man marches up with fire and sword, forward, forward : and the 
 deadly bullet is sent before him, and the warriors retreat, shielding 
 their women and their children, and falling down to die in the vast 
 wilderness ; and the few that are left will be lost in the great water? 
 of the setting sun." 
 
 This was uttered in. a deep, solemn voice, with slow, melancholy- 
 action ; and, in its dying close, Alice seemed almost to behold the 
 extinction of the tribes. She clasped her hands over the saddle, and 
 looked wonderingly up as the chief went on. His eye lu .idled, and 
 his action assumed greater animation, though he never for a moment 
 forgot the gentleness of the fair girl at his side. 
 
 "Bif, maiden, the Great Spirit has decreed that his children shall 
 no more flee like the deer before the hunter. He has commanded 
 them to drive the whites to the other side of the great mountains, 
 and there hold them at bay. The white man must leave the Indian 
 to hold this side of the mountains as his own. The Indian hath 
 planted his foot ; it is the soil of his fathers. He will build his 
 smokes here die here ; or blood will come of it !" 
 
 Alice turned pale, as the picture of burning dwelling?, and slaugh 
 tered inhabitants, presented itself to her eye, and she replied ear 
 nestly : " The red chief is generous ; he is humane ; he will not dip 
 his hands in human blood. He haa mothers, and sisters, and chil 
 dren among his own people, and he will have compassion upon those 
 of his white brother." 
 
 " Nobly hast thou spoken, maiden ; Tecumseh delights not in war 
 He will visit our white father at Washington, and tell him to stop the 
 purchase of our lands. He will remove his people quietly into his 
 own land, and l leava us ours. The highmouiUains must be a wall to 
 divide the red man from the white : they are not the same people 
 they cannot live together. True, maiden, we have wives and daugh 
 ters ; and it is for their defence that the Indian has united to become 
 one people. But, Uiink you, when the white man bends his lips to 
 the cheek of the beautiful, that he remembers the Indian is drawn to 
 t ~ " maidens of his own people with a like^emotion 1 No, no ! he is 
 but as the wild beast that prowleth in the desert, to whom love and 
 gentleness are unknown." 
 
 A.._e bowed her head, for she felt there was too much of truth in 
 what he uttered. Tecumseh mused a moaient in silence, and then, 
 giving the reins to his horse, they entered upon the prairie. Desi 
 rous to change the current of his thoughts, Alice ventured some in 
 quiries as to Margaret. She raised her eyes timidly to the face of 
 her dusky guide, and a momentary fear came over her ; but the 
 thought of Margaret again u*wired her, and she spoke. 
 
 "T a M-ar,,,. it K C I O J r th Indian maidens ! Is she joyous and 
 
 Dutiful 1 or has she ceased to be the gay, proud girl that we once 
 oved 1 Oh, if I could see her look as she once did ! hear ter epeak- 
 ind see her smile, 53 she did whea we were children together, life 
 would be too blissful !" 
 
 The chief listened with a smile. " The Swaying Reed is beau- 
 iful; hers is the beauty of the wild blossom, the smile of the sua 
 vhen he stealeth through the leaves to play upon the still waters, 
 nd the wind awakens it to dimples. Her voice is sweet as that of 
 he spirit-bird, that singeth all night amid the branches. The maiden 
 s proud, and wise, for the Great Spirit talketh to her in her slum 
 bers." 
 
 " But has she forgotten to worship the God of her fathers to bow 
 [own to the one only true God ?" asked Alic, earnestly, as she, for 
 he first time, began to feel that the bonds of sympathy might have 
 >ecome weak between them. 
 
 A shade stole over the features of the chief. He waa silent for 
 nearly a minute before he replied. 
 
 "The Swaying Reed worships the Great Spirit, but not like her 
 white fathers upon bended knees and with loud words, in temples 
 reared by skilful hands, with the music of many voices. N! she 
 olds her hands upon her bosom, and in the solitude of her own 
 hougbts, in the calm of the great woods, her spirit goeth forth, and 
 mingleth with the universal spirit, till she is a part of all that is good 
 and infinite about her. The broad arch of the overhanging sky, 
 with the light of innumerable stars the green earth, with its old 
 woods and bespangled blossoms; the drapery of many clouds, and 
 ascending mists, are to her a temple of adoration. The sound of 
 many waters, the melody of birds, and the swaying of trees, send up 
 heir tones of worthiest music ; and her thoughts blend in the midst, 
 ike the sweet offering that the sleeping plant scndeth upward AS the 
 shadows of evening gather about it." 
 
 Alice listened, enchanted by the fervor and unlocked for elo 
 quence of the chief; and, for a moment, she could not but feel how 
 much more worthy were the temple he had described, than the most 
 gorgeous tabernacle reared by hsman hands the worship from such 
 aa altar, than the most elaborate ceremonial of human institutions. 
 Still she would rather have known that Margaret, mindful of early 
 instruction, had knelt by her bsd night and morning, and prayed, as 
 had been their wont in childhood. This vague and solitary worship, 
 did it really exist, seemed to her pious mind, always accustomed to 
 times and forms, so precaiious, that she hardly dared to call it wor 
 ship. Gradually the impression of abstract truths faded from her 
 mind, and slowly a fearful surmise gathered upon it, assuming form 
 and distinctness. It passed over her like an unearthly chill ; and so 
 palpable did it appear, that she felt as if a fearful gulf already se 
 parated the lost and beloved from herself, and from all companion 
 ship and sympathy. She looked upon the chief, with his manliness 
 and beauty, his winning smile, and melodious voice ; his passionate, 
 and yet subdued eloquence ; his humanity, and yet well-known cou 
 rage in battle; and as all these things gathered upon her fancy, his 
 person seemed to assume still more of majesty and beauty ; and she 
 grew sick at heart, as she thought how unlikely it was that a maidf a 
 like Margaret, ardent, prouJ, and enthusiastic, should resist BO many 
 attractions, when deprived of the society of her own people, and 
 subjected entirely to their influence. A sylvan picture gathered upon 
 her mind s eye, of a cot away in the woods, in the midst of vinee 
 and gushing waters, and Margaret standing at the door ia robe c 
 skins, and armed with bow and quiver. Margaret seemed already 
 loat to her for ever, so vivid became the picture, and .he spieid out 
 her hands for support. 
 
 Tecumseh looked upoa her with amazement ; and, h 
 from her horse, placed her gently under the shadow of the trees- 
 for they had reached one of those little islands, as it were, of 1 
 that occasionally rise, like the oasis of the desert, in the raids 
 the surrounding wilderness of verdure. 
 
 " I have seen a strange dream," said Alice, recovering. 
 Margaret had ceased to love her own people ; that she would no 
 more return to us. I saw her away in the wild woods, proud and 
 ijeautiful, but in all respects like an Indian maid." 
 
 Tecumseh s eye gleamed with a wild and startling brilliancy, 
 looked off int the blue space, and a srmle almost of triumph 
 i,pon his lips. It maybe that a new dream came to his own spin 
 one that, in the midst of his ambition, acd labors of patriotism, had 
 never before distinctly came to his eye. He beheld, too, the vim 
 ,over*d wigwam, the beautiful girl in her sylvan robes and the eye 
 .rowing more radiant at his own approach. Alice felt i 
 worst suspicions were confirmed, but great was her rehef whe 
 chief replied. 
 
THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 "Fear not, maiden, that the Swaying Reed has learned to weep, 
 and to love. She is alone with her own thoughts," he might have 
 said more, but Henry Mansfield, emerging from a clump of trees, 
 reined ^ip his steed by their side, and he was silent. A glad smile 
 for an instant lighted the face of Alice, and a crimson blush over 
 spread cheek and brow. Tecumseh greeted the youth with one of 
 his blandest smiles, and the party again sat forward. 
 
 It would be uninteresting to follow their route through that wild 
 and beautiful wilderness; to describe their encampments for the 
 night, and the tender and respectful attentions bestowed upon Alice 
 through the long journey. As they approached the village, the sun 
 was near its decline ; and the rich crimson tints were spread out 
 upon the river, and lighted up vine and tree from the sombreness of 
 their repose, as if a trail of glory delightedly lingered about the 
 green earth. Alice felt her heart beat wildly as she approached, and 
 her breath came thick and heavily. A thousand pictures were pre 
 sented to her mind, gloomy and disheartening, till she grew exhausted 
 at the contemplation. Tecumseh conducted her by the river path 
 to the bower before described, in which he knew that Margaret 
 would be likely to repose at this hour of the day. Alice caught a 
 view of a maiden half reclining iu the shadow, caressing a white j 
 fawn at her feet ; and she saw that she raised her eyes, blushing 
 deeply at the entrance of the chief. He stepped aside, and revealed 
 the form of Alice. Margaret s radiant eyes assumed an expression j 
 of searching interest ; her bosom slightly heaved, and she became 
 deadly pale. Still sh ; neither spoke nor moved. Alice rushed for- j 
 ward, and knelt by her side ; and, putting her arms about her neck, 
 whispered, " DJ you not know me, my own dear, dear Margaret V 
 Slie felt herself slightly repulsed the girl sighed heavily, raised her ; 
 eyes reproachfully to those of the chief, and fell fainting to the i 
 ground. 
 
 Alice felt a dizziness and sickness of heart gathering about her, and 
 all her dreams of attachment and sisterly sympathy seemed suddenly 
 to evaporate in thin air. She groaned heavily, and pressed her hand 
 to the cold brow of Margaret. 
 
 "Oh, God! that we should be spared for this. Margaret, dear 
 Margaret, say but one word say that you love me, and I will return 
 again through the wild woods, and trouble you no more." 
 
 Margaret s cold eyes were fixed upon her face without a single 
 token of recognition. Her hands were clasped, and her brow con 
 tracted, and yet there was no look of severity, nothing but a fixed, 
 long look of utter wretchedness. 
 
 Alice burst into tears and was silent. Suddenly a painful thought 
 .crossed her mind. 
 
 " Oh, can it be 1 Do I behold you, Margaret, but a wreck of your 
 better nature ; the victim of cruelty and oppresion V and she 
 again drew her to her bosom and kissed her white lips. 
 
 Margaret gently repulsed her, and turned away her head. But 
 the fire came to her eye, and she held up her delicate hand as if to 
 say, " Do these look like bondage or cruelty V Alice turned appeal- 
 ingly to the chief. 
 
 "The Swaying Reed hath been like the blossom sheltered in its 
 green covering, and away from the breath of the storm." 
 
 Margaret rose up, and with tottering steps approached the cabin 
 of Minaree. As her eye rested on the face of Ackoree, the beauty 
 of the tribe, her step became firmer, and a portion of her former 
 pride gathered about her motions. Alice followed mechanically be 
 hind her, feeling as if the golden bowl of existence had been sud 
 denly dashed to the earth. What was all the beauty of earth and 
 sky to her, all of human hope and happiness, when the one only 
 staff on which she had ventured to lean was thus thrust from be 
 neath her. The friendly chief looked pityingly upon her, and gave 
 his arm for support, but she turned away saying, " Leave rse to die, 
 for life is a weariness." Entering the cabin, she seated herself upon 
 the skins, motionless and tearless. The good Minaree spread her 
 repast before them, but neither could speak or eat. 
 
 The twilight faded away, the bright stars came forth, and the full 
 
 moon stole in through the open portal, revealing the two sisters, 
 
 awake and motionless, each full of her own wild and troubled 
 
 thoughts. Each was deathly pale, and each felt and marvelled at the 
 
 strange repulsion that was thus separating two whose childhood had 
 
 been so full of sympathy. The torch of Minaree had been leng ex- 
 
 tingmahed, and her regular breathings betokened the depth, of her 
 
 mber. Alice arose and looked forth, and she shrunk with awe 
 
 i the wildnesa and beauty of the scene spread out before her ; 
 
 din* forest approaching the very threshold, and the sound of the 
 
 :ox, with its sharp barking, and the long, melancholy cry of the owl 
 
 tiered almost at her ear. Near the banks of the river, motionless 
 
 in the moonlight, and thrown into bold relief by the sparkling waters, 
 appeared the statue-like form of a warrior, keeping watch over the 
 slumbering village. All was so hushed and gloomy in its midnight 
 grandeur, that her own dcsolateness weighed the heavier upon her 
 spirits. Closing the portal, she exclaimed, " Oh, my God, that I 
 should have forgotten thee in this hour of trial !" And she sank 
 upon her knees, in the very agony of prayer, uttering the sorrows and 
 j the desires ef a stricken heart. Her voice was tremulous, and 
 choked with tears. As she went on, the soft arm of Margaret en- 
 | circled her neck, and she whispered, "Alice, my dear, dear sister !" 
 | Their lips met, and they wept long upon the bosom of each other; 
 and when sleep stole to their lids, it found them clasped in the em 
 brace of childhood. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A. loneliness that is not lone, 
 
 A love quite withered up and gone. J. R. LOWELL. 
 
 SHORTLY after the return cf Tecumseh, the party, which he had 
 sent off to intercept, and, if possible, capture Winnemac and the 
 other treacherous chiefs, returned from their unsuccessful enterprise. 
 The wily chiefs knew too well the dangers to which they were ex 
 posed, to omit any precautionary measure. It required the most ex 
 perienced observation, and .he keenest instinct of the savage, to de 
 tect the almost imperceptible trail. But it was detected and followed 
 ! with the certainty and keenness of the bloodhound in pursuit of its 
 I prey. The crushed blossom and the tangled grass, though restored 
 to their original position, could not escape the practiced eye of the 
 Indian. The twig slightly bent, the moss imperceptibly rubbed off, 
 were so many guides to direct his footsteps. As he neared the foe, 
 I the whirring of the partridge alarmed in its coveit, and the quick 
 I wing of the wild bird, as it hurried away, told cf his vicinity. The 
 | crack of a twig, the rustle of the dry grass which he alone could 
 distinguish from the foot of the wild animal, admonished the pursuer 
 to move warily, or he himself might be betrayed. Each party ted 
 upon the dry provisions of his pouch, or such bemes as appeared ia 
 their path, without venturing to light a fire, as the smoke woulci tell 
 the tale of proximity. At night, the pursuing party beheld the other 
 i sleep, with weapon in hand and a trusty and vigilant guard. The 
 j orders of Tecumseh were, strictly, to shed no blood, as the motive 
 | might easily be misapprehended ; and he had resolved to bring the 
 : chit fs before a grand council of the whole confederated tribes, and 
 there, in the united presence of the representatives of those whom 
 they had wronged, pronounce their condemnation, and offer them en 
 the shrine of Indian patriotism. 
 
 For the purpose of assembling this great council, Tecumseh pro- 
 ! posed to summon the various chiefs to a meeting upon the banks of 
 | the Wabash. He earnestly besought his followers to adhere to the 
 principles of pacification; to disregard those British agitators, who, 
 taking advantage of the growing hostility between the two countries, 
 ; were desirous to conciliate the aid of the northern tribes, as power 
 ful auxiliaries in a frontier warfare. He represented to them in 
 glowing colors, the perils to be hazarded, and the small prospect of 
 i advantage to be gained by joining themselves to either of the belli 
 gerent parties. They were a nation by themselves, with interests to 
 be promoted, and rights to be maintained, and he besought them to 
 peril nothing by an indiscreet participation in the coming troubles. 
 j An uncompromising neutrality was their safest and best course. 
 ; He urged upon them the necessity of study in the arts of war, the 
 practice of their national games and festivities, and all those exer- 
 | cises, whether of war or peace, that were necessary for their im 
 provement or security. 
 
 Eliskwatawa enforced the instructions of his brother by rites and 
 ! incantations, for the voice of the Great Spirit had mingled with the 
 visions of the night, and represented to him the future glory of the 
 tribes. He had beheld cities and towns, rivalling the prosperity of 
 the whites, gradually filling the great valley of the Mississippi, and a 
 people prosperous and happy, rejoicing in equable laws, and free from 
 i the vics of the white man. He had looked upon the stars, and they 
 in their courses fought against t!-ie white man.* Wrong to the In 
 dian, injustice of every kind, and war aud bloodshed were preparing 
 I a fearful retribution for the white man. The storms and frosts of 
 j winter were passing away, and the tribes were rousing themselves 
 i from their long slumber, and ready to go forth in the strength of other 
 years. The massasauga lay no longer ceiled in the cleft of the rock, 
 feeble and inanimate, but with glittering eye, and radiant hue, rolled 
 
 " The stars in their courses fought against Sisera," seems to be a beautiful 
 astrological allusion. 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 21 
 
 itself enwa-d, with neck erect and tang ready to strike its deadly poi 
 son into the veins of its foe. 
 
 Kumshaka listened to the fervid eloquence of his brothers, in 
 gloom and silence. New and vindictive passions were at work in 
 his bosom, and he inwardly resolved that at least Tecumseh should 
 be dashed from his proud preeminence, let the consequence be what 
 it might. What to him were the dreams of ambition, the glory cf 
 his people, who brooded in selfish discontent over his own disap 
 pointed hopes, and dark plans of revenge. He had preceded Te 
 cumseh on his return to the village, and half in idleness, half in 
 awakened interest, had sought out Ackoree. 
 
 He found her on the bank of the river, slowly drawing a net to the 
 shore ; her small fingers grasping the threads ; her long hair falling for 
 ward, revealing the faultless neck and shoulders on which glistened the 
 coral beads, which he had placed there. The sound of steps arrested 
 her, and still holding the net through which the scaly captives were 
 just visible, she held back her long hair, and turned partially round. 
 Her bright eyes gleamed with more than their wonted brilliancy, and 
 the ready smile was upon her lips ; again dropping her hair, she play- 
 ^ally yielded the net to the chief, and seated herself upon a project 
 ing rock while he drew it to the shore. This done, the chief seated 
 himself bj her side, and played with the long glossy threads of her 
 hair. 
 
 Ackoree was even more than ordinarily gay, and her clear laugh 
 floated away on the air, and stirred up the gratified echoes. And 
 what seemed surprising in one so gay and giddy, she required a full 
 account of the proceedings of the late council, and the probable 
 course to be adopted by the tribes. While her companion went on 
 with the details, all the levity in which she had hitherto indulged, 
 disappeared from her manner, and she listened with composed and 
 engrossed attention ; when he ceased, she replied slowly, without 
 raising her eyes from the ground, 
 
 "So, then, the fang is to be extracted from the massasauga, that 
 he may shake his rattles, but do no mischief. Tecumseh would 
 bury the hatchet, lest its edge should terrify his white bride." 
 
 " The white girl who has just entered the village, is nothing to 
 Teeumseh. She is the sister of the Swaying Reed." 
 
 Very true ; but Tecumseh is much, very much, to the Swaying 
 Reed :" and she fixed her eyes stedfastly upon the face of the chief, 
 to see what effect her words might produce. 
 
 He drew in his breath, and his eyes glittered with the intensity of 
 the serpent about to spring upon its victim; clenching the locks of 
 liair firmly iu his hands till the indignant beauty colored with rage, 
 he demanded in husky tones what she meant. "Hive they dared to 
 1 ove *" 
 
 Ackoree disentangled her hair, and uttered aloiv scornful laugh ; 
 for rage and jealousy were both at work in her bosom. 
 
 "Dare! why should they not dare, whit Kumshaka had dared 
 before them 1 The Indian is to dwell side by side with his white 
 brother, that the white bride may be at ease in her wigwam." 
 
 " And the voice of the Great Spirit, and the language of the stars 
 are only to help out an affair of love !" said the chief, bitterly. " I 
 will expose their jugglery. The Indian is duped by his own leaders. 
 The coafederation is but a device to make him powerless and to pro 
 tect the whites." But even while he spake the blood rushed to his 
 cheek, for his heart gave the lie to his lips. 
 
 Ackoree saw that her poison had taken effect, and assuming an air 
 of gentleness and composure, she laid her hand upon that of the 
 chief, and replied, softly, 
 
 " Tecumseh is wary and powerful. Would the chief rush unarmed 
 into the very jaws of the pantherl Would he seek the den while 
 the dam is fey to guard it 1 Surely, it were better to wait till she is 
 out in quest of prey." 
 
 Kumshaka caught at the idea with avidity ; for, vain and impul 
 sive, he readily adopted the suggestions of others, thereby saving him 
 self the labor of investigation. He looked admiringly upon the vin 
 dictive girl, and the activity of the like passions operated as a bond 
 of sympathy between them. Taking her passive hand in his, he 
 replied, 
 
 " Thou art most beautiful, Ackoree, and wisely hast thou coun 
 selled. Tecumseh will depart to assemble the great council, and 
 then shall be the time to act. If the white girl becomes his bride, 
 the scalps of her people shall line the entrance to her wigwam." 
 
 Ackoree withdrew her hand. "Kumshaka follows a shadow. 
 He is in pursuit of the bow that rest upon the tops of the trees, but 
 vanishes as he draws near." 
 
 "I will follow it no more. The Swaying Reed is as nothing to 
 me, except as she can feel my vengeance. But tell me, Ackoree, 
 low do you know of their love 1" 
 
 " We stood together when your party returned to the village. Te- 
 umseh was not with you. I looked into the face of the white girl, 
 and she knew it not. The heart cf the while girl could be read upon 
 her cheek, for the blood went and camp, and her eye wandered from 
 :hief to chief, and then was fixed long upon the woods, to see if he 
 :ame from thence. Tecumseh has not returned, 1 said. She tried 
 :o smile, to speak, but my eye was upon her, and she felt that I knew 
 all. She turned away and was silent." 
 
 She had scarcely finished her recital, when a harsh voice was heard 
 o utter her name several times in a peevish accent, and Ackore, 
 obedient to the summons, gathered up the net and hastened away. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Oh, long shall I think of those silver bright lakes, 
 
 And the scenes they revealed to my view, 
 My friends, and the wishes I formed for their sakei, 
 And my bright yellow birchen canoe. H. R. StHOOLCBirr. 
 
 THE morning after the arrival of Alice, Margaret arose lightly 
 "rom her slumbers, while the sun was as yet invisible above the ho- 
 risoa. Minaree was already abroad, and there was no one to observe 
 motions which she might otherwise have concealed. She remained 
 ong, stooping over the form of her sleeping sister, as if analyzing 
 every feature, to see how well it harmonized with the recollections of 
 her childhood. As she continued to gaze, her bosom heaved with 
 sighs, and tears stole from beneath her lids. Memories almost oblit 
 erated awoke to new life, and she lived once more, in the midst of 
 love and happiness in that sweet home away in the deep woods. 
 The voices of childhood came to her ear, and she heard again the 
 language of prayer. Clasping her hands, the sacred duty sprung to 
 her lips. It was a lovely sight to behold that proud and beautifnl 
 girl, in her strange wild dress, bowing in lowly devotion over the 
 form of her sleeping sister, whosj presence had awakened all the 
 gentle harmonies of her nature. 
 
 An unwonted softness stole over her manner, displacing a portion 
 of that coldness and pride which had won for her not less the admi 
 ration, than the reverence of the rude people in whose midst she had 
 been thrown. She took the garments of her sister, and examined 
 their, to her, singular construction ; for though she had never entirely 
 forgotten the costume of her earlier days, and had in some measure 
 adapted her own garments to it, yet the recollection had become 
 dim and indistinct. She placed her small foot within the Clipper, 
 and walked back and forth, evidently pleased with the symmetry 
 it helped te reveal. Alice turned in her departing slumber*, 
 and Margaret restored the garments to their former position, and 
 seated herself to comb and brush her abundant hair, using for the 
 former purpose bones of the fish, skilfully inserted in a piece of wood. 
 The brush was made of the stiff hairs of the buffdlo, richly wrought 
 with the quills of the porcupine. 
 
 Alice opened her eyes, and spread out her arms to embrace her, bu t 
 Margaret only indicated her consciousness of the motion by a smile, 
 as she continued her occupation. Minaree soon entered with fish, for 
 their morning repast, which she proceeded to roast between two flat 
 stones covered with coals. Alice herself prepared a cake to be baked 
 in a similar manner. Margaret brought in fruits, and a vessel of water, 
 and another containing a beverage prepared from the sap ef ihe maple. 
 The breakfast was spread upon a rude low table, at which the two sis 
 ters wre seated, while Minaree chose to take her sin her lap, not pre 
 cisely in the manner in which ladies take their tea when carried 
 round, as it is called, but bearing a strong analogy thereto; thus show 
 ing in these two opposite situations in life, as well as in all others, 
 that extremes always approximate. Margaret looked timidly in the 
 face of her sister, for she had not forgotten the usages of her early 
 [ife ; and Alice folded her hands, closed her eyes, and in a low voice 
 pronounced an appropriate grace. 
 
 Alice found the resources cf the cabin much greater than she had 
 anticipated. Margaret had instructed Minaree ia many things un 
 known to her people, and the good woman, being naturally of a pa 
 tient and thrifty turn, had busied herself cheerfully ia preserving 
 nany things for winter use, A-hich could only have been suggested by 
 the superior resources of Margaret. These were stores of grapes dried 
 carefully in the sun, bearing no mean resemblance to imported rai 
 sins ; honty fiom the wild bee, preserved in gourds, covered with 
 thin leaves of the birch bark ; sugar frooi the sap of the maple tree, 
 i i vessels of bark ; and berries of different kinds made into sweet 
 meats ; dried fish and venison ; a small delicate fish of the trout kind, 
 
22 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN- 
 
 which was considered a. great luxury. It was first prepared by im- woods, and her freedom and nobleness under the clear sky, and by 
 mersing it in the oil of the bear, while fresh, for a few days, aad ef- ! the many waters of the red- man. Tell him too, that Tecumseh will 
 terward putting them away in gourds sealed, and then cased in clay !< watch for the happiness of the Swaying Reed, and for every tear 
 and dried in the sun. In this way they were excellent for a great | , that falls from her eye, shall answer a drop from his heart. If her 
 length of time, improving by age. There were also pu! x, corn, 1 1 eye grows dim, or her step heavy, Tecumseh will be there to avenge 
 and wild rice, as also a species of wild wheat, which could be pea- [her wrong. Tell him too, that the Swaying Reed has been to Te- 
 verted, by means of pounding,, and afterward grinding between flat \ cumseh whit the shower is to the earth, the sun to the blossom, or 
 
 stones, into excellent cakes. 
 
 A ice soon helped Margaret to improve the taste as well as the 
 comforts of her cabin, by the manufacture of many things which her 
 superior ingenuity and experience suggested. Henry Mansfield, asd 
 even the young men of the tribe were ready to coc-struct frames for 
 their wicker-chairs, and helped Minaree not a little in making a 
 more ambitious tabJ.e ; for so winning and gentle were the sisters, 
 that they felt a new pleasure in promoting their comfort, perhaps the 
 
 the bird to the forest. She has been the one star in a night of storms : 
 that when she is gone, the light will "have gone out upon his path." 
 
 Margaret trembled violently. 
 
 " Tesumseh, I shall never return to my psople. I will live and 
 die here. I would that Alice had never heard of my existence, that 
 she might be spared the pain of this." 
 
 Tecumseh shook his head. " Nay, nay, the white maiden will 
 long for companionship. She will be like the bird alone in its nest, 
 
 inai tncy icii a new pleasure m [iruiiiuuug men cuimun, jjciiiajjs u| 
 
 more, that many articles afterward found their way to their own ca-l aad she wil1 Jistea to lh e melody of love.. She would spurn the red 
 bins; to say nothing of the nice cakes furnished for the breakfast of! m an > for h cannot woo her as would one of her own people, oa 
 some young warrior, prepared by their own hands, and borne by the | j bended knee, and with honied^words ;" and as jie spoke his voice 
 faithful Minaree. The good woman was slow to adopt improve 
 ments for herself, b vt gratified in everything that imparted pleasure 
 
 to her foster-child ; and when, after many days of labor, she beheld 
 one side of her cabin covered with a rush mat, and chairs aad a ta- 
 
 was low, and his eyes mournfully fixed upon her face. 
 
 Margaret blushed deeply, and she raised her speaking eyes up 
 ward. Tecumseh sprang forward with a wild expression of pleasure 
 He took her trembling hand in his, and bent his expressive eyes to 
 
 ble, on which lay ilia Bible of Alic 1 , and a rude chest with ribes, || those of the fair white girl, and fora moment seemed to abandon 
 belts, and moccasons, carefully disposed, her joy knew no bounds, n himself to a new and unexpected source of happiness. Recollecting 
 She saw Margaret open and close the lid, seat herself upon the chairs, himself he went on 
 
 survey herself in the small glas?, re-arrange the combs and brushes, I N O , no : Tecumseh will not be the one to bring a shadow upon 
 walk across the mat, and then look full of smiles into the face of!|the brow of the white maiden. The bird will long for the sound of 
 Alice. 1 1 it s own waods, for the rocking of the tree on which its nest was first 
 
 Suddenly she ceased the little pantomime, and her face grew . | built. Tecumseh will not take the blossom from its home in the 
 sad; a heavy sigh escaped her, and she stood pale and motionless. pleasant sunshine, to see it wither alone in his own cabin. Evil as 
 Alice would have embraced her, but she repelled her approach, and; comin;; upon Tecumseh, the blackbird is always above his head, 
 akiag down her bow and quiver, hastened from the cabin. Alice j i and as he came to the village, he found the massasauga dead in his 
 Hewed her proud and graceful figure, as with light and bounding .j pathway. Sorrow is falling upon him, for the spirit-bird sang all 
 steps she disappeared in the dim woods, and covering her face with 1 1 night upon his roof." He pressed the hand of Margaret to his 
 her hands, burst into tears. AI l the little comforts of civilized life, 1 1 heart, and left the bower. 
 
 which she had endeavored to bring about her sister, thereby to 
 awaken a desire for them, and to lure her imperceptibly back to her 
 old associations and pleasu-res, she felt had served as a momentary 
 
 Margaret remained in the attitude in which he had left her, long 
 after he had disappeared ; she gave utterance to no wild burst of an 
 guish, she did not eveu weep : a heavy sense of misery weighed 
 
 gratification, exciting wonder rather than affection ; and she felt she I U p 0n her ; a cold pressure lay upon her young heart, as if hope had 
 was still wedded to her wild life. Other suspicions, too, were gain- suddenly and almost undefinedly taken its departure. One by one 
 ing strength upon her mind, and her own loneliness weighed heavily j j s h e disengaged the tangled threads of thought, and there came the 
 
 j image of Aljpe, with her eyes fixed in displeasure, almost in abhor- 
 
 Scarcely had the sisters one morning completed their repast, when ;,rence upon her, and then there was the noble chief, with his eyes 
 Tecumseh, accompanied by Henry Mansfield, entered the lodge. 1 1 telling S3 much of love, and deep and abiding sorrow. She heard 
 Alice gave her hand to the chief with an open smile of pleasure, and,!^^ and footsteps approaching, and elevating her figure to Its full 
 Margaret coldly laid her s in that of Mansfield. Both blushed deeply , . height, she went out to meet Alice and Henry Mansfield with a man- 
 and seemed embarrassed. Tecumseh s stay was stort, for he was|! ner f rom which all emotion had disappeared. Still she was not at 
 
 about to start upon his journey for the purpose of assembling the old; 
 men of the different tribes, and his time was precious. Turning to: 
 the aster s he said in a voice, tremulou?, and deep, " When Tecum- 
 
 ease in their presence. She felt the pressure of manners and asso. 
 ciations to which she had been unaccustomed, and they affected her 
 with a painful sense of inferiority. Margaret drew heiself proudly 
 
 seh return?, the white maidens will be away, with their own people; I up> and rfc treated within herself, holding communion with the wild 
 but let them not forget that the poor Indiin spread his mat to shelter romance awakened by wood and water, and the depths of the blue 
 
 had 
 
 them, and brought his game to give them life. Tecumseh 
 broken bread with the white man, and he could never forget it. 
 Margaret s cheek was very pale. Alice arose earnestly, the tears 
 
 gathering in her eyes, and taking the hand of the chief in both of 
 hers, she replied 
 
 sky. They had seated themselves upon the bank of the river and 
 all were silent, as if the beauty and quiet in which they reposed had 
 closed even the avenues of speech. 
 
 It was a sight rare and picturesque in that sequestered spot, to see 
 those twe sisters, each in her distinctive loveliness, seated side by 
 never forget your generosity, and with us, Te- gMe, vainly essaying, as it were, to join once more the links of mu 
 
 eu iseh will be the name for all that is noble, and excellent. We 
 wi pray always that the Great Spirit may bless you, and reward 
 yo for all that you have done for Margaret." 
 
 Tecumseh bent his head, and the plumes of his helmet concealed e 
 MB "ace. When he turned to take his leave of Margaret, she had left 
 the abin. Leaving Alice, he bent his steps to the arbor of vines on 
 ihs bank of the river. 
 
 tual sympathy and lo.e which had been so cruelly dissevered. 
 
 The face of Alice was pale, yet composed in its sweet sad expres 
 sion, and a tear seemed trembling beneath the lid of the clear blue 
 Margaret s cheek was flushed, and her brow, higher and 
 broader than that of her sister, was thrown backward, and the short 
 upper lip curled with an expression of discontent, if not of scorn. 
 
 Margaret had buried her face in her hands, and lay prostrate u- i ?" ?"? deep - SSt ;f w . hh its loa ( f c " rv ed Ia , sh > was moving impa- 
 the leaves of the floor, while low sobs burst from her Hps ?ecam- M i 7 f Cm . bjeCt <, bje ? a9 , lf She felt *eady the t"neb of 
 seh raiBed her from the ground, and remained silently and sadly r ^ fT " , l" g ? 7T n * I ? ** 
 
 gardingh.r. Had he spoken-Margaret might have wept on for her ^ 7 d 1 7 T* T^T * ^ ^V?" ^ 
 
 heart was now open for the reception of sympathy and unwon 1 ! r m ^ * r AllCe that "^ ^ bCC me 0bjeCt 
 
 * mr . t - __ _ i M t of gentle compassion to her, and she revolted from the .position 
 
 CIHUL1OU3 were surnng in nsr DOsoni : out his silenr*" sprvpH tr\ rail i-m i r .1- 
 
 1 When, therefore, Alice gently smoothed her clear brow, sighing 
 
 grass, and turned half angrily away ; for she could not understand 
 how the knowledge of so much that to her appeared useless, and 
 even enfeebling to the human charac er, should stamp upon its pos 
 sessor the rights of superiority. 
 What were the studied conventionalisms of society to the free- 
 
 her brow, and the tears from her eyes, as if her s were a nature to 
 which weakness, and the melting mood of womanhood were un- 
 known. 
 
 Te^umseh s eye kindled with admiration "Tell the white man," i 
 he said,; " that the Swaying Reed "e .rned her pride in the wild 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 Margaret withdrew her hand and emiled scornfully, but 
 
 silent. 
 
 " Tell me, dvar Margaret, will you not go with us 1 " 
 
 "To sit all day in the hous, and do useless work, and read 
 
 - that jmean nothiag," said Margaret, wiih flushed -cheek 
 
 word 
 
 " never never ! " 
 
 dom, and grace, and native buoyancy of the wild dweller of the 
 woods 1 And what were the artificial words of those, who year 
 fey year filled their brains with the ideas of others, making it as it 
 were only the receptacle of other men s thoughts, to the untutored 
 outpourings of those who spake or?Jy as the spirit gave them utter 
 ance 7 Who learned their vocabulary from the spontaneous opera 
 tions of their own unshackled minds; and the teachings to be learned I " But Margaret, you will learn wh 
 in the great school of nature, the language of the midnight stars,! thought befow us, and thlre w" 1 ^leaUe i/that " * 
 
 e ch.ming of many waters, the swaying of the oldj wood, and| Margaret shook her head. " They were creatures like ourselvee 
 the hoary grandeur of the everlasting hills ! What was the blind j i with like thoughts and feelings, and how shall we delight to ead 
 devotee to human creeds, to him who, bowing in the freedom and j their words 1 No, Alice, it is folly ; let us be free here in this great 
 us own nature, worshiped in the singleness of his heart, wilderness, and rejoice in the beauty around u? but let us not be 
 .t and invisible Spirit, whose presence he felt diffused upon ; ; chained down by the opinions of others. I cannot go with you to 
 
 your poor life ; stay with me, and we can be happy. ~ 
 
 every side ol him 1 
 
 Marg?.ret failed to perceive the right of the civilized to arrogate 
 aught of superiorly, and the gentle melancholy of Alice served only to 
 attach her the more strongly to the freedom of savage life. She re-j 
 
 Alice felt that the eyes of Mansfield were upon her, and she 
 blushed deeply. Why should she not stay here in the populous and 
 beautiful solitudes of nature, away from the restraints and arbitrary 
 
 turned to the cabin, and shortly after made her appearance with aj| usa g es of society, and live with Margaret in the innocence and free- 
 pair of paddles, followed by -old Minaree bearing the canoe. They , dom of their own thoughts, with the simple children of nature 1 She 
 descended the bank, and launched it upon the river, Minaree hold- i hesitated to reply. 
 
 ing it by the stern till all was ready. Margaret beckoned for Alice | j " No > Margaret, we all desire improvement ; it were but selfishness 
 to accompany her , and she timidly prepared to follow. Margaret s,! i to "main here, away from duty, and from human ties" she blushed 
 eyes danced with delight, and she struck the paddles lightly upon i and stc vped, for she had uttered what sh? would fain recall ; but 
 the waters, as if to say, she cannot do this," and her pride became ! she went on "from the ties that bind us to our creatures ; should we 
 reconciled. ; rem-iin here, w . should die neither wiser nor better than we are now, 
 
 " Shall I come, too 7" said Mansfield, still holding the hand of j and that must not be -" 
 
 Alice, who was really terrified as she seated herself in the bottom \ " And we should be no worse, Alice ; nor can I see why we can- 
 of the canoe, and felt the ripple of the water beneath the thin birch |i aot do S ood to the Indian as well as the white man:" and she tapped 
 
 Margaret assented, and he took one of the paddles to assist in pro- j ! with an arrow impatiently upon the f-ma.ll moccason that covered 
 pelling it over the waters. Light as the fairy nautilus it sped dong , her foot ; 
 
 " Think of our mother, Margaret, how it would have grieved her 
 think fy"r living here in the midst of savages." 
 Margaret s cheek reddened with an angry flush. 
 
 "Say no more, Alice. I cannot go. I am resolved. You but 
 
 the river, and Margaret s long slender fingers lay upon the paddle, 
 as she threw aside the bright waters that flashed and fell like a 
 shower of diamonds at every motion of the oar. Her joyous laugh 
 rang out upon the woods that overhung the river, as she gayly chal 
 lenged the speed of her companion, and even Alice grew fearless, ; cal1 me back to misery, the more intolerable that many eyes behold 
 as she observed the ease and security of her companions. They! it- You awaken recollections too painful. Think you, when tears 
 had left the village long behind them, and the river which had beenl| are u P on m / cheek, and sorrow at my heart, keown only to the 
 growing narrower now suddenly turned, leaving in the centre a I Great Spirit, that I could brook strange eyes to look upon me, and 
 small island, covered with low trees down to the dip of the water; as ^. what is the matter 7 The Indian will sit all day by the side, 
 separated from the main on one side by a narrow channel, over the j j and utt er nothing, when grief is at the heart of his friend. He weeps, 
 rocky bed of which flowed a stream of water like a thread of silver] Iand is silent ; but the white man will talk, talk with a cold unfeeling 
 dropped in the sunshine; on the other, the channel was broad and | heart, and dry eye. I want no words. I must be alone. Our mo- 
 still, moving gracefully around the fairy isle, making a diminutive | j her, oh, I have seen her weep, weep in the bitterness of sorrow, and 
 basin, deeply shadowed by the surrounding woods. 7 et s he was gentle and loving like you, Alice, and can I hope for 
 
 The y were still under the lea of the little isle, and about to emerge i i S reatcr happiness 7 No, no : the world is full of tears, I will shed 
 
 them here. What matters it, that the grave is made with many 
 prayers, or dug in the wild woods; the spirit returns to Him who 
 gave it, and life and weeping are at an end." 
 
 She spoke in a tone of deep feeling, and Alice felt that Margarei 
 was the victim of sorrow deeper than the loss of friende, or the se 
 paration from society. She followed the haughty girl in silence to 
 
 slumbering echoes. The shaft [leapt "from the bow, and bounding the canoe and when Mansfield whispered, as he seated her therein, 
 forward the animal sprang into the river, dyeing it with its blood. A " Alice > there are Emiles as wel1 as tears in Ufe > sunshine, or there 
 faint scream escaped the lips of Alice, and she looked almost with,i could be no shadow," ehe smiled through her tears, and felt that 
 horror upon Margaret, as she sat with her lips slightly compressed, there must be much in life ftfr which we would wish to live > that 
 a gratified emile playing about the mouth, and calmly watching the suff e"ng b ut gives a zest to enjoyment, and that many of our purest 
 
 once more upoa the open river, when Margaret laid down her pad 
 dle and motioned her companions to silence. Mansfield smiled as 
 he observed her fix an f.rrow to her bow, and following the direction 
 of her aim, beheld far up the stream a deer that had come down to 
 drink, standing in a startled attitude, with foot lifted, and head 
 turned upon one side, listening if aught had indeed disturbed the 
 
 struggles of the expiring animal. In the agony of its sufferings it 
 had swam quite across the river, and with drooping antlers it at 
 tempted to ascend the opposite bank, but its strength failed it stag 
 gered forward and fell to the earth, quaffing the waters that laved 
 its distended nostril. 
 
 " Nobly done :" t exclaimed Mansfield, as the daring girl dashed the 
 water aside to near her victim. -.; tf&y 
 
 P leasuree are bl the results of previous suffering. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 But on the sacred, solemn day, 
 
 And, dearest, on thy bended knee, 
 When thou for those thou lovest dost 
 
 Sweet spirit, then remember me. K. EIBRLTT. 
 
 Alice covered her eyes with both hands, as they neared the dying THE first Sabbath spent by Alice in the Indian village was clear 
 animal, where it lay staining the green bank with its blood, giving ;and mild, the morning sun shone p*n the grass heavy with dew, and 
 utterance to faint sobs, and its full eyes expressive cf its patience the damp leaves of the trees glittered with a thousand beautiful hues, 
 and its agony. "Oh, it was cruelly, most cruelly done. Dear, for the breath of autumn had passed over them changing their color, 
 dear Margaret, say you will never kill another !" but as yet few were displaced. The distant hills, and slopes of 
 
 Margaret looked displeased and disappointed, and ehe turned al- the river, looked as if some gorgeous drapery had been drawn over 
 most contemptuously away, and sprang from the canoe to the bank. 1 the rich earth. The shrill voice of the locust came . 
 Carelessly disengaging the arrow from its side, the animal gave a \clustsring foliage, and the cricket s sharp and cheerful notes lingered 
 faint spring, raised itself upon one lira 1 ), quivered convulsively, and long upem the ear. A group of hunter s were out on the banks 
 was dead tbe " ver read y f r na excursion toward the lakes, and the merry 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, you must leave this wild life, and go with me, voices of children at their sports in the village area, told that all 
 and become gentle and womanly; you will learn to sit quietly in ih; days were alike to these dwellers cf nature. 
 
 house and read and sew, and we shall be so happy, shall we nut,;. Alice took her Bible from the table, and drawing Margaret to her 
 dear Margaret 7 " said Alice, drawing her hand within her owr7 i I side, commenced reading the sublime truths of the Saviour contained 
 
24 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 in the sermon on the mount. Margaret responded to every word in ; 
 a low voice, her eyes closed, and her head leaning on the shoulder i 
 of Alice. As the reading went on, a tear fell upon the sacred page. \ 
 
 Alice looked up, and kissed the cheek of her sister. " Margaret, 
 I had not thought you would remember all this." 
 
 " Oh, Alice, how often we have repeated them in childhood at the 
 knee of our mother ; and since I have been here in the woods, they 
 have been fresh in my memory, and I have acted from them." 
 
 "And yet," said Alice, " you have forgotten much, very much of 
 our religion." 
 
 Margaret dried her eyes. " I remember all that is of value to us 
 The desire to do what is right, the love of God, and the hope of a 
 better life. Alice, dont perplex me with what I cannot understand. 
 The holy Saviour, who taught as never man taught, I remember went 
 out into the desert to pray, and loved the woods and mountains, and 
 surely we may worship the Great Spirit acceptably here." 
 
 " Yes, Margaret, but the Saviour returned again to the dwellings of 
 men, to soothe the afflicted, and to strengthen the tempted. John, 
 who came to prepare the way for him abode in the desert, but the 
 holy Saviour fled not from the trials or dangers of life." 
 
 " Say no more," cried Margaret, " I know you mean that I am 
 fleeing from the duties of life while here ; but you forget that the 
 Indian is the Work of God like ourselves, and has claims upon us." 
 She arose from her seat, and taking down her bow, was about to 
 leave the cabin. 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, do not, I beseech you, dessecrate the Sabbath 
 while I am here. Let us spend 9ne day, at least, as we did in child- 
 hoed it may be the last we shall be together on earth." 
 
 Margaret was softened, and she seated herself again by the side of 
 Alice, and listened to her sweet voice with a smile of happiness. 
 Even Minaree closed her eyes where she sat upon her mats, and 
 seemed" gratified at the low murmuring cadences. When the reading 
 ceased, the two sisters were for a while silent ; and at length Mar-! 
 garet said 
 
 " Alice, why should you not stay here with me, and why should | 
 not this be our home ?" Alice did not reply, and she sunk her voice 
 to a whisper, and went on : " You would stay, Alice, I am sure you 
 would, but for this white youth." Margaret did not raise her head 
 from the shoulder of Alice to look in her face, but she felt her breath 
 was short and quick, and she knew the blush was upon her cheek, i 
 Twice Alice attempted to speak to deny the charge even, but the | 
 words would not come to her lips, and she at length turned to Mar 
 garet and said 
 
 " Margaret, I dread to think there may be some secret cause that 
 detains you here in the woods, away from our people and the true 
 worship of God. Speak, dear Margaret, tell me that it is not so, 
 that you do not love Tecumseh," she said slowly. 
 
 Margaret started from the shoulder of Alice, as if an arrow had < 
 entered her breast; her cheek and neck were crimson, and her eyes 
 flashed beneath their long black lashes. She looked one instant in 
 the face of Alice, and then left the cabin. The skin that concealed ! 
 the entrance had hardly ceased its vibration, when it was raised 
 again, and Margaret looked in, and sternly fixed her eyes upon! 
 her sister. 
 
 Tell me, Alice, that you will never, never name that again, or j 
 we part for ever. Promise me ;" she repeated, observing that Alice 
 hesitated to speak. 
 
 Alice kn?w that her suspicions were verified that Margaret must 
 henceforth be as a stranger to her, and the tears gathered in her j 
 1 iiM eyes, and she siiid faintly, " I promise, dear Margaret." 
 
 Margaret again dropped the skin, and Alice buried her face in her 
 kdnJs and wept long and bitterly. The fond hopes she had cher 
 ished in the reunion and affections of her sister were at once dark 
 ened a shadow lay upon her brightest anticipations. The sister! 
 whose memory she had so long cherished, turned coldly from her 
 proffered love, and in the panoply of her pride repelled all tender 
 ness or familiarity. And yet Alice felt she could not have listened 
 to the tale of such an attachment ; her nature would have revolted to 
 hear one thus nearly allied to herself, disclose a love for one of a 
 race so different from their own, and whom she had been taught to ! 
 regard with abhorrence. 
 
 Weeks passed away, and the gay drapery of the woods faded 
 from the trees?, the yellow leaf lay gathered in heaps by the side of i 
 the hillocks, or borne along on the eddying winds rustled in melan- : 
 choly music. The grass became dry and crisped in the early frost, i 
 and the shrill autumnal winds sounded through the naked trees. In 
 the early light of morning, it was a fair sight to behold the gray 
 
 limbs of the frees penciled against the red sky, and the fields from 
 which the harvest had been gathered, showing myriads of tiny 
 spears made by the frost, as the loose soil crumbled with moisture. 
 Often and strongly had Mansfield urged the departure of the sisters, 
 but nothing could shake the determination of Margaret to remain 
 with her adopted people. Alice used argument and persuasions of 
 every kind, but she was alike inflexible to every appeal; and the 
 youth now besought Alice to return to her home, and leave Margaret 
 to the course of life which she had chosen. But Alice still believed 
 that persuasion and perseverance might be effective, and she could 
 not abandon her. She shrunk, too, with maiden delicacy, from a 
 long journey through the wilderness with only the youth to protect 
 her. These motives weighing upon a nature naturally sensitive and 
 timid, finally made her resolve to remain through the winter in the 
 Indian village. 
 
 Mansfield had already staid beyond the time prescribed, and it 
 was now necessary that he should take his departure. He besoughi 
 Alice to return with him. In a few words she acquainted him with 
 her determination. The young man turned pale with surprise and 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Let me implore you, Miss Durand, to reflect upon what you may 
 suffer. The precarious nature of Indian supplies, the hazards from 
 cold and sickness, to say nothing of the perils from their caprice 
 and superstition." 
 
 "But remember," said Alice, with a smile, " my sister will be 
 exposed to all these in case I leave her here." 
 
 "Oh, no: she will be safe, she is accustomed to them she is as 
 one of them." 
 
 " Do not urge me," said Alice, gently, " I feel that I cannot leave 
 Margaret. All that she may be called to encounter, I must endure 
 with her. Indeed, I apprehend no danger, the Indians are kindly 
 disposed, and ready to promote our comfort." 
 
 The brow of the youth contracted, and he brushed back the thick 
 curls from his brow with an air of irritation. 
 
 " Alice, pardon me, but I cannot leave you here you are dearer 
 to me than life itself, and I cannot endure the thoughts of this cruel 
 separation." 
 
 Alice trembled violently, and her cheek turned from red to pale, 
 but she did not speak for nearly a minute. 
 
 " She is my sister, most tenderly beloved, and she must not be 
 abandoned." 
 
 Then rising from her seat, she profered her hand unreservedly to 
 the youth, saying, 
 
 " Till we meet again, my thoughts and prayers are yours;" her 
 voice trembled, and as she raised her meek eyes upward, a tear 
 was upon the lids. 
 
 Mansfield drew the slight form to his bosom and imprinted a kiss 
 upon her pure brow, with a reverence and love th-it had little o 
 earthliness in it. For a moment Alice yielded to the embrace, and 
 then responding to the fervent " God bless you" of the youth, she 
 disappeared behind the screen that concealed the couch of herself 
 and Margaret. For one brief period she wished her resolve might 
 be recalled, that she might return to the kindliness of society, and 
 yield her thoughts to the melody of love ; it was but a moment, and 
 she sunk upon her knees blessing that Power that had made the 
 voice of duty strong within her, and removed the power of tempta 
 tion ere her strength had forsaken her. When Margaret entered 
 she greeted her gaily, and told her that she should remain with her, 
 and learn to weave baskets, and paddle the canoe, and plait belts of 
 wampum. In return. Margaret promised to apply herself to needk- 
 work and reading, and be like a white girl in quietude. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Come with the winter snows, and ask 
 
 Where are the forest birds ; 
 The answer is a silent ono, 
 More eloquent than words. HALLECK. 
 
 As the the winter wore away, appearances of decided hostility on 
 the part of the Indians to the white settlers began to manifest itself 
 in the village. Preparations for war were daily made, and the sub 
 ject discussed openly, and in council. Their numbers, too, were 
 daily augmenting, and the Prophet, unaided by Tecumseh, found it 
 difficult to control the restless and fiery spirits assembled aroanu him. 
 Added to this their iricrea?ing numbers, sometimes induced a scar 
 city of provisions, compelling parties of them to start upon expedi 
 tions for relief, aimed too frequently against the defenceless inhabi 
 tants of the frontier. On their return they brought with them horses.. 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 cattle and garments known to be plundered from the whites, and 
 more than once Alice turned pale at beholding a white scalp depend 
 ing from the belt of some lawless young chief. 
 
 Every day increased the gloom of their situation. The snow lay 
 for masy months piled heavily upon the ground ; the wailing sound 
 of the wind through the dry branches of the trees, and the eddying 
 gusts about the frail tenement in the silence and gloom of midnight, 
 sounded like the shrieks and groans of the suffering and dying. Mar 
 garet, too, grew pale and restless ; more than once Alice was led to 
 suspect, thdt although ostensibly free, she was always an object of 
 suspicion, and every motion subject to the strictest scrutiny ; that, 
 did sh e desire it, escape srom the village would be impossible. 
 Scarcely ever did herself and Margaret leave their dwelling to go 
 out into the woods, or upon the frozen river, without encountering 
 the sable looks of Kumshaka, or those of the vindictive Ackoree. 
 
 It was a long, dreary" season, and Alice, timid and delicate, found 
 herself now dependant upon the stronger-minded, and more coura 
 geous Margaret, not only for comfort in their trials, but often for 
 subjects for reflection. Minaree, too, related old Indian legends and 
 sang their wild songs, while Margaret s rich aad melodious tones 
 swelled the chorus. Nor were her sympathies unemployed in this 
 wild and savage region. She entered the cabin of the invalid mo 
 ther and assisted to relieve her sufferings. When want and sickness 
 laid the child upon its bed of death, Alice disposed its little limbs, 
 smoothed down the long dark h-dr, and wept as she listened to 
 the thrilling dirge of sorrow raised by the bereaved. Had Marga 
 ret s faith and religious knowledge been equal to that of Alice, she 
 would, in a like situation, have been the ardent and self-sacrificing 
 missionary, kneeling in lowly supplication by the bed of death, and 
 pointing to the Saviour of men as the great Comforter of the afflicted. 
 But Alice was too gentle and self-distrustful for this ; she was made 
 rather to be cherished tenderly in the bosorn ot those who loved her, 
 then to be the supporter or strengthener of others. Hers was a na 
 ture lovely aad confxding, whose power cauld only be exhibited 
 through the medium of her affections; one of those that the haughti 
 ness of manhood is led to adore because its weakness and depend 
 ence is flattering to his self-love. 
 
 Margaret, in the course of her intercourse with the Indians, had 
 not failed to impart to them many ideas of the Deity and of his ever 
 abiding presence, more exalted and pure than those of their imper 
 fect faith. Naturally enthusiastic, delighting in the abstract and spi 
 ritual, she had at first won their admiration, and even awe ; by her 
 bold and eloquent descriptions of the attributes of Deity, often 
 couched in the sublime language of scripture, which still adhered to 
 a memory tenacious of all impressions, most especially those of an 
 elevated and impassioned nature. With intuitive tact she laid hold 
 of the one great truth to be found in every mind however rude, that 
 of the existence of a God, and thence strove to elevate and purify 
 the conception ; to impress upon the mind that the Creator of so 
 much that is good and beautiful in the external world, must be a be 
 ing to delight in all harmonies, most especially in those of truth and \ 
 goodness. Hence, the most acceptable worship must be that which ; 
 should develope in the human character qualities assimilating to ! 
 himself. 
 
 Having acquired from her father some knowledge of the heavenly 
 bodies, she was wont to mingle in her discourse allusions to them 
 and to the objects in nature, astounding to the simple people she ad 
 dressed. No wonder they regarded her as an especial favorite of, 
 the Great Spirit, and gave her credit for supernatural wisdom. From 
 a child she had been a fearless, investigating girl, delighting in soli-! 
 tude and lonely meditation ; and the great shock she experienced in i 
 the death of her family instead of overwhelming her, its magnitude 
 served rather to develope the native strength and dignity of her cha 
 racter. Cast entirely upon her own resources, understanding as by 
 iastinct, the contempt felt by her captors for anything like weakness 
 or tears, she at once appeared in the village, not a timid, weeping 
 girl like others of her race, but proud and solitary, rejecting aid, 
 and assuming from the first an air of haughtiness and superiority. 
 They soon took a pride in her instruction, and absolved her at once 
 from everything like labor or dependance. 
 
 Tecumseh delighted to initiate her in all the accomplishments of 
 savage life ; the choicest spoils of the chace were reserved for her 
 cabin, and the freshest flowers gathered in rugged and unfrequented 
 paths. In return, when the stars of night were out, and the earth 
 was draped in green, and garnished with gems of blossoms, he would 
 bend his head to the lips of the fair girl, and listen with delight while 
 she told of the great and abiding Presence, who doeth all things, the 
 
 ^reat and beautiful alike ; who painteth the blossom with its bea 
 and upheaveih the everlasting hilla-who rideth upon tin- whirlwind 
 and dwelleth with the midnight stars. In the wildnen of poetic fer- 
 vor, she would describe the planets as the dwelling-place of the wue 
 and the good, of those who delight in mercy and did generoua deeds 
 upon earth. She dwelt much upon the blessings of peace, of the 
 delight of the Great Spirit in those who strove to promote it. Even 
 the great and far-seeing reformer among the tribes, felt his views 
 strengthened and elucidated by the eloquent language of the impa " 
 sioned child. What wonder, then, that the voice and smile of one 
 whose nature harmonized so well with her own, should have be 
 come very dear to the lone girl ? What wonder, as the distinctions 
 of society lost their impression in the lapse of years, he thould have 
 become her ideal of all that is manly and elevated in human na 
 ture 1 It was sven so, and Margaret could not abide the abhor 
 rence with which Alice regarded the state of her affections. 
 
 Often, in the silence of those long winter nights, the sisters were 
 aroused by the waitings of some bereaved mother (for this was a 
 season of great mortality among the children of the tribes,) whe, 
 with unbraided hair and robes loose in the midnight storm, was out 
 removing the snow from the grave of her little ons, while her tremu 
 lous voice sent up the dirge for the dad, in words like these : 
 
 "How wilt thou dwell in the spirit land, my beloved 1 Who will 
 bring thee food, and spread the skins to shelter ihee? Thou art 
 alone. I see thy little hands beckon me away, for thou art cold and 
 hungry. Would that I might go to thee, for my breasts are full of 
 milk, and I would warm thee in my arms. Alas ! the night wind is 
 about thee, and the cold sxow is thy covering. I put my head to the 
 turf, and hear thy feeble wailing. My child ! my child ! why didst 
 thou go!" 
 
 This propensity of the savage to transmit the physical sufferings of 
 this to the invisible world, was to the last degree revolting to the 
 mind of Al ce. It may be, that she flt more repugnance for the 
 error in point of faith, than compassion for the sufferings which it 
 implied; for she had learned to attach great importance to the tenets 
 of the religion she professed, without the ability to perceive that this 
 vague mingling of spiritual and physical qualities in the mind of the 
 savage, when he contemplated the invisible world, was the natural 
 consequence of the difficulty felt by the human mind in fixing itself 
 upon pure abstractions, especially in a rude state, where animal 
 wants become an engrossing subject of contemplation, owing to the 
 difficulty of supplying them. 
 
 Various motives impelled the subtle and vindictive Kumshaka to 
 throw himself in opposition to Tecumseh. He had never heartily 
 enlisted in the policy of confederation, which his brother had so 
 imuch at heart, having been impelled thereto rather by the force of 
 example, and that power by which a strong mind naturally controls 
 the weak ; while his own love of ease, disinclination to reform of 
 every kind, as well as his innate levity of character, disqualified bim 
 from the labors and sacrifices necessary to promote it. All imbe 
 cility is apt to be vindictive. Motives that, to the strong, must bear 
 proportional magnitude, to such, are often of the most trivial char- 
 i acter ; a disappointment of any kind, trifling in itself, and common 
 1 to all, is enough to arouse the most baneful passion?, and instigate to 
 revenge, deadly as the hatred inspired. Kumshaka saw himself 
 supplanted everywhere in the field of battle, in the council-half, 
 and lastly, in his love. He had now a motive for action. His facul 
 ties even acquired a keenness of perception, a subtlety of combina 
 tion, while, thread by thread, he wove tho tissue of his revenge. 
 He found in Ackoree a kindred spirit, whose devices were always 
 ready for his use. It would be vain to pretend that he loved the 
 girl : it were a desecration of terms ; for the bond of sympathy be 
 tween them was not that of the high and holy attributes of the soul, 
 which alone deserve the name of love, but that fearful compact bjr 
 which evil passions seek their affinities, and enjoy a horrible plea 
 sure in so doing. Ackoree, with a woman s penetration, saw their 
 relations to each other, and she took a wild pleasure in sometimes 
 a sisting, sometimes foiling, his machinations. In tormring him, she 
 gratified her own wounded pride ; in assisting him, she helped to 
 crush a rival. 
 
 It was Kumshaka that promoted the numerous aggressions apoo 
 the whites, hoping thereby to provoke a collision, which must for 
 ever destroy the links of confederation. He affected to think the 
 i project impracticable, and the sooner the red man threw off its re 
 straints the better. How could materials so discordant, be made to 
 | conjoin 1 How could a people perpetually at war with each oi 
 stimulated by wrongs yet unrevenged, be made to forget thejr am- 
 
24 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE Ws STERN 
 
 e jsities, and smoke the calumet about one great council-fire 1 It 
 a ould never be. The blood ef the slain would cry out for redress, 
 and the hatchet would leap from its burial. Or, suppose that the 
 red men everywhere should unite, should become one people, must ; 
 it be for peace 1 Rather let them become one, that their strength 
 may be great, and they able to drive the white man from the earth. 
 It was thus that Kumshaka incited the warriors ; at first casually, \ 
 in the chase, or about the coals of the wigwam, and then more 
 openly. Cautiously did he attack the motives of Tecumseh ; but 
 the chief was away, and there are few generous enough to defend 
 -the absent. Gradually, he insinuated suspicions as to the motives i 
 of his policy with the whites. A feeble girl alone, he pretended, 
 was sufficient to interpose between the white and the red man. 
 
 At first, he was heard with incredulity; but the iteration of sur-| 
 mises, the proposition for a course of conduct more accordant with 
 their natural characters, gradually wrought conviction amoag those j 
 little accustomed and little desirous to think for themselves. 
 
 It was in vain that the Prophet represented the power and resources \ 
 of the whites, their superiority in arms and mode of warfare produc 
 ing fearful odds against them; that their only bond of security, of:| 
 existence, even, as a people, consisted in this union and repose. | 
 Peace and consolidation alone could preserve their existence ua 
 people. His fol!owrs were unable to take this dispassionate view 
 of things. They felt the pressure of present evils, the memory of 
 recent wrongs. They knew not how to interpose great moral and 
 political relations, that should henceforth be a barrier and a defence. 
 They lacked that far-seeing wisdom to perceive the utility and glory 
 of measures, that should convert a feeble and dispersed people, di- j \ 
 vided, oppressed, jealous of each other, and jealous of the whites, 
 into a powerful and prosperous whole. They were like the insane 
 man, who would throw himself naked upon the thick bosses of the 
 mailed giant. 
 
 Margaret saw the impending storm, ad herself urged the Prophet 
 to dispatch runners to facilitate the return of Tecumseb, and warn 
 him of the perils that threatened the cause he had so much at heart ; 
 but Eliskwatawa. was loth to confess that Tecumseh could do more to 
 avert the impending evil than himself. It may be too, that even he 
 felt some degree of jealousy at the great popularity of his brother, 
 and was willing to interpose a check ; for when did ever the devoted \ 
 patriot find himself aided by others as pure-hearted as himself ^j 
 When did he find followers ready to cast r.side the mantle of selfish- 1 \ 
 ness, &-nd join in the holiness of the cause, forgetful of all emolument | 
 and all personal ambition 1 Whatever might have been the motives j 
 of the Prophet, whether those of rivalry, or the result of inactivity, i j 
 he certainly yielded to the current of public opinion, which he had \\ 
 ceased to control, and tacitly acquiesced in their departure from i 
 originally adopted principles. 
 
 Margaret wept in secret grief to behold this whelming of the waters i | 
 over the ark of Indian safety. Often did she wish it were possible i j 
 for her to seek Tccumseh, and warn him to return ; but whither j 
 bend her steps 1 where, in the solitudes of the western valley, hope J 
 to find him, who alone could ensure the safety of the tribes 1 Her 
 own faith in the permanency of the confederation became weakened, 
 since but a single maa served to hold it together, and with him it 
 might be dissolved. Incited by a spirit akin to his, she wished the 
 power had been hers to assume the right to govern in the solemn 
 council, and to punish those who should be treacherous to the cause, i! 
 Sometimes a strong energy impelled her te put herself at their head, jj 
 aad, by the force of her own will, awe them to submission : but her ji 
 youth, the timidity of Alice, and the gentleness of her se.x, forbade ]j 
 the measure. She felt a noble sympathy in what she knew would j 
 be the sufferings of Tecurnsih, as if the magnitude of hia griefs were 
 her own likewise. She asked no more for the emotions that governed i j 
 her ; she felt their purity, their elevation, and that they carried her 
 out from the dominion of self into companionship with greatness 
 and virtue, in whatever shape. This was enough. She had no petty 
 cares, no debasing pissions, to divide and weaken the empire of her 
 sou), and her thoughts were absorbed in sublime contemplations. 
 From the holiness of her own emotions, she learned to judge of 
 those of Tecumseh. She remembered the ominous import of his 
 words, "Sorrow is earning upon Tecumseh," and she felt herself! 
 already admitted into the sanctuary of hia griefs ; for when we sharp j ; 
 the sorrows of our friend?, we leave the outer court, and enter into 
 the holy of holies cf the human heart. 
 
 Love, with Mirgaret, was a part of her adoration for all that is 
 noble and exalt sd in humn virtue, the earthly realization of those 
 attributes of perfection, with which in an infinite degree we invest 
 Jhe Deity. Such a love serves, more than all other exercises of the 
 
 human faculties to ennoble the heart of its possessor. It was not the 
 creature of passion and impulse, swayed by jealousy, asd extinguished 
 by neglect; it was a holy and enduring fhme, requiring no foreiga 
 aliment, fed as it was from the fountain of her own innocent and ex 
 alted nature. It was like the h.-dden flame of some unrevealed ora- 
 ter, invisible till the tempest and the earthquake should develope its 
 existence. 
 
 She remembered the sorrowful words of the Chief. " Evil is com 
 ing upon Tecumseh, why should he take the blossom fror.cjthe sun 
 shine, to see it wither in his own cabin?" andshe knew that she was 
 beloved; that in all his wanderings his thoughts reverted to her. She 
 fslt the consciousness of this, in the still midnight, when she held 
 sweet communion with him, for she knew that their spirits commin 
 gled. And now, that the forebodings of prophecy were daily be 
 coming reality, she acknowledged a holier bond of sympathy draw 
 ing th?ir hearts together. True, they had aot talked of love ; there 
 were no personal endearments to be remembered with a thrill in 
 after-times; but what were these to a mind like hers, that dwelt upon 
 that internal and holy sympathy, the union of mind with mind con 
 stituting the pure essence of love ! His sorrows had become her sor 
 rows, and she folded her hand upon her bosom and wept, and they 
 were tears of blessedness. Love is religious in its nature, when of 
 that holy kind which alone properly deserves the name. Who is there 
 in the blessed consciousness of being beloved, whether by maid, 
 friend or child, that has not felt his nature drawn cut into fuller 
 acknowledgment of Him who is Love itself, as if the soul were inha 
 ling its own appropriate element 1 So was it with Margaret ; she felt 
 a clearer understanding of the Invisible Presence, au enlargement 
 and dignity of nature proportionate to the depth of her love. She 
 had looked into the deep fountains of her own soul, and seen there- 
 the records of her own immortality. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 All this in her had wrought no change. 
 No anxious doubt, no jealous fear, 
 
 But he meanwhile had worJs most strange, 
 Breathed is my gzntler .NoMish s ear, 
 Which made her wish that I were near. HOFFMA.W. 
 
 ALICE had been for many days ill, very ill, and often in her des 
 pondency had she thought she should die, there in those wild solitudes, 
 with none but Margaret to receive her last sigh ; and yet si hopeless 
 had she become, that the thought of death was pleasant to her. She 
 pictured to herself the swelling turf under the shadow of the old trees, 
 and the warm pleasant sunshine resting upon it, the meek flowrets 
 clustering there as if in love, and the birds giving out thrir sweet 
 music as knowing that the sleeper beneath delighted in all harmo 
 nies. The leaves of autumn too heaped by its side, and the cricket 
 chirping in their midst, while the bright river should roll beneath- 
 uttering for ever its dirge-like melody. The character and manners 
 of Margaret were so unlike what sh-e had anticipated, so unlike those 
 with whom she had associated, that she was unprepared either to ap 
 preciate or understand them. Accustomed to forms and the daily 
 routine of medium life, she had no standard by which to judge of the 
 daring intellect, and unshackled strength of opinion which charac 
 terized her sister. Meek and gentle in her nature, distrustful of her 
 self, and accustomed to spread out her hands as it were to win the 
 support ot others, she shrank from the self-sustaining intrepidity of 
 the other as something to be feared and distrusted. Her lo-ve too, 
 retiring and timid, needed more to sustain its fervor than did the 
 same passion in the breast of Margaret. She beheld her sister firm 
 and undoubting in her attachment, requiring nothing to sustain it but 
 the fervency of her own nature, neither seeking or perhaps expecting 
 the possession of its object, content to exist in its own blessed un 
 consciousness ; while she herself was full of doubt and anxiety, mar 
 velling much that he who had spoken of love should so long abandoa 
 her to silence and neglect. Perplexed and disappointed in all things, 
 her heakh ha-d languished beneath the struggles, and now she felt as 
 if there were little in life to desire. As her system became daily 
 exhausted and she thought herself neariag the last dread bourne, she 
 was astonished to perceive how Margaret s strong and elevated faith, 
 divested from all dogmatisms, and human creeds, helped to relieve 
 her from the terrors and hesitancy engendered by the stern doctrines 
 in which she had been educated. She learned from Margaret, to es 
 timate the character of the soul by the purity and elevation of its de 
 sires, and to take comfort from a consciousness of a growth of good 
 ness in herself. 
 
 Margaret was unwearied in her attentions upon her sister, and 
 Minaree exercised all her skill, which was not inconsiderable, in 
 procuring remedies which her own experience had taught would be 
 
CAPTIVE- 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 efficacious. Herbs and roots were compounded by her into refresh 
 ing and strength-imparting beverages, and she taxed her culinary 
 lere ia preparing delicacies of various kinds for her relief. Under 
 the united efforts of Margaret and Minaree hsr health gradually re 
 turned, and leaning on the arm of her sister she was able to reach the 
 bower of grape vines on the bank of the river. She seated herself 
 upon the wicker-bench and cast her eyes out upon the blue sky, and 
 the river smiling in the sunshine. Margaret had gathered for her a 
 few early violets which she held between her thin pale finger?. Twice 
 she looked in the face of her sister and attempted to speak, but the 
 effort was unavailing and she burst into tears. Margaret was affect 
 ed, and sh-e put her arms tenderly about her waist and drew her to 
 her bosom. 
 
 "Speak, dear Alice," she said, "Margaret is not proud now as 
 she used to be, and she can feel for the weak and suffering. Alice 
 would tell of her white lover; let her speak, for Mirgaret will listen 
 as doth the bird to the singing of its rnate. ^ 
 
 A blush mounted the pale cheek of Alice, but it faded away as she 
 replied 
 
 " I fear, Margaret, I shall see him no more, that he has forgotten 
 me; but should he return, Margaret, you will show him my grave, 
 and perhaps he will weep over it. You miy tell him too, that I 
 prayed for him to the last." Her voice was choked by sobs, and 
 she ceased. 
 
 Margaret lookel wonderingly in her face, as if she w.re doubtful 
 of having comprehending her arigh*. 
 
 " What mean you, Alice, that he may have forgotten you 1 did he 
 not say you were dearer than life to him 1" 
 
 Alice colored at the reproof. " Yes, Margaret, but it islosg since 
 we have met, and he may have changed ere now." 
 
 Margaret colored with a slight look of seorr|-. " And so you call 
 this love, Alice 1 Doth the bird talk of distrust to its matel Is its 
 song made up of discontent 1 Doth the flower repine that the sun 
 shine is long away 1 Rather doth it not fold its leaves meekly, wait 
 ing till the shadow be past 1 Alice, Alice, this is selfishness, not love. 
 Love is the going out of self and becoming absorbed in the being of 
 another, and there can be no misundeistinding of that other self, for 
 
 their natures are one." 
 
 " Is it so, indaed V said Alice musingly. " Help me to so believe, 
 Margaret, for I am sadly weak and distrustful. Mast we live, dear 
 sister, in the midst of woods and watsrs, and in the shadows of great 
 mountains, apart from oar species, to preserve our own na 
 tures unpervertedl Are your feelings, Margaret, primeval a id chaste 
 like the freshness of undegenerate mm, or only those of the crude 
 demi-savage, to whom the refinements of life are a weakness and a 
 restraint." 
 
 Margaret s cheek ag-ain reddened, but she only said, " Look, Alice, 
 intoyour own heart, and behold how pure may be its emotions, and then 
 judge of mine. The innocent need not distrust. Have you ceased 
 to love Mansfield now that he is away 1 Then why imagine that he 
 should forget you 1 If he is long absent, it may be caused by a thou 
 sand various motives other than those of forgetfulness. The distance 
 is very great, and the hazards many ; besides, I doubt now whether he 
 would be permitted to enter the village. It is evident that war is 
 determined upon, and the measures of our people are always seer? t 
 No future intercourse will be allowed between the white and the 
 red man." 
 
 Alice turned deathly pale, for till now she had not fully understood 
 the danger of h*r situation. "O Margaret," she exclaimed, "can 
 we not make our escape V She grasped Mirgaret s arm wildly, for 
 a suppressed laugh sounded close to her ear. 
 
 " Come in, Ackoree," said Margaret carelessly, and ths girl en- 
 tered the bower and stood before the sisters, her glittering eyes ex 
 pressive of the utmost satisfaction. 
 
 So the Swaying Heed talks ot escape. Can the bird that looks 
 into tae eyes of the serpent, escape 1 Can the beast, whose trail i 
 huntsman has followed day by day, hops to escape 1 No more can 
 the white girl escape Ackoree. Tecumseh is long absent. ] 
 must be dead. Kumshaka will be the chief of the tribe, and 
 Ackoree his bride." 
 
 She stepped to the side of Margaret, and, stooping, looked 
 her very eyes, and continued in a low, husky voice 
 
 "The Swaying Reed, too, shall be his, and the bond-maid 
 Ackoree." 
 
 Alice gasped, and fell fainting on the breast of her si 
 
 Margaret laid her gently upon the turf, and turning to the gm o 
 drew herself proudly np, and even the fierce eyes of Ackoree fefi 
 beneath her stern, iiidignast look. 
 
 "Ackoree is a fit wife for Kmshak, for he is vain and spiteful; 
 >ut she dare not rest a linger upon the person of the Swaying Reed: 
 he Great Spirit hath given her a charmed life, which canffot be 
 harmsd. Tell Kumshaka he dare not loek into her eyes it were 
 death to him. L-.t the shadow of Ackoree be taken hence." 
 
 Awed by the haughty tone of defiance assumed by Margaret, and 
 he victim of that superstition to which she alluded, th; girl turned 
 slowly away, as at the bidding of a supernatural agent. 
 
 Margaret assisted Alice to her couch, and then calmly detailed to 
 her the necessity that she should summon strength of mind to repel 
 jvery weakness, as the surest means of protecting themselves from 
 he malice of Ackoree. She eould feel no sympathy for the suffer- 
 ng, but might be awed by the daring of those who could summon a 
 spirit stronger than her own. She besought Alice to endeavor to 
 egain her health, and premised that when sufficiently firm, she 
 vould seek with her the white settlements. 
 
 Alice embraced her tenderly, and expressed her surprise, aa well 
 ,s delight, at her determination. While they were yet talking, an 
 ndian youth, of beautiful and manly promise, raised the skins of the 
 mtrance, and glancing smilingly around, stood hesitating. Margaret 
 leckoned with her hand, and he entered and stood before her. He 
 ocked admiringly at the as ers, as he stood with his hand beneath 
 lisrobe, smiling archly, a3 if to sport with their impati-rnce. 
 " The Brave may deliver his message," said Margaret. 
 It is probable the term so skilfully applied, had its effr cf, for his 
 ook grew composed, and his form elevated, and, taking a parcel 
 rom beneath his robe, he laid it at her feet; then pressing his hand 
 not ungracefully upon his heart, he retired. 
 
 Margaret took up the package, and parting the fillets that confined 
 t, revealed skins of the rarest texture, and an arrow, on which was 
 nscribed a rattle-snake in the act to spring, and four moons. The 
 maiden colored deeply, and sat looking upon the gift, nor OECC 
 glanced at the face of her sister. Alice remarked her, and wondered 
 hat she should feel so much more of sympathy for Margaret than 
 she had hitherto done ; but love is the great leveller, and she now 
 almost participated in the emotions of her sister. 
 
 She pressed the hand of Margaret : " Tell me, sisler," the said, 
 what does it mean 1" 
 
 Margaret started at the tone of tenderness ; but she replied frankly, 
 It means that I am beloved, and that he will be heie in four 
 moons." 
 
 " It is from Tecumseh T 
 
 Margaret motioned in token of assen , and turned a^ay, fearful 
 hat Alice might say more. 
 
 The package had been brocght by one ef the perti S tiat had that 
 day entered the village probably one of the new converts to the 
 iews of the great leader who h\d thus come to join his foices. and 
 seen eutrusted with the comm ssion. 
 
 Under the pronrse of Margaret, that she would seek with her the 
 tvhite settlementa, the health of Alice began to amend rapidly, and 
 many were the little preparations she began to make in reference to 
 heir departure. She pictured to herself the sorrow of Minatee 
 vhen abandoned by her foster-child, and her heart was filled with 
 enderness. She made many articles of comfort and convenience, 
 xpressly for her use, in gratitude for her kindness to herself and 
 Margaret. The maidens and matrons of the village came in for a 
 share of, her remembrance, and she gave them tokens of her good 
 ill. The children were assisted in the construction of new toy*, 
 and their simple expressions of affectionate interest r< ceived with 
 renewed tenderness. Then she would picture to herself what must 
 lave been the anxiety of ths excellent-hearted Mrs. Mason at her 
 protracted absence, and her del ; ght to welcome their return, till the 
 pagination almost became a reality to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 He ceasjl. Her ere nai on him an 1 1! e blocx?. 
 
 In rush tunril v IDS from the citadel, 
 
 Spoke from hsr fore-he id M it wei ther fram . MILLIK. 
 
 A FEW weeks nft^r the incidents described in the last chapter, the 
 sisters had retired to their couch, wond*ring much at the protracted 
 absence of Minaree, who was always the first at night to dispose 
 herself to slumber. The tumult of the village had ceased, th 
 
24 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 in the 
 
 a l ov ildren were hushed to repose, and the games of the youth sus- 
 O f /-jaded. All was silent, except the leaders of the people, who were 
 . assembled in the great council-hoase, to discuss measures of public 
 import. Margaret had fallen into her first slumber, and dreamed 
 that she was about to leave suddenly in quest of Tecumseh, to. 
 reveal to him the state of affairs at the village, and the treachery of 
 Kumshaka, when the hand of Ackoree was placed upon her shoul 
 der : often as she attempted to move, the maiden held her back 
 She started up, for she became aware that a touch was indeed upon 
 her shoulder. It was that of Minaree. She laid her hand upon her 
 lips in token of silence, and motioned her to leave her couch. Mar 
 garet followed her to the other side of the cabin, and Minaree looked 
 eadly in her face. 
 
 " The arrow will reach the heart of Minaree, through the body of 
 her child," she said, tearfully. 
 
 Margaret was silent, while she went on : " Tecumseh is a great 
 chief. They say he is dead, and that he did not love his people. 
 They say he sought for peace with the white man, because of his 
 love for the Swaying Reed." 
 
 She would have said more, but Margaret waved her hand impa 
 tiently. She arrayed herself in a sumptuous robe of rare feathers, 
 bound the wampum about her slender waist, and tied the moccasons 
 to her feet. She twined a tuft of feathers amid her abundant hair, 
 and, thus accoutred, looked like some proud maiden of their own 
 race, upon whom the Great Spirit had lavished beauty exceedingly. 
 Drawing the elastic bracelet over her round arm, which was other 
 wise naked to the elbow, she left the cabin. Minaree watched her 
 motions till all was complete, and then quietly disposed herself to 
 slumber. 
 
 Kumshaka was in the midst of an impassioned harangue, in 
 which he seemed to have caught a portion of the fervid eloquence 
 of his brother. There was the same power of appeal, the same 
 affluence of diction, and force of argument ; but the spirit that, in its 
 elevation and far-seeing prophecy, lent a holiness to the every 
 utterance of Tecumseh, was far from resting upon the lips of the 
 speaker. He was powerful for jealousy and revenge had lent him 
 their aid and he spoke from the burning energies of his own vin 
 dictive passions. Yet few of his hearers understood the nature of 
 his inspiration, while the good of the tribes, and hatred to the white 
 man, were the burden of his appeal. 
 
 In the midst of one of his most glowing periods, while his hand 
 gracefully swept the circle about him, and his glowing eye turned 
 from sid to side, his voice faltered, his eye fell; for there, with a 
 proud, calm dignity, stood the Swaying Reed at the threshold, 
 confronting him with a look in which cold and biting scorn was 
 the predominant expression. Thrice he attempted to rally, but the 
 freezing look of the haughty girl was upon him, and he could not 
 resist its influence. Mortified and enraged, he pointed his quivering 
 finger forward, and between his clenched teeth uttered 
 
 "Behold the bait for which Tecumseh would sell his people. 
 Behold the serpent that hath crept into the lodge, to sting its 
 victims." 
 
 All .eyes were turned (upon the lone girl, where she stood one 
 hand grasping the folds of her robe, her head thrown back, revealing 
 the short compressed lip, and the small chisseled features, pale and 
 statue-like in their fixed and calm expression. One moment ehe 
 confronted the gaze of that agitated multitude, and then slowly 
 advanced to their midst. Even Kumshaka stepped back, awed by 
 her quiet majesty ; for she quailed not at the firce eyes bent upon 
 her. As she prepared to speak, she looked round upon the dark 
 group, and the ready blood mantled cheek and bosom, but her voice 
 was clear and untremulous in its intonations. 
 
 " The Shawanese have taken the massasauga as (he emblem of 
 their tribe. A noble reptile, that first warns its victim of danger : 
 ere it strikes, it proclaims the peril. Then who would look for 
 treachery in a Shawaneel Who would look for a secret blow upon 
 the defenceless, from the arm of a Shawanee, and that defenceless 
 one a brother 1 The shadow of Tecumseh is not found in the village. 
 Moons grow large in the heavens, and fade again from the sky, yet 
 it comes not. Doth Tecumseh pursue his game 1 doth he feast with 
 the youth of his people 1 doth he dwell at ease, and the wants of his 
 people forgotten 1 When did ever Tecumseh disport himself, and 
 the red man was as nothing to himl Let not the chief with lying 
 lips talk of the treachery of Tecumseh ; that he would be at peace 
 with the white man, and sacrifice the good of his people for the 
 emiles of any maiden. The chief knows it is false. Kumshaka 
 looked upon the Swaying Reed, and felt her ecorn. Before it had 
 
 turned his heart to bitterness, he was an advocate cold, indeed 
 for who would look for the bravery of the warrior or the eloquence 
 of the orator from Kumshaka 1 Yet he was an advocate for the 
 measures of Tecumseh." 
 
 As she alluded thus to the chief, her cheek reddened with maidenly 
 shame, and a derisive laugh burst from the assembly, in the midst of 
 which the discomfited chief withdrew. 
 
 " Let no one impute unworthy motives to Tecumseh. While the 
 youth of the tribe are at rest, Tecumseh is all day on the march 
 his feet are weary with travel, and his eyes heavy with watching 
 The dews of night are upon his robe, and the stars listen to his padl 
 die, as he goes down the rapid river. He sleeps within the sound of 
 the cataract, and the Great Spirit cometh to him in dreams. In after 
 years, when the Indian shall have become a great people, old men 
 shall tell of the wisdom of Tecumseh, and children shall tell of his- 
 toils and sufferings. The Great Spirit is with him. He came to 
 him as he lay an infant upon the earth, and touched his lips with 
 a living coal. Thence came the wisdom and the eloquence of his 
 tongue. Tecumseh is not dead. He is calling the Great Council of the 
 tribe?, to judge the treacherous Winneraac and his friends, and to 
 consult upon measures to be adopted for the good of our people. He 
 is not dead. The Great Spirit will give you a token by which ye 
 shall know that he still lives. In four moons he will be here. la 
 token whereof, look out upon the full moon. Not a cloud is in the 
 sky ; yet the Great Spirit hath caused his shadow to pass over it ; 
 and as that shadow shall pass from its face, leaving it clear and 
 beautiful in its brightness, so shall all shadows pass from the fame of 
 Tecumseh." 
 
 All eyes followed the direction of those of the maiden, and there, 
 upon the lower limb of the moon lay a dark and heavy mass, even like 
 the dread shadow of the Eternal, and the whole multitude looked oa 
 with awe and terror. 
 
 Margaret had observed the phenomenon on her way to the lodge, 
 and was at no loss to understand its nature ; familiar with the char 
 acter and superstitions of the people she confronted, she Mt no hesi 
 tancy in turning it to her own use. As she quietly stole from their 
 midst, the youth of whom we have before spoken walked by her side, 
 and as he looked reverently from the shrouded moon to the still face 
 of his companion, he whispered, 
 
 " The Great Spirit hath touched the lips of the Swaying ReeoT. 
 She hath the heart of a red maiden, and wisdom as from the spirit 
 land." 
 
 Kumshaka attempted no further open attack upon his brother, but 
 the poison he had infused did not fail of its effects. The policy so 
 urgently recommended by Tecumseh had been interrupted, and the 
 great accession of numbers at the village rendered the discussion of 
 principles and the enforcement of pacific measures next to impossi 
 ble. Every day witnessed their departure from the primitive habits 
 hitherto adopted, and all the mystical rites and supernatural agency 
 of the Prophet were insufficient to lead them back, to preserve the 
 good order of the village, or protect the whites from their atrocities. 
 He had listened like the rest of his people to the solemn appeal of 
 Margaret, with amazed wonderment; too wary to exhibit his emo 
 tions, he beheld the verification of her prediction with the cool in 
 difference of one accustomed to sport with the credulity of others, and 
 who is sure that however mysterious the charm may appear, still 
 the solution must be simple to the initiated. 
 
 At night, when the village was hushed to repose, he came to the 
 cabin of Minaree, and beckoned Margaret to follow him forth. She 
 stood with him by the river side, the full moon resting upon the fig 
 ure of the maiden, with her pure brow gleaming in its light; the soft 
 wind lifting up the curls from her bosom, her hands calmly folded, 
 and eyes raised fearlessly to the face of the towering chief, who 
 leaned carelessly upon a huge club, and regarded her with a search 
 ing look. Neither spoke for many minutes. At length the chief 
 commenced in terms of reproach: 
 
 "The charm of the maiden was not well wrought. Why did she 
 so long delay the return of Tecumseh! He should be here now. 
 Eliskwatawa would see the maiden work her charm. She will do so 
 and hasten his return." 
 
 Margaret s eye kindled, for she felt the suggestion to be equivalent 
 to a command. At another time she might have frankly confessed 
 the source of her information, as would have been more in accord 
 ance with the natural candor of her mind ; but now she understood 
 too well the danger of her situation, to hazard anything that might 
 contribute to her own influence. She confronted him awhile with ft 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Beside the auld hearth th 
 
 id hearth .He haifc cherished for life 
 Went and ,ad sits the lonely Midwife- 
 Time hath left many > trace on her brow 
 But grief hath not troubled h.r.pirit till now.-j.L . CH..T 
 
 "Let the Prophet look upon the calmness and beauty of that pair 
 face, and read the destinies it reveals. Let him turn to the stars and 
 understand their teachings. They speak a language to him who 
 can understand. Floods and storms, the tempest and the earthquake, 
 death and disaster, are all shadowed forth in their fearful teachings. 
 Wise men have read them, and foretold the destinies of nations. Sa-|! canoe - 
 ges, for thousands and thousands of years, have studied the language j lne infant city 
 
 of the midnight stars, and told what should be. And what they have men indignant at repeated atrocities.and "resolved 
 foretold has been as the revelations of the Great Spirit. Men have 
 heard and trembled. What they foretell is not to be changed. It is 
 the immutable fate. Let not the chief esk for the exhibition of 
 
 sttzyss&ESSSfc 
 jfusS5S25w5E2 
 
 known influence over the savaees. H nH m n ^.. 
 
 charms. 
 
 stands. 
 
 The Swaying Reed deals in none. 
 She hears and is silent." 
 
 She reads and under- 
 
 During the utterance of this her voice became deep and energetic, 
 and the blood rushed to her cheek ; she yielded to a vehemence of 
 manner that relieved in part the wrong she felt she was doing her 
 own nature in thus assuming the position of imposture. The Proph 
 et s keen eye was fixed upon her as if he would read her very soul ; 
 but the dauntless girl quailed not beneath his searching glance. It 
 would seem that a strange awe grew upon him as the moon lay upon 
 her white face, radiant with the fervor of her emotions, for he spake 
 in a low, reverent voice : 
 
 "The Prophet will sit at the feet of the Swaying Reed, and learn 
 the mysteries of the stars. When they utter their midnight talk, he 
 will listen and understand. Let the Swaying Reed reveal the secret 
 of her power. Elisk watawa would cause the moon to veil her bright 
 ness, the stars to dim their lustre, and appear again at his bidding 
 He would awe the people with strange prodigies. He would speak, 
 and behold the Great Spirit should lay his shield upon the moon s 
 face. Speak, maiden, for thy wisdom is that of the spirit land." 
 
 Margaret fixed her sorrowful eyes upon the face of the chief, and 
 felt even as if a ray from the Eternal had penetrated the recesses of 
 her soul, revealing the one shadow upon her own temple of truth; 
 still the teachings of her father had, perhaps, afforded as much of as 
 trology as the pure science of Astronomy; and these mingling with the 
 enthusiasm engendered by woods and mountain solitudes, had in 
 fused a belief in the mysterious influences of nature, that made the 
 language she adopted in reality but little at variance with hor own 
 faith. Her answer was solemn, and according to the convictions oi 
 her own heart : 
 
 " The Swaying Reed can impart no power to the Prophet. The 
 stars, in their stillness and beauty, have a language audible to him 
 who in the lowliness of truth bows before the Great Spirit. Thus 
 have the old men of other times spread their gray locks to the mid 
 night wind; have fasted till the flesh no more hindered the going forth 
 of the spirit prayed till the Great Spirit uttered itself in ther own, 
 and then were the heavens opened; they heard the melody of the 
 star?, that mysterious and beautiful melody, revealing the destiny of 
 men and the fate of empires. The vistas of moons and suns opened 
 before them in their eternal courses of gladness, singing responsive 
 to the heart of blessedness, that throbs in the great universe. Let 
 the Prophet fast and pray as did these, and then learn that his will 
 can neither stay nor alter their courses The voice of the Almighty 
 alone can speak and they obey. Let him, if he would learn their ut 
 terance, veil his face with awe, and behold them in their naajesty ! 
 The tempest rageth beneatti them and they look forth again calm and 
 undisturbed. Can the Prophet at his will bid the whirlwind uprooi 
 the oak of a thousand years 1 Can he cause the sun to appear whilr 
 the black cloud hangeth in the heavens 1 Can he look to the earth, 
 and cause the blossom to come forth ; or the lily upon the stream to 
 blush at its own whiteness 1 Behold, it is the Almighty that quieteth 
 the earth with the south wind. How then can the Prophet hope to 
 speak, and the moon and the stars shall obey him 1" 
 
 As she ceased, ehe glided lightly away, leaving th.e wondering 
 chief gazing into the depths of the shadowy sky, with a new sense of 
 its marvellous beauty. A holy influence stole upon his heart, an ut 
 terance of the Deity within responding to the voices that called to 
 him from the glory and loveliness of the external world. His dim 
 thoughts partially penetrated the thick veil of ignorance and super 
 stition, and beheld the purer light of truth and goodness. Longtime 
 he stood communing with his own nature through the agency of that 
 spread out before him, feeling mysterious enlightenments, new and 
 wonderous, there, amid the holy solitudes of midnight. 
 
 r tne savages, and moderation in the m, 
 
 ment of affairs, inspired hope and confidence. R erno] ! Mgr 
 his part were madeto the natives, but without ^TSSli 
 was permitted access to the village. The General Go 
 roused by the growing hostility, dispatched troops for the 
 the frontier, and the whole territory 
 
 same rne- 
 In 
 
 repair 
 nt trt- 
 
 nd he found relief only in the assurance afforded him, by stra^li 
 parties of the natives, that the sisters were secure and well V 
 missalsj which he trusted would reach Alice through the same 
 dium, were either lost or destroyed, for none ever reached her 
 the discharge of his services, it had been necessary for him to 
 to Washington, which, at that time of bad roads and unfreque 
 vel, was a journey of no small enterprise, and detained him som. 
 months. On his return, finding the aspect of affairs still more threat 
 enmg, his fears were increased as to the safety of the sisters The 
 calls of his country were many and urgent-the times seemed ap 
 proaching a crisis, when the native or the white man must yield h e 
 position. In case of collision, he knew well the first victims of the 
 war would be any whites that might be with the Indians; they would 
 be offered to the manes of those that should perish in battle. Troops 
 even now were prepared to advance upon Tippecanoe, and he trem 
 bled for the fate of the two girls. Unable longer to support his anx 
 iety, he determined to effect their escape before the commencement 
 of hostilities. For this purpose he threw up his commission, resolved 
 at all hazards to penetrate to the Indian settlement. He believed 
 their escape would be more easily effected in this private and friendly 
 manner, than if demanded as a public measure. Difficulties aug 
 mented on every sid, and in every view, but he believed this the 
 least obnoxious. 
 
 Mr. Mason had not been inactive in attempts to relieve them, but 
 all had been ineffectual. When therefore, informed of the resolution 
 of his young friend, he replied, instantly addressing hie wife : 
 
 " Anny, I must go with the youth, and the Lord will be with me- 
 These are perilous times, Anny, and evil must not befal the maiden. 
 What saith the scripture 1 Is it not that he who had an hundred 
 sheep, left the ninety and nine, and went out into the wilderness to 
 seek that which was lost 1 Did the shepherd ask who will keep the 
 ninety and nine 1 Verily the Lord was their keeper ; even so will 
 tie keep the household of him wholrusteth in him." 
 
 Anna turned pale, and pressed her child to her bosom, for their 
 dwelling was one of the most exposed in the city. Nevertheless, 
 3chvas her reverence for her fcusband, her habitual submission to 
 lis will, that she never for a moment doubted the propriety of the 
 sourse he adopted. Mr. Mason felt less anxiety in leaving home at 
 his juncture, PS the city would be left underjthe protection of troop*, 
 and every house had in part, been converted into an armed garrison 
 Weapons and munitions of war were ready for defence, and men 
 slept with the loaded musket at their side, prepared for any emer 
 gency. Timid women taxed their imagination as to the beet course 
 o be adopted in case of an alarm, and embraced their children at 
 light as those whom death might separate at any instant. Cheeks 
 were steeped in tears in the midst of perturbed slumber, as the fore 
 bodings of the day presented in dreams, the horrors of death and 
 ilaughter, the tomahawk and flame. 
 
 Mrs. Mason had suffered exceedingly in her anxiety for Alice, 
 naguifying the hardships and the dangers to which she had in reality 
 leen exposed. Her repugnance to the race, imbibed by education, 
 tnd a knowledge of their atrocities, had caused her to invest them 
 vith everything that is revoking, and unfitted her to judge dispas 
 sionately of the treatment to which they had been subjected, or to 
 letect the redeeming traits of their character. Often when Mr. 
 vlason presented the "lone orphan, the tender lamb in the midst of 
 volves," as he was wont to designate her, before the throae of mer 
 cy, his voice became choked with emotion, and Anna would respond 
 with a flood of tears. Her own prayers also were uttered with 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 ency wondrous even to herself. Every incident of the day, I was full of household affections, and gentle benevolence, and where 
 ;ugtit her freshly to recollection. Were she happy, Alice were the heart is thus disposed, ways are never wanting for the exercise 
 T~- -sdfal to participate in her happiness ; sorrowful, she needed her of its propensities. 
 
 ildr veet k f svm P at hy- 
 
 >nde Mrs - Janes suffered equally with the rest She felt the want of 
 gsf . the winning sweetness of Alice to lure her from a sense of her in 
 firmities, and make her feel again the sunshine of the earth. 
 
 Even little Jimmy learned as if by instinct to 
 amuse and gratify her, and the baby would creep across the room, 
 and grasping her apron climb to her side ; there he would stand 
 swaying by the frail support, till his words and smiles won her atten 
 tion. Anna at such times did not call the child away as many would 
 
 form become daily more wasted, and an unnatural softness crept over; have done, for the old lady rarely took any notice of it, as the very 
 
 her. Often would she wipe her dim eyes with the corner of her 
 apron, her shrivelled hand trembling with age. 
 
 There is always something painfully touching in the grief of the 
 aged. The shaking of the wasted hand, with its sallow skin and 
 prominent veins ; the scanty supply of tears, and the sigh, which no 
 eager comes as a relisf, but deep and heavy has become in truth a 
 groan, wrung as it were, from the very vitals ; the hand is no longer 
 pressed upon the eyelids as if weeping brought its ovn censolation, 
 but wanders uneasily about the garments, now smoothing the folds, 
 and now pressed against the loose girdle. The foot is moved in 
 quick restless taps upon the floor, and the eyes are never turned as 
 if expecting sympathy from others. Alas ! who is there that is ready 
 
 ;act would have conveyed a reproach ; but she allowed the child of 
 i four-score, and the infant of a year to adopt their own course, and 
 tin time they became friends together, and delighted to interchange 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Proud maiden, with thy pale, imperial brow, 
 And thoughts too lofty for a world like this 
 The cup of life, dark drugged as it is now, 
 Were meter for thee, than the cup of bliss 
 No meaner crown is thine 
 Than that which fame shall twine. MS. 
 
 THE doctrine, that without the shedding of blood there can be HO 
 
 to lay the aged and stricken head upon his bosom, and smooth the j remission of sin, announced in the written revelation of God, hath 
 gray locks, and kiss the furrowed brow, that has known the weari- j| found a response to an original sentiment found in the mind of all 
 ness and the sorrow of many years. There is something awful in || nations, however rude or uncultivated. In whatever way it came 
 
 the weeping of the aged. They are those that have known the full 
 bitterness of life ; have beheld the beloved of youth pass to the land 
 of spirits ; have known the folly of earthly hopes ; have found the 
 canker at the root of every promise, and the golden fruit turned to 
 ashes of bitterness. Love, and youth, and hope, and glory, all the chi 
 meras of life, have passed away, and they live on like those ancient 
 summits, that from their sterileness, and riven aspect, tell of former 
 light and flame, though their fires are long since extinguished. No 
 wonder, then, that we are prone to turn fearfully away from thesor- 
 
 there, whether by immediate inspiration, preserved by tradition, or 
 growing out of that intuitive sense of justice, teaching us that a 
 penalty must be paid for all wrong-doing ; from whence springs the 
 hope, that the sacrifice of the pure and holy may procure its remit 
 tance, it is unnecessary now to inquire ; suffice it, that such is the 
 fact. The savage, suffering from famine, from pestilence, er defeat 
 in war, at once recognizes the principle, and believes that the gccu- 
 mulated sins of his people have provoked the anger of the invisible 
 powers, and a sacrifice must be made in order to propitiate them. 
 
 row of the aged to feel there is something awful in the revival of I He selects an animal which he believes suitable to the occasion ; or, 
 human passions, in those who are supposed to have survived them, i if the case is urgent he is desirous to avert great evil, or to procure 
 No, BO ; it is for the young, the hoping, the beautiful, to weep and [[great good a solemn sacrifice is made of a human victim; a captive 
 
 find a response in every heart; the brow of the aged can repose alone 
 upon the bosom of its God. 
 Mrs. Mason, besides her own cares and anxieties, found abundance 
 
 taken in war, whose death shall appease the manes of the departed, 
 ! and win the favor of the invisibles. 
 
 It had been the wish of Tecumseh to do away these sacrifices, but 
 
 of exertion necessary in order to relieve the growing infirmities of the people, regarding them as an essential part of their religion, ac- 
 the old lady. The winter had been unusually severe, and she suffered |iquiesced only while there was nothing in their affairs that would 
 from the many complaints incident to age. From the departure of j render them of consequence. The Prophet, belonging more imme- 
 Alice, a listlessness had crept over her, that told plainly the absence diately to the priesthood, was unwilling to part with anything in 
 of the sweet girl lay heavily upon her heart. She would sit for hours j , ancient usages, that should add to the impressiveness of their ritual, 
 watching the flakes of snow as they sailed slowly to the earth, turn- j; The custom had partially gone into decay, but when Kumshaka 
 ing their diamond points to the light, or driven by the wind, swept j proposed its revival, and, in a paroxysm of extraordinary sanctity, 
 in eddies around the dwelling. At the least sound, she would hur- i ; urge d its necessity in the present period of famine and approaching 
 riedly wipe her spectacles and look earnestly in the direction of the [hostilities, he was at once ready to adopt the measure. It would 
 
 door, as if expecting her to enter. At first she turned peevishly 
 away from the proffered kindness, and delicate attentions of Anna, 
 
 seem, that the brothers understood intuitively who was to be the 
 victim, for none was named, and preparations were immediately 
 
 but as her feebleness increased, she b?gan to yield to them a silent | i ma de for a great feast, preparatory to the sacrifice. The next day 
 acquiescence. At last her nature so much sofcened, that she called j Margaret received a small reed, with mysterious characters thereoa 
 herAnny, and began to crave small attentions from ho: in the man- j: inscribed, which she at once understood as the ceremony of invita- 
 aer of a querrulous child. The first time she addressed Mrs. Mason j tion to a sacred festival. Alice saw her array herself with unwonted 
 by the familiar and affectionate name of Anny, the good woman was ; care, and with many preparatc-ry ablutions, take her way to the 
 so affected, that she burst ints tears, and gently pressing her lips to ! great hall of council. 
 
 An immense fire was kindled in the centre of the lodge, and the 
 ! sacred weed filled it with its fumes. The Prophet, in full canonicals, 
 
 the shrivelled cheek of the other, she whispered 
 
 "Thank you, grandmother, I was sure you would love me." 
 
 The old lady half pushed her aside, saying " Go away child," 
 but she wiped a tear from her eyes with the end of her thumb, and 
 her thin lips quivered, though she compressed them very tightly 
 over her toothless jaws to conceal her emotions. 
 
 After the departure of Mr. Mason, she became still more the vie 
 tim of restlessness and peevish impatience. The ea^ er exercise of 
 her senses seemed to have imparted a preternatural activity to them 
 
 1 1 swept the circle, chanting in a low voice, and holding aloft an im 
 mense rattlesnake, which the hunters had found in the woods. The 
 old men and chiefs of the tribe were seated next the flame_, and the 
 outer circles were occupied by the assembled multitude. On the en 
 trance of Margaret the crowd opened, and the Prophet pointed her 
 to a place among the elders of the tribe. Spreading out his two 
 hands, with the snake across them, the Prophet commenced. 
 
 were the devices adopted by Anna to dissipate the tedium of absence ; 
 
 Sounds hitherto inaudible to the decaying organs, became keenly "Didst thou perish, O manitou, to foretell the doom of the Shawa- 
 perceptible, and even the sense of sight began to improve. Many 
 
 nee 1 The hunters beheld the conflict with terror. The black snake 
 towered aljft, and thou didst ring the alarm. Fierce was the struggle. 
 
 patchwork of curious and intricate patterns was commenced, and I Ye did lash the air in your fury; and your scales clashed like the 
 the old lady for a while would become absorbed in its construction ; J spears of the warrior. But the folds of thy foe were about thee ; 
 
 when this became wearisome, she planned the manufacture of vari 
 ous articles of the dairy in which Mrs. Jones could assist ; among 
 these were cheeses variously colored, and improved by the addition 
 of rare buds. She even became a reader, and in addition to her in 
 structions of little Jimmy, read the whole of Pilgrim s Progress aloud, 
 ostensibly to amuse the child ; but the grandmother never failed to 
 -put her spectacles to the top of her cap, fold her arra?, closely cressed 
 npon her thin waist, and lean forward in absorbed attention. Anna 
 
 twined like the binding cords of the canoe. Thou art dead. Such 
 is the fate of the red man. The white man binds him in his chains, 
 and he is powerless. He lies like the manitou of the Shawanee, 
 dead upon the earth. Shall he revive ? Will life return to the 
 massasauga 1" 
 
 " Life shall return !" shrieked a voice at the threshold. Margaret 
 covered her eyes at the terrible apparition. It was Ingaraga. A 
 hundred years had quenched the light of her eyes, and bleached the 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 I 
 
 raven of her hair. Her flesh was wasted and cadaverous, and her 
 nails protruded from hei fingers. She turned her sightless eyes over 
 the multitude, and spread out her bony hands. She shook her head 
 from side to side, as if to catch some sound, though death had long 
 since come upon the organ ; in so doing her white hair, which 
 reached nearly to her feet, encircled her like a shroud, from which 
 peered the shrivelled face, thin and diminutive, and the quenched 
 eyeballs. 
 
 " Lifc shall return !" she continued, approaching the fire, and lift 
 ing the serpent from the ground ; " Life shall return, even as it doth 
 come to tlw massasauga !" Scarcely were the words uttered, ere the 
 snake coiled itself, its tail vibrating so as to be almost invisible, and 
 its red jaws distended. Taking a twig she carried in her hand, she 
 played from side to side, retreating to the open air : the serpent 
 followed her motions as if by enchantment. 
 
 Ingaraga returned, her white hair streaming over her shoulders, 
 and with a velocity almost supernatural, she thrice circled the flame, 
 and cast therein powerful charms. !?he stopped short, and staggered 
 heavily, exhausted with the effort ; her chest heaved, her frame 
 quivered, and her face fearfully distorted. At first her words were 
 inarticulate, but at length her cry wrought itself into language fright 
 fully vehement and shrill. 
 
 " Wo wo, to the red man ! He hath forgotten the worship of his 
 fathers ! His fields are barren, and the game flteth from his grounds 
 His young men are feeble in battle; and the arrow goeth crooked in 
 the chase ! A black markka upon him he is doomed to death 
 Wo wo ! The eagle s nest was upon the rocks ! Up where the 
 lightnings played, and the strong winds battled ! He looked off upon 
 the prairies, and down upon the big lakes: for his prey was upon 
 every side. The wings of his children were thick, and their sound 
 as the voice of the tempest ! A foe crept to the rock, and hurled the 
 young into the depths beneath ! The cry of the old eagle went up, 
 and it was heard like the thunder in the dark clouds calling to 
 gether the fiery bolts ! There was the rushing and shivering of 
 wings, and the tumult of battle !" 
 
 Her voice was lost amid inarticulate mouthings a white froth 
 gathered about her lips she swayed, heavily forward, aiidjj lay 
 writhing upon the earth. The Prophet assumed the tone of prophecy. 
 " The eagle s nest shall again appear upon the rock ; the bones 
 of his prey shall be heaped beneath him, and he shall look forth in 
 his might. The altars of the Invisible have been deserted there is 
 no blood upon the stones the fire has gone eut, and moss creepeth 
 where the fresh victim should bleed. The Shawanee will return to 
 the worship of his fathers. Behold ! the Great Spirit hath prepared 
 the victim ! He will be pleased with his children, and their glory 
 shall return." 
 
 Margaret s cheek assumed an ashy paleness, and her Vreath came 
 heavily, for a sure instinct revealed to her that Aliee was the victim 
 desigaed. Hurriedly she revolved the possibility of escape : but 
 how, with the vindictive Ackoree and the subtle Kumshaka to watch 
 their motions? How, too, when the superstition of the people would 
 lead them to watch vigilantly the victim designed for the altars of 
 their gods 1 Scarcely knowing what she did, she arose from her seat, 
 and cast her mournful eyes about the assembly. She heard a low 
 laugh, which she knew to be that of Ackoree. The Prophet spoke. 
 " Let not fear come to the heart of the Swaying Reed. The SUB 
 will long dance upon her pathway, and she will be as the voice of 
 the Great Spirit to his red children." 
 
 Margaret felt as if a film were gathering over .her eyes ; the place 
 whirled aboat her, and the faces of the multitude changed to fearful 
 and grotesque images. Her throat was parched, and a strange ring 
 ing came to her ears. Pressing her hand heavily upon ^her brow, 
 she at length found utterance. 
 
 " It is well. The white girl must die." 
 
 Kumshaka arose from his feet, and confronted her searchingly. 
 Let not the Swaying Reed hope that the white girl will escape. 
 She is doomed !" 
 
 Pale as marble, heart-stricken as she was, a portion of her 
 epirit lent its fire to her eyes, and curl to her lip 
 
 " The Swaying Reed neither hopes nor desires escape. Whence 
 comes the new sanctity of the weak chief 1 Whence his courage 1 
 It is that he may work the death of a lone girl. He will bring rum 
 upon his people to gratify his own hatred. The white girl must 
 Hath the Prophet listened to the stars ? Hath the Great Sp.nt come 
 to him in dreams, and called for one to bleed for the people 1 
 be it. Let the victim be brought to the altar ; but let her not b 
 dragged thither with streaming eyes and tears. Let not shrieks and 
 
 i wailing be heard, when ye sacrifice to the Great Spirit. Ye as 
 a victim." 
 
 There was a death-like pause. Margaret left the circle of chiefs, 
 and stood in the area in front. Her face was utterly bloodless : the 
 small clasped hands were like cold white statuary, and her breath so 
 light that it lent no motion to her chest. Fearful was the contrast 
 where the curls of her long dark hair lay upon her bosom. Low 
 exceedingly, and sweet, were the tones of her voice. 
 
 " Ye ask a victim. Lo, I come !" and she raised her eyes upward 
 with an expression of holy patience. " Let me be laid upon your 
 altars. Would you make a welcome sacrifice to the Great Spirit, it 
 must be a willing one. Not with terror, and many tears; but one 
 who would willingly die for the good of the tribes. Behold me. 
 What is there in life to bind the Swaying Reed to earth 1 She loags 
 for the spirit land. There is no light in her path. She has loved 
 the red people, why should she not die for them 1 But the timid 
 maiden must not die. No evil must come to her. She must be shel 
 tered like the infant of few moons. Let me go with her to our 
 people, and the Swaying Reed will return and die in hr place." 
 
 There was a murmur of applause, interrupted by Kumshaka. 
 "Think you the bird, escaped the snare, will return to it again? 
 The pale maiden must not escape." 
 
 Margaret s lip curled with bitter pride. " There is no truth in the 
 heart of the chief, and he cannot read it in the hearts of others. 
 Before one moon I will return, unless the Great Spirit should sooner 
 take me to himself." And she took the lighted calumet, laid her 
 hand upon her heart, and blew the sacred smoke upward, and then 
 cast a piece of the weed into the flames at her feet. 
 
 "It is enough," said the Prophet. " Tbe Swayiug Reed shall g- 
 with the timid maiden. She dare not break a vow made to the 
 Great Spirit. In one moon she will be here." 
 
 " Should she fail," returned Kumshaka, "let her listen in every 
 wind for the arrow of Kumshaka see in every shadow the passage 
 of his form and lie down every night, sure that he is by, ready for 
 the death." 
 
 Margaret listened with a faint smile, and with slow steps left the 
 feast, for the food was upon the coals, and many and solemn were 
 the rites still to be observed. She was now to prepare Alice for es 
 cape, and yet conceal from her the fearful pledge by which it had 
 been procured. Her foot had lost its elastic spring, and she moved 
 with that kind of retarded speed with which the dreamer attempts to 
 struggle forward, and yet feels himself drawn to the earth. There 
 was a strange bewilderment about her senses, and she found herself 
 at every moment collecting the links of thought ; turning her mind 
 backward, to see what was the secret of that heaviness that grew 
 upon her whether it were a reality, or but the impression of a too 
 vivid dream. The new moon, wi the auld moon in her arms, 
 hung upon the verge of the horizon, but she scarcely beheld the- 
 thread of silver, so prepared was her mind to observe the shadow it 
 embraced. Leaf and blossom were at rest ; the stars looked down 
 beholding themselves in the river, but their very tranquillity was op 
 pressive, so much did the hopelessness of life speak to her heart. 
 She leaned against the entrance of her cabin, scarcely conscious she 
 did so, looking abstractedly into the dimness of the woods. The- 
 moon quivered for a moment upon the tops of the trees, gleamflt 
 faintly through the dense foliage, ihen left all to silence and gloom 
 yet she regarded not the change. Tongaxm touched her hand. 
 
 " The feast will be long Kumshaka has a false heart. The mai 
 dens must escape ere the chiefs shall call for blood. Tougatou will 
 go with them." 
 
 Margaret entered the cabin. Alice was sleeping soundly ; and 
 she held back the screen, the dim torch-light fell upon her sweet 
 face, the rUBd cheek resting upon her arm, and the brown hair 
 scattered in profusion over her shoulders, the long lash sweeping its 
 graceful curve. Margaret listened to the light breathing, half in 
 wonder that aught human could look so much like blessedness. 
 
 Alice," she said, and ehe started at the unearthly tones of her 
 own voice. Alice arose, looking with surprise at the ashy palenes 
 of her sister. 
 
 We must away, Alice ; I will go with thee to thy people. 
 
 Alice fell they were in deadly peril, for the voice aad look o 
 Margaret revealed it, but she staid for no questioning ; she embrac 
 her, and silently prepared for departure. When she laid her ban! 
 apon the Bible, Margaret s cold fingers were upon her own, and 
 whispered, " Let it remain." 
 
 Alice remembered long that deathly touch, and pale sorrowful 
 face They left the cabin in silence, for even Mmaree l.ngered at 
 the feast, unsuspecting the early departure of her foster-child. 
 
THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 ith 
 
 1V , .._. lver > swollen b y recent rains, rolled on with a deep, heavy swell;!! we go out and claim our affinity with the unseen but all-pervading 
 f "-nd and the sound of ths ra P ids above added to the gloom. At this mo- presence. Alice, fakt and weary, had fallen asleep immediately 
 .aas,. ment a fish leapt upward, and fell back with a long, heavy plash. !j upon the spreading oi the skins for the night ; Margaret, half reclin- 
 
 She grasped the arm of the chief, wild with terror. j ! ing, was beholding the moon, over which thin clouds were spreading 
 
 Tongatou shook her off fiercely. " The pale girl has nothing to j a veil of gossamer. Tongatou regarded her long in silence, and then 
 
 fear, while the Swaying Reed shelters her." ! i he seated himself at her side, and addressed her. 
 
 Margaret s native energy came to her assistance, for she saw that j : " Will the Swaying Reed remain with her people 1 She will bring 
 
 the generous youth in his heart despised the helpless timidity of , light to any cabin." 
 
 Alice, natural as it was and condemned her for being, though un- j j Margaret fixed her eyes sternly upon him. 
 
 conscious of the lact, the cause of her own destruction. She there- 
 
 fore put her arm about her waist, and placed the skins to shelter 
 
 her with the tenderness of a mother ; and then took one of the pad 
 dles to assist in propelling the boat. Alice shuddered to contemplate 
 
 the gloom of the young chief, as the bright star light revealed his 
 
 face ; and there was something, too, appalling in the still pale face 
 
 " Does the chief think there is no truth in the heart of the white 
 maiden 1 The Swaying Reed belongs now, Beithcr to the white 
 dor the red people. She is given to the great Spirit." 
 
 " Tongatou will not counsel the maiden, he knoweth her wisdom. 
 When Tecumseh shall return, his cabin will be desolate. If it be 
 
 of Margaret. Hour after hour, Alice looked upon her, and she re- the wil1 of the swaying Reed, her red brother will bear her away to 
 mained the same, with her passionless brow, and sad, sweet mouth, I the valle > of the g reat river > and build her wigwam where none shall 
 bending her slight form mechanically to the dip of the oar. At find il but Tecumseh. No evil shall come upon her, for Tongatou 
 length, Tongatou took the paddle from her hands; she resigned it , wil1 8 uard h ni S ht and dav > and she sha11 dwell ii peace. Why 
 passively, and, as he motioned, she placed herself at the side of ; sl)ould blo d dr wn the melody of the SwayingReed! Let the bios- 
 Alice. She seemed chilled to the heart, but spoke not, and scarcely ! soms g ather about her nest > and the sunshine rest upon it." 
 breathed. Alice was certain she did not sleep, for when the morn- j Margaret listened, smiling faiatly, and as her eye wandered ever 
 ing blushed in the melody of light, and a response burst from bird ; ; eart h and sky, their beauty came again with a new love to her breast. 
 
 and blossom, she remained the same cold and motionless. 
 
 j ] The sylvan lodge with its rest and security, seemed a pleasant vision 
 
 All day the canoe moved onward, now in the shadow of dense for- j i to her e y e > and s P oke in tones of appeal. Then came that strange 
 ests, and now by the side of the prairie, where vine and blossom bent ! clil) 8 in g to life which even a g e > wit h its withered hopes, is known 
 over to the refreshing waters a wilderness of beauty. Blossoms ! to feel how much stron g er then ( he young and the trusting ! But a 
 beautiful most beautiful creations of the Eternal! How the heart ex- ! dee P er and holier principle reigned in the heart of the lone girl, 
 pands with delight at beholding ye, and the lips unconsciously utter | teachlD g her that truth 1S holier > and more to be sou JJ ht than re P se 
 the language of thankfulness. Surely surely the Creator must de 
 light in the beautiful, for everywhere, on earth, sea, and sky, hath 
 
 He affixed its impress; and then, that man might share in his beati- 
 
 or even life itself. When at length she replied to the youth, it was 
 I with a strong and holy purpose of heart. 
 
 I "The Swaying Reed, has learned to look away from the sunshine 
 
 tude, he hath indued him with this most ennobling and joy-imparting of earth, and find her delight in thoughts of the spirit land. The 
 faculty. They are the joy and the mystery of childhood ; and blessed , sound of many voices ccmeth to her ear, and they tell of rest and 
 are they who, ia their meekness and purity, suffer no glory to de- , blessedness where the storm or shadow cometh not. They tell of 
 part from the earth ! Blessed creatures ! ye toil not, neither do ye j i stars in their myriads and glory, and of skies unbounded reposing in 
 spin ; and yet who shall be like ye in glory 1 Ye minister not to the j Wueness and beauty. I float away in a wilderness of blue ; there is 
 base wants of the body ; your mission is to the soul to the higher delight in motion, in existence, for the soul is unshackled in its flight, 
 inward sense, to be expanded hereafter. Children of the desert ! of ] Tne same voice tnat s P oke l Tecumseh of war and disaster, spoke 
 else waste and desolate places, ye appear to glad the eyes of the invi- j a so to tbe ear f tne Swaying Reed. The spirit-bird that sacg upon 
 sibles ; and, if perchance man goeth forth, how doth tears gush to his tne ro f> was sent to w *rn her of her fate. Why should she seek to 
 
 eyes at beholding thus the foot-prints of infinite benevolence ! Meek 
 dwellers of the rocks ! ye cling confidingly to the rugged bosom, con 
 tent with the tears of the morning, and its first blush of light. Ye 
 
 shun it 1 She may not now, for her pledge is given to the Almighty. 
 | She is ready to depart. It will be death only, be the mode what it 
 j may, and why should she shrink therefrom 1 The Swaying Reed 
 
 are content whether the rain or the sunshine be upon ye, happy in jmust die. She would not escape, and for the sake of a few longer 
 the blessings of existence. The vale and the mountain, the pure draughts of air, carry herself about a living lie ! No: it were daily 
 water, and the dim forest, have each their beautiful dwellers ; for by death !" 
 them do the angels record upon earth the presence of gentle and ! ! She turned to the face of the sleeping Alice, and it may be, wished 
 
 holy hearts, made manifest by the flowers upon its bosom. 
 
 Often as the canoe approached an opening in the forest, making 
 
 that hers had been a like nature to weep and smile, and slumber 
 in forgetfulness; to hold out the hands for support from others, rather 
 
 way for the passage of a stream scarcely visible, except by its long than rd y u P on herself to y ield to circumstances, rather than shape 
 trail of verdure, herds of startled deer appeared in the distance, re out her own destin y- But such had not bee n the character of her 
 treating to the woods, or off over the prairie. The practised eye of | SOu1 and sufferin g and trial had been proportioned to the strength of 
 the youth detected the nature of the country, and the doublings of ner endurance. 
 
 the stream, and when to bear the canoe across portages of perhaps a i " Tongatou," she resumed, " I feel upon me the shadows of another 
 half-mile, thus to avoid a circuit of many. It was a long, dreary world. I feel its vastness, its infinite silence. While I listen with 
 route to one like Alice, to whom the grandeur, the silence, and wild jiawe to that eternil hush, faint low music cometh to my ear, 
 solitudes of wood and mountain, brought only images of gloom and ! now heard, and now lost, like the far-off notes of the night bird. 
 apprehension. Nothing relieved the native taciturnity of Tonga- j! Alice talks of spirits in that land of shadows, of companionship, and 
 tou, and a calm, settled melancholy rested upon the face of Marga- i> l ve 5 but as f r me, I have striven to penetrate its mysteries, almost 
 ret. She was gentle exceedingly ; and more than once, when Alice in despair. I cannot believe because others believe. I must feel it 
 looked up, she perceived the eyes of her sister fixed tearfully upon Jin rny own soul. The blossom appears and dies; another comes in 
 her ; and when she would have spoken, and asked her why, Marga- its place, but the same one appears HO more. Is it so with us 1 
 ret smiled faintly, and motioned h,r to silence. Others come where we have been, and shall we appear in another 
 
 land 1 O, Tongatou, these are great mysteries: I am willing to die 
 that I may understand them. Alice reads the Book of our faith, 
 that tells us we may live for ever ; and she never doubts. I have 
 been away from its pages, and must find the assurance elsewhere . 
 Oar people *11 believe in a Great Spirit ; in a life after death. Ton- 
 ga ou, it is the voice of the Great Spirit, speaking in the heart he 
 IT was now the third mght of their journey, and they had not as I nas mad e. It is the callir-g of spirit to spirit. If there were nothing 
 yet encountered a human being. More than once a thin colymn of L 
 
 bd eVe ^ 
 Ton i atou > I 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Are we not exiles here ? 
 
 Come there not o er us memories of a clime 
 More genial and more dear, 
 
 Than this of time? TUCKEEMANN. 
 
 h " 6 
 
 smoke betokened the presence of the hunter or the poneer but * 
 
 such times they meved on in silence, nor struck a fire, or B het an i lCaUSe WC haV6 8 l d J " IS ur nature 
 
 arrow, till the indication became lost in the distance. It was one of 
 
 fear not to die by thy people, and there may be virtue in it, since it 
 
 these quiet, beautiful nights, when the heart seems to feel the pre- < wil1 save Alice, and may bring good to the tribes. It is a small thing 
 
 sence of the Eternal visible in his creations, and we are led uncon- ! to die, and live again to sleep and awake." 
 
 sciously to speculate upon what we are, and what we may be, when 1 1 The youth looked in the face of the inspired girl, and though he 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 33 
 
 but dimly comprehended what she had said, yet the best impulses of 
 his nature had been awakened, and the tears came to his eyep. 
 
 "Tongatou feels, that the Great Spirit hath talked with the Swaying 
 Reed, and lold her of the land of spirits. He will think more of it 
 now, and when the Swaying Reed shall be there, will she not some 
 times come and sit upon the the roof of Tongatou, and sing of. the 
 spirit land 1 He shall remember her voice forever, and her music 
 will sink into his heart. He will know even in the spirit-bi.-: , the 
 voice and the eyes of the Swaying Reed." 
 
 " Alas !" said Margaret, " 1 know not aught that shall be hereafter, 
 but I can never cease to love all that is generous and good in the 
 heart of my red brother. Methinks, I hear in my heart the utterance 
 of the Great Spirit; let us commune with him !" 
 
 She folded her hands upon her bosom, and remained long in silent 
 meditation. Tongatou sat with his eyes fixed, as if striving to pene 
 trate those mysteiies cf which she had spoken. 
 
 Margaret fearlessly slept by the side of Alice, and the youth con 
 tinued his watching till the young dawn awoke them to another day s 
 journey. They had rested upon a point of land projecting deeply into 
 the water, covered with birch, sycamore and other hard-wood trees, 
 and the morning awakened the grove to one universal gush of melody. 
 la the shoals of the river the patient heron waited motionless for its 
 prey, and the wild duck trimmed its plumes and swam at ease upon 
 its bosom. The air was warm and quiet, the shadows from beneath 
 looking as distinct as objects above. It was a sweet secluded spot, 
 and the waking of inanimate nature in this little dell, was like the 
 unclosing of an infant s lid, while the smile of its angel dreams is 
 yet lingering about its moHth. 
 
 Tongatou addressed a few words to the ear of Margaret, to which 
 she seemed to assent, for he concealed the canoe in the thicket, and 
 proceeded upon a route diverging somewhat from the direction of 
 their course. Alice perceived it and demanded the cause. 
 
 " The red man must do honor to the graves of his fathers," replied 
 Margaret. 
 
 She would have remonstrated, but the very looks of Margaret were 
 of a kind to command, and acquiescence had become habitual to the 
 timid sister. She walked on by the side of her companion, till wea 
 riness compelled her pause ; while they took some refreshment, she 
 observed the chief examinin the ground before them with great 
 scrutiny. She became alarmed. " We have struck upon a trail," 
 explained Margaret, " and Tongatou is trying to learn what has pre 
 ceded us." 
 
 Toagatou returned, and informed them that the same path had 
 been travelled by two upon horseback, and each led a horse. 
 
 "Are they red or white men V asked Margaret. 
 
 " One is a white." 
 
 "How have you learned all thisl" said Alice, surprised at the 
 minuteness of the detail. 
 
 "I know that two of the horses are unbridled, for they have 
 browsed upon the herbage in passing. One of the men is white ; 
 for, where he had alighted, [foot was turned outward: he is 
 young ; for his step is long and firmly set." 
 
 The celor came to the cheek of Alice, as the possibility occurred 
 to her, that Henry Mansfield might be on his way to restore them to 
 their friends. Impressed with the idea, she followed her companions 
 with a Quicker pace, and with something of her former vivacity. 
 Hope suggested a thousand pleasant images, and lent a new beauty 
 to the objects around her. The green wood became greener, and 
 the blossom brighter in her pathway. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 I look around and f- el the awe 
 
 Of one, who walks alone 
 Among the wrecks of former days, 
 
 In dismal ruin strown ; 
 I start to hear the stirring sounds 
 
 From the leav es of withered trees ; 
 For the voice of the departed 
 
 Seems borne upon the breeze. PARK BCMAMIH. 
 
 ALL day they pursued their journey -. sometimes in the direction 
 of the trail, aad then again divergent. As night approached, th 
 left it nearly at right-angles. The moon was sending down h. 
 beams of silver beauty, lighting the shimmering woods, when 
 guide carae to a halt in the vicinity of a mound of earth, raise 
 the midst of the forest. It was nearly circular in its form, ane 
 considerable extent, and in many parts covered with trees < 
 size. An occasional projection indicated parts of a more r 
 construction, and suggested that these slight deviations fron 
 
 designed figure, were but temporary, and in time to be removed. 
 The turf was smooth and green, and the mound standing in the 
 midst of a wide level extent of country, with no other elevation for 
 miles about, surrounded by a dense forest suggested imprestions of 
 everence and grandeur. The very spirit of bilence seemed to brood 
 over this venerable relic of a bygone and forgotten ae;e. The 
 moon lay upon its summit, and dense, heavy masses of thadow lay 
 it its base. If a strapgling wind found itself in this solitary vale, it 
 pt hushingly beneath the pendant leaf, and over th* sighing grass, 
 o free itself with its gay fellows, sporting by the river brink. 
 
 The three stood together, looking in mute awe upon this record of 
 ob;curi(y, when all at once a fbod of melody broke forth from th 
 branches above, so full a,. 1 lh ( -,! J, so like the gushing forth of all 
 sweet and sorrowful harmonic?, that it might have passed (or the 
 conjoined griefs and blessedness of all thit slept beneath ; who had 
 once lived and sorrowed, rejoiced and wept, and passed away where 
 ears are no more. Awhile, the melody ceased ; silence rested as 
 before upon them ; the moon looked forth in her brightness, and then 
 veiled her face in silvery clouds, and again burst forth that gush of 
 strange sad music. 
 
 Alice clung to the arm of Margaret, for the stillness of the night, 
 the solitude, and that wild gush of melody filled her with awe, 
 amounting to terror. 
 
 " It is the spirit-bird," whispered Margaret, solemnly ; " it singeth 
 ever by the sepulchres of the tribes. It sang three nights upon our 
 roof. I knew its voice of warning." 
 
 Alice shuddered ; for the whites had imbibed the same superstition, 
 and she knew it ominous of death. 
 
 At this moment, Tongatou threw his hands upward, and bending 
 to the monument in an attitude of grief, began to chant in measured 
 tones. Margaret placed herself by his side, keeping time to the 
 dirge-like burden. 
 
 " The bones of the red man are on every side. They lie in the 
 deep woods ; they sleep to the sound of many waters. They that 
 perish in battle, sleep together, forgetful of the strife. The grass is 
 areen upon them, and the trees of a thousand suns spring from 
 their ashes. The land is rich with their blood ; it heaveth with theii 
 bones. Where shall we go, and our fathers sleep not with us 1 The 
 tree that shelters the warrior in battle, sheltered old meu before him. 
 The hunter in the chase treadeth in the trail of the hunter a thousand 
 
 years ago. 
 
 " Alas, alas, for the dead ! 
 Alas, for those that go to the spirit-land ! 
 Do they know of the deeds of brave men 1 
 Do they delight in the glory of iheir children t 
 Do they know when we weep over their bones 7" 
 
 The last sentences were prolonged to a wail, that mingled withths 
 music of the bird, and swelled low and sadly upon the night air. It 
 died away, and was renewed in plaintive cadences: 
 
 " Alas, for them that go to the spirit-land ! 
 They heed not the fame of their children : 
 Sorro.v cemeth to them, and they know it not : 
 We come to them, and they know it not ; 
 We call upn them, and they answer not : 
 Come come ! we call upon ye, spirits of the dead." 
 
 Alice covered her face with her hands, for a long pause succeeded 
 the invocation ; and on the misty canopy above, in the midst of the 
 dim trees, and hovering over that solitary mound, seemed to her 
 xcited fancy to assemble the warriors of other days, fierce in 
 the panoply of war; wielding spear and batile-axe. guarded by 
 corslet and shield, with towering plume and radiant crest. Dimly 
 and mistily they thronged in the still night, and fought again the 
 battles of heroes. Overcome with awe, she threw her arms about 
 the neck of Margaret, and implored her to leave a place so awful 
 
 "Behold it is deep midnight!" said Margaret, huskily; "spea 
 not, for we are in the midst of the dead !" and then, as il continuing 
 the chant, she went on : 
 
 " Hark to the voices of the dead . 
 
 The tones from the spirit -land ; 
 
 They come from the dim sepulchre, 
 
 From the old and shadowy wod ; 
 
 They come from the pale star* : 
 
 On the cloudy cars of the wind 
 
 We behold the dead of a thousand year* ! 
 
 They come lik the gather.ng mill of the storm. 
 
 Do ye behold how the glory hath departed from your children 1 
 How the stranger i. here, even in the mid* of your graves? H 
 (h e youth have forgotten your sepulchresi We weep, ud ye know 
 of our sorrow. We weep, and ye point to the spmt-land. *e 
 
34 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 come for rest is not for the red man we come to the spirit-land." 
 As the chant proceeded, they began to slowly circle the mound, 
 aad Alice moved with them; for that unearthly bird those sepulchral 
 notes, uttered at the hour of night, in the midst of dimness and 
 shadow, filled her with unspeakable fear. As the group moved 
 onward, the barking of a dog at no great distance, thrilled her with 
 delighted relief it had a voice to remind her ef human presence 
 of human sympathies ; and the misty visions of the mind fled be 
 fore it. 
 
 Tongatou laid his finger upon his lips, and crept silently forward ; 
 and so certain was Alice that relief was near at hand, that, notwith 
 standing her companion desired she should remain while the youth 
 went forward to see from whence came the sound, she clung to 
 the neck of Margaret, and insisted that they should follow. A slight 
 turn revealed, at n great distance, a cloud of sparks rising in the 
 midst of the branches, flashing and soaring upward, till they went out 
 in the dense blackness above. 
 
 A rapid, continuous rattle, like the shaking of pebbles in a stifl 
 parchment, caused them to recoil ; for there, visible by the flame 
 before them, lay coiled an immense rattlesnake ; darting, and throw 
 ing itself forward with wonderful velocity, in search of its prey. A 
 length, recovering itself, it remained poised, with neck towering 
 from ihe midst of its burnished fokb; its jaws distended, its glittering 
 eyes like coals of flame, and its head oscillating from side to side 
 To the terrified eyes of Alice, the aspect of the creature ckanged 
 with every vibration of its body. Now it was a heap of gems 
 sparkling and heaving in the moonbeams, and she felt an irresistible 
 desire to behold them nearer, and would have done so, but that the 
 arm of Margaret held her back. Then it was a rainbow, ceiling and 
 trailing upon the earth ; anon it was a train of fire, gleaming and qui 
 vering, and endowed with vitality. 
 
 Tongatou began to address it with great earnestness, assuring i 
 that a Shawonee could never have designed to doit harm ; that if evi 
 had ben threatened, it was unknown to them. They were full o 
 reverence for the guardian manitou of the tribe, and were ready t( 
 do anything to appease his anger. As the adjuration proceeded 
 Alice beheld the huge reptile lay itself down, its gray hue returnee 
 nd she now saw that another of the same species lay dead beside it 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 The moon s cold light, as it lay that night 
 
 On the hill Side and the sea, 
 Still lies whore hs laid his houseless head : 
 
 But the pilgrim where is he ? PIFRPOST. 
 
 TOJVGATOU now crept with the stealthy tread of a panther, in th 
 direction in which the fire appeared. Margaret would have re 
 mained, waiting his return, but so much did the terrors of their siti 
 ation grow upon the mind of Alice, that she determined to follo\ 
 him. They had accomplished nearly half their distance withou 
 alarm, when the snapping of a twig beneath the foot of Alice arouse 
 the vigilance of the dog, and he rushed forward, barking furiousl 
 A moment more and two men appeared, with arms presented, stri. 
 ing to penetrate the darkness around, to learn the cause of the alarm 
 Alice uttered a loud shriek, and fell fainting into the arms of Ma 
 garet. 
 
 The strangers approached, and Henry Mansfield folded the insens 
 ble Alice to his hart. Bearing her to the light, he marked wi 
 painful emotions the changes which care and sorrow had wrought 
 her sweet face. Mr. Mason sunk upon his knees and re turned than! 
 with a gush of tears. Then turning to Margaret, he would have la 
 his hand upon her head in paternal benediction, but she shrank prou 
 ly back, and he only added, 
 
 " Bless the Lord, O maiden, that thou hast been taken from th 
 horrible pit and the miry clay." 
 
 No sooner had Tongatou found the strangers were the friends 
 Al.ce, than he threw himself upon the earth, and was soon buried t 
 profound slumber; the more welcome, that it was the first he had i. 
 duiged since their escape from the village. 
 
 Many were the inquiries of Alice as to the welfare of the litt! 
 family and she listened to the recital of their fears and anxieties o 
 her beha f, with .smiles and tears, At every proof of tenderness, an 
 every effort mada to rescue her, the tears were in her eyes, and th 
 most touchmg acknowledgments fell from her lips. FoLanyhour 
 ie rest of the group were buried in sleep, the quiet tones 
 
 l ts\ llk ; a wandering note * f ic > < he *S 
 
 o sh eft her 1 "fl- ^ "^ ^^ the thickr be 
 ier placed I his arm around her waist, and laid her chee 
 
 upon his shoulder. Though exhausted with travel, she felt too muc 
 
 f happiness while again listening to the language of affection and 
 ympathy to admit of slumber. She wept as the youth recited his 
 nxieties and efforts to relieve her, and the long months of suspense, 
 mounting to agony, relieved only by the assurance from some pass- 
 ng Indian, that she was well. Then she wept again, as she related 
 er own sorrows ; and when the youth tenderly kissed them away, 
 er tears were renewed, for suffering had converted her to a very 
 hild. When, at length, she lay down by the side of Margaret, it is 
 o wonder if the youth stole a look at her pale face, and impressed a 
 iss upon the pure brow; for he was left to guard the sleep of the 
 .ttle party in that wild, solitary wood. 
 
 The arrow of Tc.ngatou furnished the morning repast, and when it 
 was over, Mr. Mason, in accordance with his invariable custom, ut- 
 ered a fervent and heart-felt prayer. There was something touchiag 
 n the performance of the duty in the midst of those old solitudes ; the 
 deep and reverential voice blending its homage of praise with that 
 of the free bird; and the green earth waked from its peiiod of repose. 
 It was resolved to remain through th day, and another night in 
 the woods, for the sake of rest ; and Tongatou no sooner learned the 
 determination, than he again disposed himself to slumber for the 
 precarious life of the savage, subjecting him often to protracted 
 watchings, likewise enables him to indulge in long intervals ot sleep, 
 thereby preserving the equilibrium. 
 
 Mr. Mason regarded the cold and haugkty bearing of Margaret with 
 sorrowful displeasure. Her demi-savage dress, too, shocked him as 
 something heathenish, and allied to the children of Belial ; to say 
 nothing of its outrage upon his sense of propriety. The indolent 
 grace of the beautiful girl, as she reclined, wrapt in her own medita 
 tions, taking no note of those about her, seemed but anillrequitance 
 for the labor expended in her behalf. More than once he attempted 
 to address her, but the awe she inspired made him at a loss how to 
 begin. The more he regarded her, the more was he impressed with 
 the urgency of his duty to enlighten her as to those doctrines of which 
 he believed her ignorant. In his own mind he could not entirely 
 exculpate Alice from blame, in sufferieg her to remain so ; and he 
 resolved, on their return, to place her offence strongly before her ; for, 
 though kind and cheerful to the last degree, in his daily life, he could 
 not tolerate the least omission in religious observance ; and here, if 
 anywhere, rested a shadow of severity. 
 
 Seating himself beside her, he waited in vain for some token of 
 consciousness on the part of Margaret, that he was present ; but she, 
 neither by look or motion, gave him leave to address her. 
 
 " Daughter," at length said Mr. Mason, " I perceive that thou art 
 still in the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity." 
 
 Margaret turned her penetrating eyes full upon him, and read 
 searchingly his face. Mr. Mason was abashed, and colored slightly, 
 but in the way of duty he was not easily daunted, and he went on, 
 though his voice was certainly louder and more determined than the 
 occasion would seem to require. 
 
 " Daughter, wo is thee, that thou hast sojourned in Meshak, that 
 thou hast dwelt in the tents of Kedesh ; thou hast burned incense 
 under every green tree, and upon every high hill ; and thou hast for 
 gotten the heritage of Israel. Thou hast bowed down unto strange 
 gods, and hast forgotten the Lord, the righteous. Thou hast forsaken 
 the guide of thy youth, who would have led thee to green pastures 
 and beside the still waters. Return, outcast daughter of Zion, for 
 behold the Spirit and the bride say come, and let him that is athirst 
 come, and whosoever will, let him come and partake of the water 
 of life freely." 
 
 While he thus addressed her in the inspired language of scripture, 
 Margaret listened as to remembered music ; but when he added, " I 
 know thy pride and the naughtiness of thy heart, and that thou wilt 
 rather eat chaff with the swine than return to thy father s house, 
 where is wine and oil, and bread enough and to spare : " her eyes 
 flashed, and she half- arose from her seat ; but impelled perhaps by 
 awakened curiosity, she again sunk back upon the heaped up leaves. 
 Mr. Mason went on. 
 
 "Let me hear thee cry, Lord, thou art the guide of my youth. 
 Let me see thee cast thy idols to the moles and the bats, and these 
 garments, which are the filthy rags of heathenism, cast aside for the 
 more seemly robes of a Christian maiden. Let me see thee clad ia 
 the garments of righteousness, and adorned with a weak and quiet 
 spirit, and prostrate at the foot of the cross, cry mightily on the Lord, 
 thy Saviour. Yea, cast thyself down, for I perceive thy spirit is full 
 of all pride, and wrath and bitterness." 
 
 Margaret arose proudly from her seat, and motioning that none 
 should follow, was soon lost in the thick woods. It was many 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 35 
 
 hours before she returned, and when she did so, her cheek was pde 
 and her eyes swollen with weeping. 
 
 The next morning, when the first tinge of light broke upon the 
 forest, ere the bird had lifted its wing or shook a drop of dew fromi 
 its nest ; Tongatou, who had watched through the night, awoke 
 Margaret from her slumbers. She arose, and gazed long and ear 
 nestly in the face of Alice, with hands clasped and the tears stream 
 ing from her eyes. Long long memoriaa were awakened ; their 
 childhood, their crue! separation and last meeting, with dissevered 
 sympathies, secret sorrows, hopes, fears and perils. Alice must ne 
 ver know the horrors of her death, never know what she herself had 
 escaped. This reflection imparted a degree of firmness, and she 
 turned away, denying herself a last embrace a last farewell. She 
 had proceeded but few paces, when she returned and gazed in mute 
 tenderness upon the sweet face, which she should see no more on 
 earth. Alice stirred slightly, and she stooped down and pressed her 
 hand upan her side hushingly, as a mother would caress the restless- i 
 ness of a. child; she bent her lips to her cheek, and unconsciously 
 whispered, " Dear, dear sister ! may the Almighty comfort you." 
 Alice felt a tear fall upon her cheek, and she started wildly up, and 
 grasped ths garment of Margaret the whole truth flashed upon her 
 mind. Wildly she clung to her neck, and implored her to remain. ; 
 "Alice, it cannot be. It had been better had we sever met again 
 on earth ; but now we meet no more. The decree has gone forth, 
 and we part for ever! Oh, Alice, when you think of me, let it not 
 be with anger and reproach, as of one whose heart was cold and 
 dead, and who loved a wild life better than she loved friend and 
 sister; who went back to it for the sake of her Indian lover, to dwell 
 in peace in a forest wigwam : but think of me as one who bore a 
 great sorrow at her heart; and yet it was strong, fearing nothing 
 however terrble ; but think of me, Alice, as one who loved you bet 
 ter than life itself!" 
 
 The tenderness of this appeal was too much for the exhausted 
 powers of Alice, and she fainted upon her bosom. Margaret gently 
 laid her upon the turf; she kissed her lips, cheek, and brow, held 
 back the long dark hair and looked into the pale inanimate face; 
 gave her one long, last kiss, and rising mournfully to her feet, spread 
 her hands one moment over her, as if in blessing ; waved them 
 toward the wondering group, and plunged into the dense woods 
 Mr. Mason s first impulse was to follow in pursuit ; but a warning 
 arrow from Tongatou admonished him to forbear. 
 
 "Ths Lord be praised, that I warned her yesterday," he ejacu 
 lated; "had I not done so, I had been as a faithless watchman on; 
 the citadel of Zion, and verily the blood of her soul had been found 
 upon the skirts of my garments. Like the Israelites of old she re 
 membered the garlics and flesh-pots of Egypt, and loathed the spi 
 ritual manna." 
 
 By the aid of branches of the trees, covered with skins and sus 
 pended between the two led horses, a comfortable litter was pre- 1 
 pared, on which was borne the almost lifeless body of Alice. It was 
 a sad journey of tears and hopeless sorrow. She r elt as if all her, 
 labor had been in vain, and it was not till busy recollection brought : 
 back the memory of the growing tenderness of Margaret, and the 
 evident enlightenment of her religious views, that she could find one 
 ray of consolation. Then she remembered her request that the Bi 
 ble should remain, and wondered that she had not before suspected 
 the reason. Then would come the conviction that Margaret wasi 
 lost, lost to her for ever, and her tears flowed afresh. Now that she i 
 was gone, memory, as in the case of the dead, restored all the noble, 
 the excellent and unselfish nature of her sister, casting upon them 
 the bold and distinctive light of another world ; and all that was un 
 lovely, if such there were, retired into the shadow or totally disap 
 peared. When she attempted ta recall her features to her view, j 
 she could only bring back the beautiful face, beaming with that , 
 last look of tenderness, and the radiant eyes suffused with tears. ; 
 Then, too, the presence of Mr. Mason had awakened many point-: of j 
 faith into vivid distinctness, which had become partially obscured , 
 by her long residence in the wood?, where human creeds were un 
 dreamed of. Calling to Mr. Mason, she hinted her fears that she j 
 had not been at sufficient pains to ascertain the true s ate of her, 
 sister. 
 
 " I fear so loo," said Mr. Mason, with a severity unusual to him, 
 and which brought a frown upon the brow of Mansfield. " I fear so 
 too ; for I found in her little of the meekness that should become a 
 believer in the meek and lowly Jesus. But if you have clearly ( 
 pointed out the true way, and she refuses to follow it, the conse- 
 quences of rejection must rest upon her own head ; you are free from 
 all blame in this matter. But if " 
 
 "Alas!" said Alice, "she was so full of lofty thought, and a 
 strange exalted religion, that I could never talk with her. She was 
 the teacher, not I." 
 
 Mr. Mason scrutinized her countenance suspiciously " I ehould 
 be sorry to feel, Alice, that thou art straying from the flock. Thou 
 art but a tender lamb, and must be carried in the bosom of the good 
 shepherd. Rem-mber, tht he who putteth his hand to the plough 
 and looketh back, is not fit for the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 Mr. Mason persisted in complet ; ng his warning, notwithstanding 
 many angry shakes of the head on the part of Mansfield ; and Alice 
 could only reply with her tears, tor she was becoming bewildered in 
 language that conveyed to her but little of definite meaning. From 
 Margaret, she had learned to take a more elevated and comprehen 
 sive view of the great doctrines of human faith and duty ; aad in her 
 present debility she feared, that what in the wilderness had appeared 
 as freedom and truth, might after all have been aothing more than 
 delusion. 
 
 When the little party wound around the rude road cat through the 
 forest on their way home, Mrs. Mason was standing at the door, evi 
 dently in the vague hope of witnessing their return. Little Jimmy 
 started upon a full run to meet his father, and Anna caught the 
 baby from the old lady s arms, kissed it and hurried to the door ; 
 then in again, turning round and round in the bewilderment of her 
 joy; put the child upon the floor, and then rushed from the house, 
 and throwing her arms about the almost unconscious Alice, bore her 
 like an infant into the innei room and laid her upon her own bed. 
 The pale hands of Alice were clasped over her neck and they wpt 
 together. The old lady stood by wiping her eyes with her trembling 
 hands, and then putting down her spectacles to gaze upon her altered 
 face, and elevating them again to the border of her cap to wipe 
 away her tears. Jimmy began to scream very loudly, and the baby 
 joined in concert. 
 
 A refreshing draught was now prepared by Anna, and the poor 
 girl was left to repose. 
 
 " Where is Margaret V inquired both Anna and the old lady, at the 
 first moment for observation. 
 
 Mr. Mason went on to relate the whole of their adventure ia the 
 wood?, together with what he had otherwise learned, concerning 
 Margaret, from the lips of her sister. Upon which the old lady re 
 peated in full the history of Sam Shaw, with suitable comments, to 
 which all listened with the utmost kindness and apparent interest, 
 notwithstanding they had heard the same story, and the same con- 
 i elusions, from the same lips at least fifty times before. But when is 
 ever a story wearisome to benevolent ears, if coming from the lips of 
 a child in the budding of its existence, or from the child of fourscore 
 upon whom has fallen the sear and the yellow leaf of human life. 
 She turned her eyes from one to the other in assurance of approval, 
 and when her subject had become exhausted, and the vanity of 
 earthly expectations pressed home to her heart, she laid her head 
 against the high back of her .chair, and closing her eyes began to 
 
 sing, 
 
 " How vain are all things here below ! 
 
 H >w false and yet bow fair ! 
 Each pleasure hath its poison too, 
 And every sweet a snare." 
 
 Many were the weeks of severe illness that followed upon the re 
 turn of Alice. At times she was delirious, and her sweet and tender 
 
 \ appeals to Margaret, in which she implored her not to forsake her, 
 and return again to the solitude ef the wild woods, brought tears into 
 the eyes of all present. Then she renewed the terrors and perils of 
 their flight from the village, and that long wearisome journey. She 
 
 ; would deplore her own want of strength and resolution, and wish 
 that like Margaret she were undaunted, and persevering. At length 
 her disease yielded to the faithful nursing of Mrs. Mason, and great 
 
 Iwas the rejoicing, when she was able te be seated in the common 
 room, bolstered u,> in the old lady s great arm-chair. But the sub- 
 
 iject of Margaret was one to call up the most painful emotions, and 
 
 i it became tacitly interdicted by the family. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 And oh, when death comes in terrors, t* cat 
 His fears on the future, his pall on the past ; 
 In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart. 
 And a smile in thine eye, "Lock aloft," anJ depart. 
 
 J. LAWRENCE. 
 
 MARGARET, accompanied by Tongatou, travelled on in silence ; 
 iher hands folded and drooping before her, and her tall, slender 
 1 figure realizing painfully her Indian cognomen of the Swaying Reed ; 
 
36 
 
 THE NEW WORLD:. 
 
 for her footsteps were languid and vascillating, and the moved me 
 chanically forward, without noticing the impediments in her path 
 way. Once, when they h;d come to a small brook, that babbled 
 over ita rocky bed, its pure waters sparkling aad flashing in the sun 
 shine that peered through the dense branches, she stopped and laved 
 her cheek and brew, and partook of its refreshing drops. As her 
 own colorless cheek, thin and worn, met her eye, she said mournfully 
 to her companion 
 
 " The Swaying Reed is very weary. Would that she might lie 
 down in the great woods, and pass to the world of spirits. Her heart 
 is ead. There is no light upon her path." 
 
 Tongatou wept. " Shall Tongatou paddle his canoe down to the 
 white settlements 1 He will wear the moccasons from his feet, he 
 will follow the sun behind the mountains of the west, and forget to 
 eat and to sleep, if he may bring joy to the heart of the Swaying 
 Reed." 
 
 Margaret looked in his face, and tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " Tongatou has a kind heart ; and the Great Spirit loves it. But 
 the sunshine will be no more in the path of the Swaying Reed. 
 "Would she were at rest; for she is very very weary." 
 
 Tongatou prepared their repast, but Margaret was too ill to eat. 
 She lay down upon the earth, and a heavy sleep gathered upon her. 
 He spread the skins upon the heaped leaves, and wove together the 
 branches of the trees for a shelter ; and then he lifted her in his arms, 
 and placed her in the lodge. Margaret opened her eyes, and smiled 
 faintly; but she had no power of utterance. 
 
 It was an affecting sight, to witness that rude son of the woods 
 nursing the sick girl in that dreary solitude with the tenderness of a 
 brother. He poured water upon her burning temples, and held the 
 birchen cup to her parched lips. When she mourned in her uneasy 
 slumber, he soothed her as a mother would a sick child. The mai-iy 
 roots and shrubs, which the experience of rude life had ascertained 
 to be salutary, were compounded into beverages for her use. Charms 
 were wrought with care and skill, and poured out upon the earth at 
 the hour of night, under the influence of the full moon ; that, as they 
 were absorbed into the dry earth, the disease might disappear from 
 the suffering girl. 
 
 The third day she lay motioaless, breathing short and heavily, with 
 half open eyes and face pale as marble. Tongatou thought her hour 
 of death had indeed arrived, and he sunk, down upon his knees ba- 
 side hr, and wept freely. 
 
 " Very beautiful wert thou, O maiden of the sunny brow," he mur 
 mured, "but the shadow of the Great Spirit is upon thee." Impelled 
 .by an impulse he could not control, his tongue burst forth in prayer 
 to the God of the white maiden. Margaret opened her eyes and be 
 held him kneeling at her side. Touched by the simplicity and fervency 
 of his appeal, she also wept ; and when he ceased, she laid her thin 
 hand in his and said 
 
 "Tongatou is very kind. The Great Spirit has heard his prayer 
 But O, the damp heavy pressure that has been upon me. I feel as if 1 
 had been through the dark valley of the shadow of death." 
 
 Tongatou wept at the tones of her voice ; with a delicacy and re 
 finement that a more cultivated mind might have envied, he pre 
 pared all things for her comfort. Combed out the long tangles of her 
 beautiful hair, smoothed the skins beneath her head, and laid fresh 
 Wossoms upon her pillow. When the night came on, he laid himselt 
 at the door of her lodge and watched while she slept. In the ten- 
 <Jernes3of her gratitude, Margaret called him " Brother." Tongatou 
 was more than rewarded, for Tecumseh had called hira by the same 
 name. 
 
 One night Margaret was awakened from slumber by a loud crash, 
 that seemed to shake the very earth with terror. The elements were 
 warring fearfully, and the red bolt had shivered a tree beside her. 
 The rain was pouring in torrents, and the murky darkness of the night 
 lay like a dense pall upon the earth, relieved only by the fierce glare 
 of the lightning, that revealed the wild swaying of the branches and 
 disrupted trees, reeling in the darkness. The lone girl, exhausted 
 by sickness, felt a strange terror overcome her, and she called loudly 
 pon Tongatou. 
 
 4i Brother, I will sit by thee, for this darkness and storm are 
 terrible." 
 
 Tongatou gathered the skins about her, and seated himself at her 
 side. " Is fear known to the Swaying Reed ? Tongatou thought she 
 had never known it." 
 
 " Brother, I am like a leaf that shivers in the autumn blast I shall 
 soon be carrisd away." 
 
 " Tongatou will seat himself away," said the youth in a trembling 
 -voice, " for the words of the Swaying Reed sink too deeply iato his 
 
 i heart." A flash of lightning revealed the ghastly face of her com- 
 J panion, and Margaret, mistaking its cause, gently detained him. 
 
 "Tell me, brother, what it is that you mean. Is sorrow in ihe 
 heart of Tongatou *" 
 
 He sighed heavily and was long silent. A terrible suspicion flashed 
 upon the mind of the lone girl, and she dropped the hand she had 
 seized. 
 
 " Tongatou is very sorrowful. He loves the Swaying Reed, but 
 she loves him only as a brother. Tecumseh and the Swaying Reed 
 have both called him brother. He is worthy ef their love ; but let 
 not the voice of the Swaying Reed be so like the wind through the 
 pine trees, for it goeth to the heart of Tongatou." 
 
 Margaret felt no terror at this frank avowal from the lips of the 
 young savage, for her own innocence and purity were shield and 
 buckler, and she knew too well the honor and generosity of the man 
 with whom her lot had been cast, to feel aught of fear. She gen-tly 
 desired the youth to remain at her side till the perilous storm should 
 be past. Tongatou obeyed, and more than an hour they remained 
 silently watching the progress of the tempest. 
 
 " The white girl is as one from the spirit land, to her red brother ; 
 will she not talk of that place of shadows 1 * 
 
 Fervently did Margaret dwell upon the glory and beatitude of that 
 state, whose happiness the human heart has failed to conceive. She 
 told of the blossoms by the tree of life, that fade not nor decay; she 
 told of the pure waters, and the melodies that shall never cease ; of 
 that diffused and ineffable light, that could dim the brightness of sun 
 and moon and resplendent star; of the Power that should reign for 
 ever and ever, undisturbed by storm and tempest or the fierceness of 
 human passion. As she went on, her voice became deep and musi 
 cal in the earnestness of her description, and the youth remarked : 
 
 The voice of the Swaying Reed is as that of the spirit-bird 
 When Tongatou shall be away in the lone woods, he will be filled 
 with joy. He may behold the Swaying Reed, in that heaven of 
 which she has told him, for the heart of Tongatou is very sad." 
 
 " Brother," said Margaret, " the Great Spirit hath laid his hand 
 upon the Swaying Reed, and she will pass away as the mist from the 
 hills. But Tongatou will remember that she pitied and deplored his 
 love" 
 
 The next morning, the sun glittered upon the drops depending 
 heavily from the trees; the birds that had been all night rudely tossed 
 in their frail tenements, shook the spray from their wings, and 
 rejoicing that the peril were past, burst forth into a new and w ilder 
 strain of melody ; the squirrel sprung chattering from branch to branch, 
 and the rabbit poised its ears, cast around its wild brilliant eyes, and 
 leaped in the very gladness of its heart. The trees, that had been so 
 rudely shaken, swayed lightly as if trying the firmness of their roots, 
 while those that had been torn from the earth leaned heavily against 
 their companions as if in quest of sympathy. 
 
 Margaret was so much recovered as to be able to follow Tongatou 
 a considerable distance in the direction of the river, but her steps 
 were slow, and ere night she was obliged to repose and sleep again 
 in the shadow of the old woods. When at length they had reached 
 the river, the fresh winds rippling its surface, and the heaving of its 
 waters, filled her with a portion of her former vivacity, and she plied 
 the light paddle with a beaming eye, and the bright hue upon her 
 cheek ; but she was soon obliged to lie down in the bottom of the 
 canoe and trust to the guidance of Tongatou. 
 
 They had been gliding on under the shadow of the trees, 
 whose dense foliage limited the view to a vista of the river above and 
 below them, and a bright gleaming of the sky, when the opening of 
 the prairie permitted a more extensive prospect. Tongatou balanced 
 his paddle and arose hastily, for a dense cloud of smoke, in the di 
 rection of the village, hung heavily in the atmosphere. Again bend 
 ing to his task, and assisted by Margaret, they rapidly made their 
 way in the direction. Slowly, in immense volumes, arose the black 
 vapor, rolling and swelling along, bearing itself upward like a 
 vast pyramid, till it reached the higher regions of the air, when it 
 sailed off like a floating banner in the blue sky. As they approached", 
 straggling bands of savages were seen encamped in the marshes and 
 on the banks of the creeks, feeble and worn, the children crying for 
 food, and the women making loud lamentations for the dead and 
 dying. 
 
 At another time Margaret would have approached them, but now 
 she was aware that a battle had been foaght between her own peo 
 ple and the red man, and her own doom so near its accomplishment 
 demanded speed. 
 
 When the canoe stopped in the little cove beside the grape-vine 
 arbor, Margaret beheld the flames just kindling upon the cabin of 
 
CAPTIVE,- 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 37 
 
 Minaree. The brand had been applied by a soldier who lingered; pant only that leaves the tenement to decay." The Bible of Alice 
 after the departure of his comrades, whom the insulated dwelling | was beside her, and y.t she did not open it, for unacquainted with 
 had escaped. She rushed forward in time to secure the Bible of Al- | the evidences for its authority, the distrusted at this time, so fraught 
 
 ice, and then stood to witness the destruction of her last place of re 
 fuge. In the distance, she could behold the retreating party, and 
 hear their war-notes of triumph, as they marched onward, leaving a 
 thousand women and children, starving and defenceless, to perish 
 amid the ashes of their wigwams. The wounded and the dead were I 
 heaped together, and the red glare of the flames rested fearfully upon 
 their livid faces 
 
 The battle of Tippecanoe had been fought, and she stood 
 amid the ruias of its homes. The flames spread to the ad 
 joining groves, and in the darkness of the night the towering flame, 
 as it embraced some monarch of the woods, sent forth a thousand 
 tongues of light, darting and writhing like fiery dragon?. Slowly as 
 
 with fearful interest, all evidence, except that which she gathered 
 from the world about her, and the great evidence founded on the 
 character of her own inward nature. She believed, because it ia a 
 part of the constitution of the human soul to believe, and the belief 
 is the argument for its immortality. A holy calm grew upon he-J 
 and she closed her eyes, humbly resigning her spirit td the Infinite 
 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and ye hear the sound thereof, 
 but cannot tell whence it cometh nor whither it goeth : so ia every 
 one that is born of the spirit. She closed its pages in thought. No 
 more can we tell whence cometh or whither goeth the soul. 
 But we feel that when it shall be born into its spiritual life, 
 more will be revealed. She read again, The kingdom of God ia 
 
 the sounds of the retreating army died away, came in the dispersed ! > wlthl(1 y u > and mused ll ls an everlasting Kingdom. Again, The 
 inhabitaata. anJ crouched themselves in groups about the smoulder- ^ esh P^fiteth nothing; it 13 the spirit that giveth life "Holy 
 in* ashes. Each family selected the hearth-stone that had onee been Father," she exclaimed, " I believe in what thou hast said; for it ia 
 iuTown, and a wild song of lamentation broke from every lip. Here m harmony with the desires and necessities of the human soul, 
 might be seen a wife stanching the blood from the wounds of her! Surel y huwast teacher sent from God." 
 
 wounded companion, while the filmed eye and laboring chest showed i The shadows of evening gathered upon the earth, aad low, fitful 
 it must be in vain. Children were clinging to the mother, who had i | i U3ts stirred the branches. She raised her eyes upward, and again 
 dragged herself hither to die a new-born infant partaking of its first j the ew mn hung its silver barque upon the verge of the horizon. 
 and Fast tribute of life, for the dying groan of her who had given itj! she urose and left the arbor - Tongatou met her at the entrance, 
 life mingled with the shrieks of her children. Here might be seen a J j and addressed her. 
 
 yeang mother clasping the dead body of her first-bo? n, pierced by a 
 wandering bullet, refusing to believe life were indeed extinct, and 
 she alone in her sorrow, though hunger, and cold, and death were in 
 reserve for herself. 
 
 Margaret moved onward to where a heap of ashes alone remained 
 of all that was once hers. A shrivelled and half-naked figure was 
 crouched amid the ruins, holding her bony hands over a heap of 
 coals that remained upon the hearth. She had placed a few kernels 
 of corn to parch, and as Margaret approached, she clutched at thsm 
 eagerly, with a laugh of savage triumph, like the growl of a wild 
 animal. It was Minaree. Margaret looked in her face, but a be 
 wildered, idiotic stare was her only token of recognition. 
 
 Tongatou had prepared the bower by the river for the repose of 
 Margaret, and she divided her skins with Minaree. As she led her 
 into it, ths poor creature seemed in part to recollect her foster-child, 
 for she smoothed down her hair many times, as if the operation gave ; 
 her pleasure, smiling and weeping at the same time. Then she laid 
 herself down for a moment, to rest; but she arose again and looked j 
 at Margaret, caressing her thin hands, and gazing piteously in her | 
 face. It was shocking to behold the ravages of disease and famine, 
 for she was wasted to a skeleton. 
 
 The next morning, when Tongatou laid a piece of venison at the 
 door, Margaret prepared it quietly, lest Minaree should awake. When 
 all was ready, she gently shook her by the arm. It was stiffand cold. 
 Poor Minaree was dead ! Margaret laid the venison aside, contenting 
 herself with a draught of cold water; for so nearly were the threads of 
 life spun out, that their wants were scarcely felt. She took a fearful 
 pleasure in looking at the cold still face of the dead, as prefiguring 
 what she should soon be ; and ths sight of its mortality helped to 
 
 The glory of the Shawanee has departed. Why should the 
 Swaying Reed die for a dead people 1 Let her depart in peace." 
 
 " The pledge of the white maiden must be redeemed," she re 
 plied, solemnly. 
 
 An immense fire had been kindled in the centre of the ruined 
 village, and groups were dispersed about it of men, women, and 
 warriors escaped from the perils of defeat. "When the pale girl ap 
 peared in their midst, rrmmurs of surprise at first, and then of tri 
 umph, mingled in the crowd. Here was a victim ; one of the very 
 race that had brought such suffering upon them, whose death might 
 appease the dead, and upon whom they might wreak their revenge. 
 Margaret paused not till she reached a group, in the midst of whom 
 she beheld Kumshaka and the Prophet. Standing before them, 
 she pointed her pale hand to where the moon lingered with its 
 slender beam. 
 
 " The moon has filled its horn and disappeared, behold it is here 
 again. The white girl has redeemed her pledge." She stood with 
 folded arms and eyes bent upon the ground. 
 
 At any other time such generosity would have won applause, even 
 here in the midst of untutored nature ; for the sentiments of virtue 
 are universal. But now they were stung by recent defeat, and by 
 loss and suffering; and to their superstitious vision the period de 
 manded more than ever a victim. Slowly uprose the cry of death, 
 gathering volumef till one fearful appalling yell awoke a thousand 
 echoes. Margaret stood unmoved ; her meek hands folded, and her 
 face still and colorless. The Prophet led her to the midst, bound 
 j her unresisting hands to the stake, and commenced the preparatory 
 
 There was a motion amid the outer crowd, a swaying and con- 
 , fused voices. A warrior leapt into the midst, and with a blow 
 
 a ive palpability to her meditations. Her thoughts followed in P ur j j geyere( j t ] ie Cor( j 8 o f the victim. A faint cry burst from the lips of 
 suit of the disembodied spirit, so recently gone forth on its eternal j M re , and she f t u into the arms of Tecumseh. It was but one 
 flight. She shed no tears for herself or others ; for what had she 1 3 ( j moment of we -. knes s, and she aroee and stood up. 
 
 do* with human emotions, to whom the mysteries of the unknown 
 world were so soon to be revealed. She rolled th .kins about her 
 foster-parent with her own hands, and bound the kerchief over her 
 
 gray locks. She shuddered not 
 
 Fiercely did the chief eye the group of dispirited and traitorous 
 warriors. Even the Prophet quailed before it, and Kumshaka with- 
 
 fla , ana oounu iu *, - "r" 1 1 drew deeper into the crowd. Tecurmeh perceived it, and shaking 
 
 at the cold, rigid, marble touch: for|||W^^ ^ __ n ^.^ 
 
 tlere was relief in knowing that poor Minaree ^+*?** w _ 
 
 le*f alone were audible, in that hushed assemblage I 
 
 I have been told all. Ye have severed the belt that should have 
 
 ageiy of witue ssing her own death. *he he Ped Tongatou to PJ 
 pare the grave in the midst of the arbor which M.naree had helped 
 to adorn f she rounded the green turf above it, and then weanly laid 
 .her head upon it, as her last place of repose. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 And the blue wave upon the beach dissolves, 
 Like woman s hopes and manhood s high resolves. 
 
 iia finae/at the craven chief, he commanded him to rem* n. After 
 a paus e, in which the crackling of the flame and the rustling of the 
 
 bound our people together. 
 
 AMELIA B. WBLBV. 
 n deep and awful! 
 jssed heavily upon, 
 
 her, dense, vast, and almost rayle.s. "When" man dieih, shall 
 live again 1" she repeated again and again, and an echo f 
 ward self responded,. Death is but the rending ot the veil-t< 
 is to realize, to hope ia to enjoy. It is the going forth of 
 
 oun . Ye have provoked the rage of a pc 
 
 stronger than we, and with your own hands have dn< .1 
 of your children. But tell me here with your own hpa who hath 
 counselled this 1 Who is the traitor to his people 
 
 "Kumshaka!" whispered the pale Hpa of Margaret. 
 
 " Kumshaka !" burst from the whol* assemblage. 
 
 Margaret s eyes followed 
 
 
 ud she 
 , her yes fixed ia 
 
 the body O f him upon whom juaUce had b.e. 
 
38 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 summarily administered: her cheek ashy pale, and her figure like ! slight changes, which .may have been already anticipated. Mrs. 
 a statue endowed with life and breath, bat denied the power ofjj Jones abandoned the gpmning-whee], except at long intervals, when 
 motion. | a day of bright sunshine, a brisk fire, and a peculiar harmony be 
 
 tween atmospheric and utrvous influences, awakened a sense of 
 juvenility, when its brisk buzz might again be heard, and her trem- 
 
 Tecuraseh cast his eyes mournfully over the ruined village, the 
 blackened woods, and the feeble remnant of his tribe. Where 
 
 were now those great hopes that were to elevate his people 1 that bling hand seen guiding the irregular thread, which afterward was 
 
 far-seeing policy that was to place them among the nations of the 
 
 duly exhibited to every visiter that might make his appearance. In 
 
 earth 1 that union and peace that were to ensure their strength and j general, however, she was seated in her large chair, on the warmest 
 perpetuity 1 Where were his own dreams of future glory and hap-:; side of the hearth, her fingers slowly and mechanically basied with 
 pinessl All all were lost. As he looked abroad, the spirit of M her knitting-needles, a work of the hands only, in which sight was 
 prophecy sprang to his lips. unnecessary j and its monotony suited the quietness of decay. Oc- 
 
 "The daom of the red men has gone forth. The hunter shall | , casionally, her lips moved, but whether in sympathy with he-r hands., 
 cease from the chase, and the warrior from the field of battle. The! r in the involuntary utterance of thought, as the child thinks aloud, 
 mounds of the dead shall be levelled to the earth, and the graves of i j is uncertain. When roused by the kindly voice of Anna, sbe 
 our fathers forgotten. The wigwam shall become a den for the fox.jj would lift U P her dim e y es . smile . aed move her hands hurriedly, 
 and the vine creep over the ruined canoe. The path to the j like a child taken by surprise. She now talked but little, and took 
 spirit land is thronged with our people. They come from the great I; small note of what passed about her; yet she always called Mrs. 
 lakes, the valleys of the east and the west, and the sunlight of the! I Mason, Anny; or when some buried memory arose from its sepul- 
 south. They move their heads sadly as they move onward, and point chre > awakening emotions of tenderness, she called her " Darter," 
 to the land that is lost to their children. The Indian has no home w hich never fa i ed to fi U the eyes of both with tears. 
 upon the earth. Lo he has passed away, and his name is forgotten." ; Airs Mason s family had somewhat increased, but as her husband s 
 
 He folded his robe over his bosom, and stood lost in thought. At! worldly goods had also kept steady progress, nothing had impaired 
 length he turned to Margaret, and took her cold hand in his. Sheathe hearty cheerfulness of her temper. She was wont to exhibit 
 moved not. He laid his hand upon her brow, it was like the touch! occasionally her wedding-dress, as a miracle of diminutiveness, 
 of marble. The strong man groaned heavily. Oae moment he | compared with the ample size of those that now enveloped her 
 pressed the slight figure to his bosom, and then laid it upon the grass, goodly person ; for Mrs. Mason had increased materially in size, as 
 He severed one lock of the long, beautiful hair, and turned away to all hearty, good-natured women will, who are well to do in the world, 
 
 the solitude of the forest. 
 
 and have little mental effort, except that which is prompted by ready 
 
 Ackoree held back the powers oi life, while the last fearful tragedy sympathy, and active, confiding benevolence. She now employed 
 had been enacted, and she now stooped down and laid her hand! j help constantly; and her children were always the tidiest, the 
 
 It beat faintly, and a^.smartest, the healthiest, and most daring to be found anywhere. 
 jiHer notability, too, found ample employment in helping Alice, now 
 
 upon the heart of the insensible Margaret, 
 savage joy lit up her fierce eye. 
 
 "Ackoree is glad that the white girl lives. She wouH have her j Mrs. Mansfield, in the management of household matter?. Were 
 suffer long." she ill, it did one s heart good to see with what alacrity Mrs. Mason 
 
 She gazed into the open, unwinking eye, and held her cheek to ; : donned her host cap and apron, and repaired thither to nurse her like 
 catch the light breath. a child, and absolve her from all care of the household. She never 
 
 " The white girl has been as wretched as Ackoree, and it does; . na(1 a baking without a portion being kept in reserve for Alice, who 
 her heart good," she whispered, in husky tones. \ reciprocated her kindness by presents of smart caps, and collars, and 
 
 With the battle of Tippecanoc, perished the great scheme of In- ! | tunic3 for the little Masons 
 
 dian confederation, which had so long been the forlorn hope of Te-ii Tne home of Alice was a pleasant cottage on the banks of the 
 cumseh. But the scheme, conceived and upheld only by his own Wabash, and, just as she desired, close to her excellent friend, Mrs. 
 personal influence, was doomed to failure ere it was well completed. Mason. Her cheek had resumed its hue of health, though a slight 
 Had he been the foe to any other people, Americans would have i expression of sadness lingered about the pure temples and the gentle 
 been ready to do justice to his memory; but time will remove the j lip s > blending with that quietude of air that betokened a heart at rest, 
 prejudices that must always cloud the fame of a reformer, and when I; She wa s happy, as a wife, gratified in all her affections, needs must 
 the name of the last Indian shall have been inscribed upon the scroll | j be. She was gentle and loving, trusting and meek ; and the lot of 
 of eternity, monuments will be reared to his memory. Reflecting 1 su ch is always that of blessedness. She was still uncertain as to the 
 thatMetacom, Pentiac, and Tecamseh struggled for the very bcon,jif ate of Margaret, and the thought of her often brought a pang to her 
 for which our fathers bled and died, liberty for their wives and chil- , i heart. It was the one thorn to remind her that the blossoms of earth 
 dren, their names will be inscribed with the great and good of allj are thus armed. 
 
 ages, who have sought to do good for their country. The circum-j! It was the musing hour of twilight, when the repose stealing upon 
 stance of failure will not detract from the ability with which their 1 the earth predisposes ike soul to reflection, and we feel, if ever, the 
 plans were conceived, or the devotion with which they yielded beautiful propriety of scripture, that represents the patriarch going 
 themselves to a great mission. They will cease to be enemies, and;, forth at even-tide to meditate. Alice was seated thus; and a beau- 
 
 become patriots. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Stoop o er the place of grave?, and softly sway 
 The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone ; 
 
 That they who near the church-yard willows stray, 
 And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 
 
 May think of gentle souls that passed away, 
 Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 
 
 Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, 
 
 And gone into tlie boundless heaven again [BRYANT. 
 
 tiful child, of perhaps two years, weary with the busy sports of the 
 day, stood at her knee, robed in its loose night-dress. Presently, it 
 folded its chubby hands together, and lisped forth an evening prayer, 
 while the roguish eyes were winking all the time, in vain effort to 
 keep them closed. 
 
 Little Margaret, for such was her name, wore the compact spirit 
 ual features of her aunt, and the dark, abundant curls looked the 
 same that had waved over her shoulders in childhood. Even the 
 turn of the head, the curve of the lip, were the same ; and there, too, 
 breathed her stateliness of air. 
 
 The door opened, and a moccasoned foot appeared upon the threeh- 
 
 FOUR years elapsed after the iucidents of our story. The battle 
 of the Thames had destroyed the strength of the northern tribes, and i i old Alice P ut b y lhe child and hatened forward. It was Tonga- 
 th death of Tecumseh annihilated the bands of confedera tion. ! j tou ! He was much changed, but his noble and generous bearing 
 After the battle of Tippecanoe, he had made one more last effort at i ! remained the s a me; and she welcomed him as a friend, and prc- 
 peace and union ; but that had been its death-blow. His own mar- server - The child be S an to P la y with the plumes of his helmet, and 
 vellous eloquence, bravery, and great personal influence, for a while ehe looked on > l n g in g> and y et feeing to ask of Margaret. The 
 promised success, but they were unavailing. His people lacked, chief took the fearless child in his arms, and gazed long and earestly 
 hearts to feel as he felt, eyes to see as he beheld, and wisdom to \ 
 understand the connectien of events, and the promise and revealings 
 of the future. He had stood, a solitary watcher in the strong tower j 
 of Indian safety; and when he fell, the beacon-light was extinguished, j 
 and forever. 
 
 " It i 8 the spirit of the Swaying Reed," he at length said, and he 
 turned away to conceal the tears, that sprang to his eyes. 
 
 Alice wept, but it may be they were tears of relief, as well as of 
 sorrow. She seated herself by his side, and begged he would tell 
 
 The characters of our story rsmained the same, allowing for the I her all. Little Margaret hid her face upon her mother s bosom, and 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 se ; for a sorrowful tone, 
 ., even in the heart of a child 
 
 i , 
 truth that 
 
 "Noble and generous girl, how could I so much have mistaken 
 her ! But tell me, Tongatou, had it been otherwise, would she have 
 returned t our people 1" 
 
 The chief evaded the question, and went on to tell of the ruin that 
 met them on their return, the appearance of Tecumseh, and th 
 strange long sleep of the Swaying Reed. 
 
 " Thank God,, she escaped that death of torture. And it was for 
 
 the return of 
 
 me that she suffered all thU-nor asked for reward, nor sympathy 
 Mysterious, aad beautiful spirit! how unlike thy unworthy sister ." 
 
 The chief went on. For many, many days the Swayin* Reed 
 neither moved nor spoke, but their was warmth about her heart and 
 we kn.w the spirit had not gone forth. Straage fear came upon us 
 for she had been as one from the spirit-land. At length nil was cold 
 and still. Tongatou knew not till now, that her spiril was preparing 
 to enter the body of the white child," and he stooped down over the 
 sleeping babe, to read anew the evidence, and then went OH. 
 
 "Our people will never believe she is dead, and they tell of her a s 
 ene that is suffered to remain out of love to the poor Indian. Tonga 
 tou has heard her song at night, and heard her voice speaking to hi* 
 heart. Tecumseh slept all night upon the grave of the Swaying 
 Reed, and he felt that she came to comfort him. But he never 
 smiled. His heart had long been dead. The sorrows of his people 
 and the death of the Swaying Reed broke the strength of the strong 
 man. Tongatou bore him from the field of battle, and laid his body 
 by the side of the Swaying Reed. Tongatou will dig his own grave 
 at the will of the Great Spirit, and rest by his side. He has built his 
 lodge there, and all night the spirit-bird sings upon the roof." 
 
 Opening his mantle he produced a small box, which Alice instantly 
 recognized as having once been Margaret s. From this he took a 
 long glossy curl, and held it to the light. This I found in the boson, 
 of Tecumseh; a part is buried with him, and this must sleep with 
 Tongatou. The book of the white girl is here; he has no need of it :" 
 and he presented the relic to Mrs. Mansfiild. She clasped it to he, 
 bosom and wept freely, for the simple memorial and the recital o 
 the chief, had restored at once the look and very tones of her sister, 
 and the whole of her sad, suffering destiny. 
 When she lifted up her head, she was alone. 
 
 EXD OF THE WESTERN CAPTIVE. 
 
 
 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN SISTERS 
 
 BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TOWARD the close of a summer day, ia the year 1552, a period of 
 gloom and distrust throughout the British realm, occasioned by the 
 sanguinary and cruel persecutions suffered by the believers in the 
 
 Jter and then, with the **SS3*Ej3S 
 he glossy curls that had escaped from its confinement ov r her fin- 
 ; era nd pldced lt ^ chwk rf ^ ^ 
 
 | a fearful contrast with its marble hue. 
 
 ft was evident, likewise, that anxiety for her companion had not 
 entirely abstracted attention from her own personal appearance, for 
 her dark hair was parted smoothly from her brow, and fastened in 
 long bra,d3 to the back of the head by means of a silver bodkin, 
 here was likew.se an attempt at what is, I believe, technically 
 termed wate.-curls upon her temple, but they had been abandon^, 
 probably from some compunctions of cooscience, the heertlessnew 
 of such employment, in the midst of a period of such suffering to hir 
 ccmmpamon, crossed her mind. Then, too, the plaits of her dress 
 were arranged over her snowy shoulder and ches , with a da-h of 
 girlish vanity, that watching and anxiety had not been able entirely 
 to suppress. 
 
 She turned from the bed, terrified at the short and labored breath 
 ing of the sufferer, and drawing the white curtain aside from the 
 window, looked anxiously out. What a laggard that physician in," 
 .she muttered impatiently to herself, after looking up and down the 
 street, hoping in vain to detect the desired object. But her search 
 was unavailing no one was to be seen, except a young cavalier, 
 who was leisurely sauntering along, and who seemed attracted by 
 the snowy shoulders, that were half protruded from the window. 
 So she did not immediately withdraw, till, in spite of the pleasure of 
 being admired, her face and neck became covered with blushes, and 
 she only observed his noble bearing and brilliant eye at the moment, 
 when the faint voice of her sister recalled her to the bedsi-Je. 
 
 "Ann, love," said the sufferer, "I am cold; spread the covering 
 upon me, and sit where I can see you." 
 
 Oh, Alice dear Alice, you are dying !" cried the poor girl, clasp 
 ing her hands, and bursting into tears. 
 
 Alice stretched her thin hands toward her, and pressed her to her 
 bosom. 
 
 Do not weep, sister, dear : it is our Father s will ;" and she raised 
 !ier eyes fervently upward. 
 
 Ann started from her bosom, and, with the impetuosity of girlhood, 
 rushed to the window, exclaiming 
 
 " Why don t he come 1 He has left you to die, because he thinks 
 you a heretic!" 
 
 Sister Ann," said Alice, in a voice even firmer than it had been 
 or many days, " calm yourself, love, and let us spend the short time 
 have to live, in comforting each other." 
 
 Ann kneeled by the bedside, and sobbed aloud. Alice laid her 
 land upon her head, closed her eyes, and her lips moved in devo 
 tion. 
 
 Alice," said Ann, raising her hsad with a strong effort at compo 
 sure, and with a face in whose expression every other feeling had 
 given place to the absorbing one of anxiety for her sister. "Dear 
 
 reformed religion, a neat but hurable mansion, in what might, during i sister, do you feel quite sure you are right 1 Sister, love, 1 fear you 
 a more cheerful reign, have been one of the fashionable streets ol Imay be wrong; and if you should be Oh, Alice ! let me call the 
 London, contained two sisters, who had evident!; been educated in i priest confess, and receive absolution, sister, and in either case you 
 the higher ranks of society, though nothing like luxury was at pre-j will be safe." 
 
 sent visible ; nothing but the simple, tasteful arrangements common 
 to women of superior refinement and elegance of taste. There were 
 
 no costly vases, no splendid silken hangings, no rich carpetings that j sity poor lamb!" and she pressed her sister s cheek compassion 
 
 . 
 
 Has only the terror of parting with me, Ann, shaken your reli- 
 faith 1 Thy spirit is ill prepared to drink of the cup of adver 
 
 hushed the echo of the foot, no bells to gratify the indolence of ease, ately, and raising her eyes, ejaculated " Oh, thou Shepherd of the 
 and to obey the bidding without the exertion of motion; but the] sheep, take this lamb of thy Hock and shelter it from harm ; carry it 
 ample fireplace, with its antique tiles, contained two vases of ; in thy bosom, and temper the wind to its weakness. Shelter it now, 
 earthen- ware, filled with flowers that scented the air with their fra-j and strengthen it for all that may await it." 
 
 grance ; the polished oaken floor was partially covered with a kind ! " Alice," said Ann, " my spirit was never strong, like thine ; tJioa 
 of mat, constructed of rushes, somewhat similar to the straw carpets, couldst bear the rack without a groan, and go to the stake with a* 
 of modern use ; the chairs were of oak, richly carved, and so massive much composure as to die here in peace and quietness. But, Oh, 
 as almost to defy the strength of the gentle girls, who made this room , sister, pray for me this bright, this beautiful earth I love it, sister, 
 their sanctum. The high oaken bedstead, with its linen drapery, ! I hardly know why, but sometimes I dream of a home such - 
 
 though in purity and comfort befitting the pale sufferer who rested our m 
 upon it, notwithstanding, was as uncouth and clumsy as modern ima 
 gination can well depict. Beside it stood a young girl, who might 
 
 other had when we were happy and innocent children; and 
 I fear that, in the hour of trial, I might abjure my faith might deny 
 my Saviour on earth and then he will deny me before his holy 
 
 gination can well depict. Beside it stood a young girl, who might my Saviour on earth and tlien ft? win eny n 
 
 have been fourteen years, judging from her form, which was tall, ; angels. When I look to the green earth, the bright blue sky, and see 
 
40 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE 
 
 pleasant, loving faces Oh, the earth seems so lovely I fear I should 
 abjure my faith rather than leave it." 
 Alice looked sorrowfully upon her sister s face. 
 " Thou must pray for strength, Ana. Thou wilt never ask in vain 
 thou art but a child now should the hour of trial come, I doubt not 
 strength will be given thee. Thou rmtyest never be called to give 
 that fearful evidence of thy constancy and faith, that ths blessed 
 martyrs of the cross are daily called upon to yield, but as thy day is, 
 so will thy strength be. " 
 
 " Alice, dear," continued Aan, " had Heaven granted thee length 
 of days, thinkest thou, thou wouldst have abjured all human love ? 
 Dost thou regard it as sinful, sister 1" 
 
 Alice scanned the face of her sister inquiringly, till the ready blood 
 rushed to the very temples of the maiden, and was spread over her 
 young neck. 
 
 "Thou art young, Ana, too young to be entangled with the snares 
 that beset our sex. Tell me, dearest," and &he drew her sister affec 
 tionately to her bosom, " hast thou thus early begun to know aught 
 of the love of womanhood? There should be no reserve between 
 us let me die knowing all that regards thee, for the counsel of a 
 dying sister may be profitable to thee." 
 
 Ann buried her face in her sister s bosom, and struggled for words, 
 At length she replied: 
 
 " It is but lately that I dreamed cf aught like this, but I will not 
 disguise it. I have seen a noble youth and I shall for ever remember 
 his gallant bearing, and new reflections crowd upon my mind. Can 
 they be sinful sister 1" 
 
 " Heaven shield thee," cried Alice, clasping her sister still more 
 closely. "Thou art but too susceptible, Ann, and I pray thee to 
 dwell no more upon the vision thou hast seen. It may lead thee to 
 harm pray fervently, lest thou fall into temptation." 
 "But, Alice, is it sinful to love V 
 
 " Only so far as it may lead the heart from the Creator only so 
 far as it abstracts those high and holy affections, that in their greatest 
 strength should be consecrated to God, and places them upon one of 
 his creatures. Ann, remember our mother, how fervently she blessed 
 and prayed for us, and act as if her blessed spirit were ever Bear 
 thee. It may be, too, when I have cast aside this earthly tabernacle, 
 I may be permitted to be near thee, to whisper in thy ear words of 
 counsel and sympathy may breathe into thy spirit a part of that for 
 titude and constancy that is necessary in order that thy faith may 
 be unwavering, and thy steps secure in the path of wisdom." 
 
 "But tell me, Alice, wouldst thou have me cast aside all earthly 
 love 1" 
 
 Alice, in her taint-like purity, half shr.mk from her sister s eager 
 inquiry. 
 
 " I cannot tell, Ann such things were not designed for me 
 When our blessed mother left thee, a lisping child, and I child in 
 years, I felt myself suddenly transformed into a woman. Childish 
 sports delighted me no longer. I watched every thought and feeling 
 of thine, and prayed day and night for blessings upon thee. I prayed 
 for life, only that I might rear thee to virtue and goodness might 
 assist in making thee what oar mother so fervently desired. Thou 
 wert the idol of my affections. My sister, siater, (and the tears 
 gushed to her eyes) even now I sometimes shrink from the grave 
 because thou wilt not go with me. Often do I feel willing to relin 
 quish for a time that eternity of glory and happiness that is per 
 petually urging me away, that I may wait to see thee firmer grounded 
 in the faith, and thy principles more clearly and distinctly formed." 
 "Alice, I sometimes fear we may be ia an error that the doctrine 
 we have embraced may be one that will lead, not only to sorrow on 
 earth, but eternal misery hereafter." 
 
 " Dearest Ann," said Alice, clasping her thin fingers together, 
 " thou must watch and pray, that the great source and Author of all 
 truth will enlighten thy understanding, and lead thee into all truth. 
 It is only by watching and prayer that thy faith will be strengthened. 
 "But Alice, love, thou dost reverence our mother, and she taught 
 thee to kneel before the blessed Mary, and to obey all the require 
 ments of the Holy Church." 
 
 " Oh speak not so, Ann call not that holy, that is full of all im 
 purity. Can that be a just interpretation of the doctrines of the 
 meek and the Holy Jesus, the founder of the Gospel ef peace, that 
 warrants the persecution, the torturing and death of his suffering 
 fellowers V 
 
 " But if we really have embraced a false doctrine, we are lost for 
 ever; whereas, according to the Romish faith, by obedience to its 
 requirements, eternal felicity is assured us. Would it not be pafer, 
 sister, to adhere to it T 
 
 " Our Heavenly Father is not to be cheated by hypocritical pre 
 tences; we cannot be smuggled into Heaven, sister/ said Alice, 
 with a faint smile; "there can be no true religion only as it springs 
 warmly and unhesitatingly from the heart. It is not in the name, 
 iut in the inward feeling. Oh, Ann, do not rest in doubt, but search 
 the Scriptures, and y that thy faith may be strengthened." 
 
 She turned her face upon her pillow, and panted with exhaustion. 
 "Oh, Alice," cried Ann, "you are dying! Let me summon a 
 priest to grant thee the last rites of the church." 
 
 Alice shook her head sorrowfully. " Oh, Father, thy will be 
 done : spare me this trial. Lether not reject thy blessed Gospel But 
 thine is the work, and I leave all with thee." 
 
 The aged nurse, who had first led the orphan sisters to the contem 
 plation of the doctrines cf the reformers now drew nigh, and knelt 
 by the bed side. The tears streamed down her aged cheeks, and 
 she poured forth in the simple fervent language of a pious heart, 
 those sublime truths, and holy aspiration?, calculated to calm and 
 elevate the mind in the last fearful hour of trial. Blessed Gospel ! 
 equal to the powers of the most exalted intellect, and yet adapting 
 itself to the wants and comprehension of the humblest capacity. Old 
 Sarah could boast of little worldly knowledge, but that wisdom 
 which is from above had occupied the waste places of her really Wg- 
 orous mind, and the budding of those flowers whose perfection is ia 
 the Paradise of God, had in the language of the Scriptures, made the 
 desert to blossom as the rose. The deep, tremulous, heart-felt tones 
 of that prayer ascended from the hashed room, and the Angel of 
 death still delayed his mission. The voice of the speaker ceased 
 she moistened the parched lips of the sufferer and stood motionless 
 by. Even the sobbing of Ann was hushed, as she stood looking oa 
 the placid face of the dying girl. Her eyes were slightly raised 
 her breathing thick and labored. 
 
 She turned to her sister, " Ann, watch and pray I beseech thee 
 never till this moment did I realize the force of that respoase, Lord, 
 when saw we thee naked and athirst, a stranger, sick, or ia prisou, 
 and ministered unto thee 1 . O ! Ann, Ann I see myself with new eyes 
 ;very thought, every motion, every action, from childhood up, is 
 stamped in burning characters upon my soul, and make it what it is. 
 I look into my very soul things long since forgotten, for years ob 
 literated from the memory, rise up with more than the freshness of 
 yesterday. Awful, mysterious power of thought that seem st to flit 
 tracelessly over the mind, but is still noiselessly and carefully gar 
 nering everything into its treasury, there to remain indestructable 
 eternal at some period, as now all all, is to be spread out before 
 u?, to teach us our weakness and frailty, or to appal us with the con 
 templation of the character we have inscribed upon the undying 
 soul. Ann beware of thy thoughts, they will finally decide the 
 character of the soul we shall not be judged by isolated deeds, only 
 so far as they indicate the cast of that part which is truly ourselves." 
 Shs paused and her face assumed a saint-like radiance, as she 
 exclaim d Blessed Saviour when I look at myself, how imper 
 fect how unholy do I appear but I look away to thee, and I feel 
 that I am washed in thy sacred blood. And now I pass through the 
 dark valley, and I fear no evil, for thou art with me." 
 
 Her eyes closed there was a slight shiver a faint gasp, and a 
 saint hid passed to her eternal rest ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE body of Alice had been prayerfully consigned to its kindred 
 dust, and the simple household arrangements of the small family re 
 sumed the usual monotonous regularity, common to neatness and 
 good order. 
 
 The sickness of Alice as well as the peculiar doctrines the sisters 
 had embraced, combined with pecuniary embarrassments, had all 
 tended to consign them to obscurity, and poor Ann in the very spring 
 time of life, was overwhelmed with an afil!ction that left her friend 
 less in her solitude, save the kind-hearted nurse. She would spread 
 her sister s^ garments before her, take from their depository the little 
 mementos that most forcibly brought her to her recollection, and then 
 abandon herself to the uncontrollable grief of a young and suscep 
 tible heart. She dwelt upon her last words, her last look and kselt 
 and prayed in the anguish of a stricken epirit. She would throw 
 herself upon the bed, in the hope that her sister might visit her in 
 dreams. She even sometimes thought the fervency of her prayers 
 might work a miracle in her behalf, and her sister appear visibly be 
 fore herself, to speak the words of consolation. She remembered 
 her former vanity, her former dislike of their retired mode of life, to 
 detest her heartleasness and folly. She thought now she couid nerer 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 41 
 
 fe 
 
 me once felt, if occasionally the imae of the young cava 
 lier crossed her imagination, it was bjnished with a chastened sigh, 
 and a wonder at her former susceptibility. Every day beheld her at 
 her sister s grave, and she passed to it, through the crowded thorough 
 fares of the city, unconscious that her extreme grief and listless step 
 were attracting all observers. She did not so much as raise her eyes 
 from the ground. She passed silently along, and when arrived, rested 
 
 thousand fearful fantasies. Bewildered with her own reflections and 
 watching, she began to fear the handsome stranger, who had so 
 mysteriously befriend her, might be none other than the Prince 
 of darkness, come on purpose to mislead her, for she well knew 
 jue had the power to assume the appearance of an Angel of light. She 
 had heard the old men of their persuasion tell how often he hid 
 made his appearance bodily to the saints, in consequence of their 
 ept as one would weep who; neglect of fasting and prayer, or because they had dared to embrace 
 
 felt there was none on earth to love. There she sat till old Sarah j , doctrines which he had good reason for hating then too 
 
 came, and placed her arms about her, and as tenderly as one would Imembered how the int H T id 
 
 lead a sick child, bore her to their dwelling. | jhow he appeared visibly before him to" confound hi rthlrtOM^ 
 
 It cannot be supposed that s-ach grief would fail to work fearfully 
 upon the health of the yovng girl. She bent like the reed that in 
 
 jsomngs, or to hinder his glorious plan of reform by engagiog him in 
 (useless and dangerous discussions, or striving to withdraw him from 
 
 clmss us slender stem to the gliding water., and the blue veins be-ljhis purpose, by exhibiting before him all the fantastic grandeur of 
 came too beautifully distinct upon the clear cheek and brow, and the ; | diabolical representations; how he would not leave him but kept by 
 small hand and foot assumed a child-like diminutiveness. And those |j his side in his hours of meditation, study, and rest till the gocd man 
 deep, dark and loving eyes were half veiled by .he drooping lid, as if declared his face to be as familiar to him as that of his own wife 
 they would shut out the external world. I No wonder that a lone girl, in memory of all these things, should 
 
 Once, when she had go;ie to rest by the grave of all she had known j tremble like an aspen with excess of terror. When the heavy bell 
 how to love on earth, the shadows of twilight began to gather around j tolled the hour of midnight, she covered her head and lay pantiog, 
 her, and her hair fell in damp heavy masses about her head and ; ( Tearful that the least motion might develope some frightful vision 
 shoulders still she rose not to depart, for an apathy had crept over t| or appalling sound, or her limbs be seized by invisible hand*, 
 her soul, and her young spirit was crushed by the blighting of early i Even the slight motion of the bedding caused by her quick short 
 hopes, and her powerless limbs seemed incapable of voluntary mo- [[breath, seemed to her excited imagination the play of mysterious 
 tion. Where was Sarah 1 Had she forgotten the heart-broken girl, angers ; and she could scarcely suppress a scream, so utterly had she 
 and left her to struggle alone with a grief that had nearly deprived |: become bewildered by superstitious fears. In this age of enlightened 
 her of reason! Ann observed not the omission and when a gen-;; reason, and sober common sense, we can scarcely realize the pre- 
 tle hand raised her from the ground and supported her feeble | ponderance of such superstitions among men, who were at the same 
 steps, she did not at first observe that the arm that supported her! time catering the stronghold of bigotry and error, tearing up the very 
 trembled violently, and that old Sarah had uttered no word of endear- i foundation of priestly influence and church supremacy, and free- 
 ment but the poor girl so sensitively alive to every emotion connect- ! | ing the world from the shackles which had been for ages binding the 
 ed with this last friend and comforter, instantly felt the necessity of I consciences and opinions of men. But so it is man demolishes 
 restraining her own grief where it affected so strongly her aged at- ; one stronghold of error only to defend another with the more per- 
 tendant. She raised her slight form from its support, saying, " I have : tinacity. 
 
 done wrong, Sarah, in that I have selfishly indulged in my own grief II At length, like a holy spall, returned the memory of Alice the 
 while you are sick with fatigue and anxiety. I will do so no more {memory of her sanctity and innocence became an antidote to her 
 Bat can I live in this dreary dreary world 1" gloomy fears. She remembered her sister s dying counsel, and felt 
 
 "Pardon, gentle lady," said a deep, manly voice. Ann paused, } as fher presence would shield her from harm. Clasping her hands, 
 drew herself up to her full height, and all her helplessness gave way i sne Pured out the simple prayer of a young and trusting heart, and 
 to the necessity for instant exertion. It may be, that a sense of lone- ere the close died u P on her 1J P S the <l uiet breathing, and child-like 
 liness of her situation at the dim hour in the partially-deserted streets, ; placidity of countenance announced, thatt he anxieties of the maiden 
 might have impelled her to accept with courtesy the only protection ! had found ob li vi n i sleep. 
 
 afforded, or, the respectful attitude of the young stranger might natu- j j Day by day old Sarah marvelled at the rapid improvement of her 
 rally have inspired confidence, or that she detected a resemblance be- ji young mistress s health. Her grief, which had hitherto been so ab- 
 tween her elegant companion and the young cavalier she had before sorbing, as to unfit her for the simplest arrangements of her person 
 
 seen; which of these decided the conduct of the maiden I will sot 
 take upon myself to determine. She presented her hand, frankly; 
 * I cannot believe any unworthy motive could induce a stranger to 
 shield a helpless and suffering matden, and I thankfully accept thy 
 protection." 
 
 The youth pressed her hand respectfully. "The Holy Mother 
 bless thee for thy charity, gentle maiden," said the youth. Ann, 
 grateful for his proffered support, soon reached her home, where she 
 found old Sarah, exhausted with fatigue, and weary with constant 
 watching, had fallen asleep on the threshold, where she had stationed 
 herself to wait the return of Ann. Bitterly did the poor girl re 
 proach herself with the sin of heartlessly sorrowing for the dead, 
 while the living called for her kindness and sympathy. The stranger 
 
 or household, seemed now a quiet melancholy, according well with 
 her fine features, and elegant stature. And even once, when Ann 
 sat by the window conning oae of those antique tomes in which she 
 delighted, she observed a stranger pass and respectfully raise his bea 
 ver to her young mistress, whom she instantly recognized as the one 
 who had so kindly assisted her from the grave of Alice. She ob 
 served, too, the young girl colored deeply, and returned his salute 
 with a smile, and then glancing at her reflection in the mirror, flung 
 back her abundant hair with a gratified manner. "There now," 
 cried Sarah, "you looked then just as you used to look, when you 
 used to braid your hair, and b: merry all day." 
 
 Ann instantly felt the vanity she had betrayed, and replied with a 
 desponding air, "Ah, Sarah, I shall never be like Alice, she was al- 
 
 bent one knee, according to the etiquette of the day, pressed the dam- ways so discreet, so noble, and womanly ;" but as she looked round 
 
 for hsr domestic she had disappeared. What was her consternation 
 when, a moment after, Sarah entered in breathless eagerness, ex 
 claiming, "Oh, Ann, he will be here in a moment: he said he 
 would." 
 
 Who what 1" cried Ann, sinking back into her chair, as the 
 truth flashed upon her mind. 
 
 "I only told him," died Sarah, eager ;o excdpaie herself, " tl.at 
 hs had been like an angel of mercy to my young mistres-, aad I 
 begged 
 
 "And what did he say P gasped Ann. 
 
 "He asked if my lady sent me" 
 
 Ann s lip curled in scorn. 
 There, now you don t look like yourself, Ann," i 
 
 sel s hand to his lips, and departed. 
 
 That night a thousand strange fancies made it impossible for poor 
 Ann to sleep. The memory of her sister, that had hitherto been 
 uppermost in h^r thoughts, she found constantly displaced by the re 
 collection of the young stranger who had so kindly befriended her in 
 her loneliness and sorrow. She would summon her thoughts from 
 their long wandering in this too agreeable track, and strive to recall 
 the memory of the kind, faithful friendof her early life ; the good sis- 
 ter, who had sacrificed all the joyousness cf childhood, and the flush 
 of youthfulness and health to devote all her energies, all her affec- 
 tions, to the little orphan sister thrown upon her charge. And now 
 that she had gone to her early grave, it were treason to her memory 
 to allow a stranger thus to crowd her from her thoughts. Poor Ann 
 
 had never endured such a contest in her young heart, and much did||in a sorrowful voice, which was later rap ted by tl 
 she feel the need of a friend to whom she might commit this intricate ! Stranger. Sarah ushered him in with a 
 
 As night deepened, and th- pale rays of the>ne who has a s-lf-iafficfed and somewhat dis, 
 
 subject of casuistry. 
 
 wanin 
 
 with 
 
 over 
 
 aning moon stole through the windows, investing everything perform. Chmteur and 
 
 th a wan, flickering light, aa awe almost amounting to terror crept ! \ Ann threw back her pretty head with so 
 er the lonejfirl, and the dark superstition of the age conjured up a with a flushed cheek, and trembling hand, I* 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 For a moment both were too much embarrassed to speak, but the 
 stranger was evidently too much a man of the world, to be long at a 
 loss in the presence of a maiden of scarcely fifteen. Some gracefully- 
 turned remarks relative to her health, and its apparent improvement, 
 caused the blood to rush to the temples of the maiden, and she 
 rose and flung open the lattice to relieve the momentary sense of 
 suffocation, uttering, almost indistinctly, a hope that the freedom of 
 the nurse might not be interpreted to the disadvantage of the mistress. 
 " I owe her many thanks," replied the stranger, warmly, "she has 
 severed the Gcrdian knot I had in vain essayed to untie. Hoio else 
 should I have been admitted to your gentle presence 1" 
 
 " I told you so," cried Sarah, starting from her seat, like many a 
 one besides, forgetting that till that moment the evidence of such a 
 conviction had never passed her lips. 
 
 Ann shook her head gravely, and the good creature shrunk back 
 astonished at the unforeseen dignity of the young girl. 
 
 "I pray thee," said the stranger, "for my sake pardon the good 
 woman, she must not suffer reproach for what I would fain return so 
 many thanks." 
 
 Ann repressed the expression of pleasure that almost stole over her 
 face at the fhttering remarks of the stranger, for they struck her us 
 being somewhat familiar, and she replied, calmly, " It is ill to com 
 plain at what cannot be remedied, we must only be careful that our 
 own demeanor justify not any imputation caused by the thoughtless 
 ness of others." 
 
 " Nay, by Riy troth, thou wrongest thyself and me, lady, and I pray 
 thee to believe no sentiment unworthy a true knight, hath for a mo 
 ment entered my breast." 
 
 The earnestness and sincerity of the stranger s manner carried 
 their full conviction to tha judgment of the lady, aided no doubt by 
 ih-e ease of his address and the beauty of his person. She secretly 
 absolved him from every imputation of blame, and in her heart 
 thought, after all, the offence of Sarah was not so very heinou3 s 
 though, for her womanhood she would not have confessed so much 
 If our readers should any of them accuse the maiden of levity or in 
 sincerity, we beg them to look into their own hearts, if about fifteen, 
 or if older, endeavor to turn back the pages of the past, and see if at 
 that age of truth and hope, and girlish vanity, their feelings might not 
 hare been somewhat similar. 
 
 The more Ann listened to the agreeable conversation of the stranger, 
 the more nataral it appeared to her that he should desire to be per- 
 eonally known to her, and how could it ever have been brought about 
 without the straight-forward simplicity of kind old Sarah. Still the 
 idea was monstrous, and she would not dwell upon it. 
 
 not been born a neble maides, that she might glory in laying all at 
 
 the feet of her lover, and like some errant damsel, go out into the 
 ! pathless woods and baild up a lodge there, sacred to love and qui- 
 
 CHPTER III. 
 
 WE may not tell how rapidly time glided away with the now 
 hoping, trusting, and loving Ann. The grave of poor Alice became 
 nearly deserted, so surely doss the intervention of one strong passion 
 weaken the vehemence of another. In the gentleness of her nature, 
 she would sometimes upbraid herself with heartlessness, and ingrati 
 tude, in permitting a stranger to u? urp that place in her heart that had 
 hitherto been sacred only to sisterly love. She scarcely dared seek to 
 know the state of her young heart. The present was so delicious, so 
 full of hope and happiness and love, that she feared to penetrate the 
 
 etude. Could the youth silence the guileless and eloquent girl, as 
 she dwelt on themes so gratifying to a level s ear, by infusing into 
 her young and trusting mind the sordid and calculating policy of 
 the heartless world 1 
 
 Ann reasoned as a girl of fifteen would be pretty likely to reason* 
 where the judgment asked counsel of the heart ralher than the head. 
 Sometimes in her lover s absence, her woman s pride would spurn 
 the degradation of blending her destiny with those who might con 
 sider her an interloper, might insinuate that ambitien, rather than 
 love, had been the motive with the young girl. With a flushed 
 cheek, her lip would curl, and her form dilate with the dignity and 
 indignation of girlhood ; but the deep, kind tones of her lover s voice, 
 hia manly beauty, his protecting tendernei=s diipelled all the tears 
 would gush to her eyes, and she was again the same gentle, lov 
 ing, trusting Ann of other days. 
 
 If the beauty, the accomplishments and grace of Edward Court- 
 aey, the yosng Earl of Devonshire, had found their way to the heart 
 of the callous Mary of England, and stirred for the first time that 
 ever-abiding fountain of woman s love, that so scantily swelled up in 
 her cruel and bigoted nature; and even passed over the fancy of the 
 young and high-minded Elizabeth, like the faint stirring of the lap 
 wing s pinioBs over the deep still waters of the wilderness ; can it be 
 wondered, that when he turned in disgust from the glittering crown 
 proffered by age, bigotry and weakness, and crushed the aspiring of 
 hope and love where it dared to look upon the heiress of a crown ; 
 and with all the fascinations of manner, the graces of exalted station, 
 and the romance of a chivalrous mind, bent in the guise of love be 
 fore a yoHiig and solitary maiden, that he should succeed in binding 
 her young heart to his with all the devotion of woman s first love 1 
 
 Courtney knew the malice of Mary would pursue him even to the 
 ends of the earth he knew a woman scorned as she had been, would 
 not lightly forego her revenge. Though the proud blood of the ancient 
 house of York might have urged him to foster aspiring dreams and 
 engage in ambitious projects, he turned a deaf ear to suggestions so- 
 dangerous : a life of captivity had taught him to lightly esteem hered 
 itary honors and adventitious distinctions, and he left the competi 
 tors in the great race-ground of ambition to hurry on in their eager 
 career, undisturbed by any competition from himself. From motives 
 like these, he had turned from the beauties of the court of Mary, for 
 there he well knew ths malignity of his sovereign would be sure to 
 infuse the dregs of bitterness into the sweet cup of domestic happi 
 ness. But the gentle, the unoffending Ann, he thought, might surely 
 escape the envy and jealousy of the Queen. He could not calculate 
 the consequences of pride, exasperated ta find itself superseded by 
 one so young and comparatively humble. The beauty, too, of the 
 lone girl served to aggravate the offence, for how could age pardon 
 youth and beauty which had, inadvertently indeed, but not the less 
 dashed the bowl of love from the palsied hands of age. 
 
 The emissaries of Mary had watched every motion of the lovers, 
 and the haughty and intolerant woman resolved to suspend the blow- 
 till it should fall surely and fatally till its stroke should not only de 
 
 future lest it should prove all an illusion. All was so new-seemed troy, but torture the victim. When the Eirl ceased to be the object 
 
 mptimps anrcud out to the , of tenderness to the Queen, he became the victim of her stern unre- 
 
 so like that ideal world that had been sometimes spread out to the 
 fancy of the young girl in her lonely musings, or like the ancient le 
 gends in which she delighted, that she feared to unclose her eyes 
 lest, like the viaions of her own brain or the story of romance, the 
 reality should slowly recede and leave her to loneliness and sorrow. 
 True, her path was shrouded in doubt and mystery, but to ihe sim 
 ple-hearted girl everything seemed so easy, and obstacles so trifling 
 compared with the fervency of that love which glowed so warmly in 
 her own bosom, that a happy termiaation seemed not only possible, 
 but easily practicable. It is possible she infused a part of her 
 young hopefulness into tHe spirit of her fcver, who shrunk from the 
 task of repelling a love so dangerous, and yet PO gratifying to the 
 human heart, ere the world has taught it to be callous and calculat 
 ing. Then, could he throw the shadows of gloomy doubt over a 
 spirit so fresh, so trusting, so all his own 1 
 
 True, he had gently hinted of the pain of a monarch s displeasure, 
 the renunciation of wealth and rank but to the unsophisticated 
 girl, what were these 1 That anger might be appeased and what 
 were the trappings of wealth, the gewgaws of titles, compared with the 
 quietude of domestic bliss, the welling up of a perpetual foustain of 
 
 lenting vengeance. 
 
 The wax tapers shed a pale flickering light through the long aisles 
 and high arches of the church, and the gothic tracery of (he large 
 windows, with the small stained glass, the clustered columns, high 
 and massive, half shadowed by the dim lights; above all, the hol 
 low echo of the Earl s footsteps as they advanced up the aisle and 
 knelt at the foot of the altar, al 1 tended to bewilder and terrify the 
 timid Ann, so that she clung almost breathless and fainting to the 
 arm of her companion. For the first time the conviction crossed her 
 mind, that the ceremony of their bridal was to be performed accord 
 ing to the rites of the Catholic Church the last wcrds of Alice 
 the fearful language of Scripture, " He that denieth me before man, 
 him will I also deny before my Father and his holy angels," rushed 
 to her mind ; she sunk down at the foot of the altar, utterly overcome 
 by the power of her own reflections. Courtney raised her in his 
 arms, whispered words of tenderness in her ears, but she replied 
 only by sighs, deep and rending. He dashed water from the font, 
 upon her face, and threw back the masses of hair, that in her agony 
 had slipped from their confinement. He started at the utter misery 
 
 love to gladden the waste places of fcolitude 1 To her they were i depicted upon her countenance I am an apostate," she murmured 
 Jess than the dust of the balance; and she half sighed that she had the F,arl started as if a dagger had pierced his heart he saw a 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 suspicious smile flit over the face of the priest, and glancing at the 1 obeyed. Telling Ann not to wait his return, without informing her 
 groups whom curiosity had assembled, besides hij own few attend- as to the motive of his absence, he departed. 
 
 ants, he observed a tall, thin, mufti fd figure, whose air, however her When he had gone, Ann sat long mueing, in the position he had 
 dress might be, could not be disguised. He felt it to be the Queen, left her. One hand had dropped beside her, and itd wluenes* was 
 
 In a few hurried words he conjured Ann to summon all her energy finely contrasted with the dark, crimson robe, that hung in rich folds 
 for the ceremony. The poor girl raised her head, pale, and throb- ; about her. One foot lightly pressed a stool, and her babe weary 
 b;ng with anguish, and obedient to that voice which from henceforth with playing, had sunk to sleep upon her lap with one dimpled hand 
 was to be to her like that of the lone bird of night to the still star?, pressed in its mother s jewelled fiugers. Her robe was unclasped 
 bowed herself before the altar, and responded to those mystic words nearly to the girdle, as if the lips of the child had been nestling there, 
 that bound her destiny for ever to him who had her whole heart. ,j and the head thrown back, and the slightly-inclined position of the 
 The rich tones of the organ swelled through the high vault, and ;j body, exhibited in beautiful relief the delicate curve of the finely 
 one by one the spectators followed the bridal group down the chiselled neck, and the noble contour of the elegantly moulded bust, 
 long aisles of the church. Who, that had witnessed that cere- Her countenance was fora moment sad, the touching sadness of 
 many, would have deemed that a relic of a proud and regal house early maternity, as though the shadow of a cloud had fallen upon 
 was uniting his destiny with that fair but obscure maiden, surround- \ , clustering roses, scattering the brilliancy of their beauty, without re 
 ed by aone of the gorgeous trappings of princely wealth, with no. moving their liveliness. But her native hopefulness returned, and 
 more ostentation than the simplest lovers of humble life. It may be ! gradually the smile played about her lips, and the sparkles, clustered 
 that such thoughts crossed the mind of the Earl as he passed down !j to a deep holy look of unutterable, and almost oppressive sense of 
 the aisle, for his brow was observed to contract, and Ann felt him j; happiness, beamed from htr deep intellectual eye. She raised the 
 raise his proud form to even its full height, and as she timidly raised ! babe to her bosom, and g-> zed fondly in its face ; her rich cnrls fell 
 her eyes to his face, she half shrunk from his haughty glance. Court- ! ! upon its dimpled cheek and disturbed its si umbers the little hand 
 ney perceived it, and he sustained her shrinking form with more ten- j impatiently played about its face, and it half uttered a sleeping cry. 
 derness, and gently pressed the small hand that rested on his arm. jjln ai * instant, the ready smile lightened every feature of the young 
 " Alice would have been just the bride for him, so noble, so dis : mother, and she half smothered it with kisses its dark, laughing eye 
 creet," thought poor Ann, as the consciousness of her own weakness; unclosed, ready to participate in the frolicksome mood of the mother, 
 and tenderness crossed her mind. jj An attendant came forward to relieve her of her beautiful charge, 
 
 Hand clasping her hands, and uttering a thousand tender epithets in 
 
 , which young mothers so delight to indulge, and which accord so well 
 
 CHAPTER IV. II w i t h their girlish featares, ehe retired from the apartment. 
 
 IT was the intention of Courtney to seek an asylum with his young 
 
 It is unnecessary to detail the particulars of Courtney s interview 
 with the Queen. Suffice it to say, the beautiful and gentle-hearted 
 Ann, had been more thin suspected of entertaining heretical opinions, 
 and had therefore become obnoxious to the penalties daily inflicted 
 by the zealous commissioners of the Queen, whose duty it was to 
 purge the land from heresies. Inheriting from her mother the haughty 
 
 bride among the exiled Christians of his country, who had found ai 
 refuge in Frankfort, protected by that artful policy of the Emperor, j 
 that induced him to countenance, or to persecute the reformers, just! 
 as self-interest swayed the balance. Hare Ann might indulge her 
 predilections in comparative security, while he himself would be 
 
 beyond the reach of the Queen s malice. Then too they would visit the j : g r p ^ t Fthe Spaniard, and the memory of her past wrongs perpetually 
 classic shores of southern Europe, that beautiful and glorious land, I; rankllng in her breast ; imbibing, likewise, a portion of the same 
 wherewere colonades and fountains, and the graceful matron reared | : spirit from her husband, Philip II. of Spain, and feeling herself a 
 her sons to manliness and virtue, ere the rude barbarian had trod upon 1 1 neg lected and forsaken wife, with affection unrequited, and tender- 
 her hills, desecrated her altars, and laid hsr glory in the dust ere j ness s?urne d and trampled upon ; is it to be wondered that Maryfof 
 the pall of superstition had been spread over the beaatifu!, the! England should behold with envy amounting to hatred, the happiness 
 Eternal City. But Ann dreaded ta desert a home where sorrow ; of one who had enraptured a heart callous only to herself! A more 
 had been exchanged for so much bliss. Then the grave of poor Alice i j gent j e and womaa iy being would have looked with admiration and 
 
 was another tie that bound her to her paternal land ; if she forsook if, 
 there would be none on earth to ckerlsh her memory, or drop a tear 
 sacred to the gentle sleeper beneath. That horns, where her young 
 heart had drank in the bird-like melody of love, had become a 
 very Paradise to her ; the household gods had there found so sweet 
 a Penatralia, and love had so softly folded his downy pinions, she could 
 not lightly bid it all adieu, and .%o oat into a foreign land. She felt 
 
 that home, even if beset by dangers, was the dearest spot to a woman s 
 
 wonder upon an earthly Paradise like this, and while she felt the- 
 canker gnawing at her own heart , would for a moment forget its pain 
 in view of this one blossom of Eden, this side the Paradise of God. 
 
 With a heart bleeding with anxiety, the H irl entered the chambe 
 of Ann. She was sleeping. He drew back the heavy drapery, and 
 gazed upon her features. How beautiful is the sleep of an inaoce nt 
 and lovely woman ! The dark hsh shading the cheek, the calm 
 brow with a stray tress half veiling its loveliness, the slightly parted 
 lips, that seemed ready to utter a kind word, or in that dwy fresh- 
 
 heart. ,_ r _ t 
 
 Meanwhile Courtney received a summons from the Queen. He ness to cs ,n t he dimples about them. Ann had laid the cheek of her 
 felt it portended death to his earthly happiness. As Ann, in theli cn iid beside her own, one awn encircled it, while the other shaded 
 gaiety of her inmost heart tossed her beautiful babe in his face, j - hy { ts sn0 wy lawn, rested on the rich counterpane. He paced the 
 brushed back the dark curls from his pale brow and tried to rally ! chamber with hurried footsteps, and pressed his hand to his throb- 
 
 him from his temporary gloom, he felt the sight of her beauty and 
 vivacity almost maddening ; threatened, as he too well knew them to 
 b?, with danger and a fearful death. 
 
 " Ann," cried the Earl, impatiently disentangling the child s grasp 
 from his hair, " Why will you not hasten cur departure ? you jeopar 
 dize our lives by this delay." 
 
 Every vestige of a smile faded from the glad features of Ann, and 
 
 bing head. Already to hU perturbed imagination, the rack was pre 
 pared, and the delicate limbs of his beau-iful bride were wrenched 
 from their sockets ; the faggot was kindled, and he saw her lovely 
 features blackened, and distorted with agony. Unable to master hi 
 emotions, the celd sweat started on his brow, and a gush of tear 
 wrung out by the agony of his spirit, came to hia relief. He had 
 thrown himself into a chair and rested his head upon the pillow of 
 
 the tear startefl to her eyes at the unwonted tone of her husband s 
 voice. She pressed her quivering lips to the baby s cheek to conceal 
 her tears, and one beautiful arm with its jewelled clasps fell uncon 
 sciously on the Earl s knee. 
 
 "Nay, nay, love, I did not mean to chide but let us go, Ann, beyond 
 the reach of malice, secure from these awful forebodings." 
 
 "Any where, "said Ann, raising her face in which the grace of wo- j and thou wilt subscribe to t 
 manhood, with the simplicity of childhood were beautifully blended,: Court, and all will yet be wdL 
 " if thoa wilt never speak so harshly again." 
 
 The Earl folded her to his bosom with unutterable tenderness, ^ 
 
 distant and possible danger palpably before him, and made him half ,| have passed for 
 feel as if the demons of superstition and the minions of power, were ; j agony o 
 
 Ann. She started from her slumber, alarmed at hi unwonted mood 
 "Tell me the worst Edward," she cried, twining her arms about hi 
 
 neck. 
 
 We must fly this mement, Ann ; or the blood-hounds of t 
 will be, upon our track. Or stay he uttered, a new hope starting i 
 his mind. Ann, love, the Commissioner* of the Queen will be here, 
 articles of faith prescribed by the 
 
 n in / 1 L M^ 
 
 The youn<r wife sunk back upon the pillow utterly prostrated, as 
 the conviction of her danger and the dreadful alternative broke upon 
 
 even now ready to tear his trusting bride from his protecting bosom. 
 But time admonished him that the summons of the Queen must be > 
 
 / 
 mind, 
 
 / 
 
 fortitude; (XaC 
 mysteries of the female 
 
44 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 ia periods of danger and suffering. She softly drew her t^be to he) 
 bosom, aad with one hand pressed that of her husband. The Earl 
 attempted to speak, but she raised her dark tearful eyes to his f 
 aad shook her head sorrowfully, as if she weuld say, let me inou 
 this last moment of weakness. She threw her arms about her hu 
 band and child, and sobbed aloud. The indulgence of grief weaken 
 its intensity. Whea Ann raised her head from her husband s bo 
 her pale face was beautiful in its expression of the high and no y 
 strength of womanhood. Her slumbering energies were awake 
 and she, who had hitherto been almost childlike m her tender 
 and dependence, was now to stand forth in the beautiful panoply V 
 female courage and devotion. 
 
 Edward," she said, in a calm sweet voice, tremulous witu re 
 cent emotion, " I may not fly God will temper the wind to the st 
 lamb. I will wait the result." 
 
 " Nay, Ann, let us seek an asylum abroad, till this blood-thirsty 
 tigress has finished ker career. I saw her to-night, and every pang 
 is inflicting upon her defenceless subjects, recoils like a sting to ) 
 own bosom. Philip will soon be rid of his shrivelled bride." 
 
 But th clear, passionless perception of Ann saw the impossibil 
 of flight. 
 
 "It is useless to think of flight, Edward, even were it lawful f< 
 the children of the faith to flee persecution. The coast is everywhere 
 guarded Mary is careful that the doomed shall not escape her. 
 " True too true, cried the Earl; but, Ann, thou hast said h 
 respecting thy faith ; thou canst sign the articles." 
 
 Ann turne-d deadly pale" True, Edward love, I have said li 
 and it may be, that therefore this evil has come upon me. But d 
 not, I conjure thee, Edward, tempt me to apostatize. Do not tempt 
 me to barter au eternity of happiness, for a few uncertain years, l 
 know thou scornest the mummeries of the Romish Church, and ] 
 would thou wouldst openly embrace the jtrue Gospel. I, Edward," 
 she added solemnly, "must never be a traitor.to the truth. Now that 
 my faith is likely to be tested.Jl feel [that strength which Alice said 
 Gad would impart in the hour of .trial, gathering about my feeble 
 spirit; and I, even I, by the Lord s help, may be endowed with the 
 fortitude of a martyr." 
 
 The Earl pressed her cold hands in his, and looked with agony 
 - poa the spiritual expression of her countenance. It was fearful to 
 hear that young and innocent creature speak thus calmly of resigning 
 herself to the tortures ef martyrdom of turning from the strong ties 
 f domestic love, to the fiery faggot, and the silent grave, in the vigor 
 -of early youth, when the spirit clings so tenaciously to life. 
 
 Ana felt in her inmost soul the felicity of which she had partaken 
 -n this life, but her strong spirit eaw, likewise, in that land where 
 there is no more sorrowing, a mansion prepared by the great Head of 
 the Cbarch for those who should follow in his footsteps. For those, 
 who like himself should lay down their lives for the truth s sake, she 
 saw an eternity of glory, a crown of immortality, and white robes, 
 washed in his sacred blood, and golden harps, to which the faithful 
 shall sing day and night, with joy unutterable, hoiy, holy, is the Lord 
 God Almighty. Her spirit rose to a holy enthusiasm, and sinking on 
 her knees, she raised her eyes to Heaven, saying, "Lord, let me not 
 33k why some of thy children pass through the fiery Tordeal of trial 
 aad suffering, to reach the crown of glory that awaits them let me 
 not ask why the blood of the s<amt3 is the seed of the Church ; enough, 
 that thou art able so to endow the spirit with strength and faith, that 
 the tortures, from which thcjfltsh in its weakness recoils with horror, 
 become as nothing before it ; evea less than the pang of dissolution 
 T jpon the bed of qnietnes?. 
 
 "Lt me not, O our Father, be elated with pride, thus to be accounted 
 worthy to suffer in thy holy cause, neither let me shrink from the 
 trial ; but do thou, O thou strengthener of the spirit thou hast made, 
 -be ray help and my supporter ; and whatever awaits me, let me re 
 ceive it as from thy hand, humbly saying, Even so, Father, for so 
 it ssemeth good in thy sight. " | 
 
 Her voice ceased, bat she still retained the attitude of prayer. The 
 Earl laid her babe in her arms "JAnn, if not for my sake, at least for 
 -thy daughter s consider, thy safety." 
 
 "The great Shepherd of the sheep will never forget this lamb of his 
 flock," said the strong-minded mother, pressing it to her bosom. Theii 
 looking upon the pallid brew of the Earl, on which the cold sweai 
 stood ia drops, and the contraction of the muscles told of the power 
 ful struggle within, she arose calmly from her knees, wiped his brow, 
 and tenderly kissing it, in the most gentle and thrilling tones conjurer 
 htm to summon his fortitude for the trialjthat awaited him. " Whj 
 ,3 aouldst thou, Edward, who for so many years was an inhabitant oi 
 
 i&t gloomy Tower, and rose in the morning, and slept at night, with 
 ic axe of the executioner suspended over thee, why shouldst thou 
 ow be so bereft of thy manliness 1" 
 
 The Earl started " Ann, thou hast well judged of the potency of 
 lat word. The prospect of torture upon my own limbs would Hever 
 o unman me. I have been accustomed to the contemplation of a 
 
 dent death for myself, and could lay my head upon the block, er 
 ubmit to the stake without emotion ; it is but a momentary pang 
 nd all is over. But for thee, Ann ; to see thee burnt and tortired, just 
 
 gratify the blood-thirsty malice of that she-tiger I tell thee, they 
 hall find their way over my lifeless body sooner will I penetrate the 
 ecesses of the Palace, and with the s.teel of the assassin rid the world 
 f a monster, and the voice of every true-hearted Englishman will 
 aud me with praises. Nay, Ann," he continued, forcing the little 
 land of his wife from his lips, " if there is a traitor about me, I will 
 ear his unworthy heart from his bosom. I tell thee, Ann, the free- 
 
 orn Englishman has been compelled to bow to the haughty and 
 igoted Spaniard till endurance has become intolerable, and England 
 
 must be freed from the nuisance." 
 
 Ann listened with horror at the rash words of the Earl ; and glanc- 
 ng at the half-opened dooi of the epaitment, she was appalled to 
 iehold the dark cowl of a priest peering upon their privacy, and 
 .nother, and another appeared, till she sank lifeless upon the floor. 
 
 Her husband followed the motion of her eyes, and sprung like a lion 
 earde-d in his den, upon the intruders. Driven to desperation, he 
 
 struck down assailant after assailant, and stood himself firm and un 
 yielding, as the rock before the fury of the elements. But what was 
 he courage and strength of one before so many 1 He wasoverpow- 
 ;red by the numbers that crowded upon him ; and the gallant and 
 
 elegant Courtney became once more a prisoner in that tower, where 
 
 so many of his early years had been spent. 
 
 CHAPTER V- 
 
 WHEN Ann revived to consciousness, the first sight that met her 
 yes was her maidens weeping about her, and old Sarah essaying to 
 sooth the cries of the terriued child. In a recess of the apartment 
 were collected the Commissioners of the Queen, thus early at their 
 pious work of detecting heretics. Ann half relapsed again into un 
 consciousness ; but she missed the gentle voice of Courtney, and, 
 starting from her recumbent position, she glanced wildly about the 
 apartment, and turned to her maidens, who shrunk from her agonized 
 glance. 
 
 " Have they dragged him to death T she cried wildly. 
 
 "To prison," whispered a fair girl, who knelt beside her. 
 
 Ann arose from her bed, and throwing her ample robe about her, 
 while the young girl cased her feet in her slippers, she turned to the 
 Commissioners 
 
 :< I am unused, Sir Priests, to having my toilet thus attended ; but 
 
 1 am ready to follow my husband." 
 
 She leaned her hand upon the table for support, and turned her 
 dark glorious eyes full upon them. 
 
 A shade of pity mingled with admiration in the countenance of the 
 chief Commissioner, as he addressed her 
 
 " Gentle Lady, pardon oar intrusion ; but these perilous times 
 demand activity." 
 
 Ann s lip curled with ecoin ; and then observing the too admiring 
 gaze of his attendants, an indignant blush spread over her pale face. 
 
 " Stay not for ceremony, Sir Priesf, but do thy bidding." 
 
 While the Commissioner busied himself in spreading out a long 
 roll of parchment upon the table, Ann seated herself at the further 
 part of the room, while aa attendant bound up her long beautiful 
 hair, that had fallen over her shoulders. 
 
 " By my troth," she muttered impatiently, " it vexes me that a 
 face that has been oommended by Courtney, should be even looked 
 upon by these burley priests." 
 
 "Fair Lady," said the priest, presenting the parchment, "as the 
 faithful but unworthy servant of her most gracious Majesty, the 
 Queen, I present these Articles for thy consideration, humbly craving 
 thy signature thereunto." 
 
 Ann hastily glanced at the prcminent articles of the Catholic faith, 
 by which the intolerant despot tested the orthodoxy of the adherence 
 of her subjects to the Romish Church; and as one tenet after another 
 appeared to her view, from which her principles and education re 
 volted, her lips compressed, and her whole countenance assumed an 
 ashy paleness. She motioned for some water, and Lucy Danvers, 
 the young girl before spoken of, presented the silver cup to her 
 lips ; and kneeling at her feet, raised her cold hand affectionately 
 to her lips. 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 45 
 
 Ana was melted at this token of tenderness, and she leaned her 
 head upon the young girl s shoulder, to conceal a tear that started in 
 her eyes. Then rising with dignity from her chair, she returned ih" 
 instrument to the Commissioner. 
 
 "I am unworthy of so much notice from our gracious Queen. 1 
 must first be assured of the safety of my husband, before I consider 
 upon any proposals made to myself. I must first know upon what 
 grounds he is dragged from his home, and immured within the walls 
 of a prison." 
 
 It is unnecessary to shock thee, gentle Lady, by detailing the 
 suspicions under which he has fallen, and which the words 1 have 
 this morning heard, but too plainly justify. My duty was with your 
 self, Lady," he added, bowing. 
 
 "Nevertheless, Priest," returned Ann, firmly, "I shall give you 
 no satisfaction till I kno-v the grounds of my husband s apprehension. 
 Answer me quickly, or I will seek information elsewhere." 
 
 "Beit as thou wilt, Lady," returned the priest. "Has not thy 
 husband been in correspondence with the traitor Wyat, and concert 
 ing measures to aid him iu his insurrectionary movements V 
 
 Ann grew dizzy at the contemplation of her husband s danger, and 
 the memory of his rashness. 
 
 " Never, never!" she faintly gasped. " His only offence has been 
 in loving me too well." 
 
 Yet such things have been alleged against him : the Eatl of De 
 vonshire is suspected of treason." 
 
 " It is false," cried Ann, warmly. " A truer heart never beat in 
 an English bosom. The words thou hast heard, were forced from 
 him in the excess of anxiety for me. The Queen has not a more 
 loyal subject in the realm, than Edward Courtney, Earl of Devon 
 shire. And the time may come, when such as thou, who lurk about 
 our dwellings to betray the language uttered in the security of our 
 own hearth-stones, and then rend it to the furtherance of your unholy 
 projects who drag ihe innocent to the stake, and the loyal to the 
 block will meet the retribution laid up in reserve for you. I tell 
 you, proud priest, the time wil! come, when your own groans and 
 cries will be as little heeded as those of the victims daily perishing 
 by your malignity. 
 
 The eyes of the Commissioner fell under her indignant glance, and 
 his face grew pale at the fearful contingency she depicted. 
 
 " I cams not, Lady, to contend with thee ; I merely ask thy sig 
 nature to these Articles, that her gracious Majesty may not only be 
 assured of thy loyalty, but of the soundness of thy faith." 
 
 Ann shrunk from the cold sarcastic malignity of his tone, and 
 when he again urged her to subscribe to the Articles prepared by 
 the Court Commissioners, she laid her hands solemnly upon the in 
 strument "I can never purchase temporal safety by compromising 
 my duty, or my conscience I take God to witness, that I consider 
 the doctrines herein expressed as false and heretical; contrary to the 
 spirit of the word of God, and, therefore, not binding upon his 
 creatures " 
 
 The face of the Commissioner grew black with the fierceness of 
 snppressd rage .- "Dost thou know, lady, to what thou exposest thy 
 self, by the utterance of sentiments like these V 
 
 "I do: but I remember, too, the eternity of glory reserved for 
 those who endure persecutien for the truth s sake." 
 
 The Commissioner laid his hand fiercely upon the shoulder of the 
 lady. She stepped back with dignity " Bethink thyself, priest ; 
 this brutality forms no part of thy office." 
 
 The Commissioner slightly bowed. "Dost thou know that what 
 thou hast uttered is sufficient to convict thee 1 To those who refuse 
 to sign the Articles, trial is unnecessary ; they stand condemned by the 
 laws of our Holy Church." 
 
 Yes I know it. I know that these limbs may be tortured and 
 wasted at the etake; but I know, also, that with the ashes of the 
 martyrs there goeth fsrth a spirit that oilletL to the four winds ot 
 -heaven for retribuiion ; a spirit that, ere long, shall shake the proud 
 temple of Rome to its foundation, and wo to those who shall 
 resting under its shadow." 
 
 Thy own obstinacy be thy destruction ; the guilt be upon tr 
 own head ;" said the Commissioner, motioning to an officer 
 forward. He produced a warrant by virtue of which, Anna C 
 ney, wife of the Earl of Devonshire, for so was the instrument v, 
 was arrested for heresy. 
 
 Taking her child in her arms, and motioning Lucy Danvers 
 low her, Ann prepared to go out, never more to return to the doraest 
 hearth The officer at first objected to her taking the ct.ld with h< 
 but her speechless look of agony, when they attempted to take i 
 from her arms, prevailed, and they suffered it to remam. Gmng 
 
 her hand, and uttering a kind word to the attendants, who aftectio-. 
 itely gathered round her, and who could only reply by sobs and tear?, 
 Ann, with a tearless eye, but faltering step, departed. 
 
 But few days intervened between her arrest, and the period ap 
 pointed for execution. In the mean while, she spent the time allotted 
 her in writing letters of consolation to her few surviving friends; lu 
 mostly, in addressing notes to her imprisoaed husband, whom she 
 was not permitted to see, in which, in the most affectionate and 
 touching manner, she conjured him to constancy in the trials that 
 ;i waited him. " And do nor, I beseech thee, my beloved," she one 
 day wrote, "suffer yourself to sink into despondency, but call to your 
 nid that great and manly spirit which has hitherto sustained you in 
 so many conflicts, and through so many sufferings; remembering 
 that these light afflictions, which are bu for a moment, will work 
 out for us a fir more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. I will 
 not urge you to renounce your allegiance to the Romiih faith, be 
 lieving, as I do/that your piety, your virtue, and long-suffering, will 
 meet with a just and ample reward ; still I would that you believed 
 the truth as it is in Jesus. 
 
 " And now, my own, by brloved husband, do not dwell upon the 
 sufferings I am called to endure ; do not picture me to yourself, 
 writhing in torture, and dying with agony at the stake it IB but 
 death, my love, in what shape soever it may come. I assure you 
 solemnly, that God has so endowed me with his marvellous strength, 
 that I have never once shrunk from the contemplation of the fearful 
 mode. The poor wretch, whose feeble spirit recoils from the terrors 
 of drowning, or the ordinary pangs of dissolution, endures more of 
 real suffering than the undaunted Martyr, who, relying on an Al 
 mighty arm, fearlessly submits his body to the flames, and quenches 
 the fiery stake with his own heart s blood." 
 
 The morning of her execution, she severed a glossy curl from her 
 infant s head, and placing it with one long beautiful tress from her 
 own hair, enclosed them both with a note to her husband. 
 
 " 1 need not ask thee, dearest," she wrcie, " to preserve 
 this last token of my remembrance I know thou wilt wear it next 
 thy heart. I would it might do the will of her who sends it thee, 
 and comfort thee in thy widowhood and sorrow. I know, whenever 
 our infant smiles in thy face it will mind thee of me, and thou wilt 
 weep ; but I conjure thee to moderate thy grief. Be comforted, for 
 the sake of thine own Ann, who thinks less of herself than of thee, 
 in the prospect of dying. Farewell, dearest, most beloved, I would 
 I could once more embrace thee bat perhaps it is best otherwise. 
 Be comforted, for the sake of our helpless child, and because your 
 own beloved and dying Ann desires it." 
 
 She h?.d scarcely finished this last epistle, when the warden came- 
 to remind htr that the hour appointed for her execution had 
 arrived, y I shall soon be ready," she said, with a placid smile. 
 Her face was deadly pale, but there was no other evidence of emo 
 tion. She proceeded, with the utmost composure, to habit herself in 
 a full black velvet robe, made saug to the throat, which she had re 
 served for this fearful occasion. Lucy Danvers ventured to suggest, 
 whether she might not suffer mere in a dress of such heavy mate 
 rial. " Perhaps so," said the lady, " but this will retain its position." 
 She clasped her hands over her bosom, and a slight flush [ assed 
 over her cheek, as she softly added, " I dread exposure more than 
 death." As Lucy proceeded to arrange her hair, she reserved * 
 tress, which she presented, with a golden brooch, to this faithful and 
 aflecrionate girl, who had continued with unwearied diligence to 
 attend her, and with a fortitude beyond her years. 
 
 When all was ready, she clapped her babe, for the last time, to 
 the maternal breast. As its innocent lips murmured at the accus 
 tomed fountain, a tear fell upon its cheek. It looked up it had been 
 accustomed to its mother s saddened look, and, in the beautiful lan 
 guage of Wordsworth, it had even now begun to sigh among ita 
 playthings; its little bosom heaved with a sigh, and it raised its 
 head to her lips, and then resumed its employment. The mother * 
 eyes closed, and a prayer, silent but fervent, ascended on high. 
 
 When the unconscious babe had nursed itself to slumber, the mo 
 ther laid it softly upon the rude bed, and imprinted a lat, long kiso 
 of maternal love upon its brow and cheek. She then knelt 
 it and continued long in fervent and wrapt devotion. It would al 
 most seem, from the glowing language that bur*t from her lips, is if 
 the glory and happiness into which she was soon to enter, were e 
 MOW revealed to her spiritually discerning eyes ; as if an ng 
 had swept aside the veil of earth and revealed the be at.tude, and 
 .lory, and magnificence of etsrnal spirituality and holiness. Wh 
 Ihe arose, she presented her hand to the fair girl who knelt 
 blessing, and then laid it upon her head, and, for a moment, her lip? 
 
THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 THE WESTERN 
 
 moved ; she then stooped down and kissed the pale oung cheek of 
 her who had been as a friend and companion, in happiness and sor 
 row. Then, leaning on the arm of the officer, she calmly left the 
 prison. 
 
 We will not detail the horrors of the last fearful scene. Suffice it 
 to say, when the appalling preparations were all completed, the last 
 faggot laid, and the flaming torch ready, the Bishop of London, richly 
 habited, rode to the pile, and reined in hia powerful charger in front 
 of the kdy, who remained whh her eyes closed, her face calm, but 
 as marble. It was evident, she suffered more from the gaze of the 
 upturned eyes of the thousands that had come to witness the tragical 
 scene, than from the prospect of personal teiture. 
 
 The Bishop urged her, in (He most impressive manner, to re 
 nounce her heresies, and be received once more to the bosom of the 
 Holy Church. 
 
 She moved her hand in token that he should cease to importune 
 her, and the Bishop, deubtless fearing the impression which her 
 youth, her beauty, and constancy wer? likely to make upon the 
 assembled multitude, ordered the faggots to be lighted. 
 
 Not a word escaped from that monumental pyre, when the soul of 
 the pure and strong-minded Anna of Devonshire, departed to the 
 blessed company of saiats and worthies, who, through much tribu 
 lation have entered into glory and immortality. 
 
 It is doubtful whether the Queen really suspected the Earl of trea 
 sonable practices ; be that as it may, ha was fully acquitted by Wya) 
 and his associates, and the feeble and broken-hearted man obtained 
 permission to travel for the benefit of his own and infant s health. 
 He finally closed a short and eventful life, embittered by the jealousy 
 and ambition of others, and weighed down by sorrows deep and 
 rending, beneath the sunny skies of Italy ; and the lone child was 
 aoon placed, by the hands of strangers, beside him. 
 
 THE EJfD OF THE CHRISTIAN SISTERS. 
 
 GEMS AND REPTILES. 
 
 AN OLD STOttY IN A NEW DRESS. 
 BY MRS. SEE A SMITH. 
 
 <c O DEAR ! what a naughty girl I am I most be naughty, for no 
 body loves me, and nobody speaks kindly to me. My aunt and cousin 
 tell me every day I live, I am the worst girl in the world. It must 
 be so and yet I don t know what it is that I do so very bad " Lit 
 tle Blanch looked round, for she thought somebody was close to her 
 ear, and whispered " Nothing nothing." But she must have beeni 
 mistaken. There was no one in sight, and now she could" only hear 
 the wind kissing the little daisies, and laughing in the willows, end 
 teazing the long slender branches, that stooped down to play in the 
 fountain. 
 
 Blanch set the pitcher upon the green bank, and bent over to look 
 down, down into the clear waters, as tbey bubbled up in the shadow 
 of the hill, and then trickled away over the pebbles, eddying round 
 the roots of the old trees, and then sparkling away off in the sun 
 shine, flashing and dimpling in the light, like some living, beautiful 
 thing sporting in the meadow grpss and the overshadowing trees. 
 
 Blanch began to feel quite happy, though she couldn t tell why; 
 and then she looked down into the fountain, and saw her own eyes 
 peeping u-p, and she laughed and the girl in the water laughed 
 and both laughed together, till the old hills and rocks sent it back 
 again. 
 
 " O dear, what a noise I am making! and my aunt will be angry 
 with me for staying so long." 
 
 Blanch looked once more into the water, but the little girl from 
 beneath did not laugh this time ; on the contrary, her face was quite 
 pale and sad, and Blanch looked into her melancholy eyes till the 
 tears gushed to her own, and fell into the water. The drops circled 
 away in dimpling lines, growing larger and larger, and completely 
 hiding the face of the little girl in the water. 
 
 Blanch rubbed her eyes and looked again, for she saw something 
 exceedingly beautiful stirring the pebbles at the bottom of the foun- 
 tuin. She held back her hair, and looked down close and still j for 
 there, right beside her own fice, she saw a most lovely being, smil 
 ing, and holding up her sirrall pale hands. 
 
 Blanch let her hair fall, till it almost blinded her eyes, aad even 
 dipped into the fountain, while she held out both her hands to the 
 little lady of the water. 
 
 " Thank you," said the beautiful creature, springing lightly to the 
 
 bank, and smoothing her long curls, and smiling in the eyes of the 
 little girl. 
 
 "You are a good girl, Blanch, and I mean to be your friend ; that 
 is if you are always good for should you become sinful you couldn t 
 look upon me, or I speak to you." 
 
 She said this in a low, sad voice, and the little girl thought she 
 was then even prettier than when she smiled. 
 
 The lady sat still a while, plaiting the pretty flowers that grew 
 around into a coronal ; for it is likely she knew the child was so 
 curious to mark her strange dress, that she could hardly hear a word 
 that might be said. 
 
 Blanch had heard of water-nymphs, but she had been told they had 
 sea-green skin and eyes, and hair hanging like the sea-grass all about 
 their shoulders. She thought they must be very ugly, and was quite 
 certain the beautiful creature beside her could not be one of these. 
 
 The lady s cheek and neck were of the pare color of the inner lip 
 of the ocean shell, growing of a brighter, and brighter hue, till just 
 below the eye, it became of that rich beautiful tint, we find upon the 
 shell as we look in, in, to its very heart. Then her hair was soft 
 and bright, like long threads of amber, waving and glittering in the 
 light. Her eyes were of the deep, deep blue, seen upon the surface 
 of the muscle-shell, but so soft, so liquid in their lovingness and beau 
 ty, that Blanch thought she could never tire in looking at them. Her 
 voice was like breathed melody ; soft and murmuring, like the sound 
 of the shell when held to a human ear. 
 
 She had a coronal of pearls about her head, and bracelets of the 
 same upon her arms. Her robe was curiously wrought of exceed 
 ingly small shells, like gold and silver, all strung together. It was 
 fastened at the shoulder with a large emerald, and her girdle was of 
 amethysts and diamonds. Her sandles were of pearly shells, streaked 
 with pink, the tellina I think, and were fastened with a fillet of the 
 sea-weed. 
 
 " You may call me Fontana, Blanch," said the lady, placing the 
 chaplet of flowers upon the brow of the child. 
 
 Blanch smiled, and pulled the little daisies, for she couldn t just 
 think what to say. 
 
 " Would you like some of these pearls, and diamonds, Blanch V 
 
 " Oh, they are very beautiful," said the child, " but I should have 
 no time to play with them. Dear, dear, how long I have staid 
 Oh, my aunt will scold." She took up the pitcher and was hurrying 
 away, in great trouble, but Fontana detained her. 
 
 " You must not go yet, Blanch. I will see that your aunt doesn t 
 scold you; so eit down and let us talk awhile." 
 
 Blanch was very loath to stay, but Fontana was so gentle, and pro 
 mised so earnestly that all should be well, that at last she eat down 
 again by the fountain. 
 
 " If you don t want pearls and diamonds, Blanch, what do you 
 wish for 1 What shall I do for you 1 Shall I punish your aunt and 
 cousin for treating you so ill 1" 
 
 " Oh no, no," said the little girl very earnestly, " they treat me so 
 because I am so very naughty. How could you think of such a thing 1 
 I m sure / never did." 
 
 Fontana smiled, and kissed the cheeks, and eyes, and lips of the 
 child. 
 
 " I love you dearly, Blanch, and do wish you could think of some 
 thing I could do for you." 
 
 Blanch dropped her eyes, as if thinking earnestly ; and then her 
 face dimpled all over with smiles, &a she said, 
 
 " I wish you could help me to be good, so that my aunt, and 
 cousin, and every body will love me I should be quite happy then." 
 
 " What, don t you want to be rich, and ride in a coach, and have 
 servants, and dress grandly and then let your aunt aad cousin be 
 poor, and go with bare feet, just as you do 1" 
 
 "Oh dear, no," said Blanch, turning quite pale ; " how coald you 
 think of sach a thing 1" 
 
 "Well, let your aunt and cousin be rich, too, then wouldn t you 
 like to dress grandly, Blanch 1" 
 
 " Oh dear, I only want to be good, and be loved," said the poor 
 girl, turning her head away quite sorrowfully. 
 
 Fontana took her in her arras, and kissed her many times, aad 
 Blanch felt the tears upon her cheek ; she heard sweet far-off me 
 lody ; the sky seemed brighter than ever, and she thought she must 
 be dreaming, she felt so happy. Then the lady placed her upon the 
 green bank, and when the child looked round, there was nothing to 
 be seen or heard, but the birds singing in the trees, and the water 
 leaping over the white pebbles. 
 
 " Oh dear, dear, my aunt will scold me," and she filled the pitcher 
 and ran home just as fast as she could go. 
 
CAPTIVE. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 47 
 
 Her aunt met her at the door, and had opened her mouih to utter 
 hard words, and raised her hand to give her a blow on the ear, when 
 (he sight of the coronal upon the girl s head arrested her. 
 
 "Blanch, where did you get this! Was there ever anything so 
 beautiful !" and she tore it from the child s head, and held it to 
 the light where it did look truly exquisite, for every little leaf, and 
 bad, and flower, was made up of innumerable small gems of the 
 pure water. 
 
 " Come in, child, and tell me all about it." 
 
 Blanch did tell every word, for there was something within that 
 told her she ought to tell the truth, and the whole truth. Sometimes 
 her aun- . laughed, and sometimes she frowned, but when she came 
 to that part, where the lady would have given her fine clothes, and 
 a coach to ride in, her cousin called her " a poor, mean-spirited fool 
 so then you only asked to be good, you precious little foel, did 
 you 1" she said scornfully. 
 
 The tears came into Blanch s eye?, and fell upon her lap. 
 
 " What is ihat rolling about in your lap 1" said Adeline. "I never 
 Saw such tears before ; they don t soak in ;" and the heartless girl 
 shook them upon the floor. Sure enough, they rolled away, clear, 
 brilliant diamonds, large as peas. 
 
 Adeline laughed and scrabbled after them, and toldClanch to " cry 
 
 away ;" she liked such tears But the little girl laughed as well as her 
 cousin, and scrabbled too for the diamonds, it made her feel so happy 
 to see smiling faces. 
 
 "I will go down too the well, too," said Adeline, " and see if I 
 cannot get something handsome." 
 
 She soon came back, flushed and angry ; she declared there was 
 aobody to be seen at the well, and Blanch must have found the gems, 
 and then have invented the story as an excuse for staying so long. 
 She struck Blanch upon the shoulder, and shook her radely. 
 
 "Don t be angry, cousin, yon shall have all the pretty stones," cried 
 the child, offering those she had picked up. 
 
 But she had no sooner opened her mouth to speak, than pearls and 
 diamonds, a.-:d all precious stones, fell therefrom, and rolled upon the 
 floor, and flashed and sparkled in the sunlight, till the room seemed 
 all paved with jewels. 
 
 For many days Adeline said nothing further about going to the 
 well, for both she aud her mother were so occupied in fastening the 
 gems upon their dresses, that they had no time even to scold poor 
 little Blanch ; and she was now the happiest child in the world she 
 smiled and sang all day, and was so attentive to all the wants of her 
 aunt and cousin, that she seemed to know what was desired even 
 before they spake. She wished, in the guilelessness 01 ner young 
 heart, that she only had a whole mine of jewels to give them, so 
 thankful did she feel for gentle words and kind looks. 
 
 It was soon found that jewels came from the mouth of Blanch only 
 when she returned a gentle reply to the harshness of others her tears 
 loert gems only when they wire the tears of compassion or of sorrow. 
 
 Adeline was making a lily, all of pearls she hadn t quite enough 
 to finish it. Half in earnest, half in sport, she gave Blanch a blow, 
 saying, " Cry, child ; I want some more pearls." 
 
 Blanfih had never felt just so before ; her face reddened, and she 
 WM about to make an angry reply, when she felt a dash of water all 
 over her face. She stopped short, and looked about, but no one was 
 near but Adeline. Then she thought of the sinful feeling within and 
 knew it must have been Fontanathat sprinkled the drops in her face. 
 Bknch knew she had done wrong, and she shed tears of penttence- 
 
 ^roL IlllV said Adeline, " take the pitcher, and I will go 
 dowa "he well with you. I like the lady s gifts vastly, and shall 
 
 Little Blanch descended the bank instantly, to do as she was de 
 sired j but Adeline cruelly spurned her with her foot, saying, " Get 
 up, you old hag, I would nt give you a drink, not I." 
 
 The eld woman glanced at the hard-hearted girl with a severe and 
 searching look ; and slowly rose from the ground. The old staff be 
 came a wand of ivory the lean face became soft and round ; th 
 bent form erect and graceful, and the beautiful lady of the fountain 
 stood before them. She was even more splendidly attired than be 
 fore, and her look more sweet and tender. 
 
 "Dear, dear, Fontana," said Blanch, springing toward her. The 
 lady took her to her bosom, and again, and again kissed her cheek ; 
 then the child heard yet again that low, sweet melody, as if the very 
 air, and everything about were full of it again all was stiH and 
 now the two girls stood alone by the fountain. 
 
 " How strange," said little Blanch, "when she is gone, I can hardly 
 think I have seen any thing in reality it seems so like a dream, or 
 the pleasant thoughts I have when I am alone." 
 
 "Pretty well, too," said Adeline; "she could only frown upon 
 me" she stopped short, for just then a small green lizard hopped 
 from her mouth, and the terrified girls ran home as fast as they 
 could go. 
 
 Adeline struck Blanch, and said she hid bewitched her; and every 
 time she spoke small snakes and toads darted from her mouth then 
 she would cry with horror and vexation, when bugs and spiders fell 
 from her eyes. 
 
 Poor Blanch stood by, weeping and wringing, her hands, and the 
 pearls and precious stones rolled all about the room, for no one heeded 
 them. She thought of a thousand thing?, but not one that had any 
 prospect of relieving her cousin. 
 
 "Oh dear, dear, I wish Fontana was only here!" cried Blanch. 
 She felt a slight sprinkle upon her face, and then she knew the lady 
 must be near. Then she began to think Fontana very cruel to punish 
 her cousin so. All at once some one whispered close to her ear, 
 and said, 
 
 " Are not pride, and anger, and cruelty, like lizards, and toads, 
 and serpents V 
 
 " Oh dear, dear, try to feel gentle, cousin Adeline ; perhaps they 
 come because you are angry." 
 
 " Angry," cried Adeline, slamping with her feet, " isn t this 
 enough to make anybody angry 1 I wish I had hold of that old wo 
 man, and I would tear her all to pieces." 
 
 Just then a large serpent sprang from her mouth, ?.r.d both her 
 mother and Blanch ran out of the house. 
 
 some maiden, with a skin like the embrace of the rose and hlly, and 
 eyes clear, soft and blue. She was still gentle and loving, like a lit 
 child, with a smile always ready for a cheerful look, and a tear for a 
 sad one. Some thought it geodness alone, that made her so b< 
 ful ; others thought it the kisses of the lady of the fountain, fc 
 still sometimes appeared, when Blanch was sad or unhappy, and 
 spoke words of hope and consolation. 
 
 Adeline too had grown a tall, proud girl, with large b.ac* eyes 
 glittering brightness, and a step like a queen. There were yet t 
 when the reptiles sprang from the mouth of the violent girl, in 
 moments of pride or irritation. Sometimes am,d the splendc 
 triumph of a ball, she would be obliged to retire in the greatest . 
 , for pride, and envy, and malice, would bring the reptd 
 
 ill w,pt her pearl,, and spoke all so 
 of the two girU spread far and wide 
 
 and 
 no one 
 
 they came to the fountain, all 
 clear and cool, and they peered down, 
 seen but white stones, rounded by ^^ 
 
 the bank* ho P i"g the* lady might appear. -- who 
 
 s^r^SKs^asa*^ 
 
 nearly double with age. and sank 
 
 Both girls looked earnestly at her, till 
 down upon the grass beside them. d . k from 
 
 "lam faint and weary, ladies-will you g m ,me t 
 the fountain V said the old woman, la a low, trembhng 
 
 
 
 r rv t i^j * . . 
 
 ^SM!^tt? 
 
 seen her. 
 M last, a 
 
49 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 kind, and ponds filled with fish, and brooks with rustic bridges 
 thrown over them, made all seem the work of enchantment. 
 
 Adeline did nothing but arrange her dress and jewels, and play 
 upon her harp close to the window where the stranger directed the 
 laborers ; and when he would look up and smile, or present her 
 ffowers, she was goed-natured all day. 
 
 Blanch was delighted, and tried very hard to make her cousin j 
 look beautiful ; and did just as she was bid, which was to keep out 
 of sight of the strange gentleman. Blanch thought it an easy matter 
 to do thu, for she didn t much like his looks, and thought him not 
 half so elegant as a young servant she sometimes saw in the garden 
 attempting to arrange the flowers, and to transplant them; but he, 
 was so awkward, spilling the earth and breaking the pots, that she! 
 couldn t keep from laughing to see him work then the master 1 
 would appear, and scold and rave, and Blanch would find her eyes i 
 filling with tears in spite of all she could do. 
 
 She one day told Adeline she thought the servant much handsomer 
 than the master, and there was that about him, that appeared much ; 
 more noble. 
 
 Adeline was indignaat, and said she was no judge, and many other; 
 things that proud, love-sick girls are apt to utter but her mother 
 seemed much pleased with the idea ; thought it might be so, and 
 winking to her daughter declared Blanch was quite in love, and it 
 would make an excellent match. 
 
 Blanch hadn t thought of this, and she blushed and hung down her 
 head. 
 
 Every day now her aunt and cousin tried to throw her in the way 
 of the young servant, and even were at some pains to dress her and 
 arrange her hair, that she might look becoming. Adeline, it is true, 
 was too much occupied with the master to pay much atter. ion to the 
 affairs of the servant, only so far as to encourage his advances, for 
 she thought this a fine way to dispose of her poor cousin, by degrad- < 
 ing her into a marriage with a menial. 
 
 Poor Blanch was greatly distressed at all this mano3uvring, andj 
 grew every day more pale and gentle, and a great deal more beauti 
 ful too ; for love always softens, as well as exalts the style of beauty. ; 
 
 She sometimes wished she had never seen him, for she couldn t ! 
 help looking through the lattice where the vines grew thickly, to see j 
 him at his work among the flowers, and he would sometimes look j 
 up, too, and she was certain he was growing pale and melancholy ; | 
 and ahe thought it not unlikely that he might be in love with her! 
 cousin Adeline, and growing sad because there could be no hope for 
 hjm... And Blanch wept in holy compassion for the poor, vourm BPI-. I 
 
 So she took her pitcher in her hand, and went down to the foan- 
 tiin. She wept a long time, she could hardly tell why Fontan 
 came and kissed her cheek, aad wiped her tears with gossamer mus- ! 
 
 delighted to think Blanch would marry the servant of her own hui 
 baed. So while she talked, the toads and snakes sprang from he 
 mouth, but the family were so used to them, that they toek no notic 
 of them. 
 
 Poor Blanch only covered her face with her hands, while th 
 pearls fell from between her fingers, and dropped among the grass e 
 the threshold. 
 
 At this moment the young servant appeared at the door, bearin 
 the pitcher of water; and he looked as if he knew just what it mean 
 when he saw the pearls and reptiles all about. 
 
 For many days nothing was seen of the young stranger, and poc 
 Blanch grew quite pale and dispirited. Adeline was in hih spirit! 
 she ridiculed Blanch, teased and scolded her alllin a breath, and the 
 when she wept, she laughed, and said she should have the mor 
 jewels for her bridal. Blanch disliked Adeline s lover more an 
 more every day ; for though she thought he might be rich, he seeme 
 low-bred and vulgar, and as ignorant as any dolt about. And the 
 he was so loaded with finery he must at the very best be a conceite 
 coxcomb. But as long as her cousin was pleased she had no righ 
 to say a word. 
 
 The day for Adeline s marriage arrived, asd after Blanch ha 
 dressed her $pusin, and done all th woik she could do, before th 
 arrival of the guests, her aunt took her and thrust her down into a: 
 old cellar, half filled with mire and water, that she might not be see; 
 by any of the company. 
 
 Adeline looked splendidly, with her proud beauty, andmagnificen 
 attire. The ceremony was just over, when they all heard the souni 
 of carriage wheels and the trampling of horses. The bridegroon 
 looked from th window, and was the first to go out and kaeeled t< 
 the stranger. All was awe and amazement. The guests had jus 
 time to observe the splendor of the carriage, and th* rich livery o 
 the servants, and the six snow-white steeds, when a gentleman richli 
 dressed in velvet and cloth of gold, entered the room. 
 
 " Where is Blanch V he inquired, looking sternly round. 
 
 " Blanch is dead," replied the aunt solemnly. 
 
 " Dead 1" repeated the stranger, turning pale, while the bridegroorr 
 stared with astonishment. 
 
 " Dead !" he again repeated, " it cannot be ; ho, here, search th< 
 house," he cried to his servants. 
 
 The bridegroom would have gone too, but Adeline haughtily de 
 tained him. 
 
 The aunt rose ia great rage. " I demand, sir, by what right yoi 
 order my house to be searched." 
 
 ii.gunimi mening naa over the lives and property of his 
 subjects," replied the stranger with great majesty. The" rem ovf n g 
 he plumed cap, and velvet cloak, the young servant of the new co 
 tage stood before them. Every head was uncovered a, 
 
 Ho w I love you, Blanch," said Fontana - you must have all you 
 desire. What shall I do for you 1" 
 
 " Smile upon me, dear Fontana ; there is no one else to love me 
 and when you smile I am quite happy." 
 
 There was a rustling in the bushes Fontana had disappeared and 
 the youg servant stood beside her. 
 
 Blanch, hardly knowing what she did, darted away but the 
 stranger seized her hand, and begged she would stay mat stav f nr 
 moment. r> J otc v lor a 
 
 J I .;o y ,The, u r n d lia y p o p u y .?;t !. , TT *" p. 
 
 love you, Blanch, more than I c.nex P 7J1 > m ] 
 
 ,j&r fcEixcs MS* js- B nch 
 
 tone, of his roico, ,o wrought opon Lr Venn" h ," " d "" * "" 
 
 ttZ^^&tt&X&t 
 
 s? c nUS.; h L b ^" b - "-. >-" i 
 
 ZSffSZ npo " her """* r**5K?if5tSSSSft 
 *BS^t!ffilVJ!!.itt **- *> .* 
 
 eyes. blushed and cast down her 
 
 "h?S,, wid th? ^ " the good sometimes rewarded even 
 
 the Hatural tears of a young and 
 
 ?"A1^*Z r $in , Wa3 -*<* ^r the 
 tioB, the picther .f the fountain " h me ^^ in htr "g a - 
 
 \A/n^n oka T, ...... 1. 1 - i_ . t 
 
 had 
 
 morning m , e proposal, 
 
 lift 
 
 the triumph of malice, for she was 
 
 - j~ u . uvu uraris to the envv anH 
 torture more than the fiends of darknee s 
 
 ^wKi^3s^ 
 
 ^^^^^JSis^^g^ 
 
 ~.,,^ vifg, and good 
 
 king usd playfuiiy to eaV 1 "Th ^ ects a tn 8t adored her, and the 
 from love to hia wife." Were dutiful subjects to him, only 
 
 > u ;i?h Cll -J lis0 u der thilt **Si 
 
 built beside their old dwelling 
 sent them many proofs of h 
 
 - UIUUIK-BB ano re m TH 
 
 END^OF THE GEMS AND REPTILES 
 
 dl8 P wtion8 
 
 the COttB S* be had 
 
 "* 
 

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 PAT. JAN. 21. 1908 
 
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