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WEDNESDAY, JULY 23, 1845
Gas. Jscrsos's Mcarcar.—The following monody
to the memory of Gen. Jackson, written and spoken by
WALTT.P. M. LEX.Car, at the Walnut Street Theatre, on.
Thursday evening, June 26th, is the best among the
numberless pieces of poetry, occasioned by and written
upon, the death of the ma Hero. It portrays in beauti
ful language the martial and social qualities of the .de
caved veteran, lately departed for the spirit land, and
whose obsequies are ever yet occupying the attention of
Monody to the Memory of General Jackson.
Whatmeans the sad and solemn sound of woe
That eames upon us What vindictive foe
Bath =shed a people's spirit, and repressed
The throb of joy within a nation's breast
'Tis Death's dark angel ! His insatiate dart
Bath reached and quivers in a noble heft,
At last the hour come—the bolt has filiwn,
And the Great Spirit bath reclaimed his own;
'ie firmest, truest, noblest one that trod
The earth, bath goite on high to meet his God.
That eye, whose glance no foeman dared to brave
Is dimmed forever ; and the mruldgring grave
Has closed Upon that stern and vialL'y form,
That never feared to breast the rauling storm
Of battle, viihe'n 'twas fiercest : cold and still
Is that tree arm : that stern and IRON WILL,
Whose adamantine nerve alike defied
The soldier's STEEL and the civilian's rains,
When Albion thundered, and intestine foes
Added THEIR TREACHERY LO his countrY's weep.
le quelled—that mighty heart than beat no more,
For Life's eventful pilgmmage is o'er.
Well may Colombia bow the h'ead and mourn.
The Patriot—Hero--Statesman—Sage, is gone.
Born of a sire who scorned oppresion's power,
And crossed the main, ere Freedom's natal hour,
And reared by one, within whose fragile breast
The crsas en virtues blended with the' BEST
That live in wox.rs's sour., the impetuous youth
Burned for the hour to 'move his zeal and truth.
Where freedom's banners courted first the air
Of freedom's land the 220.127.116.11t.as BOY was there;
And when, in riper years, the savage yell,
And the loud war-whoop rang the dying knell
Of murdered wives and mothers, Jackson came
To turn the tide of battle, and his name,
Lite a TOTINADO, swept the .torest
Cowering and crushed, hack to his native wild
But see I again the tempest lowers! The foe
Comes o'er the main The last and deadlie,t blow
Must now be met and parried; wno shall stand
In the dark breach 1 Wnosr. firm and steady hand
Shall stay the tempest ! Wno has power to Fare
" Beauty and Booty" from a common grave !
Tia Jackson !--ay--he's ready at the call ;
He comes to win the battle, he to fa!}
In the last ditch. Hark! hark ! that cannon's boom
Tells the dread tale!—the bloody strifeis come ;
The serried ranks of England's brarest sons
Are swept to death, while o'er the brazen guns
His tall majestic form is seen to tower,
Unharmed, tinirmeh:d, In Victory ' s chosen hoer
Then swells the cry from mountain to the sea, .
And thousands join the shout—Orrisvsats rasa!
Such was he in the field:—the council board
Attests his wisdom ; and the great reward,
Colnmbia tenders to her chosen sons,
Was given to him—none worthier! While runs
'limes everlasting course, shall surely stand
The seal his genius, stamped upon the land.
But he is gone for ever ! Earthly love
Stays not the mighty mandate from above;
And while the nation gathers round to weep,
And Infancy, and Youth,and Manhood keep
Their vigils at his tomb—if in one heart
The thought shall rise that lips may not impart—
That words or actions in his high career
Were rashly sato or DONE—the falling tear
Shall blot their record; for that heart willows
The toys or COENTILT prompted them alone;
And while that country's flai`wrives o'er the free,
The PEOPLE'S LOVE will guard his memory.
'Wigwam versus Almack's.
Miss Trevanion (ci-devant Plymton) took
myrarm. Her companion w..s engaged to
dance. Our meeting at Alinack's was certain
ty one of the last events either could have ex
pected when we parted—llut Almack's is not
the place to-express strong emotions. ‘Ve
walked leisurely' down the sides of the quad
rilles to the tea-room, and between her bows
and greetings to her acquaintances, she put me
au courant of her movements for the last two
years--Miss Trevanion beihg the name she
inherited with the fortune from her mother's
family, and her mother's high but distant con
nexions having recognized and taken her by
the hand in England. She had come abroad
with the representative of her country, who.
had been at the trouble to see her installed in
her rights, and 'had but lately left her on his
return to America. A house in May Fair, and
a chaperon in the shape of a cardplaying and
aristocratic aunt, were the other principal points
in her parenthetical narration. Her communi
cativeness, of course, was very gracious, and
indeed her whole manner was softened and
mellowed down, from the sharpness and hau
teur of Miss Plymton. Prosperity had improv
ed even her voice.
As she bent over her tea, in the ante room.
I could not but remark how beautiful she was
by the change usually wrought by the soft
moisture of the English air, on persons from
dry climates—Americans particularly. That
filling out and rounding of the features, and
freshening of the skin, becoming and improv
ing to all, had to her been like Juno's bath.—
Then who does not know the miracles of dress?
k circlet cif diamonds whose water" was
light itself, -followed the fine bend on either
side backward from hei brows, supporting; at
the parting of her, Jiair, one larq emerald.—
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... _, . , . , ..„ .... .. ... . ... . _ •, . .
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,„ #., .•
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- '': '. . -1 - 4 REGAILDLEeIi OP IitirtiNCIATIOS , iISX, ANY QYARYNN." ,
I i I ' I
And on what neck (ay—even of age) is not a
diamond necklace beautiful ? Miss Trevanion
The house in Grosvenor place, at which I
knocked the next morning, I well remembered
as one of the most elegant, and sumptuous in
London. Lady L— had ruined herself in
completing and : furnishing it, and her parties
in my time " were called, by the most apa
thetic blase, truly delightful.
I bought this house of Lady L---," said
Miss Trevanion, as we sat down to breakfast,
•• with all its furniture, pictures, books, incurn
btances, and trifles, even to the horses in the
stables, and the coachman in his wig; for I
had too many things to learn, to study furni
ture and appointments, and in this very short
life, time Is sadly wasted in beginnings. Peo
ple are for ever getting ready to live. W hat
think you ? Is it not true in everything ?"_
in love, certainly."
"Ah ! very true !" And she became'sud
denly thoughtful, and for some minutes sipped
her coffee in silence. I did not interrupt it.
for I- was thinking of Shahatan, and our
thoughts very possibly were on the same long
„ You are quite right,” said I, looking round
at the exquisitely-furnished room in which we
were breakfasting, " you have bought these
things at their intrinsic value, and you have all
Lady—'s taste, trouble, and vexation otf
twenty years, thrown into the bargain. It is
a matter of a lifetime to complete a house like
this, and just as it is all done, Lady L— re
tires, an old woman, and you come all the
way from a country-inn on the Susquehanna
to enjoy it. What . ,a whimsical world we live
" Yes !" she said, in a sort of soliloquizing
tone, "I do enjoy it. It is a delightful sensa
tion to take a long stride at once in the art of
life—to have lived for years believing that the
wants you felt could only he supplied in fairy
land, and suddenly to change your sphere. and
discover that not'only these wants, but a thou
sand others, more unreasonable, and more im
aginary, had been the subject of human inge
nuity and talent, till those who live in luxury
have no wants—that science and chyn,istry
and mechanics have left no nerve in the human
system, no recess in human sense, unquestion
ed of its desire, and that every desire is sup
plied! What mistaken ideas most people
have of luxury ! They fancy the senses of
the rich are over-pampered, that their zest of
pleasure, is always dull with too much gratifi
cation, that their health is ruined with excess,
and their tempers spoiled with ease and sub
serviency. It is a picture drawn by the poets
in times when money could buy - nothing but
excess, and when those who were prodigal I
could only be gaudy and intemperate. It was
necessary to practi4e upon the reverse, too ;
and hence all the world is convinced of the su
perior happiness of the ploughman, the abso
lute necessity of early rising and t:oarse food
to health, and the pride that rust come with
the flaunting of silk and satin." •
I could not but smile at this cool upset of all
the received philosophy of the poets.
You laugh." she continued," but is it not
true that in England, at this moment. luxury
is the science of keeping up the zest of the
senses rather than of pampering them—that
the children of the wealthy are the, healthiest
and fairest, and the sons of the aristocracy are
the most athletic and rational, as well as the
most carefully nurtured and expensive of all
classel—that the most rosily dinners are the
most digestible, the most expensive wines the
least injurious, the most sumptuous houses the
be'st ventilated and Wholesome, and the most
aristocratic habits of life the moit conducive to
the preservation of the constitution and conse
quent long life. There will be excesses, of
course, in all spheres, but is not this true?"
"I am wondering how so gay a life as
yours could furnish such very grave reflec
`• Pshaw ! I am the very person' to make
them. N.IY aunt (who. by-the-way, never rises
till four in the afternoon) has always lived in
this sublimated sphere,' and takes all these
luxuries to be matters of course, as much as I
take them to be miracles. She thinks a good
cook as natural a circumstance as a fine tree.
and would be as n uch surprised and shocked
at the absence of wax candles, as site would at
the . ',
-going out of the stars: She talks as if
good dentists, good milliners, opera-singers.
perfumers, etc., were the common supply of
nature, like dew and sunshine to the flowers.
My surprise and delight amuse her,. as'the
child's 'wonder at the moon amuses the
" Yetiyou call this dull unconsciousness the
perfection of bivilzed life."
" I think my aunt altogether is not n had
specimen of it, certainly. You haveseen her,
Well, you will allow that she is still a very
handsome woman. She is past fifty, entities
every faculty in perfect preservation ; an erect.
figure, undiminished delicacy and quickness in
all her senses and tastes, and is still an orna
ment to society, and an attractive person in
appearance and conversation. Contrast her
(and she is but one of a class) with the women
past fifty in the middle and lower walks of life
in America. At that age. with us, they are old
wonlen in the commonest acceptation of the
term. Their teeth are gone or defective from
neglect, their faces are wrinkled, their backs
bent, their feet enlarged, their voices cracked,
their senies impired, their relish in the joys
of the young entirely gone by. IN hat makes
the difference? Costly tare. The physician
has watched over her health at a guinea a visit.
The dentist has examined her teeth at twenty
a year. Expensive annual visits to the sea.
side have renewed her skin. The friction of
tlieweary hands of her maid has kept down
the swelling of her feet and preserved their
delicacy of shape. Close and open carriages
at will, have given her dilly exercise, either
protected-from the damp, or refreshed with the
fine air of the country. A good kook has
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRIO
kept her digestion un)axed, and good wines
have invigorated withont poisoning her coma
" This is taking very unusual care of onesell,
Not at all. My aunt gives it no more
thought than the drawing on of her glove. It
is another advantage of wealth, too, that your
physician and dentist aie distinguished persons
who meet yau in society, and call on you pro
professionally, see when they are needed,. and
detect the approach of disease before you are
aware of it yourself. My- aunt, though "na
turally delicate," has never been ill. She was
watched in childhood with great cost and pains,
and, -with the habit of common caution her
self, she is taken such care of by l her phy
sician and servants, that nothing but some
extraordinary fatality could bring disease near
.• Blessed are the rich, by your showing."
Why, the beatitudes were not written in
our times. if long life, prolonged youth and
beauty, and almost perennial health, are . bles
sings. certainly, now-a-days, blessed are the
But is there no drawback to all this?—
Where people have surrounded themselves
with such costly and indispensable luxuries,
are they not made selfish by the necessity of
preserving them ? Would any exigence of
hospitality, for instance, induce your aunt to
give up her bed, and the comforts of her own
room, to a stranger ?"
Oh dear; no !"
•• Would she eat her dinner cold for the
sake of listenii.g to an appeal to her charity ?".
now can you fancy such a thing !"
Would she take a wet and dirty, but perish
ing beggar-woinan into her chariot on her way
to a dinner-party, to save her from dying by
the roadside 1"
•• lim—why, I fear she would be very near
sighted till she got fairly tiy."
•• Vet these are charities that require no
great effort in those whose chambers are less
costly, whose stomachs are less carefully watch
ed, and whose
,carriages and dresses are of a
" Very true !"
" So far, then, " blessed are the, poor !"
But is not the heart slower in all its sympa
thies among the rich ? Are not friends chosen
and discarded, because their friendSbip is con
venient or the contrary ? Arc not many wor
thy people ineligible' acquaintances, many
near relations unwelcome visitors, because they
are cut of keeping with these costly cireum
stanets, or involve some sacrifice of personal
luxiir ? Are not people, who would not pre
serve their circle choice and aristocratic. &d ig ..
ed to inflict cruel insults on sensitive minds,
to slight, to repulse, to neglect, to equivocate
ai d play the unfeeling and ungrateful, at the
same tune that to their sureriors they must
often sacrifice dignity. and contrive, and flatter,
and tccei re—all to preserve the magic charm
of the life you have painted so attractive and
Ileigho ! it's a bad world, I believe l" said
Miss Trevanion, betraying by that ready sigh.
that even while drawing the attractions of high
life, she had not been blind to this more unfa
vorable side of the picture.
.` And, rather more important. query still,
for an heiress," I said, does not an intimate
acquaintance with these luxurious necessities,
and the habit of thinking them indispensable,
make all lovers in this class mercenary, and
their admiration, where there is wealth, sub
ject, at least, to scrutiny and suspicion ?"
A quick flush almost crimsoned Miss Tre
canton's face, and she fixed her eyes upon me
so inquisitively as to leave me in no doubt that
I had inadvertently touched upon a delicate
subjoct. Embarrassed by
. a searching look,
and not seeing how 1 could.explain that I mean)
no allusion, I said hastily,. F- was thinking
of swimming across the Susquehanna by moon
Puck is at the door, if you please, miss !"
said the butler. entering at the moment.
Perhaps while I am putting on my riding
hat," said Miss Trevanion, with a laugh, 1
may discover the connexion between your last
two observations. It certainly is riot very clear
I tuck up my hat.
:Stay—you mu - t ride with me. You shall
have the groom's horse, and we will go with
out him. •1 hate to be chased through the park
by a flying servant—one Englizh fashion, at
least, Mat! think-uncomfortable. They man
age it better where I learned to ride," she ad
ded with a laugh.
Yes, indeed ! Ido not know which they
would first starve to death m the backwoods—
the master for his insolence in requiring the
servant to follow him, or the servant to; being
such a slave as to obey."
I never remember to have seen a more,beam
tipl animal than the high-bred blood-mare on
which my ci-devant hostess of the Plymton inn
rode through the park gate, and took the ser.
pentine path at a free gallop. I was as well
moonier' myself as I had ever been in my life,
and delighted, for once, not to fret a hundred
yards behind ; the ambitious animal seemed to
have wings to his feet.
" Who ever rode such a horse as this." said
my companion, " without confessing the hap
piness of rirhes ! It is the one luxury of this
new life that I should find it misery to forego.
Look at the eagerness of his ears! See his
fine limbs as he strikes forward ! What nos
trils ! What glossy shoulders ! W hat bound
ing lightness of action ! Beautiful Puck ! I
could never live without you! What a shame
to nature that there are no such horses in the
" I remember seeing an Indian pony," said
T. watching her face for the effect of my obser
vation, " which had as many fine qualities,
though of a different kind—at least when his
Master was cm him."
She looked at me inquiringly. •
" By-the-way, too, it was at your house on
the gusquehanna," I added, " you must re
member - the horse—a black, double-joint
ORII COUNTY, PA.. BY E, GOODRICH & SON.
eii! I knovir. I remember. Shall
opr pace t I hear some one over
n4 to be passed with such horses
e a shame indeed."
as ours a',
We 100 d our bridles and snd flew away
like the ‘V . d ; but a bright tear was presently
Inssed fro ' her dark eyelash, and fell glitter
ing on th dappled shoulder of her horse.—
".Her hea is Shahatan's," thought I, "what
ever cbanc here may be that the gay honora
ble who is t our heels may dazzle her into
throwing at y her hand."
Mounted on a magnificent hunter, whose
pOwerful ant staightforward leaps soon told
agnirnt the lavislit and high action of our more
shoWy horses, \ the Hon. Charles (the
gentleman rho ltd engrossed the attention of
Miss Tre van ion the night before at Almack's)
was soop beside
.kty comfianion, and leaning
from hj Saddle, was taking pains to address
eonver. tion to her in a tone not meant for my
ear. the lady picked out her path with a
marke. reference for his side of the road, I
of con • rode with a free rein on the other,
rather scontented, however, I must own, to
be fila g Monsieur de Trop. The Hon.
Charle I very well knew, was enjoying a
tempo y relief from the most pressing °flits
itcquai ..nces•by the prospect of his marrying
an hej s, and in a two years' gay tile in Lon
don I I . d traversed his threads too often to
belies , : hat he had a heart to be redeemed front
dissip. on, or a soul to appreciate the virtues
of a ht. -minded woman. 1 found myself, be
sides; "thout wishing it, attorney for Shaha
tan in • case.
Ob i s; ing that I ~ sulked," Miss Trevan
inn, in , e next round, turned her horse's head
toward ,e Serpentine Bridge, and we entered
into Ke ington Gardens. The band was
playing the other side of the halia,...and
fashions C London was divided between the
equestrea on the road, and the promenaders
on th e g ns ward. We drew up in the thick
est of the rowd, and presuming that, by Miss
Trevanio s tactics. I was to find some other
aequaintaire to chat with while our horses
drew breda, I spurred to a little distance, and
sat mum it my saddle with forty or-fifty horse-,
men betwien me and herself. Her other com
: anion haiput his horse as close by the side
of Pock cis possible ; but there were other
dancei'S siAlmack's who had an eye upon the
heiress, of their fete-a-lete was interrupted
presentl Iv the how-d'ye-do's and attentions
of a hall dozen of the gayest men about town.
After lo 'ng back at them for a moment,
Charles drew bridle, and backing out of
the press ther uneeremomously, rode to the
side of a I y who sat in her saddle with a
mounted s cant behind her, separated from
me by only he trunk of a superb lime-tree. I
was fated t ee all the workings of Miss Tre
what I endure for you !" he said,
h Nile and went in los pale fare.
arefalse !" was the answer. " I saw
in—iyour eyes fastened to hers—your
wh watching for her words—your
a f i'm with your agitated and ner
ng.l Never call her a giraffe, or laugh
.gait, Charles ! She is handsome
o hi loved for herself, and you love
as a flu
by Heaven !"
dy made a gesture of impatience and
her stirrup through the folds of her
ias till it was heard even above the
iangle of the band.
"No . he continued. " and you are less
clever tha you think, if you interpret my ex
citement itto love. I am excited—most ea
ger in my d:asi after this good woman. You
shall krrow;t.h . ?), But for herself—good heav
ens yon have never heard her speak !
She is never dot . wondering at silver forks,
never done with estatics 'about finger:glasses
and pastilles. =Se is a boor—and you are
silly enough to ptk her beside yourself !^
The lady's frocin softened, and she gave
him her whip to htld while she imprisoned a
Keep an eye ot her, while I am talking
to you," he conttntt•d, " for I must - stick to
her like hcr shadoW t She is full of mistrust,
and if I lose her for 'ant of attention for a sin
gle hour, that hoar gill cost me yourself, dear
est, first and most iniportant of all, and it will
cost me England of my liberty—for filing
this. I hare not a chtnce."
“Go! go !” said the lady, in a nett , and
now anxious tone, couching his horse at the
same time with the Whip he had just restored
to her, " she is pill!' Adieu !"
And with half a do en attendants, Miss Tre
vanion took the mat at a gallop, white her
contented rival folloped at a pensive amble.
apparently quite contnt to waste the time as
she best might Ulf dinner. The handsome
fortune-hunter watched his opportunity and
regained his place al Miss Trevanion's side,
and with an acquainunce, who was one of her
self-selected troop. I kept in the rear, chatting
of the opera. and eMoving, the movement of a
horse of as free andhdmirable action as I had
ever felt cornmunicfled, like inspirationoltro'
I was resumed ai sole cavalier and attendant
at Hyde Park gate;
"Do you knowthe Haroness— ?" I ask
ed, as we walked our horses slowly down
" Not personally," she replied. " butl have
heard ' my aunt speak of her, and I know she
is a wpinan-V most 'seductive manners, tho'
said to he orie of very bad morals. But from
what Mr. Charles tells me. I fancy high
play is her only vice. And nreantimrshe is
"1 fang," said I, " that the Hon. Charles
—re.— is gr'pd authority for the number of her
vices, and begging you, as a parting request,
to make its remark the key to your next
month's o servation, I have the honor to re.
turn thisi file horse to yoo,and make my itdien."
" But you willoorne to dinner ! And, by
the-by. you have not explained to me what
you meant by swimming across the Susque
hanna,' in the Fiddle of your breakfast, this
'While Miss Trevanion gathered up her dress.
to mount the steps. I told her the story which --
1 have already told the reader. of my involun
tary discovery, while lying in that moonlit ri
ver, of Shahatan's unfortunate passion. Vio
lently agitated by the few words in which 1
con.reyed it, she insisted on my entering the
howle, and waiting while she recovered herself
sutii rientiv to talk to me on the subject. But
I ha d no fancy for mach-making or breaking
I reiterated my caution touching the intimacy
of her fashionable admirer with the harmless,
and said a word of plaise of the noble swinge
who laved her.
In the autumn of the year after the events
outlin td in the previous chapter. I received a
visit at.my residence on the Susquehanna, from.
a friend I hart never before seen a mile front
St. Jai ne's:street,--a May-fair man of fashion
whoitaok tue in his way back from Santa Fe.
He elayed a few days to brush the cobwebs
from a fishing-rod and gun which he found in
inglorh ms retirement in the lumber-room of my
cottage.. and, over our dinners. embellished
with his trout and woodcock, the relations of
his adventures (compared, as everything was,
wtiltlrindon - experienee exclusively) were as
delight(gl to me as the tales of Scheherezade
to the c
I have saved to the last," he said, pushing
me the 'mule, the evening before his departurz,
•• a bit of romance which I stumbled over in
the prairie, and I dare swear it will surprise
you as lunch as it did me, for I think you will
remember having seen the heroine at Al
" At Almack's!"
" You may well stare. I have been afraid
to tell you the story, lest you should think I
drew too long a how. I certainly should ne
ver be believed in London."
•• Well—the story ?"
•• I told you of my leai•ing St. Louis witii
a trading party .for Santa Fe. Our leader Was
a rough chap, big-boned, and ill put together.
but honestly fond of fight, and never content
with a stranger till he had settled the question
of which was the better man. Ile refused at
first to take me into his party, assuming me
that his exclusive services and those of his
company had been engaged at a high price, by
another gentleman. By dint of drinking •ju
leps ' with him, however, and git'ing him a
thorough • mill' (for though strong as a rhino
ceros, he knew nothing of • the mnence'), he
at last elected me to the 'honor of his friend
ship, and took me into the party as one of his
" I bought a strong horse, and on a bright
May mnroing, the party set forward, bag and
ba,rage, the leader havic cr stolen a march up
on us. however, and gone ahead with the per
son ullo hired his guidance. It was line fun
at fir.t. as I have told yu, to gallop away
over the prairie without 'fence or ditch. but I
soon tired of the slow pace and the monotony
of the scenery, and began to wonder why the
deuce our letder kept himself so carefully nut
of sight—for in three day's travel I had seen
him but once, and then at our bivouac lire on
the second evening. The men knew or
would tell nothing, except that he had one
man and packhorse with him, and that the
gentleman ' and he encamped farther on. I
was under promise to perform only the part of
the hired carriers of the party, or I should soon
have made a pueblo penetrate' the gentleman's'
"I think it w• s on the tenth day of our tra
vels that the men began to talk of falling in
with a tribe of Indians, whose hunting-grounds
we were close upon, and at whose village, up
on the hank of a river, they usually not fish
and buffalo-hump. and other lu xuries i not pick
ed up on the wing. We encamped about sun
set that night as usual, and after picketing my
horse. I strolled oil to a round ; mound not far
from the fire, and sat down upon the top to see
the moon rise. The east was brigntening,and
the evening was delicious.
"Up came the moon, looking like one of the_
duke of Devonshire's gold plates (excuse the
poetry of the comparison.) an still the rosy
color hung on in the west. and turning my-eyes
from one to the other. I at last perceived, over
the southwestern horizon, a mist slowly com
ing up, which indicated the course of a river.
It was just in our track, and the Aim struck
me to saddle my horse and ride on in search of
the Indian village. which,by their description,
must be on its banks.
" The men were singing songs over their
supper, and with a flask of brandy in my
pocket. I got off unobserved, and was soon in
a flourishing gallop over the wild prairie, with
out guide or compass. It was a silly freak,
and might have ended in an unpleasant adven
ture. Pass the bottle and have no apprehen
~ For an hour or so, 1 was very much cla-
tad with my independence. and my horse too
seemed delighted to get out of the slow pare
of the caravan. It was as light as day with
the wonderful clearness of the atmesphere.and
the full moon and the coolness of the evening
air made exercise very exhilarating. I rode
on, locking up occasionally to the mist. which
retreated long after I thought I,plionld have
reached the river, till I began tri feel uneasy
at last, and wondered whether I had not em
barked in a very mao adventure. As 1 had
lost sight of our own fires, and might•mies my
way in iryiog to retrace my preps, I determined
to push on.
•• My horse was in a walk. and I 'was be
ginning to feel very grave, When suddenly the
beast pricked op his ears and gave a loud
neigh. I rose in my stirrups, and looked
round in vain for the secret of his improved
spirits. till with a second glance forward, I
discovered what seemed the faint lisZht reflect
ed upon the smoke of a concealed fire. The
horse took his own counsel, and set up a sharp
I gallop for the spot, and a few minutes brought
me in sight of a fire half concealed by a clump
of shrubs, and a white object near it. which to
my surprise developed to a tent. Two horses
picketed near, and a man sitting by the fire
with his hands crossed before his shins, and
his chin on his knees, ,completed the very
Who goes • there ?' shouted this chap,
springing to his rifle as lie heard my, horse's
feet sliding through the grass.
I gave the name of the leader.cornprebend
ing at once that this was the advanced guard
of our party ; hut though the fellow- lowered
tits rifle, he gave me a very scant welcome,
and motioned me away from the tent-side of
the fire. There was no turning a man out of
doors in the midst of a prairie ; so, without
ceremony. I tethered my :horse to his stake,
and getting out toy dried beef and brandy,
made a second supper with quite as good an
appetite as had done honor to the first.
My brandy-flask tined the lips of my sul
ky friend after a while, though he kept his
carcass very obstinately between me and the
tent, and I learned that the leader (his name
was Rolfe, by-the-by.) had gone on to the In
dian village, and that the gentleman 'had
dropped the curtain of his tent at my Approach,
and was probablv asleeep. My word of hon
or to Rolfe that I. would cut no capers' (his
own phrase in administering the obligation.)
kept down my excited curiosity, and prevent.
ed me. of course, from even-pumping the man
beside me, though I might have done so with a
little more of the contents of my flask. •
" The moon was pretty well overhead when
Rolfe ret u rned, and f.mnd me fast asleep by
the fire. I awoke with the trampling and
neighing of horses, and. springing to my feet,
I saw an Indian dismounting, and Rolfe and
the tire-tender conversing together while pick
eting their horses. The Indian hail a tall fea
ther in his cap. and trinkets "on his breast,
which glittered in the moon-light ; but he was
dressed otherwise like a' white man, with a
hunting-frork and very loose large trowsers.—
By the way, lie had moccasins, too, and a
wampum belt; but lie was a clean-limbed,
lithe, agile-looking devil, with an eye like a
coal of tire.
You've broke your contract, mister !' said
Rolfe, coming up to me ; • but stand by and
" Ile then went to the tent, gave an'ehem!'
by way of a knock, and entered.
•• • It's a fine night !' said the Indian. coming
up to the fire and touching a brand with the
tee of his moccasin.
•' I was so sorprised at the honest English
in which he delivered himself, that I stared at
him without answer.
•• • Do you speak English r he said.
" • Tolerably well; said I. • but I beg your
pardon for being so surprised at your own se
..ent that I forgot to reply to you. And now
I look at you more closely. I see that you are
rather Spanish than Indian.'
'• Uy mother's blond,' be answered rather.
coldly. ' but my father v. as an Indian, and I am
•• • Well, Rolfe.' he continued, turning the
nett bistant to the trader. who came toward
us, • who is this that would see Shahamn ?'
•• The trader pointed to the tent. The cur
tain was put aside, and a smart-looking youth,
in a blue cap and cloak, 'stepped out and took
his way off into the prairie, motioning to the
duel to follow.
.6. Go along! he won't eat ye :' said Rolfe,
as the Indian hesitated, from pride or distrust;
and laid his hand on his.tomahawk.
6. I wish I could tell you what was said at
that interview. for my curiosity was never so
strongly excited. Rolfe seemed bent on pre
venting both interference and observation,
however, and in his loud and coarse voice
commenced singing and making preparations
for his supper ; and, persuading me into the
drinking part of it. 1 listened to his stories and
toasted my shits till I was too sleepy to feel
either romance or curiosity; and leaving the
moon to waste its silver on the wilderness, and
the mysterious collogaists to ramble and fin
ish their conference as they liked, I rolled over
on my bullalo-skin and dropped off to sleep.
6. 'Flue next morning I rubbed my eyes to
discover whether all I have been telling you
was not a dream, for. tent and demoiselle had
evaporated, and I lay with my feet to the
smouldering fire. and all the trading party pre
paring for breakfast around me. Alarme4.l.--trt
my absence, they had mails a stattbefore sun
rise to overtake Rolfe, and had come up while
I slept. The leader after a while save me
slip of paper from the chief, saying that hi.
Arnold be happy td give me r. specimen of In
than hospitality at the Shawanee village, o
my return from Santa Fe—a neat hint that
was not to intrude upon hint ai present."
•• Which you took r
•• Rolfe seemed to hare had a hint whit
was probably in some more decided shape,
since he took it for us all. The men grumble
at passing the vdlage Without stopping for flit
but the leader was inexorable, and we left t i
to the right and. • made tracks,' as the hunte
say. for our destination. Two days from thee
we saw a buffalo-.---"
" Which you • deninlished. You told m l
that story last night. • Come, get back to th i
Shawanees !_ You called on the village
your return ?".
.! Yes and , alrodd pUee it was. We came 411!)-
o n it II:dm-the west, ahlfe having made a beid
to the westward, on his return back.. We 11
been travelling all day over a long plain, woo
in clumps, looking very much like an itri
mertse park, and I began M think that the trader
intended to cheat me out of my . visit—for lie
said we should sup with the Shawanees th l pt
night, and I did not in the least recognize the
outline of the country. We struck the bed of a
small and very beautiful river presently, hower.
er, and after following it throught a wood foi
mile, came to a sharp brow where the river
suddenly descended 16 a plain at least two hint: -
dred feet lower than the table-land on which 44,
had been travellioc. The country below look
ed as if it might have been the bed of an im
mense lake, and we stood on the shore of it.
"-I at on my horse geologizing in fan •
about this singular formation land, till, heari
a shout, I found the party had gone on, a
Roife was hallooing to me to follow.. As I w
trying to get a glimpse of him through the wee
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