her prosecutors; the evidence wherein they were defective, and the perjuries wherein they abounded. History, the hope of the magnanimous, will applaud her noble daring, and moral courage, such as has never been surpassed in woman—and beautifully contrast it with the spirit of her enemies. History, the sweet refuge of the afflicted on earth, as she dwells on the picture, and records the sorrows of this unfortunate lady, will speak thus of her: Her sin was to be suspected; she was made to suffer, as if suspicion had been proof; a most persecuted woman-a most degraded queen. Her frequent trials eventuated in proving, that nothing could be proved against her. To accuse falsely, is to accuse maliciously; and nothing too infamous can be inferred, when perjury seeks to supply evidence. The treatment of Caroline, queen of England, renders her a deserved object of compassionate regard. It was a stain and a scandal on the decorum, and magnanimity, and virtue of the age.

INDIAN BIOGRAPHY.

[New-York American.]

"Mark the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind,
Sees God in clouds or hears him in the wind."

THE following sketch of the life and character of an Indian warrior is, at least, deserving of the frail memorial of a public journal. Farmer's Brother was a distinguished chief of the Seneca tribe. He is now no more; but the memory of even savage worth deserves to be reclaimed from the waste of oblivion. Indian biography is not often presented to the public. The virtues of the savage outlive the grave only in their effects. His heroism is remembered, not by the generations of his own tribe who succeed him, but by the posterity of his enemies, who have felt the vigour of his arm. To such biographers is the memory of Farmer's Brother consigned. Like Brandt, and Red Jacket, and Tecumseh, he was the foe of white men. But, unlike them, his life was unstained by treachery or dishonour.

The name he assumed was altogether arbitrary. Farmer's Brother was a warrior. He spurned agricul

ture and the arts of civilized life. In his friendships he was ardent and sincere; in his enmities, inveterate and ferocious. War was his trade. His palace the gloomiest thicket of the forest. He was brave in fight, and wise in council. His soul disdained the usual arts of savage cunning, and intemperance was a vice of which he was never guilty. He was born a prince. With legitimacy, as sacred as that of any of the potentates of Laybach, he surpassed them in all those noble qualities, that adorn the great, and dignify the brave. His eloquence was manly and commanding. It did not, indeed, possess the fire and sublimity, which distinguished that of his compeer; but the superior weight of his character gave him a transcendant influence in the councils of his tribe. Farmer's Brother and Red Jacket were chiefs of the Six Nations. They were competitors for savage glory. They held an equal sway, but trode an unequal course. Red Jacket survives; but his fame is tarnished by cowardice, intemperance, and treachery. It was only at the "Council fire" that he shone pre-eminent. There, indeed, he was great. The belittling simplicity of his name did not seem to detract from the splendours of his eloquence.

More than thirty years have rolled away since a treaty was held on the beautiful acclivity, that overlooks the Canandaigua lake. The witnesses of the scene will never forget the powers of native oratory. Two days had passed away in negotiation with the Indians for a cession of their lands. The contract was supposed to be nearly completed, when Red Jacket arose. With the grace and dignity of a Roman senator, he drew his blanket around him, and, with a piercing eye, surveyed the multitude. All was hushed. Nothing interposed to break the silence, save the gentle rustling of the tree tops, under whose shade they were gathered. After a long and solemn, but not unmeaning pause, he commenced his speech, in a low voice and sententious style. Rising gradually with the subject, he depicted the primitive simplicity and happiness of his nation, and the wrongs they had sustained from the usurpations of white men, with such a bold but faithful pencil, that every auditor

was soon roused to vengeance, or melted into tears. The effect was inexpressible. But ere the emotions of admiration and sympathy had subsided, the white men became alarmed. They were in the heart of an Indian country-surrounded by more than ten times their number, who were inflamed by the remembrance of their injuries, and excited to indignation by the eloquence of a favourite chief. Appalled and terrified, the white men cast a cheerless gaze upon the hordes around them. A nod from the chiefs might be the onset of detruction.

At that portentous moment, Farmer's Brother interposed. He replied not to his brother chief,-but, with a sagacity truly aboriginal, he caused a cessation of the council,-introduced good cheer,—commended the eloquence of Red Jacket, and, before the meeting had reassembled, with the aid of other prudent chiefs, he had moderated the fury of his nation to a more salutary review of the question before them. Suffice it to say, the treaty was concluded, and the Western District, at this day, owes no small portion of its power and influence to the councils of a savage, in comparison with whom for genius, heroism, virtue, or any other quality that can adorn the bauble of a diadem, not only George the IV. and Louis le Desiré, but the German Emperor and the Czar of Muscovy, alike dwindle into insignificance.

ANECDOTES of men, who have been distinguished for their bravery, whether friend or foe, civilized or savage, seldom fail to excite interest. During the late war, the Seneca nation of Indians, who reside in the neighbourhood of Buffalo, were employed by our government, and attached themselves to the army then about to enter Canada under the command of General Brown. The principal chief of this tribe was called "Farmer's Brother," a stout, athletic warrior. The frosts of upwards of eighty winters had passed over his head, yet he retained his faculties to an eminent degree. He possessed all the ardour of his younger associates, and was un

commonly animated at the prospect, which a fresh harvest of laurels presented to his view.

Un

This celebrated chief, in the war between England and France, was engaged in the service of the French. He once pointed to the writer of this, the spot, where, with a party of Indians, he lay in ambush, patiently awaiting the approach of a guard, that accompanied the English teams employed between the Falls of Niagara and the garrison, which had there lately surrendered to Sir William Johnston. The place selected for that purpose is now known by the name of the Devil's Hole, and is three and a half miles below the famous cataract upon the American side of the strait. The mind can scarcely conceive a more dismal looking den. A large ravine, occasioned by the falling in of the perpendicular bank, made dark by the spreading branches of the birch and cedar, which had taken root below, and the low murmuring of the rapids in the chasm, added to the solemn thunder of the cataract itself, conspire to render the scene truly awful. The English party were not aware of the dreadful fate that awaited them. conscious of danger, the drivers were gaily whistling to their dull ox-teams. Farmer's Brother and his band, on their arrival at this spot, rushed from the thicket that had concealed them, and commenced a horrid butchery. So unexpected was such an event, and so completely were the English disarmed of their presence of mind, that but a feeble resistance was made. The guard, the teamsters, the oxen and the waggons, were precipitated into the gulph. But two of them escaped; a Mr. Stedman, who lived at Schioper, above the falls, being mounted on a fleet horse, made good his retreat; and one of the soldiers, who was caught on the projecting root of a cedar, which sustained him until assured, by the distant yell of the savages, that they had quitted the ground, He then clambered up, and proceeded to Fort Niagara with the intelligence of this disaster. A small rivulet, which pours itself down this precipice, was literally coloured with the blood of the vanquished. The traveller, who inquires of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood about any interesting events, which may have

1

occurred there, will be told the whole story of this ambuscade, and shown the "Bloody Run," the name this little stream has ever since borne.

In the revolutionary war, Farmer's Brother evinced his hostility to the Americans upon every occasion that presented itself; and, with the same zeal, he engaged in the late war against his former friends the English.

Another anecdote of this chief will show, in more glowing colours, the real savage. A short time before our army crossed the Niagara, Farmer's Brother chanced to observe an Indian, who had mingled with the Senecas, and whom he instantly recognized as belonging to the Mohawks, a tribe living in Canada, and then employed in the service of the enemy. He went up to him, and addressed him in the Indian tongue-"I know you well--you belong to the Mohawks-you are a spy-here is my rifle-my tomahawk-my scalping knife. I give you your choice which I shall use, but I am in haste." The young warrior, finding resistance vain, chose to be put to death with a rifle. He was ordered to lie down upon the grass, while, with his left foot upon the breast of the victim, the chief lodged the contents of his rifle in his head.

With so much of the savage, Farmer's Brother pos sessed some noble traits. He was as firm a friend where he promised fidelity, as a bitter enemy to those, against whom he contended, and would lose the last drop of blood in his veins sooner than betray the cause he had espoused. He was fond of recounting his exploits, and dwelt with much satisfaction upon the number of scalps he had taken in his skirmishes with the whites. In company with several other chiefs, he once paid a visit to General Washington, who presented him with a silver medal. This he constantly wore suspended from his neck; and so precious did he esteem the gift, that he has been often heard to declare he would lose it only with his life.

Soon after the battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater, this veteran warrior paid the debt of nature, at the Seneca village, and, as a mark of respect for his distinguished bravery, the fifth regiment of United States Infantry interred him with military honours. Y. K.