And wrong could rouse him to demoniac rage,
Or kindness lull him to a summer calin.
When war or mortal malady cut off

His wife or offspring, to the shaded earth
He gave, with tears, the bark-enfolded corse,
And guarded well the consecrated mound

From the gaunt beast of prey; then laid choice food,
And the dry gourd, his vegetable cup,

Brimming with water from the crystal spring,
Upon the hiding earth, through fear the dead
Might faint in passing to the spirit-land.

In the blue smoke of settlements, the lord
Of the lithe bow and slender arrow saw

The cloud that would obscure his race and name,
And in the fall of oaks before the axe,

Heard the sharp knell of his own glory rung.

Then deeds of fell atrocity ensued,

In his vain efforts to resist the tide

Of stern improvement, whose huge surges swept
All traces of his pomp and power away.

His patriot zeal and disregard of self,

Resemblance to that spirit of redress

Which roused the souls of Tell and Hampden, bore,
And should have won the plaudits of his foe.

In happy childhood it was oft my wont,
Freed from the birchen terrors of the school,
Yon place of Indian burial to seek,

And watch the disinterring plough, and scan
The fertilized and newly-parted clod

For beads of beauty rare, tooth-worn by Time,
And crumbling fragments of the dagger-haft,
Constructed by some artisan of eld,

From the broad antlers of the whistling moose,
Or branching honors of the stag or elk;
Or raise, with reverential band, the skull
Of unremembered royalty, perchance
With thought akin to wonderment and awe;
Then, throwing down the wreck, spy out amid
The dark embracing furrows, arrow-heads,
And broken implements of grotesque form,
Used by the painted warrior in the chase,
Or on the path that led him to his foe.
Some who delight in hoar antiquity,
The nation deem that sleep in yonder field
The primal stock, whose shoots in after years,
Uniting in a league of brotherhood,

The dreaded name of Iroquois made known,
From the dark hemlock groves of hilly Maine,
To the proud father of our mighty lakes.

But this is idle speculation all;

And red men, hanging on our frontier skirts,
No light can throw upon their history.

O would that autumn on yon place of graves
Could fling once more his pall of rustling gold!
For if the spirits of the lost and dead,

(And some believe so,) linger round the streams
And haunts of beauty which they loved in life,
Perchance the spectral visitants that flit

About those desecrated tombs, might feel

Extatic joy in viewing olden haunts,

Dark with the presence of tall groves, again.

W. H. C. H.

*Not improbable for the Senecas, who once peopled the Genessee valley, were styled, in Iroquois councils, ' Our Elder Brothers.'

PASSAGES.

FROM THE DIARY OF A LATE CONNECTICUT SCHOOL-MASTER.

NUMBER TWO.

In statu quo?' said I.

It is,' replied he, 'the same great city. Its bustling crowds and busy commerce may be now more and now less; but there remains the same restless agitation—the same eternal hum.'

'Heavens! how it must inspirit one! I grant you,' said I, pointing my friend back to the two long lines of dwellings on each side of the street composing the village in which I had so long resided 'I grant you, if one, in a given time, must read six books of Virgil, or go as far as Infinitissimals in Day's Algebra, he can better do it in such a place as this, where the greatest noise is on Sunday, when they drive by to church. But Edward, though it is not every man that can teach a select school, yet I do not intend always to be a pedagogue; and if one has great aims, let him drink in the quickening spirit of a large city, and feel the excitement of its scenes, and the pressure of its competition; let him move among its hundreds of thousands, and know that if he is successful, he may sway that swelling, agitated tide. It must be a great spur to a man of parts. The more I think of it, the more I am resolved, at some time or other, to live in New-York.'

6

How would you go to work to do such things there?' 'That is a secret to be disclosed hereafter. By the way, how are your friends at the metropolis - your mother' his father had gone, many years since, the long journey ' and sister?' 'As usual,' replied he, and send love.' Love! What a charm is in that word! It is the very sweetener of existence the maple molasses of human life!

'Pshaw!' says some reader of this diary,' what an offence to taste!'

My sweet miss, maple molasses tastes to me better than honey; and so would it to any other, who has been, as often as I have, where it is made, in the fresh spring woods, and having given some rosycheeked, fun-loving girl, who has accompanied him, to bite from a pan-cake dipped in the delectable sirup, has forthwith dipped and regaled himself from the same! Now not even your own charming self would find fault with honey, which I am free to confess, after the liquid above-mentioned, to be inferior only to the fragrant dew upon that little pouting lip.

At the time of which I am speaking, the stage, though deserted for the greater expedition, and, as it then was, novelty of the steamboat, still kept up its regular passage for the conveyance of the mail, not disdaining also to receive the few travellers destined to this or that village, lying remote from the landing-places on the Sound. Edward had accordingly come up, a solitary passenger, till I joined him at that pleasant little place, situated-no matter where-between the two great emporiums - the one literary, the other commercial — of the cis-Atlantic world. Joined by no others, we discussed without re

serve the plan of our future movements, which was at length settled as follows: First, that neither of us liked a stage; ergo, we would not go in a stage. Second, that we both liked a private conveyance; ergo, we would go in such conveyance; and as Edward was purser, he was to have the privilege of procuring one according to his fancy. Third, as an inference from this mode of proceeding, we were to go when, where, and how we pleased. Fourth, that we would take the 'Rambler' and 'Ambitious Student' to read and comment upon, on rainy days. Fifth, that Edward should freely correct all my faults of manner and language, and impart to me what he could, consistently with our plans, of his collegiate learning, which I agreed to receive thankfully. Sixth, whereupon he insisted that, beside doing a considerable share of the talking and laughing, to which I was not averse, as it fell in with my habits, I should also write a journal.

'But, my dear fellow, I never did such a thing in my life!' 'All the better for that. It will be fresh.'

That's what it will. I shall have to borrow salt of my neighbors. Hang it continued I, 'I believe I could write the thing well enough, if I only knew how to season it.'

'It is,' said he, 'the easiest thing in the world. Just make a record, as you go along, of dates and facts, without being too particular, for that would tie you down too much; lay it by two or three years, or more, until the whole is dim in the memory; then write it out, according to the best of your recollection-adding, of course, to the original record, such incidents of interest as you think must have happened; and if you have a tolerable imagination, and a good judgment, you will very easily produce a journal 'fit for use.'

'Right,' said I; I see how it is.'

'And mind,' added he, 'you do not put in any such nonsense, as that such a place had one grist-mill, seven stores, two taverns, one church, and a very neat school-house.'

'Not a single such thing shall there be in the whole journal.' 'But put in reflections and inferences, five or six pages of which may often be founded upon a single fact. People now-a-days are wonderfully fond of seeing pyramids and cones upon their apices.' 'Just so,' said I.

By this time the spires of science and devotion were shooting up in the distance. I had so often heard my friend speak of New-Haven its shady streets, and its pleasant walks that I felt as though I was going home, while I knew he would approach with the deepest emotions a place which had been to him, as it is still to others, one of many hopes and fears. As his eye fastened upon the towers of Old Yale, his features assumed an aspect of unwonted thoughtfulness. 'Henry,' said he, when we had ridden some distance in silence, 'there, as I have often told you, I spent four of the happiest and most important years of my life; and around its halls and its precincts still cluster long-lingering and sacred associations.' He was not in a mood for trifling, and I revere such feelings too much to wound the heart by which they are cherished; else I should hardly have forborne asking how far the precincts of Yale extended; whether they

embraced Temple or Crown-street, or possibly reached as far as the Avenue, or the Nunnery.

We rolled along, each wrapped in his own musings, until a sudden halt, and the cry of, 'Is this your baggage, Sir?' roused us from our reveries. A few moments more saw us safely housed in the Tontine. Immediately upon supping, Edward sallied out for a carriage, and I for a note-book; in which I forthwith made the following entry, here copied, save the names, verbatim et literatim.

SKETCHES

OF A TOUR THROUGH CONNECTICUT, MASSACHUSETTS, VERMONT, AND NEW-HAMPSHIRE, IN THE AUTUMN OF 18-.

EDWARD E, proposing a tour of pleasure and profit through a part of New-England, and offering certain kind and powerful inducements, I gladly accompanied him. As well for our own personal advantage as gratification, we resolved to make record of such incidents of our course as we might deem it pleasant ourselves to remember, though they should have no interest to others. My own plan is, to make only a slight entry of dates, names, places, and occurrences, which may hereafter be expanded in a more leisure hour.

no;

I may as well here as any were give some little account of my companion. He was born in Boston, and spent there the early part of his life. He graduated at Yale, and having friends at the metropolis, he was now passing with them his second year, pursuing, for the most part, that general yet rigid course of reading and study, which contributes equally to the polish and the soundness of the scholar. I wish it to be distinctly understood, it was by no means a desultory course of study, which consists in looking into the preface of this work, and the closing chapter of that—such as is suited to the capacities of one of your gentleman scholars, who fancies he has too much genius to be tied down to one subject, and which is more intolerable to a man of sense than November to an Englishman it was strictly systematic, employed mostly upon the solid parts of learning, and conquering as it went. From his peculiar cast of mind, his studies assumed more of a theological air than is perhaps usual with one whose age and means allow him to spend the two or three years succeeding his collegiate life as he lists. For a young man of fifty thousand, he is the most modest of any I ever knew, and is as much of a gentleman as one of the sweetest dispositions and the first society of Boston could make him. And yet he has not spirit enough not for me and will not accomplish in the world half that he would, had he twice his self-confidence. He relishes wit in others, but is never guilty of it himself; though he would perhaps say occasionally a smart thing, were he not afraid of being ungentlemanly.

:

When we came together, and how, is of little consequence here; and how we came to like each other, of still less and yet to myself it was always strange; perhaps from our very dissimilarity, for we were as unlike as two of the same genus could well be. For aught I know, I was born as well as any body; but my bringing up was

a

rather so so.' The first ten years of my life were spent among people as rough and crabbed as their own soil and winters, which were somewhat of the Siberian order. My father, for reasons best known to those who aught to know, at length took up his march toward the western world, and making two or three removals, plunged at each time deeper into the new settlements. The inhabitants here, as they must be in every new country, were a mixture of all things; a few of them staunch, worthy men, while the most were brokendown farmers, mechanics, and tradesmen, as deficient, generally, in morals as in property. the scape-goats of the civilized world, literally bearing into the wilderness the sins of the people. The size of my father's family compelling me to leave, I consorted with all sorts of people. I have lived with a minister long enough to read Don Quixotte and Shakspeare, together with somewhat of Poole and Jeremy Taylor; with a farmer, to know a share from a mould-board; and with a merchant, to learn the difference between cambric and muslin. I at length obtained enough of the beginnings of knowledge to teach school, and went on from small to great, and from great to greater, until I am actually at this very moment the preceptor of an academy in Connecticut, and some think my last temperance speech was full as good as our minister's. Being naturally of a warm temperament, I have entered into every thing with ardor, and have taken a hue from every man I have met, until I have got together as motley a character as was ever united in the same person. I laugh and talk loud, and both in and out of place; joke both friends and foes, sometimes with, oftener without wit; and actually can almost, and think I can quite, do every thing I undertake. With men I can get along well enough: it is with the female part of the species, I have had the least success. Though I have had three on the stocks, I cannot launch one; and while I try to console myself with the reflection that they are but weaker vessels, I am forced to confess it is but dreary business to sail without a consort upon this sea of life.

It seemed as improper, and to a refined taste as impossible, to write a journal of travels without describing the travellers, as to make a harrow without a frame, or a bonnet without millinet. Such, then, are the two personages who are just upon the eve of a tour through New-England.

TUESDAY, SEPtember 2. New-Haven is a glorious place, and he that doubts, may go and see for himself. It is the prettiest rus in urbe in the world. I do not wonder the wealthy New-Yorkers are running there to spend their fortunes, which they can do more genteelly, and with somewhat less haste, than in the midst of the bustle and parade of a large city. How sweet, when the fatigues of business are no longer necessary, to retire from the noisy realms of traffic, and devote the remainder of one's years, be they more or less, to the choice authors of ancient and modern times, and to the enlivening charms of living and refined friendship! No man should retire upon his fortune, without a good library, selected, it may be, with the aid of some literary friend. It need not be large: but if he would avoid the