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compassion for Old Meg, and the consequence; of her in-nounced by the trusting maiden. "I will provide for thee timacy with Anne Elliot; then of the brother, and the Lover. now. There is nought to fear now Rebecca; for I will take With his idea came hope and ecstasy; and again, ecstasy care of thee as safely and as faithfully as 'dear Charles' was succeeded by ten-fold anguish; and then again, came himself," continued Brown, bitterly, Hope. Hope! How much is in that word!

"Rather leave me here, and let me perish; for better is it to die than owe life to thee," said the almost frantic Quakeress, struggling to free herself from his firm grasp.

"Will he, can he save me!" ejaculated the disconsolate maiden, and instantly hope itself would flee. Even hope would vanish, as she recollected her history, and the his- "Thou canst not escape me, Rebecca; and it will little tory of this awful delusion; as she thought of her long con- avail thee to essay it. Thou art mine, at last; and there finement; and, lastly, of her own trial and condemnation. are enough here to hold fast such a precious prize as thou. Yet, when she could not forget the promises of Charles, Ho! my pretty bird. Hist! be still! I say. Weep and HOPE would again revive and linger about her wrung heart, wail as thou wilt, thou shalt not go from me. Assist me like a ministering spirit. "If it be in the power of mortal | here, Philip, to manage this stubborn maiden. Let the to save, Charles will never desert his own Rebecca." rest of your men keep good watch without."

With this one thought, ever so grateful to the heart of fond, confiding woman, came a flood of tears; and with them, came relief. In this reflection alone, that there still breathed, the human being who, she knew, felt an interest in her welfare deep as in his own, there was infinite consolation; and her bosom seemed to heave, as by an impulsive effort, to cast away the bitter waters of grief; and to pour out, with that gushing fountain, the memory, if not half the burden of her woes.

If the calm which succeeded in the mind of our heroine, was not that of entire confidence and security, it was still more, it was the peaceful calm of conscious innocence. It was a calm rivalling the hushed quietness of that midnight hour, and in which there seemed a "still small voice," whispering peace and consolation-inviting the wretched and careworn to trust implicitly in HIM, who was able to help, when human aid could avail no more. Rebecca fell upon her knees in the attitude of prayer, and implored that being who can so easily frustrate the evil machinations of men and devils. She "cast all her grievous burdens on the Lord;" and having prayed fervently to Him, "who hears the young ravens when they cry," arose from her humble posture, more confident and more serene.

In obedience to this command a figure scarcely percep tible, advanced through the darkness and seized hold of the affrighted Rebecca. King Philip-for it was no other than this noted warrior, with his dark foresters that bad assisted Brown in breaking the jail-then ordered those of his followers who had entered with himself and Brown, to withdraw from the prison by the way they had come in. Himself and Brown followed, supporting and bearing along the unwilling, though unresisting Quakeress. It was not until brought out into the light of the moon, which was then shining clear and full, that she became aware of her real situation. She now saw herself surrounded by a large company of fierce looking savages. Brown, by whom she knew these dark-visaged men had been instigated to this act, and whom she had learned to fear more than the wildest savage of the wilderness, she discovered to be the only white man. Having committed their prisoner to the safe keeping of their companions, a consultation, apart, was held by Mr. George Brown and the Sachem of Pokanoket. "White brother remembers his promise?" commenced King Philip; with Indian brevity.

"Aye, Sir Chief, and have made it good," answered Brown.

"Very true. But the great Sachem well knows I must take care of this woman," responded Brown.

Scarcely had she resumed her former position, when her "Let not the white man prove traitor to his red brother. attention was arrested by a loud noise without the jail. I have saved for him his white squaw, but he has not pointShe listened in breathless anxiety. The sounds grew ed out the wigwam of the Chief of the pale faces," relouder, and seemed like the attempts of persons who wish-turned Philip; meaning by these last words the residence ed to force an entrance. "He has come! he has come! of the Chief Magistrate of the settlement. I knew he would not leave me to perish," shouted the anxious girl, clasping her hands and rushing from side to side of her prison chamber. Again she listened, in order to catch the tones of the well-known voice of her lover. But there was no voice distinguishable; and presently all noise ceased entirely. Indeed, not a word had been spoken by the operators so loud as to be heard. The agitated girl now continued to wait, with a trembling and intense inte

rest.

Soon after, she ascertained that their exertions were renewed in another quarter. Then she heard a heavy crash. A shout followed; and immediately she knew they had broke through into the interior of the building. A moment after, there was a loud tramp of feet, and a rush along the narrow passage which led to her own door. Being now fully assured of safety, she sprang forward to welcome her deliverer. A violent beating, such as the bolts and bars could not long withstand, had already commenced. A few minutes sufficed to overcome these, and the besiegers instantly rushed into the apartment. Rebecca met them at the threshhold, and threw herself into the arms of the foremost.

"Nay, brother, the squaw shall be cared for. My own young warriors shall attend the daughter of the pale face; and my own two sons shall carry her to the wigwam of their mother, at Pokanoket,” said the wily Chief.

"By no means. That cannot be," quoth Brown. It is not the custom of the Great King Philip to trust the mother of his sons among another race. No more will the pale faces commit their women alone into the hands of the red man;" continued he, somewhat adroitly elucidating ard enforcing his ideas, by appealing to the well-known prejudices of the Indian, An altercation then ensued too long to be here related; the import of which was as follows.

It seemed Brown either had, or was believed by Phap to have engaged to deliver up the village to these savages, and show them the dwellings of the principal inhabitants, on condition that they would assist him to liberate Rebooca from prison. It matters not whether Brown so understood the compact or not, certain it is King Philip did, and strenuously insisted on such a construction-to comply wis which, the other party now found himself in circumstances most unfavorable. Brown dared not surrender Rebecca entirely to the custody of his savage accomplices. He had too much knowledge and distrust of Indian character To take her into the village was utterly impracticable and Aye' I have come to save thee, Rebecca," returned a out of the question. Philip himself would not allow sub voice very unlike the voice of Charles Elliot; the tones of a dangerous step; for he was too expert a warrior to en which were not less harsh from hearing that name pro-cumber a battle-field with a woman's presence. There was

"I knew, Charles, thou wouldst not forsake me. You have come to rescue me? Speak! dear Charles," said the trembling girl, in a hesitating voice and manner, as the idea now first forced itself upon her that he might not be her lover.

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but one course which the selfishness, I will add humanity, of Brown suggested in this dilemma. This was to go himself with Rebecca to the forest with two or three of the Indians, leaving Philip and the rest to work their pleasure upon the settlement.

More from necessity than choice, the wise Sachem preferred this latter suggestion. It was the hour of midnight, and time was pressing on; hence he must make a decision, or lose this opportunity. The breaking of the jail had not been a labor of great length, but an alarm might quickly spread, and the utmost secrecy was all important in Indian warfare. So, gathering all the information possible from Brown, respecting the houses of the principal inhabitantsfor an Indian always likes to take Chiefs among his captives-he made a virtue of necessity; entrusted Rebecca to the traitor, and also gave him two noble looking warriors, ais own sons, as guides.

Leaving the warlike Sachem and all his followers to pursue their silent way towards the village with their deadly purposes, we shall for the present, follow the movements of Brown and his guides, as they conduct towards the wilderness, their unfortunate prisoner.

Rebecca was led between Brown and one of the Indians, whale the other was sent forward some distance, in order to reconnoitre and select the most secret and expeditious rout. They chose that direction which would soonest lead them to the forest, and at the same time secure to them the safest retreat. This was in the same direction from the settlement as was the house of Mr. Elliot.

They soon came near to that lonely spot, which has been described as the burial-place of Old Meg. Here the adrance guide came running back out of breath; and by his frantic gestures, showed much alarm.

"Narragansets! The Narragansets!" whispered the Indian, as he approached close to his brother and Brown.

"Where? where ?" ejaculated the latter,-"for though George Brown has no reason to fear these 'friendly Indians,' yet the Narraganset is no friend to Philip or his sons. "Where? where? and which way going?" asked the other guide, in the same breath.

“Near, very near! and coming here. See, see! There! there! Close to us!" replied the other in a low voice.

And the Indian reported truly; for at that instant a party consisting of three Indians, a white man and white woman, emerged from a thicket; and for the first time, apparently, w the company of Brown. With Indian instinct, the savages of both parties recognized enemies in each other, and instantly acted accordingly. Quick as thought itself, the Narragansets rushed, with their tomahawks upraised, upon the sons of King Philip. Shouting their war-cry, the two sons of the Sachem closed in the contest. Brown was by no means a coward. Seeing his two guides entering an Lequal combat, he felt compelled to relinquish his captive, whom he would fain have protected, and to come up to their assistance. Drawing a sword which he wore at the time, be sprang forward and was met by the white man. Thus the females of each party were left behind.

each was that night prosecuting. Fearful of being foiled in his last attempt to obtain possession of Rebecca, Brown felt and fought with the fury of a desperado. But the other, the younger, and also the least practised in the art of defence, seemed content to parry, as well as he could, the rapid thrusts of his adversary. Fighting only in self-defence, he at first gradually fell back before Brown's superior skill, until aware of his extreme danger in neglecting every opportunity of retaliation, when thus engaged with a quick swordsman, he was forced to make a firin stand for his own safety. Still he felt unwilling to seek his adversary's life.

"Desist! Desist, Sir. Brown! This is too unseemly. Know, that I have never cherished aught of hatred or malice against thee, great as has been thy provocation, and thou dost believe, I have never feared thee. Yet, I would not conspire to take thy life, or do so, were it in my power." "Ho! that, boy, was spoken modestly. Yet, there is much thou wouldst do, if thou wert able,-so now do thy very worst; and I warn thee, thou shalt never again thwart purpose of mine. I defy thee-1 hate thee, Charles Elliot! as my worst, most deadly foe,-aye-deadly, deadly!— So thrust away, child!" said Brown, speaking through his teeth, in a tone as menacing and malignant as passion and hatred could make it. Then rushing like a fiend upon his enemy, as if thirsting for his heart's blood, he renewed the strife.

Charles was compelled to summon his utmost skill to defend himself. It is difficult to tell what might have been the result of the combat, had not Brown, at that very moment, received a heavy blow from behind, which felled him to the earth. Gazing around, Charles saw the three Narragansets standing composedly at his side. Not far distant, lay the two hostile Indians, weltering in their blood.

At the same instant arose a shriek from one of the females. It was uttered by Anne Elliot. This kind-hearted girl had accompanied her brother from home, insisting on going with him into the forest, there to meet according to an appointment the friendly Indians; and she had remained with him until they were met by Brown's party. The reader will not need to be informed, that, in the object of their mighty enterprize, which was the release of the Quakeress, they had been anticipated by Brown. Anne Elliot was a young woman of fine and heroic mind. She had set out on this enterprize with courage undaunted, and a resolution equal to the undertaking. Having prepared herself for the worst which could happen on such a hazardous attempt, her resolution had not flagged and her heart had not fainted, either at the encountering of enemies or the bloody consequences. It was not from these causes she had uttered the shriek just heard.

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Look, Brother! Look towards the village!" exclaimed Anne, advancing to Charles, the next moment.

Charles looked, and knew the cause of her terror and exclamation. Several of the largest dwellings in the settlement were in flames. The conflagration was rapidly spreading. Instantaneously their ears were stunned by distant cries of distress, commingled with the shouts of savages. High above all, rose the shrill peal of the Indian war-whoop. Philip! Philip!" exclaimed the Narragansets.

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"What Indians are these you have slain!" asked Charles, a thought, too near the reality, passed suddenly across

The contest was of short duration; for, as may be suppused, the three Narragansets coming thus unawares upon the other two, and fighting hand to hand with tomahawks, could easily overcome them. The two foremost Narragansets had each closed with one of the sons of Philip, which movement left their companion free to harass their antago- his mind. nists in the rear-which, also, being an Indian, and not over-scrupulous as to the mode of gaining a victory, he did not fail to do.

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"Warriors of Philip," said the Narragansets. "How do you know?" eagerly inquired Charles. "By paint. Philip's paint;" was the reply. "Then this Brown has been a traitor, and the whole settlement is betrayed by him, to Philip of Pokanoket;" said

Meanwhile the strife waxed fierce and desperate between the two white combatants. Both possessed considerable knowledge of sword exercise, and both had happily fur- Charles. nished themselves with this weapon for self-defence in the One of the Narragansets now stepping aside to examine various exigences which might present in the transactions more critically the corpses of their dead foes, returned with

the information that they were not only Philip's men, but slowly along the accustomed path to the settlement, be his own sons.

"Then my fears are confirmed," said Charles. "No doubt the traitor had some selfish purpose in this league with the bloody Chief. No time must now be lost, dear Anne, if we would save our poor Rebecca."

No sooner had Charles said this, than another of the Narragansets, who had absented himself for a moment before, come into the presence of Charles and Anne Elliot, leading with all the pride of an Indian-warrior, a female captive-whom they instantly recognized as the identical Rebecca.

"I see--I see how it is," exclaimed her lover. "We have been forestalled by our enemy, Anne, in performing this service for Rebecca. But be assured, Rebecca, thou art among friends at last; such friends as will venture all to defend thee. Alas! this is a fearful night. The very air seems full of danger, and every breeze from the settlement is loaded with sounds of distress from our friends. Look at the village! There! See the flames raging higher and higher! Hark! those savage yells! Truly this is an awful night," said Charles, as higher arose the flames, and louder grew the din and uproar of carnage and conflagration. "Come, dear Rebecca, let us hasten away from this dreadful scene. We can do our poor friends no good, and shall endanger our own lives. Come, sister Anne, let us all seek protection under our father's roof, where, with my brave Narragansets, we will await those savages of Philip, defend our friends and defy the worst," continued he.

came near the spot where he had encountered the company of Brown the preceding evening. Casting his eyes around. with a sensation of awe at the recollection of what Le had there witnessed, he soon recognized the bodies of the two Indians lying close together, locked in the fast embrace of death. Not far from these, lay also the lifeless corse of the treacherous Brown. It did not rest in the same place where he had fallen when struck down by the Indian; but from the trail of blood, it appeared that he had not been instantly killed, and that he had crawled along several yards to where his body now lay-directly across the grave of Margaret La Forque. With a feeling of dread, he approached the spot. He saw no other wound save one deep gash of the tomahawk, on the back part of the head. One hand still held the weapon he had fought with. The other was buried deep in the turf which covered the grave of the reputed witch, which it seemed to have grasped in the last agonies of the mortal struggle. The open lips-set teeth.— the white foam from the mouth,-the glaring orbs of the dead eye-gave a hideous aspect to the ghastly features, Thus died George Brown, the instigator of the witcheraft delusion. Charles paused an instant, in that state of mete fear and awe, we ever feel in presence of the dead. Then turning silently away, proceeded onward towards his des tination.

"Poor, unhappy man!" he mentally ejaculated. Eve now thou hadst lived, but for thy own folly and madness. Could I have prevented thy fate, thou wouldst still breathe the vital air. Happy am I, not to have caused thy death; for, as I truly told thee, I never harbored aught of malice towards thee."

The little party then proceeded to the habitation of Mr. Elliot, with all the despatch compatible with caution and the requisite degree of silence and secrecy. Notwithstanding their fears and anxiety to escape, some one of the group would now and then turn back, with a heavy heart, to look The attack of the Indians upon the Colony, had been once more upon the ill-fated village. Its streets were so conducted with all the skill and secrecy usually manifested clearly illuminated by the wide-spreading conflagration, in these depredations. The plans of King Philip had been that objects could be distinctly seen from the position they laid with Indian caution, and executed with Indian success. occupied. It was truly a sight sad and horrible beyond de- It was, doubtless, as fortunate a circumstance for this craf scription. While they beheld the bewildered inhabitants, ty Chief, as it was fatal to his victims, that he had surpnas they were aroused from their midnight slumbers, rush-sed them at a time they least expected; when their thoughts ing out of their houses and flying through the streets before were fully absorbed in all the exciting and mysterious dethe ruthless foe, with his fatal weapon upraised-a foe look-tails of demonology and witchcraft. Well might it have ing doubly fierce, as his painted features and limbs gleamed amid the bright flames-while they saw all this, they also heard the horrid shouts and yells of the savage, the shrieks of the pursued and the wails of the dying.

They at length arrived in safety at Mr. Elliot's, and found the family in great consternation, having been roused from sleep by the noise from the village. The presence of Charles and the friendly Indians, restored a degree of hope. One of the Narragansets was immediately sent to the woods for a reinforcement from his comrades, who had been left in waiting. He soon brought back a force of friendly natives, sufficient to garrison the house effectually against the attacks of King Philip and his red warriors. But the crafty Sachem, after glutting his thirst for blood in the massacre of the defenceless inhabitants of the village, knew too well the danger of protracting his cruel work until dawn of day; at the approach of which, he accordingly withdrew into the forest-thus rendering the precautions of Charles unneces

sary.

It was with a feeling of sad dejection, that Charles Elliot, early the next morning, took his way towards the scene of desolation. Lightened as was his heart by the release and security of his beloved Rebecca, yet he could not reflect upon the dreadful occurrences of the previous night, without the most painful emotions of grief and horror. With the kind purpose of seeking out, and aiding such of the sufferers as might have escaped the devastations of fire and the foe, he had left the paternal roof. As he passed

been for the deluded inhabitants, had they watched more narrowly the insidious movements of their lurking for. But it seems to have been fated, that while the fancies of the people teemed with the superstitious errors of the times, and their minds were full of projects for the expulsion of imaginary foes; a real enemy, of bones and sinews, and bea fide flesh and blood, should fall unexpectedly upon them.

CHAPTER XI.

The well-known bloody struggle which was for a long time waged by the feeble colonies with that renowned ledian warrior, Philip of Mount Hope, is by no means t least interesting portion of aboriginal warfare. True us tory informs us that this crafty and able chief commenced his depredations by a sudden surprisal of the settlement of S-, who, on a certain night, fell upon and masacred the defenceless inhabitants, carried off their effects, and drove away their cattle. By this act the martial spirit of the colonists was aroused, and a general war ensued, which resulted in the death of the Chief, and in the entire defeat of his allies and followers.

After the denouement of our little story, we have but a short account to give of the Elliot family. For their greater security, it was thought best during the continuance of the savage contest, for them to remove from this unprotected region to a better fortified neighboring settlement. Accord ingly, under the escort of a friendly band of the Narragan

sets, the whole family, accompanied by Rebecca and her vanished from New-England. There is, perhaps, no counparents, set out on their way through the wilderness; and try in the world, whose inhabitants more generally treat after a dangerous and fatiguing journey, arrived in safety at the whole train of invisible beings, which people the regions their destination. of superstition and credulity, with less respect. Even If our readers are disposed to find fault for thus compo- conjurers and fortune-tellers, who so easily fascinate the sing a party of Quakers and Puritans, they are reminded curiosity of mankind, and acquire an importance in the of the mildness and urbanity of Mr. Elliot, qualities which eye of fancy, which reason reprobates, are generally realways made him less intolerant than his contemporaries. garded, here, with contempt and ridicule." It may also be Let it also be borne in mind, that a time of distress, danger, said in favor of these deluded people, that when they saw death and war has never been the time for nice distinctions the folly of their proceedings, they manifested the utmost and metaphysical differences in theology, nor, for the reli- kindness and humanity towards the unfortunate subjects gious intolerance which generally springs therefrom. In- of their persecution. It was, indeed, too late to give life deed, about this time, a great change was wrought in the to the innocent persons who had been executed; but meaminds of the Puritans, and also in the general sentiment sures were taken to rescue their names from oblivion and of society in the Old World, as well as in the New, upon reproach. The condemned were saved from a like awful all matters of opinion and conscience. A wider and more death; the imprisoned set at liberty; and all the accused liberal latitude, began to be allowed to Scriptural interpre- were again restored to the pale of society, and to their tations, as respects those mere outward distinctions of sympathising relations; whose kindness speedily did all sects, creeds, forms and ceremonies-which is no more than that friendly sympathy could do to compensate for such the tithing of the anise and mint spoken of in Scripture; deep wrongs and sufferings. while a greater importance was attached to the weightier ibjects of love, faith and mercy—the inward and more essential attributes of personal religion.

But we hasten to satisfy whatever curiosity or interest may have been excited, by a brief statement of facts relative to the characters of our story. Charles, in common with most of the brave youth of the colonies, entered the war against the Indians. After winning many laurels, in defending his friends and conquering his enemies, he returned again to the duties of a private citizen, welcomed by the smiles of the fair Quakeress, whom in due time, he, as in duty bound, led to Hymen's altar. Also, not long after, Anne Elliot gave her heart and hand to a worthy young man, who had once in a desperate conflict with the savage foe, saved her brother's life, and whom, after such signal service, Charles had introduced to his father's family as a welcome guest. The rest of the family grew to become useful members of society, and a stay and comfort to their aged parents. When peace and prosperity was restored to the country, they all returned to their former residence in the colony of S-, where the good old man and his worthy consort lived yet many days of quiet and happiness, surrounded by a numerous and obedient offspring. Here, amid the scenes of their youth and early associations, Charles and Rebecca passed their lives-and, if a remembrance of past suffering, sometimes chastened their present pleasures, the same recollection of dangers past, as often *hanced their gratitude, and rendered more rational the blies they were daily partaking.

It has been the bane of the religious sentiment, that it should be so generally associated, in one way and another, with fanaticism. It was so with the Puritans; although, perhaps, truth and error was less combined with them than with almost any other people. It must be conceded in their praise, that they were always found seeking after truth, and ready to do their duty when once convinced what their Cuty was. This feature of their character is most strikingly evinced, in the history of the witchcraft delusion. No sooner had they begun to suspect their error, than a spirit of inquiry was aroused. The subject was investigated with religious scruple. As by one impulse, throughout all New-England, an effort was made to throw off the incubus of superstition; break through the mists of imagination; and examine their past actions in the light of reason. It is needless to say that, tried by this candid ordeal, the belief in witches was soon resolved into a chimera of the fancy. The witchcraft delusion seems to have been made use of by Providence as the means of good, and as an instrument of separating genuine Christianity from its counterfeit. Says a historian of the time :-" from this period the belief in witchcraft seems gradually, and almost entirely, to have'

Respecting the real cause and origin of this delusion, there is now a difference of opinion. In a volume of a history of the United States, lately issued, the author represents it as the work of designing men, for the purpose of their own aggrandisement. He thinks the clergy, in order to increase their power and influence over the people, took advantage of the superstition of the times, to produce the witchcraft excitement. This opinion is sustained, also, by a very noted clergyman, who, while pastor of one of the churches in Salem, Massachusetts, delivered, at the request of his congregation, two lengthy and instructing lectures upon the subject in question, which have since been published. In both these authorities, the two Mathers are seen to act a conspicuous part. In a late notice in the New York Commercial Advertiser, of the history just referred to, Mr. Dunlap is politely requested, by the editor, than whom there is no higher authority in all things pertaining to the early history of New England, to revise that portion of his work wherein he speaks of the witchcraft delusion, and not to attribute it to selfishness and design on the part of any of the good old Puritans.

And, now, Mr. White, permit me to remark, in conclusion, it has been no part of my plan in writing "The Quakeress," to develope a particular character, but to illustrate some general features of the times of which I have been speaking.

MY GRAVE.

And if, around my place of sleep,

The friends I love should come to weep,
They might not haste to go:

Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom,
Should keep them lingering by my tomb.-Bryant.

Death! 'tis a sweet, a joyous thought,

That thou at last wilt lull to rest
Dark memories, with madness fraught,
And pains which rack the tortured breast.
The happy, thine approach may fear,
And shrink back as thou comest near--
The weary heart should dread thee not.
1 love, at times, to muse upon

That solemn, yet thrice welcome hour,
When Life's wild, feverish course is run,

And Death asserts his wonted power;
And ask, where then shall be my grave,
'Neath shady grove, or ocean wave,

Cold, cloudy skies, or burning sun?

I would not-oh! I could not lie,
Within a dark and dreary tomb,
Beneath a cheerless northern sky,

And chilling airs, and clouds, and gloom.
No-no-a sunny grave for me,
In some green forest, wild and free,
And hidden from the vulgar eye.

Such spot there is near that bright lake,
In my own distant, southern clime,
When zephyr's gentle music wake,

And carol birds, at even-time:
A spot, where ruder sounds than these,
Of tuneful bird, and murmuring breeze,
The greatful quiet never break.
Beloved friends! in that sweet glade,
Beside the slightly-curving shore,
Let my cold, lifeless limbs be laid,
When the last heavy sigh is o'er.
And for me do not idly weep,
For death is but a gentle sleep,
Which care nor sorrow can invade.
And let magnolias grow around,

With fragrant blooms, and foliage green,
And live-oaks shade the mossy ground;
And let the yellow jessamine,

In Spring-time, round my humble bed,
Its soft and mellow fragrance shed;

And the sweet woodbine there be found.

And when the friends I dearly love,

At evening's mild and pensive hour,

To my low resting-place shall rove,

To plant some shrub or tender flower,

My spirit, fondly hovering near, Shall sooth each grief, shall wipe each tear, And point to brighter scenes above. Athens, Ga., March, 1841.

F

POWHATAN,-A NEW WORK. Powhatan, A Metrical Romance, in seven Cantos, by Seba Smith. New-York: Published by Harper & Brothers

1841.

We have not leisure at this time to enter into a full analy. sis of this Poem, intending as we do to take it up again in some future number of the Messenger.

POWHATAN cannot fail to be acceptable to all Americans, based as it is upon a point of our history, full of wild and chivalric interest; presenting the most varied and picturesque scenes to the imagination: but to Virginians it has strong and local claims, appealing to their pride as a State, their veneration for the illustrious names that decorate their scroll of history, and their love for that unrivalled natural scenery which it worthily describes.

Mr. Smith has brought to the task an enthusiastic delight in his subject; a thorough acquaintance with the best authors, who have made our early history a theme of inquiry; a mind stored and disciplined by classic studies; and made familiar with the best literature of our mother tongue. He is no tyro in the noble art of poesy, who tries his "prentice work" on a theme beyond his grasp, and mars whatever he undertakes; on the contrary the effusions of his pen, though often anonymous, have been long before the public, and deservedly favorites. His style is concise and natural, always adapted to the subject in hand, stirring or tender as the case may require.

The Poem of " POWHATAN," opens with a description of the warrior-monarch, reposing after the fatigues of war and conquest, in the midst of a peaceful and happy people, to whom his will is law. The primitive emperor, presiding over a confederation of thirty tribes, whom his own prow

ess has compelled to submission, is represented in his st van robes, surrounded by his family, and unconscious of danger; when their security is broken by the intrusion of the whites. These pale and mysterious visitants, dealing in the lightnings, and thunderbolts of Heaven, strike a strange awe into the hearts of the simple-minded savages POWHATAN alone is firm and collected, penetrating their nature, but standing aloof in his dignity, neither seeking nor repelling an intercourse. Then comes the gentle ministry of the wonderful POCAHONTAS, or METOKA, as she is cataed in the Poem; with her woman's tenderness, her fen nine grace, and more thar masculine perseverance uni energy. PowHATAN; who from the first had regarded the intruders with suspicion and distrust, at length resolves to rid himself of their presence. War and bloodshed are the consequence. Perplexed by the subtle artifices of his own people, and the intrigues of the whites, the wary chief s still collected, undismayed; his regal spirit unbroken; thi his favorite daughter, by some treachery, is betrayed r the hands of the English: then the father prevails over the monarch, and he retires from the cares of state, delegatag his authority to his brother, OPECHANCANOUGH, noted fa his deadly hostility to the whites. The wily chieftain in proves his power by breaking the truce, which had been agreed upon by POWHATAN. A general massacre ensues The whites are roused to deadly retribution. The Pea closes with the total discounfiture of the savages, their r treat and final rallying about the lodge of PowHATAN The old monarch again-appears, rushes with a shout to dtle, and with his single arm turns the tide of victory He stands, like Marius, alone in the midst of victory, hine of the bloody plain.'

Throughout the whole Poem, POWHATAN is prevanent, the monarch and the hero; and the most perfect unity prevails. It commences and ends with PoWHATAN, The contrast of the proud and regal chief, bappy and s cure in the midst of his people, going forth at eventsle converse with his daughter, and the same monarch com pelled to fight again the battles of his youth, witnessing the rout of his people, the subversion of his own authority, and finally, weary and sick of heart, turning his back up his depopulated and carnage-covered domain-to seek resting place, and a grave in the far west-is touching and beautiful in the extreme.

Such is a brief and imperfect outline of POWHATAN. possesses all the interest of a well-wrought romance, clad in musical and appropriate language. We anticipate for the most complete success.

We should add, the first edition is brought out in vey beautiful style, on fine heavy copperplate paper. Eve Virginian, who reads any thing at all, should possess of this book.

See Pocahontas

Rabbinical Distinctions.-The rabbins taught that ? solemn feast day, it was not lawful to catch fish in te ponds, but they might hunt the hens and catch the grese their yard. They might not blow the fire with a pai bellows, because that was too like the labor of smiths: they might blow it through a hollow cane; they might mist a fire and set on their pot, but they must not lay on wood like the structure of a house, that is, too artificia and yet you must roast or boil not more than was necessa ry: and if you made a fire, you might wash your fect w warm water, but not your whole body. You raust net an egg that was laid that day; nay, if you were dice. whether it were laid that day or no, yet you might not it, and if that were mingled with a thousand, you touch none of them; but if you killed a hen, you migra the perfect eggs that you found in her.-Jeremy Tayis.

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