forefathers for the love of a pale face. I was then too young | implicating Malatche; who started from his seat, laid hold to remember, but she told me all-how the English first of his arms, and giving the fearful war-whoop, dared any man asked for a little land, for which they gave clothes and pipes to touch his Queen. In a moment the scene became one and guns. These are all worn out, and yet they claim much of tumult and uproar. The Indians seized their tomahawks; more land; and when we resist them, they call that very the soldiers their muskets, and the people fled, screaming, woman, who first gave them permission to stay, an usurper, to their houses. The Council expected nothing but inan upstart; and that we are traitors to raise the hatchet at her stant death; but Captain Jones, who commanded the guard, command. All I have said I can prove to the white man very seasonably appeared in their midst, and commanded and to the red. I have it on paper, and here it is," pulling the Indians immediately to surrender their arms. What out a paper which had evidently been prepared by Bosom- will not courage achieve in a time of extremity? The Inworth. The substance of the writing corresponded with dians submitted with reluctance; and Mary was conducted Malatche's speech; claiming for Mary, the right of the soil to a place of confinement, where she was not permitted to south of Savannah river, as a princess in the maternal line see her savage subjects, during their stay in Savannah. from an ancient Emperor, and recognizing her exclusive The Council now thought of using Bosomworth as an power to make treaties; binding themselves to abide by instrument to cure the evil he had done. When brought her acts, and declaring all former contracts null and void, before them, and advised to retrace his course, by becoming a without her approbation. This instrument was signed by pacificator, and avoiding the penalties due to his conduct, he a number of Chiefs and headmen, two only of whom were became outrageous and abusive-declared he would vindinow present. cate the rights of his wife to the last extremity, and that Georgia should soon feel the utmost weight of her power and vengeance. Finding him resolved to be contumacious, they ordered him to be closely confined, until the Indians could be persuaded away: who, not being able to get access to their leaders, began to abandon their interests. A young warrior, named Ellick, took an active part in convincing his tribe of the base motives of Bosomworth; but fearing Malatche and his party, they set out first for their distant homes. Another and another Chief followed with his men; until only the pretended brother of the Queen and a few desperate fellows remained. At this juncture, the brother of Bosomworth arrived from Carolina, where he was agent for Indian affairs, and had heard with shame and indignation the extraordinary circumstances which had transpired. By the interposition of Adam Bosomworth, his reverend brother became professedly penitent, and addressed a letter to the President and Council, soliciting pardon for himself and wife, whose former services he hoped would plead in extenuation of her recent rash design. He appealed to the letters of General Oglethorpe, in testimony of her irreproachable conduct and steady friendship to the settlement, when it most needed such a friend: for his own part, he acknowledged her title to be groundless, and promised to relinquish all claims to the province of Georgia.

If Malatche's speech revived again the half-stifled purpose of the Indians, the reading of the paper awakened the fears of the President and Council, and convinced them that no time was to be lost in allaying the irritation now set forth, and to satisfy the savages of Bosomworth's base purpose. Malatche, perceiving their uneasiness, asked to have the paper again, declaring that he did not know it was a bad talk, and promised to return it to the person from whom he received it. President Stephens again called the Chiefs together; and addressed them in a long speech, explanatory of all events connected with the Colony of Georgia, from its earliest settlement. He spoke of the circumstances in which Oglethorpe found Mary Musgrove, on his arrival at Yamacrau; of his having richly clothed her and made her a woman of consequence; of her services, and the respect always paid her until she married Bosomworth, who had first cheated them out of their islands, and then seduced them to believe a lie and to rebel. He said she was no relative of Malaiche's, but only a half-blooded Indian-that the lands were not bought of her, but granted by their veteran father, Tomachichi, and other great warriors, to their beloved man, General Oglethorpe, who had protected them in their rights, and driven the Spaniards beyond St. Mary's river. What, be asked, has this Bosomworth done, that they wanted to give him all their lands? for, if that paper was true, or if Malatche had spoken true, Mary's husband would have all the power they claimed for her-and who would then supply them with blankets and powder and shot, and defend them against their enemies? This man cannot fight; We will not follow the aspirants to their retreat, or athe wears a gown, like a Squaw, and is good for nothing but tempt to unveil the workings of a guilty mind, loaded with mischief. At this, the Indians cried "stop! stop! now our the obligations of a free pardon; but we may learn from eyes are open; now we see our true enemy; let us smoke the experience of this man, how insensible to gratitude is the pipe of peace." Accordingly, pipes and rum were the heart of the hypocrite. About two years after the event brought, and they smoked and drank, and shook hands, we have narrated, Thomas Bosomworth and Mary his wife wishing that their hearts might ever be united; and the arrived again in Savannah, and addressed a long letter to royal presents were distributed among them; the most dis- the Council, renewing her claims, complaining of injustice affected getting the largest portions for peace sake. Even to her reputation, and justifying her former conduct in Malatche seemed satisfied—when told that in one week claiming the country. She made this as a last appeal tơ from that time, the powder sent them by their great King George, should be delivered to them at Augusta, a small frading town on the Savannah, at the head of navigable

water.

The Indians began to gather up their presents to depart. The Council looked upon their difficulties as at an end. The soldiers stacked their arms and loitered towards their homes; when, suddenly, Mary rushed in amongst them like a fury; ordered the President to hold his peace; that he should not speak to her people, or bribe them from their allegiance by bis paltry presents. The President told her to be calm, or he would order her again into confinement; upon which she turned, and told the Indians, in their own tongue, of the threat; and aggravated it with other words,

VOL. VII-55

Being frankly forgiven by the Colonists, the royal pair left the city about the first of August, after having brought it to the brink of ruin, by a scheme only paralleled by the rebellion of Bacon in the Colony of Virginia.

the Colonial Government; and if denied her just rights, she demanded a sum of money to bear her expenses to England, that she might present her claim before the King, who might punish her if she was culpable, or reinstate her, if innocent. The Council treated her petition with merited contempt; and Bosomworth, driven to extreme necessity; sold his wife's claim to the lands lying between Savannah and Pipe-maker's creek, and her house and lot in town, in order to raise money to carry them to England. On his way to Charleston, where he intended to embark, he had his conveyance from the Indians proved before John Mulrine, a Justice of the Peace, and recorded by Will. Pinkney, Secretary of State. Prepared now to establish his claim, he embarked for England. In the meantime, the Trustees for

Georgia sent an agent to investigate Bosomworth's title from the Indians, and if not valid, to purchase the islands for, and on account of, the Trustees. The Indians of course denied the first sale, in prospect of another, and made a conveyance of them to the Trustees. Soon after, Adam Bosomworth, on the part of his brother, prevailed on the Indians to sign another conveyance, which was also proved, and sent to England.

Once more our heroine treads the British Isle, but not as in her palmy days of youth and innocency-for now, not even the costume of the semi-savage was sufficient to draw her from obscurity. And after a year spent in efforts to reach the foot of the throne, she failed in her object, and returned to the quiet retreat of St. Catharine's island, leaving her titles in suit in the Courts of Great Britain.

A few months after, Bosomworth was married to his chambermaid.

And now they all lie side by side, on the island they had claimed. Their towering ambition for empire is limited to a nameless grave, and their immortal spirits are gone to their accountability, before one

"Too wise to err, too good to be unjust."

A PAGE OF LIFE.

BY MRS. MARY E. HEWITT.

In December of 1755, an Indian treaty was held at Au- Roll back the scroll!-What record would'st thou hide! gusta, the principal object of which was the investigation

What's this I see?

Its mother's knee:

of this claim; where Mary and her husband appeared in 'Tis of a bright-haired child that grew beside the Council of the natives; and there were the agents for the Trustees, and attorneys for purchasers under both claimants. The poor savages heard the arguments of the law- Of childhood's tears by childhood's joys effaced, yers, until they became so entirely bewildered, that they Like summer rain-declared they could understand nothing; but that the coun- Of pleasures through youth's short bright morning chased, try was once their own, and they believed it belonged to them yet.

At length, in the year 1759, a decision was made at the Court of St. James, granting to Bosomworth and his wife, the island of St. Catharine's, with instructions to sell the other two islands and the country adjoining Savannah, at auction; and out of the proceeds of sale, to extinguish all the claims of Bosomworth and his wife, provided they gave a general release and acquittance, renouncing all claim or demand whatsoever.

And chased in vain:

Of hopes, that like the ignis-fatuus mock
The extended hand-
A heart that deemed its resting-place a rock,
But found it sand.

A cup,
that seemed to the o'erwearied brain,
Outpoured to bless-
Doomed to the very dregs, in woe, to drain
Its bitterness.

Plaints of a lonely heart, in secret made,
And THOU wert nigh;

Whispering the chastened one to seck for aid,
In hope, on high.

In conformity with these instructions, the lands were sold; but Isaac Levy entered a protest against the sale, alleging that he had purchased a moiety of the lands in question from Bosomworth and his wife, and that he had petitioned the King for justice. Accordingly, the sale was suspended, and a new suit instituted in England by Levy, who died soon after, leaving the case undecided to the present And, as I read, fair precept here I learn, day; only so far as the right of possession, on the separation of the Colony from Great Britain, settled all claims.

Bosomworth, however, retained possession of St. Catharine's island; and there, in a small sequestered mansion, lived this solitary couple, without other inhabitant, save a few slaves to attend their cattle, and a young Irish woman, imported as a servant. It was upon a dark and tempestuous night in December 1765 or 1766-that Mary Bosomworth died, in the gloom of infidelity; without a physician to minister medical relief, or a good Samaritan to pour the richer oil of consolation into her dark spirit. Her husband, who should have been her spiritual guide and counsellor, had ever been her deluder; and now sat by her with the cold unfeeling heart of a sceptic in the immortality of the soul. Their last colloquy furnishes another to the many exceptions to the poet's maxim, that

"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die!" "You have often told me," said she, "that the religion you have professed was a fable; but before we were married, I believed the doctrine of my own people, that there is a good and an evil spirit, and that when we die, we shall go to that one we most resemble; but since you convinced me that there is no future state, I have lived for this life and now it is about to end in perpetual night, if your doctrine be true; but if otherwise, I am lost."

"Do not trouble yourself," said he, "with such thoughts at this hour; death is an eternal sleep, or if there be a God-"

"If there be a God," she ejaculated, "it is too late." And ere the sentence was finished, her spirit was gone.

With teaching rife--
Take back the scroll!--I may no longer turn
The leaf of life.

True, that with many a darkened line inwrought
Yet oh! the kindly lesson it hath taught
The page hath been;

Is writ within.

A MAIDEN SAT BY A LINDEN TREE.

A maiden sat by a Linden tree
In a Southern forest, wild and free,-
And the blooming woods of that silent vale
By Summer's light winds sway'd,
Ne'er trembled to a sweeter tale

Than that, his lips betray'd-
As a lover knelt by that maiden pale,
And breath'd in accents soft and low
Thoughts, such as lovers only know.

The lover's tones were gay and free
As he knelt by her side 'neath the Linden tree:
"Lady, I've roam'd o'er lands afar-

Through knowing, and unknown;

And I chose a bower where the Western star
Most sweetly on me shone :--
Come go with me, and rival there

That light of my Western home."

LYTTON BULWER so slightly. They have made some noise in the world, man! and it becomes us to record our sage opinions upon their claim to celebrity and long life. So let us begin at the beginning.

and that, once bent on the mad career of guilt, it will refuse to be deterred by the prospect of punishment, which may be avoided, and which, it will hope, may not fall to its lot? What youthful reader has not felt his spirit stir "Falkland." "A la Ventana!" away with it, and throw within him, while perusing the story of Paul Clifford's gay it yourself, Mr. Shaver, for it is not meet that its touch gallantry, his chivalrous generosity? Who has not been should contaminate the chaste fingers of Mrs. Housekeeper. excited by the description of the perilous adventure, its In profligacy, it is an aggravated copy of "Les Liaisons successful termination, and the gay gallop homeward over Dangereux," and would have remained unread upon the pub-the moonlit and frosty heath? What a small portion of the lisher's hands, had not the subsequent fame and fashion of rough usage that one is apt to meet with from the world, the author brought it into notice.

(upon setting out in life) would be necessary to induce the bold and reckless youth to seek, in a similar course of life, his bread and his revenge? The mind of such an one, will not dwell upon the reflection, that by embracing this manner of life, he becomes a common thief; or, at best, an associate of common thieves-that the enactments of the law may overtake him, and that he may die the death of a dog, before a gazing and pitiless multitude. Hope is a more

"Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman!" This is a clever and amusing book, in some respects, and we do not know that it could do much mischief, except by making fools of some of the soft-headed youths of the cities, whom we have seen dressed in a style which their purses were wholly inadequate to sustain, and behaving themselves rudely, in awkward attempts to imitate the indifference and insolence, which Mr. Pelham only affected among his inti-powerful passion than fear-because it is almost always mate acquaintances.

But the mark of the beast shows itself here too; Mr. Bulwer seems to think, that the novel reading portion of the English community, can only be interested by a tale of illicit love. Pelham might have escaped, but for the fable of the Stork and the Cranes. Sir Reginald Glanville condemns him, and, though we are sorry for him, he must

burn.

with us, and fear seldom comes till the hour of danger: and "our youth" will hope, that, after a few years of this life of joyous excitement, he may retire, like Clifford, to a foreign country, and end his days in the practice of virtue. Eugene Aram!" whom the " Awful Beacon" coldly terms a man of learning, is invested by Bulwer with every quality that is calculated to attract our admiration. He is represented as wise, accomplished, learned, gentle and

science, and suffering his heart to expand under the genial influence of love and friendship. What imaginative and romance-reading youth, (placed in circumstances similar to his,) might not be tempted by this picture, to do the same deed; hoping that he too, like "Aram," might retire to some sequestered spot, where, the crime unknown, he could quiet his conscience and win man's friendship, and woman's pure and priceless love. True! Eugene Aram is

"The Disowned!" One would hardly wish his car-courageous; stifling, by degrees, the gnawings of conriage horses to match better than Mr. Pelham and Clarence Linden, in general outline of character. The shades only are different. But of Algernon Mordaunt, there is more to be said. This is the only one of Bulwer's characters, that practises virtue for virtue's sake, and the impulse that gave birth to such an one, is much to be commended; still, however, there is in this character, something to mislead. Every one, acquainted with the tendency of the human heart to evil, knows that he who trusts sole-hanged; but we are indebted to history for that; and by ly to his own strength, for a life of virtue, is lost ere he set out. Had this person been represented as one who daily solicited, from a higher source, strength and patience, and endurance and perseverance for the prosecution of his virtuous schemes; and, at Linden's passionate exclamation, "where! where are the rewards of virtue ?"-had the dying man's hand pointed to heaven, instead of to his own heart, the character would have been perfect, and many of Mr. Bulwer's sins of Authorship might have been forgiven for Mordaunt's sake.

'Devereux,” “Godolphin," "Rienzi," "Last days of Pompeii." These are clever novels, in their way, and exhibit, on the part of their author, vigorous powers of imagination, and a highly cultivated intellect. In Rienzi, there is something more of Mr. Bulwer's peculiar, and, we think, upon this point, somewhat diseased fancy, we mean his disposition to eulogize and render attractive a life of love, "par amours."

"Paul Clifford," "Eugene Aram," " Ernest Maltravers," "Alice!" What shall we say to this deliberate and wilful prostitution of genius to vile purposes? Shame! shame upon the man! There is scarcely a crime, from murder, and almost adultery, down to petty theft, that this writer has not endeavored, directly or indirectly, to extenuate or excuse; nay more, he has invested the perpetrators of these crimes with all the interest that genius, quickened by the most brilliant fancy, could invent, and has endowed them with every quality that can excite the imagination, awaken the sympathy, or attract the regard of the young and enthusiastic reader. Bulwer may attempt to excuse himself, by the flimsy plea, that wherever he has delineated crime, he has exhibited its punishment. Does he forget that man's deceitful and desperate wicked heart, is prone to vice; that it needs no encouragement to steep itself in crime,

what a mere chance does Bulwer represent the murder to have been brought to light? How prone and ready the mind is to hope that this chance will turn for, and not against, and that no needy and drinken “Houseman" will come to disturb its dreams of happiness and repose.

Many a young woman, in the lower walks of life, might be induced, under the circumstances described by Bulger, to become the paramour of such a man as "Ernest Ma travers." Here, too, the punishment of crime is made to depend upon accident; and, we well know how ready would be the poor victim of this picture, when about to yield to the persuasion of her scoundrel seducer, to comfort herself with the hope, that the accident of punishment will not happen in her case.

In "Alice," the father is in love with, and about to marry his own illegitimate daughter. How disgusting the detail of even the possibility of such a thing, is to every sober minded man! We will dismiss this case at once,

These last four books, Master Nicholas, are scarcely worthy of being burned in the same fire with the others, Let them be handed over to the common hangman; and, car own private opinion is, that if every man met with his desert in this world, Sir Edward could hardly grumble, if he h self were delivered over along with them. Seriously-This man seems to have set deliberately to work to countenance, to gild and to encourage crime. It is melancholy to see how his fine talents have been prostituted and abused. If he ever seriously reflect on man's moral responsibility-the parable of the man who went into a "far country," and left his servants the use of certain talents-must have, to him, an awful signification. If that unprofitable servant, wha merely hid his talent and had it to return to his Lord, was cast into outer darkness; what would probably be the fate of him, who had wasted his, or applied it to base purposes!

If all accounts be true, Sir Edward Bulwer is already pay-[ ing, in some degree, the penalty of his expression and countenance of loose principles. He has lost respectability, to a great degree, and his family dissensions must be, to a man of his temperament, a source of great bitterness.

But to our subject. The story of Night and Morning, is a simple one and soon told, the moral tone of the book is somewhat better than most of the others, its style out-Bulwers Bulwer.

"This fellow does not mind what I say, sir." "I did not like to cut the boughs of the lime-trees without your orders, sir." said the gardener.

"No, it would be a pity to cut them. You should consult me there, master Philip;" and the father shook him by the collar with a good natured and affectionate, but rough sort of caress.

"Be quiet, father," said the boy petulantly and proudly, "or," he added, in a lower voice, but one which showed emotion, "My cousin may think you mean less kindly than you always do, sir."

Philip Beaufort, a gentleman of good family, marries clandestinely, for fear of a rich uncle whose estate he expects to inherit, Catherine Morton, the daughter of a tradesman. The clergyman, who performed the marriage ceremony, and one of the witnesses, die-the other witness goes abroad. Beaufort, however, takes the precaution to get from the clergyman, before his death, an examined copy of the registry of his marriage, which he deposites in a secret drawer of an old-fashioned cabinet, but, unfortunately, neglects to inform his wife of its place of deposit. He heirs his uncle's estate, but on the very day in which he intends to take steps for the public avowal of his marriage, be is thrown from his horse and killed. He leaves two sons, Philip and Sydney, born and nursed in the lap of luxury; and, if the sons of even England's haughtiest nobles, have their wishes and passions so pampered and in-life in its own world. Confound not that world, the inner dulged, as the author describes them to have been, in the ease of the eldest of these boys, we pity them; for when they have arrived at man's estate, and begin to take part in the affairs and business of the great world, they will meet with many and deep mortifications; but we trust the picture is an exaggerated one.

The father was touched, "go and cut the lime-boughs John, and always do as Mr. Philip tells you."

By the sudden death of Beaufort, and Catherine's inability to prove the marriage, the property falls to his brother, "Robert Beaufort." This gentleman has one son, "Arthur," a gentle youth; and it is from the opposite fortunes of the cousins, "Philip" and "Arthur," that the book derives its title, which is first developed in a paragraph, the style of which is so peculiarly Bulwer's own, that we must transcribe it.

"So, oh dark mystery of the moral world! So unlike the order of the external universe glide together, side by side, the shadowy steeds of Night and Morning. Examine

one, the practical one, with the more visible, yet airier and less substantial system, doing homage to the sun, to whose throne afar in the infinite space, the human heart has no wings to flee. In life, the mind and the circumstance give the true seasons, and regulate the darkness and the light, of two men standing on the same foot of earth: the one re

"Do you shoot?" asked Arthur, observing the gun in his vels in the joyous noon, the other shudders in the solicousin's hand.

"Yes. I hope this season to bag as many head as my father; he is a famous shot. But this is only a single barrel, and an old fashioned sort of detonator. My father must get me one of the new guns, I can't afford it myself."

"I should think not," said Arthur smiling.

"Oh, as to that," resumed Philip quickly, and with a heightened color, "I could have managed it very well, if I had not given thirty guineas for a brace of pointers the other day; they are the best dogs you ever saw."

tude of Night. For Hope and Fortune, the day-star, is ever shining. "The Anmuth Strahlendes" live ever in the air. For Care and Penury, Night changes not with the ticking of the clock, or the shadow on the dial, Morning for the heir, Night for the houseless, and God's eye in both."

Such is the style that captivated our youthful fancy. We now require something less German and more natural. Philip, a boy of haughty and passionate, but bold and resolute temper, is thrown upon his own resources for his and his brother's support. He gets employment and keeps "Thirty guineas!" echoed Arthur, looking with naive sur- Sydney with him. But Arthur Beaufort, (who has been prise at the speaker. "Why how old are you?"

"Just fifteen last birth day. Holla, John: John Green," tried the young gentleman in an imperious voice, to one of the gardeners who was crossing the lawn. "See that the nets are taken down to the lake to-morrow, and that my tent is pitched properly by the lime trees, by nine o'clock. I hope you will understand me this time; Heaven knows you take a great deal of telling before you understand any thing."

And again, "This is dull work," said Philip, "suppose we fish. By Jove, (he had caught his father's expletive) that blockhead has put the tent on the wrong side of the lake after all. Holla, you sir!" and the unhappy gardener looked up from his flower-beds. "What ails you? I have a great mind to tell my father of you; you grow stupider every day. I told you to put the tent under the lime trees." "We could not manage it, sir; the boughs were in the way."

unremitting in his efforts to be of service to his cousins, but whose advances and offers of assistance, have been disdainfully rejected by Philip,) hearing that Philip is getting into bad company, resolves at least to get hold of Sydney, who is a child, which he effects, and puts him under the care of a Mr. Spencer, an old love of his mother, Catherine Beaufort, Philip is turned out of his employment, and, with his passions aroused and his heart embittered against his relations, goes over to France, where, at Paris, he falls in with a William Gawtrey; one of Sir Edward's favorite characters; a man of crine and blood, with the apology of hard treatment from the world. Bulwer cannot, for the life of him, refrain from endeavoring to interest his reader in a knave. Gawtrey is, therefore, endowed with several amiable and interesting traits of character; but is represented as being put to death by the officers of the law, in a manner and scene strikingly similar to the exit of "Sykes." Indeed, one is strongly reminded of Oliver Twist, in several parts of this book, particularly in the steadiness with which Philip holds to his good principles in the midst of temptation, and which is the redeeming trait in the book. A French lady, handsome and rich, falls in love with Philip, seeks his acquaintance, dies and leaves him her fortune. He serves as an officer in the French army, and after a lapse of several years, returns to England as Monsieur De Vaudemont, bringing with him a young "What's the matter, Philip," cried the good humored girl, “Fanny," the granddaughter of an old love of Gawvoice of his father, "fy!" trey, and of a person whom he meets with in English Sq.

"And why did not you cut the boughs, blockhead?" "I did not dare to do so, sir, without master's orders," said the man doggedly.

"My orders are sufficient, I should think, so none of your impertinence," cried Philip, with a raised color, and lifting his hand, in which he held his ramrod, he shook it menacingly over the gardener's head. I've a great mind 10"