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customs, picture writing, &c., of the Red Race in America. This collection appears in numbers, under the title of Oneota. Its materials are invaluable to the future literature of the country. They are frequently rough, and always loosely arranged, but as it would require the leisure of years to digest these into ordinary book shape, and as the MSS. were too precious to be allowed to remain mouldering in the drawers of their zealous collector, we cannot too much commend his patriotic determination to give them almost in their primitive form to the public. These notes at once confirm and illustrate one of the most characteristic and interesting discoveries ever made with regard to the mind of the Red Man of America, namely, the existence of oral legends, and a rich and ever varying poetic mythology among our different tribes of aborigines. It is from the indigenous aliment thus supplied by him to the poetic mind of his country, that we are persuaded" Mr. S. has interwoven his name with the very fibre of her literature."

From the sketch of his life commenced in Oneota, to which we are indebted for many of the foregoing particulars, we learn that Schoolcraft was born in Albany county, New York; in the Valley of the Towasentha, a stream

that rises among the Helderberg Mountains, and enters the Hudson a few miles below Albany. His first ances tor in this country, James Calcraft, came from England in the military service of the crown in the reign of George II., and settled in what is now Schoharie county, where in old age he taught the first English school in that part of "old Tryon;" an occupation which not unnaturally in the country round had the effect of changing his name from Calcraft into Schoolcraft. One of the grand-daughters of this old soldier, who crossed his blood with that of the German "Residenters" of the Mohawk, married the famous Ethan Allen, of Vermont, and his grand-son, Lawrence, the father of the author, joined the Revolutionary army at seventeen, and participated in the movements under Montgomery and Schuyler, and the heroic defence of Fort Stanwix, under Gansevoort. Our author, after his visit to England, made an attempt to revive his old family name of Calcraft in his own person, but soon very wisely abandoned it for the better known and really American name of Schoolcraft; a cognomen begotten upon his native soil, and made historical alike upon a Revolutionary muster-roll and through his own literary labors.

THE FARO-TABLE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF HOFFMANN.

PYRMONT was more than usually resorted to in the summer of 18-. A crowd of distinguished wealthy strangers flocked thither, daily increasing the rage for every species of excitement. The keepers of the faro-bank heaped up the glittering gold to allure, experienced hunters that they were, the noblest game by the bait.

Who knows not the attractive, irresistible charm of play at a summer watering-place, where every one steps out of his accustomed habit of living and resigns himself with forethought to the freer leisure, the sense-dissipating pleasures of the place? People enough may be found, who on other occasions would not touch a card, deeply immersed

in the game, and as for the fashionable world of good society, it plays and loses its money every evening.

Of this irresistible charm, of this canon of good society, a young German Baron-whom we will call Siegfried, alone appeared to take no notice. All hastened to the gaming table, while he, finding himself cut off from every means and prospect of amusing himself intellectually in society, preferred to abandon himself to the play of his fancy in a solitary walk, take up a book in his room, or employ his time in original, practical, or scientific composition.

Siegfried was young, rich, independent, of a noble figure, courageous spirit,

so that it could not fail that he should be highly treasured and loved by the men, and that his fortune with the women should be decisive. In whatever he would undertake, in whatever he would only commence, a peculiar fortunate star appeared to rule over him. People talked of his various adventurous love affairs, which fairly obtruded themselves upon him, and which, disastrous as in all probability they would have proved to any one else, he freed himself from, lightly and happily, in some incredible way of his own. The old men of the Baron's acquaintance were accustomed to tell many stories of his good luck, and in particular one of a watch which he had worn in his youth.

It happened that Siegfried, while yet under guardianship, while on a journey unexpectedly felt the want of money, and for the sake of getting forward was obliged to part with this richly jewelled gold watch. He was willing enough to sell it for a small sum, but a young nobleman in the very hotel where he was staying, wanting precisely such a jewel, gave him more for it than its real value. A year passed by, Siegfried became his own master, and one day at another place, reading in the newspaper that a watch was to be gambled for, took a share and won the jewelled gold watch he had sold. Not long afterwards he exchanged it for a costly ring. He went for a short time into the service of Prince Von G-, and the latter sent to him at his leave-taking, as a re membrance of his well-wishing, this very gold watch, set with brilliants.

From these stories, and the obstinacy of Siegfried, who would not touch a card, though he had the greatest inducement in his decisive luck, it came to be generally considered that the Baron, notwithstanding his other qualities, must be a niggard, much too careful, much too illiberal to expose himself to the smallest loss. It was in vain that the conduct of the Baron quite decisively contradicted every suspicion of avarice the world followed its own custom. It invented a scandal and then swore to it. The world was highly rejoiced at this interpretation of Siegfried's aversion from play.

The comment soon came to Siegfried's ears, and he, high-spirited, liberal, hating nothing more than niggardliness, determined to put down the calumnia

tors, disgusting as play might be to him, and buy himself free with a couple of hundred louis-d'ors or even more, from the base suspicion. He found himself at the bank with the firm intention of losing the considerable sum he had placed in his pocket, but even in play the fortune which stood him in stead in whatever he undertook, would not be untrue. Every card which he turned up won. The cabalistic calculations of the experienced knowing ones were frustrated by the play of the Baron. He might change the cards, he might play them over, his luck was the same. The Baron illustrated the peculiar phenomenon of a player indignant with himself at his good luck, outraged with the success of his cards. Easily as this conduct might have been accounted for, he was regarded with thoughtful countenances and warned of the danger of frenzy, for frenzied they thought the player must be who exhibited terror at his good fortune.

The fact that he had won a considerable sum obliged the baron to play on in the hope of losing what he had already gained, but with no success; for the decisive luck of the Baron remained the same.

Concealed from his own knowledge, a fondness for faro playing (fatal in its simplicity without the zest of excitement) was more and more aroused in the breast of the Baron.

He was no longer content with his fortune. Play captivated his attention, and held him almost the whole night through as if impelled by the love of play, not merely of gain, influenced by the strange magic of which his friends spoke, and which he throughout would not allow.

One night just as the banker had ended a deal, casting up his eyes, he perceived an elderly man who had placed himself opposite to him, and had directed his sad earnest look unchangeably upon him. Once when the Baron looked up from play, his glance had met the mournful eye of the stranger. He could not repress an intrusive, uneasy sensation. The first man, when the play ended, the stranger left the hall. On the following night, he stood again opposite to the Baron, and stared at him ceaselessly with gloomy ghostlike eyes. The Baron still restrained himself; but on the third night when the stranger again presented himself, with

a consuming fire in his eyes staring upon the Baron, the latter complained to him that he constrained his play and begged him to choose another place.

The stranger bowed, smiled painfully, and left the gaming table and the saloon without saying a word.

The following night again the stranger stood opposite to the Baron, piercing him through with his darkly gleaming eyes.

The Baron burst out scornfully as on the previous night. "Sir, if you make a jest at staring at me, I beg you to choose another time and another place for it, but in this instant-"

A movement with the hand towards the door supplied the place of the hard

words the Baron was about to utter.

As on the previous night, with the self-same painful smile and submissive bow he left the hall.

Excited by play, the wine he had drunk, by the scene itself with the stranger, Siegfried could not sleep. The morning already dawned as the complete figure of the stranger passed before his eyes. He saw the significant, sharply-furrowed, grief-harassed face, the deep gloomy eyes which stared upon him, he remarked the noble bearing betraying the man of fine education in spite of his mean attire-and now the mournful resignation with which the stranger received the hard words and the struggle with the bitterest feeling as he left the hall. "Yes," cried Siegfried, "I did him wrong, grievous wrong! am I the man to bellow out like a coarse fellow of common ill-breeding, to offend people with out the least pretext."

The Baron convinced himself that the man had stared upon him, impressed by the most painful sense of the cutting contrast of wealth and poverty-that while he, the Baron, heaped up gold upon gold, the other was perhaps contending with the bitterest need. He determined, early the following morning, to seek out the stranger and arrange the affair.

Accident determined that precisely the first person the Baron, walking in the park, should meet was the stranger.

The Baron addressed him, earnestly excusing his demeanor on the previous night, and besought pardon. The stranger had nothing to forgive; great

allowance was to be made for a player earnestly engaged in the game, and he had himself drawn down the harshness by stubbornly remaining upon a spot in which he must annoy the Baron.

The Baron went further. He reminded him that frequently in life a momentary perplexity would disturb the man of the most refinement, and intimated that he was ready to give him the gold he had won and more, if he could assist him.

"Dear sir," replied the stranger, "you take me for a necessitous person, which I am not precisely, for, more poor than rich, I have yet as much as my simple manner of life demands. You must see yourself that I, could I accept the reparation which you propose for an injury, could not be a man of honor."

"I believe I understand you," replied the Baron puzzled, "and am ready to give you satisfaction as you demand.”

"In Heaven's name," proceeded the stranger, "how unequal would a combat between us two be! I am convinced that yon, as well as myself, do not hold the duel as child's play, and by no means think that a couple of drops of blood, flowing perhaps from the little finger, can wash polluted honor pure. There are many occasions to render it impossible that two men should exist near each other on the globe, and live, the one on Caucasus, the other on the Tiber, there would be no reparation while thought of the existence of the hated one survives. Here is the duel necessary to decide the point, who shall yield the other a place upon this earth. Between us two, the duel would be, as I said, unequal, for my life is in no ways worth as much as yours. If I thrust you through, I kill an entire world of the fairest hopes; if I fall, you have ended a ruined life full of grief, of the bitterest tormenting remembrances. I do not consider myself at all offended. You bade me go and I went!"

The stranger spoke the last words in a tone which betrayed a heartfelt grief. Ground enough had the Baron to excuse himself from the fact that, for whatever reason this glance of the old man might be directed upon him, to his innermost heart-he could not bear it.

"Would that my glance had penetrated actually to your heart," said the stranger, "to arouse a thought of the pressing danger which hangs over you

-with merry heart, with youthful unconcern, you are standing on the edge of a precipice, one single movement and you are thrown down without salvation. You are about to become a passionate gamester and ruin yourself."

The Baron replied that the stranger entirely erred. He related minutely the circumstances of his coming to the gaming table, declared that he had nothing of the gambler's peculiar infatuation for play, that he only desired to lose a couple of hundred louis-d'ors, and when he had attained this he would cease to play. Hitherto his fortune had been most favorable.

"Ah!” cried the stranger, "this very luck is the wickedest, knavish enticenent of the fiend-like Might-this very luck with which you play, Baron! the entire manner in which you have come to the table, nay, your entire existence in play only too clearly shows how completely your heart is wrapped up in it. All, all reminds me only too vividly of the wretched fate of an Unfortunate, who, equal to you in every respect, commenced even like yourself. It was on this account that I could not turn my eyes from you, that I could scarce refrain from saying in words, what my glance should have let you discover. See, see the demons stretch out their claw fists, to tear you down to Orcus! Thus could I have cried out. I wished to make your acquaintance-that has at least succeeded-to tell you the story of the Unfortunate whom I mentioned; perhaps to persuade you that it is from no empty chimera that I regard you in the deepest danger, and warn you.'

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The stranger and the baron took their seats upon a solitary bench, and the stranger began in the following manner. "The same brilliant qualities, which you, Baron, display, gained for the Chevalier Menars the esteem and wonder of the men, and rendered him the favorite of the women. Only so far as wealth was concerned, had fortune not favored him as yourself. He was almost needy, and only by the most systematic method of life, could he appear in the station, his rank as the descendant of a family of consequence demanded. It was on this account, feeling sensibly that the smallest loss would destroy entirely his whole plans of life, that he did not allow himself to engage in play, and indeed he had no desire to play, and made no sacrifice in avoiding it. Everything that he under

took succeeded with him, and the luck of the Chevalier Menars became a byword.

"Contrary to his custom, one night he suffered himself to be persuaded to visit a gaming-house. The friends who went with him soon engaged in play.

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Without participation in the game, deep in other thoughts, the Chevalier now walked up and down the hall, now stared upon the table where the banker's gold upon gold streamed forth on all sides. An old Colonel suddenly observed the Chevalier, and cried aloud-The devil! there is the Chevalier among us with his luck, and we can win nothing, since he has declared neither for the banker nor the players, but that shall no longer be he shall play for me!'

"The Chevalier might excuse himself as he would with his awkwardness, with his lack of all experience, the Colonel would receive nothing-the Chevalier must sit down at the gaming table.

"Just as with you, Herr Baron, it went with the Chevalier. Every card turned out well for him, so that he had soon won a considerable sum for the Colonel, who could not enough rejoice at the happy accident of having demanded the tried fortune of the Chevalier Menars.

"Upon the Chevalier himself his luck, which set every one wondering, made not the least impression; nay, he himself knew not how it happened; his opposition to play still more increased, so that on the following morning, as he felt the consequences of his exertions in the wakeful night, in mental and bodily weakness, he earnestly resolved never again on any pretence to visit a gaming house.

"This resolution was still further strengthened by the conduct of the old Colonel who, whenever he touched a card, met with decided il luck, and attributed his ill fortune to the Chevalier. He earnestly begged that the Chevalier should play for him or at least stand by him when he played, to banish by his presence the bad demon who thrust in his hands the cards which never succeeded. It is well known that superstition is nowhere more prevalent than amongst gamesters. It was only by the greatest seriousness, by the declaration that he would rather fight with him than play for him, that the Chevalier could keep the Colonel (no friend to duels) off. The Chevalier cursed his complacency towards the old fool.

However it could not fail, that the

story of the remarkably fortunate play of the Baron fled from mouth to mouth, and that all manner of mysterious circumstances should be told of it, all of which exhibited the Chevalier as a man in alliance with the Higher Powers. But the circumstance that the Chevalier, notwithstanding his luck, did not touch cards, was calculated to give the highest idea of the firmness of his character and increase the esteem in which he stood.

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"A year may have elapsed when the Chevalier, through unexpected failure of the small sum from which he paid his usual expenditure, was thrown into the most urgent painful perplexity. He was obliged to disclose his situation to his truest friend, who without hesitation helped him to what he needed, but immediately upbraided him as the most foolish fellow who had ever lived.

"Destiny,' said he, 'gives us a wink in what way we shall seek and find our welfare; it only lies in our indolence, if we take no notice of, if we do not comprehend these winks. The Higher Might which governs us has whispered very plainly into your ear-" wilt thou gain gold and wealth, go and play; else thou remainest poor, necessitous, dependent for ever."

"The thought now first occurred how remarkably fortunate he had been at the faro-bank; dreaming and waking, he saw cards, he heard the peculiar sounds -gagne-perd of the Bankers, the clicking of the gold pieces!

"It is true, said he to himself, one single night like that raises me out of necessity, places me above the pressing perplexity of falling upon my friends: it is a duty to follow the Wink of Destiny.

"The friend who advised him to play, gave him twenty louis-d'ors to commence without anxiety, and accompanied him to the table. If the Chevalier had formerly played brilliantly for the Colonel, he now transcended himself. Blindly, without choice, he drew the cards which he seized; but not he, the invisible hand of the Higher Power which confides in accident, or rather is itself what we call accident, appeared to govern the game. When the play ended, he had won a thousand louis-d'ors. He awoke the next morning in a state of stupefaction. The gold pieces he had won lay poured out near him on the table. He thought at the first moment he dreamt,

he rubbed his eyes, he seized the table and drew it nearer to him. When he recollected what had happened, as he wallowed in the gold pieces, as he again counted and recounted them, there ran for the first time through his whole being a baleful Poison breath, the lust of vile mammon. In that moment was

lost the purity of soul he had so long preserved.

"He could scarcely await the night to take him to the gaming table. His fortune remained the same; so that in a few weeks, during which he had played every night, he had won an immense sum.

"There are two kinds of players. To many, play itself as play, without regard to winning, presents an indescribable mysterious pleasure. In the strange concatenation of accident alternating in the mysterious game, the government of the Higher Power steps visibly out, and it is even this which urges on our spirit to stir and essay its wings whether it may not soar to the dark kingdom, the fateful workshop of that Power to spy out its labors. I have known a man, the day, the night long, in his chamber make a bank and mark himself the game. He was the genuine gamester. Others have only the winning before their eyes, and pursue the game as a means of speedily enriching themselves. The Chevalier proved that the true, deep taste for play is part of the individual nature, must be born with a man.

"The circle in which the Ponteur moved, soon became too narrow for him. With the very considerable sums which he gained at play, he established a bank, and here also the same luck favored him, so that in a short time his bank was the richest in all Paris. As was to be expected the greatest number of players flocked to the richest, most fortunate Banker.

"This wild, waste life of the gamester extripated soon all the mental and personal accomplishments which had formerly gained the Chevalier love and esteem. He ceased to be a true friend, an unprejudiced, serene companion, a knightly, glant worshipper of the ladies. Extinguished was his taste for science and art, gone all his effort to advance in becoming knowledge. In his deathpale countenance, in his gloomy, dimly burning eyes, lay the full expression of the ruinous passion which held him

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