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they could in any common establishment, which could well be constructed. For the price and arrangement of commons, after all,'must be established according to some average. The poorer students must pay more than they otherwise would, while the rich will pay less, and all will be dissatisfied. Relinquish commons altogether, and the College will at once be freed from the trouble and expense of managing this part of the establishment. But commons, it is said, are a necessary check upon private boarding houses, which, without this, would be extravagant; which is to suppose that boardinghouses in Cambridge will be conducted upon principles different from those in any other town, where competition always reduces the rate of profits to the lowest possible point; not to mention that in many instances the students could procure their own provisions at a still cheaper rate than they could be furnished either in commons or in a boarding-house. Besides, it is obvious that the boarding-houses might then, as in point of fact they are now, be under the control of the government, which will always have the power to deprive them of their boarders. We said the trouble as well as the expense of commons, and this is a point of great importance, since it is well known that by far the greater number, as well as the most serious, of the disturbances in Harvard College have been more or less connected with the establishment for com

We do not, however, intend to recommend the relinquishment of this establishment, or any other measure. We are sensible of the objections and difficulties that beset any project for reform, however plausible in appearance. We mean merely to show that the advantages of the positions, taken with such decision by this committee, are not quite so evident as they seem to have imagined.

The Report, to which we have alluded, was taken into consideration at the meeting of the Overseers on the first day of June, 1824. From the vote passed on that day we should suppose that the majority of that board were of opinion that they were not sufficiently enlightened by it, respecting the actual state of the College, which, as we have been contending, was the proper object of investigation. They appointed another committee, “ with instructions to make a report setting forth in detail the finances of the University and its ways and means; an estimate of its expenses for the present year, and an account of the compensation, obligations, and duties of the instructers; of the course of study and progress of

mons.

the students, and of the practical inconveniences, if any, arising from the present organization of the Immediate Government; and to propose such specific regulations as they should deem conducive to the prosperity of the Institution; and to revise the College Laws, and reduce them to a simple and brief form.” To this committee was also referred a Memorial of certain of the resident officers. Of this Memorial, and the discussions to which it led, we shall speak in another part of this article, endeavouring thereby to keep distinct two several series of proceedings and arguments, which we believe have been frequently confounded by the public.

{To be continued.]

The Travellers. A Tale. Designed for Young People. By the

author of Redwood. New York. 1825. 18mo. pp. 172. A work from the pure and instructive pen of the author of Redwood cannot fail to be welcome; and as we eagerly seized on this little volume, so we read it with pleasure, and assure our readers that they will do the same, It has much of the same sweetness and beauty of style and sentiment which characterized the former work; though it seems somewhat hasty and unfinished.

We might make objections to a few particulars; but as it would neither show our ingenuity nor profit our readers, we prefer to express in general terms our approbation.

The idea on which the story is built is very happily conceived, easily uniting the interest of a fictitious narrative with the description of real places and the memory of actual events. A family is represented as making " the grand tour of Niagara, the lakes, Montreal, Quebec, &c." This affords an opportunity for describing places and local habits, which has been just sufficiently used. Some beautiful though short descriptions of natural scenery occur, and a few romantic events; and a great many moral reflections drop from the mouth of the mother for the instruction of her children. Upon the whole it is a pleasant book, as may be guessed from the few morceaux which we are able to serve up on our pages.

We will just remark, in passing, that the author has sometimes forgotten to keep herself down to the level of young people, and writes in an elevated and poetical strain, which it belongs 1o the mature to appreciate.

The scene at Niagara may give a good idea of the general tone of the book.

“ The vehement dashing of the rapids—the sublime falls--the various hues of the mass of waters—the snowy whiteness, and the deep bright green-the billowy spray that veils in deep obscurity the depths below-the verdant island that interposes between the two falls, half veiled in a misty mantle, and placed there, it would seem, that the eye and the spirit may repose on it—the little island on the brink of the American fall, that looks amidst the commotion of the waters like the sylvan vessel of a woodland nymph gaily sailing onward; or as if the wish of the Persian girl were realized, and the little isle had wings; '-a thing of life and motion that the spirit of the waters had inspired.

“The profound caverns with their overarching rocks--the quiet habitations along the margin of the river-peaceful amid all the uproar, as if the voice of the Creator had been heard, saying, “It is I, be not afraid.'-The green hill, with its graceful projections, that skirts and overlooks Table-rock-the deep and bright verdure of the foliageevery spear of grass that penetrates the crevices of the rocks, gemmed by the bumid atmosphere, and sparkling in the sun-beams--the rainbow that rests on the mighty torrent-a symbol of the smile of God upon his wondrous work.

“66 What is it, mother?' asked Edward, as he stood with his friends on Table-rock, where they had remained gazing on the magnificent scene for fifteen minutes without uttering a syllable, what is it, mother, that makes us all so silent ?'

66. It is the spirit of God moving on the face of the waters—it is this new revelation to our senses of his power and majesty which ushers us, as it were, into his visible presence, and exalts our affections above language.

« « What, my dear children should we be, without the religious senti. ment that is to us as a second sight, by which we see in all this beauty the hand of the Creator; by which we are permitted to join in this hymn of nature; by which, I may say, we are permitted to enter into the joy of our Lord ? Without it we should be like those sheep, who are at this moment grazing on the verge of this sublime precipice, alike un. conscious of all these wonders, and of their divine Original. This religious sentiment is in truth, Edward, that Promethean fire that kindles nature with a living spirit, infuses life and expression into inert matter, and invests the mortal with immortality.'

Mrs Sackville's eye was upraised, and her countenance illumined with a glow of devotion that harmonized with the scene. • It is, my dear children,' she continued, • this religious sentiment, enlightened and directed by reason, that allies you to external nature, that should govern your affections, direct your pursuits, exalt and purify your pleasures, and make you feel, by its celestial influence, that the kingdom is within you; but,' she added smiling, after a momentary pause, “this temple does not need a preacher.”

The episode of Marguerite and Louis may afford another specimen.

“ A commandant of this fort (which was built by the French to protect their traders against the savagés,) married a young Iroquois who was before or after the marriage converted to the Catholic faith. She was the daughter of a chieftain of her tribe, and great efforts were made by her people to induce her to return to them. Her brother lurked in this neighbourhood, and procured interviews with her, and attempted to win her back by all the motives of national pride and family affection; but all in vain. The young Garanga, or, to call her by her baptismal name, Marguerite, was bound by a threefold cord-her love to her husband, to her son, and to her religion. Mecumeh, finding persuasion ineffectual, had recourse to stratagem. The commandant was in the habit of going down the river often on fishing excursions, and when he returned, he would fire his signal gun, and Marguerite and her boy would hasten to the shore to greet him.

“ On one occasion he had been gone longer than usual. Marguerite was filled with apprehensions natural enough at a time when imminent dangers and hairbreadth escapes were of every day occurrence. She had sat in the tower and watched for the returning canoe till the last beam of day had faded from the waters;—the deepening shadows of twilight played tricks with her imagination. Once she was startled by the water-fowl, which, as it skimmed along the surface of the water, imaged to her fancy the light canoe impelled by her husband's vigorous arm-again she heard the leap of the heavy muskalongi, and the splashing waters sounded to her fancy like the first dash of the oar. That passed away, and disappointment and tears followed. Her boy was beside her; the young Louis, who, though scarcely twelve years old, already had his imagination filled with daring deeds. Born and bred in a fort, he was an adept in the ase of the bow and the musket; courage seemed to be his instinct, and danger his element, and battles and wounds were household words' with him. He laughed at his mother's fears; but, in spite of his boyish ridicule, they strengthened, till apprehension seemed reality. Suddenly the sound of the signal gun broke on the stillness of the night. Both mother and son sprang on their feet with a cry of joy, and were pressing hand in hand towards the outer gate, when a sentinel stopped them to remind Marguerite it was her husband's order that no one should venture without the walls after sunset. She, however, insisted on passing, and telling the soldier that she would answer to the commandant for his breach of ordersshe passed the outer barrier. Young Louis held up his bow and arrow before the sentinel, saying gaily, “ I am my mother's body-guard you know.” Tradition has preserved these trifling circumstances, as the events that followed rendered them memorable.

“ The distance,” continued the stranger, “ from the fort to the place where the commandant moored his canoe was trifling, and quickly passed. Marguerite and Louis flew along the narrow foot path, reached the shore, and were in the arms of -Mecumeh and his fierce companions. Entreaties and resistance were alike vain. Resistance was made, with a manly spirit, by young Louis, who drew a knife from the girdle of one of the lodians, and attempted to plunge it in the bosom of Mecumeh, who was roughly binding his wampum belt over Marguerite's month, to deaden the sound of her screams. The uncle wrested the knite from him, and smiled proudly on him as if he recognised in the brave boy, a scion from his own stock.

6 The indians had two canoes ; Marguerite was conveyed to one, Louis to the other and both canoes were rowed into the Oswegatchie, and up the stream as fast as it was possible to impel them against the current of the river.

“ Not a word nor cry escaped the boy: he seemed intent on some purpose, and when the canoe approached near the shore, he took off a military cap he wore, and threw it so skilfully that it lodged, where he meant it should, on the branch of a tree which projected over the water. There was a long white feather in the cap. The Indians had observed the boy's movement they held up their oars for a moment, and seemed to consult whether they should return and remove the cap; but after a moment, they again dashed their oars in the water and proceeded forward. They continued rowing for a few miles, and then landed; hid their canoes behind some trees on the river's bank, and plunged into the woods with their prisoners. It seems to have been their intention to have returned to their canoes in the morning, and they had not proceeded far from the shore, when they kindled a fire and prepared some food, and offered a share of it to Marguerite and Louis. Poor Marguerite, as you may suppose, had no mind to eat; but Louis, saith tradition, ate as heartily as if he had been safe within the walls of the fort. After the supper, the Indians stretched themselves before the fire, but not till they had taken the precaution to bind Marguerite to a tree, and to compel Louis to lie down in the arms of his uncle Mecumeh. Neither of the prisoners, as you may imagine, closed their eyes. Louis kept his fixed on his mother. She sat upright beside an oak tree; the cord was fastened around her waist, and bound around the tree, which had been blasted by lighting ; the moon poured its beams through the naked branches upon her face convulsed with the agony of despair and fear. With one hand she held a crucifix to her lips, the other was on her rosary. The sight of his mother in such a situation, stirred up daring thoughts in the bosom of the heroic boy—but he lay powerless in his uncle's naked brawny arms. He tried to disengage himself, but at the slightest movement, Mecumeh, though still sleeping, seemed conscious, and strained him closer to him. At last the strong sleep, that in the depth of the night steeps the senses in utter forgetfulness, overpowered him-his arms relaxed their hold, and dropped beside him and left Louis free.

He rose cautiously, looked for one instant on the Indians, and assured himself they all slept profoundly. He then possessed himself of Mecumeh's knife, which lay at his feet, and severed the cord that bound his mother to the tree. Neither of them spoke a word—but with the least possible sound they resumed the way by which they had come from the shore; Louis in the confidence, and Marguerite with the faint hope of reaching it before they were overtaken.

** You may imagine how often the poor mother, timid as a fawn, was startled by the evening breeze stirring the leaves, but the boy bounded forward as if there was neither fear nor danger in the world.

• They had nearly attained the margin of the river, where Louis meant to launch one of the canoes and drop down the current, when the Indian yell resounding through the woods, struck on their ears. They were missed, pursued, and escape was impossible. Marguerite panicstruck, sunk to the ground. Nothing could check the career of Louis. “ On-on, mother,” he cried, “ to the shore--to the shore.” She rose

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