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he encountered ; and when, a moment afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the victim, as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling, with regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet, to gain the wreck, and to preserve an existence that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation.

“ He will soon know his God, and learn that his God knows him!” murmured the cockswain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the Ariel yielded to an overwhelming sea, and, after a universal shudder, her timbers and planks gave way, and were swept towards the cliffs, bearing the body.of the simple-hearted cockswain among the ruins.

Destruction of a Family of the Pilgrims by the Savages.--


-ALL was joy in Mrs. Fletcher's dwelling. “My dear mother,” said Everell, “it is now quite time to look out for father and Hope Leslie. I have turned the hourglass three times since dinner, and counted all the sands, I think. Let us all go on the front portico, where we can catch the first glimpse of them, as they come past the elm trees. Here, Oneco,” he continued, as he saw assent in his mother's smile, “ help me out with mother's rocking chair : rather rough rocking,”-he added, as he adjusted the rockers lengthwise with the logs that served for the floor. ing," but mother won't mind trifles just now. Ah! blessed babe, brother,” he continued, taking in his arms the beautiful infant, “ you shall come, too, even though you cheat me out of my birthright, and get the first em. brace from father.” Thus saying, he placed the laughing infant in his go-cart, beside his mother. He then aided his little sisters in their arrangement of the playthings they nad brought forth to welcome and astonish Hope ; and finally he made an elevated position for Faith Leslie, where she might, he said, as she ought, catch the very first glimpse

her sister.

“ Thank, thank you, Everell,” said the little girl, as she mounted her pinnacle : “if you knew Hope, you would want to see her first, too; every body loves Hope. We shall always have pleasant times when Hope gets here.”

It was one of the most beautiful afternoons at the close of the month of May. The lagging Spring had at last come forth in all her power; “her work of gladness” was finished, and forests, fields and meadows were bright with renovated life. The full Connecticut swept triumphantly on, as if still exulting in its release from the fetters of winter. Every gushing rill had the spring-note of joy. The meadows were, for the first time, enriched with patches of English grain, which the new settlers had sown scantily, by way of experiment, prudently occupying the greatest portion of the rich mould with the native Indian corn. This product of our soil is beautiful in all its progress, from the moment when, as now it studded the meadow with hillocks, shooting its bright pointed spear from its mother earth, to its maturity, when the long golden ear bursts froin the rustling leaf.

The grounds about Mrs. Fletcher's house had been prepared with the neatness of English taste; and a rich bed of clover, that overspread the lawn immediately before the portico, already rewarded the industry of the cultivators. Over this delicate carpet, the domestic fowls, the first civilized inhabitants of the country of their tribe, were now treading, picking their food here and there like dainty little epicures.

The scene had also its minstrels; the birds, those ministers and worshippers of nature, were on the wing, filling the air with melody, while, like diligent little housewives, they ransacked the forest and field for materials for their house-keeping.

A mother, encircled by healthful, sporting children, is always a beautiful spectacle—a spectacle that appeals to nature in every human breast. Mrs. Fletcher, in obedience to matrimonial duty, or, it may be, from some lingering of female vanity, had on this occasion attired herself with extraordinary care. What woman does not wish to look handsome in the eyes of her hushand!

“Mother,” said Everell, putting aside the exquisitey fiue lace that shaded her cheek, “ I do not believe you locked more beautiful than you do to-day, when, as I h:ve heard, they called you the rose of the wilderness. Our little Mary's cheek is as round and as bright as a pesch, but it is not so handsome as yours, mother. Your heart has sent this colour here,” he continued, kissing her tenderly; “ it seems to have come forth to tell us that our father is near.”

“ It would shame me, Everell,” replied his mother, embracing him with a feeling that the proudest drawing-room belle might have envied, “ to take such flattery from any lips but thine.”_" Oh, do not call it flattery, motherlook, Magawisca-for Heavers sake cheer up-look, would you know mother's eye? jwt turn it, mother, one minute from that road—and her pale cheek too—with this rich colour on it ?”

Alas! alas !” replied Magawisca, glancing her eyes at Mrs. Fletcher, and then, as if heart struck, withdrawing them, “ how soon the flush of the setting sun fades from the evening cloud!”

“Oh, Magawisca !” said Everell, impatiently, “ why are you so dismat? your voice is too sweet for a bird of ill-omen. I skall begin to think as Jennet says—though Jennet is no text book for me-I shall begin to think old Nelema has really bewitched you.”—“ You call me a bird of ill-omen,” replied Magawisca, half proud, half sorrowful,'' and you call the owl a bird of ill-omen, but we hold him sacred; he is our sentinel, and, when danger is near, he cries, “Awake! awake!'”

“Magawisca, you are positively unkind. Jeremiah's lamentations on a holyday would not be more out of time than your croaking is now. The very skies, earth, and air, seem to partake of our joy at father's return, and you only make a discord. Do you think, if your father was near, I would not share your joy?"

Tears fell fast from Magawisca's eyes, but she made no reply, and Mrs. Fletcher, observing and compassionating her emotion, and thinking it probably arose from comparing her orphan state to that of the merry children about her, called her, and said, “ Magawisca, you are neither a strange nor a servant; will you not share our joy ? do you no love us?”

Love you !” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “ love you! I would give my life for you.”

“We do not ask your life, my good girl," replied Mrs. Fleteher, kindly smiling on her, “but a light heart, and a cheerful look. A sad countenance doth not become this joyful hour. Go and help Oneco; he is quite out of breath blowing those soap bubbles for the children.” Oneco smiled, and shook his head, and continued to send off one after another of the prismatic globes, and, as they rose and floated on the air, and brightened with the many-coloured ray, the little girls cláped their hands, and the baby stretched his to grasp the billiant vapour. “Oh !” said Magawisca, impetuously coveing her eyes, “I do not like to see any thing so beautifu pass so quickly away.”

Scarcely had she uttered these words, when suddenly, as if the earth had opened on them, three Indian warriors darted from the forest, and pealed onthe air their horrible yells.

“ My father! my father !” burst fron the lips of Magawisca and Oneco. Faith Leslie sprang towards the Indian boy, and clung fast to him, and the children clustered about their mother; she instinctively caught her infant, and held it close within her arms, as if their ineffectual shelter were a rampart.

Magawisca uttered a cry of agony, and, springing forward with her arms uplifted, as if deprecating his approach, she sunk down at her father's feet, and, clasping her hards, “ Save them !-save them !" she cried ; " the mother-tre children-oh! they are all good : take vengeance on your enemies, but spare, spare our friends! our benefactors ! I bleed when they are struck; oh! command them to stop !" she screamed, looking to the companions of her father, who, unchecked by her cries, were pressing on to their deadly work.

Mononotto was silent and motionless : his eye glanced wildly from Magawisca to Oneco. Magawisca replied to the glance of fire : “ Yes, they have sheltered us they have spread the wing of love over ussave them-save them--oh! it will be too late,” she cried, springing from

her father, whose silence and fixedness showed that, if his better nature rebelled against the work of revenge, there was no relenting of purpose. Magawisca darted before the Indian, who was advancing towards Mrs. Fletcher with an uplifted hatchet. “ You shall hew me to pieces ere you touch her,” she said, and planted herself as a shield before her benefactress. The warrior's obdurate heart, untouched by the sight of the helpless mother and her little ones, was thrilled by the courage of the heroic girl : he paused, and grimly smiled on her, when his companion, crying, “ Hasten! the dogs will be on us !” levelled a deadly blow at Mrs. Fletcher; but his uplifted arm was penetrated by a musket shot, and the hatchet fell harmless to the floor.

“ Courage, mother!” cried Everell, reloading the piece ; but neither courage nor celerity could avail : the second Indian sprang upon him, threw him on the floor, wrested his musket from him, and, brandishing his tomahawk over his head, he would have aimed the fatal stroke, when a cry from Mononotto arrested his arm.

Everell extricated himself from his grasp, and, a ray of hope flashing into his mind, he seized a bugle horn, which hung beside the door, and winded it. This was the conventional signal of alarm, and he sent forth a blast long and loud-a death-cry.

Mrs. Grafton and her attendants were just mounting their horses to return home. Digby listened for a moment : then, exclaiining, “ It comes from our master's dwelling! ride for your life, Hutton!” he tossed away a bandbox that encumbered him, and spurred his horse to its utmost speed.

The alarm was spread through the village, and, in a brief space, Mr. Pynchon, with six armed men, was pressing towards the fatal scene. In the mean time the tragedy was proceeding at Bethel. Mrs. Fletcher's senses had been stunned with terror. She had neither spoken nor moved after she grasped her infant. Everell's gallant interposition restored a momentary consciousness; she screamed to him, “Fly, Everell, my son, fly; for your father's sake, fly!”

“ Never !” he replied, springing to his mother's side.

The savages, always rapid in their movements, were now aware that their safety depended on despatch. “ Fin

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