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breeze with the scream of the night-bisd, and the thou- sand unknown sounds of the wilderness—it sympathises with the toilsome and precarious situation of the colonist —renilers its just tribute of admiration to the Indian character, and wakes from ite revenge to extol the hardy perseverance of the one and to mourn the uptimely ex tinetion of the other.

It was the evening of 2 bright and beautiful day in August, 1607, and the rays of the declining sun glancing along the placid waters of the James, bathed, in a flood of gold, hill and stream and wood. By the side of a rock which jutted into the river, and whose rugged front had for ages overlooked the murnsuring flood, there leaned a female figure, apparently in an attitude of deep musing—her form was slightly, though exquisitely made, and was encircled with a garment of strange texture, sparkling with many 2 gem, and adorned with the bright plumage of the tropic bird. ‘The countenance was one of yerene beauty, and had that pensive cast so fascitwting to the beholder, Her head was uncovered, and her dark hair, parting above a lofty brow, floated in raven wavea around her shoulders; while the clear olive of her com- plexion, and her dark and lustrous eye,as bright as that of the wild gazelle, plainly bespoke the Indian girl—one half covered arm rested upon the rock, while the other played carelessly with a necklace of small and variegated shells, The oun set, aud the beautiful landscape, 80 lately lit with his beams, now reflected the light of the risen moon, Yet still that form lingered hy the old and mossgrown rock, and still those eyes were Gxed upun the passing waters, and the tranquil shalowa reflected in their bosum, That sccne—with its forests that frowned as far ag the eye could stretch—the river, that glided away in the distance until it seemed, beneath the pale moonlight, a silver thread that a child might sunder, the solitary heing that stood upon ite benks, and the wuclouded sky that cunopied wll—was one which might have gladdened the wild dreaus of a Claude Lorraine, but which his waking visions might never know.

The slender form of the Indian maid moved from its reclining position—“No!” she exclaimed in the wild accents of her native tongue, “The stranger must not dict he came like the early bird of spring to the Gelds of Manitou’s children, bringing from his far-off home, naught but the voice of song; he must spread his white wings for the sun, but the children of the forest may not hold their war dance above his grave." With these wors she turned into the forest and was soon lost in ite gloom.

‘The shades of night were fast flecing away, and the topmast leaves of the forest were already tinged with the light of the returning sun; as a band of warriors were gathering to the wigwam of their chief, If expression could be defined upon the swarthy countenances of the verious groups that came thronging to the scene, it was one which augured any thing but hope to the juckless captive who had fallen into theis hande—they spake little, conveying their meaning for the most part by significant glances and wild and uncouth gesticulations, In silence and in gloom, exch group, as they arrived, vented themselvea upon the green sward, (here, greener than elsewhere, owing to the sun's more frequent visite through the thick foliage of the wilderness,) awaiting the, coming of the Sachem, and the presence of the captive; but a few moments elapsed before the tall form of the one emerged from the wood, and the other was led bound into their midst. The Sachem was a man of commanding mien, tall and athletic proportions; easily distinguished from bis fellows by his Herculean stature, and a scomful stile thet played perpetually around bis inouth. ‘The white man (for such was the captive) had perhaps known the vicissitudes of forty summers, and bore upon his body the marks of recent struggle 5 but there was that in the proud glance of the adventurer which seemed to scorn, while it watched with scrutini- zing gaze, the deadly preparations of his foee—it was the triumph of an oft-tried courage over the prospect of certain deuth. His head was laid upon the fatal stone— the club of the giant warrior circled on high—and the victim closed his eyes with a shudder of despair, when there broke upon the heavy air of the wildemesa the phrenaiod shriek of a female; with wild look, and disor. dered tresses, an Indian maid burst into the throng and shiclded the white man’s head with Ler beating bosom— there was a fearful pauso—tho aavage group sat like sculptured granite—the sinewy arm of the wartior was yet stretched on high—the Indien gitl wound her armas more closely around the victim. It was but for a mo- ment—the weapon fell from ihe Sachem’s grasp, “the path of the pale face,” he said, “is free; Powhattan is the father of bie people; but Pocahontes is the flower of hie age!” The dark eyed maid sprang from the ecen the captive turned to seek his home in the settlement; and the warriors went to their forest haunts. WINTER.

How 02 in winter's dark, short, chilly day, ‘We cherish schemes of summer happineas? Our feet we promise shall the green hills press, Our eyes devour the glorious and the gay OF rural scenev? The snows wreath melt away, Beauty and sife burst forth from every bud; ‘Then cotmes the bland luxuriance of May— Then the full pride of garden, ee and wood But, nh!—by interest. indolence, or pain ‘Bound—we behold the precious season pase! Fade the bright leaves—grow sere the withered grees, ‘Our disappointed hearts at home remain ‘To hope another year—and cheat our hopes again. �