it
‘a
‘.
ls
ry.
.
S
;
FROM THE BRATTLEBOROUGH MESSENGER-
rrnn FEMALE Aucmroxuiin.
‘ VVho’ll by a heart 3’ sweel Har’riot cries--—
H;r]'riot the blooming and the fair-
Vvrhosc lovely form anti dove like eyes,
Can banish grief and soothe despair‘—-’-
i Come, hid; my heart is up for sale ;
‘vVill no one hitl ? pray, sirs, consider,
‘Tia sound, and kind, and fond, and hale,
And a great bargain to the bidder.’
‘ l’ll bid,’ says (.1 riptrs--‘ I will pay
A tlrotrzsand eagles promptly told.’
‘That is no hid. sit‘, let me say-—
.x:1' fair‘/g/ill /zct'~.'rt is not bought ‘wit/z gold.’
‘ I'll bid with nrarr-iage faith, and plight
A ht;art_,’ says Frank, ‘ with love 0’erl'lowing.’
‘ Aye E‘ I/mt’.s a {lid I/rr1z’s srrmet/:ing1iit”e-—-
.And now my heart IS-v-}.',‘Cllllg——g'(')Il3§§‘.’
flKZZ.""
FROM rzrjacxwoorfs MAGAZINE.
TI-IE F0l{Gl1lltS.
‘Let ustsit down on this stone st:-at,‘ said my a-
ged friend, the ‘pastor, ‘ and I will tell you tr talc
oftears, concerning the last inlrabitants ofyontler
solitary house, _ius‘t visible on the hill side, through
mg gloom nfrlrose rr.t:l;rncholy pines. Ten years
ha-.c passed away since tnc terrible catasrroplre
of which I am aboulitu spertltg and 1 know not
how it is ; but metlrinks, whene\'c:r' I come into
this glen. there is sornetlring rueful in its silence,
wlrile the common sounds of nature seem to my
miircl, dirge-like and forlorn. \Vas not this very
day i)t'i§:lrt and musical, as we vvalltetl across the
other hills. ant‘l'\‘trllt3‘s? but now a dim mist over-
spreads the sky ; and, liezuniful as this lonely
placd must in it nth he, tlrcrt: is a 'ivarr'. of life in
the verdure and the llawetrs, as if they grew be-
neath the d-.trkness oi ll-'.‘t‘p€l.‘tl‘dl shatlons.’ V
As the old man was speaking, a female figure,
bent with age and inhrmity, came slowly up the
bank below us, with a pitcher in her hand; and
when she reached zr little well dug out of a low
rock, all covered with moss and zichens, she seem-
ed to fix her eyes upon it as in a dream, and gave
at long;, deep, broken sigh.
‘ The names of her lrusliarrd and her only son,
both dead, are chiselled by their own hands, on a
srrmotlr stone within the arch of that fountain ;
and the childless widow at this moment sees noth-
ing on the tare of the earth, but a few letters not
yet--overgrown with the creeping time-stains.-
Sec 1 her pale lips are moving in prayer, atrd, old
as xlreis, and long resigned to her otter hopeless-
ness, the tears are not yet all shed or dried up
within her broken heart-—-a few big drops are on
her withered cheeks; but she feels them not, and
is unconsciously weeping with eyes that old age
has of itsell enough bedimrneti.’
The figure remained motionless beside the
well; and, though I knew not llre history of the
gtiefs that stot.-(fall ettrl)0dic(l so mor't:'nfully be-
tore me, I felt that they must have been gather-
ing together for many long years, and that such
siglrs as I had now heard, came from the utter-
most. desolation of the human heart. ,At last, she
dipped her pitcher in the water, lifted her eyes to
heaven, and, distinctly sayitrg, ‘ Q, Jesus, Son of
God 1 whose blood it as shed for sinners, be mer-
ciful to their souls 1’ she turned away from the
scene of her sorrow, and, like one seen in a vis-
ion, disappearctl.
6 l have beheld the childless widow happy, even
her who sat alone, with none to comfort her, on
a floor swept by the hand cf death of all its blos-
scms. But her v-«hom we lrave now seen, I dare
not call irappv. even though she puts her trustirr
God and her "-.£t\'IOlll‘. i'lCt s is an aftrliction which
itselfcannot assuage. Ye’. religion may have
softened even sighs like those, and as you shall
lr-ear, it was religion that set her free from the
horrid dreams of rnadrress, and restored her to
that comfort which is always found in the posses-
sion of a reasonable being.’
There was not at bee ro..rni=.:u* near us, nor a bird
singing in the .‘-1-’.)lilit';'y gltn, wt-err the old man
gave me these l’tiZ".'a of a rnelant:lruly.t'ale. The
sky was black ancl lowering, as it lay on the silent
hills, and irrt:‘:.re:etl us from the far off world", in a
sullen spot, that was felt to be sacred with sorrow.
The figure ~.v%~it-:h had come and gone with a siglr,
was the only dweller here ; and I was prepared
to hear a dolelol history of one left alone to com-
mune with a broken hear t, in the cnecrless soli-
tude of nature.
* .l'ha=. house, from whose chimnies no smoke
has ascended for ten long years,’ continued my
friend, ~ once showed its windows bright with
cheerful fires ; and her whom we now saw so no-
begone, I remember when brought home a youth-
ful bride, in all the beauty of her joy and inno-
cence. Ttvcnty years beheld her a wife and a
mother. with all their most perfect happiness, and
wi=h some, too, of their inevitable griels. Death
pas.~.»_-d not by her door without his victims; and
of live children, all hntone died. in infancy,clriltl-
hood, or blot:-mirit; youth.-—-lint they died in na-
ture’s‘cornmcn r.~lecay--peaceful prayers were said
around the bed of peace ; and when the flowers
grew upon their graves, the mother’s eyes could
bear _to look on them, as she passed on with an
unaching heart into the house of God. All but
one died--and better had it been, if that one had
never been born.
‘ Fatlmt, mother, and son now come to _rnan’s
estate, survived,‘and in the house there was peace.
But suddenly poverty fell upon them. The dis-
honesty of a kinsm-an, of which I need not state
the partictrlars, robbed them ofthcir few heredi-
tary fields. which now passer‘. into the possession
of a stranger. -Trlrey, however, remained as tetr-
ants in the house which had been their own; and
for a while, father and son bore the change offer-
tune seemingly undismayt-ti, and toilet! as cour-
mon labourers on the soil still dearly beloved. At
the dawn of light they wen‘. out together, and at
tuiliglrt ahev returned. But it seemed as if their
industry was in vain. Year after year, the old
man’s face became more deeply furrowerl, and
more seldom was be seen to smile; and his son's
c-.>urrtt:rrarrce, once hold and open, \\'as_,t},§§:$%;{d,arl<-
enetl with angler and dis.-.a:i.~f;tction. -""'l*li“iy' did
not attend public ‘.vur'sl‘.i;) so rcgtrlarly as they us-
ed in do. When lint-'. them in tllc.l"I*:f'.la‘, or vis-
‘ted. theor in their dwelling, they looked on me
culdly,»at.a‘ uith altered eyes; and I grieved to
tnit.-k lmrv sown they both seemed to have forgot-
tr-.n the l)l‘.‘.Salllt;S l’r0vi(l:'ncc had so long permit-
ted them to enjoy, and how sullen they now strug-
A i 4: l gfed wifh its decrees. But something it
poverty was npw disturbing both their lr. -.
‘ The unhappy old man had a brothia. « -
this time died, leaving an only son, wh =
many years abandoned his father’s hous - of
whom all tidings had long been lost.-—It .. .... .no’t
by many, that he had died beyond seas; and none
doubted, that, living or dead, he l‘l§(\I-jgbeffl disin-
herited by his stern and unrelenting parent.
the day after the funeral, the old man produced
his brother’s will, by which he became heir to all
his property, except an annuity to be paid to the
natural heir, should he ever return.
the prodigal son, who had been (lisiuheritctl--
some blamed the father-*—some envied the good
lortune of those who had so ill borne adversity.
But in a short time, the death, the will,-and the dis.
inherited, were all forgotten ; and the lost lands
being redeemed, peace, comfort, and happiness,
were supposed again to be restored to the dwel-
ling from which they had so long been banished.
‘ lint it was not so: If the furrows on the old
‘man's face were deep before, when he had to toil
from morning to night, they seemed to have sunk
into more ghastly trenches, now that the good-
tlrrnugh his fields at er-‘en-tide, he lonkt-.<.l not like
the Patriarch musing trar'tquill_v on the wor'ks and
ways of(}od; and when my eye met his, during
divine service, which he now -again al[(;n(lt_~(l with
scrupulous ret1;ul-arity, I sometimes thought they
were suddenly averted in conscious guilt, or clos-
cd in hypocritical devotion. I scarcely know ifI
had any suspicions against him in my mind, or
not ; but his high bald head, thin silver hair, and
countenance with its line features so intelligent,
had no longer the same solemn expression which
they once possessed; and something dark and
hidden seemed now to belong to them, which
withstood his forced and unnatural smile The
son, who, in the days of their former prosperity,
had been stained by no vice, and who, during their
lrarclcr lot, had kept hirnselfaloof from all his for-
me r companions,now becarne dissolute and profil-
gzrte, nor did he meet with any reproof from afa-
ther, whose heart would once have burst asunder
at one act of wickedness in his beloved child.
‘ About three years after the death of his fath-
er, the disinheritcd son returned to his native par-
ish. He had been a sailor on board various ships
on foreign stations—-btrt heating by chance of his
father’s death, he came to claim his inheritance.
Having heard, on his arrival, that his uncle had
succeeded to the property, he camcito me and
told me, that the night before he left his home,
his father stood by his bed-side, l~'.ISSti(.l him, and
said, that never more would he own ~uch an un-
dutiful son--but that he forgave him all his sins-—
at death would not defraud him of the pleasant
fields that had so long belonged to his humble an-
ccstors—-and hoped to meet, reconciled, in heav-
en. ‘ My uncle isa villain,’ said he, fiercely,‘ and
I will cast anchor on the green bank where I play-
ed when a boy, even ifl must first bring his grey
head to the scaffold.’ '
‘ laccompanietl him to the house of his uncle.
It was a dreadful visit. The family had just sat
down to their frugal mid-day meal; and the old
man, though for some years he could have had
little heart to pray, had just lifted up his hands to
ask a blessing. Our shadows, as we entered the
door, fell trpon the table-and turning his eyes,
he beheld before him on the floor, the man whom
he fearfnlly hoped had been buried in the sea.
His face was indeed, at that moment, most on-
like that of prayer ; btrt he ‘still held up his lean,
shrivelletl, trembling hands. ‘ Accursed hypo-
crite I’ cried the lierce nrariner, * dost; thou cull
down the blessing of Gull on a meal won basely
from the orphan 3 But, in 1 God, whom thou hast
hlasphemcd, has sent. me from the distant isles of
the ocean, to bring thy white head into the hang-
rnan’s hands 1’
‘ Fora moment, all was silent—thr:n aloud, sti-
Hcd gaspirrg was heard ; and she wlrom you saw
alittlc while ago, rose shrieking from her .~;t‘:-at.
and fell down on her knees at the sailor"s feet.
The terror of that unforgiven crime, now first
revealed to her knowledge, struck her dotrrr to
the floor. She fixed her bloodless face on his,
before whom she knelt—-but spoke not a single
word. There rt as a sound in li'et.;convulse(l tltr-«::a.=.,
like the death-rattl,c. ‘ I forged the will,’ said
the son, advancing towards his cousin with a firm
step ; ‘ my father could not--I alone arrr guilty-—
I alone must die.’-——The wife soon recovered the
iport-‘er of speech ; but it was so unlike her usual
voicepthat I scarcely thought, at first, the suurid,
proce'cded from her white quivering lips. ' As
you hope for mercy at the great judgment day,
let the old man make his escape-—hush, hush,
hush l till in a few days he l1-.ts'sail.:d away in
the hold of some ship to America. You surely
will not hang an old gr-'ey-headed man of three-
score and ten years 1’ .
(CONCLUSION NEXT WEEK.)
, . —-ovo-
INCIDENT or A wrN'rr;a’s NIGHT.
It was early in January, but the season which
had been remarkably mild, began to look threat-
ening. ‘I will go down to the village,’ said Mr.
M. ‘ I think I see in the dusky aspect of the
western horizon, the prospect of an approaching
snow storm, and it may be sometime before an-
other opportunity offers.’ Carolincsighed, as
she brought his cloak and cane.--* It is a dreary
way, l'arher,~’ said she, * and you will hardly reach
home by night.’ Mr. M, embraced her fondly,
and while -the eloquent tear stood in her large
blue eye, he whistled for his faithfuldog, and left
the cottage. ‘
It was six miles to the village of Ayrc, and the
sun had already" passed the meridian, but Mr.l\’1.
was well acquainted with the way ; the evenings
had been clear and moonlittht, and no real danger
was to be apprehended. Yet the tenderness of
female love, always so tremblintzly alive to the
safety ofthc dear object upon which it is fixed.
sees danger in every ~lir:lc cloud, and hears it in
every whispering zephyr, and Caroline spent the
long afternoon in alternately watching the cold
winter’s sky, and gazing down the lane which led‘
to the village. ._
I-Iour after hour passedaway, and at length the
sun werrt down in clouds. The winds arose
higher and higher, until the cottage trembled like
a leaf. She opened the window and looked out.
It was a dismal night, and the snow was begin-
ning to fly in large flakes around; the thick clouds
alrnost ‘shut out even the fairrl. moonlight from
""._.“y ..
On.
Some pitied-
ness of Providence had restored a gentle shelter
to hrs declining years. VVhen seen wandering?
'i‘tl-.e‘ ‘evening, and the lofty forests frowned darkly The interview whiclitook place bettveein Lioi
**on the plain. She closed the windows and trim-
' ‘: A med up the fire“,'3'and calling her little brothers a-
round. rook up a book which lay beside her. It
his iI‘ier_rd onfthe following morning, is re-
lated by the wr-rreras follows ;
After breakfast next morning, when all the
was Th<rmps0n”s Seasons, and the first passage ""6‘fh'er members ofme family had ,_cm,cd an, Li
. ' . . y p , ( .-
thal met her eye was—-
‘- "onel and myself were left alonewithout any dan-
‘ .171 vain f0?‘ 557" ‘/15 Oflifious "19’./lb’ llrc’/Ia“es I lger of interruption lwaited for the favourable
. . a ' ' '
T/re _/ire fair blazirig, and the vcstrnent -warm ;
In vain Iris little c/rz't’cIren_j1ee/2z';zg' on:
Into tIze'77z'i72glz'ng' storm, demand their sire,
I1/it/z tears of artlcss innocence. Alas .’
JVOr -zuf/'c, nor children more .9/tall /ze be/told,
Nor /i‘z'c*n(Is,7zor sacred home.’
She could no longer conceal her feelings, ‘but
burst into tears as she pressed to her bosom the
little innocents whom a dyin;»f{ rnntht:‘r- had left in
her charge but a year belore, and while their tears
uere mingled with her’s, she exclaimed, ‘ Ah.
when indeed will father come borne.’ At that
moment a gentle rap was heard at the door.—--
She flew to open it, ‘ My dear father,’ said she,
extending her arms, ' how glad’—-she started
back, while a crimson blush added tenfold beauty
to her cheeks; it was her lover ; and if her heart
told her truly, Aleantler was scarcely less dear to
her than lI(.'l' pa:en!.. They .oved-—--lint tl‘teir’s was
' .\"'c£ Z/.-.1! ,’;'z.-re., 0/2.:/r./1.r'os-/lerous love
Vi"/.z':‘/'.' f3’.‘i‘:;' an .-art’.-'1 ‘ml '.‘.-..:.":'.-X alrbv c,
G1‘0".'L’-iiiz 1'/1:’ run.) :’d.’.-.- (t'fi[£7'0’0IiI§‘ eg/rs.’
Tlrey lratl been brotrgitt up together, as It ‘-"PVC,
from tircir ini:rr‘rcy their hearts had been one _: but
the ntrttti;-.-.c of her father had torn’ hope from
ll1€ll‘l)*;‘:::tu'tiS, and left ‘them to pine away in wast-
inf: melanclroly, long years apart, for Caroline
was wealthy and Alexander poor. He had notr
come on an crrantl to her father, and it was worth
an age of sensual llcasure to see how his dc-
sp_or_rding t-ye brightened up at finding the angel
of lr1slrcar'tal-orrc.
‘ Ah, why these tears, my Caroline,’ said he;
‘ what cruel d_ecrce has added new sorrows to that
gentle bosom ?’ * Oh, my father! my father I’
exclaimed Caroline. ‘ And uh:-.t of him P’ asked
Alexander. ‘ Oh, I fear he will perish on the
moor,’ said she. ‘ I know he has attempted to
return, and the path must be covered ere now.’
‘I will go and seek him,’ said her lover. She
expressed her graritude in a ll-zrotl of tears ; and
then, as if recoil-zcting, she held his hand while a
thousand new and tender fears were awakened ;
perhaps he had not left Avre, and should Alex-
ander expose himself to danger because of her
foolish forcbodirrgs. It was thus, while she
struggled between hope and ft.-ar, that the faitlrful
dog, who "read accornpanied her father, returrred
to the cottzrge and confirmed all her fears.
The poor creature, though covered with snow
and almost frozen, would not approach the fire,
but ran first to one anrlthen to another, and then
to the door, and placing his paws upon the latch
seeming to a:-k_ some one to follow him. Alex-
ander opened the door. and tlrough the snow was
how deep, and still falling rapidly, with his staff
and lamhorn he soon (lisappear'ctl, and, with the
(log, took his course towards the village.
Caroline counted the tedious minutes with
lreart-br'cak«irrg solicitudc, but as the storn-r began
to abate, and every now and then she fancied sire
desxcried the glinimerings of the lantlrcrn, :1 new
lteling fla;-ihed acrosslrer ruind. Should Alexan-
der rescue her parent from perishing, what lltl'p--
piness would be her’s; and every crrcurnstance
might finally tend to do away the cause ofall her
sorrowing ; might melt that parent’.-. ht art into
acquiescence with her wishes, and bend his proud
spirit to ct.-nsent to call Alexander son.
At last the faint glirnrncrings of what seemed
a distant light was seen. l'..g'r‘cW brig-hter—it
was fixed-—-slrc heard the barkfrtg ofa dog—-it was
a reality. Her heart rose with hope, and sunk as
rapidly with fear. ‘I will submit to the will of
Providence,’ said she-—‘ surely Alexander will
not r't=.tur'n witliorrt my f:rthcr‘.’l--Sire was :'i;.;lrt-—-
her father and her lover were rcttirnirrg. Alex-
trntltzr had found the object of his search hall bu-
ried in the snow, and inscnsiblc of his situation,
leaning on a fallen tree, about 2: mile from the
cottage. Mr‘. M. had still suflicicnt strength to
walk, with assistance, to his home, and, when he
reached it. was soon entirely revived.
Alexander and Caroline parted with light
hearts, for he was then, for the first time, invit-
ed to become a frequent visitor. And when he
came the next day to inquire after the health of
Mr. M. the good man, with a smile that bespoke
the l'ctilin;_-;s of his heart, took him by the hand,
and joining it uirh Caroline’s, could butarticu-
late ‘ My children, may God Ailnriglrty bless you.’
The sequel is anticipated; and 21 happier pair
than Caroline anti Alexander‘. never were join-:-'.i
in the silken bands of matrimony.
-€9?"'
‘THE STORY or LIONEL.
The following extract from the story ofL.ionel,
published in the Christian Spectator. cannot fail
to inler'estj~.rl.l who read it. it was written by the
companion of bis'youth, and his continued friend
Blendon, to a grandson. Lionel possessed the
of virtue, and his _iuvcnile days wererzrowncd with
the highest Colltfgiitle honors. After the com-
pletion of his tducaticn, he came to the possession
of n..rclr wealth, and settled down into domestic
life, selecting an amiable female to be the com-
panion of his futtrre years. The loss of this
companion after bcconring the mother oftwo chil-
dren, alfectetl his mind till r'elieved by the bottle.
Intcmperate habits stole upon him inseusibly, till
confirmed in drunkenness, his friends forsook
him. Blendun only was lcft.,as the angel ofbright-
er hopes, to admonish him to flee to the city of
refuge. Blendon saw the man transformed, by a
process which man himself had devised, into the
beast, and hastened to administer the antidote
which should be necessar‘y. He arriretl at the
house of his friend. and witnessed the ravages
of that fiend which fills the world with misery and
death, and consigns the souls of millions to black-
ness of darkness for ever. Blendon rt-.tirt—d early
to contemplate tlrt: scene before him :—-‘ I sat
down’ said he, ‘ by my bed_'-side, and gate vent to
my feelings in a flood oftears. \Vhy, said Ito my-
self, did I shrink from the kind offices of a friend
three years ago, when my admotritions tenderly
and affectionately administered, might have baf-
fled the destroyer.’ His night was slcepless——lris
prayers were fervent for forgiveness for neglect-
ed opportunities--lris ‘resolution solemnly made
before the altar of his God, that he would attempt
=, the recovery of his l'riend——tlre assttt'aucc strong,
'- my grace issuliicient for thee.’
most amiable disposiriotr, was trained up to habits _
moment to begin. This was partlyfurnished by
my friend himself. ‘ Blendon,’ said he, ‘.1 am
glad that you have not forgotten me-mostiofmv
°ld friends h.i\V‘€~been very cold of late.’ I l'Cpll.c.(l,
‘ MY deal‘ Sit‘. am sure I can never forgecyou,
and why should they ?’ ‘I don’t know,’ added
he ‘ perhaps the fault is my own.’ I inquired
what he had done to provoke neglect. * Nothing-
purposely ; but we never keep any thing frorin
each other, and I will tell you what I strlyphge bu,
given them olferrce. Perhaps you remarked last
night a failing to which I am subject.’ ( [ d;d';n_
deed. my friend, and I’ am going with your l('av¢:
to persuade you to renounce it.’ t 0 that is im-
possible: I have made a number of attempts but
all in vain--1 cannot live without it.’ «_Y.,u can
dear l,ior.~ei, I ltnow yotr can, there in r,o,,-,._..- in’
heaven ‘to enable you to do it if your own itrenotlp
is ir':sr=lfrcier‘.t ;——-and lol‘gi\~‘c inc \\ liilel set bEi:)x'c
You the motives which urggc you to renew the at.
‘."~l"li’l_-1 ‘ l“_€'|.-{-i_\ri: you,’ he cxt:lair-.x.c'.l : ‘ I would
..)‘:rir ar:»,_:.' tlnnt: l:-urn you.‘ I ,_.g__._.,.,,,, WM, (“Sum
§’..’.lt“.??........‘..;::i‘f‘.il:§’.§‘..‘ii‘.I"° or
~ ‘ -y.-, .1. . , ..tt with lir+.ltrtg,g1-lame;
upon the loss of ms -.tu.lioti=.y Ul'L‘l' lllS -:!-irncssics -
upon the decline cit. pis 1-cputatitm, and the neg:
lccr which he was beginning ,0 ECFL A” this
time Lionel paid strict atterrtiorr, and the tears
had begun, one by one, to steal down his cg,cek_,__
I next ment1oncd_ the grief which‘ those very
friends, so long tried and beloved, m,,,,, yet] to
. _ ,
be obliged for their own credit to avoid his socie-
ry.
was too much-I could not ptoceecl——such floods.
of tears, such heart-rending sobs broke fUI'ti); as
I neter witnessed before. VVe sat without lax.
changing a word for he. ghalfan lr'our. At length
his feelings had becorric Im, and he broke"si-
lcnce. ‘ My tlear Brendon,’ said ll,-, tthcse are
the WUUI-l(lS ofa friend. lam resolved never‘ again
to taste the fatal draught; do you offer our unit,-ggl
supplrcations to.God, that he will enable me to
pci‘sevcre in this resolution.’ VVe knelt togeth-
er, and my lips, animated by these symfnoms Of
returning ltlc, glowc-d with a fervour seido;,.~w_
known to me before. VVlren we rose, juy and
hope beamed from the countenance of Lionel as
be bade me direct such measures ‘to Jrisfarrrily as
prudence should dictate, and tendered me his
keys. I directed every drop of spirits to be cat'-
zierl to a distance, and prescribed such alterations
in his dict as I deemed necessary. We pass'ed
most of the day in walking over his lands, and
cnlirerred the hours with those sweet 1-ec(,1leC._im,5
of our earlier days upon which both loved to dwell.
As evening approached, Lionel complained ofst--
vcrc pain, and grew melancholy. I consoled him
under his sufferings, by persuadirrg him that they
would not be oflong duration, and by holding up
to his view the prize he would “in. We had litatlr:
arrangen cuts tovludgc in the same room, and by
his consent I took the keys. At short lrl.;)l"_-/:-ills 1
l'card him utter such groans as evinced great sat.
faring. The morning came, but brorrgzlrt no re-
lief. A spasmodick ‘affection, attended with ex-
cruciating pain, a universal trembling and un,'_-asi.
ness, tltfft threatened to make him lrantick, were
symptorns that commenced uith that u]Cn‘)0i’abi¢
day. Had he l'CqU(‘.:l.C(.l, I do not know out I
should have l‘C.;r(lli}' consented to abandon the
trial. I even hin'z.:l tlrtit his sufft.-rings were'alar-
ming: but he took no advantage oftne opportu-
nity then given him. At his request we unit,-_d
in prayer, and spent mostiof the day in the cxer.
cices of devotion. Towarda evening his distress
was somewhat nritigated, and he slept quietly du-
ring the night ensuing. Sullerings similar to the
former returned lrcxt day, but eviderrtly in a mild-
er form. It was a week before he was eutirelv
free from pain, a great part of which he had sperft
in reading the scriptures and in religious exerci-
ses. .
He now felt an inell'-able degree of joy and tr}-
umph. The grace of God. which had enabled
him to gain the victory, was his constant and d..-r-.
ling theme. The tidings ofhis reformation were
soon spread abroad ; many feared it was only ten‘.-
porary, but after a year had elapsed the t'v..»oJeli
of his r‘e30luti - ‘.-'1-.‘-.3 .’2pp;*.r’-.'rr't in the. Zn" .r_ur-qr;
l:t.|f.': .:’.:.tr wsts :‘L‘—‘.i['It‘f;:i to his ft';ata1rc3--'i:r ills
I'eg‘I.rlai' ."-.‘?t‘e.'.*.'tc=n ‘.0 hzlsine s, in his exet1rpiar-.-
iii}. .‘:l't'.Ll .—tt€~;-nt ,‘-'3ty..’.i='.‘t: no (Ill-"3 an,’ it-lI'_.'[t‘lx' clt‘.-;;tl;t-
c-ti lhe realizy oi the change. The cl-{urch wel-
comed him to her communion, and aftcrwar'ds
made him one of her elders ; and his fellow-ci'ti-
zens showed by various marks of respect, that
their confidence was fully restored.’
--<44D--
INDIAN MAGN.uvI_M1'rY.
The following an.'c'lr.~te, on the autlrmizy of
May. Vatrt-gin, shewing the c/'zz'va2rou.s- zr:aguam'm:z'-
ty ofthe Qnttpaws in one of their conflicts with
the Clrrckasaws, is related by Mr. V.
The Qrrapaws had already succeeded in repel-
ling; the Chickasaws by whom they were often at-
tacked. In one of their contests. the Chickasaws,
irrslcad ofstanding their ground, were reireating
before the Quapaws, whom they had descried at
at distance, in consequerrce of the want of-ammu-_
nition. The latter understanding the cause, were
determined to obviate all excuse, and desired the
‘hickasaws to land on the adjoining beach of the
Mississippi, giving: them the unexpected prom-
ise ofsupplying them with powder for the strug-
gle. The chief ofthe Quapaws then ordered all
his men to empty their powder horns into a blan-
ket, after which he divided the whole with at
spoon, and gave the lralf tn the Chickasaws.—-
They then proceeded to combat, which termina-
ted in the killing of ten Chickasaws, and the loss
of live prisoners, with the death of a single Qua-
paw.
INDIAN ELOQUENC E.
The followint; specimen of elegiac patlros was.
delirer'ed by an Indian female over the contigu-
ous graves of her hu.~.barrd and infant :
‘ The Fallief of Life and Light has taken.ft‘om
me the apple ofmy eye and the core of my heart,
and hid them in these two graves. I will moist-
en the one with my tears and the other with the
milk ofrny breast, till I meet them again in that
country where the sun never sets.’
At last I came to his Cl‘rIl(ll'Cn_.lllC scene»
Norwalk Chronicler