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"le grand tigre royal," has been successively "le jardin |

sleeps,

SPIRIT OF THE TORRENT.

Where, adown the crescent-rock, the resistless torrent

sweeps,

Where billows, from the fathomless and unsearch'd gulph below,

Like an eternal fountain's jet, exhaustless waters throw; 'Tis there I wield my sceptre, and in majesty I reign, And trembles at my voice of power, Niagara's domain.

SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

du roi—de l'empereur and du roi, according to the changes I am King! I am King! where the green tide never undergone by the government. But here again I am at fault to know what to communicate to you, that in all probability you have not read before. Every one must be fully aware that this magnificent spot contains one of the richest collection of flowers and plants in the world-a museum of vast extent-a menagerie and an aviary that seem to contain every beast and bird in creation. The animals are scattered about the Garden in every direction-those of the fiercer kind confined in strong cages, and the gentler species in enclosures-so that in walking about in it you could almost fancy yourself Adam in the Garden of Eden. Of all the creatures in the menagerie, the Giraffe is the one that attracts the most notice, and it is certainly a most singular and beautiful animal. When it first arrived it set all Paris crazy-every thing became à la Giraffe, in the same manner as every thing with us was à La Fayette, after the visit of the illustrious General to our country. With its hinder parts nearly touching the ground, and its head almost brushing the heavens, it would be scarcely too bold a figure to call it an emblem of Fame-"Parva primo, mox sese attollit in auras, ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubila condit." Its skin beautifully spotted, its delicate neck longer than its whole body, its exquisitely formed limbs, combined with its innocent look and unique shape, render it a thing to be gazed upon again and again with renewed gratification.

Where the bright Bow's radiant flush
Spans the roaring torrents' rush,
Till each changeful, quivering ray
Melts in tintless mist away;
Where the white foam, rising high,
Catches splendor from the sky,
Changing still, and still the same,
Glorious forms without a name;
Where the fragile wild-flow'r springs,
Like a thing with life and wings,
Midway the eternal wall,

That meets the eternal torrents' fall,
And frolics in the wild wind's play,
And spreads its bosom to the spray,
As fearlessly as though it knew

No Muse but Zephyr, Shower and Dew;
Bath'd in light, and throned in air,
Sceptred Genius, I am there;
See my Coronet, and own

I am Queen, and here's my Throne.

SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE.

There is something exceedingly calculated to excite feelings of gloom, in the perambulation of the streets of a great city amidst vast crowds of fellow beings, without seeing among them a single face upon which a look of recognition can be bestowed. If ever I experienced the full power of those malignant fiends that take Rush on, rush wildly on, proud forest-flood! especial delight in persecuting travellers-blue devils I Leap the bold rocks, rush through the sounding wood; mean—it was in walking about Paris after my curiosity Your deep-toned voice breaks not my realm's repose, had been satisfied to such an extent as to allow other But o'er my reign, sublime, a solemn grandeur throws. feelings to operate. No solitude, it has been justly said, is so dreary as that of a crowd, and I completely real- From shuddering nature's hand, the fearful steep, ized the truth of the remark when I found myself wan-Madly ye plung'd, "deep calling unto deep," dering an isolated being amid the immense multitudes Wildly and loud in my sole listening ear, of the Boulevards. How distressingly, likewise, does a While, undisputed King, I fix'd my empire here. stranger, in a population of nearly a million, become impressed with the idea of his individual insignificance! It is when placed in such a position that the lessons of humility sink most deeply in his mind; that he is made most sensible of what inconsiderable importance his existence is in the world-how small a drop he is in the great ocean of life. But it is time to bid you adieu for the present.

NIAGARA.

Rush, forest-winds! Fit music for my ear,
The torrent's roar, the wind's deep howlings here;
Meet scenes, meet sounds, grace here my hallowed
reign,

Meet Genius I, to rule Niagara's domain.

SPIRIT OF POESY.

There is a world of Glory in this place!
Those massive rocks that meet the torrent's shock,
"So high that they are dreadful;" that bold flood,
Making loud mock, in its eternal roar,

Of Man's weak days and few; this dark-leaved wood,
Prisoning the winds, and that celestial Bow,
Calm o'er the torrent as the summer's twilight

'Twas Summer, blessed Summer, and the noon's re- Over the ruin'd world,—O they are vast,
splendent hour,

The festal time of glory in Niagara's dark bower,

And beautiful as vast. Why wake ye not
To song-rapt song, and melody, my Lyre?

And spirit-forms seem'd gathering, and spirit-voices
| Is there no inspiration in this scene

To move ye to make music? Ah, that dash

Seem'd echoing through the solitudes, and ringing in Of the full flood, drown'd the poor strain that sought

there

the air.

To find its way from your vibrating chords.

But yet, a loftier strain; let music thrill,
Fitting this glory, from your loudest strings.
Awake! awake!-Ah, there is not a note

But the deep, mingling, sounds of rushing floods,
And howling forest-winds, that gather round

The shuddering strings. Alas, they break! they break!
Be folded, Lyre, to my awe-stricken heart,
And I will gather up your riven threads,
Where nature seem'd to wreathe my choicest bower,
And pause, profoundly mute.

SPIRIT OF DEVOTION.

'Tis good to linger here-how bright they be!
These symbols of a present Deity;
They call, like Horeb's sign, to holy fear,
And bid the sandal'd foot approach not near.

When the foundations of that massive wall,
That, ages long, have met the torrent's fall,-
And stem, unmov'd, the torrent's thunderings still,-
Sank to their depths, at God's almighty will;

When the wild floods plung'd as in proud chagrin,
Scorning the barriers that would shut them in,
And Heaven's eternal voice was heard below-
"Thus far, proud waves, nor farther shalt thou go;"

When, silently, He drew His radiant bow
O'er the dark gulph that madly wrought below,
A beauteous arch, where angel-forms might lean,
And view the wonders of the glorious scene;

Then, when the morning stars together sang,
And Heaven's blue vault with joyous shoutings rang,
My gentle sceptre sway'd the angel throng,
My voice, celestial, led the choral song.

And in these hallowed haunts I linger still;
Here the rapt heart my influence soft shall fill,
Till Time's, old Time's declining, latest days,
And Nature's voice shall cease to speak her Maker's
praise.

Maine.

THE INDIAN CAPTIVE.

AS RELATED BY A FIRST SETTLER. BY HORATIO KING.

ELIZA.

the beautiful village of

situated on the banks of the Kennebec, in the State of Maine. The distance from my own residence to the mountains was mostly performed in carriages with an occasional ride on horseback. On arriving at the hospitable habitation of Mr.

the dwelling nearest the mountains, I had, much to my satisfaction, become recruited and so much improved in strength as to feel almost like climbing the mountains at a breath. Singularly enough, as I thought, I happened there at a time when no other stranger was present-not a solitary being could be found to accompany me to the heights of Mount Washington, even so much as a humble guide. But I was now determined not to return without seeing the originally proposed end of my journey. To scale the heights before me, a stranger and alone, was, to be sure, no desirable task; but my ambition led me to attempt it even at the hazard of loosing my way and becoming exhausted. I started from my friend's at eight o'clock in the morning of a delightfully pleasant day, and before the sun had reached the middle of its daily course, I was well nigh at the summit of the mountain; yet, not without feeling that I could not endure such exertion with the freedom of one who had never been broken down by disease. It is needless to say that I amused myself with the grand prospect afforded and the wild scenery around, until it became necessary to return. I made, on my ascension, by the path, such marks and observations as I thought would enable me to find my way back without difficulty. But I was mistaken. The entire afternoon was consumed in fruitless endeavors to find the path which I had followed on going up. I was now weary and faint; and the sun, as he sunk beneath the western horizon, seemed to tell me, in fearful language, that I should never look upon his countenance, nor feel his enlivening influences again! But there was no time to be lost-my life was in danger! I flew first to one extremity of the height which I had ascended and then to the other, little removed from derangement in viewing the awful horrors of my situation. Alas! night had come over me— a faint, fatigued and sick being, and almost unmanned by fear. But what was my surprise, mingled with joy, at this crisis, on seeing at a little distance from me, and coming towards me, a tall but well-proportioned man, with a musket in his hand, whom I took to be an Indian!

"Ah, young man," said he, on coming up, "what has brought you to this lonely place at this hour of the night?-have you no guide, no protector, nor means of securing yourself to-night from this cold, damp air?" "None!" said I, and I immediately informed him of

"Rash and unfortunate youth!" said the stranger, "you deserve some punishment for thus voluntarily exposing yourself to danger and death!-have you no food with you?"

"Not one morsel!" I answered. "In my hurry and anxiety to reach the mountain this morning, I entirely forgot to take any with me!"

In the month of September, 17—, my health hav-my adventures and the reason of my being thus exposed. ing become considerably impaired, I was advised by my friends and the physician of the village to journey, as a means of improving it. Possessing naturally a disposition to become acquainted with the situation of the country, especially in my own state and neighborhood, I readily acceded to the advice. But the next question which arose, was-where should I travel,how far, and in what parts? It was agreed, finally, that I should go to the White Mountains. I accordingly prepared for my journey, and on the morning of the sixth of September, after receiving from my friends their united wishes that I might have a pleasant season and return in improved health, I took my departure from

Putting his hand into his pocket, he drew forth a small piece of broiled meat and a slice of bread

"Here," said he, "eat this-it may afford you a little strength, and prevent you from becoming entirely exhausted;-—a singular freak this for a pale-face like you!" he added,—and I thought he was about to leave me.

"For Heaven's sake, my dear sir!" I exclaimed,— "would you leave me here in this chilling air and on these cold and dreary mountains to perish, without a friend and alone?"

His keen black eyes were fixed full and steadily upon me, as if to read the inmost secrets of my heart,-when he approached, and taking me by the hand

"Hear me!" said he, sternly,-"Will you swear?" "What?-by whom?" I replied earnestly. "By Him who has sent me hither to save you!Swear that you will not, in my life-time, reveal to any living being, the spot or dwelling to which I may lead you-and all shall be well."

I swore. He then requested me to follow him. In silence and with some difficulty, for I had become much exhausted, I obeyed. He led me a considerable distance to a part of the mountain where it was evident the footsteps of few if any but his own were ever marked; and on guiding me into a secret and curious cave, the old man (I had already observed that from his appearance he had numbered at least three score and ten,) looking at me with a smiling countenance, said

"Here, young stranger, is the place that I call my home; sit down," said he, "on that smooth stone, and I will soon kindle a blaze-I have also some game in my pockets which I have just had the fortune to seize, that with a little roasting will please the palate and repair the system. You have been a rash youth," continued he, “but you are safe now, and as soon as you regain your strength, I will put you in a way, should you wish it, to find the foot of the mountain."

We had found it necessary before reaching the cave, to procure a torch, by which I was enabled to see my way well along the narrow, and in many places perilous path that we were obliged to travel. The old man soon built a good fire, and before one hour had elapsed he had prepared a supper, which appeared to me, under the circumstances, more inviting even than the sumptuous viands of the rich; I never ate with a better relish.

I was of course anxious to hear what he might have to relate, knowing that if I could learn nothing of his own life, his knowledge of early events enabled him to give a narration of many rare and interesting occurrences, and I begged that he would proceed.

"About sixty years ago," the old man commenced, "there lived on the banks of the Androscoggin, in what is now called the town of Bethel, a man who was married and had two children, a son and daughter, and who obtained a livelihood by hunting and fishing. At that time, there were several tribes of Indians in the neighborhood, and this friendly and peaceable family were not unfrequently disturbed by their near approach and nightly yells. They, however, managed by prudence and caution to live safely there for several years, until at length one evening of a beautiful summer day, just as the sun was going down behind the trees, a hostile and wandering tribe of Indians approached the humble, but hitherto comparatively quiet, dwelling of those lonely settlers. The mother and her little daughter of seven years were employed in the house, while the father and son, who was then about ten years of age, were gathering wood at a short distance from his dwelling. The father, leaving his little boy busily engaged in picking up sticks, went with his arms full of wood to the house, and had no sooner reached it, than he saw his hostile foes coming up, and standing almost directly between him and his son. He called to him, and thought at first to run to his protection, but saw on a moment's reflection that by endeavoring to save his life he would endanger his own (for already several arrows were pointed at him,) and put it out of his power to protect his wife and daughter, who were alarmed almost to fainting in the house. The only alternative left him was to flee to his house and prepare to defend them and himself there. The Indians now gave a horrible yell, and attempted by every means in their power to enter; but the father was enabled to beat them back until his wife had loaded one or two muskets, which were immediately discharged upon them with good effect. The contest was continued for about a half hour, the wife loading and the husband firing the guns, when the Indians finding their attempts to enter the house fruitless, and that powder and balls were more fatal in their effect than their own weapons, they took their departure, such of them as were able, yelling most hideously. The

In the meantime I could not banish the wonder and surprise excited by the fact, that an individual possessing the faculties, both mental and physical, of my kind protector, should take up his abode in a place so cold and barren, and affording so few opportunities for a life of ease and happiness. I was exceedingly anxious, as was natural, to learn the history of one whose whole char-night passed; but the fear of the Indians and the acter appeared so singular and strange. Could I dare solicit of him the desired information? I almost feared to ask it; but the hospitable board having been removed, and the old man seeming in a cheerful mood, I ventured to offer an intimation that a little conversation relative to his own history would to me be peculiarly interesting,—and it had its effect. His eyes flashed, and he sat for some time in silence. At length, drawing his seat nearer to me, and with a look which seemed to say that none but himself should ever know his history, he observed

"I am old, young stranger, as you see--ready almost to lie down in my grave. There are, it is true, many incidents connected with my life, which, if related, might perhaps amuse one of your age and capacity;--but it grieves me to think of them! I will, however, if you are not too much fatigued," he continued, "tell you a short story."

thought that their child might already be suffering the most cruel tortures, prevented the parents, as may well be supposed, from receiving one moment's rest. The morning dawned, and six Indians were seen lying dead on the ground near the house. The brave hunter had not fought without carrying sorrow to the bosoms of his enemies, though he suffered the loss, as he believed, forever of his little Charles, whom the Indians he well knew would preserve only to torment. He ventured out and immediately saw at a short distance from the house another Indian, who, from his appearance, he judged had been wounded. In his wrath he approached and would have despatched him at once had not the Indian, in a most heart-touching manner, begged to be spared, offering at the same time, as an inducement to the hunter to let him live, to prevent the life of his son being destroyed and return him safe to his parents. On his promising to do this, he was taken into the house

and a little attention to his wounds enabled him to fol- whelmed with joy were they, to utter a syllable; and low his savage comrades.

*

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the mother, feeble at witnessing so unexpected an event, had fainted and fallen to the floor. She soon, however, revived and was permitted once more to clasp in her arms the son, whom she had long believed dead, and soon expected to meet in Heaven. It was a scene, indeed, which can much better be imagined than described. "You will judge what were the feelings of Charles on

"Years passed away, but no son came. The hunter now felt that he had been deceived, and regretted that he had not despatched the savage at a blow. Ten years had now already elapsed, and all hopes of ever seeing Charles had long since been abandoned. The mother had made herself, in appearance and feeling, old and almost help-learning the death of his sister. less by grief and mourning, and Ellenor, her daughter, was in the last stage of consumption, partly from the same cause, and from seeing an affectionate mother sinking so rapidly. She could remember her little brother, and how he looked before the savages came and took him away. Her thoughts were ever upon him; and the following lines, composed and presented her by a friend, she was often heard to sing with a pensive air, as she sat at her window in the evening twilight:

O, blest were those hours when gay on the banks
Of the clear Androscoggin I played

With my own honest Charles,-and when by the side
Of my mother, I kneeled, as she prayed!
Then sickness, and sorrow, and cold discontent
Were unknown to a childhood so free!
And death, with his arrows so awful and sure,
Possessed no dread terrors for me!

But alas! those blest days are forever no more!
And mourning and sorrow now reign;

The savage, in wrath, has invaded our home!

And dear Charles has been captured and slain!
No more shall we sport on the banks of the stream,
Or walk, hand in hand, through the grove;
He has gone to his rest, in those regions afar,

Where dwells naught save quiet and love!

"Ellenor died while yet in her seventeenth year, and was buried in a spot selected by herself, near a large oak tree by the house, under whose shades she used often to sport with her dear brother, and where, in the summer hours, when deprived of his presence, she had frequently resorted for contemplation and study.

"The parents were now left entirely alone, and with few inducements to make even life itself desirable. Their only daughter had died in autumn, and a freezing and dreary winter was at hand."

"It was a severe, cold night in the month of December, and the moon shone upon the snow bright and full almost as the sun itself, when two men were seen approaching the dwelling of this lonely settler. They walked up to the house and kindly asked admittance. Supposing them to be Indians belonging to some friendly tribe near by, who wished to warm and rest themselves, they were without hesitancy permitted to enter." "Cold weather this, old man,' said the eldest of the two strangers, who was at once observed to be an Indian, addressing the hunter as they seated themselves by the

fire.

"Yes,' was the reply,—'and have you far to walk this cold night?'

"I have come,' said the Indian, 'to fulfil my promise, made to you a long, long time since. You will recollect

"What! my son and does he live? asked the old man, with much emotion.

"But the cause of this long delay in the return of the Indian, was now to be explained. It may be done in few words.

"He overtook his party in a short time, after recovering from his wounds, and found them mourning and almost distracted with grief, for in the contest with the hunter they had lost their chief and several others of their most daring warriors; and they were just preparing to feed their revenge by torturing to death with every cruel means which their savage and blood-thirsty hearts could invent, their captive boy. But happily he had arrived in time to save him, though it had been utterly out of his power to return him to his parents before. They continued their march into the western wilderness, where they were finally forced to remain, on account of a war which soon broke out between their own and several other hostile tribes of Indians, and lasted for nearly the whole time that had elapsed since they left the banks of the Androscoggin.

"Charles had not forgotten his parents, though he had become habituated to the usages, customs and hardships of his savage comrades, and wore, indeed, the resemblance of an Indian. He now, with his preserver, whom he would not permit to leave him, lived with his parents and supported them until, worn out with age and sorrow, they both, in the course of two years, were laid in their graves nearly at the same time.

"Charels Eaton, (for that was his name,) had now but one friend in the world--his Indian protector and preserver. They lived and wandered together for many years, obtaining their living, as they were taught to do, in the wilderness, until at length the poor Indian was taken suddenly ill and died, leaving Charles entirely friendless and without a home.

"Charles lived now, not because it was his own pleasure, but because it was the will of heaven that he should live. He for a time sought to make himself happy in society; but the noisy and cold-hearted world possessed no charms for him. He sought the mountains, where he discovered a cave in which he entered and at once declared it his home while life remained. He has thus far kept his word, and," said the old man, springing from his seat with the activity of a boy, " Charles Eaton is the man, who has just saved you, my young friend, from the awful pangs of death!"

I cannot describe my surprise on hearing this announcement, coming upon me, as it did, so suddenly. I had in fact become so interested in the old man's story, that I had even forgotten the situation in which I was placed.

We now sought rest from sleep; but little did I obtain. I however by the morning found myself suffi66 "IIe lives!-behold him there, before you!' ciently recruited to venture to return to the dwelling at "Without waiting for the answer, the aged parent, the foot of the mountain and from thence home, which recognizing in the, till then, supposed Indian, his own I did, after first having been directed to the right path son, had embraced him, neither being able, so over- | by my own kind preserver—the INDIAN CAPTIVE!

MOSES SMITING THE ROCK.

BY N. C. BROOKS.

No former miracles, that shed Upon the desert, streams and bread, Inspired with confidence or grace The faithless and the wicked race. Oppressed with thirst, with hunger faint, They vented murmur and complaint. "Why bring ye to this barren coast Of heat and sand, our weary host, Where neither fruit nor golden grain, Appears through all the desert plainNo bough on which pomegranates shine, Nor figs, nor elusters of the vine; Where sparkles neither fount nor pool The thirst to slake-the brow to cool. Why bring us to this land to die? Egypt had graves wherein to lie."

Their leaders, then, in anguish, bowed Their faces down, and mourned aloud, Until, from out the light that broke Around, the voice of God thus spoke"Smite with the rod: the flinty rock Shall pour its streams for man and flock."

Then with the consecrated rod,
Which curse or blessing brought from God,
Toiled Moses up the pathless wild
Of rocks, in sullen grandeur piled,
While all the host was gathered round,
By hope or fear in silence bound.
"Why will ye murmur? Has the ear
Grown heavy that was wont to hear?
Or shortened is the mighty hand
That brought you from oppression's land?
That manna o'er the desert spread,
And streams of living waters shed?
Why tempt the Lord? Lift up your eyes!
The self-same hand your want supplies:
The bounty of his grace
receive-
Behold! ye rebels, and believe;
Behold!" and fell with jarring shock,
Th' uplifted wand upon the rock:
And inwardly was heard the rush
Of prisoned waves in gurgling gush,

With pleasure tingles every ear,
As the refreshing sound they hear;
And every upraised eye is bright,
And laughing with hope's pure delight.
The rod again descends-the rock
Its portal opens at the shock;

The stream leaps from its mountain home,
With voice of rage and crest all foam,
And thunders down the precipice
In cataracts, that part and hiss
And murmur; and, in shining rills
Slow winding, sigh among the hills.

Ye wanderers through this wilderness, Bowed down with sorrow and distress, Go, when the head is sick-when faint The heart breathes out its mournful plaint;

And fevered with earth's cares and strife,

Is panting for the streams of life

Go to the Archetypal fount

Of that which flowed in Horeb's mount,

Amid the wilderness of Zin;

And drink till all is heaven within.

STUDY OF THE LAW.

It is a circumstance of frequent occurrence to behold a young man of superior intellectual attainments, ardently commencing the profession of the law, buoyed up by the friendly predictions of his associates, and a just consciousness of his own abilities. The road to high and honorable legal eminence appears to lie free and open before him: emulation excites him to present exertion: wealth and fame invite him from the distance.

Yet in nine cases out of ten, the confidence of the young legal aspirant turns to doubt, distrust, despairand the hopes of his friends end in disappointment and sorrow. And wherefore? Not because his mental faculties relapse into mediocrity, but because he was not duly prepared for the arduous journey undertaken. His progress is slow-almost imperceptible. Every day teaches him the deficiencies of his knowledge, and opens to his view larger and larger fields of inquiry. The path is difficult, and he meets with a thousand undreamed-of obstacles to his progress. Human nature in its worst aspect is presented to his view, and sordid interest, vindictive malice, envy, hatred and all uncharitableness, are the passions he has to combat, or is called on to sustain. His temper is thus tried in a hundred ways, and, it may happen that though he has a just cause, and a general knowledge of the law as connected with it, a single mis-step in practice, a want of confidence in addressing court or jury-an ignorance of the great and broad principles of the branch of law under consideration-a deficiency of application to the details of his case, physical weakness, or mental or nervous irritation, will accumulate difficulties in his progress-and utterly debar him from success.

Some, it is true, by an inherent force of mind bear up against the pressure, and in the end attain the high reputation of great lawyers. But how much oftener does the study of the law, once so inviting, become disgusting and tedious, and the brilliant promise of the youth, fade away in the obscurity of the man.

This result is mainly attributable to our erroneous system of preparation. Somewhat, it is true, is owing to the miscalculations of young men themselves, to their misunderstanding the nature of the profession, their deeming it to be an easy as well as an honorable life, their considering the vocation of the law as the highway to political preferment, and, in too many instances, their mistaken belief that genius alone, without assiduity, is equal to the accomplishment of any object. The most general plan of preparation is this: A young man, after having been immaturely graduated at a college, wherein a four years' course of miscellaneous study on a variety of subjects has given him no thorough knowledge of any, and sometimes, though rarely, with the advantage of a one year's course of VOL. III.-4

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