Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted and brave,
They lowered the boat, a mere speck on the wave.
First entered the mother, enfolding her child:

It knew she caressed it, looked upward and smiled.
Cold, cold was the night as they drifted away,
And mistily dawned o'er the pathway the day;-
And they prayed for the light, and at noontide about,
The sun o'er the waters shone joyously out.

"Ho! a sail! Ho! a sail!" cried the man at the lea, "Ho! a sail!" and they turned their glad eyes o'er the

sea.

"They see us, they see us, the signal is waved!

They bear down upon us, they bear down upon us:
Huzza! we are saved."

T

THE INDIAN CHIEF TO THE WHITE

SETTLER.

HINK of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them? As Philip looked down from his seat on Mount Hope, that glorious eminence, that

-"throne of royal state, which far

Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind,

Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand,
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,”—

as he looked down, and beheld the lovely scene which spread beneath, at a summer sunset, the distant hill-tops glittering as with fire, the slanting beams streaming across the waters, the broad plains, the island groups, the majestic forest,-could he be blamed if his heart burned within him, as he beheld it all passing, by no tardy process, from beneath his control, into the hands of the stranger?

As the river chieftains-the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains-ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at, if they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler's axe-the fishing-place disturbed by his saw-mills? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong-minded savage, the chief of the Pocomtuck Indians, who should have ascended the summit of the Sugar-loaf Mountain, (rising as it does before us, at this moment, in all its loveliness and grandeur,)-in company with a friendly settler,-contem plating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides with which he was advancing into the wilderness, should fold his arms and say, "White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers, but with my life. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide, unrestrained, in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn,

"Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs: they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did.

"The stranger came, a timid suppliant,-few and fee ble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchments over the whole, and says, 'It is mine.'

Stranger! there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west, the fierce Mohawk-the man-eateris my foe. Shall I fly to the east, the great water is before me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I die; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee.

"Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for that alone I thank thee. And now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle past thee; when thou liest down by night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping-knife; thou shalt build, and I will burn,-till the white man or the Indian perish from the land.. Go thy way for this time in safety,but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee."

EDWARD EVERETT.

IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT.

F I should die to-night,

IF

My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,

And deem that death had left it almost fair;
And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,

Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness
And fold my hands with lingering caress;

Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!

If I should die to-night,

My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought;
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said;
Errands on which the willing feet had sped.
The memory of my selfishness and pride,
My hasty words, would all be put aside,

And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.

If I should die to-night,

Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me

Recalling other days remorsefully.

The eyes that chill me with averted glance

Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,

And soften in the old, familiar

way;

For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay? So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night.

O friends! I pray to-night,

Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow.
The way is lonely; let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn ;
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need

The tenderness for which I long to-night.

B. 8

OUR

THE SENATOR'S DILEMMA.

UR Senator was a man who, by mere force of charac ter, apart from the adventitious aids of culture and refinement, had attained wealth and position. He found it agreeable, as so many other Americans have done, to take a trip abroad.

He chanced to be in Florence during the recent struggle for Italian independence. While there, he met a remarkably brilliant woman, the acknowledged leader of the liberal part of Florentine society, generally known by the name of La Cica. She did not speak the best English in the world; yet that could not account for all the singular remarks which she made. Still less could it account for the tender interest of her manner. had remarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often to his, and why did they beam with such devotion-beaming for a moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion? La Cica had the most fascinating manners, yet they were often perplexing to the Senator's soul.

She

"The Countess," he thought, "is a most remarkably fine woman; but she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish she would n't be quite so demonstrative."

At last the Senator came to this conclusion: La Cica was desperately in love with him.

She appeared to be a widow. Now if the poor Cica was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very large family, most of the members of which had grown up.

La Cica ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly.

On the following evening they walked on the balcony.