It did depend on one indeed; Unmark'd he stood amid the throng, Till you might see, with sudden grace, And, by the uplifting of his brow, Tell where the bolt would strike, and how But 'twas no sooner thought than done Swift to the breach his comrades fly; An earthquake could not overthrow Thus Switzerland again was free; MONTGOMERY 159. THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. "METHINKS the world seems oddly made, And every thing amiss;" A dull, complaining atheist said, As stretch'd he lay beneath the shade, "Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing, Which upwards cannot make it spring, "While on this oak an acorn small, Its ill contrivance knows. "My better judgment would have hung No more the caviller could say, Fell down upon his eye. spray, The wounded part with tears ran o'er, Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore, Thy whimseys would have work'd no more, ANONYMOUS 160. THE INDIAN. THINK 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 or of Ind, as he looked down and beheld the lovely scene which spread beneath, at a summer sunset,-the distant hilltops blazing with gold, the slanting beams streaming along the waters, the broad plains, the island groups, majestic the 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 sawmills? 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, contemplating 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 feeble, 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 parchment 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 1 go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west;-the fierce Mohawk,-the man-eater,—is 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 by thee; when thou liest down at 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 shall cease from the land. Go thy way for this time in safety, but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee!' EVERETT. Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand; "Hark ye," said he, “ 'tis an odd story this, About the crows !"-" I don't know what it is," Replied his friend." No! I'm surprised at that; Where I come from it is the common chat: But you shall hear an odd affair indeed! And that it happen'd, they are all agreed: Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." "Impossible !"—" Nay, but it's really true, I had it from good hands, and so may you." "From whose, I pray?" So having named the man Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. "Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair— "Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me; But, by the way, 'twas two black crows, not three." Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, "Sir,”—and so forth" Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact; It was not two black crows, 'twas only one; The gentleman himself told me the case. "Where may I find him ?" " Why, in such a place. ' Away he goes, and having found him out, 66 Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referr'd, "Not I!" And begg'd to know if true what he had heard. Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one Did you say nothing of a crow at all?” I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, 162.-NEW ENGLAND. HAIL to the land whereon we tread, The sepulchre of mighty dead, No slave is here-our unchain'd feet Our fathers cross'd the ocean's wave They left behind the coward slave With hearts unbent, and spirits brave, |