By the chill touch and drear infinitude

Of Fate's relentless tide.

Thy breath, majestic sea, was native air, And thy cool spray, like Nature's baptism, fell Upon my brow, while thy hoarse summons called My childhood's fancy into wonder's realm. Thy boundless azure in youth's landscape shone Like a vast talisman, that oft awoke Visions of distant climes, from weary round Of irksome life to set my spirit free; And hence whene'er I greet thy face anew, Familiar tenderness and awe return At the wild conjuration;-foudest hopes, And penitential tears and high resolves Are born of musing by the solemn deep! Then here, enfranchised by the voice of God, O, ponder not, with microscopic eye, What is adjacent, limited and fixed;

But with high faith gaze forth, and let thy thought

With the illimitable scene expand,

Until the bond of circumstance is rent,

And personal griefs are lost in visions wide

Of an eternal future! Far away

Where looms yon sail, that like a curlew's wing,
Prints the gray sky, are moored enchanted isles
Of unimagined beauty, with soft airs

And luscious fruitage, and unclouded stars;
Where every breeze wafts music, every path
By flowers o'erhung, leads to a home of love,
And every life is glorified with dreams:
And thus beyond thy present destiny,
Beyond the inlet where the waves of Time
Fret at their barren marge, there spreads a sea
More free and tranquil, where the isles of
Shall yield thy highest aspiration scope,
And every sympathy response divine!

peace

WOULD I were any thing, that thou dost love!
A flower, a shell, a wavelet, or a cloud-
Aught that might win a moment's soul-look from thee!
To be "a joy forever" in thy heart,

That were in truth divinest joy to mine!
A low, sweet, haunting tune, that will not let
Thy memory go, but fondly twines around it,
Pleading and beautiful, for unto thee,
Music is life-such life as I would be!
A statue wrought in marble, without stain,
Where one immortal truth embodied lives
Instinct with grace and loveliness; a fane,
A fair, Ionic temple-growing up,
Light as a lily, into the blue air,
To the glad melody of a tuneful thought
In its creator's spirit, where thy gaze
Might never weary-dedicate to thee,

Thy image shrined within it, lone and loved.
Make me the flower thou lovest! Let me drink

Thy rays, and give them back in bloom and beauty!
Mould me to grace-to glory like the statue!
Wake for my mind the music of thine own,

And it shall grow to that majestic tune,

A temple meet to shrine mine idol in!
Hold the frail shell, tinted by love's pure blush,
Unto thy soul, and thou shalt hear within
Tones from its spirit-home! Smile on the wave,
And it shall flow, free, limpid, glad forever;
Shed on the cloud the splendor of thy being,
And it shall float-a radiant wonder-by thee!
To love-thy love-so docile I would be,
So pliant, yet inspired, that it should make
A marvel of me, for thy sake, and show,
Its proud chef d'ouvre in my harmonious life.

THOU small square portal of eternity,
Why on thy threshold will my spirit start?
Why to the inner temple of my heart
Rushes the frighted blood tumultuously?
No horrors in thy tranquil depths I see;

Myriads in gloomy state this way depart,
Till Time looks wearied on Death's pageantry;
Yet, mystic grave, use takes no awe from thee.
Why should it be, that man his galling cares
Beside thy lintel so reluctant throws?-
Why for his fetters grieves, why hugs his woes,
When thoughtful Faith within that portal bears
A torch which flashing through the murky airs,
On beckoning Hope a steady radiance throws?

TO HOPE.

THOU art no exhalation of the brain,

Raising mid foggy doubts thy phantom light,
To tempt thy followers on from pain to pain-
Forever distant, yet forever bright.

O no! thy luring rays ne'er shine in vain
Athwart the shadows of uncertain night-
Thou proud incentive to heroic gain,

That waken'st from despair the spirit's might,
And from defeat excit'st to victory!

Though, star-like, thou retreat'st as we advance, And from our eager grasp wilt ever flee;

Yet, star-like, guid'st thou, with unchanging glance,

In glory streaming towards eternity,

To cast a light beyond the grave's expanse.

ALL the upper part of New York is a vast wilderness. What in other countries would be called great rivers, take their rise here. On the North are the Raquette, the Black, Beaver, Grass, Oswegathie, and the like, which roll their waters through the forests, till they find the St. Law. rence. Into the beautiful Champlain empty the Saranac, the Du Sauhle, and the Bouquet, while from the South comes the lordly Hudson-whose birth place is among wilds and lakes almost inaccessible. In this mighty wilderness, are mountains terribly magnificent-rising up alone, cold, dreary, and sublime. Here, too, are lakes-more than two hundred in number-wild as they were before the white man ever came to their shores, and beautiful, often beyond any thing to be described on paper. Lake George and Champlain, are of the tribe, and have the good fortune to be more accessible than the rest of their family, but there are multitudes which are no ways inferior to them in beauty, and far superior to them in wildness.

In former times this was all the rich hunting ground of the Mohawks; and for a long period they trapped the beaver and the otter, and feasted upon the moose and the deer, unmolested. But in process of time, a shrewd old Sachem of the Abenaquis Indians, in Canada, discovered this choice hunting region. At first he came alone; but the abundance of his success caused his young men to watch and follow him, and he was obliged to lead them into it. To this day, there are marks left by which he endeavored to frighten any from following him. Those who have gone over the old "Indian carrying place," between the waters of the Saranac and the Raquette, will know what I mean. The old Sachem contended that all the ground occupied by the lakes and rivers that emptied into Canada, must belong to the Canada Indians, while the Mohawks contended that the ground was all theirs from immemorial possession. These disputes caused bitter enmities, severe contests, and much bloodshed. On the banks of the rivers and around all the lakes, is many an unknown grave-where they waylaid and murdered each other. Even to this day, you can see the eye kindle, and the form enlarge, as the Abenaquis tells the story of these wars, and lauds the superior courage of his tribe; and I presume, though I am unacquainted with them, that almost any of the remnants of the Mohawks,

would do the same. The story I am about to relate was told me by one of the former tribe.

The bark canoe is the horse, camel, carriage, and vessel of the Indian. It is made so light that the owner can carry it on his head for miles through the forest, and yet capable of carrying several men. Each tribe has its own patternsome exceedingly graceful and beautiful-so that on seeing a canoe, you can tell in a moment to what tribe it belongs. They are all made of the bark of the white birch, lined with white cedar rived very thin, sewed with the roots of the spruce, and gummed, (or puccoed, as the Indians call it,) with the gum of the same tree.

Has my reader ever passed through the enchanting lake-Champlain-from White Hall to St. John's? If he has, he has had a great amount of enjoyment in a small space-provided he had some friend by him to whom he could say, "Oh, how beautiful!" As he left the bold shores and lofty mountains that looked down on the lake on both sides, Vermont and New York-and came along the flattened shores in Canada, did my reader ever notice a small, flat island in the lake, just before he reached St. Johns? Those who speak the English language, call it "Ash Island." The Indians, for reasons, soon seen, call it "Head Island."

On one occasion, a company of thirty Mohawks in their canoes passed through the wilderness which I have named, into Champlain, and then down, north, towards Canada, in order to waylay, and intercept any of the Abenaquis who might be coming up to hunt. Just at night, the warriors killed a moose, and landed on Ash Island, to camp for the night. Here they built their camp fire, and began to roast their moose. Just after this, there came along a single canoe, containing an old chief and three hunters, on their way to the hunting grounds. Noiselessly they moved their paddles. Before they were seen they had discovered the smoke of the camp fire. They waited till dark, and then silently landed on the shore opposite the island. One of the best swimmers was sent to examine the canoes, and see who were the owners. There were bushes all around the shores of the island, and the Mohawks were busy in cooking their supper. The night was very dark. The scout crept up among the canoes, which were drawn up, and, according to the im. memorial custom of the Indian, turned bottom

side uppermost. He examined their form, counted their number, and returned to his companions. The cunning chief laid his plans instantly, and lost no time in executing them. He directed two of his men to swim silently back, and as still as the night, to land, and with a sharp knife, slit every canoe lengthwise from end to end. They went on their perilous errand-landed-crept up, and cut each canoe full of slits. They were just starting to swim back, when a Mohawk rose up with a huge thigh bone of the moose in his hand, which he had just been picking. "I wish," said he, "that this bone might strike an Abenaquis on the head!" He then gave it a throw over the bushes into the lake, and sure enough, it did strike one of the swimmers on the head, and stunned him! The other Indian was close at hand, and instantly understood it. He was afraid that when his companion recovered from the stun, he would thrash the water, and make a noise. So he silently and coolly dragged him under water, and drowned him! All this was the work of silence, and of a very little time, and the Indian returned and reported to his chief. The three now entered their canoe, and paddling out towards the island, began to fire on the Mohawks. These poor fellows raised their war whoop, rushed into their canoes, and put out into the lake. But now came their trouble. Their canoes began at once to fill, and to sink. The cunning Abenaquis came upon them with the war shout. The Mohawks were in amazement, and were knocked in the head like dogs. They were all killed except one, who was designedly saved alive. What a victory for three men! In the morning the prisoner was brought forth, expecting to be put to death by all the torture that could be devised. But their plan was different, though hardly less cruel. They stripped the captive, and made him look at the twenty-nine heads of his countrymen which were now impaled on as many stakes, and stuck up all round the island. (This gave it the name of "Head Island" . "uirutup-island.") They then cut off his nose, ears, and lips, and put him ashore. "Now, go home," said they, "go home, and tell Mohawks to send more men! Too easy for three Abenaquis to whip thirty men -tell Mohawks send more men!" The poor maimed creature pursued his way through the pathless wilderness, and after suffering incredible hardships, reached his home, and told his story. The Mohawks were mortified beyond expression. Their hundreds of schemes for retaliation are not toid But in one time tio'r tu preop was ample an. tu". In number their lives as a sequel to the "Head Island" tragedy was very great.

"Shall we go back and tell what we have done?" said one of the victors, to his chief. "No, no! These heads will stay here, and they will tell the story. We must go on before it be too late to hunt deer in the dark of the moon." And

onward, and up the lake the canoe moved, till they reached the Saranac, where Plattsburg now stands, when they turned into that river, and followed it up. They made no stop, even to hunt, till they had passed beyond the rapids, one of which is seven miles long. Around all these, they carried their canoe and implements for hunting. In a few days they had reached the upper Saranac lake, or as they called it, the "San-belloninipus," the beautiful lake! And beautiful it isalmost beyond expression. Its waters are deep, clear, and sweet. The lake is almost fifteen miles long, studded with islands, and surrounded with enchanting shores.

As the canoe emerged into the lake from the long neck or outlet, the sachem held up his hand, and the paddles were motionless.

"I smell smoke," said he in a low voice. "I smell smoke-some Mohawks somewhere in the lake."

"Can you see any smoke?" said one of his companions.

"See none-smell him sure." The canoe moved very slowly and silently. When opposite Eagle Island a low whistle was heard-so low and feeble that none but an anxious ear would have caught it.

"That no Mohawk-that Abenaquis whistle," said the leader. He made a motion, and the canoe turned towards the Island. Just as she reached a little niche on the southern side, a young man rose up from the moss in the bushes, and with a leap, stood within a few feet of the

canoe.

"Sago, sago," said he in a voice but little above a whisper. "Brave Tomo is very welcome. Of all men in the world, Tomo is the man I want to see.'

66

"Is the Saranac Hawk alone?" said Tomo, with a distrustful look around the lake. "All alone."

"Was the smoke that I smelt from the campfire of the Saranac Hawk?"

"No, old friend, it was the smoke of the Mohawks who are hunting in the upper part of the lake."

"What is the young Hawk doing here?" asked Tomo.

"Come up the rock, and I will tell you. Come alone." The chief stepped lightly on the rock, and in a moment they were both out of sight. The canoe was lifted out of the water, and laid over behind a fallen tree; and in a few moments no one would have suspected any one being on the Island. Long and low was the consultation between the chief and the young man whom he called the Saranac Hawk.

The young man might be twenty-two or four years old. His form was straight, lithe and symmetrical. His light hair and blue eye showed that he belonged to the Saxon race. He wore moccasins, after the Indian fashion, made of the soft

moose-skin, and which gave no sound to the footsteps. He had a green dress, in the hunter style, with a knife hanging in a little sheath at his side, a small leathern ammunition-bag in front, a little axe or hatchet hanging in his girdle behind, a green cap on his head, and a rifle, long and of small bore, in his hand. His eye was mild, but a certain glance that accompanied a compressed mouth showed that the spirit that looked out of that eye was a stranger to fear or to indecision.

"I will give you rifle," said the young man whether we succeed or not, if you will only make the attempt."

"Tomo will not want rifle to keep, if young Saranac Hawk be dead."

"But I shant be killed; or if I am, it's no more than I would wish to do." These last words were spoken to himself.

"Can't young Hawk find many white squaw

so better as this one?"

"No, my good Tomo, there is none like this. We were children together, and we have been betrothed a long time."

Umph! How foolish you white folks are! When Indian want squaw, he no do so. White man court, and court, and court great whilemaybe years. When Indian want wife he go to young squaw-sit down by her-then he hold up two forefingers-then squaw he laugh-then they already be married. Much better way!"

"It may be so," said the young man impatiently; "but what will Tomo do? Will he help me ?"

"He smoke first, then think."

As quick as said, the young man had his flint and steel out, and his well-filled tobacco pouch at his friend's service. The other two Indians were then brought in to help smoke and think. Among them all there were not provisions enough for a single meal. The first thing was to procure some. thing to eat, and the next was to devise how to cook it without making a fire. After a long season of silence, which seemed interminable to the young Saxon, the old Indian said, "We want to help young Saranac Hawk to get his bird, but are few. We only four, and Mohawk thirteen, and much dogs to smell and bark."

"We must do head-work," said the young man, "since our arms are too short to reach them. Let me speak my thoughts into Tomo's ears. We must go off at once-cross over the carrying-place -pass through Stony ponds and Stony brook-go up the Raquette-cross Moore mountain, go up to Incapacho-inipus, (Long Lake,) there kill deer and dry meat. They can't hear our guns so far, nor see our fires. We will then come back and make them think Chepi (ghosts) have come. We can do all this in two nights, and by that time they will be done hunting in Fish Ponds, and come on this lake, and then we have good place to be Chepi."

'Young Hawk say well."

Each one then drew the girdle tighter around the loins, and stood ready to start. Cautiously, without stepping on a single dry stick, did old Tomo go to the best point of observation and look out over the lake. Far in the distance, miles away he saw a speck, which at first he thought was a loon; but a further look convinced him that it was a canoe crossing the lake towards Fish creek. "They have been into the lake fishing," thought he," and are now going to their huntingground for the night."

From Eagle Island was a distance of about three miles when they came to the " carrying. place." On landing, the young man with his rifle went forward in the little path, to be scen only by the practised eye. Behind him came the canoe carried on the head of an Indian; and then followed the others, all in silence. In a time almost incredible they had passed through the woods about a mile, when they came to a small pond. What a beautiful place! It was about half a mile in diameter, perfectly round, and its clear beautiful waters seemed to reflect back the trees that stood round it, and the heavens which hung over it. It was indeed the jewel of the desert. On its grassy shores were more than one deer timidly feeding, while here and there the huge trout threw out his forked tail in sheer ecstasy. A single loon sat in the middle of the pond, and raised his clear shrill notes on seeing the new-comers. As this was in the travelled way of the Mohawks, the company hurried on silently. The very rifle in the hands of the youth seemed to ache to shoot one of the deer, but prudence told him better. They slackened not their efforts till they had passed through those beautiful ponds-and down Stony brook into the Raquette river. They then turned up the river, and felt safer, because now out of track of any new band of Mohawks who might be coming up the Raquette. By great and almost superhuman labors, they were over and beyond the upper falls by sunset. Here they might safely hunt; for the roar of the falls, full one and a half miles of rocks and roar, precluded the possibility of their being heard. Not a morsel of food had they eaten during all the journey of one day. Two of the Indians now made a camp-fire, and having smoked their pipe, coiled up under the smoke, and in a few minutes were fast asleep. The chief pealed a small spruce, and with its bark and a stick of a yard in length soon made "a jack," or half lantern-open in front and dark behind. He next got some dry roots of pine, full of gum and highly inflammable. Then some dry outside bark of the cedar, which he pounded very fine, and tied with green bark— which was the "Indian candle." By midnight the jack was in the bow of the canoe, the pitchy roots in the jack ready to be lighted up in an instant, and the Indian candle lighted and slowly burning, like the end of a dry rope. They were going to hunt deer in the Indian way. In the bow

of the canoe sat the young man just behind the jack, while the old Indian sat in the stern to paddle. In perfect silence and darkness the canoe moved up the river towards the outlet of Long Lake. The plunge of the musk-rat and the lunge of the otter as he gambolled and slid off the steep bank into the water, were frequent; but no deer was heard. At length a noise like a calf walking in the water was heard, and the young man raised the Indian candle and swung it in the air a few times, and it was all in a light blaze. He then applied it to the pine knots in the jack, and they too were on fire. There was now a strong light thrown out in front of the canoe, while all behind the jack was perfect darkness. Slowly, and without lifting his paddle from the water, and almost without moving it, the Indian turned the canoe towards the deer. As it neared the animal, he was seen standing in the water about knee deep. He looked at the light without moving, while his eye-balls seemed to be balls of fire. He seemed like a picture of a huge deer-such a picture as is thrown upon the canvass by the magic lantern. The bats are flying in all directions,-the owls seem to be holding a jubilee, and hoot and laugh and sneeze in all imaginable and unimaginable tones. The strange light changes the trees on the banks of the river into all manner of shapescastles, towers, churches, and palaces. The thin, cold fog rises from the river like a veil, and again the banks are covered with domes, and pyramids, and cones of silver. The forest seems like a breastwork of most wonderful workmanship. The wild-cat, too, screams, and the wolf in the distance is howling. But the deer-the deer! The Indian and the young man keep their eye on him alone. There he stands a huge buck, with his monstrous horns and his eyes of fire! He dreams of no danger. He never thinks of what may be behind the brilliant light. The canoe hardly moves, and the Indian gently shakes it, as much as to say, I can go no further. The rifle rises up, the outer sight just so as to have the light strike it, while the back sight is in the dark. But the young Hawk knows what he is about. Quick as thought he raises the deadly iron, and a stream of fire leaps from its muzzle. The deer gives one supernatural leap high in the air, and drops dead! "The Saranac Hawk no forget where to point the winding gun yet," said the Indian, in great admiration. By straining every muscle, they got the deer into the canoe, and returned to the starting place. The two sleepers were now aroused, who proceeded to dress the deer, and to roast unweighed steaks for their repast. After which, the two hunters went to rest; and they sat up, and cut up the deer and dried it in the smoke and blaze of their fire. They worked, and the others slept till ten o'clock the next morning, when a new meal was cooked, and nearly an hundred pounds were cured and ready for transportation. They were now prepared to return and carry their plans into execution.

About a fortnight previous to the commencement of our story, a young man was walking home with a charming girl, the choice and the pride of his heart, in one of those deep and beautiful glens which are so frequent in Vermont. Their parents had removed into this new and wild country years ago, and had lived as neigh bors and friends-their log houses being about two miles apart. But others had come in, and the forest had fallen before the ringing axe; the humble school house was seen at an early date, and all the blessings which follow in the wake of shrewd and watchful industry. Robert Ralston, and Mary Parker, were the eldest in each family, and from infancy they were so frequently in each other's society, that it happened very early, that if either was absent from the little log school house, the other found it a long and profitless day. Robert was sure to find the earliest flowers of the wilderness in the spring, and the sweetest wild grass in the autumn, and Mary was never forgotten. If the wolves were more plenty than common, or if the snow was deep and untrodden, Robert was sure to see that Mary got safely home. The heart beats in the wilderness just as it does in the city, only more freely and purely. Nothing had crossed them, and by the time they had arrived at manhood and womanhood, they ran to each other like two birds that had never been separated, and never dreamed that they could be. Almost without the common hopes, and fears, and crosses of lovers, it seemed to be understood, that as soon as Robert should get his farm cleared up, and a comfortable house and barn, they should go and occupy. And so manfully had Robert applied himself, that the crops were in, the house raised-for the second generation of houses in Vermont were all framed houses-the barn was built, and partly filled, and a hug-horn cow, that would have been admired at any agricultural fair, had such things then been in vogue, fed in the pasture near by. Mary had her preparations well under way, her chest of towels and sheets all of pure linen, and most of them the work of her own nimble fingers. In two months they were to be married.

They were walking together towards Mary's house just at evening, and engaged in conversation in the twilight voice of love, when suddenly a light glanced through the trees, red and fierce. Robert turned his head, and saw in a moment that it must come from his new farm. "What can the matter be?" said he. The red glare increased. Mary, can you get home alone, dear? There must be something wrong up yonder."

66

Certainly, Robert, I can already see our house, and shall be there in a few minutes."

The lover gave the hasty kiss, and darted off through the woods, intending to reach his new farm by a shorter way than the usual road. That determination saved his life. Although he ran like a deer, yet the distance was over a mile, and