Newspaper Page Text
*
volume 11. | & jFamlls Ilctoojmpcv: Brbotctr to mteratttrf, &&r(cttlture, JHectianfras, Efcucatfou, iForeCan anDr BomeetCr Intelligence, j number S3.
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
IP © IE T K Y,
TO AN ABSENT FRIEND.
1 mind me of the happy hours,
We pass'd in friendship's holy tie,
As fleet, nlas! Is summer flowers
That blossom but to fade and die.
Yet like the flowers, those happy days
Leave incense on my memory yet,
As perfume lingers round the vase.
In which the fragrant blossoms set.
*
And will thy soul respond >o mine,
The spirit-breathings thither sent,
in language mute though all divine,
With heavenly magic seeming blent;
As in the forest’s deepest shod*
Is heard the murmuring of the dove,
At nature's holy altar made
For sympathy and holy love.
From the Dollar Newspaper.
THE BROTHERS UNITED.
*4 Talc of the Mo to ha w k .
BY 1. PF.NIMORE COOPER.
’ Nature grows not alone in thews and hulk.’
S A"SPEAKE.
” This is n dismal night,” said the Indian,
while lhe bleak winds whistled through the
tall pines, and the hollow murmurings they
gave, as they roamed along the desolate
glen, seemed like the sigltitigs of a giant
Confined in their gloomy recesses. The oak,
the chesnut, and the shrubbery were strip
ped of their foilage. or only betokened by
tire presence of a few dead leaves that they
had once been robbed in verdure. The
scattered trunks of prostrate and decaying
trees, added to the gloom, while occasional
gray rocks protruded their mossy sides a
bore the suowdrifts, and mantled winter
with a thousand unpleasant associations.—
“ ’ Ti* a dismal spot—but O-i-chee lays no
traps foe t'he white man. Will you goon?”
“ True, true,” said the hunter, as be re
covered from a momentmy stupor ; “ 1 must
proceed, but the cold lias ulrnost benumbed
nsy faculties. We must hasten, O-i-chee ;
yo are mote inured to bitter weather than 1
am, and I fear we must soon seek some
dose shelter, where we may raise a fire to
warm ourselves. For my own part, I feel
the lassitude which is said to overcome one
in freezing.”
“Be brave !be brave!” replied O-i-chee ;
—“ the Black Wolf is r.ot far distant, and
the fire which he would make could not be
moie comfortable than to perish in the
snows.” Then laying his band upon bis
lips, in token of silence, be led the way rap
idly but with caution along the bleak defile
they were tracing. Still wild and fitful
guests rolled past them, while the heavens
exhibited dark, fickle and hurried clouds
which swept over them like the drift their
erratic movements- propelled. “ Down !”
whispered the Indian, as he buried himself
in the snow, and pulled, with a powerful
grasp, his companion beside him ; “ did
you not see them as they passed below ?
They will soon be on our trail.”
“ What is to be done ?” inquired the
hunter.
“ Let them pass up the rocks on the oth
er side of the creek ; then we must be nim
ble footed, or we shall fall into their hands.
Ha ! see, they are now no longer in sight.
Now use every nerve.”
At these words both started to their feet,
and in tlte usual hurried trot of the foresters,
made as rapid progress as practicable tow
ards the bank of the river, occasionally cast
ing an anxious glance on the track of their
pursuers, lest some loiterer from their tanks
might observe their motioms. Arrived at
the’mouth of the creek, the hunter was for
diverging farther into the woods, and leav
, ing his enemies in the pursuit, to take shel
ter in direct flight—but his more sagacious
companion interposed.
“ Do you not fear the snow-prints ?”
said O-i-cliee ; “ an Indian's eye would not
let such a trail escape him. We must fall
into their own path, and mingle our foot
prints with theirs, till both are so lost as not
to be traced at all then trust me for an
abode of security.”
So saying, they darted across the frozen
stream, and followed the puth of their pur
suers, seeming themselves to pursue.—
Meanwhile the party of Brack Wolf had
discovered their footsteps, and with a yell
that rang wildly along the hills, the discovery
was announced, us they struck into and fol
lowed it with increased ardor. As O-i-chee
had supposed, they soon found themselves
■confused by falling on their own trail, hav
ing, from their numbers, completely de
stroyed that of their intended victims, who
continued their route until they had arrived
within a short distance of the spot wheie
they had a few minutes previous thrown
themselves into the snow to elude the sight
of their enemies.
“ Now,” said O-i-chee, “ follow roe, as
he descended rapidly between two project,
ing crags, till lost to the sight of the amaz
ed and motionless hunter. But ho was
soon aroused by the voice of his guide be
low. “ What! does tho white man lear I
Let him fall then into tho hands of his foe:
—would he be safe? let him follow the path
1 have taken” ,
Another wild and distinct war-whoop de
cided him in bis course, and he descendeo
the aperture, which, at the depth of about
I twenty feet, opened into a wide aud gloo
! my cavern, whose roof was formed of mas
j sy and projecting rocks, while the sound of
rushing water satisfied him that the sunken
| channel of some stream held its course
i through the dreary domain. There was
j scarcely light sufficient to render the objects
around discernable, and a dense fog seem
ed to fill every cranny of the cave.
“ Now, white man,” said the Indian, as,
with a giant’s strength, he covered the en-
I trance to their retreat with a huge rock
; which had apparently once fitted the aper
! lure through which they entered, “ you are
removed from danger of pursuit; look
around you ! Do you tremble that you are
in llie power of a poor friendless Indian,
who has bartered the risk of his own file for
your safety ? The Black Wolf knows not
this retreat —and did he, he durst not enter
it. The “ Dwarf Indian,” as you white
men call me, could iu.stantly cover him with
tho jutting rocks around us. Look you
around! VVliat can you see 1 the dim,
thick vapors that overshadow your rivers—
the dark and gloomy confines that border
on your fabled hell! Dost thou not know
me ?”
The hunter was surprised at this apostro
phe, and he answered the Indian’s inquiry
witit a tremulousness that inordinary cases
would have seemed unmanly :—“ Strange
man ! I know you not —you have that in
your person and manners which passes over
me like an infant dream, and 1 look upon
you us a something allied to the past, but
which I cannot trace or define.”
“ How many hiethren have ye, white
man ? Lives your father yet —and your
mother ?”
There was something mournful in the in
quiry of the Indian, but his eye wavered
not, arid his countenance was fixed with a
desponding but firm glance upon the being
addressed.
“ Mysterious being,” at length the hunter
exclaimed, “ I know not why 1 am thus in
terrogated—hut my brothers have been
three : two have fallen beneath the hatchet
of our pursuers —my eldest I know nrt of;
he was borne away long since by the same
tribe, and has probably shared the fate of
the two last; I had one sister, now their
captive ; and hut for the wild desperation
of the act, 1 would now attempt iter res
cue.”
But what of your father, and your mo
ther ?” was the quick and almost angry re
ply of the Indian.
“ They, too, were home away by the
same savage band.”
“ Dare you, white man”—3nd the Indian
raised his dwarfish yet gigantic ptoportions
—“ dare you, white matt, attempt their res
cue ?”
“ With my life I will,” replied the hun
ter, not a little nettled by the enquiry.
“ Hold, then,” said O-i-chee, as he com
municated fire to a hunch of combustibles,
“ the hour is not far distant when we can
surprise them on their midmoon watch.”
Night was, indeed fast approaching, and
the discomfited Black Wolf and his party
had encamped close to the entrance of the
cavern occupied by the Dwarf Indian.—
Little was he aware of the destruction
which lutked beneath him, as his party gath
ered around, and the prisoners of his cruel
ty were hound and linked with cords to the
slumbering tribe. As the torch of O-i-chee
was lighted, the desolation of the cavern
became more and more distinct, and visible;
the wild glare of the light tendered the situa
tion one of bewildering interest to the eyes
of the inexperienced hunter- He looked
around —here a chasm yawned, there an un
supported crag threatened him, and far be
low whero he stood the turbulent waters
of a sky-hidden stream dashed in torrents
over the uneven sutface of the rude abyss.
Presently his eyes caught a sight, of some
thing that aroused him to the recollection of
tho upper world : high on a projecting rock;
lighted by the torch of the Indian, he beheld,
as it were, two globes of fire, rolling in their
orbits, yet fixed intently upon him. His rifle
was raised in an instant, hut the Indian with
held his hand.
•• Fool !” he exclaimed, “ rush not on de
struction ; trust to me,” and he scattered
the Rplinters of his pitch pine torch with so
judicious a hand that the startled animal
shrunk hack from his position, and, treading
on a faithless clump of earth was precipita
ted into the bubbling torrent below—while
his terrific howl echoed through the cavern
like distant peals of heavy thunder. Crip
pled by the fall, yet struggling by its inhe
rent disgust of water, the panther bounded
from crag to crag, and had soon again half
ascended from the chasm into which he
had fallen, when the hunter again levelling
his piece, exclaimed—
“ By heavens, Indian, I shall trust my
life no longer in such rude power; aud the
report of his rifle reverberated harshly
along the grim cavities of the cave, while
it mingled with the last deafening howl of
the animal as he fell lifeless into the water
below.
“Rash man,” said O-i-chee, have you
forgotten the more fearful perils that sur
round you ? The panther’s howl is com
mon loan Indian’s ears; its music may lull
him to sleep, hut the sound of the rifle has
no such potent charm. Silence !” he whis
pered commaodingly, throwing his torch in
to the stream, “ lot darkness hide your rash
act.”
The hunter at we have heretofore called
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 2, 1843.
MAISKO A@ IE IP[g®©iEi§ll©M.
The perpetuity of ancient customs, among
the people of the east, and the remarka
ble similarity existing between the so
cial usages of several oriental nations of
the present time, and these of earlier nge&,
never fails to attract the attention of a mod
ern traveler. Among the best preserved
of these customs, that of the marriage cete
mony may he considered the most remarka
ble; and though in detail the nuptial rites
vary among different people, and even a
mnng portions of the same people, yet in
theii general features they are similar.
A procession is usual on all occasions of
marriage, either to or ftorn the house of the
bridegroom or bride, (sometimes both)
which procession always takes place at
night, by torch-light. This custom, so prev
alent, nay, quite universal among the Jews
about the commencement of our era, was
also a distinguished feature of the marriage
ceremony among the early Greeks, accord
ing to Homer. In Cowper’s translation of
Iliad, we find the following :
“ Ri’cs matrimonial, solemnized with pomp
Os sumptuous banquets. Forth they led their brides
Each from her chamber, and along the streets
With torches ushered them, and with the voice
Os liymcnial song, heard all around.
Here striplings danced in circle to the sound
Os pipe and harp, while in the portals stood
Women, admiring all the gallant show.”
If we compare the parable of the foolish
virgins, with the existing marriage ceremo
nies of the inhabitants of Hindustan, we
shall see a striking resemblance. Ward in
his - ‘Views of Hindoos” gives the following
relation of the arrival of a bridegroom to
take the bride. “At a marriage, the pro
cession of w hich 1 saw some years ago, the
bridegroom came from a distance, and the
bride lived ot Serampora to which place the
bridegroom was to come by water. After
waiting two hours, at length, near midnight,
it was announced, as if in the very words of
Scripture, “ Behold the bridegroom cometh,
go ye out to meet him.” All persons em
ployed [probably women] now lighted up
their lamps, and ran with them in their
hands to fill up their stations in the proces
sion ; some of them had lost their lamps,
and were unptepared ; but it was then too
late to seek them, and the cavalcade moved
forward to the house of the bride, at which
place the company entered a large and
splendidly illuminated area before the house,
coveted with an awning where a great raul
liirn, must here he more fatnillittly introdu
ced to the reader. He is a tall, graceful
looking man, probably of the age of 30
years ; but his stern features would have in
duced the belief that he possessed more man
ly firmness than was really allotted to his na
ture. His early years had been passed in
the eastern sections of this country, and his
education had been such that it would have
fitted hint for almost any station in its coun
cils. He bad married at an early age, hut
domestic difficulties had soon caused a sepa
ration from his wife, and he became ever af
ter a melancholy roan ; his spirits seemed
to have been broken ; and when his parents
removed to the tumultuous Blackwater
creek, he had accompanied them on their
way ; and for a few years past has done lit
tle else than scour the woods in pursuit of
game which infested the mountains contigu
ous to his home. The Gap of the creek is
well known to many ; but any individual
that has traversed it, well knows a sterile
spot, where vegetation never sprung, and
has probably listened with attentive ear to
the sounds as of a rushing torrent far be
neath his feet, while he stood upon a base of
rocks which, it would seem, had been eter
nal in its duration. Beneath this massy bed
of granite the hunter and his indian.guide
had sought security. The morning’s sun
had found the former quiet and calm in his
home ; the noonday had found that home a
sheet of flame ; and the night had found
his family all captives, himself little less, to
the wild and envenomed hatred the Black
Wolf boro toward the whites. But that
night also found his enemy unconsciously
sleeping above the very foe he had pursued
without even a fancy that his slumbers might
be startled by the unwelcome clamor of war.
titede of friends, dressed in their best ap
parel were seated upon mats. The bride
groom was carried in the arms of a friend,
and placed upon a superb scat in the midst
of the company, where he sat a short time,
and then went into the house, the door of
which was immediately shut, and guarded
by sepoys. I and others expostulated with
the doorkeepers, but in vain. Never was I
so struck with our Lord’s beautiful parable
as at this moment: “And the door was shut.”
I was exceedingly anxious to be present
while the marriage formulas were repeated,
but was obliged to depart in disappoint
ment.”
The Hindoos still preserve the ceremo
ny of the marriage procession. The Hin
doo bridegroom proceeds to the residence
of his bride in a palanquin, borne in proces
sion, and returns with her in the same vehi
cle or precedes her in his own, while she is
Ijorne in the rear of the procession in a sim
ilar conveyance. On such occasions, each
attendant is supplied with a staff on which
is affixed a torch, and thus, with songs and
dances, the splendid bridal procession moves
on.
As before observed, the details of mar
riage processions, are often dissimilar. In
Syria, Persia and India, the bridegroom in
person brings home the bride; hut the
Tutks usually leavethis duty to be performed
by a near relative, and remain at home to
receive the lady. The Jews in ancient
times had both these usages, lu Egypt, the
bridegroom goes to the mosque when the
bride is expected, and returns home with
her in the procession. These processions
in Western Asia, when the distance is not
great are usually performed on foot, al
though horses, mules and asses are some
times rode upon. When the procession
moves on foot the bride walks under a can
opy, carried by two attendants ; but in eas
tern Asia let the distance be what it may,
the bride rides upon n mare, mule, ass or
camel, or is carried in a palanquin. Among
the Druses of Lebanon, if the distance is
not great, the bride and sometims the bride
groom tides on horseback, as shown in the
engraving. When the bridegroom brings
home the bride, os here represented, the
former, with his friends, moves in front
with often an interval between the two par
ties. Music usually attends such proces
sions, such as the pipe and tambourine, ac
companied with songs and dances.
Richard Makers, for thus we must call him,
had little idea of the companion who was
with him, or what he was, yet he knew that
companion had evinced a sagacity in elud
ing the pursuit of his enemies which de
manded his attention and gratitude. In
deed it was to the shrewd-sightedness of
O-i-chee that he was indebted for the enjoy
ment of that darling (even of the most un
happy being!) existence 1
“ And who is O-i-chee ?” he mentally ex
claimed, as the Indian garheted together the
loose faggots of the cavern and kindled up
a fire for their mutual comfort. “ And who
is O-i-chee? What that restless meaning
inquiry after my father, my mother, my
brethren and sisters ? Why was it ? his
eye looked calm, and his nerves were un
shaken, hut there was that thrill in his voice
which startled me like the confusedness of
an unwelcome echo. W’ho is this incom
prehensible ? I have tendered him naught
—given him naught; and when to-day he
struggled with me in my hour of desolation
I felt that his dwarfish statue was a shackle
that bent me to its w'earing. What are his
purposes? to betray me ? What are his
views, to assassinate ? It cannot be. Can
it he ?”
He sat himself down gloomy upon a jut
ting rock, and watched with a keen glance
the irregular movements of the dwarf as
he gathered the splinters around him to
kindle into a blaze the fuel which he design
ed should cast the chill atmospheric feeling
from their limbs. The soul of Richard was
wrapped up in a thousand reflections as he
saw the being before him prepare for his
comfort ; his form had something about it
so unnatural, and his profession* Had appa
rently been dictated to much by kindness;
yet he so feared bypocracy that his gaze
was one of most deep and intense interest.
“He does not blanch before me; he evin
ces no surprise; hut I know the Indian ne
ver does. What can he be ?” and musing
| ly he surveyed the form of his guide, while
the rites of the encamped Black WolFs par
ty glared through the gloom of the clifled
rocks, and their reflection came like flicker
ing flashes through the crannies of the rock
wiclt was placed as a barrier to their en
trance, in case they should discover the sub
terranean refuge of the hunter and his guide.
The dwarf was of most irregular propoi
tions, with a form of extraordinary strength
and muscle, and yet his height was very lit
tle more than four feet, if above that; but
he combined Bgility of action with his move
ments that would have been truly surprising,
for even an amateur in gymnastics to wit
ness.
By this time this strange compound of the
civilized and the savage had, itt a dark re
cess of the cave, produced a glowing, com
fortable looking fire, and also from a ladder,
which had not before been observed by his
companion, brought forth some social steaks
of venison, together with the means requi
sitefor preparing a forester’s repast. These
things being all arranged he approached his
guest.
“ Brother /” said he, “ will you partake
of the Indian’s repast ?”
Makers started ; there was a thrill came
over him at the ejaculation of “ Brother !”
which he bad never before experienced;
and yet that expression was all of kind
ness.
“ Brother /” he re-echoed ; “ How mean
you, strange, but less miserable being than
you seem ? Brother /”
“A/* Brother!” continued the Indian,
and he emphasized the word half sardoni
cally, “ will you partake of an Indian's
fare.”
“ Brother ! again uttered the hunter, at
the same time placing his hand on his rifle.
What demon has enmeshed me?” and he
cocked his piece preparatory to his defence.
O-i-chee, who had observed his every
motion, but without evincing the least feel
ing of alarm, now passed his hand across
the muzzle of the piece, and in a calm tone
thus addressed his companion :
“ Is it for this white man that you threat
en the life of your friend—that he has
brought you in security from your bitterest
enemy’s pnnuit and given you sn opportu
nity to rescue the dearest objects of your
love from the grasp of a savage and rentless
foe ? 1 ask is it for this ? Will you sacri
fice your whole family in the poor craven
fancy of fear ? Hold! I will tell you that
which your memory cherishes not.”
“ What is it, then, thou canst tell—wild,
untamed and rude figure of a man 1” was
the hurried and angry reply of the hunter.
“ Did’st thou ever see the remaining
trunk of a girdled pine when rhe tree had
fallen ? Did’st thou ever see the solid rock,
when the blast had splintered it ? each firm
ly resisting the combination pf efforts to des
troy them ? I am their effigy—with me fate
has done her worst. 1 know thee Richard
Makers, better than thou knowest me.”
“ And what is it thou dost know I”
“ More than thou wilt believe : but it is
this. 1 know that the same mother who
gave thee birth sorrowed for the loss of me
even before thy existence. Do you under
stand me ?”
There was a melancholy tone in the ejac
ulation of the Dwaf while he uttered the
above which almost melted the heart of
Richard, and he faintly articulated —
“ What are you then?
“ Thy brother, Richard—the first one
thou hast spoken of. I have known thee
long ; I have known all the designs of the
Black Wolf, but my efforts could not coun
teract them ? my plans have been deeply
laid ; I have drawn him into my trail; he is
now iri my power, abd I now only ask of thee
to aid me in rescuing the parents to whom
we both owe our existence. Richard, again
I ask, dare you—dare you attempt their
freedom ?
“ I dare—l dare ! was the undesponding
reply. While a world of doubt had hurried
the hunter in a bewildering maze of incerti
tude, and he felt all the joy which hope
promises, in finding a relative so dear as
O-i-chee had proclaimed himself, yet he
was fearful that the pretended claim of con
sangnnity was trot in reality true. There
was no embrace —there was not even a smile
—and the “brothers,” both of whom sprang
from the same fountain of nature, stood
each apart, like the cold statues that rise
from the marble of our common mother
earth.
[How strangely that cold and perplexing
feeling, which arise ft om doubt or distrust,
tests upon the heart, even when its fountains
seem, as it were, boiling over with the con
tending emotions of love, anxiety, and dis
trustfulness. Think what we will of affec
tion, it springs not suddenly up, like the
morning flower, blushing and spreading its
beauties to the clay, but like the mountain
oak and its aged companions, that knit their
limbs together the more firmly as years
grow over their duration ; yet, like the
morning biota im. quick-budding affections
often fade and wither away in the sunbeams
which produce them, while the embracing
oaks full not at each others’ sides without
marking with desolation the companions of
their growth. Affection long tried falls not
asunder without a pang—but the uniting
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOII.
tietfwLeqnsanguinity are never so
ably kni[ as when they grow from the com- ‘ 1
munion of children.] ?
There was a startlingly wild conviction vs
this which wove itself, like a web, over the
hearts of both the Hunter and the Dwarf.—,
Neither wished to exhibit the first sign of
joy, but both felt that the germs of coming
happiness Were springing up in their bo
soms. The thought is thrilling and deep;
but these is k something we cannot define;
there is a something that winds itself about
the heart, which human reason cannot gethet
together as the reaper his sheaves; there it
a something tehich even love shudders at; and
that something was before the ihdi&n and
the white man, as they, each with the feel
ing of brothers, but without their kindness;
sat themselves down to supply the demands
of hunger. But few words passed between
them until they had completed their repast/
“Now, Richard,” said O-i-chee, “no#
let us tip and look to those we would liber
ate and preset ve. What sort of a piece have
you there?” and essayed to lift from bia hands
the rifle of Richard; The distrust before
evinced was as deep as* ever in the breast of
the hunter, and it iv&A with reluctance be
permitted the Dwarf to look at his rifle, tak
ing, at the same time himself the readiest
weapon of defence the Indian had for a lit
tle supervision. But O-i-chee quailed Hot;
his feelings were true, and with hia simple
nature he could not, nor did he not distrust
his brother! though that brother had little
confidence in him.
n ’Tis a fair piece,” said the Indian, re
turning it. “But have you ammunition?”
“ I have, I think, sufficient,” was the re
ply.
“ Be sure, be sure,” continued O-i-chee
“ here is an abundance. How heavy does
your rifle carry ?”
“ Ninety to the pound,” replied the Hun
ter.
** Ninety, in truth !” rejoined O-i-chee.’
“ Should your arm fail, these are an hundred
and twenty-two balls to the charge. Are
you ready ?”
“ l am,” sternly, but quickly, said Rich
ard.
“ I will first ascend,” said the Indian, as
he removed with great caution the stone
which had been placed by himself over the
mouth of the cave. “ 1 will first ascend i
Lut observe, when following, be careful that
you make not the least sound, and our moc
casins must be firmly set and lashed before
we move.”
The midnight hour was fast approaching
—the dull red glare of the Black WolFs fire
had died away to the flickering tremulous
ness of a decaying and incinerated brand—
the loud, fitful, or half-hrenihing sounds of
his snoring, startled, or quiescent sleepers
bad for some time fallen upon the wakeful
ears of the brothers—and his solitary senti
nel, who was to have watched the “ coming’
events” of danger, bed near the fire, behind
the trunk and beneath the shadow of a Pe
rennial hemlock, sheltered himself from the
whistling blasts, and had lost all conscious
ness of danger, for the eye that could have
overlooked every thing of its nature which’
surrounded him, was dead in calm andT
peaceful slumber; but the danger lurked
beneath him; he heeded it not, for he knew
it not.
The prisoners were closely secured, and
the slightest motion might have whelmed
them in misery. But, was it strange I—4hey
too slept: the father! the mother! I and the
sister!!! of those they knew not of—but of
those who alike burned with ardor to deliv
er them from their captors. In a few mo
ments they had both ascended, and looking
eagerly around they saw that the whole par
ty slept while their decaying fires cast a faint
glimmer of light on the recumbent group*.
Hastily the Dwarf cut asunder the thongs
which connected the captives with the pr
sons of their captors, and fearful lest by
awaking them lie should lose the advantages
which then presented themselves, with cau-,
tion, divested the savages one by one of
aach of their weapons as could be obtained
without arousing the sleepers. The Hun*’
ter, this while, was not inactive, for by bia
well known voice he soon found means to
awaken his relatives; without Itaving stirred
the slumberers who had guarded them, and
without noise or bustle they were removed
to the secure recesses of the cave. Tho
Dwarf in the mean time was engaged in ar
raigning a slow-match which should cause
au explosion that would arouse and terrify
the redskins almost us soon as his retreat
was achieved. Hia object was accomplish
ed without accident to himself or friends ;
but when their foes were aroused by hi*
stratagem, perceiving at the instant that their
captives had escaped and struck with the
mystery of the events, tbeir wild, horrid,
aud startling howl arid yell rang like tbei
screamings of ten thousand wolves along
the forest, ami they fled like startled defcl
from the scene of their encampment, leav
ing their very weapons upoc the ground.
But then come the deej i> and thrilling ef
feet of maternal recognition. The Mother
knew her child—the to* his father. The
changes of Time bad pot obliterated recol
lection, although the recognition was, op
the one part, mingled with’the cold and id#-
taut feeling of distrust. ‘
* • • • * •
On the banks’ <rf*the beautiful Mowbjwk
are yet to be seen the remains of a log bottle
where the Dwarf Indian ended his career