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* 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