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POETRY. HYMN. F om the recesses of a lowly spirit, My humble prayer ascends—O Father! * hear it! Upsoarmg on the wings of fear and meek ness, Forgive its weakness. I know, 1 feel, how mean and how unwor thy The trembling sacrifice I pour before thee: What can I oiler in Thy presence holy, But sin and folly ? For in Thy siglit, who every bosom view- est> Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our truest: Thoughts of a hurrying hour—our lips re peat them, Our hearts forget them. We see Thy hand—it leads us, it supports us; We hear thy vciee—it counsels and it courts us; And then wc turn away—and still thy kindness Pardons our blindness! And still Thy rain descends, Thy sun is glowing, Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing. And, as if man were some deserving crea ture, Joys cover nature. 0 how long-suffering, Lord!—but thou de- lightest To win, with love, the wandering—Thou invitest, By smiles of mercy,—not by frowns or ter rors, Man from his errors. Who can resist Thy gentle call—appealing To every generous thought, and grateful feeling? That voice paternal—whispering - , watch ing ever:. My bosom?—Never. Father and Saviour! plant within that bo- som " The seeds of holiness; and bid them blos som In fragrance and in beauty, bright and vernal, And Spring eternal! [Bowring.] .icr-zm Dep*4^<»y Dtf DiiZ* AF AA XAA WiVUP S-tliiT DhZAFAroiA, u'lrviT. ’ 21. KV/Z O’AWOA SAWA DG3X OIilZ DOFJHiS-'oty ao-zj -5 e«;y ad omcu <jgb- d'O-J’ 5 OP S0<1A©4T. (PAWO-AZ 0!*.fi*4 &b P4T. 23. OV1WO-AZ S/LTcTT; TleA^G' Dd - TlrSAA, D«f DOl'V’A TIdSPG; dlzafaaz aiwi^y saa; cpipat. 23. rz»&z cpycsz ts ahya o>ABxr° TS P-4T. 24. o^awo-az o’/ITT. st. ©.iseaACu ao-zr 5 aot.d'o-J -5 , secas - dboliiAAZ tgi-z daa (tetjcTo-T 5 ; (pif/iT. eotyz qFovB' AT. 25. cpawo-a SAWA Teiv daa jgb~ rfO-T 3 , USOBTZ Jewo-IT 5 , IiSiZ saa UO- BObhAA JOBd'CMT’. (PAWO-AZ (PSGP4 *i> J-4T. 20. (PAtVOAZ O 3 ATT. 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(PAWO-AZ S-qiRT S^IVJ SC5RT. RZ _ :i&z CpyCS'PZ TS WPA O’ABX.lP TS 1-4T. 9. Dd CPAWO-A 0°ATT. Da’ cPOhJlP SART G,BGU, O'Slif’Z ©SG^AT; O’T’AT. Qm>yZ qpSSBAT. 10. CPAIVOAZ CP®h(r SB SC5RT, D^’Z CPBCJWOA DO)4"A SC5RT. CPAWCPA Dd G»9RP4 <f>b K4T. 11. O'AWO-AZ (PATT. SB SA<£S ©S* ©q\c,, sq-ciA Dsw’^y, .n^yz scpe ai-dOf’ AGTFSoT- O-SW SAAJ (PlPAT. G - ctyz qPdiBAT. 12. SB SAdSS (PGQ A©4T, DSWrcSyZ sq-GA aBdor 5 , Dd at<p«y scpe acdOir 9 , aOTPSoB (PSW. CPAWO-AZ 0 3 JCP4 d>B K4T. 13. rz^>z cpyc=rz ts kta cpabxj 5 TS P-4T. 14. Dd (PAWC-A (PATT. S^RT S-G" wa ts ©.iSAy, ts Rz^z aosdOAasy Dd hBAWA r AR, IiBAI/PR, Dd RBSABAR vlGRcSAA D4dSA. 15. Dd ts sssrisa S-4GA sqw.i, era TS DGAoSJU®KoiA J (PJ°AT. OptyZ (IF SSBAT. 16. CPAW'O-A WP TX TS SAWATJ 0-' Ih.I Th AARAA, DhWhZ RZ^> AARAJ. 17. CPAWO-AZ S-GGA S-4WA SJdSAT, TS RGA DGA«)Aoty. 18. TS Dd RZ.5Z AARAA, Dd TSSm CPFByZ AGSdO-Aoty O'AWO-AZ CPSRB4 *1 I-4T. 19. rz*z oyesrz ts o-yA cpabxit TS D4T. 20. CPAWO-A Dd (PATT. Dr 0>IiGA 3. 4. A©zy«!A. ZbPC, RA-qW’B, DB tsawo-a; RWIiE CPA WA, Dd OoiA - ’ S-1VVA. ew ts ©s.vy, o j (T > a; ts chat; OAZ (PAWAT HZAZ RA 0-A, S*qR, Dd ZTX IiSJ -5 ; DOIW’AZ S-AAZ SAVVA, SBWPBATZ. Dd IiSiT RtrT, DOBOLhAZ, Dd DhZAFA, DOI-rAZ DAA, IiSf* SAVVAT, B© Dd (PPoCI-CUi; dG,Ad o-E©cr iisr cp otfs. O-BC-AV', it‘V s a cpio-sa^, Dll TSA-40-A, RAqW'B GX4. MffSCElaiLiA]YEO«J^. TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER, Uy Washington Irving, [continued.] “In the general luotle of estiiuatiiig the savage character, we may per ceive a vast degree of vulgar preju dice, and passionate exaggeration, without any of the temperate discus sion of true philosophy. No allow ance is made for the difference of circumstances, and the operations of principles under which they have been educated. Virtue and vice, though radically the same, yet differ widely in their inlluence on human conduct, according to the habits and maxims of society in which the individual is reared. No being acts more rigidly from rule than the Indian. Ilis whole conduct is regulated according to some general maxims early implanted in his mind. The moral laws that govern him, to be sure, are but few, but then lie conforms to them all. The white man abounds in laws of religion morals, and manners; but how many does he violate? “A common cause of accusation a- gainst the Indians is, the faithlessness of their friendships, and their sudden provocations to hostility. But we do not make allowance for their peculiar modes of thinking and feeling, and the principles by which they are govern ed. Besides, the friendship of the whites towards the poor Indians, was ever cold, distrustful, oppressive, and insulting. In the intercourse with our frontiers they are seldom treated with coniidencc, and arc frequently subject to. injury and encroachment. The solitary savage feels silently but acutely; his seusnnlities are not diffus ed over so wide a surface as those of the white mail, but they run in steadi er and deeper channels. His pride, his affections] his superstitions, are all directed towards levver objects, but the wounds litliclcd on them are pro- porUonably severe, and furnish motives of hostility which lie cannot sufficient ly appreciate^ Where a community is also limited in number, and forms, as in an Indian tribe, one great patri archal family, the injury of the indi vidual is the injury oi the whole; and as their body politic is small, the sen timent of vengeance is almost instan taneously diffused. One council lire is sufficient to decide the measure— Eloquence and superstition combine to lntlame their ininds. The orator a- w'akens all their martial ardour, and they are wrought up to a kind of reli gious desperation, by the visions of the prophet aud the dreamer. “An instance of one of thesp sudden exasperations, arising from a motive peculiar to the Indian character, is extant in an old record of the early settlement of Massachusetts. The planters of Plymouth had defaced the monuments of the dead at Passouages- sit, and had plundered the grave of the sachem’s mother of some skins with which it had been piously deco rated. Every one knows the hallow ed reverence which the Indians enter tain for sepulchres of their kindred.— Even now, tribes that have passed generations, exiled from the abodes of their ancestors, when by chance they have been travelling, on some mission, to our seat of government, have been known to turn aside from tlie highway for many miles distance, aud guided by wonderfully accurate tradition, have sought some tumulus, buried perhaps in woods, where the bones of their tribe were anciently deposited; and there have passed some time in silent lamentation over the ashes of their forefathers. Influenced by ibis sublime and holy feeling, the the sachem, whose mother s tomb had been violated, in the moment ol indig nation. gathered his men together, and addressed them in the following beau tiful simple pathetic harangue—which has remained unquoted for nearly two hundred years—a pure specimen of In dian eloquence, and an affecting mon ument of filial piety in a savage. “When last the glorious light of all the sky was underneath this globe, and birds grew silent., I began to set tle, as my custom is, to take repose. Before mine eyes were last closed, methought 1 saw a vision, at which my spirit w'ns much troubled, and, trem bling at that doleiui sislit, a spirit cried aloud—behold my son, whom 1 have cherished; see the bicasts that gave thee suck, the hands that lapped thee warm & fed thee oft! canstthou forget to take revenge of those wild people, who have defaced my monu ment in a despiteful manner, disdain ing our antiquities and honorable cus toms. bee now', the sachem’s grave lies like the common people, defaced by an ignoble race. Thy mother doth complain, and implores thy aid against this thievish people, who have newly intruded in our land. If this be suffer ed 1 shall not rest quiet in my everlas ting habitation. This said, the spirit vanished, and I, all in a sweat not able scarce to speax, began to get some strength and recollect my spirits that were lied, and determined to demand your counsel, and solicit your assis tance.” “Another cause of violent outcry a- gainst the Indians, is their inhumanity to the vanquished. This originally a- rose partly from political and partly from superstitious motives. Where hostile tribes are scanty in their num bers, the death of several warriors completely paralyzes their power; and'many an instance occurs in Indian history, where a hostile tribe, that had long been formidable to its neighbour, has been broken up and driven away, by the capture and massacre of its principal lighting men. This is a strong temptation to the victor to be merciless, not so much to gratify any cruelty of revenge, as to provide for future security. But they had other motives originating in a superstitious idea, common to barbarous nations, and even prevalent among the Greeks and Romans^—that the manes of their de ceased friends, slain in battle, were soothed by the blood of the captives. But those that are not thus sacrificed are adopted into their families, and treated with the confidence and affec tion of relatives and friends; nay, so hospitable and tender is their en tertainment, that they will often pre fer to remain with their adopted breth ren, rather than return to the home and the friends of their youth. “The inhumanity of the Indians to* wards their prisoners has been height ened since the intrusion of the whites. We have exasperated what w 7 as for merly a compliance with policy and superstition inlo a gratification of ven geance. They cannot but be sensi ble that we are the usurpers of their ancient dominion, the cause of their degradation, & the gradual destroyers of their race. They go forth to bat tle, smarting with injuries and indig nities which they have individually suffered from the injustice and the ar rogance of white men, and they are driven to madness and despair, by the wide-spreading desolation and the o- venvhelming ruin of our warfare.— We set them an example of violence, by burning their villages and laying waste their slender means of subsis tence : and then wonder that savages will not show moderation and magna nimity towards men, who have left them nothing but mere existence and wretchedness. “It is a common thing to exclaim against new forms of cruelty, while, reconciled by custom, we wink at long established atrocities. What right does the generosity of our conduct give U6 to rail exclusively at Indian warfare. W r ith all the doctrines of Christianity, and the advantages of cul tivated morals to govern and direct us, what horrid crimes disgrace the vic tories of Christian armies. Towns laid in ashes; cities given up to the sword; enormities perpetrated, at which manhood blushes, and history drops the pen. Well may we ex claim at the outrages of the scalping knife; but where, in the records of In dian barbarity, can we point to a vio lated female? “We stigmatize the Indians also, as cowardly anil treacherous, because they use stratagem in warfare, in preference to open force; but in this they are fully authorized by their rude code of honor. They are early taught that, stratagem is praiseworthy; the bravest warrior thinks it no dis grace to lurk in silence and take eve ry advantage ofliis foe. He triumphs in the superior craft and sagacity by which he has been enabled to surprise and massacre an enemy. Indeed, man is naturally more prone to subtle ty than open valor, owing to hi3 physi cal weakness in comparison with other animals. They are endowed with na tural weapons of defence; with horns, with tusks, with hoofs and talons; but man has to depend on his superior sa gacity. In all his encounters, there fore, with these, his proper enemies, he has to resort to stratagem; and when he perversely turns his hostility a- gainst his fellow man, he continues the same subtle mode of warfare. “The natural principle of war is to do the most harm to our enemy, with the least harm to ourselves; and this of course is to be effected by cunnin That chivalric kind of courage which teaches us to despise the suggestions of prudence, and to rush in the face of certain danger, is the offspring of society, and produced by education. It is honorable, because in fact it is the triumph of lofty sentiment over an instinctive repugnance to pain, and o- ver those selfish yearnings after per sonal ease and security which society has condemned as ignoble. It is an e- motion kept up by pride, and the fear of shame; and thus the dread of real e- vils is overcome by the superior dread of an evil that exists but in the mind. This may be instanced in the case of a young British officer of great pride, but delicate nerves, who xvas going for the first time into battle. Being agitated by the novelty and awful pe ril of the scene, he was accosted by another officer of a rough and boiste rous character.—“What, sir,” cried he, “do you tremble?” “\es sir,” replied the other, “and if you were half as much.afraid as 1 am you would run away.” This young officer signalized himself on many occasions by his gallantry, tho’had he been bro’t up in savage life, or even in a hum bler and less responsible situation, it is more than probable he could never have ventured into open action. .“Besides we must consider how much the quality of open and despe rate courage is cherished and stimula ted by society.—It has been the theme of many a spirit-stirring song, and cliiv- alric story. The minstrel has sung of it to the loftiest strain ofliis lyre— the poet has delighted to shed around it all the splendours of fiction—and e- ven the historian has forgotton the so ber gravity of narration, and burst forth into enthusiasm and rhapsody in its praise. Triumphs and gorgeous pa geants have been its reward—monu ments, where art has exhausted its skill, and opulence its treasures, have been erected to perpetuate a nation s gratitude and admiration. Thus arti ficially excited, courage has arisen to an. extraordinary and factitious degree of heroism; and, arrayed in all the glo rious “pomp and circumstance” of war, this turbulent quality has even been able to eclipse many of those qui* et, but invaluable virtues, which si lently ennoble the human character, and swell the tide of human happiness- “But if courage intrinsically consist in the defiance of danger and pain, the life of the Indian is a continual exhibi tion of it. He lives in a perpetual state of hostility and risk.—Peril and - adventure are congenial to his nature rather, seem necessary to arouse*- his faculties and give an interest to existence. Surrounded by hostile tribes, he is always equipped for fight with his weapons in his hands. He tra verses wildernesses, exposed to the hazards of lonely sickness, of lurking enemies or pining famine. Stormy lakes present no obstacle to his wan derings; in his light canoe of bark, he sports like a feather on their waves, & darts with the swiftness of an arrow down the roaring rapids of the rivers. Trackless wastes of snow, rugged mountains, the glooms of swamps and morasses, where poisonous reptiles curl among the rank vegetation, are fearlessly encountered by this wander er of the wilderness. He gains his food by the hardships and dangers of the chase; he wraps himself in the spoils of the bear, the panther, and the buffalo, and sleeps among the thunders of the cataract. “No hero of ancient or modern davs. can surpass - the Indian in his lofty con tempt of death, and the fortitude with which he sustains all the varied tor ments with which it is frequently in* dieted. L deed we here behold him ri-, singsupe t r o the white man, merely in consequence of peculiar education. The latter rushes to glorious death at the cannon’s mouth; the former cool ly contemplates its approach, and tri umphantly endures it, amid the tor ments of the knife and the protracted agonies of fire. lie even takes a sa- 1 vage delight in taunting his persecu tors and provoking their ingenuity of^ torture; and as the devouring flames prey on his very vitals and the flesh, shrinks from the sinews, he raises his last song of triumph,.breathing the de fiance of an unconquered heart, and invoking the spirits of his fathers to witness that he dies without a groan., The knowledge of Jesus Christ is a wonderful mystery. Some men think they preach Christ gloriously because they name him every two minutes in their sermons. But that is not preach ing Christ. To understand, and en ter into, and open his various offices r| and characters—the glories ofliis per son and work—his relation to us, and ours to Him, and to God the Father and God the Spirit through him—this is the knowledge of Christ. The di vines of the present day are stunted dwarfs in this knowledge, compared with the great men of the last age.— To know Jesus Christ for ourselves, is to make him a consolation,—de light, STRENGTH,—RIGHTE OU^J ESS, companion,—and end.—Cecil. Human Life.—“When we set out on the jolly voyage of life, what a brave fleet there is around u$, as stretching our fresh canvass to the breeze, all “ship-shape and Bristol fashion,” pennons flying, music play ing, cheering each other as we pass, we are rather amused than alarmed when some awkward comrade goe6 right ashore for waftt of.pilotage!—A- las! when the voyage is well spent, and we look about us, toil worn mark ners, how few of our ancient consorts, j still remain in sight, and they how torn and wasted: and like ourselves, struggling to keep as long as possible , off the fatal shore, against which wed arc all finally drifting!”—Walter Scott. Villainy that is vigilant will’ be ani overmatch for virtue if she slumber [ on her post; and hence it is that a bad I cause has often triumphed over a good f one; for the partisans of the former, knowing their cause will do nothing { for them, have done every thing for their cause; while the friends of the | latter are too apt to expect every! thing from their cause, & to donotluipj for it themselves.—Laccn y