Vevay Times and Switzerland County Democrat, Volume 4, Number 5, Vevay, Switzerland County, 4 January 1840 — Page 1

AND SWITZERLAND COUNTY DEMOCRAT.

THE SENTINEL ON THE WATCH-TOWER OF LIBERTY.

BY ISAAC STEVENS.

AT $2 PER ANNUM.

VEVAY, INDIANA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 4,1840.

VOLUME IV.

NUMBER 5.

hurrying her away from the encampment. At this moment a dark cloud obscured the moon, and not even the bark of the Indian dog, broke the awful silence that reigned around. They reached the stream, a canoe was launched, and in a few moments a winding in the creek, totally hidthe scene of her misfortune from her view.

Published every Saturday Morning, Corner of Ferry and Market streets, Vevay, Indiana.

when a loud rap announced that a stranger was at the door. Matthew had been taught a kindness from his youth, and his heart bounded with the thoughts of sheltering a fellow mortal from the pelting storm. Free from guile himself, suspicion of the baseness of others never entered his mind: and he opened the door with a light and cheerful heart, As it opened, the tall form of an Indian stood in the room, holding up his hand in token of peace, and dripping from the effects of the storm. As Ruth discovered the dark shadow of the Indian, she sank back in her chair, and shook with the emotion of her sex, on the apprehension of danger. But Matthew was insensible to fear, for he trusted in his Maker. Ruth said the old man calmly, 'spread before the heathen homely fare, for he is wet and hungry.’ Ruth arose and it was with difficulty that she tottered to the cupboard, but her fears gradually wore away, and the Indian soon saw the effects of a substantial meal spread before him. At the sign of the old man he sat down, and to say the truth, did ample justice to the meal. Ruth had now time to observe her visiter. He was apparently about nineteen, and considerably above the common size - high cheek bones, copper skin, dark black eyes, and the scalp knot marked him for the true Indian. His dress consisted of merely, a common blanket; such as used by the soldiers, carelessly thrown around him, and a small band of shells, at the side of which was the feather of an eagle bound round his head. Instead of the bow usually worn by, the savages, he carried a rifle of uncommon beauty, which now stood leaning in one corner of the room. As the Indian finished his welcome meal, he arose from his seat, uttered a few guttural sounds, and motioned his thanks. The wind and storm still continued; a blanket was spread by the fire for the Indian. Ruth retired to her chamber and the old man to his couch; and in a few moments the house was wrapt in profound silence. The next morning was bright and clear, and before the golden orb of day had cast its welcome sight through the wood-girt scenery, the ‘inhabitant of the forest' had received his morning meal, expressed his token of thanks, and wound his way towards his home. The lapse of seven years had produced a change in the scenery, as well as the inhabitants of Skaneatlas. Of the little log hut, not a vestige remained; but in its place stood the substantial farm house of a man that is well to do in the world.' A woman of very prepossessing appearance, sat in the window sowing. A little girl was playing by her side, and an infant about a year old was sleeping in the cradle at her feet it was Ruth. About a year after the circumstance above related, her father had died, and left her to the protection of Charles Haviland; to whom after sufficient time had elapsed, she was married. It was now about the middle of September; the earth had yielded its treasures; to the hand that had tilled it; the barns and granaries groanwith the weight of wheat and corn, and the orchards were yet expected to give the favors to the hand of industry. One evening Ruth sat alone in her room, with the little, infant sleeping by her. Charles had gone to settle some business with a neighbor, and his return was looked for every moment. At the sound of footsteps on the threshhold, she put down her work and looked up to welcome her husband. But judge her horror and surprise—her eyes rested on two Indians! painted in all the wildness of the savage nation. She attempted to speak, but fear choked her utterance; end her voice sank into a whisper. The Indians advanced—a thick film shot across the eyes of Ruth—her frame shook with emotion, and she fainted. The Indians seized the favorable moment, and grasping their prey they rushed from the house. Scarce had the gloom of the forest shaded their retiring forms when Haviland returned, happy from, having settled his business to his satisfaction. The little child lay sleeping in the cradle, but its mother was gone. He sat down, and regarded the face of the little innocent beauty, expecting every moment the entrance of Ruth. It grew late and she came not -- 'twas strange! and he called his help; she had heard the noise, but supposing it to be her master, it had passed her mind, and she had retired to bed. Conviction soon flashed across his mind—the Indians were in possession of his wife. Haviland did not throw himself on his bed in despair, nor burst into unmeaning tears—the misfortune was too great - it shut the channels of pity, and he gazed for a moment in horror! Suddenly recollecting himself, he grasped his rifle and rushed from the house. A band was soon collected easly in the morning they were in hot pursuit, "But the sagacity of the Indiana was too much for them and they returned on the second day in despair. When Ruth awoke from her trance, she was lying on a blanket before a fire in a small clearing in the woods. Three Inians were lying apparently asleep, but as she raised her head, she saw the dark eyes of an Indian gazing on her: she sank back. In a few moments all was again still. As the fire every now and then cast a flickering glare on the forms of half-sleeping Indians, one might take an unsatisfactory view of their features. They were all dressed in the blanket usual to their race, and each armed, with a tomahawk, the scalping knife, and the rifle—the only difference in their appearance, was the form and color of their faces . The elder of the three was darker than the Indians commonly are; his cheek bones were not so high, and his mouth, waa more of the cast of the whiles, the other two of a bright copper color, extremely high cheek bones, large flat mouth, and a deep scar immediately over his left eye, which added to his otherwise iron features, a ghastly and disgusting appearance. The last Indian was about twenty-five, neither.so dark aa the former nor so black as the latter; he had the true Indian appearance, his countenance was open, and a generous fire beamed from his dark eye. After a long weary night, the day dawned in all its beauties—the deer was gazing quietly at a little distance, the birds were carroling and

warbling their notes af praise; the fox bad skulked to his den, and the Indians prepared to start with their prey, In a few moments they reached the lake, a canoe was launched from among the bushes, Ruth was seated in the bottom and the Indians followed. The young Indian was the last, and as he sat down, he met the gaze of Ruth—an exclamation of surprise burst from his lips, and be turned to his companions: ‘Docs the dower of his tribe take vengeance on a woman!’ asked the young Indian, regarding the face of the Indian he addressed for a moment, and then added; 'Matawan was a warrior.’

tho immediate route to Hatiland’fl hpuse, expecting to reach there before the Indians disco* vered hie'tracks, in this he was mistaken, at' he yet had. a distance of sii or seven miles to travel, and the exhausted state of Ruth’s body made their speed necessarily stow; and fJncaWona wat not a little surprised, yfie n bis practiced * ear detected the well known signs' of footsteps, r All now was lost—not a nook or a dell could bo . had—tho. woods were without a bush, and .no chance ofescaps presented itself tohis mind, He warf well awarethat, by leasing Kmh to herself, he might by swiftness and Indian sagacity, effect his escape; but be seemed the .thought, and calmly awaited bis death; for he knew it was near and,certain*. .Ruth now was all hope' —cheering prospects presented themselves to her view, and her fancy, ever on the wing, was soaring to her home. Rut alas! they were fleet* ing as day dreanis; they vanished, aa the report of-a rifle brokethastUlnea that surrounded her, apd UncaWona, the Indian of the log hut, whom her father bad sheltered, lay lifeless at her feet. In a moment ehe was in the grasp of Matawan —it wa$ to much for her weak frame, and she tank at the feet of the savage. __ . Havitand and bis'eompamons had been to Genesee, and were' returning, dejected and dis* appointed, when the reponn£Matawan*s rifle attracted their attention, and they all hurried to . the spot from, whence the report proceeded. In a few moraepjsjhey reached thp lifeless form of*' Jfljj’wbtle.the rest stopped to' gaze on it, Havtfjtyi hurried on. He had not pro* . ceedad far, a sight met his gaze which par* alised hUjwhole soul.- In a little opening stood two; Indi|nj, with his wife laying at their-feet! and; Malayan was regarding her with a'look of savageJoy r and loosing his.tomahawk from his belt;, it yas raised once .more, but ere he fixed ilsSlireciidn, the rifle of IfaTiland was at its mark, and a ball passed through the head efila* tawan.V: At, the report of the rifle, the other In*: .dim fled, and in a moment Haviland duped (bo fajnted form of Ruth to bis joyous heart. . Vi Hava already spun>roy *yarn’ (ill ,1 hive grown tiresome, and I wilt now draw toy tale to ildconclusion. ■ ' ' . '.

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TERMS:

The exertions on the part of Haviland and his followers had never for a moment relaxed. Small parties of two and three were continually scouring the woods but they always returned weary, and without any token of hopes, Havililand had sunk under his misfortunes—the plough had been suffered to rust in the field, and the fruit to ripen and rotten on the tree—his cheek, which was once the emblem of health, grew pale and wan, and his eye black and hollow with continual exertion. One day he sat buried in his reflection; when one of the scouting patties returned and. related that a trapper had seen three Indians and a white women on the Genessee, but was unable to get near enough to see her countenance. Hope, that never deserts the wearied breast, for a moment shot a gleam of pleasure across his mind, but continual disappointment had broke his ambition; and he sunk back in his chair, and gazed on them for a moment with a hollow and vacant stare, then recollecting himself, he grasped his rifle, and they rushed from the house. Uncawona’and Ruth, after a journey of two days, in which they never for a moment abated their speed, arrived at the head Skaneateles, still distant from Ruth’s house about twelve miles. Thus far they had travelled in silence, without any thing of consequence , transpiring, Ruth’s heart beat high with pleasure, and swelled with gratitude to her preserver. They had journeyed in silence, for they spoke different languages and except by signs there was no communication. The same canoe that bore her away from home, was lying in its hiding place; again she was seated In its bottom—again it was girding the smooth surface of the lake, and again she sank into silent ection. But oh how different from her formr ones! Now, each thought that filled her breast was tinged with every glittering hue hope can paint; and her imagination was drinking the bliss of home, of Charles and her little infant. The sharp crack of a rifle aroused her from her dream, and a ball skipped along the water by the side of the canoe. Both eyes were turned in the direction of the shore, and Matawan, with his companion, was discovered standing on the edge of a rock enveloped in smoke. When the mist cleared away, Matawan was discovered with his rifle at his shoulder, and his finder upon the tagger—it flashed—a ball whizzed past Ruth, and in a moment the water was gushing through the hole made by the ball. All now was lost— few moments the boat would fill, and both must find a. watery grave. Despair again rose uppermost in the mind of Ruth, the prospect of immeniate death fiilled before her eyes, and she sunk back in the canoe; but the presence of mind of the Indian never for a moment forsook him, and snatching a shawl from the neck of Ruth, he soon staunched the leak of the frail bark.

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The eye of the Indian flashes fire, and the scar on fits face assumed a lived hue. He grasped his tomahawk, but suddenly relaxing his sternness, he answered, Uncawona, wife of the pa!e face, is his life.' Neither of the Savages seemed inclined to renew the conversation, and they sank into silence. Still the boat glided on; and every stroke of the paddle was a dagger to the heart of Ruth, as it bore he away from home, and perhaps to an ignominious and painful death. The sun had arisen far above the surrounding trees, and shone bright and clear upon the glassy lake. — Not a motion broke the stillness of the scene, except the little ripple made by the canoe, as it glided on in silence. They reached their place of destination. The canoe was carefully concealed in the bushes, and they commenced their, journey on foot in haEte. Ruth had remained silent and sorrowful—she had vented her grief till she had shed dry her fount of tears - her sorrows now changed to calm resignation, and she resigned herself to tho guidance of him who hath promised to work things together for good, to those that love and fear me.'

POETICAL.

[Lina from an OH HaicPt ParifoHo.] , . To an Ant nmnal Rose Bud. Thou liiflo modest beauteous flower, Relic of summer'Jdying hour, I b&U jhy smiling face. > . I gaze upon eacWem’rald leaf, - \ And weep to tee'tho tears of grief, . , Which on thy cheek-I trace. / ' t . . . ' young and lovely thing thou art, Sweet emblem of.lho youthful heart . ' - Just op'd to life’* young day. The spring that usher’d tbeo to light,. And summer's smile on thee so bright, ; Hare quickly pass'd away*

• The cause of this hate oa the part of Mata-; wan- towards Haviland, was as follows; Early in the spring a party df Indians were encamped in the 'neighborhood of a distillery, immedi-\ atelyin sight oV llaviland’a bouse, and for come offence,on the Rkrt of Matawan, when in a state of inebriation, Charles had struck him. The Indian never .forgot it, and from that moment he treasured revenge. That night he had fixed up-' bn lo‘;striko the deadly blow, but not finding Havilandj hifl imagination immediately fixed, up.bh birwife, ,as the roost likely thing to wound him. to thd and ho bore her away to sacrifice her to hie vengeance. i .. . On tho'tliird day. they arrived 'at a small Inencampment, the margin of a amall creek, a distance of about one hundred miles from - Ruth’s dwelling, and situate far in the. bowels of the An old Indian eat discoursing with three or four womejf before the .dptejgjyV-wigwaifl, and they anpearod to be its At'the appearance of Matawan and his followers, they all started from their seats, and. pierced the air with a horrid yell of congratulation, but seeing Ruth, an exclamation of surprise burst from every lip, and they Hood regarding Matawan with wonder,. The sicrn featufta df the' Indian never for,a moment relaxed ,thei|. expression, nor did tie deign to answer the' many questions that wero repeatedly put to ut regarding the trembling form df Ruth Torn moment, ho buret into a coarse hollow laugh of savage exultation! .. said Matawan, addressing a tall -Indian woman, ‘tbs'blow of the pale face will soon receive its offering, and Matawan will he happy* Behold the sacrifice!’ Ail eyes were now turned towards Ruth, and she shrunk from the glaring gaze of the savages,, behind the form of Uncawona, who stood anxiously regarding her. As her gaze tnelhis, she tv as struck'with the appearance of the Indian, and something like.the remembrance of a dream', flitted across her mind. For a moment she Was sunk |n thought, but a gripe on the arm awoke her from her reverie.— It was Mena. She Blood grasping the trembling arm of Ruth-with one hand, and vlilh the other she pointed to the*door of a rude hut. 'Her b'sir was flowing Jooscly in the wind, and ehe gsked wildly on her.. Ruth trembling like the.aspen —her slrenglkforsook her, and;she sunk into forgetfulness,‘ ‘ * ■ ■■ ‘V :;'. • ; ‘ • * ; It was nearly the middle of the- bight" when she awoke from her trance, and sho gazed wildly' around. By tho light of the mpon that crep t ta at the openin|s in the hut,she discovered.the. formbfan Indian standing with bis'arma folded and gazing- ou.her; with a fixed stare, that shook' her soul with Horror. - -There was an : expression so deviiishj a look so fiendish, that she closed her. eyes with fear, and the sweat stood on her trembling, form; like.dcw drops on the- lily. When ■he again opened her ey.es, the arm °f tbe<|lq'dian was raised—the tomahawk glittered in |tbe pibonbeamsi And she gazed on it with; horror—the blood chafled to flow—the sweat stood cold, upon her marble brow, and she was fixed, os a statue, .The arm of tho Indiapi mbvedi-the tomahawk descended—bnt ere it reat&d its destination,;Uncawona glided and caught the falling arin of Matawan. . For a moment they stood re-garding.-each other with a savagq sure,' when Matawan broke the’silence. > j " ‘Uncawona,* he' : exclaimed, have clmated the Indian of his god! revenge!* ' j . ‘Matawan,* calmly returned Unawona, loosing bis hold of Alalawan’s arm, amjdrawing back with dignity—‘The Indian that strikes a womiq ia acowardi’ f ' .. '

many years ago l had occasion to visit Skaneatelee, and 1 a topped at HavilahdV house . —he had grown old and infirm,’and bad-Irani* fcrrcdlho labors of bis farm to a. younger fori. Hel and Rath b$i by p/e firo. and a little grande eon was listening to the tale above related. After he bad concluded, the little bo; smiled, . told ' me I-might see the tombstone of Uncawona. . Ifollowed him Ybr the distance of half a mUe on the -bordereigf the lake, when ha stopped under the shade of a weeping willow—email monad attracted my attention, at the head bf which wu a; small white board, antRnifl. read this in« '■ ecriplion: ■ : .•' '

And autumn, with her chilling wail* . . Rude winda and slorn&now thee ass&jl My bluitltjjg infant flow’r. > I.may not tnos, sweet-, fragile thing, Let winter’s sable blighting wing O'er thy young vesture low'r. I pluck thee from thy parent stem \, ■ Thou last of Flora’s diadem, \r~. And ehield.thVe from the atom). I would not thou should'at fee] the cares, Time's wuh’ring blight, life’s nura’rous snares So eooa nppn thee dawn, '

A, Testimony of Gratitude,-

( -. Reared h y a grateful huibmd,io the - i

Memory of UN CAW ON A.

Thus, other buds hayo poets sung, ■ Who, by the cold world’s tortures wrung Hire found an early tomb. No pitying hand, no friendly care, Was their* to anaich them frora Ihe^iDite . That lured .them to theirdoorrt/ • * I . ' i ’ * ‘

■ Unwearied exertion« could only carry him be* yond the reachof Matawan’s rifle, andhe' plied his paddle with increasing rigor, but the boat had partly filled wiih water, and it was not-till several successive shots bad been fired, that he woe beyond the danger of immediate - pursuit. The ingenuity of Uncavtona was now put to its utmost stretch,-to find the means winch would enable him to empty the canoe of the water, a thing tfi|t; only, necessary for their convenience, but their speed; for he was well aware that only a short time would elapse before ;Matawan could construct another canoe, and then their united exertions would render his escape uncertain. The Indian ceased, and looked around, and for a moment* something like despair shot across his fine features. Wha{ was to be donel Every moment was an eternity! They had not even the shelter of night to screen them; delay was death, and the Indian resumed*his labor.' They glided on .in'silence, for Ruth's mind was loo"much og. the' rack, to convene; even bad they spoke- the same language. She saw her hofao and ell its comforts before her and almost.within her grasp -r-sho saw the liltle_Infant. Anna, ’running:to greet her, and Charles with the big teat of pleasure. glistening .in bis' eye, standing over ..hen Out alas! on tho. other side, she saw the picture sadly reversed—she saw hardships, danger and death! while these reflections were revolving in her mind; an exclamation from the Indian caused her ib look around; and just emerging from an angle in the lake, she saw a canoe with two Indians, gliding along with a rapidity which nearr ly ; outstripped the wind. Despair again seized her, and she came near fainting, bat tho Indian altering bis course,, attracted her attention, and the gloom slightly passed away. They neared the shore—Uncawona ceased, and rose in .' the canoe. It was evident Matawan saw him, for ho immediately altered bis coqyse. Ruth now thought herself betrayed, and she saw po escape, and fear shook every limb—Uncawona removed the shawl, aud io a few moments they were buffeting the watersv Uncawbna'wa* an expert swimmer—he bore Ruth to the shore and ■ they dashed, through the woods. * , The., stratagem of Uncawona succeeded,' for when Maiaw&n arrived at the place thojcapbe and'shawl were there; but Uncawona was gone —he expected ba'bafj sunk; in bis endeavor to save her.' It was near nobo, and they sat down on the shore to partake of their, frugal' repast; \hey sat regarding each other as men who had experienced disappointment, and neither seemed inclined to connivence conversation. Matawan sat with hiaftyes fixed upon the ground, meditating vengeance still on Harilsnd, when something attracted his attention, he regarded it closer, and after a moment’s examination he exclaimed, - V •Oh! footstep of the"pile face 1 / * -Both now aii’examination,.and both were satisfied thjft iUncawona and Ruth were still aliye. ; Concealing their canoe is before, again they.commencef pursait, with a rapidity which rendered success certain. When Uncawona left the Ihore, he bad lajfin

Who was shot la the act of preserving hiiwlflj. " God of the IndianmaJ bis retting 1 place be, With the home of his father and Thee!

William Pitt.

Ah.yci! the.beautiful, the young, - Sweet themes of each admirtng'tdngoe, Once as how thou artfjy I thought of these—I look’d bn thee,— 1 feelaby spirit warm and free,— And fold thee to-tfiy heart. ‘

. Pitt, tall and slender, had an air at once tael* • ancholy and sarcastic. His delivery was cold,’bis intonation monotonous, his actions scarcely perceptible; at the same time the lucidness and ' the fluency of his thoughts, the logic of his ar* gumeats, suddenly irradiated with flashes .'of eloquence, renderedhis talcntsometbingaboTO the ordinary line.. , ■1 frequently saw/Pilt 'walking across St* James’s Park, froUTnis own bouse to the palace. On his part, George III arrived at Winsor, af* ter drinking beer oitl of a pewter pot wjth the farmers of'the neighborhood; be drove through the mean , courts of hii mean habitation in a grey chariot, followed fay, a few of the horseguards. This was thb master of the kings of Europe, as five or six merchants of the city are the musters of lodia. Pitt dressed in black; . with d steel billed sword by bis side, and bis hat under bis arm, ascended, taking two or three steps at a time. In his passage he only met frith three of four emigrant* who bad nothing to fo; castingonush. disdainful loob,he turned up" bis nose," and passed, oh*. ■: ■. ’ , t . At borne,' this great financier kept ho*order; be bad no regular hours fbr his me>ls, o r for sleep. Over bead and ears in : delft, ho‘-piad ' nobody,'and never could take thb trouble to cast up a bill. Ill drused, without pleasure, greedy ef power, be despised honors, and would not: be; anything more than ; William Pitt-— Chateaubriand. • •• • •*

MISCELLANY..

MATAWAN.

In one of the clearings that lay on the,margin, of Skaneatlas Lake was & log house common to the early settlers of New York, and yet might' b« distinguished from\ those of a similar kind, by the uncommon neatness that reigned around. It was a single dwelling, formed only for the retreat of the indigent. There was but one room on the ground, in'which was a bed, a rude oak table, and andirons made of stone, and two indifferent resemblances of chairs. Over the fire place hung the pictuWof our Saviour, as he is represented when dying on the crass, and a-Bi-ble, much worn by time and use,, was laying on what was intended for a cupboard. A wide ladder led to lbs upper apartments, which was far mote*scantily furnished .than this; ji bed, a chest,'and a piece of a broken mirror, being its whole appurtenances. Although things wore this impoverished appearance,, yet, every thing was of a neatness which showed, the inhabitants were riot tola|Iv,!ost to all comforts. The ownner of this humble dwelling was Matthew Mowry, who, with one child, was its sole occupant. Matthew was a native of Connecticut, but a misfortune, so dreadful in its nature, bad ‘swept over him, that he was obliged to leave hla home, and seek his fortune in tho far west. Afire had desolated his dwelling of a lovely wife and five children—pone of whom were sayed but Ruth, at that time in her fourteenth year. The spot he had chosen was one of unequalled beau- ■ ty, as it wa»-aRuated immediately on the borders of the Jake; a sloping lawn, graced with numerous. flowers, planted by the innocent bands of Ruth, lay immediately in front'of the house; beyond which the lake was seen, laying still and motionless as tho claar heaven above it, Ruth had now arrived at her eighteenth year—the resemblance of beauty and simplicity—the charm tnd comfort of her father’s old age. She had already given her heart to oneafUte neighboring awoins—he wm a youth. worthy of her affections, and they only waited a favorable, opportunity when they would be united for life. One stormy night SlatthflW was engaged in hts family devotions, the usual chapter bad been read, and be was pouring out bis soul to his maker in a fervor whichahowed the kincerity of the old man’s heart. Ruth kneeled 'by him, and if •ho did not speak aloud, herlips mated, and her mind was dwelling on that same Baing her (atbAyWas ao earnestly addressing. Scarcely bad the fMeaB ‘Ansa’or Hatthatrbtsn pronounced.

v- .'Origin of Bread. “ V. >. . There arc'pi any,article* la common o*e f the origin of which arp BcldomthoBgbt of. Who,.. for instance, would • trouble * hhhead, rektira tot he infenttonof that- indispensable article of foodbread. ;- Bread, howetcr, was origin* ally is ihreolioa of-,the Greek*, iftenrwii M* opted by the Romani. Tor a long time; band tnilts were in Europe, the only machines died to grind corn. .The aft lof conitnitting wind mills originated, together with other idrentioni, with the Saracens. During sereral centuries, they used in France, instead of plates, circular , slice* of the dnut of-bread, which weMj after diooer, distributed among the poor. As early as the time of Pliny, the Gauts. made use of yeiit to raise their bread.

An exclamation of revenge burst from tbe.ltps of MaUwan.and hia whole fratnoBhobt with anger. Again the tomahawk glittered in.ihe thoonbeam—again it fell—but Matawaa lay prostrate on the ground. The fall of Sfatawsn had ’ completely stunned him, and now let Uncawona a chapee to rescue Ruth. The little Indian encampment wav buried in profound silence. All eyes were closed, except the Indian dogs that prowled around the huts. The noon was at its full, and ehone forth in all its beauties, casting the shodows of the surrounding voods tjr across the liulo stream, that wound its way in solitary silence by the Indian village. Uncawona advanced to tlie door, and motioned Ruth to follow; at the same time laying hia finger ou his lip, in token of silence. Scarce conscious of what she did, Ruth arose, and in a momen) the Indian was

Aceuntrynjan so wing bis ground, two'smart fellows riding that way, one o! them called to him with an insolent air, 'Well, honest fellow. His your business to sow, hut we reap the fruit of your labor ’ To which the coynlrymsn re* i ’Ti* rery likely you I am sowing

' If men would courerse more about things, and less aboutpenoni, they wsuld show more sense, more friends, tad fewsr ■nsofsi.