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make up matters for a very trifle; I'll undertake to manage the whole business." Colin quickly released the father from prison: Jeannot returned to the country with his parents, who resumed their former profession; he married a sister of Colin's, who, being of the same disposition as her brother, made him very happy; and Jeannot the father, Jeannot the mother, and Jeannot the son, now saw that happiness was not to be found in vanity.



I AM any man's suitor,

If any one will be my tutor :
Some say this life is pleasant,

Some think it speedeth fast,
In time there is no present,
In eternity no future-
In eternity no past.

We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,
Who will riddle me the how and the why?
The bulrush nods unto its brother,

The wheatears whisper to each other:

What is it they say? What do they there?

Why two and two make four? Why round is not square?
Why the rock stands still, and the light clouds fly?

Why the heavy oak groans, and the white willows sigh?
Why deep is not high, and high is not deep?

Whether we wake, or whether we sleep?
Whether we sleep, or whether we die ?
How you are you ?

Who will riddle me the how and the why?

The world is somewhat, it goes on somehow ;
But what is the meaning of then and now?

I feel there is something; but how and what?
I know there is somewhat, but what and why?
I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.

The little bird pipeth "Why, why!"

In the summer-woods when the sun falls low,
And the great bird sits on the opposite bough,
And stares in his face and shouts "How, how!"
And the black owl scuds down the mellow twilight,
And chants" How, how!" the whole of the night.
Why the life goes when the blood is spilt ?

What the life is? Where the soul may lie ?
Why a church is with a steeple built;
And a house with a chimney-pot?

Who will riddle me the how and the what?
Who will riddle me the what and the why ?




THERE stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake
Spread its blue sheet, that flashed with many an oar,
Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake,
And the deer drank-as the light gale blew o'er,
The twinkling maze-field rustled on the shore;
And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair,
A look of glad and innocent beauty wore,

And peace was on the earth and in the air,
The warrior lit the pile and bound his captive there.

Not unavenged the foeman from the wood
Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade
Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood;
All died-the wailing babe-the shrieking maid-
And in the flood of fire, that scathed the glade,
The roofs went down: but deep the silence grew,
When on the dewy woods the day-beam played;
No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue,
And ever by the lake, lay moored the light canoe.


THERE is a solitary spot, in a remote part of Maine, known by the name of Indian Old Point. The landscape has no peculiar beauty, save the little sparkling river, which winds gracefully and silently among the verdant hills, as if deeply contented with its sandy bed; and fields of Indian corn, tossing their silken tresses to the winds, as if conscious of rural beauty. Yet there is a charm thrown around this neglected and almost unknown place, by its association with some interesting passages in our earliest history. The soil is fertilized by the blood of a murdered tribe. Even now the spade strikes against wampum belts, which once covered hearts as bold and true, as ever beat beneath a crusader's shield, and gaudy beads are found, which once ornamented bosoms throbbing with as deep and fervent tenderness, as woman ever displayed in the mild courtesies of civilized life.

Here, one hundred years ago, stood the village of the Norridgewocks, one of the many tribes of the scattered Abnakis. These Indians have been less celebrated than many of their brethren; for they had not the fierce valour of the Pequods, the sinewy strength of the Delawares, or the bell-toned language of the Iroquois. They were, however, an influential nation; of consequence on account of their numbers, as well as their subtilty. The Jesuits, too, had long been

From The Legendary.' Boston, 1828, vol. i.

among them, led by their zeal to fasten the strong girdle of an imposing faith around the habitable globe; and they had gained over the untutored minds of these savages, their usual mysterious and extraordinary power. The long continued state of effervescence, produced by the Reformation, tended to settle this country with rigid, restless, and ambitious spirits. Our broad lands were considered an ample tract of debatable ground, where the nations of the earth might struggle for disputed possession; and terrible indeed was the contest for religious supremacy between France and Englan during the early part of the eighteenth century. Of the energy and perseverance displayed in this cause, there are few more striking examples than Sebastian Rallè, the apostle of the Norridgewocks. His rude, cross-crowned church, standing in the heart of the American wilderness, proved the ambition and extent of that tremendous hierarchy, "whose roots were in another world, and whose far stretching shadow awed our own." Surrounded by the wigwams of the Abnakis, it seemed like an apostle of Antioch descended among savages, pointing out to them the heaven he had left. Our forefathers indeed thought it wore a different, and most unholy aspect; but to romantic minds, the Catholic church, even in its most degraded state, must ever be an object of interest. The majestic Latin, so lofty in its sound, and yet so soulless now to all save the learned, seems like the fragments of a mighty ruin, which Rome, in her decaying pride, scattered over the nations of the earth; and the innumerable cereinonies, more voiceless than the language in which they are preserved, forcibly remind one of the pomp and power rivalled only by attendant corruption. In this point of view only could the humble church of the Norridgewocks kindle the imagination; for it had little outward proportion, or inward splendour. It stood in a sheltered spot, between two small verdant hills, with one graceful feathery elm at its side, bending forward, at every signal from the breeze, and half shading the cross, as if both bowed down in worship.

Various opinions were formed of the priest, who there administered the rites of a mysterious religion. All agreed that he was a learned man; some said he was benevolent and kind; while others pronounced him the most subtle and vindictive of hypocrites. The English settlers, who resided about three miles from the village of the Abnakis, regarded him with extreme aversion; but to the Indians he was the representative of the Good Spirit. It is true the maxims of the Jesuits had given something of sternness and cunning to a character naturally mild and frank; but he verily thought he was doing God's service, and he did it with a concentration of power and purpose well worthy of the respect it inspired. For thirty years he lived in the wilderness, sharing the dangers and privations inci

dent to savage life. The languages of all the neighbouring tribes were familiar to him; and his utterance could not have been distinguished from that of a native, had it not been for a peculiarly softened cadence, and rapid enunciation. A restless light in his small, hazel eye, and the close compression of his lips, betokened one, who had, with a strong hand, thrown up dykes against the overflowing torrent of his own mad passions. The effort had likewise turned back many a gentle current of affection, which might have soothed and refreshed his heart; but let man do his worst, there are moments when nature will rebound from all the restraints imposed on her by pride, prejudice, or superstition.

There were two objects in the secluded residence of the self-denying Jesuit, on whom he poured forth in fulness the love he could not wholly stifle within him. When he came to America, he found among the savages the orphan son of the Baron de Castine, by a beautiful young Abnakis. The child was remarkably pretty and engaging; and the lonely priest, finding his heart daily warming toward him, induced the squaw who nursed him, to take up her abode in his own wigwam. The Indians called him Otoolpha, "The Son of the Stranger," and seemed to regard the adopted one with quite as much interest as their own offspring. Not a year after Otoolpha and his nurse were domesticated in the dwelling of the Jesuit, some of the tribe, on their return from Canada, found a nearly famished female infant in the wood. Had not Sebastian Rallè been of the party, its sufferings would, probably, have met a violent end; but at his suggestion, comfortable nourishment, and such care as they could give it, were afforded. A nose slightly approaching to aquiline, and a complexion less darkly coloured than usual, betrayed an origin half European; but as her parentage and tribe were unknown, they gave her the emphatic name of Saupoolah, "The Scattered Leaf," and enFrom the first dawn of reason grafted her on the tree of Abnakis. she gave indications of an impetuous, fearless, and romantic spirit. The squaw who nursed her, together with the little Otoolpha, tried in vain to curb her roving propensities. At four and five years old, she would frequently be absent several days, accompanied by her foster brother. The duties of the missionary often called him far from home, and it was absolutely impossible for him always to watch over them, either in kindness, or authority. Their long excursions during his absence, at first occasioned many anxious and wretched thoughts; but when he found his wayward protégés invariably returned, and when he saw they could cross streams, leap ditches, and thread their way through the labyrinths of the wilderness, with the boldness and sagacity of young hunters, he ceased to disturb himself on their



During the whole of their adventurous childhood, but one accident ever happened to them. They had been at the English settlement to beg some beads in exchange for their little baskets, and on their return, they took a fancy to cross the Kennebec, when recent rains had swollen its deep and beautiful waters. Saupoolah's life nearly fell a sacrifice to the rapidity of the current; but her foster brother with the speed of lightning, to call assistance from the village they had just left. A muscular, kind-hearted woman, by the name of Allan, lived in a log-house, very near the river. In the midst of his terror, Otoolpha remembered this circumstance, and went there for succour. His frightened looks told his story, even more plainly than his hurried exclamation; "Ogh! Saupoolah die-the Great Spirit drink her up!" Mrs Allan saved the Indian child at the risk of her own life, dried her clothes, gave them something warm and comfortable to eat, and conducted them into their homeward path in safety. To this woman and her children Otoolpha and Saupoolah ever after clung with singular intensity of affection. During their childish summers, it was a daily occupation to fill baskets with berries for her little ones, whom they always chose to feed with their own hands, watching every morsel of the fruit as it disappeared between their rosy lips, with the most animated expressions of delight; and when they arrived at maturer years, they used the great influence they had with the tribe, to protect Mrs Allan from a thousand petty wrongs and insults, with which her white brethren were not unfrequently visited.

Educated by the learned priest, as far as such fetterless souls could be educated, and associating only with savages, these extraordinary young people grew up with a strange mixture of European and aboriginal character. Both had the rapid, elastic tread of Indians; but the outlines of their tall, erect figures possessed something of the pliant gracefulness of France. When indignant, the expres sion of their eyes was like light from a burning-glass; but in softer moments, they had a melting glance, which belongs only to a civilized and voluptuous land. Saupoolah's hair, though remarkably soft and fine, had the jet black hue of the savage; Otoolpha's was brown, and when moistened by exercise, it sometimes curled slightly around his high, prominent forehead. The same mixture of nations was shown in their costume, as in their personal appearance. Otoolpha usually wore a brown cloth tunic, with tight sleeves, and large buttons, under which appeared a scarlet kilt falling to his knees, in heavy folds, edged with the fur of the silver fox, and fastened at the waist by a broad girdle, richly ornamented with Indian hieroglyphics. A coronet of scarlet dyed fur, to which were fastened four silver bells, gave indication of his noble descent; and from his neck

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