Barney Riley, as he was termed by the whites-his Indian appellation is now forgotten-was a petty chieftain belonging to the confederacy of the Upper Creeks. Being a "half breed," and, like most of the mixed race, more intelligent than the full-blooded Indians, he acquired a strong influence among his native tribe. Regarding the people of his father as allied to him in blood and friendship, he took very early a decided part in favor of the United States in the dissentions among the Creek nation, and, after the breaking out of war, in 1812, joined the American forces with his small band of warriors. Brave and hardy, accustomed to confront danger, and conquer difficulties, he led his men to battle, and in many instances proved by his activity, of material service to the army. His gallantry and abilities attracted the notice of the commander in chief, and Riley's name was coupled with applause in many of the despatches during the campaign. On the restoration of peace, he returned to his people honored with the thanks of his "Great Father," and sat down to cultivate his fields, and pursue the chase, as in times gone by. Although distinguished in war and in council he was still young, and, devoting himself to his one wife, a lovely Indian girl, he seemed contented and happy.

About this time, the restoration of tranquillity, and the opening of the rich lands just ceded to the United States on the upper waters of the Alabama, began to attract numerous emigrants from the Atlantic settlements, and the military road was soon thronged with caravans hastening to these fertile countries at the West. The country, from the Oakmulgee to the settlements on the Missisippi, was still one howling wilderness; and many discontended spirits among the conquered tribes still meditated a hostile stroke against their white oppressors. Travelling was of course hazardous and insecure, and persons, who were not able to associate in parties strong enough for mutual defence, were fain to procure the guidance and protection of some well-known warrior or chief, whose name and presence might ensure a safe passage through those troubled countries.

Of this class was L. I knew him formerly, and had heard some remote allusion to his fate. Though his misfortunes and embarrassments had driven him to seek a distant asylum, a warmer heart beat not in a human bosom. Frank

was

and manly, open to kindness, and prompt to meet friendship, he was loved by all who knew him, and "eyes unused to weep" glistened in bidding "God speed!" to their old associate. L- had been a companion in arms with Riley, and knew his sagacity, his courage, and fidelity. Under his direction, he led his small family of slaves towards the spot upon which he had fixed for his future home, and traversed the wild and dangerous path in safety and peace. Like most men of his eager and sanguine temperament, Leasily excited to anger, and, though ready to atone for the injury done in the warmth of feeling, did not always control his passions before their out-burst. Some slight cause of altercation produced a quarrel with his guide, and a blow from the hand of L-, was treasured up by Riley, with deep threats of vengeance. On the banks of yonder creek he watched his time, and the bullet, too truly aimed, closed the career of one who little dreamed of death at the moment. His slaves, terrified at the death of their master, fled in various directions, and carried the news of his murder to the nearest settlements.

The story of L- 's unhappy end soon reached his family, and his nearest relatives took immediate measures to bring the murderer to justice. Riley knew that punishment would speedily follow his crime, but took no steps to evade or prevent his doom. The laws of retaliation among his countrymen are severe but simple-" blood for blood"-and he might run who read them." On the first notice of a demand, he boldly avowed his deed, and gave himself up for trial. No thought seemed to enter his mind of denial or escape. A deep and settled remorse had possessed his thoughts, and influenced his conduct. He had no wish to shun the retribution which he knew was required. When his judges were assembled at the council, at the public square, he stood up and addressed them.

:

Fathers!" said he, "I have killed my brother-my friend he struck me, and I slew him. That honor, which forbade me to suffer a blow without inflicting vengeance, forbids me to deny the deed, or to attempt to escape the punishment you may decree. Fathers! I have no wish to live: my life is forfeited to your law, and I offer it as the sole return for the life I have taken: all I ask for is to die a warrior's death. Let me not die the death of a dog, but boldly confront it, like

a brave man who fears it not. I have braved death in battle. 1 do not fear it, I shall not shrink from it now. Fathers! bury me where I fall, and let no one mourn for the man who murdered his friend. He had fought by my side-he trusted me. I loved him, and had sworn to protect him."

Arrayed in his splendid dress of ceremony, he walked slowly and gravely to the place of execution, chanting in a steady voice his death-song, and recounting his deeds of prowess. Seating himself in the front of the assembled tribe upon yonder fallen tree, and facing the declining sun, he opened the ruffle of his embroidered shirt, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, gave with his own voice the signal of death, unmoved, and unappalled. Six balls passed through both his hands and his bosom, and he fell backward so composedly as not to lift his feet from the grass on which they rested. He was buried where he fell, and that small mound marks the scene of his punishment; that hillock is the murderer's grave; that hovel, whose ruins mark the spot, was erected for his widow, who lingered a few seasons in sorrow, supporting a wretched existence by cultivating yonder little field. She was never seen to smile, or to mingle with her tribe: she held no more intercourse with her fellows than was unavoidable and accidental, and now sleeps by the side of her husband. The Indian shuns the spot, for he deems that the spirit of the murderer inhabits it. The traveller views the scene with curiosity and horror, on account of its story, and, pausing for a few moments to survey this lonely and desolate glade, hastens on to more fearful and happy regions. With this short narrative we put spurs to our horses, and, hurrying along the road, in a few moments found ourselves beyond the gloomy and tangled forests of the Creek.

THE DYING KNIGHT.

They told him that the tyrant's power
Hung o'er his country dear,
And there were none in that sad hour,
But turn'd away for fear;

They told him that no soul of war,
Inspir'd by freedom's ray,

Would mount the reeking battle-car

And lead them to the fray.

Deal.

He rose from off his dying bed,
And left his couch of rest;

“Come, lace my helmet on my head,
And my cuirass on my breast,
And give to me the polish'd brand,
I did not wear in vain,

When I drove from out my native land,
The invader and his train."

He firmly grasp'd the trusty blade,
And turn'd to heaven his eye,
Invoking thence the holy aid,
That blesses victory :

It was in vain-for death had seal'd,
That heart so firmly true,

And the light that speaking glance reveal'd
Was the last those eyes e'er knew.

And "oh!" he cried, "for one short hour,
Of my lost strength, to show

How much a freeman's arm has power,
To quell a tyrant foe :"

He sigh'd a prayer for his own dear land,
As ebb'd his parting breath,

And cloth'd in steel, with sword in hand,
He bowed himself to death.

CHRISTOPHER.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

BY REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

The sunny clouds are voyaging
Within a sea of light;
And Dian's gem serenely gleams,
Where isles with heaven unite.

So, gracious God! may I pursue
My voyage o'er life's sea;
And, when the future on me gleams,
Unite my soul with thee!

ALPINE ALBUMS.

You find, in some of the rudest passes of the Alps, homely inns, which public beneficence has erected for the convenience of the weary and benighted traveller. In most of these inns albums are kept to record the names of those, whose curiosity has led them into these regions of barrenness; and the album is not unfrequently the only book in the house. In the album of the Grand Chartreuse, Gray, on his way to Geneva, recorded his deathless name, and left that exquisite Latin ode, beginning, "O! tu severi religio loci!" an ode which is indeed " pure nectar." It is curious to observe in these books the differences of national character. The Englishman usually writes his name only, without explanation or comment. The Frenchman records something of his feelings, destination or business; commonly adding a line of poetry, an epigram, or some exclamation of pleasure or disgust. The German leaves a long dissertation upon the state of the roads, the accommodations, &c.; detailing at full length whence he came, and whither he is going, through long pages of crabbed writing.

In one of the highest regions of the Swiss Alps, after a day of excessive labor in reaching the summit of our journey near those thrones erected ages ago for the majesty of nature, we stopped, fatigued and dispirited, on a spot destined to eternal barrenness, where we found one of these rude but hospitable inns, open to receive us. There was not another human habitation within many miles. All the soil, which we could see, had been brought thither, and placed carefully round the cottage, to nourish a few cabbages and lettuces. There were some goats, which supplied the cottages with milk; a few fowls lived in the house; and the greatest luxuries of the place were new-made cheeses, and some wild Alpine mutton, the rare provision of the traveller. Yet here nature had thrown off the veil, and appeared in all her sublimity!--summits of bare granite rose all around us. The snow-clad tops of distant Alps seemed to chill the moon-beams that lighted on them; and we felt all the charms of the picturesque, mingled with the awe inspired by unchangeable grandeur. We seemed to have reached the original elevations of the globe, o'ertopping for ever the tumults, the vices, and the miseries