cavern among the hills, well known as a fastness of safety.

Kiodago looked a moment after her retreating figure, and then coolly swung himself to the ledge which commanded the pass. He might now easily have escaped his pursuers; but as he stepped back from the edge of the cliff, and looked down the narrow ravine, the vengeful spirit of the red man was too strong within him to allow such an opportunity of striking a blow to escape. His tomahawk and war-club had both been lost in the strife, but he still carried at his back a more efficient weapon in the hands of so keen a hunter. There were but three arrows in his quiver, and the Mohawk was determined to have the life of an enemy in exchange for each of them. His bow was strung quickly, but with as much coolness as if there were no exigency to require haste. Yet he had scarcely time to throw himself upon his breast, a few yards from the brink of the declivity, before one of his pursuers, more active than the rest, exposed himself to the unerring archer. He came leaping from rock to rock, and had nearly reached the head of the glen, when, pierced through and through by one of Kiodago's arrows, he toppled from the crags, and rolled, clutching the leaves in his death-agony, among the tangled furze below. A second met a similar fate, and a third victim would probably have been added, if a shot from the fusil of Hanyost, who sprang forward and caught sight of the Indian just as the first man fell, had not disabled the thumbjoint of the bold archer, even as he fixed his last arrow in the string. Resistance seemed now at an end, and Kiodago again betook himself to flight. Yet anxious to divert the pursuit from his wife, the young chieftain pealed a yell of defiance, as he retreated in a different direction from that which she had taken. The whoop was answered by a simultaneous shout and rush on the part of the whites; but the Indian had not advanced far before he perceived that the pursuing party, now reduced to six, had divided, and that three only followed him. He had recognized the scout, Hanyost, among his enemies, and it was now apparent that that wily traitor, instead of being

misled by his ruse, had guided the other three upon the direct trail to the cavern which the Christian captive had taken. Quick as thought, the Mohawk acted upon the impression. Making a few steps within a thicket, still to mislead his present pursuers, he bounded across a mountain torrent, and then leaving his foot-marks, dashed in the yielding bank, he turned shortly on a rock beyond, re-crossed the stream, and concealed himself behind a fallen tree, while his pursuers passed within a few paces of his covert.

It

A broken hillock now only divided the chief from the point to which he had directed his wife by another route, and to which the remaining party, consisting of De Grais, Hanyost, and a French musketeer were hotly urging their way. The hunted warrior ground his teeth with rage when he heard the voice of the treacherous Fleming in the glen below him; and springing from crag to crag, he circled the rocky knoll, and planted his foot by the roots of a blasted oak that shot its limbs above the cavern, just as his wife had reached the spot, and pressing her babe to her bosom, sank exhausted among the flowers that waved in the moist breath of the cave. chanced that at that very instant, De Grais and his followers had paused beneath the opposite side of the knoll, from whose broken surface the foot of the flying Indian had disengaged a stone, which crackling among the branches, found its way through a slight ravine into the glen below. The two Frenchmen stood in doubt for a moment. The musqueteer, pointing in the direction whence the stone had rolled, turned to receive the order of his officer. The chevalier, who had made one step in advance of a broad rock between them, leaned upon it, pistol in hand, half turning toward his follower; while the scout, who stood farthest out from the steep bank, bending forward to discover the mouth of the cave, must have caught a glimpse of the sinking female, just as the shadowy form of her husband was displayed above her. God help thee now, bold archer! thy quiver is empty; thy game of life is nearly up; the sleuth hound is upon thee; and thy scalp-lock, whose plumes now flutter

in the breeze, will soon be twined in the fingers of the vengeful renegade. Thy wife-But hold! the noble savage has still one arrow left!

Disabled, as he thought himself, the Mohawk had not dropped his bow in his flight. His last arrow was still griped in his bleeding fingers; and though his stiffened thumb forbore the use of it to the best advantage, the hand of Kiodago had not yet lost its power. The crisis which it takes so long to describe, had been realised by him in an instant. He saw how the Frenchmen, inexperienced in woodcraft, were at fault; he saw, too, that the keen eye of Hanyost had caught sight of the object of their pursuit, and that further flight was hopeless; while the scene of his burning village in the distance, inflamed him with hate and fury towards the instrument of his misfortunes. Bracing one knee upon the flinty rock, while the muscles of the other swelled as if the whole energies of his body were collected in that single effort, Kiodago aims at the treacherous scout, and the twanging bow-string dismisses his last arrow upon its errand. The hand of THE SPIRIT could alone have guided that shaft! it misses its mark! But WANEYO Smiles upon the brave warrior, and the arrow, while it rattles harmless against the cuirass of the French officer, glances towards the victim for whom it was intended, and quivers in the heart of Hanyost! The dying wretch grasped the sword-chain of the chevalier, whose corslet clanged among the rocks, as the two went rolling down the glen together; and De Grais was not unwilling to abandon the pursuit when the musketeer, coming to his assistance, had disengaged him, bruised and bloody, from the embrace of the stiffening corpse.

The

What more is there to add? bewildered Europeans rejoined their comrades, who were soon after on their march from the scene they had desolated; while Kiodago descended from his eyrie to collect the fugitive survivors of his band, and, after burying the slain, to wreak a terrible vengeance upon their murderers; the most of whom were cut off by him before they joined the main body of the French army. The Count De Frontenac,

returning to Canada, died soon afterward, and the existence of his halfblood daughter was forgotten.

LEGEND OF BRADY'S HILL.

SAMUEL BRADY, the hero of the following adventure, was over six feet in height, with light blue eyes, fair skin, and dark hair: he was remarkably straight and athletic, a bold and vigorous backwoodsman, inured to all the toils and hardships of a frontier life, and had become very obnoxious to the Indians, from the numerous successful attacks on their war parties, and from shooting them in his hunting excursions, whenever they crossed his path, or came within reach of his rifle; for he was personally engaged in more hazardous contests with the savages, than any other man west of the mountains, excepting Daniel Boone.

He was, in fact, an "Indian hater," as many of the early borderers were. This class of men appear to have been more numerous in this region than in any other portion of the frontiers, and this doubtless arose from the slaughter at Braddock's defeat, and the numerous murders and attacks on defenceless families, that for many years followed that disaster. Brady was also a very successful trapper and hunter, and took more beavers than any of the Indians themselves. In one of his adventurous trapping excursions, to the water of the Beaver river, or Mahoning, which in early days so abounded with the animals of this species, that it took its name from this fact, it so happened that the Indians surprised him in his camp, and took him prisoner. To have shot or tomahawked him on the spot, would have been but a small gratification to that of satiating their revenge by burning him at a slow fire, in presence of all the Indians of their village. He was therefore taken alive to their encampment, on the west bank of the Beaver river, about a mile and a half from its mouth. After the usual exultations and rejoicings at the capture of a noted enemy, and causing him to run the gauntlet, a fire was prepared, near which Brady was placed,

after being stripped naked, and his arms unbound. Previously to tyi g him to the stake, a large circle was formed around him, consisting of Indian men, women, and children, dancing and yelling, and uttering all manner of threats and abuse that their small knowledge of the English language could afford. The prisoner Looked on these preparations for death, and on his savage foes, with a firm countenance and steady eye, meeting all their threats with a truly savage fortitude. In the midst of their dancing and rejoicing, a squaw of one of their chiefs came near him with a child in her arms. Quick as thought and with intuitive prescience, he snatched it from her and threw it into the midst of the flames. Horror

struck at the sudden outrage, the Indians simultaneously rushed to rescue the infant from the fire. During this confusion, Brady darted from the circle, overturning all that came in his way, and rushed into the adjacent thickets, with the Indians at his heels. He ascended the steep side of the present hill, amidst a shower of bullets, and darting down the opposite declivity, secreted himself in the deep ravines and laurel thickets that abound for several miles to the west of it. His knowledge of the country and wonderful activity, enabled him to elude his enemies, and reach the settlements on the south of the Ohio river, which he crossed by swimming. The hill near whose base this adventure is said to have happened still goes by this name; and the incident is often referred to by the traveller, as the coach is slowly dragged up its side.

EXCERPTS.

There is no living creature that gives us such an idea of happiness as a bird, as it skims on light wing along the ether, alights among flowery shrubs, or upon the springy bough of a lofty tree, or dresses its plumage by a fountain or a stream.

What is the fate of the miner who digs the diamond from the well in darkness, in abstraction from this breathing world and all its beauty, as if his God had meant him, like the mole, to be inhumed alive? When that diamond blazes on the breast of vanity, is it worth such purchases?

She faded silently, as doth the rose,

Which but in death reveals the secret smart ;

And faintly smiling to the last, bestows A balmy perfume from its withering heart.

Some connoisseurs would give a hundred pounds for the painted head of a beggar, who would threaten the living mendicant with the stocks.

The soul of music slumbers in the shell,

Till waked and kindled by the master's spell:

And feeling hearts, touch them but lightly, pour

A thousand melodies unheard before!

Excess of ceremony shows want of breeding; that civility is best, which excludes all superfluous formality.

The world! the sunny world! oh! bright

And beautiful indeed thou art: The brilliant day, the dark blue night, Bring joy-but not to every heart. No! till, like flowers, those hearts can fling

Grief-drops from off their folded

leaves,

'Twill only smile in hope's bright spring, And darken when the spirit grieves.

What is the love of restless, roving man? A vagrant stream, that dallies with each flower on its bank, then passes on and leaves them all in tears.

Why did she love him?-curious fool, be still

Is human love the growth of human will?