Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by KEY & BIDDLE, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia: ROBERT WRIGHT, PRINTER, No. 25 Minor Street. CONTENTS. The Kalushes; or the Difference, Wakulla Fountain and its Phantoms, Dogmas of Religion; or, Indian Politeness, La Hontan's Account of Canadian Indians, TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. [From the American Traveller.] THE RIFLEMAN OF CHIPPEWA. At the time of the French and Indian wars, the American army was encamped on the Plains of Chippewa. Col. St. Clair, the commander, was a bold and meritorious officer; but there was mixed with his bravery a large share of rashness, or indiscretion. His rashness, in this case, consisted in encamping upon an open plain, beside a thick wood, from which an Indian scout could easily pick off his out-posts without being exposed, in the least, to the fire of the sentinel. Five nights had passed, and each night its tranquillity was disturbed by the disappearance of a sentry, who stood at a lonely post in the vicinity of the forest. These repeated disasters had struck such a dread into the breasts of the remaining soldiers, that no one would volunteer to take the post, and the commander-knowing it would be throwing away their lives-let it stand VOL. II.-B unoccu pied, for a night or two. At length, a rifleman, of the Virginia corps, volunteered his services. He was told the danger of the duty, but he laughed at their fears, saying, he would return safe, to drink the health of his commanders, in the morning. The guard marched up soon after, and he shouldered his rifle, and fell in. He arrived at his bounds, and, bidding his fellow-sentinels 'good night,' assumed the duties of his post. The night was dark; from the thick clouds that overspread the firmament, leaving no star to shine on the sentinel, as he paced his lonely path, and nought was heard but the mournful hoot of the owl, as she raised her nightly song from the withered branch of the venerable oak. At length, a low rustling among the bushes on the right caught his ear. He gazed long towards the spot whence the sound seemed to proceed, but saw nothing, save the impenetrable gloom of the thick forest which surrounded the encampment. Then, as he marched onward, he heard o'er the gentle breeze of night, the joyful cry of all's well,' after which, he seated himself upon a stump, and dropped in a deep fit of musing. While he thus sat, a savage entered the open space behind him, and, after buckling his tunic, with its numerous folds, tight around his body, drew over his head the skin of a wild boar, with the natural appendages of these animals; and, thus accoutred, walked slowly past the soldier, who, seeing the object approach, quickly stood upon his guard. But a well-known grunt eased his fears, and he suffered it to pass, it being too dark for any one to discover the cheat. The beast quietly sought the thicket to the left; it was nearly out of sight, when through a sudden break in the clouds, the moon shone bright upon it. The soldier then perceived the ornamental moccasin of a Savage, and quick as thought prepared to fire. But, fearing lest he might have been mistaken, and thus falsely alarm the camp and also supposing, if it were so, other Savages would be near at hand, he refrained, and, having a perfect knowledge of Indian subtility, quickly took off his coat and cap, and, after hanging them on the stump where he had reclined, took hold of his rifle, and softly groped his way towards the thicket. He had barely reached it, when the whizzing of an arrow passed his head, and told him of the danger he had so narrowly escaped. |