oaks near the dwelling, for which I am vastly obliged. Willie is under obligations, also, for his father has attached a rope to two of them, which affords him occasional pastime in swinging his promising boy. I have now a hired girl, the daughter of an Englishman, whose large family of 'buys,' as he calls them, (by the way, they are more than half girls,) renders it necessary that they should all be doing some'at.' Her name is Hetty; I love soft names, and her temper is as pleasant as her name, and she is as merry as a lark. I never could endure low spirits in any one but you, my dear and I excused them in you, knowing there was some cause for them. I find full employment for my hands, I assure you; and what between my dairy and poultry-yard, and matters in-doors, I have no idle time. Even little Willie does not eat the bread of idleness, but sings his ' By O!' most manfully, while rocking the cradle of his little sister. You will probably be tempted to inquire, if we do not miss the refinements and elegancies to which we have been accustomed. We do miss them; for although we have found in our present neighborhood more of the sterling qualities that do honor to the human heart, than one meets with in large cities, where clashing interests render men selfish, there is yet a dearth of much that makes life desirable. But we are content to labor now, hoping to procure indulgences at some future day, for ourselves, as well as our children, whom we trust to educate without sending far from home, as excellent schools are being started in every direction. And moreover, as we never should have expatriated ourselves of choice, ought we not to be grateful and content, to have secured so safe a harbor, when driven by misfortunes from the place of our nativity? Truly, our lot has been cast in a pleasant land, which only requires us to appreciate, and to strengthen by wise legislation, to be the greatest boon of an indulgent heaven."

'And now, my dear , may not my misfortunes be properly

ascribed to a deficient education? In this we have both been unfortunate, although the plans pursued differed so widely. My mother, with mistaken fondness, thought only to promote my present enjoyment, to the neglect of domestic duties; and hence my unfitness to fulfil with judgment the obligations of a mistress. Nor was this all. By an attention to none but light accomplishments, my mind was neither properly disciplined, my understanding improved and strengthened, nor my views enlarged, in the manner that good sense imperiously demands, for those who are to have the care of the affections, and the formation of the first principles of future divines and statesmen. With yourself, the error consisted in the too exclusive confinement to a single department of the various duties which devolve upon us, in the different characters of sisters, wives, mothers, and friends, as well as mistresses. In my case, blind affection caused the error; in yours, mistaken and narrow views. Yet with you, the error was on the safe side, while my giddy career and thoughtless folly led to ruin; and had I not been blessed with a companion of a firm and virtuous mind, the consequences might have been fatal. Walter declares that he is perfectly happy for this I cannot be sufficiently thankful; and could I conquer a few regrets, and reconcile myself to the absence of dear friends, I might be able to say the

:

same. When I have you with me, as I hope to, another season, I think I shall feel no wants. Till then, adieu! And believe me your ever affectionate cousin, ANN DUDLEY.'

HERE then was a triumph of affection and virtuous resolution over the negligent habits fostered by ridiculous fondness. She was right, too, as respected myself; and although aware that a too great attention to domestic duties is not an error of the present day, yet in my particular instance, it was an error; and painfully was it felt, when the time arrived that I was to take my place in society, and was introduced to those in my own station, whose acquirements made me blush for my ignorance. True, I had been taught much that was extremely useful, and this knowledge I would not willingly be without; yet I look back to the years spent in acquiring that knowledge, as the saddest in my life; and those who undertook my guardianship, with the best intentions, I doubt not, succeeded in making me thoroughly uncomfortable. If I live, I intend that my daughter shall not only be made acquainted with the particular duties that belong to woman, nor yet acquire them to the neglect of the more important graces of mind, or at the cost of the elegancies and proprieties of life, which fit us as well to be the companion as the help-mate of man, and as much the instructress as the nurse of his children.

THE CHIEFTAIN'S TEAR.

EY ROBERT R. RAYMOND.

'It is said that the Indians, when preparing to cross the Mississippi, left all their possessions, with peculiar stoicism, until they came to bid farewell to the graves of their fathers, when the stoutest warriors were moved, even to tears. JOURNAL OF COMMERCE,' 1837.

He was an Indian warrior- gray and stern;
Furrowed his swarthy brow, and scar-seamed;
Time had set his finger there, and he was old!
Yet, as he stood upon the mountain's brow,
That overhung the dark old wood, his form
Of knitted iron loomed against the sky,
Like a tall hemlock, stricken at its top;
Withered, but still erect. Whither it would,
The wind sprang cheerly onward in its course,
And shouted in his ear. And in its tones,

Were heard speaking the quick, sharp, doubling stroke
Of the stout woodman's axe, as far below,

In the deep, unsunned recess of the glade,

He hurled from his old standing-place the tree

That had lived there more than an hundred years.

And ever and anon, a blithesome song

Rang up in the clear air, and the mossed rocks

And woods, all unaccustomed to such sound,

Flung it straight back again, with mingled scorn,

And strange wonder. That sculptured listener's cheek
Grew darker then; his teeth were closely locked,

Shutting the rising wrath down to his heart
Again; and on his rifle-breech, the quick

Finger paddled convulsively, as though

He would have driven the galling merriment

Back in the white man's throat, and drowned its note
In blood. 'T was but a passing thought; the fire
In his deep eye went slowly out again;

On his lip the leaden hue

resumed its throne

Of cold hate. From his breast a muttered chaunt,
Like the mysterious voices poets say

Welled from the ancient statue-so unmoved
His marble lip* - went up upon the breeze,
Blending its melody with the deep bass

God breathes along the tree-tops. Thus it ran :

'Ay, fell the tall old groves the sacred home

Of the Great Spirit! and the grass-grown mound,
Where his own forest-children used to coine,

And lay their offerings-level to the ground,

Mocking the while Maneto's wrath with the cursed sound!

'These holy forests! - that old darkling tree

That proudly lifts its broad green crest on high

Clad like a warrior, in his panoply ·

And waves its scalp-lock in the golden sky,

The Thunderer would not strike, but ever passed it by !

'When first he built the world, He planted it

By the hill-side there; and beneath its shade

The red man's father's father used to sit,

When a young brave, and woo his star-eyed maid;

And then they reared their children there, in the same glade.

*It may not be generally known, that some of the Indian tribes talk without moving the lips. The writer has used this fact, as applying here, by 'license.'

'With murderous bullet, drink the Indian's blood! With ruthless steel, raze low his forest-home! Rear your cursed cabins in the sacred wood,

To whose deep gloom the red-deer dared not roam, And none but the dark prophet's step, ere now, hath come.

'It matters not; my wasted tribe are gone!

My black-browed Maqua and her eaglet boy Are far beyond the white-cloud, and alone

On the blue hill-top stands the chieftain! Joy With them hath fled the spot; then let the foe destroy!

'Beyond great Mississippi's sweeping wave,

The broken warrior takes his weary way; 'Mid Oregon's wild wastes to find a grave,

Where the big mountains hide the dying day, And nought may e'er disturb the banquet of decay.

'He heaves no sigh for the old hunting-ground!
Back on your heads a burning curse, to sear,
Wither and blast, is all the parting sound

His soul flings down to ye! Maneto, hear!
To women and the pale-face, leave the coward tear!'

Swiftly he turned upon his heel and leaped,
Light as the springy wild-cat, down the steep;
Catching, from limb to limb, amid the trees
And slender saplings, that in living green
Clad its round side. Crackling and crashing then,
Beneath his foot, the brush-wood light gave way,
Scaring the wood-bird from his swinging nest,
And shaking the slim branches, till their rows
Of countless leaves gave out a silvery sound,
Like tinkling of a thousand tiny bells.

In a dark clump of elms, that seemed as though,
The patriarchs of all the trees they there

Were holding council, grave and politic,
The straggling sunbeams worming lazily
Through their locked branches, to the holy shade
And flinging gauzy shadows on dry leaves,
That whispered ceaselessly, all o'er the ground
The chieftain checked his step. A spot for awe!
The singing bird was not upon the bough.
Happy wood-rabbits came not there. Creatures
That love the light, and gladden in God's smile,
And in their being's sunshine, were away,
Mayhap the ground-mole burrowed silently,
Beneath the mould- and the lone whippoorwill
Cowered from the day, in some sequestered nook.
But the wild squirrel shunned the dark abodes
In the old trunks, and chippered far away,
Where the green hickory, in some pleasant place,
Stood up and nodded to the golden day.
The blast went on its path complainingly,
And kindred fancies stirred to its sad call,

As it sighed on the red-man's brow. Three graves

Were there, marked by three mounds of earth. He flung

His stalwart frame upon the ground, and strove

As though by clasping in his arms the sod,

He might caress the dear decay beneath.

Now fixing on the sky those eyes of midnight,
Deeply, unfathomably dark; and then,

Again upon the consecrated turf

While his huge frame shivered convulsively,

With the fierce agony of a strong man's grief

Once more with that strange chime he stirred the stillness. How altered in its tone!