peared; most of their bravest warriors were left dead on the field of battle, and the rest, disheartened, were glad to escape to their own land once more, covered with dishonor.

A look

And now, Wam-e-noo-sa was about to take the Morning Star to his lodge, when a serious and startling charge was preferred against him, by O-moo-moo-la. It was no less than the stealing of the Lynx's rifle, a most beautiful one, and admired by the entire tribe of hunters. He averred that he saw him take it from a place where he had left it, for a short time, to flay a deer that he had slain: and that it was now in the lodge of Wam-e-noo-sa. This the latter of course denied, and offered to go with other braves to search for it. Accordingly his lodge was examined, more to satisfy O-moo-moo-la, than with a supposition that it was there; when lo! and behold, on lifting the skins which formed the bed of the Panther, a new and elegant rifle was discovered, which on examination proved to be none other than O-moo-moo-la's. of gloomy despair settled over the face of Wame-noo-sa, but not a shadow of guilt mingled with it. He leaned upon his own rifle, in silent thought, and though the astonished company gazed upon him, in evident expectation of some solution of the matter, that should place him above suspicion, not a sound escaped his lips, nor did a glance betray one symptom of shame. Old Ma-das-ka at length approached him, and said mildly, "Wam-e-noo-sa, the eyes of all the Chippewa braves are on the Waking Panther. Does he sleep, that he does not answer their eager look? Shall the warriors think that the young sachem, who sent so many Black Feet on the dark trail, is such a coward? Let him speak, if he can, and say how O-moo-moo-la's rifle came to be in his lodge."

"Do the warriors think the Waking Panther such a silly child as O-moo-moo-la would make him? He will answer nothing more."

No inducement could draw another word from him, and with as much sorrow as an Indian ever bears upon his visage, the chiefs after designating the following morning as the time for further examination, left the young man and sought their homes. As the first dark shades of the evening gathered round, Wam-e-noo-sa, who sat moodily on the grass before his lodge, felt a light hand upon his shoulder; and looking suddenly up, he met the dark, loving eye of Mi-o-na fixed sadly on him.

"There are clouds," said she, "around the Waking Panther, whence do they come?"

"Has the Morning Star heard the words of O-moo-moo-la ?"

"She has heard all."

"And does she think the Lynx speaks true ?" "She knows him for a false dog, and her soul hates him."

At these words the eyes of Wam-e-noo-sa sparkled with deep emotion, and turning to his companion, he smiled and said, "The heart of Mi-o-na is braver and whiter than the hearts of all the Chippewa warriors. Wam-e-noo-sa is content."

Mi-o-na glided away, and the young man, rising, went with a light step into his lodge, and with a lighter heart to rest upon his couch of skins.

The morning broke, fair and beautiful, and Wam-e-noo-sa was among the first to spring from his bed and seek the open air. As he emerged from the door of his lodge, he saw O-moomoo-la and another Indian, in close conversation at a short distance, in the edge of a wood. They caught sight of him, as he came out, and instantly separated, the Lynx going one way, and On-a-wa-wa in the opposite direction. The latter was known throughout the tribe, for his facility in getting into quarrels; and he never failed to know all about any difficulty that chanced to arise.

He did not fail to be present at this time; and when O-moo-moo-la had brought his charge against Wam-e-noo-sa, he had only to refer to On-a-wa-wa, to substantiate what he had said. To credit the assertion of the latter, he, too, saw the Panther take the gun, and knew it to belong to the Lynx. No one could say any thing to the contrary, however desirous of doing so, but Wam-e-noo-sa; and he would not. A native pride and dignity kept him silent. He disdained to deny that, to which his whole life gave the lie, unqualifiedly.

As much delay as possible was occasioned by the chiefs, in hope that he would prove himself innocent; but at last, seeing that such hope was vain, he was brought before the oldest sachem to receive his sentence. This was, that he should leave his tribe, and never return, on pain of death, or prove himself innocent of the crime charged against him. "But," continued Neendeek-wah, the aged Sagamore, addressing him, "My son, brave deeds may cover the dark spot on Wam-e-noo-sa's heart, and he may become a great brave. Then the Chippewas will forgive him, and let him return to his lodge. Go!", The condemned one arose, and swept his eyes

around on all, as if for a parting glance. Then fixing them upon O-moo-moo-la with a meaning glitter, he turned his face to the westward, and disappeared in the thick wood.

A feeling of sadness pervaded the whole tribe, for all loved Wam-e-noo-sa, and no one sought the company of the two accusers, although obliged to admit the justness of their cause.

After a few moons the recollection of the event wore away, and they began to think less sadly of the fate of the Waking Panther. Nothing had been heard from him, and he was supposed to be dead. Mi-o-na never was heard to mention his name, but she turned away from every suitor, and when O-moo-moo-la dared to approach her with words of love, the scorn with which she repulsed him, made even his dastard soul shrink. His first impulse was to seek revenge; but he remembered that her friends were numerous and powerful, and he was compelled to smother his rage, and bear the taunting looks and gestures of the insulted maiden in silence.

Several years passed away, and Wam-e-noosa's name was heard only at long intervals. The Chippewas, for so long a time undisturbed in the peaceful possession of their homes, had grown careless again, and were, through their negli gence, almost at the mercy of their enemies.In the same spot where they were once fallen upon by the Black Feet, and nearly destroyed, they dwelt in fancied security; and the men, having nearly concluded their hunting for the season, were about to depart, just before the breaking up of the Winter, to the nearest trading port, to dispose of their furs.

One evening, as the sun was setting, a strange Indian entered the village. He was dressed partly in Chippewa style, but there was something about him, that distinguished him as a warrior. He presented himself at the door of the lodge of Ma-das-ka, and demanded in the Chippewa tongue, to see that chief. The latter came forth at the summons, and the stranger made haste to inform him, that a large party of Sauks were on their march to surprise the village, and would be there by early midnight. He advised him to gather his braves, and prepare for their reception.

Ma-das-ka eyed him with suspicion, but did not speak, until the stranger had finished. Then he replied, "And who knows that the enemy is not already in our midst? How can Ma-das-ka trust the words of a stranger!"

Before the stranger had time to answer, Mi-ona appeared at the door of the lodge, and fixing

her eyes full upon him a moment, laid her band quickly upon her father's arm, and said, in a low voice," Wam-e-noo-sa!"

"Hah!" said the old man, eyeing him closely once more, "the Waking Panther has not slept. Does he come back with a true heart, or does he come with a lying tongue to seek revenge ?"

"A few hours will tell," replied Wam-e-noosa, looking the old chief fearlessly in the face. "Will Ma-das-ka trust the Waking Panther again?"

The chief signified his assent, and pointing to Mi-o-na, said, "The Morning Star will yet shine in the lodge of Wam-e-noo-sa."

The news spread like wild-fire through the village, and every warrior seized his arms. Before an hour had elapsed, an ambush was laid a short distance from the village, and different parties were stationed at several points where attacks would probably be made. Wam-e-noosa, still known as a stranger to all save old Madas-ka and his daughter, was entrusted with the command of the ambuscade, while the old chief and some of his best warriors, remained to protect the village. As the midnight hour approached, the watchful bands grew more wary and silent. There was no moon; only the stars shed an uncertain light over the wood, where lay the ambuscade headed by Wam-e-noo-sa.

They had been instructed to wait his signal, consequently when through the glimmering light of the stars, they saw a long line of Sauks passing them, and cautiously approaching their homes, bent upon destruction, though burning with a thirst for vengeance, not a breath was audible. As the centre of the line came opposite the place where crouched the Waking Panther, he raised slowly and cautiously to his feet, and leveling his gun, poured forth the Chippewa war-cry, in a voice that sounded unearthly in the depths of the silent woods. The same terrific yell burst from his band, and a sheet of fire blazed from the thicket upon the panic-stricken enemy. Without waiting for them to recover, he dashed out upon them, and now rifle, hatchet, and scalping knife, did fierce execution. Discharges, blows and thrusts followed in quick succession; and in a moment, as it were, the Sauks were routed. But few escaped. Most of them lay silent in death, while the Chippewas sought through the forest till day-break, for the survivors. As the day broke, they hastened to the village to learn the fate of those who remained behind. But one attack had been made, and that was so well received by the Chippewas, that

the assailants fled, and losing themselves in the darkness, were cut off by the ambuscade.

Contrary to the usual custom of the Indians, Wam-e-noo-sa had taken a prisoner, and having bound him, led him to the village. They were met by the women and children, with demonstrations of wild joy, and escorted to the centre of the village. Only one prisoner was there ;the grim scalps that swung at the belts of the Chippewas, showed that no mercy had been given. Revengeful eyes glared upon the unfortunate Sauk, and Wam-e-noo-sa observing it, arose and addressed them. "Warriors! Wam

e-noo-sa speaks to you." Many of the warriors here sprang to their feet. "You remember many moons ago, he went from his home with a black charge against him. You believed him dead, but he lives, and, warriors, Wam-e-noo-sa was innocent. O-moo-moo-la was false as a Pale-face. He spake with wicked words, and deceived the Chippewas, that he might take from Wam-e-noo-sa the Morning Star that Madas-ka had given him to shine in his wigwam. She would not listen to his forked tongue, and he sought revenge. Who was it led the Sauks

to the doors of your lodges? Warriors! it was O-moo-moo-la; behold him!" pointing to the Sauk who sat sullenly near him. "Shall Wame-noo-sa dwell with his people once more?"

An ejaculation of surprise burst from the lips of every one, as he uttered the words "behold him," and looking keenly at him, all detected, even through the skilful disguise that had deceived them, the base O-moo-moo-la.

It is not necessary to describe the punishment that fell upon the traitor; it was speedy, and like an Indian's revenge.

But Wam-e-noo-sa still lives, beloved and respected by his tribe, and the Morning Star has been the light of his wigwam many years.

This is but one of the many examples of the certain punishment inflicted by the red men upon those who offend their laws; and but one of the many examples in savage, as well as civilized life, where virtue triumphs over vice.

Richfield Spa.

M. J. C. MANLEY.

AT twilight I sat thinking,
And the stars came out to see,
Fair as the hallowed Memories
My spirit hath of thee.

And as their rays descended
From out their love-lit eyes,
I doubted which was fairest,
The Memories or the Skies.

UNIVERSALISM IN ADVERSITY.

REPLY TO THE REMARK, 66 UNIVERSALISM MAY DO FOR PROSPERITY, BUT IT WILL FAIL TO SUPPORT YOU IN ADVERSITY."

As well declare that darkest night

The flickering torch may best illume; Or that the struggling taper's light May warm the coldness of the tomb ; As deem a creed as dark as thine

The shades of human grief may light,— While God's own glorious sun may shine

Yet leave them still in gloom and night.

Away! I know it is not so!

I've drank thy cup of bitter tears! I've felt thy weight of blighting wo,

Even in my childhood's tender years. I learned thy creed of untold gloom; And with despair in my young heart,I laid a loved one in the tomb, Deeming we must forever part.

Oh God! those days and nights of wo!
As tempest grief, and calm despair,
Alternate in my soul would grow

Too much for reason's self to bear!
But since my soul hath struggled up

From that dark creed, to faith in Heaven, I've tasted nearly every cup

Which unto mortal lip is given.

Upon the couch of sickness lain,

I've talked with death as friend with friend, Thro' many an hour of racking pain,

I've felt my spirit upward tend. 'Mid toil, and poverty, and care,

And love estranged, and friendship broken, My heart hath never known despair,

Since faith its holy words hath spoken.

Even when the best beloved of earth
Had cold, unkind, and careless grown,-
And from the wreck of human hopes,

My crushed heart wandered forth alone;
Despair was yet not quite despair,-
But even amid this fearful ill,
Arose to Heaven the trusting prayer,
"Thou Father, God, art with me still !"

I've laid the loved in silence low,

Yet not in mystery or gloom; Our faith alone hath power to show

The halo which enshrines the tomb. Death called my babe-my only one

My heart grew faint,-my pain grew wild

LET the reader consider himself introduced into one of those palace-residences in New York city, where luxury ministers to wealth, and every evidence is given that the occupants are determined to take life easy. The velvety folds of the rich damask blend their crimson with the elaborately wrought lace of the window drapery, and around the richly furnished parlor hang the fine displays of Art. The downy seat of the armed rocking chair receives the lady of the mansion, who has studied well the science of display, and does nothing without a view to how it will strike the beholder. Every movement exhibits a grace; every pause is an attitude; and the perfumed cambric is flirted with a significance that may vie with the Spanish lady's use of the fan. When she presides at the table, the taper fingers are finely displayed every time the shining tea vessels are touched, and are so placed that the jeweled rings have a bold relief and invite the eye to notice the lily white hand. To command the servants, to submit to be dressed, to ornament and give interest to the parlor, and now and then to make exertion enough to criticise the doings of the household below stairs, is all that is expected of her. If a dress is desired, she has but to order it; and whatever of attentions can be rendered to make her sure that her happiness is cared for by those about her, are assiduously bestowed.

Such is the lady who in conversation with a visitor seems struck with astonishment that the visitor is intending to hear Mr. Chapin preach, and thinks her guest had better go with her to the Methodist church. "Can it be," says the lady of leisure, "that you are a Universalistthat you hear Universalists preach ?" 66 Yes," is the reply; and to this the lady answers by

rocking the chair more rapidly and repeating this

verse:

"Must I be carried to the skies

On flowery beds of ease,

While others fought to win the prize,

And sailed through bloody seas?"

The implication was evident-she recognized Universalism as demanding no exertion; but for her, in the very lap of ease, to talk of fighting, and of sailing through bloody seas, only showed how many sacred words are used with but very little meaning. What reality of belief, in the dogmas opposite to our holy faith, can such persons have whose whole life asks as plainly as words can do it,

"Ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs."

B.

A CHAT WITH KATE STANLY-UPON NOTHING IN PARTICULAR.

It was a dull, gloomy day of Spring, at least so said the almanac, but the night before there had been a slight fall of snow, and for a week the weather vanes had not changed from the easterly point. This horrid east wind.

My thoughts were sluggish and stagnant, a bright idea at the time would have been quite an acquisition. Why is it that sometimes we have such dull, disagreeable feelings come over us? Is it the weather? One might perhaps think so, only they come upon us in all weath ers. Heigho, what will become of me sitting here so dull and apathetic? My not very pleas ant meditations were suddenly broken in upon by the sound of a closing door, and a light footfall upon the stair.

"Thank fortune," said I, "somebody is coming," and Kate Stanly stood before me. “Thankful am I to see the human face divine, for here I sit moping in hopeless stupidity. Pray tell me a nice bit of news, or something to enliven me." "Oh dear," said Kate, fanning herself vigorously, "how very warm you are here; pray let me open a window, for I am almost stifled."

"Open a window," shrieked I, "and the wind been east for a week, surely you will catch your death cold."

"Not at all," said she, throwing open the | casement, "the east wind does not blow out of the West, old Grimes' history to the contrary notwithstanding. I will keep it open but a few

moments, but I have had such a walk, just look at the mud on my precious feet. But I see you are engaged with pen and paper, upon what were your bright ideas at work?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Ah that is it, nothing in particular; you have told the whole secret now. If you had been engaged upon any thing in particular, I should not have found you in such a state of ennui. You have plenty of books about, I see; Longfellow's Golden Legend! how do you like it ?"

"Very well," I replied, "though not so well as Evangeline. Yet some pretend to say that Evangeline is nothing but very bad prose."

"Ah me," said she, raising up her gloved hands, "what a fine thing it must be to be a critic. It is so grand to talk so learnedly about this one's poems and that one's essays, to pull to pieces this and that new book, with the air of one who knows so much, and who has been so very condescending to the poor author as to read his work just so that he can say he has read, and can pass his mighty judgment upon it. Thank fortune I do not read to criticise; if a book pleases me, I read it and remember it as well as I can, and try to profit by it. If I read another and it does not please me, and I can derive no profit from it, I forget it as soon as possible, and this is no difficult task."

So saying, Kate took up the book and turning to where Elsie bids farewell to the prince, read the following passages:

"You do not look on life and death as I do,
There are two angels that attend unseen
Each one of us, and in great books record
Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down
The good ones after every action closes
His volume, and ascends with it to God,
The other keeps his dreadful day-book open
Till sunset, that we may repent, which doing
The record of the action fades away
And leaves a line of white across the page.
Now if my act be good, as I believe it,
It cannot be recalled. It is already
Sealed up in heaven a good deed accomplished,
The rest is yours.

And you, O prince, bear back my benison
Unto my father's house and all within it.
This morning in the church I prayed for them,
After confession, after absolution

When my whole soul was white I prayed for
them,

God will take care of them, they need me not,
And in your life let my remembrance linger

As something not to trouble or disturb it But to complete it adding life to life. And if at times beside the evening fire You see my face among the other faces, Let it not be regarded as a ghost

That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you,

Nay even as one of your own family

Without whose presence there were something wanting."

"How very beautiful," I exclaimed, when she had finished.

"It is indeed," said she, "I have enjoyed the book exceedingly. I would, however, that the miracle play were not in it. It seems not to harmonize with our reverence of the character of Christ, to think of him as he is here described, making clay sparrows and engaged with other children in childish sports. Though in all probability his childhood must have been passed in a great measure like other children. But excuse me, I had entirely forgotten I had left your window open so long. I will close it. Have you been out of doors to-day?"

"Out of doors! no, indeed, what is there to tempt a body out to-day ?"

66

Why, go for the walk, if nothing more." "For the walk! Look at your own feet, and say if the walking can be so very pleasant."

"It is to be sure rather muddy, but my dear this is an age of progress. What was gutta percha made for, if not that we poor, helpless women could walk out just when we please, without waiting for dry walking and sunshine." "But dear me, this horrid east wind blowing in one's face !"

When it is a one the head

"Yes, that is just the way. warm south wind, oh that gives ache, and makes one feel so languid and weak, one must stay at home and lounge upon the sofa, and do nothing in particular."

"You need not laugh, Kate, it will do for you, stout, hearty girl, to traverse the streets, through the mud and east wind, with your feet cased in those horrid boots, but-"

"But for me poor, weak, nervous creature, whose delicate frame shivers at the least cold, and melts with the least heat, I must stay within, and shrink over the stove, or lie languidly upon the sofa, dreaming dreams of improbable things, and passing my time in more womanly employments than Miss Kate Stanly chooses to employ herself upon."

Kate said this in such a ludicrous manner, her fine eyes all the time fixed upon my face, her