heavy river craft, creeping along with snail-like pace, | the Titans who besieged Olympus than any he had ever

or the white sailed pleasure-boat ploughing the waters amidst the gushes of music and song from its gay passengers. In the distance arose the domes, towers, temples and palaces of voluptuous Paris, on whose turrets and spires gleamed the rays of the sun, as it slowly sank beneath the western wave.

Thus appeared the scene, as a solitary horseman slowly wended through it. He was in the opening, rather than the prime of manhood. His form was slender, and somewhat above the common height, yet very symmetrical, and the whole appearance of his person strikingly noble, so much so, that at first sight, you could not be drawn from the general appearance to scrutinize each particular feature that had drawn forth your admiration when blended. His countenance was open and frank, as well as eminently handsome. His forehead was broad and high, over which floated in a careless and unstudied manner clusters of deep black hair, contrasting strongly with the paleness of the temples. His cheek was slightly flushed, and the blood could almost be seen gliding beneath it. His eye seemed thoughtfully wandering to other scenes than the one through which he now wended, which by some would have been interpreted to want of taste, in not appreciating one among the brightest landscapes in the land of vineyards; others, of deeper penetration, would have placed it, and perchance more truly, to a wish to forget the present in the events of the past, and the melancholy expression of his countenance betrayed those events as dark and embittering.

seen. His hair, of a grayish color, floated almost to his feet, and the long nails and tattered condition of his dress bespoke him the hermit of the cave. His eye was stretched over the wide plain beneath, and it was some moments before it rested on the horseman : as it did, it was lighted up suddenly, like a torch flashing amid the tomb. His lips parted, and these were the strange words he uttered:

"On, on, to Paris! for there thou art now expected"— and he turned, as he did so, lifting his thin bony finger to something gleaming in the distance like sapphire columns from the sparkling Seine. "Lo! through the dim mists its thousand palaces! On, on!"

And the hermit disappeared in the mouth of the cave, and the wanderer pondered over the strange words, "Thou art now expected:" they were mysterious; but he paused not until he reached the capital of France. Before him was the tower of Saint Sulpice; in the distance, and almost obscured by the mists that hovered around them, arose the blackened walls of Notre Dame; at his side were dismal and dirty huts, and the street through which he rode, was so crowded, that it was with difficulty to himself and danger to the passengers, that he forced his way along. Just as he passed the arch of l'Etoile, the cry of a beggar startled his spirited horse, |which, taking affright, suddenly sprang to one side. So quick and so unlooked for was the motion, that the rider, almost thrown from his seat, could not give the alarm before the horse trod on a little child that was heedlessly playing in the street. As it leaped away, The observer, unacquainted though he might be with the girl, for such it was, fell to the earth greatly manthe withering commerce of the world, and viewing, gled, the blood flowing from its nose and lips. The though he might, its stern realities of deceit and dis- horseman, discovering the accident, sprang from his cord through the eyes of youth, could easily have saddle, but reached the child as it was caught in an old traced in the sadness of the traveller a sorrow which woman's arms, an already stiffening corpse. Terrified can never be concealed in the dim and silent chambers by the sudden death of the child, with its bloody form of the human heart. The past is a harp, and memory in her withered arms, the old nurse gazed one moa sybil, whose finger will stray upon its silent chords, ment on its pale, hueless countenance, the features calm whether its tones are sickening to the soul, or refresh- and smiling even in death, and shrieked "Murder!" ing as the dew of evening to the withered flower. The which swept, amid the din and noise of the strect, like most trivial event will remove the lava and the dust, a thunderbolt. One moment, an appalling silence, like and array before the sufferer the grimlike thoughts of that of the grave, hovered around, and in the next, all former years, which had been thought deeply buried—was commotion and disorder. Windows flew up, doors or, perchance, in the decay of the cheek, in the reckless sprang open, and the terror-stricken citizens leaped laughter of the lip, or in the ruin of the eye, may be forth, reiterating with maniac gestures the demon cry. traced the gloomy thoughts that rise, like spectre-It was all the work of a moment, and swam before the shapes, from the voiceless urn of buried hope. Sweetest of England's mighty writers! loveliest of the daughters of song! beautifully hast thou said, and true as beautiful,

"The heart may be a dark and closed-up tomb;

But memory stands a ghost amid the gloom!"*

eyes of our traveller like some distempered vision. Ere he could put spurs to his horse, his retreat was impossible, for he was surrounded on every side. As far as his eye could reach, the street was completely crowded with beings more like ghosts or spectres than human. That some dreadful and premeditated assassination had been committed, every one believed. The simple event, as usual in moments of deep excitement, was greatly increased and exaggerated, gathering at every move a fresh inhumanity.

"She was so young and beautiful," whimpered a fellow who never had seen her.

"And so innocent," said another.

As the traveller rode along, from a neighboring chapel the vesper song of evening, borne over the calm waters and mellowed by the distance, reached his ears. The words, twined into a somewhat solemn rhyme, and sang by voices of peculiar sweetness, accompanied with the chime of convent bells, well befitted the hour, and threw our horseman into a train of reflections at "She would not have remained so long," muttered once sweet and sad. As the hymn ceased, and he re- between his teeth a cowardly, sleek-haired gallant, as commenced his journey, he spied, on a high rock at he gazed at the noble horseman, and thought of his own the mouth of a cave by the roadside, a tall and ghost-pretty lass; "virtue and purity are as naught beneath like form. It was above the human height, and more the libertine's glance." resembled the heathen's conception of that of one of

Letitia E. Landon.

Just at this moment he made a second attempt at flight.

"Stop the murderer," cried a weak voice-it was many statues of the great and illustrious ones of the that of the old nurse. church. Surmounted in a niche, at the centre of the "Blood is upon his skirts," shouted another, who chapel, towered the colossal shape of its patron saint. had heard her version of the event.

"Down with him," screamed a little ruffian.

It was of the purest marble and the nicest sculpture.
It had stood there for years and years, the silent wit-

"To the trial with him," suggested a peaceable citi-ness of changes and crimes. Wave had chased wave zen. Not a voice reiterated it.

upon the ocean-tide of despotism-armies had swept by it, and beneath it had been heard the shock of batIttles-yet there had it stood, dark and solemn, upon its silent and unmoved throne, a relic from the abyss of past ages.

"Life for life!" "Blood for blood!" echoed a hundred voices at once, as the voice of a single man. was caught up in the distance, and now it burst from every lip like the response of a thousand demons, rolling from earth to heaven, and dying away but in the thick willows of the distant Seine: "Blood for blood!" The curses, the yells, the shouts from lips that knew nothing of the affair, were deafening. Action, from a hasty impulse, guided that lawless mob, who had dethroned their monarch, and erected above the ruin a power withering in its aims, and blighting in its deepening despotism the hopes and aspirations of a brave and noble people; to whom the very name of LIBERTY has been, and ever will remain, a nucleus around which clusters all that is beautiful in their natures; but who, alas! for their blood-stained vineyards and desecrated temples, have never worshipped aught save the semblance of the pure gold of the shrine, adulterated by human passion and unholy ambition!

A body of guards were soon on the ground, with burnished arms and floating plumes, and martial accoutrements; but, alas for their untried valor! alas for their chivalry! they towered with a giant's strength in peace, and shrank to their cowardly bosoms before the glances of a ruffian mob.

Even as the priest gazed in adoration upon it, lo! the statue came topling down, and fell at his feet crushed into a thousand atoms. The cause was never known; but, from what followed, it is presumed that it was the work of an unseen hand. A loud laugh drew his attention to a very young man, the same who had cheered the horseman, and who now scorned the priest. He rushed towards the one whom he supposed the offender. His eyes flashed, his cheek scorched, and his whole face was lit up with a holy enthusiasm. The secret cloister and the silent cell had failed to cool, and had but smothered his passions--they leaped forth now with a new life and vigor. He approached the young man-was near him-stood before him: in one moment more, and lo! the torch was lit that flashed upon his funeral pyre!

"Down with priestcraft!" shouted a single voice, so thrilling that it touched every heart and was echoed by every lip. The young revolutionist had by one cry nerved a hundred arms. The priest was hurled to the earth-the uplifted dagger was sheathed in his heartand in a few moments, as the crowd swept over it, that form had been trodden to the clay from whence it sprang. This was but the beginning of the end; for his death was the signal for an attack on the neighbor

The friendless horseman saw his danger. He knew that his life hung upon a brittle thread, which might in the next second be severed. Yet he was undaunted. His form seemed to increase; and his face, generallying chapels by the bloodthirsty mob. so calm and passionless, assumed a deeper flush than its wont, as the danger became more imminent. He looked abroad upon that vast crowd, who had not as yet committed any violence, but rocked to and fro like the waves of an ocean yawning for the fragile barque that was to be engulphed there; and his glance breathed of defiance, and the smile that lingered for a moment about his lip was one of derision.

At this juncture a voice whispered in his ear, "Despair not!" Turning in surprise, he beheld in the speaker a young man of singular appearance, whom he had never seen before. He had scarce whispered the words ere he disappeared. He could have been seen threading his way through the dense crowd towards a chapel near at hand, of ancient but blackened architecture. Near its door, from which (attracted by the noise without) he had just emerged, stood a venerable priest.

As the moon rose above the distant mountains on that evening, the chaunt of priests had ceased-the consecrated lights were out- the solemn chime of holy bells was no longer heard. The sacred temples had been plundered of their statues and divinities—the loud laugh echoed in the holy of holies, and the blood-stained flag of infidelity floated in triumph from their turrets and spires. The eternal faith had been hurled from its throne of ages!

A moment after the assassination, the mad shout of the revolutionists still ringing in his ears, our traveller turned and found himself alone. In another moment the young stranger was at his side. "Fly, fly, or I know not who may be the next victim," exclaimed he. The mob, the cheering words, the stranger, the murder, all rushed before him. The veil was torn from the mystery. The truth flashed upon him. To save him, the unknown young man had drawn the attention of the populace to another point.

"Mother of God! what a spectacle!" cried the reverend father, as his attention was directed to the popu- "To whom do I owe my safety ?" asked he-but on lace who surrounded the horseman. Well did he know turning to where the stranger stood, he could not see the voice of that mob-it had frozen his own blood by him. He moved not, he spoke not, he breathed not. its appalling tones before. "People of Paris, what Was it not all a dream, a vision? Suddenly he recowould ye? What inhumanity is this, and to a stranger? vered. The cry of the mob scarcely heard, the street Beware of your actions, lest ye bring down the ana-cleared, despair nerved him. His mission to Paris was themas of the holy faith and the denunciations of the not attained. The shout of the mob neared him; but church ?" he was far distant when they returned.

The people moved towards him-as they did so, he heard not, or did not notice, their murmurs. Elated with the prospect of awing them, he turned towards the chapel, in appropriate parts of which could be seen

Thus entered Francis Armine into Paris. When the mantle of night was cast upon the earth, he was sitting in a small room in the suburbs of that city. His mind was unusually gloomy and abstracted. He moved to

should it fail to draw from the recesses of the mind all that is beautiful or vivid there, they will remain dormant forever. Whether this may be attributed to the sky, with its shifting and fleecy clouds that even melt into the deep azure as we gaze upon them-to the air, pregnant with the perfume of flowers-or to the ver. dant earth-or to a transfusion of the whole, the mind is elevated to a brighter sphere than its wont—to a dreamlike enchantment, where it can revel in all that is exquisite or passionate in that Elysium receptacle, the imagination.

the window-all without was still. The blue heavens | gardens, to wander forth and breathe the perfumed air, were sparkling with the light of many stars, and the young moon, "regent of the night," reflected its beams upon the quiet Parisian city. As he retired, he opened a delicate locket, which contained some rich and jetty hair, and as he gazed upon it a strain of music from a distant band of serenaders swept along. And sad and melancholy were his musings as he listened; for they were of the past. Before him appeared his youthful sister, the beautiful and lost-his distant home-the green earth and sparkling streams of that home-and, glowing above all, was the violet sky of his own beautiful Italy!

The unrivalled climate, the rainbow tinted skies, the transparent waters, the white walled villas that rise on its golden banks, combine to render its "peaceful hermitage" a most desirable retreat. And it was there that the poet touched his heaven-strung lyre, and awoke strains more immortal than the warrior's blood-bought name. It is there that amid the green groves played the glittering waters of Pliny's cooling fountain, and there stands the terrace where he gazed upon the sun as it peered above the blue and misty hills or sank beneath the distant horizon. It is there that the rich music and the graceful poetry of Italy come like hallowed dreams to the wandering pilgrim.

At an early age Armine's parents died, leaving himself and his sister alone, though not friendless, upon the world. His boyhood had been a mixture of pleasure and study; not too much of the former to unfit his mind for the intense study of after years, nor too much of study to nauseate the taste and vitiate the youthful intellect, rendering the object unprepared and unwilling to prosecute the higher and more tedious branches of education. It was a nice blending of the two, such as is to be observed in that of the opposite colors of the rainbow, distinct in shade, but not so in the mingled and delicate pencilling of each rich hue,

Armine's education was simple, not complicated. He had studied well the writings of his own countrymen, before he sought those of other lands. He did not dive into the sea of classic learning ere he had skimmed over the calmer stream of a common education. He well knew the present, before he ventured into the dim regions of the past. What to the untutored mind are the lessons of the bygone? What Egypt's mystic and venerated learning? What the classic literature of Greece, or the untouched shelves of oriental Persia? The eagle, if he would soar to the clouds or bathe his plumage in the dews of heaven, must strengthen his wing upon the eyry ere he succeeds; and the mind, too, with all its gigantic powers, must slowly unfold them, at first the cradle, and then the unfettered tread, so closely does the mind resemble the body.

He travelled; for though Italy was once illustrious, once mistress of learning, she was then but the phantom of her former self. He travelled into other lands, and he penetrated still farther into the inner temple of intelligence. At last the lightning burst from its imprisoning cloud-chaos disappeared-he possessed the great gift,

"That ocean to the rivers of the mind."

His mind was peopled with the star-bright fancies, the seraph-winged thoughts, the "moving delicate" creations" of the poet, with no obstacle to his wanderings, no pinion to his conceptions. The pure and holy fires of genius were kindled, and threw abroad their animating and inspiring rays.

And fame, though it is but the foam that glitters a moment upon the wave and then dissolves, clustered around his name and promised to it immortality. Little did he then imagine the impenetrable mystery that would cloud his life and moulder away the dreams and visions that youth and poetry had consecrated. What are the eagle-plumed hopes, the golden aspirations of the human heart, that, like the snow-flake, a single breath can melt?

His sister's love was as the first rosy star that beamed upon his path. She was very beautiful--a dowry which to some is accompanied with innocence and happiness, and to others the fatal companion of vice and shame. To which of these Genevieve Armine was destined, the after events of these pages will serve to delineate.

Her brother loved her. She was to him as a gentle spirit from another world sent to cheer him on his pathWhen I said that he was an Italian, a description of way—so pure, so chaste, so lovely, so like an angel-in the gradual development of his intellect might be form so symmetrical, in mind so rare and chaste. When deemed a superfluous waste of words. For there is a pondering over the musty volume in his study, or delisomething in the air, and earth and sky of that lovely neating on his page the beautiful creations that throngclime, that kindles, elevates and refines the mind. | ed his brain, her light tap could be heard at the door, When the veil of twilight is cast over the earth, with and her soft voice would ask to gain admittance there. its deep vallies, its fragrant groves and its luxuriant | And then she would bound in, and on his lap would he

then breathe into her mind the divinity that hovered around his own, watching its dawn and development with a miser's care.

Her every action was as a spell to him. Her form seemed rather the animation of a dream, and her rich and musical voice sweeter than the first spring gale. Together they had often wandered along the level champaign and climbed the neighboring hills. At morning's freshest hour, they could be seen in the shady grove above the tombs of their parents, perchance to drop a tear or breathe a prayer to the memory of the departed; and at evening they were sailing on the crystal bosom of Como, when along its waters were mirrored the light of many stars or the beams of the crescent moon; and later, when all was calm and still around, they were at their door watching the deep blue heavens or singling from the stars a harbinger for the future. At such moments, as his arm was twined around her waist and her head was nestled on his bosom, he would gaze upon her beautiful countenance, so bright, so innocent in youthful beauty, at that time so emblematic of the pure heavens she looked upon.

Hours, days, weeks, months and years elapsed, and she was not heard from. All was deep mystery. Messengers were scattered over the continent, and wealth exhausted, but the least clue had not been found to solve the mystery. Such measures appeared to have been taken as to render the search in vain.

Her brother could not move a step without thinking of her-he could not remain where she had been-he longed for an escape from thought; for it was a pain to think, to live. He closed his villa on the Como, and travelled, where he knew not, he cared not. The same to him were clouds and sunshine, day and night, peace and turmoil. A dim and sepulchral void was in his heart. The

"Beauty of the grass and splendor of the flowers"

was unnoticed by him. The storm and the tempest, when the demons of the cloud shook their shroud upon the earth, were his element. He was driven like a blighted leaf before the wind, and in the darkness of his despair longed for the strife and the red flash of

swords.

The present was all to him; for he knew not of the He looked upon the world, and cried in the bitterness deep, silent, fathomless future that awaited him-that, of his grief, "I am alone." For his parents had deabove every hope of the past, a spectre form would dark-parted, and his sister had left him. He was alone, and

ly hover, pointing to the dreams and visions swept from

the earth forever.

One morning-it was as bright as his love-Armine arose to take the accustomed walk with his sister: it was later than usual; the sun was high in the heavens, and its rays had almost dried the dews of night from the long grass that waved upon the earth; yet she was not up. He went to her chamber door and called her name, but no one answered. He called again and again, but all was silent. The suspense became intolerable: he burst the door open. Her bed had not been pressed on that night-all in the room was the same as on yesterday--but his sister, where was she? The spirit of the place had departed. As he was retiring, a packet on the table attracted his attention. It was directed in her own writing to his address. He tore it open, and found there a small locket presented by him to her many years previous: he touched the spring, and as it flew open a ringlet of her own hair floated on the table. How often, amid the dreariness of after years, was that slight memento bathed in his overgushing tears.

he asked not for sympathy, and he dreamed not of love. The bright earth was yet beautiful: the glittering dew heralded its morn and shadowy twilight its eve, and at night the moon shed its mystic beams, and the stars, the eternal sentinels of time, spangled the heavens. Yet the sadness that pervaded his being, was blent with them, and darkened the face of nature. Link by link had been sundered of the chain that bound him to earth-cloud by cloud had arisen upon his hopes, and all was dreary and desolate. The sunshine of his youth had passed. In his meditations he would cling to the hope that Genevieve yet lived. Fame's eagle pinions lured him not-ambition's syren hopes were forgotten-that lyre, the sound of which people heard entranced, was untouched, and the beautiful visions of the poet were beaten back to their sad and silent chambers.

Five years of suspense had passed, and she was unheard of. He resolved to make one more effort to penetrate the mystery. Wandering along the Seine, he at length reached Paris. Of his entrance into that A few days before this, she had been unusually city-of his danger and of his rescue, we have already gloomy and depressed. She went often to her usual recounted in the preceding chapter. Having exhausthaunts, and returned home sad and silent. On the ed the patience of the gentle reader, we hasten now previous evening she was sitting over a fountain which from the retrospect to the events of the present. Readfor years had been a favorite retreat; while there, herer, we abominate all comparisons, but we trust that you brother, who had been strolling through the woods, came near her unnoticed, and discovered that she was in tears as silently as he came he stole away, and had almost forgotten the circumstance, until the morning of her sudden and mysterious disappearance. It then flashed upon him. An old servant, in passing near her window, about midnight, discovered lights in her chamber, and imagined that he could sec forms flit by. He went to his own room, and in a short time thought that he heard strange noises. Some one was crying. As he lay perfectly still, it ceased, and was succeeded by whis- Armine in his slumbers had sent through the untrod perings so faint that he could but hear the sound-a vista of the future, a brightening dream; for although hurried tread as of two persons, and again all was silence. darkness and gloom rest upon the shrine, the spirit and As he was dozing into a second sleep he heard the sound the divinity still hover there, and seraph-winged and of carriage wheels along the road, but attributed all to fresh-breathing hope descends like the dove on the superstitious misgivings, until his slumbers were bro-waters of the past, and brightens, as with an Eden spell ken on the next morning with the noise of the searchers. I the dim clouds of the future.

will find our narrative like a river, whose fountain is dull and lazy, but which, as its banks widen and its waters increase, will be found pleasant to the sight, You have lingered thus far with us to pluck the flower from the roadside; go on, and hand in hand we will open to your vision the wide landscape: perchance in the forests and groves, and by the murmuring waters, something may be found that will cheat existence for a moment of its palling realities and its sickening anxieties.

THE WEST FIFTY YEARS SINCE.
By L. M., of Washington City.

(Concluded.)

CHAPTER IV.

The Indians, perceiving that they would not be able to escape by flight, resolved to sell their lives at a dear price to the victors.

Their loaded arms were stacked near the spot where they were constructing their rafts. On the first alarm, those who were not injured by the sudden fire from the top of the river bank, sprung to their rifles and stood on the defensive. They separated partially, and retreated slowly backwards along the beach, selecting at the same time the antagonists with whom they intended to grapple, and try the fate of war. The settlers pressed on vigorously, not at all forgetting the injunction of their commander, that "each man must buckle to his man," or the enemy would escape with only a trifling loss.

ness.

them with intense interest, hoping that they were wounded, and that at last they would go down. But, after a long time, they were espied slowly ascending the bank. After they had reached the bluff, they sat down to rest themselves, when the whites raised a loud cry after them, to which they replied in defying tones and ejaculations.

The hatred of these emigrants to the west towards the unlettered and uncivilized sons of the forest, was without any limit, and was met in a corresponding temper. The state of North Carolina claimed all the territory from the sea to the eastern bank of the Mississippi. She had invited all, who were sufficiently daring and brave to form settlements on her western boundary, to do so; and had promised to each head of a family, a preemption right to six hundred and forty acres of land. After the termination of our revolutionary war, the same state had allotted to the officers and soldiers of her continental line, large parcels of soil over which the Indians were then roaming, as rewards for their per severing zeal and signal bravery, in defending the rights of the colonies against the usurpations of the mother country. Whenever the boundaries of the new settle ments were enlarged, the men, women and children, were set upon by the savages and slaughtered. It was forever uncertain when or where they would make their attacks. They came suddenly, perpetrated the meditated mischief, then disappeared, and buried themselves in their fastnesses and hiding places. The hos tility between these parties was unappeasable. The one was resolved to hold the property which had been allotted to it under the sanction of the law; the other adhered with unrelenting tenacity to the land which had been given them by the Great Spirit. The war which had so long depended between these combatants, and which had been prosecuted with such disastrous fortunes to both, was bloody and ferocious to the last degree. Every other consideration was finally swallowed up in the gratification of personal revenge. The white man hated the Indian, and the Indian hated the white man. Both saw that nothing less than the most daring acts of personal courage could save them from total extermina

The fire from the bluff had been deadly, but still a sufficient number of the enemy remained to give full employment to the assailants. The savages discharged their pieces with effect, wounding five of the settlers so that they could render no assistance to their comrades. Those who had fired first, having reloaded, came to the succor of those who were in front. The commander led the van, giving his orders in a loud and animated tone. He seemed to have lost his usual coolness, and to have been wrought up, by the conviction of the deep stake which was to be won or lost in this game of life and death, to a pitch of enthusiasm bordering on madHis whole countenance was full of desperate fury. His eye was lighted up by the feeling of revenge | that was burning within him. The watchword was no quarters." Selecting the largest and fiercest of the enemy, the dauntless veteran gave him to understand by his movements upon him, that he had selected him as the object of his attack. He then made a sudden run at him, as though he sought an individual encounter with him, hand to hand, which threw the chief off his guard, and operated as a momentary surprize. At that instant the commander halted. As quick as thought, hetion. raised his rifle, applied his long practised eye to the sight, fired, and the Indian fell, who had scarcely reached the earth before his adversary buried his tomahawk in his brains, drew out his knife, took the scalp, and put it into his leather shot pouch. As the parties fought along the edge of the water, the warriors, according to custom, kept up a loud yelling to encourage each other. But it became fainter and fainter, until at last their number was so much diminished, that they saw that they must all be cut off, unless they saved themselves by a desperate effort to fly. Eight of them threw their arms behind them, and plunged head foremost into the river, two or three of whom were already badly wounded. The victorious party, with their pieces ready, waited till they should rise to take breath, and then fired. One who came up, was pouring out blood from his mouth in a stream, but he was instantly wounded again, and roll-live. Some, in their agonies, prayed earnestly that ing over and over, he at last, after a desperate struggle, sunk to rise no more. These unerring marksmen killed off all who had fled but two, who being expert swimmers, made their way safely to the opposite shore, a distance of nearly a mile. The settlers stood and watched

Those of the whites who had gone into the recent conflict, had parted from their families, with a resolution regardless of all consequences, under the conviction that although their lot was a hard one, it must be met with a courage equal to the exigent circumstances in which they were placed. After this bloody battle or rather massacre was over, the conquerors turned their attention to the condition of their associates. Four of them had been killed, and nine of them wounded. The former were hastily buried in the sand. But the situation of the latter, awakened all the generous sympathies of those who had escaped unhurt. They cried constantly for water to slake their burning thirst. One poor fellow who was desperately hurt, implored them to put an end to his misery, by shooting him through the head; for he was certain, he said, that he could not

their sufferings might be quickly ended in death. This party had gone on their expedition suddenly. They possessed no means to heal the sick or wounded, even if there had been time to collect them. What was to be done with these unfortunate men? They could not be