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tute, and supped at its Bazaar; had yawned in its schools, and courtrooms, feasted at its botels and boarding houses, lounged in its bookstores, and flirted with the ladies. “And now,' thought I, “how odd it is that Mad. Trollope should have been dissatisfied and unhappy, and that she should have shaken off the dust of her feet, and in the agony of her heart exclaimed :

"Good Heaven! deliver me from this dire place,
And all the after actions of my life

Shall mark my penitence! To those of moderate expectations, and ordinary ambition, we sincerely recommend to abide in Cincinnati. T is the Florence of America for cheap living, and not the least of its attractions is, that while we may find much to interest us — many things to admire, and some to love - we may enjoy all the necessaries of life, and its luxuries, even, and draw our family and friends around us, and seem 'passing rich, with forty pounds a year.'

An M. D.



A noble race! but they are gone,

With their old forests wide and deep,
And we have built our hoines upon

Fields where their generations sleep.'


When din in shade those meadows lay,
That in the distance stretch away;
When deer yon river sought in droves,

And of its pleasant waters drank,
Before the tall primeval groves

Receded from the bank ;
On this commanding swell of ground,
That overlooks the scene around,
With his red subjects of the wood,

A sachem dwelt, Black Plume by name,
And bounded through his veins the blood

of a long line of chiefs of fame.
By nature moulded was his form
To brave the fight or fearful storm,
And vied his high, heroic deeds
In number with the wampum beads
Inwoven with the war-belt tied,
In knot of crimson, at his side.
One arm alone could bend his bow,

With sinews of the big elk strung:
The gory spoils of many a foe

In his bark cabin hung;
And tufted scalps of contlict spoke,
While drying in the wreathy smoke.

The Black Plume had a gentle child,
A rose-bud blushing in the wild,
Who well could quench the kindling fire
Of rash resentment in her sire,
Or calm by soft, caressing art
The troubled fountains of his heart;
When sad and weary he came back,
Without one victim from the chase :



Her brow was shaded by the black,

Long tresses of her race,
And shone her dark eye like the rill,
Descending, star-lit, from the hill.
The wildness of her accents clear

Accorded with the woodland well,
And when her soft voice on the ear

Of haughty Black Plume fell,
His scar-indented brow would wear
An aspect unallied to care,
And smiles, like dawn illuming night,
His warrior-countenance would light.

One morning in the month of flowers,
While dew hung twinkling in the bowers,
The chief took down his bow unstrung,
And round bis ample shoulders fung
A hunting robe of painted skins -
Then lacing on his moccasins,
While nodded haugbrily his crest
Of sable hue, his child addressed:

'How lovingly the mist is twining

Its blue arms round the mountain,
While golden-vested day is shining

On reedy pool and fountain :
The pleacant winds begin to rouse
From rest the dark, in woven boughs,
And by their murnur seem to chide

The hunter for his long delay :
The tangled glen and forest wide

Shall tribute to my woodcraft pay;
The sharp edge of my fatal knife
Ere night shall rob the bear of life,
And my long shaft this day shall pierce
The mountain-wolf, with hunger fierce,
Or, from his throne of giant rocks,

The bird of victory shall bring -
What prouder trophy for thy locks

Than plumage of his wing ?'

Like one of peril nigh, afraid,
His trembling daughter answer made :

Oh, go not forth in quest of game!

My mother, who hath long been dead, In visions of the midnight came, And with a warning gesture said, Rose of the Senecas, give ear!

The foe, the Chippewa, is near!' Affrighted by the dream, I woke,

And selt a wild, forehoding thrill; For, warbled on the solemn oak,

That shades our lodge, the whip-po-will. I sought, a second time, niy bed, And sleep my pillow visited :

My long-losi mother came once more, And, her thin hand uplifting, said, In accents louder than before : Rose of the Senecas, beware!

The Chippewa has left his lair ! I rose with fear oppressed: the east

Was radiant with the march of morn, And bees were busy at their feast,

In blossoms newly born.'

'Thy bodings, ominous of ill,
May coward hearts with terror thrill,

But think not, dreamer, to affright
My soul with visions of the night!'
The chieftain haughtily replied,
And sought the wood with rapid stride.

Noon passed - but from his forest track
The quivered sachem came not back ;
And when the close of day drew nigh,
And gorgeous grew the western sky,
In dumb expectancy before
The vine-entwisted cabin door
His daughter stood to welcome him,
Emerging from the woodland dim.
With ear intent she waited long
To hear his whistle, or the song
Sung by the people of her race,
Returning homeward from the chase ;
Then hurried like a startled fawn
When arrows to the barb are drawn,
And seeking gray old men, made known
Her many fears, in trembling tone,
And bade them send the runners out
To search the greenwood round about.

Alarm was sounded, and a band,
Acute of glance and strong of hand,
Went sternly forth, for battle drest,
Of their loved Sagamore in quest.
The warriors, after searching well
The deep morass and bosky dell,
Came back with looks downcast in grief,
Bearing the body of their chief.
In his broad bosom stuck the knife,
Red to the handle with his life,
And the long scalp-lock that he wore,
Was stiff with clotted drops of gore.
His bearers felt a mournsul pride,
To think not vainly he had died,
For even death could not relax
His grasp upon his battle-axe,
And near the fatal spot were found
Three foemen lifeless on the ground.

They buried him : the place is lone,
Where stands his dark memorial stone,
Like some rude watcher of the dead,
In robes of green muss habited, .
And shaded by two dwarfish trees,
That wrestle feebly with the breeze,
Amid their boughs are never heard
The low, wild warblings of the bird,
Or the blithe chirp of squirrel black,

When spring, in green apparel clad,
With airs of purity comes back,

To make the broad earth glad :
When summer reigns, with cheek all bloom,

To deck his grave no flower looks up.
Enticing, by its sweet perfume,

The wild bee to its cup.
A few misshapen shrubs, that bear
The whorlleberry, rustle there;
But in my youth I thought ill luck
Would fall on him who dared to pluck,
Though, glittering in morning dew,
Hung temptingly their berries blue.

W. M. C. H.

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Eight bells rang merrily out along the decks of a noble corvette, as she dashed gracefully on her way through the long seas and sparkling waves of the Trades, in her course toward the Virgin Islands, whither she was bound on a cruise. A bright sky and a glorious moon were above her; while her white canvass, as it rose pile upon pile, and bellied to the soft, but constant breeze, looked like wreaths of untrodden snow on a mountain's side, in the pale and mellow light.

My watch on deck!' exclaimed the master's mate of the forecastle – a tall, raw-boned Virginian, of the old school of midshipmen — as he arose, when the first warning stroke of the bell fell on his ear, from three camp-stools, along which he had been stretching himself: it's my watch on deck. Hand me my pea-coat, Collins, and pass a chaw o' tobacco; none of your purser's allowance, 'ither. I must relieve the 'old soldier' who has been on post all the dog-watch ;' and, suiting the action to the word, he ejected a quid from his mouth, that would have shamed in size the largest paper of Lorillard's fine-cut chewing tobacco, and supplied its place with another of equal dimensions. The master's mate adjusted carefully his pea-coat, and his quid, cast a wistful eye on the pile of hammocks which lay at the foot of the steerage-ladder, waiting to be slung for the night, and, raising a foot, was about to inount to the deck, when the form of the captain's clerk, who sat quietly in a corner, perusing the last page of a French novel, caught his eye.

Come, Mr. Quills,' said he, come on deck, and spend an hour or two with me. You, who get half as much sleep again as one of our ground-tier berths, can easily afford the loss, this glorious night, without any very great sacrifice, 'ither. By-the-by, you promised to relate to me some strange adventure you met with in a merchantman, and I am now ready to listen to it. I should not be surprised, however, if it contains no more serious incident than the capsizing of the coffee-pot, some morning, and the loss of a breakfast thereby; for I never knew a person who had crossed the Atlantic in a packetship, but had seen in a watch all the 'wonders of the deep, the Psalmist tells us about — such as mountain waves, and the like, with an agreeable sprinkling of mermaids, water-spouts, and seaserpents; while we poor devils, who spend most of our lives at sea, are perfectly content to think a wave as high as my old grandmother's brick barn, quite a wonder in its way. Come along, though, any how ; you'll find me '

* At your old post, caulking it under the long-bow-chaser,' squeaked out a sucking mid., of some three month's standing, from the inner edge of the mess-table, where he was engaged in scrawling what he termed a letter to his mother, which, although but half com

pleted, was already graced with sundry and divers charts of the Black Sea, done in ink.

• Clap a stopper on your red rope, youngster,' retorted the first speaker, ‘or I'll flatten in your head-sheets for you. Uncle Sam must be d - ly troubled with his surplus revenue, to waste it upon such hard bargains as you are -- who, though you have a finger in every one's mess, muster in nobody's watch. Ah! I see you are writing to your mamma : mind and tell her, while you think of it, that the cook of the larboard mess has used for pudding-bags all the night-caps she stoved away so carefully in her dear boy's trunk, to keep its head from the cold ; and that the nasty reefers have docked the tail of the flannel night-gown she made to keep it warm in the West Indies, to make a new suit of rigging for the captain's monkey.'

'I am in a watch,' pouted the youngster ; 'I'm in Mr. Brace's watch ; and mother thought it would be cold here, in winter; and 't was sister who put in the night-gown.'

*One of her own, perhaps,' rejoined the mate, laughing: 'if SO —

I won't allow you to talk so of my mother and sister,' said the middy, bristling up : ‘I'll demand gentlemanly satisfaction of you, Sir — I will —

Oh! pray do n't, pet : but since the wind sets so, I'm off — only blessings on the dear old lady's geographical acquirements, any how. Come, Quills.' *I'll follow in a moment,' said the clerk :' where shall I find you ?'

On the top-gallant forecastle, by the fore-mast.' So saying, he mounted the ladder, and disappeared on deck. The clerk soon stowed away the book in his locker, and followed the midshipman.

The night was indeed a lovely one. The seas were sparkling gloriously in the beams of a tropical moon, whose bright rays, streaming through the rigging and spars, chequered the deck in a thousand fantastic forms of light and shade, and glancing upward from the black and polished guns, made her iron battery appear as if cast in molten silver. The constant and fresh breeze of the Trades had lulled every sail to sleep, and they towered aloft against the deep blue sky, till they looked scarcely the size of a pockethankerchief, and heaved and and struggled, like the bosom of some fair girl, as though they would burst the envious bonds that restrained their freer play. A few soft and fleecy clouds, such as are only seen in these bright regions, were chasing each other along the fields of ether, and while they had nothing threatening in their aspect, assumed a thousand ever-varying shapes, which delighted the eye, and rendered the scene less monotonous. Ever and anon, clouds of flying fish, startled by the passing ship, would rise from the bosom of the deep, and Hutter away far over the waves, with all the gayety of landbird3. And at intervals, a dolphin might be marked, tracing his way through the liquid element, with the speed of an arrow, by the long rocket-like train of phosphorescent light which followed in his wake.

"You are sentimental to-night, Mr. Tackle,' said the clerk to the master's mate, who had not perceived his approach, and was leaning

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