fearfully and silently upon the whole. The course he. now took was indicated by no path, but lay through thick underwood, and among tangled bushes. 21. At the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the cabin, I observed a small stage, constructed between four trees standing near each other, and not more than four or five feet from the ground. On this stage I saw a human figure extended, which, as I afterwards discovered, was the body of the Indian's mother. By her side was a red earthen vessel or pitcher, containing the bones of his father, and that "handful of ashes" which he had brought with him from the shores of Lake Ontario, under the impulse of a sentiment so well known to exist among the Indian tribes,—the desire of mingling their own dust, in death, with that of their fathers and their kindred. I noticed, however, that my guide passed this simple, sylvan sepulcher, without once turning his eyes toward it. 22. We continued our progress through the forest; and I soon began to perceive we were ascending a rising ground, though the dense foliage prevented me from distinguishing the hight or the extent of the acclivity. Presently I heard the loud din and roar of waters; and we had proceeded in the direction of the sound, whose increasing noise indicated our gradual approximation to it, for rather more than half a mile, when the Indian stopped, and I found myself on the brink of a tremendous whirlpool. I looked down from a hight of nearly two hundred feet into the deep ravine below, through which the vexed stream whirled till it escaped through another chasm, and plunged into the recesses of the wood. 23. It was an awful moment! The profound gloom of the place; the uproar of the eddying vortex beneath; the dark and rugged abyss which yawned before me, where huge trunks of trees might be seen, tossing and writhing about like things of life, tormented by the angry spirit of the waters; the unknown purpose of the being who had brought me hither, and who stood by my side in sullen silence, prophetic, to my mind, of a thousand horrible imaginings,-formed, altogether, a combination of circumstances that might have summoned fear into a bolder heart than mine, at that instant. 24. At length the Indian spoke: "Into this gulf I plunged the murderer of my father.” As he uttered these words, he seized me firmly with his sinewy arm. We were so near the edge of the precipice, and his manner was so energetic, I might almost say convulsed, from the recollection of his consummating act of revenge, that I felt no small alarm lest an accidental movement might precipitate us both into the frightful chasm, independently of a very uncomfortable misgiving as to what his real intentions might be while holding me so firmly. 25. Then, fixing his eyes steadfastly upon me, he said, -"I tracked you, last night, from the going-down of the sun. Twice my gun was leveled; twice I drew my arrow's head to its point; once my hatchet glittered in the moon. But my arm failed me, and there was a sadness over my spirits. I watched you as you slept. Not even the thought, that so my father slept, could make me strike. I left you, and in the deep forest cast myself to the earth, to ask the Great Spirit what he would have me do, if it was not permitted that I should shed your blood. A voice in the air seemed to say to me, 'Let him return.' The Indian then released me from his grasp, conducted me back to his cabin, furnished me with food for my journey, and bade me depart. Aa LESSON LVI. CHOICE EXTRACTS. I. DECAY OF THE AMERICAN INDIANS. CHARLES SPRAGUE. S a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying away to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structure of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. II. LAMENT OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. I WILL go to my tent, and lie down in despair; But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay, III. EFFECTS OF OUR DEEDS. 1. THE common and popular notion is, that death is the end of man, as far as this world is concerned; that the grave which covers his form, covers and keeps within its chambers all his influence; and that the instant he has ceased to breathe, that instant the man has ceased to act. It is not so; it is a popular mistake. We die, but leave an influence behind us that survives; the echoes of our words are still repeated and reflected along the ages. 2. A man has two immortalities: one he leaves behind him, and it walks the earth, and still represents him; another he carries with him to that lofty sphere, the presence and glory of God. "Every man is a missionary, now and forever, for good or evil, whether he intends it or not. He may be a blot, radiating his dark influence outward, to the very circumference of society; or he may be a blessing, spreading benedictions over the length and breadth of the world; but a blank he can not be. The seed sown in life springs up in harvests of blessings, or harvests of sorrow." IV. MAN'S MORTALITY. S. WASTELL. 1. LIKE as the damask rose you see, Or like the morning to the day, The gourd consumes; and man he dies. 2 Like to the grass that's newly sprung, The swan's near death,— man's life is done. V. SAVING FOR OLD AGE. 1. No one denies that it is wise to make a provision for old age; but we are not all agreed as to the kind of provision it is best to lay up. Certainly, we shall want money; for a destitute old man is, indeed, a pitiful sight. Therefore, save money, by all means. But an old man needs just that particular kind of strength which young men are most apt to waste. Many a foolish young man will throw |