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rently dictate to fate. A true knowledge of all of have considerable agency in imparting these qualiGlass' career leaves a first impression on the mind, ties. that it is a rare combination of fortunate escapes, of lucky accidents; but much of it may be explained as the more natural result of physical strength, cool intrepidity, and untiring patience.

It was more than 300 miles to the forks of the river, nearer than which he could scarcely hope to meet with any of the party; since it had set in very cold, which would cause the small detachment of trappers to be drawn into that point, where, he knew, they were to winter. Right weary did he become of his journey, inured as he was to the toils and dangers which surrounded him. And the weather was extremely cold, for which he was scarcely prepared. Almost in despair, and having at times nearly resolved to retrace his steps and winter with some of the most friendly Indians, one morning in December he was overjoyed to discover a hunting party of white men. On reaching them, long was it before they could make up their minds to believe their eyes; to believe that it was the His arms were now a rifle, small axe, and the same Glass before them, whom they left, as they ever necessary knife; his dress, a blanket capote, thought, dying of wounds, and whose expected (perhaps) a flannel shirt, leather leggins, and moc-death was related to them by two witnesses. It casons, and a fur cap; he was, in addition, equipped was to them a mystery; and belief of the act of with a blanket, spare moccasons, and a small kettle, black treachery, which could only explain a part composing a bundle suspended on his back. His route lay through a country infested by the Blackfeet Indians. The Blackfeet muster eight or ten thousand warriors; they live North of this part of the Missouri, and extend West to the mountains; and they are frequently upon the Yellow Stone. To their East live the Assinaboines, Mandans, and Minatarees; to the South the Crows and Sioux; and North and West the Mountain, or British, Indians. With these tribes they wage perpetual war; and to the whites, incited by British traders, they have been more dangerous than any other Indians. It was through the grounds of this people that Glass had to make his solitary way.

After remaining a few days with the Mandans, Glass, nothing daunted by his past dangers, and equally regardless of new ones, resumed, alone and on foot, his journey up the Missouri. The Mandan village is on the left or N. E. bank of the river it was on the same side he commenced his journey, intending to leave the Missouri at the mouth of the Yellow Stone, about 300 miles higher up; his object in following water-courses, being to meet with white men, and to run no risk of missing the trapping party under Major Henry, he was so anxious to regain.

The country on the Missouri, from the L'eauqui-court up, is nearly bare of timber; the river bottoms are narrow, and on but one side at a time, changing at intervals of twenty or thirty miles, and sometimes there are none at all, the ground being generally high bluff prairies. This open, bare country is, at times, as far as vision extends, in every direction blackened with buffalo; it is within bounds to say, that fifteen or twenty thousand may be seen at a glance. One of these vast herds, all taking the same course to cross the Missouri, detained Glass for two days, declining the perilous attempt to penetrate a mass which, when in quick motion, is as irresistible as the waves of the

ocean.

of it, was slow in being enforced upon their minds. Overwhelmed with questions or demands of explanation, it was long before he could ascertain from them in return, that the party had rendezvoused for winter at the Forks, which was but a few miles distant; that Fitzgerald was not there, having deserted; and that the youth was still one of the expedition.

Fiercely excited with conflicting feelings:-the escape of the main object of his just revenge, chiefly for which he had made so long a pilgrimage; and the certainty of soon facing the accomplice of his crime, Glass hastened to enter the encampment.

Nearly the first person he met, was the unfortu nate and guilty young man; and it so happened they came upon each other suddenly. All attempt must fail to describe the scene that ensued; the effect of his appearance upon the youth. Had be awoke from a deep sleep in the embrace of a grizzly bear, or been confronted at noonday by the threatening ghost, (and such he firmly believed him) of a deeply injured enemy, greater could not have been the effect produced. He stood without power of any motion; his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets; his teeth chattered with fear, and a clammy sweat rose upon his ashy features. Glass was unprepared for such a spectacle; and well was it calculated to create pity; for some moments he could

In two weeks he reached the mouth of the Yel-not find words, much less the act of his purpose. low Stone, having met neither white man or In- He leaned upon his rifle; his thoughts took a suddian; here he crossed the Missouri on a raft made den turn; the more guilty object of his revenge had of two logs tied together with bark, and continued escaped; the pitiful being before him was, perhaps, his journey up the Yellow Stone. This is a wide but the unwilling and over-persuaded accomplice and shallow stream, emptying into the Missouri of his much elder companion;-these, and other from the South; it is even more muddy and rapid thoughts crowded upon his mind, and he determined than the latter river, to which it is believed to upon the revenge which sinks deepest upon minds

not wholly depraved, and of which the magnani mous are alone capable; he determined to spare his life,

"That curse shall be forgiveness."

6

sual pleasures and animal pains. This mental and moral torpor I eschew, and prefer to hold intercourse with nature; to walk forth alone-nay, friend reader, if you are in the mood, bear me company. Let us take a stroll together this sunny afWith dignity and severity, but great feeling, he ternoon; 'tis glorious October, that, with its gorthus addressed the petrified youth, who but exgeous mantle of purple and of gold, sheds a "dying pected immediate death. Young man,' he said, glory" o'er the parting year. Here is a deer-path 'it is Glass that is before you; the same, that not through the hazle thicket: see how generously uncontent with leaving, you thought, to a cruel death folded are the ripe nuts! Stop. Listen a moupon the prairie, you robbed, helpless as he was, of ment how the monotone of that gurgling waterfall his rifle, his knife, of all, with which he could hope harmonizes with the repose of nature! Here it is. to defend, or save himself from famishing in the Let us cross by that moss-grown log. We have desert. In case I had died, you left me to a de- no longer a path, but we will go up this noble hill; spair worse than death, with no being to close my it is a natural park, and often graced by antlered eyes. I swore an oath that I would be revenged buck, but in the majesty of freedom. Here we on you, and the wretch who was with you; and I are out of sight of the "improvements" of man; so ever thought to have kept it. For this meeting I let us sit on this velvet moss; mind not the rustling have made a long journey; this has supported me lizard, it is harmless. What a glorious solitude is in my weary path through the prairie; for this here! Before us is "a prairie sea, all isled with have I crossed raging rivers. But I cannot take rock and wood;" and beyond, like an ocean shore, your life; I see you repent; you have nothing to a vast bluff, rocky and forest-crowned. And yonfear from me; go,—you are free;-for your youth der is a glimpse of the river-mighty in repose; a I forgive you.' But he remained mute and motionless; his reprieve, or rather pardon, for such it must be considered in a country where the law has never reached, could not allay the mental storm, which awe, fear, and an upbraiding conscience had created. He was taken off by some of the witnesses of the scene, in whose breasts pity had begun to take the place of wonder and resentment. Glass was welcomed as one recovered from the dead; one whose memory-such is our lot—had already been swept far upon the gulf of oblivion. Oh, there is an invisible, unknown, mental link, His services, ever highly appreciated, were again connecting all sweet and calm and beautiful things. engaged in the company, where we leave him, em- Who can view such a scene without hearing a ployed as the rest, in the sole labors of supplying natural music-an echo of some long-forgotten provisions, and of self-defence from the extreme tone, which thrilled the heart;-without recalling coldness of the winter. Only adding, that his de- the few blissful moments which, like stars, shine termination of revenge upon the more worthy ob- out o'er the dreary void of life-the first concepject of punishment from his hands, far from being tion of love-and its tone from beauty and young abated, was the rather confirmed; and that, what innocence-the awakening from some sweet sleep he considered a sacred duty to himself, though to the sound of a soft music, which was deemed to postponed to a more convenient season, was still be not of earth. nourished as a ruling passion.

CHAPTER XX.

zephyr hovering on its bosom sports with its tiny waves, which, dancing, reflect the dazzling light through those red and golden leaves. But the charm over all is a perfect REPOSE. Even the winds, whispering anon, seem to have folded their wings: and see yon leaf, in its "dying fall"—if there be a poetry of motion, behold its gently circling descent! That grey squirrel detached it. And look, he seems to slumber. Nature is taking a sunny sleep.

Behold the thin blue smoke floating above those distant tree tops! It is the type of the little present, hovering between the great past and the mighty future. What! you too are asleep. UnThe varieties of human character, though infi- kind! But 'tis well. Alone let me knock at the nite, yield to a grand division of the race into two doors of old Time, and challenge the shades beclasses; those with much, and those with little yond. The spell is potent. I see dim figures, as sensibility. It is impossible to determine which is in a dream; but they assume the forms of palpable the more fortunate organization: the one class and warm existence. They are paler than the Inchafes and frets at all it sees wrong, and expe-dian, but are not white. They seem to worship at riences positive pain at every exhibition of selfish- a mighty altar, and it bears the emblems of war. ness, cruelty or turpitude; but, with a lively perception of every natural or moral beauty, it has various capacities for pleasure and enjoyment: the other class is seldom troubled with emotions of any kind, and passes through life in a routine of sen

VOL. VIII-75

How strange is all! Unknown amimals are there, crouching among the multitude; beneath the white drapery of a vast pavilion, with flowing red streamers the grave elders are seated in council. See, a noble youth arises; he seems to speak: he addresses

the fathers. How graceful! how animated! His robe falls back, and he shakes aloft his arm. His is a voice for war: for behold that eager and trembling maiden! She drinks those flowing tones, inspired, perhaps, by thoughts of her. Love and ambition have carried him away. His spirit seems caught by the multitude. "Tis ever so. Genius and enthusiasm possess a master-key to all hearts. The elders wave their arms, and seem to deprecate the rashness of impulse; but in vain; there are times when it is prudent to be rash, and they must lead or follow; for all seem resolved, and the assembly breaks up.

But lo, a change! They go forth to war. Song, and shout uncouth, and strange forgotten instruments, fill the air. Huge animals shake their heads, and bellow to the din of rattling arms. There is a band of horsemen, with shield and spear, and waving streamers: they seem clothed in white cotton mail. The orator is there, in highest command. His countenance now is filled with thought, and proud and stern resolve. See the mighty host slowly disappear, winding among the far hills.

Another change! Behold a vast multitude, "vast beyond compare," with signs of mingled mourning and lofty triumph. All bear loads of earth, and deposit them on that beautiful spot. How fast it grows. It has become a mighty mound. And now they disappear. But one, of all, is left. The same maiden; her face is spread with pallid woe; she weeps, and will never be consoled, till her ashes mingle with that monument of victory and of death-the tomb of her lost idol: "As swim

"O'er autumn skies, the fleets of shattered cloud,

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'So swam these scenes and passed."

What a moral was there! Not the air-built castles of the hopeful and ambitious of the extinct race, have fallen into more immemorial oblivion, than have their proudest and soberest realities. Their mountain tombs are their only monuments.

But the charm of this quiet existence, which had extended through several summers, was rudely broken. Even then the holy calm of nature was disturbed by the noisy bellowings of steam, which I had strangely imagined those of living monsters; and its echoes among the hills around me had a power to banish the sylvan ministers to my solitude. I felt my Arcadian dreams dispelled forever. I beheld the conquering struggle of man with the mighty Missouri, and felt that the type of a more active, troublous existence, in which the world demanded the performance of my part, was before me.

Soon all was activity and stirring preparation. Half of us were to go to another frontier, where alarms and bloodshed had aroused every element of commotion. But I was not included in the call. Nevertheless, I had felt that I was to go.

THE SOUL'S HOPE.

BY GEO. W. FLAGG.

As, lab'ring in yon dusky cloud,"
The Moon, now aims to break its shroud;
So in the soul, doth Reason strive,
Through passion's storm, to keep alive.

But darkest clouds at length give way,
Before the moon's clear, gentle ray;
And calm, amid surrounding light,
Moves the pale, peerless, Queen of Night.

So may it be with us at last-
When passion's mad'ning storm is past,
May Heav'ns all pow'rful grace remain,
And the lost light, relume again.

New-Haven, Con.

A THOUGHT OF

BY J. STRONG RICE.

She was a rare embodiment. I've sat
By her at evening, when the day declined,
And drank the spirit of the sunset in:
And gazed with her upon its golden sheen.
And when the occidental gold, became
Commingled with the delicate purple
Of the cloud, touching the soft outline with
A prevailing beauty; in those moments,
I have felt that I had kindred being
With the clouds, and that my life, like theirs, was
Shined upon, from Heaven. And Fancy lent
Me wings, and I was with them,-and their light
Robes, were round me-and we were lifted on
The south-winds breath-and borne upon the sound
Of waters-and pillow'd on the bosom
Of the twilight. And the world was 'neath us,
Like a garden-and the gem'd sky above,
Was our pavilion. Thus, went I ever
When I sat with her, upon the spirit's
Pinions, 'till by the gentle utterance

Of her maiden-thought, the reverie was broken. New-Haven, Con.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE.-Bible. What is life, but joy and strife,

A smile and then a tear?

A turbid stream, a changeful dream:-
Of blighted hopes the bier?
To-day 'tis light, to-morrow night,
Compounded joy and woe;

Now sunlit bowers, and fragrant flowers;-
Now clouds, and rain, and snow!

Aye, human life, is nought but strife,
For thorns encircle love;
And only joy, without alloy,

Is found with God above.

To him look up, and drink the cup,
Which he to us hath given;
That when to death we yield our breath,
Joy may be found in Heaven.
Providence, R. I.

W. M. RODMAN.

MADAME DE GENLIS.

BY JANE TAYLOE LOMAX.

"On est toujours d'une extrême indulgence pour les faiblesses des gens mediocres: mais on est sans pitié pour

les personnes qu'on envie."-De Genlis.

nestness of advocating her own beliefs, she forgets that others may be pardoned for expressing something of a similar devotion, though to different theories, and in her eagerness to prove that she is right, she insists rather too strenuously, that all others must be wrong. "C'est une grande folie, de vouloir être sage tout seul !"

There is but little in the general writings of Madame de Genlis, to awaken the warmest feel- The philosophic disregard of popular opinion, ings of admiration, and nothing to kindle that ro- so often evinced in her stern strictures on popular mantic admiration, so rapturously called forth by sentiments, appears to have prompted Madame de the more sparkling productions of the many bril- Genlis to undertake and publish the history of her liant minds among the literary females of France. life, and the critical analyzation of her own mind The tone of her style is grave and decided; it is and character. She knowingly and fearlessly insingularly free from the light peculiarities, which, curred the accusation of vanity and egotism, by however indescribable and trivial in themselves, this voluntary and uncalled-for revealing of hidden usually characterize, with unstudied grace, the peculiarities; yet she has succeeded in giving inrecords of a woman's pen. She evidently aimed terest to trifling circumstances, and has rendered at improving, rather than entertaining, her readers; her Memoirs among the most entertaining of her and her imaginative sketches are frequently ren- productions. They display a vividness of coloring dered common-place, by their too obvious design of wanting in the generality of her works of fiction; illustrating some acknowledged and indisputable and they are destitute of that dictatorial tone which truism. In her works we meet with little of the imparts too much harshness to her graver writings. exalted ideality of Madame de Staël, the earnest, She delineates her youthful failings without atyet animated tenderness of Sevigné, or the popu- tempting to excuse or soften them, and dwells on lar sprightliness distinguishing the Duchesse D'Ab- her virtues, with the same appreciation of their rantés. In their stead, we encounter the calm value, which she would have bestowed on the noble reasonings of one, who never viewed the world attributes of a heroine of romance. As a corthrough the magic glass of sentiment; but who respondent, Madame de Genlis appears to have posgazed around her with utilitarian and rational con- sessed little of the natural and glowing sprightlisiderations of life and its objects. ness, usually characterizing, so gracefully, a French We are half inclined to question whether that time woman's letters. Her mind is evidently contemhad ever existed for her, so apart does she seem plative, rather than brilliant: it is better calculated from that gentler correction of early folly, gene- to convey serious instruction, than to afford plearally bestowed by those, who, amid all the sober sant, but frivolous amusement. She looks on all teachings of their later wisdom, can still remember things tranquilly and profoundly; she has none of the pleasures which tempted, and the frivolities that intuitive quickness of observation, which which shadowed their youth. We acknowledge, promptly pierces beyond the light events of exiswhile we read, that her assertions are correct and tence and the common evidences of individual her censures deserved; but their manner is dic- character, and which lends so much brilliancy of tatorial almost to severity; and we never find expression and wordly sagacity to the epistolary among them, one confession that human nature, compositions of her sex. This power of rapid though frail and erring, is yet to be compassionated; perception and portrayal, has more than once gained nor a single sentence of that graceful, self-doubt-celebrity for those, whose intellectual endowments, ing humility, which is the perfection of earthly hardly merit the full measure of distinction meted knowledge, and which, with its beauty, gilded out for them; and it is doubtful if even Madame de Goethe's genius, when he wrote: "It is only ne- Sevigné has not been overrated for gifts, that cessary to grow old, to become indulgent: I see were more those of style than of mind, that were no fault committed, that I have not committed my- rather creditable to the heart, than complimentary self." to the head of the writer.

In her useful, practical designs, and entire free- It is somewhat singular too, in glancing over the dom from affectation, her consistent, though not list of honored names which Germany has garenthusiastic adherence to what she believed right nered up for immortality, to find among them, that and true, and her unwavering opposition to the follies of fashion, whenever they clash with the purity of principle, Madame de Genlis is the Edgeworth of France, the firm defender of settled and conscientious convictions. Like all who war with the prevailing tastes or prejudices of their age, she is sometimes unnecessarily positive, and self-confident nearly to illiberality. Absorbed in the ear

of Rahel, and to note how easily, by the mere exercise of this womanly propensity, she has attained her enviable station in the midst of the inspired ones of her land. Her productions were few, and it is said, were not intended for publication; and, after reading her letters, the only tokens of her talents which have been displayed to the world,-we are tempted to wonder at the high reputation they

have acquired, and to turn from her studied truisms | mes;" and her impressions were the quiet, but with an impulse of surprise, and an involuntary earnest beliefs whose sincerity cannot be quesconviction that her powers scarcely deserved so tioned, and whose firmness is evinced in the style large a portion of fame's rewards. We are in- of her productions. For a temperament as comclined to close her pages in a moralizing mood, and posed and reasonable as that of Madame de Genlis, to ponder with a feeling of regret on the strange a literary life must have contained many enjoyinequality with which the coveted recompenses of ments, in its freedom from the restless and unsatispopularity are bestowed on the votaries of litera-fied expectations which are frequently the accomture. The casual productions of Rahel and Se- paniments of a writer's aspirings; and, usually, vigné have attained a distinction for which many the real origin of his sorrows. a gifted intellect has toiled unrepaid, amid care We hear and read much of the painful enduranand trial and privation, till the sad heart grew weary ces of genius, its hidden troubles, and unappreciawith its own throbbings, and the pen fell from the ted sacrifices and trials, but numerous as these may languid fingers which long had grasped and guided be and grievous to bear, it is doubtful, if, even in it in vain. How many eyes have waxed dim at the most sensitive disposition, they are not more their solitary task, and pored over lines, never to be than compensated by the rapturous excitement of greeted with the reviving breath of public praise; a soul whose hours of inspiration are proud and or only destined to receive it so faintly, that it frequent, and whose solitary moments are filled and becomes a mockery to the writer's spirit, and brightened by that passionate embodiment or realiproves but an idle return for days of feverish dream-zation of the beautiful; which atones for many ing and bewildering thought,-for sleepless nights common griefs, and "curdles a long life into one of labor,—for months, it may be, years, of tremu- hour." To a woman, the visible presence of such lous and tumultuous excitement,-of expectations, enchantment must be doubly precious, breaking as one after another, passing away,—and of hope deferred so long, that, at last, its very existence seems the wildest of visions. The world has no martyrdom more sorrowful than the unnoticed one of mental disappointment, and it were a mournful task, to chronicle, in all their shadowy and mysterious woe, the silent sufferings of those, on whose minds the mantle of inspiration had vainly fallen! Madame de Genlis' literary career, was apparently a successful and happy one, undistinguished by those vexations which have sometimes proved so powerful an incitement to subsequent excellence. She seems to have encountered little of that severe criticism, whose dreaded ordeal exercises such an enduring influence on ambitious aspirations, and either depresses or matures the intellect which passes through its fiery trial. We read of several authors whose final fame may be traced backward The romances of Madame de Genlis, though in a to this source; some of the loftiest, if not the no- measure characterized by the sober, utilitarian tone blest, efforts of human genius, have sprung from of her more practical compositions, yet leave on the rebellious dictates of the proud and daring dis- the reader's memory a deeper and pleasanter impositions, which had once writhed bitterly beneath pression. In the greater part of her imaginative the critic's lash. From this test her lot was ex- writing, she has been happy in the selection of her empt, and her feelings were neither exalted nor subjects; for it were scarcely possible to fail comembittered by the harsh censures of public taste. pletely in painting the mournful destiny of Ines de She possessed, also, the additional advantage of Castro, or the absorbing and melancholy tenderentering upon her intellectual crusade, in the graver ness of Mademoiselle de Clermont. In both these and calmer period of life, when she had learned, histories of vivid and sorrowful devotion, the writer by anticipating little, to be spared poignant disap- has displayed more than her usual power, and we pointment, and to escape the innumerable and de- frequently recall the records of those true and earpressing perplexities, always the portion of the nest hearts, when her profounder and more useful sanguine and inexperienced. For her, existence exhortations are almost forgotten. It is perhaps wore its realities, not its delusions; and the poetry an impossibility for a French woman to be entirely of early hope had been lost in the philosophy of unsuccessful in depicting la belle passion. The after-convictions. She had read tranquilly, and magnifying medium, through which she regards all without deceptive enthusiasm, the pages of the deep emotion, is indispensable in the accurate por world, which Rousseau calls "le livre des fem- traiture of a sentiment, of which exaggeration is

it does, amid the mists of trivial cares, and those slight, but continual annoyances which often render her actual pilgrimage so sad. Its lustre dawns on her, and the numberless depressions of her career disappear, as the shades of twilight are banished by the stars. She lives and moves among dreams more distinct and lovely even, than those which blessed her early and visionary youth, dreams whose mysteries are truths, and whose beauty is the perfect one of holiness. Well may she be grateful for the hallowed gift of genius; for it continues to soothe and to gladden, when dearer delights have withered, and animated pleasures grown frivolous in her sight; when, of the thousand illusions of her girlhood, not one is lingering, and she is changed and subdued in every feeling, save the fatal power, to suffer in silence, and to love through all things!

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