THE

ROVER.

CALDWELL, ON LAKE GEORGE. left behind them is filled with a dense population pur

THE ROVER presents its readers this week with an-suing the peaceful arts of husbandry. other very beautiful view of American Scenery. Lake We cannot apply any thing more appropriate to our George is widely celebrated for the beauty of its scenery, present engraving, and hardly any thing more beautithe remarkable purity and transparency of its waters, ful, than the following sweet and liquid lines addressed and its interesting historical associations. The town of to one of the western lakes of New York, Caldwell, named in honor of James Caldwell, one of the principal early proprietors of the place, is situated on the southern end of the lake, and was organized in 1810. It has a village of some fifty dwellings, and six or seven hundred inhabitants. The village is sixtytwo miles from Albany and twenty-seven from Saratoga Springs.

The ruins of fort William Henry and fort George are still to be seen near the head of the lake, and the bloody battles fought in the neighborhood will long live on the pages of history. The celebrated "battle of Lake George" was fought on the 8th of September, 1755, between the English provincials under Sir William Johnson, and the French Canadians under Baron Dieshau. Each party was supported by Indian allies. The body of Indians on the English side were led by Hendrick, a celebrated Mohawk chief, of whom some interesting anecdotes are told. Information having been received on the evening of the 7th that the Canadian forces were approaching, a council of war was held, and it was determined to send out a party to meet them. The number of men to be sent was agreed upon, and when General Johnson named the number to Hendrick, and asked his opinion, his remarkable reply was, "If they are to fight, they are too few. If they are to be killed, they are too many." Upon this forcible hint, General Johnson immediately increased the detachment, and thereby prevented a defeat.

Again, General Johnson proposed to send his force -out in three separate parties. Whereupon Hendrick took up three sticks, and said to the General, "put these together, and you can't break them. Take them one by one, and you will break them easily." Hendrick's advice was heeded, and the English triumphed.

The brave Hendrick, who was upwards of sixty years of age, fell in the battle which followed. His head was covered with white locks and his appearance was very venerable. Before the march, he mounted a stage and harangued his people. He had a powerful voice, which, it is said, might be distinctly heard half a mile; "a fact," says Dr. Dwight, "which to my own view has diffused a new degree of probability over Homer's representations of the effects produced by the speech and shouts of his heroes." Lieut. Col. Pomroy, who was present and heard this effusion of Indian eloquence, told Dr. Dwight, "that although he did not understand a word of the language, yet such was the anima tion of Hendrick, the fire of his e e, the force of his gesture, the strength of his emphasis, the apparent propriety of the inflections of his voice, and the natural appearance of his whole manner, that he was more deeply affected with this speech, than with any other which he had ever heard."

But these wild and bloody scenes of war and battle exist now only in memory. The savage warrior sleeps with his fathers, and if perchance a remnant of his children remain, they have retreated into the wilderness of the boundless west; and the country they have VOL. II.-No. 13.

BY J. G. PERCIVAL.

On thy fair bosom, silver lake,

The wild swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the ripples break,
As down he bears before the gale.

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream,
The dipping paddle echoes far,
And flashes in the moonlight gleam,
And bright reflects the polar star.

The waves along thy pebbly shore,

As blows the north wind, heave their foam, And curl around the dashing oar,

As late the boatman hies him home.

How sweet, at set of sun, to view

Thy golden mirror spreading wide,
And see the mist of mantling blue,

Float round the distant mountain's side!

At midnight hour, as shines the moon,
A sheet of silver spreads below;
And swift she cuts, at highest noon,

Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow.

On thy fair bosom, silver lake,

Oh! could I ever sweep the oar,
When early birds at morning wake,
Or evening tells us toil is o'er!

MOSLEM HONOR:
A SPANISH TALE.
WASHINGTON

IRVING.

On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the mountains of Ronda, stands the castle of Allora, now a ruin, but in old times one of the strong border holds of the Christians, to keep watch upon the frontiers of the warlike kingdom of Granada, and to hold the Moors in check. It was a post always confided to a well-tried commander, and at the time of which we treat, was held by Rodrigo de Narvaez, a veteran, famed both among Moors and Christains, not only for his hardy feats of arms, but also for that magnanimous courtesy, which should ever be entwined with the sterner qualities of the soldier.

The castle of Allora was a mere part of his command; he was Alcayde, or military governor of Antiquera, but he passed most of his time at this frontier post, because its situation on the borders gave more frequent opportunity for those adventurous exploits which were the delight of Spanish chivalry. His garrison consisted of fifty ca liers, all well mounted, and well appointed. With these he kept vigilant watch upon the Moslems-patrolling the roads, and paths, and defiles of the mountains, so that nothing could escape his eye, and occasionally signalizing himself by some dashing foray into the very Vera of Granada.

BY

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when the freshness of the evening breeze had tempered the heat of the day, the worthy Alcayde sallied forth with nine of his cavaliers, to patrol the neighborhood, and seek adventures. They rode quietly and cautiously, lest they should be overheard by Moorish scout or traveler, and kept along the ravines and hollow ways, lest they should be betrayed by the glittering of the moon upon their armor. Coming to where the road divided, the Alcayde directed five of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, while he, with the remaining four, would take the other. Should either party be in danger, the blast of a horn was to be the signal to bring their comrades to their aid.

The party of five had not proceeded far, when, in passing through a defile, overhung with trees, they heard the voice of a man, singing. They immediately concealed themselves in a grove, on the brow of a declivity, up which the stranger would have to ascend. The moonlight, which left the grove in deep shadow, lit up the whole person of the wayfarer, as he advanced, and enabled them to distinguish his dress and appearance with perfect accuracy. He was a Moorish cavalier, and his noble demeanor, graceful carriage, and The valiant Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers splendid attire, showed him to be of lofty rank. He extended upon the earth, and two others hotly engaged was superbly mounted, on a dapple-gray steed, of pow-with the Moor, was struck with admiration, and coerful frame and generous spirit, and magnificently ca-veted a contest with so accomplished a warrior. Inparisoned. His dress was a marlota, or tunic, and an terfering in the fight, he called upon his followers to Albernoz of crimson damask, fringed with gold. His desist, and addressing the Moor with courteous words, Tunistan turban, of many folds, was of silk and cotton invited him to a more equal combat. The latter readily striped, and bordered with golden fringe. At his girdle accepted the challenge. For some time, their contest hung a scimetar of Damascus steel, with loops and was fierce and doubtful, and the Alcayde had need of tassels of silk and gold. On his left arm he bore all his skill and strength to ward off the blows of his an ample target, and his right hand grasped a long, antagonist. The Moor, however, was exhausted from double-pointed lance. Thus equipped, he sat negli- previous fighting, and by loss of blood. He no longer gently on his steed, as one who dreamed of no danger, sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his wonted gazing on the moon, and singing with a sweet and skill. Collecting his strength for a last assault, he rose in manly voice, a Moorish love-ditty. his stirrups, and made a violent thrust with his lance. The Alcayde received it upon his shield, and at the same time wounded the Moor in the right arm; then closing in the shock, he grasped him in his arms, dragged him from his saddle, and fell with him to the earth -when, putting his knee upon his breast, and his dagger to his throat, "Cavalier," exclaimed he, "render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is in my hands."

"Kill me, rather!" replied the Moor, "for death would be less grievous than loss of liberty!"

The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the truly brave, assisted the Moor to rise, ministered to his wounds with his own hands, and had him conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. His wounds were slight, and in a few days were nearly cured; but the deepest wound had been inflicted on his spirit. He was constantly buried in a profound melancholy.

Just opposite the place where the Spanish cavaliers were concealed, was a small fountain, in the rock, beside the road, to which the horse turned to drink. The rider threw the reins on his neck, and continued his song.

The Spanish cavaliers conferred together; they were all so well pleased with the gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor, that they resolved not to harm, but to conquer him, which, in his negligent mood, promised to be an easy task. Rushing, therefore, from their concealment, they thought to surround and seize him. Never were men more mistaken. To gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace his buckler and couch his lance, was the work of an instant; and there he sat, fixed like a castle in his saddle, beside the fountain.

The Christian cavaliers checked their steeds, and reconoitered him warily, loth to come to an encounter which must end in his destruction.

ed his lance, and putting spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. The latter met him in mid career, transpierced him with his lance, and threw him headlong from his saddle. A second and a third succeded, but were unhorsed with equal facility, and thrown to the earth severely wounded. The remaining two, seeing their comrades thus roughly treated, forgot all compact of courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. He parried the thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in the thigh, and in the shock and confusion, dropped his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he pretended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Having drawn the two cavaliers some distance from the spot, he suddenly wheeled short about, with one of those dexterous movements for which the Moorish horsemen were renowned, passed swiftly between them, swung himself down from his saddle, so as to catch uphis lance, then, lightly replacing himself, turned to renew the combat.

The Moor now held a parley. "If you be true knights," said he, "and seek for honorable fame, come on, singly, and I am ready to meet each in succession; but if you be mere lurkers on the road, intent on spoil, come all at once, and do your worst!"

Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued from his tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips to his horn, and blew a blast that soon brought the Alcayde and his four companions to the spot.

The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, treated him more as a friend than a captive, and tried in every way to cheer him, but in vain; he was always sad and moody, and when on the battlements of the castle, would keep his eyes turned to the south with a fixed and wistful gaze.

"How is this," exclaimed the Alcayde, reproach.. fully, “that you, who were so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all spirit in prison? If any secret grief preys on your heart, confide it to me, as to a fried, and I promise you, on the faith of a cavalier, that you shall have no cause to repent the disclosure."

The cavaliers communed for a moment apart, when one, advancing singly, exclaimed: "Although no law of the chivalry obliges us to risk the loss of a prize, when clearly in our power, yet we willingly grant, as right. Valiant Moor! defend thyself!" So saying, he wheeled, took a proper distance, couch- "Noble cavalier," said he, "that I am cast down in.

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Alcayde.