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woods, and the tomahawk may be busy | Pipe of Peace Dance, such as takes place on the prairie, but here, all is peace. when a treaty of peace has been solemnHere, say the Indians, the Great Spiritized. The hostile warriors, with calumets killed his buffaloes, and their blood turned red the rocks below. Here he assembled the tribes, and commanded them all to make their pipes of the stone. The war club and the scalping knife were ever to be harmless at the spot. As he took his last whiff of his great red pipe, and just when the dark clouds rolled over the multitude, the rocks were melted in a blaze of fire, and the Great Spirit vanished away. The red man believes in the traditions of his fathers, and the superstitions of his tribe are as a part of his being. Thus will it be till "the day break and the shadows flee away.'

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A lodge or wigwam made of the painted skins of buffaloes spread over high poles, cut from the Rocky Mountains, stands on the border of the prairie. Chiefs and braves are assembled within it, and weapons of war, dresses, and musical instruments are seen hanging up or arranged on the floor; gay dresses of coloured skins, fringed with scalp locks from the heads of their fallen foes; war clubs, tomahawks, bows, and quivers of arrows, spears and shields, with robes, mantles, war eagle and raven headdresses; belts, pouches, mocasins, tobacco sacks, whistles, rattles, and drums. Pamaho and a few others have arrived with a message from their tribe, which is now being considered. Two of the chiefs are very tall, their medicine bags are of the skin of the ermine, they wear wareagle head-dresses, and their hair reaches to the ground. The untutored Indian is as fond of finery as the more polished inhabitants of the world; and see him, lance in hand, on horseback, or on foot, fully painted, arrayed in his flowing buffalo robes, his necklace of bear's claws over the skin of the white wolf; his head-dress of war-eagle quills; his scalp locks, leggings, mocasins, and medicine bag, and few Europeans would cut a finer figure.

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or pipes of peace in their hands, join in the dance. The chiefs smoke; those who are sitting around, who one by one are pulled up to mingle in the dance. Another change! With ugly masks on their faces, the Indian group are engaged in the Buffalo Dance, just as it is danced when buffaloes are scarce and famine stares them in the face. They chant a wild prayer-song to the Great Spirit, imploring him to send them herds of buffaloes, and promise him the fattest and the best for his pains. Now they are gro tesquely jumping about to the music of the drum, and imitating the buffalo. Pamaho, equally ready to swim rapidly in the river, to hunt the buffalo, to attack the enemy, or to join in recreation, is the most active in his movements, and the most unwearied in the dance.

The prairie, yonder, for miles, is a garden of fruits and flowers. Endless clusters of delicious grapes; hundreds of acres of heavily laden palm-trees, wild currants, gooseberries, strawberries, rose-trees, and myriads of odour-breathing flowers, are rivalling one another in sweetness and profusion; but every earthly paradise has its serpent. The eyes of the copper-head glisten among the fruit! the folds of the rattlesnake are seen among the flowers! The "black drink" has been freely taken to prepare the red men for the season of green corn. The Green Corn Dance has been duly performed, the first kettle of maize has been offered up to the Great Spirit with a song of thanksgiving. The riot and excess are over, and the tribes are pursuing their wonted occupations. In a large tent sits a chief, receiving presents from a young Indian who is about to marry his daughter. The presents are received, the chief gives his daughter to the young Indian, who strikes the palm of her hand with his own. This is the whole of the marriage ceremony. The bride receives presents from those who attend, among whom is Pamaho, and the marriage dance is performed by the joyous throng. And how did the young Indian win his bride? for he has neither polished manners, nor wealth, nor fine clothes. True; but he has showed the scalp-locks of his foes! He has killed the wolf, the bear, and the buffalo;

and she knows that he has a bold heart, | in the extremity of their fright; and and a hand strong to defend her.

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A buffalo herd! a buffalo herd! The horned animals are many. The very prairie in one direction is blackened with their number. This is a sight that the red man loves to see. Pamaho and a hundred others, well mounted, and armed with bows, arrows, thin spears, and a few rifles, are cautiously following the trail. The herd have taken the alarm; loud is the trampling of flying hoofs, and a cloud of dust is rising from the prairie. Pamaho, with unerring aim, has discharged the two barrels of his rifle, and is now galloping alongside a buffalo bull, which is trying to escape. He cautiously poises his long, thin lance, making occasional feints till he sees that he can inflict a mortal wound, then plunges the pointed spear deep into the hapless buffalo, near the shoulder, and, soon after, the bulky beast is rolling on the plain. At least a score buffaloes have already fallen, and a score more will shortly be added to their number. Indians, with carts and sledges, are following in the trail of the flying buffaloes, to bring home such as have been slain.

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On the rude and broken ground by the high bluff, near the river's side, a party of armed Indians have met a huge grizzly bear and killed him. They have left the shaggy monster where the death grapple took place, to follow a deer which has taken shelter in the weedy wilderness. The high grass, springing up six or eight feet from the prairie, and the rough sedge are dry as the burning sun can make them: hardly would tinder more rapidly take fire. A wandering Trapper has dropped his pipe, and in picking it up has left some of its burning contents in his path. It smokes, it sparkles, a little flame runs along a dry blade of grass; it has reached the stem; it has mounted half way up it, setting other blades and stems on fire; the flame has burst forth; it gathers strength; the wind from the west bears it onward. Fearful! Fearful! The prairie is on fire! See how it rushes forward! Hark, how it bellows in its course! The firefiend is abroad in his rage, and woe to those he overtakes, for he spares neither man nor beast. Birds are rising on the wing; buffaloes and deers are forcing their way through the grassy forest

on! on! rolls the overwhelming flood of fire! A band of mounted Indians have burst through the flaming barrier, and are flying over the dark and smoking prairie, where the conflagration so lately raged. Pamaho leads the band, prompt and self-possessed, for he is no stranger to a prairie on fire.

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The swift runners, carrying their red pipes, have hurried through the tribe; the young men have smoked through the reddened stem, and thereby volunteered for war. A council has been called. The chiefs, and braves, and mystery men have deliberated. Their resolution is taken; their plan agreed upon; the war dance is at its height; and anger, revenge, and cruelty have entered into the heart of the red man. Excited by exercise and warlike music, all are wild in their demeanour. Every eye is glaring with bitterness and rage; every bosom panting after the scalp locks of the foe. Brandishing their war clubs, they leap about to the music of the drum, and violently strike the reddened post, while the mystery man wildly chants the song of death. Black paint is rubbed over their faces; again they brandish their weapons around the reddened post, and scream the war-whoop in their rage. And now the preparation will be made for the approaching struggle; the arrows will be straitened, and feathered, and pointed; the quiver refilled; the best bows chosen; the war-club, the tomahawk, and the scalping-knife duly prepared. Soon will the warrior band, under cover of night, and the shelter of the forest, steal silently on their unsuspecting foe. Not more stealthily creeps the panther towards his prey than the Indian on his enemy. Pamaho is the first in the war dance, the first in the warlike preparations, and he will be first in the onslaught of death.

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An Indian village stands where the wood and the prairie meet. All is still; the accustomed sounds of even are hushed in the repose of night. Not a movement is heard in the melon ground; not a breath of air rustles the leaves of the vines. Silence reigns around, and darkness rests upon the face of the prairie. But see! A flame has burst forth! A wigwam is on fire! and hark! the shrill war-whoop is ringing in the air! Dark forms are rising from the ground, and armed men

are leaping forth from the gloom into the glare. Pamaho takes the lead in the fierce attack. The war-cry bursts from a hundred voices! the death grapple is begun! A hundred redskins are engaged in the work of destruction, and the massy club, and the murderous tomahawk spare neither the warrior nor the wife, the old man nor the babe. The contention goes on; the scalping knife is at work; but now the village is aroused, and the assailants are outnumbered. They make a hasty retreat, but not till the wigwams are wrapped in flames. The word of God has taught the white man mercy, though too often he neglects the lesson; but with the red man, revenge is virtue.

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Pamaho, and the warriors, painted and armed, are assembled to perform the scalp dance in celebration of victory. Screaming aloud, they form themselves into a circle, wildly dancing, and brandishing their war clubs, while the squaws or women in the centre hold up the scalp locks which have been taken in battle. Then they hang up the medicine bag of a slain companion, opposite the lodge of his widow, singing to it, and giving offerings to the widow. Now their song and their dance are ended. wounded Indian is lying in a tent, writhing with agony, and drawing near his end. The bystanders are bemoaning him. But hark! a rattling and scuffling noise approaches! It is the medicine, the mystery man, or conjurer, for he is called by all these names, and he comes to cure the wounded man of his ailment. Here he is, with his looking glass, his drum of deer skin, his rattle of antelope hoofs, and the skin of a yellow bear flung over his head and shoulders. He chants a wild air; he dances round the patient, increasing continually the violence of his gestures. He paws the dying man, and repeats his incantations and mummeries, but all in vain. The wounded Indian dies, and the medicine man, shaking his rattles, and growling hideously, makes his escape.

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All must die! The civilised and the savage; the white man and the red! The sentence has gone forth to the ends of the earth, "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return." Though the foot of the Indian be swift as the antelope, and his frame strong as that of the grizzly bear, he must die. Be he chief,

or brave, or warrior, he must die. This is a solemn hour, for an aged Indian chief is drawing near his end. He has summoned around him the warriors of his tribe, and Pamaho is at his right hand. He has arrayed himself in his richest mocasins, his scalp locks, leggings, his robes, his belt, and his head-dress of war eagle plumes. He has half painted his face, and his hands are vermilion red. He has armed himself as if for war. He bas grasped his comrades firmly by the hand, and bidden them farewell; and now, with a smile of triumph, and the air of a conqueror, calmly crossing his hands, and holding his tomahawk in one of them, he draws his last breath. No sigh escapes him no struggle is visible. He is motionless. The aged chief is departed.

As the red men of the forest and prairie live in different kinds of lodges, some in movable tents covered with skins; some in wigwams of bark, flags, and reeds; and some in more substantantial earth-covered dwellings, so do they dispose of their dead in different ways. Some bury them, some float them on the water, and some deposit them on elevated scaffolds, leaving them till they fall through decay. The body of the aged chief, wrapped in skins, has been borne with solemnity to the buryingground, and deposited on a high scaffold, with a due allowance of provision. A thousand whitened skulls placed on moss, or grass, or scented herbs, surround the place. The moon is up, and a shadowy form is standing thoughtfully beside the scaffold of the aged chief. It is Pamaho. But think not that he is reflecting on the white man's heaven! 66 Worthy the

Lamb is a song which has never reached his ears, and the "great multitude" that no man can number, clothed with white robes, and with palms in their hands, are equally unknown to him. He believes that as the aged chief has been a hardy hunter, and bold in battle, slaying many enemies, that he has a beautiful lodge in a beautiful country, where he will for ever follow the chase with success. This ignorance will be done away, for the gospel will prevail, the heathen be enlightened, and the grave of the red man bear the inscription, "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and though after my skin worms destroy this ody, yet in my flesh shall I see God," Job xix. 25, 26.

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to resorte. Good marchandis at Lyrpole, and moch Yris yarn that Manchestre men do buy there." In 1570, we find Liverpool particularly noticed, the Mersey being designated "a little creek subordinate to Chester," and the matter was obstinately contested in the Duchy Court of Lancaster, in consequence of Chester seeking to engross the trade with Spain and Portugal, to the prejudice of the Liverpool merchants. This

"Where Mersey's stream, long winding o'er the led to the first recorded deputation on

plain,

Pours his full tribute to the circling main,
A band of fishers chose their humble seat;
Contented labour bless'd the fair retreat:
Inured to hardship. patient, bold, and rude,
They braved the billows for precarious food:
Their struggling huts were ranged along the
shore,

Their nets and little boats their only store."

In the reign of Henry VIII., Leland thus notices this little town: "Lyrpole, alias Lyverpoole, a pavid towne, hath but a chapel, Walton a iiii. miles of, not far from the Se is paroche chirch; the king has a castelet there, and the earls of Darbe hath a stone house there. Irisch marchauntes cum much thither as to a good haven; after that Mersey water cumming up to Runcorne, in Cheshire, liseth among the commune people the name, and is Lyrpole. At Lyrpole is smaule custume payd that causith marchauntes MAY, 1847.

commercial matters from that town to the government, who waited on the earl of Derby, and requested his interference for the adjustment of the question. On its being referred to the Master of the Rolls, he gave his judgment in favour of Liverpool, and a hogshead of wine was the expression of acknowledgment to the arbitrator by the merchants, a subscription being made for the purpose of defraying the expense. Towards the close of the sixteenth century, the improvement of the town appears to have been much impeded, and the inhabitants, in petitioning queen Elizabeth for an exemption from certain impositions, described themselves as belonging to "her majesty's poor decayed town of Liverpoole;" and it is ascertained, that at that period it contained only one hundred

and thirty-eighty householders, whose principal wealth consisted in the possession of twelve small vessels, navigated by seventy-five men. Though gradually recovered in some measure from this depression, yet, in the reign of Charles I., it was inferior to most of the other commercial towns; as it appears from the statement relative to the ship-money, that Liverpool was rated at 251., while contributions to the amount of 261. and 1000l. were respectively demanded of Chester and Bristol. On the establishment of the commonwealth, Liverpool was put under the command of colonel Moore, who fortified it with a strong mud wall and a ditch, while a strong castle commanded the neighbourhood. It was, however, invested by prince Rupert, in 1644, and after a month's siege it was taken. The forces of the parliament again recovering possession of the place, a grant was made of five hundred tons of timber, for repairing the edifices which had suffered in the siege. From this period the commercial interests of the town appear to have been on the advance, and towards the close of the seventeenth century, further accommodation for the shipping was deemed advisable; as the land being low, the ships in the Mersey were exposed to every gale. It was therefore determined to apply to parliament for power to construct the old dock, which was the first erection of the kind in England, for keeping vessels afloat; and by the act of queen Anne, 1708, which created the dockestate, the corporation were empowered to construct the works, and to receive the duties from June 1710 till 1731, at the expiration of which time, one-fourth only of the duties then paid were to be chargeable. The corporation accordingly furnished the ground free of charge, and the dock was constructed, the site of which is described in the act, as "in or near a certain place called the Pool, on the south side of the said town of Liverpool." It was soon found advisable to apply to government for further powers, and these being granted in 1717, the dry dock was constructed. It is of irregular proportions, communicating with George's Dock at the north end by means of a canal. On the eastern side is a magnificent pile of warehouses, with an extensive piazza for the accommodation of foot passengers. These improvements were found to have so beneficial an influence on the commercial interests of the town and

country, that powers were obtained for the construction of canals; and the Irwell, Mersey, and Weaver rivers underwent considerable improvements. Meanwhile the population increased to 10,446, and theaggregate burden of the ships amounted to 8,326 tons.

It should here, however, be mentioned, that the rapid advancement of Liverpool is chiefly attributable to the improvement which took place, during the eighteenth century, in the manufactures of Manchester. Up to this period, the merchants had obtained their inferior commodities from Scotland, which they disposed of on a very limited scale in Africa and the West Indies; for in all the more important places, the merchants of Bristol were able to undersell them. When, however, the productions of the Manchester looms were rendered superior to those of Scotland and the continent, they soon became of the greatest importance to Liverpool. It is an indisputable fact, that Liverpool being the port through which Manchester, Oldham, Bury, Bolton, Ashton, and other great seats of the cotton manufacture, are supplied, they have augmented, to a prodigious extent, the wealth of the town; and it is no exaggeration to affirm, that the wonderful inventions and discoveries of Arkwright, Hargreave, Crompton, Cartwright, and others, have been, though not so direct, almost as powerful in their effects at the docks of Liverpool as at the mills at Manchester. In the year 1730, three hundred vessels entered the port of Liverpool, and in 1734, an act of parliament authorised the construction of Salthouse Dock. On this occasion the corporation gave, in addition to the land, a donation of 1000l. towards the expenses. It was opened in 1753, being chiefly used for Levant vessels, and lying north of the Bridgewater Dock. Its form is irregular, being on the east side about 300 yards, at the south end 80, and on the north end 150 yards; the whole, with the passage, comprising an extent of area of 23,025 square yards. Salthouse Dock has recently been altered, in consequence of a deficiency in its depth, and there being a wish to correct a peculiarity of form. In order to accelerate the works, relays of workmen were appointed, relieving each other every twelve hours, the labour being continued night and day. Those who worked by night slept by day, breakfasting at eight o'clock in the evening, and dining between twelve

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