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In the mean time, the spring returned, and the Indians again took the field. The old man, who was still vigorous, and able to bear the fatigues of war, set out with them, accompanied by his prisoner.

They marched above two hundred leagues across the forest, and came at length to a plain, where the British forces were encamped. The old man showed his prisoner the tents at a distance: “There,” says he, "are thy countrymen. There is the enemy who wait to give us battle. Remember that I have saved thy life, that I have taught thee to conduct a canoe, to arm thyself with a bow and arrows, and to surprise the beaver in the forest. What wast thou when I first took thee to my hut ? Thy hands were those of an infant. They could neither procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thy soul was in utter darkness. Thou wast ignorant of everything. Thou owest all things to me. Wilt thou go over to thy nation, and take up the hatchet against us?”

The officer replied, “that he would rather lose his own life, than take away that of his deliverer."

The Indian, bending down his head, and covering his face with both his hands, stood some time silent. Then, looking earnestly at his prisoner, he said, in a voice that was at once softened by tenderness and grief: “Hast thou a father?”

"My father," said the young man, " was alive when I left my country.”

“Ah!” said the Indian, “how wretched must he be!”





He paused a moment, and then added, “Dost thou know that I have been a father? I am a father no

I saw my son fall in battle. He fought at my side. I saw him expire. He was covered witi wounds, when he fell dead at my feet.”

He pronounced these words with the utmost vehemence. His body shook with a universal iremor. He was almost stifled with sighs, which he would not suffer to escape him. There was a keen restlessness in his eye; but no tears flowed to his relief. At length he became calm by degrees, and turning towards the east, where the sun had just risen: “Dost thou see,” said he to the young officer, “the beauty of that sky which sparkles with the day?-and hast thou pleasure in the sight?"

Yes,” replied the young officer, “I have pleasure in the beauty of so fine a sky.”

“I have none !” said the Indian ; and his tears then found their way.

A few minutes after, he showed the young man a magnolia in full bloom. “ Dost thou see that beautiful tree ?” said he, “and dost thou look upon it with pleasure ?”

“Yes," replied the officer, “I look with pleasure upon that beautiful tree.”

“I have no longer any pleasure in looking upon it!" said the Indian ; and immediately added :

Go, return to thy father, that he may still have pleasure, when he sees the sun rise in the morning; and the trees blossom in the spring !"


Bonn, 1735; DIED, 1803. Principal Works. Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Tmth. The Minstrel, Critical Dissertations, Evidences of the

Christian Religion, Moral Science.

HOPE BEYOND THE GRAVE. 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for

For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save,
But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn!
Oh, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave !

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind,
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
O pity, great Father of light, then I cried,
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee;
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride :
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ;
So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom !
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And Beauty Immortal awakes from the tomb.


A CHIEF of a party of troops pursued by Arabs, lost nis way, and was benighted near the enemy's camp. Passing the door of a tent which was open, he stopped his horse and implored assistance, being exhausted with fatigue and thirst. The warlike Arab bid his enemy enter his tent with confidence, and treated him with all the respect and hospitality for which his people are so famous.

Though these two chiefs were opposed in war, they talked with candour and friendship to each other, recounting the achievements of themselves and their ancestors, when a sudden paleness overspread the countenance of the host. He started from his seat and retired, and in a few minutes afterwards sent word to his guest that his bed was prepared, and all things ready for his repose; that he was not well himself, and could not attend to finish the repast; that he had examined the Moor's horse, and found it too much exhausted to bear him through a hard journey the next day, but that before sunrise an able horse with every accommodation would be ready at the door of the tent, where he would meet him and expect him to depart with all speed. The stranger, not able to account for the conduct of his host, retired to rest.

An Arab waked him in time to take refreshment before his departure, which was ready prepared for



him; but he saw none of the family, till he perceived, on reaching the door of the tent, the master of it holding the bridle of his horse, and supporting his stirrups for him to mount, which is done among the Arabs as the last office of friendship.

No sooner was he mounted than his host announced to him, that through the whole of the enemy's camp he had not so great an enemy to dread as himself. “Last night,” said he, “in the exploits of

your ancestors you discovered to me the murderer of my father. There lie all the habits he was slain in,” over which, in the presence of my family, I have many times sworn to revenge his death, and to seek the blood of his murderer from sunrise to sunset. The sun has not yet risen :--the sun will be no more than risen, when I pursue you, after you have in safety quitted my tent, where, fortunately for you, it is against our religion to molest you after your having sought my protection, and found a refuge there. You have not mounted a horse inferior to the one that stands ready for myself; on its swiftness surpassing that of mine depends one of our lives, or both.”

After saying this, he shook his adversary by the hand and parted from him. The Moor, profiting by the few moments he had in advance, reached the army in time to escape his pursuer, who followed him closely, as near the enemy's camp as he could with safety. This was certainly a striking trait of hospitality, but it was no more than every Arab and every Moor in the same circumstances would do.

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