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discover, the aspect of this continent would, at this day, have been far different.

On the seventeenth of July, having preached to the Indians the glory of God and the Catholic faith, and proclaimed the power of the Grand Monarque — for still we hear nothing of speech-making or delivering credentials on the part of Joliet — he set out on his return. After severe and wasting toil for many days, they reached a point, as Marquette supposed, some leagues below the mouth of the Moingona, or Des Moines. Here they left the Mississippi, and crossed the country between that river and the Illinois, probably passing through the very country which now bears the good father's name, entering the latter stream at a point not far from the present town of Peoria. Proceeding slowly up that calm river, preaching to the tribes along its banks, and partaking of their hospitality, he was at last conducted to Lake Michigan, at Chicago, and by the end of September was safe again in Green Bay, having traveled, since the tenth of June, more than three thousand miles.

It might have been expected that one who had made so magnificent a discovery, who had braved so much and endured so much, would wish to announce in person to the authorities in Canada, or in France, the results of his expedition. Nay, it would not have been unpardonable had he desired to enjoy, after his labors, something of the consideration to which their success entitled him. And, certainly, no man could ever have approached his rulers with a better claim upon their notice than could the unpretending voyageur. But vain-glory was no more a part of his nature than was fear. The unaspiring priest remained at Green Bay, to continue, or rather to resume, as a task laid aside only for a time, his ministrations to the savages. Joliet hastened on to Quebec to report the expedition, and Marquette returned to Chicago, for the purpose of preaching the gospel to the Miami Confederacy, several allied tribes who oceupied the country between Lake Michigan and the Des Moines River. Here again he visited the Illinois, speaking to them of God, and of the religion of Jesus; thus redeeming a promise which he had made them, when on his expedition to the South.

But his useful, unambitious life was drawing to a close. Let us describe its last scene in the words of our accomplished historian :*

* Two years afterward, sailing from Chicago to Mackinac, he entered a little river in Michigan. Erecting an altar, he said mass, after the rites of the Catholic Church; then, begging the men who conducted his canoe to leave him alone for a half-hour,

"In the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,

And offered to the MIGHTIEST solemn thanks
And supplication.'

At the end of the half-hour they went to seek him, and he was no more. The good missionary, discoverer of a world, had fallen asleep on the margin of the stream that bears his name. Near its mouth, the canoe-men dug his grave in the sand. Ever after, the forest rangers, in their danger

BANCROFT. History of the United States. Vol. III., page 161, et sequitur, where the reader may look for most of these dates.

on Lake Michigan, would invoke his name. The people of the West will build his monument.'

The monument is not yet built; though the name of new counties in several of the Western States testifies that the noble missionary is not altogether forgotten, in the land where he spent so many self-denying years.

Such was the voyageur priest; the first, in chronological order, of the succession of singular men who have explored and peopled the Great West. And though many who have followed him have been his equals in courage and endurance, none have ever possessed the same combination of heroic and unselfish qualities. It ought not to be true that this brief and cursory sketch is the first distinct tribute yet paid to his virtues ; for no worthier subject ever employed the pen of the poet or historian.

Note.-Struck with the fact that the history of this class of men, and of their enterprises and sufferings, has never been written, except by themselves in their simple “Journals” and “Relations? - for the résumé given of these by SparkS, BANCROFT, and others, is of necessity a mere unsatisfactory abstract — the writer has for some time been engaged in collecting and arranging materials, with the intention of supplying the want. The authorities are numerous and widely scattered, and such a work ought to be thoroughly and carefully written, so that much time and labor lies between the author and his day of publication. Should he be spared, however, to finish the work, he hopes to present a picture of a class of men, displaying as much of true devotion, genuine courage, and self-denial, in the humble walk of the missionary, as the pages of history show in any other department of human enterprise. Jacksonville, Nlinois, October 15, 1851.

PA RT I N G S T A N Z A 8.

I've pressed my last kiss on thy brow,

I've breathed my last farewell,
And hushed within my breaking heart

The love I may not tell.
I sought to win thee for mine own,

To wear thee in my heart;
That dream is o'er — I leave thee now,

And bless thee, as we part.

The cherished hopes of other days

Time never may restore;
But, dear lost one! I love thee still

As fondly as of yore.
Thy low, sweet tones are in my ear,

Where'er my footsteps roam,
And pleasant memories of thee

Will make my heart their home.

And when my bark, now passion-tossed

Upon life's wintry sea,
Shall sink beneath the stormy wave,

Wilt thou not weep for me?
Farewell! I may not pause to gaze

Into those eyes of thine:
God spare thy heart the agony

That now is rending mine!
Centreville, Indiana.
VOL. XXXIX.

2

N. E. JOHXBON.

THE NORTHERN LIGHTS.

HELL’s gates swing open wide,
Hell's furious kings forth ride;

The deep doth redden
With the flags of armies marching through the night,
And scarlet legions running to the fight

At Armageddon.

Lords and princes mark I,

Captains and chiliarchi,
Thou burning angel of the pit, ABADDON !

Charioteers from Hades, land of gloom,

Gigantic thrones and heathen troopers, whom
The thunder of the far-off war doth madden.

Lo! Night's barbaric khans,

Lol the waste deep's wild clans
Gallop across the skies with fiery bridles:

Lol flaming sultans, lol infernal czars

In deep-ranked squadrons gird the rushing cars
Of LUCIFER and AMMON, towering idols.

See! glittering arrows pierce the globes and moons;
Seel see the swift cimmerian dragoons

Whirling aloft their sabres to the zenith!
See the tall regiments whose spears incline
Beyond the circle of that northern sign
Which toward the streams of ocean never leaneth;

While fires of keen artillery
Kindle afar thy gloomy peaks, Cordillera !

Whose yonder dragon-crest ?

Whose that red-shielded breast?
Satanas, chieftain, comes! Emperor of the furnace!

Blazing centurions and crimson earls,
In mail of Hell's bright ores and burnished pearls,
Alarm the kingdom with their gleaming harness.

Al tribes and spectral hosts,

All shades and frowning ghosts,
All mighty phantoms from the Gulf's deep gorges

Follow the kings in glimmering multitude;

While savage giants of the Night's old brood
In pagan mirth toss high their crackling torches !

On! Lords of dark Despair,

Prince of the Powers of air,
Bear your broad banners through the constellations :

And all ye Stygian hordes

Wave to the skies your swords;
Startle with warlike signs the watching nations !

March, ye mailed multitudes, across the deep;

Far shine the battlements on Heaven's steep; Dare ye again, fierce thrones and scarlet powers, Assail with Hell's wild host those crystal towers ?

LODW10 Vox MUDDLXDRAINZ.

"Αρκτον. ... άμαξαν.
Οίη δ' άμμορος εστι λουτρών Ωκεανοίο. .

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Mine host of the Washington, the drowsy little inn of Innisfield, was a sad illustration of the cheer afforded by his larder. The model innkeeper has come to be a pretty well-known character; his general outlines are as familiar to the imagination as the figure of Falstaff. He should be of moderate stature, of a rotund form, with easily bending shoulders, a face rosy and smiling, a mouth suggestive of juicy sirloins and delicate pastry, and an eye sparkling with good-humor, like the wine just released from his cobwebbed bottles, or, tetotally speaking, like the water from a bright mountain spring. But Zebulon Harwood was deficient in nearly all these particulars; so much so, that it is a marvel why an innate sense of propriety had not kept him out of the profession. He was a tall, gaunt man, whose frame seemed wrought of iron and whalebone, with none of the cellular tissue to give symmetry to its outlines, or to cushion its angular projections. His neck was long, and, as he opened and shut his lank jaws, the loose, flabby skin beneath seemed to envelope and glide over a bundle of knotted cords. Upon his prematurely bald head rested a wig of a faded brown, in fine contrast with the gray eyebrows that bristled above his small, restless eyes. The lean and sanctimonious looks of our landlord would certainly seem to indicate to a traveler, that he would be far surer of a long grace and a round bill, than of a luxurious entertainment. But such inferences are not always as conclusive as in the case of the Black Knight and Friar Tuck.

The monotony that usually pervaded the inn was enlivened, one fine evening in June, by the arrival of a passenger in the weekly mail, who gave his name as George Greenleaf. He was a young man, neatly dressed, of quiet, simple manners, and with an unusual weight of baggage. The practised eye of the landlord ran over these indications of a well-filled purse, and his heart warmed somewhat towards his guest at once; but he rubbed his bony hands, and moved his thin lips with a quiet, purring satisfaction, when he learned that the new-comer would probably remain a month or two. The best room was forthwith prepared, and the guest comfortably installed therein.

By the south window, overlooking the street and the river beyond, the stranger sat for an hour before breakfast next morning, and gazed with rapt attention upon the beautiful prospect. On the left, a row of majestic elms, fit emblems of the grave and sombre generation that planted them, overhung the green avenue to the church ; and, above their waving, breezy tops, the spire with its burnished vane rose resplendent with the earliest beams of the sun. To the right, the river rolled rapidly away from the mill-wheel amid a tangled foliage of grape vines, ivy and alders. Beyond, the vast form of the south-western hill, covered with grazing herds, closed up the view; and, around its base, on the extreme right, the river lay darkening and quiet, as though recovering its energies before rushing upon a new labor in its destined career. The birds have always loved the quiet valley and the beautiful trees of Innisfield ; and, knowing nothing of the murderous customs of later times, they daily gladdened the landscape with their vivacious movements, and their joyous, uninterrupted song.

The stranger had never beheld a fairer valley, but he did not evince his delight in words; he was content to gaze in silence. The sweet influences of the morning stole into his heart, like the dew into the flower; and the freshness and beauty of Nature seemed to have been mirrored in the soul of her fond worshipper. How long this reverie would have lasted, it is not easy to say ; but it was soon interrupted by the entrance of the landlady, who, impatient to see the young stranger, had herself come, as a mark of special attention, to announce breakfast. She was attired in a morning-gown of calico, (then a rare luxury,) and her head was surmounted by an indescribable mass of folded, yellow batiste, which she probably called a turban. Her face had nothing remarkable, except a discoloration of the upper lip; and her voice, never very musical, perhaps, at once suggested a reason for the yellow hue, for its tones were as thin, and as destitute of any natural resonance, as those of a cracked clarionet. It needed but a glance at the host and hostess, as they sat at the breakfast table, to satisfy their guest as to the question of supremacy. Incedo regina was plainly implied in every movement of the stately head, crowned with its vast yellow burden. The soft and affectionate terms of speech she employed, were as thin a covering for their imperious meaning, as was the gauzy batiste for the silvery hairs underneath its ample folds.

The table and its appendages were neat, and the breakfast excellent. Mr. Greenleaf conversed with easy politeness upon the common topics of the day; but he parried with a quiet address the attempts of the curious landlady to learn something of his errand into such a secluded village. After breakfast he walked out with a knapsack or travelling port-folio, and remained until dinner. In the evening he again took his solitary ramble. A month passed, and he continued in the same daily custom. Meanwhile the hostess and other villagers were consumed with the desire of penetrating the supposed mystery of the stranger's life; yet such was the manly simplicity of his manners, joined with a hardly perceptible reserve - a reserve that inspired respect rather than awakened suspicion — that all who came within the charmed circle which surrounded him, though baffled in their curiosity, instinctively yielded their homage, as to a superior being.

Under the shadow of the elms on the western border of the common stood a large old house, once painted cream color, but, at the date of this sketch, turned by mould and moss to a dingy brown. In front, the slope was easy to the placid pond above the mill, and in the rear, a tasteful garden extended a short distance up the hill which overhangs the village on the north. Here dwelt the school-master, a grave widower of fifty,

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