"I do love you," returned the maid, fervidly; but still with such a rigid coldness in her beautiful countenance as almost contradicted her words; "but there are others I love more; yes, Ah-kitch-when the sun went to sleep, they were more dis herd of wolves came and drove the poor fawn and its relations away to-day and farther to-morrow and still farther next day, and every evening e-tah, more than myself." "Who are they?" anxiously demanded the youth, seizing her hands in his with convulsive grasp. "My people," answered she, withdrawing her hands, while the soul-kindled fire of enthusiasm illumined her features. "My people," she repeated; "the graves of my fathers-the bones of the warriors and braves who have passed away but are not forgotten. Om-pay-too is the daugh ter of a chief; the blood of her father fills her veins, the heart of her father beats in her bosom, and one must do more than hunt, more than blow music, ere she will share his wigwam and be the mother of his children." "What else do you ask," cried the youth, as if determined to surmount every obstacle in the way of possessing her. "Am I not a brave, a warrior? The skunk's skin hangs at my knee. I am called Ah-kitch-e-tah, the soldier,' for my deels, and three scalps hang in my wigwam ?” "Yes, alas!" sighed the girl; "but from whose heads were they taken ? men whose skin was red -redder," she said, emphatically, “than yours; whose forefathers smoked the pipe of peace at the same fire with my forefathers; go, take down your trophies, rub your face with black, and mourn for the red men you have slain." Her lover looked on her as she spoke, and the eager glance with which he answered her last words seemed to demand," what further shall do?" I But searching into his innermost soul she kept her eyes immovably on his, nor vouchsafed him a reply. "Speak," entreated he; "tell me what more to perform." That," she answered sternly, "to make me proud of the father of my children! I love you, Ah-kitch-e-tah; but I repeat, I am the daughter of a chief, and he that weds me must make himself a warrior of renown." The young man eyed her in surprise, and bethought that her brain must wander. Om-pay-too's words are like a muddy lake," said he, "through which the bottom cannot be seen." tant from the spot it found them in the morning ; and there was a young buck kept at the side of [the doe; he wanted to marry her; but her heart was sad, and she drooped more and more as they journeyed on. One night the Great Spirit visited her in a dream and told her what to do, then she arose while all were asleep and took out her heart and cut it in seven pieces and tied it on to the foreheals of seven of her foes who lived nearest to her." The youth clasped his hands, a thrill of agony shook his frame, the big tear stood in his eye, but she continued "The next day when the buck asked her to marry, go, get my heart,' said she, if you wish to keep it.' Ha! are the words of my mouth now like muddy water, or is the head of Ah-kitch-etah like the brow of the buffalo, which nothing can penetrate?" And as she leaned toward him, a fierce laugh burst from her lips, a wild fire from her eye. The warrior started, and struck his hand hea vily on his heart as he cried, "They are my friends!" "Om-pay-too," she answered calmly, with a sneer, "asks nothing, bids nothing. The hands of her father and her brothers, which have been dipped elbow-deep in Sac blood, can do all the Sioux girl asks; the foolish girl gave the preference to Ah-kitch-e-tah, who said his heart was sore; let him add, whose heart is weak.” "Hear me hear me !" gasped the youth, imploringly; "when I had nothing to eat, they fed me, when I was dying, their big medicine cured Three days have passed; it is morning the She will tell you her meaning-the Great Spi- sun is rising, his golden disk just visible; a numIt gave me a dream last night, and I saw a youngber of skin lodges form dusky spots on the small de which ran through the woods; it went her plain thickly enclosed by trees and undershrub, and there wherever it chose; its father and mother nearly impervious to all but the natives of those played by its side, and the flock of its relations wilds. mamed where they pleased; then I felt glad and wished that I was the doe. But after a while a VOLUME II.-V. Hark! a noise breaks on the silence, the bushes yield, the heavy dew plashes from the agitated THE CROISSY YEW. N 1812, a young man, who had escaped the conscription, by entering college, which he had since left, did not know what to do with himself. Meantime, he amused himself by climbing up into a huge yew tree, and casting his eyes over the surrounding country. One moonlight evening, when at his post, he overheard a conscript, who was bidding adieu to his sister and betrothed. The latter wept. The more resolute sister said, "Have you not got a colonel? him who enlisted you? Well; go and find your colonel, throw yourself on your knees, and say, 'My lord, I don't want to go away--I don't want to be killed. There are my sister and a wife, who cannot live without me, and who are going to throw themselves into the river. Beat me, colonel, put me in prison, but don't make me go away! Long live the emperor! He's a noble fellow! Let him leave me in peace, and go about his business! Colonel, I am a man and a free one, and I have no right to leave my sister Christine, who won't have me to quit her; and who will hate you, colonel, if you make me go off!" The brother smiled at his sister's eagerness, and told her he must have a substitute, and money to pay him. 66 'Well," said Christine, "I will give you everything I've got. My gold cross, my ear-rings, my silk neck-kerchiefs, my collerettes; in a word, all my trinkets, to him who will consent to go." "All that does not amount to the price of a man," replied Eugene." When the excitement of the dance was over, when the bride slept in her new wigwam and the chill darkness of night rested on all, Ah-kitch-etah rose from the nuptial-bed and sought the outskirts of the wood; a deep gloom pervaded his mind, and his haggard cheek told a tale of grief as he looked on the smouldering ruin of the trader's mansion. He reflected that those people, though white, had saved his life, had protected his people from the frosts of winter, and in reward he had fired their house; his single arm had torn the scalps from the mother, the father and their children, and this to gratify a squaw who loved revenge better than she did him, who thirsted for blood more than for his affection, and his soul sickened as he listened to the crackling than a man-oh, certainly I am! I will give myof the tenement before him, and recollected that self, then. I will tell somebody or other, 'Go in he, though an Indian woman's child, was the son my brother's place, and I will be your wife. You of a white man; the tears of too late repentance see I am pretty-a little spoiled, but what matters rush from his eyes, a groan of misery bursts from that? I will love you so, if you will save my his breast. He flew back to his lodge-when the bride awoke at the report of a rifle, and the dead body of the half-bred rolled at her feet! J. R. B. G. Christine reflected awhile, and said, catching her brother's arm— "Well! I am well worth a man-worth more brother! Oh, yes! I swear by the golden cross, in which is some of my mother's gray hair, I would willingly marry him who would devote himself to you. At evening, as they were seated at their humble meal, without being able to touch it, and lookIMITATION-Mrs. Opie says, that all who wearing tearfully at each other, some one knocked at "imitation" ornaments are virtually telling un- the door. truths, by imposing on the spectators mock jewels for real ones. "Come in," said the young man, hastily drying his eyes. 66 This is one for you, miss ;" and he threw a second letter on the table, but stopped short as he saw Christine trembling with agitation, crumpling the letter in her hands and gazing fixedly on the table. "What is the matter, what is the matter?" said Eugene. "Dear Christine, let us see that letter! Selfish being that I am, I never thought of it. Let me see who dares to write to you? What does all this mean?" And he ran over the letter hastily. “Oh, read it aloud," said Christine, "it's the same to me! Good heavens! this is but just!" Eugene read aloud. “Miss-I ask nothing-I go away without making any terms-I take your brother's place; you need him, and no one needs me. But I am honest and love you ever since I saw you weep. I send you a ring of my mother's. If you have pity upon me, you will take the golden cross, in which is some of your mother's gray hair, and which glitters on your neck in the moonlight, this evening you will place it in the crevice of the large yew tree, near the branches. I will get it to-morrow morning; then you will wait two years, and, if I am not dead, I will bring it back. Will you remember what you swore on that cross? Farewell." "What does this mean?" said Eugene, slowly. "How could any one know? Sergeant, do you understand this?" "Some fellow on the look-out near you." "Why then did he not come to us, frankly?" answered the young man, "What a way of obliging is this!" "Ah," said the soldier, "there's thing! one's afraid of being treated as spy; and, then, when one's young, and timid, and all full of romantic sentiments! one knows how to write and is afraid to talk, for want of practice; that's it!" Eugene shook his head. "Soldier!" cried he, "your hand! I will not have this substitute-my sister shall not be sacrificed-I will go with you. See!" And he took up his discharge, and prepared to tear it in pieces. Christine stopped him. "But what if I want to have him?" said she "After all, it's a fine action on his part. And then he goes without making any terms-and then he is unhappy-and then I have no other means of keeping you-and then I want to be in love with him! He did well, however, in not showing himself-one might have regretted him too know-sergeant, have you seen him?” much. I will take the cross-but I should like to 'Yes, now and then." Well! he is not hump-backed or bandylegged, is he?" A good joke! Is the French army recruited with such sort of stuff under the little corporal ? Is it not composed of individuals irreproachable as to their persons, and no fools as to morality?" Is he a man of worth?" asked Eugene. "Very much so, I answer for it." "Well, sir soldier," said Christine, removing from her graceful neck the cross with the black riband which supported it; "tell him that he has done well; and place this cross in the hollow of the great yew; and then, say nothing more to him, but do not quit him, do you hear! and try to come back with him, to tell me- There he is, it is he himself, he is worthy of you.'" Eugene and Louise looked on, without being able to speak. The grenadier rose, took off his cap, received the cross, wiped away a tear, and said, “Enough.” Christine turned to her brother and future sister. She was no longer the same person. Her character had assumed a more serious hue. She told Louise, “I, too, am betrothed; the pledge of my faith is in the hands of a soldier of the guards." A year afterward Eugene had to leave his home. The enemy was in France, and he would not have accepted a substitute now if he could have found one. At Montereu his life was saved by a lieutenant of carbineers. As this officer informed him that he had no family, Eugene invited him home to his own. Charles, such was his name, soon won Christine's favor: but she had plighted her troth to her brother's substitute, and she was faithful to him. Then Charles handed her the golden cross, and told her that it was he, who, a poor collegian, ashamed of the noble action he was about to per form, went away without seeing her, and finally rose to the rank of lieutenant. "At present, sir," continued the narrator, "we are married. The sergeant died at Waterloo. Eugene and myself have prospered in the world; we live in that little red and white house you see yonder, and I go every evening to smoke my pipe under the Croissy yew." KATE. BY R H. STODDARD KATE's a most enchanting creature, What a piercing eye hath she, Where a delicate rose is blowing: Red and round, and smooth and sleek Is her many-dimpled chcek, Where delight and love are glowing, And a rose-bud mouth, and sweet, Small, and delicate, and neat Prim and very pleasant, with Something of a curl about it; Something of a pout, alack! Oh that you could see her pout it, As we very often do When she's angry with us, you She will toss her head and smile, Stamping her small slipper'd foot, Fume, and fret, and storm, and rate, But we never heed it-we Do expect it in a Kate: 'Tis the way with every Kate. But I wander-let me see, What was I a telling thee? I was speaking of her mouth What a delicate mouth it is! You'd say, were you not acquainted, It is pouting for a kiss: 'Tis a rash conclusion, sir- Kate is beautiful and bright, Fond of odd conceits and jests, Nature never made a dearer, Or another that came near her. She is changeable, is Kate; And anon she's coy and shy; Light as every Kate is light, Jilting lovers not a few- Kate is like a day in March, In its most uncertain weather; Take her all in all together In its most uncertain weather. NEW YORK, May, 1846. A DUEL IN THE TIME OF HENRY III. A SKETCH FROM FRENCH HISTORY. ING HENRY the Third had for some time past neglected his puppies, his monkeys, and paroquets. He was no longer seen to hurry through the streets of Paris, and running from convent to convent to deprive the nuns of their lapdogs, poodles, and other pets whose beauty and tricks had attracted his notice. The true friends of the house of Valois, in their gratification at witnessing such an alteration in his habits, were loud in their exultation, and declared that the king was ashamed of his former follies, and would yet restore the throne of France to its old majesty, and reinstate it in the integrity of its power. The partisans of Guise, on the contrary, were dispirited and anxious, as they were apprehensive that Henry would recall to mind the promise of his youth, and his |