hands, only I let the head-warrior escape to tell you the fate of your young men.

"Men of the Shawanos nation! The strange people who came over the Salt Lake on the great bird, are your brothers. They are white, you are red; their hair is of the color of the setting sun, such as the beautiful woman has, and yours is as black as charred wood; yet you are brothers. I made you all, and I made you all alike. The Shawanos are red, because fear never enters their hearts to draw the blood from their cheeks; the heart of the white man is the heart of a bird; it is chilled with fear, therefore he is pale. I brought the Shawanos from the land of white men. Then he was white; but living among bears, and snakes, and tigers, and bloody-minded warriors, has made him strong of heart, and he has lost his paleness.

"My good Shawanos! The Walkullas and their allies from over the Great Lake killed many of your warriors, they have thinned your nation; but I will give you other and stronger men. You have now but three tribes, soon there shall be four, and the last tribe shall be great and powerful beyond all other Indians.

"Shawanos! Hear my words, do as I bid you, and you shall see my power and my goodness. Offer no further violence to the white woman, but treat her very kindly. If you do not do so, then shall my anger be upon your nation.

"Go now, and rake the ashes of your sacrifice fire into a heap, putting all the coals together, and gathering up the brands. When the great star rises, open the ashes, put in the body of the Mad Buffalo, lay on a great heap of wood, and kindle a fire in it. Let all the nation be called together, for all must help lay the wood upon the fire. But they must put on no pine, nor the tree which bears white flowers, nor the grape-vine which yields no fruit, nor the shrub whose dew blisters the flesh. The fire must be kept burning two whole moons; it must not go out, it must burn night and day. On the first day of the third moon, put no wood upon the fire, but let it die. On the morning of the second day, the Shawanos must all come to the heap of ashes, every man, woman, and child must come, and the aged who cannot walk, must be helped hither. Then Chenos and the head-chief must bring the beautiful woman and place her nearest the ashes. Be not scared at what you see, and do what Chenos shall tell you; this is the will of the Great Spirit."

When he had finished these words, he was gone, none could tell how, or where. The Shawanos did as he bade them. They put the beautiful woman into the house of the great council.

They went, and raked up the coals of fire and brands, and covered them with ashes. When the morning came, they laid the body of the head-warrior on the ashes, built a great fire over it, and kept it burning two whole moons. But they were careful to burn no pine, nor the tree which bears poisonous flowers, nor the vine which yields no grapes, nor the shrub whose dew blisters the flesh. On the first day of the third moon, they let the fire go out, and, with the next sun, all the Shawanos, men, women, and children, even the aged whose knees trembled so much that they could not walk, came together at the embers. The priests and the head-chief brought the beautiful woman from the wigwam, and placed her beside the ashes. The Mequachake tribe, who were the priests of the nation, stood nearest; then the Kiskapocoke tribe, who were the greatest warriors. By and by there was a terrible puffing and blowing in the ashes, which flew towards the rising sun, and the great star, and the Mississippi, and the land of the Walkullas. At last, the priests and the warriors, who could see, began to clap their hands, and dance, crying out, Piqua, which, in the Shawanos language, means a man coming out of the ashes, or a man made of ashes. They told no lie. There he stood, a man tall and straight, looking like a Shawanos man, but he was handsomer than any of our warriors. The first thing he did, was to utter the war-whoop, and cry for paint, a club, a bow and arrow, and a hatchet. They were given him. But, looking around, he saw the white woman. He laid down all his weapons war, walked up to her, and looked in her eyes. Then he came to the head-chief, and said, "I must have that woman to my wife."

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be

"What are you?

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asked the head-chief. "A man made of ashes," he answered.

"Who made you?"

"The Great Spirit. And now let me go,

that I

may take my bow and arrows, and kill my deer, and come back, and take the beautiful woman to be my wife."

The chiefs said to Chenos; "Shall he have her? Does the Great Spirit give her to him."

Chenos said; "Yes, for the woman loves him. The Great Spirit has willed that he shall have her, and from them shall arise a tribe, to be called, Piqua."

Brothers! I am a Piqua, descended from the man made of ashes. If I have told you a lie, blame not me, for I tell it but as I have heard it. Brothers, I have done.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,
He was a captive now,

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark broad bosom wore
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake-
"My brother is a king;
Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring,
And send me where my brother reigns,
And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,
And gold dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle spear again.

A price thy nation never gave

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the christian's slave, In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade

To shred his locks away;

And, one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.

Thick were the platted locks, and long,
And deftly hidden there
Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.

"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold
Long kept for sorest need;

Take it-thou askest sums untold-
And say that I am freed.
Take it, my wife, the long, long day
Weeps by the cocoa tree,

And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me."

"I take thy gold,—but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long."

Strong was the agony that shook

The captive's frame to hear,

And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken-crazed his brain,-
At once his eye grew wild,

He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,
They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.

B.

AN AGED MOURNER.

I SAW one, in the Western wilderness,

Weeping beside a rough and moss-clad stone;
His cheeks were pale, and spoke the keen distress
Of sorrows which his early years had known.
But he had seen bright days which now had flown,
And nights of tranquil calmness, when the star
Of midnight beamed not on himself alone,
When here, from "social guile" and fraud afar,
He lived supremely blest, with nought his bliss to mar.

"Here sleeps my wife," he said; "I raised this stone,
I placed this sod of summer on her breast;
The cypress makes a sad funereal moan
In the cool breeze above her humble rest.

Her days were many on the earth, and blest

In the wild forest only, and with me.

Stern parents and false friends our youth oppressed,
And strove to wake the pangs of jealousy

In vain; she proved her love,—I mine, as you now see.

We dwelt in this lone forest sixty years;

Yon cell our mansion; watched by Heaven the while,
The tempests of the desert brought no fears,

Hurling into the lake the rocky pile,

Hoarest of peaks that catch the morning's smile.

We set the beech plant on our bridal day,

And saw it shade our river-fretted isle;

Together we beheld the tree decay,

Tremble beneath the blast, and blow in dust away.

We saw the stream another channel gain,
And nettles grow where chiefs had feasted high:
Yet did our hearts their early love retain,
We still the dearer seemed as death drew nigh;
Morn saw no tear, the evening heard no sigh,
Winter with all its storms seemed soft and mild
And cherishing as a warm Southern sky;

And we were happier in this lonely wild

Than he who owns the dome whereon starved vassals toiled.