"You seem infected with the silence," said Amidab. "Be quiet, and let us hasten on," was the almost sullen reply," it is still five good miles to the end of our journey, and the storm is coming on apace;"thus saying, they hastened forward. After some time, the attention of Amidab was drawn to his companion by an exclamation of surprise, which suddenly escaped him at the sight of the dead body of a settler, who appeared to have been recently slain and scalped. His friend inquired what startled him, and Noah Howard silently pointed to the bleeding corpse. Amidab started back, but presently recovering himself, innocently asked what they should do with the body. "Boy," said the other sharply, "let him lie where he is, we have no time to look after such things, even were we so inclined; we should not be able to dig a foot deep before the storm will be upon us;" so saying, he significantly pointed to the gathering clouds; "and then we would, most likely ourselves, need some one to do the same office for us." His companion did not attempt another reply, and they again hastened on, for wide and heavy drops began to fall, and they heard frequent peals of distant thunder, which every moment, seemed approaching nearer and nearer; -at last the rain came down in torrents, and the thunder pealed over their heads in deafening claps, while the lightning seemed to run along the ground. Amidab, the younger, could not suppress his exclamations of alarm, while his friend took no notice of his terror, but hurried on more eagerly. The storm continued to increase, and a new and scarce less dangerous cause of fear broke upon them. They suddenly heard the whistling of a ball, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. Noah Howard said, as he cocked his piece: "That shot came from a skilful hand, considering the doubtful light which now surrounds us." His companion followed his example, and both in silent expectation awaited some noise which might indicate where their enemy was concealed. Presently a terrific flash of lightning showed to the elder a dark form leaning against a neighbouring tree, taking cool aim at his friend; but before he had time to finish his deadly purpose, a flash issued from the muzzle of Noah's rifle, followed by a piercing cry from the Indian; for the ball had broken his right arm, and his gun fell from his shoulder and lay en the ground. Amidab Heckels instantly started in pursuit of the wounded Indian, but was immediately arrested by the cry of Noah, who said, as he picked up and examined the fallen piece, "I have seen this before, and if I mistake not, in the hands of Cherokee." "I think," said Amidab, "you were formerly at peace with each other, what has happened to make you such deadly enemies?” "It is a long story, and I cannot tell it now, but when we reach shelter your curiosity shall be gratified; at present we have something else to do than either to be telling or listening to past events. The Indians will soon be upon us again, and then we may give up all hopes of seeing the sun rise. Every one knows the revengeful and unrelenting nature of the chief I have wounded, but even were he not so inclined, his tribe would not allow the head of their nation to be injured with impunity; our only safety lies in the speed with which we quit this place." Cherockee, as he fled wounded, hastened to the rendezvous of his tribe, vowing eternal revenge on the hand which had wounded him. He immediately sumuroned his followers, and, after much consultation, it was unanimously resolved to attack the settlement, and annihilate the inhabitants. When the two travellers reached the little fort that protected their village, and had satisfied the cravings of hunger, Amidab Heckels reminded Noah Howard of his promise to relate the history of his acquaintance with Cherockee, and his story was to the following effect: "I am, as you know, a Virginian by birth. I was early deprived of my pa rents by an incursion of the Indians, and I was, while yet a boy, carried by them far back into the woods. It is unnecessary to say, that this was a party of the tribe of which Cherockee is now chief. I was brought up along with him: he had an elder brother, to whom he was greatly attached, and this brother had, it seems, taken a fancy to me, but whom I could not bring myself to like; at last he perceived my evident aversion, and with the true spirit of an Indian, he sought to repay it, with interest. By resorting to every possible way to annoy and to render me miserable, he at last became so intolerable that my dislike ripened to hatred. One day, when we were out on a hunting party, he unfortunately provoked me beyond all endurance, and, being in flained with anger, and not knowing what I did, I plunged my knife into his heart; I repented the instant the deed was done but it was too late, and as I knew that the vengeance of the tribe would require my blood as an atonement to his angry spirit, I instantly fled; but, being forgetful of every thing but my danger, I rushed headlong into the midst of another party, who, seeing my agitation, inquired the cause, and also why my clothes were bloody. At this moment the cries of the Indians in pursuit of me, made them suspect some thing wrong; upon which they surrounded and seized me. The hunting party was immediately broken up, and I was led back, bound, to be judged by the father of the unfortunate youth who had fallen beneath my knife; I well knew the punishment that awaited me, and was therefore ready to accept the first opportunity of escape, to frustrate the cruel intents of my enemies. I was brought before the old man, as I expected, and condemned to be shot the next day, at noon. In the mean time, I was bound with my back against a tree, and guarded by six warriors, who kept their watch over me by turns. The life of one of these men I had once saved, at the hazard of my own-a favour which he had never forgotten, and which he had often sought to repay. He therefore, when it was his turn to watch, came softly to me and silently set me free; then whispering me to follow him, (after he had armed me,) we fled together, journeying with the greatest haste all night, by the most unfrequented path. About noon the next day, the time at which my death was to have taken place, we fell in with another party of Indians -enemies to the tribe we were flying from; they instantly knew us by our paint, and fired on us, which we returned with more deadly aim, for two of the nearest fell, never to rise again. They then set on us, with fearful yells, hurling their tomahawks, one of which struck dead my companion, and another severely wounded me. Our victors immediately rushed on us to take our scalps, but perceiving that I was alive, and a white man, with which nation they were at that time friends, they gave me to the care of their squaws; by the art and medicines of whom I soon recovered from the effects of my wound. You were at that time about four years old, and had, like myself, been carried away. You know the rest." About a month after Noah had related this tale, the village was alarmned by the reports of fire-arms, and the warwhoops of the Indians. Noah and Amidab instantly started to their feet, and seized their weapons, suspecting the attack was from Cherockee, and their fears were soon confirmed by the appearance of that chief, at the head of a band of his followers. While the main body of Indians were burning the houses on all sides, and massacring their owners, the friends rushed out, and firing their rifles, two of the enemy dropped. In the meantime the settlers were not idle, they defended themselves as long as they could at the doors of their flaming habitations, till at last they fell overwhelmed, and driven into the burning ruins. The two friends in the mean time closed with their foes, and each in succession had overthrown his enemy. Noah then grappled with Cherockee, and both the settlers and the Indians stopped their own strife, as if by mutual consent, to abide the issue of the deadly struggle. In the end, Noah having succeeded in plunging his knife into the bosom of the chief, laid him in seeming death; the battle now raged anew; but the Indians, who had prospered before, quickly felt the loss of Cherockee, and, being beaten on all sides, fled into the woods. The battle was now succeeded for some time by a still calin, as is generally the case, and Amidab walked alone over the now forsaken field of contest. The moon was just rising from behind the clouds, radiant with glory, but often hiding herself, as if ashamed of the deeds of the men whom she was obliged to light. Amidab was thus ruminating as he trode over the field which, with his friend, he had contributed so largely to gain, and was returning from his lonely walk, when he heard a slight groan coming from the body of an Indian; at first he paid no attention to it, thinking it was a gloomy thought stealing over his imagination; but hearing it repeated in a lower tone, he hurried to the spot; where, to his amazement, he beheld Cherockee still weltering in his blood. He raised him up and looked in his now pallid face, which had the appearance of actual death, so much was he affected by the loss of blood and by his wound; but it still retained his peculiar look of cunning and revenge, for both of which qualities he was so much noted. Amidab laid him down gently, and immediately hastened to seek assistance, and found his friend Noah trying to comfort the weeping widows of the murdered settlers. The instant he told what he had seen, all that were present, except Noah and Amidab, cried out with yells which might have done honour to Indians themselves, that now they would have revenge on their enemy; and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were pacified and persuaded to assist in the recovery of the wounded man. Four or five then took a plank, and having placed Cherockee upon it, proceeded to a friend's house; as soon as the settlers had done this, they departed, not being able to endure the sight of their enemy. After they were gone, Noah and his friend tried to revive the unfortunate man, who had fainted on being removed, in which after much trouble they succeeded. The instant he opened his eyes they fell on the countenance of Noah, whom after some time he seemed to recognize, for a scowl of defiance appeared to cloud his countenance; but their attention to him mitigated the ire with which he was inflamed, and in the end, as he slowly recovered, he gave them the following account of what had taken place subsequent to the escape of Noah after his condemnation by the father of the Indian youth whom he had slain. "Next morning as soon as it was known that you had escaped, there was a great uproar, and parties were sent out in all directions, but no traces of you were to be seen; at last one party came to a place which seemed to have been recently a field of battle, as two dead bodies of Indians were on the ground, and another which had been scalped, all of which were brought to our encampment; the one without the scalp was after some time recognized as the man who had let you escape, at least so we thought, for we now remember the obligations he was under to you for having saved his life, and how long he had pined to repay it. We also knew by this that you had fallen in with a party of our enemies, and that either you had been taken prisoner or escaped, leaving your companion dead on the field. Some of us then went out to seek for you. After some years (we had then buried the hatchet with some neighbouring tribes) we met a trading party of our countrymen, who promised to pay us for some skins we had with us; but, unfortunately, having drunk too much spirits, we knew not what we did, which they taking advantage of, carried away all our skins, and nearly killed us; upon which I and my people swore eternal hatred against all whites. We have now prosecuted our just revenge for a long time; but you have saved my life, and I will for your sakes make no more attacks on this settlement. I will likewise break my oath of vengeance against you for the death of my brother." To be continued. THE SPIRIT OF LOVE. For the Olio. The Spirit of Love is still on earth, Though rarely seen by mortal eyes, With gold and jewels rich and rare," 'Tis avarice only greets them there. Sweet Spirit of Love, if cheered by thee. The all of happiness I have known, And the wings of my soul shall never know 'll never crown me with fame's cold wreath, A resting-place but near thy throne Nor with fortune's glittering diadem, But contentment's wayside rose's breath, And the myrtle of love, oh! give me them. GIORGIONE. RAMBLING THOUGHTS OF THE PASTORAL. For the Olio. Happy the man who all his days does pass The love of pastoral pleasures was a favourite theme with the Greek and Latin poets; philosophers, emperors and orators deigned to spend their sweetest leisure in retirement. Homer, Virgil, Spencer, Shakspeare, Chaucer, Milton, and most of the succeeding poets, followed in the rational delight of pastoral pleasures. Dr. Johnson, who disliked every thing rural, in his "Lives of the Poets," endeavoured, however, to chill the charm shed over the face of external nature by severe criticism, and nipped the bud of aspiring poetasters, then barely existing. But the Doctor was not infallible; what he wrote was, perhaps, his opinion enforced by his argumentative taste. That the translator of Homer was a lover of the rural, not only by the manner of his adopting the language of the translation, but his own pastorals. Many of Dryden's pieces also, leaving aside his translations, partake of their chief beauty by reason of their connection with the simply natural and innocent pleasures of rural scenery and pastoral effect. The Fairy Queen possesses fine touches of a similar kind. Shakspeare displays the same love, whether it be in a sonnet or a comedy. In Chaucer's "Romaunt" the "Flower and Leaf, or the Lady in the Arbour-his "Dremes"-and other pieces, will be found his best efforts shewn in the love of describing nature without suburban thraldom. Milton, who rose with epic majesty, penned minor poems, and illustrated" Comus" with language which is allusive of the simpler tendencies. Shenstone was another of the picturesque fancied beings. Lord Lyttleton, Prior, Allan Ramsay, Cowley, Thomson, Phillips-in short, almost all of the materials for a poet's mind to expatiate on and dwell in, appeared even necessary; and the same stream of feeling ran through the fertile productions of enduring soils to the Lake School of Poetry, in which Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge and Scott have identified their talent. The subject would engross too much space, to bring in aid of the proof the general and numerous quotations that might be available to the theme; but why are they necessary, since they are familiar with almost all readers? Libraries are now so numerous, so accessible and cheaply formed, that children, of all growths, are apt in knowledge, and will hereafter, it is to be presumed, themselves become illustrious specimens for reference. The errors, or beauties, of the Lake School were manifestly excitable; and criticism, with no lack of talent, surveyed the progress, cutting right and left. Gifford's modern " Dunciad" succeeded to Pope's; thousands of the small fry were netted; Leigh Hunt, Keats, Shelley and Byron rose in arms-Campbell, Montgomery and Cottle. Others of various note disputed points, essentials and non-essentials, as to the constituent parts required in poetic composition. The "Pleasures of Hope" were admired by some, the Sonnets by Bowles praised by many, and the "Wanderer in Switzerland" extolled by others,-poems which the authors have not excelled by any of their later efforts. Fire, however, is requisite in all poetry; nor is water less so.Milk having been mixed with the latter element, the “milk-and-water school" was endeavoured to be brought into fashion, when Byron surmounted it by his energy even Moore's Melodies" yielded, and were more limited to pianas 66 and harps and boarding-school misses, with " love in their eyes." Meantime, a controversy was passing between the then persecuted editor of the Examiner and a writer in Blackwood. This gave rise to what is called the " Cockney School." Now, whatever affectation is manifested by citizens for pastoral poetry, it is tolerably certain that more good poetry has been written within the sound of Bow bell, and a telescopic view of St. Paul's, than farther off. Poetry is not sent to London like Birmingham ware, nor generated like nails from the iron works, but rather the effect of reflection on causes from which the poet is separated. The sweetness of the object, when deprived of its embrace, begets treble endearment by the social happiness fancy creates, divested of actual harm. Chatterton's muse was inspired in a city-Cowper's in the Temple. Many of our dramatic writers too, amid rolls of parchment and engrossing hands. Bloomfield's earliest essays were written, like Lackington's, in a bulk. The best Spanish writers produced their works in cells. Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" was concocted and his "Holy War" fought in Bedford jail. It is sufficient that a poet has once seen nature in external beauty and deformity; with an eye to this, and a knowledge of the passions of the human heart, he is an alchymist. He appropriates his descriptions and weaves them curiously in his narratives. With a fine imagination, he employs every suitable material, and delights, while he surprises, his reader, who may have thought the same, but never properly communicated it. I observed, that water is not less a a part of true poetry than fire. What a sublime subject does the ocean present, either in the terrible majesty of a storm, or the calm waving depths of repose! Behold the sea!-How vast, yet how lovely, are the transitions which the moving grandeur of the volumed waters occasion, when a ship, yea, a fleet, passes in their liquid furrows, with well poised depth and upward sails convoyed by winds in beautiful celerity. But to feel what is pastoral effect, the mind must leave the shores of the mighty waters, and sail down the rivers; the banks of these will soon convey what portion of simple and unaffected nature can inspire. "The billows of life are supprest, The waters spoken of in holy writ- Where fancy, ever wing'd for change, Sweet goddess of the hills, is thine. But, after all, the "brook" is the real seat of the pastoral. This little stream like quicksilver quivering through the meadows, or if seen afar, which seems a narrow and crooked polished blue space, interwoven between the green produce of the ground-is quite sure of attracting the poet's eye and inspiring his genius. "The busy bees with a soft murm'ring strain Invite to gentle sleep the lab'ring swain; While, from the neighb'ring rock, with rural songs, The pruner's voice the pleasing dream prolongs." The brook is a profitable study; for the idea that its waves are employed in the grinding of corn for the poor and preserving life to all, that the willows which droop over its surface, and the rushes which rise from its bed, are useful in the world. To the vulgar eye, weeds and fossils are noisome and cumbrous; to the botanist and geologist, they are treasures surpassing knowledge. The deities of the foliage and the genii of the brook are constantly directing the mind "from nature up to nature's God." A great deal of nonsense was, in past times, imagined by those who made verses on human and animal happiness -not entering into the real feelings of those who formed the pastoral. Crooks, doric and every other kind of reeds and pipes-shepherds, shepherdesses(of course) bleating ewes and white wooled lambs, like dancing specks on the verdure-cracked bells-beechen shades submitted to wanton zephyrsColins sitting on styles-Floras making garlands-nymphs crowned with flowery wreaths-swains, not to say a word about the soddened shoes which swept myriads of spangled dew-drops aside by crossing the lawns, uplands and + Dr. Plot, in his Natural History of Oxfordshire, says, that the famous echo, in Woodstock Park, returned seventeen syllables in the daytime, when the wind was a little stirring; and twenty in the night time, for then the air being denser, the vibrations became slower, and so a repetition of more syliables was heard And Dr. Harris, in his Technical Dictionary, assures us, that there is a much finer echo from the north side of Stepney Church, in Sussex, which, in the night time would repeat these twenty-one syllables: Os homini sublime dedit, calumque tueri bladed pastures-with daybreak ditties Wise through time and narrative with age; A bloodless race. The use of pastoral life, perhaps, lost sight of, the moral of which should be to warn the devotees of unguarded, or invincible passion, against the danger of jealousy, revenge, madness and despair; to observe, that the lamb in its unarrayed innocence is dragged away by the hand of the butcher; that the bird singing the melodies of glorious nature, is driven out of the air by the fowler'; and the fish, floating in gold and silver hues in the cadent eddies, fluctuated by the quick clouds passing along like breath over steel, is drawn out of existence by the wary angler. The poet, painter, musician, and the contemplative, have it in their power, however, to realize all the charming ingredients which make the pastoral real:-Health, exercise, energy, feeling in its best character and operationtruth in its never varying principlevirtue in all its susceptibilities of passive and active utility. Above all, partaking of the social affections, truly implying and imparting the first-born principle, that it is not good for man to be alone! Hence pastoral life is nothing without the occasional, if not always, presence of the feminine sex. Never weary of the pipe That there ever was unalloyed felicity, even in the most untutored ages, yet remains to be proved; for the first son killed his brother. But if Klopstock's Messiah, Hervey's Meditations, and expletive Pastorals are consulted, it will appear no flowery invention is wanting to compensate for the thorns. Yet, much is available. Pride is brought down to a proper standard, by a contemplation of earth, air, sky, fire and |