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A decent musical society. No intriguing politician, horse-jockey, gambler, or sot; but all such characters treated with contempt. Such a situation may be considered as the most favorable to social happiness of any which this world can afford.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CONJUGAL AFFECTION.

BARON HALLER, ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE, FROM "CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.'

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1. Shall I sing thy death, Marianne? What a theme! When my sighs interrupt my words, and one idea flies before another! The pleasures thou didst bestow on me, row augment my sorrows. I open the wounds of a heart that yet bleeds, and thy death is renovated to me.

2. But my passion was too violent. Thou didst merit it too well; and thine image is too deeply engraven on my soul, to permit me to be silent. The expressions of thy love revivify, in some degree, my felicity they afford me a tender recollection of our faithful union, as a remembrance thou wouldest have left to me.

3. These are not lines dictated by wit; the artificial complaints of a poet. They are perturbed sighs, which escape from a heart not sufficient for its anguish. Yes, I am going to paint my troubled soul, affected by love and grief, that only occupied by the most distressing images, wanders in a labyrinth of affliction.

4. I see thee yet, such as thou wast at death. I approached thee, touched by the most lively despair. Thou didst call back thy last strength, to express one word, which I yet asked from thee. O soul, fraught with the purest sentiments, thou didst only appear disturbed for my afflictions; thy last expressions were only those of love and tenderness, and thy last actions only those of resignation.

5. Whither shall I fly? Where shall I find in this country an asylum, which only offers to me objects of terror? This house, in which I lost thee; this sacred dome, in which repose thy ashes; these children! Ah! my blood chills at the view of those tender images of thy beauty, whose artless voices call for their mother. Whither shall I fly? Why cannot I fly to thee? 6. Does not my heart owe thee the sincerest tears? Here thou hadst no other friend but me. It was I who snatched thee from the bosom of thy family; thou didst quit them to follow 1 deprived thee of a country where thou wast loved by relatives who cherished thee, to conduct thee, alas! to the tomb.

me.

7. In those sad adieus with which thy sister embraced thee, while the country gradually fading from our eyes, she lost our last glances; then with a softened kindness, mingled with a tender resignation, thou didst say, I depart with tranquillity; what can I regret? My Haller acompanies me.

8. Can I recollect without tears, the day that united me to thee? Yet even now, softened pleasure mingles with my sorrows, and rapture with my affliction. How tenderly loved thy heart! that heart which could forget every thing, birth, beauty, and wealth! and which, notwithstanding the avowal I made of my fortune, only valued me for my sentiments.

9. Soon thou didst resign thy youth, and quit the world to be entirely mine! Superior to ordinary virtue, thou wast only beautiful for me. Thy heart was alone attached to mine; careless of thy fate, thou wast alone troubled with my lightest sorrows, and enraptured with a glance that expressed content.

10. A will, detached from the vanity of the world, and resigned to heaven; content, and a sweet tranquillity, that neither joy nor grief could disturb; wisdom in the education of thy children; a heart overflowing with tenderness, yet free from weakness; a heart made to soothe my sorrows; it was this that formed my pleasures, and that forms my griefs.

11. And thus I loved thee, more than the world could believe, more than I knew myself. How often in embracing thee with ardor, has my heart thought, with trembling, Ah! if I should lose her! How often have I wept in secret!

12. Yes, my grief will last, even when time shall have dried my tears the heart knows other tears than those which cover the face. The first flame of my youth, the sadly pleasing recollection of thy tenderness, the admiration of thy virtue, are an eternal debt for my heart.

13. In the depth of the thickest woods, under the green shade of the beech, where none will witness my complaints, I will seek for thy amiable image, and nothing shall distract my recollection. There I shall see thy graceful mien, thy sadness when I parted from thee, thy tenderness when I embraced thee, thy joy at my return.

14. In the sublime abodes of the celestial regions I will follow thee; I will seek for thee beyond the stars that roll beneath thy feet. It is there that thy innocence will shine in the splendor of heavenly light; it is there that with new strength thy soul shall enlarge its ancient boundaries.

15. It is there, that, accustoming thyself to the light of divinity, thou findest thy felicity in its councils; and that thou minglest thy voice with the angelic choir, and a prayer in my favor. There thou learnest the utility of my affliction. God

unfolds to thee the volume of fate; thou readest his designs in our separation, and the close of my career.

16. O soul of perfection, which I loved with such ardor, but which I think I loved not enough, how amiable art thou in the celestial splendor that environs thee! A lively hope elevates me; refuse not thyself to my vows; open thy arms; I fly to be united eternally with thee.

CHAPTER XXIV.

STORY OF LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF.

1. In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery and murder were committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia, by two Indians of the Shawanese tribe. The neighboring whites, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage in a summary way. Colonel Cresap, a man infamous for the many murders he had committed on those much-injured people, collected a party, and proceeded down the Kanhawa in quest of vengeance.

2. Unfortunately, a canoe of women and children, with one man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore, unarmed, and not suspecting any hostile attack from the whites. Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the bank of the river; and the moment the canoe reached the shore, singled out their objects, and at one fire killed every person in it.

3. This happened to be the family of Logan, who had long been distinguished as the friend of the whites. This unworthy return provoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized bimself in the war which ensued.

4. In the autumn of the same year, a decisive battle was fought at the mouth of the great Kanhawa, between the collected forces of the Shawanese, Mingoes, and Delawares, and a detachment of the Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated, and sued for peace.

5. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants; but, lest the sincerity of a treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguished a chief absented himself, he sent by a messenger, the following speech, to be delivered to Lord Dunmore.

6. "I appeal to any white man to say, if Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him no came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in vocate for peace.

ever he entered food; if ever he During the last his cabin, an ad

7. "Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed by, and said, Logan is the friend of white I had even thought to live with you, had it not been for

men.

the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children.

8. "There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it; I have killed many; I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace; but do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one."

CHAPTER XXV.

SPEECH OF A SCYTHIAN EMBASSADOR TO ALEXANDER. 1. When the Scythian embassadors waited on Alexander the Great, they gazed on him a long time without speaking a word, being very probably surprised, as they formed a judgment of men from their air and stature, to find that his did not answer the high idea they entertained of him from his fame.

2. At last, the oldest of the embassadors addressed him thus: "Had the gods given thee a body proportioned to thy ambition, the whole universe would have been too little for thee. With one hand thou wouldst touch the East, and with the other the West; and, not satisfied with this, thou wouldst follow the sun, and know where he hides himself.

3. But what have we to do with thee? We never set foot in thy country. May not those who inhabit woods be allowed to live, without knowing who thou art, and whence, thou comest? We will neither command over, nor submit to any

man.

4. And that thou mayest be sensible what kind of people the Scythians are, know that we received from heaven, as a rich present, a yoke of oxen, a plowshare, a dart, a javelin, and a cup. These we make use of, both with our friends and against

our enemies.

5. To our friends we give corn, which we procure by the labor of our oxen; with them we offer wine to the gods in our cup; and with regard to our enemies, we combat them at a distance with our arrows, and near at hand with our javelins.

6. But thou, who boasted thy coming to extirpate robbers, art thyself the greatest robber upon earth. Thou has plundered all nations thou overcamest; thou hast possessed thyself of Lybia, invaded Syria, Persia, and Bactriana; thou art forming a design to march as far as India; and now thou comest hither to seize upon our herds of cattle.

7. The great possessions thou hast, only make thee covet the

more eagerly what thou hast not. If thou art a god, thou oughtest to do good to mortals, and not deprive them of their possessions.

8. If thou art a mere man, reflect always on what thou art. They whom thou shalt not molest, will be thy true friends; the strongest friendships being contracted between equals; and they are esteemed equals, who have not tried their strength against each other. But do not suppose that those whom thou conquerest can love thee."

CHAPTER XXVI.

SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF GEN. PUTNAM.

1. When General Putnam first moved to Pomfret, in Con necticut, in the year 1739, the country was new, and much infested with wolves. Great havoc was made among the sheep, by a she-wolf, which, with her annual whelps, had for several years continued in that vicinity. The young ones were commonly destroyed by the vigilance of the hunters; but the old one was too sagacious to be ensnared by them.

2. This wolf, at length, became such an intolerable nuisance, that Mr. Putnam entered into a combination with five of his neighbors, to hunt alternately until they could destroy her. Two, by rotation, were to be constantly in pursuit. It was known, that, having lost the toes from one foot, by a steel-trap, she made one track shorter than the other.

3. By this vestige, the pursuers recognized, in a light snow, the route of this pernicious animal. Having followed her to Connecticut river, and found she had turned back in a direct course towards Pomfret, they immediately returned, and by ten o'clock the next morning, the blood-hounds had driven her into a den, about three miles distant from the house of Mr. Putnam.

4. The people soon collected with dogs, guns, straw, fire and sulphur, to attack the common enemy. With this apparatus, several unsuccessful attempts were made to force her from the den. The hounds came back badly wounded, and refused to return. The smoke of blazing straw had no effect. Nor did the fumes of burnt brimstone, with which the cavern was filled, compel her to quit the retirement.

5. Wearied with fruitless attempts, (which had brought the time to ten o'clock at night,) Mr. Putnam tried once more to make his dog enter, but in vain; he proposed to his negro man to go down in the cavern, and shoot the wolf. The negro declined the hazardous service.

6. Then it was that their master, angry at the disappointment, and declaring that he was ashamed at having a coward

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