perceived his wife, he poured into her sympathetic ear the full extent of his misfortune.

66

I canna haud up my head after this!" he exclaimed; "I may as weel die at ance at the back o' some auld dyke-I'm clean ruined -pocket-book and a' ""

"It's no sae bad's that, Tam!" replied his wife; "come awa frae the market, and I'll tell ye something that'll maybe astonish ye: oots, come awa!" she continued, dragging him by the coat.

"Get awa, woman!" said Thomas, "is this a time for your jikes an' your astonishing stories. What ye ha'e to say, can ye no say't here. Odd, woman, ye'll pit me mad."

“Ou, ay, Tam, but it'll be wi' joy, lad. Come awa and hear my

secret."

"D-n yer secret!" said Thomas in a fury; "I tell ye, I've lost my pocket-book!"

“And I tell ye, I've fund it!" said his dearie, producing it, "and here it is!"

"So it is the indentical pocket-book!" cried Thomas. "Whaur did ye get it—but ye'll tell me a' that again. Let's see, though, if a's safe! ten-twenty-thretty-forty-and three twenties is a hundred-and five tens is fifty-ou, ay! a's here-a's safe-and I think, wife, ye deserve a new goun for yer luck. Come up to Herkes the Haberdasher, and I'll treat ye to a braw ane!"

So saying, he clasped his black pocket-book with an air of triumph, and with no less satisfaction gave his wife a smack that was heard over the whole market. Ever afterwards, the story of the black pocket-book formed one of his most amusing stories, when he was disposed to treat his fireside circle with a hearty laugh-at his own expense.

A.

YES! years have pass'd, and many more may be,
Before 'tis ours again to meet, if ever;

Yet, oh! beloved friend, the thought of thee
Still lives, and ieaves my faithful spirit never!

My soul-none reads; thy name-I breathe it not;
Apart from mine thy changeful lot is cast ;-
Perchance even thou may'st deem thou art forgot,
We met in smiles, and smiling parted last.

But thou wert with me in that vernal time

When childhood's dreams made sainier in the heart,
And who that shares with us life's early prime,
But claims remembrance never to depart!

We ne'er may meet again!-yet is it nought
That we have met in that bright fleeting spring
Of purest joy, whose bloom but once is caught,
And leaves behind but woe and withering?

Oh! is it nought to think that we have trod

The same green haunts, in summer's radiant weather? And roaming thus with Nature and her God,

Have smiled, and wept, and hoped, and prayed together?

For ever, and for ever in my mind,

With all youth's brightest and most glorious things, Thy name is linked, thy memory is enshrined,

Nor time nor change can loose the golden strings!

Whene'er I look upon the sunset skies,

Whene'er I catch the breath of mountain flower, Whene'er I gaze on childhood's laughing eyesThou comest to me with many a faded hour!

The summer morning, full of dews and light,
The simplest tones of music sad and wild,
The calm of ocean in the starry night,
Whate'er brings back the feelings of the child-

All speak of thee! and oft unconscious tears,
Not sorrowful, but sweet, will gently start,
To think the friend of earlier, happier years,
Is great and noble, as I feel thou art!

We ne'er may meet again! yet do I love

To ponder on those days long fled for ever;
A thousand blessings crown thee from above-
While memory lives, thine own shall perish never!

Edinburgh Literary Journal.

GERTRUDE

THE INDIAN WIFE.

SHORTLY after the coureurs des bois began to carry packs and drive dog sledges in the lands on the upper waters of the Mississippi, there lived at the Kahpozhah village, three leagues below the mouth of the river St Peters, an Indian who was the cynosure of the eyes of all the maidens in his band. This was because or his rare personal beauty; not of form, for that is common to all Indians, but of countenance. His skill as a hunter, and his bravery as a warrior, were qualities more likely to recommend him to their parents; but strange to say, the swarthy daughters of the forest judged by the eye, as some authors have falsely asserted their sex is in the habit of doing. The object of their admiration had feminine features, and a skin lighter by five shades than the national complexion of the Dahcotahs, and his hair, beside being light, was also fine and glossy. He prided himself upon it, and suffered it to grow long; thereby grievously scandalizing the male population of the village. His toilet was usually adjusted with scrupulous accuracy; he changed the fashion of his paint five times per diem, and his activity in the chase enabled him to wear so much scarlet cloth, and so many beads and silver broaches, as made him the envy of those of his own age and sex. Those who imagine that the aborigines are all stoics and heroes, and those who think them solely addicted to rapine and bloodshed, and are therefore disposed to dispute the truth of this sketch of Indian character, are informed that there are fops in the forest as well as in Broadway; yet the elegance of the features of Toskatnay, (the Woodpecker) for so was our Dahcotah dandy called, and his taste in dress, were not his only merits. The war eagle's plume which completed his array, was an honourable evidence that he had acquired a right to call himself a man. In fact, beneath an almost feminine appearance, and much frivolity of manner, he concealed the real strength of his character. To the maidens who listened with glistening eyes to his discourse, and blushed when he addressed them, his motto seemed to "let them look and die." Exquisite as he was, his soul was full of higher matters than love or gallantry. He aspired to sway the councils of his people, and to lead them in battle, and if he condescended to please the eyes, and tickle the ears of the women, it was only because he knew that it was the surest way to exert an influence over the men. He was not so much of a savage as not to know so much of human nature.

From Tales of Indian Life. America, 1830.

Yet he had no idea of marrying, but as it might further his views; and to the admiration of the young squaws he shut his eyes, while against their complaints that "no one cared for them," he hardened his heart.

With all his schemes, he had not calculated upon the power of the blind god. But his time was to come, and the connexion he was destined to form, was to have a powerful influence on his future fortunes.

In the same village with our hero dwelt a damsel, whose name was Weenokhenchah Wandeeteekah (the Brave Woman). This girl never praised Toskatnay's attire, nor listened to his compliments, nor sought to attract his attention. On the contrary, she avoided his notice. Why she did thus, we do not pretend to explain. We pretend not to expound the freaks of passion, any more than the profundities of philosophy, nor can we tell why love should choose to show himself in such a capricious manner. Let it suffice that she was thought to hate our hero until an event occurred that contradicted the supposition.

One hot day in July, a rabid wolf, such as are sometimes seen in the prairies, came to pay the village a visit. The cornfields lay in his way, and as animals in his predicament never turn aside, he entered it. It so chanced that Weenokhenchah Wandeeteekah was at that time using her hoe therein, in company with other girls, while Toskatnay stood near them, cheering their labour and edifying their minds, pretty much in the style of Ranger in the "Jealous Husband." The wolf made directly at him, and the girls seeing by the slaver of his jaws, what ailed him, shrieked and fled. Toskatnay, being no Yankee, could not guess the cause of their terror, and was looking about for it, when the animal was within five paces of him. Weenokhenchah Wandeeteekah alone stood firm, and seeing that he must inevitably be bitten, she advanced and clove the beast's skull with her hoe, contrary to the law in such cases made and provided by novel writers, which ordains that the gentleman shall rescue the lady from danger, and not the lady the gentleman. Having thus done, the colour forsook her cheeks, and she swooned and fell. Toskatnay, though an Indian fine gentleman, did not catch her in his arms, nor kneel by her. But he did what was as much to the purpose. He ran to the village, which was but a few rods distant, and sent the women to her assistance. With some difficulty they brought her to her senses.

From that hour his attentions, which had before been considered by the girls as common property, were confined to her. Love and gratitude prevailed, and for a while his dreams of ambition were forgotten. He wore leggins of different colours, and sat all day

upon a log, playing on a flute with three holes, and singing songs in her praise. When she was gone to cut wood, he was not to be found in the village. He gave her beads and vermilion, and in short played the Indian lover in all points.

Indian courtships never last long, and ere the leaves began to fall, Weenokhenchah Wandeeteekah was the wedded wife of Toskatnay. For a time, he forgot his nature and his former prepossessions, and he even saw three war parties leave the village without testifying much concern. But these halcyon days did not last long. A mind like his could not be content with ignoble triumphs over the brute tenants of the woods and prairies. His excursions grew longer in duration, and more frequent in occurrence, and at last the poor bride saw herself totally neglected. Another cause concurred in this result. She belonged to a family that could boast no hero, no chief, nor any wise man among its members, and her husband saw with regret that he had formed an alliance that could never enhance his importance in his tribe. The devoted affection, and unwearied attention with which she endeavoured to recall his heart, only filled him with disgust. Within the year she made him a father, but the new relation in which he stood, did not reclaim him. In the eyes of his people, he pursued a more honourable course: he joined every warlike excursion, obtained the praise of all by his valour; and once by his conduct and presence of mind, when the camp in which his lodge was pitched was surprised, he saved it, and turned the tables on the assailants. In consequence, he was thought worthy to be a leader of men, and became the head partizan in two successful inroads on the enemies' country.

He was envied as well as admired. Many there were, older than himself, who aspired to the objects of his ambition, and one in especial, without a tithe of his merits, outstripped him in his course by means of extended connections, and thwarted him in every particular. This was a man named Chahpah (the Beaver), about forty years of age. He had nine wives, whom he supported in the usual style, and their relations were at his beck. Jealous of the growing influence of Toskatnay, he opposed his opinions, and turned the weak parts of his character into ridicule. The young warrior felt this deeply, and revolved in his own mind the means of making the number of his adherents equal to that of his rival. There were two ways presented themselves to his acceptance; the one to take to his lodge more wives; and the other, to continue to exert himself in the field. By the latter means, in the course of time, if he was not untimely cut off, he would attain the desired distinction. By the former his object would be effected more speedily.