The spirit of democracy. [volume], February 28, 1845, Image 1

About The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994

Image provided by: Ohio History Connection, Columbus, OH

                
i.'.l 'I'.
' Vi.-.u' V' S:. .iTT:ia.;:;i. hn
1 !; V : V- :. i ' pi. : H'". t, ''J7. tit '; ' '.' f
,: ,('. ,v'- .j!::-yi,:'J,j j ;
j -J r'i iif: ?PRINCIPLES'AND MEASURESAND MeI THAT WlLLCARB HOSE PKINOTLEs'AND1 MEASURES INT6 EFFECT." I .
By 'James; ir.';;'Jonttis:'';i .'::'vi-
t W0OH8FIKLD, OHIO, FUIOAY, FEBRUAUY 28, 1845
i.
f. '11'
4 . ' r.
' I jv i
Volume 1, . JSuapbeb 52
rT9
uuri
- " " iE ii'iii iit'- mi in iu .in i m in .. : -im n fj , n.i ; in i i
VVI' I Li 'ill
11 1 1 1 i
K
.
4-1
SPIRIT OP DEMOCRACY
1
-, TERMS 1,58 per annum in dvnee; $2,00
paid within six months'; $2,60 if paid within the
year, and $3,Q(Lif. payment be delayed ' until- after
the expiration of we year. - '; f ,;' ' '" '-'ii
J: 09r No paper will be discontinued, except at the
option of tbe editor, until all arrears are paid
. ' . 09- All communications tent by mail mint be
posi-paia. . ''
'. i AdvbbtisejE!t inserted at the usual ratea
1'' C'A M P B E L K'B
FUN'EttAt."
-i' I . ?; t ' tH : ' ' i ' 1 ' ';'".
" HY MobAcb bmitii.
.;t ?( n ! . : -Ti
well to see these accidental great,
- .y
. '' Noble hv hrtn'. or Fortune's favor blind. '
-firaCing themselves in adding grace and state '
.rTo the more noble eminence ol mind, " ''
f :,; And'doing' homage to a bard, '' :' (i ir i ' ''
Whcwe breast by nature's gems was itarr'd,
'Whose patent by the hand of God himself was
JVhile monarch sleep, forgottoq unrevered,,'. , -
T Tjine tnms the lamp of intellectual fame. .. (
The builders of the pyramids who reared . . ,
' Mountains of stone, left none to tell their name,
Though Homer's tomb was never known,
A jnausoleum of. his own, "' . " 7, , ,
Lon as die world endure hfs greatness shall
';") proclaim. - '-.' '-l - :
tij .-:'.:;:!: I- r.i.i -t-J: .''; j'.:
' What lauding sepulcre doe Campbell want? . ,j
f .'Tis his to give and not derive renown,. , ..
What, monumental bronze or adamant, r
t. Like his own deathless lays can hand him down?
PoeU outlast their tombs; thejbnst .. ',
' -' And statue soon revert to dust; ' '
The dust they represent still wears the laurel
c '"''crown.' ' ' -' ' ''' '' "'.
--.v; . a ..-;.' -.V ;
The solid abbey walls that seem time proof, '
n . Form'd to await the final day of doom; .,
The clusler'd shafts, and arch supported roof, '
(! That now enshrine nnd guard our Campbell's
tomb, , . . . ;: '.:;'-.;..
(, Become a ruin'd shatter'd fane, .. . .....
' May fall and bury hini again, .: i , .
. Yet still the bard shal live, his fame-wreath still
. '' ' : shall bloom. 4 - '
. Jrf ' 4s' '-' iV ." :' 5i-
'Rethought the monumental effigies; . , . r 'svm,
s . Of elder poets that were group'd around, t , :
.ean'd front, tlieij pedestuls with eager eyes,' . . .
; uTo peer into the excavated groundfj .-. .; ,
i ' v Where lay the gifted good, and brave,.. , ;;j ;
While earth from Koscuisko's grave,. . , , , . . . '
t , Fell on his co'lfin plate with Freedom's shrieking
soudu r , .,
't:Hi.. .;. :'. . :-j
(And over him the kindred dust was strew M'
Of Poet's Corner.' O, misnomer strange !
The poet's confine is the amp litude -
' Of Hie whole earth's illimitable range, V a
O'er which his spirit winged its flight,," :
Shedding an iuteJIvCtual light, lt ; . T v
' t: S un. that neve sets, n moon t that knows no
change." ' ,,
'Around his grave in radiant brotherhood, ' ' '
W As if to form a halo o'er hi head, ' .'! '-
Not few of England's master spirits stood, ' i i.'
-fi Bards,,arti3tff, snges, reverently ted -J ' .., j
:,!H,iXo waive each separating pleaii ifiu''
'.( i Of. ect olim, party and degree,;; ;.' 1 I
All honoring, hint pn whom, Jfaturt; all honors;
. shed.,
1,
' 'Te me; the humblest of the mourrtfng band, :
Who knew the bard thro' many a changeful year,
' It was a proud, sad prililege to stand ' !
Beside his grave and shed a parting tear.1 ;''
Seven lustres had he been my Iriend. . ' ' ; ;
- ay..-" Be that my plea when I suspend ' '
v.i:This all-uo worthy wreath on such a poet's bier.
.", -.-? :-,:;.( i- K- '
-' 0e was buried in Poet's Corner, Westminster
v Abbey, his pall being supported by sii noblemen.
k z f 'And Ireedom shriek'd as Kosciusko fell." I
- ' . ' . .. QwmplicU.
t h e ii o i c II a i x
I A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF LAFITTE
T IXUEB BEES.
-v ; CHAPTER I. THE PIRATE 8 HOME,
V1 . The island of Barratai ia is associa
S in history with the nama of Lafittei li
f,wa8 the scMie of many of his .murders,
: . and. the. rendezvous of his desperate
4 crew and their wonderful cliiefvj Jt wn
.aliQ the mart for the sale Tof jjegroes;
;whQm he had kidnapped from planta-i
- -tions,or wrested from slare ships by the,
.strong hand of powerv Its distance from
New. Orleans is about fifty-five, miles,
r.: which gave Lafitte .numerous fafcilities,
-, n6t only: for the purpose of trade, ,Jbut
;the means of escape: in case of danger.
; ..Frotn this point he directed hisrnen;, it
. jwas here he issued his Ibrdersj . which
; i.earried death and .destruction with
' -; them,and here he organised his -: plans
; . iOnd, disciplined, his numerous spies.
' .Not a vessel evereft the levee of NeW
i i Orleans but was subject to the closest
. V t.scrutiny pf his emisaries, whomever bold
?; jand trustworthy, seldom, if. ever, failed
-JL j , their means'of obtaining information
v jtjs said, and from. the: writer's knowU
v , edge justly too, tiiat there are those liv
t -iingwho amasBed lordjy wealth through
. the, agency of Lafitte; they are pointed
out to jhe. stranger .as theysoll through
the streets of Je w Orleans ia .their e
'; .'.'rjuipages, attended; by Uieir liveried
sayes, caring Jittie for the way in which
it was obtained nor the quantity of in
noceni blood; shed in its realization It
will be; remembered' by many, that du
ring thor years 1 8 JO, , ' 1 1 , and 1 2, a
number of yessejs were missing, partic
ularly those which sailed, richly laden,
from New Orleans and the West Indies,
over whoso dark and fearful fate many
a tale of blood has .been .told.; These
ales have been accompanied with the
report of the bright red banner being
seen on .the. high, seas," and were not
without their foundation in truth. . ,'
The loss of the vessel and its' cargo
would have been but little thought, of
by rh.en whose active commercial pur
suits and wild speculations have taught
them to bear up nobly against reverses,
but when to such losses, was added that
of human life, it was a matter for more
serious consideration nor was the gov
ernment idle in its attempts to subdue
this scourge of the sea; but, as it is well
known, the desperate character of La
fitte, his tact, his genius, ' and local ad
vantages, kept his enemies at bay, and
on occasions, when almost brought into
contact, laughed at. them. .. To show
his recklesness, and total disregard of
law . and its authority, when Gov. Clai
borne, of Louisiana, offered a reward of
jive hundred dollars for, the Pirate's
head, that bold bucaneer, in his turn.
on"ered;a thousand for that of the Gov
ernor, and the placards, offering such a
reward, were, actually posted up in the
city of New Orleans, tfuch was the
man who was justly called 'The. Terror
of the Ocean.' : ;. - , ; ; .
; CHAPTER II. THE BOARDINO II0USEVi.
Boarding hQuses in New Orleans are
conducted upon principles differing ma
terially from those of other cities. This
arises as much from the fact of the land
lady assuming the character of a moth
er to her boarders, as that of a nursa,
and in many cases, physician; to such
.kindness 'and, attention , has many a
stranger been indebted for his life, when
the fearful scourge which annualy vis
its that city maes its appearance'.
JLJence.it isthat inlargeiwilrding hou
ses there exists a sympathy of feeling,
which'is every way calculated to make
one feel at home, though he be among
.strangers., They seem, as it were, u-'
nited in one.vast fajiiily and in the va
rious amusements in which the boarders
indulge, the good landlady and her chil
dren are not overlooked-balls, parties,
soiress, and thS theatre, in. nil oi which,
the relative position of each, in the great
scale of society is sunk,' and alj are con-,
sidered equal. Many keepers of board
ing houses, are, howuver, of the most
,respectable,,characterl and of course. it
is ot sucnye, speak. ..'j .
. Widows of ern'iqent men have been
knovvn to resort to this, mode jOf. sup
porting themselves nnd families; the ex
travagance of the husband having left
the wife destitute of, every i thing, but
prido. and high notions, .both of which
form., the ; poorest." kind of legacies.1
Boarding houses, being looked, upon as
respectable, ..wheri-, respectable people
keep them, pride loses nothing in resort
ing to such . means, to support its digni
ty, and the more ignoble purpose of
putting bread into the mouths of its vo
taries., Many keepers of boarding hou
ses in New Orleans have made fortunes
and retired; r 'The. widow and d,aoghtet
ofthe Jate General, W kept a board
i ng housejn that city . fo if . m any years. .
the; year !.8 J U the house of .Mrs.
Uavidge,;a widow lady .91 iginaljy roiri
B.aJ.tiniorq, was.t,he centre of attraption
to the young men. of N.ewOrleins,and
strangers, who visit in the healtly sea-1
son. During the winter jtwas crowd
ed, largo, parties; were freqoetafly.'giveri
by .her boarders, and.- the lighted '-balls!
resounded to. merry, rlausic wtHe the
jo.yo.us laugh!pf rhany a happy heart a
woke the echo of die noiseless: streets,
Much .of the attractive 1' power f Mr'si
Davidge'q house. might have beenand.
perhaps very, justly, attributed to hei
! pharnjing . daughter, . Amejia - was in;
tneeigiueenvi ypaj ot her, age.:She
was poetigallypd truly beautifuli jef
beauty-, w&iofthatjijnd. Best calculated
for a sputhern clime, pnil fprsouthjrn
era to admire',:. her, hair dark as the ra
ven's wngj; which, .floating over ier
necki fit for a sculptor's nvdel, seemed
as if nature had set. up' a standard, of
perfection. ".She was'; beautiful,.. ond
possessed, Withal, a mind in every way
worthy so pure, holy, and., classic' a
teipple. She seemel,,, indeed, ;as ;the
poet happily epressed it, .r ' I
beauteous ripplo on the brjlltant stream. J
iHersoiuhernlifej.shorias it was,fo
her mother.had onlv ;'residei inV New
Orleans about eight or nine -years. apL.
yCpou imv o k.rqainf; no ungtii moon
light of the clime had made herroman)
tic.: j The flashing eyes of the Creoles,
and the lightsome, notes of flatterjvhad
warmed her into a coquette Coquettes
are 'not always cold. V She was a crea
ture of fancy; her action were in .the
impulses ofthe moment;hence thoughts
and words flowed on like the mountain
torrent, fearless alike of rocks and their
consequences. "I, About the period of
-which we are now speaking, and while
her mother was making arrangements
to return to her native city 4 to live up
on the fruits of ,her .industry, 'Amelia
had two suitors; one was a -Spanish
youth of noble family, rich in his own
right, and heir to the title and estates of
his ancestry. Adolphus. Fernandez
came to New. Orleans on a visit, board
ing with Mrs. Davidge, and. as might
have been expected, fell in love with
her daughter.. The other was a dark,'
mysterious man, who called himself Go
mez., He was a man of Herculean pro
portions, and apparently about forty
years of age; his features were not
what might be termed ugly, .but were
of a peculiar tormation, having more of
the filling up of the bravo than the sim
ple outline of honesty about them; his
conduct was strange, although his man
ners were those of a gentleman; the
mystery that surrounded him was fear
ful, his appearance always created un
pleasant sensations, as if possessed of
the fabled "ovil eye;? he was wealthy
and liberal, and if a suspicion was crea
ted against him to-day, it was dispelled
on the morrow, for he was frequently
seen in company with the most popular
men of the city. JMrs. Davidge having
arranged her business, had fixed upon a
time to start. ; Now it was that Amelia
found it necessary to decide between
her two lovers, the young Spaniard,'
Adolphus, or the dark Gomez, v
... ... ;... ,;. . ,:, , .,.' .:
.,; "Say, dearest Amelia,, will you' be
mine?" whispered the 'first, while he
stov-d beside the object of his affections,
on the balcony of her mother's house.
"Say, dearest, will you be mine, and on j
the wings of love will follow you to
your new home. 1 You know 1 must
return to Spain, and then : , , -j . . :
., "Forget me.'' , ; ; n , ,-. !r,
;r ttNekixoluHned the impassioned
youth; "Oh, Amelia, if you. knew how
much I love you if you could feel the
pangs which hope and fear have inflict
ed, this heart, in fear of losing you the
word "forget" would not have escaped
those lips.." -- .-.!... . - .
There was a pause. Silence reigned ;
the silvery moon sailed on; the breeze
swept down the street; it was a lovely
Lniiht,; . 1 he pands ot the lovers were
Lclasped in each other's. The. maiden
signed--her late was sealed, r :
"Year this, deurest, for the, sake of
thy, Adolphiis," nnd he placed upon her
neck a costly chain f gold, vi .i :
; .Slie stood alone her thoughts bright
and glowing she loved and was belov
ed the night air fanned - her burning
cheek ishff was happy. . ! ;.
. t S6, Miss,'? hissed a deep voice in
her ear, "you have pledged faith to the
Spaniard beware of the Frenchmen !"
She 8turtedj'Gornez stood beside her!
"Look to it, proud one, and remember
me Lafitti?.'': , .
She uttered a Wild and fearful shriek,
which was mocked by the fiendish
laugh': of the Pirate, for such indeed he
was, while he carried her senseless in
to the house. ' , V ..',;'.. .
CHAPTERtll. THE DEPARTURE 1
On a bright morning in June, the le
yee of New Orleans, or. rather that
portion of it opposite Esplanade street,
presented a h' vejy appearance. 'Sever
al Vessels were about to. depart down
the. .Mississippi; among them was; the
brig Dolphin, bo-undior Baltimore .orj
board of .which was Afrjr Davidge arid
her familyF f. Numerous: friends , were?
leavp-tking, as tliey call it ; hands were
clasped," and 'fi6rs.t were -hedf. "God
bjess ypun was uttered a hundred, time9
by as many, different -voices, but the
sottpmrmur ofone Voice ia the ear of
Amelia. "remember me," wasof all
ojdiers, the. most pleasing "perliaps.it
was the most sincere. The word was
given, and the fleet of vessels were ''or!
their" winding way," Frorn that bright
moment when all was joyous and hap
py, when the future; looked like a.stain
less mirror in which were reflected al
the . youthful, aspirations of one lovely
creature; from that bright hour, when
the heart of the t young .Spaniard; beat
highest, to.thu hour the. Dolphin, , its
Eassengersand crew have never been
eard. otdaikness rests upon their fate
but tearful Burmises, corroborated by
one chain ot evidence, create a belief,
tiiat their end was of a nature too hor
rible to dwell upon. n x H!, , j-
Iff'? "'ith l-U.t.H'. 1 " i'fii
f " CHAPTER IV. THE 3AU. ROOM,
"' I
Twelve months after the loss of the
brig Dolphin, on a gala ; night, a ball
room in New Oceans, where maskers
mostly did congregate, was the scene
of rriuchgaity. '.'There is not a peopU
in ! the . world who- enjoy themselves
more, during the - winter, season, than
do the denizens of that city; 'that, por
tion of the year, particularly the time
of the Carnival, is one continued scene
of excitement, and the ball rooms are
the temples at whose shrine the gay
votaries of fashion delight to worship.
There are, in' New Orleans, several
ball rooms, of distinct and marked char
acters. Some few are so select that
suspicion dare not enter, others are o
pen to all except the quartroon ; but the
quartroon ball is open to' all, without
distinction of shade or classification of
color; in fact, the latter was, at the pe
riod of which we speak, the most fre-
Suented. The quartroons are a new
istinct class, yet so wild and romantic
in their attachments, so passionate
withal, that the scenes of their amuse
ments is the centre of attraction to all,
nor; is the complexion of their beauty
lessened by the tincture of blood, which,
although it debars their marriage With
the Creoles, strengthens the tie of love.
This period of the history of the place
would afford materials for a volume.
But to my story. : j
The place to which we invite the
attention of our readers, on this partic
ular night, Was what is called the Quar
troon Ball Room,- It was; and is to this
day? the most splendid in the place.
Youth and beauty,' love and pleasure,
reigned throughout; all were happy, for
all were pleased. .In a corner of the
visit saloon, unknown and unnoticed,
stood Adolphus Fernandez- ' The mem
ory of the lost one so wildly, loved,
had cast a shade of sorrow over his
manly brow He was' drawn to this
spot this scene of festivity and - joy,
in the vain hope that excitement would
crown recollection, but.ulas! V
' v 'Through the shadowy past, '
Like a tomb searcher, Memory ran,
.. Lifting each shroud that time has cast ,
, O'er buried hopes.'
Ilis'eyes Were fixed on. the 'waltzers,
but jiis thoughts were on the opera,
linking in imagination' that , chainless
element to the memory; of tieYhe loved,'
and whom he n w mourned. ' Mechan
ically his eyes followed the figure of
one, simply because there was in her
every movement grace and action; the
mask, loo,, was, placed so as to show
more of the brunette thai' the quar
troon horror! what meets the eve?
what basilisk chimn'has" she about rie.r
to Cause such a glare in. those eyes?
He stood petrified, and for a moment
the whole scene passed before hiirv like
a lableq vision., .What was it?
As soon' as- the dance was over, he
Sought the figure, and grasping it by
the arm with nervous power, he drew
it to one of the recesses. . ."
' "Speak,on your life, speak the truth;
if you prevaricate .or attempt to scream
death, aye, death here, amidst flash
ing lights and, brighter eyes, will be
your inevitable diom; I will sheathe
this dagger in your heart scream, it
will be your knell' for eternity. 1 am
mad, crazed, but one word, speak be
fore reaso'n quits its seat where
where did you get that chain?' , '
. "This chain?" . , V;-
"Aye, this chain that I now grasp,
and have "grasped often before speak,
woman, how came you by it, ahd who
are you? Not a moment's delay!'''
" ."Hush, sir, are there' no listeners?
This chain is linked with the name of
one whom it would be dangerous to re
peat here." ; '
""Woman, fiend! torture me not!--how
did you come by this chain?'.' i
" vThe masTters gazed around them,
there was no ohe'near them, the "dag
ger was stilfirf the hand of the Span
iard, and was so held as to be seen on
ly by herself his eyes , glared wildly
upon her with a fearful brightness. 4
' Dra W. nearer, "sir; Jet me whisper
in your ear, ' This chain belonged to
one",'.' ,: ;'" !t . .;'!-';-".' .. , ' '
"Sp'eak,'speak!--whatbf her! Tell
me her: fate!" ,; y ;
' "Death! the fate bf'the passengers,
and crew of the brig Dolphin." ' ';. ' v. )
."Gracious heavens !"s murmured he,
"and you,' who are you?Jtnd hov came
this chain into your possession '.'.'. I
' "It was a present I am the mistress
of Lafitte the Pirate of the Gulf,," . . i
. ';One groan of anguish, and the unforj
tunatQ, youth fe'.l prostrate at her feet-'
".'."Fool!'' muttered a dark figure with
astraage mask;" "he recognized . the
chain on youf heck. Poor fdol!--hai
ha', ha f ' But' I forbid ybur wearing it
out of.my; sight if he,;recovers', and i
is .pity.he should, we are'Iost." . If was
Lafitte. 4 .'!" "'V'.-vr" ff't'f,"- ,j .,' i
' " The 'music cYased, .noiseless fee
passed oyjfr the.Jloor; the!. lights wer
extinguished,-; aftd ; all was. ;hushed
Adplphgs; Fernandez- was a stiffenetj
corpse.!-.,.ji!,;;;, im-'SU ?i.-j
THE. WHITE STONE CANOE.
i In,"Onepta)r the Red Race of Amer
ica,'; a , work, just published by H. R.
Schoolcraft, intended to illustrate the
history, customs, &c.', of the Aborigt
nes, is told the following beautiful tra
dition, the Better Land;" ,of which
some gleam exists in the hopes of all
nations not totally enveloped in Cim
merian, darkness.. It is prefaced, by
this account of Indian. story telling: ; ;
H. If a stranger among the Indians hap
pens to be seated , with the family n
the lodge, (where the lonely wanderer
has often found a welcome retreat,) he
ma sometimes observe a sudden com
motion, and find, fiom the counteuan
cesof the family that agreeable news
has. arrived. , "Old , has come!"
There is general joy. .. An old Indian
enters, enfeebled by years, and no lon
ger able to join the warriors and hunt
ers, now perhaps absent on some dan
gerous, enterprise, lie possesses a
memory retentive, of the traditions of
the tribe, and probably an imagination
quick at invention 01 embellishment.
As a necessary qualification, he is one
ol the tew well acquainted with his na
tive language. , He loves to repeat his
tales, and the children dearly love to
listen. In the many waste hours ot
savage life, the mother, often realizes
the inconvenience ofhavinjr to provide
occupation for unemployed minds: and
the story-teller is welcomed by her for
we reuei ne urings. ....
. The old man, seated on the ground,
and surrounded by an attentive circle,
begins his tale; and as' the interest ri
ses, and the narrative requires it, he
now changes his tones to imitate differ
ent speakers, varies his countenance
auu, "imuues, or moves across tne
lodge to personate the characters he
describes, :,lhe mother, without dis
turbance, places the kettle on the fire,
and quietly prepares some savory dish
to regale the old wanderer at the close
of his labors. : , , . !
Thus, as by- the minstrels, bards,
and troubadours ot iurmer days, and
as by the Turkish story-tellers at the
present j time, the Indians hand down
their traditions of different kinds from
generation to generation. -.
THE ', WHITE STONE CANOE.
There; was once a very beautiful
young. girl, who died suddenly on the
day she was to have been married to a
handsome youns man.: ; He was also
brave but: his heartwas not proof a-
gainst this loss. from .the. hour che
was buried, there ;was no more joy or
peace tor him. Jtle wpnt oltento vis
it the spot where the- women had bu
ried her, and- sat musing there, when,
it; was thought by some of his friends,
he would have done better to try to
amuse,, himself in the chase, or by di
verting his thoughts in the war path.
But war and hunting had both lost their
charms lor him. , His heart was aliea
dy dead within him. He pushed aside
both his war-club and his bow and ar
rows, .' .:.':-:- V .'!
. He had heard the old people say,
that there was a path, that led to the
land of souls, and he determined to fol
low it. He accordingly set out, one
morning after having completed his
preparations for the journey. At first
he hardly knew which way'to go. He
was only guided by the tradition that
he must, go south. For a while, he
could see no change in the face of the
country. Forests, and hills and val
leys, and .streams had the same looks,
which they wore in his native place.
There !was;.gno w on the ground when
he set out, and it was sometimes seen
to be piled and matted on the thick
trees and bushes. At length, it began
to diminish, and finally disappeared.
The forest assumed a more cheerful ap
pearance, the leaves; put forth their
buds, and before he was aware of the
completeness ofthe change, he found
himself surrounded by spring.. ; He had
left behind him the land of snow and
ice. The air became mild, the dark
clouds of winter had rolled away from
the sky; a pure field of blue was above
him, and as he 'Went he; saw flowers
beside his path, and heard the songs-of
oiras. tsy wtse signs ne Knew -that he
was going the right way, for they a-
greed with the tradition of his tribe.
At length he spied a path.' ;. It led him
through a, grove, then up a Jong and
elevated ridge, on the very top of which
he came to a lodge. At the door stood
an old man, with white- liair. whose
eyes, .though deeply stink, had a fiery
brilliancy.; He 'had. a long robe "of
skins, thrown loosely around his shoul
ders, and a staff in his hands. . , .
The young Chippewayan; began to
tell his -story, but the venerable chief
arreste him,; before he proceeded. tq
speak ten words. . have expected you,
he, replied, and. had just risen to. bid
ypu welqome'to my abode. She, whom
you seek passed here but 'i fe'wdayi
since, and being fatigued with her Jour
ney, rested .' herself here. Enter, mjf
lodge ' and be seated, arid ) wilf then
s'atisfy your inquiries, and giyc yoy dn
rections for your journey frorrj thi
point. ' Having' done "thisV(Jthey' "both,
issued forth to the lodge doof.' ! Yoii
see yonder gulf, said he, arid the ' wide'
stretching' blue plains beyond... It' is '
the land of souls. , Yp4'stand . upon its
orders,' and my 'lqdge is jhe' gate , of
entrance. f.Bul you cannot take your
body along, r Leave it here with your
bow and arrows, your bundle and your .
dpg. You will find Ihm safe on ydujv
re turn." So saying,' he re-entered the
lodge, and the. freed traveller! bounded ,
forward, as if his feet had ;?'8u3denljr
been endowed with the powerof wings,
Bat all things ...'retained their - riatural
color ' and" shapes ,The woods an cl
leaves, and streams 'and - lakes; were
only more bright anti comely "than? he
had. ever witnessed. Animals bound
ed across his path, with 4. freedom and
a confidence which seemed to' tell him .
there was no Jjlood shed .here.!.' Birds
of beautiful .plumage inhabited .the
groves, and ' spprted .in ihe waters.
There yvas but one.' thing, .n which, he
saw a very unusual effect. lle.Dptice
that bis passage was" riot stopped . hy
trees or other .objects. ' He, 'appeared
to walk direcUy through them. (They
were', jn fact, but the souls, of shadows
of material trees. " He became sensible
that he was in. a land of 'shadow's,--When
he" had travelled balf 'a day's
journey, through a country; whigli w
continually, becoming more aitractivfi,
he came to the banks of a, "broad lake,
in the centre of which wa.a a large and .
beautiful island. .'lie found.a caqoe ! of
shining white stone, tied. to the isjiora.
He was now sure , he - had come - the
right path, for the . aged man had told
him of this. There were also shining
paddles. He immediately entered the
canoe, and took the paddles in his hands,
when to his joy. and surprise, on turn
ing round, he beheld the object of his
search in another canoe, exactly.' its
counterpart in evory. thing. "She had '
exactly imitatedhis notions, and they
were side by side. .They.at once push
ed out from shore and began to cross
the lake. Its waves seemed to be ris
ing, and at a distance- looked ready to
swa'low, them up; but just as they' .en
tered the whitened edge of them, tbey
seemed to melt away, as if they .Were
but the images of waves. But oosoon
er was one wreath,-, CfQarn . passed,
than another, more thre,atenuig still,
rose up, Thus they were" in perpetu
al fearj and what added to it,;was..'the
clearness of ihe water, through which
they could see heaps of beings who hod
perished before, and whose hones lay
strewed on the bottom ,pf! the lake.
The Master of Life had,' however, de
creed to let them pass, for the actions , , ;
of neither ot them had been bad."$ut
they saw many others struggling and,, -'
sinking in the waves. Old. men and v(
young men, males and females, of all ;
ages and ranks, we're there; some, pass- "
ed,and some sank. It was only. the -
little children whose canoes seemed to
meet no waves. ! At length, every dif-
ficulty was gone, as in a moment, and .
they both leapt out on'the happy: island.
They felt that the very air waa .food.
It strengthened and nourished ihers
They wandered togetheroverthebliss-
ful fields, where every thing was form
ed to please the eye aud the ear,-r-There
were no tempests there was no V
ice, no chilly winds no one shivered
for the want of warm slothes: no one
suffered for hungerno one, mourned
for;the dead. They saw. no graves.
They heard of no wnrs.' -There was no
hunting of animals;-for the air. itself
was' theic food..- : Gladly ; would fctbje
young j -warrior have remained .there
forever, but he was obliged to go- back
for his body.; -He did not see the Mas
ter of Life, but he heard his voiee in a :
soft breeze. "Go back,'' said this yoice,
"to the land from whence you came.
Your time has not yet come.f :The du
ties for which I made yqu, and. which
ypu are to perform, are .not yet finish-.
ed. Return' to your people, nd;ac- . ,
complish the duties of a good man.
You will be the ruler of ypor tribe for -many
days. ;. The rules you mustob
serve,, will be told you by my messsenr
ger, whq,, keeps the .gate., ; When he
surrenders back your body, he wiltell
you;wha't to . do. .:; Listen to-him, and
yo shall afterwards rejoin, the spirit,
which.' you ,! must now leave, behind -
She is accepted and will; be pyer,here, '
as young and., as happy -as she, was '
when I iirst CAued her trom itheJjrna .
of snows." . When this voice, ceased,
the narrator awoke.-. It was. the- tanc
work of a dream, and he' was (till, ia
the bitter land of snows, and hunger '
una rears..
j a i.i .