But notwithstanding the assumed dignity and apparent coldness with which she addressed the young stranger, Mary in that moment of rescue was awakened to a new and impassioned existence. The image of the stranger was before her by day and in her dreams by night. Six or eight months passed, when the chiefs of the tribe celebrated a great festival, to which all the members were invited. The ceremonies were to last a week; many did not arrive until after the first day, and the father of Mary, and his camp, were of this number. But toward the evening of the first day of the festivities, a tall, graceful young brave stalked into the assembly, and with cool solicitude scanned the faces of the female visiters; and not appearing satisfied, he folded his arms upon his breast, and leaning against a rude post, listlessly observed the sports. But a close observer would have seen his eye lit up with unwonted interest when any new arrival was announced. No one knew him; his dress was peculiar; still he spoke their language, and the old chiefs passed him by for a future examination.
On the second day of the gathering, toward noon, Mary May arrived, and with her father, mother and sisters, entered that enclosure of merry hearts. She hoped to see at the festival the youth who had so strongly impressed her; and the moment she entered the rude structure, her eyes eagerly ranged round the assembly until they rested upon the person of her rescuer, who as eagerly returned her significant glance. During the continuance of the feast and frolic, the lovers had many interviews; and before it closed, their faith and vows were exchanged. They were to have been married the month after her capture; and now, since her return and deification, she had not learned a word about her brave, and had come to the determination if he proved false to destroy herself. Day after day passed without the presence of the only one who could drive the dark cloud from her mind, and it was becoming every day more dense and oppressive, until she gave way to utter despondency, and bitterly bewailed her fate. One afternoon, about two months after her return, while some of her kindred were bowing before her in heathenish worship, hasty steps were heard approaching; the next moment the young brave appeared and clasped his lost treasure to his heart; and taking advantage of the bewilderment of the worshippers, occasioned by his sudden appearance, the happy pair escaped to the sea-coast, and passing over a portion of the bay, found a secure retreat among the Mickmacs, to which tribe the young brave belonged.
And there may they rest. I sometimes, though quite infrequently, meet with some one from Newfoundland; and among the first questions I ask is one touching the Red Indians; and although I have not heard any thing which went to confirm the hope that they may yet be brought to place confidence in the white man, yet I still trust that I shall; and when this result is brought about, or any other thing of interest shall be learned of these strange mortals, I shall take much pleasure in communicating the information, for the benefit of the readers of the Knickerbocker.
BIRTH-DAY MEDITATIONS
I stand upon the wave that marks the round
Of Lifes dark-heaving and revolving years;
Still sweeping onward from Youths sunny ground,
Still changed and chequered with my joys and fears,
And colored from the past, where Thought careers,
Shadowing the ashes in pale Memorys urn;
Where perished buds were laid, with frequent tears,
That on the cheek of Disappointment burn,
As blessed hours roll on, that never may return.
What have they seen, those changed and vanishd years?
Uplifted, soaring thoughts, all quelled by fate;
Affection, mournful in its gushing tears;
And midst the crowd that at the funeral wait,
A widowed mothers heart made desolate
Oer a war-honord Sires low place of rest;
These are the tales that Memory may relate:
They have a moral for the aspiring breast,
A lesson of Decay on earthliness impressd.
Yet Hope still chaunts unto the listening ear
The witching music of her treacherous song;
Still paints the Future eloquent and clear,
And sees the tide of Life roll calm along,
Where glittering phantoms rise, a luring throng;
And voiceful Fame holds out the laurel bough:
Where rapturous applause is loud and long,
Frail guerdon for the heart!which lights the brow
With the ephemeral smile of Minds triumphant glow.
THE HOUSEHOLDER
BY JOHN WATERSFor the kingdom of Heaven is like unto a man that is an householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the labourers for a penny a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out about the third hour, and saw others standing in the market-place, and said unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is right I will give you; and they went their way. Again he went out about the sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise. And about the eleventh hour he went out and found others standing idle, and saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle? They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us. He saith unto them. Go ye also into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right that shall ye receive.St. Matthew: XX, 1-7.
O thou blest Householder! the starry dawn,
The light crepuscular, the roseate morn,
Long since had melted into day!
Long since the glow of Youths THIRD hour,
And the birds song, and Fancys magic power,
Long since have, traceless, passd away!
Entreth the sun into its zenith height!
Entreth the mortal into manhoods might!
Opneth again the vineyard Gate
And Labourers are calld! but Honours dream
Entrancd my soul, and made Religion seem
As nought, Glory was mans Estate!
The NINTH hour found me in the market place;
Fierce passion ruled my heart, care markd my face;
In vain, in vain, Thy blessed call!
To glitter, to achieve, to lose or gain,
Formd every hope, or thought, delight, or pain:
The world, the world, was still my All!
The TENTH hour sounded in my startled ear!
Thy gracious Spirit touched my heart with fear!
The harvest ended with the day;
That thought imbued my mindnot saved? too late?
I left the throng; I sought the Vineyard Gate;
Twas shut Death-struck, I turnd away!
Low sank the Sun adown the Western Sky!
Each cherishd hope had provd its vanity!
Now neither Earth, nor Heaven was mine.
Rejected, sad, abandond, and forlorn;
Of God it seemd not lovd; of Hell, the scorn!
No hope, or human or Divine,
Brightend my dark, cold, doubting, wretched mind;
The world, a wilderness; Heavens self, unkind!
Blackness of darkness seemd my way:
Slow struck the ELEVENTH! Thy light around me broke!
And deep, unto my soul, these words were spoke:
Why stand ye idle all the day?
Enter and work through the waning hour!
Lord of the Vineyard! grant Thy servant power
To labour, love Thee, and obey.
Let every thought, plan, word, deed, wish, be Thine!
Thine be all honour, glory, praise divine,
And let thy pardon close my day!
THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.
Harry Harson