the fashions, the diversions, the occupations of the polite, which are the fine arts of the age. It is to be, as it were, the servants of the world's proprietors, who, while they are on their foreign, fashionable, and finishing tour, are left at home to take care of the estate - to watch over and instruct the children to feed and advise the poor, who hang on to the world's establishment; it is to be left at home to see that the fences are not broken down, that the gardens are not robbed, that the walls are not dilapidated; to look after the finances, without which the world's owners could not travel in fine, to keep the world's great edifice from going to utter ruin, and its estate from hopeless bankruptcy, through the neglect and extravagance of its masters to do all the work which enables them to be doing nothing. This it is not to travel in the world. It is to be the veriest drudges and slaves to the severest toil—to have one everlasting working-day. It is to be both school-master and guardian, both curate and constable, both steward and clerk — and this too, in an establishment which has fewer servants than masters. Can one hesitate which to choose to travel in the world and fly from toil, or to stop by the way' to perform all the work that the world makes? It is to choose between riding over the road, and working upon it! To live by the way,' is to make this the deliberate choice. It is to withstand the thousand invitations of the day, to occupy a stuffed cushion in the easiest vehicle, with the most sensitive springs, and the gayest company, and to walk off from the even and easy track into the jolting, stony path by the way,' encumbered with all the obstructions which the world has thrown from its route, in its labors to smooth, and level, and speed its course. It is to stand still while all is in motion - to seem to the world's untiring, unflagging speed, a fixed, diminishing, evanished point. It is to be a sworn foe to all internal improvements which shorten the arduous routes over which honesty and principle are wont to plod, with their small and patient merchandise. This it is to live by the way.'

Nevertheless, commend me to a life by the way.' If 'space' is the arena of the world, and 'time' the spirit of the age, I would live neither in space nor time,' but as if by the way.' To all who have taken passage in the world, I give warning that it runs a dusty road. It seeketh the levelest and smoothest, but it is the lowest route. It crosseth sands and deserts, and the Pontine marshes. It never emergeth from the shade, nor ascendeth to the clear sunlight, and the wide and spreading prospect. It speedeth, till one cannot count the dwellings by the way, and observation wearieth of monotony. Danger is the only one of all the shifting company that sitteth constant by thy side throughout the journey.

Docile traveler! be advised. Quit thy resolve. Even at some risk, leap from the world's conveyance, and walk by the way!'- live by the way!'

Cambridge, (Mass.,) August, 1836.

H. W. B.

BABE, DYING IN THE MOTHER'S ABSENCE.

He lay 'tween life and death. The priestly hand
Was lifted o'er him, and with tender touch
Laid the baptismal water on his brow
While earnestly a solemn tone bespoke
A place in heaven, for that departing soul,
In Jesus' name.

The half-closed eye was still,
As a dead gem set in a lily's cup,

But the small hand thrill'd like a living bird,
Within the nurse's clasp. She was not there,
Who nurtur'd that fair boy, and day by day
Mark'd his smooth limbs to fuller roundness swell,
And garner'd up each tiny, gleeful shout
As music in her heart. She was not there.
Had she but known his peril, what had chain'd
That rushing traveler? Not the mountain's steep,
Nor the swol'n flood, nor midnight's wildest storm,
Had won a thought from her, whose yearning soul
Was knit to his. Or had one darken'd dream,
'Mid the sweet intercourse of distant friends,
Brought the chang'd image of her cherub babe,
Not as she left him, fresh and full of sports,
But sleepless, starting from his cradle-bed,
His pearly teeth clos'd strongly in his pain,
With a harsh, grating sound, and the poor tongue,
Untrain'd to language, murmuring out his grief,
Or had she seen him from his favorite cup
Still put the spoon away, until his lip,
So like a rose-bud, sallow grew, and thin,
How had she burst away, to see him die,
Or die with him!

But now, 'tis all too late ; One quivering gasp upon a hireling's breast, And all is o'er. Methought some secret tie

Bound him to earth. What did thy pale hand seek,

With such a groping eagerness, poor babe ?

Thine absent mother? Didst thou long to feel

Her kiss upon thine eye-lids, or her breath
Parting thy curls, and passing up to heaven,
A wingéd prayer?

Would that I could forget
The weeping of that mother, when she takes
That ice-cold baby to her bursting heart,
Or, even for that too late, doth frantic press
The pitying sexton for one last drear sight
Of her lost darling, in his desolate bed,
Most desolate, amid the mouldering throng.

O mother, mother! from thy cradled charge
Part never while the fragrant life he draws
From thine own breast, cling to him, as the soul
Doth wed its clay. Is there a boon on earth
One half so precious as the infant's love
To her who bore him? Can the pageant world,
With its brief fashions, or the fever'd gaze,
Exploring earth's broad scenery, buy one hour
Like his sweet, breathing slumber in her arms?
O no, no, no!

So, take thy priceless meed,

The first young love of innocence, the smile
Singling thee out from all the world beside,

And if amid this hallow'd ministry

Heaven's messenger should claim the unstain'd soul,
Be thine the hand to give it back to God.

L. H. S.

BATTLE OF BLOODY BROOK.

A PASSAGE IN AMERICAN HISTORY.

'WHAT hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep,
Their turf may bloom.'

CAMPBELL.

EVERY incident connected with the early history of our country, in which the valor of our forefathers was signally displayed, comes down to us with all the interest of self-love, and all the freshness of romance. We love to dwell, for reasons better felt than explained, on the deeds of our sires, and the times that tried their souls. There is something hallowed in the associations which gather around us, while reflecting on those instances of devotedness and chivalrous patriotism which distinguished their acts a feeling almost of devotion. Too many of those deeds have gone down to oblivion unhonored and unsung;' and if perchance a fragment of the past is snatched from the grasp of Time, it excites in us sentiments the more sacred from the lapse of

years.

But there was a period in our country's story, beyond that in which our forefathers struggled to make us a free and happy people-a time whose history is but faintly chronicled when the sufferings of our pioneer ancestors were unwept and unrequited. That epoch would seem to have been swallowed up in the interest of the events which followed; yet those earlier periods afford us examples of unparalleled sufferance and unmatched heroism.

It was a gloomy era, when the fair face of our country was every where a dark wilderness — when our pilgrim fathers were at all times surrounded by the beasts and the savages of the forest - and when all was rude and cheerless. In the progress of scenes, from that time forward, many and dangerous were the vicissitudes by which they were marked. The eternal solitude which gave place to the busy hand of the settler, and the umbrageous darkness that disappeared from around his humble domicil, were yet the stilly haunts of the Indian. As the plain, in time, was made to yield support for the new-comer, and the cabins of the white men began to thicken along the valley, the red man reluctantly retired to the mountain. His pleasant places on the uplands, beside the rivers, stocked with the scaly tribes yielding to him sustenance, had become occupied. The level patches where he raised his corn, with the beautiful hills where his tribe loved to congregate, were in the possession of the stranger. His nearer hunting grounds were disturbed, and his game began to disappear. Thus dispossessed of his inheritance, and disquieted in his neighbouring solitudes, the primitive and rightful lord of the soil deeply fostered a secret hate against the cause of his grievances. As he gathered around his council-fire, and reflected on the stranger's encroachments, or listened to the complaints of his brethren, and the exciting eloquence of his chiefs, his soul began to kindle within him, and his bosom to swell with rage. Already had the numbers of the pale faces become alarming, and their hold hardihood inspired a spirit of dread. The fearful missiles which the stranger so

dexterously used, above all, excited his fears, and deterred him from manifesting his resentment. Continued irritation, however, overcomes apparent impossibilities, and gradually wears away the most obstinate objections. The cunning of the savage was deemed a match for his enemy; his fleetness, his distant retreats, and his poisoned arrows, were presented by the orators to force up his courage to the determined point. Nor was it long before the Indian's festering hate broke forth. The war-song now resounded along the mountain-side. The fearful yell is heard in the distance, and each settler prepares himself for the worst. And now it was, that the direful note of death rang along the Connecticut valley, and deeds of blood began to desolate the land.

For many years was this pleasant valley the scene of heroic struggles of suffering, and of death. Long did the hardy white man sustain himself against the superior numbers and the wily arts of the savage; but sadly did he pay the cost of his attachment to the land of his choice, and the endearing associations of home. Frequent and deadly were the conflicts in which he engaged with his implacable enemy. Deep and lasting was the mutual hate of the combatants, and as deep and as artful were their schemes of destruction. Victory often crowned the untiring efforts of the foe, when painful captivity or indiscriminate slaughter ensued. To tell of the many murderous deeds and the deep agonies which marked the triumphs of the embittered savage, would long employ the pen, and harrow up the feelings of the soul. To the cruel perseverance of the Indian, in this war of extermination, were added the secret promptings of base cupidity. The Canadian Frenchmen now urged on the brutal force of the not less barbarous foe, by their liberal rewards and legalized bounties for captives and for scalps. Still more powerful motives actuated the red men, while large numbers of the reckless whites joined them in the execution of their most desperate deeds; and it was said that the cruelty and brutality of the Frenchman far exceeded those of the savage wild man.

It was thus with our forefathers, when an attack was anticipated from combined forces of the Indians on the little nucleus of farm-houses at the present beautiful village of Deerfield, in Massachusetts. A little army had collected at Hadley, composed of the hardy peasantry of the valley, determined on decisive and desperate efforts against the common enemy. The produce which had been gathered and housed at Deerfield, was necessary for the support of this band of determined yeomanry, and for the affirighted families who had there congregated; nor was it desirable that so much valuable substance should fall into the hands of the Indians, the more effectually to enable them to continue their bloody warfare. It was therefore resolved, that one hundred choice young men, justly denominated the flower of the country,' should be selected to go with teams, in the face of danger, and transport the rich products of the soil from Deerfield to Hadley. The expedition was cheerfully undertaken by the requisite number of brave youths. Already were their teams loaded and on their way to the place of destination. The watchful enemy had, however, obtained intelligence of the expedition, and, with the greatest secrecy and celerity, collected in fearful numbers on a neighboring hill, shut out from view by the dense forest with which it was crowned.

Here their eloquent chiefs encouraged them, by every effort of lan

guage and of gesture, to deeds of bravery and desperation Their plans were matured, and every means devised, which power and strategy could suggest, to destroy the devoted band, and to capture the treasures in their charge. And now their royal leader, with all the force and enthusiasm which had characterized the most potent warrior and consummate general that the history of savage life had ever revealed, broke forth, and thus revealed his great and impassioned mind:* Warriors! see you the treasures of the pale faces the richest stores of the longknives? See you the young men, few and feeble, that yonder carelessly stroll in the valley? See you our numbers, and the brave warriors that stand around you, and feel not your hearts strong? Is not your arm powerful, and your soul valiant? And who is he that goes before you? Who will direct you in the ambush and the fight? Is it not he who never knew fear?-whose heart is like the mountain, and his arm like the forest oak? the great chief of the Naragansetts, whose people are like the leaves, and whose warriors are the terror of the pale faces? Follow him, and all is yours! Each hatchet give a fatal aim - sink deep these knives ?- these arrows drink their blood! Away! - to death! our fathers and our homes!'

The wild spirit of the proud and lofty Phillip ran like electricity through the savage horde. Each burned for the affray, and quickly sprang into the trail of his great captain. Silently he glided from the mountain, and cowered along the meadow land that lay in a vale by the road side.

Here, deeply immersed in the luxuriant wild grass, shrink one thousand warriors, fiend-like exulting in the anticipated victory and slaughter. Now came the train of teams, cautiously guarded, as they had been thus far, by the chosen corps, and descended the small hill which conducted them into the green vale traversed by the road, and near which lay concealed the foe, ready to dart on their prey. Tradition says that here the noble youths, dreaming little of danger from the enemy, rested for the moment, and gathered grapes from the clustering vines that hung thick with their rich fruit by the road. When, sudden as the spark from smitten steel,' the thousand savage forms sprang from their ambush, and with hideous yells rushed to the onslaught. The vigorous youths, unterrified by the sudden assault, the yells, or the fearful numbers of the enemy, instantly rallied, and as quickly brought their rifles to their shoulders. They had received the cloud of arrows, as the savages approached within bow-shot of their victims, but now, in turn, the fatal lead from a still more deadly weapon made many a warrior bite the ground. The certain aim of the young band had told death to as many of the savage clan. Still onward they pressed, over their dead, and thickly hurled their missiles. Again, with deadly aim, the fire of the little and determined group of whites brought down the foremost of the desperate foe, and threw confusion into their ranks.

History makes no mention of King Phillip being in this part of the country, either at this or any other time; but, from a tradition among the Indians themselves, I am enabled to state, with confidence, that this great sachem both contrived and led on this attack. Added to this, is the historical fact, that he was absent from his seat at Mount Hope about this time, no doubt for the purpose of enlisting other tribes in a warfare against the English; and he probably took advantage of the occasion to display to the tribes hereabout his success in planning, and his prowess in battle.