THE CAPTURED SCOUT. "The doomed Indian got leave to pay a last visit to his wife and children, after he had promised to return again to the fort at sunrise, to yield up his forfeited existence."- From the Life of Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kiah-kiak, or the " Black Hawk." From the forest's secret tracks, And the haunts of the wary beaver, The warlike Indian Sacs Had come to the great" Rock River;" The rifle rang no more, For the hunting days were over; The squaw the wild game bore, The maid leaned on her lover; The feasting fires were fed From the dark pine o'er the water, And the wounded deer were led By the youngling tribe to slaughter; The otter was unleashed From the bamboo rod that bound him, And his glossy skin refreshed In the pure, cold wave around him; It's summer garb of even; And his homeward song of meeting For her he knew was waiting; And the wild cat screamed afar And roamed the forest over, And the snake's eye, like a star, Peered from its leafy cover; Whilst the crashing of some tree, Long, withered up, and worn, Groaned forth its imbecility, As downward it was torn ; The echoes yelled their curse thereat, Such was the eve that the "Black Hawk" chief For his favourite scout was in the toil, In red war time and danger, Where Indian blood was the dearest spoil But yet he'll die, ere the morning's tide, For he had left the pale-face foe On the pledge of his tribe's own glory, To return again at the morn's glow The doomed of his own sad story. He had painted the pole o'er his father's grave,‡ "Black Hawk," said the scout, "my time is come And you can fish in the sunny lake And spear on the shallow stream; Then, Black Hawk,' for a brother's sake, Fish and spear for them! And you can dry up a woman's tear When her faithful heart is breaking, And point where my hundred war-scalps are When the chiefs of the Sacs are speaking; And when on the glorious war-trail out, And the bow and the rifle are ready, Let the 'Black Hawk' think of the murder'd scout, 'Twill make his aim more steady. Now-now I'm done!-I go to my fate As a bird with the snake's eye upon her; The full moon is up, and I must not be late, For my tribe's-for a warrior's honour." Such was the eve that the "Black Hawk" chief Came from the hunt of the beaver, And sternly stood in his silent grief By the rushing, broad "Rock River." A swift canoe was loosed, Where the creek was deep and narrow, Urged by a hand long used To rifle, oar, and arrow. Yes! the scout was on his way, And the "Black Hawk" thought in sorrow His brave friend lived to-day, He'd have no brave friend to-morrow; And he watched the rapid boat As it tore its way along, And he heard the shrill, clear note On the distant wooded shore He saw the vessel stranded, And the stately form once more At the prairie margin landed. A cloud swept o'er the moon, And a gloom crept o'er the river, They passed away full soon, But the scout was gone for ever. * The late Bishop Heber noticed on one occasion a number of otters tethered by long strings to bamboo stakes on the water's edge, and was informed that it was customary to keep them tame. ↑ The favourite food of the mocking bird is the red cedar berry, as well as that of the several species of smilax and myrtle.-Wilson's American Ornithology. This is a religious rite observed every year, after the hunting season.-Account by M. Leclair, the Indian inter preter for the Americans. POVERTY. Oh poverty! hag of malice, why shouldest thou so relentlessly pursue talent and beauty? Alas! neither age, nor talent, nor goodness, can always shield from the evil eye of poverty! She comes upon the many unawares, "like a thief in the night," and happy are they who, when she comes, have friends too firm to fly her presence; for too often, like the "witch of the threshold," she scares friends and happiness together. THE MAID OF MOURNE. It is well! it must be well. We would not be so fearfully tried but for some good and wise purpose; and most truly is it said," God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." Before the blow came, I had not thought that life could have endured so great an agony: yet, though the poor weak mind bent, and, for the while, gave way before the violence of the storm, and lay long crushed, trodden down, and trampled into utter worthlessness, still youth and manhood bore up and kept the bark of life afloat, but a wreck upon the turbid waters of despair. Oh! often have I prayed, in my days of darkened and bitter misery-r -may a divine God forgive the fearful crime!—that life would follow into that gloomful grave where lay my every hope. But I need not anticipate. I said to you, sweet lady, that I would relate the simple story, and you shall have it as it befel. I will now, lest I tire you, hasten to the last-a little more, and I have done. When I commenced, I thought not of making it so long; but I feel like the doomed philosopher, and wish to see one more sunset ere I come to the hemlock of the last part of my story. like years. About this time my father required some law business to be transacted in our metropolis. This he entrusted to me, and with a heavy heart, at leaving my lovely and much-loved cousin, even for so short a time, I departed. The affairs on which I went required nearly a month; this seemed to me White there, my mind was in a continual state of torture concerning Lucy and Frank, as I had too plainly perceived that he was an ardent admirer of my gentle cousin who could see her and not be so?-and also that she was but too partial to his winning manners and frank, open bearing. A thousand times I was on the point of explaining to him our situation with regard to each other; but a mingled feeling of pride and reserve prevented me, and also the fear of being thought jealous. During my absence I received several letters from Lucy. The first was written in her usual style-kind and confiding, with no fault, save that the affection in it savoured rather more of sisterly love than I could have wished; but even that style soon, too soon, changed, and her letters were full of my rival's for so I now termed him-good qualities; tales of their pleasant rides and walks in each other's company. It was all told in her native simplicity and artless innocence, evidently without a thought of wounding me; this made it but the more intolerable, and her words burned into my brain like things of fire. At last the settlement of affairs brought my release; and never did prisoned chorister of the woods take wing for the wild haunts of former days more joyfully, than did I seek the loved retreats of my own dear native glens. My journey consumed four more impatient days; but all things must end, and at last I came in sight of home. It was summer, full glorious summer, and every thing was sweet and balmy in the air-all was joy and bliss on the arth. I reached Craig Dhu towards the close of day. I found a merry party seated in the lawn before the house. As I approached, Lucy and Frank were singing one of her favourite duetts. Many other young people were there some came forward to welcome me; but oh! my own Lucy was the last to seek me. Frank came, and used some cold and meaningless words; an evident constraint was upon him, as if he felt conscious of having wronged me. It seemed as if their festive mirth was broken by my appearance; and though some faint efforts were made to renew it, it went on but in a constrained manner. I remained aloof, sullen and stern, for I felt I was injured. I spoke to none, for my heart felt crushed, and a choking emotion swelled my throat. Yet I observed all things, and saw what the heart of youth, of deep and deathless love, never yet saw and retained reason. I saw my rival win the smile I would have purchased with my best blood. I saw him usurp my place at her side, and, towering in his pride of place," he dared, as I thought, to glance scorn down on my withered heart. I heard a hundred words of softness and sweet love fall on him-words, for but one of which I would have toiled year after year, and counted all as nought to gain. I heard and saw, until, with a bruised and bleeding heart, and brain of fire, I dashed madly from the spot. 66 I know not how far or where my wild rage carried me. I have but a very confused remem. brance of my actions; but still I sped onwards, striving to escape from myself and recollection. At last strength failed me, and I fell heavily over a tree or rock from that I remember no more When I awoke from for many days. I was insensible to all but pain, and fear, and rage. my delirium, I found myself suffering from the most dreaded of all diseases, small-pox. The dark room and cautious movements of attendants bewildered me. I knew not my state, and I lay thus half alive for more than one day, before I found that it had seemed right to my Heavenly Maker to deprive me for ever of the blessing of sight! For a long time I was forced to keep my room, with the fierce torments of hell burning my soul. I was eaten up with one master-passionone desire, intense and bitter beyond all that any, save those who are cursed with a violence such as mine then was, can form any idea of a longing, deep and burning, for revenge. My heart yearned for the last and dearest drop of my rival's blood! yet I would willingly have spared it for a time, till my eyes could have beholden him, feeling in every sense, in every nerve, the most exquisite torture of mental pain, of wringing agony to the soul, that the ingenuity of the demon, jealousy, could devise. This feeling was fostered and increased by my principal attendant in my sick room-an old woman, who had been my mother's nurse, and had remained in our house since my father's marriage. She saw and resented my rival's intrusion, and would ever and anon bring! out some fresh tale of the success of Frank's love; how they laughed, how they sang; while the former companion of their days lay in agony of body and soul, with the hand of his Maker laid heavily on him. Ere I go farther, I should, in justice to my cousin and quondam friend, say that my good nurse's love for me, and not a desire for mischiefmaking, led her into too hasty and false conclusions-another was preferred before me, but I was neither scorned nor forgotten. Lucy, my still fondly loved cousin, had a heart infinitely too good and too gentle to act as she was represented. At the commencement of my illness she was constantly at our house, and did all that maidenly reserve permitted towards shewing her natural affection for a kinsman, loved as such, if no more, Frank also was constant in his attention, and even, forgetful of the danger, visited me in my sick room, but was driven thence by the wild imprecations I hurled on his name in the rage of delirium. My father heard the state of affairs from my old attendant, and resenting my wrongs, as an insult to the name, sternly forbade either of them to approach the house. These things I heard not till long after. Slowly did I raise my enfeebled form from the heavy couch of pain. My wild rage had given way before bodily suffering and weakness, and indeed my mind had almost forgotten her cunning. When able to go about the grounds, 1 did so in gloomy anger, not deigning to hold converse with any one--my only companion being my dog, by whose aid I was kept out of danger. The names of my cousin and Frank were studiously avoided; yet the engagement was held good by all, save only myself. Those who knew of my rival's attentions to Lucy thought of them but as natural, and imagined they would break off as soon as I was able to take my former place. Even Lucy herself had, at this period, entertained no accurate idea of what was so soon to transpire: her heart had never been much in my favour; she saw in me but an ardent admirer, and one whom she ought to love as her near kinsman and future protector, While no other person more to her taste was presented to her view, she was content with me; but as soon as one suited in every way to her mind one able and worthy to win almost any woman's heart-appeared, she felt for the first time those feelings I had so long and so vainly tried to awaken. In Frank she saw manners and good qualities, fit to be ornaments in every society, and almost unconsciously she loved him. All this I did not learn till long afterwards; had I known it sooner, it might have been better for me; but my rage blinded me to all but the extent of my loss. It was my father's rage to them which discovered the mutual state of their hearts to one another; in the fervour of first passionate love, the secret was told by words on Frank's part, by a silent blush and an eloquent sight from Lucy. Yet her words were true to me if her heart was false; she quietly and modestly showed him his error, and blamed herself for having given him any apparent encouragement. But the tale was told; the secret of the hearts was known; she had heard of, and believed, his devoted love, and he had seen that the refusal sprang from the lips only, and found no echo in the heart. They parted at her urgent request, as if for ever. Up to this time I had not been seen by either since the evening of my unexpected arrival at Craig Dhu. I had not heard from my cousin Lucy. The cold words, and few, which then passed between us were the last I ever heard fall from her beautiful lips; and those words, cold and few as they were, were engraven on my heart. How fondly does the memory cling, when hope has died in the heart, to the words of those we have loved, do love, even though they be such as, in other and happier hours, we had held as cold and common place-even as drowning men will, it is said, in despair grasp eagerly at straws. Again I wander, sweet lady, from the "round, unvarnished tale." We met but once, and to that meeting I will now proceed; it took place nearly two months after I had been able to go about the country. It was on a glorious day in the latter end of autumn that I sauntered out to enjoy, if possible, the blessing of heaven. I knew the rises and falls of the ground so accurately, that I could, with the aid of my dog, proceed in any direction I pleased, and I sought the way leading to Carrig Dhu. About half way between that place and my father's there is a ravine or deep gully, worn by the winter It is about torrents of many forgotten ages. twenty feet across, and more than twice that number in depth at the spot where it is crossed by a rustic bridge, formed of one single plank only-this was quite unfastened, and, at best, was but a precarious viaduct. The banks on each side are thickly wooded with pine, hazel, and holly, and the sweet briar, and a thousand other favourites of nature, added to the gentle murmur of the waters as they chafed and fretted themselves against the perpendicular walls of rock which formed their self-worn prison, had rendered this spot a loved retreat ever since I first discovered it. Here, then, I laid me down, and thought on the utter worthlessness of life and the pain of living. A thousand thoughts, wild and wicked, rushed through my brain; but all ending in that one exhaustless theme-my disgrace and my rival's success. Dark prayers for speedy revenge rose to my lips. Then I thought on Lucy-her cold ingratitude, her false words, her simulated love, her hypocritical heart. I almost doubted her purity, and, at the thought, wild imprecations escaped me with all the violence of a maniac, and I thought on the words of the great Sassenagh poet— "Frailty, thy name is woman!" I had lain, it might be, an hour or more thus, when I suddenly started to hear footsteps_approaching the bridge from the opposite side. Few words passed before the persons had crossed the bridge, and gone further down the stream on the side on which I lay; but in those few words I had recognised Lucy and my hated, detested rival! What a crowd of fearful imaginings rushed to heart. I burned and I trembled with violent and impotent rage. The evil one gained perfect command of my mind, and wrought it to his purpose, Revenge arose again in my heart, and now a full and perfect, an exquisite revenge was in my power, and I hastened to accomplish it. I knew they must cross the plank; not less than a circuit of three miles would bring them home again without crossing it. Cautiously, but with fevered haste, I crept towards it; on my hands and knees I crossed to the Craig Dhu side--it was no place for a blind man to walk without a friendly arm. When there, I easily loosened its weak hold in the ground, and removed the end of the plank to the extreme verge, and left it supported but by a single inch. This would answer my diabolical intent in the fullest; it would permit a person crossing to attain some feet of its treacherous aid, and whenever they should have reached the centre the spring of the timber would, I was well aware, be certain to hurl it, and all on it, to an inevitable death-sudden and cruel. Such was my plan. It was more than probable that both would be on it at the same time; but if not, my hell-born jealousy suggested to me the horrible delight of taunting the miserable survivor with their treachery to me and its punishment. I returned to the dense cover of underwood, and crouched close-my ears on the stretch to obtain notice of their arrival. Never never, should I live a thousand ages, could I endure again the torture of those few minutes. My pulse beat almost to bursting; I trembled in every limb; the perspiration of intense agony of terror at first crime dropped from my brow. The father of sin seemed to sit beside me. I heard, close to my ears, his horrible, withering laugh; and I thought an army of fiends sang shrilly, rejoicing at my foulest act. I sat thus for a lengthened period, till the intense torture of mind could no longer be endured; and it pleased God to visit me in my danger, and rescue me from hell. A revulsion, sudden and perfect, of feeling possessed me; it seemed as if I had been dreaming; the reality was too horrible; and in an agony of fear, lest I should be too late, I once more gained the plank, and renewed its security. This done, I again sought the thicket, and fell on my knees to praise and thank a merciful Providence, who had deigned to remove from me a sin too horrible to be contemplated. Having sat down to recover my tranquillity, Į again heard footsteps on the other side; it was but one person, and he crossed over. I had thought myself screened from sight of those passing, but I was not; and imagine the horror, the agony of fear I felt when I heard myself addressed by-my father! Supposing, as I did not answer him, that I slept, he passed on, merely saying in a kind tone-" God bless yon, my poor child, you are sorely stricken, but His will be done!" He sighed deeply, and pursued his way. How exceeding fearful had been my danger!-how narrow my escape! I arose, and, with feelings much altered, sought my way home. Ere I had proceeded far, I again recognised the voices of Lucy and Frank-he loud and earnest— she low and firm. She was, as well as I could judge, seated on the grass, and he standing near. I knew the place so well, that I was able to take, unperceived, a situation close to them, behind a rock, from whence I could overhear them. Frank was speaking "It was worse than useless. I tried, in vain, to obey your commands. My heart may break, but it cannot give up all hopes of you. Oh! Lucy, if you could feel but the hundredth part of what I feel, you would relent. He never could love as I love; your heart he never had; you did not love him; and what signifies the cold promises of parents, who feel nought but a sense of false worldly cunning the warm ties of young hearts enter not into their imaginations; their feelings are dead to those of others." She interrupted him—“Frank, this is madness; it is worse it is sin! It must cease. Do not drive me to distraction by urging what is wrong; you will break my heart." She was silent; but I could hear the bitter sobs of anguish burst from her gentle bosom. "Reflect," she continued, " on what your advice, your wish, if granted, would make us bothguilty, not alone of a sin of deepest dye, but of a sin rank and foul-of treachery. You would be for ever stained in your soul with the dark mark of ingratitude. You came here, and in the confidence of friendship gained an intimacy with us, through his kindness. You, his friend, to do him wrong! Think for one moment, and you will fly for both our sakes. As for me, I will drive from my mind that I ever for a minute lost sight of his kindness, his devoted love for me, wholly unworthy of his noble heart. I will endeavour to love him as I ought. Even now he suspects me of coldness; and when in the delirium of his fever he upbraided the falseness of my heart, I repelled the accusation in my mtnd, for the very thoughts of my own heart were strangers to we. I knew not what I did. But it is over. I will return to my duty, and entreat God to pardon my great crime of falsehood, and to vouchsafe forgetfulness of these bitter moments!" She ceased, and there was silence. After a time he spake, and his thickened accents and faltering words gave evidence of the deep feelings which rent his soul "You have conquered!" he said. " I will plead no more. In the extreme agony of my heart I was blind; but that one hateful word, ingratitude, has subdued me; I see and lament my error. I knew not of his engagement to you till, a month since, you yourself told me of it. I was then too far gone; I could not recede. Oh! had he given me his confidence at first, this utter misery had been spared me; but the call of honour must be obeyed. May you be as happy as my love for you was deep and pure. Tell him all that has passed. We shall never meet again in life—God bless you!" Her sobs rose on my ear like the spirits of happiness weeping over the sin of the dark world. It seemed as if all of joy escaped from her pure and gentle bosom in those convulsive throes of the mind's anguish. She rose from the ground; a low and heart-broken "Farewell" was responded to by "May God for ever bless you!" from Frank. The next moment she was gone, leaving darkness and despair, like the tempest-tossed mariners, whom the setting sun leaves to a hopeless night and cold grave! My feelings during this scene can scarcely be imagined; but my heart was much altered in the two last hours. Lucy's gentle manner, and exquisite feeling of the right, had subdued me on the other side; Frank's explanation of his part of the affair had softened my heart. Their evidently intense love for each other worked on me more, perhaps, than all. And could I pretend to love Lucy when asking her to be mine? I, a loathsome and disfigured object-I, who had never possessed her heart? No! I was violent, and fiercely jealous, even to madness; but was not so ungenerous, so selfish, so cruel. My resolution was at once taken. I rose softly, and, turning in the direction of his station, said, gently—“ Frank!” I heard him start violently, and he sprang to me, saying, or rather screaming-" You here, Willie! is it possible? Whence came you?-how long are you here? You have heard all?" I laid my hand on his shoulder, and said "I have; I have heard all; and now listen calmly and in silence to me." I took his hand in mine, and, with a voice almost steady, commenced "Frank it is useless now to regret, yet I must regret deeply that I did not give you my confidence at first. What pain would have been saved both to you and me, what misery! I never stood too well in my cousin's regards, but now I can never hope to be other than indifferent to her. I much fear she does even dislike” "Willie," interrupted he, "you have no cause for uneasiness. That Lucy loves, I mean highly esteems you, I am certain. I will not enter into any long defence. That I was ignorant of your engagement, you are aware; and, being so, your own love for her is my best apology for having been mad enough to love, to worship her. Of one thing rest assured-she is truth and purity in their holiest form Oh! that you had told me of your love; the slightest hint, and she had been to me Willie, I am going far from this: as a dear sister. be kind to her, cherish her. Sometimes, when we are separated by distance or by death, think of me as a true and sincere friend-I never meant to injure you." "Enough, Frank," I exclaimed-"I can hear no more. Listen!-Lucy loves you and scorns me. Take her and make her happy, as she deserves to be. The deepest anguish is past. Forget that you ever knew such a one as Willie O'Neil. Be happy-God bless you both!" The aged harper paused; he was visibly agitated. After a few moments he resumed "Though almost half a century has elapsed since I acted my poor part in this play, yet I find my feelings are not quite so dead as I had imagined. I have little more to tell. It were useless to mention all that Frank said and did on the occasion. I parted with him that evening to meet him and Lucy the next morning, to bid farewell: it was but a ruse-long ere that morning came I was far from the home of my fathers. With my dog and my harp as my only companions, I sought the most distant and retired parts of the land. I tried a foreign clime, but soon found that, miserable every where, I could not live out of "my own dear native isle." I returned, and wandered about the south for many years, unloved and unloving, under an assumed name. Of Frank and Lucy I often heard: they made many attempts to find me, but were unsuccessful, They lived happy and respected, and named their first-born after their unfortunate friend. Some years have elapsed since they slept the last long sleep of peace." The harper and Eveleen de Lacie arose, and retraced their steps towards home. The sun was fast approaching Slieve Guillien, and was throwing a parting blessing of effulgent light on the glowing mountains of the valley of the Mourne, or, as it is named in the native tongue, "The Great Boundary.' INNISFAIL. March, 1843, ON THE SPRING OF THE PRESENT YEAR. When smiling Spring releaves the view; The sun, that late his rays had cast To tell us of advancing May. T-R. EMPLOYMENT. Often, the easiest work, requiring the least physical effort, seems attended by a prolonged absence of rest and sleep far more oppressive than the heaviest labour, and the extreme exertion of strength. In fact, muscular toil checks its own duration; and it is its duration, and the consquent absence of rest, rather than the presence of exertion, which injures the body. Even heavy physical labour is often has time to hurt; and this impossibility of continuing good, rather than bad for health. It tires before it such toil for many hours secures rest. Hence we find iron forgers, masons, carpenters and blacksmiths, living long lives in sturdy strength and health. But no one, it seems, has ever known a milliner long-lived and either healthy or hearty, doing, nevertheless, the lightest possible work, needing neither exertion nor muscle. She sinks beneath sameness of posture, We must duration of employment, and want of rest. not measure severity of labour by the strength it requires, but by the reverse, except where a high order of skill is necessary to maintain a monopoly of supply. But where poverty has to fight its own way, the heaviness of the work is always, as far as it goes, a protection to health, and often to the wages of the workman, for, without a sufficiency of food, he would be unable to maintain the requisite power of muscle. INDIAN HEMP.-Although not in medicinal use here, this plant is possessed of extraordinary powers, as a sedative, narcotic, and anti-spasmodic remedy. The resin collected from it is in general use, as an intoxicating agent, all over the East, from the furthermost confines of India to Algiers. The intoxication, which is of the most cheerful kind, lasts about three hours, when sleep supervenes; it is not followed by nausea of sickness, nor by any symptom, save effects are depression of spirits, and relaxation of the slight giddiness, worth recording. The subsequent muscles in a remarkable degree; and yet the lithe ness attending the relaxation, that free perspiration on the skin, and the increase of appetite, have made some old rheumatic persons speak of it as of the elasticity of youth. The hemp resin is most useful in spasmodic and convulsive diseases, and in tetanus it has been the means of cure in the majority of cases, and it has relieved much of the severity of hydrophobia, although it did not avert the fatal termination. It may be safely employed wherever opium is indicated. From a series of exponents on dogs, instituted in the native hospital of Calcutta, by Dr. O'Shaughnessy, we may conclude that it will prove a direct antidote the first of its class-to strychnia, one of the most violent poisons nature affords. |