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cretion, therefore, is considered the better part of valor. The war-chief who conquers the enemy does well; but he who conquers without loss to himself does infinitely better. It is thought honorable to avoid risk as much as possible, and the decision of quarrels by single combat is called folly and madness. But when they have resolved on battle, no people strive more valiantly. Our history bears witness to the furious energy of their valor. Their ideas of moral courage might be adopted with advantage by all who call them savages. They think it weak and cowardly to yield to grief or anger; misfortune and pain they scorn, and death they endure not only without a murmur, but with cheerfulness. Suicide under any circumstances they brand as the strongest evidence of lack of courage.

"Of the cruelty of Indians to conquered enemies, this only can be said: that it is the vice of all barbarians; that they know not what they do; that it is only exercised on their avowed foes, and that it is almost always perpetrated in the heat of blood. Captives, once spared, fare no worse than their conquerors. The sense of honor among Indians is, in some respects, very strong; in others, not so. It will not prevent an individual from falsehood, treachery, promisebreaking, flattery, beggary, and a multitude of other offenses. It will deter him from labor, which he considers the exclusive business of women; it forbids him to shun death; it commands him to requite a disgraceful blow with a stab; it forbids him to boast of deeds he never achieved; it commands him to sacrifice himself for the good of his tribe. Its scope is not very extensive; but where it operates, it operates effectually.

"In their domestic relations, they are essentially, but not ostensibly kind. They provide for their families, they love their wives and children; but, thinking it womanish to manifest the affections, they are not fond husbands or fathers. Tatunkah Nazhee, the best hunter of the Dahcotahs, lost his wife and five children by the hands of the Chippeways. The only sign of grief he dis

played was painting his face black. Yet he abandoned his usual occupations, and pursued the enemy till he had taken life for life. This,' said he, 'is the best way of mourning for the dead.'

"Indian hospitality and charity have no limit. No stranger enters their tents to whom they do not give meat; no person goes to them in need whom they do not relieve to the extent of their ability, and often to their great inconvenience. They will not look upon an execution; they will not suffer a person who has wronged them to be whipped for it; and the idea of imprisoning a man for debt, or for a petty violation of the rights of property, fills them with horror.

"Some years ago, the old chief of a Dahcoath band was robbed by a drunken soldier of eighteen ducks, which he had killed for the use of his family. The offender was detected, compelled to make restitution, and fastened to the whipping-post. When the old man comprehended the nature of the punishment about to be inflicted, he burst into tears, and threw down half his game before the commanding officer. I will give you these,' said he, 'if you will spare this man. Of what consequence are a few ducks?' The man had committed violence on the chief's person. Which of the two best deserved to be called a savage?

"In short, to end our remarks on the Dahcotah character, which is, with some trivial alterations, the character of most Indian tribes, we may say that their moral code is grievously defective, but that, such as it is they adhere rigidly to it. Considering their ignorance, their extreme necessities, and their wrongs, it is wonderful that their moral degradation is not deeper than it is. Their code is adapted to their mode of life; and it is only by applying it to others, who have more to lose and less to gain than themselves, that they become disagreeable and dangerous neighbors to the whites. An incessant irritation is the consequence, hatred succeeds, mutual wrong follows, and war consummates the drama."

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

BY B

How precious indeed is a mother's love, and how great are the benefits we derive from a proper remembrance of it! We should delight in preserving so valuable a possession, and by good conduct continue to merit that guidance or advice which few but her can willingly bestow.

To estimate properly the warnings and wishes of a faithful mother, we should reflect upon the constant anxiety she has for our happiness and welfare. We should measure the extent of her toils, and reward her with tokens of sincerity and esteem.

We should bear in mind also, says a philosophical writer, "that domestic peace constitutes a great portion of our pleasure, and every circumstance that can affect it should be carefully attended to. Relations, if they would live happily, should make it their study to promote concord among themselves, and by a proper conduct reflect honor on each other." Advice so important is applicable to us all; and to prove our appreciation of it, we should first regard a mother's love; as from her we most assuredly obtain a sweet promise of being cared for, when acquaintances or companions may seem unmindful of our condition. The simplicity of the parent is thus made advantageous to the child, commanding a friend or protector whose aid or influence may be of great service to it in after years.

It cannot be denied that, in the approving smile of a mother's tenderness, we enjoy the most refined and gratifying reward; for it is her pride to implant among us a peculiar friendship, such as has been described as the union of souls by means of virtue; the common object and cement of their mutual affection.

In order, therefore, to avoid the anguish which might be inflicted upon her by our extravagance or indiscretion; to save her from substituting a frown for a smile, or to

| prohibit any social enjoyment for the purpose of abolishing an evil or crushing a stubborn will, we should remember that when she is enabled to behold the pride of her family emerged, as it were, from an humble station to one of honor, profit, or responsibility, to find in his associates a pure regard for the most sacred attributes, and to discover from the opinions of others how useful he may have become in the various walks of life, her gratitude is increased alike with her hopes, her joys, and her affection. How then can we offer any excuse for a lack of love, or the avoidance of any claim of right or assistance that may be due to so generous a guardian, so good a counsellor, or so lovely a friend?

In truth, we should cheerfully respond to her wishes, the halcyon hours of life being made more plentiful by obedience, even though they fly,

"Just like the meteor's dazzling ray,

Which gleams a moment 'mid the sky,
And then in darkness fades away."

We know that she is ever ready to contribute her influence to free us from error, and to elevate us among men; therefore we cannot deny that her watchfulness is undiminished, either in the morning of our days, or when the mantle of age is wrapped around us.

If then we possess a proper ambition, her examples, her precepts, or her warning will be our guide. So few instances, however, are exhibited of that conscientiousness which marks the obedient child, that a strict adherence to a mother's advice excites at once our admiration. Let those who have erred in this way, in future guard with prudence and veneration a mother's love. Let them appreciate it in the hour of trial, and as they advance in years and experience, openly acknowledge its importance, its value, and its power.

TEN MINUTES TOO LATE:

OR, THE MISERIES OF A FATALIST.

BY DIONYSIUS DOLORES.

ALAS! I am a man of many miseries; fated to disappointment, sorrow, and disgrace. I say fated, because my evil genius has beset me from a date anterior to the shriek of terror that I uttered on the auspicious occasion of drawing my first breath. My mother has often told me that she had prefixed the time of my birth on the 28th day of February, in the year 18—. By what mysterious calculation she arrived at this estimate of my anticipated advent, I know not, nor is it a matter of any importance to the reader; suffice it to say, my mother had fixed her heart on that day, as one that should mark upon the calendar of time the setting forth of a soul and body on their pilgrimage of mortality.

Unhappily for me, the particular month of February that my mother had fixed upon, occurred upon a leap year. Now, had she said the last day of February, instead of fixing the numeral with such rigid pertinacity, every thing would have gone well enough; but although frequently urged to change the phraseology of her prediction to that effect, she persisted that, having said the twentyeighth, she would not alter the almanac, and the twenty-eighth it should be.

In due course of time, the morning of that fatal day arrived. I shall never forget it; for, although I was not then present, its disappointments have followed me like ogres to the present time; and I verily believe they will continue to haunt me till, by the delay of either parson or undertaker, I shall be buried at last, ten minutes too late. There was a harvest of mishaps sown on that day that I shall never be able to garner, in this life at least. The morning came, and with it, the prognostic of my mother was made,

as she said, doubly sure. There was, as I have been informed, every indication that her prophecy would be fulfilled; but still the day wore away by degrees, and yet no consummation. Night arrived before my father was dispatched to summon that important auxiliary on such occasions, the M.D. of the family; and he, poor soul! had already two cases of the same nature on his tablet for that very evening; and being a man who acted upon the principle of "first come, first served," would not deviate from his rule; in consequence of which, my mother asserts, two promising youths got the start of me in the race of life. He came at last, however, just as the clock on the mantel struck twelve; and I was ushered into the world exactly ten minutes too late to fulfil the prediction of my mother.

My mother urged that the time was so near, it ought to be considered as occurring on the day that she had named; but my father was rigidly conscientious in such matters, and down I went on the Family Record," Dionysius Dolores: born February 29th, 18-," in a large staring text. This was my first misfortune; and since I have been old enough to realize my misery, I have never had the heart to read a chapter in that old Bible, between whose rusty covers the event stands chronicled. I may not be accounted very old myself, it is true, having not yet seen my eighth birth-day; but, n'importe pas, as the Frenchmen say; I am, for all that, old enough to know myself miserable.

Before I had cut my first teeth, I was subjected to innumerable inconveniences and perils, in consequence of the tardiness of those about me. Every thing done on my

behalf came on behind time; and ten minutes to the stomach of a hungry baby, is no small grievance, I can assure you. I remember distinctly that on the first Christmas morning of which I had any conception of the visitations of Santa Claus, my brothers and sisters got ten minutes the start of me before I awoke, during which time my suspended stocking was rifled of its precious contents, and I became a dependent upon those who had stolen my portion of the annual sweets of the season, and received what they were pleased to bestow, with a sensation of ill-satisfied humility. At school, I fared no better; my evil genius clung to me, in spite of all my efforts to shake it off; that eternal" ten minutes too late" made me the scape-goat of my class; and if there was a flogging to come off, it was sure to fall on my shoulders.

I remember that on one occasion a grand festivity was in preparation among the teacher and scholars, girls and boys. I think it was about the holidays, and, in consequence of an extraordinary run of good luck, I had outstripped my classmates in our studies, and was therefore chosen to act, in concert with the smartest young lady in the female department, as the juvenile dignitaries, or presiding magnates of the occasion. My young heart was full of exultation, and I looked forward to the hour of my distinction and authority with all the palpitating eagerness of a Meccaän devotee on his pilgrimage. I had written a short but grandiloquent speech to be delivered on the occasion, and spent hour after hour with my beautiful consort, rehearsing our several and conjunctive duties. The morning of the auspicious day arrived; at 9 o'clock the queen of the festivity was to receive a crown, composed of pasteboard, wire, and artificial flowers, from my hands; the juniors of the locality were all astir at an early hour, dressed in their best suits, and my heart was palpitating with triumphant throes.

At 8 o'clock my dress for the occasion had not arrived from the tailor's. I felt uneasy, but there was time enough yet.

Half past 8, and still no dress; a servant was sent half a mile to inquire the cause of the delay. He returned, saying the dress would be sent in a few minutes. Nine o'clock came, and with it the dress. I jumped into it and hastened to the school, arriving ten minutes too late. Another had been substituted in my place, and, seeing me enter, he very coolly sent to me, to ask the loan of a copy of my speech! Vexed beyond endurance, I told him in reply that he might make his own speeches and be hanged; and, with tears streaming from my eyes, I sneaked out of the room, and hid myself at home the remainder of the day.

As I grew up towards manhood, it was my luck to become enamored of a lovely girl, whom my better fate threw in my way-at least so I thought at the time; but even that eventually proved to be only another source of torment, invented by my accursed star. Having succeeded in ingratiating myself completely in her good esteem, a rival presented himself: he provoked me; I insulted him; he challenged me; I accepted; the time and place of meeting were arranged, and every thing was going on finely, when, through the laziness of my second, we were ten minutes too late in arriving at the ground. My rival had been there, waited five minutes, and left; and I had the satisfaction of seeing myself posted as a coward. The young lady heard of it, refused to see me again, and soon after married my rival.

To say that I felt like the "wandering Jew," or the "last man," would be superfluous. I could have prayed for blessings on the blow that would have taken away my life; but even in this my fixed and evil destiny was against me. I resolved to leave the place where I had been both defeated in my love and disgraced in the defeat; so, packing up my duds, I called a cab, and directed the driver to convey me to a steamboat that was about to leave for a distant city. On the road, our vehicle was brought to a stand-still by the loss of a wheel, and, in consequence of the delay

occasioned in finding another conveyance, I was ten minutes too late for the boat; a mile from the wharf, I could see her steaming away in grand style; and, to add to my mortification, the next morning's gazettes announced that she had burst her boilers, and killed almost every person on board. I could only mourn over the opportunity thus lost of escaping from life without the disagreeable necessity of committing suicide. Not long after this event, the two-penny postman handed in the following laconic note from a superannuated maiden aunt:

"DEAR NEPHEW:

"The doctors say I can't live long. I shall make my will to-morrow morning; and I want you to be here at ten o'clock, that you may be remembered.

LYTTLETON BLACKSTONE.

"From your loving aunt Jerusha.
"By Attorney.
"Tuesday morning."

It was precisely ten o'clock on Wednesday morning when I received this note. The old lady, who was as rich as Croesus, had often said that she would make me her heir, and the moment had already arrived at which my presence at her bedside was demanded, for the purpose of consummating this important intention. Clapping my hat on my head wrong side foremost, and upsetting a boy in my haste, I rushed into the street, and flew toward the residence of my dying aunt. I had a mile and a half to go, and at length arrived, almost breathless, at her princely mansion up town. The will had been signed and sealed ten minutes before, and, in consequence of my apparent indifference and slight, the old lady had given the bulk of her fortune to some tenth cousin, who lived somewhere in the region of the north pole; and on my arrival she had sunk into a state of imbecility, which rendered it impossible to obtain a recognition, much less an alteration of the will; and in the course of the same day, the poor, foolish old woman was gathered to her fathers. My evil genius had evidently beset the path of the postman, and so cheated me out of a fortune, by bringing the missive ten minutes too late.

This was a sad blow to my anticipations, because, as every thing went wrong with me

in business, I had fondly looked forward to the expected bequest of my aunt as the means of fortifying myself against the most vindictive animosity, even of fate itself. I became desperate, surly, morose. I could have drunk molten lead to quench my passion, or torn an elephant piecemeal, like a chicken. I had been robbed of my mistress, my fortune, and every thing essential to happiness, by an accursed evil genius which, having fastened upon me like a vampire at my birth, was pertinaciously following me to my grave. I resolved to endure it no longer; to shake off the incubus; to rid myself of my tormentor by some desperate measures, or perish in the attempt, and thus at one stroke rid myself of my misery, and cheat the demon of his victim,

What was to be done? Ah! that was

the question which puzzled me; and while cogitating over it, my brain became cool again. What an arrant fool I was to think of contending with fate! I might as well have attempted to blow out the north star with a blank cartridge. So I concluded to grin and bear it; take the world as it goes, wind up my watch regularly, set it ten minutes ahead, and act up to time.

Ridiculous! There is no use in trying. Ten years have I struggled under this last resolution, and yet there is no change in my favor. It is destiny, fate, or whatever you choose to call it. Industry has failed to avert it; resolution is futile; philosophy cannot solve it; and time brings no relief. Therefore I resolve to strive no more. I am in the hands of evil angels, who, unseen, flit about me, and cast their diabolical shadows in my path. I am a nonentity; a passive, soulless, powerless thing, useless alike to others and myself; a mere bramble in the fair fields of nature. I have tried to live like other men, and find it impossible. I have longed for death, but in vain; and I am now firmly fixed in the belief that when the appointed hour for the grim messenger's approach arrives, he will be ten minutes too late, and I shall be compelled to live on until the final dissolution of the great globe itself.

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