curred, as must always happen in the absence of government, or executive physical force, and the voluntary organization split into fragments, which latter, however, continued to roll onwards, like the broken pieces of a flying ball, under the impetus of their original projection. These two families, disgusted with the obstinacy and riotous spirit of their comrades, had determined to advance alone; and being provided with excellent teams, and many loose mules and oxen, so as to rest their animals by frequent changes in the wearing service of their journey, they had been enabled to reach the first fountain which mingles its waters with the western ocean-and hence called the Pacific Spring," some ten days sooner than the remainder of the band. Thus they were in no danger of being surprised in the Sierra Nevada by the premature fall of autumnal snow, a most dreadful contingency, which pioneers are most anxious to avoid. But the forward movement of so diminutive a party was hazardous in the extreme. In all, they numbered only a dozen persons; four of these were small children, and the rest adults of opposite sexes, in equal proportions. Their energy, prudence, and perseverance, in spite of the hostile and thievish savages that hovered around their way, had carried them safely thus far, half the distance of their route of two thousand miles, and would probably have borne them to the settlements of the Sacramento, had not a casualty intervened, as unexpected as it was impossible to foresee or resist. In the mean time, the little band, not conscious of the impending danger, appeared to be in the happiest mood, cooked their frugal supper over a fire of "buffalo chips," amidst jokes, !aughter, and scraps of forest song, and indulged the while in the brightest anticipations as to "the promised land" before them. About sunset, a youth and maiden strolled from their camp, and ascended one of those tall elevations, which overlook and command the celebrated "South Pass." The view opened into indescribable grandeur and solemn desolation. Immense plains and measureless mountains extended wide as the circumference of sight, and the whole glittered in the red rays of evening, as if sprinkled with a baptism of burning gold. But the finest point in the glorious perspective was the noble Pass itself-that great gate in the mountain wall-so easy of ascent, that a railway might be run without excavation, to the very key of its gentle arch, and so exceedingly broad, that all the armies on the globe might deploy within its area, and neither wing of their mighty line would touch the edge of its enormous gap. The lovers, (for such they were,) looked till they were lost in emotions of sublimity, and in blended ecstacy and devout awe pressed involuntarily closer to each other. Then their two hearts throbbed together as one, and the musical beats of their warm life-pulses became a chime and choral anthem, for they saw the name of nature's God sculptured on the mute marble of ten thousand rocks. What mattered it, that both were indigenous products of the far frontier, and clothed in smoke-tinted leather, and coarsethreaded home-spun? That did not bar them from love and worship, any more than from dew and sunshine. He was brave above fear, and she was beautiful beyond words. Hence their love was youth's necessity—as natural as the emission of odor from flowers, or as the coming of flowers at the call of May. "What a grand church for our wedding!" whispered Henry, as they gazed down on their white canvass tents, beside "The Pacific Spring," whence arose the tinkling melody of mule-bells, and the ringing merriment of children's voices. Emma's soul was in her eye; but she answered only with a smile and a blush. "You remember your promise," continued Henry, "made one month ago, at the Grand Island of the Platte, to be my bride at the first fountain flowing towards California; and there it is. That sweet spring sends its icy rill to Green River, which, lower down, is called the Colorado of the West, and empties its waters into the pearl-producing gulf." At the instant, the lovers started, for both, at the same time, discovered several dark-looking objects in the south, towards that extraordinary butte, which has since received the name of "Jacob's Tower." Their first thought was of Indians. But a nearer approach of the moving forms dissipated all apprehension. They appeared to be a herd of elk, leisurely grazing in the short, wild sage of the sterile plain. The emigrants were ignorant of the singular fact, that the prairie Indians frequently assume the skins and shapes of the various animals, and in this strange metamorphoses take the unwary traveller by surprise. As twilight gradually deepened over the earth and sky, the youth and maiden descended to their camp. Supper was soon despatched, and all prepared for the nuptial ceremony. Emma's father, a Baptist minister, officiated as chaplain. It may readily be conceived that few luxuries had been provided for the occasion. Such occasions are common among pioneer parties. Some delicious buffalo marrow was handed round, and supplied the place of sugar-coated cake. There were no torches or torchbearers. But the rising moon made an excellent lamp, and the stars resplendent candles. The scene had intense national significance. It was a symbol worthy of the profoundest study; for, if emigration is the pivot of American progress, holy matrimony is the main-spring of emigration. Hence, a wedding among emigrants, in the Gate of the Rocky Mountains, and on the Fourth of July, was in itself sublime. The congratulations of friends were scarcely over, when a dozen Indians entered the encampment. Their appearance excited no alarm, as they were nearly naked, and entirely destitute of weapons. They said, that they were Utahs, and offered for barter a peculiar sort of bread, composed of dry seeds of the wild sun-flower and grass-hoppers, in about equal quantities, pounded, mixed, and parched together. Such au article of food would, of course, find no civilized purchasers. Presently these hideous savages were joined by a still greater number, all in the same unwarlike condition, with the exception of one. This was a huge, giant-limbed barbarian, in aspect very different from his comrades. A profusion of matted. hair hung around his broad shoulders, and a bristling beard covered the lower part of his face. His body was clothed in deer-skin, and his ferocious countenance seemed absolutely frightful, from the strong obliquity of his little grey eyes. He was obviously a white-man turned savage. The wretch looked on the emigrants with a sinister expression, boding evil fortune, till his glance fell on the new bride, when his features contracted into a diabolical smile. At the moment, Emma recognized him, and screamed, "It is Bill Moore-the murderer of my brother!" Immediately, the outlaw gave a loud whoop-the preconcerted signaland the whole band of Indians sprang like so many mad panthers, and grappled with the emigrants. The latter, both men and women, resisted with the bravery of desperation. The odds, however, was too great; and in a brief space, they were all overpowered, tied with cords of bark, and lay Then, at the com helpless on the ground, at the mercy of their captors. mand of their renegade chief, the Utahs broke into pieces all the rifles they could find, and prepared to depart, leaving all the males fast bound, and carryingwith them the females. The shrieks of the poor women, as they struggled in vain with the naked arms which dragged them away, were most piteous to hear; while the horrors of the hour were increased by the cries of children clinging convulsively to the bosoms of their mothers. The case seemed hopeless, when a third party arrived on the mournful theatre. The brilliant light of the full moon revealed a large company of Indians on horseback, dashing rapidly towards the camp. They were headed by a beautiful young female, dressed in a buck-skin shirt, pantaloons, and moccasins, adorned with many tasteful golden ornaments, whose graceful figure sat upon her fine steed with fairy-like ease and elegance. "Soshones! Soshones!" shouted the Utahs, giving way to a panic of ungovernable terror, and flying off in all directions, leaving their prisoners astonished at so strange a deliverance. But there was one who did not let go his victim. The refugee, Bill Moore, seized the fainting form of Emma, and scaling, with incredible velocity, a neighboring eminence, disappeared with his living burden beyond its tall summit. The minute after, the friendly Soshones reached the scene of recent outrage, and cut loose the cords with which the captives had been tied, hand and foot. The lovely leader of the Snakes explained, by signs, and some few words of broken English, that the commander of the Utahs was her husband, and had that morning gone out, under the pretence of hunting, when she was informed, by a comrade, of her false lord's intention to carry off a white woman, during the night, from the South Passa woman whom he had seen the previous day, on the Sweet Water river, and recognized as one he had loved before his exile among the Indians.— This intelligence drove Henry almost distracted; and, as well as he was able, by gestures, he told the other that her husband had borne away his wife, pointed out the course they had taken, and entreated her to pursue them, and suffer him to attend the company. The dark eyes of the female Soshone lightened with the fires of jealousy and revenge. She instantly provided Henry with a fleet horse. He found his rifle, which, by good luck, had escaped the general mutilation, and having mounted the hardy steed of the prairies, the whole band of Snakes dashed onwards. Making a short circuit round the hill, over which Bill Moore had passed, they soon reached the level plain, and obtained a sight of the fugitive, who was galloping off on a strong horse, that doubtless had been concealed for the present purpose, and the flutter of the white garments on the wind proved that the victim was borne in the abhorred rider's lap. The Soshone woman uttered a piercing yell, and the pursuers augmented their speed to a rate which rapidly diminished the distance betwixt them and their object. The chase extended south, in the direction of the spiralshaped butte, now known as "Jacob's Tower;" and as the troop neared it, the felon was not more than one hundred yards ahead. His escape seemed impossible, for the rocky structure was of considerable height, and its irregular sides looked steep as the walls of a house. Hence even the savages were astonished, when they beheld Moore leap from his steed, and still supporting the weight of his burden, begin to ascend the extraordinary butte. He had discovered a narrow and difficult crevice, that enabled him to climb to the very top of the precipice. Most of the Snakes, notwith standing the entreaties of their female leader, drew back, afraid to attempt the dangerous elevation. But Henry paused not a moment. Clinging to his rifle, he urged his way up the frowning cliff, and by the utmost exertions, at last succeeded in gaining the dizzy summit. Here an appalling spectacle met his eye. Moore having despaired of eluding the pursuit of the Soshones, was endeavoring to murder the beautiful Emma. Being unprovided with weapons, which he had lost in his hasty flight, the human fiend was choaking his captive to death. One bound brought Henry within striking distance. He could not take time to cock his rifle. A single blow from the heavy iron barrel went crashing through the bones of the villain's skull, and sent him to settle his final account at a bar where the court is witness as well as judge. Henry, at first, supposed that his young bride was a corpse. He pressed her pale lips to his own. They were covered with white foam, and felt chill and frosty. Her blue eyes were closed. Oh! what a horror, that so much youth and beauty should perish by such a death! But a few minutes of gentle pressure to that warm and loving bosom, of which she was sole queen and idol, served to re-animate her fainting form. Her eyes shone out again like the jewel of night after a passing cloud, and a sweet murmur rippled in the calm atmosphere on the peak of "Jacob's Tower"-" Dearest, I have had a dreadful dream!" Those who would hear more of Henry and Emma, must take a trip to the fountains of Feather River, or wait for our next story of "The World's Mint Gold Mines." TO VIRGIL. (TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.) WHY Would false pride restrain the tears that flow In mem'ry of a friend so dear? Come, thou Melpomene, thy saddest strains inspire, 'Tis true then, in th' eternal sleep of Death The tears of all the friends of virtue flow; Though softer than the Thracian bard's, thy strain Mercury once hath smitten with his wand ROBESPIERRE. TO THE EDITOR OF THE DEMOCRATIC REVIEW: THE pen of the poet historian, Lamartine, has invested with an interest bordering almost on the dramatic, the character of some of the statesmen who achieved the first revolution in France. That interest has been increased by the startling events of the past yearthe overthrow of the Bourbon dynasty, and the establishment of the Republic. Every thing connected with the old revolution has suddenly acquired new importance, and a fresh spirit of inquiry has been started into the causes which produced, and the character of the men who controlled it. The boldest and freest pen which has yet sketched the men and things of that day, is Lamartine's. His history of the Girondists, though written under the late monarchy, seemed to anticipate the republic. It is, in reality, the nearest approach to a republican history of the revolution which has yet appeared. Neither Theirs nor Mignet can be strictly called republican historians. The elaborate history of the former, and the philosophic narrative of the latter, are both conceived in the spirit of the revolution of 1830, after Louis Phillippe had stamped his impress upon it. The leading idea which pervades both of these authors, as well as Lacretelle, though strongly national, is conservative and monarchic. They vindicate France and the revolution from the aspersions of the English tory writers, but they fail to vindicate democracy and popular government. Lamartine has made the nearest approach to this. He seems deeply imbued with the popular sentiment of the age; and his pages breathe more of the spirit of the republic than of the late "constitutional monarchy." In that beautiful and highly finished group of historic pictures which he has sketched with such masterly skill, we find it is true, but little that is new, in fact, and of that little not everything, can be relied on as authority. His lyrical pages sparkle in the light of a poetic genius, and at times glow with almost the warm coloring of fiction. Yet his history, if such it may be called, is eminently suggestive, and none can arise from its perusal without truer notions of the men, if not the events of the old republic. We do not mean by this to express an entire concurrence with M. de Lamartine, or to say that all his characters are drawn to the life. We greatly mistrust the fidelity of some of them, and none more so than the prominent figure in the group which he has drawn with such artistic skill, and whose biography under the title of "History of the Girondists," he has written with so friendly a hand. We republicans on this side the Atlantic entertain our own American impressions-it may be prejudices-on republicanism, on revolutions, and revolutionary men. They may be peculiar; at all events, we think them correct. An American history of the revolution would be a different thing from what either Alison, Thiers, or Lamartine has written. It is for the purpose, Mr. Editor, of preventing what I deem to be this American view of the revolution of 1789, that I ask a place in the present, and some of the succeeding numbers of your Review, for two or three random sketches of the men who were prominent in the old French Republic. I shall commence with Robespierre, whom Lamartine has made his hero, taking neither his narrative as a guide, nor that of any previous writer or historian, except so far as a collection of facts may render necessary or of use. I propose to select one of the Girondists, the republican and orator, Vergniaud, as the subject for your next number. October 20th, 1848. GEORGE VAN SANTVOORD. THERE came up to the States General from the Province of Artois, a young man, a native of Arras, and an advocate there, who had been elected deputy of the tiers etat from that city. He was scarcely thirty years of age, slightly formed, and short in stature, with a sickly and atrabilarious complexion, and a cold dull eye, deeply sunk in its socket. His countenance was forbidding; and an habitual winking, or kind of nervous contraction of the eye-lid, lent to it a sinister expression. This pale, sickly looking-young man in spectacles, though prime and neat in person, presented nothing remarkable or attractive in his external appearance. As he marched along in |