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fear the few soldiers that could be sent to intimidate them, and predicts that for a long time to come they -will remain the sovereign masters of the territory of the Utah. The Mormon Church which in 1830 had only six members now numbers upwards of 100,000. From the descriptive portion of this work, we come to the archaeological section. For "from Florida to Canada, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, the American soil is strewn with gigantic ruins of temples, tumuli, entrenched camps, fortifications, towers, villages, circuses, towers of observation, gardens, wells, artificial meadows, and high roads of the most remote antiquity." Pipes, sculptures, statuettes, mummies, serve to illustrate an extinct civilization. Who were the architects of the American monuments described by our traveller? Humboldt conjectures them to be the work of Scandinavians from the eleventh until the fourteenth century; but Domenech offers an ingenious proof of the untenableness of this supposition.

This proof is supplied by the trees which have grown on the rnins of these monuments, and the number of whose concentric circles, corresponding to the numbers of the years during which they have existed, warrants us in concluding that these relics of the past were abandoned 900 or 1,000 years ago—consequently at a period anterior to that assigned by Humboldt for their erection. The abbo's own opinion is, that they were constructed by a numerous and civilized people; and as he does "not think it possible that such a people can have existed during so many centuries and passed quite unperceived from the earth,'he' firmly believes in its decline and fusion with the actual race of lied Indians, who wander and vegetate in the solitudes of the wilderness, as an example to the world of the vicissitudes of nations and empires."

These poor Red Indians afford an emphatic illustration of the "natural selection" or "voe victis " theory of existence. "Two centuries ago, the Indians of North America numbered about 16,000,000 or 17,000,000 souls, without including those of Mexico since that period, civilization has deprived them of two-thirds of their territory. Iron weapons, fire, brandy, small-pox, and cholera, have also made upwards of 14,000,000 of victims among them." The present Indian population, including the Indians in the • British possessions, is estimated by our author and other writers at 2,000,000. In the Annals of the Propaganda of the Faith it is stated to be 4,34(i,803; while Mr. Schoolcraft, again, after various corrections and additions of his statistics, gives us as his definitive total, no more than 423,229.

The second volume of the Seven Yeari Residence treats of the historical traditions and peculiarities of the Indians, sketching he characteristics of their different tribes, or of some of them at least, for they seem inexlaustibly numerous; describes also their individual qualities; presents us with a sketch >f their languages and literature; portrays heir manners and customs; depicts their loliday occupations and industrial pursuits and discusses their religious creeds and cerimonials. Uncorrupted by the vices of civlization, the real Indians arc still simple and right-hearted, hospitable, truthful, slaves to ;heir words, courageous but implacable in ;heir vengeance, sincerely religious but probundly superstitious. The degenerate Indians, however, have become false, supicious, avaricious, hard-hearted, and cruel. As an nstance of Indian cunning we may cite the following story:—

An Indian, after hearing a Protestant preach on tiic text, Mako vows to heaven and keep them, went up to the preacher after the sermon nud said, 'I have made a vow to go to yoar house.' A little surprised, the minister answered, 'Well, keep your vow.' On arriving nt i In.' house the Indian said, ' I have made a vow to sup with you.' This was also granted, tmt when, after supper, the Indian ndded, 'I Imvc made a vow to sleep in your house,' fearing there would be no end to the vows of his attentive auditor, the preacher replied, ' It is easy so to do, but I have made a vow that you shall leave to-morrow morning,' to which the Indian consented without hesitation."

According to M. Domenech, all the savages of the New World believe in the existence of a Supreme Being, whom they call the Good or Great Spirit, and adore as the Creator. They believe also in the existence of an Evil Spirit, the antagonist of the Good Spirit, not, however, as an independent principle but as a subordinate power, like the Devil of the Christian theology. It is impossible, we suppose, at present to settle the question of Indian monotheism. In a work reviewed in a previous number of the Spectator," the German traveller, J. G. Kohl, while admitting that the Ojibbeways mention one Great Spirit in their festivals, intimates that he does not fare much better than the "Optimus Maximus" of the Romans. It is not at all clear to us, that the Indian creed can be regarded as really or originally monotheistic. In some instances it may approximate to the monotheistic type, but this approximation may be attributed to European influences. Gehza Manitoo is certainly not the only Manitoo, though he is the supreme Manitoo. Of the immutability or divine perfection of the judgments of the

* See Spectator, No. 1646, January 14,1860.

Highest Being, our author tells us that the Indians generally have no conception. The Sioux of Missouri affirm that "before the creation of man the Great Spirit was in the habit of killing buffaloes and eating them on the Prairie Hills." The Comanches, who do not believe in evil spirits, attribute creative power to a secondary Manitoo. The theogony of the Potowatomies teaches the existence of two great spirits, a good God and a bad god, whose power is thought to be about equal, but with a balance in favor of the Beneficent Deity. It does not 'give us an exalted idea of the power or goodness of the latter to learn that he first filled the newcreated earth with beings resembling men but perverse and wicked, and then beholding their ingratitude plunged the whole world into an immense lak.e and drowned all its inhabitants. Gehza Manitoo, the Great Spirit, is usually symbolized, we are told, by a colossal bird or by the Sun, while Matchi-Manitoo is often represented under the hideous form of a serpent. The residence of the Great Spirit is variously placed in the sun, the clouds, the sky, or in hell, where he punishes the wicked who offend him. The Iroquois tribes again, place the Creator in space; but he shares this roomy residence with Neo, the master of life; Atanocan, the master of Heaven; Mi-chabou, the guardian of the firmament; Agreskoe, the spirit of battle; and Atahensic, the queen of Heaven. When •we add, that Atahocan was himself a creotor, it is difficult to believe that the Iroquois tribes are not polytheistic. The belief of the Columbia river tribes in " a beneficent and all powerful spirit by whom all things were made," comes nearer the monotheistic ideal j but " its evidentisal value is impaired by their unworthy representations of a God, who often changes his shape, usually taking the form of a bird, who lives in the sun, for the most part, but frequently soars up into the ethereal regions, to see what is going on in the world, and if he observes any thing that displeases him, makes known bis irritation by tempests, storms, and diseases. But, again, in addition to this superior spirit, they also believe in an inferior one, who is said to live in fire, and of whom they stand in great awe. Moreover, we are assured by the Abb6 Domenech that the adoration of secondary spirits is common among the Indians, whose vivid imaginations people the solitudes, forests, lakes, rivers, prairies, in a word the whole of nature, with an invisible world of inferior genii, always ready to assist brave, honest hearts that invoke them with confidence. "Of all these powers the most dreaded are the storm-spirit and the fire-spirit." Among the Comanches

the sun is adored as the residence of the Gehza Manitoo and the vivifying principle of nature; the moon as the Goddess of Night; and the earth as the common mother of the luman race. According to the author of fitchi-Oami, again, the Great Spirit was assisted in the creation of the world by Monaboju or Hiawatha. With these facts before us, we find it difficult to persuade ourselves in the present state of inquiry, that the Indians are monotheists, as the abbe wishes to convince us. There is another point, too, on which we must at least suspend our judgment. While Herr Kohl informs us that the notion of retribution scarcely enters into the Indian ideal of a future life, and that the question whether any difference will be made between good and bad is an open one. M. Domenech states positively that "good actions are believed to be punished [compensated ?] by eternal happiness and bad actions by endless misery." But to quit these theological speculations. The chapters on Indian literature contain much curious matter. Some of the songs and legends of the Red Race are really graceful and touching; others are uncouth and barbarous enough.

The final chapter of the work we have reviewed discusses the question of Indian civilization, and the probable future of this devoted people. Our author severely condemns the perfidious manoeuvres employed by the American Commissaries to despoil the Indians of their territory, singling out for special reprobation tho iniquitous encroachments of the Georgian States — encroachments solemnly rebuked by the President John Q. Adams, in his message to the Congress of the 5th of February, 1827. In the New World the policy of the Anglo-Saxon race is to destroy and dispossess its ancient population. The wandering tribes that yet preserve their independence will be treated as have been the Cherokces, the Creeks, the Seminolcs, and Delawares. In -addition to the mortality superinduced by forced emigration, sickness, and epidemic disease, the probable and approaching extinction of all the large game menaces the Indians with a contingent destruction. Yet, though onr author predicts the disappearance of the Red race, he thinks "many years may yet pass before the last Indian has killed the last buffalo." Indeed, he contemplates not the absolute extermination of the race, but the obliteration of its distinctive nationality by absorption through intermarriage with its white supplanter.

Such is, as we have said, the action of the principle of natural selection. For nature, while she tends to a moral ideal, works towards its realization, rather through concrete mights than abstract rights. If the Indians are fated to disappear, it is because they have neither power nor skill to hold their own; because their mode of life which is obsolete, compels them to internecine conflicts j because tney are too savage, or too ignorant to desist from war, or to oppose the inroads of famine; because "vice, liquor, and disorders cut them off by thousands," and they have neither the intelligence, nor the moral grace which would enable them effect

ually to resist the unrighteous incursions of a material civilization. Such reflections do not indeed justify Anglo-Saxon cupidity or Anglo-Saxon oppression ; but they serve to reconcile us to the grim "V<b Victis " policy of nature, in the hope that whatever perishes, not it may be in the day but in the century, will be replaced by something higher, nobler, better.

"—for 'tis the eternal law. That first in beauty, should be first in might."

Bug: Daisy: Feat.—Samuel Purkis, in a letter to George Chalmers, dated Brentwopd, Feb. 1C, 1799, notices the following provincialisms :—

"As I had some time since the honor of writing to you on etymology, I cannot help noticing two curious words, which in a letter I have just received from an ingenious friend in Lincolnshire are said to ho in common use with the lower class of people in that county :—

"Buq: conceited, proud. 'As lie is very buff of it,' that is, he is very proud of it. 'A poor bug fool,' that is, a conceited blockhead.

[Kichardson informs us, that "Bug is not an uncommon expression in the no:-th. He is quite buy; i.e. great, proud, swaggering. "Hunt. Dainty sport toward Dalyell; fit, come, sit, sit and bo quiet; hero aro kindly bugs words."— Ford, 'Parkin Warbeck, Act HI. Sc. 2.]

"Daisy: remarkable, extraordinary, excellent: as 'She is a daisy lass to work,' that is, she is a good working girl. 'I'm a daisy body for pudding,' that is, I cat a great deal of pudding.

"As I am on this subject, allow me to remark, that in the Act of James I., cap. xxii. sect. 25, the word feat is used in a sense rather unusual. 'No person shall use or exercise i\\e feat or mystery of a tanner,' etc. This is different from any modern acceptation of the word." —Notes and Queries. J. Y.

The Feminine Affix "Ess."—

"Our English affix ess, is, I believe, confined either to words derived from the Latin, as actress, directress, etc., or from the French, as mistress, duchess, and the like."—Coleridge, Satyrane's Letters, ii.

This is a mistake: e. g. seamstress (and semster), from scorn, which is from the A.-S.

Wailereti is not so clear a case, though it is nearer to German than French. By the by, De Quincey (Autobiographic Sketches, 1854, vol. ii.

p. 188), has this remarkable note on the word waiter:

"Social changes in London, by introducing females very extensively into the office (once monopolized by men) of attending the visitors at the tables of eating-houses, have introduced a corresponding new word, viz., waitress I"

The fact is, it is no novelty at all. See Wiclifs Bible, Jeremiah ix. 17.

Athenaeum Club. Ci.Ammm.u.

Notes and Queries.

Neapolitan Courage.—The Neapolitans deserted even the gallant Murat at the first volley, when he led them against the Austrians at Tolentino, and they shouted victory or death, till they heard the whistling of the balls. They can do nothing but run away, murder from behind a hedge, and burn or plunder towns they aro unable to hold. And yet, to look on in the ranks, they are amongst the finest, the best dressed, and most accurately drilled troops in the world. General Church, an English officer, who obtained credit by raising and equipping for our service two battalions of Albanians, something on the old Greek model of costume, and who after Ferdinand the Fourth's return to Naples, became his adjutant-general, urged him perpetually to come and look at his guards, newly disciplined and bedizened with laco and frippery, as if they had been carefully unpacked from bandboxes. The king at length complied, muttering that it was an ineffable seccatura, fell asleep in his carriage while they were marching past, and being jogged up at the close, complimented his indefatigable lieutenant (who had ridden up to him for the purpose), saying, " General Church, I am infinitely obliged to you ; you have done wonders. Thoy look and move like demigods; but you'll never make them fight. Good morning." The old gentleman knew his men of old, and was too experienced a sportsman to be taken in by appearances.—Dublin University Magazine.

From The National Magazine. AN OLD MAN'S MEMORIES.

"I Would rather go through any amount of suffering than live a cold, gray life, with no vivid event to color it," I lately heard one of my scholars say to his companions, and they all echoed the sentiment. They were right, I think, though, poor lads, they hardly understood what they said; for to the young, suffering and sorrow seem full of poetry, and they have yet to learn that when the sorrow comes, the poetry can give but little consolation. I am old now, and, doubtless, to other men my life has appeared dull and eventless enough, for no one has cared to know its hidden trials and consolations, — and yet, how much there is for my poor fond heart to look back to and dwell on, recollections that now I would not lose for worlds. The one great sorrow of my life has become so interwoven •with every thought and feeling, I cannot imagine what I should have been without it, but the very monotony of my outward existence has had a soothing effect, and has made my lonely life and unshared grief a second nature to me. I do not understand how men can bear to wander from place to place as they do now-a-days, — they cannot feel the unspoken sympathy of inanimate things as I do. Ihave always lived in this old town, mused in its gardens, wandered through its cloistered halls, finding such comfort and companionship in their beauty that I have long felt towards them as I believe other men do to their friends. They have never seemed to look less kindly on me because I am poor and weakly, or weary of me because I am grave and slow of speech, and even as a little child I felt grateful ibr this, and learned to love them, and they have never changed to me in these changeful times.

It seemed to me to-day, as I sat listening in Magdalene Chapel to the grand old organ, and the boys' clear fresh voices singing some anthem that has been heard there for these hundred years, and watching the sort evening light as it came mellowed through the painted windows, just falling on the picture over the altar, and bringing out clear the quaint carving of the oak stalls, that only I had changed through the long, long years since I first sat there a feeble child, weeping from very fullness of heart, it all seemed to me so beautiful. But it was touching to think that of all those w_ho were there then perhaps I alone survived,— what had been the fate of those who listened with me then, as full of life, as untroubled by fears of the future, as confident in their young strength as those I looked at now V I could hardly believe they were not the same faces I saw before me, so like were they in their unclouded brightness. The light shone more vividly still on the altar-piece—

Christ bearing the Cross," and the choir sang louder, " Comfort ye, comfort ye," while the organ sobbed and wailed like a human voice. Aye, these too will have to bear the cross, these too will soon need comfort—God help them in this evil world!

How well I remember that day (so long past now) when I first went to the chapel! The last notes of the organ had died away, the young men had all escaped from the enforced quiet, but I still sat in a corner of the dark AntiChapel quietly crying; I could hardly have told why, except that the music seemed to understand my thoughts and express my feelings as I could not have done in words. J need not say much about my home, but I was not happy there, my own mother had been long dead—my father had married another wife, and it was no wonder they both eared for her handsome boy more than they could do for me. They were never unkind, only indifferent, leaving me to wander*as I liked, but I knew all their love was for Hugh, a bright winning child, as unlike me as they could wish, and the thought that no one could care for me was very bitter sometimes.

I was suddenly startled by a light hand being placed on my shoulder, and a gentle voice asking " what ailed me ?" I raised my eyes and saw a tall gray-haired man looking down upon me so kindly, I could not feel frightened; he led me out of the chapel and made me sit by him in the cloisters outside, bidding me " tell him all about it," and I did open all my childish heart to him, for there was an earnest simplicity and gentle kindness about him that made me forget he was a stranger. He listened very patiently, asking me questions as I went on; when I told him how I loved the music because it seemed to me a friend, he smiled and told me it was he who played the organ and taught the boys to sing, and asked me if I would like to learn too. I said "yes," but it seemed as unreal a dream that I should ever do so as any of the bright joyful dreams I sometimes had. We soon separated, but good Martin Flcmming did not forget me (he never did forget where there was any kindness to be done), he found I had some capacity for music, and soon, through his influence, I was one of the boys he taught so patiently and lovingly.

My lather failed in his business soon after this, and left Oxford with my mother and little brother for a distant colony, willingly consenting to Martin's offer of adopting me as his own son, an offer generously matlc when he saw how it would naif break my heart to leave him and give up my singing; so I lived on at the old gray house, a tranquil, peaceful life, loving my dear master more and more daily. We were quite companions, notwithstanding the difference in our age. I was too feeble to join in the sports of my schoolfellows, and much preferred wandering about with him in the lovely college gardens, hearing all the many traditions of the time-worn buildings, reading to him the old books he loved and I learned to love too, and helping him to pet and play with his darling Jessie, a delicate pretty little child, whom Tie loved better than any thing on earth, for her young mother had 'died when she was born some four years past.

She was always fond of me, awkward boy though I was, and I, ever grateful for afleetion, was soon her willing slave ;—it was not a hard bondage, for she was gentle and tender- [ hearted like her father, though full of life and j gayety; dear little Jessie, how she used to flit along the cloisters to meet me when I came from school, her bright curly hair blown back from her smiling, innocent face, and her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure because " Stephen had tome back to play with and take care of her 1" What delicious rambles we had together by the river side; then, when she was tired, I would sit on the roots of one of j the old willows pretending to read, but finding it impossible not to look at the little fairy j figure, half hidden in the tall buttercups and grass, or not to listen to the eager, silvery voice, forever proclaiming some wonderful discovery of hidden flower or bright insect. Then going home in the twilight she would be half frightened under the arches of the long avenue of the elm-trees, though we both liked the mysterious light that came through their thick foliage, but when the wind sighed through the branches mournfully her little hand would clasp mine more tightly, and she ceased her innocent prattle for a time. Those were very happy days, and year after year •went by all too quickly. I received a good education at the chorister's school; I liked my studies, and they said I learned easily and remembered well. Master Flemming (as he bid us. boys call him) had no ambition for himself, but often said ho would like to see ine a scholar of the college before he died, and I felt I must not any longer be dependent on his charity, so I toiled hard and was successful. I was elected scholar of M.e., and at the end of my undergraduate's course, having obtained (to me) unexpected honors, I remained on at the old college as tutor and lecturer.

Jessie had grown up to womanhood now, though as childlike in her simplicity and trusting innocence as when I first knew her; she was very lovely, and her frailness and delicacy made her even more so. I used to fancy, as she hung about her father, cheering his age, and, alas, increasing infirmities, that she was like the delicate flowers that gave such brightness to the old gray mullioued windows

of the college; he always seemed younger when she was by him. I always loved her, and I cannot tell when the protecting love of an elder brother changed to the deep passionate love- of the man for one infinitely better and purer than himself, but it had so changed. I never betrayed this by look or word, it was only in my most sanguine day-dreams that I hoped to win her so to love me in return; how could she, so young, so fair, dream of linking her fate to such as I was? it was bliss enough for the present to be with her daily, to know that she cared for and trusted in me. I would not for worlds disturb her inuoecnt confidence in " Brother Stephen," as she still called me, but I inwardly vowed that the one object of my life should be to guard her from sorrow, and, if possible, to keep he* happy and peaceful as she was then—in my presumption and blindness forgetting that olhers might pluck my cherished flower from mo.

My father had never returned to England; he had prospered greatly, and was a Hen man now; his letters were always full of praises of my little brother Hugh,—his beauty, his wit, his popularity were a never-failing theme. I often longed to sec the boy, whom I remembered a bold, imperious, yet winning little fellow—and now iny wishes were to be gratified. Hugh was coming to England before finally settling in the colony, and meant to spend some time in Oxford, picking up what instruction he could in an irregular way there. This news caused great excitement in our quiet household. Martin Flemming insisted upon his becoming an inmate of his house, and wnen the time of his coming drew near Jessie was quite in a flutter of shy expectation. Her life had been so very quiet with two grave, studious men as her only companions, the arrival of an unknown guest was a great event to her. How lovely she looked as we sat watching for him that bright summer evening, in her simple white dress and blue ribbons, the corn-flowers (I had jestingly bid her wear because they matched the color of her eyes) placed in her sunny hair; how timidly she ! shrunk behind her father when Hugh came, and I went out first to greet and bring him in; and how prettily she forgot her shyness and came forward to welcome him as an old 'friend because he was my brother. I could hardly believe he was my brother, he was so unlike me in every way ; he was tall and dark, —his face, which was bronzed by the sun and long voyage, would have been almost stern in its regularity had it not been for his bright, laughing eyes and ready smile; his manners were frank and winning; altogether there was a pleasant mixture about him of the careless lad and the man who has seen something of the world. We were all soon like old friends together, and in a few days Jessie's

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