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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.

Highest Being, our author tells us that the the sun is adored as the residence of the Indians generally have no conception. The Gehza Manitoo and the vivifying principle Sioux of Missouri affirm that before the of nature; the moon as the Goddess of Night; creation of man the Great Spirit was in the and the earth as the common mother of the habit of killing buffaloes and eating them on human race. According to the author of the Prairie Hills." The Comanches, who do Kitchi-Gami, again, the Great Spirit was asnot believe in evil spirits, attribute creative sisted in the creation of the world by Menapower to a secondary Manitoo. The theog- boju or Hiawatha. With these facts before ony of the Potowatomies teaches the exist- us, we find it difficult to persuade ourselves ence of two great spirits, a good God and a in the present state of inquiry, that the Inbad god, whose power is thought to be about dians are monotheists, as the abbé wishes to equal, but with a balance in favor of the Be- convince us. There is another point, too, neficent Deity. It does not give us an ex- on which we must at least suspend our judgalted idea of the power or goodness of the ment. While Herr Kohl informs us that the latter to learn that he first filled the new-notion of retribution scarcely enters into the created earth with beings resembling men Indian ideal of a future life, and that the but perverse and wicked, and then beholding question whether any difference will be made their ingratitude plunged the whole world between good and bad is an open one. into an immense lake and drowned all its in- M. Domenech states positively that "good habitants. Gehza Manitoo, the Great Spirit, actions are believed to be punished [comis usually symbolized, we are told, by a co-pensated?] by eternal happiness and bad lossal bird or by the Sun, while Matchi-Man- actions by endless misery." But to quit itoo is often represented under the hideous these theological speculations. The chapters 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 final chapter of the work we have rethe master of life; Atahocan, the master of viewed discusses the question of Indian civHeaven; Mi-chabou, the guardian of the ilization, and the probable future of this defirmament; Agreskoe, the spirit of battle; voted people. Our author severely condemns and Atahensic, the queen of Heaven. When the perfidious manoeuvres employed by the we add, that Atahocan was himself a cre- American Commissaries to despoil the Inator, it is difficult to believe that the Iro-dians of their territory, singling out for special quois tribes are not polytheistic. The be- reprobation the iniquitous encroachments of lief of the Columbia river tribes in "a be- the Georgian States-encroachments solneficent and all powerful spirit by whom all emnly rebuked by the President John Q. things were made," comes nearer the mono- Adams, in his message to the Congress of theistic ideal; but "its evidentisal value is the 5th of February, 1827. In the New impaired by their unworthy representations World the policy of the Anglo-Saxon race is of a God, who often changes his shape, to destroy and dispossess its ancient popuusually taking the form of a bird, who lives lation. The wandering tribes that yet prein the sun, for the most part, but frequently serve their independence will be treated as soars up into the ethereal regions, to see what have been the Cherokees, the Creeks, the is going on in the world, and if he observes Seminoles, and Delawares. In addition to any thing that displeases him, makes known the mortality superinduced by forced emihis irritation by tempests, storms, and dis-gration, sickness, and epidemic disease, the eases. But, again, in addition to this su- probable and approaching extinction of all perior 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 Abbé 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 thesc Such is, as we have said, the action of the powers the most dreaded are the storm-spirit principle of natural selection. For nature, and the fire-spirit." Among the Comanches while she tends to a moral ideal, works

the large game menaces the Indians with a contingent destruction. Yet, though our 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.

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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; because they 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 "Vae 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 p. 188), has this remarkable note on the word letter to George Chalmers, dated Brentwood, waiter:Feb. 16, 1799, notices the following provincialisms:

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[Richardson informs us, that "Bug is not an uncommon expression in the north. He is quite bug; i.e. great, proud, swaggering. "Hunt. Dainty sport toward Dalyell; sit, come, sit, sit and be quiet; here are kingly bugs words."Ford, Perkin Warbeck, Act III. Sc. 2.]

"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!"

The fact is, it is no novelty at all. See Wie-
lif's Bible, Jeremiah ix. 17.
Athenæum Club.
CLAMMILD.
-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 beDaisy: remarkable, extraordinary, excel- hind a hedge, and burn or plunder towns they lent as She is a daisy lass to work,' that is, are unable to hold. And yet, to look on in the she is a good working girl. I'm a daisy body ranks, they are amongst the finest, the best for pudding,' that is, I cat a great deal of pud-dressed, and most accurately drilled troops in ding.

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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 the 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 css, is, I believe, confired 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 seam, which is from the A.-S.

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

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 lace 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, compli mented 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. They 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.

"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!

"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, How well I remember that day (so long I think, though, poor lads, they hardly un- past now) when I first went to the chapel. derstood what they said; for to the young, The last notes of the organ had died away, the suffering and sorrow seem full of poetry, and young men had all escaped from the enforced they have yet to learn that when the sorrow quiet, but I still sat in a corner of the dark Anticomes, the poetry can give but little consola- Chapel quietly crying; I could hardly have told tion. I am old now, and, doubtless, to other why, except that the music seemed to undermen my life has appeared dull and eventless stand my thoughts and express my feelenough, for no one has cared to know its hid-ings as I could not have done in words. I den trials and consolations, — and yet, how need not say much about my home, but I was much there is for my poor fond heart to look not happy there, my own mother had been back to and dwell on, recollections that now long dead-my father had married another 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. I have 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 for this, and learned to love them, and they have never changed to me in these changeful times.

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wife, and it was no wonder they both cared 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 Flemming 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.

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 soft 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. My father failed in his business soon after But it was touching to think that of all those this, and left Oxford with my mother and who were there then perhaps I alone sur- little brother for a distant colony, willingly vived, what had been the fate of those who consenting to Martin's offer of adopting me as listened with me then, as full of life, as un- his own son, an offer generously made when troubled by fears of the future, as confident he saw how it would half break my heart to in their young strength as those I looked at leave him and give up my singing; so I lived now? I could hardly believe they were not on at the old gray house, a tranquil, peaceful the same faces I saw before me, so like were life, loving my dear master more and more they in their unclouded brightness. The light daily. We were quite companions, notwithshone more vividly still on the altar-piece-standing the difference in our age. I was too

feeble to join in the sports of my schoolfellows, of the college; he always seemed younger 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 he loved better than any thing on earth, for her young mother had died when she was born some four years past.

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 innocent 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 her happy and peaceful as she was then-in my presumption and blindness forgetting that others might pluck my cherished flower from me.

My father had never returned to England; he had prospered greatly, and was a rich 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. Í often longed to see the boy, whom I remem bered a bold, imperious, yet winning little fellow-and now my 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 when 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

She was always fond of me, awkward boy though I was, and I, ever grateful for affection, was soon her willing slave-it was not a hard bondage, for she was gentle and tenderhearted like her father, though full of life and 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 come back to play with and take care of her!" What delicious rambles we had together by the river side; then, when she was tired, I would sit on the roots of one of the old willows pretending to read, but finding it impossible not to look at the little fairy 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 re-watching for him that bright summer evening, membered well. Master Flemming (as he in her simple white dress and blue ribbons, bid us. boys call him) had no ambition for the corn-flowers (I had jestingly bid her wear himself, but often said he would like to see because they matched the color of her eyes) me a scholar of the college before he died, placed in her sunny hair; how timidly she and I felt I must not any longer be dependent shrunk behind her father when Hugh came, on his charity, so I toiled hard and was suc- and I went out first to greet and bring him cessful. I was elected scholar of M.e., and at in; and how prettily she forgot her shyness the end of my undergraduate's course, having and came forward to welcome him as an old obtained (to me) unexpected honors, I re-friend because he was my brother. I could mained on at the old college as tutor and lec

turer.

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 mullioned windows

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

shyness had vanished, and she was her own ting forth fresh sprouts. Master Flemming, gay simple self again. I could hardly believe had been ailing all the winter, and it grieved I was only a few years older than Hugh. I me that he did not improve with the spring. never knew how little life and gayety there He had given up his post of organist; it was was about me till I compared myself with him. sometimes too much for him now to mount I was very proud of him, yet almost envious the steep stairs to the organ loft. It may sometimes, his active bounding step, his man- have been fancy, but he never seemed to me ly strength, his very idle mirth and dislike to the same afterwards; and now his strength dry books had a charm about them, and he gradually declined Jessie was not uneasy, she soon was a favorite with every one; from never doubted his perfect recovery, and often Master Flemming, who listened with the talked cheerfully of what he would do when eager pleasure of a child to his description of he was quite well again. He never contrafar-off places and people, to the little bird dicted her, but he knew that he was failing, Jessie had rescued from some cruel boys and and would often speak to me in his simple brought home to nurse and pet, and who list- trustful way of death and heaven; I think his ened delighted to his cheery whistle. I per- heart had been there ever since the young haps was the only one who could see any wife he loved so well died; it was only when fault in him, and I thought I discerned the he talked of Jessie that he seemed unwilling old selfishness and imperiousness, though so to leave this world; he reproached himself pleasantly veiled where he chose to please, I bitterly for not having thought of providing did not wonder they remained undiscovered. for her; he never had saved; what he did not During the ensuing winter and early spring absolutely need he gave away, "and now my I saw very little of them. I was young and little one will be left a helpless orphan with inexperienced in my various offices, and it none but you to care for her;" and as he said was only by dint of hard work I could fill this bitter tears ran down the old man's cheek. them as I thought worthily. It was very I could not bear this, so I told him all I felt, difficult to leave the pleasant little room, with and hoped, and feared, how my love for Jessie the bright fire throwing a ruddy glow on the had strengthened with my strength and grown carved oak book-cases and cherished books, with my growth, till now it seemed a part of my Martin Flemming in his easy chair, Jessic nature, he was much moved; I believe he loved seated on a low stool at his feet, his hand me more than any other human being has playing with her curls, while her little fingers loved me since, and when I saw how relieved busied themselves over some bit of work or he was, I was glad to have spoken so openly. let it drop idly to listen better to Hugh, whose He promised me faithfully not to reveal one tall figure looked taller in the fire-light as he word of this to Jessie; he had never ceased leaned against the mantel-piece, amused with to regard her as a little child, and thought it Jessie's eager attention to the adventures he far better not to "startle her by such things told with such spirit, seeming quite content yet awhile;" but he felt so sure all would be to pass his evenings in their quiet society, un- as I wished it-so perfectly sanguine of my heeding the numerous invitations of his young success, I could not help being influenced by companions. I used to hear their merry his words, and hoped more and feared less singing voices as I sat poring over my books than I had hitherto done. and papers in my little den up-stairs, or, harder to resist, Jessie's fresh young voice, singing the grand old music her father loved, or some simple ballad to please Hugh; then Martin would move to the instrument and play fragments of Handel, Beethoven, or Mozart, linking altogether in an unbroken chain of harmony as he alone could do; and though I could not see them, I knew how Jessie and Hugh talked more quietly, or sat silent in the fire-light, subdued, not saddened by the thrilling chords and plaintive melodies, and the music was still a friend to me as it had been long ago, and is still, and now it spoke of budding hopes and happy dreams, till the bell in the old tower, tolling the rapidly passing hours, recalled me to my books and prosaic life again.

Spring was returning again, the tall elms were budding, the meadows daily growing greener, the ivy on the gray buildings put

March and April glided away, the first of May had come. On that day the choristers of the college always assembled on the top of the chapel tower at day-break to sing certain anthems; it has been the custom for hundreds and hundreds of years, and I hope will be so for many years to come, for the effect is very touching and beautiful. Jessie and I had never missed going since the time we were children together, and I was so proud to sing with the other boys. Master Flemming used to carry Jessie (then a tiny little thing) up the long, dark staircase, from which she was so glad to emerge on to the high tower, and whilst we sang she would stand by his side with that look of rapt happy thought one only sees in childish faces. Dear as she was to me then, and fair as I had thought her, she was still dearer now, and still more fair. She and Hugh stood together looking over the same book; her blue eyes were cast down,

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