the chaos of the surges. The mass of the river which precipitates itself towards the south, is rounded in the form of a vast cylinder, then it unrolls in clothing of snow, and glitters in the sun with all kinds of colors; the part which falls towards the east descends in a frightful gloom; seeming like a column of the water of the deluge. Thousands of rainbows bend and cross one another over the abyss. Striking the shaken rock the water flies back in whirlwinds of mist, which arise above forests, like the smoke of a vast conflagration. Pine trees, wild noyers, rocks hewn in form of phantoms, adorn the scene. Eagles drawn along by the current of the air, descend whirling around to the bottom of the gulf; and the carcajous hang themselves by their pliable tails on the end of a bended branch, to seize in the abyss the crushed bodies of elks and of bears. 'While with a pleasure mingled with terror I was contemplating this spectacle, the Indian woman and her husband left me. I searched for them ascending the river above the Falls, and soon found them in a place appropriate for their lamentations. They were lying down on the grass, with old men, near some human bones wrapped up in the skins of beasts. Astonished at everything I had seen for some hours past, I sat down by the side of the young mother, and said to her: 'What does all this mean, my sister?' She answered me: 'My brother, this is the earth of the country, these are the ashes of our ancestors, which go with us in our exile.' -'And how,' exclaimed I, 'have you been reduced to such misfortune?' The daughter of Celuta replied again: 'We are the remnant of the Natchez. After the massacre which the French made of our nation to revenge their brothers, those of our brothers who escaped from the conquerors, found a shelter with the Chikassas, our neighbors. There in repose we lived a long time; but seven moons ago the pale faces of Virginia invaded our grounds, saying they had been given to them by a king of Europe. We raised our eyes to heaven, and, charged with the remains of our ancestors, we have taken our route across the desert. I brought forth a child during the march; and as my milk was bad, on account of my grief, it died.' While saying this the young mother wiped her eyes with her hair; I also wept. 'Or,' I soon said, 'my sister, let us adore the Great Spirit, every thing comes to pass by his order. We are all voyageurs; our Fathers were as we; but there is a place where we will find rest. Were it not for the fear of a language so light as that of a pale face, I would ask you whether you have ever heard of Chactas, the Natchez?' At these words the Indian woman looked at me and said: 'Who has spoken to you of Chactas the Natchez?? I answered: 'Rumor.' The Indian woman resumed: 'I will tell you what I know, because you brushed away the flies from the body of my son, and you have just spoken beautiful words about the Great Spirit. I am the daughter of the daughter of René the European, whom Chactas adopted. Chactas, who had received the baptism, and René my grandfather so unfortunate, perished in the massacre.' 'Man is always going from one grief into another,' I replied, leaning down. 'You can then also tell me some news of Father Aubry?' 'He has not been more fortunate than Chactas,' said the Indian woman. "The Chéroquois, enemies of the French, discovered his mission; they were led there by the sound of the bell which tolled for the aid of the voyageurs. Father Aubry could have saved himself; but he would not abandon his children, and he stayed to encourage them to die by his example. He was burned with extraordinary tortures; never could they draw from him a cry to bring shame on his God or dishonor his country. He ceased not during his agony to pray for his executioners, and to pity the fate of the victims. To draw from him a sign of frailty, the Chéroquois dragged at his feet an Indian Christian, whom they had horribly mangled. But they were wonderfully surprised when they saw the young man cast himself on his knees, and kiss the wounds of the old hermit, who cried out to him: 'My child, we have been put in view of Angels and of men.' The Indians, all furious, thrust a red iron in his throat, to hinder him from speaking. Then being no longer able to console the men, he expired. 'They say that the Chéroquois, all accustomed as they were to see the Savages suffer with constancy, could not restrain the avowal that there was in the humble courage of Father Aubry something which was unknown to them and which surpassed every kind of courage on earth. Many among them, struck by this death, became Christians. 'Many years after this, Chactas, on his return from the land of the whites, having learned of the misfortunes of the leader of prayer, went to collect his ashes and those of Atala. He arrived at the place where the Mission was located, but it could scarcely be recognized. The lake was overflown, and the Savanna was changed into a marsh; the natural bridge, tumbling down had buried under its remains the tomb of Atala, and the Groves of the dead. Chactas lingered there a long while; he visited the cave of the Solitary, which he found filled with thorn-bushes and raspberry vines, and in which a hind was giving milk to her fawn. He sat down on the rock of the death vigil, where he saw only some plumes fallen from the wing of the bird of passage. While he was weeping there, the familiar serpent of the missionary issued from the bramble bushes near by, and came twining himself around his feet. Chactas warmed in his bosom again this faithful friend remaining alone amid these ruins. The son of Outalissi has related that many a time, at the approach of night, he thought he could see the shades of Atala and of Father Aubry arising in the mist of the twilight. These visions filled him with a religious fear and with a sad joy. After having sought in vain for the tomb of his sister, and that of the hermit, he was just going to leave this spot, when the hind of the cave leaped before him. She stopped at the foot of the cross of the Mission. That cross was then half surrounded by water; its wood was eaten by the moss, and the pelican of the desert loved to perch on its worm-eaten arms. Chactas judged that the grateful hind had led him to the tomb of his host. He dug under the rock which formerly served for an altar, and there he found the remains of a man and of a woman. He did not doubt but that they were those of the priest and the virgin, which the Angels had perhaps buried in that spot; he wrapped them up in the skins of bears and took again the route towards home, conveying those precious remains, which rattled on his shoulders like the quiver of death. At night, he put them under his head, and he dreamed of love and virtue. O stranger! thou canst behold here that dust mingled with the bones of Chactas.' When the Indian woman had spoken these words, I rose; and approaching the sacred ashes, I prostrated myself before them in silence. Then standing back some distance, I exclaimed: Thus passes over the earth all that was good, virtuous, sensible! Man, thou art only a rapid dream, a mournful reverie; thou dost exist only by unhappiness; thou art nothing except by the sadness of thy soul and the eternal melancholy of thy thought!' These reflections filled my mind all night. The next day, at dawn, my host left me. The young warriors opened the march, and the wives closed it; the first were charged with the holy relics; the second carried their new-born: the old men walked slowly in the middle, placed between their ancestors and their posterity, between memory and hope, between the home lost and the home to come. Oh! how many tears are shed when one gives up thus his native land, while, from the highth of the hill of exile, one spies for the last time the roof where he was nourished and, by the wigwam, the stream which continues flowing sadly across the lonely meadows of the country! Unfortunate Indians, whom I have seen wandering in the deserts of the New World, with the ashes of your ancestors; ye who have given me hospitality in spite of your misery! I can render you no service now, for even as you, so I wander, at the mercy of men; and, less happy in my exile, I have not borne along the bones of my Fathers. END OF ATALA. Twilight Musings. BY A. M. B. of Tuscumbia, Ala. 1. In the stillness which marks the close Of days gone by-the twilight hour, And sleeps the dew drop in the flow'r- 2. Sitting now near the old hearth stone, I look around-am I alone? I see the cricket sporting there- 3. Now glancing with an inward eye, O'er the mirror which mem'ry sways, Seen like stars in an evening sky, The dearly loved of other days With glimm'ring, then with steady rays 4. As shadows fade away in night, So fade their errors from the view, 5.. And these are from the spirit world, 6. Ye too, are of the Spirit land, Who once a father's heart did cheer, 7. But ye are of a world of bliss, Freed from the bitter grief and care, That marks our checkered life in this, No lover's fears can rankle thereNo parting words the heart strings tear. 8. Oh! love and grief, ye sway the soul 9. Few but know thee, so close ye twine 10. Shades of the land, farewell, farewell! And o'er the surface gently spread- |