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of about fifty wigwams of the Bashaba's immediate tribe. To this point were the boats of the party directed; and the tide now favoring their efforts, they moved rapidly, and almost silently, up the stream.

It was one of those evenings so frequent in the early spring weather of the north, when passing clouds at times clothe all around in darkness, and anon, driving onward in their course, send the bright moonlight dancing along the ripple of the waters. If at times a passing doubt of the success of the expedition shot across the mind of its daring leader, a glance at the eager faces of his men quickly dispelled it; but when, at the end of a few hours, they entered the mouth of the dangerous passage, each one of the party, as he thought of the chances of the coming conflict, whispered a hurried charge to his neighbor, should some fatal arrow leave him stretched upon the field.

Leaving their boats drawn up into small cove, the party set out, guided by the spy of the preceding day, for the native town. An hour's rapid march brought them in sight of the Indian fires; now almost expiring as the day-light approached; and dividing into two parties, they assailed the wigwams from the landward side, and in the direction of the stream. The Indians, completely surprised, made but a show of resistance. Almost before they were aware of the presence of their enemies, their dwellings were in flames, and the loud shouts of the adventurers told the complete success of their attack. Some of the Indians, hopeless of escape, yielded themselves prisoners; others, striving to elude the vengeance of their foes, rushed in confusion toward the neighboring cliffs, and were dashed to pieces in their descent, or perished in the dark eddies and whirlpools of the noisy stream.

Aster destroying the village, and taking whatever was valuable in furs and other Indian property, the whites made a hasty retreat, with their prisoners, to the boats; and with the returning tide, dropped down the river to Saint George. The effect of the expedition, as might have been foreseen, was only to confirm the Indians in their hostility to the whites. Their confidence utterly destroyed, they refused all overtures of peace, and seemed waiting only a favorable moment to retaliate the murderous attack upon their town.

The summer had now fairly set in, but the soil in the vicinity of Saint George being cold and sterile, the adventurers had little hope from their efforts at planting; and the hostility of the natives reudered it extremely hazardous to venture to the woods for game. Disgusted with their cheerless prospects, they in patiently waited the return of the ships from England. A few weeks afterward, the arrival so much desired by the adventurers brought news of the death of Gilbert's brother; leaving to him the possession of a large estate which demanded his presence at home; and the colony, worn out and discouraged by their winter's sufferings, abandoned their fort and returned to England.

Some years ago, while spending a few weeks on the Kennebeck, I procured a fisherman to pilot me through the dangerous passage to the Sheepscot; and on asking the name of a high promontory jutting from the northern shore,' That,' said he,' is Hockamock; where the

old settlers had a fight with the Injins; and they say'. he added, as he looked in my face to discover what degree of credit I might be disposed to give the tale — 'they say that people have seen ghosts there ; but may be it's only a story.'

P. S.

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Well, let the honest truth be told!
I feel that I am growing old,
And I have guessed for many a day,
My sable locks are turning gray-
Ai least, by furuve glances, I
Some very silvery hairs espy,
That thread-like on my temples shine,
And fain I would deny are mine:
While wrinkles creeping here and there,
Some score my years, a few my care.
The sports that yielded once delight,
Have lost all relish in my sight;
But, in their stead, more serious thought
A graver train of joys bas brought,
And wbiłe gay fancy is refined,
Correct the taste, improve the mind.

I meet the friends of former years,
Whose smile approving, often cheers :
(How few are spared ! the poisonous draught
The reckless in wild frenzy quaffed,
In dissipation's giddy maze
O’erwhelmed them in their brightest days.)
And one, my playmate when a boy,
I see in manhood's pride and joy;
He too has felt, through sun and shower,
Old Time, thy unrelenting power.
We talk of things which well we know
Had chanced some forty years ago;
Alas! like yesterday they seem,
The past is but a gorgeous dream!
But speak of forty coming years,
Ah, long indeed that time appears!
In nature's course, in forty more,
My earthly pilgrimage is o'er ;
And the green turf on which I tread,
Will gaily spring above my head.
Beside me, on her rocking-chair,
My wife her needle plies with care,
And in her ever-cheerful smiles
A charm abides, that quite beguiles
The years that have so swiftly sped,
With their unfaltering, noiseless tread:
For we, in mingled happiness,
Will not the approach of age confess.
But when our daughters we espy,
Bounding with laughing cheek and eye,
Our bosoms beat with conscious pride,
To see them blooming by our side.
God spare ye, girls, for many a day,
And all our anxious love repay!
In your fair growth we must confess
That time our footsteps closely press,
And every added year, indeed,
Seems to increase its rapid speed.
When o'er our vanished days we glance,
Far backward to our young romance,

And muse upon unnumbered things,
That crowding come on Memory's wings;
Then varied thoughts our bosoms gladden,
And some intrude that deeply sadden:

Fond hopes in their fruition crushed,
Beloved tones, for ever hushed. -
We do not grieve that being's day
Is fleeting shadow-like away;
But thank thee, Heaven, our lengthened life,
Has passed in love, unmarred by strise ;
That sickness, sorrow, wo, and care,
Have fallen so lightly to our share :
We bless Thee for our daily bread
In plenty on our table spread ;
And Thy abundance helps to feed
The worthy poor who pine in need.
And thanks, that in our worldly way,
We have so rarely stepped astray.
But well we should in meekness speak,
And pardon for transgressions seek,
For oft, how strong soe'er the will
To follow good, we've chosen ill.

The youthful heart unwisely fears
The sure approach of coming years ;
Though cumbered oft with weighty cares,
Yet age its burden lightly bears.
Though July's scorching heats are done,
Yet blandly smiles the slanring, sun,
And sometimes, in our lovely clime,
Till dark December's frosty time.
Though day's delightful noon is past,
Yet mellow twilight comes to cast
A sober joy, a sweet content,
Where virtue with repose is blent,
Till, calmly on the fading sight,
Mingles its latest ray with night.

J. L.

A LETTER FROM JOHN

WATERS.

In my former epistle to thee, admired chronicler, I compared myself, in the ingathering of intellectual sweets, to that industrious and unpretending little proverb who roams about amid the beautiful creations of Flora, extracting from objects which please the eye, those properties that delight the taste, and strengthen the heart of man.

Soon after having written it, while reclining in my roundabout chair, and indulging in one of those delicious phantasies which make it to my perceptions a sort of charmed seat; my thoughts occupied with flowers, and verdant meads, arbors of honeysuckle, the miraculous aroma of vegetable life, the luxuries of tropical climates, orange groves of Persia, the botanic gardens of Carlsruhe, the qualities of bees, their government, habits of existence, and all that sort of thing and every thing else in the world; I lost on a sudden the consciousness of being, and then, a moment after, felt myself tranquilly and gradually contracting, and condensing, diminishing, and folding up into a small, small, very small compass indeed! - a change came over the form of my head, which was presently adorned with something like a proboscis ; two diaphanous wings issued from my shoulders; antenna extended themselves across my chest and the front of my body; my color changed into a lustrous brown; I grew hairy

and was armed with a sting; — in short, dear chronicler, I found myself in all the sober certainties of waking existence converted in reality into a Bee !

Dost thou imagine that I was beyond measure dismayed at this unexpected metamorphosis ? I was delighted! The air is an inconceivably precious element to any creature that is endowed with wings! The window of the apartment was open; it was a warm sunny morning in this gay month of June, and myriads of diversified sounds, and inexhaustible treasuries of varied and delicious perfume, that had been altogether inscrutable to my former perceptions, now regaled my senses and filled my heart with a fresh and unwonted joy! 1 darted forth into the bright sunshine ; I performed a thousand antic gyrations to try my wings; hummed tune upon tune to express my raptures; and at last, conducted by my uuerring instincts, found myself in the middle of the most beautiful garden in the world!

Here I felt that I had imperative duties to perform; I was master of an empty honey-bag, which it was my province with as little delay as possible to fill. I lost not a moment. I plunged deep into the bosom of a dewy honeysuckle ; rifled half a dozen carnation pinks; embraced an orange.flower with all the ardor of the affection of which it is so beautiful an emblem ; and in the course of a short space of time, had visited all the prominent belles of the gay scene which seemed spread forth for my gratification and delight. At length my bag became nearly full; my thirst for acquisition began to be appeased; my industry slackened; I felt like a bee of fortune and of leisure, and looked down with an air of complacency upon the loads of farina that coated my delicate limbs. I grew fastidious and reserved. I passed with a slight glance the flowers which I had admired in the perspective, and amused myself with recalling an air from the opera of Don Giovanni, which I had learned in the Jardin des Plantes.

I was surprised to hear in return a few rich notes in a penseroso strain from a neighboring but a retired part of the garden. I directed my flight thither, and found them to proceed from a young lady Bee, who was chassez-ing round and round a Moss-Rosebud that was unfolding its charms, and seemed desirous by every art in its power to attract her into a salute. At one time she would approach closely to it with seeming ardor, as if fully determined to draw its sweets; and then, when on the very verge of contact, would dart off in sudden caprice, and be lost from sight for several minutes; anon she would reappear, and diminishing the rapidity of her movement as she approached the expectant flower, breathe forth her sensations in the enchanting cadenza that I have adverted to.

I floated gently upon a perfumed zephyr toward her, admiring as I approached a graceful sidelong movement that distinguishes her passage through the air, and by which I recognized in a moment one whom I had adınired from her earliest youth. Indeed Bees, wearing only the costume in which heaven intended them to be dressed, and undisguised either by cloth coat-tails for the one sex, or for the other that astonishing conception which is termed a bonnet, are known . at a glance; and an impression once made upon the heart by a Belle

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Bee in her native charms, is as peculiar as it is delightful and ineffaceable. I could not therefore be mistaken in the happiness of my fortune which had led me thus unexpectedly into the very presence of delight. Beautiful Miella,' said I, gazing at her exquisite person, the day wears off; and surrounded as thou art by this profusion of flowers, thou hast yet apparently made no acquisition from them : dost thou not intend to bring to the hive soine evidence of thy industry and skill ?

Father Abeillard,' she replied, turning toward me two of the most superb eyes in the world — those of the gazelle at Paris are I am sure quite inferior to them — Father Abeillard' - I felt myself three swarms older at the expression, and at the manner in which she suffered those eyes to rest in cold radiance upon me while she spoke — it is well enough for thee, to whom labor is pastime, and exertion become a habit of pleasure well enough is it for thee, my father, to extract sweets from flowers of every description; the whole hive understands thine honest qualities, and rewards with animated praise thine assiduity and perseverance. Thou art an industrious person, and as such deservest well of thy hive and thy country. But alas ! thou canst not measure my sensations by thine own! Industry is not my peculiar characteristic, nor do I wish that it should ever be accounted such. I do not desire to return home freighted like a merchant ship, nor to have my person covered over with aromatic dust, disguising the fair proportions by which it is at present thought to be distinguished. No; I am a Bee of taste, a creature of sentiment, an emanation of refinement, born for — born for - Father Abeillard, what was I particularly born for?'

*For the grace and the embellishment, rather than the useful purposes of life; for the charm, rather than the maintenance of society; the flower that adorns the capital of the columu, rather than the plinth that sustains its base.'

* Vastly well!' replied she; 'thou hast in part received the idea that I intended to convey of the character of my existence, and canst therefore imagine in some degree the fastidiousness that governs me in the choice of flowers. I long for those of Hybla and Mount Hymettus, and the pensive shade that at times spreads itself over my countenance and manner, arises from the want of correspondence between objects of external circumstance, and the elevated aspirations that belong to my interior life. I am at this moment divided in my disposition between the Moss-Rosebud that thou seest languishing before me, and a Lobelia Cardinalis that seems insensible of my approach, but that decorates a distant meadow with an air of sway that attracts my fancy. The ardent color and grace of form of that flower, and the intrinsic sweetness and delicacy of tint of this bud, alternately attract me, and both slightly tempt me to expatiate upon their charms; but there is not gradation of hue enough in the one to satisfy my taste, while on the other hand, I cannot entirely persuade myself that the mossy-green leaves that partially envelope this opening bud, and that botanists call its calix, aud which to my mind form one of its principal attractions, can properly be considered as belonging to the Hower. Upon the whole I think I shall give up gardens altogether. There is to my apprehension more beauty in the graceful combina

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