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some years ago, to abolish the use of strong liquors, has not yet been violated. We wish we could say the same thing of our red brethren of the Buffaloe village. We are sorry to say that a barrel of whiskey is the god they worship. Brothers, we have another complaint to make to you : our white brethren often come and carry away our timber; and last year they cut down more than they did in all the years preceding! Once we owned the whole country- the great forest was our own :—the whites have taken part of it—the remainder is still ours; and is not property as dear to the red man and the red man's child as it is to white men ? Brothers, make your laws known to them, and punish them. Make this talk known to all the white men, wherever they may be ; and tell them, to live in harmony and peace is the wish of the heart and the tribe of Hauanossa."

Infinitely, however, the most simple, soul-stirring, energetic speech, in the annals of Indian eloquence, is the well-known speech of Logan, the celebrated Shaw. anee chieftain *

Nothing more reconciles the spirits of savage life to its close than the probability of a splendid funeral. For this they will endure almost any privation; and even at this day, in the remote parts of Ireland, the scanty savings of laborious poverty are not unfrequently left by will to provide the wretched peasant the posthumous reputation of a merry wake and well-attended burial. The opinion of the North American Indians upon this subject is strikingly exemplified by the following oration, delivered by a chief of the Teton tribe, over the body of “ Black Buffaloe,” the flower of the warriors, who had died, at a conference held with the Americans at Portage de Sioux. It is pathetic in the extreme, and glows with a manly though mournful energy. “ Warriors, do not grieve; misfortunes will happen to the best of

Death will come, and always comes out of season. It is the command of the Great Spirit, and all nations and people must obey. What is passed and cannot be prevented should not be grieved for. Be not discouraged then, that in visiting your father here, you have lost your chief. Misfortunes are not peculiar to our path-they grow every where. What a misfortune for me that I did not die to-day in. stead of him who lies before us. My trifling loss would have been doubly repaid by the glories of my búrial. They would have wiped away all tears. Instead of being covered with the cloud of sorios,


• Vide the Notes to “ Gertrude of Wyoming."

my warriors would have felt the sunshine of joy in their hearts." Hereafter when I die, instead of a noble grave and a grand procession, the rolling music and the thundering cannon, with a white flag waving at my head, I shall be wrapt in a robe and hoisted on a scaffold to the whistling winds, soon to be blown to the earth—my flesh to be devoured by wolves, and my bones rattled on the plains by the wild beasts of prey! (Addressing himself to Colonel Miller)-Chief of the warriors, your labours have not been in vain-they shall not be forgotten-niy nation shall hear of your honour to the dead. When I return, I will echo the sound of your guns."

There appears to us to be a very beautiful simplicity in the foregoing words; but by far the most pathetic of the Indian complaints are those addressed to the tribes, upon the daily encroachment of the white men on their villages. We seldom recollect reading any thing more affecting than the reproaches of Scauaudo, the old Oneida chieftain and convert, upon the discovery that their lands and improvements had been sold to the States, by the intrigue, as he imagined, of the white men. Scauaudo was then one hundred years of age, and had been blind for a long period before. While he spoke, the tears ran copiously down his cheeks and those of all his people. Even the missionary, who had settled among the Oneidas, could not refrain from the general sympathy excited by the murmurs of the forlorn patriarch. With his words we shall close this communication.

• My warriors and my children ! hear ! it is cruel-it is very cruel a heavy burden lies upon my heart! This is a dark day: The clouds are black and heavy over the Oneida nation, and a strong arm is pressing on us, and our hearts are groaning under it. The graves of our fathers are destroyed, and our children are driven away. Our fires are put out, and our beds removed from under us. The Almighty is angry with us, for we have been very wicked, and therefore it is that his arm does not keep us. Where are the chiefs of the risingsun ? White chiefs now kindle their ancient fires ! There no Indian sleeps but those who are sleeping in their graves. My house will soon be like theirs-soon will a white chief kindle his fire upon the hearth of Oneida! Your Scauaudo will soon be no nore, and his village no more a village of Indians. The news that came last night by our men from Albany made this day a sick day in Oneida. All our children's hearts are sick, and our eyes rain like the black clouds that roar on the tops of the trees in the wilderness. Long did the loud voice of Scauaudo cry-children, take care, be wise, be straight. His feet were then like the deer's, and his arm like the bear's. He can now only mourn out

a few words and be silent, and his voice will soon be heard no more in Oneida. But certainly he will be long in the minds of his children. In white men's land his name has gone far, and will not die. Long has he said to his children—drink no strong waters—it makes you mice for white men, who are cats. Many a meal have 'they eaten of you. Their mouth is a snare, and their way like the fox. Their lips are sweet, but their heart is bitter. Yet there are good whites and good Indians. Jesus, whom I love, sees all— his great day is coming ; he will make straight; he will saylo cheating whites and drinking Indians, Begone ye, begone ye, go, go, go. In that day I will rejoice, but, oh, great sorrow is now in my heart that so many of my children mourn. The Great Spirit hath looked on, all the while the whites were cheating us, and it will remain in his mind-he is good; my blind eyes he will open. Children, his way is a good way. Hearken, my children, when this news sounds in the council-house towards the setting-sun, and the chiefs of the six nations hearken, and they send to the council by the great lake near the setting-sun, and they cry, make bows and arrows, sharpen the tomahawk, put the chain of friendship with the whites into the ground --warriors, kill, kill. The great chief* at the setting-sun won't kill any of the six nations that go into his land, because they have a chain of friendship with the whites; and he says, the whites have made us wicked like themselves, and that we have sold them our land. We have not sold it; we have been cheated : and my messengers shall speak true words in the great council towards the setting-sun, and say, -yet bury the tomahawk;

Oneidas must be children of peace. Children, some have said that your chiefs signed papers of white men that sold our fires. Your chiefs signed no papers; sooner would they let the tomahawk lay them low. We know one of our men was hired by white men to tell you this, and he will now say so. Papers are wicked things. Take care ; sign none of them, but such as our minister reads to us; he is straight. The tears are running from his eyes. Father, dry up your tears. We know, if your arm could, it would help us.

You suffer with us ; but you are the servant of the Great Spirit, and he will not love you less for loving Indians. Children, our two messengers will run and carry your sorrows to the great council fires t beside the setting-sun. Run, my children, and tell our words. Give health to all the chiefs assembled round the great fire. And may the Great Spirit bring you back in safety !”.

Two men immediately set off for Buffaloe; but Scauaudo was too true a prophet. In six years afterwards, the fires of his fathers ceased to burn in their village. He had removed himself three miles fúrther into the woods, and the commissioners of the United States were busy laying out their improvements in his deserted or rather usurped inheritance. Scauaudo was blind and • The President of the United States.

+ The Congress.

bed-ridden; he could not see the sorrows of his children. Alas! in a few years more, perhaps, this perishable record may be all that remains of the warrior of Oneida. May the arrow which ends his sorrows have its barbs smoothed by the reflection, that his name is not dead among white men."-"OUTALISSA." New Monthly Magazine.

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CONSTANTINOPLE. The Bosphorus of Thrace, in whatever point of view it is considered, is unequalled in the interest it excites; whether with reference to the surprising nature of its origin; the number of local circumstances attached to its ancient history; the matchless beauty of its scenery; its extraordinary animal productions; the number of rare plants blooming amidst its towering precipices; its fleets and gondolas, towns, villages, groves and gardens; the cemeteries of the dead, and the busy walks of the living; its painted villas, verandas, flowery terraces, domes, towers, quays, and mouldering edifices: all these in their turn excite and gratify curiosity; while the dress and manners of the inhabitants, contrasting the splendid costume and indolence of the East, with the plainer garb and activity of the West, offer to the stranger an endless source of reflection and amusement.

It was near midnight when we returned from this excursion. On the following morning we determined to leave the Moderato, and proceed to Constantinople in one of the gondolas that ply in the canal for hire. These are more beautiful than the gondolas of Venice; and are often richly ornamented, although destitute of any covering. They are swifter than any of our boats upon the Thames; and this fact, I am told, has been ascertained by an actual contest, between a party of Turkish gondoliers in their own boat, and a set of Thames watermenin one of their wherries. We passed the gorge of the canal, remarkable as the site of the bridge constructed by Darius for the passage of his numerous army; the grandeur of the scenery increasing as we

we saw.

approached the capital. The sides of the canal appeared covered with magnificent pavilions, whose porticoes, reaching to the water's edge, were supported by pillars of marble; when, all at once, the prospect of Constantinople, with the towns of Scutari and Pera, opened upon us, and filled our minds with such astonishment and admiration, that the impression can never be effaced. Would only that the effect produced upon the mind could receive expression from the pen! As nothing in the whole world can equal such a scene, it is impossible by any comparison to convey an idea of what

Le Bruyn, one of the oldest European travellers before the close of the seventeenth century, apologized for introducing a description of this astonishing sight, after the number of relations which other authors had afforded : What must then be the nature of an apology used by an author, who, at the beginning of the nineteenth, should presume to add one to the number; especially when it is added, that more has been written on the subject since the days of Le Bruyn than in all the ages which had preceded him, from the earliest establishment of the Byzantine colonies to the time in which he lived. In the long catalogue thus afforded, no one has been more happy in his description of Constantinople than an author, who had himself no ocular deinonstration of the veracity of his remarks*. The Turkish squadron, returned from a summer cruise, were, when we arrived, at anchor off the point of the seraglio. One of the ships, a three-decker, the construction of a French engineer of the name of Le Brun, surprised us by its extraordinary beauty, and the splendour of its appearance. Its guns were all of polished brass; and its immense ensign, reaching to the surface of the water, was entirely of silk.

After what has been said of the external magnificence of this wonderful city, the reader is, perhaps, ill prepared for a view of the interior; the horror, the wretchedness, and filth of which are not to be conceived.

* Hist. of the Decline and Fall of tae Roman Empire, c. xvii. VOL. 1.


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