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human relations, and if in that relation we find him to have been selfish, cruel, and deceitful, we shall take the liberty to call him a bad man, in spite of all his temperance at table, and all his regularity at chapel.
XLV.-FALL OF THE INDIAN HEROES.
NHEY come! they come! the pale-face come!"
The chieftain shouted where he stood
No nodding plumes or banners fair
And long they fought, and firm and well,
From pine and poplar, here and there,
The calm, that cometh after all,
The mighty chief at last was down,
One arm stretched out as over-bold,
Here tall grass bowed its tasseled head
XLVI.-RUINS OF JAMESTOWN SETTLEMENT.
HAVE taken a pleasant ride of sixty miles down the
I in 1.2
settlement in Virginia. The site is a very handsome one. The river is three miles broad, and on the opposite shore the country presents a fine range of bold and beautiful hills. But I find no vestiges of the ancient town, except the ruins of a church-steeple and a disordered group of old tombstones.
2. The ruin of the steeple is about thirty feet high, and mantled to its very summit with ivy. It is difficult to look at this venerable object, surrounded as it is with these awful proofs of the mortality of man, without exclaiming, in the pathetic solemnity of our Shakspeare, —
“The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
Leave not a rack behind.” 3. Whence arise the irrepressible reverence and tender affection with which I look at this broken steeple? Is it that my soul, by a secret, subtile process, invests the mouldering ruin with her own powers —imagines it a fellowbeing-a venerable old man, a Nestor, or an Ossian, who has witnessed and survived the ravages of successive generations, the companions of his youth and of his maturity, and now mourns his own solitary and desolate condition, and hails their spirits in every passing cloud ? Whatever may be the cause, as I look at it I feel my soul drawn forward, as by the cords of gentlest sympathy, and involuntarily open my lips to offer consolation to the drooping pile.
4. Where is the busy, bustling crowd which landed here two hundred years ago? Where is Smith, that pink of gallantry, that flower of chivalry? I fancy that I can see their first slow and cautious approach to the shore; their keen and vigilant eyes, piercing the forest in every direction, to detect the lurking Indian, with his tomahawk, bow, and arrow.
5. What an enterprise! how full of the most fearful perils ! and yet how entirely profitless to the daring men who personally undertook and achieved it! Through what a series of the most spirit-chilling hardships had they to toil! how often did they cast their eyes to England in vain!, and with what delusive hopes, day after day, did the little famished crew strain their sight to catch the white sail of comfort and relief! But, day after day, the sun set, and darkness covered the earth; yet no sail of comfort or relief came.
6. How often, in the pangs of hunger, sickness, solitude, and disconsolation, did they think of London; her shops, her markets groaning under the weight of plenty; her streets swarming with gilded coaches, bustling hacks, with crowds of lords, dukes, and commons, with healthy, busy, contented faces of every description; and among them none more healthy or more contented than those of their ungrateful and improvident directors !
7. But now—where are they all ? the little famished colony which landed here, and the many-colored crowd of London—where are they? Gone where there is no distinction-consigned to the common earth. Another generation succeeded them; which, just as busy and as bustling as that which fell before it, has sunk down into the same nothingness. Another and yet another billow has rolled on, each emulating its predecessor in height; towering for its moment, and curling its foaming honors to the clouds; then roaring, breaking, and perishing on the same shore.
XLVII.-THE QUAKER MARTYRS.
GILES COREY, a Quaker accused of witchcraft, sentenced, with his wife, to be crushed to death by means of heavy weights; RICHARD GARDNER, a sea-captain; Jailer; Sheriff.
Scene-Salem Jail, 1692.
Enter the Jailer, followed by Richard Gardner.
Corey. I'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you.
Corey. Of all the friends I had in happier days,
There is something in your presence,