and sleep by the fire. This determination seemed to | ing frisk about and gesticulate with greater animation. puzzle the Indian and his squaw sadly; often they looked at one another, and conversed softly in their own language, and at last the red took the white woman by the hand, led her to her couch, and became her bed-fellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and was anxious to depart without farther delay; but this the Indian would on no account permit. Breakfast was prepared-another savoury and well cooked meal—and then the Indian accompanied his guest and conducted her to the very spot where the cattle were grazing. These he kindly drove from the wood, on the verge of which Mrs. M'Dougal descried her husband running about every where, hallooing, and seeking for her in a state of absolute distraction. Great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her Indian benefactor, who was invited to the house and treated to the best the larder afforded, and presented on his departure with a suit of clothes.

We have read or heard of a professor of signs, and supposing such a character were wanted, the selection could not, or at least should not, be a matter of diffculty, so long as even a remnant remains of the abo rigines of North America. All travellers agree in describing their gestures as highly dignified, eloquent, and intelligent; and we have the authority of Mr. M'Dougal for saying, that the hero of the present strictby authentic tale, proved himself to be a perfect master of the art. The restoration of the child, the beauty and wide extent of the prairie, and various other circumstances combined, flashed across our countryman's mind, operating conviction where jealousy and distrust had lurked before; and as the Indian stood before him, his eyes beaming with benevolence and intelligence, his arms extended, and, along with his body, thrown into the most varied and speaking attitudes, he became more and more satisfied that his speech, if given in broken English, would have run very nearly as follows:-" You doubt Indian; you think him treacherous; you think him wish to steal the child. No, no; Indian has tribe and child of his own; Indian knew you long ago; knew you when you first came, and saw you when you not see Indian; saw you poor but hard-working man; some white men bad, and hurt Indian; you not bad; hurt no one, but work hard for your wife and child; saw you choose bad place; Indian pitied you; never make rich there; saw your cattle far in forest; thought you come catch them; you not come; your wife come; Indian find her faint and weary; Indian take her home; fear go in ; think Indian kill and eat her; no, no; Indian lead her back; Indian meet you; very sad, then very glad to see her; you kind to Indian; give him meat, drink, and better clothes than your own; Indian grateful; wish you to come here; not come; Indian go again; not come ; Indian very sorry; take the child; not run fast; know

In about three days he returned, and endeavored by every wile to induce Mr. M'Dougal to follow him into the forest. But this invitation the other positively declined, and the poor Indian went on his way obviously grieved and disappointed. But again he returned, and though words were wanting, renewed his entreaties, but still vainly and without effect; and then as a last desperate effort, he hit upon an expedient which none save an Indian hunter would have thought of. Mrs. McDougal had a nursling only a few months old—a fact the Indian failed not to notice and after his pantomimic eloquence had been completely thrown away, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The alarmed parents instantly followed, supplicating and imprecating at the top of their voices; but the Indian's resolves were fixed as fate; and away he went, slow enough to encourage his pursuers, but still in the van by a good many paces, and far enough ahead to achieve the secret purpose he had formed-you would follow child. Look round! plenty groundike the parent bird skimming the ground when she wishes to wile the enemy from her nest. Again and again, Mr. M'Dougal wished to continue the chase alone; but maternal anxiety baffled every remonstrance, and this anxiety was if possible increased when she saw the painted savage enter the wood, and steer, as she thought, his course towards his own cabin in the heart of the wild. The Indian, however, was in no hurry; occasionally he cast a glance behind, poised the child almost like a feather, threaded his way with admirable dexterity, and kept the swaddling clothes so closely drawn around it, that not even the winds of heaven were permitted to visit it too roughly. It is, of course, needless to go into all the details of this singular journey, farther than to say, that the Indian at last called a halt on the margin of a very beautiful prairie, teeming with the richest vegetation, and extending to several thousand acres. In a mo. ment the child was restored to its parents, who, won dering what so strange a proceeding could mean, stood for some minutes panting for breath, and eyeing one another in silent and speechless astonishment. The Indian, on the other hand, appeared overjoyed at the success of his manœuvre, and never did a human be

rich, rich; Indian love the deer, and the birds and beasts of the field; the chase make him strong; his father loved the chase; if Indian farm, Indian farm here; look round! plenty of ground-rich, rich; many, many cattle feed here; trees not many on that side; make road in less than half a moon; Indians help you; come, come-Indian your friend-come, live here." Mr. M'Dougal in a trice examined the soil, and imme. diately saw the propriety of the advice given by the untutored, but by no means unintelligent or unobserv. ing savage—if savage, in deference to custom, he must still be called. By a sort of tacit agreement a day was fixed for the removal of the materials of our coun tryman's cabin, goods, and chattels; and the Indian, true to his word, brought a detachment of his tribe to assist in one of the most romantic "flittings" that ever was undertaken, whether in the new or old world. In a few days a roomy loghouse was fashioned, and a garden formed in a convenient section of the beautiful prairie, from which the smoke was seen curling, and the woodpecker heard tapping at no great distance. Mr. M'Dougal was greatly pleased with the change; and no wonder, seeing that he could almost boast of a body guard as bold as the bowmen of Robin Hood.

OR, THE RIVAL JUMPERS.

A NEW COMIC SONG, NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.
COMPOSED BY J. BLEWITT.

ALLEGRETTO POMPOSO.

Loco.

e- ver

he did or

said

it was law, And he

Yow'd that his daughter should

Lento.

give

her fair band, In

marriage to one of

a

fam'd foreign land.

So he

caused to

be printed a

cértain

decree

In vi ting the no-bles

of

The rivals all met, such a rum looking throng,
Of all kindreds and tongues, some short and some long;
Some had shoes with cork soles, and some channel pumps,
To try the effect of their wonderful jumps!
"Mong the guests was a German, VON BARON BOHMBIG,
Who in Holland had purchased his shoes for this rig,
Which in speed should outvie even Mercury's wings,
And of Indian rubber were made, and with springs.

III.

Jump high, &c.

The day being fix'd, to the palace they hied,

Where this mighty Bashaw their fate should decide;

Each used his endeavor the lady to earn,

But the BARON, who thought that he'd have the last turn,

So having now laced Mynheer's patent shoes on,

And fancied the prize he had already won,

He just gave a spring, to put them to proof,

And away went the Baron, right bang through the roof.

Jump high, &c.

IV.

The folks all amazed ran into the street,

Where they saw the poor baron come down on his feet,
But the springs were so strong, that in two or three falls
He was carried just ten times as high as St. Paul's.

The baron not liking this jumpeting berth,

Cursed the Dutch and their shoes as he came down to earth,
And he call'd out for aid with stentorian might,

But bounc'd up again, and went clean out of sight.

V.

Jump high, &c.

THERE'S music in the morning's breath, the soft and There's music, when the spirit, bowed beneath afflic balmy air,

tion's rod,

Which plays with gentleness upon the forehead dark Submissively pours forth its prayers before the throne with care;

There's music in the vesper's voice, where slowly

fades the light,

And in the solemn stillness of the holy hour of night.

There's music in the thrilling laugh of cheerful in fancy,

Which bursts from its enraptured heart, engaged in joyous glee;

There's music, melting, soft and sweet-breathed by

a kind friend's voice,

of God.

There's music in the wild wind's rush, and in the raging storm,

When the spirit of the tempest shows his dark and awful form;

There's music in the thunder-clap, and in the dreadful crash,

Which shows the desolation of the vivid light'ning's flash.

Whose words fall soothing on the ear, and make the There's music in the breeze that sighs upon the lone

heart rejoice.

There's music in the voice that speaks the vows of ardent love,

Whose accents would not soil the lips of holy saints above

Those deep, impassioned, thrilling tones which tell of rapture's height,

ly shore,

And still more deep-toned music in the troubled ocean's roar;

There's music in the worlds that roll in silence through the sky

"Unwritten" though that music be, 'tis sweetest melody.

And fill the young and bounding heart with infinite There's music when the good man is about to meet delight.

his fate,

To find the full fruition of a far more blissful state;

There's music in the mother's mourn, though it be "Tis music such as earth ne'er heard—the high, the sad and wild,

swelling hymn,

When bending o'er the lifeless form of her own first- Which stirs the harp, and tunes the voice of holy born child:

cherubim. Martinsburg, Va.