lost the trail, and thought it best to make directly for Santa Fé, inquiring of every person, to whom he could make himself in any degree intelligible, as to a German girl stolen by Indians. He sought eagerly every Indian camp, but could ascertain nothing. Finding several Germans at Santa Fé, and his supply of money being scant, he was induced to remain and take employment. He had been there nearly six years, at every opportunity diligently pushing his inquiries for his lost sister, when one day he met a Mexican ranchero who could talk German quite intelligibly. To him he repeated his story and put the usual question. The face of the Mexican suddenly kindled up, and he asked eagerly,

"And what was your sister's name?" "Marguerite," replied Karl, almost choking with the emotion of newly awakened hope.

"And you are Karl?" said the Mexican quickly.

"I am."

Mar

"Then you are my brother. guerite is my wife. Come with me.” Both were too deeply moved for words. They made hurried preparations for their journey, and were soon in the Mexican's mule cart, briskly moving northward. An hour elapsed before they were composed enough to talk, and then only in brief exclamations of surprise and delight, and anticipations of still profounder emotions of the same kind in Marguerite, so dear to both. "Marguerite shall tell you all," was the only answer Karl could obtain to his inquiries about his sister's history after she left him in the mountains. At nightfall of the second day for it was a hard ride of two days from Sante Fe to Taos-they approached the ranche of Marguerite's husband. Both were greatly excited, and not a little anxious about the first effect of their appearance upon Marguerite. But they drove straight to the door and

sprang together to the ground. Marguerite at the same moment opened the door, manifestly surprised alike at the speedy return of her husband and the appearance of a stranger; but, with a woman's quick instinct, she read the whole thing in their faces on the instant, and was weeping on the neck of Karl before a word had been spoken. Only those who know the pure love of brother and sister can comprehend the happiness of such a meeting, and for others it would be vain to describe it. A young Karl was soon in the arms of his uncle and namesake, and a happier group was never seen in the most brilliant urban saloon than gathered around the log fire of the Mexican ranchero that night.

After the evening repast had been eaten, and the house was put in order by the diligent Marguerite, they had all become sufficiently composed for coherent conversation, and Marguerite told her story. Karl had been right in supposing that when she left him among the mountains she had stolen quietly from their bed of pine boughs that she might not awaken him, and had gone in search of berries. Wandering ou from one clump of bushes to another, she filled her apron with berries, and started to return to the camp. But she mistook the direction, and after walking on for some time she became alarmed and felt that she had gone wrong, but was utterly at a loss how to retrace her steps. She called loudly upon Karl, but could hear no reply. Then, attempting to determine the true direction by the sun, she started on again, and after running, walking, and shouting till she was nearly exhausted, she entered a deep valley and threw herself despairingly upon the ground. After a brief rest she rose and walked forward again; but feebly and slowly, for she had nearly lost all hope. At length she emerged upon a well-marked trail, and was list lessly dragging herself along, when

three men on horseback suddenly came upon her. She had no time to conceal herself, or little thought of her own safety, now that she had given up the hope of finding Karl again. The men were Mexican hunters, rough and shaggy, but their greeting was kindly. They questioned her as to her being alone in the mountains, but she could not understand them; nor could they comprehend the gestures by which she strove to tell them of her lost brother. It was not difficult, however, for her to see that they were friends, and when the youngest and fairest of the three motioned her to a seat behind him on his saddle, she hesitated but a moment, for she saw no alternative but a solitary death. The Mexican gently lifted her upon the horse, and she clung to him for support. They slept in a rude hut that night, and the next day they came to a lonely ranche among the eastern foot-hills of the mountains, where her protector procured a pony for her, taught her how to manage the animal, and rode most of the time at her side, paying her many delicate attentions that indicated a more refined gallantry than one would look for beneath so uncouth an exterior. He took her to his father's ranche, near Taos, where his mother soothed her with those gentle, womanly ministrations that need no words to interpret their meaning, and she soon felt herself at home among these benevolent strangers. But Marguerite was full of grief and anxiety for Karl, and her kind hostess, having ascertained that she was a German, sent a long distance for a woman of

that language to act as interpreter. Through her, Marguerite was able to tell of her brother; but she was readily convinced that a search for him would be fruitless, and at length learned to find comfort in the hope that a good Providence would some day bring him back to her.

How, through the intervention of the

German woman, who was induced to remain for a year in the family, Marguerite taught the young ranchero German, while she learned Spanish from him; how compassion on one side, and gratitude on the other gradually ripened into a more tender sentiment; how at length Marguerite was persuaded to become the wife of the gallant Mexican; how her prayer that her first born might be a son and resemble Karl had been granted; how all this, and much more Marguerite related, with a depth of love for both brother and husband that can not be reproduced in cold, dead words, we leave to the reader's imagination to fill out and color. The blessedness of that hour was like that of the reunions in heaven.

Karl and Marguerite are now the happiest among a people whose most notable characteristic is the keen enjoy ment of life, for the recollection of past trial and suffering gives a zest to their enjoyment which those can not know whose happiness has been unbroken and habitual. And the same cause has imparted to them a broader sympathy, so that, through all the country around, they are known and beloved for their compassion and ready helpfulness. To fulfill the great rule of the Master, to "Rejoice with those that rejoice and weep with those that weep," is to them the first and controlling impulse. And such divine charity they find to be its own exceeding great reward, thus verifying the profound philosophy of him who wrote: "The heart grows so large and so rich and so variously endowed, when it has a great sense of bliss, that it can give smiles to some, and tears to others, with equal sincerity, and enjoy its own peace throughout all."

My story has no moral that it does not carry along with it. But, as the dominie would say, it suggests 66 a few remarks by way of improvement."

First, let no man infected with the passion for gold expend time or money

in searching for it "in mass" among the Rocky Mountains—if there, it probably lies too deep to be found before the next grand upheaval of the earth's crust-nor in the golden sands of the cañon of the Colorado, for all he brings thence will cost more than its value. There is abundance of gold and silver in these mountains, and muscle and brain, fire and steam, will bring it forth, to enrich the country for generations to come. And for scientific research, for adventure, for recreation and health, this vast half-known region offers wonderful resources and attractions.

Secondly, and lastly: "The noble red man," if he ever was, is no more. Alas that, through both mistaken kindness and intentional abuse, the surviv ing Indian has become stupid, false and cruel. At this moment, more white women and children, captured on the

frontier, are enduring personal outrage. and degradation in Indian camps than those who live in safe and quiet homes can readily believe. It is time these barbarities were for ever terminated. We must no longer permit the pioneers of our civilization to be sacrificed in a contest, the result of which was long since pre-determined. Rightfully or wrongfully as to the past, the white race now holds the continent. The march of empire a cross the Rocky Mountains is not to be retarded by an effete barbarism. And it is not cruelty to the Indians, but justice and mercy, to compel them to stand out of the way of the advancing white race. They must submit to the dominant law and order, or perish before it. "The noble red man" can never appear again unless as a citizen of the Republic.

Tis but a few years ago that every American congratulated himself that his country was exempted from the vast burthen of taxation which pressed so heavily on the productive energies of nearly every European State; and Sidney Smith, in one of the early numbers of the Edinburgh Review, in contrasting, in this respect, the condition of the United States with that of Great Britain, used the following language:

"We can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable consequences of being too fond of glory: Taxes upon every arti cle which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is placed under the foot; taxes upon every thing which is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste; taxes upon warmth, light and locomotion; taxes on every thing on earth, and the

waters under the earth; on every thing that comes from abroad, or is grown at home; taxes on the raw material; taxes on every fresh value that is added to it by the industry of man; taxes on the sauce which pampers man's appetite, and the drug that restores him to health; on the ermine that decorates the judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal; on the poor man's salt and the rich man's spice; on the brass nails of the coffin and the ribbons of the bride; at bed or board, couchant or levant, we must pay. The school-boy whips his taxed top; the beardless youth manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road; and the dying Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid seven per cent., into a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent., flings himself back on his chintz bed, which has paid

twenty-two per cent., and expires in the arms of an apothecary who has paid a license of one hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble, and he is then gathered to his fathers- to be taxed no more."

We now find ourselves involved in a debt nearly as large as that of Great Britain, but requiring a larger amount to be raised by taxation to meet its accruing interest. We may, however, lay this flattering unction to our souls, that whilst the debts of most European States have been incurred in wars originating in the personal ambition of monarchs, or to preserve the balance of power, or to propagate a particular faith, or some such nonsense, our debt was incurred in preserving the unity of the Republic; and no true patriot can regret the vast expenditure of treasure and of blood, rather than to have seen this country, the future home of untold millions of the human race, split up into jarring and repulsive fac

tions.

Without repining, then, we feel that we have the strength and energy to stand up under this burthen, and that each year, with the increase of our population and the development of our resources, it will become less oppressive. While England looks upon her debt as an encumbrance never to be removed, as a mortgage upon all of her magnificent estate to remain so long as the interest is provided for, or an inheri tance charged with a perpetual annuity; we regard our debt as a source of annoyance, as an incubus resting on our energies, and cherish the hope that the present or the coming generation will extinguish it.

This debt is upon us, and to meet its constantly accumulating interest we have a system of internal revenue which, as the commissioner declares, "probably finds no parallel in any recent history; and, with the exception of land and the direct products of agriculture other than cotton and sugartaxation has been made, so far as domestic production was concerned, all but universal." Under these circumstances the inquiry into the principles of taxation becomes a question of absorbing interest-a question which should in no manner be involved in the ordinary clap-trap of party discussion. The two sources of revenue are: 1. Taxation of incomes, sales, etc.. (internal).

2. Taxation on imports (external). And here it may be affirmed that taxation, under no form, can be made a national blessing; it is an evil arising from a stern necessity, and all legislation should seek to distribute it in such a manner that its effects shall bear as lightly as possible on the whole community.

"It is a cardinal principle," says McCulloch,* * "that taxation should be equal and universal, bearing upon all, high and low. It should be paid from the revenue of the country and not the capital," for the moment that a nation commences taxing capital it begins to destroy the sources of revenue. It is the surest sign of impoverishment, the directest road to bankruptcy. The same principle is applicable to land. The soil itself is not properly the sub

*There are two works which ought to be read by every tax-payer in America - the masterly article on Taxation, by M'Culloch, in the new Encyclopædia Britannica; and the clear exposition of the workings of our present system of taxation contained in the Report of the Special Commismissioner of the Revenue-David A. Wells-for the year 1868. No candid person can rise from a perusal of these works without becoming convinced that our present system is radically wrong, and that it is a serious detriment to many branches of industry.

ject of taxation, but the profits issuing therefrom.

Where a people believe that a tax is just, they cheerfully submit to the exaction, and its requirements are met by increased exertions and the exercise of economy; but where a tax is believed to be unjust, it leads to open revolt, or if that be impracticable, to fixed despair, and thus the very spirit of industry becomes extinguished.

Of all taxes, that on income is apparently the most just and proper. It does not interfere with the freedom of capital; it does not relatively disturb the cost of production; it does not operate in favor of particular branches of industry.

In 1798, Pitt, to defray the enormous expenses of the war in which England was then engaged, laid an income tax. Such a tax was repugnant to the feelings of Englishmen. They protested against officers peering into their private affairs and blazoning them to the world. To prevent such publicity, the commissioners charged with the collection of this tax were sworn to preserve an inviolable secrecy. In 1802 the tax was repealed, but so efficacious did it prove as a war measure that it has been repeatedly revived and repealed; and in 1842 it was again revived, and the exigencies of the State have been such as to require its continuance to the present time. The disadvantages of such a tax, as urged by M'Culloch, are, that a great majority of individuals underrate their profits; that to ascertain the income of an individual it must be left to his own sense of integrity and honesty; that an inquiry into his affairs is odious and repulsive to all those ideas of privacy which every one is supposed to possess; and that where it is left to the declarations of a party verified by oath, while there are many persons who would conscientiously make true returns, there are very many who would evade their just obligations.

a

There can an scarcely be conceived greater incentive to fraud and perjury than is held out by this law; and yet one would infer that our people were the most honest, the most upright and conscientious body of men that ever lived, since, to our knowledge, there has never been a prosecution for false returns. The worst feature in the administration of this law-a feature not sanctioned by its letter but authorized by the commissioner-is the publicity given to the pecuniary standing of each individual in the community-the opportunity it affords to his acquaintances to gossip and speculate upon the condition of his private affairs. Such publicity can subserve no useful purpose, and we are surprised that the American people, who ordinarily are so fretful under even venial restraints, should quietly submit to such a wanton and barefaced outrage. We protest against the commissioner longer contributing to the tea-table gossip of venerable crones, or to the matrimonial schemes of ambitious mothers.

Taxes on tea, coffee, sugar and other necessaries may, at first sight, seem oppressive, since they bear equally on the poor and the rich; but, in reply to this, M'Culloch justly remarks, that "the price of labor, like any other commodity, is regulated by the cost of production. Wages, therefore, are determined by the cost of the necessaries and con- \ veniences requisite to support the laborer and enable him to rear a family. Wages and labor generally proceed pari passu. The condition of the laborer has not been reduced in consequence of the imposition of taxes on those articles which are essential to his comfort. He is led to cultivate habits of greater economy and prudence, which can not but redound to his improvement."

The tax collected on tea, coffee and sugar reaches nearly fifty millions of dollars a year, and is mainly derived