of sale for the whole! Happily, the fraud was afterward fully proved, and the civilized pale-face was forced to give back his ill-gotten property; but the design was apparent.

These are a few of the examples the educated whites set to the untutored savages; and yet these men are often the loudest in crying out against Indian treachery. Is it to be wondered at that retaliation should follow, and that it is often practised beyond the full measure of retribution? We are apt to begin our intercourse with distrust, without regard to the feelings of the Indian's nature; we wound his pride, and scoff at his superstition. He feels himself insulted, and flies to battle, smarting under injuries and thirsting for vengeance. He knows that his race is becoming extinct; often alludes to his fallen state and hopeless prospects with touching eloquence; and fights in despair. It is reasonable to believe that if we treat the Indians as rational, thinking beings, give them fair words of truth, and act justly toward them, we shall draw out their latent good qualities, for no person is entirely destitute of these; give them truer notions of morality, remove the temptation to commit wrong, and teach them the value of virtue. At least we might expect to see a willingness to return good for good. Now we look to see good returned for evil, according to the precepts of our faith, but which alas! few of us observe. The Indian's code does not teach this. In short, we must take the savage as we find him; and those who write a history of his life, must relate all the horrors he commits, the gusts of passion to which he is subject, and give full praise to whatever virtues Nature has bestowed upon him. It should be borne in mind that he comes to us as Nature has formed him, and the working out of his system of education is to us, proud pale-faces, with our wholesome restraints,' and 'propriety of conduct,' worth the study, for by it we may learn much that we did not know before. These remarks may serve to show you how little chance the Indians have of being justly represented, and the dubious source whence is obtained a knowledge of the character of individuals. Notwithstanding these impediments in the way of truth, I have attempted to sketch the prominent traits in the life of a Florida chief, who possessed many manly qualities, much practical good sense, and who rendered himself conspicuous in the late war, hy maintaining for a long period an unequal contest with no other resources than great valor joined to an influence which his personal character alone enabled him to exercise over his countrymen. The publications of the day treat almost exclusively of military movements, and give little information as regards individuals; and what they do afford has been used freely, especially when the facts are confirmed by eye-witnesses or actors in the war. From these last I have obtained the points most to be depended upon; and I have derived from a friend who served in the army with distinction, many minute details, which could not be gathered from any other source.'

REV. WILLIAM JAY'S WORKS have just been published by the HARPERS, in three handsome volumes, with a portrait. The first volume contains Morning and Evening Exercises' for every day in the year; each exercise being made to express fully the import of its text, and the whole exhibiting a great diversity of subject, a wide selection of passages from the less observed and less improved parts of the Scriptures, and a judicious blending of doctrine, experience, and practice. The second volume embraces Short Discourses to be read in Families;'The Christian Contemplated,' in a course of lectures; and Prayers.' The first is intended for those who wish to blend instruction with family devotion; the second to diversify a little the ordinary course of ministerial instruction; to excite and secure attention by a degree of allowable novelty and curiosity; and to bring together various things pertaining to the same subject, so that they may aid each other in illustration and improvement, by this arrangement and union. The 'Prayers' are simple, devotional, and brief, and are for morning, evening, and select occasions, with short devotions, to be used occasionally. The third volume contains Sermons; Life of WINTER; Memoirs of JOHN CLARK; Charge to the Wife of a Minister;'The Wife's Advocate,' etc., etc.

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. WE have just finished the perusal, we believe for the fourth time within three years, of the writings of SYDNEY SMITH. For pungency, sarcasm, felicitous collocation of words, and invariable clearness and force of style, we scarcely know any thing in modern literature to compare with them. We desire the reader to reflect and laugh with us over three or four passages which we have condensed or selected for his gratification. The reverend gentleman tells some truths of his own countrymen quite as pungent in their way as those he is fond of bestowing upon us; but the unction of prejudice against Yankees' being wanting, they come forth with amusing unconsciousness of exposure, which is very pleasant. He rails away lustily against seceders in general, and Methodists in particular, as people who set out to be better than their neighbors, and dissatisfied with the regular preaching of the Establishment; people who talk of being 'converted' after having been always under the influence of 'regular' preaching. Of this same regular preaching he says elsewhere, that clergymen are usually appointed to their situations by those who have no interest that they should please the audience before whom they speak,' and that the only evil which accrues from the promotion of a clergyman to the pulpit which he has no ability to fill, is the fatigue of the audience and the discredit of that species of public instruction; an evil so general that no individual patron would think of sacrificing to it his particular interest. As to the sermons of the day, he confesses that their general character is that of decent debility,' and we do not learn that the reverend critic has ever turned his pen to account in endeavoring to improve their tone. He laughs at some one who declined allowing his servant to deny him at the door when he was at home, and draws the conclusion from such instances of inconvenient tender conscience, that 'The energy of religious feeling disturbs the ordinary occupations and amusements of life.' We cannot help thinking that a clergyman would find it difficult to choose from any of the epistles or gospels an appropriate text for a sermon on the subject of that sort of disturbance. He remarks, that upon reading in the works of a certain divine, that trials and crosses and self-sacrifice were the lot of the Christian, he was at first disposed to dispute the correctness of the observation; but it occurred to him that the writer must undoubtedly allude to the eight hundred and fifty actions which, in the course of eighteen months, had been brought against the clergy for non-residence. Two phrases in great repute, The true theatre for a woman is the sick chamber,' and 'Nothing so honorable to a woman as not to be spoken of at all,' he calls the delight of noodledom;' and we quite agree with him. After his scorching exposé in the Edinburgh Review of the conduct of the English Methodist missionaries in India, some consecrated cobbler' among the divines of that sect replied to him in a pamphlet-review, which was written in execrable taste, and abounded in blunders, one of which is thus pleasantly exposed in Mr. SMITH's rejoinder: In speaking of the cruelties which their religion entails upon the Hindoos, Mr. STYLES is particularly severe upon us for not being more shocked at their piercing their limbs with kimes. This is rather an unfair mode of alarming his readers with the idea of some unknown instrument. He represents himself as having paid considerable attention to the manners and customs of the Hindoos; and therefore the peculiar stress he lays upon this instrument is naturally calculated to produce in the minds of the humane a great degree of mysterious terror. A drawing of the kime was imperiously called for; and the want of it is a subtle evasion, for which Mr. STYLES is fairly accountable. As he has been silent on this subject, it is for us to explain the plan and nature of this terrible and unknown piece of mechanism. A kime then is neither more nor less than a false print in the Edinburgh Review for a knife; and from this blunder of the printer has Mr. STYLES manufactured this Dædalean instrument of torture called a kime! We were at first nearly persuaded by his arguments against kimes. We grew frightened. We stated to ourselves the horror of not sending missionaries to a nation which used kimes. We were struck with the nice and accurate information of the Tabernacle upon this important subject; but we looked in the

errata and found Mr. STYLES to be always Mr. STYLES; always cut off from every hope of mercy, and remaining forever himself!' It is said that the article had such an effect upon Mr. STYLES, that immediately after reading it, he killed himself with a kime! What could be better in its way, or more forcible, than the following illustration of PLYMLEY? 'I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the lords to stop the progress of reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. PARTINGTON on that occasion. In the winter of 1824 there set in a great flood upon that town; the tide rose to an incredible height; the waves rushed in upon the houses, and every thing was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame PARTINGTON, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house, with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused; Mrs. PARTINGTON'S spirit was up; but the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. PARTINGTON. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle, but she should not have meddled with a tempest.' In the same vein are his remarks upon the attempt on the part of the government to interfere with the religion of Scotland. They could not prevent, he said, that metaphysical people from going to heaven their own way. With a little oat-meal for food, and a little sulphur for friction; allaying cutaneous irritation with the one hand and holding his Calvinistical creed in the other, Sawney ran away to his flinty hills, sung his psalm out of tune his own way, and listened to his sermon of two hours long, amid the rough and imposing melancholy of the tallest thistles.' . . . WE do not accept 'M.'s' First Love;' not because it lacks truth or feeling, but because it is very carelessly written. Does M.' remember the charming lines quoted by CHARLES LAMB, and embodying a picture of that of which he has made only a mere sketch? Listen:

'AH! I remember well (and how can I

But evermore remember well) when first

Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was
The flame we felt; when as we sat and sighed
And looked upon each other, and conceived
Not what we ailed-yet something we did ail;
And yet were well, and yet we were not well,
And what was our disease we could not tell.
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus

In that first garden of our simpleness

We spent our childhood. But when years began
To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then
Would she with graver looks, with sweet stern brow,
Check my presumption and my forwardness;

Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show
What she would have me, yet not have me know.'

One who loved LAмь well, has drawn a pleasant sketch of a youth in the situation of our correspondent: Hitherto hope had never been to him so delightful as memory. His thoughts wandered back into the past more frequently than they took flight into the future, and the favorite form which his imagination called up was that of the sweet child, who in winter partook of his bench in the chimney corner, and in summer sat with him in the porch, and strung the fallen blossoms of jessamine upon stalks of grass. The snow-drop and the crocus reminded him of their little garden, the primrose of their sunny orchard bank, and the blue-bells and the cowslip, of the fields wherein they were allowed to run wild and gather them in the merry month of May. Such as she then was, he saw her frequently in sleep, with her blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and flaxen curls; and in his day dreams he sometimes pictured her to himself such as he supposed she now might be, and dressed up the image with all the magic of ideal beauty.' Remembrance will enable some of our readers to recall scenes like these; and then perhaps a sigh may be heaved for the days that are gone; hope will picture it to others, and with them the sigh will be for the days that are to come.... AMONG the matter in type for our last, was an elaborate notice, from the pen of a correspondent, of NIBLO's Garden Theatre, and of the claims of MITCHELL, 61

VOL. XXIV.

NICKINSON, Miss TAYLOR, and the pretty and accomplished Miss CLARKE, upon the favor and patronage of the public. As Mr. MITCHELL, however, has opened his winter-theatre, the popular OLYMPIC,' with all his old and many new dramatic attractions, the publication of the article is suspended' indefinitely. At the PARK, preparations are on foot for a ' variety of entertainments' and 'stars,' from which, if certain hints may be credited, we gather that something out of the beaten course may be anticipated. At the BOWERY, the popular play of PUTNAM' runs its ceaseless course.' It has kept constant possession of the stage for thirteen weeks, and its attractions continue undiminished. CORBYN, the wellknown estimable treasurer of the Olympic,' continues NIBLO's Garden Theatre, during the winter months. The house has been made all right and tight,' and the worthy manager will have an eye to every thing that is going' that can serve his purpose. He has already secured a good theatrical company. We shall keep our readers advised of all that is worthy of record in our dramatic department. THERE is a pleasant anecdote related of Mr. ALVAN STEWART, of Central New-York, which strikes us as worthy of preservation. He was dining one day at one of our fashionable hotels; and after selecting from a bill-offare in French a piece of roast-beef, he despatched one of the sparse corps of servants to procure it. He waited for some time, but the servant 'came not back.' At length, observing him assisting at an opposite table, he beckoned to him, and having caught his eye, exclaimed, in a deep sonorous voice, ‘Young man, I am hungry! Ay, ay, Sir,' replied the waiter, and departed a second time for the plate of beef. After some time had elapsed, the beef was placed before the hungry gentleman, who turned a solemn face to the servant, and asked, 'Are you the boy who took my plate for this beef? Yes, Sir, I be,' said the waiter. No exclaimed Mr. STEWART; why, how you have grown! Moral: there is scarcely a hotel in town, except perhaps the peerless ASTOR and AMERICAN, where there are as many waiters by one half as there ought to be... WHO can withhold his assent to the justice of this estimate of the deserts of that class of persons (happily small) who, having acquired some notoriety as 'conversationists,' are continually striving to be striking or profound; who say things in ten words which require only two; and who fancy all the while that they are making a great impression? It is easy to talk of carniverous animals and beasts of prey; but does such a man, who lays waste a whole party of civilized beings by prosing, reflect upon the joy he spoils and the misery he creates, in the course of his life?—and that any one who listens to him through politeness, would prefer earache or tooth-ache to his conversation? Does he consider the extreme uneasiness which ensues, when the company have discovered that he is a bore, at the same time that it is impossible to convey, by words or manner, the most distant suspicion of the discovery? And then who punishes this bore? What sessions and what assizes for him? What bill is found against him? Who indicts him? When the judges have gone their vernal and autumnal rounds, the sheep-stealer disappears; the swindler gets ready for the Bay; the solid parts of the murderer are preserved in anatomical collections. But after twenty years of crime, the bore is perhaps discovered in the same house; eating the same soup; unpunished, untried, undissected.' Have you not encountered, reader, in the course of what Mrs. GAMP would term your 'pilgian's progess through this mortial wale,' an occasional bore of this stamp; a man whose disquisitions (touching mainly perhaps his own literary opinions and writings, published or unpublished,) beat lettuces, poppy-syrup, mandragora, hop-pillows, and the whole tribe of narcotics, all to nothing? If you bave not, you are lucky. We know who has, 'we do'-but not lately.... Oun remarks upon Watering Places' and their cognate themes in our last, have brought down upon us sundry epistles and communications, with which we shall have more to do hereafter. Saratoga, Sharon, Newport, and even the Virginia Springs, have contributed to our port-folio. The sketch of The Paper-Match' is too transparent. It reveals a pique and conceals a sting. Beside, we do not wish to discourage venerable lovers. What says old BURTON on this point? An old, grave, discreet man is fittest to discourse of love matters; because he hath likely more experience, observed more, hath a more staid judgment, can better discern, resolve, discuss, advise, give

better cautions and more solid precepts, better inform his auditors in such a subject, and by reason of his riper years, sooner divert.' Ladies should never taboo such customers.' The very success of the gentleman in question establishes the wisdom of this caution. Here is a clever thing, found, says a correspondent, near the door of a young lawyer's office in Wall-street:

FAREWELL, O Sharon! and alas, farewell

Thy proud pavilion and thy brimstone spring;

Ill can my halting muse describe or tell

The raptures that my heart is fain to sing;
Of all thy glories and of all thy smells,

Thy baths, thine omelettes, billiard-rooms and belles.

No more the spring-boy doth his tumblers dip,
Plumping within thine odorous fountain's brim;
No more, with nose averted, shall I sip,

Nor, sulphuretted, turn from thy hygeian stream;
The spring-boy now laments the season o'er,
And I return again to Law's detested lore.

No more thy ball-room will invite at eve,
The oft-told tale to tell in woman's ear;
For ah! to-morrow's stage-coach will bereave
The last lorn lover of his lingering dear;
Such flames, alas! all watering-places know,
Come with the summer, with the season go.

No more at sound of CUFFEE'S clanging bell
The parlor, bar-room and piazza vent
The hungry throng in headlong rush, pell-mell,
To gorge their welcome provender intent;
The chickens all are gone, the final egg is poached,
E'en the old gobbler yesterday was broached.

No more the bowling-alley's sounding balls
Allure the ladies and their hangers-on;
No new arrival all the curious calls

To speculate the dusty wights upon;

Through vacant halls the mournful landlord prowls,
Through rooms deserted now, old Boreas howls.

But I will bear with me the grateful thought

Of days of reverie and nights of rest,

When neither bores nor fell mosquitoes sought

To mar the quiet of the tired guest;

And oft within my legal garret lone

Will meditate upon the pleasant season gone.

JUST after you pass from Broadway into Wall-street, citizen reader, you will perceive on your left a wide open space, covered with rubbish and dotted with laborers. Turn aside for a moment, and survey the scene. It is a space of ground occupied by two sacred edifices, in succession, the latest of which has just been taken down. The numerous arches which you see around, some almost demolished, and others slowly yielding to the crow-bar and pick-axe, were the vaults of the dead. Advance a few yards and examine them more attentively. The workmen are removing all that remains of the forms that once tenanted them; sometimes so little as scarcely to be perceptible; a spade-full or so of dust, a shapeless lump of porous bone, and perhaps a dank piece of worm-eaten mahogany, being all that is left. In the two or three small pine boxes which you see in the centre of the square are deposited, in a promiscuous heap, the few bones, large and small, which were found commingled together in the vaults; and where the lines of graves ran on each side of the church, are also now and then found similar trophies of the dead and gone.' Pause at this spot, reader-as by an eddy that slowly revolves in the curve of some rushing stream-pause for a moment, and ere you hasten on to mingle with multitudes commercing' in the crowded mart of traffic, solemnly meditate, and commune with yourself: What am I? and whither am I tending? Men with spirits as buoyant and hopes as bright s my own; who once met daily in the busy thoroughfares of the metropolis; who mingled