all assenting, Naoman among the rest.

Stacy was first interrogated by one of the old men, who spoke En

glish, and interpreted to the rest. tray his informant.

Stacy refused to beHis wife was then questioned,

while at the same moment two Indians stood threatening her two children with tomahawks, in case she did not confess. She attempted to evade the truth, by declaring that she had a dream the night before, which had alarmed her, and that she had persuaded her husband to fly.

"The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a white face," said the old Indian. "Woman, thou hast two tongues and two faces-speak the truth, or thy children shall surely die.”

The little boy and girl were brought close to her, and the two savages stood over them, ready to execute their bloody orders.

"Wilt thou name," said the old Indian, "the red man who betrayed his tribe? I will ask thee three times."

The mother answered not.

"Wilt thou name the traitor? This is the second time."

The poor mother looked at her husband, and then at her children, and stole a glance at Naoman, who sat smoking his pipe with invincible gravity. She wrung her hands and wept, but remained silent.

"Wilt thou name the traitor? "Tis the third and last time."

The agony of the mother waxed more bitter; again

she sought the eye of Naoman, but it was cold and motionless. A pause of a moment awaited her reply, and the tomahawks were raised over the heads of the children, who besought their mother not to let them be murdered.

Stop!" cried Naoman. All eyes were turned upon him. "Stop," repeated he, in a tone of authority. "White woman, thou hast kept thy word with me to the last moment. I am the traitor. I have eaten of the salt, warmed myself at the fire, shared the kindness of these Christian white people, and it was I who told them of their danger. I am a withered, leafless, branchless trunk; cut me down if you will. ready."

I am

Nao

A yell of indignation sounded from all sides. man descended from the little bank where he sat, shrouded his face with his mantle of skins, and submitted to his fate. He fell dead at the feet of the white woman by a blow of the tomahawk. But the sacrifice of Naoman did not suffice, nor the firmness and fortitude of the Christian white woman, to save the lives of the victims. They perished; how, it is needless to say, and the memory of their fate has been preserved in the name of the pleasant stream on whose banks they lived and died, which to this day is called Murderer's Creek.

IF

If you would preserve esteem, be gentle.

AUTUMN TRAVEL.

BY D. PARISH BARHYDT.

OH, did you ever travel in the mellow autumn time,
When the lovely Indian summer, in its golden, molten

prime,

Over earth, and over water, and throughout the breathless

air,

Is shedding down its mellow light, so dreamy and so fair; When the robins, sunk in dreamy rest, their song is heard

no more,

And the squirrel's chirping merrily about his winter store; When the forests all are laughing in their holiday attire, The nut woods clad in yellow and the maples robed in fire; The beech, the linden, oak, and all in countless hues are

gay,

And keeping merry carnival 'ere winter's lenten day.

Have you never?

Then forever

Seek the Indian summer day

In the Western forest glade;

Seek it ever,

And forever,

As you journey on your way,

Revel in its crimson shade.

Oh, did you ever travel in the mellow autumn time,

When the lovely Indian summer 's in its golden, molten

prime:

When the sumach by the way-side bows its ever graceful

head,

To greet the passing traveler with nodding plumes of red; When the dainty raspberries, the fruitage gone, assume Along their slender, prickly stems, the plum fruit's purple bloom;

And the blackberry bushes, leaved yet in fresher green, With the cedar and the willow, vary still the checkered

scene;

When, glancing down the painted vista, where the river rolls along,

Imagination bows to nature, while the fancy roves in song.

Have you ever?

Then forever

You will wait the autumn time

'Ere you travel, 'ere you roam.

Roaming, ever,

Roam forever

In the genial Western clime,

Finding there your travel home,

Oh, did you ever travel in the mellow autumn time, When the lovely Indian summer 's in its golden, molten

prime;

When the sunlight on the birchen leaf, a moment seen to

quiver,

Is mistaken for the glimmer of its ray upon the river; When of polished steel or silver, or of burnished gold, the

stream

Through the many-colored foliage by chance is seen to

gleam;

When playing with the trailing vines that gently kiss its

face,

Or held within the winding banks, like ether's limpid space, Reflecting trunks, or bending boughs, and knarled roots, to

show

The graceful and grotesque again in mirrored form below. Did you never?

Then forever

Travel onward, travel far,

Till you find Miami's stream

Find it ever,

And forever,

Roaming near, or roaming far,

You will ne'er forget its gleam.

FEMALE AFFECTION.

BY MRS. CHILD.

APTAIN Ross was an officer in the English army during the American Revolutionary war. He was much attached to a young lady, whose engagements to him her parents refused to ratify. When military duty compelled him to cross the Atlantic, his lady-love, without apprising him of her intentions, resolved to follow him. For this purpose, she disguised herself in man's clothes, and took a passage for America. She arrived immediately after a battle had been fought between the Indians and the detachment to which Captain Ross belonged. Among the dead bodies, she quickly recog