About this time the restoration of tranquillity, and the opening of the rich lands just ceded to the United States on the upper waters of the Alabama, began to attract numerous emigrants from the Atlantic settlements, and the military road was soon thronged with caravans hastening to these fertile countries at the West. The country from the Oakmulgee to the settlements on the Mississippi, was still one howling wilderness, and many discontented spirits among the conquered tribes still meditated a hostile stroke against their white oppressors. Travelling was of course hazardous and insecure, and persons who were not able to associate in parties strong enough for mutual defence, were fain to procure the guidance and protection of some well known warrior or chief, whose name and presence might ensure a safe passage through those troubled countries.

Of this class was L. I knew him formerly and had heard some remote allusion to his fate. Though his misfortunes and embarrassments had driven him to seek a distant asylum, a warmer heart beat not in a human bosom. Frank and manly, open to kindness and prompt to meet friendship, he was loved by all who knew him, and 'eyes unused to weep' glistened in bidding 'God speed!' to their old associate. L——, had been a companion in arms with Riley, and knew his sagacity, his courage, and fidelity. Under his direction he led his small family of slaves towards the spot upon which he had fixed for his future home, and traversed the wild and dangerous path in safety and peace. Like most men of his eager and sanguine temperament, L was easily excited to anger, and though ready to atone for the injury done in the warmth of feeling, did not always control his passions before their out-burst. Some slight cause of altercation produced a quarrel with his guide, and a blow from the hand of L- was treasured up by

Riley, with deep threats of vengeance. On the banks of yonder creek he watched his time, and the bullet too truly aimed, closed the career of one who little dreamed of death at the moment. His slaves, terrified at the death of their master, fled in various directions and carried the news of his murder to the nearest settlements. The story of L's unhappy end soon reached his family, and his nearest relatives took immediate measures to bring the murderer to justice. Riley knew that punishment would speedily follow his crime, but took no steps to evade or prevent his doom. The laws of retaliation among his countrymen are severe but simple'blood for blood'—and he 'might run who read them.' On the first notice of a demand, he holdly avowed his deed and gave himself up for trial. No thought seemed to enter his mind of denial or escape. A deep and settled remorse had possessed his thoughts, and influenced his conduct. He had no wish to shun the retribution which he knew was required. When his judges were assembled in the council at the public square, he stood up and addressed them.

'Fathers!' said he, 'I have killed my

friend.

brother-my

He struck me, and I slew him. That honor which forbade me to suffer a blow without inflicting vengeance, forbids me to deny the deed or to attempt to escape the punishment you may decree. Fathers! I have no wish to live. My life is forfeited to your law, and I offer it as the sole return for the life I have taken. All I ask for is to die a warrior's death. Let me not die the death of a dog, but boldly confront it like a brave man who fears it not. I have braved death in battle. I do not fear it. I shall not shrink from it now. Fathers! bury me where I fall, and let no one mourn for the man who murdered his friend. He had fought by my side-he trusted me. I loved him, and had sworn to protect him.'

Arrayed in his splendid dress of ceremony, he walked slowly and gravely to the place of execution, chanting in a steady voice his death song, and recounting his Seating himself in front of the

deeds of prowess.

assembled tribe upon yonder fallen tree, and facing the declining sun, he opened the ruffle of his embroidered shirt, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, gave with his own voice the signal of death, unmoved and unappalled. Six balls passed through both his hands and his bosom, and he fell backward so composedly as not to lift his feet from the grass on which they rested. He was buried where he fell, and that small mound marks the scene of his punishment; that hillock is the murderer's grave; that hovel, whose ruins now mark the spot, was erected for his widow, who lingered a few seasons in sorrow, supporting a wretched existence by cultivating yonder little field. She was never seen to smile, or to mingle with her tribe; she held no more intercourse with her fellows than was unavoidable and accidental, and now sleeps by the side of her husband. The Indian shuns the spot, for he deems that the spirit of the murderer inhabits it. The traveller views the scene with curiosity and horror, on account of its story, and, pausing for a few moments to survey this lonely and desolate glade, hastens on to more cheerful and happy regions. With this short narrative we put spurs to our horses, and, hurrying along the road, in a few moments found ourselves beyond the gloomy and tangled forests of the creek.

94

MUSINGS.

TO ROSABELLE.

BY WILLIS G. CLARK.

THERE is light abroad in thy pathway now,
And a stainless smile on thy virgin brow;
There are dreams that float in thy spirit's sight,
Till thy young eye swims in untold delight-
Till the wide earth seems but a paradise,
Where the purest blossoms and odors rise.
With song, and vision, and footstep free,
Fair girl! will sorrow e'er steal on thee?

The world is gay to thine ardent eye,
With hues of joy in its pictured sky;
With a touch, like the wakening glow of spring-
It is Pleasure's brightest imaging!

And she cheers thy path with a seraph tone,
With a voice that is melting, like music's own;
Like the halcyon's fleeting and raptured lay,
On the far, calm sea, as it dies away.

Hast thou marked the course of a fresh blue stream,
In its light and shade, like a changeful dream?
When the opening buds, on its side, would fling
Their gift to the spring-gale's viewless wing?
When the soft, low tones of the humming-bird
Stole out, like Eolian music heard?

When the glancing leaves of the forest trees,
Were whispering gladness to sun and breeze?

Were there hopes that swept o'er thy spirit then,
While the stream danced on in its quiet glen?
Were there tears of bliss in thy kindling eye,
As its glance was cast to the golden sky?
Hadst thou one thought, that the scene would fade,
That a blight would steal o'er the summer glade,
That the cloud would frown in that festal heaven,
Or the tree's sere honors to dust be given?

Bright one! I would that the world might be
All joy and sunlight outspread for thee!
That thine early visions might yet remain,

When thy step has passed from youth's gay domain !
But thy dreams will flee like a wild bird's tone-
Like the aspen's whisper, thou lovely one!
Thy hopes will fade in the viewless air,
And the wreath lie dead in thy golden hair!

There is yet a brighter and purer ray,
Which will pour its glow on thy flowery way;
It will light thine eye as it flits along,
Wake thy soul to love and thy lip to song;
And the untold bliss of its visitings,

Will thrill to thy young heart's holy strings-
But 't will fleet like the rich cloud isles that glide
Through the summer-heaven at evening tide.

Thou wilt breathe Love's sigh but a little while,
Thou wilt bask but a moment in Pleasure's smile!
Above thee will darken the clouds of fate,
And thy innocent heart will be desolate!
Thou wilt look with a mournful feeling, back
On the withered buds in thy childhood's track-
On the wasted hours of thine early glee-
Pure girl! I am sad as I gaze on thee!