Let us leave for a while the town, bodied the fallen majesty of his race, the monument of the white man's so does he recline there in savage triumph over the man of the wilds, grandeur, as if loth to bid the spot a where the ringing of hoofs on the rocky final adieu. And now, that their ca pavement sounds in disagreeable con- reer is run, that their empire has passed trast to the muffled tread which comes away, well may we, the inheritors of up from the green forest paths. The their noble birthright stand thoughtroad winds through the yet primitive forest, with its glorious old trees which have stood there hundreds of years, witnesses of the times, when the red man held sway over the green dells and shady depths, and which, could they speak, might tell us of many a quiet evening like this, when their leaves trembled to the fierce intonations of the wild war-whoop which heralded deeds of blood. All, however, is peaceful now; and as we move on ward, how beautifully the fragmentary light streams through the dense shadows of the arching boughs, lighting up each dingle with soft radiance, and making illuminated chapels numberless, for the forest worshipper amidst such scenes. A fully amidst the scenes once made ter rible by their presence, well may we look with feelings of unwonted interest upon the remnants of a people, but a brief period since, the undisputed mas ters of a continent. Fallen, they are; but they were no mean foeman in the day of their might; and with all the cruelty which was inherent in a nature uninfluenced by the light of a purer religion than their own, there has come down to us, incidents of a true nobili ty of spirit, unsurpassed in the annals of the proudest nations of the earth. We have spoken of the eloquence of the sons of the forest, in pleading against the fate which has overshadowed them. Listen to one of them, and then tell us, where can be found We are now in, the rocky dell. an oration, more fraught with force re clear stream winds its way through the sistless to touch the heart of man. place, now dashing over the shelving The speaker is replying to one of the rocks which obstruct its course, now agents of that people, whose influence gliding noiselessly along as if awed over them for evil has been so mighty: into gentleness by the stillness of the "Brother-We have heard your talk place. And all around are fragments as from the lips of our father, the great of rocks piled up in irregular walls, white chief at Washington, and my crested with trees and scooped into people have called upon me to speak caverns, the floor of the dell paved to you. The red man has no books, with rough masses, and cleft into something which reminds one of the tesselated pavements, the work of men in other lands. feuds. The Great Spirit talks—we hear him in the thunder-in the rushing winds and the mighty waters—but he never writes. and when he wishes to make known his views, like his father before him, he speaks from his mouth. He is afraid of writing. When he speaks he knows On one of these rocks is seated an what he says; the Great Spirit hears Indian, apparently the monarch of the him. Writing is the invention of the place. Throned amidst the majesty of pale-face; it gives birth to error and to Nature, we may imagine the feelings which could sway the soul of the red man, at the thought, that scenes so full of magnificence must pass under the dominion of the "pale faces" from over the "great waters," whilst like the leaves of the forest, smitten by untimely blight, the places which knew them should "know them no more." Well may they linger amidst such "Brother-My voice is weak; you scenes, well may they feel reluctant to can scarcely hear me; it is not the bid them farewell. And as if in the shout of a warrior, but the wail of an person of the solitary figure was em-infant. I have lost it in wailing over "Brother-When you were young we were strong, we fought by your side; but our arms are now broken. You have grown large: my people have be come small. These of us. the misfortunes of my people. are their graves, and in those aged pines you hear the ghosts of the departed. Their ashes are here, and we have been left to protect them. Our warriors are nearly all gone to the far country west; but here are our dead. Shall we go, too, and give their bones to the wolves? "Brother-Two sleeps have passed since we heard you talk. We have thought upon it. You ask us to leave our country, and tell us it is our fath er's wish. We would not desire to displease our father. We respect him, and you his child. But the Choctaw always thinks. We want time to an swer. "Brother-Our hearts are full. Twelve winters ago our chiefs sold our country. Every warrior that you see here was opposed to the treaty. If the dead could have been counted, it could never have been made; but, alas! though they stood around, they could not be seen or heard. Their tears came in the rain-drops, and their voices in the wailing wind, but the pale faces knew it not, and our land was taken away. "Brother-We do not now complain. The Choctaw suffers, but never weeps. You have the strong arm, and we can. not resist but the pale-face worships the Great Spirit. So does the red man. The Great Spirit loves truth. When you took our country you promised us land. There is your promise in the book. Twelve times have the trees dropped their leaves, yet we have received no land. Our houses have been taken from us. The white man's plow turns up the bones of our fathers. We dare not kindle our fires; and yet you said we might remain, and you would give us land. "Brother-Is this truth? But we believe now our great father knows our condition, he will listen to us. We are as mourning orphans in our coun try; but our father will take us by the hand. When he fulfills his promise, we will unswer his talk. He means well. We know it. But we cannot think now. Grief has made children When our business is settled, we shall be men again. "Brother, you stand in the moccasins of the great chief, you speak the words of a mighty nation, and your talk was long. My people are small, their shadow scarcely reaches to your knee; they are scattered and gone; when I shout, I hear my voice in the depth of the woods, but no answering shout comes back. My words, therefore, are few. I have nothing more to say, but to request you to tell what I have said to the tall chief of the palefaces, whose brother stands by your side." MEMORIES. My dreams are of thee, in the hush of night, The memory of thee, like some wondrous spell, I have been with thee in the land of dreams, Though only dreams, they were of thee-of thee! Then let me look upon thee, meet thee, still, A GLANCE AT THE HOL- ed monument, concluding as we look upon it, that the Dutch are better painters than sculptors. We approach the Hague-passing THERE are few prettier places with- on the canal, amongst other novelties, in my recollection than "the Hague," goats and dogs working admirably in the capital of Holland-none, certain- harness, saw and grist mills worked by ly, that can impress the traveller more the wind, also occurring at every turn, favorably with its neatness, and its and all along the borders of the canal, pleasant capabilities generally for a perfect gems of country residences quiet residence. Passing by Rotter- peering out from clumps of weeping dam, with its commercial air which willows and forests of roses and jessasavors so largely of obeying the injunc- mine. How cool, and above all, how tion of the "bard of all time," when neat they look! Occasionally, too, a he says, "put money in thy purse," we shining, substantial looking carriage find ourselves on the "Trechtschoot," rolls by, the inmates dressed in rich moving quietly onward with Dutch but plain garb, the horses sleek, and canal steadiness towards the ancient glossy and fat, as only Dutch horses town of Delpht, on the way to the can presume to be. Around and on Hague. every side, too, the fields are dotted with fine cattle, the vegetation rank and luxuriant, the view of grassy plain interminable, or like an American prairie, bounded only by the calm still horizon. No wonder that some of the old Dutch landscapes make one drowsy to look at them: no wonder that Cuyp and Van Ostade, and Van der Velde drew sleepy inspiration from the scenery, as bees might do who would venture to dip into poppies. But here is the Hague, we are passing under its bridges, we behold its steeples, its streets; we hear the clatter of sabots upon the pavements, and the occasional rattle of wheels takes the place of the soft ripple of the "Trechtschoot." But stop we a moment in Rotterdam. Forget not that this is the birth place of the great Erasmus, that it contains his statue in bronze, and that the neat unpretending brick residence is still pointed out as the place where he first saw the light. There is the church of St. Lawrence also, with its enormous and fine toned organ, said to be second in size only to the famous one at Haarlem, and superior in tone, some of its pipes only seventeen inches in diameter. Let us not forget the placid, eminently grave looking congregation, either, as they sang in full concert, with a power worthy of the instrument, until the tremendous edifice with its bare timbers appeared to tremble to the vi bration. I like this old fashioned way of praising the Creator, and looking upon them, I wondered not that their forefathers were amongst the bulwarks of Protestantism at a period when their aid was most needed. The first place we stumble upon after taking up our quarters at a comforta ble hotel, is the Vyverberg, surrounded with edifices rich in memories of past events, and the Royal Museum in the same quarter, to the interior of which, without delay, we obtain admission. Through a beautiful country the ver. On entering, busts of Dutch heroes are dure unsurpassed on earth, we ap before us at every turn, the De Ruyter's proach Delpht, the perfection of an old and Van Tromps, who centuries ago Dutch town, its little mirrors project- disputed so valiently with England ing from every window, and a "Sleepy the dominion of the seas; but our first Hollow" air over all things which object being to see the fine collection makes it partake of the stillness of a of pictures here, we mount to the gal dream. Memorable, forever, as the leries above without stopping, thinking scene of the assassination of William all the way of Rembrandt's "Phys. of Orange by Balthazar Gerard, we cian," and the famous "Bull" by Paul stop to visit the spot, and the church Potter, which are to greet our vision. containing his rich but queerly design. We are before the picture by Rem brandt, first. Will it ever be forgotten? Upon a table lies a corpse-a perishing wreck of poor mortality, the eyes sunken, the limbs relaxed, the hue of death unmistakeable over the whole figure. And-strong contrast, standing by and bending over in earnest contemplation of the dead, is admirably represented a living, almost a breathing group of young men, listening apparently with intense interest to the surgeon who has just raised the hand of the corpse, their countenances glowing with life and intelligence, the face of the dead, meanwhile, so expressionless, the form so still. What a triumph of art is this!-a picture to abide in the memory of the beholder to the end of time! And the picture by Paul Potter! It is said to have been considered at one time the fourth best in the Louvre; and truly is it deserving of the praise lavished upon it. It appears life itself, almost, as the sturdy young monarch of the green sward calmly looks over his domains, every touch of the bold pencil indicating unrivalled power in this school of composition. A young artist is copying it, and we will pass on to others so as not to disturb him. Here is a stag hunt by the celebrated "Snijders," another life-like piece, which almost makes the gazer shout as he sees the brave beast scatter the dogs from his path. Barbaric diamonds. splendor can But of deeper interest than jewelled weapons is an old slouched hat, and a rusty, ancient looking suit of clothes. preserved with great care in this glass case. Two hundred and seventy years ago, or thereabouts, that old felt mo. rion covered the manly brows of one upon whom the hopes of half Protestant Europe were suspended; a brain palpitated beneath it fraught with lofty and god-like aspirations, to be, all too soon for his country, stilled by the hand of death. These are the habiliments worn by William 1st, Prince of Orange, at the time of his assassination; the bullet holes visible, the fatal weapon lying alongside the dress. The bullets, too, are there, so destructive to the hopes of thousands. Sad mementos these. In the same case is a curiously enamelled antique watch worn by him, and the iron armor and the sword with its heavy gold chain, so effective in the hands of old De Ruyter, famous as a good fighter, when Peace Societies were unknown and hard knocks were at a premium! We pass through the Voorhout, the residence of most of the foreign embassadors, and the nucleus of wealth and fashion, and proceeding in the direction of the "Wood," a beautiful public place used for military reviews and as a public resort, and find ourselves in another gallery of pictures, of the modern The other schools are handsomely Dutch school. Glancing around, one represented here in the productions of painting claims a lasting remembrance Poussin, Murillo, Correggio, Raphael, from the visiter. the Carracis and so on, but as we cannot stay here forever, let us look through the rest of the treasures contained in the building. The scene is the turret of a castle. The group comprises the lord of it, his wife, and a single follower, the latter holding by the Below is the Japanese collection, collar a fierce looking stag hound. the finest in the world, the Dutch hav- The turret is enveloped in smoke, and ing the entrèe to that country, to the upon the countenances of lord and serf exclusion of other European nations. concentrated fury sits, as with upVery curious, certainly, but absolutely lifted swords they meet the glance of indescribable; so, storeing the details an old monk who is holding up before in the memory, only, let us pass on to a loophole a crucifix, apparently inviother rooms. Here is a magnificent ting a surrender. But the wife! Upon attaghan, or short sword, presented to her beautiful features, and in the attithe King of Holland by the Sultan of tude of her rounded and drooping form Madura, the scabbard of pure gold is the imprint of death, upon her lip with rich chasings, the hilt a cluster of the pale, deadly hue, which presages immediate dissolution; but her eye is now passing, with piles of brass pieces turned upon her husband with a last here and there about its walls. fond look, and in its soft blue depths We must not forget to notice anothis shadowed a love so intense, so tri-er of the foundries, where the cannon umphant over the horrors and agonies for the government are made, and of the fearful hour, that the observer through which we were politely shown feels as if he might bow down with by one of the directors. Many huntears and worship so noble an image of the love of the human heart, yet do no violence to his nature! dred men are employed in it, and passing through groups of these sturdy artizans, our conductor led us to the inThe "Wood," before mentioned, is terior apartment, kept carefully locked the pride and boast of the city, and a from the public gaze. Producing a perfect elfin region does it seem, so still key, he unlocked the door, and we enin its green depths where the forest tered, and the collossal trunk of a half paths, in labyrinthian curves wind formed model for a statue of Rembrandt away, so cool and pleasant its deep was exhibited, designed for one of the shades when the weary pedestrian steps public squares of the capital. It was from the dusty pave into these dim to be cast in bronze. We admire that streets. Deer frolic upon the velvet liscriminating taste which in many of turf, and the stately swan sails undis-these old countries, at whatever cost, turbed along the waters which border places genius in the front rank of those or traverse the space. What a pity all the State honors; and with such excities have not the like accommoda- amples to stimulate exertion, it is no tions for their inhabitants, where pleas-wonder that artists and others devote ant recreation might for a brief space themselves to their callings with an entake the place of overwrought toil, thusiasm scarcely conceivable by us. and care unbend its brow, corrugated We approach in another direction, with the troubles of unsatisfied exis- the Royal Palace, a large edifice, the tence. Let us walk around the fairy grounds and park beautifully kept; but forest, fairy-like in its green dells and the huge brick structure itself display. secluded vistas where the "little peo-ing little or no taste. It has some fine ple" might dance as in the "Midsum- pictures however. mer Night's Dream," were they not out of date in this matter of fact age. How exquisitely clean the walks, how cool and twilight-like the dim depths of each dingle, with but now and then a mere pencil of light like a ray of glory streaming intrusively in upon the scene. And now a burst of rich music from the King's band, stationed without, makes every glade vocal around, whilst the laughing tones of childhood at its revels swell the glad chorus. Here is a path, or more properly, a short avenue leading to "Schevening," a famous fishing hamlet and bathing place about two miles distant, and suppose we follow it. Smooth as a floor, and bordered with magnificent trees, the bright vista as it runs in a straight line appears interminable, whilst the birds make the whole scene alive with their sweet notes. Something ap proaches creeping forward like a great lack spider in the distance. Nearer it comes, and now we observe two stout And for the completion of the pic-old fish women mounted on a dog cart, ture as viewed from these quiet arcades; and three sturdy curs trotting along a splendid looking regiment is now snapping and growling at each other, maneuvering in the open space, their out of humor with their position and accoutrements gleaming in the sunlight employment. We reach Schevening, and the sharp voice of command constantly breaking upon the ear. We proceed onward, leaving the "Wood" and its many fascinations, to take a more extended look at the city. That is the cannon foundry we are and mounting the range of sand hills in front, there is the beach, with a few fishing boats scattered upon it and the mighty ocean in the distance, the soleinn sound of successive surges falling upon the ear with measured tone as |