were attended to always in their hours of study, of illness, of amusement, by their "governess." She is gone now; no one ever inquires after her. She is gone, if young enough, to another situation, again to attend upon young ladies in their hours of study, amusement, and illness-again to be dismissed-again forgotten. I think it is a high privilege to be intrusted with the education of youth-one of the very highest that a woman can enjoy ; but if she perform her duty, her services should never be slighted or forgotten. The "teacher" should rank, after her own immediate family, in the pupil's affections; or, if that cannot be (for we can all respect many whom we do not love), in her esteem; she should always be honoured, and never permitted to want; her importance to sotree; her situation subordinate, her influence para ciety is as vital as the unseen sap to the blooming mount-not in the usual course of influences; but if we look back to our own young days, we shall remember how much of what we learnt from some patient teacher has directed us through life. My astonishment has often been excited, not by the little which governesses know, but by their knowing so much. Nevertheless, until some decided step is taken by the legislature to regulate not only schools, but the education of teachers, there must always be a chance of their incompetency to perform at least a portion of all that is required of them. Still, in nine cases out of ten, what has been done for ourselves in the way of education, has been done by this hardly-used race. And certainly Mr Byfield ought to have been satisfied with what Emily Dawson had already accomplished, without turning her over to one whom he knew would try her to the uttermost. His feelings were hardened, and he was rendered suspicious-by the past circumstances of a varied life-of there being any good in human nature; his benevolence was often frozen over; but when it thawed, the verdure of a generous nature came quickly forth.

The first step he found it necessary to take was to find where Miss Dawson was; but here he was baffled. The housemaid had received warning from her mistress the previous night, in consequence, she said, of her attention to the governess;" and a few moments after Mr Byfield had spoken to her, had gone, as Mrs Hylier had commanded she should. The other servants pretended to be, or were ignorant, of her residence; and such was her firmness of manner in the falsehood, that Mr Byfield believed she had told him the truth. The natural impetuosity of his character was now directed to find her out; and fancying she had gone to her old friends, he posted off, leaving a wonderful story to the good people of Kensington, which was told in at least twenty different ways,

the last being the most extraordinary.

Dawson ought to bless her stars; for as soon as her
cold wore away, she'd be sure of a good situation.
And she would have talked thus much longer, had not
her mother called her out to inquire, if she knew "what
property the poor lady' had," as a doctor ought to see
her; and Mary, good-natured girl, spurned at the ques-
tion, yet coincided in the opinion, saying she was no
if she had, she had wherewith to pay---it may be remem-
expense to them, for she had neither ate nor drank; and
bered that Mary did not particularly adhere to truth---
and that the doctor had better come at once; she would
go and fetch him--and so she did; and when he heard
her cough, and saw the flush upon her cheek, and her
hair moist with the dews of that English disease to which
thousands are sacrificed, he blistered her chest to relieve
her breathing, ordered a light diet, and particularly re-
in her purse, and no friend!
commended Italy, the south of France, or Madeira; and
that to a governess, with three pounds five and sixpence

"Oh, I shall be soon better, sir," she said-" very
soon. I have been much worse; a few days' rest and
quiet will quite set me up.

"Send to her friends," said the doctor to Mary.
"Lord, sir!" replied Mary, opening her eyes, sure
she's only a governess!"

Let any one recall the sick-bed of a beloved object
suffering from hectic fever; how wearing that everlasting
cough, which only ceases, to begin again; how sad, after
you have drawn the curtain, softened the night-lamp,
and given the composing draught, with an earnest prayer
to Almighty God that the patient may enjoy sleep, how
sad still to hear the hack, hack, of that gasping chest
breaking up the false repose, and then to know, by the
movement and the sigh, that the poor patient has turned;
and though thoughts and hands of tenderest love have
and though the pillows are down, and the sheets cambric,
smoothed them, and poured out the most soothing and
reviving perfumes-that still, though there is little posi-
tive pain, there is no rest-and you are called;-that sweet
silver voice steals its melodious way from your ear to
your heart; the church clock has struck two, and the
watchers' eyes are heavy, but the eyes of the watched
are bright; and she will have you open the curtain, and
she talks of things to come in this world-of the spring
time and the summer, and of when she shall be better, and
of how pleasantly the autumn will pass at the sea-side;
the summer will fly quite away with her cough, and then
she shall so enjoy the autumn! And while she talks, her
thin pure face and glorious brow, round which the damp
hair clings, rest on your bosom, and you know that
it is now December; but that autumn, summer, spring,
will never be gladdened by that hopeful voice! Nothing
can bring her back the ease of body which the poor
cat enjoys before the fire; tended, as she is, by the
watchful love of a whole house, she knows not rest.
that small room, upon a hard bed, shaken by kindly
How much more must the governess have suffered in
life which, despite our sufferings, we all cling to, it
but rough hands, believing that if God prolonged the
would be ended-where? Alas! no hospital will open
wasting, complaint, engendered by our shivering atmo-
its doors to consumption; the lagging, certain, wearing,
sphere, of which so many hundreds, especially governesses,
perish, finds no public friend in charitable England.
but it was not only the wretched, unrelieved, weariness
and pain of body that Emily suffered from; it was, that she
had been hooted forth characterless; she, the pure, high-
sinking into her grave tainted; that she would meet her
minded, upright, honourable girl, trembled lest she was
mother with the mark of shame, which passeth not away,
upon her brow. The notion haunted her; the thought of it
would not let her sleep by night or by day; she said in the
morning she would be better by the evening, and in the
she was of a hopeful spirit; and her disease-slow, pallid,
evening she would certainly be better in the morning; for
traitor that it is-encouraged hope. Several days elapsed,
gone. With the high-toned generosity of a noble mind,
and her little money, despite Mary's exertions, was nearly
she would not write to her friend of her distress, for she
knew she had not the means to relieve her, and why
should she make her unhappy. She did write, though a
little every day, resolving to send the letter off when she
was better. The doctor saw she grew rapidly worse, more
rapidly than usual, for her mind was goading the disease
stoutly said it was not, and showed her silver, which the
to double speed; her money was gone, though Mary
girl had pledged her own Sunday-shawl to obtain.

at the door, as to bring all the inhabitants of the street to their windows.

"I tell you, sir, I know nothing about her. How should I?" exclaimed Mary to Mr Byfield, who could only get his stick through the open door, for she held it close with a considerable share of strength. "It's no use your coming in; she's not here; and if she was, what is it to you, you old sinner ?"

God help me!" muttered the old man, as he leant against "I tell you," said Mr Byfield, "she is my grandchild. the door-post; "God help me! that rough girl guards her honour more carefully than I did."

"That's impossible!" answered Mary. "If you was her grandfather, you'd never have sent her governessing to Mrs Hylier, I know."

"I am here, Mary," said the gentle voice of Mrs Gresham; "and it is quite true that Miss Dawson is Mr Byfield's grandaughter."

6

Mary opened the door with what, in the poor, is deemed "impertinence," in the rich "self-possession," as if nothing had occurred; curtsied them in, and hoped that

Mr Byfield would not think the worse of her; she was a poor girl; and though great folks might live without a character, she could not.

Mrs Gresham told Miss Dawson the fact she had learned as delicately and carefully as it could be told; and accounted for the old man's strangeness by expressing the desire he felt to see, himself, how she would bear the rubs of life. She thanked God earnestly for the disclosure. The old man knelt by her bedside, and called her "his child"-"his dear child"--"his only hope and comfort on this side the grave. Alas! people who are liberal of the bitters of existence, should remember that poison, even unto death, may steal into the cup.

cushions to the house of which she had become the most In a few hours, Emily was removed upon luxurious honoured mistress; even Mrs Hylier sent her little girls to minister to her comforts; and Mary was of course with her. A sudden spirit of sisterly love and tenderness sprang up amongst those who had been accounted censorious and malevolent; and the surrounding maids, wives, and widows, became animated by a most extraordinary longing for inquiring into the state of Miss Dawson's health. They ascertained what Mr Byfield's name had been, and that he had changed it to avoid his daughter's recognition. This knowledge afforded them satisfaction; they did not even venture to censure the unpardonable harshness from a father to a child, though some of the more independent spirits amongst them insinuated, that "it was at least very strange, and carrying resentment farther than they could have done." Mrs Ryal was the only one who remained firm to her first principles" and opinions.

Every thing that skill could suggest, or luxury invent, was resorted to for the relief and comfort of the longgrandfather, who stood before him with clasped and neglected girl. The great physician of the day told her words, that when she was able to be removed, he would trembling hands, watchful eyes and ears, drinking in his recommend the south of Italy. This was in her dressingroom-a room hung with pale pink silk, where the softest very light of heaven stole through tinted glass; where breeze whispered its way amid crowded exotics, and the the old man himself removed his shoes before he entered, lest the smallest noise might disturb the creature cushioned upon satin, who, only a few weeks before, was expected to brave cold winds and everlasting fatigue.

almost to insanity. The stern, bitter satirist, had melted
The reaction upon the grandfather's mind amounted
into a fond old man, who seemed absorbed in having once
long pent-up affections. It was not that a new nature
more something upon which he could safely pour out his
had sprang up in him; it was only the nature of his
he had been ill at ease, and not the world. This is more
youth returned. The truth was, it was himself with whom
frequently the case than we are inclined to believe.

words, and departed. So softly did Mr Byfield follow
The physician again felt her pulse, spoke a few kindly
him down stairs, that he did not even hear his foot-fall;
but he arrested his attention when in the hall, by press-
ing his arm. "Sir, sir," he said in a trembling tone; "in
here---speak softly---she does not love noise. You said,
when she was able, we were to go to the south of Italy.
Now, how soon will that be? We have had some sharp
the wind changes?"
north winds---those keep her back; but will it be when

While all was agitation and confusion in her former home---while Mrs Hylier reproached Mrs Ryal, and Mrs Ryal continued to assert that, despite all, she knew she was right---while Mrs Gresham's soft heart yielded in all the weak lovingness of its nature to the conviction that Emily Dawson was a "wonder among governesses," and Miss Colette Mercier divided her feelings as equally as possible between "chere Emily," her new parasol, her chere maman, and a certain leaning towards a gentleman who always wore such sweet kid gloves" while the servants regretted they had not been more civil, and the visiters that they had not been more polite---Emily Dawson, overpowered by the weight of an illness she had so long borne up against, was lying utterly incapable of sustained thought or action in the small back room of a tiny house at Chelsea. Mary's arrival was a great consolation to her. She sat by her bedside "mending up her things," and "quilling her caps," as a preparatory step to her looking for a new place." Emily would have been glad had she talked less; but as she never expected an answer, and chatted in a low, sleepy, rippling tone of voice, it did not disturb her much. She spoke in what she considered would be the most consoling manner, showing how much better off Emily was "than many a poor lady governess she knew long ago." She told of one who, having lost her health, died in a workhouse, and no one ever looked after her; of another, who was the only comfort and support of a blind father, who would sit holding her hands in his, running his fingers over the arm worn to a shadow, listening for the doctor's tread, and turning his sightless eyes to his face, as if trying to read an opinion it gave the good doctor pain to pronounce. And then, how she did pray that God would take her father first; but the prayer was not heard, for she died, and every morraing the father crawled to the churchyard. The little children would frequently go out of their way to lead him to his daughter's grave; and at last he died upon it, without a complaint; and the coroner returned a verdict-" Died by the visitation of God;" but she knew it was by the visitation of famine. "Another young person" passed them by every morning; there, that was her walk, she knew it by the halting, as she was lame, though for all that, she got over many a mile in a week. She had a turn for languages, and taught a great many at a shilling a lesson, and had constant employment; and one sister instructed in music, and another in dancing. They worked very hard, and did not earn much, but they lived happy with one another, and liked it better than going out for good, though Miss Fanny (the dancer) was fearful she couldn't teach this last winter, from a wheezing she caught from damp feet, as she could not afford to ride. Indeed, Mary declared, in her time she had seen much misery under a thin silk gown; poor ladies were obliged to seem rich, for if they did not dress "respectable," no one would have them, though they hardly paid them enough to earn salt. Miss Dawson was happy, compared to many she knew. It was a pity that tradesmen did not keep their daughters to the shop instead of giving them notions above one thing and below another. Making them governesses half siderably with a plan and subscription to open an asylum for the compelled the doctor to lay down his hat; and the next

times, was little better than making them slaves. Miss

madness. What would he not have given to have had the
In the mean time, Mr Byfield was driven almost to
power of recalling his former harshness ?--how he depre-
cated the bitterness which made him change even his
name, that his child might never hear of him! how cruel
did he deem what a little time before he would have
called his consistency! how did he mingle tears with his
morning and evening prayers, and in positive agony call
upon his wife to forgive him his unforgiveness towards
his child! He found no trace of his grandaughter in her
native place, and in London he was bewildered by the
difficulties and negatives he experienced every where.

Mary had only been a few weeks in her place, and had
covered her retreat with what she considered admirable
skill. The abruptness and violence of Mr Byfield's man-
ner defeated his own inquiries; but fortunately, Mrs
Gresham, who had taken from the first a warm interest
in Emily, was more successful. She made inquires with
a woman's tact, and at last communicated the good news,
that she had traced Miss Dawson to Mary's house. The
old man intreated her to accompany him there, and she
consented. Mary's mother had become very discontented
at her lodger's poverty, and mother and daughter were
in loud altercation on the subject, when Mr Byfield,
unable to restrain his impatience, thundered so loudly

*I am happy to say that this will not be much longer a reproach to England; a few kind-hearted estimable persons in this neighbourhood (Old Brompton) have already advanced con

relief-if cure be impossible-of consumptive patients.

"Not so soon as that, my good sir; but I hope soon--keep her quiet---perfect repose---she must speak but as indeed I hope it---she has interested me much. You must little as possible; she must not exert herself in the least; her lungs have been over-worked."

"God forgive me; they have, they have!"

Very natural, my dear sir; you should have liked her to read and talk to you; but you must give that up," continued the physician, not knowing her past history. "Ay, sir, ay---but Italy; when will she be able to be removed---in a week---a fortnight, perhaps---three weeks?" "Indeed, I hope so. We can, you know, only do our best, and hope."

“Yes, sir; we can pray---and I do. You think it may be a month?"

"I cannot possibly tell to a particular time. We must watch the symptoms, and act accordingly." "Certainly, sir; but you say the climate is not fit for her?"

"It is not; but she cannot bear exertion yet. Good morning, my dear sir; I will try and be here to-morrow precisely at the same hour."

"You do not trifle with me, sir, do you?-raising hope to destroy it ?" inquired the old man, almost fiercely. "I have raised no hope," returned the doctor. "If she bears removal, it must be to the south of Italy." Mr Byfield caught at the back of a chair, and gasped for breath; at last he repeated, "If-if; you said if. Is there any doubt, then ?"

The agony and despair lined in the old man's face

moment found him seated by Mr Byfield's side.

My dear, good sir, I never deceive; but I hope you will nerve yourself as becomes a Christian. All things are possible; and every thing shall be, indeed of late has been, done, to overthrow our insidious foe. If I had seen her sooner"- -the old man started as if an asp had stung him; "though, indeed, that might not have availed much," continued the ready doctor; "she is young---the summer before her---let us hope for the best, and do our best; but I tell you frankly, the symptoms are against

us."

יי

"But she said she was so much better this morning?" "It is a cause of exceeding thankfulness to find her so cheerful.”

"And a good sign, sir ?"

"The sign of a good mind," replied the medico, evasively. "And so she Mr Byfield was gratified by the idea. has--an angel's mind," he answered. "Perhaps you can tell me to-morrow about Italy, sir. I have worked hard all my life, and have been a thriving man-more rich than people think, sir. I will heap gold upon that table, so that you can hardly move it, if you but save her life." "What an extraordinary development of character!" thought the physician, as his carriage rolled away; "why, a tithe of this care would have saved her---ay, six months ago!"

"And where have you been, dear grandpapa," said Emily, as he stole again into her room, to sit and look at her, as he had done during the past weeks, until they had grown into months. "Where have you been ?" "Hush! you must not talk!" he said. "Oh, but I may, a little under my breath. I used to be obliged to talk, but now it is a pleasure. Do let me mention what we spoke of yesterday-the nice almshouses you said you would build for old governesses. Oh. how glad I shall be to see the first stone laid! When shall it be?-Next August, on my birth-day ?-Or, come here, I will speak very softly, if you will not be angry. My poor mother! She used to be so proud of her governess-child! Would you lay the first stone on her birthday-the first of September? Thank you, dear grandpapa! Bless you! I see you will! I shall not want to go to Italy; that will cure me!"

every thing has been done that could be done; I wish I
was as sure of heaven; good morning-be composed."
The old man turned away-he was alone-he sank
into a chair; burst after burst of tears convulsed his
frame. It was nearly four hours before he could enter her
room again; he saw she was greatly changed in that
short space of time, and yet she hailed him with her
feeble voice, declaring she was better; he motioned Miss
Mercier, who had been with her, to leave the chamber.
He took her hand in his, gazed earnestly into her face,
and sank upon his knees.

"It is not time for prayer yet, is it?-it is not night
yet ?" she said; " but pray, dear grandfather, I was wrong
-it is always time for prayer."

"I am going," he answered, "to pray to you. Listen!
Here, on my knees, I do intreat your pardon; an old
man, whose harshness deprived you of
mother-
your
whose harshness has abridged the length of your sweet
life. I did not intend to try you beyond your strength,
but I ought to have known better. I chained you with
those hands to the galley, when I should have given you
freedom. Can you forgive me, Emily? And when you
meet your mother, will you ask her not to turn from me
in heaven as I turned from her on earth. I will never
rise till you forgive and bless me!"

The poor girl was deeply affected; she threw her-
self feebly forward and clasped her arms round his
neck, and pressed her cheek to his. She poured forgive-
ness and blessings on his white head, and fondly pushed
back the silver hair from his brow. He replaced her
on her pillows; but the exertion had shaken the sand
in the glass of life; it was passing rapidly.
"You will be kind to those I love," she said, "and
truly forgive those who were harsh to me; and you will
be very good to poor Mary; and-oh, heavenly Father,
receive my spirit!"

These were her last words. The old man, frantic with
grief, dispatched the nurse, who had just entered the
room, for help; and when she returned, the dead face of
his grandchild was resting on his breast, and he held up
his finger, and said, "Hush! hush!" as though she slept,
which he believed she did; and all night long he re-
mained in the same position, murmuring every now and
then, as if soothing a slumbering infant.

The old man is still living, but they say his mind is persists in saying was dug by his own hands.

THE EMIGRATION OF THE SEMINOLES.

It was beautiful to observe, that, though this creature loved life, as a young bird loves to poise upon its feeble wings, she did not fear death. As her frame decayed-gone. Certainly his affections are in the grave, which he as she wasted into a shadowy outline of what all those who had known her now declared had been so beautiful, her mind, freed from the grosser particles of earth, became more buoyant--purer it could hardly be--though more ethereal, when her cough permitted short snatches of sleep. She seemed as if, through those thin eyelids, she gazed upon all the mysteries of the unclouded world; a perpetual smile parted the pallid lip, like the division of a lily-bud; and when she awoke, it was to confer fresh interest on the things of life---an angel bringing the odour of paradise on its wings. Poor Miss Mercier would kneel for hours by her side, and smile and weep by turns. "It did her good," she said; and she said rightly. Such scenes do good; they strike upon the heart; there is no deception in them. "Do not weep for me," said Emily; "I shall be better soon. Every day I become better; and if I could only make you feel the importance of your duties, I should be so much happier. I am changed, though, a good deal. Were I to teach again, I would try and interest my pupils more about Hereafter than I did before. I would talk to them much more about the heavens, those lightsome heavens where the just are made perfect; it is so happy to think of their radiance, their glory, their everlastingness; and to think of this beautiful world, in which I once sorrowed and laboured, and yet loved, for surely it was created by God as a place of transit, where the good may have a foretaste of that happiness prepared

for them hereafter!"

She would talk thus to all, pouring forth the very sweetness of wisdom, so that people wondered how she had gained such knowledge. Her two former pupils could hardly be separated from her; and though her grandfather manifested much impatience at being disturbed from her side by any one, still he was so proud, even during those awful hours of her goodness and sweet mind, that he could not refuse them admission, but made up for disappointments by stealing into the room during the night, and watching or praying while the heavy-eyed nurse slept. Each day the physician came, and each day the old gentleman would follow him outside the door, and inquire, as though the question were still new" When will the time come? When may we go to Italy?" And the doctor would reply, with a kind look, "Not yet."

on the stem. She said, every day, she was better, much

WHEN the memoirs of the eastern emperor, Baber,
were published a few years ago, a critic remarked,
how much subject-matter for history even of recent
occurrence must remain unwritten and unknown,
since here was a great potentate whose life had been
full of the most splendid transactions, but whose very
name had scarcely as yet appeared in in English book.
The same remark might be made as to contemporary
history, when we reflect that the United States have
for six years past been pursuing a war of the most
extraordinary nature, full of romantic enterprise, with
an object calculated to raise feelings of the deepest
interest, and costing an enormous sum, yet which has
hardly been alluded to in British newspapers. We
suspect the truth is, that the public cannot afford
notice, sympathy, or interest, for more than a small
part of what goes on in the world, and that their
selection of the part in which they are to be interested
depends very much on their being in some way per-
sonally concerned or affected by it. This is a consi-
deration which might be expected to discourage us
from making reference to the Florida war; but some-
how it has not had this effect. We have ourselves
felt considerable interest in some information on this
subject which has come under our attention; and we
are vain enough to suppose that we shall be able to
awaken similar feelings in our readers.

movement. Amongst these was a young chief called Oceola. One anecdote of this man-of which we unfortunately are unable to give the exact datespeaks his sentiments powerfully. At a meeting at Camp King, General Clinch produced the treaty for the signature or mark of the chiefs. It was in a beautiful glade amongst the luxuriant forests of Florida. The document lay spread upon a table, midway between a party of the States soldiery and the Indian braves. Some had peaceably signed the paper, and it came to the turn of Oceola. He, with a proud step and a disdainful curl of the lip, approached-drew a dagger from his bosom-and striking it through the paper and the table together, till the glittering steel was seen below, exclaimed,

"THERE IS MY MARK!"

He was seized, bound with ropes to a tree, and kept for a time in solitary confinement. But either he should never have been meddled with, or he should never have been liberated: with such a man there was no proper middle course. By the time that the deputation returned to report on the new lands, Oceola had put himself at the head of a party who were determined not to remove. The deputation reported in favour of their yielding to the treaty. For this, its head, Enematkla, was openly shot down like a mad dog. His death leading to no retaliation, showed that the national feeling was with Oceola. Immediately after, a covert party, said to have been headed by Oceola, killed General Thomson, who had been Indian agent in this case, along with five others, as they were walking under the very shadow of Fort King. It has been stated, that Oceola used on that occasion the identical rifle which Thomson had formerly presented to him with the hope of conciliating his friendship: the intermediate confinement and harsh usage had obliterated the obligation. The warrior then sent a negro to General Clinch, the governor at Fort King, to tell him that he had a hundred and fifty barrels of powder, which should all be consumed before his people could be conquered, and that he would lead the cheating pale-faces a dance of five years, for their insolence towards himself and his warriors.

The government proceeded to take measures for the removal of the Indians, but it greatly under-estimated the numbers and the spirit opposed to it. President Jackson had been Governor of Florida; he had once easily routed a party of the Seminoles; and he was led to believe that they had not now above four hundred warriors. The force sent was therefore inadequate to the purpose. The first blow struck by the Seminoles might have raised an alarm. A detachment of 114 men, with a six-pounder, under the command of Major Dade, was proceeding through the country, when the Seminole warriors set upon it, and cut off all but two men. That patriotism of the Indian kind, and no meaner feeling, animated the victors, the slain men were found, not one of the corpses having was at the same time proved by the condition in which been stripped of a single article of value. The bulk of the States forces were now pursuing a march in the simultaneously met by a party of the Seminoles, and same direction by a different route: they were almost Indians were driven from the field; but the States an obstinate and sanguinary contest ensued. The army was obliged, by its losses, to retrace its steps, thus seeming to give up the war at the very beginning.

It cannot be doubted that the Seminoles were much encouraged in their resistance by the results of this first campaign.

forces, but it did not calculate on the difficulties which The government lost no time in sending larger the troops had to meet in conducting such a warfare. Florida is a large flat swampy peninsula, on the almost every encounter. Oceola continued to be their For many months the Indians were successful in east side of the Gulf of Mexico. Chiefly in a natural commander, and never did any warrior signalise himcondition, and very scatteringly inhabited, it was transferred by Spain to the United States in 1821. became surprised at the slow progress of the Florida self by greater courage. The government and people It then became an important object with the States army in removing the Indians. The following account government to clear it of the few thousands of Red of the scene of its operations makes that any thing Indians of the Seminole race who possessed it. The but wonderful :-" When the regiments began their plan usually taken by the States to get rid of Indian march through different portions of the peninsula, races from any territory which they wish to settle, they at once plunged into a terra incognita, and groped is to bargain for their emigrating to some out-of-their way to the designated points with constant emthe-way district beyond the Mississippi. Such bar- barrassments, that were as unexpected as they were gains are not easily managed; for, though the States perplexing. The surface of Florida is generally divided are kind enough to appoint an officer of their own, between hummock land and pine barrens. [A hummock whose nominal duty it is to take charge of the Indian is a marsh overspread by tangled natural forest.] interests, there is, after all, great difficulty in ascertain- The barrens are moved over by troops with comparative facility, but being every where intersected by spurs of hummocks, or by the hummocks themselves, no march of many hours can be made in any section of the territory, that does not encounter impediments which obstruct, delay, or, perhaps, entirely turn it aside. Besides, in the more southern portions of the peninsula, there are cypress swamps, the most impracticable of all the embarrassments that beset military operations in Florida. The cypress has a base that spreads like a trumpet's mouth, and, though the trees may stand many feet apart, they almost crowd at the surface of the earth; while nearly every interstice is filled up by 'cypress knees,' which there like artificial obstructions to a march. are sharp, slender, and short cones, seemingly set the enumeration of difficulties, we must not forget the saw-grass and saw-palmetto, both of which have serrated edges, made harsh and unyielding by the

fully assent to the conditions, or are at heart disposed

to carry them into effect. The Seminoles are said to

Even to Mr Byfield, to every one but herself, it was evident she was dying; it is almost too hard a word to apply to such a passing away; it was as if a rose dropped leaf by leaf, until the last few that remained trembled better; she had no pain now; and she should soon being that the bulk of the people, or even of the chiefs, able to drive out in the warm sunshine. Her friend, the clergyman's sister, came to her from the country. And the clergyman himself, he who had attended her mother's death-bed, prayed beside hers. It might have been that the young man loved her; but she never dreamt he did---never. She talked a great deal of the past and future, and of what blessings would arise from a highertoned education. And one morning in particular, when the doctor called, he reproved her for wasting her strength in words. Again Mr Byfield followed him outside the room, and the physician led him into another apartment, "My dear sir," he said, “our dear patient is very weak

and closed the door.

to-day."

"She said she was better," replied Mr Byfield. "She is not; her mind is purer, and higher, and holier than ever; but she is sinking."

Not unto death ?" muttered the old man. The physician turned away; he could not bear to look upon his earnest features.

"God bless you, sir; you have a great consolation;

have agreed, in 1832, to transfer themselves to the Far
West, in three detachments, one each year, on certain
conditions. A deputation of their number was to select
the new ground for the nation, and the first detach-
ment was to go in 1833. As far as we can understand
the case, it was impossible to have all the arrangements
made in time to admit of this first migration taking place
in the stipulated year, even if the Indians had been
willing. They are naturally dilatory in all things, and
they are particularly slow to leave a country endeared
to them as the land of their fathers. It also appears
that they found themselves overreached as to some of
the conditions. In short, 1835 came, and the emigration
had not even begun. The president then determined
that that which had been to take place in three years
should be, at whatever hazard, done in one. That some
were willing to go, appears certain; but it is equally
certain that others were extremely hostile to the

In

* A Narrative of the Early Days and Reminiscences of Oceola Nikkanochice, &c. London: Hatchard and Son. 1841.

It is now time, however, that we should intersperse with our dry prose some specimens of this poet; and having a number before us ready cast into English verse, we shall take leave to draw upon these sources. The following is an ode addressed by Ronsard to the delights of the early year :

"God shield ye, heralds of the spring,
Ye faithful swallows fleet of wing,
Houps, cuckoos, nightingales,
Turtles, and every wilder bird,

That make your hundred chirpings heard
Through the green woods and dales.

God shield ye, Easter daisies all,
Fair roses, buds and blossoms small;
And ye, whom erst the gore
Of Ajax and Narciss did print,

Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint

I welcome ye once more.

God shield ye, bright embroider'd train
Of butterflies, that on the plain

Of each sweet herblet sip;

And ye, new swarm of bees, that go

Where the pink flowers and yellow grow,
To kiss them with your lip.

A hundred thousand times I call

A hearty welcome on ye all:

This season how I love!

This merry din on every shore,

For winds and storms, whose sullen roar
Forbade my steps to rove."

The next translated specimen, from the same pen (an anonymous one,) presents an ode yet much admired in France.

"Fair hawthorn flowering,

With green shade bowering

Along this lovely shore;

To thy foot around,

With his long arms wound,

A wild vine has mantled thee o'er.

In armies twain,

Red ants have ta'en

Their fortress beneath thy stock:

And in clefts of thy trunk,
Tiny bees have sunk

A cell where their honey they lock.

In merry spring-tide,
When to woo his bride

The nightingale comes again,

Thy boughs among,

He warbles the song

That lightens a lover's pain.

'Mid thy topmost leaves,
His nest he weaves

Of moss and the satin fine,
Where his callow brood

Shall chirp at their food,
Secure from each hand but mine.

Gentle hawthorn, thrive,

And for ever alive

May'st thou blossom as now in thy prime;
By the wind unbroke,

And the thunder-stroke,
Unspoil'd by the axe or time."

When the beauteous daughter of Ronsard's former patron, James V., grew up to womanhood, she visited France, to be wedded to the Dauphin. But it was not the fate of Mary Stuart to be happy in any of her marriages, The Dauphin died, and Mary of Scotland returned to her home. Yet she had learned to admire Ronsard; and, even in her evil days, she showed her admiration by sending him a present of two thousand crowns, and causing a mimic Parnassus of silver to be made and transmitted to him, with the inscription, "To Ronsard, the Apollo of the Fountain of the Muses." Ronsard was not less partial to Mary Stuart, than she was to him. He says—

"I saw the Scottish queen so fair and wise, She seem'd some power descended from the skies. Near to her eyes I drew-two burning spheres They were, two suns of beauty, without peers. I saw them dimm'd with dewy moisture clear, And trembling on their lids a crystal tear; Remembering France, her seeptre, and the day When her first love pass'd like a dream away." Alas! years had now sped on. Mary was in an English prison when she sent to the poet her remembrances; and, with his tribute to Mary, Ronsard paid an accompanying one to her persecutor and executioner, Elizabeth, who had also courted his favour by the gift of a diamond ring.

Ronsard, in the mean time, had witnessed many changes in France. Born in the time of Francis the First, he had seen that king, and three of his successors, pass successively and prematurely to the tomb, sovereigns patronised Ronsard, but more particularly Charles IX, who, as was noticed in a former article, exchanged verses with the poet, and allowed him considerable freedoms as a monitor. Henry III., too, countenanced him above the other poets of the day. Yet with these, as his addresses to them show, he kept, for the most part, on friendly terms. To Remi Belleau, for example, he paid rather an elegant compliment, in the shape of an epigraph having reference to Belleau's "Loves of the Precious Stones."

after each had held the throne for a time. All of these

"Toil not to lay on Remi's head

The marble placed o'er other bones,
For he himself has built his bed
Of Precious Stones."

In the middle of the year 1585, Ronsard, who had
been presented with one or two priories for his sub-
sistence by Charles IX., grew ill at that of St Come,
near Tours, whither he had retired for some time. He
had spent, according to De Thou, a somewhat irregular
life; but his last days were marked by humble peni-
tence and resignation, and he expired on the 27th

December of the year mentioned. He was buried at
St Come, by his own request.
Another little piece may be given before concluding,
as a further exemplar of his style.

"TO A POOR MAN.

Why dost thou tremble, peasant, say,
Before the men who empires sway?
Who soon will, shadowy sprites, be led
To swell the number of the dead?
Know'st thou not that all must go
To the gloomy realms below?
And that an imperial ghost
Must no less the Stygian coast
Visit, than the humble shade

Of him who plies the woodman's trade?
Courage, tiller of the ground!
Those who hurl war's thunder round
Will not seek their last abode

In arms, as when the battle glow'd.
Naked, like thee, shall they depart;
Nor will the hauberk, sword, or dart,
Avail them more, when they shall flee,
Than thy rough ploughshare shall to thee.
Not more just Rhadamanthus cares
For the mail the warrior wears,
Than for the staff with which the swain
Urges on the glowing train;

By him with equal eye are seen

Thy dusty raiment, rude and mean,
And purpled robes of Tyrian hue,
Enwrought with gems to charm the view,
Or all the costly vestments spread
Around the forms of monarchs dead."

Respecting the general merits of Pierre de Ronsard
as a poet, the critics of his own country differ so
widely in opinion, that a foreigner would be presump:
tuous in speaking decidedly on the subject. Almost
all agree, that where he thought himself strongest he
was really weakest. He used to pride himself on "Pin-
darising," as he called it, in his Odes, though he was
very far indeed from attaining to any thing like the
reach of Pindar, either as regarded thought or diction.
Where he cast off all models in both respects, and
wrote naturally, he shows, to use the words of a mo-
dern critic, that "he had many of the qualities that
make great poets-force and brilliancy of imagination,
fecundity of thought, and happiness of invention."

A FEW WEEKS ON THE CONTINENT.
VEVAY-CHILLON.

for tourists can hardly be conceived, for in the neighand it is little more than a day's run from Italy, by bourhood is some of the finest scenery in Switzerland; the road up the Valais. We stopped a short time at Vevay, in order to see its ancient church, containing the monuments of two Englishmen of note in their day, who died self-exiled from the land of their nativity. These were Ludlow and Broughton, both concerned in the trial of the unfortunate Charles I.; and here, sheltered by the authorities of Berne, who refused to give them up to the vengeance of the royalists, did they remain till the period of their death. The church of St Martin, containing their remains, is an old Gothic fabric, standing on a sunny knoll overlooking the town; and on our being admitted by a key-keeper, we found the interior furnished in the usual fashion of Protestant places of worship, with as plain benches and as little regard to taste as could be found in any part of the world. The tombs of the regicides are within the northern transept, and covered with pews. The monument of Ludlow, fixed to the wall, is a black marble slab, with a long Latin inscription in sunk gilt letters, commencing-"Siste gradum et respice!-Hic jacet Edmund Ludlow, Anglus natione" ["Halt, and look around!-Here lies Edmund Ludlow, English by birth"], and ending with the date 1693. The monument of Broughton was a few feet from this, and was a stone slab on the floor, covering, as I was told, his tomb. The inscription was also in Latin; and our conductress, by removing one or two of the wooden benches, allowed me to copy it into my note-book. It is as follows:-"Depositorium Andreæ Broughton, Anglicani Maydstonensis in comitatu Canty. ubi bis prætor urbanus. Dignatusque etiam fuit sententiam Regis Regum proferi quam ob causam expulsus patriâ suâ, peregrinatione ejus finitâ solo senectutis morbo affectus requiescens a laboribus suis obdormivit, 3′ die Feb., Anno Domini 1687, ætatis suæ 84." Which may be freely Englished thus: "The depo

stone, in the district of Canterbury, of which city he was twice chief magistrate. For the cause of the King of Kings he was honoured with exile from his country, and, at the close of his pilgrimage, sank under the weight of old age alone. His toils ended, he fell asleep in the Lord, on the 3d day of February, A.D. 1687, aged 84."

TEMPERATURE 70 degrees in the shade-a brilliant
sun overhead-not a cloud on the purple-blue firma-sitory of Andrew Broughton, Englishman, of Maid-
ment-and, withal, a freshness of air curling the face
of Lake Leman—were the characteristics of the finest,
and what we considered the greatest, day in our jour-
ney-that on which we made an excursion from Lau-
sanne to Chillon. The distance is about ten or twelve
miles, by a pretty nearly direct route along the mar-
gin of Lake Leman, in an easterly direction-the road
going through several small towns and ancient villages,
and winding at other times through a universal vine-
yard. With a range of hill on our left, partitioned
terrace above terrace, with vines trained in all sorts
of forms; while bunches of ripe grapes lolled over the
walls, almost dropping into the mouths of the passen-
gers; and at a short distance below, on our right, the
clear mirror of the lake, overhung on the south with
the eternal and gloomy hills of Savoy-we enjoyed be-

yond description the charms of this felicitous scene.
In weather somewhat more cool, a sauntering walk
through a country so rich in natural and historical
interest, would have been doubtless very desirable;
but, on the present occasion, pedestrianism was quite
out of the question, and we were fain to indulge in
the more easy recreation of being conveyed in an open
and first-rate vehicle, furnished by our good host of
the Hi-bon.

The road is good, but bent up and down to accom-
modate the undulating face of the hill, and somewhat
narrow. It is, however, well protected by walls; and
looking down on these, we had a constant source of
amusement in watching the gambols of hosts of lizards,
with which the crevices seemed to be tenanted. They
are exceedingly beautiful creatures, of a greyish-
brown colour, rather less in size than a mouse, but
with a long and flexible tail. Nothing could exceed
the brilliancy of their little eyes peering out from the
chinks beneath the stones; and their feet being of the
sucker order, like those of the house-fly, they run with
as much agility up the face of the walls as if on level
ground. The sight of these pretty creatures, which
are quite innocent in their nature, was accepted as an
indication that we were near the borders of Italy, their
proper habitat; and things, as we thought, began to
wear a dash of ultramontanism.

The chief town on our route was Vevay, a place in the course of rapid improvement, and possessing a number of handsome houses, and some tasteful promenades in the environs. One side bears closely on the lake, and here steam-boats touch every two or three hours, in communication with Geneva, Ouchy, and other ports. A fitter situation for a resting-place

A walk through Vevay showed to us, in a pleasing manner, that the local authorities seem anxious about preserving great order and neatness of appearance.

We saw here what I observed nowhere else in the

country-a stone pillar at each entrance to the place, on which was carved the name of the town, its division in the canton of Vaud, and its population, which is between four and five thousand. Exactness in such municipal arrangements is common in this part of Switzerland. The smallest village, inhabited by persons not above the rank of peasants, has its own managerial functionaries, and each is provided with a kind of market-place, at which is stuck up, within a trellis, all the public requisitions or announcements, so that none may plead ignorance of what concerns his public or private rights. As elsewhere in Vaud, the people seemed remarkably industrious, and business active. The staple trade of the district is in the wines produced from the adjoining hills; and to sustain and improve the quality of the liquor-which to me seemed a kind of thin Rhenish-no pains are spared. The indefatigable Murray gives the following graphic account of the exertions of the Vevayians in this important business :—

There exists at Vevay "a society or guild of very high antiquity, called 'Abbaye des Vignerons, whose object is to promote the cultivation of the vine; and for this purpose it dispatches every spring and autumn experts,' qualified persons, to survey all the vineyards of the district, and upon their report and testimony it rewards the most skilful and industrious vinedressers with medals and pruning-hooks. In accordance with a custom handed down from very ancient times, which is possibly a relic of pagan superstition, this society celebrates once in fifteen or twenty years a festival called la Fête des Vignerons. It commences with the ceremony of crowning the most successful cultivator of the vine, which is followed and accompanied by dances and processions formed of lads and lasses of the neighbourhood, attired as fawns bearing the thyrsus, and nymphs. Father Bacchus in his car, and Ceres throned on a waggon filled with wheatsheaves, appear in the most classical costume in the