FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. 207 is reacting on their persecutors with tremendous energy. They came here "to plant the tree of life, to plant fair freedom's tree," which has grown up so large and beautiful, and will overshadow all the earth- the tree which shall prove to the free of all nations a shelter and protection, but to tyrants and oppressors will be more deadly than the Upas, which blasts and withers all who approach it. The only condition on which liberty is granted to man, is that of perpetual vigilance. This subtle spirit of oppression must be met in its first approaches, it must be guarded against with ever anxious care. Man cannot procure any thing of importance unless by striving for it, nor can he retain any thing worth having, unless by guarding it. The husbandman, before he can expect the earth to yield its increase, must prepare it by his toil; and after his stores are gathered, his care is still necessary to preserve them. The accumulator of property, when he has amassed wealth, if he would not lose all the fruits of his labor and anxiety, must still be ever on the alert lest it vanish, and all his fond hopes be prostrated. No other blessing can we expect to enjoy long without activity and care on our part, and why should we expect that liberty, the greatest of blessings, can be retained without either? Why should we imagine that, because we now have liberty, we must always possess it, however supine we may be? If freedom is worth fighting for, it is worth preserving. Let us never listen to the voice which would calm all our apprehensions, and lull us into slumbers of security; into a quiet which might be repose indeed, but would soon be the leaden sleep of despotism, CHOCORUA'S CURSE. BY CHARLES J. FOX. THERE is a high and abrupt mountain, overlooking Burton, N. H., which is called Chocorua's Peak, and a strange fatality has attended the settlements at its foot. Tradition relates that many years ago, Chocorua, the last survivor of his tribe, was hunting upon this mountain in time of peace, when two of the early settlers suddenly came upon him. They hated him because he was an Indian, and, telling him that he must die, gave him his choice, to fall by their rifles, or to leap from the precipice. He chose the latter, and, uttering a curse upon the region, was dashed in pieces on the rocks below. The blight and pestilence which have since prevailed there, as if the earth was poisoned, are believed by many to be the effect of Chocorua's Curse. ON the cliff's extremest brow, And in tones the heavens that pierce, "Lands where lived and died my sires, "There my fathers' bones are laid; There the white man make his home; "Wo to them who seek to spoil Wo to all who on this spot Till Chocorua's curse shall end!" CHOCORUA'S CURSE. On his murderers turned he then And around - beneath-his last! Far down and lone, his bones are strown, 18* 209 DEATH OF HARRISON. BY CHARLES B. HADDUCK. To the least cultivated the cessation of our animal existence is matter of thoughtful contemplation. To the deepest read in the attributes and destinies of our race, it is a fearful and exciting mystery. The dissolution of this curious and wonderful fabric; the separation of the thinking principle from all material organization; the closing up all known channels of intercourse with material things; the sundering of the social ties; the extinction of endearing and kind offices; the termination of our earthly duties and responsibilities; and, more than all besides, the entrance of another intelligent moral being upon the scenes of an eternal state - these are considerations which give interest and moment to every human death. These are the reasons which draw us so irresistibly to the house of mourning, and attach such sacredness to the last offices we pay to the deceased. These are the causes which spread its profound and mysterious expression over the face of the dead, and hallow the place where we lay them. It is for these reasons, that, on occasions like the present, we pause even from personal and party strife to indulge in humane sentiments and common sympathies. For these reasons death hushes, for a moment at least, our noisy contention for the unsubstantial objects of this life, and soothes the animosities which have been engendered by mutual complaint and recrimination. He is something less than man, and more to be distrusted and despised than any man, who can look upon a fallen antagonist, even though he were DEATH OF HARRISON. 211 a personal foe, without a tear, and insult, with impotent revenge, the pale unconscious piece of earth that lies low before him. It is grateful to know, that the American people are not capable of this unnatural malignity. It is delightful to see, that the great stroke of Providence, which has bereft the nation of its Chief Magistrate, is felt as a national wound, lamented as a common calamity. It does relieve, somewhat, the fears of the friends of Democratic Liberty, to witness the spontaneous and full utterance of a common grief, on this occasion, by parties so lately irritated to frenzy by an acrimonious political contest. Dejected Patriotism will lift up her head again, and reassure herself, by these cheerful omens, that the public heart is still true, and that, in our fond estimation, it is something more to be an American than to be of any party, something higher and better to be a MAN than to be of any nation or tribe under heaven. When one of the lowliest of men dies, there is a serious vacancy produced. The wound is deep, and long felt. The world is not interested in the change; yet, how great the change is. The condition of a human family, the circle, within which occur most of the events that give happiness or misery to life, is forever and essentially altered. New relations are instituted; new dependencies are thenceforth to be felt; new responsibilities to arise; new forms of character to be assumed. Long cherished affections are ruptured; accustomed pursuits are laid aside; settled purposes are broken off. To a whole household, life has become another thing; the world is to be viewed by them in a new light, and lived in with new feelings. The loss is sensible; and it is irreparable. Friendship may administer its sympathies to the desolate bosom; and they are sweet to the mourning heart. Providence may be gracious still; our fields may smile, and our enterprises may prosper. But for violated love there is no reparation. The dead will return no more; his place is not to be supplied. The vic |