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grave aspect. Mr. Little repeated his question; but Orono, without uttering a single word, looked still more grave. After a little interval, Mr. Little, clapping Orono on his shoulders, said, come, Orono, come, tell me in what language you say your prayers, Indian, French, or Latin? He knew the French to be well understood by the tribe, from their intercourse with the Canadians. Orono, with a solemnity of countenance, which delighted Mr. Little, lifted up his hands and his eyes towards heaven, and said, no matter, Great Spirit know all languages.

Orono was unquestionably of white origin. It is conjectured that he was a native of York, in the District of Mainc, that his family name was Donnel, that, in 1692, when that place was, in a great measure, destroyed by the savage enemy, he was carried into captivity, and that his relatives, who escaped with their lives, not knowing what became of him, supposed him to have been killed.

The following lines, occasioned by his death, are attributed to Martin Kinsley, esq. and were published in the Piscat. Mag. vol. 1.

Ah, brother Sanop, what bad news you speak
Why steals the tear adown thy sombre cheek?
Why heaves thy breast with such tremendous sighs,
And why despair dart horror from thy eyes?
Has the Great Spirit, from the world above,
Call'd home your chief, the object of your love?

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Ah! yes; too well I know his spirit's fled,
Too well I know your Orono is dead,
Each warrior sanop now unbends his bow,
While grief and sorrow brood upon his brow,
Each manly youth reclines his head and cries,
In Orono our friend and chieftain dies,
Each young papoose to sympathy is bred,
And, shrieking, whoops, your Orono is dead.
Each sombre face in pallid hue appears,
And each his grief in death-like silence bears.
The great Penobscot rolls his current on
And silently bemoans his oldest son,
A century past, the object of his care,

He fed and cloth'd him with his fish and fur ;
But now, alas! he views his shores in vain,
To find another Orono in man.

For whiter Indians, to our shame we see,
Are not so virtuous nor humane as he.
Disdaining all the savage modes of life,
The tomahawk, and bloody scalping knife,
He sought to civilize his tawny race,
Till death, great Nimrod of the human race,
Hit on his track, and gave this hunter chase.
His belt and wampum now aside are hung,
His pipe extinguish'd, and his bow unstrung.
When countless moons their destin'd rounds shall cease,
He'll spend an endless calumet of peace.

Epitaph.

Safe lodg'd within his blanket, here below,
Lie the last relicks of old Orono ;

Worn down with toil and care, he in a trice
Exchang'd his wigwam for a paradise,

ROMANCE.

HISTORY OF COUNT ALMEIDA.

BEING THE STORY ON WHICH THE NEW COMEDY OF "THE KISS" IS FOUNDED.

In the city of Florence lived the Count Almeida, a gentleman of much worth, of noble birth, and of large domains. He possessed from nature a most excellent understanding, and the careful attention, and affectionate anxiety of his father, had cultivated it by a finished education. He was accordingly master of all those points and accomplishments which are considered as constituting the perfect gentleman. What was wanting to the happiness of the Count thus gifted by nature and fortune? Nothing, but that he should possess in a wife a mind as accomplished and elegant as his own, and his parents were not negligent in providing him with one.

In the same city, but in another quarter of the town, lived the Lady Urania, a young heiress of ample fortune, and of the most distinguished birth and beauty, and which were crowned by an education and natural talents that left nothing to be desired. Urania was in her eighteenth year, the Count was in his twenty fifth, when TOL. 2.

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Nothing occured to interrupt this reconciliation, and accordingly, after the usual period of service and probation, the Count had the good fortune to icad the lovliest woman in Italy to the altar.

Who was now so happy as the young Count Almeida? No one, for the first eighteen months of their union. A circumstance then occured which again threw every thing into confusion, and however trifling in its origin, had nearly proved fatal to their permanent happiness, and separated two people who in every respect seemed formed for each other.

One very fine day, in the month of October, the Count had been passing the day in hunting the boar with his young companions, in one of the forests which at that period bordered upon the city of Florence. About sun set he returned; and full of spirits as well by the effect of the exercise as by his success in having speared a boar who had thrown himself upon him, he inquired of the servants for the Lady Urania, that he might present her with one of the tusks as the trophy of his gallantry and victory. The attendants replied, that they believed the Lady was in the bower in the bottom of the garden. The Count hastened thither.

This bower was in the midst of a shrubbery

laid out as a labyrinth; it was the centre, as it were, of a hundred serpentine walks, which led from it and round it in every direction; it had often been the scene of the conjugal and modest endearments of the Count and his wife, and he was not altogether grieved that she was now there instead of being in the house. By means of one of the serpentine walks he approached unseen, and intended to steal on her by surprise, when to his confusion he heard the smart noise of hearty a kiss, as if proceeding from the bower. He rushed forward; his Lady, hearing the rustling of his approach, hurried from the bower, and met him before he reached it. The Count, in an angry and blind fury of jealousy, instantly demanded from whom the kiss had proceeded? The Lady replied very innocently, that she knew nothing about it, and being very intent upon her work had not heard it. The Count would neither be satisfied nor persuaded. He was certain that he had heard it; and his jealousy persuaded him that it proceeded from the bower, and from some lover of his wife.

The search un

He searched the shrubbery. happily strengthened the probability of his suspicions; there were certainly evident traces of a fugitive. The Count, however, could find no one. He returned to his wife; repeated his

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