grew emboldened by the success of the new manœuvre, and now they flew thick as hail-stones about, and a number of them struck him, but came from too great a distance to be fatal. Their movements were so swift, that by the time he had concluded upon firing at a particular Indian, he would have passed out of reach, or else an arrow from behind would tap him and distract his aim. His horse was deeply wounded. He saw at last that there was no hope of getting to the mott alive, and desperately threw himself from the tottering animal, determined to make a breast-work of its body, and sell his life as dearly as possible. The Indians swooped at him like hawks upon the stoop, and were nearly upon him by the time his feet touched the ground. There was no time for parleying now! He fired steadily and brought down the foremost warrior. At the crack of the rifle they swerved back a little, but it was only for an instant-they rushed at him again with ferocious yells-for now they were sure of him with his empty gun. The gallant boy was fainting from loss of blood, but with set teeth he clubbed his gun desperately for one more blow before he diedwhen suddenly there rung upon his fading senses, bang! bang! bang!a number of guns-a tremendous shouting and trampling-when he sunk to the ground insensible. The Indians, who were in the very act of plunging a dozen lances in his body, were scattered as if a hurricane had struck them, and Aunt Beck, with Dick and the chain-carriers, their horses foaming with speed, leaped over him as they swept on in pursuit of the flying Camanches.

All was oblivion with young Allen now, and until some time after, when a sudden souse of cold water in his face revived him. The men were standing in a group around him as he opened his eyes, and Aunt Beck stooped over him to bathe his temples from a water-gourd. "By the ghost of St. Patrick, the little bantam is only stinned!" said she, as he opened his eyes. 'Sure its's cock-a-doodle-doo ye may now, my bonny game-chick, for its bravely ye'v fleshed your spurs to-day!" she continued, as she patted him affectionately on the cheek with her rough powder-stained hands.

They took Allen to Aunt Beck's tavern, where she nursed him as tenderly as she knew how-for the little Tennessee bantam had entirely won her heart. Indeed, during the weary and almost desperate illness which followed, the character of Aunt Beck appeared in a new light. She watched by the bed of this youth with all the eager and yearning watchfulness of the most affectionate mother-for a long-silent cord appeared to have been once more touched in her rude bosom-and her youngest-her fair boy-the child of her heart seemed to be replaced by this young stranger, and the hard and fierce virago was subdued once more into the woman.

She clung to young Allen ever afterwards with such extraordinary and boundless affection, that he could never bring himself to leave her. His parents were no longer alive, and she adopted him, and relinquishing entirely her masculine pursuits, settled down into a comparatively mild, certainly superlatively pains-taking and careful housewife, and all for the sake of her little Tennessee bantam, as she sometimes called him ever after. Allen recovered the money she had loaned the Texas government, and she gave it to him; whereupon he prospered greatly, and is now a distinguished man in the new state. Dick and he continue warm friends to this day. Several days after the fight, a haggard, ghastly wretch-who, as Aunt Beck said, "looked like a ghost playing boo-peep through a hole in a bear-skin!" -came crawling up to the door of "The Tavern," and begged a morsel of food in God's name. After some difficulty they recognised the poor rascal

Smith. He had, it seems, sunk in the quicksand, but had managed to sustain himself by a drooping limb or twig, and then, after all was quiet, had dragged himself out by its aid. Starvation, and the long cold bath he was compelled to take, had prevented his wounds from killing him. How he managed to get back in his weakened condition, nobody can tell, not even himself. The old woman, at the solicitation of Dick, took care of him until he recovered his strength.

But Hector Napoleon Smith was "a done-over tailor!" His two experiences of Camanches quite sufficed him; and with a very humble opinion of himself, Texas in general, and Aunt's Beck's tongue in particular, he mounted his horse one fine morning with the intention of putting as much earth and water as possible between himself and such "dem'd peculiar doings!"

Aunt Beck screamed after him,

"Arrah, darlin'! and the naixt time ye gang Comancha-hunting ye'll na forgie the salt to pat on their tails?"

TO MISS M. S.

Yes, I would speak to soothe thy saddened heart,
And I would tell thee how mine own hath bled,
But I should fail. Still let not hope depart-

She is not here, she's risen," the Saviour said.

I KNEW her not-though her image was shrined
In the deepest recess of thy heart;

There from childhood and youth, it lovingly twined,
And no power could bid it depart.

I knew her not-though her presence could bless
The sorrowing tried ones of earth,

Though her balm-like voice soothed the weary to rest,
And the Church proved her genuine worth.

I knew her not-but my tears shall flow

For the anguish that dwells in thy breast-
'Tis a wail of despair from the last one, I know,
Who looks upward, and yearns for the blest.

Thou mournest to think thou wert far from her side,
When her spirit was taking its flight

To that far off home, where the weary abide,
And their darkness is turned into light.

Oh, let not that cloud weigh thy feeble frame down,
But believe, though unseen by thine eye,

Her spirit was near thee, it hovered around,
And still watches thee now from on high.

Rejoice! oh rejoice, that the child of thy love,
Has thus early arrived at her home;

And the sweet breath of peace, like the wings of a dove,
Shall cool thy parched brow though alone.

Rejoice! still rejoice, for though shrouded in gloom,
The dark future before thee shall rise-

The sun shall burst forth from the thick clouds of noon,
For it shineth, though veiled in the skies.

Providence, R. I.

E. N. G.

EMILIA GALOTTI.

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING.

ACT IV.-SCENE I.

SCENE. The same. THE PRINCE.

MARINELLI.

Prince (entering from Emilia's apartment.) Come, Marinelli, I must recover myself and must receive light from you.

Marinelli. Oh, the maternal wrath! Ha! ha! ha!

Prince. You laugh?

Marinelli. If you had seen, Prince, how the mother conducted herself, here in the hall-how she raged. You heard her voice, doubtless!—and how tame she was all at once, as soon as she saw you. Ha! ha!—I knew very well that no mother would tear out the eyes of a Prince because he thought her daughter beautiful.

Prince. You are a base observer !—The daughter fell fainting into her mother's arms. Therefore the mother forgot her anger, not because she saw me. She forbore on her daughter's account, not on mine, when she spoke not loud, not distinctly, what I heard unwillingly-what, I hope, I did not understand aright.

Marinelli. What, gracious sir?

Prince. Why this dissimulation?-Speak out. Is it true? or is it not true? Marinelli. And if it be true!

Prince. If it be true?-Is it so, then?--He is dead-dead ?—(in a threatening manner.) Marinelli! Marinelli !

Marinelli. Now?

Prince. By Heaven! by the All-righteous God! I am innocent of this blood. If you had told me beforehand that it would cost the life of the Count. No, no! and if it had cost my own life even!—

Marinel'i. If I had told you beforehand ?—As if his death was any part of my plan! I had charged Angelo upon his soul to see that harm happened to no one. It would all have passed off without the least violence, if the Count had not himself first set the example. He shot one

down immediately.

Prince. Truly; he should have understood the joke.

Marinelli. Then this Angelo became enraged, and avenged the death of his comrade?

Prince. Certainly, this is very natural!

Marinelli. I have reproved him sufficiently for the act.

Prince. Reproved him? How friendly!-Warn him, that he enter not my dominions again. My reproof might not be as friendly.

Marinelli. Very well!-I and Angelo; design and accident, it is all one. True, it was agreed upon beforehand, it was spoken of beforehand, that for any unfortunate accident which might happen thereby, I should not be accountable

Prince. Which might happen thereby, say you? or which should?

Marinelli. All the same!-Still, gracious sir,-before you inform me,

with these dry words, why you think thus of me, one consideration only! The death of the Count is by no means indifferent to me. I had challenged him; he owed me satisfaction-he has left the world without giving it to me; and my honor remains tarnished. Suppose, that under any other circumstances, I should deserve the suspicion which you cherish against me, still under the present, do I deserve it?—(with assumed warmth.) Who can think this of me?

Prince (yielding.) Well, enough! enough!

Marinelli. That he still lived! O, that he still lived! All—all in the world would I give for this,-(bitterly,) even the favor of my Prince-that favor so invaluable, and not to be trifled with-would I give for this!

Prince. I understand.-Well, well. His death was an accident, merely an accident. You are assured of this; and 1-I believe it.-But who else? Will the mother? Will Emilia?-Will the world?

Marinelli (coldly.) Scarcely.

Prince. And if they do not believe this, what will they believe then ?— You shrug the shoulder ?—They will consider Angelo as the instrumeut, and myself as the criminal.

Marinelli (still more coldly.) Very likely.

Prince. Me! me, myself!-or I must, from this hour, relinquish all my designs upon Emilia.

Marinelli (with the utmost indifference.) Which you must have done, if the Count still lived.

Prince (with warmth, but immediately recovering himself.) Marinelli !But you shall not make me angry.-It may be so!-It is so !—And this you will yet say, the death of the Count is for me a happy accident-the happiest which could have occurred for me,-the only one which could have been of any advantage to my love. And as to this,-let it have happened as it will!-One Count more or less in the world! Is it so very important. Agreed! Thus I will not be affrighted by a small crime. Only, my good friend, it must be a small crime-a small and serviceable one. And look you, this of ours may be neither very secret nor very useful. It has indeed opened the way, but at the same time, has blocked it up again. Every one will charge us with that, which unhappily we have not as yet accomplished. However, perhaps this only corresponds with your most wise and wonderful arrangements?

Marinelli. If you thus command—

Prince. What else?I wish for the account!

Marinelli. There came some things into my reckoning, which did not belong to it.

Prince. Let us have the account!

Marinelli. Now, then. What corresponds with my arrangements? that the Prince should, by this accident, bring upon himself very evident suspicion? This is owing rather to the master-strokes, by which he had the goodness to interfere with my arrangements.

Prince. I?

Marinelli. He will allow me to say, that the step which he took this morning in the church,-which he performed with so much address,—was irresistibly compelled to take,-that this step however did not belong to the dance.

Prince. Which it has therefore spoilt ?

Marinelli. Not the whole dance; but the measure is interrupted just

now.

Prince. How! Do I understand you?

Marinelli. Thus briefly and simply: When I undertook the business, is it not true, that Emilia knew nothing of the passion of the Prince? Emilia's mother still less. If then I have built upon this supposition? and the Prince has, in the meantime, undermined the foundation of my edificePrince (striking his forehead.) Curse it!

Marinelli. If he has now himself betrayed his designs?

Prince. Accursed thought!

Marinelli. And if he has not betrayed them ?-Surely, I might have thought-from which of my arrangements, could either mother or daughter derive the least cause of suspicion against you?

Prince. You are right!

Marinelli. Therefore have I done you injustice.-You will pardon, gracious sir.

SCENE II.-BATTISTA, PRINCE, Marinelli.

Battista (hastily.) The Countess has just arrived.
Prince. The Countess! What Countess?
Battista. Orsina.

Prince. Orsina?-Marinelli! Orsina?-Marinelli!
Marinelli. I am no less astonished at this than yourself.

Prince. Go, run, Battista, she shall not alight. I am not here. For her, I am not here. She shall turn back again immediately. Go, run! (Exit Battista.) What will the mad woman? What does she presume upon? How does she know that we are here? Can she possibly have had information? Can she already have learned somewhat? Ah, Marinelli! speak, answer me, I pray you!-Have I offended the man, who will be my friend? And offended by a pitiful dispute? Shall I ask his forgiveness?

Marinelli. Ah, my Prince! so soon as you are yourself again, I am, with my whole soul, yours! The arrival of Orsina is as much an enigma to me as to you. Yet she will scarcely allow herself to be sent away again. What will you do?

Prince. I will not speak to her by any means; I will retire—
Marinelli. Wall! but quickly. I will receive her.

Prince. But merely to command her to return. -Have no further

ley with her.

We have other things to attend to.

par

Marinelli. Not now, Prince! These other things are done. Recover your spirits. What is still wanting, will come safely of itself.-But do I not hear her already?-Hasten, Prince!-There, (pointing to a cabinet, into which the Prince enters,) if you wish, you will be able to hear us.—I fear, I fear she has not arrived at the most favorable hour.

SCENE III-COUNTESS, ORSINA, MARINELLI.

Orsina (without at first observing Marinelli.) What is this ?-No one. comes to meet me, except an impudent fellow, who would fain have hindered my entrance!Am I then at Dosalo?-at that Dosalo, where formerly a whole host of bustling eye-servants rushed forth to welcome me? where, formerly, love and enthusiasm awaited me?—The place is the same; but, but-Ha! you here, Marinelli !-Very well, that the Prince has taken