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ate between the unequal parties. The Illinois were about to give up for lost, when in their frenzy, they gave a defying shout and retreated to the rocky bluff. From this, it was an easy matter to keep back their enemies, but alas! from that moment they were to endure unthought-of suffering, to the delight of their baffled, yet victorious enemies.

6. To describe in words the scene that now followed and was prolonged for several days, is utterly impossible. Those stout-hearted Indians, in whom a nation was about to become extinct, chose to die upon their strange fortress by starvation and thirst, rather than surrender themselves to the scalpingknife of their exterminators. And, with a few exceptions, this was the manner, in which they did perish. Now and then, indeed, a desperate man would lower himself, hoping thereby to escape, but a tomahawk would cleave his brain before he touched the water.

7. Day followed day, and those helpless captives sat in silence, and gazed imploringly upon their broad and beautiful lands, while hunger was gnawing into their very vitals. Night followed night, and they looked upon the silent stars, and toward the home of the Great Spirit, but they murmured not at His decree. And if they slept, in their dreams they once more played with their little children, or roamed the woods and prairies in perfect freedom. When morning dawned, it was but the harbinger of another day of agony; but when the evening hour came, a smile would sometimes brighten up a haggard countenance, for the poor unhappy soul, through the eye of an obscure faith, had caught a glimpse of the SpiritLand.

8. Day followed day, and the last lingering hope was abandoned. Their destiny was sealed, and no change for good could possibly take place, for the human blood-hounds that watched their prey, were utterly without mercy. The feeble white-haired chief, crept into a thicket, and breathed his last. The recently strong warrior, uttering a protracted but feeble yell of exultation, hurled his tomahawk on some fiend below, and then yielded himself up to the pains of his condition. The

blithe form of the soft-eyed youth, parted with its strength, and was compelled to totter, and fall upon the earth, and die. Ten weary, weary days passed on, and the strongest man and the last of his race was numbered with the dead.

1. HOLLOW ye the lonely grave,
Make its caverns deep and wide;
In the soil they died to save,

Lay the brave men side by side.
Side by side they fought and fell,
Hand by hand they met the foe;
Who has heard his grandsire tell
Braver strife or deadlier blow?

2. Wake your mournful harmonies,

Your tears of pity shed for them;
Summer dew and sighing breeze
Shall be wail and requiem.
Pile the grave-mound broad and high,
Where the martyr'd brethren sleep;

It shall point the pilgrim's eye
Here to bend,—and here to weep.

HORATIO HALE.

LESSON CXLIII.

THE VOICES OF THE DEAD.

O. DEWEY.

1. THE world is filled with the voices of the dead. They speak not from the public records of the great world only, but from the private history of our own experience. They speak to us in a thousand remembrances, in a thousand incidents, events, and associations. They speak to us, not only from their silent graves, but from the throng of life. Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with their presence. They are with us by the silent fireside and in the secluded chamber. They are with us in the paths of society, and in the crowded assemblies

of men.

2. They speak to us from the lonely way-side; and they speak to us from the venerable walls that echo to the steps. of a multitude, and to the voice of prayer. Go where we will, the dead are with us. We live, we converse with those who once lived and conversed with us. Their well-remembered tone mingles with the whispering breeze, with the sound of the falling leaf, with the jubilee shout of the spring-time.The earth is filled with their shadowy train.

3. But there are more substantial expressions of the presence of the dead with the living. The earth is filled with the labors, the works, of the dead. Almost all the literature in the world, the discoveries of science, the glories of art, the ever-enduring temples, the dwelling-places of generations, the comforts and improvements of life, the languages, the maxims, the opinions of the living, thery frame-work of society, the institutions of nations, the fabrics of empires,--all are the works of the dead;--by these, they who are dead yet speak.

4. Life,-busy, eager, craving, importunate, absorbing life,yet what is its sphere compared with the empire of death? What is the sphere of visible, compared with the vast empire of invisible, life? A moment in time; a speck in immensity; a shadow amidst enduring and unchangeable realities; a breath of existence amidst the ages and regions of undying life! They live, they live indeed, whom we call dead. They live in our thoughts; they live in our blessings; they live in our life;"death hath no power over them."

5. The effect of a last sickness to develop and perfect the virtues of our friends, is often so striking and beautiful, as to seemmore than a compensation for all the sufferings of disease. How often does that touching decay, that gradual unclothing of the mortal body, seem to be a putting on of the garments of immortal beauty and life!

6. That pale cheek; that placid brow; that sweet serenity spread over the whole countenance; that spiritual, almost supernatural brightness of the eye, as if light from another world shone through it; that noble and touching disinterestedness of the parting spirit, which utters no complaint,

which breathes no sigh, which speaks no word of fear nor apprehension to wound its friend, which is calm and cheerful, amidst daily declining strength and the sure approach to death; and then, at length, that last, firm, triumphant, consoling discourse, and that last look of all mortal tenderness and immortal trust; what hallowed memories are these to soothe, to purify, to enrapture surviving love!

7. Death, too, sets a seal upon the excellence that sickness unfolds and consecrates. There is no living virtue, concerning which, such is our frailty, we must not fear that it may fall; or at least, that it may somewhat fail from its steadfastness. It is a painful, it is a just fear, in the bosoms of the best and purest beings on earth, that some dreadful lapse may come over them, or over those whom they hold in the highest rev

erence.

8. But death, fearful, mighty as is its power, is yet a power that is subject to virtue. It gives victory to virtue. It brings relief to the heart from its profoundest fear. Yes, death, dark power of earth though it seems, does yet ensphere virtue, as it were, in Heaven. It sets it up on high, for eternal admiration. It fixes its places never more to be changed; star to shine onward, and onward, through the depths of the everlasting ages.

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9. In life there are many things which interfere with a just estimate of the virtues of others. There are, in some cases, jealousies and misconstructions, and there are false appearances, there are vails upon the heart that hide its most secret workings and its sweetest affections from us; there are earthly clouds that come between us and the excellence that we love. So that it is not, perhaps, till a friend is taken from us that we entirely feel his value, and appreciate his worth. The vision is loveliest at its vanishing away; and we perceive not, perhaps, till we see the parting wing, that an angel has been with us!

10. Yet if we are not, in any degree, blind to the excellence we possess, if we do feel all the value of the treasure which our affections hold dear,-yet, how does that earthly excellence take not only a permanent, but a saintly character, as it

passes beyond the bounds of mortal frailty and imperfection! How does death enshrine it, for a homage, more reverential and holy than is ever given to living worth!

1.

LESSON CXLIV.

THE GRAVE.

"Leaves have their time to fall,

ROBERT BLAIR.

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,

And stars to set, but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, Death!"

THRICE welcome, Death!

That, after many a painful bleeding step,

HEMANS.

Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe
On the long-wished-for shore. Prodigious change!
Our bane turned to a blessing! Death, disarmed,
Loses his fellness quite; all thanks to Him

Who scourged the venom out. Sure the last end
Of the good man is peace!
How calm his exit!
Night dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.

2. Behold him! in the evening tide of life,
A life well spent, whose early care it was
His riper years should not upbraid his youth;
By unperceived degrees he wears away;
Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting!
High in his faith and hopes, look how he reaches
After the prize in view! and, like a bird
That's hampered, struggles hard to fly away!
While the glad gates of sight are wide expanded
To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Of the fast-coming harvest. Then, O then,
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of naught! O, how he longs
To have his passport signed, and be dismissed!

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