it was granted by the sexton for a valuable consideration. The carpet was taken up, the dust of many years was swept away, and lo, the three Turks' heads! the well known arms of Virginia's first hero and historian. I planted myself upon the tablet as if I was at home, and exclaimed with an enthusiasm similar to that of the philosopher when he had solved his problem, eureka, I have found it! The sexton was unable to comprehend our enthusiasm as we talked of

"The green graves of our sires,
God-and our native land."

After visiting the burial-place of Capt. Smith, I desired to make a pilgrimage to that of Pocahontas, at Gravesend, in Kent. This, however, was rendered unnecessary by the kindness of Mr. Wykeham Martin, of Leeds Castle, in that county, to whose generous hospitality we were indebted for many kindnesses. Being at Leeds Castle (which bythe-bye is connected with our history, by the Culpepers and the Fairfaxes who once occupied it, and whose portraits now hang upon its walls,) and having said to Mr. Martin that we purposed making a pilgrimage to the grave of our Virginia princess, he kindly offered to set on foot inquiries among the antiquaries of Gravesend for the place of her burial. This he did during our absence on the continent, and having despaired of seeing us again, communicated the result to Mr. Conway Robinson of this city, by whom it has been published in the Register, and therefore I need not now repeat it.

From Leeds Castle we went to France, where we visited the tomb of Lafayette, of granite, as simple as his own great character, and imperishable as his memory in the hearts of Americans. We saw also the Maison Carrée at

Nismes, a beautiful Greek temple which was, I believe, the model of this very Capitol.

I do not remember any thing in Belgium, on the Rhine, or in Switzerland, that suggested any particular associations with our native land, and it is not within the scope of these remarks, nor would it be pertinent to the occasion, to introduce other topics. But in Italy, that land of the sun, where nature appears in hues not seen in colder climes, and where art, combining the beauties of nature, has fashioned those ideal creations, which having no models in the past, are the standards of taste for the present, and for the future of course, we saw many things to gratify our tastes; but among them all, I do not remember any place that we visited with more enthusiasm, than the studio of Hiram Powers, the great American sculptor; a man who unaided save by the inspirations of his own genius has, in busts, placed himself in the front rank of all modern, if he has not surpassed the ancient artists.

We had explored the treasures of the Uffizii, at Florence; of the Museo Borbonico at Naples, and of the Vatican at Rome; but there was something in the studio of Powers, that touched sensibilities which even the Apollo Belvidere could not move. Need I say, sir, that it was the associations with our country and our homes. The artist, himself, was an American-that was a subject of patriotic congratulation. But beside his great ideal works such as the Fisher-boy, the Eve, and the America, there was a fulllength statue of Calhoun, and busts of Preston, Everett, Jackson, Marshall, and other American statesmen, above all which towered the head of Washington-a head pronounced by Mr. Powers to be superior to all the heads of the ancients. It was a matter for patriotic exultation to an American in Europe, to see to what a colossal elevation the name of Washington had attained above the level of

the kings and warriors of other lands. While admiring
the busts of Washington and other Americans, the thought
occurred to me, that Virginia ought to have the statues
of Pocahontas and of Captain Smith. I suggested to
Mr. Powers the well known incident of Pocahontas
interposing between Smith and the uplifted club of
the Indian, as a beautiful subject for a work of art, and
asked him if he had ever formed an intention of executing
it. He replied that he had not. He said that it was in-
deed a beautiful incident, and that he had thought of it as
a fine subject, but that he had not made a design, or form-
ed an intention of executing it. I frequently recurred to
the topic, and the conclusion was, that I should furnish
him with the materials of the history, and he would form a
design and communicate it to me; and if he did not re-
ceive a commission, he would in all probability execute it
upon his own responsibility. Sir, I trust that the time will
come, when the Historical Society, under the patronage
of the Legislature, will have that groupe.
For my part, I
should like to see it standing upon that old church tower,
the last relic of Jamestown, so that when the resources of
this State shall be developed, according to the views of my
friend, Mr. Burwell, and the tide of emigration which is
setting towards other States, shall flow up the James river,

The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast,
Shall hear the sea-boy hail it from the mast.

In the mean time, may we not, and should we not, have at least a bust of Pocahontas, or of Smith; or, as some one near me suggests, of both? Surely it is an instinct of human nature to cherish with gratitude the memory of our benefactors, and we may well invoke the aid of such an artist, to commemorate the virtues and the deeds of such a pair.

Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompence. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and immortalize her trust.

So may it soon be here-with us-in our native State! And with whose images, sir, shall our Sculpture more properly begin than with those of our English Captain, and our Indian Maid?

INDIAN RELICS.

It is sad to reflect that the poor Indians, who were the lords of the land at the time when our English fathers came over the waters to settle our State, have all died, or been driven out of it into "the far West." And it is still more sad to think that, in all probability, a darker day is coming upon them than any they have yet seen. For a tide, it seems, is now setting in from the Pacific, to meet that which is rolling upon them from the Atlantic, and they are likely to be caught in a strait where "two seas meet," and to perish in the strife between them. Perhaps, therefore, some future historian may have to relate the sad story, that the last Indian has killed the last Buffalo in the Rocky Mountains, and that both races are forever gone out from our country. In the mean time, there are still some traces of Indian times, between the Blue Ridge and Alleghany, which art not yet entirely effaced, and which, as far as I

know, have not been described in any history of our State; and I have thought that a short notice of some of those which I have seen myself, may not be without some interest.

A few years since, when on the Thorn, one of the head branches of the Potomac, Mr. Hensel told me that he had just discovered, in a piece of new land he was clearing, what was evidently a very old grave. I went with him to see it. It was on a high bluff of the creek. The earth which had covered the grave, was of a different kind from the circumjacent soil, and had evidently been brought some distance. Only two bodies had been laid there; and they were close, side by side. All the bones had mouldered down to dust. But judging from the length of the grave as marked by the colored dust, they had been of unusually large size. They had been buried but little, if any, below the surface of the earth; and the long lapse of time had worn down most of the earth piled on them; so that in preparing the ground for crops, the grave was unintentionally thrown open.

There was a considerable quantity of pale colored earthen ware, in small fragments, in the grave; which, in its composition, was mixed with a white substance resembling pulverized white flint stone.

On the lands of Mr. John Sitlington, in Crab Bottom, Highland county, there is an area of perhaps a hundred acres, all dug over in pits. This was the great treasury of that dark clouded flint-stone, out of which the Indians made those arrow-heads of that color, found all over our State. This rock is there in great perfection, and in inexhaustible quantity.

It would surprise any one to see what labor has been expended here, and what vast quantities of the rock, obtained. Here was the "Red Man's" California. Perhaps fought for and defended, and visited, and worked, through as many adventures and dangerous journies as the one of