was any thing that looked like government. Here he was, and here he must live. 22. He threw himself on a bed, and fecalled the pastthe beautiful world in which he had once lived; his ingratitude, his murmurings, and his blasphemy against the wisdom and the goodness of God. He wept like infancy. He would have prayed, and even began a prayer; but then he recollected that there was no God here-nothing to direct events-nothing but chance. He shed many and bitter tears of repentance. At last he wept himself asleep. 23. When Hafed again awoke, he was sitting under his palm-tree in his own beautiful garden. It was morning. At the appointed moment, the glorious sun rose up in the east; the fields were all green and fresh; the trees were all right end upwards, and covered with blossoms; the beautiful deer were bounding, in their gladness, over the lawn; and the songsters in the trees, which, in plumage and sweetness, might have vied with those that sang in Eden, were uttering their morning song. 24. Hafed arose,-recalled that ugly dream, and then 'wept for joy. Was he again in a world where chance does not reign? He looked up, and then turned to the God of heaven and earth,-the God of laws and of order. He gave glory to him, and confessed that his ways, to us unsearchable, are full of wisdom. He was a new man. 25. Tears, indeed, fell at the graves of his family; but he now lived to do good to men, and to make others happy. He called a young and worthy couple, distant relatives, to fill his house. His home again smiled, and peace and contentment came back, and were his abiding guests. 26. Hafed would never venture to affirm whether this was a dream, or a reality.. On the whole, he was inclined to think it real, and that there is, somewhere, a "chanceworld; " but he always shook his head, and declared that, so far from wishing to live there, nothing gave him greater cause of gratitude, as he daily knelt in prayer, than the fact, that he lived in a world where God ruled,-and ruled by laws, fixed, wise, and merciful. LESSON LVI. An Incident in the early History of New England. 1. On the 15th of March, 1697, a body of Indians made a descent on Haverhill, Mass., and approached the house of Mr. Thomas Dustin. They came, as they were wont, arrayed with all the terrors of a savage war dress, with their muskets charged for the contest, their tomahawks drawn for the slaughter, and their scalping-knives unsheathed and glittering in the sunbeams. Mr. Dustin at the time was engaged abroad in his daily labor. When the terrific shouts of the blood-hounds first fell on his ear, he seized his gun, mounted his horse, and hastened to his house, with the hope of escorting to a place of safety his' family, which consisted of his wife and eight young children. 2. Immediately upon his arrival, he rushed into his house, and found it a scene of confusion-the women trembling for their safety, and the children weeping and calling on their mother for protection. He instantly ordered seven of his children to fly in an opposite direction from that in which the danger was approaching, and went himself to assist his wife. But he was too late. Before she could rise from her bed, the enemy were upon them. 3. Mr. Dustin, seeing there was no hope of saving his wife from the clutches of the foe, flew from the house, mounted his horse, and rode with full speed after his flying children. The agonized father supposed it impossible to save them all, and he determined to snatch from death the child which shared the most of his affections. He soon came up with the infant brood; he heard their glad voices, and saw the cheerful looks that overspread their countenances; for they felt themselves safe while under his pro tection. 4. He looked for the child of his love-where was it? He scanned the little group from the oldest to the youngest; but he could not find it. They all fondly loved him-they called him by the endearing title of father, were flesh of his flesh, and stretched out their little arms towards him for protection. He gazed upon them, and faltered in his resolution, for there were none whom he could leave behind; and, indeed, what parent, in such a situation, could select the child which shared the most of his affections? He could not do it, and therefore resolved to defend them from the murderers, or die at their side. 5. A small party of the Indians pursued Mr. Dustin as he fled from the house, and soon overtook him and his flying children. They did not, however, approach very near,-for they saw his determination, and feared the vengeance of a father, but skulked behind the trees and fences, and fired upon him and his little company. Mr. Dustin placed himself in the rear of his children, and returned the fire of the enemy, often, and with good success. 6. In this manner he retreated for more than a mile, alternately encouraging his terrified charge, and loading and firing his gun, until he lodged them safely in a forsaken house. The Indians, finding that they could not conquer him, returned to their companions, expecting, no doubt, that they should there find victims, on whom they might vent their savage cruelty. 7. The party which entered the house when Mr. Dustin left it, found Mrs. Dustin in bed, and the nurse attempting to fly, with the infant in her arms. After plundering the house, they set it on fire, and commenced their retreat, though Mrs. Dustin had but partly dressed herself and was without a shoe on one of her feet. Mercy was a stranger to the breasts of the conquerors, and the unhappy women expected to receive no kindness from their hands. The weather at the time was exceedingly cold, the March wind blew keen and piercing, and the earth was alternately covered with snow and deep mud. 8. They travelled twelve miles the first day, and continued their retreat, day by day, following a circuitous route, until they reached the home of the Indian who claimed them as his property, which was on a small island, now called Dustin's Island, at the mouth of the Contoocook River, about six miles above the state-house, in Concord, New Hampshire. 9. Notwithstanding their anxiety for those whom they had left behind, and who, they supposed, had been cruelly butchered-their sufferings from cold and hunger, and from sleeping on the damp earth, with nothing but an inclement sky for a covering and their terror for themselves, lest the arm that, as they supposed, had slaughtered those whom they dearly loved, would soon be made red with their blood,-notwithstanding all this, they performed the journey without yielding, and arrived at their destination in comparative health. 10. These unfortunate women had been but a few days with the Indians, when they were informed that they must soon start for a distant Indian settlement, and that, upon their arrival, they would be obliged to conform to the regulations always required of prisoners, whenever they entered the village, which was, to be stripped, scourged, and run the gantlet. 11. The gantlet consisted of two files of Indians, of both sexes, and of all ages, containing all that could be mustered in the village; and the unhappy prisoners were obliged to run between them, when they were scoffed at and beaten by each one as they passed, and were sometimes marks at which the younger Indians threw their hatchets. This cruel custom was often practised by many of the tribes, and not unfrequently the poor prisoner sunk beneath it. As soon as the two women were informed of this, they determined to escape as speedily as possible. 12. They effected their escape, accordingly, in the night, and embarked in an open boat on the river. A long and weary journey was before them; but they commenced it with cheerful hearts, each alternately rowing and steering their little bark. Though they had escaped from the clutches of their unfeeling master, still they were surrounded with dangers. They were thinly clad, the sky was still inclement, and they were liable to be re-captured by strolling bands of Indians; and, were they again made prisoners, they well knew that a speedy death would follow. 13. This array of danger, however, did not appal them; for home was their beacon-light, and the thoughts of their firesides nerved their hearts. They continued to drop silently down the river, keeping a good look-out for strolling Indians; and in the night, two of them only slept, while the third managed the boat. In this manner they pursued their journey, until they arrived safely at their homes, totally unexpected by their mourning friends, who supposed that they had been butchered by their ruthless conquerors. 12* [Founded on the incidents narrated in the preceding Lesson.} 1. Now fly, as flies the rushing windUrge, urge thy lagging steed! The savage yell is fierce behind, And life is on thy speed. 2. And from those dear ones make thy choice; When father!" burst from every voice, 3. There's one that now can share his toil, And one that wears her mother's smile, 4. And one will prattle on his knee, 5. They feel no fear while he is near; But oh! his ear must thrill to hear Their shriekings, should he go. |