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their banks, with a bright and glossy stillness; the music of the far-off rivers was heard in the silence of the atmosphere, and the waters of those that were near flowed forth sparkling and fresh as the mountain spring. As regards the luxuries of life, a large proportion sprang forth spontaneous. The plum glistened in the foliage of the wood—the vines of the grape mounted the most lofty trees, and hung their swinging branches from the dizzy tops, and the earth below was choked and tangled by the creeping herbage that ran in wild luxuriance over it. It might almost have warranted the belief that it was none other than Eden itself, unmarred by the hand of civiliz::tion, but lying in all its glory and perfection, as when the unhappy couple fled before the wrath of the Almighty.
When the caravals of Columbus were first seen hovering on the shores of the Indians, their superstition became awakened, and they were deeply impressed with an awful reverence. They supposed they came from out the eastern horizon, where the sky ben: down to the waters. Instead of resorting to reason to solve the phenomenon, their ignorance called in their superstition, and Columbus with his fleet was suppos natural, under the care of Him who made the tbunder and kept the hosts of heaven in their courses. And through this very same ignorance, the Indians have held their superstition even unto the present day.
On the first landing of Columbus, be met with another trait of Indian character, hospitality and kindness. Nor could this be ascribed to feur alone ; for subsequently, when their superstition had become in a manner allayed, and by beholding the dead bodies of the Spaniards, they assured theinselves that they were indeed mortal, we find the same love and kindness actuating their conduct toward the whites. It is related by Irving, I think, in his History of Columbus, of a cacique, named Suacanagari, that he befriended, and fought for the Spaniards unto the last—even w!en every cribe beside was arrayed in hostility against them, because he had pledged himself to do it; and many instances are on record, where a chief has submitted to the fate of haviog his village pillaged rather than restore a friend whom he had taken under his protection. And at the present time, no kindness goes farther than the Indian's, and no gratitude is quicker retaliated.
As regards the courage of the Indians, it is established beyond a doubt -nothing dimming it-pot even death. It lives amid the flames of the fagot-it never stoops—but is in all cases the same. The war song is sounded to them by their mothers while yet in their “ tree-rocked cradles” —deeds of chivalry are recounted and played before them in their juvenile years, and courage becomes the most noble pride wbich an Indian can bestow upon bis aspiring offspring. If an Indian want fame, let him excel in the arts of war-all others are of secondary consideration. Stratagems -skill-impassiveness under all circumstances—render a warrior among bis tribe noble, and his deeds shall be sung long after he shall have laid himself down in the shade of the forest.
I must bring up a character who bore a conspicuous part in the island of Hayti, when the Indians began to feel the Spanish yoke, and made a
struggle for their independence. He was a cacique, named Caonabo. In a deep-laid plot, he was taken by a young cavalier, and brought in prisoner before Columbus. Previous to his capture, he had fought long and well for freedom, and kept up the torch of war even when the neighbouring tribes were silent and peaceful. Columbus deemed him the most formidable foe around him, and therefore adopted measures for ensnaring him. But when Caonabo came before the admiral, his high and lofty soul remained unbent—the haughty spirit which he exhibited in the wilderness had not stooped; but even amid the camp of his enemies he bore about him an air of superiority. He plainly told Columbus he had intended to burn his fortress and murder his people—that he had shed the blood of some of them, and that it had been his intention to slay more. He even welt so far as to lay before him a plan, whereby he was to surprise the fortress ; and then, in the undaunted and firm demeanour which characterized him at the head of his tribe, turned upon the admiral with a scornful eye, bidding defiance to his most exquisite tortures. After this he was conducted on board of one of the caravals, and bound down with chains. When Columbus visited him, he remained seated, rapt in a sullen, melancholy mood, taking no notice of him whatever; but when the young cavalier who entrapped him came where he was, Caonabo showed every form of respect by rising and saluting him. When asked the reason of not paying due deference to the admiral, and lavishing his respect upon a subject, be said he loved the young man for his art in ensnaring him, and his courage in bearing him away from his country and friends. Poor Caonabo died on his voyage to Spain. He pined and drooped gradually, even as the lion of the forest in his iron-bound den.
AN ILL-USED GENTLEMAN. It was a bright, beautiful, breezy morning in the laughing, loving, and “ leafy month of June,” when on opening the door that leads into my little spot of ground, (dignified by the name of garden,) I became at once aware that I was labouring under a very decided attack of that pleasant but profitless distemper, termed idlesse. I looked towards the town; there it stood, the image of puffy importance, fuming and smoking away in its usual busy and petulent manner, and I bethought myself of the dust and the dirt, and the glare and the heat~the bartering and the bargaining, the buying and the selling, and the rest of the multifarious bustle going on within its walls, and the agreeable tranquillity of my spirit became disturbed, I turned towards the country, and there it lay-hill and dale, tillage and pasturage, wood, water, and greenwood, basking and rejoicing in the beneficent and procreant sunshine. Suddenly that portion of the Scriptures which saith, “there is a time for all things, a time for work and a time for play,” became forcibly impressed upon me. Certes, quoth I, the latter part of that injunction has been too long neglected; and away I strode towards the conscientious discharge of my duty.
How pleasant and quiet are the works of nature to those of man-how serene and noiseless her magnificent operations ! Here was no clanking of hummers, or hacking of saws, or puffing of steam, or villanous gases and exhalations, yet was her ladyship labouring on the most extensive scale. How delicious, too, were the accompaniments of her handicraft! the young corn springing, and the merry birds singing in the blue sky above it; the green grass growing, and the fresh breeze blowing far and wide. Here and there, in the nooks and corners of the winding lanes, was the bee humming over some clump of natural poetry—I mean wild flowers—gratifying eye and ear with its cheerful and luxurious industry, while, on every side, the beautiful blossoming hawthorn impregnated the cool air with its pure and healthful fragrance.
“God made the country, and man made the town."
A glorious line that, thought I, as I sauntered dreamily on my pleasant and purpose less path.
Ah! a patch of moorland, skirting and relieving the rich fertility of the district, its dark heathery surface irregularly dotted with adult and incipient sheep (oh, the delicious flavour of moorland mutton ! rich, yet not cloying ; so specially different from the greasy lusciousness of the plain !) with here and there a four.footed ass, standing considering whether to eat or sleep. Blessed state of animal and assinine existence ! Through this moor a tiny brook went “ singing a quiet tune,” as it wended its solitary and uncared--for way towards some more pompous and important geographical stream. I followed it, of course—for an idle man as naturally and unconsciously followeth the course of running water as he followeth that of his own nose-quite busily employed in fashioning the most filmy and fantastic projects, and erecting aerial castles of a very gorgeous and imposing description, when, on rounding a small knoll on which grew a patch of furze, I came suddenly upon a gentleman much more usefully and practically employed. He was washing a pocket handkerchief in the limpid waters of the brook, and humming " Love's Young Dieam.” It was a singular employment for a person of that gender, yet did he not seem altogether unskilled in the exercise of it, and evermore he washed and sung
“Oh! there's nothing half sweet in life
As young love's dream !” On the aforesaid furze bush lay outspread that refuge for the shirtless, surnamed “ a dickey,” and alongside of it, that other piece of assump:ion, that goeth by the name of collar, both of which had evidently undergone a recent partial purification. On becoming aware of my presence he attempted a hasty concealment, but immediately perceived the futility of such a procedure. I had become so fully, yet so simply and unobtrusively aware of the state of his linen and cotton garments, and the manner in which they were restored to their original complexion, that subterfuge or ill-feel
ing were equally out of the question. He therefore, with a pleasant, yet rueful smile, bade me "good morning," and jocosely added, that it was “ fine drying weather!”
“Very," responded I. “ Ah! sir,” continued the primitive washerman with a sigh, as he spread the handkerchief alongside of the dickey and collar, “misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows !”
At once I knew him to be a player, by the inappropriateness of his quotation.
“ Tut!” said I, “ 'tis nothing. The daughters of kings did the same thing in the classical times, before the world knew anything of soap.
I like to see a man independent of the fashions of his day.”
“ And, then,” said he, evidently relieved by the way in which I treated the subject, and disposed to carry on the conversation in the same strain“washerwomen are so careless ! now, when a gentleman officiates as his own laundress, he is at least sure—(with a serio-comic glance at the furze bush,) that he can lose nothing !"
“Most veritable ! therefore take heed,” quoth I, “how you depart from your present practice.”
In five minutes we were the best friends in the world, and an infinity of words ensued. In fact, we talked ourselves hungry; and, as it was now about the hour for refreshing and replenishing the stomach, I ventured to propose to my new friend that he should dine with me at a small hostel situated on the outskirts of the moor, and this proposal he accepted with a frankness and alacrity, which showed him to be a person who despised ceremonious observauces as much as he did new and gaudy apparel.
But I must endeavour to give some idea of my companion's rather singular appearance. He seemed to be a man about five and thirty, with a somewhat long and cadaverous physiognomy, yet pleasant withal. His person had a lean, lank, dinnerless-like look, as if he had not sat at “good men's feasts,” or what is much more to the purpose-men’s good feasts, for some time past, and his vestments were in a state of exceeding dilapidation. He wore a snuff-coloured surtout, from which most of the buttons had departed, and a pair of contumacious pepper-and-salt coloured pantaloons, which obstinately refused to proceed farther than half-way down his legs ; they could never have been made for him, but must have been the gift or bequest of some dear and much shorter friend. An attempt had been made to forcibly compel them to approach nearer to the ankle by the wearing of straps, but, like all coercive measures in a free country, it had failed of success, for though the left leg was still in equivocal subjection, the right, scorning to submit to the dominion of the strap, had vesolutely broken loose, leaving, however, a few fragmentary trophies in possession of the enemy. As regarded the other appurtenances of my friend, his waistcoat was not exactly “worn i'the newest gloss,” it had evidently seen better days—his shoes wanted mending very much, and the verdure had departed from his hat.
Stop a moment till I dress,” said he, as I prepared to set forward ; and he vanished with his linen behind the furze.
In a few minutes he re-appeared, arrayed in a clean shirt (at least as far as public display was concerned,) and a starchless collar. He then gave his hands and face a partial ablution in the brook, and which he said the sun would dry as we walked along; (what a greatness of idea to use the sun for a towel !) drained a little bair-oi a bottle, which he produced from his pocket, rubbed it on his hair, adjusted his hat on one side, buttoned his coat, as far as such a feat was practicable, and exclaiming, “ Now then, all's right !" started off by my side.
I could not help admiring my new acquaintance as we walked along. Notwithstanding his apparently forlorn condition, his confident air, brisk step, and lordly swagger, plainly declared that he was on exceedingly good terms with himself. He was a man that had evidently made up his mind to have nothing to do with misfortune ; others might grapple with her, but he would slip aside and let her pass. He was, to use his own expres sion, a gentleman out of luck !” but his sky was still clearly filled with rainbows of the most brilliant character; and I could not help contrasting to his advantage, the happy bouyancy of his temperament, which stood him in place of the most refined or stoical philosophy, with that of others, who revert regretfully and mournfully to the past, dwell despondingly on the present, and look anxiously and doubtfully towards the future. Yet, for all this, he informed me in confidence, as we proceeded, that he considered himself by far the most ill-used gentleman on the face of this green and good-looking earth.
After the third plate of our country cheer (fried ham and new laid eggs) had disappeared, and the fourth bottle of ale had gone to attend upon it, my friend began to stretch himself in a luxurious picktooth fashion, and wonder if there were any filberts in that part of the country. Mine host professed his ignorance of such a vegetable, but said he had some capital milk-cheese. In the absence of filberts, milk-cheese was not to be despised, and after about another quarter of an hour's labour at the cheese, and the evanishment of two more bottles of ale, the “gentleman out of luck,” began to manifest decided symptoms of communicativeness. vast number of good-tempered fellows, the more he drank the stronger became the infusion of the pensive and sentimental in his discourse. The conversation assumed a mixed character.
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild,” and like that of most theatrical people, it was simply, solely, and entirely about himself and his concerns; the losses, crosses, trials, and tribulations he had endured—the neglect and contumely he had put up with from mercenary managers and misjudging audiences; and this, together with a goodly list of broken engagements, unpaid salaries, and profitless benefits, united to a fondness for good living, a social glass, and “ genteel” company, had reduced him to his present circumstances, which he assured me were crazy and unmanagable enough, in consequence of the paltry and
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