They other Indian was cruelly mangled and murdered by piece-meal. expectation of being put to death. The suddenness of the massacre prevented its arrest. The fatal deed covered the fort with Col. Skillem did not arrest the murderers; perhaps his authority over the volunteers was too weak. General Hand arrived in a few death. The interpreter's wife, who had lately return- gloom. ed from captivity, and entertained a kindly feeling for Cornstalk and his companions, hearing the tumult, ran out to inquire the cause; and days without forces or supplies, and took no nohearing threats from some of the men against tice of this deed. In a few days the soldiers the Indians in the garrison, she hastened to the were ordered to return home. The Court of cabin of Cornstalk, and told him that Elinipsico Rockbridge county made some inquiries respectwas charged with bringing the Indians that had ing the murderers, but did not pursue the subject just killed Gilmore, and that the soldiers were to a judicial conclusion. The Shawanees in the threatening them all with death. Elinipsico war that followed took ample revenge for their denied bringing the murderers with him; de- chief. The blood of multitudes flowed for Cornclared he came alone, and for the sole purpose of stalk and his son and no man was heard to visiting his father, who had been so long absent. glory in being the principal or accessory of his As the canoe that bore the dead body was passing the river, "I observed to Capt. Arbuckle," says Capt. Stuart, that the people would be for killing the hostages as soon as the canoe would land. He supposed that they would not offer to commit so great a violence upon the innocent, who were in no wise accessory to the murder of Gilmore. But the canoe had scarcely touched the shore until the cry was raised-let us kill the Indians in the fort ;-and every man, with his gun in his hand, came up the bank pale with rage. Capt. Hall was at their head and leader. Capt. Arbuckle and I met them, endeavored to dissuade them from so unjustifiable an action; but they cocked their guns. threatened us with instant death if we did not desist, and rushed by us into the fort." Cornstalk had led the expedition, years before, by which Gilmore's family had been murdered: Cornstalk was now in the fort. Elinipsico, his son, had come the day before; and now Indians had just killed Gilmore. These men must be a sacrifice. These feelings governed Hall and his men, as they rushed shouting to the cabin of Cornstalk. MYSTERIOUS MUSIC. During the summer of 1848, which I spent on the shore of the Mexican Gulf, I had frequent opportunities of listening to what is called the "Mysterious Music." The singular sounds known by this name, are mostly heard on the waters of Pascagoula and Biloxi Bays. By the Creoles, who are very superstitious, they are heard with fear, but others listen with a mingled feeling of pleasure and wonder. This music is generally heard about nightfall, when it strikes upon the ear like the breathing of an Eolian Harp in the distance; scarcely however has s feeling of delight been awakened by the distant strain, when wonder is excited by the seeming approach of this "fairy-like music." A moment before, and the ear could only catch a faint, distant, dying cadence, now it swells louder, becomes more and more distinct until it seems within a few feet of where you stand. It is then truly mysterious, for though sensible that it is near you, you are totally unable to locate the sound, but it seems to Elinipsico hearing their approach trembled greatly. Cornstalk said-"My son, the Great Spirit has seen fit that we should die together; issue from any point to which you direct your attention; and has sent you here. It is his will. Let us it is in the water; above, below, and all around; wher submit. It is best:"-and turned to meet the ever you listen, thence the music seems to flow. This soldiers at the door. In a moment he received phenomenon has come under the observation of hundreds, seven bullets in his body and fell without a groan yet none have been able to assign any adequate cause Elinipsico sat upon his stool unmoved. His for it, there seems to be no particular spot at which it father's words had calmed his trepidation: his may be heard; you may hear it for a few evenings in sucfather's death called up in his bosom all his sav-cession, and it may not be heard there again for years. age stoicism. He received the shots of the sol- Of course many attempts more or less fanciful, have been diers and died without motion. Redhawk, on made to account for these wild, sweet strains-the most hearing the tumult, concealed himself in the pleasing, but perhaps not most satisfactory of these, is an chimney, which was too small to admit his es- Indian legend related to me by one who has resided for cape. He was soon discovered and shot in his years on the Bay where those sounds are heard, and who hiding place, and fell in the ashes dead. The in common with myself has been a frequent ear-witness of their plaintive melody. The legend, as related to me is embodied substantially in the lines which follow. THE MYSTERIOUS MUSIC. AN INDIAN LEGEND. I. Where the silver Pascagoula Led to die, for Greece, and glory, But tradition's hand hath snatched it II. "Hear you not that strain of sadness, Strains like those, which from the waters, On the ear so sadly break. Long ago, the brave Biloxes Dwelt upon the neighb'ring shore; Rose about each wigwam door. Where those blackened trunks are standing, And with hearts, with love wild beating, There, 'tis said, the bold Altama, None in all the tribe was braver, III. "Torches now, throughout the village, To its melancholy strain, Uttered such wild, sweet responses, Thus they stood, when, from the forest, Then the voice of bold Altama IV. "On, my braves! the Pascagoulas And, as ever, these false foemen, V. "Onward pressed the brave Altama, Near him all his warriors stood And their weapons soon were stained, Long, and well, this brave band battled, And with ev'ry blow they thought of And they felt, that, if they yielded, Still they yielded not, but listen! Only fifty, of five hundred, Closed them round, and could they hope, VI. "We met at day's decline, my braves, A large and joyous band, And now the remnant of our tribe, We here at midnight stand. Full many of our warriors true Now strew the battle plain; And we have fought, as men should fight, But fought alas! in vain. Though wounded, all your hearts I know For ye the yoke as proudly scorn, Your noble forms were never made To tamely bend to those, Who now with hatred in their hearts Where is our refuge then? the waves In their embrace to die. If here we fall, our scalp-locks soon And they will tell their eager youth That we ignobly died. Our women and our children too, A weak, defenceless band, Torn from their own loved homes away, Will till the victor's land. Oh! rather let these waters now Around us darkly close; And let our bodies, near the land In death I'll be your leader still, Who by my side will first advance, VII. "Forth then sprang the fair Anola, Yet I've felt my nature stronger, VIII. Flashed the eye, of bold Altama, Formed that column, and there rose not From their lips one note of fear! But the words of bold defiance, Ran throughout that dauntless band, As if marching to a banquet, When this tribe's last noble remnant, AZIM. STORY OF A CLOCK. narrowness of the sentiment. In fact most of Byron's Poetry reminds me of some of my fellow Time-pieces; frame-work grand and impo "The great soul does not sell its nobleness. It does sing, but machinery bad,-telling false time. Or not ask to dine nicely, nor sleep warm; the essence of as some great effective Temple, radiant with greatness is the perception that Virtue is enough. Pov-stained glazing, and painting, and statuary; erty is its ornament. Plenty it does not need and can very well abide its loss.-Emerson. whilst within some dark demon gloats in Heresy. The unearthly organ notes swelling along the trembling aisles and the chancel, veils worldly I am an old Clock, fashioned more than a centhings from our view; but it is in contract with tury gone by. I was considered at the time I One who has said, "All these will I give thee was framed, a masterpiece of the celebrated if thou wilt fall down and worship me!" Such London artist that made me,―for I am not one to my mind is Byron's poetry. I hope the lisof your miserable Yankee notions. Not I. I tener will pardon this little piece of irrelevant count me worthy of superior veneration. I am clock-work Criticism. I spake the poetry in not one that strike my hours in wire-music, to order to reject it, I did it to clear that "melanlull the ear into forgetfulness of that which a choly star" from clouds, for it is to be my guide Clock should always say to those who peer into and good Genius. I did it to show that though its face, or hold their breath at its stroke. It "tremulously far" that "light of other days" is should be as the ancient Conqueror's Mentor in not cold. Great God! who would insult thee the ceaseless, rolling, noisy chariot of the World, so much as to call it so? None save Byron. It ever saying—and with no soft tone-memento is a beam as warm as un-ending as the flame mori. In this I have been ever active, save only that burned on the ancient Altars. Its genial for the time I slept on the bosom of the foaming ray and heat are mine now. ocean, when borne from my native land. Horace Walpole would have loved to lodge I have stated that I was old. Around me me beneath the dusky arches of Strawberrycling antique carvings of another day; they clasp Hill. Round such a well-wrought case as me-these olden fantasies-as so many pure as- mine his fancy would have wreathed itself, as sociations of youth with manhood. So long as ivy kissing the crumbling Coliseum. You may I am myself, I can never untwine them from past say that it needs some such outlandish one to sensation of joy or sorrow. Nor would I, for appreciate me,-that you should do it, all I ask the world. When I look down at my finely- is the respectful hearing that age can claim. I carved Dragon-head feet, I see what has been will tell you that which is true. I never tell that the toy of a child I loved to watch growing from which is false. All in the family who have infancy to strong boyhood. When I look about watched me time without name will affirm it. at my wrought head-piece, my curiously figured There is but one instance in which I have been side, my little secret holds that were little coufi-conscious even of a self-suspicion of not having dentials between my master and I; I see and given an altogether right impression. For fear recall what it was that has attracted the eyes of of misapprehension I will explain that. I am a so many visitors in times agone, and that made perfect Clock in my construction. Never Clock me one of the most signal ornaments that ever told more or better than I, the tides, the time, parlor had. Those were my sole pleasures in the objective world, if I can be said to have had any there. With me now all my effective delights are caught from the rays of a star that gleams back in the horizon of the Past; and to which my memory turns to bask in its lustre, as the Heliotrope which bends every petal to the golden Eye of day. "Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! So sang Byron. I know not at which most to the day, the month, and the lunar phases; in 66 (The old Clock pressed its hands to its forewonder: the beauty of the poetry or the extreme head, as if in a reflective mood, and then with its open, frank face-though rather pale-con- and physical faculties developed. Time bore tinued :) STROKE FIRST. LIFE. the family on in his quiet chariot which makes no noise in its going. The young men left their father's house bearing unnumbered blessings and prayers with them. They went forth in the great World to grasp its pleasures and to grapThere is a delight that a large portion of the ple its stings. The younger Esmond went into world knows not. God has given it almost ex- the great city. His keen, vigorous mind carried clusively to the mother and the father; and a him swiftly on to prosperity, as the expert Capholy valuable delight it is. I mean the charm of tain soonest guides his boat into the haven. He watching with untold interest and care, the grow-lived with all the happiness that wealth could ing up of the child from the feeble world of No-give, and withal high station. He married early tice, to the powerful world of Energy. The in life. I know nothing of his wedded life, of Father knows the joy that crowds instinctively its happiness or its cares, for I never lived with upon him, as he watches the gradations of his him. He used to visit us sometimes though, and darling's growth; and the Mother only can feel they were a handsome enough couple at any full sympathy with this feeling of his. And so rate. They had no children. the Child is another strong tie-or should be— Richard also married a sweet lovely girl. I between them; for man must love that which can see her now, with the fine calm face, the yieldeth most sympathy. But that is a pleasure bright blue eye, and the fair skin beneath her auin which I am initiated. My heart was full for burn hair-all of which likened her to an angel blessing to those who were around me: I could with me. I can see her loving pressure and his chime in with their feeling, I felt, more than any affectionate kiss, as it was when noue was by other. I loved all, as they all looked up to me, save me. Theirs was a heavenly union, God and therefore knew that feeling. knows,--how many are there such, I wonder. ses. his Esmond (my master) was a very happy man. I do not think that Richard was suited for the It was as plain as day-light-the existence of world as Esmond; at any rate that was the imwhich has never been denied, as the French speculator thanks God-and really there wasn't pression he always made on me. There was the slightest pretext for doubting in the premi- something about him too calm and kindly : someBless your soul how could it have been thing looked forth from his eye when he was by himself, and sometimes (though not so often) else? He had money plenty: he had a sweet wife that he loved till you'd almost call it sin. when others were near. I would sometimes look He had three sweet children of the several ages his books,) to see if upon its page there was not at the book he was reading, (for he was ever at of six, five, and four,-the last being the only daughter. A very bonnie wee thing was little something glowing, red-hot, which shone up in dimpled Fanny, (named after her mother,) and eyes and made them flash and glisten. Havthe dream and day-delight of the two brothers. ing a competency, he entered into a more retired life than his brother. He lived, I believe, in the These were two fine boys-Esmond the eldest, and Richard the other; both comely and smart. country, wrapped up in love for his family-and And all the family as healthy as I! I said that in his reading, If I mistake not he wrote too; wrote books that were sounded abroad everyEsmond's happiness was as plain as day-light. Indeed now that I bethink me, it was much more where, and sealed his name on the tongues of obvious. Day-light is very complicated—as I great and small of all the land. understand it-woven of colors even as the rain- Fanny was almost the very life of the old bow. His happiness was far purer than that: couple. Their heads were now sprinkled with for it was wreathed of affections the purest, of the snow-flakes which the wing of mercy—yes, aspirations the holiest, of love the most untinged. of mercy-scatters on those who have seen the Indeed I wondered when first thrown into this spring-time, and the summer, and the autumn of amiable family, how it was that so much of good life; I do not mean as seasons in cold or warmthwas mingled with so little of evil. I almost but as times of life. She soothed their waythought the general curse had never fallen there! did Fan-and with her trained glance saw the Never again do I expect to see any sight so motive of their pleasures and their joys. She lovely upon this green earth, as I saw in the tenderly spake to them of the days past, of their peaceful and happy home of Esmond. There darling sons:-and oh! her every word was a were no strifes nor aught but harmony; in love pearl, as with the good and munificent girl that they worshipped God for blessings so great that she had read of in the fairy tale years before. they could not conceive them. She thought when she read it, that it was all a The boys and the girl grew; their dispositions foolish fancy; and never dreamt to the day of the |