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rounded by warriors. The guide saluted him as his monarch, and the bereaved father, bowing down, thus addressed him :
8. "King of the red men, thou seest a father in pursuit of his lost children. He has heard that your people will not harm the stranger in distress. So he trusts himself fearlessly among you. The king of our own native land, who should have protected us, became our foe. We fled from our dear homes-from the graves of our fathers.
9. "The ocean wave brought us to this New World. We are a peaceful race, pure from the blood of all men. We seek to take the hand of our red brethren. Of my own kindred, none inhabit this wilderness, save two little buds, from a broken, buried stem.
10. "Last night, sorrow entered into my soul, because I found them not. Knowest thou, O king, if thy people have taken my children'? Knowest thou where they have concealed them? Cause them, I pray thee, to be restored to my arms. So shall the Great Spirit bless thy own tender plants, and lift up thy heart when it weigheth heavily on thy bosom."
11. The Indian monarch, fixing on him a piercing glance, said: "Knowest thou me'? Look in my eyes! Look! Answer me! Are they the eyes of a stranger'?" The bereaved father replied that he had no recollection of having ever before seen his countenance.
12. "Thus it is with the white man. He is dim-eyed. He looketh on the garments more than cn the soul. Where your plows turn up the earth, oft have I stood watching your toil. There was no coronet on my brow. But I was king. And you knew it not.
13. "I looked upon your people. I saw neither pride nor violence. I went an enemy, but returned a friend. I said to my warriors, 'Do these men no harm. They do not
hate Indians.' Then our white-haired prophet of the Great Spirit rebuked me. He bade me make no league with the pale faces, lest angry words should be spoken of me, among the shades of our buried kings.
14. "Yet, again, I went where thy brethren have reared their dwellings. Yes; I entered thy house. And thou knowest not this brow'? I could tell thine at midnight, if but a single star trembled through the clouds. My car would know thy voice, though the storm was abroad with all its thunders.
15. "I have said that I was king. Yet I came to thee hungry, and thou gavest me bread. My head was wet with the tempest. Thou badest me lie down on thy couch, and thy son, for whom thou mournest, covered me.
16. "I was sad in spirit, and thy little daughter, whom thou seekest with tears, sat on my knee. She smiled when I told her how the beaver buildeth his house in the forest. My heart was comforted, for I saw that she did not hate Indians.
17. "Turn not on me such a terrible eye. I am no stealer of babes. I have reproved the people who took thy children. I have sheltered them for thee. Not a hair of their head is hurt. Thinkest thou that the red man can forget kindness'? They are sleeping in my tent. a single blanket, it should have been their bed. and return unto thy people."
Had I but Take them,
18. He waved his hand to an attendant, and, in a moment, the two children were in the arms of their father. The white men were kindly sheltered for that night, and, the next day, they bore the children to their home, and the people rejoiced at their safe return.
QUESTIONS.-1. By whom were these children taken captive? 2. Who went in search of them? 3. What did he say to the king of the tribe? 4. What reply did the Indian monarch make? 5. Were the children restored to their father? 6. What is meant by New World, 9th paragraph? 7. What by two little buds, from a broken, buried stem, same paragraph?
IM' AGE, form; likeness.
MAS' TER Y, rule; sway.
MY MOTHER'S LAST KISS.
MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.
1. I was but five years old when my mother died; but her image is as fresh in my mind, now that twenty years have elapsed, as it was at the time of her death. I remember her, as a pale, gentle being, with a sweet smile, and a voice soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I had erred, (for I was a wild, thoughtless child,) there was a mild and tender earnestness in her reproofs, that always went to my little heart.
2. Methinks I can now see her large, blue eyes moist with sorrow, because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat: "My child, how can you grieve me so ?" She had, for a long time, been pale and feeble, and sometimes there would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made her look so lovely, I thought she must be well. But then she spoke of dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me to be good when she was gone, and to love my father, and be kind to him; for he would have no one else to love.
3. I recollect she was ill all day, and my little hobbyhorse and whip were laid aside, and I tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night, they told me my mother was too sick to kiss me, as she always had done before I went to bed, and I must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and
placing my lips close to hers, whispered: "Mother, dear mother, won't you kiss me?"
4. Her lips were very cold, and when she put her hand upon my cheek, and laid my head on her bosom, I felt a cold shuddering pass all through me. My father carried me from the room; but he could not speak. After they put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking; I feared my mother would, indeed, die; for her cheek felt cold, as my little sister's did when she died, and they carried her little body away where I never saw it again. But I soon fell asleep.
5. In the morning I rushed to my mother's room, with a strange dread of evil to come upon me. It was just as I feared. A white linen covered her straight, cold form. I removed it from her face: her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were hard and cold. But my mother's dear, dear smile was there, or my heart would have broken.
6. In an instant, all the little faults, for which she had so often reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would always be, if she would but stay with me. I longed to tell her how, in all time to come, her words would be a law to me. I would be all that she had wished me to be.
7. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; and never did this frame of temper come upon me, but I seemed to see her mild, tearful eyes full upon me, just as she used to look in life; and when I strove for the mastery over my passions, her smile seemed to cheer my heart, and I was happy.
8. My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her death. Her spirit seemed to be always with me, to aid the good and root out the evil that was in me. I felt it would grieve her gentle spirit to see me err, and I could not, would not, do so.
9. I was the child of her affection. I knew she had
prayed and wept over me; and that even on the threshold of the grave, her anxiety for my welfare had caused her spirit to linger, that she might pray once more for me. I never forgot my mother's last kiss. It was with me in sorrow; it was with me in joy; it was with me in moments of evil, like a perpetual good.
QUESTIONS.-1. What was the age of the person represented in this piece? 2. What, when his mother died? 3. What did he say of himself when a child? 4. Had he ever grieved his mother? 5. What did he say of his faults, after his mother's death? 6. What did he desire to tell her? 7. How ought you to treat your mother, in order to avoid the reproaches of your own conscience?
SUR PRISE', amazement.
PER' ISH ED,
died. STINT' ED, small of size.
STERN, severe; harsh; rigid.
LOI' TER, linger; tarry.
ES CAP' ED, fled from.
THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD.
MRS. E. OAKES SMITII
1. "Dear mother, here's the very place
His feet upon the ground.
And tell me all about the wrong,