"I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said his commander, who entered into the sport with all the ardour of one whose youth had been chiefly passed in such pursuits: "feel your line, Master Coffin; can we haul alongside of our enemy? I like not the course he is steering, as he tows us from the schooner." ""Tis the creater's way, sir," said the cockswain; you know they need the air in their nostrils, when they run, the same as a man; but lay hold, boys, and let's haul up to him." The seamen now seized the whale-line, and slowly drew their boat to within a few feet of the tail of the fish, whose progress became sensibly less rapid, as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In a few minutes he stopped running, and appeared to roll uneasily on the water, as if suffering the agony of death. "Shall we pull in, and finish him, Tom?" cried Barnstable; "A few sets from your bayonet would do it." The cockswain stood examining his game with cool discretion, and replied to this interrogatory "No, sir, no-he's going into his flurry; there's no occasion for disgracing ourselves by using a soldier's weapon in taking a whale. Starn off, sir, starn off! the creater's in his flurry!" The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly obeyed, and the boat cautiously drew off to a distance, leaving to the animal a clear space, while under its dying agonies. From a state of perfect rest, the terrible monster threw its tail on high, as when in sport, but its blows were trebled in rapidity and violence, till all was hid from view by a pyramid of foam, that was deeply dyed with blood. The roarings of the fish were like the bellowing of a herd of bulls; and to one who was ignorant of the fact, it would have appeared as if a thousand monsters were engaged in deadly combat, behind the bloody mist that obstructed the view. Gradually, these effects subsided, and when the discoloured water again settled down to the long and regular swell of the ocean, the fish was seen, exhausted, and yielding passively to its fate. As life departed, the enormous black mass rolled to one side; and when the white and glistening skin of the belly became apparent, the seamen well knew that their victory was achieved. "What's to be done now?" said Barnstable, as he stood and gazed with a diminished excitement at their victim; "he will yield no food, and his carcass will probably drift to land, and furnish our enemies with the oil." "If I had but that creater in Boston Bay," said the cockswain, "it would prove the making of me; but such is my luck for ever! Pull up, at any rate, and let me get my harpoon and line-the English shall never get them while old Tom Coffin can blow." THE PANTHER-FROM THE PIONEERS. By this time they had gained the summit of the mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued their course under the shade of the stately trees that crowned the eminence. The day was becoming warm, and the girls plunged more deeply into the forest, as they found its invigorating coolness agreeably contrasted to the excessive heat they had experienced in the ascent. The conversation, as if by mutual consent, was entirely changed to the little incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall pine, and every shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of admiration. In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of the placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the rattling of wheels and the sounds of hammers, that rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men with the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth suddenly started, and exclaimed "Listen! there are the cries of a child on this mountain! is there a clearing near us? or can some little one have strayed from its parents?" "Such things frequently happen," returned Louisa. "Let us follow the sounds: it may be a wanderer starving on the hill." Urged by this consideration, the females pursued the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded from the forest, with quick and impatient steps. More than once, the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa caught her by the arm, and pointing behind them, cried Brave had been their companion, from the time the voice of his young mistress lured him from his kennel, to the present moment. His advanced age had long before deprived him of his activity; and when his companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and await their movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill accorded with the character of a protector. But when, aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, through fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good qualities. "Brave!" she said, "be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?" At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at all diminished, was very sensibly increased. He stalked in front of the ladies, and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire, by a short, surly barking. "What does he see?" said Elizabeth: must be some animal in sight." 'there Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa, standing with her face whitened to the color of death, and her finger pointing upwards, with a sort of flickering, convulsed motion. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the direction indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and glaring eyes of a female panther, fixed on them in horrid malignity, and threatening to leap. "Let us fly," exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow. There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an extremity. She fell on her knees, by the side of the inanimate Louisa, tearing from the person of her friend, with instinctive readiness, such parts of her dress as might obstruct her respiration, and encouraging their only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her voice. Courage, Brave!" she cried, her own tones beginning to tremble, " courage, courage, good Brave!" A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now appeared, dropping from the branches of a sapling that grew under the shade of the beech which held its dam. This ignorant, but vicious creature, approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a strange mix 66 ture of the playfulness of a kitten with the ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the bark of a tree with its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat; and then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling, and scratching the earth, it would attempt the manifestations of anger that rendered its parent so terrific. All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, his short tail erect, his body drawn backward on its haunches, and his eyes following the movements of both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the latter, it approached higher to the dog, the growling of the three becoming more horrid at each moment, until the younger beast overleaping its intended bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries and struggles, but they ended almost as soon as commenced, by the cub appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws of Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly as to render it completely senseless. Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood was warming with the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form of the old panther in the air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech to the back of the mastiff. No words of ours can describe the fury of the conflict that followed. It was a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied by loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff, which was its constant aim, old Brave, though to:n with her talons, and stained with his own blood, that already flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious foe like a feather, and rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, with jaws distended, and a dauntless eye. But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff for such a struggle. In everything but courage, he was only the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound than ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted in a favorable position, on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of blood, and directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wild-cat to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and stillness that ensued, announced the death of poor Brave. Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of his creation; and it would seem that some such power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter examination, it turned, however, with its eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, its tail lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting inches from her broad feet. Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemyher cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror. The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination, and the beautiful figure of Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke, when a rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet her ears, Hist! hist!" said a low voice, "steep lower, gal; your bonnet hides the creater's head." It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this unexpected order, that caused the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom; when she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth biting its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches within its reach. At the next instant the form of the Leather-stocking rushed by her, and he called alond "Come in, Hector, come in, old fool; 'tis a hardlived animal, and may jump ag'in." Natty fearlessly maintained his position in front of the females, notwithstanding the violent bounds and threatening aspect of the wounded panther, which gave several indications of returning strength and ferocity, until his rifle was again loaded, when he stepped up to the enraged animal, and placing the muzzle close to its head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge. DEERSLAYER AT THE DEATH OF HIS SAVAGE FOE By this time the piece was reloaded, and Deerslayer, after tossing the tomahawk into the canoe, advanced to his victim, and stood over him, leaning on his rifle, in melancholy attention. It was the first instance in which he had seen a man fall in battle. It was the first fellow creature against whom he had ever seriously raised his own hand. The sensations were novel; and regret, with the freshness of our better feelings, mingled with his triumph. The Indian was not dead, though shot directly through the body. He lay on his back motionless, but his eyes, now full of consciousness, watched each action of his victor-as the fallen bird regards the fowler-jealous of every movement. The man probably expected the fatal blow which was to precede the loss of his scalp; or perhaps he anticipated that this latter act of cruelty would precede his death. Deerslayer read his thoughts; and he found a melancholy satisfaction in relieving the apprehensions of the helpless savage. 'No, no, red-skin," he said; "you've nothing more to fear from me. I am of a Christian stock, and scalping is not of my gifts. I'll just make sartain of your rifle, and then come back and do you what sarvice I can. Though here I can't stay much longer, as the crack of three rifles will be apt to bring some of your devils down upon me." The close of this was said in a sort of soliloquy, as the young man went in quest of the fallen rifle. The piece was found where its owner had dropped it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Laying his own rifle at its side, Deerslayer then returned and stood over the Indian again. "All inmity atween you and me's at an ind, redskin," he said; "and you may set your heart at rest on the score of the scalp, or any further injury. My gifts are white, as I've told you; and I hope my conduct will be white also !" Could looks have conveyed all they meant, it is probable Deerslayer's innocent vanity on the subject of color would have been rebuked a little; but he comprehended the gratitude that was expressed in the eyes of the dying savage, without in the least detecting the bitter sarcasm that struggled with the better feeling. "Water!" ejaculated the thirsty and unfortunate creature; "give poor Injin water.' 66 Aye, water you shall have, if you drink the lake dry. I'll just carry you down to it, that you may take your fill. This is the way, they tell me, with all wounded people-water is their greatest comfort and delight." So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his arms, and carried him to the lake. Here he first helped him to take an attitude in which he could appease his burning thirst; after which he seated himself on a stone, and took the head of his wounded adversary in his own lap, and endeavored to soothe his anguish in the best manner he could. "It would be sinful in me to tell you your time hadn't come, warrior," he commenced, "and therefore I'll not say it. You've passed the middle age already, and, considerin' the sort of lives ye lead, your days have been pretty well filled. The principal thing now, is to look forward to what comes next. Neither red-skin nor pale-face, on the whole, calculates much on sleepin' for ever; but both expect to live in another world. Each has his gifts, and will be judged by 'em, and I suppose, you've thought these matters over enough, not to stand in need of sarmons when the trial comes. You'll find your happy hunting-grounds, if you've been a just Înjin; if an onjust, you'll meet your desarts in another way. I've my own idees about these things; but you're too old and exper'enced to need any explanations from one as young as I." "Good!" ejaculated the Indian, whose voice retained its depth even as life ebbed away; "young head-ole wisdom!" "It's sometimes a consolation, when the ind comes, to know that them we've harmed, or tried to harm, forgive us. I suppose natur' seeks this relief, by way of getting a pardon on 'arth: as we never can know whether He pardons, who is all in all, till judgment itself comes. It's soothing to know that any pardon at such times; and that, I conclude, is the secret. Now, as for myself, I overlook altogether your designs ag'in my life: first, because no harm came of 'em; next, because it's your gifts, and natur', and trainin', and I ought not to have trusted you at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear no ill-will to a dying man, whether heathen or Christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I'm consarned; you know best what other matters ought to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfaction in so trying a moment." It is probable that the Indian had some of the fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being which God in mercy seems at times to afford to all the human race; but they were necessarily in conformity with his habits and prejudices. Like most of his people, and like too many of our own, he thought more of dying in a way to gain applause among those he left than to secure a better state of existence hereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking his mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that the intention was good; and when he had done, a regret passed over his spirit that none of his own tribe were present to witness his stoicism, under extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with which he met his end. With the high innate courtesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior before he becomes corrupted by too much intercourse with the worst class of the white men, he endeavored to express his thankfulness for the other's good inten tions, and to let him understand that they were appreciated. "Good!" he repeated, for this was an English word much used by the savages-"good-young head; young heart, too. Old heart tough; no shed tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie -what he call him?" Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the Delawares have said that when I get back from this war-path, I shall have a more manly title, provided I can 'arn one." "That good name for boy-poor name for warrior. He get better quick. No fear there"-the savage had strength sufficient, under the strong excitement he felt, to raise a hand and tap the young man on his breast" eye sartain-finger lightning-aim, death-great warrior soon. No Deerslayer-Hawkeye-Hawkeye-Hawkeye. Shake hand." Deerslayer-or Hawkeye, as the youth was then first named, for in after years he bore the appellation throughout all that region-Deerslayer took the hand of the savage, whose last breath was drawn in that attitude, gazing in admiration at the countenance of a stranger who had shown so much readiness, skill, and firmness, in a scene that was equally trying and novel. When the reader remembers it is the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see his enemy betray weakness, he will be better able to appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great a concession at such a moment. "His spirit has fled!" said Deerslayer, in a suppressed, melancholy voice. "Ah's me! Well, to this we must all come, sooner or later; and he is happiest, let his skin be of what color it may, who is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of no doubt a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying towards its heaven or hell, whether that be a happy hunting-ground, a place scant of game; regions of glory, according to Moravian doctrine, or flames of fire! So it happens, too, as regards other matters! Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got themselves into difficulty, if they hav'n't got themselves into torment and death, and all for a bounty that luck offers to me in what many would think a lawful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and white will I die; clinging to color to the last, even though the King's Majesty, his governors, and all his councils, both at home and in the Colonies, forget from what they come, and where they hope to go, and all for a little advantage in warfare. No, nowarrior, hand of mine shall never molest your scalp, and so your soul may rest in peace on the point of making a decent appearance, when the body comes to join it, in your own land of spirits." Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then he placed the body of the dead man in a sitting posture, with its back against the little rock, taking the necessary care to prevent it from falling or in any way settling into an attitude that might be thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild notions of a savage. When this duty was performed, the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance of his fallen foe, in a sort of melancholy abstraction. JAMES A. HILLHOUSE. THE ancestors of James A. Hillhouse emigrated from the county Derry, Ireland, where the family had long held a high social position, to the colony of Connecticut in 1720. The grandfather and father of the poet were both men of standing and influence, the one having been employed for half a century in the public service of the colony, and the other having occupied a seat in both branches of the Federal Legislature, at periods not long after the Revolution. He married a daughter of Colonel Melancthon Woolsey, of Dosoris, Long Island, a lady of great refinement, beauty, and strength of mind and character. Their son, James, was born at New Haven, September 26, 1789. He was remarkable in his boyhood for his strength and dexterity in athletic exercises, and for the grace of his deportment. He entered Yale College in his fifteenth year, and maintained a high rank in his studies, and particularly in English composition. Upon taking his Master's degree, he delivered an oration on The Education of a Poet, which was so much admired that it obtained him an invitation to deliver a poem at the next_anniversary of the Phi Beta Kappa Society. In fulfilment of this appointment he produced The Judgment, in 1812. Though a topic baffling all human intelligence, the poet treated its august incidents as they are portrayed in holy writ, with elevation, exercising his imagination on the allowable ground of the human emotions and the diverse gathering of the human race, with a truly poetic description of the last evening of the expiring world. Soon after leaving College, Hillhouse passed three years in Boston, in preparation for a mercantile career. The war proving an interruption to his plans, he employed a period of enforced leisure in writing Demetria, Percy's Masque, and other dramatic compositions. After the peace he engaged in commerce in the city of New York, and in 1819 visited England, where he saw, among other distinguished men, Zachary Macaulay (the father of the historian), who afterwards spoke of him to his American friends as "the most accomplished young man with whom he was acquainted." During this visit he published Percy's Masque," in London. It was at once reprinted in this country, and received with great favor on both sides of the Atlantic. In 1822 be married Cornelia, the eldest daughter of Isaac Lawrence of New York, and soon after removed to a country seat near New Haven, which he called Sachem's Wood, and where, with the exception of an annual winter visit of a few months to New York, the remainder of his life was passed, in the cultivation and adornment of his beautiful home, and in literary pursuits and studies. These soon produced the ripe fruit of his mind, the drama of Hadad, written in 1824, and published in 1825. In 1839, having carefully revised, he collected his previously published works, including several orations delivered on various occasions, and a domestic tragedy, Demetria, written twenty-six years before, in two volumes. This settlement, so to speak, of his literary affairs, was to prove the precursor, at no remote interval, of the close of his earthly career. Hi friends had previously been alarmed by the symptoms of consumption which had impaired his former vigor, and this disease assuming a more aggravated forin, and advancing with great rapidity, put an end to his life on the 4th of January, 1841.t The prevalent character of the writings of Hillhouse is a certain spirit of elegance, which characterizes both his prose and poetry, and which is allied to the higher themes of passion and imagination. He felt deeply, and expressed his emotions naturally in the dramatic form. Ilis conceptions were submitted to a laborious preparation, and took an artistical shape. Of his three dramatic productions, Demetria, an Italian tragedy, is a passionate story of perplexed love, jealousy, and intrigue; Hadad is a highly wrought dramatic poem, employing the agency of the supernatural; and Percy's Masque, suggested by an English ballad, Bishop Percy's Hermit of Warkworth, an historical romance, of much interest in the narrative, the plot being highly effective, at the expense somewhat of character, while the dialogue is filled with choice descriptions of the natural scenery in which the piece is cast, and tender sentiment of the lovers. That, however, which gained the author most repute with his contemporaries, and is the highest proof of his powers, is the twofold characterization of Hadad and Tamar; the supernatural fallen angel appearing as the sensual heathen lover, and the Jewish maiden. The dialogue in which these personages are displayed, abounds with rare poetical beauties; with lines and imagery worthy of the old Elizabethan drama. The description, in the conversation between Nathan and Tamar, of the associations of Hadad, who is "of the blood royal of Damascus," is in a rich imaginative vein. Nathan. I think thou saidst he had surveyed the world. Tamar. O, father, he can speak Of hundred-gated Thebes, towered Babylon, Of pyramids, temples, and superstitious caves This being, who excites the revolt of Absalom, introduced to us at first at the court of David, as of an infidel race, practised in "arts inhibited and out of warrant," in the end displays his true nature in the spirit of the fiend, which has ruled the designs of the fair Syrian. The softness and confiding faith of the Hebrew girl, stronger in her religion than her love, triumph over the infidel spiritual assaults of Hadad; and in these passages of tenderness contrasted with the honeyed effrontery of the assailant, and mingled with scenes of revolt and battle, Hillhouse has displayed some of his finest graces. Perfection, in such a literary undertaking, would have tasked the powers of a Goethe. As a poetical and dramatic sketch of force and beauty, the author of Hadad has not failed in it. The conception is handled with dignity, and its defects are concealed in the general grace of the style, which is polished and refined.* The descriptive poem of Sachem's Word is an enumeration of the points of historic interest and of family association connected with his place of residence, sketched in a cheerful vein of pleasantry. Several fine prose compositions close the author's collection of his writings. They are a Phi Beta Kappa Discourse in 1826, at New Haven, On Some of the Considerations which should influence an Epic or a Tragic Writer in the Choice of an Era; a Discourse before the Brooklyn Lyceum, in 1836, On the Relations of Literature to a Republican Government; and a Discourse at New Haven, pronounced by request of the Common Council, August 19, 1834, in Commemoration of the Life and Services of General La Fayette.-all thoughtful, energetic, and polished productions. It is pleasant to record the eulogy of one poet by another. Halleck, in his lines "To the Recorder," has thus alluded to Hillhouse : Hillhouse, whose music, like his themes, The feet of angel messengers. Willis, too, paid a genial tribute to Hillhouse in his poem before the Linonian Society of Yale College, delivered a few months after the poet's death-in that passage where he celebrates the associations of the elm walk of the city. LAST EVENING OF THE WORLD-FROM THE JUDGMENT. By this, the sun his westering car drove low; Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold: Along the horizon castled shapes were piled, In a note to one of Coleridge's Lectures on the Personality of the Evil Being, &c. (Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 210, 1886), there is a passage given by him as written in a copy of Hadad, which offers some suggestion on the use of the "Fallen Spirits" in that poem. Turrets and towers whose fronts embattled gleamed Round I gazed Where in the purple west, no more to dawn, While gazing wistful on that peerless light In dreams strange images will mix,) sad thoughts INTERVIEW OF HADAD AND TAMAR. The garden of ABSOLOM's house on Mount Zion, near the Had. Does beauteous Tamar view, in this clear fount, Herself, or heaven? Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence Those sad, mysterious sounds. Had. What sounds, dear Princess? Tam. Surely, thou know'st; and now I almost think Some spiritual creature waits on thee. Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends Up from the city to these quiet shades; A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, And voices from the hills. Tam. The sounds I mean, Floated like mournful music round my head, From unseen fingers. |