main on the bridle, while he coolly told forth on his fingers the specified sum: "for the Marquis we will say three thousand ducats, and I think a hundred a-piece is not too much for the men and horses; we are a conscientious and scrupulous corps, Marquis, and are contented to receive four thousand golden ducats." Had he even mentioned half his property, Auguste would not at that moment have objected, so anxious was he to pursue his way. With a nod of his head he acquiesced in the demand, adding, “have I permission to return to the castle for the gold." "Si Signor, leaving your servants as hostages, as is the usage of war, but your open-handedness has so won my heart, that I'll tell you a bit of news which will interest you not a little." So saying, he led the steed a few yards from the rest, and in a low voice whispered, "'twas I who brought the note from Angelica Villadomonti." "Ha!" uttered Auguste, as the reflection how his probable setting off on reading it, had been so skilfully availed of by the brigand. "Yes," continued the latter, "she loves you well; and though hard pressed Signor, is still true to you; I can vouch for that myself, for she has borne the close custody of a country house, sooner than listen to the proposals of young Docheri I am half inclined to strike a blow for her myself, poor thing. : "My own sweet love," said Auguste, "thou hast indeed borne much; " and the last words of the previous sentence recurring to his mind, he turned to the other, saying, "Spokest thou of striking for her?" Without the slightest objection, the young Marquis submitted to these terms; and the brigands having made a hasty meal while the horses fed, in a short time all mounted and armed; the victors and vanquished alike, rode side by side in peace and harmony, on their way to the head-quarter station of the brigands. Nothing could exceed in beauty the romantic and delightful scenery through which they passed that night; striking from the busy haunts of man, they en. tered a country novel from its singular wildness. By degrees the queen of night rose to her highest station in the zenith, and as she descended dispersed with her silvery brightness the gloomy darkness, in which the towering forms of the rocks and picturesque features of the hills which they traversed were obscured; the breath of shade, wrapping up the ravines, gradually decreased, and the mountain streams, tumbling and foaming in their pebbly bed, were thereby disclosed to view. The vegetation, from the few miserable oak trees, and the quantity of dwarf brush-wood, appeared stunted, and the whole bore marks of desolation far different from that they had left behind. No herds were sheltered in the glens ; no fire gleamed through the wilds; nor was the bark of the shepherd's dog heard amidst the darkness of night. Farther as they advanced, the path through the hills became more and more impracticable: now a foaming torrent, roaring like a cataract, as it poured its mimic cascade from the top of some rock; again a detached portion of cliff and earth, fallen from the overhanging height, seemed to present impassable impediments to the advance of our party "into the bowels of the land; at length, by courage and perseverance, they surmounted all difficulties, and had their toils repaid by a safe arrival at the destined rendezvous. Never was a better place chosen for its daring purpose, a stronghold for brigands, than the hamlet where they halted; it could only be approached by a narrow path, which was only to admit a single file; this path wound round a deep glen, between the steep and precipitous sides of which foamed a deep and rapid stream, over whose boiling surges was thrown a single arched bridge; in case of necessity it might be defended, or destroyed; its precipices and deep banks completely screened it from observation, and its long row of wretched huts seemed more the dens of animals than the abodes of men. The scene within was perfectly in keeping with the exterior of the village; numbers of savage and ferocious looking brigands were congregated together in picturesque and characteristic employments and stations. Some were listlessly sleeping, with their heads resting on their chacos; others in groups, talking of their late expedition, and planning more; while some were burnishing their arms;-all presented that picture of rugged activity that Salvator Rosa would have painted, And these were to be the associates of the refined Marquis di Romaine, in the dear task of recovering his betrothed: the reflection was harrowing, yet as he had set his life upon the cast, he was resolved to stand the hazard of the die." All his aim therefore was to get all on the way, without loss of time. 66 With loud shouts of triumph and joy, the fierce banditti received their new comrade, and gladly did each swear obe dience to him, during the time he remained their leader, after making a rude repast in the morning, and each having procured a good carbine, a long knife, with plenty of ammunition, set forward, with earnest prayers to San Nicola for booty and success. The ci-devant Captain rode by the side of his new commander; his appearance was so formidable that it deserves to be noticed, rather low sized, but of a most athletic form, his arms, body and legs seemed to have been curtailed, purposely to add to their strength and rotundity; his round head thinly scattered with hair of an iron-grey colour, was stuck between his herculean shoulders; his features told of strong and deep passions, and the restlessness of his fiery eye bespoke mental inquietude, which nothing save continued excitement could check; his high conical hat, with its broad brim, shaded his face; a coarse dress made after the fashion of the peasants', but with a double row of shining brass buttons on each side, was girded at the waist by a broad leathern belt sustaining an Andrew Ferrara, with a richly hilted dagger. A second belt crossed his shoulders, which at his back served to hold his well-grooved rifle, together with his pistols; to his saddle was attached apparatus for containing his ammunition. After a long and fatiguing journey, it was late at night ere they reached the villa Docheri, and as the sylvan rays of the round-faced moon shining on the grey pile, revealed the prison of his best beloved, Auguste could scarce be re strained from rushing forward and attempting her release; but the old brigand, better skilled in warfare, would not suffer an attack to be made without having some insight into the defences, he therefore prevailed on Auguste, though not without difficulty, to relinquish all movements, till at least day-break, when they would see what kind of an enemy they had to deal with; and accordingly the party disposed themselves, until the dawn of morn should call them into action. Auguste could not sleep, the visions of an uncertain future disturbed his repose: he saw the building which held her he loved, and strove to pass the night, which like a foul and tardy-gaited witch, did limp most hideously away, by walking by the turreted walls which he thought Angelica might be occupying. Morning he thought would never come; he gazed with a feeling of affection on the walls which sheltered her whom he sought, and with a kind of reverential awe ran over with his eyes the mouldering battlements of his mortal enemy: is it not strange How these antique towers, and vacant courts, At length the morning came, dappling the clouds with streaks of purple and gold, gladdening the face of nature, and calling all living creatures into life,-it was a fatal morn for some. Soon after the shadows of night were dispersed by the approaching luminary, the troop of besiegers were in active preparation; having in vain knocked at the front entrance for admission, and seeing only a few terrified domestics, who hastily thrust their heads out of the top windows, and as quickly drew them in again, it was agreed to try some other means of ingress, but hardly had they ventured without the projecting roof of the portico, than a well-directed fire of musketry quickly brought them back, with some wounds, After a short council the brigand Captain proposed to take a party of men, under cover of some trees, and divert the fire, in order that Auguste might be able to win an entrance at some other point; accordingly when the diversion was made, with twenty resolute men our young hero went in search of admittance, and on turning an angle suc. ceeded in taking prisoner one of the servants, who, on being threatened with instant death in case of refusal, disclosed a secret door through which they might enter. It was a harder task than was at first supposed. No sooner had they entered the house than they were met by the entire of the defenders, under the command of young Docheri, who instantly attacked them. One by one the brigands yielded, overcome by the numerous retainers of Docheri. The scene was terrific; the hall rang with the loud discharge of fire-arms, and the red gleam shone bright and lurid through the dense sulphurous smoke which hid the light of day. At length in the progress of the fight, the two young men met; never were two so equally matched--loud and long dashed the strokes of their swords, as thrust and stroke were skilfully parried. All the rest by universal consent ceased, to view the conflict upon which the issue depended, and the wreathed smoke as it rolled through the open door, rendered the least movement visible. At length the hardy strength which had hitherto stood Auguste in good stead against the excellent skill of Carlo Docheri now appeared on the decline; he retreated before the quick lunges of his antagonist, and was with difficulty able to keep his sword, when a cry, as of a woman, meets his earNew vigour is infused into his frame, he parries the blow of Docheri, and with vehement force pierced his bosom, as he hissed in his ear-for Angelica's wrongs! A loud crash caused the adherents of Docheri to turn from the dead body of their young master; it announced that the brigands had succeeded in beating down the front door, having also taken prisoner a man whom Auguste recognised as the unjust umpire in the gondola race, and now stood before him as the elder Docheri. The garrison made no further resistance, and Auguste was free to look for his intended. Hurriedly, yet anxiously did he search the rooms; at length she appeared kneeling before a crucifix, her hands clasped together, and her eyes intently fixed on the representation of the Suffering Redeemer. He gazed for a moment on her well-remembered form, then clasped her to his bosom. "Cara mia Angelica." "Mio ben amato," she faintly uttered, then fainted from excess of joy. In a few days she became the happy wife of the happy Auguste, and the memory of her former sufferings was only remembered as the prelude to her present happiness. She became the mother of beautiful children, and devoted her time to their improvement. One evening, a stranger was observed slowly walking up the approach to the chateau, and on his arrival, requested an interview with the Marquis. He was shewn into the library where the Marquis sat, who instantly recognised in the figure before him, the brigand who was instrumental in the recovery of his wife; for the dress was still the same, though his person bespoke much suffering; and the twinkling fire of his eye had a subdued expression, the cool air of defiance had entirely left, and though they seemed to speak of passions, it was of passions past, he had suffered much from sickness, and was now resolved to sin no more. A friendly reception was afforded him by the inhabitants of the chateau de Romaine, and having cultivated the acquaintance of the chaplain, was so struck with the enormities of his past life, that he resolved to dedicate part of the property he had acquired by his evil practices to the advancement of religion by founding a monastery, and none but the family de Romaine were aware that the Abbot Synatius, celebrated for his piety, and sanctity, was the no less celebrated brigand chief, whose daring had once defied the Doge's power. JAMES O'FLANAGAN. SKETCHES OF AMERICAN HISTORY. BY SAMUEL L. KNAPP. THE Abenaquis, a fierce and warlike tribe of Indians, or, perhaps, a name for several tribes of eastern Indians, were situated between the colonies of two European nations--the French and the English. The hunting-grounds of these aborigines stretched along through parts of New-Hampshire and the territory which is now the state of Maine. These Indians were extremely incensed with the English for making settlements on land at the eastward after the peace of Utrecht, which they supposed secured to them their hunting-grounds. They appealed to the governor of Massachusetts to fix some boundary, beyond which the English should not extend their settlements; but this, Shute, then governor, evaded, and the Indians became indignant. The jealousies, it is said, were considerably heightened by a French Jesuit, Father Rallé. This priest was a wonderful man. He had been highly educated in France, and was esteemed one of the most learned men of his time. In the prime of manhood he spent six years in exploring the interior of North America, and in making himself acquainted with Indian languages, customs, habits, and manners; and, becoming enthusiastically fond of Indian life, he settled at Norridgewack with the tribe which has since borne that name. He was venerated by these children of the forest; they considered him as an emanation of the Great Spirit, who had been sent to the red men to prepare them to die. The English found that they should never have the controul of the Indians as long as Father Rallé was alive, and in 1722 they sent Colonel Westbrooke with a force of two hundred and thirty men to seize Rallé "and the principal Indians of the tribe; but he was wary as well as wise, and escaped from them; and the most of the booty they obtained was a box of his papers. The Indians, in revenge for this insult offered to their spiritual father, commenced hostilities, and annoyed the inhabitants of that new country by petty depredations, and at length burned the town of Berwick, which roused Massachusetts to commence a warfare in earnest. An expedition to Norridgewack was planned and executed by Captains Moulton and Harman. These officers, each at the head of a hundred men, surprised the village, and killed Father Rallé, it has been said, at the altar, with nearly a hundred of his Indians; burned the chapel of his worship, and brought away his flag, which was a cross, surrounded by bows and arrows, and also the communion-service plate, as trophies of their victory. Rallé was in the sixty-seventh year of his age. He had been a missionary among the Indians thirty-seven years, twenty-six of which he had been at Norridgewack. A dictionary of the language of that tribe was found among his papers, which was deposited in the library of Harvard college. It is a quarto volume of five hundred pages. To the learning and piety of Father Rallé, our ancestors have done justice; but what they have said of his blood-thirsty disposition, the facts they have adduced in proof of their assertions, are by no means satisfactory to the writer of this article. That he loved his Indian children, there can be no doubt. His long residence in such a wilderness with them, is sufficient testimony of his affection for them. He had lived in retirement with them many years before he was suspected of being so unfriendly to the English. The French writers make him a saint who was immolated at the altar in the midst of his devotions. A man of letters and piety is seldom a man of blood. The Indians were crippled and dispersed by this campaign, yet they were not subdued. A bounty was still offered for Indian scalps, and enterprising officers in the militia were permitted to raise men for an Indian expedition. Among the most enterprising of these partizan warriors was Captain John Lovewell, of Dunstabie, Massachusetts; he had, with a party of men, made a silent march on an Indian track, and had overtaken and killed ten Indians from Canada, who were within two days' march of the frontiers of New England. These Indians were well furnished with guns and ammunition, and had spare blankets, mocassins, and snow-shoes for the accommodation of the prisoners they expected to take. They fell an easy prey to Lovewell and his men, for the Indians were found asleep, lying around a fire, by the margin of a frozen pond; seven of these Indians were shot by the first fire of Lovewell and his men, and the others had no chance of escape. The tug of war was between Indians and Indian killers, and the survivors were the best fellows. The French, not often humane in war, had then offered a much larger sum for captives than for scalps, which they had previously been in the habit of buying of the Indians when they had been successful in attacking the English villages, which accounts for the spare blankets, snow-shoes, and mocassins, which those who were slain by Lovewell had at the time of their slaughter. Humanity shudders at the atrocities committed in these Indian wars, but the evils grew from moral and political causes that it would now be idle to discuss. Encouraged by this success, Captain Lovewell raised another corps, to make a campaign not far from his former exploit. This body of men, consisting of thirty four, was raised in the counties of Middlesex and Essex, all good men and true; among them was a Mr. Jonathan Fry, of Andover, in the county of Essex, a student in divinity, who enlisted as a soldier and chaplain, a young gentleman just closing his minority. With this force, Captain Lovewell marched with the same confidence as one with a powerful army. On the eighth of May, 1725, one of his men saw a decoy Indian, who was fired at and killed; they then left their packs and scoured the woods in the neigh bourhood of a large pond, since called Lovewell's pond, in Fryburgh, in the state of Maine, to find the foe, but did not succeed. The Indians found the packs, and counting them, ascertained the number of Lovewell's men, and placing themselves in ambush, fired on his force when he was not aware of their position or number, killing Captain Lovewell and several of his men. The fight now waxed warm, and several fell. The English retreated to a point of land extending into the pond, which they secured by felling trees across the neck of the peninsula, and there maintained themselves until the evening shades came on and the moon arose. They then collected their forces, for the Indians had retreated, and left them "alone in their glory." The chaplain was among the wounded, and was left in the field. As he saw his friends depart, he requested them to load his gun, in order to have another shot if the Indians returned, and by this provoke them to put him out of misery at once. From what was discovered afterward, the Indians did come back in the night, and put an end to the chaplain's existence after he had shot one of their number. One of the wounded men was thrown by his companions into the boat on the pond, thinking that his body would fall into the hands of some hunter, who might give it christian burial; but fate had decreed that he should be saved; he floated down the pond, recovered his strength, and came into the settlements almost as soon as those who had retreated in health. Tradition has cherished an anecdote, and history has since taken it as authen tic, that while the English were on the point of land, and Lieutenant Chamberlain, the second in command, and now first, was washing his gun, grown foul by constant use, he saw on the main shore, Paugers, an Indian chief, performing the same act. The lieutenant and the chief were well acquainted, and knew each other's expertness in loading and firing their muskets. Paugers spoke intelligible English, and with all the chivalry of a knight-errant, proposed a trial of skill when each should be fairly ready to commence loading. The chief was as true to his pledge as the Chevalier Bayard would have been. Chamberlain cried, now! and they commenced loading. Paugers was quite as quick as his opponent; but Chamberlain used an old Queen Ann's arm, which had so large a vent that it required only the striking the butt on the ground to prime itself; of this Paugers was not aware, and was shot as he was finishing priming his piece. These sons of the forest were not a whit behind Homer's heroes in all that forms gallant soldiers. They were sincere friends and bitter enemies, but they had a wary and skilful foe to deal with in those who wanted their lands, and were striving to get rid of them. Chamberlain lived many years afterwards, and it is said that some of Pauger's relations followed him for revenge to civilized life; but met with an untimely fate from the hands of him they came to sacrifice to the manes of the deceased chief. CONTENTMENT. THERE is perhaps no sounder or more generally acknowledged axiom than that the value of a thing is in proportion to its scarcity. This may be one great reason why contentment has found such favour in the eyes of the multitude; every one setting the highest value on what he had not, and indifferent to the praise which might be bestowed upon its virtues and efficacy, so long as he knew his neighbour no richer than himself. Thus it is, that this thing, whose intrinsic value (except in a very limited degree), is worthless, has, as a regularly be-praised subject, equalled even Shakspeare's works, Warren's blacking, or La Fayette. Now I mean to say that as far as the share contentment has in the enjoyment a man feels in eating his dinner, smoking his cigar, or, after his daily labour enjoying the comforts of his fire-side, it is a good; but, I also say, that taken in any extended sense, it is an evil of the first magnitude. To be content is to be satisfied-to wish for nothing -to aim at nothing, but to rest satisfied in whatever situation you may be placed. Now look at the world as it exists; you will find little or no such thing, and well it is so. What is it that freights the ships-beautifies the cities—encourages the arts, and promotes the wealth, intelligence, and importance of a free and enterprising nation? Assuredly not contentment. It is a passive principle, and, as such, man can have little sympathy with it. He is an active animal. His pleasures lie not so much in the possession as the pursuit. Is the mer chant happier when, quitting the din and bustle of the city, his ships, his freights, and his speculations, he hastens to the enjoyment of rural life, purchases a beautiful villa, and looking around him, says within himself, "I am content." Is he so? no such thing! He must still busy himself with the news, |