others had joined distant tribes; and some pitiful wretches, whom he scorned to call brethren, consented to live on the white man's bounty. These were corroding reflections; and well might fierce thoughts of vengeance pass through the mind of the deserted prince; but he was powerless now; and the English swarmed like vultures around them. "It is the work of the Great Spirit," said he. "The Englishman's God made the Indian's heart afraid; and now he is like a wounded buffalo, when hungry wolves are on his trail." When Powontonamo returned to his hut, his countenance, though severe, was composed. He spoke to the Sunny-eye, with more kindness than the savage generally addresses the wife of his youth; but his look told her that she must not ask the grief which had put a woman's heart within the breast of the far-famed Mohawk Eagle. The next day, when the young chieftain went out on a hunting expedition, he was accosted by a rough, square-built farmer. "Powow," said he, " your squaw has been stripping a dozen of my trees, and I don't like it over-much." It was a moment when the Indian could ill brook a white man's insolence. "Listen, buffalohead!" shouted he; and as he spoke, he seized the shaggy pate of the unconscious offender, and eyed him with the concentrated venom of an ambushed rattlesnake,"Listen to the Chief of the Mohawks! These broad lands are all his own. When the white man first left his accursed foot-print in the forest, the Great Bear looked down upon the big tribes of Iroquois and Abnaquis. The wigwams of the noble Delawares where thick, were the soft winds dwel. The rising sun glanced on the fierce Pequods; and the Illinois, the Miames, and warlike tribes like the hairs of your head, marked his going down. Had the red man stuck you then, your tribes would have been as dry grass to the lightening! Go-shall the Sunny-eye of Oneida ask the pale face for a basket?" He breathed out a quick, convulsive laugh, and his white teeth showed through his parted lips, as he shook the farmer from him, with the strength and fury of a raging panther. After that, his path was unmolested, for no one dared to awaken his wrath; but a smile never again visited the dark countenance of the degraded chief. The wild beasts had fled so far from the settlements, that he would hunt days and days without success. Soonseetah sometimes begged him to join the remnant of the Oneidas, and persuade them to go far off, toward the setting sun. Powontonamo replied, "This is the burial place of my fathers;" and the Sunny-eye dared say no more. "At last, their boy sickened and died, of a fever he had taken among the English. They buried him beneath a spreading oak, on the banks of the Mohawk, and heaped stones upon his grave, with.. out a tear. "He must lie near the water," said the desolate chief, "else the white man's horses will tread upon him." "The young mother did not weep; but her heart had received its death wound. The fever seized her, and she grew paler and weaker every day. One morning Powontonamo returned with some delicate food he had been seeking for her. "Will Soonsetah eat?" said he. He spoke in a tone of subdued tenderness; but she an swered not. The foot which was wont to bound forward to meet him lay motionless and cold. He raised the blanket which partly concealed her face, and saw that the Sunny-eye was closed in death. One hand was pressed hard against her heart, as if her last moments had been painful. The other had grasped the beads which the young Fagle had given her in the happy days of courtship. One heart-rending shriek was wrung from the bosom of the agonized savage. He tossed his arms wildly above his head, and threw himself beside the body of her he had loved as fondly, deeply, and passionately as ever a white man loved. After the first burst of grief had subsided, he carefully untied the necklace of her full, beautiful bosom, crossed her hands over the sacred relic, and put back the shining black hair from her smooth forehead. For hours he watched the corpse in silence. Then he arose and carried it from the wigwam. He dug a grave by the side of his lost boy; laid the head of Soonsetah towards the rising sun; heaped the earth upon it, and covered it with stones, according to the custom of his people. A little while longer he stood watching the changing heavens; and then, with reluctant step, retired to his solitary wigwam. * * * * * * * The next day, a tree which Soonsetah had often said was just as old as their boy, was placed near the mother and child. A wild vine was straggling among the loose stones, and Powontonamo carefully twined it around the tree. "The young oak is the Eagle of the Mohawks," he said: "and now the Sunny-eye has her arms around him." He spoke in the wild music of his native tongue; but there was none to answer. "Yes, Powontonamo will go home,' sighed he. "He will go home where the sun sets in the ocean, and the white man's eyes have never looked upon it." One long, one lingering glance at the graves of his kindred, and the Eagle of the Mohawks bade farewell to the land of his fathers. For many a returning autumn, a lone Indian was seen standing at the consecrated spot we have mentioned; but, just thirty years after the death of Soonseetah, he was noticed for the last time. His step was then firm, and his figure erect, though he seemed old and way-worn Age had not dimmed the fire of his eye, but an expression of deep melancholy had settled on his wrinkled brow. It was Powontonamo-he who had once been the Eagle of the Mohawks! He came to lie down and die beneath the broad oak, which shaddowed the grave of Sunny-eye. Alas! the white man's axe had been there! The tree he had planted was dead; and the vine, which had leaped so vigorously from branch to branch, now yellow and withering, was falling to the ground. A deep groan burst from the soul of the savage. For thirty wearisome years he had watched that oak, with its twining tendrils. They were the only things left in the wide world for him to love, and they were gone! He looked around. The hunting land of his tribe was changed, like its chieftain. No light canoe now shot down the river, like a bird upon the wing. The laden boat of the white man The Englishman's road wound alone broke its smooth surface. like a serpent around the banks of the Mohawk; and iron hoofs had so beaten down the war-path that a hawk's eye could not discover an Indian track. The last wigwam was destroyed; and the sun looked boldly down upon spots he had visited only by stealth, during thousands and thousands of moons. The few remaining trees, clothed in the fantastic mourning of autumn; the long line of heavy clouds, melting away before the coming sun; and the distant mountain seen through the blue mist of departing twilight, alone remained as he had seen them in his boyhood. All things spoke a sad language to the heart of the desolate Indian. "Yes," said he, "the young oak and the vine are like the Eagle and the Sunny-eye. They are cut down, torn, and trampled on. leaves are falling, and the clouds are scattering, like my people. I wish I could once more see the trees standing thick, as they did when my mother held me to her bosom, and sung the warlike deeds of the Mohawks." The A mingled expression of grief and anger passed over his face, as he watched a loaded boat in its passage across the stream. "The white man carries food to his wife and children, and he finds them in his home," said he "Where is the squaw and the papoose of the red man? They are here!" As he spoke, he fixed his eye thoughtfully upon the grave. After a gloomy silence, he again looked round upon the fair scene, with a wandering and troubled gaze. "The pale face may like it," murmured he; but an Indian cannot die here in peace.' So saying he broke his bow-string, snapped his arrows, threw them on the burial-place of his fathers, and departed for ever. None ever knew where Powontonamo laid his dying head. The hunters from the west said, a red man had been among them, whose tracks were far off towards the rising sun; that he seemed like one that had lost his way, and was sick to go home to the Great Spirit. Perchance, he slept his last sleep where the distant Mississippi receives its hundred streams. Alone, and unfriended, he may have laid him down to die, where no man called him brother; and the wolves of the desert, long ere this, may have howled the death-song of the Mohawk Eagle. Domestic Intelligence. NEW TOWN RACES. This much-looked-for race, went off very bad, they came in as follows: March 17, 18 and 19, at 12 o'clock. Mr. Kearney's Donald Caird. Stewards: E. ABBOTT and T. HEWITT, Esqrs. Clerk of the Course, Mr. RAWLING. First Day TRIAL STAKES 1 1 22 3 dis. bolted. dis. Mr. Peck's Why Not Of 3 Sovs. each, for 2 yrs. old, with Of 50 Sovs., for all ages. 40 Sovs. added from the Race Fund. Colts, 8st.; Fillies, 7st. 12lb. One mile heats. Mr. Moore's b. f. Derwent Maid, by Buffalo.-Purple and Plum. Mr. Fox's g. h. Platoff, by Ben Hassain. Scarlet and Black. Mr. Baynton's ch. c. Sancho, by Buf- Mr. Lowes's b. h. Saladin, by Peter Fin, Blue. Mr. W. Kearney's g. h. Donald Caird, They came in in the following order :- .... .... THE TOWN PLATE 5133 Of 100 Sovs., for all ages. Two Sovs. Mr. Lowes's b. h. Saladin, by Peter Fin, Mr. W. Kearney's g. h. Donald Caird, Mr. Baynton's ch. h. Liberty, by Buffa- One Sov. entrance. Heats, once round, and a distance. The winner to be sold for 100 Sovs., if demanded within half an hour. Second horse first entitled, &c. Weights, 2 yrs. old, 7st. 12lb.; 3 yrs. old, 8st. 81b.; 4 yrs. old, 9st. 2ĺb.; 5 yrs. old, 10st. 61b.; 6 yrs. old and aged, 10st. 8lb. Mr. Robertson's blk. g. Mountaincer, Mr. R. Styne's b. h. Hit or Miss, 4 yrs. aged.-Purple and White. old.-Tartan. Mr. James Styne's b. m. Moreland Meg, yrs. Mr. J. W. Murdoch's blk. g. Cardinal, 4 yrs. old. Crimson, and White cap. Mr. Eddington's ch. m. Meg Merrilies, by Buffalo, 6 yrs. old.-Black. Mr. Abbott's ch. h. Opposition, 5 yrs. old.-Scarlet and Black. This was a good race, and was admirably contested. The horses came in as follows:Mr. Abbott's Opposition Mr. Murdoch's Cardinal Mr. Eddington's Meg Merrriles. 1 4 5 Mazeppa, Mountaineer, Hit or Miss, Moreland Meg, and Blacklock, not placed. Second Day. THE DERWENT ST. LEGER STAKES Of 3 Sovs. each, for 3 yrs. old, with 50 Mr. Robertson's b. f. Theresa, by Wa- burst from the soul of the sa had watched that oak, with i only things left in the wide w gone! He looked around. changed, like its chieftain. river, like a bird upon the win alone broke its smooth surf like a serpent around the ba had so beaten down the war-] cover an Indian track. The sun looked boldly down upon during thousands and thous trees, clothed in the fantastic of heavy clouds, melting aw distant mountain seen throug alone remained as he had s spoke a sad language to the 1 said he, "the young oak and They are cut leaves are falling, and the cl wish I could once more se when my mother held me to Sunny-eye. he A mingled expression of white man carries food to b the man? They are thoughtfully upon the gr looked round upon the f cannot die here in peac gaze. "The pale face ma snapped his arrows, thr and departed for ever. * None ever knew whe |