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by new outrages, and goaded into desperation and madness at the prospect of the certain ruin, which awaits their descendants, should hate the authors of their miseries, of their desolation, their destruction; should hate their manners, hate their color, their language, their name, and every thing that belongs to them. No; never, until time shall wear out the history of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the Indian be brought to love the white man, and to imitate his


Great God! To reflect that the authors of all these wrongs were our own countrymen, our forefathers, professors of the meek and benevolent religion of Jesus ! 0! it was impious; it was unmanly; poor and pitiful! Gracious Heaven! what had these poor people done? The simple inhabitants of these peaceful plains, what wrong, what injury, had they offered to the English? My soul melts with pity and shame.

As for the present inhabitants, it must be granted that they are comparatively innocent: unless indeed they also have encroached under the guise of treaties, which they themselves have previously contrived to render expedient or necessary to the Indians.

Whether this have been the case or not, I am too much a stranger to the interior transactions of this country to decide. But it seems to me that were I a president of the United States, I would glory in going to the Indians, throwing myself on my knees before them, and saying to them, “Indians, friends, brothers, O! forgive my countrymen! Deeply have our forefathers wronged you; and they have forced us to continue the wrong. Reflect, brothers; it was not our fault that we were born in your country; but now, we have no other home; we have no where else to rest our feet. Will you not, then, permit us to remain ? Can you not forgive even us, innocent as we are? If you can, O! come to our bosoms; be, indeed, our bruthers; and since there is room enough for us all, give us a home in your land, and let us be children of the same affectionate family.”

I believe that a magnanimity of sentiment like this, followed up by a correspondent greatness of conduct on the part of the people of the United States, would go farther to bury the tomahawk and produce a fraternization with the Indians, than all the presents, treaties, and missionaries that can be employed; dashed and defeated as these latter means always are, by a claim of rights on the part of the white people which the Indians know to be false and baseless. Let me not be told that the Indians are too dark and fierce to be affected by generous and noble sentiments. I will not believe it. Magnanimity can never be lost on a nation which has produced an Alknomok, a Logan, and a Pocahontas.

The repetition of the name of this amiable princess brings me back to the point from which I digressed. I wonder that the Virginians, fond as they are of anniversaries, have instituted no festival, or order, in honor of her memory. For my own part, I have little doubt, from the histories which we have of the first attempts at colonizing their country, that Pocahontas deserves to be considered as the pātron deity of the enterprise. When it is remembered how long the colony struggled to get a footing; how often sickness or famine, neglect at home, mismanagement here, and the hostilities of the natives, brought it to the brink of ruin; through what a tedious lapse of time it ălternately languished and revived, sunk and rose, sometimes hanging, like Addison's lamp, “quivering at a point,” then suddenly shooting up into a sickly and shortlived flame; in one word, when we recollect how near and how often it verged towards total extinction, maugre the pătronage of Pocahontas; there is the strongest reason to believe that, but for her påtronage, the anniversary cannon of the fourth of July would never have resounded throughout the United States.

Is it not probable, that this sensible and amiable woman, perceiving the superiority of the Europeans, foreseeing the probability of the subjugation of her countrymen, and anxious as well to soften their destiny, as to save the needless effusion of human blood, desired, by her marriage with Mr. Rolfe, to hasten the abolition of all distinction between Indians and white men; to bind their interests and affections by the nearest and most endearing ties, and to make them regard themselves, as one people, the children of the same great family ?

If such were her wise and benevolent views, and I have no doubt but they were, how poorly were they backed by the British court! No wonder at the resentment and indignation with which she saw them neglected; no wonder at the bitterness of the disappointment and vexation which she expressed to captain Smith, in London, arising as well from the cold reception which she herself had met, as from the contemptuous and insulting point of view in which she found that her nation was regarded.

Unfortunate princess! She deserved a happier fate! But I am consoled by these reflections: first, that she sees her descendants among the most respectable families in Virginia ; and that they are not only superior to the false shame of disavowing her as their ăncestor, but that they pride themselves, and with reason too, on the honor of their descent; secondly, that she herself has gone to a country, where she finds her noble wishes realized; where the distinction of color is no more; but where, indeed, it is perfectly immaterial “what complexion an Indian or an African sun may have burned" on the pilgrim.


Thanksgiving.-CRAFTS. It is a wise and venerable custom, in New-England, to set apart one day in the year for the voluntary commemoration of the divine favor, and goodness; and it is pleasing to see so correct a custom gaining ground in our country. Not that in New England, or any where else, it requires a year to roll over our heads to convince us of the everlasting mercies of Heaven. The sublime structure of the universe, this beautiful landscape, the earth; the magnificent ocean, now assailing the clouds with its foam, and then nestling the Little birds on its billows; the glorious sun, and these sweet sentinels of light, the stars; the voice of the thunder, and the song of the linnet; who knows any thing of these, and can, for a moment, doubt the supreme benevolence of the Almighty!

Yet, although every instant be fruitful in blessings, we are inattentive, and do not regard; we are ignorant, and do not appreciate; we are ungrateful, and do not consider; we are selfish, and will not understand them. The best require to be reminded of their duty, and the thoughtless must be told of it always. It is wise, therefore, to select the season of gladness, and point to the source of good. When the husbandman rejoices for the harvest is ripe, and the poor go into the field to glean

The sheaves, which God ordains to bless

The widow and the fatherless, it becomes man to acknowledge the reward of his labore the blessing of his hopes, and the goodness of the giver of all things. Then, especially, should he pour forth the grateful incense of his praise, and his devotion.

The Almighty deserves the praise of his creatures. The flower pays its worship in fragrant exhalation, and the lark when he carols at the gate of heaven, in praise of their glorious Maker. The sun burns incense daily, and the virgin stars keep nightly vigils; the mysterious anthem of the forest proclaims its devotion, and the sea declares its obedience as it murmurs into repose. Every moment of time bears an errand of mercy, and should not be allowed to pass without an acknowledgment of gratitude.

“Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
Crown the great hymn.”


New-England.-J. G. PERCIVAL.
Hail to the land whereon we tread,

Our fondest boast;
The sepulchre of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on Glory's brightest bed,

A fearless host:
No slave is here-our unchained feet
Walk freely, as the waves that beat

Our coast.
Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave

To seek this shore;
They left behind the coward slave
To welter in his living grave;
With hearts unbent, and spirits brave,

They sternly bore
Such toils, as meaner souls had quelled;
But souls like these, such toils impelled

To soar.

Hail to the morn, when first they stood

On Bunker's height,
And, fearless, stemmed the invading flood
And wrote our dearest rights in blood,
And mowed in ranks the hireling brood

In desperate fight !

0! 'twas a proud, exulting day,
For even our fallen fortunes lay

In light.

There is no other land like thee,

No dearer shore;
Thou art the shelter of the free;
The home, the port of Liberty,
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be,

Till time is o'er.
Ere I forget to think upon
My land, shall mother curse the son

She bore.

Thou art the firm, unshaken rock,

On which we rest;
And, rising from thy hardy stock,
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock,
And Slavery's galling chains unlock,

And free the oppressed:
All, who the wreath of Freedom twine,
Beneath the shadow of their vine

Are blest.

We love thy rude and rocky shore,

And here we stand-
Let foreign navies hasten o'er,
And on our heads their fury pour,
And peal their cannon's loudest roar,

And storm our land;
They still shall find, our lives are given,
To die for home ;-and leant on Heaven,

Our hand.

LESSON CXLIX. Conclusion of a Discourse delivered at Plymouth, Mass. Dec.

22d, 1820, in commemoration of the first settlement in Nera England.-By DANIEL WEBSTER.

Let us not forget the religious character of our origin. Our fathers were brought hither by their high veneration for the Christian religion. They journeyed in its light, and lebered in its hope. They sought to incorporate its prin

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