pressive, and insulting. They seldom treat them with that confidence and frankness which are indispensable to real friendship; nor is sufficient caution observed not to offend against those feelings of pride or superstition, which often prompt the Indian to hostility quicker than mere considerations of interest.

The solitary savage feels silently, but acutely. His sensibilities are not diffused over so wide a surface as those of the white man; but they run in steadier and deeper channels. His pride, his affections, his superstitions, are all directed towards fewer objects; but the wounds inflicted on them, are proportionately severe, and furnish motives of hostility which we cannot sufficiently appre

ciate.

Where community is also limited in number, and forms one great patriarchal family, as in an Indian tribe, the injury of an individual, is the injury of the whole; and the sentiment of vengeace is almost instantaneously diffused. One council-fire is sufficient for the discussion and arrangement of a plan of hostilities. Here, all the fighting men and sages assemble. Eloquence and superstition combine to inflame the minds of the warriors. The orator awakens their martial ardor, and they are wrought up to a kind of religious desperation by the visions of the prophet and the dreamer.

THE MOUNTAINEERS OF CALABRIA.

THE fierce brigands of Calabria, are notorious for the audacity of their deeds. Desirous of a little more accurate information on the character of the outlaws of this part of Italy, we turned to the letters of Paul Louis Courier, whose works are little known in this country. Our readers may be interested by the following little story, which we translate for their edification. The author is writing to his cousin:

I was one day travelling in Calabria. It is a country of wicked people, who, I believe, have no great liking to any body, and are particularly ill-disposed towards the French. To tell you why, would be a long affair. It is enough that they hate us to death, and that the unhappy

being who should chance to fall into their hands, would not pass his time in the most agreeable manner. I had for my companion a fine young fellow. I do not say this to interest you-but because it is the truth. In these mountains, the roads are precipices, and our horses got on with the greatest difficulty. My comrade going first, a track, which appeared to him more practicable and shorter than the regular path, led us astray. It was my fault. Ought I to have trusted to a head of twenty years? We sought our way out of the wood, while it was yet light; but the more we looked for the path, the farther we were off it. It was a very black night, when we came close upon a very black house. We went in, and not without suspicion. But what was to be done. There we found a whole family of charcoal burners at table. At the first word they invited us to join them. My young man did not stop for much ceremony. In a minute or two we were eating and drinking in right earnest-he at least:-for my own part, I could not help glancing about at the place and the people. Our hosts, indeed, looked like charcoal burners; but the house!-you would have taken it for an arsenal. There was nothing to be seen but muskets, pistols, sabres, knives, cutlasses. Every thing displeased me, and I saw that I was in no favor myself. My comrade, on the contrary, was soon one of the family. He laughed, he chatted with them; and with an imprudence which I ought to have prevented, he at once said where we came from, where we were going, that we were Frenchmen. Think of our situation. Here we were, amongst our mortal enemies, alone, benighted, far from all human aid. That nothing might be omitted that could tend to destroy us, he must play the rich man, forsooth, promising these folks to pay them well for their hospitality; and then he must prate about his portmanteau, earnestly beseeching them to take great care of it, and put it at the head of his bed, for he wanted no other pillow. Ah, youth, youth, how you are to be pitied! Cousin, they might have thought we carried the diamonds of the crown: the treasure in his portmanteau, which gave him so much anxiety, consisted of his letters, the journal of his travels, and such like trash.

Supper ended, they left us. Our hosts slept below; we on the story where we had been eating. In a sort of plat

form raised seven or eight feet, where we were to mount by a ladder, was the bed that awaited us-a nest into which we had to introduce ourselves, by jumping over barrels, filled with provisions for all the year. My comrade seized upon the bed above, and was soon fast asleep, with his head upon the precious portmanteau. I was determined to keep awake, so I made a good fire, and sat myself down. The night was almost passed over tranquilly enough, and I was beginning to be comfortable, when, just at the time when it appeared to me that day was about to break, I heard our host and his wife talking and disputing below me:-and putting my ear into the chimney, which communicated with the lower room, I perfectly distinguished these exact words of the husband: "Well, well, let us see:—must we kill them both?" To which the wife replied “Yes,”—and I heard no more.

How shall I tell you the rest? I could scarcely breathe: my whole body was as cold as marble; to have seen me, you could not have told whether I was dead or alive. Heavens! when I yet think upon it! We two were almost without arms;-against us were twelve or fifteen who had plenty of weapons. And then my comrade dead of sleep and fatigue! To call him up, to make a noise, was more than I dared;-to escape alone was an impossibility. The window was not very high-but under it were two great dogs howling like wolves. Imagine if you can, the distress I was in. At the end of a quarter of an hour, which seemed an age, I heard some one on the staircase, and through the chink of the door I saw the old man, with a lamp in one hand and one of his great knives in the other. He mounted, his wife after him; I was behind the door. He opened it; but before he came in, he put down the lamp, which his wife took up, and coming in, with his feet naked, she being behind him said in a smothered voice, hiding the light partially with her fingers, Gently, go gently. When he reached the ladder he mounted, his knife between his teeth; and going to the head of the bed where that poor young man lay, with his throat uncovered, with one hand he took his knife, and with the other-ah, my cousin he seized a ham which hung from the roof, cut a slice, and retired as he had come in. The door is re-shut, the light vanishes, and I am left alone to my reflections.

When the day appeared, all the family, with a great noise came to rouse us, as we had desired. They brought us plenty to eat they served us a very proper breakfast, a capital breakfast, I assure you. Two capons formed

a part of it, of which, said the hostess, you must eat one, and carry away the other. When I saw the capons I at once comprehended the meaning of those terrible words Must we kill them both?

THE SWISS.

No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword;
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly sues the the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm,
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.

Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small,
He sees his little lot, the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
To shame the meanness of his humble shed;
No costly lord, the sumptuous banquet deal,
To make him loathe his vegetable meal:
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep;
Or seeks the den, where snow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling savage into day.

At night returning, every labor sped,
He sits him down the monarch of a shed;
Smiles by his cheerful fire and round surveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board:
And haply, too, some pilgrim thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart;
And even those hills that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies:
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast;
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

A VILLAGE.

THERE is a village in New England, remarkable for its pleasant and cheerful aspect. Every person who rides through it is delighted; and the place has such a reputation, that the land is worth more, and the houses will sell for more, than in almost any other place of the kind you can name. And this all arises from the good taste, neatness, and order, which characterize the inhabitants. I give you a view of the house belonging to Capt. John Pepperidge; a careful, correct, upright man, who has risen from poverty to ease and competence by industry, economy, and prudence.

His house stands three or four rods back from the street; the front yard is green and grassy, and decorated with fruit trees. The wood pile is fenced in; the barn yard, pig pen, &c. are also tidily fenced. It is a maxim of Pepperidge's that there should be a place for every thing and that every thing should be in its place. This is his great maxim; and he not only observes it himself, but he requires every man, woman and child, about him, to observe it also. He says it saves him one hundred dollars a year.

He has other rules, such as a stitch in time, saves nine; and so soon as a stone falls off the wall, he puts it up; when a rail gets out of the fence, he replaces it; when a gate is broken, it is forthwith repaired; if a clapboard is loose, a nail clenches it. Thus matters are kept tight and tidy. Of a wet day, instead of going to the tavern, he spends the time in making little repairs. At odd moments