IT is peculiarly interesting in this western land, where the traces of the lately departed tribes are yet fresh around us, to consider their customs and character. From my very window, in a flourishing village on the Fox river, one of the finest streams of Illinois, I look out upon the spot that was populous with this unfortunate race, no longer than eight or ten years since. At that period but a solitary log-cabin of the white man stood on the sloping prairie at the edge of the stream; and now the banks are whitened with dwellings, and the wheels of the grist-mill and the saw-mill revolve in the rapid current. All along these fertile banks arose their bark-cabins, and over these sparkling waters glided their birchen canoes. groves around, that border the stream, were traversed by them in their hunting expeditions, and the smoke curled above their tall tops from many an Indian lodge. On the rough bark of these oaks are often discovered the traces of their hatchets; and from the high branches are still swinging the long poles, by means of which they clambered to their summits in pursuit of the bee-hive. Here and there the little hillocks heaving above the swell of the prairie, indicate the spot of their burial; but the furrowing plough will soon obliterate even these melancholy memorials of their former presence in the land.

These

The Pottowattomies, Winnebagoes, Sauks and Foxes, were the most powerful tribes who occupied the region of Illinois and Wisconsin, and it is but a very few years since they departed beyond the Mississippi in quest of a home in the far west. They were warlike and gallant tribes, and it was not without a struggle that they surrendered their lands to the stranger. The last stand made by the tribes in defence of their inheritance on the east of the Mississippi, was made by these bands in western Illinois in 1831, under the direction of their chief, Black-Hawk. They were finally overpowered and compelled to depart beyond the waters of the great stream. At the last great treaty made with them, when they were desired to dispose of all their territory to this government, they said in their speeches, that the first white man whom they knew was the Frenchman; and that he danced and smoked with them, married their squaws, lived as they lived and painted as they painted, but wanted to buy no land of them! The red-coat' came next; he gave them guns, and trinkets and blankets, ammunition, knives, traps and fine coats, but never asked them to sell their country to them. Next came the 'blue-coat,' and no sooner had he seen the country, than he wished to see a map of the whole of it, and wished the Indian to sell him all of it.

'Why,' said they, 'do you wish to add our small country to yours,

already so large! You ask us to sell our country, and wander off into the boundless regions of the west. We do not own that country, and the deer, the elk, the beaver, the buffalo and the otter now there, belong not to us and we have no right to kill them. Our wives and our children are dear to us, and so is our country, where rest in peace the bones of our ancestors. Fathers! pity a people few in numbers, who are poor and helpless. Do you want our country? Yours is larger than ours. Do you want our wigwams? You live in palaces. Do you want our horses? Yours are larger and better than ours. Do you want our women? Yours are handsomer and better dressed than ours. Why fathers, what can be your motive!'

The speeches of the Indians on many occasions, and especially when the great subject of the sale of their country was agitated, were marked with many flashes of genuine eloquence. Then would their figurative language glow with all the enthusiastic fervor, that such a theme could inspire in highly-excited, though untutored minds. The speaker in his address would recall to the minds of his auditors the glories of their ancestors when they possessed the whole wide extent of the land. The orator reminds them that their fathers ranged over every mountain and hill; hunted over every plain, passed with their canoes over every stream and lake, and cultivated the most fertile spots in the land. In the season of summer the lodges of their villages were erected along the green banks of every stream, and in the season of winter, in the thickest groves, where they might enjoy a shelter from the storm. All these places and pursuits they enjoyed in peace and serenity until the white man came.

He was at first weak and poor, a homeless stranger, begging from them a shelter from the elements, and a little land that he might raise his corn and grain, to save himself from famine. The Indian looked upon the forlorn stranger, and seeing his weak and helpless condition he had compassion upon him, and received him into his wigwam, wrapped his shivering limbs in his buffalo-skin, and appeased his hunger and thirst with food and drink. But very soon the stranger grew stronger and taller. His head reached to the skies, and his body filled the land. Many of his big canoes came to the shores from beyond the waters of the rising sun; and with them were brought engines that spoke in thunder and scattered death around them. The red-man was then compelled to flee from mountain to mountain, from valley to valley, from river to river, till at length he seated himself in the green plains by the Mississippi.

He

But even here he was not allowed to remain unmolested. was forced to surrender even this last spot of his inheritance; to pass beyond the waters of the 'Father of Waters,' and to seek a new home among the distant plains that lie around the Rocky Mountains. And even there who could predict what would be the redman's fate and destiny. Would not the warlike and hostile tribes that already possessed and hunted over those vast regions, look upon the new comers with dislike and distrust, as intruders upon their dominions, and would they not wage war upon them and drive them into the waves of the Pacific? Where then was the red-man to find

a home and a resting-place? While followed fast by the white frontiers-man, could he ever hope to enjoy a tranquil home, to pitch his tent and follow his game, and plant his maize in peace and security? Must he not be driven from river to river, from mountain to mountain, toward the setting sun, till his strength should gradually but surely fail; and his tribe diminish away till not one solitary relic of their race should remain in all the land.

Such would naturally be the strain in which the Indian orator would address the assembled tribe; and no wonder that their fiery and independent natures should be roused to action, and that they should have been often tempted to resist the overwhelming tide that was pouring over and threatening to engulph them. There can be no doubt that they were treated with every indignity, and exasperated almost to madness by the aggressions of the white settlers, who looked upon the rich and fertile lands that they possessed with covetous eyes, and scrupled to make use of no means, however harsh, to acquire them. In cases, when their lands were bargained for, and an equivalent offered to the ignorant owner for his possessions, the sums granted were in most cases vastly beneath the real value of the lands; and out of this poor remuneration they were often miserably swindled by the unprincipled beings, who usually surrounded and followed in the footsteps of the departing fugitives.

In the following lines we have attempted to express in verse the language of their latest summons to battle.

VOL. XXX.

Sound the war-slogan! Hither speed
Warriors that curb the prancing steed;
Leave your broad prairies as ye hear
The battle war-note pealing clear;
Leave the wild chase; a nobler game
Invites you to the field of fame;
Come strike the blow, heroic band!
A valiant blow for native land.

Sound the war-slogan! Swarming foes
Around our bleeding country close;
From the Ohio's stream they come,
With clanging trump and rolling drum;
With haughty flag, and bright array
Their glittering squadrons urge their way,
A thousand flashing blades are bared
That ne'er our fated race have spared.

Sound the war-slogan! Fast they pour
Like tumbling waves on ocean's shore;
From the far east their serried ranks,
Have gathered on old Hudson's banks;
From Erie's and Ontario's edge
And from the Alleghanies' ledge;
Long have they wasted with their fires
This realm of our departed sires!

Sound the war-slogan! Let us stand,
And grapple with them hand to hand,
Ambush their path in woody glade,
Waylay them in the forest shade,
Spare not with arrow and with knife;
Heed not the suppliant's prayer for life,
Strike while a drop of blood remains,
Within the struggling red-man's veins!

Sound the war-slogan! Let the fame
Of your brave fathers light a flame,
In every gallant warrior's breast
That treads these valleys of the west.
Let memories of their ancient pride
Inflame their sons as, side by side,
They gather to repel the slaves

Who fain would trample o'er their graves.

Sound the war-slogan! Ponder o'er

The golden palmy days of yore;

When by bright stream and peaceful plain
The Indian held his happy reign,
Raised his rude hut, and pitch'd his tent,
A freeman wheresoe'er he went,
Ere yet the white man's guileful art
Had stain'd the freshness of his heart.

Sound the war-slogan! Let us make
One desperate stand, one final stake;
It may be that in vain we bleed
Beneath the foeman's sword and steed;
Yet if we die, then bravely die
With lofty brow and dauntless eye,

And dying, mingle in the grave

With the dear ashes of our brave.

7

The Egyptian Letters.

NUMBER FIGHT.

LETTER TWENTY-SECOND.

FROM ABD' ALLAH OMAR, TO SEYD AHHMAD EL HAJI, CHIEF SECRETARY OF THE OKADEE AT CAIRO.

you

peo

IF have reflected, dear Ahhmad, on the character of this ple as I have represented them to you thus far in my letters, you must be struck with their numerous inconsistencies, and the apparent bizarrerie in their ideas and conduct. With all the practical good sense they lay claim to, they have the fickleness of some of the nations on the other side of the water, and fly from one thing to another with all the briskness of a Ghawzee when she dances in the Hhareem. One of the new whims of the day is a rage for what is called cheap literature.' They not only want new books at a very low price, but they are willing to take the materials books are made of, very inferior in quality. One is a natural consequence of the other when pushed to extremes. The shop-keeper at the bazaar tells you every season that his goods are cheaper than they were the last, accordingly you buy a telek, (long vest,) and induced by the lower price take a shintyan, (pair of trousers,) all at about twenty per cent. reduction, and go home well pleased. After a little wear of your new garments you find them about forty per cent. inferior to your former purchases. It is the same with books; it is true they were formerly too dear, yet now they are too cheap; or rather, the reduction falls on the wrong part - the matter.

The number of new works put forth is astonishingly great, and they seem to be on the increase, for it is said the Americans are a reading people, and must have cheap literature, that all may become equally learned. Writers are occupied night and day in supplying this want; and they boast of being public benefactors by the abundant materials they give, to satisfy what is called the literary propensities of the community. If their works are to be taken as current coin, then the nation must be willing to deal in base metal, which enricheth not.

The number of readers is no doubt increased by the increased number of publications and the great facility of obtaining them ; but it is more than doubtful whether these two advantages are not in many cases rendered nugatory, or even changed to harm, by the kind of works that are every day put within reach of those who have not the power of discriminating the good from the bad. The laborer who can spare a few pence, buys the first book the title of which strikes his fancy: he may be seen catching moments of leisure when he gleans something from it; it does him but little