bidding adieu to his native valley, with a bursting heart, he joined
his people, who had retired to the banks of the distant Housatonac.

* * * * *

Many years passed away, and the swift and stealthy hunter had been
succeeded by the patient and industrious white cultivator. Few traces
of the Indian were remaining. The weak and irresolute--they who could
see unmoved the dwelling-places of their fathers usurped by strangers,
had found unhonoured graves in their own woods--the brave and
resolute had gone yet farther into the forest. The rotten bow and
quiver, and the rusted arrow, were frequently turned up by the plough,
and little fields of scarce the breadth of an arrow's flight disclosed
where the red man had once tasted his narrow enjoyments of home and
shelter, and these were all that marked where he had been. The bitter
persecutors of the rightful possessors of these wide-spread lands were
in possession of every fertile spot, while the Indian roved in strange
lands, a wanderer, and an outcast.

It was in the pleasant month when the birds build their nests on the
boughs of trees, that a white man, seated on the margin of the river
which swept along by the grave of the deceased maiden, saw a train of
men slowly approaching, bearing a human corpse. He crept into a
sequestered spot, and watched their progress. Approaching the little
hillock where the dust of the maiden reposed, they deposited their
load on the earth, and commenced digging a fresh grave by its side.
When it was finished, they placed the corpse in it, together with the
implements commonly buried with an Indian warrior, his bow, quiver of
arrows, spear, pipe, &c. The white man, fearing discovery, retreated,
and left them to finish their solemn labours unobserved. In the
morning, the funeral train had departed, but the fresh earth and the
low heap of stones revealed the secret. They remain there to this day,
and the two little mounds are shown by the villagers, as the graves of
the beautiful Mary and the faithful Pomperaug.

IV. THE SON OF ANNAWAN.

The son of the white man sat in his house on the border of the Indian
nations, when there came a red man to his door, leading a beautiful
woman with a little child in her arms, and spoke thus:--

"Dost thou see the sun?"

"I see the sun," answered the white man, haughtily.

"Three times," said the Indian, "has that sun risen, and thrice has he
sunk from my eyes behi