he full costume which he
wore on the occasion of some great festival of his tribe.

"Almost from the beginning of this interesting fete, our
attention had been attracted to a young man, who seemed to be
the leader or partisan of the warriors. He was about
twenty-three years of age, of the finest form, tall, muscular,
exceedingly graceful, and of a most prepossessing countenance.
His head-dress, of war-eagles' feathers, descended in a double
series upon his back, like wings, down to his saddle-croup; his
shield was highly decorated, and his long lance by a plaited
casing of red and blue cloth. On enquiring of the interpreter,
our admiration was augmented by learning that he was no other
than Petalesharro, with whose name and character we were
already familiar. He is the most intrepid warrior of the
nation, the eldest son of Letalashaw, and destined, as well by
mental and physical qualifications, as by his distinguished
birth, to be the future leader of his people."

Petalesharro visited Washington in 1821, where his fine figure
and countenance, and his splendid costume attracted every eye.
But there was that in his history and character, which had gone
before him, that secured for him a worthier homage than that of
the eye. His act of generous chivalry to the Itean captive was
the theme of every tongue. The ladies of the city caused an
appropriate medal to be prepared, commemorating the noble deed,
and presented it to him, in the presence of a large assemblage
of people, who took a lively interest in the ceremony. In reply
to their complimentary address, the brave young warrior
modestly said--"My heart is glad. The white woman has heard
what I did for the captive maid, and they love me, and speak
well of me, for doing it. I thought but little of it before. It
came from my heart, as the breath from my body. I did not know
that any one would think better of me for that. But now I am
glad. For it is a good thing to be praised by those, who only
praise that which is good."

TULA,

OR

THE HERMITESS OF ATHABASCA.

I thought to be alone. It might not be!
There is no solitude in thy domains,
Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast,
He locks his joys, and bars out others' grief.

TULA.

~Death is not all--
Not half the agony we suffer here:
The cup of lif