of honor.

But I was now obliged to depart, and to give up all hopes of ever again
seeing my beautiful Princess Apotheola. My only chance of a guide
through the wilderness would have been lost had I delayed. So I
reluctantly mounted my pony; and I left the Indians of Tuckabatchie and
their Green-Corn Festival, and their beautiful Princess Apotheola.

* * * * *

It was a great gratification to me to have seen this festival; with my
own eyes to have witnessed the Indians in their own nation, with my own
ears to have heard them in their own language. Nor was it any diminution
of the interest of the spectacle to reflect that this ceremony, so
precious to them, was now probably performing in the land of their
forefathers for the last, last time. I never beheld more intense
devotion; and the spirit of the forms was a right and a religious one.
It was beginning the year with fasting, with humility, with
purification, with prayer, with gratitude. It was burying animosities,
while it was strengthening courage. It was pausing to give thanks to
Heaven, before daring to partake its beneficence. It was strange to see
this, too, in the midst of my own land; to travel, in the course of a
regular journey in the New World, among the living evidences of one, it
may be, older than what we call the Old World;--the religion, and the
people, and the associations of the untraceable past, in the very heart
of the most recent portion of the most recent people upon earth. And it
was a melancholy reflection for ourselves, that, comparing the majority
of the white and red assemblage there, the barbarian should be so
infinitely the more civilized and the more interesting of the two.

ROSIN THE BOW.

A FANTASIA.

In Paris, a famous city in France,
That lies by the banks of the sluggish Seine,
Where you and I may never have been,
But which we know all about in advance;--
A place of wild and wicked romance,
A place where they gamble, and fiddle and dance,
And the slowest coach has always a chance
To get put over the road, I ween,
Where women are naughty, and men are gay,
And the suicides number a dozen a day,
And one of the gallant _jeunesse doree_
Will spend the night at prodigious play,
And in the morning go out and slay
His bosom friend with a rapier keen,
Because he loses and cannot pay,--
Lived a nice young man named DIDIER.

This nice young man had