22. Such are the particulars of a battle, which was of in calculable advantage to the infant settlements. From that period the slumbers of the cradle were no more broken by the war-whoop, and the father, when he laid his head on the pillow, no longer feared that the shouts of murderous savages would rise around the cottage.

23. The place is now almost daily visited by strangers, who, with a reverence due to departed valour, perform a pilgrimage to the spot where its highest efforts have been performed. On the shore of the pond, a sandy beach spreads out, covered with aged trees, and bounded on one side by a meadow, and terminated by an inconsiderable brook, which, being swollen, in the spring time, by the waters poured from the dissolving snows of the mountains, forms a narrow peninsula.

24. Here the small company, engaged in this celebrated and rash expedition, retreated, with the savages on their front and flank, and the waters on their right and rear, and continued the work of death, till the enemy, learning too late that the desperation of the few is mightier than the courage of the many, retired, leaving the survivors of the fight to enjoy a triumph gained by the loss of more than half their number.

25. It is not by the inconsiderable forces engaged in this battle, that we are to estimate its consequences. It should be remembered, that the Indians, irritated by a long series of injuries, and with a strong effort to stem the torrent of desolation, which was sweeping over their hopes, had dug up the hatchet, and, to the hardships of a settlement in the wilder ness, were added the horrors of a ruthless warfare.

26. The pilgrim of those days listened, in the still watches of the night, for the footfall of the invaders; the musket was the companion of his toils and of his pillow, and too often the fierce yells of unsparing foes came on the silence, and the flames rose from his dwelling, and his children were murdered, and himself carried into captivity, to expire in the tortures inflicted in the sportiveness of cruelty.

27. The defeat of a hundred was, to them, even as the slaughter of the thousands, on the blood-stained field of Waterloo, to the conqueror of Europe. It broke their spirit, and from that hour the star of the nation grew pale, till it went out in darkness.

28. When we stood upon the battle ground, the sun was just setting, and the thoughts that pressed upon the mind

were many and melancholy. He went down as calmly on the eve of that long day of carnage-the wind sighed as mournfully through the evergreens of the forest the waters curled as gently-the murmur that came on the departing twilight was as sad-and the woods waved with a motion as graceful as they now do.

29. But, then, the last rays of fading light fell on eyes that were soon to be closed in eternal darkness-the breeze mingled its solemn wail with the groans of the dying soldierthe waters rolled along, stained with the red current of life, and the trees shaded the cold corses of the slain.

30. All around was so calm and still, that it were an insult to nature to make so lovely a solitude the scene of contention, and to offer human sacrifices on the purpled altar of violence. The sounds of merriment, the rejoicing of mirth, the pleasant song, or the sprightly dance, were more in harmony with the quiet beauty of the spot, than the rude confusion of warfare, and the desolation of slaughter.

31. It was well that the floods had come, and washed the soil from the red stains, and the storms had spread out the white sands over the spot where they had fought. A hundred years have gone by, and, as yet, no monument has been raised to preserve to posterity the memory of the place of the combat.

32. The gratitude of a century has done nothing to perpetuate the names of those who have added to the inheritance of our honours. Long after the warriors had fallen, and after the eagle and the wolf had been gorged with their mortal remains, the scattered relics were gathered, and buried at the foot of an aged pine.

33. The fire has since scathed its branches, and blasted its verdure; the trunk has decayed, and each traveller carries away a fragment from its stump as a meměn'to of his visit; so that, ere long, no mark will remain to distinguish the graves of the fallen, and to warn us that we do not profane, with our footsteps, the earth which covers their lowly beds.

LESSON LI.

Battle between two Snakes: related by an American Farmer.CABINET OF CURIOSITIES.

attention 1. As I was one day sitting in my arbour, my was engaged by a strange sort of rustling noise at some paces

distant. I looked around, and, to my astonishment, I beheld two snakes, of considerable length, the one pursuing the other with great celerity through a hemp stubble-field. 2. The aggressor was of the black kind, six feet long; the fugitive was a water snake, nearly of equal dimensions. They soon met, and, in the fury of their first encounter, they appeared in an instant firmly twisted together; and, whilst their united tails beat the ground, they tried with open jaws to lacerate each other. 3. What a fell aspect did they present! Their heads were compressed to a very small size; their eyes flashed fire; and, after this conflict had lasted about five minutes, the second found means to disengage itself from the first, and hurried toward a ditch. 4. Its antagonist instantly assumed a new posture, and, half creeping and half erect, with a majestic mien, overtook and attacked the other again, which placed itself in the same attitude, and prepared to resist. 5. The scene was uncommon and beautiful; for, thus opposed, they fought with their jaws, biting each other with the utmost rage; but, notwithstanding this appearance of mutual courage and fury, the water snake still seemed desirous of retreating toward the ditch, to its natural element. 6. This was no sooner perceived by the keen-eyed black one, than, twisting its tail twice round a stalk of hemp, and seizing its adversary by the throat, not by means of its jaws, but by twisting its own neck twice round that of the watersnake, it pulled the latter back from the ditch. 7. To prevent a defeat, the water snake took hold likewise of a stalk on the bank, and, by the acquisition of that point of resistance, became a match for its fierce antagonist. 8. Strange was this to behold; two great snakes, strongly adhering to the ground, fastened together by means of the writhings which lashed them to each other, and stretched at their full length 9. They pulled, but pulled in vain; and, in the moments of their greatest exertion, that part of their bodies which was entwined seemed extremely small, while the rest appeared inflated, and now and then convulsed with strong undulations, rapidly following each other. 10. Their eyes seemed on fire, and ready to start out of their heads: at one time, the conflict seemed decided; the water snake bent itself into two great folds, and, by that operation, rendered the other more than commonly outstretched. 11. The next minute the new struggles of the black one gained an unexpected superiority; it acquired two great folds likewise, which necessarily extended the body of its adversary, in proportion as

it had contracted its own. 12. These efforts were alternate: victory seemed doubtful, inclining sometimes to the one side, and sometimes to the other; until, at last, the stalk, to which the black snake was fastened, suddenly gave way, and, in consequence of this accident, they both plunged into the ditch. 13. The water did not extinguish their vindictive rage; for, by their agitations, I could trace, though not distinguish, their mutual attacks. 14. They soon re-appeared on the surface, twisted together, as in their first onset; but the black snake seemed to retain its wonted superiority, for its head was exactly fixed above that of the other, which he incessantly pressed down under the water, until it was stifled, and sunk. 15. The victor no sooner perceived its enemy incapable of further resistance, than, abandoning it to the current, it returned on shore, and disappeared.

LESSON LII.

Saturday Afternoon.-N. P. WILLIS.*

I LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,
And my locks are not yet gray;
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
And it makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,

And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walked the world for fourscore years;
And they say that I am old,

And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death,
And my years are well nigh told.

It is very te; it is very true;

I'm old, and "I 'bide my time;"
But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on, play on; I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.

* From the Token, published Boston, 1829.