stained with rosy light. Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames a fiery sword; and a broad band passes athwart the heavens, like a summer sunset.

Soft, purple clouds come sailing over the sky, and through their vapory folds the winking stars shine white as silver. With such pomp as this is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a single star heralded the first Christmas. And in memory of that day the Swedish peasants dance on straw; and the peasant girls throw straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for every one that sticks in a crack shall a groomsman come to their wedding.

And now the glad, leafy midsummer, full of blossoms and the song of nightingales, is come! Saint John has taken the flowers and festival of heathen Balder; and in every village there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths, and roses, and ribbons, streaming in the wind, and a noisy weathercock on top, to tell the village whence the wind cometh and whither it goeth.

The sun does not set till ten o'clock at night; and the children are at play in the streets an hour later. The windows and doors are all open, and you may sit and read till midnight without a candle. O, how beautiful is the summer night which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long, mild twilight, which, ike a silver clasp, unites to-day with yesterday! How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!

From the church tower in the public square the bell tolls the hour, with a soft, musical chime; and the watchman whose watchtower is the belfry, blows a blast in his horn for each stroke of the hammer; and four times to the four corners of the heavens, in a sonorous voice, he chants,

"Ho! watchman, ho!

Twelve is the clock!

God keep our town

From fire and brand

And hostile hand!

Twelve is the clock!"

From his swallow's nest in the belfry he can see the sun all night long; and farther north the priest stands at his door in the warm midnight, and lights his pipe with a common burning-glass.

LONGFELLOW.

PRIMEVAL; such as was at first, original. HEIRLOOM; any furniture, or movable, that by law descends to the heir with the house or freehold. UNCOUTH; odd, strange, unusual. BROADCAST; among farmers, seed scattered or thrown at large from the hand, instead of being planted in rows or hills.

SPEAK GENTLY.

BETTER FAR; sound the r. HARSH, hârsh; sound rsh.

WORDS;

sound rdz. HEARTS, harts; sound rts. ACCENTS; sound nts. SANDS; sound ndz.

Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,
'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one;
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run;
Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor,
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word.

Speak gently to the erring; know
They must have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so,
O, win them back again.

Speak gently; He who gave his life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were fierce with strife,
Said to them, "Peace, be still."

Speak gently; 'tis a little thing

Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, which it may bring
Eternity shall tell.

HARSH; severe, rough to the ear. MAR; injure, hurt, deface. ERR ING; wandering, liable to err, going astray. TOILED; labored, worked. STUBBORN; headstrong, unyielding. ELEMENTS; first or constituent principles of any thing. Earth, air, water, and fire, are called the four elements

THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.

SINCE; do not give i the sound of e. PERMIT; er as in her, not pummit. PRESENCE; short e, not u. MINDS; sound ndz. RULES; u, preceded by r in the same syllable, has the sound of oo as in boot.

THE politeness of the savages in conversation is, indeed, carried to excess, since it does not permit them to contradict or deny any thing which is asserted in their presence. By this means they indeed avoid disputes; but then it becomes difficult to know their minds, or what impression you make upon them.

The missionaries who have attempted to convert them to Christianity all complain of this as one of the greatest difficulties of their mission. The Indians hear with patience the truths of the gospel explained to them, and give their usual tokens of assent or approbation; you would think they were convinced. No such matter- it is mere civility.

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as

When any of them come into our towns, our people are apt to crowd round them, gaze upon them, and incommode them where they desire to be private: this they esteem great rudeness, and the effect of want of instruction in the rules of civility and good manners. "We have," say they, much curiosity as you; and when you come into our towns, we wish for opportunities of looking at you; but for this purpose, we hide ourselves behind bushes where you are to pass, and never intrude ourselves into your company."

Their manner of entering one another's villages has likewise its rules. It is reckoned uncivil, in travelling, for strangers to enter a village abruptly, without giving notice of their approach. Therefore, as soon as they arrive within hearing, they stop and halloo, remaining there till invited Two old men usually come out to them, and lead

to enter.

them in.

There is, in every village, a vacant dwelling, called the

stranger's house. Here they are placed while the old men go round from hut to hut, acquainting the inhabitants that strangers have arrived, who are probably hungry and weary ; and every one sends them what they can spare of victuals, and skins to repose on. When the strangers are refreshed pipes and tobacco are brought; and then — not before — con versation begins, with inquiries who they are, whither bound what news, &c.; and it usually ends with offers of service if the strangers have occasion for guides, or any necessarie for continuing their journey; and nothing is exacted for the entertainment.

The same hospitality, esteemed among them as a prin cipal virtue, is practised by private persons, of which Conrad Weiser, our interpreter, gave me the following instance. He had been naturalized among the Six Nations, and spoke well the Mohawk language. In going through the Indian country, to carry a message from our governor to the council at Onondaga, he called at the habitation of Canasetego, an old acquaintance, who embraced him, spread furs for him to sit on, and placed before him some boiled beans and venison.

When he was well refreshed, and had lit his pipe, Canasetego began to converse with him; asked him how he had fared the many years since they had seen each other, whence he then came, what occasioned the journey, &c., &c. Conrad answered all his questions; and, when the discourse began to flag, the Indian, to continue it, said, "Conrad, you have lived long among the white people, and know something of their customs. I have been sometimes at Albany, and have observed that once in seven days they snut up their shops, and assemble all in the great house: tell me, what is it for?"

"They meet there," said Conrad, "to hear and learn good things." "I do not doubt," said the Indian," that they tell you so; they have told me the same; but I doubt the truth of what they say: I will tell you my reasons.