and deeds of the olden time. The heights on both sides of the valley above, open here and there, and show you glimpses of a chain of blue mountains far off in the interior; below, the landscape lies stretched out at your feet, fresh and verdant-masses of thick forest, dark rocky dells, bright patches of smooth grassy pasture, and fields waving with tall green maize. Here and there rises a rocky peak, covered with a thick mantle of dark pines, or a smoothly-swelling hill lifts its sunny head amid clumps of wood, and the scored, chequered, and dotted variegations of the farmer's garden and orchard. The river, in its meanderings, bursts upon you at once, seeming to spring out of the earth at the foot of a rocky promontory, a mile or two distant; and, winding indistinctly among the trees, sweeps round a long tongue of flat meadow, and then glides, in a smooth and clear current, along the base of the hill at your feet. Your eye follows the bright course of the stream down the valley, till it rests upon the spire of a little town near its mouth. Here it makes an abrupt turn; and the view is terminated by the white sand-hills of the shore, and the blue rim of the distant ocean.

This, I have said, is a very quiet place; it is an out-of-the-way spot -a nook-and-corner seclusion, which nobody ever visits who does not belong there. No traveller has told tales about it; no railroad or canal has made it mart or thoroughfare; there is not even the modern improvement of a turnpike within the precincts of the town, whose jurisdiction extends over the greater part of the territory I have described. The inhabitants have a rustical and primitive simplicity of character, well agreeing with the place of their residence, and breathing a strong relish of the days of three-cornered hats. They keep Saturday night. in the strict old pilgrim way; think a great deal of deacons; sing psalms in the genuine New England read-a-line-and-sing-a-line fashion; and make it a point to plant their potatoes in the same holes where their fathers, and grandfathers, and great-grandfathers did the same before them.

A traveller who should suddenly come upon this spot in his rambles through the land, would be convinced at first sight that he had got into a genuine old-times community-something that smacked of the very classical age of New England antiquity. Nothing meets the eye that does not show somewhat of the calm of long-standing habits and the rust of years. The town is nothing like its neighbours, which are clusters of snug, smart edifices, as bright as paint and whitewash can make them. The houses here look quaint, dingy, and pathetic withal -such sprawling old structures as have been out of fashion a hundred years: they are venerably black with time; and the most of them so rickety, as to be saved from falling only by the enormous chimney in the centre, which is commonly half as big as the house itself. They all front to the south-for the old settlers were fond of sunshine; and the roofs come sloping down in the rear almost to the ground, as a means of avoiding the full brunt and direct force of the northerly storms of winter, that blew so terribly in ancient times, before winds, like everything else, had degenerated. Clumps of tall sunflowers grow under the windows; the old Scandinavian well-sweep stretches out its long arms before the door; and enormous elms overshadow house and yard, and swing their pendulous branches across the road that passes by.

The road, too, has nothing of the direct, straightforward, hurrying character of these stage-driving times; it goes winding and zigzagging up and down the land, as if it meant never to lead you out of it. The fields and pastures exhibit nought of the thrifty trimness of modern agriculture; their stone walls are dilapidated and moss-grown; and the foot-paths run among thickets and tangling vines. The old grave-yard shows you stones whose ancient date and mossy covering carry your thoughts back to the venerable past; the cattle seem to go to pasture with a more leisurely and quiet air than quadrupeds elsewhere; the geese that straggle over the green have a decided pococurante look; and the very smoke appears to curl up from the chimney-tops with a slower and easier motion than in the towns round about;—in short, everything breathes an uncommon air of stillness and repose,

"It is, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;

And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with Spring, with Summer half imbrown'd,
A listless climate makes, where, sooth to say,
Ne living wight can work, ne careth e'en for play."

I never cast my eyes over this "pleasing land of drowsyhed" without imagining myself transported a century and a half backward, like Corporal Trim's giants, out of all harm's way of modern matter of fact. The red-bird waves his brilliant wing among the green boughs in as undisturbed a possession of his leafy solitude as in the quiet times of yore; the crickets and catadeds chirp, methinks, in a cadence marvellously resembling the tune of Old Hundred; I see in the demure countenances and quaint homespun attire of the plodding villagers a living and breathing image of the old Puritans; and I know nothing in nature which can produce a stronger impression of the peaceful repose of patriarchal times, than to stand upon a sunny height, overlooking the little dell that embosoms the village, on a Sunday morning, and hear the Sabbath bell, as its clear tones come swinging slowly through the still air. There is, in fact, hardly such another place in the country; and many people are puzzled to account for the quiet, stationary life led by the noiseless race who vegetate in this queer corner of the laud, while all around them are in a bustle of thriving improvement, chopping down the trees, building enormous new houses, damming the rivers for factories, founding lyceums and colleges, and going a-head with steamengines and the march of intellect. True antiquaries, however, are of opinion that this is owing to the genius loci: there is a spell about the spot-a hallowing charm-which dooms it to remain a special remembrance of the days of the Red Men. This valley was once the seat of empire of a powerful tribe of aborigines: here they lingered to the last man; and here a remarkable circumstance, peculiar to the place, had given rise to one of the strangest superstitions of their religion. It is this circumstance to which allusion is made in the title of this paper; and which, though it may be called in question by matter-offact people, yet I make no hesitation in setting forth in my narrative, just as I received it, my informant being a genuine Indian antiquary, which is saying enough to guarantee his correctness.

The dwellers upon this spot have been from time to time, and at uncertain intervals of many years, greeted with the apparition of a strange

sight in the sky. On a clear and serene day in autumn, late in the afternoon, there has appeared in the east the figure of a bright green island, with its woods and mountains resting upon the blue waters of the distant horizon. Whether this phenomenon was caused by that sort of oceanic mirage with which seamen are familiar, and which elevates into view objects far distant and out of sight, beyond the curvature of the earth's surface, or whether it owed its existence to some reflection or shadow from the mountains in the interior, is not known; but the appearance of the island was so distinct, that no one could doubt, on beholding it, that it could be anything but veritable terra firma. It is said that, on its first appearance after the settlers from Boston had taken up their abode here, the inhabitants put off in their boats to explore the newly-discovered land, imagining that it had been hitherto concealed by clouds and fog; that a thunder-storm arose, and sunk the whole embarkation, just as they found themselves fairly out at sea. Το add to the marvel of this incident, it is affirmed that, at the time of its occurrence, the Indians were holding a grand powow, or religious festival, on one of the hills looking toward the sea; and the belief was very strong among the settlers that the thunder-storm was raised in consequence of their invocations to the devil at this diabolical assemblage, for the express purpose of drowning their Christian neighbours. Certain it is that no white man was ever able, either on that or on any subsequent occasion, to approach near the island in question. Sometimes the land would appear to fly before them as fast as they approached it; sometimes it remained stationary, till they had arrived so near that they began to sound for bottom with their boat-hooks, when suddenly the sun would sink, and leave them in darkness, so that they immediately lost sight of the island. But on all occasions when they embarked on this voyage, they were sure to encounter storms and violent gusts of wind, which hindered their return, and threw them into great danger. At last, nobody thought of venturing forth when it made its appearance; and this magical spot of land, which stood still enough to a spectator, yet fled from all pursuers, got the name of the Flying Island.

But though this phenomenon was contemplated with a sort of terror and aversion by the white men, who believed it to be a piece of pagan witchcraft, got up by the joint machinations of Hobbamocko and Beelzebub, for the purpose of decoying Christian folks into the dangers of the deep, by the tempting show of a fool's paradise, yet it was looked upon by the natives with far different feelings. The Flying Island was, in their belief, the abode of the blessed-the Elysian spot to which the brave and heroic were transported after death,—that

in which unending joys were to be the reward of the toils and privations and sufferings that attend the career of all who demean themselves nobly and courageously in this life. The occasional apparition of this favoured spot was an act of beneficence on the part of the Great Spirit, who greeted his faithful children from time to time with a glimpse of the golden land, in earnest of the reality of the enjoyments in store for them, and as an incitement to prompt them to great deeds. This belief formed the strongest article in their creed; and the most unwearied

efforts of the missionaries could never in the least unsettle it. This was too pleasant a persuasion to be parted with easily; and how could the untutored savage be reasoned out of it, when he had so visible a proof in its favour before his own eyes?

Rough and ferocious as these people were in real life, their system of ideal happiness embraced nought but scenes of peace and gentleness. The Indian paradise was a picture of almost Arcadian felicity. To chase the deer over the verdant lawn, to fish in golden streams, to repose on beds of ever-blooming flowers, to bathe in the sparkling waters among groves of coral,-these were the fervent aspirations of a people whose life was passed in acts of carnage and rapine. Do not the natural tendencies of all men, however violent and sanguinary their manners may become, lie towards harmony? and is it to the mere force of circumstances that all human depravities are owing? The savage, in the midst of his plundering and devastation, sighs for an Eden where each one may tranquilly enjoy his own. He riots in the slaughter of his enemies here; but looks only for the calm delights of peace and sociality in a blessed hereafter. He does deeds of bloody vengeance; but the fairy land of his imagination and desire breathes only the spirit of innocence. He is a brutal barbarian when entangled among the obstinate perversities of real life; but a gentle and beneficent being when he dreams of shell-bright bowers beyond the sun. Hence the appearance of the Flying Island was welcomed with unbounded acclamations by all the red men; and this part of the coast being the only portion of the country from which it had ever been seen, it became their favourite abode. Year after year, as their various communities disappeared from other parts of the land before the gradual encroachment of the whites, they still lurked in great numbers in this hallowed spot; and there are eyes yet looking upon the light that have seen the smoke curling up from a score of wigwams on the bank of the river, directly opposite the modern town. Somewhat fortunately for the savages, the settlers in this part were of a less active and pushing character than most of their contemporaries; so that this decaying remnant of the ancient lords of the soil experienced less molestation than would have been the case had their longing, lingering looks" been cast upon some other parts of their father-land. But nothing could avert their ultimate fate;-their numbers became small; their ancient hunting-grounds, back in the country, were occupied by the whites; the red deer had fled from the shores into the lofty mountains of the interior; their ancient and powerful allies in the neighbourhood had been exterminated; and they found themselves reduced to a mere handful, with the certain prospect of a speedy and utter extinction.

In spite of all this, nothing could wean them from their old habits and their old superstitions. All practicable efforts were made to improve their moral and social condition; but in vain. No schemes nor inducements could make them thrifty cultivators or reasonable Christians. "As our fathers were, so will we be," was their invariable reply to all such as exhorted them to abandon their pagan and vagabond life. They continued to dwell in rude wigwams of bark, to wear mocassins and blankets, to paint their faces and stick feathers in their heads, to paddle about in birch-canoes, and to spear salmon and dig clams for their food

from day to day. As their numbers thinned off, they removed farther down the valley, apparently with a view to get as far as possible out of the sight of the race of men who had expelled them from their ancient strongholds and pleasant hunting-grounds. They could no longer hunt the moose and the red deer; but they could still chase the sea-bird as he skimmed along the sparkling sand-beach; toss their light canoes among the foam of the leaping breakers; bathe in the glassy brine of the creeks and rocky coves: and behold the "deep's untrampled floor," sparkling with bright pearl-shells and silken sea-grass. Here, also, they were nearer the locality of that bright and alluring vision which all panted once more to behold. The several stages of their progress in making these removals from the interior to the coast may still be remarked, from the heaps of shells which gather around them at every encampment. One seems to be reading so many pages in their history as he contemplates these piles, now whitening in the sun, and marking a line from the great falls at the upper end of the valley, where they caught the fat salmon, and tilled the maize-fields in their high and palmy state, down to the bleak and barren shore of the sea that swallows up the last record of their existence.

In

Now and then, one of them might be encountered at a distance from home, gliding like a ghost among the dark woods, "making night hideous," or frightening the children of some lonely farm-house, who were not familiar with the appearance of the "horrible tawnys." deed, the sight of one of these people was enough to startle any man at the first glance; his livid copper complexion-his long elf-locks of raven-black hair-his intensely-dark, piercing eye-his bony, sinisterlooking countenance-his uncouth gait-his strange, slovenly attire of tawdry finery, all were calculated to produce the momentary impression that such a being could not belong to this world. These prowlings, however, were rare; they gave no molestation to the white people, and seldom entered their houses, except to light their pipes on their wayfaring. Gradually they ceased to wander from home; all their habitations clustered about the main encampment on the river; and the whole race became as much forgotten out of this immediate neighbourhood as the black bears and catamounts, who used to lurk about these parts in company with the tawny heathen, till the old settlers drove them from the land. Fire after fire went out among them-man by man dropped off-till at length but a single one was left alive.

If before it had excited the sympathy and commiseration of all spectators to witness the thinning away of this small remnant of an ancient and powerful tribe, how much was added to the intensity of this feeling when all had perished, save one! and that individual centred in himself, in his lonely desolation, all the glory and history of his tribe. Samoset (for that was his name) was a descendant of the ancient Sachems; he had a memory full of old traditions, and cherished a fond and vivid remembrance of the deeds of old, and the days of the red men's glory, when the smoke of a thousand wigwams rose up from the dark woods of the valley, and his chieftain ancestor suffered not the grass to grow upon the war-path. He had ever been of a sober and taciturn cast, like all his race; but after being thus left alone in the world, he became more shy and reserved than ever. He was very old-of an age at which