tide turned, and one night Ralph Hiller rushed out madly from the gambling saloon, for he was in debt five hundred dollars. A few days of unmitigated misery went by, and the wretched youth discovered there was no method of escaping detection but by defraying this debt. There was but one way to do this. "It will not be robbery," whispered the tempter in Ralph Hiller's ear, for you can win back the money and refund it to your uncle. But he was not so successful as he had anticipated, and the theft was discovered. For the sake of both families Ralph's uncle would not give his nephew's crime publicity, but accompanied him home and there revealed to his horrified parents the deed their son had committed. Stung to incipient madness by the stern reproaches of his father, Ralph Hiller refused to solicit even the forgiveness of his uncle. There was a fearful scene that fair June morning in the parlor of the parsonage, with the harsh commands of the father, the vehement refusals of the son, added to the tears of the distracted mother, and those of the little Maggie. At last, finding his son inflexible, parson Hiller spoke clear and slow, "Ralph, yield at once to my commands or go out of that door no longer a child of mine!" And Ralph went. "Sir, is there no hope?" and the sick man turned and fastened his eyes with such wild appealing eagerness on the physician that his heart was strangely touched. The doctor shook his head sadly. "My dear sir, it would only be cruel kindness to deceive you now. You probably can not live a fortnight." The invalid turned with a low moan upon his couch, and the doctor went out softly. There were two other occupants of the small, illy-furuished chamber, whose every adjustment betrayed the absence of a woman's harmonizing taste, and these were a boy and girl: he could hardly have reached his seventh year, and four summers had just braided their light in the golden hair that fell rich and bright as a sunset cloud over her brother's lap, for the child was sleeping. But the boy had listened to every word the doctor had spoken; and if you had seen the quivering of the little fellow's lips, or the tears dashing over his dark eyes, you would have known he felt it, too. "Papa, papa, did the doctor say you must die?" The voice was very mournful, and the little fingers gently pulled away those of the sick man from his face. Yes, Walter. O my children! my children!" "Don't, there, please don't, papa. It frightens me so to see a great man cry. If mamma was only alive, or if I was only bigger and could take care of Mary; but she's so little, you know, papa, and I'm hardly seven, I can't do any thing to help her." He said it very mournfully, with the tears trickling down his cheeks. "Papa, papa!" and the lips were brought nearer the averted face of the sick man, "can't you take us with you? I shan't want to stay behind when you're gone, and sister won't, either. You an't got any body to leave us to, you know, and mamma's there, and I want to go with you." Suddenly the sick man sprang up in his bed, the hectic burned in his hollow cheek, and his eyes seemed to his child like two flames of fire. "Yes, I have got somebody with whom to leave you, my poor child," and he wound his arms round the boy. "They're a long, long way from here, and you've never heard their names, Walter; but though they have cursed the father, they'll be very tender to his motherless children. They didn't curse me, though. It was only he that said it, and I should have gone back long ago if the thought that she was lying under the grass and I had placed her there hadn't withheld me. But it shall no longer. O, thank God, thank God, there is somebody with whom I can leave you!" Poor Ralph Hiller! The world had not dealt very kindly with him since he went out from his home, with the curse of the "disobedient" on his head. He was a young man yet, but he had laid his gentle wife in the grave two years before. Financial embarrassment had succeeded her death, and a sudden revolution in his mercantile vicinity had stripped him of all his possessions. Sickness, the result partly of anxiety and disappointment, partly that of constitutional infirmity, succeeded, and so Ralph Hiller was dying. me now, and if you ever get there" the words died on the man's lips, and he sank senseless upon the pile of withered leaves which the winter wind had heaped under the tree. It was a bitter cold night, with the stars lying in cold, shining rifts about the sky, and the winds holding high festivals along the shores of the distant Hudson. too, and for a moment he felt tempted to comply with the child's request, but the thought of his father roused him again. There was but one method which could induce the child to proceed, and Walter knew well that the little fainting heart in that benumbed frame was very warm with love for him, and rubbing the cold hands with all his might he said sorrowfully, "And so, Mary, you will leave Walter to go all that long way alone. It will seem a great deal longer, and he will cry all the time, now papa has gone, and Mary has left him, too. Won't you go for my sake, little sister?" The blue, closing eyes opened again. Two or three sobs broke over the child's lips, but betwixt them she whispered, "Kiss me twice, Wally, and "Wally, wake up papa, wake him up," sobbed little Mary Hiller, who stood watching her prostrate parent, with both hands wrapped in her brother's, "he'll get cold going to sleep there." "He isn't asleep," said the boy sadly. "O, if there was only somebody here!" and he looked round wistfully on the woods which lay dark and barren all about him. There was no help; he could see the lights from the distant village twinkling like stars through the night, and he'll try." And Walter pressed his lips, not twice must find his way to them as best he could. or thrice to the blue ones of his sister, and wrap"Come with me, sister," he said, turning bravely ping her hands tightly in his own they recomto the child, "we'll walk fast, and that'll keep us menced their journey. warm, you know. Keep your shawl tight round you. Now come," and the boy drew her gently onward. But, as I said, the night was very bitter, and the little one's limbs were very weary and benumbed with cold, and it seemed almost as if the angels' loving eyes must have grown dim with tears as they looked down on those children the road was so long, and cold, and dreary. "Wally, Wally, I can't go any farther; I'm so tired and cold," and the great tears were frozen on the little creature's cheeks. "I want to lie down and go to sleep." The tender feet had pattered along bravely for awhile by the side of Walter, but the child's steps had grown slower and feebler till at last they had come to a full stop in the road, some mile and a half from the "house on the hill." "No, no, little Mary don't want to go to sleep here on the ground where it is so hard and cold. Perhaps they'll have a nice bed when we get up to that house, you know. Just see how it's all lighted up, and how warm 'twill be when we get there. Come, I won't walk so fast, that's a good girl." “I can't, Wally, I can't. My feet are so heavy they won't move, and my fingers ache so at the ends; just as if somebody was bitin' 'em. "Please let me lie down, Wally, and you can put your arms round me, and I can go to sleep just as well as I could in the cradle at home;" for the intense cold was beginning to induce that lethargy which would have proven too fatal to the child. In after years, when Walter looked down on that night, he would say it seemed little short of a miracle to him, how that last mile and a half was accomplished. Ah! the boy could not see that an angel went before him and led the way. The severity of the weather had in no wise lessened the gathering at parson Hiller's that evening. Both the parlors were opened for the occasion, for the old and the young were assembled under the beloved roof, and the low hum of many voices mingled musically with the loud crackling of the huge logs in the chimneys. O they were a happy company! You could have told that by the smiles on every face; by the light in the eyes of all into which your own would have looked. "Now, Miss Maggie, I've got hold of you a minute while they're setting the table, and I want you just to peep in here," cried Hannah, who reigned sole mistress of the culinary realm, drawing our heroine into a large, old-fashioned pantry. "There," she said, aiding the effect of her remarks by emphatic punches in her auditor's ribs and sides, "did you ever in your born days, Miss Maggie, see the like o' this! Three barrels o' flour, two whole cheeses, three firkins o' the very best butter, to say nothin' o' the potatoes and apple sarce, the turnips and doughnuts—where on the globed airth we can stow such a heap is a marvel to me," and the good woman heaved a sigh of mingled satisfaction and fatigue as she glanced round the closely piled shelves. Margaret laughed her own gay, rippling laugh, Walter was suffering intensely with the cold, that would have reminded you of nothing in the world but birds among spring blossoms. "Never you mind, Hannah, you'll find a place somewhere, and-hark! wasn't that a knock at the kitchen door?" "Yes, I believe 'twas; dear me! it does seem as if there was no end," and Hannah went out with such an air of the martyr that it elicited another laugh from Maggie, which was broken short by the woman's loud exclamation, "Goodness alive! what have we got here!" Another moment, and Maggie was at the door. Two little children stood there; their limbs were stiff and their flesh was blue with the cold. It was a pitiful sight as they shivered in the bitter wind, and the younger would have fallen if her brother's arm had not upheld her. in "Please, ma'am, we have walked a long way the dark, and little sister is almost frozen; won't you let us come in?" Before Maggie could speak Hannah's strong arms had pulled both the children into the house. Let you come in, you poor little souls!" she cried with tears of genuine sympathy rolling down her cheeks. "I'm thinkin' the creature that wouldn't do this would never get into the great door above. Come close to the fire. Just look at them little red arms, Miss Maggie." Maggie Hiller didn't speak, for her heart was too full for that; but she bent down and unloosened the girl's bonnet-strings, and the curls fell in a golden shower over her hands. "Wally said you would be kind to me and let me go to sleep on a good bed when you made me warm. Mayn't Mary go now? she's so tired," and the little one looked up with touching earn estness. "Yes, darling, you shall have a nice bed," she answered with a break of tears, as she sat down and lifted the little one to her lap. "But first you must get warm, and have something nice to eat, you know." "Yes, I'll get some hot tea and plenty of other good things," said the prompt Hannah, as she drew a stool near the fire. "Sit down there, little boy, and we'll have you fixed off in a minute." | wildly about him. No body knew him; the eyes of all the guests were fastened in wonder and dismay upon him; for he had rushed wildly in and was staring about the company like one demented, and yet he had not spoken. I said no body knew him, but Maggie did as soon as her eyes rested on him. There was a cry of joy and of exceeding tenderness, "Ralph, Ralph, my brother!" then with one bound her arms were wrapped about his neck, and her lips were laid to his cold cheeks. "O, Maggie, then you have not forgotten me!" He whispered the words faintly. 'Forgotten you, Ralph! Did you think that the sister that had slept in your arms and kneeled by your side at prayer; who never had a joy or a sorrow that she didn't tell you-O did you think she could forget you!" "And my father, Maggie?" Before she could answer parson Hiller came forward, and his tones were very tender as he said, "Ralph, my boy, you are welcome home again." A smile went over the man's lips. "O," he said, "if she, too, were only here to tell me this, I could die in peace." แ "She did say it, Ralph," said Maggie, eagerly catching her brother's meaning. "With her dying hands she drew down my head to her lips and whispered, 'Maggie, when Ralph comes back-for I know he will do this some time-tell him that his mother loved her boy to the last.'" "Papa, papa," the child voices rang sweet and eager through the parlor, and the next moment the children rushed to the side of their parent. "I can not see you," and Ralph sank feebly into a chair, and then for the first time a sudden, terrible fear smote to the hearts of parson Hiller and his daughter. "But, children, come close to me. Father, sister, they are all I have to leave you, and for my sake you will be very tender of them. "Thank God, my prayer is heard! I shall die at home. It was this thought that gave me strength when I woke up to-night in the woods yonder, and it was this that bore me to you, "But I want first to tell you about papa. He though I was dying. I am going first to that far was sick and fell to the ground—” country where mother is waiting, and when she At that moment a sudden ejaculation of won- asks for those I left behind, I shall tell her der from many voices reached the kitchen. Mag-They're all coming." His head sank upon Maggie and Hannah looked wildly at each other, and gie's shoulder, and when they lifted it Ralph then the former lifted the little girl from her lap Hiller was with them no longer. and said briskly, "Stay with them, Hannah, till I see what is the matter." A man, white and attenuated as one risen from the dead, stood in the center of the room, staring And if the donation, which had commenced sc auspiciously, closed with many tears, there was a rainbow of hope in the hearts of the chief mourners. The sympathizing parishioners never knew the nature or extent of Ralph Hiller's early sin, and only supposed some unhappy misunderstanding had occurred between the father and the son. There was a new grave made by the mother's, and the next spring a marble monument threw its long, slender shadow over the rose and cypress that loving hands had twined there. Under the name of Ralph Hiller was simply engraven, "They're all coming." And now, reader, do your beloved, who have gone to that "upper country," say these blessed words of you? Where the mountains rise in their serene, solemn beauty, with the green scrolls of that eternal summer folded over their bosoms; where the jubilee of the seraphim rolls sweetly along the golden valleys, does the rejoicing cry for you sometimes rise up-a cry that wanders over the white plains, and is gathered up among the echoes of the hills of jasper-" They are all coming!" THE "WALUM-OLUM;" OR, BARK RECORD. BY REV. T. M. EDDY, A. M. times enabled to refer a whole people to their original ancestors with as much if not more certainty than by observations made upon their languages, because the superstition is ingrafted upon the stock, but the language is liable to change.” Mr. E. G. Squier, some years ago, read before the New York Historical Society an interesting paper upon the "Traditions of the Algonquins," which seems to strengthen the idea of many, that a system of hieroglyphics was known among the Indian tribes. There fell into his possession, from the papers of Professor C. S. Rafinisquewho was a great Indian antiquarian; so far as facts were concerned he was reliable, being honest and painstaking, but deficient in those mental traits essential to accurate generalization; hence, while his conclusions were generally wrong his data were ordinarily reliable-to resume after this biographical and critical parenthesis, he found a MS. entitled, "Walum-Olum-painted sticksor painted and engraved traditions of the Lenni Lenape." A note in the handwriting of the Professor states that the MS. was obtained of Dr. Ward, of Indiana, who procured the wooden originals from a remnant of the Delaware Indians, on White river, in 1822. It is also stated that the characters were long inexplicable, "till, with THE early history of the Indian tribes is in- a deep study of the Delaware, and the aid of Tvolved in desto ob of tity, and an tribes it can never be brought out. The conquerors were too incessantly occupied in hunting, shooting, and scalping them to give close attention to their antecedents, theology, or ethnology. Their worthy sons have been too much occupied in cheating them in diplomacy and woolen and cotton cloth, and killing them with bad whisky, to devote any considerable share of attention to their origin, traditions, or destiny. Nevertheless, there have been some who, regarding the red man as a broken fragment of our common humanity, have busied themselves in inquiries concerning himthey have asked him whence he came; they have interrogated his traditions, his songs, and his worship. But they have gathered few treas ures. The vail of mystery envelops the Indian. Only this is surely known-he was once strong, he is now weak and is doomed to annihilation. The heel of the Anglo-Saxon is "crushing out" his hope, his heart to do, and his existence itself. The scanty researches made show this much the religion of the tribes must be appealed to for all the information, or nearly so, we can hope to gain. This is true, not merely of Indian tribes, but all barbarous nations. A distinguished oriental traveler has said, "By a proper attention to the vestiges of ancient superstition, we are some Zeisberber's MS. Dictionary, in the library of the Philosophical Society, a translation was effected." It is the opinion of Mr. Squier that this singular paper bears strong internal marks of genuineness, and is strongly supported by collateral circumstances. Loskiel, in his "History of the United Brethren in America," has written the following of the people among whom it professedly originated: "The Delawares delight in describing their genealogies, and are so well versed in them that they mark every branch of the family with the greatest precision. They add also the character of their forefathers: such a one was a wise and intelligent counselor, a renowned warrior, or a rich man, etc. But though they are ignorant of the art of reading and writing, yet their ancestors were well aware that they stood in need of something to enable them to convey their ideas to a distant nation, or preserve the memory of remarkable events. To this end they invented something like hieroglyphics, and also. strings and belts of wampum, etc." Again: "The Delawares use hieroglyphics on wood, trees, and stones, to give caution, for communication, to commemorate events, and preserve records. Every Indian understands their meaning." The fact of picture-writing among the Indians has been scouted by men who would give half a comfortable fortune for a brick from the ruins of an Egyptian temple, if scrawled over with inscriptions by the onion worshipers. We may, then, give another authority or two. Mr. Schoolcraft has said of the Ojibwas: "Every path has its blazed and figurated tree, conveying intelligence to all that pass, for all can understand these signs, which are taught the young as carefully as we teach our alphabet." Heckwelder says: "They have certain hieroglyphics by which they describe facts in so plain a manner, that those who are conversant with their marks can understand them with the greatest ease." These signs were essentially mnemonic, and a simple or compound sign served to reveal an entire sentence or series of sentences. "A single figure with its adjuncts would stand for the verse of a song, or for a circumstance which it would require several sentences to explain." The MS. under immediate notice comprises five divisions; the first two embody traditions concerning the creation and a general deluge, and the rest a history of various migrations and a list of ninety-seven chiefs in the order of succession. It stands in the following form: First, the mnemonic symbol, of which there are one hundred and eighty-four. Second, the suggested verse or sentence in the Delaware dialect. And, third, a literal translation of the same in English. I regret that I can not give the symbols. The copious type of the publishers of the Repository have hardly any representations of the Algonquin symbols. Hence I will give only the original Indian terms and the literal translations, and then a brief paraphrase of one or two sections. As to the accuracy of the translation this one fact seems strongly confirmatory. Mr. Squier submitted it without explanation to the educated Delaware chief, George Copway-Kah-go-ga-gah-bowhwho, without hesitation, "pronounced it authentic in respect, not only to the original signs and accompanying explanations in the Delaware dialect, but also in the general ideas and conceptions which it embodies." The subject of the first song or chant is the creation, and I will give it entire: 1. Sayewitalli weniguma At first there all sea-water 2. Haikung-kwelik wokgetaki" above land. owanaku wakyutali Above much water foggy (was) and (or also) there towit-essop tor he was. So ends this remarkable poem, and the skeleton of "a system" is in it, and some of the bones are large and well developed. The following crea- paraphrase is given by our author: kitani 1. At the first there were great waters above all the land. 2. And above the waters were thick clouds, and there was God the creator. 3. The first being eternal, omnipotent, invisible was God the creator. *The snake. Algonquin symbol of malignant force. |