row, why are not the instruments of music
touched by the hand of skill? Fair daughter of the morning! thou didst not
perish by slow decay. At the rising of the sun we saw thee; the ruddy
bloom of youth was then upon thy countenance; In the evening thou wert
nothing; and the pallid complexion of death had taken place of the bloom
of beauty.--And now thou art gone to sit down in the gardens that are
found at the setting of the sun, behind the western mountains, where the
daughters of the white men have a separate place allotted to them by the
spirit of the hills. As much as the mind is superiour to the body, so much
are those charming regions preferable to these which we now inhabit. Man
is here but an image of himself, the representation of an idea that in
itself is not subjected to a change. That which derived it's origin from
the dust shall indeed to the dust return; but the fine ethereal substance
does not cease to think, and shall be again employed by the immortal gods
to put the forms of things in motion. What was thine errour?--It was
nothing: the bow was too mighty for the string, and the foundation too
feeble for the fabric that was built upon it. All shall be right when thou
art arrived at the foot of the mountains, where the sound of the wintry
winds will not be permitted to reach thee, and where the light of the lamp
is not extinguished by the sickly blasts of autumn.----

_"What infernal stuff is this?'_ exclaimed the clergyman, who at this
period of the Indian's discourse had returned on a full gallop with a
large folio Bible before him: _'what infernal heretical trash is this,
with which my ears are insulted?--Miscreant, avaunt!'_ said he, addressing
the Indian, _'or I will teach you how to make speeches within the bounds
of my jurisdiction,'_

"The Indian then modestly stepped down from the tombstone, and the
legitimate clergyman took his place. After making a slight apology for his
stay, he read his text by the light from a horn lantern, which the clerk
held up to his nose, and then proceeded to mumble over a written discourse
upon the subject he had chosen, and which held him about half an
hour.--'In my country,' observed the Indian, 'they would make a more
_animated_ speech at the interment of a _favourite racoon_!'

"'This divinity-monger is the angel of our church,' answered the man in the
white linen coat; 'and it is dangerous to criticise upon his productions,
especially as he considers every one t