[Footnote 1: "Watson, 16; Day, 299. The landing of Penn in America is commemorated on the 24th of October, that being the date given by Clarkson; but the diligent antiquary, Mr. J. F. Watson, has found in the records of Newcastle the original entry of his arrival."]
[Footnote 2: "The portrait by West is utterly spurious and unlike. Granville Penn, MSS."]
[Footnote 3: "Penn. Hist. Soc. Mem., iii. part ii. 76."]
I was in company With men and women, And heard small talk Of little things, Of poor pursuits And narrow views Of narrow minds. I rushed out To breathe more freely, To look on nature.
The evening star Rose grave and bright, The western sky Was warm with light, And the young moon Shone softly down Among the shadows Of the town, Where whispering trees And fragrant flowers Stood hushed in silent, Balmy bowers. All was romance, All loveliness, Wrapped in a trance Of mystic bliss.
I looked on In bitterness, And sighed and asked, Why the great Lord Made so rich beauty For such a race Of little men?
I was in company With men and women, Heard noble talk Of noble things, Of noble doings, And manly suffering And man's heart beating For all mankind.
The evening star Seemed now less bright, The western sky Of paler light, All nature's beauty And romance, So lovely To gaze upon, Retired at once, A shadow but to that of man!
C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{ t.} S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.
The Indian settlement, the opening scene of our story, presented a different appearance from what we call an Indian village at the present day. The lodges were far more numerous, and the Indians were not drooping about, without energy, and apparently without occupation. The long line of hills did not echo the revels of the drunkard, nor were the faces of the people marked with anxiety and care. The untaught and untamed dispositions of the red men were as yet unaffected by the evil influences of the degenerate white man.
The Sioux[4] were in their summer-houses, and the village stretched along the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile. It reached back, too, to the foot of a high hill, and some of the lodges were shaded by the overhanging branches of the elm and maple. Above the homes of the living might be seen the burial-place of the dead; for, on the summit of the hill the enveloped forms of the departed were receiving the last red beams of the retiring sun, whose rising and repose were now for ever unnoticed by them.