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bend in prayer over our carthly remains, and remember us kindly, at least once a year!

"I had a dearly-loved, a gallant son laid low in the ground,' in the bright bloom of youthful manhood, some months after my departure, perhaps forever. A year or more had elapsed, my heart still throbbing with grief for his premature exodus, when I received a letter from an angelic girl, who knew him; telling me, in the purity of her soul, that on her return from a summer-trip North, she had visited my poor boy's grave, and dropped a tear, with a wreath of flowers, on it, in the name of friendship for me and mine. This custom is a heartfelt, pure, and heavenly one, that does honor to the Creole population (of the South) of the Crescent city, and might be adopted by all religious denominations, without suspicion of bigotry or sectarianism, as evidence of living charity, love, friendship, and endearing recollection of deceased associates, too often too soon forgotten."

Col. J. R. Creecy says of the Choctaws of Mississippi in 1835:-"Travelling towards evening I saw a low, rude pen of round logs, and what looked something like sheep lying down around it. My curiosity was excited, and I left the trace, trail or road (as the reader may please) to examine into the matter; and when within ten feet of one corner of the pen I ascertained that the lumps, or what I thought sheep, were Indians doubled up on the ground, and covered entirely with their blankets. Within the pen were several little hillocks, or mounds of earth-two of them fresh, the others covered with grass. I spoke kindly and friendly

several times, and wondering looked upon them, but could not, and did not, get any reply or notice of any description; when I left them, and continued my journey. I frequently described, and inquired the meaning of, the exhibition; and was only enabled to get for explanation, that within the enclosure or pen were buried those Choctaws who happened to die thereabouts, and that annually certain friends or relatives of the deceased made a pilgrimage to their places of sepulchre, and mourned their loss in that humble, lowly, and silent manner. There was something peculiarly melancholy and touching in the scene. No sound, no motion, was heard or seen for some time (and how long I knew not). All their hearts and souls and feelings were apparently given to the memory of departed friends and to the Great Spirit, the one mighty God of all creation. I have known no more beautiful and heavenly manifestation of affection, and reverence for loved ones departed, than this simple Choctaw devotion."

Mr. Schoolcraft, the Indian historian, says that "the Indian is always glad to die. Death is not a repulsive state to him; for his belief is, that it is a state of rewards, not punishments. He thinks that when released from the toils of this life, he shall immediately join those who have preceded him to the happy Hunting Grounds.'". . . "An Indian once hated his rival (in the affections of a beautiful squaw, now dead), and took him prisoner, but did not kill him; for, said he, death would give his spirit a good chance to marry her when it gets out of this world."

"Why tell you me of moderation?

My grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong

As that which causeth it: how can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,

Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief;
My love admits no qualifying dross;

No more my grief, in such a precious loss."

When a gentleman in South Carolina, in spite of the before-mentioned surroundings of hopeless funereal grief, and notwithstanding its being regarded as ungenteel in the South ever to recover from an orthodox affliction, still has moral courage enough to court a rich, young, beautiful widow, — which is usually done by poetical love-letters at first, not by personal visits, -she is so astounded at his temerity, that she replies by asking "What levity he ever saw in her, to embolden him to intrude thus lawlessly into her voluntary retirement from the world?" That such a Nænia should reply to him at all, is at once construed into encouragement; so he forthwith makes her a visit, carrying a splendid bouquet of flowers, to remind her of the beautiful that God so lavishly paints for our pleasurable enjoyment, and to persuade her that there are many bright episodes of happiness in store for her that he himself adores her

yet *

"that

upon

"Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here;
Passions of prouder name befriend us less.
Joy has her tears, and transport has her death;
Hope, like a cordial, innocent though strong,
Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;

the

altar of her beauty he sacrifices his tears, his heart," etc., etc. All of which chivalrous sentimentality is of course very refreshing to her forlorn, long-imprisoned affection; for what natural woman on earth does not believe a man, when, on his knees, he swears that he is desperately in love with her?-not at all because she owns a large plantation, or uncounted shoneau; * but because of her deep devotion to the memory of her dear departed husband.

So this beautiful Southern widow determines to accept him, with the distinct understanding that friendship, not love, is the impulse that is to unite them. together; for her heart lies buried in the grave of her

'Tis all our present state can safely bear;
Health to the frame, and vigor to the mind!
A joy attemper'd! a chastised delight!
Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet;
'Tis man's full cup-his paradise below!"

*Shoneau, a Chippewa word, which means money.

YOUNG.

"Gold-oh, thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
"Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, loved, and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

That lies on Dian's lips! thou visible god,

That solder'st close impossibilities,

And mak'st them kiss, and speak'st with every tongue

To every purpose!”

"For this the foolish, over-careful fathers,

SHAKSPEARE.

Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brain with care,

Their bones with industry.”

first love. And as men are seldom jealous of a dead rival, though women are, he assures her that "the attachments of mere mirth are but the shadows of that true friendship of which the sincere affections of the heart are the substance."

Now, then, our successful cavalier insists that if our Creator had had a Quaker taste, we should have mourned over a drab-colored universe-that even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed so gorgeously as the flowers of the field; and that therefore she must doff that melancholy cap, and let her luxuriant chestnut hair resume its natural waving charm.

All his efforts, however, cannot induce her to part with that everlasting black bombazine dress, and black Italian crape collar, until the very day of the wedding; after which, her whole wardrobe is conscientiously selected in accordance with his taste; and the indulgence of elevated friendship makes her a devoted wife.

"For friendship is no plant of hasty growth.
Though planted in esteem's deep-fixed soil,
The gradual culture of kind intercourse
Must bring it to perfection."

But the widower of South Carolina is as far removed, in his developments of respect for the memory of his dead wife, from the lady described above, as the two poles are one from another; for he generally fixes his mind immediately on some romping little miss of sixteen, exactly the opposite of the partner who has just amiably made her exit; and this is particularly the case if she has left half a dozen orphans.

Step-mothers have been abused ever since the his

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