LITERARY CHRONICLE.

New Zealand Colonist and Port Nicholson Advertiser, Volume I, Issue 20, 7 October 1842, Page 4

LITERARY CHRONICLE.

(From the Weekly Chronicle')' (Concluded from, our last.) It was a hideous place. A circle of wretched, squalid wigwams formed a sort of arena, in the midst of which was planted the terrible warpost, with a heap of resinous faggots at its base. Round it were gathered the squaws of the tribe —lean, cadaverous hags, than whom Alecto must have been less revolting, and Hecate more humane. Children,-—very, very little children (!), quite naked, like imps of darkness, crawled to and fro, contesting the possession of bones and half-gnawed morsels with the surly and ravenous dogs. Impotent old men, too, sate cowering at the entrance of their huts, shaking their withered hands and muttering curses at us, as, bound and helpless in the middle of the braves, we were led into the middle space, and made to lie down upon the ground, whilst a war-council was held around the pile. “ I’m a gone ’coon, I know,” said Mullins Bryan. “ They marked me when their chief, the great Bull Turtle, as they called him, and my life isn’t worth one of Willis’s copyrights. But it’s a huckleberry above my persimmon as to what they’ll do with you; and so, Duggins, if yqn get off, and return safe to New York, don’t forget to tell congress that Mullins Bryan died like the American Byron he is, true to the rale principles of freedom, and an uncompromising enemy of all emancipation!” “ I will! I will!” said I, fervently, “ and I’ll write your epitaph—” *’ You’ll do it, Bosh — you’ll do it,” interrupted Bryan, mournfully. “But you’ll not do it well—half so well as I could have written your’n; hut that’s past praying for. Only, if you should, just keep out all mention of the very little children, will you ? in respect that there’s a tarnation black little imp at this moment a-biting of my leg, and I can’t heel him no how.” Great men will have their prejudices! At last, the savages rose. Brandishing their tomakawks and scalping knives, they rushed towards us, and, joining hands, executed an extempore war-dance around us, to the music of the hideous whoop. That over, an aged, scarred, skeleton figure, father of the fallen chief; stood forth, and spoke as follows: —“ Children of the Chip-chow-cherry-chow! listen to the voice of your sachem. Seven times ten summers have past since Smack-wack-girnigo was young ; tall as a warpost; spry as the mountain cat. His hand was on the scalp of the Yenghese: his foot on the trail of the buffalo. When the squaws cried for meat, he gave it them; his wigwam was full of rum. But years came upon him, and his sinews were as weak as the sliunk’s. The coon sate upon the gum-tree, and laughed as he went by, and the father of the beavers was glad. But Smack-wack-girnigo had a son, and he was of the braves. Who was so swift as Calipasliawash the great Bull-turtle of his tribe ? When he smoked the calumet of peace, his breath was like the cloud of the morning; when he raised the war whoop, the leaves of the forest fell. He filled his father’s mouth with food. He gave him the roasted rattlesnake, and the baked opossum, to eat, and he made his heart glad with the strong fire-water of the pale-face. But the Yenghese came to the crooked river, and drove the deer from the prairies; the beaver heard them, and fled. The red-skins dug up their war hatchet; they threw fire into the fort, and took the scalps of their enemies. They came back to the wigwams of their fathers, but Calipashawash was not with them, and Smack-wack-girnigo has a son no more!” Here the old savage paused, and the Indians yelled revengefully, with a dissonance more fearful than that of a chorus at Drury-lane. “ But the great spirit is good. He loves the Chip-chow-cherry-chow. My young men have brought two pale-faces, and Calipashawash shall not go to the far hunting-grounds alone. The death-song of the Yenghese shall cheer him on his way. Let my young men light the pile [’L Swift as lightning this horrid mandate w obeyed. Thick jets of smoke began to rise:/ from the crackling faggots, when the old map/; turned to us. “The pale faces are two,” said' he, “ and death is slow. My young men love to look upon the burning of the brave,-and -the moon is but newly risen. Which of you will; go first to the war-post, and. sing his death: 1 'song, that the ears of the other may be glad ?” Before I had time to spealt, Mullins Bryans burst out —“ If my hands were free, and a bowie-knife in them, you tarnation ’coon-faced

nigger, I’d tickle your ribs without laughing. Howsomd’ever, I’m shot if I dont die like a free American; and, since the best singer’s to go first, I’m the man to break the heart of a nightingale. So kindle up your fires, you bloody critters, and do your worst. Duggins, my lad, I’m sorrier for you than myself. This is sort o’ nat’ral to a down-easter like me, hut you’re ft straunger, and cant cotton to the business, no how you can fix it. There’ll be talk o’ this on Broadway, I reckon, anyhow; One comfort is, the president will be as wrathy as a painter. His shirt won’t hold him, and he’ll have them ’tamal Injines lyndhed before six weeks are over, or there’s no gougers in Hoboken.” They tied Bryan to the stake, drew the lighted faggots in a circle round him, that the flames might scorch but not consume him, for the vengeance of the Indian is not easily slaked, and hand in hand resumed their horrid dance, like demons exulting over a fallen seraph. Firm and erect, in the midst of the fire, stood the dauntless and indomitable] Bryan, no muscle moving, no nerve quivering, in the extremest agony. Pall-like, a huge cloud of smoke soon settled round his head, herald of the martyr’s crown of fire, that was soon to envelop it; but from the middle of that funeral canopy, I could hear his manly voice, pouring forth his impassioned accents of bib soul —a dying swan, hut alas ! perishing in a fiercer element.

“ Come on, you ’tarnal Mingo ? I’ll make you walk your chalks ; D’ye think I care, by Jingo, For all your tomahawks ? Heap sticks upon your brander Still higher if you can, I'm more of salamander, And less of mortal man; You cannot shake my dander— I'm rale American! My father was from Boston, My uncle was Judge Lynch ; So, darn your fire and roasting, You’ll never see me flinch. Come, pile the faggots bigger ! It’s seldom you will see A fellow of my figure A standing at your tree — You darn’d tarnation nigger! D’ye show your teeth at me. “ Stir up your bloody natur’; You’ll find me very soon Hdlf horse, half alligator— With a sprinkling of the 'coon, I’ve heard ’tis Injinc fashions To look a little spry ; So come, you black assassins, And heap the faggots high ; And—‘Burn your old mocassins, You bloody imp,’ say I.” So ended the song—and with it, alas! ended the life of the intrepid Bryan. The chief, Smack-wack-girnigo, who had been for some time with difficulty restrained by his braves, now, stung almost to madness by the opprobrious epithets lavished upon his race, sprung forward into the fire, and buried his tomahawk in the brain of the brave American. Mullins Bryan fell lifeless among the flames. It was now my turn for the sacrifice. Strange as it may appear, every instant that brought me nearer to that burning pile seemed to give additional fortitude and calmness to my mind. I felt, as a martyr might do, superior to the fiery trial which awaited me, and determined that my bearing, in the last extremity, should not be unworthy of the noble example displayed by the American Byron. I had even (so lucid was my understanding) selected a little poem of my own, entitled “ The Ivy Green,” for my dirge; and doubt not that the wild Indians would have received it at least as favourably as an enlightened British public had done before them. But my destiny had decreed that my vocal powers should not be put to the test upon this occasion. The cold, serpent-like fingers of the savages were already twining round my neck —already the death-damp stood in thick drops upon my brow —when a loud shriek was heard from one of the nearest wigwams. The Indians paused. A child—a very little child—rushed to where I lay, and, flinging her arms around me, exclaimed—“ No, no !—vou shall not kill him! He is my father!” It was the orphan daughter of Calipashawash, who, moved by a beautiful natural impulse, and perhaps by some indefinable resemblance between the deceased parent and myself, had interposed to save me from the murderous tomahawk. The Indians are a stange people. Another council was held, and, after the consumption of innumerable calumits, and all the remaining rum, it was unanimously agreed that the suggestion of the young lady should be ratified, and the stranger received into the tribe. I see you are getting drowsy, and shall not trouble jou with the details of the interesting cei;gju#uy srhich ensued; suffice it to say that, tatooing, I was jr&iseddo the rank of chief, under jip} jtjtle ofJMastli^ippi, pc the Great Teller of Jpi9ses. .Jffight siipjaer of buffalo’s liver, and *ki»s, in the stem's £)P£wam, awaited ihe, after the Jpipn of the day

Jsthmus of Panama.*?— A public meeting at'the rpoms.-of the Oity Colonial Societe Qornbill, on Thursday, March 17th, to !papasures for seeming: a regular and safe of passengers, goods, &c., to Australia apd New Zealand, across the Isthmus of Panama { Cotter, of Port Phihip, in the chair.

Mi*. W. Walker, of Sydney, M.r. Hislcey, of Sydney, Mr. Charles Gore, of Sydney, Messrs. Blyth, Clarke, Evans, and other gentlemen, were present. The Chairman briefly stated the object of the meeting to be the shortening of the pas-, sage from this country to New Zealand and Australia via Panama. Mr.‘Evans went into a long statement upon the present mode of travelling from this country to Australia. The latter, he said, was 16,000 miles distant from our- shores, and it required sixty-six days to reach it by steam. The mode of transit proposed via Panama, was by the West India steam mail-packets to Clarges, which was distant 3,750 miles, a journey performed in twentyfive days.—From Clarges; the goods and passengers would be passed over the Isthmus of Panama to Port Nicholson, a distance of 6,280 miles; which would be performed in twentysix days. Thence they would be conveyed to Sydney, a further distance of 1285 miles; which would be completed in five days. This overland travelling would be a saving of ten days within the time at present required. Mr. Walker could state that the shortening of the distance from this country to Australia was an object desired by the colonists. More he could not say, as he was unacquainted with the intended project of the parties who got up the meeting. Another gentleman said he was satisfied, from the survey taken by Mr; Lloyd, under the sanction of Government, that a passage across the Isthmus was impracticable, from its being so shoaly. There was a bay about eight miles higher up that would suit the navigation very well. Several gentlemen having expressed their thoughts upon the proposed overland passage, it was resolved ts adjourn the meeting until the opinion of those who had crossed the Isthmus could be obtained.

The Dead Sea. —Lieutenant Symonds, Royal Engineers, son of our distinguished naval architect, has triangulated the country between the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea, and finds the latter extraordinary basin to be 1,337 feet below the level of the Mediterranean: To show the importance of this discovery, and the fallacious results of previous experiments, take a few words from Robinson : —“ One of the most singular circumstances in the character of the Dead Sea is the deepi depression of its level below that of the Mediterranean. This has been detected only within the last few years. Messrs. Moore and Beke were the first to notice it in March 1837, by means of the boiling point of water; in this way they found the depression to be about 500 English feet. A month or two later the careful barometrical measurements of Shuber gave the depression of the sea at 598*5 Paris feet; that of Jericho being 527*7 feet. The very great descent which we found from Carmel to the cliffs over Ain Jidy, and the immense depth of the sea below, point to a like result; but so great is the uncertainty in all such partial measurements and observations, (as evinced in the like case of the Caspian Sea), that the question can never be decided with exactness until the intervening country shall have been surveyed, and level of the two seas trigonometrically ascertained. —London Paper.

Nitrate op Soda for Gardens.- I — Nitrate of soda, at the rate of two per cent, per acre, applied in the spring, when fruit trees are beginning to grow, is an excellent manure; so are wood-ashes. But we are uncertain whether it suits Coniferous plants, which are killed or greatly injured by common manure. Coniferous plants will not grow well in heavy land, and require no assistance in light land.— Gardener’s Chronicle.

Sale of Land at Moreton Bay.— The first sale of land in the district of Moreton Bay, which took place at the Colonial Treasury, on Thursday, attracted a very numerous company. The allotments varied from about a quarter of an acre to one-third of an acre, and were put up at the minimum price of €IOO an acre. The first lot being No. 1, of North Brisbane, was purchased by Mr. Dudley Sinclair, of New Zealand, for £230, he having the honor of being the first landholder in that district: the other lots went as follows :—W. S. Mountry, £135 ; Isaac Titterton, £lls ; Isaac Titterton, £125; Benjamin and Moses, £130; W. F. Wise, £155 ; G. S. Le Bretod, £2OO ; D. Sinclair, £250; C. Mallard, £110; W. Sheehan, £105; Edmund Lockyer, £BS ; John Panton, £80; W. Young, £7O; J. Betts, £140; T. Dent, £lO5 ; Evan Mackenzie, £145 ; J. Betts, £115; W. B. Dobson, £125 ;, David Jones, £110; C. Mallard, £110; J. T. Howell, £l2O. The following allotments in South Brisbane were then sold:—Dudley Sinclair, £150; C. Fitzimmons, £7O; W. B. Dobson, £75 ; John Woodhouse, £6O; Wm. Young, £SB; John Graham, £57; Moses Joseph, £65 ; Thomas Lenehan, £46 ; C. Fitzimmons, £33'; Thomas Grenier, £33; John Bryden, £29 ; M. Doyle, £26 ; George Thornton, £3l : J. Rickards, £BO ;W. 8.-Dobson. £52 10s.; D. £75 ; J. Panton, £9O; T. W. Dent’, £44; B. Rogers, £4O; E. Mackenzie, £34 ;D. Jones, £3B; P. B. Rogers, £39 ; J. Betts, £6O ; J. Betts, £3B; D. £4B ; A. Gore, £6O ; Robert Rowland, £27; L.' (TBrieiy £32 ; P* B; Rogers, £33 ; IVL Joseph, £35; D. Jones, £34; P. B. Rogers, £4O ; Moses Joseph,. £80; E. Mackenzie, £SB;. J. Betts, £s7 .—Auckland Standard.