THE LAKE OF CANANDAGUA.

BY MRS. TROLLOPE.

[From" The English Annual," for 1835.]

TWENTY years ago, the pretty village of Canandagua, in the western part of the state of New York, with its white-washed cottages "bosomed" in acacias and roses, did not exist. But the shores of its beautiful lake had even then one sequestered mansion which might have vied in its sweet loneliness with the fairest dwelling that wood and water ever conspired to adorn. The spot is still one of the most admired in that land of bright air and sunny landscape; but then, it was lovelier still. No staring hotel rose to mar the soft harmony of the scene. The white cottage of Mrs. Hastings, with its festooned portico of flowering creepers, was the only object reflected from the bosom of the lake that showed a trace of human workmanship.

The first feeling on looking at such a dwelling must have been unmixed admiration; the second, perhaps, wonder that any one possessed of the taste and familiarity with the luxuries of social life, which the air of the place indicated, could live so far remote from beings of the same order. But the situation of Mrs. Hastings was such as to make her choice of this residence perfectly natural. Three years before the date of the circumstances about to be related, she had banished herself from her native England, by contracting a marriage so imprudent as to offend every friend she had in the world. The extremely romantic turn of her mind caused her to find attraction in the very circumstances which to her more reasonable friends, made her choice peculiarly objectionable. Mr. Hastings was the natural son of parents who had never acknowledged him: all he possessed was a person pre-eminently handsome, an affectionate heart, and most sweet temper. Some one, he knew not who, had kept him at school till he was seventeen, and then given him a pair of colours. Miss Weyland unfortunately met the young man at a ball, while his uniform was in its first blush and glory. Emboldened by the consciousness of being the most distinguished figure in the room, the young officer ventured to request an introduction, which, under other circumstances, he would never have dreamed of. The consequence was a hasty marriage, and emigration to America.

With better fortune than such imprudence deserved, the two years that their union lasted were like "one long summer's day of idleness and love." Her fortune, which the mature age of twenty-one had placed at her disposal exactly one week before her marriage, sufficed to purchase of the American government three hundred acres on the lovely borders of the Canandagua Lake; and it cleared them, as acres there are seldom cleared; it built them a fairy palace, bought half a score of slaves in the only free country in the world, and put them in possession of enough "American stock" to produce an income of a thousand dollars, which, with the produce of their little farm, made them quite as rich as they wished to be. Their neighbours were few, and widely scattered. At five miles distance, lived a magistrate, (in the language of the country, a squire,) who ground all the corn, and performed most of the marriages

of the district. Three miles farther dwelt an attorney who, whether he could "help it" or not, was assuredly " a special" one. He was appointed by the government to superintend the sale of land, and to collect the tax upon it; he was, moreover, entrusted with the important commission of negotiating for the purchase of an extensive Indian reserve in the neighbourhood, with the chiefs of the nation to whom it belonged.

A few backwoodsmen, the hardy and enterprising pioneers of the vast rush of population which has since spread over the district, were scattered here and there; and amongst them "the Store," whence flowed the heterogeneous multitude of commodities which a hundred shops are thought hardly sufficient to furnish in a city. This important emporium raised an imposing front of yellow planks; and close beside it, in all the splendour of red ochre, stood the no less necessary" public" offering to the hard-worked sons of the forest, their darling luxuries of whiskey and tobacco. Their nearest neighbours, however, were the inhabitants of the Indian village, which was the metropolis of the tribe above-mentioned. They never experienced the slightest inconvenience from the vicinity, but on the contrary carried on a very convenient traffic for venison, wild turkeys, and all the nameless varieties of forest dainties, which the Indians have at their command, with a certainty which might raise a sigh of envy in the most accomplished poachers of the old country. In a word, their existence might be best described by the expressive French phrase, "il menait une vie bien douce." But, alas! at the end of two years, Mr. Hastings died of the autumn fever, so often bred on the enticing shores of an American lake; and his widow was left with nothing to console her, but the persuasion that she had given him two years of happiness in exchange for what seemed like to have been a long life of anxiety and privation.

The first six months after she lost him were spent in heartfelt and unmitigated sorrow; and if those which followed were less melancholy, it was only chance that made them so, by awakening new that spirit of romance which had placed her in the wilds of America. The winter had passed dismally away; both cold and sorrow had chilled the heart of the solitary widow, and she felt persuaded that nothing could ever again restore the life and lightness of her spirit. But who or what can resist the first burst of the American spring? It comes not, as elsewhere, timidly, fearing the last parting blast of winter; but, bold and vigorous, starts into life and power, and only yields before the scorching splendour of the summer sun. The first time Mrs. Hastings had quitted her solitary hearth since she returned from seeing her young husband laid beneath his favourite chestnut tree, was on a sunny morning, towards the end of April. Had she thought about going out, she would not have had courage to do it; but as she stood at the door of the pretty parlour that opened upon the lawn, she stepped out, rather from the animal instinct which led her to meet the soft breeze that rose from the lake, than from any premeditated hope of finding enjoyment. Yet still she wandered on, and, with a sort of dreamy pleasure, felt the warm air upon her cheek, watched the gentle ripple of the lake, as it almost reached her footpath, and listened, though uneonsciously, to the chirping concert which every bough sent forth.

At last she reached a spot, too well remembered to be seen without a pang. It was a lovely nook, at the most distant point of their " clearing," where they had suffered a few acres to retain their original wildness, excepting that, at one point, close upon the border of the lake, poor Hastings had reared a bower for his young wife, which he had delighted to make the prettiest toy in the western wilderness. It was here that, while he amused himself with his fishing-rod, she used to read to him, sing to him, talk to him. Often had the forest rung to the gay laugh of the married lovers; and often in that deep solitude had they repeated to each other

the fond vow that they would not change their leafy paradise for the noblest palace in their native land. Never had she been more thoughtless and fearless of sorrow than the last evening they had passed together there — but within three hours after they quitted it, the young man was laid upon the bed from which he never rose again. Poor Mrs. Hastings sat down before the door, upon the very spot where last she had seen him sit, and her tears flowed abundantly.

While thus sadly occupied, and utterly unmindful of every thing but her sorrow, the sudden sensation of most violent anguish caused her to utter a sharp, loud scream, and alınost in the same instant she perceived that a snake had settled on the hand which hung by her side, and that a young Indian girl, springing from among the forest trees, had seized the reptile just below its head, and with gentle dexterity caused it to quit its hold. She saw this, but she saw no more: pain and horror overpowered her, and she fainted. On recovering her senses, she found herself on her own bed, with several of her slaves about her; but the figure which immediately fixed all her attention was that of the young Indian girl who had preserved her. It would be difficult to imagine a prettier picture. Her slight and delicate hands were crossed upon her bosom, her long, glossy, black hair was fastened back behind her head, so as to show the beautiful contour of her face and bust; her features were small, and exquisitely regular; and her eyes, the loveliest in the world, were beaming with the very soul of gentle kindness. The wounded hand had been enveloped with some application that had already eased the pain; and it was evident by the manner in which the negroes stood apart, while the young Indian alone hung over her, that she it was, who had the charge of her at this critical moment.

Had Mrs. Hastings not lived for two years on the borders of an Indian reserve, and thereby become familiar with the dress and figure of her neighbours, she might have been tempted to believe, during the first confused moments of returning reason, that the dark, but lovely girl was some spirit of the woods, who, by her magic touch, had stilled the throbbing_agony, which had been the last sensation she was conscious of feeling. But she well knew that the reputation which the Indians bore for skill in herbs, was held in high reverence by the negroes, and doubted not that she now owed her life to the exercise of it. In a voice, feeble from recent suffering, she attempted to express her thanks; but her dark-eyed nurse pressed her finger on her lips, and, with a smile of delighted success, said in broken English, but of most gentle accent, "Lady, no speak." She then tendered her a draught already prepared, and, making a sign to the obedient negroes to leave the room, she closed the curtains around the bed, and placed herself beside it in silent watchfulness. The sure drug did not disappoint her; a long and quiet sleep was its effect; and in a few hours Mrs. Hastings awoke, with no other ill effect from the bite (though a most venomous one) than a trifling degree of stiffness in the arm.

It was impossible to receive so important a service without wishing to reward the author of it; and of all people living, Mrs. Hastings was the least likely to be deficient in such a wish. Her first feeling was the desire to heap favours upon the pretty Yarro, beyond the possibility of her hope or expectation. It was much more easy to do this with a being whose wishes were so humble, and whose knowledge was so limited, than to satisfy the enthusiastic gratitude of her own heart. Yarro was just sixteen, and being an Indian, and the belle of her tribe, may reasonably be supposed to have been fond of finery. She had a darling brother, too, the prince of hunters, the scourge of panthers, and the glory of his race. But Yarro had received more articles of dress than her wigwam could hold; and her brother, Hawkseye, more rifles and ammunition, than he could

stow away; yet still Mrs. Hasting thought she had done nothing for them.

There are some warm hearts, in whom the act of bestowing creates more affection than that of receiving favours. Our English exile was decidedly one of these. She had felt deeply grateful to the young Indian when she recovered from her accident; but after she had petted and loaded her with presents for a week or two, she became so fond of her, that she was never contented in her absence. This arose partly from her own generous and loving nature, and partly from the manifold attractions and amiable quali ties of her young favourite. When, in addition to these causes of attachment, it is remembered that Mrs. Hastings was in a state of the most desolate solitude, it will hardly appear surprising, that she should resolve to adopt and educate the pretty Yarro. But here she encountered a difficulty which she did not expect. Hawkseye and Yarro had neither father nor mother-they were all in all to each other; and when she proposed to take the young girl into her family, and treat her as her child, she was answered by two words only, "Hawkseye die!" When the young man was consulted, he steadily refused to give any opinion, and only repeated from time to time, in an accent of perfect tranquillity, "Yarro choose!"

Too affectionate in her own nature to be displeased by the same temper in others, Mrs. Hastings abandoned her project, and contented herself, as well as she might, with a daily visit from her forest friend. Just at this time a circumstance occurred, which not only made a change in the destiny of Yarro, but in that of the whole nation to which she belonged. Mr. Mansel, the attorney who was commissioned by the government to purchase from the Indians the fine tract of country which had been reserved to them in the neighbourhood of Canandagua, had encountered many difficulties in the progress of his undertaking. The tribe he had to deal with were strongly attached to their lands; and he talked to them in vain of the hunters' paradise which the loving-kindness of their great father, the President, had prepared for them on the other side of the great river. Again and again he assembled their chiefs in council; they listened, with the most impenetrable gravity, to the long harangues which Mr. Mansel uttered, and which the accomplished Pawtawako faithful interpreted; but still they only answered, "No."

Mr. Mansel, however, was not a man to submit quietly to seeing the unequalled government of the United States thwarted, contradicted, and discomfited by a few hundreds of Red Indians. If they would not be persuaded in one way, they must in another; the dignity of his country required it, as well as its exchequer; and, moreover, he was to be paid handsomely for the job. At the next meeting in the senate grove of lofty beech trees, under whose shade all national measures were discussed, Mr. Mansel, after expressing his regret at the failure of a negociation so greatly for their advantage, informed them that he was now come to take his leave, previous to his departure for Washington, whither he was going for the purpose of informing their great father that they had thought proper to refuse his offer. He held out the hand of peace to the chieftains, and waved a courteous adieu to the young men who stood outside the circle of the elders. In return, he received their simple but sincere "Farewell!" He turned to go, and having loosened his horse from the tree to which he had fastened it, he asked two of the most distinguished among them to accompany him to the red tavern, to drink together a cup of peace and good-will, before he set off. To refuse this would have been uncourteous, and, truth to say, unnatural, in an Indian. Two horses were immediately prepared for them, and they set off with the friendly white man.

Though Mr. Mansel did not speak their language with sufficient fluency to use it for an harangue uttered within the shade of the Senate Grove, (for

Mr. Mansel was a distinguished member of Congress, and would not, even among savages, compromise his reputation as an orator,) yet he was sufficiently acquainted with its quaint and simple idiom, to enable him to converse freely with his companions. He did so in a manner the most satisfactory. He spoke of the fame of their fathers, many of whom he mentioned by name; of their skill in the chase, their fleetness in the course: and, as he did it, he looked at the gentle expression of their dark faces, marked the simple and innocent triumph that beamed from their deep-set eyes, listened to the kind feelings of their grateful hearts, and then laughed to think inwardly that such a race should strive to cope with him.

The Indians are said to be cruel in war; and their ferocity is the more conspicuous, because it is exercised in a way unknown in European warfare. It might, perhaps, be difficult to show that war, under any system, did not expose those concerned in it to the same charge. That increasing civilization introduces many courtesies, which, when the field is over, calm the terrors of conquest, is most certain; but were this graceful gilding removed, (which Heaven forbid !) the European soldier would not be much less terrible than the Indian. In peace, no beings, acting from the unchecked impulses of nature, can show more amiable propensities; and were they suffered to remain on earth till the slow, but steadily advancing march of Christianity reached them, they might be added to the fellowship of the nations, giving another proof of the power and the blessings of its influence. But this is not to be. They are driven from their forest kingdoms, like the beasts that perish-not like men who wear the image of their Maker and this too by a race, who do not (even in fable) pretend to trace their origin from the "Great Spirit."

Another fault attributed to the poor Indians, is their proneness to intoxication. It is hardly fair that this should be urged against them by those who not only offer the cup, but do it with a hand that trembles from the use of it. Most true it is, that intoxication and the art of blasphemous swearing, is all of education that the Red Indians have gained by the proximity of white men. The system pursued by Stephano for the civilisation of Caliban, has been adopted and acted upon, without the slightest deviation, by the citizens of the United States, in their intercourse with the aboriginal possessors of the soil. But these reflections are foreign to the story, and must cease. Before the party reached the red tavern, Mr. Mansel had succeeded in opening completely the easy hearts of his companions, and they followed him into it, with all the fearless confidence of brothers. Rum, whiskey, and tobacco, soon united to entrance their faculties; Mansel continued his cajoleries, and the poor Indians listened to him, till they could hear no more. Soon after the debauch had reached this point, the door of the room was suddenly opened, and the figure of a young Indian, with his hatchet slung across his shoulder, and his rifle in his hand, appeared at it. Hatred and suspicion glared from his dark eye as he fixed it on the startled Mansel. A table stood before him, where, amidst the bottles, pipes, and glasses, he perceived paper, and the implements of writing. A suspicion of the truth flashed upon him. "What you do with this?" he said, taking up the pen, which, still wet with ink, lay upon the table. "I have been writing a letter to my wife, that she may not expect me home to-night," replied the lawyer. "Take some rum: Hawkseye, your uncle there lies fast asleep, you see; but he'll be none the worse when he wakes up, I expect: come, take some rum." Hawkseye, stood silently holding the pen in his hand; the fierce expression of his countenance sunk into a look of the profoundest melancholy. He looked from the pen to his uncle, and then back again to the pen; he took no notice of Mansel, or his offered cup; he spoke not a word, but with the air of a man conquered and heartbroken, he turned, and left the room.