it was placed in the hands of Joseph Slocum, Esq., the surviving brother.

Any attempts to describe the sensations produced by this most welcome, most strange, and most unexpected intelligence, would necessarily be a failure. This Mr. Joseph Slocum was the child, two years and a half old, who had been rescued by his intrepid sister, nine years old. That sister also survived, as did the younger brother, living in Ohio. Arrangements were immediately made by the former two to meet the latter in Ohio, and proceed thence to the Miami country and reclaim the long lost and now found sister. "I shall know her if she be my sister," said the elder sister, now going in pursuit, "although she may be painted and jeweled off, and dressed in her Indian blanket, for you, brother, hammered off her finger-nail one day in the blacksmith's shop, when she was four years old." In due season they reached the designated place, and found their sister. But, alas! how changed! instead of the fair-haired and laughing girl, the picture yet living in their imaginations, they found her an aged and thoroughbred squaw in every thing but complexion. But there could be no mistake as to her identity. The elder sister soon discovered the finger-mark. "How came the nail of that finger gone?" "My elder brother pounded it off when I was a little girl, in the shop," she replied. This circumstance was evidence

1

enough, but other reminiscences were awakened, and the recognition was complete. How different were the emotions of the parties! The brothers paced the lodge in agitation. The civilized sister was in tears. The other, obedient to the affected stoicism of her adopted race, was as cold, unmoved, and passionless as marble.

It was in vain that they besought their sister to return with them to her native valley, bringing her children with her if she chose. Every offer and importunity was declined. She said she was well enough off, and happy. She had, moreover, promised her husband on his death-bed never to leave the Indians. Her two daughters had both been married, but one of them was a widow. The husband of the other is a half-breed named Brouillette, who is said to be one of the noblest looking men of his race. They all have an abundance of Indian wealth, and her daughters mount their steeds, and manage them as well as in the days of chivalry did the rather masculine spouse of Count Robert of Paris. They lived at a place called the Deaf Man's Village, nine miles from Peru, in Indiana. But, notwithstanding the comparative comfort in which they lived, the utter ignorance of their sister was a subject of painful contemplation to the Slocums. She had entirely forgotten her native language, and was completely a pagan, having no knowledge even of the white man's Sabbath.

Mr. Joseph Slocum has since made a second visit to his sister, accompanied by his two daughters. Frances is said to have been delighted with the beauty and accomplishments of her white nieces, but resolutely refused to return to the abode of civilized man. She resided with her daughters in a comfortable log building, but in all her habits and manners, her ideas and thoughts, she is as thoroughly Indian as though not a drop of white blood ran in her veins. She is represented as having manifested, for an Indian, an unwonted degree of pleasure at the return of her brothers; but mother and daughters spurned every persuasive to win them back from the country and manners of their people. Indeed, as all their ideas of happiness are associated with their present mode of life, a change would be productive of little good, so far as temporal affairs are concerned, while, unless they could be won from Paganism to Christianity, their lives would drag along in irksome restraint, if not in pining

sorrow.

THE POETRY OF WYOMING.

"Romantic Wyoming! could none be found,

Of all that rove thy Eden groves among,

To wake a native harp's untutored sound,

And give thy tale of woe the voice of song?

Oh! if description's cold and nerveless tongue

From stranger harps such hallowed strains could call,

How doubly sweet the descant wild had rung,

From one who, lingering round thy ruined wall,'

Had plucked thy mourning flowers and wept thy timeless fall."

DRAKE.

CAMPBELL'S immortal poem, "Gertrude of Wyoming," beyond any inspiration of the muse which the sad story of her early history furnishes, has spread the name and fame of the Valley of Wyoming to earth's remotest bounds.

This beautiful pastoral was completed in 1808, and published in 1809, and a second edition followed the next year. As soon as it was known that the celebrated author of "The Pleasures of Hope" was employed upon a new poem, and a poem of length, expec

The informa

tation was on tiptoe for its appearance. tion first got wind in the drawing-room of Holland House. Then the subject was named-then a bit of the story told by Lord Holland, and a verse or two quoted by Lady Holland; so that the poem had every advertisement which rank, fashion, reputation, and the poet's own standing could lend it. The story was liked-then the meter was named and approved-then a portion shown; so that the poet had his coterie of fashion and wits before the public knew even the title of the poem they were trained up to receive with the acclamation it deserved. Nor was public expectation disappointed when it became generally known that the poet had gone to the banks of the Susquehanna for his poem-had chosen the desolation of Wyoming for his story, and the Spenserian stanza for his form of verse. The poet, however, was still timidly fearful, though he had the imprimatur of Holland House in favor of his poem.

He sent the first printed copy of his poem to Mr. Jeffrey, of the Edinburgh Review. The critic's reply was favorable. Mrs. Campbell has said that, till he had received Jeffrey's approbation, her husband was suffering, to use his own expression, "the horrors of the damned."

When Jeffrey read "Gertrude," he wrote to the author, and, with that perspicacity which so well adapted him for the post of a reviewer, said that the poem