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In 1939 Alan Turing was appointed to give a lecture course at Cambridge University course on mathematical logic. He also attended a course by Ludwig Wittgenstein on Foundations of Mathematics, oriented towards the philosophy of mathematics. An exchange between the two was recorded (seeHodges, 2014, p. 195).
Wittgenstein: citing a paradox in logic, arguedthat “it is just a useless language game and why should anyone be excited?” “Where will the harm come?” if there are contradictions.
Turing: “The real harm will not come in unless there is an application, in which a bridge may fall down or something of that sort”.
“Although you do not know that the bridge will fall if there are no contradictions, yet is almost certain that if there are contradictions it will go wrong somewhere.”
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This was one age of the world—one of the days in which the process of creation was going on. How long this earth remained in this condition, we cannot say, but probably many thousands of years. After a time, a change came over it. The country of the iguanodon sunk beneath the waters, and after a period, the land arose again, and another age began. Now new races of animals and vegetables appeared.
The waters teemed with nautili, and many species of shell and other fishes, at present extinct; the tropical forests had disappeared, and others took their places. Instead of the iguanodon, and the hideous reptiles that occupied the water and the land before, new races were seen. Along the rivers and marshes were now the hippopotamus, tapir, and rhinoceros; upon the land were browsing herds of deer of enormous size, and groups of elephants and mastodons, of colossal magnitude.
This era also passed away; these mighty animals became entombed in the earth; the vegetable world was changed; swine, horses and oxen were now seen upon the land, and man, the head of creation, spread over the earth, and assumed dominion over the animal tribes.
Such are the mighty results to which the researches of modern geology seem to lead us. They teach us that the six days, spoken of in the book of Genesis, during which the world was created, were probably not six days of twenty-four hours, but six periods of time, each of them containing thousands of years. They teach us also that God works by certain laws, and that even in the mighty process of creation, there is a plan, by which he advances in his work from one step to another, and always by a progress of improvement.
So far, indeed, is geology from furnishing evidence against the truth of the Bible, that it offers the most wonderful confirmation of it. No traces of the bones of man are found among these remains of former ages, and thus we have the most satisfactory and unexpected evidence that the account given of his creation in the book of Genesis is true. It appears, also, that the present races of animals must have been created at the same time he was, for their
bones do not appear among the ancient relics of which we have been speaking.
Linsk and the Aurora Borealis.
The Siberian Sable-Hunter.
.
The respectability of bears.—A hunter’s story.—Yakootsk in sight.
W the travellers proceeded on their journey, Linsk, now thoroughly excited by the adventure with the wolves, seemed to have his imagination filled with the scenes of former days. In the course of his observations, he remarked that though he had a great respect for a wolf, he had a positive reverence for a bear.
“Indeed!” said Alexis, “how is it possible to have such a feeling as reverence for a wild beast, and one so savage as a bear? I never heard any good of the creature.”
“That may be,” said Linsk; “and yet what I say is all right and proper. If you never heard any good of a bear, then I can give you some information. Now there is a country far off to the east of
Siberia, called Kamtschatka. It’s a terrible cold country, and the snow falls so deep there in winter, as to cover up the houses. The people are then obliged to dig holes under the snow from one house to another, and thus they live, like burrowing animals, till the warm weather comes and melts away their covering.
“Now what would the people do in such a country, if it were not for the bears? Of the warm skins of these creatures they make their beds, coverlets, caps, gloves, mittens, and jackets. Of them they also make collars for their dogs that draw their sledges, and the soles of their shoes when they want to go upon the ice to spear seals; for the hair prevents slipping. The creature’s fat is used instead of butter; and when melted it is burnt instead of oil.
“The flesh of the bear is reckoned by these people as too good to be enjoyed alone; so, when any person has caught a bear, he always makes a feast and invites his neighbors. Whew! what jolly times these fellows do have at a bear supper! They say the meat has the flavor of a pig, the juiciness of whale-blubber, the tenderness of the grouse, and the richness of a seal or a walrus. So they consider it as embracing the several perfections of fish, flesh and fowl!
“And this is not all. Of the intestines of the bear, the Kamtschatdales make masks to shield the ladies’ faces from the effects of the sun; and as they are rendered quite transparent, they are also used for window-panes, instead of glass. Of the shoulderblades of this creature, the people make sickles for cutting their grass; and of the skins they make muffs to keep the ladies’ fingers warm.
“Beside all this, they send the skins to market, and they bring high prices at St. Petersburgh, for the use of the ladies, and for many other purposes. Such is the value of this creature when dead; when alive he is also of some account. He has a rope put around his neck, and is taught a great many curious tricks. I suppose he might learn to read and go to college, as well as half the fellows that do go there; but of this I cannot speak with certainty, for I never went myself. All I can say is, that a well-taught bear is about the drollest creature that ever I saw. He looks so solemn, and yet is so droll! I can’t but think,
sometimes, that there’s a sort of human nature about the beast, for there’s often a keen twinkle in his eye, which seems to say, ‘I know as much as the best of you: and if I don’t speak, it’s only because I scorn to imitate such a set of creatures as you men are!’
“It is on account of the amusement that bears thus afford, that these Kamtschatdales catch a good many living ones, and send them by ships to market. They also send live bears to St. Petersburgh, London, and Paris, for the perfumers. These people shut them up, and make them very fat, and then kill them for their grease. This is used by the fops and dandies to make their locks grow. I suppose they think that the fat will operate on them as it does on the bear, and give them abundance of hair. I’m told that in the great cities, now-a-days, a young man is esteemed in proportion as he resembles a bear in this respect. Accordingly bears’ grease is the making of a modern dandy, and so there’s a great demand for the creature that affords such a treasure.
“Now, master ’Lexis, I hope you are satisfied that in saying you never heard any good of a bear, you only betrayed ignorance—a thing that is no reproach to one so young as yourself. But, after all I’ve said, I havn’t half done. You must remember that this creature is not like a sheep, or a reindeer, or a cow, or a goat—always depending upon man for breakfast, dinner and supper. Not he, indeed! He is too independent for that; so he supports himself, instead of taxing these poor Kamtschatdales for his living. Why, they have to work half the year to provide food for their domestic animals the other half; whereas the bear feeds and clothes himself, and when they want his skin, his flesh, or his carcass—why, he is all ready for them!”
“I am satisfied,” said Alexis “that the bear is a most valuable creature to those people who live in cold, northern countries; for he seems to furnish them with food, dress, and money; but, after all, they have the trouble of hunting him!”
“Trouble!” said Linsk; “why, lad, that’s the best of it all!”
“But isn’t it dangerous?” said Alexis.
“Of course it is,” replied the old hunter; “but danger is necessary to sport. It is to hunting, like mustard to your meat, or pepper and vinegar to your cabbage. Danger is the spice of all adventure; without this, hunting would be as insipid as ploughing. There is danger in hunting the bear; for though he’s a peaceable fellow enough when you let him alone, he’s fierce and furious if you interfere with his business, or come in his way when he’s pinched with hunger.
“I’ve had some adventures with bears myself, and I think I know the ways of the beast as well as anybody. Sometimes he’ll trot by, only giving you a surly look or a saucy growl. But if you chance to fall upon a she bear, with a parcel of cubs about her, why then look out.”
“Did you ever see a bear with cubs, father?” said Nicholas, the elder of Linsk’s sons.
“To be sure I have,” was the answer.
“Well, what I want to know, father,” said the boy, “is, whether they are such creatures as people say. I’ve been told that young cubs are as rough as a bramble bush, and that they don’t look like anything at all till the old bear has licked them into shape. Is that true?”
“No, no—it’s all gammon, Nick. Young cubs are the prettiest little things you ever saw. They are as soft and playful as young puppies; and they seem by nature to have a true Christian spirit. It’s as the creature grows old that he grows wicked and savage—and I believe it’s the same with men as with bears.
“I remember that once, when I was a young fellow, I was out with a hunting party in search of sables. Somehow or other I got separated from my companions, and I wandered about for a long time, trying in vain to find them. At last night came on, and there I was, alone! This happened far to the north, in the country of the Samoides. It was mid-winter, and though the weather was clear, it was bitter cold. I walked along upon the snow-crust, and, coming to an open space, I called aloud and discharged my gun. I could hear the echoes repeating my words, and the cracking of my piece, but there was no answer from my friends. It was all around as still as
death, and even the bitter blast that made my whole frame tingle, glided by without a whisper or a sigh. There were no people in all the country round about: and, I must confess that such a sense of desertion and desolation came over me, as almost made my heart sink within me.
“I remember it was one of those nights when the ‘northern lights’ shone with great brilliancy—a thing that often occurs in those cold countries. At first there was an arch of light in the north, of a pure and dazzling white. By and by, this began to shoot upward, and stream across the heavens, and soon the rays were tinged with other hues. At one time I saw a vast streak, seemingly like a sword of flame, piercing the sky; suddenly this vanished, and a mighty range of castles and towns, some white, some red, and some purple, seemed set along the horizon. In a few seconds these were changed, and now I saw a thing like a ship, with sails of many colors. This, too, disappeared, and then I saw images like giants dancing in the sky. By and by their sport was changed for battle, and it seemed as if they were fighting with swords of flame and javelins of light!
“I watched this wonderful display for some time, and at first I thought it boded some dreadful harm to me. But after a little reflection, I concluded that such vast wonders of nature, could not be got up on account of a poor young sable-hunter, and so I went on my way. Leaving the open country, I plunged into the forest, and among the thick fir trees began to seek some cave or hollow log, where I might screen myself from the bitter blast.
“While I was poking about, I saw four little black fellows playing like kittens, on the snow-crust, at a short distance. I gazed at them for a moment, and soon discovered that they were young bears. They were each of the size of a cat, and never did I see anything more playful than they were. I stood for some time watching them, and they seemed very much like so many shaggy puppies, all in a frolic.
“Well, I began to think what it was best to do; whether to make an attack, or drive them to their den, and take a night’s lodging with them. I was in some doubt how they would receive a stranger, while
their mamma was not at home; but I concluded, on the whole, to throw myself upon their hospitality—for I was shivering with cold, and the idea of getting into a warm bed with these clever fellows, was rather inviting just then. So I walked forward and approached the party. They all rose up on their hind legs and uttered a gruff growl, in token of astonishment. Never did I behold such amazement as these creatures displayed. I suppose they had never seen a man before, and they appeared mightily puzzled to make out what sort of a creature I was.
“Having looked at me for some time, the whole pack scampered away, and at a short distance entered a cave. I followed close upon them, and, coming to their retreat, was rejoiced to find that it was a hollow in a rock, the entrance of which was just large enough for me to creep in. In I went, though it was dark as a pocket. I knew that the old bear must be abroad, and as for the young ones, I was willing to trust them; for, as I said before, all young creatures seem to be civil till they have cut their eye teeth and learnt the wicked ways of the world.
“When I got into the cave, I felt round and found that it was about five feet square, with a bed of leaves at the bottom. The young bears had slunk away into the crevices of the rock, but they seemed to offer no resistance. I found the place quite comfortable, and was beginning to think myself very well off, when the idea occurred to me, that madame bear would be coming home before long, and was very likely to consider me an intruder, and to treat me accordingly. These thoughts disturbed me a good deal, but at last I crept out of the cave, and gathered a number of large sticks; I then went in again and stopped up the entrance by wedging the sticks into it as forcibly as could. Having done this, and laying my gun at my side, I felt about for my young friends. I pretty soon got hold of one of them, and, caressing him a little, pulled him toward me. He soon snugged down at my side, and began to lick my hands. Pretty soon another crept out of his lurking-place, and came to me, and in a short time they were all with me in bed.
“I was soon very warm and comfortable, and after a short space the whole of us were in a sound snooze. How long we slept I cannot
tell; but I was awakened by a terrible growl at the mouth of the cave, and a violent twitching and jerking of the sticks that I had jammed into the entrance. I was not long in guessing at the true state of the case. The old bear had come back, and her sharp scent had apprized her that an interloper had crept into her bed-room. St. Nicholas! how she did roar, and how the sticks did fly! One after another was pulled away, and in a very short space of time, every stick was pulled out but one. This was the size of my leg, and lay across the door of the cave. I got hold of it and determined that it should keep its place. But the raging beast seized it with her teeth, and jerked it out of my hands in a twinkling. The entrance was now clear, and, dark as it was, I immediately saw the glaring eyeballs of the bear, as she began to squeeze herself into the cave. She paused a moment, and, fixing her gaze on me, uttered the most fearful growl I ever heard in my life. I don’t think I shall ever forget it, though it happened when I was a stripling—and that is some thirty years ago.
“Well, it was lucky for me that the hole was very small for such a portly creature; and, mad as she was, she had to scratch and squirm to get into the cave. All this time I was on my knees, gun in hand, and ready to let drive when the time should come. Poking the muzzle of my piece right in between the two balls of fire, whang it went! I was stunned with the sound, and kicked over beside. But I got up directly, and stood ready for what might come next. All was still as death; even the cubs, that were now lurking in the fissures of the rocks, seemed hushed in awful affright.
“As soon as my senses had fully returned, I observed that the fiery eyeballs were not visible, and, feeling about with my gun, I soon discovered that the bear seemed to be lifeless, and wedged into the entrance of the cave. I waited a while to see if life had wholly departed, for I was not disposed to risk my fingers in the mouth even of a dying bear; but, finding that the creature was really dead, I took hold of her ears, and tried to pull her out of the hole. But this was a task beyond my strength. She was of enormous size and weight, and, beside, was so jammed into the rocks as to defy all my efforts to remove the lifeless body.
“‘Well,’ thought I, ‘this is a pretty kettle of fish! Here I am in a cave, as snug as a fly in a bottle, with a bear for a cork! Who ever heard of such a thing before!’ What would have been the upshot I cannot say, had not unexpected deliverance been afforded me. While I was tugging and sweating to remove the old bear, I heard something without, as if there were persons near the cave. By and by the creature began to twitch, and at last out she went, at a single jerk. I now crept out myself—and behold, my companions were there!
“I need not tell you that it was a happy meeting. We made a feast of the old bear, and spent some days at the cave, keeping up a pleasant acquaintance with the young cubs. When we departed we took them with us, and they seemed by no means unwilling to go. We had only to carry one, and the rest followed. But look here, my boys! this is the river Lena, and yonder is Yakootsk. Soon we shall be there!”
(To be continued.)
A - in New York, the other day, stuck upon his door the following laconic advertisement: “A boy wanted.” On going to his shop, the next morning, he beheld a smiling urchin in a basket, with the following pithy label: “Here it is.”
Merry’s Adventures.
.
Emigration to Utica.—An expedition.—The salamander hat.—A terrible threat.—A Dutchman’s hunt for the embargo on the ships. Utica long ago.—Interesting story of the Seneca chief.
I now reached a point when the events of my life became more adventurous. From this time forward, at least for the space of several years, my history is crowded with incidents; and some of them are not only interesting to myself, but I trust their narration may prove so to my readers.
When I was about eighteen years of age, I left Salem for the first time since my arrival in the village. At that period there were a good many people removing from the place where I lived, and the vicinity, to seek a settlement at Utica. That place is now a large city, but at the time I speak of, about five and thirty years ago, it was a small settlement, and surrounded with forests. The soil in that quarter was, however, reputed to be very rich, and crowds of people were flocking to the land of promise.
Among others who had made up their minds to follow the fashion of that day, was a family by the name of Stebbins, consisting of seven persons. In order to convey these, with their furniture, it was necessary to have two wagons, one of which was to be driven by Mat Olmsted, and, at my earnest solicitation, my uncle consented that I should conduct the other.
After a preparation of a week, and having bade farewell to all my friends, Raymond, Bill Keeler, and my kind old uncle, and all the rest, we departed. Those who are ignorant of the state of things at that day, and regard only the present means of travelling, can hardly
conceive how great the enterprise was esteemed, in which I was now engaged. It must be remembered that no man had then even dreamed of a rail-road or a steamboat. The great canal, which now connects Albany with Buffalo, was not commenced. The common roads were rough and devious, and instead of leading through numerous towns and villages, as at the present day, many of them were only ill-worked passages through swamps and forests. The distance was about two hundred miles—and though it may now be travelled in twenty hours, it was esteemed, for our loaded wagons, a journey of two weeks. Such is the mighty change which has taken place, in our country, in the brief period of thirty-five years.
I have already said that Mat Olmsted was somewhat of a wag; he was, also, a cheerful, shrewd, industrious fellow, and well suited to such an expedition. He encountered every difficulty with energy, and enlivened the way by his jokes and his pleasant observations.
It was in the autumn when we began our journey, and I remember one evening, as we had stopped at a tavern, and were sitting by a blazing fire, a young fellow came in with a new hat on. It was very glossy, and the youth seemed not a little proud of it. He appeared also to be in excellent humor with himself, and had, withal, a presuming and conceited air. Approaching where Mat was sitting, warming himself by the fire, the young man shoved him a little aside, saying, “Come, old codger, can’t you make room for your betters?”
“To be sure I can for such a handsome gentleman as yourself,” said Mat, good naturedly; he then added, “That’s a beautiful hat you’ve got on, mister; it looks like a real salamander!”
“Well,” said the youth, “it’s a pretty good hat, I believe; but whether it’s a salamander, or not, I can’t say.”
“Let me see it,” said Olmsted; and, taking it in his hand, he felt of it with his thumb and finger, smelt of it, and smoothed down the fur with his sleeve. “Yes,” said he, at length, “I’ll bet that’s a real salamander hat; and if it is you may put it under that forestick, and it won’t burn any more than a witch’s broomstick.”
“Did you say you would bet that it’s a salamander hat?” said the young man.
“To be sure I will,” said Mat; “I’ll bet you a mug of flip of it; for if there ever was a salamander hat, that’s one. Now I’ll lay that if you put it under the forestick, it won’t singe a hair of it.”
“Done!” said the youth, and the two having shaken hands in token of mutual agreement, the youth gave his hat to Olmsted, who thrust it under the forestick. The fire was of the olden fashion, and consisted of almost a cartload of hickory logs, and they were now in full blast. The people in the bar-room, attracted by the singular wager, had gathered round the fire, to see the result of the experiment. In an instant the hat was enveloped by the flames, and in the course of a few seconds it began to bend and writhe, and then curled into a scorched and blackened cinder.
“Hulloo!” said Mat Olmsted, seizing the tongs and poking out the crumpled relic from the bed of coals, at the same time adding, with well-feigned astonishment, “Who ever did see the like of that! it wasn’t a salamander, arter all! Well, mister, you’ve won the bet. Hulloo, landlord, give us a mug of flip.”
The force of the joke soon fell upon the conceited young man. He had indeed won the wager—but he had lost his hat! At first he was angry, and seemed disposed to make a personal attack upon the cause of his mortification; but Matthew soon cooled him down. “Don’t mind it, my lad,” said he; “it will do you good in the long run. You are like a young cockerel, that is tickled with his tall red comb, and having had it pecked off, is ever after a wiser fowl. Take my advice, and if you have a better hat than your neighbors, don’t think that it renders you better than they. It’s not the hat, but the head under it, that makes the man. At all events, don’t be proud of your hat till you get a real salamander!”
This speech produced a laugh at the expense of the coxcomb, and he soon left the room. He had suffered a severe rebuke, and I could hardly think that my companion had done altogether right; and when I spoke to him afterward, he seemed to think so himself. He,
however, excused what he had done, by saying that the fellow was insolent, and he hoped the lesson would be useful to him.
We plodded along upon our journey, meeting with no serious accident, and in the course of five or six days we were approaching Albany. Within the distance of a few miles, Matthew encountered a surly fellow, in a wagon. The path was rather narrow, and the man refused to turn out and give half the road. High words ensued, and, finally, my friend, brandishing his whip, called out aloud, “Turn out, mister; if you don’t, I’ll sarve you as I did the man back!”
The wagoner was alarmed at this threat, and turning out, gave half the road. As he was passing by, he had some curiosity to know what the threat portended; so he said, “Well, sir, how did you serve the man back?” “Why,” said Matthew, smiling, “I turned out myself!” This was answered by a hearty laugh, and after a few pleasant words between the belligerent parties, they separated, and we pursued our journey.
Albany is now a large and handsome city; but at the time I speak of, it contained but about three thousand people, a very large part of whom were Dutch, and who could not speak much English. None of the fine streets and splendid public buildings, which you see there now, were in existence then. The streets were narrow and dirty, and most of the houses were low and irregular, with steep roofs, and of a dingy color. Some were built of tiles, some of rough stones, some of wood, and some of brick. But it was, altogether, one of the most disagreeable looking places I ever saw.
We remained there but a few hours. Proceeding on our journey, we soon reached Schenectady, which we found to be a poor, ill-built, Dutch village, though it is a handsome town now. We stopped here for the night; and, a little while after we arrived, a man with a wagon, his wife and three children, arrived also at the tavern. He was a Dutchman, and seemed to be in very ill-humor. I could hardly understand what he said, but by a little help from Matthew, I was able to make out his story.
You must know that Congress had passed a law forbidding any ships to go to sea; and this was called an embargo. The reason of it
was, that England had treated this country very ill; and so, to punish her, this embargo was laid on the ships, to prevent people from carrying flour and other things to her, which she wanted very much; for many of her people were then engaged in war, and they could not raise as much grain as they needed.
Well, the old Dutchman had heard a great deal about the embargo on the ships; for the two parties, the democrats and federalists, were divided in opinion about it, and accordingly it was the subject of constant discussion. I remember that wherever we went, all the people seemed to be talking about the embargo. The democrats praised it as the salvation of the country, and the federalists denounced it as the country’s ruin. Among these divided opinions, the Dutchman was unable to make up his mind about it, accordingly, he hit upon an admirable method to ascertain the truth, and satisfy his doubts. He tackled his best horses to the family wagon, and, taking his wife and three children, travelled to Albany to see the embargo on the ships!
Well, he drove down to the water’s edge, and there were the vessels, sure enough; but where was the embargo? He inquired first of one man, and then of another, “Vare is de embargo? I vish to see de embargo vat is on de ships!” What he expected to see I cannot tell; but he had heard so much said about it, and it was esteemed, by one party at least, the cause of such multiplied evils, that he, no doubt, supposed the embargo must be something that could be seen and felt. But all his inquiries were vain. One person laughed at him, another snubbed him as an old fool, and others treated him as a maniac. At last he set out to return, and when he arrived at the tavern in Schenectady, he was not only bewildered in his mind, but he was sorely vexed in spirit. His conclusion was, that the embargo was a political bugbear, and that no such creature actually existed!
We set out early the next morning, and by dint of plodding steadily on through mud and mire, we at last reached the town of Utica, having been fourteen days in performing the journey from Salem. We found the place to contain about a thousand people, all the houses being of wood, and most of them built of logs, in the fashion of the log cabin. The town, however, had a bustling and thriving
appearance, notwithstanding that the stumps of the forest were still standing in the streets.
I noticed a great many Indians about the town, and soon learned that they consisted of the famous tribes called the Six Nations. Some of these are still left in the state of New York, but they have dwindled down to a very small number. But at the time I speak of, they consisted of several thousands, and were still a formidable race. They were at peace with the White people, and seemed to see their hunting grounds turned into meadows and wheat fields, with a kind of sullen and despairing submission.
One of the first settlers in this vicinity was Judge W., who established himself at Whitestown—about four miles from Utica. This took place nearly a dozen years before my visit. He brought his family with him, among whom was a widowed daughter with an only child—a fine boy of four years old. You will recollect that the country around was an unbroken forest, and that this was the domain of the savage tribes.
Judge W. saw the necessity of keeping on good terms with the Indians, for as he was nearly alone, he was completely at their mercy. Accordingly he took every opportunity to assure them of his kindly feelings, and to secure good-will in return. Several of the chiefs came to see him, and all appeared pacific. But there was one thing that troubled him; an aged chief of the Seneca tribe, and one of great influence, who resided at the distance of half a dozen miles, had not yet been to see him; nor could he, by any means, ascertain the views and feelings of the sachem, in respect to his settlement in that region. At last he sent him a message, and the answer was, that the chief would visit him on the morrow.
True to his appointment the sachem came. Judge W. received him with marks of respect, and introduced his wife, his daughter, and the little boy. The interview that followed was deeply interesting. Upon its result, the judge conceived that his security might depend, and he was, therefore, exceedingly anxious to make a favorable impression upon the distinguished chief. He expressed to him his desire to settle in the country; to live on terms of amity and good
fellowship with the Indians; and to be useful to them by introducing among them the arts of civilization.
The chief heard him out, and then said, “Brother, you ask much, and you promise much. What pledge can you give me of your good faith?”
“The honor of a man that never knew deception,” was the reply.
“The white man’s word may be good to the white man, yet it is but wind when spoken to the Indian,” said the sachem.
“I have put my life into your hands,” said the judge; “is not this an evidence of my good intentions? I have placed confidence in the Indian, and I will not believe that he will abuse or betray the trust that is thus reposed.”
“So much is well,” replied the chief; “the Indian will repay confidence with confidence; if you will trust him he will trust you. But I must have a pledge. Let this boy go with me to my wigwam; I will bring him back in three days with my answer!”
If an arrow had pierced the bosom of the mother, she could not have felt a keener pang than went to her heart, as the Indian made this proposal. She sprung from her seat, and rushing to the boy, who stood at the side of the sachem, looking into his face with pleased wonder and admiration; she encircled him in her arms, and pressing him close to her bosom, was about to fly from the room. A gloomy and ominous frown came over the sachem’s brow, but he did not speak.
But not so with Judge W He knew that the success of their enterprise, the very lives of his family, depended upon the decision of the moment. “Stay, stay, my daughter!” said he. “Bring back the boy, I beseech you. He is not more dear to you than to me. I would not risk the hair of his head. But, my child, he must go with the chief. God will watch over him! He will be as safe in the sachem’s wigwam as beneath our roof and in your arms.”
The agonized mother hesitated for a moment; she then slowly returned, placed the boy on the knee of the chief, and, kneeling at his feet, burst into a flood of tears. The gloom passed from the
sachem’s brow, but he said not a word. He arose, took the boy in his arms and departed.
I shall not attempt to describe the agony of the mother for the three ensuing days. She was agitated by contending hopes and fears. In the night she awoke from sleep, seeming to hear the screams of her child calling upon its mother for help! But the time wore away—and the third day came. How slowly did the hours pass! The morning waned away; noon arrived; and the afternoon was now far advanced; yet the sachem came not. There was gloom over the whole household. The mother was pale and silent, as if despair was settling coldly around her heart. Judge W. walked to and fro, going every few minutes to the door, and looking through the opening in the forest toward the sachem’s abode.
At last, as the rays of the setting sun were thrown upon the tops of the forest around, the eagle feathers of the chieftain were seen dancing above the bushes in the distance. He advanced rapidly, and the little boy was at his side. He was gaily attired as a young chief— his feet being dressed in moccasins; a fine beaver skin was over his shoulders, and eagles’ feathers were stuck into his hair He was in excellent spirits, and so proud was he of his honors, that he seemed two inches taller than before. He was soon in his mother’s arms, and in that brief minute, she seemed to pass from death to life. It was a happy meeting—too happy for me to describe.
“The white man has conquered!” said the sachem; “hereafter let us be friends. You have trusted the Indian; he will repay you with confidence and friendship.” He was as good as his word; and Judge W. lived for many years in peace with the Indian tribes, and succeeded in laying the foundation of a flourishing and prosperous community.
Repentance:
A farmer reared with his own hands a row of noble fruit trees. To his great joy they produced their first fruit, and he was anxious to know what kind it was.
And the son of his neighbor, a bad boy, came into the garden, and enticed the young son of the farmer, and they went and robbed all the trees of their fruit before it was fully ripe.
When the owner of the garden came and saw the bare trees, he was very much grieved, and cried, Alas! why has this been done? Some wicked boys have destroyed my joy!
This language touched the heart of the farmer’s son, and he went to his companion, and said, Ah! my father is grieved at the deed we have committed. I have no longer any peace in my mind My father will love me no more, but chastise me in his anger, as I deserve.
But the other answered, You fool, your father knows nothing about it, and will never hear of it. You must carefully conceal it from him, and be on your guard.
And when Henry, for this was the name of the boy, came home, and saw the smiling countenance of his father, he could not return his smile; for he thought, how can I appear cheerful in the presence of him whom I have deceived? I cannot look at myself. It seems as if there were a dark shade in my heart.
Now the father approached his children, and handed every one some of the fruit of autumn, Henry as well as the others. And the children jumped about delighted, and ate. But Henry concealed his face, and wept bitterly.
Then the father began, saying, My son, why do you weep?
And Henry answered, Oh! I am not worthy to be called your son. I can no longer bear to appear to you otherwise than what I am, and know myself to be. Dear father, manifest no more kindness to me in future, but chastise me, that I may dare approach you again, and cease to be my own tormentor. Let me severely atone for my offence, for behold, I robbed the young trees!
Then the father extended his hand, pressed him to his heart, and said, I forgive you, my child! God grant that this may be the last, as well as the first time, that you will have any action to conceal. Then I will not be sorry for the trees.
