to these which we now inhabit.  Man is here but an image of himself, the representation of an idea that in itself is not subjected to a change.  That which derived it’s origin from the dust shall indeed to the dust return; but the fine ethereal substance does not cease to think, and shall be again employed by the immortal gods to put the forms of things in motion.  What was thine errour?—­It was nothing:  the bow was too mighty for the string, and the foundation too feeble for the fabric that was built upon it.  All shall be right when thou art arrived at the foot of the mountains, where the sound of the wintry winds will not be permitted to reach thee, and where the light of the lamp is not extinguished by the sickly blasts of autumn.——­

"What infernal stuff is this?’ exclaimed the clergyman, who at this period of the Indian’s discourse had returned on a full gallop with a large folio Bible before him:  ’what infernal heretical trash is this, with which my ears are insulted?—­Miscreant, avaunt!’ said he, addressing the Indian, ’or I will teach you how to make speeches within the bounds of my jurisdiction,’

“The Indian then modestly stepped down from the tombstone, and the legitimate clergyman took his place.  After making a slight apology for his stay, he read his text by the light from a horn lantern, which the clerk held up to his nose, and then proceeded to mumble over a written discourse upon the subject he had chosen, and which held him about half an hour.—­’In my country,’ observed the Indian, ’they would make a more animated speech at the interment of a favourite racoon!’

“‘This divinity-monger is the angel of our church,’ answered the man in the white linen coat; ’and it is dangerous to criticise upon his productions, especially as he considers every one to be in the wrong, who does not precisely fall in with his own opinions in matters appertaining to religion.’

“‘Weak men are always arrogant, positive, and self-conceited,’ replied the Indian.

“‘Let us hasten home,’ whispered the man in the white linen, coat, ’for the night begins to wear apace.”

* * * * *

Before the following lines are read, represent to yourself, that some of the tribes of Indians bury their dead in a sitting posture.—­

LINES
OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO
AN OLD INDIAN BURYING-GROUND.

In spite of all the learn’d have said,
  I still my old opinion keep,
The posture that we give the dead,
  Points out the soul’s eternal sleep.

Not so the ancients of these lands:—­
  The Indian, when from life releas’d,
Again is seated with his friends,
  And shares again the joyous feast.

His imag’d birds, and painted bowl,
  And ven’son for a journey drest,
Bespeak the nature of the soul—­
  Activity, that wants no rest.

His bow for action ready bent,
  And arrows with a head of bone,
Can only mean that life is spent,
  And not the finer essence gone.