space

ing 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 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.

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"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.

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'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 SHOP-KEEPER 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.

CHAPTER XV.

Emigration to Utica.-An expedition.-The salamander hat.-A terrible threat.-A Dutchman's hunt for the cmbargo on the ships.Utica long ago.-Interesting story of the Seneca chief.

I HAVE 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

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. 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.

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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 was n'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 salva

tion 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 childa 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 Judge W. received him with marks of respect, and introduced his wife, his daughter, and the little boy.

came.

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