The natives of America best known to us, and found in all the back settlements, both of North and South America, are called by Europeans, American Indians. These were the old inhabitants of the country, and were of various tribes, a few of which still remain. They have a clear skin, of pale copper colour, and black hair, and some of the tribes have fine intelligent faces, with kind and good qualities, but they have unsettled habits, and are continually at war with each other. They subsist by hunting, and are skilful in the use of the bow and arrow.

The more southern country of South America is inhabited by an uncivilized race of large stature, called Patagonians.

The West Indian islands are peopled by English and other European races, with a large number of negroes. These poor Africans were formerly brought over from Africa and sold as slaves, but they have been set free by an order of the English Parliament.

Everything in America is large; great rivers, vast lakes, immense forests, wide and almost interminable plains, and some of the loftiest mountains in the world.

THERE speeds a bark across the wave,
With the flag of England on her;
Why at her prow hangs drooping so
That badge of undimm'd honour?

II.

There posts a courier o'er the land
From India's sultry sky;

And he hath cross'd the Pearl-Gulf coast,
And the deserts of Arabia.

III.

Yet torrid sun, nor gem of the deep,
Nor the drought of Mecca's sands,

Nor Turk, or Copt have that herald stopt ;-
He hath tidings in his hands.

Now rides in Albion's port the bark,
With her colours half-mast high;
And safe to his home is the runner come,
With evil-boding eye.

V.

Why bears that bark the sign of woe?
And why doth the new-return'd
Meet, with eye so sad, the greetings glad
Of the hearth for which he yearn'd?

VI.

Why answers he not their oft request?
And why do his tears fall fast?

Is it shame-or grief? Doth he doubt belief?
Or fear lest a curse should blast?

VII.

He hath render'd his sable-seal'd charge

Yon packet shall utter all—

And 'tis some relief, that, 'mid shame and grief,
Not a tongue a curse lets fall.

VIII.

Woe, woe to the aged and the fair!
Mourn, Britain, this heavy day,

O'er the gory grave of the young and the brave,
Who lie murder'd far away.

IX.

Mourn for the youth untimely slain,

For the hero of threescore;

And the perishing throes, as they dropp'd on the

snows,

Of thrice three thousand more.

X.

Weep for the dying, and weep for the dead,
And weep for the living, too,

In barbarian's hand who captive stand-
The scanty residue.

XI.

Awake, each heart that's Briton-born!

Husbands and sires awake!

For your daughters and wives-for their jeopardized lives

Their peril'd honours, quake.

XII.

The dead are at rest; nor ignobly press'd

The battle-slain their sod;

And each weary rank, that expiring sank,
May be sleeping with their God.

XIII.

Oh! break not their sleep with detraction's cry
Be the tongue of malice still;

And record on their tomb no ungenerous doom,
In the grave their fame to kill.

XIV.

Peace to thine ashes, gallant chief,
Envoy of England's queen!

In her cause didst thou fall by a traitor's ball,
Decoy'd 'neath princely mien.

XV.

Shame on the coward infidel,

That a trusting foe betray'd;

Who his victor o'ercame with a murderer's aim,
And urged th' assassin's blade!

XVI.

Shame on the caitiff that work'd our fall,

With heaven attesting lies!

Whose safeguard deceived, while he plann'd and achieved

His myriad butcheries!

XVII.

And a British host ten thousand strong

Retreats before its foes,

Like sheep to be fell'd, when famine hath quell'd 'Mid Himalaya's snows.

XVIII.

For deep in the heart of wild Cabúl,

By mountains fast lock'd in,

They have enter'd the snare, to be trapp'd unaware By the hordes they look'd to win.

XIX.

Ten thousand human souls set forth,

The barrier heights to scale;

And from hunger and cold, and the Affghans bold, Came but one to tell the tale.

XX.

The ice and the rocks are ruddy yet,
And the torrent sweeps redly past;
And spirits of wrath o'er that guilty path
Ride shrieking on the blast

XXI.

Oh! marvel ye, if her pennon droop

On the deck with such huge wars freighted?
To his cheek if clung the herald's tongue,
And his tears the news related.

XXII.

Mourn for our soldiers who bravely bled,
Whom the knife or north wind slew;
Weep for the dying, and weep for the dead,
And weep for the living too.

C. J. Cruttwell.

UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH.

YE who have scorn'd each other,

Or injured friend or brother,

In this fast-fading year;

Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come, gather here.

Let sinn'd against and sinning
Forget their strife's beginning,
And join in friendship now;
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
Under the holly-bough.