Save the long line of sentry lamps,
That twinkled in the street.

I thought of all that busy life
Which hidden lay below,

Shut off from sight like the life of those
Who perished long ago;

And then through full two hundred years
My fancy traveled back

To those half real, dreamy days

Of old Quinnipiac.

Where now a Christian people meet
Beneath a Christian spire,

In olden time the Sachems met

Around the council-fire:

And Indian warriors from that spot

Went forth to meet their foe,

And danced the war-dance round their chief, Two hundred years ago.

And when the fishing season came,

And the danger-loving brave
Had launched his light canoe to meet
The tempest and the wave,
His Indian mother sat her down
Upon the lone sea-shore,
And followed with her anxious eyes
Where the boat had gone before.

She tarried till the sun had set,

And watched the ocean's flow,
And lingered there, and lingered yet,
Till darkness bade her go;

And when the eastern sky grew red,

Her labor was begun :

"The hours are long and sad," she said, "I'm watching for my son."

Then many a weary day went by,

And many a night wore on,

And many a thin new moon had come,
And many a full one gone,

And still that Indian mother sat

Upon the lone sea-shore,

And waited there to meet her son,

But she saw him never more.

And when for many an after year

The fishing season came,

The young men from the mountains brought
Their corn sheaves and their game,

And the dusky maidens wove a belt
Of wampum for the dead,

And they gave their offering to the sea,
For the spirit that had fled.

"Twas a dreamy life the red men led,
As the unmarked years flew by,--
In struggling for no noble thing,
And living but to die:

The race have left no trace of all

Their greatness or their might,
For the record only tells us

They have perished from our sight.

Their very name is half forgot,

And he who stands to-day
Upon the summit of East Rock

And looks down on the Bay,
Along the curving shore discerns
No ancient sign or track:-
There's not one vestige left to us
Of old Quinnipiac.

N. C. P.

Letter from Scotland.

BLAIR-ATHOLL, SCOTLAND, August 7, 1856.

DEAR MAGA, While your respected editors, and the college world generally, are recreating at cherished homes, and in a loved native land, your humble correspondent is a wanderer amid the rugged hills of Scotland. I have just returned from a tramp of thirty miles in Glen-Tilt,

one of the wildest of the Highland passes. As I hope to be a regular contributor to your pages during my absence, perhaps it will be better to commence with the beginning of my trip, and to defer a description of the Glen until some future time, and only remark that the scenery is grander than any other which I have seen elsewhere.

And this will be the more pleasant to me because I have an unusually strong yearning for places and friends left behind, this evening, and shall prefer to consider what was near to the last hours spent at home. How strangely old sounds awake old impressions! The thunder is booming among the mountains, and the rain falls heavily, and these have touched chords of memory, and melted me by thoughts of times gone by-of childhood hours, when the peals were God's words of anger; and of College days, with their explanations of natural phenomena. Well, you say, "but, why don't he begin with his travels?" And so he will.

After the grateful but sad parting from class and college mates, there came a quiet hour of retrospection, while, under the glory of a full orbed moon, the swift steamer sailed through the beauty of your harbor.

East and West Rocks stood like sentinels guarding the sleeping city, and the spires showed where the churches rested lovingly amid protecting elms. Many thoughts of the two years spent at Yale come thronging. But this is wandering again. Excuse me, the home feeling is strong to-night. Three days of hasty preparation, a Sabbath under the "old roof tree," a tearful good-by, and we are on the heaving ocean. His marine majesty was very gracious at first, and treated us right courteously. He rocked us as gently as a mother would her first born's cradle, and lulled us to an open-eyed slumber, filled with day dreams. Many an hour of the first four days we spent laying on the deck looking at the deep blue sky. How deep it seemed by day! And at night the stars appeared like openings in the cerulean letting through the glory of a better world, while the tracery of the rigging and the white sails was as if some fairy had worked it. Thus went the first four or five days, among them a Sabbath. We arranged to have service on the main deck, with the capstan for a pulpit, and the ship's bell calling us together startled me, and for a moment sounded as if from the tower of the Lyceum. Did you ever, in your school days, meet with a master very gentle at first, but who when your confidence was won proved to be a strict believer in the birch doctrine? Well, the particular son of Uranus and Ge with whom we had to do, acted after a similar manner. On the sixth day of our acquaintance his breakfast did not agree with

him, and he determined that ours should not with us. I will not narrate the particulars farther than to quote the words of a fellow-passenger, who said, "I feel as though three Irishmen were fighting in my stomach." I advised him to quiet them with a little whiskey. The first gale continued four days, and our Captain called it a "good sized blow, rather large for this season of the year; might pass for a winter one."

As I escaped sea-sickness, the tempest suited me exactly. I dressed up in a storm suit, a conspicuous part of which was "that white overcoat and felt hat," and spent most of my time on deck or in the rigging enjoying the sublimity of the winds and waves.

Contrary to the common belief, the waves do not rise higher than thirty feet, (Olmsted's Philos., p. -,) but such waves will make a vessel pitch some fifty feet at the bow and stern, which gives some considerable motion, if you are standing on the chains of the bowsprit. First, up you go with a "rush," poise for a moment, and then the ship leaps into the yawning chasm, so swiftly that the chain appears to drop from under your feet, and you cling convulsively to the hand ropes; for a moment she stops as if stunned, and then recovered, rises again, shaking off the clinging spray in scorn. Oh! it was exhilarating, and quickened the pulse beat, yet the storm occasioned some inconvenience, particularly at meal time. It also broke up my French studies, and my Langdonic class. You would have laughed, venerable Maga, to have seen that class drilled. The roll of the ship brought into play some muscles not thought of by Prof. Langdon when we tried the "Goat's Jump" and "Duck's march." On the 4th of July we had a jolly celebration. Oceanus being very quiet in consideration of the fact that Uncle Samuel is about to succeed Britannia in the rule of the waves, and might resent any interference with the celebration of his birthday. We had cannon fired, the Declaration read, an oration, a dinner, fireworks, and the other items of a genuine 4th of July jubilee. When extemporaneous toasts were in order, Yale was not forgotten. On the 20th day out we sighted land, and the next day part of the passengers went ashore at Portsmouth in a pilot boat. The sail in was very pleasant. The Isle of Wight was on the left, with its bold shore of verdant hills, and chalk clifts setting off each other, and the little town of Veutnot lay in a valley, and showed the embowered cottages, and graceful spires tipped with the golden glories of the departing sun.

We are sorry to leave thee, O sea! We have learned to love thee. We have seen thee radiant with the glance of morning and silvered by the Queen of night. Thou hast been peaceful as heaven, and anon

tossed like a troubled soul. We have heard thy waves soft as the whispers of love, and then playing a weird and fearful bass to the alto of the winds. Emblem of Eternity-fare thee well. England must be the subject of another letter.

E. L. H.

Peter the Hermit.

THE history of the Crusades will always be one of the most interesting illustrations of the philosophy of human actions. Historians will never tire in tracing out the causes of those great combinations against the Moslem power, which, originating in the dreams of a half-crazed hermit, soon gathered around the banner of the cross the noblest royal houses of Europe with the Roman pontiff at their head, which founded a new dynasty at Jerusalem and a new dynasty at Byzantium, which opened a new world in chivalry and poetry, and which after two centuries of great triumphs and great disasters, failing in its prime object of Asiatic empire, nevertheless exerted a wonderful influence upon taste, literature and commerce, and, by the overthrow of the feudal system, sowed the seeds of freedom and civilization throughout the world.

Not only in a philosophical, but also in an imaginative point of view, the history of the Crusades is deeply interesting. Their scene was laid in the land of mystery and of miracle. There it was, according to universal tradition, that the first human pair met in the embrace of love. Thither it was that God, by fire and cloud, had guided his chosen people There at a period antecedent to profane history, the Sack of Troy had avenged the wrongs of Greece. Thence the millions of Darius and Xerxes had marched forth to signal overthrow, and it was there that Alexander woke from his dream of a world's dominion. But above all, this land was the holy land,—a land whose air had been stirred by the words of prophets and the wings of angels, and whose meanest sod had been sanctified by the footsteps of the world's Redeemer.

As were the scenes, so were the actors in these great events, far removed from all vulgar comparisons. Not to speak of the seven kings