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TUB HUSSAR'S SADDLE.
Old Ludovic Hurts always regarded Ids
saddle Mfrith the deepest veneration; and
yet there appeared nothing about it capable
of exciting his idolatry. It was a
Turkish saddle, old, and deeply stained
with blood; but to the brave Ludovic it
recalled a tale of other days, when ardent,
young and enthusiastic, he first drew
his sword in defence of his country,
against his enemies.
lie had been opposed in battle against
the invaders of his native Hungary, and
many an unbelieving dog bad his good
sword smitten to the earth. Various hud
liopn llio fiirlunnu iif llio -"J .....
?/vv?a ?HIM O Wl CHI- U ill ? 'lllll IIIH
often was the glory of the holy cross
dimmed by the lustre of the triumphant
crescent. # Such sad disasters were? seldom
alluded to by the brave Hussar, but he
loved to dwell on the successful actions
in which he had been engaged.
It was in one of these combats that
suddenly cut off from his party, lie found
himself surrounded hy (our infuriated
Turks.
But the recollection of 3 ou and ycur
angel mother, would Ludovic say to his
daughter, nerved my arms I was assail*
ed hy all my opponents. How three fell,
I know not; but severe nnd long was
the conflict with the lust of my foes,
whose powerful arm was raised against
inc. Already I saw my wife a mournful
widow, and my chile fatherl s??, a id these
dreadful thoughts infused fresh vi??or into
my arms; I smote the infidel dog to death.
hurled him from his steed, and rifled luin
as he lay. At this moment several of
the enemy appeared in sight, hut I was
too much exhausted to renew the perilous
?11?. 1 ? ?
vA/ium i. my ganaiiL NUI su lit} W'HJhUCU
and in the agonies of death; I threw
myself on the Turkish courser, forced
him on ut his utmost speed until I regained
my squadron. The saddle was
steeped in the blood of my foe, and mine
mingled with it. When a cessation of
hostilities permitted the troops to rest for
a space from the horrors of war I hastened
with the treasure, which during the
campaign f had acquired, to my home, and
purchased these fertile fields around my
dwelling and forgot for a season the misc.
ries of war.
The gdod Ludovic could here pnusr.?
He still retained a lively recollection of
his lost wife, and he could not hear to
narrate the circumstances of her illness
and death. After this sad event, his home
.became hateful to him, ami he resolved
again to engage in ihe arduous duties of
a soldier. His little Theresa was kindly
adopted into the family of his only brother,
and there, after a lapse of some years,
our good Hussar found Iter blooming in
youthful beauty.
Ludovic arrived only in time to close
the eyes of his brother, who. on his death
bed entreated hirn to bestow Theresa on
his only son, when they should have attained
a proper age. Grateful lor his
almost parental rare of his child, and,
moved l>y the situation of-bis brother,
whosB whole heart skeined to he bent on |
this union, Ludovic promised that when]
his daughter should have obtained tlie I
age of eighteen, she should become the
wife of Karl, provided Karl.himself desisired
the connexion at that lime, x a ml
satisfied with this promise the old man
died in peace.
This engagement was concealed from
Theresa, but it was knowh lo K >rI, who
exulted in the thought that this rich prize
would one day be his. With low habits
and a coarse turn of mind, the delicate
grace of Theresa had no charms for him,
lie loved her not, hut loved tlio wealth
that would one dav be hers and which lie
looked on with a greedy eye. The thousand
soft and nameless feelings which accompany
a tender and generous passion,
were unknown to Karl. It was a hard
task to him to attend his gentle mistress ;
nor did he ever appear disposed to play
the lover, except when some other seemed
disposed to supply his pluce. It was at a
real fete given by Ludovic to his neighbors
at the termination of an abundant
harvest, that Karl first chose openly to
assert his right. He had taken it for
granted that lie should open the dance with
Theresa. What then, was his indignation,
when on entering the apartment, her slender
waist was encircled by the arms of a
young hussar, moving in the graceful
I waltz! The evident superiority of lii?
[rival, whose well knit limbs, firm step
ant! martini air, formed a striking contrast
to his own clownish figure and awkwarl
gait, only increased his ire, and in violent
wrath he advanced to Theresa, insisting
on his right to open the dance with her. 1
Theresa pleaded her engagement: he per- 1
sisted : sh? refused his request, and laugh- '
?d at his anger. He became violent and '
rude. The hussar interfered, and* the
quarrel rose so high as to draw Ludovir ]
to the spot. i
Karl, in a voice almost choaked with '
passion. laid his grievances before hi n.? '
Theresa, in a tone of indignation, com- '
plained to her father of his insolence, and 1
appealed to him whether kIip who n..i *1
liberty to select any partner Cor the dance
thai she thought proper. '
"You have no such liberty !'* thundered 1
f>rlh Karl. *Y??u are mv betrothed wife, 1
and as such you belong to mc alone. '
Theresa cast on him a smile full of 1
scorn and contempt, hut it faded as she '
looked to her father, and a deadly pale- 1
ness overspread her countenance as she '
inquired, ''Father does this man speak '
the truth T"
lie does my child.* was the reply; and '
she dropped insensible at h s feet. '
The young hussar now knelt down he- '
si le her, passionately kissed her fair fore- '
head, and raised her in his arms, bore her
to an adjoining room, followed bv the
father and K ?rl. Theresa slowly revived. (
\t first she saw no one, and breathing a
faint si-jb, mu tun c''it was all a horrid 1
.ii. l?? * -I
weaui; /% o ail iiisiicn gr?>ar. started '
her into perception and agony. She I
looked up ?ml paw Iter lather standing !
before her with folded arms anil a countenance
clouded with grief Karl also stood
near with an exulting smile : and the
hussar knelt beside her, hut his fare was
hurried i his hands. Site then found that
it was no dritum. -She looked at her
father.
Father is there no hope?
None, my honor is pledged.
She then turned to the hussar, and
placed her cold hand in his; then rising
suddenly, threw herself at the feet ol
Karl. O Karl, have mercy ! I love anoih- 1
er?you do not love me?have pity on
us. - 1
I 4,By all the powers of heaven and hell
you shall lie mine! Theresa!*
'I appeal to my lather.'
Will your father violate his promise to
the dead V
No I will not,' said Ludovic with solemnity.
Then Theresa* exclaimed Karl, with
fiend like exultation,'iio power on earth
shall save you from being mine!* and thus
saying he left the house.
Theresa rose fiom her knees, and
threw herself into the arms of her lover.
The presence of her father was no restraint
on her pure tenderness. The tears
fell on his manly countenance, but "his
concluding words, "that he must hold it
sacred,*' threw them into a new paroxism
of grief.
"We must part then, Arnhold,'* said
the weeping Theresa , 'we must part?oh
can we survive this cruel blow f"
'No/ said Arnhold, 'No, I cannot be
without you, let us once nnre entreat
your father to have pity on us," and the
youthful lovers threw themselves at his
feet.
"Arnfiold !" said Ludovic, sternly, 'thou
a soldier, and ask me 'o tarnish my honor!'
Arnhold felt the appeal; lie started up.
raised the we-ping-Theresa, cut oil* with
his sabre one long bright lock, embrace I.
and kissed her, placed her in the arms of
Iter father and fled.
Every passing day carried with it some
portion of the fortitude of Theresa, as
she saw the appioaeh of the period which
| was to consign her to a state so dreadful.
, Three little weeks were all that lay be'
tween her and misery. Ludovic endeavored
to soothe her, but she would not
be comforted. Had even her affections
[ been disengaged, Karl would have been;
distasteful to her; bu^with her affections ,
placed upon another, the idea of this
union appeared insupportable.
My child !' would Ludovic say, in interrupting
a passionate burst of grief, 'by
what magic has Arnhold gained pussions
of your heart !*
'lie is an hussar/ replied Theresa.
There was something in this reply
which 'moved Ludovic; he recollected that
he himself had imbued the mind of the
daughter with the sentiments of respect
and esteem lor the character of a good
soldier; and conscience reminded him
that he had too often exhalted the profession
of arms above the. peaceful ami
unohstrurtive occupations of the husbandman.
Was it w nderfol then, tlintThere
sa should have imbibed any of this spirit?
or that she should have yielded her heart
to one who possessed courage to defend
her, and tenderness to soothe her, under
llie afflictions -of life ? Arnhold dwelt
near them ; he had been the playmate of
llieresn, and with glowing cheeks and
sparkling eyes, they often listened together
to the warlike exploits which the good
Ludovic delighted to relate to them ; and
to these conversations might be attributed
the passionate desire of Arnhold to adopt
the profession ot arms. Accustomed to
see them p'ay together as children, and
liking the society ol the generous and
spirited bov, Lodovic forgot the danger
when their childhood passed away, of
their affection assuming a totally different
character. It was go, and Lmlovir
now saw with deep grief that his daughter
was unalterably attached to the young
soldier. <
If Theresa was unhdppy, her father
was scarcely less so; lie blamed his own
imprudence : and on contrasting the char
icter of the t vo youths, a violent conflict
between his feeling and his duty arose
in Ms breast; the stern honor of a soldier,
triumphed,'and he deemed himself bound
to tre-vs a c r ill e e.
Unable, however, to endure the sight of
her grief, he carried her to the abode ol
i youthful female friend, who formerly
resided near them, but ?on her mrrriage
Fiad removed to a village about sixty
inibs distant. There he left Theresa,
iftcr he had received her solemn promise
thai she would return wish him the d ty
before that on which she would complete
her eighteenth year.
'Father,** said she, with a stammering
voice, '1 have never deceived you. It 1
live i will return ; but do not grieve too
ileeply should my heart break in this tearful
struggle.*'
The old hussar dashed away a tear
which strayed down his sunburnt cheek,
tmtbraciug Ins child and departed.
Time wore gradually away, and at lust
lite tiny arrived which was i?? seal l'tieresa's
fate. It found h< r in u state ol torpid
despair. Exhausted by l?er pi t vious
struggles, all feelings seemed dead; but
lior miiwl ii! w uii'uLi>ni'(l tit IIP IV -iiillir.
nigs.? A friend arrived i?? conduct her l??
her father. The good Ludovic lay, apparently
on the bed of death, and witn
breathless impatience Theresa pursued
her journey.
On her arrival, her father's sirk room
was not solitary. The d tested Kill was
there, and there too, was the youthlul
hussar.
,4 .My child," said Ludovic, 'my daysar**
numbered, my fate must soon be decided,
and alas! yours also! To my dying
brother I solemnly promised, that on tins
day I wonhl oiler you 10 his son for his
bride. Without fulfilling my engagement
I could not die in peace; even (lie grave
would offer no rest. Can you sacrifice
yourself for my lulure repose I
"I can, I will," cried the unfortunate
Theresa, sinking on her knees *'so help
heaven !"
'Heaven will bless a dutiful child,' said
Ludovic, with fervor?'Karl drew near.'
Karl obeyed?Theresa shuddend.
Karl,' said Ludovic, 'you suy you love
my child, cherish her I conjure you, as
you hope for future happiness. In her
you will possess a treasure ; but I warn
you, she will bring you but part of my
posseseions."
Karl started and retreated a few steps.
That however, continued Ludovic, 'wluen
I looked upon as my greatest earthly
treasure, 1 give you Willi my daughter.
You, Karl, heiieve me to ti <vu some virtues.
Alas! al.is! you know not the secret
sins which have sullied my lile?tlu.
rapine, the murder, but enough of this;
I have confessed to my maker, and have
obtained absolution, f r the dark catalogue?but
on condition that 1 h ave all
my wealth to the church as an atonement
forvmy transgressions. 1 could not forget
I was a father; 1 pleaded the destitute
slate of my chi d ? I implored- i entreated;
at length 1 wrung Iron the pious
father his consent that 1 sln-uid ret tin my
greatest treasure for my Theresa. 1 chose
mj saddle. Keep it, dear child, in remembrance
of an all'eciionate lather. And
you Karl, are you satisfied to rel iiquish
worldly goods for tin welfare of my soul?
Arc you willing to take my daughter with
this portion.
Fool! exclaimed K rl, doting idiot!
how dare you purchase exemption from
punishment at my expense ( Your wealth
is mine, your possessions must he the
portion of my bride. I will reclaim them
from the repacious monks and l< ar them
from the altar !
You cannot, you dare not, replied Ludovic,
raising his voice in anger ; my
nivrnnmnnt tl/ill, I lilir f'A I 11 f r llild ft* fl'TC IIC fi
? v j . ?
to iny daughter only , my wealth formed
no part of it.
Driveller ! dotard ! vociferated Karl?
think von that I Will ac< epl a portion leg*
bride? You must seek gome other tool
for that purpose: I renounce her.
Give her to ine father! cried Arnhold;
I swear to cherish and protect her while
I live. Give her to me, and when she
shall be the loved wile of my bosom, 1
will live for her, aye ami die for her.
Karl laughed in in >ck- ry. Yon value
life bill little, said he, to talk of sacrificing
ii for a woman. I never knew one uorth
the trouble of winning, and last of all
Theresa.
The young hussar laid his hands on his
sabre, Theresa threw herseli between
them. At the same moment Ludovir
sprang from his couch, tore the covering
from his head, snatched the saddle from
the wall where il hung, seized his sabre,
and with one stroke laid it open, and a
stream of gold, bezants, <>riential pearls,
?nd sparkling jewels, tell oil the floor.
Wretell! worm! vile clod of earth! art
thou not justly punished ? Hence, reptile!
begone before I forget thou art of my
kind, Ludovic raised his sabre, and ih
dastardly Karl lied without daring t<?
give utterance to the imprecations which
hung-on his colorless lip.
Trampling under foot the costly jewels
which lav strewed around, Theresa rushed
towards and embraced her father, and
exclaiming, is not this a dream ! Are
you indeed restored to me I Can this be
real f
Forgive me, my child, exclaimed Ludovic,
the pain I have been obliged to
give your gentle heart. My effort to
make that wretch resign his claim to your
hand has been successful. Grudge not
that part of our store has been appropriated
to the holy church, not to purchase
I forgiveness of the sins I mentioned, and
of which, thank heaven, 1 nn guiltless,
hut to the hh ssed means of saving you
from u miserable fate. Kneel- down my
' hildrrn, aye, support her Arnhold; lay
her iunneciil beau upon v iur boson), ami
receive the fervent benediction of an old
hussar.
From ihe Globe.
THE KMIi.KATLD ?ND1A VS.
Thc^condiU'Oi of tb<- tiihes who have
removed from their birth-pfaces East, to
new homes West, of the Mississippi river,
has recently been the subject of frequent
notice in the iiublie prints. It very n?
tural y excites great interest. From llie
inception of the policy of transplanting
the Indians within the several States, apprehensions
have been extensively fell,
thai in the remote rcgi ?m prop ?sed to he
assigned to litem, they wonhl he assaileo
by ti)e iudigt nous tribes, and engaged in
frequent If -stililies. It has also been
(eared, (and the fear was founded on misconception
or ignorance of the resource;
of the country allotted to them,) that,
finding ihemselvc ? straitened for the means
f subsistence, tliey would supply their
wants bv depredations on the properly of
he frontier population, which would lead
to bloody collisions bctw? en (hem During
and since the hostilities with the
Creek Indians, an apprehension of a differ* |
eui character has been expressed, thai
ioade.d by a sense of injuries, and exasperated
by defeat, these Indians wotdd not
e idily accommodate themselves to the
new circumstances in which they were
placed, hut would he the first to stimulate
or join any hostile movement against out
people. And the impression seems to
have been very gen? ral, that a war in that
region was, to say the least, exceedingly
probn'de; and that, in this war, all the
emigrated tribes would as readily take
ptrt, as the wildtst and fiercest of the yet
untamed hands that range over the great
Western g^iirie to the ilocky mountains.
It gives us pleasure to say, that none
ol these apprehensions have been realized.
Predatory incursions of the Prairie Indians
there have indeed been, in which
the new Indian sc.ttlers, have lost their
cattle or their provisions; and these incursions
have irritated the latter, ami elicited
threats of severe retaliation. But in every
instance, it is believed?certainly in e very
instance in which a tribe has acted as
such?retaliation has been matte to wait j
the issue of an appeal to the Government J
of the United States. The emigrants i
have quickly adapted themselves to their
new condition, a.id in hunting, hut more
generally in agriculture acquired far more
than they required for their own subsistence.
t he Creeks who were removed
the last yetr, in a state of angry, exasperated
feeling, have almost litterarily 'tin tied
their swords into plough-shares, and their
spears into pruning ho>>ks.* And with
all the trib- s that have emigrated, and
now occupy the extensive and fertile region
S ulhwest of the Missouri, we have
the surest guarantees of enduring peaceable
relations, in their advanced state of
improvement, in the large property actually
acquired by them, and in the certain
prospects before tin m of illiniit:rl>le progress
in knowledge ami wealth.
VV ? oiake these remarks introductory
to an extract from a communication from
Captain Jacob Itrown, of the United States'
Army, with which we have been furnished
by the proper authorities for publication.
Take the picture he presents of the
condition of the Choctuws. and add to it
a few features selected from the last annual
report of the Commissioner of Indian
\flatrs, their r >mmon schools, academies,
and chiircht s; their c.nuiril house, constitution,
laws, administration; and where
will be found an instance of more rapid
progress, within five years of the first
settlement in a region of which the soil
was unhioken, and the resources of which
were unknown? This information was
elicited by a series of questions propounded
to the several superintendents and
others, proving the anxiety felt, and constant
attention bestowed by the proper
department on this most important and interesting
hubject of public concern.?
Captain Drown has been, for the last
three years, Principul Disbursing Agem
for the Indian Department in Arkansas,
> and the country West of it, and has had
i ample opportunities for acquiring iniorma
tion, which he lias faithfully improved;
THE, i/Hoctaws,
From their location and early emigration,
statu' first.
I The principal part of this tribe were
emigrated in the years IK32 and '3; preparations
for their removal were made in
1831, and many ??f them left their old
country late in that year; but few, if any,
however, reached the new country till
the spring of 1832.
The country inhabited by the Choctaws
is extensive and exceedingly fertile;
the fare oi the country is generally high,
or what is called rolling; some parts of it
mountainous, the whole is well watered,
and has plenty of timber; there are some
prairies, which, however, as well as the
timber lands, are of first rate soil. The
whole country is adapted to corn and
sto~k; ihe Northern and Western portions
to corn and wheat, and other small grain;
the Southern part, bordering on lied river,
to cotton.
The first year's emigrants made corn,
not only sufficient for their own use, hut
had a considerable surplus, which was
disposed of to government foa issue to
those emigrants that arrived in the fall
and winter of that year. The next year
(1833) the emigrants had a large surplus
of corn, over and above their own wants,
lor market; over forty thousand bushels
were purchased by the government, and
fed t ? the emigrants of that year: since
hen, to the p< sent time, those people have
been equally prosperous in their agricultural
pursuits; many of them have become
extensive farmers, cultivating cotton, corn
and possessing large stocks of cattle;
they have cotton gins and mills of different
kinds, as well as shops and mechanics; in
fine, it ii ay be truly said, that the Choctaws
are rapidly advancing in agricultural
know led jc, and in mechanic arts.
In travelling through the Choctaw country,
one set s little, it any difference, in an
agricultural point of view, from new frontier
white settlements; their cabins are
constructed with e^ual order and substantiality,
ami apparently with as many comforts
ami convenienres; their fields are un er
g od fences; they have gardens, and
cultivate fruit trees peaches, apples, dec.;
are civil and attentive to travellers; understand
the value of money; and all of them,
or nearly ???, have in their houses the common
luxuries of coffee, tea, sugar, dec.
Without going into a further detail in
. _ aL* . ._?? *A ? ? - t
minion mi mis irinp, 11 must oe apparent
that they are rapidly advancing in civilization,
and I have no hesitation in saying
that for all comforts of domestic life, their
resources are ample and abundant, and
far better than could possibly ha^fe been
anticipated, prior to their removal, in so
short a time. '
The Cher kkes.
To this trihe has been allotted a very
extensive, as well as a very fine tract of
country; those parts over which I have
travelled, possess a soil of very superior
quality, adapted to the production of wheat
small urain of various kinds, and corn of
the largest growth; the whole country is
finely and abundantly timbered, and well
watered, and the climate is exceedingly
favorable to stock.
But a small number of this tribe have
n<3 vet removed In the npw pnnnfrv llmco
! thai have settled there, however, and many
of hem have been in the country several
[years, are, in a pecuniary point of view,
will compare with the heller classes of
farmers in the States. As a people generally,
they nee agriculturists; and as such
their resources are equal if not superior
to onc-forih of the tillers of the soil ill
the old States.
The Creeks and Seminoi.es.
The section of country set apart for
these tribes is about the same extent with
that of the Choctaws, hut not so mountainous.
The soil is considered to be equal
ir. fertility to any in the South-western
section of the country; it is also well wa'tefed,
and has plenty of timber; there are
some prairies, which, however, are of great
advantage to the settler?the soil being
rich and e< sy to cultivate, and they are
very profitable for raising stork.
The Creeks are a corn-growing people;
those that have been in the country some
years, raise corn in large quantities; some
of the principal far oers crib from five to
ten thousand bushels of a season. They
do not raise much stock, nor are they, as
a people, so far advanced in civilization
as the Cherokees and Choctaws?though
as agriculturists, so far as raising corn, ?
they excel either of the above named
iriKoa TIilv ri<i?tn atnrk snfKripnt for
their own consumption, but none of any
consequence f<?r sale.
About four huntlred Seminoles were
emigrated last year; they reached, however,
their locations too late to make a
crop; their crops this year, I am informed, %
are not very promising; they are about
changing their locations, they go farther
West; their object is better hunting
grounds.
The large number of creeks that emigrated
last winter, have planted extensively,
and have a prospect of plentiful
crops; they arc also collecting stock, and
are laying the foundation of numerous
herds ot cattle, hogs, &c. The resources
of this people are, at present, equal to all
a 4*