returned to the house of Mr. Johnston, their host, the latter drew himself up in the spirit of the border times of Waverley, and, with the air and accent of a chief of those days—­which, by the way, was not altogether unnatural to him—­manifested the high gentlemanly indignation of a host whose hospitality had been violated.  He exclaimed to his eldest son, “Let our followers be ready to repel this gross affront.”  The General’s eye danced in telling it.  The thing of the firing had been done—­nobody was hurt—­nobody was in fact in hostile array; and far less was the party itself alarmed.  It had been some crack-brained Indian, I believe Sassaba, who yet smarted at the remembrance of the death of his brother, who was killed with Tecumseh in the Battle of the Thames.

11th.  Left Washington, with my family, in the cars for Baltimore, where we lodged; reached Philadelphia the next day, at four P.M.; remained the 13th and 14th, and reached New York on the 16th, at 4 o’clock P.M.

14th.  Mrs. Schoolcraft, having left her children at school, at Philadelphia and Princeton, remained pensive, and wrote the following lines in the Indian tongue, on parting from them, which.  I thought so just that I made a translation of them.

     Nyau nin de nain dum
     May kow e yaun in
     Ain dah nuk ki yaun
     Waus sa wa kom eg
     Ain dah nuk ki yaun

     Ne dau nig ainse e
     Ne gwis is ainse e
     Ishe nau gun ug wau
     Waus sa wa kom eg

     She gwau go sha ween
     Ba sho waud e we
     Nin zhe ka we yea
     Ishe ez hau jau yaun
     Ain dah nuk ke yaun

Ain dah nuk ke yaun
     Nin zhe ke we yea
     Ishe ke way aun e
     Nyau ne gush kain dum

     [FREE TRANSLATION.]

     Ah! when thought reverts to my country so dear,
     My heart fills with pleasure, and throbs with a fear: 
     My country, my country, my own native land,
     So lovely in aspect, in features so grand,
     Far, far in the West.  What are cities to me,
     Oh! land of my mother, compared unto thee?

     Fair land of the lakes! thou are blest to my sight,
     With thy beaming bright waters, and landscapes of light;
     The breeze and the murmur, the dash and the roar,
     That summer and autumn cast over the shore,
     They spring to my thoughts, like the lullaby tongue,
     That soothed me to slumber when youthful and young.

     One feeling more strongly still binds me to thee,
     There roved my forefathers, in liberty free—­
     There shook they the war lance, and sported the plume,
     Ere Europe had cast o’er this country a gloom;
     Nor thought they that kingdoms more happy could be,
     White lords of a land so resplendent and free.