The drum no more shall rouse his heart to beat with patriot fires,
     Nor to his kindling eye impart the flash of martial ires: 
     Montgomery’s fall, Burgoyne’s advance, awake no transient fear;
     E’en joy be dumb that noble France grasped in our cause the spear.

     The cloud that, lowering northward spread, presaging woe and blight,
     In that wild host St. Leger led, no longer arm for fight;
     The bomb, the shell, the flash, the shot, the sortie, and the roar,
     No longer nerve for battle hot—­the soldier is no more.

     But long shall memory speak his praise, and mark the grave that blest,
     When eighty years had crowned his days, he laid him down to rest;
     The stone that marks the sylvan spot, the line that tells his name,
     The stream, the shore; be ne’er forgot, and freedom’s be his fame.

     ’Twas liberty that fired him first, when kings and tyrants plan’d,
     And proud oppression’s car accurst, drove madly o’er the land;
     And long he lived when that red car—­the driver and the foe
     Unhorsed in fight, o’ermatched in war—­laid impotent and low.

     He told his children oft the tale—­how tyrants would have bound,
     And murderous yells filled all the vale, and blood begrimed the ground. 
     They loved the story of the harms that patriot hands repelled,
     And glowed with ire of wars and arms, and fast the words they held.

     The right, the power, the wealth, the fame, for which the valiant fought,
     Have long been ours in deed and name—­life, liberty, and thought;
     And while we hold these blessings, bought with valor, blood, and thrall,
     Embalmed in thought be those who fought and freely periled all.

23d.  The Detroit Branch of the University of Michigan organized, and the Principal sends me a programme of its studies.  Mr. Williams also sends me the programme of the Pontiac Branch.

31st.  “We were in hopes,” says James L. Schoolcraft, in a letter from Mackinack, “of seeing a steamboat up during the fine weather in the latter part of November.  It is now, however, since 14th inst., cold.  Theodoric has undertaken to conduct a weekly paper, the Pic Nic, which, thus far, goes off well.  Lieut.  Pemberton, in the fort, is engaged in getting up a private theatre.  Thus, you see, we endeavor to ward off winter and solitude in various ways.  The rats are playing the devil with your house.  I have removed all the bedding.  They have injured some of your books.”

CHAPTER LXXI.

Philology of the Indian tongues—­Its difficulties—­Belles lettres and money—­Michigan and Georgia—­Number of species in natural history—­Etymology—­Nebahquam’s dream—­Trait in Indian legends—­Pictography—­Numeration of the races of Polynesia and the Upper Lakes—­Love of one’s native tongue—­Death of Gen. Harrison—­Rush for office on his inauguration—­Ornamental and shade trees—­Historical collections—­Mission of “Old Wing.”