[Footnote 53:  This lady—­a native of Virginia—­has written several interesting books, chiefly relating to Indian tradition.]

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=_226._= A PLEA FOR THE INDIANS.

The light of the great council-fire—­its blaze once illumined the entire country we now call our own—­is faintly gleaming out its unsteady and dying rays.  Our fathers were guests, and warmed themselves by its hospitable rays; now we are lords, and rule with an iron hand over those who received kindly, and entertained generously, the wanderer who came from afar to worship his God according to his own will.  The very hearth where moulder the ashes of this once never-ceasing fire, is becoming desolate, the decaying embers sometimes starting into a brief brilliancy, and then fading into a gloom more sad, more silent, than ever.  Soon will be scattered, as by the winds of heaven, the last ashes that remain.  Think of it, O legislator! as thou standest in the Capitol, the great council-hall of thy country; plead for them, “upon whose pathway death’s dark shadow falls.”

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=_Mary E. Moragne,[54] 1815-._=

From “The Huguenot Town.”

=_227._= RUINS OF THE OLD FRENCH SETTLEMENT.

An ignorance of the common methods of agriculture practised here, as well as strong prejudices in favor of their former habits of living, prevented them from seizing with avidity on large bodies of land, by individual possession; but the site of a town being selected, a lot of four acres was apportioned to every citizen.  In a short time a hundred houses had risen, in a regularly compact body, in the square of which stood a building superior in size and construction to the rest....

...  The town was soon busy with the industry of its tradesmen; silk and flax were manufactured, whilst the cultivators of the soil were taxed with the supply of corn and wine.  The hum of cheerful voices arose during the week, mingled with the interdicted songs of praise; and on the Sabbath the quiet worshippers assembled in their rustic church, listened with fervent response to that faithful pastor, who had been their spiritual leader through perils by sea and land, and who now directed their free, unrestrained devotion to the Lord of the forest.

...  The woods still wave on in melancholy grandeur, with the added glory of near a hundred years; but they who once lived and worshipped beneath them—­where are they?  Shades of my ancestors,—­where?  No crumbling wreck, no mossy ruin, points the antiquarian research to the place of their sojourn, or to their last resting-places!  The traces of a narrow trench, surrounding a square plat of ground, now covered with the interlacing arms of hawthorn and wild honey-suckle, arrest the attention as we are proceeding along a strongly beaten track in the deep woods, and we are assured that this is the site of the “old French town” which has given its name to the portion of country around.