Long Beard’s knowledge of the Indian tongue was not.  How it was that he should be thus familiar with and speak it with a grace and fluency beyond the power of the few scattered members of the tribe in the neighborhood, the most of whom had almost lost all remembrance of it, was to him an interesting mystery.  He mused in silence over his thoughts, occasionally stopping the paddle and passing his hand over his brow, as if to recall some circumstance or idea that constantly eluded his grasp.  In this manner they proceeded until, on turning a high point of land, the little village of Hillsdale appeared in sight.

Those who see now that handsome town, for the first time, can have but little idea of its appearance then.  But, though the large brick stores that line its wharves, and the costly mansions of modern times, clustering one above the other on the hill-sides, and its fine churches of granite and Portland stone, were not to be seen, yet, it was even then a place that could not fail to attract attention.

The situation is one of exceeding beauty.  Two bright streams—­the Wootuppocut, whose name indicates its character, its meaning being “clear water,” and the Yaupaae, or “margin of a river,” which, why it should be so called it is not as easy to explain, unite their waters to form the noble Severn.  It is a pity that the good taste which preserved the original names of the two first, had not also retained the title of the last—­the Sakimau, or Sachem, or chief, by which it was known to the Indians.  It is possible the first settlers in the country thought, that allowing two rivers to retain their aboriginal appellations was a sufficient tribute to good taste, while they made the change of name of the third an offering to affection, many of them having drawn their first breath on the pleasant banks of the English river Severn.  It was on the tongue of land, or promontory, formed by the confluence of the two rivers that composed the Severn, that the principal part of the town was situated.

On the promontory facing the south, and rising boldly from the water, the white-painted village ascended half-way up its sides, its two principal streets sweeping away, in curving lines, round the base, upward to a piece of level land, into which the north side of the hill gently declined.  At the most northern part of this level, the two streets united, at a distance of a mile from the wharves, into one which thence winded a devious course two or three miles further along the Yaupaae.  Above the highest roofs and steeples, towered the green summit of the hill, whose thick-growing evergreens presented, at all seasons, a coronal of verdure.  One who stood on the top could see come rushing in from the east, through a narrow throat, and between banks that rose in height as they approached the town, the swift Wootuppocut, soon to lose both its hurry and its name in the deeper and more tranquil Severn, of which it is the principal tributary, while on the west he beheld, gliding like