THE MOTHER OF WEST. O wondrous power! how little understood - MRS. HALE. When Benjamin West was seven years old, he was left, one summer day, with the charge of an infant niece. As it lay in the cradle and he was engaged in fanning away the flies, the motion of the fan pleased the child, and caused it to smile. Attracted by the charms thus created, young West felt his instinctive passion aroused; and seeing paper, pen and some red and black ink on a table, he eagerly seized them and made his first attempt at portrait painting. Just as he had finished his maiden task, his mother and sister entered. He tried to conceal what he had done, but his confusion arrested his mother's attention, and she asked him what he had been doing. With reluctance and timidity, he handed her the paper, begging, at the same time, that she would not be offended. Examining the drawing for a short time, she turned to her daughter and, with a smile, said, "I declare, he has made a likeness of Sally." She then gave him a fond kiss, which so encouraged him that he promised her some drawings of the flowers which she was then holding, if she wished to have them. The next year a cousin sent him a box of colors and pencils, with large quantities of canvas prepared for the easel, and half a dozen engravings. Early in the morning after their reception, he took all his materials into the garret, and for several days forgot all about school. His mother suspected that the box was the cause of his neglect of his books, and going into the garret and finding him busy at a picture, she was about to reprimand him; but her eye fell on some of his compositions, and her anger cooled at once. She was so pleased with them that she loaded him with kisses and promised to secure his father's pardon for his neglect of school. How much the world is indebted to Mrs. West for her early and constant encouragement of the immortal artist. He often used to say, after his reputation was established, "My mother's kiss made me a painter! HEROIC ENDURANCE. 'Tis not now who is stout and bold, BUTLER. On the twenty-seventh of July, 1755, Mrs. Howe, of Hinsdale, New Hampshire, with seven children and two other women and their children, was taken captive by the Indians, and marched through the wilderness to Crown Point. There Mrs. Howe, with some of the other prisoners, remained several days. The rest were conducted to Montreal to be sold, but the French refusing to buy them, they were all brought back, except Mrs. Howe's youngest daughter, who was presented to Governor De Vaudreuil. Ere long the whole party started for St. Johns by water. Night soon came on; a storm arose; the darkness became intense; the canoes separated, and just before day Mrs. Howe was landed on the beach, ignorant of the destiny of her children. Raising a pillow of earth with her hands, she laid herself down to rest with her infant on her bosom. A toilsome day's journey brought her and her captors to St. Johns, and pressing onward they soon reached St. Francis, the home of the latter. A council having been called and the customary ceremonies performed, Mrs. Howe, with her infant left to her care, was put in the charge of a squaw, whom she was ordered to call mother. "At the approach of winter, the squaw, yielding to her earnest solicitations, set out with Mrs. Howe and her child, for Montreal, to sell them to the French. On the journey both she and her infant were in danger of perishing from hunger and cold; the lips of the child being at times so benumbed, as to be incapable of imbibing its proper nourishment. After her arrival in the city, she was offered to a French lady; who, seeing the child in her arms, exclaimed, 'I will not buy a woman, who has a child to look after.' I shall not attempt to describe the feelings with which this rebuff was received by a person who had no higher ambition than to become a slave. Few of our race have hearts made of such unyielding materials, as not to be broken by long-continued abuse; and Mrs. Howe was not one of this number. Chilled with cold, and pinched with hunger, she saw in the kitchen of this inhospitable house some small pieces of bread, floating in a pail amid other fragments, destined to feed swine; and eagerly skimmed them for herself. When her Indian mother found that she could not dispose of her, she returned by water to St. Francis, where she soon died of small pox, which she had caught at Montreal. Speedily after, the Indians commenced their winter hunting. Mrs. Howe was then ordered to return her child to the captors. The babe clung to her bosom; and she was obliged to force it away. They carried it to a place called 'Messiskow,' on the borders of the river Missiscoui, near the north end of lake Champlain upon the eastern shore. The mother soon followed, and found it neglected, lean, and almost perishing with hunger. As she pressed its face to her cheek, the eager, half-starved infant bit her with violence. For three nights she was permitted to cherish it in her bosom ; but in the day-time she was confined to a neighboring wigwam, where she was compelled to hear its unceasing cries of distress, without a possibility of contributing to its relief. "The third day the Indians carried her several miles up the lake. The following night she was alarmed by what is usually called the great earthquake, which shook the region around her with violent concussions. Here, also, she was deserted for two nights in an absolute wilderness; and, when her Indian connections returned, was told by them that two of her children were dead. Very soon after, she received certain information of the death of her infant. Amid the anguish awakened by these melancholy tidings, she saw a distant volume of smoke; and was strongly inclined to make her way to the wigwam from which it ascended. As she entered the door, she met one of the children, reported to be dead; and to her great consolation found that he was in comfortable circumstances. A good-natured Indian soon after informed her, that |