Prophet Jyafram.

"Light of lights! The Being, from whose light the abode of lights has derived its light!

66 Lord of lords!"

66

Prophet Shet Shakil.

Light of lights! Lord of eternity and the revolution of time! From thee is eternity without beginning, and to thee is eternity without end."

Prophet Yasan.

Light of lights! Mover of what revolveth! The angels labour in vain to attain the comprehension of thy grandeur. "And those who are saved remain in heaven for everlasting; the guilty in direful hell.”

Prophet Siamek.

"And remove from me all evils both of soul and body. Bless us and purify us."

Prophet Jemshid.

"My light is on thy countenance.

"If thou be asked, Have you seen Mezdam?' sayHow should I know a god, whom I never saw.'"

Zirtusht, or Zoroaster.

"How can we know that a prophet is really called to his office? By his knowing that which others do not know, and by his giving you information regarding your own heart, and by his not being puzzled by any question that is asked, and that another cannot do what he doeth, namely, miracles."

Sasan the Fifth.

"There is one who seeketh me, and findeth me not. And there is one who doth not know of my existence. All know me according to the capacity of their understandings; something they know, and something they imagine."

"L'ERZOM VEDAM."

IN 1778, a book was printed at Paris, intitled "L'Erzom Vedam," containing the exposition of the opinions of the Indian priests and philosophers, and said to be translated from the Sanscrit, by a Brahmin. It was said in the preface

that the work was originally among the papers of M. Barthelemy, a member of council at Pondicherry; that M. Moldave brought a copy of it from India, and presented it to Voltaire, who sent it, in 1761, to the library of the king of France. Voltaire had been informed, that the chief priest of Cheringham, distinguished for his knowledge of the French language, and the services he had performed for the India Company, was the translator of the Erzom Vedam, and appears to have believed it an authentic work. M. Anquetil du Perron was of the same opinion. M. Sonnerat, however, seems to have detected the error; and describes the Erzom Vedam as not genuine, but the composition of a missionary at Masulipatam, sous le Manteau Bramé. Mr. Ellis has since ascertained, that the original of this work still exists among the manuscripts in the possession of the Catholic missionaries at Pondicherry, which are understood to have belonged originally to the society of Jesuits.

FABLE IN MILTON'S LIFE REFUTED.

IT is related of Milton, who, in the bloom of youth, was extremely beautiful, that, wandering one day, during the summer, far beyond the precincts of his University, into the country, he became so heated and fatigued, that he fell asleep at the foot of a tree, where he had reclined to rest himself. Before he awoke, two ladies, who were foreigners, passed by in a carriage. Agreeably astonished at the loveliness of his appearance, they alighted, and, having admired him (as they thought, unperceived) for some time, the youngest, who was very handsome, drew a pencil from her pocket, and, having written some lines upon a piece of paper, put it with a trembling hand into his own. Immediately afterwards they proceeded on their journey. Some of his acquaintance, who were in search of him, had observed this silent adventure, but at too great a distance to discover who was the person so highly favoured. Approaching nearer, they saw their friend, to whom, being awakened, they mentioned what had happened.

Milton opened the paper, and, with surprise, read these verses from Guarini, Madrigal xii. ed. 1598 :

Occhi! stelle mortali!
Ministre de miei mali,-
Ne chiusi ni accidete,
Aperta che farete?

Ye eyes! ye human stars! ye authors of my liveliest pangs! If thus, when shut, ye wound me, what must have been the consequence if ye had been open?'

We are further told that Milton, eager from this moment to discover the fair incognita, travelled, but in vain, through every part of Italy; that his poetic fervour became incessantly more and more heated by the idea which he had formed of his unknown admirer; and that it is in some degree to her, that posterity ought to feel indebted for several of the most impassioned and charming passages of "Paradise Lost."

This anecdote has been so often related, that it has almost assumed the dignity of an historical fact; but that it is most probably the fiction of fancy, appears from the preface to the "Poesies de Madame de Surville," where similar circumstances, even to quatre vers Italiens, are related of Luis de Puytendre.

The poetical fervour of Milton is better accounted for by Miss Seward, who closes her relation of the anecdote with the following beautiful thought:

"Thrice happy wound!

Given by his sleeping graces, as the fair

Hung over them enamour'd. The desire

Thy fond result inspir'd, that wing'd them there,
Where breath'd each Roman and each Tuscan lyre,
Might haply fan the emulative flame,

That rose o'er Dante's song, and rivall'd Maro's fame."

RETURN TO SAVAGE LIFE.

A true Indian Story.

PETER ORSAQUETTE was the son of a man of consideration among the Oneida Indians, and was classed among a division of them designated by the appellation of the Wolf Tribe. At the close of the revolutionary war, he was noticed by the marquis de la Fayette, a nobleman who, to martial prowess and a noble zeal for liberty, united the most philanthropic feelings. After the successful struggle for independence had terminated, it appeared as if the marquis still aimed at the extension of further benefits to that country, towards the emancipation of which he had so materially contributed. Viewing, therefore, this young savage with peculiar interest, and anticipating the happy results to be derived from his moral regeneration, he determined, though he was scarcely twelve years old, to take him to France. He arrived at that period when Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were still in the zenith of their glory. He was there taught every accom

plishment of a gentleman; no care was spared in giving him every necessary instruction; and to this was added the study of music, drawing, and fencing; and he danced with a grace that a Vestris could not but admire. At about eighteen, the period of his separation from a country in which he had spent his time so agreeably and so profitably, became necessary, and, laden with favours from the marquis, and the miniatures of those friends he left behind, he departed for America. He was buoyed up, perhaps, with the idea that the deep ignorance in which the nation to which he belonged was buried, as well as the Indians of the whole continent, might be dispelled by his efforts, and that he might thus become the proud instrument of the civilization of thousands. He came, soon after his arrival, to the city of Albany-not the uncivilized savage-not with any of those marks which bespoke a birth in the forest-or years spent toiling through the wilds of an uncultivated country -but possessing a fine commanding figure, an expressive countenance, and an intelligent eye, with a face scarcely indicative of the race from which he was descended. He presented, at this period, an interesting spectacle. A child of the wilderness was beheld about to proceed to the home of his forefathers, having received the brilliant advantages of a cultivated mind, and on his way to impart the benefits which civilization had given him, to the nation that owned him. It was an opportunity for the philosopher to contemplate, and to reflect on the anticipations of the future good this young Indian might be the means of producing. Shortly after he arrived in Albany, where he visited among the first families, he took advantage of governor Clinton's journey to Fort Stanwix, to make a treaty with the Indians, to return to his tribe. On the route, Orsaquette amused the company, (among whom were the French minister, count Moustiers, and several gentlemen of respectability,) by his powers on various instruments of music. At Fort Stanwix, after a long absence of several years, he found himself again with the companions of his early days, who saw and recognized him; his friends and relations had not forgotten him, and he was welcomed to his home and to his blanket.

But what occurred soon after his reception, led but to a too fearful anticipation of an unsuccessful project; for the Oneidas, as if they could not acknowledge Orsaquette, attired in the dress he appeared in before them, and thinking he had assumed it out of shame for the garb and habiliments of his ancestors, tore it from him with a fiend-like ferociousness; daubed on the very paint to which he had been so long unused, and clothed him with the uncouth garments which the tribe held sacred. Their fiery impetuosity, in the

performance of the act, showed but too well the bold stand they were about to make against the innovations they supposed Orsaquette was to be the means of introducing into their customs and manners, which, from the venerable antiquity of their structure, it would be sacrilege to destroy. The reformed savage was taken back again to his native barbarity, and, as if to complete the climax of degradation to a mind just susceptible of its own powers, was married.

From that day, he was no longer the accomplished Indian, by whom every wish of philanthropy was expected to be realized; he was no longer the instrument by whose power the emancipation of his countrymen from the thraldom of ignorance and superstition was to be effected. From the day Örsaquette was again an inmate of the forest, he was once more buried in his original obscurity, his nation only viewed him as an equal; and even the liberal grant of the state failed of giving him that superior consideration among them, which his civilization had procured for him with the rest of mankind. The superiority acquired from instruction, which, it was expected, would have excited the emulation of all around him, became of no effect, either from the natural inferiority of the savage mind, or the predetermination of his countrymen, and, in a little time, was wholly destroyed. Orsaquette was lost! His moral perdition began from the hour he left Fort Stanwix. Scarcely three months had transpired, before intemperance had marked him for its own, and soon hurried him to the grave; and, as if the very transition had deadened all the finer feelings of his nature, the picture the marquis gave him—the very picture of his affectionate friend, he parted with.

Poor youth! we cannot refrain from letting a tear fall to thy memory. In the downfal of our high-raised expectations, you stand before us, as a melancholy though forcible illustration, that "our thoughts, our morals, and our most fixed belief, are consequences of our place of birth." How short was the period of thy return! Scarcely had we, in suffering our imaginations the fullest freedom, looked into futurity, and unveiled a picture, in the contemplation of which our hearts had expanded;-scarcely had we, at the sight, enjoyed a noble feast,-before the picture itself is destroyed, leaving behind only a few recollections of its vivid colours. To him, the short-lived pleasures of the world "passed like fleeting dreams." One day, a civilized Indian, proud of the awakened faculties of his mind-the next, an unrecognized wreck of his former self!