THE IRIS: An Illuminated Souvenir, FOR MDCCCLII.

EDITED BY JOHN S. HART, LL. D. PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO. SUCCESSORS TO GRIGG, ELLIOT & CO. 1852.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. C. SHERMAN, PRINTER.

xiii

PREFACE.

Captain Eastman, of the United States Topographical Corps, having been stationed for nine years on our northwestern frontier, among the Indian tribes, at and around Fort Snelling, made a series of drawings of some of the most striking and remarkable objects connected with the Indian traditions. His accomplished lady, who was with him seven years of this time, collected the traditions themselves, and wove them into tales and poems that let us into the very heart of Indian life. The whole of this valuable and original collection has been secured for the Iris, and gives to the volume for 1852 its distinguishing feature. To make the illustrations conform more to the character of the subjects, they have all been printed in colours, in the style now so deservedly popular. Last year the publishers gave only four of these gorgeous illuminated pages. The present volume contains no less than twelve, all from original designs, and all printed in ten different colours. The happy blending of the colours in these pictures, the disposition of

the light and shade, and the skill with which they are printed, give them the appearance of paintings rather than of prints. Such a collection of gems of art in one volume, could not be made without a heavy expense. But the publishers were desirous of making the Iris, as to the splendour of its appearance, not unworthy of the celestial visitant from which it has been named, and of the veryxiv marked favour with which its predecessor of the last season was received.

The literary matter, like that of the former volume, is entirely original, and with the exception of the beautiful poem by Miss Bremer, entirely American, both as to subjects and authorship. Though there are various shades of thought and feeling in these effusions of genius, each subject being coloured according to the mental constitution of the writer, yet, as in the divine bow of promise, all colours are blended and harmonized in the one aim to place before the beholder a new token of hope and gladness.

xv

CONTENTS.

19

THE IRIS.

PROEM.

BY SARAH ROBERTS.

21

THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.

BY THE EDITOR.

(See the Frontispiece.)

The first landing of William Penn at Newcastle, in 1682, is one of those striking historical events that are peculiarly suited for pictorial illustration. The late Mr. Duponceau, in one of his discourses, first suggested the idea of making it the subject of an historical painting. This idea is seized with avidity by Mr. Dixon, the most recent biographer of the great Quaker, and the circumstances of the landing are given accordingly, with much minuteness. The artist who designed the picture that forms the frontispiece to the present volume has had this description in view. I cannot do better, therefore, than to quote the words of Mr. Dixon as the best possible commentary upon the picture.

"On the 27th of October, nine weeks after the departure from Deal, the Welcome moored off Newcastle, in the territories lately ceded by the Duke of York, and William Penn first set foot in the New World.1 His landing made a 22 general holiday in the town; young and old, Welsh, Dutch, English, Swedes, and Germans, crowded down to the landing-place, each eager to catch a glimpse of the great man who had come amongst them, less as their lord and governor than as their friend. In the centre of the foreground, only distinguished from the few companions of his voyage who have yet landed, by the nobleness of his mien, and a light blue silken sash tied round his waist, stands William Penn; erect in stature, every motion indicating courtly grace, his countenance lighted up with hope and honest pride,—in every limb and feature the expression of a serene and manly beauty.2 The young officer before him, dressed in the gay costume of the English service, is his lieutenant, Markham, come to welcome his relative to the new land, and to give an

account of his own stewardship. On the right stand the chief settlers of the district, arrayed in their national costumes, the light hair and quick eye of the Swede finding a good foil in the stolid look of the heavy Dutchman, who doffs his cap, but doubts whether he shall take the pipe out of his mouth even to say welcome to the new governor. A little apart, as if studying with the intense eagerness of Indian skill the physiognomy of the ruler who has come with his children to occupy their hunting-grounds, stands the wise and noble leader of the Red Men, Taminent, and a party of the Lenni Lenapé in their picturesque paints and costume. Behind the central figure are grouped the principal companions of his voyage; and on the dancing waters of the Delaware rides the stately ship, while between her and the shore23 a multitude of light canoes dart to and fro, bringing the passengers and merchandise to land. Part of the background shows an irregular line of streets and houses, the latter with the pointed roofs and fantastic gables which still delight the

artist's eye in the streets of Leyden or Rotterdam; and further on the view is lost in one of those grand old pine and cedar forests which belong essentially to an American scene."

I take much pleasure in quoting also, in this connexion, another scene of somewhat similar character, though greatly misrepresented in the ordinary pictures of it heretofore given. Penn's personal appearance has been even more misapprehended than his character. He was, indeed, one of the most handsome men of his age, and at the time of his first coming to America he was in the very prime of life. West makes him an ugly, fat old fellow, in a costume half a century out of date. So says Mr. Dixon. The passage referred to, and about to be quoted, is from a description of the celebrated Treaty with the Indians at Shackamaxon.

"This conference has become one of the most striking scenes in history. Artists have painted, poets have sung, philosophers have applauded it; but it is nevertheless clear, that in words and colours it has been equally and generally misrepresented, because painters, poets, and historians have chosen to draw on their own imaginations for the features of a scene, every marking line of which they might have recovered from authentic sources.

"The great outlines of nature are easily obtained. There, the dense masses of cedar, pine, and chestnut, stretching far away into the interior of the land; here, the noble river24 rolling its waters down to the Atlantic Ocean; along its surface rose the purple smoke of the settlers' homestead; on the opposite shores lay the fertile and settled country of New Jersey. Here stood the gigantic elm which was to become immortal from that day forward,—and there lay the verdant council chamber formed by nature on the surface of the soil. In the centre stood William Penn, in costume undistinguished from the surrounding group, save by the silken sash. His costume was simple, but not pedantic or ungainly: an outer coat, reaching to the knees, and covered with buttons, a vest of other materials, but equally ample, trousers extremely full, slashed at the sides, and tied with strings or ribbons, a profusion of shirt sleeves and ruffles, with a hat of the cavalier shape (wanting only the feather), from beneath the brim of which escaped the curls

of a new peruke, were the chief and not ungraceful ingredients.3 At his right hand stood Colonel Markham, who had met the Indians in council more than once on that identical spot, and was regarded by them as a firm and faithful friend; on his left Pearson, the intrepid companion of his voyage; and near his person, but a little backward, a band of his most attached adherents. When the Indians approached in their old forest costume, their bright feathers sparkling in the sun, and their bodies painted in the most gorgeous manner, the governor received them with the easy dignity of one accustomed to mix with European courts. As soon as the reception was over, the sachems retired to a short distance, and after a brief consultation among themselves,25 Taminent, the chief sachem or king, a man whose virtues are still remembered by the sons of the forest, advanced again a few paces, and put upon his own head a chaplet, into which was twisted a small horn: this chaplet was his symbol of power; and in the customs of the Lenni Lenapé, whenever the chief placed it upon his brows the

spot became at once sacred, and the person of every one present inviolable. The venerable Indian king then seated himself on the ground, with the older sachems on his right and left, the middle-aged warriors ranged themselves in the form of a crescent or half-moon round them, and the younger men formed a third and outer semicircle. All being seated in this striking and picturesque order, the old monarch announced to the governor that the natives were prepared to hear and consider his words. Penn then rose to address them, his countenance beaming with all the pride of manhood. He was at this time thirty-eight years old; light and graceful in form; the handsomest, best-looking, most lively gentleman she had ever seen, wrote a lady who was an eyewitness of the ceremony."

1 "Watson, 16; Day, 299. The landing of Penn in America is commemorated on the 24th of October, that being the date given by Clarkson; but the diligent antiquary, Mr. J. F. Watson, has found in the records of Newcastle the original entry of his arrival."

2 "The portrait by West is utterly spurious and unlike. Granville Penn, MSS."

3 "Penn. Hist. Soc. Mem., iii. part ii. 76."

26

DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS.

BY FREDRIKA BREMER.

29

WE-HAR-KA, OR, THE RIVAL CLANS.

BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.

The Indian settlement, the opening scene of our story, presented a different appearance from what we call an Indian village at the present day. The lodges were far more numerous, and the Indians were not drooping about, without energy, and apparently without occupation. The long line of hills did not echo the revels of the drunkard, nor were the faces of the people marked with anxiety and care. The untaught and untamed dispositions of the red men were as yet unaffected by the evil influences of the degenerate white man.

The Sioux4 were in their summer-houses, and the village stretched along the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile. It reached back, too, to the foot of a high hill, and some of the lodges were shaded by the overhanging branches30 of the elm and maple. Above the homes of the living might be seen the burial-place of the dead; for, on the summit of the hill the enveloped forms of the departed were receiving the last red beams of the retiring sun, whose rising and repose were now for ever unnoticed by them.

The long, warm day was closing in, and the Indians were enjoying themselves in the cool breezes that were stirring the waves of the river and the wild flowers that swept over its banks. They were collected in groups in every direction, but the largest party might be found surrounding a mat, on which was seated the old war-chief of the band, who had long dragged a tedious existence, a care to others and a burden to himself. The mat was placed near the wigwam, so that the sides of the wigwam supported the back of the aged and infirm warrior. His hair was cut straight over his forehead, but behind it hung in long locks over his neck.

Warm as was the season, the buffalo robe was wrapped around him, the fur side next to him, while on the outside, in Indian hieroglyphics, might be read many an event of his life. Around the edge of the robe was a row of hands painted in different colours, representing the number of enemies he had killed in battle. In the centre of the robe were drawn the sun and morning star, objects of worship among the Sioux, and placed on the robe as a remedy for a severe sickness which once prostrated his vital powers, but was conquered by the efficacious charm contained in the representation. Ornaments of different kinds adorned his person; but his limbs were shrunken to the bone with age, and the time had long since come to him when even the grasshopper was a burden.

31

The features of the Sioux were still expressive, though the eyes were closed and the lips thin and compressed; he was encircled with a dignity, which, in all ages and climes, attaches itself to an honourable old age.

Close by his side, and contrasting strongly with the war-chief, was one of his nearest relations. She was his granddaughter, the orphan girl of his favourite son. She was at once his companion, attendant, and idol.

They were never separated, that old man and young girl; for a long time he had been fed by her hands, and now he never saw the light of the sun he worshipped except when she raised and held open the eyelids which weakness had closed over his eyes. She had just assisted his tottering steps, and seated him on the mat, where he might enjoy the pleasant evening-time and the society of those who delighted in the strange stories his memory called up, or who were willing to receive the advice which the aged are ever privileged to pour into the hearts of the young.

The evening meal of the warrior had been a light one, for We-har-ka still held in her small and beautiful hand a bark dish, which contained venison cut up in small pieces, occasionally pressing him to eat again. It was evident there was something unusual agitating his thoughts, for he impatiently put aside the hand that fed him, and taking his pipe, the handle of which was elaborately adorned, he held it to have it lighted, then dreamily and quietly placed it in his mouth.

He had long been an object of reverence to his people; though superseded as a warrior and a leader, yet his influence was still acknowledged in the band which he had so long controlled. He had kept this alive in a great measure by32 the oft-repeated stories of his achievements, and above all, by the many personal encounters he had had, not only with his enemies, but with the gods, the objects of their devotion and fear.

The pipe was soon laid aside, and his low and murmuring words could not be understood by the group, that, attracted by the unusual excitement that showed itself in the war-chief's manner, had pressed near him.

After a short communing with himself he placed his hand upon the head of the girl, who was watching every change in his expressive face. "My daughter," he said, "you will not be alone—the Eagle Eye will not again see the form of his warrior son: he would have charged him to care for his sister, even as the small birds watch and guard around the home of the forest god.

"The children of the Great Spirit must submit to his will. My heart would laugh could I again see the tall form of my grandson. I would see once more the fleetness of his step and the strength of his arm; but it is not to be. Before he shall return, crying, 'It is for my father, the scalp of his enemy,' I shall be roaming over the hunting-grounds of the Great Spirit. Do not weep, my daughter; you will be happy in your husband's wigwam, and you will tell your children how the Eagle Eye loved you, even till his feet started on the warrior's journey.

"Your brother will return," he continued, "and it is for him that I lay aside the pipe, which I shall never smoke again; the drum that I have used since I have been a medicine-man, I wish laid near my side when I shall be dead, and wrapped in the buffalo robe which will cover me.

33

"You, my braves, shall know whence I obtained this drum. It has often brought back life to the dying man, and its sound has secured us success in battle. I have often told you that I had seen the God of the Great Deep in my dreams, and from him I obtained power to strike terror to the hearts of my enemies. Who has shouted the death-cry oftener than I? Look at the feathers5 of honour in my head! What enemy ever heard the name of Eagle Eye without trembling? But I, terrible as I have been to my enemies, must grow weak like a woman, and die like a child. The waters of the rivers rush on; you may hear them and trace their way, but soon they join the waves of the great deep, and we see them no more—so I am about to join the company in the house of the Great Spirit, and when your children say, 'Where is Eagle Eye?' you may answer, 'The Great Spirit has called him, we cannot go where he is.'

"It was from Unk-ta-he, the god of the great deep, that I received that drum. Before I was born of woman I lived in the dark waters. Unk-ta-he rose up with his terrible eyes, and took me to his home. I lived with him and the other gods of the sea. I cannot to you all repeat the lessons of wisdom he has taught me; it is a part of the great medicine words that women should never hear.

"There, in the home of the god of the sea, I saw many wonders—the large doors through which the water gods passed when they visited the earth, the giant trees lying in the water higher than our mountains. They had lightning34 too, the weapons of the thunder birds;6 when the winds arose, and the sea waved, then did Unk-ta-he hurl the streaked fire to the earth through the waters.

"The god of the great deep gave me this drum, and I wish it buried with me; he told me when I struck the drum my will should be obeyed, and it has been so.

"When my son returns, tell him to let his name be terrible like his grandfather's. Tell him that my arm was like a child's because of the winters I had seen, but that he must revenge his brother's death; then will he be like the brave men who have gone before him, and his deeds will be remembered as long as the Dacotas hate their enemies. The shadows grow deeper on the hills, and the long night will soon rest upon the head of the war-chief. I am old, yet my death-song shall call back the spirits of the dead. Where are the Chippeways, my enemies? See their red scalps scorching in the sun! I am a great warrior; tell me, where is the enemy who fears me not!"

While the voice of the old man now rose with the excitement that was influencing, now fell with the exhaustion, which brought big drops of perspiration on his face, the Indians were collecting in a crowd around him.

It was, indeed, a glorious evening for the war-chief to die. The horizon was a mass of crimson clouds, their gorgeous tints were reflected on the river; the rocky bluffs rose35 up like castle walls around the village, while on the opposite shore the deer were parting the foliage with their graceful heads and drinking from the low banks.

We-har-ka wiped the forehead and brow of her grandfather. There was something of more than ordinary interest about the appearance of this young person: her features were regularly formed, their expression mild; her figure light and yielding as a young tree; her hair was neatly parted and gathered in small braids over her neck; her dress well calculated to display the grace of her figure; a heavy necklace of wampum7 covered her throat and neck, and on her bosom was suspended the holy cross!

Her complexion was lighter than usual for an Indian girl, owing to the confinement occasioned by the charge of her infirm relative; a subdued melancholy pervaded her features, and even the tone of her voice.

There was a pause, for the warrior slept a few moments, and again his voice was heard. Death was making him mindful of the glorious achievements of his life. Again he was brandishing his tomahawk in circles round the head of his fallen foe; again he taunted his prisoner, whose life he had spared that he might enjoy his sufferings under the torment; again, with a voice as strong as in early manhood,36 he shouted the death-cry—it was his own, for not another sound, not even a sigh escaped him.