It happened that he had had some quarrel with an Indian, which had
to be settled in one of the petty courts. The case was decided in
favour of Mr. - -, which so aggrieved the savage, who considered
himself the injured party, that he sprang upon him with a furious
yell, tomahawk in hand, with the intention of depriving him of his
scalp. He twisted his hand in the looks which adorned the cranium of
his adversary, when - horror of horrors! - the treacherous wig came
off in his hand, "Owgh! owgh!" exclaimed the affrighted savage,
flinging it from him, and rushing from the court as if he had been
bitten by a rattlesnake. His sudden exit was followed by peals of
laughter from the crowd, while Mr. - - coolly picked up his wig,
and drily remarked that it had saved his head.
THE INDIAN FISHERMAN'S LIGHT
The air is still, the night is dark,
No ripple breaks the dusky tide;
From isle to isle the fisher's bark
Like fairy meteor seems to glide;
Now lost in shade - now flashing bright
On sleeping wave and forest tree;
We hail with joy the ruddy light,
Which far into the darksome night
Shines red and cheerily!
With spear high poised, and steady hand,
The centre of that fiery ray,
Behold the Indian fisher stand
Prepared to strike the finny prey;
Hurrah!
