of centuries, interspersed with ash trees, while in the colder and
moister part in the centre, the smooth-barked birch threw out its
gnarled branches. There was no undergrowth, and under and between the
limbs of the trees, the eye caught a view towards the south of the
widened Yaupáae and of the islands that dotted its surface, with hills
sweeping round in a curve, and presenting an irregular outline like
that made by the backs of a school of porpoises. Towards the three
other quarters of the compass, a level plain extended for a short
distance, and then was broken up into an undulating surface which rose
into eminences covered with woods that hemmed in the whole. The falls
of the Yaupáae were at a distance of only a few rods, but invisible,
being hidden by the plain that occupied the intervening space, at an
elevation of some forty feet higher than the point where the river,
rushing down its rocky bed, made its presence known by a ceaseless
roar, and seemed to chant a dirge over the vanished greatness of the
tribe.

Here were assembled some sixty or seventy Indians to perform the
rights of sepulture to one of their number. No vestige of their
original wildness was to be traced among them. They were clothed in
the garments of civilization, but of a coarse and mean quality, and
appeared broken down and dispirited. One half, at least, were women,
and at the moment of which we are speaking they were collecting
together from among the blue slate gravestones, where they had been
dispersed, around a newly dug grave. The rites were of a Christian
character, and performed by an elder of one of the neighboring
churches, who offered up a prayer, on the conclusion of which he
retired. The grave was immediately filled, and then commenced a
ceremony of a singular character.