cast dismay into the ranks of the assailants, and just as the sun was disappearing behind the western hills, the foe withdrew, to devise some new mode of attack. This intermission came most seasonably to the spies, who had kept their ground and bravely maintained the unequal fight from nearly the middle of the day.

Now for the first time the spies observed that the girl was missing; they were conjecturing that through terror she had escaped to her former captors, or that she had been killed during the fight; but she was soon seen emerging from behind a rock, and coming toward them with a rifle in her hand. During the heat of the fight she saw a warrior fall, who had advanced some distance before the rest, and while some of them changed their position, she resolved at once to secure his gun and ammunition; and crouching down beneath the underbrush, she crawled to the place and succeeded in her enterprise. Her keen and watchful eye had early noticed the fatal rock, and hers was the unseen hand by which the warriors fell. The last was the most intrepid and bloodthirsty of the Shawnee tribe, and the leader of the company which killed her mother and sisters and took her and her brother prisoners.

Now in the west rose dark clouds which soon overspread the whole heavens, and the hoarse muttering of distant thunder foretold a coming storm. Thick darkness shrouded the earth, and greatly embarrassed the spies with the dread that in their contemplated night escape, they might lose their way, and accidentally fall into the hands of their enemy. Upon short consultation, it was agreed that the girl should go foremost, both on account of her knowledge of the

A NARROW ESCAPE.

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localities, and as a protection in case of falling in with any parties or outposts; since from her knowledge of the Indian language, she could readily deceive the sentinels. They had scarcely reached the eastern base of the mount, before they heard a low "whisht" from their guide. At this they sank silently on the ground, where, by previous arrangement, they were to remain until the signal was given to move on. Her absence for the space of a quarter of an hour began to excite suspicion that all was not right, but they were relieved by her return, when she informed them that she had succeeded in removing two sentinels, who were immediately in their route, a short distance ahead. The descent was noiselessly resumed, and the spies followed their intrepid leader for half a mile in the most profound silence, when the barking of a dog at a short distance apprised them of new danger. The almost simultaneous click of the spies' triggers was heard by the girl, who gave another significant "whisht," and whispered that they were now in the very midst of the Indian camps, and that their lives depended on maintaining the most profound silence. Implicitly obeying her directions, and following her footsteps, they proceeded, but had not gone far before the girl was accosted by a squaw from an opening in a wigwam. To the salutation, the girl replied in the Indian language, and pressed on. In a short time, she stopped, and turning, informed them that they had left the camps, and were out of the greatest danger. She knew that every pass was guarded by the Indians, and had resolved to adopt the bold measure of passing through the centre of their encampment as least hazardous, and the sequel proved the correctness of

her judgment. They now directed their course for the Ohio river, and after three days' travel, arrived safe at the block house. Their escape prevented the Indians from their contemplated attack, and the rescued girl proved to be the sister of the intrepid Cornelius Washburn, celebrated in the history of Indian warfare, and the renowned spy of Captain Simon Kenton's bloody Kentuckians.

Such was the mettle of the people, and such were the dramatic incidents with which their lives were interspersed.

It was a period for the ascendency of Young America. I do not mean the thing which has been introduced to us by the satirists, under this title. In this time of ours, when the sexes seem undergoing a transmigration, at least when the distinctions of their apparel are destroyed; when the women are doing in public what they have been so long accustomed to in private-wearing the pantaloons; and the stronger sex, by way of retaliation, have stolen their shawls-you may note upon Broadway, or the promenade of any of our principal cities, a dapper, diminutive thing, which seems to possess some features of both sexes, and yet the distinctions of neither. Its legs remind you of pipe-stems, its arms of oaten straws. It ogles every woman that it meets-staring with brazen-faced impudence, till she, from very shame, must drop her eyelids, to shut out this apparition-half brute, half baby. It talks magniloquently of first circles, and old families, until you fancy that its lineage dates from Doomsday Book; yet its father-excellent and worthy man-began life as an obscure tailor, or shoemaker, or brick-layer, and by

THE REAL YOUNG AMERICA.

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the use of such gifts as he had, by his industry, economy, and enterprise, has achieved fortune and social position, and is now enjoying as he should the fruits of his labor. He is a notable man, but unfortunately does not know how to raise boys. Our dandy, in childhood, is dismissed from school as a dunce; in youth, is expelled from college as a rowdy. He goes to Europe to finish his education; sleeps at all the places of picturesque, romantic, and historic interest; nods in the Vatican; votes St. Peter's a bore, because it is so big; spends most of his time and money in Paris; boasts of his exploits with the nymphs of the ballet and the Opera-to wit, the chamber-maids at his lodging-houses. Returning home, he folds his arms upon his breast, and with a saddened self-complacency, pronounces this a wooden country, not fit for a gentleman to live in. Henceforth, he aspires to become a connoisseur of horse-flesh, an amateur in cigars, brandy-smashes, and gin cock-tails; whilst his lofty ambition is appeased in that he is a peripatetic advertisement for tailors and washer-women. Do you call that thing Young America? This is a disgraceful use of words. It has never been young since it was a baby; and as to there being anything American about it, I repudiate the implication with scorn.

That whereof I speak under this designation, was all muscle, nerve, backbone. Take an illustration. A lad, thirteen years of age, was sent by his father n the northern border of Kentucky, to look for the cows which had strayed into the woods. The counry was infested by the savages; so the boy picked his steps, and kept his rifle ready. A well-known scout, who had been out lying on the trail of the

Indians, and, for the greater success of his mission, was so painted and feathered that the most practised eye could not distinguish him from a savage, saw the lad, and thought to enjoy a little fun at his expense. Sounding the shrill war-whoop, he sprang behind a tree, supposing the urchin would run away; but real Young America does not run from danger. The boy treed too. The scout, peeping out to see, as he supposed, the receding back and flying heels of the youngster, received a bullet in his brains, and fell a sacrifice-not to the cowardice of Young America.

Boys of thirteen did good service in the country's cause. Boys of fifteen were mustered into the ranks as soldiers. Boys of seventeen ambled as peaceably in the harness of Hymen as our bachelors of forty now do.

But the fighting times cannot always last. The Indian must submit to his destiny, and vanish from the presence of the whites. His doom is to follow his buffalo to the West. When the buffalo is broken to become the yoke-fellow of the ox, the Indian may rest where he stands, or return toward the rising sun. The aboriginal bison and red man alike refuse the burden of labor; together they must perish.

Although war no longer invokes the rifle, it is retained in constant use. To this day there is a law upon the statute book of Kentucky-unless repealed within a year or two-requiring that every male citizen between the ages of sixteen and forty-five, shall, within every twelvemonth, kill a certain number of crows and squirrels. So it has passed into a proverb, that a Kentuckian is a dead shot on a squirrel's eye with a rifle at a hundred yards.