“But bravely to the river’s brink I led my warrior train, And face to face, each glance they sent, We sent it back again. _Their werowance looked stern at me,_ _And I looked stern at him_, And all my warriors clasped their bows, And nerved each heart and limb. I raised my heavy war-club high, And swung it fiercely round, And shook it towards the shallop’s side, Then laid it on the ground. And then the lighted calumet I offered to their view, And thrice I drew the sacred smoke, And toward the shallop blew. And as the curling vapour rose Soft as a spirit prayer, I saw the pale-face leader wave A white flag in the air. Then launching out their painted skiff They boldly came to land, And spoke us many a kindly word, And took us by the hand. Presenting rich and shining gifts, Of copper, brass, and beads, To show that they were men like us, And prone to generous deeds. We held a long and friendly talk, Inquiring whence they came, And who the leader of their band, And what their country’s name. And how their mighty shallop moved Across the boundless sea, And why they touched our great king’s land Without his liber_ty_.” It won’t do. We cannot sing to this tune any longer. We greatly prefer, “John Gilpin was a gentleman Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town.” Or— “Old Grimes is dead, that good old man, We ne’er shall see him more, He used to wear an over-coat All buttoned down before”— or lines to that effect—we wish we could remember the words. The part, however, about “Their werowance look’d stern at me, And I looked stern at him”— is not quite _original_ with Mr. Downing—is it? We merely ask for information. Have we not heard something about “An old crow sitting on a hickory limb, Who winked at me, and I winked at him.”