She tears her from the loved away, Whom she on earth no more may see, And looking up to heaven, exclaims, "_My Saviour, I do this for thee!_" Then hastens to her task again, The pleasant task her Saviour's given, That, finished all, she may ascend, And lure the distant ones to heaven. A KIND-HEARTED CHIPPEWA. Both men and women belie their nature When they are not kind. BAILEY'S FESTUS. In the early settlement of Ohio, Daniel Convers was captured by the savages; but he had the good fortune to be purchased by a noble-hearted Indian whose wife possessed a kindred spirit. His condition, we are informed in the Pioneer History of Ohio, "was not that of a slave, but rather an adoption into the family as a son. The Indian's wife, whom he was directed to call mother, was a model of all that is excellent in woman, being patient, kind-hearted, humane and considerate to the wants and comfort of all around her, and especially so to their newly adopted son. To sum up all her excellences in a brief sentence of the captive's own language, she was 'as good a woman as ever lived.'"[28] [28] Mr. Convers escaped from his Chippewa friends, at Detroit. Touching the treatment he received from his adopted mother, a writer says: "How few among the more civilized race of whites would ever imitate the Christian charities of this untaught daughter of nature!" HUMANITY OF A CHEROKEE. How poor an instrument May do a noble deed. SHAKSPEARE. During the Revolution, a young Shawanese Indian was captured by the Cherokees and sentenced to die at the stake. He was tied, and the usual preparations were made for his execution, when a Cherokee woman went to the warrior to whom the prisoner belonged, and throwing a parcel of goods at his feet, said she was a widow and would adopt the captive as her son, and earnestly plead for his deliverance. Her prayer was granted, and the prisoner taken under her care. He rewarded her by his fidelity, for, in spite of the entreaties of his friends, whom he was allowed to visit, he never left her. SELF-SACRIFICING SPIRIT OF THE MISSIONARY. Thou know 'st not, Afric! sad of heart and blind, Unskilled the precious Book of God to read; Thou canst not know, what moved that soul refined, Thy lot of wretchedness to heed, And from her fireside, bright with hallowed glee, To dare the boisterous surge and deadly clime for thee. MRS. SIGOURNEY.