some historical recollection of the massacre of the Conestogo Indians by the white inhabitants of Pextang, I requested my companion to proceed towards the site of that ancient settlement. As we advanced, we saw nothing to remind us of the first masters of the soil, save the magnificent features of nature, still bearing the appropriate epithets of their language. The mighty voice of the Susquehanna still roared through its breakers, and the dark form of the Black Warrior lifted itself on high. Having arrived at the supposed spot of the cruel massacre, Oliver gave me a short history of the war-like and generous tribe who once inhabited the extensive and flourishing settlement, lying between the Susquehanna and Conestogo creek. Among the rocks and fastnesses to which it is said the Indians fled for refuge in the general destruction of their tribe, he particularised one, called the “Rock of Sacrifice,” with which, he remarked, there was a singular tradition connected; and another story of still deeper interest, with a bend in the river just below it, which he pointed out as the “Kidnapper’s Cove;” thus designated from a remarkable circumstance which once happened there. “But,” said he, “as both places are inseparably connected in my own mind, I will begin with the ‘Rock of Sacrifice,’ and tell you what the Indian legends relate of both.” The tradition is, that only six warriors escaped the murder of their people; and not wishing to survive the fall of their nation, sacrificed themselves on this spot to the god of vengeance, believing they should be permitted in the land of spirits to behold the day of just retribution on their murderers. One of these chiefs was known by the appellation of the “Spread Eagle,” from his power and majesty. He was a famous chief; his word in council, and his arm in war, were alike irresistible. He was the friend and ally of the whites. He said, “they are wise, they will teach us their arts, there is room enough for us both, let them fell the trees and till the soil, the wilderness stretches to the great waters, our young men can follow the chase, and our old ones learn to grow a great nation. Our white brethren must dwell among us.” His counsel was followed, and mutual amity established between the two races. At length the rapacious thirst for gain fomented discord, and the Indians were assailed and murdered in cold blood. The Spread Eagle, by his wonderfully muscular strength, fought through the enemy, bearing two children (the only remaining members of his family) on his shoulders. He fled to the habitation of Colonel Carlisle, who in the general defection had maintained the cause of the persecuted Indians. His confidence in this tried friend, while all around was treachery and bloodshed, wavered not; and he rushed through the infuriated crowd to the covert of his protection. Exhausted by exertion and mental anguish, he had scarcely reached the door, when he beheld his murderers in close pursuit. Darting forward