TIS-SA-ACH: THE INDIAN LEGEND OF THE REV. JOHN TODD, D.D. [In 1851, during a border war, the Yosem'ité-that is, "Grizzly Bear' Indians retreated, and were pursued to their fastnesses between the east and west ranges of the American Sierra Nevada. In this way for the first time the wonders of the Yosemite Valley became known to the outer world. The whole district was afterwards ceded by the American Congress to the State of California on the condition that it should be for ever preserved as a national park. The following poetic legend still survives among the aborigines, and to them it is a sufficient explanation of the wild and romantic features of their valley.] A long, long time ago, the children of the setting sun dwelt in the Yosemite Valley. They had peace and plenty; and the glorious Tutochahnulah, their chief, dwelt upon the great rock that now bears his name. One glance of his eye saw all that his people below were doing. Swifter on foot than the elk, he herded the wild deer as easily as if they were sheep, and gave his people meat. He roused the grizzly bear from his cavern in the mountains, and sent his young men to hunt him. From that lofty rock, so near heaven, the Great Spirit could easily hear his prayer, and send rain upon the valley. The smoke of his pipe curled up in the sunshine that gladdened his tribe. When he laughed, the river below rippled and smiled in sympathy. When he sighed, the pines caught up the sigh, and repeated it from tree to tree. When he spoke, the cataract hushed its voice and listened. When he whooped over the bear that he had slain, all the mountains echoed the shout from summit to summit, till it was lost in the distance. His form was straight like the arrow, and elastic as the manzanita bow. His eye flashed like the lightning, and his foot outstripped the wind. But once, when hunting, his eye moistened at the vision of a beautiful maiden sitting alone on the very summit of the South Dome. Unlike the dark maidens of his tribe, her golden hair rolled over her dazzling form, as waters of gold would linger over silver rocks. Her brow was like the moon hanging in a soft mist; and her eyes gleamed like the far-off blue mountains bathed in sunset. Her little foot shone white and bright as the silver waters of the Yosemite Falls. She had small white wings on her shoulders; and her voice was like the silvery tones of the night-bird on the hillside. She softly pronounced the name of "Tutochahnulah," and was gone out of sight. Flashing was the eye, swift the foot as Tutochahnulah sprang from crag to crag, leaping over gorges and across streams; but he only felt the down of her wings filling his eyes, and he saw her no more. Every day did the young chief wander up and down the mountains, leaving sweet acorns on her dome. Once more his ear caught her footstep, light as the falling snow-flake. Once more he caught a glimpse of her form, and saw a silver beam fall from her eye. But he had no power to speak to her, and her voice was drowned in the river of silence. She was sitting on her dome. In his love for the maiden he forgot his people:-the valley became parched; the beautiful flowers laid down their heads and died; the winds lost their strength, and could no longer fan the valley; the waters dried up, and the beaver came on the dry land to die. Tutochahnulah saw nothing of this; he kept his eyes on the maiden of the rock, and saw nothing else. Early one morning, as she stood on her dome and saw the valley neglected and perishing, her soft eyes wept; then, kneeling down, she prayed the Great Spirit to pity the valley, and bring again the green grass, the green trees, and sweet fruits, and the yellow flowers, and especially the beautiful white mariposa (violet). In a moment the great dome on which she was kneeling was cleft asunder, and fell down, down, deep into the valley. At the same time the melting snows of the Nevada Mountains sent the River of Mercy (the Merced) down the cliffs and through the valley; while the fallen rock stopped the waters just enough to make the mirror lake. All was altered: the waters now murmured; the fish leaped up in their joy; the birds hastened back with song; the flowers sent out their sweets, and hung them on the wings of the wind; the sap bounded up to give the tree new life, and busy life was everywhere at work. But in that awful convulsion which rent the mountain the maiden disappeared for ever. But the half dome bears her name, "Tis-sa-ach," and the little lake catches and mirrors her dome. The morning and the setting sun place their rosy mantle on that dome every day. As she flew away, the downy feathers from her wings fell on the margin of the lake; and there you may see them still, in the form of a thousand little white violets. When Tutochahnulah found that she had gone for ever, he forsook his lofty home, and having carved his head and form on the side of his rock, a thousand feet above the valley, that the people of his beautiful valley might never forget him, he went in search of his lost one. On reaching the other side of the valley, loath to leave it, he sat down, looking far away towards the setting sun, where he thought she had gone; and there his grief was so great that he turned into stone; and there every visitor to the valley may see him, still looking for the loved and the lost! NORTH AND SOUTH DOMES, YOSEMITE VALLEY. THE POETICAL EPISTLES OF ROBERT BURNS. JOHN WILSON, "Christopher North" (1785-1854). Of all Burns's friends, the most efficient was Graham of Fintry. To him he owed exciseman's diploma; settlement as a gauger in a district of ten parishes, when he was gudeman at Ellisland; translation as gauger to Dumfries; support against insidious foes, despicable yet not to be despised, with rumor at their head; vindication at the Excise Board; a local and temporary supervisorship; and, though he knew not of it, security from dreaded degradation on his death-bed. First Epistle to Mr. Graham of Fintry" is in the style-shall we say it?—of Dryden and Pope. It is a noble composition; and these fine, vigorous, rough, and racy lines truly and duly express at once his independence and gratitude : "Come, thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace; "His Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift, *The nine Muses. |