the kings and warriors of other lands. While admiring the busts of Washington and other Americans, the thought occurred to me, that Virginia ought to have the statues of Pocahontas and of Captain Smith. I suggested to Mr. Powers the well known incident of Pocahontas interposing between Smith and the uplifted club of the Indian, as a beautiful subject for a work of art, and asked him if he had ever formed an intention of executing it. He replied that he had not. He said that it was indeed a beautiful incident, and that he had thought of it as a fine subject, but that he had not made a design, or formed an intention of executing it. I frequently recurred to the topic, and the conclusion was, that I should furnish him with the materials of the history, and he would form a design and communicate it to me; and if he did not receive a commission, he would in all probability execute it upon his own responsibility. Sir, I trust that the time will come, when the Historical Society, under the patronage of the Legislature, will have that groupe. For my part, I should like to see it standing upon that old church tower, the last relic of Jamestown, so that when the resources of this State shall be developed, according to the views of my friend, Mr. Burwell, and the tide of emigration which is setting towards other States, shall flow up the James river,

The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast,
Shall hear the sea-boy hail it from the mast.

In the mean time, may we not, and should we not, have at least a bust of Pocahontas, or of Smith; or, as some one near me suggests, of both? Surely it is an instinct of human nature to cherish with gratitude the memory of our benefactors, and we may well invoke the aid of such an artist, to commemorate the virtues and the deeds of such a pair.

Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompence. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and immortalize her trust.

So may it soon be here with us-in our native State! And with whose images, sir, shall our Sculpture more properly begin than with those of our English Captain, and our Indian Maid?

INDIAN RELICS.

It is sad to reflect that the poor Indians, who were the lords of the land at the time when our English fathers came over the waters to settle our State, have all died, or been driven out of it into "the far West." And it is still more sad to think that, in all probability, a darker day is coming upon them than any they have yet seen. For a tide, it seems, is now setting in from the Pacific, to meet that which is rolling upon them from the Atlantic, and they are likely to be caught in a strait where "two seas meet," and to perish in the strife between them. Perhaps, therefore, some future historian may have to relate the sad story, that the last Indian has killed the last Buffalo in the Rocky Mountains, and that both races are forever gone out from our country. In the mean time, there are still some traces of Indian times, between the Blue Ridge and Alleghany, which art not yet entirely effaced, and which, as far as I

know, have not been described in any history of our State; and I have thought that a short notice of some of those which I have scen myself, may not be without some interest.

A few years since, when on the Thorn, one of the head branches of the Potomac, Mr. Hensel told me that he had just discovered, in a piece of new land he was clearing, what was evidently a very old grave. I went with him to see it. It was on a high bluff of the creek. The earth which had covered the grave, was of a different kind from the circumjacent soil, and had evidently been brought some distance. Only two bodies had been laid there; and they were close, side by side. All the bones had mouldered down to dust. But judging from the length of the grave as marked by the colored dust, they had been of unusually large size. They had been buried but little, if any, below the surface of the earth; and the long lapse of time had worn down most of the earth piled on them; so that in preparing the ground for crops, the grave was unintentionally thrown open.

There was a considerable quantity of pale colored earthen ware, in small fragments, in the grave; which, in its composition, was mixed with a white substance resembling pulverized white flint stone.

On the lands of Mr. John Sitlington, in Crab Bottom, Highland county, there is an area of perhaps a hundred acres, all dug over in pits. This was the great treasury of that dark clouded flint-stone, out of which the Indians made those arrow-heads of that color, found all over our State. This rock is there in great perfection, and in inexhaustible quantity.

It would surprise any one to see what labor has been expended here, and what vast quantities of the rock, obtained. Here was the " Red Man's" California. Perhaps fought for and defended, and visited, and worked, through as many adventures and dangerous journies as the one of

recent date, is, by the white man. The untaught Indian had his excitement, perhaps two or three hundred years ago. Whether that of his pale-faced brother is marked by any greater wisdom, we shall know better two or three hundred years hence.

The arrow heads are found all over our land, and always of the clouded, or white flint stone. I have seen them from two to five inches long, and very neatly shaped; tapering down to a point at one end, while on the other was cut a notch, with two projecting shoulders. They were made fast in the end of the arrow, with the dried fibres of deer sinew; and when driven by the elastic bow, and prac ticed arm of the Indian, were no doubt formidable weapons, for that day. Some of these arrow heads are stained with a green tinge at the point. I have been told by aged persons familiar with their customs, that this was caused by dipping the point in some liquid poison, when engaged in battle. This would add greatly to its fatal effect. For, from its shape, when driven into a wound over the shoulder, it was very difficult to extract, which would give the poison time to take effect. Our surprise is greatly excited, when we reflect that the Indian made his arrow head without the aid of metal tools.

The spot in Bath county, where Green Valley Tavern now stands, was the scene of blood and carnage about the year 1763. Several families had gathered here for mutual protection, apprehensive that Indians were in the neighborhood. After they had been several days together, about sunrise in the morning, the men were engaged with a geered horse in hauling in some small poles from the woods, when a company of Indians came suddenly on the house. Some six or eight were killed, and about as many taken prisoners. Among the latter, was my informant, Mr. Mayse, who is but recently dead. After plundering the

house of what they wished to carry away, and securing the prisoners, they shot down the horse before the door, leaving the geers on him. They then shot a goose in the yard, and opening the horses mouth, thrust the goose as far as they could into it. They then in a ring danced round the horse for some time, yelling and laughing in the highest glee; and then started for the Ohio, with their prisoners, scalps and plunder. A company was raised which pursued and overtook the Indians. Mr. Mayse was too small to

stand the fatigue of walking; and when overtaken, an Indian was carrying him on his back. At the first fire of a gun, he jumped from the Indians back and ran, knowing that deliverance was at hand. The prisoners were all retaken and brought back. The persons killed at Green Valley, were buried some seventy or eighty yards west of where the house now stands. And Mr. Mayse told me that the Turnpike road now passes directly over their graves.

This same Mr. Mayse, who, a little lad, sprang free from the Indian's back, was afterwards a soldier in the battle of the Point, where he was wounded. He and Maj. Thompson of Bath county, have told me, that during the battle, very frequently, a loud and clear voice could be distinctly heard above the din of arms, encouraging and rallying the Indians along the line of battle. They all had no doubt it was the voice of the brave, but ill-fated Cornstalk. They also spoke of the high esteem in which Col. Charles Lewis was held by the men. His lamented fall at the first onset produced a shock through the ranks, which well nigh proved fatal to them.

Thompson also told me, that "to his own knowledge, there were more than one hundred flints picked the next day, for Lord Dunmore." He had violated his stipulated engagement to form a junction with Lewis, and crossed over to the Indian towns. They all believed, that he was