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Because she has such store of moods,
So archly smiles, so staidly broods,
So lovingly caresses;
So that my heart may never tire
Of monotone, or more desire
Than she, my love, possesses?

Ah me! what know or what care I?
Or what hath love to do with "why?"
How simple is the reason!
I love her-for she is my love,
And shall while stars shall shine above,
And season follow season.

On The Ice
OR AN ESCAPE FROM THE SAVAGES.

One morning early, in February, 1839, two brothes by the name of Walter and James Farnsworth set
out for a day's hunt in the forest. The stock of meat in their several families was running low, and hunting was the only resource they had in those days for replenishing it. They were accounted the best hunters, as well as Indian fighters, that were in all the Miami country into which the had penetrated and built their cabins some three years before the incident which we are about to relate transpired.
Many were the important services the brothers had rendered the settlers about them, till at last came to be regarded as leaders in that district and no enterprise was set on foot that they were not consulted about, and their views were in most cases accepted by their neighbors. Over and over again had the Indians been thwarted in their attacks on some lone settler's cabin, through the intereposition of the brothers; and often, when the supply of food ran low in the winter time, it was their own hands that provided it, and brought joy where despair had taken up its abode.
But to come at once to the incidents of our story:-
On this particular morning, as it had been arranged the night before, Walter came to the cabin of his brother, whom he found at the door