The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-12-18
MA UHA UeHT THE DEA CON.

We make the following extract from the new
poem by hr. Whittier In the January number of
The Atlontic:-
Nanhaught, the Indian deacon, who of old
Dwelh poor but blameless, where his narrowing
Cape
Stretches its shrunk arm ont to all the winds
And the relentless shifting of the waves,
Awoke one morning from pleasant dream
OF good angel dropping in his hand
fair, broad gold piece, in the name OF God.
He rose and went forth with the early day
Far inland, where the voices of the waves
hepowed and mingled with the whispering
As, through the tangle OF the low, thick woods,
He searched his traps. Therein nor beast nor
bird
He found though meanwhile in the reedy pools
The otter FLASHED, and underneath the pines
The partridge drummed; and his thoughts
went back
To the sick wife and little child at home,
What marvel that the poor man felt his faith
Too weak TO bear its burden-like rope
That, strand by strand uncolling, breaks above
The hand that grasps it. Even now, o Lord!
Send me, he prayed, 'the angel of my dream!
Nauhaught is very poor; he cannot walt"
Even as he spake, he heard at his bare feet
A low, metallic clink, and, looking down,
lie saw dainty purse with disks of gold
Crowding its silken net Awhile he held
The treasure up before his eyes, alone
With his great need, feeling the wondrous coins
Slide through his eager fingers, one by one.
SO then the dream was true. The angel brought
One broad piece only; should he take all these?
Who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb woods?
The loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss
This dropp'd crumb from a table always full.
Still, while he mused, he seemed to hear the cry
OF q starved child; the sick face of his wife
Tempted him. Heart and flesh in fierce revolt
Urged the wild license of his savage youth
Against his later scruples. Bitter toll
Prayer, fasting, dread of blame, and pitiless
eyes
To watch his halting-had he lost for these
The freedom of the woods-the hunting-grounds
OF happy spirits for q walled-in heaven
OF everlasting psalms? One healed the sick
Very far off thousands of moons ago;
Had he Hot prayed him night and day to come
Were all his fathers people writhing there,
Like the poor shell-fsh, set to boil alive,
Forever, dying never? II he kept
This gold, so needed, would the dreadful God
Torment him like Mohawks captive stuck
With slow-consuming splinters? Up to heaven
Would the good brother deacon grown so rich
By selling rum to Indians laugh to see him
Burn like pitch-pne torch? His Christian
Seemed falling from him; while the fear and
shame
OF Adam naked at the cool of day,
He gazed around. A black snake lay in coil
On the hot sand, crow with sidelong eye
Watched from dead bough. All his Indian
lore
OF evil blending with converts faith
In the supernal terrors of the Book,
He saw the Tempter in the coiling snake
And ominous black-winged bird; and all the
while
The low rebuking of the distant waves
Stole in upon him like the voice of God
Among the trees of Eden. Grding up
His souls loins with resolute hand he thrust
The base thought from him. Nauhaught, be q
man!
Starye, if need be: but, while you live, look out
From honest eyes on all men, unashamed,
God help me! | am deacon of the church.
baptized, praying Indian ! Should DO
This secret meanness even the barken knots
OF the old trees would turn to eyes to see it,
The birds would tell Oft, and all the leaves
Whisper above me, 'Nauhaught is thief !"
The sun would know it, and the stars that hide
Behind his light would watch me- and at night
Follow me with their sharp, accusing eyes.
Yea, Thou, God, seest me !" Then Nauhaught
drew
Closer his belt of leather, dulling thus
The pain of hunger, and walked bravely back
To the brown fishing. hamlet by the sea;
And, pausing at the inn-door, cheerily asked
a." said a voice.
''Ten golden pieces, in a silken purse,
Ny daughters handiwork." He looked, and 10!
One stood before him in a coat of frieze,
And the glazed hat of seafaring man,
Shrew-faced, broad-shouldered, with no trace of
wings.
Maryelling, he dropped within the strangers
The silken web, and turned to go his way.
But the man said:-"A tithe at least is yours;
Take 1t in Gods name as an honest man."
And as the deacons dusky fingers closed
Over the golden gift, ''Yea, in Gods name
take it, with poor mans thanks, he said.
So down the street that, like river of sand
Ran, white in sunshine, to the Summer sea,
He sought his home, singing and praising God;
And when his neighbors in their careless way
Spoke of the owner of the silken purse
A Wellfeet skipper, known in every port
That the Cape opens in its sandy wall
He answered. with wise smile, to himself:
II saw the angel where they see man."