MASSASOIT’S DAUGHTER;

    
   
    
   

 

on,

THE FRENCH CAPTIVES.

A ROMANCE OF ABORIGINAL NEW-EN GLAND.

BY A. J. H. DUGANNE.

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
No.93W1LLums'mEm.‘

  

\

Ilmd according to A cl. 0! Congress, tn the yen 2N1. by
BEADLE AND (30 MPAN Y.

hmm'a 05102 of the District Court of the United Stats: fur Ch
anthem District. at” New York.

 

THE FRENCH CAPTIVES.

 

CHAPTER I.
wnncx ovmmem'r em.

Tum: is a dangerous stretch of rocky lend inclosing the
waters which wash the shores of Plymouth, where, even now,
the mariner fesrfnlly guides his bark through dangerous
shoals—a narrow promontory, whose extremity pierces Maus-
chusetts Bay, and whose entire length is exposed to all the
violence of Atlantic tempests. Even at the present day, the“
shores of Cape Cod—as the first discoverers designated it—snd
the storm-beaten beaches which buffet the tide ns flu- as Glou-
cester Point, are often strewn With the wrecks of shattered
vessels, and the bodies of their hapless crews. Scarcer a
storm rises, at certain seasons, from the inclement east, that
does not leave its dreadful traces on these dangerous head
lands; and many a brave ship, returning from some tedious
voyage, has here found her grave, even when the roofs of her
Isilors’ homes were visible to their despairing eyes, and the
ears of expectant friends were open to their drowning cries.

Hither, inher pride, came a ship of France, with freight of

opeful men and trusting women, while in her wake rose
storm-cloud, and before her crouched the hidden form:

of unknown reefs. . This was in the summer of 1615. while

the Pilgrims were still in Holland, though the French had

long since peopled portions of Canadaand the Islands.

.' Up into the blue twilight rose, that ominous cloud. while

in: the ocean‘s sin-face swelled s  of‘pertnrhed“

 

 

0 I m macs camvns ,

spirits of the dec . One of those sudden tempests, that leap at
once, like an aroused giant, from the bosom of our northern
seas, and scatter destruction around their path, as with mighty
strides they traverse the vexed waters—one of those awful
throes of nature now shook the mounting billows, as a steed’s
mane is shaken in the battle. The ship hOWed before the
gale, her tall masts bent like reeds, her high-built prow and
majestic quarter dashing away the huge billows which strove
to overwhelmher. Onward, with headlong speed, she rushed
toward her fate, like a wild horse gonded by the hunter's shaft.
Vainly were the flapping sails bent to the straining masts, and
heavy anchors launched into the frothy waters. 0n dashed
the ship—on to the rocks with a crash; then there was a
shivering heave, and then a dull thump; the crack of parting
timbers, followed by a shriek of fear and agony—voices of
the terror-stricken, calling upon heaven.

Far above the roar of the storm and the cries of pertaining
wretchcs, was heard the war-whoop of the savage as he
marked the peril of his stranger foes, and saw that they must
perish, or become his captives.

The Indian is a poetic subject for the romancer to endow
with the attributes of an unsuilied nature-th portray as
some; with chivalri'c’ character, and invested with all the rude
virtues supposed to belong peculiarly to a state of nomad
innocence. But, an Indian painted and decoratedfor war, in
all the glories of shells, feathers, wampum, with a sheaf of
arrows, a stone-hatchet, an oaken-bow, oyster-shell scalplng-
knife, and having a disposition to cut, hack, maim and torture
his enemies to the utmost extent of their endurance, is apositlvt

and real object not, at all agreeable to encounter; and if our '

ancestors, of Worthy'Piigrim‘memory, Were sometimes inclined
to exhibit their horror of such things by making short work
of armed savages, we may, perhaps, imagine an occasional
' excuse for their so doing, by consideringthe circumstances in

which they were placed, as continually threatened by a .

réino‘rseless race, jealdu’s of their presence, and anxious for
their destruction; r I

It  be fancied that the poor French emigrants, who
WTat.‘fi‘5ni'tfie decks aria. stranded-ship, the same band

anticipates; thelr‘doorn, are exciting in its 

 

  

  

sasawes-°'

their war-fires.

“memo 'ro THE wnnox. l

abandoned all hope of escape, and gave way to di pair.
Children clung about the necks of their mothers, wives were
folded wildly in their husbands’ arms, friends embraced one
another in affectionate farewells—rill gave themselves to the
terror of the moment, mingling their cries and prayers in sad
confusion. The poor wenderers crouchei upon the narrow
deck, while the daylight faded, the storm hcwled, and around
them dashed the angry waters, sweeping over the reefs, and
threatening each moment to ingulf the wrecked vessel. Mean-
time, the savages had kindled large fires at many points upon
the beach, the light of which streamed across the gloomy
water, and reached the dismantled ship; and, on the sand,
smid the flaming piles, while the rain poured, and the wind
shrieked around them, could be Seen their dusky forms, as, with
pine-knot torches brandished above their heads, they leaped
and dencul, singing and yelling so loud that every note rung
in the ear of the shuddering occupants of the wreck.

The hours passed slowly on. though, alas! too quickly for
the unhappy emigrants, who, striving to sustain one another
upon the slippery planks, or clinging singly to the bulwarks,
looked out through the mist toward the savages circling round
It was evident to the despairing emigrants
that no alternative but death or captivity among the redskius
could be presented» to them, even should they succeed in
reaching the shore after the final breaking up of the vessel, of
whichevent they were in momentary anticipation. The cap 7
thin, hcwever, a dark-visaged and determined man, had not
yet resigned himself to the apathy which prevents thought 0:
exertion. He had Weighed in his own mind the chances of
escape, and saw that there remained one, at least,‘in case the
tempest should subside during the night. This was to leave
the stranded vessel by means of the boats, and, instead of‘

lending, to push boldly for the sea, and then, by skirting the

headlends and capes, to gain at least some southern point,
whence the English settlement of Raleigh, or the new colony
of Maryland, might be speedily reached. Unfortunately, how-
ever, such escape could be available only to a few, inasmuch
lathe main boat of the ship had been swamped during the
stress of the gals, and there remained only the. pinnace, and:
3 mal. cache-shell afi‘air which could hold but a half-dozen

 

 

   

B THE FRENCH CAPTIVEB.

of the passengers. However, Captain Pierre diu not hesitate, but
decided upon securing his own safety, whatsoever might be
the consequences. He had been used to many adventures,
perilous, and, rumor said, illegal; for it was more than sus-
pectedby the emigrants who had engaged him to man and
master the ship, that the worthy Pierre had, in former years,
known a career less peaceful—indeed, that, his rightful com
panions were rather buccaneers of the Indies than good citi-
‘ zens emigrating for the sake of enjoying quiet lives. The
master was not, indeed, a Frenchman, but a Creole of the
Spanish main, who had been employed by the emigrants as
navigator of the vessel-which they owned in shares; moreover,
the crew which Captain Pierre had brought with him were of
different countries, and though notable good seamen, were yet
on quite familiar footing with their master, so as, indeed, to
cause a strong suspicion among the emigrants of a former inti‘
maey existing between the parties, which might suggest many
memories of adventure connected with Spanish galleons.
Nevertheless, Captain Pierre ,had contracted for the expedition,
and had thus far performed his stipulations, which, of course,
could not take into account the disasters and mischances of
the ocean.

The Creole captain, at this moment, whatever bad or good
actions had been his antecedents, was intent on escaping the
fate which at present seemed to menace the whole company.

He quietly called to him a dozen of the crew, who were evi-
dently old associates of their commander, and, retiring with
them to a space between bulkheads not yet battered by the
waves, and near \vhiclrthe pinnace was secured, unfolded
the plan he had devised. The rough followers readily acqui-
esced in their leader’s design, though one of them,a blunt
fellow, whose round head and bull~dog face proclaimed an
English origin, ventured to remark, with an oath:

“Then these poor Frenchmen, with their wenches, will
assuredly be eaten by the cannibals on shore yonder. Mass!
but it goes hard with my conscience to leave them, Captain
Pierre 1”

“You are a fool, Robin,” answered the Creole, “for the,
sensible man lives as long as he can, and lets others do tin

  

  

A cm. 1'0 mum ‘9

“And, in good sooth,” returned the Englishman, with a
laugh, in which he seemed to swallow his seruples, “ in good
sooth, the French people are fitter to die than any of us rovers,
1aptain Pierre; so I e‘en think we may give them the slip
with quiet conscience.”

“Well, kmwe, out with the pimmce, and make no noise
shout it,” said Captain Pierre; “ there‘s a patch of still water
under the bows, and the boat may swing till the backbone of
the storm is broken, which can not be long, if the wind blow
like this." «

At last, a. lull in the flerceness of the wind, and thunder-
rolls dying away in the deep, announced that the gals had
spent its violence. Presently the heavy mist that had clothed
the waters like a pail, and through which the lightning at
times hardly penetrated, began to break in many places, and
permit the expiring embers of the Indian war-fires to beseen,
marking the line of sandy beach. The savages themselves
Were no longer visible; but anon, their yells were heard higher
up among the woods, and the white men knew that their foes
waited but for the morning’s light to attack the ship. Thus were
away the dismal hours, the waters still violent and beating -
upon the wreck, and the shifting clouds now breaking away

‘ slightly, and now closing ,in dense masses. Thus, at length,

the midnight hour came and passed, and then, just as a heavy
wave was retreating, there sounded a dull blow that seemed
‘p shiver through the vessel, and immediately afterward the
great galley, which was built at the ship‘s stern, broke com-
pletely ofl", Carrying with it a portion of the quarter, and a
score of men and women who clung along the nettings. I A
shriek rose from the waters as the dark mess of wood, with
its freight of living beings; swept, seaward with the ebbing
wave, and then a silence as of death settled over all.

\ But the pause lasted notrlong, for it was the effect of on
agonizing dread, which soon found utterance in words, and
labs, and cries to heaven. In the midst of this sorrowful
tumult, a. deep voice penetrated the ears of all who had
survived the parting of the galley from the quarter:

“Friends, the ship breaks up! \An hour hence, and naught
but fragments will remain! Let us prepare to meet death
like Frenchmen and Christians, and that we may have strongtr
Ic tn do, let us now unite in prayer to our Lor ”

 

 

  

IO rm: mancn cmrvns.

It was the voice of Abbe Claude—a priest who had scenes.
panied the expedition, and whose kindly ministries hin
endeared him to all the emigrants. His solemn accents now
fell upon the despairing hearts of his friends with an influence
that calmed their terrors, albeit they felt that the prayer Winch
they should offer would be likewise their requiem. At this
moment, anothe. voice was heard: /

“Comrades, his good to pray, but it is better to work
The storm is now over; let us make a bridge over the rocks
with spars, and thus reach the shore.”

It was a man of BriVany who spoke—one high in esteem
among his companions. and a murmur of approval greeted
his words. He continued ' I

“ It will presently be impossible to escape, for, as the
good Abbe says, the ship is hrmking fast. Therefore, before
we pray, let us work, I say, that we may get to the shou.
H0, captain l Captain Pierre 1"

But Captain Pierre’s voice scanded' not in answer to flu
Briton’s call.

“ Ho, Captain Pierre! the storm has ceased ! let us make 0
raft to the shore l” ,

Then a loud hail came from the gloom which hung around
the vessel's side, shrouding the waters, and a quick dash, as 0'
ours, was audible.

“Make ye craft, an‘ ye will, friends l It is a good thought
But. Captain Pierre cannot come to ye. Adieu i”

‘As that farewell sounded, a last flash of lightning lit the
surrounding waters, and the dazzled eyes of the wretched
emigrants faintly perceived the pinnaee, filled with men, NW4
ing with all speed over the black surface, propelled by double
oars. A gloom settled over their spirits, and a low on
escaped many lips. Even the Briton’s voice faltered as he
cried:

f‘ Captain Pierre has deserted us i”

’ “Let us now pray I” said Abbe Claude.

The Briton answered not, and presently the clear, ‘powarfui
tones of the priest’s voice rose sweetly above the turmoil 01
Winds and waves. He prayed upon that parting wreck, amid
the shivering forms of his companions; and his words were

 by moaning cries, and by deep amen»; from the inmost

 

  

 

 

rim sun: BREAKS or. 11,

/
hearts of his hearers. Sublime was the great tumult of waters
beneath his voice—solemn. indeed, the church in which he
kneltv—the dying audience whom he addressed.
Then—the ship broke in twain, the whirling billows dashed ’
her shattered timbers upon the rocks, and caught up the

' shrieking wretches who clung to spars and eordage, hurling

them remorselessly among the breakers, or hearing them
hshore,where murdering enemies awaited, with tomahawks
apraised, to wreak their savage crueltics upon such as might
escape the ocean‘s fangs. v

As the beautiful sun, which, at its setting, had kissed the
gay streamers of the ship of France, arose tt. fill another
daily course, the wrecked emigrants were slain, or captured,
or fleeing, they knew not whither, through the dense forest
of that unknown land where after-wanderer: were to find a
less inhospitable greeting, and where was to be born that mighty
child of a mighty mother, which the world was to know as .
New England.

    

    

CHAPTER II.
IN 'rnn wrnnnnnnss.

UPON the greensward knelt three figures—an 01] man, I
youth, and a fair young girl. The first, by his garb, and the
r crucifix which he held aloft, seemed a priest: a man with
placid face and thoughtful eyes—one of those self-denying,
earnest souls, who first dared the perils of our untrodden
wilds, to plant amid deserts the seeds of eternal life.

I Near him was a young man, whose attire, though torn and
travel-stained, was yet of costly texture and delicate workman-
ship. His embroidered doublet and rich vest, his jeweled belt,
and the plumed hat which lay near him on the award, as well
as the diamond-hilted sword that glittcred by his side, marked

'him as a. cavalier of. rank. Small hope of golden stores had

been the» inducement to the young Louis de Luzerne to
embark on the outward voyage of Captain Pierre, and mingle
with the hundred emigrants who sought the shores of Canada,
then first explored, and called Acadié by the French. But a
higher motive actuated him. He sought a father, long since
banished from his native land for some act which had incurred
the arbitrary displeasure of his king. Moreover, the young
man cherished another sacred duty—the protection of an only
sister, whose tenderest years he had overwatehed, and whose
beautiful youth he was now guiding with all the enthusiasm
of a brother's noble love. With this sister. Louis had em-
barked in the ship of Captain Pierre; with her he contemplated
to share a sylvan home in the new Arcadia of his hopes; and
with her he prayed that he might greet a long-lost sire, who,
perchanee, in his wildemessexile, despaired of ever again
beholding his children. .

Beautiful, exceedingly, is prayer—1f it be but the true
prayer of the heart. 7 ~

mvrvons or m wanes. 13

Such was that ol' the young girl, breathed in the solitude
of an American forest, ere the foot of an Englishman had
pressed the strand of Plymouth. The prayer was in the
sweet French tongue. Its burden was:

“ Hart's, reins du ciel, prise pour new I" ,

And the priest and the young man echoed the musical
ulson, saying:

“ Mary, Queen of Heaven, pray for us 1”

She prayed with soft devotion—-

“ 0 ma mere, bien aimed”
The old man, with white locks, and the youth, in low
response, upraised their eyes, and murmured—-
“ Oh my mot-her, well-beloved l”
“ Marie! priee our nous /
Meryl pray or us!”

A solemn and beautiful litany was this, in the deep stil-
ness of a summer's eve, upon a wild, N (aw-England mountain.
The shadows lengthened as the prayer proceeded, and gloou.
deepened around the worshipers. The holy eyes of thc
maiden Marie shone through the dimness, and her white
hands, clasped in earnestness, gleamed from the shadows like

_ the pinions of a snowy dove '

The three who knelt upon the sword were all who had
escaped the ‘iinal catastrophe of the wreck. Louis de
Luzerne, in the last moments of terror succeeding the knowl-
edge of Captain Pierre’s (insertion of the ship, had succeeded,
by great exertions, in casting loose a small skill, or rather
canoe, which was fast to the dismantled quarter, and ,in this
frail Dark had placed his sister, the priest Claude, and a youth
of his own country, named Gabriel St. Elmo. At the dread

‘tnoment when the sea broke over am] ingulfed the passengers,
‘lhis little skilf, to which the four emigrants clung, was lifted

' from the quarter by a heavy swell, and flung high up‘ among
the breakers, whence a returning blilOW dragged it back to the
wid turmoil of waters. Abbe Claude held the maiden in his ,
‘ms, and Louis, with nervous hand, strove to guide the little
boat with the broken blade of an ear which he had secured.
But the youth St. Elmo, who had been with them when the
wreck broke up, was now no longer visible. He had lost his
bow upon the skill, and been overwhelmed at once by the

 

1-1 ' me man csmvus

breakers. The boat itself, after tossing to and fro whirled in
many directions, at last passed beyond a sheltering headland,
where the embayed waters were calm, and there the wan-
derers remained till the gray dawn discovered to them their
situation.

For many days and nights they pursued their] route
over hills and meadows, and through verdant va.es, that were
clothed with all the gamiture of summer-time, and redolent
with sweetest incenSes of virgin nature. They journeyed
very slowly, but still in the direction, as they believed, of their
countrymen’s settlement, called Aeadz'é. With no chart or
compass, save the rising and setting sun, to tell them of the
. east and west, and having many times to diverge from a
straight course, in following the curves of rivers which they
could not cross, they nevertheless pressed forward hopefully,
with an unfaltering trust in Him who had thus far pro-
tected them. , Abbe Claude strengthened the courage of Louis
by his pious faith and converse, and the, youth, on his part,
devoted every care to the tender one who clung to him by
day and night. Many a mile did he walk, carrying Marie in
his arms like an infant, and hushing her fears with breye
assurances that all must yet be well; that at the French set-
tlement they must speedily arrive, and there be folded to the
heart of a long-lost parent. .

80, day by day, they walked the wilderness, until, utlength,’

one sultry eve, they gained the high slopes of Mount Wnchu-
sett, then towering, as it towers this day, over a. wide horizon
of green fields and waving woods’nnd silvery streamlets,
«twining its base like ribbons. With but vague notions con-
cerning the extent of that strange coast whereon they had
been thrown so suddenly, the Abbe Claude believed that a
' few duys‘ journey must conduct them to the settlements of
the French. 7
The mountain they had now reached was the highest
encountered in their journey thus far; and they had ascended
nearly to its highest ledges, in the hope that from such an alti-
tude the traces of civilized existence might welcome their
vision. Of the Indian race they had seen no signs since leaving
the sealshore; and this fact had given'them more assurance
that their course was a proper one. Greatr therefore, was the
disappointment of all when, on climbing to s ‘ 1y point of

‘\

 
 
   

\

/

    

 

_ upon the greensWard.

  

nut 3mm. in

thewooded elevation, they could discern nothing in the
extreme distance but interminable hills and hollows, covered
with dense forest-growths like those which they had been
traversing for so many weary days.

Marie, who had refused to complain of pain or weariuess
during the difficult ascent, here sunk entirely exhausted.
She seemed about to yield under the hardships that had so
severely taxed her gentle frame.

( Louis bent down and pressed his lips to his sister's cheek.
“Marie!” he said, “the good _God watches over usl Let us
put our trust in Him !” ' '

“ Yes I" answered Abbe Claude. “ Let us have faith in Him
who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb l" Y

“My brother l" murmured the young girl, “should I die,
you .willgo to our father! Perhaps he—"

A tall, black shadow fell athwart the dusky twilight. Marie
uttered.a. shriek of terror—ashrmking back‘and then falling
A paintedsavagm had stolen noise-
lesst from the thicket, and laid his tawny hand upon her
arm. Louis sprung to his feet, drawing, as he did so, the
sword which rested beside him. But, as if by consant, a
fierce yell resounded through the forestdcpths, and a line of
yelling savages emerged from the gloom, brandishing pine-
knot torches and weapons of murderous shape, while, with
horrible cries, they danced in long circles, closing about their
prey. '

Louis saw, for the moment, only one object—bis poor
sister, prostrate upon the sword, motionless as in death.“ In
another instant the brother’s glance met the fierce regards of
an Indian warrior, and simultaneously the two sprung to a
renconter, in which the red-man’s stone tomahawk was
shivered by the young Frenchman’s sword-blade, and his .
breast pierced by its point. But of what avail could be a
single arm against such fearful odds? A dozen savages
precipitated themselves upon the brave youth. A. hundred
threatening arms were uplifted to dispatch him.

Abbe Claude, raising his crucifix above his bare blow, knelt
beside the swimming maiden, sustaining her slight form.‘ If
was a blessed unconsciousness that steeped the poor-child's
senses, shielding her from the sights and sounds around her; -

. , ,z ,

 

  

  

u me man: can-rm

lbr the wilderness appeared alive with foemen, and an um
earthly 'chorns of whoops and cries bespoke the jubilee of
savage triumph.

Luzerne, struggling vainly against overpowering numbers,
beheld his sword wrested from his grasp after a tomahawk
blow had disabled his wrist. Defenseless and smitten to the

. ground, he submitted to be bound, as was the Abbe Claude,

' with tough withes of bark, while the still fainting Maria
was lifted, a death-like burden, on the arm of a tall inclizm
who appeared to be the chief of the band.

Abbe Claude and Louis Luzeme were driven before their
red captors down the dim forest-aisles, and, with bleeding feet
and pinioned arms, urged onward swiitly by their Narragansett
captors. Ah 1 what a dismal spectacle appalled them as they
raised their burning eyes l—a ghastly line of trophies borne on
bloody spear-points—dark, reeking scalps, with the short hair
of men, and long tresses, and blonde ringlets-the last vestiges
of matrons and maids, whose corses lay unburied upon the
lands of the shore. These sad relics were all that remained

of their late companions in axis—the hapless crew and
passengers of the wrecked Ihipl
/

  

 

231.35 germane”...

     

i
l

 

 

 

CHAPTER III.
um wur'rn sun's cause.

On the same evening that Lumen-he, his nisteri and the
Abbe Claude ascended the mountain of Waehusett, and beheld
the sun set from its summit, another scene of glory was visible
some score of miles to the south. The declining sun’was
spreading a gauze of fire over the broad waters of Masse-
chusetts Bay, and along the margin of her golden sands e
myriad of rippling waves were breaking brightly and quietly,
glittering in the western light like dissolving shells of pearl.

Beneath the spreading bonghs of a stalwart oak, that
stretched its ponderous arm’s toward the shore. sat a young
Indian mother, while her child rocked in a birchen cradle that
depended from a branch of the oak. She was weaving a
chain of wampum, and crooning to herself; in a low-toned,
musical voice, some plaintive ditty of her native tribe. At
times her dark eyes fell, with a glance of love, upon her slum-
bering infant, and then, with a smile, were directed afar to
the distant hill-tops, their glance following the course of a
narrow hunting-path, which led from the sea-shore through
'.he dense forest. By that path Outesie‘knew that her hus-
band, a brave Pequod hunter, would seek his cabin at the
sunset hour, and her heart beat in glad anticipation; for the
young mother was proud and ‘ond’of the father of her babe.

A boat appeared upon the waters of the bay, gradually
approaching the land. Stealing onwardI in the shadow oi
the high beach-rocks, it drew noiselessly nearer and nearer to

the bank upon which the Indian mother sat. She saw it “not.

for the eyes and heart of Outesie were fixed upon the tall
form of a man parting the leafy solitude. She knew it was

he: husband—a stately Chieftain 'with plumed head' and waln-
pum-decked breast, returning from the chase.' He held his
bow in his hand, and rapidly descended the wooded but.
the the loving eyes of his Wife eagerly melted .mwm

-" ~ -ammr'  A". _. -

  

m rm: men cmrvss

Tue boat had now rounded the nearest point, and her kee.
struck the sands of the shore. The Indian mother stood near
the oak tree, her gaze fixed 'upon the edvmcing Chieftain, and
she heard not the approach of the strangers till a rough hand
was laid upon her. Turning quickly, she beheld two beings
with white faces, and in singular garb, standing close beside
her. At once all that she had heard concerning spirits of evil
flushed over her mind. But she thought not of self—her first
emotion was apprehension for her sleeping child. With a
shriek she darted to the oak tree, and snatched from its waving
bougli the birchen cradle in which her babe repbsed.

The Pequod chieftein heard the shriek. His eyes fell upon
the strangers who were pursuing her. No fear of evil spirits
pelsied the Indian’s limbs, for he knew that the intruders
were men of that pale race'which, in other portions of the
land, had already marked its advent with violence and blood.
He fitted an arrow to his bow, and, bounding down the mount-
ain-path, gained the oak tree, where his terrified wife had
sunk insensible. The white men beheld the stalwart form of
the Indian dashing toward them, and, turning quickly, they
regained their boat, and pushed away from the beech.

The Chieftain did not pursuethem. His first care was to
raise], the fainting Outesie, and hush the terror of the babe.
now awake, and tutoring loud cries. Meanwhile the host.
which contained perhaps it dozen men, had reached the clear
water at some distance from the shore, and there its crew",
resting ‘upon their cars, surveyed the movements of the red-
men. ,

Outes'ie’s eyes soon opened beneath her husband’s caresses.
encl'she clung tremblineg to his bosom, as her gaze wandered
shorewsrd and beheld the white spirits of her fear. '

“’Outesie—a‘ny wild bird-they ‘are gonei It is I—it is
Mattakan who embraces thee.”

Outesie stretched forth her arms for her child, and, pressing
it to her heart, seethed its plaintive cries. The twilight was
now falling, and Mattaken and his wife had several miles to,
went to their own lodge, for the oak tree was but a trystingv
 'wh’sre Ou‘tesie was Wont to 'meet‘her Chieftain, as he
returned, Men ’wlth small genie, from the forest-hunt. A:
the present  Maugham belt ofiwsmpum heldsoverd
birds and rabbits. pierced by hisunerring shaft

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Suddenly,‘however, as the chieflain turned to enter, with
Outesie, the forest-depths, and give the alarm to the village
that strangers were upon their waters, a loud report,,thnt
sounded in the Indian‘s ears like thunder, caused him to turn
his head. At the same moment a bullet whistlcd past, and,
striking the oak tree, splintered the bark in fragments at his
feet. Mattaknn, appalled at the strange power which had
performed this feat, stood for a. moment silently clesping the
hand of Outesie, then hurriedly led her townrd the forest-path.
Another moment, and his form would be lost in the shadows
of the great trees. Outesie, with beating heart, folded he!
babe in her arms and followed her husband.

Again that loud report startled the echoes. It was mingled
with the dying shriek of Outesie! A bullet from the white
man‘s musket had pierced her loving heart. She staggered
"orward and fell at the roots of the reVerent oak which had
been her place of tryst, the babe still clasped to her heart.

Mattakan knelt beside his wife; he saw the life-stream
Welling from the cruel wound in her bosom; he met her sol!
eyes, upturned to his own, in a long, last look of ufi‘eetion; and
then, as she sunk upon the award, Mattaken knew that
Outesie was no more. The leaden death of the pale strangers
had robbed him of his beloved.

Fury filled the soul of the Pequod chief. Raising a wild
peal of the war-whoop, he rushed to the water's edge, and,
fitting an arrow to his bow, launched it at the retreating boat.
The shaft fell short of its mark, and n. shrill laugh of tri-
umphal scorn came from the white men. A discharge of\
muskets hurled a dozen bullets around the chieftain's form;
but he heeded them not, though the plume was struck from
his scalp-lock, and his wampum-necklace was cut in twain by
the missiles. Why should Mnttakan now fear death? Hil
heart was with the dead Outesie.

Slowly he retraced his steps to the oak tree, while the

'white man's heart glided away on the misty waters of the bay.

And when the last rays of day had fled from the scene, and
the night shades drew heavily around, Mattnkan stood beside
a grave that he had scooped out in the sand beneath the oak
tree. s

I» tbyt grave the Pequod chleflain buried the body of his

\

 

 

  

 

In In men CAPTIYEH.

beloved Outesie. But first he knelt upon the sand beside hil
lost one, and, severing a. tress of her long, black hair, placed
it in his bosom, murmuring a few 10w words. The tress was
wet with the blood of his murdered wife, and the words
which Mattnken breathed were a vow of vengeance upon the
pale-faces.

Wrapping the young child in a garment of its slain mo‘ther, /
he pressed it to his heaving heart, and then departed into the
wilderness. ~

Many moons passed away, but Mattukan was seen no more
upon the shores of the Massachusetts, and his voice resounded
not in the wigwmns of his tribe. Mattakan hunted no more
upon the three hills of Shnwmut.

The small mound, beneath the ancient oak that marked the
grave of Outesie, began to crumble before the encroaching
waves, and soon the Waters encircled the oak itself.

But Metteknn came not, and none among his ration know
whither he had wandered.

 

 

 

  

“no: momma:

CHAPTER IV.
was. mememe Tara-mm. \

Win the green hillsides, through deep woods and across
lwollen rivers, journeyed a long line of dusky savages, each
treading in the footsteps of the one who preceded him, as they
tracked their way toward the declining sun. They were all
hideously painted, and ornamented with the grotesque trap-
pings of aboriginal vanity. Feathers, shells, and strings of
wampum, mingled with the, skins of snakes‘aud teeth of
wolves, Were htmg about their necks and'hosoms, and, in
addition to these customary decorations, many wore trinkets
of copper, and silver and golden crosses. It was evident,
indeed, that they were returning home with the trophies of
some recent victory; for, scattered among their under
accouterfiients, were torn and blood-stained articles of Euro
pean clothing, fabrics of costly texture, fragments of gilded
wood, and finely-wrought drinking-vessels, which clinked
together as the short, quick trot of the savages shook them
.rom side to side. ‘

The red-men were merry; for strange .sights had they
witnessed, and great triumphs won. They had met the white
strangers from beyond the waters, and beheld his “big canoe”
shattered by the terrible breath of Hobbomocko, and seen how
its great ribs were broken upon the rocks of the seaside
They had smitten the pale-faces, as they gained the shore, and
made their hands red with the blood of the white strangers.
And now they journeyed homeward with great joy, for many
scalps of young and old danced before the eyes of the Norm:
gansett warriors. Envious would be the tribes‘of the Mass»:
chusetts, when news of the bold deeds of the Narragansett:
should reach their ears, as they sat amid the squaws in their
wigwams. ‘ ' *
The war-party pursued its march, till at length the village

 

 
 

 

.2 THE men osmium

of the tribe was neared, and the Narragansiett hunting-groundl
stretched before the gaze of their returning owners. Whoop<
ing and yelling, the savage warriors quickened their pace, and
tossed in the air the bloody poles on which were stretched a
hundred gory scalps. And forth from the lodges and Wig-
wams, to greet them, came the old men, and squaws, and
children, leaping wildly about, and screeching, like (lemons, a
welcome to their victorious friends. 0, it was a horrible and
unearthly scene to look upon—that demoniac welcome home!
for distorted figures, naked and frightfnlly painted, danced
beneath the old forest-trees, in the light of blazing pine-knee,
which they whirled above their ,heads, and a chorus of terrific
cries mingled with the beat of wooden drums and blast of
conch-shells, frightening the wild beasts to their lairs by the
more intense wildness of savage men. 'It was a joyous
welcome, indeed, to the returning warriors, but a fearful greet-
ing to their wretched captives, who, tattered, scourged. and
fettered, marched in the midst of the whooping bend. There
Were two prisoners—one youthful, and fair, with delicate limbs,
now, alas, all bleeding and bruised from blows and the hard-
ships of travel; the other, with white locks and reverend
brow, alike bruised and weuried, but pressing bravely onward,
his shackled hands folded meekly on his breast.

Vainly had Louis de Luzorne struggled for freedom—vainly
payed for death‘; the goading spears of his cruel captors

urged him forward on the toilsome march, though his pinioned .

limbs, had grown stiff with pain and fatigue. The aged priest,
like himself, was half bowed to the ground under a load of
trophies, which the Indians had compelled them to bear; still,
the good Abbe, forgetful of self, whispered words of eonso~
nation in the young man‘s car.

“Courage, my son 1” whispered the old priest.
thy sweet sister, may still be saved, like ourselVes."

“Alas l her scalp may even now dangle amid those which
yon savages toss about, like demons that they are.
Marie, truly if she indeed perished on the mountain l”

“ She would then test where the wicked might not trouble,"
responded the priest’. “Nevertheless, the Almighty may have
presarved her, my son, and as Christian men, it is meet that
we give not way to despair l" .

“ Marie,

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" Would that I were lying beside my sister 1" (ried Louis,
refining to be consoled by the good Abbe’s Words. “ Would,”
he continued, more bitterly, “ that these heathen savages were
done with their mummery, that they might be speedy in their
sacrifice cf which we are to be the victims l"

“ Nay, tempt not Heaven with impious wishes! We
indeed suffer, but One has suffered before us. Trust in that
One, my son—even Him in whom the young Marie trusted."

The youth did not reply, for a. whisper,‘ low and sweet as
the summer wind, seemed to echo the priest’s words. The
memory of his sister's voice descended like dew upon his
bruised heart, and he felt that, if the maiden was indeed no
more of earth, her spirit would be near him in the hour of
trial. He bent his head and went silently on.

The unearthly scene—the horrible faces of the Indians, and
their terrific gestures, seeming to menace death to the captive:
at every contortion of the dance—began to ,swim indistinctly
before the eyes of Abbe Claude and his young countryman
Soon it seemed that only a confused whirl of dusky figures
gleaming torches, and upheld spears and hatehets, danced
before them, and then they heard but :1 din of yells and horrid ’
laughter, mingled with dull tomahawk-atrokes upon the post
to which they were fastened. Then, as the savage triumph
grew under and wilder, HeaVen vouchsnfed relief to the
wretched prisoners. Fear exhaustion and sufl'ering paralyzed
that senses. Their eyes closed, and they became uncon'
rt 1| of torture. "

 

  

 

    

CHAPTER V.
ROBINBALL.

“ I now, Captain Pierre, you and I and all of us will no
that luckless shot ere we be clear of these heathen savages,“
laid the voice of a men who held the rudder of a large boat
which, filled with his companions, was skirting the jutting
points of a. long reach of rocks forming the entrance of what
Is now the Mystic rive'r.

“And I doubt, Robin Ball, you will one day provoke meta

send as luckiess a shot into that English pate‘of yours.” ‘

replied Captain Pierre.

“ A luckiess shot, and a luckiess hand, and a luckiess soul,‘ ,

will be that which shall seek harm to Robin Ball, and he live
,to know the same i” retorted the Englishman. “Nathless, I

will say, what I said before, that it was a coward act to shoot ‘

that young squaw out of rank wantonnessl
there to waste. powder nt all,‘Captain Pierre.”

“Have care, Robin Bell, of your speech, else there will be
' more than words between us What think ye if I leave
ve ashore among your good friends, the red-men?
faith, it were fair wages for mutinous grumbling wherewith ye
would breed evil blood among comrades."

What need was

“ Call my speech what ye may, Captain Pierre, there shall ‘

not be wanting a hand to back what the mouth utters"
“Dog! do you threaten me i'" cried the Creole, starting

I fi'oni his sent in the middle of the vessel, and half raising his 1
“Another word ‘

sword, as he leaned toward the boat-steerer.
from that mutinous threat, and there‘ll be one less of this
- good company."

“Say you so, Captain Pierre?” retorted the Englishman,
letting go his hold of the rudder, and grasping instead the
banal of an arquebus, which llty beside him at the stern of

the boat. “ If Rob Bell be a dog, he~ is no dog of a Cry-lo ‘3

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By my '

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buccaneer. What, be, my masters l” continued the seamen,
glancing from one to another of his comrades in the pinnnce:
“Will ye see your messmate tossed overboard to the sharks,
because he doubts the good policy of murdering squaws,

_ when we have thousands of bloody savages tracking us night

and day since the shipwreck ?"

The seaman‘s appeal was not without its efi‘ect, for a
murmur ran from one to another of the crew, and Captain
Pierre’s uplifted arm dropped irresolute by his side. That

' Creole, however, was not a man to be easily alarmed. He
knew well the natures of those who composed the greater
portion of the company, since it was true that several of them
had sailed with him in former years in quest of adventures
quite as perilous '21s the present one. On the other hand, he
was aware that the English sailor, Rob Bull, was a fellow of
address and boldness, and possessed not a little influence over

. many of the crew.- Beside this, the unfortunate termination

of the voyage had disheartened most of the men, who had

3 heretofore not been backward in expressing themselves in

terms of insubordination quite as positive as those of the
Englishman. Captain Pierre, therefore, saw that his better
policy was to temporize. I
“Come, come, Robin Ball,” he said, releasing his clasp of
the sword-hilt, and stretching out his hand to the boat-steerer
“Let the past be forgotten between worthy comrades! If the
Squaw had held her peace, no harm had been done. As it
Was, comrade, I sought not to slay the woman—it was the
led dog I aimed at.” V '
Robin Bull doggedly took the hand which was extended to
'thin, but he gave it no grasp of reconciliation.
“ It was a coward shot, I'll maintain l" he muttered.
Captain Pierre overheard the remark, and bit his lip, while
V ‘the dark blood mounted to his face. Nevertheless, he only
laughed, displaying his white teeth, and said :
' “Well, worthy Rob, the next shot shall be yoursl Bnl,
look ye, comrades—the smooth beach and quiet cove of you
little isle will give us a snug harbor for the night. I like
‘not skirting these thickets in the full glare of the moon.
, v’And, seal the Wench is Just peeping_fi-om behind those tall
: trees! Presently her beams will lights, the‘wm so tau

/

 

 
 

    

31° -

we shall be quite too fair a. target for the arrows of red marb-
menl Prythee, good Robin, point the boat shoreward, an' it
please you l”

But Robin Ball‘s temper seemed to be far from plaeable on
this occasion. lIe gloomily held his peace, and though, as
directed. he steered the pinnace into shoal-water, and gained
the narrow cove, beyond which a patch of hard beach, glitter-
ing in the rays of moonlight which now hogan to glimmer
through the forest-leaves, offered a secure landing-place, it was
evident that no gentle feeling warmed his heart with reference
to his commander. Of this, however, the Creole apparently
tOok no note, waiting quietly in his place till the boat‘s keel
struck the sands, and then springingfishore with the rest of
the crew, seemineg losing all recollection of the late war of
words. Rohin Ball muttered a few grumbling words. as he
aided in dragging the boat upon the beach, and securing it for
the night, and then joined his companions in disposing of} his
allotted share of the 'scnnty remnant of provisions which they
had saVed from the wreck, but to which had been added an
abundant store of succulent Indian corn, gleaned from an
Indian plantation” encountered on their devious voyage in th
pinnace. .-

Oaptain Pierre was well versed in savage craft, for he
had dwelt in the: Havana, and among the islands of the
Spanish main, and, withal, was a politic and fearless adventurer,
who made light of dangers and adversities which might have
gone far to dishearten one of weaker mould. Under his skill
ful piiotage, hy rowing in the shadow of the banks, and keep-
ing watchful eye both for canoes upon the bay and savage
lodge-smokes on the‘land, the band which he led had for 1
week navigated the mouths of various harbors, and even
ventured far along the banks of rivers that manifestly pene-

, trated the far interior of the land. It was not, indeed, till the
mentioned evening that the Creole. on discovering. as he
thought, a solitary squaw reclining near the beach, conceived
the wicked project of obtaining possession of the defenseless
creature, and thus gaining information concerning the red
'xibes who dwelt on the shores of the Massachusetts. Other

‘md cruel pnrposo’ had Captain Pierre, which he as yet

W10 but’twolor‘three of m- iellowers, end this was to

m FRENCH OAPTIVEG.

 
 
 

 

 

     

   

 

 

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A mmrons nicsrox. \ S1
oblige his prisoner to conduct the band to some village of the
red people, which he proposed surprising in the night, and
making captures of a goodly number of children. These
prizes secured, and the pinnace safely steered from the buy, the

‘ Creole thought that little difficulty would be expozicnced

in coasting the land southward to Havana, where his captives
“touid be profitably disposed of as slaves to the planters in that
sinnd. It was a nefarious design, but one quite in keeping
with the character of the buccaneer, and not, indeed, at
variance with the customs of the time, inasmuch as other
adventurers, English as well as Spanish and French, had ~
amassed large fortunes by the same tralflc. 1

Pierre Dacot, therefore, or Captain Pierre, as be was called,
found no difficulty in reconciling his conscience to the deed
thus contemplated; and, though foiled in his attempt to abduct
the Pequod woman, by the sudden appearance of her husband,
whom the rover feared might be accompanied by other sav-
ages, he determined, at the earliest opportunity, to carry into
execution his project of kidnapping. The pinnace was large
enough to accommodate, beside his crew, some dozen or more
close-pinioned children, and, by these latter, Captain Pierre
hoped to realize a few hard pieces of gold as soon who should
reach the Havana.

It was necessary that all his companions should be made
acquainted with the enterprise proposed. He knew the
obstinate disposition of Robin Ball, and likewise that this
stolid fellow had been much disatfected since their abandon-
ment of the emigrants; and yet it was of the first importance

_ that Rob, who was much regarded among the men, should , ,
' give his earnest co-operation to the business of kidnapping, in

order to insure its success. The Creole regretted bitterly the
dispute which had occurred between himself and the English-
, man, and resolved to heal the breach as speedily as possible.
No sooner, then, was the pinnace secured fonthe, night, and
the men dispersed under the leafy covert of the smth island
where they had sought a sheltered repose, than the captain
drew near to, Robin Ball, and said, in a coaxing voice:
' “Comrade! if I spake word of offense, or if the rash deed
{of the aneuiy has stirred up bitterness between us, it is not
"meet that comrades in dmger shorid harbor malice. Here.

1

 

    

38 m runner: emrvns
then, Robin, is my hand, and let us be friends once more, lb!
I love you too Well to sleep in anger with you.”

The English seaman held the rover‘s hand a moment,
without speaking, though he returned the pressure which it
gave his own. Then he said slowly—“ Captain Pierre, there
be many natures and many paths in the world. Your nature,
I doubt, is not my nature; and when this voyage is over, our
paths will very like be wide from each other. But as you
say, comrades in danger should harbor no malice. Therefore
let us be no more at strife till we meet in Christian hind.”

“With all my heart, brave comrade,” said the captain.
“ And if, when we are safe among Christian men once more,
Robin Ball shall show cause of grievance against Pierre Dacot,
by my troth, I shall be ready to settle the score, with sword
dagger, or pistol, as the case may be.” .

Rob Bell appeared greatly mollified by this promise on th
part of the leader, and shook the latter’s hand with earnest-
ness, as he replied: “ That's fair and frank, and beshrew me
but Robin will give Pierre whateVer satisfaction he may claim
~53 my hand on the bargain now warrants. So good night,
captain l"

Saying this, Rob Bell was about to cast himself on the soft,
grass, where he had already made a pillow of leaves, covered
with his thick sailor’s gabnrdine, but Captain Pierre had not
yet finished the conversation to his liking.

“We have had the fiend’s own luck in this voyage,” he
cried, seating himself beside the sailor. “Look you at me,
comradewsmpped of all I possessed by the wreck, and
obliged to begin the world without a maravedi. Now, if
some stroke of fortune were to offer—if we could but getaway
from this savage land, and fall in with some rich gulleon that
a few stout blows might master—~”

“Mass! but it would be better than shooting squaws tor
marksmanship," said Rob Bell. “Faith, Captain Pierrel I
value my life as highly as any man’s—but if a good Spanish
merchantman Were to be had by the risk of it, never fear m
find Robin lugging in the background.”

“ I doubt you not, Robin, I doubt you not,” anSWer-ed tug
Creole. “ But, we are not yet at the Havana, and when the
Havana is reached, it is many a league to Tortugas’ 1818, and
further still to the Ononoco. and the Spanish main.”

      
   

 

 

 

 

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“Goad-by, then, to Spanish galleonsl” said Rob Ball,

1 moodily.

“Not so!” answered the crafty Creole. “Have you not
heard, Rob, of your bold countryman, Walter Raleigh, .who
sailed the great main, and went in search of the Golden People

' of Guiana?”

“Ay, marry have I,” cried Rob, “ and of Drake, the good
,mariner, who took great store of wealth from the Don
Spaniards.”

 

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“ Well, there be Drakes and Raleighs now on the main,”I
said Captain Pierre; “there be bold mariners who go out in
boats not bigger than our pinnace here, and with no arms
save pistols and cutlasses; and the great galleons strike’their
flags when they see them, and the Dons fall on their marrow-
bones, begging for quarter."

“By my troth l" exclaimed Robin Ball, warmed up by the
Creole's words, “say you that such bold freebooters be there ?
Here is my hand, then, thrice, Captain Pierre. Let bygone:
be bygones, and go we speedily to the brave Spanish main 1”

“ Oh, we are not yet there,” sighed the rover. “ We must
first reach the Havana l” _

“But the pinnace will weather her way thither, Captain H
Pierre. Have you not promised us that 1’"

“Small fear have I of the pinnace,” returned the Creole.
‘And that we shall reach the Havana, I doubt not; but what
think , ye, comrade, will be - our luck among the Havana
planters, save, indeed, we have gold wherewith to provide for
our voyage to the main? Now, I have a thought; Robin
Ball—”

The captain paused, apparently revolving some new idea in
his mind, while the Englishman half rose from his pillow to
listen.

“ If we can manage to catch a few of these wild natives,
and transport them safely to the Havana, the red hides would v

. stand us some broad pistoles, Robin Ball.”

The seaman’s blue eyes opened widely.

“What say you, Captain Pierre—mean you to sell the
Indians ?”

“ In good sooth I do. The heathen dogs—more especially
if they be liker youth of amen years or thereabont—will

 

  

 

n THE FRENCH ems.
bring a. good price with the planters—some titty pisto'lee, per
head, or thereabouls, Robin Ball.”

“ And you will sell the flesh and blood of the poor people,
captain ?”

“ For fifty pistoles per head—male and female, Robin i"

“ Then may God’s malison light on ye i" cried the English-
man, suddenly starting up, and confronting. his astonished
leader, who had deemed his crain words were listened to
with eager ears. “Am I n ’I‘urk, Captain Pierre, that ye pro-
pose this foul traffic to me? Out with ye, for a coward and
a kidnapperl” ‘

“ Robin Bali, have a care i"

“Villain that ye are, and no brave mariner—I defy you,
and if my life be spared till the morrow’s sun, I take my leave
of your company, come what may come."

Captain Pierre's smnll black eyes twinkled with malice, but
he made no reply to the Englishman, who threw himself back
upon his pillow, with n muttered malediction. After a pause,
however, the Creole glided silently away from the spot where
the conversation had been held, and proceeded noiseleser
toward me pinnace, in whose bows watched two other! ofthl
m.

 
 

 

  

i’

1

um m an own

CHAPTER v1“.
TISQUONTAM AND MONOMA.

WHEN the dismal war-whoop of the savages rurg upon the
cars of Marie, and before her eyes stood the tall figure of a
red-man, his features grim with paint, his wild eyes gleaming
in the light of torches, and a deadly weapon upraised in his
hand, it was no wonder that the senses of the maiden forsook
her, or that all consciousness of what afterward took place
was lost to her vision. The dreadful attack, the struggle, the
capture of her brother and the Abbe Claude, were mercifully '
concealed from the apprehension of the young girl, and when
she awoke to observation once more, the scene and all its
terrors had vanished.

Marie was no longer on the mountain‘s summit, no longer
companioned by her beloved Louis and the priest, but, instead,
she felt herself compressed by the strong arms of a plumed
Indian, who bore her rapidly through the dense forest, descend-
ing the dcclivities with the agility of a deer, and treading
the greensWard with a step springy and light, as if no burden
encumbered his progress. ~

For some moments after awaiting to a realization of the
change which had taken place in her situation, Marie could
with difilculty reflect—all her intellect appeared confused and
thisle Stranyeness and uncertainty seemed to encompass
her as with a cloud. Gradually, however, her brain grew
accustomed to the rapid motion with which she was borne
forward, and her thoughts began to shape themselves.

Marie felt that she was unbound, and that no wound had
mashed her, moreover, that her Captor was alone—no other
footsteps following his'own. He sustained her slight form

easily with one stalwart arm, while the other bore his"
bow and heavy war-club. Marie noted. all this, and, at the

 

 

  

m.

 

1‘14 FRENCH cu-rrvns.

same time, became aware that be: head was pillowed upon
the red-man’s shoulder, her cheek pressed against his glowing
neck. She started suddenly, and shrunk instinctively from
the contact.

The Indian’s coal-black eye, revealed in the moonlight,
seemed to flash to the maiden’s soul, as its quick glance w"
turned upon her, recognizing her awakening. But, save 5
short gutturnl expression, apparently of satisfaction, he gave no
other token of intelligence, but bounded onward with the sums
elastic step._ Thus onward through the forest and over grassy
hills, resplendent in the moonbeams, and through dim gorges,
cloven amid the rocks, until, at length, they reached the
margin of a quietly-flowing river, whose banks were clothed
with laurel, and sumuch, and yellow-petaled l'ilies, waving in
the soft night-breeze.

Here the red-man laid his living burden upon the sward,
tenderly as a mother places her child to rest, and then, parting
the bushes that grew by the water, disclosed a. light cnnoc of
birch-bark, which he drew to the bank. In the stern of this
frnil bark he first deposited his bow, arrows and war-club, and
then, lifting once more the trembling form of his captive, dis-
posed her gently in the bow of the vessel, balancing it the
while so nicely, that even when his own heavy frame followed,‘
and reached its place in the middle of the craft, no motion
took place save a rapid gliding forth, straight as an arrow’s
flight, upon the river’s bosom. Imperceptibly, as it were, the
canoe seemed to strike the current, and, propelled by a light
peddle which the red-man wielded, shot with great Velocity
down the moonlit tide.

Sad and painful were the images which poor Marie con-
jured torher fancy, as she reclined at her captor’s feet in the
canoe, and beheld the dim river—banks, evermore changing, as
the birchen vessel glided swiftly past them.

Many hours, it seemed, elapsed ere the canoe was checked
by a stroke of the Indian‘s powerful arm, and its prov
directed to the shore. Here, with the same deliberation with
which he had embarked, the savage drew the little bar]:
ashore, and first taking from it his arms, lifted his captive to
his stalwart shoulder, and bounded away into the dark forest
with unrelnxed speed. Presently, however, he reached‘ what

   

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a 13mm mwax. a

appeared the termination of the night's journey, and the eyes
of Marie opened upon a novel and beautiful scene.

The place where her cantor had halted was an intervai or
vale between two wooded hills, from each of which descended
a small stream of water, at first gurgling musically over :-
pebbly bed, and then lapsing into a gentle and noiseless flow,
between banks of soft grass fringed with lilies, and fragrant
with wild honeysuckle and sweet fern. The two streams met,

‘and, mingling with each other, parted again to glide on either
side of a small, oval islet, and then flow afterward in a broader
channel from the plain into the deep wood, where their course
was lost evermore from view. But it was the little islet that
most attracted the attention of Marie.

Upon it was a hut or Wigwam, constructed alter the rude
Indian fashion, but not repulsive or naked-looking, like most
of the aboriginal habitations. It was built between the mossy
trunks of two sycamore-trees, patriarchs of the forest, whose
immense branches rose high above the roof which they
sheltered. The top was arched, either by accident or design,

I and with the curved boughs above it, suggested somewhat oi"
a civilized elfeet. Over roof-tree and .sides, likewise, and
around the door-posts, and on either wall, grew thick clam'oer-
ing ‘flowers, houeysuckles, wild eglantine,~ and russet wood-
.‘iines. Altogether, the Wigwam, or cottage it might be called,
wresented an appearance sufficiently remarkable and attractive
to divert for a space the thoughts of Marie, so that she forgot
the aflliction of herself and friends in wonder at the beauty of
the scene around her

The Indian placed her upon a moss-covered stone, washed
by the stream that purled beside it, and there leaving her for
a moment, with a light bound he crossed the water and stood
in front of the Wigwam. A dog, barking loudly, immediately
ran from the open door, and the next instant a woman glided
out into the moonlight, and, darting forward, fell into the
Indian’s outstretched arms, her own hands clasping his bend
mg neck. The dog, meantime, a creature of the small Indian

N breed, leaped to and fro, and sprung upon the savage, and

then, running to the streamlet‘s edge, barked sharply at the
strange figure which his quick eyes saw upon the oprmits
] , c

1-9

 

2

 

   

 

  

u m FRENCH CAI'IWES.

The maiden witnessed this apparently joyful meeting with,
[motions of sorrow and sympathy—sorrow as she thought of
her own desolate state, and sympathy with the affection which
was manifested in the actions of the wild beings before her.
A! the same time it seemed to her that the embraces which
she beheld were u. guaranty for her own future security—as if
they assured a gentle treatment to even a captive and an

enemy. And yet to whom was the delicate girl an enemy ?—- «

she whose infancy and childhood had been passed among
associations the most peaceful and love-inspiring, whose child-
hood liad been nurtured by the deep affection of an only
-brother, and spent in the seclusion of cloistered walls l True,
the younggirl had scarcely known a mother’s love ere it was
lost to her forever in this world; but well she remembered
the beautiful face, with its sad smile, that often bent oVer her
infant slumbers, and the sweet voice that was wont to soothe
her with the dear name or " daughter.” Another countenance
she hrlf recalled, that of a majestic man, with clear, brown
eyes and noble forehead, whom her heart told her was her
father-{but who, alas, had known as little of his child as did
his wife; for the enmity of a nobleman, powerful at court, had
drawn upon the elder Luzerne the unjust anger of the king,
and he had been torn from his wife and children, in the lat-
tcr‘s earliest years, and expatriatcd to the then dreaded clime
of America. His lady did not long survive him, but departed
frdm her lonesome state of widowed love, and left her two
babes to the care of a good man, her only counselor, the Abhe
Claude—him who, to the last, had followed and watched over
his precious charge. Such‘was Marie‘s brief history, and it
flashed vividly through her mind even in that moment, during
Which her glance rested upon the Indian and his companion.
She had little time for reflection ere the savage was once more
at her side, lifting her in his arms preparatory to recrossing the
Btreamlet. Meantime. the Indian woman had ignited a torch,
and its bright light streamed through the woven branches of
trees and strips of birch-bark which formed the sides cf the
hut, into which the white maiden was presently carried, and
placed upon a couch of soft furs that occupied a corner.
'Eere, in‘the light of the torch, she had opportunity to examine
closely the appearance of the two, whose singular attention!
began to inspire her with wonder, if not with fear. ‘

    

 

 
  

"UpAl-a___‘r

  

       
     

  

l
l
l

 

 

m WI DAUGHTER. 8|

The Indian, in whose arms she had been box-name many
miles, was a man of heavy frame, broad-chested, and, erect an
a. mountain-pine. His arms and breast Were decorated with
painted figures and ornaments, and rows of Wampum-string
hung about his neck, denoting that he was a chief of rank.
Bushins of deer-skin defended his feet and legs, and a tunic of
some fibrous material, stained with various colors, and sewn
With wnmpum, depended from his waist, over which usually
was worn the blanket with which he had covered Marie, and
which he now held in his hand. The chicflain‘s forehead was
broad and high, though disfigured by a streak of crimson
paint, blotches of which likewise stained his cheeks. Above
the forehead the head was bare, save Where a tuft of black

,hair was gathered at the top of the skull, and bound with

Wampum, out of which rose a‘hunch of eagle's feathers. To
the eyes of Marie, the chief appeared to be a man of forty
years or more, though in his mien and eyes were apparent all
the vigor and spirit of youth.

The Indian girl—for it was evident that scarcely sixteen
summers had passed over the head of her who stood beside
the chief, and whom the French maiden at once divined to be
his daughter—was of slight but graceful figure, with regular
features,'dark, dreamy~looking eyes, and hair of intense black-
ness, hanging nearly to her feet. She was clothed in a light
robe or tunic, women of threads of bark, hreidercd with heads,
and knit together by shiny rows of shell, while a mantle of
delicate otter-skins was confined to one shoulder, hanging \
gracefully to her knees. Her small feet were covered by little
moccasins of birch-bark, gayly spangled with shells and bits
of glittering grass. She stood beside her father in an attitude
of native grace, her form drawn up like his' and her arching
neck throwu back with the air of a princess. Nevertheless.
though proud in look and mien, the Indian girl's eyes were
dwciling upon the pale-faced captive with an expression e“
tender commiseration. which at once assured Marie that in
the Indian‘s child she had found a. friend.

Perhaps. so thought the chieftsin himself; for, as he followed
the look of his daughter, it seemed as if his grim brow relaxed,
Ind something akin to a smile lingered upon his lip. The
Bed maiden caught his eye; the next moment she advanced

  

 
 

' u m FRENCH Gamma.

to the French girl, and, kneeling beside her, took her heal
tenderly between the palms of her hands, and imprinted a loss

upon her forehead. Marie’s heart grew full in a moment.
She forgot that her companion was a strange maid, that she
was a heathen and of a savage race. She only felt that warm
kiss upon her forehead, and saw two tender eyes gazing int:
her own with a look of sympathy which won her confidence
Marie sobbed aloud, and, throwing herself upon the neck 0!
the Indian girl, burst into a flood of tears.

The stoical red chieftain raised his hand to his forehead.
brushing it hastily across his eyes. Then, striding ID the
door, he stooped his plumed head, and stood forth beneath
the moonlight.

“ Ugh l” ejaculated the Indian, as his dark eyes cast a
backward glance upon the two maidens; “ Ugh! the warrior
feel woman his heart l”

And he struck his broad breast heavily with hi! hand. II if
to null his manhood.

  

  

 

‘mknm:uann~.o—_.-_._

 

a Iron 1: mouse. ll

l

CHAPTER VII.

TEE BATTLESNAKE.

1'! was early day when the Abbe Claude awoke from I
lethargy into which, together with his young fellow-prisoner,
he had fallen during the war-dance of the savages, on their
return to their village. It was with great difliculty that he
could recall to memory the incidents of the preceding night.
A recollection of some frightful scene, indeed, was dimly
present to his. mind, but it was rather like the vagueness of
a half-remembered dream than the reminiscences of a fearful
reality Gradually, however, as his eyes became accustomed
to the place in which he found himself, so the shadowy events
of the Indian' feast grew vivid to his mind‘s vision. Again he
listened to monotonous war—chants, sudden yells, horrid
laughter—gagain he heard the sharp whiz of a hatchet through
the air, and its dull stroke into the wood beside his check.

The Abbe strained his gaze until it was able to discern
something of the place in which he was. His limbs were still
bound, though not with that benumbing tightness which had
cramped them during his weary march to the Indian village.
He could slightly move his hand, and distinguish, beneath in
touch, the soil. wolf-skin on which he lay. He soon ascer.
tained, from the noise of regular breathing around him, that
there were other persons near, evidently wrapped in profound
slumber, and he therefore concluded that he was confined in
one of the wigwams or lodges of the red-men, in the midst of
guards, as was customary with the Indians to bestowihei:
prisoners. But the uppermost thought 'of the good Abbe
concerned less himself than his friend and charge,’ Louis.
Anxi us to discover if the young man was in his neighbor-
lom’ he raised himself cautiously, as far as his thongs would~
p: “a, and can a scrutinizing glance abanthim  , . .

 

 

   
 

8% runner: cmrvm
A swan-t savage, holding in his sleeping grasp a huge war-
club, lay close beside the priest, while a dozcninore, all appnr
cntly slmnbering soundly, were dispersed over the Wigwam
floor; but the Abbe‘s gaze fell first upon the form of Louis,
encompassed by the brawny arms of a. Herculean Indian. He
breathed n silent prayer of gratitude, as he saw that his youth-
ful friend was sleeping us quietly on the broad breast of his
guard as if suii‘ering and captivity were things unknown to his
experience.

Upon a log, at the Wigwam-entrance, reclined a gigantic
warrior, with his weapon—a knotted, jagged, but beautifully
polished muple club—grasped in his siuewy fingers. As the
increasing light, falling between the branches of a forest-tree
above, played over the red-man’s features, the prisoner wuc
struck at once with their solemn and devout expression. The
copper brow seemed gilded with the morning beams, and it
strange seriousness, as of awed thoughts, invested the savage
facc‘with a quiet grandeur which drew the admiration of the
priest.

“Perhaps the Indian prays! and doubtless his prayers——
even his nntntored prayers-are aeCepted of the Lord Bf

Again Abbe Claude turned his head toward the spot whers
Louis slept in the nuns of his guard; but a thrill of deadly
terror crept through his frame; he gasped for breath as his
glance rested on the young man. Erect, at the very bend of
young Luzerne, its scaly body glistening in the dull morning
light, the priest beheld the wriggling folds of n large serpent.
Its malignant eyes, like sparks of tire, twinkled close to the
captive’s cheek, and itsforked tongue played around his fore
head.

The lodge was silent, save the measured breathing of the
unconscious savages. The priest alone, palsied with unuttex'
nblc horror, beheld the writhing snake. A moment the
venomous reptile stretched its length beside the captive; then

it reared itself, with crested head, once more, and threw buck ,
Its fnnged mouth, as if to strike its victim. He vented his ‘

/

Divided feelings in a cry of terror.

Immediately, and indeed before the Abbe’s cry had ceased,
a” Indians were upon their feet, clutching their,
“@0111. while. accession of short yells rung slam

 

 

 
     

 

 

 

mum Doc'rom. “ 83‘

.hxongh all the village. The reclining warrior, at the lodge-
ioor, sprung up, brandishing his club, and a. crowd of braves ‘
Ind screeching squnws poured into the wigwnm. They
‘teheld Father Claude half rising from the ground to which he
was fastened by wooden stakes driven through his thongs,
and pointing with outstretched arm toward his fellow-captive,
who lay gasping upon the earth. The serpent, gliding to 1:
corner of the hut, reared its crest again. It was but the work
of a. moment, however. fora stout brave to hurl his club at
the angry reptile. It fell, crushed and dying, upon the ground,
and the Indian‘s moccasined foot bruised its head. ' /
A gentle-featured Indian woman ran from among the
squaws, and, kneeling beside the young captive, lifted his
drooping forehead from the mat on which he had fallen from
the arms of hit guard Louis struggled for breath, as though
overcome with pain or fright, and the woman, baring his
arm, disclosed upon the shoulder a few drops of blood. The
snake had struck its victim surely, and its poison was in the
wound. This sad factwas attested to the senses of Abbe
Claude by the sudden gutturnl exclamation that run from one
to another of the savage spectators. The priest strove to
crawl toward his friend, but the strong hand of one of his

7 guards restrained him, and a short “ugh l" imposed silence.

It became evident at once to the Abbe that his fellow-
prisoner was not to be left Without immediate aid. The squaw
whohad raised the youth, and discovered the hurt, now tore
away the covering of the captive’s neck, and, steeping besids
him, applied her lips to the venomous bite inflicted by the
rsttlesuake‘s fangs. At the some time an old savage, who
stood by, plucked some grass that grew near the Rodeo-door
ind, placing it in his mouth, begun slowly to chew, \vhil‘
.he woman sucked at the youth‘s arm. Abbe Claude guzet
wonderineg at the coolness and silence of the Indians, for
since the serpent had been struck down, not a. word had fuller
from any of the party, save the gutturul “ ugh!" of the guards
7 For it few minutes the wild group remained in a. circle, and
the Abbe intently watched the squnw, as she knelt beside his
youthful countryman, her lips glued, as it were, to his wound ,
At length, withdrawing her mouth, the woman turned toward
thoold savage who hadbeen chewing the weeds, sud, receiving?

\

 

 

    

40

THE FRENCH CAPTXVEH.

from him the masticated pulp, placed it upon the shoulder
of Louis, covering the inflamed spot where the snake's teeth
had entered. Then, winding thin slivers of ash about the
arm, and binding a bandage of bark tightly overall, the squaw
concluded her rude surgery; after which, obedient to some
directions which she gave, two Indians, lifting the wounded
captive. bore him in their arms from the large Wigwam.

Abbe Claude essaycd once more to rise, but the savage
nearest him touched his tomahawk significantly, and motioned
him to lie quiet. Then the guard took his seat beside the
lodge-entrance, and the other warriors, together with the
sc1uaws, retired silently from the hut.

Morning wore on, and the many sounds peculiar to an
Indian village began to he heard. Dogs passed the lodge
with a short, quick bark; fowls screamed; the noise of stones
with which the squaws were grinding their corn mingled with
the sound of wooden drums and conelnshells, making a not
unpleasing dissonance to the ear. The guard at the Wigwam-
entrnnce leisurely tilled his stone-pipe, and presently a power-
ful odor of the tobacco-weed filled the lodge. Insensibly, the
Abbe sunk into a feverish sleep.

When he awoke, it was near midday, and another savage
smoked at the hut-door. The new guard offered his prisoner
food, of which the priest ate ravenously; for long abstinence,
and the exhausting excitement that preceded his sleep, had
made him like a child in weakness. The savage jailer smiled
grimly as he beheld the old man devour the savory snccotash,
and then, unbinding his thongs, he motioned him to rise.
Abbe Claude obeyed with difficulty, for the withes had
cramped his limbs while he slept; but, summoning all his
strength, he followed the stately form of his Indian conductor
out of the Wigwam, and through the monotonous bustle of an
aboriginal town.

A singular scene was presented to the European’s eyes
Stalwart savages lay dispersed in various attitudes, in front 02
their huts, or upon the green carpet of soft grass, lazily recum~
bent, and surveying each other in dreamy indolence, whilc
groups of old men, youths and squaws were scattered hers
and there, eagerly listening to young braves, recounting tales
cf their maiden achievements in the late expedition. Square

  

 

    

   
 

_ 4_...,-__.__,_— ———~

The cm ammo. 41

Menu of stone were smoking near some of the lodges, at which
iquaws werepreparlng food; and steaming hannehes of wild
deer, and huge joints of moose-moat, hung from the boughs
of trees, attesting the great suceess of the hunters who occu~
pied the wigwnms nearest to them. Lean, stunted dogs were
running to and fro, sporting with the naked papooses w‘no
rolled on the grass, or, strapped to boards, were placed upright
Lgainst the gnarled foot of oak trees; and hands of urchinsp
with tiny bows and blunted arrows, \vere performing mimic
battles, or hurling light tomahawks at targets with wonderful
dexterity and precision.

The Abbe‘s guide strode toward a spot of elevated ground,
where a. group of young men and women were dancing and
singing, recalling to the captive’s n'lemory the scene of the
preceding night. A monotonous chant sounded from their
midst, and, high above their heads, they tossed weapons and
hoops wreathed with evergreen, yelling and leaping, the while,
in confused chorus. Father Claude shudder-ed, for he remem-
bered now too well the horror of the war-dance, and a fearful
thought darted through his brain that perhaps himself and
companion 'wcrc to be sacrificed in some heathen rite. He
recovered his calmness in a moment. '

“The good God seeth us, and we are in His almighty hands.
to dispose of as He willeth,” were his thoughts.

The Indian stalked onward. and the Abbe soon found him-
self in the midst of the wild throng of dancers But. his
hopes revived, and a prayer of confidence rose to his lips, as
no marked the scene which now unfolded itself. '

A group of young men and maidens were swaying to and
fro in the movements of their singular dance, circling a green
bank with measured steps, while they sung in rude cadences,
and waved aloft green branches and garlands of wild flowers,
Seated upon the bank, as on a rural throne, sat the gentle.
featured squaw who had sucked the poison from the wound
of Louis; and the young captive's head now rcpoSed quietly
upon her bosom, while green leaves and blossoms were stre we
thickly around them by the group of mirthful dancers.

Abbe Claude, familiar with“ the customs of savage tribes.
recognized at once the ceremony by which a prisoner wu
Idopted into an aboriginal community. He '8“! that his

 

 

D THE FRENCH CAPT!

Indian women had chosen the young stranger as her son.
having probably lost some youthful brave who had before
called her mother. The life of the pale-face was hencefiirth
safe, and the youths and maids were now oeleln‘uting the
adoption which had secured the captive from sacrifice.

Louis raised his head, as he beheld his reverend friend, and
feehly offered his hand. Father Claude knelt upon the sword,
and murmured:

“Thank the good God, my son, you are mixed!
It matters not! I am but a withered branch i“

For rm.

CHAPTER VIII.
GABRIEL s'r. ELMO.

Gunner. Sr. ELMO was a youth of scarcely eighteen
summers, but of a. vigorous frame, and, animated by a daring
3nd adventurous. spirit, had determined to seek his fortunes in
that distant-clinic to which thousands of adventurers were
flocking, and which promised to their ardent imaginations a
realization of All the dreams that Eastern romance had
pictured in the remote countries of the furthest Ind.

Gabriel had not perished, us was thought by the captive
lurvivors of the vessel’s living freight.
when, amid the roar of breakers, he had felt the light skiff
dashed upon sharp rocks, and despairingl y released his hold of
her, he gave himself up for lost. But Providence had not
designed that he should share the fate of his companions. Ho
fiend himself whirled into deep water, where he came in con
tact with one of the ship’s spars, which he grasped with a
desperate clutch.

Awful was the spectacle revmled to his gaze during the
brief seconds that he drifted in sight of the wreck l A pro
longed shriek, as of mortal agony and fear, rose around him
from the voices of drowningmen, women and children; but.

,nbove this shriek his sharpened senses could distinguish the
triumphs] yell' of the savages on shore, exulting ow W

,At the terrible crisis v

  

  

    

 

 

 

cmr m-on AN ram. 43

anticipated victims. A flash of rightning occasionally (115»
closed to his horror stricken eyes the features of some dying
Vreteh, sinking for the last time beneath the surge, or the
mangled corpse of one beaten to death upon the reef. Bu
these lamentable sights speedily vanished, for the waves,
cal-coring like wild steeds, whirled the spar to which the youth
clung, far away, dashing it hither and thither until, at last. one
end rested upon a shelving sand-bank, where it remained fast.
St. Elmo crawled landward, till he reached the hard shore.
He ascended the bank, and, feeling secure from the ocean, fell
exhausted on the wet grass.

When he awoke, the sun was flooding all the sea with
radiance, and he discovered that the place where he had been
cast was a small island, at a distance but still within view of
the headlauds and line of reefs on which the ship had stranded.
Far away eastward extended the ocean, far as his vision could
scan, and landward only immense forests were to be seen.
He looked in vain for any portion of the wreck upon the point
where it had broken up. Not a fragment was visible. save
the spar on which lie/had himself escaped.

It was not long, however, before St. Elmo, from his shel-
tered position on the island, could discern signs of life upon the
opposite shore. Smoke curled above the tree-tops, and pres
ently the flguresof Indians could be descried, going back and
forth from the weeds to the sandy beach. The savages were
at too great a distance ,for their voices to be audible, but the
young Frenchman knew very well that they were occupied in
collecting from the shore whatever articles belonging to tho
Ihip had been cast there by the waves. Occasionally a group
)f the natives wo'uld clasp hands and dance about in a circle, M
.f rejoicing over some new prize, and then they would
lispcrse, or disappear in the woods. St. Elmo did not venture

V .teyond the covert of woods which grew nearly to the island

shore, lest the vision of the saVagcs, keen as his own, might

'lpy out a new victim for their cruelty.

At last, however, the youth began to realize very sensibly
the important fact. that he had lasted no food since the
previous noon. He penetrated the woody recesses of tho
island, searching eagerly for berries or fruit, but the pine.
infested barren as a desert. ‘ He Wained, howover. to 113

t

 
 

 

“ THE FRENCH CAPTIVEB.

satisfaction, that the island was totally uninhabited, and had
apparently never been entered before by a human being.
Many birds hopped in the branches over his head, and some
flew so near that he might have struck them with a stick; but
St. Elmo contented himself with devouring a few eggs 0!
which he rifled a nest, and a root or two of palatable flavor
which he digged from the earth. Somewhat satisfied with
this scanty provender, he returned to the bench in time to
behold, with astonishment, a fleet of canoes, containing
hundreds of Indians, crossing the water that intervened
between the island and the mainland.

St. Elmo’s first impression was that his retreat had been
discovered, and that the savages were in pursuit of him. For
a few moments he gave himself up to despondency, for he had
neither weapon of defense—if, indeed, defense were available
against so formidable a. host—nor any mode of escaping from
the insulated patch of woods, in which concealment would be
iml‘ossible. I But a little reflection assured the young man that
the Indians could have no suspicion of his presence in this
' place, and that, even should they discover the spar, he might
himself remain hidden in the intricate thickets of the island-
wilderness. One apprehension, indeed, troubled him—that the
savages might tow away the spur, in which case he would be
left without any means of leaving" the isle; but even this
reflection was succeeded by the thought, as his quick eye
measured the distance to the other shore, that in the last
extremity, he could reach the mainland by swimming. He
watched the fleet of canoes as they advanced, resolved, should
they discover the spar, and be tempted to land, that he would
make at once for the center of the island to await whatever
fate mightbc in store for him. '

But, as it soon became evident, he had little cause for dis~
quiet. Following the leading canoe in which sat a plumeal
ladlth grasping a great club, the rest turned to the left, and
passedtthe island in an extended line, shaping a course for
another promontory far to the southernmost point of the

coast. ' He saw in every canoe, as it passed, that one or more '

of the savage occupants held aloft a hooped pole, on which
“933186 human‘scalps, the long curls of women, the short
lock: ofmen, and the flowing ringlets of children, all misn-

    

  

A manner. scene. 45
guinea with blood—ghastly trophies of savage triumph. Rick
at heart, he turned away, till the last canoe had disappeared,
and then, sitting down upon the shore, be buried his face in
his hands, and wept long and bitterly.

At length, rising from his despondent attitude, he saw that
the sun had nearly reached its meridian, and, was pouring its
burning rays upon the heated sands.

“Why should I remain here ‘?” he soliloquized. “This
island affords no means of sustaining life and one may as well \
be eaten by savages as to have nothing to eat himself. By my
faith! I think I will make at once for the other shore, which
the red villains have left. At any rate, there is no good to be
gained by passing a night more or less with nothing to fill the
Itomach—as is very plain will be the case—on this desolate
island. So, my good piece of a ship, I will e‘en take com-
mand o’ thee once more.”

In good time, the young man drew his good spar safely to
the mainland, and then kneeled down, as of right he should,
and thanked the kind Providence which had thus far pro-
tected him. This done, he looked about his newlocality, not
alone for wherewithal to eat, but for a resting-place through
me night—as his voyage from the island had consumed the
greater part of the day, and the sun was now entirely sunk
behind the forest-trees. ‘

At the first dawn, the young man sprung from his couch of
leaves, and, traversing the beach behind the dreadful reef / and
the rough headland where the ship had met her doom, reached
that portion of the shore where, on the night of the catastrophe,
the savages had kindled/their war—fires and danced in ferocious
expectation of their enemies‘ destruction. Here, what horrors

"Were awaiting his sight! ,The bodies of his late shipmates,
, and companions among the emigrants, were lying cold and

rigid in the gray dawning, their naked flesh mangled by the
rocks or the weapons of savages, theiriscalpless heads half-
buried in the sands. All had been massacred who escaped
alive from the wreck—strong men and feeble women and
babes had all fallen beneath the rancor of savage torture.
Gabriel St. Elmo looked but a moment upon the fearful scene;
he hurried away sickened from the spot.

Various traces of the wrecked ship met the youth's eyes as v

 

 

la ‘V ‘ THE FRENCH CAPTIVEE.

te wandered along the beach; fragments of her heavy timbers.
Ipars and clumps of cordage strewed the sands; and St. Elmo
knew that much of her cargo and armament must have been
cast ashore and fallen into the hands of the savages. He dis
covered a. stout steel-headed pike, such as were used in hand-
to-hnud sea-combats, and, wading into the surf, he hastily pose
sessed himself of the weapon. He judged it Well, however,
not to remain long in the vicinity of the wreck, as the quan-
tity of articles belonging to the ship—bolts of iron, caslrs, and
heavy chains and ropes, that had been washed up by the
waves—constituted a store of treasures for Indian cupidity,
which the youth doubted not would speedily induce another
visit from the savages.

Casting a last look at the ocean, he struck into the forest,
turning his back to the rising sun, and directing his course-
westward, toward the region where, as be had been told, was
a new settlement of Hollanders at the mouth of the great river
of Hudson.

Where, indeed, the Hudson itself lay was a problem not
soluble by the young Frenchman‘s geographical attainments;
indeed, the wisest minds of his time might have been puzzled
to describe its surroundings, inasmuch as but few mariners had
ever penetrated beyond its mouth; but St. Elmo had left his
native land for adventure’s sake, as well as to seek his fortune,
and it was enough for him to be satisfied that the Dutch col-
onvaas near the Hudson, "and that the Hudson lay to the
West from the Cape of Cod, to present to his hopes the cer
minty of ultimately reachng it. What to him, the youth

with a brave heart and strong limbs, whether he traversed a‘

wilderness of America or the forests of his own France? In
his hand was, a good weapon, for bear, or wolf, or savage man,
and be doubted not that store of food could be found on hil
journey. Therefore, he went sturdin forward.

    

  

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'might go far to bulk his own intentions, he cum to. the

    

CHAPTER IX.
nn'n canonn's rnnscnnnr.

Roam BALL followed with his eyes the retreating form .3!
Captain Pierre, until the latter had disappeared, and than‘
uttering an oath instead of a prayer, the rough seamen flung
his arm beneath his head, and rolled over to an nuquiet slum-
ber, wherein dreams of shipwrecks, combats, quarrels, and
perhaps darker experiences of his past life, mingled their dim
shades with threatening visions of the future.

Captain Pierre, after reaching the boat, in which watched a
couple of the crew, conversed with the two men for some
time, with quite as much earnestness, apparently, as had
marked his previous colloquy with Rob Bell. He then left
the boat, and, moving noiselessly among the slumbering men,
awakened two others from their drowsiness, and with those,
held another conversation. Altogether, it seemed that Cap-
tain Pierre was in no mood for sleep. ‘

In truth, however, the Creole had another object in view
than to keep awake or hear the sound of his own tongue.
He had resolved on it little piece of viilainy, and required
assistanco in its perpetration. For this purpose heihad pre“
pared the two men in theboet, and their comrades whom he

' had awakened—ail (our staunch followers of their captain. and

ready at any time to do his bidding—to await his signal {or
the commencement of the business in hand.

This business related most immediately to the dreaming
sailor, Robin Bell, who, all unconscious of any plot against his
person, lay tossing his arms about in broken slumber. The
obstinate refusal of Robin to enter into Captain Pierre's plnnl
regarding a speculation in red flesh, had not a little interfered
with the lstter’s usual equauimity; and, foreseeing that the
Englishman‘s influencewith a portion of the boat's crew

 

(8 in semen cm

conclusion that there was no other course left for him but to
destroy that influence as speedily as possible. The meet
certain method of effecting this was to destroy, or render
powerless, Ball himself.

He dewsed a mode of ridding himself of the obnoxious
seamen, which would be quite as efficacious as downright
murder. This was, to seize him in his sleep, and, after
muffling and binding him, so that he could make neither alarm
nor resistance. to convey him quietly to the interior of the
forest, and there leave him helpless, a prey to wild beasts,
savages, or the slow tortures of starvation.

This was a refinement of cruelty (inite worthy of Captain
Pierre, and he chuckled not a little over the anticipation of so
«easily disposing of his enemy. Captain Pierre silently motioned
his followers to proceed to their work; and before Robin
Ball's fevered dreams were broken, the treacherous fellows
had gagged his mouth, casting over his head a thick sailor‘s
jacket, completely precluding speech or vision, while they
quickly bound hand and foot the poor sailor. and dragged him
noiselessly away from the bank, through the covert of the
brush, into the recesses of the forest. The job was executed
with such dispatch, and was, withal, so entirely successful,
that Captain Pierre was surprised as Well as delighted. Not
a struggle of Robin Ball revealed his peril to any of his neigh-
bors, who slumbered soundly, without a suspicion of what
was transpiring so near them. The Creole rubbed his hands
with satisfaction, as he beheld his dextrous accomplices return-
ing stealthin to the boat, where he had remained.

“You have disposed of him, my brave fellows l’” he
whispered, eagerly, as the villains neared him.

2' “He’ll trouble us no more, I warrant,“ answered one of the
men—a short, low-brewed Spaniard. “ By St. Dominic,
captain, the good Robin was as quiet as a babe. Never
before lay he so peaceably."

' “ is secure, think you, and will not be able to free him
Calif”; , I. a

.“Not if he wore ten times as strong, the good bull-dog

We boundvhim to a tree with the ropes, captain; and, by the

ma. “Ere will he stay till judgment day, orTm no sinner."

(mm mm“ Zaire» vent to a» chuckling laugh, as he uttered
all! 090011. N“ Captain Pierre put his hand to his mouth;

HHNQKFFQA.)"flfl‘flfifldfla-‘H—‘flr‘mncfiw

 

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“  silent, friend. for Robin Ball has his lovers among our

‘ crew. And now, I‘lle’eu take his place, for an hour's nag

 

worthy Lopez," added he, to the Spaniard. “ Keep you
Watch, and let the night's work be as secret as the grave.
Surely, I’ll remember this brave service, comrades.”

No rest visited Captain Pierre, for his midnight wickedness
had fuil‘pd to give his apprehensions case. He reflected that,
though Robin Ball was out of the camping-place, and exposed
to perish in a lonely and desolate situation, still, the tough
sailor might extricate himself by some means, and pursue the
boat, in which case the treachery would be exposed, and an
unpleasant settlement demanded by Robin‘s friends. Revolv-
ing such thoughts in his busy brain, he resolved, at length, to
make sure, if possible, of his enemy’s harmlessness in the
future; and so, cautiously leaving his couch, he stole baclr to
the boat, and whispered a word to the Spaniard, Lopez, who
thereupon roused himself again, and, without alarming his
comrades, led the way out of the camp, penetrating the bushes
through which Robin Ball had been so quietly conveyed.
The Creole followed, amid the lonesome shadows of the forest,

until they reached a wild nook, near where a rapid stream.

dashed from a great chasm in a wall of rocks. On the edge
of this chasm grew at large buttonwood tree, and to this poor
Ball had been securely fastened. His person was conipletely
aid from view by underbrush that sprouted from the rocks.
Thus he was left to all the horrors of a lingering death. The
spot was but a few hundred rods from the shore where the
boat was drawn up, but it was, nevertheless, so hidden by
rocks, and concealed with tangled evergreen, that no better
tomb could have been selected in which to immure alivlng
man. Captain Pierre seemed, to think so, as he looked at the

' pinioned body of his late follower, for he gave a grunt of satis-

fiution, and advanced toward the buttonwood
“1101 Robin Ball! we are quite new, I fancy. You will
keep a civil tongue in your head for the future, good friend.”
Robin Ball‘s sinewy frame swelled as if it would burst the
strong cards which fastened him tn/the tree, while a stifled
man came from his gagged month, which was covered with
his own jacket, tied tightly about his head. .
“By St. Dominic! it hatter. algae Christian

 

    

THE FRENCH 0mm

leave-the poor devil. thus,” muttered the Spaniard, but the
Creole Only laughed, sneer-ingly.

” He Will do Well enough, Lopez. Nevertheless, I harbor
no malice, and would give him quietua with my (logger‘a
mint, had I not a horror el‘ bloodshed."

“It were belter'to kill outright than to leave to Wild beastl
or famine," suggested the Spaninrd.

“ Say you so, comrade? Bcshrew me, then, but your
poniztrd may, as well end the poor fellow’s troubles l" eaid
Captain Pierre, shrugging his shoulders. “ Strike sure, Lopez,
and wipe off old scores for yourself and me, an‘ it like you.”

The Creole said this with a savage smile on his dark lips,
and his vindictive glance on his accomplice with the cold
glitter of a serpent‘s eye. But the words had scarcely been
uttered when a rustle was heard near them. Suddenly the
pinioned form of Robin Ball sprung from the tree, and fell full
against the body of thccnptain. With a. shrill whoop, a wild
looking figure bounded from behind the buttonwood, to level
the gleaming point of a spear against Captain Pierre’s bosom.

The Spaniard, 'Lopez, with a. shriek, rushed toward the
Camp, fully impressed with the belief that a legion of savages
was in pursuit of him. The Creole likewise lied, crying at
the top of his voice—

~'“ Indians ! Indians l"

Robin Ball, the while, lay upon the ground, where he lied
pitched headlong. for, though released from the tree, his hands
were still fastened behind his back, his mouth gagged, and his
head muffled.

I The sleeping boat’s crew, aroused suddenly by the shriek:
0f Lopez, sprung at once for the pinnace, which they cast, oi?
immediately, peddling off, at a hundred ynrds‘ distance from
the shore, upon which they momentarily expected a thousand
savages, threatening pursuit and destruction of their small

_ vessel. But all remained in silence.

Captnln Pierre and Lopez looked at one mother, wondering
“h” mystm'lous pewer it was that had interposed to shield
their victim. ,

' “It in the ~cunning of the red demons l" at length cried the

, 07°01“- “They think to allure us back to shore by keeping
“in  and tot! m be clear of the dog.”

    

 

 

:mam rm nuns. 51,

“Saw you Indians, surely ‘2" cried a sailor, as he bent to
the oar. '

“ By the bones of St. Dominic, a. legion i” cried Lopez, in
response. “ Did not the lance of a red Villain scathe ou‘
captain here ?”—and the Spaniard appealed to Captain Pierrfl
to comirm his declaration. '

“That the heathen’s lance was at my heart, I am ready to
1:0 sworn," answered the Creole; “ but no harm came, for my
heels were nimble as your own, good Lopez.”

“ Ho i" cried one of the crew, “where is Rob Ball '2’”

“ Rob Ball 1” “Where is bold Robin 1'" echoed from one to
another of the men, their bronze faces betraying surprise, as
they leaned upon their oars. V

“Let us go back,” cried the Creole, with well countert‘eited
sympathy. “ But, alas!" he added, “ what. boots our array
against a forest full of foes ?"

“ Ay, what, indeed it" cried Lopez, coming to the relief of
his larder; “ lucky for us that our throats were not all cut as
we slept, cenirades.” Moodin looking at one another, the
Jarsmen respmed their task, and urged the pinnace into the
middle of the bay.

Meantime, after falling heavily at the foot of the tree to
which he had been tied, Robin began presently to feel a pair
of hands at work in the effort to release him from his bonds;
\nd it was not long before his eyes were once more permitted
.0 look upon the moonlight, and his tongue, long gagged and
choked, was able to shape itself utterance.

~ “ Mass! but it was a scurvy trick 1" at length muttered the
seamen, as he looked about him wonderingly. “ Where ran
the villiaus ?—the kidnapping Pierre, and his dog Spaniard!
And who are'you, my tine fellow, and what do you here I!"

These rapid interrogations were addressed to an individual
who stood at a little distance from the Englishman, leaning
an a spear. .

" I am what I am, Robin Ball.”

The Englishman started back in amazement at hearing his
own name prenouneed.

“Are you a Christian man or a savage Indian, or Bathnnu
himself?” ejaculated he. i / ,
r “Rob Bell! where’s your mannen to forget an amide!!!"
“claimed the other. ‘ \

 

   

62 ’ m smart 0mm

1‘“ Gabriel St. Elmo i" \

“At your service, Robin Bull," answered the Youth, Bafifi
as he shook the hand of his English friend. ‘And ye may
well thank Heaven that Gabriel St [Elmo was near you
to-night, for small chance of life lmd ye, good comrade.”

“Faith, 2111’ ye work to such good purpose, my young friend,
I‘ll not quarrel with your likiugs.”

St. Elmo proceeded to acquaint Robin Ball with the manner

in which he had eifected his release; how, after journeying

all day through the forest, he had made his couch for the
night near the streainlet that gushed by the buttonwood, and
had there been aroused by the approach of three of the late
Ship’s CteW, dragging the pinioned figure of a fourth, whom
they fastened to a tree, and then left; how he had waited
anxiously for along while, fearful to discover himself to the
deserted man, until at length Captain Pierre and Lopez pre-
sented themselves; and how, hearing the Creole’s proposition
to murder the defenseless sailor, he crept nearer to the
buttonwood,/nnd, with his sharp pike, severed the cords which
confined Robin Ball to the tree, at the same time springing
boldly upon the captain with a yell like the whoop of a
savage.

Robin Ball listened to his young preserver’s recital, and
warmly grasped his hand in gratitude, while he vented his
rage against the treacherous lender.

“And now," he cried, “stand by me, Monsieur St. Elmo,
and if we turn not the tables on this cnitifl‘, my name’s not
Robin Bull. Come away, and ye shall see me unmask the
villain, and, if he refuse me fair combat like a brave men, by
the muss, but ye shall see his foul throat black under my
fingers! Come away, my young friend, and remember that
ye have gained Robin Ball‘s good will, as long as he has life
to show it."

The sailor led the way in the direction in which he judged
the men to be. In a few moments the two stood upon the

bank where lately the bout wus drawn up. No boat we!

there now, and no trace of the ship‘s crew. But, as Robin
directed his gaze across the water, he could tee, far away, a
{link object upon the surface, and catch a plush like that-of
m‘ The Creole had escaped, and Robin Bell was abandoned.

\

FOtQDE'EEGGOHQH'AH—lnmmnbe F‘LfldflflfluA-a—

 

    
   
  
  
   
    

 

  

CHAPTER X.
TIBQUONTA‘M A rnrsonnn.

Tmuox'rsu, the Sachemof Mannamoset, who dwelt, with
his daughter Monoma, in the little Wigwam to which Marie
and been conveyed, was a warrior whose youth had been om,
of strange adventure, and whose future life was destined to
yet greater vicissitudes. He was not one of the native chiefs
of the Massachusetts, for his cradle had been swung in the
sound of Niagara’s booming waters, and his childhood nur-
tured among the Thousand Isles of the great river of Canada,
wherenow the children of France had planted their lodges
There he had dwelt till the blood of manhood courSed through
his veins; there he had hunted the otter and sable; there
pursued the salmon as it leaped from rapid to rapid of the
swift river. And there, too, among the first band of pale-
faced strangers who pitched their tents on the hunting-
grounds of his nation, he had beheld a dark-eyed daughter of
the white race, a maiden of France, who had come with her
parents to the wilderness of America, in the freshness of her
youth and beauty. Tisquontnm saw and loved the gentle
French girl, and Blanehette returned the passion of her wild
admirer; for he was graceful in form and noble of soul, and
might have found favor in the eyes of ,many a princess of his .
own race. Brief had been their courtship, but their affection
Was sincere, and Blanchette hesitated not to exchange vows
With‘him, But, alas! the Iroquois tribe, to whom the young
brave belonged, did not share in the friendliness of ‘Tisquom
turn to the white strangers who had come among them: His
i113 suddenly, they attacked the small settlement of French
and massacred every family, Only one could Tisquontam
gave, of all the hapless emigrants—and to do this, he was
Obljged‘ to fight his own tribe. He defended" the parents of
his beloved until (they fell beneath the arrows ri his Iroqufi

i

 

 

 
 

    

04 m runner: caravan.

kindled, and then fled With his rescued wife into the great
wilderness toward the Mohawk. Many moons did the two 1’
lovers wander through the forests, pursued by the vengeful Iro 3
quois, who were furious against Tisquontam for the part he r
had taken toward them; but the Great Spirit protected his ,
children‘s flight, til! at length they reached the shores of the
mighty ocean. Herc 'I‘isqnohlam made his lodge by the river
of Mannamoset, near where, afterward, the pale-faces Were to
build their first lodges in New England; and here, with his 1
fair Christian wife, the savage dwelt, till it pleased the Great
Spirit to bless his eyes with a beautiful child, the pledge of
their happy union. Tisquontam was happy in his exileI
roaming the West to hunt for his beloved, storing their wig- -‘
wam with the sports of the chase—skins of a hundred beasts.
and plumes from a thousand birds: Blanehettc did not regret
her destiny, for she swayed the noble heart of her husband,
and taught his lips to pray to the Christian‘s God in her own
native tongue. But the Great Spirit at length summoned hex
to rejoin her parents, and Tisquontam was left in his lodge, ;
with only the young child tc comfort him.

Bitterly (lid the red hunter mourn the loss of his wife, and
long and often did he weep at the flower-covered mound
which marked her resting-place; but the infant prattlc of his
motherless Monoma recalled him to the duties of life. Again,
therefore, he took bow and spear, and roamed the forests, to
hunt for his child, as he had once hunted for Blanchette.

Monoma grew up gentle and lovely as a wildwood flower,
md TisquonLam rejoiced to minister to her every wish. For
her he built the islet lodge; shaped a light canoe; searched
out a. thousand flowers in the valleys and on the bills; for her
ae gathered shells by the shore, mosses on the mountain, and
«rare plants in the deep forests. Monoma was to Tisquoutam
we angel of his life—the angel whomth Great Spirit had
given him for his lost Blanchetle. '

Meantime the bravery and skill of the Iroquois hunter had
won him the esteem of the ocean tribes, on whose borders he
await-the Narragansetts, the Pequods, and the Mohtganr
and he would have been gladly received as a warrior among
“We! 3 but Tisquontam chose to dwell at Mannamoset, which

9‘“ betwwn the country of the Narragansetts and Pequolls.

 

 

  

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for there was buried his Blanchette, and there he, himselfi
wished to lie down when the voice of Manitou should sum-
mon him. Tisquontam was known by the tribes as the Lone
Sachem of Mannamoset, and they decreed that he should pos
sees the land he had chosen; while, in return, the Iroquois
warrior assisted them in their hunts, and oftentimes defended '
their villages against the incursions of hostile nations. He
thus became of influence in the councils of the ocean-tribes,
and respected by their wise men and braves.

When news came to Tisquontam, as he sat with Monom:
in their islet-Wigwam, that a ship of the strangers we:
stranded upon the rocky coast, he straightway grasped hi9
arms and departed to meet the victorious Narragansetts, no'
to join in their atrocious exploit, but to save, if possible, some
victim from their cruelties. But, when he reached the shore.
the massacre had been finished, and he saw only the scalps oi
the emigrants dangling from their lances. He, however
accompanied the Narragansetts in their triumphal journey
homeward, and with them discovered the path of Louis and
his companions, pursuing the trail to the mountain Wachusett.
Here, unable to gain more from the good will of his savage
allies, he had demanded a captive in return for services pre- ',
viously performed, and to his great joy had been allowed to
choose the young girl Marie. Thus was the maiden saved
from Narragansett captivity, and borne to the lodge of Tisquon-
tam, to be the companion of his gentle Mouoma. Glad would
havo been the heart of Louis could he have divined the fate
of his sister.

When Marie felt the warm kiss of Monoma upon her lips,
she heard the accents of her native France murmured by the
At once the two orphans could commune with
each other, and as they lay folded that night in the embrace
of sisters, Marie learned a new revelation of innocence—tho
innocence of a maiden, born and nurtured in the solitude of
an aboriginal forest, with no voice to speak to her but that of

inherly infection, and no unhallowed influence to disturb the
, deep religion that she daily learned from the solemn teaching:

of nature—the litanies of waving woods and rolling streams-
the sermons of sun and egos and changing seasons. /
Next morning, Marie wake to find the tender eyes ,0!

/

 

  

   

  

M In men ems

Manama watching her, while 'I‘isquontam stood at the wig-
wam-door, arrayed for the chase. The Iroquois smiled as tho
French girl‘s half-frightened gaze encountered his own, and
be reached out his hand with an action at once graceful anc
‘ anumging Marie rose from her soft couch, and advanced
toward him.

“Has the white bird slept well in the tent of the Iroquois?
Bdroldl the nestling of Tisquontam’s lodge has pale blood in
her veins. The white bird has naught to fear.”

This was spoken in broken French, and the Indian’s man-
ner at once banished all apprehension from the mind of Marie.

“1 do not fear my red father 1” she said,placing her hand
in that of the chief. .

The hunter looked pleased at her frank demeanor, while
Monoma stole softly to the side of her new friend, and wound
an arm. around her neck. The two maidens were very lovely,

/» us they thus stood together, and Tisquontam’s eye grew mois.

as he looked at them. But, presently, Marie‘s fair brow
became clouded, and she sunk suddenly at the red-man‘s feet,
duping her hands as a suppllant.

“ Oh 1" she cried, “ where is my brother—my beloved Louis?
Where is Abbe Claude ‘2"

“0h! chief,” she continued, “ you have saved inc—you are
noble and good! .Save my brother !-—oh i ifI he be not
already murdered by the cruel—" Marie could utter no more,
her sebs stifled her voice. Monoma’s tears mingled with here.
Tisquontam was deeply affected.

"Was it the white bird‘s brother ?——the youth whom the
Narragansetts have borne to their village ?—aud the old chief
the medicine-man—" ’

“Abbe Claude—the good father—alas l” murmured Merle,

(ith a fiend of tears.

“ 'l‘iaquontam will seek the trail of the captives l" exclaimed
the'Iroquois, as ifhe had taken a sudden resolution. “He
will bring the white bird tidings of her 'o.’..thcr and of
“lo aged father. Let the white bird be happy ;‘ Monoma will
“96 for her a song of the pale-faces. ’l‘isquontam will retum
Ire the sun falls upon yonder bank."

Mum" eloquent face expressed her gratitude to the good

Minn. .Sho took hastily from her bosom a small gold eron

 

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on which *a talisman was engraved, and extended it to
Tisqnontam.

“ H ere 1" she murmured. “ It is 3 cm which my brother
wiil recognize, and know that it is from Marie. It was the
last gift of our mother who is dead.”

The Indian comprehended her meaning, and then, pointing
to the mossy river-bunk opposite the Wigwam, where the last
rays of the sun were wont to tremble ere they were with‘
drawn in the west, repeated his promise to return at the Inn“
indicated, then turned and took his departure through the
forest-aisles, while Monoma. "tenderly dried the eyes of her
friend, and led her forth from the lodge to the flowery banks
of the islet-stream, where presently they were twinedin each
other’s arms, exchanging their guileless confidenCes.

'l‘isqnontam had traversed the league or two of thick woods
which bounded his own little domain, whenee he coulu catch,
through the trees, a glimpse of the quiet bay—where, in a
small inlet, he had ready 9. light canoe, that he often used to
Shorten his distances by crossing the water at this point—-
when, as he diverged toward the shore, he was startled by to.
voice of a child, apparently in extreme terror. The Iroquois
plunged through the thickets, and presently attained a spot
where he beheld two men in strange garb, which he at once re.
cognized as that of the pale-fame. These men bore in their‘arlm
two struggling Indian children, whom they Were hnlt'strang- ,
ling to quiet their cries, as they carried them rapidly toward
,the water. Tisquontum did not hesitate. Peeling his war-
mlioop till it rung through all the wood, he sprung with
uplifted club upon the foremost white man, whom, with one
blow, he leveled to the ground.

The other pale-face, terrified at the sudden appearance of
In Indian, and the shrill whoop which was answered by I
hundred echoes, released the child and darted toward the
Ihore. 'l‘isquontam found himself alone with two screaming
urchins, and the white man he had struck, lying bleeding at
his feet. " \ ‘,

It was but for an instant; a pistol-shot, followed by another.
Ind a third, startled the air. Tisquontam felt a sudden pain
edirough his head. A mist gathered over his eyes; his hith
WW hilt; end he fell toltheground across the~ mu whol‘

 

    

  

    

    

l! mu mason cmrxvns.

he had struck down beneath his club. Soon a figure, followed
by two or three, and then more, cautioust emerged from
Covert, and approached him.

“ By St Dominic, captainl I believe you are right. Thor!
was but one of them~thongh, as I’m a Christian man, I could
have sworn I heard a hundred yells," cried the foremost of
the new-comers.

“ And so you ran like a hundred devils ?" sneered Captain
Pierre, as he followed close behind, “and left poor Francois
acre, to be knocked i’ th‘ head! Look, man, quickly, and see
:1 his hurt be mortal I"

The Spaniard, Lopez, thus adjurcd, dragged the Indian

[mm the body, and, raising the latter in his arms, disclosed a .

severe wound upon the skull, which was bleeding profusely.
The man breathed, however, and was apparently only
stunned.

“Now, up with him to the boat!" cried the Creole, in‘ a
sharp, abrupt tone; for, since his riddance of Robin Ball, he
had little difliculty in controlling the rest of the crew—“ and
the youngsters—where are they ?"

“ Safe and fast, captain,” answered a stalwart rufiian, who
was engaged in gagging one of the Indian children, while
Lopez secured the other. The poor creatures, after hearing
the report of the firearms, had made no efi‘ort to escape,
\pparently transfixed with fright.

“ To the boat with them I"

“ Ay, ay, captain 1”

' “Is the redskin dead ?” said Captain Pierre to aner,
Itooping over Tisquontam.

“No! ’tis but a flesh-wound! '1' he bullet has grazed his
skull, though, and clipped the savage‘s scalp-lock I‘ Look
you. captain—shall I finish him?”

“He‘s not dead, say you 1?”

“ By St. Dominic, no! And, faith, ’twere shame to kill so
stout a knave! Look at the var-let’s muscle, Captain Pierre.
He were worth seventy pistoles, an’ he were at Bermuda 0!
the Havana l”

. “Think you that, Lopez?” cried the Creole, his eyes spark! i

“‘8 WM! greed“ “Away with him, then, to the boat, for I

doubt we shall get no more 0’ the cattle. We mun away ‘

 

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Mm FOR rm: nan-r. ' fl

fi'cm this bay, or a legion will be after these cubs of heathen
dom. Lively, comrades !—to the boat l"

Without more delay, the kidnappers lifted 'I‘isquontam,
together with the Indian children, and bore them to the pin-
nace, where already five other children of either sex lay pia-
ioned hand to foot, like lambs for the mart. The iruqnnis
Was securely fastened, when the oarsmen immediately pulled
he pinnaee out into the sunlit bay, through the calm winus
kirting the coast, toward the sea. Meantime, some of the
crew were busy in rigging the masts and bending a latsen sail,
while others stowed eumpaetly in the boat‘s hows the store of
protisions which were to sustain them on their bold voyage
to the southern islands. There were thirteen men of the
crew, who had kidnapped seven red children, togetherwith
Tisquontam. Captain Pierre chuckled as he looked upon his
captives, and calculated how many hard pistoies so fine a
cargo would fetch him.

Meantime, Monoma and Marie waited cxpectantly for the
sun‘s decline, When the Iroquois was to return with news
fmm the Narragansett village. But the parting beams of
light trembled upon the mossy river-bank, and long shadows
Mic around the Wigwam; then twilight, and gloom, and
moon-rising followed—but Tisquontam came not.‘

 

    

    

C H A P '1‘ E R X I .
menus, m DAUGHTER or usssssorr.

MANY moons passed, and still the white captives remained
unmolested in the Narragansett village. ‘Ahhc Claude learned
that his life, as well as that of his young charge, Louis, had
been decreed sacred by decision of the savages in council.
Whether the Narragansetts, who, in the heat of their triumph,
had sacrificed all the other emigrants thrown into their power,
Were now disposed to preserve the remaining two as living
trophies of the prowess of the tribe, or whether some other
line of savage policy actuated their course, could not be divined
by the captives; but, it became evident that they were both
received under the protection of the red-men, and that, though
still watched as prisoners, they were treated as members of
the common family.

It might be that a spice of superstition mingled in the
nature of the Indians, and that they deemed it better to
restrain the exercise of further cruelty toward the strange

’luvaders, whom they firmly believed to be sent by Hohho-
mocko, the Evil One, for the especial trial and tribulation of
the red possessors of the land. As the Chinese and Yezidees

éndezwor at. all times to keep, as they express it, “ on good '

temis with the devil,” so the aborigines were accustomed to
pay a sort of deference to the Arch Enemy, for the purpose
of conciliating any unusually hostile feelings which he might-
be supposed to entertain; and thus, in the reservation of their
captives, the shrewd Narrogansetts doubtless conceived them-
selves to be subserving a. double purpose: that of retaining
{Wing monuments of their own valor, and palliatlng with
Hobbo'moeko the deed of wholesale massacre they had com-
Knitted upon the hapless passengers of the ship. ‘
During many seasons and years, mysterious and startling
rumors had been rife through all the northern tribes. Strangle

an

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B
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cl

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cast-=4

A-LI

 

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was A ravomn 61
hitelhgence had reached them, by runners Woo had visited the
red nations of the South, concerning armies of terrible men,
with beards and white faces, who had come from across the
treat waters, walking the raging waves in a “ big canoe," and
carrying in their hands thunder and lightning. But now, at
length, the tribes of the North had delivered their brethren of
the strange enemies. The “big canoe " was now no more;
it had been ground to pieces on the rocks of Massachusetts.
and the invaders had become as the dust of the earth.

These were the words of the medicine-men and chief conn
cilors in the grand lodge of the Narragansetls; therefore the
Warriors of that tribe no longer feared the pale-faces. They
resolved that their captives should be held as slaves, in order
that the far southern tribes might know the valor of the ocean
Indians. For the Narragansetts could behold the great sea
from their hunting-grounds, while the south-tribes dwelt
among the big rivers and swamps.

So, moons passed away, and still Father Claude and Louis
remained prisoners among the rcdqnen. They had learned
the tongue of the Indians, and mingled in the councils of the
chiefs. Abbe Claude spoke words of wisdom to the old men,
and Louis hunted with the young braves, trapping the beaver
and shooting the wild deer in the forest. '

The good Abbe spoke to the ancient chiefs, who no longer

‘ Went forth to battle, of the sweetness that dwells with peace.

He told them of the great Manitou of the white men, and His
mighty works. He comforted the aged braves when the Great
Spirit‘s voice was heard calling ‘them. to the eternal hunting-

- grounds; and his tongue murmured gentle words to the litth

children whose fathers were no more.

Louis soon became beloved by the Indian maidens. .They
twove rich belts of wampum to hang his quiver, made soft
moccasins for his feet, and plucked the feathers of eagles to
knit him a Warrior's head-dress; for the young stranger was
comer to 'look upon, skillful in the chase, and graceful in the
dance. ’ ,

Sameeda, the daughter of the Sachem, Mnssasoit, was the
pride 01 her father’s tribe. Whose voieewas so sweet in the

Jongs of morning? Whose feet movod so lightly 'in the

[gaming dance? Whowns so fleet uponthohillll‘ WI.

 

  

  

a rim FRENCH 0mm ’
young fawn was Sameeda, daughter of the mighty war-ehiot,
Hassasoit.

Sanieada, the Narragansett princess, learned to love the
young stranger-chief who had been made captive by her
father‘s bow and spear. The voice of Louis became like the
murmur of fountains in her ears, and his glances sto'e into
In! bosom like sunlight into the wild-wood bowels. She
loved in secret, speaking no word, for she feared the wrath of
her stern sire. Therefore she would wander away in the
stillness of night to seek the shores of the sea—there to think
alone of the young pale chief.

To the silent shore oftentimes repaired Louis; for he, too,
’oved to gaze upon the broad ocean, and dream of the land he
and left beyond it. No wonder then that upon the lonely
beach the youth and maiden met, and. need we say, loved?
He whispered to her, in broken but intelligible words, tales

 

of his far native land, and told the sad story of his own
orphaned life, and of that beloved one, the sister of his youth,
whose t'air form he believed was now mouldering on Wachu-
sett‘s height. Sameeda‘s heart throbbed with beautiful sym-
pathy. She wound her arms around the neck of her lover,
she dried his tearful eyes with her long, dark hair, and then
murmured swaetly, in the musical language he had taught
her:

“Sameet‘ia will be the sister of the white chief. The
daughter of Lhtssntsoit will make her couch at the feet of him
she loves l"

Ahl how rapturoust sped those hours of dear communion
by the sounding sea. But a cloud was arising to darken
loving hearts and starry hopes.

Salt-auto was a mighty chief, and medicine-man of the tribe,
wise in council, and cunning in the field. The enemies of
the lumigansetts feared his valor and wisdom, and no less
was he dreaded by tho bruvos of his own nation ; for he dealt
Tn strange secrets, and it was said that IIohhomocko had
charged his evil spirits to minister to Sakanto's will. Mel
feured‘ his eye when its glances crossed their own; children
M fi'om his path, to hide their faces in the bosoms 0. their
trembling. mothers,

= M Baknnto was chief among the war-councilors, and hil‘

I

 

  
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

til

    

 

mrovnm AND A war. as

fine went far abroad, along the aeaoshores, amonb at! the
tribes that dwelt by the waters. He it was who bao called
together the young braves, and bade them watch the big
canoe from the dark forests that overlooked. the ocean. Be
it was, the old men said, who commanded the r_ ‘iz'ns of air to
lash up the waters into anger, and to drive the big cano upon
frightful rocks, that his red nation might conquer the whi"
Itrnngels. Therefore was Sakanto feared by nil—even 1110‘.“
than was Massasoit, the Sachem of many nations.

Solmnto stalked from his Wigwam, through the village,
Smiling not on the maidens, nor nodding his haughty head to

the braves. II“. entered the lodge of Massasoit, and smoked ,

with the Indian king the pipe of council. When the dark
Chieftain returned again to his Wigwam, a whisper went from
one to another of the youths and maidens that Samcedn, the
beautiful princess, had been betrothed to the medicine-mun l

Sorrow bowed the hearts of the youthful princess and her
lover, when next. they met beside the murmuring sea.
Sameeda knew the Inf;ch of that dread Chieftain who sought
her hand, and that )‘Iassnsoit would never dare to provoke
his anger, even should her own prayers be able to move her
father’s sympathies. ~

“ Alas! must I fly from my beloved ?” she cried, weeping
upon the bosom of her pale-faced friend. “Must Sameeda
lit down in the lodge of Sakaiito, and smile no more l’”

“ Never l” answered Louis, passionately. “One being
whom I loved have your cruel kindred torn from me; but
from Sameeda I will never part i”

As the youth spoke, the figure of a man approached. It
was the aged Abbe Claude, whose calm voice was now heard:

“ My son l is it indeed 30? Do you love this daughter of
the red people ?" . -

“Father—titther, unite us !" was the earnest reply of Louis

“ Hear me i we are one in the sight of Heaven, but ht us
be made one by the rites of our holy religion. 0. fulhcr l unite
two loving hearts in the blessed bonds of marriage 1” implored
the young mm. ‘ . \ v

“My son, what would you do? Know you not that
Sakanto is‘the most powerful Chieftain of the nation, save

- nlone the king Massnsoit? We are but captives, and at the,

mercy of our rude masters.” y

_ r
l

    

    

  

M / rim runners cmmcs

“We {all but die, Abbe Claude. Unite us, and int us 3,
together far from the Narragansett villages. I have teamed
from/a. runner the route to the English settlements in the
South. Tlii‘ther we will flyl Say you not so, Sameedai
Wilt go with me?”

“ Snmeedn is the wife of the white chief. She will follow
him to his nation’s hunting-grounds."

“Hear you that, Abbe Claude? No time is to be lost,
Unite us in marriage, and we Will away together. Geri will
conduct us.”

Louis supported the light form of Sameedst, who gazed into
his eyes with a. look of mute confidence. ' She knew not what
'narriage meant; she cared to know but one thing—~tliat her
fate would be joined to that of the young pale-thee forever.

“ Heaven wills it l" at length murmured the Abbe, devoutly,
“ I feel that it is right, and that our Father in Heaven sancti-
fles the union. Ye shall be married, dear children i" /

Joining the hands of the youthful lovers, the good priest
knelt and prayed that their union might be blessed by the
Creator of Love. There, in the sight of the bright stars and
the rolling ocean, in the hour of night, Sumeedn plighted her
faith to the stranger who possessed her heart, and received
the earnest response of her lover‘s vows. And then Abbe
Claude uttered the solemn adjumtion: . I

“Whom God hath joined together, let on one put asunder."

The nuptial party then stole from the lonely beach; all
became quiet, save the low murmur of surges upon the sands,
or the sough of swaying forest-trees that overlooked the
waters.

But the quietwas broken by the plush of a paddle in the
wave,”and from the shadow of a jutting rock, close beneath
the spot where Sameeda and her lover had knelt, shot forth
a small canoe. It skimmed over the smooth water, along the
Ihelving beach, and erect within it, his ominous glance follow-
me the receding figures of the maiden, the youth, and the
Pflefly appeared a dusky Indian form.

n W“ We, medicine-man of the tribal

 

 

 

 

’ mun-1mm I_

CHAPTER XII.
m oncomis PmATICAL earnest

Inmwnmn, during the transition of events m the Nam-
gansett village,-Laptain Pierre and his crew steered their little
vessel to the southward, coasting the perilous shoals of Cape
atollscar, rounding the isles 'of Capewak and Sngaquob, names
new forgotten, or usurped by modern appellations, and keep—
vng close to land withal, until the compass which they had
preserved from the wreck showed them the favorable place
for striking forth to the islands lying nearest to the continent.
No storms interposed, and their progress during the-long sum-
mer days and moonlit nights, was checked by no tedious calm;
without danger or delay, they at length reached the Havana.
Here, taking counsel with their leader, the company disposed
of the pinnace. and sold the Indian children to the captain of
,1 merchantman, who was about to sail forthwith for Bermuda,
where servantstof the sort were then in great demand. Tis-
quontam, who had recovered from his wound, was ,cht, in
hopes of his'fetching even more than forty-five pistoles, the
round sum which had been received for each of the seven
children, male and female; and then the gold, gained by the
sale of the pinnsce and slaves, was, by Captain Piorre‘s
advice, invested in the purchase of a hrigantine, wherewith
they resolved to essay their fortunes on the high seas.

The Creole found no difficulty in increasing his company
by the enlistment of several desperate, fellows, then idling about
the island, readyV for any adventure, and who gladly entered
into an engagement to share the excitement and profits of I
rover’s life. The Creole selected the Spaniard, Lopez, for his
chief officer or lieutenant, and, mustering the men, now increased
in s score or more of recluse desperatloes, opened his plans
in business style. . -

. “ We are now, about to £01th the example of many on"

,, 19 ,

 

 
  

    

 

M , mm FRENCH carrrms.

gentlemen,” sold Captain Pierre. “There be great store at
treasure for strong hands to win, andl hethiuk me, comrades,
of a notable place whereto we may gallantly steer. It is s
cruising-ground near the island of the Dutch, culled Curassou.
In those teas resort. divers merclmntmeu, and Spanial. boats
withal, laden with gold and silver, silks and Indian stuiia,
laces, ribbons, and quicksilver, together with spiel-s, vanilla,
cochineal and cocoa, which fetch heavy prices at the Havana,
or in the new colonies of America. Pei-:nlventure, comrades,
if we take a. dozen of these Spanish boats, as they go on their
trading occasions, we shall find such mass 01‘ rich booty as Wh.
buy a. great cruising ship for us. Then can we trade brisl-r'v
in slaves, which are easily caught, as were those lleztillen imm,
and mayhap make capture of some great gullcon of the Dons
or Portugals, so that we be speedily enriched for our liVes."

The announcement of this scheme was received with mum
favor by the Creole‘s motley followers, and they set themselves
directly to the work of fitting their hrigautiue for the voyage.
Nevertheless, as it was not thought best to leave any traces
whereby their course from the llavana might be too easily
traced, Captain Pierre directed his lieutenant, Lopez, as well
as others of the crew, to give out among the townspeople
that the vessel was bound to France, to bring thence certain
stores for the new colonies of that nation. Meantime,
Captain Pierre purchased arms and ammunition, with such
hard pieces of gold as he had saved from the wreck of the
emigrant-ship.

Very soon the brigantine was made ready for sea, and
word given to her crew to repair or. board, which all were
right glad to do, impatient for the adventures and booty
promised by the leader. But, as they were about to weigh
nnchor, there appeared a tail, w:.i',-titvored man upon the
shore, Whose bronzed countenance gave evidence of its pos
mssor’s acquaintance with the vicissitudes of American
climates. He was, moreover, well appareled, and wore a
mien of much dignityl With him came a sea-captain, who
commanded a large ship of Britain, which was anchored in
the roadstead, and behind followed 9 couple of mariners, who
bore a heavy and iron-bound box.

“I would have speech immediate with the captain of this

 

 

  

L “sermon. " fl

litigantan whereof I hear that sheds presently departing for
France." said the new-comer.”

“I am at your service. monsieur,” replied the Creole, in
French, which was the language used by the other. “ What
Would you of Captain Pierre Dneot?"

“ Captain Pierre Doeot-if thnt be your name~I desire to
bargain with you for my passage hence to France, whither I
am hound," said the stranger.

The Creole started, l‘orhe had not looked for such an appli-
cation. Nevertheless, he found himself compelled to make
answer, and therefore rejoined that the brigantine‘s accommo-
dations were“very narrow, and badly suited to the comfort of
a man of quality such as the applicant appeared to be.

“Oh, as for that matter, worthy Captain \Pierre Dacot,”
returned the stronger, “I am not difficult to'plenso in the
matter of accommodations, having borne many hardships inmy
day. But it is necessary that I depan spe’edily, for there be
those in France I would thin see before I (lie. Some store
of wealth I have, Captain Pierre 1” continued he, with a glance
at the iron-bound box, which a sailor hnd deposited on the
land at his feet—“ and I promise you will he no loser by the
bargain we shall make.” . .

The Creole’s avaricions spirit was roused at once; and as

’his eye became riveted on the chest, wherein his active flancy
already pictured ingots of gold, and precious stones in glitter-
ing confusion, he paused a moment, evolving in his dark
mind the first inception of a scheme to get possession of the
Itrangerfs treasure, at small fish to himself.

“ If such be your willingness, monsicur," he said, presently,

, ‘and if you car abide such pr or comtin'ts as we can
bestow, I will glam] make shift to dispose n‘ berth at your

wrview—yourself being without company." ‘
“Myself and this chest are , al the extra burden your

brignntine will have to carry," repled the other. “ My good

friend here, mij brave captain win) commundsyonEnglish

“ship, proffered me a cabin, which I would gladly accept; but
unluekiiy he must wait for freight of peltries from the main.
land, and I must needs make what haste I may.”

7 “And good faith," responded the bluff merchant-captain,

.f'lm right ioth m lose your good company, sir, whigh I

 

 

 
 

    

 

\

m enema cuvrrvns.

"I!

but: had il‘om the French settlements. Fare you well, air,
for what says the song-4 The best of friends must part.‘ “
Saying this, the Briton shook the hand of his late passenger,
and. turning to Pierre Dacot, cried out—“You‘ll find him a.
prince and a Christian man I”

The Creole’s lip twitched, as he attempted to smile; and
the stranger, with another friendly gtnsp of the merehnntman’s
hand, prepared to get aboard the brigentine, first ordering his
ltrong box to be lifted from the strand. “The trash is some-

' what weighty,” he remarked, “ and ’twill tax a sturdy man’s
' strength, mayhnp, to handle well."

“ Whip up you savage Tisquontem," said the Creole, address-
ing Lopez. “ He is strong as n bullock, end will have the
chest stowed safely in a trice.”

The two villains exchanged glances; while Tisquontam,
driven ashore, was commanded to take up the box, which he
did with scarcely an apparent effort, much to the astonishment
'of tv‘vo English mariners. who had strained their tough joints
somewhat in conveying the ponderous burden from their own
vessel to the shore. The Indian, in grave silence, carried the
chest over the brignntine’s side and deposited it on the deck,
as if it had been but a traveler‘s portinantean.

“A lusty rascal, Captain Pierre,”_ remarked the English
skipper, surveying Tisquontam’s' muscular proportions and
stately demeanor with an admiring glance; while the Indian
himself, having accomplished his task, remained with folded
arms, and cairn eyes, near the tafi'rail. -

“ The dog is sturdy enough,“ answered Pierre Daeot ; “ but
his room were a good as his company in my small craft. ' So,
If you like, friend, you shall have him for a hundred pistoies.”

“ ’Tis too much,” said the Englishman. “ Mayhep, we

might agree on a matter of sixty pistolcs; but, a hundred—- '

my purse would never stand that, shipmate.”
Briton turned away.

“ Get you forward, there, red dog i" cried the Creole; but
Tlsquontam, absorbed, per-chance, in thoughts of the daughter
of his love, Appeared not to hear the grnfl‘ voice of his kid-
nepper. - ,

“Hound't do ’ you mock me Y” roared Captain Piem

So saying, the

“We the Indian’s inattentiou. - “ Take that, now. to help »

 

EH

.2...

rut
:cr

nsqvonuu saw. at
your savage Wits l" Seizing a rope’s-end, he dealt his uncom-
scious captive a sudden blow upon the face, stripping the skin
from his forehead in a bleeding welt. V ‘

“By St. Denis l—that’s a cruel stroke!” exclaimed the
French passenger, in disgust at the unprovoked assault.
“ Nay, nay l" he continued, interposing his arm; for be per-
ceived that the Creole had already raised his weapon for
another blow, as if apprehensive of the red-man’s resentment
“"I‘is no Christian act to strike the defenseless! Look you'
sir, how the poor man bleeds l“ ,A »

“Bleed he, or die he, the loss is mine own, since there's no
sale for such cattle at a fair price i" rejoined the Creole,
moodily. “But there’s no danger—the heathen dog is tough.”

The stranger turned from the brutal rover and caught the
eye of Tisquontam fixed on his own, with a glance at once
intelligent and grateful. He felt compassion gnoving him at
‘ the sight, and a sudden impulse inspired him to rescue the

poor savage from his cruel owner. Turning immediately to
the English mariner, who, like himself, had witnessei with
disgust the uncalled for brutality of Captain Pierre, he said,
hastily: ‘ V '

,“ When good friends part, Captain, it is a good custom that

bids to exchange tokens of remembrance between them. Give
me now that plain gold ring on your little finger, Captain, and
On my part; I will bestow this Indian Hercules upon you for a’
body-servant. Nay, no demur, I pray you, friend—I like it
Well." ' '

Saying this, and in spite of the opposition of the British
captain, who protested against the smallness of the equivalent
which the Frenchman demanded, being a ring of little value
against one hundred pistoles, the price asked f)!“ Tisquontam,
‘the money Was counted out and paid into the Creole’s hands,
though the latter would fain have retracted his offer, when he
saw that his passenger was to pay for the slave. For the
treacherous Creole had resolved in his own mind to make
away with the Frenchman, so soon as they should be got upon
their voyage, in order that the strong box, ‘which, as he rightly,
deemed, contained much wealth, might fall into the hands m'
himself and pirate-crew. ' r ‘ ‘ ‘ 'V

and fimv‘m'm‘i "flamed 3“ these events fer Mow? 

 

 

 
  

\

m HERO“ CAI'HVES.

purposes, and so Captain Pierre was constrained to adhere to
his bargain, and transfer the Indian man 'l‘isquontam to the
merchant-mptain. The poor savage, who seemed very we},
to comprehend the motives of compassion which had impelled
the French stranger to become his purchaser, cast a look of
renewed gratitude toward the latter, as he followed his new
master and the two sailors from the brigantine. Captain
Pierre, looking after him with a gloomy expression, gave
hurried orders to east oll‘ the vessel. Presently the forts and
harbor wore passed, and, before evening, the swift-sailing little
emit had many a league of ocean between herself and the
Havana. '

But the Creole, impatient to obtain possession of the strong
box belonging to his passenger, and to proceed, thereafter, on
his’ voyage of plunder to the windward islands, did not delay
developing his design to the Spaniard, Lopez, and n few of
his ready men. It was resolved at once to attack the French-
man in'his sleep, and make away with him as speedin as
possible, casting his body into the sea; after which his treas-
ure could be ransacked, without making known the circum-
stance to all the rovers; and thus, whatever valuables should
be secured, could be divided among the few actual participants
in the deed of murder. In this manner the Creole desired to
rob his passenger and cheat the most of his followers of their
more of the plunder.

At the (lead of night, the Frenchman was startled from his
slumber by the sudden stroke of a. knife, wielded by the
mfllnn Spaniard, which, though intended to penetrate his
heart, fbll short of the mark, and only inflicted a slight wound,
suflleient to amuse the intended victim to a vigorous struggle
for ids life. No less than three villains were assailing him at
lance, while, by the glimmer of n hinnacle-lnmp, the malicious
eyes of Captain Pierre overlooked the work of his myrmidons.
Opposite the Frenchman’s resting-place—n small locker in the

/,round-honse-—was an open window, and through this could be
discerned the water, block as the grave, for neither mean not
5‘3". Was visible in the heavens.

1': hid been the intention of Lopez to strike so sure a blow
in n" 319015118 Frenchman's breast, as should deprive him 01' ‘
Ill ~got resistance, when he might be dragged immo.

  
   
  
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

A gunmen 903 m f!
rliately to the round-house window and cast into the see.
But either the dim light misted his sight, or his unsteady hand
deceived him—he missed his aim, and the next moment i'el'

his own throat compressed in the gripe of his contemplated ‘ I

victim. ’ ,

Then took place, in that narrow round-house, a deadly
conflict. The passenger, armed only with a short dagger,
made shift to keep at bay not only the three villains, but the
captain himself, who came, cutlass in hand, to their assistance.
Naught illumined the scene but the dull binnacle-light, whose
rays dimly entered through the open door of the round‘diouse,
md no noise was made but the wrestle of those who attempted
to grasp the Frenchman, and once or twice the sound of a
heavy stroke against the panels of the berth. At last, a des«
perado, who had approached within fatal range of the brave
passenger’s weapon, received a powerful downward blow upon
his heart, and sunk heavily to the deck, mortally wounded,
while the Frenchman made a desperate spring for the round-
house door.

“We must call the crew—this fellow is a devil !" muttered
Captain Pierre, placing a whistle to his lips, and blowing it
shrilly. Immediately a rush of feet was heard from the
forward part of the brigantine, and the Creole, darting from
the round-house, beheld Lopez, the Spaniard, and his French
passenger, grappled together beside the‘ starboard tafl‘mil of
the vessel, bending like wrestler-sin 5; close embrace, their
arms locked, and the knife of each glittering in the obscurity.

“ Upon him, comrades! IIew him to pieces l—the Frenclr
man! He has killed one of us already i" cried Captain
Pierre to the men, who now came hurrying aft. “Stab him,
or Lopez will be strangled."

It did indeed seem that the Spaniard‘s breath was about to
be effectually stopped, for the Frenchman had suddenly
dropped his own Weapon, and, clasping the armed hand of
Lopez with his lull, lingers, shifted his right to the throat of
his adversary, which he pressed against the tail‘rail with a
grasp like iron. The lieutenant‘s comrades saw his danger,
and, with raised cutlasses, rushed together upon the now
unarmed Frenchman But, ere they could reach him, the
combat was decided by the weight of the two men breakim:

 

  

 

7! mm mum on cam-rm

the tafl’rail on which they pressed so heavily. It parted Will
a crash, and pirate, as well as passenger, fell headlong from
the brig'antiue, and disappeared beneath the black waves under
he'r quarter

A single sound—half gurgling gasp, half shriek—flame to
the ears of the horror-stricken rovers. Then the brignntino
plunged on her way, and the moaning wind in her shroud!
was all that disturbed the night’s stillness.

Captain Pierre, quickly as possible, ordered the vessel to
be rounded to, and a boat to be got in readiness. But in vain
the ready sailors listened for a voice or struggle in the water.-
All remained quiet, and the Croolefwith a. curse, led the Way
30 the round-house. where, all stark, lay the body of the
ruflian whose breast had been clovon by the Frenchman’s
dagger.

“Cursesl this business has cost me two of my best men l"
muttered the Creole. “Ay, indeed, better had I lost three
than Lopez, for he stuck at nothing that I commanded 1"

Thus grumbled Cnptnin Pierre, as the slain rover’s body
was committed to the waves; but his regrets became less
poignant when a scrutiny of the lost stranger‘s strong box
revealed to him, not, indeed, as he had fancied, ingots and
diamonds, but still a goodly store of roubles and pistoles,
enough to ransom a whole ship's crew from Barbary. The
“0010’s eyes danced over the plunder, and forget Lops.

 

  

 

 

onotu's autumn.

CHAPTER XIII.

MQNOMA AND HER 002181..

Mums AND MONOMA watched long into the night, awnit
in: the retum of Tisquontnm. Sleep, at last, Overpowered
them, and the hour of morning broke once more. Still the
Indian hunter did not return.

“I will seek my father‘s trail,” said Monomn; and, kissing
the cheek of Marie, she bounded away to the forest-path.

Monomn was no novice in woodcmft; her steps from
infancy had been accustomed to thicket and turf. She had
tracked the wild fox to his covert in the summer, mulpursued
during wintry moons the fleet-footed deer or howling wolf
for away over icy crusts and drilled snows. She was familiar
with every sign by which the aborigines tracedheir friends or
(bee through the pnthless wilds; for often had she roamed
with her father for leagues and leagues away from their islet-
home, scaling the great hills of the interior, or launching their
birchen came upon the rivers of the Penobscot, the lllerrinmc,
and Piscntaqna, even to the fur Connecticut. Consequently,
Monomn thought little of threading the wood-depths, and

bund no difliculty in striking Very soon the trail of her father. '

‘l‘isquontam, on the following day. r
What terror shook her fr:th when she reached, at length,
the spot where the brief struggle between the Indian nnd his
captors had taken place. She knelt upon the trnmplml gr-xss,
and saw the discolored blades where the blood that mom-d
from 'I‘isquontaun's wonnd lmd dried, Nile marked the rough
ttnil made by the kidnappers us they dragged their victims “3

the pinnace, and zit-last saw, wilh renewed grief, the print of the _

boat’s keel upon the white sands of the shore. Then, as the
full realization of her father’s fete broke over her mind, and
she felt that he had been carried away by enemies, she a
 tin- upon the shore overwhelmed with sorrow. - \

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But no tear tame, even then, to moisten the bnmlng eyes
of Monoms; fot her wild nature, even in its despair, refused
the manifestations customary to civilized life. She remained
mute and motionless, thinking of her sire, but even in ha
agony striving to shape forth plans for following and rescuing .
the captive warrior.

Monoma well knew, by the signs she had diligently
examined, that no war-party of Indians had made prisoner of
her father; for, apart from the fact that 'l‘isqnontam was on
the best of terms with all the neighboring tribes, and tlmt
distant. rod-men could not have approached these shores
[without previous notice of their—coming, she knew likewise
that the print upon the shore-sands must hare been caused
by another hark than a canoe; therefore her quick apprehen
alum told her that Tisquontam must have fallen into the hands
of some survivors of the white strangers lately cast upon the
coast. Bat this conviction [increased her alarm, for she feared,
after discovery of the marks of conflict on the grass, that her
father might have incurred the anger of the strangers, or been
seized as a victim in revenge for the massacre of the wrecked
emigrants.

Monoma ventured to hope even amid her despair. Tisqiion-
tam was acquainted with her mother‘s tongue, and could
therefore explain his kindred as well as friendliness to the pale
faces; and perhaps, reflected the maiden, after all, he has
been taken but as a. guide to the strangers through the islands,
and will be allowed to return when he has safely conducted
them to the great ocean. Monoma stilled her grief, and
turned her face once more to the lodge where the lonely
Marie waited her coining With ill-concealed anxiety.

Another night passed, and with returning morn Monoma

ropared to set forth on ajonrney to the Narragansett village.
gar, during the sleepless hours, the Indian girl had promised
her mourning friend that she would herself seek to discover
whether Louis and the Abbe still lived. Monoma had often
accompanied 'l‘isqumltilm on his Visits to the neighboring
trims. and Nice she had passed the threshold of the great.
Snelienv\\'oosn.meguen, which was the warrior’s name of the
'powerful Massasoit. She now resolved to go alone to the
iodgoe o! the Nanagsnsetts, not to make known the diap-

 

 

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penance of her father, but only to note if the white captives
were still spared from sacrifice. Mario, in truth, desired to
know the Worst, for the dreadful suspense in which ‘she
remained, concerning her brother, was torturing in the
extreme. Rather, indeed, would she welcome death, know-
ing that her friends had preceded her to the Mansions of
Best. ’ .‘ ,
Monoma, therefore, promising to return by evening. set
forth at the first dawning to traverse the woods and hills
toward the Narragansett town. Much she dreaded that she
should arrive only to witness the catastrophe of sacrifice, or to
hear that the fearful rite of vengeance had been consummated.
She hoped, however, that the captives were still living, and
resolved, even though it might involve her own safety, to
lntercede for their preservation with the king, Massasoit,
'should the ‘tribe have yet delayed their death. With these
feelings her fleet footsteps soon carried her to the shore,
where Tisquontam‘s canoe still lay concealed. The little
bark clove the still waters of the bay from point to point,-
until the country of the Narragansetts was gained, and she
stood among Woosamegnen‘s lodges. \
Many daughters of chiefs and young braves greeted the
arrival of Monoma in the village, for she was known far and
wide as ‘the child of Tisquontani, the Lone Sachem of Manna.
mos-ct; but to the interrogatories conderning her father, the
prudent maiden only replied that he had gone forth on the
hunt alone, and she had come to visit for a few hours her
Narragansett cousins, and then return swiftly to the lodge of
Tisquontam. This answer satisfied all inquiries, and Monoma
was permitted to range freely with her young Indian friends/
from Wigwam to Wigwam of the village. It was not long,
therefore, before she learned all that could be communicated
by the Narragansett, maidens, and discovered, greatly'to he!
joy, that the captive youth, Louisywas adopted by a sqnaw
,of the tribe. Moreover, she soon obtained a glimpse of the
French youth and his elder friend, and saw that both ap-
peared calm and in good health. Momma bade adieu to the
admiring braves who had greeted her, and, with a flowery
garlandor We presented by some gentle squaws, set out on
human to the islet, which she reached withoutaimeuhy
lust as the sun was declining. '

 

  

  

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

’16 m FRENCH car-n \' 125.

( Great was the sorrow of the Indian maiden to find that
Ma’s was unable to comprehend her words or even recognize
Alter at all. The anxiety, excitement and fear, which had
alternated in the poor French girl's mind during the last few
days, had at length forced her delicate frame to succumb, and
sin: now lay upon her bed in the lodge, burning and tossing
with a raging fever, that completely deprived her of reason.

'l‘enderly, though sadly, throughout. that night, Monoma
Watched beside Marie, preparing for her relief the simple
herbal medicaments which, in common with all aboriginal
females, she knew well how to cull and prepare for use. But
the French maiden‘s malady was of a grievous nature, and did
not yield lightly to the young leech’s skill. Not alone that
night succeeding her return from the Narragansett village, but
many nights, and many weeks succeeding, Monomn tended the
sick and wandering gi-rl, till at last the fever broke, and the
light. of intelligence once more revisited the stricken Marie.

- When the crisis of the disease was at length over, and Marie
could realize the sweet hope of life‘ and feel that, though in
savage captivity, Louis was yet in no danger, but, with the
good Abbe, was allowed all liberty to rove amid the tribe, she
been: soon to gather strength, and looked forward with
returning confidence to a meeting with her brother in the
forest, and perhaps their ultimate escape to the white settle-
ments. Monoma encouraged the anticipation, though her own
spirit was growing every day more dcspondent, because of
the long absence of her father.

Meanwhile, the store of provisions with which, at Tisquon-
tom’s departure, the Wigwam had been bountifully supplied,
hadlong since been consumed, and Monomn’s skill was fair)
to supply the place of her father. Daily, ere the sun penetrated
the forest, and often at night, when Marie slept, the Indian

, huntress would steal forth through the gladcs and by the river

banks, to set her snares for game, or launch her arrows with
nn‘erring dexterity, until, loaded with her spoils, she could
return to the' lodge, unpcreeivcd by Marie, who dreamt not
,0? theardnous labors of her young hostess. Often, indeed,
Mane beheld the trophies of Monoma’s hunting exploits in the
loft skin- of heaven which, lined the hut, as well as the many
v 'fld:h1rdlwand other game upon which her returning upped"
, i ,t / 4

 

 

 

 

     

HONOMA AND m PANTHER. '6

I

feasted deliciously. But little did Marie know of the really

perilous as well as dimcult expeditions which Monoma under
took, nor know that the Indian maideu‘s hands hau worked
the ground and gathered the maize of which was made the
excellent suceotash which teni not] her palate in the morn/lugs.

Thus months were away—-Summcr passed, and the glorious
Indian-summer followed with its gorgeous train or glowing
sunsets, cloudless skies, and moonlit nights of dazzling br‘;
liancy. Need was there now for Monoma to exert all. her
skill and energy in taking advantage of the proper hunting
season in order to lay in store of food for the winter's con-
sumption; for well she knew the glorious autumnal noons
would he succeeded by storms and snows, when her islet-home
would he barricaded by great drifts, and the great hay waters
congealed. so that no fish could be taken by her weak hands,
and when, mayhap, for months, naught would be heard in the
wilderness but the howl of wolves and panthers ravenous for
prey. All this Monoma knew, and, hopeless of her father‘s
return, she prepared to exert herself to the utmost in provid-
ing the lodge with stores of game, and corn, and other
necessaries, by means of which the winter might be passed in
something like comfort; for she felt that Marie was ill-calcu-
lated to hear privation, and resolved, with generous courage,
that no want of her friend should be unsupplied which her
devotion might anticipate.

Thus, indeed, Monoma exposed herself to many risks which
she might otherwise haw: avoided; and thus it happened, one
lonely starlit night, as she eagerly pursued a wild fawn over
hill and through dale, the dauntless maiden found hersell
suddenly checked by the ominous growl of a panther, which,

crouching on the gigantic bough of an oak immediately

in her path, was prepared to spring upon her as she
passed. ,

Marie, at the fearful sight, would have fainted and been
devoured in an instant. Monoma was of a\ difl‘erent mould, and,
moreover, accustomed to wilderness-perils. She, therefore, as
her quick eye caught sight of the crouching panther, manl-
fested no symptom of alarm, but quietly swerved from the
drection in which she was bounding, and sprung for the
limiter of another tree at a few peace listance. She was thus

  

 
 

78 rm: FRENCH cnnrvns.

saved for an instant, but only to be placed in increased Janos!
by the anger of the animal, which, baulked in its first design.
hastened, by leaping to another tree, to gain a position where
It Could pounce upon the anticipated victim.

The Indian girl, far from giving way to despair, coolly
placed an arrow in her bow and let it fly at the animal, just
as it made a furious spring toward her.
one of the panther's eyes, so truly was it aimed. The beast
fell short of the maiden, who adroitly slipped around the
great tree. '

The wood resounded with the horrible cry of the panther,
as, terribly galled by the shaft- which still stuck in his bleeding
eye, he dashed with terrible force at the tree where Monoma

I stood. It seemed as if the noble Indian girl must fall at once
a victim to the ferocious animal.

Providence, however, had ordered otherwise, and, in this
great strait, sent an unlocked for deliverance; for, in the
moment when she herself believed no hope remained, a loud
smart was heard close beside her. A man sprung forward,
ran boldly at the panther, striking it full in the breast, and

to hearing its pomlerons body against the tree, within a foot of
wl‘wluu'oma herself. At the same moment another figure emerged
from the thicket and advanced toward the tree.

“ Well,'Robin Ball, have you settled him 2’“ demanded the
new-comer, in a. voice which made the heart of Monoma leap
in her breast. for it spoke in the French tongue, and was per-
bctly intelligible to her.

“Mass! St. Elmo! but I think he is done {oi-l” was the

I 'eply, of Robin Ball. as he shook the dead panther from the
heavy pike of St. Elmo.

“Let us see, then, what manner of being you hava rescued
from the ferocious beast,"' said St. Elmo, stepping forward,
while Monoma threw herself at the feet of Robin Ball. and, in
her sweet accents, thanked him in excellent French for his
timely action which had saved her life. .

[Had some visitant dropped from the skies, Robin and b‘t.

Elmo could not have been more astonished than they were

nowrto hear the foreign language spoken by an Indian Diana,
Who had Just narrowly escaped death from an American tiger.
J! was (not, therefore, to be marveled at, that they both pm

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sntly plied the young huntress with questions, or that they
speedily learned of the relationship in winch Monoma stood to
the white race. On his part, feeling instinctively that. he
might trust the red maiden, St. Elmo informed her that him-
self and companion had dwelt for sevoral months in a cavern
hard by, where they had stored prmisions and fore, the Epoiil
of their chase in the surrounding wilds, Much Momma won-
dered that she had never before encountered the white
hunters, but the circumstance was accounted for by the fact,
that they had roamed the forest with great caution, never ven-
turing far from their retreat, lest they should meet and be
taken captive by savages. many bands of whom, at divert
times, they had seen traversing,r the wilderness.

But, what was Gabriel St. Elmo‘s surprise and joy, when
Monoma informed him that one of his countrywomen had 'sur-

vived the wreck, and that the name of that , one was Marie. -

The youth Was nearly wild with delight, and implored to be
conducted at once to Marie, and testified such ardent. emotion.
repeating over and over the French maiden‘s name, that
Monoma at once, with a woman's tact, perceived the relation
of the youth to her fair young friend.

All this time Robin Ball had remained gazing upon her
sweet countenance, with a stare of blank wonder. So royal
in her wild hunting garh, yet, withnl, so gentle and engaging
did Monoma appear to the rude English seamen, that he could
find no words which be deemed suitable to address her in
reply to the gratitude that she had expressed for his opportune
service; and it was not till, in answor to St. Elmo‘s earnest
prayer to be conducted to Marie, and Monorna had stepped
ferward to lead the way, that Robin could collect his faculties
suiliciently to withdraw his gaze from her. Then, heaving a
sigh, which seemed to shake his great heart, and wiping on
the grass the bloody pike with which he ,had slain the panther,
Robin Ball followed St. Elmo and the Indian maiden may
from the glen, in the direction of Tisqucutam’s Wigwam.

1!

    

l

  

\

    

    

CHAPTER XIV.
run ssnor on was DEAD.

A nor.an Indian stood upon a lofty rock that frowned
over the shores of the Connecticutfnear the mouth of that
beautiful river. His arms were crossed upon his broad bosom,
Ind his tall form, towering in loneliness upon the ridge of the
precipice, seemed like a statue wrought from the rock itself.
It was Mattnkan, the Pequod Chieftain. He was not alone.
Reposing at the base of the rock, concealed in its shadow, luy
nine swarthy sons of the forest, savages of the Pequod nation.
They were the war-brethren of Muttnkan, and sworn avengers
of the Indinn‘s wrongs.

Many moons had come and flitted since Outesie had been
slain, with her babe in her arms. During these months Mut-
tekan had neither crossed the threshold of his council-lodge,
nor joined in hunt or war-expedition. But away from his
tribe, along the shores of the big waters, and lo the settle-
ments of the pale-faces on the great Hudson, had the chieflain
wandered, to behold the stranger-ships as they came from the
great ocean. Mattukan nursed but one image in his memory
—the form of the white man “lvho had slain Outesie; he
nursed but one desire—for vengeance on the murderer of
his wife.

' ' The Chieftain’s deserted Wigwam mouldeer in the forest;

- his babe pined among the Pequod squaws; but Mattukan
beheld it notI till at length the child sickened and died. Then
the father took it from his village, and buried it with Outesie,
in the lonely grave beneath the oak tree. But Mnttukan
Mk6 big words no more in the councils of his tribe, nor
smoked with the ancient braves, nor hearkened to the songs,
9r Pequod maids. The life of his heart was no more; he had
b‘lmfil it With Outesie and her child. _ e

3m» ever and non. when the wandering chiettain returned

 

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warms Iron names. 81

from afar. he whispered low words to the brethren or his
youthful days, and they bent their ears, listening to the tale
of the white man’s wrong, and then‘, grasping each others’
hands, swore by the Great Spirit that they would revenge the
death of Outesie. Then Mattakan and his ninc war-brethren
went forth trom their nation, and roamed among other tribe;
and afar to the white settlements, seeking evermore the mur-
derer; till at length the pale-faces grew fearful at the dark
looks of that Pequod band, and the white squaws hushed
their children with the name of Mattaksn, the Sanop of the
Dead.

But Mattakan warred not against the innocent pale-faces
who dwelt near the great sea, not against those whose lodge-
fires smoked in the forests. He waited in patience to dis-
cover the slayer of Outesie, for the Great Spirit had talked to
him in dreams, and promised that he should one day stand
face to face with his enemy. So Mattakan waited for
revenge.

Nor, in good sooth, was the time far distant when the
wronged Indian was to encounter his desperate foeman ;/ for
Captain Pierre was even then not far from the shores whither
the Pequod war-brethren had followed their leader. The
brigantiuc had, it is true, pursued her expedition, and the
place 01 Lopez, the Spaniard, had been speedily filled by
another of the reckless crew, after which, for some months,
they cruised upon the main; till at length it chanced that in
an attack which Captain Pierre made upon the Spanish boats
near Curassoe, he eucounterd a resistance totally unlocked for
and, though the pirates succeeded in capturing the trading
boats, with a great store of merchandise, yet their own num-
bers were so thinned in the fight, that It became necessary
for the Creole to retrace his course, and steer for some point
where he could recruit the band. He ,dared not enter Gurw
Ion, or St. Thomas, near by, neither to venture to the main
coast opposite, since many of those Spaniards Who manned
the merchant-boats had escaped from the combat, and the
rover feared would give the alarm to men-oliwar of their own
country; in which case his own vessel mlghkbfi-SIIQW "cap-
tin-ed, and his own career 911de 0n the scan‘old, ' Santiaptatn
Pierre deewdit his wisest course tubers at 9an moths

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THE FRENCH CAPTIVES.

north shores of America, and strive for recruits among r 1 oh
tlemeuts of Virginia or Hudson’s river, where, he doubtch Lot,
many restless spirits were to be found, disgusted With the
hardships of cmigruntdiflu more especially union}; those who
had been, in times past, followers of \Vultcl‘ Ruicigh and the
other English mlventurers. It happened that the Creole
arrived in ms l‘n'iguntine, and stood oll' near the slrztiLs ol' the
ocean that lead into Hudson‘s waters, at the moment. that Mot.
oil-mu, his enemy, was ' tnrrying with his comrades at the
mouth of the river Connecticut. Wondrous are the disposi-
tions of Providence, which, when even known not, are work-
ing to the good and evil of mankind, according as their
deserts determine. -

It was near eventide when Captain Pierre’s vessel passed
around the loni,r island which lay at the entrance of the waiters
upon whose banks a few huts and a trading stocknde, planted
by Hollamders, marked the small beginnings of what was here-
after to grow into the great commercial metropolis of the New
World; The rover lmd, indeed, steered for the Virginia coast;
but, miscnlcnlating his neighborhood, had run around the
,rocky copes at the northward, and found himself at night near
the wutersclnimed by Dutch settlers. Accordingly he resolved
to visit them, and perhaps, after a profitnblc trade of his
plundered cloths for beavers and other furs, to finish the
expedition by another foray for sluch mnong the aborigines.

But the evening \ approached while yet the briguntine
sounded through the unknown channel which she had
entered, and, as the sky gave no promise of a moonlit night,
but rather wore a murky and unusual hue, the buccetneer
resolved to cast anchor in the shelter ofu jutting point, near
which emptied into the sea a wide river, evidbntly rising,r fur
inland. I SO, when the evening grew darker, the shallop rode at
anchor upon the channel’s edge, her trim hull. motionless, and
scarcely definable n3 it-swayed sluggishly with the tide. One
dim lantern hung overthe bows, its flickering rays revealing
a swivoLgun there mounted; but all portions of the brigtln'
tine were wrapped in the increasing obscurity of the night.

But, though tile weather’s aspect was gloomy and unprom-

   

hing, no sign of approaching tempest was observable; rather. .

B  a sluggish calm had dropped over land and

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Water—one of those sultry calms, when life seems to magnate.
and all nnturc yields to apathy. Nevertheless, Cnptnin Pierre
and his reckless crew seemed little influenced by the henvy
atmosphere, but. us they gathered with Song and jest in the
roundhousw of the brignntine, and qunll‘ed deeply of Jmuuica
lpirits, sweetened with the cane of St. Eustntin, appeared

‘resolved on maintaining the soundness of the favorite though

questionable morniity contuined in one of their drinking

wage :
“ Nor cure nor fear hath the bold buccuneer,
The heudsmun‘s stall he troubleth not——
He keepoth his prayer till he swings i’the air-—
For he'll need it then if at all, God wot.”

But better had it been for that roysteriug company 11'“!
they watched with fear and care in those unknown waters;
for they had. then beheld, perchnnce, the dusky human form

1 that swam cautiously about the shnllop, and climbed to the

anchor—cubic; and they had inet, perhaps, the glare of 'those
savage eyes which, through the open window of the round- ‘
hoiisc, looked in on them with ominous glure, fixed upon the

a dark features of the Creole captnin with a look of hnte, deadly

as the fascination of u serpent. ‘ ;

But no suspicion crossed the drunken minds of the rovem
as they plied their onus, unvl bandied jest and song. Mutts.-
knn, the I’equod, marked well the murderer of his wife, nnd
then, noiselessly as he had come, descended fronf the cable,
and clove his way to shore heuenth the sultry cloud that
concenled the wnter like a. pull. 1

Far into the night extended the revels of the buccrmeers
their hoarse lnughter mocking the solemn stillness of nature—-
the ominous unnatural stillness of all thing: else. Throughout
that sultry night the waters remained sluggish and (lurk, not
a breath of air rippling' their surface, not a passing zephyl
flapping the listless canvas. Motionless the brignntine lay
upon the midnight sea. ’

On the shore, likewise, brooded a. similar stillness; Even
when the gray morning guru signs of breaking, no breeze
nose to hour away the clouds; the birds remained silent; or
dropped from their tree-top meets to the ground, or wheeled
Ibove, in slow, bewildered ell-elem The qmetm natural!

  

  

   

m FRENCH emxm

quiet pregnant with presentiment~the quiet that presages the
earthquake’s approach. '

The tradition that tells of this first strange convulsion oi
nature known to New-England chronicles, is almost lost in the
, mazy history of two hundred and forty years. Still, in a few
legends preserved in the white man’s books, and more vividly
in the unwritten stories still rife among the remnant 0!
Eastern tribes, it yet lives—descending by the mouths of Cit
men, who relate it in the language of their fathers—how the
big waters upswelled, and then subsided into dead calmness,
how the voice of Manitou was heard in the heavens, and from
the wood-depths and caverns the wild breath of Hobbomockc
replied to him; how the red-man’s corn was uptorn, and their
lwellings made like canoes to swim upon the swollen waters;
row hundreds and thousands of trees were uprooted-tall oaks
and walnuts blown from their places, and wound up like
withes by the hurricane; and how, at last, the moon shrouded
. her face in the great darkness which followed, and medicine-
men shuddered, and soothsayers prophesied the doom of the
Indian. The tradition yet lives of all this, though the
hitorian' scarce notices date or event.

u Mattakan, as his stately form towered lot'tily amid the nine
Fequod war-brethren, and his straining eyes watched the
breaking of night’s shadows around, could behold a. heavy
black cloud hanging like a pail over the broad mouth of Con-
necticut river—making darkness from the heavens to the
ocean; and he knew that within the bosom of this cloud lay
the brigantine of the pale-faces. Descending to the river-
bank. followed by his Pequod braves, he pointed toward the
spot, and then silently took his station in the prow of a canoe,
which, though apparently so slight that a child’s finger might
rock it, was yet of capacity sufficient to accommodate the ten
. Indians» Quickly a dozen paddles dashed aside the waters,
though their plash was almost noiseless, and the dark birchen
vessel shot out upon the wide river, unnoticeable in the thick.
gloom. _ ’

Afar at the east stretched a sickly yellow line, marking the
struggling break of diiy; but in the west, the ominous cloud
"linfilétl “tilfladense fog that arose from the river. Silently..-
Em: Shrvuded _'Qie- mist, crept the. Pequod’s canoe toward

 

 

    

 

    

 

 

“INVITED GUM AT A BEND. .V 85

the hidden shallop of the stranger; while still 1hr solemu and
deathlike apathy brooded over the life of all-things else, and
the terrible immobility of nature was unbroken by breath or
agitation. \

Meanwhile, Captain Pierre and his reveling companions
continued unwearied their night’s orgies/ The Creole held
doll: his foaming goblet, and trolled a reckless distieh, while
anon the laugh of his crew echoed the drunken strain. The
watchmen on the brigantine’s deck drew near to the round-
housc, joining in the mirth of their comrades, or exchanging
with them some covert jest. But Captain Pierre, as he thus
made merry on these strange waters, did not remember the
crimes that gathered darkly behind him during the five moons
since he had arrived in the French ship, ed the headlands of
Wollocar-did not recall his cruel dcsertion of the emigrants,
his cold-blooded murder of the Indian wife, his attempted
assassination of Robin Ball, and the kidnapping of Tisquon-
tam and the red children. Yet, though all these wicked deeds
had been committuhwithin the space of a single summer, and' '
near the spot where his bark now rode at anchor, Captain
Pierre little dreamed that his presence had been traced with
the nnerring cunning of a savage, or that his revels that night
Were watched by Mattakan, avenger of the murdered Outesi
So he drank and reveled with his rover-crew. '

'What plash Was that beside the anchored shallop ? What
shadows were those which stole silently up the cables, and
crouched in the shadow of the galley? The dead quiet
remained unbroken by the watchman’s alarm—naught had
been seen by his drunken eyes. ‘

What glimmer, as of angry eyes, was that which suddenly
intercepted the lantern-rays? The watch beheld it not, yet it
marked the stealthy progress of Mattakan and his/braves, as
slowly and silently, they crept toward the round-house. and
drew near to the careless sentinels. '

A wild yell rung upon the sluggish air, and then a shout,
like the war-cry of demons ;, then followed a struggle, a groan,
Ind the watchmen were hurled backward upon the shallop‘l
deck, their foreheads red with the mark of tomahawks.

The revelers in the round-house sprung appalled to their
to; They-beheld, crouching at the door, it half-dozen red

  

    

  

u m was csrmm

men, and heard the Pequod war-whoop peeling through the
brrg‘antine. And, foremmt of the yelling savages, his wild
eyes seeking but one object, Captain Pierre beheld Mattakon.
The Creole instantly recognized the stately warrior whom he
had once seen upon the shores of Massachusetts bay; and at
the same instant the ehieftain‘s eyes encountered the slayer of
his loved Outesic. He had tracked the murderer to his lair,
and the oath sworn at the grave of his wife would now be l‘ul—
filled. Many moons had Mattnkau waited for this hour; it
had come at last! _

Captain Pierre’s quick glance ranged over the dark faces
clustering around the Peqnod Chieftain, and then fell upon his
own few men. The savages outnumbered the pale-faced crew,
but what recde the buccaneer of that? He knew that his
own stalwart arm and iron blade could sweep a red-man to the
deck with a single blow, and his firearms were all within
reach. Yet, he paused a moment, dropping the point of his
raised sword, and woving his. hand, as if to invoke parley—

“ Brothers 1" he then' said, in a. low voice.

But Mnttaknn’s brow grew dark as midnight.

“ Ontcsie !” he cried in answer, and, springing,r back from the
round-house door, seized a pine-knot from one of his savage com-
panions, and then, plucking». hatchet from his warnpum-belt,

, broke the glass that protected the hinnacle'lznnp, while a yell
of the Peqnods, and a sudden rush of all toward the round-
honse, cast the‘white men at once upon their defense.

But/Captain Pierre, as he heat back the first Indian wha

' advanced, kept his eyes fixed upon the motian of Mattaknn,
and beheld the chief ignite the resinous wood which he held,
and then, as its blaze streamed wildly out, cast it mnong tho
cordnge and sails that flopped heavin against the masts of the
brigantine. .In an instant {I bosom of flame swept the rigging
and overspreud the deck as with a woot' of fire, while beneath,
the red and white combatants confronted each other, their
wild countenanccs illumined by the light that Streamed far
scrossithe gloomy waters. With foot advanced, and hatchet
bmndished above his head, pressed Mattakan in their midst,
311d OPPOSing him, with bronzed brow shining in the red
gleam, stood his enemy, the Creole. It was but for one

moment. however,  the antagonists thul remained; an

 

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met
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m EARTHQUAKE- I?

next, uttering a fierce yell, the Peanods mingled with their
foes.

Captain Pierre cast his back against the solid lockers of the
round-house, and with a sweep of his henvy sword struck the
foremost Indian bleeding to the deck. Then, white and red
met, and presently interlocked in furious struggles for mastery
Mnttakan, the Snnop of the Dead, sprung before his brethren,
and hurled his tomnhmvk at the captain‘s forehead. It struck
the iron blade of the Creole’s sword, and fell harmless to the
deck. Instantly the Pequod had grappled his foe.

But what menneth that dismal shiver of the waters around
the brigantine? Whencc thnt moaning rush of wind through
the forests that skirt the river’s mouth? Truly doth the
black cloud that filled the heavens now sink suddenly down,
swallowing the yellow line of morning.

The earthquake l the hurricane l

It rushed suddenly from the forest-cuves—it swept up from
the river’s mouth—it fell darkly from the heavens—at once,
and terribly.

The waves uprose like It boiling caldron—the wuter rocked
to and fro, and the slight vessel was lifted in the air. Her
masts grouned and snapped; the burning sails streamed afar
like banners of fire. Then came n/shock, n heaving swell, a
horrible crash around the entire horizon; then a hundred
lightnings leaped from the sable cloud; while the roaring of
inultitudinous thunders seemed blent in the one fierCe throb
of earth, sen, and sky. ~

The hutchets of the Indians fell upon the bloody deck, and
their fingers loosed the gripe of quivering scalps. The white
men likewise paused, afl‘righted at the, new and supernatural

_peril which threatened them. '

In a moment the stroke of the hurricane fell, and the
brignntine rolled over in the trough of the sea. The swel'ing
waters mounted in an immense wave, and swept her decks of
red-men and pale-faces; the hurricane olove her like the
sudden sweep of a sword, and, ere a cry of horror could be
raised, the grappling combatants were hurled into the bl-ek
um v

‘ 3

 

 

   

    

    

C H A P T E R X V.
m FRENCH mssnuenn AND 2115 Emma.

Tn boawakened from a comfortable slumber by the mist
direct-ed stroke of a dagger aimed at his heart; 'to be com
polled to fight for life against four stalwart pirates; to pluth
headlong into the ocean, grasping the throat of an assassin—
ue experiences well calculated to dampen the energy of any
man; therefore the French passenger of the brigantiue, when
he rose from under the water where he had sunk with Lopez
the Spaniard, was, as may be imagined, in no comfortable
frame ‘of mind. Nevertheless, it behoved him to strike out
for immediate safety, though the night was dark as Erebus.
Neither the brigantine could be seen nor the pirate whom he
had grappled with, and the brave man swam lustily for a few
moments; then, becoming somewhat freed from-his bewilder:
merit, floated for a few moments upon his back, reflecting on
his novel situation. ‘

The Frenchman was not unused to adventure, nor, as he
had assured Captain Pierre, unacquainted with hardships; yet
the predicament in which he now discovered himself decidedly
transcended in interest all his previous experiences. But, at
the moment he was debating the chances of his surviving long
enough afloat to become a living meal for the sharks that
infested those latitudes, the sudden contact of his limbs with a
floating object startled his thoughts. Striking out/his hands,
he immediately felt a fragment of wood, which he at once
concluded was a piece of the tafl'rail that, in breaking, had
precipitated himself and the Spaniard into the ocean. Scarcer
Ind he grappled with what promised to assist him to sustain
himself. when’hc heard a feeble voice near him cry:

“ St. Dominic preserve me! it is he !"

“Hah P’geried the Frenchman, “is this my caitifl' numgrr‘
Ill” Truly, we are both at even chances for life! HQ
find! or: not drowned yet 1"

 

Arnme

  
 

 

  

umoxnmx. fl

“Mercy 1” gnSped the trembling voice of Lopez, sounding
through the darkness in the ear of his intended victim; for. ‘
to dense was the black fog Which enveloped the sea, that the
two men, though clinging to extremities of the some fragment
of tnfl'mil, were yet tumble to discern one another. “We
must die—we must drown l”

“ Speak for yourself, my good fellow,” rettuned the French-
mnn. “ For my part, I intend to live as long as I can, and so
i shall stick to this hit of wood, advising you to do the same.”t

“ Do you forgive me ?" gasped the wretched Spaniard.
" Are you not about to cast me 011' from this trail support?”

“I have as much as I can do, good fellow,«to keep my own
grasp, without troubling myself about casting 05‘ a fellow-
crenture. There is support for both, as it chances, so I counsel
you to hold on fnst." \

“ St. Dominic reward you I" murmured the Spaniard. “But
--ainsl I see no way of escape l"

“Truly, one must have better eyes than mine to sec at all,”
said the other man. “ Nevertheless, morning can not be far
away, and meantime we are in no great peril, the sea being
so calm. Therefore sny your prayers, good fellow, and ask
St. Dominic to forgive you for the griemus crime that you
would have perpetrnted.”

Lopez gronned, and presently began to implore the mercy
of all the saints in his calendar, at the same time venting not
A few mnledictions upon Captain Pierre, whom he charged
with all the responsibility of his own sins. But the French-
man gave little heed to the wretch‘s nbjurntions, being him-
self intently watching for the streaks of day, which at length
began to dissipate the mist that shrouded theocenn. At first,
indeed, he could distinguish nothing save the sea; but as the
dull, rmy light broadened by degrees above the gnzer’s vision,
he could discern the outlines of a shore at the leeward. to
_which apparently the tnfl’rail was drifting. > At the same time
the Frenchman‘s regards fell upon the face of Lopez the

' Spaniard, now revealed in the dim atmosphere, as he clung at

the other end of the fragment of wood. It was ghastly and
feet-stricken. and the fixed eyes almost glared in returning the

look they met. , _ h 7 v ..
“Well. eomradel whet think you now of our W?

 

  

     

  

lo M mum on omxm

cried the Frenchman, in a cheery tone, willing, if possible, ti
raise the spirits of his wretched fellow-sufferer. “ Mark yot'
yon hmd, to which we drift fast? God‘s mercy has preserved
us ‘_‘oth. and it is meet that we should be grateful !"

“Mercy!” muttered Lopez, in n despairing Voice. “God's
mercy is not for the Jonah. lint you, Monsieur, whom I
would fnin have slnin-mdo yon pardon me in truth ‘3"

“A3 freely as I trust in pnrdon myself for mnnilbld trans
grossiens,” nnswered the Frenchnntn. “But now, lest the
5811 may speedily ebb from the land, and thus hear us away,
I pray you strike out lustily, and let us swim together, pnsl)
ing 'this tail‘rnil withal. Thus shall we reach the shore and
be safe.”

“ Heaven help mel I fear I shall ne‘er put foot on shore
again,” groaned the Spaniard. “Neither can I strike out not
swim, for strength nor skill have I in the water. St. Dom-
inic be my witness, I can but hold fast to the wood.”

,“ Hold fast, then, in God‘s name!“ answered the French-
man. “I will strive if mine own limbs can force forward
both you and the tnlfmil."

7 So saying, the bold swimmer forced the taffrnil forward
toward the shore. Lopez hung it dead weight upon it. Thus,
by dint of the Frenchman’s exertions assisting the drift, they
approached the land, Which appeared to he 21 small island,
until tne white sands of the shore could he plainly discerned
gloommg through the transparent waves. Already the swim-
mer hnd slackened his efi‘orts, sure that the goal would be
easily nttninod ; already Lopez began to hope, when suddenly,
immediately from the bright sands beneath, arose the form of
an enormous ground-shark. Turning, us it ascended, it pre-
sented to View its white belly, which flushed like silver in the
clear waters. V

The ground-shark, infesting the tropicnl sens, is the deadliest
of its kind, being poisonous as'well us ferocious, and, unlike
the more timid follower of ships, can not be frightened awny

by blows or splashing of the waves. As this dreadful fislr

become visible, the Frenchman, us he swam, cried loudly to
his companion :

“A shark-have a care. , Leave the wood and make to!
thence!" ', ‘ '

 

 

 

 

 

  

A. mom; up A smart. ’ 91

Then, with a. generous thought to save the Spanlerl, he
turned the tafl‘rail about, so that Lopez was near the sandl
Ind might easily scramble into shoal-water. But Heaven
had ordained that the wrctch should perish, as he expected,

(before reaching the land; for he persisted in clinging to the
woo-d, as it were, fearing to making an clfurt, to gaf’ “"4 elial
low water, which seeing, and being anxious to   cwn
lie, the Frenchman no longer held to the boards, :ut s'nntli
fl', and presently reached the shore. Thenveasting his eyes
about, he beheld the spectacle he feared to encounter—an
agonized face appearing a moment beside the tatl'rail, then
another wild leap upward of the Spaniard‘s mangled body, as
the teeth of the shark cut him in twain, his life-blood gushing
out on the waters, which it discolored even to the pebbly
beach. This was the end of Lopez the Spaniard, who had
been spared from the ocean only to meet a doom more fear-
ful, in punishment of his wicked life. The Frenchman felt
unbounded gratitude to the gracious Providence which had
preserved him from the fate of his companion.

“ See, now," he murmured, “how inscrutable are the mer-
cies of Almighty Wisdom! Had not you tnti'rail become
broken off, in my struggle on board the brignntinc, we had
not fallen into the deep, it is true,-but I should assuredly have
been slain by those desperudoes who sought my life. Then,
had not the wretch grasped the wood, and thus floated it,
unknowingly, near where I swam, peradrenture I had soon
become exhausted, and sunk in the seal And now, at the
last, I am saved by the sacrifice of this unhappy man ; for it
is plain that the ’fish would have made a meal of me, had not
the other been there! Truly, wondrous are thy ways, 011
10rd l”

Thus the Frenchman communed, as he walked along the
beach from which the tide was now ebbing, as he had
expected, leaving bare the white sands where so lazeiy had
lain in ambush the deadly ground-shark. But what rigs his
.iurprise and joy todiscover, just as the morning sun lied
partly broken over the ocean, irradiating eVery object, that a
large ship was in sight, apparently standing in full sail toward

, the island. V .

This Joythl light renewed the prayers sud  gt

, ,

 

 

 

 
 

    

    

um FRENCH CAPTIV'EB.

"!
the Frenchmln, who impatiently ran back and forth upon tho
more» displaying a flag which he made with his torn doublet
and shirt, and shouting at the top of his lungs so soon as be
deemed the vessel to benvithin hailing distance Presently he
became aware that his presence upon the island had been dis-
covered, for soon 8. boat was seen to leave the ship and shape
its course for the beach. In it little time, much to his satis-
faction, the Frenchman trod the decks of a first-class galleon
of England, bound bomewnrd from the New World with
cargo of fish and beaver-skins, in all near ten thousand pounds,
and of great value. To the master of this gnllcon the French-
man made known his wonderful adventure and deliverance.
From the English mariner he received all friendly consolation
and fissurance of future safety, and presently stipulated with
the worthy captain to carry him as passenger to a port. in
Britain. The Frenchman was far from being destitute of
means wherewith to bargain for his Voyage to England; for
closely sewn in the girdle beneath his doublet, were store of
diamonds and other precious stones,.worth even more than
the strong on): which he had left on board the brigantinc.
These 7sluables, however, the Frenchman still concealed, only
bargaining with the English master to reward him for his
Kindness when the ship should arrive at her destined port.

At this port, in time, the gallcon arrived. And when the
edventurer had once more set foot on land, and generously
remunemtcd the master for all the attentions shown him on
“‘0 Passage, he went about among the smaller shipping, to
engage some craft wherein he might immediately set out for
his native France. ,

“ For since I have been preserved through many years of
hardship, and escapéd divers perils, so that I now return with
Itore of this world’s goods, obtained by lawful toil and profit,
’ it now appear-em to me that Heaven, in' its goodness, hath
determined on my future happiness, and union with my dear
at family! I will haslcn, therefore; to lovely Frautc, trusting
fill in the good God who has ever been my support.“

Thus the pious Frenchman talked to himself, as he sought
"m‘mg the mariners for one that could convey him to France.
What Was his surprise, as he stood upon one of the qneys, to
k m in his native language by a dmk-lmking man, clad

in:

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blet .

s be
' he
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ape
ills-
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ids,
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a. summons mt unwannnn. a
in sailor's garb, who came toward him with an air at once
dignified and deferential, and, removing his coarse hat, dis-
closed a face which he fancied familiar, yet could not imme-
diately recall to memory. - «

“The white chief does not remember the poor Indian. But
the Indian never forgets his friend i"

These words at once brought to the Frenchman's recollen
tion the scene upon the shore at the Havana, when he had
purchased a red-man from the brutal Captain Pierre, an}
given him to the protection of an English merclmnt-captain.

“ Ah 1 I now remember you well! and your worthy master
~where is he ‘2”

“Tisquontam has no master. The white chief is his
friend,“ returned the red-man, proudly, as, turning, he made
Way for the merchant-skipper of the Havana, who now
approached and grasped the Frenchman’s hand.

In a few moments the latter related to the Englishman all
that he had endured since parting from him in the New
World, and in return was informed that the Indian Tisquon—
tam had proved himSelf a very valuable acquisition to the ‘
ship's company, and won the good wishes of all the crew..
He was not r'onsidered as a servant or slave, the customs of
England repudiating the latter condition, at least at home,
and the native dignity of the red-man making it impossible
for a noble mind to treat him otherwise than with respect.
'I‘isquontam, indeed, bore himself with much freedom and dis-
cretion, and endeavored in every manner to testify his gratitude
to the Frenchman who had befriended him.

“ The white chief," he said, alluding to the merchant-
captain, “ will soon take Tisquontam back to his himtingm
grounds, to the lodge where his daughter mourns her lost
father. There Tisquontam will remember his French brother,
and Monoma shall pray for the chief who rescued .her father
from the man-stealer."

“I am glad that-my red brother remembers his frimd,"
snsweral the Frenchman. “Let him wear this to his lodge,
and present it to his young squaw.” . - .

Saying this, he took a ring of plain gold from his 3113“,
Ind placed it in the red-man’s hand. 3 , ,
Tisquontam’s noble features were agitated with 

 

 

  

    

94 mussel: cm

fie seized the hand of his frienl and raisel it to his lips.
Then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he thrust his hand
into his bosom and drew forth a. small golden cross. It was
the ukcn which Marie d6 anerne had given him to tau to
her brother on the morning of that unhappy day when he
had been kidnapped by the rufilnn Creole.

“Here,” cried the Indian, “Tisquontmn has naught but I

this. He will tell the white bird that he gave it to it chief of
nor notion, his friend and brother, and she will—” '

The red-mun paused in sudden alarm as his glance :ested
upon the face of the Frenchman, who had seized the cross
and was holding it extended at arm’s length, his eyes fixed
upon the cipher which, as we have before noticed, was
engraven upon the smell relic that Mario had inherited from
her departed mother. His cheek grew flushed and pale by
turns, his bosom heaved, and all his limbs were agitated as
with'violent emotion. Clasping his hands wildly together, he
exclaimed:

' “ ’Tis hers—’tis hers a”

“ The white-bird—Merie i" cried the Indian, as if intuitively
following the other‘s thoughts.

“Ayl Marie-Muriel Whence came this cross? Long
years ago I gave it to my lost wife. How is it I find it in
the hands of an Indian? Speak, Tisquontaml who and
what are you? How come you by this relic ‘2”

Then gravely, but with minute accuracy, the Indian related
all the circumstances connected with his possession of the
cross—the fearful wreck of the emigrant-ship—the massacre
and captivity of its survivors—his rescue of Marie de anerue,
and the subsequent adventure through which he had been
dc] rived of his own liberty. The Frenchman listened, trainer
fixed with astonishment, till Tisquontnm concluded the recital.
Then, falling on his knees, and raising his hands, which still
clasped the golden cross, he acknowledged anew the wonderful
power and benevolence of the Almighty Ruler of human
events. ’ , t

“ 0 Father of Mei-cics i" he cried, “I thank Thee for this
new-worker Thy watchful providence—-Thy protecting wis-
dom! 39110“. through this savage, whcni I but kindly
. Win twinning, Thou but chosen to mimic Th)

 

  

 

GOES-3'

‘n-uu-u-u

 

“i.

 

mononuwmn

.ove, and to reveal to me the fate of those dearer to me than
life! 0 Holy One, I thank Thee for all Thy wondcrfin
kindness, and may all my future life he witness to Thy
praises!” _

A It was indeed the Sieur de la Luzerne, the long-absent
father of Louis and Marie, who had returned to the Old
World enriched, it is true. by toil and adventure duriniar his

,exilc, but yet weighed down with solicitude concerning the
, fate of his family, from whom he had been ported for so many

yenrs. His sentence of banishment, after having doomed him
to nn unjust expatriation from France, during the prime of
his life, had at last been reversed byvthe successor of the mon-

    

arch whose misjudging severity Intd inflicted it, and the Sioux ,

Luzcrnc hastened at once his return to his, native land, to seek
out, if they were still living, the objects of his affection. But,

,nlas! ill-fated would have been his quest, disappointed his

hopes, had not the chance-meeting with Tisquontmn, at the
Havana and in England, revealed to him what no other than
the Indian could have told—the fate and abiding-Name
of this orphaned children. Reason, indeed. had the exile to

be thankful for Heaven‘s kindness, and cause enough to.

admire that womler-working Providence which had permitted
the Iroquois to be torn from his daughter and his home, in
order that through his instrumentality another sundercd family
might be reunited. Tisquontum and the English captain. us
well as Luzerne, joined in acknowledgment of the Divine
Power, and together, with solemn steps, they wended their
way to the British galleon which was soon to sail again for
the Colonies, and in which the French exile resolved at once
to return in search of his beloved children.

It was not long before, with the Iriquois at his side, the
Sienr de in Luzerne stood upon the decks of the English ship,
Ind bade adieu to the; white shores of Albion‘s sea-gilt isle. 35
EM vessel clove her way once more across the Wide Anemia

v

  

 

    

C H A P T E R X V I.
on’mm rtERnn AND THE AVENGEB.

IN the darkness that succeeded the stroke of the hurricane.
two stalwart forms arose in the boiling surf, and, unseen by
each other, breasted the billows, as they struck vigorously for
the shore. These were Muttuknn, the Pequod. and the Creole,
Captain Pierre. They did not see one another, for the
immense cloud, which followed the hurricane’s devastating
track, bowed down over the waters and land in an impervious
bank of mist. '

Though appalled at the terrible manifestation of nature's
power that had interrupted his work of vengeance, Muttuknu
plied his strong limbs in the effort to keep afloat, thoughliis
eyes were blinded by the spray, and his ears stunned by the
roar around him, mingled with terrific noises from the loud to
which he sought to swim—the crack of whole forests snapping
like reeds before the pondcrous force of the typhoon.

He reached, at length, n point of elevated earth, that once
had marked the extremity of the river‘s banks; hut in vain
did the chief now search for n landing-place. Water was all
around and before him—water, black and gloomy as the grove,
stretched for on either side. Mnttakan then knew that the
river bed overflown its boundaries, inundating the forests and
fields. The quick instinct of his savage nature taught him the
course of safety. He struck boldly forward for the hills which
he knew could not he very far away. After a fearful struggle
for life, his eyes were gladdened with the sight of land, and he
was Boon under the shelter of a friendly shore. What s
Boone of devastation met his view! Everywhere 3 wide waste
01 waters—trees uptorn, deep channels cut in the land by the
esrthquske‘s mighty shock! Far away on the bosom of the
Wild waters rode the shallop—a mere wreck of its former
Minty. and" her deck/s silent as the stars in midnight. Tho

\ l

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

m ROVER m murmur. V2

Indian sat down to contemplate the fearful change which had
so suddenly taken place, and mourned inwardly that his (rom-
panions should all have been lost ere their vengeance we:
consummated by the tomahawk and scalping-knife.

Mettakan sought a brief rest in repose, for his powerful
frame was well nigh prostrate from his great exertion. He

slept peacefully for an hour. When he awoke it was still
dark, but to his surprise he found that the ship had been
driven into shore by the return tide, and was now lying
stranded at the river‘s edge.

The Pequod’s keen glance explored in an instant every
thing within its range, and noticed, what a white man might
have passed unheeded, that there were signs of life about the
vessel. IIastily plunging beneath the water’s surface, he swam
silently past the dismantled shallop,’nn<l, gaining a clump of
trees which commanded a View of her decks, concealed him-
self among the leaves, patiently awaiting the setting in of night.

The shades deepened. Sky, forest and water darkened into
mdistinctness. but the Pequod’s watchful eye was fixed upon
the brigantine, till at length it marked a filmy smoke mingling
with the gloom above her decks. and then a sudden light
gleaming through the window of the round-house. No human
form appeared, yet Mattakan knew that some living being was
there. Cautiously leaving his hiding-place, he swam to the
bluii, and noiselessly climbed his way to the vessel‘s deck.
All was still as the grave, but the rays of light glimmering
from the round-house, guided the Indinn‘s progress, as with.
wild-cat stealthiness he crawled along the slippery planks, and
at length reached the galley, close beside the half-open door
of the cabin, where, shrouded in darkness, he crouched low,
and peered forward. What did Mattakan behold?

The 'murderer of his wife was there—the Creole, Captain
Pierre; and he slept. \

The rover and his enemy, the Pequod, were the sole sur
vivors of that terrible tempest. 'l‘heir‘companious, whit: wt]
red, had perished in the swollen waters, and only the two feel
new met once more upon the decks of that fated bark.

Still the rover slept. An iron lamp burned on the “hie
before him, and near it the Creole leaned, resting upon his

-fi)lded ems, overpowered by the fatigues and perils of the
day. His pistols, primed and loaded, lay beside the lamp.
19 ,

 

 
 

   
 

   

08 m meson cums

Msttsksn cautiously drew nearer to the door of the wand
house, and at last entered. Still the Creole remained motion-
less, and the Pequod crept on until he reached the table, and,
stretching out his hand, seized the firearms nt his wnite
enemy.

NOW, indeed, was the slayer of his wil‘e within the r<.'d-innn’;i
power. The murderer ol'Ontesie was defenseless before him,
He remembered his wil‘e‘and child, and their grave next-31h
the oak tree, on the borders of his native waters, and, raising
the deadly weapon which he had grasped in hisright hand=
he puinted it at the white man‘s heart. But Mnttztkan could
not slay a sleeping foe. ‘

He struck the table with the iron muzzle of the pistol, and
' peeled at the same instant the war-whoop of his race. Ter-
rihly rung that yell upon the still night-air, and was answered
by the alarmed voice of Cuptnin Pierre, startled from his
slumber. The rover sprung to his feet, and beheld his pistols
in the hands of a red-man. He saw before him the Snnop of
the Dead, and heard one word uttered by the Indian’s lips:

“Outcsie l”

The rover’s cheek grew pale as he rolled his blood-shot
eyes around the cabin, in the vein hope of escnpc, Still his
craft did not forsake him. He knew something of the Indian
language, as well as character, and at once essayed to parley.

“Is my red brother a warrior ‘3” demanded he, in the dis
lect used by the northern tribes.

“ Outesie l” was the sullen response of the chief.

“I am not armet ," continued Captain Pierre.
brave slay u chained bullalo ?"

“ Mmtakan will not slay his chained enemy."

“Then let us fight with knives," said the Creole.

“The pine-tsee slmllhnve a knife! Let him he urinal."

“Be it so; we will then be even," said the rover. Ant},
stepping back as he spoke, while the entity Pequod still
held the pistol levuled at his enemy’s heart, he threw open
5 small closet et the side of the rnnthHmuse. Within this
closet, or locker, were divurs urins ranged upon :1 shelf, and m.
M‘floor beneath, an iron‘hound keg, the lid of which had
we“ 011’: and disclosed its contents. Mattuksn shuddercd as
5 Wed in the open keg the white men‘s thunder-sud

“ Will the

 

QGQEBO

  

.0.

5.32;

 

m moon's Ramon. » 99

~41 a terrible gunpowder of the pale-faces. But his inflexible
IndJln visage exhibited no trace of What he observed. His

‘ eye calmly surveyed the Creole, who had grasped a brace of

hunting-knives.

“Now I will fight the red chief i" cried Captain Pierre, as
be extended one of the bright blades to Mattakan, who received
it but with one response—“ Outesie,". and then flung the pistol!
which he held upon the deck behind him. .

“ Hal ha !" laughed Captain Pierre, who had rightly

I reckoned on this magmuimous action of the red warrior; and

then; quick as though*, he grasped a carbine which stood
loaded within reach of his hand, and, springing back, leveled
it at the Pequod’s breast.

The white man’s treachery had outwitted the simple Indian,
and the Creole‘s mirth rung out in anticipated triumph. But

7- Mattahan was cunning, and desperate as his foe.

For, scarcely had the rover’s laughter marked his sudden

' possession of the carbine, than the Pequod’s hand was thrust

forward, and grasped the iron lamp which burned upon the '
table. Captain Pierre divined his purpose, and snapped the
trigger of the deadly weapon which he held, but it was too
late. The red-man had hurled the burning lamp into the
powder which had caught his quick eye.

A bright flash folaned, a crash, and the rocking swell of
crushed timbers. And then, fast and thicll, upon the startled
waters, the hill beyond, and the half-sunken trees, fell down

' the fragments of destruction. Fragments of the doomed

brigantlnc rose into the gloomy air—then pattered on the
river‘s face in terrible hail. And when the bright sun arose
on the ensuing morn, gilding the turbid Connecticut, there

; floated fmm the silent river the mangled rcninius of two men,
\ blackened, mutilated, and scorched by are, yet in death they \

seemed to clutch each other, and interlock their limbs. The)

f were Mattaksn, the Sanop of the Deed, and his menu. 01'
< kin Pierre. *

The Pequod heel avenged his Outmia.

 

  

GL‘ELPTER XVII.
FATHERAN‘DCIIILD.

Wm Monomn returned to her islet-lodge, accompanied
by Robin Ball and Gabriel St. Elmo, Marie was sleeping upon
her sylvan couch. Monoma would have approached her
quietly, but St. Elmo’s impatience could not be restrained.
He rushed to the side of the slumbering girl, and, sinking on
his knees, murmured her name. Marie started.

“ St. Elmo 1” she cried, and then, with a low cry, sunk back
,tlpon the couch.

'“Oh, Father in Heaven! I have killed her i” cried the
youth wildly, clasping the maiden’s hands. ‘But Monoma,
with her gentle ministrations, was instantly at hand, and,
under her care, Marie soon awoke again to animation. Never-
theless it was apparent that, in her weak condition, all undue
excitement was fraught with danger, and St. Elmo was accord-
ingly banished immediately to the outer lodge which had been
once used by Tisquontem.
reproaches of Robin Ball for his ill-advised conduct in so
rashly approaching the young invalid.

“An’ it were Bob Ball,” cried the blnfl‘ sailor, “no better
sense could be expected. But for you, monsieur, to my mind
it was a shame to frighten the poor young body so wonndily.“

\“I know I am an ass—s brute—and worse than the
heathen savages themsechs," returned St. Elmo, with per-
plexed contrition. “But, Robin Ball, when I looked upon
that sweet maiden slumbering so quietly, I lost all thought
save the, desire to hear her voice in greeting of my, poor
Mme."

"9'3" flyoth Rob Bell. “Beshrew me, but such things have
been where the Christian’s voice has been lost, only by reason
of great dam like that}

\

“And so you would fain frighten her into dumbneae for-i

 

Here he bore patiently the'

 

   

  

 

   

 

  

101

noun 3am. snows 

“Oh that I had heeded the counsel of the Indian girl!”
, cried St. Elmo, bitterly bemoaning his rashness. “She, bade
me take caution when I approached."
“ Ah, indeed! what a princess is that I" exclaimed the Eng-
isl:mau; “a gentle and comely maiden, with a step like a
fawn, and movements as graceful as a dolphin. Oh, that a
heathen and should boast such a miracle of maiden beauty!”
‘ “ Ho!” cried St. Elmo, smiling in spite of his previous ’
alarm, at the sudden enthusiasm manifested by his comrade.
“ By St. Denis, you talk like an enamored swain, instead of
, Robin Ball.”

“And if I be enamored of so dainty a damsel as you red-
,skinned msic ," answered the sailor, nothing daunted, “ 'twould
not be the first of my land who wedded with a dusky princess.
‘By my troth, but this huntress, or witch, or whate’er she be,
is quite as comely as the queen Pocahontas, whom Master
' Rolfe brought to England with him, ere I set sail on my last

. Voyage.”

“She who saved the life of your countryman, Captain
Smith,” remarked St. Elmo.

“The same—a notableprincess anddwghter of a great
king in the Virginia country,” responded Robin‘ Ball. “But,
by my troth, monsieur, this witch 0' th’ woods would shame,

' the Princess Pocahontas herself."

“She hath plainly bewitched thee, poor Robin," cried St.
Elmo, as he rose quickly to greet the Indian girl, who now
stepped lightly from the lodge. The sailor, on his part,

‘ became silent at once, contenting himself with following with

his glances every motion of the graceful maiden.

Monoma soothed her protege to sleep once more, and com-

manded St. Elmo, with a sweet decision, that he shonid
attempt no more rash surprises '
_ “ Let the white braves now sleep 1” said she pointing to a
pile of soft skins which lay in a corner of the outer Wigwam. ,
“ To-morrow the white bird will sing in the ears of her friend."

And then, with a glanceat St. Elmo, which told the youth

 

  

 
  
 

that the shrewd maiden already guessed the secret of his love,

{‘Monoma bade the white man good-night. V But long after 3hr I
> 5 had departed, to watch beside Mary, Robin Ball, who imme-
‘diately regained his w' hility. kept himself and companion.

I

  

   

   
    

\

, m _ , H ’ THE FRENCH CAPTIVEB.

 

r

“rake by converse concerning infidel princesses and Indian
queens won by the valor of British adventurers, and leaving
their heathen homes to dwell in the far—ofi‘ “ merrie England”
of theirbold overs.

On the following day Marie recovered from her agitation,

rejoicedto‘ meet the young companion of her ill-fated voyage,
I conversed long with St. Elmo, and listened with interest to
the quaint sayings of Robin Ball. Very soon the two strana
gets became informed of all the generous treatment‘ which the
French girl had experienced at the hands of Tisquontam and
his noble daughter, and how the Indian chief had disappeared
so suddenly, made prisoner, as was supposed, by white men;
at which last piece of information Rob Ball broke out into a
malediction against Captain Pierre 'Dacot.

“It was that villain who did the deed !" cried the English-
man. “Oh that I had his skull here to crack like a cocoa‘
nut with a_good quarter-staff i Pray heaven we meet some
‘ timel” ’ r
_ Robin Ball knew not that the Creole’s brigantine was, at
this very time, nearing the coasts of America, and that a foe-
man keener for revenge than himself was waiting in prophetic
anticipation of meeting the Creole murderer.

‘Several days passed, and Marie, whose health was nearly
restored, and her spirits manifestly improved by intercourse
with the, admiring St. Elmo, who made no secret of his love
' for her, was able to wander forth, well clad with Monoma’d
~beaver-mantle, for the airvbegan now to grow chilly in the

mornings and evenings, though the midday glowed with all

the intensity of} Indian ,snmmer’s heat. But as the French
girl’s frame regained its buoyancy, her mind dwelt constantly
upon her brother, who, she knew, was but a. half-day‘s
journey from the islet, but whose condition, whether happy
or miserable, in health or sickness, was quite unknown to her.
,,To' behold her beloved Louis and the Abbe once more was
I {now the constant desire of her heart, and Monoma at length
‘ 'proposed to set out for the Narragansett town, and, if possible,
mange a rendezvous where the captive brother might meet
N9 finer, mourned as dead, but in reality so near to him.
 33.“;th clad in skins, and decorated with wampum,
1198‘“ “of Minnie, presented quite an' aboriginal appearance.

 

 

    

mumn.

‘ was to accompany the Indian girl as far as the borders of

Massnsoit’s village, while St. Elmo would remain near the one

to Whom his every prayer was devoted. But scarcely had
this arrangement been made when a new incident changed
the plans of all. \
Monoma had arrayed herself in huntress-garb, and her faith-
l'al squire, Rob Ball, was admirineg regarding her; while
‘ Earle, pale but beautiful. stood near them, leaning against St.
Elmo, whose arm supported her fair head. Without the hut,
a blue haze, the smoky vaii of the Indian summer atmosphere,
was tinted with sunrise huesI and around the little islet had
fallen piles of brown leaves, the first tribute of autumn to the
winds which were soon to strip her garments away, and leave
her naked, waiting for the wintry grave. As yet, however,
the forests were beautiful, and on this particular morning, the

usual chilliness was not noticeable, but, on the contrary, a.

close and sultry atmosphere hung over the land and water,
as if a violent tempest were at hand. On this day Monoms
and Robin were to set forth for the Narragansett hunting:
grounds.

But, as the small group stood in the Wigwam, a step was
suddenly heard without, and a tall figure darkened the
entrance. St. Elmo and the sailor grasped their weapons, but
Monoma uttered a cry of surprise and joy, and the next
moment was clasped to the bosom of her father, Tisquontam.
At the same moment, a tall form, clad in European. garb,
appeared upon the threshold. ’

“ Where is she ‘3' My child i” exclaimed the voice .of the
new-comer, as he gazed wildly around, and then advanced
into the lodge. Tisquontam, supporting the form of hi!

Monoma. pointed silently toward Marie—but already the French

maiden had been caught to the bosom of her sire. ,

“ Marie l my beloved 1 image of my angel-wife i do I again
behold thee? Oh, joy, joy! I thank Thee, Heavenly Father,
for this crowning mercy l” e . ‘ ,

Marie, bewildered and almost fainting, yet still sensible of
the deer kindred of that voice which called her daughter,
clung around the neck of Sieur Luzerne,,while a torrent of
tears blinded her beautiful eyes. St. ~Elmo and Robin Ban.
gazed in wonder at the scene. j ' 5 , ‘

    

1m "

 

  

1M ' ‘ m FRENCH ems.

But all was soon explained—all tears dried, and cur-y
throb, save that of happiness, calmed to rest in the loving
breast, of the reunited ones. There, amid the quiet of the
little islet, and the shadowy forest, while the morning
sun struggled upward through the mists, each thrilling story
of the past was related; glad voices mingled in the utter-
ance of future hopes, till at length, as morn approached,
Monoma suddenly rose, and cried: -

“Let us go to your brother, dear Marie. He must share
our happiness ?”

“The noble boy! to him indeed must we hasten l” cried
the Sieur de, Luzcrne. “ At once let us set out."

Tlsquontem rose and left the Wigwam, but only to repair
to the sea-shore, whence he speedily returned, accompanied
by his British captain, and a well-armed company of mariners
These were soon morshaled, with St. Elmo and Robin Ball at
their head, and then the whole party set forth from the ink
Ind sink their way toward the Namgsnsett villain

 

 

 

 

mmwm ' ’16

CHAPTER xvru.
m BLAZING sun.

Tm mail»; which followed the strange nuptials of Louis
sud Sameedu on the moonlighted sea-shore, the princess -
mingled as usum among the groups of youths and maidens
who joined in splrh‘. and converse before the lodge of Messa-
soit, where gathered tne old 'men and children of the tribe.
But Snmeeda gave little thought to light word or gayety.
Her heart was like a rose dried with rain; and often during
the day tears would fill her eyes, as she murmured, halflw
unconsciously, her lover's name. '

Once a. dark cloud covered her split, for she beheld Sekanto
enter her father’s lodge, and feared l~...t the watchful eye of the
medicine-men should read her secret. But the Indian‘ eyes,
as he passed, were fixed upon the ground, and when he again.
came forth, he greeted the princess smilingly, and spoke s
pleasant word, unusual to his silent mood. So Sameeda grew
cheerful again, and turned away, to thunk of her cherishe.‘
Louis.

A hunt had been appointed for the day, and Messasclt,
Sekanto, and the young white brave, were to follow the sauna
trail. Together they pursued the flying deer, driving their
arrows into his reeking breast—together they chanted the loud
hunting-song that called the squaws of the tribe to beer the
slain quarry to the lodges—and together, when the sports
were over, they returned to the village, and set dqwu to smoke
the evening calumet. ’

But when the general feasting was over, and the light of
burning pine-knots began to gleam from one and another-of
_ the huts, Louis directed his steps to the sea-shore to meet his
beloved Semeeda One day more were'they to terry among ‘
the red-men, and then, through the unknown wilderness. shay .

their course for theJxomes of distant white ,men.‘ poms

/

 

 

 

  

166 m mason cmrvas. -

- I hastened toward the lonely trysting-plaee, but had advanced
' not far ere he met the priest Claude, who grasped his hand.
and whispered hurriedly:

“ Son Louis! I dread there is (H nger abroad.”

“What fear you, Abbe Claude?”

“My son! the crafl. of the savage is beyond our scrutiny
Tell me why you lodge of Massasoit is illuminated, and wh
those grim warriors stand like sentinels around the door ?"

“’Tis but a feast, good Father Claude—a banquet of the
royal chiefs, to which we, as Captives, can not be hidden.
Sakanto spoke this day of it to Massasoit as we followed the

hunting-path together." -

“All! Sakantol I fear that dark savage i" said the old
man. “ He hideth deep cunning in his busy brain. But why,
my son, hath not Sameeda quitted her sire‘s lodge to meet us,
In shepromised, by the seaside?"

‘“ Let us, hasten thither, Abbe Claude! Doubtless Sameeda
there awaits our tardy coming. There together, father, we
will invoke Heaven‘s blessing on our purpose, and take eoun
eel, so that the morrow’s noon shall behold us far on our
muthern way, where the settlements of our race can protect
us against all the power of Sakanto or Massasoit."

“ But, my son, hear me! The princess has not yet left the
king her father’s lodge. I watched it during the twilight, and

1 beheld her figure pass within-and there, also, Louis, was the
dark medicine-man !"

“I will go thither, than," cried the young man. “I will
demand to behold my wife I" But the good Abbe checked
his rash footsteps.

‘ Stay! it were death for either of us to enter the king’s

' lodge unbidden. But look! a warrior leaves the lodge.
’ He comes toward us !"

, As the priest Spoke, a plumed chief emerged from the wig
Mom of Massasoit, and advanced toward the spot where the
N70 pale-faces stood. Passing suddenly before them, he
wives-ed his message in a measured voice:

‘ v “ Wit bids his white brothers to the banquet i”

The“. Wheeling sIOWIy, he walked away in grave silence.

, “We must blIW,”*cried Louie. “It- is but one of then
add festivals»- WA Mva npugltt to fear. and there shall 7
' mm m," .* ' ’

p w.

/

  

 

  

mum 5.5mm < 10;

“Heaven grant that no evil is in store [it us!” answered
the priest, shaking his white locks.

And, treading ‘iu the. footprints of their pl'umed conductor
the tim captives entered the presence of the sachem Massa
Bolt. The lodge was redly illumined by a score of pine
, torches, which flashed their flaring light upon the dusky chiefs
usembied around the seat where sat their savage king at the
head of the lodge, glittering in wampum \and war-paint;
Bakanto stood beside him, and on either side of the Wigwam
a line of Narragansett braves smoked their pipes in solemn
gravity. Near her father stood the Princess Sameeda, holding,
in her hand a rude drinking-vessel. Her eye brightened as it
marked her lover‘s entrance, and the goblet trembled in her.
grasp. Sakanto and Massasoit exchanged looks, and the
Abbe Claude fancied that some hidden meaning lurked in
their regards. , '

“Let the white chiefs sit," said the Indian king, and then
dropped his eyes to the ground. Silence then reigned ‘
throughout the lodge, every warrior fixing his'keen gaze upon
Sakanto. 1

“Let the white father smoke the pipe of peace i” said the
medicine-man, and gave his calurnet into the hands of Abbe
Claude. ' ~ ' -.

The priest trembled, for he noted an expression in the
cunning Indian’s face that boded some hidden design, and he
saw likewise that no pipe was extended to his young country
man. At once the thought smotehis mind that some treachery
was intended toward Louis, and he turned pale, as he placed
to his lips the pipe of Sakauto. But, aware that all eyes
were upon him, he recovered himself, and, breathing ,an
imivard prayer, looked calmly around upon the dusky groups
that lined the Wigwam. '

. Massasoit raised his , head, and beckoned his daughter
toward him. ' t »

“'Let .the heart of Sakanto the wise be made glad I” said
the Sachem. “Let Sakanto drink of the draught which the

i a child of Massasoit has prepared for hersagamore husband l” ' ’

Samceda’s cheek flushed, and Louis, as he looked upon be; r
V kneiod that a tear glittered in the eyes of his beloved; new ,
tireless, the maiden knelt and»presented the capgvvhiehflr ,

l

\

 

 

 

  

108 was when cum

«held to the medicine-man’s lips. Louis clenched his finger!
tightly together, and half muttered an impatient word, as he
beheld this action on the part of his betrothed wife. Sakanto
received'the cup, and swallowed a deep draught of the liquor
which it contained. Then, returning the goblet to Sauteed;
he said, gravely:

“ Let the daughter of Massasoit bear her father’s cup to thl
young white brave. It is Sakanto’s greeting.”

Louis rose to his feet, and Sameedu’s eyes now glistened
with pleasure, for the transfer of drinking-vessels was accounted
I mark of high honor at an Indian feast. She approached
her young husband, and knelt gracefully before him.

“Drink l" she murmured.

' “Hold, my son! drink not i" gasped the old priest, press-
ing the youth’s arm. .

Sakanto scowled. .

“My father; there is naught to fear! He has himself
drank of this cup 1” returned Louis, as he lifted the goblet to
his lips. _

Hut Sameeda’s face suddenly changed its clear expression,
for she had caught a glance at Snkanto’s countenance, and
beheld it lit with a demoniac triumph as he watched his rival.
A sudden inspiration seemed to flash through the brain of the
princess, and ere a drop of the liquor which half filled the
goblet had reached the lips of Louis, her hand was extended,
and plucked away the cup.

Sskanto sprung to his feet, and all the braves arose, while the
white men gazed with appalled looks on the darkening
oountenances around them.

“ Sameedai” cried the sachem Massasoit, in a harsh tone.

The princess made no answer. She half reversed the gob-
let, and permitted its contents to escape slowly. Then, hold
ing it forth in the glare of the torchlight, the brave girl pointed
to its bottom, where glittered a couple of white bones.

._ “Does Sakanto give his brother to drink of the adder’l

poisOn ‘2" she said, calmly. “Has the whl'te'brave a charmed

life, that he shall fear not the sertfint‘s tooth ?" ‘ V

I And, as the light flashed upon the cup, Abbe Claude and
ybonis saw that the white bones at its bottom were tbs

_ summons  of a 'attlcsnaks. ‘ ‘

 

 
 

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

 
  
 
 
  

 
 

 

 

   

  

m roxsom oom'r. m
The dark cheek of Massasoit suddenly paled, and his firm
lip quivered like that of a woman. He , had arisen from his
throne, and now stood beside Snkanto, who, with a fiendish
smile wreathing his lip, and a fierce glare in his eyes, regarded
the young white captives. The medicine-man was furious at
the failure of his attempt to poison his rival; for it was he
who, in the moment of his quafling the first draught from the
goblet. had conveyed into it the serpent’s teeth.

“ Poison i” cried Abbe Claude, and dashed the calnmet
which he held upon the ground.

“ Poison!” murmured Louis, his eyes resting upon the
princess. “ By thee—by thee, Sameedu l”

A terrible pain darted through the youth‘s brain, and his
blood rushed coldly to his heart as be, for an instant, sus-
pected that his wife had been privy to the plot Against his
life. Sameeda divined his thought, and an unutterable woe
sent the blood back to her heart in a chilling, sickening flood.
She tottered forward, and, losing memory of all save, her
husband, cast her arms about his neck. ,

“ Sameeda is innocent!" she cried; “ Sameeda is the wife
of Louis! Sameeda is faithful l” i

“ I believe thee, my sister—my bride l” ’

He clasped her to his heart, forgetful of Sakanto or danger. , ‘
He gazed into her loving eyes, and, pressing his lips to her
brow, drew her closely to him till their two hearts mingled in
quick pulsations.

“ Come with me i Away, my husband 1 Sameedn will 3" ,
to the white man’s lodges. Come l”

Alasl the senses of the princess wandered, and, breathing I‘
long, shivering sigh, she sunk insensible upon her husband‘s

"Jreast. Louis knelt on the ground,supporting the form of

his wife. while Abbe Claude cried out to the braves, who,
with Massnsoit, were now crowding near: '
“Back! ye have murdered her! Back, or Heaven's Yen.

’gennce will assuredly come upon all this tribe l” V

“The warriors paused, for the white sage spoke as if
Inspired. But Sakanto laughed, and advanced to meet his
rivet /Al this moment a great noise, as of bending trees, was
heard without, and a great clap of thunder suddenly rem '
heretodthronghtheheaveu r _ 

V

   
   

 

  

110. ‘ ‘ m ensues cmrvns.

The torches flared brightly upon the suene within the
Wigwam. Massusoit leaned upon his war-club, as if feeble.
' for the sudden fainting of his child smote the suchem‘s heart.
The warriors, grouped around, gazed upon the medicine-man,
who alone seemed unmoved. Abbe Claude kneeled beside
L0uis,'who was supporting his Indian bride, endeavoring to
'ecull her to consciousness. .

Again the terrificlthunder sounded without, accompanied
by quick flashes of lightning, beneuth which the torch-glare
poled. Abbe Claude begun to pray aloud, uplifting his arm!
to, Heaven. ,

The Indians, as‘they listened to the thunder, and beheld the
vivid lightning, and heard the low voice of Abbe Claude

. invoking the Great Spirit's protection, felt a superstitious awe
steal over their minds—till save Snknnto, who threw back his
plumed bend and laughed scornfully.

“ Why does the white sagamore waste his breath? Sakante
will not hurm the old man, but he will have vengeance upon
the young pale-face who would rob him of Smneeda. Is 9
not so, Masusoit ‘3” be asked, appealing to the king.

Massasoit groaued, and bowed his head.

" Thus will Sakanto punish all his enemies i” cried the
medicine-man, emboldened by the king’s assent.

“The Great Spirit will not permit the wicked to triumph !”
answered the Abbe Claude, using the Indian tongue, while he
rose gravely to his feet. Meantime, the lightning continually
flashed into the lodge, gleaming on the red-men's forms, and
lingering like fire on the priest‘s white fm‘ehend. “ The
Great Spirit will avenge the blood shed by his red children
He will . utterly destroy, the tribes, and give their hunting

grounds to those who live not like wild beasts, and betray not
theinnocent." ,

Massasoit shuddered at the white father’s words, but
.Sekanto laughed, brandishing his war-club.

“ The red-men are as the sands of the sea-shore in number 3"
cried the arrogant medicine-man; “the Great Spirit himself
can not destroylusflor we are too many: Let the white
prophet be silent. He speaks lies I”

“ Though ye were countless as the grains of dust upm the \r

mountains, yet bath the Great Spirit ways to destroy ye Ail «
‘vntvs that ya know not of!” r

I .

  

    

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

m mum m. Y 1!:

“The white liar shall die i" cried Sakanto, furious at the
bold words of the priest. A ’ '

A succession of loud whoops were now heard without the
Wigwam. Immediately a warrior rushed into the circle, with
every mark of astonishment and fear upon his countenance“ ’
Behind him followed Tisquontam, attired in the full costume
of a chieftuiu, and leading by the hand his daughter Momma.
At their backs came the Sieur Luzerne, Robin Ball, and the
young merchant-captain, while several stalwart. warriors.
heavily armed, appeared at the lodge-door.

Massasoit, as he beheld the strangers, preceded by too wellg
known Tisquontam, was struck with the fear that the Iroquois
had become a traitor, and was now bringing the pale-faces to
avenge the fate of the emigrants. The sachem, nevertheless,
hesitated not to make a gallant show of resistance, He sprung
to his feet, and, with a single glanca, summoned every red
warrior to his side, and then, fixing his eyes upon Tisquontam,
said calmly:

“ Has the Iroquois taken up the hatchet? Is ‘he now upon
the war-path Y" t -

“ We are friends,” returned Tisquontam quickly. “ The
pale-faced chiefs come to the lodge of Massasoit to smoke the
pipe of peace.”

“ Ugh 1” said the Indian, relieved of his apprehension.

But Sakanto’s ominous voice was now heard:

,“ The pale-faces are liars i" he cried, savagely, and a low
response ran around the groups of savages.

“ They are friends to the Narragansetts I" answered Til- ..
quontam. “ They wish to bury the hatchet. This chief of
many winters has come to the lodge of Massasoit to seek hil
lost son, who is a captive, and who now stands by the

\

' daughter of the red chief"

Saying this, Tisquontmn pointed to" Louis, who, with
Bameeda clinging to his bosom, looked wonderingly around.
The princess had recovered from her swoon, 'and her gaze

' , tomblingly followed that of her lover. At this, momenta ,

now cry was heard at the door, and the" maiden Marie, who
had been left for better security in charge of St. Elmo, with- .
cut the entrance of the Wigwam, darted past the Iroquois, and,
sunk upon the breast oerouis, who ooened his arms to receive ‘
her ‘ , ’ ' ' I '

 

r

m , m macs csmvns.

This'new interruption caused silence for a moment In the
“edge, which was broken by Sakanto.

“ What does the white squaw among warriors?” he cried.
‘Is the Narragansett saclrem a dog, that his lodge should not
be respected it” i '

I “Let Sakanto listen and be wise,” answered the Iroquois.
“The white bird hath found her mate. It is the brother of
her heart, and this is the father of the captives, who seeks his
lost childrenl“ And Tisquontam led the Sieur Luzerne
toward Massasoit, whose noble features expressed a quick
interest in the event.

But Sakanto, divining in a moment that the generous
nature of the lndian king was moved at the Words of Tie
quontam, now trowned upon the Iroquois, and then address
ing the warriors, exclaimed, angrily:

“May the curse of Hobbomocko rest upon the Narragan-
'sett who heeds the words of an Iroquois! May the curse
devour all who listen to the cunning words of a pale-face!
Bakanto will save himself l”

Uttering these words, the medicine-man sprung forward
them the circle of warriors, and grasping suddenly the hair of
Louis, who, folded in his sister‘s embrace, and impeded like
wise by the clinging arms of Sameeda, could offer no resist-
ance, dragged the young man violently to the ground, and
lifted his hatchet for a deadly stroke. All the dcmoniso

spirit of the wicked Indian gleamed in his eyes, and assuredly '

it seemed that at the very moment when sister and father
were at his side, the youth’s hour had come. Massasoit
' grasped his club, and Tisquontam and Sieur Luzorne soughI
to rush forward, but the medicine-mun triumphantly regarded
them, conscious that he could deal his murderous blow ere
~ their feet might advance a step toward him. But a power
mightier than Sakanto was now abroad, whose fearful pres-
ence was suddenly attested. The first sound of the hurricane
was rising on the shore, sweeping the high plain on which the
.Narragansett village was situated; and, even as the medicine-
 po'ued his hatchet for the blow, the appalling roar of the
» storm was heard without. . The light roof of Massasoit’s wig.
 Was uplifted by the blast, and its thatched fragments

swept away like the dry leaves of a tree in the autunma! gale »

l

  

   

 

 

 

rim mom 1-18

Then, as all eyes turned toward the sky, 3. terrific chorus of
wild cries was heard from beyond the l..idge,_mingled with
the bowl of the wind, which had swept onward in its destruc-
tive career.

But it was not the cries of horror and fear from the Narra-
gnnsetts without, nor the fierce sound of the hurricane'e
approach, that caused every red-man’s eye to remain fixed,
and made the bold brow of Sakanto to blanch, while th
tomahawk trembled in his nerveless grasp. It was a spectacle
of ominous character that appalled them.

A glorious yet terrible phenomenon was presented to the
shrinking gaze of the Narragansetts. Across the western
skies, from horizon to zenith, stretched the blazing length of,
a«comet. Its fiery glare streamed down into the roofless ‘
lodge. There it hung, an awful phantom in the lurid heavens,
menacing ruin and death to the world. With one accord
Massasoit and his terrified Indians rushed from the lodge, for-
getful of all save the immediate horror of the sight above.
Snkanto released his hold of Louis and staggered alter the
king. .

All the people of the village had now crowded before the
saohem‘s Wigwam; afl‘righted groups of warriors, women, old
men and children. A dismal wail went up from all, for each
feared an individual fate, presaged by the dread master‘of the
skies. ‘ i ..

Some threw themselves prostrate upon \the earth, hiding
their faces in the grass; some leaped and ran wildly about;
others, with bloodless cheeks and gasping breath, clung to one
we! her, gazing, spell-bound, upon the object of their fear.

“ Save us, oh Sakanto i" cried Mussasoit, as the medicine-
nan followed him to the door. ,“ Let the Great Spirit’s wrath
be averted l" ' ,

And all the Narragansett people echoed the words of (hell
anthem: .

" Save us, oh Sakanto l” ’ \

The medicine-man seized his bow, and fixed an arrow in
its string. Then, winding around the shalt a wampum
amulet, which he took from his breast, and yelling a wild I
incantation, he,shot upward, toward the star of fire. Till
Indians as sited .he result in superstitious ewe, but no M
appeared to follow their sagamore'l action, .' r 5

 

   
 

114 V . m mason CAPTXVKE.

Msssasoit cast himself upon the sward, rolling his eyes
anxiously around upon the faces of his cowering braves. At
this instant Abbe Claude advanced from the lodge, and almost
instinctively the invocations of the multitude addressed him,
"for they knew that the white prophet’s wisdom was great, and
that hediscouzsed of the moon and stars. Sakanto himself
5.3.513 way for the priest, though he ceased not to mutter- his
own pow-wows and mysterious incantations.

But the blazing star did not recede—its light streaming
balefnlly over forest, plain and waters. Abbe Claude paused
to the midst of the red warriors at the spot where. Massasoit
had sunk to the ground, and, standing beside the king, gazed
with reverence upon the awful manifestation of his Maker’s
handiwork in the far‘otl" deeps of space.

But when the good father behold the medicine-man affix
another arrow to his bow, in order to repeat his useless magic,
he could no longer remain silent. ‘

“Forbear. ignorant and presumptuous l” he cried. “ Tempt
not .Him who made yon star, to hurl it upon His rebellious
creatures! Behold in yonder sign the token of Manltou’s
wrath against your blood-guiltlness. Lot the words which I
spoke, so lately are now made sure by the power of the Great
Spirit. Pestilence, and war, and desolation shall come upon
yet Your land shall he possessed by the strangers, and ye
shall be scattered before them as the dry leaves are blown
before the winds. Tremble, and repent I"

With these words, Abbe Claude passed beyond the groups
er shuddering Narragansetts, and joined his young country-

‘rnnn, Louis, who, with Sameeda and Marie still clinging to
him, had left. the Wigwam, and now stood at some distance,
surrounded by Tisquontam and his friends. Then arose from
the tribe a spontaneous cry, which had scarcely subsided ere
Msssasoit'began solemnly to chant the death—song; for the
sachem felt that Manitou had spoken by the White sagamore’l
mouth. ’ '

I And as that monotonous (teeth-chant arose from all the

warriors and old men, Tisqnontam, the Iroquois, led the way
lot his friends, from the Narragansett village, their path

l-mnmined by the blazing star that shone luridly through the‘

-_  Dom flnmeeds looked back, to gaze 1.1.011 he!

 
   

       
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
    

m

I

VOLUNTARY CAPTIVITY.

Mher, but the voice of Louis whispered in her ears, sud m
hurried on at his side.

Well, indeed, was it that the Iroquois hurried away mt
companions, and that, are another night, the reunited friends
and relatives were safely embarked on board the galieon, fat, *
away from land. For the comet had been the forerunner of
the hurricane and earthquake, and the next evening occurred .
:hat fearful convulsion of nature which, as we have related,
hurried the Creole, Captain Pierre, to the doom that he after-
ward met at the hands of Mattakan. And ere many moonl

' passed away, the words of Abbe Claude became yet more fear-
. fully verified. Pestilence came upon the Indian land, and of
the great Narragansett nation the twentieth man alone sur-
vived. Saknnto fell one of the first victims to the terrible
plague, which had doubtless been communicated to the sav-
ages by some of the articles plundered from the emigrant-ship.
Be that as it may, however, it is certain that, afterward,
when the Plymouth settlers were first encountered by Samoset
~ and other savages, they learned how their coming had been
heralded by a blazing star, regarded by the Indians as an
omen of war and pestilence. The pestilence Which smote the
red tribes was the small-pox. ~

 

Maesasoit lived on as saehem among his reduced tribe, til]
,ong after the coming of the Pilgrim Fathers; but his daughter,
.he wild bride of the stranger, dwelt with her. husband in the
fistant French settlements of Canada, and slept at last by hil
‘ ndc near the great waters of Niagara. There, too, tarried St
' Elmo, espoused to Marie, with Monoma, who had learned to
.ove Robin Ball, and under whose sway the rough sailor became
gentle as a lamb. Tisquontam himself chose to remain’ neu
the seaside, though yearly, at the Moon of Falling Leaves, he

visited his child and her pale-faced ‘friends. Aud‘ when,” ‘
tength, the English settlers made their homes on the Nam
mutt shores, no red-mun proved more faithfdi to that!

humans than did the once-kidnapped. Iroquois."

  

Young \F'eople’s H and-Books

,. mum Had-Duh for Young Purple can! I wldo run a of Inb'eetr Mid no a: lull

' “lpud to their cud. They column“ at one. tho nhenpen nn‘d thn min uiulul war-In 1;: [Ii
bu: Ill. minim for ya ulsr slrcululan. Each volume 100 psiqu 15mm, rent- ml lid on recoup.
d" prlu, by tho pl:in i3 BEADLE AND ADAMS, SB Wlliium Street. New era.

No. 1.—DIME GENTS’ LETTER-WRITER, r

Md'l’nctiul Gnid. to Compositions, ombruiuz forms, models, nupgeulom and mlu for m 11‘

.0! all clam, on nil occuionl; also a Ilnrol lmprnperwordl null expru-inm: cozellmr with mu
comet faint; And the 5 cornpr dicfiqmry ol’ mutton, pin-An, idiom, ow. Bil Lou“ Ll
alum, . u

1

' av:
:OMPOSITION.—'nu um: of n good lumr;
ilrccllann w 3 novice; the rule of‘compoul-

etc.
N RAL ADVICE TO LETTER-WRITERS.
I‘}‘ERS OF BUSINESS.

 

"N

n.
I M. silence; communlcnllng dillmning now!
I In pursuit, informing ci' lhm’r Inn Ila.

' LETTERS OF RELA’I‘IONSHII’.-»anily c!
rupondence ; its Mrreu charan In prop)!
ties: exam )iol ni real I: w". are.

LETTERS \ F VARIOUS OCCASIONS.-

i‘ EKS OF PLEASURE-AND FRIEND-
urtiliclle of clilrncler: nnulher, for n mni

H iP. -
JI'TE‘RS OF LOVE—Hint: Ind Inflation; mother, for a clerk ; nppllcnhm for n Iclma
I dodnrnion: nnlvnr; l briefer decl-rmion , Ianciiar‘a place; unlicilmg n vole; declining ,
of nun-Imam; amwor; rul lovrlollam or nomlxmliun; A girl npplyinz for A ply». .
cmlnan: penal: u, etc. ntliur ; nyplimrion for ugnverneu' “Lilli-L”
.ITTERB OF D TY, OI" TRUST, Erin—“$12, WRI'I‘IN «l FOR THE PRESS. ‘
they no and how to write than; lorim, Me. :1 {NIPRUI’IIIETIES 0F EXPRESSION.
um from I lady to bar friend; | cauiplnlnu PIIEASES, MU'I‘TOES, IDIOMS, Err.

No. 2.—DIME BOOK OF ETIP/UETTE.

M Lidia. and Gentlemen; being a guida In true zanlillty and gn d-bnecllng. and n eumpm- GI»
mmry w the un'u Ind obnervnneu o! luciuy. Including aliqueite cf the Iinll-roum, nf lb.
Evmluz Pnrly. thu Dinner Party, tho Curd and Chen ’l‘nhlc, or llnslners. of the Bonn Canln.
no" ole. Prepared oxpnnly for tho “ Dim. Serial," by I Commime of Thru.

cox-runs.

“TRANCE INTO SOCIETY.-—Conllrlence w.I 0N CONVERSATION—It: xuelulneu and [and
bubfulum; kindneu mundane“: rho born rcsulu; liow lo compo". your-elf; dirulluu
‘f wciet , bow to Ir nl. them. far it.

MC DRE. .3‘ AND ORNAXIENTS—Tba vul~ 0N LETTER AND NOTE Vi‘RI’I'ING.-Pro~

-n..!y of“ Mull: " nnin; Iimpliclty in (Inn 1 prieliel and impraprletlu of Ilia mm; (on.
Inarl v! 00:! breeding. rnl rlirecLlonn for u and letter.

0N Vizll 5 INTRODUCTIONS, Era—The HOW TO GIVE A l.) RECEIVE INVITA-
Ilw m polilnnnn I law or klndnus; when Tlf).\'S.—Guurrnl usage in all canes.

' viniu HNFYOPQI'; introduction, pmlcnntiono, 0N EN'I’ERTAINMENTS.——I-Zliqualtn of Ibo
trauma ormn. lublu- how to Ierve 5 guest, and bow to bo

EVENING PARTIES, DANCE-’5, Firm—The at Iowa: I well] direction. .

I not“ of the bull-room; gen-rd direc‘ionl 0N PEI SOUAL CLEANLINESS.—A word ‘0
r the ulna. Illu Inharer: on religion llld rolpecl. fur n.1,

GAMES 0!“ CARDS, CHESS,E‘rc.-thon prov nn Llienleru, promen lien, em: on love, for}
pot Ind haw conducted; [onenl rules of lbei Ihiu nndmnrriaza: llie lawn of homo cliqufl-
«um; the ill-branding o! halting or bug- npuclnl advice :0 l’ldifil; general obum had
(lag. : mid Ci‘lliufl chapter.

V . ' No, 3.-—DIME BOOK OF VERSES.

Col-print; Rh on. Linn and Manon, ior Levon rmrl Friends: Vni -nlin-I. Album Pleeu GI!

Vmoy’vl'l‘mbdly Linn, Ind peony for Brldnln, Blrrlu, Mounting, Eplluplxl, em. ’

. OOHTIN‘N.

"MES FOR hLBUMS. EPITAPHS ANDMOL‘RNING VERSESr Jo
' MOTTOES AND COUPLE-B. nil lzel Mid-Hanan.

fl. VALENTINE VERSES. THE LOVER'S CASKET.

BRIDAL AND MARRIAGE VERSE, [3' This Imia volume In nverihbll elm: can

'IRSES ON BlRTHS AND INFANCY.

 

 

 

panionl Ir. in overybndy'l poet. r In {or J
oecuiona. (or old and young, {at mul- nndl

'BSB! TO SEND WITH FLOWERS. ‘

i828 0F_LOVE AND AFFECTION. lunle. It will be trenlnrud Ilka n bun-II
.IDAY VERSES. bad and like I diction-r}. ‘
[EBAY yERSES.

r r _ No. 4.—.—DIME BOOK OF DREAMS.
bitumen-nan :whh Hull ti D' l' . C uamu. ’
meéa‘fimi. «.2 $371325... $25.13?” "" ‘ "
WHTIN‘I‘I.

 

u'HTEDDU‘ R‘Y. ‘ ' -l"‘arnrln the a porn-rural u’vnofdma
mi: ROMAQ} cl: 0: DREAMS.— Embarking! “ "

r dmmn n!I Ill kind. and clinician. with llw
‘uwnguoi: pluMu 9 them by {nu moat em‘
, hunt nIanril'nw, ‘ narratives of the "in
ordIn-w fulfillment of than.
‘ MB PHRNOMENA 0F DREAMSr—A physl-I
dag’tylewl an um subject, (hill: 1' mslnnxl
which» of it» phwfilmnlrflilh inunnoes'clrv

(I 'W . R
‘C’fimfl- Kl SHOW” TESTIHQ‘H

and a bullet in their nev-elntiufll.

DICTION ARY OI' DREAMS.—Comprim\wm
mun, complain intcrpremzlnn-Dietwmr" we
przpflru‘d, embracing rho whole All-babc'. a.
rub’acls.

{5‘ Lin nvelnmo {n'l o! lnmm mu w I:
gum! rand». being, In that n- . one
thin! llh Mn. Crowo’n “ N l n “It
turn." and Ruben Dul- “Mm w
u.- Enmdm n! AW Wu“.

E
l
L,

Young Peopleu (land-Boon.

No. 5.—DIHE FORTUNE-TELLER.
Gm“ “I AI? 0' POITUXI-TILLING '0' 9“ “AD “Am -
COKTINTI.

“RENE-TELLING BY CARDS.—D¢Allng
““ 0““ bl‘ Thrnea, Dcnllng Ill: Card: by
downs, Donliug IlIo Candi by Fihunl.The
Twunt -unc Cnrdn, Tim IuIllm Methnd, Pre-
uIII, ’Iul. IInd FnIure Anon-m Method uf
Condultlnevtho Cnrdn,+o Kunw if you will
6‘“ your MI, The Engl‘uh Mnhod of Con-
Iul ink ‘ho CIIrdI.

mw TO TELL A PERSON's CHARACTER

No. 6.—DIME LADIES

suing the union {cum of Lens" 01 School

FORTUNE

BEABII‘ESANS OP CABALE'HO Cm“
FALMIS'l‘RY, 0% TELLINGVFORTUNIS B!

THE LIN S O. T E HAN .
ELLING BY THE GROUNDS IN
A TEA OR COFFEE CUP

 

 

HOW TO READ YOUR Eda-mm Lynn

WHITE 91" AN I-‘GG

DREAMS AND 'I‘II'EIP.’ INTEanml

I LEMEEWEITEL I
Dlyl, Lou and Frlendnhip, at Soelgsy, a;

CONTIKTS.‘

now T9 WRITE AND HOW NOT TO

WRITE.
10W Tu PUNCTUATE. CAPH'ALIZE, Em.
LETTERS or CHILDHOOD.

u; 'ERs OF SCHOOL DAYS.

LETTERS 0F FRIENusIIII'.

LETTERS oI‘ coun'rsmp AND LOVE: _

LETTERS or SOClE'l‘Y; INVI’I‘ATIOMJN
monucno. . ETC.

LETTERS ()F SYMPATHY.

LETTERS or BUblN E55.

 

WRITING FOR THE PRESS.
RULES F’)R Sl’ELLlNG.
PROVERUS FROM SHAKSPEARE.
POETIC QUOTATIONS. '
woRDs ALIKE IN SOUND. BUT nmru
KNT IN MEANlNG AN 0 erLLING.
EXPLANATION OF THE MOST common
ABBREVIATIONS OF WORDS. ,
FRENCH QUOTATIONS AND PHRASE!-
SPANISH WORDS AND PHRASES.
ITALIAN WORDS AND ruIIAsEB.

No. 7.-DI]MI: LOVERS’ CASKET.

A 1mm. and Gmdo to Frlmduhlp, L‘w I, Coumhip And Manila. Embmlng do: u my“

I“ oral Din

lonnry, m.

coxum.

[BYEN‘DSHl'R—ltl Parana-Illa, Be' um Man}
Ind “'onIIIII, ClI-Ia Communlm' krnpzr, Lei.-
a”, A Warning, Excollenl Auvica, A PriIne
Polnt, Allnw no lInpraper Inn-Inky. Specml
In Young Men. SumnlIiII: to AVUld, Gnllnn-
trip». Gin-I, lsowu’u of Lon, Corre-pondenu.

wVE.-—Tlm ann of Lme, Lova’I Surefire-
Mn, Cunlldemul. The Fir-I. Come Inlsncll'lll.
Luvs A Mun" “’n '. A \\'oIIIIIII’: \‘l my, L‘n-l
wutin' Ul-erl! of nv. by “um-n, Lnon J
m,- O‘ujucll at Ma’- Luvc, How to Avmd

Mlbulwu. ‘
‘OURTSllll’.—-TlIe Door Ayn, Dllonucod.Eu-
and: at what. age is It player. EnL'IEUIIIOHV.
nut In he prulruml, Th- Waning Tlmc, Tlm
Prnpolnl, Arklng Papn, The Right: of n PA-

rcut, Engaged. Propnul Rejecwd, Braking ofl’j

an Enznunnum.

“RRIAUEr‘ l'ho Propvr Time, \‘moul formal

of Murrhge, The Trququ Pro-«nu,- 30..
Hull. Th. BridunIIldl.Thu firldu‘rbmsmm
‘hu Byldv. The Brldegronm, tho Certificate,
Alter lln Curnnvony The Wedding 3mm“,
“ Card»: " or "Nu C‘nrdn," New Can‘t-hall

Ior '.

AFTER. MARRIAGE—Somothlng to In Rad
Twin Twelve Gulden LiloJIulmyA Talk
with Ill: Unmarried.

MlSCELLANEOUS.—Langnnn III the Hum. ‘

kerclIM, L'uuumgo of the Fan. [III Imp M
“M Cane, Lnngunpe of Flngor Rim“, ndIllng
Auniverurieu. I'lz.: The Pa or “‘eddlng
Woodun “ridding, Tin We ding Cry-
WodIlinr, Hnen eddlng, Silver eddlng,
GnldI-r «waning.

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERSg—How I6
Cu the Vocabulnry. Tho Vocabulary. P
Flowcu. Tho Voubuluy. [Id-numb

' No. s.—-DIME BALL-noon Common:

2. We In Dncirz. Giving Rulu o!
3:31

Etiqume, Hm: on Prlnla Pun-I, l'olk- Io:
-ronm, 0

counts.

mam m.-—Arrangemmh, Private Pnrflu,
The Pnrlnr )l' Duntlng Apamnem. MII-Ic, Re-
I‘rmhmenu, LIIdleu‘ Talk“. Gamlomen'l
Imus. Tl-e Gnu-nu. ,

“ASQUERADES.

PRDMF.NA DE CONCERN

BOCIABLES.

ORDER OF DANCING.

IPECIAL RULES OF 00241300 I.

Thouboonmfor
flaw.mmnmfii

ARE DANCE.-—Pllln QI‘aIlrillu. Doucn
sQQ‘I’IMfiHI' The Nine Pin, Th- Lnnclen, TM
511:. Thu Print: lmporlul, 'llIe Va

"In Ra... Tho Spam-h Dunn, Ln Tampa".
ROUND DANCEu-The Walk II Trnln Tamp-
Wnlu ln Double Tlmc, Upll-riu! or Magnum:
“'nlh, The Schnlllulu, The Pnlkn, lhr Gnlvg‘
Rwlo n. Polka Eula-l, Emerald-h Duns!
Polh. The Vm‘umn.

amen: As» Axum. 15mm ‘

M van.- was HUI Tun

 

Isle h I all “who: «will bu um, pmtpml, .. “y m...“ o. I

 

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
  
    
  
   
    
  
    
  
    
   
    
   
    
    
     

' I companioan the Dime Cook Bonk. A Dirnciory (n! she Plump,”

I  HAND-BOOKS.

The Dime anlly 5.1190101. i to 5 lnclmive) aim tn supply a class of text-books and manual-

mum LV ovary penon’u Ina—the old and the young, we learned nml hm unloumed. They ure 0!

\ ’muneded vulue.1 Each volume 100 p to, 19mm, gem paupnid on ramipt of prico by the publish-
on, BE’IILE AND ADAMS, 98 \\ il ium Smack. New York.

No. ,1.——DIME 000K BOOK; \

Or, she Hocxsewire’a Packet Companion. Emhmlyiug whnt is must Emnumlc,moatPrnctlcaln-non

Exodlenl. Ravi-ad and anlurgad edition. 100 pp. Wino. By Mn. Vrc’rox.

‘ ' uxTuAm-s [mom cow-runs.

BREAD.—Pmm, Brown, Brnn, Water, Rye 5nd ludiuu, Wiicut and En, Milk, Riling, Butler-
nllk Bread, Breud Bincuir. ur Rolls, French Reliefdudu lilu-uiu, elm. etc.

HOT BREAD ANI) CAKES.—5hnrt, Curl], Johnny, Apple Johnny, Griddle, Rich Griddle. ,
luckwhent, Rice Griddle, Corn Griddle, uud Tumutu Griddle Clken, hemlock, Wnfllee, Mnfliun, 1

$1M Frlmn, Rye Fritlen, elm, etc.
“HER BREAKFAST DISHES.-—Toult, . Tonic, Buttered Toast, Milk Tonlt, Fried Ricr’
melez, Scrmnbled Poached uud Bull-n! Eggs, healen Grim, Hominy, Sump, Hneiy Pudding.
MEATS—Routing, Bailing, Fryinlv bixteeu vuriom muthudi l'orprepurinz aume.
. VEAL.—Boiled Veal F'rlod Chopl, eulk’ia, Leg oi Vuul,Loin uf \ ell,b‘houlderol‘ Venl, Culvel'
Int CAN". Held and Livll’. ,

Mi} l‘TON.-—Mutmn Chopl, Chap. :5 Beefueain, Neck of Mutton, Shoulder of Mutton, Log a!
Human. Huunch ofhluttou, Suddle oi l/Iunnlx, Multan Until-ks. lnsh Stew, Leg of Luinh, ele.

PORK—Pork Steaks, Ta Fry Perk‘ To Ron-I Pork. Spurs Rim of Purl: To Boil 3 Hum, Pig’l
Feet, Sousa, Head Cir-ere, Fina Snusuges Pickle I‘m llumu, Sulling Pork, ' 0 Melt. Lurd.

P UL Y AND GAME—Roam. unJ Boiled Turkey, Rnus‘. and linked Goon, Ducks, Ron-l ,
WWII. Chickenl Boiled Fowl Broiled,’l"n Frirussw u Fowl, Chicken Pie, To Cook Pigeons, etc.

‘h'H.—To Fry Fruh Finh or Eelsz Bnhd Shul, To Broil Frth Firxh, Freeh Codlilh, Salt God i
.lh Codlhh Bull! Stewed 0 Item, l-rled Oynwn, Piuklcd O 'Hers, Chnwder.
B‘IfilCE BREAKE‘AST DlS Efi—Fruh Meut, Qriddlcr, 0 :un Griddlus, (Iv-tar Pnncnku, Fl.

8

Cudfinh Tun-s, Rica Bulls. Huh. 5
PS. «Be-21', Vurmlcelli. Pen, Been. Split Peru and Barley, Vugeiuble and Rice, Tomato. I

YEGETABLES.—Tw0nty nifl‘erom vurleliu.

SAUCES.—Whi£e. Cu or for Fieh, Egg, Plniu 3mm, Cruuberry, Apply, Swat. }

SALADS.—Radilhea, 5M" . i

PIES.—'l‘wonty-fln dlflennt Varmin- 3

FUDDINGS.—-Chmzuiu Plum Pudding, md cighuen oily r recipal. .r

CAK ~Thiny-four "ripen.

TEA corms, CHOCOLATE—Eight recipu. j

JELICI n3. PRESERV‘ES, liter Flirty-one wipes. ’ ;
PlCl(Lll‘S.~—'l‘o Pickle vurloun kind: of Vegutublu and Fab. ' 1
ICE CREAl .——How in mail: it. i ‘
ovmus AND 0er SHELL-FISH. ' ‘
THE CARVER‘S MAN UM..—I.'enum1 dlrectinnl {hr Carving. _ 2

‘ MISCELLANEOUS.—-Chickcn And Plum Pudding; l‘otum Mullins. Dre-r Pluuil, om. our.

No. 2.—DIME RECIPE Boqxgg '-
G‘ k Room, Tollfi

 

d Mumn Hand Cheuse, A New lllrakfnst Dieh.

  

ichr A, Lurdur, etc. Revised and enlarged edition
ernAc-vn [mum crvNTuN‘r...

THE PARLLmv—To choose Cnrpmu, Dlmtimu l'or (Lumen. To rleun Turkey Curpru, Moll ll

Clrpau.'To .xlract Oil or Spermucoli (tom Curpets, «Len, Tn make Hulr Cnrpvla lull, k'hunp Carr
K; To Iva-h Cnrpeu, tonweep Curpeu, Hume Cleuulng, to (1mm lmnliiu: ‘lnswu, Uil l \inxlua, -
n oguny, etc. o )ruaervu Gliding und cleuue‘t, '1‘» Luke 8 11 (. rd. or Mnhnuuny, ze clcun mun ’

Drnluneuu, Murb e, ulup, Print, 'l‘o . club Muhoznny. 1'» re ave Ureue ll’olu Hunks. '1‘" prevan

Mold in Banks. Plum, Ink, and Lenthnr. To cleun silv ‘~[viulwl Gun Megan-ks. Tn renmvu Rust, etc.

THE NURSERY AND SICK ROOM.—Cluthing oflnrnnu, \Vulvlng buddcnly, hemlcmleee my

Night. Ointment for Scur! in the lluudl of lnfums. Teething, \ lwclnflliun, Wurm- in Children,
About Childreny Hair quhil-lren, HoaplugCuugh, 1)_\‘Iu|lie|)’, Scarlet Fever, Pulrid Sore Thrall. .
0111., A Cum {or Bun“. Scalar, Body in Flfllllei,1l:dltvmhiy inure l‘fK'iI-ei. f
{POD FOR THE SICK—A Strengthening Jelly fur lm-uiills, Mum.” Curtain! {or Bowel Com
nu or Comumptlve Cruel, Chicken Beef, em. Tuzui \Vuter. Rica .lrlly, Brand Jelly. Chives“
not Broth, Pun-uh, Beef ‘03:: Wine

"mu.
pin-IE TOILET; THE HA [IL—To remove Dandruff, A Cupiml Pumud-q,'l‘wiggn’ Enaipl {0'
Hair linndnllne for the Hair, Hair-curling Lh‘illll‘ Oil nl‘ Rum.
THE +EETH.—Tn clam the Teeth and Gums, Quillilw Tnetu Powder, l‘repurad Churcoll.P¢m~
rhn Bark Powder, Hamcopnthic Chalk, Cuqu Fill: Powder, Lip Salve. ,
THE HANDS.—To remova Shin: from m Handn, To impreve the Hands and Arum, Oimmom
hr the Hundu, Chn ed Hundn. «
THE COMPLEX N.—-’I§o prewrve It, W'uh {or n Blutched Fuce,’l‘o remove Sunburn, Blutcnao,
' (menu. le la: Kulydnr fnr Complexinu. I
COSMETI S, bERl UMES, Era—Face. Powder, Peurl Powder, Rowluud’u Murat-lupin, And
‘ hen} umra mipeuu ’ -’
,CA E OF CLIH‘HING.—an, Woolen. Silk,GloreI, Riblmnn. have, Bonnets, air.
THE KITCHEN ~To um Fruit, Pam“, Quinces. Berries, l'c-w, Baum. Tollmluesl ‘i ‘eo‘ Corry?!

    

.iuy, Wm. Gm], Milk Porridge, Rice Gruel, maimed

     

 

servo Fruit Jul In: from Mala, To prava “ Gaining," mud seventy-live mun; “any... ~-

MELANGEL ‘ i , v ‘ g
1 HOW 1‘0 M AKl-I BUTTER. AND CHEESE. . ‘ ‘

PROCESS Oly' WIN E~MAKIXG

MlSCLLLANEOUS.—Jre mend éhina,T' get rid of Beam»:- and Cockrouwhel. \0 W lab
Elam. Cull-'3“ uuir Brth 614:5. u l a mmdud ofihu min! W , ‘
, a f ' ‘

    

 

 

 

  

mine Family Hand-quks.

 

No. 3.—DIME FAMILY PHYSICIAN, \

And Manninl for‘tha hick Runui. WiLh Funnl, Dinah!“ uu: tlmir Treatment. Hint. on Nnning
Ind Rearing, ‘Llnh‘lrun’a ClllltplllllI-S, Pliytiulopirul Earls, Rule! of Helllll,1{ut¢i 'u {ur Preparing
wall-known ( liratn‘u, em, nun, based upon the unthunty ul Dre. Wilma on“ PAMKIIL.
ind utliuri. hxpruuly prepared (or the Imm- series. ’ '

Thin mluurnbluuvprl. is peruliurly tilled lu: Hucncu. use in ordinary Fuel. To mother: and
nuruu-tu tho-c livun; on l‘urml or in Vlllflt‘ul where a pliyuiclnn is run alwu 'I nuilnbie-to than
who wlnli to save exruuu in those CML‘B wlluru lllu [Inn-u in not or a complicated or urioul Clint-
utzrr-t'hm nouk ll llrui’a a (,‘uurnwu flllll UI’IDI. It: contqu are in (ullowl:

ski! Dial; Barb-«5 Jun, Dim-ulurud skin, Dinar-den u! tins Huir,Diwrdon of Oil And
Swell L-Iunda. I) I, Eryaipeinfi. Inrlnunnutnrg lsluili. Itch. Music-,Netllc 5nd Ron Rub.
Cupulmhx ball], 5: var. 'I‘etwr. Wan. unu Corns.

III-i IS A.\l) {Hail ' In, DISHASES.—Apnnluy mid Pnlsy, Crmnp, C-tnlnpsy, Dro ny of tho
Brmn, Diulnen 31nd hum-Inn. l'lnlargunirm n! the limin, Epilepsy, Ilictnugll, liydrophogla, Han}
“he, lnlImumutmn of tin, Bruin. [mthth’ilw’ Ncurligln. highlmure, Sunuroh, alc- .

DIS Hm "—Iufinehzu, Mum‘m.

 

    
  
  
  

 

    

A 'FIS I)? r
infirm  Uli’ V ‘ ‘ Bromhim, Lung Fever, Pleurily.

D1:I£ASL3 uh 'Illlu ABDOMINAL L'A\’I’I‘\‘.-—Cnunp in the Stomach CuliC. Conliren ‘
Dyapepniu, vaul. Ilunrtliurn. Inllunuuatim at the Liver, Kidneys, Spleen, stomach and Bows...
Milk hicliue‘sz‘t, i’l‘lrn. H‘IlllrroH-‘llvll nl' Urinc. Vulniling. ‘

DISEAs'Lb 01‘ I‘HIu bIINI‘IIIAL SYSTEM.— iliuuar Remitlent Fever, Bella, Dunn and Smith,
him a} \rnuumun lag-nukes, Bum of lnrecln llllhlfllhl, Canter, Commuting Faver, Curbunclu,
Din-mung, Baruch, I-i-vur uml Auuo, Fglnu, Fro-t Bil", Malignant PofilllleykNOW‘blECdil p R“?
turn. Rueumnugxn. $4 uny, Surofuln Siruim, Twain-ache, Trphoid Fever, aw.

ACCIDEATS—main-:0!us.»—Ap,mmu Dcnlll Iron. Nam..- upon Appmnt bath from
CI-nrcoul, Ap arent Dumh from Lightning, App-aunt Dull: In Hanging, iluding Irom n Wound.
Bellmlmmu, )onm-mnus, Slrmnnninm nnd Cunium, Clutlilng'on Fire, Upnttingnf: Bout.

ANTIDOTES TO POISON «Ammonia: nr lIurtlhorn, Antimnninl Winn, Tartar qutie, Ana-
l:,Corrosive Sublilnutn, Dog «uni. Ivy, elm, Nilrit, Sull lIIII‘lC. or Mini-tic Arid, Nltor W Sdt

.wr, Oxnhc Acid, Opium. Luunlnuuxn, Morphlua, Pruuic Acid, Spmiuh Find. Strung Lit.

If)‘[‘ll ine, Sugar nl' Inml, uni IVlilL‘YS.

DISEASES 0F CHII-l)lt'r_'.\'.~(.‘roup, Colic, Diarrhea, Fuver, Flu, Spa-tn. flowing-cough.
Nurnlng Sick Chilnlrun, itluimtl, Snrululn,’ Sign: of Disease.

RULES OF HEALTH.

No. 4.—DIME HOUSEWIVES’ MANUAL;

01-,"an to Keep Home and Order a Ilunm; How [0 Dyv, (lawn, and Renown"; How to Cu
Fit, and Mukv Gunnunu; iluw‘ to (I‘ \In I’lnull mnl Fluwel‘l, Ilow to Cm In! Birdn III
Hauwlmld I’nu, Hm. ctr. A (,‘umpnniun tn the Dime “ Cook " um! “ Ricipe " Bookl. By Mn.
M. V. VILfrnu. ’I‘lm Ctrlllullls Are in l'ollnwn: v
How To KI-thl’ IIUL‘S “mm, Hutiuhnld Arllciu, Co yer Vanilla, Binnhtl, Hem
leaning", Toinulm a Cheap, I and Ilmulsmn: Chair, A Tullttg nble, A Loungo, a Pair a! 0n—
cum-1m. \"lnnow Slum", :\ \\'xmL-uind, n “'nnlruhe, An Ilmlr L‘vluu, I “'mk-Tnlh, Flnoolvd OI
[‘npmr Flowers. To “mile a Rug, Common Man and Ru I, Tim Cflru 0! Ball, Funhen. Futliu
BM“, A Few Hinn, Srloltllun ul‘ puper-Iilingingt, The urury, helping lrom Fin. Acddunto

frnln Burninz, How to Surv. Dinner.

IOW 'I‘U DYE ANI) CLEAx General Directlonl. Scnrlet, Crlmmn, Plnlr, Mndder lied.
I‘urplnI Ililue, Purple shite, Cull!" n Slnlu, Ilium, Shawna, Yellow, Orangu, Nmkarn. duo",
Brown, Cinnamon Color, Illark, To 1) 'e strnw llunnu- Iilurk.’S|mw-Color tor Silk», Omnxo for
Silk, To Dye Fenlhurl, w Clem) Furl, Tn (‘lonn u Cont, (Ir-pr Sit-win. Scull, om. Carpet», Wth
Luca Vaila, Kid Gloves, Panther: for Boris, How to Vi uli and Iron, Stnrclulng. Folding, Ironing,
ea” To pupa” Stnrcli Flour Mural», Glue blnrch, Stunning Clothel, Sprinkllng Cluthel, Foldln
Clothes, imnlng, sunning. Tu Clur-Stnrrh Ivan, otc , Ironing Lam, Cnlicm, Flanneln, Bl
Lace,To Wunli Whit. Counterp-ne: mnl Calico Quilll, To Restore Luster to Blank Silk, Bind
Ravivnr for Failed Mourning Drown, Black (7mm, am, To Rentle Dark Bin: (or any othar 06h
cred) Silk of Ribbon, Tn Blew-l “'onl, Silk and glmw,

HO“v TO CUT A N D M A K Ii GARM EN Ti— A Drink. Summer Jackcll, Winter Jflkfll, Liam.
C: n, Shirts, Children's Clothing, Inl‘nnu‘ Clothing, Choice of £050" .

{iow TO TAKE CARE OF I‘l,A.\'T>, FLOW I-JRS, E1v.~-Hnu:e Plants, Plum Duly-ad to
Stand Over, Pillnla Deslgnmi fur Fluweiing, Potting Plant. {or Winter Uu, Bulbnul Floworl I‘
the Ilnuse. Cmnelin, Jupunicun, Gum-lion” Plums, .\Ii n’unette Flower- lhrou hout thc Your ’3-
Pruurve Dnhliu Rm“, To Prulert Tender I’Iunn Ldllt Out. Compost {ur otllng Pl‘nuvh -
Flawngmep, Rmel. Mnnuny Rom, (v‘ernlliuml, cum". for w-lh. The PllvionAFinw
Call” or Ethiopian Lily, Dulxlius, Llluu, NMLurtiou, Gombarryfitnwb'eny. Caler Aspangm
Quince. Tu Olituiu Dlfl‘emnt Flowers Rom [In Snlnu St I To Rem-'1 Mlldew and iglu.

HOW TO I) H0US§XI

'l

   
 

 

 

 

  

 
    

 

 

 

  

I
D
TAKE CARE OF BIRDS IOLD PET *wllfin‘wl‘ How to PI. .
Cnnnriu, Situatimi of the Cu v1, Fond whi Pairing, Neau and Nutrfioxu, I‘ovd whlla Bearing
- enuir Young, Time 0! Hatrliiug, How to_ Feed Them, To Run: the Young Ongyp by HInd,Put.
for Yaun Bird-,Gnrm-n Push for Cnge Bndu,’l'o kup tangy Imch,To ntmzulsh the fix,
Mocki lrd, Amerivmn Yalluw Bird. Bnllfinrnu. A _ ~ -
DIS A335 01“ BIRDS AND THEIR TREATMENT.—Moltlng,Swallll'lg or Ilflllnmtlan.
The Surfait, Thu Pill, tbu Husk, Egg-bound. ,

No. 5.4mm: nmssmmn. i . _

Inlrorlnctlun, The Comge. \‘ans! o: B(nI_v_The Slur-anxhlunrning, Negllm Toilet, Rlb
Trawling Toiltt, Clank-milking. Bennett, Panems {or Cutting Ont‘Dre-us, Work Mulcrinln
\mplomanu,Pnrchnu of Mntzriala, Dictionary of Millinery  Drmmlkinl, Tuiluicnl Tom- I"

[Abel and Embrold-riu, Colon, [- lmhn, om, Corbeiilo in 11min”.

 

Dru-making and Millinery, l l u I I M *m H “m ‘- hi
1 e .y n nu": n nu: » .‘m [In to in ~ “MI.
E LELNDAmthI-nnflwn 

Ike“ book- .re lur I
“9‘9:qu cu m:- ncl, by BEAD

 

  

 
 

 

  

‘S‘TANDARD .

IME. DIALOGUE,

I'or SQhool Exhibitions and Home Entertainments.

N00; 1 to '.’l lneluiro.
' 4 12m pagan, soul. panquul,

)5 this Popular Dlnlozuss and Drum-m ln each bank, Euclz valumo m

an l’uyclph ur lu'icu, lun coma.

Beadle & Adams, Publishers, 98 William Stu N. Y.

“That volume: have bean prepnrml wile upctl.
In

A]: AN YOUNG PEOP E of ovarylueflm

‘olhnr bnolu in the market, m. x\n\' price, coumlu Ia many umiu nud Ivnllu'b a

of w“, path“, humur Ind umlmeut.

DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 1.

Meeting of tho Muses. For nine ynum: lnxliua.
delng n lee Englimmnn. For tum bn} 5.
Tuna" Coronatinn. For male and tunnlu.
I'Mhlon. For Wm lndim.

'l'hu Ruheflrml. For M bnvl.

'Whlch will ynu Choan Fx-l’ twnhnys.

Thu sue-9n of Mny. FM two little gxrls.

The un-Pmly. Far lum- lmliel- '
Three Seaman ln “'ellnled Lit-e. Mnlonnd female.
Mn. Snlfilcl’ Cnnlealinn. Fur nmlunml rulndlu-
Tl." Mlulon or thu Splrlu. Fix-u yonuglmlles.

'Il mien-um (o thrlr nvnllnbilitv fur Exhlbltlnm,

min had In Irhnol» mu! mrlora wuh or wizlmuuhu lux-nimrvu I n n-m- nluinuned w SCHOL-

  

   

7

(ll undo «ml .

 

. r to nssumn llmnlo‘
dlnloguon and drum:

Illobnnbhlng. I-‘orllvoa “km.

The S.- rut ..( Success. ‘ur uneo upenlrcu.

Young I n-rlm. 'l’hrer male: and hvn famnlll.

Josh .lum a Destiny. Four Jen-lulu, I‘m-mule.

Tha ‘olly al‘llm Duel. For thrvo mnleapcnliefl-

Dngmulism. Fur 7.1:er mnln apnnkv'rl.

The lunnr v: (‘unlnuuderh Fur mo lmyI.

The Fad h r M n. Fur twn malt-b.

Tho Ynur'ra R. :mxinz. 1? female: «ml 1 malty.

Thu Villnge \Vllll () Gaullumun. For eight {9-
malcs r.;ul mu: l: c. '

 

 

 

     

 

 

 

  

DIME DIALOGUES NO. 2.

The Gmhll hleMrh'. 9 male: nnrl l lamnlc.

Clndorelln or, Tho Hula Glusl Sllpper.

I'olng Goo nn-l Suing Bad. Sewn-n] (-hnrnrlnrn.

Tho Golda“ Rule. Two male: and two lemnlun.

Tho Glfl 0! {ha l-‘lery Quoon. Sour-ll femnlon.
lk-JI h and D nu Fur. Fnr two hlmrtura.

Th- Combry Anm‘: VII No the Cl y. For lov-
cnl chnmclerl.

Thu Two Romans. For two malel.

'l'rylrllg the ChnrMbers. Fu' rhn-u mules.

Th. n [by Family. For mvovul ‘ Imi -nll.’

Tlu Enllflww. l-‘v- IOVNTI chnmchn's.

'l'ha May Qnun. Tar nn antln ulmol.

Ref‘mn k'onvuniiun. Fur ten h-mnlcn.

. “Bud Cmnpvmr. A Furrw. l-‘nrflvu mules.
Jonrtlng lTndIr Dlfilculllas. 2 malna, 1 funnlu.
.Nntlonnl Raprnuuulives. A Burlesqun. 4 mulu
.baplng thu Duh. For hum-mm; mnlcl.

‘ . DIME DIALO

“I. “Mt Kine. Tn! ten nr mnro renown.
Shrlln in Life. 'I lire: uqu nnd :wn formula.
l'sltlr, in a and Clmrlky. Fur three 1min ulna.
Duh In Jam. For hm mules nn-l o'lufenmlc
The ny. A Flnml Fancy. For :lx lllx, I: girl.
Tho Enchmud Prince-I. ‘2 Innlnsmavarul {numb
"norm Wham “on r in Duo. 7 mules. l {mu-Ila
- Th. aml. Client. FLII’MVBlfll mnlumnaf ml.-
Phonology. A Dincuulon. For twanly hm

 

 

   

 

   

 

    

 

How to hike ‘ P'Tnlnr’ Storm. Tm! mllu.
The Nuw nml tlm UM. Fur Vmo mnlel. '
A Smmlinn M Lust. Fm- twn mulu.

'l‘lzu (v’rvcnhnrn. Fur (W0 mnlct.

Thu Three Men of Srlunrh. For {our mnln.
The 0M l.. ‘1; Will. For {our umlrn.

The Mule l’h‘l suphuru. For hvn lmlo g‘rln.
"wiMl"lllnlmlll1‘ll‘. For fivn n nlu.

The le‘luaa. Il'lrr six young lull-rs.

A (‘n-muhlnl Ftln .o.
The l'uhlll: unrullug. Fivemale- and nnafemllm
The English Trawler. For we mulal.

   
  

 

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 3.

Thu (‘u-nleel Cor-k. For two mnlu.
)lmh-rpium. l'ur nvo mnlul nnd lwo farmlth
The Two lloumm. For two lllflll'l.

The Sum». Svruml scene. For two male-I.

‘ \ i - le \‘(hiw Feather.

 

41ml». l frmnlg.

hlm \' -
[Tha llhula Call. A Racllnlivo. Fur one mulb-

GUES, NO. 4.

Thu Shalnh'rtnwn \'nluner.
\Sr m 1mm “ l'uul Pry." For Iour mule».
.u C an . I’ur Illl've rnnlcn nnd mm luxnnll.
um, ( d hm...“ For nu. c linle girls.
In 1 ,. . AChllnquy. For two boys.
\\'hn.L Ihc I. in”. Fur two nmlu.
'l'ho Primes ml .Iw . A Culloquy. For lwnheyl.
‘ -\ ml .~r lh-nuolmre. for {our Mat. \
Fur two umlu.

 

 

   
   

 

 

 
 

DIME DIAZOC-UES, NO. 5.

“a ’l'hm Guam. For nchnol m- Farlor,
Sandman!» A " Thm l'ursml .’ ” A re.
Bchlrd (ha Curtain. For mle and femnlu.
Tho Eta Pl Socluy. Fire boys and n (9 when
lumlnnuon Day. F'ormvcml {mule characurt
. 1mm in “Tr-y- "

ThoSchoc-l Buy» Tribunal. Far (an boys. 1
A hm" Tongue Srwml malrw and feltmlfih 
Haw Not to Get. An Answer. For two femnlcl.

. \ , DIME mam
TheWuThry Key! A Brad. Mal-1 and females.
Th- Pudl undar Difliculucu. - Far fl" mule!-
William Toll. For a halt uhml.

Wmm’u Right: a lamb: and tan mnlu.
All is not 901mm cm: Mn. and 1mm...

Fur mural mnlm. 11‘

Putting on All". A Cnllnan. F‘r two tabla.
The Sir-lg;le M rk. Fnr s.-\-«ml la )1.

Two hch 0! Lila. A Collnqny. For ton ‘lrln.
Exlrml from Mman l-‘ulirI-n.
Mn-terlllmey. An AC'lIlII C‘hzrnrln.
he 5' \‘irtuus. For Al: x mm; lmliol
l”! Inlhmnn In, Home. Fur two nmlnl.
Mhlmmhla annlrmmnlu._ er tllrvn‘plvli.

A Bevy of 1‘: (Eyes). For eight- or ken lmlo gm.

GUT S, N0. 6.

Tim Two Pountrlnn. FM thug "ml". '
The Vomrlpl of Fully FM A number oHemu‘lfi
\unt Betsy’s Reaur. Enur female: MM («0 1!)an
The Llhel Snlt. For two (annals: and MN mil.
Santa Clun For .‘ humhrr of bpo- ‘

 

 

J . n .
' 3 ' 't'fiutgamdzuam

Chrlnmu nlrlu. Fur several link club.
'1')... Three map. For two lulu. ‘

I

 

‘2 mnlu, l fem-la.

 

 

  

 

 

  

  

 

.K-fi

 

 

,i
i'l‘he {Airy School. For n nmnlmi- hi “a”,

' The dunlflu cure. Twu males and four funmleo.

‘ flat .0 but u it hum. 'Fnr maul chineun.

Dime School Semen—Dialogues, .
DIME DZ UOGUEs No. 7.

..'lu two Magma. For fourtuen l‘mmllvl. Two vievn mm. Culloqny. For two hm“
‘hm inrfl‘cluld m fairy-in id. Fur girls _ The right: ohmnlc. For two inmnlu.
Twenty years henr: ’l'wo fuumlen, nu: ma) .  A llopeleu cm. A query in vane. Twoxlrli.
'l‘hu way in Wmdhmu. For twu “mum, I Tho would-bu uchuul-tuncnor. For two full“.
\Vom‘m. A pawl: puznza .1: wonia. Two ho i.
Thu ’Oluxlra. A Gulluquy. Fur two nmlem Eighl o'cluck. For two littlv girls.
flaw in m ri-l of u hum. li'nr surcml h Iyu. 'l‘nm dignity. A calla uy. For two bop.
‘ nu ' . and two I'umula' [ Griuf two uxpemiw. 'ur twain-1“.
m E

l

l

l

 

\Ih-MV

 

C one to life tbo anon. For three main.

         

u

  

I‘lu-i for n 1.1mm... twa umlu. ihunlut and the ghost. For two per-our.
The “Li nl drum-drinking. l-‘m- lllrov: lmyu. Little red Hing hand. For two xamnlu.
True lu'hld. A culioquy. For l\\n funnies. New nypimzitinu «I’m: old ml}. Boys xmil [Ir];
PM No lacturcn. b‘ur uumul'ulu null». Colorud comim. A culluquy. For two lull...

DIME DIAL'lGUES No. 8. .

Getting it phutogmph. Mules ma taunting. I
I'm loclvty for annual improvement. lmr girl!-
\>. A uobluixrull in dis- ice. Three girll, le buyl.
6. mt (:xpechlt'ml Fur twn lJlH’l.

I'ln ‘. (schuol. Five {amulet and four main.
Clnl‘.'\ fur the healhrn. One main, on. fund.-
A lm\ use. For thrcu burs.

Ghoul". For ten {om-12: and an. mslc.

 

Thu enrolling officer hm: girls
l‘ln ham biillmithus at. Mr Lhr
This girl at the pari‘ul. Fur thrm- ,_
Tim fowl rubuliinu. ‘i'wu ‘xmlvq an we felnnla.
S] nv hm Aura. Sv-verul m sh» nn.l Iwu i‘umulns.
(‘uudlc‘n Vlfii ‘. U 1" “Mia mill mm hexualo.
Tixufi-gurm. Fun \Pl‘l _ H mil rm

Thu Uni of Polar timer. or aux-en boyl.

DIME DIALOGUZS 310. 9. i \ I
Adurtislng 'Mlml . For n numlh-r or fe'uulen. The In v nl'humim klndneu. For two (m
Aumriun u. ‘fil‘qunlll. greeting. l" ‘r L bpuilml children, For a mind uhool. -
'l‘hv ulil mm the .mw. l-‘uur foumlnl “I mm; null Canal.
Cholcnul truths. Fort Hula buys. (‘nrlnlflnlll Ind Aufidlum
' u

nil hm hays.

 
 
 
 

 

  

   

 

     

 

 

1.

 

 

 

  

  

   

   
  

1 lm lu lug. For Mn 0 . Thu um n-lmlxw. For n. number of zlrll.
h» ' | For ruur lv 4 nudona im‘a. Thy: half-mch mm. . Fur threu males.
This dun-list. F r tw - h Thu .\ uuun (Nn 2.) FM n uhnal.
’l‘uu true ll!!llm4u|:ll_\'~ Fur I‘wn'ilua and males. Mm. \ Anul‘s ucnlmny. 4 boy: Add 3 Kirll.

 

A pal uduwliuu. Fur two {vault-a. :Shugll wmuun bu gi'le'\ thc ballot! For boy»

DIM 3 DIALOGUES No. 10.

MN. Mark Twain'a Allfi". 0M Ill \Iu, mmfwznnlc. The rnhursnl. Fnr n Icth

Thu ohl mu. N'huul l‘uuiml. Fur “lrdd hays. The trus \" '. For thrw boy! and 0:. fit].
The mmrt of fully. F rr nmny ~ , A practicll ifu loll-m. Fnr the. girll. -
Grrut liven. ' nix hays an. ‘ . ’l‘hu monk null this noldior. Far two to
chunlnl l-‘nr numerous minim-s nul l'iqulM. “764375. S‘fll'ml {til-W51- FD? “'0 [Mb
The light of low. l‘nr twl: barn. Lnr-i Dumlrezu‘y’l Villl. 9 mull“ and I It'le
The 11 Mr? child - Fur lwnlvu ginll. \Vitclm in the cream. For 3 gh‘u and 3 boyn.
The dual uncle. or Hun: hoyli. Frenchman. Chanda. Nunrol'b char-cull.

A diwusflun. For two buyl.
DIME DIALOGUES No. 11.

Appesrnnru are very dtceltfnl. Fur nix hurl. Eullinnnbla diulpatlon. For two llltla glrll. .
The cuuuudrum fnm 1y. For muln and Whale. A school altar-um. For two boyl and him“
Cnrnu “my. Three lnflll‘l null four females. Jenn lhzolow'I-“Sonxl of Sofia.” Salk.
hell umi Hm lummtnlk. Far iivu ch‘ . A debllle. For {Mr bayn.
The wgy Lu do it mul not to d0 It. u 1‘: rlll Rugged Dick’l lawn. For “In. boyl. ~
Haw ta bum-mo healthy. uic. Malena l'eumlu. Sch ml chnmds, with “Mun.
The only true lil'a. Fur two uirll. A vary questinunble nary. For two My,“
Clnslln colloquin-n. li‘nr two hays. A sell. Fm- lbr o mules. ‘

l. Glistnrus Vusn and ('rlqtlurn. The nnl gentlunuu. For two hoyt. '

II. ’l'umcrlwo and Unjust. .

DIME DIALOGUES N0. 12. . V _
Yankee nnurnnu. For anvem cllzu‘nrtnn. A ,‘muilynot to pilan 3M. 1‘.- chm
Burden waumd. For new-ml chunutcn. Haw to man-age. An acting than“. ‘
WW“ I W'“ young. For two girls. ’l'ha vmtllm map-d3. Four My: and hub“.
The most llminus herlhge. Fur two bars. That nullth bog. Thy-Io fungi-Inna - mug.
' Mad-cup. n acting churn-i0. \
All in not (aid that imam. Actlnl prov-r5.
Si: transit zlorin mun-1L Mil-i; elm-Ida. ‘

  

a

 

 

 

   

         

The :flnwer-anwlou t'nirlul. 1" r fins little girls.
humnu’npuwl. 'l‘hreu mules :znl two fem-lei.
Beware at Ilia wlduim k‘o Hirer girl:

1mm muomms‘xo. :3. !

Two o’clock In the momin . For thm males. Worthnot weu'ch. Far four bays and I hum

An indignaliun lneflillz. i‘or “max {amulet N x ml- word at N1- For ave-qu aw...

hem and b -hiud thumu. Seven] chamt’s. TBo sleeping WU.‘ For n Ichno‘.

The noblut Dov. A nnmburafbtyn 1nd Merv M Imam infill“- Two lulu math-ml.

Blnn Baird. A are“ plots For girls tad bn‘fi. Old Nnbly, tin Mum-kiln. at than an.
hiya-XL For mud W)- M

 

A curb-tom mwnL FM two inland {gm-la.
in» u. ' Put ya:- ‘

 

 

 

Dime School Series—’mnlogn‘el

 
 

 

.’
ll”. Jonas Jnnol. Three gout- and two ladiel.
l'l'he born genial... For luur Kenn. ‘

'Mure thuu one littnner. For luur gents undlmdy.
I Who on mum in hvl Fer thruu girls.

Tho right nut tn be u lawyer. Fur twa boys.
‘Wonmn nuture will out. For n Kl, 15' school.
Bane-lid. ..u-l b:.:helor. For twu huyn.

The um: All ,1 «lieu. ‘ 'v.- persoun.

'l‘hu Hurlvl‘lhe puny. F nix lit le girls.

A nun:ou demonstration. Per (lime bug's.

 

    

The ' 'ivs’cacupmle.

. pa. A perylcxnties. in» “Willi-men.

A name "lllfll Fur w 0 Lian uml mm gent.
7'1..- v-oml mere 1: in Clttill. A unmbvr ul hoyn.
Gulrfielueu «IT in “key. For tu‘n bu} s.

The little pinluabpner. For two little girls.
Aunt l'oliy‘n luason. for {our indium

A “'lflll—lll”. Acting chm-rule. Earn number.
Will it yuyl For two boys.

  

; rl. Ii.

 

DIME DEALO

1’ My Ann. For fmlrludiea undone gentleinun.
’l“ - meeting of the winds. tor u wuw .

The good “my did. Fur'slx hull“.

Them-y wno win». 1‘1 r nix gentlemen.
Gnud-hy duy. A rollnqny. For three girla.
The sick \rell mun. For three buys.

The investl’mtiux cmnmilnm. Fur nine ludiu.
A “ comer ’ in tnguaa. For {our Nun.

   

‘ DIME DIALO

‘ Lint-t HuLKs’ srusc

To be happy you must be good. For two little
‘lrllund one boy.

Evnnmcent glury. For a bevy 0f Iboys.

The little peucuumker. For two lime glrln.

What DIV"! friends. For two little girls. _

Mnrthu Wmlnlngton ten party. For five hills
girl: in old-llnm coathmo _

The evil there In in it. For two young bovl.

Wile uml I'ovlish Illtle girl. For two Kirll.

A chllul'l lIIquien. Ir'orvtnmllchlld nnd teacher.

The vwoliiup.r club. ["01‘ two girl: and othan

Haw tn dry it. For two hoyr.

A hundred yuan tn come. -For My mid girl.

Don’t trust‘l’wu. For several small bo_\ I.

Above the ride; bur two Imull girll.

Th: truu herollnn Fur tliree‘litt'lu hoys.

Elva Ill little boys 3 chuucu: The wary of the
plum pudlllng; I’ll In A mun; A little girl’-
l‘lzlfllr sprnch; Jnlmny’l opinlm: ol' gmn-l-
umlilen; The boasting her He knuwa der
lost; Aluull huy’u vlow of' coma; Bobby’s

Fniry winhu. For uvarul churncterl.

Nu run without 1 thorn. ‘2 main mul 1 famulq.
Tau greedy by hall'. 'For three males. .
One good turn deserve: mother. For 6 Indie].
Cunning Mliindn. For 3 bayl and l Indy.

Tho naw scholar. For nvvrnl boys.
.Tha link intercessor. For {nur ludlu.
Autumlenb For 3 gentlemen and 3 India.

DIME DIALO
An awful myskrv. Two female.~ flllll two Ilmlel.
Contaminant. For five little born.
Who are the l'llnlll For three yunng g-rlfi-
Cdlfmll uncle. Three unlel and 'thrge famlel.

I. kind to the poor. A little Inlkslnlny.

How an insured. A “ duet." '
my“; Acting churmk. For fun: thancun.
Th. II c. Ind. Fur (out bvyl.

O kl nan \llulomn. For I Chrimnu Fu-

tl nun char-amt.

DIME DIALO

DIME DIALOGUES No. 14.

Refinmuenl. Actingchrtrudt. Severnlchnm

Cuntu’once, the arbiter. Fur lady undgunt.

How to nnthe muthera hugpy. For two boyI.

A nunLlusive argument. 'ur twu girl).

A \VDllllln’h blilnlnesn. For three girl].

Rum’u worli (Temperance) For fuur gunk

"he lnlnl mistake. For two young ladle!»
For rue gem mm mm i343.

E) ul :nnl nuie.
Retribution. Fur u number a! boys.

1

DIME DIALOGUES No. 15.

 

T-n linir nHu ‘. Furnumeron! mules. r
ll..n’l heliexe trlmt you hrur. For three lldi‘
A nltch. rulu. Fur Lhn-ulmlivn.

‘ Hells resulvu. Extrurt. Fur two main.
inu her ll’leluli. For ureml charm-turn.
The lurelullwr'fl l nuhles. Fur two luliea.

'l llr. mt wirhout nu uu‘ner. Sevrrnl churnuterl.
Annual wleclluu. Fur three gentlemen.

GUES N o. 16.

imps ul’ the trunk room. For five glrln.

l. rulh:r:. A Cnlluqur. Fur Inn lillli: glrl;
‘u fnneml. Fur wverul liulu ulna.

. g. m. Clmrude. For teveml ilmrncten.
Testing llvl’ nvhulurs. For human-u: nebular-t
'1‘ it: vwrld is wlmt \vu mum) in, Twn girls.
The chi mm the new. For gentlennm And lady.

GUES No. 17.
has mu nunurwlrs.

Bchnun; Nubmly’n child; Nuttingatgnndpt
Gray]; Little llny'l \‘low of how Columhun
«liscm'erml America; lime ulrl‘n \iew: Lit-
tle Inn’s speech on mm; A hula lmy’l pock-
at; The xnidnluht murder; Ronny Knh’l sac-
oml Avrmnn; How the buby cums; A boy’-
(-baerrutlons; The new blllle: A mnther’l
love; The creuwniu’ glory ; Baby Lulu; JoIh
Billing: on the llllllllllu-hrc, Wren, hlligutur;
Died yetlcriluy; The chicken'l mintute' Thu
heir uppurunt; Deliver us from evil; lion’t
wnnt tn he gu-ul; Onlv n (lnmktfll lellow;
The inn lime ruhins; lo nlow ti. condemn;
A nnntenle tale; Little ll(l.\vl(lflcll|lllflllo ; A .
chihl'n desire; Bogus; 'l'hu; gulllin cat: Rub-
R-ilull; Cnlnnmy ; Linlo «lmtterhox; When
are the_\'; A huy'u view; The twent' frag.
Gun.“ n. “mm; A nwrnln' hull); ‘ha ml
at Dundee; A nun-r; in In: unnlixht; Th.
new iuhl egg; The llltln- llluslclun; Idli Eon:
Pottery-Hum; Then und now.

GU'ES No. 18.

Gin- u ill-x A bull nan-o. Fnr lnur gentleman.

Sprilzrtime u'illrer. For xix little girll.

Lott Charlie; M, the gills)": revenge. For n:
meronl tllm‘uclefl.

A lltlln irnmp. li'ur three litlln boyl.

llnnl tirnu. For ‘J gentlemen and 4 Indies.

The lusun well worth learning. For twn uni.
und twn fun-lulu.

GUES, N0. 19.

The rnllnrd nimplemnu. Fnrfanr India.
lt-memhur Benson. For three males.

Mmlcl'u wlnuntiou. Thwe mulra and one facade.
Mud with um much lure. For three mules.

'l'he fairy’l warning. Dre-a plan. For two girh.
Aunt Eunice’r experiment. For uverol.

The In 'Iwriau- G G. Twofunulu Indouanuk
We’ll Me to mortgngu the min. For an. uh

/

l

   

 

   

l

 

and iwn (annular.
An old funhirned duet.

 

annual
‘ “Hallway. Forth": gull. '

'l'ho Ouvliflfl- For unmarouu mm /,

     

(3

 

 

I
I

l

 

. I'ho Moths of 1‘.

name School Ccrien—Dial‘ognel.
D1213 DIALOGUEB, Ho. 2?.

Th- wmnz man. Tim'e mnien null tlim Munda- Andr mile. er five main and than I'm-la
Amruwn (Lilli. Fur ma hum pm. City minim" IN Will": Mu. For mm M
ch’l pres-m. For fuur bd ‘n. and one lyoy- '
Judge nnl. For teacher “Hi my m-nl ulmlu'l. The lilly Ilium“. Flt (wn girl: sud hum.
Telling: drumnn. For {our little lulu. Not onq than} For fuur mule chunk-WI:
Sued by love. For lwu born. Foot-print- l'or numerou. chm-cur .

Mistaken idamizy. Two mules run! three femnl -s. Keeping Warden. Two tannins and than Indus
Couldn’t read English. Fur 3 males mu! 1 inninlu. A cure ’0! good. One lady and two undoing».

 

\

A little Vesuviiu. For six little glrin. The: ureduloun win-acre. Ear two Ind».
“ Sold." Fur three buil-

DIME DIALOGUES. Ho. 21. .
A sunceasful .inmuion party. Fur !\V\'El’:ll. Mark iueinl'l'l‘rlum. PM '0“! ml“-

a mule! Ilhl Cindmalll. Fur nvrrni children.
For “I” Too much for Aunt. qulldn. For three formula.
Wil against wi'e. Three irmnlu and an. mule.
A sudden harm-cry. For three main.
Thenlrmhlu Ilmlngem. Furlour fclnillel.
Counllxu: chickens befuu they VI“. hatch“
For {our main.

0.x! ofdab: on
three femn '

Lillie Red Ri ng "nod. For twn children.

H vw Illa! ane him frupuav. A (Llul.

Tho home on fin.- hl. . Far (our {muuldln

EVlllIflCS enmix'x. Fur him mule».

‘Vurzlulud wealth. For four fermion.

Wnurfall. Foruvernl. ‘
DIME DIALOGUES, No. 22.

The mm: Cupid: or, the mimukea ri‘ :- morning. Timnin's lmnquel. For n numbu alrlrll.
For three minimum nml iwu huh-n. Boys will’be boys. For two bu ‘I mud om girl.

Tim Ne’nr-dn-wull: nr, n bruthur'a lesson. Fur A rainy day; outlie li-lmol-glr philosophers.
two males and two fcmnlns. For three young lndiel.

High m: or the new nmnin. Fur two girls. God is low. For n muqu uflclmlnrl.

Sirnngn mlveulnrns. Fur two lmys. The way ho mnnnzed. For ') Inulu. ‘2 lemlel.

le king’s nupper. For rnur girl :. Fumlnngo. Variuuu clmrncwn, white And “liar

A pmvucal exmiplificulinn. Furtwn hwy. wise.

Nonliuur ‘l‘hie : in Amerir: or, Yankee Va. The liqu dortor. Fortwn ilny zirll.
l-‘renclmun. For iunr l. ws. A awn-i. revenge. Fl-r fuur Imi's.

Duxy'n diplomacy. 3 females nnvl‘ lucidmula.’ ,\ :iy iluy. Fur three liule air a.

A Frvncliman; nrY thhl nuiuilted aunt. hm hm ("ram lliewblliii: mle rirliculoul. Forum!“
inju- nnd one gnnzlomnn. liaan not lace. For five boys.

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 23. ‘
thdz Hunt‘n remedy. For (if- man mule. A bunr mule". For three mnlel. two tonal“.
Haul Schmidt's recnmzn -ml. Fur two mn' v.1 The bury been. For Your lMlegirln.
Cheer Ind Grumbla. For two Mil-i hnr Chmkmnte. For numemuschlmclon.
The Rmnwm dgnulinuin. 'ur six iemglol. iSclmol tin". Fur twn mm xii-ll.
Don it pay! 1‘ or M: malel. pent): new. 9 printlpll character: and ndjurh.
Cmupnny mnnnnn nml Imma linpnlih'non. For Dmunud gold. Ssvurll chuck“, malqund 1"

two mnlu, two funnln and two children. male. '
The zlnddnyl. Fur Lwn hula buys. Cantu-rid Millet For chm malts, nwo tam-ho

I. of danger.
I.

 
 

  

 

 

 

 

Unforinnne .\ir.‘lirnwn. la 1 mull, 6 fumllunlznornnca vulnnllca. For shun no.
Tin real can. hr in girls. (Pedant. all. ‘or four I. \
DIME DIALOGUES,' No. 24."
'l'h. podrlcu o! libertv. Fornliln yum“: lmlion. The ll: hrnvo mm. 3hr “than.
The three xrnrts. For three llHln L'Hll. lhlvo you ham! 1 -- new-l .
Thu mulic diracnr. Fur uvon nlnlu. 'l‘hn true queen. it}! you phh. \
‘ “flux, “cm, For ihmu L'll‘ll. A slight nil-take. I malt-,5 inn-1., ml .—

‘uml nnxllllrlu.
Lazy nnd inn-y. Ten um. Inflows.
Th.- old and young. 1 null-mun. I mm KM.
U... Jud“... ha! postal rnrd. 3 lmliu and I Human;
mu}... l-oll'l nun, Mulln-r Guam, and liar lunuvlmlll‘.n A may
i - , ,

For I'nur m-ilea.
1 mile. 3 fcmninl.
‘2 unwilla‘ncn, ‘2 lndwl.
I.

All unjuu man.
The Ihnp girl’s v‘czury.
Thu psycliummisgr. '

Menu in no word cur it.
Whimsical. A n Hulk-I"

Ila-nod are the imfi;um.m.

  

g.
Eu,» an \‘uuius ILlluOl fancy (Tron dlnluhui and film”.

DIME DIALOGUE}. NJ. 95.

. l in miaBr- The true use 0! wealth. For n whnln «book
1. d‘laCtnlllihofighi-llumn. (:flilther. For ninnuhm chum-tern. V
[g imva & mnvlier. Put yawn” in My place. Fur bro boys.
Fnr‘fonr ludiua. Lima win hunlll. For (our little glrla.

 

.1.

thin. Fur lwn laiiu mull
Whit «uh would have. 6 lm

 

- . ' . L. d3.
Elli: i223;liioliii‘dimfiw'iuur mum. The rowvnernlurn. Fgr 'flve Ibo“.

'rn. hnnn For mm. mm, mrll- (‘mhlm I woo-nu. - um ehmem.

1n door: sin! out Fur the llule lmys. lnlmlk‘ydthe human! ullnngcmbTwo mfln
Dingbnh. Fur uno mule nud fuur fulnnlal. \Agtglon; Elam: numb 1. no “mm »

Tho unrl of flesh. For Llirue lmyn.
Bang“. 0! lb. prddlern. 7 mind characters.
Good words. For nnumbnr pf boy's.
A {dand- For I numlnr of hills gull.

[3‘ The xbova Mnka urn told by Newnd nlerl evnywhnro,

' f , 10 u Mh. r , .
.“""'~°“ "’"'",§£2§',E°£ finAns.‘Plhuuhcu-n, as wann- pg, 3.x. _ a,

How to “ broan- ln " you: hum. Two Ml.
Marque ‘cnunmnn. I . ‘ ‘

 

i):  h «M. may -7"
. 4 ,‘

 

\\

    

Dime School Sauce—Dialog nee.

 

' ' r ‘ mm: DIALOGUES No. 26.

PM non-ins. Throe indie: and two gentlemen.

Mountain- nnd mole-him. Six lmiien and several
Ipectntore. ‘ r’

A tent that didnot full. Six born.

Two wuye of Ieaing thing; Two little lril.

Don’t count your chicken: hol'oro
hatched. Four ladies and a boy.

with eovornl tmmi‘ormlt'wut-

my are

All in {nirin love and war. 3 ladies, 2 gentlemen.
How uncle Joli) got rid o! the legacy. Two mniel,

Tim lawn of mercy. Two very Imnll Kirk.
Prantiea wimt you preach. Four indieI.

Pniitlcinn. Numerous churnctera.

The cunvasainl; agent. Two mules Ind til
females.

Gruh. ’i'womnloe.

A slight emre. Thwo female: and one mnio
Emhoniiui sunshine. Three young hull».
How Jim Peturi died. 'l‘wa amiab-

DIME DIALOGUES No. 27.

Put-v, O’Dowd’l umpnlgn.
and one tumult).

For three mule: The street girl’s good nngei. For two indie: Ind

two um.- gills.

Hasty inforencel not nlwnyl iuet. Numeroul "'i‘lmt ungrateful little nigger.” For two main.

in: 1.
Disczntented Annie. For eovernl Girls.
A double surprise. Four male» nnd on. femnlo
What mm M For flvo indiel.
What will cur: them! For a lady And two boys
independent. For numoroue chnmcterl.
Each Manon tho best. For four boye.
Fried nnd found wanting. For eevernl mnlol.
A boy’- piot. For uvarul chumctara.

i‘i hurl the money. Fur three little girls.
Appcnrunces uru dvceili‘nl. For harem) India
. nml one uentlunnn.

.ovn'n protest. For two little girll.

. An enlvn'wtl cure. For several climacteri-
Thom who )n‘cnch nnd than who perform. Fol
thrre inulul.

A goutiu couquout. For two young girls.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 28.

A hit that told. For ,Iix young indie. nnd two No room for the drone. For three little boyn:

gentlumen.
Orznnlzing n debating Iocioty. , For {our boyl.
Tho awakening. For (our little girie.
~ The ruimko proper. For 3 entienien, 9 ladiu.
Ixorclling nu evil epirit. ‘or at: luriiol.
Both ride! of the fen . For {our Inuiae.
I'hn eylrite of the wood. For two troupe] ol' glrie.

 

Arrnvrhnir. ll'ui' numerous characters.

Mousure l'or int-name. For four girls.

Saved by u tin-Am. For two mniee nntl two
{mini-m.

An ini':tlli‘>ie Iign. For four buy-I.

A gond use for monev. Fur th littlc plril.

An ngrevublc profusion. For uvernl charum

 

 

DIME DIALOGUES No. 29.

Who shall in" the dictionary! For elx typical
mele chnrnetorl and two femnlee.

I'll. mt of bravery. For four boys and touch".

Fort: n e whul. For four male charactore.

Thu it wethetee. Fur nix little xirle.

The yet (i no ol'Irnoln. For three little bnye.

No refere col. SI: gentleman um! threo indies.

An nut-mug good bov. One mnie, nno female.

What A vhltntlon dia- For uveru iodine.

 

Simpia Simon. For four little born.

Thu red light. For {our males, two remain.

The awn-test thought. For four little girls.

The inhumnn monuter. Gintliu i gentleman.

Three little fools. For four emuli hove.

Bewan u! the dog! For thru ladle! and 9.7.
“ dmlgere.”

Joe Hunt‘s hunt. For two boyn And two girl.

Rflflh For Iix milieu.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 30.

.‘n.-ielble hora... For flu young- indies.

A " colored ” lecture. For four mule--

‘i‘iehel. For flvolittla in) 'I.

hook nt home. For three ittie giril.
Fighcrmnn’e luck. For two male. Ind thm

leninlon.
Why he didn‘t hire him. For eevemi "char-
Mtorl." ‘.
A (artun’nte mistake. For elx young ladiee, one
. 'litm Km and a boy. '
An Liplm timl menagarie. For it whole uhuni.
_ The higher education. For eight b0

Cut nml ting. For two little ones.

The mutilate ennui. For ‘2 inriiu and 3 gallon
Jim Brmimivlr‘a lussun. Fui‘ two boys.

The other side at the stnrv. For five funth
The lest timt told. For firo mill-2|.

\Vnoinz hy proxy. For three Kantian-inn no.

two indieei

Lcnrning from evil. Fur five how.

The; ltenchnr’e rune. For ten boy! and “If.
g r s

Culinguy of nations. For eleven personntnn.

 

1.
I‘m vicinltudoe of n laminar. For elx (mules.

ddltnnnni penonntione for ‘ Goddeu of Lib-rt}!
A mic piano in Dialogues No. it

[3? Th noon booke on sold by Nemdonian every-wince, or will in Int, poet-pad, to In

tar-I. “mint oiprioo, M can ouch.

\

Munro gnu. roam", 9e Imm- a. 1:. 1r;

 

 
   

_.. mm mm mmu-aocoMHuuk-mm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 

 

 

 

   

     

 

     

 

 

 

DIME AMERICAN SPEAKER, No. 1. > ,
I Andes, Eva-1v wiring and rh’ 'J. Jaboam’l oration Gunnin- n .51. ‘ ‘
. mm. L, a: WuMngton A. Wnrd'mmnen, " A Dunn cure, ' The prophuzy oil-hi. ,1, ’
Plan to! tho Mame hm, 'l'rne nnlionnlfly, ’l‘hu wumor, Unfluilhul problema,
f 14.); on the billiaflem, 0m- mm a", v 1'1” In,qu arm. Honor to thy dad
"I , mm 1|...“an ulruggle, Son‘ariuo, , H’uihmp 1y npphcd, Ixumorul‘ny of pn’lrlnfl.
Indepamluucc, lzncllizcuu um ham or=An on 1; mild, Wnbsm’n palm syn.“
U-u- cuuuh'y. l'ho war, Uibcrty, Po my wins, pound fod- Aviulun in ulna (exam,
5 'l‘bu equaliLy of man, ‘Unnrgu or light bugude A rur cinuhxm, [i-h, flu pr“; ’
‘ n m u: the Ravo’u ‘ .mur xhu lmulu, ’ Sul'd'y night‘- Olfioy’u,n\meul’l’rifihil
Tu. _ “a . ut‘we war, ‘l‘ha gins rmzmud, “ In “Jun: emu-1." Right. or m. quM
'1'!“ sawing-Manna, Una-o oI'Mr. Mucbnlh, No. panel wiw Oppflv— \ly mud“,
Tma mnnnoud, lt’rol‘. on phrcuoloflh Man, Woman,
q The mystery of “It, Annabel Lee, A £310 of II menu, Amna,
IV an“, up! nud dawn, Innumngm's mm. 3 mummy : sermon, X'hc rebellion of 1861.
i 1“.“ Luiy gram, l‘ha mm buy': spun. u» and m mm, damn-An.
'“‘ 7 mm NATION svmnn, no. 2.
I“ 5 Uninn nnrl m "sum, Tecutnsch's - h, Ohio, , Murder wm out,
U ,r O ‘r cummy‘n [.ALur-e, ‘m 'Inrml my “on, ()lwur Ilngnrd Perry, Strivu for lb. but.
‘ .. '1‘ m smesman's lubon, \Lu’lha II Tim”. Uur domnm, Eur} riuinzy
I Truu nummnm 'l'nu bashfu m-m'l mry Hymn-Hm ol' buiief, Dov Iof Mlldnafl' :
1 1.3: me chilvl less weep, 'l‘ha muun—ur-n‘uct luau, The InIL-m chm, Game of deep,
V 04rconuuy’: gl n-y, Rich nml lvm‘r, Thu in lepundenl Inmor The bugle,
n" ! Union 11 hmhshvld, Seeing the vclip‘c, Mrs. (immuth ball, A llaudinh gem,
i In lepdudunc-s bell, Bu: Hus of. Ilm law. [but the money tqmca, Purity of tho finish,
3:“. “hung; Jimmy, (Fu- ngl pininp, futui: of WT! alnuuu, 01.] ago, A
‘H “1. .Iuvfu ’iler 30 LA" m'fll’lv i ‘1' I}: '
A  c mnt,‘ ’ cramming glury ONT. S. U“)? clalmry Ignaz; 1cm, 'l'muxgt:nlfirftfiu:{1fl
Smbilny ofUhriIlhmlly, '1‘!“ 9 mg, a n Man and Hm Infinite '
Th. ml- higher lnw, “’nshi nglon, Law-nun of tho 
The one gran: need, Our gr“; inhefiumfle. Wufhinkmn .’
‘A‘Lu Ahlp and the hlrd, Eulogy ou Henry Clay, - Tm Ddu‘m' \
DIME mmmm SPEAKER, No 3 ' '
I O
, flamers to 1119 3mm, The-film clwnent, “Funny of our flag, Freedom fluwmehmm!
R313”: fowl-tit) , " LVL A-Iexrflmr': EJtlrQII, Crisis of our lmlinn,
“film?” an Tuna-“3:1 30‘an m'tlm bunnn. [Duty of Chi-Linn PI-
A Kmuugiinn’l I» All Brim “A "wen or suph“ mam ' "no!
' Kanmeky summit?“ , 'l‘hgd n: Ilncloll)“film'sa a Turk“; Dori“, ’ A
P ‘ y l ' , . u nun : . . 'Il’ :u n
'llmlduy u Iruuon, Unmn Munro spuuhu, Grunt. Bull Rolmul, Th;on\u a? :I-‘m ‘
'l'm‘a‘dnrnm. 'l'hc Uniun, The New Yam— mnl the A forelznar’l min“... |
A r 1.5911, 1861, Our cuunzry'l can. King comm, LUnlon, The link 7.0""
5;}. want of '61.. The .mry M an on cm, mun» nnzlmzu, Catholh: cathodrtl‘l
0 pr all hum-31, 1130-; on my leg, Thu endwf peace, Thu “ Splculnlan!‘ I
IME COMIC SPEA KER No ’
 avg. E ‘ ' A mm: of no.9. '. 4. Politlcd Ihlmplpl'oell
Early mlng, ’ “"3111”; gfu‘v‘m-n  trip to m: ,n’d. 44:0:an Gmmnnr. No.
Th- wup and the bu. The United sum-a ' 1"] I h ‘ “nun” "o ‘1" mm"
Calnic (mm .m, No. . Pm!"- and ormm'mxr c m mmm’mk' Tl“ ”°'“'f'
I'm not n Ilngla nmn, Frau-urn! phronolo v ' {Impound |”“"“’ TI" mm“ 1 "mm"
A. WARP: "rhino, Beautiful, 'y' allermon 0" u" {"5 I 5”“ " d‘m'mm'“ 'm
anzfuz on Pickwick, Cribbage, Thd (E‘fil'lofl‘) PM" 0' * h“- - ‘
R unto and Juli“, Disagreenhle pan 1.. I a ' .e' "u", Tl" d'hunu fl“! ’
nmpium, W1: .1 in 4. hack 1” lb: W" o“‘"" A pm" """q?"
Du 3 Fun-u , 1w; 9 0? 0' («geckou‘toolflm-uohn‘ Leann on locomot
g , ) n , ho II my opponmu mama.“ Umbt’ o

DIME ELOOUTIONIST, No.5. ~

530.1. anmus op Tnun E'UW‘IATION. SEC. II. me my
—F It: In emmcintion; how 1..) Muid mom. Ougrxox.:glfimmnpmfim a. .ppfizd‘;

 
   

 

 

   

d ruch :md obnrvnfluni. “'0”. u . .
EC XI. Tu: A31- 01 0mmuv.-—Sheridnn'n Proclllon.dAP|h
I: n! [In Pannioni. Trauqnlllily.Ctmorful- LanglhofScnuncc.Clenmw,Unlty,Sl;anmi|
JauAfinluRaillery. Bud'ommry. Jnv l dizzht. Figural of Spunk; the Exordlnm the NM’P-I: ‘
Gravity, Inquiry. Ammiun, Moduaty, Pu!" Hon, the Premium: mo Continuum tin
laxity Pity, Grief, Mshncholy, Deser, Rafutnllanfiho Parou'flon. ' '
cur, é lune. Remorse, Cuurn a. Don-ting, SECJV. Itlnxnxnnnvnkxxumnlmt’non '
_ Pridg, Qbmnuy, Auchnrihl, commanding, nu) V1nu.—Tmunitlon: A Plea hr tlmOx-
~ Forblddmg. Afirminu, Dcnymz, Diffennre, I’M-WI Som~ uy MI Hauw' din Burlslof ‘ ‘
V Agroclng,Exhorflng, Judqin 'Approvlnz, Ac- Lfinmln; "In 0| 1 find Roam-g" the B..ng
* fining, Cnmlomnlng, Teaming, Pnrdnuing, Chums; Hillary a! a Lila; yh.’ Bug“. “3.
running,Dhmiuhug.Rotuninz,(}mnting.Da- Balk: B n Macbeth nnd the .Dt’zgur ‘ \ ’
‘ _ pndcuca,Vnnornion,Hn nDosirevao, Ra- Hnmlfi‘n So“: u 3 014131.... [Mk0 "- ,
‘ max ¢.Wnnldcr,A mhdonfinumde, wnni; In” $111!... Rm; 9;. m. 5 .
, gamma, Tnngulng Promising, Manta mu; Distinction“ 9M. I ‘
. nonhuman. ms. MC. V. Maude...

 

Dim. School fine-“ponies.

DIME HUMOROUS SPEAKER, No. 6.

I laid Itory,
Aim-in: oi onions,
2 A Irngic wiry,

_. ,

Cumbhip,
e L.

Davila,
bnw. Jr.'s lat-lures,
Ego and echo,

.l‘asiinnulflo human,
Fern Lliislh a,

. Gumi-uuuire,
Goulch Klrbc ‘
Sthlavkrniich

ross

  

 

/

is smich
Homu Biglow’n «piniunsl duughkur,“

[How the irmuey goes, il’octry run mud,
Hun-v Hi We Fourth 0i Righ: “mums,

July urution, Sch-mim- lecture],
I! you mum no, my no, The tiger,
Jo Buns on lein year, i'l‘he cm'kney,
Lay of ma heuneckud, “The cmlflsh,
Lot Skinner’s Nagy, Fate (ii-Sergeant Thin,
,Mnlrimony, ,The imiuirus' quarrel,
iNuleing to do, illiuner
",Ulnl i‘nudlu’s umbrella, ’l‘lie

 

 

 

  

 

 

    

'(Jhl Griiues’l sun, nlrlnga,
.“ l’midh: your own cu- T

min,” ‘ -: iwirch to Mum-“w,
Pm‘mly on ‘fAi-aby’. ."hn Iliinicriuus git-3!,

 

The pump,

iTim un-mrpont,

I'l‘hi: a rrel,

’l'li - shoumiknr,

Th.- useiul ilucmr,

'l‘hu u‘nwrhill.

Tn lllu birchelun’ uni!-
lruuue.

Uu llcd smiles I'm-idem:

 

nu \mwh‘iiurk, ‘\’u;;ziric.s ul' popping the
up of l\ mmuuuul

qlll‘alinxi,
\l'lmi l \wuldn’t he,

lust ui’ tho sci-pints, Ylllvlwc ilnmllo Aladdin,

Ln Muslim-mic,
1933.

DIME STANDARD SPEAKER, No. 7.

The world we li
Wonuin's claims. ,
Aullu-n u! nur liherly,
The veal cnui uurur,
Thu ritluu’n nritngu,
ta] ‘.

Thu Mechanic,

Nature J: Nulure’l God,

 

in,

The modern good, [sun‘iThc hack,

Quinn’s nddn-ss m iiipir‘uggy Hmnghls,
bell‘lli'lfl'hu lulllua' man,

John Burm, (sellynburg. , Li iu,

No wet in henveu, ‘

 

Indeptnduiuz

‘ Min l‘ruda’l top-puny,

Hon.J.M.Sinth' View:
an the nituntion,
Han- Schwuckhelmcr on
womnn’uufi'rnge,
All fur a nomimui u, 1
Old «cum, sea,
The lrufihe m, the open
Th5 olnrhnngled upnn her
Slay where you belong.
Llfiu whit you make it,
Whnre’l my money?
8 cull from common“,
un’i relation to soaltly
Thu llam- to hoppinul.

    

’l‘hu pongnu an i . .
'l'h», hencficmwu of the
Siifl'rngv,

lllrcmu ni‘the rvvulel

‘hu two “Ver
'l‘nn ll'ikt ACllUlllf'
Juxlgvn lH'l, inlullilili-,
l"unlflll‘l>ln.

 

 

Thu yin-Illa“. hmul, 'Agrirulluie,

i‘urnduxicnl lrvhtml, [qu-r

Liuh- Jurry, the miller, TIM: imuple nlwnyu LOH
‘M of lnhur,

u mm Austria,

 

 

 

 

{Wisln ,
The [Mummy stone.
'l’lm student or Bmm,
l'he hrulieu huu chum,

le idler, \
Thu unbelluver,

‘ Lemme,
ll-anyrua laid ihumblu lnsmhilily vf Buuw-‘sfui \Vluit Li win-l

 

 

The Bible,

The puru- find the "lord
My ruunlry,

'l'rur niurul rouraga,

 

i hitter.

\Iy Dehuruh Lee,
The rm’v.

‘Tllc yin mu! needle,

 

l , .
"l he modern Puritan,

llmlimrhlllly oi‘ this lam,
Orqu will)“,

lleruism and daring,

A nhul m. Ilu decmlcvr.

 

DIME STUMP SPEAKER, N0. 8.

Good-nature a blessing, iAmcrin-n,
Sermon {rum hind-shell
TRll-eutlerl, {l}: lin,ll.iie’s sum-1,

The vnluo of mu llnuian nniurc,
Meuorlcillsquisilhxn, ilmwyx-ra,

Be an.” yuu are right, I\\'rnu;mi’ ihe lmllnnu,

 

 

Ba ul good cheer, Apll i in hex-xiii wt Am.
Unihberl follu, [uhrcthl usul wur. [liburty
'l‘mulng n in u Ac u l i u l' I Sermon,
Farmers, [u--un Eryn! A in,
The true gunmen oi' uurl Astrunmuical,
N.Englaud a. the Uniau,,'l‘hc moon, [xi-nu,
Thoumseen huule—finld, lluiivs hf Amerle cili-
Plea fur the Republic, lTbe hum,

 
  
     

"unitary lTemptntlons ohm »
“ Right of nerussiun" uIlSrnken resolutions,”

There is no death,
Run-n,

A fruitful discoum,

A l-‘vcnchmnnll dluni?
[Unjust nnlmlml nuqui n
'I'lm munieur couchmnn,
lThe cold me: man.
I'i'rmuncnry of Sun",
Lihorxy of ayeech.
yJuhn Thumpwu'n dan’r.
Jlluuuwlenning,

It in nut your bulimia.

DIME JUVENILE SPEAKER, No. 9. ‘

A hy’l philowphy,

. out your row,
Six-ler-uld'l yroteu,
The uuicidnl an, v

‘ A Villedlcllou,
Poppins: corn,
The adiwr,

The name, in rhyme,
The {airy nhoamker,
but was lurnqd,

Press on,

Thelma,

The nuke in tho gnu,
Tale «(Ilia traplu,

 

“I! fidur'l dlild.

Playing lmll,
Ah, why,
Live {or norm-thing,
Lay at the lien-peckrd,
lu ouu-idc dog,
Wolf nun! lninb. A Nlmrp unify,
ion in Inn, A Iiulv i-urrespondent,
Fran making for :klng,,0xiu uuull Luru (Ii-nerves
Sick lion, My nireiun, [anuihrh

How ihu raven becunu

 

: h.

.\ nmthcr's work,
The sums,

Winn rulw.

  

Country mul town mlco, Ruin,
Mini’ and woman, ]l'll nr ' use mbncco,
Home A um. -

.
he ulJ lhiclu-lnr,

Thu Llnuv'plnnicr, 'r
‘ Pram-r in light,

Little nun”,

 

  

 

WWI-r,
A: manhunt!»
rm. ‘ ‘

_ r \

 

A Baby: nuliloqny, Ll: 1: Jun,
Repentance, ’ A l'uu’a lament,

A plea for (Rn, Jo yShriuips an boot:
Humbug pin-influx. Mercy, ‘
Night lflm‘ Chrlstmll, Choice of hourl,

M 1m, \ , For)! Richud’n u ln ,

7 pac- mu Whoka '80:: ,

Nuthing to do,

lluneni)‘ he» policy.
llcuvun‘

Ho fur the fields,
Fashlnn nu iha hrdn.
(m Slinnghuil,

A Enlile,

Cuubhuu-a.
llmnmnpaihic soup,
Nine and uyel, ‘
Mali, [come
A humivad yI-nl’i a
The madman and hfi
Little nurmom, run
Simmer on Hen-tricky,
The two crmlu,

The ocum norm,
Dvdhylmle,doizwall, '
Lin]. pun,

- v M

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 
   

III
ho

 

‘ row“) oru-rnn. Inn kin-ping M ii,

 

Dime School Sargon—Spanner:-

DIME SPREAD-EAGLE SPEAKER, No. 10.

 

      

 

Mn Dana-I’m grnli‘n. iSpeaking for the Ihlrifl, BIND-“"5 "Emma: 11 TNVW‘"

Hm: Von Spiny-d" 4:1..11»:..m.,; n lhwent, Schmuui’l I'mhwrd‘y Kin-ins mil". “'“~
Josh Billingl'p mix in, Then nnd umv, “ \i'amnn'l rightn,’ Sennduinm -
A hm-d-Iheii unnvn, Jvnh H mm! luetllrink, Luk- Lulhm', sum: mi'xed

Thu bmfll, ‘lhwn-r [)uliimur‘n nun’v. The hog, II‘ a n M-fleke'f

T quay, _ \‘niisixmneuu, Jack Sprnii, , 0 ii imchllon '
Noah “A we dull, Huni Inn-s, New Euglmid (windy, Wmmm, '

A 10",,” Inch ‘1)“, Wynn” waegh, The unciani. bachelor. The Man Nin

 

. ,ob Whinie’n speech,
Jerk: prumwuicutei,

A word with Shoo)“,
sun Linengood,

A mull: ride, [21:75,
Juxh Biiiiugn on bur-i

Hii’niulin Adui nhus
Digenion Ami i’a '-Iv Ilri'zihll Maud Muller,
Disiincdun’u «in m r Vuhmly,

Smith. [mt-s, Train or magnum“,
Gmhniiun Fenvlflms, Mr: (I m is,

A Mack 91' nvunus, I'i'im itching Palm.

IA (vii full View,

 

  

      

 

i

 

 
  

 

Popie wiii MT,"
Swucidnmu'a bu“,
Who wnuidn't ho flra'n.
Don‘t dcpend on Mil,
Munic oi iubnr, _
The Amriun Quip.

DIME DEBATER AND CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE, No. 11.

I.»-—pnlurwa wrmn’.IFuImunry. ‘I‘l'riililiililry organiza-
lu (“Pu umi ult’iihlu“, m.~ Armin-’5 (mum; Linn,
Funnnmn pf, “)xtiinnry meaning: and} arnmncut
Cunslimlim of, i :ismmhiies, i lihn‘
Dylan“ uf,

 

     

"gamin-

    

i'i‘hu on v of businpss,
g “pom, pn-

- urgmiimiinn,

 

 

uiingt, In“, ,
gimmiiun.” HanH subsi nary moiimls,

 

ani ruic‘ m var,
' icluue,

   

i

 

1’]

Ruin nfzwvrnznmn, ‘Uriiwr ux' [main-2n and C
‘.
l

Lucal rui--s u
' jacum 4i: v‘ndinn. 1‘ Im hi-
n.——unw 1-» m un-u. "I’no " Qurl
“'hv there hrs i'cw good, p i». ""iixiill'l' (I, K'Ull‘xnitlucl,

damn“, Rights to Hit Iimr, Objects of" committee,
I’mrequililes u orulor- Rights vi a summer uv'i'huir puwern,

irni uni-am. Ina; um chu‘ ‘iinw nummi,
The logic ui iiebnlr, (‘
Tim rhetoric uf Jaimie, ‘II ruptinu a vain,
Mnximl M abael \u, nrgrmimziun u! in~i'
The prulimiunry pre-i vrsilive “MINI, ('ui ,liow Iu rephr‘,

milu, l \wmium, Annihl w The cumming. of the
01‘an a! Irwin-M. Guntrui Anembiiun, u hole,

DIME EXHIBITION SPEAKER, N0.

Tho orator of the day, [The critical moment, Grnnioiio,

'l'hc hmihen Chime, The 1 Mid the want, All hniii

Tho innd we iovo, Xni any umne in it! Einnnci iinn nhfiiow,
Jim Bimino, Are \u n nnlion Srlric v fi‘rl‘VODCII’
Be mm to ynnrul!,! Roriui Mianco, Annmuy and in",

Ah Sin’n reply, lnlilmnre of liberty, Henniy,

A plan (or amiiul. Thu pmrivl’ficlioiw, Song nflnhnr \
The Smnillnul mien-{I‘m riuhi of the people, Mnnifui rig-tiny,

  

i-ni-ui, "i‘lm dim 01'4101’ n! can»
-n." Iluw‘ niduingqnellioni,

 

 

  

h; yuns :inii nnyn, Ithn nut to sit,
Rules of urdzrhud pro~

i», cuiuru,

   

 

  

Fm. Ugly. 'i‘liu pumpkin, Discnnrcrtml cundilinlo.

Mincrihmeoun,

’i'reutment l'l pulilianl,

The tic-10mm ol’ dainty,

Min!» to I clinimmu.

xvi—mean".

Debate in full:

Which is lilo greniut
benefit in hiuzuumry
—i,hn wurrinr, Imu-
xnnn. or pufl,

Dvblicl in brief:

I. in the n-ndinz of
work of flriiullwh
condom ned !

[I. Are inwyen a hen.
em Dr I cnru to IF
tiny! ‘
v.—~Quo‘unoxl AN.

Pflkflu‘

Latin.

12.

What we no in tin sky.
A aclun,

,Whut ! with,

Good mmnen,

A hailnd 01 Lab Em.

Snifinga,

’i‘hc Cnucnlinn men,

A ruviaw of dilution,

Lime Breech",

Hun- Donduhck’undo

 

:ific . misty, "i'he crowning gimy, Let it alone!

I'M)”: "H", ",1", “’Im. wu're dawn, Maud Muller all"
Tho Nine of on. mm \thl England hm done Hymn Brahman,

ymwer‘ 'i‘hn riuht vineutriillty, “'hm in true imp inell.
The [may of poncu‘l’i'm- n-itiuml ring, The Irish of ii. K plu-
(1814), [Our true future, only,

DIME SCHOOL SPEAKER, No. 13
I IThe dread Merit, _
Funny Binurily'n imii. Thu lrunsumi of the Civilurviro‘nvfnrm,
Tmpirs uncongcniul m, .ieop, The true Kantian-n,
(Yunnan, Rump moi, The thigic~pl.
Liv. for Inuit-thing, ‘l'iu- ,n-i-i ion: (night, nan-m uproar. Inc
Civil uni reiigiu-is Ilb- dividi, .‘i cry for hf»,
any. "i‘i-e RWHHI HJI true Ir- The uhbnih,

Secund rerinw of they ‘riil‘r, Gnnriodiiva,
‘ A good lin-

  

(mull nrm)‘, v!!3i!nvrr|r}'_
DSIhoueIly of puiifirl, 1rinrulilirinmflh‘ldCirh“1'0 whom six-u we gin
The grunt commnner, 01nd Snipkins, thanh! ‘
,Chgmmr Ind uhiuvo- A ummphe, Renoimion.

"191“. Cheerfniuul, Nnarmind,

" I cm't." Mounhinl, The Bible,

unguame ’l'helnannyolchillin-awl':k ‘1 out H-
u- w .
4.3.. ' ' which»... and-mugs“

 

 
 

ding, '
A viciimpl tooth-uh,
Sinrv nf‘iio mini,
A 001.! mm. limo,
hi: and: Adoiyhu.

 

Thu midnight mm,

The belier vivw, '

Do lhv mun-«lo “VII,

Jenn (urn-er,

‘hu hem

i‘he wnrid’, ‘

Bountiful lhmvnhb,

A plan": 0! We.

Bu true to yonnnl‘
ynunz man,

Time ilpming.

The (mpei of III

Spank not handily.

 

  

'n ington, Adam: and Liburty, \leilngton’l nuibutu New Eugimd'l dud, .
; )Amrlcl. mull- ho Ira, Our dutiu. ’ , Wlm w.) are, Ropeuli ude
' Frudam fin: only hopo. Our Anni-w; Our (rent trun, Tin tnuimv, ~
Day dhlntlin lmnngho Anurical 93., God him our Ema, Old Iranian. ,
No tin but iib'y Tin Iran in . Lacking bnkwnni. 0.“ Elm to Him“
CHI. hill-nun Ana's.- Lmvll fl- and his Jun. '1! 8-". Q
-_' gram-Eula, m M “mom-u, ‘Gfldfiflg

, Quilt!
High",

Dunc School Series—Speakers.”

 

DIE LUDICBOUS SPEAKER, No. 14.

W.

Th. cloning year,
Tia manila”: (hf-sue,
Thu him Icntchua,
Au nnd the vinlmitt, '
Viaws o! iimrriod life,
Bucliciors and fliru,
Job‘s turkey,

A iml‘dshall “man,
My first kuii‘e,

Dar lindderv nickel.
A ennui-ballad,

\Vnmnn‘n I'iglltlI
What :2) ninxur,
Mn. Join." puma,
Du mun,

Touch of the sublime,
Bioman Vim Snoozle,
lliiut nguins: lob-ecu,
Tobacco hoyl,

ilig gwniuses.

My fir-n cignr,
Terrible t’dnle,
Silver wedding.
Prchobifliun,

Unlucky, ‘
Queer pquA‘
llit' lg ( u ' u‘uso off,

   

  
 

ngul
Fullrtll of J uiy aruiicn,
Cheer up,

Sull-cniecm,
[inclwlumt cakes,
'l'miii ‘is litllc Loy,

A Wu I “llil )0",

A cumin-.11 lament,
The candy-pulling,

Contwtmmt,

()u courting,

On laughing,

'l’lm tanner boy.

On “'imnlen’lrlghll,
The lirnler,

’i‘lie i-rlminnl lawyer, \
linl Ind u! Matilda Jun.
Wider,

'i‘lm hullnd ofn Mint,
GI 0d I‘tr something,

A moving lei-mun.

VKARL PRETZEL’S KOMIKAL SPEAKER, No. 15.

Schnminl.

Duu’d bun ufruiii.
Gnuilmiinx,
Induuibchco,
Grolchen mm mo go and
Hope. DJ ' rm iiiah.
quilter,"
Lcedlu xiii-child air-um
Dliuro Vu no crying,
,Laedlu lpudchu,
P3111, path.

The puulud Dulchm,

  

nm'E YOUTH’S STEAKER, No. 16.
i The Ivllluul,

A call to flu fiald,
Tn rutuiiars,

Address to a school,
Hi: where,

Man.
u'st.

A lecture,
A “ dialect."

Rechermembrr dcr pm
Natural hlitory View

 

.1“: nc our-viva,

. 0 p
Wnr, war to sin dunk, Tlu hmdelt lot of nil,

Adjnrlliuu to duty, ‘

Tin muuicr‘n nppul, 'l‘hu two dogs—n fnble,

A boy”: (Intimuuy.

I luv. drunk my int,
Thu lplrlt‘uirau,

Rum’l maniac,

Lilo ll whnw Huh It,
Tau not,

The tune of rum,

The Ianrcu o! reform,
'I‘h' rum fiend,

Trnnsiuliuns from Esnp.
The treachery ul‘Jorwn, .\ll‘
‘Don’t cull u mnn n liur, ‘

.‘iiiunn Sllnrt’l a m Sum,

(iii lulu.
“crs‘ Nu'iv'l)‘.
l cuily luril, cm.

  
     
 

‘il Lyman willow.
"‘ lit"Y, cum in peril,
yr, l‘l'i'llUEll‘ rrilicrs.

, In l‘urllio ri‘ l

   

   

Thacm-tbofnruthulwrue haviguf ilwsulk, ‘

lCabu of young BIugI,

A drunken Iolllnquy,
’l‘liu uur‘. lu nu,

l'o lnlmr is to wily,
i‘he suwenl‘ul lilu,
ilvller il'xnu guid,
Suell<llnxu nml imrvut,

lnvorutiun tv col-i wntu

( miclm’s wodilingdny, -
EX

Tha- llliuoh Aurmbly,
'l‘lr innibullilnn,
In)» :ngnlmw.

:r i us :1 soldier,

  
 
 
 

 

llllmcll.

iriuli-r'n ildl,

Ill-5 suffrage,
liar-inning,

llu i'ul riliinlzln’,

Abner Juncl’ Innimnny,’

By a tummy chugu’l. ,'

Value aflih wnrlr,

-‘ AN:an in: aim-lion,”
ilieii m' whiuliy,

A Mary will: u non],
liieuker- .imd,

'c .ibud Sly,

.fiurtu urinlempemnco,

 

   

True law and lulu, Now, The will-lily wily nu,
in bud company. 'l'hu rentiuuon in learn Local orliou

The oniv truo nobility, ’i‘lw uper': liiliwul, He gum to ill. body,
Tin hubriah’l and, God‘a liquor, Worth unit“ the inn.

In DIME ELOQUEN'I‘ SPEAKER, No. 17.

An 1 nation,

The 1: ng- of biulnul,
Turlty at Ipuch,
Purwn Caldwell,

Value of upuution,
“and um racks world,

‘ Sim-lung manhood,

Summer.

Womln’s lore,

"rhn brickinv-n,
Vurdl a! Iilvrr,

Drive an! drive Mil

The tram .
Tin Smpinnorlnl,

The moral factor,

Tim only um '

anloii e, h

A two rlend,

The mockingbird,
ha value of virtue,

Evil: 0! ignoranw,

Tim me at' (lino,
Come down,

She would his a mnwn,

'Anntnmiul lecturo,

\anklmz Willi the world Mlunemulu-a.

i'l'im zrintinz pun,
l'i'lie :ubbuili,

Ba curnfu what you Iny llusybodim.
Stnnd h ' the camiit'u, .Auutumicnl lecturn 2,

’A bluw in the dark.
,T'ne speclnr Minivan,

$1M want nf tlm cnuntry The true hu’lufl,

'i‘ruc fume,
fluvnetliing tn slum,
l’l-n for lrulnnnl,

The wood oistura,

Smilu wlinno’er you can,

A lhnught,

'l‘lw houscmnld,

The goblin at,
Aristl-crntl,

The Lniphtly nevuboy, ‘
A cnli tn vote,

The "mum. irmid,
Running l'nrlrgiriutln,
To a young uluu,

llemll,

The new dimmntlm,
Turning: ille grluduont.
Short urinal).

THE DIME CENTENNIAL SPEAKER, No. 18.

Comm,
yuml‘f’w’lib rty ‘
pan ur a .
wi‘. American hero,
Resist-no. w own-lion
Yntriullam, I
Gmn Mounluln boyn,
I‘i‘l “mm atom, ’

a Fourth of July,
Warren’s nddresl,
A cull ta libarly,
Good fuitli ,

Our rel onslbility,
British nrhlrily,
How freedom in won,

 

   

Revolutionary noidim,

Sink nr swim,

’I lie buli‘aiud blue,
'i'lio union,

'l‘hs lllflrl,Y lpy,
Lexingt In.
Our rniy hope.
D‘cinrntiou of lniep’e,
Thelibrriy Yell,

 

    

Annbla lea,

Origin-l Mike. Mi.
“'0 [o’auddrc-y

\i'ntclii g for Male” l
The rational cnsizn, -'
(ind um “I: unlou,

Our natal duly,

The 92.1 of Felmlnry,

 

 
   

L

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

mm scaoox. 
DIME SEEN-COMIC SPEAKER, No. 19;

 

 

The Amlrlcan lulu: Nam mpv . Pompey. Sqnuh Sam" M .I . “fl”
The same. F ’l'l'he unwrht’dn ‘Cmm,’ Mr. Lef- y-uw. v’enlan, Tl:- vunn’annpvom;
Th“ "M "7"”! " I’ 0W; '1 he "mlsz nine", chm.-

.‘Jornlily’l Mont .la'mlep early,

Room at m: lap,
Nor. no way

‘l’l‘h
an England wanthcr,'.)mlg‘a not thy brother, The silent. teacher"

 

Blucfii, ; l'ha do:  Bengal-d, lfl‘he wmkln people, Dead In,“ 3'“ Fun“,
Lgmlle \‘nwmb Strauss, l'lm lllmml C‘qmlul-n‘lé, ‘lnc money eu mun, Wu: and dnxllng,

A a e. A boy”: oplmon 01 um, ISmko I'lxruugh IheknntyHnnu. A "Most,
Thu munh's riavn, Gum] all mu «m grant, Au ngrluulnlml‘ndduu, Excelnlnr, ,

Mum] litilouvss, 'l‘hu gum. Vapuluu, - ’l‘hu new scriptural, Pnddy‘u union .1 ..
Yawcuh llufiulmgobblo. 'l‘lm mollvea ccl ior.

 

 

  

’l'he trombonu
The neulmg “chem, l‘l‘hu was. innu’x (lelpoml. . (The close, hard mu,
Street. Arnh‘n Icrmonfi AI. mhlhl g'nm mxll cannot “IndHAr‘rku nd applinufli.
‘ Addreu Lu youugl ' ’Goml‘IHZLI. .Whnl. lmrmna a! n he, -0 MrnoguE
A liula big man, film!» New mul men, . lung), mutually “I,
The tall 01 lrleudlhlp, 'l'hu lhuny mun, .Hnu' uh vo- dut for high ullen-d.
Tbc mm of Plenum, "l‘hu hulu armor, ‘11tu using, LA chemical waddiag.

DIME SELECT SPEAKER, No. 20. ‘

>
E:
a

 

      

.0“, {Penalty ofsclfinlmlu. an is the firm, Won't You Irt my pups
sum m, Republir' llflghu Um, ldxholtnllon to ‘mlrlotl, ,\\ 0| k ‘
WnLclle! nl‘ .he nlghl, 1. “Ms dun“ mnko th- llc ll everywhurr, vhr hum tho but

I man, !A -ln~nm ofdnrknus. ’uldl‘,

3‘ jllvll vlon lhe kuylwno, \V hum to honor.

.u .m. 1 yunrx-wJ 1mm“ Swnl ofulfict, TLe lwdu .n lnhur.

.l 01' July Belly Who mu Hm Inn-Y Jim-1y rinlnp.‘

(l‘ho clly on the hlll, Pumpennlckol ud Pop-

IC in

Only a wimp,

Cngu them.

Time’s Inlilnquv,

The closing w l
Vv'row and 1h
An enean :0 ~
BMan Frullchlr, ,MV l’I-u
Tho man. preciuu-I gift, Limum’
I‘Mlln'ctufil and moral My I‘:.lqullnfl|lx his,an Illnw Ito uwo the R.-
nwcr, . :Slury um“; 1:qu ml hln ll, puhllc,

TMMWl‘lllu My male in Spain, The goud clnl Hum,
mm m of m...- mmnny Hull‘s/urn, \lnnmuu‘. x, _
wm of mm, 1 Thu lndinn‘: \vl'nngq, ,anm. hiya u “my. ur Mann.
A dream. 1Awhlreus In young mun, ‘llrlml Dunlminn, ’l he plusquuo hunt.
LAde nu Camelhs. ‘Bemxllful Show, Helpu‘ldml h um, l’l’hu hen:-

DIME FUNNY SPEAKER, No. 21. '

.olnnol sunn- clad—117"»huwlml ymn nzn, Thu new mythology Jmm a! Are,
Mel. ‘Dr ’5 mrilmr‘ IiuKUb‘ (Vulcan, ‘Tho bluunp cl 3.‘
Clary mit In Sthars‘ ’rvnxl ler‘m Strong. The new mylhology] llfa.
nnd Slhrl ea, ’l dullnr or two. rm. i h. PWPIO-
Terence 0' owd'n pnl- \u mum mom lush, Tun no 1 mythologyl'l‘hermopyln,
rlutiun ‘Whu-ru mum-v ls klng, (llnrclum.) ‘

d, T w luv. mun,

 

 

    

 

 

. _ [,n I.
Thelma-kiln club on- Profvuor hlukolupriqal- lkinnod trinkto-nlghdhllm Blndln: of, tho
:lon, man on Mm urigin of The new church dncrl l’rnlria llvllt,
Fur-net Thoru'uuzb on lip, "hm, Acmulmphlc dlnv
w .' Kuuuntrnml wimlum. \Vllyum" wnlormilliun, 'l'hu nmvm~’| del'r .
vrh. fiddler, Hum-flu Hmwu um] we .lmiuh Axml'. onuiun,‘Wunum,God bL- hurl

Tho regnlnr unl'm. Inuu'e his, l‘umm llnruhunu'l In- "I midnmbll.
Thalelmnlboy’. Lundnt, Julln .lumius‘n nrman. nllmmn,
Dot buby ofi'mine, .\ 1m...” nu “ 'l'ull we Clunr 5 umh on heat, iThe lel'ajuflnnl.
mum once xunm, ' Ml wluds,” Fritz Vn dher is mad»: nl'l'hln all.

Vhwu on agriculturq , 'day, “me1. I l v»

DIME JOLLY SPEAKER, NO. 22.

Ehrlfilizhm nfhrlng, A word: (ugh ‘ AI 1:!" (imam g

K": ‘H' w‘  ' 'I‘ v e 1: «Mn nm‘e

‘ m". ‘ Hm" 01:33.? E: .Ga'lpmw; Thu sally old (ohm. A
A " filAlllC'" Chrlnmnn wulcauu,

My in: cont,

Tho flre—brluudl.

   
 

Hund'nther‘s clack,
- The XIXLh "mun,
Muvy'l van llule mm. | BI'IthIcI,
A bmlll-r lulu“ on llnw law pik on n Par-nil.
cheuce, wuunmllcn. Rigid intovmnlon,
0” Md “8" “I‘M. Huw low plk out a dog The funny mull, “ ”
Cllyfool’clpiril Men, How tew plk outnknllnnn’l me It Away, A WHO“: Irlvm,
Thu village nrhool, Uva lew pik out. n A dmk warning. A The good old Hum. In-
A unnou for the nisters, wi e, “nulnrerl ” dimrnflnn dead! A can: Muh-
D‘ “000‘? Oh V'Uh. Thls ~Me nnd “ml. An nvrlul warning. .L‘n tory nmlndar,
Dilnppolnted di 1«»\'urer,‘Noclllrlnnl mowllugl, elocllve ppm). Shullug tlu uncut! In
A huthen‘. luv 9. ITqu hmnlic’l WVOHI, Dc pfll’wn lowed dnwl Th0 Ito" 0" I'm
Dvr dog uhd d" lobuer, A bnlhfllc mum, P nnpey'n Thmhglvlnlz the» WWW,
“0 young trump, l'l'.n~ unr. nuke": ' 'nll owl mad flu M
Night: 0131M wagon, |B .ckboua, Tho now all, n mu, m;

HTh P» be k sold I: Nani-am. unrywumorymum .
“mu,ner:cei;:of;rllmo gang’s-uh. " Whack."

“IDLE & ADAMS, Publish“, 98 William Ste 1. 1..

 

 

 

  

 

Dime School Series-Sponkeri.

 

DIME DIALECT SPEAKER, No. 23.

Dnt’l vet’s do matter,

The Min-iesippl mlrncle,

Vcn m lids moms m,

D we lum- vol. Mary but

20!,
PM. U’Flaherty an wn-
man’s righu,
The hume rulers, haw
they “ spukes,"
Huzekinh anwn on
Mullxerwln-lmv,
He didn’t sell Lha fnrln
The hue story ol‘Fnum
lln’n kl
I wohld

 

“y
l were a ho}

321m,
A puhatlc nary,

All About I bee,
Scandal,

A durk side View,

Ta, yesuar vay,

Un earning (human,
Mary’s slmmll vim lamb
A healthy ‘lllcnufiu,
'l‘n‘lim' I“ In spank,

Old Mrs. Grimes,

A parody,

\lzu's und cats, \
nu Undurn'oull, pilot, l ,u vlulln,

Old Urnnlgy, l’ienlc \lcllghm,

l‘hc pill pdddler’l om- Lhn‘cuutli-l.u.\,'~ “luvs,

Latest Chinese mumps

Thu Immilesl destiny ol
lhu 1.imm..x.,

Peggy th‘nml‘

@1491 1mm Jmll Bil-
lungs,

:De cu-
mliwnllun,

Dur’s nullln new under
no .«un.

 

 

 

 

tlun, ‘l'huulruuu 'n wmlnm,
\Viddar Green’s lust l’mu lnngungrlu unth-
wunls, ful Junc,

unstullces ab (14“;

11\Ne-,;rn rcligluua poe)|;,"l‘h:u, liltle
' ‘h ' '

\ly neighhor’n dog,
(mndmsod Mythology,
l'lr‘ms,
Tlu- Nan-ides.
t Lam-Lug '

 

   

 

 

,Th» ~L->\

‘ llulu aurulmlus,
The ling nmn,

m.- a z alluir nl

‘ uldmm‘s

 
 

(lu- l'nrucl‘.
A genvu um ll’llevem‘r.
An imilalim
hinl nf llberty,
"l‘iu: crow,
(Jul. wen.

DIME READINGS AND RECITATIONS, N o. 24.

The Iriahmnn’n 3mm-
rnlna
The. lightning-rm! agent
The lrlgedy at {out he:
:11,
Ruth nnd Naomi,
Cawy of Conan,

nubial, r

Jnhu Reed}

The hmkeman It
thumh,

'inm Mooah’l aur-
moth,

Argung the quenlon

Jim Walla lull the cuts,

The dim old fore",
Rasher n! hnme,

The Sergennl’n story,
Dnvld nnd Golinh,

home,
The (lmufllnll party,
Tummy Tull,

Drenning at {uni-score, A hliuhigmnlor ln

Rum, ‘ ‘runce.

Why nlmnld the rpirlt  Nut oni‘ to spare,
ofmm-lul he proud! Mr». lxruuzy’n pink

The cuming musurhe, lunrh,

The englueur'a Imry, Rxka of nges.

A rnndillule l‘ur preul- J. (‘u-snr Pompey
dulll, Sqnmh‘u wrumn,

Rull rnll, . Annle‘u Llc'u-l,

An ucceuion to tho Thanewslmy,
family, l‘nt‘s correnpondaucc,

 

When the ccvu (mm- Dl-nlhnhh‘nwdsqnlra

Alvin 1...; 51mm,
1“ on,

nl'wrmmnhood.

The Judgnmu duy,

’l'lm bursl hubblw,

Curfrw must no! ring
:u-night.

The «well.

The wnzer mill,

Snm’n Inner.

Foulstep! of the dmd,

Charity,

Au euny on Clank.

   

 

B'The Above books are |old by Now-duller: everywhere, at will he sent, poll-pnid, to any
“an”, on ncelpl of prlce, 10 «MI each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS. Publhhers, 88 William Sh, N. Y.

\ .

 

lo In}

.\

 

 

DIME POCKET NOVEIJS.

PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY. AT TEN CENTS EACH.

1 Hattie e Harry.
I Dead shot.
I The Buy Minere.
4 Blue Dick.
5 Nat Wolfe.
6 The White Tracker.
'1 The Outlew’e Wile.
e The Tall Trapper.
9 Lightning Jo.
10 The Ielaud Pirate.
11 The Boy Ranger.
12 Ben, the Tre per.
13 The French py.
1‘ Long Shot.
15 The Gunmaker.

a: 313i? Jo'thelae'er
I an .
9‘ One-Eye:
Bl Gedbo d, the py
20 Th. Black Ship.
2" Sin leE a.
as Ind an m.
The Scout.
Eagle Eye. ’
T11' 1513‘“ ‘31?“
T e 0 en rpoon.
The Scalp King.
Old Lute.

‘ Rainbnlt, Renuer.
The Boy Pl'meer.
Canon. the Guide.
The Heart Eater.
Wetzel. the Scout.
The Huge Hunter.
Wild Nat, Trapper.
Lynxvca .

The Wh ta Outlaw.
The Dog Trailer.
The Elk King.

‘ Adrian, the Pilot.
The Man-hunter.
The Phantom Tracker
Mecca-In Bill.

The W01! Queen.
Tom Huwlr Trailer.
The and clam.
The Black Wolf.
Arkaneae Jack.
Blackbeard.

Is The River Riflee.

5‘! Hunter Ham.

II Cloudwuod.

59 The Ten: Earth.
69 Mercileu Mat.

61 Mad Ant’ony'e Senate
69 Luckleee Tn r.

68 The Florida cont.
M The Ieland Trapper.
65 Wolf-Cap.

60 Rattliu Dink.

61 Shurp- ye.

63 IlomHaud.

69 The Yellow Hunter.
‘10 The Phantom rider.
11 Delaware Tom.

19 Silver thle.

73 The Skeleton Scout.
14 Little Ride.

'15 The Wood Witch.

1e Old Run' Tre per.
'1'! Scarlet Shoul ere.

18 Border Rifleman.

fl Outlaw Jack.

on Tiger-Tell, Seminole.
81 I)" .th-Deeler.

O! Kenton, the Ranger.
88 B ecter Horumeu.
MT 0 Three Trappere.
85 Kaleoleh.

as The Hunter Hereulea.
8'! Phil Hunter.

88 The Indian Seout.

89 The Girl Avenger.

90 The Bed Hermite .
’1 Star-Face the Slay .
99 The Ante ope Boy.
93 The Phantom Hunter.
94 Tom Pintle. Pilot.

95 The Bed Wilard.

96 The Rival Treppere.
91 The Squaw Spy.

98 Dusky Dick.

99 Colonel Crockett.

100 Old Bear Paw.

101 Redlaw.

102 Wild Rube.

103 The Indian Human.
10¢ Scarred Eagle.

105 Nick Dnyle.

106 The Indian Spy.

101 Job Dean.

108 The Wood King.
109 The Scalped Hunter.
110 Nick the Scout.

111 The exu Tiger.
II: The Croeeed Knivee.
118 Tiger-Heart.

114 Meeked Avenger.

 

 

115 The Pearl Piretee.
116 Black Panther.

11‘! Abdiel,theA\enzer.
118 Cato. the Cree er.
118 Two-Ilanded It at.
190 Mad Trell Hunter.
121 Black Nick.

19! Kit Bird.

118 The S eeter Ridere.
1N Giant ete.

1‘15 The Girl Captain.
1% Yankee Eph.

191 Silverepur.

125 Slguetter Dick.

19 T e Child Spy.

130 Mink Coat.

121 Red Plume.

189 Clyde. the Trailer.
133 The Lnet Cache.

13‘ The Cannibal Chief.
185 .Kareiho.

186 scarlet Moeceelu.
13" Kidnapped.

138 Miaid a! the Moun-

te u.
189 The Sciotn Scottie.
140 Border Rene nude.
141 The Mute C inf.
142 Boone, the Hunter.
1“ Mountain Kate.
1“ The Red Seal \er.
145 The Lone Chief.
146 The Silver Bugle.
147 Chinza, Cheyrnne.
148 The Tangled Trail.
149 The Unseen Hand.
150 The Lone Indian.
151 The Branded Chief.
159 Billy Bowle a.
153 The Valley . (out.
15‘ Red Jacket.
155 The Jungle Smut.
156 Cherokee Chief.
l The Bandit Hermit.
The Patriot Smute
The “'ood Rangere
The Red Foe.
Beautiful Unknown.
Canehrake Mole.
Hank, the Guide.
The Border Scout.
“'ild Net.
Maid of Wyoming.
The Three Captivee.
168 The Luet Hunter.
16! Border Law.
170 The Lifted Trail.

 

5'!
1511
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
161

 

171 The Traders .

119 The Fore-t peel".

178 The Border Foee.

1'14 Border Vengeance.

1'15 Border Beelie.

176 The Son- nl Liberty.

171 The Loet Bride.

1'18 Keeteea.

119 The Tonkava Spy.

180 The Pralrle Scourge.

181 Red Lightning.

189 Brave eart.

188 Nighvflawk Kit.

154 Mustang Sam.

18‘ Hurricane Bill.

136 The Red Outlaw.

18'! The Swamp Scout. _

188 The Shawna e Foe.

189 Mohawk Na

190 Old Jupe.

191 The Prairie Riflee.

10! Old Kyle. Trailer.

198 Big Foot. the Guide.

1“ Red Brotherhood.

195 The Man in Green.

196 (signal-Eye, the Gui
o

t.
191 The Prairie Trapperl
198 Black John.
199 Keen~Knlfe.
900 Med Skipper.
‘201 The Young Spy.
902 The Indian Avenger.
903 Rival Lieutenantl.
904 The Swamp Rifire.
906 The Balloon Scrum.
906 Ducoteh Smurge.
20'! The Twin Scouts.
908 Buckekin Bill.
109 Border Avengers.
210 Tim Bumble’a Chl'flb
211 The Shawnee Seem.
919 The Silent Slayer.
’18 The Prairie Queen.
214 The llackwoodemen
915 The Prisoner of Le
Vintreeee
916 Peleg Smith.
217 The Witch 0! the
“'allowieh.
218 The Prairie Pirates.
219 The Husear Captain.
em The Red Spy.
7‘21 Dirk Darling.
2‘29 Mustang Hunter:-
223 Guilty or Not Guilty
9‘14 The Outlaw Ranger.

-———_——___.
THE FOLLOWING WILL BE ISSUED IN THE ORDER AND ON THE DATES INDICATED:

125 The Schuylkill Bangers.

328 On
28‘! Irons.

the Dee .
By

988 The Mountaineer.
229 The Hunter’e E
£80 The Golden Belt.
’31 The Bur-mp Bide". By Geo) e D. Gilbert.

.83 Jubez llnwk.
884

ward S. Ellie.

eon m. 3 dr ""1333;
' e ee er 0 .
286 Antelope Abe, the Buy Gu
2-17 The flunter’e Vow.

By Roxer Sterhuc .
Read
By Edwar

March

ecnpe.
By Colin Barker.

B the author of " Quindero."
February 70th.
tub.

Willett.
By Edward S. Ellie.

Read

Reedy March Nth.
Ready April Id.

Ready April 17th.

Ready Ml, Ill-

By C. Dunning C ark. Ready Muy 15th.

288 Maeeaaolt'e Daughter. By A. J. H. Dugaune. Reedy May Nth.

Bv
15!

2'58 The Hunter’e Pied? By Edward Willett. Reedy Ann-t 191:.
Scott

Sherwood. Read ' Auguat Ql-t.

839 Ratflenate. B
m The Prairie

kale
easel-(l cent-50-

rlde. By Mn. Henry .1.

re. Mary A. Deuieon.
arry Cnvendinh. Ready June 26th.

(in. By Will Dexter. Ready III 1*.
By Louie Le Grand, M. D. Ready July 94th.

Reedy June 13th.

Reedy Februuy “h-

homae. Ready Sephmhufl.
ellNewedeelen; or lent poet-pew: alngle numben, tea cent; d; * an)“.

L3 AND ADAMS, Pubuehore. 98 Wlllle- IN NO! ‘0!“