ger hesitated, for he saw how little was the chance that all should cross the court unharmed, and to pass it by repeated trials he knew to be impossible

"Boy,' he said, ' thou, who hast done thus much, may still do more. Ask mercy for these children, in some manner that may touch the hearts of thy people.'

Miantonimoh shook his head, and pointing to the ghastly corpse that lay in the court, he answered coldly—

"The red-man has tasted blood.'

"Then must the desperate trial be done! Think not of thy children, devoted and daring mother, but look only to thine own safety. This witless youth and I will charge ourselves with the care of the innocents.'

Ruth waved him away with her hand, pressing her mute and trembling daughter to her bosom, in a manner to show that her resolution was taken. The stranger yielded, and turning to Whittal, who stood near him, seemingly as much occupied in vacant admiration of the blazing piles as in any apprehension of his own personal danger, he bade him look to the safety of the remaining child. Moving in front himself, he was about to offer Ruth such protection as the case afforded, when a window in the rear of the house was dashed inward, announcing the entrance of the enemy, and the imminent danger that their flight would be intercepted. There was no time to lose, for it was now certain that only a single room separated them from their foes. The generous nature of Ruth was roused, and catching Martha from the arms of Whittal Ring, she endeavoured, by a desperate effort, in which feeling rather than any reasonable motive predominated, to envelop both the children in her robe.

"I am with ye!' whispered the agitated woman ; ' hush ye, hush ye, babes! thy mother is nigh!'

The stranger was very differently employed. The instant the crash of glass was heard, he rushed to the rear; and he had already grappled with the savage so often named, and who acted as guide to a dozen fierce and yelling followers.

"To the block!' shouted the steady soldier, while with a powerful arm he held his enemy in the throat of the narrow passage, stopping the approach of those in the rear by the body of his foe. For the love of life and children, woman, to the block !'

་

The summons rang frightfully in the ears of Ruth, but in that moment of extreme jeopardy her presence of mind was lost. The cry was repeated, and not till then did the bewildered mother catch her daughter from the floor. With eyes still bent on the fierce struggle in her rear, she clasped the child to her heart and fled, calling on Whittal Ring to follow. The lad obeyed, and ere she had half-crossed the court, the stranger, still holding his savage shield between him and his enemies, was seen endeavoring to take the same direction. The whoops, the flight of arrows, and the discharges of musquetry, that succeeded, proclaimed the whole extent of the danger. But fear had lent unnatural vigour to the limbs of Ruth, and the gliding arrows themselves scarce sailed more swiftly through the heated air, than she darted into the open door of the block. Whittal Ring was less successful. As he

crossed the court, bearing the child entrusted to his care, an arrow pierced his flesh. Stung by the pain, the witless lad turned, in anger, to chide the hand that had inflicted the injury.

"On, foolish boy !' cried the stranger, as he passed him, still making a target of the body of the savage that was writhing in his grasp. On, for thy life, and that of the babe!'

.

"The mandate came too late. The hand of an Indian was already on the innocent victim, and in the next instant the child was sweeping the air, while with a short yell the keen axe flourished above his head. A shot from the loops laid the monster dead in his tracks. The girl was instantly seized by another hand, and as the captor with his prize darted unharmed into the dwelling, there arose in the block a common exclamation of the name of Miantonimoh!" Two more of the savages profited by the pause of horror that followed, to lay hands on the wounded Whittal and to drag him within the blazing building. At the same moment, the stranger cast the unresisting savage back upon the weapons of his companions. The bleeding and half-strangled Indian met the blows which had been aimed at the life of the soldier, and as he staggered and fell, his vigorous conqueror disappeared in the block. The door of the little citadel was instantly closed, and the savages, who rushed headlong against the entrance, heard the fitting of the bars which secured it against their attacks. The yell of retreat was raised, and in the next instant the court was left to the possession of the dead.

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666 "We will be thankful for this blessing,' said Content, as he aided the half-unconscious Ruth to monnt the ladder, yielding himself to a feeling of nature that said little against his manhood. If we have lost one that we loved, God hath spared our own child.'

"His breathless wife threw herself into a seat, and folding the treasure to her bosom, she whispered rather than said aloud— From my soul, Heathcote, am I grateful!'

"Thou shieldest the babe from my sight,' returned the father, stooping to conceal a tear that was stealing down his brown cheek, under a pretence of embracing the child-but suddenly recoiling, he added in alarm-' Ruth!'

"Startled by the tone in which her husband uttered her name, the mother threw aside the folds of her dress, which still concealed the girl, and stretching her out to the length of an arm, she saw that, in the hurry of the appalling scene, the children had been exchanged, and that she had saved the life of Martha !

"Notwithstanding the generous disposition of Ruth, it was impossible to repress the feeling of disappointment which came over her with the consciousness of the mistake. Nature at first had sway, and to a degree that was fearfully powerful.

666

It is not our babe!' shrieked the mother, still holding the child at the length of her arm, and gazing at its innocent and terrified countenance, with an expression that Martha had never yet seen gleaming from eyes that were, in common, so soft and so iudulgent.

"I am thine! I am thine!' murmured the litile trembler, struggling in vain to reach the bosom that had so long cherished her infancy. If not thine, whose am I?'

"The gaze of Ruth was still wild, the workings of her features hyse terical.

"Madam-Mrs. Heathcote-mother!' came timidly, and at intervals. from the lips of the orphan. Then the heart of Ruth relented. She clasped the daughter of her friend to her breast, and nature found a temporary relief in one of those frightful exhibitions of anguish, which appear to threaten the dissolution of the link which connects the soul with the body."

The part of the first volume from which this extract is made, we consider the best written portion of the book. The passage which we have quoted, is highly wrought, well-sustained, and distinguished by many of those masterly touches which characterize our author in scenes of hurried excitement. The conduct of Ruth is admirably imagined—the momentary loss of maternal feelings in the instinct of self-preservation-the overwhelming energy of their revival-the bewildering agony in which she clasps the wrong child to her arms, are all true to nature. The discovery of her mistake is feelingly told. After a desperate struggle, the Indians gain the basement, reduce the citadel to ashes and depart, believing that their foes are buried in the ruins. The besieged have, however, escaped by descending into a well, the stone shaft of which had been continued to the upper floor of the building, to secure a supply of water in cases of blockade.

Several years elapse, and we are introduced to the site of the ruined farm, on or near which has been built the frontier village of Wish-Ton-Wish. At a short distance from the village, is the new establishment of the Heathcotes. The gentle Ruth has not recovered the shock sustained in the loss of her child. She is represented as pining with a dignified, inobtrusive, but deaf sorrow, which is denied the mitigating influence of time, by the doubt which hangs over the fate of the lost one. The descrip tion of her feelings, and of their effect on her appearance and manner, is a specimen of fine writing, very superior to the author's usual style-the picture is well conceived, and there is a grace and delicacy in the execution, which we thought beyond the power of his pencil. After harassing and unsatisfactory rumours, and the return of her husband from an unsuccessful search among the Indian villages, the anxiety of the mother is intensely excited by the sudden reappearance of Whittal Ring. From this unfortunate being, who, except in colour and language, has been completely transformed into an Indian, and has lost almost utterly the memory of his childhood, endeavours are vainly made to extort information of the companion of his captivity. In the midst of the powerful interest created in the family of the Heathcotes by his unexpected coming-powerful

enough to detain them from the service of the sanctuary-the settlement is surprised by Indians. It is the Sabbath, and the villagers are assembled in the church. "Nehemiah Solsgrace had just begun to wrestle in prayer,"*-we beg pardon the Reverend Meek Wolf is beginning his sermon, when the mysterious stranger appears suddenly in the midst of the congregation and gives the alarm. His warning is immediately followed by the yell of savages, The borderers, who, from the watchfulness required by the times and their situation, are ready armed, after listening to a prayer from Meek! are about to rush tumultuously to the garrison, when the stranger assumes the command, enforces order, and divides them into three bodies, sending one to convey the women and children to a fortress provided for such emergencies, another against the savages on the most exposed side of the village, and himself leading the third to the defence of the dwelling and family of the Heathcotes. The assailants are repulsed with slaughter in other quarters, but Mark Heathcote is again unfortunate. After a desperate attack, headed by Conanchet, now grown to manhood, and Metacom, his ally, the house is carried, and its defenders and inmates made prisoners. Conanchet, recognizing the family, relents, and withdraws his warriors, in spite of the bitter reproaches and inflammatory appeals of his more aged and cruel ally, and Metacom retires sullen and disappointed. Before his own departure, Conanchet restores to her friends, Narra-mattah, the lost daughter, the Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. She has grown to womanhood, has become the wife of the young warrior, and is the mother of an Indian babe. She has cherished the recollections of her early life, but her sentiments are Indian, and her heart is in the wigwam of her chief. Her recognition of her mother, in their first interview, is pathetic.

Why has Conanchet sent for a woman from the woods?' repeated the same soft voice, nearer to the elbow of the young Sachem, and which spoke with less of the timidity of the sex, now that the troubled spirit of the Indians of those regions had disappeared.

"Narra-mattah, come near;' returned the young chief, changing the deep and proud tones in which he had addresed his restless and bold companion in arms, to those which better suited the gentle ear for which his words were intended. Fear not, daughter of the morning, for those around us are of a race used to see women at the councilfires. Now look, with an open-eye-is there anything among these trees that seemeth like an ancient tradition? Hast ever beheld such a valley, in thy dreams? Have yonder Pale-faces, whom the tomahawks of my young men spared, been led before thee by the Great Spirit, in the dark night?'

See Peveril of the Peak.

"The female listened, in deep attention. Her gaze was wild and uncertain, and yet it was not absolutely without gleamings of a halfreviving intelligence. Until that moment she had been too much occupied in conjecturing the subject of her visit, to regard the natural objects by which she was surrounded: but with her attention thus directly turned upon them, her organs of sight embraced each and all, with the discrimination that is so remarkable in those whose faculties are quickened by danger and necessity. Passing from side to side, her swift glances ran over the distant hamlet, with its little fort; the buildings in the near grounds; the soft and verdant fields; the fragrant orchard, beneath whose leafy shades she stood, and the blackened tower, that rose in its centre, like some gloomy memorial, placed there to remind the spectator not to trust too fondly to the signs of peace and loveliness that reigned around. Shaking back the ringlets that had blown about her temples, the wondering female returned thoughtfully and in silence to her place.

"""Tis a village of the Yengeese!' she said, after a long and expressive pause. A Narragansett woman does not love to look at the lodg

es of the hated race.'

“Listen.—Lies have never entered the ears of Narra-mattah. My tongue hath spoken like the tongue of a chief. Thou didst not come of the sumach, but of the snow. This hand of thine is not like the hands of the women of my tribe; it is little, for the Great Spirit did not make it for work: it is of the color of the sky in the morning, for thy fathers were born near the place where the sun rises. Thy blood is like spring-water. All this thou knowest, for none have spoken false in thy ear. Speak-dost thou never see the wigwam of thy father? Does not his voice whisper to thee, in the language of his people?'

"The female stood in the attitude which a sibyl might be supposed to assume, while listening to the occult mandates of the mysterious oracle, every faculty entranced and attentive.

"Why does Conanchet ask these questions of his wife? He knows what she knows; he sees what she sees; his mind is her mind. If the Great Spirit made her skin of a different colour, he made her heart the sanie. Narra-mattah will not listen to the lying language; she shuts her ears, for there is deceit in its sounds. She tries to forget it. One tongue can say all she wishes to speak to Conanchet; why should she look back in dreams, when a great chief is her husband?'

"The eye of the warrior, as he looked upon the ingenuous and confiding face of the speaker, was kind to fondness. The firmness had passed away, and in its place was left the winning softness of affection, which, as it belongs to nature, is seen, at times, in the expression of an Indian's eye, as strongly as it is ever known to sweeten the intercourse of a more polished condition of life.

"Girl,' he said with emphasis, after a moment of thought, as if he would recall her and himself to more important duties, "this is a warpath; all on it are men. Thou wast like the pigeon before its wing opens, when I brought thee from the nest; still the winds of many winters had blown upon thee Dost never think of the warmth and of the food of the lodge in which thou hast past so many seasons?'