and was coming homewards from Lincoln's Inn, rushed between her and the horses, seized the bridle of the off-horse with one hand, and catching the lovely creature round the waist with the other, succeeded in rescuing her from what must otherwise have been certain death." "And a very meritorious act too, Ned," said Maxwell. "No accident did happen to her I hope." 葡 "No job for the craft," said Moss; "no feeling for the faculty, eh ?-six and eightpence again, Kittums.' "No, sir," said Edward, "she was, as they say, more frightened than hurt; but she was all gratitude to me, and called me her deliverer." "Mistook you for your father, perhaps, Neddums," said Moss. "She gave you her address-a reference, I conclude," said Apperton. "No," said Edward, and sighed. "He's a young chap yet," said Moss, sotto voce, to the stockbroker; "does she live in Drury-lane, Ned?" "Where she lives I know not," said the young man. "I begged leave to see her home, but she strenuously declined; I inquired her residence-she would not tell me—she requested me to call a hackney-coach-I did so-handed her in-" "And left her in the straw without further inquiry?" asked Moss. "I did inquire again and again," said young Maxwell, but to no purpose. She thanked me a thousand times, but entreated me, in accepting those thanks, to add to her obligations by not endeavouring to discover whither she went; and I-" "Of course got up behind the coach and traced her," said Moss. "No, Mr. Moss," said Edward, "I did not. I gave her my honour I would conform myself to her wishes. She told me her reasons were important and imperious-I believed her assertions and obeyed her injunctions." "And you behaved like a gentleman and a man of honour, Ned," said his father; "but was she very handsome?" "Lovely, perfectly lovely," said Edward. "I thought," said Kate, "that you did not prefer such lovely persons, Edward?" "Perhaps, Kate," said Ned, "I should rather call it loveable. I have no taste for your regular, systematic, Greciannosed, short-lipped, classical one, two, three, regulation beauties, as you know; but this creature had eyes full of intelligence and feeling, and a mouth which, when she smiled-" "Oh! stuff, Ned!" said Moss;-"here, stockbroker, give me some snuff. I used to talk that sort of trash when I was at your time of life, but—" "Nay," said Maxwell, "when you did talk it, I have no doubt you thought it very agreeable." "What added to the interest this charming girl inspired," said Ned, "was her dress.' Cocquelot, hat and hair to match? " said Moss. "No," said Edward," she was dressed in the deepest mourning." "Black saves washing," said Mr. Apperton. She had that within which passeth show," said Edward; "there was a plaintive melancholy in her eye—” "Oh, Ned, Ned," said Moss, "if you go on so, I must have up the gin and water an hour earlier than usual." "It is very curious," said the stockbroker, "to observe how the most sensible characters are imposed upon.There was myself" 6611 what, by way of an example," said Moss, taking a huge pinch of Apperton's snuff. "Yes, exempli gratia—"' "as the Dutch say," continued Mousetrap. "Come, come, Mousetrap," said Maxwell, "let Apperton tell his story, and then we will have some loo-and Kitty shall say to you and Pam together, Pray be civil." "Oh, civil," said Moss, "I'm civil enough, but I've no patience with all this pottering about runaway horses and runover women-pish !-the creturs put themselves there on purpose to be run over, or run away with. Come, Kittums, put away your netting-making a purse for the stockbroker boy-eh? "I was making it for you," said Kate. "Not a bit of it," said Moss; "I hav'n't no need of purses-no-noApperton's the boy-those high-stool chaps, with the desks, and the rails, and the stove, and the slits in the panels for the bills, eh, Apperton? That's the way we does'em in Copthall Court, or wherever your Potamaboo place is.Come along, then, let's see you play your loo." "What, will you play?" said Maxwell. "Not I," said Moss; "I can't understand that stationary work; but as we ar'n't to have any music, let's see you do the Great Mogul foolery." THE LAST OF HIS TRIBE. (Concluded from the Supplementary exerted himself to escape his determined pursuer. "They had now almost reached the summit of the mountain. Tangoras pressed closely upon the young Indian, who with difficulty dragged along his wounded and exhausted frame. At length he attained the highest point, and as he cast a look down the western declivity, he started back with horror, for it was too precipitous for mortal to descend and live. His deadly foe was within a few paces of him, and a savage smile of triumph was on his countenance. The fugitive was unarmed, and hope forsook him, when he beheld Tangoras draw his hunting knife as he leisurely ascended, confident that his victim could not now escape. The young man stood erect, and facing his foe, tore off the slight covering from his broad bosom, which heaved as he drew his shortened breath. They were now face to face on the same rock; an awful pause ensued; their eyes glared upon each otherTangoras raised his arm Strike!' cried the fugitive, and the next moment was heard the sound of his colossal body, as it fell from rock to rock down the deep chasm, startling the birds of prey from their eyries. Tangoras stood alone on the rock, and the rays of the setting sun shone full upon him. The affrighted birds were screaming and flying in a circle over the spot where the body had fallen. When the rest of the savages had ascended the mountain, the old chief was still standing on the spot, with the bloody knife in his hand, his mind absorbed by his feelings. They asked for the fugitive; he made no reply, but held up the bloodstained weapon, smiled and pointed to the abyss. The friends of the deceased silently withdrew to search for the body, while Tangoras and his people returned to their village." "The fugitive now deviated from the narrow path, and entered upon the most rugged and dangerous ground, in hopes that his pursuer, through fatigue, would desist from the chase; but the hope was vain, for he still followed with the same fixedness of purpose as at the outset. They soon found themselves in the depth of the wilderness. Higher and higher they clambered up, in silence, assisting their ascent by clinging to stunted shrubs and jutting pieces of rock. The other savages followed at a distance, yelling like fiends, and were guided by the echoes occasioned by the fragments of rocks, which yielding to the tread, rolled down the side of the mountain. The young Indian had been hunted to desperation when an ascent almost inaccessible presented itself. He braced every nerve, and leaping up, seized hold of a branch of a tree that grew from the declivity. Fortunately it sustained his weight, and he drew himself beyond the obstruction. He sprang from the tree to a jutting rock, which yielded beneath the pressure, and as he felt it moving, he threw himself forward flat upon the earth, as his only means of preservation. The stone rolled from under him down the mountain, and a fearful yell was "The young Indian had a short time mingled with the crashing that it made before assassinated his only son, and as in its passage. He turned, and beheld his tribe refused to deliver up the murTangoras prostrate on the ground. A derer to punishment, the father, in consecond look disclosed that he was bleed- formity with their custom, took justice ing. A laugh of joy and derision burst into his own hands; not dreaming that from the lips of the fugitive, who was the Whites would pronounce that a capistill stretched upon the earth; but his tal offence, which both the laws of the triumph was of short duration. Tan- red men and their religious creed, imgoras soon sprang upon his feet again, peratively called upon him to perform. his rage augmented by the smarting of He was, however, apprehended, tried, his wounds, and leaping up with the and convicted of murder. He did not elasticity of the panther, he readily speak during his trial, but looked in achieved the ascent which had nearly scorn upon our grave deliberations, and exhausted the remaining strength of his sat in the prisoner's bar with the dignity victim, who slowly arose, and again of a hero, rather than the compuctious "And what cause had he for the perpetration of so merciless a deed?"" bearing of a criminal. He heard the sentence of death pronounced upon him without moving a muscle; and as he was led forth from the court-house to the prison, he paced on with a firm step and haughty demeanour, which showed, that though he had been condemned by others, he was himself unconscious of a crime. The miserable remnant of his tribe had assembled to await the issue of his trial. They fell back as he appeared, and he moved through them in silence, without bestowing upon them even a look, and they followed him to prison, gazing at him in stupid wonder." "Did they witness his incarceration without an attempt at his liberation ?" "Certainly. What else could you expect from those who have taken no more than the first step towards civilization? There is no condition in life so abject as theirs. They view the laws of society as being at constant variance with natural privilege, and while they dread, and groan beneath the former, they have not the hardihood to assert the latter. They look upon the restrictions as intended for their abasement, and not to elevate them to an equality; and while you strive to teach them the superiority of their nature, you only convince them that they were born free, and that the social compact has made them slaves." "And what was the fate of old Tangoras?" "That will be decided to-morrow. Look out of the window towards the prison, and you may see the gallowstree prepared for his execution." I did so, and beheld that the limb of a stout oak tree, near the prison, had been trimmed for the purpose; a ladder was reared against it, and three Indians were lounging beneath it. At this moment, two Indian women passed the window; their countenances denoted deep affliction, and their heads were bent downwards. "Those women," continued my informant, "are the wives of Tangoras. They have been remarkably attentive to him during his imprisonment, and are now going, doubtless, to take their final leave of him." We could distinctly see what was passing from the tavern window. They approached the prison, knocked at the door, and the jailor permitted them to enter. I expressed a desire to see the unfortunate old chief, and my communicative friend, who, by the way, was the village schoolmaster, promised to gain me admittance to the cell on the following morning, as it was then near the hour of closing the doors for the night. In a few minutes the Indian women again appeared. They looked towards the gallows-tree, and spoke to each other. As they passed beneath the window of the inn, I perceived that their countenances were much more placid than they were before they entered the prison. The stillness of the evening was now broken by the sound of a distant drum, which gradually became more distant. In an instant, the whole of the villagers were in the street, gazing anxiously in the direction whence the sounds proceeded; and even the sluggish savage felt sufficient interest to arise from his recumbent posture. While expectation was on tiptoe, a corps of military appeared winding around the base of the mountain that terminated the prospect on the eastern side of the village. A troop of ragged urchins ran delighted to meet them. The soldiers had been sent for from a neighbouring town, to intimidate the savages from interfering with the execution of the criminal. I arose at daybreak the following morning, and on descending to the bar-room, found the schoolmaster already there, waiting to conduct me to the prison. It was a delightful morning in spring. As we walked forth, the birds were singing joyously, the green grass sparkled with dew, the morning air was refreshing, and laden with fragrance from the foliage of the surrounding forest. A number of Indians were standing beneath the gallows-tree, with their faces towards the east; their heads were bent in sorrow, and they preserved unbroken silence as we passed by them. The wives of Tangoras were among the number. The sun had not yet appeared above the eastern horizon as we entered the prison. We were conducted by the jailor to the apartment in which the old chief was confined. We found him standing in the centre of the cell, with his eyes raised to a small grated window, through which the grey light of morning was gradually stealing. His mind was too deeply engaged with its own reflections to notice us as we entered. The jailor accosted him, but he made no reply, and still kept his eyes fixed upon the same object. The schoolmaster also spoke to him, but he still appeared to be unconscious of our presence. A solitary sunbeam now stole through the grating, which, falling on the face o the prisoner, relaxed its austerity. Still he moved not. My companions looked at him, and then upon each other in astonishment, which was increased by the low sound of a number of voices joined in song. The music was varied by occasional bursts of passion, and passages of deep pathos. Tangoras joined the strain in a low guttural tone, scarcely audible; he closed his eyes as he sang, and listened to the voices, apparently with deep interest. "What is the meaning of all this ?" I inquired. "It is the Indian death-song," replied the schoolmaster, "and they relate in their rude strains the most daring exploits of their favourite chief.” Tangoras stood motionless for about a quarter of an hour, during which the song continued. His eyes remained closed, and his countenance underwent various changes. The expression indicated pain, and finally became so completely distorted, as to evince that he was labouring under intense bodily pain, although he still continued to mutter the death-song. It was now with the utmost difficulty that he sustained himself; he staggered, his knees bent under him, and the next moment he fell to the floor, and shouted the war-whoop as he fell. They heard the signal from without, and immedately the death-song was changed to a wild burst of exultation. We approached to support the old chief, who was struggling in the agonies of death, but he waved his hand, and forbade us to touch him. We inquired into the cause of his sudden illness, and he replied with a smile of triumph, that nature impelled him to die as a man, while the Christians would have taught him to die as a dog. "The old Roman virtue,-consistent to the last!" exclaimed the schoolmaster. The dying Indian writhed on the floor, and suddenly turning on his back, threw out his gigantic limbs, and lay stretched at full length. His broad chest heaved, his teeth were clenched, his hands closed, his eyes turned upwards, and a slight quivering ran through his whole frame. The song of exultation still continued without. There was now a gentle knock at the outer door, and the jailor left us, to attend to it. In a few moments he returned, accompanied by the wives of Tangoras. They looked upon him as he lay upon the floor, and then exchanged glances with each other. The struggle was now over; the body was motionless. They bent down beside it, covered their faces, and having remained in this posture a few moments, arose and left the prison in silence. The song of exultation ceased, as the jailor closed the door after them. As I returned to the inn, I expressed aston ishment at the cause of his sudden death. "The cause is plain enough," replied the schoolmaster. "The women who visited him last evening left a dose of poison with him. It is evident that the plan was preconcerted." About an hour afterwards we beheld the dejected Indians slowly ascending the mountain, bearing the remains of their old chief to a spot, where they might repose without longer being trampled on by the justice of the pale faces.-Literary Souvenir. THIS mansion was built by "the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth," who was beheaded on Tower Hill, July 15, 1685. It was subsequently purchased by Lord Bateman, from whom it passed to his successor, who let it to the Count de Guerchy, a French ambassador to our court. The premises were taken down in the year 1773, and the site, or part of it, is now occupied by Bateman's Buildings. The name of the duke is, however, still preserved in Monmouth Street, in this vicinity, humiliating as may be the distinction in contrast with the ill-starred ambition of the princely soldier. It is likewise perpetuated, though less directly in Soho Square, which is one of the oldest squares in London, having been built in the reign of Charles II. whose statue is placed in the central area. This square was originally called King's Square, and is said to owe its present appellation to Monmouth and his friends who resided in it. the watch word of the duke's party at the battle of Sedgemoor. Soho was The fate of Monmouth is one of these episodes in man's history which charge him "to fling away ambition." He was accused of participation in the Meal-tub Plot, by one Dangerfield, whom Burnet describes as "a subtle and dextrous man, who had gone through all the shapes and practices of roguery." The finishing stroke to his misfortunes was, however, his implication in an insurrection in the west against James II. After his defeat at the disastrous battle of Sedgemoor, and his subsequent discovery in a ditch at Holtbridge, in Dorsetshire, in July, 1685, he was conveyed to London on the 13th, and after an interview with his uncle, the king, in which the latter displayed "neither feeling nor generosity," he was committed to the Tower. The bill of attainder, which had previously been passed against him, precluded the necessity of a formal trial; and only two days respite were allowed between the time of his committal and his execution, although he had petitioned for a longer interval. The incidents of his "latter end" are narrated with much feeling, in a letter written by Dr. Lloyd, Bishop of St. Asaph, to Bishop Fell, dated July 16, 1685, the day after Monmouth's execution, from which letter the following is an extract: Aubrey's Lives of Eminent Men. 401 |