ERR. Didst thou contrive his murder?

MET. I will not answer thee.

ERR. We have those can prove thou didst.

MET. I have spoken.

ERR. Bring in the witness. [Exit CHURCH.] We too long have stayed

The arm of Peace from execution-come,

We parley with a serpent, and his wiles

MET. Injurious man, do not tread too hard upon that serpent's folds. His fangs are not yet torn out, nor has their venom lost its power to kill.

ERR. Approach.

Enter two musketeers with the Indian, ANAHWANDA.

MET. Anahwanda!

ERR. So, treacherous man; thy deeds of blood are known.

MET. Let me see his eyes. [Goes to him.] Art thou he I snatched from the tomahawk of the Mohegan, when thou hadst sung thy death song? Did Metamora cherish thee in his wigwam, and hast thou put a knife in the white man's hand to slay him? The foul spirit has entered thee, and the pure blood of the Wampanoag has left thy veins. Thy heart is a lie. Thine eye cannot rest on the face of truth, when, like the great light, it shines upon thee in unclouded glory. [ANAHWANDA shrinks from his gaze, tries to speak, but cannot.] Elders, can he speak to ye the words of truth who has been false to his nation, his brothers, and his God?

ERR. He was thy trusted agent, Philip,

And conscience-smote revealed thy wickedness.
MET. Do ye believe his words?

ERR. We do, and will reward his honesty.

MET. Wampanoag-I will not call thee so-Red-man, say to these people that they have bought thy tongue, and thou hast sold them a lie. [Pause.]

ERR. He does not answer.

MET. [Gathering himself up with great majesty.] I am Metamora, thy father and thy King.

ERR. Philip o'erawes him.

Send the witness back.

MET. I will do that. Slave of the white man, go follow Sassamon!

[He plunges his knife in the body of ANAHWANDA, who falls dead. All start up in alarm.] ERR. Secure him.

MET. Come! My knife has drunk the blood of the false one, but it is not satisfied. White man, beware! The mighty spirits of the Wampanoag race are hovering o'er your heads. They stretch out their shadowy arms and shriek for vengeance. They shall have it! The warwhoop shall fright ye from your dreams at night. The red hatchet shall gleam in the horrid glare of your burning dwellings. From the east to the west, in the north and in the south, shall the loud cry of vengeance burst till the lands ye have stolen groan under your feet no more. The eternal spirit of the red man wakes from its long sleep. It shakes off the fetters that have weighed it down and rushes forth on wings of fire!

ERR. Seize him!

MET. Thus, white man, do I smite your nation and defy your power ! [Dashes his hatchet into the earth and rushes out. Soldiers fire. The whoop of METAMORA and his followers announces the Chief's safety.]

THE DEATH OF METAMORA.

[From the Same.-Close of the Fifth Act and of the Tragedy.]

SCENE.-An Indian retreat. Wood and high rocks.

Alarums. Enter NAHMEOKEE carrying her dead child. She places it behind a rock; then climbs, and stands listening to the subsiding noise of the battle.

NAH

AH. He comes not yet, and the sound of the battle is dying away like the last breath of the storm. Can he be slain? Oh, cruel white man, this day will redly stain your name forever. [Footsteps heard.] An, Le comes.

Enter METAMORA,

MET. Nalımeokee, I am weary with the toil of blood Where is our little one? Let me take him to my heart and he will quell its mighty tumult.

NAH. He is here.

[She lifts up blanket and shows the corpse of the child.]

MET. Dead! Cold! [Turns away.]

NAH. Nahmeokee could not cover him with her form, for the white men were all around her. The shafts of the fire-weapons flew with a great noise over my head. One smote my babe, and the foe shouted with a great shout, for he thought Nahmeokee and her babe had fallen to rise no more.

MET. His little arms will never clasp thee more. Well, is he not happy? Better he should die by the stranger's arm, than live his slave.

NAH. Oh-Metamora!

MET. Do not bow down thy head. Thou wilt meet him again in the peaceful land of spirits, and he will look smilingly upon thee, as-I-do-now-Nahmeokee. [Endeavors to smile. Bursts into an agony of grief.]

NAH. Metamora, is our nation dead? Are we alone?

MET. The Palefaces are all around us, and they march in blood. The blaze of our burning wigwams flashes awfully in the shade of their path. We are destroyed, not beaten. We are no more. Yet we are forever.-Nahmeokee!

NAH. What wouldst thou?

MET. Dost thou fear the power of the white man?

NAH. No.

MET. He may come hither in his power and slay thee.

NAH. Thou art with me. Thou wilt not let them.

MET. We cannot fly, for the foe is all about us. We cannot fight, for this is the only weapon I have saved from the strife unbroken. [Draws his knife.]

NAH. It was my brother's. It was Canonchet's.

MET. It has tasted the white man's blood and reached the cold heart of the traitor. It has been our truest friend. It is our only treasure. [Solemnly.] NAH. Thine eye tells me the thought of thy heart.

MET. Come closer, Nahmeokee. I look through the long path of the thin air, and methinks I see our infant borne onward to the land of the happy. Look upward, Nahmeokee! The spirit of thy murdered father beckons thee.

NAH. I will go to him.

MET. Hark! In the distant wood I faintly hear the cautious tread of men. They are upon us. Nah-Nahmeokee, [After a great struggle] the home of the undying is made ready for thee! [He plunges the knife into her bosom and she sinks down without

a groan.] She felt no white man's bondage. [In a burst of triumph.] Pure as the snow she lived! Free as the air she died! In smiles she died. Let me kiss her lips before they are cold as the ice.

[Is stooping towards the body as a sudden and loud shout is heard. ERRINGTON, Kanishine, CHURCH, soldiers, and Narragansetts appear on the cliff on all sides.] ERR. He is found. Philip is our prisoner.

MET. NO! He lives, the last of his race, but still your enemy,-lives to defy you still. Though numbers overpower me, and treachery has been near me, I defy you still! Come to me-come to me singly, come all-and this true knife that has drunk the blood of your nation, and is now red with the purest of mine, will feel a grasp as strong as when it flashed amid your burning dwellings!

CHURCH. Fire upon him.

MET. Do so! For I am weary of the world.

[Several shots fired. METAMORA falls.]

Nahmeokee, I come to thee! [Dies.]

THE

Robert Dale Dwen.

BORN in Glasgow, Scotland, 1801. DIED at Lake George, N. Y., 1877.

THE RESCUE.

[Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World. 1860.]

HE following narrative, drawn from nautical life, exhibits coincidences unmistakably produced by some agency other than chance. Mr. Robert Bruce, originally descended from some branch of the Scottish family of that name, was born, in humble circumstances, about the close of the last century, at Torbay, in the south of England, and there bred up to a seafaring life.

When about thirty years of age, to wit, in the year 1828, he was first mate on a bark trading between Liverpool and St. John's, New Bruns wick.

On one of her voyages bound westward, being then some five or six weeks out and having neared the eastern portion of the Banks of Newfoundland, the captain and mate had been on deck at noon, taking an observation of the sun; after which they both descended to calculate their day's work.

The cabin, a small one, was immediately at the stern of the vessel, and the short stairway descending to it ran athwart-ships. Immediately opposite to this stairway, just beyond a small square landing, was the mate's state-room; and from that landing there were two doors, close to each other, the one opening aft into the cabin, the other, fronting the

stairway, into the state-room. The desk in the state-room was in the forward part of it, close to the door; so that any one sitting at it and looking over his shoulder could see into the cabin.

The mate, absorbed in his calculation, which did not result as he expected, varying considerably from the dead-reckoning, had not noticed the captain's motions. When he had completed his calculations, he called out, without looking round, "I make our latitude and longitude so and so. Can that be right? How is yours?"

Receiving no reply, he repeated his question, glancing over his shoulder and perceiving, as he thought, the captain busy writing on his slate. Still no answer. Thereupon he rose; and, as he fronted the cabin-door, the figure he had mistaken for the captain raised his head and disclosed to the astonished mate the features of an entire stranger.

Bruce was no coward; but, as he met that fixed gaze looking directly at him in grave silence, and became assured that it was no one whom he had ever seen before, it was too much for him; and, instead of stopping to question the seeming intruder, he rushed upon deck in such evident alarm that it instantly attracted the captain's attention. "Why, Mr. Bruce," said the latter, "what in the world is the matter with you?" "The matter, sir? Who is that at your desk?"

"No one that I know of."

"But there is, sir: there's a stranger there."

"A stranger! Why, man, you must be dreaming. You must have seen the steward there, or the second mate. Who else would venture

down without orders?"

66

'But, sir, he was sitting in your arm-chair, fronting the door, writing on your slate. Then he looked up full in my face; and, if ever I saw a man plainly and distinctly in this world, I saw him."

"Him! Whom?"

"God knows, sir: I don't. I saw a man, and a man I had never seen in my life before."

You must be going crazy, Mr. Bruce. A stranger, and we nearly six weeks out!

"I know, sir; but then I saw him."

"Go down and see who it is."

Bruce hesitated. "I never was a believer in ghosts," he said; "but, if the truth must be told, sir, I'd rather not face it alone."

"Come, come, man.

self before the crew."

Go down at once, and don't make a fool of your

"I hope you've always found me willing to do what's reasonable," Bruce replied, changing color; "but if it's all the same to you, sir, I'd rather we should both go down together."

The captain descended the stairs, and the mate followed him. Nobody

in the cabin! They examined the state-rooms. Not a soul to be found!

"Well, Mr. Bruce," said the captain, "did not I tell you you had been dreaming?"

"It's all very well to say so, sir; but if I didn't see that man writing on your slate, may I never see my home and family again!"

"Ah! writing on the slate! Then it should be there still." And the captain took it up.

"By God," he exclaimed, "here's something, sure enough! Is that your writing, Mr. Bruce?"

The mate took the slate; and there, in plain, legible characters, stood the words, "STEER TO THE NOR WEST."

"Have you been trifling with me, sir?" added the captain, in a stern

manner.

"On my word as a man and as a sailor, sir," replied Bruce, "I know no more of this matter than you do. I have told you the exact truth." The captain sat down at his desk, the slate before him, in deep thought. At last, turning the slate over and pushing it toward Bruce, he said, "Write down, Steer to the nor west.'"

The mate complied; and the captain, after narrowly comparing the two handwritings, said, "Mr. Bruce, go and tell the second mate to come down here."

He came; and, at the captain's request, he also wrote the same words. So did the steward. So, in succession, did every man of the crew who could write at all. But not one of the various hands resembled, in any degree, the mysterious writing.

When the crew retired, the captain sat deep in thought. "Could any one have been stowed away?" at last he said. "The ship must be searched; and if I don't find the fellow he must be a good hand at hideand-seek. Order up all hands."

Every nook and corner of the vessel, from stem to stern, was thoroughly searched, and that with all the eagerness of excited curiosity, for the report had gone out that a stranger had shown himself on board; but not a living soul beyond the crew and the officers was found.

Returning to the cabin after their fruitless search, "Mr. Bruce," said the captain, "what the devil do you make of all this?"

"Can't tell, sir. I saw the man write; you see the writing. There must be something in it."

"Well, it would seem so. We have the wind free, and I have a great mind to keep her away and see what will come of it."

"I surely would, sir, if I were in your place. It's only a few hours lost, at the worst."

'Well, we'll see. Go on deck and give the course nor'west. And,