have been produced on the mind of Our Correspondent. No doubt, after the Gallery was served with the cap, other people would be glad to take up with the remainder of the royal fish.

As to flavour, the skull-caps seemed to eat very much like the birds-nests, gelatine being decidedly in the ascendant in both cases.

After this came 'a soup composed of balls of crab.' This is too vague to satisfy our curiosity. Was the soup made on a 'stock' of shin of beef, or chine of dog, and then merely added to and decorated with the 'balls of crab,' as our own mock-turtle is with little imitation eggs? Further information would be desirable, and we hope the next dispatches will be more explicit.

All this time, there appears to have been a great preponderance of the rich and luscious sort of viands; and we felt quite astounded at the discovery that neither bread nor other farinaceous matter was supplied as an absorbent. This is 'against the statute' | in Chinese feasts; and we venture to suggest as a reason, that the 'corners' are too precious as stowage for choicer morsels, to be wasted upon such common affairs as rice or bread. Our English friends, however, could not go on swallowing all this mucilaginous matter without something of the kind; and so, as a special favour, some bread was conceded to them; and we really feel a sort of relief ourselves as we record the fact: such is the force of sympathy in generous minds.

While all this was going on, nectar was supplied by Celestial Ganymedes, in the shape of warm wine, with which the tiny cups were repeatedly filled. The favourite variety with our countrymen was something closely resembling sherry negus, and pronounced very fair drink in its way, when better could not be had. We are next introduced to a stew of preserved fruits; then comes a dish of some sort of vegetable of a hairy description, resembling that species of endive which in France is called barbe du capucin. After that, stewed mushrooms from Manchouria; and then we relapse into a series of entrées of various sorts, in which a root, 'something between a turnip and a horseradish' (the black radish?) meets with much approbation.

And now, reader, would have been the moment for the interrogatory 'quack, quack?' noticed at the beginning of this paper, according to all the rules of dramatic propriety; for the next dish is nothing less than a bowl of ducks' tongues,' to which, no doubt, ample justice was done; and here again is a delicacy which we in our wisdom throw away.

The 'royal and imperial dish' follows next. This is a compote of deers' tendons. On reading this, our first impression was a doubt as to the power of any cooking to bring such a material into an eatable condition; but we are told that, on the contrary, it appeared in a tender and gelatinous form, after probably a week's boiling' to produce the desired result. These sinews come, it is said, from Tatary, and form-like the pietra dura of Italy, which they somewhat resemble in one respect, and the Gobelin tapestry of Paris-material for royal presents; and when a great man receives a consignment of the catgut, he usually celebrates the joyous event by some grand festivities. We need but to observe, further, that, cooked as it was, this dish only added a little more gelatine to the quantity already sent down 'red lane' by the guests whose progress we are thus faithfully recording.

The royal dish being despatched, there appears on the scene one composed of what we should have thought better eating-'earshell fish; but as everything here below must have its limits somewhere, the guests found themselves at this juncture hors de combat.

A very sensible mode of declaring when people have eaten enough, has, it seems, been adopted in China since the days of Confusion, as we once heard the Chinese philosopher injuriously called. Thus, it is understood that no more food is needed when a dish is sent away untouched. This was, therefore, the signal for the close of the feast, for the earshells were reluctantly declined, waistcoat buttons being already on the strain to a rather perilous extent.

But, what have we said? Do our eyes inform us rightly, when we read that, after all this, the guests partook of 'plain boiled rice, confectionary, candied fruit, and acanthus berries steeped in spirits?' It is even so, and confirms the adage that we do not know what we can do till we try.

It deserves to be recorded to the credit of the Chinese maître d'hôtel, that he had in reserve some dozens more of the triumphs of his art, fully as recherchés as those already chronicled here; but which, for the reason stated, did not appear. What they were, therefore-from what region procured— what portion they may once have been of the organism of fish, flesh, or fowl, remains only as a subject of ingenious and interesting speculation.

So ended John Bull's dinner at Ning-po. We should have liked to call next morning, and ask how he felt himself; but our anxiety was quite dissipated by his own assurance, that the guests of the banquet we have been describing met the same evening and made a hearty supper, at the house of one of their number. We therefore take leave of them, trusting that they all had, in the words of our poet-adapted to the occasion by a slight change in the punctuation

A fair, good, night;

With pleasing dreams, and slumbers light. For our own part, we must confess that we live with the fear of dyspepsia before our eyes, and that, unwarlike

cowardly, if you will-as we are, we should almost as soon have clutched a musket at the siege of Delhi as have been forced to stand to it, chop-stick in hand, beside our countrymen on this memorable occasion. Had we tried our gastro-dynamic powers to the same extent as they did, we should have had a nightmare of no ordinary sort, and our visions would doubtless have been influenced by the events of the day. Huge sturgeons, like scalped Indians, would have grinned at us, and with horrid grimaces, called on us to restore their skull-caps. Flocks of melancholy and reproachful swallows would have fluttered round us, and pecked at our eyes as the ruthless plunderer who had not only stolen, but actually eaten their houses. We should have been afflicted with a 'cruel conscientiousness' that we had the missing property somewhere about us; that we were willing to make restitution, but could not, for the life of us, lay our hands upon it for the purpose. Crabs would have nibbled at our toes, and sea-slugs would have trailed their slow and slimy length over our shuddering body. We should have had a ride in the Mazeppa fashion, on the back of a Tartar deer-the first time that a man's dear and his tartar were identified. We should have been found drowned' in an ocean of gluey mucilaginous soup; and a whole regiment of ducks would, in spite of the apparent impossibility of speaking while deprived of the very organ of speech, have clamoured for their tongues in a polyglot and most deafening chorus of 'quack! quack!'

Such being the case, it is just as well, gentle reader, that we should be quietly penning these lines in an attic region, while digesting our solitary mutton-chop, eaten with a German-silver fork for a chop-stick, and with a roasted potato, a modicum of bread, a pickled gherkin for condiment, and a moderate irrigation of half a pint of bitter beer.

We must confess that Our Correspondent has

shewn us that a gelatinous dinner can be digested, if we had ever doubted the fact: but although he has made a good move, and taken one of our best pieces, we cannot give up the game, or allow that we are as yet check-meated; but the controversy must now be let fall into abeyance, not for want of matter, but for lack of space to carry it further at the present

moment.

ENGLISH HEARTS AND HANDS. THIS is the title of a very remarkable little book lately published, and already widely circulated. Its object is twofold: to place a long dreaded and despised race of men, according to the phrase of one of their number, 'straighter with other people;' and to shew how much power for good lies latent within the grasp of 'men and women placed by God's providence in another position of life.' The book itself we owe to the fact that, 'early in the year 1853, nearly three thousand railway excavators were gathered from different parts of the kingdom to work at the grounds of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham,' and that of these men, 'two hundred lodged in the village of Beckenham,' the home of the writer.

Railways have run down many a prejudice in their unswerving track: landowners who once protested against them as a wrong, have long learned to welcome them as a boon; the profit, convenience, social interests of a neighbourhood, are all on their side; nay, our sense of beauty even has accommodated itself to their intrusion into some of our most picturesque scenes; but it was reserved for these pages effectually to dispel the still lingering impressions that no large bodies of this hitherto Pariah race could be quartered in a country neighbourhood without injury to its peace and respectability; to shew us that actually two or three hundred navvies could take up their abode in a country village for two winters, and instead of spreading moral contagion, set a good example to many of its inhabitants.'

Looking over the touching narrative before us, we find, as indeed we usually do, that a great work had a small beginning. It was on Sunday, the 13th of March 1853, that the writer first attempted to seek the navvies out. 'About seven in the evening' she went to a cottage where several were lodging, and asked for one of the family, as an easy introduction to the strangers.' Undaunted by the announcement that they were a lot of rough uns,' she entered, 'inquired if any of them had been at church-not one of them had thought of it'-gave them an account of the morning's sermon; spoke of the important subjects most closely intertwined with every conviction of her own mind, every feeling of her own heart; linked these as they had never been linked before with the wants and spiritual instincts of those whom she addressed; and, in short, concluded this introduction, by melting them to tears, and left them her fast friends and loyal subjects! From that time forward, meetings for similar intercommunings were held on Sunday evenings, and twice in the week, and these were soon attended by the navvies in large numbers. Nor were their pleasures unthought of. A tea-party was devised. The school-room was decorated with festoons of flowers, and a buttonhole bouquet of geranium and jessamine tied up with blue ribbon, and laid upon each plate.' We do not wonder that long afterwards some of these flowers were seen carefully preserved in books!' A pleasant sight that school-room must have afforded that summer-day! To a minute, our friends arrived, each man looking as clean as a baby on its christening-day. They quietly and quickly seated themselves, and no gentlemen in the united

kingdom could have conducted themselves more admirably.'

Nor was the softening, elevating, refining influence unexerted even when distance removed 'their lady' from her true-hearted friends. Letters were frequently exchanged, and numbers are given in the book before us, simple, earnest, manly—such letters as do honour to England's working-men.

'On the last day of 1853, the sergeant of police stationed at Beckenham called to return thanks for the interest that had been taken in these noble fellows. He said that his duty had never been so easy before in Beckenham, for their example had restrained the wilder young men of the place, and even shamed a few into attendance at public worship.'

The good work went on throughout 1854. More and more stout hearts were bent beneath the same spell. We read of many a victory over the workingman's direct temptation, drunkenness. We read, it is true, of relapses into the cruel hold of the inveterate habit; but the fallen are not forsaken-they are followed after, reclaimed by tenderness and tears: the gentle hand, strong to rescue, is stretched out again and again, and most of the strugglers triumph in the end. Several of the Crystal Palace navvies having enlisted, we have a number of letters given from different barracks, all expressing a grateful remembrance of Beckenham influences, and shewing how permanent these were in new scenes and under new forms of temptation.

In 1855, we read: 'A new interest sprung up for us in the gathering of the Army Works Corps. This corps, formed by the suggestion, and under the arrangement of Sir J. Paxton, amounted from first to last to nearly 4000 men-railway labourers, artisans of various kinds, smiths, stone-masons, bricklayers. The first ship was to sail early in July, the last about the middle of December.' News was brought to the Beckenham rectory on the 19th of May that several strangers had arrived to look for lodgings in the village.' The time was short, indeed, but to such a one as the writer of the book before us, this was no reason for giving up the work, but rather for the doing it with all her might. The new-comers, indeed, were described as 'the roughest lot as ever came to Beckenham.' 'At the first words addressed to them, they looked surprised, and somewhat disposed to look away;' but they were no more proof than their predecessors had been against the magic of an exquisite sympathy, and the unerring tact of a wise and loving heart. In her own words, always the best: We met them with friendly interests; they returned it with generous sympathy.'

6

The impression thus made was so strong, that the poor fellows longed to communicate it to others. One, after conferring with his friends, remarked: 'I wish the whole lot could hear these things. We're all together outside the Crystal Palace at seven of a morning, and the paymaster says we're the finest lot he ever saw, and the mildest-just like four hundred roaring lions.'

The following morning at the early hour named, a carriage from Beckenham was on its way to the ground, where about fifty men were already gathered. The carriage was sent away. 'Conversation easily followed, and by the time the remainder of the four hundred began to make their appearance, the first fifty had become our firm friends; not one uncivil word was said, not one unwilling hand received the prayer.'

This drive to the 'place appointed for the roll-call each morning,' became a regular thing. Invitations to 'cottage-readings' were given, a parting breakfastparty arranged, friendships formed. The ship not sailing at the time appointed, a 'round robin' was

Not

addressed to their benefactress by the navvies, pressingly requesting her return from Essex, whither she had gone, 'to give them some more good advice before they should go away from their own country, perhaps never to return.' This perfect confidence in her care for them' is surely very touching. On the 18th of June, an early visit was paid to the Crystal Palace grounds; not only to take leave, but to take charge of any portion of their large wages which they chose to empower me to receive during their engagement in the Crimea. . . . only wives and children were thus provided for, but amongst the majority, who had no such ties, an aged mother, an infirm father, a widowed sister, a sickly brother, or orphan niece, were remembered with a generous care for their comfort. Stamped receipts for money-orders being given to the men, they were 'flung back by common consent, with something like a shout of disdain, at the supposition that they could possibly require such a pledge from a friend and a lady.'

From that time till their departure, these men visited the rectory at all hours on their pecuniary matters,' and many an opportunity of quiet intercommunion was thus afforded its inmates. On the morning of the 21st of June, on the occasion of the final visit to the Crystal Palace grounds, the writer tells us: After shaking hands with each man, I took my leave, but was requested by an official to return, to hear the subject of a communication which had been passing from the men to the foremen of the corps. It was to express the united wish of these warm and grateful hearts that I should go out with them to the Crimea, to keep them straight, and to be with any of them who should die out there in their last hours. And they humbly begged to know if they might take the best place on board for me, and pay for it amongst themselves. It went to my heart to refuse them. But when I explained to them the sacred home duties which withheld me from leaving England, they recognised them at once as paramount claims, and satisfied themselves by asking for a promise of one more farewell visit on board their ships.'

These farewell visits were paid upon the occasion of the sailing of each ship that bore away the Army Works Corps. Of these ships, the Jura was the last; she left England on the December of 1855, with her complement of five hundred men. A very touching incident in connection with this final visit well deserves to be given in full. Two men having borrowed half a sovereign each, came to the rectory to repay it the evening before their departure. Are you sure, my friends,' said their benefactress, that you can afford to give it back?'

'Quite sure, and thank you, ma'am, a thousand times.'

'When we met on board ship, we found that whilst other men had been laying out from ten to twenty shillings apiece in warm vests, John and James had been obliged to do without them, to enable them to repay their debts. . . . . It was not to be borne. So, early in the day, we despatched a messenger for four warm knitted vests from London. Five o'clock came -our messenger had not returned. There was plainly some mistake...

"The colder blew the night-breezes about us, as we drove through Deptford, the more unbearable was the thought of these two men suffering for their high and delicate sense of honour towards us. . . . At the fifth shop searched, the articles of clothing which we wanted were obtained. But who was to take them back to the ship? No shopman could be spared.

'Beneath a lamp in the street stood a group of boys; its light fell on a face which seemed to introduce the sort of messenger I desired. The story was told

him. "Now, my boy, we are strangers, and I do not want to know your name or where you live. You might take these vests, and sell or give them away as you choose, I should never send the police after you; but my confidence in the honour of English boys, which stands so high now, would be broken down, and those two nobly honest men would suffer, and might take cold, and go into consumption and die, and their wives and children break their hearts about them."

"The boy's eyes flashed under the lamp-light, and snatching the parcel, he said: "Trust me. I'm the boy for it."

Eighteenpence happened to be the worldly all we had with us, after paying for the vests. I told him how sorry I was for this. "It's a plenty. Father's a waterman. I shall get his boat for nothing. All's right!" and off he ran. . . . .

"The next day passed, and the next, but no letter from the Jura. We read in the Times that she had sailed on Thursday morning. The day-posts of Saturday arrived, but brought no news of the parcel.

'My trust failed. "My boy is dishonest," I said; "and my confidence in human honour can never be the same again."

'But by the last post on Saturday evening came a note to say that about seven o'clock on Wednesday evening a boy had brought a parcel on board, and had requested permission to deliver it to James P. and John M

'Having discharged his duty, the last sound heard amidst the splashing of his oars as he left the ship's side was the shout: "Tell that 'ere lady I kept my word, and the jackets was in time." "

They were gone then, the last of this bold, brave, yet tender-hearted band; gone without their guardian angel, to face the many toils and dangers of the camp before Sebastopol. But the strong silken ties of protecting and of grateful love were not overstrained by distance. The correspondence with the men themselves began to average about fifty letters a week from the Crimea;' and the receipts arising from the men's money-orders averaged about L.500 a month. Many died in that far-off land—and we have touching accounts given in letters from their mates of some who remembered Beckenham teaching to the very last. On the 8th of May 1856, the Cleopatra brought 600 men of the Army Works Corps safely back to English ground. From that time,' says the narrator, until the last detachment of working-men landed from the Crimea, we were in the habit of keeping open house for their visits. . . . Pleasant was it to hear their short strong statements of not having forgotten us in the Crimea.' 'Once we heard as you was dead, and nigh two thousand of us ran together and prayed God it wasn't true.' And again: Whenever any more comed over, we said first thing: "Been to Beckenham, mates? How was they?""

We conclude this short abstract by a few remarks. Plainly the influence we have seen exerted by a refined and accomplished woman over large bodies of men of the roughest class was remarkable both in kind and in degree. What was its secret? We answer in her own words: 'The working-man values your courtesy above your liberality, and your friendship most of all. Shew him your interest in his welfare, your desire for his improvement, your care for his happiness, and, above all, your trust in his honour. Let him feel that he can give back as much as he gains..... Allow him the glorious equality of being able to repay friendship with friendship.'

A word to the many who will read this book with beating heart and tearful eyes, and a sudden and enthusiastic yearning to exercise a like influence. It

features in repose, or now and then lit up by an expression rather of gentleness. He seemed the impersonation of an Apollo-or, to speak less mythologically, a well-behaved gentleman waiting for some ceremony, of which he was to be a simple spectator. As yet, nothing had transpired to excite him; no words had been uttered to rouse a spirit that only seemed to slumber.

passion.

OCEOLA:

A ROMANCE.

CHAPTER XXXVII.-THE FINAL ASSEMBLY.

THE spectacle of yesterday was repeated: the troops in serried lines of blue and steel-the officers in full uniform with shining epaulettes-in the centre the staff grouped around the general, close buttoned and of brilliant sheen; fronting these the half-circle of chiefs, backed by concentric lines of warriors, plumed, painted, and picturesque-horses standing near, some neighing under ready saddles, some picketed and quietly browsing-Indian women in their long hunnas, hurrying to and fro-boys and babes at play upon the grass-flags waving above the soldiers -banners and pennons floating over the heads of the red warriors-drums beating-bugles braying; such was the array.

Again the spectacle was imposing, yet scarcely so much as that of the preceding day. The eye at once detected a deficiency in the circle of the chiefs, and nearly half of the warriors were wanting. The assemblage no longer impressed you with the idea of a multitude-it was only a respectable crowd, with room enough for all to gather close around the council.

The absence of many chiefs was at once perceived. King Onopa was not there. The coronet of British brass-lackered symbol of royalty, yesterday conspicuous in the centre-was no longer to be seen. Holata Mico was missing, with other leaders of less note; and the thinness in the ranks of the common warriors shewed that these chiefs had taken their followers along with them. Most of the Indians on the ground appeared to be of the clans of Omatla, 'Black Dirt,' and Ohala.

Notwithstanding the fewness of their following, I saw that Hoitle-mattee, Arpiucki, negro Abram, and the Dwarf were present. Surely these stayed not to sign?

Gazing upon his face, one could hardly fancy such a transformation possible, and yet a close observer might. It was like the placid sky that precedes the storm-the calm ocean that in a moment may be convulsed by the squall-the couchant lion that on the slightest provocation may be roused to ungovernable rage.

During the moments that preceded the inauguration of the council, I kept my eyes upon the young chief. Other eyes were regarding him as well; he was the cynosure of many-but mine was a gaze of peculiar interest.

I looked for some token of recognition, but received none-neither nod nor glance. Once or twice, his eye fell upon me, but passed on to some one else, as though I was but one among the crowd of his palefaced adversaries. He appeared not to remember me. Was this really so? or was it, that his mind, pre-occupied with great thoughts, hindered him from taking notice?

I did not fail to cast my eyes abroad-over the plain-to the tents-towards the groups of loitering women. I scanned their forms, one after another.

I fancied I saw the mad queen in their midst—a centre of interest. I had hopes that her protégée might be near; but no. None of the figures satisfied my eye: they were all too squaw-like-too short or too tall-too corpulent or too maigre. She was not there. Even under the loose hunna I should have recognised her splendid form—if still unchanged.

If the hypothesis excites your surprise. Why changed, you ask? Growth?-development?-maturity? Rapid in this southern clime is the passage from maiden's form to that of matron.

No; not that, not that. Though still so young, the undulating outlines had already shewn themselves. When I last looked upon her, her stature had reached its limits; her form exhibited the bold curve of Hogarth, so characteristic of womanhood complete. Not that did I fear.

And what then? The contrary? Change from attenuation-from illness or grief? Nor this.

I cannot explain the suspicions that racked mesprung from a stray speech. That jay bird, that yestreen chattered so gaily, had poured poison into my heart. But no; it could not be Maumee? She was too innocent. Ah! why do I rave? There is no guilt in love. If true-if she-hers was not crime; he alone was the guilty one.

I have ill described the torture I experienced, consequent upon my unlucky 'eaves-dropping.' During the whole of the preceding day, it had been a source of real suffering. I was in the predicament of one who had heard too much, and too little.

As upon the preceding day, there was no appearance of bravado about him. His attitude, though stately and statuesque, was one of perfect ease. His arms were folded over his full chest-his weight resting on one limb, the other slightly retired-his

she had mentioned no name till I myself had pronounced it; but to whom could her speech refer? 'Poor bird of the forest-her heart will bleed and break.' She spoke of the 'Rising Sun:' that was Oçeola. Who could the 'haintclitz' be? who but Maümee?

It might be but a tale of bygone days-a glimpse of the past deeply impressed upon the brain of the

maniac, and still living in her memory. This was possible. Haj-Ewa had known us in those days, had often met us in our wild wood rambles, had even been with us upon the island-for the mad queen could paddle her canoe with skill, could ride her wild steed, could go anywhere, went everywhere.

It might be only a souvenir of these happy days that caused her to speak as she had done-in the chaos of her intellect, mistaking the past for the present. Heaven forbid!

The thought troubled me, but not long; for I did not long entertain it. I clung to the pleasanter belief. Her words were sweet as honey, and formed a pleasing counterpoise to the fear I might otherwise have felt, on discovering the plot against my life. With the knowledge that Maumee had once lovedstill loved me-I could have dared dangers a hundredfold greater than that. It is but a weak heart that would not be gallant under the influence of love. Encouraged by the smiles of a beautiful mistress, even cowards can be brave.

Arens Ringgold was standing by my side. Entrained in the crowd, our garments touched; we conversed together!

He was even more polite to me than was his wont -more friendly! His speech scarcely betrayed the habitual cynicism of his nature; though, whenever I looked him in the face, his eye quailed, and his glance sought the ground.

For all that, he had no suspicion-not the slightest -that I knew I was side by side with the man who designed to murder me.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CASHIERING THE CHIEFS.

To-day the commissioner shewed a bolder front. A bold part he had resolved to play, but he felt sure of success; and consequently there was an air of triumph in his looks. He regarded the chiefs with the imperious glance of one determined to command them; confident they would yield obedience to his wishes.

At intervals his eye rested upon Oçeola with a look of peculiar significance, at once sinister and triumphant. I was in the secret of that glance: I guessed its import; I knew that it boded no good to the young Seminole chief. Could I have approached him at that moment, I should have held duty but lightly, and whispered in his ear a word of warning.

I was angry with myself that I had not thought of this before. Haj-Ewa could have borne a message on the previous night; why did I not send it? My mind had been too full. Occupied with my own perils, I had not thought of the danger that threatened my friend-for in this light I still regarded Powell.

I had no exact knowledge of what was meant ; though, from the conversation I had overheard, I more than half divined the commissioner's purpose. Upon some plea, Oçeola was to be arrested.

A plea was needed; the outrage could not be perpetrated without one. Even the reckless agent might not venture upon such a stretch of power without plausible pretext; and how was this pretext to be obtained?

The withdrawal of Onopa and the 'hostiles,' while Omatla with the 'friendlies' remained, had given the agent the opportunity. Oçeola himself was to furnish the plea.

Would that I could have whispered in his ear one word of caution!

It was too late: the toils had been laid-the trap set; and the noble game was about to enter it. It was too late for me to warn him. I must stand idly by-spectator to an act of injustice—a gross violation of right.

A table was placed in front of the ground occupied by the general and staff; the commissioner stood immediately behind it. Upon this table was an inkstand with pens; while a broad parchment, exhibiting the creases of many folds, was spread out till it occupied nearly the whole surface. This parchment was the treaty of the Oclawaha.

6

'Yesterday,' began the commissioner, without further preamble, we did nothing but talk-to-day we are met to act. This,' said he, pointing to the parchment, is the treaty of Payne's Landing. I hope you have all considered what I said yesterday, and are ready to sign it?'

'We have considered,' replied Omatla for himself and those of his party. We are ready to sign.'

'Onopa is head-chief,' suggested the commissioner; 'let him sign first. Where is Miconopa?' he added, looking around the circle with feigned surprise. 'The mico-mico is not here.'

'And why not here? He should have been here. Why is he absent?'

'He is sick-he is not able to attend the council.' "That is a lie, Jumper. Miconopa is shammingyou know he is.'

The dark brow of Hoitle-mattee grew darker at the insult, while his body quivered with rage. A grunt of disdain was all the reply he made, and folding his arms, he drew back into his former attitude.

'Abram! you are Miconopa's private counsellor you know his intentions. Why has he absented himself?'

'O Massr Ginral!' replied the black in broken English, and speaking without much show of respect for his interrogator, 'how shed ole Abe know the 'tention ob King Nopy? The mico no tell me ebberting-he go he please, he come he please-he great chief; he no tell nobody his 'tention."

'Does he intend to sign? Say yes or no.'

'No, den!' responded the interpreter in a firm voice, as if forced to the answer. 'That much ob his mind Abe do know. He no 'tend sign that ar dockament. He say no, no.'

'Enough!' cried the commissioner in a loud voice'enough! Now hear me, chiefs and warriors of the Seminole nation! I appear before you armed with a power from your Great Father the President-he who is chief of us all. That power enables me to punish for disloyalty and disobedience; and I now exercise the right upon Miconopa. He is no longer king of the Seminoles!'

This unexpected announcement produced an effect upon the audience similar to that of an electric shock. It startled the chiefs and warriors into new attitudes, and all stood looking eagerly at the speaker. But the expression upon their faces was not of like import-it varied much. Some shewed signs of anger as well as surprise. A few appeared pleased, while the majority evidently received the announcement with incredulity.

Surely the commissioner was jesting? How could he make or unmake a king of the Seminoles? How could the Great Father himself do this? The Seminoles were a free nation; they were not even tributary to the whites-under no political connection whatever. They themselves could alone elect their king-they only could depose him. Surely the commissioner was jesting?

Not at all. In another moment, they perceived he was in earnest. Foolish as was the project of deposing King Onopa, he entertained it seriously. He had resolved to carry it into execution; and as far as decrees went, he did so without further delay.

'Omatla! you have been faithful to your word and your honour; you are worthy to head a brave nation. From this time forth, you are king of the Seminoles. Our Great Father, and the people of the United