words. It was direct and intended, as the countenance of the speaker clearly shewed. There was malice in his eye-malice mingled with the confidence of prospective triumph.

The interrogation was irrevelant, superfluous. Thompson knew well that Powell was a chief-a sub-chief, it is true, but still a chief-a war-chief of the Redsticks, the most warlike tribe of the nation. The question was put for mere provocation. The agent tempted an outburst of that temper that all knew to be none of the gentlest.

Strange to say, the insult failed in its effect, or it seemed so. They who expected an angry answer were doomed to disappointment. Oçeola made no reply. Only a peculiar smile was observed upon his features. It was not of anger, nor yet of scorn: it was rather a smile of silent, lordly contempt-the look which a gentleman would bestow upon the blackguard who is abusing him. Those who witnessed it were left under the impression that the young chief regarded his insulter as beneath the dignity of a reply, and the insult too gross, as it really was, to be answered. Such impression had I, in common with others around me.

Oçeola's look might have silenced the commissioner, or, at least, have caused him to change his tactics, had he been at all sensitive to derision. But no-the vulgar soul of the plebeian official was closed against shame, as against justice; and without regarding the repulse, he pressed on with his plan.

'I ask, are you a chief?' continued he, repeating the interrogatory in a still more insulting tone. 'Have you the right to sign?'

This time his questions were answered, and by a dozen voices at once. Chieftains in the ring, and warriors who stood behind it, shouted in reply:

"The Rising Sun?-a chief! He is a chief. has the right to sign.'

He

'Why call his right in question?' inquired Jumper, with a sneering laugh. "Time enough when he wishes to exercise it. He is not likely to do that now.'

'But I am,' said Oçeola, addressing himself to the orator, and speaking with marked emphasis. 'I have the right to sign—I shall sign.'

It is difficult to describe the effect produced by this unexpected avowal. The entire audience-white men as well as red men-was taken by surprise; and for some moments there was a vibratory movement throughout the assembly, accompanied by a confused murmur of voices. Exclamations were heard on all sides-cries of varied import, according to the political bias of those who uttered them. All, however, betokened astonishment: with some, in tones of joy; with others, in the accents of chagrin or anger. Was it Oçeola who had spoken? Had they heard aright? Was the 'Rising Sun' so soon to sink behind the clouds? After all that had transpired-after all he had promised-was he going to turn traitor?

Such questions passed rapidly among the hostile chiefs and warriors; while those of the opposite party could scarcely conceal their delight. All knew that the signing of Oçeola would end the affair; and the removal become a matter of course. The Omatlas would have nothing more to fear; the hostile warriors, who had sworn it, might still resist; but there was no leader among them who could bind the patriots together as Oçeola had done. With his defection, the spirit of resistance would become a feeble thing: the patriots might despair.

Jumper, Cloud, Coa Hajo, and Abram, Arpiucki, and the dwarf, seemed all equally stricken with astonishment. Oçeola-he on whom they had reposed their fullest confidence-the bold designer of the opposition-the open foe to all who had hitherto advocated the removal-he, the pure patriot in whom all had believed-whom all had trusted, was now

going to desert them-now, in the eleventh hour, when his defection would be fatal to their cause.

'He has been bribed,' said they. His patriotism has been all a sham; his resistance a cheat. He has been bought by the agent; he has been acting for him all along. Holywaugus! Iste-hulwa-stchay.* "Tis a treason blacker than Omatla's!'

Thus muttered the chiefs to one another, at the same time eyeing Oçeola with the fierce look of tigers.

With regard to Powell's defection, I did not myself know what to make of it. He had declared his resolution to sign the treaty; what more was needed? That he was ready to do so was evident from his attitude: he seemed only to wait for the agent to invite him.

As to the commissioner being a party to this intention, I knew he was nothing of the kind. Any one who looked in his face, at that moment, would have acquitted him of all privity to the act. He was evidently as much astonished by Oçeola's declaration as any one upon the ground, or even more so; in fact, he seemed bewildered by the unexpected avowal; so much, that it was some time before he could make rejoinder.

He at length stammered out:

'Very well, Oçeola! Step forward here, and sign then.'

Thompson's tone was changed: he spoke soothingly. A new prospect was before him. Oçeola would sign, and thus agree to the removal. The business upon which the supreme government had deputed him would thus be accomplished, and with a dexterity that would redound to his own credit. 'Old Hickory' would be satisfied; and then what next? what next? Not a mission to a mere tribe of savages, but an embassy to some high court of civilisation. He might yet be ambassador? perhaps to Spain?

Ah! Wiley Thompson! thy castles in the air (châteaux en Espagne) were soon dissipated. They fell suddenly as they had been built: they broke down like a house of cards.

Oçeola stepped forward to the table, and bent over it, as if to scan the words of the document. His eyes ran rapidly across the parchment; he seemed to be searching for some particular place.

He found it-it was a name-he read it aloud: 'Charles Omatla.'

Raising himself erect, he faced the commissioner; and, in a tone of irony, asked the latter if he still desired him to sign.

"You have promised, Oçeola.'
"Then will I keep my promise.'

As he spoke the words, he drew his long Spanish knife from its sheath, and raising it aloft, struck the blade through the parchment till its point was deep buried in the wood.

'That is my signature! cried he, as he drew forth the steel. 'See! Omatla! it is through your name. Beware, traitor! Undo what you have done, or its blade may yet pass through your heart!'

'Oh! that is what he meant,' cried the commissioner, rising in rage. 'Good. I was prepared for this insolence-this outrage. General Clinch!I appeal to you-your soldiers-seize upon-arrest him!'

These broken speeches I heard amidst the confusion of voices. I heard Clinch issue some hurried orders to an officer who stood near. I saw half a dozen files separate from the ranks, and rush forward; I saw them cluster around Oçeola-who the next moment was in their grasp.

Not till several of the blue-coated soldiers were sent sprawling over the ground; not till guns had

* Bad man-villain,

been thrown aside, and a dozen strong men had fixed their gripe upon him, did the young chief give over his desperate struggles to escape; and then apparently yielding, he stood rigid and immobile, as if his frame had been iron.

It was an unexpected dénouement-alike unlooked for by either white men or Indians. It was a violent proceeding, and altogether unjustifiable. This was no court whose judge had the right to arrest for contempt. It was a council, and even the insolence of an individual could not be punished without the concurrence of both parties. General Thompson had exceeded his duty-he had exercised a power arbitrary as illegal.

The scene that followed was so confused as to defy description. The air was rent with loud ejaculations; the shouts of men, the screams of women, the cries of children, the yells of the Indian warriors, fell simultaneously upon the ear. There was no attempt at rescue that would have been impossible in the presence of so many troops-so many traitors; but the patriot chiefs, as they hurried away from the ground, gave out their wild 'Yo-ho-ehee'-the gathering war-word of the Seminole nation-that in every utterance promised retaliation and revenge.

The soldiers commenced dragging Oçeola inside the fort. "Tyrant!' cried he, fixing his eye upon the commissioner, you have triumphed by treachery; but fancy not that this is the end of it. You may imprison Oçeola-hang him, if you will-but think not that his spirit will die. No; it will live, and cry aloud for vengeance. It speaks! Hear ye yonder sounds? Know ye the "war-cry" of the Redsticks? Mark it well; for it is not the last time it will ring in your ears. Ho-yo-ho-ehee! yo-ho-chee! Listen to it, tyrant! it is your death-knell-it is your deathknell!'

While giving utterance to these wild threats, the young chief was drawn through the gate, and hurried off to the guard-house within the stockade.

As I followed amid the crowd, some one touched me on the arm, as if to draw my attention. Turning, I beheld Haj-Ewa.

"To-night, by the we-wa,'* said she, speaking so as not to be heard by those around. There will be shadows-more shadows upon the water. Perhaps'

I did not hear more: the crowd pressed us apart; and when I looked again, the mad queen had moved away from the spot.

BIRDS AS OBSERVED BY ME. In my early days, birds of every kind were my friends, and much of my time wa's taken up watching them. I never studied much of their learned classification, nor did I ever care much about having any of my own; I simply was fond of them, and liked to watch their habits. I have often, when I ought to have been at school learning my lessons, stolen away to the wood, at the back of our house, to watch the motions of the titmice, or try to discover the exact tree whereon the cuckoo sat. And when I succeeded in getting a good view of the cuckoo, I found its attractions quite resistless, and would be chained to the spot as long as that strange bird remained on the tree. I was surprised at first-but I soon became accustomed to it to find that the cuckoo uttered a low, harsh, grating sound, something like a gurgle in the throat, before giving forth the clear, dreamy Ku-koo, Ku-koo;

*Spring, pond, or water.

and I also noticed that when she left the tree, her flight seemed to be zigzag and uncertain, as if she could not make up her mind which tree to light on next. Soon after she left the tree, too, several little birds would twitter off, and follow the stranger wherever she went.

I had always thought-and I don't know why I should have thought it-that the cuckoo frequented the neighbourhood of trees only; but I found her as frequently on the hillside, perched upon some stone, and calling Ku-koo, Ku-koo, just as she did in the wood. At first, I thought she must have strayed or been hunted by other birds from the woods; but when I afterwards saw other cuckoos on the hillside, I knew that she frequented both. I never saw a cuckoo far in the wood, but generally on the outskirts: tall elm-trees bordering parks or gardens seemed to be preferred to the middle of woods, and never very far from houses, which made me think the bird liked to be within sight of our dwellings.

During all my watchings, I never found the cuckoo molesting other birds, as the hawk does, and yet I could not help seeing that she was no favourite with her feathered brethren. This jealousy or natural spite was at times carried to great lengths; and I have seen a cuckoo's enjoyment sadly marred by a little army of persecutors, and the very life of the bird endangered. It seemed to me that these tiny assailants took periodical fits of anger; for I have listened to a cuckoo in full song, when numerous little birds were in the neighbourhood, and observed that none of them noticed her presence excepting her body-guard-a pair of marshtits. On the other hand, during some days, a whole army of little birds would spend hours in pursuing their helpless victim, the air ringing with their screams of defiance and rage. Even at those times, the cuckoo occasionally emitted her notes while on the wing-not plaintively uttered, but just as usual, which always gave me the idea that the bird enjoyed the fun, and rather wished to lead her tormentors a gay chase, than hide herself from such overwhelming odds. These attacks took place, so far as ever I saw, only in the neighbourhood of trees. Her life was certainly more enjoyable amongst the hills: there, she flitted about from one stone to another, her flights usually extending to several hundred yards, at the same time accompanied or followed by her faithful friends, the marsh-tits. Why they attended her, I never could quite find out, unless they acted as guards to warn the cuckoo of the intrusion of enemies, or as purveyors to supply her with food. I dare say if I had been a reader, I should have seen why the cuckoo was molested by many birds, why she was carefully guarded by some, and spitefully entreated by others; but I hated reading, and liked watching: so it was many a day before I found out the wonderful truth, that she lays her eggs in the nests of other birds. The first nest occupied by a young cuckoo which fell to my notice, was the water-wagtail's: here I found the intruder one day in June. I was unprepared for any such discovery, and at first I did not know what to make of it; and it was not until tained the fact, and knew that the two wagtails his feathers began to come to maturity, that I asceralready deprived of their rightful progeny, were toiling from morning till night to supply the voracious appetite of the young cuckoo. Nor did their cares cease when the bird left the nest; for I noticed that for some time afterwards, the foster-parents fetched food, which was eagerly devoured by this adventurer.

This is about all I can remember of the cuckoo; and

many a holiday have I spent in her company. I was more led to watch her habits than those of any other birds, because they always appeared so strange and mysterious. Moreover, I loved to listen to the quiet notes, stealing through the warm air of June or July. I have said that I often stole a day from school to spend

among the copses and woods: these days were generally in June or July; and to this day I never can hear the notes Ku-koo, Ku-koo, without associating them with a certain guilt, felt long ago when I (too often) played truant.

Of all birds, I always thought the tits the most indefatigable in their search for food. They are not shy birds, but allow one to remain within a very few yards when they are at work. I remember they were fond of the silver birch-tree, and seemed to prefer a young or moderate-sized one to the full-grown tree. And of all the varieties of blue, greater, lesser long-tailed, and cole, the blue titmouse or ox-eye was the most active. Several kinds would often claim equal right to one tree, and each pursued its avocations without disturbing, or even noticing its neighbours. The blue tit preferred the branches to the stem, and the smaller sprays to the branches; and when one began searching its spray, it never left it till the search was complete. Back downwards was the favourite position; and every little chink in the bark was tried, tapped, and plundered. The plunder was minute insects, their eggs, chrysales, and tiny caterpillars.

I used to suspect the tits were fond of seeds also, but of this I never was certain. From where the small branch sprung from the greater, and along its entire length, clung, traversed, and pecked, this tiny bird, accompanying the action with sundry low, shrill notes or squeaks; and when several tits were at work on one tree, these notes were constant. Their motions were very quick: a branch several feet long could be examined and plundered in a very few minutes-varying from half a minute to about four usually; and they reminded me of bees, for a few seconds sufficed to shew new-comers whether the branch had been previously visited by others. Their claws are well adapted for clinging, and their necks are very supple; so much so that the bird, while hanging to a horizontal branch of an inch or two in diameter, can twist its head round to the upper part, and examine and probe it, without changing its position. It generally confines itself, however, to the under part and sides of the branch.

The nest of the tit used to be an object of much delight to me. I never harried one, but seldom could resist putting my finger into the small hole at the side, to find if there were eggs or young birds. Such a colony-some dozen or more in one nest not larger than a cricket-ball: no wonder the parent tits require to make the best of their time to supply food for all at home. However, they manage to rear their numerous brood; but that would be impossible were both birds not constantly engaged in getting food. They may both stay away, too, from the nest for some time at a stretch, for it does not require the heat of the parent to keep the young ones warm in their dry ball of feathers.

Another little bird (the least of British birds, I believe), the wren, or katy-wren, as we used to call it, was strange in its habits. I always found it in hedgerows, or close to drains or small streams. Unless for its shrill note, I should seldom have noticed its whereabouts, for the colour of the wren is too dark to admit of the bird being easily seen. I never saw the wren feed. Its motions were very quick, and it seemed an easily scared bird. Its favourite resorts were up drains, or amongst the tangled briers that fringed the sides of some tiny brook: there it would sit, or hop from one little spray to another, emitting its sharp note, so loud for a bird of its size; and if startled from its retreat, would seek the nearest drain-mouth, and vanish. I always deemed the wren a shy bird, and cannot say it was ever a great favourite; but it had its mystery, too, for I never saw it feeding.

It puzzles one to remember the Latin names of

birds; and I always prefer home titles, such as the mavis, the robin, the ox-eye or yellow yorlin, to following them up with hard Latin words, such as Troglodytes vulgaris, which I have carefully copied from a book as the name given by naturalists to the katy-wren!

LOOKING EAST:

IN JANUARY 1858.

'Lover and friend hast Thou put far from me, and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight.'

LITTLE white clouds, where are you flying
Over the sky so blue and cold?
Fair faint hopes, why are you lying

Over my heart like a white cloud's fold?

Little green leaves, why are you peeping
Out of the mould where the snow yet lies?
Toying west wind, why are you creeping
Like a child's breath across my eyes?

Hope and terror by turns consuming,
Lover and friend put far from me-
What should I do with the bright spring's coming
Like an angel over the sea?

Over the cruel sea that parted

Me from mine-is't for evermore ? Out of the woful East, whence darted

Heaven's full quiver of vengeance sore.

Day teaches day-night whispers morning,
'Hundreds are weeping their dead, and thou
Weepest thy living! Rise, be adorning
Thy brows, unwidowed, with smiles.'-But how?

O had he married me-unto anguish,
Hardship, sickness, peril, and pain,
If on my breast his head might languish,
In lonely jungle or burning plain :

O had we stood on the rampart gory,
Till he-ere Horror behind us trod-
Kissed me, and killed me, and with his glory
My soul went happy and pure to God!

Nay, nay-God pardon me, broken-hearted,
Living this dreary life in death;
Many there are far wider parted

Who under one roof-tree breathe one breath.

But we that loved-whom one word half broken
Had drawn together close soul to soul,
As lip to lip-and it was not spoken,
Nor may be, while the world's ages roll.

I sit me down with the tears all frozen:
I drink my cup, be it gall or wine:

I know, if he lives, I am his chosen;
I know, if he dies, that he is mine.

If love in its silence be greater, stronger
Than hundred vows, or sighs, or tears,
Soul, wait thou on Him a little longer
Who holdeth the balance of thy years.

Little white clouds, like angels flying,

Bring the young spring from over the sea: Loving or losing, living or dying,

Heaven, remember-remember me!

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by WILLIAM ROBERTSON, 23 Upper Sackville Street, DUBLIN, and all Booksellers.