So once on Judah's evening hills, The waning moon in time shall fail LESSON NINETY-FIFTH. CAPTAIN CHURCH AND ANAWON. Anawon, his son, and several chiefs, had cut down a tree under the rocks, and against it set up a row of bushes, to form a shelter. Great fires were burning without, pots and kettles were boiling, and spits turning, loaded with meat. Their arms stood near, covered with a mat. Returning to his company, Captain Church ordered his pilot and daughter, as they would be received without notice, to descend first, with their baskets on their backs. He and his friends followed in their shadow, letting themselves down by the bushes in the cracks of the rocks. Church, with his hatchet in his hand, first reached the arms at the feet of Anawon. The old chieftain, starting up, cried out, Howah, and, in despair, fell back silent. Church sent his Indians to the other companies, to inform them their chief was a prisoner, and warn them to submit. They obeyed. "What have you for supper?" said Church to Anawon; "I am come to sup with you." Anawon ordered his women to provide supper, and asked Church whether he would have cow beef or horse beef. He replied that cow beef would be the most pleasant. Supper was soon ready. After which, as he had not slept for two days and a night, Church told his men, if they would let him sleep two hours they should rest the whole night after. But Church's situation was too interesting for sleep; his men, however, he soon perceived, were all in a sound slumber. He and Anawon were the only persons awake in all the camp. So does elevation of character, and a sense of responsibility, fill the heart with anxious care. While the Indian chief recollected the deeds of his valour in the service of three kings, and exulted in the destruction of villages, the sighs of his prisoners, and the blood of a thousand battles, the chains of his own captivity sunk deep into his soul; the fall of his prince, the ruin of his country, the utter extinction of his tribe, filled his heart with the agony of horror and desperation. For an hour, the two captains lay looking at each other; when Anawon rose, and walked off, as Church supposed, for some necessary purpose; but, soon finding him out of sight and hearing, he began to be alarmed, took all the arms to him, crowded himself under young Anawon, so that the father must have endangered his son in attempting to kill him. But the old man soon returned, and, falling on his knees, said, "Great captain, you have killed King Philip, and conquered his country. I believe that I and my company are the last who war against the English; so I suppose the war is ended by your means. These things, therefore, are yours. They are the royalties of King Philip, with which he adorned himself when he sat in state. I think myself happy in presenting them to Captain Church, who has so fairly won them." Then, opening the pack, he pulled out a belt, nine inches broad, curiously wrought with black and white wampum, in various figures of flowers, birds, and beasts; also another, wrought in the same manner, worn on the head of the warrior, hanging down his back, from which two flags waved behind him. A third, with a star on the end, hung round his neck down to his breast. These, and two horns of glazed powder, and a red cloth blanket, constituted the royal dress of King Philip. They spent the night in free conversation. Anawon gave a narrative of his mighty successes in former wars. In the morning they marched to Taunton. Church and Anawon, with half-a-dozen friendly Indians, went to Rhode Island, while the troops and other prisoners were sent to Plymouth. where Church soon followed them. LESSON NINETY-SIXTH. BIRTH OF AN ELDEST SON. Welcome, little helpless stranger, Lift thine eyes, and look around thee; Welcome to a mother's bosom, Joy thou bring'st, but mix'd with trouble, Anxious joys, and tender fears, Pleasing hopes, and mingled sorrows, Smiles of transport dash'd with tears. Who can say what lies before thee, Who can tell what eager passions Shall invade this peaceful seat? Who can tell how wide the branches Angels guard thee, lovely blossom, LESSON NINETY-SEVENTH. THE CHRISTIAN INDIAN. In the year 1742, a veteran warrior of the Lenape nation and Monsey tribe, renowned among his own people for his bravery and prowess, and equally dreaded by their enemies, joined the Christian Indians who then resided at Bethlehem. This man, who was then at an advanced age, had a most striking appearance, and could not be viewed without astonishment. Besides that his body was full of scars, where he had been struck and pierced by the arrows of the enemy, there was not a spot to be seen, on that part of it which was exposed to view, but what was tatooed over with some drawing relative to his achievements, so that the whole together struck the beholder with amazement and terror. On his whole face, neck, shoulders, arms, thighs, and legs, as well as on his breast and back, were represented scenes of the various actions and engagements he had been in; in short, the whole of his history was there deposited, which was well known to those of his nation, and was such that all who heard it thought it could never be surpassed by man. Far from murdering those who were defenceless or unarmed, his generosity, as well as his courage and skill in the art of war, was acknowledged by all. When, after his conversion, he was questioned about his warlike feats, he frankly and modestly answered, "That, being now taken captive by Jesus Christ, it did not become him to relate the deeds he had done while in the service of the evil spirit; but that he was willing to give an account of the manner in which he had been conquered." At his baptism, on the 23d of December, 1742, he received the name of Michael, which he preserved until his death, which happened on the 24th July, 1756. He led the life of a true Christian, and was always ready and willing to relate the history of his conversion. His age, when he died, was supposed to be about eighty years. LESSON NINETY-EIGHTH. POWER OF BEAUTY. Liberal nature did dispense To all things arms for their defence; Wisdom for shield, and wit for sword. What arms, what armour, has she assign'd? What arms, what armour, can compare? And yet what flame, what lightning e'er LESSON NINETY-NINTH. THE HOSPITABLE AFRICAN. The enterprising traveller, Mungo Park, was employed by a society in England, to explore the interior regions of Africa. In this hazardous undertaking he encountered many dangers and difficulties. His wants were often supplied, and his distresses alleviated, by the kindness and compassion of the negroes. He gives the following lively and interesting account of the hospitable treatment he received from a poor negro woman. Having passed a whole day without victuals in the shade of a tree, I had no prospect but that of passing a very uncomfortable night; for the wind rose, and there was a great appearance of a heavy rain; the wild beasts, too, were so numerous, that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree, and resting among the branches. |