“That is not clear, either,” said the divine.  “What race ever existed superior to the Jews?  Yet, observe their condition.”

“I am not understood.  Why, the Jews prove my theory.  If they had not been a superior race, they would long ago have been extinct.  But their number now is probably as great as it ever was.  The Indians, however, are vanishing.”

“And, really, Mr. Bernard,” said his wife, “on your own principles, they will be no loss, if they do vanish.  If a superior race succeeds, all the better.”

“Right, right, my dear,” cried her husband, “rem acu—­pshaw!  I was going to quote Latin.  They have had their day, and fulfilled their design.”

“It seems to me a deplorable necessity,” said Mr. Armstrong.

“There are many laws and purposes at work in the rise and fall of nations,” said the minister, “beyond our view.  A peculiar mystery hangs over the devoted tribes; and, assign what reasons we please for their decay, there is only one satisfactory reason into which all the others are resolvable, viz:  the determination of Providence.  That determination is obvious.  As the inhabitants of Canaan, were swept away for their iniquities, so is the red race destined to be extinguished; and it may be for a like reason—­they will not abandon their abominations.”

“They are as moral as the whites, generally, I believe,” said William Bernard.

“Alas, that word morality!” exclaimed the divine.  “It is an ignis fatuus to mislead—­a broken reed to lean on.”

“But,” inquired Faith, anxiously, “do you think, sir, that nothing can be done for those who are left?”

“I see but little prospect of it,” said Mr. Robinson.

“There are some good people among them,” said the doctor, warmly.  “I wish I was as sure of my own salvation as I am of poor Esther’s.”

This discussion scarcely disturbed the conversation between Anne Bernard and Pownal, who, much to his delight, found himself seated by her side.  Nor did the contiguity seem displeasing to the lovely girl.  What is the charm that gives boldness to the timid, and eloquence to the hesitating; which kindles the eye with a brighter lustre, and imparts a softer tone to the voice:  which colors the cheek with frequent blushes, and fills the heart with unwonted flutterings?  Sweet maiden, can you tell?  Yet, what could they have so much to say to one another?  They who are young, and they who have not forgotten the feelings of youth will readily find an answer.

“My heart warms to the Indians,” said Pownal, in a low tone, “whenever I hear them spoken of.  It appears to me, sometimes,” continued he, smiling, “as if I were a sort of relation.  Were I a believer in the transmigration of souls, I should think I had been, in some previous existence, an Indian myself.”

“Probably a Sachem, with your hair nicely shaved, except a little which was caught up into a knot like a cock’s comb, on top to hold an eagle’s feather,” said the laughing Anne.  “How elegantly you must have looked after having made your toilette, preparatory to wooing some Indian Princess, with your face beautifully painted in all the colors of the rainbow, only handsomer.  How I should have liked to see you.  Hard-hearted must have been the fair who could resist such charms.”