POPE’S “Temple of Fame.”

Ignorant, of course, of the events which had occurred during his absence, the Knight started from the Indian village in high spirits, as it appeared to Arundel, at the success of his embassy.

“These savages are more placable than I anticipated,” said Sir Christopher, “for it must be admitted that, in appearance at least, they have cause for grievous resentment.  One might almost suspect that, since their late defiance, a suspicion of the truth had somehow penetrated their untutored minds.  At any rate, no war-whoop will be heard for the present, and we have been received and treated with all courtesy.”

“A gentler race of wild chivalry,” said the young man, “doth surely nowhere exist.  Their free and careless lives make me more than ever in love with nature, and long shall I remember the noble Taranteens with pleasure.”

“Admired you them enough to cast in your lot with them,” said the Knight, with a smile, “I doubt not that you might become a king over regions as extensive as those which owe allegiance to the sceptre of our gracious monarch, Charles.”

“My admiration soars not to that height; yet, to my imagination, is there something delightful in the condition of these children of nature, thoughtful only of to-day, and careless of tomorrow, when compared with that of the painful delvers of civilization.  The former are birds flying freely in the air; the latter, poultry scratching in a barn-yard.”

Sir Christopher laughed good naturedly at the sally of his friend.  “Verily,” he said, “were it not for thy mistress, I do believe thou hadst remained amongst the Taranteens.  Unfortunate for them is it that civilization has an ally in love.  Were this life all,” he added, gravely, his whole manner changing, “there were some reason in what you say.  It were wisdom, then, to sport like insects in sunbeams—­to sink at night into dreamless sleep.  But such is not man’s destiny.  What infinite concernments hang on the present moment!  How imperative and urgent is our duty to wean these poor heathen from their wild ways and false creed, that they may be rescued from the intolerable perdition that awaits all who are not of Holy Church.”

“It surely is a lamentable future for the poor creatures,” said the young man; “and yet I suppose it must be so, because the learned of all creeds, which call themselves Christian, do agree therein.  Ah, me! poor Sassacus!”

“I opine,” said the gentle Knight, “that the flames of hell will be tempered to such poor wretches, in consideration of their ignorance.”

“It is horrible to think of,” said Arundel, shuddering; and, as if desirous to change the subject, he inquired, “May I ask, without offence, after the country of Sassacus?”

“Assuredly you may.  It is some hundred miles to the south of Boston—­the principal villages of the Pequots being on a river of the same name, and on a lesser stream called the Mystic, and along the reverberating shores of the Atlantic.  It is a pleasant land of bright waters, and fair valleys, and towering hills, fit to produce a race of hardy warriors.”