strange figure, partially enveloped in a blanket wrought with strange devices, figures of serpents, beasts and fishes, with rude representations of the sun, the moon and the stars. Unlike the custom of the warriors, who wore only the scalp-lock, his hair was long and matted, falling below his shoulders. His nether limbs were encased in buckskin leggings; the hunting shirt, visible beneath the blanket, was girded at the waist by a rattlesnake skin, knotted loosely after the manner of a sash, from which depended a pouch half-filled with dried herbs.

His face was seamed and wizened, his eyes deepset and fairly glowing from beneath the pent-house of his overhanging brows.

In a hollow, nearly in the centre of the wigwam, burned a mass of firebrands, over which a clay pot was simmering and bubbling, throwing out clouds of steam and diffusing a bitter odour that was almost stifling.

The face of the young warrior was bedewed with perspiration from the effects of the pungent steam bath, but the face of the dying chieftain was pallid and cold where the death-dews were gathering.

The dull glare from the coals fell upon the dark face of Wee-gon, the great medicine-man of the Manhansetts, who, with outstretched arms, was making mysterious passes over the prostrate form upon the couch and muttering strange incantations in guttural, monotonous drone, not unlike the hum of a bumble-bee,-accented occasionally by the hiss of a

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The medicine-man was at once a prophet, physician and clergyman of his tribe. He was as unapproachable as the ruler of a civilised nation, certain forms being necessary to obtain an audience. By an unwritten law, he was not allowed to marry, but lived in solitude and in all the state of a man supposed to be gifted with occult powers. In all matters pertaining to the government of his tribe he was consulted, and considered an oracle. His person was held sacred.

serpent whose ugly head was thrust forth at intervals from the bosom of Wee-gon's hunting shirt. "Hist, boy, hist!"

At the word of command from the strange being, the serpent withdrew his head, coiling obediently against the breast of his master, until some peculiar intonation of the voice brought the head of the reptile again into view, when the hissing was renewed.

In a dim corner of the lodge crouched an aged squaw, her face bent upon her knees, her head enveloped in the folds of a blanket, the form a blacker shadow among shadows. For hours she had sat thus, immobile as the earth upon which she rested, only the lean hands clasping her knees visible.

Ere the rising of another sun Lig-o-mee would be widowed and Yo-kee, her son, would be King of the Manhansetts.

Suddenly the dolorous invocation ceased. Weegon drew himself to his full height, the ugly head of the rattlesnake was hidden and an ominous silence reigned-the hush of death.

It was a weird scene, the tall form stretched upon the couch; the silent, central figure of the group,the grim-faced Wee-gon,-the youthful warrior upon whose broad shoulders the mantle of the dead sage had fallen; the crouching squaw, motionless as a bronze statue; and, flickering fitfully over all, the light of the dying firebrands, barely making darkness visible.

With an intonation peculiar to the Lenni Lenape language, mournful as the sighing of the autumn winds among the branches of the whispering pines, the voice of Wee-gon broke the silence.

"The mighty oak has fallen, but the topmost

branch is green and full of life. The tongue of Poggatticut is silent-Yo-kee is King of the Manhansetts. Let Lig-o-mee weep with the squaws of her tribe that the mighty warrior who took her to his lodge has gone to the land of the spirits."

Without a word, the aged squaw arose and with slow step left the wigwam, not once uncovering her face or turning her eyes toward the couch whereon rested all that was mortal of the husband whom she had served for hundreds of moons; not then could she be permitted to weep over the lifeless clay. The customs of her people, dating back into the dim ages of the past, forbade any exhibition of the grief that was consuming her soul; and in silence she awaited the hour when she might relieve her overcharged heart in wailing and tears-until the period allotted to the woman when she might weep over her dead.

The face of the young chieftain was composed. Any exhibition of his grief would be unseemly; but his features were set, and the eagle eye that had lost its usual gleam was tender in its softness, but no other token was visible as the medicine-man drew his blanket over his face, and, without another word, stalked from the lodge and stood silently among the tall undergrowth hedging the path.

Presently the dull alarm of the tom-tom woke the echoes along the shore, warning the sleeping warriors that some evil event had befallen, and from the scattered lodges of the Manhansetts the chief men and counsellors came forth and listened to the story of their loss-only a brief sentence:

Poggatticut, the Wise-man of the Manhansetts has gone. The Great Spirit has called him."

At a signal from Wee-gon a slender young Indian separated himself from his fellows and glided away, halting outside the wigwam where the dead king

was lying, where he awaited the command of Yo-kee, standing as immovable as if carved in stone.

With slow, measured tread five of the wisest in council approached and entered the lodge, noiselessly as spectres, and stood with bowed heads before the young warrior who was now their chieftain.

Five minutes elapsed, while the young Indian kept his pose at the door of the wigwam, awaiting the order which he knew would come.

Presently the mat in front of the wigwam entrance was drawn aside and Yo-kee stood before him.

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"Ko-zhe-osh, away! Bear to the lodges of Wyandance, Nowedanah and Momometou the words of Yo-kee-say that Poggatticut, the wise, the mighty warrior, has gone to the spirit land. Let the feet of Ko-zhe-osh be like the deer when he flees before the hunter, and bring word again from the brothers of my father."

The head of the Indian runner was bowed low in deference to the young chief, he laid his hand upon his heart, as he replied, the deep tones, musical, yet sad, betraying his grief:

"The feet of Ko-zhe-osh are swift as the flight of the eagle, his limbs tireless as the seabird's wing. He will bring word from the great Sachems."

He settled his knife in his belt, and grasped his tomahawk with a tighter grip.

Placing a wampum belt in the hand of the messenger, Yo-kee swept his arm from right to left, indicating the order in which the intelligence was to be conveyed, and, without another word, the young

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Ko-zhe-osh.-Fleet Flyer.

8 Wyandance.-Warrior King.

Among the Indian tribes a message sent without the wampum belt was an empty word.

runner glided away with the easy, sinuous motion and silence of a serpent, and was quickly lost to view.

Outside the lodge a concourse of braves and warriors had gathered; the harsh, monotonous beat of the drum, the long-drawn howls of an army of dogs in unison, echoed through the leafy forest, but not the sound of a human voice was heard among the five hundred stalwart warriors whom the King of the Manhansetts could bring into battle, gathered in groups beneath the forest shade, while within the lodge the few privileged to robe the dead form, which no sacrilegious hand might profane with even a touch, were performing their office, arraying the sacred person of their king in his robes of state for the burial.5

In profound silence they wrought, touching the cold clay with reverent hands, as gently as if the inanimate form could feel the touch of their fingers.

It was over at last, and the body wrapped in the kingly robe fashioned from the skins of the grizzly bear, curiously painted and ornamented with the costly suck-au-hock; a belt of the same precious shell beads, a hand-breadth in width, girdled the soft buckskin shirt about the waist, the breast was adorned with numerous strings of beads and a necklace of the gleaming white teeth of the savage bear and catamount, trophies of the chieftain's skill and prowess as a renowned hunter. The pulseless wrists. were clasped by oddly interwoven bracelets of purple shell; leggings and moccasins, inwrought with all the skill of Lig-o-mee, the well-beloved squaw of the dead Sachem, the mother of Yo-kee, encased his feet and lower limbs, but, as in life, the thighs were left bare to the breechcloth, revealing the contour of

So much was Poggatticut held in reverence that but few of even his chief counsellors were allowed to touch his dead body.