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I overlook altogether your designs ag'in my life; first, because no harm came of 'em; next, because it's your gifts, and trainin', and I ought not to have trusted you at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear no ill-will to a dying man, whether Heathen or Christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I'm consarned; you know best what other matters ought to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfaction in so trying a moment. »

It is probable that the Indian had some of the fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being which God in mercy seems at times to afford to all the human race; but they were necessarily in conformity with his habits and prejudices. Like most of his people, and like too many of our own, he thought more of dying in a way to gain applause among those he left, than to secure a better state of existence bereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking, his mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that the intention was good; and when he had done, a regret passed over his spirit that none of his own tribe were present to witness his stoicism under extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with which he met his end. With the high, innate courtesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior, before he becomes corrupted by too much intercourse with the worst class of the white men, he endeavoured to express his thankfulness for the other's good intentions, and to let him understand that they were appreciated..

«Good!» he repeated, for this was an English word much used by the savages-« good-young head: young heart, too. Old heart tough; no shed tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie-what he call him? »

«Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the Delawares have said that when I get back from this war-path I shall have a more manly title, provided I can 'arn one. »

« That good name for boy-poor name for warrior. He get better quick. No fear there, the savage had strength sufficient under the strong excitement he felt, to raise a hand, and tap the young man on his breast-eye sartain-finger lightning-aim, death-great warrior, soon. No DeerslayerHawkeye Hawkeye-Hawkeye. Shake hand. »

Deerslayer-or Hawkeye, as the youth was then first named, for in after years he bore the appellation througbout all that region-Deerslayer took the band of the savage, whose last breath was drawn in that attitude, gazing in admiration at the countenance of a stranger, who had shown so much readiness, skill, and firmness, in a scene that was equally trying and novel. When the reader remembers it is the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see his enemy betray weakness, he will be better able to appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great a concession, at such a moment.

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His spirit has fled!" said Deerslayer, in a suppressed, melancholy voice. Ah's me!-Well, to this we must all come, sooner or later; and he is happiest, let his skin be of what colour it may, who is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of, no doubt, a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying towards its heaven, or hell, whether that be a happy hunting-ground, or a place scant of game; regions of glory, according to Moravian doctrine, or flames, or fire. So it happens, too, as regards other matters! Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got themselves into difficulty, if they haven't got themselves into torment and death, and all for a bounty that luck offers to me in what many would think a lawful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and white will I die; clinging to colour to the last, even though the King's Majesty, his governors, and all his councils, both at home and in the colonies, forget from what they come, and all for a little advantage in warfare. No-no, warrior; hand of mine shall never molest your scalp, and so your soul may rest in peace on the p'int of making a decent appearance, when the body comes to join it, in your own land of spirits.

Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then he placed' the body of the dead man in a sitting posture, with its back against the little rock, taking the necessary care to prevent it from falling, or in any way settling into an attitude that might be thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild notions of a savage. When this duty was performed, the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance of his fallen

foe in a sort of melancholy abstraction. As was his practice, however, a habit gained by living so much alone in the forest, he then began again to give utterance to his thoughts and feelings aloud.

I didn't wish your life, red-skin," he said, «but you left me no choice atween killing, or being killed. Each party acted according to his gifts, I suppose, and blame can light on neither. You were treacherous, according to your natur' in war, and I was a little oversightful, as I'm apt to be in trusting others. Well, this is my first battle with a human mortal, though it's not likely to be the last. I have fou't most of the creatur's of the forest, such as bears, wolves, painters and catamounts, but this is the beginning with the red-skins. If I was Indian born, now, I might tell of this, or carry in the scalp, and boast of the expl'ite afore the whole tribe; or, if my inimy had only been even a bear, 't would have been nat'ral and proper to let everybody know what had happened; but I don't well see how I'm to let even Chingachgook into this secret, so long as it can be done only by boasting with a white tongue. And why should I wish to boast of it, after all? It's slaying a human creatur', although he was a savage; and how do I know that he was a just Indian; and that he has not been taken away suddenly to anything but happy hunting-grounds. When it's onsartain whether good or evil has been done, the wisest way is not to be boastful still, I should like Chingachgook to know that I haven't discredited the Delawares, or my training. "

THE SURGEON'S SONG.

The Turn-Key may tell, in his darksome cell
How the Murderer moans in his sleep;
When the measured toll

Hath entered his soul,

Of the Bell so stern and deep:

He may brag, I ween, of the Sights he hath seen,
He may brag of his Fetters bright,

But a braver sheen hath the Scalpel keen,

In the Surgeon's hand so white.

The Hangman may vaunt, in his blithesome chaunt,
How the starkest limbs grow weak-

Of the Felon's Eye

Of the Agony

The Struggle-the stifled Shriek ;

He may brag, I ween, of the Sights he hath seen,

He may brag of his Halter strong;

But braver yet is the Tourniquet,

And the Bandage soft and long.

The Sexton may boast of the howling Ghost,
That sits by the Templar's grave,

VOL. I.

Of the Worm so fat,

And the swinking Rat,

That feast in the Coffin brave:

18

He may brag, I ween, of the Sights he hath seen,
He may brag of his Pick and Spade;

But I delve more deep, more gold I reap,
With the glittering Lancet-blade.

The Soldier hath stood, through a day of blood,
Like a rock in a roaring gale;

With stealing tread

Glide I to his bed

Why turneth his cheek so pale?

He may brag, I ween, of the Wars he hath seen,
He may be brag of his Lion-Might-

One touch so bland, of the Surgeon's hand,
And he screams like a tortured Sprite.

On the Bride's pale cheek is a feverish streak,
And her eye hath an awful glow;

For with fiery fang,

The Cancer-pang

Is at work in her breast of snow:

She may brag, I ween, of how fair she has been,
She may brag of her Suitors gay-

When my Knife she shall spy, and my peering Eye,
For a quiet grave she'll pray.

All yield then of right, the Fetter bright,
The Halter, and the Spade,

The Soldier's Lance,

And Beauty's Glance,

To the Surgeon's polished Blade:

Then sing Long Life to the gallant Knife, »

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With his pale and thirsty gleam

His slender form may he ever warm
In the darksome living Stream!

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