within him; and from that moment we find, in the anecdotes given by his enemies, nothing but repeated flashes of elevated and princelike heroism. Being questioned by one of the English who first came up with him, and who had not attained his twenty-second year, the proud-hearted warrior, looking with lofty contempt upon his youthful countenance, replied, "You are a child-you cannot understand matters of war-let your brother or your chief comehim will I answer."

Though repeated offers were made to him of his life, on condition of submitting, with his nation, to the English, yet he rejected them with disdain, and refused to send any proposals of the kind to the great body of his subjects; saying that he knew none of them would comply. Being reproached with his breach of faith towards the whites, and that he had boasted he would not deliver up a Wampanoag, nor the paring of a Wampanoag's nail, and that he would burn the English alive in their houses; he disdained to justify himself, haughtily answering that others were as forward for the war as himself, "and he desired to hear no more thereof."

So noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a fidelity to his cause and his friend, might have touched the feelings of the generous and the brave; but Canonchet was an Indian; a being towards whom war has no courtesy, humanity no law, religion no compassion-he was condemned to die. The last words of his that are recorded, are worthy of the greatness of his soul, and challenge a comparison with any speech on a similar occasion in the whole range of history. When sentence of death was passed upon him, he observed that he liked it well, for he should die before his heart was soft, or he had spoken any thing unworthy of himself." His enemies gave him the death of a soldier, for he was shot at Stonington, by three young sachems of his own rank.

The defeat at the Narrhaganset fortress, and the death of Canonchet, were fatal blows to the fortunes of King Philip. He made an ineffectual attempt to raise a head of war, by stirring up the Mohawks to take arms; but though possessed of the native talents of a statesman, his arts were counteracted by the superior arts of his enlightened enemies, and the terror of their warlike skill began to subdue the resolution of the neighbouring tribes. The unfortunate chieftain saw himself daily stripped of power, and his ranks

rapidly thinning around him. Some were suborned by the whites; others fell victims to hunger and fatigue, and to the frequent attacks by which they were harassed. His treasures were captured; his chosen friends were swept away from before his eyes; his uncle was shot down by his side; his sister was carried into captivity; and in one of his narrow escapes he was compelled to leave his beloved wife and only son to the mercy of the enemy. "His ruin," says the historian, "being thus gradually carried on, his misery was not prevented, but augmented thereby; being himself made acquainted with the sense and experimental feeling of the captivity of his children, loss of friends, slaughter of his subjects, bereavement of all family relations, and being stripped of all outward comforts, before his own life should be taken away."

To fill up the measure of his misfortunes, his own followers began to plot. against his life, that by sacrificing him they might purchase dishonourable safety. Through treachery a number of his faithful adherents, the subjects of Wetamoe, an Indian princess of Pocasset, a near kinswoman and confederate of Philip, were betrayed into the hands of the enemy. Wetamoe was among them at the time, and attempted to make her escape by crossing a neighbouring river; either exhausted by swimming, or starved with cold and hunger, she was found dead and naked near the water side. But persecution ceased not at the grave. Even death, the refuge of the wretched, where the wicked commonly cease from troubling, was no protection to this outcast female, whose great crime was affectionate fidelity to her kinsman and her friend. Her corpse was the object of unmanly and dastardly vengeance; the head was severed from the body, set upon a pole, and thus exposed at Taunton, to the view of her captive subjects. They immediately recognised the features of their unfortunate queen, and were so affected at this barbarous spectacle, that we are told they broke forth into the "most horrid and diabolical lamentations."

However Philip had borne up against the complicated miseries and misfortunes that surrounded him, the treachery of his followers seemed to wring his heart, and reduce him to despondency. It is said that "he never rejoiced afterwards, nor had success in VOL. III. New Series.

65

any of his designs." The spring of hope was broken-the ardour of enterprise was extinguished-he looked around, and all was danger and darkness; "there was no eye to pity, nor any arm that could bring deliverance." With a scanty band of fol lowers, who still remained true to his desperate fortunes, the unhappy Philip wandered back to the vicinity of Mount Hope, the ancient dwelling of his fathers. Here he lurked about, like a spectre, among the desolated scenes of former power and prosperity, now bereft of home, of family, and friend. There needs no better picture of his destitute and piteous situation than that furnished by the homely pen of the chronicler, who is unwarily enlisting the feelings of the reader in favour of the hapless warrior whom he reviles. "Philip," he says, "like a savage wild beast, having been hunted by the English forces through the woods above a hundred miles backward and forward, at last was driven to his own den upon Mount Hope, where he retired with a few of his best friends, into a swamp, which proved but a prison to keep him fast till the messengers of death came by divine permission to execute vengeance upon him."

Even in this last refuge of desperation and despair a sullen grandeur seems to gather round his memory. We picture him to ourselves seated among his care-worn followers, brooding in silence over his blasted fortunes, and acquiring a savage sublimity from the wildness and dreariness of his lurking place. Defeated, but not dismayed-crushed to the earth, but not humiliatedhe seemed to grow more haughty beneath disaster, and to receive a fierce satisfaction in draining the last dregs of bitterness. Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune; but great minds rise above it. The very idea of submission awakened the fury of Philip, and he even smote to death one of his followers, who proposed an expedient of peace. The brother of the victim made his escape, and in revenge betrayed the retreat of his chieftain. A body of white men and Indians were immediately despatched to the swamp, where Philip lay crouched, glaring with fury and despair. Before he was aware of their approach, they had began to surround him. In a little while he saw five of his trustiest followers laid dead at his feet; all resistance was vain; he rushed forth from his covert, and made a headlong attempt at

escape, but was shot through the heart by a renegado Indian of his own nation.

Such is the scanty story of the brave, but unfortunate King Philip; persecuted while living, slandered and dishonoured when dead. If, however, we consider even the prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by his enemies, we may perceive in them traces of amiable and lofty character, sufficient to awaken sympathy for his fate, and respect for his memory. We find, amid all the harassing cares and ferocious passions of constant warfare, he was alive to the softer feelings of connubial love and paternal tenderness, and to the generous sentiment of friendship. The captivity of his "beloved wife and only son" are mentioned with exultation, as causing him poignant misery; the death of any near friend is triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his sensibilities; but the treachery and desertion of many of his followers, in whose affections he had confided, is said to have desolated his heart, and bereaved him of all further comfort. He was a patriot attached to his native soil-a prince true to his subjects, and indignant of their wrongs—a soldier, daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, of hunger, of every variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish in the cause he had espoused. Proud of heart, and with an untameable love of natural liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of the forests, or in the dismal and famished recesses of swamps and morasses, rather than bow his haughty spirit to submission, and live dependent and despised in the ease and luxury of the settlements. With heroic qualities, and bold achievements, that would have graced a civilized warrior, and rendered him the theme of the poet and the historian, he lived a wanderer and a fugitive in his native land, and went down, like a foundering bark, amid darkness and tempestwithout an eye to weep his fall, or a friendly hand to record his struggle.

516

COSSACKS.

[From the Literary Panorama.]

COSSACKS are the order of the day. They have acquired a distinction, since they were honoured by Bonaparte, whom they attended in his flight from Moscow, that has rendered their name familiar to every part of Europe. As troops, they do not profess to meet, front to front, the heavy armed cavalry of modern war: they have neither the disposition nor the regularity fit for such service; but they hover round a whole army, glide along its paths, track its motions, anticipate its resources, cut off its supplies, spread terror in all quarters, and do more mischief in four-andtwenty hours than all the skill of French industry can repair in many years.

Such are Cossacks in war; and such France knows them to be in an enemy's country. It is natural to inquire what sort of beings these ravagers are at home; and what kind of manners in their own country prepare them for the execution of such dexterous and unmerciful devastation abroad? What are the original habits of these depredators in early life, and in a state of peace?

To answer these inquiries we have thought a few extracts from travellers who have seen them at home, before they became so - famous, would prove acceptable. The following are from Lady Craven's [now Margravine of Anspach] Journey through Russia to the Crimea. It was performed in the spring of the year 1786. They show these people in their natural and native state.

It is pleasant to witness the careful treatment of the animal creation by those who derive advantage from their services. When we read of a whole herd of horses grazing on a plain, surrounding a Cossack who offers them a little corn, we are sure that they suffer no barbarities from his hand. He does not ill treat them, nor urge them beyond their powers. This is an honourable trait in their character.

The surprise of these people at a lady's travelling during night in a carriage shut up, shows at once their simplicity, and their own habits of life-they would not have done so.

The third of our extracts may interest us on another account. The manner of singing their national songs by the Russian peasants, is precisely that which was in use among the original inha bitants of our island, the ancient Britons. But it must be observed that although these Russians, being uninstructed, are not able to assign a reason for the chords they adopt, yet there may