f woven leaves, which reached to his knees, a necklace
and bracelets of shells, and a variety of coloured feathers mingled
with his bright curls; one of these fell over his face, and doubtless
prevented him from seeing us. The chief seemed much engaged with him,
and continually took some ornament from his own dress to decorate him.
"It is my child!" said I, in great terror, to Mr. Willis, "my dearest
and youngest! They have taken him from his mother. What must be her
grief! He is her Benjamin--the child of her love. Why have they taken
him? Why have they adorned him in this manner? Why have they brought
him here?"

"Have no fear," said the missionary; "they will do him no harm. I
promise you they shall restore him, and you shall take him back to his
mother. Place yourselves at my side, with these branches in your hands."

He took some from Parabery, who held a bundle of them, and gave us each
one; each of the savages took one also. They were from a tree which had
slender, elegant leaves, and rich scarlet flowers--species of _mimosa_;
the Indians call it the tree of peace. They carry a branch of it when
they have no hostile intentions; in all their assemblies, when war is
proclaimed, they make a fire of these branches, and if all are consumed,
it is considered an omen of victory.

While Mr. Willis was explaining this to us, the canoe approached. Two
savages took Francis on their shoulders, two others took the king in the
same way, and advanced gravely towards us. What difficulty I had to
restrain myself from snatching my child from his bearers, and embracing
him! My sons were equally agitated; Fritz was darting forward, but the
missionary restrained him. Francis, somewhat alarmed at his position,
had his eyes cast down, and had not yet seen us. When the king was
within twenty yards of us, they stopped, and all the savages prostrated
themselves before him; we alone remained standing. Then Francis saw us,
and uttered a piercing cry, calling out, "Papa! dear brothers!" He
struggled to quit the shoulders of his bearers, but they held him too
firmly. It was impossible to restrain ourselves longer; we all cried
out, and mingled our tears and lamentations. I said to the good
missionary,--a little too harshly, perhaps,--"Ah! if you were a father!"

"I am," said he, "the father of all this flock, and your children are
mine; I am answerable for all. Command your sons to be silent; request
the child to be composed, and leave the