to watch the last years of Paul Jones, not,
indeed, of age, but of growing weariness and disease, as he renews his
broken Russian hopes, and revives the old, faded, pecuniary claims on
the French court. A gleam of sunshine appears in his aspirations to
serve his country--for he still looked across the Atlantic--in the
removal of the chains from the American sailors imprisoned at Algiers.
His country listened to his cry; he was charged to treat with the
Regency for their ransom, but before the commission reached him, he
had passed to that land where the weary cease from sighing, and
prisoners are at rest. Here, with Mercy bending over the scene, let
the curtain fall. Paul Jones died at Paris, at the age of forty-five,
of a dropsical affection, July 18, 1792.

The person of Paul Jones is well known by the numerous prints devoted
to his brilliant exploits. You will see him, a little active man of
medium height, not robust but vigorous, a keen black eye, lighting a
dark, weather-beaten visage, compact and determined, with a certain
melancholy grace.

He was one of nature's self-made men; that is, nature gave the genius,
and he supplied the industry, for he knew how to labor, and must have
often exerted himself to secure the attainments which he possessed. He
was a good seaman, as well as a most gallant officer; sagacious in the
application of means; vain, indeed, and expensive, but natural and
generous; something of a poet in verse, much more in the quickness and
vivacity of his imagination, which led him to plan nobly; an
accomplished writer; and as he was found worthy of the warm and
unchanging friendship of Franklin, that sage who sought for excellence
while he looked with a kindly eye upon human infirmity, we, too, may
peruse the virtues of the man and smile upon his frailties.

TECUMSEH[5]

By JAMES A. GREEN

(1776-1813)

[Footnote 5: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Indians. [TN]]

It would be a difficult matter for a well-read American to recall the
names of more than four or five notable Indians, leaving, of course,
contemporaneous red men out of the question. The list might comprise
Pocahontas, best known, probably, for something she did not do;
Powhatan, that vague and shadowy Virginian chief; King Philip, who had
a war named after him and so succeeded in having his name embalmed in
history; Pontiac, whose great conspiracy Parkman has made immortal,
and Tecumseh. But, o