such as sit at the helm in England.” Spite of the liberality which had been exhibited in the colony towards diversities of religious opinion, which had led the excellent Whitaker to say, “let neither surplice nor subscription be spoken of here;” which had caused an invitation to the pilgrims of New Hampshire to remove within the precincts of Virginia; a spirit of intolerance was now manifested by the legislative assembly, and it was ordained that “no minister preach or teach except in conformity to the Church of England.” Whilst puritanism and republicanism were working together for the downfall of monarchy in England, Virginia showed the strongest attachment to the cause of episcopacy and royalty. The hostility of the settlers against the natives remained year by year unabated. Twenty-one years after the massacre, it was enacted in the assembly that no terms of peace should be entertained with the Indians. Now, therefore, the Indians, hearing that troubles and dissensions were arising in England, resolved once more on a general massacre, hoping, that by destroying the corn-fields and cattle, they might cause any remnant who remained to perish by famine. The eighteenth of April was fixed upon as the fatal day; the attack commenced on the border frontiers; but the Indians themselves, filled as it were by a consciousness of their own weakness and dread of the consequences, had scarcely begun to shed blood when they fled. The number of victims was again about three hundred. The colonists roused themselves at once, and war commenced again vigorously against the Indians. The aged Opechancanough, the successor of Powhatan, was soon taken prisoner, and with his death peace was secured to the English. This fierce warrior, and implacable enemy of the whites, was now nearly one hundred years of age, and his once stately form was wasted with the fatigues of war and bent with the weight of years. Unable to walk, says the historian of Virginia, he was carried from place to place by his followers. His flesh was almost wasted away from his bones, and his eyelids were so powerless, that he could only see when they were lifted by his followers. After a long and rapid march, Sir William Berkeley, with a party of horse, surprised the aged warrior at some distance from his residence, and took him prisoner to Jamestown, where he was exhibited as an object of curiosity and of triumph to the victor. The old monarch of the forest, retaining a spirit unbroken by the decrepitude of the body, bore his calamities of fortune with a proud though melancholy mien. Hearing footsteps in the room where he lay, he requested his eyelids to be raised, when perceiving a crowd of spectators, he called for the governor, and upon his appearance said with calm dignity, “Had it been my fortune to have taken Sir William Berkeley prisoner, I would have scorned to have made a show of _him_.”