“These are, indeed,” said Ethelston to himself, “worthy descendants of the Lenapé princes, whose sway in bygone days extended over many hundred leagues of fertile territory, from the Ohio to the Atlantic coast: whose broad lands are now tilled by the Saxon plough, on the site of whose ancient villages now stand the churches and the popular streets of Baltimore, and the city of Brotherly Love. With the loss of their dominion, most of these once–powerful tribes have lost the highest and best characteristics of their race; subdued by the rifle, corrupted by the silver, degraded by the ardent spirits of the white man, they present but too often a spectacle in which it is difficult to recognise any traces of the attributes with which the narratives of our early travellers and missionaries invest them. But these are, indeed, features which a Titian would not have scorned to delineate; these are forms which the pencil of Michael Angelo and the chisel of Praxiteles would have rejoiced to immortalise.” While these thoughts were rapidly passing through the mind of Ethelston, the greeting between Reginald and War–Eagle was exchanged; and the former had given to his Indian brother a hasty sketch of the events which had occurred in his absence and of those which had led to the reinforcement brought by Ethelston. A gleam of joy shot athwart the features of the Delaware, as he learnt the vengeance which his warriors had taken of their enemies; and his quick eye glanced with gratified pride over the scalps which they displayed, and the magnificent bear–claw collar dependent from Attō’s neck. The Lenapé braves saw too that the tomahawk of their leader had not slept in its belt on his solitary war–path, for the scalps of the two unfortunate Osages whom he had slain hung close to its handle; and though there was no shout of triumph, an audible murmur of satisfaction ran through the whole band. When Reginald presented Ethelston to War–Eagle as his earliest and most faithful friend from childhood, the chief, taking him by the hand, said, “The friend of Netis is the friend of War–Eagle,—their hearts are one; he is very welcome.” Reginald then presented Wingenund to his friend, as the gallant youth who had saved his life on the banks of the Muskingum. “I feel as if I had long known him,” said Ethelston, shaking his hand cordially; “I have come lately from Mooshanne, where his name is not forgotten.”