1616.

The Story of Lady Pocahontas.

83

oft appeased, and our wants supplied. Were it the policy of her father thus to employ her, or the ordinance of God thus to make her his instrument, or her extraordinary affection for our nation, I know not; but of this I am sure, when her father, with the utmost of his policy and power, sought to surprise me, having but eighteen with me, the dark night could not affright her from coming through the irksome woods, and, with watered eyes, give me intelligence, with her best advice to escape his fury, which had he known he had surely slain her.

"Jamestown, with her wild train she as freely frequented as her father's habitation; and during the time of two or three years, she, next under God, was still the instrument to preserve this colony from death, famine, and utter confusion. . . .

"As yet I never begged any thing of the state, and it is my want of ability and her exceeding desert; your birth, means, and authority; her birth, virtue, want, and simplicity, doth make me thus bold humbly to beseech your majesty to take this knowledge of her, though it be from one so unworthy to be the reporter as myself, her husband's estate not being able to make her fit to attend your majesty."

The English court received Pocahontas with delight. She was invited to the great receptions of the nobility, and enjoyed the splendors of civilization as much as she had delighted in the barbaric pomp of her father's lodges.

The first meeting of Pocahontas and Smith in England was very touching. She started on seeing him, and gazed at him in silence. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept. She seemed to feel deeply injured. She said:

You

"I showed you great kindness in my own country. promised my father that what was yours should be his. You called Powhatan your father when you were in a land of strangers, and now that I am in a land of strangers you must allow me to do the same."

Smith said that as she was a king's daughter, it would not be allowable in court for her to call him "father."

"I must call you father," she said, "and you must call me child. I will be your countrywoman for ever. They told me you were dead."

After remaining in England a year, Rolfe determined to return to America. Pocahontas did not wish to leave England. A child had been born to her, and in England the world looked beautiful, and the future bright and fair. She became very sad; she seemed to feel some evil was approaching. She died at Gravesend, March, 1617, just as she was about to sail. Some of the noblest families of Virginia are descended from the infant son which she left in her sorrow and youth, when life seemed to lie so fair before her.

Every intelligent reader is familiar with Longfellow's beautiful story of "Evangeline." Few poems so haunt the imagination. Amid the pressure of care, the disappointments of

1610.

The Story of Acadia.

85

ambition, and under a sense of the hollowness of society, the fancy flits to Acadia; and whoever has gone into that land with the poet is sure to return to it again in dreams.

"In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the north-
ward

Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the

maidens.

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens,
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending,
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance."

Acadia

now Nova Scotia is itself a dream. Port Royal is gone; the maps do not contain it. Grand Pré is still to be seen, but it is no more the Norman town of the Golden Age.

Take the map. On the Bay of Fundy you will find the town of Annapolis, in Nova Scotia. It is situated near a pleasant bay called Annapolis, or Annapolis Harbor. It is nearly surrounded with picturesque hills. This harbor was visited in 1604 by De Monts, a French explorer. One of the noblemen who accompanied him was Baron de Poutrincourt. He saw the harbor and green hills in summer time, and he desired to settle there. He obtained from De Monts a grant of the region about the enchanting harbor, and he called the place Port Royal. De Monts formed a settlement at the mouth of St. Croix River, which was not successful.

Poutrincourt went to France and returned after a time to Port Royal with an ideal colony. He caused an immense banqueting hall to be erected, which was well supplied with deer, moose, bear, and all kinds of wild fowl. He made friends of the Indians and entertained the chiefs at sumptuous feasts.

The daily noonday meal was usually the scene of much vivacity. Champlain, the explorer, who discovered Lake Champlain and gave to it its name, was there; Lescarbot, the chronicler and troubadour; soldiers, artisans, and servants. With Poutrincourt, the feudal lord, often sat an Indian chief who was more than one hundred years old. One of the diversions at the table was to toss tidbits of French cookery to Indian children, who crawled like dogs about the floor. It is told that an aged Indian in dying once seriously inquired if