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About one month after these events I retired one morning
to the “pagoda.” I had several important letters
to write, and as I was determined to suffer no interruption,
I locked the door as soon as I entered the room.

I was in the midst of the first epistle, when I heard
a thundering at the door.

“Let me in immediately,” said Lackland, from without.

“You must wait exactly three hours and a half,” said
I, coolly resuming my pen.

“If you make me wait three minutes and a half, I
shall immediately kick your door to pieces,” was the determined
reply.

Being unwilling that the ghost of my revered uncle
should be disturbed by so sacrilegious an outrage upon
his favourite “sanctum,” I sounded a parley, and finding
he had really something important to communicate, I
opened the door.

“You see,” said Lackland, entering, “that it is only
necessary to bully a rebel to force him to capitulate.”

“Perhaps the less you say about capitulation the better,”
I replied. “But I am really engaged now, so do tell
me your business and take yourself off.”

“I believe I shall be obliged to take myself off farther
than you think,” was his reply. “I have just received
some letters, for I have correspondents as well as you,
which will require my presence on the other side of the

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Atlantic. Look at the superscription of that letter, old
boy!”

I took the letter which he held out to me. It was directed
to “the Earl of Agincourt.”

I looked inquiringly at my companion.

“Read it, old fellow, read it. You will find it as entertaining
as any of your fusty epistles about camp-kettles
and flannel blankets.”

I read the letter. It was to inform my friend that by
a succession of sudden and unexpected, but after all not
very wonderful demises, the various individuals who stood
between him and the title, had been taken off, and that
the last Earl had just broken his neck in a steeple chase.

“In short,” said I, “you are now the Right Honourable
the Earl of Agincourt.”

“I shouldn't wonder, as the quarter-master would say,”
was his reply.

“And now what do you think of squatting?” said I,
gravely.

“Why—ahem—why, on the whole, I will first take
a look at Castle Lackland. Besides you know it will
be necessary to consult the countess. Poor little Neida!
how ridiculous that the little savage should receive such
promotion.”

“After all,” I replied, “you ought to be obliged to Father
Simon for her education.”

It is hardly necessary for me to add that we were soon
afterwards separated from my sister and her husband.

Although for some time we were rendered unhappy
by their absence, yet frequent letters, the knowledge that

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they were happy, the afterwards fulfilled expectation of
meeting them again, and above all the stirring national
events in which I was deeply engaged, all combined to
prevent us from giving way to our unavailing regret.

The war was soon resumed upon another theatre. It
was necessary for me again to leave the arms of my
bride. I had the good fortune to remain not altogether
undistinguished, and to rejoice that I had been permitted
to make a true estimate of the times in which my lot
was cast.

I had the glory and the happiness to be present at the
political birth of my country. Cradled, like a Spartan
child, upon the shield, and amid the din of arms, I had
the happiness, in the sequel, to find the progress of the
youthful giantess well worthy of her triumphant birth.

As I have reached the period which I always proposed
to myself, as the limit to the present portion of my memoirs,
I shall now take farewell of my readers.

It will be observed by those who take the trouble to investigate
the subject, that much of the matter relative to the Indians,
their habits, ceremonies, and so forth, has been derived
from the standard works on Indian history.—See, in particular,
Hoyt's Indian Wars. Heckewelder's Narrative, and B. B.
Thacher's Indian Biography.