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all that remained of the romantic and chivalric

hero of proud Spain.

I hope that some of my readers remember the story of Alaric, how he ravaged Rome and other cities of Italy, and how, when he died, his followers built a dam across the Busento, turned the waters from their channel, deposited the barbarian body in a pit that they had dug in its bed, and then turned the stream back again, as the poet sings:

And a second time diverted was the flood conducted back, Foaming rushed Busento's billows onward in their wonted

track.

And a warrior-chorus sang, "Sleep with thy honors, hero

brave;

Ne'er shall foot of lucre-loving Roman desecrate thy grave." Far and wide the songs of praise resounded in the Gothic

host;

Bear them on, Busento's billow, bear them on from coast to

coast.

Thus was the barbarian's body hidden from those whom his followers with reason thought might wish to do it dishonor. By its side were placed the golden treasures he had torn from the

rich people of Italy, lest that might be recovered by them. De Soto had found no gold. His enterprise had not even succeeded in that respect, and there was nothing but his body for his followers to bury.

Can you imagine the scene when the forlorn and fearful remnants of the proud troop that we saw so gayly sailing from Spain, furtively bore the body of their leader from the shore to the middle of the Mississippi, and with all the solemnity possible, committed it to that most secret restingplace?

It was a sad scene, and there has been no other like it in American history. The busy rush of trade has carried thousands over the burial-place, and the crash of war has disturbed the quiet of the scene, but no man can say that he knows where De Soto is buried. The great river will keep the secret forever.

Time hath passed on since then, and swept
From earth the urns where heroes slept;

Temples of God and domes of kings

Are mouldering with forgotten things;

Yet not shall ages e'er molest

The viewless home of So'o's rest.

Still rolls, like them, the unfailing river,

The guardian of his dust forever.

Three long years passed before the followers of De Soto reached Mexico and were able to convey to Isabella the sad news. During this time her husband's fate had been a mystery to her. The misery of her life then came to a sudden close. Her heart broke under the strain, and in three days she, too, was no more. Thus ended another of the tragedies which mark the story of the discovery and exploration of our continent.

CHAPTER III.

HOW A COLONY WAS LOST.

A

NUMBER of scenes crowd upon me this

morning as I think of the subject that I am to treat. I seem to stand on the shores of old England just three hundred years ago this twentysecond day of September. A small vessel is making its way into the harbor of Falmouth, bearing news from the westward. It is the Golden Hind, and it tells a story that our good poet Longfellow has embalmed in his lines entitled Sir

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Humphrey Gilbert." The watchers by the shore are told how the five vessels that had been sent to distant Newfoundland had fared; how the largest, fitted out by Sir Walter Raleigh, had long before returned, how the next in size had been lost before trying to return home; and how the ill-success, the tempestuous weather and the unpropitious prospect

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had caused all to want to turn towards England;

and then they heard the story that the poet has told-how the commander, the good Sir Humphrey Gilbert, had gone down with his vessel, the Squirrel, a boat that we should think scarcely big enough to sail along our coast with.

Just as the decision had been made that the three remaining vessels should return and give up their attempt, so the seamen said, there passed between them and the land "a very lion, to our seeming, in shape, hair and color; not swimming after the manner of a beast, but rather sliding upon the water with his whole body (not excepting the legs) in sight." The men were probably alarmed, but Gilbert professed to see a good omen, though the beast, which was probably a seal or sea-lion, turned its head angrily to and fro, gaped fiercely at the intruders, as he considered the seamen, made ugly demonstrations with his long teeth and glaring eyes, and sent forth a lionlike roaring or bellowing with its horrible voice.

I seem to hear the seamen tell, and rejoice in telling, the story of the self-sacrificing bravery of

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