there, in his court-costume, with pages and standard-bearer. Other attendants in livery, halberdiers with their armor, and stately officers, the chivalry of England, are in his train. Colonists of all ranks,—the tillers of the soil, the mechanic, the adventurer, are there. Mothers and daughters, youths and children, in their best attire, swell the throng. On every brow is a cheering expectation.
Ranged on the opposite side of the area, rise the tall and plumed chieftains of the forest, gathering around their king, the majestic Powhatan. His fiery, eagle-eye is at rest, and expresses complacence. Nearest him, is his son, the prince Nantiquas, styled by a historian of that day, "the most manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit ever seen in a salvage." Here and there, the red-browed females, their raven locks decorated with feathers, are mingled amid groups of painted warriors.
In the chancel, where a profusion of the richest blossoms breathe fragrance, stood the clergyman in his robes, the Rev. Mr. Hunt, so often designated as the "morning-star of the church." His features and demeanor evince the meekness which had so often breathed peace upon the dissensions of the colonists, and bound them together as brethren, in Jesus' name.
A bridal group approach the altar. The forest-maiden, on whose forehead he had shed the drops of baptismal dedication, bends timidly before him. At her side, is a high-born cavalier of England. Mutual