Adjoining the house in which Arnold resided, and at which it was designed to seize and gag him, Champe had taken off several of the palings, and replaced them so that, with ease and without noise, he could readilyopen his way to the adjoining alley. Into this alley he intended to convey his prisoner, aided by his companion, and one or two associates, who had been introduced by the friend to whom Champe had been originally made known by letter from the commander-in-chief, and withi whose aid and counsel he had so far conducted the enterprise. His other associate was, with the boat, prepared at one of the wharves on the Hudson river, to receive the party.

Champe and his friend intended to have placed themselves each under Arnold's shoulder, and to have thus borne him through the most unfrequented alleys and streets to the boat, representing Arnold, in case of being questioned, as a drunken soldier, whom they were conveying to the guard-house.

When arrived at the boat, the difficulties would be all surmounted, there being no danger nor obstacle in passing to the Jersey shore. These particulars, as soon as made known to Lee, were communicated to the commander-in-chief, who was highly gratified with the much desired intelligence. He desired Major Lee to meet Champe, and to take care that Arnold should not be hurt.

The day arrived, and Lee, with a party of accoutred horses, one for Arnold, one for the sergeant, and the third for his associate, who was to assist in securing Arnold, left the camp, never doubting the success of the enterprise, from the tenor of the last received communication. The party reached Hoboken about midnight, where they were concealed in the adjoining wood-Lee, with three dragoons, stationing himself near the shore of the river. Hour after hour passed, but no boat approached.

At length the day broke, and the major retired to his party, and with his led horses returned to the camp, where he proceeded to head quarters to inform the general of the much lamented disappointment, as mortifying

was

as inexplicable. Washington having perused Champe's plan and communication, had indulged the presumption, that at length the object of his keen and constant pursuit, sure of execution, and did not dissemble the joy such a conviction produced. He was chagrined at the issue, and apprehended that his faithful sergeant must have been detected in the last scene of his tedious and difficult enterprise.

In a few days Lee received an anonymous letter from Champe's patron and friend, informing him that on the day preceding the night for the execution of the plot, Arnold had removed his quarters to another part of the town, to superintend the embarkation of troops preparing, as was rumored, for an expedition to be directed by himself; and that the American legion, consisting chiefly of American deserters, had been transferred from their barracks to one of the transports, it being apprehended that if left on shore until the expedition was ready, many of them might desert.

Thus it happened, that John Champe, instead of crossing the Hudson that night, was safely deposited on board one of the fleet of transports, from whence he never departed, until the troops under Arnold landed in Virginia. Nor was he able to escape from the British army until after the junction of Cornwallis at Petersburgh, when he deserted; and proceeding high up into Virginia, he passed into North Carolina, near the Saury towns, and keeping in the friendly districts of that state, safely joined the army soon after it had passed the Congaree, in pursuit of Lord Rawdon.

His appearance excited supreme surprise among his former comrades, which was not a little increased, when they saw the cordial reception he met with from the late major, now lieutenant colonel, Lee. His whole story was soon known to the corps, which reproduced the love and respect of officer and soldier, (heretofore invariably entertained for the sergeant,) heightened by universal admiration of his late daring and arduous attempt.

Champe was introduced to General Green, who very cheerfully complied with the promise made by the com

mander-in-chief, so far as in his power; and having provided the sergeant with a good horse and money for his journey, sent him to General Washington, who munificently anticipated every desire of the sergeant, and presented him with a discharge from further service, lest he might, in the vicissitudes of war, fall into the hands of the enemy, when, if recognised, he was sure to die on the jibbet.

We shall only add respecting the after life of this interesting adventurer, that when Gen. Washington was called by Pres. Adams, in 1798, to the command of the army, prepared to defend the country against French hostility, he sent to Lieutenant Colonel Lee, to inquire for Champe; being determined to bring him into the field at the head of a company of infantry. Lee sent to Loudon county, Virginia, where Champe settled after his discharge from the army; when he learned that the gallant soldier had removed to Kentucky, where he soon after died.

THE VENTRILOQUIST AND THE MONKS.

M. DE LA CHAPELLE informs us, that M. St. Gill, the ventriloquist, and his friend, returning home from a place whither his business had carried him, sought for shelter from an approaching thunder storm in a neighboring convent. Finding the whole community in mourning, he inquired the cause, and was told that one of their body had died lately, who was the ornament and delight of the whole society. To pass away the time, he walked into the church, attended by some of the religious, who showed him the tomb of their deceased brother, and spoke feelingly of the scanty honors they had bestowed on his memory. Suddenly a voice was heard, apparently proceeding from the roof of the choir, lamenting the situation

of the defunct in purgatory, and reproaching the brotherhood with their lukewarmness and want of zeal on his own account. The friars, as soon as their astonishment gave them power to speak, consulted together, and agreed to acquaint the rest of the community with this singular event, so interesting to the whole society. M. St. Gill, who wished to carry on the joke still farther, dissuaded them from taking this step; telling them that they would be treated by their absent brethren, as a set of fools and visionaries. He recommending to them, however, the immediately calling of the whole community into the church, where the ghost of their departed brother might probably reiterate his complaints.

Accordingly all the friars, novices, lay-brothers, and even the domestics of the convent, were immediately summoned and collected together. In a short time the voice from the roof renewed its lamentation and reproaches, and the whole convent fell on their faces and vowed a solemn reparation. As a first step, they chanted a De profundis in a full choir; during the intervals of which, the ghost occasionally expressed the comfort he received from their pious exercises and ejaculations on his behalf. When all was over, the prior entered into a serious conversation with M. St. Gill; and on the strength of what had just passed, sagaciously inveighed against the absurd incredulity of modern sceptics and pretended philosophers, on the article of ghosts or apparitions. M. St. Gill thought it now high time to undeceive the good fathers. This purpose, however, he found it extremely difficult to effect, till he had prevailed upon them to return with him into the church, and there be witnesses of the manner in which he had conducted this ludicrous deception.

FORTITUDE OF THE INDIAN CHARACTER.

A PARTY of the Seneca Indians came to war against the Ratahba, bitter enemies to each other. In the woods, the former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter, hunting in their usual light dress: on his perceiving

them, he sprung off for a hollow rock four or five miles distant, as they intercepted him from running homeward. He was so extremely swift and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them in the running fight before they were able to surround and take him. They carried him to their country in sad triumph; but though he had filled them with uncommon grief and shame for the loss of so many of their kindred, yet the love of martial virtue induced them to treat him, during their long journey, with a great deal more civility than if he had acted the part of a coward. The women and children when they met him at their several towns beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner as the occasion required, according to their law of justice, and at last he was formally condemned to die by the fiery torture. It might reasonably be imagined that what he had for some time gone through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended in a pair of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on his entering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharp torments to which he was destined, would have so impaired his health and affected his imagination as to have sent him to his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings. Probably this would have been the case with the major part of white people under similar circumstances; but I never knew this with any of the Indians: and this cool-headed, brave warrior, did not deviate from their rough lessons of martial virtue, but acted his part so well as to surprise and sorely vex his numerous enemies: for when they were taking him, unpinioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to a river, he suddenly dashed down those who stood in his way, sprung off, and plunged into the water, swimming underneath like an otter, only rising to take breath, till he reached the opposite shore. He now ascended the steep bank, but though he had good reason to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the water, and others running, like blood-hounds, in pursuit of him, and the bullets flying around him from the time he took to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them abruptly, without taking leave in a formal manner, in re