And where'er my footsteps wander,
All the wild beasts of the forest
Hide themselves in holes and caverns.
And the earth becomes as flintstone!"

When I shake my flowing ringlets,"
Said the young man, softly laughing,
Showers of rain fall warm and welcome,
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing,
Back unto their lakes and marshes
Come the wild goose and the heron
Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow,
Sing the blue-bird and the robin,
And where'er my footsteps wander,
All the meadows wave with blossoms,
All the woodlands ring with music,
All the trees are dark with foliage!"

While they spake the night departed;
From the distant realms of Wabun,
From his shining lodge of silver,
Like a warrior robed and painted,
Came the sun, and said, "Behold me!
Gheezis, the great sun, behold me !"

Then the old man's tongue was speechless,
And the air grew warm and pleasant,
And upon the wigwam sweetly
Sang the blue-bird and the robin,
And the stream began to murmur,
And a scent of growing grasses
Through the lodge was gently wafted,
And Swegun, the youthful stranger,
More distinctly in the daylight,
Saw the icy face before him,
It was Peboan, the Winter

From his eyes the tears were flowing,
As from melting lakes and streamlets,
And his body shrunk and dwindled
As the shouting sun ascended,
Till into the air it faded,

Till into the ground it vanished,

And the young man saw before him,

On the hearth-stone of the wigwam,

Where the fire had smoked and smouldered,

Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time,

Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time,

Saw the Miskodeed in blossom.,

Thus it was that in the Northland
After that unheard-of coldness,
That intolerable Winter.

Came the Spring, with all its splendour,
All its birds and all its blossoms,
All its flowers and leaves and grasses.
Sailing on the wind to northward,
Flying in great flocks like arrows,
Like huge arrows shot through heaven,
Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee,
Speaking almost as a man speaks;
And in long lines waving, bending
Like a bow-string snapped asunder,
Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa;
And in pairs, or singly flying.

Mahng the loon, with clamorous pinions,
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa.

In the thickets and the meadows
Piped the blue-bird, the Owaissa,
On the summit of the lodges,
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
In the covert of the pine-trees
Cooed the Omeme, the pigeon,
And the sorrowing Hiawatha,
Speechless in his infinite sorrow,
Heard their voices calling to him,
Went forth from his gloomy doorway,
Stood and gazed into the heaven,
Gazed upon the earth and waters.

From his wanderings far to eastward,
From the regions of the morning,
From the shining land of Wabun,
Homeward now returned Iagoo,
The great traveller, the great boaster,
Full of new and strange adventures,
Marvels many, and many wonders.
And the people of the village

Listened to him as he told them
Of his marvellous adventures,
Laughing answered him in this wise:
Ugh! it is indeed lagoo!

No one else beholds such wonders!"
He had seen, he said, a water
Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water,
Broader than the Gitche Gumee,
Bitter so that none could drink it!
At each other looked the warriors,
Looked the women at each other,
Smiled, and said, "It cannot be so!
Kaw!" they said, "It cannot be so!"
O'er it, said he, o'er this water
Came a great canoe with pinions,
A canoe with wings came flying,
Bigger than a grove of pine-trees,
Taller than the tallest tree-tops!
And the old men and the women
Looked and tittered at each other;

Kaw!" they said, "We don't believe it!"
From its mouth, he said, to greet him,

Came Waywassimo, the lightning,
Came the thunder, Annemekee!

And the warriors and the women
Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo;

Kaw!" they said, "what tales you tell us!"
In it, said he, came a people,

In the great canoe with pinions

Came, he said, a hundred warriors;
Painted white were all their faces,
And with hair their chins were covered!
And the warriors and the women
Laughed and shouted in derision,
Like the ravens on the tree-tops,
Like the crows upon the hemlock.
"Kaw!" they said, "what lies you tell us!
Do not think that we believe them!"
Only Hiawatha laughed not,
But he gravely spake and answered
To their jeering and their jesting:
True is all Iagoo tells us;

I have seen it in a vision,
Seen the great canoe with pinions,
Seen the people with white faces,
Seen the coming of this bearded
People of the wooden vessel
From the regions of the morning,
From the shining land of Wabun.

Gitche-Manito, the Mighty,
The Great Spirit, the Creator,
Sends them hither on his errand,
Sends them to us with his message.
Wheresoe'er they move, before them
Swarms the stinging fly, the Almo,
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker;
Whereso'er they tread, beneath them
Springs a flower unknown among us,
Springs the White-man's Foot in blossom.

Let us welcome, then, the strangers,
Hail them as our friends and brothers,
And the heart's right hand of friendship
Give them when they come to see us.
Gitche Manito, the Mighty,
Said this to me in my vision.

"I beheld, too, in that vision
All the secrets of the future,
Of the distant days that shall be,
I beheld the westward marches
Of the unknown, crowded nations.
All the land was full of people,
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving,
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling,
But one heart-beat in their bosoms.
In the woodlands rang their axes,
Smoked their towns in all the valleys,
Over all the lakes and rivers
Rushed their great canoes of thunder.
"Then a darker, drearier vision
Passed before me, vague and cloud-like,
I behold our nations scattered,

All forgetful of my counsels.
Weakened, warring with each other;

Saw the remnants of our people Sweeping westward, wild and woeful, Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, Like the withered leaves of autumn""

XXII.

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE.

By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.

All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighbouring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing in the sunshine.

Bright above him shone the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.

From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,

As the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation.
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.

Toward the sun his hands were lifted,
Both the pains spread out against it
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked with light his naked shoulders,
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree

Through the rifted leaves and branches.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,

Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.

Was it Shingebis, the diver?
Was it the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither the pelican, nor heron,
O er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine,
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face,
With his guides and his companions.
And the noble Hiawatha,
With his hands aloft extended,
Held aloft in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,

Till the birch canoe with paddles,
Grated on the shining pebbles,
Stranded on the sandy margin,

Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
With the cross upon his bosom,
Landed on the sandy margin.
Then the joyous Hiawatha

Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,
When you come so far to see us!
All our town in peace awaits you,
All our doors stand open for you;
You shall enter all our wigwams,
For the heart's right hand we give you.
Never bloomed the earth so gayly
Never shone the sun so brightly,
As to-day they shine and blossoin
When you come so far to see us!
Never was our lake so tranquil,

Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars;
For your birch canoe in passing

Has removed both rock and sand-bar!
"Never before had our tobacco
Such a sweet and pleasant flavour,
Never the broad leaves of our corn-fields
Were so beautiful to look on,

As they seem to us this morning.
When you come so far to see us!"

And the Black-Robe chief made answer,
Stammered in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar:"
"Peace be with you, Hiawatha.
Peace be with you and your people,
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon,
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!"

Then the generous Hiawatha Led the strangers to his wigwam, Seated them on skins of bison, Seated them on skins of ermine.

And the careful old Nokomis

Brought them food in bowls of bass-wood,
Water brought in birchen dippers,
And the calumet, the peace-pipe,
Filled and lighted for their smoking.

All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Josakeeds, the prophets,
The magicians, the Wabenos,
And the medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome:
"It is well," they said, "O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"

In a circle round the doorway,
With their pipes they sat in silence,
Waiting to behold the strangers,
Waiting to receive their message;
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
From the wigwam came to greet them.
Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar:
"It is well," they said, "O brother,
That you come so far to see us!"

Then the Black-Robe chief, the prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Told the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages

He had lived on earth as we do;
How he fasted, prayed, and laboured;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed.

Mocked him, scourged him, crucified hia,
How he rose from where they laid him,
Walked again with his disciples,
And ascended into heaven.

And the chiefs made answer, saying:
"We have listened to your message,
We have heard your words of wisdom,
We will think on what you tell us.
It is well for us, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"

Then they rose up and departed
Each one homeward to his wigwam,
To the young men and the women
Told the story of the strangers
Whom the Master of Life had sent them.
From the shining land of Wabun.
Heavy with the heat and silence
Grew the afternoon of Summer;

With a drowsy sound the forest

Whispered round the sultry wigwam,
With a sound of sleep the water
Rippled on the beach below it;
From the corn-fields shrill and ceaseless
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena ;
And the guests of Hiawatha,
Weary with the heat of Summer,
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,
And the long and level sunbeams
Shot their spears into the forest,
Breaking through its shields of shadow,
Rushed into each secret ambush,
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow,
Still the guests of Hiawatha
Slumbered in the silent wigwam.
From his place rose Hiawatha,

Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,

Did not wake the guests that slumbered: "I am going, O Nokomis,

On a long and distant journey,
To the portals of the Sunset,

To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin:
But these guests I leave behind me,
In your watch and ward I leave them;
See that never harm comes near them,
See that never fear molests them,
Never danger nor sucpicion,
Never want of food or shelter,
In the lodge of Hiawatha!"

Forth into the village went he,
Bade farewell to all the warriors,
Sade farewell to all the young men,
Spake, persuading, spake in this wise:
I am going, O my people,

On a long and distant journey;
Many moons and many winters

Will have come, and will have vanished,
Ere I come again to see you.
But my guests I leave behind me:
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Listen to the truth they tell you,

For the Master of Life has sent them

From the land of light and morning!"
On the shore stood Hiawatha,
Turned and waved his hand at parting;
On the clear and luminous water
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing,
From the pebbles of the margin
Shoved it forth into the water;
Whispered to it, "Westward! Westward!"
And with speed it darted forward.

And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire with redness,
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie.
Left upon the level water

One long track and trail of splendour
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapours.
Sailed into the dusk of evening.

And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
Till the birch-canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendour,
Till it sank into the vapours
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.

And they said, Farewell for ever!"
Said Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the heron, the Shul-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,

In the glory of the sunset,
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom of Ponemah,
To the land of the Hereafter!

Adjidau'mo, the sea squarrel.
Ahdeck', the reindeer.
Ahmeek', the bearer.
Annemee'kee, the thunder.
A puk'wa, a bulrush.
Baim-wa'wa, the sod of the
thunder.

Bemah'gut, the grape-rine.
Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior.
Cheemaun', a birch-canoe.
Chetowaik', the plorer.
Chibia'bos, a musician; friend

of Hiawatha; ruler in the Land of Spirits. Dahin'da, the bull frog. Dush-kwo-ne'she, or Kwo-ne'she, the dragon-fly. Esa, shame upon you. Ewa-yea', lullaby. Gitch'e Gu'mee, the Big-SeaWater, Lake Superior. Gitch'e Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life. Gushkewau', the darkness. Hiawatha, the Prophet, the Teacher son of Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind, and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis. Ia'goo, a great boaster and storyteller.

Inin'ewug, men or pawns in the

Game of the Bowl.

Ishkoodah', fire; a comet.
Jec'bi, a ghost, a spirit.
Joss'akeed, a prophet.

Kabibonok'ka, the North- Wind.
Ka'go, do not.

Kalgahgee', the raven.

Kaw, no.

Kaween', no indeed.

Kayoshk', the sea-gull.

Kee'go, a fish.

the Home-wind.

Maskeno'zha, the pike.
Me'da, a medicine enan.
Meenah'ga, the blueberry.
Megissog'won, the great Pearl-
Feather, a magician, and the
Manito of Wealth.
Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer.
Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mit-
tens.

Minnehaha, Laughing Water;
a water-fall on a stream run-
ning into the Mississippi, be-
tween Fort Snelling and the
Falls of St. Anthony.
Minnehaha, Laughing Water;
wife of Hiawatha.
Minnie-wa'wa, a pleasant sound,
as of the wind in the trees.
Mish'e-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear.
Mish'e-Nah'ma, the Great Stur-
geon.

Miskodeed', the Spring Beauty,
the Claytonia Virginica.
Monda'min, Indian corn.
Moon of Bright Nights, April.
Moon of Leaves, May,
Moon of Strawberries, June.
Moon of the Falling Leaves,
September.

Moon of Snow-shoes, November.
Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind;
Fathe of Hiawatha.
Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves
on a shore.
Mushkoda'sa, the grouse.
Nah'ma, the sturgeon.
Nah'ma-wusk, spearmint,
Na'gow Wudj'oo. the Sand Dunes
of Lake Superior.
Nee-ba-naw-baigs, water-spirits
Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart.
Nepah'win, sleep.

Kena'beek, a serpent.

Keneu', the great war-eagle.
Keno'zha, the pickerel.
Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl.

Kuntasoo', the Game of Plumstones.

Kwa'sind, the Strong Man.
Kwo-ne'-she, or Du h-kwo-ne'-
she, the dragon-flu

Mahnahbe'zee, the swan.
Mahng, the loon.

Mahn-go-tay'sec, loon-hearted,
brare.
Mahnomo'nce, wild rice.
Ma'ma, the woodpecker.

ther of Wenonah.

No'sa, my father
Nush'ka, look! look!
Odah'min, the strawberry.
Okahah'wis, the fresh-water her-
ring.
Ome'me, the pigeon.
Ona'on a boil.
Ona

Opechee', the robin.

Osseo, Son of the Erening Star. Owais'sa, the blue-bird. Oweenee', wife of Osseo. Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the Bowl.

Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshop-
per.
Pan'guk, death.
Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome
Yenadizze, the Storm Fool.
Pe'boan, Winter.

Pem'ican, meat of the deer or
buffalo, dried and pounded.
Pezhekee', the bison.
Pishnekuh', the brant.
Ponemah', hereafter.
Puggawau'gun, a war-club,
Puk-Wudj'ies, Puk-Wudg-In-
in'ees, little wild men of the
woods; pigmies.
Sah-sah-je-wun, rapids.
Sah'wa, the perch.
Segwun', Spring.
Sha'da, the pelican.
Shahbo'min, the gooseberry.
Shah-shah, long ago.
Shangoda'ya, a coward.
Shawgashee', the craw-fish.
Shawonda'see, the South-Wind.
Shaw-shaw, the swallow..
Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in
the game of the Bowl.
Shin'gebis, the diver, or greebe.
Showain' neme'-shin, pity me.
Shuh-shuh'-gah, the blue heron.
Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted.
Subbeka'she, the spider.
Sugge'ma, the mosquito.
To'tem, family coat-of-arms.
Ugh, yes.

Ugudwash', the sun-fisk.
Unktahee', the God of Water.
Wabas'so, the rabbit; the North.
Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler
Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow.
Wa'bun, the East-Wind
Wa'ban An'nung, the Star of the
East, the Morning Star.
Wahono'min, a cry of lamenta-
tion.

Wah-wah-tay'sce, the fire-fly.
Waubewy'on, a white skin wrap-

per. Wa'wa, the wild-goose. Waw'beek, a rock.

Waw be-wa'wa, the white goose. Sawonais's, the whippoor-rill. Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpitlar.

Wenonah. the eldest daughter; Hiawatha's mother; daughter of Nokomis. Yenidiz'ze, an idler and yambler; an Indian dandy.

I.

MILES STANDISH.

IN the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrimis,

To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive

dwelling,

Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cor

dovan leather,

Strode, with a martial air. Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.

Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing

Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,

Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,

Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,

Curved at the point and mscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence.

While underneath, in a corner, were fowlingpiece, musket, and matchlock. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested. with muscles and sinews of iron:

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet

Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives

Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, “Not Angles but Angels

Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May-Flower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,

Spake, in the pride of his heart. Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.

Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here. Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!

This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders: this breastplate,

We I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish;

Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet

Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.

Had it not been of sheer-steei, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish

Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses

Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;

He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"

Still the captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:

See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;

That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.

Serve yourself, would you be well served,' is an excellent adage:

So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.

Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great invincible army.

Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock.

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,

And, like Cæsar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!

This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes as the sunbeams

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.

Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:

"Look! you can see from this window my

brazen howitzer planted,

High on the root of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose,

Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic,

Orthodox. flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen.

Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians:

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better.

Let them come, it they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow,

Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon!"

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape,

Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapoury breath of the east wind,

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean.

Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine.

Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape.

Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion.

Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded:

"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standi h:

Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside:

She was the first to die of all who came in the May-Flower!

Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there. Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people,

Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished!"

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful.