ields assent,
And leads the stranger to his father's tent.

On the third evening, as the shadows fall,
The hospitable chief receives them all
In his great lodge, and listens to their tale
Of the brave Sioux, whose weapon cannot fail,
But, like the thunder, with mysterious roar,
Strikes enemies unseen. Well pleased before
With this fair stranger-youth's ingenuous face,
He bids him welcome with a courtly grace,
And on the morn proclaims to all his band
This warrior shall receive his daughter's hand.
The fiery Blackfeet, when this word they know,
Dart glances of dire hatred at their foe;
But, hold! the criers once again appear--
"This foreign bridegroom hath a magic here!
Weapon like his no Blackfoot ever saw!
Bring forth a mark and then prepare with awe
To witness its destruction!"

Scoffingly
Each brave presents his finest horse, while he
Accepts of one, and fires before them all.
Ah, pity! see the noble creature fall!
Hear its death-scream!

Some trembled, others fled,
But all declared so fair a maid should wed
No less a brave than this. All cavil ceased;
And now began with joy the marriage feast.

(LOVE SONG.)

_One day you will remember me--
One day--one day!
You will at last remember me,
And say,
"I was so dear to her--so dear to her!"
Yeh-eh-eh-eh--;
You will remember me
One day!
Yeh-eh-eh-eh--!_

When the young hero carried home his bride,
He rode a pacing pony at her side;
Twelve others followed--costly loads they bore,
Rich robes and gifts--the Blackfoot maiden's dower.
On a lone war-path finding such a fate,
His triumph all the village celebrate;
Peace is declared between the tribes; and soon--
Before the waxing of another moon--
Guns, knives and blankets, prized past all belief,
Are sent as presents to the Blackfoot chief.

Such is the tale by Indian camp-fires told--
The old, old story that grows never old!

ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN.

[Footnote A: _I. e._, who slew thy father.]

[Illustration]

Fond Hearts of the Forest.

A LEGEND OF FOUNTAIN CAVE, NEAR ST. PAUL.

The hazy gloaming gathers round,
The silence mellows every sound,
The gentle wind, through foliage nigh,
Begins to breathe its plaintive sigh;
While o'er the hill creeps silver light,
Where calm and chaste the queen of night,
Awaking from her daily trance,
Doth charm al