I have said this was no love tale, therefore, by merely stating that in the course of a twelvemonth Hubert Fairlie and Grace were united, I close my simple story. * * * * * WATOUSKA. A LEGEND OF THE ONEIDAS. BY KATE ST. CLAIR. Away, in a forest’s gloom, Where the shadowy branches wave O’er a rude and moss-grown tomb, Is an Indian maiden’s grave: None knoweth that music-haunted spot— Save a far-off one, who forgets it not. He dreams of that silent shore— ’Tis a holy spot to him, A solemn stillness broodeth o’er Those forest-aisles so dim; Bird-music, and wave-melody, Blend with the murmurings of the bee. He knows when the wild-rose showers Its blossoms o’er her breast; When the summer-winds, ’mid flowers, Whisper above her rest: And he deems he hears, on his far-off shore, The music of the cataract’s roar From that Island of the Blest! She passed from earth away— The young, the beautiful, In the long dreamy day When golden shadows fell O’er wave and vine, and moons had sped, Yet _there_, while that brief season fled, He’d kept Love’s vigil well. He comes, that warrior-chief, Once more, in the pale moon’s wane, When the dews weep o’er each leaf, To that haunted spot again— But morn with its glorious beauty woke Him not—the warrior’s heart had broke. * * * * * INDIAN LEGEND OF THE STAR AND LILY. BY KAH-GE-GA-GAH-BOWH. In the wigwam of the Indian during the evenings of spring, that season when nature, loosed from the bondage of winter, awakes to new life, and begins to deck itself with beauties, the old sage gathers around him the young men of the tribe, and relates the stories of days long since departed. I have seen these youths sit in breathless silence, listening to the old man’s narrative. Now and then the tear-drops would course down their cheeks, and fall to the ground, witnesses of the interest they felt in the words of their teacher. To induce the sire to narrate a tradition, the Indian boys would contrive some ingenious plan by which to get some tobacco, which, when offered with a request for a story, would be sure of a favorable answer. Frequently it happens that from sunset to its rise these clubs are entertained, and they do not separate till daylight calls them to the chase. One of the most interesting traditionary stories I ever heard related, was told by an elderly Indian, one evening in spring. The winter was just leaving, the snow and ice were fast disappearing, and the streams were swollen with the unusual quantity of water from the mountains.