“At early dawn the chief’s crier was sent round the camp to call every warrior to the Council Lodge. When they had met, the young warrior related his dream. They concluded that the star they had seen in the south had fallen in love with mankind and that it was desirous to dwell with them. “The next night five tall, noble-looking adventurous braves were sent to welcome the stranger to earth. “They went and presenting to it a pipe of peace, filled with sweet-scented herbs, were rejoiced to find that it took it from them. As they returned to the village, the star, with expanded wings followed, and hovered over their homes till the dawn of day. “Again it came to the young man in a dream and desired to know where it should live, and what form it should take. Places were named. On the tops of giant trees or in flowers. At length it was told to choose a place itself—and it did so. At first it dwelt in the wild rose of the mountains, but there it was so buried it could not be seen. It went to the prairie, but it feared the hoof of the buffaloe. It next went to the rocky cliff, but it was there so high that the children, whom it loved most, could not see it. “‘I know where I shall live,’ said the bright fugitive, ‘where I can see the gliding canoe of the race I most admire. Children, yes, they shall be my playmates, and I will kiss their brows when they slumber at the side of the cool lakes. The nations shall love me wherever I am.’ “These words having been uttered, she alighted on the waters where she saw herself reflected. “The next morning thousands of white flowers were seen on the surface of all the lakes and the Indians gave them this name; _Wah-be-gwon-nee_—(White Lily.) “Now,” continued the old man, “this star lived in the southern skies. Its brethren can be seen far off in the cold north, hunting the great bear, while its sisters watch her in the east and west. “Children, when you see the lily on the waters, take it in your hands and hold it to the skies, that it may be happy on earth, as its two sisters (the morning and evening stars) are happy in heaven.” While tears fell fast from the eyes of all, the old man lay him down and was soon silent in sleep. Since then I have often plucked the white lily and garlanded around my head; have dipped it in its watery bed, but never have I seen it without remembering the _Legend of the Descending Star_. * * * * * [Illustration: THE GOLDEN AGE.] * * * * * THE IMPROVISATRICE. BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. Go bear the voiceless harp away! Its latest note is spoken, And like the heart that beats within, Its last frail chord is broken. This soul of mine was never made For glad or peaceful life, But cast in rude, imperfect mould, For bitterness and strife.