“Will my brother smoke?” he said abruptly, handing him his pipe, while he, with the disengaged hand, pressed that of Captain Hughes with the utmost cordiality. “Listen, my brother,” he said, after a pause. “You have done well to the White Bear. His wigwam is empty without the Sunflower, who used to shed light upon his hearth. Joy no more can enter it. The White Bear is alone among the rest of his tribe, like a blasted pine in the midst of a green forest; but it does good to his heart to hear the son of his friend—the broken-hearted one that he took into his lodge to soothe and to heal—was sorry that he stole the flower of his heart, and left but a thorn in its place. The White Bear is sorry for them both; but they were young and foolish, and dearly have they been punished. I forgive them, brother,” again extending his hand, “and I love the white chief, who did not leave their bodies to be devoured by the wolves, but buried them as the White Bear would have them buried. I am glad too that you treated the Chippewa as a dog, without any sign to mark where he lays. I feel that many moons will not pass over me; but while they do, I will live less unhappy at my loss, and ever love the white chief.” Thus terminated their interview; and Captain Hughes heard, not one month later, of the death of the White Bear. * * * * * THE WIFE’S LAST GIFT. BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR. In the late Hungarian struggle, Count Batthyany was taken prisoner by the Austrians. He was sentenced to be hung, and his wife sent him a dagger, that, by taking his own life, he might escape the ignominy of such a death. I send a precious gift to thee, My own, my honored love— A gift that well I know thou’lt prize, All gifts of earth above. ’Tis meet and right that it should be The rarest—’tis the last! Alas! how o’er me rushes now The memory of the past! Do you remember, love, the time When first within mine ear Thy deep voice breathed the earnest words My soul rejoiced to hear? I gave thee then my heart’s first love, Its wealth of tenderness; But ah! the gift I send thee now Hath greater power to bless. And when, with claspéd hands, we stood Before the altar-stone, And tremblingly I vowed to be Forever thine alone; Then by the flushing of thy cheek, And by thy kindling eye— By the low tones that thrilled my heart, And by thy bearing high—