How joyously they spurred them! How sadly drew the rein! There shone no golden palace, there blazed no jewelled fane. Rude tents of hide of bison, dog-guarded, met their view-- A squalid Indian village; the lodges of the Sioux! Then Coronado bowed his head. He spake unto his men: "Our quest is vain, true hearts of Spain! Now ride we home again. And would to God that I might give that phantom city's pride In ransom for the gallant souls that here have sunk and died!" Back, back to Compostela the wayworn handful bore; But sturdy Fray Padilla took up the quest once more. His soul still longed for conquest, though not by lance and sword; He burned to show the Heathen the pathway to the Lord. Again he trudged the flinty hills and dazzling desert sands, And few were they that walked with him, and weaponless their hands-- But and the trusty man-at-arms, Docampo, rode him near Like Great Heart, guarding Christian's way through wastes of Doubt and Fear. Where still in silken harvests the prairie-lilies toss, Among the dark Quivíras Padilla reared his cross. Within its sacred shadow the warriors of the Kaw In wonder heard the Gospel of Love and Peace and Law. They gloried in their Brown-robed Priest; and oft in twilight's gold The warriors grouped, a silent ring, to hear the tale he told, While round the gentle man-at-arms their lithe-limbed children played And shot their arrows at his shield and rode his guarded blade. When thrice the silver crescent had filled its curving shell, The Friar rose at dawning and spake his flock farewell: "--And if your Brothers northward be cruel, as ye say, My Master bids me seek them--and dare I answer 'Nay'?" Again he strode the path of thorns; but ere the evening star A savage cohort swept the plain in paint and plumes of war. Then Fray Padilla spake to them whose hearts were most his own: "My children, bear the tidings home--let me die here alone." He knelt upon the prairie, begirt by yelling Sioux.-- "Forgive them, oh, my Father! they know not what they do!" The twanging bow-strings answered. Before his eyes, unrolled The City of Quivíra whose streets are paved with gold. ARTHUR GUITERMAN. The Spaniards were not the only people who searched in vain for fabulous cities. South of Cape Breton lay a country which the early French explorers named Norembega, and there was supposed to exist, somewhere within its boundaries, a magnificent city of the same name. Roberval and Jacques Cartier spent a number of years after 1541 seeking it, and in 1604 Champlain explored the Penobscot River, on whose banks it was supposed to be situated, but found no trace of it, nor any evidence of civilization except a cross, very old and mossy, in the woods. NOREMBEGA [c. 1543]