Henrich--proud and happy in the possession of a spirited horse, with which Tisquantum had presented him--insisted on being one of the party; end he was accompanied, also, by Jyanough, who had left his native village, now rendered sad and gloomy in his eyes, to follow his white friend, and share his society at least for a time. This arrangement gave Henrich the greatest satisfaction for the young Cree was the only Indian of his own sex in whom he had been able to find a companion, or who had peculiarly attached himself to the stranger: and the more he saw of Jyanough the more he found in him to win his esteem and friendship. Oriana and Mailah seated themselves on the luxuriant grass to rest; and the young Indian mother removed her child from the strange cradle in which she always carried it, and laid it on her knees; and then, after gazing at it for a few moments, she began to sing a wild, sweet song, to hush it to sleep. In a soft, monotonous cadence, she sang the sad story of its little life--its birth--its captivity--and the death of its murdered father, whom she exhorted it to imitate, and live to equal in courage and in skill. And thus she sang: 'Child of the slain Lincoya, sleep In peace! Thy mother wakes to guard thee. But where is he whose smile once fell on thee as sunshine--thy father, Lincoya? He is gone to the far distant hunting-grounds and there, again, he casts the spear; and there he draws the unerring bow; and there he quaffs the cup of immortality, with the spirits of the good and brave. O Lincoya! thy voice was to me as a sweet song, or as the summer breeze among the tall cypress trees--why didst thou leave me? Thy step was swift and graceful as the roe upon the mountains--why didst thou leave me? But I will follow thee, my warrior, The death-bird has called me, and I come to thee! Thy child shall live; for Mahneto has given him friends and a home. He shall grow up like thee, and Oriana shill be o mother to him when I am gone: and the blue-eyed stranger, whom she loves as I loved thee, shall guide his hand in war, and in the chase. Lincoya! I come to thee!’ Oriana listened to the mournful chant of the young widow with much interest and sympathy; but when she spoke of her love for her white brother, in terms so new and strange, she almost felt offended. She did not, however, remark on her friend's allusion to herself, but turned the discourse to Mailah's sad prophecy of her own early death, which she knew could only be grounded on one of the wild superstitions of her race. 'Why do you talk of dying, Mailah?' she asked. 'You are young and strong; and you may again be happy. Why do you say you will leave your child, and go to the land of spirits?'