Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon,
Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs,
With their cool dimness, crossed the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest ;
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep
That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose,
As at a red flower's heart; and where a fount
Lay, like a twilight star, 'midst palmy shades,
Making its banks green gems along the wild,
There too she lingered, from the diamond wave
Drawing clear water for his rosy lips,

And softly parting clusters of jet curls
To bathe his brow.

At last the fane was reached,

The earth's one sanctuary; and rapture hushed
Her bosom, as before her, through the day,
It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped
In light, like floating gold. But when the hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye
Beseechingly to hers, and, half in fear,

Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm
Clung e'en as ivy clings: the deep spring-tide
Of nature then swelled high; and o'er her child
Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song. "Alas!" she cried,-

"Alas, my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes;
And now fond thoughts arise,

And silver chords again to earth have won me;
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart;
How shall I hence depart?

"How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing So late along the mountains at my side!

And I, in joyous pride,

By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair,
Beholding thee so fair!

"Under the palm-trees thou no more shalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return

With the full water urn!

Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me,
As 'midst the silence of the stars I wake,
And watch for thy dear sake.

"And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread

Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To find my neck; and lift up in thy fear,

A cry which none shall hear?

"What have I said, my child? Will he not hear thee
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will he not guard thy rest,

And, in the hush of holy midnight, hear thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!

"I give thee to thy God!

the God that gave thee,

A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!

And precious as thou art,

And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,

My own, my beautiful, my undefiled !

And thou shalt be His child!

"Therefore, farewell; - I go; my soul may fail me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,

Yearning for thy sweet looks!

But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me ;
Thou in the shadow of the rock shalt dwell,

The Rock of Strength-farewell! "

LESSON XIV.

The Canadian Indians.

BACKWOODS OF CANADA.

A FAMILY of Indians have pitched their huts very near us; and on one of the islands of our lake we can distinguish from our front window, the thin, blue smoke of their wood fires, rising among the trees, or curling over the bosom of the

waters.

The squaws have several times visited me; sometimes from curiosity, sometimes with the view of bartering their baskets, mats, ducks, or venison, for pork, flour, potatoes, or articles of wearing apparel. Sometimes their object is to borrow "kettle to cook," which they are very punctual in returning.

Once a squaw came to borrow a washing-tub; but not understanding her language, I could not for some time discover the object of her solicitude: at last she took up a corner of her blanket, and, pointing to some soap, began rubbing it between her hands, imitated the action of washing, then laughed, and pointed to a tub; she then held up two fingers, to intimate that it was for two days she wanted the loan.

These people appear to possess. gentle and amiable dispositions; and as far as our experience goes, they are very honest. Once indeed, the old hunter, Peter, obtained from me some bread, for which he promised to give a pair of ducks ; but when the time came for payment, and I demanded my

ducks, he looked gloomy, and replied with characteristic brevity, "No duck-Chippewa (meaning S, this being the name they have affectionately given him) gone up lake with canoe - no canoe -- duck by-and-by." By-and-by is a favorite expression of the Indians, signifying an indefinite point of time; may be it means to-morrow, or a week, or a month, or it may be a year, or even more. They rarely give you a direct promise.

As it is not wise to let any one cheat you if you can prevent it, I coldly declined any further overtures towards bartering with the Indians until my ducks made their appearance.

Some time afterwards, I received one duck by the hands of Maquin, a sort of Indian Flibbertigibbet. This lad is a hunchbacked dwarf, very shrewd, but a perfect imp; his delight seems to consist in tormenting the grown babies in the wigwam, or teasing the meek deer-hounds. He speaks English very fluently, and writes tolerably for an Indian boy : he usually accompanies the women in their visits, and acts as their interpreter, grinning with mischievous glee at his mother's bad English, and my perplexity at not being able to understand her signs. In spite of his extreme deformity, he seemed to possess no inconsiderable share of vanity, gazing with great satisfaction at his face in the looking-glass. When I asked his name, he replied, "Indian name, Maquin, but English name, Mister Walker, very good man: "this was the person

he was called after.

These Indians are scrupulous in their observance of the Sabbath, and show great reluctance to having any dealings in the way of trading or pursuing their usual avocations, hunting and fishing, on that day.

The young Indians. are very expert in the use of a long bow, with wooden arrows, rather heavy, and blunt at the end. Maquin said he could shoot ducks and small birds with his arrows; but I should think they were not calculated to reach objects at any great distance, as they appeared very heavy.

'Tis sweet to hear the Indians singing their hymns on a Sunday night; their rich, soft voices rising in the still evening air. I have often listened to this little choir praising the Lord's name in the simplicity and fervor of their hearts, and have felt that it was a reproach that these poor, half-civilized wanderers alone should be found to gather together to give glory to God in the wilderness.

I was much pleased with the simple piety of the squaw of our friend Peter, the hunter. She was a stout, swarthy matron, of a most amiable expression. We were taking our tea when she softly opened the door and looked in: an encouraging smile induced her to enter, and, depositing a brown pappoose (the Indian name for baby or little child) on the ground, she gazed round with curiosity and delight in her eyes. We offered her some tea and bread, motioning to her to take a vacant seat beside the table. She seemed pleased by the invitation, and drawing her little one to her knee, poured some tea into a saucer, and gave it to the child to drink. She ate very moderately, and when she had finished, rose, and, wrapping her face in the folds of her blanket, bent down her head on her breast in the attitude of prayer. This little act of devotion was performed without the slightest appearance of pharisaical display, but in singleness and simplicity of heart. She then thanked us with a face beaming with smiles and good humor; and taking little Rachel by the hands, threw her over her shoulder with a peculiar slight that I feared would dislocate the tender thing's arms; but the pappoose seemed well satisfied with this mode of treatment.

In long journeys, the children are placed in upright baskets of a peculiar form, which are fastened round the necks of the mothers by straps of deer-skin; but the young infant is bound to a sort of flat cradle, secured with flexible hoops, to prevent it from falling out. To these machines they are strapped, so as to be unable to move a limb. Much finery is often displayed in the outer covering and the bandages that confine the