efforts of the missionaries could neve too pleasant a persuasion to be parte untutored savage be reasoned out of in its favour before his own eyes?

Rough and ferocious as these people ideal happiness embraced nought but The Indian paradise was a picture o chase the deer over the verdant lawn. repose on beds of ever-blooming flow waters among groves of coral,-these v people whose life was passed in acts of the natural tendencies of all men, howe manners may become, lie towards harmo of circumstances that all human depravi in the midst of his plundering and devas each one may tranquilly enjoy his own. his enemies here; but looks only for tl sociality in a blessed hereafter. He doe but the fairy land of his imagination and of innocence. He is a brutal barbarian w stinate perversities of real life; but a gen he dreams of shell-bright bowers beyond ance of the Flying Island was welcomed by all the red men; and this part of the c the country from which it had ever been s abode. Year after year, as their various c other parts of the land before the gradual they still lurked in great numbers in this h eyes yet looking upon the light that have from a score of wigwams on the bank of th modern town. Somewhat fortunately for the part were of a less active and pushing char temporaries; so that this decaying remnant soil experienced less molestation than would "longing, lingering looks" been cast upor father-land. But nothing could avert their bers became small; their ancient hunting-gr were occupied by the whites; the red deer h the lofty mountains of the interior; their an the neighbourhood had been exterminated; reduced to a mere handful, with the certain utter extinction.

In spite of all this, nothing could wean t and their old superstitions. All practicable ef their moral and social condition; but in vain. ments could make them thrifty cultivators "As our fathers were, so will we be," was t such as exhorted them to abandon their pagar continued to dwell in rude wigwams of barl blankets, to paint their faces and stick feather about in birch-canoes, and to spear salmon a

other men would be utterly infirm and helpless; yet he refused to seek the help due to his declining years by dwelling with the white people. Great solicitations were practised to induce him to accept of food and lodging with his neighbours; but he declined all association with them, and removed his wigwam down to the seaside. Here, on a flat, sandy point at the mouth of the river, far from any human habitation, was the last abiding place of the lonely red man-the last of all his line.

The scenery around this spot was of the most wild and desolate character, and exactly befitting the frame of mind in which a person of his strange fate would naturally repose. For many miles around nothing could be seen but a dreary waste of sand, without so much as a green sod, or a tree, or even a rock, to relieve the eternal monotony of the scene. The sand was everywhere thrown up by the wind into heaps and furrows, whose tops were crowned with a growth of meagre, stunted bushes, or tufts of long, coarse grass. The hollows between these low hills and ridges were yet deep enough to hide a person from sight; and as they ran in a thousand intricate mazes over the surface, no one could traverse them for many minutes without losing himself. In the midst of this dreary desert had the lone Indian pitched his last encampment; and visiters, of whom there were many at this most interesting period of his existence, generally found him sitting in moody abstraction at the top of a sand-hill, and gazing upon the sea. His hut consisted of a few rude stakes, covered with grass and dried sea-weed; his canoe lay by the side of his dwelling, though it was observed he never launched it; his ancient tomahawk, too, and scalping-knife hung over his bed, as remembrances of what had been most strikingly characteristic of his race. Now and then, he would be encountered strolling out upon a sand-bar that had been left dry by the tide, where he was accustomed to pick up the clams and mussels on which he subsisted. All sorts of food were offered him by his visiters, yet he would accept of nothing, except occasionally a few ears of maize: indeed, he ate hardly anything; and ere long his flesh wasted away so as to leave him little besides a mere skeleton. How he survived the cold and snow-storms of winter in this lonely and exposed situation was a matter of astonishment to every one, in spite of the proverbial saying, that " an Indian is as tough as a pine-knot." Year after year he continued to live and dwindle away thinner and thinner, till most people began to cast about for some supernatural cause for this wonderful longevity; and the story at length ran that the last Indian could never be made to die like common mortals, but would dry up and blow away.

At last old Samoset was remarked to grow somewhat wild in his looks. His eyes shone with unwonted brightness; a sort of hectic glow was perceptible upon the sallow, shrivelled, parchment covering of his bony visage; he grew talkative-a strange, very strange thing for an Indian; and he talked in a flighty and cloudy style concerning a voyage he was about to make at sea;-in short, people came to the belief that he was going mad. A number of men were therefore stationed constantly near him, lest he should do some harm to himself. Some persons proposed to remove him by force to town: but the interest which most people felt in humouring the whims of this strange old creature prevailed, in allowing him still to live in the Indian style; and every one was per

suaded that, in spite of his wonderful powers of physical endurance, he was now going in some way or other. It was towards the end of summer; and many years had passed since old Samoset had taken up his residence among the sand-hills. Crowds of visiters resorted hither to gaze at the venerable savage; so that he was constantly surrounded during most of the day, and spent the time in making long talks about unintelligible Indian lore to his astonished auditors.

One morning his cabin was found empty: Samoset was not to be seen; the canoe was gone; the tomahawk, knife, bow and arrows, gourd-bottle, and tobacco-pipe, which constituted the whole of his movables, were likewise missing. Hastening down to the shore, the visiters discovered Samoset sitting quietly a few yards from the beach. His canoe was drawn down nearly to the water's edge; and the old Indian was gravely puffing his great pipe-an act which he had not been known to perform more than two or three times before within the memory of man. He was dressed out in red feathers, and beads, and shells, as if for a gala day. It was plain that some uncommon doings were at hand.

The report of this circumstance brought all the people of the town about him: every one plied him with questions; but he continued to puff his pipe, look upon the blue sea before him, and answered them never a word. It was a hot, cloudless, calm day the sun threw fiery, scorching beams through the still air upon the land; and multitudes continued to linger upon the beach, to enjoy the cooling of a slight seabreeze that fanned the sparkling surf upon the sand-bars. As the sun began to decline in the west, three or four bright specks were observed shooting up above the blue rim of the distant waters; gradually they spread out right and left, began to glow with more distinct colours, and in a few moments a cluster of green hills and flowery trees seemed to be floating lightly on the calm ocean. Every eye was now turned seaward, and they beheld the Flying Island in all its glory.

Old Samoset had been sitting for hours with his looks fixed upon this precise spot. At the sight of the apparition, he started upon his feet and broke silence. "Brothers," he exclaimed, "behold my home! The spirits on the bright island call me to its shores; I hear their voices; I behold the smoke of the wigwam they have built for me in the blessed land; I see the hills on which I shall chase the red deer again. Brothers, my time is come! Last night the spirit of my father stood over me, and bade me smoke the calumet for the last time, and leave the land of the whites. 'Tis finished; and now I go."

A most unearthly gleam shot from his eyes as he uttered this harangue, and the tones of his voice were strangely solemn. All the hearers were struck with emotion, while the inspired savage proceeded deliberately to launch his canoe. A dozen men immediately sprang forward to prevent this act of madness; but the withered and decrepit Indian, whose tottering limbs seemed a moment previous barely able to keep him erect, now appeared to have become suddenly endowed with more than human strength. Grasping and hurling them aside, one after another, with as much ease as he would have broken down the blades of springing corn, he thrust the canoe into the surf, and leaping into it, seized his paddle, and pushed off in an instant beyond all pursuit.

All eyes were fixed upon him as the light birchen skiff was seen to dance over the long lines of surf that came swelling and foaming over the sand-bars. Some ran off in quest of a boat, with the purpose of following him out to sea, and bringing him back; but in a few moments a great pile of snow-white clouds rose up in the west, and swept quickly over the face of the sun presently the great mass of the clouds grew leaden-coloured, lurid, and then inky black; while their upper edges shot out fold after fold of a deep brassy hue. This heavy thunder-cloud came stretching over the whole valley, and sweeping onward with a speed that denoted a fearful conflict of the elements. The sea-breeze fell into a dead calm; the whole atmosphere became for the moment utterly stagnant. White, ragged, spongy masses of vapour were seen floating low in the valley; a bright stream of forked lightning darted from the bosom of the black cloud; a low rumble of distant thunder was heard; and the next moment a breath of cool wind began to stir the air. One minute more, and a bolt of lightning, like a river of fire, shot over the face of heaven, succeeded by a crash of thunder that shook the solid earth the wind swept in a hurricane over the land; and the whole sky seemed to be falling in a deluge of rain.

A thunder-storm more violent or disastrous than this was not remembered by the oldest inhabitant of the town. The number of chimneys blown down, houses unroofed, barns struck with lightning, and trees torn up by the roots, surpassed all former enumerations of the like calamities. When the storm had passed, the whole valley was found to be strewed with ruins. Such was the tragical departure of old Samoset from the land of his forefathers. He had paddled off to some distance from the land, but was not entirely out of sight, when the hurricane overtook him. To lend him assistance was out of the question; for no boat could have lived among the waves which the fury of the wind lashed up when it burst from the land upon the deep. The spectators continued to gaze upon him with a most fearful and harrowing interest, as long as he could be discerned tossing over the foaming billows; but he quickly disappeared. After the storm, and for many days following, the most diligent researches were made to discover some tidings, trace, or relic of the unfortunate voyager; but nothing more was ever seen either of Samoset or the Flying Island.

Q. Q.

MARTIAL IN LONDON.

LINES ADDRESSED TO DOCTOR PARIS ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

Namesake of Helen's favourite boy

Who shunn'd the martial fray,

May all your days be days of joy,
Like this, your natal day.

My votive glass-not pledg'd by stealth,
I fill at Bacchus' shrine;

And thus, convivial, drink your health,
Whose skill establish'd mine.