genial warmth the "judge' mellowed and began to grow eloquent upon the topic ever prominent in the red man's mind.

far-off tribe, he would relax into the old occupation.

But once when his eyes glanced up in eagerness, and the old question burst from his lips, the young warrior before him answered:

"After the going down of the sun and its ris

In the days that followed, many strange stories, superstitions and legends were told me by this "dilapidated Hercules." Among them was one relating to a brightener of our fieids in the months of September and October. I give it below, stripped of its rough beauty, as an evidence that however it has dealt with his outer resemblance, cruel abuse has not yet obliterated all traces of poetry in the savage mind.

A LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN ROD. Long years ago, ere this new land of ours was new, an Indian village rested in that part of the Ohio Valley nearest the junction of the Ohio and the Miami. Nanagummoo, the singer, ruler of this gentle community, passed all his days dreaming of some pipe which should produce sweeter sound than does the throat of a skylark. "Who brings me a pipe," he said, "whence I can draw at will sounds which shall stir my heart as never the song of bird has done, shall have, as his own, my flower. For him Wabegoone shall blossom and sinile."

But, alas! the art of music had attained little progress among these simple nations; and although with their cunning fingers they had wrought out reeds which imitated the various love calls of the beasts, that skill requisite to create a bird-song rested not with them.

Thus alone in his ambition and hope the Chief passed the hours, patiently scraping and fitting and sounding reeds and grass-blades, heeding scarcely the caresses of Wab-goone in his eagerness to solve the secret of music. When When approached by one of his people about matters connected with everyday life, he would rouse for a moment, look up eagerly, and ask in haste, "Is it done? Shall my soul be pleased with its own singing?"

And when he found that the interrupter but brought a gift of flesh, or wanted news from some

"I have searched far and wide, and I fear she has but fled to escape my arms," said Gagagee, the Raven, after a long and bootless quest. "But still let us have done with the trial, and if I prove that by right the maid is mine, then may I seek her with a sharper eye and trebled eagerness."

Somewhat unwillingly the Chief consented, stipulating, however, that directly the young warrior had made good his claim, the whole village was to hasten in search of the Lily. Accordingly Gagagee passed with his pipe to a somewhat open point at one end of the assemblage near an unoccupied hut, and at some little distance from all the tribe. Here, placing the tube to his lips, he stamped twice upon the ground as though to enforce silence, when at once, and apparently from the mouth of the pipe, a splendid strain of music floated upon the air. Slender at first, clear as a silver bell, gradually the sound gained in volume and pitch, filling the aural perception of beauty with as perfect and rounded content as only the flight of a bird gives to one's eye.

Suddenly the strain was checked, and the music became a war-song, thrilling all souls with the fires of passion. fires of passion. Again the song was changed, and the pipe sent its voice skylarking up and down through the various voices of the mockingbird, now the sharp, clear, dissyllabic note of the quail, and now the shrill whistle of the plover.

From the first flight of silence to its return Nanagummoo sat as one entranced. At last the dream of his soul was accomplished, and music

was hereafter to be under his own control. Strange music it was, too; in every note he had fancied a trace of the voice of Wabegoone. Puff up his cheeks as the player might, whistle as he would, the Chief could not disconnect the music from an intuitive likening to the songs of his daughter.

Musing upon this strange resemblance, and listening in memory anew to the singing of the pipe, Nanagummoo was suddenly surprised by the approach of the truant fair one. Her garlanded hair and the blossoms in her hands told the cause of her absence as positively as could words.

"Alas! my Lily," cried the chief, "in your idle searching after flowers you have caused us much fear, and have yourself lost the sweetest music that was ever sung." As she made no answer, Nanagummoo continued, "And as I have said, so shall it be. This night must you wed Gagagee !"

"This night, my father! This night!" cried the maiden, while all the gathered flowers fell at her feet. "This night! but, well, as you have said, so shall it be." And turning from him, soon she was lost among the wigwams.

Darkness had come up from the marshes, and found a dwelling in the heart of Nanagummoo. No more did the Lily nestle in his arms; no more did he sigh for the voice of a flute. For many days through all the land had he sought his truant daughter and her faithless spouse.

Convinced of the futility of endeavoring to fulfill the wishes of Nanagummoo, and loving the Lily beyond all things else, Gagagee had won her to deceive the Chief.

"Do you but sing from the hut when I signal," he had said, "and I will play, as it were, the music of my reed. So shall Nanagummoo find a dumb flute, and Gagagee a bride."

Directly after the marriage ceremonies, the twain secretly left the village in haste, fearing that when the flute was found to be voiceless, the Chief would recall his daughter. And well for them that they did so. For an old beldame of the village had overheard their scheming, and had determined to frustrate the plan in the moment of its consummation. Through some misunderstanding, she had delayed her story until too late. Now, however, she hastened to the Chief, and disclosed to him the perfidy of his daughter and the ailment of the Aute. So had things been for many days. "Noosis, begewain! begewain! My child, VOL. XV.-20

come back! come back!" cried the Chief in vain; and now, when too late, he had found that his daughter's welfare was even dearer to him than a singing reed.

"Oh, thou Great Spirit! from thy wigwam in the sun, we pray that thou wilt send light, which shall seek out and find for us the Lily of our tribe," chanted the great men of the village one evening, while in fainter tones came the voice of the Chief, crying, "Noosis, begewain! begewain !"

Only the rustle of the forest leaves answered them; the fitful gleams of light from the glowworms danced up and went out; and the forest rested as silent as the Great Spirit himself.

But nay; not the forest nor the Great Spirit are unanswering when Patience watches and prays. Far off, the tops of the trees suddenly became tinged with a yellow light. Gradually the light approached the village, and soon a long line of sun lit torches led from the door of Nanagummoo's wigwam into the forest.

Now hath the Great Spirit sent light hither from the sun. Now is our Lily found !" exultantly cried the assembled village; and soon along the miraculously luminous path the tribe's fleetest braves were flying, each emulous of the honor of bringing to the Chief his daughter.

"Hush!" cried one of the foremost seekers, when the night was well on towards its close, "Doth not yonder breeze bring with it wailing?" And they listened. "Ahnungokah! Thou starry heavens, weep with thy thousand eyes! Broken is the stay of the Lily !"

Nestled in the shelter of a great oak tree, and pillowing the head of her spouse upon her bosom, they found the maiden. Blood was on the leaves about them, and off in the forest a panther, wounded, was moaning and licking its breast.

When morning came, and the great sun rolled over the hill tops, a new flower was found in field and meadow. Yellow as gold, a long line of beauty reached from a troubled, blood-besprinkled spot in the heart of the woods, to a fair and peaceful village. Gnats and moths and butterflies hovered about the heads of these new blossoms, drunk with the joy of bathing in celestial light.

And to this day the gatherer of the golden rod will find hovering about it, and nestling in its heart, hundreds of these living witnesses to its divine origin and luminous mission.

She was married in January, 1768, in great splendor, to the man of her choice. Half London witnessed their union, and presents that Queens might envy showered upon the beautiful bride. Health and prosperity seemed to bless the young couple, till first vague rumors, at last incontrovertible, miserable truth came upon them in the person of another Count de Horn, who arrived in England to pursue and punish an impostor and swindler who had robbed him of his property and his name, and it was discovered that Angelica Kauffmann had married the man so accused—a low-born caitiff, the footman of the count.

Poor Angelica! this blow was the death-stroke to her happiness on earth. The fraudulent marriage was annulled as far as possible by a deed of of separation; a small annuity was secured the wretched impostor on condition of his going into obscurity, where he eventually died; but where could his wretched victim find solace for the illstarred marriage? A long period of mental and bodily prostration followed, and she sought a panacea for her grief in her beloved Italy. Thither her father, weary of English fogs, fashion, and false counts, took her, and there they lived almost in entire retirement.

Numberless conjectures have been made as to whether this unfortunate marriage was merely a genteel, swindling speculation on the lackey's part, or whether it was the result of a deep-laid conspiracy against the happiness and honor of Angelica Kauffmann. A French woman invents a very

dexterous fable of a certain baronet whose hand had been refused by Angelica, and who in revenge discovered, tutored, fit'ed out, and launched into society the Count de Horn's recently discharged valet. Another goes further in asserting that the villain who had dressed up this lay figure to lure the poor girl to her ruin was none other than her rejected lover, Sir Joshua Reynolds.

However that may be, we have only to deal with facts. When the death of her husband, the ex-footman, placed her hand at liberty, Angelica bestowed it on Antonio Zucchi, an old and faithful friend, and a painter of architecture. With him and her father she settled in Venice. Zucchi was a faithful and devoted husband, albeit visionary and chimerical, wasting the greater part of his wife's fortune in idle speculations. He died in 1795, leaving her little or nothing, and the remainder of her life was passed in comparative poverty. She who had known the dizzy altitude of splendor, the companionship of the great, lived meekly, a good woman, painting to the last. Angelica Kauffmann died in Rome, after a lingering sickness, in 1805. She was buried in the Church of St. Andrea delle Frate with grand ceremonial under the direction of Canova. Gifted with a nature of the rarest predilections, beautiful, amiable, caressed, celebrated among her contemporaries, Angelica Kauffmann still lacked one little thing to fill up the measure of her existence-that one little thing that we all strive after, so few obtain, and that is happiness.