Near to the bank of the river, o'ershad

owed by oaks, from whose branches Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted,

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide,

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together.

Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported,

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Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda,

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it.

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden,

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol,

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless con- tentions of rivals.

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine

Ran 'near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups,

Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin.

Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero

Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 250 Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness

That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding

Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening.

Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle

Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse

There in an arbor of roses with endless

question and answer

Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful.

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Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed,

Broke the silence and said, 'If you came by the Atchafalaya,

How have you nowhere encountered my
Gabriel's boat on the bayous?'
Over Evangeline's face at the words of
Basil a shade passed.

Tears came into her eyes, and she said,
with a tremulous accent,
'Gone? is Gabriel gone?' and, conceal-
ing her face on his shoulder,
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and
she wept and lamented.

Then the good Basil said, and his voice grew blithe as he said it, 'Be of good cheer, my child; it is only today he departed.

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Foolish boy! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit

Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence,

Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever,

Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,

He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens,

Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him

Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards.

Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains,

Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers

trapping the beaver.

Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover;

He is not far on his

way, and

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the

Fates and the streams are against him.

Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning

We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison.'

Then glad voices were heard, and from the banks of the river, Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler.

Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus,

Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.

Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.

'Long live Michael,' they cried,' our brave Acadian minstrel!'

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway

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Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured,

Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters.

Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith,

All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor;

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,

And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them; Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise.

Thus they ascended the steps, and crossing the breezy veranda,

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Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together.

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended.

All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver,

Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors,

Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco,

Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened:

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'Welcome once more, my friends, who long

have been friendless and homeless, Welcome once more to a home, that is

better perchance than the old one! Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers;

Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer.

Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows

More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.

Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies;

Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber

With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses.

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Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other,

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together.

But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding

350

From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle,

Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted,

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening

Whirl of the giddy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music,

Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments.

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future;

While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her

Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness 360

Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden.

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest,

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river

Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.

Nearer and round about her, the manifold' flowers of the garden

Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight 370 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings,

As, through the garden-gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies

Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee?

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ?

Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie !

Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers!

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?'

Loud and sudden and near the notes of a

whippoorwill sounded

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Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. 'Patience!' whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness: And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 'To-morrow!'

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gate

way, Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon,

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee.

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains,

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert,

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Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean,

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations.

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies; Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine,

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas.

Over them wandered the buffalo herds, an the elk and the roebuck;

She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people,

From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches,

Where her Canadian husband, a Coureurdes-Bois, had been murdered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest wel

come

Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them

On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers.

But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions,

460

Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and

slept where the quivering fire-light Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their

forms wrapped up in their blankets, Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated

Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent,

All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses.

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another

Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed.

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion,

Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 470 She in turn related her love and all its disasters.

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended

Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror

Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden,

But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam,

Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine,

Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation,

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom,

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