'Revenge!' cried Rain-in-the-Face,
'Revenge upon all the race

Of the White Chief with yellow hair!'
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags reëchoed the cry

Of his anger and despair.

He is now a man of peace; and the agent at Standing Rock, Dakota, writes, September 28, 1886 Rain-in-the-Face is very anxious to go to Hampton. I fear he is too old, but he desires very much to go. The Southern Workman, the organ of General Armstrong's Industrial School at Hampton, Va., says in a late number:

'Rain-in-the-Face has applied before to come to Hampton, but his age would exclude him from the school as an ordinary student. He has shown himself very much in earnest about it, and is anxious, all say, to learn the better ways of life. It is as unusual as it is striking to see a man of his age, and one who has had such an experience, willing to give up the old way, and put himself in the position of a boy and a student.'

Can the zeal of thy heart grow cool

When the victor scarred with fight Like a child for thy guidance craves, And the faces of hunters and braves Are turning to thee for light?

The hatchet lies overgrown
With grass by the Yellowstone,
Wind River and Paw of Bear;
And, in sign that foes are friends,
Each lodge like a peace-pipe sends
Its smoke in the quiet air.

The hands that have done the wrong
To right the wronged are strong,

And the voice of a nation saith:
'Enough of the war of swords,
Enough of the lying words
And shame of a broken faith!'

The hills that have watched afar
The valleys ablaze with war

Shall look on the tasselled corn;
And the dust of the grinded grain,
Instead of the blood of the slain,
Shall sprinkle thy banks, Big Horn!

The Ute and the wandering Crow
Shall know as the white men know,
And fare as the white men fare;
The pale and the red shall be brothers,
One's rights shall be as another's,
Home, School, and House of Prayer!

O mountains that climb to snow,

O river winding below,

20

25

30

35

40

45

50

MEMORIES.

['It was not without thought and deliberation,' Whittier's biographer writes, "that in 1888 he directed this poem to be placed at the

head of his Poems Subjective and Reminiscent. He had never before publicly acknowledged how much of his heart was wrapped up in this delightful play of poetic fancy. The poem was written in 1841, and although the romance it embalms lies far back of this date, possibly there

is a heart still beating which fully understands its meaning. The biographer can do no more than make this suggestion, which has the sanction of the poet's explicit word. To a friend who told him that Memories was her favorite poem, he said, "I love it too; but I hardly knew whether to publish it, it was so personal and near my heart."']

A BEAUTIFUL and happy girl,

With step as light as summer air,

How thrills once more the lengthening

chain

Of memory, at the thought of thee! 20
Old hopes which long in dust have lain
Old dreams, come thronging back again,
And boyhood lives again in me;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,

Its fulness of the heart is mine,
As when I leaned to hear thee speak,
Or raised my doubtful eye to thine.
I hear again thy low replies,

I feel thy arm within my own,
And timidly again uprise
The fringed lids of hazel eyes,

With soft brown tresses overblown.
Ah! memories of sweet summer eves,

25

30

pearl,

My picture of thy youth to see, When, half a woman, half a child, Thy very artlessness beguiled,

And folly's self seemed wise in thee; I too can smile, when o'er that hour

40

The lights of memory backward stream, Yet feel the while that manhood's power Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. 45 Years have passed on, and left their trace, Of graver care and deeper thought; And unto me the calm, cold face Of manhood, and to thee the grace

Of woman's pensive beauty brought. 50 More wide, perchance, for blame than praise,

The school-boy's humble name has flown; Thine, in the green and quiet ways

Of unobtrusive goodness known.

Yet hath thy spirit left on me

Yet through its sweet and calm repose

I saw the inward spirit shine;

It was as if before me rose

The white veil of a shrine.

As if, as Gothland's sage has told, The hidden life, the man within, Dissevered from its frame and mould, By mortal eye were seen.

Was it the lifting of that eye,

The waving of that pictured hand?

And something of myself in thee,

Lingering, even yet, thy way about;

A shadow from the past, I see,

I saw the walls expand.

15

20

1841.

RAPHAEL.

Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen.

I SHALL not soon forget that sight:
The glow of Autumn's westering day,
A hazy warmth, a dreamy light,
On Raphael's picture lay.

It was a simple print I saw,

The fair face of a musing boy; Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe Seemed blending with my joy.

The awful glory of that day

When all the Father's brightness shone Through manhood's veil of clay.

35

40

10

The truth, that painter, bard, and sage,
Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime,
Plant for their deathless heritage
The fruits and flowers of time.

ངང

A simple print, -the graceful flow
Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair,
And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow
Unmarked and clear, were there.