their sparing way;
The tide of song in his heaving breast
Flowed strong and free in its deep unrest;
His soul was thirsting for things divine--
I led him far to the sacred shrine.

VII.

The sage looked forth on the starry sky,
With aspiring thoughts and visions high,
He sought a gift and a lore sublime
To raise the veil from the shores of Time,
To pierce the clouds o'er the soul that lie;
I bade him soar with a cherub's eye.

VIII.

And now, neath my folded wing I bear
A spotless soul like the lily fair;
The babe on its mother's bosom slept;
Ere I bore it far, I paused and wept;
'T was an angel strayed from its fairer home:
Peace to the mourner!--I come! I come!

_Shelter-Island._ MARY GARDINER.

MARY MAY: THE NEWFOUNDLAND INDIAN.

BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

The tribe of aborigines to which MARY MAY, the heroine of our little
sketch, belonged, has been named by the Newfoundlanders, 'Red Indians;'
for what reason, I could never learn. This tribe, or probably the
miserable remnant of it, since the English have settled the island has
been regarded as altogether remarkable and undefinable. They have never,
in a single instance, been induced to visit the white settler since
British subjects have resided there. Little is known of their numbers,
habits, or general spirit, although the most sedulous exertions have been
made to bring about an amicable understanding and a reciprocal
intercourse. They have chosen to remain isolated and insolated; keeping
their history, their wisdom, and their deeds to themselves. They will hold
no communion with others of their own race. There are the Esquimaux, very
near their northern boundary; a people disposed to extend the rites of
hospitality in peace, and a trading tribe; but these have no more
knowledge of the 'Red Indian' than the white man; and they remain wrapt up
in a historical mantle as dark as the shades of their own impenetrable
complexion.

Much, of a marvellous character, has been said about the Red Indians. The
fishermen of the island, as a mass, believe that these poor creatures are
semi-human. They will tell you of their having been seen one moment
cooking their venison, and composedly regaling themselves, and the next,
upon learning the contiguity of the white man, they would vanish from
sight, and not a trace could be found of their departure; that they
descend far under groun