Without another word he banged the door, and I heard
going down stairs three steps at a time, while the precious ca:
dar sheet for Friday, the r6th, bearing all that was mortal of
wonderful original idea, fluttered to the floor.
For an instant I dared not pick it up. Then, summoning
courage, I raised it tenderly.
What did it say? Read for yourself; my head hurts.
" Maurice Llewellyn Crawford, Queen of the Filipinos."
STATE-BROWN, '9
Long o'er hung with grass and sedge,
Smoothly hewn in the granite ledge, ,
Is the moss-grown mortar, old and worn,
Where, long ago, dwelt the Natnoskeags.
Here, in the light of the early dawn,
Or late, when camp-fires dimly shone,
The women gathered neath the pines
And slowly ground the yellow corn.
Beneath the hemlock's sombre shade
The warrior wooed the dusky maid;
And here the council fire gleamed,
Or war-whoop filled the lonely glade.
Here passed the scenes of love and life,
Here flashed the tomahawk and knife,
Here, too, was smoked the pipe of peace
That followed soon each bloody strife.
'Twas long ago the red man roamed
The glades, where woodland shadows gloamed,
Or fished for trout in the mountain brook
Where the sparkling waters flashed and foamed
Swift years have flown. The wigwam blaze
No longer lights with fltfulrays
The war dance or the marriage feast.
It seems a dream of far off days.
•
The winds, with murmurs soft and low,
Through the ancient pine trees gently blow,
And the hemlocks droop o'er the moss-grown ledge
And mourn for the days long, long ago.
TIE INDIAN MORTAR
..ia .4 .st
THE INDIAN MORTAR.