THE ELFIN EXILE. 55 



Standing on the quivering branch of a Kalmia, with his tiny 

 form half hidden by the clustering blossoms, and his little 

 brown face peering curiously down upon her, was a creature 

 evidently of elfin race, but of some strange nation and tribe. 

 His swarthy skin, his glittering black eyes, and the straight 

 raven locks which hung down to his slender waist, were unlike 

 any thing Mimosa had ever seen, while his moccasined feet, 

 his mantle of silvery down, his crown of feathery scarlet 

 blossoms, and the bow and arrows which he bore in his hand, 

 excited her utmost wonder. Timid, yet half rejoiced, Mimosa 

 drew her green robe closely around her, and gazed half in ex- 

 pectancy half in fear, upon the stranger. It was the gentle 

 Manitto of Flowers ; and with strange delight did the red 

 spirit gaze upon the pale fair beauty of the elfin exile, as with 

 golden tresses glistening in the moonlight, and blue eyes 

 swimming in tender tears, she lay on the mossy turf, looking 

 upward towards him. 



There is a language which all can understand, a tone of 

 sympathy which appeals to all, an instant recognition of 

 kindred which is felt even by human nature amid all its bonds ; 

 and oh! how much more keenly in the sweet intercourse of 

 spirit-life. Heretofore the Manitto had been content to reign 

 and rule alone. He had breathed the fragrance of flowers, 

 and fed his sense of beauty upon their loveliness, but he had 

 never known the power nor the need of sympathy. Now a 

 sudden and delicious thrill pervaded his delicate frame. He 

 leapt from his high eminence, and, with the bewitching tender- 



