VI. THE TETON'S PARADISE.

If my brother will go abroad in a clear evening in the Moon of Falling

Leaves[A], and turn his eyes towards the cold regions of the Hunter's

Star, and the north wind, and the never-melting snows, he will often see

the skies flushed with a hue like that which mounts to the cheeks of a

young maiden, when the name of her lover is whispered in her ear, or

when that same lover presses her to his heart in the presence of curious

eyes and slandering tongues. At first, he will see a faint beam darting

up in the north, like the spray which shoots into the air, when the

waters dash upon a rocky frontlet. Gradually he will behold it arise,

till half the heavens, and sometimes the whole, is lit up with exceeding

brightness. Then will he hear in the skies a noise as of half-suppressed

laughter, and sometimes, though more rarely, he will behold the

light-winged aërial forms of the merry laughers, as they thread the

mazes of their dance among the clustering stars. The sight fills the

soul of an Indian with great joy, for he thinks that it is occasioned by

the spirits of his departed friends, indulging in the sport they loved

so well on earth, and dancing merrily to the music of the stars. The red

blush which tinges the face of night with a hue like that which mounts

to the cheeks of a beautiful maiden, when the name of her beloved youth

is whispered in her ear, is the flame which arises from the fires

kindled by the kind spirits of the north, to thaw the frozen mist which

impedes their light footsteps across the face of the heavens. And the

laugh is the laugh of eager joy, which those spirits utter when,

indulging in their loved pastime, they remember the occurrence which led

to their glorious destiny, and made the bright and starry north their

place of residence after death.

[Footnote A: This month (November) is sometimes called by them the

"Beaver-Moon," being the month in which they commence their hunt of that

animal.]

Once upon a time, the tribe of the Burntwood Tetons had assembled to

hold a merry feast and joyful dance upon the coming-in of the green

corn. It was a season of unusual plenty; the stalks of maize had grown

almost to the height and thickness of the surrounding trees, and the

ears thereon were many, sound, and sweet. Not only was this best beloved

food of the Indian in great plenty, but every thing else which

contributes to the enjoyment of Indian life, and makes the red man

happy, was in equal abundance. Every bush was loaded with rich, ripe

berries; and never, in the memory of the oldest Teton, had the woods

been so stocked with game, or the waters so frequently made to ripple

with the gambols of the nimble fish. The boy of twelve summers could

feed all his father's children with the spoils of his feeble bow and

tiny arrows, and the daughter of six would pluck more berries from the

prairie and hill-side, in the space of half a sun, than could be eaten

in her father's cabin by its hungry inmates for four sleeps. The Moon of

Planting saw the Great Spirit in good humour with his children, the

Tetons, because they had kept his commands, as laid down by his priests

and prophets: the Moon of Green Corn found him equally pleased and

gracious. Thence it was that he had showered prosperity upon all the

undertakings of our nation, and thence that he had given to our corn to

grow up like trees, and made the feet of our young warriors swift in the

chase, and their hearts strong in the combat, and had given to our

maidens the power to win, by their soft smiles and softer words, and

endearing glances, and whispers of affection, the hearts of whomsoever

they would. The Great Spirit loves to bestow gifts upon mortals, and to

see them happy, and never withholds his blessings from them when they

have duly besought his aid, and remembered to walk in the path he has

pointed out to them. When our tribe drove the Mahas from their

hunting-grounds, and came back with many scalps, it was because they

invoked his protection ere they went, and offered him frequent

sacrifices--when they left the bones of half their warriors to whiten on

the prairies which skirt the distant Wisconsan, it was because, in the

pride of their hearts, they remembered him not, and forgot that death

and destruction go before the steps of the hardened and contumacious.

I have said, that the warriors of my nation had assembled to the dance

and the feast. They had, and there were gathered together with them that

part of the tribe which better loved the pursuits of peace than those of

war--were better pleased to gather in the maize and nuts of autumn, and

to spear the gliding tenants of the waters, and to follow the trail of

the deer through the leafy coverts which he makes his hiding-place, than

to join in the tumult, and fatigues, and bloodshed, of the strife of

men. While the blithe young warriors danced their dance, the crowd

around them, from time to time, approved of their performances, by loud

and oft-repeated shouts of joy and delight. They said, that more expert

and graceful dancers had never been seen in the tribe, and predicted,

that limbs so light and agile in the dance, and eyes so true in

directing the spear to the painted post, around which they were dancing,

must needs show their agility and truth in the first expedition they

should undertake against a foe. And the young maidens--those whose

praise is sweetest, at least to the ears of youth--were equally loud in

their commendations of the sprightly Tetons, who were worshipping the

Master of Life in the manner supposed to be the most acceptable to him.

While our people were thus employed in their worship and dance, although

it was the hottest month of summer, and the day was one of singular and

overpowering heat, they were surprised and terrified by a sudden

darkness, accompanied by a great fall of snow and hail. All at once, to

their unspeakable consternation and confusion, there stood, in the

centre of the space around which the dance was danced, a spirit of the

air, wearing the form and proportions of a woman of exceeding beauty.

White and pure was her skin, as the snow ere it touches the earth; her

hair, which flowed to her knees in many folds, was white as the snow

which was falling around her; but her eyes were blue as the sky from

which she had taken her flight, and these alone, of all that appertained

to her, were of a different hue from the snows which had accompanied

her descent to the earth. She was of the usual height of the women of

our nation, and more beautiful than any thing that had ever entered into

the imagination of mortals. In a moment the dance was suspended, and,

throughout the camp of the Tetons, not a voice or sound was heard, save

the hushed respiration of the terrified and astonished crowd, as they

gazed upon the beautiful and majestic spirit. Awhile it stood in earnest

but tranquil look upon the silent warriors, and then spoke in whispers

the words which I shall repeat to my brothers:

"Men of the Burntwood Tetons! I am the chief spirit of the Land of

Snows--the power which, by the decree of the Great Being, presides over

the regions of ice and frost. I have come from my dwelling in the far

north, to look upon the brave and good Tetons, and to behold the dances

which they are so famed for dancing, and to see with my own eyes their

skill in shooting with the bow, and throwing the spear, and their

strength in wielding the war-club, and their patience under afflictions,

and their endurance of fatigue, and hunger, and cold, and want. I had

heard in my dwelling-place in the bright skies that they were the best

and bravest of men; I shall see if the report is true. But not for this

alone have I left the glorious regions of the north; I have suffered

myself to be coaxed to the earth, by a wish to feel in my bosom the

workings of that soft passion, which possesses both mortals and

immortals--things of the earth, and the air--and sometimes blesses with

joy and happiness, but oftener afflicts with pain and misery, and days

of anxiety, and nights of anguish, those whose lot it is to make it the

all-controlling guest of their bosoms; thou knowest that I mean the

almighty passion of love. Although I dwell in the regions of eternal

frost and never-melting snows, yet would I that my bosom should feel the

gentle flame; though my flesh be of the consistence and coldness of ice,

I would feel the raging of a fire like that which exists in the bosoms

of those who love to madness. I, who lived in the skies many, very many,

ages before the Elder Chappewee brought up the earth from the bottom of

the ocean to the present hour, without a touch of human passion--who

never knew or wished to know joy or sorrow, hope or despair, pleasure or

pain, melancholy, regret, anger, disappointment, or aught that elevates

or depresses the souls of mortals--would now partake of all and each in

an equal degree with the children of the earth. I would have my bosom

torn with the conflicting passions of humanity--be chilled with the

horrid doubts of jealousy, and with agonising fears for the duration of

the affection which will become a part of my existence."

Here the Spirit of Snow ceased speaking, while her tears fell thick and

fast in the shape of frozen rain upon the Tetons. Seeing the emotion of

the beautiful Spirit, and fearing that further silence on the part of

the tribe whom she had come to visit might be offensive to her, the aged

Nikanape, who was wisest of all the men of the land, rose and addressed

her thus:

"Beautiful Spirit of the Land of Snows! Thou wouldst feel, thou sayest,

the passion of love, and wouldst admit to thy bosom a soft feeling of

preference for one dearer than all the other beings of earth. Although

thou art a spirit, and shouldst be wise, yet, to judge from thy

speech--be not offended--the words of an aged Teton may better thy

wisdom. They whose bosoms are not afflicted by the passions of humanity,

who know neither love nor hate, nor joy nor sorrow, nor revenge nor

pity, nor anger, nor the other passions and emotions which distract

human life, and reduce it to a few brief and unhappy years, have only to

pray that the Great Spirit would keep them in their happy state of

ignorance. Why wouldst thou love?"

"To know its pleasures."

"They are fewer than the throbs of fear in the breast of a true

warrior, and shorter lived than the flower that blooms to-day, and

to-morrow is blasted by the unwholesome dew."

"I would know its pains."

"They are more numerous than the fire-flies which light up a summer

prairie, and die but with the being who entertains the passion upon

which they attend."

"I have seen otherwise. Once, while keeping my night-watch in my own

clime of snows, I beheld the return of one to the embrace of a maiden

from whom he had long been separated. I saw the eager flush of delight

on her cheek, as she rushed into his outstretched arms, and beheld the

sweet kisses of affection which were interchanged between the enraptured

pair, and heard the thrilling words of heartfelt tenderness which these

two did murmur in each other's ears. Was not this happiness?"

"It was."

"Would he not do well who should exchange a space of time equal to

thrice the years of a brown eagle, of existence so passionless as mine,

for one moon of happiness like that which those lovers enjoyed?"

"The great prophet of the Tetons is a man of few words. He sees the

Spirit of the Land of Snows determined to become a mortal, and why

should he seek to change her mind? May it be the happy lot of a man of

his nation to gain the affections of a being so beautiful as thou art!

Speak, fair Spirit! my people listen in anxious hope that thou wilt call

some Teton youth to thine arms."

Softly, and with a fearful look did the unearthly maiden make reply to

the Teton prophet. "I saw from my place in the land of frost one whom I

deemed worthy to be the husband of her at whose command the snows

descend upon the earth, and the waters are locked up with a chain, the

rivets of which can only be unclasped by the warm sun of summer. I

beheld him, in my eyes, the bravest of all thy warriors. None hath so

fleet a foot, none so sure a hand, none so fair a cheek, none so stately

a form."

"Surely thou hast named the pride of our nation--thou has described the

Swift Foot," replied the prophet. "Call him hither."

They carried the message to the youthful warrior, who came with the

speed of foot for which he was so well known, and stood by the side of

the beautiful maiden from the Land of Snows. Though it was evident that

she liked the young Brave, yet was not her love shown by the signs which

usually give evidence of the existence of that tender passion. No blush

lit up her snowy cheek, or flushed her lily neck, as it does the cheek

and neck of maidens of the earth when pressed to the enraptured bosoms

of those they love. No tear bedewed her eye, no trembling seized her

frame, no throb of rapture lifted the snowy mantle that hid her bosom.

Her body was bent slightly forward, her snowy lips were parted like a

water-lily, about to unfold itself to the face of day, and her arms were

extended as if they would press to her heart, all icy as it was, the

noble warrior who stood at her side.

"Dost thou love me?" she faintly asked.

"Does the dove love his little mate? does the spring bud love the beams

of the sun? does a mother love her first-born? does a warrior love the

shout of a foe? I love thee more than words can express; let my actions

show the deep affection I bear thee. The Swift Foot will make thee the

wife of his bosom."

"Dost thou know who it is that thou wouldst wed?"

"A Spirit."

"Dost thou know that when thou shalt take me to thy bosom thou wilt

embrace a form of ice? Thou art warm and impassioned, I chilled and

chilling as the winds of winter, and frozen as the ice of the bleak

Coppermine."

"Still will I dare the union. My love shall kindle in thy bosom a

warmth equal to that which possesses mine own."

"My breath is the breath of the northern blast."

"And mine hath the warmth of the breeze which blows in summer from the

land of never-failing verdure. Wilt thou, beautiful Spirit! be the wife

of a Teton, who has more scalps in his lodge than fingers on his hands,

who has struck dead bodies of six different nations, and stolen half the

horses upon which his brother warriors ride to the combat?"

"I will--I am thine, brave warrior!"

"Thou art indeed cold, beautiful Spirit!" said the Teton, as he pressed

the consenting maiden to his bosom for a moment, and then, shuddering

with an icy chill, his teeth shaking like the rattles of a snake, put

her from him. "But thou art mine, though it were death to embrace thee."

Again, summoning all his resolution, he held her to his heart. Then

calling the women to him, the warrior bade them prepare a bridal feast.

The youth and the maiden then went through the Indian form of marriage,

and the beautiful spirit of the Laud of Snows became the wife of the

Teton warrior.

With the sun of the next day the whole tribe gathered around the bridal

cabin, eager to learn if the Spirit of the North still remained to

bless the arms of her husband. Soon she appeared with her beloved Teton.

But oh how changed! Her cheek and neck were now suffused with blushes as

deep as those which stain the cheeks of mortal maidens; her hair had

changed from a snowy whiteness to a glossy brown: she had become to all

appearance a beautiful mortal. Ever and anon her eyes were fondly turned

on the Swift Foot, who repaid her fond glances by pressing her _now_

warm and ardent bosom to his own. The aged Nicanape again approached the

pair, and asked the Spirit if she did not regret that she had left the

regions of the skies to assume the attributes of mortality. With a fond

glance at the object of her love, she replied that a single moon of

bliss like that she now enjoyed was worth an eternity of the cold and

passionless existence which was hers before she had quitted the skies.

Again was she enfolded in the arms of the doating warrior, and the crowd

retired to permit the full, and free, and undisturbed, interchange of

those fond attentions, which are wont to occupy the first moon of

married life.

And thus passed away the first year after the marriage of the Teton

Brave with the beautiful Spirit of the frozen North. Ere that year had

passed, there was a stranger in their cabin--a little son, with the

wondrous beauty of its mother and the fearless soul of its father. Never

was there a being so beloved as the Spirit-wife was by the whole nation.

Though she now possessed the soul of a human being, her breast was

visited only by the softer and purer passions of human nature; anger,

revenge, cruelty, jealousy, and the other turbulent passions and

emotions, never came near her gentle bosom. Her love for her husband

grew with the growth of years, and strengthened with the progress of

time; her pity and compassion for the poor, and hungry, and sick, and

fainting, knew no bounds. Ever mild and affectionate, and kind, and

humane, never prone to break the quiet of her cabin by those querulous

complaints and angry invectives wherewith wives destroy the comfort of

their husbands, and bring storms and tempests, hail, rain, thunder, and

lightning, into the sky of domestic peace, the Teton loved her better

than mortal ever before loved another. Her goodness not only brought joy

and happiness to her husband, but benefits to the nation, which made

their lives pass as pleasantly and glide along as smoothly as a canoe

floating down a quiet stream in the time of summer. When the hunters

would go to their forest sports and labours, they asked the wife of the

Swift Foot if their hunt should be successful, and as she told them

_ay_ or _no_ was their expedition undertaken or abandoned. When she bade

the women plant the maize, they might be sure of the fair weather

without which the task could not be well accomplished; when she cast her

bright eyes on the sheaf of arrows rusting on the wall, the warriors

without more ado rose, and prepared the corn and pemmican, and examined

the condition of their bows and casse-têtes[A], and painted themselves

with the ochre of wrath[B], and sang with a hollow and sepulchral voice

their songs of war, and killed the fat dog, sacred to Areskoui[C], for

they knew that the keen look of the Spirit-wife upon the instruments of

death boded victory and glory to those who should employ them in the

strife of warriors. On the contrary, if, tired with a long peace, one

rose with the string of wampum(1) in his hand, and said to his brothers,

"The blood of him whom our foes slew in such or such a moon is not yet

wiped away; his corpse remains above the earth unburied; I go to wash

the clotted gore from his breast, to give him the rites of sepulture,

and to eat up the nation(2) by whom the base wrongs were done him"--if,

having spoken thus, the Spirit-wife but cast her meek blue eye upon him,

and suffered a sigh to pass her beautiful bosom, the speaker rose, and

washed off the black paint, and effaced from his cheeks all traces of

the bloody design by which he had been actuated, and declared that a

kind bird had whispered in his ear that the "enemy were gone to the

mountain streams for sturgeon," or, "to the plains of the Osage to

gather bitter snow[D]," or, "to the prairies of the Wisconsan to hunt

the buffalo," or, "to the stormy lake of Michabou(3) to take the fish

wherewith the god had so plentifully stocked it." The assembled

warriors, knowing that he had a sufficient motive for changing his mind,

would follow his example, and lay by the weapons of war to resume those

of peace, without any inquiry why he had changed his mind. And thus,

more by soft persuasion, and kind entreaties, and wise prophecies, than

by stern commands, and bitter denunciations, the beautiful Spirit-wife

ruled the Burntwood Tetons to their glory and happiness.

[Footnote A: The war-clubs.]

[Footnote B: Black paint, as I have before observed, the symbol among

the Indians of belligerent intentions.]

[Footnote C: A fat dog is the chief and sometimes the only dish at the

feast, preparatory to a war expedition. This animal is sacred to

Areskoui, or the God of War.]

[Footnote D: Salt.]

Yet, with all her love for her husband, and her children, of whom in ten

springs ten stood in their father's cabin, she appeared at times to be

far from happy. It was observed that nothing could induce her to go

abroad after darkness had veiled the earth. When the robe of night was

thrown over the face of things, then the Spirit-wife would be found

seated in the darkest corner of her dwelling, nor could entreaties draw

her out. Insensible to fear, while the sun shone, the moment it

disappeared, her cheek became pallid as death; and if, during the period

of darkness, there happened a high wind from the north, and a fall of

hail, her agony knew no bounds, and excessive trembling would for awhile

deprive her of the power to move, and almost to utter intelligible

sounds. Her husband asked her wherefore this trembling, but could gain

no answer. And thus time passed away.

The snows of ten winters had fallen to rush to the embrace of the

rivers, and black clouds, and cold winds, and falling leaves, were

betokening the near approach of the eleventh, when, upon a clear and

starry night, a stranger, wearing a garment which glittered like ice

upon which the sun is shining, and whose hair was a body of icicles,

entered the village of the Tetons. He was of very small stature, being

scarcely taller than the child who has seen twelve harvests: and his

limbs and features were proportionably small. The colour of his skin,

and the robe which he wore, as well as the shape of the latter, so

nearly resembled those of the Spirit-wife on the morning she came to the

Teton village, that all deemed they were of the same nation, perhaps

brother and sister. When they asked the stranger who he was, and why he

had come hither, he made no answer, but to the question said, with a

voice that sounded like the wind of the Cold Moon:

"Have you seen my wife?"

"Wife?--What wife?" demanded the chief.

"She who _yesterday_ fled from my arms--the beautiful Spirit of Snow."

"Ten seasons have passed," said the chief, "and the eleventh is near at

hand, since there came among us a being, exceedingly beautiful, and

habited much like him to whom the great chief of the Tetons is now

speaking. She has become the wife of one of my Braves. Was she thine ere

she was his?"

"Ten of thy seasons are but a day, nay, but an hour, nay, but a minute,

in the eyes of spirits. In my computation, it was yesterday that the

fair Spirit of Snow left my bosom."

"And who art thou?"

"The Spirit of Tempests--the ruler over the realms of the bleak north;

he who harnesses his horses to the east winds, and drives the furious

whirlwind and crashing tempest over the lands of the affrighted Tetons

and their forest brothers."

"Thou seemest too small of stature to undertake wrathful purposes, and

all unfit to represent the mighty winds that rend the stubborn oak, and

the fierce tempests that scatter yet wilder desolation," said the Teton

chief, surveying, almost contemptuously, the diminutive form of the

strange Spirit.

"Tax but my powers--excite but my ire," said the demon, "and the chief

of the Burntwood Tetons may rue the hour that gave birth to his doubts

of the strength of the master of the northern blast. But why do I waste

words upon thee? Bring hither my wicked wife."

Seeing the angry and ireful Spirit determined upon mischief, the chief

departed, his bosom filled with sorrow, to summon the beautiful and

beloved Spirit of Snow to the presence of the being who claimed her as

his wife. He found her not unapprised of the dreadful fate which awaited

her. Bathed in tears, her head reclined on the shoulder of the doting

Teton, sat the lovely Spirit, her eyes now bent on him she loved so

fondly, and now on their beautiful children, who slept all unconscious

of the grief which wrung their fond mother's bosom. At length, with

sudden resolution, she rose from her seat, and, folding the beloved

warrior to her breast in one long and passionate embrace, she left the

cabin.

"I have found thee at last," exclaimed the angry ruler of tempests, as

the beautiful woman approached him. "Thou, who fledst from my arms to

those of an earthly paramour, how dost thou like the exchange?"

"So well," replied the trembling Spirit, "that if thou wilt consent to

let me remain where I am, I will never return to thee or to my clime of

snows."

"Base-minded woman! And wilt thou abandon the glorious destiny of ruling

the elements for the mean one of sharing in the labours of a Teton

cabin?"

"The destiny which thou deemest glorious may be well abandoned for that

which thou holdest mean. However well it may once have suited me to

dwell in the bleak climes of the north, and be the mistress of the flaky

dew, it now more glads my heart to share in the labours of a Teton

cabin. I know, from my own brief experience, that the fevers and agues

of mortality are to be preferred a thousand times to the unvarying,

unchanging, existence of a Spirit without passion, feeling, sympathy,

love, or tenderness. I pray thee let me remain as I am, and where I am."

"And so thou preferrest the earth to the sky; sensibility to

insensibility; a humble Teton warrior to the mighty Spirit of the clime

over which thou wast created to exert thyself a wondrous influence?"

"Let it not displease thee that I do. I have become in love with the

pains of human life, and delighted with the anxieties which cling to it,

as moist snow clings to a pine in the warm spring."

"Becoming a mortal being thou must die."

"I shall first have lived."

"Thy spirit--"

"Disincumbered of its earthly load, will return to its former starry

mansion."

"Once more I ask, dost thou prefer to remain on earth? Rough and noisy

though I be, yet will I not exert force to compel thee back to thine own

region."

"I would remain. In my cabin is a Teton warrior--him I love; there are

ten beautiful children at his side--the Spirit of Snow fed them with her

own milk--the Teton warrior is their father. Thou canst not, passionless

as thou art, know my feelings; but, believe me, that to part me from

them is to banish all peace and joy from my soul, and to drive me into a

depth of affliction, which will last till time shall be no more. Nor

deem that aught save death can weaken the force of those affections

which are now kindled in my bosom."

"I see, I see; and, but that stern pride forbids it, I, too, would,

throw off the state of a ruler of tempests and wintry winds, to become

the master of a cabin in one of the green vales of the earth, to gather

around me children like thine, and to feel the hopes and fears, which

have rendered thee so unlike the being thou wast. But we shall meet

again. When thou wert invested with the attributes of mortality, death

was also appointed to thee--a few years, and thou wilt quit the house of

clay, again to rove free and unconfined among the glittering stars, and

through the endless realms of space."

With these words, the Spirit of Storms took his departure from the land

of the Tetons, and none ever saw him more. Released from his presence,

joy again took possession of the bosom of the beautiful wife of the

Teton, and the traces of tears were soon removed from her fair cheek.

His assurance had quieted her soul, and fear was no longer an inhabitant

of her bosom. She no longer sought the gloomy privacy of the cabin at

the approach of night, but joined the dance of maidens, herself the most

sportive of them all. Every season added a little stranger to the

laughing and merry groupe, till twenty and seven sons and daughters

were in the cabin of the Teton Swift Foot. Old age came over the

husband, but not the wife. When his knees had grown feeble, and his

voice faint, and his eye dim, and his heart craven, her faculties were

in full perfection--her cheek still wore the blush of youth, and her

step was lighter than the fawn of four moons. And, if time had abated

nothing of her wondrous beauty and sprightliness, neither had it of her

goodness, and kind attention to the wants of the poor Indians. Her care

that they should want for nothing was as much exerted as ever--still

their hunting-grounds and their rivers were the best stocked of any in

all the land, and their war expeditions for forty seasons were

invariably blest with success. Let not my brother wonder, then, if the

Tetons almost forgot their duty to the Great Spirit, in their affection

for the good being whom they deemed his fatherly care had sent among

them.

At length, the Teton warrior, overcome by years, lay down and died. Then

it was that deep grief visited the bosom of his still beautiful and

still youthful wife. In vain, did the priest remind her that all must

die--she would not be consoled. They dressed the body of the deceased

warrior in his robe of fur, and then laid it, together with his spear,

and bow, and war-hatchet, and sheaf of arrows, and pipe, and

camp-kettle, in the house of death(4). While they were rendering the

last service to the body of the Swift Foot, the wife sat motionless,

looking on--when they had finished, she rose, and spoke to them thus:--

"We have now dwelt together, Tetons, for forty summers, and, during that

time, there has been a pure, unclouded sky in our village. We have been

friends, and so we will part. I cannot abide longer on the earth; I go

to take the soul of my beloved husband to the mansion prepared for him

in my own bright clime of the north. My children I leave to the care of

the brave warriors and good hunters, bidding one to protect, and the

other to feed them, till the Good Spirit sees fit to deprive them of the

life he has given. Be this your recompense.

"It is known that, among all the red men of the forest, none are so fond

of dancing, and none so excellent therein, as the Tetons. Ask any man,

or any woman, of any nation, who best and most gracefully perform the

War Dance, and the Scalp Dance, and the Calumet Dance, and the Dance of

Green Corn, and he will answer, 'The Burntwood Tetons.' Now, if ye will

continue to watch over my helpless children till their days of

helplessness are past, ye shall continue to dance even after death--the

spirit released from the flesh shall still caper as merrily as ever over

the clear skies of the north. Those skies were once mine--to-morrow I

shall resume dominion over them."

"It is cold, very cold in those regions," said the great chief. "The

dance will not keep us warm, and our way will be impeded by the ice and

snow."

"Neither shall be an impediment," answered the beautiful Spirit. "I will

cause my little people to kindle huge fires, the flames of which,

flashing over the northern skies, shall at once dissipate the flaky

mists, and be a light to the steps of the dancers. And thus shall it be.

When a Teton departs, his spirit shall go to the northern skies, which

henceforth shall be the Teton's Paradise. There shall he enjoy,

uninterrupted, his beloved pastime; and, till time shall be no more,

have full permission to foot it as joyfully as he did on earth."

These were the concluding words of the Spirit-wife. When they looked up

she was gone from their sight, no one knew whither. Presently there was

a slight fall of snow, which soon, however, again gave place to the

beams of the warm and refreshing sun. They never saw her again. They

never saw her again, but they forgot neither her nor her wishes. The

children she left were adopted by the nation, and became in time so many

of them fathers and mothers, that, at this day, half the tribe are

descended from them.

My brother asks, if the good Spirit-wife kept her promise to the Tetons.

She did, as he will see, if he will but look at the northern skies in

the time of summer and autumn. He will then see flashing over the face

of the broad heavens the flames which the good people kindle to thaw the

frosty air, and thus remove the impediments which exist to the merry

dance of the souls of those Tetons, who have repaired to the Happy

Abode. He will hear very plain the laugh[A] of the sprightly dancers;

and frequently, when the air is very clear, he will see their nimble

forms dancing up and down the moonbeams. Who would not wish that his

spirit might be permitted to go to THE TETON'S PARADISE?

[Footnote A: The _aurora borealis_, or "northern light," as my readers

know, is usually attended by a whizzing sound, somewhat resembling

laughter.]

Brother, this is no lie.