The Egyptians embalmed their dead in myrrh and spices, but the blessed

art of printing has given us a surer and less revolting method of

preserving and transmitting to posterity, all that is truly valuable in

the plaudits of virtue, worth, and honor. Books thus become a more

permanent memorial than marble, and by their diffusion scatter those

lessons among all mankind, which the age of mounds and hieroglyphics,

stone and papyrus, had confined to the tablet of a shaft, or the dark

recesses of a tomb or a pyramid. It is never to be forgotten, that in

the development of this new phasis in the history of the human race, it

was printing that first lit the lamp of truth, and has driven on the

experiment, till the boundaries of letters have well nigh become

co-extensive with the world. If we do not widely err, there is no part

of the globe, where books of all descriptions have become so cheap and

abundant as they are at this time in the United States, and, laying

aside all other considerations, we may find a proof of the position

stated in the fact, that our vernacular literature is no longer confined

to the production of school books, the annals of law and divinity, the

age of muddy pamphlets, or the motley pages of the newspaper. We have no

design to follow up these suggestions by showing how far the study of

the natural sciences, the discussion of political economy, or the

advances of belles-lettres, have operated to produce this result; far

less to identify those causes, in the progress of western arts and

commerce, which have concurred to bring down the price of books, and

scatter the blessings of an untrammelled press, among all classes. It is

sufficient for our purpose to say that even the lives of our

distinguished native chieftains have come in for a share of modern

notice, and, we feel proud to add, of a notice which, so far as it

reaches, is worthy of the subject. And should our contributions on this

head, for the last few years, be equally well followed up for a few

years to come, even the desponding strains of one of their own

impersonated heroes can no longer be repeated with perfect truth:

"They sink, they pass, they fly, they go,

Like a vapor at morning's dawn,

Or a flash of light, whose sudden glow

Is seen, admired, and gone.

"They died; but if a brave man bleeds,

And fills the dreamless grave,

Shall none repeat his name, his deeds,

Nor tell that he was brave?"

To no one in our literary annals is the public so much indebted for

rescuing from oblivion the traits and character of the four celebrated

chiefs whose names stand at the head of this article, as to the able

author of these biographies, William L. Stone. Gifted with a keen

perception of the questions of right and wrong, which turn upon the

planting of the colonies among barbarians, who more than idled away

their days upon a soil which they did not cultivate--with a deep

sympathy in their fate and fortunes, on the one hand, and the paramount

claims of letters and Christianity on the other, he has set himself to

the task of rendering justice to whom justice belongs, with the ardor of

a philanthropist, and the research of a historian. He appears to have

planned a series of biographies which, if completed, will give a

connected view of the leading tribes who occupied New York, Connecticut,

Rhode Island, and Massachusetts, with a range in the examination of

contemporary men and collateral topics, which embraces a wide circle.

And he has filled up the outlines of his plan, thus far, in a manner

which leaves but little to glean in the path which he has trod. If the

extension of this circle, and the large amount of contemporaneous matter

brought in, has, in the minds of some, abstracted too large a share of

attention, and left the biographies with less unity and compactness than

they would otherwise have assumed, this is exclusively the fault of

their plan, so far as it is acknowledged, and not of the execution. And

for this course of extension there is a plea to be found in the nature

of the subject, in the treatment of which, scantiness of material was

often sought to be supplied by the introduction of collateral and

sometimes extraneous matter.

We propose briefly to notice the series of these biographies in their

order of publication. In his first work on Brant, he has presented, in

living colors, the great Mohawk of 1776, who rose up to crush that

confederacy which Washington and his compeers had pledged their lives to

maintain. Brant was a man of power and capacities, mental and physical,

beyond his tribe; and was so situated, in the actual contest, as to

throw a greater weight into the scale against us, than any other, or all

of the hostile chiefs of the Red Race put together. If he could not,

like Ariel, call up the "spirits of the vasty deep," he could, at his

bidding, summon together the no less malignant spirits of the woods, who

fell upon our sleeping hamlets with the fury of demons. And whether at

Johnson Hall or Niagara, at Cherry Valley or Schoharie, on the waters of

the Oriskany or the Chemung, he was the ruling and informing spirit of

the contest. Such was the power he wielded as commander of a most

effective body of light troops (for such are all Indian warriors), who

were supported by large and well appointed armies, that, like the

electric flashes of the boding storm, he preceded the heavier outbreak

by sounding aloud the wild notes of terror and dismay. It was in this

manner that his name became a talisman on the frontiers, to conjure up

deeds of evil, and in this way also, doubtless, it became loaded with

reproaches, some of which, as the author has denoted, were due to other

actors in the contest. It is difficult, however, to disturb the

judgments of a preceding age, on the character of individuals who have

long passed off the stage of action, whether those judgments be

favorable or unfavorable; and it is, in fact, impossible to reverse

them. It is only necessary to glance backward a short way, on the track

of biography, to perceive that posterity never revises the opinions once

put on individual character, heroic or literary. It tries to forget all

it can, and every body it can, and never remembers a long time any name

which it is possible to forget. It is willing, we should infer, to

concede something to the great men among barbarian nations, whose names

have often burst upon civilized society with the fearful attractions of

the meteor, or the comet, producing admiration in the beholders, without

stopping to inquire the true cause. Such were the Tamerlanes, and the

Tippoo Saibs of the eastern world, of a prior age, as well as the

Mehemet Alis and Abdel Kaders of the present. And such were, also, with

reduced means of action, numbers of the American aboriginal chiefs, who,

between the days of Manco Capac and Micanopy have figured in the history

of the western world. Most of these men owe their celebrity to the mere

fact of their having dazzled or astounded, or like Brant himself,

excited the terror of those who opposed them. In the case of the latter,

a change of opinion in those particular traits which affect his

humanity, is less readily made, from the fact, yet generally remembered,

that he had received a Christian education; that he was, while a mere

boy, received into the best society, acquired the English language, and

had been instructed, first at a New England academy, and afterwards at

one of its most practically efficient colleges. Posterity holds the

Mohawk chief responsible to have carried the precepts thus obtained into

the forest, and to have diffused their blessings among those who had

perhaps his bravery, without his talents or his knowledge. Those who

fought against him were ill qualified, we confess, to be his judges. He

had not only espoused the wrong cause, wrong because it was adverse to

the progress of national freedom and those very principles his people

contended for; but he battled for it with a master's hand, and made the

force of his energy felt, as the author has more fully indicated than

was before known, from the banks of the Mohawk and the Niagara, to the

Ohio, the Miami, and the Wabash. Yet, if there was error in the extent

to which he failed to carry the precepts of civilization and

Christianity, it was meet it should be pointed out, although it will

also be admitted, the public have a right to look for the strongest of

these proofs of a kind and benevolent feeling towards his open enemies,

out of the range of his domestic circle. His family had carried the

incipient principles of civilization, which he gave them, too high--they

had exhibited to the next age, a too prominent example of cultivation

and refinement in every sense--not to feel deeply the obloquy cast upon

his name, by the poetic spirit of the times; and not to wish that one

who had, in verity, so many high and noble qualities, both in the

council and the field, should also be without a spot on his humanity. We

deem the feeling as honorable to all who have the blood of the chieftain

in their veins as it is praise-worthy in his biographer. We cannot,

however, consent to forget, that historical truth is very severe in its

requisitions, and is not to be put off, by friend or foe, with hearsay

testimony, or plausible surmises.

Brant cannot, like Xicotencal, be accused of having joined the invaders

of his country, who were recklessly resolved upon its subjugation; but

he overlooked the fact, that both the _invader_ and the _invaded_ in the

long and bloody border warfare of the revolution, were, in all that

constitutes character, the same people. They were of the same blood and

lineage, spoke the same language, had the same laws and customs, and the

same literature and religion, and he failed to see that the only real

point of difference between them was, who should wield the sceptre.

Whichever party gained the day in such a contest, letters and

Christianity must triumph, and as the inevitable result, barbarism must

decline, and the power of the Indian nation fall.

In Brant, barbarism and civilization evinced a strong and singular

contest. He was at one moment a savage, and at another a civilian, at

one moment cruel, and at another humane; and he exhibited, throughout

all the heroic period of his career, a constant vacillation and struggle

between good and bad, noble and ignoble feelings, and, as one or the

other got the mastery, he was an angel of mercy, or a demon of

destruction. In this respect, his character does not essentially vary

from that which has been found to mark the other leading red men who,

from Philip to Osceola, have appeared on the stage of action. Like them,

his reasoning faculties were far less developed than his physical

perceptions. And to attempt to follow or find anything like a fixed

principle of humanity, basing itself on the higher obligations that sway

the human breast, would, we fear, become a search after that which had

no existence in his mind; or if the germ was there, it was too feeble to

become predominant. We do not think it necessary, in commenting on his

life, to enter into any nice train of reasoning or motives to account

for this characteristic, or to reconcile cruelties of the most shocking

kind, when contrasted with traits of mildness and urbanity. They were

different moods of the man, and in running back over the eventful years

of his life, it becomes clear, that civilization had never so completely

gained the mastery over his mind and heart, as not to desert him,

without notice, the moment he heard the sound of the war-whoop. The fact

that he could use the pen, supplied no insuperable motive against his

wielding the war club. His tomahawk and his Testament lay on the same

shelf. The worst trait in his character is revealed in his tardiness to

execute acts of _purposed_ mercy. There was too often some impediment,

which served as an excuse, as when he had a ploughed field to cross to

save Wells and his family, or a lame heel, or gave up the design

altogether, as in the case of Wisner, whom he construed it into an act

of mercy to tomahawk.

That he was, however, a man of an extraordinary firmness, courage and

decision of character, is without doubt. But his fate and fortunes have

not been such as to give much encouragement to chiefs of the native race

in lending their influence to European, or Anglo-European powers, who

may be engaged in hostilities against each other on this continent.

Pontiac had realized this before him, and Tecumtha realized it after

him. Neither attained the object he sought. One of these chiefs was

assassinated, the other fell in battle, and Brant himself only survived

the defeat of his cause, to fret out his latter days in vain attempts to

obtain justice from the power which he had most loyally served, and

greatly benefited. Had he been knighted at the close of the contest,

instead of being shuffled from one great man to another, at home and

abroad, it would have been an instance of a noble exercise of that

power. But George III. seemed to have been fated, at all points, neither

to do justice to his friends nor his enemies.

Such was Brant, or Thayendanegea, symbolically, the Band of his

tribe,[10] to whose lot it has fallen to act a more distinguished part

in the Colonies, as a consummate warrior, than any other aboriginal

chieftain who has arisen. And his memory was well worthy of the

elaborate work in which his biographer has presented him, in the most

favourable points of view, amidst a comprehensive history of the border

wars of the revolution, without, however, concealing atrocities of which

he was, perhaps sometimes unwillingly, the agent.

A word, and but a word, will be added, as to some points connected with

this chief's character, which are not in coincidence with the generally

received opinion, or are now first introduced by way of palliation, or

vindication. We confess, that so far as the presence or absence of the

Great Mohawk in the massacre of Wyoming, is concerned, the statements

are either inconclusive, or less satisfactory than could be wished.

There was quite too much feeling sometimes evinced by his family, and

particularly his son John, to permit us to receive the new version of

the statement without some grains of allowance. An investigation is

instituted by Col. Stone as to the immediate ancestry of Brant, and much

importance is attached to the inquiry, whether he was descended from a

line of hereditary chiefs. We think the testimony adverse to such a

supposition, and it affords no unequivocal proof of talents, that

notwithstanding such an adventitious circumstance, certainly without

being of the line of _ruling_ chiefs, he elevated himself to be, not

only the head chief and leader of his tribe, but of the Six Nations.

Courtesy and popular will attach the title of chief or sachem to men of

talents, courage or eloquence among our tribes generally; and while mere

descent would devolve it upon a chief's son, whatever might be his

character, yet this fact alone would be of little import, and give him

little influence, without abilities: whereas abilities alone are found

to raise men of note to the chieftainship, among all the North American

tribes, whose customs and character are known.

It has constituted no part of our object, in these general outlines, to

examine minor points of the biography or history, upon which the

information or the conclusions are not so satisfactory as could be

wished, or which may, indeed, be at variance with our opinions. One

fact, however, connected, with this name, it is not deemed proper to

pass _sub silentio_. Brant is made to take a part in the Pontiac War, a

contest arising on the fall of the French power in Canada in 1759, and

which closed in 1763. Brant was at its close but twenty-one years of

age, and had not, it is probable, finally returned from his New England

tutors. At any rate, there is no reason to suppose, that, at that early

period of his life and his influence, he could have had any

participation in the events of that war.

In the life of Red Jacket, or Sagoyewata, we have a different order of

Indian intellect brought to view. He was an orator and a diplomatist,

and was at no period of his life noted for his skill as a warrior. Nay,

there are indubitable proofs that his personal courage could not always

be "screwed up to the sticking point." But in native intellect, he was

even superior to Brant. He was, indeed, the Brant of the council, and

often came down upon his opponents with bursts of eloquence, trains of

argument, or rhapsodies of thought, which were irresistible. And of him,

it may be symbolically said, that his tongue was his tomahawk, and the

grandiloquent vocabulary of the Seneca language, his war-club. Nor has

any native chieftain wielded the weapon to more purpose, or with a

longer continued effect than the great Seneca orator. The specimens of

his eloquence which have appeared in our newspapers for forty years or

more, are still fresh in the memory, and it was due and meet that these

should be collected and preserved in a permanent shape, together with

such particulars of his life and career as could be obtained. This task

has been performed by Col. Stone, in a manner which leaves nothing more

to be attempted on the subject. Much zeal and industry have been evinced

in eliciting facts from every quarter where it was probable information

could be had. And he has brought together a body of contemporaneous

proofs and reminiscences, touching this chief, which a few years would

have put beyond the power of recovery, and which a position less

prominent than he occupied as a public journalist, might have rendered

it difficult for another to collect. We need only refer to the names of

Gen. P. B. Porter, Rev. J. Breckenridge, Mr. Parish, and Mr. Hosmer, to

show the character of this part of his materials.

Other chiefs of the native stock, have produced occasional pieces of

eloquence, or admired oratory, but Red Jacket is the only prominent

individual who has devoted his whole career to it. That he did, indeed,

excel, producing effects which no reported speech of his ever equalled

or did justice to, there are still many living to attest. In the

question of land sales, which arose between the white and red races,

there were frequent occasions to bring him out. And these, in the end,

assumed a complicated shape, from either the vague nature, or ill

understood conditions of prior grants. In all these discussions, he

preserved a unity and consistency in the set of opinions he had adopted.

He was opposed to further sales, to removal, to civilization, and to the

introduction of Christianity among his people. What Brant had done in

_politics_, Red Jacket repeated in _morals_. Both took the wrong side,

and both failed. But it is to be said of the Seneca orator, that he did

not live to see the final defeat of that course of policy which he had

so long and so ably advocated.

It was remarked by Mr. Clinton, and the fact had impressed others, that

the Iroquois, or Six Nations, excelled the other natives in eloquence.

Of this, their history, during the Supremacy of Holland and England in

New York, as given by Colden, furnishes ample proofs. The speech of

Garangula, against the Governor General of Canada and his wily policy,

is unexcelled, as a whole, by anything which even Red-Jacket has left in

print, though much of the effect of it is due to the superior and heroic

position occupied by the tribes for whom he spoke. Logan, unexcelled by

all others for his pathos and simplicity, it must be remembered, was

also of this stock,--Mingo, or _Mengwe_, as the Delawares pronounced it,

being but a generic term for Iroquois; so that the transmission of this

trait, from the proud era of the Iroquois confederacy down to modern

days, is quite in keeping with the opinion quoted.

It is to be wished that Col. Stone would supply another link in the

chain of Iroquois history, by favoring the public with the life of the

noted Oneida chief, Shenandoah, for which materials must exist in the

Kirkland family.

The lives of the two men, Uncas and Miontonimo, whose leading acts are

described in one of the volumes named in our caption, belong to an

earlier period of history, and a different theatre of action. The scene

changes from western New York to the seaboard of Connecticut, Rhode

Island, and, to some extent, Massachusetts. Uncas was the good genius,

the tutelary spirit, if we may so say, of the colony of Connecticut; and

the best monument which that State could erect to his memory, would be

to change the unmeaning and worn out name of one of her counties, New

London, for that of the noble and friendly chief, of whose forest

kingdom it once formed a part. From the first day that the English

colonists set foot within it, to the hour of his death, Uncas was the

unwavering "friend of the white man," as his biographer justly calls

him. He was of that race, whom history has, without making a particle of

allowance for savage ignorance and hereditary prejudice, branded under

the name of Pequods. They were of that type of languages and lineage,

which was very well characterized generically, at least as far south as

the original country of the Delawares; but which assumed a sub-type

after crossing the Hudson, and was known east of that point under one of

its superinduced forms, as the Mohegan. This term had been dropped by

the Pequods, if it was ever their specific cognomen, but it is a proof,

and we think a very conclusive proof, of the yet freshly remembered

affiliation with Taminund[11] and the Manhattans, that Uncas, the moment

he revolted from King Sassacus, assumed the name of a Mohegan, and put

himself at the head of that tribe, as it then existed within the

boundaries of Connecticut. Or rather, he constituted the revolted

Pequods a new tribe, under an old and respected name, and he thus laid

the foundation of the Uncas dynasty. Placed thus by circumstances in a

position in which he sought an alliance with the early colonists, and

finding his security in theirs, he was in fact the only leading chief of

the times who, really, heartily, and faithfully sought their prosperity

and growth to the end. The rise of Uncas and Connecticut thus began at

one era; and as the alliance was founded on mutual interest and safety,

it only grew stronger with time. A man of less force of character or

natural sagacity than Uncas, would have vacillated when he saw the

colonists becoming more powerful and himself more weak as years rolled

on, and would have been seduced to enter into alliances for arresting

the white man's power, as other native chiefs had done. But all history

concurs in showing that, under every circumstance, and there were many

of the most trying kind, he carried himself well, and avoided even a

suspicion of his fidelity.

Uncas was well qualified for a ruler both in mind and person. He

possessed a fine figure, over six feet in height, a commanding voice,

and a noble bearing. He was mild yet dignified in his manners. He was

not only wise in council, but brave[12] in war, as he evinced in many

instances, but particularly in the battle of Sachem's Plain, in which he

proved himself the bravest and most chivalrous of the brave. Yet his

wisdom and moderation in governing his people, and the well balanced

justice and consistency of his character, give him a still higher

reputation, and establish his best claim to remembrance. In all the

trials in which he was placed, in all the temptations he had to fly into

a rage, and act out the savage, he sustained this character for wise

deliberation; and by adhering to his first covenant with the English,

and laying all his plans and grievances before the colonial courts, he

raised himself in strength and reputation, and finally triumphed, first

over Sassacus, and then over Miontonimo, the two greatest and most

powerful of his immediate contemporaries.

If Uncas was the patron of Connecticut, Miontonimo, with his family of

the Narragansett chiefdom, was equally so of Rhode Island. And it is

from this obvious fact, probably, in part, that we find the historical

notices of him, from the last quarter, decidedly more favorable to his

general character than those emanating from the land of his enemy and

his conqueror, Uncas. While there is no disagreement as to any

historical fact of note, it is natural that some little shade of feeling

of this nature should remain. We have noticed a similar feeling with

respect to existing tribes and chiefs, in the western world, where the

inhabitants never fail to be imbued with those peculiar notions and

traditions of the particular tribe about them, which represent the

latter as the principal nation, and invest them with tribal traits of

superiority. It is a feeling which leans to the better side of one's

nature, and does honor to men's hearts; but the historian is obliged to

look at such questions with a colder eye, and can never abate a tittle

of the truth, although he may run counter to this local sympathy and

bias. We could name some remarkable instances of this prejudice, if we

were willing to digress.

If Miontonimo be compared to Uncas, it will at once be seen that he

lacked the latter's sagacity and firmness of character. Had the

Narragansett listened to Sassacus, and formed a league with him, he

would have crushed, for a time, the infant colony of Connecticut. This

he declined, apparently, because it had the specific character of

enabling Sassacus to put down Uncas. After the Pequod king had been

defeated and fled to the Mohawks, Miontonimo was left in a position to

assume the Pequod's policy, and then tried to bring Uncas into just such

a combination to fall on the colonists, as he had himself refused, when

the proposition came from Sassacus. As Uncas not only refused, but laid

the scheme before his allies, Miontonimo went to war against him, with a

large army. Uncas hastily prepared to meet him, with a smaller force.

They met on Sachem's Plain, on the banks of the Shawtucket. Uncas,

unwilling to see so many of his people slain in battle, nobly stepped

forward and proposed a personal combat, to decide the question of who

should rule, and who obey. It was declined, but the moment the reply was

made, he threw himself on the plain, a signal, it seems, for his men to

advance, and they came on with such an impulse, that he won the day and

took Miontonimo prisoner. This capture was the act of one of his minor

chiefs; but when his enemy was brought before him, he declined

exercising his right of putting him to death, but determined to refer

the matter to the authorities of Hartford. There it was found to be a

knotty question, and finally referred to the General Court at Boston.

The Court strengthened itself with the opinions of six distinguished

clergymen and several eminent civilians; and then decided, that the

Narragansett chief had justly forfeited his life, by violating his

political covenants with the colonies, but it might not be taken away

_by them_. He must be remanded to Uncas, within his jurisdiction, and by

him be executed; but it was enjoined, with a very poor compliment to the

known mildness of the character of Uncas, that no needless cruelty

should be practised. Here, then, the white man evinced less mercy than

the red had done. Miontonimo was now released from his confinement, and

conducted back to the very spot where he had first been taken prisoner,

as he approached which, one of the Mohegans who accompanied him, keeping

him in entire ignorance of his fate, raised his tomahawk as he walked

behind him, and laid him dead at a blow.

Whether the moral responsibility of this execution rests with the court,

or the executioner, we do not propose particularly to inquire, nor to

ascertain to what degree it was shuffled off, by directing an Indian to

commit an act which it was unlawful for a white man and a Christian to

perform. Had Uncas slain his adversary in cold blood, after the action,

the thing would have been in perfect accordance with Indian law. Had

Miontonimo been a subject of either of the colonies of Connecticut,

Rhode Island or Massachusetts, and levied war, or committed any overt

act of treason, his execution would have been in accordance with the

laws of civilized nations. Neither condition happened. It was, however,

felt, that the great disturber of the colonies, after Sassacus, had now

been caught. He had violated his covenant by going to war without

apprising them. They did not believe he would keep any future covenants.

The moral sense of the community would not be shocked, but rather

gratified by his execution. This point was strongly signified to the

court. But they could not legally compass it. English law opposed it.

The customs of civilized nations, in warring with _each other_, opposed

it. Should a different rule be observed towards the aborigines? Did the

dictates of sound judgment and common sense, did the precepts of

Christianity,--aye, "there was the rub,"--did the precepts of

Christianity sanction it? On full deliberation,--for the question was

not decided in haste,--neither of these points could be affirmatively

answered. But while policy--the policy of _expediency_, the lust of

power, and the offended moral sense of an exposed and suffering

community demanded, as it was thought, the death of the sachem, still it

was not found that one whom they had ever treated, and then viewed, as a

foreign prince, legally considered, could be thus deprived of his life.

Imprisonment was not, as a permanent policy, resolved on. There was one

course left to escape both dilemmas, and to avoid all censure. It was to

restore things to the precise footing they had before his surrender. It

was to hand him back to Uncas, without the expression of any decision,

leaving that chieftain to act as he deemed fit. They remanded him

indeed, but went one step too far, by first deciding in a formal court,

after months of deliberation, in the course of which the clergy and

gentry, (this is a term that would be proper to the times) had been

formally consulted, and directed his death, stipulating only that he

should not be killed with cruelty. If there was not something that

smacks of the want of true and noble dealing in this--if it accorded

with the bland precepts of Christianity, to do unto others as you would

that others should do unto you--if the act did not, in fine, partake of

the very spirit of Jesuitism in the worst sense in which the word has

been adopted into the language we have, we confess, formed a totally

wrong idea of its meaning.

A case, in some respects similar to this, happened in modern times which

may be thought to contrast rather strongly with the above example of

Puritan mercy. The reasons for a capital punishment, were, indeed, far

more cogent, and the community called out strongly for it, and would

have sustained it. It was the capture of Black Hawk, which, it will be

recollected, took place during the first Presidential term of General

Jackson. Black Hawk had levied war within the boundaries of one of the

States, on lands ceded by treaty, and organized a confederacy of Indian

tribes, which, though broken up in part, chiefly through the failure of

the other tribes to fulfil their engagements with him, yet required for

its suppression the entire disposable force of the Union. The Sac chief

was finally captured on Indian territory, in the act of fleeing west of

the Mississippi. He was imprisoned, and the case referred to the

Government for decision. He had broken his treaty covenants. He had not

only made war, but in its outbreak and its continuance, had been guilty

of countenancing, at least, the most shocking barbarities. He had,

indeed, opened the scene by cruelly murdering the agent of the

Government, the representative of the President, in the person of Mr.

St. Vrain. The community, the western States particularly, called

loudly for his execution. There could be no security, it was said, if

such a bloody fellow was allowed to roam at large. He had forfeited his

life a thousand times. There was, indeed, the same popular feeling

against him, which had existed in New England, one hundred and ninety

years before, against Miontonimo. But could he have been _legally_

executed? And if so, was it, indeed, the true policy? Was it noble--was

it high-minded? Was it meting out exact and equal justice to men with

red skins, as well as white? It was thought that all these questions

must be negatively answered; and the bold Sac insurgent was sent home,

accompanied by an officer of the army, to secure his comfort and safety,

and thus to see that a wise and merciful decision should be faithfully

carried out, and popular indignation be prevented from wreaking itself,

in the assassination of the chief.

In closing these remarks, it may appear selfish to express the hope,

that Mr. Stone, to whom we are already indebted for these spirited,

comprehensive, and well written volumes, should still further employ his

pen in adding to the sum of these obligations. But he has so well

studied the field in its historical bearing, so far at least as relates

to the eastern department of the Union, that we know of no one to whom

the labour would present less of the character of a task. We are in want

of a good account of Philip, or Metacom, the energetic sachem of the

Pokenokets, who impersonated so fully the wild Indian character, and

views, and battled so stoutly against the occupancy of New England by

the Saxon race. In showing up to modern times such a man, we think a

biography would derive very deep interest, and it would certainly be a

new experiment, to take up the aboriginal views and opinions of the

invading race, and thus write, as it were, from _within_, instead of

_without_ the circle of warlike action. In this way, their combinations,

efforts and power, would better appear, and redound more to the credit

of the aboriginal actors, as warriors and heroes. As it is, history only

alludes to them as conspirators, rebels, traitors, or culprits; as if

the fact of their opposing the egress of civilized nations, who were in

all respects wiser and better, were sufficient to blot out all their

right and claim to the soil and sovereignty of the land of their

forefathers, and they were in fact bound to stand back, and give it up

_nolens volens_.

We had designed to subjoin a few remarks on the biographical labors of

other writers in this department, particularly those of Thatcher and

Drake, but our limits are already exhausted, and we must abandon, or at

least, defer it.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] The name is usually translated, two-sticks tied, or united.

[11] The name of this chief is Anglicised in the word Tammany.

[12] The terms "brave" and "braves" used in a substantive sense, in this

work, are neither English nor Indian. The Indian term should be

translated strong-heart, its literal import; for it is one of the

general rules of these languages, that the operation of the adjective,

as well as action of the verb, is uniformly marked upon the

substantive--there being, indeed, different inflections of each

substantive, to denote whether this operation or action be caused by a

noble or ignoble, or an animate or inanimate object. Still the general

use of the Canadian term _Brave_, on our Indian border, may give it some

poetic claims to introduction into our vernacular, burthened as it

already is with more objectionable Americanisms.

THE RABID WOLF.

A VERITABLE TRADITION OF THE VALLEY OF THE TAWASENTHA.

The great Pine Plains, beginning not far south of the junction of the

Mohawk with the North River, are still infested by wolves, who harbour

in its deep gorges, from which they sally out at night, on the

sheep-folds of the farmers, and often put a whole neighbourhood in fear.

The railroad track from Albany to Schenectady, passes over a part of

these plains, which stretch away in the direction of the blue outlines

of the Helderberg mountains. It is many miles across the narrowest part

of them, and they reach down to the very outskirts of the city of

Albany, where they have of late years, and since Buel's day, begun to

cultivate them by sowing clover, planting fruit trees, and in other

ways. They constitute the table land of the county, and send out from

beneath their heavy mass of yellow sand and broken down sand stones,

mica slates, and granites, many springs and streams of the purest and

most crystalline waters, which find their outlets chiefly into the

valley of the Tawasentha, or, as the river is called in popular

language, the Norman's Kill, and are thus contributed to swell the noble

volume of the Hudson. These springs issue at the precise point where the

arenaceous mass rests on a clay or impervious basis. The effect, in

ancient years, has been that the sand is carried off, grain by grain,

till a deep ravine or gorge is formed. The sides of this gorge being

composed of mixed earth and some mould, and free from the aridity of the

surface, bear a dense and vigorous growth of hard wood trees and

shrubbery, and are often found to be encumbered with immense trunks of

fallen pines and other forest rubbish, which renders it very difficult

to penetrate them. It is into these dark gorges that the wolves retreat,

after scouring the plains and neighbouring farms for prey; and here they

have maintained their ancient empire from time immemorial. Such, at

least, was the state of things between the settlers and the wolves, at

the date of this story, in 1807.

Sometimes the whole country armed and turned out _en masse_, to ferret

them out of their fastnesses and destroy them; and truly the forces

assembled on some of these wolf-hunts were surprising, and, in one

respect, that is to say, the motley and uncouth character of their arms,

they would have put both Bonaparte and Wellington to flight. There was

nothing, from a pitchfork to a heavy blunderbuss, which they did not

carry, always excepting a good rifle, which I never remember to have

seen on these occasions. Indeed, these formal turn-outs were better

suited to frighten away, than to kill and capture the foe; so that there

was no just cause of surprise why the wolves remained, and even

increased. They still kept masters of the Plains--sheep were killed by

dozens, night after night, and the alarm went on.

It was at other times tried to trap them, and to bait them in sundry

ways. I recollect that we all had implicit faith in the village

schoolmaster, one Cleanthus, who knew some Latin, and a little of almost

every thing; and among other arts which he cherished, and dealt out in a

way to excite wonder for his skill, he knew how to make the wolves

follow his tracks, by smearing his shoes with aesofoedita, or some

other substance, and then ensconcing himself at night in a log pen,

where he might bid defiance to the best of them, and shoot at them

besides. But I never could learn that there were any of these

pestiferous animals killed, either by the schoolmaster and his party, or

any other party, except it was the luckless poor animal I am about to

write of, which showed its affinities to the canine race by turning

rabid, and rushing at night into the midst of a populous manufacturing

village.

Iosco was eligibly seated on the summit and brow of a picturesque series

of low crowned hills, just on the southern verge of these great Plains,

where the tillable and settled land begins. It was, consequently, in

relation to these wolves, a perfect frontier; and we had not only

frequent alarms, but also the privilege and benefit of hearing all the

wonderful stories of wolf-adventure, to man and beast, for a wide

circle. Indeed, these stories often came back with interest, from the

German and Dutch along the Swarta Kill, and Boza Kill settlements, away

up to the foot of the Helderberg mountains. A beautiful and clear stream

of sparkling cold water, called the Hungerkill, after gathering its

crystal tributaries from the deep gorges of the plains, ran through the

village, and afforded one or two seats for mills, and after winding and

doubling on its track a mile or two, rendered its pellucid stores into

the Norman's Kill, or, as this stream was called by the ancient Mohawk

race, in allusion to their sleeping dead, the Tawasentha. No stream in

the country was more famous for the abundance of its fine brook trout,

and the neighbouring plains served to shelter the timid hare, and the

fine species of northern partridge, which is there always called a

pheasant.

The village was supported by its manufacturing interests, and was quite

populous. It had a number of long streets, some of which reached across

the stream, and over a spacious mill pond, and others swept at right

angles along the course of the great Cherry Valley turnpike. In its

streets were to be heard, in addition to the English, nearly all the

dialects of the German between the Rhine and the Danube; the Low Dutch

as spoken by the common country people on the manor of Rensselaerwyck,

the Erse and Gaelic, as not unfrequently used by the large proportion of

its Irish and Scotch, and what seemed quite as striking to one brought

up in seclusion from it, the genuine Yankee, as discoursed by the

increasing class of factory wood choppers, teamsters, schoolmasters, men

out at the elbows, and travelling wits. The latter were indeed but a

sorry representation of New England, as we have since found it. No small

amount of superstitions were believed and recited in the social meetings

of such a mixed foreign population. Accounts of instances of the second

sight, death-lights on the meadows and in the churchyard, the low

howling of premonitory dogs before funerals, and other legendary wares,

to say nothing of the actual and veritable number of downright spooks,

seen on various occasions, on the lands of the Veeders, the Van

Valkenburgs, the Truaxes, and the Lagranges, rendered it a terror to all

children under twelve to stir out of doors after dark. There were in the

annals of Iosco, several events in the historical way which served as

perfect eras to its inhabitants; but none, it is believed, of so

striking and general importance as the story of the Mad Wolf, of which I

am about to write.

There had been found, soon after the close of the revolutionary war, in

a dark wood very near the road, pieces of a cloth coat and metallic

buttons, and other things, which rendered it certain that a man had been

murdered at that spot, in consequence of which the place was shunned, or

hurried by, as if a spirit of evil had its abode there. On another

occasion, the body of a poor old man of the name of Homel, was found

drowned deep in the Norman's Kill, clasped in the arms of his wife, both

dead. A gentleman of standing, who ventured alone, rather groggy, one

dark night, over the long unrailed bridge that crossed the mill pond,

pitched upon some sharp pallisadoes in the water, and came to a

melancholy end. Hormaun, an Iroquois, who haunted the valley, had

killed, it was said, ninety-nine men, and was waiting an opportunity to

fill his count, by dispatching his hundredth man. This was a greatly

dreaded event, particularly by the boys. There was also the era, when a

Race Course had been established on a spot called the "Colonel's Farm,"

and the era of the "Deep Snow." There were many other events celebrated

in Iosco, such as the De Zeng era, the Van Rensselaer era, and the Van

Kleeck era, which helped the good mothers to remember the period when

their children were born; but none, indeed, of so notable a character to

youthful minds as the adventure of the mad wolf.

Wolf stories were in vogue, in fact, in the evening and tea party

circles of Iosco for many years; and if one would take every thing as it

was given, there had been more acts of bravery, conduct, and firm

decision of character and foresight, displayed in encountering these

wild vixens of the plains and valleys by night, than would, if united,

have been sufficient to repel the inroads of Burgoyne, St. Leger, or Sir

John Johnson, with Brant, and all his hosts of tories and Indians,

during the American revolution.

I chanced one night to have left the city of Albany, in company with

one of these heroic spirits. We occupied my father's chaise, an old

fashioned piece of gentility now out of vogue, drawn by a prime horse,

one which he always rode on parades. It was late before we got out of

the precincts of the city, and up the hill, and night overtook us away

in the pine woods, at Billy McKown's, a noted public-house seated half

way between the city and Iosco, where it was customary in those days to

halt; for besides that he was much respected, and one of the most

sensible and influential men in the town, it was not thought right,

whatever the traveller might require, that a _horse_ should be driven

eight miles without drawing breath, and having a pail of water. As I was

but young, and less of a charioteer than my valiant companion, he held

the whip and reins thus far; but after the wolf stories that poured in

upon us at McKown's that evening, he would hold them no longer. Every

man, he thought, was responsible to himself. He did not wish to be

wolf's meat that night, so he hired a fleet horse from our host, and a

whip and spurs, and set off with the speed of a Jehu, leaving me to make

my way, in the heavy chaise, through the sandy plains, as best I could.

In truth we had just reached the most sombre part of the plain, where

the trees were more thick, the sand deep and heavy, and not a house but

one, within the four miles. To render it worse, this was the chief

locality of wolf insolence, where he had even ventured to attack men. It

was on this route too, that the schoolmaster had used his medical arts,

which made it better known through the country as the supposed centre of

their power. Nothing harmed me, however; the horse was fine, and I

reached home not only uneaten, but unthreatened by a wolf's jaw.

But I must confine myself to the matter in hand. A large and fierce wolf

sallied out of the plains one dark summer's night, and rushed into the

midst of the village, snapping to the right and left as he went, and

biting every animal that came in his way. Cows, swine, pigs,

geese--every species, whether on four legs, or two legs, shared its

malice alike. The animal seemed to have a perfect ubiquity--it was every

where, and seemed to have spared nothing. It is not recollected that

there was a single house, or barn-yard in the village, where something

had not been bitten. If he had come on an errand of retribution, for the

great and threatening wolf-parties which had gone out against his race,

and all the occult arts of the schoolmaster in trying to decoy them at

Barrett's hollow, he could not have dealt out his venomous snaps more

indiscriminately.

It must have been about midnight, or soon after, that the fearful

visitor came. Midnight, in a country village, finds almost every one in

bed, but such was the uproar among the animal creation, made by this

strange interloper, that _out_ of bed they soon come. The cattle

bellowed, the pigs squealed, the poultry cackled--there must be

something amiss. Santa Claus himself must be playing his pranks. "A

wolf!" was the cry--"a wolf is committing havoc." "It is mad!" came next

on the voices of the night. "A mad wolf!--a mad wolf!" Nothing but a

mad wolf could venture alone into the heart of the village, and do so

much mischief. Out ran the people into the streets, men, women and all.

Some caught up guns, some clubs, some pitchforks. If the tories and

Indians, in the old French war, had broke into the settlement with fire

and sword, there could not have been a greater tumult, and nothing but a

mad wolf would have stood his ground. Where is he? which way did he run?

who saw him? and a thousand like expressions followed. He had gone

south, and south the mob pushed after him. He was away over on the

street that leads up from the middle factory. It was a cloudy night, or

the moon only came out fitfully, and threw light enough to discern

objects dimly, as the clouds rolled before it. Indistinct murmurs came

on the breeze, and at length the scream of a woman. The cause of it soon

followed. The wolf had bitten Mrs. Sitz. Now Mrs. Sitz was a careful,

tall, rigid-faced, wakeful housewife, from the dutchy of Hesse

D'Armstadt, who had followed the fortunes of her husband, in trying his

mechanical skill in the precincts of Iosco; but while her husband Frank

laid fast asleep, under the influence of a hard day's labour, her ears

were open to the coming alarm. It was not long before she heard a tumult

in her goose pen. The rabid animal had bounded into the midst of them,

which created as great an outcry as if Rome had a second time been

invaded. Out she ran to their relief, not knowing the character of the

disturber, but naturally thinking it was some thief of a neighbour, who

wished to make provision for a coming Christmas. The animal gave her one

snap and leapt the pen. "Mein hemel!" screamed she, "er hat mein

gebissen!" Sure enough the wolf had bit her in the thigh.

The party in chase soon came up, and while some stopt to parley and

sympathize with her, others pushed on after the animal--the spitzbug, as

she spitefully called him. By this time the wolf had made a circuit of

the southern part of the village, and scampered down the old factory

road, by the mill dam, under the old dark bridge at the saw mill, and up

the hill by the old public store; and thus turned his course back

towards the north, into the thickest part of the village, where he had

first entered. He had made a complete circuit. All was valour, boasting,

and hot speed behind him, but the wolf had been too nimble for them.

Unluckily for him, however, while the main group pushed behind, just as

he was scampering up the old store hill, he was suddenly headed by a

party coming down it. This party was led by old Colonel S., a

revolutionary soldier, a field-officer of the county militia, and the

superintendent of the extensive manufacturing establishment from which

the village drew its prosperity. He was armed with a fusil of the olden

time, well charged, and having been roused from his bed in a hurry,

could not at the moment find his hat, and clapt on an old revolutionary

cocked hat, which hung in the room. His appearance was most opportune;

he halted on the brow of the hill, and as the wolf bounded on he

levelled his piece at the passing fugitive, and fired. He had aimed at

the shoulders; the fleetness of its speed, however, saved its vital

parts, but the shot took effect in the animal's hind legs. They were

both broken at a shot. This brought him down. The poor creature tried to

drag himself on by his fore paws, but his pursuers were too close upon

him, and they soon dispatched him with hatchets and clubs.

Thus fell the rabid wolf, to be long talked of by men and boys, and put

down as a chief item in village traditions. But the effects of his visit

did not end here. In due time, symptoms of madness seized the cattle and

other animals, which had come within the reach of his teeth. Many of the

finest milch cows were shot. Calves and swine, and even poultry went

rabid; and as things of this kind are generally overdone, there was a

perfect panic in the village on the subject, and numbers of valuable

animals were doubtless shot, merely because they happened to show some

restiveness at a very critical epoch.

But what, methinks the reader is ready to ask, became of Mrs. Sitz?

Whether it was, that she had brought over some mystical arts from the

Wild Huntsman of Bohemia, or had derived protection from the venom

through the carefully administered medicines of Dr. Crouse, who duly

attended the case, or some inherent influence of the stout hearted

woman, or the audacity of the bite itself, had proved more than a match

for the wolf, I cannot say; but certain it is, that while oxen and kine,

swine and fatlings, fell under the virus and were shot, she recovered,

and lived many years to scold her dozing husband Frank, who did not jump

up immediately, and come to her rescue at the goose pen.

* * * * *

INDIAN POSSESSIONS.--The Ottoes own, at the latest accounts, a large

tract of country on the Big Platte, west of the Missouri; they are a

poor race of people, and receive a small annuity of $2,500. The Pawnees

are a powerful body, and number about 6,500 persons, divided into bands

under the names of Pawnee Loups, Grand Pawnees, Republican Pawnees,

Pawnee Pics, &c.; they are wild and furtive in their habits, and receive

provisions and goods. The Grand Nation is the Pottowattomies, or the

"united bands of the Chippewas, Ottawas, and Pottowattomies." They own

five millions of acres of prairie lands, along the Missouri river to the

Little Sioux, number about 2,000, and receive $42,000 a year for their

lands sold in Illinois and Michigan. They are a respectable body of

Indians, are good farmers, and educate their children. The payment of

the annuities is always a season of great hilarity and festivity.--_N.

O. Pic._

It is a characteristic of some of the Indian legends,

that they convey _a moral_ which seems clearly enough to

denote, that a part of these legends were invented to

convey instruction to the young folks who listen to them.

The known absence of all harsh methods among the Indians,

in bringing up their children, favours this idea. The

following tale addresses itself plainly to girls; to whom

it teaches the danger of what we denominate coquetry. It

would seem from this, that beauty, and its concomitant, a

passion for dress, among the red daughters of Adam and

Eve, has the same tendency to create pride, and nourish

self-conceit, and self-esteem, and assume a _tyranny over

the human heart_, which writers tell us, these qualities

have among their white-skinned, auburn-haired, and

blue-eyed progeny the world over. This tale has appeared

in the "Columbian." The term Moowis is one of the most

derogative and offensive possible. It is derived from the

Odjibwa substantive, mo, filth, or excrement.

MOOWIS,

OR

THE MAN MADE UP OF RAGS AND DIRT.

A TRADITIONARY LEGEND OF THE ODJIBWAS.

In a large village, there lived a noted belle, or Ma mon da go kwa, who

was the admiration of all the young hunters and warriors. She was

particularly admired by a young man, who from his good figure, and the

care he took in his dress, was called the Beau-Man, or Ma mon da gin

in-e. This young man had a friend and companion, whom he made a

confidant of his affairs. "Come," said he, one day in a sportive mood,

"let us go a courting to her who is so handsome, perhaps she may fancy

one of us." But she would listen to neither of them, and when the

handsome young man rallied from the coldness of her air, and made an

effort to overcome her indifference, she put together her thumb and

three fingers, and raising her hand gracefully towards him, deliberately

opened them in his face. This gesticulatory mode of rejection is one of

the highest contempt, and the young hunter retired confused and abashed.

His sense of pride was deeply wounded, and he was the more piqued, that

it had been done in the presence of others, and the affair was soon

noised about the village, and became the talk of every lodge circle.

Besides, he was a very sensitive man, and the thing so preyed upon him,

that he became moody, and at last took to his bed. He was taciturn,

often lying for days without uttering a word, with his eyes fixed on

vacancy, and taking little or no food. From this state no efforts could

rouse him; he felt abashed and dishonoured, even in the presence of his

own relatives, and no persuasions could induce him to rise. So that when

the family prepared to take down the lodge to remove, he still kept his

bed, and they were compelled to lift it over his head, and leave him

upon his skin couch. It was a time of general removal and breaking up of

the camp, for it was only a winter's hunting camp, and as the season of

the hunt was now over, and spring began to appear, they all moved off,

as by one impulse, to the place of their summer village, and in a short

time, all were gone, and he was left alone. The last person to leave him

was his boon companion, and cousin, who has been mentioned as also one

of the admirers of the forest belle. But even _his_ voice was

disregarded, and as soon as his steps died away on the creaking snow,

the stillness and solitude of the wilderness reigned around.

As soon as all were gone, and he could no longer, by listening, hear the

remotest sounds of the departing camp, the Beau-Man arose. It is to be

understood that this young man was aided by a powerful guardian spirit,

or personal Moneto; and he resolved to make use of his utmost power to

punish and humble the girl. For she was noted in the tribe for her

coquetry, and had treated others, who were every way her equals, as she

had done him. He resolved on a singular stratagem, by way of revenge.

For this purpose, he walked over the deserted camp, and gathered up all

the bits of soiled cloth, clippings of finery, and cast off clothing,

and ornaments which had either been left or lost. These he carefully

picked out of the snow, into which some of them had been trodden and

partially buried, and conveyed them to one place. The motley heap of

gaudy and soiled stuffs, he restored to their original beauty, and

determined to make them into a coat and leggins, which he trimmed with

beads, and finished and decorated after the best fashion of his tribe.

He then made a pair of moccasins and garnished them with beads, a bow

and arrows, and a frontlet and feathers for the head. Having done this,

he searched about for cast out bones of animals, pieces of skins,

clippings of dried meat, and even dirt, and having cemented them

together with snow, he filled the clothes with these things, and pressed

the mass firmly in, and fashioned it externally in all respects, like a

tall and well framed man. He put a bow and arrows in his hands, and the

frontlet on his head. And having finished it, he brought it to life, and

the image stood forth, in the most favoured lineaments of his fellows.

Such was the origin of Moowis, or the Dirt and Rag Man.

"Follow me," said the Beau-Man, "and I will direct you, how you shall

act." He was indeed, a very sightly person, and as they entered the new

encampment, the many colours of his clothes, the profusion of ornaments

which he had managed to give him, and his fine manly step, and animated

countenance, drew all eyes. And he was received by all, both old and

young, with marks of attention. The chief invited him to his lodge, and

he was feasted on the moose's hump and the finest venison.

But no one was better pleased with the handsome stranger than Ma mon da

go kwa. She fell in love with him at the first sight, and he was an

invited guest at the lodge of her mother, the very first evening of his

arrival. The Beau-man went with him, for it was under his patronage that

he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had another motive for

accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued his feelings of

admiration for the object, against whom he had, nevertheless, exerted

all his necromantic power, and he held himself subject to any favourable

turn, which he secretly hoped the visit might take, in relation to

himself. But no such turn occurred. Moowis attracted the chief

attention, and every eye and heart were alert to entertain him. In this

effort on the part of his entertainers, they had well nigh revealed his

true character, and dissolved him into his original elements of rags,

and snow, and dirt; for he was assigned the most prominent place before

the fire: this was a degree of heat which he could by no means endure.

To ward it off he put a boy between himself and the fire. He shifted his

position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manoeuvres, and timely

remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit up, and enjoy it. He

so managed these excuses, as not only to conceal his dread of immediate

dissolution, but to secure the further approbation of the fair forest

girl, who could not but admire one who had so brave a spirit of

endurance against the paralysing effects of cold.

The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated the effects

of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed. Before he

went, he saw him cross the lodge to the coveted _abinos_, or

bridegroom's seat. Marriage in the forest race, is a simple ceremony,

and where the impediments of custom are small, there is but little time

demanded for their execution. The dart which Ma mon da go kwa had so

often delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers, she was at

length fated herself to receive. She had married an image. As the

morning begun to break, the stranger arose and adjusted his warrior's

plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart. "I must go," said he,

"for I have an important business to do, and there are many hills and

streams between me and the object of my journey." "I will go with you,"

she replied. "It is too far," he rejoined, "and you are ill able to

encounter the perils of the way." "It is not so far, but that I can go,"

she responded, "and there are no dangers which I will not fully share

for you."

Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and detailed to him the

events we have described. Pity, for a moment, seized the breast of the

rejected youth. He regretted that she should thus have cast herself away

upon an image and a shadow, when she might have been mistress of the

best lodge in the band. "But it is her own folly," he said, "she has

turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence, and she must submit to

her fate."

The same morning the Image-man set forth, and his wife followed him,

according to custom, at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and

she could not keep up with his rapid pace; but she struggled hard, and

perseveringly to overtake him. Moowis had been long out of sight, when

the sun arose, and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of

dissolution. He began to melt away, and fall to pieces. As she followed

him, piece after piece of his clothing were found in the path. She

first found his mittens, then his moccasins, then his leggins, then his

coat, and other parts of his garments. As the heat unbound them, they

had all returned also to their debased and filthy condition. The way led

over rocks, through wind falls, across marshes. It whirled about to all

points of the compass, and had no certain direction or object. Rags,

bones, leather, beads, feathers, and soiled ribbons, were found, but she

never caught the sight of Moowis. She spent the day in wandering; and

when evening came, she was no nearer the object of her search than in

the morning, but the snow having now melted, she had completely lost his

track, and wandered about, uncertain which way to go, and in a state of

perfect despair. Finding herself lost, she begun, with bitter cries, to

bewail her fate.

"Moowis, Moowis," she cried. "Nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win

ig"--that is--Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray--you are leading

me astray. And with this cry she continued to wander in the woods.

Sometimes the village girls repeat the above words, varying the

expressions, till they constitute an irregular kind of song, which,

according to the versions of a friendly hand, may be set down as

follows:--

Moowis! Moowis!

Forest rover,----

Where art thou?

Ah my bravest, gayest lover,

Guide me now.

Moowis! Moowis!

Ah believe me,

List my moan,

Do not--do not, brave heart, leave me

All alone.

Moowis! Moowis!

Foot-prints vanished,

Whither wend I,

Fated, lost, detested, banished,

Must I die.

Moowis! Moowis!

Whither goest,

Eye-bright lover,

Ah thou ravenous bird that knowest,

I see you hover.

Circling--circling,

As I wander,

But to spy

Where I fall, and then to batten,

On my breast.

THE LONE LIGHTNING.

AN ODJIBWA TALE.

A little orphan boy who had no one to care for him, was once living with

his uncle, who treated him very badly, making him do hard things and

giving him very little to eat; so that the boy pined away, he never grew

much, and became, through hard usage, very thin and light. At last the

uncle felt ashamed of this treatment, and determined to make amends for

it, by fattening him up, but his real object was, to kill him by

over-feeding. He told his wife to give the boy plenty of bear's meat,

and let him have the fat, which is thought to be the best part. They

were both very assiduous in cramming him, and one day came near choking

him to death, by forcing the fat down his throat. The boy escaped and

fled from the lodge. He knew not where to go, but wandered about. When

night came on, he was afraid the wild beasts would eat him, so he

climbed up into the forks of a high pine tree, and there he fell asleep

in the branches, and had an aupoway, or ominous dream.

A person appeared to him from the upper sky, and said, "My poor little

lad, I pity you, and the bad usage you have received from your uncle has

led me to visit you: follow me, and step in my tracks." Immediately his

sleep left him, and he rose up and followed his guide, mounting up

higher and higher into the air, until he reached the upper sky. Here

twelve arrows were put into his hands, and he was told that there were a

great many manitoes in the northern sky, against whom he must go to war,

and try to waylay and shoot them. Accordingly he went to that part of

the sky, and, at long intervals, shot arrow after arrow, until he had

expended eleven, in vain attempt to kill the manitoes. At the flight of

each arrow, there was a long and solitary streak of lightning in the

sky--then all was clear again, and not a cloud or spot could be seen.

The twelfth arrow he held a long time in his hands, and looked around

keenly on every side to spy the manitoes he was after. But these

manitoes were very cunning, and could change their form in a moment. All

they feared was the boy's arrows, for these were magic arrows, which had

been given to him by a good spirit, and had power to kill them, if aimed

aright. At length, the boy drew up his last arrow, settled in his aim,

and let fly, as he thought, into the very heart of the chief of the

manitoes; but before the arrow reached him, he changed himself into a

rock. Into this rock, the head of the arrow sank deep and stuck fast.

"Now your gifts are all expended," cried the enraged manito, "and I will

make an example of your audacity and pride of heart, for lifting your

bow against me"--and so saying, he transformed the boy into the

Nazhik-[.a]-wae wae sun, or Lone Lightning, which may be observed in the

northern sky, to this day.

SKETCHES OF THE LIVES OF

NOTED RED MEN AND WOMEN

WHO HAVE APPEARED ON THE WESTERN CONTINENT.

CONFESSIONS OF CATHERINE OGEE WYAN AKWUT OKWA; OR THE WOMAN OF THE

BLUE-ROBED CLOUD, THE PROPHETESS OF CHEGOIMEGON.

[These confessions of the Western Pythoness were made after

she had relinquished the prophetic office, discarded all the

ceremonies of the Indian _Medawin_ and _Jesukeewin_, and

united herself to the Methodist Episcopal church, of which,

up to our latest dates, she remained a consistent member.

They are narrated in her own words.]

When I was a girl of about twelve or thirteen years of age, my mother

told me to look out for something that would happen to me. Accordingly,

one morning early, in the middle of winter, I found an unusual sign, and

ran off, as far from the lodge as I could, and remained there until my

mother came and found me out. She knew what was the matter, and brought

me nearer to the family lodge, and bade me help her in making a small

lodge of branches of the spruce tree. She told me to remain there, and

keep away from every one, and as a diversion, to keep myself employed in

chopping wood, and that she would bring me plenty of prepared bass wood

bark to twist into twine. She told me she would come to see me, in two

days, and that in the meantime I must not even taste snow.

I did as directed; at the end of two days she came to see me. I thought

she would surely bring me something to eat, but to my disappointment she

brought nothing. I suffered more from _thirst_, than hunger, though I

felt my stomach gnawing. My mother sat quietly down and said (after

ascertaining that I had not tasted anything, as she directed), "My

child, you are the youngest of your sisters, and none are now left me of

all my sons and children, but you _four_" (alluding to her two elder

sisters, herself and a little son, still a mere lad). "Who," she

continued, "will take care of us poor women? Now, my daughter, listen to

me, and try to obey. Blacken your face and fast _really_, that the

Master of Life may have pity on you and me, and on us all. Do not, in

the least, deviate from my counsels, and in two days more, I will come

to you. He will help you, if you are determined to do what is right, and

tell me, whether you are favored or not, by the _true_ Great Spirit; and

if your visions are not good, reject them." So saying, she departed.

I took my little hatchet and cut plenty of wood, and twisted the cord

that was to be used in sewing _ap puk way oon un_, or mats, for the use

of the family. Gradually, I began to feel less appetite, but my thirst

continued; still I was fearful of touching the snow to allay it, by

sucking it, as my mother had told me that if I did so, though secretly,

the Great Spirit would see me, and the lesser spirits also, and that my

fasting would be of no use. So I continued to fast till the fourth day,

when my mother came with a little tin dish, and filling it with snow,

she came to my lodge, and was well pleased to find that I had followed

her injunctions. She melted the snow, and told me to drink it. I did so,

and felt refreshed, but had a desire for more, which she told me would

not do, and I contented myself with what she had given me. She again

told me to get and follow a good vision--a vision that might not only do

us good, but also benefit mankind, if I could. She then left me, and for

two days she did not come near me, nor any human being, and I was left

to my own reflections. The night of the sixth day, I fancied a voice

called to me, and said: "Poor child! I pity your condition; come, you

are invited this way;" and I thought the voice proceeded from a certain

distance from my lodge. I obeyed the summons, and going to the spot from

which the voice came, found a thin shining path, like a silver cord,

which I followed. It led straight forward, and, it seemed, upward. No.

3. After going a short distance I stood still, and saw on my right hand

the new moon, with a flame rising from the top like a candle, which

threw around a broad light. No. 4. On the left appeared the sun, near

the point of its setting. No. 11. I went on, and I beheld on my right

the face of _Kau ge gag be qua_, or the everlasting woman, No. 5, who

told me her name, and said to me, "I give you my name, and you may give

it to another. I also give you that which I have, life everlasting. I

give you long life on the earth, and skill in saving life in others. Go,

you are called on high."

I went on, and saw a man standing with a large circular body, and rays

from his head, like horns. No. 6. He said, "Fear not, my name is Monedo

Wininees, or the Little man Spirit. I give this name to your first son.

It is my life. Go to the place you are called to visit." I followed the

path till I could see that it led up to an opening in the sky, when I

heard a voice, and standing still, saw the figure of a man standing near

the path, whose head was surrounded with a brilliant halo, and his

breast was covered with squares. No. 7. He said to me: "Look at me, my

name is _O Shau wau e geeghick_, or the Bright Blue Sky. I am the veil

that covers the opening into the sky. Stand and listen to me. Do not be

afraid. I am going to endow you with gifts of life, and put you in array

that you may withstand and endure." Immediately I saw myself encircled

with bright points which rested against me like needles, but gave me no

pain, and they fell at my feet. No. 9. This was repeated several times,

and at each time they fell to the ground. He said, "wait and do not

fear, till I have said and done all I am about to do." I then felt

different instruments, first like awls, and then like nails stuck into

my flesh, but neither did they give me pain, but like the needles, fell

at my feet, as often as they appeared. He then said, "that is good,"

meaning my trial by these points. "You will see length of days. Advance

a little farther," said he. I did so, and stood at the commencement of

the opening. "You have arrived," said he, "at the limit you cannot pass.

I give you my name, you can give it to another. Now, return! Look around

you. There is a conveyance for you. No. 10. Do not be afraid to get on

its back, and when you get to your lodge, you must take that which

sustains the human body." I turned, and saw a kind of fish swimming in

the air, and getting upon it as directed, was carried back with

celerity, my hair floating behind me in the air. And as soon as I got

back, my vision ceased.

In the morning, being the sixth day of my fast, my mother came with a

little bit of dried trout. But such was my sensitiveness to all sounds,

and my increased power of scent, produced by fasting, that before she

came in sight I heard her, while a great way off, and when she came in,

I could not bear the smell of the fish or herself either. She said, "I

have brought something for you to eat, only a mouthful, to prevent your

dying." She prepared to cook it, but I said, "Mother, forbear, I do not

wish to eat it--the smell is offensive to me." She accordingly left off

preparing to cook the fish, and again encouraged me to persevere, and

try to become a comfort to her in her old age and bereaved state, and

left me.

I attempted to cut wood, as usual, but in the effort I fell back on the

snow, from weariness, and lay some time; at last I made an effort and

rose, and went to my lodge and lay down. I again saw the vision, and

each person who had before spoken to me, and heard the promises of

different kinds made to me, and the songs. I went the same path which I

had pursued before, and met with the same reception. I also had another

vision, or celestial visit, which I shall presently relate. My mother

came again on the seventh day, and brought me some pounded corn boiled

in _snow water_, for she said I must not drink water from lake or river.

After taking it, I related my vision to her. She said it was good, and

spoke to me to continue my fast three days longer. I did so; at the end

of which she took me home, and made a feast in honor of my success, and

invited a great many guests. I was told to eat sparingly, and to take

nothing too hearty or substantial; but this was unnecessary, for my

abstinence had made my senses so acute, that all animal food had a gross

and disagreeable odor.

After the seventh day of my fast (she continued), while I was lying in

my lodge, I saw a dark round object descending from the sky like a round

stone, and enter my lodge. As it came near, I saw that it had small feet

and hands like a human body. It spoke to me and said, "I give you the

gift of seeing into futurity, that you may use it, for the benefit of

yourself and the Indians--your relations and tribes-people." It then

departed, but as it went away, it assumed wings, and looked to me like

the red-headed woodpecker.

In consequence of being thus favored, I assumed the arts of a medicine

woman and a prophetess; but never those of a Wabeno. The first time I

exercised the prophetical art, was at the strong and repeated

solicitations of my friends. It was in the winter season, and they were

then encamped west of the Wisacoda, or Brule river of Lake Superior, and

between it and the plains west. There were, besides my mother's family

and relatives, a considerable number of families. They had been some

time at the place, and were near starving, as they could find no game.

One evening the chief of the party came into my mother's lodge. I had

lain down, and was supposed to be asleep, and he requested of my mother

that she would allow me to try my skill to relieve them. My mother spoke

to me, and after some conversation, she gave her consent. I told them to

build the _Jee suk aun_, or prophet's lodge, _strong_, and gave

particular directions for it. I directed that it should consist of ten

posts or saplings, each of a different kind of wood, which I named. When

it was finished, and tightly wound with skins, the entire population of

the encampment assembled around it and I went in, taking only a small

drum. I immediately knelt down, and holding my head near the ground, in

a position as near as may be prostrate, began beating my drum, and

reciting my songs or incantations. The lodge commenced shaking

violently, by supernatural means. I knew this, by the compressed current

of air above, and the noise of motion. This being regarded by me, and by

all without, as a proof of the presence of the spirits I consulted, I

ceased beating and singing, and lay still, waiting for questions, in the

position I had at first assumed.

The first question put to me, was in relation to the game, and _where_

it was to be found. The response was given by the orbicular spirit, who

had appeared to me. He said, "How short-sighted you are! If you will go

in a _west_ direction, you will find game in abundance." Next day the

camp was broken up, and they all moved westward, the hunters, as usual,

going far ahead. They had not proceeded far beyond the bounds of their

former hunting circle, when they came upon tracks of moose, and that

day, they killed a female and two young moose, nearly full-grown. They

pitched their encampment anew, and had abundance of animal food in this

new position.

My reputation was established by this success, and I was afterwards

noted in the tribe, in the art of a medicine woman, and sung the songs

which I have given to you. About four years after, I was married to O

Mush Kow Egeezhick, or the Strong Sky, who was a very active and

successful hunter, and kept his lodge well supplied with food; and we

lived happy. After I had had two children, a girl and a boy, we went

out, as is the custom of the Indians in the spring, to visit the white

settlements. One night, while we were encamped at the head of the

portage at Pauwating (the Falls of St. Mary's), angry words passed

between my husband and a half Frenchman named Gaultier, who, with his

two cousins, in the course of the dispute, drew their knives and a

tomahawk, and stabbed and cut him in four or five places, in his body,

head and thighs. This happened the first year that the Americans came to

that place (1822). He had gone out at a late hour in the evening, to

visit the tent of Gaultier. Having been urged by one of the trader's men

to take liquor that evening, and it being already late, I desired him

not to go, but to defer his visit till next day; and after he had left

the lodge, I felt a sudden presentiment of evil, and I went after him,

and renewed my efforts in vain. He told me to return, and as I had two

children in the lodge, the youngest of whom, a boy, was still in his

cradle, and then ill, I sat up with him late, and waited and waited,

till a late hour, and then fell asleep from exhaustion. I slept very

sound. The first I knew, was a violent shaking from a girl, a niece of

Gaultier's, who told me my husband and Gaultier were all the time

quarrelling. I arose, and went up the stream to Gaultier's camp fire. It

was nearly out, and I tried in vain to make it blaze. I looked into his

tent, but all was dark and not a soul there. They had suddenly fled,

although I did not at the moment know the cause. I tried to make a light

to find my husband, but could find nothing dry, for it had rained very

hard the day before. After being out a while my vision became clearer,

and turning toward the river side, I saw a dark object lying near the

shore, on a grassy opening. I was attracted by something glistening,

which turned out to be his ear-rings. I thought he was asleep, and in

stooping to awake him, I slipped and fell on my knees. I had slipped in

his blood on the grass, and putting my hand on his face, found him dead.

In the morning the Indian agent came with soldiers from the fort, to see

what had happened, but the murderer and all his bloody gang of relatives

had fled. The agent gave orders to have the body buried in the old

Indian burial ground, below the Falls.

My aged mother was encamped about a mile off, at this time. I took my

two children in the morning, and fled to her lodge. She had just heard

of the murder, and was crying as I entered. I reminded her that it was

an act of providence, to which we must submit. She said it was for me

and my poor helpless children that she was crying--that I was left as

she had been, years before, with nobody to provide for us. With her I

returned to my native country at Chegoimegon on Lake Superior.

Thus far, her own narrative. We hope, in a future number, to give

further particulars of her varied, and rather eventful life; together

with specimens of her medicine, and prophetic songs.

RULING CHIEF OF THE MIAMIS.

Died, on the 13th inst. (August, 1841), at his residence on the St.

Mary's, four and a half miles south-west of this city, John B.

Richardville, principal chief of the Miami nation of Indians, aged about

eighty years.

Chief Richardville, or "_Piskewah_" (which is an Indian name, meaning in

English "wild-cat"), was born on the point across the Maumee river,

opposite this city, under or near a large apple tree, on the farm of the

late Colonel Coles; and at a very early age, by succession, became the

chief of the tribe, his mother being chieftainess at the time of his

birth. His situation soon brought him in contact with the whites, and he

was in several engagements, the most important of which was the

celebrated slaughter on the St. Joseph River, one mile north of this

city, designated as "Harmar's Defeat," where several hundred whites,

under General Harmar, were cut off in attempting to ford the river, by

the Indians, who lay in ambush on the opposite shore, by firing upon the

whites when in the act of crossing; which slaughter crimsoned the river

a number of days for several miles below with the blood of the

unfortunate victims.

The Chief is universally spoken of as having been kind and humane to

prisoners--far more so than most of his race; and as soon as peace was

restored, became a worthy citizen, and enjoyed the confidence of the

whites to the fullest extent. He spoke good French and English, as well

as his native tongue; and for many years his house, which is pleasantly

situated on the banks of the St. Mary's, and which was always open for

the reception of friends--was a place of resort for parties of pleasure,

who always partook of the hospitality of his house.

The old man was strictly honest, but remarkably watchful of his

interest, and amassed a fortune exceeding probably a million of dollars,

consisting of nearly $200,000 in specie on hand, and the balance in the

most valuable kind of real estate, which he has distributed by "will"

among his numerous relations with "even-handed justice." He had always

expressed a great anxiety to live, but when he became conscious that the

time of his departure was near at hand, he resigned himself with perfect

composure, saying that it was ordered that all must die, and he was then

ready and willing to answer the call of the "Great Spirit." His remains

were deposited in the Catholic burying-ground with religious

ceremonies.--_Fort Wayne_ (_Ind._) _Sentinel._

THE MAGICIAN OF LAKE HURON.

AN OTTOWA TALE RELATED BY NABUNWA IN THE INDIAN TONGUE, TO MR. GEORGE

JOHNSTON.

At the time that the Ottowas inhabited the Manatoline Islands, in Lake

Huron, there was a famous magician living amongst them whose name was

Masswaeweinini, or the Living Statue. It happened, by the fortune of war,

that the Ottowa tribe were driven off that chain of islands by the

Iroquois, and obliged to flee away to the country lying between Lake

Superior and the Upper Mississippi, to the banks of a lake which is

still called, by the French, and in memory of this migration, _Lac

Courtorielle_, or the lake of the Cut-ears, a term which is their _nom

de guerre_ for this tribe. But the magician Masswaeweinini remained

behind on the wide-stretching and picturesque Manatoulins, a group of

islands which had been deemed, from the earliest times, a favorite

residence of the manitoes or spirits. His object was to act as a

sentinel to his countrymen, and keep a close watch on their enemies, the

Iroquois, that he might give timely information of their movements. He

had with him two boys; with their aid he paddled stealthily around the

shores, kept himself secreted in nooks and bays, and hauled up his canoe

every night, into thick woods, and carefully obliterated his tracks upon

the sand.

One day he rose very early, and started on a hunting excursion, leaving

the boys asleep, and limiting himself to the thick woods, lest he should

be discovered. At length he came unexpectedly to the borders of an

extensive open plain. After gazing around him, and seeing no one, he

directed his steps across it, intending to strike the opposite side of

it; while travelling, he discovered a man of small stature, who appeared

suddenly on the plain before him, and advanced to meet him. He wore a

red feather on his head, and coming up with a familiar air, accosted

Masswaeweinini by name, and said gaily, "Where are you going?" He then

took out his smoking apparatus, and invited him to smoke. "Pray," said

he, while thus engaged, "wherein does your strength lie." "My strength,"

answered Masswaeweinini, "is similar to the human race, and common to the

strength given to them, and no stronger." "We must wrestle," said the

man of the red feather. "If you should make me fall, you will say to me,

I have thrown you, _Wa ge me na_."

As soon as they had finished smoking and put up their pipe, the

wrestling began. For a long time the strife was doubtful. The strength

of Masswaeweinini was every moment growing fainter. The man of the red

feather, though small of stature, proved himself very active, but at

length he was foiled and thrown to the ground. Immediately his adversary

cried out, "I have thrown you: _wa ge me na_;" and in an instant his

antagonist had vanished. On looking to the spot where he had fallen, he

discovered a crooked ear of _mondamin_, or Indian corn, lying on the

ground, with the usual red hairy tassel at the top. While he was gazing

at this strange sight, and wondering what it could mean, a voice

addressed him from the ground. "Now," said the speaking ear, for the

voice came from it, "divest me of my covering--leave nothing to hide my

body from your eyes. You must then separate me into parts, pulling off

my body from the spine upon which I grow. Throw me into different parts

of the plain. Then break my spine and scatter it in small pieces near

the edge of the woods, and return to visit the place, after _one moon_."

Masswaeweinini obeyed these directions, and immediately set out on his

return to his lodge. On the way he killed a deer, and on reaching his

canoe, he found the boys still asleep. He awoke them and told them to

cook his venison, but he carefully concealed from them his adventure. At

the expiration of the moon he again, _alone_, visited his wrestling

ground, and to his surprise, found the plain filled with the spikes and

blades of new grown corn. In the place where he had thrown the pieces of

cob, he found pumpkin vines growing in great luxuriance. He concealed

this discovery also, carefully from the young lads, and after his return

busied himself as usual, in watching the movements of his enemies along

the coasts of the island. This he continued, till summer drew near its

close. He then directed his canoe to the coast of that part of the

island where he had wrestled with the Red Plume, drew up his canoe, bid

the lads stay by it, and again visited his wrestling ground. He found

the corn in full ear, and pumpkins of an immense size. He plucked ears

of corn, and gathered some of the pumpkins, when a voice again addressed

him from the cornfield. "Masswaeweinini, you have conquered me. Had you

not done so, your existence would have been forfeited. Victory has

crowned your strength, and from henceforth you shall never be in want of

my body. It will be nourishment for the human race." Thus his ancestors

received the gift of corn.

Masswaeweinini now returned to his canoe, and informed the young men of

his discovery, and showed them specimens. They were astonished and

delighted with the novelty.

There were, in those days, many wonderful things done on these islands.

One night, while Masswaeweinini was lying down, he heard voices speaking,

but he still kept his head covered, as if he had not heard them. One

voice said, "This is Masswaeweinini, and we must get his heart." "In what

way can we get it?" said another voice. "You must put your hand in his

mouth," replied the first voice, "and draw it out that way."

Masswaeweinini still kept quiet, and did not stir. He soon felt the hand

of a person thrust in his mouth. When sufficiently far in, he bit off

the fingers, and thus escaped the danger. The voices then retired, and

he was no further molested. On examining the fingers in the morning,

what was his surprise to find them long wampum beads, which are held in

such high estimation by all the Indian tribes. He had slept, as was his

custom, in the thick woods. On going out to the open shore, at a very

early hour, he saw a canoe at a small distance, temporarily drawn up on

the beach; on coming closer, he found a man in the bows and another in

the stern, with their arms and hands extended in a fixed position. One

of them had lost its fingers: it was evidently the man who had attempted

to thrust his arm down his throat. They were two Pukwudjininees, or

fairies. But on looking closer, they were found to be transformed into

statues of stone. He took these stone images on shore, and set them up

in the woods.

Their canoe was one of the most beautiful structures which it is

possible to imagine, four fathoms in length, and filled with bags of

treasures of every description and of the most exquisite workmanship.

These bags were of different weight, according to their contents. He

busied himself in quickly carrying them into the woods, together with

the canoe, which he concealed in a cave. One of the fairy images then

spoke to him and said: "In this manner, the Ottowa canoes will hereafter

be loaded, when they pass along this coast, although your nation are

driven away by their cruel enemies the Iroquois." The day now began to

dawn fully, when he returned to his two young companions, who were still

asleep. He awoke them, and exultingly bid them cook, for he had brought

abundance of meat and fish, and other viands, the gifts of the fairies.

After this display of good fortune, he bethought him of his aged father

and mother, who were in exile at the Ottowa lake. To wish, and to

accomplish his wish, were but the work of an instant with Masswaeweinini.

One night as he lay awake, reflecting on their condition, far away from

their native fields, and in exile, he resolved to visit them, and bring

them back to behold and to participate in his abundance. To a common

traveller, it would be a journey of twenty or thirty days, but

Masswaeweinini was at their lodge before daylight. He found them asleep,

and took them up softly in his arms and flew away with them through the

air, and brought them to his camp on the Manatolines, or Spirit's

Islands. When they awoke, their astonishment was at its highest pitch;

and was only equalled by their delight in finding themselves in their

son's lodge, in their native country, and surrounded with abundance.

Masswaeweinini went and built them a lodge, near the corn and wrestling

plain. He then plucked some ears of the corn, and taking some of the

pumpkins, brought them to his father and mother. He then told them how

he had obtained the precious gift, by wrestling with a spirit in red

plumes, and that there was a great abundance of it in his fields. He

also told them of the precious canoe of the fairies, loaded with sacks

of the most costly and valuable articles. But one thing seemed necessary

to complete the happiness of his father, which he observed by seeing him

repeatedly at night looking into his smoking pouch. He comprehended his

meaning in a moment. "It is tobacco, my father, that you want. You shall

also have this comfort in two days." "But where," replied the old man,

"can you get it--away from all supplies, and surrounded by your

enemies?" "My enemies," he answered, "shall supply it--I will go over to

the Nadowas of the Bear totem, living at Penetanguishine."

The old man endeavored to dissuade him from the journey, knowing their

blood-thirsty character, but in vain. Masswaeweinini determined

immediately to go. It was now winter weather, the lake was frozen over,

but he set out on the ice, and although it is forty leagues, he reached

Penetanguishine the same evening. The Nadowas discerned him coming--they

were amazed at the swiftness of his motions, and thinking him somewhat

supernatural, feared him, and invited him to rest in their lodges, but

he thanked them, saying that he preferred making a fire near the shore.

In the evening they visited him, and were anxious to know the object of

his journey, at so inclement a season. He said it was merely to get some

tobacco for his father. They immediately made a contribution of the

article and gave it to him. During the night they however laid a plot to

kill him. Some of the old men rushed into his lodge, their leader crying

out to him, "You are a dead man." "No, I am not," said Masswaeweinini,

"but you are," accompanying his words with a blow of his tomahawk, which

laid the Nadowa dead at his feet. Another and another came, to supply

the place of their fallen comrade, but he despatched them in like

manner, as quickly as they came, until he had killed six. He then took

all the tobacco from their smoking pouches. By this time, the day began

to dawn, when he set out for his father's lodge, which he reached with

incredible speed, and before twilight, spread out his trophies before

the old man.

When spring returned, his cornfield grew up, without planting, or any

care on his part, and thus the _maize_ was introduced among his people

and their descendants, who have ever been noted, and are at this day,

for their fine crops of this grain, and their industry in its

cultivation. It is from their custom of trading in this article, that

this tribe are called Ottowas.

CORN-PLANTING, AND ITS INCIDENTS.

The zea, mais, originally furnished the principal article of subsistence

among all the tribes of this race, north and south. It laid at the

foundation of the Mexican and Peruvian types of civilization, as well as

the incipient gleamings of it, among the more warlike tribes of the

Iroquois, Natchez, Lenapees, and others, of northern latitudes. They

esteem it so important and divine a grain, that their story-tellers

invented various tales, in which this idea is symbolized under the form

of a special gift from the Great Spirit. The Odjibwa-Algonquins, who

call it Mon-da-min, that is, the Spirit's grain or berry, have a pretty

story of this kind, in which the stalk in full tassel, is represented as

descending from the sky, under the guise of a handsome youth, in answer

to the prayers of a young man at his fast of virility, or coming to

manhood.

It is well known that corn-planting, and corn-gathering, at least among

all the still _uncolonized_ tribes, are left entirely to the females and

children, and a few superannuated old men. It is not generally known,

perhaps, that this labour is not compulsory, and that it is assumed by

the females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the onerous and

continuous labour of the other sex, in providing meats, and skins for

clothing, by the chase, and in defending their villages against their

enemies, and keeping intruders off their territories. A good Indian

housewife deems this a part of her prerogative, and prides herself to

have a store of corn to exercise her hospitality, or duly honour her

husband's hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests.

The area of ground planted is not, comparatively, large. This matter is

essentially regulated by the number of the family, and other

circumstances. Spring is a leisure season with them, and by its genial

and reviving influence, invites to labour. An Indian female has no cows

to milk, no flax to spin, no yarn to reel. Even those labours, which, at

other seasons fall to her share, are now intermitted. She has apukwas to

gather to make mats. Sugar-making has ended. She has no skins to dress,

for the hunt has ended, the animals being out of season. It is at this

time that the pelt grows bad, the hair becomes loose and falls off, and

nature itself teaches the hunter, that the species must have repose, and

be allowed a little time to replenish. Under these circumstances the

mistress of the lodge and her train, sally out of the lodge into the

cornfield, and with the light pemidge-ag akwut, or small hoe, open up

the soft ground and deposit their treasured mondamin.

The Indian is emphatically a superstitious being, believing in all sorts

of magical, and secret, and wonderful influences. Woman, herself, comes

in for no small share of these supposed influences. I shrewdly suspect

that one half of the credit we have been in the habit of giving the

warrior, on the score of virtue, in his treatment of captives, is due

alone to his superstitions. He is afraid, at all times, to spoil his

luck, cross his fate, and do some untoward act, by which he might,

perchance, fall under a bad spiritual influence.

To the wewun, or wife--the equa, or woman, to the guh or mother,--to the

equazas, or girl, and to the danis, or daughter, and shema, or sister,

he looks, as wielding, in their several capacities, whether kindred or

not, these mystic influences over his luck. In consequence of this, the

female never walks in the path before him. It is an unpropitious sign.

If she cross his track, when he is about to set out on a hunting, or war

excursion, his luck is gone. If she is ill, from natural causes, she

cannot even stay in the same wigwam. She cannot use a cup or a bowl

without rendering it, in his view, unclean.

A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious

influence of the steps of a woman on the vegetable and insect creation,

is found in an ancient custom, which was related to me, respecting

corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter's wife, when the field

of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or overclouded

evening, to perform a secret circuit, sans habilement, around the field.

For this purpose she slipt out of the lodge in the evening, unobserved,

to some obscure nook, where she completely disrobed. Then taking her

matchecota, or principal garment in one hand, she dragged it around the

field. This was thought to ensure a prolific crop, and to prevent the

assaults of insects and worms upon the grain. It was supposed they could

not creep over the charmed line.

But if corn-planting be done in a lively and satisfied, and not a

slavish spirit, corn-gathering and husking is a season of decided

thankfulness and merriment. At these gatherings, the chiefs and old men

are mere spectators, although they are pleased spectators, the young

only sharing in the sport. Who has not seen, the sedate ogema in such a

vicinage, smoking a dignified pipe with senatorial ease. On the other

hand, turning to the group of nature's red daughters and their young

cohorts, it may be safely affirmed that laughter and garrulity

constitute no part of the characteristics of civilization. Whatever else

custom has bound fast, in the domestic female circle of forest life, the

tongue is left loose. Nor does it require, our observation leads us to

think, one tenth part of the wit or drollery of ancient Athens, to set

their risible faculties in motion.

If one of the young female huskers finds a _red_ ear of corn, it is

typical of a brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to some

young warrior. But if the ear be _crooked_, and tapering to a point, no

matter what colour, the whole circle is set in a roar, and _wa ge min_

is the word shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the cornfield.

It is considered as the image of an old man stooping as he enters the

lot. Had the chisel of Praxitiles been employed to produce this image,

it could not more vividly bring to the minds of the merry group, the

idea of a pilferer of their favourite mondamin. Nor is there any doubt

on these occasions, that the occurrence truly reveals the fact that the

cornfield has actually been thus depredated on.

The term wagemin, which unfolds all these ideas, and reveals, as by a

talisman, all this information, is derived in part, from the tri-literal

term Waweau, that which is bent or crooked. The termination in g, is the

animate plural, and denotes not only that there is more than one object,

but that the subject is noble or invested with the importance of

animated beings. The last member of the compound, min, is a shortened

sound of the generic meen, a grain, or berry. To make these coalesce,

agreeably to the native laws of euphony, the short vowel i, is thrown

in, between the verbal root and substantive, as a connective. The

literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of grain; but the

ear of corn so called, is a conventional type of a little old man

pilfering ears of corn in a cornfield. It is in this manner, that a

single word or term, in these curious languages, becomes the fruitful

parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive why it is that the word

wagemin is alone competent to excite merriment in the husking circle.

This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus or corn song, as

sung by the northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the phrase

Paimosaid,--a permutative form of the Indian substantive made from the

verb, pim-o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, he who walks, or the

walker; but the ideas conveyed by it, are, he who walks at night to

pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in expression,

to the preceding term. The chorus is entirely composed of these two

terms, variously repeated, and may be set down as follows:

Wagemin,

Wagemin,

Paimosaid.

Wagemin,

Wagemin,

Paimosaid.

When this chant has been sung, there is a pause, during which some one

who is expert in these things, and has a turn for the comic or ironic,

utters a short speech, in the manner of a recitative, in which a

peculiar intonation is given, and generally interrogates the supposed

pilferer, as if he were present to answer questions, or accusations.

There can be no pretence, that this recitative part of the song is

always the same, at different times and places, or even that the same

person should not vary his phraseology. On the contrary, it is often an

object to vary it. It is a perfect improvisation, and it may be supposed

that the native composer is always actuated by a desire to please, as

much as possible by novelty. The whole object indeed is, to keep up the

existing merriment, and excite fun and laughter.

The following may be taken as one of these recitative songs, written

out, on the plan of preserving the train of thought, and some of those

peculiar interjections in which these languages so much abound. The

chorus alone, it is to be observed, is fixed in its words and metre,

however transposed or repeated, and, unlike an English song, precedes

the stanza or narrative.

CORN SONG.

Cereal chorus. Wagemin! wagemin!

Thief in the blade,

Blight of the cornfield

Paimosaid.

Recitative. See you not traces, while pulling the leaf,

Plainly depicting the TAKER and thief?

See you not signs by the ring and the spot,

How the man crouched as he crept in the lot?

Is it not plain by this mark on the stalk,

That he was heavily bent in his walk?

Old man be nimble! the old should be good,

But thou art a cowardly thief of the wood.

Cereal chorus. Wagemin! wagemin!

Thief in the blade,

Blight of the cornfield

Paimosaid.

Recitative. Where, little TAKER of things not your own--

Where is your rattle, your drum, and your bone?

Surely a WALKER so nimble of speed,

Surely he must be a Meta[13] indeed.

See how he stoops, as he breaks off the ear,

Nushka![14] he seems for a moment in fear;

Walker, be nimble--oh! walker be brief,

Hooh![15] it is plain the old man is the thief.

Cereal chorus. Wagemin! wagemin!

Thief in the blade,

Blight of the cornfield

Paimosaid.

Recitative. Wabuma![16] corn-taker, why do you lag?

None but the stars see you--fill up your bag!

Why do you linger to gaze as you pull,

Tell me, my little man, is it most full?

A-tia![17] see, a red spot on the leaf,

Surely a warrior cannot be a thief!

Ah, little night-thief, be deer your pursuit,

And leave here no print of your dastardly foot.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] A Juggler.

[14] A sharp exclamation quickly to behold something striking.

[15] A derogatory exclamation.

[16] Behold thou.

[17] A masculine exclamation, to express surprise.

TO HEALTH.

BY THE LATE JOHN JOHNSTON, ESQ.

Health! dearest of the heavenly powers,

With thee to pass my evening hours,

Ah! deign to hear my prayer;

For what can wealth or beauty give,

If still in anguish doomed to live

A slave to pain and care.

Not sovereign power, nor charms of love,

Nor social joys the heart can move,

If thou refuse thy aid;

E'en friendship, sympathy divine!

Does, in thy absence, faintly shine,

Thou all-inspiring maid.

Return then, to my longing soul,

Which sighs to feel thy sweet control

Transfused through every pore;

My muse, enraptured, then shall sing

Thee--gift of heaven's all bounteous king,

And gratefully adore.

_February 4, 1807._

DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL MANNERS OF THE INDIANS, WHILE ON THEIR WINTERING

GROUNDS.

The Indian, who takes his position as an orator, in front of his people,

and before a mixed assemblage of white men, is to be regarded, in a

measure, as an actor, who has assumed a part to perform. He regards

himself as occupying a position in which all eyes are directed upon him,

in scrutiny, and he fortifies himself for the occasion, by redoubled

efforts in cautiousness and studied stoicism. Rigid of muscle, and

suspicious of mind by nature, he brings to his aid the advantages of

practised art, to bear him out in speaking for his tribe, and to quit

him manfully of his task by uttering sentiments worthy of them and of

himself. This is the statue-like and artistic phasis of the man. It is

here that he is, truly

"A man without a fear--a stoic of the wood."

All this is laid aside, so far as it is assumed, when he returns from

the presence of the "pale-faces," and rejoins his friends and kindred,

in his own village, far away from all public gaze, in the deep recesses

of the forest. Let us follow the man to this retreat, and see what are

his domestic manners, habits, amusements, and opinions.

I have myself visited an Indian camp, in the far-off area of the

NORTH-WEST, in the dead of winter, under circumstances suited to allay

his suspicions, and inspire confidence, and have been struck with the

marked change there is in his social temper, character, and feelings.

And I have received the same testimony from Indian traders, who have

spent years among them in these secluded positions, and been received by

them as friends and kindred. All indeed, who have had frequent and full

opportunities of witnessing the red man on his hunting grounds, concur

in bearing evidence to his social, hospitable, and friendly habits and

manners. Viewed in such positions, the most perfect sincerity and

cheerfulness prevail; and their intercourse is marked with the broadest

principles of charity and neighborly feeling. The restraint and ever

watchful suspicion which they evince at the frontier post, or in other

situations exposed to the scrutiny and cupidity of white men, is thrown

aside and gives way to ease, sociability and pleasantry. They feel while

thus ensconced in the shades of their native forests, a security unknown

to their breasts in any other situations. The strife seems to be, who

shall excel in offices of friendship and charity, or in spreading the

festive board. If one is more fortunate than the other, in taking meat,

or wielding the arrow or spear, the spoil is set apart for a feast, to

which all the adults, without distinction, are invited. When the set

time of the feast arrives, each one, according to ancient custom, takes

his dish and spoon, and proceeds to the entertainer's lodge. The

victuals are served up with scrupulous attention that each receives a

portion of the best parts. While at the meal, which is prolonged by

cheerful conversation, anecdote, and little narrations of personal

adventure, the females are generally listeners; and none, except the

aged, ever obtrude a remark. The young women and girls show that they

partake in the festivity by smiles, and are scrupulous to evince their

attention to the elder part of the company. Conversation is chiefly

engrossed by the old men and chiefs, and middle-aged men. Young men, who

are desirous to acquire a standing, seldom offer a remark, and when they

_do_, it is with modesty. The topics discussed at these public meals

relate generally to the _chace_, to the _news_ they have heard, or to

personal occurrences about the village; or to deeds, "real or fabulous,"

of "old lang syne;" but the matters are discussed in a lively, and not

in a grave style. Business, if we may be allowed that term for what

concerns their trade and government intercourse, is never introduced

except in _formal councils_, convened specially, and opened formally by

smoking the pipe. It seems to be the drift of conversation, in these

sober festivities (for it must be recollected that we are speaking of

the Indians on their wintering grounds and beyond the reach, certainly

beyond the free or ordinary use of ardent spirits), to extract from

their hunts and adventures, whatever will admit of a pleasant turn, draw

forth a joke, or excite a laugh. Ridiculous misadventures, or comical

situations, are sure to be applauded in the recital. Whatever is

anti-social, or untoward, is passed over, or if referred to by another,

is parried off, by some allusion to the scene before them.

Religion (we use this term for what concerns the great spirit, sacred

dreams, and the ceremonies of the Meda or medicine dance), like

business, is reserved for its proper occasion. It does not form, as with

us, a free topic of remark, at least among those who are professors of

the dance. Thus they cheat away the hours in pleasantry, free, but not

tumultuous in their mirth, but as ardently bent on the enjoyment of the

present moment, as if the sum of life were contained in these three

words, "eat, drink, and be merry." When the feast is over, the women

return to their lodges, and leave the men to smoke. On their return,

they commence a conversation on what they have heard the men advance,

and thus amuse themselves till their husbands return. The end of all is

generally some good advice to the children.

The company in these ordinary feasts is as general, with respect to the

rank, age or standing of the guests, as the most unlimited equality of

rights can make it. All the aged and many of the young are invited.

There is, however, another feast instituted, at certain times during

the season, to which young persons only are invited, or admitted, except

the entertainer and his wife, and generally two other aged persons, who

preside over the feast and administer its rites. The object of this

feast seems to be instruction, to which the young and thoughtless are

induced to listen for the anticipated pleasure of the feast. Before this

feast commences, the entertainer, or some person fluent in speech, whom

he has selected for the purpose, gets up and addresses the youth of both

sexes on the subject of their course through life. He admonishes them to

be attentive and respectful to the aged and to adhere to their counsels:

never to scoff at the decrepid, deformed, or blind: to obey their

parents: to be modest in their conduct: to be charitable and hospitable:

to fear and love the great Spirit, who is the giver of life and every

good gift. These precepts are dwelt upon at great length, and generally

enforced by examples of a good man and woman and a bad man and woman,

and after drawing the latter, it is ever the custom to say, "you will be

like one of these." At the end of every sentence, the listeners make a

general cry of haa. When the advice is finished, an address, or kind of

prayer to the great Spirit is made, in which he is thanked for the food

before them, and for the continuance of life. The speaker then says,

"Thus the great Spirit supplies us with food; act justly, and conduct

well, and you will ever be thus bountifully supplied." The feast then

commences, and the elders relax their manner and mix with the rest, but

are still careful to preserve order, and a decent, respectful behavior

among the guests.

Let it not be supposed, however, that the Indian's life, while on his

wintering grounds, is a round of feasting. Quite the contrary; and his

feasts are often followed by long and painful fasts, and the severity of

the seasons, and scarcity of game and fish, often reduce himself and

family to the verge of starvation, and even death. When the failure of

game, or any other causes, induce the hunter to remove to a new circle

of country, the labor of the removal falls upon the female part of the

family. The lodge, utensils and fixtures of every kind, are borne upon

the women's backs, sustained by a strap of leather around the forehead.

On reaching the intended place of encampment, the snow is cleared away,

cedar branches brought and spread for a flooring, the lodge set up, the

moveables stowed away, wood collected, and a fire built, and then, and

not until then, can the females sit down and warm their feet and dry

their moccasins. If there be any provisions, a supper is cooked. If

there be none, all studiously strive to conceal the exhibition of the

least concern on this account, and seek to divert their thoughts by

conversation quite foreign to the subject. The little children are the

only part of the family who complain, and who are privileged to

complain, but even they are taught at an early age to suffer and be

silent. Generally, something is reserved by the mother, when food

becomes scarce, to satisfy their clamors, and they are satisfied with

little. On such occasions, if the family have gone supperless to rest,

the father and elder sons rise early in the morning in search of

something. If one has the luck to kill even a partridge or a squirrel,

it is immediately carried to the lodge, cooked, and divided into as many

parts as there are members of the family. On these occasions, the elder

ones often make a merit of relinquishing their portions to the women and

children. If nothing rewards the search, the whole day is spent by the

father upon his snow-shoes, with his gun in his hands, and he returns at

night, fatigued, to his couch of cedar branches and rush mats. But he

does not return to complain, either of his want of success, or his

fatigue. On the following day the same routine is observed, and days and

weeks are often thus consumed without being rewarded with anything

capable of sustaining life. Instances have been well authenticated, when

this state of wretchedness has been endured by the head of a family

until he has become so weak as to fall in his path, and freeze to death.

When all other means of sustaining life are gone, the skins he has

collected to pay his credits, or purchase new supplies of clothing or

ammunition, are eaten. They are prepared by removing the pelt, and

roasting the skin until it acquires a certain degree of crispness. Under

all their sufferings, the pipe of the hunter is his chief solace, and is

a solace often resorted to. Smoking parties are frequently formed, when

there is a scarcity of food not tending, as might be supposed, to

destroy social feeling and render the temper sour. On these occasions

the entertainer sends a message to this effect: "Come and smoke with me.

I have no food; but we can pass away the evening very well without it."

All acknowledge their lives to be in the hand of the great Spirit; feel

a conviction that all comes from him, and that although he allows them

to suffer, he will again supply them. This tends to quiet their

apprehensions; they are fatalists, however, under long reverses, and

submit patiently and silently to what they believe to be their destiny.

When hunger and misery are past, they are soon forgotten, and their

minds are too eagerly intent on the enjoyment of the present good, to

feel any depression of spirits from the recollection of the past, or to

hoard up anything to provide against want for the future. No people are

more easy, or less clamorous under sufferings of the deepest dye, and

none more happy, or more prone to evince their happiness, when

prosperous in their affairs.

October 29th, 1826.

PUGASAING;

OR,

THE GAME OF THE BOWL.

This is the principal game of hazard among the northern tribes. It is

played with thirteen pieces, hustled in a vessel called onagun, which is

a kind of wooden bowl. They are represented, and named, as follows.

[Illustration]

The pieces marked No. 1, in this cut, of which there are two, are called

Ininewug, or men. They are made tapering, or wedge-shaped in thickness,

so as to make it possible, in throwing them, that they may stand on

their base. Number 2, is called Gitshee Kenabik, or the Great Serpent.

It consists of two pieces, one of which is fin-tailed, or a

water-serpent, the other truncated, and is probably designed as

terrestrial. They are formed wedge-shaped, so as to be capable of

standing on their bases lengthwise. Each has four dots. Number 3, is

called Pugamagun, or the war club. It has six marks on the handle, on

the _red side_, and four radiating from the orifice of the club end; and

four marks on the handle of the _white side_; and six radiating marks

from the orifice on the club-end, making ten on each side. Number 4 is

called Keego, which is the generic name for a fish. The four circular

pieces of brass, slightly concave, with a flat surface on the apex, are

called Ozawabiks. The three bird-shaped pieces, Sheshebwug, or ducks.

All but the circular pieces are made out of a fine kind of bone. One

side of the piece is white, of the natural colour of the bones, and

polished, the other red. The brass pieces have the convex side bright,

the concave black. They are all shaken together, and thrown out of the

onagun, as dice. The term pugasaing denotes this act of throwing. It is

the participial form of the verb.--The following rules govern the game:

1. When the pieces are turned on the red side, and one of the Ininewugs

stands upright on the bright side of one of the brass pieces, it counts

158.

2. When all the pieces turn red side up, and the Gitshee Kenabik with

the tail stands on the bright side of the brass piece, it counts 138.

3. When all turn up red, it counts 58 whether the brass pieces be bright

or black side up.

4. When the Gitshee Kenabik and his associate, and the two Ininewugs

turn up white side, and the other pieces red, it counts 58, irrespective

of the concave or convex position of the brass pieces.

5. When all the pieces turn up white, it counts 38, whether the

Ozawabiks, be bright or black.

6. When the Gitshee Kenabik and his associate turn up red, and the other

white, it counts 38, the brass pieces immaterial.

7. When one of the Ininewugs stands up, it counts 50, without regard to

the position of all the rest.

8. When either of the Gitshee Kenabiks stands upright, it counts 40,

irrespective of the position of the others.

9. When all the pieces turn up white, excepting one, and the Ozawabiks

dark, it counts 20.

10. When all turn up red, except one, and the brass pieces bright, it

counts 15.

11. When the whole of the pieces turn up white, but one, with the

Ozawabiks bright, it counts 10.

12. When a brass piece turns up dark, the two Gitshee Kenabiks and the

two men red, and the remaining pieces white, it counts 8.

13. When the brass piece turns up bright, the two Gitshee Kenabiks and

one of the men red, and all the rest white, it is 6.

14. When the Gitshee Kenabik in chief, and one of the men turn up red,

the Ozawabiks, bright, and all the others white, it is 4.

15. When both the Kenabiks, and both men, and the three ducks, turn up

red, the brass piece black, and either the Keego, or a duck white, it is

5.

16. When all the pieces turn up red, but one of the Ininewugs, and the

brass piece black, it counts 2.

The limit of the game is stipulated. The parties throw up for the play.

This game is very fascinating to some portions of the Indians. They

stake at it their ornaments, weapons, clothing, canoes, horses, every

thing in fact they possess; and have been known, it is said, to set up

their wives and children, and even to forfeit their own liberty. Of such

desperate stakes, I have seen no examples, nor do I think the game

itself in common use. It is rather confined to certain persons, who hold

the relative rank of gamblers in Indian society--men who are not noted

as hunters or warriors, or steady providers for their families. Among

these are persons who bear the term of Ienadizze-wug, that is, wanderers

about the country, braggadocios, or fops. It can hardly be classed with

the popular games of amusement, by which skill and dexterity are

acquired. I have generally found the chiefs and graver men of the

tribes, who encouraged the young men to play ball, and are sure to be

present at the customary sports, to witness, and sanction, and applaud

them, speak lightly and disparagingly of this game of hazard. Yet, it

cannot be denied, that some of the chiefs, distinguished in war and the

chase, at the west, can be referred to, as lending their example to its

fascinating power.

An analysis of this game, to show its arithmetical principles and powers

might be gone into; but it is no part of the present design to take up

such considerations here, far less to pursue the comparison and

extension of customs of this kind among the modern western tribes. It

may be sufficient to say, from the foregoing rules, that there seems to

be no _unit_ in the throw, and that the count proceeds by _decimals_,

for all numbers over 8. Doubtless these rules, are but a part of the

whole series, known to experienced players. They comprise, however, all

that have been revealed to me.

"Gambling is not peculiar to our race,

The Indian gambles with as fixed a face."

* * * * *

Herodotus says of the ancient Thracians--that "the most honourable life,

with them, is a life of war and plunder; the most contemptible that of a

husbandman. Their supreme delight is war and plunder." Who might not

suppose, were the name withheld, that this had been said by some modern

writer of the Pawnees, or the Camanches?

REVERENCE AND AFFECTION FOR PARENTS.