The Chepewyan was not long in disincumbering himself of the deadening clog of mortality. Leaving his body, and the bodies of his dog, and spear, and bow, in the hands of the gatekeeper, with a charge to have them delivered to his friends if he should not return, he entered upon the road to the Blissful Island. He had travelled but a couple of bowshots, when it met his view still more beautiful than his fathers had painted it. He stood upon the brow of a hill, sloping gently away to a smooth lake, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Upon its banks were groves of beautiful trees of all kinds, and many, very many canoes were seen gliding over its waters. A light breeze ruffled its waves—so light that they only reminded him of the opposition which a weak man makes to the will of the strong. Afar, in the centre of the lake, lay the beautiful island appointed for the residence of the good Chepewyan. And scarcely three bowshots from him, leaning upon a bank of flowers, in contemplation of the glorious scene, was the soul of her so fondly loved. Beautiful vision! The sight lends to his steps the fleetness of an antelope; he bounds forward, and is soon at her side. Into his arms she flies, and though they clasp but thin air, embrace but her resemblance, yet the doing so gives a hundred times the joy it could have done, when his spirit was clogged with the grossness of mortality, and he folded to his breast a corporeal form.

At length they reached the lake. They found upon its bank, chained by a rope of sand to the shade of a willow, two canoes made of a white stone that glittered in the sun like a field of ice. There were paddles in each canoe of the same material. The lovers were prepared for this by the tradition of their fathers, which informed them that a canoe of stone was the conveyance by which they were to reach the happy mansions. They also knew that each soul must have its separate conveyance, because the passage was to give rise to the judgment which permitted them to sit down in the happy dwellings, or doomed them to the punishment prepared for the wicked. Casting off the rope of sand, each stepped into a canoe, and committed it to the Water of Judgment. Who can describe their joy and satisfaction, when they found that, though the actions of their life-time had not been entirely pure; though the man had sometimes slaughtered more musk-oxen than he could eat, speared salmon to be devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the rain; though he had once made mock of a priest, and once trembled at the war-cry of the Knisteneaux, and once forgotten to throw into the fire the tongue of a beaver as an offering to the Being who bade it cross his hunting-path in a season of scarcity; and though the maiden had suffered her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers broken snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been thinking of the Master of Life—still the canoes did not sink, but floated slowly on, level with the water, towards the Happy Island. They found that the paddles were not needed—once passed the Judgment test, once pronounced fit for the happy lands, the canoe moved, self-impelled, to the appointed harbour. As they floated onwards, their eyes and ears were pained by a thousand sights and sounds of horror. Now they saw a canoe sink from under the person it was appointed to judge—a father, perhaps, with his children in view; a husband, or wife, or friend, with the object dearest to their hearts, to listen to the bubling cry of their agony, as they sank to their chins in the water, there to remain for ever, beholding and regretting the rewards enjoyed by the good, and doomed to struggle, till the stars shall cease to shine, in unavailing endeavours to reach the blissful island. They beheld the lake thick and black with the heads of the unhappy swimmers, as the surface of the Great Bear Lake is dotted in summer with the wild fowl that seek subsistence in its bosom.

At length the happy pair reached the island. It is impossible to tell the delights with which they found it filled. Mild and soft winds, clear and sweet waters, cool and refreshing shades, perpetual verdure, inexhaustible fertility, adorned the retreats of the Island of Souls. There were no tempests of wind laden with snows to smother the unhappy Chepewyan caught at a distance from his cabin; no rains to sweep the hills of ice into the vales where he gathered his rock-moss, or tear his fishing-nets and weirs from their place in the river. Gladly would the son of the Red Elk have remained for ever with his beloved Rock-rose in the happy island, but the words of the Master were heard in the pauses of the breeze, discoursing to him thus:—

"Return to thy father-land, hunter, and tell in the ears of thy nation the things thou hast seen. Paint to them the joys of the Happy Island, but be careful to say that they can be enjoyed by the spirits of those only whose good actions predominate over their evil ones. Say that the Master does not expect perfection in man, but he expects that man will do all he can to deserve his love; he expects that sooner than suffer the wife of his bosom, or the children of his love, to be hungry, he will journey even to the far Coppermine for salmon, and hunt the white bear on the distant shores of the Frozen Sea. He expects from him good temper in his cabin; fearlessness and daring in war; patience and assiduity in the chase, and great and unceasing kindness to the father that begot, and the mother that bore him. What, though he have several times slaughtered more musk-beef than he can eat, speared salmon to be devoured by the brown eagle, and gathered rock-moss to rot in the rain?—what, though he have once made game of a priest, and once trembled at the war-cry of the Knistenaux, and once forgotten to throw into the fire the tongue of the beaver, as an offering to the Being who bade it cross his path in a season of scarcity?—and what though she have suffered her father to wear tattered mocassins, and her brothers broken snow-shoes, and thought of her lover when she should have been thinking of me, yet will I forgive them, and endow them with felicity, if their good deeds outweigh the bad. The Master does not expect that man will never commit folly or error. The clearest stream will sometimes become turbid; the sky cannot always be cloudless; the stars will sometimes become erratic—even snow will fall tinged with a colouring which was not in its nature when I ordered it to be. Man of the Chepewyans, write down these words on the green leaf of thy memory, nor suffer them to fade as the leaf grows dry. Be good, and thy spirit in a few more moons shall rejoin that of thy beloved rock-rose in the blissful island. Depart, son of the Red Elk; the canoe which brought thee hither will waft thee hence. Thou lingerest!—it is well! I know thy thoughts and wishes—clasp her to thy heart then. It is well! The recollection of the embrace will do more to keep thy spirit purified than all the sayings of thy fathers, and the traditional learning of thy priests. Away!"

NOTES.

* * * * *

(1) Nocturnal couch.—p. 257.

One, and the most frequently adopted method of Indian courtship, is that of approaching the couch of the beloved maiden, and whispering tales of love while she is reposing. When an Indian imagines, from the behaviour of the person he has chosen for his mistress, that his suit will be agreeable to her, he pursues the following plan.

As the Indians are under no apprehensions of robbers or secret enemies, they leave the doors of their tents or huts unfastened during the night as well as the day. Two or three hours after sunset, the slaves or old people cover over the fire, that is generally burning in the midst of their apartment, with ashes, and retire to their repose. Whilst darkness thus prevails, and all is quiet, wrapped closely up in a blanket, to prevent his being known, the lover will enter the apartment of his intended mistress. Having first lighted at the smothered fire a small splinter of wood, which answers the purpose of a match, he approaches the place where she reposes, and, gently pulling away the covering from the head, jogs her till she awakes. If she then rises up, and blows out the light, he needs no farther confirmation that his company is not disagreeable; but, if she hides her head, and takes no notice of him, be may rest assured that any farther solicitation will prove vain, and that it is necessary immediately for him to retire.

(2)The skirts the Northern clouds.—p. 250.

"The idea which the Southern Indians have of the Aurora Borealis is very pleasing and romantic. They believe it to be the spirit of their departed friends dancing in the clouds, and when the Aurora Borealis is remarkably bright, at which time it varies most in colour, form, and situation, they say their friends are very merry."—Hearne,346. And see the tradition post.

"The Northern Indians call this meteor by a less romantic name—Ed-thin, that is, "deer;" and, when that meteor is very bright, they say, that deer is plentiful in that part of the atmosphere. Their ideas, in this respect, are founded on a principle one would not imagine them to possess a knowledge of. Experience has shown them, that, when a hairy deer-skin is briskly stroked with a hand in a dark night, it will emit many sparks of electric fire, as the back of a cat will."—Ibid.



V. THE LITTLE WHITE DOVE.

I have heard the words of the son of the Chepewyan, and the tale he has told of the Happy Island, and the Stone Canoe. It is the belief of his fathers, and he does well to treasure it up in his soul. The Knisteneaux have too their land of delight. It is in a different clime from that of the Chepewyan—how could it be, and continue a land of delight? Wars would arise between these ancient and implacable enemies, and the peace and quiet of the blessed regions be destroyed by their cries of hatred and revenge. Ask a Knisteneau to throw away his war-spear with a Chepewyan in his hunting-grounds? Ask a Chepewyan to wipe off his war-paint while there was the print of a Knisteneau mocassin in his war-path? The Great Spirit, knowing the impossibility of reconciling the jarring tribes of the Wilderness, appointed to each tribe or nation its place of happiness, and placed, between each, impassable barriers, that wars enkindled on earth might not be transferred to the Land of Souls.

The "Foot of the Fawn," the most beautiful woman of the nation, and the beloved wife of the great chief, died suddenly of the labour of nature in the Moon of Buds. The body of the deceased mother, dressed in the best garments she possessed, the robe of white fox-skin with the embroidered sandals of dressed deer-skin, the feathers with which she used to deck her long black hair, and the bracelets of pierced bones which encircled her slender wrists, were placed in the grave lined with pine branches. They buried with her all the domestic utensils she had used, and all the articles she was known to have prized. While they were filling in the earth into her grave, and erecting over it the canopy to protect it from the rains and the winds, loud were the lamentations which filled the air. They spoke of her patience, her industry, her care of her family, her love of her husband, her kindness and pity to the sick and afflicted, her benevolence to the stranger. The child, in giving birth to which she had died, was buried, according to the custom of our nation, by the side of the public footpath, or highway, that, having enjoyed but little life, merely seen the light of the sun to have its eye pained by its beams, some woman as she passed by might receive its little soul, and thus it might be born again, and still enjoy its share of existence. With these rites were the wife and child of the great chief of the Knisteneaux laid in the earth from whence they sprung.

It was many suns after the decease of the beloved Fawn's Foot, that two doves, one of which was of the size of a full grown dove, and the other a very little one, were seen sitting upon a spray by the side of the warrior's lodge. Our people, who recollected the tradition of our fathers, that the souls of the good, after their entrance upon the land of never-ceasing happiness, were transformed into doves, and that not always were little children appointed to be received into the bosom of a second mother[A], and to re-enter into another stage of existence, immediately conjectured that they were the spirits of the mother and the child returned to the land of their bodies, on some errand yet to be learned. They knew by the tradition of their fathers, that they had entered on the Land of Souls, for the Festival of the Dead[B] had been celebrated, and all the rites duly observed which release the soul from its compelled attendance on the body, until the baked meats have been eaten, and the howling and the piercing of flesh, and the tearing of hair, and the weeping in secret, have taken place. "They have come! they have come! The Fawn's Foot and her child have returned from the Land of Souls," was shouted through the village. "The beautiful Fawn's Foot and her child, that disdained to be born again, but clung to its first mother, have returned to visit us, and tell us the secrets of the land of departed souls. Now we shall hear from our fathers, mothers, children, sisters, brothers, lovers, and friends. We shall be told the length of the journey to the Cheke Checkecame, and whether the traveller thither must take him stores of provisions, and go armed. We shall know if the soul of the Little Serpent, who was taken prisoner by the Coppermines, and burnt at the stake, is yet subjected to the pinches and goadings of the bad spirits in the place of torment prepared for those who die the death of fire; we shall hear about the Great Dog which stands on the hither bank of the river, over which all must pass who would enter on the land of spirits, to guard it against the approach of those who break from their chains in the place of torment before the expiation is duly made, and attempt, with impure hands, to lay hold of the pleasures of the happy regions." Thus they ran about the village, shouting and singing, until all the people were collected together, and then they moved in a procession towards the tree upon which the doves were perched. They found them—beautiful birds! but they were not birds, but souls changed into the form which betokens innocence and purity; they found them, and long and earnestly did they gaze upon the tenderly beloved beings they had formerly been, the pure souls they now were. The happiness they enjoyed in their present state was seen in their eyes, which were mild and beautiful beyond my power to tell. And great appeared the love subsisting between them. The little dovelet hopped on the back of its parent, who playfully pecked it in return, and often were the eyes of the child turned fondly on its mother, as if thanking her for the existence she had bestowed upon it, at the expense of her own life. Glorious birds with soft eyes, and skyey plumage! never hath aught so beautiful been seen in the land of the Knisteneaux.

[Footnote A: They (the Chepewyans) have some faint notion of transmigration of the soul; so that if a child be born with teeth, they instantly imagine, from its premature appearance, that it bears a resemblance to some person who had lived to an advanced age, and that he has assumed a renovated life, with these extraordinary symptoms.—Mackenzie, cxix.]

[Footnote B: See note 4, p. 306 of this vol.]

At length the bereaved husband and father made his appearance, slowly and with eyes which would have shed tears, had they been other than those of a warrior. No sooner was he in view, than the little wings of the doves were rapidly fanning the air towards him. One, the lesser, and scarce larger than a fly, lighted on his lip, the larger crept to his bosom, as it was wont to do in life, and was fondly pressed to his heart, which loved the form it bore when living, and deeply cherished its memory, and hailed its return to the earth, in a new shape, with inconceivable delight. Having nestled awhile in his bosom, the soul of the good and beautiful Fawn's Foot perched upon his shoulders, and thus addressed the listening Knisteneaux:

"I am one of the souls of the Fawn's Foot, who died of the labour of nature, in the Moon of Buds, and the little dove at my side is the spirit of my child. It is an old tradition of our fathers, and will not therefore surprise you, that every person is gifted by the Great Master of Life with two souls. One of these souls, which is the breath, never leaves the body, but to go into another, which nevertheless seldom happens, save to that of children, which, having enjoyed but little life, is allowed to begin a new one, and live out a second and more protracted term of existence. When the breath departs from the body, the other soul goes to the region which is appointed to be the everlasting abode of the Knisteneaux. It is situated very far towards the setting sun, so far, that even those souls which are pardoned are many moons reaching it. Many dangers are to be encountered before the souls bound thither arrive. They first come to the place of torment, appointed for the souls of those who have been taken prisoners and burnt. They pass a river where many have been wrecked, and at length come to another, at the hither edge of which lies a dog of immense proportions, which attacks indiscriminately every one that attempts to cross. The souls whose good deeds outweigh the bad are assisted by the Good Spirit to overcome the dog, while the bad, conquered by him in the conflict, are incessantly worried by him thereafter. The next place of danger and dread, is the country where the spirits of the beasts, birds, fishes, &c.—all animate nature which is not man—is found. Here are the spirits of bears, and wolves, and snakes, all that is cruel, or bloody, or hideous. And these are sure to give battle to the shades of the human beings, as they cross the lands and waters where they dwell. The punishment they inflict consists alone in the terror they excite, for the jaws, so thickly studded with teeth, are but a shadow, and the claws could only retain in their grasp a shade. The dwelling place of the souls of the brutes has its enjoyments and pleasures suited to their tastes. The snail, that delights to crawl in slime, will have full permission to do so; the tortoise, and the prairie dog, and the mole, may still creep into the earth if they choose, and the squirrel still suspend himself by his tail from the bough of the tree. If the bear choose to suck his claws, none shall say him nay, and the neeshaw may bury himself as deep in the mud as he likes.

"At length the souls arrive at the region where they are destined to spread their tents for ever. I have heard from the lips of our fathers of its pleasures and its joys; all are well and truly described in your old tradition. Happiness and rest are for the good, misery and labour for the bad. Bright skies, eternal springs, and plenty of all things, reward him who did his duty well; continual storms, endless winter, parching thirst, pinching hunger, and crying nakedness, punish him who performed them ill. Men and women of my nation! forsake evil ways, and earn, by so doing, unbounded happiness. Hunter, dread not the bear, and be patient and industrious; warrior, fear not thine enemy, and shouldst thou unhappily fall into his power, bear his torments as a warrior should bear them, and sing thy death-song in the ears of his tribe. And thou, my beloved husband, persevere for a few more moons in the course which made thee the light of my eyes while living, and renders thee not less dear now I inhabit the world of spirits. Thou wilt soon rejoin the souls of thy wife and child in the land of unceasing delights. Till then, farewell."

Having spoken thus, the little doves flung out their skyey wings to catch the breath of the Great Spirit sent to waft them home, and were soon swept away from the sight of the Knisteneaux. Not so their tale, which has resisted the current of time, and survives in the memories of all our nation.



VI. THE TETON'S PARADISE.

If my brother will go abroad in a clear evening in the Moon of Falling Leaves[A], and turn his eyes towards the cold regions of the Hunter's Star, and the north wind, and the never-melting snows, he will often see the skies flushed with a hue like that which mounts to the cheeks of a young maiden, when the name of her lover is whispered in her ear, or when that same lover presses her to his heart in the presence of curious eyes and slandering tongues. At first, he will see a faint beam darting up in the north, like the spray which shoots into the air, when the waters dash upon a rocky frontlet. Gradually he will behold it arise, till half the heavens, and sometimes the whole, is lit up with exceeding brightness. Then will he hear in the skies a noise as of half-suppressed laughter, and sometimes, though more rarely, he will behold the light-winged aerial forms of the merry laughers, as they thread the mazes of their dance among the clustering stars. The sight fills the soul of an Indian with great joy, for he thinks that it is occasioned by the spirits of his departed friends, indulging in the sport they loved so well on earth, and dancing merrily to the music of the stars. The red blush which tinges the face of night with a hue like that which mounts to the cheeks of a beautiful maiden, when the name of her beloved youth is whispered in her ear, is the flame which arises from the fires kindled by the kind spirits of the north, to thaw the frozen mist which impedes their light footsteps across the face of the heavens. And the laugh is the laugh of eager joy, which those spirits utter when, indulging in their loved pastime, they remember the occurrence which led to their glorious destiny, and made the bright and starry north their place of residence after death.

[Footnote A: This month (November) is sometimes called by them the "Beaver-Moon," being the month in which they commence their hunt of that animal.]

Once upon a time, the tribe of the Burntwood Tetons had assembled to hold a merry feast and joyful dance upon the coming-in of the green corn. It was a season of unusual plenty; the stalks of maize had grown almost to the height and thickness of the surrounding trees, and the ears thereon were many, sound, and sweet. Not only was this best beloved food of the Indian in great plenty, but every thing else which contributes to the enjoyment of Indian life, and makes the red man happy, was in equal abundance. Every bush was loaded with rich, ripe berries; and never, in the memory of the oldest Teton, had the woods been so stocked with game, or the waters so frequently made to ripple with the gambols of the nimble fish. The boy of twelve summers could feed all his father's children with the spoils of his feeble bow and tiny arrows, and the daughter of six would pluck more berries from the prairie and hill-side, in the space of half a sun, than could be eaten in her father's cabin by its hungry inmates for four sleeps. The Moon of Planting saw the Great Spirit in good humour with his children, the Tetons, because they had kept his commands, as laid down by his priests and prophets: the Moon of Green Corn found him equally pleased and gracious. Thence it was that he had showered prosperity upon all the undertakings of our nation, and thence that he had given to our corn to grow up like trees, and made the feet of our young warriors swift in the chase, and their hearts strong in the combat, and had given to our maidens the power to win, by their soft smiles and softer words, and endearing glances, and whispers of affection, the hearts of whomsoever they would. The Great Spirit loves to bestow gifts upon mortals, and to see them happy, and never withholds his blessings from them when they have duly besought his aid, and remembered to walk in the path he has pointed out to them. When our tribe drove the Mahas from their hunting-grounds, and came back with many scalps, it was because they invoked his protection ere they went, and offered him frequent sacrifices—when they left the bones of half their warriors to whiten on the prairies which skirt the distant Wisconsan, it was because, in the pride of their hearts, they remembered him not, and forgot that death and destruction go before the steps of the hardened and contumacious.

I have said, that the warriors of my nation had assembled to the dance and the feast. They had, and there were gathered together with them that part of the tribe which better loved the pursuits of peace than those of war—were better pleased to gather in the maize and nuts of autumn, and to spear the gliding tenants of the waters, and to follow the trail of the deer through the leafy coverts which he makes his hiding-place, than to join in the tumult, and fatigues, and bloodshed, of the strife of men. While the blithe young warriors danced their dance, the crowd around them, from time to time, approved of their performances, by loud and oft-repeated shouts of joy and delight. They said, that more expert and graceful dancers had never been seen in the tribe, and predicted, that limbs so light and agile in the dance, and eyes so true in directing the spear to the painted post, around which they were dancing, must needs show their agility and truth in the first expedition they should undertake against a foe. And the young maidens—those whose praise is sweetest, at least to the ears of youth—were equally loud in their commendations of the sprightly Tetons, who were worshipping the Master of Life in the manner supposed to be the most acceptable to him.

While our people were thus employed in their worship and dance, although it was the hottest month of summer, and the day was one of singular and overpowering heat, they were surprised and terrified by a sudden darkness, accompanied by a great fall of snow and hail. All at once, to their unspeakable consternation and confusion, there stood, in the centre of the space around which the dance was danced, a spirit of the air, wearing the form and proportions of a woman of exceeding beauty. White and pure was her skin, as the snow ere it touches the earth; her hair, which flowed to her knees in many folds, was white as the snow which was falling around her; but her eyes were blue as the sky from which she had taken her flight, and these alone, of all that appertained to her, were of a different hue from the snows which had accompanied her descent to the earth. She was of the usual height of the women of our nation, and more beautiful than any thing that had ever entered into the imagination of mortals. In a moment the dance was suspended, and, throughout the camp of the Tetons, not a voice or sound was heard, save the hushed respiration of the terrified and astonished crowd, as they gazed upon the beautiful and majestic spirit. Awhile it stood in earnest but tranquil look upon the silent warriors, and then spoke in whispers the words which I shall repeat to my brothers:

"Men of the Burntwood Tetons! I am the chief spirit of the Land of Snows—the power which, by the decree of the Great Being, presides over the regions of ice and frost. I have come from my dwelling in the far north, to look upon the brave and good Tetons, and to behold the dances which they are so famed for dancing, and to see with my own eyes their skill in shooting with the bow, and throwing the spear, and their strength in wielding the war-club, and their patience under afflictions, and their endurance of fatigue, and hunger, and cold, and want. I had heard in my dwelling-place in the bright skies that they were the best and bravest of men; I shall see if the report is true. But not for this alone have I left the glorious regions of the north; I have suffered myself to be coaxed to the earth, by a wish to feel in my bosom the workings of that soft passion, which possesses both mortals and immortals—things of the earth, and the air—and sometimes blesses with joy and happiness, but oftener afflicts with pain and misery, and days of anxiety, and nights of anguish, those whose lot it is to make it the all-controlling guest of their bosoms; thou knowest that I mean the almighty passion of love. Although I dwell in the regions of eternal frost and never-melting snows, yet would I that my bosom should feel the gentle flame; though my flesh be of the consistence and coldness of ice, I would feel the raging of a fire like that which exists in the bosoms of those who love to madness. I, who lived in the skies many, very many, ages before the Elder Chappewee brought up the earth from the bottom of the ocean to the present hour, without a touch of human passion—who never knew or wished to know joy or sorrow, hope or despair, pleasure or pain, melancholy, regret, anger, disappointment, or aught that elevates or depresses the souls of mortals—would now partake of all and each in an equal degree with the children of the earth. I would have my bosom torn with the conflicting passions of humanity—be chilled with the horrid doubts of jealousy, and with agonising fears for the duration of the affection which will become a part of my existence."

Here the Spirit of Snow ceased speaking, while her tears fell thick and fast in the shape of frozen rain upon the Tetons. Seeing the emotion of the beautiful Spirit, and fearing that further silence on the part of the tribe whom she had come to visit might be offensive to her, the aged Nikanape, who was wisest of all the men of the land, rose and addressed her thus:

"Beautiful Spirit of the Land of Snows! Thou wouldst feel, thou sayest, the passion of love, and wouldst admit to thy bosom a soft feeling of preference for one dearer than all the other beings of earth. Although thou art a spirit, and shouldst be wise, yet, to judge from thy speech—be not offended—the words of an aged Teton may better thy wisdom. They whose bosoms are not afflicted by the passions of humanity, who know neither love nor hate, nor joy nor sorrow, nor revenge nor pity, nor anger, nor the other passions and emotions which distract human life, and reduce it to a few brief and unhappy years, have only to pray that the Great Spirit would keep them in their happy state of ignorance. Why wouldst thou love?"

"To know its pleasures."

"They are fewer than the throbs of fear in the breast of a true warrior, and shorter lived than the flower that blooms to-day, and to-morrow is blasted by the unwholesome dew."

"I would know its pains."

"They are more numerous than the fire-flies which light up a summer prairie, and die but with the being who entertains the passion upon which they attend."

"I have seen otherwise. Once, while keeping my night-watch in my own clime of snows, I beheld the return of one to the embrace of a maiden from whom he had long been separated. I saw the eager flush of delight on her cheek, as she rushed into his outstretched arms, and beheld the sweet kisses of affection which were interchanged between the enraptured pair, and heard the thrilling words of heartfelt tenderness which these two did murmur in each other's ears. Was not this happiness?"

"It was."

"Would he not do well who should exchange a space of time equal to thrice the years of a brown eagle, of existence so passionless as mine, for one moon of happiness like that which those lovers enjoyed?"

"The great prophet of the Tetons is a man of few words. He sees the Spirit of the Land of Snows determined to become a mortal, and why should he seek to change her mind? May it be the happy lot of a man of his nation to gain the affections of a being so beautiful as thou art! Speak, fair Spirit! my people listen in anxious hope that thou wilt call some Teton youth to thine arms."

Softly, and with a fearful look did the unearthly maiden make reply to the Teton prophet. "I saw from my place in the land of frost one whom I deemed worthy to be the husband of her at whose command the snows descend upon the earth, and the waters are locked up with a chain, the rivets of which can only be unclasped by the warm sun of summer. I beheld him, in my eyes, the bravest of all thy warriors. None hath so fleet a foot, none so sure a hand, none so fair a cheek, none so stately a form."

"Surely thou hast named the pride of our nation—thou has described the Swift Foot," replied the prophet. "Call him hither."

They carried the message to the youthful warrior, who came with the speed of foot for which he was so well known, and stood by the side of the beautiful maiden from the Land of Snows. Though it was evident that she liked the young Brave, yet was not her love shown by the signs which usually give evidence of the existence of that tender passion. No blush lit up her snowy cheek, or flushed her lily neck, as it does the cheek and neck of maidens of the earth when pressed to the enraptured bosoms of those they love. No tear bedewed her eye, no trembling seized her frame, no throb of rapture lifted the snowy mantle that hid her bosom. Her body was bent slightly forward, her snowy lips were parted like a water-lily, about to unfold itself to the face of day, and her arms were extended as if they would press to her heart, all icy as it was, the noble warrior who stood at her side.

"Dost thou love me?" she faintly asked.

"Does the dove love his little mate? does the spring bud love the beams of the sun? does a mother love her first-born? does a warrior love the shout of a foe? I love thee more than words can express; let my actions show the deep affection I bear thee. The Swift Foot will make thee the wife of his bosom."

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

"A Spirit."

"Dost thou know that when thou shalt take me to thy bosom thou wilt embrace a form of ice? Thou art warm and impassioned, I chilled and chilling as the winds of winter, and frozen as the ice of the bleak Coppermine."

"Still will I dare the union. My love shall kindle in thy bosom a warmth equal to that which possesses mine own."

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

"And mine hath the warmth of the breeze which blows in summer from the land of never-failing verdure. Wilt thou, beautiful Spirit! be the wife of a Teton, who has more scalps in his lodge than fingers on his hands, who has struck dead bodies of six different nations, and stolen half the horses upon which his brother warriors ride to the combat?"

"I will—I am thine, brave warrior!"

"Thou art indeed cold, beautiful Spirit!" said the Teton, as he pressed the consenting maiden to his bosom for a moment, and then, shuddering with an icy chill, his teeth shaking like the rattles of a snake, put her from him. "But thou art mine, though it were death to embrace thee."

Again, summoning all his resolution, he held her to his heart. Then calling the women to him, the warrior bade them prepare a bridal feast. The youth and the maiden then went through the Indian form of marriage, and the beautiful spirit of the Laud of Snows became the wife of the Teton warrior.

With the sun of the next day the whole tribe gathered around the bridal cabin, eager to learn if the Spirit of the North still remained to bless the arms of her husband. Soon she appeared with her beloved Teton. But oh how changed! Her cheek and neck were now suffused with blushes as deep as those which stain the cheeks of mortal maidens; her hair had changed from a snowy whiteness to a glossy brown: she had become to all appearance a beautiful mortal. Ever and anon her eyes were fondly turned on the Swift Foot, who repaid her fond glances by pressing her now warm and ardent bosom to his own. The aged Nicanape again approached the pair, and asked the Spirit if she did not regret that she had left the regions of the skies to assume the attributes of mortality. With a fond glance at the object of her love, she replied that a single moon of bliss like that she now enjoyed was worth an eternity of the cold and passionless existence which was hers before she had quitted the skies. Again was she enfolded in the arms of the doating warrior, and the crowd retired to permit the full, and free, and undisturbed, interchange of those fond attentions, which are wont to occupy the first moon of married life.

And thus passed away the first year after the marriage of the Teton Brave with the beautiful Spirit of the frozen North. Ere that year had passed, there was a stranger in their cabin—a little son, with the wondrous beauty of its mother and the fearless soul of its father. Never was there a being so beloved as the Spirit-wife was by the whole nation. Though she now possessed the soul of a human being, her breast was visited only by the softer and purer passions of human nature; anger, revenge, cruelty, jealousy, and the other turbulent passions and emotions, never came near her gentle bosom. Her love for her husband grew with the growth of years, and strengthened with the progress of time; her pity and compassion for the poor, and hungry, and sick, and fainting, knew no bounds. Ever mild and affectionate, and kind, and humane, never prone to break the quiet of her cabin by those querulous complaints and angry invectives wherewith wives destroy the comfort of their husbands, and bring storms and tempests, hail, rain, thunder, and lightning, into the sky of domestic peace, the Teton loved her better than mortal ever before loved another. Her goodness not only brought joy and happiness to her husband, but benefits to the nation, which made their lives pass as pleasantly and glide along as smoothly as a canoe floating down a quiet stream in the time of summer. When the hunters would go to their forest sports and labours, they asked the wife of the Swift Foot if their hunt should be successful, and as she told them ay or no was their expedition undertaken or abandoned. When she bade the women plant the maize, they might be sure of the fair weather without which the task could not be well accomplished; when she cast her bright eyes on the sheaf of arrows rusting on the wall, the warriors without more ado rose, and prepared the corn and pemmican, and examined the condition of their bows and casse-tetes[A], and painted themselves with the ochre of wrath[B], and sang with a hollow and sepulchral voice their songs of war, and killed the fat dog, sacred to Areskoui[C], for they knew that the keen look of the Spirit-wife upon the instruments of death boded victory and glory to those who should employ them in the strife of warriors. On the contrary, if, tired with a long peace, one rose with the string of wampum(1) in his hand, and said to his brothers, "The blood of him whom our foes slew in such or such a moon is not yet wiped away; his corpse remains above the earth unburied; I go to wash the clotted gore from his breast, to give him the rites of sepulture, and to eat up the nation(2) by whom the base wrongs were done him"—if, having spoken thus, the Spirit-wife but cast her meek blue eye upon him, and suffered a sigh to pass her beautiful bosom, the speaker rose, and washed off the black paint, and effaced from his cheeks all traces of the bloody design by which he had been actuated, and declared that a kind bird had whispered in his ear that the "enemy were gone to the mountain streams for sturgeon," or, "to the plains of the Osage to gather bitter snow[D]," or, "to the prairies of the Wisconsan to hunt the buffalo," or, "to the stormy lake of Michabou(3) to take the fish wherewith the god had so plentifully stocked it." The assembled warriors, knowing that he had a sufficient motive for changing his mind, would follow his example, and lay by the weapons of war to resume those of peace, without any inquiry why he had changed his mind. And thus, more by soft persuasion, and kind entreaties, and wise prophecies, than by stern commands, and bitter denunciations, the beautiful Spirit-wife ruled the Burntwood Tetons to their glory and happiness.

[Footnote A: The war-clubs.]

[Footnote B: Black paint, as I have before observed, the symbol among the Indians of belligerent intentions.]

[Footnote C: A fat dog is the chief and sometimes the only dish at the feast, preparatory to a war expedition. This animal is sacred to Areskoui, or the God of War.]

[Footnote D: Salt.]

Yet, with all her love for her husband, and her children, of whom in ten springs ten stood in their father's cabin, she appeared at times to be far from happy. It was observed that nothing could induce her to go abroad after darkness had veiled the earth. When the robe of night was thrown over the face of things, then the Spirit-wife would be found seated in the darkest corner of her dwelling, nor could entreaties draw her out. Insensible to fear, while the sun shone, the moment it disappeared, her cheek became pallid as death; and if, during the period of darkness, there happened a high wind from the north, and a fall of hail, her agony knew no bounds, and excessive trembling would for awhile deprive her of the power to move, and almost to utter intelligible sounds. Her husband asked her wherefore this trembling, but could gain no answer. And thus time passed away.

The snows of ten winters had fallen to rush to the embrace of the rivers, and black clouds, and cold winds, and falling leaves, were betokening the near approach of the eleventh, when, upon a clear and starry night, a stranger, wearing a garment which glittered like ice upon which the sun is shining, and whose hair was a body of icicles, entered the village of the Tetons. He was of very small stature, being scarcely taller than the child who has seen twelve harvests: and his limbs and features were proportionably small. The colour of his skin, and the robe which he wore, as well as the shape of the latter, so nearly resembled those of the Spirit-wife on the morning she came to the Teton village, that all deemed they were of the same nation, perhaps brother and sister. When they asked the stranger who he was, and why he had come hither, he made no answer, but to the question said, with a voice that sounded like the wind of the Cold Moon:

"Have you seen my wife?"

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

"She who yesterday fled from my arms—the beautiful Spirit of Snow."

"Ten seasons have passed," said the chief, "and the eleventh is near at hand, since there came among us a being, exceedingly beautiful, and habited much like him to whom the great chief of the Tetons is now speaking. She has become the wife of one of my Braves. Was she thine ere she was his?"

"Ten of thy seasons are but a day, nay, but an hour, nay, but a minute, in the eyes of spirits. In my computation, it was yesterday that the fair Spirit of Snow left my bosom."

"And who art thou?"

"The Spirit of Tempests—the ruler over the realms of the bleak north; he who harnesses his horses to the east winds, and drives the furious whirlwind and crashing tempest over the lands of the affrighted Tetons and their forest brothers."

"Thou seemest too small of stature to undertake wrathful purposes, and all unfit to represent the mighty winds that rend the stubborn oak, and the fierce tempests that scatter yet wilder desolation," said the Teton chief, surveying, almost contemptuously, the diminutive form of the strange Spirit.

"Tax but my powers—excite but my ire," said the demon, "and the chief of the Burntwood Tetons may rue the hour that gave birth to his doubts of the strength of the master of the northern blast. But why do I waste words upon thee? Bring hither my wicked wife."

Seeing the angry and ireful Spirit determined upon mischief, the chief departed, his bosom filled with sorrow, to summon the beautiful and beloved Spirit of Snow to the presence of the being who claimed her as his wife. He found her not unapprised of the dreadful fate which awaited her. Bathed in tears, her head reclined on the shoulder of the doting Teton, sat the lovely Spirit, her eyes now bent on him she loved so fondly, and now on their beautiful children, who slept all unconscious of the grief which wrung their fond mother's bosom. At length, with sudden resolution, she rose from her seat, and, folding the beloved warrior to her breast in one long and passionate embrace, she left the cabin.

"I have found thee at last," exclaimed the angry ruler of tempests, as the beautiful woman approached him. "Thou, who fledst from my arms to those of an earthly paramour, how dost thou like the exchange?"

"So well," replied the trembling Spirit, "that if thou wilt consent to let me remain where I am, I will never return to thee or to my clime of snows."

"Base-minded woman! And wilt thou abandon the glorious destiny of ruling the elements for the mean one of sharing in the labours of a Teton cabin?"

"The destiny which thou deemest glorious may be well abandoned for that which thou holdest mean. However well it may once have suited me to dwell in the bleak climes of the north, and be the mistress of the flaky dew, it now more glads my heart to share in the labours of a Teton cabin. I know, from my own brief experience, that the fevers and agues of mortality are to be preferred a thousand times to the unvarying, unchanging, existence of a Spirit without passion, feeling, sympathy, love, or tenderness. I pray thee let me remain as I am, and where I am."

"And so thou preferrest the earth to the sky; sensibility to insensibility; a humble Teton warrior to the mighty Spirit of the clime over which thou wast created to exert thyself a wondrous influence?"

"Let it not displease thee that I do. I have become in love with the pains of human life, and delighted with the anxieties which cling to it, as moist snow clings to a pine in the warm spring."

"Becoming a mortal being thou must die."

"I shall first have lived."

"Thy spirit—"

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

"Once more I ask, dost thou prefer to remain on earth? Rough and noisy though I be, yet will I not exert force to compel thee back to thine own region."

"I would remain. In my cabin is a Teton warrior—him I love; there are ten beautiful children at his side—the Spirit of Snow fed them with her own milk—the Teton warrior is their father. Thou canst not, passionless as thou art, know my feelings; but, believe me, that to part me from them is to banish all peace and joy from my soul, and to drive me into a depth of affliction, which will last till time shall be no more. Nor deem that aught save death can weaken the force of those affections which are now kindled in my bosom."

"I see, I see; and, but that stern pride forbids it, I, too, would, throw off the state of a ruler of tempests and wintry winds, to become the master of a cabin in one of the green vales of the earth, to gather around me children like thine, and to feel the hopes and fears, which have rendered thee so unlike the being thou wast. But we shall meet again. When thou wert invested with the attributes of mortality, death was also appointed to thee—a few years, and thou wilt quit the house of clay, again to rove free and unconfined among the glittering stars, and through the endless realms of space."

With these words, the Spirit of Storms took his departure from the land of the Tetons, and none ever saw him more. Released from his presence, joy again took possession of the bosom of the beautiful wife of the Teton, and the traces of tears were soon removed from her fair cheek. His assurance had quieted her soul, and fear was no longer an inhabitant of her bosom. She no longer sought the gloomy privacy of the cabin at the approach of night, but joined the dance of maidens, herself the most sportive of them all. Every season added a little stranger to the laughing and merry groupe, till twenty and seven sons and daughters were in the cabin of the Teton Swift Foot. Old age came over the husband, but not the wife. When his knees had grown feeble, and his voice faint, and his eye dim, and his heart craven, her faculties were in full perfection—her cheek still wore the blush of youth, and her step was lighter than the fawn of four moons. And, if time had abated nothing of her wondrous beauty and sprightliness, neither had it of her goodness, and kind attention to the wants of the poor Indians. Her care that they should want for nothing was as much exerted as ever—still their hunting-grounds and their rivers were the best stocked of any in all the land, and their war expeditions for forty seasons were invariably blest with success. Let not my brother wonder, then, if the Tetons almost forgot their duty to the Great Spirit, in their affection for the good being whom they deemed his fatherly care had sent among them.

At length, the Teton warrior, overcome by years, lay down and died. Then it was that deep grief visited the bosom of his still beautiful and still youthful wife. In vain, did the priest remind her that all must die—she would not be consoled. They dressed the body of the deceased warrior in his robe of fur, and then laid it, together with his spear, and bow, and war-hatchet, and sheaf of arrows, and pipe, and camp-kettle, in the house of death(4). While they were rendering the last service to the body of the Swift Foot, the wife sat motionless, looking on—when they had finished, she rose, and spoke to them thus:—

"We have now dwelt together, Tetons, for forty summers, and, during that time, there has been a pure, unclouded sky in our village. We have been friends, and so we will part. I cannot abide longer on the earth; I go to take the soul of my beloved husband to the mansion prepared for him in my own bright clime of the north. My children I leave to the care of the brave warriors and good hunters, bidding one to protect, and the other to feed them, till the Good Spirit sees fit to deprive them of the life he has given. Be this your recompense.

"It is known that, among all the red men of the forest, none are so fond of dancing, and none so excellent therein, as the Tetons. Ask any man, or any woman, of any nation, who best and most gracefully perform the War Dance, and the Scalp Dance, and the Calumet Dance, and the Dance of Green Corn, and he will answer, 'The Burntwood Tetons.' Now, if ye will continue to watch over my helpless children till their days of helplessness are past, ye shall continue to dance even after death—the spirit released from the flesh shall still caper as merrily as ever over the clear skies of the north. Those skies were once mine—to-morrow I shall resume dominion over them."

"It is cold, very cold in those regions," said the great chief. "The dance will not keep us warm, and our way will be impeded by the ice and snow."

"Neither shall be an impediment," answered the beautiful Spirit. "I will cause my little people to kindle huge fires, the flames of which, flashing over the northern skies, shall at once dissipate the flaky mists, and be a light to the steps of the dancers. And thus shall it be. When a Teton departs, his spirit shall go to the northern skies, which henceforth shall be the Teton's Paradise. There shall he enjoy, uninterrupted, his beloved pastime; and, till time shall be no more, have full permission to foot it as joyfully as he did on earth."

These were the concluding words of the Spirit-wife. When they looked up she was gone from their sight, no one knew whither. Presently there was a slight fall of snow, which soon, however, again gave place to the beams of the warm and refreshing sun. They never saw her again. They never saw her again, but they forgot neither her nor her wishes. The children she left were adopted by the nation, and became in time so many of them fathers and mothers, that, at this day, half the tribe are descended from them.

My brother asks, if the good Spirit-wife kept her promise to the Tetons. She did, as he will see, if he will but look at the northern skies in the time of summer and autumn. He will then see flashing over the face of the broad heavens the flames which the good people kindle to thaw the frosty air, and thus remove the impediments which exist to the merry dance of the souls of those Tetons, who have repaired to the Happy Abode. He will hear very plain the laugh[A] of the sprightly dancers; and frequently, when the air is very clear, he will see their nimble forms dancing up and down the moonbeams. Who would not wish that his spirit might be permitted to go to THE TETON'S PARADISE?

[Footnote A: The aurora borealis, or "northern light," as my readers know, is usually attended by a whizzing sound, somewhat resembling laughter.]

Brother, this is no lie.

NOTES.

(1) String of Wampum.—p. 293.

A party of Indians, intending to go to war, first observe a rigorous and protracted fast. When the fast is ended, he who is to command it assembles his friends, and, holding in his hand a string of wampum, makes a speech, in which the causes of war, and the injuries and insults which justify it, are fully and artfully set forth. When he has finished, he lays the collar on the ground, and he who takes it up, by so doing, declares himself embarked in the same expedition.

(2) Eat up the Nation.—p. 294.

This is a frequent figure of the Indian orator, when endeavouring to inflame the passions of his hearers. It signifies that a war is to be waged against the nation respecting whom the "talk" is held, in the most outrageous and destructive manner. When they wish to engage in their quarrel an ally who is not present, they send a belt of wampum, with an invitation to him to drink the "blood" or "the broth of the flesh of their enemies." It is not to be inferred from this, that the North American Indians are Anthropophagi. It is undoubtedly an allegorical manner of speaking, with frequent examples of which the Scriptures furnish us, e.g. Psalms xxvii. 2.

(3) The stormy Lake of Michabou.—p. 294.

The Indians believe that Michabou, the God of the Waters, formed Lake Superior to serve as a nursery for beavers. The rocks at the Sault de Saint Marie, or Falls of St. Mary, according to the tradition of the Indians, are the remains of a causeway made by the God in order to dam up the waters of the rivers, which supply this great lake. At the time he did this, he lived, they add, at Michillimackinac, i.e. a great place for turtles, pronounced Mak-i-naw. He it was who taught the ancestors of the Indians to fish, and invented nets, of which he took the idea from the spider's web. Very many of the northern tribes recognise this same divinity, but the Hurons alone assign Lake Superior as the place of his residence.

(4) House of Death.—p. 302.

The funeral customs of the Indians are very various, and all are sufficiently curious to merit a place in this note. I have only space for a few. The first extract relates rather to the place of deposit for the dead, than to the dead themselves. It describes the common cemetery of the tribes living west of the Rocky Mountains.

"Among the Pishquitpaws, who live beyond the Rocky Mountains, the place in which the dead are deposited is a building about sixty feet long, and twelve feet wide, and is formed by placing in the ground poles or forks six feet high, across which a long pole is extended the whole length of the structure. Against this ridge-pole are placed broad boards and pieces of canoes in a slanting direction, so as to form a shed. It stands east and west, and neither of the extremities are closed. On entering the western end we observed a number of bodies, wrapped carefully in leather robes, and arranged in rows on boards, which were then covered with mats. This was the part destined for those who had recently died: a little further on, bones half decayed were scattered about, and in the centre of the building was a large pile of them heaped promiscuously on each other. At the western extremity was a mat on which twenty-one sculls were placed in a circular form, the mode of interment being first to wrap the body in robes, and as it decays the bones are thrown into the heap, and the sculls placed together. From the different boards and pieces of canoes which form the vault were suspended on the inside fishing-nets, baskets, wooden bowls, robes, skins, trenchers, and trinkets of various kinds, obviously intended as offerings of affection to deceased relatives. On the outside of the vault were the skeletons of several horses, and great quantities of bones were in the neighbourhood, which induced us to believe that these animals were most probably sacrificed at the funeral rites of their masters."—Lewis and Clarke, ii, 24.

It was not worth while for these travellers to imply a doubt that those animals were sacrificed. The custom obtains among all the tribes of the Western continent, from Labrador to Cape Horn, of sacrificing the most valuable animals, on the death of their master. In this they are actuated by a common belief that the deceased will need their assistance in the land of spirits. See the various traditions.

The Choctaws, a tribe living near the gulf of Mexico, till very late years had a practice similar to that of the Pishquitpaws, of exposing their dead upon scaffolds, till such time as the flesh was decayed; it was then separated from the bones by a set of old men, who devoted themselves to this custom, and were called "bone-pickers;" after which, the bones were interred in some place set apart for the purpose.

With the tribes living far towards the northern lakes, the ceremonies and superstitions which formerly preceded inhumation, were these:—Charlevoix, the best writer that ever treated of the Indians, is my authority. "As soon as the sick person expires, the place is filled with mournful cries. The dead body, dressed in the finest robe, with the face painted, the arms, and all that belonged to the deceased, by his side, is exposed at the door of the cabin, in the posture it is to be laid in the tomb; and this posture is the same in many places as that of a child in the mother's womb. The custom of some nations is for the relations to fast to the end of the funeral; and all this interval is passed in tears and cries, in treating their visiters, in praising the dead, and in mutual compliments. In other places, they hire women to weep, who perform their part punctually: they sing, they dance, they weep, without ceasing, always keeping time: but these demonstrations of a borrowed sorrow do not prevent what nature requires from the relations of the deceased.

"It appears that they carry the body without ceremony to the place of interment, at least I find no mention made about it in any relation: but, when it is in the grave, they take care to cover it in such a manner that the earth does not touch it. It lies as in a little cave lined with skin, much richer and better adorned than their cabins. Then they set up a post on the grave, and fix on it every thing that may shew the esteem they had for the deceased. They sometimes put on it his portrait, and every thing that may serve to shew to passengers who he was, and the finest actions of his life. They carry fresh provisions to the tomb every morning; and, as the dogs and other beasts do not fail to reap the benefit of it, they are willing to persuade themselves that these things have been eaten by the souls of the dead.

"When any one dies in the time of hunting, they expose his body on a very high scaffold, and it remains there till the departure of the troop, who carry it with them to the village. There are some nations who practice the same with regard to all their dead. The bodies of those who die in war are burnt, and their ashes brought back to be laid in the burying-place of their fathers. Others bury their dead in the woods, at the foot of a tree; or dry them, and keep them in chests, till the festival of the dead. In some places they observe an odd ceremony for those that are drowned or frozen to death. The savages believe, when these accidents happen, that the spirits are incensed, and that their anger is not appeased till the body is found. Then the preliminaries of tears, dances, songs, and feasts, being ended, they carry the body to the usual burying-place; or, if they are too far off, to the place where it is to remain till the festival of the dead. They dig a very large pit, and make a fire in it; then some young persons approach the corpse, cut out the flesh in the parts which had been marked by the master of the ceremonies, and throw them into the fire with the bowels. Then they place the corpse, thus mangled, in the place destined for it. During the whole operation, the women, especially the relations of the deceased, go continually around those that are at it, exhorting them to acquit themselves well of their employment, and put beads in their months, as we would give sugar-plums to children, to entice them to do what we desire."

The customs among some of the tribes, especially those who have had little intercourse with the white people, are substantially the same at this day. But, it has been the effect of their acquaintance with their conquerors to make them forget every thing laudable and praiseworthy, among which was their singular veneration for the dust of their ancestors. These now bury their dead with as few ceremonies as we observe in burying a dog.

Mackenzie's description of the funeral solemnities of the Knistenaux, who live further north than Charlevoix went, is something different from the above:—The funeral rites begin, like all other solemn solemnities, with smoking, and are concluded by a feast. The body is dressed in the best habiliments possessed by the deceased or his relations, and is then deposited in a grave lined with branches. Some domestic utensils are placed on it, and a kind of canopy erected over it. During this ceremony great lamentations are made, and the departed person is very much regretted; the near relations cut off their hair, pierce the fleshy part of their thighs with arms, knives, &c. and blacken their faces with charcoal. If they have distinguished themselves in war, they are sometimes laid on a kind of scaffolding; and I have been informed that women, as in the East, have been known to sacrifice themselves to the manes of their husbands. The whole of the property belonging to the deceased person is destroyed, and the relations take in exchange for their wearing apparel any rags that will cover their nakedness.—Mackenzie, p. xcix. Journal, 148.

The Delawares, and other Indians on the Atlantic coast, buried their dead after the following manner. Immediately after death, the corpse was dressed in a new suit, with the face and shirt painted red, and laid upon a mat or skin in the middle of the hut or cottage. The arms and effects of the deceased were then piled up near the body. In the evening, soon after sunset, and in the morning before day-break, the female relations and friends assembled round the corpse and mourned over it. Their lamentations were loud in proportion to the love and esteem they bore the deceased, or to his rank, or to the pains he suffered in dying. And they were repeated daily till his interment.

The burying-places of the Delawares were at some distance from the dwellings. The graves were generally dug by the old women, as the young people abhorred this kind of work. If they had a coffin, it was placed in the grave empty. Then the corpse was carried out, lying upon a linen cloth, full in view, that the finery and ornaments, with all the effects left by the deceased, might appear to advantage. The funeral was accompanied by as great a number of friends as could be collected. It was then let down into the coffin covered with the cloth. During the letting down of the corpse, the women set up a dreadful howl, but it was deemed a shame to weep. Yet, in silence and unobserved, they could not refrain from tears. It may be seen that they had partially conformed to the customs of the white people. The "coffin" and "linen cloth" were not Indian.

The funeral ceremonies of the tribes inhabiting New England were similar to the authentic part of those practised by the Delawares. Graves were dug and the body deposited therein, together with such utensils of cookery, and weapons of war, as it was deemed would be wanted by the spirits of the deceased in the world they were about to visit. They had one custom, however, which I did not observe among the southern tribes—that of placing weights on the grave to prevent the body from getting out again, and haunting its friends.

It will be seen from these various customs, that one belief is common to all the tribes scattered over the western continent—that of the existence in man of the spiritual essence which we call soul; of its flight after death to another and better world, variously located however; and of its being there actuated by the same wants and wishes, engaged in the same occupation and pursuits, and requiring the same means for the attainment of the same ends, as in this.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON: F. SHOBERL, JUN., LAZENBY COURT, LONG ACRE.