of rich voices filled the little hut with a melody that thrilled through our very hearts.

The hymn was sung in the Indian tongue; a language that is peculiarly sweet and soft in its cadences, and seems to be composed of many vowels. I could not but notice the modest air of the girls as if anxious to avoid the observation which they attracted by their sweet voices, they turned away from the gaze of the strangers, facing each other, and bending their heads down over the work they still held in their hands. The attitude, which is that of the Eastern nations, the dress, dark hair and eyes, the olive complexion, heightened color, and meek expression of face, would have formed a study for a painter. I was pleased with the air of deep reverence that sat on the faces of the elders of the Indian family, as they listened to the voices of their children singing praise and glory to the God and Savior whom they had learned to fear and love.

The Indians seem most tender parents: it is pleasing to see the affectionate manner in which they treat their young children, fondly and gently caressing them, with eyes and looks overflowing with love. During the singing, each pappoose crept to the feet of its respective father and mother, and those that were too young to join their voices with the little choir remained quite silent till the hymn was at an end. One little girl of three years evidently possessed a fine ear, and a natural taste for music, who beat time on her father's knee, and from time to time chimed in her infant voice.

I was at a loss to conceive where the Indians kept their stores, clothes, and other movables, the wigwam being so small that there seemed no room for any thing besides them. selves and their hounds. Their ingenuity, however, supplied the want of room; and I soon discovered a plan that answered all the purposes of closets, bags, boxes, &c., the inner lining of birch-bark being drawn between the poles, so as to form pouches all round. In these pouches were stowed their goods;

I one set held their stock of dried deer's flesh, another dried fish, a third contained some flat cakes. Their dressed skins, clothes, materials for their various toys, such as beads, quills, bits of cloth, silk, with a great number of miscellaneous articles, occupied the rest of these reservoirs.

Though open for a considerable space at the top, the interior of the wigwam was so hot that I could scarcely breathe; and I was constrained to throw off all my outer garments during the time we staid. Before we went away, the hunter insisted in showing us a game, which was something after the manner of our cup and ball, only more complicated, and requiring more sleight of hand; and the Indians seemed evidently well pleased at our want of adroitness. They also showed us another game, which was a little like ninepins, only the number of sticks stuck in the ground was greater. I was unable to stay to see the little rows of sticks knocked out, as the heat of the wigwam oppressed me almost to suffocation, and I was glad to feel myself once more breathing the pure air.

LESSON XVI.

The Chase of Konno.

ANONYMOUS.

So softly bright the sun's last ray

*

Was gleaming on Dacotah's height,
It seemed that sweeter smiled the day

To usher in the gentle night,
When out beneath the pleasant sky
They led a Pawnee maid to die,

A hill from which the Sioux received their Indian appellation.

Whose drooping form and pallid cheek
The heart's exhaustion seemed to speak.

Not hers the pride, the fierce disdain,
That laughs at torture, sports with pain;
Not hers the red man's highest vaunt,
To answer blow with bitter taunt,
And mocking torture, agony,
Unyielding sink - deriding die.
But she, a chieftain's only child,
And used to accents fond and mild,
Nurtured with gentlest tenderness,

By one, whose hand, though red with slaughter, Washed off the blood-stain to caress,

With deepest love, his lovely daughter.
She could not play the savage part,
And mock the bolt that tore her heart:
Her captors marked with shout and jeer
The unwonted signs of shrinking fear,
And almost scorned to snatch the breath
From the poor wretch who dreaded death.

While some among the ruthless throng
The captive bound with cord and thong,
Some gazed with cautious, meaning look,
To where, beneath an aged oak,
Within the shadow of the wood,

Konno, the young and fearless, stood:
One arm upon his steed he leant,
His right hand held a bow unbent,
All statue-like and motionless,
Only his eyes' dark gleams confess-
And the slow heaving of his chest
The fire of life that scorched his breast,
While on the drooping captive near
He gazed with look of troubled fear.

But sudden in his heart there gushed

A hope-a thrill warm, bright, and new,

And short and quick his breath he drew;
As when the statue formed of old,
Of senseless clay in manly mould,
Touched by the wand Promethean,
With fire celestial, — burst to life.

rife

When first the torches fired the train,
Firmly he grasped his horse's mane,
When wide and high the flames were flung,
Light to his courser's back he sprung ;
Then to her shriek of agony
Responsive pealed his battle-cry,
And like a bison hunted hot,
Right onward to the file he shot,
Cleared the red circle at a bound,
And stood within the fiery round;
Then, in the midway of his course,
Back to his haunches checked his horse;
High in the air his war-knife quivered -

The blade descends - the bonds are severed;
He raised the fainting girl,

then turned,

His courser's hoof the firebrands spurned;

The boldest, fearful, backward drew,

When Konno and his prize dashed through,

So fierce his joy, so fell his mood,
Had in his way his father stood,,
He would have spilt his sacred blood

On to the prairie, free and fleet,
As mountain torrent or driven sleet,
Fast they fly as the winter wind,
For hot and hard is the chase behind;

-

Over the sea-like plain they flew,

The darkling forest they threaded through,
They turned not at Missouri's shore -
Stout o'er the stream the good steed bore;
So fleet of foot and strong of breath,
No courser swept the western heath;
From set of sun to break of day,
Tireless, that steed pressed on his way,
Nor flagged, till at the Pawnee hold,
He left unhurt his rider bold,

While the vain followers of the track
Turned, worn, and spent, and baffled, back.

I HAVE trod this land for many a year,
I have loved these hills to roam;

The gushing stream, and the wild-wood near,
The brook, the vale, and the lakelet clear,
Were once my childhood's home.

I have watched yon sea in days of old,
Where it kissed an Indian shore ;

I have stemmed its wave in winter's cold;
I have marked the spray as its billows rolled,
And loved its angry roar.

These aged boughs did once o'erspread

The Indian's last retreat;

They flung their shade on the dreamless bed,