n woman, but, knowing
little of the feeling which possessed her bosom, could apply no
healing medicine.

In the spring, as they were returning with their canoes loaded with
furs, they encamped near the falls which our white brother has seen,
and which have became so celebrated in Indian story for the many
tragical scenes connected with them. In the morning, as they left
their encamping ground on the border of the river, she for a while
lingered near the spot, as if working up her mind to some terrible
feat of despair. Then, launching her light canoe, she entered it with
her children, and paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. The
air was one of those melancholy airs which are sung by our people when
in deep distress, or about to end the journey of life.

DEATH-SONG OF AMPATO SAPA.

I loved him long and well.
And he to me
Was the soft sun, which makes the young trees bud.
In gentle spring,
And bids the glad birds sing,
From out the boughs, their song of love and joy.
And he would sit beside me on the grass,
And plait my hair with beads,
And tell the trees, and flowers, and birds,
That Dark-Day was more beautiful than they.

I lov'd him long and well.
And he to me
Was as the tree which props the tender vine,
Or clustering ivy, letting them embrace
His strength and pride.
When he withdraws from them,
They fall, and I must die.

He lov'd me once,
And lov'd his little babes;
And he would go with morning to the hills,
And chase the buffalo.

But he would come
And press me in his arms, when darkness hid
Both beast and bird from the clear hunter's eye.
Then he would creep to where our children slept,
And smile--but sweeter smile upon their mother.

He loves another now.
A younger bird is in his nest,
And sings sweet songs from Dark-Days once fair bower,
And I am lov'd no more.
He will be no more to me as the sun,
Which gives the young trees life in gentle spring.
Nor as the tree which props the tender vine.
He loves another better than Dark-Day--
He cares not for her,
Nor for his children:
No, he cares not for them.

I will die;
I will go to the happy lands,
Beyond the mighty river.
There I shall see again my tender mother,
There I shall meet the warriors of my tribe,
And they shall make my sons good men.
There I