the tribe, when his
own strength and vigour should have passed away, when the hand of age
should no more find joy in bending the bow, and the trembling knee be
best pleased to rest upon soft skins by the warm fire of the cabin.
Among the children of the forest he is most valued who has provided
most plentifully the means to maintain the honour, and secure the
safety, of his people; and hence he who can reckon the most brave and
warlike sons is esteemed the greatest of benefactors. Among all the
red men of the land, that wife acquires the strongest hold on the
affections of her husband who has given him the largest family, as
that husband acquires the greatest consequence in the eyes of his
nation, who sees the most birds in his nest, and is able to carry most
vultures to prey upon the corpses of his enemies. Is the barren woman
beloved by her husband? Ask me if the male bird watches by the nest of
her who sits on addled eggs. I shall tell you "No," nor does the
husband love or value the wife who lives alone in his cabin with none
to call her mother.

The beautiful Sakeajah gave her husband but one daughter, and upon her
did her parents lavish all those affections which had not their origin
in war and bloodshed. The sons were loved for the promise they gave of
bending their father's bow, and raising his massy club in battle, and
shouting his terrible war-cry with the ability to make good the
threats it contained--with the daughter were linked the few pacific
remembrances which find entrance into that stony thing--an Indian's
heart. And well was Tatoka, or the Antelope, for that was the name of
the daughter of Mahtoree and Sakeajah, worthy to be loved. She was
beautiful, as young Indian maidens generally are, before the hard
duties of the field and the cabin have bowed their limbs, and
servitude has chilled the fire of their hearts. Her skin was but
little darker than that of the chief from the far land who is
listening to my story. Her eyes were large and bright as those of the
bison-ox, and her hair black and braided with beads, brushed, as she
walked, the dew from the flowers upon the prairies. Her temper was
soft and placable, and her voice--what is so sweet as the voice of an
Indian maiden when tuned to gladness! what so moves the hearer to
grief and melancholy by its tones of sorrow and anguish! Our brother
has heard them--let him say if the birds of his own forests, the dove
of his nest, have sweeter notes than t