ome a man."

"Karkapaha _is_ changed," said the chief thoughtfully, "but when,
and how?"

"The Little Spirits of the Mountain have given him a new soul. Bid
your Braves draw this bow; bid them poise this spear. Their eyes say
they can do neither. Then is Karkapaha the strong man of his tribe;"
and as he said this he flourished the ponderous spear over his head as
a man would poise a reed, and drew the bow as a child would bend a
willow twig.

"Karkapaha is the husband of Tatoka," said Mahtoree, springing to his
feet, and he gave the beautiful maiden to her lover. The traditionary
lore of the Mahas is full of the exploits, both in war and the chase,
of Karkapaha, who was made a man by the Spirits of the Mountain.

THE VALLEY OF THE BRIGHT OLD INHABITANTS.

On the northern branch of the river of the Cherokees, the most
numerous and powerful tribe of the south, there are two high mountains
nearly covered with mossy rocks, and lofty cedars, and pines. These
mountains, rugged and terrible to behold, are made yet more fearful to
the mind of the red man of the forest, who sees the Great Being in the
clouds, and hears him in the winds, and fancies a spirit in every
thing that moves, by the horrid sights and awful sounds which proceed
from them. Often, as the sun sinks behind those mountains, persons who
have their eyes intently fixed upon them will see lofty forms whose
heads stretch far into the sky, standing upon their summits, or
oftener leaping from one mountain to the other clean across the wide
valley which separates them. Those shapes we can see wear the shape of
man, yet their actions do not seem to belong to a race of mortals, and
we deem them spirits--giant spirits, which never had the sinews, and
bones, and muscle, and flesh, of men. And often, in the midnight
hour, the listener hears sounds proceeding from those mountains--the
whispers of love, the loud tones of strife, or the merry ones of
joy--laughing and weeping--wooing and strife--expressing all the
various passions and emotions which find a place in the bosoms of
mortals. With these mighty spirits no mortal hath had communication,
for they never leave the mountain--and who shall dare approach their
villages? No one has heard their story, no one knows their creator,
nor when they were born, nor when they shall die, if death be
appointed to them. They have lived in mystery: showing their forms as
the trunk of a decayed, and branch-less tree shows i