ior, and who would believe her if she
denied the charge?

And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life, which she deemed
worthless, when embittered by unmerited contempt. She knew not that God
has said, "Thou shall do no murder." The command had never sounded
in her ears.

She trusted to find a home in the House of Spirits--she may have found a
heaven in the mercy of God.

The fever of the following summer spared neither age nor youth, and Red
Cloud was its first victim. As the dying Harpstenah saw his body carried
out to be placed upon the scaffold--"He is dead," she cried, "and Wenona
was innocent! He hated her because she slighted him; I hated her because
she was happy. He had his revenge, and I mine; but Wenona was falsely
accused, and I told him to do it!" and the eyes were closed--the voice
was hushed in death.

Wenona was innocent; and when the Virgin's Feast shall be celebrated in
her native village again, how will the maidens tremble as they approach
the sacred ring! Can they forget the fate of their beautiful companion?

And when the breath of summer warms to life the prairie flowers--when
the long grass shall wave under the scaffold where repose the mortal
remains of the chief's sister--how often will the Dahcotah maidens draw
near to contrast the meanness, the treachery, the falsehood of Red
Cloud, with the constancy, devotion, and firmness of Wenona!

THE DAHCOTAH CONVERT.

"Tell me," said, Hiatu-we-noken-chah, or 'woman of the night,' "the
Great Spirit whom you have taught me to fear, why has he made the white
woman rich and happy, and the Dahcotah poor and miserable?" She spoke
with bitterness when she remembered the years of sorrow that had made up
the sum of her existence.

But how with the missionary's wife? had her life been one bright
dream--had her days been always full of gladness--her nights quiet and
free from care? Had she never longed for the time of repose, that
darkness might cover her as with a mantle--and when 'sleep forsook the
wretched,' did she not pray for the breaking of the day, that she might
again forget all in the performance of the duties of her station? Could
it be that the Creator had balanced the happiness of one portion of his
children against the wretchedness of the rest? Let her story answer.

Her home is now among the forests of the west. As a child she would
tremble when she heard of the savage whose only happiness was in
shedding the blood of his f