tempest! The
storms of her life had been fiercer than the warring of the elements.
But while the fountains of heaven were unsealed, those of her heart were
closed forever. Never more should tears relieve her, who had shed so
many. Often had she gone into the prairies to weep, far from the sight
of her companions. Her voice was heard from a distance. The wind would
waft the melancholy sound back to the village.

"It is only Harpstenah," said the women. "She has gone to the prairies
to weep for her husband and her children."

The storm raged during the night, but ceased with the coming of day. The
widowed wife and childless mother was found dead under the scaffold
where lay the body of her son.

The Thunder Bird was avenged for the death of his friend. The strength
of Red Deer had wasted under a lingering disease; his children were
dead; their mother lay beside her youngest son.

The spirit of the waters had not appeared in vain. When the countenance
of Unktahe rests upon a Dahcotah, it is the sure prognostic of coming
evil. The fury of the storm spirits was spent when the soul of
Harpstenah followed her lost ones.

* * * * *

Dimly, as the lengthened shadows of evening fall around them, are seen
the outstretched arms of the suffering Dahcotah women, as they appeal
to us for assistance--and not to proud man!

He, in the halls of legislation, decides when the lands of the red man
are needed--one party makes a bargain which the other is forced
to accept.

But in a woman's heart God has placed sympathies to which the sorrows of
the Dahcotah women appeal. Listen! for they tell you they would fain
know of a balm for the many griefs they endure; they would be taught to
avoid the many sins they commit; and, oh! how gladly would many of them
have their young children accustomed to shudder at the sight of a fellow
creature's blood. Like us, they pour out the best affections of early
youth on a beloved object. Like us, they have clasped their children to
their hearts in devoted love. Like us, too, they have wept as they laid
them in the quiet earth.

But they must fiercely grapple with trials which we have never
conceived. Winter after winter passes, and they perish from disease, and
murder, and famine.

There is a way to relieve them--would you know it? Assist the
missionaries who are giving their lives to them and God. Send them
money, that they may clothe the feeble infant, and fe