he lay. Now the roaring of the waters grew louder,
and as they hastened to the rocks over which they would fall they bore
with them my child--I saw her raise herself in the canoe, I saw her
long hair as it fell on her bosom--I saw no more!

"My sons bore me in their arms to the rest of the party. The hunters had
delayed their return that they might seek for the body of my child. Her
lover called to her, his voice could be heard above the sound of the
waters. 'Return to me, Wenonah, I will never love maiden but you; did
you not promise to light the fires in my wigwam?' He would have thrown
himself after her, had not the young men prevented him. The body rests
not in the cold waters; we found it and buried it, and her spirit calls
to me in the silence of the night! Her lover said he would not remain
long on the earth; he turned from the Dahcotah maidens as they smiled
upon him. He died as a warrior should die!

"The Chippeways had watched for us, they longed to carry the scalp of a
Dahcotah home. They did so--but we were avenged.

"Our young men burst in upon them when they were sleeping; they struck
them with their tomahawks, they tore their scalps reeking with blood
from their heads.

"We heard our warriors at the village as they returned from their war
party; we knew by their joyful cries that they had avenged their
friends. One by one they entered the village, bearing twenty scalps of
the enemy.

"Only three of the Dahcotahs had fallen. But who were the three? My
sons, and he who was as dear as a son to me, the lover of my child. I
fled from their cries of triumph--I longed to plunge the knife into my
own heart.

"I have lived on. But sorrow and cold and hunger have bowed my spirit;
and my limbs are not as strong and active as they were in my youth.
Neither can I work with porcupine as I used to--for age and tears have
dimmed my sight. I bring you venison and fish, will you not give me
clothes to protect me from the winter's cold?"

Ah! Checkered Cloud--he was a prophet who named you. Though the cloud
has varied, now passing away, now returning blacker than before--though
the cheering light of the sun has for a moment dispelled the gloom--
'twas but for a moment! for it was sure to break in terrors over your
head. Your name is your history, your life has been a checkered cloud!
But the storm of the day has yielded to the influence of the setting
sun. The thunder has ceased to roll, the wind has died away, and