"Leave me to be the judge of that. Cannot you give me a war-song?"

"Yes,--but no good," with an ominous shake of the head.

"A hunting-song?"

"No fit for white man."--with an air of contempt.--"No good, no good!"

"Do, John, sing us a love-song," said I, laughing, "if you have such a
thing in your language."

"Oh! much love-song--very much--bad--bad--no good for Christian man.
Indian song no good for white ears." This was very tantalizing, as their
songs sounded very sweet from the lips of their squaws, and I had a great
desire and curiosity to get some of them rendered into English.

To my husband they gave the name of "the musician," but I have forgotten
the Indian word. It signified the maker of sweet sounds. They listened
with intense delight to the notes of his flute, maintained a breathless
silence during the performance; their dark eyes flashing in fierce light
at a martial strain, or softening with the plaintive and tender.

The affection of Indian parents to their children, and the deference
which they pay to the aged, is a beautiful and touching trait in their
character.

One extremely cold, wintry day, as I was huddled with my little ones over
the stove, the door softly unclosed, and the moccasined foot of an Indian
crossed the floor. I raised my head, for I was too much accustomed to
their sudden appearance at any hour to feel alarmed, and perceived a tall