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terpreter present, we were ignorant of what he said—though we had every reason to suppose he addressed them on the religious nature of the sacrifice. At intervals, during the burning of the sacrifice, an aged chief sprinkled into the fire sweetscented tobacco; and the similarity of this part of the ceremony to the burning of incense by the Jewish priests, could not have escaped the notice of any intelligent reader of the Scriptures present.

“For several days after this ceremony, the Indians celebrated their national dances. Part of one day I was present at this stage of their festival. They met in their council-house-a long, low building, without a floor, except a floor of earth. Two square apertures were cut in the roof, under each of which a fire was burning, -over which two very large iron kettles were suspended, containing corn and beans : around these the Indians and squaws danced with great regularity, each forming by themselves a half circle, or rather half oval; the movement of the Indians was attended by violent gesticulations and stamping of the feet-each one having, around their legs and ankles, strings of the horny shell of the hoofs of those deer they had killed in their late expedition, which made a rattling noise. Their music was in a monotonous strain,

sung by an Indian, who also beat a kind of drum, made by straining a sheep skin over a barrel. The dress of the Indians on this occasion was of a very superior kind. Their heads were ornamented with feathers brilliantly dyed—their leggins and moccasins richly ornamented with beads and porcupine quills. A loose, long shirt of cotton, and a frock coat finished the costume. From their ears were suspended quantities of silver ear-rings, with long drops,—the whole circumference of the ear being perforated to receive them.

“ The squaws also wore leggins of red or blue cloth, richly decorated with beads--their moccasins were wrought with the quills of the porcupine; next, a petticoat of blue broad cloth, which, in many cases, was very fine,-over which was worn a loose, short gown

chintz. One handsome young squaw had her petticoat ornamented with points of silver broaches ten or twelve inches deep not merely the outline of the point, but the whole of it filled in with broaches. The broaches varied in size, from that of a dime to a half-dollar, the form being that of a ring with a tongue or pin of the same across it.

“ Around the sides of the council-house a sort of rude divan was placed, covered with deer-skins, for the accommodation of the spectators. When

of gay

the dance was over, those who had engaged in it were served with the refreshment which had been preparing in the large kettles.”

This was the end of the ceremony; and my young friends were all disposed to conclude with me, that it might possibly be connected with the ancient rites of the true religion, and might well excite us to labour, and pray that

" the poor Indian, whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind,”

may be brought to the knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus Christ.


A TENDER infant-girl

Lay in her shroud and coffin:
Her cheeks were like the pearl,

For tears had washed them often.
Ah me! her lot was sad and wild,-
She was a drunken mother's child.

Some children seem, when dead,

As though they were but sleeping;
But her eyes, in her head

Were sunk, as if much weeping
Had emptied out the fount of life
In streams of agony and strife.

Her fingers were as thin

As starving want could make them
Mere bones encased in skin

The feeblest strain might break them;
That wasted form her sorrows told,
As she lay there so pale and cold.

Her time was short;—who'd wept

Had time with her been shorter ?
God's love on her was kept

He claimed his suffering daughter,-
His goodness bade the child to die,
His mercy took her to the sky.

So delicate a flower

Should have a kindly keeper :-
Say, who—had he the power-

Would wake the little sleeper,
Recall her from her home above,
To live where she had none to love?

Oh! quietly she rests,

In heaven sweetly singing ; Those hands with joy are pressed

That, yesterday, were wringing In helplessness and utter woe, Beneath a mother's cruel blow.

No more she'll shed a tear

Of bitterness and sorrow,
Nor tremble with the fear

Of suffering to-morrow;
The anguish past that throbbed her breast,
Her weary soul is now at rest.

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