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which way to go and in a state of perfect despair. At length with bitter cries she lamented her fate.

      “Moowis, Moowis,” she cried, “nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win ig!”—“Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray, you are leading me astray!”

      With this cry she wandered in the woods.

      The cry of the lost Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa is sometimes repeated by the village girls who have made of it a song—

      Moowis! Moowis!

      Forest rover,

      Where art thou?

      Ah! my bravest, gayest lover,

      Guide me now.

      Moowis! Moowis!

      Ah! believe me,

      List my moan:

      Do not, do not, brave heart, leave me

      All alone.

      Moowis! Moowis!

      Footprints vanished!

      Whither wend I?

      Fated, lost, detested, banished

      Must I die!

      Moowis! Moowis!

      Whither goest thou,

      Eye-bright lover?

      Ah! thou ravenous bird that knowest,

      I see thee hover,

      Circling, circling

      As I wander,

      And at last

      When I fall thou then wilt come

      And feed upon my breast.

      THE GIRL WHO MARRIED THE PINE-TREE

      Upon the side of a certain mountain grew some pines, under the shade of which the Puckwudjinies, or sprites, were accustomed to sport at times. Now it happened that in the neighbourhood of these trees was a lodge in which dwelt a beautiful girl and her father and mother. One day a man came to the lodge of the father, and seeing the girl he loved her, and said—

      “Give me Leelinau for my wife,” and the old man consented.

      Now it happened that the girl did not like her lover, so she escaped from the lodge and went and hid herself, and as the sun was setting she came to the pine-trees, and leaning against one of them she lamented her hard fate. On a sudden she heard a voice, which seemed to come from the tree, saying—

      “Be my wife, maiden, beautiful Leelinau, beautiful Leelinau.”

      The girl was astonished, not knowing whence the voice could have come. She listened again, and the words were repeated, evidently by the tree against which she leaned. Then the maid consented to be the wife of the pine-tree.

      Meanwhile her parents had missed her, and had sent out parties to see if she could be found, but she was nowhere.

      Time passed on, but Leelinau never returned to her home. Hunters who have been crossing the mountain, and have come to the trees at sunset, say that they have seen a beautiful girl there in company with a handsome youth, who vanished as they approached.

      A LEGEND OF MANABOZHO

      Manabozho made the land. The occasion of his doing so was this.

      One day he went out hunting with two wolves. After the first day’s hunt one of the wolves left him and went to the left, but the other continuing with Manabozho he adopted him for his son. The lakes were in those days peopled by spirits with whom Manabozho and his son went to war. They destroyed all the spirits in one lake, and then went on hunting. They were not, however, very successful, for every deer the wolf chased fled to another of the lakes and escaped from them. It chanced that one day Manabozho started a deer, and the wolf gave chase. The animal fled to the lake, which was covered with ice, and the wolf pursued it. At the moment when the wolf had come up to the prey the ice broke, and both fell in, when the spirits, catching them, at once devoured them.

      Manabozho went up and down the lake-shore weeping and lamenting. While he was thus distressed he heard a voice proceeding from the depths of the lake.

      “Manabozho,” cried the voice, “why do you weep?”

      Manabozho answered—

      “Have I not cause to do so? I have lost my son, who has sunk in the waters of the lake.”

      “You will never see him more,” replied the voice; “the spirits have eaten him.”

      Then Manabozho wept the more when he heard this sad news.

      “Would,” said he, “I might meet those who have thus cruelly treated me in eating my son. They should feel the power of Manabozho, who would be revenged.”

      The voice informed him that he might meet the spirits by repairing to a certain place, to which the spirits would come to sun themselves. Manabozho went there accordingly, and, concealing himself, saw the spirits, who appeared in all manner of forms, as snakes, bears, and other things. Manabozho, however, did not escape the notice of one of the two chiefs of the spirits, and one of the band who wore the shape of a very large snake was sent by them to examine what the strange object was.

      Manabozho saw the spirit coming, and assumed the appearance of a stump. The snake coming up wrapped itself around the trunk and squeezed it with all its strength, so that Manabozho was on the point of crying out when the snake uncoiled itself. The relief was, however, only for a moment. Again the snake wound itself around him and gave him this time even a more severe hug than before. Manabozho restrained himself and did not suffer a cry to escape him, and the snake, now satisfied that the stump was what it appeared to be, glided off to its companions. The chiefs of the spirits were not, however, satisfied, so they sent a bear to try what he could make of the stump. The bear came up to Manabozho and hugged, and bit, and clawed him till he could hardly forbear screaming with the pain it caused him. The thought of his son and of the vengeance he wished to take on the spirits, however, restrained him, and the bear at last retreated to its fellows.

      “It is nothing,” it said; “it is really a stump.”

      Then the spirits were reassured, and, having sunned themselves, lay down and went to sleep. Seeing this, Manabozho assumed his natural shape, and stealing upon them with his bow and arrows, slew the chiefs of the spirits. In doing this he awoke the others, who, seeing their chiefs dead, turned upon Manabozho, who fled. Then the spirits pursued him in the shape of a vast flood of water. Hearing it behind him the fugitive ran as fast as he could to the hills, but each one became gradually submerged, so that Manabozho was at last driven to the top of the highest mountain. Here the waters still surrounding him and gathering in height, Manabozho climbed the highest pine-tree he could find. The waters still rose. Then Manabozho prayed that the tree would grow, and it did so. Still the waters rose. Manabozho prayed again that the tree would grow, and it did so, but not so much as before. Still the waters rose, and Manabozho was up to his chin in the flood, when he prayed again, and the tree grew, but less than on either of the former occasions. Manabozho looked round on the waters, and saw many animals swimming about seeking land. Amongst them he saw a beaver, an otter, and a musk-rat. Then he cried to them, saying—

      “My brothers, come to me. We must have some earth, or we shall all die.”

      So they came to him and consulted as to what had best be done, and it was agreed that they should dive down and see if they could not bring up some of the earth from below.

      The beaver dived first, but was drowned before he reached the bottom. Then the otter went. He came within sight of the earth, but then his senses failed him before he could get a bite of it. The musk-rat followed. He sank to the bottom, and bit the earth. Then he lost his senses and came floating up to the top of the water. Manabozho awaited the reappearance of the three, and as they came up to the surface he drew them to him. He examined their claws, but found nothing. Then he looked in their mouths and found the beaver’s and the otter’s empty. In the musk-rat’s, however, he found a little earth. This Manabozho took in his hands and rubbed till it was a fine dust. Then he dried it in the

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