LITMIR.BIZ

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      When the spring returned, the war was renewed, and Wanou whose strength was still sufficient to bear the toils of war, set out with the rest of the braves, and his white prisoner.

      When the Indians arrived in sight of the English camp, Wanou showed the young officer his countrymen, observing his countenance the while. “There are thy brethren,” said he, “waiting to fight us. Listen to me. I have saved thy life. I have taught thee to make a canoe, and bow and arrows; to hunt the bear and the buffalo; to bring down the deer at full speed, and to outwit even the cunning fox. What wast thou when I first led thee to my wigwam? Thy hands were like those of a child; they served neither to support nor to defend thee; thou wert ignorant, but from me thou hast learned every thing. Wilt thou be ungrateful, and raise up thy arm against the red man?”

      The young man declared with warmth that he would rather lose his own life than shed the blood of his Indian friends. The old warrior covered his face with his hands, bowed his head and remained in that posture for some time, as if overcome by some painful recollection. Then with a strong effort, he said to the young man, “Hast thou a father?”

      “He was living,” said the young man, “when I left my native country.”

      “Oh! how fortunate he is still to have a son!” cried the Indian; and then, after a moment’s silence, he added, “Knowest thou that I have been a father; but I am no longer so! I saw my son fall in battle; he fought bravely by my side; my son fell covered with wounds, and he died like a man! but I revenged his death; yes, I revenged his death!”

      Wanou pronounced these words with a terrible vehemence; but at length he became calm, and turning towards the east, where the sun had just risen, he said, “Young man, thou seest that glorious light—does it afford thee any pleasure to behold it?”

      “Yes,” replied the officer, “I never look upon the rising sun without pleasure, or without feeling thankful to our great father who created it.”

      “I am glad thou art happy, but there is no more pleasure for me,” said Wanou. A moment after, he showed the young man a shrub in full bloom, and said, “Hast thou any pleasure in beholding this plant?”

      “Yes, great pleasure,” replied the young man.

      “To me, it can no longer give pleasure,” said the old man; and then embracing the young Englishman, he concluded with these words, “Begone! hasten to thy country, that thy father may still have pleasure in beholding the rising sun, and the flowers of spring.”

      Poor chief; the death of his beloved son had broken his heart.

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THE FRIENDLY MANOEUVRE.

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      ANY years ago, a Scotchman and his wife, named M’Dou-gall, emigrated to America. Having but very little money, he purchased some land upon the verge of civilization, where it was sold for a low price. By great exertions and the aid of his neighbors, M’Dougall soon had a comfortable farm, well stocked. But the inconvenience of distance from the church, market, and mill, were felt, and caused discontent with the location.

      One day, while the farmer was away at the mill, the duty of driving up the cows to milk devolved on the wife, and that thrifty and industrious woman went out in quest of them. Not accustomed to going far from the house, she wandered through the woods, got bewildered, and just before dark sank upon the ground in despair. An Indian hunter soon came along, and guessing her situation, induced her to follow him to his wigwam, where she was kindly fed and lodged for the night by the hunter’s wife.

      In the morning, the Indian conducted his guest to her cattle, and thence home. M’Dou-gall, grateful for his service, presented him with a suit of clothes, and invited him to become his frequent visitor. Three days afterwards he returned, and endeavored, partly, by signs, and partly in broken English, to induce M’Dougall to follow him; but the Scotchman refused. Time was precious to him who owed all his comforts to hard labor, and the Indian repeated his entreaties in vain. The poor fellow looked grieved and disappointed; but a moment after, a sudden thought struck him.

      Mrs. M’Dougall had a young child, which the Indian’s quick eye had not failed to notice; and finding that words and gestures would not persuade his Scotch friend, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of the antelope. The father and mother instantly followed, calling loudly on him to return; but he had no such intention. He led them on, now slower, now faster, occasionally turning towards them, laughing and holding up the child to their view. After proceeding in this manner for some time, the Indian halted on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, covered with the richest vegetation, and extending over several thousand acres. In a moment after, the child was restored

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