The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1845-02-28

| The. WHITE STONE CANOE. 4
"Oneota,or the Red Race of Amer
ica," "a work just published by H. r.
Schoolcraft, intended to illustrate the
history, customs, &C., of the Aborigi-
mes, is told the following beautiful ira
dition, the "Better Land;" of which
some CLEAN exists in the hopes Of all
nations not totally enveloped in CHM
merian darkness. 1t is prefaced by
this account oflndian story telling:
lfa stranger among the Indians hap
pens to be seated with the family in
the lodge, (where the louely wanderer
has often found welcome retreat) he
may sometimes observe sudden COM
motion, and find, from the countenan-
ces of the family that agreeable news
has arrived. "Old has come!'
There is general joy. An old Indian
enters, enfeebled by years, and no lon
ger able to join the warriors and hunt
ers, now perhaps absent on some dam
gerous enterprise. He possesses a
memory retentive Of the traditions of
the tribe, and probably an imagination
quick at invention OF establishment.
As necessary qualification, he is one
of the few we'll acquainted with his ma
tive language. He loves to repeat his
tales, and the children dearly love TO
listen. In the many waste hours OF
savage life, the mother often realizes
the inconvenience ofhaving to provide
occupation for unemployed minds; and
the-story-teller is welcomed by her for
the relief he brings.
The old man, seated on the ground,
and surrounded by an attentive circle,
begins his tale; and as the interest ri
ses, and the narrative requires it, he
now changes his tones to initiate differ
ent speakers, varies his countenance
and attitudes, or moves across the
lodge to personate the characters he
describes. The mother without dis
turbance, places the kettle on the fire,
and quietly prepares some savory dish
to regale the old wanderer at the close
of his labors. sgt a4
Thus, as by the minstrels, bards,
and troubadours of former days, and
as by the Turkish story-tellers at the
ipresent time, the Indians hand down
their traditions of different kinds from
generation to generation.
THE WHITE STONE CANOE.
There was once very beautiful
young girl, who died suddenly on the
day she was to have been married to
handsome young man. He was also
brave, but his heartswas not proof a.
gainst this loss. From the hour she
was buried, there was no more Joy or
peace for HIM. He went often to Wis
it the spot where the women had bu-
fried her, and sat musing there, when,
itlwas thought by some of his friends,
he would have done better to try to
amuse. himself in the chase, or by d.
verting his though in the war path.
But war and hunting had bothlost their
charms for him. His heart was alrea-
dy dead within him. He pushed aside
both his war-club and his bow and ar
rows, - @
He had heard the old people say,
that there was path, that led to the
land of souls, and he determined to fol-
low it. He accordingly set out, one
morning after having completed his
preparations for the journey. At first
he hardly knew which way to 60. He
was only guided by the tradition that
he must 60 south. For a while, he
could see no change in the face of the
country. Forests, and hills and val
leys, and streams had the same looks,
which they wore in his native place.
There was snow on the ground when
he set out, and it was sometimes seen
to be piled and matted on the thick
trees and bushes. At length, it began
to diminish, and finally disappeared.
The forest assumed a more cheerful APP
pearance, the leaves put forth their
buds, and before he was aware of the
completeness of the change, he found
himself surrounded by spring. He had
left behind him the land of snow and
ice. The air became mild. the dark
clouds OF winter had rolled away from
the sky; pure field Of blue was above
him, and as he went he saw flowers
beside his path, and heard the songs of
birds. BY these signs he knew that he
was going the right way, for they a.
greed with the tradition of his tribe.
AT length he spied path. 1t led him
through a grove, then up long and
elevatedridge, on the very top OF which
he came toa lodge. AT the doorstood
an old man, with white hair, whose
eyes, though deeply sunk, had a fiery