night. "A mad wolf!-a mad wolf!" Nothing but a mad wolf could ven ture alone into the heart of the village, and do so much mischief. Out ran the people into the streets, men, women and all. Some caught up guns, some clubs, some pitchforks. If the tories and Indians, in the old French war, had broke into the settlement with fire and sword, there could not have been a greater tumult, and nothing but a mad wolf would have stood his ground. Where is he? which way did he run? who saw him? and a thousand like expressions followed. He had gone south, and south the mob pushed after him. He was away over on the street that leads up from the middle factory. It was a cloudy night, or the moon only came out fitfully, and threw light enough to discern objects dimly, as the clouds rolled before it. Indistinct murmurs came on the breeze, and at length the scream of a woman. The cause of it soon followed. The wolf had bitten Mrs. Sitz. Now Mrs. Sitz was a careful, tall, rigidfaced, wakeful housewife, from the dutchy of Hesse D'Armstadt, who had followed the fortunes of her husband, in trying his mechanical skill in the precincts of Iosco; but while her husband Frank laid fast asleep, under the influence of a hard day's labour, her ears were open to the coming alarm. It was not long before she heard a tumult in her goose pen. The rabid animal had bounded into the midst of them, which created as great an outcry as if Rome had a second time been invaded. Out she ran to their relief, not knowing the character of the disturber, but naturally thinking it was some thief of a neighbour, who wished to make provision for a coming Christmas. The animal gave her one snap and leapt the pen. "Mein hemel!" screamed she, "er hat mein gebissen!" Sure enough the wolf had bit her in the thigh.

The party in chase soon came up, and while some stopt to parley and sympathize with her, others pushed on after the animal-the spitzbug, as she spitefully called him. By this time the wolf had made a circuit of the southern part of the village, and scampered down the old factory road, by the mill dam, under the old dark bridge at the saw mill, and up the hill by the old public store; and thus turned his course back towards the north, into the thickest part of the village, where he had first entered. He had made a complete circuit. All was valour, boasting, and hot speed behind him, but the wolf had been too nimble for them. Unluckily for him, however, while the main group pushed behind, just as he was scam pering up the old store hill, he was suddenly headed by a party coming down it. This party was led by old Colonel S., a revolutionary soldier a field-officer of the county militia, and the superintendent of the exten sive manufacturing establishment from which the village drew its pros perity. He was armed with a fusil of the olden time, well charged, and having been roused from his bed in a hurry, could not at the moment find his hat, and clapt on an old revolutionary cocked hat, which hung in the

room.

His appearance was most opportune; he halted on the brow of

the hill, and as the wolf bounded on he levelled his piece at the passing fugitive, and fired. He had aimed at the shoulders; the fleetness of its speed, however, saved its vital parts, but the shot took effect in the animal's hind legs. They were both broken at a shot. This brought him down. The poor creature tried to drag himself on by his fore paws, but his pursuers were too close upon him, and they soon dispatched him with hatchets and clubs.

Thus fell the rabid wolf, to be long talked of by men and boys, and put down as a chief item in village traditions. But the effects of his visit did not end here. In due time, symptoms of madness seized the cattle and other animals, which had come within the reach of his teeth. Many of the finest milch cows were shot. Calves and swine, and even poultry went rabid; and as things of this kind are generally overdone, there was a perfect panic in the village on the subject, and numbers of valuable animals were doubtless shot, merely because they happened to show some restiveness at a very critical epoch.

But what, methinks the reader is ready to ask, became of Mrs. Sitz? Whether it was, that she had brought over some mystical arts from the Wild Huntsman of Bohemia, or had derived protection from the venom through the carefully administered medicines of Dr. Crouse, who duly attended the case, or some inherent influence of the stout hearted woman, or the audacity of the bite itself, had proved more than a match for the wolf, I cannot say; but certain it is, that while oxen and kine, swine and fatlings, fell under the virus and were shot, she recovered, and lived many years to scold her dozing husband Frank, who did not jump up immediately, and come to her rescue at the goose pen.

INDIAN POSSESSIONS.-The Ottoes own, at the latest accounts, a large tract of country on the Big Platte, west of the Missouri; they are a poor race of people, and receive a small annuity of $2,500. The Pawnees are a powerful body, and number about 6,500 persons, divided into bands under the names of Pawnee Loups, Grand Pawnees, Republican Pawnees, Pawnee Pics, &c. ; they are wild and furtive in their habits, and receive provisions and goods. The Grand Nation is the Pottowattomies, or the "united bands of the Chippewas, Ottawas, and Pottowattomies." They own five millions of acres of prairie lands, along the Missouri river to the Little Sioux, number about 2,000, and receive $42,000 a year for their lands sold in Illinois and Michigan. They are a respectable body of Indians, are good farmers, and educate their children. The payment of the annuities is always a season of great hilarity and festivity.--N. O. Pic.

It is a characteristic of some of the Indian legends, that they convey a moral which seems clearly enough to denote, that a part of these legends were invented to convey instruction to the young folks who listen to them. The known absence of all harsh methods among the Indians, in bringing up their children, favours this idea. The following tale addresses itself plainly to girls; to whom it teaches the danger of what we denominate coquetry. It would seem from this, that beauty, and its concomitant, a passion for dress, among the red daughters of Adam and Eve, has the same tendency to create pride, and nourish self-conceit, and self-esteem, and assume a tyranny over the human heart, which writers tell us, these qualities have among their white-skinned, auburn-haired, and blue-eyed progeny the world over. This tale has appeared in the "Columbian." The term Moowis is one of the most derogative and offensive possible. It is derived from the Odjibwa substantive, mo, filth, or excrement.

MOOWIS,

OR

THE MAN MADE UP OF RAGS AND DIRT.

A TRADITIONARY LEGEND OF THE ODJIBWAS.

In a large village, there lived a noted belle, or Ma mon dá go kwa, who was the admiration of all the young hunters and warriors. She was particularly admired by a young man, who from his good figure, and the care he took in his dress, was called the Beau-Man, or Ma mon dá gin in-e. This young man had a friend and companion, whom he made a confidant of his affairs. "Come," said he, one day in a sportive mood, "let us go a courting to her who is so handsome, perhaps she may fancy one of us." But she would listen to neither of them, and when the handsome young man rallied from the coldness of her air, and made an effort to overcome her indifference, she put together her thumb and three fingers, and raising her hand gracefully towards him, deliberately opened them in his face. This gesticulatory mode of rejection is one of the highest contempt, and the young hunter retired confused and abashed. His sense of pride was deeply wounded, and he was the more piqued, that it had been done in the presence of others, and the affair was soon noised about the village, and became the talk of every lodge circle. Besides, he was a very sensitive man, and the thing so preyed upon him, that he became moody. and at last took to his bed. He was taciturn, often lying for days withou uttering a word, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, and taking little or no food. From this state no efforts could rouse him; he felt abashed and dis honoured, even in the presence of his own relatives, and no persuasions could induce him to rise. So that when the family prepared to take down the lodge to remove, he still kept his bed, and they were compelled to lift it over his head, and leave him upon his skin couch. It was a time of general removal and breaking up of the camp, for it was only a winter's hunting camp, and as the season of the hunt was now over, and

spring began to appear, they all moved off, as by one impulse, to the place of their summer village, and in a short time, all were gone, and he was left alone. The last person to leave him was his boon companion, and cousin, who has been mentioned as also one of the admirers of the forest belle. But even his voice was disregarded, and as soon as his steps died away on the creaking snow, the stillness and solitude of the wilderness reigned around.

As soon as all were gone, and he could no longer, by listening, hear the remotest sounds of the departing camp, the Beau-Man arose. It is to be understood that this young man was aided by a powerful guardian spirit, or personal Moneto; and he resolved to make use of his utmost power to punish and humble the girl. For she was noted in the tribe for her coquetry, and had treated others, who were every way her equals, as she had done him. He resolved on a singular stratagem, by way of revenge. For this purpose, he walked over the deserted camp, and gathered up all the bits of soiled cloth, clippings of finery, and cast off clothing, and ornaments which had either been left or lost. These he carefully picked out of the snow, into which some of them had been trodden and partially buried, and conveyed them to one place. The motly heap of gaudy and soiled stuffs, he restored to their original beauty, and determined to make them into a coat and leggins, which he trimmed with beads, and finished and decorated after the best fashion of his tribe. He then made a pair of moccasins and garnished them with beads, a bow and arrows, and a frontlet and feathers for the head. Having done this, he searched about for cast out bones of animals, pieces of skins, clippings of dried meat, and even dirt, and having cemented them together with snow, he filled the clothes with these things, and pressed the mass firmly in, and fashioned it externally in all respects, like a tall and well framed man. He put a bow and arrows in his hands, and the frontlet on his head. And having finished it, he brought it to life, and the image stood forth, in the most favoured lineaments of his fellows. Such was the origin of Moowis,

or the Dirt and Rag Man.

"Follow me," said the Beau-Man, " and I will direct you, how you shall act." He was indeed, a very sightly person, and as they entered the new encampment, the many colours of his clothes, the profusion of ornaments which he had managed to give him, and his fine manly step, and animated countenance, drew all eyes. And he was received by all, both old and young, with marks of attention. The chief invited him to his lodge, and

he was feasted on the moose's hump and the finest venison.

But no one was better pleased with the handsome stranger than Ma mon dá go kwa. She fell in love with him at the first sight, and he was an invited guest at the lodge of her mother, the very first evening of his ar rival. The Beau-man went with him, for it was under his patronage that he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had another motive for accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued his feelings of admira

But

tion for the object, against whom he had, nevertheless, exerted all his necromantic power, and he held himself subject to any favourable turn, which he secretly hoped the visit might take, in relation to himself. no such turn occurred. Moowis attracted the chief attention, and every eye and heart were alert to entertain him. In this effort on the part of his entertainers, they had well nigh revealed his true character, and dissolved him into his original elements of rags, and snow, and dirt; for he was assigned the most prominent place before the fire: this was a degree of heat which he could by no means endure. To ward it off he put a boy between himself and the fire. He shifted his position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manoeuvres, and timely remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit up, and enjoy it. He so managed these excuses, as not only to conceal his dread of immediate dissolution, but to secure the further approbation of the fair forest girl, who could not but admire one who had so brave a spirit of endurance against the paralysing effects of cold.

The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated the effects of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed. Before he went, he saw him cross the lodge to the coveted abinos, or bridegroom's seat. Marriage in the forest race, is a simple ceremony, and where the impediments of custom are small, there is but little time de manded for their execution. The dart which Ma mon dá go kwa had so often delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers, she was at length fated herself to receive. She had married an image. As the morning begun to break, the stranger arose and adjusted his warrior's plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart. "I must go," said he, "for I have an important business to do, and there are many hills and streams between me and the object of my journey." "I will go with you," she replied. "It is too far," he rejoined, "and you are ill able to encounter the perils of the way." "It is not so far, but that I can go," she responded, "and there are no dangers which I will not fully share for you."

Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and detailed to him the events we have described. Pity, for a moment, seized the breast of the rejected youth. He regretted that she should thus have cast herself away upon an image and a shadow, when she might have been mistress of the best lodge in the band. "But it is her own folly," he said, "she has turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence, and she must submit to her fate."

The same morning the Image-man set forth, and his wife followed him, according to custom, at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and she could not keep up with his rapid pace; but she struggled hard, and perseveringly to overtake him. Moowis had been long out of sight, when the sun arose, and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of dissolution. He began to melt away, and fall to pieces. As she followed him, piece after piece of his clothing were found in the path.