wigwam, and communed with his wife, who, in a few minutes, also appeared: and, by certain signs and sympathies, known only to females, calmed the stranger's fears, and induced her to enter their lowly abode. Venison was instantly prepared for supper, and Mrs. M'Dougal-though still alarmed at the novelty of her situation, found the viands delicious, and had rarely, if ever, partaken of so savoury a meal. Aware that she was wearied, the Indians removed from their place near the roof, two beautiful deer skins, and, by stretching and fixing them across, divided the wigwam into two apartments. Mats were also spread in both, and next, the stranger was given to understand, that the further dormitory was expressly designed for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed her, and to the most pressing intreaties, she replied by signs, as well as she could, that she would prefer to sit and sleep by the fire. This determination seemed to puzzle the Indian and his squaw sadly. Often they looked at each other, and conversed softly in their own language: and, at last, the Red took the White woman by the hand, led her to her couch, and became her bedfellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and anxious to depart, without further delay-but the Indian would on no account permit it. Breakfast was prepared-another savoury and well-cooked meal-and then the Indian accompanied his guest, and conducted her to the very spot where the cattle were grazing. These he kindly drove from the wood, on the verge of which Mrs. M'Dougal descried her husband, running about every where, hallooing and seeking for her, in a state of absolute distraction. Great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her Indian benefactor, who was invited to the house, and treated to the best the larder afforded, and presented, on his departure, with a suit of clothes.

In about three days he returned, and endeavoured, by every wile, to induce Mr. M'Dougal to follow him into the forest. But this invitation the other positively declined— and the poor Indian went on his way, obviously grieved and disappointed. But again he returned; and, though words were wanting, renewed his intreaties-but still vainly, and without effect and then, as a last desperate effort, he hit upon an expedient, which none, save an Indian hunter,

would have thought of. Mrs. M'Dougal had a nursling only a few months old—a fact the Indian failed not to notice. After his pantomimic eloquence had been thrown away, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The alarmed parents instantly followed, supplicating and imploring, at the top of their voices. But the Indian's resolves were as fixed as fate-and away he went, slow enough to encourage his pursuers, but still in the van by a good many paces, and far enough ahead to achieve the secret purpose he had formed--like the parent-bird, skimming the ground, when she wishes to wile the enemy from her nest. Again and again Mr. M'Dougal wished to continue the chase alone-but maternal anxiety baffled every remonstrance; and this anxiety was, if possible, increased, when she saw the painted savage enter the wood, and steer, as she thought, his course towards his own cabin. The Indian, however, was in no hurry; occasionally, he cast a glance behind, poised the child almost like a feather, treading his way with admirable dexterity, and kept the swaddling clothes so closely drawn around it, that not even the winds of heaven were permitted to visit it roughly. It is, of course, needless to go into all the details of this singular journey, further than to say, that the Indian, at length, called a halt on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, teeming with the richest vegetation, and comprising many thousands of acres. In a moment the child was restored to its parents-who, wondering what so strange a procedure could mean, stood, for some minutes, panting for breath, and eyeing one another in silent and speechless astonishment.

The Indian, on the other hand, appeared overjoyed at the success of his manœuvre-and never did a human being frisk about and gesticulate with greater animation. We have heard, or read, of a professor of signs: and supposing such a character were wanted, the selection could not—or, at least should not be a matter of difficulty, so long as even a remnant remains of the aborigines of North America. All travellers agree in describing their gestures as highly dignified, eloquent, and intelligent: and we have the authority of Mr. M'Dougal for saying, that the hero of the present strictly authentic tale, proved himself to be a

perfect master of the art.

The restoration of the childthe beauty and wide extent of the prairies, and various other circumstances combined-flashed across our countryman's mind--operating conviction where jealousy and distrust had lurked before. Mr. M'Dougal, in a trice, examined the soil, and immediately saw the propriety of the advice given by the untutored one. By a sort of tacit agreement, a day was fixed for the removal of the materials of our countryman's cabin, goods and chattels ;--and the Indian, true to his word, brought a detachment of his tribe to assist in one of the most romantic 'flittings' that ever was undertaken either in the old or new world. In a few days a roomy log-house was fashioned, and a garden formed in a convenient section of the beautiful prairie, from which the smoke was seen curling, and the woodpecker tapping at no great distance. M'Dougal was greatly pleased at the change--and no wonder, seeing that he could almost boast of a body-guard as bold as the bowmen of Robin Hood. His Indian friend speedily became a sort of foster brother, and his tribe as faithful as the most attached Tail of Gillies that ever surrounded a Highland Chieftain. Even the stupid king bowed, on finding themselves suddenly transferred to a boundless range of the richest pasture:-and, up to the date of the last advices, were improving rapidly in condition, and increasing in numbers.

The little garden was smiling like a rose in the desert -grass, overabundant, was gradually giving way to thriving crops, and the kine so well satisfied with their gang, that the herds and enclosures were like unheeded to keep them from the corn. The Indians continued friendly and faithful-occasionally bringing presents of venison and other game, and were uniformly rewarded from the stores of a dairy, overflowing with milk, butter, and cheese.

Attached as the Red man was to his own mode of life, he was induced at length to form a part of the establishment, in the capacity of grieve, or head shepherd-a duty he undertook most cheerfully, as it still left him opportunities of meeting and communing with his friends, and reconnoitering the altering denizens of the forest. Let us hope, therefore, that no untoward accident will occur to

mar this beautiful picture of sylvan life; that the M'Dougal colony will wax stronger, till every section of the prairie is forced to yield tribute to the spade and the plough.

NOTE-A people without a knowledge of the arts and sciences, and whose wants are, in consequence, comparatively few-as is the case, more or less, with all barbarous or semi-barbarous people-cannot be expected to possess a copious language.

MANDAN INDIANS AND THE PAINTER.

A letter from Mr. George Catlin, of New York, to the editors of the Commercial Advertiser,' dated at the Mandan village, on the Upper Missouri, August 5th, 1832, contains the following relation of a ludicrous scene between the natives and Mr. Catlin, who is by profession a painter.

Perhaps nothing ever more astonished these people than the operations of my brush. I invited and painted the two principal Chiefs. In a very few minutes after having exhibited them, it seemed as if the whole village was crowding upon me to see them. I was obliged to stop painting, and place them high, in a conspicuous place, where all could see them. The likenesses were recognized, and some commenced yelling, some singing, and others crying.

The next curiosity was to see me; and so great was the rush upon me, that I was in danger of suffocation. The eager curiosity and expression of astonishment, with which they gazed upon me, plainly showed that they considered me some strange being. They soon resolved that I was the greatest Medicine man in the world: for they said I had made living beings-they said they could see them laugh; and if they could laugh, they could speak, &c. and must be alive. The squaws soon raised a cry against me in the village, saying, that I was a dangerous man-that if I could make living persons, by looking at them, I could kill them when I pleased; and that some bad luck would happen to those whom I painted. In this way they excited fears in the minds of a number of Chiefs, who had agreed

to sit. My operations were, of course, completely at a stand.

I finally had an interview with a number of them; assured them that I was but a man like themselves; that my art had no medicine or mystery about it, but could be learned by any of them, if they would practise it as long as I had; that my intentions towards them were of the most friendly kind-and that, in the country where I lived, brave men never allowed their squaws to frighten them with their foolish whims, stories, &c. They all immediately arose, shook me by the hand, and dressed themselves for their pictures. There was no difficulty after that about sittings

all were ready to sit; the squaws were silent, and my painting-room a continued resort for them, where they waited with impatience to see the completion of each picture, that they could laugh, sing a new song, &c. &c. I was then often taken by the arm by the Chiefs, and led to their lodge, where a feast was prepared for me in their best style. In this manner I was taken from one lodge to another, and treated in the most cordial manner.

There is an universal disposition in the Indian character to admire curious works of art, and particularly paintings, for which they seem to have the greatest. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that they were so astonished at an operation so novel and unthought of by them, and that I should, for once in my life, have been considered a great man and a great painter.