She was safe in the next village, telling the Shield how much she loved him, and how cordially she hated the Bear; and although she trembled when she spoke of the medicine men, her husband only laughed at her fears, telling her, that now that she was his wife, she need fear nothing. But where was the Swan? Her friends were assisting, in the search for Sacred Wind. The father had forgotten his child, the brother his sister. And the mother, who would have first missed her, had gone long ago, to the land of spirits. The Swan had known of the flight of the lovers--she watched them as their canoe passed away, until it became a speck in the distance, and in another moment the waters closed over her. Thus were strangely blended marriage and death. The Swan feared not to take her own life. Sacred Wind, with a nobler courage, a more devoted love, broke through the customs of her nation, laid aside the superstitions of the tribe, and has thus identified her courage with the name of her native village. "THE DAHCOTAH BRIDE." The valley of the Upper Mississippi presents many attractions to the reflecting mind, apart from the admiration excited by its natural beauty. It is at once an old country and a new--the home of a people who are rapidly passing away--and of a nation whose strength is ever advancing. The white man treads upon the footsteps of the Dahcotah--the war dance of the warrior gives place to the march of civilization--and the saw-mill is heard where but a few years ago were sung the deeds of the Dahcotah braves. Years ago, the Dahcotah hunted where the Mississippi takes its rise--the tribe claiming the country as far south as St. Louis. But difficulties with the neighboring tribes have diminished their numbers and driven them farther north and west; the white people have needed their lands, and their course is onward. How will it end? Will this powerful tribe cease to be a nation on the earth? Will their mysterious origin never be ascertained? And must their religion and superstitions, their customs and feasts pass away from memory as if they had never been? Who can look upon them without interest? hardly the philosopher--surely not the Christian. The image of God is defaced in the hearts of the savage. Cain-like does the child of the forest put forth his hand and stain it with a brother's blood. But are there no deeds of darkness done in our own favored land?