restless howling of the Prophet, and arose more feverish and excited than when he lay down. But morning came, the voice of the Prophet was silent, and yet he appeared not. The sun rose, and a lovelier sun never shed his lustre over the wild woods—the birds sung praises to the God of day from the neighbouring tree tops, and the dew was fast disappearing, when the Prophet was seen with hurried steps striding along towards his encampment. A wild shout burst forth, and many of his band ran eagerly forward to meet him, and conducted him to his tent. His features were thin and haggard, and his appearance was that of much suffering; but he refused to take any rest or refreshment, and having called together his followers, the first words that fell from his lips were, “Teteboxti, Billy Patterson, and Leather-lips must die!” A short but deep silence followed, and a cloud passed over the features of the red men, for the two first mentioned were chiefs of the Delawares; the latter a chief of the Wyandots, and all were persons high in favor among their respective tribes. They had always supported unexceptionable characters, and each possessed the influence which always attaches to a long and well-spent life. The Prophet continued: “The evil spirit dwells in them, their knives are sharp, and they would draw them against their brothers. They are the friends of the white men,—they have sold our lands to the pale faces—see their names to the treaties—and they are now trying to take from us the few hunting grounds we have. Should they live, the red men will have no homes to rest in. I prayed last night, as you know, to the Great Spirit, and begged him to say to his Prophet what should be good for his red children, and a voice cried, saying ‘let no witch live.’ And I slept, and had a vision, and in it I saw Teteboxti, Billy Patterson and Leather-lips gathering herbs, both deadly and poisonous, and on their persons they had many crooked pins, and ugly nails, with which they were about to exercise their infernal rights to the great injury of the red men. They are witches, prepare the stakes and let them suffer.” The Prophet had no sooner finished speaking, than there burst forth a wild and savage yell, with cries of “lead us on, lead us on!” and placing himself at the head of his gang, they all ran away howling in search of the doomed. Like an unkennelled pack, fresh for the chase they coursed away through the woods, bending their way to the Delaware tribe—scouring the country for those they sought, and spreading terror and desolation, wherever they swept along.