“Mother, I know not the chief. Some Shawanee maiden will enter his wigwam. Your name is great among the red men, but I have seen a warrior strike with his hatchet the old oak tree which shades our wigwam, and it bled. Is not Netnokwa to her tribe, what the oak is to the forest?” “Then be it,” said the mother, “as the Great Spirit wills it; we must await the hour.” It is easy for us to conceive the feelings which agitated the breast of the Indian maiden. Young and diffident, she was frightened at the ceremony she was about to go through; and moreover feared a repulse with its attendant mortifications. She had never seen the man to whom, if it pleased his fancy, she was about to be united; nor had even a rumour reached her ears from which she might form any conjecture as to his decision. The hour for the ceremony had not yet been announced, although it was known that it must take place before the close of the day. Leaving Netnokwa and her daughter for a few moments, let us return to the camp. Directing our attention from that part of it which we have been describing to another, the eye reposed upon a group of warriors, most of whom were earnestly engaged in conversation. There was one, however, of a dark and ferocious countenance, who spoke not, but sate apart, brooding on the visions of his own fancy. He was clothed with power, and not a glance that rested on him, but was quickly averted, as if from some dread object. This mysterious being was the Prophet of the Shawanees. Next in rank was a character of a different order, whose dress bespoke him chief among his tribe.—His wrists were decorated with gold and silver bands, while rich ornaments of the same metals hung suspended from his neck and ears. Beside him on the grass lay a beaver skin, fancifully gathered up, somewhat after the fashion of a Turkish turban, and from it waved over with much grace, a large plume of white ostrich feathers. His tomahawk was keen and bright, its handle inlaid with silver, and with it his hands were playing for the want of some other amusement; his lower limbs were encased in leggins, on which were traced many grotesque figures, and which fitted him so closely, as to show the beautiful symmetry of his figure.—He was of fine stature, and his face, but for its dusky hue, would have been thought handsome, even by the pale faces. There was nothing dark or lowering in his aspect, but an ease of manner, and a grace which marked him one of nature's nobles. In gazing on him, the surprise was, that one possessing so few of what civilized man deems advantages, should by the power of genius alone, have already connected his name with a system of policy, which could only have originated in the deepest wisdom, and the most profound sagacity; a system, by which nearly all the tribes in the great valley of the Mississippi were made subservient to his purposes, and their power concentred for one great design.