The following was related to me in a wigwam in which I spent about fifteen years of my early life. It constituted a part of a lecture I received during the ceremony of initiation into the order of the Mysterious Worship of the Medicine Lodge. When Keshamoradoo made the red men, he made them happy. The men were larger, were fleeter on foot, were more dexterous in games, and lived to an older age than now. The forest abounded with game, the trees were loaded with fruit, and birds who have now a black plumage were dressed with pure white. The birds and the fowls ate no flesh, for the wide prairies were covered with fruits and vegetables. The fish in the waters were large. The Moredoo from heaven watched the blaze of the wigwams’ fires, and these were as countless as the stars in the sky. Strange visitants from heaven descended every few days, and inquired of the Indians whether any thing was wrong. Finding them happy and contented, they returned to their high homes. These were tutelar gods, and they consulted with the sages of the different villages, and advised all not to climb a vine which grew on the earth, and whose top reached the sky, as it was the ladder on which the spirits descended from heaven to earth, to bless the red men. One of these errand-spirits became intimate with one of the young braves, who dwelt in a cabin with his grandmother, and favored him with invitations to stroll with it among the various villages around. The favor shown by this god to the young man produced a jealousy among his brethren, and during the absence of his distinguished friend, the favored one was much troubled by his neighbors, who envied him his situation. On one occasion when this persecution became intolerable, he determined to leave his country, and, if possible, accompany the spirit to the skies. The chief men had enjoined on all the duty to refrain from any desire or any attempt to ascend the vine whose branches reached the heavens, telling them that to do so would bring upon them severe penalties. The spirit finding the young man quite sad, inquired, learned the true cause of his sorrow, and taking him, reascended. The old woman cried for his return, “Noo-sis, be-ge-wain, be-ge-wain.” “My child, come back, come back!” He would not come home, and the woman having adjusted all her matters in the lodge, after the nightfall repaired to the vine and began to ascend it. In the morning the Indians found the lodge she had inhabited empty, and soon espied her climbing the vine. They shouted to her, “Hoision shay! ah-wos be-ge-wain, mah-je-me-di—moo-ga-yiesh!” “Holloa, come back, you old witch you.” But she continued ascending, up, up, up. A council was held to determine what inducement could be made to her to return. They could hear her sobbing for her grandson. “Ne-gah-wah-bah-mah nos-sis.” “I will yet see my child.”