E dho he![9] Behold! On their mighty pinions flying, They come, the gods come once more Sweeping o'er the land, Sounding their call to me, to me their own. Wa-gi-u_n_![10] Ye on mighty pinions flying, Look on me here, me your own, Thinking on my vow As ye return once more, Wa-gi-u_n_! [Footnote 9: Sighing vocables.] [Footnote 10: Dakota term for the thunder bird.] [Music: THE MOTHER'S VOW. _Dakota._ Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE. E dho he! Gi-un, gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be Co-dha, gi-don-be a-me, ha-don-be a-me, Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho-e. Wa-gi-un gi-un a-gi-ba ha-don-be Co-dha gi-don-be ha-we ha-don-be a-me. Wa-gi-un gi a-me dho he dho.] A LOVE-CALL. The native flageolet has proved a trusty friend to many a youth to whom nature had denied the power of expressing in vocal melody his fealty to the maiden of his choice. With its woody tones he rivalled the birds as he sounded his love-call from the hills and made glad the heart of the girl, who, catching the signal, awaited his coming at the spring. There are many bits of music composed for this little instrument, which, in spite of its inaccuracies of pitch, arising from imperfect construction, are not without hints of beauty. [Music: LOVE CALL. _Omaha._ For the Flageolet.] A GAME SONG FROM THE NORTH-WEST COAST. It is well known that the serious avocations of the fathers often serve as games for the children. So it comes about that in the games of chance we have a survival of the ancient custom of divination. As, according to Indian belief, song was the medium through which man communicated with the mysterious powers, we find all his games of chance accompanied by melodies. One autumn evening many years ago I was walking along a stretch of the Pacific shore. The westerning moon flooded the water with light, and lit up the edge of the dense forest that formed the background of an Indian village. From one of its great square wooden dwellings came the sound of singing, and the ruddy firelight shone through the cracks of the plank door as I approached. Entering, I saw that the central fire had just been lighted. The four families, which had each their particular portion of the communal house, had suffered their separate fires to burn to ashes, and had pushed back their various belongings to give more room for the gathering crowd. I lingered at the door, looking on the motley scene: the women and children in the background; the old men in groups, talking over their younger days; the line of men singers, each with his piece of board with which to strike the floor in lieu of a drum; the young men who were to play, ranged in two opposite rows; and others standing about, watching their friends and eager for the game to begin.