Said the old man to him, as he leaned upon his staff, his white beard reaching down upon his breast, "Let us repose here awhile, and converse a little. But first we will build up a fire, and we will bring together much wood, for it will be needed to keep us warm." The fire was made, and they took their seats by it, and began to converse, each telling the other where he came from, and what had befallen him by the way. Presently the young man felt cold. He looked round him to see what had produced this change, and pressed his hands against his cheeks to keep them warm. The old man spoke and said, "When I wish to cross a river, I breathe upon it and make it hard, and walk over upon its surface. I have only to speak, and bid the waters be still, and touch them with my finger, and they become hard as stone. The tread of my foot makes soft things hard--and my power is boundless." The young man, feeling ever moment still colder, and growing tired of the old man's boasting, and morning being nigh, as he perceived by the reddening east, thus began-- "Now, my father, I wish to speak." "Speak," said the old man; "my ear, though it be old, is open--it can hear." "Then," said the young man, "I also go over all the earth. I have seen it covered with snow, and the waters I have seen hard as stone; but I have only passed over them, and the snow has melted; the mountain streams have begun to flow, the rivers to move, the ice to melt: the earth has become green under my tread, the flowers blossomed, the birds were joyful, and all the power of which you boast vanished away!" The old man drew a deep sigh, and shaking his head, he said, "I know thee, thou art Summer!" "True," said the young man, "and here behold my head--see it crowned with flowers! and my cheeks how they bloom--come near and touch me. Thou art Winter! I know thy power is great; but, father, thou darest not come to my country,--thy beard would fall off, and all thy strength would fail, and thou wouldst die!" The old man felt this truth; for before the morning was come, he was seen vanishing away: but each, before they parted, expressed a hope that they might meet again before many moons. * * * * * INDIAN SONGS. The language of the Chippewas, however figurative and significant, is not copious. In their speeches and songs they are emphatic and impressive by the continual repetition of the same phrase or idea; and it seems to affect them like the perpetual recurrence of a few simple notes in music, by which I have been myself wound up to painful excitement, or melted to tears.