Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and detailed to him the events we have described. Pity, for a moment, seized the breast of the rejected youth. He regretted that she should thus have cast herself away upon an image and a shadow, when she might have been mistress of the best lodge in the band. "But it is her own folly," he said, "she has turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence, and she must submit to her fate." The same morning the Image-man set forth, and his wife followed him, according to custom, at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and she could not keep up with his rapid pace; but she struggled hard, and perseveringly to overtake him. Moowis had been long out of sight, when the sun arose, and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of dissolution. He began to melt away, and fall to pieces. As she followed him, piece after piece of his clothing were found in the path. She first found his mittens, then his moccasins, then his leggins, then his coat, and other parts of his garments. As the heat unbound them, they had all returned also to their debased and filthy condition. The way led over rocks, through wind falls, across marshes. It whirled about to all points of the compass, and had no certain direction or object. Rags, bones, leather, beads, feathers, and soiled ribbons, were found, but she never caught the sight of Moowis. She spent the day in wandering; and when evening came, she was no nearer the object of her search than in the morning, but the snow having now melted, she had completely lost his track, and wandered about, uncertain which way to go, and in a state of perfect despair. Finding herself lost, she begun, with bitter cries, to bewail her fate. "Moowis, Moowis," she cried. "Nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win ig"--that is--Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray--you are leading me astray. And with this cry she continued to wander in the woods. Sometimes the village girls repeat the above words, varying the expressions, till they constitute an irregular kind of song, which, according to the versions of a friendly hand, may be set down as follows:-- Moowis! Moowis! Forest rover,---- Where art thou? Ah my bravest, gayest lover, Guide me now. Moowis! Moowis! Ah believe me, List my moan, Do not--do not, brave heart, leave me All alone. Moowis! Moowis! Foot-prints vanished, Whither wend I, Fated, lost, detested, banished, Must I die. Moowis! Moowis! Whither goest, Eye-bright lover, Ah thou ravenous bird that knowest, I see you hover. Circling--circling, As I wander, But to spy Where I fall, and then to batten, On my breast. THE LONE LIGHTNING. AN ODJIBWA TALE.