"Bury my dead out of my sight." This is not the sentiment of the Dacota mourner. The mother wants her child to rest on the boughs of the tree, under which she has sat and lulled it to sleep in her arms. Here, while she works, she can see its form swayed by the branches, rocked by the summer winds: its innocent spirit, according to her faith, must still guard the decaying frame. She feels not the separation so keenly, when she fancies the soul of her first-born is hovering round her. She steals away from the noisy revelling in the wigwam to weep. She can hardly recall the bright eye and healthy glow, which once belonged to the lost one, but the suffering countenance and wasting frame are ever before her; and in the loud call of the night-bird, she often fancies she hears again the cry with which her young child yielded up its life. Old John is telling of the medicine-feast. He shows us the medicine-bag which he uses: it is an otter skin, though sometimes a mink, a swan, or even a snake, is used, and often has he performed wonderful cures, or executed terrible vengeance, by the power of this medicine-bag. He will not say what is the medicine which the skin contains; whether it is a root, or the leaf of a tree, a precious gum, a mineral substance, or the bone of some animal which has been preserved for centuries. He says that he breathed into the nostrils of the dead animal, and thus imparted to it qualities which made it sacred. Thus has he often restored to life the dying man, and by the same power has he cast the spell of misfortune, disease, and even death, upon one he hated. This is why he is so much feared. Feared by all, but most by the women, Old John's eyes twinkled until you could only see a black line, when he told how he could frighten the women in the dance, by holding towards them the skin which contained the medicine of his clan. As if to afford him an opportunity of proving the truth of his statements, two or three squaws had just brought venison to the kitchen, and we sent for them to pay them, and, at the same time, to give them the chance of talking a little--a privilege of which all women are glad to avail themselves. The picture was half done; the medicine-man was to be represented jumping towards the women, with his dreaded medicine-bag; and Old John assured us it was invariably the case that the person he selected from the crowd fell down as if in a fit. This, he insisted, was purely the effect of his medicine. He offered to prove this by exercising his prerogative as a medicine-man upon the women who had just entered the room. The women were much fatigued, and glad of a chance to rest. They little expected to see any part of a medicine-feast celebrated in a white man's house.