The illustration of Wenona's Rock presents one of the most striking and beautiful scenes in Indian country. Even were there no tradition connected with it, its wonderful beauty must give it interest. One must indeed feel that God made it. That huge rock with its worn and broken sides--the lake that reflects it in her placid bosom--the everlasting hills stretching out before the eye,--these would show the Creator's handiwork. But there is an additional interest in viewing it when we recall the tale of sorrow and passion connected with it. When we recollect that _here_ a young heart throbbed its last emotions--that from that high eminence the sweet notes of woman's voice pealed forth their last music. That _here_ her arms were raised to heaven, appealing for that justice which earth had denied her. [Illustration: C. S. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph^{a.} MARRIAGE CUSTOM OF THE INDIANS.] But it is not only on Wenona's Rock that the devotion of an Indian woman's love is recorded. Go among them and hear the traditions of each band; how many have loved and died. Learn of the sacrifices that only woman can make--of the devotion that only woman can feel--of the sorrows that only woman can endure. You may see one, who, though past her youth, still attracts you by the full and expressive glances of her dark and brilliant eyes. Her hair (a marvel among Indians), waves along her forehead--and when damp from heat or bathing, divides itself into locks, that would with any pains be formed into ringlets. Her smile lights up her countenance, for her white teeth shine, and her mouth, though large, is expressive. She will not open her heart to a stranger, but to one she loves, she told all. She had seen but fourteen summers when she left her mother to go to her husband's lodge. She loved to dwell upon that time, for no bride ever boasted greater adornment, and her marriage was celebrated according to the old and venerated customs.[23] She was a whole morning preparing herself, for her mother loved her, and was proud of her. She had obtained from the traders gay beads of every colour, and brooches in numbers, too. Her father was a favourite of the traders. He carried them so many beautiful furs--for he was a great hunter--that they gave him trinkets for her in abundance. They gave him, besides, fire-water; and then she and her mother used to leave the wigwam and hide, for fear he would kill her. When she was ready to go to her husband's lodge, her father and two of her brothers attended her. Her cousin, Whistling Wind, came to meet her, and, taking her upon his back, carried her in and placed her by her husband's side. She was very happy at first, for her husband loved her; but many moons passed away, and she had no child. Her husband reproached her, and she could only weep--and no infant's voice was heard in their lodge.