enveloped in its spray, as if by shapes of mist, lies a little island of picturesque ruin-like masses of stone, crowned with rich wood—the most beautiful, and the most striking feature of the whole scene. It is called the Cataract Island of the laughing water-fall. It is also called “Spirit Island,” from an incident which occurred here some years since, and which I must relate to you because it is characteristic of the life of the Indian woman.
“Some years ago a young hunter of the Sioux tribe set up his wigwam on the bank of the Mississippi, a little above St. Anthony's Fall. He had only one wife, which is an unusual thing with these gentlemen, who sometimes are possessed of as many as twenty; and she was called Ampato Sapa. They lived happily together for many years, and had two children, who played around their fire, and whom they were glad to call their children.
“The husband was a successful hunter, and many families by degrees assembled around him, and erected their wigwams near his. Wishing to become still more closely connected with him, they represented to him that he ought to have several wives, as by that means he would become of more importance, and might before long be elected chief of the tribe.
“He was well pleased with this council, and privately took a new wife; but in order to bring her into his wigwam without displeasing his first wife, the mother of his children, he said to her,—
“ ‘Thou knowest that I never can love any other woman so tenderly as I love thee; but I have seen that the labour of taking care of me and the children is too great for thee, and I have therefore determined to take another wife who shall be thy servant: but thou shalt be the principal one in the dwelling.’
“The wife was very much distressed when she heard these words. She prayed him to reflect on their former
