hould feel the
gentle flame; though my flesh be of the consistence and coldness of ice,
I would feel the raging of a fire like that which exists in the bosoms
of those who love to madness. I, who lived in the skies many, very many,
ages before the Elder Chappewee brought up the earth from the bottom of
the ocean to the present hour, without a touch of human passion--who
never knew or wished to know joy or sorrow, hope or despair, pleasure or
pain, melancholy, regret, anger, disappointment, or aught that elevates
or depresses the souls of mortals--would now partake of all and each in
an equal degree with the children of the earth. I would have my bosom
torn with the conflicting passions of humanity--be chilled with the
horrid doubts of jealousy, and with agonising fears for the duration of
the affection which will become a part of my existence."

Here the Spirit of Snow ceased speaking, while her tears fell thick and
fast in the shape of frozen rain upon the Tetons. Seeing the emotion of
the beautiful Spirit, and fearing that further silence on the part of
the tribe whom she had come to visit might be offensive to her, the aged
Nikanape, who was wisest of all the men of the land, rose and addressed
her thus:

"Beautiful Spirit of the Land of Snows! Thou wouldst feel, thou sayest,
the passion of love, and wouldst admit to thy bosom a soft feeling of
preference for one dearer than all the other beings of earth. Although
thou art a spirit, and shouldst be wise, yet, to judge from thy
speech--be not offended--the words of an aged Teton may better thy
wisdom. They whose bosoms are not afflicted by the passions of humanity,
who know neither love nor hate, nor joy nor sorrow, nor revenge nor
pity, nor anger, nor the other passions and emotions which distract
human life, and reduce it to a few brief and unhappy years, have only to
pray that the Great Spirit would keep them in their happy state of
ignorance. Why wouldst thou love?"

"To know its pleasures."

"They are fewer than the throbs of fear in the breast of a true
warrior, and shorter lived than the flower that blooms to-day, and
to-morrow is blasted by the unwholesome dew."

"I would know its pains."

"They are more numerous than the fire-flies which light up a summer
prairie, and die but with the being who entertains the passion upon
which they attend."

"I have seen otherwise. Once, while keeping my night-watch in my own
clime of snows, I beheld the return of o