onsecrate themselves to the divinity, and to
make vows of chastity, as the vestals of Paganism or the nuns of the
Catholic convents. But there is no seclusion. They dress as men, covered
with leather from head to foot, a painting of the sun on their breasts.
These women are warriors, but never go out with the parties, remaining
always behind to protect the villages. They also live alone, are
dreaded, but not loved. The Indian hates anything or any body that
usurps power, or oversteps those bounds which appear to him as natural
and proper, or who does not fulfil what he considers as their
intended destiny.

The fine evenings of summer are devoted, by the young Indian, to
courtship. When he has made his choice, he communicates it to his
parents, who take the business into their hands. Presents are carried to
the door of the fair one's lodge; if they are not accepted, there is an
end to the matter, and the swain must look somewhere else; if they are
taken in, other presents are returned, as a token of agreement. These
generally consist of objects of women's workmanship, such as garters,
belts, moccasins, &c.; then follows a meeting of the parents, which
terminates by a speech from the girl's father, who mentions his daughter
as the "dove," or "lily," or "whisper of the breeze," or any other
pretty Indian name which may appertain to her. She has been a good
daughter, she will be a dutiful wife, her blood is that of a warrior's;
she will bear noble children to her husband, and sing to them his great
deeds, &c. The marriage day arrives at last; a meal of roots and fruits
is prepared; all are present except the bridegroom, whose arms, saddles,
and property are placed behind the fair one. The door of the lodge is
open, its threshold lined with flowers; at sunset the young man presents
himself, with great gravity of deportment. As soon as he has taken a
seat near the girl, the guests begin eating, but in silence; but soon a
signal is given by the mothers, each guest rises, preparatory to
retiring. At that moment, the two lovers cross their hands, and the
husband speaks for the first time, interrogatively:--"Faithful to the
lodge, faithful to the father, faithful to his children?" She answers
softly: "Faithful, ever faithful, in joy and in sorrow, in life and in
death"--"Penir, penir-asha, sartir nu cohta, lebeck nu tanim." It is the
last formula,--the ceremony is accomplished. This may seem very simple
and ridiculous; to me it a