THE METAMORPHOSIS.

We had been attending a feast given at the lodge of the Iotan chief, and were returning through the town, towards the little eminence on which the white canvass of our tents was fluttering in the wind. As we passed one of the lodges, we observed a group of females in front of it, busily engaged in exposing to the heat of the sun a large quantity of shelled corn. This was done by scattering it upon a buffalo-skin tent, spread upon the ground for the purpose. One squaw attracted our attention, from her gigantic height; most of the Indian females being under, rather than above the middle size. As we approached her, there was a masculine coarseness in the features of her face which rendered her hideously ugly, and formed a contrast highly in favour of the group around her. We afterwards learned that this strange being, though now clad in the garb of a female, and performing the most menial of their offices, was in reality a man, and had once ranked among the proudest and highest braves of the Otoe nation. His name had once stood foremost in war, and in council. He had led on many an expedition against their noble, but bitter foes, the Osages. In the midst of his bright career he stopped short; a change came over him, and he commenced his present life of degradation and drudgery.

The cause of the change was this. He had been for several weeks absent upon a war expedition against his usual enemies, the Osages. At a little before sunset, on a fine afternoon, a band of Indians were seen coming over the hills, towards the Otoe village. It was a troop of way-worn warriors. They counted less than when they started; but their tale of scalps, and their fierce brows when they spoke of the death of their comrades, told that those comrades had not been unavenged. In front of them strode the stately form of the brave. He was wearied with fatigue and fasting; and without staying to receive the greetings of his fellow-townsmen, he hastened to his lodge, and threw himself upon one of the bearskins which form an Indian bed; and there he remained for the night. In the morning he arose from his couch; but he was an altered man. A change, fearful and thrilling, had come over him. His eye was quenched; his proud step wavered; and his haughty frame seemed almost sinking beneath the pressure of some heavy calamity.

He collected his family around him. He told them that the Great Spirit had visited him in a dream, and had told him that he had now reached the zenith of his reputation; that no voice had more weight at the council fire; that no arm was heavier in battle. The divine visitant concluded by commanding that he should thenceforth relinquish all claim to the rank of a warrior, and assume the dress and avocations of a female. The group around him heard him in sorrow; for they prided themselves upon his high and warlike name, and looked up to him as the defender of their hearths. But none attempted to dissuade him from his determination, for they listened to the communications of the deity with a veneration equal to his own.

After speaking with his own family, he made known his intention to the nation. They heard him gravely, and sadly; but they, too, assented to the correctness of his resolution. He then returned to his lodge, and took down his bow from the place which it had occupied, and, snapping it in two, threw the fragments into the fire, and buried the tomahawk and rifle which had often served him in battle. Having finished this, he washed the war paint from his face, and drew the proud eagle’s plume from the scalp-lock. From that hour he ceased to be numbered among the warriors of the nation. He spoke not of battle; he took no part in the councils of the tribe; and no longer raised his voice in the wild war-whoop. He had relinquished everything which he had formerly gloried in, for the lowly and servile duties of a female. He knew that his allotted course was marked out for him; that his future life was destined to be one of toil and degradation; but he had fixed his resolution, and he pursued his course with unwavering firmness. Years had elapsed since he first commenced this life of penance. His face was seamed with wrinkles; his frame was yielding to decrepitude; and his ever scowling eye now plainly showed that the finer feelings of his nature had been choked by the bitter passions of his heart. His name was scarcely mentioned; and the remembrance of his chivalrous character was as a dream in the minds of his fellows. He was neglected and scorned by those who had once looked up to him with love and veneration. He had the misery of seeing others fill the places which he once filled, and of knowing that however exalted he once might have been, and however they might have respected his motives, that he was now looked upon as one of the lowest of the nation.