I thought to be alone. It might not be!
There is no solitude in thy domains,
Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast,
He locks his joys, and bars out others’ grief.

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TULA.

Death is not all—
Not half the agony we suffer here:
The cup of life has drugs, more bitter far,
That must be drained.

That solitary wigwam, in the outskirts of the village, was the home of Kaf-ne-wah-go, an aged Chippeway warrior, who had weathered the storms, and outlived the wars, of three score and ten seasons, and was yet as fiery in the chase, and as mighty and terrible in battle, as any of the young chiefs of his tribe. His voice in the council was, like the solemn tones of an oracle, listened to with a reverence approaching to awe, and never disregarded. His sons all inherited the spirit of their father, and distinguished themselves among the braves in fight, and the sages in council. Three of them fell in battle. One was principal chief of the western division of the Chippeway family. Another, the brave Ish-ta-le-ó-wah, occupied the first in that group of wigwams in yonder grove, about a hundred yards from his father’s.

The only daughter of the good old sachem, the child of his old age, and “the light of his eyes,” was the fairest and loveliest wild-flower, that ever sprung up amid the interminable wildernesses of the Western World. Tula, the singing bird, was distinguished among the daughters of the forest, not only for those qualities of person and character which are recognized as graces among the Indians, but for some of those peculiar refinements of feeling and manner, which are supposed to be the exclusive product of a civilized state of society. She was remarkable for the depth and tenderness of her affection, and for her ingenuity, industry and taste. Her dress, and those of her father and brother, exhibited the traces of her delicate handiwork; while the neat and tasteful arrangement of the humble cabin, superior in all that makes home comfortable and pleasant to any in the village, bore testimony to her industry and skill.

Tula had many suitors. There was scarce a young brave in the tribe who did not seek or desire her. But O-ken-áh-ga, the only son of their great chief, won her heart. She became his bride, but she remained, with him and their first-born child, in the tent of her aged parents, who could not live, as they said, “when the singing bird, the light of their eyes was gone.”