UNCAN has a nose, Points my finger at it: Has a nose the hare, He will let you pat it.
Has a nose the bull,
Soon he will be lowing.
Has a nose the fox,
He is very knowing.
Peacock has a nose,
Very proud he's feeling.
Has a nose the hog,
Soon he will be squealing.
Tell me which of all these noses
Duncan now the best supposes.
ABOUT SOME INDIANS.
Last summer a party of Indians,—men, women, and children,—in nine little birch canoes, came paddling down the Mississippi River, and landed at our village in Illinois. They were of the Chickasaw tribe from Minnesota, who are half-civilized, and speak our language imperfectly.
Indians, you must know, do not live in good warm houses as we do. They live in wigwams, as they call their houses, which are merely a few poles stuck in the ground, and covered with skins or blankets.
They do not provide regular meals, but live from hand to mouth by hunting and fishing. Sometimes they have to go without food a long time. The men are too lazy to work. They like better to strut about with their faces painted all the colors of the rainbow.
