"Then we shall cheerfully, praisingly sing, O-ka-gis, (the frogs) the heralds of Spring, First to renounce the Winter bound ball ; Hail sunshine and verdure and gladness for all."

And they have a "Winter Song," a song of pleasing defiance to Par-kab-il-on-ac-ca, the god of winter. This thing with such a dreadful name, had decided to drive all the people south wiili the buffalo, so he himself could rule the north. But he met a Tartar, who turned the tide, anil maintained his right and his tnlic's privilege to remain in the north.

So when old Par-K. shook the kinks out "I boreas, and ripped and tore in mad and Stormy glee, he found (he red people sitting by their meagre fires on tin- Niobrara and the Blue Water, and under the beetling crags of

Scottsbluff, Wildcat and Bighorn mountains, cheerfuly singing "The Song of Singabiss."

"Windy god, I know your plan, You are but my fellowman, Blow, you may, your coldest breeze, Sing-a-biss you cannot freeze.

"Sweep the strongest breeze you can, Sing-a-biss is still your man ; Heigh for life, and ho for bliss, Who so free as Sing-a-biss."

The Indian language and poetry, when translated, seems to grip one. Their expression seems to get at the very essence of things. They touch the heart of that which they seek to express, in simple language, while we stumble through the phraseology of mythology and ages and leave a sentiment so buried in verbiage that it is all but lost. It must be the communion and mutual understanding which is given by living close to nature. The common language of the birds and beasts and redmen, where all are attuned. A little extract from the "Song of the Falcon," will serve to illustrate :