There is an artless tradition among the Indians, related by Irving, of a warrior who saw the thunderbolt lying upon the ground, with a beautifully wrought moccasin on each side of it. Thinking he had found a prize, he plft on the moccasins, but they bore him away to the land of spirits, whence he never returned. Loud pealed the thunder From arsenal high, Bright flashed the lightning Athwart the broad sky; Fasto er the prairie, Through torrent and shade, Sought the red hunter His hut in the glade.