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amazed to see the same phenomenon repeated. He called it "Minne odessa," or "It looks like water." I know that this name for a looking-glass is not the one given in the Dakota Dictionary. It is there called "Ih-di-yom-da-sin;" but I learned it, as I have given it, in the camps, and it struck me as very pretty, so I propose to stick to my original version, the dictionary to the contrary notwithstanding. In fact I am a good deal like a big Missouri friend I had out in the Sierra Nevada mountains, by the name of Jim Gatewood. He used to write his letters in my office, and frequently asked me how to spell a word. I finally said, "Jim, why don't you look in the dictionary?" (There was a big Webster on the table.) "Wal, Judge," he replied, "I never got the hang of them bloody dictionaries." We see in these things a certain unstudied tinge of natural poetry.

When the steamboat appeared among them with its fiery furnaces and huge stacks, puffing out volumes of black smoke and sparks, they were amazed and called it by the only name that would naturally occur to them, "pata-wata," or fire canoe.

The next phenomenon that came along was the railroad cars, propelled by fire as the steamboat was; and what do you think they called them? "The fire canoe that goes over the mountain." As there were no railroads when I lived among the Indians, I cannot give you the Sioux for it except as I have since learned it, "Ha-ma-nee." "Ma-nee" is to walk.

There was a Virginia friend of mine who, on his first seeing an express train go whizzing by, gave it a name equally descriptive. He called it "Hell in harness."

You have often seen the flocks of wild geese as they fly over our state in their annual migrations from the south to the north and back again, and heard them squawk: the sound they make is expressed by the word "ma-ga," and the Sioux calls the wild goose "ma-ga," in exact imitation of his cry. An Indian will hide himself and call "ma-ga, ma-ga," as a flock is passing, and deceive them into believing one of their number is in distress, and by this means turn the whole flock and get a shot at them.

There is another point to which I would like to draw your attention. Among the Sioux, the dog seems to be the generic type or standard for almost all animals. They call a dog

"chunka," a wolf "chunka-toka-cha," or the other dog, which is very appropriate, as the two animals very much resemble each other. The horse is called "wakon-chunka," or the spirit dog; the panther or cougar, "enemu-chunka," or the cat dog, a cat being called "enemu." This may extend to other animals, but I am fast forgetting my Sioux and cannot give more instances.

THE SIOUX MAIDEN FEAST.

The most interesting ceremony I remember having seen among the Sioux, was a trial to determine the fair fame of a young woman. The manner in which is was conducted, and the apparently correct decision arrived at, although the method of procedure was the very opposite of anything ever seen in a civilized court, was very impressive, and deeply interesting. I will endeavor to give you an idea of it. The name of the ceremony is "the maiden feast," and it takes place under the following circumstances.

Whenever any gossip or scandal about any maiden in the band gains circulation, and reaches the ears of her mother, the latter commands her daughter to give a maiden feast to vindicate her character. The girl then summons all the maidens in the band to her feast at a certain time, which is announced through the band. When the hour arrives all the girls appear on the prairie; they all have a red spot painted with vermillion on each cheek. A large, round stone painted red is placed on the prairie, with a long knife stuck in the ground in front of it and close to it. The girls then form a semicircle in front of the stone and knife, and each one separately comes forward and touches the stone with her right hand, then falls back about twenty-five feet and sits down on the grass. The hostess, having taken her place with the rest, then retires and returns with a dish for each of her guests, on which is a small quantity of rice, and a knife or spoon to eat it with. After they are all helped, she takes her place in the circle, and they all begin slowly and in an unconcerned way to eat, not looking away from their dishes. The object of this is a challenge to any man in the band to publicly make any charge he may have against any of the girls: the touching the stone is regarded as a very sacred and solemn oath that the accused will tell the truth.

While these preliminary arrangements are being made, all the rest of the band, men, women, and children, have assembled, and every one awaits to see if any charge will be made. The manner of making an accusation, is for the party making it to step up in front of the girl, seize her by the hand and pull her to her feet. If nothing transpires before the rice is eaten, the giver of the feast is vindicated, her character restored, and her mother satisfied; then the feast is broken up and the actors disperse.

I cannot convey the idea of the making of a charge, and the trial of its truth or falsity, better than to relate what I witnessed on one of these occasions. When the circle was formed, a young buck stepped boldly in front of a very pretty girl of about sixteen or eighteen years, and roughly jerked her to her feet, and charged her with some indiscretion. The spectators watched the countenances of both parties with the closest scrutiny. The face of the accused became a study. She seemed paralyzed with indignation, and looked her accuser boldly in the eye with an expression of injured innocence so intense and agonizing as to prevent utterance. The two stood glaring upon each other in silence for a short time, when the man displayed symptoms of nervousness, which immediately attracted the audience, and they began crying out to the girl, "Swear! Swear!" This seemed to give her courage, and, wrenching herself forcibly from her accuser, she strode with a queenly air to the stone and almost embraced it. This together with an apparent weakening of the man, seemed to convince the people of her innocence, and they began to jeer and howl at him until he commenced to back from his position, when about fifty men and boys closed in on him, and he fled like a scared antelope, with the crowd at his heels, hurling sticks and stones at him until he disappeared from sight. I never was more satisfied with the correctness of a decision in all my experience.

ORIGIN OF THE NAME ITASCA.

In speaking of the origin of names of natural objects in our state, one of the most interesting is "Itasca," which is the name of the lake now known to be the true source of the Mississippi river. Most people think it is an Indian word, but such is not the case. It is a coined word, and was made under the following circumstances.

It has always been an object of interest to know where this great river has its source. More than fifty years ago, when Gen. Lewis Cass was governor of Michigan, his territory included all that is now Minnesota, and he made a voyage of discovery to find the source of the river. He ascended in birch canoes until he reached the large lake now known as Cass lake, and not finding any inlet he decided it to be the source, and did not pursue his investigations further. This lake was from that time called Cass lake, and was supposed to be the head of the river. Some years afterward Mr. Schoolcraft undertook the same exploration, and, finding a considerable inlet to Cass lake, he advanced to its sources, and found a small lake which he was convinced was the true head, which our historical society has since absolutely verified. Schoolcraft was not a man of much education, and knew little Latin and less Greek. He wanted a name for his lake that would be agreeable to the ear and appropriate to the subject. He had with him a gentleman, who recently died in Stillwater, Rev. William T. Boutwell, whom he consulted on the important subject of naming his new-found lake. This person took two Latin words, "veritas," truth, and "caput," the head, which Schoolcraft cut down, to retain only the last two syllables of "veritas," making "Itas," and the first syllable of "caput," making "ca." He then joined them and made the beautiful word "Itasca" or the true head. A more skillful or beautiful feat in a literary point of view was never achieved.

You will find this name accounted for erroneously in some of the editions of Webster's Dictionary. He says it is taken from two Indian words, "Ia" and "totosha," meaning, I have found the breast of the woman, or the source of life. This is entirely unfounded, as the words can not be tortured into making the word Itasca; and we know without a doubt that the explanation I give is absolutely correct. Some one fooled Webster. It is true that the words he quotes are strictly good Chippewa, and mean what he says they do, "Ia," I have found, and "to-to-sha," the female breast; but they are utterly foreign to the name "Itasca."

Another illustration of the descriptive nomenclature of the Sioux is found in the name they give a piano, "chan-da-wa-kiya-pee," which means an instrument made of wood that talks music.

OLD NAMES PASSING AWAY.

It occurs to me that we have an illustration of the fact that original names are fast passing away in our own state and city. We have a county of Wabasha, a city of Wabasha, and in St. Paul a Wabasha street. All these names come from an Indian chief whom I knew very well and highly respected. He was a chief of the "Wak-pay-ku-ties," or leafshooters, and his name was "Wa-pa-sha," not Wabasha. "Wapa" means a leaf, a staff, and a bear's head; "sha" means red. So his name meant either Red Leaf, Red Staff, or Red Bear's Head. We always thought it meant the Red Leaf. This corruption between Wabasha and Wapasha is not of so much importance; but it is well, while we can, to get things right. It amounts to about as much as Thompson with a "p," or Thomson without a "p."

Robert

Another instance exists right in our own midst. street was named after Louis Robert, pronounced "Robear," a prominent Frenchman among the old settlers, and until quite recently was always given the French pronunciation "Robear," but the newcomers all call it Robert street. I was in a streetcar the other day and told the conductor to put me off at "Robear" street. He promptly informed me that I was on the wrong car. It will not be long before the correct name will be forgotten.

INDIAN MEDICINE MEN.

A singular thing among the Sioux Indians was their faith in their medical mysteries. There is a guild among them called medicine men. They work wonders with the sick and afflicted. I have known men sick with rheumatism to be cured by the medicine men rattling gourds full of beans over their prostrate forms, and chanting in a manner calculated to kill the sick and destroy the nerves of the well. I have had them bring to me the evidence of their success in various ways. One man was sick unto death with rheumatism. The medicine men worked over him for several days and finally produced an old-fashioned flint-style gunlock, which they extracted from his afflicted back. They showed me this in triumph. I read on it "Harper's Ferry” in very plain English. I have had them show me live frogs and snakes which they had taken out of their patients.

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