The bright morning
of her domestic joy was soon overcast with sorrow; she is seen strewing
over her little one's grave, the fallen leaves of autumn. She-nin-jee, her
Indian husband once more became a father. Together they gladly embraced a
son. Their lonely cabin after this was enlivened and cheered by his
childish prattle; nothing now remained to interrupt the joy of the mother,
but the absence of the father, whom the season of hunting, took far away
from his cherished home. Yet with returning spring these toils are
forgotten, as he is surrounded once more with the charms of the domestic
fireside. But at length there came a spring whose joyful return, brought
not the long wished for She-nin-jee, back to his lonely cabin. Many an
evening fire blazed brightly to bid him welcome, yet he did not come.
Choice venison had been dried and laid up for him, new skins had been
prepared and spread for his couch, and many a silent hour whiled away with
thoughts of the absent one, but he came not. His returning comrades
brought back the sad news of his death. De-ha-wa-mis mourned long and
deeply for the pride of her Indian wigwam. Her own kindred could not have
extended to her more genuine sympathy, than did her new relatives by
adoption. They kindly offered to take her back, if she desired to go, to
her former friends among the whites, or if she chose to remain among them,
they promised to give her a home of her own.
A part of her Indian relatives lived in the valley of the Genesee, and
this was the occasion of her removal there, from her home on the Ohio.
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