630 LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
lift from me, in tnat direction. The White-bear Lake is less knowa.
It is a lovely sheet of water, and is being utilised as a summer resort
by the weath and fashion of the State. It has its club-house, and tfe
hotel, with the modern improvements and conveniences; its fine
summer residences; and plenty of fisliing, hunting, and pleasant drives.
There are a dozen minor summer resorts around about St. Paul and
Minneapolis, but the White-bear Lake is the resort. Connected
with White-bear Lake is a most idiotic Indian legend. I would
resist the temptation to print it here, if I could, but the task is
beyond my strength. The guide-book names the preserver of the
legend, and compliments his * facile pen.' Without further com-
ment or delay then, let us turn the said facile pen loose upon the
reader—
A. LEGEND OF WHITE-BEAK LAKE.
Every spring1, for perhaps a century, or as long as there has been anatikm
of red men, an island in the middle of White-bear Lake has been visited by
a band of Indians for the purpose of making maple sugar.
Tradition says that many springs ago, "while upon this island, a yooag
warrior loved and wooed the daughter of his chief, and it is said, also, &&
maiden loved the warrior. He had again and again been refused her hand
by her parents, the old chief alleging that he was no brave, and his old eoa-
sort called him a woman t
The sun had again set upon the ' sugar-bush,' and the bright moon rose
high in the bright blue heavens, when the young warrior took down his flute
and went out alone, once more to sing the story of his love, the mild breeze
gently moved the two gay feathers in his head-dress, and as he mounted on the
trunk of a leaning tree, the damp snow fell from his feet heavily. As ha
raised his flute to his lips, his blanket slipped from his well-formed shoulders,
and lay partly on the snow beneath. He began his weird, wild love-song,
but soon felt that he was cold, and as he reached back for his blanket, some
unseen hand laid it gently on his shoulders; it was the hand of his love, hk
guardian angel* She took her place beside him, and for the present they
were happy; for the Indian has a heart to love, and in this pride he is as
noble as in his own freedom, which makes T*™ the child of the forest. As
the legend runs, a large white-bear, thinking, perhaps, that polar snows and
dismal winter weather extended everywhere, took up his journey southward.
He at length approached the northern shore of the lake which now bears Ida
name, walked down the bank and made his way noiselessly through tfee
deep heavy snow toward^ the island It was the same spring- ensuing tfcsfc