was impossible for them to go down from it, without assistance. So the poor Weasels (for they are now spoken of as real weasels) wait and watch for help. Various personages pass during the day, and they ask assistance from each. The first to whom they apply is Teeâm, - the Moose.

"N'sesenen," they call to him, "our elder brother, come and take us down, and we will be your wives."

Teeâm looks up disdainfully at the little weasels, and replies, "I am already married; I was married in the autumn."

Teeâm passes on, and the next who comes by is Mooin, the Bear. He is requested to climb up the tree and relieve the poor sisters from their perilous situation, and they promise to be his wives and wait on him. Mooin informs them that he has no need of a wife; he was married in the spring; and strides past, with a disdainful growl.

Next comes a beautiful little animal, more nearly resembling themselves. Abistana'ooch, - the Marten. They implore his assistance, and make their offer, but he scampers off, telling them that he was married in the early spring.

They next appeal to Keekwâjoo, the Badger. Now this Keekwâjoo was a mischievous fellow, very fond of playing practical jokes; so, when the sisters offer to become his wives if he will help them down, he accepts, hoping to have a little fun at their expense. He ascends the tree, and brings down the younger first. While he is doing this, the other sister, who understands his character and guesses his intentions, takes off her hair-string, and fastens it around the branch, tying it in a great many knots and in the most difficult manner. This sister is no sooner placed in safety on the ground than she exclaims, "I have forgotten my hair-string; bring it down to me, and be very careful not to break it." Keekwâjoo obeys, but finds that it takes a very long time to untie all the knots. Meanwhile the sisters build a small wigwam for his accommodation. When it is finished, they bring in a bundle of thorns and an ant-hill and hornet's-nest, with their respective inhabitants, placing them at proper stations in the wigwam. This done, they run away as fast as they can.

At last, Keekwâjoo has succeeded in untying the suggălō'bee,

and comes down. He sees the small wigwam, and hears talking and laughing inside. Supposing that, of course, the two maidens are there, he runs in. As the place is dark, he runs his nose against the thorns, which have been purposely placed in his way. Yelling with pain, he turns to run out, when he hears a voice, apparently that of the younger maiden, saying: Nămĭskāle,” — towards my (elder) sister. Plunging in that direction, he finds himself in the middle of an ant-hill, and is immediately attacked by the ants. Then he hears another voice saying: "N'kwechkale," - towards my sister (younger than I). Rushing into the corner from which the voice proceeds, he overturns the hornet's-nest, and meets their terrible stings.

Keekwâjoo now perceives that he has been trifled with. His wrath and chagrin are great, and he starts in pursuit of the Weasels, vowing that he will tear them to pieces.

All this time the sisters had been scampering along as fast as possible. They have reached the bank of a wide rapid river, where they see no means of crossing. At last they discover Tumgoligunech, the Crane,- standing at the edge of the stream. They go up to him and address him as "uncle," asking him to set them across. But he tells them he never works without pay, and they must acknowledge the beauty and elegance of his form and covering.

"Confess that I have straight and smooth feathers."

"Indeed, indeed, our uncle has straight and beautiful feathers," is the ready reply.

"Confess, also, that I have a beautifully long and straight neck."

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'O, indeed, our uncle has a wonderfully long and straight neck."

"Confess that my legs are exceedingly straight."

"Yes, indeed, our uncle has exceedingly straight legs."

The vanity of the old fellow is now sufficiently gratified. He stretches out his neck, making it reach quite to the other bank and on this bridge the Weasels cross.

Scarcely had they reached the opposite shore, when Keekwâjoo comes rushing down in great haste and fury. He looks about for a crossing-place, and seeing none, asks the Crane, in

rather an abrupt manner, to set him across. Tumgoligunech will abate no particle of his dignity, however, and demands the same tribute of praise as he has just received. Unhappily for the Badger, he is in no mood for paying compliments, so when he repeats the admissions dictated to him by the Crane, he adds something which spoils the whole.

"Yes, yes, indeed, your legs are straight and beautifully pointed too."

"Your feathers are smooth and fine, indeed, and all covered with mildew and dust."

"Wonderfully straight neck you have, straight as this," picking up a stick and bending it back and forth.

So the Crane stretches his neck out across the rushing stream, and the Badger attempts to walk across on it. When he reaches the middle, the bridge begins to shake violently, and to sway from side to side, till at last the poor Badger is shaken off and plunged headlong into the stream, where he is rolled over and over and borne down by the current. He cries out, "I wish to land at Cajâligănŭch," where, indeed, he did land, being washed ashore upon the rocks and killed. Meanwhile the maidens went on, and by nightfall arrived at a deserted village, and went into one of the wigwams to pass the night. The elder of them, fearing the effects of magic, cautioned her sister not to touch anything. They see lying near the wigwam the neck-bone of an animal, and this bone the younger sister is not careful to treat with due respect. She kicks it, and in other ways shows her contempt for it. Soon after they have lain down to sleep they hear the Chumůchkegwech, the Neckbone, shouting and complaining of the indignities put upon him, and using very indignant and reproachful language towards the one who had insulted him. The poor girl now begins to tremble.

"Did n't I tell you that you more careful?" said her sister.

would kill us, if you were not

But this only increases her terror, and she implores her sister to conceal her. So soon as she speaks, the Neck-bone mocks her, repeating her words insultingly. They have no other disturbance, however, than the noise, and in the morning all is quiet. They continue their journey, in hopes of finding an

Indian village, and go on down the river near the shore. After a time they discover a young man on the opposite side, and call to him to help them across, making him the usual offer of becoming his wives. He lays his bow across the river and they pass over on it. He then tells them to go on their way, he has wives enough and does not require them. By and by they see a canoe with two men in it, and ask to be taken in. It is done, and the canoe goes on. The persons in the canoe are Kweemoo, a Loon,— and Magwis, — a Scapegrace. As they paddle along, Kweemoo begins to admire the two strangers, and becomes quite captivated with their beauty of form and dress. He tells them that he is a native of the land of the Oweǎlkěsk (a very beautiful sea-duck), and that he is one of the tribe. Magwis, however, gives them a hint "not to believe that fellow, for he is lying." In a short time they arrive at the land of the Oweălkěsk and go on shore. The sisters are delighted with the appearance of the people, they are so beautiful in form and features and so splendidly arrayed and ornamented. The Oweǎlkěsk are no less pleased with the whiteness and gracefulness of the sisters, and they are soon sought in marriage by two young chiefs, and the weddings celebrated with great pomp and rejoicings. They feast, dance, wrestle, and race on foot and in canoes. Poor Kweemoo is very much annoyed at his want of success, and tries hard to vent his spite on the people. During the canoe-race he contrives to overturn his canoe, and calls out for some of the young women to come out and pick him up, but Seaduck tells them not to mind him. "He'll do well enough. He'll not drown." So after staying in the water as long as he pleased, and finding that no notice was taken of him, he concludes to come on shore. And so the Two Weasels are at last comfortably settled.

WILLIAM ELDER.

ART. II. —THE GOVERNMENT AND THE RAILROAD CORPORATIONS.

Two years ago at this time, and again one year ago, an effort was made in the pages of this Review to discuss certain matters incident to the growth of the wonderful railroad system of the country; to call attention to some of the abuses arising out of its present form of management; and, finally, to indicate, as definitely as might be, a few of the more obvious dangers with which this portentous development seemed to threaten our political institutions. The material and moral advantages of this development do not need to be dwelt upon; they are apparent to all. Neither the capital nor the labor of the country call for any exhortations to continue in the path which has been, and will long continue to be, so rich in results. The thousands of miles of annual construction, and the increased millions of wealth and of persons transported, are arguments sufficient in themselves. They do not, however, and never will, constitute the whole of the railroad problem, and it is very desirable that they should not sink into oblivion other and hardly less important considerations. It is to these last -the considerations appertaining to the moral and political no less than to the more obvious material development of a system that discussion has been devoted in these pages. The character of this discussion has hitherto been wholly and intentionally descriptive. It is easy to portray dangers: it is very difficult to suggest remedies. It is natural to shrink from the latter task in the hope that a simple statement of what, when stated, is very obvious, may call forth from some other quarter-from statesmen or from legislators, from those whom experience or habits of reflection have better qualified to speak authoritatively a fitting solution of a difficult problem. No such response has in this case been elicited. In place of it there has come up through the press and from private sources a voice rather of complaint at the shortcoming which portrayed difficulties and was silent as regarded the remedy. No one ignored the growth of the system or defended its abuses or sought to make light of the threatened dangers; neither did any one suggest any desirable innovation