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flood of grief as she grasped her robe convulsively & beat herself in agony, Oh, my son! my son! she exclaimed he had pity on me, he fed me, he clothed me & when I was sick he nursed me, - This was all I could gather, for the sobs smothered her words, She retired weeping, & then returned & the tears seemed, dry the fountain was exhausted, she had lost a friend. The Indian is accused of want of feeling yet this woman was an Indian & there were others near her in silent grief. The rude coffin was soon prepared, the widow took a last look, her grief was too deep for tears, silent, chill, - Then the hammer & the nails the unostentatious procession to