There can be no doubt that the chief element of the language as spoken to-day is Dahcotah. But the chief part of the language spoken by cultivated Welshmen, in Wales, is English. All that could be expected in the case of the relic of a Welsh colony would be that a few words should be preserved. The women of such a colony would be mostly Indians; and, in the changes of nearly a thousand years, the Welsh element of language would fare ill.

A more decisive argument against the Welsh origin of this interesting people, is the silence of their own traditions regarding it. They call themselves "the people of the pheas

ant,

See-pohs-ka-nu-mah-ka-kee. It is to be noticed that

there are no pheasants nearer them than the forests of Indiana, on the east, or those of the Rocky Mountains, six hundred miles west of them.

This fact is a decisive indication that they are emigrants from a very considerable distance. They contend that they were the first people on the earth. "They originally lived inside the earth," says one of their legends. "They raised many vines, and one of them had grown up through a hole in the earth, overhead, and one of their young men climbed up it, until he came out on the top of the ground, on the bank of the river where the Mandan village stands. He looked around and admired the beautiful country and prairies about him, saw many buffaloes, killed one with his bow and arrows, and found its meat was good to eat. He returned and related what he had seen, when a number of others went up the vine with him, and witnessed the same things. Among those who went up were two very pretty young women, who were favorites with the chiefs; and among those who were trying to get up was a very large and fat woman, who was ordered by the chiefs not to go up, but whose curiosity led her to try it as soon as she got a secret opportunity, when there was no one present. When she got part of the way up, the vine broke under the great weight of her body, and let her down. She was very much hurt by the fall, but did not die. The Mandans were very sorry about this, and she was disgraced for being the cause

of a great calamity which she had brought upon them, which could never be averted, for no more could ever ascend, nor could those descend who had got up; but they built the Mandan village where it formerly stood, a great way below on the river; and the remainder of the people live under ground to this day."

This tradition is told with great gravity by the chiefs and doctors, who even profess to hear their friends talk through the earth at certain times and places.

When Mr. Catlin visited them, both villages were on the west side of the Missouri, at the point just now described. These villages are about two miles distant from each other; beautifully located, and judiciously, also, for defence against the assaults of their enemies. The site of the lower town, which is the principal one, in particular, is one of the most beautiful and pleasing spots that can be seen in the world. It is in the very midst of an extensive valley, surrounded by hills covered with an interminable green, fading to blue as they recede into the far distance. On an extensive plain, covered with green turf, upon which, as far as the eye can possibly range, not a tree or bush is to be seen, rise from the ground, and towards the heavens, the domes of the earth-built huts which constitute this semi-subterraneous village.

The ground on which it is built is upon a nearly perpendicular bank of solid rock, forty or fifty feet above the bed of the river, which, at this place, changes its course to a

right-angle, thereby making a natural defence upon two sides of the village. They have, therefore, but one side to protect, which is effectually done by a strong piquet, and a ditch inside of it, of three or four feet in depth.

The village has a most novel effect to the eye of a stranger; the lodges are closely grouped together, leaving but just room enough for walking or riding between them; they appear, from without, to be built entirely of dirt; but one is surprised on entering them to see the interior neatness and comfort. They They are all of a circular form, and are from forty to sixty feet in diameter. Their foundations are prepared by digging some two feet in the ground, where a floor of earth is formed, and the superstructure is then produced, by arranging inside the excavation a barrier of timbers, of about six feet in height. From the tops of these converge, to a central point, smaller timbers, forming a roof; rising, at an angle of forty-five degrees, to the apex or sky-light, which, at the same time, serves as a chimney. The roof is supported and strengthened by timbers underneath it; the exterior is covered with a close matting of willow boughs to protect it from the thick incrustation of earth and clay with which the lodge is covered to the depth of two or three feet. This, by long use, becomes hardened, and is quite impervious to water. It is here that the whole family, resident inside, assemble in pleasant weather, making it their observatory and lounging-place; when the weather is favorable, upon the roof of almost every lodge

may be seen a group of its inhabitants, chiefs, women, children and dogs.

To a stranger, standing upon one of these roofs, the view presented is the strangest medley that can be imagined. On the roofs, besides the living groups, are buffaloes' skulls, skin canoes, pots and pottery, sleds and sledges; and on poles, erected some twenty feet above the doors of their wigwams, are suspended, on a pleasant day, the scalps of warriors, preserved as trophies, and thus proudly exposed as evidences of their warlike deeds. In other parts are raised on poles the warriors' whitened shields and quivers, with medicine bags attached; and here and there a sacrifice of red cloth, or other costly stuff, offered up to the Great Spirit, over the door of some benignant chief, in humble gratitude for the blessings he is enjoying. Amidst all this, and through the blue smoke that rises from every lodge, can be seen, stretching into distance, the green and boundless prairie.

The floors of these dwellings are of earth, but so hardened by use, and swept so clean, that they have almost a polish, and would hardly soil the whitest linen! In the centre is the fire-place, a circular hole, sunk a foot or more from the surface, and curbed with stone. Over the fire-place is generally seen the pot or kettle, filled with buffalo meat, and around it are the family, reclining in the most picturesque attitudes upon their buffalo robes, or mats of rushes.

These cabins are so spacious that they hold from twenty