n several Indian villages. But the natives were as
friendly as brothers. Many of them had visited the station at St.
Ignatius, and all of them had heard of Father Marquette and his labors
of love. These children of the forest begged their revered friend to
desist from his enterprise.

"There are," they said, "on the _great river_, bad Indians who will cut
off your heads without any cause. There are fierce warriors who will
try to seize you and make you slaves. There are enormous birds there,
whose wings darken the air, and who can swallow you all, with your
canoes, at a mouthful. And worst of all, there is a malignant demon
there who, if you escape all other dangers, will cause the waters to
boil and whirl around you and devour you."

To all this, the good Marquette replied, "I thank you, dear friends,
for your kind advice, but I cannot follow it. There are souls there, to
save whom, the Son of God came to earth and died. Their salvation is at
stake. I would joyfully lay down my life if I could guide them to the
Saviour."

They found the navigation of Fox River impeded with many rapids. To
surmount these it was necessary often to alight from their canoes, and,
wading over the rough and sharp stones, to drag them up against the
swift current. They were within the limits of the present State of
Wisconsin, and found themselves in a region of lakes, sluggish streams,
and marshes. But there were Indian trails, which had been trodden for
uncounted generations, leading west. These they followed, often
painfully carrying their canoes and their burdens on their shoulders,
for many miles, from water to water, over what the Indians called the
_Carrying Places_.

At length they entered a region of remarkable luxuriance, fertility,
and beauty. There were crystal streams and charming lakes. Magnificent
forests were interspersed with broad and green prairies. God seemed to
have formed, in these remote realms, an Eden of surpassing loveliness
for the abode of his children. Three tribes, in perfect harmony,
occupied the region--the Miamis, Mascoutins, and Kickapoos. There was a
large village with abundant corn-fields around. River and lake, forest
and prairie were alike alive with game.

To their surprise they found that the French missionary, Father
Allouez, had reached this distant spot, preaching the Gospel, eight
years before. The Indians had received him with fraternal kindness. He
had left in the centre of the village a cros