and you know he's fond of wild stories."

"Well," returned the guide, "since you must have it, I'll do what I can;
but don't be disappointed if it isn't so interesting as you would wish.
It's a simple tale, and not over-long." So saying, the guide disposed
himself in a more comfortable attitude, refilled his pipe, and after
blowing two or three thick clouds to make sure of its keeping alight,
gave, in nearly the following words, an account of:--

THE DEATH OF WAPWIAN.

"It is now twenty years since I saw Wapwian, and during that time I have
travelled far and wide in the plains and forests of America. I have
hunted the buffalo with the Seauteaux, in the prairies of the
Saskatchewan; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains with the Blackfeet, and
killed the black bear with the Abinikies, on the coasts of Labrador; but
never, among all the tribes that I have visited, have I met an Indian
like Wapwian. It was not his form or his strength that I admired,
though the first was graceful, and the latter immense; but his
disposition was so kind, and affectionate, and noble, that all who came
in contact with him loved and respected him. Yet, strange to say, he
was never converted by the Roman Catholic missionaries who from time to
time visited his village. He listened to them with respectful
attention, but always answered that he could worship the Great Manitou
better as a hunter in the forest than as a farmer in the settlements of
the white men.

"Well do I remember the first time I stumbled upon the Indian village in
which he lived. I had set out from Montreal with two trappers to pay a
visit to the Labrador coast; we had travelled most of the way in a small
Indian canoe, coasting along the northern shore of the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, and reconnoitring in the woods for portages to avoid rounding
long capes and points of land, and sometimes in search of game; for we
depended almost entirely upon our guns for food.

"It was upon one of the latter occasions that I went off, accompanied by
one of the trappers, while the other remained to watch the canoe and
prepare our encampment for the night. We were unsuccessful, and after a
long walk thought of returning to our camp empty-handed, when a loud
whirring sound in the bushes attracted our attention, and two partridges
perched upon a tree quite near us. We shot them, and fixing them in our
belts, retraced our way towards the coast with lighter hearts. Just as
we emerged from