red in the shape of
mosquitoes, and allowed us no bodily to enjoy our mental peace.

One day we ladies gave, under the guidance of our host, to visiting all
the beauties of the adjacent lakes--Nomabbin, Silver, and Pine Lakes. On
the shore of Nomabbin had formerly been one of the finest Indian
villages. Our host said that, one day, as he was lying there beneath the
bank, he saw a tall Indian standing at gaze on the knoll. He lay a long
time, curious to see how long the figure would maintain its statue-like
absorption. But, at last, his patience yielded, and, in moving, he made
a slight noise. The Indian saw him, gave a wild, snorting sound of
indignation and pain, and strode away.

What feelings must consume their heart at such moments! I scarcely see
how they can forbear to shoot the white man where he stands.

But the power of fate is with the white man, and the Indian feels it.
This same gentleman told of his travelling through the wilderness with
an Indian guide. He had with him a bottle of spirit which he meant to
give him in small quantities, but the Indian, once excited, wanted the
whole at once. I would not, said Mr.----, give it him, for I thought if
he got really drunk, there was an end to his services as a guide. But he
persisted, and at last tried to take it from me. I was not armed; he
was, and twice as strong as I. But I knew an Indian could not resist the
look of a white man, and I fixed my eye steadily on his. He bore it for
a moment, then his eye fell; he let go the bottle. I took his gun and
threw it to a distance. After a few moments' pause, I told him to go and
fetch it, and left it in his hands. From that moment he was quite
obedient, even servile, all the rest of the way.

This gentleman, though in other respects of most kindly and liberal
heart, showed the aversion that the white man soon learns to feel for
the Indian on whom he encroaches, the aversion of the injurer for him he
has degraded. After telling the anecdote of his seeing the Indian gazing
at the seat of his former home,

"A thing for human feelings the most trying,"

and which, one would think, would have awakened soft compassion--almost
remorse--in the present owner of that fair hill, which contained for the
exile the bones of his dead, the ashes of his hopes,--he observed, "They
cannot be prevented from straggling back here to their old haunts. I
wish they could. They ought not to permitted to drive away _our_ game."
O