More weariness than anguish, no doubt, falls to the lot of most of these women.  They inherit submission, and the minds of the generality accommodate themselves more or less to any posture.  Perhaps they suffer less than their white sisters, who have more aspiration and refinement, with little power of self-sustenance.  But their place is certainly lower, and their share of the human inheritance less.

Their decorum and delicacy are striking, and show that, when these are native to the mind, no habits of life make any difference.  Their whole gesture is timid, yet self-possessed.  They used to crowd round me, to inspect little things I had to show them, but never press near; on the contrary, would reprove and keep off the children.  Anything they took from my hand was held with care, then shut or folded, and returned with an air of lady-like precision.  They would not stare, however curious they might be, but cast sidelong glances.

A locket that I wore was an object of untiring interest; they seemed to regard it as a talisman.  My little sun-shade was still more fascinating to them; apparently they had never before seen one.  For an umbrella they entertained profound regard, probably looking upon it as the most luxurious superfluity a person can possess, and therefore a badge of great wealth.  I used to see an old squaw, whose sullied skin and coarse, tanned locks told that she had braved sun and storm, without a doubt or care, for sixty years at least, sitting gravely at the door of her lodge, with an old green umbrella over her head, happy for hours together in the dignified shade.  For her happiness pomp came not, as it so often does, too late; she received it with grateful enjoyment.

One day, as I was seated on one of the canoes, a woman came and sat beside me, with her baby in its cradle set up at her feet.  She asked me by a gesture to let her take my sun-shade, and then to show her how to open it.  Then she put it into her baby’s hand, and held it over its head, looking at me the while with a sweet, mischievous laugh, as much, as to say, “You carry a thing that is only fit for a baby.”  Her pantomime was very pretty.  She, like the other women, had a glance, and shy, sweet expression in the eye; the men have a steady gaze.

That noblest and loveliest of modern Preux, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who came through Buffalo to Detroit and Mackinaw, with Brant, and was adopted into the Bear tribe by the name of Eghnidal, was struck in the same way by the delicacy of manners in women.  He says:  “Notwithstanding the life they lead, which would make most women rough and masculine, they are as soft, meek, and modest as the best brought up girls in England.  Somewhat coquettish too!  Imagine the manners of Mimi in a poor squaw, that has been carrying packs in the woods all her life.”