Of the practical ability of the Indian women, a good specimen is given by McKenney, in an amusing story of one who went to Washington, and acted her part there in the “first circles,” with a tact and sustained dissimulation worthy of Cagliostro.  She seemed to have a thorough love of intrigue for its own sake, and much dramatic talent.  Like the chiefs of her nation, when on an expedition among the foe, whether for revenge or profit, no impulses of vanity or way-side seductions had power to turn her aside from carrying out her plan as she had originally projected it.

Although I have little to tell, I feel that I have learnt a great deal of the Indians, from observing them even in this broken and degraded condition.  There is a language of eye and motion which cannot be put into words, and which teaches what words never can.  I feel acquainted with the soul of this race; I read its nobler thought in their defaced figures.  There was a greatness, unique and precious, which he who does not feel will never duly appreciate the majesty of nature in this American continent.

I have mentioned that the Indian orator, who addressed the agents on this occasion, said, the difference between the white man and the red man is this:  “The white man no sooner came here, than he thought of preparing the way for his posterity; the red man never thought of this.”  I was assured this was exactly his phrase; and it defines the true difference.  We get the better because we do

  “Look before and after.”

But, from, the same cause, we

  “Pine for what is not.”

The red man, when happy, was thoroughly happy; when good, was simply good.  He needed the medal, to let him know that he was good.

These evenings we were happy, looking over the old-fashioned garden, over the beach, over the waters and pretty island opposite, beneath the growing moon.  We did not stay to see it full at Mackinaw; at two o’clock one night, or rather morning, the Great Western came snorting in, and we must go; and Mackinaw, and all the Northwest summer, is now to me no more than picture and dream:—­

  “A dream within a dream.”

These last days at Mackinaw have been pleasanter than the “lonesome” nine, for I have recovered the companion with whom I set out from the East,—­one who sees all, prizes all, enjoys much, interrupts never.

At Detroit we stopped for half a day.  This place is famous in our history, and the unjust anger at its surrender is still expressed by almost every one who passes there.  I had always shared the common feeling on this subject; for the indignation at a disgrace to our arms that seemed so unnecessary has been handed down from father to child, and few of us have taken the pains to ascertain where the blame lay.  But now, upon the spot, having read all the testimony, I felt convinced that it should rest solely with the government, which, by neglecting to sustain General Hull, as he had a right to expect they would, compelled him to take this step, or sacrifice many lives, and of the defenceless inhabitants, not of soldiers, to the cruelty of a savage foe, for the sake of his reputation.