vessel, and seated myself on a hill which commanded a view of the river and its banks, I found myself perfectly alone.  Not a living object was visible, not a sound was heard, not a leaf or a limb stirred.  How different from the streets of a city upon a sabbath morn, when crowds of well-dressed persons are seen moving in every direction; when the cheerful bells are sounding, and the beautiful smiling children are hurrying in troops to Sunday school!  Here I was in solitude.  I saw not the laborer resting from toil, nor the smile of infancy, nor the christian bowing before his God; but Nature proclaimed a sabbath by the silence that reigned abroad, and the splendor with which she had adorned her works.

“It is natural that these recollections of my first visit to the frontier should mingle with the observations made in my recent tour through the same scenes; I shall therefore not attempt to separate the remarks made on either occasion, but give some of the results of both voyages.

“I can scarcely describe the sensations with which I first saw the solitary lodge of an Indian hunter, on the shore of the Mississippi.  In my childhood I had read with thrilling interest, the tales of border warfare; but I had not learned to hate an Indian with mortal hatred.  I verily believe they have souls.  People may think differently in certain places, which shall be nameless, but I cannot be persuaded to the contrary.  You cannot imagine any thing more frail than an Indian wigwam—­a mere shelter of poles and mats, so small, so apparently inadequate to any purpose of security or comfort, that it is hardly possible to believe it to be intended for the residence of human beings.  In such habitations reside the Indian warrior, whose name is a terror to his enemies; and the dark maiden, whose story supplies the poet with rich materials, with which to embellish the page of fiction.  In such wretched hovels reside the aboriginal lords of the soil.

“I have seen in this region, evidences of persecution perpetrated by our people upon this unhappy race, such as the American people would scarcely believe; and I am satisfied that if the events of the late war could be traced to their true source, every real philanthropist in the nation would blush for his country.

* * * * *

“I could relate many anecdotes, to show the friendly feelings entertained towards our government and people by the Sacs—­feelings which, whether of fear or of kindness, have rendered them wholly submissive, and which nothing but the most unprovoked aggression on our side, could have kindled into hostility.  I will only, at this time, repeat one, which occurred during my first voyage, reserving others for a future letter.

“One day, when the boat stopped to take in wood, some of us strolled up to the house of a Mr. D., a respectable farmer from Pennsylvania.