every stage of their existence--weak mortals! whom death cuts down
equally while the bloom of youth is on their cheek, and when their
hair is whitened by the frosts of time--proud, vain men! whom hunger
pinches, cold benumbs, and poverty emaciates--frail beings! who are
born in tears, who are nurtured in tears, who die in tears, and whose
whole course is marked upon the thirsty sands of life in a broad line
of tears. It is for these that we weep.

"You have spoken truly, brother; we are not of this world. We are
Spirits from the land of the dead, sent upon the earth to try the
sincerity of the living. It is not for the dead but the living that we
mourn. It is not for the dead, whose flesh quietly reposes in the
dust, and whose souls repair to the mansions of happiness, that we
mourn, but for the living who are subjected to many, many pains, and
beset with innumerable troubles and anxieties. It was by no means
necessary that your wife should express her thoughts by words; we knew
them ere they were spoken. We saw that for once displeasure towards us
had arisen in her heart. It is enough--our mission is ended. We came
hither but to try you. We knew before we came that you were a kind
husband, an affectionate father, a temperate and honest man. We saw,
from the mansions of the blest, the patience with which you bore your
disappointments in the chace; the gratitude to the Great Spirit which
you always evinced; the tribute to his goodness which you always paid
when your hunts were successful, and you were enabled to return to
your cabin with the wealth of the forest. Still we find that you have
some of the weaknesses of a mortal, and your wife is found still more
wanting in our eyes. But it is not for you alone that we weep; it is
for the fate of mankind.

"Often, very often, has the widowed husband exclaimed, 'Oh death, how
cruel, how relentless thou art, to take from me my best friend, my
beloved wife, in the spring of her youth, in the prime of her
strength, in the morning of her usefulness, in the bloom of her
beauty! Just when I had come to know her best, and to love her most,
thou didst take her from my arms, leaving me to pine in unavailing
regrets. If thou wilt permit her, just Judge! to return once more to
my arms, and again be the star of my humble abode, my gratitude shall
never cease; my thankfulness shall be daily manifested in songs and
sacrifices to thy name. The high hill shall hear the cry of a man with