vy murmuring sound of the
falls in my ears, broken at short intervals by the busy
thump-thump-thump of the Indian drum; for it is to be added, to the
otherwise crowded state of the place, that the open grounds and
river-side greens of the village, which stretch along irregularly for a
mile or two, are filled with the lodges of visiting Indian bands from
the interior. The last month of spring and the early summer constitute,
in fact, a kind of carnival for the natives. It is at this season that
the traders, who have wintered in the interior, come out with their furs
to the frontier posts of St. Mary's, Drummond Island, and
Michilimackinack, to renew their stocks of goods. The Indians, who have
done hunting at this season, as the furred animals are now changing
their hair, and the pelt becomes bad, follow them to enjoy themselves
along the open shores of the lakes, and share in the good things that
may fall to their lot, either from the traders at their places of
outfit, from presents issued by the British or American governments at
their chief posts, or from merchants in the towns, to whom a few
concealed skins are still reserved to trade. An Indian's time appears
to be worth but little to him at this season, if at any season. He lives
most precariously on small things, such as he can pick up as he travels
loitering along the lake shores, or strolls, with easy footsteps, about
the forest precincts of his lodge. A single fish, or a bird or squirrel,
now and then, serves to mitigate, if it does not satisfy, hunger. He has
but little, I am told, at the best estate; but, to make amends for
this, he is satisfied and even happy with little. This is certainly a
philosophic way of taking life, but it is, if I do not mistake it, stoic
philosophy, and has been learned, by painful lessons of want, from early
youth and childhood. Where want is the common lot, the power of
endurance which the race have must be a common attainment.

_9th_. This day I hired an interpreter for the government, to attend at
the office daily, a burly-faced, large man of some five-and-forty, by
the name of Yarns. He tells me that he was born at Fort Niagara, of
Irish parentage, to which an originally fair skin, blue eyes, and sandy
hair, bear testimony. He has spent life, it seems, knocking about
trading posts, in the Indian country, being married, has _metif_
children, and speaks the Chippewa tongue fluently--I do not know how
accurately.

The day which