nts all. Such are the pale faces.

"Some the Great Spirit made with skins brighter and redder than yonder
sun," continued Magua, pointing impressively upward to the lurid
luminary, which was struggling through the misty atmosphere of the
horizon; "and these did He fashion to His own mind. He gave them this
island as He had made it, covered with trees, and filled with game. The
wind made their clearings; the sun and rain ripened their fruits; and
the snows came to tell them to be thankful. What need had they of roads
to journey by! They saw through the hills! When the beavers worked, they
lay in the shade, and looked on. The winds cooled them in summer; in
winter, skins kept them warm. If they fought among themselves, it was
to prove that they were men. They were brave; they were just; they were
happy."

Here the speaker paused, and again looked around him to discover if his
legend had touched the sympathies of his listeners. He met everywhere,
with eyes riveted on his own, heads erect and nostrils expanded, as
if each individual present felt himself able and willing, singly, to
redress the wrongs of his race.

"If the Great Spirit gave different tongues to his red children," he
continued, in a low, still melancholy voice, "it was that all animals
might understand them. Some He placed among the snows, with their
cousin, the bear. Some he placed near the setting sun, on the road to
the happy hunting grounds. Some on the lands around the great fresh
waters; but to His greatest, and most beloved, He gave the sands of the
salt lake. Do my brothers know the name of this favored people?"

"It was the Lenape!" exclaimed twenty eager voices in a breath.

"It was the Lenni Lenape," returned Magua, affecting to bend his head in
reverence to their former greatness. "It was the tribes of the Lenape!
The sun rose from water that was salt, and set in water that was sweet,
and never hid himself from their eyes. But why should I, a Huron of the
woods, tell a wise people their own traditions? Why remind them of
their injuries; their ancient greatness; their deeds; their glory; their
happiness; their losses; their defeats; their misery? Is there not one
among them who has seen it all, and who knows it to be true? I have
done. My tongue is still for my heart is of lead. I listen."

As the voice of the speaker suddenly ceased, every face and all eyes
turned, by a common movement, toward the venerable Tamenund. From the
moment that he