ices of your
civilization. It is a common thing to see mothers ill-treat their own
helpless little ones. The pitiful cries of the children keep ringing in
my ears. Cannot mothers realize that they are whipping a mean spirit
into their offspring instead of out. I have heard the most enlightened
deny their own statements when selfishness demanded it. I cannot mention
the half of the things I witness daily that grates upon my feelings. I
cannot reform them. It is not for such as I to be a reformer. Those who
need reform are the ones to work for it."

Sorrowfully I bade adieu to my hopes and my search for Alexis, and
prepared to accompany Wauna's return. We embarked on a whaling vessel,
and having reached its farthest limit, we started on our perilous
journey north; perilous for the lack of our boat, of which we could hear
nothing. It had been left in charge of a party of Esquimaux, and had
either been destroyed, or was hidden. Our progress, therefore, depended
entirely upon the Esquimaux. The tribe I had journeyed so far north with
had departed, and those whom I solicited to accompany us professed to be
ignorant of the sea I mentioned. Like all low natures, the Esquimaux are
intensely selfish. Nothing could induce them to assist us but the most
apparent benefit to themselves; and this I could not assure them. The
homesickness, and coarse diet and savage surroundings told rapidly on
the sensitive nature of Wauna. In a miserable Esquimaux hut, on a pile
of furs, I saw the flame of a beautiful and grandly noble life die out.
My efforts were hopeless; my anguish keen. O Humanity, what have I
sacrificed for you!

"Oh, Wauna," I pleaded, as I saw the signs of dissolution approaching,
"shall I not pray for you?"

"Prayers cannot avail me," she replied, as her thin hands reached and
closed over one of mine. "I had hoped once more to see the majestic
hills and smiling valleys of my own sweet land, but I shall not. If I
could only go to sleep in the arms of my mother. But the Great Mother of
us all will soon receive me in her bosom. And oh! my friend, promise me
that her dust shall cover me from the sight of men. When my mother
rocked me to slumber on her bosom, and soothed me with her gentle
lullaby, she little dreamed that I should suffer and die first. If you
ever reach Mizora, tell her only that I sleep the sleep of oblivion. She
will know. Let the memory of my suffering die with me."

"Oh, Wauna," I exclaimed, in anguish, "