the real savage life, it still has charms for some who have not tried it; and when compared with the wretchedness and degradation of the "Devil's Acre" in London, or the "Five Points" in New York, it is to be chosen. Cooper and Ruxton have given us too glowing pictures of the ease and plenty and excitements of the wilderness life; but who would not rather fly from the taxation and prolonged misery of the European serf to the quicker death of the arrow or tomahawk?

The early hunters and trappers came very near to the savage life-now at peace, now at war with the Indians, with whom, however, they almost always intermarried. Many a wild adventure and hair-breadth escape has enriched the page of the story-teller, but the white proved stronger and wilier than the savage.

A quarrel grew up between a trader and some of the Indians, and the Indians came to his cabin to attack and murder him. He opened the door, holding a brand in one hand, and they entered. He said:

"You see this barrel of powder, and you see this brand: go home and bid your squaws good-by, for if you move one step nearer I will blow you to atoms!"

They retired awed and cowed.

and immediately he was well; his sense of smell was wonderful, and those of sight and hearing incredible; he was believed to be able to start from any one point, and go readily on a bee line through tangled forests and over trackless mountains direct to any other point, even hundreds of miles away. Every boy has read with profound interest the story of "The Last of the Mohicans," and has believed in the startling escapes of Le Reynard Subtil, and the mysterious honesty and sagacity of Uncas, the friendly Delaware. Their powers to outdo and to outwit the more civilized white man are in that book unquestioned; even the tough and keen "Leather Stocking" is no match for them.

So it is in that admirable story, and in many another story; but so it is not in fact. A more careful examination of the question has shown that the white man is the superior of the red, even in strength and endurance. Captain Franklin and other Arctic voyagers found that the Indian guides succumbed under hardship, labor, and privation sooner than the whites. He, and many others too, found that sailors, who it was supposed were much stronger than officers, gave up before them. From this we learn that mere body is not all, and that MIND, too, goes to make up the physical man. Notwithstanding this, it is a right royal instinct which leads us away from the pale-faced counter-jumper, and the weak-eyed student, and the trembling miser, to the rough, untrimmed, out

fields and forests we must forever look for new, fresh blood; to them return when our own gets thin, and our nerves begin to tremble. We can

not forget our double

nature-that combination of body and mind, of material and spiritual -which goes to make the true man. The Indian seems to have been a failure he was a body; but he was not a greater failure than the philosopher who aspires to be pure mind.

It is a mistake, too, to suppose that the Indian was sure of good health, one principal condition of which certainly is plenty of open air. That he had, but he lacked almost every thing else; and out of the many born, the few who lived were commonly subject to diseases, such as rheumatism, tooth-ache, and fevers. The charming stories of Paul and

INDIANS MIGRATING.

The continent is changed; savage nature in man and forest has disappeared; the forest has fallen, and the Indian's path is trod by the wheel of the untiring locomotive.

Where the Indian and the red deer once roved free, their feet have departed; the sound of the war-whoop and the ring of the rifle have given place to the clip of the axe and the shout of the teamster; the laughing waters turn the busy mill, and the cry of the wild-drake is silenced by the "pough-pough" of the steamer which breasts the stream to the foot of the falls. The broad prairies are now cut by the wheels of daring and doing emigrants, who seek good spots for future homes. Wives, sons, daughters, and babies are piled up with loads of goods, and New England spreads from the far East to the far West; the bold spirit of the Northmen still lives-not to filibuster the world, but to convert the wilderness into peaceful fields, and to extend that freedom which includes blessings, and duties too, which makes every man a king over himself, a prince in his own house, and a man upright before the Lord.

But why is it that people emigrate? Why do so many thousands turn their backs upon their homes, tear up by the roots those associations and sympathies, the growth of a lifetime, which have fastened themselves upon every spring, and tree, and chamber, and corner of the old homestead? Why do they leave old

above all, why do they leave old friends, to go out to unknown places, to unknown dangers and hardships, and to begin among strangers a new experiment? Whoever now reads this by the side of his cheerful fire, in his accustomed seat, will shudder at the prospect of leaving it, and going forth to grapple with untamed nature. But before another year he too may go and why?

It is the law of God. The world must be occupied and subdued, and civilized man must occupy and subdue it. It is for this reason that men go, not only because they are restless and impatient of present evils.

Why should we be content with a bare existence? Our people believe in comfortable houses, decent clothes, churches, school-houses, pianos, magazines, newspapers, silks, laces, and hoops-and they will have them. The moment population begins to get straitened for room, and the means of living begin to be subdivided, that moment they push out into new lands, happy in the consciousness that there are new lands to push into. But as we go out upon such slight provocation, let us look for a moment into that new WEST, to which men now tend.

The sun goes down in the golden west, but possibly it is not more golden than the spot where we stand to see it. So we may conclude every place has its drawbacks as well as its advantages. When the New England Pilgrims came to their "West," they found land, but no

they can find water for their cattle and wood for their fires. As the eye sweeps the horizon a curling smoke here and there tells of neighboring camps. The wagons are ranged in an open circle in the midst of which women are cooking and children crying, but no doughnuts, no seed-cakes, no cream, no strawberries, no chairs, no clean damask are there. Corndodgers baked in the ashes, salt pork broiled on the end of a stick, and a little muddy tea, must suffice for the hungry stomach. Children at first enjoy the novelty and excitement of freedom, but

"Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," comes, and where are the cradles in which they have been rocked to rest-where the peaceful beds full of peaceful sleep? It is known that the solitudes of the prairie are often startled by the fretful wail of many a wearied child, whose bed is at last found among the bundles of household "plunder" hidden in the recesses of the wagon-top. When the animals have browsed they are gathered into the inclosure made by the wagon, and tethered, to protect them against a prowling wolf or Indian, occasionally to be met with even now in Iowa or Minnesota, and then men and women find what repose exhausted nature insures.

To woman pioneer life is hard, for she is tender, though tough; she wants, and should have, more comforts and conveniences than

man, but in this new life she has less. She must work hard, and live a life of the commonest reality, without the solace of cheerful gossips over steaming cups of tea, the comforting voice of her accustomed minister, or the assurances of her long-tried friend and physicianwithout those thousand little aids and appliances of taste and grace, and neatness and dress, which help to smooth the onward and upward path of life.

She, too, must rough it-and she does not like to rough it-and she is hurt and demoralized if the roughing is too rough, or too long continued. Is it not so? Does any one love to see a woman with uncombed hair, shabby clothes, and ragged shoes, with an overworked and wearied look? I trow not; not one-not even her own husband. But woman can go through this all, and well, too, as Mrs. Kirkland once showed us, in her clever book called "A New Home, Who'll Follow?" She can do all, and more, strengthened by love, if its fires can only be kept bright on the home altar. Let men remember that. But women do not like tobacco-chewing, whisky-drinking, and growling, dirty men-not they.

Settlers should go out in companies whenever it can be done for mutual help and comfort; organized settlements made up of farmers, mechanics, surveyors, schoolmasters, and shopkeepers are sure to succeed. The first work to

be done is to put up some kind of a house sufficient for present needs, and in doing this the advantages of working in companies is evident. In a country of trees these cabins are built of logs, in prairie countries of boards or slabs; these often stand for years, all the while being improved and added to, until, by-and-by, constant industry and rich lands reward the farmer with bountiful crops and full barns; and then good houses start up over the country. Work is sweet to him who sees that he is to reap where he has sown; and when the farmer, of the Northwest drives his strong plow-share through the tough sod and turns up the fat black soil, he enjoys his labor, for his mind's eye sees those lands waving with yellow grain which he is sure to reap. It is best that emigrants should be sanguine, but not over-sanguine; and we therefore venture to suggest that there are some slight drawbacks even in the teeming West. It is not pleasant to have one's spleen torn with the talons of "Fever and Ague," and the foundations of health and enjoyment thus undermined. Possibly this can not be escaped, but let the man who knows the value of health avoid night and morning air, strong coffee, heavy bread, saleratus cake, whisky, and doses. Patent medicine merchants now career through the West with four-horse teams, dispensing drugs and destruction right and left: they fill their pockets and the grave-yards. Such things as this are common: A child is ailing, he continues to eat pies and cakes, and candy if he can get it, and the anxious parent looks in the cupboard for a remedy; a bottle, handsomely labeled, promises well, and the child is dosed. The next day it is worse, and another bottle is tried which promises to cure every thing; the dose is given, and the child is still worse. A box of "infallible pills" is discovered, and tried, which is sure, if one but takes enough: they are given, and in two days the child is deadand then people say "it is a mysterious dispensation of Providence:" they forget the patent medicines. Thousands of children are thus ignorantly slain, and thousands shake

out a miserable existence from neglect or ignorance of the simplest laws of health and diet. The millennium must be postponed a little longer.

A few districts seem tolerably free of this scourge; they are most eagerly sought for; time alone and superior methods of life and diet will rid others of it.

Another evil which presses heavily upon the farmer of the Northwest is the long and severe winter; both man and beast must be fed, and the six months of summer must be devoted to severe toil to secure the means of subsistence during the six months of winter. Notwithstanding this, the fruit of all civilization-well