I HAVE never found any subject more deeply interesting than the contemplation and study of the manners and customs of the North American Indians. In my youth, when my winter evenings were sometimes spent in reading about the cruelties practised by the ruthless savages towards the early settlers of New England, I used to think that there could not possibly exist a more wicked and treacherous race of beings than the Indians.

As I grew in years, and in knowledge, and, with the excellent opportunities I have had, examined their true characters and dispositions, my foolish youthful fears vanished, and I was led to look upon the poor Indian as a human being like myself, gifted with reason, though ignorant; the nobleness of whose nature would compare favorably with many other wiser nations. In our own comfortable homes, by our own cheerful firesides, surrounded by all the benefits of civilized life, we are too apt to forget the wrongs of the

red man. We are too apt to forget that God has not given to him the learning and intelligence with which we are blest. His mode of living, his ideas of honor and of a Supreme Being may not appear right in our eyes, yet he is acting according to the light he has received, and we are not to judge him.

The history of the red man, as I have before said, is a fruitful subject for contemplation. From the moment when Columbus was first welcomed to the shores of the New World, by the hospitable Indian, until the present day, it is full of interest. Though their origin is, and ever must be, a mystery, yet I think no one can reasonably doubt that, at the time when this country was discovered in 1492, the Indian nation was in its prime and glory. They roamed through the pathless forests, at pleasure, and their hunting and fishing grounds were undisturbed. The mountains and rivers, the lakes and valleys, of this wide country were all theirs.

But the white man came among them, and their sovereignty was gone. For nearly three hundred years they have been passing away. The term of their existence as a distinct nation has nearly expired. More than three quarters of their fairest lands have been grasped by the avaricious white man, and more than twelve millions of their race have been swept away from the face of the earth. A very small band now remains, and very soon these will have been swallowed up by the advancing tide of civilization. As I have lived among these people a considerable portion of my life, I propose to give my ig friends, in a series of sketches, an account of what I saw their habits, manners and customs, while among them, with such information respecting their homes and haunts, as I can find room for, to illustrate their wild, roving lives.

Many years ago, while making a short stop at the city of St. Louis, in Missouri, which you know lies upon the Mississippi river, a few miles below the mouth of the Missouri, it was my good fortune to become acquainted with the captain of a small steamboat, who was about ascending the Missouri river into the very heart of the Indian country, a distance of more than two thousand miles. Knowing that I was very fond of travelling about the world, he very kindly offered me a passage on his boat, provided I was willing to encounter the dangers of the long passage. This was the first

steamboat that had ever attempted a voyage up that great river, for any considerable distance, and consequently would be continually in danger of being sunk by the snags, which abound there. Now, thought I, here is a fine chance for me to study, at my leisure, the characters of the red men of the west. I had often wished for an opportunity of this kind, and I at once accepted the captain's offer and set about preparing for my jaunt. I brought my business in St. Louis to a close, sent to Louisville for my old rifle, which I used to call "Speaker," and having laid in a sufficient quantity of powder and balls to last me a year-for my readers must remember that in the Indian country these things are very scarce and sell for a high price-I stepped on board the boat, and bid farewell to the tall spires and busy streets of St. Louis, for aught I knew, forever.

After ascending the Mississippi for a few miles, we turned the bows of our steamboat into the mouth of the Missouri, and we were fairly started upon our dangerous voyage, far away, as the Indian in his thrilling language would express it, "towards the going down of the sun." Our destination was the mouth of the Yellow Stone river, which the captain told me was in the middle of the Indian tribes, which inhabit the country east of the Rocky Mountains.

For the first five hundred miles of our journey nothing of great interest occurred. We were obliged to move slowly and cautiously, for fear of having our boat sunk by the snags. We frequently ran aground upon the sand-bars, and the cry of "Shoal ahead! back her! was heard so repeatedly that, at last, it caused no fear at all among the passengers.

The Missouri river is entirely different from any other stream of water which I have ever seen. Its waters are always muddy, being most of the year exactly the color of a cup of coffee with sugar and cream stirred into it. Now I am not very fond of coffee, but, if I were obliged to drink a cup of coffee or a cup of Missouri river water, I think I should choose the coffee, and I have no doubt my readers would. Well, I will tell you how this muddy water is made so. The Missouri river, for a greater part of its length, runs through an immense level plain with a great depth of rich alluvial soil, and, being a very large river and the current strong, its channel is continually changing. As the water rushes along, the banks fall in

and are soon mixed with the water, and hence the turbid appearance of the river. I suppose that, when these waters are tumbling down the sides of the Rocky Mountains, they are as pure and limpid as any trout brook you ever saw. But the falling banks, like the milk and sugar in your coffee, soon color the whole and make it thick and dirty.

The shores upon both sides of this river, for five or six hundred miles from its mouth, are well wooded with large and fine trees. As the banks cave in, these trees become undermined and fall into the stream. Their roots become fastened to the bottom of the river, by the weight of earth clinging to them, while the tops are floating upon the surface, pointing down stream, and presenting to the boatman a most frightful prospect. In some places the whole bed of the river was completely filled with these snags, as they are called, and you would have supposed, from their appearance, that no boat could possibly get by them; yet by going slowly against them many are so loose that they will swing round like the buoys in our harbors. After a while these wooded shores and snags began to trouble us less and less, and, at the mouth of the Platte river, they entirely disappeared. Here the eye is relieved by resting upon the green carpeted prairies, gracefully sloping to the water's edge. At almost every bend of the river, herds of buffaloes, elks, antelopes and sneaking wolves, upon the banks, became frightened by our steamboat, which came puffing and blowing along, and, after receiving a volley from our hunters, they scattered and bounded over the hills out of our reach. This furnished us rare sport, and I found " Speaker" a useful companion.

The Indians, too, having never seen or heard of a steamboat, exhibited the greatest wonder at our approach. Some threw themselves upon the ground and called upon the Great Spirit to protect them; some set out in running, and did not stop until they had got well out of our sight, while others would approach the banks of the stream, and peep cautiously over. One time, when a considerable number had approached pretty near to us, our captain, who was fond of a joke, let off a large quantity of steam by the waste pipe, when, head over heels, men, women, and children, dogs and all, rushed away, tumbling over each other, in the most admirable confusion

We had a hearty laugh at their foolish fears, but we saw no more of them that night.

After being nearly three months upon our voyage we arrived at the mouth of the Yellow Stone river, the place of our destination. There is a fort built here upon the shore, opposite the Yellow Stone, which was erected by the "American Fur Company," partly as a store-house for the fur traders, and partly as a protection against the Indians. Upon our arrival at the fort, we fired some cannon, that we had on board, and here was another wonder for the savages, who supposed it was the boat which caused the noise. Directly in the rear of the fort is a large Indian village, and so great was the fear they had of our "big thunder canoe," as they always afterwards called it, that in a short time not an individual could be seen. The next day, however, several of the boldest sachems ventured on board, while the "medicine," as they called our cannon, was fired. Everything that the Indians here do not understand, they term "medicine."

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This fort was to be my head-quarters for a twelvemonth. assure my readers, that the appearances of comfort were anything but cheering, yet I am one of those persons who do not like to give up for trifles. The boat was to return in a few weeks, or as soon as the merchandise, which had been brought up to sell to the Indians, could be landed and stored in the fort, and the winter's stock of furs and buffalo skins put on board, and I should be left almost alone, in the middle of a nation of savages. Never mind, thought I it is of no use to be discouraged. I will try to live peaceably with them, and deal fairly, and give them a good price for their furs, and, at any rate, I shall have a chance to study their habits well. I had engaged with the captain of the steamboat to assist in trading with the natives for their furs, during my leisure hours. In the mean time the crew of the steamer made all possible despatch to get ready for her return home.

While the captain was waiting for the lading of the boat, a party was formed to visit the Elk Horn Pyramid, a picture of which you will find on the other side of this leaf. This pyramid is situated at the mouth of "Two Thousand Miles river," which joins the Missouri, two thousand miles from its junction with the Mississippi.