tion is not perfect. It becomes not us to contend with Him, who dealeth more lightly with us than our iniquities deserve. Saith not that holy book, whose words thy strong memory so well cherisheth, "wherefore should a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?"
"Did all our kings, and chiefs," he inquired "offend the God of Christians? Why does he thus draw out his anger to the latest generations? Are we sinners above all men, that we are made as driven stubble before our enemies?"
"My brother speaks like a native," said the minister addressing the Lady. "Oh! that he may yet say as a Christian, though clouds and darkness are round about Jehovah, justice and judgment are the foundations of his throne."
"God forbid!" said the Chief, "that Robert should blame the religion of Christians. Shall the snow-wreath lift itself against the sun-beam? But that religion is for white men. The God, who ordained it, is angry at the red man of the forest. He will frown upon him until he die. Let him pray then to that Great Spirit who watched over his fathers, whether his throne be amid the roll of mighty waters, or where the tempest folds its wings. The white man may seek the God who loveth him, who hath given him a book from heaven, and continually calleth to the torn that he will heal, to the smitten that he will bind him up. But where shall the poor Indian turn in his sorrow, but to that spirit of mystery, which hath led
