honor to our friends in this world, — to our protecting geniuses in another.”
There was religion in that thought. The white man sacrifices his own brother, and to Mammon, yet he turns in loathing from the dog-feast.
“You say,” said the Indian of the South to the missionary, “that Christianity is pleasing to God. How can that be? — Those men at Savannah are Christians.”
Yes! slave-drivers and Indian traders are called Christians, and the Indian is to be deemed less like the Son of Mary than they! Wonderful is the deceit of man's heart!
I have not, on seeing something of them in their own haunts, found reason to change the sentiments expressed in the following lines, when a deputation of the Sacs and Foxes visited Boston in 1837, and were, by one person at least, received in a dignified and courteous manner.
| GOVERNOR EVERETT RECEIVING THE INDIAN CHIEFS, |
| November, 1837. |
| Who says that Poesy is on the wane, |
| And that the Muses tune their lyres in vain? |
| 'Mid all the treasures of romantic story, |
| When thought was fresh and fancy in her glory, |
| Has ever Art found out a richer theme, |
| More dark a shadow, or more soft a gleam, |
| Than fall upon the scene, sketched carelessly, |
| In the newspaper column of to-day? |
