In The Boyhood of Lincoln

two tribes, and the ancient burying-ground of the Indian race, was very beautifully situated at the junction of the Rock River with the Mississippi. The Father of Wa

races, crowned with hills and patriarchal trees. From these hills the sight is glorious. On one hand rolls the mighty river, and on the other stretch vast prairies, flower-carp

here on a parapet of rock was built Fort Arms

e perfumed the air, and wild plums blossomed white in May and purpled with fruit in summer. If ever an Indian race loved a town,

ors. Here they kept the graves beautiful, and of

, and shows that the human heart eve

re you,

re are

ing to s

ling fo

ai

happy,

u happ

ing to s

ling fo

ai

omes to t

e, then,

ing to s

ling fo

ai

wers com

et thee

ing to s

ars me

ai

ollowed by a number of Indians who came out of their houses of poles and bark, a

bow over the waters, and you have come back. You have

een an Indian runner in Canada, and an interpreter to the English there. He spoke English well. The boy Waubeno had been his companion in his long journeys, and, now that the interpre

id Jasper-"not the silence of the ha

is breast, and all th

rm. I would forgive him, and pray that his blindness might go from his soul, and that he might see a b

wed, Main-Pogue, a

Sit down; eat, smoke the peace-pipe, and let us talk. Sit down. The sky is clear, and the night-bird cries for joy on

ish, and Black Hawk lighted some long pipe

ell you his story. It will shame the pale-face, but let me tell you the story. You will say that the

m the black chief's pipe. He broke his narrative by such silences, designed t

ially true, and yet nothing in classic history or modern heroism can sur

s to Kaskaskia. You can trust him; he knows the ways. Main-Pogue knows all the ways. Main-Pogue was a runne

ells the Sto

would die for each other. Main-Pogue says that Waubeno may run with you,

said. Who was the father of

was a silence, and Black Hawk puffed hi

gray plume, and honor to him was more than life. He would not lie, an

owed anoth

is the thing to teach-the thing you call conscience, soul, those are the right t

came to us to teach us God. It is good. You are a brother, but God came to us before. He has written the law of right in the soul of every man. The right will find the li

ce who had done him wrong. The white man died. He who wrongs another does not deserve the sun. He died, and his soul went to the shadows. The B

ld warrior that they ha

Wisconsin) and see my family once more, and whisper my last wish in the ear

turn,' said the comm

or strode

true m

ked into his face,

uld like to see an Indian w

children, and he hugged them all. Waubeno was the oldest boy. He told him all, and

oy swayed in the dim ligh

irit will teach you how.' That is what my father

p silence. Then

He looked up to heaven, and cried, 'Lead thou my boy!' The

s the sun was rising; he arrive

that one might almost hear the pu

! That is his

of Johnnie Kongapod's story, and

he memory of his great father in a way that he does not now know. The Great Spirit

ward, "I will always be true to yo

d the gospel teaching to do great deeds. Jasper saw his opportunity, and his love of mankind never glowed bef