yeomanry, getting used to wilderness life before they could secure a single means for a better one. The first cabins of the whites were no better than those of the Indian; their food, their drink, fire, exposure to all risks were the same, save, as has been said, that the white man had a few metal tools and implements, not forgetting, however, that he had also something in his skull, and in his Saxon spirit, which the Indian had not.
The Indian witnessed, wondered over, or was disgusted by every successive act by which the white man, as we say, improved his condition. He saw him cut down trees and build a lodge: the Indian had seen the beavers do that, and build a dam over a water-course beside. The Indian saw the white man cut down more trees, make a clearing for planting and fencing, using boards and timber for his second house instead of bark. Then came the saw-mill and the grist-mill. Then a brood of chickens appeared around the shanty; then the cow, which had a strange resemblance to the familiar buffalo, save that milk and butter came from her, which the Indians might have got from the buffalo, but had not thought of. Then the Indian saw the white man using salt for preserving food, which he had never done. And day by day, and year by year, as the savage visited the white man's cabin or framed house, his fenced fields and flower-gardens, he saw something new and cunning and useful, not costly, nor ostentatious, nor intricate, nor perplexing, but simple, contrived, adapted to make more out of everything than the savage had done. So tentative, elemental, and easy of imitation have been the signs and processes by which civilization has offered itself to our Indians on the frontiers for nearly three hundred years.
And what has been the effect on the savages of these seemingly prompting, soliciting, tempting, we might even say provoking, examples, — silent, winning, and simple lessons, — given him by the white man? The effect has been
