96 THE LIFE OF

The groves, where once my fathers roam’d-— The rivers, where the beaver dwelt—

The lakes, where angry waters foam’d— Their charms, with my fathers, have fled.

0! tell me, ye “ pale faces,” tell,

Where have my proud ancestors gone’! Whose smoke curled up from every dale,

To what land have their free spirits flown '! Whose Wigwam stood where cities rise;

On whose war-paths the steam-horse flies; And ships, like mon-e-doos in disguise,

Approach the shore in endless files.

I now visited the Missionary Rooms of the American Board, whose invaluable labors are felt throughout the globe. I saw some articles, wrought by our people in the West, such as bead work, porcupine quills, mocca- sons, war clubs, etc. I thought, that if Brother Green had seen as much of war clubs as I had, (for I have seen them stained with blood and notched according to the number of individuals they had slain,) he would conceal them from every eye.

CHAPTER XIII.

ABOUT the 4th of November, I took my leave of Bos- ton, for the great commercial emporium, on my route homewards. My travelling companion was the Rev. E. Taylor, the sailor’s friend. He was on his Way to Philadelphia to preach. I should suppose that a better sailor’s preacher cannot be found in the Union. I was