between my countrymen and the audience. Fortunately, I had read Irving's
beautiful paper in the "Sketch-Book," and knew "The Last of the
Mohicans" by heart; and putting together, as well as I could, the ideas
of Indian life I had gained from these sources, I accomplished my task
to the entire satisfaction of my interrogators. At last the curtain
rose, and, though reduced in number, and evidently much the worse for
their protracted stay in the land of civilization and brandy, there
they were, the very Osages I had seen at the good old General's. The
interpreter came forward and told his story, making them chiefs of rank
on a tour of pleasure. And a burly-looking fellow, walking up and down
the stage with an air that gave the lie to every assertion of the
interpreter, made a speech in deep gutturals to the great delight of
the listeners. Fortunately for me, the Italian love of sound kept my
companions still till the speech was ended, and then, just as they were
turning to me for a translation, the interpreter announced his intention
of translating it for them himself. Nothing else, I verily believe,
could have saved my reputation, and enabled me to retain my place as a
native-born American. When the exhibition was over,--and even with the
ludicrousness of my part of it, to me it was a sad one,--I went behind
the scenes to take a nearer view of these poor victims of avarice. They
were sitting round a warming-pan, looking jaded and worn, brutalized
beyond even what I had first imagined. It was my last sight of them, and
I was glad of it; how far they went, and how many of them found their
way back to their native land, I never was able to learn.

Before I left the Rue d'Anjou, it was arranged, that, as soon as I had
seen a little more of Paris, I should go to La Grange. "One of the young
ladies will teach you French," said the General, "and you can make your
plans for the winter at your leisure."