plough the ground, they sow, they reap; whilst the haughty husband
amuses himself with hunting, shooting, fishing, and such exercises only
as are the image of war; all other employments being, according to his
idea, unworthy the dignity of man.

I have told you the labors of savage life, but I should observe that
they are only temporary, and when urg'd by the sharp tooth of
necessity: their lives are, upon the whole, idle beyond any thing we
can conceive. If the Epicurean definition of happiness is just, that it
consists in indolence of body, and tranquillity of mind, the Indians of
both sexes are the happiest people on earth; free from all care, they
enjoy the present moment, forget the past, and are without solicitude
for the future: in summer, stretch'd on the verdant turf, they sing,
they laugh, they play, they relate stories of their ancient heroes to
warm the youth to war; in winter, wrap'd in the furs which bounteous
nature provides them, they dance, they feast, and despise the rigors of
the season, at which the more effeminate Europeans tremble.

War being however the business of their lives, and the first passion
of their souls, their very pleasures take their colors from it: every
one must have heard of the war dance, and their songs are almost all on
the same subject: on the most diligent enquiry, I find but one love
song in their language, which is short and simple, tho' perhaps not
inexpressive:

"I love you,
I love you dearly,
I love you all day long."

An old Indian told me, they had also songs of friendship, but I