much above that of the wandering tribes, which, with their well-known
thirst for blood, destroyed the very arts and useful habits which
might have bettered their condition. The whirlwind of barbarian fury
is ever one which fills peaceful nations with terror. We may remember
how near in the "Agony of Canada," the French power was to being
swept out of existence by the fierce fury of the Iroquois--up to that
time always victorious. We may remember how civilization in Minnesota
was thrown back by the Sioux massacre of 1861. It is only now by
persistent and unwearied efforts that we can hope to conquer the
Indians by the arts of peace, and by inducing him to take the hoe in
place of the tomahawk, to meet nature's obstacles. Who can fail to
heave a sigh for our northern mound builders, and to lament the
destruction of so vast and civilized a race as the peaceful Toltecans
of Mexico, of the Mississippi, and of the Ohio, to which our
Takawgamis belonged? After all, their life must in the main, ever
remain a mystery.

THE LOST RACE

"One of our visits to the mound was at night."

Oh, silent mound! thy secret tell!
God's acre gazing toward the sky,
'Midst sombre shade 'neath angel's eye
Thou sleepest till the domesday knell.

Sweet leaflets, on the towering elms.
Oh whisper from your crested height!
Or have lost forests borne from sight
The secret to their buried realms?