most childlike manner.

Peter and his son John were taking tea with us, when we were joined by my
brother Mr. S____. The latter was giving us an account of the marriage of
Peter Jones, the celebrated Indian preacher.

"I cannot think," he said, "how any lady of propeity and education could
marry such a man as Jones. Why, he's as ugly as Peter here."

This was said, not with any idea of insulting the red-skin on the score of
his beauty, of which he possessed not the smallest particle, but in total
forgetfulness that our guest understood English. Never shall I forget the
red flash of that fierce, dark eye as it glared upon my unconscious
brother. I would not have received such a fiery glance for all the wealth
that Peter Jones obtained with his Saxon bride. John Nogan was highly
amused by his father's indignation. He hid his face behind the chief; and
though he kept perfectly still, his whole frame was convulsed with
suppressed laughter.

A plainer human being than poor Peter could scarcely be imagined; yet he
certainly deemed himself handsome. I am inclined to think that their ideas
of personal beauty differ very widely from ours. Tom Nogan, the chief's
brother, had a very large, fat ugly squaw for his wife. She was a mountain
of tawny flesh; and, but for the innocent, good-natured expression, which,
like a bright sunbeam penetrating a swarthy cloud, spread all around a
kindly glow, she might have been termed hideous.

This woman they considered very handsome, calling her "a fine squaw--
clever squaw--a much good woman;" though in what her superiority
consisted, I never could discover, often as I visited the wigwam. She was