her house.

The objects of these being the same as those of the former party, of seeing the country and making money by their exhibitions, I entered into a similar arrangement with Mr. Melody, joining with my collection, conducting their exhibitions, and sharing the expenses and receipts of the same, on condition that such an arrangement should be agreeable to the Indians.

Their first night’s rest in London being finished, they were all up at an early hour, full of curiosity to see what was around them; and their fourteen red heads out of their front windows soon raised a crowd and a novel excitement in St. James’s. Every body knew that the “Indians had gone,” and the conjectures amongst the crowd were various and curious as to this strange arrival. Some said it was “the wedding party returned;” others, more sagacious, discovered the difference in their appearance, and pronounced them “the real cannibals from New Zealand;” and others said “their heads were too red, and they could be nothing else than the real red-heads—the man-eaters—that they had read of somewhere, but had forgotten the place.”

The morning papers, however, which are the keys for all such mysteries, soon solved the difficulty, but without diminishing the crowd, by the announcement that a party of fourteen Ioway Indians, from the base of the Rocky Mountains, had arrived during the night and taken up their lodgings in St. James’s Street.

After taking their breakfasts and finishing their toilets, they stepped into carriages and paid their first visit to my collection, then open in the Egyptian Hall. Instead of yelling and shouting as the Ojibbeways did on first entering it, they all walked silently and slowly to the middle of the room, with their hands over their mouths, denoting surprise and silence. In this position, for some minutes (wrapped in their pictured robes, which were mostly drawn over their heads or up to their eyes), they stood and rolled their eyes about the room in all directions, taking a general survey of what was around them, before a word was spoken. There was an occasional “she-e” in a lengthened whisper, and nothing more for some time, when at length a gradual and almost imperceptible conversation commenced about portraits and things which they recognized around the room. They had been in a moment transferred into the midst of hundreds of their friends and their enemies, who were gazing at them from the walls—amongst wig-wams and thousands of Indian costumes and arms, and views of the prairies they live in—altogether opening to their view, and to be seen at a glance, what it would take them years to see in their own country. They met the portraits of their chiefs and other friends, upon the walls, and extended their hands towards them; and they gathered in groups in front of their enemies, whom the warriors had met in battle, and now recognized before them. They looked with great pleasure on a picture of their own village, and examined with the closest scrutiny the arms and weapons of their enemies. One may easily imagine how much there was in this collection to entertain these rude people, and how much to command their attachment to me, with whom they had already resolved to unite.

A council was held and the pipe lit under the Crow wig-wam, which was standing in the middle of my room, when Mr. Melody explained to the Indians that he had now got them safe across the ocean as he had promised, and into the midst of the greatest city in the world, where they would see many curious things, and make many good and valuable friends, if they conducted themselves properly, which he was confident they would do.

“You have met,” said he, “your old friend Chip-pe-ho-la, whom you have talked so much about on the way; you are now in his wonderful collection, and he is by the side of you, and you will hear what he has to say.” (“How! how! how!”)

I reminded the White-cloud of the time that I was in his village, and lived under his father’s tent, where I had been kindly treated, and for which I should always feel grateful. That in meeting them here, I did not meet them as strangers, but as friends. (“How! how! how!”) That they had come a great way, and with a view to make something to carry home to their wives and little children; that Mr. Melody and I had entered into an arrangement by which I was in hopes that my efforts might aid in enabling them to do so. (“How! how! how!”) That I was willing to devote all my time, and do all that was in my power, but the continuation of my exertions would depend entirely upon their own conduct, and their efforts to gain respect, by aiding in every way they could, and keeping themselves entirely sober, and free from the use of spirituous liquors. (“How! how! how!”)

Mr. Melody here remarked that they had pledged their words to him and their Great Father (as the condition on which they were allowed to come), that they would drink no ardent spirits while absent, and that he was glad to say they had thus far kept their promise strictly. (“How! how! how!”)

I told them I was glad to hear this, and I had no doubt but they would keep their word with me on that point, for every thing depended on it. We were amongst a people who look upon drunkenness as low and beastly, and also as a crime; and as I had found that most white people were of opinion that all Indians were drunkards, if they would show by their conduct that such was not the case, they would gain many warm and kind friends wherever they went. (“How! how! how!”) I told them that the Ojibbeways whom I had had with me, and who had recently gone home, gave me a solemn promise when they arrived that they would keep entirely sober and use no spirituous liquors,—that they kept that promise awhile, but I had been grieved to hear that before they left the country they had taken up the wicked habit of drinking whiskey, and getting drunk, by which they had lost all the respect that white people had for them when they first came over. (A great laugh, and “How! how! how!”)

Neu-mon-ya (the war-chief) replied to me, that they were thankful that the Great Spirit had kept them safe across the ocean and allowed them to see me, and to smoke the pipe again with me, and to hear my wise counsel, which they had all determined to keep (“How! how! how!”). He said that they had been very foolish to learn to drink “fire-water” in their country, which was very destructive to them, and they had promised their Great Father, the President, that they would drink none of it whilst they were abroad. He said he hoped I would not judge them by the Ojibbeways who had been here, “for,” said he, “they are all a set of drunkards and thieves, and always keep their promises just about as well as they kept them with you.” (A laugh, and “How! how! how!”)[1]

This talk, which was short, was ended here, to the satisfaction of all parties, and the Indians were again amusing themselves around the room, leaving the wig-wam and further conversations to Mr. Melody, the interpreter, and myself. Mr. Melody, though a stranger to me, bearing the high recommendations contained in the letter of the Secretary at War, already published, at once had my confidence (which I am pleased to say his conduct has kept up) as an excellent and honest man.

Their interpreter, Jeffrey Doraway (a mulatto), and who had been one of the first to recognize and hail me when I entered their rooms, had been an old and attached acquaintance of mine while travelling in that