water. It became impossible for us to break camp the following day. Reverend Father Gazzoli, nephew of the cardinal of the same name who died in 1857, and superior of the missions, having learned of our approach, had come, in spite of the bad weather, to meet me, in an old rude banquette, which leaked in more than one place. The good Father gave me a great deal of news, some consoling and
some sad, concerning the country and the Indians. As the day of invasion by the whites approaches, the mind of the poor Indian becomes uneasy, gloomy and apprehensive. The idea of having presently to leave the place where repose the ashes of his fathers and of all those he has loved, and his hunting and fishing grounds, throws him into a state of entire hopelessness, which is the worse because it is irremediable and irresistible. The Indian sees nothing ahead of him but a dark and sombre future. That is the present state of all the tribes of these parts. It will not be easy to preach resignation to them. We must pray for them and hope in the Lord.
On the zoth we took to the boat, and after a ride of about ten miles over the beautiful waters of the lake, we entered the sweet and smiling valley, two to three miles wide, between two picturesque mountain ranges, where the Ceeur d'Alene river flows with so gentle a current that the motion of its crystalline water is barely perceptible. Fifteen miles or so from its mouth, we camped at the foot of a high mountain, under the thick foliage of a great cedar which sheltered us against the inclemency of the season.
Some Indians had gone on ahead in their light canoes of the bark of the Canada balsam, of the thickness of ordinary pasteboard; they float with surprising lightness and swiftness. A good fire had been kindled, and when we arrived the coffee-pot and a great kettle of soup, made of
flour and meat, were already boiling. It was late, and we had eaten nothing since breakfast. We therefore did honor - to the dinner-supper, by the best of appetites.