238 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
ning river, speed over the glassy lake like a swan, and 
shoot through the foaming rapids as sportively as the 
trout, and when the storm rages, and throws the waves 
heavenward, and the lurid clouds seem filled with mol- 
ten fire, you will see the Indian, like a spirit of the 
storm, at one time standing out in bold relief against 
the lightning-riven sky, the next moment—disappearing 
in the watery gulf, rivalling the gull in the gracefulness 
of his movements, and rejoicing, like the petrel, in the 
confusion of the elements. 
The articles used in savage life, like all the works 
of nature, are simple, and yet perfectly adapted to the 
purpose for which they are designed. 
The most ingenious and laborious workman, aided 
by the most perfect taste, cannot possibly form a vessel 
so general in its use, so excellent in its ends, as the 
calabash. 
The Indian finds it suspended in profusion in every 
glade of his forest home, spontaneous in its growth, and 
more effectually protected from destruction from ani- 
mals, through a bitter taste, than by any artificial bar- 
rier whatever. So with all the rest of his appropriations 
from nature’s hands. His mind scarcely ever makes an 
effort, and consequently seldom improves. 
The simple buffalo skin that forms a protection for 
the trifles of an Indian lover, when he would bear them 
safely across the swollen stream, compared with the 
gorgeous barge that conveyed Egypt’s queen down the 

