After me, Mr. McKinley, the gentleman in charge of the Hudson's Bay establishment at Wallawalla, spoke concisely, but very properly; alluded to his residence of some years, and of the good understanding that had generally existed between them, and of the happiness he felt that one of his brothers had come to stand and judge impartially between him, them, and whites and Indians in general; declared openly and frankly, that Boston, King George, and French, were all of one heart in this matter, as they, the Cayuses and Wallawallas should be; flattered them delicately in view of their (to him) unexpected advancement in the arts and sciences, and resumed his seat, having made a most favorable impression. Next followed Mr. Rogers, the interpreter, who, years before, had been employed successfully as linguist in this section of the country by the American Board of Commissioners, and was ever a general favorite with this people. He adverted, sensibly and touchingly, to past difficulties between whites and Indians east of the mountains, and the sad consequences to every tribe who had resisted honorable measures proposed by the more numerous whites; and having, as he hoped, secured their confidence in my favor, exhorted them feelingly to adopt such measures as should be thought proper for their benefit. Next, and lastly, arose Mr. McKay, and remarked, with a manner peculiar to himself, and evidently with some emotion: "I appear among you as one arisen from the long sleep of death. You know of the violent death of my father on board the ship _Tonquin_, who was one of the partners of the Astor company; I was but a youth; since which time, till the last five years, I have been a wanderer through these wilds, none of you, or any Indians of this country, having traveled so constantly or extensively as I have, and yet I saw you or your fathers once or more annually. I have mingled with you in bloody wars and profound peace; I have stood in your midst, surrounded by plenty, and suffered with you in seasons of scarcity; we have had our days of wild and joyous sports, and nights of watching and deep concern, till I vanished from among men, left the Hudson's Bay Company, silently retired to my plantation, and there confined myself. There I was still, silent, and as one dead; the voice of my brother, at last, aroused me; I spoke and looked; I mounted my horse--am here. I am glad it is so. I came at the call of the great chief, the chief of all the whites in the country, as well as all the Indians--the son of the mighty chief whose children are more numerous than the stars in the heavens or the leaves in the forest. Will you hear, and be advised? You will. Your wonderful improvement in the arts and sciences prove you are no fools. Surely you will hear; but if disposed to close your ears and stop them, they will be torn open wide, and you will be made to hear." This speech from Mr. McKay, whose mother