Adventures of the Ojibbeway and Ioway Indians in England, France, and Belgium; Vol. 2 (of 2): being Notes of Eight Years' Travels and Residence in Europe with his North American Indian CollectionCatlin, George
History
Adventures of the Ojibbeway and Ioway Indians in England, France, and Belgium; Vol. 2 (of 2): being Notes of Eight Years' Travels and Residence in Europe with his North American Indian Collection
Catlin, George
England -- Description and travel; France -- Description and travel; Indians of North America
The society which fascinated me most and called for all my idle hours
was that of my four dear little children, whose arms, having been for
ever torn from the embrace of an affectionate mother, were ready to
cling to my neck whenever I quitted the toils of my painting-room.
There was a charm in that little circle of society which all the
fascinations of the fashionable world could never afford me, and I
preferred the simple happiness that was thus sweetly spread around me
to the amusements and arts of matured and fashionable life.
The days and nights and weeks and months of my life were passing on
whilst my house rang with the constant notes of my little girls and my
dear little "Tambour Major," producing a glow of happiness in my life,
as its hours were thus carolled away, which I never before had attained
to.
My happiness was here too complete to last long, and, as the sequel
will show, like most precious gifts, was too confidently counted on
to continue. A sudden change came over this pleasing dream of life;
the cheering notes of my little companions were suddenly changed into
groans, and my occupations at my easel were at an end. The chirping
and chattering in the giddy maze of their little dances were finished,
and, having taken to their beds, my occupation was changed to their
bedsides, where they were all together writhing in the agonies of
disease, and that of so serious a nature as to require all my attention
by night and by day, and at length anxieties of the most painful kind,
and alarm--of grief, and a broken heart!
To those of my readers who have ever set their whole heart upon and
identified their existence with that of a darling little boy, and wept
for him, it is unnecessary--and to those who have never been blessed
with such a gift it would be useless--for me to name the pangs that
broke my heart for the fate of my little "Tambour Major," who, in that
unlucky hour, thoughtlessly relinquishing all his little toys, laid
down with his three little sisters, to run the chances with them, and
then to be singled out as he was by the hand of death.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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