He teaches us, feeds us, clothes and tenderly loves us; for when he buries our dead, wrapped in a white cloth, he chaunts over us." My Indian would have spoken more, but the old man interrupted him with an ironical and angry exclamation of _Hindo!_ repeated several times. He vehemently denied that any relationship existed between them, and regarded us with the most wrathful aspect, supposing us to be Spanish or Brazilian Portugueze Indian-hunters. Then addressing himself to me, he angrily said, "You are come in vain, father-priest: we don't want a father-priest. St. Thomas long ago prayed enough for our land. All kind of fruits grow in plenty here." For the rude savage thought the presence of a priest useful only in procuring fertility to the soil. "Granting," I replied, "that St. Thomas was formerly in your territories, yet whatever he taught your ancestors of the Supreme Deity and his laws has long since escaped your memories. I am ready to repeat his instructions. But, bless me, good old man, why do we stand talking in the mud? why don't we sit down on the trunk of the tree, which is out of the swamp?" Accordingly we sat down, and I detailed to him the occasion and the hardships of my long journey. To win the good-will of the surly old man, I ordered a choice piece of roast meat to be brought him, which he greedily seized and devoured. His hunger appeased, his jealous mind began to soften, and I tried all ways to find an entrance to his heart. To this end, I offered him some snuff, but pushing it from him with both hands, he answered, "_Aquihiye_," I fear it, supposing it magical powder, possessed of the power of charming. I then opened to him my design of visiting his horde, but he argued it to be impossible. "My residence," says he, "is very far distant from hence. Three rivers, as many marshes, and the worst possible roads intervene." "By this argument," answered I, "you can never divert me from my purpose, who, after a journey of so many days, have succeeded in overcoming so many rivers and marshes, and such woods." "But you must know," opposed the old man, "that my health is not very good, and that I feel myself unequal to the journey." "I can easily believe that," was my answer, "when I am daily made sensible of my own ailments. And no wonder: the badness of the weather, the copious rains, the wet forest, the muddy roads, the long marsh, which I crossed up to the knees in water, the steep mountains which I ascended, the want of food, and the continued walking from day-break till past mid-day, how could they fail to produce ill health? But though we are thus debilitated, yet I think we have strength enough left to carry us to your home, where we can rest ourselves. We will take it easily: let those who are stouter go before; we that are infirm will follow slowly after." "You would keep away from my dwelling," answered the old man, "if you knew the peril that awaits you there. My countrymen are of an