Thus perished the wise Chevalier: generous, engaging, adroit, skillful, and capable of any accomplishment. He died in the full vigor of life, in the midst of his career and his labors, without the consolation of having seen the results of his great explorations. In some of the higher attributes of character, such as personal courage and endurance, undaunted resolution, patience under trials, and perseverance in contending with obstacles and struggling through embarrassments that might appall the stoutest heart, there is, I believe, no man who surpassed this Sieur de La Salle. He was cool and intrepid at all times, never yielding for a moment to despair, or even to despondency, and he bore the heavy burden of his responsibilities manfully until the end. To him and to good Father Marquette must be mainly ascribed the discovery of the vast regions of the Mississippi Valley and its subsequent occupation and settlement by the French. His name must therefore always hold a high position among those adventurous souls who struggled to conquer, to colonize, and to explore the vast American Continent, when it was a wilderness inhabited by wild men and wild beasts, and unknown to those of a white complexion. A SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI Down where the muddied waters run and boil in a rushing flood, On the banks of the stream, as if in a dream, a stalwart Frenchman stood. And the mocking bird from a blossoming spray sang a song which was joyous and gay; As the welcoming sun shone on cutlass and gun, these words he trilled through the day: “_La Salle! La Salle! O brave La Salle!_ _You’re a man of France, I know,_ _La Salle! La Salle! O good La Salle!_ _You can shoot with the gun and the bow._ _La Salle! La Salle! O true La Salle!_ _I salute your courage and love,_ _For the lilies of France, may they wave, may they dance, o’er this watery waste from above._” And the Frenchman raised his eyes on high and sighed as he gazed afar, Where the buffalo grunted and roared on the plain, and the dun-colored prong-horns are. And he swore an oath, it was round and long, to protect this land for France, By hook and crook, by sword and book, by pike and silvery lance. “_La Salle! La Salle! O brave La Salle!”_ _Sang the bird on the waving branch,_ _“La Salle! La Salle! O good La Salle!_ _You’re a soldier true and staunch._ _O take this land, with its silvery sand, for the King and Queen you serve;_ _And bring us peace; make the redskins cease,_ _From warfare make them swerve._” So the Frenchman stayed, and his men were afraid to leave the land he’d found, Yet they hated their leader bold and brave, and determined to have him downed. And they hatched a plot, the bloodthirsty lot, to shoot the bold and good, Alas! ’twas sad that men were so bad, for they killed him where he stood.