GEEZHIC.--At Wood Lake, Burnett county, Wisconsin, lived in 1874 an aged and blind Indian woman who calculated her pilgrimage on earth by moons. All traces of her traditional beauty as an Indian maiden had long since departed. Shriveled, decrepit, bent, she was the impersonation of all that is unlovely and repulsive in age. Taciturn and sullen, her mind lethargic and dull, she seemed but little more than half alive, and could not easily be aroused to the comprehension of passing events, or to the recognition of those around her. She must have been very old. When aroused to consciousness, which was but seldom, she would talk of things long past. A light would come into her sightless eyes as she recounted the traditions, or described the manners and customs of her people, and spoke with evident pride of their ancient power and prowess when her people planted their tepees on the shores of the "Shining Big Sea Water" (Lake Superior) and drove their enemies, the Dakotahs, before them. Her people wore blankets made from the skins of the moose; elk and buffalo, with caps from the skins of the otter and beaver. There was then an abundance of "kego" (fish) and "wash-kish" (deer). There were no pale faces then in all the land to drive them from their tepees and take their hunting grounds. Of course there had been occasional whites, hunters, trappers and missionaries, but the formidable movements of the now dominant race had not fairly commenced. Counting the years of her life on her fingers, so many moons representing a year, she must have numbered a score beyond a century, and she had consequently witnessed, before her eyes were dimmed, the complete spoliation of her people's ancestral domain. The physical features of the country have undergone a change. The towering pines have decayed or been leveled by the woodman's axe. Some of the small lakes have receded, and tall grasses wave and willows grow where once the "kego" sported in the clear blue waters. "The sun drew the waters up into the heavens," but the old shores may still be traced, by the fresh water shells that are crushed by the foot of the explorer, and by the ineffaceable mark of the water breaking upon the beach and undermining the rocky ledges. A few Indians still linger on the old hunting grounds and about the graves of their fathers, but as a race they are doomed, and the time is not far distant when their only memorials will be the printed or striped rocks that are found along the streams and lakes, and here and there the sunken graves of the vanquished race. THE FIRST MISSION.