It was five o'clock A. M. when we resumed our march through this toilsome tract, and we passed out of it, after pressing forward with our best might, during twelve hours. We had been observant of the perplexity of our guides, who had unwittingly, we thought, plunged us into this dreary and seemingly endless morass, and were rejoiced, on a sudden, to hear them raise loud shouts. They had reached a part of the country known to them, and took this mode to express their joy, and we soon found ourselves on the banks of a small clear stream, called by them Bezhiki Seebi, or Buffalo Creek, a tributary to Sandy Lake. We had, at length, reached waters flowing into the Mississippi. On this stream we prepared to encamp, in high spirits, feeling, as those are apt to who have long labored at an object, a pleasure in some measure proportioned to the exertions made. Any other people but the Indians would feel ill at ease in dreary regions like these. But these sons of the forest appear to carry all their socialities with them, even in the most forbidding solitudes. They are so familiarized with the notions of demons and spirits, that the wildest solitude is replete with objects of hope and fear. We had evidence of this, just before we encamped on the banks of the Bezhiki, when we came to a cleared spot, which had been occupied by what the Canadians, with much force, call a _jonglery_, or place of necromantic ceremonies of their priests or jossakeeds. There were left standing of this structure six or eight smooth posts of equal length, standing perpendicularly. These had been carefully peeled, and painted with a species of ochrey clay. The curtains of bark, extending between them, and isolating the powow, or operator, had been removed; but the precincts had the appearance of having been carefully cleared of brush, and the ground levelled, for the purposes of these sacred orgies, which exercise so much influence on Indian society.