But that which occurred soon after his reception, led him to a too fearful anticipation of an unsuccessful project; for the Oneidas, as if they could not acknowledge Otsaquette, attired in the dress with which he appeared before them, a mark which did not disclose his nation, and, thinking that he had assumed it, as if ashamed of his own native costume, the garb of his ancestors, they tore it from him with a savage avidity, and a fiend-like ferociousness, daubed on the paint to which he had been so long unused, and clothed him with the uncouth habiliments held sacred by his tribe. Their fiery ferocity, in the performance of the act, showed but too well the bold stand they were about to take against the innovations they supposed Otsaquette was to be the agent for affecting against their immemorial manners and customs, and which from the venerable antiquity of their structure, it would be nothing short of sacrilege to destroy. Thus the reformed savage was taken back again to his native barbarity, and, as if to cap the climax of degradation to a mind just susceptible of its own powers, was married to a squaw. From that day Otsego was no longer the accomplished Indian, from whom every wish of philanthrophy was expected to be realized. He was no longer the instrument by whose power the emancipation of his countrymen from the thraldom of ignorance and superstition, was to be effected. From that day he was an inmate of the forest; was once more buried in his original obscurity, and his nation only viewed him as an equal. Even a liberal grant from the state, failed of securing to him that superior consideration among them which his civilization had procured for him with the rest of mankind. The commanding pre-eminence acquired from instruction, from which it was expected ambition would have sprung up, and acted as a double stimulant, from either the natural inferiority of the savage mind, or the predetermination of his countrymen, became of no effect, and, in a little time, was wholly annihilated. Otsaquette was lost. His moral perdition began from the hour he left Fort Stanwix. Three short months had hardly transpired, when intemperance had marked him as her own, and soon hurried him to the grave. And, as if the very transition had deadened the finer feelings of his nature, the picture given him by the Marquis--the very portrait of his affectionate friend and benefactor himself--he parted with.