The Indians were the allies of the English, and faithful to their plighted word. They fought according to their rules of warfare, and fought for their homes and their firesides, their wives and their children, and fought in vain. Theirs, too, were happy homes, where love and domestic virtue dwelt; and their freedom from envyings and jealousies, and strife and malice, might put many Christian homes to shame. Instead of wondering that they hated white people, I only wonder that the wounds they received should ever have healed—that they do not rankle for ever, and produce utter detestation and unconquerable enmity to every thing with a pale skin. This has been the case with many, and made it almost impossible for the missionaries to convince them that a religion taught by such a people, could have in it any good thing. And only by living among them, and exemplifying its principles by long and intimate intercourse, could induce them to listen to the Gospel messages. Young-King was one of the first among the Seneca chiefs to see the good influence of education and the Christian religion upon his people; and his influence was very great, standing as he did so high as a warrior and chief. Like too many, too, he partook of the fire-water, and for many years was a victim of the lowest intemperance. In a drunken brawl he lost an arm, and a finger from the remaining hand; but after he became a Christian, not a drop ever wet his lips. At one time, on a journey, he was thrown from his carriage, and badly injured. When the physician came, he was groaning upon the floor in a neighboring hut; but the whiskey-bottle stood upon the table, and was an irresistible temptation; he must drink before he could attend his patient. When Young-King observed it, he asked “What you drink?” The doctor answered, “Whiskey, and it will do you good; come, take a glass!” “No,” said the chief, “and you no bleed me, you no bleed me!” and though in the most intense suffering, he would not allow any thing to be done for him by a man who drank whiskey. He was the first man who built a rod of fence on the Buffalo Reservation, where the missionaries first resided; and often, in the cold winter days, would be seen on Saturday, crossing the creek in his little canoe, to see if the church were supplied with fuel for the Sabbath; and if it were not, with his one hand wielded the axe, and chopped the little pile, which he also carried to the door, to be sure that it was ready for the morning service, saying, he came so late into the vineyard, he must work diligently in order to accomplish any thing before he was called away. He enjoyed very little direct instruction, and could not read; yet he seemed to understand clearly the history of redemption, and the nature of the atonement, as well as the intricate workings of the human heart.