But he recovered, in some measure, his former self-reliance and cheerfulness, and returned to open a law office in Jackson, Mississippi, where his prospects were very flattering. Then came disappointed love, to ring again in his ears the doom of the red man, “You are an Indian—you belong to a degraded race.” Hope fled and despair took possession of him; he mounted a high bluff, overhanging the river, and precipitated himself into the water to rise no more. “Wherefore! wherefore!” He might toil and earn money—riches might be within the reach, even of an Indian; but gold cannot satisfy a noble heart. He must not dream of honors, he must not dream of domestic happiness; and what is gold, aye, what is life, when all this is denied? Let it suddenly be revealed to all the youth in our colleges, as an unalterable destiny, that they are evermore debarred from distinction, and the hope of one day forming for themselves a home, and being surrounded by a circle of loved ones, and what would there be to allure them up the hill of science? Would not every energy be paralyzed, and should we not with certainty expect to see them go down to perdition? The love of knowledge merely, is a little better than the love of money; but both are very ignoble motives to inspire immortal minds, and support them on the pilgrimage through this world. The desire of the approbation of heaven and of being useful on earth may be good, and perhaps should be sufficient motives; but how many among the most cultivated and Christian would falter, with only these to sustain them? With a majority of people the idea is entertained that the nature of the Indian is so entirely different from the nature of the Saxon. This is true only in one sense—that education, and centuries of indulgence in peculiar habits, tend to make them second nature. The Indian is not alone in loving a wild roving life, free from care and toil. So late as 1826, restoration to home and kindred was offered to several women who had been made captive and carried beyond Lake Superior, and they rejected the boon. They had become entirely released from the trammels of society, and cared not to be encumbered with them again. Chateaubriand relates, that when travelling through the wilds of America, he heard that he had a countryman who had become a resident of the forest. He visited him, not so much with a desire to see his countryman, as of philosophizing upon his condition. After several hours’ conversation, he put his last grand question: “‘Phillip, are you happy?’ “He knew not, at first, how to reply. ‘Happy?’ said he, reflecting—‘happy?—yes;—but happy only since I became a savage.’ “‘And how do you pass your life?’ asked I. He laughed. “‘I understand you,’ continued I. ‘You think such a question unworthy of an answer; but should you not like to resume your former mode of living, and return to your country?’ “‘My country—France? If I were not so old I should like to see it again.’