Colonel Carlisle thought it his duty to instruct these young orphans in some of the most useful branches of education; but he soon found that their spirits could not be tamed down to con over the dull elements of the white man’s language. They loved better to climb some rocky steep in search of the young eaglet, or follow the bounding deer into the depths of the near forest. It was only when the young Eva became his teacher, that Arrowfoot listened to the page of instruction, and even then his eye would stray from the lesson, to the bright countenance that hung over it, in which his musing fancy beheld all it could picture of beauty and happiness. Believe not those who say the Indian’s heart is only susceptible of the fierce emotions. Love, in all its strength and purity, often lies hidden in the deep recesses of his nature, prompting him to deeds of high daring and self-sacrifice, which the energies and feelings of civilized life, dissipated upon a thousand objects, are too weak to achieve. Arrowfoot looked on young Eva’s face of sunshine, and felt the pride and sternness of his soul melt before it. At first he was happy, for it beamed on him in his lonely walks, and gladdened the darkest wood path. But a change came over him, when he attempted to analyze the feelings that soon warred within his bosom. He became moody and sad, for he knew the vision he had so long dwelt on would never pass away from his soul, and he remembered the promise that bound him. He held it sacred, for it was made to the parent and the chief; but darkness fell upon his soul, and no star lighted the dim and dreary destiny to which he was hastening. The struggle was however fearful between the dignity and firmness of the Indian character, and the softer but still powerful feelings that are called forth in men of every tribe and language, by the fascinations of beauty, and the smiles of artless affection. One day, when Eva was trying to awaken his interest in the records of history, he exclaimed, turning on her a countenance of grief and wounded pride, “Does Eva wish Arrowfoot to forget the misfortunes of his race? Then tell him not of the triumphs, the glories of other nations. Once the Indian could boast of the valor of his warriors, and the number of his captives, but now he is driven from his war-paths, and his hunting grounds. He is robbed of his rights; and his injuries swell the page of your nations triumphs. If he receives justice, it is because the oppressor grows weary of trampling on the fallen. If he receives kindness, he is base enough to forget the wrongs of his people. But Eva, my father’s death-song sounds in my ears. His voice calls to me from the spirit-land, and bids me break the spell that has bound me even near the grave of my nation. He says the daughter of the white man has smiled on me, and the coil of the serpent is around my heart. Oh, start not! The bright sun warms into life the poison hemlock, and the healing balsam. But I must go.