In those days, I traveled thousands of miles along our winding trails, through the unbroken solitudes of the wild forest, listening to the songs of the woodland birds as they poured forth their melodies from the thich foliage above and about me.

     Very seldom now do I catch one familiar note from these eary warblers of the woods. They have all passed away ...

     I now listen to the songs of other birds that have come with the advance of civilization ... and, like the wildwood birds our fathers used to hold their breath to hear, they sing in concert, without pride, without envy, without jealousy - alike in forest and field, alike before wigwam or castle, alike before savage or sage, alike for chief or king.

 

 

 

     We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy - and when he has conqured it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers' graves, and his children's birthright is forgotten.