clergymen were present had nothing whatever to do with it, for the
"barbarians" of the forest would have done just the same had no priest
been there--just as I have seen them do scores and scores of times. In
fact, in some sections of the forest the native wilderness man--red,
white, or half-breed--who does not, is not the rule, but the exception.
Then, too--unless one's ears are closed to such sounds--one may
occasionally hear the voyageurs of the "North canoe" and the "York
boat" brigades, while straining on the tracking line, singing, among
other hymns:

Onward, Christian soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the Cross of Jesus,
Going on before.

And, furthermore, I wonder if the fiction-reading public will believe
that the majority of the men in the fur brigades always partake of the
holy sacrament before departing upon their voyages? Nevertheless, it
is the truth--though of course truth does not agree with the orgies of
gun-play that spring from the weird imaginations of the stay-at-home
authors, who, in their wild fancy, people the wilderness with
characters from the putrescence of civilization. It is time these
authors were enlightened, for a man, native to the wilderness, is a
better man . . . more honest, more chivalrous, more generous, and--at
heart, though he talks less about it--more God-respecting . . . than
the man born in the city. That is something the public should never
forget; for if the public remembers that, then the authors of
wilderness stories will soon have to change their discordant tune.

Yes, it is true, every one of those wild men said his evening prayer