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Staid mostly at our lodgings, writing, andconversing with some intelligent travellers. Oneof them related a conversation between one Frobish-er, a merchant in the north-west trade, when at theGrand Portage, west end of Lake Superior, and anold Indian from the north-west; which so much co-incided with my own sentiments, that I note it.Frobisher was inquiring after the curiosities of the northern clime, which the Indian related as far ashe had travelled — but added, that younger Indians,who had travelled further north-west, had seen somethings still more wonderful. Frobisher asked him,if he did not think some parts of their relation un-true? The old Indian replied, no; it is not possibleit can be lies, for they had never seen a white manin their lives! A severe reflection on Christians, socalled. 20th. A woman was interred at the Roman cha-pel, with the usual pomp, parade, and superstition.Candles burning in clear sunshine — host and holywater displayed — black pall surplices. All the males bare-headed, walking slowly — the sexton going be-fore, the host-bearer next, with a boy on each side,carrying lighted candles. Then the priest, in his pontifical robes, with a boy before him, with a brasslaver or font, containing the consecrated water, witha brush in it. On each side of the priest were sing-ers, dolefully humming Latin. The priest held abook in his hand, which he sometimes opened, andthen sung Latin — several times sprinkling the bierand pall with the water. The singers and boys bear-ing the candlesticks and laver, as also those whosupported the bier, were clothed outside with black.The bells rung frequently. Indeed, the whole pro-