One of my favorite haunts here is the quiet, carpetless "Historical Rooms," from whose walls the Indian warriors who helped make Buffalo's history look down in unchanging stolidity. Not least among these is Red Jacket, who forms such a striking figure in the city's traditions. An amusing incident which his picture recalls is that of Lafayette on his return from his Western tour in 1824. Among the preparations that were being made for his reception was the guarding, by an especial committee, of their "aboriginal lion," who was a trifle too fond of his "firewater" and who was to be the leading orator of the day. When the appointed time arrived, so the story goes, the sachem was led upon the platform in all his conscious dignity. A long conversation between him and the great Frenchman followed, through an interpreter, whom Red Jacket employed upon formal occasions; in the course of which the Indian complimented the General upon his youthful appearance. "Time has left you a fresh countenance, and hair to cover your head," said he, "while as for me—see!" and he took off the scarf that was wound about his own bald crown. This provoked a laugh among the spectators who knew that Lafayette wore a wig. When Red Jacket was made aware of the fact, he added with ready wit that he too might supply himself with a new head of hair by the aid of a scalping-knife!
Everything upon the walls and in the cases has been donated by private individuals, as the society has not yet been able to make valuable purchases, but there is enough already to make this treasure-house of the past interesting. Relics from pioneer times figure largely; among the rest, arrow-heads and tomahawks, pipes and belts of wampum, adding to the odd collection, and suggesting all manner of horrors to those who delight in Indian history.
"Forest Lawn," the place which Buffalo has selected for her dead, is a most lovely spot, the loveliest of its kind between Brooklyn's Greenwood and Chicago. Everything that art could do in the arrangement of shrub and flower has been added, and stands as a tribute to those who are "lying low" and as a witness to the faithful thought of the living. It is only one of the beautiful tokens of devotion which one sees, from the simple epitaph in a country graveyard in the East to the solitary resting-place, high in some tree-top of the West, where our Red Brother "sleeps his last sleep."
Adjoining the Cemetery are a few acres of woodland that have been set aside for a kind of park. On warm summer days those seeking rest and pleasure, come to pay their respects to Dame Nature, who makes herself very attractive here. But this is only one, and a comparatively small one, of the various resorts where tired humanity may drop its burden, and roam at will. So Buffalo has her grave and her gay side, and her business side, which is neither grave nor gay, making their different impressions on the traveller's eye, and combining, as a whole, in a very pleasing effect. She has made and will make some very striking changes, as all cities of consequence do; but changes worthy of the "Queen City of the Lakes," who, although she may have to relinquish her title to some outstripping sister, may always hold her head high with conscious importance. She is still the third city in the State of New York in point of population.
CHAPTER XII.
BUFFALO TO CLEVELAND.
Forty-fourth Day.
North Evans Hotel,