and saw, to her dismay, that it was indeed Hero, but
the old horse came slowly up the drive. The flush
faded from her cheeks, and ashy white were the lips
which tremblingly appealed to the old servant, who
also ran to meet the horse; but what could he or any
one tell of the master who had ridden away in health
and strength some hours before ?

Mary Irvine was not a much-loved and petted only
daughter. She had never known anything but a
strangely cold, formal father, who, when he supplied
her with every comfort which money could bestow,
thought that his duty was done.

Left a widower at Mary’s birth, Mr. Irvine had
seen but little of his child during her early years, and
it had been rather a regret than a pleasure to him
when her school education was finished; and she
returned home. At first she had hoped to win her
father’s love, but this hope faded after a time; all
Mary could do was to wish and long for the affection

which she saw other girls receive from their parents.

It was a lonely life; yet with her books, her work,
her garden, Mary was not unhappy, and days passed
peacefully if not joyously away. She was very dutiful
to this cold, stern father, always standing to wave
her hand to him as he rode away on Hero’s back,
always at hand to welcome his return, though she
did wish sometimes for a little more than the calm
kindness with which he treated her. Now, when he
was brought home wounded and insensible from his
fall about a mile from the Lodge gates, Mary became
a most loving and patient nurse.

A long time of anxiety followed. There were
days and nights of watching, doctors came and
went, and for weeks Mr. Irvine’s life was despaired
of; but at length the crisis came, and when
consciousness returned once more, he found that
Mary had been his untiring watcher. There was
no need of many words; the trembling clasp of
his hand, the whispered ‘God bless you, my child!’
were enough to tell her that her father’s love was
won at last. Then, what a happy time followed! a
time in which father and daughter really learned to
know each other, and wondered greatly how they
could have remained separated so long in heart.

After that, Mr. Irvine and his daughter might
often be seen together in their rides and walks; and,
better than all, they were together in the village
church, where Mary had formerly knelt alone. Soon
her influence spread still more, and there were many
things done for the poor, who had so long been
forgotten. Thus good came out of the long trouble
and solitude which Mary Irvine had borne so well;
her prayers were answered in God’s own. way, and
life became a sweet and happy thing to her, and
brought blessing upon all around her. S.

 

 

CATCHING A TARTAR.

dl eae following is the origin of the phrase ‘ Catching

a Tartar. An Irish soldier, under Prince
Eugene, called out to his comrade, in a battle against
the Turks, that he had caught a Tartar. ‘Bring
him along, then,’ said the other.

‘He won’t come,’ was the reply.

‘Then come yourself.’

‘But he won’t let me!’

 

 

STORIES ABOUT AMERICAN
INDIANS.
By Rev. E. B. Tuttle, U.S. Army.
‘SHALL THE INDIANS BE EXTERMINATED ?’

ANY ask this question. It is very
easy to talk of ‘extermination.’
General Harney, an old Indian
fighter, told General Sherman that
a war with the Indians would
cost the Government 50,000,000
dollars a-year, and stop for a long
time the running of the Pacific
Railroad. They fight only at an
adyantage,—when they outnumber
the whites. They fight, scatter °
away, and reunite again, and hide
away in canons (canyons), gorges, and mountain fast~
nesses, where no soldier can find them. It would be
a war of fifty years’ duration.

General Sherman is reported to have said at a
meeting of the Indian Peace Commissioners, at Fort
Laramie, with several tribes: ‘Say to the head chief
that President Grant loves the red men and will do
all he can for them. But they must behave them-
selves, and if they don’t, tell him 702 killthem!’ ‘The
old chief began to mutter away something to himself
and others.

‘What does he say?’ said the general.

‘Why,’ said the interpreter, ‘ he says, “ Catch ’em
Jirst, then kill them!” ?

Have they never been wronged by white men?
Have you never heard of the Sand Creek massacre ?

There had been some trouble between the Chey-
ennes and Arapahoes and some soldiers near Fort Lyon,
in 1864, south of Denver, Colorado, where these
Indians have areservation. The origin of the trouble
is uncertain. Major Anthony was sent out to fight
them; but on his arrival he found them peaceable,—
they had given up their prisoners and horses.

[Indians take their squaws and papooses with them
when they go on hunting expeditions. The squaws
prepare all the meat, dry all the game for winter food,
and tan the buffalo and deer hides to sell. ‘They live
in tents or lodges, called ‘Tepees,’ made of tanned
buffalo-skins, and usually hold about five persons, in
which they cook and sleep. On the war-path, they
leave their squaws and papooses in their villages.
This was the case when Colonel Chivington charged
that they were hostile, as an apology for his whole-
sale slaughter. ]

Five hundred Indians of all ages flocked, soon as
attacked, to the head chief’s camp,—‘ Black Kettle,,—
and he raised the American flag, with u white truce
beneath. This, you know, is respected in all civilised
warfare. ‘Then the slaughter began.

One who saw it said, ‘The troops (mainly volun-
teers) committed all manner of depredations on their
victims,—scalped them, knocked out their brains. ‘The
white men used their knives, cutting squaws to pieces,
clubbed little children, knocking out their brains and
mutilating their bodies in every sense of the word.’
Thus imitating savage warfare by nominally Christian
men. :

Robert Bent testified thus :—

‘I saw a little girl about five years of age, who had