Cherokee phoenix. (New Echota [Ga.]) 1828-1829, March 20, 1828, Image 2
Enow that you have taken my advice, and are walking in the path which I have described. But before I retire 1 shall speak to my beloved man, the Secretary of War, to get prepared some medals, to be given to such Cherokees as by following my advice shall best deserve them. For this purpose Mr. DiNsmoor is from time to time to visit every town in your na tion. He will give instructions to those who desire to learn what I have recommended. He will see what im rovements are made; who are most fidustrious in raising cattle; in grow ing corn, wheat, cotton and flax; and in spinning and weaving; and on those who excel these rewards are to be bestowed. * Beloved Cherokees—The advice I here give you is important as it re gards your nation; but still more impor tant as the event of the experiment made with you may determine the lot .of many nations. =lf it succeeds, the beloved men of the United States will be encouraged to give the same assis tance to all the Indian tribes within ¥ eir boundaries. But if it should fail t 2y may think it vain to make any farther attempts to better the condi tion of any Tudian tribe; for the richness of the soil and mildness of the air ren der your country highly favorahle for the practice of what I have recom . mended. j Beloved Cherokees—The wise men of the United States meet together once a year, to consider what will be for the good of all their people. The tvise men of each separate state also meet together once or twice every ‘year, to consult and do what is good for the people of their respective states. I have thought that a meet sng of your wise men once or twice ayear would be alike useful to you. Every town might send one or two of its wisest counsellors to talk together on the affairs of your nation, and to re ~commend to your people whatever -they should think would he servicea ble. 'The beloved agent of the Uni ted States would meet with them.— He would give them information of those things which are found good by ‘the white people, and which your sif tiation will enable you to adopt. He tvould explain to them the laws made By the great council of the U. States for the preservation of peace; for the protection of your lands; for the secu “tity of your persons; for your improve oiend I (112 Arts of living. and for pro- | motir voar general welfare. 1f it | should be agreeable to you that your ‘tvise men shoul(?hold such meetings, you will speak your mind to my belov ed man, Mr. Dinsmoor, to be com municated to the President of the U- ( nited.States, who will then give such | directions as shall be proper. \ Beloved Cherokees—That this talk oy be known to all your nation, and not forgotten. I have caused it to be | printed, and directed ome, sizred by 1 my own hand, to be lodzed in each of your towns. The interpreters will, on proper occasions, read and inter pret the same to all your people. Beloved Cherokees—Having been informed that some of your. chiefs wished to see me in Philadelphia, I. have sent them word that I would re ceive a few of the most esteemed. I now repeat that T shall be glad tp see a small number of your wisest chiefs; but T shall not éxpect them "till No vember. I shall take occasion to a gree with them on the running of the boundary line between your lands and ours, agreeably tothe treaty of Hol ston. I shall expect them to inform ~me what chiefs are to attend the run ning of this line, and I shall tell them whom I appoint to run it; and the time and place of begining may then be fixed. g " I now send my best wishes to the Cherokees, and pray the Great Spirit 1o preserve them. Given at the City of Philadelphia, the twenty-ninth day of August, in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-six, -and in'the twenty-first year of the Independence of the United States of America. 4 GEO. WASHINGTON. By command of the President of the United States. James M. Hewry. Sec’y of War. TRUE . PATRIOTISM. We have all, from our youth up, heard the ‘“love of Country” extolled as among the chief virtues. Poets and historians have lifted to the skies the fame of those, whose i/ ings or achievements have been tlought to prove, that their “love of country” was stronger than that of lifc. When we read the lives of heroes a 1 states men, we find them praised for acts, done for the supposed adventage of their country, which justice and bu manity condemn. It was one of the purposes of Chris tianity to teach that enlarge | henevo lence, which embraces all mankind as brethren. The “love o' - ntry” henceforth assumed a ¢ ! rdinate place among the virtues. Wg might, indeed, bear a peculiar affection to our countrymen, to those of our own household; but in its exercise it must be consistent with the stronger obliza tions, which belong to us as members of the human family, There has been o sacredness at tached to the niing of “country,” whi-h has caused men to overlook the injustice of actiors in their supposed disinterestedness. ~ Patriotism has been esteemed o social virtue. That which would bs wrong and disgrace ful if done for private good. has been thonght praiseviarthy. when the actor has gone out of Limself, and through suffering and danger has achieved some public advantage. A Chlristian, whose moral views are enlightened and pure, governs his affection to his country by the same rules, which restramn him in the gra tification of every passion, that seeks principally his own benefit or pleas ure. He loves his country much, but virtue more.” He desires her prosperity, but desires more fervent ly, that she should ever be found in the path of honor and uprightness.— Her misfortunes give him pain, but ‘he would be more deeply grieved, if her riches or territory were increas ed by rapine or unjust war. His wis dom, his talents, his best services are ever at her disposal, to promote her welfare, and to secure her peace.— But to a national enterprise, which his conscience condemns as unjust or oppressive, he will no more lend his aid, than he will sully his private re putation by “injustice or fraud. He loves his country’s glory; but it is a glory not consisting in splendid victo ries, nor in giving the law to conquered provinces. It is that true and only glory, which springs from moral and intellectyal worth. He 1s the same in neglect and obscurity, as in the brightest sunshine of popular favor. Nay! he hesitates not todo good tohis courtry, though he foresee from his countrymen, misled by passion or pre judice, no reward but suspicion, no distinction but the miserable one of being hated, accursed, persecuted. l gllt the patriotis;n: which. the world applauds, is far different from that, which I have now endeavored to describe. It is loud and boasting, arrogant, obtrusive, bold. It allows neither justice, humanity, nor truth,to stand in competition with the interests of our country. Is a neighbouring territory wanted for the convenience of our trade, or the security of our frentier, the fashionable language is, that it must be ours. It must he ob tained by force, if it camnot be by treaty. And men, who would be shocked if they heard such an inten tion imputed' to their friend, whose fieldmightbe conveniently enlarged by a'small addition from a neighbour’s grounds, seem not to be aware that they suppose any thing dishonorable of their country, when they express such anticipations. If the fleets and armies of our coun try are successful, such patriotism requires of us to rejoice, whether her cause be right or wrong. Nay, moré, we must be ready to raise our arm and aid in the slaughter of her ene mies, though it be manifest, that those enemies only use the right of self-de fence in resisting unjust oppression. And need I speak of the gross ex aggerations. concealments, misstate ments, and falsehoods of every sort, which are used, not only with impu nity but with approbation, to hide the defeats or to swell the victories of a nation? Strange that the honor which is so quick to resent, even to blood, the accusation of a falsehood, should be so dead and palsied to the shame of the crime itself '— Gallison. Conversation.—Discourse creates a light within us, and dispels the gloom and confusion of the mind. A man, tumbling his thoughts, and forming them into expressions, gives them a new kind of fermentation, which works them into a finer body, and makes them much clearer than they were before. A man is willing to strain a little for entertainment, and to furnish for sight and approbation.— The very presence of a friend seems to inspire with new vigor. It raises fancy, and reinforces reason, and gives the productions of the mind better color and proportion. €onversation is like the discipline of drawing out and mustering; it acquaints a man with his forces, and makes them fit ter for service. Besides, there are many awakening hints and rencoun ters in discourse, which, like the col lision of hard bodies, make the soul strike fire, and the imagination spark le, effects not to be expected from a solitary endeavor. In a word, the ad vantage of conversation is such, that for want of company, a man bhad bet ter talk to a post, than let his thoughts lie smoking and smothering in his head.—Jeremy Collier. COLD IN CANADA. : On Sunday last a most melancholy circumstance took place about 60 miles from this city. The day as ma ny of our readers will recollect, was very cold, and in the afternoon a hea vy shower of snow heganto fall. One hour hefore, a mon named Bethune, with his wife and her brother, whose name is M’Geoch, and a girl seven years of age, also related, left the township of Godmanchester to cross over lake St. Francis on the ice to Lancaster. The lake at this place is seven miles wide. They had goe a bout half way before the snow came on. This part of the journey they performed without much diffiulty, thq opposite shore affording them direc’ tion with regard to the course to pur| sue. When the snow was falling however, they had no longer this ad vantage, ana they consequently had te travel at rafidom. The courses the} took cannot be known, but it is certain that they continued their exertions for a long time after it was dark. At length the little girl sunk from fatigue) and cold.—Bethune lifted her up, and| stripping himself«of his coat, wrap ped it round her, but in vain, she ex pired in the midst of his exertions tg preserve her life. The state of hi. wife next attracted his attention.— That drowsy weakness which heto kens the approach of the cold to the vital parts, was now obvious upon her and he had the melanoholy task of en deavouring fo preserve her life. In spite of all his endeavours she zlso perished. M’Geoch was last seen by Bethune endeavouring to. pursuc his journey; but so mueh weakened as to be only able 16 travel on his hands and feet. The latter reached a friend’s house on the north shore about mid night, and informed them of the me lancholy events which we have just narrated. - The ni ht, howelar {8 too stormy for any one to go in the di rection in which he had come. evenif their so doing could have availed any'(l thing. - Next morning several people set out in search of the bodies, & socn discovered those of Mrs. Bethune, | and the girl. It was not, however, until Tuesday, that the body of M~ Geoch was found. He had crawled in the manner we have described a hout a mile and a half from the place where Bethune last saw him—but in the very opposite direction, from that which he ought to have followed.— What renders this the more distress. ing, is the fact tlat the same exertion if properly direci-d, would have bro’t him fairly over. | The enly survivor of this unfortunate |irty, in addition to' the melancholy fute of his wife and relatives, has su%:red severely fromi the cold, having 'scen frost bitten i several parts of s hode, b a ity U oWYNG3 4V o e One circumsiidice, in. this melan <holy tragedy de{m,‘rves tobe mention ed, and adds one 1o the many instances of canine fidelity | The party when they set out had whith them a dog.—. The faithful animo! »emained all night with the corpses of the females, and it was with difficulty that those whe discovered them in the morning were: rermitted to approach.—-Montreat' Herald, Feb. 6. SUFFERING GREECE. The following letter first appeared in the Boston Recorper dnd Trreerarn, and has been copied into lome other Northern papers. It will be niw to many of our rea~ | ders. As friends ofthe Greeks we take pleasure in inserting F in our Columns,, | * AmuErsy, Nov. 7, 1827, Mapam,—Yoursof the 25th of Oct. is before me. lj forcibly reminds me of the immens; debt of gratifude which rests upon Greece and her sons towards the binevolent and pat~ riotic of this land, where the Genius of liberty loves todwell. Would to heaven she might iebuild her temple. in the ‘‘desolate Maces of her oun Greece!” The inteest of my beloved, oppressed country vill never cease to be an object worthy the attention of the friends of liber% and humanity— - never—unless she lerself shall sink into the wide graveof the nations thag ’ are not. ! | It affords me grat pleasure, mad am, to know that pu are making ex ertions in behalfoffiy country. Your influence, so far @ it is consecrated to the sacred causqof the regerera tion of Greece, wil tell in that vol, ume of Heaven’s pcords, where the philanthropic zeal )f those that live to bliss, will remain'as an everlasting memorial. T beglyou to present to the patriotic Ladis associated with you. this expressim of =i "Was Ve oratitude. “Thew is a place in the Heavens.” said t]r Roman Tully, “for those who fight for the liherties of their country.!'—The Christian Scriptures assign aplace at the right hand of God, to hin who giveth a eup of cold water to tle suffering, in the name of a discipe; much more to those who pray anl lahor for the sol vation of the dvirfiz. The sons and daughters of Greate are wading thre’ Ꮄ ,. ᎤᏬᏂᏒᎯ’ ᏬᎢᏫᏬᎯ ᏩᏥᏂᏱ ᎡᎯ, Ꭻ.ᏒᏛᏅ ᏧᎪᎢᏛ, ᏚᏬᏁ” ᎫᏔᏅ ᏧᏂᏒᏛᎯ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᏣᎳᎩ ᎦᎪᎥ ᎠᏁᎯ Ꮤ ᎢᏖ’:ᎨᏟ:Ꭲ ᏣᎳᎩ,; 7 ᎤᏣᏔ ᎿᏉ ᏩᏕᏘᏴ ᏴᏫᏁᎬ ᎬᏩᏂᎷᏨᎯ ᎡᏍᎦᏂ ᏮᎯᏳ - ᏅᏖᎬᏩᏓᎴᏅᏛ. ᎤᏂᏣᏔᏉ ᎤᎧᏖᏅᎩ Ꭰ”ᏍᎦᏯ ᎠᎾᏓᏅᏖᏍᎪ ᏄᏍᏛ ᎠᏁᎲ ᎠᏂᏢᏫᏯ” Ꭶ’ ᏌᏃ ᏱᎦᏢᏍ ᎪᏓ ᎣᏏᎹ ᏱᏄᏮ;ᏆᏚᏍᎢᏖ ᎠᏁᏢᏴᏍᎪ ᏍᎩᏂ, ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎢᏳᎨᏍᎪᏗᏱ ᎤᏣᏔᏉ ᏳᎧᏁ’” ᎶᏓ, ᎠᏎᏃ ᎢᏓᎪᎴᎰᏍᎦᏉ ᎪᎯ ᎢᎦ ᎨᏒ ᏂᎦᏘᏣᎩ ᏳᏍᎩ ᎤᎾᏁᎶᏔᏅ ᎠᏎᏉ ᎠᎴ ᏂᎩ. ᎠᏴᏍᎩᏂ ᏳᏍᏉ ᎤᏣᏁᏉ ᎦᏓᏅᏖᏍᎪᎢ.. ᏩᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᎠᏆ” ᏚᏢᏍᎪ ᏧᎾᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ ᎠᎴ ᏣᏍᏉᎾᎥ ᎢᏧᎧᏖᎳ ᏴᏫᏁᎬ ᎣᏏᏳ’ ᎢᏅᏳᎾᏢᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ; ᎠᎴ ᏅᏩᎪᎯᏯᏛ ᎠᏓᏅᏖᏘᏍᏗ ᏥᎩ. . ᎦᏓᏅᏖᏍᎪᎣᎩᏂ ᎦᎪᎨᏃ ᏱᎦᏢᏍᎪᏓ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᏱᏂᎦᏢᎱᏍᏓ. ᎨᏢᏍᎪᏍᎩᏂ ᏌᏉᎯᏳᏉ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏥᎪᏩᏘᏍᎪᎢ, ᏳᏍᎩ ᏫᏗᎬ” ᏩᎾᏮᏘᏃᎯᏍᏘ ᏣᎿ ᎣᏏᏳ ᎠᏰᎸᏗ ᏗᎨᏒᎢ.-- ᏩᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎠᏆᏚᏢ ᏂᎦᏘᏳ” ᏄᎾᏓᎴᏒ ᎠᏂ” ᏴᏫᏯ ᎤᎾᏕᎪᎲᏍᏗᏱ. ᎠᏆᏛᎦᏅᎯᏍᎩᏂ ᏄᏍᏛ ᎢᏤᎲ ᏣᎳᎩ, ᎠᏎᎯᏃᏅ ᎿᏉ ᎤᎾᏛᏅᎢᏍᏗ ᎤᎧ” ᏕᎪᎲᏍᏗᏱ ᎠᎴ ᎤᏂᏍᏓᏩᏛᏍᏗᏱ ᎯᏯ ᏅᏃᎯ Ꭲ” ᏨᏰᏢᏎᏍᎩᏂ,. ᏱᏣᏦᏍᏓᏁᏢᎬᏓᏍᎩᏂᏃᏅ ᎤᏍᏗ” ᎩᏛ ᎢᏣᏕᎪᎲᏍᏘᏱ; ᎠᏎᏃ ᎢᏳ’ ᏱᏣᏁᎶᏔᏅ ᏱᏣ” ᎪᎴᎰᎨᎯᏉ ᏄᏢᏂᎬᎬᎾᏉ ᎨᏒᎢ. ᏲᏅᏥᎨᏳᎢ Ꭲ” ᏥᎦᏘᏯ ᎠᏂ ᎡᎪᎭ; ᏫᏳᎥᏏ ᎠᏴ ᎠᎩᏬᏂᏒᎯ ᏩᏍᎩ ᏥᏯᎨᏅᏓ. .ᎠᎴ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏛᎶᏂᎬᏁᏢ ᎣᏍᏛ ᏖᏰ” ᏣᏁᏢᏓᏁᏢ, ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎪᏖᏦᏏᏌᏁᏢ ᎢᏳᏍᏘ Ꮵ” ᏛᎬᎢ. ᎢᏨᎬᎶᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ, ᎪᎯ ᎿᏉ ᎢᏣᎪᎴᎨᏍᎦ ᎢᎾᎨᎬ ᎢᏣᏤᏢ ᏩᎿ ᎢᎸ” ᎯᏳ ᏥᏂᎦᎥ ᏤᎿᎥᎩ ᎧᏂᎩᏘᏳᏉᏃ ᎿᏉ ᏂᎦᏢᏍᏘ” ᏍᎬᎢ; ᎠᎴᏃ ᎢᏥᎦᏔᎭᏉ ᎢᏳᏃ ᎠᏫ ᎠᎴ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎠᎯᏍᏘ ᏂᏥᏩᏘᏍᎬᎾ ᏥᎨᏐᎢ, ᏕᏥᏲᏏᏍᎪᏉ; ᎠᎴ ᏣᏍᏉ ᎢᏥᎦᏔᎭᏉ ᎢᏳᏃ ᎦᏁᎦ ᏂᏗᏥᏩᏩᏘ” ᏍᎬᎾ ᏥᎨᏐ ᎢᏥᏃᎯᏢᏁᎲᎢ, ᏘᏂᏃᏗᏍᎩᏃ Ꮭ ᏱᎰ” ᏥᏁᎰ ᎠᏓᏪᏢᎩᏍᎩ ᎠᎴ ᏘᏅᏬ; ᎠᎴ ᎢᏥᎦᏔᎭᏉ ᎦᎶᎪᏗ ᎤᏍᏘ ᎤᏩᏒ ᏱᏨᏗ ᏠᎨᏏ ᏕᏥᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁᎲ, ᎩᏲᏢᏳᏉᏍᎩᏂ ᎢᏣᏛᎯᏍᎪᏘ ᏎᎷ. ’ ᏳᏍᎩᏍᎩᏂ ᎯᏯ ᏅᏗᎦᎵᏍᎪᏘᏍᎪᎢ ᎢᏴᏛᎭᏉ ᎤᏣᏘ ᎢᏥᎩ” ᏢᏲᎪᎢ, ᎦᏥᏂᏏᏍᎬᎢ, ᎠᎴ ᎦᏥᎿᏬᎬᎢ; ᎠᎴᏃ Ꭰ” ᎩᏂᎶᏏᏒᏉ ᎠᏢᏱᏢᏒ ᎡᎿᎥᎢ, ᎠᎴ ᎯᏯ ᎢᏥᎩᏢᏲᎬ ᏓᎧᏁᏉᏤᏏᏉᏍᎩᏂ. ᎦᎪᎨᏃ ᏓᏣᏛᏁᎵ ᏳᏍᏯᎩ ᏓᏥᏂᏍᎪᏔᏂᎮ ᎢᏣᏛᏓᏍᏖᏲᏂᎪ ᎠᏴ ᏥᏬᏂᏍᎬ; Ꮦ” ᏣᎪᎴᎰᏏᏉ. ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ, ᎢᎦᏛ ᏂᎯ ᎦᏳᎳ ᎢᏣᏓᏑᏯ ᎢᏣᎪᎴᎰᏒ ᏃᏒ Ꮵ” ᏛᏍᏆᏂᎪᏘᏍᎪ ᏩᎦ ᎠᎴ ᏏᏆ- ᏂᎦᏘᏳᏍᎩᏂ ᎠᎴ ᏩᏂᎥ ᎨᏥᏁᏉᏤᏢᏎᏍᏘ, ᏯᏃᏉᏃ ᎤᏣᎦᏍᏘ ᎢᏥ” ᎮᏍᏗ ᎠᏫᏯ. ᎠᎴ ᏳᏍᏉ ᎠᏫ ᏧᏂᏃᏕᎾ ᏕᏥᎧᎮ” ᏍᏘ, ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᏘᏣᏅᏬ ᏕᎨᏥᏅᏁᎮᏍᏘ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏣ” ᏢᏍᏓᏴᏘ ᏣᏍᏉ. ᏣᏍᎩ ᎠᎴ ᎦᎪᎯ ᎣᏏᏳ ᎢᏥᎭ ᎠᎴ ᎡᏉᎯᏳ.,. ᎢᏳᏃ ᏱᏣᏢᏏᎾᎯᏍᏔᏅ ᏕᏣᏛᎯ” ᏍᏘᏍᎬ,, ᎦᏮᏝᎶᎢ ᏰᏢᎦᏯᏉ ᏂᎦᎥ ᎢᏨᏒ “ᏣᏚᎰ” ᏍᎬ ᏱᏗᏣᏛᎯᏍᏗᎭ; ᎠᎴ ᏳᏍᏉ ᎠᏫᏁᎬ ᏱᎪᏥ” ᎧᏁᎭ. , ᏗᎦᏓᎷᎪᏘᏃ ᏱᎪᏨᏘ ᎤᏣᏘᏉ. ᏱᏐᏥᏁᏉᏣ ᏕᏥᎶᎨᏒᎢ ᏎᎷ ᏗᏥᏫᏍᏗᏱ. ᎤᏣᎴᏍᏗᏃ ᏩᏯᎴᏉ ᏱᏥᏫᏍᎦ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎤᏣᎯᏳ’ ᏃᎯ ᎦᏚ, ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᏉ ᏧᏓ” ᎴᏅᏛ ᎠᎦᏔᏛᏍᎩ ᏱᏥᏫᏒᎥᏍᎦ. ᎠᎴ ᎪᎴᏛ ᎤᏥ” ᏄᎢᏃ ᎠᎯᏗᏘᏳᏉ ᏱᎪᏥᏫᏍᎦᎥ ᏳᏍᎩᏃ ᏴᏫᏁᎬ ᏱᎪᏥᏁᎳ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏨᏒᏉ ᏗᏣᏅᏬ ᏱᎪᎨᏨᎶᏳᏁ ᏗᏣᏤᏢ ᎠᏂᎨᏴ. ᏗᏣᏓᏢᎢᏃ ᎠᎴ ᏗᏤᏥ ᏞᎩᏨᏉ ᏯᎾᏕᎶᎫᎿ ᎠᏍᎪᏄᎢ ᎠᎴ ᏗᎬᏅᎢ. ᎠᎴ ᏳᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᎢᏳᏢᏍᎪᏗᏱ ᎠᎩᏰᎸᎦᏒᎢ, ᏥᏁᏥ ᏂᏅ ᏧᏩ” ᎯᏍᏗᏱ ᏂᎦᏘᏳ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᎤᏂᏱᏓᏍᏗ ᎠᏂᏍᎪᎲ ᎠᎴ ᏖᏅᏍᎬᎢ, ᎩᎶᏃ ᎠᎨᏴ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏗᎨᏂᎲᏍᎩ ᎢᎬᏁᏢᏓᏍᏗᏱ ᎤᏩᏛᏗᏱ ᎥᏥᏁᏥ. ᎠᎴ ᏣᏍᏉ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎪᏛᎤᏩᏏ ᏗᎦᏓᎷᎪᏘ ᎠᎴ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᏠᎨᏏ ᎠᏱᏓᏍᏘ ᏩᏍᎩ ᏗᎴᏅᎪᏗ ᏠᎨᏏ ᏗᎦᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁ” ᏗᏱ; ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎩᎶ ᏛᎧᏁᏤᏢ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎢᏤᏂᏂᎪᎯ ᎢᏗᎬᏁᏢᏓᏍᏗᏱ. ᎠᎴ ᏩᏣᏍᏉ ᎢᏥᏁᏤᎸ ᏧᏩᎯ” ᏍᏗᏱ (Ꭶ ᎠᏛ ᎠᏫ ᏧᏂᏃᏕᎾ, ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᎤᏘᏢ ᎢᏯ’” ᏂᎦᎵᏯ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᏗᎨᏥᎧᏁᏗ, ᏣᏍᎩ ᎠᏃᎯᏳᎲ” ᎣᎩ ᎤᎾᎶᏂᎬᏁᏗᏱ ᏧᏂᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᏠᎨᏏ ᎠᎴ ᎯᏯ ᎦᎾᏝᏳᎢ ᏧᎾᏛᎯᏍᎪᏗᏱ. ᎠᎴ ᎢᏴᏛᎭᏉ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ ᎠᎴ ᏂᎦᎥ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ -ᎢᏥᏃᎮᎮᏍᏘᏗ, ᏣᏍᎩ -ᎢᏣᎶᏂᎬ” ᏁᏘᏱ. ᎤᏣᏩᏍᎩᏃ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ ᎠᏆᏚᏢ ᎡᏣᏛᏓᏍᏓ” ᏁᏗᏱ, ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᏂᎦᏪᏍᎬ ᎢᏥᏍᏓᏩᏛᏍᏗᏱ. ᏩᏍᎩ ᎠᏴ ᏥᏁᏤᎸ ᏭᏪᏗᏱ ᏗᏤᎲᎢ. ᏩᏥᏂ ᎤᏮᏤᏢ ᎠᎦᏘᏯ, ᏅᏓᏳᏢᏍᎪᏔᏅ ᎠᏗᏣᏩ ᎤᏓᏅᏘᏳ” ᎠᏍᎦ” Ꮿ ᏥᏰᏢᏎᎲᎢ; ᎠᎴ ᎤᏢᏁᏃᏘᏉ ᎠᏰ ᏂᏥᏪᏍᎬ Ꭲ” ᏳᏛᏁᏗᏱ; ᎠᎴ ᎣᏏᏳ’ ᎢᏣᏛᏁᏗᏱ ᏂᎯ. ᎯᏯ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ ᏚᏂᏍᏆᏂᎪᏛ Ꮭ ᎢᏨᏒᏉ ᏱᎩ. ᏂᎦᏘᏳᏍᎩᏂ ᏚᏂᏍᏆᏂᎪᏘ ᎤᎧᏤᎵᎪᎯ ᎬᏒ ᏩᏍᏛ ᏥᏓᏁᏩᏗ ᏧᎾᏖᎴᏅᏛ ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ. ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ ᎠᏂᏐᎢᏱ ᏗᏂᎦᏘᏘᏍᎩ ᏗᎧᏁᏤᏗ ᏂᎦᏢᏍᏘᏍᎪᎢ; ᎠᎴ ᏅᎩ ᎢᏳᎾᏓᎴᎩ Ꮩ1Ꭶ6Ꮾ ᎢᏗᏢ ᎠᏁᎯ ᏌᏉ Ꮔ” “ ᎬᏫᏳᎡ ᎤᏂᎦᏘᏘᏍᎩ ᎧᏁᏤᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ, ᏂᎦᏗᎶᏳᏃ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏓᏩᏛᎯᎪᎮᏍᏗ ᎠᏍᏓᏱᏗᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᎪᎯᏱ “ᏄᏅᏅ ᎠᎴ ᎤᎾᏢᎢᏯ ᎨᏒ, ᏣᏍᎩ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎤᎬᏫᏳᏌᎨᎮᎨᏍᏗ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ ᎤᎾ” “ᏤᏢ ᏏᏒᎢ, ᎠᎴ ᏓᏍᏕᏢᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᏗᏂᎦᏘᏯ ᏩᎿ Ꮏ” ᏁᏩᏘᏒ ᏕᎦᏚᏩᏘᏒ ᏧᏂᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᎨᏥᏁᏤᎸᎢ. ᏩᏍᎩ ᏄᎬᏫᏳᏒ ᎢᏥᎦᏘᏯ ᎢᏨᏔᏂᏏ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎡᏥᎦᏌᏯᏍᏕᏍᏗ. ᏣᏍᎩ ᎤᏣᏘ ᎣᏥᎨᏳᎢ ᎨᏎ” ᏍᏘ, ᎠᎴ ᏂᎪᎯᎸᏉ ᎠᎶᏂᎬᏁᎮᏍᏘ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎢᏣᏢ” ᏍᏓᏁᏘᏱ, ᏩᏍᎩᏃ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ ᎰᏍᎩᏂ ᏲᎯᏉ ᏂᎦᏪ” ᏍᎬ ᏱᏥᏍᏓᏩᏕᏅ. ᏇᏂ ᏔᏬᏗ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎢᎬᏱ ᏄᎬᏫᏳᏒ ᎨᏎᏍᏘ, ᏳᏍᎩ ᎠᏍᎦᏯ ᎦᏳᎳ ᎡᏥᎦ” ᏔᎯᏳ!, ᎠᎴ ᎣᏏᏅ ᎡᏥᏰᏄᎢ. ᎤᏓᏅᏘᎶ” ᎠᏥ” ᏰᎸᏒᎢ ᏅᏓᎦᏢᏍᎪᏖ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᏧᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᏥᏁᏥ; ᎠᎴ ᎠᎦᏔᎯᏃᏉ ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ ᏄᏍᏛ ᏄᏅᎿ” ᏅᎢ; ᎠᎴ ᎤᎶᎯᏳ’ ᏳᏍᎩ ᏧᎨᏳᎯᏳ, ᎠᎴ ᎤᎾ” ᏢᎢᏯ ᎤᏰᎸ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏧᎦᎾᏮ ᎢᏗᏢ ᎠᏁᎯ. ; ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ. ᏣᎳᎩ,, ! ᏣᏍᎩ ᎢᏣᏛᎴᎮᏁᏗᏱ ᏥᏨᏲᏏ ᏂᎯ, ᎠᏴᏍᎩᏂ ᎠᎬ” Ꭱ ᏳᏍᏉ ᏩᏍᎩ ᏅᏓᎦᏛᏁᏢ. ᎢᎸᏍᎩ ᏣᏦᎳᏅ ᏅᎪ ᎿᏉ. ᏖᎦᏂᎩᏏ ᎠᏂ ᎡᏆ ᎦᏚᎲᎢ, ᏗᎩᎶᎨᏒ ᏮᏓᏥᎶᏏ. .- ᎿᏉ ᎪᏛᎠᎩᎸᏫᏍᏓᏁᏢ, ᎠᏂᏁᏉ” ᏥᏒ ᏗᏆᏤᏢ ᏩᎦ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏫ ᏧᏂᏃᏕᎾ, ᎠᎴ ᏧᎾᏓᎴ” ᎤᏛ ᎦᏮᏝᏩᎢ, ᎠᎴ ᏛᎦᏥᏅᏏ ᎠᏂᎨᏴ ᎤᏂᏍᏓᏍᏗᏱ ᎠᎴ ᏧᏅᏗᏱ; ᏂᎦᏘᏳ ᏳᏣᏍᎩ ᏥᏨᏯᏎᎯᏏ, ᏩᏍᎩ ᏱᏏᏳᏍᎩᏂ ᎠᎴ ᏅᏩᎪᎯᏯᏛ ᏱᏣᏓᏅᏔ, ᏣᏍᎩ “ᎤᏣᏛ ᎠᏢᏍᏓᏴᏘ ᏗᏅᏬᏃ ᎠᎴ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ” ᎣᏌᏂ “ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎪᎯᏱ ᎢᏨᏁᎯ. ᎢᏨᎨᎶ”’ ᏣᎳᎩ;, Ꭵ Ꭹ ᏫᏥᎷᏨ ᏗᎩᎶᎨᏒ ᎠᏎ ᏛᏨᏍᏛᎦᏁᏢ, ᎠᎴ ᎤᏣᏘ ᏓᎦᎵᎡᏢᏥ ᎢᎦᏛᎦᏅ ᎢᏥᏍᏓᏩᏛᏒ ᏣᎩᏪᏒ” Ꭲ) ᎠᎴ ᏳᏄ9’ᏅᏃᎯ ᏥᏥᏃᎲᎵ ᎢᏣᏕᎪᏩᏗᏒᎢ;---- ᎠᏗᎶ ᎠᏏᏉ ᏂᎨᎬᎾ, ᏖᏥᏁᏤᏢ ᎠᏆᏤᏢ ᏥᎨᎶ”Ꭲ ᎠᏍᎦᏯ ᏓᏅᏩ ᎧᏁᎩ, ᎤᏓᏅᏍᏗᏱ ᏧᏃᏢᏗᏱ ᏗᏯ’ ᏠᏘ, ᏩᏍᎩ ᏣᎳᎩ ᏗᎨᏥᏁᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᎠᎩᏁᏨ ᏭᏂᏍᏖᏩᏛᏛ. ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ ᏲᏅ ᎢᏴᏛᎭ” Ꮙ ᎢᏥᏩᏈᎯᎪᎮᏍᏗ ᏕᏥᏚᏩᏗᏒ ᎢᏣᏤᎵᏢᎪᎯ------ ᎥᏍᎩ ᏣᎨᏥᏲᎲᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᎩᎶ ᎤᎾᏚᏢᏍᎩ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᏯ ᏱᏂᏣᏛᏁᎸ ᏥᏨᏂᏏ, ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ. ᎠᎪᎴᎨᎰᏍᎨᏍᏗ Ꭶ; ᎦᏂᎸᏫᏍᏖᏁᎸ. ᎠᎴ ᎩᎴ ᎤᎶ ᏳᏂᎦᏢᏒᎢ: ᏖᎾ” “ᏰᏍᏘᏍ”” “ᎥᎦ, ᎠᎴ,ᏖᏂᏫᏍᎬ ᏎᎷ ᎠᎴ. ᎤᏣᎴ” ᏍᏗ; ᎠᎴ ᎤᏥᎸᎢ, ᎠᎴ ᎪᎴᏛ, ᎠᏂᏯᎪᎲᎢ, ᎠᎴ ; ᏓᏅᏍᎬᎢ; ᏩᏍᎩ ᎠᎾᏓᎪᎾᏛᏗᏍᎩ ᏣᏳᎩ ᎯᏯ Ꭰ” ,. ᏌᏍᏛ ᏗᎬᏗᎾᏁᏗ, Ꮴ ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ) …. Ꭸ Ꮚ ᎯᏯ ᏱᏂᏣᏛᏁᎸ ᏥᏨᏲᏏ ᎤᏢᏍᎨᏛᏯᏍᎩᏂ Ꭲ” ᏣᏤᏢᎪᎯ ᎨᏒᎢ;. ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎤᎶᎯᏳ ᎤᏢᏍᎨᏛᏯ ᏂᎦᏢᏍᏗ ᏳᏇᎩ: ᏂᎯᏰᏃ ᎢᏣᏁᎶᏘᏍᎬ ᏫᏂᏣᏢᏍᏓ” ᏁᎸ, ᏣᏍᎩᏯᏉ ᏩᏍᏉ ᎠᏎ ᏱᏄᎾᏢᏍᏓᏏ ᎤᏂᏣᏘ ᏧᎾᏓᎴᏅ” ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ. ᎢᏳᏰᏃ ᏰᏢ ᏱᏂᏣᏛᏁᎸ, ᎤᏂᎬᏫᏳᎯᏃ ᏩᏥᏂ ᎠᏁᎯ ᎠᏍᏓᏱᏳᏍᎩᏂ ᏯᏮᏓ” ᏄᏖᏓ ᏩᏍᎩᏯ ᏩᏄᏉ ᏧᏂᏍᏕᎸᏗᏱ ᏂᎦᏗᏳ” ᏄᎧᏓᏖ” ᎴᎡ ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ ᏩᏂᏍᏛ ᏥᏓᏁᏩᏗ. Ꭲ” ᏳᏍᎩᏂᏃ ᏱᏥᏄᎸᏅᏉ, ᎠᏎᏉᏃ ᏯᏂᏰᎸᎾ ᎠᎾ” ᎶᏂᎬᏁᎲ ᎣᏍᏛ, ᎬᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᏧᎾᎿᎴᏅᏛ ᎠᏂ” ᎬᏫᏯᎢ; ᏱᎣ Ꭲ ᎦᏁᎯ ᎠᎴ ᏄᏢᏢᎾ ᏥᎩ ᏩᏳᎿ ᎢᏣᏤᎵᎪᎯ. ᎨᏒᎢ, ᏣᏇᏍᎩᏍᎩᏂ ᏅᏗᎦᏢᏍᎪᏗ ᏰᏢ ᎢᎬᏣᏛᏁᏗ ᏥᏨᎵᏲᏏ ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ; ᎠᏂᏏᏮᏌᏂ ᎤᎾᎧᏓᏅᏖᏗᏱ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ ᎠᏕᏘᏴᎯᏒ ᏓᏂᎳᏫᎪᎢ ᎤᎾᏓᏅᏖᏗᏱ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎢᏣᏑᎾ” ᏢᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᏂᎦᏘᏳ ᎤᎧᏤᏢᎪᎯ ᎠᏫ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏂᏏᏮᏌᏂ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᏚᏂᏚᏩᏗᏒ ᏣᏯᏉ ᏓᏂᎳᏫᎪᎢ ᎢᏳᏍᏗ” Ꭽ ᏌᏉ ᎠᎴ ᏔᎵ ᏣᎦᏘᏴ ᎤᏂᏃᎮᏘᏱ ᎠᎴ ᎤᎾᎶᏂ” !ᎬᏁᏗᏱ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎢᏳᎧᏢᎱᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᏴᏫ ᏚᏂᏚᏩᏗᏒ” Ꭲ. ᎦᏓᏅᏖᏍᎪᏍᎩᏂ, ᏣᏍᏉ ᎢᏣᏤᏢᎪᎯ ᎠᏂᏏ” ᎧᏌᏂ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᎢᏨᏳᏍᏗᎭ ᏌᏉ ᎠᎴ ᏔᎵ ᏱᏂᏓ” ᏂᎳᏫᎦ ᏑᏕᏘᏴᏛ, ᏳᏍᎩᏯᏃ ᏳᏍᏉ ᎣᏏᏳ’ ᏱᏂ” ᏣᏢᏍᏓᏁᎭ. ᏠᏉ ᎦᎵᎴᎲ ᎠᏏᏴᏫ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏂᏔᎵ ᎤᏗᏢ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎤᎾᏓᏅᏖᏗᏱ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏱᏓᏂᏅᏍᎦ; ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᏱᏓᏂᎳᏫᎾᎦ ᏯᏂᏃᎮᏃ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᎢᏣᏤᏢᎪᎯ ᎨᏒᎢ; ᎠᎴ ᎯᏯ ᏄᏍᎮᏍᏘ ᏱᏓᏖᏃᏎᏍᎩᏂ ᎢᏣᏤᏢ” ᎪᎯ ᏴᏫ ᏳᏍᎩ ᎣᏏᏳ ᎢᏳᎾᎵᏍᏓᏁᏗᏱ ᎨᏒᎢ. ᎠᎴ ᎠᏥᎨᏳᎢ ᎢᏥᎦᏘᏯ ᏳᏍᏉ ᏳᏍᎩ ᏯᎦᏔᎭ ᏱᏓᏂᎳᏫᎦ. ᏣᏍᎩᏃ ᏱᏗᎧᏃᏁ ᏧᏓᎴᏅᏛ ᏅᏗᎦ” ᏢᏍᎪᏗᏍᎬ ᏳᏍᎩ ᎣᏏᏳ ᏄᎾᏢᏍᏓᏁᎲ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ, ᎠᎴ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏰᏢ ᏗᏏᏂᏥᎧᎾᏩᏛᏍᏗ ᎨᏒᎢ ᎠᎴ ᏩᏍᎩ ᏱᏗᎧᏃᏁ ᎢᏅᏍᏗ ᎦᏛᎬ ᏗᎧᎾᏩᏛᏍᏗ ᎡᏆ- ᏓᏂᎳᏫᎥ ᎤᏃᏢᏅᎯ ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂ ᎪᎯᏱᏉ ᏥᎨᏒ ᏬᏂᏍᏆᏂᎪᎪᏗᏱ, ᎠᎴ ᎦᎪᎯ ᎢᏥᎲ ᎨᏥᏍᏕᎸᎡᏗ” Ᏹ,- ᎢᏨᏒ ᎢᏤᎲ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎢᏣᎵᏍᏖᏁᏗᏱ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏣᏡᎶᏆᏍᏗᏱᎩᏧᎩ.ᏧᏖᎴᏅᏛ, ᎠᎴ ᏂᏬᏩᏮᏛ --Ꭳ! ᏍᏛ ᎢᏳᏢᏍᎪᏗᏱ;: ᎢᏳᏃ ᎣᏏᏩ’ ᎢᏥᏰᎸᏍᎨ” ᏍᏘ ᎢᏣᏤᎵᎪᎯ ᎠᏂᏏᎾᏌᏂ ᎠᏂᏍᎦᏯ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎯᎯ ᎢᏳᏍᏘ ᏧᏂᎳᏫᎱᏍᏗᏱ, ᏄᏍᏛᏃ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎢᏣᏓᏅ ᏖᏍᎬ ᎡᏥᏃᏁᏎᏍᎩᏂ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏥᎨᏳᎢ ᎠᏍᎦᏯ ᏂᏅ, ᎤᎬᏫᏳᎯᏃ ᏩᏥᏂᏱ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎠᏥᏃᏁᏗ ᎢᎰ” ᏎᏍᏗ, ᎿᏉ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎤᏁᎢᏍᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏘ ᎣᏏᏳ’ Ꮳ” ᏭᎸᎡ ᏣᏍᎩ “ᏣᏛᏁᏘᏱ. ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ, ᏂᎦᏗᏳ ᏂᏨᏮᏛ ᎯᏯ ᎠᎩᏬᏂᏒᎯ ᎠᎴ ᎤᏮᏢᏛ” ᏓᏁᏘᏱ. ᏂᎨᏒᎾ ᎠᏆᏚᏢᏍᎬ, ᏧᏂᎴᎬᎪᏗᏱ ᏥᏁᎩ ᎯᏯ ᎪᏪᏢ, ᎠᎴ ᎠᎬᏒ ᎠᏉᏰᏂ ᎠᎬᏔᏅᎯ ᏗᏉᏪ”, ᎳᏅᎯ, ᏎᎥᏥᏁᎩ ᏣᏯᎩ ᏌᏉ ᏧᏂᏅᏂᏓᏍᏗᏱ ᎦᏥ” ᏚᏩᏗᏒᎢ. ᎠᎾᏁᏢᏗᏍᎩᏃ ᎿᏉ ᏰᏢ ᏂᎦᏢᏍᏗ” ᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏓᏂᏎᏢᎮ ᏰᏍᎨ-ᏍᏗ ᎠᎴ ᏖᎾᏁᏢᏖᏁ” ᎮᏍᏘ ᏂᎦᏘᏳ” ᎢᏣᏤᎵᎪᎯ ᏴᏫ. ᎢᏨᎨᏳᎢ ᏣᎳᎩ; ; ᎠᏆᏛᎦᏅ ᎢᎦᏛ ᏗᏣᏤᏢ ᎤᏂᏈᎢᎶᏮᏊᏅᎯ ᎤᎾᏚᏢᏍᎬ. ᎬᎩᎪᏩᏛᏘᏗᏱ ᎠᏂ ᎢᏴᏛ ᎦᎾᏍᏚᎩ. ᏩᏍᎩᏃ ᏫᎦᏥ” ᏃᏁᎸ ᎦᏥᏍᏓᏖᏂᎸᎢᏍᏗᏱᏉ ᎢᎸᎹᎩ ᎢᏯᏂᏛ Ꭴ” ᏣᏘ ᎨᏥᎸᏉᏘ. ᎪᎯ ᏔᎵᏁ Ꭵ“ᏁᎩ ᎠᎩᏁᏨᎢ ᎠᏆᏚᏢᏍᎬᏉ ᎦᏥᎪᏩᏛᏗᏱ Ꭲ.ᎸᏍᎩ ᎢᏯᏂᏛ ᏗᏣ” ᏤᏢ ᎣᏍᏛ ᎤᎾᏓᏅᏖᏗᏱ; ᎠᏗᏣ ᎠᏎ ᏅᏓᎦᏆ ᎧᎴ” ᏍᏘ ᎢᏢᏛ ᎩᏙ ’Ꭶ;ᏕᎦᏕᏃᎮᏍᏗ. ᏩᏍᎩᏃ ᏦᎦᏖᏁ” ᏤᏘ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᎤᎾᎶᏛᏍᏗᏱ ᏕᎦᏓᎯᏠᏛᎢ ᎦᎪᎯ ᎢᏣ” ᏤᏢ ᏂᎯ ᎠᏴᏃ ᎣᎦᏤᏢᎦ, ᎫᏭᏩᏑᏮᏓᎿᎸ ᎧᏃᎮᏛ ᏥᎦ” ᎦᏠᎯᏍᎩ - ᏂᎩᏪᏒᎹ ᏣᏍᎩᏯᏉ ᎢᎬᏁᏗ Ꮀ” ᏎᏍᏘ.. ᎠᎴ ᏃᎩᏃᏁᏘᏱ ᎠᏆᏚᏢᏍᎨᏍᏘ ᏣᏍᎩ ᎤᏂᎬᏫᏳᎯ ᎩᎶ ᏣᏍᎩ ᏗᏂᎧᎾᏩᏣᎩ ᎠᎦᎶᎶᎥᎭ, ᎠᎴ ᎠᏴ ᏣᏍᏉ ᏛᎦᏥᏃᏁᏢ ᏩᏍᎩ ᎩᎶ ᎦᏥᏁᏤᎸ” Ᏹ ᎠᏮᎶᎶᏍᎩ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏳᏉ ᎤᎾᎴᏅᏗᏱ, ᎠᎴ ᏣᎿ ᎨᏒ ᎤᎾᎴᏅᏗᏱ, ᏣᎯᏳᏃ ᎩᎳ ᏦᎦᏓᏁᏤᏗ. ᎨᏎ” ᏍᏗ. Ꭵ ᎿᏉ ᏫᎦᏥᏲᏂᎱᎵᎦᏉᏃ ᏣᎳᎩ, ᎠᎴ ᏥᏯᏖᎪᎱ ᏍᏌᏓ” Ꮟ ᎤᏁᎳᏅᎯ ᎤᏂᏍᏆᏂᎪᎪᏗᏱ. ᎠᏂ ᎦᎾᏍᏚᎩ ᎦᏚᎲ ᎪᏪᎸᎦ ᏐᎣᏁᎳᏦᏁᎢ. ᏁᎢ ᎢᎦ ᎦᎶᏂ ᎤᏕᏘᎬᏌᏗᏒ 1796, ᎠᏂᏩᏥᏂᏃ 026 ᏎᎪᎩᏒ ᎯᏆ. ᏣᏥ ᏬᏒᎡᏛᏅ. ᎤᏁᏨᎯ ᏩᏥᏂᏱ ᎤᎬᏫᏳᎯ, ᏥᎻ ᎮᏂᎸ, ᏓᏅᏩ ᏥᏁᎩ. ᏧᎾᎶᎶᏍᏓᏅᎯ ᎠᎴ ᏧᏃᏪᎳᏅᎯ; ᏣᏥ ᎩᏢ ᎩᏚᏩᎩ. ; ᎡᏫ ᏂᏄᎬᏯᏍᎩ 929 ᏕᎭᎷᏱ; ᎤᏕᏘᏢᏌᏗᏒ 188…77 .