Cherokee phoenix. (New Echota [Ga.]) 1828-1829, March 20, 1828, Image 2

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    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 .