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THROUGHJljE WILDS.
Adventures in the Arkansas
and Red hirer Regions half
a Century Ago*
PEB80NAL BEMINISICENSCES OF (XL. WM. SPABKS,
THE AtTHOB OF ‘ FIFTY YEABS AGO.”
A long and fatiguing lide through the vest
plaits, extending trom the Arkansas to Red
riveis, was a romantic adventure in that day. It
was made doubly so by the presence of a band
of wild Indian warriors. These Indians unac
customed to the contact and association of the
white man, had none of his -vices—had never
felt his oppressions—and bore him no malice.
They were not then distinguished by that moody
snllenness born of wrong and persecution which
marks the savage man, who has resided Dear
and held much intercourse with his white breth
ren. These twebty-t wo Indians were young men
and remarkable for their physical conformation,
litbe and athletic, full of mirth and exceeding
ly affable, better horsemen were not on earth.
To myself and companion they were especially
kind. Gilminot understood many of the dia
lects of the rorthern Indians, bad twice made
the overland voyage from the settlements of the
Red river of the north to Vancouver's Island on
the Pacific. The effini'y of th« se dialects,
amiifst ail the tribes ot the continent, enabled
him very soon to comprehend snd converse
with our red rovers and very soon he was a fa
vorite with our little band.
Our ride was pvctracUd to many days and
was barren of incident save now and then a
pony n ee ot half a mile between two or more of
the Indians.
At lengih we arrived at the Pawnee village,
end were welcomed wit demonstrations of joy
by the whole people cf tire tribe and especially
by the young squaws, who danced about ns
cl**-! pit B th< ir 11 nds and chanting in wild cho
rus a monotonous song expressive of delight.
A council followed and directly a wigwam of
buffalo skins v.*. - erected and we formally in
ducted, were toid this was ours and ws entered
an«J took p< sseseion. The pleasure our pres
ence senced, to give astonished os, it was so dif
ferent fronr wbai we Lad seen, at least so far a*
I was concerned, amongst other tribes with
which 1 bad held intercourse. Our wigwam was
a general rendezvous for both sexes and to mauy
of tl o younger females we seemed objects of cu-
rirsi y.
In n few days we were familiar with all tb6
tribe and wtre quite at home amoegst them.
There was one, a oul-ohief, of most magnificent
phys’que. He was full seven feet in height,
large head and admirably proportioned person;
a very Saul amidst bis people. His father was
the prtEcipal chief, not very old and of inferior
size, and seeing these together naturaliy sug
gested Pepin and Cirarh magne. I was not long
in diecovering there was not that kindly feeling
between this lather and son, which in that rela-
t on should exist. The old man was j salons of
the influence of his son and was not slew in
manifesting his chagrin where he suspected
his son bud displaced him in the respect of his
tribe. Kalema was the fath> r's name; Chaleo,
tl at cf the son. The Indian who was the cap
tain, or head man ot our troop, was the younger
brother of Chaleo, and, though a fire specimen
of physical manhood, w as vast y the inferior of
his brother.
Amongst the young fqnaws was ODe of re
markable beauty, and had she possessed larger
eyes and the expression of cultivation, would
have been wonderfully btautiful. She was the
daughter of Chaleo, was young and the favorite
of aii her tribe. She was named Chalala, which
interpreted, means flying flower, or humming
bird. She had two young brothers and they,
too, were favorite s - because they excelled in the
chase and all manly sports and aspired to lead
as youne warriors.
* Summer was waning and there was prepara
tions makiDg for an ex ended hunt. This was to
be led by the head man of our band and these two
joeng descendants of royalty. In this we did
not propose to participate. Indeed, it did not
appear that we were expected to do so. The
party of fifty expected to be absent down the
river in their favorite hunting ground for many
weeks. The feasting and dancing and the in
cantations of the medicine man had been in
progress for several days, when the signs were
pronounced auspicious for good luck in the
hunt tor their winter store of provisions. All
was ready, when armed and mounted, the band
rode into the village, - their horses, dashing
away for a spac e, them almost thrown upen their
haunches by the sudden checking up of their
riders, would wheel and dash back whence
they had started. Presently the old chief gave
a peculiar jeli, w hen all dashed away at speed.
The ceremony was unique and wild and the
speed of the departure was continued as long as
the paity was visible on the distant prairie.
It was now that we received much of the at
tention of the old men, chiefs and head men,
who remained in the village. The buffaloes
were coming down from the mountains above in
small droves, scattering ever the prairies, and
almost daily, in small parties, we went out for
a bunt. In these ventures we were frequently
acct mpsnied by not only the men, but by many
of the young squaws, who were experts in the
. use of the bow and arrow, and were too, accom
plished and fearless riders. Of all these, Cht-
iala was the most daring and intrepid. Her
pony, too, was trained to perfection, and in all
my life I have never seen horse and liderso un
derstand each other.
It was upon one of these occasions I witnessed
this: We had ridden several miles from the vil
lage without encountering any game. Deviat
ing fsorn our course, the party turned up a val
ley which came down to the river between two el
evations, not si fliciently high to be termed hills.
We had not ridden far before we stampeded a
small herd of buffaloes. We dashed into their
midst, scattering tbem in every direction. I fol
lowed one which soon gained the summit of the
ridge on our left and ran upon it. Some had
gone over both ridges closely followed *ed the
paity thus scattered in pursuit wt in si. o out of
sight. Chalala had tollowea a huge bull who
was rurniDg on tho ridge parallel to that on
which 1 was giving chase. I wasted my ammu
nition in« ffectuaily and stayed to reload my car
bine. I caught sight of Chalala. running fast
upon the haunches of the monster shepurs-.ied.
Her rein was loose upon the neck of her p>ony,
who kept his position most admirably. I saw
Ltr th: ow her bow over her right foot, holding
the anow upon th< string between her fingers,
tbtn lean into an almost horizontal position,pull
ing the string with all her strength. When its
utmost tension was obtained, she sent the ar
row into the buffalo with a thud I distinctly
heard. Instantly, her horse was still, and the
t ufialo with decreasing speed went on a hun
dred yards, tinn stopped and lay down; '< aping
fr m her pony, 6be advanced cautiously to
v. here the beast was lying. He attempted to
the, lifting bis great, shaggy shoulders from the
ground, shaking his head angrily, as be did so.
At a signal made with her bow, her pony dashed
up to her. He bad hardly stopped be ore she
leap.; d to his back. The buffalo was up and at-
temuting to esoape, she renewed the chasa and
they went away down the ridge. I had given
paces, stumble again and finally fall and turn
over upon his side and remain quiet. Again,
the girl was off her horse and approaching cau
tiously, she plunged her loDg hunting knife to
the heart of her game. There was a quick, short
struggle and all was over. She leaped uponhifi
side and waving her bloody knife inviting my
approach. The sun was not half an hour above
the horizon, and standing on the dead bnll, she
was immediately between the sun and mysMf.
A short way from her stood her tired pony, his
head drooped down, and the bloody knife held
ale ft. Were I an artist, I would make that
scene the sutject of a picture. It certainly
would be most striking. The dead beas‘, he
wearied pony, the tractless and extended prai
ries, and the wild girl waving a bloody knife.
This girl was a savage, but she was full of wo
manly instincts, and was the second beautiful
Indian girl I had ever seen. The other was the
daughter of Nehamathla, the Uchee chief, who
formerly resided at the crossing of OucLie creek,
ten miles from Columbus, Georgia, and on the
road to Montgomery, Alabama. The Osage wo
men are fairer than any Indians on the conti
nent, except a small tribe in Canada West, and
who sometimes come down ; s far as Mobile and
New Orleans with their skin and bead work for
a market. These Indians are even whiter than
the half-breeds of ether tribes, and are general
ly comely in appearance and are modest, decent
people.
At the time of which I write,the Pawnees were
a formidable tribe. They were divided into two
communities, the Pawnee Piets and Pawnee
Loupe. The Pic’s had tbeir principle town up
on the Arkansas; the Loups od the Red River.
They were the same people and spoke a com
mon language. The Loups were the most nu
merous and the most warlike, and they had a
tradition that the Comauchies were an offshoot,
at a remote period, cf their race. These iatters
mingled and intermarried with the Loups, and
were vastly inferior in number aLd character
to the Loups; and by them, as warriors, held in
contempt, save now and then, one, who had
distinguished himself in wars. In truth, the
Comanchie is a thief—mean and cowardly,crafty
and cruel, treacherous and thoroughly deprav
ed—and though they have acquired the reputa
tion of courage as well as ferocity, the former
and nobler of these qualities they do not pos-
sossa The traditions of the Pawnees reach b.cfc
to a very remote period, and to when they were
the most numerous and warlike tribe on the
continent, and held in vassalage most of the
tribes of the West. Their country and domin
ion extended from the Allegbanies to the lakes,
and over ail the region between these and the
Ohio. The Shawnees, Potawatomies aad Kick
spoors were their dependams ai d allies when
Kentucky was the battle field where they met
the Chickasaws, Chalokees and Muscogees, on
their mutual hunting snd predatory excursions.
It was a combination of all the tribes inhabiting
the country, which drove the Pawnee from bis
home and beyond the Mississippi—and here,
long, long ago, a feud between two rival chiefs
caused a division of the tribe, which continues
until to-day.
These Loups were separated by an immense
distance from the whites— had not, nutil very
recently, any trade with them. A man named
Cuffae bad but a short time before our advent
among these Indians, setup a trading post on
Red River,and opened commerce with the tribes
about him. He was honest and just in all his
dealings; had taken as his wiie a Corocoewa
woman, and had made himself very popular
with all the tribes. He had done much to .rec
oncile many of the tribal lends, but was unable
to reconcile the mutual haired of the Lipaw and
Pawnee. The Oraj ahass and Ponclias were still
to the eouthwest of the Pawnee, and there was
none, . r very In tie, intercourse between them,
andoonst quently no strife.
Nothing could exceed the kindness of these
savages to us. They had intense antipathy
towards the Mexicans and predatory parties
were constantly raiding the country beyond the
Rio Grande ; but the white men of the East,
had never invaded their country, or wronged
and oppressed them, and they were without
prejudice or anger towards him. Most Indians
have a high sense cf right, ate truthlul and
honest, and only sacrifice these virtues to
raft and revenge, when deceived, cheated
and abused as they continually are by the
white man as soon as it becomes bis interest to
do so. They held the Mexicans in contempt
And it wus very amusing, as well as interesting,
to hear the narration of their excursions into
Mexico, and their sudden pouncing upon a
ranche;the fight and flight of the owners, and to
see them mimicking these in tbeir terror, and
then laugh and ridicule their cowardice. Yet,
it was still more interesting to hear them re
count in their tiaditions, the history of their
people, and lament the loss of their country,
and the destruction of their people. Por hours
I have listened to their mournful stories, and I
have never known, or communicated with any
tribes if this rapidly disappearing rac9, who
had not these mournful stories to tell of their
former power, and happiness, and a lament for
their fallen fortunes. Kaiama was their
chief and law giver, as also the cus
todian cf their traditions. He delighted
to recite these, and really was not only their
chief, but their school master. It was to teach
his braves these iraditions that he sofrtquently
issembled about his wigwam the young men of
the village. Ho was fluent and graceful and al
ways recited these standing and with appropri
ate'emphasis and gesticulation, and he waB al-
ways listened to with great reverence and de
terred to always and upon all occasions. Like
all men, and especially all men of mind, he
loved power, and on slight occasions would ex
ercise it, and like all men col scions of superior
abilities, be was intolerant of a divided power
and impatient of the slightest contradiction or
opposition. His son Chaleo, greatly his su
perior intellectually, was the great warrior of
the tribe; was full ot irnate dignity and had sto
len to himself much oi the respect and admira
tion of his people. Kaltma was not slow to ob
serve this and he wss impatient with those who
openly manifested a love snd admiration for his
son and v as not at any trouble to show his jeal
ousy of him. Chaleo was more chary ot his
words, was more prudent and always deferen
tial towards his parent and promptly obedient
to his will and authority. This was a means of
iBci£&&in|t the admiration cf the elder portion
of the tribe and the deference and admiration
of the younger and it was at any time in his
power to depose his parent and usurp his pow- i
er. But he seemed content with his position,
and the consideration in which he was held by
his people. His devotion to his children was
intense and especially so towards Chalala, his
daughter; certaiLly she deserved this consider
ation, for she was dutiful and effec'icnate aud
was admitted to great familiarity with him—a
permission net otten granted by the Indian pa
rent He manifested great confidence in her,
and it had spoiled him. The village had been
removed to a gentle grassy slope near a small
rivulet which debouched into the river s^me
miles away. This move wss one of comparative
necessity to be quit of the fl&a* which had accu
mulated in the skin wigwams in annoying abun
dance. Chsleo was er joying a siesta in the tall
grass unobserved by the Mexican boy, who was
returning from a swim in the creek. Chalala
was going to the stream for her daily ablutions.
Gaspad met her and attempted to put his arm
about her waist. She repelled him with an em
phatic rebuke, this aroused her father. In an
instant, with the agility of a panther, he spraDg
from his lair and dished at the youth. G*spad
attempted to escape by running, but the father
wt s too fl»et for him, he snatobed from his wam-
pcem belt bis cast6te, or tomab&wk, and as be
pussed the boy, he dashed out his brains. Turn
ing and scowling furiot.s’y upon the dead boy.
he put up his hatchet, strode sullenly away and
ordered a move of the entire encampment a nnl»
above. In silence and with alacrity the order
wag obeyed, and before the sin went down be
hind the mountain, a new encampment was
made and before the coming morning the wolyes
had completely devoured th© Mexican.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
MILDRED.
—OR—
One Ray at Re Sola Falls.
BT GBACIE LEAVITT.
With the sweet suggestions of green spring
and summer that every where meet the eye comes
a thought of th* many beautifnt nd salubrious
summer resorts t er* aro n Lis iair Jsud of
mountain, ri»er and valley. No..© are iovlier,
to my mind, than old Lookout, but few know
the more occult beauties of that mountain. Al
most every one has made a. pilgrimage to the
Look Out point, aud there have been oceans of
discription in prose and verse of the glorious
visw that meets the eye of one standing on th*;
dizzy height and letting his vision sweep over
the vast expanse of city, plain, river, hills and
loountaiu ranges extending ever a part of sev
eral different siaies. Yes every one has seen or
read ot Lookout Point, but it must be reoiem
tered that Lookout mountain is many
miles bicad at the top, and that t-very vari ty of
picturesque aspect, which can be made by rocks
and trees aad water is seen over this vast plat
eau, with its cultivated farms and vineyards,
its city of recks, its caves a id mossy niches,
and last and most unique, the crystal-bright
Little River w ith its cascade of De Sots Falls.
Think of a river upon a moun’ain‘s top—12 000
fast above the plain below—a river sow winn
ing in tha clear sun along the verge of precipi
tons cliffs, then overshadowed by rhododen
drons and mountain laurel, or fretting over
rooks aad foaming over sudden declivities.
Whenever tourists and visitors do catch a
glimpse of Da Soto Fslle th. y go into eastacies
over its beauty, aud summer guests of he
mountains, staying at the farmer's cottages or
boarding Louses, often make up pleasure par
ties to visit this lovely cascade.
It is of an incident connected with one of these
parties, that I am thinking on this sunny spring
day. It was later then, a golden day in June—
The Falls oould be reached either in boa s—
little shallops— or by hor;*eb*ck, along a
road that wound about around farms and r ck-;
aud was longer than the water-way.
The paity stood ready to go. The girls wore
jaunty samaier hats and the gentlem;n brr.a i-
brimmsd pauapias. Some were going in boat*,
others on horseback. Of those who preferred
the latter mode of navel was pretty, merry Gay
Maybrook—tb# monutain belle, and her escort,
and iovor John Bradford - The rest had decided
to pull down leisurely in boats as near the falls
as was safe; iht>n walk through the shady
woods.
Gay and Mr. Bradford s'arted, waving an
adieu a» they cantered out of sight, leaving one
sad heart in the midst of the gay party. Mil
dred Montague bad loved John Bradford foi
years. She looked after him in bitter thought
of what ‘might have been.’ The •Profesioi‘
oalled to her to ‘come on.’ Ha saw Dothing of
the sadness in her eyes. He was always wrapp'd
in himssif and what be called his ‘science.’ In
leality, he was a 'bookfnll blockhead,’ with
loads of learned lumber in his bend.’ He loved
nothing so well as to talk and Lit store of big
wards without meaning was imunnss. He found
Mildred a good listener: at least she did not in
terrupt him and he hud not penetration enough
to see that, oiteD while he discoursed learnedly,
as he imagined, her thoughts were ‘wool-gather
ing beyond his shuepfold.’
She went with Lim to ihe bank of this little
stream. Its clear waters shone like gold-tinged
crystal in the bright June sunlight. In a shady
little inlet was moored two light little shallops
that were soon unfastened and the picnic party
drifted out into the current and down towards
the lovely Falls of De Soto. Another time Mil
dred, the devotee of beauty—would have noted
lovingly the profusion of wild flowers, {Loop
ing grasses and ferns that clothed the banks,
and the rich-blossomed vine3 that festooned
the laural trees, but now percepton was
absorbed in feeling. Tc-day, Bhe knew was a
crisis in her life, and she only nodded and
smiled when the Profeeser called her attention
to that ‘bower of yellow jessamine’ or that clus
ter : zili-s. She was thinking c f another * pring-
time, when John Bradford had told her of his
love for her, of the pretty house he wished her
to share with him and the dear mother who
would be glad to call her daughter. Bat there
was another who called her daughter—a father,
old and infirm whose only joy and solace she
was. Mildred felt she oouid not let.ve him,
and though her heait thrilled ot! so keenly, at
the sweet thought of his love, the pressure of
his hand and the pleading look in his ©><.s, she
put the proffered onp from her lips: and told
him she could only be his friend - She would
say nothing that would give him a false hope,
or be the least fetter to his freedom. So he went
away, believing she did not love him, and she
took up her daily duties with a heart-hcavimss
none knew but herself. After awhile, he had
come back to the neighborhod but they met
only as friends,though how her lather was dead ;
Lad been dead two years, and she was alone.
Her hand skimmed along in the water and she
heeded not the ecstacy of the Protessor as he
spied some new phase of nature but dri-amed
of the past and dreaded the future. John did
not love her; how could he now admire her pale
quiet face, when it was eclipsed by Gay’s rich
p„auty—the olive skin, damask cheeks aad
flashing, mischievous eyes of the mountain
beile ? She roused herself as the boat grated on
the shore; even smiling on the profetsor as h
awkwardly tiied to assist her out of the rock
like a si’ver arrow through the narrow-cliff i They rode along the san; y 1 ,
bound valley, crowded, hurried, hurled against j around several terms and was - T , r.fd#
the grim o:d rocks; teaming, fretting, gliding I route than the way by tne wa .■ p
away, till lost in the recesses of bill and forest, sometime in silence, tnen John p
While she giizss on the gleaming, wreathing, | and how he loved her, asking Mi re .
marvel, Mildred forgets everything bat its her. "You are my dearest frien , a
beauty; the hollow roar dulls the aching of her | unburden my trouble to you. Miiare . .
heart. For awhile she stands looking on in ; know that she has a foolieu idea teat y
restful silence; then pa-sing on farther down , me?’ and he leaned forward to c •
the chasm the party reach the ruined remains j grey eyes. ‘I do,’ she said firmly, tua is, as
of an old wall, supposed to have been built by j friend,’ his heart gave one gr at throb, a r ron-
D - Soto, as a protection against the warlike sav- j lent wave of memory swept over him. > a
ag* s | did he love ? was it Mildred ? He di I not know.
•There are twe distinct walls,’ explained the j Mildred presently said in a quiet, sweet way.
Professor, ‘well defined and evidently hurriedly j -When am I to iell Gay that she is mistaken !^
vet his e\ e v>: s-upon her every action and h6 . ing boat; and entertaining her as they walked
was prompt to rebuke any act he deemed im- j along with sna oaes of botany, geography aid
prudent in her or towards her. bugology. Presently the low murmur of the
Gilminot had instructed me well in Indian j failing water came to tlem, louder^ came
characters and had warned me to be careful and I the murmur till it grew o a deep, steaay roar;
never to attempt any but a most respectful de- ! and they cams m sight oi ihe Fails, and she
portment towards the daughters of the red wiia j stood enthralled by the beauty tn t had never
men and especially towards Chalala. I had oc
casion to bb thankful for my forbearance upon
an occasion some two months alter our arrival.
There was a young Mexican, captive to the tribe
He had but little considers-
palled upon her—the changing, flushing, won
derful beauty of water hurled suddenly into mad
motion, A placid, glassy surface, caressed by
leaf shadows and water iillies suddenly dashed,
and churned, by a fail of twentyiive feet over a
when but a boy. — T ... . - , ., ,
ti on w jth the tribe, though be had been with j ragged ledge oi watei-worn rocks, -hen plunged
up the chase, but rode on down the ridge I was ! thfm for tea years. Chaleo and his daughter i into a chasm of eighty feet; down, into
upon. In half a mile turiher on, I saw the buf-j ghown him more kindness than any others j the waters of a stygian pool - Then on down,
fttlo stumble to his knees, recover, move a few i
put up, but just see th* advantage; bounded by j
almost impassible cliffs on three sides, com
manding a good spring, and even pasturage for
horses; with only this small neck to be guarded.
Doubt.ess maDy brave warriura have perished
ner«;’ and the I’rofsssor sits down on a portion
of the ruins to meditate, but bis attention was
soon attracted by piscss of flint, scattered over
the ground.
■Did I not say so,’ be exelaimed. ‘These flints
do no not belong lo the sand stone formation,
but have be*n carried her# from the flint de
posits of the surrounding valleys; how did th#y
get here ? ‘Tne Indians made their forts here,
many a noble red man,’ be continued eloquently;
Out Mildred did net heed, she had glided
away; aud was descending the cliff, examining
the delicate ferns, aud soft grass, threading her
way along some narrow l»dge until sh# resohed
the fissure in the rocks where traditisn relates
that the Indian chief:»n Guess invented the
Cherokee alphabet. H re he brooded in the
lonely, eagle's eyrie, listiaiug to th* sullen roar
of tue water, ths bowls of hungry wolves and
the booting of the owls or the ominous rattle of
a disturbed snake. Here be stayed six entire
moons, invoking tha Great Spirit that he might
arrange an alphabet and be at last succeeded.
Mildred glided over >.n almost footlsss lrdga,
wheie a miss rep would have 1 u Lei h«r ; n ! o th*
sp&ca beneath down in the eddying waters bui
she passed on hardly thinking of the dangur,
and gained another nici e. whe:« seating hurself,
hidden by rooks and flovreriug shrubs, she re-
mainad buried iu tbsught, until she w.'s roused
by tho sound of voices below her. The silence
of the calm sweet c'ay was so intense that tho
voicesjfloated up to her quite audibly, and, her
heart gave a quick bouud as she rsoognizsd th#
voice of John Bradford; and the swaet, si.vary
actentsof Gay Maybrook.
"Wny will you not believe that I iovo you my
darling-love you better than ail ths world be
side ?’ were the first words she dis.inguished.
•AU the world but Mildre.V she interrupted
teisiugly. ‘Don't say you donL love Mildred.’
‘I thought I loved her once, lsut now; 1 find
I did not know my own heart Dan‘t jest Gay;
listen to me. Do you love ma ? say, that on*
little word, yes.’
•No’, she answered growing very serious, ‘not
until I know that Mildred do«s not lov* yon.
not until I know that for me to d« happy in
your live, will not ruin the happiness of ray
dearest friend.’
‘Mildred does not love me’, he pleaded, ‘nor
do you either.’
Y s, yes I do’, she exclaims impetuously,
•but I am Mildred's friend; ana she is so much
worthier thau I am, and I have always believed
that she Kv-wi you. I must hear that she does
not from her lips.’
'You shall hear it—this very day’, he said.’
And then they passed on. Mildred had heard
all this, listening with a white, quiet face taat
gave no sign. Now she smiles in a fitful ws.y
She tries to tell herself that she doss not mind,
that sue will soon get over the little disappoint
ment; aad pick np tha thread of her old life,
aad be content with duty and friendship.
CisnohiDg her bauds tightly, she steeled her
nerves; then crept around the ledge, looking
down the d ; zzy height sha almost wished she
could fall; dreamily she scaled the rocky path
way and sought the rest of the party.’
Gay had sauntered eff with the Professor on
a hunt for a perfect monkey-cap, which he in-
wished to preserve as a speciman. John vat
standing watching the rainbow mist above th*
Falls. Mildred helped the girls spread a dain>y
yet subs an i»l lunch upon a broad able of
mossy re ok, hanger soon reoalled the vaadereis,
ail merry and talkative and none notioiug Mil
dred’s pale, wialfui fees only Gay came to her
and threw her arm around her, and asked her if
she was sick.
•No’, said Mildred, ‘only a headache.’
After resting awhile the party descended into
the basin, where the water fails down a slimy
circuitous path over gnarled roots, down rocky
ladders, winding around irsurmouotabla rocks;
down into the bottom of the chssm. Looking
up on either side,the view was piotnrssqie, the
continuous wall of groy cliff mosaiced with
moss aud lichens, looked like the walls of some
ruin covered with masses of laurel, and rbo-
dodendous, whose showy flowers are sheathed
in its giesay green leaves. Beyond the stygian
pool, whose depths are catlea unfathomable, and
just back of themain FaP.is an excavation where
some restless spirit sought silver; sought, but
did not find. Then they oaudously climbed
over the slippery recks, and ascended a bold
rock that projects over the bla-ck pool. Mildred
climbed this and threw pebbles into the water
watching the rings that broaden in to ripples,
and at last lave the shore. Here, even in June,
the air is almost chilly, filled as it is with tbe
filling mist. Mildred sits on this promontory
like a }ale Undine lis.ening to tbe ceaseless
plash of the water.
Tbe sun sank lower, and lower in the west;
and tbe party at lust bade adieu to the basin,
and ascended the tiresome cliff.
Gay strayed from the rest and descended a
steep" cliff to gather some rare ferns but the
guide hastily called her back aDd then related
how maDy yeats ago; before Lookout mountain
was much settled, a party of young people cam#
to see the Falot, aLd one among th* rest, a car
ing young lady, ‘and, she was mighty pretty
too,’he said; looking at Gay, descended that
very cliff, but; she could Dot climb back, so the
rest tied their silk handkerchiefs together, and
formed a rope then climbing down as far as pos
sible threw it to her, aud drew her up. While
passing a point of sharp rocks; the improvised
rope was nearly severed, but she got up safely
at last.
After reaching the top, a few paused an in
stant and watched the sunset splendors, re
flected in prismatic color* in the west
‘There,’ said John Bradford, pointing to a
certain place, ‘is where during the w»r a yankee
spy, when pursued by soldiers; rather thau sur
render spurred his horEe to thebrink.and leaped
over into the pool, and nothing has been seen
of either horse or rider since,’
Mildred had lingered behind the others. Sh*
'To-nigbtj, if you please—dear friend , to
night as we pass the bridge. Sh6 will have
reached home before us and she will come to
meet us.’
But still his voioe trembled, and still be looked
longingly into Mildred s sweet face. It would
have taken but a word to call up the old levs
with a strength that would overpower the new.
Bat a# he watohed her face, he saw no sign of
emotion, ’She does not love me,’ he thought
and they rode on quietly, almcst silently, for
Mildred was nerving herself for her ta«k.
She almost faltered as she caught the wistful,
inquiring look of the ejes she loved so well.
But she steeled her heart. They approached the
bridge, its rustic arch looked picturesque in the
twilight; and there, standing upon it, her white
dress gleaming spirii-like in the gloaming
stood Gay.
Mildred sprang from the saddle. ‘I prefer
walking,’ she said, apologetically.
So John demounted, leading her horse, while
hi* own followed them. They drew near G-v,
who 0*016 shyly to meet ihem and linking her
arm in Mildred's they walked across aud stood
on the end of the bridge, va'.ohing tbe moon
light glanoe on tbe water; while John fattened
the horses, then came back and stood bt-sido
Gav.
Vfiti one great effort, Mildred caught her
hand and placing it in Ids, ssid she hoped they
would ba happy, t loved them oth
sister, and than sheelipp 1 w.-... ia*i
leaving their. :.!os--; standing in a flood of
moonlight. ‘That, is a tok< n of their lives,’ she
sighed, ‘their's bright, and mine, dark, and
shadowed.'
In September there was s grand wedding at
Oakdale, and Gay was the blushing bride; the
guests said it was the moat elegant nffeir that
had ever taken place on the grand old moun- .
Uin. Joiin oertainly looked ail that a bride
groom should. Mildred was not thar* - ks sho
was just recovering Irom an illuesi that bad
throatensd her life. That day hsd bsea too
much for her. Nature rebelled against the
strain put upon it, and reacted in a nervous
fever. But Mildred has quite tecovered. She
leoks almost the same, only graver and quieter.
And she is more zealous in tbs performance of
her duty than ever, aud kinder aud more charit
able to others, for Love and Sorrow have
{Taken np the harp of life
And smote all its chords with might,
Smote the chord of self that sighing
Passed in music out of sight.’
Russian Women Roctors.
Russia, though the last government to permit
women to study medicine, was the first to ( fli-
oially invite them to professional service in tbe
field. In tbe late Turko-Rnssian war—the fir-st
Russian war in which only Russian doctors were
employed—female physicians cheerfully per
formed the duties assigned to them. The first
commencement of the St. Petersburg medi al
oollege for women, tbe only institution of the
kind iu Russia, took plaoa during the war, and
ihe students of tho ia9t (.fifth) course, were put
on tbe field of unty before they had passed the
fiual examination. Of fifty-eight women of the
graduating class, twenty-four agreed to go to
the scene of action in Turkey, where they were
distributed in different hospitals as junior as
sistant surgeons, just like the male students of
tbe graduating c’ass.
In order to show what they had to do, we
quote from a letter of one of the ladies attached
to the hospital near Plevna, the principal hos
pital for wounded men: ‘We settled,’she says,
‘in a village, living in the poor shanties, half
tilled with corn, oats or barley, and destitute of
the comforts of civilized life. We had no beds
and slept on the matting laid upon tbe earthen
floor. Tnere was no glass in tbe windows, and
so we were exposed to the winds and rain. We
bad the most friendly relations with the Bulga
rians, whose language wo could easily under
stand. In the night of the twenty-sixth of Au
gust we were awakened by the thundering of
cannons, the beginning of the battle of Plevna,
and it incieasea till the roar was continuous.
Numerous w*>gon loads of wounded Soldiers
soon made the:r appearacce. I am unable to
describe the impression made on me by the
sight of several thousand maimed victims; but
the scene will remain forever in my memory.
While helping obb of the poor feliews, hundreds
are waiting for yon; and at last, in extreme ex
haustion, you become conscious of your inabil
ity to help any more; but j oon again your ener
gies are excited anew. We could find rest for
only three or four hours out of the twenty-four.
We had but 630 beds, and there were about. 7000
wounded. Oar staff of twenty doctors were di
vided into three groups. Gue group operated,
tbe other dressed the wounds, the third applied
the Paris plaster bandages; end this last work
is th# most difficult of all, I applied ov*r two
hundred of those bandages. Twice thecz*r vis
ited our hospital, distributed crosses, and tried
to oheer up tue patients. He thanked the lady
doctors for their services. In the hospital we
performed the same duties as our maaculiae
colleagues; we diagnosed, operated, classified
the patients, gave prescriptions, and issued the
hospital orders. Ia the other hospitals similar
duties were performed by our mates,’
The successful work of the Russian female
doctors during the war, overcame the opposi
tion of the most obstinate professional oppo
nents to feaaalv medical education. The czir
himselt was witness of the fall ability of the
wamen to perform the dootor’s duty under the
most trying circumstances.
The St. Petersburg medical college for wo
men, was established in 1872 Its programme
is the same as that cf tbe male medical colleges.
Women must be graduates of seme literary col
lege, must pass a preliminary examination, and
must btudy medicine (in the college) during
five years. Then they pass the fiual examina
tion, and, if successful, receive the diploma.
Even this, however, doe3 not entitle them to the
degree of M. D., to secure which they must
sufcsjquentiy write an original thesis on some
medical subject, and pass a epscial, an enlarged
and a more severe ex-.mination. Last year there
felt she could hardly bear the grating tone* and i were over 450 women in the St. Petersburg fe-
loEg-winded proaiDg of the Professor in her | male medical college, and over fifty had passed
present mood
•Mildred.’
‘How the voice thrilled her. She started,
flashing deeply as she mw herself alone with
John Bradford.
‘The rest of the party are ^ine, will you ride
baok with me ?’ he said leading the horse up
for her.
‘I would rather go in the boat, it is much
pleasanter by moonlight,’ she managed to say.
‘Is my company so very disagreeable to you
that you cannot bear me even for a short ride?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said trying to laugh. ‘He
has arranged this with Gay,’ was her thought,
‘He will tell me that she insists on hearing from
my own lips that I do not care for him.’
the final examination
We would suggest for early spring and also
for country wear, ihe French and India cash
meres beigiee. They are in usually fine pro
ductions in the palest c:eam and corn, and dark
Drown, black end g;-rnet. The cashmeres are of
double width from $2 to $3 per yard, aad the
beigiee of single width from 28 cents upwards.
Free ch bunting will be worn and black is pre
ferred in color. Very nice quality can be bought
for twenty-five cents per yard. The former cost
was forty cents per yard.
The saddest time, in a young man’s life is when
his girl writes to himhe wants her old letters, and
tha t he can have h.s lilly-cent earrings upon appli
cation.