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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.