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f • MSP *r *** OUR COUNTRY. One oonntry—beantlfnl an one From sea to mountain cloees, The southland daisies seek the sun That rims New England’s roses. The same undarkened lights of God Rhine on us from the skylands, And color every breathing clod From lowland vales to highlands. One country! and her Bag unfurled On heights of high endeavor Is like a garland round a world Where Freedom lives forever. Hall to that country! Strong she stands For loyal hearts that love her. With Freedom’s falchion in her hands And Freedom’s flag above her. — F. L. S., In Boston Press Club Souvenir. thrust my revolver, my penknife, and, Httle bag oi I Saved From Death by Chilkat Maiden. i ni n Pi m A 1RTHUR JORDAN, hunter, trapper, miner and Klondike guide, has played the role of John Smith, while Poca hontas was imper sonated by Annota, a beautiful maiden iyWfr i**'*** ^ of the tribe of Chil- ' kat Indians, says the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Like John Smith, Mr. Jordan is an English man. While on a hunting expedition in British Columbia just ten years ago he was captured by the Chilkat Indi ans on Skeena River, on the old Tele graph trail to the Yukon gold regions. He was subjected to many cruel tor tures, but an Indian maiden who fell in love with him planned his escape, and to her skill and strategy he owes his life. Not only did she save his life, but she saved a buckskin bag of gold dust worth $6000. In truth, John Smith’s experience with Chief Powhatan in Old Virginia is not “in it” when Arthur Jordan’s tale of love and adventure with the Chilkat Indians in the frozen north is told. So let the bold hnnter tell his own story in his own way. “Twenty years ago I was a lad of sixteen summers, living with my fath er, who is proprietor of the Jordan iron works, in Bristol, England, and I ray away from home and came to America," began Mr. Jordan, as he sat in a quiet corner of the corridor of the Laclede Hotel, and narrated his experiences to a Globe-Democrat man. Jordan was attired in a common black suit of clothes, with black slouch hat, but wore high-topped boots of yellow tanned leather that Jaced up to the knees. They are the boots worn by all the minors of the west. Mr. Jor dan is of medium height, and of strong build, and his ruddy cheeks are bronzed by years of exposure. “I have spent tiiteen years in hunt ing and trapping, and occasionally of 1885 I was at the head of Stewar Stewart river, 250 miles east of the spot where Dawson City now stands. My sole companion was a Chilkat Indian of the name of Seeta. We had a cayuse apiece to ride, and we slept in a tepee made of caribou skins. At the head of the Stewart river are three small lakes locked in the mountains, and as we saW some color on the surface there we pitched our topee and made some washings for gold. We had only one gold pan, but with the additional use of a frying pan’ the Indian and I washed out $6600 worth of gold dnst. We remained in that region until 1888, and had fine sport in bear hunt ing. When we left we crossed the sources of the Pelly and Liard rivers, and pushed on to Lake Telsa, 150 miles northeast of Dyea. “By the summer of 1888 we had come as far south as the Skeena river. The Chilkat Indians at the time were in an uprising against the white hunters, but I knew nothing abont it. One line afternoon Seeta and I rode into a beautiful valley that lay be tween two tall mountain peaks. I was admiring fbe scenery, as nature was there displayed in all her rugged and primitive beauty. Suddenly Seeta, whose Indian mind was keen and alert, called my attention to the fact that wo were nearing a Chilkat Indian village. I was congratulating myself on this fact, as I was glad to reach even an Indian village after three years spent with only one Indian companion in the mountains and plains to the north. I was contemplating a friendly greet ing at the village as an Indian deg barked savagely at my coming. Sud denly a half dozen stalwart Indian bucks darted from the brush at either aide of the trail and covered Seeta and mo with their muskets. Of conrso, discretion told me to make no resistance. It was only a moment until the bucks had disarmed Seeta and me, and had taken our ponies. Then, as they led us into the Indian village, we fully realized that the episode meant our captnre. “There were abont 300 Chilkat braves and squaws in the village. They were in their war paint, and had been giving war dances. As Seeta could apeak the Chilkat language, and as I could understand some of it, I learned for the first time that the tribe were in fighting humor because the pale faces had poached on their hunting grounds. The Indians treated Seeta and me with great courtesy and good will for one week, although they kept us under guard constantly. Then onr tortures began. They tied our hands and feet with thongs of buckskin and pegged us to the ground, flat on our backs. The thongs were drawn so tightly around my wrists and ankles that they sank into tho flesh and in terfered with the circulation of tho blood, and I suffered the most excru ciating agony. Every night Seeta and I were tied down in this manner, and a strong guard kept over us by two or three young bucks. While I was lying thus flat on my back, and unable to move, the Indians threw mnd in my face and walked over me. “After I had been tied down every night for six weeks, then I was doomed to a new form of torture. One morning after I had been un pegged from the ground tjje Indians held a war dance around mo. Then they tied a buckskin lariat around one of my ankles and fastened a soft car ibou robe over the back of my head and shoulders. A big buck mounted a pony, with the lariat in his hands, and started over the rough ground at a lively gallop, and I was dragged be hind as if I was a captured fox used in making a trail for a pack of yonng hounds. The Indians had tied the caribon robe on my head to prevent my sknll from being fractured and my brains from being knocked ont. to my surprise, the little bag of gold dust into my pockets. She hastily in formed me that two saddled and bridled ponies were in waiting. She cat the thongs that bonnd me, and then cut the thongs that bonnd Seeta. The night was inky black and deathly still. The village was asleep and the silence was only broken now and then by the howling of a woods wolf that was Im-king in the timber. Annota said she did not know exactly where the Indian guard was, but that he was in the brush near by, and that we would have to proceed very quietly. She led the way, crawling on her hands and knees, and Seeta and I fol lowed in the same way across the green, sward, and we did not rise to our feet until we reached the brush. Then Annota led uf quickly to the ponies. Just as I was throwing my right leg over the saddle of my pony I heard the click of a musket, for the sound was a familiar one to ifie. The Chilkat Indian always aims to shoot a man in the stomach. They have old- fashioned muskets that fire but once, FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. SOME GOOD STORIES FOR OUR JUNIOR READERS. “reddle," the Story of a Boy With an Abnormal Appetite tor Sweetmeat* and Other Dainties—A Variety of Inter esting Sketches tor Juveniles. Oh, I tell you, those Chilkats are devils! ‘ ‘Of course, I had not been dragged over the ground but a short distance until I was knocked insensible. When I regained consciousness it was late at night. I was flat on my back, pegged down, and I was weak and faint. A beautiful young Chil kat girl, not over seventeen years old, was crouching near me. She whis pered in broken English, and in formed me that she would try to ar range a plan for Seeta and me to es cape. She said that the Indians had considered me almost dead, and for that reason only one bnck had been detailed to guard me that night, and he had crawhad into the brash to , sleep. She told me to ‘play sick,’ *o ’thit the vigilakice Of tt# hlgbf' gbar '* would be r^aied. She said that she had bitterly dehounced me in camp in order to ward off any suspicion that she might aid me. In her simple way she expressed great love for me, and said^ she wanted me to escape, and that when the Indians quit the war path and peace was restored I could return and marry her. Of course, under the circumstances I could not protest against even an Indian maiden popping the question to mo, and I made a marriage engagement then and there in a hasty acquiesonce to her proposition. By this time my head was aching, from the bruises, and tho fever was making me suffer from thirst. I asked the Indian girl for a drink of water. She crawled away quietly on her hands and knees in the dark, for discovery would have meant death. In due time she re turned in the same way and brought me a leather pouch full of water. She had carried the pouch by a string around her neck. Before she left for the night she kissed me, and said that her name was ‘Annota.’ How appro priate! The name means ‘laughing rill.’ “The next day I was very sore from my bruises, and I did not have to do much acting to ‘play sick.’ But when tho Indians unpegged me from the ground I pretended to be too weak to walk but a short distance. I was pegged to the ground again for ten nights in succession, and so was Seeta alongside of me. I played sick. Every night Annota came on her hands and knees and brought ex tra food to mo when the guard had walked to some other part of the vil lage. She told me she was a nicco of the Chilkat chief. “One night she informed iuq that I was to be killed one week from that day, but that the braves in their coun cil had not decided by what form of torture they would kill me. Then Annota informed me that, if possible, she would have two of the fleetest ponies in the camp saddled and bridled and tied in a secret place in the brush the next night, and that Seeta and I must try and make onr escape. I told her that on the day I was captnred, and while being led into the village had thrown a bnckskin bagful of gold dnst into the thick brush at a certain place beside the trail and that I had not been detected in doing so. I told Annota that if she could find this bag of gold she could keep it for the as sistance she had given me. “At 10 o’clock the next night An nota, true to her word, crawled quiet ly to me on her hands and knees anc and they load them with buckshot. I threw myself on the other side of the pony just in time to catch three back shot in my right thigh when the In dian guard fired. I rushed toward him and fired three shots from my re volver, and he fell dead.| “Now came the flight, and I shall never forget it. Annota astride the pony and I behind her, and she led the way along a secret trail. Seeta followed on his pony. The sound of 1 the revolver and musket shots aroused the whole village, and the Indian dogs were howling, and there was great commotion. Annota had prepared for the flight by quietly stampeding all the ponies of the village earlier in the night so that they would run to a pasture some distance away. By this trick the Indians ceuld not get their ponies immediately, and we had a good start. Annota led the way along a trail straight up a sloping mountain 2000 feet high, until we stopped on a level platean on the backbone of the ridge. The regular Indian trail was around tho bottom of the bluff, and by going up the side of the mountain to the top we eluded our pursuers. Once on top of the mountain .Annota kissed me good- b^, and said I mnst come back and find her again. She said she would have to work her way back to the camp again quickly, before her absence was discovered. “Seeta and I rode along the top of the mountain all night. At daybreak we looked down and saw the Indians following the other trail in the valley below. They followed us for three days, and then we saw them return in disgust. The buSkshot made my leg swell and the pain and fever ’was severe. The sec oat the shot wit v tad# “ wasni ed my and then made a sara bark and ti with a part of my shirt, reduced tho fever and night I picked enknife Annota ad I n snow water, Itice of wild bal around my leg The balsam swelling. couldn’t bear any weight on the lame leg. I traveled for one week and went down into the valley on the other side of the mountain, 125 miles from where I was captured, and there Seeta and I found a lodge of friendly Chile- colin Indians and an old olutchman (squaw) nursed me a short time. Seeta left me here. I finally rode my pony to Fraser river, and was nursed by a French trader at Lillooet, a small mining town, and then I rode to Lytton, on the Canadian Pacific railroad, and took, a train for Van couver, B. C., where I first found a doctor, one month after I had been shot. I then went to San Francisco and spent the winter there, and spent the $6000 of gold dust that Annota had saved for me in seeing the ‘ele phant.’ I never saw or heard of An- nota from the night she kissed me good-bye on that mountain top. “I went back to the Pelly river country in 1890, and brought ou* $15,000 in gold dust and $300 worth of furs and buckskin. I sold them in Vancouver. While there I met by chance Miss Clara Collins, whom I had known back in old England when she was a little girl. She was living in Vancouver with her parents. To make a long story short, Miss Collins jecame my wife, and she is to-day visit ing her parents, who are now living iu Springfield, Mass.” Boxing a Bride’s Ear. In Lithunia, a province of Russia, it is customary that the bride’s ear» should be boxed before the marriage ceremony. No matter how tender hearted the mother may be, she al ways makes it a point of administer ing a hearty smack to her daughter in the presence of witnesses, and a note is made of the fact. The mother’s in tention is a kind one, though the cus tom itself is bad! The reason for it is to protect the bride should her mar riage prove an unhappy one. In that case she will sue for a divorce, and her plea will be that she was forced into the marriage against her will, and on that score the verdict of the judge will be in her favor. Hon Buffalo BUI Got HU Name. William Frederick Cody earned the title of “Buffalo Bill” by killing 4280 buffaloes iu eighteen months. This slaughter was to supply meat for the laborers who were constructing a rail road in Western Kansas. •“reddle." There is a small boy on our street, distinguished by the name of Teddie. If you have not met him—although it is probable that you have, for he is to be seen at all hours—let me say that he Is about five years old, with dark red hair, that invariably hangs over his big black eyes, a tough, chunky little body, supported by two nobby little legs, and having a rather solemn, important air. It is not often that he condescends to smile. Now this little fellow, like others of his age, seems to possess an enormous capacity for sweetmeats, which is sel dom, If ever, satisfied, and the many ways in which he schemes to get a stick of candy are wonderful indeed. One day last spring I heard a pro longed knocking at the back door, and went to answer it. All I could see at first was a battered, old brown derby and a broom about twice the height of it8 owner, whom I found to be Ted die, when the black eyes were turned up to mine. He wanted to know If I didn’t have a job to give him—sweeping oft the sidewalk, or something like that. I must confess I was weak enough to give him a nickel for one or two weak dabs at the back stairs. In all kinds of weather Teddie is abroad. He cannot be kept at home. When it rains, no matter how hard, you will find him sitting very serenely on the curbstone, paddling in the water. The gutter, by the way, is his favorite playground—his habitat, one might almost say. I asked him once if he were not afraid he would get wet. He replied in a deliberate, philo sophical manner that he didn’t see how he could because he had on his rubbers. He seemed to think they would protect his whole body. And on days when we older people hurry along, holding our ears and frantically stamping our feet, you may see Teddie tumbling around on a snowdrift, a round bundle of animated warmth. Teddie is a sore trial to his mother in many ways. He delights to walk under the very horses’ nosea, and when the coachmen ^wear at him he walks on at his usual slow pace, not in the least perturbed. But he evidently en joys the excitement. There are a few other habits, also, which cause his mother a great deal of mortification. One muddy day there was a great pool of water in front of the grocery on the corner. Outside the door was a stand of new brooms. Teddie took as many as his 'short, fat arms could carry and amus ed himself swishing them back and forth in the dirty water until he was discovered by a clerk, who put an ^nd to the proceedings. That same grocery has cause to re member him for another reason. One day as I turned the corner, I came upon Teddie carrying a good-sized pa per box. He was rather startled when he saw me and let the box drop. Out rolled some link sausage! Oh-h-h!” he said, “won’t you help me carry these home?” “No, indeed,” I declined, “and* you’d better take that box back where you got it just as quick as you can.” But disregarding my advice, he be gan to pull them out o*. the box, and as I did not care to be considered an accomplice in the theft, the last I saw of him he was dragging the long chain of link sausage along the street. He is an inveterate little beggar, and I suppose he should not be en couraged, but he is so refreshing that I cannot help it. Last week I met him, and he, knowing my weakness, inquir ed, “You got a penny for me this day?” For the sake of diversion, I slipped It down his back. Jump as he might he could not shake it out. As I went in tho house I saw him still dancing a Jig on the opposite sidewalk. About an hour afterward I chanced to go out and there was Teddie in his usual place, the gutter. “Well,” I said, “did you get your penny?” I thought his face looked as if he had. “Yes,” he answered; “I took off all my does.” He bent over to give a chip a shove down the muddy current, but I noticed that he found difficulty in doing so. "Teddie,” I said, “what on earth is the matter with your clothes? Stand up!” I certainly wished for a camera. The little rascal had put on his trousers hind part before! A. R. C. Parson tlaven’s Victory. One of the most beautiful and thrill ing narratives of James Havens, the original of the “fighting Parson Ma- gruder,” who figures in Mr. Edward Eggleston's “Circuit Rider,” was re lated at a recent conference, says the Youth’s Companion, by an old com panion of Rev. Mr. Havens. While still a young man. Havens was once eating his breakfast at the cabin of an old couple in a thinly-set tled region, when the doorway was suddenly darkened by a big and ruf fianly-looking man, who demanded: “Be you Havens, the fighting preach er?” “My name is Havens, and I am preacher,” said the circuit rider. "Well, I reckon you’d better | through your breakfast right sma for I’m goin’ to give you a good thraa In’.” “Well,” returned Havens, “I don’t i member to have seen you before, ai if I’ve ever crossed your track, It w; tecause you were up to some mischi that called for discipline.” “Hey? You pushed me over a hi* bank, an’ I got my face scratched u I’ve been lookin’ for you some tlm an’ now I’m goin’ to lam you. “Very well, come with me down i the hollow,” said Havens, “and you’re determined to thrash me, I’ give you a chance. But let us get wa away from this cabin, where these ol people won’t have to see or witness th trouble.” The preacher started out with th ruffian down toward the woods. The; went part of the way in silence,- th ruffian now and then glancing at th preacher, and seeing no sign either o fear or bravado in him. Presently thi man said: “See here, Havens, you’d better g» back. I’m a hard fighter, and I’ll bur you, bad.” “Oh, no,” said the preacher; “if yoi want to fight, you’d better not stop or my account.” They went on, and reached the se clusion of the hollow. When they gol there, the ruffian said: “Let’s turn round, elder. I tell you, I’m a pretty mean man!” “Well, let’s sit down here a minute.” Havens led the way to a log, and both sat down on it. Then, with a little talk, the preacher drew from the fel low a confession of the wild life he had« led, and spoke comforting words to him. In a little while both men were on their knees, with faces bowed upon the log, and the woods resounded with prayer such as few but this pio neer exhorter could offer. The old people back at the cabin heard it, and knew what turn the “fight” had taken. They came down and joined the “meeting,” and before long the fighter was one of Haven’s most promising converts. An Airy This nautical windmill pumps water from the Bronx river into a WUliama- bridge (N. Y.) farmhouse. The foirr sloops are directly at the sport of the winds, built and rigged. They fill, jib and tack as they swing around the circle, often making great speed. The Bighop’ii Joke. Bishop Short, who held the see of St. Asaph, occasionally put questions to candidates for ordination that ap parently had no connection with the discharge of the parochial duties. One such question was, “Which has the greatest number of legs—cat or no cat?” As might be expected, this created a titter, but the bishop re peated the question, and desired some one to solve the problem. At last ono of the candidates, smiling, said: “I should think, my lord, a cat.” “No,” retorted the bishop, ’’there you are wrong, for a cat has four legs and no cat has five.” Setting the World Itlght. Holiness is the supreme attribute of deity. Justice and judgment are the foundations of God’s throne. His love and mercy cannot be exercised at the expense of His holiness and justice. Holiness is also the supreme element in human character, for without holi ness no man shall see the Lord. The noblest faculty of the human soul is the faculty which discriminates be tween right and wrong, indignantly disapproving the wrong and fervently approving the right. The man whose indignation does not burn against wrong-doing and whose admiration i» not kindled by the courageous defense of right has lost his manhood. The Half-Starved Boarder*. Manager (dime museum)—I want you to make a tour of the boarding houses of the town. Assistant—What for? Manager—Our living skeleton is dying, and we’ve got to get a man to take his place.—Judge. ■ MMmiriipiiuiijii ■nNMttHNBSHMNOHMI