book, entitled "My Life on the Plains," published in 1876, he said of the Indian, "Civilization may aid, should do much for him, but it can never civilize him. A few instances to the contrary may be quoted, but these are susceptible of explanation. No tribe enjoying its accustomed freedom has ever been induced to adopt a civilized mode of life, or, as they express it, 'to follow the white man's road.' At various times certain tribes have forsaken the pleasures of the chase and the excitement of the war-path for the more quiet life to be found in the reservation. Was this course adopted voluntarily and from preference? Was it because the Indian chose the ways of his white brother rather than those in which he had been born and bred? In no single instance has this been true."

After expressing a most decided opinion in favor of the transfer of the Indian supervision to the War Department, where it properly belongs, he continues thus: "Why this determined opposition to any interference in the management of the Indians? I remember making this inquiry years ago, and the answer then, which is equally applicable now, was, 'There is too much money in the Indian question to allow it to pass into other hands.' This I believe to be the true solution of our difficulties with the Indians at the present day. It seems almost incredible that a policy which is claimed and represented to be based on sympathy for the red man and a desire to secure him his rights, is shaped in reality and manipulated behind the scenes with the distinct and sole object of reaping a rich harvest by plundering both the government and the Indians. To do away with the vast army of agents, traders, and civilian employés, which is a necessary appendage to the civilian policy, would be to deprive many members of Congress of the patronage which they now enjoy. There are few, if any, more comfortable or desirable places for disposing of a friend who has rendered valuable political services or election aid than to secure him the appointment of Indian agent. The salary of an agent

is comparatively small. Men without means, however, eagerly accept the position, and in a few years at farthest they almost invariably retire in wealth."

Then follows what I know to be a truthful description of the manner in which the government and the Indians are defrauded by a combination between the agent and the post-trader, cleverly concealed by an inimitable system of book-keeping and vouchers. That our prodigal government should be cheated is a matter of small account; that the Indians should be cheated is certainly somewhat more deplorable, so far as they are concerned; but that these thieving agents, on the one hand, and white men bordering on the reservations and eager to possess whatever lands of value they may contain, on the other, should become the almost invariable cause of Indian insurrections, in one of which the gallant officer whose words I have just quoted became a sacrifice to their cupidity, is an unspeakable atrocity, emanating in part from a corrupt government, and in part from the influence of pseudophilanthropical quacks.

Colonel Parker, himself an Indian, and a rare exception in intelligence, fully agrees with General Custer, and says; "Agents appointed from civil life have generally been provided to protect their lives and property, and to attend to the prompt and faithful observances of treaty stipulations. But as the hardy pioneer and adventurous miner advanced into the inhospitable regions occupied by the Indians, in search of the precious metals, they found no rights possessed by the Indians that they were bound to respect. The faith of treaties solemnly entered into was totally disregarded, and Indian territory wantonly violated. Retaliation generally followed, and bloody Indian wars have been the consequence, costing many lives and much treasure. In all troubles ensuing in this manner the agents have been totally powerless to avert the consequences, and when too late the military have been called in to protect the whites and punish the Indians, when, if in the beginning the military had had the supervision of the

Indians, their rights would not have been improperly molested, or, if disturbed in their quietude by any lawless whites, a prompt and summary check to any further aggression could have been given." Colonel Parker adds, "Civil officers are not generally respected by the tribes, but they fear and regard the military, and will submit to their counsels, advice, and dictation when they would not listen to a civil agent."

I have quoted largely from this unimpeachable testimony to corroborate the opinions already expressed. I scarcely dare to hope that the appeal to reason and common sense will avail with those who have the control of Indian affairs; but I may express an earnest wish that if our present system continues, its worst features may be softened. What, for instance, can be more cruel and unreasonable than to turn the Indian adrift to hunt for a living, and at the same time to deprive him of the means of hunting? It will not do, it is said, to place in his hands the means of killing men as well as killing buffalo and deer. Perhaps not. But then why not allow him muzzle-loading guns and percussioncaps, with which in modern warfare he cannot do much harm? Or give him at

least a gun with an old-fashioned flintlock. Give him something beyond a bow and arrows to kill his game. Do not force him to be a farmer against his will. The Indian thinks that labor is degrading; white men maintain that it is ennobling, but I have observed that those who prate most in this style speak for the men they employ rather than for themselves. The Indian may be very wrong in his estimate of the question, but none the less does compulsion stir up rebellious feelings within him. Our object, after all, is to protect ourselves, not to protect him.

Do what we will, the extinction of the race is only a matter of time,—a short time at that. We have possessed ourselves of their land, and we should let them down into their graves as quietly as possible. While they live, let us feed and clothe them, and they will be too grateful to complain. The people of these Territories have millions of acres of unoccupied land, and if government will do its duty they can afford to do theirs,-to wait patiently until the Indians disappear, and they become possessors of the pitiful residue of their inheritance.

JOHN CODMAN.

YE

IT

T was in Paris we first met Kate Allison,-Aunt Grace and I. We were in one of those little shops where they pretend to speak English,-and don't, and were wrestling with the difficulty of making the polite clerk understand that a cap aunt had just bought must be changed to suit her taste. For plain bargains my scraps of French usually sufficed; but now they seemed of no use whatever, and I had just said that I thought we must leave it and come again when the English clerk was really in,-if he ever was,-when a voice at aunt's elbow said, "Can I help you any, madam ?"

saw.

We both turned at the familiar American accent, and there stood a slender girl with the loveliest brown eyes I ever She had just come in; she had seen the situation at a glance, and, like a good countrywoman, she came to the rescue. Of course then we were very glad to let her explain, and it turned out that she could chatter as fast as the clerk; and when we thanked her she smiled enchantingly, and declared that she was only too glad of the practice; and if we wanted anything more

Aunt looked her over, a little startled at this frank offer of help; but the face under the shadow of a picturesque Rembrandt was too honest and childlike for us to suspect collusion with the shopkeeper, and it ended in her going with us to the Magasin du Louvre for a delightful morning of shopping. And when we parted we felt quite like friends; though after we came to think it over we rather wondered at ourselves for being so carried away. It isn't the fashion of the Spragues, you know; but the exact truth is that we were both rather unhappy in Paris for lack of a tongue. We had come over the autumn before, and spent a dreary winter in England; and we had not been much happier on the Continent since to be quite truthful, we were a pair of innocents abroad.

At

least we cared enough for our new acquaintance to go next day to see her in her quaint French home, overlooking the Luxembourg gardens, and so high up that one felt like a bird when one got there, and wished to be one in climbing the long flights. She served us tea in the pretty English fashion that had already won aunt's heart, and told us about herself and her family in the impulsive way Americans do tell each other things when they meet abroad. They feel a little reckless, seeing that they are never likely to meet afterward, and gossip doesn't seem gossip when the people are three thousand miles off. She was from the West, and she had been in Paris nearly a year, studying. She lived in a family because it was pleasanter for a young girl alone, and she practised on everybody, from the professor, who was head of the house and who gave her lessons, to five-year-old Victorienne, to whom she told fairy-stories. She meant to go to Italy if she could find company, and in September she must go home. For she had promised her grandfather not to stay beyond that time, and indeed she couldn't afford it.

And it all ended-not to go over our trip to Versailles together, and various other meetings-in our asking her to go with us to Italy. We wanted an interpreter, and she wanted a chaperone, and the more we saw of her the better we liked her. Have I said that she was pretty?-lovely dark eyes, with darker lashes, a peach-bloom complexion, and curly hair just tied at the back and slipping into little rings all about her face and neck; small, but yet not at all a baby-girl. She had more force in her little finger than some big women have in their whole body; and she was quite able to manage for herself, and yet didn't abuse her independence to do audacious things. Or, if she did, when it seemed really necessary, she carried them off so quietly that you never thought of

them as such. She told us of her once frightening away a burglar at midnight by flourishing her brother's pistol at him.

"Dear me!" aunt said. "I should have thought you would have been afraid the thing would go off and kill I'm sure I should."

you.

"I didn't think of anything just then," Kate answered, "except that mamma was sick, and a fright might kill her, and there wasn't a man about the house. And, besides," coming down from her heroics, "I knew it wasn't loaded. Mark wanted me to bring that pistol abroad," she went on, laughing. "He made me learn to load and fire,-I never hit anything, of course, and so he thought it might be useful if I had to travel alone. Fancy the absurdity! But I did wish for it once."

"When was that?" I asked, as she paused and grew thoughtful. For, though she was past twenty-one, she didn't look over eighteen, and we had wondered at the folly of her friends in letting her be here alone, and speculated as to possible adventures she might have had.

"Last fall, coming up to Paris from Calais. You know I told you I came abroad with Mrs. Gray; and we had a lovely time going about in England and Holland, and then she brought me down here and settled me. She was my chaperone, you know, though it was a little doubtful if I didn't take more care of her than she of me. Well, when it came time for her to go home, we both hated so to part that I proposed going to Calais with her. We spent a lovely day at Amiens together, and then I saw her off and went back to take the return train. Madame was to meet me at the Paris station, I couldn't get in till evening, and we didn't think there could be any trouble. I asked the guard to put me in with some other ladies; but I wouldn't go into the compartment where they put all the women who are alone, for I saw it was about full, and two crying babies besides. Instead, I took one where were two French ladies and a solitary man all in a heap in

one corner and so muffled up I couldn't see his face at all. We got on very nicely at first: the women talked a little to me; the man lay there like a mummy, so I didn't mind him. But presently it began to get dark, and then at a waystation my two ladies got out, and a man got in, a little Frenchman, with a long moustache and bad eyes. I was nervous then; I wanted to change into another compartment; but the train started before I could call the guard, and there I was. I put down my veil, and effaced myself as they say here as much as possible. I hoped he would go to sleep like the other, but he didn't. Presently he began to talk to me. I answered in monosyllables, but that didn't discourage him. He made an excuse to put up the window by me, and so got nearer, and I felt his eyes through my veil, and they frightened me. I curled up in my corner, but he kept on staring and getting nearer and nearer, though by that time I wouldn't answer him at all. Presently he moved off, as if vexed at my coolness, took out a cigar, deliberately lit it, and then, as he put it to his lips, as if it had just occurred to him, you know,— "Pardon, mademoiselle, smoking will not displease you?" Now, you know cigar-smoke always sickens me, but I didn't dare say so; I didn't dare say anything. I just turned and put my hand on the window to lower it, and then my mummy came to life, sat up, and said quietly, 'Oblige me, sir, by putting out that cigar and leaving this young lady alone. Otherwise I shall be compelled to throw you out of the window.' 'Mais, monsieur,' I cried, mustering my French for the fray, for I didn't want a fight in that little hole; and then the mummy turned round, just touched his big hat, and said, 'Allow me, madame, the national privilege of protecting a lady alone.'

"So then I knew he was an American: but my heart was in my throat, and I couldn't speak,-and the Frenchman swore, and the other had the window open in a minute, but it was only the cigar that went out of it,—and then the train suddenly slackened, and we were

at a station. They both called the guard, but I don't think it was for him monsieur left the compartment. He was afraid, I'm sure, of my young giant, who was so tall that he seemed to touch the ceiling when he sprang up, and who was as high and mighty as an emperor with him. I wanted then to go in with the other women; twenty babies were better than another such scare; but my champion went off to see about it, and reported the compartment too crowded for comfort. If you don't mind staying here, I think you'll be all right now,' he said. 'I've spoken to the guard, and there are but two more stops before you reach Paris. I get out here myself, but I don't believe you'll be bothered any more.' And with that he left me, and I hadn't really had a fair sight of his face, and he wouldn't take any thanks; and I've always wondered who he was and where he came from. I suppose the genius who takes care of wandering American damsels sent the knight just when he was wanted, and whisked him off when he'd done his duty. And I had no more trouble, and actually went to sleep and felt so safe; and that's my one adventure travelling alone."

"And it's quite enough," cried aunty fervently. "It makes me turn cold to think what might have happened, my dear. I'm not in the way of considering myself a special providence, and I have felt as though the obligation was on our side in taking you with us. But if I can save you from things like that, -and, oh! what a mercy it is that there's two of us to do it, and we're both old and homely!" Which was really a little hard on me, who am only twenty-seven, and quite passable when I'm dressed well.

With that, aunt put an arm about Kate and kissed her, and, as she curled up to her, she said softly, "That was like my mother," and that completed the conquest of aunty's heart.

spoiled her, it was no wonder; and if they hadn't loved her too much to cross her will, she would never have come abroad alone.

Well, we started south together, and before a month was over we knew what a treasure of a travelling companion Kate was. I don't mean just for the money, though her knowledge of foreign ways did help us on that. But she was the brightest creature,-never tired, never nervous and fussy, never vexed with aunt's invalid whims and crotchets. And she knew about everything, and was better than all the guides and guidebooks in telling it. We loitered along by Milan and Genoa and Pisa and Florence, and by the last of April we were in Rome; and there we went to a pension one of Kate's friends had recommended for a fortnight. We could not stay longer, for we wanted a week at Naples, and it was already warm, though that year the season was late. And in Rome the first shadow of trouble came. For, what with Genoese filigree, and Pisan alabasters, and Florentine mosaics, and photographs, and the Marble Faun, and Dante in vellum, and trifles picked up as keepsakes, we began to be just a little short of money.

"We must really be a little more careful," aunty said. "We told Williams we shouldn't want any till July, you know," Williams was our agent, "and we really ought not to ask it. Interest doesn't come till then, and I told him never to borrow."

"Oh, I shall have money before we leave Rome," Kate said. "I wrote to grandpa to send me some. And I shall be very glad to divide."

"If she were my sister instead of sister-in-law," groaned aunt, "I should just let the whole thing go, and tell her it was her own fault for not sending the money. But I can't do that with Laura.