Evening Star Newspaper, April 17, 1897, Page 22

2 2 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 17, 1897-28 PAGES.: WACALOML, The Capture and Rescue of the Princess of the Platte. BY CY WARMAN. (Copyright, 1897, by Cy Warman.) Written for The Evening Star. ‘The old engineer and I had dragged our chairs round to the south side of the hosp!- tal and were enjoying, as well as the weak ard wounded could be expected to enjoy, the mountain air and the morning. June “as in the mountains, but the snow wes stil heayy on the high peaks. The yellow river. soiled by the Leadville smelters, and floating mush still freighted- with ice, Slide Used to Jump Of Eugine and Stroll Over inte the tle Cornfield Where Wakalona Worked. splashed by on its way to Pueblo ard ine Terre Caliante. The little gray, glad-faced surgeon came along presently and told Frank that he might go nome on Satu nd that made the old engineer, usual- little mite cranky and irritable, as heppy as a boy about to be loosed from school. SS . Frank.” I began, “have you ever known an Indian girl who could, by any stretch of imagination, be considered han cameo ay, a “Yes.” he said thoughtfully, placing his well foot on the top of the railing and frowning from mere force of habit. “We were lying at North Platte at the time, that being the end of the track, and there I knew a Pawnee maiden who was rea!!: xood to Icok upon. I never knew her na we called her “Walk-a-lone’ at first, because she seemed never to mix up with the other squaws. but when Slide McAlaster, the head brakeman on the construction train, began to make love to her ne named h Wekalona, which he thought a more she had alread the Princess Red Fox, was one “Wakalo he u -ewhee Scouts, and h r Was natu belie among her people. She was tall, graceful, wiilowy and wild. It was before Slide, big. blonde and he wes, could gain the confi- ately princess. It wi would allow him to nd even then the feathered s buck could always be se Peeping fr3 constant watch over the like the other women, work when there were any fiek i in the fields to be worked, and at other times made herself useful about her father’s tent. Her mother was dead. She was the only child her father had and he was very proud of her. In a battle between the Sioux and the Pawnees, near Ogallalla, the Sioux had captured Wakalona and her father, and Buffalo Bill had rescued her, almost miraculously, from four of their foemen, three of whom they had slain. After that the Sioux had mark- ed Red Fox and his daughter as their ow and many lures had been set to ensnare them. At North Platte Red Fox had plant- ed & little field of corn, and it was here, when the sun waa low, that Slide used to woo the dark-eyed Princess of the Plattc. I used to watch her working in the field. and when we whistled she would always pause in her labors ard look up to make stre that it was the whistle of the 4Y, ai- though she never looked up for the whistle her engine. I think, as she began When a wo- man goes to a hospital for an opera- tion, she realizes at last the mistake she has made in disregarding what she thought were trifing symptoms. Whenever there is the slightest disorder of the organs distinct- ly feminine, a woman’s health and life are threatened. A cure cannot come too quickly —a woman cannot be too careful. Loss of her health means more than loss of life. It means the loss of dearer things—the loss of husband's love, the loss of chiidren’s happiness, the loss of possible children. ‘Whenever a woman is sick she should look for the cause in some disturbance of the purely feminine organism, and she should take prompt measures to stop it. Ske should take Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription. This wonderful medicine is the invention of a regularly graduated, skilled and expert specialist in the disease of women, and has had the most marvelous success ef any medicine ever prepared. Mrs. F. B. Cannings, of No. 4320 Humphrey St., St. Louis, Mo., writes: “Iam now a happy mother of a fine, healthy baby Feel that ur * Favorite Prescription ‘and little * Pellets* ave dome me more good than anything I have ver taken. Three months previous to my con- Snemcat I sent for one of your “Medical Advis- ers, read some of the most important points, and feit satisfied to try your medicine. took three bottles of the ' Prescription * and the little “Pellets” also. Consequences were I was only in labor forty-five minutes. With my fi 1 suffered 18 hours, then had to lose him. He was very delicate and only lived 12 hours. For two years I suffered untold agony, and in the mean- time had two miscarriages. Cannot speak too highly of your medicine, as I feel that it has saved both my child and myself. M born 31st of March i old and f do not thi ran For Weak and Run Down People. ‘The ‘richest reatora- What is [tl Tee ictett of att rectors: the essentials of life that are . indigestion, bigh living, overwork, Worry, excesses, abuse. etc. by making the blood What it Does! 1, matire, the, blooa @igestion perfe<t—tt creates solid flesh, muscle and strength. ‘The nerves made Drain becomes active aud clear. It restores lost vitality. stops all wa drains and weakness in either sex, and as a female re; has no equal. SOe.. or five boxes $2. or wafl We can help you. Advice | book, free. Write Us About Your Case. The Dr. Chase Com: Gi2 Chestaut” street, mulS-tb&sS2t rf eee to lose Ler heart to McAlaster, that she came to know the sound even of the bell and the rattle of the spring hangers on the old work engine. Jim was McAlaster’s real name; we called him Slide because he could never set a brake, if he used both hands, without twisting it up so tight that the wheels would slide, so marvelously strong were his long, sinewy arms, When we were coming into the Platte on a sum- mer’s evening Slide used to jump off the engine, where he always rode, open the switch, close it behind the caboose and then stroll over into the little cornfield where Wakalona worked. “Now. she always knew he was coming, Lut, like her white sisters, she liked to“play that she didn't, and when he would steal up behind her and catch her in his erms (if no cne was looking) she would start and shudder as naturally as a country school ma‘am. “We went in the ditch one day. Slide had his ankle sprained, and was obliged to ride fm that evening in the caboose. I whistled, as usual, for the station, and in the twi- light saw the Indian girl still working in the field and watting for the sweet sur- prise for which she had learned to wait. As we pulled in over the switches I glanced out into the fleld again, feeling sorry for Slide and for his sweetheart as: well, but now she was nowhere to be seen. When we had made the big brakeman comfort- able in the hospital tent he signaled me ahead, and when I bent over him he pulled me down and whispered ‘Wakalona,” and I knew what he meant. I found her father. and told him that the brakeman had been hurt, and asked him to allow his daughter to see the sufferer in the sur- geon's tent. Red Fox was much surprised. We had been an hour late coming in that evening; it was now dark, and Wakalona had not been seen by any of her people since the setting of the sun. I told the war- rior that I had seen her working in. the field as we were nearing the station, and how, when I looked again a moment later, she was gone. “With a start the brave chieftain threw up his hands, and then controlling himself with a great effort, he signed to me, and I followed him out into the field. The Indian put his face close to the ground, and when he straightened up he looked all about him and sald: ‘Sioux.’ I brought a white Nght from the locomotive, and by the light of it the wily Indian made out that two of the hated tribe had slipped up behind the help- less girl and seized her and carried her away. Presently he brought a blade of corn to me, and upon it there was a tiny drop of blood, and yet he insisted that his daughter had not been killed. Later he as- sured me that she had not been carried, but had walked away, taking a different direction from that taken by the Sioux. Now I saw it all. She had heard our whistle, and while she waited for her lover the panther-like Sioux had stolen upon her. “What mental anguish must have been hers when she realized that instead of the protecting arms of her fair god, the arms of murderers were around her. Love, like the locomotive, is a great civilizer; Waka- lona had tasted the joy of love, and fife had become dear to her. The past to her was veiled in dark mystery, the future was little better, but already she had begun to feel that beyond it all there must be a brighter and better world. Once she had asked McAlaster about the future, and he, touched by the earnestness of her nature. bad told her in his own way a story his mother had told to him many a time—the story of Christ. ‘Think of a big, awkward | clown like me,’ said Slide, ‘trying to un- | | again. on and on. The sun poured its pitiless rays upon her wounded head, her soiled mantle trailed upon the dewy earth, her tired feet were torn and bleeding, and yet to all these ills she gave no it. Vaguely now she remembered that she had a fixed pur- pcse, @ certain duty to perform, and that ‘as to be the end of all. She must not lose sight of tne river, but even now when she for it the river wus not to be seen. Her lips were parched; her throat seemed to be burning. The wide waste o’er which she wandered lay quivering in the white glare of the noonday sun. Away at the outer edge of this shipless sea the gray air trembled, her brain whirled, she swooned and fell to the earth. “The cool night wind was about her when she came to herself again, but she could remember but dimly the events of the past, and so, half dazed, she wandered on. Late in the afternoon she came to a little station where there was a lone operator and a water tank. The station agent gave her food and offered her shelter, but she shook her head, and asked him where the river lay: The spectacle of a woman wandering bout half crazed, half starved and alone, w a sad one, and the operator, feeling his own utter loneliness, tried to persuade her to stay. Pointing to the west, she be- gan to chan’ When the great red sun is half in th And half im the earth, the dead mist dic, “Then she bared her bowed head, he saw the little round spot where the skin had been cut away and understood. This reve- lation, however, caused the agent to re- double his efforts to save the hapless maiden from herself. “After much coaxing he succeeded in get- ting her into his little room in the rear of the telegraph office, where she soon fell asleep. The sun went down and still she slept and he knew she was safe, at ieast for another day. The darkness deepened on the desert waste,the evening wore away, the operator got ‘Good night’ from the dis- patcher at Omaha and fell asleep in his chair. Presently he was awakened by a sound as of a door closing softly. He stole into the little back room only to learn that his guest had gone. He slipped outside and listened, but save for the doleful cry of a lone wolf, the night was voiceless, and he returned to his narrow room. = “Next day, when the sun was falling away in the west,.the operator, sitting at his little table, noticed a shadow in the door and looking up beheld the sad face of the Indian maiden, gaunter and sorrier than before. Again he gave her food, and from his medicine chest, which in those days was furnished by the company to all agents and conductors, he drought medi- cated bandages, which he bound about her torn ank’es, and ointment, which he pvt upon her wounded head. Aficr that she continued to come to him every day. to ac- cept a meager meal, and at night io steal away and sleep upon the prairie with only the stars above her. At the end of a fort- night she was almost well again. Now the woman that was in her natur aused her to long for some one to whom she might tell her story; in whom she might corfice; and she told it, as well as she could, to the agent. He helped her to arrange her bair so as to hide the hateful scar at the top of | her head and persuaded her {o return to her people. ‘If the white man icved you once, he will love you all the more now, and will save you from your people ‘f they | try to molest you,’ was the agent's eacour- aging advice and she determined to return. “Slide McAlaster’s severely sprained an- kle had become strong and he was ai work The name of Wakalona was never HE LIFTED THE OTHER INDIAN BODILY, AND WITH ALL HIS MIGHT DROVE HIS HEAD FIRST INTO THE WATER. ravel the mysteries of the future—trying to convert this white-souled woman who, without’ knowing it, has been the means of making me a better man.’ “I've noticed all along, though, that the love of a good woman always makes a man tler, braver and better. “When Red Fox had explained to me that Wakalona had not been killed, but had wandered away, I urged him to cal the scouts and search the plains for ner; but he shook his head. ‘It is true that my child has not been killed.” he said sadly, ‘but she Is dead. It is true that she atill walks the earth, but she is dead to me and to all her people,” and the great brave bowed his heaé in silent sorrow. “Then I remembered having heard that an Indian who had lost his scalp was looked upan as cne demented or dead, and I knew then .what had happened to the Princess Wakalona. ‘How best to break the news to poor Mc- ster was a question over which I pon- Gered on my way back to the camp. He was strong and sensible. He ha a comrade pulled out of a wresk, mungled almost beyond recognition. He had been in more than one Indian fight, but he had never lain helpless upon a stretcher and sistened to a tale such as 1 might tell, and I would aot tell it. I'd lie first, and’so I did. And while I framed a st: of how Wakalona had gone that very day to visit A neighbormg camp, the poor princess ndersd cver the prairie. All night she ed the treckless wilds, and when the "s paled lay down upon the damp earth sleep. She knew that she was expected che cught to die, Lut she h. Not from any dread of it, fcr the love of life. No dou: she fully but she woull pat the thought of it by for a little while longer, and dream of the pale-faced brave. Ah, he might love her still; who could tell; for the white people were so strange. ‘She slept, and doubtless dreamed of the little field, of her father, of the twilight time and of the sweet surprise of her lover's arms about and then she staried up if her hand to her head, the recoliection of her misfortune made her heart sad, and soon she slept again. “When she awoke the sun was high in the heavens. She was hungry ard thirsty. The bicod had dried in her midnight hair, and now she went down to the river to drink and bathe her fevered face. ‘Then she sat by the river for a long time, trying to make up her mind to die, but she could rot. There was a certain amount of mys- tery about the river, and she liked to look vpon its quiet face. Where did it come and where was it going? Then, in her wild way, she likened her life to the river. Where did she come from and where was she going? She couldn't make it out. Only she remembered that her teacher, the brakeman, had said something about anoth- er world beyond the sky; but he was still in this world, and she loathed to leave it, and so che eut all through the long sum- mer day with her hands locked over her knees, rocking to and fro, half crooning and half moaning: When the great red sun is half in the sky And half in the earth, the dead must dic. “She knew that she was counted among the dead by her people, and if she returned to them she would be drowned in this river when the sun went down. “Yes, it was clearly her duty now to die, and she would drown herself at the set of sun. Having reconciled herself to her fate, she fell asleep, and when she awoke the sky was all studded with stars. She had slept over the death time, and now must await another sunset. She went down to the river and bathed her face. Oh! the mystery of the river; where did it come from and where was it going? bear her back to her lost lover? No;-it was Se toward the morning, and would carry her farther away. She turned Foote mentioned by the Indians, for to them she was dead. It was never mentioned by the whites when it could be avoided, for no one cared to tell the awful story to the brake- man, and so he lived from day to day, ex- pecting her to come home. His was the enly cheerful face in the camp during those two weeks. He was happy in the morning, hoping that the day would bring Ler back, and happy again at night, for there was one day less of waiting for her return. And she did come back. One night when the rain was pouring down she opened the door of her father’s tent and waited to be welcomed home. The old scout was pacing his tent, for he had not ceased to grieve for his daughter, but now that she had re- turned to him, as one from the grave, her coming served only to augment his misery. At sight of her he had taken a step er two teward the tent door, and then pausing to look upon her for the last time, his face grew grave as he pointed a long arm down the darkness. In a hoarse voice he utiered those ominous words, ‘The shadows lie upon the shore—to the river, be gone With a despairing look the princess turned back into the rain-swept night, and now a new danger confronted her. The guards had seen ker at the lent duor, by the dim light of a grease lamp, and now they seized and bound her. Her father had ‘ef: to her the one chance of flight, the guards had shown less pity. An while she sat, bound and guarded, in a darkly lighted tent, her lover slept and dreame.l vf her coming, not 100 yards away. The day dawned srudg- ingly, the darkness seemed reluctantly to leave the earth, the stm remained behind the dark clouds, from which the rain con- timued to fall in torrents. Ai noon the rain ceased, the sun came out, meadow larks caroled free in the blue above, but the hap- less Wakalona lay fettered in a rain-soaked tent. The story of her capture was kept a profcund secret, for the Indians knew that the United States army officers would in- terfere if they learned that the princess Was to be put to death. In the Jarknoss of their ignorance they believed that i hey were doing their duty. “On account of the rain we had not gene out that day, but late in the after- noon an order came from the dispatcher for us to run light to Omaha to bring out a train of steel. As we pulled out over the switches I noticed a great crowd of Paw- nees down by the river near the railroad bridge. As we approached we could see that they were waving their hands and putting up weird signals. Now as the en- gine, still creeping along, working the water out of her cylinders, neared the bridge, McAlaster suddenly cried: ‘Waka- Jona,’ and leaped from the engine. I stopped the engine and, looking over, saw Wakalona seated in a canoe with her head bowed down almost to her knees. A stal- wart Pawnee sat in one end of the cance holding a single oar, while another Indian, below, and half above the earth, the second stanza of the death chant arose from the river, as the boat was pushed out into the stream: 3F OUR COMMON ORIGIN 9 br Sir Walter Besant’ Plea to English- 8 king RB SUGGESTS AN INTERNATIONAL HOLIDAY America Does More to Celebrate Than England to Foster Sentiment. FOR A CLOSER UNION Written for The Evening Star by Sir Walter Besant. WRITER MAY BE dull, he may be pro- prophet of the obvi- ous and the common- place, he may be in consequence a bore, he ‘may be wrong- headed, prejudiced, obstinate and narrow —all these things he may be, and he shall be forgiven. We may witness this kindly toleration every day. be sentimental. That MS But a man must not is not permitted. I will try, therefore, not to be sentiment- al, although I am about to make an appeal in favor of sentiment. I propose, in fact, to invite the recognition of sentiment as a force whose possibilities when applied to things political. cannot be overstated. I would point out, first, that with all nations, the popular’mind has always been ruled and led entirely by sentiment. The popular imagination converts the facts of history into sentiment. The articles of be- Nef are not laid down by the multitude in set phrases; they are not, even when they might be, maintained by reason; they lie in the mind—say, rather, in the heart— unspoken. For the majority it is absolute- ly impossible to express these articles of belief in words. They are a sentiment rest- ing on tradition; they are the lingering and the surviving effects of events long since forgotten. Sentiment is an invisible and unknown guide in the conduct of life; it draws the people by invisible threads’ as strong as a ship's cable; ke beauty, it draws them by a single hair. As a nation—as a race—we are above all other nations open to, and ruled by, senti- ment. We are fond of girding at the senti- ment of the Teuton and admitting the sen- timent of the Celt. We pride ourselves upon the possession of a cold common sense which does not admit of sentiment. Who ”" however, who are thus uplifted? are the educated—the highly edu- cated class—a class which, though it speaks for all, is more cut off and separated from the rest—the great mass—than can be found in any other country. Among that Mass sentiment, of which we pretend to have none, rules supreme. Let us consider this assertion. Sentiment may be defined as a deeply rooted conviction, founded on imagination rather than reason. It is of two kinds. There is a form of sentiment which springs from noble tradition. There is another form of sentiment which springs from prejudice. Nothing for Sentiment. What heve we done as a nation to recog- nize the vast importance of imagination— which is only another word for sentiment— in the national mind? What have we done to feed the imagination with such right views of our position) ‘our resources, our history, our perils!'as thay make sentiment a source—a certain and reliable source—of strength and safety, instead of an uncer- tain force, liable to drive the people into wrong paths, into perilous lines, by ways which leads to destruction? We have hitherto done nothing, absolute- ly nothing. Our school board pays no heed to the readers with which the children are supplied; the education Gepartment makes no regulations as‘to the elementary teach- ing of history; the growth of our institu- tions, the extent of the empire, the con- dition of the colonies, the extent of trade and industry, the meaning of freedom; or, in fact, anything practical and likely to influence the children in after life. Yet it is certain that nothing so long remains in the mind as the teaching of childhood— which is, of course, recognized by the Ro- man Catholics when they refuse consent to any form of education that is not based upon their own faith. Here and there, it is true, one may find elementary books which aim at systematic teaching of pa- triotism and of national history, but there is no organized national, intelligent at- tempt; it has never occurred to educational parliaments, educational writers or teach- ers, that they might usefully and success- fully direct and control the popular im- agination and mold the popular sentiment. A child leaves school at thirteen. Prob- ably he will never more, as long as he lives, look at a book of history again. But he will remember something of what he has been taught; the elementary princi- ples which he might be taught, the plain, broad landmarks which have been pointed out to him; these things will become a part of him for the whole of his life. The reason, the actual facts, will disappear and be forgotten, but the sentiment will re- main. Patriotism in America. In America, on the other hand, they have managed matters differently. They understood very well at the outset what they wanted to create, namely, a profound sentiment of patriotism among their peb- ple. Let us see how they set to work. Since the opinions—the views of life and cenduct and religion—that endure in the mind are those which are taught in the schools, the Americans have been most careful in their school books to represent themselves in the most favorable light pos- sible; of that no one can complain. They have elso thought proper to present us, the people of Great Britain, in the most unfavorable light possible; they have min- tmized our positicn; they have denied us our virtues, our victories, our achieve- ments. The sentiment they have fostered is of the exaggerated type. The misuse of this great educational opportunity brings with it the danger of making the average man mischievously and inordinately con- ceited about his country, a condition of mind which may impel him in many la- mentable steps. There are signs, however, that the better class of Americans per- celve the danger and regret the cause. I have before me a tract by Mr. Arthur Inkersley, reprinted from the San Francis- co News Letter of Christmas 1896. It is called “American and British Prejudice,” end is a vehement plea by an American for greater justice and less prejudice against this country. I quote a passage which bears especially pn the subject: ‘Consider the attitufe of the common, plain, ordinary, average, every day Amer- ican with regard to Great Britain. ‘Raised’ in a household where eyerything creditable to the mother coyntrysis rigorously tab- ooed, fed on schogl text books which rep- resent her as a gresping, overreaching, op- pressive power, nourished (God help him!) on newspapers which -delight in putting every national deed of: Britain and every private act of her eitizens in the worat possible aspect, tavght to regard the high- Doodles, unprincipled ecoundrclo, profiiestes ne , UNI . and eee it wonderful that his Frepopsessions are almost invincible?’ Fost Feeling. Ger to show that it is eta as So upon unreasoning malignity. as thought nossible that it would be wiser to separat: widely as their end. re method lix, he may be a a a bogey—the Englishman who would wi- lingly bind him in chains if he was net afraid. It has never been thought neces- sary for us to raise up a bogey American, ‘otherwise we should, perhaps, have done so. However that may be, here is the broad fact: the Americans recognized the pru- dential value of sentiment, and therefore carefully fostered that kind of sentiment which seemed best calculated to keep their own pengie together and prevent them from going over to the English. It is need- less to say that no such sentiment is at- tempted or encouraged in the American school books as regards Frenchman, Ger- man or Russian. The young American’s imagination is thus carefully provided with two figures. One of them is the fairy goddess, Liberty. She bears the stars and stripes in the left hand and a victorious Sword in the right. The other is a fallen despot; ir one hand is & broken sword; in the other a flag—the union jack—beaten down and disgraced. Symbol of Liberty. Again, for the better maintenance of the American federation, it is recognized that the symbcl should represent it, and that the symbol should everywhere be in evi- dence. Just as outside every Roman Cath- olic church end most Anglican churches, the cross proclaims the faith that is up- held within, so outside every public building in America, the flag proclaims the country and reminds the people of their loyalty. It is not, as the shallow traveler believes, hoisted for mere show and display, it is there for a deliberate purpose; with intent, and with wisdom. They like to see the flag everywhere; they love the flag because it is thcir symbol. In foreign countries, Americans have tola me, the sight of their flag flying at a masthead most strangely moves their hearts. I. is the force of sen- timent. We, too, have a flag. Except at seaside places you may march from end to end of the country and rever see it. Where does it fly in London? I believe that a child born, say, at Mile End, might live out the whole of a long life and never see the union jack. As for regarding the union jack as the symbol of his country, as for reading in its flying folds a reminder of loyalty to the crowr and of pride in his country, it, never occurs to him; he has never been taught fo to regard his flag. Neither loyalty itself nor the symbolism of his flag has ever been taught that child. Theze !s yet another method of creating sentiment which the Americans have prac- ticed, also with the greatest success. It is to hold a day of the nation, a holiday, a Gay of rejoicing and of fasting and of speechmaking. They have instituted two such days—the day of Independence and the day of Thanksgiving. They are days, I believe, which greatly afflict the souls of the minority, who love not multitudes or noise, but move profoundly the many who love nothing so much as processions, flags, ba.ds of music, scarves and decorations and perfervid orations. These, however, are the people whose imagination, whose sentiment, the state most desires to move and to influence. What days have we? In one respect we are better off than Americans, because we have six days to their two. We have two holy days and four bank holidays, two which commemorate events in our sacred bocks, four which are avowedly days of rest from labor. These days have nothing to do with the empire or with the nation. What day of celebration have we? None. Yet surely we have a history as great and siorious as the United States. Surely there is as much reason for us to foster a senti- ment of national pride as for our cousins across the sea. A Contrast. How can an average English lad learn his duty to his country; the extent of his country; the meaning and bearing, to him, of that extent? They do not teach these things at school; he cannot learn them from any national institution. If he is a lad of East London—where there are two millions of people like himself—he sees no s ers, even—there are no barracks al- lowed in his quarter of the city, for fear, I suppose, that the fighting instinct—the martial spirit-of the lads might be awakened and encouraged; he never sees the gallant spectacle of a regiment march- ing with band and colors; he never talks with soldiers who can tell him of India and Egypt and the far east. Put yourself in the place of that east end lad and ask how he will arrive at any knowledge of his country’s glories; his rare heritage, and his own duties. There is no way for him, except slowly and painfully to read up the subject for himself. And who is to tell him what books he should call for? The American lad gets it from every quar- ter; his school book teaches him; the uni- versal presence of the flag teaches him; the days of celebration teach him; the “spread- eagle’ speeches teach him. All these things foster and develop in him the sentiment of loyalty to the flag. I have tried to show the power of sen- timent and the wisdom of fostering some form of sentiment. I am not speaking, again, of the class to whom enthusiasm and noise are abhorrent. They are, after all, 2 very small class: I mean the huge mass of the people, those who read no history and know little about the extent, or strength, or unity of the countries and colenies forming that federation which we call‘ our empire. Considering the immense force of sentiment, how the fostering of sentiment is recognized by every govern- ment except our own; how enormous are the interests at stake. It is surely, surely, high time to reconsider our ways. In our own case, moreover, there are conditions which make this duty far more urgent than for any other people. These conditions fill one with pride; but they are also charged with perils. England and Her Colonies, It is quite certain that the time will come when the present relations between this country and the colonies will be changed. No one, it is acknowledged, would de- sire the present relations to last a day longer than is felt by the colonies to be desirable. We wish them to continue nomi- nally as colonies, only so long as we cae help each other; we are determined, if we must part, to part in amity. The danger before us is not in fact so much that the mother country shall become to her former colonies a land and a people which their young children, as in the states, must be taught to hate and to despise; but that the colonies, when they become independent states, may fail to recognize the claims, the arguments, for creating a perpetual friendship and alliance between each other. Ta a word the danger is that there will be presently witnessed five great nations, in- stead of one, and that these states instead of supportirg each other by alliance not to be broken; by a federation of mutual and perpetual support, may be as ready to quarrel as if they were French and Ger- man, and as willing to settle their dis- putes by wars which must be as bitter and as desperate as civil ‘wars always are. Therefore we cannot too earnestly set about the task of creating such a sent ment of race as may play an effective part in preventing this most desperate and fatal result; we cannot too earnestly advocate federation between all these five states— alliance offensive and defensive—such as. may mean an alliance for all time. With such an alliance the Anglo-Saxon race will be free from the fear of enemies without or of treachery within; free to work out the higher destiny to which it will be called. This federation would consist, then, of five distinct nations, no one being first or second; above or below the others; their people will inhabit the finest and richest lands on the earth; they will mostly be- long to one religion. The Church of Eng- land or the Episcepal Church will, I be- Heve, swallow up the Protestant sects and become the greatest church in the world; Canterbury wili take the ecclesiastical lead instead of Rome; they will enjoy the same has now become, you a far larger and more important thing 3 it seemed at the outset. It is no longer only such a sentiment as would have been useful to George III; it is such a sentiment SN ee tions separa’ yy broad seas. like the American, a sentiment that — flag; tt is the senti- race. can be symbolized by a ment of the Angio-Saxon ‘songs, In the speeches, we shall celebrate the glories and the victories of the race; we shall remember the great days of old; we shall acknowledge the great days of the present. Once more it must be borne in mind that.we are seeking to move the mul- ‘titude, mot those of Piccadilly; we are get- ting altogether outside the little circle trav- ersed by that illustrious thoroughfare; we are going to Mile End, to Whitechapel, to Hoxton. to Islington, to Birmingham, to Bradford, where the people live who elect our rulers and shape our policy; whom we wish to move. What do we want, then, to represent? Our commén ancestry, our common pos- sessions, our common laws, liberties and institutions and our common literature. Our literature is generally acknowledged to be our most precious possession. For my own part, I think of a little scrap of parchment in the Guildhall of London which seems to me more precious still; partly because without it great literature would be impossible; the parchment is the Conqueror’s charter to London, which made all’our liberties possible. However, let us accept the general opinion. Of all the Possessions which these four nations and ourselves have in common, that of our lit- erature is most valuable. When far-off cousins agree to celebrate their ancestors they may choose between the lawgiver, the captain, the prophet or the poet. I think that our cousins will agree to put up the poet as the representative of all the an- cestors. Let, therefore, the 23d day of April be the day of celebration of the Anglo-Saxon ruce, and let England's great- est poet give his name to that imperial holiday. For Closer Union. Why, it may be asked, cannot the United States come in? Are they not Anglo-Saxon as well? They are certainly Anglo-Saxon as much as ourselves. We have absorbed Fleming, Frenchman, Italian, German, Pole and Dutch and remain Anglo-Saxon. The states have received from every na- tionality tens of thousands; they are all absorbed, they are become Anglo-Saxon. Will, then, America join in such a celebra- tion? I am not prepared to offer an opin- ion. Perhaps, if it was thoroughly real- ized that there was no secret intention on the part of Great Britain to exalt herself above other nations of the race the United States would also join us in rejoic- ing over the past and present of the race which made them what they are. They will come in, they must come in, and then the final federation will take place; then shall be witnessed the reconciliation of all who speak our common tongue, and the future of the race with such a federation may be—must be—greater and more glo- rious than poet has sung or dreamer has dreamed, for the widening of knowledge amd the advancement of humanity. I say that the final federation of the whole of our race is a consummation that is not only so ardently desired, but fs also certain to occur if we take steps or ordi- nary prudence. The treaty of arbitration, when-we get it, will go far to soften the tone of the American papers; will disarm hostility, will in time change the spirit of the school books. As for their flag, it will remain theirs; as for their position in the federation, it will be exactly the same as that of Australia or any other state in the federation There will be no loss of inde- pendence or of national pride. The old sen- timent will remain. Every American, every Australian, every Africander will be free to consider himself the finest specimen of humanity in the world. Only to the senti- ment ctf patriotism we shall add the senti- ment of race, and to the day of indepen- dence the American will add the day of race, when he shall celebrate the giories of the achievements of his people, There will be one thing of which he will be more proud than of achieving his independence, and that will be symbolized by the day race, the rejoicings on the 23d of April. CHEAP AND COSTLY TELEGRAPHING. Under the Latter Head Come Meannges to Mossamedes and Bussidore. From the Chicago Times-Heruld. Telegraph rates vary greatly in this country, owing to the immense distances. In many of the smaller countries of the cid world a uniform rate is made for any point within the given country, but it would be manifestly unfair to the Ameri- can telegraph companies if they were com- pelled to send a message from New York to San Francisco for the same rate that they charge for a message from New York to Jersey City or from Chicago to Evan- ston. As a rule, the minimum rate for a day essage of ten words in this country is cents. A great many points in Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Wiscon- sin, Iowa and ather states in the Missis- sippi valley may be reached from Chicago for this rate. Any point in Illinois may be reached for 35 cents. A message to Boston costs 50 cents, while New York, Philadel- phia and Baltimore have a 40-cent rate. The highest rates from Chicago are those for pcints in southern Florida—s5 cents. It costs only 75 cents to telegraph to Cali- fornia or Oregon, and the rate for New Orleans is 3 cents. Few persons who have not experimented with telegraph tolls appreciate the ex- pense of cable communication. Cable rates are so much per word, instead of per mes- sage of ten words, and the figures are very much higher. Messages to England, France and Germany cost 31 cents per word from Chicago. Belgium's rate is 36 cents; Holland and Italy, 38 cents; Aus- tria, 40 cents; Greece, 44 cents; Egypt, @ cents; Switzerland, 36 cents; Sweden, 45 cents; Turkey, 43 cents and 5% cents; Rus- sia, 49 cents. The Cuban war has greatly increased the volume of telegraphic business in the West Indies. The lowest rate is 40 cents per word for messages to Havana. Other Cu- ban points are higher, and no towns in the West Indies outside of Cuba can be reached for less than $1.05 per word. Messages to Porto Rico cost $1.55. Central American rates range from 50 cents (Guatemala) to cents (Costa Rica and Nicaragua). South American rates take a big jump upward. Brazilian mes- sages cost from $1.35 to $1.87 per word; British Guiana costs $2,17. Ccemmunication with Australia is expen- sive. Queensland reaches the highest fig- ure, $2.62 per word, while South and West Australia rates are $1.47. Messuges to China cost $2.02 per word, and the same figures apply to Corea. Japanese rates are $2.27 per word; Java, $1.53; Formosa, $2.27: India, $1.29; Madagascar, $1.70; New Zeal and, $1.58; Philippine Islands, $2.51; Siam, $1.51. African rates are lowest for points alcng the Mediterranean, and highest along d that pottle of HIRES Reotbeer? | The popping of a cork om a ottle of Hires is a signal of good health and plea- sure. A sound the old folks like to hear —the children can’t resist it. HIRES Rootbeer is composed of the very ingredients the sysiem requires. Aiding the digestion, soothing the nerves, purifying the blood. "A temper- ance drink for temper- ance peopie. Made on} ‘The Charles E. Hides bo., Phila, 4A prckage mates 5 gallons, Sold everywhere. the west coast. Algeria can be reached for 38 cents per word, the minimum rate for the dark continent. East African rates are $1.4 and $ » While South African points range between $1.58 and $1.70. West Afri- can poiuts, as a rule, range above $2, while it ccsts $3.02 to send a word to Mossamed+s frcm Chicago—more than to reach any other telegraph station in the world di- rect. However, a message to Bassidore or Lingah costs the Chicago sender $1.19 per word to Jask, Persia, and $11.76 extra for special dispatch boat line from that point. eee Blood Poison and Insanity. From the New York Medical Record. While the fullest credit should be given to the staff of this important institution (the State Institute of Pathology), it is but fair to state that the study of toxaemia in connection with insanity is by no means a novelty, nor is tt the discovery of the enterprising young gentlemen (connected with that establishment) who have been credited therewith. Over a decade ago Salomon, Regis and others recognized the toxic origin of mental disease, while no less than ten others, among them Herter and Smith, have written extensively on the subject. Perhaps most credit should be given to Dr. Allan McLane Hamilton, whose paper on “Autotoxis as a Cause of Insanity” was read before the Medical So- ciety of Londen tn May last, and noticed in your London letter a short time subse- quently. In this paper, which contained much original research, the connectton be- tween toxaemia and insanity was fully shown. pe ees If you want anything, try an ad. In The Star. If anybody has what you wish, you will get an answer. THE FESTIVE BORED. From Life. .