She met Henry in front of the Indian
Queen inn and walked with him up to-
ward the churchyard, now filling with
a vast throng.
“Tell me,” she questioned eagerly.
“Will it come today?”
He looked down at her with that rare
smile which seemed to be the higher
part of him, gilding and transfiguring
his other self. “What faith you have in
me!” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “I have
seen it in your face. No one in Vir-
ginia can do it save you—none of them.
It must be the voice before the arm.”
“The spark before the explosion,” he
muttered, “and the train is nearly laid.”
His hands moved restlessly.
“I have longed—prayed—for some
new overt act of Dunmore’s that should
be spark to powder. But he lies low.
And it must come from us. You were
right when you said that last fall at
Winchester. Boston is trodden on, but
she lies quiet. The colonies look to us.
It is the voice of the south, of Virginia,
that is wanting.”
AB 252s i SS Br Ee HH EB
He stopped. Jefferson was hasting
toward them. He bowed to Anne.
“Have you heard the buzz from Lon-
don?” he asked Henry hurriedly. ‘Tis
all among the delegates. Tis declared
that our petitions to the king are gra-
ciously received, that all the acts will
be repealed save the admiralty and de-
claratory and that North and Dart-
mouth will be replaced.”
“Aye,” burst Henry fiercely. “An-
other Tory tale! And they will waver
again. Tom, Tom, it must be now or
never!”
He stopped abruptly and strode across
the churchyard over the matted ivy
on the shrunken mounds and, threading
his way between the old slate tomb-
stones, upright like black lichened cof-
fin lids, entered the edifice.
* * #® * * * *
From her seat in the west gallery,
whither Jefferson had taken her, Anne
surveyed the scene below.
The first proceedings interested her
little — the reading of Jamaica's late
memorial to the king—and her gaze
wandered. Through the open windows
she could hear the hum of the great
crowd about the building and cateh a
glimmer of the foaming James. The
space below her was packed and full
of a strange intentness.
Here and there she could see faces
which she knew. The ladies of Rich-
mond were scattered through both gal-
leries. Freneau and young St. George
Tucker were leaning over the rail op-
posite. Jefferson and Colonel Benja-
min Harrison of Berkeley sat together
just below Peyton Randolph, the pres-
ident.
Colonel Washington sat far back,
hands on knees, quiet and meditating,
and just below her Mr. Thomas Nelson
shifted nervously in his seat, turning
his eyes now there, now here.
Well to the front sat Richard Henry
Lee of Chantilly, “the gentleman of
the silver hand.” The black bandage
he wore over his hand fascinated her.
She had heard it said he wore it to-
hide a wound he got swan shooting on
the Potomac.
Her attention came back with a start
as she heard the resolution in answer
to Jamaica that “it is the most ardent
wish of this colony. and we are per-
suaded of the whole continent of North
America, to see a speedy return to those
halcyon days when we lived a free and
happy people.” As she looked down at
Henry, Anne saw that he was scrib-
bling on a scrap of paper.
There was a hush as he arose and a
buzz of expectancy as he mounted the
rostrum. He held in his band the pa-
per upon which he had been scribbling.
Anne felt a touch of disappointment
at the cold, measured quality of his
tone. With that flickering half smile
which meant dissent he moved an
amendment to the Jamaica resolutions.
He read without a gesture, in pronun-
ciation as plain as homespun. His voice
moved evenly, almost carelessly, over
the periods.
But as he progressed the assembly
awoke with a shock, and Anne saw a
certain ripple almost of alarm surge
over it. Henry had spoken the phrase,
“our inestimable rights and liberties.”
At that moment the speaker raised
his voice, and the last words came
challenge-like, the snap of a whip. “We
do resolve, therefore, that this colony
be put in a state of defense and that
there be a committee to prepare a plan
for embodying, arming and disciplin-
ing such a number of men as may be
sufficient for that purpose.”
Anne looked at Henry in the black
clothes and tie wig which set off his
face and drew a breath. The humility,
the diffidence, the modesty of address
were gone, and in their place was stern-
ness. Even his voice had grown harsh,
as though in menace, and on the con-
vention, uncertain and wavering, those
lovers of the “halcyon days,” the men-
ace fell. It was the plunge from hesi-
tation to resolve, from expostulation to
powder. The fire had fallen!
Henry knew his men. All these years
he had been learning them, drawing
them out, questioning, story telling,
watching effects, experimenting in their
emotions.
His eye held every man within those
walls. He turned it upon Richard Hen-
ry Lee, and he, his polished oratory for-
got, hurled a blunt second at the chair.
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Mr. Pendleton, Colonel Harrison,
limping from the gout, and Colonel
Richard Bland got upon their feet with
arched frowns, barking that such ac-
tion was “premature,” and at the word
Anne saw a pale scorn burn Henry's
face. These, who had so lately sat in
the Continental congress, prated of
“dignified patience,” “filial respect and
discretion,” “the relenting of the sov-
ereign,” “the nakedness of the col-
onies.”
Anne had afterward no certain recol-
lection of how Henry began in answer.
All impression was swallowed up in
that thrill which held every hearer. It
has been said that he spoke as Homer
wrote.
“Shall we shut our eyes—we wise
men struggling for liberty—and listen
to the song of the siren till she trans-
forms us to beasts?” he cried. “Shall
we, having eyes, see not, and, having
ears, hear not the tidings of our tem-
poral salvation? For my part I will
know the worst, and I will provide for
it. I cannot judge the future but by
the past, and by the past how shall
you solace yourselves? What is there
in the conduct of the British ministries
of the past ten years to justify hope?”
As he went on passion crept over his
face like the wind that precedes a
storm; his lean neck was scarlet and
corded with white lines, and his eyes
glared hollowly.
“Do you regard the insidious smiles
with which our petitions are received?
Be not betrayed with a kiss!”
Sitting in a quiver of feeling, with
fingers clasping the gallery ledge, Anne
felt the shaken pulses of the audience.
Under the intrepid metaphor she saw
the messenger of the colonial assembly
standing before the king’s attorney gen-
eral entreating that Virginia had souls
to be saved as well as England, and
the brutish answer: “D—— your souls!
Make tobacco,” She saw the colonies
supplicating on their knees, spurned,
contemned, spit upon. She saw the
chains forging, navies building, armies
gathering. She saw British ministers,
like harpies, with cold eyes upon the
green of the Americas.
Henry's voice had risen louder, more
intense, and his colorless features and
eyes of fire had become terrible to look
upon. He sat upon the whirlwind.
The very walls seemed to rock with vi-
brations.
“There is no longer any room for
hope. If we wish to be free, if we
mean to preserve inviolate those privi-
leges for which we have been so long
contending, if we mean not basely to
abandon the struggle we have vowed
never to abandon until its object be ob-
tained, then we must fight. We must
fight! An appeal to arms, to the God
of Hosts, is all that is left us.”
Anne dragged her eyes from Henry's.
Amid the sea there was one face that
had not moved a line. It was Colonel
Washington's. He sat stonelike, as im-
movable as a bishop at his prayers, his
hands still upon his knees. He was as
a soldier should be—cool of head and
saving passion for the hand. And as
a soldier he was slow to disallegiance.
But cold as he seemed when Henry
bent the wills of that assembly and
whipped the conservatives to the wall,
there was a glitter in his eye that leap-
ed to flame behind the quiet mask.
“They tell us that we are weak.
When shall we be stronger? Will it
be next week, or next year? When we
are totally disarmed and when a Brit-
ish guard is in every house? Shall we
lie still till our enemies have bound us
Land and foot? We cry ‘Peace, peace,
but there is no peace. Why stand we
here idle? What do you wish? We are
three millions of people, armed in the
holy cause of liberty and invincible!
We shall not fight our battle alone! The
war is inevitable, and let it come! Let
it come!”
Henry's voice, which had been like a
battle shout, sank in his throat. His
form bowed itself in the attitude of a
galley slave. On his crossed wrists the
felon’s manacles seemed actually to be
visible. His very tone thrilled help-
lessness and heartbroken agony.
“And if we chose,” he said heavily,
‘there is no retreat save slavery. Our
chains are ready. We may hear their
clanking on the plains of Boston! Is
life so dear or peace so sweet as to be
so purchased?”
He lifted his chained hands toward
heaven. “Forbid it,” he prayed, “Al-
mighty God!”
With the words he straightened. His
tendons strained against the fetters,
and they fell from his wrists as he
sent a look at the quaking loyalists of
the house that chilled their bloed.
“I know not what course others may
take”’—oh, the hissing scorn of that
now triumphant voice!—‘but as for
me—as for me—give me liberty or give
me death!”
Anne heard what followed as in a
dream. She heard the studied oratory
of Richard Henry Lee, aided by the
elegant gestures he practiced before
the mirror. She heard Thomas Nelson,
the richest man in Virginia, no longer
shifting in his seat, now crying out
that if British troops should be landed
in the county of which he was lieu-
tenant he would obey no forbidding,
but call his militia and repel them at
the water's edge.
( Continued next week.)
PLEASANT FIELDS OF HOLY WRIT
Save for my daily range
Among the pleasant fields of Holy Writ.
I might despair —Tennyson
THE INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON.
Second Quarter. Lesson VIII. Mark X. 35-45
Sunday, May 22nd, 1904.
JESUS TEACHES HUMILITY.
A strange and sad incident! It illus-
trates vividly the small progress Jesus had
made with His disciples in teaching them
the new ideal of life. It was within thir-
ty days of the end of his career, and they
had had three years of instruction. Yet
their notion of the nature of His kingdom
was so vague and crnde that the heart of
the Master must have been distressed. They
thoaght it something objective and mate-
rial. They had taken his analogy of the
twelve thrones literally, and were hungry
for the spoils of office.
James and John, the very ones from
whom He might naturally expect the most,
really led off in the demand for official pre-
ferment. They seemed not to have profit-
ed hy previous errors which Jesus had cor-
rected. They had forhidden one whom they
found casting out devils, because he did
not follow them, and they had wantcd to
call down fire on the Samaritans. The
Master had, in these instances, rebuked
the earthliness of their aims and methods.
But now they betray such a base notion of
their Leader that they think He could be
guilty of nepotism. Their mother,Salome,
was Mary’s sister, and they cousins of
Jesns. Hence, their claim to preferment.
It is a family attempt to steal a march on
the others. They are especially anxious to
cut Peter ont, the most agressive of the
apostles. They had reason to believe Jesus
regarded them with special interest—for
Jobn was His favorite at table. and James
was always included with the two others
as witnesses of the most significant events.
In the form of their request they seem to
have had the Sanhedrin in mind—the
splendid supreme court and parliament of
the Hebrew nation. The Prince of the San-
hedrin sat in the midst of two rows of el-
ders. On the right sat the ‘‘Father of the
Sanhedrin,’’ and on the left the ‘“‘Sage of
the Sanhedrin.”” So James and John had
an ambitious dream of being clad in gorge-
ons raiment and seated high in the marble
court of the Elders of Israel, in the rehabi-
tated nation. It may not have been entire-
ly unmixed selfishness. There may have
been elements of patriotism and courage.
Bat they totally missed the scope and spir-
it of the kingdom. This dullness of His
best disciples must have been mortifying to
Jesus. In fact, it was more trying to Him
than the active and cunning opposition of
the scribes and Pharisees.
With infinite patience Jesus began to
teach the lesson all over again, and unfold
the essential principles of His kingdom.
He could be tardy to His charitable disci-
ples, for He was founding a commonwealth
absolutely unique—the like of which the
world had never seen before—a kingdom of
the heart, entirely subjective, ethical, and
spiritual. Well could Jesus say, '‘Ye know
not what ye ask.”” Within a month they
saw those coveted places at His right and
left hand occupied indeed, by the orucified
thieves! ‘‘Can you drink of My cup !”’ So
far from being able to drink of the cup of
His calamity, they did not even dream, in
spite of all His teaching, that such a cup
was to be pressed to His lips. There was
no room for the cross in their conception of
His kingdom. Again, the very ethical and
spiritual nature of the new commonweaith
makes the aibitrary distribution of position
and emolument among favorites an utter
impossibility. In point of fact, ‘‘lordehip’’
in the common sense of‘the word, is entire-
ly ruled out. The only greatness is that
of love, obedience, humility and service.
And there can be nothing capricious in
this. To the fit seat the fitted person only
can come. Those nearest the King can
reach the station only by the path the King
Himself bas taken.
Jesus muss have been touched with pity
wben He said to these overconfident disci-
ples, ‘‘you shall drink of My cup.” He
knew the significance of the words. They
did not. It compensated also for present
disappointment to know as He did that
these crude and vainglorious followers
would finally learn His doctrine and imi-
tate His example, and prove in heroic mar-
tyrdom their premature assertion, ‘‘We can
drink Your cup.”’
The officious criticism of the ‘‘two’’ by
the ‘““ten’’ gave Jesus another opportunity
to further i!luminate and enforce the essen-
tial principle of His kingdom. The ten
were not worthier than the two. In point
of fact they were in the same fault. They
were only incensed against Jamesand John
because they had forestalled them in the
preferment of a claim. Jesus differentiates
His kingdom from the Gentile state. In it
there is lordship and authority, and conse-
quent state of degrees and emolument. Bub
it is not so in His kingdom. The very op-
posite maintains. The greatest is the great-
est servant. And of this principle he is
about to give the purest and sublimess ex-
ample ever witnessed. He came not to
be ministered unto, but to minister and to
give His life.
THE TEACHER'S LANTERN
It may have been because Jesus had late-
ly rebuked them, and they felt themselves
not in good form, that James and John got
their mother to prefer their request for
them. She is supposed, also, to have been
Jesus’ annt.
* * * * *
The request was in the ‘‘spoiled child”’
form. They sought to exact a promise be-
fore they named the thing they wanted.
* * * * *
The frankness and openness of Jesus is
here illustrated. He was ‘‘out and out.”
He also knew that to have the disciples put
their mean request in words in the hearing
of all would help them discover the mean-
ness of it.
* * * * *
; Jesus here shows, in his reference to His
cup and baptism, His perfect knowledge of
what awaited Him. The end was not hid-
den fiom Him. His composure, courage
and fidelity exhort ouradmiration.
* * * * *
There is nothing mystical in the term
cup. It is avery familiar figure of Hebrew
speech. Its origin is natural. In the Ori-
ental family yes it is the father’s custom to
divide the meal according to his judgment,
giving each his portion of meat and drink.
So the good and ill of life is considered the
portion dealt to each by the Heavenly Fath-
er. Gradually the cup came to indicate the
sorrowful portion particularly. It became
the common figure of calamity.
* * * *
‘‘We can’’ was the rash avowal of ignor-
ance. But that pledge was later lived ,up
to superbly by these very disciples.
* * * * *
*
The unfit person in the fit place is the
most incongruous picture in history. The
prepared place is for the prepared person
and vice versa. High station has high price.
Incompetence may stumblé into office, bus
has no tenure. :
* * * * >
Not men-selected-men have heen the im-
mortal heroes of the kingdom of heaven, hut
the heaven-selected.
* * * * #*
This is not, however, a proof text against
office in the Chureh. Reference is only to
the spirit in which office is assnmed and
administered.
* * * * *
Unseemly that in that solemn hour, so
near the shadow of the cross, there should
be this fierce fire of controversy. The dis-
pleasure of the ‘‘ten’’ ia as reprehensible as
the ambition of the ‘‘6wo.”’ It sprang ous
of the spirit. of rivalry which Jesus had
lately rebuked. The ‘‘two’’ were selfish.
The *‘ten”’ were jealous. Selfishness is the
seed of jealonsy.
* * * * *
‘‘Lordship and authority, not so among
you,’’ is the announcement of a new law in
the new kingdom. It is a bran-new prin-
ciple in hopeless conflict with current
ideas. It is service versuslordship. All the
greatness known in Jesus’ kingdom is the
greatness of goodness, humility and serv-
ice.
* * * * *
Ambition to spiritual lordship has ruin-
ed men and churches. The church has
ruined many a State and the State corranpt-
ed many a State. In every instance, how-
ever, it has heen when this initial prioei-
ple of the kingdom of heaven on earth has
been discarded.
* * * *
The unintelligent things of nature ex-
emplify humility. The lark soars high,
but builds its nest low. The nightingale
sings only when veiled in night. The full-
est head of wheat bows lowest, as does the
limb moss Jaden with fruit.
*
What Becomes of Circus Stars.
There are still a few people left who talk
about the good old times at the circus.
The enormous proportions of the modern
circus and its complicated performance atill
fail to impress some of the old-time circus-
goers, who sigh for the performance of 20
or 30 years ago. The clowns, they will tell
you, were funnier then than now, the aeri-
al artists more daring and skillful. As a
matter of fact, of course, a great modern
show is at least twenty-fold better than the
primitive little performance of the past
generation. There has been a rapid evolu-
tion in circus life in America, as in many
other things. The steam engine marks no
greater advance over the stage coach than
the up-to-date circus over the old-fashion-
ed one-ring show.
There are still a few old performers left
who return to look upon the world of saw-
dust, the scene of their former glories, and
regret the good old times, but their point
of view is prejudiced. Even these old fel-
lows are fast disappearing. The circus, of
course, uses up its men very fast; the life
is a hard one and especially for the peiform-
ers. There are comparatively few years
that a man is at his best.
This naturally leads to the question:
‘What becomes of the old circus man?’’
Taken in the aggregate, there are thou-
sands of them. For years his fame fills the
country. Thousands crowded to watch his
feats and applaud him, and then in a few
years his name is quite forgotten. There
are compensations in every life, however,
and thas of the circus man has its advanta-
ges. To be sure, he may risk his neck twic2
a day and his professional life is a short
one, but the remuneration enables him to
retire and live comfortably after a few
years.
It is perhaps not generally known that
circus folks are perbaps the most economic-
al and cautious people as regards money
matters in the world. They have the sav-
ing habit to a marked degree, and youn will
rarely find a circus performer of any prom-
inence who, in after years, is in straitened
circumstances. In the modern circus or-
ganizations, especially in the case of the
Barnum & Bailey show, there are few sin-
gle performers; they almost invariably
work in troupes and sets. It is not nancom-
mon for such a troupe to put all 1ts savings
in a common fund and at the end of the
season make a joint investment.
It is not uncommon for a troupe or fami-
ly to receive from $600 to $1,000 a week
for their services. together with all living
expenses. A troupe of half a dozen per-
formers receiving $800 a week will have
been paid in a single tenting season of 32
weeks the neat little sum of $25,600. All
the performers receive their transportation,
their lodging and food. There are few ways
in fact, that a circus performer can spend
money. He must work early and late, so
that he has no time for amusements; he is
not allowed to drink or gamble by the rules
of the show. The only expenses which are
at all considerable are in providing himself
with costumes and properties, and these do
not need to be replaced often.
Those who talk about thie good old times
forget another important feature of modern
circus life. In the olden times the tenting
season comprised the performer’s working
year. He was obliged to support himself
throughout nearly half the year in idleness.
Nowadays, however, the performer can us-
vally find plenty of engagements in thea-
ters, music halle and private cxhibitions
during the winter months. The circus man
is rarely lazy, and he is glad to take advan-
tage of this opportunity to earn more mon-
ey and keep in training the year round.
In many instances the higher class of aerial
artists and specialists are engaged by the
show for the entire year to make sure of
them. In other words,the skilled perform-
er can as a rule work under salary for from
48 to 52 weeks in the year, and calculating
at the rate of compensation mentioned, a
troupe of half a dozen should be able to
earn about $37,000 in a single year. Only
last year a troupe of five who had traveled
continuously with the show for seven years
decided to give up their circus life and
showed a fortune in securities which they
had amassed in that time to the amount of
$200,000. The members of this troupe were
still young men, not one being over 45
years of age. Curiously enough, the be-
spangled performers of the ring, when their
time comes to retire, almost invariably
choose farming as their favorite pastime.
They have had enough of the glitter and
glory and desire a quiet life.
The old-fashioned circus companies could
not afford more than one or at most two or
three artists at such enormous salaries.
The idea of engaging a troupe of 10 or a
dozen men or women for a single act was
out of the question. Here is one of the
greatest ad vantages of a modern show.
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Bucklen’s Arnica Salve quickly arrested
farther inflammation and cured him. It
conquers aches and kills pain. 25c. ab
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S08
Terra del Fuaegans Lowest Rung of
Haman Ladder,
Wiid Races at Man's. Farthest Limit South—Dip
Children in lcy Sea, .
The Sonth American Continent does not,
properly speaking, end in Cape Horn, for
a narrow passage some two hundred and
fifty miles long cuts across it somewhat
farther north. A 40-foot tide races twice a
day into the Atlantic entrance of this pas-
sage, covering and uncovering dangerous
shoals as a wild beast bares its teeth. On
these shoals many a good ship’s back has
broken. As we adventure to the west the
waterway stretches betweeen twin ranges
of splintered hills, covered to the low snow
line by 2 dripping forest of Antarctic birch
its somber green seared at short intervals
by blue-white glaciers which push their
frozen hummocks to the water’s verge, or
discharge a cascade from cliffs so high that
only an icy spray, touched with rainbow
hue, falls athwart the steamer’s deck.
Throughout all the year the roaring south-
west wind blusters past, bringing in its
train—save for some short, deceptive calm
—showers of rain and sleet and a cloak of
trailing mist. Such are the famous Straits
of Magellan, which the yet more broken
channels and islands terminating in Cape
Horn—a fit barrier of the wild races who,
in that wild land, mark man’s farthest
limit to the South.
Since. Darwin published his famous
‘‘Voyage of a Naturalist,’ made in H. M.
S. Beagle in 1834, Fuegans have been gen-
erally classed as one tribe—‘‘the lowest
step in the buman ladder’ —while popular
credulity, based on she fears of ship cap-
tains, beating a painfal passage home,
cheerfully consented to dub them wreckers
and cannibals as well. Only of late has
the mist of half truth lifted, so that we
may judge them fairly ; and the task mus
be undertaken speedily, if at all. During
20 years of contact with whites the num-
bers of the Yaghan tribe, or canoe dwellers
have sank from 2,500 to 200 ; and that of
the Onas from 2,000 to 600 ; man, woman
and child. Should this rate of decrease
continue few, if any, members of either
tribe will survive the next decade, and a
fragment of the Stone age of intense hu-
man interest will disappear altogether
from our ken.
TRIBESMEN, CANOE-DWELLERS.
The Yaghans frequent chiefly the shores
of the Bergle Channel, a sheltered passage
of great beauty but little practical use, ly-
ing as it does, half way between the Ma-
gellan Straits and the Horn, its entrance
blocked at either hand by dangerous reefs
and racing tide-rips. These tribesmen are
true canoe dwellers, since they must search
forever the shores of otherwise barren
islands for food, in the shape of mussels,
fish, sea fowl, or, perhaps, by great good
chance, a stranded seal or whale. Till the
South American Mission established itself
among them they braved the rigours of the
climate naked, save for a small, flat otter
skin, slunk from the neck to the side
where the wind happened to blow. The
women, usually two, paddled the canoe
from the stern. The man crouched in the
bows, alert, harpoon in hand. In the cen-
ter of the cance were piled other simple
hunting gear, babies, and a slab of shin-
gled turf, on which smouldered the fire-
brands carried to each fresh halting place.
For in the Land of the Horn fire is a first
necessity of human life ; and from hun-
dreds of tiny smoke drifts, which lined the
channels in the days when first Magellan
and Drake passed on their way round the
world, came the name ‘‘Tierra del Fuaego,”’
or Land of Fire.
DIP CHILD IN ICY SEA.
In their unceasing struggle with the ele-
ments for a bare existence the Yaghans
have been forced to abandon all but the
slightest mental equipment. They bave
evolved no faith, no god ; they bave no
totem to bind them into one tribe, no head
wan to organize them into common defense
or attack. They are still stationary at
that microcosm of great empires—the fami-
ly. They are a chatterbox tribe, and their
language is a very complex one, with a
regular grammar and upward of thirty
thousand classified words. To each tiny,
each unnoticed headland, they give a full
descriptive name, which aie the surnames
of persons born in such spots. Shortly
after birth the child is dipped in the icy
sea, to render it more hardy. Their dead
are buried without ceremony under rocks
or in great hidden heaps of mussel shells
which accumulate by an oft-frequented
camp. . Their name for death signifies sim-
ply ‘‘gone away,” yet they have the in-
stinctive dread of the wild animal for all
dead things, and when one member of the
family dies all those, who, having been
born in the same spot, bear the same name,
change it for some other. The departed
are thereafter never mentioned, save in
some roundabout fashion, for the Yaghans
are apt at nicknames. The tribe has been
decimated by white men’s diseases, which
are fostered by their passion for liguor—a
weakness taken full advantage of by un-
scrupulous traders. Of the quality of
drink supplied it is sufficient to say that it
can be bought for about sixpence per quart
hottle at Ushuaia, the present seat of Ar-
geutine government in the Beagle channel.
BODY IS A RELIGION,
The second tribe, the Onas, are foot In-
dians, living in the mountainous interior
of the great island of which the Beagle
Channel marks the southern boundary.
Although they are thus in a sense island-
ers, they have no canoes, and cannot even
swim, being dependent on the guanaco,
which frequent the npper pastures, for food
and general equipment, from their raw-
hide waterbags to the strung sinews of
their bows. An all-enveloping fur robe is
their only covering, and this, when there
is need for freer movement, the braves as
once discard, standing clothed, like oor
own ancestors, in the primal simplicity of
bow and arrows and paint. They use
such pigments to aid their stalking, a
science in which they are: past masters.
To hunt the guanaco they first cover shem-
selves according to the ground over which
they must move—e. g., white, when on
snowfields, yellow among dry pampa
grass, slate color with red spots when
among lichen-covered rocks. Their amuse-
ment consists in wrestling and in long
races, perhaps to a hill-top ten miles dis-
tant. This lass is a severe test of endur-
ance, for the valleys the Fuegan forest
are carpeted with rotten tree trunks and
spongy moss, while, as the wood ap-
proaches the snow Jz. it is dwarfed aud
twisted into the intricacy of a box-hedge,
and further progre\s is only possible by
scrambling over the tops of the trees.
STORY OF THE PARROQUET.
The tie of comrade or brother is far
stronger with the Onas than that linking
man and wife. The men have a supersti-
tion that formerly the women had the up-
per hand, while the men were forced to do
camp drudgery. So on reaching manhood
they bind themselves toa kind of free
masonry, whose object is to impose sab-
jection on the women by personifying, on
which they have peopled the woods and
lakes, the mists and mountains, whose
companionship is all they have of home.
Bekind his Indian reserve, however, the
Ona is ofa frank and—for a savage—kind-
ly disposition, and especially fond of little
children. As the Onu youngsters grow up
they listen in the long winter nights to
tales which bave been handed down of a
bygone time when all the members of Na-
ture’s great family, sun and moon, bird,
beast and man, walked and talked togeth-
er. It is noticeable that such stories have
no taint of the disgusting animalism which
prevades every Yaghan tale.
This is the Ona story of Querr-Prrh, the
Parroquet; and why the birch trees in
Tierra del Fuego turn red :
In the time of long ago young Camshoat
set out upon a long journey alone, as is the
custom of the Ona in order that his limbs
might barden and that he might grow up
to be a great hunter. He traveled far from
Onaland, keeping his face ever to the
North, and when be came back he told
how, in the land where he had heen, the
leaves of Hanis, the birch tree, fell off in
winter, and before they fell they first turn-
ed red. Bat all his people laughed, saying
that Camshoas told lies to make a boast of
his long journeys; for could they not see
for themselves that there was only one kind
of tree in the world, whose leaves were
ever green ? When he heard them laugh-
ing Camshoat was very angry, hecause he
knew that he had spoken only truth. Once
more he traveled to that country in the
North, and this time when he came back
it was in the form of the first parroguet,
whose back is as green as the green leaves,
but whose breast is blood-red. Each year
he makes the long journey, going and com-
ing; and wherever he perches on the trees
he makes them red with his red breast,
while he calls to the folk who pass helow,
‘‘Querr * * *! What do yon say to this ?
Now you see I tell no lies. Prrh!”
ENGLISH SHEEP FARMERS.
Before we pass judgment on the Fuegan
tribes les ns consider their later surround-
ings. Euglish sheep farmers, crossing
from the Patagonian mainland, first fenced
off the best northern grazing grounds. This
brought ahout raids hy the Indians on the
tame ‘‘white gnanaco’’ of the farmers, with
savage reprisals, carried to the bitterest ex-
tremity by both sides. In the south tke
Argentine government established at
Staten Island a military penal settlement,
and at Ushuala a civil convict prison.
Service rendered in Tierra del Fuego still
counts as double time with Argentine offi-
cials. From the Chilian town of Sandy
Point—the trading center of the Magellan
straits—which may be best described as
the Port Said of South America—sailed
schooners fitted out for fur trading with
the canoe-Indians, gold washing on the
mere exposed beaches to the southeast, and
seal poaching round the Horn. The
scourings of a continent flocked to this
trade; above and with it all was the piti-
less climate, keeping human vitality at its
lowest ebb, and prompt to crown each
mishap. Tierra del Fuego lies within the
same degrees of latitude South that Eng-
land does in the North; hnt its average
temperature is 20 degrees colder; nor is it
fenced and comforted by the presence of a
great and peopled continent. It is but a
narrow breakwater of granite rock thrust
ont hetween two oceans toward the lone
world of Arctic ice. So stands today the
Land of the Horn,drear and desolate for all
its wild grandeur, hoffeted by ever-rolling
breakers. as its children are buffeted by
fate, till, as the departing voyager strains
the eye and the imagination to see beyond
both vanish together into an unknown sea.
Improving the Capitol.
The whole country will be anxious for
assurance that the proposed extension of
the Capitol at Washington will not mar the
happy, if not quite perfect, proportions of
that building, nor rob it of any pais of its
imposing beauty. One recent attempt to
extend a famous national edifice,though its
resuls is defended by many competent ciit-
ics, has caused widespread popular diesatis-
faction.
From the architectural point of view,and
indeed from the sentimental one as well,
there is far more at stake in a remodeling
of the Capitol than of the White House.
The Presideut’s mansion is a modest, hap-
pily designed house of considerable quiet
dignity. The Capitol is the nation’s mon-
umental building; grandiose in character,
its outline and. proportions are so excellent
as to afford the liveliest satisfaction to the
informed judgment, while it impresses the
popular taste as probably the noblest of ex-
isting buildings.
The people of the country are anxious
thas the country lose nothing in an ill-con-
ceived effort to improve it. Nevertheless,
it is true that as it stands today this fam-
ous building has undergone improvements,
and is what it is in consequence of them.
In the course of these it has come to pass
that, however numerous the merits of the
fabrio may be, the dome, graceful and im-
pressive as that mighty creation is, rises
from a foundation which from several points
of view discloses itself as inadequate. The
wings of the Capitol are members heavier
than the body. The dome is well propor-
tioned to the buildingas a whole;seen from
the west or the east. it soars from a mag-
nificently satisfactory base. But it is too
big for the central—that is, the main or the
original—building, upon which in particu-
lar it stands; viewed from an angle to the
| north or south, the dome may be observed
almost to overhang its base.
It is this defect which the proposed im-
provement is designed to remedy. A join
committee of Senators and Repiesentatives
bas agreed to recommend that the central
building be enlarged, so that its front be
flush with the front of the wings. This was
the plan proposed by the architect, Walter,
in 1865. In 1874 Walter 1ecommended a
much greater enlargement of the central
building. In the opinion of many, his lat-
er plan threatened to subordinate the wings
unduly, though since the project of enlarg-
ment has been revived some architectural
authorities have insisted that the 1874 plan
is the right solution. That the enlargment
of the main building is demanded hy ar-
chitectural considerations, all agree. To
expand it to the size now recommended by
the committee’ is at all events,a step in the
right direction, one which cannot possibly
do any harm, and which may prove to ful-
fill all the requirements of the canons cf
proportion.
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fit occasions, the watchful spirits with