LOST GLOBY OJLOH&ISIAHD
RECALLED BY TEE DEA3TIO? 'CI, Willi TNTfi
CHIEF OF POOSEMfTPCKSim IliWiTi
THE COMTCGELECTIONOr Y
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poOS? - P&>\ \V\&\feWi '/
PEAD is the sachem of the
Poose-pah-tucks. Long live
the new sachem! A few
weeks ago, in the little reser
vation cemetery near Mastic, on the
60Uth shore of Long Island, midway
toward the eastern end, there was laid
away with all pomp and honors befit
ting his dignity, Richard Ward, other-
OEACON "MESH" BRADLEY, NOMINEE
FOR GRAND SACHEM.
wise lineal descendant of Chief Toba
guss, the great sachem of one of the
most powerful of island tribes.
More than eighty years of age, for
half a century this patriarch was the
guide, philosopher and friend of the
little handful of tribal survivors of the
primal L*n-ca-chogue stock. In all
matters of boundary disputes, social
usages, religion and politics, Chief
Ward was the supreme judge.
Although not able himself to read, it
was he who urged upon the authorities
the necessity of supplying the reser
vation with a suitable school house
and a competent white man teacher.
It was lie who built the church and
Insisted that every man, woman and
child of the reservation, numbering
about 100 souls, attend with becoming
regularity.
Chief Ward's successor is to be cho
sen by popular vote of tho remnants
of the once powerful tribe. They will
meet on the second Sunday of June
next, on the reservation grounds on the
banks of the River Forge, and with
songs and speechmaking elect a wor
thy follower of such a worthy sachem.
The present and most logical candi
date for the high and sacred office is
"Mesh," otherwise known as "Dea
con," Bradley, another descendant of
the parent Uu-ca-chogue stock, a man
of great force of character and influ
ence with his people, understanding
well their needs. The nominated chief
was born and raised on the reservation
and seldom moves very far from his
home.
A visit to the Poose-pah-tuck colony
Is interesting. It may be reached by
a fair sand and shell road from the
railway station at Mastic, which is
something more than half way from
New York to Montauk Tolnt, the east
ern extremity of Long Island. The
Indians, however, true to their tribal
inst'.nets, prefer the trail which leads
JACOB WARD, LINEAL DESCENDANT OK THE FIRST GRAND
SACHEM, BY THE GRAVES OF IIIS FOREFATHERS.
in a circuitous way along the Suk-a
neck River. In attempting to follow
rliis ditllcult trail was quickly lost in
the great rolling sand dunes, thatched
with ragged fir and scrub oak and car
peted with pine needles and purple
wintergreen.
It is a ghostly jungle, without one re
lieving evidence of the handicraft of
man. One expects almost at any mo
ment to stumble upon a baud of Mon
tauks and Un-ca-chogues In council of
smoking the pipe of pence and
swcariug eternal enmity to the envious
Massapiquas on the west, and tlie war
like Corcliangs on the north of them.
As approach Is made toward the
Forge River, however, there are evi
dences of a kindlier bounty of nature.
The reservation itself is a fruitful, rec
tangular plot, about 170 acres in ex
tent, partly under cultivation. It is
owned by the Indians in absolute com
monwealth.
There are a church and a school
house, together with the several little
cottages scattered about over the fer
tile slopes, all in contrast with the
grand mansions of the summer so
journers, whose turrets and gables
are seen beyond the Forge River and
over toward the purple sea.
The original grant of the reservation
reads like a page of history, and Is a
document of interest, as well as pic
turesque as a specimen of "English as
she is wrote."
Jacob Ward, son of the late sachem,
is a man who takes prid# in preserving
the ancient spirit of the tribe, and re
lates with enthusiasm the history of
the Long Island Indians. His cottage
on the reservation is in the centre of a
large plot of ground, which he culti
vates in summer. He is known as the
best hunter on the reserve. Deer, fox,
rabbit, grouse, partridge, quail, rac
coon, opossum, mink and muskrat
SCHOOL CHILDREN OF THE RESERVATION.
abound in the neighborhood, and in
the winter season the Indians exist on
the fruits of the rifle and trap. Pov
erty may reign, but none is too poor
to own a good rifle and a well trained
setter.
"We are all one family," said the sou
of the sachem, in an iuterview for the
Herald. "There are few of us left,
and Ave stand together with brotherly
affection. You know, Long Island
was peopled by Indians all the way
from Kings County on the west, where
the Canarsie tribe was located, away
to Montauk Point, where the Shiuue
cocks and Montauks held forth.
"The Rockaways were where Hemp
stead and Newtown now are, the Mer
rlclcs were in the middle island, the
Massapequas where Islip stands, the
Matinecocks in the Glen Cove and
Huntington districts, the Nesaquakes
at Stony Brook, the Setaukets at Wad
ing River, the Corehaugs by Feconlc
Bay, the Manhassets near Shelter Isl
and, etc. The latter tribe was per
haps the most powerful, being able
to put no less than 500 fighting men In
the field, but our tribe, the Un-ea
chogues, were likewise warlike and
possessed of riches both in lands and
seawan that is, Indian money the
wampum, or white, and pague, or the
black, currency of the tribes. The for
mer was made from the stock or stem
of the periwinkle, quantities of which
are to be found about here, and the
latter cut from the purple heart of the
quohaug, or hard shelled clam.
"So rich was the Island in this
'money' that throughout the State It
was known as Sea-wan-hacky, or Isl
and of Shells—in other words, riches—
and, of course, It was the object of re
peated Invasions by the mainland
tribes who coveted this wealth.
"Years ago the Indians on the re
serve lived in wigwams, but with the
coming of 'outsiders' and the inter
marriage of Africans and Indians the
remnants of the tribe took to cot
tages. Famous 'Queen Becky' was the
last of the tribe to cling to her wig
wam in preference to the white man's
mode of shelter.
"We are ruled by three trustees un
der the chief, who Is also first deacon
\ V ! s*,- V-iT , . *
- ro, \ 1 «
THE RESERVATION MEETING HOT7SE.
of our church. 'Mesh' Bradley was
second deacon till the death of my
father, the sachem of the tribe, and
now Deacon Bradley is the most like
ly successor. He is a good man and
beloved by all the tribespeople both
here on the reserve and elsewhere, for
many of us are scattered.
"Every June we have a reunion, and
sometimes our 'brothers' from other
tribes join us. Last June Avas the
farewell of my father to his people,
for he foresaw his end and bade one
and all goodby. It was a very affect
ing scene, and will long remain in the
memory of the younger generation.
This coming June we will have anoth
er reunion and elect our chief. Thus
is our tribal interest kept up and our
people held together." New York
Herald.
Chair of St. Auffußtine.
The chair of St. Augustine, in the
lioyal Museum at Canterbury, which
is claimed by the Bishop of Hereford
on behalf of the vicar and church war
dens of Stanford Bishop, says the Lon-
THE REPUTED CHAIR OF ST. AUGUSTINE.
don Daily Graphic, was purchased by
the late Mr. James Johnston from the
sexton of Stanford Bishop Church,
who had rescued It from being convert
ed into firewood. It was afterward
used as a garden seat, and on the
death of Mr. Johnston the chair passed
into the hands of Mr. E. Cocks John
stone, by whom It was presented to
Canterbury. The present holders of
the relic strongly object to part with
it, on the ground that the proper place
for St. Augustine's chair is In the city
where he founded his first See. The
chair is believed to have been used by
St. Augustine on the occasion of his
conference with the early Christian
bishops somewhere in the neighbor
hood of Stanford Bishop. It is made
entirely of oak, and is devoid of nails
or metal work, and Is declared to be a
typical specimen of the work of the
carpenter in the first six centuries of
Itomaa rule la Europe, corresponding
in style and construction with a Ro
man solium or chair of authority. It
is oblong in figure, the outside meas
urement giving thirty-two Inches in
breadth and twenty-two inches from
front to back, and it Is deep backed,
with closed sides or aeons to support
the arms. Tiiere are evidences, also,
that it formerly possessed a board on
which to rest the feet.
Automobiles In ltetsinm.
All owners of automobiles in Bel
gium have now to pay an annual tax.
For ears up to six horse power the rate
Is fifty francs per year; over six horse
power sixty francs. The penalty for
a false declaration is 100 francs and
from one to three days' Imprisonment.
A full grown elephant can carry three
tons on its back.
SELF-LOADING PISTOL. j
1 New Weapon Jnit Introduced Into tb« j
Belgian Array. |
The famous National Arm "Works of
Liege, in Belgium, have for several I
fears been carrying on trials in the
manufacture of self-loading firearms,
»nd a self-loading pistol, of the so
:alled Browning system, invented by
:he above works, has proven to be of
roch an efficiency that the whole Bel
gian Cavalry regiments have been
iquipped with this weapon.
Up to the year 189.') the self-loading
mechanism had only been applied to
shoulder weapons (rifles), but during j
:hat year several manufacturers of flre
irms tried to apply this mechanism
ilso to pocket pistols, and not without
success. The first known self-loading
Mstol was that invented by and named
ifter Bergmann-Gaggenau, followed
soon by similar inventions of Kromar,
Borcliardt and others. But all these in- !
I'pntors used the retrospective gns pres- |
sure of the firing for the mechanical j
action of opening, discharging, loading j
find shutting. An improvement in this ]
system has now been made in the j
Browning pistol. The entire weapon is
made of steel. The barrel has a calibre :
of 7.05 millimeters, and a length of j
102 millimeters, while the whole |
weapon is 103 millimeters long. The 1
hard-lead cartridges are copper-nickel
APPEARANCE OF THE BROWNING PISTOL.
plated, mid weigh 4.8 grains, contain- |
ing 0.2 grains of smokeless powder. |
The efficiency of the pistol is so great !
that at a distance of 720 feet the ball |
still pierces a two-inch thick oak board.
The magazine can receive seven sharp j
cartridges, but by pulling one of them
into the barrel by means of the sledge, |
eight cartridges may be provided for. j
The pistol is extremely flat, the ester* j
lor diameter of the barrel being only j
fifteen millimeters, an advantage on i
account of which the weapon is also
appreciated in Belgium by tourists and !
bicycle riders. The mechanism of the I
pistol is worked throughout by an in- j
j genious system of springs, and this
CONSTRUCTION OF THE PISTOL.
is said to be the great advantage over j
tlie other self-loading weapons.
Purge to Contain tlie Key*.
It Is common for persons to use a key j
ring and chain to secure a number o:' [
keys together, and such connection pre- I
veins their loss and enables them to be !
readily found when carried in tlie ■
pocket with other articles. A knife,
various kinds of charms, smokers' i
utensils and other requisites for a gen
tleman's use are often attached to the
ring with the keys, the articles being
sometimes of considerable value and :
liable to be seriously Injured by rust j
or dampness. There Is also a tendency i
to wear out the pocket in combining '
all these Implements in a bunch, as
they seldom lie fiat in the pocket. Ben- I
jumln F. Grlscom lias designed the
purse shown in the drawing.as a pro- j
tection to both the pocket and its con
tents. It is formed of two sections of |
leather of oval shape, sewn together at '
tlie sides, with an opening at one end, !
through which the chain connects with
the ring, the opposite end having a !
snap button to secure the loose flaps !
when the keys are not in use. When a
' | ■■ -v !
PROTECTS BOTH POCKET AND CONTENTS.
key or other utensil is needed the purse
is withdrawn from the pocket by a pull
on the chain, the flaps being then
pulled apart and tlie ring allowed to
drop out for selecting ihe desired arti
cle.
Cheap Coronation Scat*.
A searcher In by-past records writes
to the effect that seats at coronations
were not always so difficult to secure
as th »y will be at the ceremony of the
crowning of King Edward VII. At the
coronation of Edward I. seats could be
obtained for a farthing. At the cere
monies of Henry VIII., Edward VI.
and Queen .Mary the price was a groat.
At Queen Elizabeth's the charge rose
to sixpence. From that time the price
gradually rose from a shilling to ten
guineas, which was reached at the cor
onation of George 111. At Queen Vic
toria's coronation the rates for seats
In the Abbey was much higher.—Pall
Mall Gazette.
DR. TALMAGE'S "SERMON
SUNDAY'S DISCOURSE BY THE NOTED
DIVINE.
Subject: The Art of For»ettln;-now to Be
Happy—Cancel! Oß Your l>cl)t»—Allow
Others to Forget—Couio Into Mercy
and Pardon.
WASHINGTON, D. o.— From the letter
to the Heorews Dr. Talmage takes a text
and illustrates how all offenders may be
emancipated; text, Hebrews viii, 12,
"Their sins and their iniquities will I re
member no more."
The national flower of the Egyptians is
the heliotrope, of the Assyrians is the
water lily, of the Hindoos is the marigold,
of the Chinese is the chrysanthemum. We
have no national flower, but there is
hardly any flower more suggestive to
many of us than the forgetmenot. We all
like to be remembered, and one of our mis
fortunes is that there are so many things
we cannot remember. Mnemonics, or the
art of assisting memory, is an important
art. It was first euggestad by Simonides,
of Ceos, 500 years before Christ. Persons
who had but little power to recall events
or put facts and names and dates in proper
processions have through this art had their
memory re-enforced to an almost incredi
ble extent. A good memory is an invalua
ble possession. By all means cultivate it.
I had an friend who, detained all
night at a miserable depot in waiting for a
rail train fast in the snowbanks, enter
tained a group of some ten or fifteen cler
gymen, likewise detained on their way
home from a meeting of presbytery, by
first with a piece of chalk drawing out on
the black and sooty walls of the depot the
characters of Walter Scott's "jMarmion"
and then reciting from memory the whole
of that poem of some eighty pages in fine
print. My old friend, through great age.
lost his memory, and when I asked him if
this story of the railroad depot was true
he said, "I do not remember now, but it
was just like me. Let mc see," said ho to
me. "Have I ever seen you before?"
"Yes," I said; "you were my guest last
night, and I was with you an hour ago."
What an awful contrast in that man be
tween the greatest memory I ever knew
and no memory at all!
But right along with this art of recol
lection, which I cannot too highly eulogize,
is one quite us important, and yet I never
heard it applauded. I mean the art of for
getting. There is a splendid faculty in
that direction that we all need to culti
vate. We might through that process be
ten times happier and more useful than
we now are. We have been told that for
getfulness is a weakness and ought to be
avoided by all possible means. So far
from a weakness, my text ascribes it to
God. It is the very top of omnipotence
that God is able to obliterate a part of His
own memory. If we repent of sin and
rightly seek tho divine forgiveness, the
record of the misbehavior is not only
crossed off the books, but God actually
lets it pass out of memory. "Their sins
and their iniquities will I remember no
more." To remember no more is to forget,
and you cannot make anything else out of
it. God's power of forgetting is so great
that if two men appeal to Him and the
one man, after a life all right, gets the
sins of his heart pardoned and the other
man, after a life of abomination, gets par
doned God remembers no more against
one than the other. The entire past of
both the moralist, with his imperfections,
and the profligate, with his debaucheries,
is as much obliterated in the one case as
in the other. Forgotten forever and for
ever. "Their sins and their iniquities will
I remember no more."
This sublime attribute of forgetfulness
on the part of God you and I need, in our
finite way, to imitate. You will do well to
cast out of your recollection all wrongs
done you. During the course of one's life
he is sure to be misrepresented, to be lied
about, to be injured. There are those who
keep these things freslx by frequent rehear
sal. If things have appeared in print, they
keep them in their scrapbook, for they cut
these precious paragraphs out of news
papers or books and at leisure times look
them over, or they have them tied up in
bundles or thrust in pigeonholes, and they
frequently regale themselves and their
friends by an inspection of these flings,
these sarcasms, these falsehoods, these cru
elties. I have known gentlemen who car
ried them in their pocketbooks, so that
they could easily get at these irritations,
and they put their right hand in the inside
of their coat pocket over their heart and
say: "Look here! Let he show you some
thing." Scientists catch wasps and hor
nets and poisonous insects und transfix
them in curiosity bureaus for study, r.nd
that is well, but these of whom 1 speak
catch tho wasps and tho hornets and pois
onous insects and play with them and put
■them on themselves and on their friends
and see how far the noxious things can
ljump and show how deep they can sting.
Have no such scrapbook. Keep nothing
•in your possession that is disagreeable.
Tear up the and the slanders
und the hypercriticisms.
Imitate the Lord in my text and forget,
actually forget, sublimely forget. There
is no happiness for you in any other plan
lor procedure. You see all around you in
fthe church and out of the church disposi
tions acerb, malign, cynical, pessinnsti;.
X>o you know how these men and women
§ot that disposition? It was by the cm
almment of things pantherinc and viper
ous. They have spent much of their time
in calling the roll of all the rata that have
nibbled at their reputation. Their soul is
a cage of vultures. Everything in them is
sour or imbittered. The milk of human
kindness has been curdled. They do not
believe in anybody or anything. If they
see two peop.e whispering they think it is
about themselves. If they see two people
laughing, they think it is about them
selves. Where there is one sweet pippin
in their orchard there are fifty crabapples.
They have never been able to forget. They
do not want to forget. They never wiil
forget. Their wretchedness is supreme,
for no one can be happy if he carries per
petually in mind the mean things that
have been done him. On the other hand,
you can find here and there a man or
woman (for there are not many of them)
whose disposition is genial aud summery.
Why? Have they always been treated
well? Oh, no. Hard things have been said
against them. They have been charged
with officiousness, and their generosities
have been set down to a desire for display,
und they have many o time been the sub
ject of tittle tattle, and they have had
enough small assaults like gnats and
enough great attacks like lions to have
made them perpetually miserable. If they
would have consented to miserable.
But they have had enough divine philo
sophy to cast off the annoyances, and they
have kept themselves in the sunlight of
Goci's favor and have realized that these
oppositions and hindrances are a part of a
mighty discipline by which they are to be
prepared for usefulness and heaven. The
secret of it all is they have, by the help
of the Eternal God, learned how to forget.
Another practical th&ught: When our
faults are repented of let them go out of
mind. If God forgives them, we have a
right to forget them. Having once re
pented of our infelicities and misdemean
ors, there is no need of our repenting of
them again. Suppose I owe you a large
sum of money, and you are persuaded I
am incapacitated to pay and you give mc
Acquittal from that obligation. You say:
"I cancel that debt. All is right now.
Start again." And the next day 1 come in
and say: "You know about that big debt 1
owe you. I have come into get you to let
me off. I feel so bad about it I cannot
rest. Do let me off." You reply with a
little impatience: "I did let you off. Don't
bother yourself and bother me with any
more of that discussion." The following
day I come in and say: "My dear sir, about
that debt— l can never get over the fact
that I owe you that money. It is some
thing that weighs on my mind like a mill
stone. Do forgive me that debt." This
time you clear lose your patience and say:
"You are a nuisance. What do you mean
by this reiteration of that affair? I am
almost sorry I forgave you that debt. Do
you doubt my veracity or do you not un
derstand the plain language in which I
told you that debt wa3 canceled?" Well,
my friends, there are many Christians
guilty of worse folly than that. While it
is right that they repent of new sins and
of recent sins, what is the use of bother
ing yourself and insulting God by asking
Him to forgive 6in3 that long ago were
forgiven? God has forgiven them. Why
do you not forget tnem? No; you drag
the load on with you, and 363 times a year,
if you pray every dnv, you ask God to re
call occurrences which He has not only for
given, but forgotten.
Quit this folly. I do not ask you less to
realize the turpitude of sin, but 1 ask you
to a higher faith in the promise of God
and the full deliverance of His mercy. He
does not give a receipt for part payment
or so much received on account, but re
ceipt n full, God having for Christ's sake
decreed "your sins and your iniquities
will I remember no more."
I know you will quote the Bible refer
ence to the horrible pit from which you
were digged. Ye.!, be thankful for that
rescue, but do not make displays of the
mud of that horrible pit or sp'r.sh it over
other people. Sometimes I l;ave felt in
Christian meetings discomfited and unfit
for Christian service because I had done
none of those things which seemed to be,
in the estimation of many, necessary for
Christian usefulness, for I never swore a
word or ever got drunk or went to com
promising places or was guilty of assault
and battery or ever uttered a slanderous
word or ever did any one a hurt, although
I knew my heart was sinful enough and I
said to myself, "There is no use of my try
ing to do any good, for I never went
through those depraved experiences." But
afterward I saw consolation in the thought
that no one gained any ordination by the
laying on of the hands of dissoluteness and
infamy.
And though an ordinary moral life, end
ing in a Christian life, may not be as dra
matic a story to tell about, let us be grate
ful to God rather than worry about it if
we have never plunged into outward abom
inations.
A sin forgetting God! That is clear be
yond and far above a sin pardoning God.
How often we hear it said, "I can forgive,
but I cannot forget." That is equal to
saying, "I verbally admit it is all right,
but I will keep the old grudge good."
There is something in the demeanor that
seems to say: "I would not do you harm.
Indeed, I wish you well, but that unfortu
nate affair can never pass out of my mind."
There may be no hard words pass Between
them, but until death breaks in the same
coolness remains. But God lets our par
doned offenses go into oblivion. He nevei
throws them up to us again. He feels aa
kindly toward us as though we had beea
spotless and positively angelic all along.
Many years ago a family consisting of
the husband and wife and little girl of two
years lived far out in a cabin on a western
prairie. The husband took a few cattle tc
market. Before he started his little child
asked him to buy her a doll, and he prom
ised. He could after the sale of the cattle
purchase household necessities and cer
tainly would not forget the doll he had
promised. In the village to which he went
he sold the cattle and obtained the grocer
ies for his household and the doll for hit
little darling. He started home along the
dismal road at nightfall. As he went
along on horseback a thunderstorm broke,
and in the most lonely part of the road
and in the heaviest part of t:ie storm he
heard a child's cry. Robbers had been
known to do some bad work along thai
road, and it was known that this herds
man had money with him, the price of the
cattle sold. The herdsman first thought
it as a stratagem to have him halt and be
despoiled of his treasures, but the child's
cry became more keen and rending, and so
he dismounted and felt around in tho
darkness and all in vain until he thought
of a hollow tree that he remembered near
the road where the child might be, and
for that ha started, and, sure enough!
found a little one fagged out and drencher
of the storm and almost dead. He wrapped
it up as well as he could and mounted his
horse and resumed his journey home,
Comin™ in sight of his cabin he saw it all
lighted up, and supposed his wife had
kindled all these lights so as to guide hel
husband through the darkness. But no,
The house was full of excitement, and the
neighbors were gathered and stood around
the wife of the house, who was insensible
from some great calamity. On inquiry the
returned husband found that the littlfl
child of that cabin was gone. She had
wandered out to meet her father and get
the present he had promised, and tho
child was lost. Then the father unrolled
from the blanket the child he had found in
tho fields, and, 10, it was his own child
and the lost one of the prairie home, and
the cabin quaked with the shout over the
lose one found.
llow suggestive of the fact that once we
were lost in the open fields or among the
mountain crags, God's wandering children,
and He found us, dying in the tempest
and wrapped us in the mantle of His lov«
and fetched us home, gladness and con
gratulation bidding us welcome. The fact
is that the world does not know God or
they would all flock to Him.
So I set open the wide gate of my text,
inviting you all to come into the mercy
and pardon of God—yea, still further, inta
the ruins of the place where once was
kept the knowledge of your iniquities.
The place has been torn down and the
records destroyed, and yet you will find
the ruins more dilapidated and broken
and prostrate than the ruins of Melrose or
Kenilworth, for from these last ruins you
can pick up some fragment of a sculptured
stone or you can see the curve of some
broken arch, but after your repentance
and your forgiveness you cannot find in all
the memory of God a fragment of your
pardoned sins so large as a needle's point.
Their sins and their iniquities will I re
member no more."
Six different kinds of sound were heard
on that night which was interjecteti into
the daylight of Christ's assassination. The
neighing of the war horses —for some of
the soldiers were in the saddle—was one
sound, the bang of the hammers was a
second sound, the jeer of malignants was
a third sound, the weeping of friends and
followers was u fourth sound, the plash
of blood on the rocks was a fifth sound,
and the groan of the er.piring Lord was a
sixth sound! And they all commingled
into one sadness.
Over a place in Russia where wolves
were nursuing a load of travelers and to
save them a servant sprang from the sled
into the mouths of the wild beasts and
was devoured, and thereby the other lives
were saved are inscribed the words. "Great
er love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friend." Many a
surgeon in our own time has in trachteo
tomy with his own lips drawn from the
windpipe of a diphtheritic patient that
which cured the patient and slew the sur
geon, and all have honored the self sacri
fice. But all other scenes of sacrifice pale
before this most illustrious martyr of all
time and all eternity. After that agonizing
spectacle in behalf of our fallen race noth
ing about the sin forgetting God is too
stupendous for my faith, and I accept the
promise, and will you not all accept it?
''Their sins and their iniquities will I re
member no more."
(Copjrrickt, INS, L. Klopsch. 1 *