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GLEANINGS 
 
 WESTERN PRAIRIES: 
 
CAMBRIDGE : 
 JOKES AND PIOHOTT (LATE RIVINOTONS), PBINTEHS, TRINITY STREET. 
 
GLEANINGS 
 
 WESTERN PRAIRIES 
 
 Rev. W. E. YOUNGMAN, 
 
 LATE OF THE PONTIFICAL ACADEMY OF NOBLE ECCLESIASTICS, 
 BOMB, 
 
 Author of "LASCINE," "FOR HUSKS, FOOD," $c, $c. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE; 
 
 JONES & PIGGOTT (Late RIVINGTONS), TRINITY STREET. 
 
 LONDON: W. KENT & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 OXFORD : A. R. MOWBRAY k CO., 116, S. ALDATE'S, AND at 
 65, PARRINGDON STREET, LONDON, E.O. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXII. 
 [The right of translation anil reproduction is reserved.} 
 
s 
 
Vfp "top. 0$nfo« Wmnm Wl**, J» J., 
 
 THE HAiL, MILTON, NEAR CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 AS A UNITED THANK-OFFERING ON THE PAET OF MANY AGED, 
 
 MANY SICK, AND MANY POOE FAMILIES 
 
 IN ENGLAND AND OTHEK COUNTRIES, WHOSE FULL HEARTS 
 
 CAN MAKE HIM NO RETURN UPON EARTH, 
 
 BUT WHOSE PRAYERS ARE SWEET SUCCOUR WITHIN 
 
 " THE GOLDEN GATES." 
 
 Camlyrldge, 
 
 July, 1882. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028875545 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prologue ... ... ... ... ... x i 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 The Rancher's Home ... ... ... ... i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Prairie Life — Brown Kirwan ... ... ... 12 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A Glimpse only... ... ... ... ... 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Mission House ... ... ... ... 30 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Stored Gold — What came op it ... ... 40 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 What Charley Kirwan told him ... ... 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Dinner at the Mission House ... ... ... 5g 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sunday and the Osages ... 
 
 64 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Husking Party ... ... ... ... 75 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Sunset and Snowstorm ... ... ... ... 90 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Penny Readings on the Prairies ... ... 94 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Those Sad Days... ... ... ... ... 100 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Doctor's Death ... ... ... ... 108 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Snowed up ... ... ... ... ... 120 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Snow-clad Cemetery. — The Station ... ... 124 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Deacon's Boy ... ... ... ... 130 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 At the Mission House. — Deaths from Freezing ... 139 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Freemason's Death and Buwal ... ... 145 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Tom at the Mission ... ... ... ... 157 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Fibe Worship. — The Ignicolists ... ... ... 164 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Buffalo Hurt ... ... ... ... ... 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Grasshopper Hunt amongst the Soshocos ... 182 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Mass on the Prairies ... ... ... ... 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Washing Day. — Ranche Life again ... ... 188 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Chippeway Fire Legend... ... ..., ... 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 The Lenni-Lenapi, Waka-Tanka, Waka-Cheeka ... 202 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 Sacrifice to Waka-Tanka and to Waka-Cheeka ... 209 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 A volume of simple word painting, an effort to sketch that 
 far Western Prairie life, to lay it unglossed before you. 
 Accept it as such, and you won't be disappointed, I hope, as 
 scenes are grouped before you which happened in days and 
 nights already sunk into Eternity. 
 
 It may be strange to invite you to that far frontier, and 
 show you the life and ways of men who have gone forth 
 from our own old world, drawn to that new world by that 
 sole boon of man — hope. Yet hope does much for poor 
 humanity. I think it was Carlyle who wrote of hope thus : 
 " blessed hope, sole boon of man, whereby on his strait 
 prison walls are painted beautiful far-stretching landscapes, 
 and into the night of very death is shed holiest dawn. Thou 
 art to all an indefeasible possession in this God's world — to 
 the wise a Constantine-like banner written on the eternal 
 skies, under which they shall conquer, for the battle itself 
 is victory : to the foolish some secular mirage, or shadow of 
 still waters painted on the parched Earth, whereby at least 
 their dusty pilgrimage, if devious, becomes cheerfuller, be- 
 comes possible." 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 A friend told me before I knew that Western life, " It's 
 like a small drizzling rain wetting a man to the skin. Its 
 ennui will soak into your soul." I don't agree with him now 
 I know Western life, although at that time my friend's re- 
 mark made me dread Western travel. If you, Reader, are 
 as agreeably surprised as I was, we, as you close this volume, 
 shall part good friends. 
 
 Should my poor thoughts awaken a nobler thrill of sym- 
 pathy within you, and give you but a passing interest in 
 that busy frontier, and that wild Indian world, so far dis- 
 tant yet close to our own, now that Steamers plough the 
 strong waves of the Atlantic, and the Iron Road stretches on- 
 ward to Indian Territory, my time will not have been vainly 
 spent, the arrow will have flown to the target's heart. 
 
 To my Ecclesiastical Friends I would suggest the importance 
 of giving some kind of recommendation to families leaving 
 their parishes to the Clergy of the Country and district whither 
 they are going. Many who are good Christians in Europe 
 recede totally from their faith abroad, and in the heterogeneous 
 mass of society they find on the frontier of the New World 
 lead faithless and loveless lives. 
 
 And yet a kind word, or a friendly interest, might have 
 made all so different. 
 
 I have to thank the great Indian missionary, the Rev. 
 P. J. De Smet, S.J., for many of my notes on Indian life. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 As I write my acknowledgements my memory carries me 
 back (nigh nine years ago) to his one room in the Catholic 
 University of St. Louis, Missouri. In memory's clear painting 
 I still see that dear old man who for me will ever inhabit 
 that cell as at our first interview. Everything connected 
 with it is so vividly before me. The sun-light still seems to 
 stream through the window over his face as it then did, 
 goldening the white locks straying from under his Biretta. 
 His own pet Mocking-Bird, with its quiet saucy ways perched 
 upon his shoulder, the sleeve of his Soutane, or the peak of 
 his Biretta, else resting lovingly upon his hand, as it did 
 those years agone in his Convent cell. It is indeed a pleasure 
 to remember the missionary De Smet, who with his own 
 hand turned for me the pages of his manuscript notes, who 
 showed and explained to me his sketches on Indian life, 
 made roughly oft-times upon the Western Prairies. It is a 
 pleasure to recall that voice unravelling what I, with my 
 European ignorance, could not understand ; and I have always 
 treasured up his permission to make what notes I wished 
 from his conversation, and the manuscripts lent me to peruse 
 in my several visits to him. 
 
 A pioneer of the Western Prairies, a Traveller, a Geographer 
 and a Scientist, his notes and maps relating to Indian Terri- 
 tory were valuable to the Government of the United States 
 and his "Society.'' The grandest monument to him, is the 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 one he unknowingly built for himself, in taking out to civilize 
 that Western life nigh one hundred and ten Missionaries to 
 the Province of Missouri. 
 
 I have not forgotten the sorrow that crept over me when 
 one day going to the College to make enquiries about his 
 illness, before seeing him the Brother Concierge told me, 
 " He is dead." I remember standing by his open coffin in 
 the Church of the University, and thoughts of those dim 
 prairie wayfarings of his rushing over me. His dead hands 
 even then were clasping the Chalice and Paten as though he 
 were still pleading that awful Sacrifice, whilst that death 
 smile upon his face seemed sadder than tears. 
 
 A sense of desolation looked out from many faces as the 
 corUge left S. Louis for S. Stanilaus, Florissant, in whose 
 little cemetery he rests in peace (I doubt not) with those 
 other Angeli of the everlasting truth, his companions in 
 warfare. 
 
 With grateful memory I linger over that bright day in 
 Italy, when the late President of the Academy of Noble 
 Ecclesiastics in Rome (Monsignore Odoardo Agnelli, Bishop 
 of Troy, i.p.i.) spoke of my two former volumes to his late 
 Holiness Pius the Ninth (of happy memory to us who saw 
 him near). The words of His Holiness at that Audience will 
 always remain with me — brave and strong words, bidding me 
 always fight for the Truth. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 I have to thank so many for the kindness with which my 
 two former volumes were received in the New World. His 
 Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of New York, for his per- 
 sonal censorship of the Theological Treatise in my former 
 volume ("For Husks, Food"); also their Graces the Arch- 
 bishops Purcell (of Cincinnati) and Kendrick (of St. Louis) r 
 for their kindly written words of congratulation ; also His 
 Grace Archbishop Corrigan (of New York) for his encouraging 
 letter written from Seton Hall during the time of his Epis- 
 copate in Newark. To both clergy and laity of the New 
 and Old Worlds, who then wrote me words of kindness I, as 
 though personally to each one, tender grateful thanks. Many 
 of these letters I have sorted, and keep in an Album peculiar 
 to them. 
 
 Special thanks I owe to one Parish Priest of New York for 
 his help in manuscript revision, and to the then Provincial of 
 "the Society" in Maryland for his honest critique,, which I 
 much value, and shall always wish to profit by. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 "I might have striven, and striven in vain 
 
 Such visions to recall, 
 Well known and yet forgotten : now 
 
 I see, 1 hear them all. 
 The present pales before the past, 
 
 Who comes with angels' wings, 
 As in a dream I stand, amidst 
 
 Strange yet familiar things." — Proctor. 
 
 THE RANCHER'S HOME. 
 
 | WO men are journeying over the prairie in a 
 light waggon from the Osage Mission in 
 Neosho County, Kansas, to a Eanoher's home. 
 A Rancher's home, on the broad prairie. 
 One fresh from the scenes of European capitals, the 
 other well seasoned to the strange silence of that prairie 
 life. 
 
 Have you seen the prairie ? watched the sheeny sun- 
 light flood with strange beauty that long stretch of view, 
 over which the eyes wander wonderingly ? felt European 
 trammels shaken from your soul by that still, primitive 
 life ? lost yourself in wonderment as the immensity of 
 country grew upon you ? Have you travelled over those 
 
 1 
 
GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 vast tracts of prairie land, whose very vastness causes 
 one to recognise the pigmyism, the littleness of self, 
 aye, causes even the smallness of Europe to enter with 
 a distinct forcibility into the soul ? 
 
 Have you gazed over the prairies during the Indian 
 summer, joyed in that one field of vast verdure, en- 
 amelled with bright odoriferous wild flowers, whose 
 brilliant beauty has few other witnesses than the azure 
 firmament ? 
 
 Have you scanned one by one its undulations, been 
 borne as it were from wave to wave, from valley to hill- 
 top, as you found yourself in that limitless plain ? 
 
 The prairie, and the Indian summer, with its clear 
 sunlight, its myriad wild flowers growing everywhere 
 around that prairie home, could only have tempted one 
 of those travellers to make trial of a Eancher's home, 
 and stay those months in the "Far "West" whither his 
 friend had invited him. 
 
 It is a strange feeling to labor under at first, the 
 knowledge that there is only the distance of thirty miles 
 between yourself and the scalping knife ; yet it is on 
 the frontier formed by that band of whites who have 
 no fears of Indians (thanks to the missioners), that the 
 events you are about reading happened. Judge yourselves 
 if that strange life is worth the living. 
 
 Willie Woodhouse was lost in reverie, and his friend 
 the Eancher was watching him from his seat in the light 
 waggon. The smoke curled lazily from the Rancher's 
 pipe, and the tired horses stooped their heads to drink 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 at the prairie creek. Charles Kirwan the Bancher turned 
 and touched his companion with the rein to awaken him 
 from his reverie. 
 
 He started ; had he been day-dreaming only a few 
 minutes ? 
 
 "Well, old fellow, what do you think of this country, 
 eh?" 
 
 It was a middle-aged man, perhaps thirty-five, who 
 spoke, a pleasant ring his voice had then, and the sun- 
 light shimmered over his dark beard and his well-cut 
 features, lightening the dark hair showing under the 
 Eancher's cap. 
 
 The Rancher's guest was in no dreamland — all was 
 reality — but such a pleasant reality that afternoon in 
 the hazy Indian summer. 
 
 They had skirted along one side of the prairie, and 
 were about to cross the creek (" crick," the settlers called 
 it). These creeks are small streams of water running 
 through the prairies, and on the banks of such streams 
 a belt of trees is always to be found. They had pene- 
 trated into one of these belts of trees, and were by the 
 side of the stream, about to cross over. 
 
 Woodhouse, sitting on the side of the waggon, with 
 his eyes turned to the prairies, had not perceived this 
 until his friend spoke, and it is at this entrance to the 
 prairie life I present to my readers Charles Kirwan, a 
 self-made man. 
 
 I don't know if you would call him handsome. He 
 had a winning smile on his lips, and his expression 
 
GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 changed with the thoughts that passed through his brain. 
 All beauty he claimed rested in his expression, which 
 lit up those otherwise too regular features with a strange 
 fire, and then his soul shone forth indeed. 
 
 Yes, he had a great soul, and gloried in his prairie 
 isolation and his prairie home. 
 
 But of his dark moments — and we all have dark mo- 
 ments in our lives — then his features were a very fear. 
 
 Of middle height, lithe as a leopard, and full of mirth, 
 one would have had no fear of ennui in the visit to the 
 Prairie Cattle Kanche. 
 
 The touch of his rein upon his guest's hand had re- 
 called him to the present. 
 
 " Are you surprised at the extent of our prairie," he 
 said, and a laugh broke forth from his lips as he pointed 
 to the bank opposite. "You will be more surprised to 
 cross that stream ?" 
 
 The creek had been originally a run hollowed out by 
 the tread of many thousand buffaloes, and sure enough 
 the bank opposite was the steepest piece of track he had 
 seen for a waggon to go up, even in the mountain roads 
 of Europe. 
 
 "We can never do it, Charley." 
 
 How he laughed at his surprise. " Never do it ! 
 my horses and I often go over there. I think sometimes 
 they could crawl up the wall of a house ; they beat the 
 Tivoli mules for that. Well, we will let them rest for 
 a few minutes longer. We have five miles in the prairie 
 to go before we get to Walnut Creek. I am waiting 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 to see your surprise at my home on the prairies. No 
 luxurious Langham Hotel in Portland Place. A mud 
 hut ? No ! well, not quite that. A tree shanty lined 
 with mortar — a cooking stove, a fire-place, shelves for 
 grocery, and a few plates. A loft for my two boys and 
 the man, a lean-to — our bedroom that — a rough plank 
 bedstead, a tin basin to wash in, four inches of looking 
 glass. Can you stand it, eh, friend Englishman ?" 
 
 " I think so. I have come some hundreds of miles 
 from New York to try." 
 
 " Good. And for the bright side — d'ye see that box 
 in the waggon ?" 
 
 Woodhouse nodded. 
 
 '• I have sheets there. Your European body couldn't 
 rest in "blankets as mine does." 
 
 " I don't know that." 
 
 "Well, well. You will have a horse to ride, the great 
 prairie for your course. You will see such sunrises and 
 sunsets as only Kansas prairies boast. Color ! talk of 
 color, I have seen the rich purples fade into crimson, 
 and one great bank of crimson fade again to all shades 
 of its own color, intermixed with gold, and then whilst I 
 looked it was night and darkness, and god-like, quiet 
 even from the insects' myriad voices near me." 
 
 " Did you always love the prairies thus ?" 
 
 " Yes ; partly for gain, partly for sesthetics. My 
 ranche is dearer to me than all the luxury of European 
 life. "When I travelled and met you in Europe, I wanted 
 to see what men call the great, and grand, and beautiful, 
 
GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 in the cities of Italy, Germany, France, and England ; 
 but I came back to my prairie life, as the caged bird 
 ■does to its freedom. I am happier here." 
 
 " Shall I be so ?" 
 
 " I can't tell. We are rough — my men and table, 
 and house rougher. If you are what I take you to be 
 you will conquer your prejudices, and the time you pass 
 here will be the happiest of your life." 
 
 " If I am not what you take me to be ?" 
 
 " Then you have always the train that stops at the 
 Mission ; you can return to your boasted civilization. 
 But we must be going ; night falls quickly during 
 (the Indian summer, and we might lose the track." 
 
 It was all so pleasant by the side of the creek ; lithe 
 rabbits sunning themselves, and frisking by their warren ; 
 bright birds moving amongst the branches of the trees, 
 and the woodpecker's bill tapping upon the tree trunks 
 being the only audible sound, excepting the hum of 
 insects, and their own (to them) interesting chat. 
 
 " "Will you take one of the horses and ride over the 
 creek, and then I will fetch the waggon ?" 
 
 "No, Charley, let's go together." 
 
 And so they went. The water was high up the horses' 
 knees, over the axle of the waggon wheels, and then 
 they were mounting the perilous bank. Twice they 
 essayed, and then, after such a piece of steep path as 
 a European would have imagined horses could never 
 surmount, with one of Charley's ringing cheers they 
 were on the prairie once more. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 Woodhouse felt he was very pale, and yet he thought 
 he had hardiesse in his character. 
 
 Once more the sheeny sun-light flooded the vast prairie, 
 whilst here and there he saw low one-roomed cottages 
 standing out on their claims, with the patch of corn- 
 land close by, a would-be peach orchard now and again 
 showing itself as an isolated sign of civilization. 
 
 " Do you see," said Kirwan, " that brown speck in 
 the distance yonder ?" 
 
 Woodhouse looked in the direction he pointed too with 
 his whip, and there sure enough as the distance lessened 
 he made out the Rancher's home. 
 
 His heart sank below zero. Had he travelled so many 
 miles for this — to stay in this cottage ? Why, his 
 father's groom in Old England would have scorned such 
 a shanty as this Kansas ranche. He had no such cot- 
 tage on his place. And yet Charley Kirwan, the rich 
 rancher, lived here. 
 
 On and on trotted the horses, nearer and nearer he 
 drew to his fate. In a scope of hundreds of miles the 
 only man he knew was Charley Kirwan. 
 
 He looked ruefully at his trunk full of books and 
 European luxuries. What good could they be in such 
 a cottage as this ? 
 
 And yet the memory of his books consoled him, and 
 the sight of a great purple sunset glory flooding and 
 making beautiful the outside of the ranche reconciled 
 him to his fate, for he dearly loved aesthetics. 
 
 There was a kind of romance, too, in the situation, and 
 after all he would try it. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Charley Kirwan knew what was passing in his mind, 
 for he smiled one of his knowing smiles. 
 
 " Cheer up, my friend ; Kansas life will do you more 
 good than all your European travel, and as for experi- 
 ence, you will gain more here than elsewhere." 
 
 Reader, judge for yourself in closing this volume, 
 was he right ? 
 
 The waggon stopped in the full glory of the sunset, as 
 the gleamy light fell over the hut, beautifying even the 
 external ugliness of the structure. 
 
 "Cottage," had he called it ? that word slipped from his 
 vocabulary for ever when he had seen it. 
 
 " Tom, — Tom, — Tom," roared Charley Kirwan. 
 
 The door opened, and Tom issued forth. 
 
 Tom, in rough knee boots, knee breeches, and a cloth 
 shirt. 
 
 Tom leered at "Woodhouse, leered at his clothes, leered 
 at the large box, leered at the valise, and with supreme 
 contempt assisted in carrying them to the lean-to. 
 
 And the lean-to had no glass in the four-paned win- 
 dow for days after their arrival. They hung some 
 sacking over that, so that the place was sleepable in 
 after all. 
 
 "Tom, this is the gentleman we were expecting." 
 
 Tom scratched his head, eyed him from head to foot, 
 walked round him, and held out his hand. 
 
 The guest felt almost ashamed of his hand near that 
 other large, horny, brown hand, one so much younger 
 and stronger than the other. Tom regarded that hand 
 with wonder, and then said : 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 " I'll try and teach yer to like it ; but yer not broke 
 in yet, that's sure." 
 
 From that time Tom and Woodhouse were fast friends. 
 
 Whilst this scene was going on Woodhouse bad caught 
 a glimpse of the inside of the ranche. 
 
 As Charley said, there it was — the rough floor, the 
 stone hearth, on which a wood fire was blazing : an 
 American cooking stove standing out in the room, a 
 table covered with oilcloth, the shelves for grocery and 
 plates, a lamp, and a few rough chairs. In one corner 
 a ladder leading up to the loft. All this shut in, 20 feet 
 by 15 feet. 
 
 The bed-room, the lean-to. Woodhouse noticed the 
 two-inch chinks where it joined on to the building 
 proper. A rough bedstead indeed there ; the wood com- 
 posing it not even planed by the maker; the tin wash- 
 basin, the four-inch looking-glass, all perfectly as Charley 
 had said. 
 
 This was to be his home for some months, and what 
 events those months shut in ! as dissolving views, the 
 chapters of this volume will pass before you. 
 
 Happy days, streaked with sunshine and quietude, 
 over-ridden ofttimes by the grim shadow of pain and 
 death ; yet days he thanked Providence for, and whose 
 memory he loved in after years. 
 
 In the meanwhile Jack, another ranche boy, had 
 prepared the evening meal, and they sat down to pork 
 chops, prairie „ chicken, corn bread, stewed peaches and 
 coffee, as soon aa they entered. 
 
10 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 So soon after that sunset it was night. No long 
 gloaming as in England. The lamp was lit, and the 
 blinds drawn down, and with appetites only such as prairie 
 air could create, they did full justice to the plenteous 
 fare. Slice after slice of luscious hot corn bread dis- 
 appeared, cup after cup of cofLe. 
 
 Charley Kirwan in his quiet way had drawn out the 
 conversation with the boys who sat with them on their 
 work on the farm, and about the cattle ; and Woodhouse, 
 interested by the very strangeness of the scene, entered 
 into it with his whole heart. 
 
 He had no idea how time flew until they pulled out 
 their watches, and Charley Kirwan laughed that still 
 laugh of his as he asked his guest to pull round by the 
 fire and smoke, as every one in the ranche would be 
 moving early next morning. 
 
 "Breakfast at 6.30 or 7. We are up soon after four, 
 you know." 
 
 Then they made the beds. Those precious sheets were 
 pulled out of the box, to the amusement of the two boys, 
 who vowed it was the funniest move possible. 
 
 " And how are we to make the bed, Charley ?" they 
 asked. (Here all distinction between master and servant 
 was at an end.) " How do these things go ? " 
 
 How they laughed ; and how quickly that dreaded first 
 evening had flown ; so pleasantly too, that the stranger 
 regretted it had come to an end. 
 
 On that first evening he too thought his trunk out of 
 place in the Eancher's home, as he took from it those 
 necessaries he required. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 11 
 
 Could it be he was about to sleep in a ranche on the 
 wide prairies of the " Far West ?" that he was in Kansas ? 
 AVas he dreaming ? No ; the loud snoring of the ranche 
 boys from their loft told him plainly it was reality. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " The present hour repeats upon its strings 
 Echoes of some vague dream we have forgot ; 
 
 Dim voices whisper half rememhered things, 
 And when we pause to listen, answer not." — 
 
 A. B. Proctor. 
 
 PRAIRIE LIFE. — BROWN KIRWAN. 
 
 nnHE ranche door flung wide open on the following 
 -"- morning, and the bright sunshine flooding the in- 
 terior of the building shows us Willie Woodhouse busily 
 engaged in brushing some of the dirt and dust from the 
 common sitting room of the ranche. 
 
 Then he cleaned the windows, washed up the breakfast 
 things, and sat down with his books before him. 
 
 Charley Kirwan and his helpers had left him alone 
 hours ago. 
 
 From door and window the sweet scent of prairie flowers 
 crept into the rough building, the sunshine throwing into 
 bold relief the shadows. 
 
 The tongues of fire flickered and curled around, and 
 through the crevices of the heavy logs piled upon the 
 hearth, and made beautiful the soft white wood ashes 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 13 
 
 round ; as they lay piled up in the great recess, where 
 the sun could not reach, did it try ever so hard. 
 
 The susurra of the prairie wind in amongst the Indian 
 corn patch was real music. 
 
 "Willie Woodhouse did not move from his books ; they 
 were on prairies and prairie life, and he would know 
 something of this before he essayed exploring the country 
 round, and he had also promised Charley Kirwan to wait 
 in for his brother, Brown Kirwan. 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the morning, but in the still 
 prairie life that was late in the day to those who rose 
 with the sunshine, and retired an hour or so after darkness 
 had fallen. 
 
 A strong shadow fell over his book, and a voice, with 
 an unmistakeable Dutch accentuation close by, woke 
 him from his studies. 
 
 It was Herr Lieboldt, the head farmer of Charley 
 Kirwan. 
 
 " Ee-ee-ee. Sharley say him frind am cum, eee-eee-eee. 
 What hands, ee-ee ! "What ed, ee-ee-ee ! Wat buk am 
 you read ? I Lieboldt. I ed man. Me frind ob Sharley 
 also, ee-ee. What tink you ob Sharley's home ? " 
 
 Short, red-haired, thick-set, Lieboldt, with his sharp 
 blue eyes twinkling under rugged brows, was a character 
 of whom Kirwan knew the full value. 
 
 " You cum see me ? My ole voman, ee-ee, be glad 
 to see you. You see my house, my mule, my boys, ee-ee." 
 
 " Where am Sharley ?" Receiving an answer, this in- 
 truder departed, to be followed by a tall thin man, whose 
 
14 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 lantern jaws and sad eyes spoke of misery. Levett his 
 name, real nasal American his twang. " So you've come, 
 eh ? Well, where's Sharley ? I want to borrer a cup of 
 coffee ; I can't go to the Mission to get none. I'll take 
 the coffee. Good-bye, man." And he took the coffee 
 and absconded, to the amazement of his auditor. Next 
 came a Canadian-looking woman, short, thin, and age as 
 difficult to tell as to guess the extent of prairie near. 
 " Where's Sharley, eh, my man ?". she said. " I want to 
 borrow a cup of coffee kernels ; he'll let me have it if . 
 he's at home. Not to home ! well, I guess I'll take it ; 
 tell him I'll bring it back to-morrow." (Her to-morrows 
 were long far-off days that never came.) As she said 
 the "to-morrow" a smile flitted over her face at the 
 greenness of Kirwan's guest in letting her have what 
 she wanted. 
 
 " If yer want washing done, I'm yer woman to do it, 
 I guess. Good bye ; don't forget to tell Sharley. I 
 guess you will, though." 
 
 " Are these my neighbours and friends ?" soliloquised 
 Woodhouse. " What can I do for them in these months 
 to come ?" " Wait and see. God will use you if He 
 wants you." It was a kind, gentle voice that spoke, the 
 owner of the voice sitting in a spider buggy, driven close 
 over the soft turf up to the window, and he sat looking 
 in. It was Brown Kirwan, whose approach had hurried 
 off the Canadian woman, who not only contemplated sugar, 
 but coffee also. He bad caught some of the conversation, 
 and was smiling at it, mentally resolving to chaff Wood- 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 15 
 
 house about his greenness in allowing himself to be thus 
 entreated by the ranchers near. 
 
 " I'm Brown Kirwan. You are Willie Woodhouse, 
 Charley's friend. Will you be mine too ?" They shook 
 hands heartily, and then Brown descended from his buggy, , 
 took a chair, and sat in the bright sunlight in the 
 ranche door. 
 
 "Let's have something to eat, and then you will come 
 for a drive with me. I'm going to see a sick squatter's 
 wife who is half Indian — about two miles away." 
 
 Brown Kirwan was a doctor living at the Osage 
 Mission. He was tall, pale, with dark black hair, features 
 more irregular than those of his brother, yet he had a 
 kindly nature, and a heart as true as ever beat in human 
 breast. He had served as surgeon in some regiment 
 during the war between North and South, made a respect- 
 able little fortune, bought a claim out West, and started 
 a sheep ranche. Perhaps he had been unsuccessful ; cer- 
 tain it is, he had rented his claim to another, and taken 
 again to his profession amongst the many squatters, and 
 the small town forming round the Mission House of the 
 Jesuits amongst the Osages. 
 
 Such was Brown Kirwan ; a man full of knowledge, 
 less picked up from books than knowledge practical, 
 caught up in the hard run of daily life. His religion 
 was founded and rooted in charity. 
 
 He seldom went to a church ; but, as he often said, 
 his church was the boundless prairie, the roof the blue 
 curtain of heaven. There prayer welled out of his heart 
 
16 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 silently and naturally, as the sururra passing over the 
 prairie grass, or the water welling up from the almost 
 hidden spring near the ranche he once inhabited. 
 
 " But what has Charley to eat before we go, eh ? Corn 
 bread, I see. Good. And a lot of stewed peaches," as 
 he lifted the lid off a saucepan standing on a form. 
 
 Good again. Also beans cooked in pork grease. Come 
 on, friend, we shall be hungry before we return." 
 
 So they feasted, with no set table, on the good things 
 there, and then mounting together in the buggy after 
 locking the ranche door, drove off. 
 
 The drive was over the prairie grass to the side of a 
 distant creek some miles off. The air was odorous with 
 the Indian summer flowers, the atmosphere clearer even 
 than in Italy (though unsung, and generally unknown to 
 be so), and the enlivening conversation of Brown Kirwan 
 made that first day on the prairies enjoyable to his 
 companion. 
 
 "You are English, Mr. Woodhouse." "Yes." "What 
 age ? Well, never mind ; I can see, from nineteen to 
 twenty-two. Ah, you have life before you. I am double 
 your age now. Well, I shouldn't wish to live my life 
 over again. Dear me, your English life must be different 
 to this. Your pale skin will soon gain American olive." 
 
 " My brother Charley is a Catholic. Dear me ; well, 
 he knows best. He worships God his way, I mine. 
 You're of his religion. Well, well ; more to interest you 
 in this region. Ah, one day I will take you to the 
 Mission House ; have orders from the superior. Well, 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 17 
 
 now we are coming on to this stony ground ; never 
 
 noticed the round cactus before ; always grows here so. 
 
 Greenhouse plant in some parts ; not so here. Well, 
 
 well." 
 
 " Mr. Kirwan, look at that snake ! What kind is it ?" 
 " Oh, that's a rattlesnake."* The reptile was basking 
 
 in the sun surrounded by five or six little ones. As soon 
 
 * Crotalus (Rattlesnake). In zoology, a genus of the class am- 
 phibia, order serpentes. There are five species of this genus. The 
 one found in America is the Crotalus Horridus, or Banded Rattle- 
 snake — abdominal plates, 167 ; dorsal, 23 — the most venomous of the 
 serpent tribe ; growth, greatest extent, 6 feet, but those of this length 
 are seldom seen now. This snake is eaten by swine with impunity. 
 It preys on birds and smaller quadrupeds. The rattlesnake produces 
 its young in June or July, generally about twelve in number. By 
 September they grow from nine to twelve inches in length, There 
 is little doubt that it receives its young into its mouth, and swallows 
 them in time of danger. This theory has been much laughed at by 
 people who have not had ocular demonstration of the fact. M. 
 Beauvois, a naturalist born in the last century, asserted this fact, and 
 declares that " happening to disturb a rattlesnake in a walk near Pine 
 Log, he saw it immediately coil itself up and open its jaws, when 
 instantly five small ones, that were lying by, rushed into its mouth. 
 He retired, and in the course of a quarter of an hour saw her discharge 
 them. He approached it a second time, when the young retired into 
 its mouth with greater celerity than before, and the snake immedi- 
 ately moved off into the grass and disappeared." The rattle consists 
 of hollow, hard, dry, and semi-transparent bones, nearly of the same 
 size and figure, resembling in some measure the shape of the human 
 os sacrum for, although only the last or terminal one seems to have 
 a rigid epiphysis joined to it, yet has every one of them the like, so 
 that the tip of every uppermost bone runs within two of the bones 
 below it, by which contrivance they have not only a moveable co- 
 herence, but also make a more multiplied sound, each bone hitting 
 against the other two at the same time. The C. dryinas, or wood 
 rattlesnake, inhabits America. C. durissimus, or striped rattlesnake, 
 inhabits America, and is generally found under the trunks of fallen 
 * -« C. mVH"i'iv.st inhabits Carolina. C. mutus inhabits Surinam. 
 
 2 
 
18 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 as she perceived them she gave the rattle, opened her 
 mouth to its widest extent, and in an instant the whole 
 brood descended. Withdrawing on to the soft grass near, 
 Woodhouse watched the young ones come forth from their 
 living tomb, to which the wheels passing over the stones 
 quickly bade them retire again. 
 
 " That's something you wouldn't see in England." 
 
 "Yes, it is." 
 
 " Well, in Texas and Missouri you will make acquaint- 
 ance with the chameleon, the hideous lizard, and the 
 classical salamander, or horned frog." 
 
 " And the prairie dog ?" 
 
 " No ; that lives generally in the arid soil of the 
 Mauvaises Terres, where it has villages of its own." 
 
 " Villages ! " 
 
 "Yes, friend Englishman, villages." 
 
 "You don't know much about the Mauvaises Terres. 
 Well, I guess it's a kind of plateau, where the Little 
 Missouri, the Mankizita Watpa, the Terre-blanche, and 
 the Niobrarah take their rise." 
 
 " Well, I want to know about the villages of the 
 prairie dog ? " 
 
 " Every site of these villages extends over an area of 
 several square miles of smooth table land, on which the 
 grass is short and thin." 
 
 " Do they make houses ? " 
 
 " Houses ! Well, they pile up the earth round their 
 dwellings about two feet above the surface of the soil 
 to protect themselves against inundations, which in the 
 rainy seasons would engulph them and their hopes." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 19 
 
 "Well, that is odd." 
 
 " You would think it more odd did you see them 
 tear up the grass round their houses, and leave the 
 flowers only.'' 
 
 " I say, you must be cramming me." 
 
 "Cramming you! I assure you solemnly I have found 
 the certain flowers which surround their little abodes 
 spared with much taste. Prairie dogs are gardeners ; 
 they leave the ffedeoma Hirta, the Solatium Triflorum, 
 Lupinus Pusillus, the Erigermi Dwaricatwm, Dysodia 
 Chrysanihemoides, Ellisia Myctagenea, and the Panicum 
 Virgatum." 
 
 "I would not have believed this had I read it." 
 
 " I assure you it is solemnly true, also that they are 
 governed by a Eepublic." 
 
 "Oh, that's too good." 
 
 "Nevertheless true that the several millions of prairie 
 dog townships, full of life and motion, are governed as 
 Eepublics." 
 
 " I can't believe it. But has this prairie dog, this re- 
 semblance to a squirrel, no amicable relations with other 
 animals ? " 
 
 "Yes, with the rattlesnake and a small kind of owl, 
 usually found at the entrance of their lodges." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Has this dog no enemies ? " 
 
 "Yes, two, the wolf and the fox." 
 
 In conversation such as this the drive over the prairies 
 passed rapidly away, and they were now nearing the 
 creek on the banks of which the ranche to which they 
 
20 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 were proceeding was situated. They entered the little 
 farm yard in front of the house, tied up the horse, 
 and even there the low moan of some one in agony 
 might be heard. 
 
 "Come with me," the doctor said to his companion, 
 "to hear something of the rancher's life." 
 
 Sad and desolate the house looked as they crossed its 
 threshold. A woman dying alone, miles from any 
 woman, with no woman friend to stand by her sick 
 bed, to aid her in those little luxuries of nursing so dear 
 to us Europeans, when coming from some loved hand. 
 
 Half caste — half Indian, half French, she lay dressed 
 upon her un-made bed ; her long, dusky tresses fell around 
 a face of rich beauty, almost startling in its intense 
 pitifulness, refined by pain. It seemed so sad, she so 
 young, attended by her husband, a rough Irishman, who 
 was too grief-stricken even to minister that material 
 assistance he might have given. 
 
 The ashes were grey and cold in the American stove ; 
 the floor dirty and unswept ; no bread made*; no food 
 prepared ; and the man sat by the side of the wife hope- 
 lessly. " Would medicine do her any good ? " he asked. 
 As the doctor said he could only alleviate her sufferings, 
 not cure them, the tears rained down that husband's 
 face. He, so much older than his wife, loved her dearly. 
 They made the fire, and cooked the bread cakes, tidied 
 
 * N.B. — In Kansas, on account of the great heat, bread was made 
 fresh for every meaL 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 21 
 
 the room, and the half-caste thanked them by the elo- 
 quent tears rolling out of those lustrous eyes, undimmed 
 by illness. She took her medicine passively ; resigned 
 mayhaps to death. She, taken into the Christian 
 Church, knew she would find warmth, light, companion- 
 ship, happiness, beyond the bare walls of the shed she 
 called home, outside of that living palpitating flesh 
 which enveloped her spirit. 
 
 They left, with regret, those two lone beings in their 
 Ranche. Two days later the Irish Rancher within a 
 few feet of his home, turned the sods with his spade, 
 and the half-caste was laid to her rest by the hands of 
 her husband, so much older than herself. 
 
 Brown Kirwan seemed to think some strange romance 
 ' had linked those two lives together. 
 
 " Did anybody know her father ? " 
 
 "Yes, he was one of the traders in buffalo skins 
 amongst the savages." 
 
 " Do they ever marry with the Indians ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, yes ; young Englishman. I believe 
 the law stands thus : If they marry an Indian wife 
 they have a right to a claim of 150 acres, and a 
 certain amount for every child born to them. Many 
 marry a wife in every tribe they trade with, under 
 different names. But this is in the lower class of 
 traders, and I hope it will soon die out, as the civili- 
 sation advances and the Government more efficiently 
 grapples with the difficulties of government on the 
 extreme limits of her great States. What of the Indian 
 
22 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 life can. be civilized will be, as for example the Chero- 
 kees, who now make good farmers, &c, and are settled 
 on their claims. What cannot be civilized will be 
 extinguished by the rapid advance of civilisation, which 
 must in time extend to the shores of the Pacific." 
 
 They were driving now through the rich sunshine, the 
 air seemed heavy with the fragrance of the flowers, and 
 everything appeared so health-giving that the thought 
 of death, pain, and corruption was out of place in such 
 a time, and on such a day. Silence 'had fallen on them 
 awhile, when Brown Kirwan roused his friend's attention 
 by saying : "I dream sometimes of things in the future." 
 " Do you ; but you can't believe in that unreal world 
 of sleep ? " 
 
 " I dream, and my dreams come true, Woodhouse." 
 " And what particular dream haunts you now ? " 
 " Only this one — I saw you distinctly in my dreams 
 long before you came this way, I saw you sitting by my 
 dead body in a prairie ranche, snowed up. I saw you 
 take my coffin in an ox waggon over the prairies, and, 
 what is more, I believe a strange fatality has brought 
 you into this neighbourhood, and you must go through 
 all I have seen in my dreams. You could not resist 
 coming, you were drawn by a stronger sympathetic power 
 than your own — over land and sea — and I firmly believe 
 for this purpose." 
 
 Woodhouse laughed — "There is a purpose in every- 
 thing God allows, Mr. Kirwan, and that I am prepared 
 to grant. I am afraid, though, that dispiriting ranche 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 23 
 
 scene has affected your spirits — something unusual for a 
 Doctor that. But I must tell you a dream tale I heard 
 from an English farmer : A person saw his dead father 
 in his sleep, he went to consult a doctor, the doctor 
 naturally asked what his patient had had for supper the 
 previous evening ? Half a pork pie, was the answer. Ah, 
 replied the doctor— ah f well, my dear sir, go and eat the 
 other half to-night, and you will see your poor dear 
 dead mother. 
 
 Brown Kirwan smiled, and with terrible earnestness 
 replied : " Ah yes ; I dare say, cause and effect. My 
 dream was too distinct, though, and it will come true." 
 
 " Sunt gemma? somui port* : quarum altera fertur 
 Cornea, qua' veris facilis datur exitus Umbris : 
 Altera, candenti perfecta nitens elephanto ; 
 Sed falsa ad ecelum inittunt insomnia Manes." 
 
 JlmUos, Lib. VI., 1. 893. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 "What have we toiled for? Fame — 
 " The echo of a name, ' 
 " To be forgot with easy unconcern 
 "When the quick flame, whose ray 
 "Illumes our thinking clay, 
 "Fades, and we shrink into the quiet urn, 
 "No more on this poor stage to smile or sigh, 
 " At woman's flattering voice, or man's ascetic eye." 
 J. H. Wiffen, " Inquisition, of the ■• 
 
 A GLIMPSE ONLY. 
 
 IFE in the Ranche proceeded in the same 
 quiet way as usual — and Willie Woodhouse 
 had in a few weeks grown into the life, 
 which at first struck him as being so repugnant. Be- 
 fore sun-rise the fire was alight in the American stove, 
 bread being prepared for breakfast, luscious coffee berries 
 roasted, and the coffee made. Pork would be fried, 
 corn bread made, and men with hearty appetites — master, 
 guest, and servants — sat down at the same table. What 
 merry and happy breakfasts they were, can be imagined. 
 A stray newspaper now and again would find its way 
 into the company, and all questions under dispute 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 25 
 
 were referred to Charley, who was the President of this 
 little Republic. Sometimes the breakfast would be later, 
 for the men had orders to go and feed the cattle first, 
 Charley Kirwan being a cattle rancher. As he said he 
 placed a horse for riding at the disposal of his guest, 
 who, with books, exploring the country round, long 
 walks and conversations with his host, found those first 
 days full of excitement and all too short. Kirwan was 
 a man of the world whose experience was both large 
 and varied. Born not far from the triple cities of New 
 York, Brooklyn and Jersey ; at an age when most boys 
 are still at school, he had started in life on his own 
 account, and refused all help, but his own, to forward 
 himself in life. 
 
 Whatever he took in hand seemed to prosper. Finally 
 he entered into partnership with a lawyer in Chicago, 
 and finding he had made money enough went West, and 
 bought several claims for cattle farming (each claim 
 contains 150 acres). Buying four bulls from Kentucky's 
 famous herds, and some hundred of Texas cows, he started 
 a strain of cattle famed in that western district. Charley, 
 travelling in Europe, had left the care of his farms and 
 cattle until recently to his younger brother, Henry, who 
 a few months before this story opened had succumbed to 
 that deleterious enemy prairie fever, or ague, caught mostly 
 from turning the virgin soil whilst following the plough. 
 The soil being so rich, emits gases which poison the 
 system. At least this is the prairie theory. Quinine is 
 the great antidote. 
 
26 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Kirwan was a man whose thoughts ran far below the 
 surface of ordinary humanity, a man who appreciated 
 true aesthetics, but who cordially despised sentimental 
 sestheticism. From the study of law, his thoughts had 
 turned to other studies ; amongst these studies being 
 the then vexed question of Catholicism. He ultimately 
 embraced that faith, and settled down near the Soman 
 Catholic Mission amongst the Osages, just within the 
 then frontier. Whilst in Europe he had invited his 
 friend to join him for some few months. 
 
 On this 'particular morning in question Kirwan pro- 
 posed duck shooting on the creek at some short distance 
 from the back of the house. Whilst the two friends 
 were wandering quietly in the canes and bushes there, 
 and Kirwan succeeded right and left in bringing down 
 his game, Lieboldt came to say : 
 "A shentleman wants yer, Sharley." 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " I don't know, he cum afther them carfves." 
 It was a Canadian farmer and his son who came to 
 enquire about buying eighty calves. 
 
 "Yes, I can oblige you, my friends," replied Kirwan, 
 " they are not here, but at the upper ranche," and then 
 turning to his friend he invited him to come and see 
 some calf -separating. " It's hard riding, friend, and a 
 vicious cow might horn you." 
 
 " I'll take my chance with the rest of you." 
 " Well, then, we number six, and the two men at the 
 other ranche count eight. Yes, we can do it." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 27 
 
 " Come in and have coffee, corn bread, and pork, then 
 we can start for the upper ranche." 
 
 Uproariously they chatted whilst the meal was in pie- 
 paration under their eyes, and then doing full justice 
 to it, the cavalcade started for a few miles ride, mostly 
 over the edge of the great prairie, here and there dotted 
 with a tiny ranche. By degrees the ranches became 
 fewer, the cultivation less, and then the broad expanse 
 in all its vastness burst upon their eyes. Eich luxuriant 
 vegetation indeed ; over this vast stretch Kirwan's cattle 
 ranged for miles, watched by the ranche boys, and at 
 night were driven home to their carels.* 
 
 This upper ranche was built in a more picturesque 
 manner than the lower one. It had a wooden portico 
 and garden behind, though only one room. Great 
 white-hearted cabbages grew here in the garden, which 
 they ate raw with salt, and which also served for 
 making into sour kraut. The stables and outhouses were 
 nearer the ranche than in the lower one, and the carel 
 built close by, so that if cattle stealers came near in the 
 night, the dogs' barking could easily be heard by the 
 men in charge. It was late when they arrived, and the 
 strangers went directly off to see the herd ; beautifully 
 fat and sleek they looked, feeding in their large groups, 
 as they were driven gently home for the night. 
 
 The bargain was struck there, and the calf separation 
 from the cows was to begin early in the morning. 
 
 * Carel, an enclosure in which cattle are penned for the night. 
 
28 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 The long ride had made all hungry, and how to 
 cook any supper was a difficulty ; no matches could be 
 found for some time on the shelves in the ranche, and 
 when found they showed plainly no meat, and it was late 
 in the evening already. 
 
 To the dark hen-house some of the party went, and 
 in twenty minutes two fowls skinned and ready for the 
 pot lay upon the table. One engaged in bringing wood 
 in, one engaged in fetching water in, one making bread, 
 one coaxing up the fires, one washing up the breakfast 
 things, how quickly the time sped. Then a savoury 
 odour floated to hungry nostrils, and there was laughter, 
 a merry supper, tobacco fumes and coffee fragrance 
 mingling. 
 
 Then night, silence, and deep slumber. 
 
 At early dawn the astonished Texan mother cows be- 
 held their carel invaded by twelve horsemen, and then 
 the mad chase of separation began. Now it was the 
 red calf to be hunted from its mother and the line 
 kept, now the black and white, or red and white calf, 
 until the perspiration streamed from the reckless riders, 
 and the lather showed plainly on the sides of Texan 
 horses. 
 
 "Do you enjoy it, Englishman?" asked Kirwan, as 
 exhausted he paused to wipe his forehead, and rest his 
 Texan cob. 
 
 " Yes, thanks, friend Kirwan, muchly." 
 
 "Well, it's a glimpse only we are giving you of our 
 life. More enjoyable than studying for fame in your 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 29 
 
 old world, eh ? this healthful exercise. How often have 
 I in the museums and churches of the old world, or the 
 indolent life of hotels and sight-seeing, longed for such 
 exercise as this. It puts new life into one — new energy." 
 " Well, certainly it makes one eat and sleep well." 
 " Yes, and forget fame, and the heart-ache fame brings, 
 and I think, at least my experience is, it makes one love 
 God better — at least it does me — me, Charley Kirwan." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "When reapers unto reapers calling 
 Tell the rich harvest of the grain they bring, 
 Shall we forget how snow and sleet were falling 
 On those tired toilers of the bitter spring. 
 
 He murmured not ! in earthly races 
 To winners only do the heralds call; 
 But oh I in yonder high and holy places 
 Success is nothing, and the work is all. 
 
 Here be unrecorded 
 The work he fashioned, and the path he trod ; 
 Here, but in heaven each kind heart is rewarded, 
 Each true name written in the Book of God I" — F. W.F. 
 
 THE MISSION HOUSE. 
 
 
 EH 
 
 N a picturesque grass-grown cemetery on the 
 banks of the Neosho, sloping so gently from 
 the steep river bank towards the little town 
 of Osage, the westering sun throws tree shadows over 
 an un-named grave. No tomb-stone marks it ; tall grasses 
 wave over it, and shelter sweet-scented wild flowers ; and 
 yet it is a grave to which the heart of many an Indian 
 turns, over which many a settler has shed a tear. 
 
 I mean the grave of J. J. Bax, of the Society of 
 Jesus, the earthly corner-stone upon whom this Mission 
 is built. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 31 
 
 Brave warrior of G-od ; athlete of an everlasting gospel. 
 I have only known thee from thy reflexion in the souls 
 of uncouth men; and so powerful was the Grace of God 
 in thee, that I a stranger to thee write thy name with 
 reverence and love. 
 
 This dead man, lying in his grave, shall tell the story 
 of his dear Osages. I take briefly extracts from letters 
 of his written between June, 1850, to 1852 : 
 
 " Father Schoenmackers, myself and three coadjutor 
 brothers, quitted S. Louis on the 7th of April, 1849, and 
 arrived safely on the banks of the Neosho, a tributary 
 of the Arkansas, situated about 130 miles from "West- 
 port, frontier town of the state of Missouri. 
 
 "The trial was very severe to us who were entering 
 for the first time into the immense prairies of the 
 Indians, which we had only measured according to the 
 deceptive images of our imagination. The reality ap- 
 peared different. "We endured hunger, thirst, and cold. 
 For a fortnight we were obliged to pass our nights in 
 the open air, in the dampest season of the year, each 
 having naught for a bed but a buffalo hide and a single 
 blanket. On the 28th of April we reached our destina- 
 tion, to the great delight and surprise of the Indians. 
 At the first sight of these savages, and finding myself 
 surrounded by these children of the desert, I could not 
 suppress the pain I felt. I saw their sad condition." 
 
 " On our arrival we found the houses unfinished, very 
 inconvenient, and much too small for a great number of 
 the children ; they were also very badly situated, not 
 
32 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 being in the centre of all the villages- which compose 
 the Mission. The population of the tribes comprised 
 under the name of Great Osages and Little Osages is 
 nearly 5,000 souls, of whom 3,500 reside on the banks 
 of the Neosho, and the others on the Verdigris, a smaller 
 river than the Neosho, although the valleys and prairies 
 it waters are more favourable to culture." 
 
 " Immediately after our arrival our first care was to pre- 
 pare a school. It was opened on the 10th of May. The 
 first who came to our school being very happy, many 
 others followed ; and before the close of the year in a 
 house built for twenty persons only, we were obliged to 
 lodge fifty children. The nation then assembled, and 
 requested the agent to petition their Great Father to 
 enlarge the houses of the Mission. The Government ac- 
 ceded to this demand." 
 
 In 1852 an epidemic swept through the nation. Of 
 nearly 1500 savages who fell victims to it almost all re- 
 ceived the sacraments of the Church. Seized at last him- 
 self with the same illness, Bax continued his ordinary 
 labours and dragged himself around to visit the sick and 
 dying. He was dying and still laboring. During five 
 years he instructed and baptized more than 2000 Indians. 
 He instructed neophytes with great care and pains-taking 
 assiduity. His charity so gained all hearts that the 
 savages call him only by the beautiful word which in 
 Osage means, "the Father who is all heart." 
 
 Thus far for the foundation of my story. 
 
 That same westering sun glinting through the leaves 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 33 
 
 in that far cemetery, goldening the grass over the 
 graves of Indians and settlers alike, falling lovingly on 
 the rough railed-in addition where lie the priests and 
 brothers, who after tired labors have entered into the 
 stillness of that rest which remaineth for those who 
 have ' loved much, and served the Great King truly, the 
 light from that same sun fell on the rough buildings 
 of the Mission : irregular constructions, of no archi- 
 tectural pretentions, yet with their angularities softened 
 by this light, and forming no unpleasant picture. There 
 was the long, low church, with its dark walnut-wood 
 fittings, and three blocks of houses. 
 
 In the middle block, in a tiny room, sat the aged 
 Superior of the Mission. His features were irregular, yet 
 that life of strange self-denial lent to them that calm 
 expression one sees on faces when self has been utterly 
 conquered. An expression more fascinating than that 
 skin-deep beauty of a few years, for this expression deepens 
 in attraction as the furrows of age claim kinship with it. 
 He was dressed in an ordinary black suit, and was smok- 
 ing his pipe. In this tiny room the furniture consisted 
 of a bed, two chairs, a rough stove, a writing table, a 
 bookcase, and some strange construction that did duty 
 for a ward-robe. 
 
 Death follows quickly on the trail of civilisation to 
 the Indians. Fire-water (whisky) has laid low its army of 
 victims, and round the Mission proper, decimated of its 
 original population by epidemic, has grown up a little 
 town of settlers of many nationalities — Irish predominat- 
 
34 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 ing. Brown Kirwan had settled in this colony as a 
 surgeon and physician. 
 
 "Well known was he for his kindly disposition, and 
 well liked too by the old Superior of the Mission, who 
 reigned king-like in this Mission, as was Kirwan 
 president-like at the Eanche. 
 
 A knock came to awaken the Superior out of his 
 thoughts — >a knock at his door. 
 
 " Come in." And Brown Kirwan entered. 
 
 " Take a seat, my friend, and have a pipe too." 
 
 " Don't smoke at this time." 
 
 " Well, I'm pleased to see you ; how goes the long 
 parish ? Boom for your evolutions in this great tract of 
 country ; large parish this, some hundred miles square." 
 
 "Yes, you must have had enough of riding in your 
 time." 
 
 " Aye, and work for you, too." Then he took his pipe 
 from his mouth, looked at it thoughtfully, and twisted 
 his tongue round the stumps of teeth age had left to 
 him ; a common habit of his this. 
 
 " Aye, and work for you, too ; work for you, too, 
 although you saw a lot in war." 
 
 "What kind— eh, sir?" 
 
 "Cholera along the river Kansas, at West Port, and 
 in places round." 
 
 " But how did that affect the Osages ? " 
 
 "They were panic-stricken, and sought safety in the 
 plains." 
 
 " And the children ? " 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 35 
 
 "Were left here under the care of us Blackgowas." 
 
 " Strange ! " 
 
 " Yes, they came, saying : ' Blackgown, take our chil- 
 dren, they will be safe under your care, and protected by 
 the son of God and His Mother.'" 
 
 "I wonder they didn't apply the same theory to 
 themselves." 
 
 " I would they had done so. The cholera declared 
 itself in a most terrible manner in their new abode, and 
 carried off numbers." 
 
 " Poor things." 
 
 "Yes" (and tears rose in the old man's eyes), "they 
 hastened to return to us, bat in such precipitation that 
 they made no provision, and travelled day and night — 
 day and night " (and a tear stole down his face), he con- 
 tinued, "in proportion as they reached their own lands, 
 the scourge diminished. The last death was fifteen miles 
 from the Mission, but I should have had work for you, 
 taking you with me to meet them. Ah me — Ah me." 
 
 " I heard you had measles here, too." 
 
 "Ah well, yes. Forty-five in the boarding school fell 
 sick in three days and a half — that was nothing much. 
 But then the measles disappeared and were followed by 
 putrid fever. That was in '52." 
 
 "Did many die?" 
 
 " On Passion Sunday, the saddest of my life, we had 
 two corpses laid out, and twelve children in danger of 
 death. Eleven fell victims in a short time, and then the 
 contagion spread amongst the Indians — the mortality was 
 
36 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 great indeed. Ah, Doctor, we had need of you then, and 
 now we have passed that fearful crisis, you could hardly 
 fire off a pistol anywhere round without hitting some 
 man who professes to be a doctor." 
 
 " Well, certainly there are many here." 
 
 " Many indeed ; they follow the settlers." 
 
 " Were you repaid then for your troubles amongst the 
 Indians ? " 
 
 "Yes ; I never witnessed such fervour on death beds 
 as exhibited by our neophytes — they were models. I 
 firmly hope and believe they already enjoy the presence 
 of God, and I, shortly going that long journey, pray to 
 see them again. But enough of all this. How is your 
 brother's guest ? " 
 
 " Well and happy for a European in that rough Eanche 
 life ; I introduced him to some sick there one day." 
 
 " Bring him to see me ; I want to know him ; bring 
 him in to dinner, or to sleep." 
 
 " Thank you, I will do so ; I shall be up there with 
 my Buggy shortly, and will drive him down." 
 
 " The supper bell is ringing — you will sup with us 
 to-night? Come along, man, let us go." 
 
 Reader, let us, too, follow them. 
 
 It is a long, low room, white-washed, and dimly lit, 
 chilly too ; yet standing on each side of a long deal 
 table awaiting the Superior we can see three priests, 
 and several lay brothers. Only forms are there for 
 sitting upon ; chairs are at a premium. 
 
 The old man enters, points silently to the place his 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 37 
 
 visitor is to occupy, and then his kindly voice mumbles 
 forth the Grace. 
 
 A lay brother reads a few verses from Holy Scripture, 
 and commences a chapter from Kodriguez " On Christian 
 Perfection." 
 
 The Superior taps upon the table with the handle of 
 his knife, the reading ceases, and in honour of the visitor 
 he announces " Talking " at supper instead of Beading. 
 
 A strange gathering that, drawing together under one 
 roof men of such opposite dispositions, nationalities, and 
 characters — men who could only live thus ; cemented 
 together by rule, yet apart from each other, as brick is 
 mortared apart from brick by the Divine Meditation 
 upon the Holy Gospels ; layers of charity were between 
 them ; layers of undimmed truth cemented them to- 
 gether as one whole body, represented by the name of 
 "The Society." 
 
 Take from them, . burn, do away into chaotic night 
 of forgetfulness that Gospel, and ye will perceive how 
 rude anarchy would reign here. 
 
 See that Italian successful missioner of savages : what 
 holds he in common with yonder Irishman, who knows 
 so well how to deal with settlers only. See that 
 curl of irony upon the lips of the great traveller of the 
 Prairies, that American-Irish Priest opposite. "What has 
 he in common with the others ? And the pioneer 
 Superior — What does his Belgian intellect, sharp as a 
 needle even now, hold in common apart from religion 
 with his community ? 
 
38 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Has that Italian, skilled in the fine arts of Italy, 
 learned in science and a man of the world, aught in 
 common with those lay brothers so cumb'ersomely feed- 
 ing themselves yonder ? 
 
 Yes ! the love, example, life, death of a Man who 
 was a malefactor according to law, a Man who though 
 dead eighteen hundred years, and done to death shame- 
 fully, has left tracks of light upon the lonesome path- 
 way of this world : so much so that eighteen centuries 
 have not sufficed to efface His life, death, and miracles. 
 And where the blood pulsates red and ruddy through 
 human hearts, there is His love felt. 
 
 Brown Kirwan felt this : as he sat at that rough 
 table, listened to the conversation of men so strangely 
 dissimilar to those who had thus far crossed his path- 
 way in life, he could not help admiring that nobility 
 of character which had thus far out in the Prairies 
 drawn them into a community to do good to their 
 fellow men. 
 
 It was strange to hear of Savages who would come 
 two or three hundred miles to bring a child to Bap- 
 tism : of one squaw in particular who swam creeks 
 and walked hundreds of miles to have her baby bap- 
 tized. 
 
 It was strange to hear of confessions — he who did not 
 believe in confession at all ; and yet even savages did ? 
 and were they taught right, or was he ? 
 
 " And how, Padre Pinsotti, do they remember their 
 sins ?" 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 39 
 
 "They tie a piece of string round their waist, and 
 in this cincture at intervals are little bundles of wood, 
 like our matches ; each bundle represents a certain sin, 
 and as they sin so they add one more spike of wood 
 to the bundle that sin represents. And as they proceed 
 in their confession they say, ' Father, that is such a 
 sin, count the bundle and you will know how many 
 times I committed it.' " 
 
 Brown Kirwan laughed a hearty laugh. It was some- 
 thing so novel to him ; and the company, descrying 
 the impression this recital had made, told him strange 
 stories of the Prairie life, and invited him on the 
 morrow to see their pig shooting and salting fray : 
 from twenty to forty fat pigs to be laid in salt for 
 the house and school during the next year. 
 
 " Who shoots them ?" 
 
 " Why one of our scholars." 
 
 "An Indian?" 
 
 "No, one of our settlers' sons." 
 
 And now the Irish Priest tells how many hundred 
 dollars he has gathered together in collections during 
 his last absence — collections made amongst the| poor 
 Irish engaged on the great Prairie Kailroad to the 
 Far West. 
 
 And then Quinlin was chaffed as being the best 
 gatherer of worldly pelf among the poor. 
 
 And thus ends a pleasant supper, and Brown Kirwan 
 takes new thoughts away with him, out of the low 
 white-washed Kefectory of the Jesuits. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' Behold of what delusive worth, 
 The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
 The shapes we" chase 
 Amid a world of treachery !. 
 They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
 And leave no trace." 
 
 " Coplas de JUanrique." — Longfellow. 
 
 THE STORED GOLD — "WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 OM was sweeping the floor of the lower Ranohe. 
 Tom in rough knee boots, knee breeches, and 
 his cloth shirt, and Tom was only doing this 
 during the interval, whilst the bread that he had made 
 was cooking in the small stove. Tom in his vigorous 
 way of sweeping sent out great clouds of dust which 
 almost obscured the bright sunshine, creeping in through 
 the open door and window. Tom laughed : " Who'd her 
 believed I'd her done this six weeks ago. He's a rum 
 'un though, he don't mind work, he don't, he-he-he. He 
 can saddle his horse now, and bake bread, and make 
 bread, and sweep the floor, and we's a taught him all 
 that. Well, he do know summat — he and Charley do. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 41 
 
 There you dust get hout. Wants me to learn my 
 caterohisum do he ! ! ! Asked how many persons there 
 are in God — persons or pussons ? Pusson, well I'se a 
 pusson. How many pussons in God ? Seven I says- 
 seven pussons. He looked grave too when I sed it ; 
 then I looks at the caterchisums and finds its only three. 
 Who'd a thort it. It were seven sacraments I meant. 
 He weren't cross though." 
 
 " Tom, fetch some water from the creek." 
 It was Charley Kirwan's voice disturbing Tom's theo- 
 logical reverie. Charley was dressing after a long ride 
 from his upper ranche. Woodhouse had gone with a 
 book for a long read on the bank of the creek, and to 
 watch the mud tortoises sunning themselves on the fallen 
 trees lying in the water. 
 
 Winter had not yet crept over the Prairies, the Indian 
 summer was lengthening itself out strangely this year, 
 and Charley Kirwan, wise man, knew that a very severe 
 winter would follow on the trail of this long delicious 
 Indian summer. With forethought had he stacked his 
 corn cobs near where the winter feeding would be ; the 
 hay was all that could be desired for the long winter, 
 both in quality and quantity. He had sold off most of 
 his calves, and engaged a new man, Hecker, who was 
 coming in in' a few days. Everything spoke fairly of 
 prosperity. His money was out at a good interest with 
 the settlers round, and now this coming winter he would 
 enjoy himself in hunting, skating, and all healthful 
 prairie sport — "mais l'homme propose, Dieu dispose." 
 
42 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Charley was exuberant ; glad, too, his friend was en- 
 joying himself on the prairies. What could he do to 
 amuse him to-day ? Ah, yes ; he would take him to 
 Button's and have a meal there. 
 
 " Tom —Tom ! " 
 
 " Yes, Charley." 
 
 " Is that bread baked, and the prairie chicken cooked ?" 
 
 "Yes, and I've got beans too, and fresh water in, 
 and the things washed." 
 
 "All right, Tom, you're not a bad fellow." 
 
 Tom scratched his head. " Charley, is it seven pussons 
 in God and three sacraments, or three pussons in God 
 and seven sacraments ?" 
 
 " What made you think of that ?" 
 
 "Why that ere friend of yourn is a teaching of me 
 religion, I dunno much of it. When I'm stupid he 
 don't kinder say much, but looks at me in such a sad 
 way, that makes me wanter learn more. He sez to me 
 t'other day: 'Tom, are yer baptized?' I sed, 'What's 
 that ?' Then he splains it, and I remember in Ohio, 
 afore I come this way, the clergyman did come, mother 
 sez, and made me a member of the Church. But how, 
 mother never told me, and now she's dead, and I'm an 
 orphan, I want to know more." 
 
 "I'se shay Sharley, mine mule lost. Have you seen 
 bur," and the imperturbable face of Lieboldt appeared 
 at the window. 
 
 " You goes to eat, Sharley." 
 
 " Your mule's all right ; I rode her this morning, 
 and now she's feeding in the stable by the Creek." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 43 
 
 " All right, Sharley. You have the schicken for eat, 
 I think I like some too." 
 
 " Go find my friend, and then come baok with him 
 to dinner." 
 
 This Lieboldt did quickly, as all interest to him at 
 that moment centred around the " sohicken." Poor 
 schicken, nought was left of him shortly but bones, 
 which Lieboldt sucked eagerly, remarking — " Hur has 
 done mine body goot." 
 
 " Now bring me the ox waggon quickly, Tom, I 
 want to get away ; and you and Lieboldt can go about 
 the fencing I told you of this morning." 
 
 Shortly an ox waggon drew up at the door — none 
 of your English waggons, but a strong Prairie article, 
 rude in construction, useful in occupation. Charley and 
 "Woodhouse mounted, and started off in the direction 
 of the wooded Creek. You carriage-driving community 
 little know the intense enjoyment of such a ride, in 
 spite of joltings experienced on unmade roads and 
 crossings of bridgeless streams. On such a day as this 
 the air seemed sick with very sweetness, yet not nau- 
 seous, but exuberant withal and exhilarating. Out from 
 the heat in amongst the richly-wooded stretch by the 
 creek, with embroidered shadow patterns from the trees 
 falling over them, how healthful and happy those two 
 men looked : then at the crossing, the water bubbled 
 and murmured over stones, and the sound was musio 
 to them. 
 
 This was truly one of those deep, cool enjoyments 
 
44 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 of life into which one sometimes sinks, with which 
 some of our hours are gilded in this shadow life of 
 earth. Life seems to stay still and lave herself in an 
 enjoyment too deep for speech, to brace herself up for' 
 some deep coming trouble. 
 
 How often have you, my readers, noticed this in 
 life ? How often has this been your own fate ? the 
 calm before the fierce violence of the storm bursts 
 full upon you. 
 
 Presently Woodhouse's voice broke up Charley's deep 
 silence : 
 
 " Charley, whose ranche was that we passed lying so 
 cool and well kept in amongst the fruit trees ? It 
 looks so different to yours. There is an air of that 
 European refinement you don't believe in about it." 
 
 " Whose ranche is it ? The ranche of a man who 
 plays a dangerous game in these parts. He stores gold. 
 He thinks he had best be his own banker. He has no 
 faith in humanity." 
 
 "Why dangerous?" 
 
 " Because we have only ourselves to carry out law 
 here : no organised police force, and we ourselves col- 
 lectively in this frontier life represent law and justice. 
 For certain crimes we lynch ; over other things men call 
 crimes we draw a broad curtain, because in this new 
 prairie life, composed of so many disoordant elements, 
 we cannot drag together the practical European law courts. 
 As our society developes, so will the principles which 
 cement society." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 45 
 
 " True ; then I agree with you the aforesaid Kancher 
 plays a dangerous game. Does he mix much with 
 others ?" 
 
 " No ; he means storing gold, and then going to live 
 in New York State." 
 
 " You all seem to like him ?" 
 
 " Yes, he has a keen intellect, arithmetically keen, as 
 those straight lines of trees planted about his Eanche 
 show you." 
 
 " You see somewhat of Cube Eoot there, Charley ?" 
 
 "And Addition too." 
 
 " Charley ! Charley !" 
 
 "And Multiplication - each autumn." 
 
 " You are incorrigible." 
 
 " Yes, but between each row you see Division." 
 
 "Please don't." 
 
 " Yes, and in autumn Great Common Measure, and 
 sometimes Profit and Loss." 
 
 " Please don't talk so ; but tell me, if you won't talk 
 about this man, something of these Buttons we are 
 going to see." 
 
 " Ah, yes. Well, Button — middle-aged man, formerly 
 a stone cutter or carver in Ohio, made some money, 
 came West like the rest of us ; antecedents unknown ; 
 wife short, homely, good house-wife ; several daughters, 
 good nice girls ; two sons, good hard-working fellows, 
 one has a claim of his own. But enongh of that, you'll 
 soon see them." 
 
 They now crossed the creek again at a sort of ford, 
 evidently with an artificial bottom. 
 
46 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " Some of Button's work this ?" 
 
 " Yes, sharp fellow Button, as you'll see :" and Charley 
 pointed to a road one side of which was fenced in, and 
 on the other side was a neat hedge. " Something like, 
 that, eh ? " And behind the hedge one could see a 
 goodly store of fruit trees, and amongst the trees bee- 
 hives, and beyond the bee-hives a long low thatched 
 building — Button's Eanche — and, off the building, cow- 
 sheds and cart-lodges. " Sharp fellow, Button, eh ?" 
 said Charley, again pointing to the Eanche. 
 
 Now a great dog howled, announcing their approach, 
 and a woman's shrill voice called out to Kirwan : 
 " Welcome, Charley ; we are glad to see you and the 
 stranger." "Without more ado she shook hands, reaching 
 up to them in the waggon. " Stranger, Tom (Charley's 
 ranche boy) says your name is Willie, that's what I shall 
 call you. How do you do, Willie ? You come and eat 
 my apples, pears and other fruit when yoa like. You're 
 welcome to a meal when you can come." And thus she 
 talked on until Charley, her favorite, said — " Where's 
 the old man ?" " Oh, he's a choppin a wood not far off." 
 " And the boys ?" " Oh, they'll be home from plough 
 directly. Come in, and I'll make some tea bread such 
 as Charley likes whilst I talk to you. The girls are busy 
 inside, sewing. So now you know all." 
 
 The oxen were foddered ; and in the large square 
 kitchen the family were after awhile grouped around 
 the table, eating delicious buck-wheat cakes, bacon, 
 jam, dried apples and peaches, and what not else hospita- 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 47 
 
 ble Mrs. Button had gathered out of her stores, which 
 seemed illimitable. And such coffee she poured out ! 
 thinking more of her guests' comfort than of the 
 common garb she wore ; and the girls were like her — 
 " good nice girls," as Charley said — whose ages ranged 
 from twenty-one to seventeen. Ted Button large-framed 
 and handsome, about twenty-two. Tom dark-skinned, 
 handsomer than his brother, about eighteen, with a nature 
 bubbling over with fun. 
 
 The conversation turned upon all prairie subjects, 
 and laughter rippled in waves around the merry board ; 
 until Charley, looking at Button, said — "My friend 
 wants to know who lives in the Ranche near the 
 Creek, with the straight lines of trees about it." 
 
 Then silence fell on them all, and a palpable shiver 
 went the round of the table, until Button Senior spoke 
 out—" Did you tell him ?" 
 
 " I did not tell him all. I spoke in the present. 
 I said a man lived there who stored up gold. If I 
 told him, I might frighten him away from us." 
 
 " Best to tell him," said bluff Button, " he will only 
 hear from some less authentic source." 
 
 Mrs. Button, too, leant over and said — " Yes, tell 
 him what came of it, what came of the stored-up 
 gold !" 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Button, what came of it ?" 
 
 She leant forward and whispered in his ear : " Murder 
 on Murder !" 
 
 He smiled an incredulous smile back at her. " Ail 
 
48 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIEiS. 
 
 right, Mrs. Button, you don't frighten us Europeans 
 thus." 
 
 She laughed at his incredulity, whilst the party en- 
 joyed it. Charley looked over at him from his side 
 of the table and said — " Don't ask another word until 
 I speak of it to-morrow." 
 
 "You will tell me?" 
 
 In clearly firm-cut words he answered, " / will." 
 
 And on the morrow he did. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit." — Virg. 
 There calm at length he breathed his soul away. 
 
 WHAT CHARLEY KIBWAN TOLD HIM. 
 
 HE breakfast table in Kirwan's ranche deserted. 
 Kirwan is smoking his pipe, sitting close to 
 the wood fire ; snowy, flakey wood ashes lie at 
 his feet on the hearth stone, which never knew the 
 luxury of a fender ; quiet crimson tongues of flame crept 
 in and out of the crevices left by logs piled there in 
 careless profusion. 
 
 Woodhouse sat by the window reading the iEneld of 
 Virgil, with English notes, critical and explanatory, by 
 Anthon, edited by Trollope. 
 
 This was one of the quiet hours in which they seldom 
 spoke to each other. Kirwan took his pipe from his 
 mouth, surveyed it carefully, watched the rings of smoke 
 creeping up to the ceiling, and then said: 
 "Willie!" 
 
 4 
 
50 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 The eyes of his guest turned to him with astonishment 
 written in them — that Kirwan should thus break through 
 that still hour by talking. 
 
 "You're surprised, but you wished to hear of Acton's 
 Ranche." 
 
 " Acton's ranche ?" 
 
 "Yes, the one we passed yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes, do tell me," said he, hastily laying 
 down his book, " that one Mrs. Button was so mysterious 
 yesterday evening about ; quite novelesque, eh ! man 
 with a lot of money. ' Murder on Murder,' &c, &c." 
 
 ""Well, old fellow, she was quite right. Only a few 
 weeks ago, there actually was a murder committed there." 
 
 " By the Indians ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How then ; did Acton make away with himself, or 
 what ?" 
 
 " He did neither. He was made away with, or rather 
 his life was." 
 
 Kirwan noticed the slight shudder that crept through 
 the body of his guest, and wondered whether he had 
 done wisely to speak of this without a greater prepara- 
 tion. ' He had left his seat by the window, and was 
 sitting on a low stool facing him. 
 
 " "Will you tell me all about it, Charley ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I will. Acton came into this district some 
 few years ago, one of the first settlers ; he built his 
 house more on the European cottage model, with every 
 comfort he could then place in it. You know the rough- 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 ness of our prairie life by this time. Well, he planted 
 a garden about his house, the one you so admired, and 
 then he set to work on his claim. Everything he did 
 seemed to prosper, and he made considerably of gold by 
 fruit and the cultivation of his land. The neighbours 
 were all partial to Acton ; he was ready to give others a 
 helping hand, or place the secrets of his success at their 
 disposition. A fellow he was, good all the way round ; 
 just such a man who should thrive in a prairie home. 
 Most settlers near grew to know him, and to like him. 
 Still, he had no faith in anything in the Mission in 
 the way of banks to store his money, and foolishly 
 he kept it in his Ranche. That was all well and 
 good, so long as he was sure of the laborer, or help 
 he had about him. I suppose his help must have left, 
 as others do when they have gained somewhat of money, 
 and gone in search of a claim of his own farther up 
 country. At all events, a time came when Acton was 
 left without help. He did as well as he could for 
 awhile, assisted by the neighbours ; but shortly their 
 own work called them away, and for love or money he 
 could get no one. 
 
 " One evening entering his Ranche tired out, and 
 chopping wood upon his door-step, by the dying light, 
 to coax up a fire, with which to cook his supper by, he 
 was accosted by a neighbour who had heard of a young 
 fellow in want of work, a stranger to them all, going 
 down "West. Did he care to engage him ? if so, the 
 neighbour would see that he called in in the morning. 
 
52 " GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 'Why in the morning, friend,' said Acton, 'bring him 
 round to-night, and then in the morning he can, if he 
 suits me, set about bis work.' 
 
 " Well, as you like. We know nothing of him — he 
 is a stranger to us — simply travelling down West — 
 comes and asks a meal of victuals, and my old woman 
 immediately says, ' Maybe he'd do for neighbour Acton.' 
 He's strong, burly, and a stranger : that's all we know. 
 It may be dangerous taking in a stranger, where he has 
 all to gain and nothing to lose. Beggars though, can't 
 be choosers, and my work is standing still for want of 
 hands, and my fruit and vegetables rotting. Well, neigh- 
 bour Acton, think of it to-night, and to-morrow I'll 
 see that he comes round." 
 
 " Acton did think of it, over his solitary tea in his 
 ranche, and decided to give the stranger a trial, going 
 to bed looking eagerly forward to the morrow. 
 
 " Early the next morning the stranger came : a man 
 strong and burly, all that Acton wanted, but was he 
 honest ? This thought flashed through his mind as he 
 hired him straight off. That could only be proved by 
 acquaintance with him. 
 
 "And so they set to work. Week after week passed 
 by, and the stranger studied the life of Acton, until 
 none of its seorets were hidden from him. His master 
 grew to trust him, and he found out even where the 
 money was kept. ' The love of money is the root of 
 all evil.' How, when, or where the idea first entered 
 the stranger's head of obtaining possession of that money, 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 53 
 
 no one ever knew. Certain it is, he must have brooded 
 over it long. 
 
 "One day Acton, occupied in chopping wood with his 
 hired man, was attacked from behind, and nigh killed 
 with the blow of an axe ; indeed, so mangled that 
 death ensued some short time after, and the man dis- 
 appeared, taking the money with him. A neighbour 
 passing some time afterwards goes to the Eanche door, 
 and discovers the mutilated man, then in his death- 
 agony — administers what comfort he could, and hears 
 the dying man speak of that hope sure and fast, laid up 
 in the great home of God, the Father's Eanche, where 
 neither moth nor rust corrupteth more, and where 
 thieves are powerless to break in, murder or steal ; 
 and then all calmly he breathed forth his soul to God. 
 
 " The murderer had escaped, but justice must be done ; 
 and so, mounting a horse, the man who had discovered 
 the murder galloped from Ranche to Ranche, and spread 
 the news far and wide. The Rancher left his ploughing, 
 and every settler able to do so his occupation. To horse ! 
 To horse ! They must hunt down him who so wickedly 
 in cold blood had done that grievous murder ! Lumbering 
 Dutch rifles, revolvers, guns of all ages and makes, were 
 quickly loaded, and the self-organized army of justice 
 swiftly grew and grew, until they reached at a fixed 
 hour the Ranche where they should agree upon some 
 settled way of scouring the country and arresting the 
 murderer. Day and night should that search continue 
 until he was lynched." 
 
54 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " I shot he, Sharley." It was Lieboldt, who had 
 entered unperceived, and had heard somewhat of the 
 conversation : for both the toller of the history and he 
 who listened were far to'o much interested to have 
 heard Lieboldt's entry. 
 
 "I shot he, Sharley, wid my old rifle. I were in 
 the hunt, I were." And Lieboldt continued the story: 
 " We searched all the crick, the corn patches and build- 
 ings, whilst some galloped about in the prairie to see if 
 he were in the long grass there lying hid. All that 
 day we searched, but we didn't find he. "We had 
 watchers about all night, and in the early morning began 
 agin. There in a woody bend of the crick we found 
 he, and hunted he to a corn-stack. Shot after shot was 
 fired — he and us stormed agin and agin. I felt the 
 Dutch blood burn in my veins. ' We must have he if 
 only we wait long enough.' And so we did. Young 
 Garth fired and wounded he — then I fire, wounded he 
 agin ; and so after desperate fight we take he. Not 
 dead. Then we hold council whether we lynch he. 
 ' Lynch he ! No,' cry some one, ' let's take him to the 
 Ranche of Acton, and tie him in bed with the dead 
 man, and let him die so. A warning to murderers that !' 
 And so we did, and set a patrol before the Ranche and 
 round it to see that no one aid he. And so he died, 
 Sharley." 
 
 Here Lieboldt took what he wanted from the house, 
 and retired murmuring something to himself. 
 
 " Is all this true, Charley ?" 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 55 
 
 " Why yes, man ! But Lieboldt didn't shoot him, I 
 think. The wounds were revolver wounds, and the bore 
 of the old man's musket is different to that. He is 
 somewhat chaffed- about, ' I shot he !' ever since the little 
 bullet was discovered so different to his Dutch bore. 
 But the hallucination rests." 
 
 " What a terrible story !" 
 
 " True, but we are obliged to administer the sternest 
 justice here, or crime would be too common amongst us. 
 Such a lesson was given by that man's death and his 
 tragic end which lynching could never have given. 
 The strangeness of it will be remembered, and stop 
 crime close around us for a generation or two, and 
 by that time law will be administered as in other 
 parts of the States." 
 
 And so ended the conversation on Acton's Banche, 
 and the quick rush of coming events precluded all the 
 further allusions to that subject which Kirwan's guest 
 wished to make. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 "From the contagion of the world's slow stain 
 
 We are secure, and then can never mourn 
 
 A heart grown cold, — a head grown grey in vain.' 
 
 DINNER AT THE MISSION HOUSE. 
 
 EOWN Kirwan had not forgotten his brother's 
 guest ; indeed he was a frequent visitor at 
 the Eanche during the long days of the 
 Indian summer, and a great friendship had sprung up 
 between himself and Willie Woodhouse. 
 
 A week or so after the long ride and chat upon the 
 prairies, he drove up to the Eanche, and invited 
 "Woodhouse to inspect the Mission House with him, as 
 the Superior had specially invited him to dinner that 
 day. 
 
 " An invitation from an unknown person, eh, Brown ? 
 Well, I must go. I will run down to the crick to see 
 Charley ; tell him I am going, and will be back shortly, 
 and ready to go in ten minutes." 
 
 They drove in the early hazy morning back to the 
 Mission. Much amused was the stranger with the Mission 
 village. The plank footpaths, leading here, there, and 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 57 
 
 everywhere ; the wooden houses of the settlers, the grim 
 stone convent of the Lorettines standing facing the Square 
 near which the foundations of the new church were 
 already to be seen. 
 
 And as they drove into the Mission yard, there sunning 
 himself in the beautiful sunlight stood the aged Superior 
 of the Mission. 
 
 As Woodhouse stepped from the Buggy the aged man 
 clasped both his hands in his. It seemed like Winter 
 and Spring meeting, and out of reverence to him who 
 had so long borne the burden and heat of the day the 
 younger sank upon his knees, and the elder lifted his 
 hands to heaven, placed them upon the bowed head, and 
 blessed him. In that moment the souls of both of them 
 seemed to have touched and known they were akin. 
 
 An unnatural piece of acting this might have been in 
 others, but not so here. 
 
 All this had happened in less time than it takes to 
 write, and hearty was the welcome given to the guests. 
 
 "You know nothing of our prairie life yet, Mr. 
 Woodhouse ?" 
 
 " Hardly, Father ; yet enough to make me wish to 
 know more." 
 
 "That's well. Has Charley taken you to the school 
 at Walnut Creek ?" 
 
 "No. That I reserve for some winter evening." 
 
 "Ah, if the snow permits." 
 
 " But is the snow so very awful ?" 
 
 Brown and the Superior laughed. 
 
58 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " What think you of that telegraph wire buried ?" 
 asked the old man, pointing to the telegraph wires near 
 them. 
 
 " Never !" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and it drifts on the prairies to an 
 enormous depth. We lose our prairie congregation then. 
 Texan ponies are useless to bring them to us, or take us 
 to them." 
 
 " I must take to my books." 
 
 " Or, as you are near the crick, to crick fishing." 
 
 " What, with the ice covering the creek ?" 
 
 " Yes. The creeks swarm with fish, and it is thus. 
 The ice is, as a rule, clear as crystal ; and you see the 
 fish ice-bound floating just beneath the ice, as they, find 
 no air-holes. With the broad back of an axe you strike 
 the ice violently over where the fish's head is. This 
 stuns him. You then cut away the ice in a square 
 round the fish, large enough to insert a small sieve 
 under its body. This, by practice, one learns to do so 
 skilfully, that in an hour you may take as much 
 fish as you can carry home with you." 
 
 A broad incredulous smile was on the face of 
 Woodhouse. Brown Kirwan saw it, and assured him of 
 the truth of this assertion and the enormous quantities 
 of fish taken in this way by the Indians. 
 
 " Has he been to an husking party, Brown ?" 
 
 " No, not yet, Superior." 
 
 " Well, well, take him. The first one I saw many 
 years ago amused me," 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 59 
 
 The sound of the bell called them now to the Refec- 
 tory, where the Community joined them, coming in 
 silently and falling into their allotted places. 
 
 The same long low room, white-washed, that Brown 
 Kirwan knew before ; only the sun-light streaming 
 through the narrow windows, over the rough but appe- 
 tizing fare, lent to the room warmth and cheerfulness. 
 
 The Blessing given, Quinlin the Priest read from 
 Holy Scripture until he came to the verse, " Ye stand 
 this day all of you before the Lord your God" (Paralip 
 xxix., 10.) Then the wonted signal for stopping the 
 reading was given, and conversation began. 
 
 Brown started it by saying, " How quickly you are 
 obeyed, Superior. I notice as your signal is given the 
 sound of the voice ceases — the word seems almost broken 
 in two." 
 
 " Yes, that is the law of obedience : if we are writing 
 and the bell rings for any duty, we leave off with the 
 letter hajf formed." 
 Both the visitors looked surprised. 
 Quinlin said : " That is our rule ; we make it our 
 duty to cheerfully accept obedience." 
 
 The Superior added : " The principle of the forest 
 lies in the acorn, and the germ of every duty springs 
 direct from the thought of God." 
 
 Pinsotti turned to Woodhouse, remarking : " From 
 our early years God delegates some of His authority to 
 our fellow men. Primo to parents, and so on. Respect 
 for authority is a sacred duty, as well as a Divine 
 command." 
 
60 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " Thermopylas speaks of the obedience of the Spartans," 
 said Woodhouse. 
 
 " Yes, the epitaph does : " 
 
 "Go tell the Spartans, thou that passest by, 
 That here obedient to their laws we lie." 
 
 " I have read," said Pinsotti, " the other day of true 
 obedience. The armed skeleton of a poor Eoman soldier 
 was found in a recess near the gates of Pompeii. When 
 the sulphurous storm broke over that guilty ' little city, 
 how easy for him to have run away. But he wouldn't, 
 because to escape would be to abandon his post without 
 leave ; and so that unknown hero just dropped the 
 vizor of his helmet, and stood there to die rather than 
 disobey." 
 
 " England is not behind-hand," said the doctor. " Don't 
 I remember in our war, our men speaking of Balaclava," 
 and glancing at his English friend he quoted : 
 "Forward the Light Brigade, 
 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die — 
 Into the valley of death 
 Bode the Six Hundred." 
 
 "That proves obedience," said the Superior, "is not 
 limited to the Church. We have these noble examples 
 in the Army, of men preferring death to disobedience." 
 
 "And in the Navy also." 
 
 " Yes," said one brother, who had been awhile a sailor, 
 " the wreck of the Birkenhead. A good ship crushed at 
 sunset against a sunken rock ; the boats few, and the 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 61 
 
 water rushing in ; sharks thrusting horrid black fins 
 through white breakers, the women and children shriek- 
 ing, but the voice of the captain was heard calling the 
 men to their ranks, — an order meaning death instantly 
 obeyed. The boats left the vessel in order, taking the 
 women and children to shore." 
 
 " I remember," observed Quinlin, " inch by inch the 
 ship sank lower, the men stood calm, till one great wave 
 rolled over her, and ' obedient unto death,' brave men, 
 loyal indeed, sank to a noble burial." 
 
 "And if men in the world are obedient thus, what 
 obedience should be observed by those in Holy Orders, 
 and under, the rule of a Society sanctioned by the 
 Church ?" 
 
 "Aye, obedience, indeed," murmured the Irishman, 
 and a sigh told his thoughts were about the subject of 
 obedience, and what it cost him. 
 
 "Father Pinsotti, is it true about that discovery near 
 Independence, in a Eanche there ? The Mission is ring- 
 ing with the news this morning." 
 
 " Yes, too true, Mr. Kirwan. I myself have been in 
 the Ranche ; in fact I tried to convert the people, and, 
 indeed, it was I who gave them the prayer book found 
 there, of which there has been much talk." 
 
 " What occupation were they ?" 
 
 "Well, nominally, they kept a grocer's store." 
 
 " And if any one came with money they let them 
 down into that abominable trap?" 
 
 " Yes, and in some way killed them there." 
 
62 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " And ?" asked a Brother, breathless. 
 
 " Buried them in their garden." 
 
 " How were they- found out ?" 
 
 " Some one, after a heavy rain, saw marks as of 
 graves settling down in their garden, and, communicated 
 with the police or military at Fort Scott, or some other 
 place." 
 
 " And the military ?" 
 
 " Found it was only too true." 
 
 " I had the news through a European paper," said 
 Woodhouse. 
 
 " And the law has dealt heavily with them ?" 
 
 " So heavily that such an enormity will never be 
 perpetrated here again, we hope." 
 
 "Ah, my friends, five or seven graves, so many mur- 
 ders ; and I have been often to the house, but could 
 make nothing of the people. The grace of God had 
 never touched their hearts." 
 
 " And are you not afraid, Father Pinsotti ?" 
 
 " No, I have no fear. I can only die once ; and, en- 
 deavouring to honestly work in my Master's service, I ■ 
 know He will protect me." 
 
 In the meantime the dinner had duly progressed — 
 the Irish stew, the roast meat, the stewed peaches, and 
 cheese, were done full justice to, and now the signal 
 given for silence, and the Martyrology read, they retired 
 to the Church hard by, a long, low building, with its 
 Sanctuary panelled in dark walnut wood, and there in 
 silence all kneel before the Blessed Sacrament. Five ■ 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 63 
 
 minutes of silent prayer, and the Kecreation began. This 
 was the rule of the Osage Community. / 
 
 A long and interesting conversation follows in the 
 Superior's room, until the doctor suggests he must drive 
 his friend home. 
 
 " Come again when you like," said the Superior, open- 
 ing the door of the room next his own, a small cup- 
 board-looking place containing a bed, a tub turned bot- 
 tom upwards supporting a tin bowl and small ewer in 
 tin. " This will be your room. Come and use it often ; 
 we shall be pleased to see you. There is a stove in it 
 too. You will be warm there, even in winter, Mr. 
 Woodhouse." 
 
 " He will leave the Mission far behind him before 
 then," exclaimed Quinlin. 
 
 " Hardly," said the Superior. " God has sent him to 
 these parts for a purpose, and only when it is fulfilled 
 will he leave." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " The double night of ages, and of her — 
 Night's daughter — Ignorance, hath wrapt, and wrap 
 All round us." — Cldlde Harold's Pilgrimage. 
 
 "He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
 He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 
 Must look down on the hate of those below. 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
 Eound him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led." 
 
 * * * * — Byron. 
 
 " In His great Name 
 I stand between thee and the shrine which hath 
 Had His acceptance. — " Cain." — Byron. 
 
 SUNDAY AND THE OSAGES. 
 
 SUNDAY Morning at the Mission. Charley 
 Kirwan and his guest are riding Texan cobs, 
 and travelling at a smart pace to the Mission, 
 to be in time for the service. As they near the 
 vicinity of the Church they see people from the district 
 going on the same errand. And what a laughable con- 
 gregation of vehicles stand tenantless outside the Church ! 
 Such a group photographed would make a photographer's 
 fortune in Europe. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 65 
 
 Can feeble word-painting convey such grouping to the 
 mind of a reader ? Hardly. There stands the ox waggon 
 and the oxen tethered to it ; the waggon itself looking 
 like a miniature platform on wheels, and many like 
 waggons in pretty groupings standing near in the large 
 open space hard by the Mission buildings. Texan cobs 
 too, saddled with Texan saddles ; and the makes and 
 styles of Buggies various indeed. The neighing of the 
 horses and the lowing of the oxen gave sound to the 
 scene ; and these noises, intermingled with men's voices, 
 came pleasantly to the ear ; whilst the deep blue tinted 
 sky, the rich foliage not far distant, and the buildings 
 of the Mission added the coloring necessary to make a 
 very pretty picture indeed. 
 
 " Where do all these men come from, Charley ?" 
 
 " From the country round — within a radius of from 
 quarter of a mile to fifteen miles." 
 
 " One never sees them on a week day." 
 
 "No, they are Settlers and Eanchers. Whenever I 
 come down here I find some one fresh, and that shows 
 how quickly this district will fill up. The Indians will 
 withdraw of themselves, and the Mission will be wholly 
 left to the whites." 
 
 They did not tether their horses with the others, 
 but rode on to Brown Kirwan's stable ; and having 
 quickly dismounted and fed their horses, hastened to 
 the Church. 
 
 What a sight ! The long, low building, with its 
 dark walnut-panelled Sanctuary, was crowded now. 
 
 5 
 
66 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Swarthy Indians (Osages) were grouped in one part : 
 tawny-skinned men with long, coarse, black hair float- 
 ing nearly to the shoulders, and in their faces one 
 read an awe-struck, solemn expression of wonder. As 
 the sacred Office progressed at which they were assist- 
 ing, the solemn look passed away, and in its place 
 came one of love ; for boundless as the vast prairie is 
 the love of the Indian to the Great Spirit. The rest 
 of the building was filled in with settlers, predomi- 
 nantly Irish, with their wives and children. Here and 
 there another nationality might be seen. But they were 
 all bound together by the same religion, they were all 
 permeated with the same devotion. On rude forms they 
 sat, or else knelt on the bare floor ; but the conduct 
 of the great congregation would shame most European 
 churches. 
 
 Here was the life work of the old Superior. Here 
 in this out-of-the-way place had he gathered into the 
 Church savages who through the long night of ages had 
 slowly groped their way to the stature of the knowledge 
 of Jesus Christ. Here at last had they reached through 
 the misty ignorance' of heathenism, and felt the power 
 of a strong sacramental life within them. 
 
 And those of other nations, here on the healthful 
 prairie, away from civilization, had come to a truer and 
 more practical knowledge of the Faith. 
 
 It was a holy and a wholesome thought indeed. 
 
 In the west end of the long low Church was the 
 choir, composed of nuns and children from the Convent, 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. G7 
 
 who now and again, as the Office progressed, sang one 
 of Faber's hymns to simple tunes that the people could 
 follow. 
 
 Quinlin it was who preached an earnest sermon, and 
 every word of it fell upon listening ears. How solemnly 
 those words sounded in the otherwise still Church: " For- 
 getting those things which are behind ;" and who amongst 
 them had not something to forget, " reaching forth unto 
 those things which are before." Ah, they were indeed 
 all doing that ; some, nay, most, reaching forth for gold 
 which the rich prairie furrows should yield to them. " I 
 press toward the prize to the high calling of God in 
 Christ Jesus." 
 
 "Were we all doing that ? What a happy thought it 
 was that none who enter that race are defeated ; no 
 rivalries enter into it ; no jealousies how bitter soever 
 spoil it ; no failure embitters it. The prize was com- 
 mon to all, common as the sweet air that swept the 
 wide prairie, and nobody would dispute their right to 
 breathe that. 
 
 You have to win a race on which your life depends. 
 Will you try to run it laden under a crushing burden ? 
 Will you try to do so with a log chained to your feet ? 
 No ; you would free yourself from the obstacles. And 
 so, in this life-long race we must all run, free yourselves 
 from your sins — your besetting sins. How much easier 
 you will run without these obstacles. 
 
 Thus did the sermon open that was listened to with 
 greedy ears, and carried away to prairie homes, and into 
 prairie lives. 
 
68 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 The sermon ended, to the astonishment of those pre- 
 sent, he said : " Before you are dismissed I wish to say 
 a few words to you. A great epidemic is raging in the 
 counties near us. In this wide country, where it is so 
 difficult to obtain priests to administer to those about 
 to die 'the Sacrament of Baptism at a moment's notice, 
 know this according to the theology of the Catholic 
 Church that, in case of necessity, where a priest cannot 
 be had, any layman can baptize, be that lay person 
 man, woman, or child. Only observe this. For the 
 baptism to be valid, the water must be pure, and you 
 must say the words as you pour the water upon the head 
 of the person you are about to baptize. As you slowly 
 pour the water, say the words instituted by Christ : ' I 
 baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, 
 and of the Holy Ghost.' 
 
 " And be careful in this, remembering Christ has said : 
 ' Except ye be baptized of water, and the Holy Ghost, 
 ye cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven! 
 
 " It is so necessary, that those dying without this 
 Sacrament cannot enter into Christ's kingdom.* 
 
 " Be careful in this, and see that nobody departs 
 hence unbaptized." 
 
 * From the " Catechism of Christian Doctrine.'" 
 
 What is Baptism 1 
 
 Baptism is a sacrament by which, we are made Christians, 
 children of God, and members of the Church. 
 
 What other grace is given by this Sacrament ? 
 
 It cleanses us from original sin, and also from actual, if we be 
 guilty of any. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 69 
 
 Coming out from the Church the Superior invited 
 Kirwan and Woodhouse to dinner, and afterwards to go 
 to the Indian encampment on the banks of the Neosho. 
 The Indians that day assisting at the Offices were a small 
 contingent of Osages going to amalgamate with another 
 Tribe. 
 
 At table the conversation turned on the Osages, and 
 their capacities for acquiring knowledge. " Could they 
 recite the Pater ?" 
 
 " Some could, but Pinsotti had a way of teaching 
 them. For the Creed he collected as many young 
 Braves as there were clauses in it, and to each Brave 
 he assigned one clause ; twice a day, both at sunrise 
 and sunset, they formed in line before the tribe and 
 recited the symbol of the Catholic Faith. In the same 
 way with the Pater and Ave. Thus the great truths 
 of the Christian religion were daily before them." 
 
 " And is the Osage language difficult to learn ?" 
 
 Can no one but a Priest baptize? 
 
 In case of necessity, when a Priest cannot be had any one may 
 baptize. 
 
 How is Baptism given ? 
 
 By pouring water on the head of the child whilst we pronounce 
 the words ordained by Christ. 
 
 What are those words ? 
 
 "I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, 
 and of the Holy Ghost." 
 
 What do we promise in Baptism ? 
 
 To renounce the Devil, and all his works and pomps. 
 
 Is Baptism necessary for salvation 1 
 
 Yes, for Christ says, " Unless a man be bora again of water 
 and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God " 
 (John iii. 5.) 
 
70 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " You shall hear this afternoon." 
 
 " Are the Osages affable ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is natural to them to wish to live in 
 peace and perfect friendship with everybody ; but they 
 fight greatly with the Pawnee-Mahas. This is not a 
 fault in the Osages, for the treatment they experience 
 from the Pawnees would rouse even civilized nations." 
 
 " How so, sir ?" 
 
 " When the Osages go hunting, the Pawnees fall on 
 the undefended villages, pillage the wigwams, and steal 
 the horses. The Pawnees are very perfidious, and never 
 keep to their treaties either." 
 
 " Yes," observed the Superior, " and the Osage carries 
 his enmity against the Pawnee up to his death, for 
 he always wishes, if not a Christian, to be buried on 
 the highest slopes overlooking the enemies Hunting 
 Grounds, so that even in death he may have the master- 
 hood." 
 
 "Does not the nearness of the whites to the Savages 
 have some effect for good ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, no. Here as in Paraguay the contact 
 with the whites makes the Indians more artful, plunges 
 them deeper in vice, and because the Indian language 
 has no blasphemous words in it, they actually curse 
 God in a foreign language." 
 
 " How frightful ! " 
 
 " Yes, it makes it difficult for the Missionary," chimed in 
 the Superior, "I remember Father Bax giving a Mission 
 in a village named Woichaka-Ougrin (Cockle Bird). Whilst 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 71 
 
 he preached against Intemperance, and the evil conse- 
 quences of that habit, how it affected the health and was 
 the cause of sudden death, and displeased the Great Spirit, 
 Shape-shin-Kanouk (Little Beaver), the principal man of 
 the tribe, rose and said to him : ' Father, what you tell 
 us is true ; we believe thy words ; we have seen many 
 buried because they loved and drank fire-water (whiskey). 
 One thing astonishes us. We are ignorant ; we are not 
 acquainted with books ; we never before heard the words 
 of the Great Spirit ; but the whites who have under- 
 standing, and know books, and who have always heard 
 the commandments of God, why do they drink fire- 
 water ? Why do they sell it to us ? Why do they bring 
 it to us when they know it displeases God and he sees 
 them?'" 
 
 " Do you find them very troublesome to manage ? " asked 
 Kirwan. 
 
 " I think," replied the Superior (who dearly loved the 
 Indians), " if the Indians were treated with justice and 
 good faith they would cause little trouble. The Indians 
 complain of the dishonesty of the whites. The whites 
 banish them from their native soil, from the tombs of 
 their fathers, to which they are devotedly attached, they 
 take from them their hunting and fishing grounds. The 
 Indians must consequently seek what is wrested from 
 them, and build their wigwams elsewhere. They are 
 hardly at home in their new abode when they are removed 
 a second and third time. With each successive emigra- 
 tion they find their grounds restricted, and their fishing 
 
72 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 and hunting places less abundant. The agents promise 
 them protection and privileges never realized, and con- 
 sequently the savages call the whites 'forked-tongues,' 
 or liars." 
 
 " Yes, it is hard lines on them indeed ; but I imagine 
 as civilisation advances they will recede farther and farther 
 until they touch upon the shores of the Pacific." 
 
 " Exactly so, according to the present system, but we 
 shall never live' to see things go so far as that. It 
 seems to me, having studied them greatly in my 
 character, as Superior of the Mission, that there is a 
 feeble ray of hope for the preservation of a great number 
 of them ; if the law proposed by Senator Johnson in 
 1854 is adopted in sincerity, both on the side of the 
 Government and the Indians." 
 
 "What law was proposed?" 
 
 " An establishment of three territorial governments in 
 the Indian territory inhabited by the Choctaws, Creeks, 
 Cherokees, the Chickasaws, and other tribes, with the 
 provision of being admitted later on as distinct members 
 of the confederated United States." 
 
 " What is the epidemic you spoke of, Mr. Quinlin ? " 
 
 " Pleuro-pneumonia and spino meningitis. It is not 
 in the country yet, but surely it will come." 
 
 "Don't frighten us before it does come." 
 
 " No, no, no," said the Superior, and he touched the 
 little bell near him to signify that "Talking" had finished. 
 
 After the short visit to the Church, they started for 
 the Neosho to see the Indian encampment. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 73 
 
 How pleasant it was walking through the fresh air, 
 blowiug up so pure and fragrant from the prairies, 
 down by the banks of the Neosho, and into the thick 
 pleasant foliage, where the temporary shelters stood, and 
 then to see the Indians. The adults had only a slight 
 covering over the middle of their bodies, the little ones 
 were wholly destitute of clothing, some of the elders 
 wore blankets. How pleased they were to see the Black- 
 gowns, and how eager that some of the unbaptized should 
 receive the Holy Sacrament of Baptism, for this Sacra- 
 ment the Indian understands better than any other. 
 
 It was curious to see them making bread, kneading it 
 upon their thighs, and baking it in their hastily con- 
 structed ovens. A long strange study to watch them, 
 something so far distant from European thought and 
 ways. 
 
 But grander was it to hear that prayer taught by the 
 lips of a G-od man falling from these dusky lips in their 
 own language : 
 
 "Intatze ankougtapi manshigta ningshe, shashe dichta 
 Father our in heaven who art Name thy 
 
 ouchoupegtselou, wawalagtankapi dichta tshighselou. 
 be hallowed Kingdom thy come 
 
 Hakistse ingshe manshingta ekionpi manshan lai 
 Will thy in heaven be done ; on earth be it 
 
 ackougtsiow. Humpale humpake sani watsiitse ankougtapi 
 done likewise. To-day and day every bread our 
 
 wakupiow. Ouskan pishi wacshiegchepa 
 
 to us give. Action bad to us which has been done 
 
74 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 ankionle 
 we it 
 
 aikon 
 
 ankale 
 
 forgive ; 
 
 waonlapiow. Ouskan 
 us forgive. Action 
 
 ninkow. Nansi pishi 
 not. But evil 
 
 Aikougtsiou. 
 Amen. 
 
 ouskan pishi 
 action bad 
 
 pishi ankagchetapi 
 bad to do by us 
 
 ingshe walietsi 
 from deliver 
 
 ankougtapi 
 ours 
 
 wasankapi 
 lead us 
 
 sapiow. — 
 
 us. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 'I shall be your faithful guide, 
 Through this gloomy covert wide. ' 
 
 " And beside, 
 All the swains that there abide 
 With jigs and rural danee resort ; 
 We shall catch them at their sport, 
 And our sudden coming there 
 Will double all their mirth and cheer." — Comus. 
 
 THE HUSKING PARTY. 
 
 j]OM in his everlasting rough knee breeches, 
 knee boots, and his dark cloth shirt — Tom 
 - J leaning on a potato fork, a basket in one 
 hand filled with sweet potatoes, and those deep-set eyes 
 of his beaming with good humour as he gives to his 
 master's guest an invitation : 
 
 " Missis McOoll's huskin's on ternight, wants yer and 
 Charley there. Won't yer come ? Do now ; do now. 
 I'll go with yer. Charley hount. Charley don't like 
 huskins. I does though." 
 
 " Hulloa, Tom, what are you talking about, eh ?" 
 asks "Woodhouae, stopping his writing at the Eanche, 
 table. 
 
76 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Tom repeated his message. 
 
 " What's a husking, Tom ? I must know that before 
 I go." 
 
 "Wall, I guess yer be ignorant, don't know what a_ 
 huskin is. Why yer goes to the house ; yer sits in a barn 
 or outhouse, and yer shells corn, Indian corn; -yer rubs 
 two cobs one agin another ; yer stays two or three hours 
 adoing off that, and then yer goes in the house and 
 yer eats, and the McColls give yer good eating. Don't 
 know what a huskin be ? Wall I guess they be funny 
 ones where yer comes from. Will yer come now, and 
 persuade Charley, too ? " 
 
 " I can't- promise, Tom, until I know all about it. Tell 
 me, what do you do after supper ? " 
 
 " Wall I guess yer bes ignorant. Yer plays all kind 
 o' games. Well game, buff game, riggles, 1 all sorts er 
 games." 
 
 " Who goes, Tom ? " 
 
 " Wall you bes ignorant. All goes — men, gals, bors ; 
 there us sits, and talks and talks, and works and works. 
 Will yer go, eh ? " 
 
 " I must think about it, Tom." 
 
 " If Charley goes will yer," asked Tom, returning to 
 the attack, " will yer come with us then ? " 
 
 "Yes, I will." 
 
 "If he don't go, or is out," and Tom's eyes looked 
 so pleadingly at him ? 
 
 1 Riggles = Biddies. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 77 
 
 " If he is out I'll go with you, simply as a reward for 
 your persistency, Tom." 
 
 " Wall, you bes ignorant ; he's a goin to the Upper 
 Ranche after dinner, so yer'll go, and I'll tell McColl 
 this morning ; " and with that Tom disappears, saying : 
 " There -be the sweet potatoes for dinner ; you eats urn 
 once, yer won't care for the others." 
 
 " Well, I'll busy myself, getting dinner, I think. I 
 know Charley will be tired when he comes in, and Tom 
 won't be back' awhile, so here goes." And with that 
 the writing ceased. The ashes were knocked out of the 
 pipe, and the preparation began. A prairie chicken to 
 pluck, stuffing to make, the beans and pork to put on 
 the fire to warm up again, and then the peaches to stew 
 and the bread to make, for on the prairies bread has 
 to be made sufficient for the meal only in hot weather. 
 
 " Well," said the inhabitant of the Ranche, " if I'm cook 
 they shall feed well for once. I'll make two kinds of 
 bread, corn-bread and flour. Here's a joke. I'm in for 
 it. Well, I remember seeing in an old cookery book, 
 ' How to prepare a hare : Catch him first.' And ' How to 
 cook a dinner : Firstly, light the fire.' " 
 
 Very busy was the impromptu cook. The fire in the 
 American oven was burning brightly, the chicken in the 
 oven was browning nicely, and the beans were softening 
 in the pork fat, whilst an appetising savour pervaded 
 the Ranche. The corn-bread was made and ready to 
 go in the oven, and now with sleeves turned up and 
 floury arms, the flour bread was in full swing of making, 
 when the door opened and in came Brown Kirwan. 
 
78 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 "Hulloa, Brown, isn't this a joke ? I'm cook, and I've 
 got such a jolly dinner on." 
 
 " Hulloa, Willie, this is a change. You're a funny- 
 Englishman." 
 
 "Why, old fellow?" 
 
 '' Why, just because you've got lots of ' go ' in 
 you, and have assimilated yourself to prairie life. 
 ' Zeal,' the old Superior calls it ; ' Go,' I call it. How 
 are you getting on here ?" 
 
 " All right as yet, enjoying myself." 
 
 " Where's Charley ?" 
 
 " He'll be in directly ; he's going to the upper 
 Banche this afternoon." 
 
 " Good, so am I ; we can go together. I've a patient 
 down already with pleuro-pneumonia." 
 
 " Will that epidemic come here, do you think, Brown ? " 
 Brown Kirwan got up from his chair, quietly walked to 
 Woodhouse's side, laid his hand upon his shoulder, and 
 quietly said : " It is here already, both spino meningitis 
 and pneumonia." 
 
 " Brown ! " 
 
 " It's true, but you needn't tell the others yet. If 
 you're afraid, go my boy, although I should be deuced 
 sorry to see your back. If you are made of the stuff I 
 take you to be, you will stay and aid the Fathers to 
 nurse the sick. You've got some weeks' breathing time 
 to prepare." 
 
 " Brown, can I be of any use ? " 
 
 "You can, and I believe being fresh from Europe 
 your constitution will be free from the contagion." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 79 
 
 " What would you do, were you in my place ? " 
 
 " If I felt my manhood I should stay. If I felt my 
 cowardice I should go. For one, I depend upon you." 
 
 " I think you may do so, Brown." 
 
 " What are you two fellows looking so grave about ? " 
 asked Charley Kirwan, as his head appeared at one of 
 the windows. " Well, I never. Willie Woodhouse, Willie 
 Woodhouse ! Ha, ha, ha. What do you think of that, 
 Brown ? An Englishman, a civilized cook on the prairies. 
 We've taught you something, my boy, eh ? Oh me, Oh 
 me. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, I never. Well, I never." 
 
 "Wait till you get your dinner, Charley." 
 
 " You'll ruin me, Willie, with that appetising savour,' 
 and these hungry Banche men coming in. Oh, Willie 
 Woodhouse, Willie Woodhouse." And Charley coming 
 in laughed louder than ever, as he took his pipe, and 
 saw, beside the dinner being ready, the hearth swept, 
 and everything in order, even to his pipe being filled 
 for him. 
 
 " I say, Brown, I saw a lot of quails about forty feet 
 from the Banche. Shall we go after them ? Won't they 
 cook nice for supper ! " And taking his gun the two 
 brothers went out of the Banche. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour, when they returned with 
 eleven quails, the dinner was ready and smoking on the 
 table. The Banche men also coming in, they sat down 
 a merry party. 
 
 " Doc," asked Tom, trying to fix Brown Kirwan's 
 attention. 
 
80 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 "Doc are yer coming to the huskin?" 
 
 " Huskin ! Where, Tom ? " 
 
 " At McColl's. I said as how Woody and I were 
 going." 
 
 " You going, Willie ? " asked Kirwan. 
 
 " Yes ; Tom engaged me early this morning." 
 
 " Well, I never. Well, I never. Oh me, Oh me," and 
 Charley curled up convulsed on his chair. "Don't play 
 the well game, don't." 
 
 " Now who shall I see there, eh ? " 
 
 "Well, Deacon McColl, the schoolmaster, the Buttons, 
 and all the people round ; the Wesleyan Minister, too ; 
 perhaps forty." 
 
 " Never mind, Willie," said Brown, " Go, it will be a 
 new page of experience opened to you. You would know 
 nothing of the prairies without going to a husking party. 
 One will last you a life-time ; but go and study the 
 Osage Society." 
 
 All the food had disappeared from the table, an array 
 of empty plates stood there, the Banchers had gone, 
 and now the three friends were talking together. Let 
 us listen to their conversation. 
 
 "Now, Woodhouse, you study the schools and see if 
 that idea of getting up entertainments is possible. I 
 think you would be surprised to find the latent talent 
 of the prairies hidden under that rough exterior." 
 
 The old Superior thought so, too ; he sided with the 
 plan, thinking it showed zeal. " It will be an amuse- 
 ment to you, and a teaching of civilization to your 
 neighbours." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 81 
 
 " Imagine Brown, a kind of Penny Reading on the 
 frontier ; but i" will think of it, and study the subjects 
 to-night to see what I can make of them." 
 
 " I have a flask of whiskey, and there is some nice 
 hot water, suppose we have a grog with the pipes ; a 
 Eed Letter Day, as I heard men call feast days in one 
 of the English Universities." 
 
 "Now then, friends, come and keep Eed Letter Day 
 with me. I'm off to the upper Ranche directly, and for 
 the night too. I'll see and hear of McColl's husking 
 to-morrow, when you will be a wiser man in prairie 
 experience." 
 
 " I'm going that way, too, Charley." 
 
 "Ah, Brown, but I shall have the ox waggon and 
 my gun." 
 
 "In that case I'll drive on in my Buggy, as it's uo 
 use waiting for you." 
 
 When he had gone, Woodhouse turning to Charley, 
 said : " Do you know, Charley, I believe Brown is down- 
 right ill. I wish you'd ask him to come and stay awhile 
 here, and let me nurse him." 
 
 " I think he's more bothered than ill, although he did 
 look white to-day. Poor fellow, he can't get his accounts 
 in, and he's standing at an enormous expense down at 
 the Mission. He has rooms in that place of his over 
 the store, and lives at the Hotel. Then he has horses 
 to keep, &c, &c. ; but everybody likes Brown. Brown 
 is such a gentleman. Now I must go. G-ood bye, old 
 fellow. I shall miss you when you go for good." 
 
 6 
 
82 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 As he sat alone in the Eanohe, his thoughts ran thus : 
 That epidemic is coming. "Well, I shall stand fire. And 
 for these entertainments ? "Well, I'll do my best. A 
 useless, idle life brings no pleasure. Pleasure consists in 
 expending one's forces of doing good upon others. 
 
 Charley and his ,brother being well on their journey, 
 a series of visitors arrived. First came the Canadian 
 woman — " short, very thin, and age difficult to tell ; " 
 thinner than at her last visit, when Woodhouse first 
 arrived on the prairies. She opened the door as though 
 she belonged to the Eanche. In her sharp, shrill, thin 
 voice she said, " G-ood day, "Woodhus ; good day, friend. 
 Charley's not in, eh. I was in hopes he was. I do so 
 want to borrow a cup of coffee kernels ; he'd let me have 
 them if he was at home. Not to home ! Well, I guess 
 I'll take it. Tell him I'll bring it back to-morrow." And 
 she was proceeding to the shelf in high glee to think 
 she had attained her end, when Tom arrived. 
 
 " Now then, old 'un. Out yer goes," said Tom. " Enough 
 of that. I saw yer a watching of Charley off. No berries 
 you gits here to-day. Out wid yer, now." 
 
 Convulsed with laughing, Woodhouse threw a dollar 
 to her, and a couple of quails. Whereupon she ab- 
 sconded, vowing vengeance against Tom. 
 
 Tom, indignant, with mouth wide open, stared at his 
 companion. 
 
 "You give to her, do yer, arter she wanted to charge 
 you five dollars for washing that little mess of linen of 
 yours. They're rum uns whar you cum from. We's 
 sharper, we Yanks is." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 83 
 
 Hardly had Tom finished speaking when the tall, thin, 
 lantern-jawed form of Levett appeared. 
 
 " Be you off to that ere huskin, "Woodhus. I be going 
 and my old woman. Now whar be Charley? I want a 
 cup of berries, and a paper of sugar, quick." 
 
 " No, Levett," replied Tom, "You cum and ask Charley. 
 True, that be true, the sugar is here in plenty, and 
 the berries too, but they baint ourn ; are they, Woodhus ? " 
 
 Woodhouse nodded. 
 
 " Yer don't want um ter-day Levett. Yer cum and ax 
 Charley to-morrow he'll give it, he will I know ; but us 
 can't. Can us, Woodhus ? " 
 
 Again a nod in assent, and then Levett departed ; 
 stopping three more intending visitors on his way with 
 the news that Tom was in, and it warn't no go. 
 
 "Now, Master Woodhus, I'm goin to saddle the horses, 
 and mind as how you be ready in a few minutes;" And 
 whistling some air of his own composition Tom retired, to 
 re-appear with a Texan cob and one of Doc's horses, which 
 he had lent Willie during his stay, and then they were 
 soon galloping towards McColl's Ranche. 
 
 Crossing one creek with a made bottom easily, they came 
 to another in which the water looked dark and the stream 
 swollen. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Woodhus, you must cross so," and Tom 
 raised his feet and crossed them over his horse's neck, 
 hanging on by the pommel of the Mexican saddle. " You 
 see thus you don't get wet. Hain't Charley taught you 
 to ride like this yet ? Oh my, no ! Well you watch me 
 
84 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 cross." And as the water rose high up the saddle Tom 
 escaped dry as possible. " Be careful now, cos it ull be 
 dangerous at night if you ain't pertickler." Closely 
 following Tom's teaching, and the horse being used to the 
 crossing, they both landed safely on the other side. " Now, 
 Mr. Woodhus, you would hardly believe it, but that 'ere 
 crick rises ten feet sometimes, and with a skitty horse its 
 dangerous then. But McColl's huskin's begun. Gee- 
 up, hos, and away we goes." 
 
 Arrived at McOoll's — one of the better class of houses, 
 with some pretension of furniture about it, and three rooms 
 at the least, besides kitchen — they found a great company 
 congregated ; girls with smart ribbons, men with their best 
 coats on, and even old ladies, busy in the barn (a good- 
 sized barn too, that of McColl's) sitting in a circle round a 
 rapidly-growing heap of maize. There was order, too, in 
 the arrangement. Some appointed to supply them with 
 cobs, from which the huskers pulled the husks, and then 
 rubbing two cobs together the grain fell in rich, golden 
 profusion on to the great heap near which they were 
 sitting ; and all the time whilst hands worked hard, 
 tongues worked harder. There was McColl with his two 
 sons and two daughters, his man and the Schoolmaster, a 
 young fellow of eighteen ; there was Button and his family, 
 and a gathering of unknown Ranchers. Tom's arrival was 
 welcome, for Tom was a famed husker, and Woodhouse was 
 placed between McColl and a Miss Dempsey, a school- 
 mistress of an adjoining district. McColl, or Deacon 
 McColl, was a long man with a Gladstonian face, an Ohio 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 85 
 
 man, not without cleverness, and generally with more 
 cultivation than his neighbours. Miss Dempsey was a 
 Texan woman of three-and-twenty, or more, gentle and 
 lady-like, a born sister of charity living in the world. 
 Where sickness was found, there shadow-like and un- 
 assuming stood Anna Dempsey ; where sorrow was, there 
 tracing quick upon sorrow's heel came Anna Dempsey, a 
 comfortress indeed. The district in which stood Miss 
 Dempsey's school was one in which order reigned near 
 disorder. People wondered how she rendered so tractable 
 those rough specimens who came to her up to seventeen 
 years of age. She was not a pretty woman ; she dressed in 
 that quiet grave way that became the face, on which 
 sometimes played that pure light and smile one catches 
 on the face of the best type of Murillo's angels ; her hair 
 was brushed smoothly, in some way peculiar to herself, 
 away from her face ; looking at her you forgot she had 
 not a tall handsome figure ; the expression of her face 
 was all to her. She sat, in her way, upon a kind of throne, 
 before which the prairie people did homage, unknowingly 
 to herself, unknowingly to themselves. 
 
 " Is Charley coming, Mr. Woodhouse ? " asked McColl. 
 
 " I don't think so, Mr. McColl," answered "Woodhouse, 
 fighting desperately with an obstinate cob which would 
 not yield its corn. " He is at the upper Ranche." 
 
 "And Doc?" 
 
 " Oh, he's out in the same direction ; gone to see some 
 obstinate case of pleuro pneumonia." 
 
 " Ah," observed Mr. McColl, " The Lord will chastise 
 His people." 
 
86 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Those quick, eager eyes of Miss Dempsey were raised to 
 Woodhouse's face. " Does Doc think we shall get the 
 epidemic amongst us ? " 
 
 " I can't answer that question, Miss Dempsey ; it seems 
 to me it is coming nearer to us." 
 
 " And are you going, Sir ? 
 
 " No, I think not, Miss Dempsey, not if I am wanted." 
 
 The deep voice of the Deacon addressed them both. 
 "They all forsook Him and fled. You won't flee with 
 those cowardly disciples, and leave only the weak women 
 standing by the Cross ? " 
 
 " I hope I shall be able to remain, Mr. McColl." 
 
 "Ah, you don't know what illness is on the prairie, 
 when a man's alone, laid on his bed, no fire, no one to 
 prepare his food, no one to attend his cattle ; why, I've 
 opened a Kanche door before now and found the owner 
 dead on his bed through neglect ; but the Lord did it, 
 the Lord did it, and for some wise purpose, surely." 
 
 " Mr. McColl, we want some more cobs." 
 
 " You'll find a rick full in the yard ; bring 'em in boys." 
 
 The company were soon supplied again with- work, and 
 the laugh and jest went round, and right merrily did 
 they quaff the Deacon's wine and ale, home-brewed 
 foaming ale, a treat to all. 
 
 " Miss Dempsey, I am coming round to see your school 
 one of these days ; I hear it is a model one." 
 
 " I shall be pleased to show it you," was the quiet 
 answer. 
 
 v Don'-t you think this winter we might possibly get 
 
WESTERN PEA TRIES. 87 
 
 up some entertainments in the school-houses for the 
 people ? " 
 
 " What kind of entertainments ? " 
 
 " "Well, what in Europe we call ' Penny Readings.' 
 We have glees, comic or serio-comic readings, one or 
 two short instructive pieces of natural history, a song or 
 so, and then wind up with the National Anthem." 
 
 " Well, that is capital, Mr. Woodhouse ; if you will 
 arrange for the Eeadings, I will get up the glees and songs ; 
 my children are not behind-hand in music ; I only want 
 a week's preparation." 
 
 It was rapidly growing dusk now, and the Deacon 
 hurried up his guests by assuring them " No work, no 
 play," and so with an energy the husking went on, until 
 the last cob fell from the hands of Tom. Then came a 
 moving of seats, a greater buzz of conversation, cheers 
 from the young men, and an adjournment to the house 
 was proposed, where Mrs. McColl was discovered busy with 
 the supper preparation. Mrs. McColl was a superior 
 woman, a widow whom the Deacon had wooed and won 
 in some western city. The table was well laid out, and 
 to the astonishment of some, adorned with solid silver 
 cruets and spoons, and large bouquets of flowers. A large 
 turkey flanked one end — smoking hot ; then when one tired 
 of that sight, one saw ducks and fowls temptingly arranged 
 as side dishes. A large ham also smoked invitingly near 
 the Deacon ; then blanc-manges, nestling in cranberry 
 jam, and jellies nodded to the company ; and as a 
 centrepiece stood an enormous cake. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 How Tom's eyes sparkled — nay, nearly all the eyes in 
 that over-hungry company. 
 
 Mrs. McColl, who had her stranger guest near her, 
 enjoyed his surprise : 
 
 " You wonder civilisation has touched upon this border 
 life, so close to the Osages, eh, Mr. Woodhouse ? Ah 
 well, sir ; misfortune has introduced me to strange 
 companions." 
 
 It was Miss Dempsey who saw unshed tears in Mrs. 
 McOolPs eyes ; and she, sitting on the other side of her 
 Hostess, gently pressed her hand. It seemed indeed a 
 mystery that those two women's hearts could take in and 
 slave for those of that company. 
 
 A quiet lesson was growing into the soul of Willie 
 Woodhouse ; he knew that on that strange border-land 
 many beautiful lives were being lived, and over them, and 
 upon their grand souls was resting the light of purity and 
 holiness — all growing from those words : " Inasmuch as ye 
 did it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye 
 did it unto Me." 
 
 " You may not like the games afterwards ; we do not, 
 but as it is the custom we tolerate them ; " and Mrs. 
 McColl sighed. 
 
 I would my space allowed me to detail all that supper 
 conversation on the Indians and their ways ; of the last 
 murders near Independence ; of the epidemic spread far 
 and wide in Kansas territory ; of the last wedding, and 
 the wedding guests ; and the last riddle in circulation 
 (riggles Tom called them). And now the table cleared by 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 89 
 
 willing hands, and the table itself quickly stowed in an 
 out-of-the-way comer, a wild scene commences. Blind 
 man's buff, in which even the Deacon joins amidst screams 
 of laughter — keen enjoyment such as those who live in 
 that prairie world can appreciate, for such meetings as 
 these are few and rare. 
 
 And then came the ""Well game," at which many 
 declined to play. It consisted in one person going into a 
 corner and proclaiming himself in a well. " Who is to 
 pull you out ? " " So-and-so." " How deep are you 
 down ? " " Ten feet ; " and each foot represented a kiss. 
 Then the puller out was in a well, and the same thing was 
 acted over again until all those playing were in a long line 
 across the room, and the depths grew marvellously — and 
 the laughter too. 
 
 Here the Deacon broke up the game by introducing 
 pipes and spirits ; and Woodhouse, who had been talking 
 with the Deacon, prevailed on Tom to get the horses. 
 In a few minutes they were riding over the dark prairie, 
 and the Husking party with its kaleidoscopic scenes was 
 of the past. 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 "In his lolge beside a river, 
 Close beside a frozen river. 
 
 Seeing nothing but the snow-storm 
 
 As it whirled, and hissed, and drifted." — 
 
 From " Hiawatha." — Longfellow. 
 
 SUNSET AND SNOW-STOKM. 
 
 HE unusually long Indian summer was about to 
 close, the quiet beautiful days were waning 
 !J into winter, and those whose business brought 
 them in contact with the Indians were saying that an 
 unusually rigorous winter was to be anticipated, and 
 indeed was prophesied by all the tribes. Fell pleuro- 
 pneumonia and spino-meningitis were creeping nearer and 
 nearer to the Mission. 
 
 Charley Kirwan had an artist's soul within him. For 
 some days he had been promising his guest to show him 
 a prairie sunset — such a sunset that he might take back 
 to Europe, hidden away in his memory, and gloat over 
 ever after. On this afternoon they rode away into the 
 broad prairie, and waited, watching the western sky. There 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 91 
 
 was no sentimentality in this, nought was farther from 
 Kirwan's mind ; but he' wished to give an idea of what 
 nature's color-painting was like. 
 
 The heavens all around them were clear deep blue, 
 excepting to the westwards, where lay one long bank of 
 snowy cloud ; almost imperceptibly the snowy mass was 
 stained with crimson, which grew intense in its coloring ; 
 gradually glintings of gold stole into the crimson, each 
 color deepening in strength and beauty ; then the glory 
 was of crimson, purple, and gold seeemingly reflected in 
 the tall prairie grass. For a few moments the beauty was 
 great as it gradually approached its zenith. Those looking 
 on felt themselves bathed in color ; but there came a purple 
 haze over that fair glory and it was night. Yes, night 
 and silence ; time and the insect noises round them seemed 
 swallowed in that still sea of mist rising up from the 
 earth. 
 
 No words passed between the friends — words seemed 
 almost blasphemous in face of that still prairie, and the 
 wondrous painting whose beauty had grown into their 
 souls. It seemed so fresh from the hands of G-od, with 
 nothing to stain its purity. And thus ended the Indian 
 summer for Willie Woodhouse. 
 
 Later on in the evening Charley Kirwan was speaking 
 of sunsets in the Bay of Naples, and comparing them 
 with sunsets in the West thus : " Of course they have been 
 sung and written about almost to excess ; whilst our sunsets 
 in the Bay of New York and on these great plains are 
 comparatively little known. I certainly prefer our owo. 
 
92 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 sunsets ; they are on such a vaster scale, and the coloring 
 seems more intense, and one feels them more because 
 darkness follows so quickly on all the brilliant coloring." 
 
 I have described elsewhere the lean-to bedroom occupied 
 by Kirwan and his guest, and described the eventful chinks 
 unmoitared where it joined on to the Ranche proper. A 
 few days after they studied the prairie sunset, Charley 
 Kirwan, being awake first, called to his companion to open 
 his eyes. During the night there had been a great fall 
 of snow, and it had drifted through the inch-and-a-half or 
 two-inch chink between the lean-to and the Eanche. 
 Their bedroom was literally carpetted with snow — it had 
 even drifted on to the coverlet, and its soft fleecy ridges lay 
 about the bed, Dreamily Woodhouse awoke ' and glanced 
 round. Had he gone to sleep in a snow-drift ? and then, 
 as the ludicrosity of the scene burst upon the senses, came 
 prolonged peals of laughter from both of them. It was 
 such a hunt to find their clothing — here in a miniature 
 snow bank lay slippers ; there in a snow bank was dis- 
 covered a vest ; and in the meanwhile outside the window 
 could nothing be seen " but the snowstorm, as it whirled, 
 and hissed, and drifted." 
 
 " Oh, Charley : how odd this is." 
 
 " Odd ; I told you the winter would be as quickly upon 
 us as the sunset faded the other night." 
 
 There was somewhat of silence until Kirwan said : . 
 
 " Another experience of prairie life for you ; your 
 education will be nearer finished when you get back to 
 Europe." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 93 
 
 "I am not surprised you like the prairies, Charley, 
 there is something fascinating about these sudden changes." 
 
 " Not more sudden than the transit from life to death, 
 Woodhouse ; " and there crept into his tone that yearning 
 earnestness which was one of his great fascinations. 
 
 " Sharley — Sharley ; I say, where's Sharley," and the 
 voice of Lieboldt reached through the closed door. " A 
 wintry mornin', Sharley ; but I want Sharley. I say to 
 the boys, they cattle be fed under the trees — the snow fall 
 he hide the hay — the cattle no find he ; " and opening the 
 door communicating with the lean-to — the shock head and 
 good-natured face of the German appeared in the opening. 
 His astonishment was the cause of prolonged laughter. 
 But Lieboldt was no man of straw. With broom and 
 energy he soon expelled the intruding snow, laughing 
 the while. 
 
i 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 ' Be this, then, a lesson to thy soul, that thou reckon nothing 
 
 worthless, 
 ' Because thou heedest not its use, nor knowest the virtues 
 
 thereof." 
 
 PENNY READINGS ON THE PRAIRIES. 
 
 N these wintry days the schools on the 
 Prairies were in full operation. Unlike 
 English schools, for the working youth 
 laid aside his calling and became a school-boy again 
 in these winter months ; the tall girls of eighteen 
 and twenty, thirsting for knowledge, brought up to 
 the School House their little brothers and sisters and 
 stayed to be taught themselves ; and the big young 
 men brought their brothers and sisters, and all 
 worked with a will under the guidance of some School- 
 master or Schoolmistress. I think in the laying-out 
 of the counties there is ground allowed for the building 
 of a School House in each half-mile, or square mile. 
 In the summer months the schools are closed, and in 
 the winter months filled to excess. It seems difficult 
 to find out where the people come from. 
 
 Tom, who through the kindness of Kirwan, was 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 95 
 
 attending the schools, and yet staying on at the 
 Ranche, had taken Woodhouse with him to the even- 
 ing schools, and many a long discussion was held 
 between the stranger and the Schoolmasters or Mis- 
 tresses as to the entertainments to be given. 
 
 It was thus that the idea of giving these entertain- 
 ments arose : 
 
 After the night-school was over, the pupils, young 
 and old, set to and had a regular romp, in which often 
 the " well game " was prominent. Now if one could 
 only utilize these half-hours by getting up some Enter- 
 tainments, and induce the performers to devote this 
 half-hour to preparing for them, much good might be 
 done. 
 
 Miss Dempsey was enlisted speedily, and already the 
 singing class, picked from her school, was practising 
 glees and solos. One of the Doctors from the Mission 
 was invited to give a short lecture on Education, 
 in language the people could understand. Willie 
 Woodhouse was to give a lecture on " Horace Greeley's 
 Prairie Life " ; whilst an Irishman from a distant 
 Eanche was to bring his violin and sing some of Tom 
 Moore's melodies, accompanying himself ; but certain 
 young people, who could not sing and who would not 
 read, insisted on a play. 
 
 Miss Dempsey being consulted, in her quiet way re- 
 plied, " Why not let them have a ' Tableaux ' ? " 
 
 " An excellent idea," chorused the Committee, 
 " because then they must be silent." 
 
96 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Thus it was decided. The entrance fee to the enter- 
 tainment was to be a quarter of a dollar ; but a 
 deputation came in on the day of the Eeading itself, to 
 say many Ranchers would like to come who had no 
 " quarters " ; who had, in fact, no money whatever, 
 but who would gladly pay in kind. 
 
 " Let them all come," said Woodhouse, " we want a 
 good audience." 
 
 Charley Kirwan chaffed about the energy displayed 
 in the movement ; but, nevertheless, the interest in 
 it grew and grew, until on the night itself, the collec- 
 tion of strange vehicles round the Prairie School-House 
 was encouraging indeed. 
 
 But where to seat . all the people — if one could only 
 stretch those , wooden walls out farther. 
 
 So, the English Penny Readings were introduced 
 on the distant Osage Prairies of the Far West. I 
 query if the founder of these entertainments thought 
 they would reach so far. 
 
 A few minutes' explanation to the Prairie gathering 
 of settlers, then came a glee — enthusiastically received 
 — and the Doctor's Lecture, well put together, and fit 
 for that strange assembly ; he knew how to touch 
 gently the heart's core of such an audience, and awake 
 their finer feelings. The first tableau succeeded to the 
 the lecture. 
 
 It was " Faith." We heard the silence grow in the 
 room before the wonderful still beauty of her face. 
 And yet it was only Barbara Mackintosh, whose 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 97 
 
 brown plebeian hands were whitened that they might 
 not offend the audience. Before God though, methinks 
 oft times those brown hands reached higher than white 
 ones. 
 
 Then came the Goddess of Liberty, in a beautiful 
 American flag. "We watched to see Zeuobia's chains 
 in order before she posed herself. All remembered 
 that tableau for days after. Some latent instinct of 
 heroism was astir in that girl's blood. For a moment 
 the girl went away from herself. She was thrilled 
 with a deep sense of power that will last longer than 
 that deep prolonged applause from Ranchemen's throats. 
 
 Was it not a little like life ? We, who were behind 
 the curtain ; we, looking on that wrong side, saw all 
 the mistakes, all the loose threads and thrums. And 
 yet perhaps, if we could look on the other side we 
 should see how honest faith and earnest endeavour 
 have woven a pattern fit for a king's robe. Behind 
 the curtain, hurry, confusion, chaos ; before the curtain, 
 a fair vision of men and women. 
 
 Can it be true that we do not give the right 
 meaning to success and failure in life ? Is what we 
 call success always really worthy of the name ? 
 
 The one perfect life that has been lived on earth 
 from a merely human point of view was a failure. It 
 had neither wealth, nor riches, nor fame. It went 
 swiftly down to a sudden, terrible death, embittered by 
 cruel mockery. Yet who questions that it was the one 
 successful complete life ; this highest thought of God, 
 uttered in humanity ? 7 
 
98 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 The Horace Greeley lecture came next, and was 
 followed by songs, glees; and a comic reading. 
 
 In the meanwhile new life was stealing over the 
 faces of the audience. The hard lines of care loosened 
 into something gentler, and mayhaps some vision of 
 the days of childhood grew up in the men's hearts, and 
 women's also. 
 
 Well pleased they went to their ox waggons and 
 mounted their Texan cobs for their cold prairie ride 
 home to their cheerless Ranches. 
 
 But the young men grouped together were holding 
 some discussion with Kirwan's friend about the epidemic ; 
 — they were- forming themselves into a nursing com- 
 mittee to nurse any sick in their district during the 
 nights when their own farm work was done. 
 
 And this grew out of the Penny Readings on the 
 Prairies. In the meanwhile, Miss Dempsey was making 
 some proposition to the young women to take the day 
 nursing ; and so they looked to their armour to prepare 
 for the enemy, and, as the sequel will show, it was well 
 they did so. 
 
 Very happy, indeed, was the thought of these 
 Prairie Entertainments ; and all honor be to him who 
 introduced Penny Readings into England — for from 
 England they have been carried into many Countries, 
 and amongst many Peoples. 
 
 The next day Brown Kirwan came to stay at the 
 Ranche, and took Woodhouse and Tom. fishing on the 
 frozen creek. They skated, and thus followed the fish 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 99 
 
 easier. Brown looked carefully at the fish crowding 
 under the ice, and fixing on a fine red mullet-looking 
 fellow, brought down the axe with a thud upon the ice 
 over the fish's head. The fish lay motionless under 
 the ice, stunned. Then with a dexterity that would 
 surprise a European, he gently cut the ice in a square 
 about the fish just wide enough to insert the sieve 
 (Tom carried) under the body of the victim. In a 
 few minutes it lay kicking in the basket, having re- 
 covered from the effects of the blow immediately it was 
 exposed to the air. Soon the basket Woodhouse 
 carried grew heavy ; but still he insisted on fishing out 
 odd specimens of fish — especially one with a body 
 almost like a pike and a beak like a duck. And a 
 good fish dinner rewarded them for their exertions. 
 How pleasant it was on the Creek — winter fishing, 
 the great trees on either side shutting it in, and the 
 snowy outline tracery on the over-hanging branches 
 forming a continuous triumphal arch. 
 
 Even Tom looked up and said it was beautiful. 
 
 It was a fair dream of winter beauty. One such a 
 scene that imprints itself on the pages of memory's 
 album, and Startles the beholder as he turns the leaves, 
 to think that he has lived in it — has himself felt it. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 'And now the stream has reached 
 
 A dark deep sea ; 
 And sorrow, dim and crowned 
 
 Is waiting thee. 
 < * * * * 
 
 Then, with slow reverend step, 
 
 And beating heart, 
 From out thy joyous days, 
 
 Thou must depart." — A. Proctor. 
 
 THOSE SAD DATS. 
 
 ROWN KIRWAN lately had taken up his 
 quarters at the Ranche for good. It was 
 easy to see by the attenuation of his form, 
 and the light that burnt in his eyes, and that wan look 
 upon his cheeks, that a great sweet voice had already 
 whispered in his ears : " Friend, come up higher." And 
 Brown Kirwan had lowly bowed his head and gone to 
 the prairie Ranche to prepare for the inevitable. 
 
 Willie Woodhouse was his nurse, although in the 
 rough Ranche it was difficult indeed to do all that 
 one could wish ; yet it was possible to get him little 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 101 
 
 delicacies now and again — a quail on toast, the breast 
 of a prairie chicken, some stewed peaches. All these 
 little attentions it was out of the question for the 
 Ranche boys to give, as they were away at their work, 
 excepting for a few minutes in the middle of the day, 
 when they came in tired, yet noisy, to their dinner. 
 
 And in these days a deeper affection sprang up 
 between those two who spent so many hours together. 
 
 " Now, Brown ; I'm going to make you a beautiful 
 dinner before the others come in." 
 
 " No you shall not, Willie ; you are tired out 
 already." 
 
 " Tired out, Brown Kirwan ? " 
 
 " Well, please don't trouble about me." 
 
 " Don't trouble about me, eh Brown ; and for how 
 much do you count Jesus Christ, whom I honor in your 
 person ? " 
 
 Brown Kirwan said no more, but those great eyes of 
 his were eloquent with thanks. 
 
 " Do you think I am very ill ? " 
 
 " I think so, Brown ; and I want you to be 
 baptized." 
 
 " Does Charley know how ill I am?" 
 
 " I can't aay ; he has been absent a good deal 
 lately at the upper Eanche— he has said nothing to 
 me." 
 
 " I shall try to tell him. I should not like him 
 to come home and find me dead." 
 
 "Let us hope, Brown, Cod will give you a longer 
 time to make that solemn preparation for death." 
 
102 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " I don't think so — I know my constitution ; I shall 
 go on right to the end. I shall burn away gradually 
 as a candle does, and the last flicker will disappear 
 with a dash-up at the old brilliancy." 
 
 " Brown ! " 
 
 " And I feel,' "Willie, it is near the last flicker." 
 
 "Would you like to see the Old Superior, or any of 
 the Fathers, Brown ? " 
 
 " I don't know. One thing I do know, I am 
 satisfied with Him whom I have trusted that He will 
 not desert me at that great and awful hour. I thank 
 Him for sending you to me, Willie Woodhouse — I 
 thank Him. I sometimes think that dream may yet 
 be realised." 
 
 " Oh, Brown ; " and then he laid his head upon his 
 hands, and great sobs shook his frame, whilst burning 
 drops fell through his fingers on to the floor. 
 
 " You will tell Charles, and my mother and father, 
 when I am gone, that I tried to love God, and to serve 
 Him, in serving my fellow-men." 
 
 And so Brown Kirwan broke the news of his illness 
 to his friend. 
 
 Levett coming in to see " Doc," as he called the 
 Doctor, interrupted their quiet chat, and the preparation 
 for dinner left no time for Woodhouse to join in their 
 conversation. 
 
 And now on all sides from the Eanchers' homes 
 came wails of sorrow, for scarcely anyone but had 
 some friend down with pleuro-pneumonia or spino- 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 103 
 
 meningitis. The nursing committee was thoroughly- 
 organized ; and although Woodhouse disliked leaving 
 the Doctor, yet he felt it was incumbent on him to go 
 out and take his turn at night nursing. 
 
 And here I may state the way in which this spino- 
 meningitis is doctored, to show how tedious is the 
 nursing ; and I have known one case to last for ninety 
 days, and yet at last the patient died, in spite of all 
 care lavished upon him. On the first appearance of the 
 disease the spine is blistered the entire length, and then 
 hot white leaves of cabbage, boiled, applied constantly 
 every half hour, or hour, to keep the blistered part 
 open, and make it draw well. 
 
 And thus it was difficult and restless nursing ; more 
 so when, as generally was the case, it was necessary 
 to instruct the sick persons in all the truths of Christianity, 
 and prepare them for the Sacraments. 
 
 To baptize some of them — and a consolation it was 
 to think their souls appeared before their Maker with 
 the bright baptismal drops still glittering upon their 
 brows. A beauteous crown indeed, wherewith to go up 
 crowned, into that crowned Presence, baptized with 
 water and the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Tom came rushing in breathless from his work the 
 next morning, to Woodhouse : " It's little Ike as is- 
 dying now ; they want yer quick. The old man's heard 
 as yer can nus a bit. Sez I : ' he's a busy, and bin 
 up all night.' ' Never mind,' says he, ' Tell him its 
 a father's prayer, and Ike won't recuperate again.' I 
 
104 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 know'd yer'd go,' so the mare is saddled at the door. 
 I'm off, as Charley's busy a helping of us." 
 
 Mounting the mare, Woodhouse rode off rapidly in 
 the direction of Nathan Higgin's Eanche — difficult 
 travelling, too, with the snow about. Going gently along 
 at one time, in what he thought was the path covered 
 with snow, the mare disappeared under him, and he 
 found himself sinking in the snow, until only his head 
 remained above the surface. At another time he would 
 have laughed and enjoyed such a state of affairs ; but 
 now, with " that sorrow dim awaiting him," it was a 
 different state of things. Getting out of the drift 
 himself, and gently pulling the reins — the mare, used to 
 such circumstances, quietly turned round and came out 
 of the drift. Without much trouble, beyond this, he 
 arrived at the Ranche. 
 
 None of the order prevailing in an Euglish sick-room 
 was there, for, according to frontier etiquette, whenever 
 a person was ill, there one found all his friends around 
 him — sometimes to the number of ten or twelve ; and 
 the Hostess, if there be one, occupied in cooking for 
 visitors, instead of being able to give her undivided 
 attention to the invalid. 
 
 Such was the case now, and the poor child Ike, worn 
 out with the excitement of seeing new faces, and hearing 
 his state so much discussed in his presence, was even 
 then entering into his agony. Gasping for breath — 
 and the very air kept from him by the well-meaning 
 crowd around his bed — his poor dying eyes brightened 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 105 
 
 up when Woodhouse entered, making his way noiselessly 
 through the one-roomed Ranohe, which, though 
 larger than the ordinary Ranches, was not built for such 
 a crowded audience. He sat down on the bed-head, 
 and lifted the poor dying little body, placing his arm 
 under the pillow, to give more ease to the sufferer. 
 
 " Ike, little Ike ; do you know me?" 
 
 A glad smile came over the wan face, and from his 
 panting lips came the words : 
 
 " Ike's going to Jesus. Ike's going to the beautiful 
 country." 
 
 Moistening his lips with water, "Woodhouse asked : 
 
 " And is Ike glad ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Willie ; Ike is glad to go to God. Ike 
 will be an Angel, and sing to Him. Ike will see the 
 Holy Babies — (the Innocents) — the bad king killed, and 
 play with them." 
 
 " And won't you think of us, Ike, when you are 
 there ; of your father and mother, and of all of us?" 
 
 "Yes; every day I will ask God to give you good 
 things ; and I know He will, because I'll say 'for Jesus 
 Christ's sake,' and I'll look to where Jesus Christ stands. 
 He says the little children may go to Him, and God 
 won't say no to what we ask in His Name." 
 
 Tears were coursing down the cheeks of the people 
 present, and yet the little child spoke on the words 
 God gave him. 
 
 " Ike will see Mary, too." 
 
 " Yes ; Ike will see Mary, the Mother of Jesus." 
 
106 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " And Ike will love her, because there was ' no room 
 for her in the Inn ' you told me of ; but there's room 
 for her in God's palace, cos she's God's Mother. 
 Perhaps she'll be my mother ; and I'll call her mother 
 till my mother comes to me." 
 
 " Try to sleep, Ike ; " and Woodhouse motioned the 
 people to go still farther away. " Try to sleep, Ike." 
 
 " Sleep when God wants me. No ; I can't sleep," 
 said the excited child. "Will God have any one there 
 to play with me, and make me playthings ? " 
 
 " Yes ; He will have an harp for Ike, and Ike will 
 hear music like the Angels sang to the Shepherds. You 
 remember the Shepherds, and the concert in the air, 
 Ike, when Christ was born ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I remember. Ike remembers. The Angels 
 carried the poor man's soul to God's palace. Ike re- 
 members : ' Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with 
 thee.' God's with her — you told me so ; she's with 
 God, too. Ike wants to go to his new mother." 
 
 And now exhausted, the tired child sank to sleep. 
 Still Woodhouse moved not his arm away from under 
 the pillow for fear of waking the sufferer, and only did 
 he yield his post to Miss Dempsey, who came in when 
 her school hours were finished. 
 
 Then, tired to death almost, he rolled himself up in 
 a rug ; and, in spite of the dogs of the Kanche persist- 
 ently walking over him, in a short time was in a 
 profound sleep. He was awakened in the early morning 
 to say the " Prayers for the dying ; " and there in the 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 107 
 
 early morning light, from the arms of Willie Woodhouse, 
 Angels carried Ike to God's palace ; and now he calls 
 Mary his mother. 
 
 Little Angel Ike, what must be thy surprise, having 
 gone from that clumsy Ranche, to find thyself in that 
 finished building — that Palace of the G-reat King. How 
 sweet thy grateful look of loving surprise must have 
 been even to thy God. 
 
 With weeping, the body of Ike was laid out upon a 
 form — the little body that had seen but ten summers, 
 and Nathan Higgins started for the Mission to buy his 
 child a coffin. Willie Woodhouse accompanied him. 
 The Superior, seeing Woodhouse looking ill himself, 
 insisted on keeping him there for that day and night, 
 and promised to let him go up to the Ranche again for 
 a day before the Feast of Christmas. 
 
 "How is Doc?"* 
 
 " Very sadly." 
 
 " Ah ; so I thought. I will return with you to see 
 him ; I wish very much to baptize him before he 
 dies. And now you, go rest in your room, you will 
 find a fire there." 
 
 And to the room he went, and found a fire, two 
 bedsteads, a tub for a washhand-stand, a tin basin, 
 and some frozen water. 
 
 And right well did he sleep, the sleep of exhaustion, 
 which was to refresh him for many nights to come. 
 
 * Doc. Abbreviation of Doctor, commonly in use in the 
 
 Western States. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1 the long and dreary winter, 
 O the cold and cruel winter ; 
 Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, 
 Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
 Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, 
 Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
 Fell the covering snow and drifted." 
 
 " Hiawatha." — Longfellow. 
 
 THE DOCTOR S DEATH. 
 
 profoundly Willie Woodhouse slept, that 
 the Superior knocked several times at his 
 ^ door the following morning before he could 
 awaken him to come and assist at the last Mass in 
 the Church. A strong east wind blew from the 
 Prairies, and seemed to freeze the very marrow in 
 one's bones, even in crossing the little distance between 
 the House and the Church. The icy wind seemed to 
 penetrate everywhere. It gained so much force in the 
 great breadth of Prairie over which it travelled, that 
 when it came in contact with an object it seemed 
 impatient to level it with the ground. But the 
 Superior had tasted of the east wind before he built his 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 109 
 
 Church, and there the east wind was mastered, as it 
 could not fell the long, low, stout-built building. 
 How the wind shrieked round the corners, and beat 
 against the few windows, and rushed in through any 
 unwary cranny or ventilator. The Lay-brothers wrapped 
 their coats closer round them, and the Priests their 
 cloaks ; whilst the few people in the Church at that 
 early hour hurried off as soon as the last Gospel was 
 read. 
 
 As they sat in the bare Refectory over their break- 
 fast, the Superior said, " You won't go up to the Ranche 
 in this freezing wind, Mr. Woodhouse ? " 
 
 " I must, for two reasons — Charley expects me, and 
 the Doctor is really so ill I felt unwilling to leave 
 him yesterday." 
 
 " But you will be frozen." 
 
 " Never mind, I shall perish in doing my duty." 
 
 " Tut, tut : you can't go in the teeth of such a 
 wind, you would be getting your ears frozen, or else 
 your knees, and have to get down to rub your face, 
 ears, and knees with snow twenty times on such a 
 journey. No, you can't go ; those are my orders that 
 you rest here." 
 
 " Well, we shall see how it is at mid-day." 
 
 "Yes, we will see" replied the old man, as he toddled 
 off after his day's work. "You must amuse yourself 
 in the Library, and about in the Mission as best you 
 can, for I'm busy this morning until dinner." 
 
 Left to himself, he wandered into the Library, a 
 
110 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 square building, built apart from the rest of the 
 Houses, with a spacious room above it for distribution 
 of prizes to the school, school examinations, &c, &c. 
 He found the priest Quinlin there, and consequently 
 sat down to chat with him. 
 
 " I wanted to see you, Father Quinlin^ for the other 
 day I came across an Irish couple on the Prairies, 
 living without the Sacrament of Matrimony. I told 
 them they must renew their consent before a Priest, and 
 receive the Nuptial Blessing. They are willing to do 
 so publicly ; but I suggested that it should be privately 
 done, as the world at large, otherwise, would be cog- 
 nisant of the affair. They are quite willing to suffer 
 for their fault if they can be an example to others 
 in their state. I said this was not required." 
 
 " AH, well, my boy," observed the priest, " I will be 
 there as soon as this east wind ceases." 
 
 " Yes, and at the same place there is a child to be 
 baptized, about six years of age." 
 
 " All, well, my boy ; all well. I will see to it. You 
 work stedfastly according to your state in the work 
 of the Minor Orders of the Church, and may God's 
 blessing go with you." 
 
 "Are you tired with this Prairie life now the epi- 
 demic has come among us ? " enquired the Priest after 
 a pause. 
 
 " Oh, no. It gives one all the more zest to stay 
 where one can find work to one's hand." 
 
 " The zeal of Thine House hath eaten me up, 
 Lord." "Zelus domus tuse comedit me." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. Ill 
 
 " By the way, I want to ask you about the Convent. 
 What Order have you there ? " 
 
 " The Lorettines, or the Sisters of Loretto ; some 
 people call them 'The Friends of Mary at the foot 
 of the Cross.'" 
 
 " I've never heard anything about them, excepting 
 here." 
 
 " I daresay not ; they were established in the Diocese 
 of Kentucky by a Father Nerinckx." 
 
 " Who was he ? " 
 
 " A Belgian, born in 1761, who came to the United 
 States at the age of forty-five, and was sent into 
 Kentucky by Bishop Carroll, who then, under Pius the 
 VI., had jurisdiction over the whole of the United 
 States." 
 
 "What kind of reputation did he leave behind him? 
 I mean Nerinckx." 
 
 "Well, he erected ten Churches in Kentucky — two 
 of them brick Churches, the others of hewed logs — he 
 always helped the workmen at their work, whilst they 
 were cutting the timber, or clearing out the under- 
 growth." 
 
 " Did he do anything else ? " 
 
 "Yes, he had charge of six large congregations, and 
 a greater number of stations scattered about over the 
 whole of Kentucky. He founded this Sisterhood in 
 1812, and in twelve years from its commencement the 
 number of Sisters exceeded a hundred." 
 
 " And how many schools had they under them then ? " 
 
112 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 "Six different schools for girls. They were then 
 educating about 250 girls." 
 
 " Well, but Father Quinlin, how came they here ? " 
 
 " In this way ; we succeeded so well with the educa- 
 tion of the Indian boys, that the Indian Chiefs of the 
 Osage tribe came and demanded us to educate the 
 girls ; and then the Father Superior resolved to interest 
 some fervent community of Nuns in the education of 
 Osage girls." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Well, he went to S. Louis with this intention, 
 applied to several convents to undertake this work, but 
 they were all frightened at the magnitude of it, until 
 he asked the good sisters of Loretto." 
 
 " And when did they come ? " 
 
 " In 1847. Four of them came ; and many priva- 
 tions they have had to put up with before they 
 inhabited the House you see them in now." 
 
 " And now they have twenty sisters here ? " 
 
 " Yes, twenty sisters now." 
 
 " Well, having asked you all this, I want you to 
 take me to see over the Convent and the Schools." 
 
 " I was waiting for that demand to come, and I 
 accede to it as far as I can. You will be surprised 
 to hear some of their rules ; one thing they have to 
 do is to dig a spadeful of earth out of their grave 
 every day, to remind them of death. I shan't be 
 able to go over the Convent with you to-day, but some 
 other time I promise to do so." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 113 
 
 "I shall have a rough sort of ride up to Kirwan's 
 Ranche in this wild wind, shan't I, Father Quinlin?" 
 
 " Aye my boy ; you can't go." 
 
 " Well, I have made up my mind to go, unless I 
 hear Brown Kirwan is better." 
 
 "Brown Kirwan will never be better this side of 
 the grave ; I saw him walking to visit a patient in the 
 Mission some week or so ago, and I was grieved to 
 my heart's core to notice what a wreck he had become." 
 
 " And nothing can be done for him ; and you 
 would leave him out in that lonely old Ranche to 
 die unbaptized ? No, Father Quinlin, I can't tolerate 
 that." 
 
 "Impulsive as ever. Can you baptize the man 
 against his will ? " 
 
 " No ; but by gentleness, patience, logic, I would 
 convince his will, that unless he is baptized of water 
 and the Holy Ghost he cannot enter into the kingdom 
 of heaven." 
 
 "Well, but there are two other kinds of Baptism, 
 that of desire, and that of Mood. If he dies with the 
 strong desire for that Sacrament, and there is no one 
 by to administer it, then that desire before God counts 
 as though the Sacrament had been validly administered 
 by a lawfully appointed minister." 
 
 " But that is so unsatisfactory to look back upon. 
 One is not sure." 
 
 "We never know what acts go on in a soul at its 
 last moment, what voiceless acts of sorrow and love go 
 
114 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 out from the stricken spirit to the feet of Christ, and 
 God is always more anxious for men's salvation than 
 we are." 
 
 " Yes, that's very true ; but, I should like Brown 
 to be baptized ; he is so morally good, there is some- 
 thing so genuine about him." 
 
 " Leave him in God's hands, my son, in God's hands.'' 
 
 That day after the conversation with the Fathers, 
 Woodhouse had made up his mind to do what they 
 thought best, and not brave a ride in the wind, as it 
 then blew as fiercely as ever. The morning began to 
 lay on his hands, and an unquiet feeling arose in his 
 mind that he must go. So saddling his horse, and 
 wrapping his furs about him, he went to the -Superior. 
 
 " I can't rest here, Father. I feel something urging 
 me out to Kirwan's Ranche — something that won't admit 
 of delay. I know for certitude Brown Kirwan is 
 dying." 
 
 There was such an earnestness in his tone, that the 
 Superior merely said : 
 
 " God's blessing and protection go with you. With 
 a feeling like that upon you I won't bid you stay." 
 
 Quickly mounting his horse, he was trotting sharply 
 on his road to the Prairie. How fiercely the wind blew 
 for some time he was unconscious ; the wind as it blew 
 against him seemed to shriek : " Brown Kirwan is 
 dying ; " and by some inner acquiescence of his own 
 spirit he felt this was true. 
 
 And now, on the broad Prairie, without the protection 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 115 
 
 of the trees growing upon the banks of the creek, the 
 wind blew more icily keen, and seemed to go down into 
 his very marrow. If only he could reach the Ranche, 
 though. Yet he felt his knees stiffening with the cold, 
 and his ears seemed hard and stiff, as though frozen. 
 
 Horrid stories floated through his brain, of people on 
 this self-same Prairie who had had their ears so frozen 
 that as they touched them they broke off. Could this 
 be true, or was it some hoax told to him ? The deadly 
 numbness creeping through his knees warned him that 
 he must get off and rub them with snow unless he would 
 be frost-bitten ; so pulling up his horse, and dismounting, 
 he rubbed his ears, his knees, and his hands with snow 
 until the circulation returned ; and, once again wrapping 
 his furs closely around him, started afresh on his journey, 
 the conviction all the while growing more strongly upon 
 him that Brown Kirwan was dying. 
 
 In that journey, in the teeth of an east wind, three 
 times did he repeat the operation of rubbing himself 
 with snow to keep the life within him, thus saving 
 himself, as that numbness and sleepiness were creeping 
 over him, from death by freezing. Desolate enough 
 looked the wide snowy waste, as ridge after ridge of 
 prairie extended before him. And now' his journey 
 bordering on to the creek again, he stopped at a low 
 Kanche, hidden away in the outskirt wood of the creek, 
 to give the message to these Irish people concerning the 
 subject on which he had spoken to Quinlin in the 
 morning— that was of their Marriage, and their renewal 
 
116 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 of consent before a Minister of God. Having finished 
 his mission, and hastily swallowed some hot coffee to 
 warm him, he was about to proceed upon his journey, 
 when the man asked him — 
 
 " How's Doc Kirwan ? I asks, 'cos I see Doc Seagrim 
 from the Mission, gallop rapidly by a short time ago, in 
 the direction of Kirwan's Ranche ? " 
 
 " I don't know how he is now ; I haven't seen him 
 for two days, but I think he's very ill indeed." 
 
 " Ah, poor dear Doc, he won't recuperate," chimed 
 in the man's wife ; and the little child of six, hearing 
 the parents talking thus, lisped out : " Poor Doc." 
 
 " I guess as how he's worse," rejoined the man, 
 " mayhap a dying." 
 
 By the time he had finished this remark, his recent 
 auditor was galloping away as fast as his horse could 
 carry him. Through the snow-covered brush-wood 
 nearing the creek, on over another stretch of prairie, 
 then came Kirwan's Eanche in sight ; and there at 
 the door, by straining his eyes, he could make out a 
 strange horse. " Doctor Seagrim is there ; now I must 
 haste to hear the news.". 
 
 Eeining up at the Eanche door, and breathlessly 
 throwing the reins to Tom, who held the Doctor's horse, 
 he motioned to Tom to tell him the news. 
 
 Tom turned away, and a great tear rolled down his 
 cheek ; but making a step forward, with his huge hand 
 he clutched the hand of Woodhouse as if to detain him 
 from entering the Eanche. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 117 
 
 " Tom, leave go ; I must see him." 
 
 Tom tried to speak, and with tears bursting from his 
 eyes, huskily muttered : 
 
 "Doc's just dead." 
 
 What a sight met his eyes as he opened the Eanche 
 door. The wood fire flame flickered, and crept softly 
 about the great stone hearth. A bed was drawn almost 
 in front of it, and on the bed lay Brown Kirwan, 
 sunk deep in that dreamless sleep from which neither 
 human love nor hate shall awake him more. He was 
 fully dressed, and wrapped in his heavy great coat ; 
 and by his side stood Charles Kirwan, as though carved 
 in stone, and by Charles Kirwan stood the Doctor 
 Seagrim. 
 
 " He cannot be dead, Dr. Seagrim. It must be a 
 fainting fit." 
 
 "No, he is dead, Mr. "Woodhouse," replied the 
 Doctor, .touching the pulse through which the crimson 
 blood would pulsate never more. 
 
 Charley Kirwan felt an arm laid kindly upon his 
 own ; and through the still Eanche the words resounded, 
 " Let us pray." 
 
 And then three men were kneeling. 
 
 Gradually that statuesque look passed off Charley 
 Kiwan's face, and warm tears rolled from under his 
 closed eyelids. Until then he heeded not the wind 
 shrieking around the corners of the Eanche, crying 
 wildly for mercy. Mayhap a wilder tempest was raging 
 in his own soul ; but blessed feet have walked upon 
 
118 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 the waves of this troublesome life, and ever when rightly 
 sought does a diviner voice assuage life's tumult ; and 
 now as eighteen hundred years ago, when He saith 
 " Peace, be still," there is a great calm. 
 
 As they rose from their knees Dr. Seagrim spoke ; — 
 " We must lay him out, or he will be frozen in that 
 posture." 
 
 Gently and kindly were the last offices performed by 
 kind hearts, and rough hands, under the direction of 
 Woodhouse ; for Charley Kirwan had stolen away — 
 that sight he could not bear. 
 
 In the Eanche, in a short hour, everything had 
 resumed its ordinary shape — excepting for that still 
 form lying under the white sheet upon the bed in the 
 corner. They could not put the corpse in the lean-to, 
 for no one could sleep in that cold place ; and un- 
 coffined, it could not be left alone for fear vermin might 
 get near to it. Therefore thus they had decided. 
 
 Tom was busy getting ready the mid-day meal— so 
 much later to-day ; and after dinner Dr. Seagrim was to 
 be accompanied back to the Mission by Charley Kirwan, 
 who was going to buy a coffin* for his brother. He 
 was to return the next morning. 
 
 " I anticipate a frightful storm to-night, Charley," 
 observed the Doctor, "we had better start immediately 
 or we shall be losing our way in the snow." 
 
 * In the States, coffins of all sizes are kept in stock at the 
 undertaker's. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 119 
 
 And soon after the hasty dinner, they started, leaving 
 Tom and Woodhouse alone in the Eanche. Hecker and 
 Lieboldt were out seeing to the cattle. 
 
 Tom had tidied the Eanche, washed the dinner things, 
 put on the kettle for tea, heaped high the wood upon 
 the hearth, and gathered a great heap of logs into one 
 corner of the room, enough for the next forty-eight 
 hours. 
 
 " We must have some symbol of Christianity near 
 the dead," thought Woodhouse, and so they made a 
 rough wooden cross, placed it upon a tub, and burnt a 
 lamp near it. They forgot the howl of the wind in 
 their occupation. Suddenly Tom jerked out : — 
 
 " Why, look at the snow coming in under the door." 
 
 They both hurried to the window, and looking out, 
 
 saw nothing but one great whirl of snow. The air was 
 
 thick with it ; and they, fascinated, watched the wild 
 
 storm, as 
 
 " Ever deeper — deeper — deeper, 
 Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
 Fell the covering snow and drifted." 
 
 " Charley won't come to-morrow in that storm." 
 
 " Don't say so, Tom." 
 
 " You mark my word ; as sure as I'm called Tom, he 
 can't come. There'll be snow so deep, as perhaps us '11 
 have to dig our way out of the house." 
 
 "Tom!" 
 
 But Tom was right. There was such a storm that 
 night as few settlers on that prairie remembered. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " AH the land with snow is covered ; 
 All the leaves from all the branches 
 Fall and fade — and die and wither." — Longfellow. 
 
 SNOWED UP. 
 
 ITH their faces pressed against the window 
 watching the drifting snow, whistling, eddying, 
 driven by the shrieking east wind against the 
 panes, the two inhabitants of the Ranche saw day-light 
 fade, and night grow upon them. The room was full of 
 light from the wood fire and the lamp ; and Hecker and 
 Lieboldt coming in half frozen, and looking like snow- 
 men, recalled them to the present. Shaking the snow 
 from them, and crouching near to the fire, the Ranche- 
 men waited for Tom to arrange their tea-table for them. 
 They spoke in whispers — as yet unused to that white- 
 robed object lying yonder on the bed. Hecker glanced 
 round and crossed himself as the wind, sweeping under 
 the door and round by the bed, shook the sheet placed 
 over the dead man's body, and passed in little waves 
 underneath it. 
 
 " What an awful night, Mr. Woodhouse ; the snow 
 nigh blinded us coming up from the crick." 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 121 
 
 " It am a fearfool night. If us wish to keep the 
 life in him we must stay by the fire all night. To 
 go to sleep means to be freeze to death." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " Nonsense you say. Who sleep in de lean-to ? — 
 he be freeze in less than two hour. Who sleep near 
 de roof ? — he be freeze too. No, no mein, sir, dat's no 
 nonsense. You not sleep — you lib. You go sleep dere, 
 you die. You keep near de fire, dat be the best 
 place." 
 
 And so the whole group huddled round the fire. 
 Meanwhile the wind seemed to grow more strong, 
 more boisterous outside, and successions of gusts coming 
 in through the cracks, and under the doors, absolutely 
 caused the sheet over the dead man's body to shake 
 again and again, as it rippled in wavelets beneath. 
 
 " Whist," said the Irishman, " is Doc really dead ? " 
 
 " Yes ; " said Woodhouse, passing over to the bed, 
 and lifting up the sheet from the face of the corpse ; 
 and as they looked upon those still set features, illumi- 
 nated with that same kind smile he had in life, they 
 felt there could be nothing there to be afraid of ; and 
 although they must be companions to a corpse through- 
 out the long hours of the night, God the Father of 
 the living and the dead was their father. " Dominus 
 regit me, nihil mihi deerit." 
 
 " Sharley won't come to-morrow, nor the next day ; 
 the drift will be terrible. I have known the drifts 
 to be thirty feet deep before this." 
 
122 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 The new comers to the prairie shuddered. In the 
 meanwhile, Tom had got tea or supper ready; and the 
 warm coffee revived the spirits of the men, who, with 
 rugs and blankets, set about barricading, in a space 
 near the fire, inaccessible, as far as possible, to the 
 constant draughts. And well wUs it- they did so; for 
 many on the lone prairies were frozen to death, in 
 their .beds, that terrible night. 
 
 And this was the Christmas Eve. To-morrow would 
 be the birthday of the Lord, which was to be kept 
 by these men — snowed up, with a corpse. 
 
 A strange Christmas for Willie "Woodhouse, who, 
 had Kirwan been by, would have had some one to 
 talk with — some one to console. But with these rough 
 Kanche-men, what could he do ? 
 
 The Christmas morning broke once again upon the 
 world. Slowly did the grey light gleam upon the 
 prairie world, white with the driven snow ; and now 
 the men with spades dug a path out into the day, and 
 down to the creek, and hurried after their cattle, who 
 were sheltered under the trees in places built for them; 
 they had to be fed, although Brown Kirwan lay stiff 
 and cold in the Eanche, on the snow-white prairie. 
 The storm began again after a few hours' respite, and 
 then came the knowledge that no one would venture 
 from the Mission with a coffin that day ; and also that 
 none of them could assist at any Offices, at the Mission 
 Church, on Christmas Day. 
 
 Tom had been unwell, so he was about the Eanche 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 123 
 
 in the morning, and with energy was trying to learn 
 some Catechism when his work was done. 
 
 " Seven Gods, and three Sacraments." 
 
 " Eh ? No Tom, no. ' Three persons in God, and 
 seven Sacraments ; " and in this style the wall of Tom's 
 ignorance was being bfoken down. 
 
 And then came the preparation for the Christmas 
 dinner. Roast quail, pork, and chicken ; gently, 
 reverently, and with whispered conversation were the 
 preparations made. None forgot that silent white- 
 robed figure, and the rough wooden cross, with the light 
 burning before it. True, there were no bright flowers 
 to make wreaths to lay near the dead ; but they had 
 collected some slight branches of a tree, with long 
 thorns two inches in length, and with these they had 
 plaited a crown of thorns — a wreath if you will, and 
 it lay upon the breast of the corpse, the dark shade 
 contrasting strangely against the whiteness of the linen 
 sheet. 
 
 Almost in silence was the dinner eaten, and then 
 again began the watch, barricaded near the fire. And 
 so the Christmas Day died upon the Prairies. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Out of the bosom of the Air, 
 
 Out of the cloud folds of her garments shaken, 
 Over the woodlands brown and bare, 
 Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
 Silent, and soft, and slow 
 Descends the snow." 
 
 " Even as our cloudy fancies take 
 
 Suddenly shape in some divine expression, 
 Even as the troubled heart doth make, 
 In the white countenance confession, 
 The troubled sky reveals 
 The grief it feels." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 THE SNOW-CLAD CEMETERY. — THE STATION. 
 
 ROWN KIR WAN lay in his coffin ; Charley 
 had brought the coffin upon an ox waggon 
 to the Ranche the day before this chapter 
 opens. He was to be buried in one of the Northern 
 States, whither all the Kirwans were taken. The 
 brother Charley Kirwan loved so much was to be dis- 
 interred, and the two coffins were to be taken by train 
 those hundreds of miles to the Northern State by 
 Charley Kirwan himself, who was to start from the 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 125 
 
 Mission in two days. Woodhouse was to stay at the 
 Kanche during his absence. * All this had been arranged, 
 and men engaged to open the grave in the Prairie 
 Cemetery. 
 
 " Poor Charley ; you * have grown very white, and 
 old-looking these days." 
 
 " I feel so, Willie ; I feel aged more than I can tell 
 you. I dread dis-interring that body to-morrow, and 
 I have to face my mother with the coffined remains of 
 the two sons she loved most of us all." 
 
 " I can help you to-morrow, Charley ; I will super- 
 intend at the Cemetery for you." 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much, then I can go on to the 
 Mission, and make my arrangements at the Railway 
 Station concerning their removal — (pointing in the di- 
 rection of the iron case) — and the other coffin, when it 
 arrives at the Mission, must be packed in acids and 
 ice in an outer case ; meanwhile I must send supplies 
 up here to last until my return." 
 
 " Oh, Charley, how I shall miss you ! " and for the 
 first time in all that sadness and trouble his calmness 
 deserted him. 
 
 "Don't you remember our text? 'Mine eyes are 
 ever toward the Lord; for He shall pluck my feet 
 out of the net.' As long as we don't look aside from 
 Him, He will pluck our feet out of the net of trouble 
 and of absence; and whilst I go my sad journey, you 
 will have one equally as sad, riding from Kanche to 
 Ranche amongst sickness and death here." 
 
126 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " I had forgotten that, Charley." 
 
 " I have not forgotten it ; and I know your reward : 
 ' Inasmuch as ye did it unto one ■ of the least of these 
 my brethren, ye did it unto Me.' " 
 
 " Unto Him. Well, how consoling it is, to think 
 that we can bank some of our , good actions in the 
 Bank of God's charity." 
 
 " That is what Brown did. Poor Brown, God rest 
 his soul." 
 
 ***** 
 
 It is the early morning on the Prairies. An ox 
 waggon stands at Kirwan's Banche. With muffled 
 steps and slow, men carry their sad burden from the 
 Ranche door and place it upon the waggon. A large 
 crimson and black, square pattern, travelling shawl is 
 thrown pall- wise across the coffin, and on it rests a 
 crown of thorns. How bright the crimson shows up 
 against the white back-ground of snow — snow, snow 
 everywhere. The men stand bare-headed in the in- 
 tensely cold air ; and Tom, with tears in his eyes, 
 murmurs " Good-bye, Doc. ; poor Doc." 
 
 Woodhouse, clad in a long coat and snow-shoes, and 
 muffled in furs, comes out and gets into the waggon 
 near the coffin. Meanwhile another waggon, drawn 
 by oxen, advances ; four men are riding in it — and 
 start first on their way to the Prairie Cemetery, followed 
 slowly by the second waggon. And thus began Brown 
 Kirwan's funeral procession. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 127 
 
 Two waggons stand on the snow-whitened Prairie, 
 waiting on a rising ground near to a railed-in enclosure, 
 whilst, with pick-axe and spade, four men are busily- 
 employed opening a grave, closed not so very long 
 ago. One waggon, with sleek white oxen attached to 
 it, and covered with a crimson and black, pall-like 
 envelopement, we recognise as that which stood at. 
 Kirwan's Eanche not long since. A muffled, dark 
 figure stands near, and his head is- bowed over the 
 coffin upon the crimson covering. 
 
 What a picture for an Artist ! — that great stretch of 
 Prairie with the dim sky overhead, and the only thing 
 near (speaking of animation) being those four men, 
 throwing up the dark mould upon the pure snow, carry- 
 ing on in grim silence their gloomy work. How 
 bitterly cold it was the actions showed, as they stopped 
 every now and again to rub the exposed parts of their 
 bodies with snow. 
 
 What a cruel day. What a sad task. 
 
 But now from the gloomy bowels of the earth is 
 
 heaved up that clayey mass of substance mother earth 
 
 had claimed. Shut within the mortuary casket, it is 
 
 dragged to the surface, and reverently placed upon the 
 
 empty waggon ; earth clinging to the coffin lid as 
 
 its only pall. But no : 
 
 " Silent, and soft, and slow 
 Descends the snow," 
 
 making the earth-bedrabbled coffin-lid pure and clean 
 as the Prairie men hoped his spirit then was. 
 
128 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 And once more over that silent Prairie the doubly 
 sad procession winds towards' the Mission. At a great 
 distance in front was the coffin just taken from the 
 ground. 
 
 The worst was over now, there was only the cold 
 and piercing wind to bear ; and that must be borne, 
 for walking in the snow was impossible, although the 
 road taken was a higher one, from which the snow of 
 some days past had been blown away by the high 
 wind, so that it was just possible for waggons to travel 
 along. And nearing the Mission, curious Ranchers 
 peered from their doors to see anything so unusual 
 pass. Some would say, " Poor Doc Kirwan " ; others 
 would murmur a prayer, or cross themselves ; and 
 towards the evening, frozen almost to stupidity, the 
 assistants and drivers of the waggons arrived at the 
 Station near the Mission. 
 
 A group of people stood on the rough wooden plat- 
 form, amongst them Charley Kirwan. One coffin was 
 to be " anchored on the prairie " in the waggon until 
 the outer casket could come, and the chemicals and 
 ice were brought down to pack it in. Doc. Kirwan's 
 friends at the Mission carried his body into the left 
 luggage office, where it was to remain until the 
 morning. 
 
 A gentleman Rancher at the Station, seeing the ex- 
 hausted condition of Woodhouse, prevailed on him to 
 accept some of the contents of his flask, and invited 
 him to visit him at his Ranche, near Walnut Creek. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 129 
 
 "I am a Methodist," he said" at parting, '• but I can 
 appreciate the true Catholicity of your conduct to-day. 
 You will visit me, won't you, at my Kanche ? " 
 
 " If I can be of any use to you I will come." 
 
 " If I can be of any use," quoted the stranger ; 
 " and if I send to you, being seized by the epidemic, 
 will you come to me ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " At day or night ? " 
 
 "At day or night." 
 
 He was smiling, yet with tears in his eyes, as he bade 
 his new friend Good-bye ; and Mr. MacAntham said at 
 parting, " It is a bargain you come, and I shall call 
 you 'little Priest.'" 
 
 "Why? I am not that." 
 
 " No, but you have a truly apostolic soul — keep it 
 always Christ-like." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Complain not that the way be long — what Eoad iB weary 
 that leads there ? 
 But let the Angel take thine hand and lead thee up the 
 
 misty stair, 
 And then with beating heart await, the opening of the 
 golden gate." 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 THE DEACONS BOY. 
 
 EACON "WRANTON sat by his fireside; his 
 head bowed upon his hands, and a great 
 sorrow pressing upon his heart. The heart 
 of Deacon Wranton was breaking, and thus in anguish 
 and silence, disturbed only by his ejaculatory prayers, 
 did he tell out his suffering to God. The Deacon's 
 Ranche was hard by the Cemetery, from which in the 
 morning the body of Henry Kirwan had been removed ; 
 in fact, the Cemetery touched upon the extremity of 
 the Deacon's farm. 
 
 Deacon Wranton had been a successful settler (one 
 of the few), who had gathered together a nice home 
 and surroundings about him. His wife was bright 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 131 
 
 and thrifty, also his eldest son Albert the pride of the 
 neighbouring Ranches for his inflate cleverness, gen- 
 tility, and handsome looks. Perhaps in his heart of 
 hearts the Deacon worshipped this bright youth, grow- 
 ing up to manhood under his eyes ; and hearing his 
 praises for goodness, kindliness and gentleness sung on 
 all sides by his neighbours he might be surely 
 pardoned. 
 
 The Deacon's heart was breaking because the 
 fell epidemic was there — there, in his bouse. The 
 comeliest of all his children lay low on the bed of 
 illness, and the Doctor pronounced it spino-meningitis. 
 
 At the first Penny Reading on the Prairies a meet- 
 ing was organised for nursing the sick : it was started 
 for the young men of the neighbourhood by Woodhouse, 
 who himself was at the head of it. Indefatigably 
 had Albert laboured to keep the energy of his comrades 
 un-impaired in this good work, whilst he himself stayed 
 up with the sick two nights a week. Albert and 
 Woodhouse were to be seen everywhere amongst the 
 sick, and near them, following on their footsteps in 
 the work was Miss Dempsey, exerting all that gentle 
 earnestness of hers to keep the women up to their 
 standard of day-nursing. 
 
 " Oh, my son, my son," murmured the Deacon, " my 
 son, my son ; would God that I could die for thee," 
 and in the flickering fire-light one saw great bead-like 
 drops raining from his eyes — falling diamond-like be- 
 tween the fingers of the hand covering his face. 
 
132 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " Deacon, Deacon, some more cabbages are wanted," 
 called his wife from the other room. 
 
 "I will go, I will go." 
 
 And out into the cold started the Deacon to fetch 
 the cabbages from the out-house. 
 
 "Deacon, Deacon, place these on his back, we want 
 some help," were the words the Deacon was saluted 
 with on re-entering the Eanche. 
 
 " All right, my wife ; this illness is the Lord's doing, 
 and is marvellous in our eyes." 
 
 The Deacon tried to speak cheerily, but his voice 
 was tear-stained; it trembled, it quavered, it touched 
 such a chord in that wife's heart, that she leant her 
 head against that broad shoulder, and her smothered 
 heart-sobs found vent in tears. 
 
 " Hush, he will bear ; he is not asleep." 
 
 " Oh, my hoy, my beautiful hoy to go down to his 
 grave so." 
 
 Taking her two hands, clasping them in his, and 
 looking deep down into those tearful eyes and into 
 that sorrowful heart, he whispered, " I can do all things, 
 through Him who comforteth me — who comforteth 
 me in striking my first-loved son — I can do all things, 
 we can do all things, we can bear this." 
 
 And those two trusting hearts knelt and asked courage 
 of God. 
 
 "Father, bring me the leaves now if you can." 
 
 " I am coming Albert ; " and going to the bed-side 
 in the next room he took off the leaves from the poor 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 133 
 
 blistered spine, and placed other warm ones there — other 
 boiled cabbage leaves. When that operation was finished 
 — and excruciating agony it brought to Albert as each 
 one was separately removed, and that somewhat clumsily 
 by those untrained attendants — almost fainting the boy 
 asked his father to let Mr. Woodhouse know of his 
 illness. 
 
 The Deacon's brow was puckered with care, for he 
 affected not the Mission and a set form of Catholic 
 Eeligion. He hardly ever entered the little town ex- 
 cepting for groceries, or other business, either to buy 
 or sell; but it grieved the Deacon's heart to see the 
 first establishment for many miles round, that of the 
 Catholic Faith. With a secret joy the Deacon watched 
 growing up in the Mission an Episcopal Church (Anglican) 
 and a Methodist Conventicle. With a peculiar energy he 
 started each Sunday twice to the prayer meetings held 
 in the boarded building of the Conventicle upon the 
 Prairies near to Port Scott. How fervently he prayed 
 for the spread of his faith; yet now his son asked for 
 this stranger to nurse him. 
 
 During this while the boy's dark brown eyes were 
 fixed upon his father's face. 
 
 "Why do you wish this Albert? Do you want him 
 to come and see you ? " 
 
 " I wish him to know ; he may be nursing others, 
 but he will come to me in my turn, he promised me 
 should I be ill to do so." 
 
 The Deacon sighed a great sigh, and bowed his head ; 
 
134 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 and then Miss Dempsey entering, Albert asked her to 
 let Mr. Woodhouse know. 
 
 " I will do so, Albert, to-morrow ; to-day he is at the 
 Mission. I saw him go with Doc Kirwan's coffin." 
 
 " And soon he will stand by Albert "Wranton's," replied 
 the boy. 
 
 " Oh, Albert, don't mistrust God in this way." 
 
 " I don't mistrust Him, Miss Dempsey, but I feel I 
 must pack up my trunks for a long journey from this 
 world to the next." 
 
 "Are you frightened to go that journey?" 
 
 " I don't think so. I have thought a great deal whilst 
 I was nursing the sick in their rough homes these last 
 nights. I have asked God to forgive me all my faults. 
 I feel in this illness as I did those dark nights on the 
 prairies. I am walking or riding home through the 
 darkness to God my Father. Tired out as I was I 
 always was glad to get back to father and home. 
 Pained out as I am now, with little chance of recuper- 
 ating, I shall be glad to go home to 'My Lord, and 
 my God;'" and then he moaned, "My Lord and my 
 God," and a minute after was delirious, speaking of 
 his turkeys, and wandering away to the woodlands 
 adjoining the creek, where he had been catching cardinal 
 birds only the other day. 
 
 " Poor Bertie," softly came from the lips of Miss 
 Dempsey, as she laid her cool hand on the boy's burning 
 brow. 
 
 The Deacon and his wife were kneeling round that 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 135 
 
 sick bed praying : " Aye, great is thy faith ; if God wills, 
 be it done unto thee according to thy word." 
 * * # » 
 
 Some evenings later, in the bright moonlight, over 
 the snowy Prairie rode a muffled figure towards the 
 Ranche of Wranton. Arrived there he sought an empty 
 place in the stable, and attended to his horse, feeding 
 it and taking off the saddle, and then he walked to the 
 little wooden piazza outside the kitchen. Knocking at 
 the door, no voice bade him enter: but entering he saw 
 a figure near the fire plunged deep in reverie. It was 
 Deacon Wranton. 
 
 "Good evening, Deacon." 
 
 " Aye ; the Lord be with thee. Who art thou ? " 
 
 "A friend of Albert's." 
 
 " Ah," coldly observed the Deacon, " his Mission friend, 
 of whom he is always talking in his wanderings. Come 
 though, and see if you can do anything to nurse our 
 invalid." 
 
 Taking off his coat and wraps he followed the Deacon 
 to the adjoining room. 
 
 There lay Albert Wranton, that always spiritual face 
 of his, more spiritual now, as the disease had touched it 
 with a look so refined, so Ghirlandaijo-like that one 
 could imagine it a figure stepped into life from the 
 canvas of that great master. 
 
 Scarcely eighteen winters had swept their snow over 
 his snowy brow, and now in his gentleness and purity 
 the Great Sweet Voice was oalling to him — " Oome up 
 
136 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 higher." He lay with the light shining on his face, and 
 that usual complement of illness, the friends of the family 
 gazing at him. 
 
 He was wandering now in that semi-conscious state, 
 sure token of long illness. He was quoting something 
 he had heard from the Indians. " I heard the voice of 
 the Great Spirit in the cry of the Red-bird, I sought 
 him in the rustling of the leaves upon the trees. I 
 found him in the laughing of the waters. I searched 
 for him in man." And then came a pause, "Ah, my 
 turkeys. I know them — two, four, six, eight, twenty. 
 I know my turkeys. I shall sell them. Yes, I think 
 so." And then, "I wonder if Mr. Woodhouse will come, 
 or Charley Kirwan ? " 
 
 The new-comer made his way softly to the bed-side, 
 and laid his hand in Albert's. " Albert, do you know 
 me?" 
 
 With a bright conscious look he woke up : " Oh, 
 Mr. Woodhouse, yes ; I am so glad you have come — 
 don't leave me now." 
 
 And so he was installed nurse off and on at the 
 
 Deacon's. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 After seventy-five days ! 
 
 Woodhouse had stayed a day or so at the Wrantons', 
 as often as he was able to leave the other sick people 
 in the district. Albert always wished for Baptism, but 
 the Deacon disapproved of his receiving this Sacrament, 
 and would never allow any of the Nursing Association 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 137 
 
 to have water near them, for fear his son should be 
 baptized unbeknown to him. 
 
 Albert was near his end, and on this day begged so 
 hard for them to open to him the Gates of Life, that 
 Woodhouse complied. Albert said a Squaw brought her 
 baby five hundred miles for Baptism, and God says — 
 ' Except ye be baptized of water and the Holy Ghost, 
 ye cannot enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.' "I 
 want to enter ; do baptize me. God will not call me 
 until you do, and I want to go." One of those stand- 
 ing by brought some water in a large silver spoon, and 
 in a few moments Albert was numbered with the great 
 army of the baptized, and according to the teaching of 
 the Catholic Church, as the water fell upon his brow 
 and the solemn words were uttered, his original, venial 
 and mortal sins were washed away. 
 
 On the eightieth day Albert died. His kind actions 
 and pure life were as a light in a dark night to many, 
 leading them to better things. 
 
 Deacon Wranton's joy in life passed away with the 
 spirit of his boy, who from the great Indian legends 
 and practical Indian fidelity to Christianity had himself 
 learnt more of that Highest Good, that " Summum 
 Bonum," GOD, than he had learned from the whites. 
 
 Miss Dempsey wrote the news to Woodhouse in these 
 words : — " Schools are out, and I stopped a few moments 
 to write this. Orange Wranton just came to tell me 
 that 'Albert is dead!' Poor boy, poor boy I God 
 grant him happiness — he suffered so much. I hope his 
 
138 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 sufferings are over. Death is so terrible. This going 
 out into the darkness with only hope. And yet let us 
 try ever so hard, we 'know not whether we meet love 
 or hatred' on the other shore. It is no wonder so 
 many poor creatures despair." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 Nor yet in utter nakedness, 
 But trailing clouds of glory do we come, 
 From God, who is our home. — Wordsworth. 
 
 AT THE MISSION HOUSE. — DEATHS FROM FREEZING. 
 
 HARLEY KIRWAN was waiting for his 
 friend, and seeing how worn out he was from 
 excitement, and exposure to the cold, took 
 him down to the Mission. So numbed though were his 
 legs with cold from riding in the waggon, that it was 
 with difficulty he could walk along at all. 
 
 " Come to the Hotel for supper, and then we can 
 go on to the Mission." 
 
 But they met the old Superior looking for them ; his 
 kind heart told him they were worn out with fatigue, 
 and the quiet of the Mission House would be more akin 
 to them than the noisy Hotel in the little town. And 
 then he informed them of the numerous deaths from 
 freezing. Two young Ranchers on the Creek were found 
 frozen dead in their beds. A waggon was discovered on 
 
140 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 the borders of Missouri and Kansas with thirteen people 
 " on board " lying under a tarpaulin dead. The driver 
 frozen also, and, when discovered, holding in his hands 
 the reins of his frozen . team. And it was not only 
 in one quarter, but reports of like accidents were coming 
 in to the Mission from every quarter. 
 
 " And how did you escape ? " 
 
 "We stayed up all night: made enormous fires, and 
 barricaded ourselves against draughts with blankets and 
 rugs." 
 
 " Well done, well done ! You begin to know some- 
 thing of our prairie life now." 
 
 "But it was terrible during the storm. The wind 
 blew under the sheet covering poor Brown's body and 
 shivered over his corpse, so much so that I had to lift 
 the sheet from his face to show the Eanche men that 
 he was not still living. I had to uncover the corpse 
 and let them see him before they believed me ; but when 
 they stood round the bed, and had the evidence of their 
 own senses, all their foolish and superstitious fears 
 vanished." 
 
 " Were you frightened of your Christmas Eve ? " 
 
 " No ; but it would have been pleasanter for me with 
 Charley to talk to, but of course one can't regret doing 
 one's duty." 
 
 "Well, it is the time of 'the Haustus,'* come to the 
 Kefectory, and have some warm coffee, or something 
 
 * " Haustus," a slight refreshment served at four o'clock (consisting 
 in this case of coffee and bread) in the Houses of " the Society." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 141 
 
 more substantial if you wish ; _ and for you my young 
 friend, I recommend warmth and . sleep after your re- 
 freshment." 
 
 Although in these days of non-hero worship, when the 
 height of refinement externally : is to regard everything 
 with the complacence of a tame ' tortoise, whatever one 
 may feel or think internally, yet one cannot help ad- 
 miring that rugged old Superior who had given the 
 best days of his life to a cause he believed, so thoroughly 
 in. He was one amongst men, who in those dark days 
 that befell his country, had saved his crown of spiritual 
 manhood; escaping from black materialism, and revolu- 
 tionary deluges, with God, freedom of conscience, and 
 immortality of nobleness still his. A king amongst men. 
 A man who claimed no country now but that "Father- 
 land above." A man who refused himself even the 
 pleasure of speaking the language of his own country 
 out of self-denial, and spoke only the language of his 
 adopted country, and his dear Indians. All honour 
 be to men of this stamp, for they are scattered few 
 and far between in the furrows of life. 
 
 " You leave to-morrow, Charley, I presume ? " 
 "Yes, by an early train, I start with the two coffins. 
 Woodhouse goes with me to the creek, the train stops 
 there, and he will go back to the Ranche and his sick 
 people." 
 "I almost wonder he did not go with you." 
 " He preferred remaining behind until the epidemio 
 ceases. I shall find him here on my return ; and you 
 
142 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 know my theory, that a dose of Prairie life improves all 
 Europeans. I for one think he will be better for the 
 sadness, misery and death he has been amongst here." 
 
 "I don't gainsay it, Charley, but I will look after him 
 during your absence. I don't think he will be lonely ; 
 he gets on with the Prairie people very well." 
 * »• « « 
 
 In 'the early morning, in the train the two friends 
 separated, one to plod over the waste of snow to the 
 Kanche, the other to face a father and mother with 
 his sad burden. 
 
 Yet it is only one page in the great history of humanity. 
 
 Wearied almost to death, and nearly losing himself 
 in the cross country journey to Kirwan's Ranche, walk- 
 ing sometimes for twenty feet or so up to his knees in 
 snow on the skirt of the great drifts, Woodhouse at 
 last arrived at the Ranche. Tom had been out winter 
 fishing on the creek, and a plentiful supply of fish awaited 
 them for dinner. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon a strange pain struck 
 Woodhouse in the chest ; thinking it only cold, or some 
 little inflammation, he put on a mustard plaster, and lay 
 down on the bed, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep, 
 until Tom awoke him for supper. Supper without 
 Charley Kirwan seemed dull and listless. Everybody was 
 too tired out to clear away the debris, the men were 
 half dozing over their pipes, when an unusual occurrence 
 at the Ranche — a knock sounded at the door. 
 
 Tom opened it. A young fellow whose coat was 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES: 143 
 
 covered with snow entered, asking if it was Kirwan's 
 Eanche. 
 
 " Yes, my friend ; what do you want ? Charley 
 Kirwan's gone North to bury his two brothers ; went by 
 train to-day. Yer can't see him." 
 
 " I don't want him. I want his guest. I come from 
 Mr. MacAntham's ; he has the epidemic very badly, and 
 is dying, and he raves for Mr. Woodhouse to go and 
 nurse him." 
 
 "Then he shan't go," says Tom. 
 
 " He must go," observed the stranger. " He gave his 
 word to MacAntham at the station. MacAntham asked 
 him, ' If I send to you, being taken by the epidemic, 
 will you come to me ? ' And then he says, ' I will.' 
 MacAntham says, 'By day or, night.' Then he replied, 
 'By day or by night.' It's night now, sure enough, 
 and a showy night too, and I've come for him." 
 
 " Then," replies Tom, " He shan't go ; he can't ride ; 
 he ain't well ; he can't walk that distance." 
 
 "No, nor I over the Prairie, but if we make for the 
 line, we can walk along that, the snow is less deep 
 there." 
 
 " He shan't go," says Tom again, " he shan't go. He's 
 ourn now, and we won't let him out." 
 
 " Wall, I guess MacAntham's dying, and the Minister's 
 there and a crowd of folks praying ; but MacAntham 
 raves only for Mr. "Woodhouse," and looking towards 
 him the stranger says, " You'll come, eh friend ? " 
 
 "Yes, I'll come," but it was a shuddering sound, a», 
 
144 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 dread of that long snowy walk — a "Yes, I'll come," 
 tired by recent excitement and death. 
 
 "You can't ride, snow's too deep, you must go as 
 I go." 
 
 "Tom, give him something to eat, he has walked 
 nigh six miles." 
 
 " I can't wait to eat now, friend ; when we get there 
 will do." 
 
 And so equipped in Tom's long knee boots, which he 
 insisted on "Woodhouse wearing, and wrapped in a long 
 coat and scarf, out into the snowy night passed the two 
 strangers to each other, to toil once again over that 
 tiring snow, through the long hours until they reached 
 MacAntham's Ranche, 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Kind hearts are here ; yet would the tenderest one 
 
 Have limits to its mercy : God has none. 
 
 And man's forgiveness may he true and sweet, 
 
 But yet he stoops to give it. More complete 
 
 Is love that lays forgiveness at thy feet, 
 
 And pleads with thee to' raise it. Only Heaven 
 
 Means croitmed, not vanquished, when it says 
 
 Forgiven." — Proctor. 
 
 THE FREEMASON'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 
 
 IVE me your hand, mister. I'm Tom Sheehy, 
 one on 'em whose adopted the nursing our 
 sick Ranchers at nights. Albert Wranton 
 taught me what you said about it, how by nursing them 
 we was nursing Christ ; and he sez, as how you sez, 
 that's what that text meansj ' Inasmuch as ye did it to 
 one of the least of these my Brethren ye' did it unto 
 Me.' Well, I didn't walk all this way for MacAntham 
 particularly ; I walked here for Christ, cos if he was on 
 earth I'm sure I shouldn't stop to hum (at home) if he 
 sent me on a message." 
 
 " Yes, Christ indeed says, ' I was sick and ye visited 
 me.' That must console us, Tom Sheehy, for our long 
 
 10 
 
146 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 tiring walk over the snow to : night : . if we think every 
 step we take is a step for Christ — and certainly we want 
 some hope to guide us over this snowy waste." 
 
 "Now don't you fear, mister. I know every foot of 
 the Prairie round here. I must own it's really dreadful 
 for a stranger — the darkness, and the deep snow, and 
 these flakes that fall every now and again. . It's lone- 
 some like to strangers, this great silence on the broad 
 prairie, but then, as poor Albert used to say, 'It's for 
 Christ.' " 
 
 " Did you know Albert long ? " 
 
 " Yes, we were great friends, Albert and me. He was 
 one of those who could snare a red-bird with any one, 
 or hunt the fish well too, and Albert, after all, was 
 somewhat of a scholard." 
 
 " So Miss Dempsey said." 
 
 There was silence now for a little while between the 
 travellers. Tom was peering into the darkness, but his 
 strong hand grasped the one in his, to give his companion 
 confidence. 
 
 " Are we far off MacAntham's Ranche, Tom ?" 
 
 " We ain't near it yet. The wind blows cold though, 
 don't it ? and the snow's deep here. A fierce night for 
 the spirit to go out of the body, eh ? Oh, mister, I am 
 sorry MacAntham's dying." 
 
 " How long has he been ill ?" 
 
 "I dunnow. They was all struck about the same 
 time like — first his wife and grandchild, then him, 
 and now they all lies sick together, the little grandchild 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 147 
 
 in one room, MacAntham in another, and the wife 
 upstairs. Shure it would be dreadful expenses for him, 
 only his son-in-law is a doctor. Them MaoAnthams' 
 rich people like for the Prairies — and Mr. MaeAntham's 
 head of them Freemasons round here. I heerd tell as 
 if he died there 'ud be grand doings, for all them 
 Masons for a hundred miles round would be coming 
 out to bury him. There now, never you mind that 
 snow — shure, but it drifts a bit in your eyes, and the 
 sleepers be slippery like ; but we're agoin' to 'tend 
 Christ, mister ; don't you see MacAntham — see Christ, 
 and the way won't be a dreary." 
 
 " How far are we from the Eanche now, Tom ? " 
 
 " A mile and a half, may be ; bear up, Mister, the 
 way's roughish, but every step yer takes counts in God's 
 book, 'cos its for His sick." 
 
 How Woodhouse crawled over that last mile and a 
 half he never knew ; the cowman's hard boots he 
 walked in, wet through as they were, chafed his feet 
 at every step, until the agony became almost un- 
 endurable ; the snow drifting into his eyes, and the 
 intense cold, seemed little in comparison to this. 
 
 " There, now ; there ! " cried Tom joyfully, " there is 
 the light in his kitchen, we'll soon be up to it, and 
 I told them to get dry stockings for you, and summat 
 to eat ; and a good fire will prepare you for that sad 
 work you've got to do — get a man's soul ready to see 
 God. Oh, me ; Oh, me ; it's little time you've got to 
 do your work in : he'll die by the morning light." 
 
148 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " Why did he send for me, Tom Sheehy ? Why 
 didn't he send for one; of the Priests from the Mission ?" 
 
 "Why, 'cos. he said as how he was struck with a 
 young 'un like you a taking down of Doc. Kirwan's 
 coffin to the Mission." 
 
 "Well, that's a very simple procedure." 
 
 " He didn't think so ; he sez you as come for en- 
 joying yourself a spending nights with they sick ; you 
 as come out a gentleman, a waiting about that freezing 
 day in the Cemetery, ' that's the ' man for me,' sez he, 
 ' he'll tell me something more about God than I know.' " 
 
 " Tom Sheehy, he was looking to the man instead 
 of to Christ. The Holy Ghost only can infuse love 
 into his nature ; the Holy Ghost only can teach him 
 how to enter into the fold of the Church." 
 
 "I 'spose yer right, but it's strange these men a 
 sending off for you when they're a dying. Will he get 
 in the Church ? " 
 
 " I believe so, for wherever the love of God is, is 
 Jesus Christ ; wherever Jesus Christ is, the Church is 
 with Him ; and if it is true that every Christian is 
 obliged to imite himself to the body of the Church as 
 soon as he knows of Her existence, it is certain also 
 that invincible ignorance withdraws him from this law, 
 leaving him under the immediate government of Jesus 
 Christ, the first and sovereign Father of all Christianity." 
 
 " Then, there's hope for MacAntham ? " 
 
 " Hope ! yes, Tom Sheehy, no human eye can 
 embrace the extent of Holy Church, and those who 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 149 
 
 would place certain barriers; which in their eyes appear 
 valid, have no idea of that double radiation of Her 
 nature." 
 
 "God be thanked. Through this wicket now, Sir, 
 and we are at the door." 
 
 ♦ * * * * 
 
 Out from the cold, the deep snow, the silence and 
 the wintry night, into the warm kitchen, and the 
 kind though hushed welcome. 
 
 Miss MacAntham and her two brothers were waiting 
 in the doorway, as soon as they heard the gate clicking. 
 " The sick man was so anxious," they said, " about 
 the long walk he had given Mr. Woodhouse." Warm 
 woollen stockings were airing at the fire, and hot 
 coffee and supper waiting for them. He would rather 
 go to Mr. MacAntham at once. 
 
 " No," replied the Doctor, " he will live until the 
 morning, and I can't have you ill here, which you 
 certainly will be, unless you take something to keep 
 you up after the fatigue of a long snowy walk." 
 
 Getting rid of those hard boots, enjoying a footbath 
 and putting on warm thick stockings in the Eanche 
 kitchen was short work, but luxury itself after that 
 long walk over the Prairies. 
 
 The young Doctor, the son-in-law of MacAntham, 
 was a fine-built fellow, with fair complexion, regular 
 features, and light hair; his clothes were in the 
 last New York fashion, and he .had with him a gentle 
 winning way. He was but eight-and-twenty, he had 
 
150 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 recently lost his wife, and his little daughter was very 
 near death's door in the house ; also her grandmother 
 and grandfather-in-law. He (the Doctor) had but 
 lately left New York to make a practice for himself 
 out West, and he arrived at home in time to attend 
 upon his own parents, who were both at death's door. 
 He was a Catholic, and one of the Fathers from the 
 Mission had but yesterday baptized his little girl. Of 
 the other people in the house, there were two sisters, 
 two brothers, and the father and mother. 
 
 This much the Doctor told Woodhouse as he sat by 
 him, whilst he partook hastily of some refreshment, 
 and then telling him of the illness of his father-in-law, 
 he added, " It must end fatally ; I can see no hope 
 myself, and I am distressed beyond measure, as I am 
 afraid of the shock to the system of my mother his 
 death will cause. I wanted to have him make his 
 peace with God yesterday, when the Father was here, 
 but he refused. Now, I will take you to him, and then 
 I must go back to the bed-side of my mother." 
 Thus saying, he opened a door leading from the kitchen 
 to a sitting-room. Congregated together in this room 
 were six or seven men and women, friends of the sick 
 persons, sitting around the French stove which stood 
 far out into the room ; these, as usual, had gathered 
 there directly the first news of the sickness reached 
 them. Amongst them was a Dissenting Minister, a 
 man about forty, who, directly he perceived two 
 Catholics passing through the room, opened a very 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 151 
 
 large family Bible, and read aloud, in a stentorian 
 voice, chapter after chapter. In bed, in one corner 
 of the room, lay Rosie Lister, a sweet child of seven 
 years, with long, streaming, golden curls of the colour 
 of her father's hair, falling around her dear little face. 
 They talked for a few minutes with her, and then 
 opening a door off one side of the room they entered 
 the sick man's bedroom. There lay Mr. MacAntham 
 iu the simply furnished room, his white face and long 
 shaggy locks contrasting strangely with the snowy 
 linen around him. His breathing was oppressed, but 
 a glad light shone in his eyes as they fell upon his 
 young friend, whom he had only seen once before at 
 the Osage Station, under such peculiar circumstances. 
 
 The Doctor leant over the dying man, listened to his 
 breathing, felt his pulse, examined his tongue, gave him 
 a spoonful of some jelly-like substance, and then, as he 
 finished the examination, led "Woodhouse to the next room 
 and whispered in his ear, "The congestion has passed, 
 he will die in the early morning ; what you have to say 
 to him, say quickly. I must go and prepare my mother 
 for the end." Returning to the room, sitting there in 
 the shaded light he recognised Miss Dempsey. As she 
 left the room, she motioned to him and whispered, " If 
 you want anything, or he requires any nursing, I shall 
 be in the next room." 
 
 And then he was alone with the dying man. 
 
 " I am dying, sir," MacAntham gasped, " dying ! I feel 
 it, I know it, and I want you to explain to me all the 
 
152 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 belief of the Catholic Church." He put out his hand 
 and grasped that of Woodhouse. " I made you promise 
 if I was seized with the epidemic that you would come 
 to me, and I see you have kept your word : ' At day 
 or night.' Oh, I remember it so well, — the Station, the 
 one offensive smelling coffin anchored for the time on 
 the Prairie, and the body of Doctor Kirwan we carried 
 so solemnly into the left luggage office at the Station. 
 But now the hours are short, teach me the religion that 
 made you go through this," 
 
 And thus in the dim midnight, amidst the gaspings 
 of that dying man, the great and solemn truths of the 
 Catholic Faith were explained, and consoled one more 
 heart panting after that truth, ever ancient, ever new. 
 And in the stillness both teacher and taught felt that 
 in their midst stood One who nearly nineteen hundred 
 years ago promised to send the Comforter into the world 
 to guide it into all truth. i 
 
 And the Comforter was there that night, and a solemn 
 awe fell upon their souls. 
 
 " Miss Dempsey," — he had to call twice, or thrice, for 
 the good Minister was reading and praying aloud in that 
 stentorian voice of his — "Miss Dempsey, will you bring 
 me some pure water in a basin, and a witness also ? " 
 
 A few minutes elapsed and she brought some pure 
 water into the sick room, and with her came Mr. Clay 
 from a Ranohe hard by, who was waiting in the sitting 
 room to do what he could for his friend. As they entered, 
 they heard the sick man gasping, "And must I resign 
 all secret societies, even the Freemasons." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 153 
 
 " I am sorry to say Yes, for I think that grieves 
 you ; but the Catholic Church forbids her children 
 belonging to any secret Society whatsoever." 
 
 t " Then I resign them all, for I must be baptized of 
 water and the Holy Ghost ; I only desire to obey my 
 God and enter into the kingdom he has promised." 
 
 And then those simple words broke the silence of the 
 sick room as the baptismal stream flowed over another 
 brow. " John, I baptize thee, in the Name of the Father, 
 and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." 
 
 And a gladder light grew in MacAntham's eyes, and 
 a more peaceful look spread over the wan face. He 
 pressed the hand still wet with the baptismal water, and 
 whispered, " Joy in the presence of Gad over one sinner 
 doing penance." 
 
 The Doctor came to see if Mrs. MacAntham could 
 come and visit his father, to bid her last earthly farewell, 
 111 as she was, she could not bear the thought of parting 
 from her husband, or that he should die without her 
 being by to nurse that dear head. Just risen from her 
 sick bed, muffled up in wrappers, and supported by her 
 son and her two daughters, she oame and stood by that 
 dying bed. The grey light of the early dawn was vainly 
 struggling to penetrate the inky darkness. There was 
 no violent disturbed grief, but that silence deeper than 
 words, and great tears falling from the wife's eyes, " Hast 
 thou found Him, husband. Is He precious ? " 
 
 "Doubly so until the day break, and the shadows 
 flee away." 
 
154 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 And then husband and wife were left alone to bid 
 
 their last farewell. Later they were all standing in the 
 
 sick room, the family and the guests, and the Minister 
 
 was praying softly, for he saw the soul was about to break 
 
 away from the captivity of the body. The eyes of the 
 
 dying man wandered over those loved faces he was leaving, 
 
 and a great light of love and thankfulness beamed from 
 
 those eyes, as they lit for a moment upon the Minister's 
 
 face, who in a soft tenor sang with exquisite pathos : 
 
 "The city paved with gold, 
 
 Bright with each dazzling gem, 
 Swift shall thine eyes behold 
 The new Jerusalem. 
 Yea lo I e'en now in viewless might, 
 Uprise the walls of living light." 
 
 But John MacAntham heard not the last words : he was 
 
 within the city. The earthly morning had dawned for 
 
 those around his death-bed ; but a newer and gladder 
 
 day had broken for him, never to be followed by 
 
 night, or darkened by earthly sorrow. 
 
 * * » # 
 
 Some hours later the Doctor and Woodhouse were 
 talking in the sitting-room, preparatory to his return- 
 ing to Kirwan's Eanche. 
 
 "Is he to be buried according to the Eites of the 
 Catholic Church?" 
 
 '' I don't think I should urge that, Doctor ; what 
 does it harm his soul ? freshly baptized, and joying 
 in God. Let them bury him as they will." 
 
 "I suppose the Minister will perform the Eite — it is 
 my mother's wish." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 155 
 
 " And it might do her harm to gainsay it." 
 " I am so glad you agree with me in this." 
 Three days after, nearly one hundred Freemasons 
 followed the Master of their Lodge to his burial upon 
 the vast Prairie, in a new Cemetery, several miles 
 distant from where young Kirwan .had been buried. 
 The Master of the Lodge, after prayer, deposited in 
 the grave the lambskin or white apron, the emblem 
 of innocence and the badge of a Mason, and then 
 the Brethren moving in procession round the grave, 
 severally dropped into it a sprig of evergreen, typical 
 of Immortality, after which public grand honours were 
 given. Both arms were crossed on the breast, the 
 left uppermost, and the open palms of the hands strik- 
 ing the shoulders ; they were then raised above the 
 head, the palms striking each other, and made to fall 
 sharply on the thighs with the head bowed. This was 
 repeated three times. Whilst the honours were being 
 given the third time, the Brethren audibly pronounced 
 the following words, when the arms were crossed on 
 the breast, " We cherish his memory here ; " when 
 the hands were extended over the head, " We commend 
 his spirit to G-od who gave it ; " and when the hands 
 were extended towards the ground, " And consign his 
 body to the earth." The Master conducting the Office 
 finished in these words, "Let us improve this solemn 
 warning, that at last when the sheeted dead are stirring, 
 when the great white throne is set, we shall receive 
 from the Omniscient Judge the thrilling invitation, 
 
156 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 'Come ye blessed, inherit the kingdom prepared for 
 
 you from the foundation of the World.' " Then followed 
 
 a hymn, the last verse of which ran thus : 
 
 "Thou art gone to the grave; but t'were wrong to- deplore thee, 
 When God was thy trust, and thy guardian and guide ; 
 He gave thee, He took thee, and soon will restore thee 
 In the blest Lodge above where the faithful abide." 
 
 Then followed a prayer, to which all responded — " So 
 mote it be." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 11 1 see, but cannot reach, the height) " 
 That lies for ever in the light; 
 And yet for ever and for ever, 
 When seeming just within my grasp, 
 I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 
 And sink discouraged into night; 
 For thine own purpose, thou hast sent 
 The strife, and the discouragement." — LongfeUoiV. 
 
 TOM AT THE MISSION. 
 
 OM and Woodhouse were thrown together a 
 great deal during this time at the Ranche, 
 Tom taught him all he knew of coons and 
 coon hunting ; all he knew about wild animals and 
 their way's ; how to swim over the dangerous parts of 
 the creeks on horse back, and the hundred and one ins 
 and outs of Prairie life. All these things were entered 
 into with keen zest. Tom with his Prairie life and 
 thoughts was a gfeat study. One day after cleaning up 
 the Ranche he said, " Now look ye here, I'm going off to 
 school at nine o'clock, and I wants yer to cut my hair." 
 His auditor's eyebrows went high up on to his forehead 
 after the delivery of this strange request. "Now I sits 
 
 
158 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 _ 
 
 here, there's the scissors" (snibbers Tom called them), 
 "you cuts away, and then .them gals and boys won't 
 laugh at me so." 
 
 "All right, Tom," and with a broad grin on his face 
 Woodhouse set to work at this hitherto unwonted task. 
 
 " I tell yer what," said Tom, when it was done, " I 
 calls yer broke in now. When you corned I said yer 
 weren't broke in ; yer had none of our education, yer 
 was ignorant, though Charley said yer knowed a lot 
 about Eopean life " (European, Tom meant), looking 
 up at him with pride Tom thought him an apt pupil. 
 " I teached yer to like it. When I were ill yer teached 
 me some caterchism ; now I wants yer to go on with it 
 and to teach me some more ; I tries to be good yer knows, 
 and though I never gets it right about the pursons in 
 God, I loves him. I allers sez seven pursons and three 
 Sacraments, or three pursons and seven Sacraments ; 
 numbers puzzles me, and yet I loves God's son." 
 
 " I've been a good bit away, Tom, but I want to know, 
 do you say your prayers regularly?" 
 
 " Not in that loft," said he, pointing with his finger 
 towards the ladder, " not there ; sometimes though on a 
 load of hay, with the fresh air and sunshine around me, 
 I tell all in my heart to God. And when I see they 
 cattle moving round, or the corn coming green out of 
 the ground, I sez to myself, ' Tom, some one made 'em.' 
 Charley showed me his watch, I see the springs, the 
 wheels, and the hands, and I sez, 'Who made him?' 'A 
 watchmaker in Geeva' (Geneva), Charley says, so when 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 159 
 
 I Bees all these things — that ere com, them cattle, myself 
 a movin and growing and springin about— I sez, 'Who 
 made 'em, Tom ? Who made 'em ? ' and then I answers, 
 'some one.' Well, it's that some one I prays to." 
 " How long is it since you did this, Tom ? " 
 "One summer evening at Groghan's, I see Missis 
 Groghan crush up a beetle with her shoe. I had been a 
 watching of that beetle — the knowin'gest cunningest way 
 he had of getting food home to his house. Thinks I to 
 myself, man's mighty clever ; man can do a' most any- 
 thing, but he can't make a beetle ; all that cunning little 
 life in him man can't put there. Mrs. Groghan crushed 
 that beetle up, but Mr. Groghan couldn't put it together 
 again. Mr. Groghan could do a' most anything, but not 
 that. That set me a thinking, and so I prayed to the 
 Spirit that made the beetle. That may be is God ; in 
 fact, since you've teached me, I know it is ; and oh, I 
 does love to say that bit o' prayer, ' Our Father.' When 
 I go to the crick for water, or to the carel, or to the 
 Eanche, it's so nice to think — Tom, you never knowed 
 your earthly father, but there over your head, and 
 around you is somebody who cares for Tom. Sometimes 
 when I sees an ant's nest, or a woodpecker walking up 
 a tree, or a fish a swimming in the crick, I begins 
 thinking again about it all ; then I sez, ' Tom, yer head 
 can't reach it,' so I ends up with ' Our Father,' and 
 that's a comfort to me. Life seems nicer since you and 
 Charley Kirwan came this way." 
 
 "Do you want to learn some more about who made 
 the animals, Tom, something new about God ? " 
 
160 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 " Oh, yes. So much time every day, half-aE-hour 
 in the evenings at cattlechisms " (catechism Tom meant). 
 
 " Very well, Tom, we can begin to-night." 
 
 Tom, when he came in, found his longtop-bpots 
 cleaned and oiled, standing by the fire ; a long, dirty 
 task it had been, nevertheless Woodhouse had done it for 
 him, as Tom was busy at his school and with other work. 
 A new life was growing up around Tom ; he was getting 
 to know that someone really cared for him. Woodhouse 
 was away visiting some sick person, and Tom being 
 alone in the Rahche sat down and had a good cry by 
 the fire-side. It was such a new sweet idea to him 
 that God was his Father, that all men were his brothers 
 in that blessed brotherhood established by the Son 
 of Mary. And at that moment Tom knew why it was 
 Kirwan and Woodhouse were so anxious to do all they 
 could, for the poor, the sick, the dying, and the 
 ignorant. " And 'cos he loves God, and men in God, 
 he cleaned my boots, and dirty work it was too, and 
 him With his nice clothes on a-doing of that. Well, 
 Tom, yer won't shrink from doing what yer don't fancy 
 for the future, Will yer ? Calls it ' taking up his cross ' 
 he does. Well, Tom, you must take up yours ; " and 
 from that moment Tom did right willingly. 
 
 Hecker coming in disturbed his soliloquy, as Hecker, 
 tired out and hungry, wanted to know when supper 
 Would be ready, and then curtly withdrew. 
 
 Tom set to work quickly as he could at getting on 
 with his cooking, and when the men and Woodhouse 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 161 
 
 came in soon after everything was ready, and in fact 
 the place looked brighter than usual, — all that better and 
 nobler life in Tom was creeping to the surface. 
 
 In the evening began the first lesson in Catechism. 
 Tom was fighting against that unwieldy ignorance 
 around and within him ; and as in polishing the rough 
 diamond the rough exterior has to be worn away, 
 and then the true brilliancy of the stone flashes throuch 
 the dull outer case, so as the darkness of Tom's 
 ignorance was lightened, the sweetness and truth of 
 his natural disposition shone forth in deeds, not words. 
 But Tom required, like everybody else in this work- 
 a-day world, to be understood. 
 
 Tom bravely worked through the twelve articles of 
 the Creed in his Catechism, and began studying the 
 Sacraments, and then his wish grew to go to the 
 Mission to receive the Sacrament of Penance, and 
 having a great desire also to receive the Holy Sacra- 
 ment, it was thought an Instruction from one of the 
 Fathers would do him good. On one Sunday, ever 
 memorable to Tom, he started (Woodhouse staying at 
 home to do the Ranche work) on horseback for the 
 Mission, with the one thought of carrying out this 
 intention. Tom being brisk and getting his early 
 work done, came in to dress and have the wants of 
 his wardrobe supplied. 
 
 "I shall get through with my catechism if I re- 
 members Sacraments and numbers of Persons in God." 
 
 "Ah, Tom, after all my trouble, don't split on that 
 
 11 
 
162 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 rock," replied his friend, at the same, time giving 
 him a letter to Quinlin. 
 
 Towards evening Tom rode back crest-fallen. He could 
 not go to the Sacraments, and quietly went about his 
 work half broken-hearted. 
 
 A letter .explained this. Let us look over the reader's 
 shoulder to have the mystery explained. It had 
 evidently been written hastily in pencil, and ran thus : 
 
 "Dear Young Friend, 
 
 Your protege 1 came to me this morning, and I 
 
 examined him .in his Catechism. To my astonishment, 
 
 in asking him how many Persons are there in God ? 
 
 he replied, after careful consideration, 'seven.' How 
 
 could I hear his confession under the circumstances ? 
 
 Will you instruct him anew, and send him to me 
 
 again ? 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 Father Quinlin." 
 
 Nobody knows how much time had already been spent 
 on Tom ; only those about him saw with sorrow that 
 he was too disheartened to attempt that journey to the 
 Mission in a hurry again. 
 
 That evening the talk at the Eanche fell on the 
 subject of Osages and Indian customs ; about the In- 
 dians kindling a fire on every new tomb during four 
 consecutive nights after a person's decease. 
 
 " That lights 'em up to the country of souls," said 
 Hecker. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 163 
 
 " I don't believe it,", replies Tom. 
 
 "All I know is as how the Indians believes it," re- 
 iterated Hecker. And as for you, why you ask one 
 of the Fathers, they'll explain all about the legend to 
 you. It's a long and beautiful story, Sir ; I heard it 
 amongst the Chippeways ; and as for that," observed 
 the speaker, " Why, fire I've heard say was always 
 sacred. Why, the Vestal Virgins kept perpetual fire 
 alight. The Jews even burn a lamp in the room in 
 which a person dies, and place a little basin and a 
 cloth by the body, for the soul to purify herself ; and 
 I've heard tell that in some countries in Europe on 
 All Souls' day, the Cemeteries- are covered with, lamps, 
 burning on the graves. It's true, ain't it, Sir ? " 
 
 "Yes, a good deal of what you say is true, Hecker," 
 replied Woodhouse, who was thinking deeply. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Yet strange sights in truth I witness, 
 And I gaze until I tire ; 
 Wondrous pictures, changing ever, 
 As I look into the fire." 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 FIRE WORSHIP — THE IGNICOLISTS. 
 
 T was recreation hour at the Mission, and the 
 Fathers were sitting in the room of the old 
 Superior. Woodhouse, who had gone down 
 to the Mission for letters, was with them. 
 
 "Will any of you," he asked,' "tell me about Fire 
 Worship amongst the Indians ? " 
 
 They all had something to say on the subject, and 
 on returning to the Ranche he made the following 
 notes from the Fathers' conversation, which I insert 
 here. 
 
 The worship of fire was very ancient in all their 
 Indian tribes. In all their traditions it was found ; 
 and scarcely to be wondered at, considering the Greeks 
 adored fire under the name of JIaitos, and the Latins 
 under the name of Vesta. 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 165 
 
 The ancient tribes of Natchez kept up continual 
 fire in all their medicine lodges and temples. In New 
 Mexico, old men of the Moquis tribe constantly keep 
 up the sacred fire ; should they sleep or allow the fire 
 to be extinguished they believe unheard-of sufferings 
 will come upon the whole Tribe. The Mexicans con- 
 secrated each one of the eighteen months in their year 
 to a particular God, whom they honored with solemn 
 festas and human sacrifices. Their tenth month (Xocolh 
 huetzi) began about the fourth of August, and was 
 consecrated to the G-od of Fire (Xuchten-hetli) with 
 great feasting and human sacrifices. Living men . were 
 placed in the flames ; half burnt, and still breathing, 
 their hearts were torn out in presence of the Image of 
 the God. In the centre of the court a lofty tree was 
 planted, and round this tree they performed a thousand 
 ceremonies and sacrifices worthy of their God. 
 
 The 18th month (Itzcali), near January the 12th, 
 was dedicated to another Feast of Fire. About the 10th, 
 in the middle of the night, they kindled a new fire 
 before the Idol of the God, which was gorgeously ap- 
 parelled. From this fire they lighted a grand pile. 
 Hunters brought all they had killed or fished from 
 the waters, and the priest cast it into the furnace. 
 All the assistants were obliged to eat scalding-hot, tiny 
 loaves of corn-meal, containing a portion of roast meat 
 called Tamalillos. On this festival, for three years in 
 succession no human sacrifices were offered, but on 
 the fourth year the number of victims surpassed that 
 
166 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 of all other festivals. The king and his lords pre- 
 sented themselves in the midst of this heap of corpses 
 to dance ; and ludicrously grouped they all sang the 
 Neteuhicwkaliztli, or reserved chant. 
 
 In a "Treatise on the Idolatry and Superstitions of 
 the Mexicans," a manuscript, of 1629, we find what 
 particularly attracted the veneration of the Mexicans 
 was fire. For this reason that element presided at the 
 birth, and almost all the actions of life. At the 
 time of a child's birth, fire was kindled in the room 
 of the mother, and kept up four consecutive days 
 without removing any of it. They believed if the 
 living coals were drawn out, a film would appear over 
 the eyes of the new-born child. On the fourth day 
 the child and the fire were taken out of the chamber; 
 the fire was carried four times round the child's head, 
 twice in one direction and twice in the opposite direc- 
 tion. At this time the child received its name, which 
 was generally that of the element or animal to which 
 the day was consecrated — as the alligator, serpent, eagle, 
 tiger, or the fire, water, &c. In most of their 
 sacrifices, tapers and incense had a place. 
 
 Chipiapoos* or the Dead-man is the great Manitou 
 
 * Longfellow has embodied this legend of Chipiapoos in his 
 poem " Hiawatha," ascribing it to a Plagiarist, who copied it from 
 the "Oregon Missions," p. 285, "by De Smet." At least, so says 
 the Editor of one otf De Smet's works. In the Tauchnitz edition 
 of Longfellow (1856), Longfellow refers to a Mr. Schoolcraft for 
 an account of Chiabo, (Algic Researches, Vol. 1, p. 134), and in 
 his History, ^Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the 
 United States, part iii., p. 314, is the Iroquois form of the Tradition, 
 derived verbally from an Onondaga chief. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 167 
 
 according to the Potawatomies who presides in the 
 country of souls, and maintains a sacred fire for all of 
 his race who arrive there. Fire is in all the Indian 
 Tribes an emblem of happiness and good fortune. 
 Fire is lighted before all their deliberations. To ex- 
 tinguish an enemy's fire signifies to have gained a 
 victory. They attribute to fire a sacred character, 
 which is remarkable everywhere in their usages and 
 customs, especially in religious ceremonies. Mysteri- 
 ous ideas are maintained concerning the nature and 
 phenomena of fire, which is considered supernatural. 
 
 Before consulting a manitou or tutelary spirit, or 
 before addressing the dead, fire is kindled. This fire is 
 struck from flint ; it would be a grievous sin to light 
 the sacred fire with common fire. 
 
 The Chippeways burn a fire on every new grave for 
 four nights. By the light of this sacred fire the 
 spirit journeys on its solitary and silent passage to the 
 country of souls. The legend concerning this fire will 
 be found elsewhere. One of the Fathers, in a visit 
 to the Crows, then camped at the base of the Rocky 
 Mountains, was an object of extreme veneration amongst 
 the savages. He carried a box of phosphoric matches 
 in the pocket of his cassock ; with these he used to light 
 his pipe and their calumet. Fire, in a sensible or 
 collective state, is well known to be one of the grandest 
 agents of nature ; and for this very reason, perhaps, 
 was regarded amongst most nations, in an early period 
 of the world, either as the Creator and productive 
 
168 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 cause of all things, or, at least, as the substance from 
 which the Creator produced all things. Hence, the 
 Persians, Ethiopians, Scythians, and Carthagenians in 
 the old world, and the Mexicans, Peruvians, and 
 Indians in the new world, paid divine honors to the 
 fire itself. Zoroaster ordained the erection of pyrea 
 or temples dedicated to fire throughout all Persia. 
 Even the Hebrews imagined fire to be the grandest 
 proof of the presence of the Deity. Under this symbol 
 God appeared to Moses on Mount Horeb, and to the 
 Hebrews at large on Mount Sinai, on the promulga- 
 tion of the Sacred Law ; and under this symbol he 
 evinced His protective presence every night, by as- > 
 suming the form of a fiery pillar. Impressed with 
 this idea, the Jews were ever anxious to preserve it in 
 a pure and active flame upon the national altar ; when, 
 therefore, the Jews were borne away in captivity to 
 Persia, the priests took the sacred fire of the altar 
 and concealed it in a dry cave, with which none but 
 themselves were acquainted, and where on their re- 
 storation to liberty, the posterity of those priests found 
 it on their return to Judea (Maccab. ii. 1, 18). Fire 
 was regarded with an equal degree of veneration 
 throughout Greece and Rome. Temples in every city 
 were erected to Vesta,* a name importing fire, whether 
 
 * Vesta, a goddess daughter of Rhea and Saturn. When considered 
 as the Mother of the Gods, she is the mother of Rhea and Saturn ; 
 when considered as the Patroness of Vestal Virgins and the Goddess 
 of Fire, she is called the daughter of Saturn and Rhea. iEneas first 
 introduced her mysteries into Italy, and Numa built her a temple, in 
 which no males were permitted to enter. A fire was kept continually 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 169 
 
 derived from the Greek or the Hebrew, and in every 
 temple a lambent flame was perpetually burning over 
 the altar. 
 
 As late even as the third century of the Christian 
 era, when Heliogabalus anticipated his own apotheosis, 
 and instituted the worship of himself all over the 
 Eoman Empire, having erected a magnificent Temple 
 to his own divinity, he supplied its altar with sacred 
 fire from the Temple of Vesta, which he stole for this 
 purpose. 
 
 One cannot therefore be surprised to find this fire 
 worship so prevalent amongst the Indian tribes. The 
 grandeur of Catholic Ceremonial, drawing as it does 
 to the worship of God, all that external of worship which 
 was harmless in itself, yet symbolical and beautiful in 
 Pagan Eites, has kept up that lambent flame before the 
 Altar,f in the Sanctuary lamp, burning before the Holy 
 
 lighted in her sanctuary by a certain number of Virgins who were 
 dedicated to the service of the goddess. As the Greeks and Romans 
 were not so much given to worshipping stars as the Eastern nations, 
 they adored Vesta and Vulcan, as the terrestrial and elementary fire, 
 distinguishing the fire of the earth from that of heaven ; taking Vesta 
 for the earth, in the centre of which (according to their opinion) an 
 eternal fire was burning. This is reported by Ovid in his Fasti, and 
 this poet tells us afterwards that the perpetual fire they had was the 
 only image of Vesta, it being impossible to have a true image of fire. 
 It was customary formerly to keep a fire at the entry of houses, 
 which therefore has ever since kept the name of Vestibule (Vestibu- 
 lum). Formerly in this entry those who lived in the house sat at long 
 tables to take their meals, where fire represented the gods. 
 
 t Blessing in the porch of her churches on Holy Saturday new 
 fire, struck from the flint, and from this fire all lamps and candles 
 are lit in the Church, and this fire is not supposed to die out through- 
 out the year. 
 
170 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 Sacrament. Also, she has upon her Altars those six 
 large candlesticks round the Tabernacle that the people 
 may follow the vision of the eagle-eyed Evangelist and 
 see as it were six candlesticks, and one in between them 
 like unto the Son of Man. 
 
 And of those tongues of flame that lit on Apostolic 
 brows ? 
 
 The use of lights in the service of the Jewish Temple 
 is a fact too well authenticated to require proof, such 
 is the historical celebrity, both religious and profane, 
 belonging to the seven-branched candlestick which the 
 Almighty God Himself commanded to be made according 
 to the pattern shown to Moses in the Mount. (Bxod. 
 c. xxv., v. 31.) 
 
 But these notes are growing too long. They are but 
 thoughts thrown together to make others search out the 
 strange sights and changing pictures that group round 
 every fire-side. The further study of this subject will, 
 I hope, while away some few hours of my readers in 
 the coming winter evenings. 
 
CHAPTEK XXI. 
 
 Plan of Indian Buffalo Pen.—l, 2, 3, Pen ; 1, 3, Opening ; 4, Slope ; 
 1, 5 and 3, 6, Hills and Fences ; 7, Medicine Post. 
 
 BUFFALO HUNT. 
 
 N the broad Prairie hunting is the one thought 
 of all tribes of the Indians. Their summum 
 ionum in life is to be a good hunter and 
 a good warrior. These are the credentials to savage 
 nobility, these qualities constitute a man being called 
 a great man amongst the wandering tribes of North 
 America. 
 
 Directly the babe leaves his mother's arms his first 
 toy is a little bow, and his play consists in hunting 
 small birds and animals. The knowledge the Indians 
 obtain of the nature and instinct of animals is truly 
 
1 72 GLEA NINGS FR OM 
 
 marvellous. The young Indians are initiated in all their 
 stratagems, they are taught with more care how to 
 approach and kill animals than English children are 
 taught reading, writing, languages and dancing. An 
 expert Indian hunter is acquainted minutely with the 
 habits and instincts of all animals usually hunted. Their 
 favourite haunts are his, and many hours will he lay 
 hidden,- silently watching them to get some idea of their 
 ways and manner of life. It is absolutely necessary for 
 the hunter to know what kind of food the animals seek, 
 and when; and also to discover when they quit their 
 lairs, and begin their day ; what precautions are neces- 
 sary to deceive the cautious ear and keen instincts of 
 the victim he intends hunting down. He has to study 
 the foot-fall in the long grass, or in the woodlands, 
 calculate the length of time since it passed, think out 
 what direction it could go in. And all this the Indian 
 does with a sagacity that surprises Europeans. 
 
 In the great book of Nature he is perpetually studying 
 whilst in pursuit of his game. The atmosphere, the 
 wind, rain, snow, ice, the forests, the creeks and lakes 
 are the books the Indian consults. 
 
 The buffalo, or bison, supplies almost all the neces- 
 saries of life to the Indian. Out of buffalo skins they 
 make lodges, or Indian houses. The skins also furnish 
 clothing, litters, bridles and saddle cloths, vessels to hold 
 water, boats to cross lakes and rivers ; whilst from the 
 hair they make their cordage ; from the sinews, bow- 
 strings, thread for their clothes and glue. The bones 
 
WESTERN. PRAIRIES. 173 
 
 serve for implements — the shoulder-blade is both spade 
 aud pick-axe. The bison is the daily bread of the 
 Indian, in fact his only chief food. 
 
 The dung of the buffalo (bois-de-vache) supplies 
 abundant fuel. Before the whites encroached on the 
 Prairies, the method of killing the different animals 
 consisted chiefly in stratagems and snares. Even now 
 the Indians resort to that primitive method whilst hunt- 
 ing large animals, when their horses are weak and 
 incapable of pursuing them, or when their powder and 
 shot fall short. The trap prepared for the bison is 
 an enclosure or carel, and is one of the primitive ways 
 and perhaps the most remarkable in its execution. It 
 has existed from time immemorial ; forsooth it requires 
 skill, and when once seen a high idea is formed of 
 Indian sagacity, activity and hardiesse. As on all the 
 grand occasions of life the jugglers or medicine men 
 are consulted, they are not wanting to the hunt, for it 
 is preceded by a great variety of superstitious practices. 
 We are going to assist at a hunt at the base of the 
 Eocky Mountains. Bisons roam the broad Prairies of 
 the West in herds of several hundreds, and often of 
 several thousands. Travelling through these great plains 
 one sees thousands of these noble animals moving quietly, 
 browsing in seemingly interminable troops. They look 
 very fearful ; their great hairy heads would strike terror 
 into any one ignorant of the pacific habits of the poor 
 beast. So great is their timidity that a single man 
 can put to fright the most numerous herd ; when 
 
174 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 frightened, their prolonged- bellowings, the tramp of 
 their feet and the dust they raise resemble some grand 
 tempest, with its deep murmurings, its pealings of 
 thunder, and strong gusts of wind carrying with it 
 clouds of dust. 
 
 Bison flesh is' much esteemed on account of its 
 nourishing qualities. But to our Assiniboin Buffalo 
 Hunt. The Indians encamped on a suitable spot for 
 the construction of an enclosure ; their camp con- 
 tained between two or' three thousand souls, and some 
 three hundred lodges, With great forethought they 
 had selected the base of a chain of hills, which gently 
 sloping formed a narrow, almost hidden valley, and a 
 small Prairie in which all the lodges were ranged. 
 Opposite the hills, in all its grandeur, stretched far 
 away the broad Prairie. The construction of the lodges 
 was speedily got over ; then was held a solemn Council, 
 at which all the Chiefs and the Hunters assisted. 
 They chose a band of warriors to hinder the hunters 
 from leaving the camp, either by themselves or in 
 detached companies, for fear they should disturb the 
 bison, and drive them away from the environs of the 
 encampment. All the Indians of the camp are obliged 
 to conform to this law. In case any one belonging 
 to the camp should transgress this law, their guns 
 are confiscate, their bows and arrows broken, their 
 lodges cut in pieces, their dogs killed, and all provisions 
 and hides are taken from them ; should they resist, 
 they are beaten with sticks, bows, and clubs, and this 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 175 
 
 torment frequently ends in death. Any one setting 
 fire to the Prairie by accident or imprudence, or who 
 should in any way frighten the herd, would be sure 
 to be well beaten. 
 
 Directly this law is circulated in the camp, the . build- 
 ing of the pen commences. It is a pleasure to see 
 with what cheerful ardour they labour ; it is an affair 
 of no common interest ; their meals for many a day 
 depend upon the success they now have, for the food 
 they now seek must last the tribe for several months. 
 
 The enclosure shuts in about an acre. To make it 
 circular they fix stakes in the ground firmly, between 
 the stakes they weave dry boughs, make barricades with 
 logs, bring together masses of stone ; in fine, anything 
 that will prevent a buffalo escaping answers their pur- 
 pose. This round enclosure has but one opening ; 
 before this opening is a slope embracing fifteen or 
 twenty feet between the hills ; this inclined plane grows 
 wider as it diverges from the circle; at its two sides 
 the fence is built up a long way into the plain. 
 
 As quickly as they can get everything ready, the 
 Indians elect a grand-master of ceremonies and of 
 the enclosure. Generally he is an old man, distinguished 
 for some feats of bravery, belonging to a Wah-Kon, 
 or medicine band, famous in arts of jugglery, which 
 the Indians deem a supernatural science. Ex-officio, 
 he is to decide the moment of driving the buffaloes 
 into the enclosure, and give the signal for the begin- 
 ning of the hunt. It is this M.C. who plants the 
 
170 , GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 medicine mast in the centre of the park, and attaches 
 to it the mystic charms which are to draw to this 
 centre that hairy band, roaming in freedom not far 
 off." Let -us lopk at his charms. 
 
 A streamer of crimson cloth, two or three yards 
 long, a piece of tobacco, and a bison's horn, and the 
 Manitous, or guiding spirits of the buffaloes, in order 
 to discover the propitious moment for the chase signal 
 to be given. 
 
 This royal master of ceremonies has four runners 
 at his' sole disposal ; these he sends out daily, and they 
 report to him each evening the observations they have 
 made : they let him know at what distance from the 
 camp the animals are feeding, their probable number, 
 and the direction they are marching in. These runners 
 often go forty to forty-five miles in different direc- 
 tions. In all their journeys they take with them the 
 wah-kon ball, which is entrusted to them by this 
 worthy Master of Ceremonies. This ball is made of 
 hair and covered with skin ; when the runners think 
 the suitable moment has come, they immediately send 
 a man of their number to the M. C. with the ball 
 and the good news. As long as that mysterious ball 
 is absent, the Master of the Ceremonies can take no 
 food ; the only break to this rigorous fast is when 
 some game or animal is killed on the enclosure, and 
 this belongs to the M. C. As they have been known 
 to remain a month awaiting the favourable moment, 
 the grand-master must find himself reduced to small 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. • 177 
 
 rations. He has, however, no more appearance of 
 fasting than his brethren have in the camp, notwith- 
 standing his meagre rations ; therefore I incline to 
 think, with others, he makes some arrangement with 
 his conscience — stealthily, and in the darkness of 
 night. But the longest day has an evening, the 
 longest lane a turning, and an end comes to the 
 rigorous faster's fast. 
 
 The rolling of a drum breaks the deep stillness of 
 the camp. What anxiety on the part of the Indian 
 population ! Ah ! Yes, it is he ! It is the grand- 
 master of the enclosure. He announces in sonorous 
 tones that the bison are from fifteen to twenty miles 
 distant from the camp ; the wind is favourable, it 
 blows directly from the buffaloes' feeding ground. In 
 how short a time does the stagnant waiting of the 
 camp change to that deep joyousness evinced in the 
 Indian chase. Immediately the horsemen mount their 
 coursers ; the foot soldiers arm themselves with bows, 
 guns, and lances, and speedily take up their position 
 — forming two long, oblique, diverging rows from the 
 extremity of the two barriers which spring from the 
 the entrance of the pen, and extend far out into the 
 plain, and thus they prolong indefinitely the diverg- 
 ing lines of the enclosure. The foot-men are placed 
 at distances of from ten to fifteen feet, the horsemen 
 continue the same lines, which separate in proportion 
 as they extend, so that the last hunter on horseback 
 is found at about two or three miles distance from the 
 
 12 
 
178 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 pen, and at very nearly the same distance from the 
 last hunter of the other line in an opposite direction. 
 Should men be wanting, even women and children 
 occupy stations. After the formation of these im- 
 mense, far-extending lines, one Indian only, alone,, 
 unarmed, is sent upon the best courser in the camp, 
 in the direction of the buffaloes, to meet them. Watch- 
 him. How swiftly he proceeds, how he draws near to 
 them against the wind ; what a study that precaution ! 
 Ah, he knows upon his shoulders rests a heavy burden, 
 upon his action depends a nation's food for many 
 months to come. Will he be successful ? Ah, well, 
 in watching him one feels the crimson dust within 
 one's frame pulsate more quickly ; in that intense 
 straining silence one almost imagines the loud throb 
 of one's own" heart will chase the herd away, and one 
 presses one's hand over the heart to still its beating. 
 See how quickly, at the distance of about one hundred 
 paces from them, he envelopes himself in a buffalo 
 hide, the fur turned outwards, and at the same time 
 horse and rider appear clothed in the same manner. 0, 
 quick beating heart, what is that plaintive cry breath- 
 ing out upon the air ? The imitation of the cry of 
 a lost bison calf. Surely, oh, surely, that cry is too 
 natural to be human. Look closer. As if by enchant- 
 ment that cry attracts the attention of the whole ' herd ; 
 yet only a few seconds, and several hundreds of these 
 quadrupeds — hearing that low pitiful wail, something 
 so lost, so broken -hearted, stealing on the air — turn 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 179 
 
 towards the pretended calf. Oh, herd, beware. At 
 first they move -slowly, then advance into a trot, and 
 at last break into full unwieldly gallop. The horse- 
 man without ceasing repeats the cry of the calf, and 
 takes his course towards the pen, ever watching to 
 keep that equal distance from the animals that press 
 hard upon him. Strange stratagem thus to lead so 
 many from that . vast herd of buffaloes through the 
 whole distance separating him from his companions, 
 who, watching with pale faces and beating hearts, 
 impatiently long to join in the sport. • 
 
 When the buffaloes gallop into the space between 
 the extremities of the two lines the scene changes. 
 All assumes an appearance of eagerness ; hunters on 
 horseback, giving rein to their steeds, rejoin each 
 other, thus re-uniting those vastly converging lines' ; 
 thus meeting behind the animals. 
 
 Then commences the panic in the great herd. The 
 wind blowing from the rear, the scent of the hunters 
 is communicated amongst the frightened and routed 
 animals, who in every way attempt to regain their 
 freedom — useless indeed now those on foot appear. 
 The buffaloes finding themselves surrounded on all 
 sides, excepting the single opening into the circular 
 pen before them, low and bellow, and shriek out the 
 maddening fear that has come upon them, and plunge 
 into the open space of the pen with the untired speed 
 of fear and desperation. Gradually the line of hunters 
 close in behind them, and space becomes less necessary 
 
180 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 as the mass of buffaloes and the hunters become 
 more and more compact. What deafening firing of 
 guns ! what twanging of bows ! what swift drawing 
 forth of arrows ! what flinging of lances ! Many 
 animals fall under the shot, the blows, and the arrows, 
 before reaching the pen.; the greater number enter. 
 Poor brute beasts, you discover, too late, the snare 
 laid so skilfully for you. Those in front try to return, 
 but the terrified crowd following, forces them forward, 
 and in inextricable confusion do they find themselves 
 in the enclosure, amidst wild, prolonged hurrahs, and 
 fierce, uncontrolled shouting of the whole waiting 
 tribe, intermingled with the continuous firing of guns. 
 
 Penned now, poor innocents, the carnage is swift and 
 steady, as they fall beneath arrows, lances, and knives. 
 "What wild excitement of joy in savage natures ! What 
 general butchery ! What flaying and cutting up of 
 animals ! Can any one look on without disgust ? 
 
 Yes ! those habituated to their customs and manners. 
 Men of those western plains cut and slash into that 
 mass of flesh. Ah, horror ! — women, and innocent pretty 
 Indian children in particular, devour meat warm with 
 life ! Livers, kidneys, brains, seem attractions impossible 
 to resist. 
 
 Tis a feast — a wild carnage of blood. For, see ! 
 they smear their faces, their hair, their arms and legs 
 with this warm sweet buffalo blood ! 
 
 What confusion of cries, as of Babel ! what clamour- 
 ous shouts ! whilst here and there do quarrels fill up 
 the scene. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 181 
 
 It is picturesque if you will. It is savage. It is a 
 very pandemonium. Words fail to depict such a sight. 
 What pen and ink painting can give warm life to 
 such disgusting details, this carnage of six hundred 
 odd bison ? 
 
 Now it is evening. The butchery is finished, the 
 skins lay in their heaps, the flesh lies in its piles ; 
 and now comes the "division of the chase amongst the 
 families, in proportion to the numbers composing them. 
 The meat then is cut into slices and dried; the bones 
 are bruised, and the grease extracted. 
 
 The dogs of the wigwams receive their share of the 
 feast, and their festival hall is the arena of the pen 
 where so much noise and slaughter has reigned. 
 
 But forty-eight hours, and no vestige of that carnage 
 remains. 
 
 On this site several days are passed in dancing and 
 mirth, and then comes the separation of the Indian 
 families. 
 
 If one of the great masters of the olden world could 
 but assist at such a scene in the great Western 
 Desert, what a painting would come into life ! 
 
 Such scenes as these will vanish into the dead-gone 
 years, as the swift foot of European civilization crushes 
 out Indian life. In the quick future it will be but as 
 a dream that is told. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Lo, how all things fade and perish ; 
 From the memory of the old men, 
 Fade away the great traditions." — Longfellow. 
 
 GRASSHOPPER HUNT AMONGST THE SOSHOCOS. 
 
 ON'T look surprised ; it is at a grasshopper 
 hunt I invite you to assist with us to-day, 
 a grasshopper hunt amongst the Soshocos." 
 
 Imagine finding a note like that lying on your break- 
 fast table, or the place where your breakfast table 
 should be on the Prairie trail. Forgetting self, let us go. 
 
 Who are these Soshocos ? A tribe of Indians, the 
 most degraded of all the races of the vast western 
 world. They roam over the desert, and barren districts 
 of Utah and California, and all about that part of 
 the Eocky Mountains branching into Oregon. 
 
 The Indians of the plains living on nourishing flesh 
 of buffaloes are generally pretty tall, active, robust, 
 and clad in skins. These Soshocos, who subsist chiefly 
 on grasshoppers and ants, are miserable, lean, weak, and 
 as a rule badly clothed ; they inspire sentiments of 
 compassion in all those who travel through the un- 
 productive region they occupy. 
 
 Nearly all the Soshoco territory is covered with Worm- 
 wood, and species of Artemesia, in which the grass- 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 183 
 
 hoppers swarm in myriad numbers ; these parts are 
 consequently most frequented by this tribe. When they 
 are sufficiently numerous they hunt together. They 
 begin by digging a hole ten or twelve feet long, by 
 four or five feet deep ; then, armed with long branches 
 of artemesia, they surround a field of four or five acres, 
 more or less. The distances they stand apart vary, 
 according to the number of people engaged in the hunt. 
 
 They are generally about twenty feet apart, and their 
 whole work is to beat the ground, so as 1 to frighten 
 up the grasshoppers and make them jump forwards. 
 They chase them towards the centre by degrees, that 
 is, into the hole prepared for their reception. Grass- 
 hoppers abound so in this district that three or four 
 acres furnish grasshoppers sufficient to fill the reservoir 
 or hole. 
 
 There the Soshooos will stay as long as the pro- 
 vision lasts. What a queer taste they have ! Bah, 
 grasshopper soup ! grasshoppers boiled ! grasshoppers 
 roasted ! Yet here the poor Soshoco sits watching a 
 grasshopper roast. He takes a pointed stick and threads 
 the larger grasshoppers on it, then fixes the rod in 
 the ground before the fire ; as they become roasted 
 they are broken off, until the whole are devoured. 
 But there is another sort of grasshopper cookery. A 
 group yonder are crushing grasshoppers between large 
 stones, and making a kind of paste with them ; this 
 they flavour with herbs and dry in the sun, or before 
 the fire. That will serve for winter provision. 
 
 As the buffalo is the daily bread of most tribes, so 
 
184 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 is the grasshopper the daily bread of this tribe, for 
 they scarcely ever trouble themselves to kill deer, or 
 large animals, although at rare intervals they meet 
 with rabbits, or kill a few grouse. 
 
 Grasshoppers and locusts do a great deal of mischief 
 in some of the States. In great flocks they seem to 
 devour all things green before them, and should they 
 pass over a railroad when a train is coming, the train 
 inevitably comes to a standstill. This is attributed to 
 their containing in their bodies a kind of oil; they form 
 so thickly on the rails, that the engine-wheels passing 
 over their bodies, after a while get so saturated with 
 oil that they are powerless to lay, hold of the line, 
 and so rotate without advancing. 
 
 Note. Travelling from Maisons-sur-Seine up to Parla with 
 an English Soman Catholic Bishop, well known for his enjoyment 
 of a hearty joke, in the midst of a conversation upon travelling in 
 general, accidents, and stoppages, &c., one of the two Ecclesiastics 
 with him said he had been in a train stopped by grasshoppers. The 
 Bishop stoutly denied the possibility of such an occurrence, when 
 fortunately for the Ecclesiastic's veracity, some Americans in the 
 same compartment assured his Lordship that this occurred often 
 in some States subject to grasshopper ravages. That they them- 
 selves had several times been in trains thus temporarily arrested 
 on their course. Europeans often accuse Americans of " drawing a 
 strong bow" on these questions, but like many things else in life, 
 a little sifting of the subject-matter shows how much truth lies at 
 the bottom of the remark. " A train stopped by grasshoppers " 
 sounds oddly enough, and yet knowing Caseline oil poured on the 
 iron-way will stop a train, and also by analysis knowing that a fatty 
 oil-like substance, with somewhat of the Caseline property about 
 it, exists in the body of the grasshopper, the difficulty immediately 
 ceases as to the possibility of such a thing happening — given a 
 sufficient quantity of grasshoppers to produce the required amount 
 of oil. Europeans once seeing grasshoppers in shoals, would find 
 the laugh on the Americans' side against their incredulity. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "Then the black robe chief, the prophet, 
 Told his message to the people, 
 Told the purport of his mission, 
 Told them of the Virgin Mary, 
 And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
 How in distant lands and ages 
 He had lived on earth as we do ; 
 How he fasted, prayed, and laboured ; 
 How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 
 Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him ; 
 How he rose from where they laid him, 
 Walked again with his disciples, 
 And ascended into Heaven." — Longfellow. 
 
 MASS ON THE PKAIRIES. 
 
 HERE is a sound of strange melody disturb- 
 ing the perpetual stillness of the prairies ; 
 broken seldom but by the soft susurra of 
 the breeze sweeping gently over the prairie grass and 
 spring flowers. There is a little tent upon the prairie, 
 and underneath it an Altar, and at its Altar a Priest; 
 and kneeling out into the sweet sunshine are swarthy 
 forms — Indians — who themselves have decked that Table 
 of the Lord, with the richest and brightest prairie 
 flowers they can find, and who now await His coming 
 
186 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 in the Sacramental Feast, whose blessed feet so many- 
 years ago walked upon the waves of this troublesome 
 world. Eejoice, Prairie,- thy King cometh ! 
 
 The lights flicker solemnly within the tent, the words 
 of the Creed are monotoned by the Indians ; then the 
 Lord's prayer, and the Ave. How strangely those words 
 break the stillness of the Prairie ! 
 
 Hawai Marie Wagkonda odikupi -odishaifow 
 Hail, Mary, of the Great Spirit of gifts thou art 
 
 wagkonda shodigue acchow. Wakoki odisanha 
 the great spirit with thee is. The women among whom 
 
 odichoupegtsiow. Jusus tsaitse ouglagran ingshe 
 thou art blessed. Jesus of the womb the fruit thy 
 
 ougoupegtsiow. W&lagui Marie Wagkonda ehonh 
 is blessed. Holy Mary of the Great Spirit the mother 
 
 wawatapiow, dekousi antzapi aitohanski. 
 
 pray for us, now and at the moment of our death. 
 
 Aikougtsiou. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 And now upon the hearts of some rests that same 
 Holy Food once distributed to a few beloved ones in 
 an upper room by the Holiest of all Holy Hands. 
 Methinks that susurra causes the prairie grass to bow 
 itself in honour of Him. 0, simple service, with faith- 
 ful believing hearts around. Grander art thou than the 
 most gorgeous ceremonial under the dome of S. Peter's, 
 or under the roof of the Lateran Basilica. Nobler is 
 that officiating Priest, bowed down by self-denial, by 
 the self-sacrifice of a whole life, than many a courtly 
 Ecclesiastic with flowing robes and worldly mien, such 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 187 
 
 as one sees listlessly performing duties in many a stately 
 Church in the old world. Before the vision then there 
 arises that simple old man on his far Prairie Mission. 
 
 Surely such an one as this Prairie Priest teaches all 
 of us by his life that religion pure and undented before 
 G-od the Father, — that safer keeping of ourselves un- 
 spotted from the world. Dearer to that good old man 
 are those guttural Indian sounds than the weeping 
 tones of the Miserere creeping through the Sistina those 
 mourning days of Holy Week ; dearer than the jubilant 
 Credo or Gloria echoing up into and dying away in 
 the broad roof of S. Peter's on Easter-Day. 
 
 It is no fancy ; he himself has confessed it. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " God's world has one great echo ; 
 Whether calm blue mists are curled, 
 Or lingering dew-drops quiver, 
 Or red storms are unfurled ; 
 The same deep love is throbbing 
 Through the great heart of God's world." 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 WASHING DAY — EANCHE LIFE AGAIN. 
 
 flANCHE life had resumed the old swing at 
 Kirwan's. Charley was back from his weari- 
 some journey, and his father and mother 
 were coming on this day to visit the Kanche — a sacred 
 place to them, hallowed by Brown's death. The 
 Eanche boys were up earlier that day, off at their 
 work ; Tom and Woodhouse were getting the Ranche 
 in order ; and Charley Kirwan himself was putting 
 up a new bedstead in the one living-room. 
 
 " I think you'll like them, old fellow ; they know 
 all about you, and how Brown liked you, and they come 
 out West prepared to like you, so it will be easy 
 cantering over the ground of introduction." 
 
 "I only hope one thing, that they will enjoy your 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 189 
 
 quiet, primitive life as well as I did before the 
 epidemic came." 
 
 " I hope so too," replied Charley, with one of his 
 sunny smiles. " I told them if they would stay on 
 out here for some months, for a change, I would build 
 another room off the Eanche on purpose for their 
 accommodation." 
 
 "Rather rough lines for a lady, is it not, coming 
 out as it is ? " 
 
 " My mother is a woman who always grasps the 
 position of life, wherever it may be. Why, bless you, 
 man, she'll be teaching us how to cook and wash, 
 and enjoy doing it. But good-bye, I'm off to fetch 
 them here. According to my arrangements they slept 
 at the Mission Hotel last night." 
 
 Towards sunset Charley came back to the Eanche, 
 bringing his father and mother and his brother-in-law 
 to supper. It was only the ordinary supper, but the 
 table looked brighter than usual, as Woodhouse had 
 gathered bunches of large crimson gladioli-like flowers 
 from the Creek, and other gorgeous prairie blooms, to 
 give somewhat of an air of civilization to the homeliness 
 of the place. 
 
 As Charley's mother came in she gave a start, per- 
 ceptible only to those quick eyes watching her. She 
 grasped the hand of Woodhouse, whilst only three words 
 escaped her lips : " My son's friend." The quick nervous 
 fingers lingered in his, and a friendship seemed to grow 
 out of the clasp. She had a kind word for all the 
 
190 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Ranche boys, seeming innately to know the words best 
 suited to each. 
 
 And Charley's father showed age well preserved. He 
 was quiet, gentlemauly, kind ; a man whom one would 
 imagiae only spoke after thought, and thought well 
 thought out. 
 
 The brother-in-law was a jolly American, who loved 
 shooting, and who was eager for news about prairie 
 chickens, ducks, quails, and so forth. 
 
 As usual with Americans, they soon grew into the 
 Prairie life, and a pleasant evening was spent, chatting 
 round the fire ; late as they sat up, the evening did not 
 seem to grow old, nor the time hang wearily. 
 
 The following day was given up entirely to a visit 
 to the Upper Ranche, travelling in an ox waggon 
 over the Prairie, with chairs to sit upon, and a well- 
 filled lunch basket in their midst, whilst every now 
 and again Charley and his brother-in-law left the 
 waggon to have -a shot at some quail or prairie 
 chicken near the track. It was an early spring day, 
 but the 'golden sunshine was not too hot — just such 
 a day as would make any one love the great expanse 
 of Prairie, and joy in it ; and delighted with these 
 Western Plains, they drove right up to the great 
 herd of cattle that Charley owned. A look of surprise 
 seemed to creep over the faces of the new-comers ' to 
 see Charley's great wealth. They had heard before of his 
 being a man who owned a vast herd, yet evidently 
 Charley was not a prophet in his own country, or 
 amongst his own people. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 101 
 
 The lunch basket was opened now, and, watching 
 the herd grazing, they took their luncheon. More 
 enjoyable the contents of that lunch basket seemed 
 than any lunch basket on an English course. The 
 Kanche boys of the Upper Ranche, riding close up to 
 the waggon sides, had their share of the feast too. 
 
 A dinner was speedily got ready at the Upper 
 Ranche, and some wild duck shot on the Upper Creek, 
 a basket of wild grapes picked in the wood bordering 
 the Creek, and then came an enjoyable drive home, 
 which was reached in the gloaming. 
 
 * # * # 
 
 It was washing-day at the Ranche. Mrs. Kirwan had 
 suggested it, and volunteered a lesson ; and so on the 
 great fire in the Ranche was a large collection of 
 saucepans, and on the stove kettles boiling, so that 
 they should have hot water sufficient for such a festival. 
 Meanwhile, two wash-tubs were in full swing, with 
 two helpers at each ; and merry peals of laughter 
 rang through the small house ; clouds of steam filled 
 the room, and the nostrils were assailed by that sweet, 
 healthy scent of soap-suds. Out in the sunshine, on 
 lines, the clean white linen was drying and flying in 
 the Prairie breeze ; and to the amusement of all, who 
 should ride up on horseback but the old Superior of 
 the Mission ; so dinner had to be got ready, and it 
 was high festival indeed. Mrs. Kirwan looked none 
 the less a lady with her hands in the wash-tub, and 
 Charley and Woodhouse scrubbed with a will. It 
 
192 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 was such a living, animated picture, that no one with 
 heart in them could shrink from participating in it. 
 The laughter rippling away from the wash-tubs out 
 into the clear sunshine, and the " Now am I right, 
 Mrs. Kirwan ? " and the " Will you tell me this, Mrs. 
 Kirwan ? " and the " Bravo ! Bravo ! " of the old 
 Superior, filling up the crevices of the running con- 
 versation, was something too enjoyable of Eanche 
 life to be passed over without a word. 
 
 And then the starching and ironing, the perpetual 
 failure, the little success in that department, and also 
 the final consignment of all of that department to Mrs. 
 Kirwan. And the guests thought the dinner twice as 
 good as usual, because Mrs. Kirwan suggested this or 
 that — " Shouldn't the ducks be stuffed with onions ? " 
 or " Wouldn't this be nice ?" It seemed one long- 
 continued picnic, in the warmth of which the dear, 
 staid old man from the Mission grew young again. 
 Perchance his far Belgian home grew up before his 
 memory, and the happy days of childhood, when in 
 the farm-yard kitchen he had seen like ways. 
 
 The Kirwans were leaving in a few weeks, and 
 Woodhouse was also going North ; sorry, all of them, 
 that the curtain was about to fall over the Rancher's 
 Home. 
 
CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 ' Ye who love a nation's legends, 
 Love the ballads of =< people 
 That like voices from afar off 
 Call to us, to pause and listen, 
 Speak in tones so plain and child-like, 
 Scarcely can the ear distinguish, 
 Whether they are sung or spoken — 
 Listen to this Indian legend. 
 * * * * 
 
 Where he passed, the branches moved not ; 
 Where he trod, the grasses bent not: 
 And the fallen leaves of last year 
 Made no sound beneath his footsteps." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 CHIPPEWAY FIKE LEGENDS. 
 
 |HB origin of sacred and funereal fire amongst 
 the Chippeways engrossed the attention of 
 1 all at the Ranche. The following fire legend 
 is the result of their researches. 
 
 A war party of Chippeways met some enemies in a 
 large and beautiful plain. The war whoop rang out, 
 and a fierce contest began. The Chippeway Chief was 
 a very distinguished warrior ; in this fight he sur- 
 passed himself in bravery, and a great number of enemies 
 
 13 
 
194 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 fell beneath the redoubled blows of his tomahawk. He 
 was giving the signal for shouting the cry of victory 
 when he received an arrow in his breast, and fell 
 lifeless amongst his braves. A warrior receiving his 
 last blow in the act of combating is never buried. 
 An ancient custom exists, and from this the tribe 
 never depart — to seat a warrior thus falling on the 
 battle field, his back resting against a tree, and his 
 face turned in the direction which indicates the flight 
 of his enemies. It was the case with this Chief. His 
 grand crest of eagle's plumes was placed upon his 
 head, for each feather denoted a trophy, or scalp won 
 in combat. His face was carefully painted. He was 
 clothed in his most costly habiliments, as though he 
 were alive. All his equipments were picturesquely ar- 
 ranged by his side, his bow and his quiver of arrows 
 resting against his shoulder. The post of the orave 
 was planted in front of him with solemn ceremonies 
 and with honours due only to illustrious warriors. The 
 rites, the chants, the funereal speeches were celebrated 
 according to the custom of his nation in similar cir- 
 cumstances. And then his companions offered him their 
 farewells. No one had any doubt that he was dead — 
 the sequel shows whether they were right. 
 
 Although deprived of speech and all other signs of 
 life, the Chief heard distinctly the words of the songs, 
 the discourses, the cries and the lamentations of his 
 warriors. He witnessed their gestures, their dances,' 
 and all their ceremonies around the "post of honour." 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 195 
 
 His icy hand was sensible to their warm clasp of 
 farewell. His lips, pale and livid, felt the ardour and 
 heat of the farewell embrace and salute, and yet he 
 could not return it. Forsaken, knowing it, his anguish 
 was untold, and his desire grew strong to accompany 
 his braves back to their village. He saw them dis- 
 appear in the dim distance, and then soul and body 
 fought for mastery. His agitated spirit made a violent 
 movement, and then he seemed to rise and follow them. 
 His spirit form was invisible — a new cause to him of 
 surprise and contradiction, and this swelled his grief 
 and untold despair. He followed them closely. Where 
 they went, he went also. When they marched, he marched. 
 Eidihg or on foot he was in their midst. He camped 
 with them. He slept by their side. He awoke with 
 them. All their fatigues, troubles, and labors he shared. 
 He enjoyed the pleasures of their conversation ; yet 
 whilst present at their meals, no drink was offered to 
 allay his thirst, no dishes to appease his hunger. Ques- 
 tion and answer remained without response. "Warriors, 
 my braves," cried he in the bitterness of his anguish ; 
 " Do you not hear the voice of your chief ? Look, do 
 you not see my form ? You are motionless. You seem 
 not to see and hear me. Stanch the blood still flowing 
 from the deep wound I have received. Suffer me not 
 to die deprived of aid — to famish amidst abundance. 
 0, you braves, whom I often led in the thickest of 
 the fight, who have always been obedient to my voice, 
 already you seem to forget me! Give me one drop 
 
196 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 of water only to quench my feverish thirst, one 
 mouthful of food to stay this gnawing hunger. In my 
 distress how dare you refuse me ? " 
 
 At each halt he addressed them, alternately in re- 
 proach and pleading, but in vain. No one understood 
 his words. If they heard his voice, it was only to 
 them as the susurra of the wind sweeping over the 
 great plains, or the murmurings of the summer breeze 
 through the foliage and branches of the forests ; with 
 them it remained unnoticed and unheeded. 
 
 After a long and painful journey, the war party 
 arrived on the summit of a lofty eminence over-looking 
 their villages. The warriors prepared to make their 
 solemn entry. Decorated with their costliest ornaments, 
 with faces carefully painted, and their victorious trophies 
 attached to them, especially scalps fastened on to their 
 bows, tomahawks, and lances, they burst forth into 
 one unanimous cry of joy and victory, " Kumaudjeewug, 
 Kumaudjeewug, Kumaudjeewug," — i. e., they have met, 
 have fought, have conquered. The joyous shout resounded 
 again and again throughout the whole camp. Accord- 
 ing to custom, the women and children came forth to 
 meet the warriors in order to honor their return and 
 sing their praises. 
 
 Those who had lost some member of their family 
 approached with anxiety and eagerness to see if they 
 were really dead, and to re-assure themselves that they 
 died manfully, fighting against the enemy. Old men, 
 bowed down with the weight of their years, consoled 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 197 
 
 themselves for the loss of their sons if they sank like 
 brave men, arms in hand ; the grief of the youthful 
 widows loses its bitterness as they hear the praises 
 bestowed on the names of their husbands. Thrilling 
 recitals of combat awaken the martial fire in the 
 bosoms of the youth ; tiny children, incapable of un- 
 derstanding the joy of this grand festival, mingle their 
 feeble shouts with the boisterous welcomes of the whole 
 tribe. 
 
 Amidst all this clamour and rejoicing, no one knew 
 of the presence of the great war-chief. He heard the 
 information his own relations and friends received con- 
 cerning his fortunes ; he heard the recital of his 
 bravery ; he heard the singing of his lofty deeds ; he 
 heard of his glorious death in the midst of vanquished 
 enemies ; he heard of the post of the brave planted on 
 the field of battle. " Here I am," cried he ; "I see, 
 I walk, — look at me, touch me, I am not dead. 
 Tomahawk in hand I shall renew my march against 
 the enemy at the head of my braves, and soon in 
 the banquet you will hear the beating of my drum." 
 
 No one heard him ; no one perceived him. The 
 voice of the great Chief was no more to them than 
 the perpetual din of the water falling from cascade 
 to cascade at the foot of their village. Impatiently 
 he took the direction of his lodge. There he found 
 his wife in the greatest despair, cutting — in token of 
 mourning — her long and floating locks ; lamenting 
 bitterly her misfortune, the loss of a cherished husband, 
 
'198 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 and the desolate state of her orphan children. He strove 
 to undeceive her. He breathed words of tenderness in 
 her ear. He sought to clasp his children in his arms ; 
 but how vain, how futile his attempts. They were 
 insensible to . his voice and fatherly caresses. The 
 mother, bathed in tears, sat inclining her head between 
 her hands. The chief, suffering and dejected, besought 
 her to dress his deep wound ; to apply to it the herbs 
 and roots contained in his medicine sack ; but she 
 moved not, she answered only with tears and groans. 
 Then he placed his mouth close to the ear of his 
 wife, and shouted aloud, "I am thirsty, I am hungry. 
 Give me food and drink." The squaw thought she 
 heard a rumbling in her ears, and spoke of it to her 
 companions. The chief in his anger struck her a violent 
 blow on her brow. She. quietly pressed her hand to 
 the stricken spot and said, "I feel a slight head-ache." 
 Frustrated at every step, and in all his efforts to 
 make himself known, the great Chief began to reflect 
 on what he had heard in his youth from the most 
 distinguished jugglers he had met. They had told him 
 that sometimes the spirit or soul quits the body, and 
 wanders about according to its own pleasure and will. 
 He then thought that possibly his body was lying on 
 the field of battle, and that his spirit only had accom- 
 panied the warriors on their return to the village. In 
 a moment he resolved to return by the same path he 
 had come — a distance of four days' inarch. For the 
 first three days he met no one. On the afternoon of 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 199 
 
 the fourth, being close to the battle-field, he saw a fire 
 near the path upon which he was walking. Wishing 
 to avoid it, he quitted the track ; but the fire at the 
 same instant changed its position, and placed itself 
 always in front of him. In vain he hurried from right 
 to left. The same mysterious fire always preceded him, 
 as if to bar his entrance to the field of battle. " I 
 also,'' said he, "lama spirit. I am seeking \,o return 
 into my body. / will accomplish my design. Thou 
 shalt purify me, but thou shalt not hinder me. I 
 have always conquered my enemies, notwithstanding the 
 greatest obstacles. This day / will triumph over thee, 
 spirit if fire.'' Having thus exclaimed, with an intense 
 effort ae darted towards the mysterious flame. He 
 came forth from a long trance. He found himself seated 
 on the battle ground, his back supported against a tree. 
 His bcw, his arrows, his clothes, his ornaments, his 
 war accoutrements, the post of the brave ; all were 
 in the same position in which his braves had left 
 them on the day of strife. He raised his eyes, and 
 perceived a large eagle perched on the highest branch 
 of a tree above his head. Immediately he recognised 
 his manitou bird : the same that had appeared to 
 him in his earlier life, when he came out of the days 
 of childhood. It was the bird he had selected for his 
 tutelary spirit, and of which he had always worn a 
 talon suspended from his neck. His manitou had care- 
 fully guarded his body, and had prevented vultures 
 and other birds of prey from devouring it. The Chief 
 
200 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 rose slowly, but found himself weak and reduced.' The 
 blood from 'his wound had ceased to flow, and he 
 dressed it. He was well acquainted with the known 
 healing power of certain leaves and roots. He sought 
 them, gathering them with care in the forest, and, 
 crushing some between two stones, applied them ; others 
 he chewed and swallowed. 
 
 After the lapse of a few weary days, he felt sufficient 
 strength to attempt the return to his village j but 
 hunger consumed him. In the absence of larger aiiimals 
 he lived on the little birds which his arrows brought I down, 
 and he varied his diet by eating insects and reptilps, also 
 roots and berries. After many hardships he arrived on 
 the banks of a river that separated him fron. wife, 
 children and friends. The Chief uttered the shout 
 agreed upon in such circumstances : the shout of the 
 happy return of some absent friend. The sigial was 
 heard. A canoe was immediately sent for him. During 
 the absence of the canoe conjectures were numerous 
 concerning the absent person, whose friendly shput of 
 approach had just been heard. All those who had. been 
 present in his warlike band were now in camp — the 
 dead alone remained on the field of battle. " Might not 
 the unknown on the other shore be an absent hunter, 
 or might not this shout be the bold rase of an fenemy 
 to take the scalps of the rowers?" Whilst all I these 
 conjectures are going on, the warlike chief embarks. 
 He soon presents himself before them, amid the Accla- 
 mations and joyful shouts of his relatives and frienis. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 201 
 
 The Indians eagerly pour forth from every lodge 
 to shake hands with, and to celebrate the happy re- 
 turn of their chief and faithful conductor. That day 
 was for them ever memorable and solemn. They, re- 
 turned thanks to the Great Master of Life, and to 
 many Manitous of the Indian calendar. The whole 
 day was consumed in dances, songs, and banquets. 
 
 When the ■ first wave of astonishment and universal 
 joy had died away, and somewhat of usual quiet was 
 restored to the village, the Chief beat his drum in 
 order to gather together his people. He told them the 
 story of his strange adventure, and terminated his 
 recital by making known to them and imposing upon 
 them " the worship of the sacred and funereal fire," 
 that is to say, the ceremony of maintaining for four con- 
 secutive nights a fire on every newly-closed sepulchre. 
 He told them that this devotion is advantageous, and 
 agreeable to the soul of the deceased ; that the journey 
 to the country of souls is four long days ; that in 
 this journey the soul needs a fire every night in its 
 encampment ; that this funereal fire, kindled on the 
 tomb by the near relatives of the deceased, serves to 
 enlighten and warm the soul during its wanderings. 
 The Chippeways believe that when this rite is neg- 
 lected, the soul or spirit is forced to maintain a fire 
 itself, and that with the greatest inconvenience. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ' Ye who love the haunts of nature, 
 Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
 Love the shadow of the forest, 
 Love the wind amongst the branches, 
 And the rain-shower and the snow-storm, 
 And the rushing of great rivers 
 Through their palisades of pine trees, 
 And the thunder in the mountains, 
 Whose innumerable echoes 
 Flap like eagles in their eyries ; 
 Listen to these wild traditions." — Longfellow. 
 
 THE LENNI-LENAPI, WAKA-TANKA, WAKA-CHEEKA. 
 
 jlHE Lenni-Lenapi have a peculiar idea of their 
 first descendant, and the Missionary De Smet, 
 — ' in his studies of the Indian tribes, inserted 
 this legend in his notes, having heard it from the 
 mouth of Watomika the swift footed, or celeripes. 
 They believe that, a Great Spirit first created land and 
 water, trees and plants, birds and fishes, animals and 
 insects, and in the last place he created the first Lenap 
 thuswise : He placed a snail on the shore of a large 
 and beautiful river, which had its source in a far dis- 
 tant mountain, near to the rising sun. After twelve 
 
GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 203 
 
 moons had rolled away the snail brought forth a red- 
 skinned man. The Red-skin, discontented with his lonely 
 lot, made a canoe of bark, and descended the river in 
 search of society. For two days he saw nothing; upon 
 the third day at sunset he met a beaver, who spoke 
 to him, saying, "Who are you? whence do you come 
 from ? whither are you going ? " 
 
 The Eed-skin answered, "The great Spirit is my 
 Father ; He gave me all the earth, with its rivers 
 and lakes, with the animals roaming through its 
 prairies and forests ; He gave me the birds flying in 
 the air, and the fishes swimming in the sea." 
 
 The Beaver, surprised and irritated by so much in- 
 solence and presumption, commanded silence, and ordered 
 the Red-skin to quit his domain immediately. A pro- 
 longed quarrel forthwith commenced between the Man 
 and the Beaver, who defended his rights. The Beaver's 
 only daughter, frightened at the noise, quitted her 
 house, and stood between the irritated man and her 
 father, entreating them by mild and conciliatory words 
 to stop their quarrel. As the snow melts under the 
 sun's rays, so at the voice and entreating look of the 
 young child, the wrath of the stranger and his adver- 
 sary gave place to a profound and lasting friendship 
 — they embraced affectionately. 
 
 To render the union more durable, the Man asked 
 the Beaver's daughter for his wife. After a few 
 moments of deep thought, the latter presented her to 
 him, saying, " It is the decree of the Great Spirit, I 
 
204 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 cannot oppose it ; take my daughter, cherish and pro- 
 tect her ; go in peace." The man and his wife continued 
 their voyage to the mouth of the river. 
 
 At the entrance to a Prairie enamelled with gor- 
 geous flowers, shut in with luxuriant fruit-bearing trees, 
 in the midst of animals and birds, he built his wig- 
 wam. From this union sprang the Lenni-Lenapi, i.e., 
 the primitive family — known now as Delawares — a 
 name given them by the whites — possibly derived from 
 Lord Delaware, one of the early English Colonial 
 Governors. Originally the Delawares resided in the great 
 country west of the Mississippi. With the " Five 
 Nations," well renowned in the Indian History of the 
 vast American Continent, they seized and occupied 
 a large territory south-east of their ancient domain. 
 
 Gradually they split up into three great tribes — 
 "The Tortoise," "The Turkey," and "The Wolf." 
 tribes. 
 
 In Penn's time they occupied the whole of Pennsyl- 
 vania, and their possessions extended from the Potomac 
 to the Hudson. As the whites increased the Delawares 
 plunged deeper into the forests and yielded up their 
 lands to the conquerors ; establishing themselves in Ohio 
 on the margin of the Muskingum, whilst some of the 
 tribes regained the shores and forests of the Mississippi. 
 Government granted these Indians a small territory south- 
 west of Fort Leavenworth, on the Missouri. In 1854 
 they ceded this territory. 
 
 The Lenni-Lenapi believe in the existence of two 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 205 
 
 Great Spirits— one they call Waka-Tanka, and the other 
 Waka-Cheeka, i.e., the Good Spirit, and the Bad Spirit; 
 to these all the Manitous (or inferior Spirits), whether 
 good or bad, must render homage and obedience: 
 
 These Indians also believe in a future state. It 
 consists in a place of pleasure and repose, where the 
 prudent in council, intrepid and courageous warriors, 
 unwearied hunters, and men good and hospitable will 
 obtain a lasting recompense. 
 
 For the forked tongues (liars), also for the slothful 
 and indolent, there is a place of horrors. The first place 
 is called Wak-an-da (country of life). The second place, 
 Yoon-i-un-guch (insatiable gulf which never gives up 
 its prey). 
 
 The " country of life " is an island vast in extent, 
 and of ravishing and untold beauty. A lofty mountain 
 rises in the centre of the island, and there upon the 
 summit of his mountain-throne dwells the Great Spirit. 
 There he overlooks his vast domain. He traces the 
 interminable threadings of a thousand rivers, clear as 
 crystal, which adorn its shady forests and flower- 
 enamelled plains. He gazes down into the still 
 deep lakes, which reflect for ever the glorious sun. 
 Birds of brilliant plumage make the forests echo 
 and re-echo again with sweetest melodies. All noble 
 animals — buffaloes, elks, deer, goats and bighorns — graze 
 peaceably in these laughing prairies. The lakes are 
 never agitated by wind or tempest. Mire and slime 
 never mingle with the limpid waters of the rivers. 
 
206 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Aquatic birds, otters, beavers, and fishes abound in 
 them. Eternal spring reigns. Souls admitted into this 
 realm regain their strength, and are free from all 
 diseases. They experience no fatigue in hunting, and 
 have no need of sleep or rest. 
 
 The Yoon-i-un-guch, on the other hand, environing 
 " the country of life," is a broad, deep water, presenting 
 an endless succession of cataracts and yawning gulfs, 
 in which the roaring of the waves is frightful. On 
 the summit of a rugged rock, which rises for ever 
 above the wildest and angriest waves, dwells the Spirit of 
 Evil. A fox lying in wait, a vulture ready to dart upon 
 its prey. Waka-Oheeka watches the passage of souls 
 to "the country of life." This passage is so narrow 
 that only one soul at a time can possibly cross the 
 bridge. The Bad Spirit presents himself in most hideous 
 forms, and attacks each soul in turn. The cowardly, 
 indolent soul immediately prepares for flight. Waka- 
 Cheeka seizes it, and throws it into the open gulf, 
 which never yields up its victim. 
 
 Another version says the Great Spirit has suspended 
 a bunch of beautiful red bay berries in the middle 
 of the bridge, to try the virtue of those who cross 
 it in their voyage to the "country of life." The 
 Indian who has been active, and indefatigable in hunt- 
 ing, or victorious in war, avoids the tempting fruit. 
 On the contrary, indolent and cowardly souls, tempted 
 by the fascinating bays, stop and stretch out their 
 hands to reach it ; instantly the timbers composing the 
 
WESTERN PSA TRIES. 207 
 
 bridge sink heavily beneath them, and they are lost 
 for ever in the abyss. The Lenni-Lenapi believe that 
 the existence of good and evil spirits dates back to 
 so remote an epoch that it is impossible for man to 
 conceive its commencement ; these spirits are immut- 
 able, and death has no empire over them. These spirits 
 of good and evil created the Manitons, or inferior spirits, 
 who also enjoy immortality. All earthly blessings are 
 attributed to the Good Spirit ; light and heat, health, 
 the various productions of nature, and success on the 
 war trail, and in the hunting grounds. From the Wicked 
 Spirit comes contradiction and misfortunes, darkness, cold 
 and hunger, failure on the war trail and in the hunting 
 grounds, thirst, sickness, old age and death. 
 
 The poor Manitous cannot of themselves do good or 
 evil; they are but mediators of the Great Spirits for 
 the execution of their orders. They believe the soul 
 to be material, although invisible and immortal ; it 
 does not quit the body immediately after death, but 
 that these two parts of men descend into the grave 
 together, united during several days, sometimes during 
 weeks and months. The soul having left the tomb, 
 retards still its departure, being incapable of breaking 
 the bonds which so intimately allied it to the body on 
 earth. On account of this intimate union between the 
 body and the soul, the Indians so carefully paint and 
 adorn the body before burying it, and also place pro- 
 visions, arms, and other utensils in the tomb. Many 
 Indians place a favourite dish on the tomb of their 
 
208 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 relations during one month, convinced each time the 
 food disappears that the soul of the departed has ac- 
 cepted the offering. 
 
 It is impossible any one should read these lines 
 without noticing the striking points of resemblance 
 with several traditions of Eeligion. In these Indian 
 Keligions are ideas of Creation, the terrestrial Paradise, 
 Heaven and Hell, Angels and Demons. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Lo ! how all things fade and perish ! 
 From the memory of the old men 
 Fade away the great traditions, 
 The achievements of the Warriors, 
 The adventures of the Hunters, 
 All the wisdom of the Medas,* 
 All the craft of the Wabenos."t — Longfellow. 
 
 SACRIFICE TO WAKA-TANKA AND TO WAKA-CHEEKA. 
 
 OST Indians offer two kinds of sacrifices. 
 The Lenni-Lenapi also offer sacrifice to 
 Waka-Tanka and Waka-Cheeka ; one to the 
 good, and one to the evil spirit. 
 
 Of these ceremonies one is general, that of "Waka- 
 Tanka ; one is particular, that of Waka-Cheeka. 
 
 With all that Indiandom can give of solemnity is 
 the great sacrifice of Waka-Tanka celebrated in the 
 early spring of the year. It is made to obtain a bless- 
 ing 'on the entire Nation, that the earth may be fruitful, 
 that the hunting grounds may abound with beast and 
 bird, that the rivers and lakes may be crowded with 
 fish. 
 
 * Medas, Medicine Men. t Wabeno, a Magician, a Juggler. 
 
 14 
 
210 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 Before this great annual sacrifice the Chief calls 
 together his Council, composed of inferior Chiefs, senior 
 Warriors (who must have taken scalps in war), and the 
 Medicine Men. 
 
 Their decision as to the proper time and place for 
 the sacrifice is announced to the tribe by an Orator ; 
 then every one, without exception, commences to pre- 
 pare himself to assist worthily at the festival, and give 
 eclat to the ceremonies. Ten days before the celebra- 
 tion the principal Jugglers, who have the arrangement 
 of the ceremonies, blacken their foreheads with a com- 
 position made from powdered charcoal and grease, as 
 a token of mourning and penance. They retire then, 
 either to their own wigwams or lodges, or otherwise 
 into the most inaccessible thickets of the neighbouring 
 forests. Here, alone, they pass their time in silence, 
 in juggleries and practices of superstition ; they observe 
 a rigorous fast ; and, at the least, pass ten days in com- 
 plete abstinence — partaking of no nourishment. 
 
 In the meanwhile the medicine lodge is extended to 
 its widest dimensions ; all contribute to its decoration 
 whatever they possess of value. 
 
 The day is named. In the early light of morning 
 the Chiefs, followed by the Medicine Men and all the 
 people, in full costume, painted carefully with brilliant 
 colors, march in stately, savage procession to the lodge, 
 and participate in a religious banquet, hastily prepared. 
 During this repast, orators make speeches concerning 
 the events of the past year — upon the successes or 
 misfortunes of the Tribe. 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 211 
 
 The banquet ended, a large fire is kindled in the 
 centre of the lodge. Twelve stones, each one weighing 
 three pounds, are placed before the fire and made 
 red-hot. The victim, which is a white dog, is presented 
 to the jugglers by the great Chief, accompanied by 
 his counsellors. The Sacrificant attaches the dog to 
 the medicine-post, consecrated to this use and painted 
 red. After making many supplications to Waka-Tanka, 
 he despatches the victim with a single blow, tears out 
 the heart, and divides it into three equal parts. They 
 now draw out from the fire the twelve red-hot stones, 
 and arrange them in three heaps, on each of which 
 the Sacrificant places a piece of the heart, enveloped 
 in Sumac leaves. Whilst these pieces are consuming, 
 the jugglers raise with one hand their idols, and hold- 
 ing in the other a gourd filled with little stones, they 
 beat the measure ; and dancing, surround the smoking 
 sacrifice, at the same time imploring Waka-Tanka to 
 grant a full share of blessings. When the heart and 
 the leaves are entirely consumed, the ashes are col- 
 lected in a beautiful doe-skin, ornamented with beads 
 and embroidered with porcupine quills, and are thus 
 presented to the Sacrificant, who goes forth from the 
 lodge, preceded by four Masters of Ceremonies bearing 
 the skin, and followed by the whole band of Medicine 
 Men. After addressing the multitude, he divides the 
 ashes of the sacrifice into six portions. Standing in 
 a picturesque attitude, he casts the first towards Heaven, 
 entreating the Good Spirit to grant his blessing; the 
 
212 GLEANINGS FROM 
 
 second he spreads on the Earth, to obtain an abundance 
 of fruits and roots ; the remaining portions are offered 
 to the four cardinal points. To the East because the 
 light of day, the sun, is given to them ; to the West, 
 because of showers which fertilize the plains and forests, 
 and supply with water the springs, rivers, and lakes, 
 from whence come the fish ; to the North, because 
 the snows and ice facilitate the operations of the chase ; 
 to the South, because southern gales call into life the 
 new verdure, and then the animals bring forth their 
 young. Lastly the Sacrificant implores all the elements 
 to be propitious. 
 
 The Medicine Men are now thanked for all they 
 have done to obtain the help and favour of Waka-Tanka 
 during the coming year. The whole Tribe joyfully 
 shout forth their approbation and withdraw to their 
 wigwams to feast and dance. The white dog is care- 
 fully prepared and cooked, the whole confraternity of 
 Medicine-Men receiving a portion in a wooden dish. 
 
 The difference between particular and general sacri- 
 fices consists in this : the heart of any one animal 
 may be offered to the Good Spirit by one juggler only, 
 in presence of one individual, or one or more families, 
 in favour of whom the offering is made. 
 
 When any misfortune comes to a family, they im- 
 mediately address the Chief of the jugglers, telling him 
 their troubles ; this communication is made most sub- 
 missively, in order to obtain his intercession. He 
 invites three amongst the initiated to deliberate on the 
 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 213 
 
 affair. After many incantations the Chief rises, and 
 makes known the causes of the anger of Waka-Cheeka. 
 They proceed to the Lodge of Sacrifice, kindle a huge 
 fire in it, and continue according to the Eitual of the 
 Grand Sacrifice. The medicine men render themselves 
 as hideous as possible, painting their faces and bodies, 
 and wearing the most fantastical dresses, endeavouring 
 to resemble exteriorly the Evil Spirit whom they serve. 
 The supplicants now come into the lodge, and present 
 the entrails of a cow by way of offering, placing them- 
 selves opposite the Medicine-Men. The red-hot stones, 
 mounted in one heap, consume the entrails wrapped in 
 sumac leaves. The Chief draws from his medicine sack 
 secretly a bear's tooth, and hides it in his mouth ; cover- 
 ing his right eye with his hand, moaning and shrieking, 
 and throwing his body into horrible contortions, such 
 as become a lost soul entered already upon un-ending 
 suffering, he, with an agility almost impossible to follow, 
 pretends to draw from his eye the tooth of the bear 
 already hidden in his mouth. 
 
 With a fiendish look of triumph he presents it to 
 his too credulous clients, telling them the wrath of 
 Waka-Cheeka is appeased. Several horses are then given 
 to the juggler, and other merchandise of value amongst 
 the Tribe. And, poor deluded people, they leave the 
 place of Sacrifice joyous and content. 
 
 The time has come, dear Eeader, for us to say 
 good-bye. For a moment we seem to stand again, as 
 
214 GLEANINGS FROM WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
 
 we English explorers of that Western Prairie life stood, 
 awaiting upon the departure platform of the little 
 Mission Station the train that was to separate us from 
 that Western World. 
 
 Like friends passing one another in Express Trains, 
 we have but caught a glimpse of each other : our routes 
 lie in different directions, and with regret we part, 
 although we have so much still left unsaid. But if 
 you find as much interest in reading as we did in 
 studying Prairie life, we shall wring each other's hands 
 as heartily in saying G-ood-bye, as many of those Western 
 Eanchemen wrung ours thousands of miles away upon 
 the Western Prairies. 
 
 And now, book, go forth, bearing upon thy pages 
 these gleanings of Prairie life. Like all gleanings, thou 
 art imperfect and be-drabbled. Imperfectly are thy 
 chapters' bound into a sheaf, in which I trace the 
 silver thread of life ; the crimson of poured out 
 blood — yea, and the blackened foot of death, has 
 passed over thee ; yet, still I ask thee to perform 
 thy work, and to come back to me in after years, 
 portantes manvpulos tuos, bringing thy sheaves with 
 thee. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LASCINE." 
 
 BY AN OXFOED MAN. 
 
 D. Appleton % Co., Publishers, 549 $ 551, Broadway, New York. 
 
 Price 1 dol. 50. 
 
 Extracts from Criticisms: 
 New Yoke Tablet, Nov. 22, 1873. 
 " This is a very charming story, turning chiefly on the vocation of 
 a young gentleman of hirth and fortune to the Eeligious State ; 
 the trials he had to undergo, the obstacles to surmount, and the final 
 success that attended his faithful and constant adherence to the end 
 he had in view. Some pleasing glimpses are given of life in Old 
 Oxford ; but, to our mind the chief charm of the book is the beauti- 
 ful and graphic picture it presents of the interior life of a Catholic 
 
 College in England As a collection of vivid sketches, it is 
 
 extremely interesting." 
 
 From The Reader of D. Appleton $ Co. (Judge Tenney of Brooklyn). 
 " I think ' Lascine,' from the point of view in which it is written, 
 is strictly correct, both as to belief and ceremonies, in its representa- 
 tions. It possesses more than ordinary dramatic interest for such a 
 work, with much elegance and delicacy of sentiment; although 
 occasionally careless and negligent in style. It would exert a strong 
 influence in awakening the attention and confidence of the Catholic 
 public to the House to which it is already somewhat favourably 
 inclined, and sell well among them and others." — Tenney. 
 
 From the New York Sunday Citizen. 
 
 " Should any one read between the lines," says the author, " and a 
 spark of nobleness, buried with the old childhood's simplicity, be 
 re-awakened ; should the yearnings after the good and the beautiful 
 take root once more in a nature sodden with worldliness, the end will 
 be answered, the book will have done its work." 
 
 " It will be seen from his ' prologue ' that the Author sat him down 
 to no unworthy task ; and while the means used for the attaining of 
 his end may not be altogether faultless, certain it is no man can 
 read the book and not feel his better nature stirred to its depths. In 
 this ' Lascine ' differs from any Novel we have ever read. 
 
 " The work is written with great power and fervor ; the attention 
 is chained, not by the intensity of the plot, or the beauty of the style. 
 It is seized and held fast solely by the grandeur and elevation of the 
 thought. In truth one should read between the lines to admire the 
 book . . . ' Lascine ' is a noble book. It is the out-pouring of a nature 
 that the mists of doubt no longer envelope ; it breathes of serener 
 atmosphere than the popular novelist has as yet entered. It strikes 
 as deep and leaves an impression a's lasting as a Bermon. It does 
 battle with the worldliness that attracts us from noble actions ; it 
 elevates duty beyond love, and riches and earthly fame, and, as a 
 clear voice that rises above the din and jargon of this world it pro- 
 claims, ' Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all 
 other things shall be added unto you.' "... &c. 
 
 The Catholic World, Monthly Magazine, No. 108, Jan., 1874 : 
 
 "....' Lascine ' is a book that can be read with great interest, 
 and is by no means lacking in cleverness .... We think it promises 
 a great deal for the future success of its young author." 
 From the New York Evening Mail. 
 
 " ' Lascine ' is another brief and well written Catholic Novel." 
 
FOR HUSKS, FOOD.'' 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF -'LASCINB.' 
 Montreal and New York : D. and J. Sadlierand Co., Publishers. 1874. 
 From the Philadelphia Ledger. 
 " Though written in the form of a tale, the book is one which 
 thoughtful readers will enjoy." 
 
 From the Baltimore Mirror. 
 
 "Another work from the author of ' Lascine.' Like his first it is a 
 work of genius ; of genius consecrated to the God of charity and 
 truth. ' For Husks, Food ' will be read by thousands with delight, 
 with ever increasing advantage to mind and heart, long after its 
 youthful author, amore Christi percitus, shall have laid the last stone 
 of the temple he is building, and will have heard from the Lord of 
 the Temple : ' Well done, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' 
 
 " Such thoughts as fill his pages are born of the very fountain of 
 divine love and eternal truth. If we speak in warm commendation 
 we only echo what able judges have not shrunk from saying. As 
 regards beauty of style, elegance, and delicacy of sentiment, grandeur 
 and elevation of thought, &c, 'Lascine ' is a noble book, elevating 
 duty beyond love, and riches, and earthly fame. ' For Husks, Food ' 
 is even a greater book, handling more difficult, absorbing topics. 
 The argument upon the still vexed question of Anglican ordinations, 
 pp. 89 — 108, is the most succinct and convincing we have yet read." 
 From the Western Watchman. 
 
 " It is a well-told tale, deeply interesting and highly 
 
 edifying. The Volume is very elegantly brought out." 
 
 From the Portland Argus. 
 
 " Remarkably well written The writer is a devout Catholic, 
 
 but careful not wantonly to offend those of other religious faiths, 
 and on the whole quite liberal in his views of them. The virtue and 
 beauty of self-denial is the lesson of the book. This volume is par- 
 ticularly designed for Catholics, .... yet it will be found quite 
 interesting by others than Catholics." 
 
 From the New York Tablet. 
 
 " A singular title for a book, the reader will say, and say truly, and 
 yet having read the book through, the title is found to be strangely 
 applicable and most expressive. It is, indeed, a rare book abounding 
 in sweet and salutary thoughts, gracefully expressed and redolent of 
 the delicious fragrance of Christian poetry, although meant for prose. 
 The story is a very simple one, merely intended, as one can see, for 
 the better understanding of the Author's thoughts, viz. : the exceed- 
 ing beauty, the inestimable value of self-denial, as a Christian virtue. 
 Yet no intricacy of plot, no dramatic power, could make it more 
 attractive than it is in its chaste religious beauty. It is dedicated to 
 ' The Young Convert and Proto-martyr, the Saintly Deacon Stephen,' 
 and is written and published for the benefit of S. Stephen's Home, 
 28th Street, New York. Yet another reason why the beautiful book 
 should find especial favour in the eyes of all who love ' the little ones ' 
 of Christ. Now that the season for school premiums is approaching 
 we would beg to recommend ' For Husks, Food,' to all our Schools 
 and Colleges." 
 
 From the Boston Pilot. 
 
 "This book may be summed up as a glance into Anglicanism. 
 
 .... The book may lightly be called a psychological novel 
 
 It is elegantly written, and the author knew his subject well. Many 
 passages and descriptions are beautiful."