rushed into matrimony. But, I tell you what it is, Prig, my boy, when you've succeeded in turning all our girls into Blue-stockings, it will be time for me to,-well to go to Manitoba.' PRIG. Blue-stockings! (groans).— How I dislike that expression! As though a woman couldn't be a person of taste, culture and refinement without being a Blue-stocking. Listen to this. (Rises, seizes a book, and reads): "She never neglected her home duties, or her children's education, and was fond of society and the theatre. She had the keenest appreciation of natural scenery and music; and both played and painted, herself,-the latter exceedingly well. She was very diffident and free from vanity; and thoroughly and gracefully feminine in manner and appearance." that the picture of a Blue-stocking, Summerdaye? Well, that is a description of Mary Somerville, the most learned and one of the most beautiful women of her age. A Blue-stocking is a woman without talent and without imagination. She is actuated by a cut-and-dried notion that it is her duty to master such books as Mangnall's Questions, and Mrs. Markham's "History of England"; but she has no real love of knowledge, nor sympathy with the fire of genius.'

Is

PRACTICUS.Well, Prig, having now disposed of the Blue-stockings, suppose you tell us what all this has to do with the tariff on books, and the circulating library, with which we started.'

TOм.-'O, he'll circulate round to that

before long. Won't you, Prig?' PRIG.-All I mean is that the tariff on books by making them more expensive to buy will increase the demand for a circulating library,-' PRACTICUS (thoughtfully). Or free public library.'

PRIG. And that a circulating library,—'

How much of the smaller misery of life, and how much blunting of the finer feelings, comes of the clash of moods. The glow of full sympathy which is the deepest happiness of human converse, and in which its finest gold is beaten out, is kindled only at those rare moments when kindred hearts meet in the same mood. Not only do such hearts seldom enough get together, but even when they do, the accident of their having each a different tinge of feeling at the moment may recur so frequently as to keep them long, perhaps ever, ignorant of their kinship. I believe that lives have been passed together, even in affection, which, though in their hidden depths fit to mingle in close union, have, in missing continually the subtle identity of mood, failed ever to realize that they were, as potentially they were,

'Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one.'

Not that this is a common experience

it may, happily, be added.

It can happen only in the case of those highly-strung and finely-wrought natures which pay so many cruel penalties as the price of the keener perceptions and deeper impressibility which distinguish them from the ordinary run of mortals. Many, indeed, will consider this extreme case rather fanciful; but whether it be so or not, there is no denying the sharp and even prolonged unhappiness which difference of mood has brought about in everyday life; nor the fact that many a tragedy has been the outcome of discord purely subjective and emotional. Far-reaching, indeed, is the vista which this train of thought will open up. In the broad field of politics and history, although we cannot, as a rule, carry our analysis of the causes of events into the subjective realm, and when we attempt to do so can accomplish little more than loose speculation, yet it is none the less certain that the course of affairs has not seldom been influenced in a considerable degree by the complex friction of the moods of men whose actions, writings and words comprise the raw material of history. Especially was this the case when the personal element was stronger in moulding the destinies of nations than it is at present; in the days when a world hung upon the words of a single man, and the life or death of thousands upon his caprice. A 'mood of Cleopatra,' or of a Roman Emperor, even of a Charles V., or of a Napoleon, has probably been pregnant with serious consequences to large sections of mankind.

In the familiar experiences of daily life and domestic and social relationship, it requires no psychologist to trace the effects of the conflict of those simple variations of mood which we broadly distinguish as 'good spirits' and 'low spirits,' merriment and 'the blues,' good humour and peevishness. Yet they lie at the root of a vast amount of positive wretchedness in society at this moment. Innumerable

are the estrangements of friends, the lovers' quarrels, the 'family jars,' matrimonial infelicities,and even divorces, which might be traced to causes no more dignified than these. Even more widespread, and scarcely less lamentable, is the petty misery originating in this moral dyspepsia which, without reaching any positive climax, yet permeates the inner life of society, and embitters day by day those relations of home and friendship which should be the most softening of human influences. The home, indeed, is unhappily the chief theatre of such experiences; the microcosm over which the Spirit of Moodiness is suffered to have full sway. In his business relations, the husband or father generally manages to neutralize his subjective condition, be it gay or sombre, by the concentration of all his faculties on the engrossing practical concerns of each day. He does so, at least, as far as his equals and superiors are concerned; although many a harassed clerk and persecuted office-boy could testify to the important bearing on his day's comfort of the mood' in which his principal enters the office in the morning. Outside of the office, however, business is business,' to use a formula which has acquired a very distinct, though not a very amiable meaning, despite its own absolute meaninglessness. Dollars and cents, and stocks and shares, are far too important matters to admit of much interference in their manoeuvring from that region of feeling which plays so insignificant a part during the daily rites of Mammon-worship. But family harmony and fireside happiness are not dollars and cents, and frequently they occupy a much less important position in the worshipful consideration of Benedict or paterfamilias. The peevish, the harsh, or the otherwise unamiable mood which has been in abeyance all through the day; or which, perchance, has been contracted during its fatigues and worries,' is often released from strict surveillance,

Or

or first makes its presence known when home is reached and formal restraints thrown off. Then behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth! The half-cooked potato, the blunt carvingknife, the little bill' for millinery,any one of a thousand nothings may light up a domestic conflagration. That it ever should be so is pitiable; that it often is so, is undeniable. let us take an illustration from the female side of the house. The wife gives a party, say, or the daughter goes out to one. With the ' company dress,' to use a homely phrase, are put on company manners. The 'horrible headache,' and the ungracious mood,they are often synonymous,-vanish as if by magic. All is smiles and courtesy and gaiety. On the return home the party dress is doffed, and the next morning is put on, perhaps, an attire neither rich nor gaudy,scarcely even neat,-but 'good enough for home.' If that were all, passe encore. But too frequently the company manners' are laid by with the company dress.' Négligée in co tume the weary lady is also négligée in temper. As any dress,-so any haphazard mood, is good enough for home;' and post festal moods are not, as a rule, very desirable ones. So that

throughout the day there is unpleas antness and friction in the household. The servants can do nothing right. The children are in the mood for a romp; she is not, and they get a scolding instead. The sister or the friend is in a confidential mood; she is not, and there is bitterness and misunderstanding. The husband or the father is in a jocular mood; she is in a sensitive one; and goes up to bed at an abnormally early hour to cry herself to sleep, perhaps, leaving a general sense of uneasiness and discomfort behind her. Such things are happening every day, even without the hypothetical party as a primary cause. Nor is it unjust to say that the fair sex are especially liable to a a variation of moods to which it is sometimes perplexing for the less changeable 'horrid male creature' to adapt himself The fact is a physiological one, and stubborn enough to admit of no contradiction, even from the ladies. Many of them run up and down the gamut of the feelings with startling rapidity; and what their mood will be at any given moment is one of those things, as Dundreary would say, that no fellow can find out.

A. W. G.

Y

My friends, I have been asked to show

you my heart.

I am glad to have a chance to do so. I want the white people to understand my people. Some of you think an Indian is like a wild animal. This is a great mistake. I will tell you all about our people, and then you can judge whether an Indian is a man or not. I believe much trouble and blood would be saved if we opened our hearts more. I will tell you in my way how the Indian sees things. The white man has more words to tell you how they look to him, but it does not require many words to speak the truth.

What

I have to say will come from my heart, and I will speak with a straight tongue. Ah-cum-kin-i-ma-me-hut (the Great Spirit) is looking at me, and will hear

me.

My name is In-mut-too-yah-Jat-lat (Thunder travelling over the Mountains). I am chief of the Wal-lam-wat-kin band of Chute-pa-lu, or Nez Percés (nosepierced Indians). I was born in Eastern

[NOTE.--In re-opening an old department of THE MONTHLY, to contain extracts from articles appearing in contemporary magazines, we make no apology for the length of the paper which appears in the present number. Translated by the Rev. W. H. Hare, Missionary Bishop of Niobrara, who introduced it to the readers of the North American Review, the narrative appeals with startling directness to those who are responsible for the inhuman treatment meted out to the Indian tribes of the West, while the perfect naturalness and tender pathos of the chief's story will win for it such attention from lovers of literature as should make its preservation in these pages a matter of satisfaction to everyone who peruses it. It is to be hoped that the Indian's touching appeal to natural standards of justice and to the common heart of humanity, will accomplish more than his rifle and tomahawk have hitherto been able to effect for his race. --ED.]

Oregon, thirty-eight winters ago. My father was chief before me. When a young man, he was called Joseph by Mr. Spaulding, a missionary. He died a few years ago. There was no stain on his hands of the blood of a white man. He left a good name on the earth. He advised me well for my people.

Our fathers gave us many laws, which they had learned from their fathers. These laws were good. They told us to treat all men as they treated us; that we should never be the first to break a bargain; that it was a disgrace to tell a lie; that we should speak only the truth; that it was a shame for one man to take from another his wife, or his property, without paying for it. We were taught to believe that the Great Spirit sees and hears everything, and that he never forgets; that hereafter he will give every man a spirit-home according to his deserts: if he has been a good man, he will have a good home; if he has been a bad man, he will have a bad home. This I believe, and all my people believe the

same.

We did not know there were other people besides the Indian until about one hundred winters ago, when some men with white faces came to our country. They brought many things with them to trade for furs and skins. They brought tobacco, which was new to us. They brought guns with flint stones on them, which frightened our women and children. Our people could not talk with these white-faced men, but they used signs which all people understand. These men were Frenchmen, and they called our people "Nez Percés,” because they

wore rings in their noses for ornaments. Although very few of our people wear them now, we are still called by the same name. These French trappers said a great many things to our fathers, which have been planted in our hearts. Some were good for us, but some were bad. Our people were divided in opinion about these men. Some thought they taught more bad than good. An Indian respects a brave man, but he despises a coward. He loves a straight tongue, but he hates a forked tongue. The French trappers told us some truths and some lies.

The first white men of your people who came to our country were named Lewis and Clarke. They also brought many things that our people had never seen. They talked straight, and our people gave them a great feast, as a proof that their hearts were friendly. These men were very kind. They made presents to our chiefs and our people made presents to them. We had a great many horses, of which we gave them what they needed, and they gave us guns and tobacco in return. All the Nez Percés made friends with Lewis and Clarke, and agreed to let them pass through their country, and never to make war on white men. This promise the Nez Percés have never broken. No white man can accuse them of bad faith, and speak with a straight tongue. It has always been the pride of the Nez Percés that they were the friends f the white men. When my father was a young man there came to our country a white man (Rev. Mr. Spaulding) who talked spirit law. He won the affections of our people because he spoke good things to them. At first he did not say anything about white men wanting to settle on our lands. Nothing was said about that until about twenty winters ago, when a number of white people came into our country and built houses and made farms. At first our people made no complaint. They thought there was room enough for all to live in peace, and they were learning many things from the white men that seemed to be good. But we soon found that the white men were growing rich very fast, and were greedy to possess everything the Indian had. My father was the first to see through the schemes of the white men, and he warned his tribe to be careful about trading with them. He had suspicion of men who seemed so anxious to make money. I was a boy then; but I remember well my

father's caution. He had sharper eyes than the rest of our people.

Next there came a white officer (Gov. ernor Stevens), who invited all the Nez Percés to a treaty council. After the council was opened he made known his heart. He said there were a great many white people in the country, and many more would come; that he wanted the land marked out so that the Indians and white men could be separated. If they were to live in peace it was necessary, he said, that the Indians should have a country set apart for them, and in that country they must stay. My father, who represented his band, refused to have anything to do with the council, because he wished to be a free man. He claimed that no man owned any part of the earth, and a man could not sell what he did not own.

Mr. Spaulding took hold of my father's arm and said, Come and sign the treaty.' My father pushed him away, and said: "Why do you ask me to sign away my country? It is your business to talk to us about spirit matters, and not to talk to us about parting with our land.' Governor Stevens urged my father to sign his treaty, but he refused. 'I will not sign your paper,' he said; 'you go where you please, so do I; you are not a child, I am no child; I can think for myself. No man can think for me. I have no other home than this. I will not give it up to any man. My people would have no home. Take away your paper. I will not touch it with my hand.'

My father left the council. Some of the chiefs of the other bands of the Nez Percés signed the treaty, and then Governor Stevens gave them presents of blankets. My father cautioned his people to take no presents, for after a while,' he said, they will claim that you have accepted pay for your country.' Since that time four bands of the Nez Percés have received annuities from the United States. My father was invited to many councils, and they tried hard to make him sign the treaty, but he was firm as the rock, and would not sign away his home. His refusal caused a difference among the Nez Percés.

Eight years latter (1863) was the next treaty council. A chief called Lawyer, because he was a great talker, took the lead in this council, and sold nearly all the Nez Percés country. My father was not there. He said to me: When you