n the refrigerator--he saw something that sent a gleam of joy
across his fiery face. It was a dark bottle that bore an inscription
which he could not read, "S. O. P. Brandy." But there is one sense
which needs no education. He pulled out the cork, and put the mouth of
the bottle to his nostrils; then he smiled grimly, and straightway sat
down on the refrigerator.

The time had arrived for Miss Slopham to read her paper. Mr. Michst
claimed the attention of the company by tapping on a table with a
paper-knife. "Laties and shentlemen," said he, "we haf come here dis
efening as drue philossophers--not for our own selfish bleasure
enti-er-_lee_, but"--Mr. Margent looked uneasy, and fidgeted in his
chair--"in order to hellp in de solution of one of de great questions
of de day--de Indian question. I haf met some off dese obbressed and
downdrodden beoble. I know how amiable, how excellent, they are--like
little shildren dey haf lissened to me ven I haf talked to dem of de
_aura_ of Schrellenbach and de ofersoul--all vunder, and, I know, all
pelief. But I vill not take down de time. My young and pyootiful
friend, Miss Slobham" (the good, loyal man was sadly near-sighted),
"vill read to you, and I belief she vill have some derrible dings to
say."

Terrible things indeed! Miss Slopham's manuscript ran with gore--the
gore of the red-man always. Massacres, surprises, and butcheries, in
which the white man had slaked, only to renew it, his notorious thirst
for Indian blood, followed each other across the pages of the paper,
leaving each a darkening trail behind. The government of these United
States, which, in the inconsistent, uncontinuous, and often bungling
way of all governments, has probably tried to do its duty by the
Indian--often succeeding only in making its benevolence a source of
pauperism, and often betrayed by unfaithful officials and corrupt
citizens into shameful acts of bad faith--was portrayed as a huge
ogre, a giant Blunderbore, drinking Indian blood from two-quart
bowls, and never breakfasting but on Indian baby. Meantime there
filed through Miss Slopham's flowing sentences, like a procession
of children with banners, the mild and faithful Modoc, the
unsophisticated Sioux, the exemplary Pi-Ute, the large-eyed and
pensive Pottawattamie, the polished Nez-Perce, the amiable Pawnee, the
meek and unobtrusive Ogallala, and the playful Apache. If there ever
had been a massacre by Indians, or an act of savage cruelty by