of Atchison that his home was his castle, and if any man attacked it, he would meet with a bloody reception, and that he (May) intended to come to Atchison whenever he pleased, and meant to come armed, they laughed at his rude chirography, and made merry over his “spelling by ear,” but they understood his meaning perfectly, and knew, also, that he would do exactly what he said.  And they never disturbed him.  In his personal appearance Col.  May was an ideal “Leatherstockings.”  He might have sat for a portrait of Cooper’s famous frontier hero and Indian trailer.  Over six feet in height, angular, muscular, somewhat awkward in repose, with cool, bright gray eyes, deep set under shaggy eyebrows, and having immense reach of arm—­his was an imposing figure.  Mr. Butler was a born Puritan; Col.  May was a born frontiersman. [7] Mr. Butler opposed slavery on moral grounds, and because he hated injustice or wrong in any form.  Col.  May hated slavery, and fought it, because he believed the institution was detrimental to his own race.  Born in Kentucky and reared in Missouri, he had seen the effects of slavery all about him, harming him and his, and so he hated it.

Kansas owes both of these pioneers a debt of respect and gratitude.  The world was better that they lived in it.  Freedom found in them devoted loyalty to her cause.  They both loved Kansas, and their lives were inseparably associated with the stirring events of the most momentous years of her history.  They served her well.  Brave and strong and useful, they fought a good fight and kept the faith.  Honor to their memory.

A WREATH OF TRIBUTE.

BY REV.  D. C. MILNER,

Formerly Pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Atchison, Kan.

EDITOR OF THE CHAMPION:—­Having read, with much interest, your sketch of Pardee Butler, I am moved to lay a wreath of tribute upon the grave of the old hero.  He was a man of most invincible courage.  Earl Morton, by the open grave of John Knox, said, “Here lies one who never feared the face of man.”  Mr. Butler was a John Knox sort of man.  Those who have visited him at his home of late years will remember how modestly, yet with some pride, he would tell the story of that day in Atchison when the mob started him down the river on the frail raft, and how he would exhibit the banner so carefully preserved.  It would be of much interest if we could have the full story, told by himself, of the raft journey; of the after “tar and cotton” affair; and also, of the night, some time after that, when some of the very men who helped to mob him, assisted him across the river with his loaded team when he was in some trouble.