“In dem times we done some talkin’,
    But this writin’ business—­shaw! 
  I have seen de time, I tell ye,
    I could talk a lady so
  She would pull her fan to pieces
    Barely answering ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’”

* * * * *

  Then I talked while he sat silent,
    Gave a lecture broad and deep;
  Hark! what sounds from the dim corner? 
    Ah! my host has fallen asleep. 
  Asleep!  And his slumber is that of contentment,
    Dreaming and smiling o’er memories fond. 
  Asleep!  And he slumbers in ignorance blissful
    Of the great busy world his cabin beyond.

  How small is the light that illumines his pathway,
    And his noonday how like to the darkness of night;
  Yet he keeps in the beam directing his footsteps,
    So must his intent be accounted for right. 
  I would not, I dare not, sit in Judgment upon thee,
    Tho’ the light on thy path be less bright than on mine,
  But rather come to the fulness of duty
    In my life as thou hast so well done in thine.

* * * * *

THE INDIANS.

* * * * *

MISSION SERVICES AT TWO KETTLE VILLAGE.

BY MISS M. M. LICKORISH.

The church at Two Kettle Village on the Cheyenne was dedicated May 19th.  I was delighted to receive an invitation from Mr. Riggs to accompany the party from Oahe.  We crossed the Missouri River in a boat, and on the other side took the carriage that had to be sent around by Pierre, an extra distance of thirty-two miles, in order to cross on the bridge.  Doctor and Mr. Frederick Riggs, from Santee, now joined us, and the day being pleasant, the prairie covered with the wild flowers so abundant here, we had a most delightful drive.

About one o’clock we met missionaries and delegates from all parts of the Indian field at a place previously agreed upon, and there spent a most agreeable hour in social chat, and discussing the contents of our lunch boxes.  A ride over the prairie is an excellent appetizer, and missionaries so exiled most of the time from all but a few of their own race, find these occasional meetings most pleasant, but having a long ride still before us, and a river to ford before dark, we were soon again on our way.  About sundown we came in sight of the memorial church.  It is situated on a little hill, and facing the Cheyenne River, and a lovely, picturesque valley, rendered more attractive just now by the numerous Indian tents scattered singly or in groups over the grass near the river.