was liquor. The old women manufactured a drink called "tiswin" that experts claim is the most maddening in its effects of any known intoxicant. They made this at a dozen camps, under the eye of the Agent, with impunity. Drunken brawls were frequent, deaths were common, and wounds many. No effort had been made to break up this practice other than to knock a hole in the vessels containing the liquor when found, the employees performing this duty, preventing injury to themselves only by keeping the drunken mob at bay with drawn revolvers, the Indian police often being found as drunk as any others of the mob. In six months the last tiswin camp was broken up, but it took a free use of the guardhouse, and necessitated making a bonfire of everything in sight, and incarcerating the offenders at hard labor for several months. Habitual drunkenness and progress are no more compatible in the Apache than in the white man. Opposition was met with from the start, but the guard house yawned for recalcitrants, and open defiance was not attempted. An Indian is deficient in reasoning faculty, due, I presume, to his bump of stubbornness being so highly developed. Hence he must be treated more or less as a machine, which, once in motion, must be kept on the move by the Agent, who does all his thinking for him. So, once having selected land, orders were issued to at once erect a cabin on his selection, and to cut and haul to the sawmill all the logs necessary for roofs and floors. This was done, and, once completed, a cookstove and utensils were issued to each house. Chimneys with fire places were not permitted, as this invited a continuance of the camp cooking.

As with Samson of old, the Indian's wildness lay in their long hair, which the returned educated Indians wore because, as they boasted, "it made them wild." All energies were bent to compel the adult males to cut their hair and adopt civilized attire in vain. Even the police would not wear their uniforms. A proposition to cut their hair, from a former Agent, resulted in a mutiny. The duties of the police are to arrest offenders and to herd the beef-cattle purchased for their own consumption. Rations were considerably increased to the police to make it worth their while to think twice before leaving the force, and they were informed that when there were no police to herd the

beeves the tribe would go without. That was a different proposition. Two members who had been to school were discharged for wearing long hair. One old fellow, as a special favor, cut his hair, but it cost me five dollars. His wife made his life a burden, and he in turn appealed to me to hasten with the rest. By using rations and other supplies as a lever, I induced a few more to cut, and then I directed the police to cut theirs or leave the force. They reluctantly complied; but once accomplished they were only tco eager to compel the rest, and they cheerfully, under orders, arrested and brought to me every educated Indian on the Reservation. There were twenty of these, gorgeous in paint, feathers, long hair, breech-clouts, and blankets, educated at an expense of thousands of dollars, living in their brush shelters wilder than any uneducated Indian on the Reservation, and fully as lazy and ambitionless. The "leaven" had failed to work. The mass absorbed them, and compelled them to backslide They soon had a hair cut and a suit of clothes put on them. The Indian Office, at my request, issued a peremptory order for all to cut their hair and adopt civilized attire; and in six weeks from the start every male Indian had been changed into the semblance of a decent man, with the warning that confinement at hard labor awaited any backsliders. There have been none; and the task of moving them upwards has been perceptibly easier from the time scissors clipped off their wildness.

As the Indian dances kept up their barbarous customs, they were prohibited. These dances had been used principally to advertise the grown girls for sale to the highest bidder. Paint and feathers were likewise placed on the tabooed list. With the possession of a piece of land, a house, cook-stove and utensils, wagon, harness, and plow, here was a good start. Several hundred dollars was spent annually in seed, most of which was fed to stock or sold, but none of which was saved. In 1895, $500 worth was issued to them, with the warning that thereafter they must bring in seed to be saved for them for the next year. They brought in 24,000 pounds that autumn to me to keep for them. The farmer encouraged them to till, and in 1895 they raised 150.000 pounds of grain, besides potatoes, cabbage, and other vegetables. A white employee superintends the work at the saw

mill, but all the labor, even to firing the boiler, is performed by the Indians themselves. The railroad station is distant 110 miles across the desert, and the Indians haul all the supplies, about 200,000 pounds, from that point to the Agency, to my entire satisfaction. The "no work, no ration" policy has been a wonderful incentive. They have learned to appreciate the value of money, and the traders say that few trinkets are bought now, and that they drive hard bargains for coffee, flour, and sugar. Many of them save their hard-earned money and spend it little by little as they need supplies. All this is encouraging.

The determined opposition to the education of their children was overcome by the same policy of repression and force. Every possible expedient was resorted to by them to keep their children from school. They would brazenly deny having children, despite the evidence of the accurate census-roll and the ticket on which they had for years drawn the child's rations. Children were hidden out in the brush; drugs were given them to unfit them for the school; bodily infirmities were simulated; and some parents absolutely refused to bring their children in. The deprivation of supplies and the arrest of the old women soon worked a change. Runaways were speedily stopped by the confinement of the parents and relations who encouraged that sort of thing, and they soon realized that opposition to education did not pay. Willing or unwilling, every child five years of age was forced into school. No attention was paid to the prejudices or whims of their old relations. The latter have been made to understand that the United States has for years footed the bills that maintained them in idleness, filth, immorality, and barbarism, and that where a policy for their good has been adopted they will not be consulted, but that they will be required, nolens volens, to aid in carrying this policy to a successful termination. Once understood by them that their day of dictating terms to a higher and stronger power than themselves has passed, they have acquiesced in the new order of things, and slowly but surely started on the up-hill road. The Indian Office, following out the policy of the present Commissioner to help every Indian displaying a disposition to help himself, has given ten head of sheep to every man, woman, and child on the reservation. The latter is a fine

grazing country, and with a small patch of land to each family and a flock of sheep, the question of self-support is easy of solution. To enable them to use their sheep to the best advantage, a number of Navajos were brought to the Agency in December, and the Mescalero women were ordered in to learn to card, spin and dye wool, and to make blankets. Already a number of them are as expert as their Navajo instructors. Has it paid to take the blanket Indian in hand and force him into self-support? The situation must speak for itself. From absolute dependency on the Government these Indians have in two years attained to such a condition that all rations (except beef) and clothing will be cut off July 1, 1897. Beef will be taken away as soon as their flocks furnish sufficient mutton for their use, probably in two years more. Every family has a piece of land fenced and under cultivation. Many have comfortable cabins, with cook-stoves and utensils for decent cooking. All the others have their framework in place, and logs cut and hauled to the sawmill, and are waiting for the lumber. Every male Indian is in short hair and civilized clothing. Paint and feathers have been abolished, along with their barbarous dances. The use of liquor, so frequent two years ago, is entirely eliminated, and there has not been a drunken Indian on the reservation for eighteen months, and the manufacture of tiswin has been broken up. They have learned to raise oats, corn, potatoes, cabbages, pumpkins and other vegetables, and valuable habits of industry have been inculcated by the absolute necessity of working or starving. Every child five years of age and upward is in school, and these Indians can point to 116 children in school twelve months every year out of a total of 450-one hundred per cent. of attendance-a record shown by no other tribe. They yield to the inevitable, when once they understand that the inevitable will not yield to them. There is an eagerness displayed to earn money, and a disposition to spend it properly, once earned. Applications are made in advance for permission to haul freight from the railroad 110 miles away, and if labor is offered them under pay they are glad to get it. With such a condition of affairs it is but a short step to throwing open the reservation, putting the children in the public schools, requiring white, red, black, and mixed to associate and

grow up together, and attain that mutual respect for each other that a reservation line prevents. I cannot foresee for these Indians anything but a prosperous future and an independent self-support if the wise and generous help given the Agent heretofore by the Indian Office be continued but a short time longer.

A

FIRST NIGHT AT SCHOOL.

BY THOMAS HUGHES.

FTER the school-house prayers, Tom led Arthur up to the dormitory and showed him his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large windows looking on to the school close. There were twelve beds in the room. The one in the farthest corner by the fire-place was occupied by the sixth-form boy who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by boys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags; for the fifth-form boys slept in rooms by themselves. Being fags, the eldest of them was not more than sixteen years old, and they were all bound to be up and in bed by ten; the sixth-form boys went to bed from ten to a quarter past, at which time the old verger came round to put out the candles, except when they sat up to read.

Within a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all the other boys who slept in No. 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began undressing and talking to each other in whispers; while the elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off.

Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in a room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed, talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your wash-stand under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all." And

on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his wash-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear; the noise went on.

It was a trying moment for the poor, little, lonely boy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered; and a big, brutal fellow, who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and threw it at the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm, and catch it on his elbow.

"Confound you, Brown, what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain.

Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping on to the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; "if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it."

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixthform boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished their disrobing there; and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with his usual "Good night, gen'l'm'n."

There were many boys in that room by whom that little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which chased one an

other through his brain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leaped, and he could hardly keep himself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room.

Then the thought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from which it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before he died, in the school-house at least, and I believe in the other houses, the rule was the other way.

But poor Tom had come to school in other times. The first few nights after he came he did not kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one should find him out. So did many another poor little fellow.

Then he began to think he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and then that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass with Tom as with all who will not confess their Lord before men; and for the last year he had probably not said his prayers in earnest a dozen times.

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break his heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which he loathed, was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.

The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him and help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a coward her son had been. And then peace came to him, as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morning.

The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed him, first, all his old friends calling him "saint" and "square-toes," and a dozen other hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be misunderstood and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereas it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to the greatest number.

And then came the more subtle temptation. Shall I not be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least I should go on as I have done? However, his good angel was too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which he had found peace.

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcost, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then, in the face of the whole room, he knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say,-the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the room,-what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees.

At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world.

It was not needed; two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering of another great lesson in his heart,-the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice asked, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" -that however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere without His witnesses; for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, there are

those who have not bowed the knee to Baal.

He found too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measure owing to the fact that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in the room; at any rate, every boy knew that he would try upon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers.

Some of the small boys of No. 4 communicated the new state of things to their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows tried to follow the example set by Tom and Arthur-in one instance or so, where one of the teachers heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, after a short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state of things went on for some time longer.

Before either Tom Brown or Arthur left the school-house, there was no room in which it had not become the regular custom. I trust it is so still, and that the old heathen state of things has gone out forever.-School Days at Rugby.

SUCCESSFUL TEACHER.

HER manner is bright and animated, SO that the children cannot fail to catch something of her enthusiasm.

Her lessons are well planned. Each new step resting upon a known truth, is carefully presented.

Everything is in readiness for the day's work, and she carries out her plans easily and naturally.

Old subjects are introduced in evervarying dresses, and manner and matter of talks are changed before the children lose interest in them.

She is firm and decided, as well as gentle, patient and just.

She is a student-is not satisfied with her present attainment.

She is herself an example for the children to follow, holding herself well, thinking connectedly, and being always genuinely sincere.

She is a lover of little children, striving to understand child nature.

True teaching is to her a consecration. She has entered into "the holy of holies where singleness of purpose, high ideals and self-consecration unite in one strong determining influence that surrounds her like an atmosphere."-Education.

BE READY.

TEACHER! Did you never think that your chance in life is sure to come?

Be diligent and prompt in all your duties; do everything you can to equip yourself for your chance when it does come. That tide in your affairs, "which taken at the flood leads on to fortune," may not have reached you yet, but sooner or later it will lap the strand at your feet; it will raise your barque on its breast ready to carry you to the haven of your hopes, to the goal of your ambition. Let it find you, then, with your decks cleared, with your rudder shipped, with your anchor weighed, ready to cast loose, and spread your sails to the stiffening breeze which, when once passed, will never return to you.

To-day is the best day in your lives; surely it is freighted with chances, vital with possibilities, pregnant with fateful issues which may give birth to good or to evil. If you ever hope to achieve greatness "now" is the time to begin. Today invites you to seize each of its flying hours. To-day invites you to stamp it with the indelible signet of some holy deed, some good resolution, some noble task, some heavenward progress. Today is yours. Will you use it, or will you lose it?

She controls her children perfectly without effort. Her manner demands respectful obedience. She is serene.

human ken by the dark and impenetrable veil of sable night." To-morrow rings the knell of those whose hopes are dead, whose resolves are broken, whose chances are lost. Then, if you would be worthy and great, be earnest, diligent, faithful, "now."