CHILDREN'S COLUMN

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10082, 18 March 1896, Page 3

CHILDREN'S COLUMN

THE STORY OF MARY LEE.

On the great plains of Kansas, seventy mile 3 due north of Sheridan, there is a lonely grate on the crest of a sterile mound. It may be that no one could find the spot today, for the storms of summer and winter wash great ravines in the earth, and level even the hilltops after a time, But I saw the grave twenty years ago, and at its head stood ft board on which was painted:— " Here lies Mary Emma Lee, who was killed by Indians on this spot, after a heroic defence, in July, 1867." As'2oo cavalrymen grouped around that lonely grave, every man uncovered his head in reverence for the dead, and the story of that young woman's death has never been told around a camp fire in the West without making men's hearts ache. This is the story There were five or six families of emigrants journeying across the lonely plains, when they were beset by hostile Indians. Mary Lea was a girl only oighteen years old, and had been brought up 011 the lowa line. The family consisted of father, mother, two sisters, and a brother. The attack was made very suddenly, and Mary, who was riding her own horse, was cut off from the band. When she realised this she turned and rode away, and was pursued by seven Indians. This was about nine o'clock in the morning. Her horse carried her thirty-six miles before he became oxhaustod, and when he fell she made her way to tho crest of the mound, and tliero scooped out a shallow rifle-pit, piled stones up around it, and prepared to die fighting. The Indians were three miles behind her when her horse gave out. She had a light Winchester rifle, which was fully loaded, but no extra cartridges. Her first shot killed an Indian, and her second crippled another for life. The other five dared hob charge hor position. On the second day she killed another Indian, and the other four posted themselves in positions, and waited for hunger and thirst to conquer her. On the third day they were joined by twenty of their band, but the girl was not attacked. On this day an Indian, who was creeping up to spy on her, was shot through the right lung, and the others contented themselves by dropping a fire at ' on ranges to harass her. On the fourth day not a shot was fired. The weather was terribly hot, and the sun glared down on that mound until the grass withered and shrivelled, and seemed about to flame up. On the fifth day, an hour after noon, the girl shot herself through the head, and was dead before anyone reached her. I afterwards talked with one of the warriors who was there, and he told me that she had been almost roasted alive by that lierco sun. She had neither food nor drink, and was little better than a skeleton. The Indians simply stood about and looked down upon her. She had a wealth of golden hair, but they did not scalp her. She had rings on her fingers, but they left them there. They did not even take her rifle nor the saddle from her dead horse. " White squaw heap brave—fight hardno scalp 1" That was her eulogy. Two or three years later her scattered bones were collected and buried by a surveying party, and to-day her dust mingles with the sterile soil fifty miles from the nearest dwelling of one of her race. Bronzed and bearded Indian fighters, reckless and desperate cowboys, stern-faced and taciturn pioneers have whispered the name of Mary Lee around the evening camp-fire a thousand times since her death, but ever and always with a gentle tonguo and swelling of the heart. She was not only a woman, but she died game.—M. Quad, in Cincinnati Gazette.

CHILDREN'S PARTIES. Rightly managed, children's parties are never a mistake. But let them be parties for real children and not for mannikins, aping the airs and graces of grown man and women. The best hours are from twelve to four, with lunch at one, or from two to six, with supper at half-past five. The refreshments should be plain and judiciously chosen. It is a poor compliment to the mothor to invite her child to a party and lot it so overeat itself with food not appropriate to it that the physician must be summoned the next day. A very pretty menu for children, either for lunch or supper, is bouillon, thinly sliced cold turkey or chicken, the white meat only; delicate ham sandwiches, tiny biscuits, thin bread and butter, cocoa, cake, ice cream, and fruit. Let one of the little girls take the head of the table and pour tho bouillon and another the foot and pour the cocoa, and if you draw lots for these important) positions "it will add to the interest. Have no bonbons except the very best chocolates. The favours and prizes should all bo simple and appropriate lor children. Cunning little pasteboard hats of various shapes, that are really boxes, may contain in the crown a very few bonbons. Children never tire of peanut hunts with prizes for the fortunate finder of the largest number, nor of the donkey taken to tho wall and sadly minus a tail waiting for the blindfolded midgets to pin one on in just tho right spot. The last state of that donkey is often worse than the first, for when tho bandages are taken off, much to the merriment of tho children, he is discovered bristling with tails pinned to his eye, his nose, his feet, his ears-every-where, in short, except where a caudal appendage rightly belongs. Newer, and therefore desirable, is Aunt Sally smoking her pipe. This is a dummy dressed to represent an old coloured woman with a pipe in her mouth. The children are furnished with small rubber balls, and have three shots at the pipe.

A large brown paper bag ornamented with a covering of coloured tissue paper or with figures out from coloured papers and pasted on is filled with peanuts and small articles, such as single candles wrapped in motto papers, English walnuts wrapped in tinfoil, and anything that looks bright and pretty and is nob heavy. This is then tied to the gas fixtures, almost, bub nob quite, beyond the reach of the children, who are furnished with sticks and canes, and musb try to break ib. The breaking of the bag is the signal for a grand scramble, after which the party breaks up.-New York Herald. ___________