* The appropriate title to this dramatic ballad was suggested by the venerable poet, John G. Whittier, to whom the manuscript was submitted. In a letter to the author (which we regret we are not at liberty to publish) Mr. Whittier writes, "Thee have produced a genuine American ballad," characterizing it at the same time as "the story of brave, beautiful Margaret Schuyler."

The Tawasentha of the Mohawks, and of Longfellow, is in the valley of Normans kill, eight miles west of Albany.

* The exceedingly picturesque defile by which the Indians ascended the precipitous ledge of the Helderberg.

The old name of the Schuyler place, then in the outskirts of the town-not the residence near Still water which Burgoyne had burned in 1777.

They heard in the sighing west wind

Strange squadrons march along, And in the air above them

A stern command, "Come on !

Above the Tawasentha,

They saw the sky grow black, And on the Indian Ladder

The lightnings warn them back.

And now in the upper chambers
With frail defences set,
The nurse's noisy wailing

And the mother's silence met.

Around in wordless pity

A little group of men

Looked away from the hungry question
Her eyes asked each of them.

Trained in a school heroic

That drew no craven breath, That fought for life, unflinching, Till life be lost in death,

They felt the ominous silence

When all below grew still, The stillness before the tempest, The unknown's shivery chill;

WASHINGTON, D. C.

Poising their flint-lock rifles,

Ready to live or die,

With each nerve strung and waiting
For the death-grapple nigh;

When in an opening doorway,
Smiling, and calm, and fair-
A tiny hand entangled

In a stray stress of hair,

Fearing they'd wake the baby,
Signalling soft commands,

Bright in her flush of triumph,
SWEET MARGaret SchuylER STANDS.

Heroic act of girlhood!

No braver had been done
By soldier, sailor, ranger,

When the long war was won.

"She was her father's daughter,"
The old folk often said,
"And then as in a story

She with her prince was wed."

Our first in lordly station,

Our first in maiden fame,
Keep green the laurel twined with

Sweet Margaret Schuyler's name.

Charles C. Nott

* The general with great presence of mind fired his pistols from an upper window, and shouted, "Come on, my brave fellows, surround the house."-Stone's Life of Brandt.

THE DRAWINGS OF A NAVAJO ARTIST

One of the best-known sub-chiefs of the Navajo Indians in northwestern New Mexico is Mariano. This man controls a camp of his people some twenty miles from the military station of Fort Wingate, which latter place he frequently visits. His father was a notable chief before him, and Mariano is highly respected for his sagacity and wise ruling among the remnant of the tribe now under his sway.

An elder sister of his, known among the Navajos by the name of Estayeshi, lives in one of the crudely constructed habitations built by these people on the hill-sides close to the government buildings of Fort Wingate. Esta-yeshi, of whom we present an admirable portrait, is exceedingly masculine in her tastes and instincts, even for a Navajo woman, and when she came to have her picture taken she insisted upon holding her revolver in one hand and steadying her favorite Winchester beside her with the other. The Navajos say that this woman is one of the best, if not the best, blanket weaver in the tribe, and many a time have I watched her skillful weaving with interest. Nor does she lack intelligence in other respects, for she is often consulted on matters of no little import in the tribe. Esta-yeshi has a grown son of about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, whom the Navajos call " Choh," which means some kind of a bird, I believe.*

Choh had an unfortunate accident happen to him as an infant. He was strapped up, in the manner of all Navajo papooses, to his little board, in a thoroughly confined manner, and had been placed near a smoldering camp-fire by his mother. Something or other tipped him over, face downward in the hot ashes, and before any one could reach him his face all about his mouth had become frightfully burned. The scar from this has never left him, and his nose is nearly as flat as his face to-day. This Indian is one of the ever-to-be-seen characters about the garrison of Wingate. Usually he is extremely untidy in his appearance and awkward in his carriage. Indeed, with his eccentric movements and great moppish head of hair and highly revolting features, many of the children stand in great awe of the poor, disfigured fellow. He is by no means the stupid clown we would take him to be, however, upon first sight, as we shall very

soon see.

* This paper was prepared for the Smithsonian Report, 1886.