My ears have heard some of nature’s loveliest songs--the wild splash of the rapids in great rivers as they leap over broken rocks and cascade in mumiuring eddies away to the sea; the hushed melancholy of winds in the forest pines away up in Northern Canada; the torturing loneliness that midnight airs breathe, when flapped through the pinions of migrating night birds, and one is conscious of the far-offness of any human habitation--but those sounds cannot equal the wild, strange euphony that fell from the lips of the veteran chief as he chanted the formula of that ordinance. Hand in hand with the scion of English royalty he walked to and fro, his low, monotonous tones, eerie and strange as a wild bird’s call, his song supplemented from time to time by manifestations of approval from his confederate chiefs.

In accordance with the ancient rules the novitiate was presented with some strings of white wampum by the owner of the scarlet “blanket,” with these words:

“As beads are pure, so we trust your life will be an honor to the tribe to which you belong, as the clear sky proves a happiness to many. Your name, “Kavakoudge,” will represent the flying sun, the great sun that tramps from morning till night on the vast dominions of your great mother. In giving you this name we trust your path through life may be bright and clear as the sun’s brightest rays. It will represent the progress of the sun in its daily course under the guidance of the Great Spirit, and put us in memory of your journey from the far east to see us. You have traveled with the sun toward us, and as the sun does, flying, and lighting the world in its course. Our people are devoted to her majesty’s throne. [Loud indications of assent.] We always rely on the kindness of Great Britain and believe in her and in her people. We wish you prosperity in this world.”

His royal highness hesitated for a moment, then with gaining confidence replied:

“I am much touched by the kind speech which you have just delivered, and I feel particularly happy to be made one of your tribe. Most sincerely do I thank you for your kind and affectionate mention of my mother and for all your loyal expressions toward her.”

The prince was then lustily cheered as a Six Nation Indian, and this old newspaper says “He took to his new decoration kindly, and for one who already wears the ribbon of the garter, appeared to enjoy it.”

Ah, well! That all happened long, long ago, but he did not forget his redskin brothers when he returned to old England, for his beautifiil gifts--portraits of the queen, the prince consort and himself--are to-day[sic] the most honored and cherished treasures in the Council House of the Six Nations.

Well, he came to Canada again two summers ago, came with his noble wife, and was received from coast to coast by “loyal hearts and true.” But I doubt if in the latter days he found a moment or a people more interesting than when he stood among the chiefs, braves and warriors that were to confer upon him the most ancient honor that America could