wiston our tourists
were reminded of it, and of its capacity for adopting our civilization
in its most efflorescent development. The train was invaded by a band of
Indians, or, to speak correctly, by an Indian band. There is nothing in
the world like a brass band in a country town; it probably gives more
pleasure to the performers than any other sort of labor. Yet the delight
it imparts to the listeners is apt to be tempered by a certain sense
of incongruity between the peaceful citizens who compose it and the
bellicose din they produce. There is a note of barbarism in the brassy
jar and clamor of the instruments, enhanced by the bewildering ambition
of each player to force through his piece the most noise and jangle,
which is not always covered and subdued into a harmonious whole by the
whang of the bass drum.

There was nothing of this incongruity between this band of Tuscaroras
and their occupation. Unaccustomed to associate the North American
Indian with music, the traveler at once sees the natural relation of
the Indians with the brass band. These Tuscaroras were stalwart fellows,
broad-faced, big-limbed, serious, and they carried themselves with a
clumsy but impressive dignity. There was no uniformity in their apparel,
yet each one wore some portion of a martial and resplendent dress--an
ornamented kepi, or a scarlet sash, or big golden epaulets, or a
military coat braided with yellow. The leader, who was a giant,
and carried the smallest instrument, outshone all the others in his
incongruous splendor. No sooner had they found seats at one end of the
car than they unlimbered, and began through their various reluctant
instruments to deploy a tune. Although the tune did not get well
into line, the effect was marvelous. The car was instantly filled to
bursting. Miss Lamont, who was reading at the other end of the car, gave
a nervous start, and looked up in alarm. King and Forbes promptly opened
windows, but this gave little relief. The trombone pumped and growled,
the trumpet blared, the big brass instrument with a calyx like the
monstrous tropical water-lily quivered and howled, and the drum, banging
into the discord, smashed every tympanum in the car. The Indians looked
pleased. No sooner had they broken one tune into fragments than they
took up another, and the car roared and rattled and jarred all the
way to the lonely station where the band debarked, and was last seen
convoying a straggling Odd-Fellows' picnic d