It was now the twilight hour, and in the maple woods the Indian boys were watching their fires and the women were bringing in the sap from the surrounding trees. The time for making sugar was almost gone, and the well-filled mocucks, which might be seen in all the wigwams, testified that the yield had been abundant. The hearts of the old women beat in thankfulness, and the young men and maidens were already beginning to anticipate the pleasures of wedded life and those associated with the sweet summer time. But the brow of the Sweet Strawberry continued to droop, and her friends looked upon her as a victim of a settled melancholy. Her duties, however, were performed without a murmur, and so continued to be performed until the trees refused to fill her buchère-bucket with sap, when she stole away from the sugar camp and wandered to a retired place to muse upon her sorrows. Her unaccountable grief was very bitter, but did not long endure; for, as she stood gazing upon the sky, the moon ascended above the hills and filled her soul with a joy she had never felt before. The longer she looked upon the brilliant object, the more deeply in love did she become with its celestial charms, and she burst forth into a song—a loud, wild, and joyous song. Her musical voice echoed through the woods, and her friends hastened to ascertain the cause. They gathered around her in crowds, but she heeded them not. They wondered at the wildness of her words, and the airy-like appearance of her form. They were spellbound by the scene before them, but their astonishment knew no limits when they saw her gradually ascend from the earth into the air, where she disappeared, as if borne upward by the evening wind. And then it was that they discovered her clasped in the embraces of the moon, for they knew that the spots which they saw within the circle of that planet were those of her robe, which she had made from the skins of the spotted fawn.
Many summers have passed away since the Sweet Strawberry became the Maiden of the Moon, yet among all the people of her nation is she ever remembered for her beauty and the mystery of her being.
(The late) Charles Lanman.
THE FIRST WOMAN IN THE POST OFFICE DEPARTMENT
Just the other day, during a housecleaning in the Post Office Department, a number of autograph letters written by men famous in American history were discovered in an old and battered file-case. The file-case had evidently been considered of no value, for it had been stowed away in a little-used portion of the cellar, and would undoubtedly have eventually been broken up and its contents lost or destroyed.
The papers include letters of recommendation by Horace Greeley, Garfield, Sumner, and others of then national prominence. Among the papers was the record of the first woman appointed to the postal service and one of the first employed in the Government departments in Washington in any capacity.
The documents are considered as of more than ordinary interest, particularly as autograph letters of recommendation from prominent men are now practically things of the past. The general use of the typewriter, and the fact that almost every man of prominence has a private secretary, are largely responsible for this modern condition.
Autograph letters of recommendation, moreover, are not looked upon with favor in Government departments nowadays, and a missive from Horace Greeley such as the one on file would probably be thrown in the waste basket as undecipherable. The appearance of this letter justifies all things that were ever said about the great editor’s chirography.
One of the most interesting papers in the collection is an autograph letter written by Elisha Whittlesey of the comptroller’s office in the Treasury Department, to Montgomery Blair, then Postmaster General, which resulted in the appointment of the first woman employee of the postal service and the second to be employed by any Government department in Washington. The letter follows: