SEVEN splendid specimens of the North American Indian stalked majestically into St. Paul's Cathedral on Thursday. Each was gorgeous in paint and feathers, and was clad in brilliant-hued and picturesque attire. They were in sight but a few moments, as they arrived in closed carriages. Still they were in sight long enough to attract the attention of all who were passing at the time, and hundreds who would otherwise have passed by St. Paul's on the other side followed the red men into the Cathedral. Of the crowd the Indians took no notice. The crowd had no eyes for anybody or anything else. The casual worshippers rose from their chairs and joined the throng that followed in the track of the dark-skinned visitors. It was a crowd that was simply bursting with curiosity. It stared as if staring were one of the fine arts. It might have taken a lesson in politeness from the "Savages," as some were pleased to call Short Bull and his companions, for although nothing escaped the notice of the Indians, their entire attention was seemingly devoted to an inspection of the Cathedral and the magnificent monuments it contains.

The Indians who visited St. Paul's were members of Buffalo Bill's party. They were under the charge of Major Burke, and were accompanied by Mr. G. C. Crager, the Sioux interpreter attached to the combination, and by the writer and the HERALD artist. They had come by train from Croydon, where the Wild West Show struck its tents last night, to Victoria. Thence they were driven in closed carriages to the HERALD office in Fleet Street, where they said "How" to the editor. In leaving the HERALD office they blocked traffic in Fleet Street for several minutes. Until they entered their carriages not a pedestrian would move from any position of vantage he had secured, and the drivers of vans and cabs were, for once, of one mind. They pulled up their horses and refused to move until warned for the third and last time by the police.

SOME SPLENDID SPECIMENS.

IN ALL THEIR FINERY.

The stalwart red men never looked more picturesque than as they strode noiselessly from one point of interest to another in the Cathedral. They were in full dress. Kicking Bear wore a magnificent head-dress of eagle feathers. After encircling his head it drooped gracefully almost to his feet. His forehead was painted a ghastly shade of yellow. Beneath his eyes was a broad band of dark red. His cheek bones were painted of the same hue. Brushed back from the yellow painted forehead was his long, straight and shining black hair. It reached to his shoulders. A wide, thin-lipped mouth wore a sneer oftener than not. His black eyes gleamed as they roved ceaselessly but slyly from face to face and one object of interest to another. When he smiled, which was seldom, the crowd stepped on itself in its eagerness to give him room. The impression seemed to be general that Kicking Bear's nature had so much malignity in it that there was room for little else. I have no desire to do the gentleman an injury, but for raw ferocity of expression I never saw his equal. Around his shoulders was flung a blanket of scarlet squaw cloth. Big as it was, it was not long enough to reach the ground. It was not folded across his breast, so that the hair-pipe breastplate could be seen.

This is the remains of an old fashion. Before the bow and arrow were driven from the field by the rifle, it was customary to protect the breast. The breastplate of to-day is worn simply as an ornament. Kicking Bear's leggings were also of scarlet squaw cloth, and heavily fringed. Scarlet was also the colour of the shirt that fitted his body tightly. Hanging from his hair, on a line with his ears, were two strings of brass beads. Strings of beads, some of brass, some of bone, and of many colours, were looped across his chest. On one wrist was a broad brass band, burnished so brightly that the wearer could see his copper-coloured face in it. His moccasins were of deer-skins, and were heavily beaded. While at the HERALD office Kicking Bear smoked continuously. He is very fond of cigarettes. He is also very fond of fresh meat, and eats four pounds a day. Kicking Bear was chief of the fighting element among the Sioux in last winter's Indian war in Dakota.

AN INDIAN DIPLOMATIST.

He was dressed in more sober colours than Kicking Bear and his face was not painted. His hair was "done up" in otter skin. The long locks were divided into two plaits, and around each of these was wound otter skin. Like all Indians who have a right to "do up" their hair in this way, they are very particular that it should be done in a certain way and that no other fur but otter should be used. In his right hand Short Bull carried a war club. When the interpreter found it necessary to speak to the Indians in their own language he generally addressed himself to Short Bull. The latter did not put himself forward, but there appeared to be a general understanding that if information were to be given it should be given to Short Bull. No matter of what nature the information might be, trivial or important, amusing or impressive, the expression on Short Bull's face was always the same.

THEY LISTENED BUT SAID NOTHING.

No Neck had many admirers. He carried his blanket over one shoulder, so that everybody could see the heavily-beaded jacket he wore. It looked uncommonly like a woman's bodice. White Cloud carried a silver-headed acacia stick, like those usually worn by Piccadilly swells, and seemed proud of it. When the interpreter told Short Bull that there was a St. Paul's Cathedral before the white man visited the Indian's country, the Indians looked at one another but said nothing. Kicking Bear's eyes flashed when he was told that not many years ago a man had jumped from the "Whispering Gallery," and had fallen a few feet from where the Indians stood. All heads were thrown back and all eyes turned towards the dome. There was a general grunt when a verger [2] said that several men could stand in the ball that surmounted the dome. They stood for a long time in front of Wellington's tomb. A few months ago these same Indians were at Waterloo. They walked slowly around the tomb, looking carefully at the recumbent figure, after being told that the great English chief who had won at Waterloo was buried there. Less than a year ago, some of these same Indians were engaged in the congenial task of killing whites.

IN THE CRYPT OF ST. PAUL'S.

When the last of the band had stepped inside, the door that forms the entrance to the crypt was shut in the face of the crowd. Whether sixpences were or were not forthcoming, the crowd was compelled to wait until the gentle red men had finished their tour. They were anxious to see Nelson's tomb. They understood that he was a great sea captain. It made no difference to them whether the occupant of the tomb was a naval or a military hero. If he were a "good fighter" he was satisfactory to them. The Indians looked at the floor: it was stone, at the roof: it was stone, at the great pillars and walls on which the Cathedral rested: they were stone, and of the most massive description.

"All so strong here," exclaimed Johnny Burke No Neck.

Short Bull looked approvingly at him and said: "When they get them here they keep them."

The other Indians grunted. They stopped in front of the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren.

"Here lies the man who built this Cathedral," said the interpreter.

Short Bull nodded with his eyes, and the others, except Kicking Bear, grunted.

"He told how each stone should be placed," said the interpreter.

Short Bull began to count the stones, but soon gave it up. "Too much," said High Bear.

The Indians stood in front of Nelson's tomb, which is exactly in the centre of the Cathedral. When they had been told that he had been a great fighting man, they walked slowly around the tomb. It was then that Short Bull suggested that the great Admiral would experience considerable difficulty in removing the weight from his chest when he wanted to get up. They were intensely interested in Wellington's funeral car. They listened closely to its history as given by the verger and translated into their own language by Mr. Crager. When told that it was made from cannon captured in battle by Wellington, they nodded their heads slowly, but looked at the car a trifle distrustfully until the verger struck it with a piece of iron. It rang clearly and sharply, and the red men were satisfied. Kicking Bear spent much of his time looking at the muskets with which the front of the car was decorated. They were picked up from the field of Waterloo. Finally, Kicking Bear gave a grunt of disapproval.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Crager.

"Guns no good," replied Kicking Bear, who was armed with a Winchester repeating rifle in the last war.

"You think you could whip soldiers armed with those guns?" asked the interpreter.

"Yes," growled Kicking Bear.

At the head of the stone steps leading from the crypt stood the verger on the return journey. Major Burke shook hands with him, and said "Good morning."

Short Bull at once held out his right hand. The verger grasped it, and said "Good morning, sir." Short Bull said "How." Each Indian shook hands with the verger as he passed. To each of them the verger, whose nerves seemed to be a bit shaken, said "Good morning, sir." Each Indian answered gravely, "How."

AT WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

WILLING TO STAY LONGER.

The Indians would gladly have remained in the Abbey for an hour or more, and they walked out of it very slowly, still looking about them, when told that it was necessary to hurry in order to catch the train for Croydon. They were due for the afternoon performance of the Wild West Show, which began at two o'clock. They are hostages intrusted to the care of Colonel Cody. They shook hands in quite a friendly fashion with the white men, who remained behind, and said, through the interpreter, that they had enjoyed their visit to St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, and the HERALD office. They remembered the names of the places they had visited.

Colonel Cody gave his last performance at Croydon last evening. He will open at Glasgow in a week, and remain there for nine weeks. He and his company will then sail for home. His Indians and cowboys will have much information to disseminate on their return. That their European experience has done much to civilise the Indians there cannot be a doubt. Neither can there be any doubt that the influence of the travellers over the stay-at-homes will be beneficial. The Indian is a close observer, and those who have travelled can hardly avoid knowing and telling those who have and doubt upon the subject that the white man has the power, if he cared to exercise it, of blotting the red man off the Continent of America.