While honoring the honorific city of Boston with his august copper-colored presence, he was made much of by the supercultured, hyphenated ladies of the hub of the universe. One lady, whose talents and inclinations lay in the direction of poesy and letters, was greatly impressed with the æsthetic suggestion conveyed by the name of “Oogley Moogley.” That gentleman’s dignified bearing and his majestic manner of declaiming “Ugh!” on the slightest provocation were equally impressive and awe-inspiring. The lady resolved to come to the Golden West, look up the antecedents of the famous chieftain, and trace his personal handle back to its philological root. This for the sweet sake of poesy. It was only after an hour’s converse with the oldest inhabitant, several futile calls on the Indian agent and the Catholic father of the post, that she learned from an educated Indian that “Oogley Moogley” was simply the warrior’s distorted pronunciation of the epithet “Ugly Mug,” bestowed upon him by the whites. Her dudgeon was up, likewise her dander, and she lost no time in leaving the post and traversing the waste places that lay on the road to Boston. But Oogley came to an ignominious end. Several Sioux uprisings had taken place in his neighborhood within short periods. On one of his nocturnal prowls, peaceful or not it was never learnt, Oogley ran up against the member of the Marrs family who put the Indian sign on him. Advancing stealthily to the Marrs cabin, he put his head through a white man’s window for the last time. It may have been that he was desirous only of obtaining a slice of New England pie, a strip of bacon, or begging the loan of a bit of chewing tobacco. The owner of the cabin didn’t ask. He simply put his own construction on the act, drew his trusty bowie knife out of his boot, and grabbed Oogley’s scalp lock in one hand; and one fell blow spelled “finis” for the affair. At the same time, future generations of the Marrs family were enriched by the acquisition of a relic that is a relic. And Judge Marrs, in answer to the query made famous a few years ago by extensive advertising of a remedy for hairless-headed gentlemen, “Did you ever see a bald-headed Indian?” truthfully replies: “No, but my granddaddy did.” Ingenious Anglers Work Great Scheme. Because of an unpardonable oversight, Carl Selzer and Louis Gunther, anglers, of Grand Rapids, Mich., are lamenting the loss of a half dozen trained minnows which not only proved their contention that fish are susceptible to learning, but brought about an unparalleled catch of pickerel.