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"BUFFALO BILL."

INCIDENTS AND FACTS IN THE FAMOUS SCOUT'S LIFE.

THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS-ENCOUNTER WITH YELLOW HAND-A PROPOSED TRIP TO EUROPE A LITTLE GRAVE.

The coming of "Buffalo Bill" to this city, two weeks from this evening, gives additional interest to the following from the Rochester, N. Y., Sunday Moring Herald:
Wm. Cody, o "Buffalo Bill," as he is familliarly known from New York to San Francisco, has been playing with his company to crowded audiences at the Opera House in the city during a portion of the past week. It is not our purpose to speak, however, of the play, but of the man, in this article.
Several years ago, when he first visited our city, he, Texas Jack, and two newspaper men took a sleigh ride up East avenue, one fine winter afternoon, bringing up finally at Prof. Ward's, whose aquaintace Buffalo Bill had made on the plains. One of that party had not met the famous scout to talk with him since until yesterday morning, when, on a pressing inviation, Mr. Cody walked into the Herald sanctum; but he has a observing eye and a retentive memory and instatly recalled both the individual ad the occasion.
Mr. Cody's splendid physique, frank and daring look, and long, flowing hair, are familiar to thousands who have seen him on the streets but have never met him personally. In apperance and manner he is the beau ideal of the western hunter and Indain fighter, the chevalier of the plais. Every feature idicates power and courage, but all are softened by the light of a naturally kind and courteous nature.
The story of his life has been often told. Orphaned at an early age by an Indain massacre in the West, he grew up the foe of the red man, and in many a fair fight has paid of the indians in leaden coin, for that butchery tha robbed him of his parents. He was chosen by General Sheridan to acompany the Grand Duke Alexis and his party on a hunting expedition over the plains, when that Russian prince visited this country. Since thenm on several occasions he has acted as Chief of Scouts for our troops in their expeditions agains the Indians, and was eith General Crook, in that capacity, engaged in the same general movement with Custer when the latter's command was massacred.
For several years BUffalo Bill has been giving dramatic exhibitions, illustrating life on the plains and he has become really an actor of considerable merit. His exhibitions are immensely popular. He has acquired quite a fortune, and now owns a large rach, about three hundred miles west of Omaha. When he visited us, yesterday, we wasked him about his intentions for the future.
"I am going to San Francisco in March," he said, "and play there. Afterwards I will go to Europe, and then come back and setle down on my ranche."
"You'll get tired of that," we remarked.
"No! I love the plains and could spend my life on them. Inever feel so well as when out there, hunting antelope and buffalo."
"So you're going to California?"
"Yes. And, by the way, California is te place for a whole-souled reception. They are wide-awake and generous."
While talking about the Crook expedition, Buffalo Bill told us the story of his encounter with Yellow hand. Our troops were engaged in a skirmish with the Indians, when Yellow Hand shouted out a challenge to the "long-haired man" to come out and fight single-handed. The challenge was acepted. To have declined it would have lost im his prestie among the Indains, and might have been followed by serious results. The Indian and "pale-face" warriors rode toward each other, firing their rifles; both horses were killed, Yellow Hand was shot through the thigh, and "Bill" was slightly wounded. The two men were then close enough to grapple, and before Yellow Hand could prevent it the scout had finished the fight ad slain the Indian with his knife. When Mr. Cody goes to europe, if the Grand Duke Alexis is not at sea, he will probably visit russia, and Alexiswill have the opportunity to show the American what hunting is, as praticed by royalty.
What has become of Two Bears, the Indian who was with you here?
"That was one of the worst Indians we ever had. He gave us all sorts of trouble. He was trecherous, surly and ungrateful. At one place where we were stopping, I had him at one of the best hotels, where I was stopping myself, and treated him handsomely. But the rascal had the impudence to balckin his face somewhere, and go to a policeman with a story he made up about my abusing him. He pointed to his face, and gesturing, said: 'Ugh! Buffalo Bill. Strike. Kick.' The policeman thought I had been pounding him, and I was sent for, but as soon as I went into the office he changed his story, and laid it to the interpreter. the officers, however, found that they could wash the scars off and dismissed him. When I took him back o the plains I bought him a blak braodcloth suit and stove-pipe hat. He strutted around a good deal on the reservvation; but he next spring a party of young bucks sarted on a stealing raid and he aompanied them. When our troops got into a fight with the party, they saw a fellow with a stove-pipe hat on, and thought he was a white man, so they peppered him with bullets. Afterwards they found it was Two Bears with the hat I gave him.
The hero of out aricle was for one term a member of he ebraska Legislature, and has popularity enough now, or will have, when he sttles down on his ranche, or election to conress. Mrs. Cody and the rest of the family are now in Nebraska. Friday afternoon Mr. Cody paid a visit to a small, snow covered mound in Mount Hope, where a little son-Kit Carson Cody- was tenderly buried when the family lived in Rochester. The far away mother could ot sonsent to have he father visit Rochester and carry back no word from the little one's grave.

BUFFALO CHIPS THE SCOUT.

WRITTEN FOR THE NEW YORK CLIPPER AND DEDICATED O BUFFALO BILL.

IN THE MOUNTAINS, BRITISH COLUMBIA, MARCH 8, 1879.

The following verses on the life and death of poor old Bufalo Chips are founded entirely on facts. His death occurred on September 6, 1876, at Slim Butes. He was within thre feet of me when he fell, uttering the words creditied o him in my poem.
Yours truly,
Capt. Jack Crawford

The evenin sun was settin' droppin' slowly in the west,
An' the soldiers tired and tuckereed out in the camp would find that rest
Which the setin' sun would bring [word], for they marched since break o' day
Not a bite to eat' cept horses as were killed upon the way;
For, ye see, our beans an' crackers an' our pork war outen sight,
An' the boys expected rashuns when they struck our camp hat night:
For a little band had started for te bring some cattle on,
An' hey sruck an Indian village, which hey captured jest at dawn.

Well, I war with that party when we captured them at Sioux,
An' we quickly sent a courier to tell old Crook he news.
Old Crook!-I should say gener'l, cos he war with the boys
Shared his only hard tack, our sorrows and our joys;
An' thar is oe thing sartin he never put on style He'd greet the scout or soldier with a social kind of smile,
An' that's the kind of soldier as the prairie likes ter get,
An' every man would trump death's ace fur Crook or Miles, you bet.

But i'm kinder of the racket, cos these gen'rals gets enough
O' praise without my chippin' so I let up on that puff;
Fer I want to tell a story 'bout a mate o' mine as well fell,
Cos I loved the honest fellow, an' reckon I am right.
Ye see, a lot o' bigbugs an' officers came out one time ter hunt ther bffalo and fish fer spekeld trout.

Well, Little Fill-ye've heerd o' him, a dainty little cuss,
As rode his charger twenty miles to stop a little muss.
Well, Fill be said ter Jonathan, whose oter name was White;
"You go an' flud them buffaloer,and see you get em right."
So White he went an' found em', an' he found 'em such a band
As, he said, would set'em crazy, and Little Fill looked bland;
But whe the outfit halted, one bull was all wa there,
Then Fill e called him "Bufaler Chips," an' he swore a little sware.

Well White, he kinder liked it cos the gen'ral called him Chips,
An' he user wear two shooters in a belt above his hips.
Then he said, "New look ye, gen'ral, since ye've called me that ar name,
Jest around them little sand-hills is yer dog-oned pesky game;"
But when the hunt war over, an' he table spread fer lunch,
The gen'ral called fer glasses, an' wanted his'n punch;
An' when the punch was punished, the gen'ral smacked his lips,
while sqar, upon the table set a dish o' buffaler chips.

The gen'ral looked confouded, an' he also look'd for White,
But Johnathan he recko'd it war better he should lite;
So he skinned acoss the country, cos, you see, he did'nt mind
A-chippin' any longer while the gen'ral saw the blind,
Fer the gen'ral would a-raised him ef he'd jest held up his hand;
But he thought he wouldn't see him, cos he didn't Lev the sand,
An' he rode as fast-aye. faster, than te gen'ral did that day,
Like lightnin' down from Winchester, some twenty miles away.

Well, White he had no cabin, nor no home to call his own.
So Buffalo Bill he took him can' shared with him his home.
An' how he loved Bill Cody' bu gosh it war a sight
Ter see him watch his shadder, an foller him at night,
Cos Bill war kinder hated by a cussed gang o' thieves
As carried pist is in [word] and boweys in their sleeves;
An' Chips he never left in fear he'd get a pill, Nor would he think it monry hard to die fer Bufaller Bill.

We uster mess together-that ar Chips. an' Bill an me
An' ye otter watch is moveents; it would do yer good to see
How he user took other wittles, an' gather lots o' greens
To mix up with the juicy pork an' hem unuly beans.
An' one cold, chilly mornin; he bought a lot o' corn,
An' a litle flask o' lickers, as cost fifty cents a horn.
Tho' forty-red war nowhar, i war finished soon, you bet;
But, friends, I promised someone, an' I'm strong yet.

It war twenty-fourth o' August in the last Centennial year.
We bid farewell to Cody, an' gave a hearty cheer;
An Chips sail, lookin' after, "I may never see him more.
Nor meet him in his cabin, as I useter do of yore,
Wha I usteer take his babys, and buy each one a toy,
An' play with them ar younkers, jeet like a reat big boy.
An' when the cold lead struck him- "Jack, boy," said he, "You tell-"
He stopped, then said: "Bless Cody, the babies-all-farewell."

He's sleepin' i the mountains, near a litle runnin' brook,
Thar's not a soul to see him, 'cept the angels take a look,
Or a butterfly may linger on his grave a early morn-
No mortal eye may see it till old Gabriel oots his horn:
For we laid him 'neath he foot-trail, that the Sioux may never know;
As they'd dig him up and scalp him ef hey had the slightest show;
An' we marched two thousand footmen a' horsemen o'er his breast-
Without a stone to mark the spot, we left the scout to rest.

An' the I sent a telegraph, and told Bill he war dead;
I'll give in full his answer, and his war what he said:
"Poor White,e he war m truest friend. M wife ad children too,
Have wept as if he war our own. An' ack, I ask of ou
To write a little verse for us in memory of poor White."
So that was Cody's telegraph, and that is wy I write.
But, Bos'ee, my book larnin' are shakey fer a bard, I can't jesst do him justice, but Heaven holds his reward.
-Captain Jack, the Poet Scout.

THE COLORADO CATTLE COMPANY.
The South Carolina railroad case will be resumed today in the United States Circut before Hon. Judge Hugh L. Bond.

Amusements.
FORD'S GRAND OPERA HOUSE
There was another overflowing house present last night to witness the performances of Buffalo Bill and his great combination in the famous drama of "May Cody, or Lost and Won." Scarcely had Mr. Cody (Buffalo Bill) reached the footlights when he was greeted with an avalanche of applause lasting several minutes, and at especial episodes in the course of the drama the manifestations of the audience were such as to indicate that he had their fullest sympathies. Each of the cast performed their parts with excellent effect and of course the Indians, ponies and other adjunctions served to create additional interest. The play is a combination of startling and exciting scenes from beginning to end, and is really one of the most realistic and instructive examples of the modern sensational drama. It is well worth seeing, but to see it, go early.
ALBAUGH'S HOLLIDAY-STREET THEATRE.
"Uncle Tom's Cabin has had an effectual hold on playgoers these many years, and the oftener it is presented the stronger does it seem to win upon the sympathies and admiration of the public. Its present performance on the stage of the Holiday is marked by much more than ordinary excellence, and commends itself to public favor in an unusual degree. Last night it was again witnessed by a full and pleased assemblage, and each of the ladies and gentlemen in the cast were again witnessed by a full and pleased assemblage, and each of the ladies and gentlemen in the cast were received with high praise and warm plaudits. This afternoon there will be and Uncle Tom's matinee, when the prices of admission will be 25 cents; secured seats 50 cents.
NACHMAN'S FRONT-STREET THEATRE.
Manager Nachman certainly requires no stronger attestations of appreciation of his efforts on the part of the public than the large audiences which nightly assemble within the walls of his theatre. Tonight Miss Jennie Hughes again gives her representations in the great play of "The French Spy," supported by the entire [day?]