[A] A short time ago, while on a visit to the Land Office, I was shown by Mr. Wilson, the accomplished Commissioner, a singular relic of a late fight on the Plains. It was a garment taken from an Indian chief, after death. A shirt of buck-skin, made without the usual ornamentation of beads and porcupine quills, yet graced with something quite novel in the decorative way—a full, long fringe, formed of the hair of white women and children. It was a ghastly adornment—indeed, the entire garment was a very unpleasant thing to inspect. The only point in it on which the eye could rest without horror or pity, was a small round hole, beneath which the raging heart of a human wild beast came one day to a full stop.—Correspondence N. Y. Tribune.