of the grisly bear formed a proud collar for a war chief; and the scalp of a slain enemy often hung from the stem of their pipes. They wore ornaments in their ears; and a piece of silver was often thrust through the nose. The custom of painting the face was universal. Blue and black paint was used; but red was the favorite color.

All the Indian tribes believed in one Supreme God, whom they called the Great Spirit, and in the immortality of the soul. They had many superstitions, attributing supernatural powers to all serpents, especially the rattlesnake, and paying religious honor to rocks, trees, and striking natural objects. They believed that all the lower animals have immortal souls as well as man; and, in short, that all nature is full of spirits. In many tribes, men had what they called medicine bags, which were filled with bones, feathers, and other rubbish. These bags they kept with great care. Most Indians held some particular animal in reverence, and would never kill it, or eat it when killed. They had great faith in dreams, and believed that the Great Spirit thus spoke to them.

The Indians had the virtues and the vices of savages; and they may be said to have occupied a rather high place on the scale of purely savage life. They were proud, cruel, indolent, and revengeful; but on the other hand, they were hospitable, faithful to their word, and not without domestic affections. Many attempts were made to form schools of Indian children, but they always failed; partly from the wild instinct of liberty that seemed to dwell in the blood, and partly because their parents would never allow them to be punished or corrected. A teacher would often gather a little tawny-colored flock around him, but, as one of them writes, "all of a sudden my birds flew away." In former times many of them entered Harvard College, but only one was ever graduated.† Many Indian men

* Scalp, a portion of skin, of a circular form, cut from the top of the head. + His name appears in the catalogue as Caleb Cheeshahteaumuck. He was graduated in 1665, and died the next year.

and women were converted to Christianity, and showed by their lives the sincerity of their faith.

There was one vice to which they were almost universally addicted; and that was a passion for ardent spirits, which, in their expressive language, they called fire-water. An Indian who had once drank rum or whiskey seemed ever after to be possessed of a sort of madness; all his ordinary occupations appeared to have lost their former attraction, and every thing was sacrificed for the fatal poison. There were always wicked men among the whites to supply the Indian with intoxicating drinks; thus enriching themselves and stripping the poor red man of all he had. The use of ardent spirits has been one of the chief causes of the rapid extinction of the Indian race.

XXXVII. - HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD.

LONGFELLOW.

[This lesson and the next following are from the Song of Hiawatha, a poem founded upon an Indian tradition that a being of more than mortal powers was once sent among them to teach them the arts of peace.]

AT the door on summer evenings

Sat the little Hiawatha;

Heard the whispering of the pine trees

Sounds of music, words of wonder;
Saw the firefly swiftly glancing,
Flitting through the dusk of evening,
With the twinkle of its candle
Lighting up the brakes and bushes;
And he sang the song of children,
Sang the song Nokomis * taught him.
"Little flitting, white-fire insect,

Little dancing, white-fire creature,

* Nokomis is represented as the grandmother of Hiawatha, by whom he is brought up.

Light me with your little candle
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ; "
Saw the moon rise from the water,
Rippling, rounding from the water,
Saw the flocks and shadows on it;
Whispered, "What is that Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered,
"Once a warrior, very angry,

-

Seized his grandmother, and threw her
Up into the sky at midnight;
Right against the moon he threw her;
"Tis her body that you see there;
Saw the rainbow in the heaven,
In the eastern sky the rainbow;
Whispered, "What is that Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered,
""Tis the heaven of flowers you see there;
All the wild flowers of the forest,
All the lilies of the prairie,

When on earth they fade and perish,
Blossom in that heaven above us."
When he heard the owls at midnight
Hooting, laughing in the forest,
"What is that?" he cried in terror;
"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered,
"That is but the owl and owlet,*
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding at each other."

*Owlet, the young of the owl.

"GIVE me of your bark, O Birch Tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch Tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
That shall float upon the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water lily.

Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper;
For the summer time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper."

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,

When the birds were singing gayly,
In the moon of leaves were singing;
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up, and said, "Behold me!"
And the tree, with all its branches,
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! ”

With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder;
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.

"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,

Make more strong and firm beneath me."
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
"Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"

Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a framework; Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together.

And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,
"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"

From the earth he tore the fibres,

Tore the tough roots of the Larch Tree,
Closely sewed the bark together,

Bound it closely to the framework.

"Give me of your balm, O Fir Tree!

Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together,
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"