THE INDIAN IN LITERATURE — TEN KATE. 517 



avoided in English. Tecumseh's monologue embodying his favorite 

 idea may serve as an illustration : 



From vales and rivers which were once our own 



The pale hounds who uproot our ancient graves 



Come whining for our lands with fawning tongues, 



And schemes and subterfuge and subtleties. 



O for a Pontiac to drive them back 



And whoop them to their shuddering villages. 



O for an age of valor like to his, 



When freedom clothed herself with solitude, 



And one in heart the scattered nations stood, 



And one in hand. It comes. And mine shall be 



The lofty task to teach them to be free — 



To knit the nations, bind them into one, 



And end the task great Pontiac begun. 



Ethnologically the drama is of no importance. 



From the scientific standpoint the work of the writers whom I 

 have briefly reviewed in the foregoing pages dwindles into nothing 

 compared with the works of which I shall presently give a short 

 summary. One might say that with Frank Hamilton Cushing's My 

 Adventures in Zufii (the Century Magazine, 1882-83) another phase 

 begins in American literature with regard to the Indian. To this 

 period belong also Bandelier, Miss Proctor, Mrs. Ryan, Remington, 

 and Curtis. 



Cushing, as it is well known, had an excellent literary style, rare 

 indeed among men of science, but only two of his publications can 

 be classed as really belonging to our subject. In the Adventures he 

 relates some of his first impressions and experiences at Zuni. We 

 have to do with delightful sketches of daily life in the pueblo and of 

 the character of its dusky inhabitants. The value of the articles is 

 enhanced by excellent illustrations, due to the pencils of Farny and 

 Metcalf. 



The way in which even trivial things of Indian life are described 

 and Indian thoughts rendered by Cushing is far from common 

 among ethnologists. Twice it was my privilege to stay with Cush- 

 ing at Zuni, which puts me in a position to vouch for the truthful- 

 ness of these magazine articles, from which I shall only quote the 

 following translation of a Zuni winter folk tale : 



The rattle-tailed serpents 



Have gone into council ; 



For the God of the Ice-caves 



From his home where the white down 



Of the wind in the north-land 



Lies spread out forever, 



Breathes over our country 



And breaks down the pine-boughs. 



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