THE GOOSING 233 
But he can toss the drift-wood log, 
Throw the dizha, take the deer— 
Take and hold the largest deer— 
Can Mein Neydoo. 1s he strong? 
He is strong. 
Where is the wife for Mei Meydoo? 
WVya, the maid, for the man Vyanitz? 
She must be all that his mother was, 
Deft with the needle, skilled in yud; 
Zoo—the fire, ywd—the pot, 
Yi—the water—these are hers. 
Obah—the glove, can she make it well ? 
Nier-~i—the seal, can she dress the hide? 
Yes, there is one ; she is come—she is here. 
Lay me down on the tundra now— 
Old and worn, old and worn— 
Leave me alone on the moss to die. 
The broken sleigh, and the spoon I used, 
Carry them up to the Holy Hill, 
And speak as I speak: ‘Oh Nim, Great Nim, 
He lies on the moss quite straight, quite still, 
Who once was wise and strong. 
Many a time has he vexed thee, Nim— 
Yet now, Great Nim, forbear—let him rest. 
See, it is true, the spoon, the sleigh! 
They were his—they are thine—He is dead.’ 
This would be sufficiently like it. And the tune? 
That was the worst part of it. Only after hearing very 
many of these songs could I at last come at any method 
in the tunes. In general they were not unlike bagpipes, 
returning often to a fundamental long-drawn note. 
They loved singing these songs; you only had to say 
‘Huntz,’ 2.2. singing, to set them off at score. 
And then they would dance, singing an accompani- 
