I am indebted for this legend to Mr. Edward Jack, of Fredericton, N. B. "I give it to you," he writes, "just as it came from an Indian's lips, as he sat before the fire in my room this evening, smoking his tobacco mixed with willow bark. He has an endless store of Indian lore." It may be observed that this story gives a far more ingenious reason for Glooskap's telling his brother what would be his bane than appears in the other version. For he tells him what would indeed deprive him of life, but not forever.

No one can compare the story of Glooskap with that of Manobozho-Hiawatha and the like, as given by Schoolcraft or Cusick, and not decide that the latter seems to be a second-hand version of the former. In one we have the root of the bulrush,—not the light, feathery rush itself. In this story, as in that of Balder and Loki, it is the very apparent harmlessness of the bane which points the incident. Manobozho's father says that a black rock will kill him; but it does not, although he flies before it. Glooskap declares that a handful of down will cause his death. The double entendre of the swoon is entirely wanting in the Western tale, as is the apparent harmlessness of the medium of death. In the Edda the mistletoe, the softest, and apparently the least injurious, of plants, kills Balder; in the Wabanaki tale it is a ball of down or a rush. The Chippewas change it, like savages, to a substantial root and a black rock, thereby manifesting an insensibility to the point of the original, which is that the most trifling thing may be the cause of the most terrible events.



How Glooskap changed Certain Saucy Indians into Rattlesnakes

(Passamaquoddy.)

You know At-o-sis, the Snake? Well, the worst of all is Rattlesnake. Long time ago the Rattlesnakes were saucy Indians. They were very saucy. They had too much face. They could not be put down by much, and they got up for very little.

When the great Flood was coming Glooskap told them about it. They said they did not care. He told them the water would come over their heads. They said that would be very wet. He told them to be good and quiet, and pray. Then those Indians hurrahed. He said, "A great Flood is coming." Then they gave three cheers for the great Flood. He said, "The Flood will come and drown you all." Then these Indians hurrahed again, and got their rattles, made of turtle-shells, in the old fashion, fastened together, filled with pebbles, and rattled them and had a grand dance. Afterwards, when the white men brought cows and oxen into the country, they made rattles of horns.

Yes, they had a great dance. The rain began to fall, but they danced. The thunder roared, and they shook their rattles and yelled at it. Then Glooskap was angry. He did not drown them in the Flood, however, but he changed them into rattlesnakes. Nowadays, when they see a man coming, they lift up their heads and move them about. That's the way snakes dance. And they shake the rattles in their tails just as Indians shake their rattles when they dance. How do you like such music?

A Passamaquoddy tale related by an old woman to Mrs. W. Wallace Brown. These Indians still keep up a very curious snake-dance.



How Glooskap bound Wuchowsen, the Great Wind-Bird, and made all the Waters in all the World Stagnant.

(Passamaquoddy.)

The Indians believe in a great bird called by them Wochowsen or Wuchowsen, meaning Wind-Blow or the Wind-Blower, who lives far to the North, and sits upon a great rock at the end of the sky. And it is because whenever he moves his wings the wind blows they of old times called him that.

When Glooskap was among men he often went out in his canoe with bow and arrows to kill sea-fowl. At one time it was every day very windy; it grew worse; at last it blew a tempest, and he could not go out at all. Then he said, "Wuchowsen, the Great Bird, has done this!"

He went to find him; it was long ere he reached his abode. He found sitting on a high rock a large white Bird.

"Grandfather," said Glooskap, "you take no compassion on your Koosesek, your grandchildren. You have caused this wind and storm; it is too much. Be easier with your wings!"

The Giant Bird replied, "I have been here since ancient times; in the earliest days, ere aught else spoke, I first moved my wings; mine was the first voice,—and I will ever move my wings as I will."

Then Glooskap rose in his might; he rose to the clouds; he took the Great Bird-giant Wuchowsen as though he were a duck, and tied both his wings, and threw him down into a chasm between deep rocks, and left him lying there.

The Indians could now go out in their canoes all day long, for there was a dead calm for many weeks and months. And with that all the waters became stagnant. They were so thick that Glooskap could not paddle his canoe. Then he thought of the Great Bird, and went to see him.

As he had left him he found him, for Wuchowsen is immortal. So, raising him, he put him on his rock again, and untied one of his wings. Since then the winds have never been so terrible as in the old time. The reader will find the main incident of this story repeated in "Tumilkoontaoo, the Broken Wing," from the Micmac, in which there is no mention of Glooskap. This of Wuchowsen is from the Passamaquoddy manuscript collection by Louis Mitchell. It is unquestionably the original. Glooskap, as the greatest magician, most appropriately subdues the giant eagle of the North, the terrible god of the storm.

No one who knows the Edda will deny that Wuchowsen, or the Wind-blower, as he appears in the Passamaquoddy tale, is far more like the same bird of the Norsemen than the grotesque Thunder Bird of the Western tribes. He is distinctly spoken of by the Indians of Maine as a giant and a bird in one, sitting on a high cliff at the end of the sky, the wind—not thunder—coming from his pinions:—

"Tell me ninthly, Since thou art called wise, Whence the wind comes, That over ocean passes, Itself invisible to man.

"Hraesvelg he is called Who at the end of heaven sits, A Jotun (giant) in eagle's plumage: From his wings comes, It is said, the wind. That over all men passes."

(The Lay of Vafthrudnir. The Edda, trans. by B. Thorpe.)



How Glooskcap conquered the Great Bull-Frog, and in what Manner all the Pollywogs, Crabs, Leeches, and other Water Creatures were created.

(Passamaquoddy and Micmac.)

N'karnayoo, of old times, there was an Indian village far away among the mountains, little known to other men. And the dwellers therein were very comfortable: the men hunted every day, the women did the work at home, and all went well in all things save in this. The town was by a brook, and except in it there was not a drop of water in all the country round, unless in a few rain-puddles. No one there had ever found even a spring.

Now these Indians were very fond of good water. The brook was of a superior quality, and they became dainty over it.

But after a time they began to observe that the brook was beginning to run low, and that not in the summer time, but in autumn, even after the rains. And day by day it diminished, until its bed was as dry as a dead bone in the ashes of a warm fire.

Now it was said that far away up in the land where none had ever been there was on this very stream another Indian village; but what manner of men dwelt therein no one knew. And thinking that these people of the upper country might be in some way concerned in the drought, they sent one of their number to go and see into the matter.

And after he had traveled three days he came to the place; and there he found that a dam had been raised across the rivulet, so that no water could pass, for it was all kept in a pond. Then asking them why they had made this mischief, since the dam was of no use to them, they bade him go and see their chief, by whose order this had been built.

And when he came to him, lo, there lay lazily in the mud a creature who was more of a monster than a man, though he had a human form. For he was immense to measure, like a giant, fat, bloated, and brutal to behold. His great yellow eyes stuck from his head like pine-knots, his mouth went almost from ear to ear, and he had broad, skinny feet with long toes, exceeding marvelous.

The messenger complained to this monster, who at first said nothing, and then croaked, and finally replied in a loud bellow,—

"Do as you choose, Do as you choose, Do as you choose.

"What do I care? What do I care? What do I care?

"If you want water, If you want water, If you want water, Go somewhere else."

Then the messenger remonstrated, and described the suffering of the people, who were dying of thirst. And this seemed to please the monster, who grinned. At last he got up, and, making a single spring to the dam, took an arrow and bored a hole in it, so that a little water trickled out, and then he bellowed,—

"Up and begone! Up and begone! Up and begone!"

So the man departed, little comforted. He came to his home, and for a few days there was a little water in the stream; but this soon stopped, and there was great suffering again.

Now these Indians, who were the honestest fellows in all the world, and never did harm to any one save their enemies, were in a sorry pickle. For it is a bad thing to have nothing but water to drink, but to want that is to be mightily dry. And the great Glooskap, who knew all that was passing in the hearts of men and beasts, took note of this, and when he willed it he was among them; for he ever came as the wind comes, and no man wist how.

And just before he came all of these good fellows had resolved in council that they would send the boldest man among them to certain death, even to the village which built the dam that kept the water which filled the brook that quenched their thirst, whenever it was not empty. And when there he was either to obtain that they should cut the dam, or do something desperate, and to this intent he should go armed, and sing his death-song as he went. And they were all agog.

Then Glooskap, who was much pleased with all this, for he loved a brave man, came among them looking terribly ferocious; in all the land there was not one who seemed half so horrible. For he appeared ten feet high, with a hundred red and black feathers in his scalp-lock, his face painted like fresh blood with green rings round his eyes, a large clam-shell hanging from each ear, a spread eagle, very awful to behold, flapping its wings from the back of his neck, so that as he strode into the village all hearts quaked. Being but simple Indians, they accounted that this must be, if not Lox the Great Wolverine, at least Mitche-hant, the devil himself in person, turned Wabanaki; and they admired him greatly, and the squaws said they had never seen aught so lovely.

Then Glooskap, having heard the whole story, bade them be of good cheer, declaring that he would soon set all to rights. And he without delay departed up the bed of the brook; and coming to the town, sat down and bade a boy bring him water to drink. To which the boy replied that no water could be had in that town unless it were given out by the chief. "Go then to your chief," said the Master, "and bid him hurry, or, verily, I will know the reason why." And this being told, Glooskap received no reply for more than an hour, during which time he sat on a log and smoked his pipe. Then the boy returned with a small cup, and this not half full, of very dirty water.

So he arose, and said to the boy, "I will go and see your chief, and I think he will soon give me better water than this." And having come to the monster, he said, "Give me to drink, and that of the best, at once, thou Thing of Mud!" But the chief reviled him, and said, "Get thee hence, to find water where thou canst." Then Glooskap thrust a spear into his belly, and lo! there gushed forth a mighty river; even all the water which should have run on while in the rivulet, for he had made it into himself. And Glooskap, rising high as a giant pine, caught the chief in his hand and crumpled in his back with a mighty grip. And lo! it was the Bull-Frog. So he hurled him with contempt into the stream, to follow the current.

And ever since that time the Bull-Frog's back has crumpled wrinkles in the lower part, showing the prints of Glooskap's awful squeeze.

Then he returned to the village; but there he found no people,—no, not one. For a marvelous thing had come to pass during his absence, which shall be heard in every Indian's speech through all the ages. For the men, being, as I said, simple, honest folk, did as boys do when they are hungry, and say unto one another, "What would you like to have, and what you?" "Truly, I would be pleased with a slice of hot venison dipped in maple-sugar and bear's oil." "Nay, give me for my share succotash and honey." Even so these villagers had said, "Suppose you had all the nice cold, fresh, sparkling, delicious water there is in the world, what would you do?"

And one said that he would live in the soft mud, and always be wet and cool.

And another, that he would plunge from the rocks, and take headers, diving into the deep, cold water, drinking as he dived.

And the third, that he would be washed up and down with the rippling waves, living on the land, yet ever in the water.

Then the fourth said, "Verily, you know not how to wish, and I will teach you. I would live in the water all the time, and swim about in it forever."

Now it chanced that these things were said in the hour which, when it passes over the world, all the wishes uttered by men are granted. And so it was with these Indians. For the first became a Leech, the second a Spotted Frog, the third a Crab, which is washed up and down with the tide, and the fourth a Fish. Ere this there had been in all the world none of the creatures which dwell in the water, and now they were there, and of all kinds. And the river came rushing and roaring on, and they all went headlong down to the sea, to be washed into many lands over all the world. [Footnote: This was told by Tomah Josephs. It is given much more imperfectly in the tale of Kitpooseagunow in the Rand manuscript, and in the Anglo-Indian "Storey of Glooscap." I have taken very great pains in this, as in all the tales written down from verbal narration, to be accurate in details, and to convey as well as I could the quaint manner and dry humor which characterized the style of the narrator. Even white men do not tell the same story in the same way to everybody; and if Tomahquah and others fully expressed their feelings to me, it was because they had never before met with a white man who listened to them with such sympathy. It may be observed that the Indians commonly say that wherever the bull-frog is to be found in summer there is always water. It is not to be understood, in this tale, that the bull-frog is supposed to have merely drunk up the river. It is the river which has become incarnate in him. It is the ice of winter penetrated by the spear of the sun; that is, Glooskap. Thus, in another tale, a frozen river tries, as a man, to destroy the hero, but is melted by him. The conception of the hour when all wishes are granted, and the abrupt termination of the whole in a grand transformation scene, are both very striking. There is something like the former in Rabelais, in his narrative of the golden hatchet; as regards the latter, it is like the ending of a Christmas pantomime. Indeed, the entire tale is perfectly adapted to such a "dramatization."

I have been told by an old Passamaquoddy woman that the name of the monster who swallowed the stream was Hahk-lee-be-mo.]



How the Lord of Men and Beasts strove with the Mighty Wasis, and was shamefully defeated.

(Penobscot.)

Now it came to pass when Glooskap had conquered all his enemies, even the Kewahqu', who were giants and sorcerers, and the m'teoulin, who were magicians, and the Pamola, who is the evil spirit of the night air, and all manner of ghosts, witches, devils, cannibals, and goblins, that he thought upon what he had done, and wondered if his work was at an end.

And he said this to a certain woman. But she replied, "Not so fast, Master, for there yet remains One whom no one has ever conquered or got the better of in any way, and who will remain unconquered to the end of time."

"And who is he?" inquired the Master.

"It is the mighty Wasis," she replied, "and there he sits; and I warn you that if you meddle with him you will be in sore trouble."

Now Wasis was the Baby. And he sat on the floor sucking a piece of maple-sugar, greatly contented, troubling no one.

As the Lord of Men and Beasts had never married or had a child, he knew naught of the way of managing children. Therefore he was quite certain, as is the wont of such people, that he knew all about it. So he turned to Baby with a bewitching smile and bade him come to him.

Then Baby smiled again, but did not budge. And the Master spake sweetly and made his voice like that of the summer bird, but it was of no avail, for Wasis sat still and sucked his maple-sugar.

Then the Master frowned and spoke terribly, and ordered Wasis to come crawling to him immediately. And Baby burst out into crying and yelling, but did not move for all that.

Then, since he could do but one thing more, the Master had recourse to magic. He used his most awful spells, and sang the songs which raise the dead and scare the devils. And Wasis sat and looked on admiringly, and seemed to find it very interesting, but all the same he never moved an inch.

So Glooskap gave it up in despair, and Wasis, sitting on the floor in the sunshine, went goo! goo! and crowed.

And to this day when you see a babe well contented, going goo! goo! and crowing, and no one can tell why, know that it is because he remembers the time when he overcame the Master who had conquered all the world. For of all the beings that have ever been since the beginning, Baby is alone the only invincible one. [Footnote: I am indebted for this "marchen" to Maria Saksis, a very intelligent Penobscot woman, a widow of a former governor, whom I met at North Conway, in the White Mountains, N. H. In her dialect Glooskap is invariably called Glus-gah-be. She told it with that admirable dry drollery, characteristic of a good story-teller in a race where there are no bad ones. The exquisite humor and humanity of this little legend, placed as a pendant to the stupendous successes of the giant hero, are such as to entitle its Indian author to rank as a genius. I have frequently asserted that these Wabanaki or Northeastern Algonquin tales bore to those of the West the apparent relation of originals to poor copies. Let the reader compare this, which is given as nearly word for word as was possible from the Indian narrative, with that of Manobozho-Hiawatha's effort to compete with a baby. The Cherokee account is that, seeing an infant sucking its own toe, he tried to do the same, and failed. It is in accounting for the unaccountable crowing of Baby that the point of the Penobscot story lies. Of this there is no mention made in the Western tale, which is utterly wanting in any feeling as to the power of childhood or its charm over the strongest. A real Indian tale may always be assumed to be ancient when it is told to set forth an origin. This gives the origin of a baby's crowing.]



How the great Glooskap fought the Giant Sorcerers at Saco, and turned them into Fish.

(Penobscot.)

N'karnayoo, of old times: Woodenit atok hagen Glusgahbe. This is a story of Glooskap (P.) There was a father who had three sons and a daughter: they were m'teoulin, or mighty magicians; they were giants; they ate men, women, and children; they did everything that was wicked and horrible; and the world grew tired of them and of all their abominations. Yet when this family was young, Glooskap had been their friend; he had made the father his adopted father, the brothers his brothers, the sister his sister. [Footnote: The Indians make formal adoptions of relatives of every grade, and in addition to this use all the terms of relationship as friendly greetings. This is in fact made apparent in all the stories in this collection.] Yet as they grew older, and he began to hear on every side of their wickedness, he said: "I will go among them and find if this be true. And if it be so, they shall die. I will not spare one of those who oppress and devour men, I do not care who he may be."

This family was at Samgadihawk, or Saco, on the sandy field which is in the Intervale or the summer bed of the Saco River, in the El-now-e-bit, the White Mountains, between Geh-sit-wah-zuch [Footnote: Geh-sit-wah-zuch, "many mountains" (Pen.). Mount Kearsarge, so called from the several lesser peaks around it.] and K'tchee penahbesk, [Footnote: K'tchee penabesk, "the great rock," a much more sensible and appropriate name than that of "Cathedral Rocks," which has been bestowed upon it; also chee penabsk.] and near Oonahgemessuk weegeet, the Home of the Water Fairies. [Footnote: Also called from a legend, Oonahgemessuk k'tubbee, the Water Fairies' Spring. This appropriate and beautiful name has been rejected in favor of the ridiculously rococo term "Diana's Bath." As there is a "Diana's Bath" at almost every summer watering place in America, North Conway must of course have one. The absolute antipathy which the majority of Americans manifest for the aboriginal names, even in a translation, is really remarkable.] Now the old man, the father of the evil magicians and his adopted father, had only one eye, and was half gray. [Footnote: This would directly connect him with the beings which are half stone, like the Oonahgemessuk, or water-goblins, the dwellers in Katahdin, and the Eskimo elves. This will be referred to again.] And Glooskap made himself like him,—there was not between them the difference of a hair; and having this form, he entered the wigwam and sat down by the old man. And the brothers, who killed everybody, not sparing one living soul, hearing a talking, looked in slyly, and seeing the new-comer, so like their father that they knew not which was which, said, "This is a great magician. But he shall be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

Then the sister took the tail of a whale, and cooked it for the stranger to eat. But as it lay before him, on the platter and on his knees, the elder brother entered, and saying rudely, "This is too good for a beggar like you," took it away to his own wigwam. Then Glooskap spoke: "That which was given to me was mine; therefore I take it again." And sitting still he simply wished for it, and it came flying into the platter where it was before. So he ate it.

Then the brothers said, "Indeed, he is a great magician. But he shall be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

When he had eaten, they brought in a mighty bone, the jaw of a whale, and the eldest brother, with great ado, and using both his arms and all his strength, bent it a little. Then he handed it to Glooskap, who with his thumb and fingers, snapped it like a pipe-stem. And the brothers said again, "Truly, this is a great magician. But he shall for all that be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

Then they brought a great pipe full of the strongest tobacco; no man not a magician could have smoked it. And it was passed round: every one smoked; the brothers blew the smoke through their nostrils. But Glooskap filled it full, and, lighting it, burnt all the tobacco to ashes at one pull, and blew all the smoke through his nostrils at one puff. Then the brothers said again in anger, "This is indeed a great magician. Yet he shall be tried again ere he goes, and that bitterly." But they never said it again.

And they still tried to smoke with him, and the wigwam was closed; they hoped to smother him in smoke, but he sat and puffed away as if he had been on a mountain-top, till they could bear it no longer. And one said, "This is idle; let us go and play at ball." The place where they were to play was on the sandy plain of Samgadihawk, or Saco, on the bend of the river. [Footnote: I have an Indian stone pestle, or hominy pounder, which I picked up on the site of this ball-play.] And the game begun; but Glooskap found that the ball with which they played was a hideous skull; it was alive and snapped at his heels, and had he been as other men and it had bitten him, it would have taken his foot off. Then Glooskap laughed, and said, "So this is the game you play. Good, but let us all play with our own balls." So he stepped up to a tree on the edge of the river-bed and broke off the end of a bough, and it turned into a skull ten times more terrible than the other. And the magicians ran before it as it chased them as a lynx chases rabbits; they were entirely beaten. Then Glooskap stamped on the sand, and the waters rose and came rushing fearfully from the mountains adown the river-bed; the whole land rang with their roar. Now Glooskap sang a magic song, which changes all beings, and the three brothers and their father became the chinahmess, a fish which is as long and large as a man, and they went headlong down on the flood, to the deep sea, to dwell there forever. And the magicians had on, each of them, a wampum collar; wherefore the chinahmess has beneath its head, as one may say, round its neck, the wampum collar, as may be seen to this day. And they were mighty m'teoulin in their time; but they were tried before they went, and that bitterly.

Yes, seewass, my brother, this is a true story. For Glus-gah-be was a great man in his day, and the day will come when I shall go to him and see him. [Footnote: This legend is from a single authority, Maria Saksis.]



How Glooskap went to England and France, and was the first to make America known to the Europeans.

(Passamaquoddy.)

There was an Indian woman: she was a Woodchuck (Mon-in-kwess, P.). She had lost a boy; she always thought of him. Once there came to her a strange boy; he called her mother.

He had a pipe with which he could call all the animals. He said, "Mother, if you let any one have this pipe we shall starve."

"Where did you get it?"

"A stranger gave it to me."

One day the boy was making a canoe. The woman took the pipe and blew it. There came a deer and a qwah-beet,—a beaver. They came running; the deer came first, the beaver next. The beaver had a stick in his mouth; he gave it to her, and said, "Whenever you wish to kill anything, though it were half a mile off, point this stick at it." She pointed it at the deer; it fell dead.

The boy was Glooskap. He was building a stone canoe. Every morning he went forth, and was gone all day. He worked a year at it. The mother had killed many animals. When the great canoe was finished he took his (adopted) mother to see it. He said that he would make sails for it. She asked him, "Of what will you make them?" He answered, "Of leaves." She replied, "Let the leaves alone. I have something better." She had many buffalo skins already tanned, and said, "Take as many as you need."

He took his pipe. He piped for moose; he piped for elk and for bear: they came. He pointed his stick at them: they were slain. He dried their meat, and so provisioned his great canoe. To carry water he killed many seals; he filled their bladders with water.

So they sailed across the sea. This was before the white people had ever heard of America. The white men did not discover this country first at all. Glooskap discovered England, and told them about it. He got to London. The people had never seen a canoe before. They came flocking down to look at it.

The Woodchuck had lost her boy. This boy it was, who first discovered America (England?). This boy could walk on the water and fly up to the sky. [Footnote: This tale was taken down in very strange and confused English. The first part is in my notes almost unintelligible.] He took his mother to England. They offered him a large ship for his stone canoe. He refused it. He feared lest the ship should burn. They offered him servants. He refused them. They gave him presents which almost overloaded the canoe. They gave him an anchor and an English flag.

He and his mother went to France. The French people fired cannon at him till the afternoon. They could not hurt the stone canoe. In the night Glooskap drew all their men-of-war ashore. Next morning the French saw this. They said, "Who did this?" He answered, "I did it."

They took him prisoner. They put him into a great cannon and fired it off. They looked into the cannon, and there he sat smoking his stone pipe, knocking the ashes out.

The king heard how they had treated him. He said it was wrong. He who could do such deeds must be a great man. He sent for Glooskap, who replied, "I do not want to see your king. I came to this country to have my mother baptized as a Catholic." They sent boats, they sent a coach; he was taken to the king, who put many questions to him.

He wished to have his mother christened. It was done. They called her Molly. [Footnote: The Indians pronounce the word Marie Mahli or Molly. Mahlinskwess, "Miss Molly," sounds like Mon-in-kwess, a woodchuck. Hence this very poor pun.] Therefore to this day all woodchucks are called Molly. They went down to the shore; to please the king Glooskap drew all the ships into the sea again. So the king gave him what he wanted, and he returned home. Since that time white men have come to America.

* * * * *

This is an old Eskimo tale, greatly modernized and altered. The Eskimo believe in a kind of sorcerers or spirits, who have instruments which they merely point at people or animals, to kill them. I think that the Indian who told me this story (P.) was aware of its feebleness, and was ashamed to attribute such nonsense to Glooskap, and therefore made the hero an Indian named Woodchuck. But among Mr. Rand's Micmac tales it figures as a later tribute to the memory of the great hero.

One version of this story was given to me by Tomah Josephs, another by Mrs. W. Wallace Brown. In the latter Glooskap's canoe is a great ship, with all kinds of birds for sailors. In the Shawnee legend of the Celestial Sisters (Hiawatha Legends), a youth who goes to the sky must take with him one of every kind of bird. This indicates that the Glooskap voyage meant a trip to heaven.



How Glooskap is making Arrows, and preparing for a Great Battle. The Twilight of the Indian Gods.

(Passamaquoddy.)

"Is Glooskap living yet?" "Yes, far away; no one knows where. Some say he sailed away in his stone canoe beyond the sea, to the east, but he will return in it one day; others, that he went to the west. One story tells that while he was alive those who went to him and found him could have their wishes given to them. But there is a story that if one travels long, and is not afraid, he may still find the great sagamore (sogmo). Yes. He lives in a very great, a very long wigwam. He always making arrows. One side of the lodge is full of arrows now. They so thick as that. When it is all quite full, he will come forth and make war. He never allows any one to enter the wigwam while he is making these arrows."

"And on whom will he make war?" "He will make war on all, kill all; there will be no more world,—world all gone. Dunno how quick,— mebbe long time; all be dead then, mebbe,—guess it will be long time."

"Are any to be saved by any one?" "Dunno. Me hear how some say world all burn up some day, water all boil all fire; some good ones be taken up in good heavens, but me dunno,—me just hear that. Only hear so."

It was owing to a mere chance question that this account of the Last Day was obtained from an Indian. It was related to Mrs. W. Wallace Brown, of Calais, Maine, by Mrs. Le Cool, an old Passamaquoddy Indian. It casts a great light on the myth of Glooskap, since it appears that a day is to come when, like Arthur, Barbarossa, and other heroes in retreat, he is to come forth at a new twilight of the gods, exterminate the Iglesmani, and establish an eternal happy hunting-ground. This preparing for a great final battle is more suggestive of Norse or Scandinavian influence than of aught else. It is certainly not of a late date, or Christian, but it is very much like the Edda and Ragnarok. Heine does not observe, in the Twilight of the Gods, that Jupiter or Mars intend to return and conquer the world. But the Norsemen expected such a fight, when arrows would fly like hail, and Glooskap is supposed to be deliberately preparing for it.

A very curious point remains to be noted in this narration. When the Indians speak of Christian, or white, or civilized teachings, they say, "I heard," or, "I have been told." This they never do as regards their own ancient traditions. When Mrs. Le Cool said that she "had heard" that some were to be taken up into good heavens, she declared, in her way, that this was what Christians said, but that she was not so sure of it. The Northeastern Algonquin always distinguish very accurately between their ancient lore and that derived from the whites. I have often heard French fairy tales and Aesop's fables Indianized to perfection, but the narrator always knew that they were not N'Karnayoo, "of the old time."

Glooskap is now living in a Norse-like Asa-heim; but there is to come a day when the arrows will be ready, and he will go forth and slay all the wicked. Malsum the Wolf, his twin brother, the typical colossal type of all Evil, will come to life, with all the giant cannibals, witches, and wild devils slain of old; but the champion will gird on his magic belt, and the arrows will fly in a rain as at Ragnarok: the hero will come sailing in his wonderful canoe, which expands to hold an army. Thus it will be on

"That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away,"

with all things, in blood and death and fire. Then there will come the eternal happy hunting-grounds.

If this was derived from Christian priests, it must be admitted that it has changed wonderfully on the way. It is to me very heathen, grimly archaic, and with the strong stamp of an original. Its resemblance to the Norse is striking. Either the Norsemen told it to the Eskimo and the Indians, or the latter to the Norsemen. None know, after all, what was going on for ages in the early time, up about Jotunheim, in the North Atlantic! Vessels came to Newfoundland to fish for cod since unknown antiquity, and, returning, reported that they had been to Tartary.

It may be assumed at once that this Indian Last Battle of the Giants, or of the good hero giants against the Evil, led by the Malsum-Fenris Wolf, was not derived from the Canadian French. The influence of, the latter is to be found even among the Chippewas, but they never dealt in myths like this.

It is very remarkable indeed that the one great principle of the Norse mythology is identical with that of the Indian. So long as man shall make war and heroism his standard, just so long his hero god exists. But there will come a day when mankind can war no more,—when higher civilization must prevail. Then there will be a great final war, and death of the heroes, and death of their foes, and after all a new world.

"Then shall another come yet mightier, although I dare not his name declare.

Few may see further forth than when Odin meets the Wolf." (Hyndluloid, 42.)

The Norsemen may have drawn this from a Christian source; but the Indian, to judge by form, spirit, and expression, would seem to have taken it from the Norse.



How Glooskap found the Summer.

In the long ago time when people lived always in the early red morning, before sunrise, before the Squid to neck was peopled as to-day, Glooskap went very far north, where all was ice.

He came to a wigwam. Therein he found a giant, a great giant, for he was Winter. Glooskap entered; he sat down. Then Winter gave him a pipe; he smoked, and the giant told tales of the old times.

The charm was on him; it was the Frost. The giant talked on and froze, and Glooskap fell asleep. He slept for six months, like a toad. Then the charm fled, and he awoke. He went his way home; he went to the south, and at every step it grew warmer, and the flowers began to come up and talk to him.

He came to where there were many little ones dancing in the forest; their queen was Summer. I am singing the truth: it was Summer, the inmost beautiful one ever born. He caught her up; he kept her by a crafty trick. The Master cut a moose-hide into a long cord; as he ran away with Summer he let the end trail behind him.

They, the fairies of Light, pulled at the cord, but as Glooskap ran, the cord ran out, and though they pulled he left them far away. So he came to the lodge of Winter, but now he had Summer in his bosom; and Winter welcomed him, for he hoped to freeze him again to sleep. I am singing the song of Summer.

But this time the Master did the talking. This time his m'teoulin was the strongest. And ere long the sweat ran down Winter's face, and then he melted more and quite away, as did the wigwam. Then every thing awoke; the grass grew, the fairies came out, and the snow ran down the rivers, carrying away the dead leaves. Then Glooskap left Summer with them, and went home.

This poem—for it is such—was related to Mrs. W. Wallace Brown by an Indian named Neptune. It appears to be the completer form of the beautiful allegory of Winter and Spring given in the Hiawatha Legends as Peboan and Seegwum (Odjibwa). The struggle between Spring and Winter, Summer and Winter, or Heat and Cold, represented as incarnate human or mythic beings, forms the subject of several Indian legends, as it does a part of the Hymiskrida, in the Edda. The German J. B. Friedreich (Symbolik der Natur, Wurzburg, 1859) remarks that in the Bible, Job xxxviii. 28, and in the Song of the Three in the Fiery Furnace, Ice and Snow are spoken of as intelligences.

Heat and cold, in classic times, were supposed to be united, yet in conflict, in the lightning and hail (Virgil, Aen, VIII. 429), the symbol for this being a twisted horn. In the legend of the Culloo the frost giantess can only be killed by a crooked horn thrust into her ear. The horn darts out at once into incredible, irregular length, and evidently means lightning. In the Edda the he-goat is, on account of his horns, the symbol of lightning and storm. (Schwenk, Sinnbilden der alten Volker.) The Giala-horn of the Edda (Nyer up. Dict Scan. Mythol.) is the thunder which summons the Elves. "Miolner, the hammer of Thor, with which he kills frost giants, is the lightning." (Kirchner, Thor's Donnerkeil, Neu Strelitz, 1853, p. 60.) The coincidence of the symbols in the Edda with that of the lightning horn in the Indian legend is very curious, if nothing more.

The cord which Glooskap unrolls, and with which he deceives the fairies, who think they have him fast, while he is escaping, means delusive speech or plausible talk. To "talk like paying out rope" is an old simile.

"Speech runes thou must know, If thou wilt that no one for injury with hate requite thee. Those thou must wind, Those thou must wrap round (thee), Those thou must altogether place in the assembly, where people have into full court to go." (Sigrdrifumal.)

This is a merely accidental coincidence, but it illustrates the meaning of the myth. In both cases it is "wound or wrapped around" and rapidly unrolled, and the same simile.

The following poem on Glooskap may be appropriately placed in this work. The allusion to the agates of Cape Blomidon refers to a tradition given by S. T. Rand, which states that when Glooskap would make his adopted grandmother young again he created the brilliant stones, which are still found at that place, to adorn her. [Footnote: Youth's Companion.]

THE LEGEND OF GLOOSKAP.

Bathed in the sunshine still as of yore Stretches the peaceful Acadian shore; Fertile meadows and fields of grain Smile as they drink the summer rain.

There like a sentinel, grim and gray, Blomidon stands at the head of the bay, And the famous Fundy tides, at will, Sweep into Minas Basin still.

With wondrous beauty the Gaspereanx Winds its way to the sea below, And the old Acadian Grand Pre Is the home of prosperous men to-day.

The place where Basil the blacksmith wrought, In the glow of his forge, is a classic spot, And every summer tourists are seen In the fairy haunts of Evangeline.

But the old Acadian woods and shores, Rich in beautiful legend stores, Were once the home of an older race, Who wore their epics with untaught grace. Long ere the dikes that guard for aye From the merciless tides the old Grand Pre, Built by the Frenchman's tireless hands, Grew round the rich Acadian lands.

The Micmac sailed in his birch canoe Over the Basin, calm and blue; Speared the salmon, his heart's desire, Danced and slept by his wigwam fire;

Far in the depth of the forest gray Hunted the moose the livelong day, While the mother sang to her Micmac child Songs of the forest, weird and wild.

Over the tribe, with jealous eye, Watched the Great Spirit from on high, While on the crest of Blomidon Glooskap, the God-man, dwelt alone.

No matter how far his feet might stray From the favorite haunts of his tribe away, Glooskap could hear the Indian's prayer, And send some message of comfort there.

Glooskap it was who taught the use Of the bow and the spear, and sent the moose Into the Indian banter's hands; Glooskap who strewed the shining sands

Of the tide-swept beach of the stormy bay With amethysts purple and agates gray, And brought to each newly wedded pair The Great Spirit's benediction fair.

But the white man came, and with ruthless hand Cleared the forests and sowed the land, And drove from their haunts by the sunny shore Micmac and moose, forevermore.

And Glooskap, saddened and sore distressed, Took his way to the unknown West, And the Micmac kindled his wigwam fire Far from the grave of his child and his sire;

Where now, as he weaves his basket gay, And paddles his birch canoe away, He dreams of the happy time for men When Glooskap shall come to his tribe again.

ARTHUR WENTWORTH EATON.



THE MERRY TALES OF LOX, THE MISCHIEF MAKER,

COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE INDIAN DEVIL.

Of the Surprising and Singular Adventures of two Water Fairies who were also Weasels, and how they each became the Bride of a Star. Including the Mysterious and Wonderful Works of Lox, the Great Indian Devil, who rose from the Dead.

(Micmac and Passamaquoddy.)

Wee-zig-yik-keseyook. "Of old times." Far back in the forest, by a brook, dwelt two young men, Abistanooch, the Marten, and Team, the Moose. Of these each had a wigwam, and therewith a grandmother who kept house. And Team hunted and worked industriously, but Master Marten was greatly moalet (M.), which signifies one who liveth upon his neighbors, depending on their good nature, even as he that planteth corn and beans depends upon the pleasant smiles of the sun; whence it came to pass that wherever victuals were in store there too his presence did greatly abound.

Now it happened that one day Team, the Moose, had killed a bear, and brought home a single load of the meat, leaving the rest to be looked after anon. And being thrifty, and not caring to feed those who fed him not, neither did they thank, he said unto himself, and also to his grandmother, "Truly, the eyes of Marten shall not see this thing, his nose shall not smell thereof, neither shall his tongue taste it; so let not the tidings of our good luck go forth from the wigwam." "Yes," replied the old woman, "and well and wisely thou speakest, my son. But we have this day broken our kettle, while Marten has brought in a new one. Behold, I will go and borrow it, and having cooked in it I will wash and wipe it, so that there shall be no sign of what we did therewith, and so return it."

Now, this was done, but he who is moalet and a haunter of feasts is like a hunter of beasts: he knows well from a small sign where there is a large load, and the borrowing of kettles means the boiling of victuals therein. So having in him somewhat of sorcery, he did but step to his friend's wigwam, and, peeping through a crevice, saw a great store of bear's meat. And when the grandmother of Moose came unto him to return the kettle, just as she entered the lodge there arose from it a savory steam, and looking in it was full of well-cooked food. And Marten thanked her greatly, yet she, being put to shame, fled to her own home. But Moose said it was no matter, so the next day they went to the woods together, and all was well.

Now it befell Marten, as it might have befallen any other man, that one day he came to a distant and lonely lake in the mountains. Yet there, stepping softly as a cat behind the rocks bung with grapevines, he heard laughing and splashing, and a pleasant sound as of girls' voices. So, peeping carefully, he saw many maids merrily bathing in the lake: and these were of the fairy race, who dwell in deep waters and dark caves, and keep away from mankind. And seeing their garments lying on the shore, and beholding among the damsels one whom he desired to obtain, [Footnote: There are many of these stories which indicate passionate and deeply seated attachment, but I never once heard a real Indian say that man or woman loved, though they have words which fully express it. "He wanted her" is the nearest approach to tenderness which I have ever heard from them. This is not the result of a want of feeling, but of the suppression of all manifestation of it, to which every red man is trained from earliest infancy.] Marten quietly slipped along unseen, as all of his species can do, till he had the clothes in his hands. For being tinctured with magic and learned in the lore of all kind of goblins, elves, and witches, Master Marten knew that when Naiads are naked and a man has their garments he holds them at his mercy. For in the apparel lies their fairy power; and if you doubt it, do but give it a trial and see for yourself!

And having done this, the merry fellow ran inland with a brave whoop, which the fairies hearing, they in a great rage ran after the ravisher of their robes. But she whom he desired outstripped the rest, and when she approached him he did but tap her lightly on the head with a small stick, according to a certain ancient prescription followed in Fairy-land, which makes of a woman a wife; whereupon she, according to the antique rite, being astonished to find herself so, suddenly married, fainted dead away, and was carried off in peace. And as for the clothes of the others, the Marten gave them back without taking fee or rewards.

Then Team, the Moose, who was a good soul, but not wise above all the world, coming home and finding Marten married, wished also for a wife. And having heard all the tale, he said, "Well, if it is no harder than that, 'tis as easy as sucking a honeysuckle, and I am as good as married." And going to the pond in the mountains, among the rocks and behind the grapevines, he too beheld the virgins jumping, flapping, splashing, and mischieving merrily, like mad minxes, in the water; whereat he, being all of a rage, as it were, caught up the clothes of these, poor maids and ran; she whom he most admired catching up with him. And being resolved to do the thing thoroughly, he grappled up a great club and gave her a bang on her small head, which stunned her indeed, and that forever, inasmuch as she was slain outright. So the Moose remained unmarried.

Now Team was one of the kind not uncommon, in this world, who hold that if any other man has or gets more than they have, then they are deeply wronged. And it had come to pass that Master Marten, finding that his wife yearned greatly for the society of her sisters, offered to take yet another of them in marriage, merely to oblige his wife; for in such a kind of benevolence he was one of the best souls that ever lived, and rather than have trouble in the family he would have wedded all the pretty girls in the country. So going as before to the pond in the mountains, among the rocks and behind the grapevines, he, by the same device, captured yet another fairy, whom, taking home, he wedded.

Yet Team took this sadly to heart, and willed that Marten should give him this last spouse, to which Marten would in nowise agree. Truly, Team argued earnestly that as he had no wife, and no wisdom wherewith to win one, of course he must have one of Marten's, or that Marten should go and get him one. To which Marten replied that Moose might skin his own skunks, and fish for his own minnows, and also paddle his own canoe to the devil, if it so pleased him,—all of these being approved Indian sayings of high and racy antiquity. Whereupon Team sought to persuade Marten with a club, who gave a soft answer by shooting a flint-headed arrow through Team's scalp-lock; and this friendship they continued for many days, passing their evenings in manufacturing missiles, and the mornings in sending them one at the other.

Now the fairy water-wives, not being accustomed to this kind of intimacy, sought to subtract themselves from it. So one morning, when Marten and Team were most industriously endeavoring to effect mutual murder, the two wives of the former fled afar to seek fortune, and succeeded therein to perfection. And it came to pass when the sun had set and the voice of Bumole, the Spirit of Night, was heard afar on high, and Nibauchset (P.), the Night-Walker, shone over all, that the two brides lay in an oak opening of the forest, and looked at P'ses'muk, the Stars, and talked about them even as children might do. And one said to the other, "If those Stars be men, which would you have for a husband?" "By my faith," replied the other," it should be that little red, twinkling fellow, for I like the little stars best." "And I," said the other, "will wed the Wisawaioo P'ses'm (P.), the Great Yellow Star, for I love the large stars." And, saying this in jest, they fell asleep.

But many a word spoken in jest is recalled in earnest, as these brides learned when they awoke, and found themselves married again in the Indian manner, at only a word. For she who had wished for the Great Yellow Shining Star, as she opened her eyes, heard a man's voice say, "Take care, or you will upset my war-paint!" [Footnote: Sekroon (red ochre).] And lo, there lay by her side a great and handsome man, very noble, with large and lustrous eyes. [Footnote: In the Passamaquoddy version of this tale, given me by Tomah Josephs, the brides awake in Star-Land. The husbands are both elderly men, and he who is the Yellow Star has bright yellow corners to his eyes, while the other has red. In another the Yellow Star is called Wobeyu, the White. While they are all distinctly forms of one tale, the three differ so much that I have had great difficulty in reconstituting what appears to be the Original legend.] Then the other, as she awoke and stirred, heard a little feeble, cracked voice crying, "Take care, or you will spill my eye-water!" [Footnote: Nebijegwode (eye medicine, M.)] And by her was the smaller star, whom she had chosen; but he was a weak-looking old fellow, with little red, twinkling eyes. And as they had chosen so it came unto them.

But yellow or red, young or old, in a few days they both grew a-weary of the star country to which they were taken, and wished to return to the earth. And then that came to pass which made them yearn with tenfold longing; for their husbands, who were absent all day hunting, had pointed out to them a large flat stone, which they were on no account to lift; which they obeyed in this wise, that they did not both lift the stone, but only the younger, who, as soon as the Stars had gone to the greenwood, rushed to the slab, and, lifting it up, gazed greedily down into the hole beneath. And what she saw was wonderful, for it was the sky itself, and directly under them was the world in which they had lived, and specially in sight was the home of their childhood, with all its woods and rivers. And then the elder having looked, both almost broke their hearts with weeping.

Now the Stars were by no means such evil-minded men as you may have deemed; for having perceived by magic that their wives had looked through the hole in the sky, and knowing that they were lying when they denied it, they gave them leave to go back to earth. Yet there were conditions, and those not easy to such fidgety damsels as these; for they said, "Ye shall lie together all this night, and in the morning when ye awake ye shall be in no haste to open your eyes or to uncover your faces. Wait until ye shall have heard the song of the Ktsee-gee-gil-laxsis (P.), or chick-a-dee-dee. And even then ye shall not arise, but be quiet until the song of the red squirrel shall be heard. And even then ye must wait and keep your faces covered and your eyes closed until ye hear the striped squirrel sing. And then ye may leave your bed and look around."

Now the younger wife was ever impatient, and when the chick-a-dee-dee sang she would have leaped up at once, but the elder restrained her. "Wait," she said, "my sister, until we hear the Abalkakmooech." [Footnote: Ground squirrel] And she lay still till the Adoo-doo-dech [Footnote: Red squirrel] began his early chatter and his morning's work. Then, without waiting, she jumped up, as did the elder, when they found themselves indeed on earth, but in the summit of a tall, spreading hemlock-tree, and that in such a manner that they could not descend without assistance. And it had come to pass in this wise: for as each song was sung by the bird and the squirrels, they had come nearer and nearer to the earth; even as the light of day drew near, but as they could not delay they had been deserted. [Footnote: A want of patience or of dignity, and restlessness, are more scorned by every Indian than any other fault. This is not the only story in which people are represented as being punished for being unable to bide their time. Glooskap was specially severe on all such sinners.]

And as they sat there and day dawned, men of the different Indian families went by, and unto all of these they cried for help. It is true that their star husbands had made for them in the tree, a bed of moss, but they cared not to rest in the hemlock, for all that. [Footnote: In another very full version of this legend (M.), the water-wives are called Weasels (Uskoolsh), "from their great whiteness." This, however, indicates supernatural fairness or beauty. In the same story the tree is a pine, not a hemlock. Insignificant as these differences may appear, they are of primary importance in the elucidation of a myth.] And of all the beasts of the forest or men of the clearing, who should be the first to appear but Team, or Master Moose, himself. And to him they cried, "N'sesenen-apkwahlin, n'sesenen!" "Oh, our elder brother, let us free; take us down, and we will be your two dear little wives, and go home with you." But he, looking up scornfully, said, "I was married this autumn." And so he went his way.

And he who next came was the shaggy Bear, or mooin, to whom they made the same request, offering themselves for no higher price than to be taken down safely out of their nest. But he growled out that he had been married in the spring, and that one wife was enough for any man. So he went his way. [Footnote: N. B.—There is a joke here. The animals who pass by the tree each mate at the season of the year when they declare that they were married. The White Ladies, weasels or ermines, therefore, came at the wrong time. The fickle, variable nature ascribed to woman, varium et mutabile semper femina, is supposed to be most decidedly expressed by such slender, slippery, active little animals.]

And then who should come along but Marten himself, even the Abistanooch, whom they had deserted! And they cried out for joy, begging him to take them back. But he, behaving as if they were utter strangers, replied that he had been married in the early spring to one of his own tribe, and unto a damsel whose name was Marten, and that it was not seemly for animals to wed out of their own land. So he scampered off, leaving the little Weasels all alone.

And last of all came Lox, whom hunters call the Indian Devil, [Footnote: In the Micmac it is the Badger, Keekwajoo, who is the rogue and teaser of the tale. But in the Passamaquoddy versions it is the dreaded and mysterious Lox, who appears to be a species of Lynx or Wolverine. The Lox is said, by trustworthy white travelers as well as Indians, to follow hunting parties for weeks, inspired apparently only by an incredible mania for mischief, much like that of a monkey or a revengeful savage, but guided by remarkable intelligence. He will find his way into a camp and destroy every object made by the hand of man with a thoroughness akin to genius, and what he cannot destroy he will carry to a great distance and carefully conceal. As his ferocity is equal to his craftiness, he is very appropriately termed the Indian Devil.] and others the Wolverine, who is exceeding subtle above the beasts of the forest, and who is gifted with more evil mischief than all of them in one. And when the Weasels called to him for help he tarried, for it came into his heart that he might in some way torment and tease them. But verily he had to deal with those who were not much more virtuous than himself, and quite as cunning, for what with traveling from the earth to the heavens and changing husbands, these fair minevers were learning wisdom rapidly. So the elder sister, who had not the least idea of keeping her promise unless it suited her fancy, played a trick, and that quickly anon. For she at once took off her hair-string [Footnote: The Hair-String, Saggalobee (M), occurs very often in Indian legends, generally as gifted with magic. The Indian women allowed their hair to grow long, then doubled it upon the back of the head, often making additions of something to enlarge the roll. It was then bound in a bunch with the string.] and tied it into a few less than a hundred knots among the twigs of the trees, tangling it so that you would have deemed it a week's work before a man could loosen it again without injury.

Now Master Lox, having taken down the younger sister with all the politeness in the world, came for the other, and aided her also to descend. And when on the ground she indeed said, "Willcr-oon" "I thank you" (P.), but begged him to go up the tree again and bring down a great treasure which she had left there, her hair-string: beseeching him for all their lives not to break or injure it in any way, but to most carefully untie every knot, for thus doing it would bring untold felicity on them all; and that they, the Weasels, would meantime build a beautiful bridal bower, or a wigwam, and that so furnished as he had never seen the like before,—in which verily they kept their word.

For they speedily built the wigwam, but the furniture thereof was of this rare kind. The Weasels had, it seems, certain sworn friends,—for birds of a feather flock together,—and these were not far to seek, as they were the Thorns, Burrs, and Briers of all kinds, Hornets and other winged and stinged insects, besides the Ants. And they were, moreover, intimate with all the sharp-edged Flints in the land, which was a goodly company. So when the bower was built it had therein a hornet's nest for a bridal bed, thorns for a carpet, flints for a floor, and an ant's nest for a seat, which for a bare-footed and bare-breeched Indian is indeed a sore essay. Now it had taken Master Lox the entire day to untie the hair-string, so when he came down it was dark, and he was glad when he saw the hut and thought of resting therein.

But, as he entered, he ran among the Thorns, which pierced his nose, and Flints, which cut his feet, so that he roared aloud. Then he heard a voice, which seemed to be that of the younger Miss Weasel, crying "Names-cole" (M.), "Go to my sister, yonder!" So he went, and trod in an ant-hill, and this was worse than the Briers. And then he heard another voice on that side which cried, laughing, "N'kwech-kale!" (M.), "Go to my sister, who is younger than I." And plunging furiously through the darkness, he fell on the hornet's nest; and verily the last state of that Indian was worst of all. Thus, seeing himself mocked, he became furious; so that he who has by nature the very worst temper of all beasts or men was never so angry before, and, seeking the tracks of the Weasels, he pursued them as they fled in the night and through the thick forest.

Now it came to pass that by daybreak the two girls, even the Misses Weasel, had come to a broad river which they could not cross. But In The edge of the water stood a large Crane, motionless, or the Tum-gwo-lig-unach, who was the ferryman. Now truly this is esteemed to be the least beautiful of all the birds, for which cause he is greedy of good words and fondest of flattery. And of all beings there were none who had more bear's oil ready to anoint every one's hair with—that is to say, more compliments ready for everybody—than the Weasels. So, seeing the Crane, they sang:—

"Wa wela quis kip pat kasqu', Wa wela quis kip pat kasqu'." (P.)

The Crane has a very beautiful long neck, The Crane has a very beautiful long neck.

This charmed the old ferryman very much, and when they said, "Please, grandfather, hurry along," he came quickly. Seeing this, they began to chant in chorus, sweetly as the Seven Stars themselves:—

"Wa wela quig nat kasqu', Wa wela quig nat kasqu'." (P.)

The Crane has very beautiful long legs, The Crane has very beautiful long legs.

Hearing this, the good Crane wanted more; so when they asked him to give them a lift across, he answered slowly that to do so he must be well paid, but that good praise would answer as well. Now they who had abundance of this and to spare for everybody were these very girls. "Have I not a beautiful form?" he inquired; and they both cried aloud, "Oh, uncle, it is indeed beautiful!" "And my feathers?" "Ah, pegeakopchu" (M.), "Beautiful and straight feathers indeed!" "And have I not a charming long, straight neck?" "Truly our uncle has it straight and long." "And will ye not acknowledge, oh, maidens, that my legs are fine?" "Fine! oh, uncle, they are perfection. Never in this life did we see such legs!" So being well pleased, the Crane put them across, and then the two little Weasels scampered like mice into the bush.

And scarcely were they concealed, or the Crane well again in his place, ere Master Lox appeared. And being in no good temper he called to Uncle Crane to set him across, and that speedily. Now the Crane had been made mightily pleased and proud by the winsome words of the Weasels, and was but little inclined to be rudely addressed. So he said to Lox, "I will bear thee over the river if thou wilt bear witness to my beauty. Are not my legs straight?" "Yea" replied the Lox, "and beautifully painted, too." Now the color thereof was little pleasing to poor Uncle Crane. "Are not my feathers very smooth and fine?" "Yea, smooth and fine; what a pity, though, that they are mildewed and dusty!" "And my straight neck?" "Yes, wonderfully straight,—straight as this" said Lox to himself, taking up a crooked stick. And then he sang:—

"Mecha guiskipat kasqu', Mecha quig nat kasqu'."

The Crane has a very ugly neck, The Crane has dirty, ugly legs.

"Come, mooso me (grandfather), hurry up!"

Oh, the Crane has a very ugly neck, The Crane has dirty, ugly legs.

"I wish you to be quick, mooso me. Hurry up, I say!" [Footnote: This dialogue, including the songs, is from a very curious Passamaquoddy version of the tale, sent to me by Louis Mitchell. As in all such cases, there is far more humor in the Passamaquoddy narratives than in the Micmac or Eskimo.]

And all of this ill-temper and insincerity was deeply and inwardly detected by Uncle Crane, but he said not a word, and only meekly bent him down to take the traveler on his back. But when in the stream, and where it was deepest and most dangerous, he gave himself a shake, and in another instant Lox was whirling round and round like a chip in the rapids. And yet a little time he was dashed against the rocks, and then anon was thrown high and dry on the shore, but dead as a seven-year-old cedar cone.

Now the Lox is a great magician at certain times and seasons, albeit his power fails at others. [Footnote: From this point of the legend onward there is an inextricable confusion as regards the four different versions. While the hero is decidedly a Badger in the Micmac, I regard the great ferocity, craft, and above all the vitality which he displays as far more characteristic of the Lox or Wolverine of the Passamaquoddy. What is almost decisively in favor of the latter theory is that in all the stories, despite his craft and power, he is always getting himself into trouble through them. This is eminently characteristic of the Lox, much less so of the Badger.] And he is one of those who rise from the dead. Now it came to pass that some days after two boys of the Kwedech or Mohawk race found the Lox lying dead on a rock in the sunshine, and the worms were crawling from him. But when they touched him he arose as if from sleep, and stood before them as a proud and fierce warrior. But he was scarce alive ere he sought to do them who had roused him to life a mischief; for having noted that they had fine bows, he got them into his hands, and broke them, yet all as if he meant it not. [Footnote: In the Passamaquoddy version of this tale, when Lox is thus dismembered, the ants, pitying him, bring his scattered members together. As soon as he recovers, the Wolverine, with characteristic ingratitude, amuses himself by trampling his benefactors to death beneath his feet.] And then by magic making a sound as of many children at play, afar off across the next point of land by the river, he bade them run and join the pleasant games. And when he had got them a space onward, lo, the sound seemed ever farther on, mingled with the murmur of the stream; and so they went without him, seeking it, and yet it wandered ever far away.

Now he had learned from the boys that they were of a Cullo family; and the Culloos are certain monstrous birds, exceeding fierce. But Master Lox, having seen in the cabin plenty of fine meat, desired greatly to become one of the family, and having been much about in life knew something of the ways of every one. So putting on the Culloo style, he, seeing a babe, began to sing with the most natural air in the world a Culloo nursery-song:—

"Agoo ge abeol, Wetkusanabeol." [Footnote: Micmac.]

A seal-skin strap, A shoulder-strap.

Now it costs very little to fall into the humor of a man; but this the woman would not do, and told him plainly that he could not deceive her. On hearing which Master Lox, in a great rage, seized his tomahawk and slew her. Then seeing a kettle boiling on the fire, he cut off her head and put it into the pot, hiding the body. And this was a merry jest after his own heart, so that it greatly solaced him. But after a time, the two boys, returning, missed their mother, and looking into the kettle, found her head. Then they knew well who had done this. And, being fearless, they pursued him, but having no bows they could do him no harm; however, they took from him his gloves, and with these they returned.

And anon there came also an uncle of the boys, or Kah-kah-goos (P.), the Crow. So he gave chase to Lox, yet all that he could do was to snatch away his cap as he ran. Yet without shame he cried aloud, "Well, my head was getting warm, and now I am cooler. Thank you!"



Then came another relative, Kitpoo, the Eagle (M.). And he, pursuing Lox, took from him his coat. Yet all unabashed he replied, "Thanks unto you also; for I was just wishing that my younger brother were here to carry my coat for me." But he who now arrived, hearing of the deadly deed, was the great Culloo himself, the most terrible of all created creatures, and he, pursuing Lox, caught him up, and carrying him in his claws, even to the summit of the sky itself, let him drop, and he was a whole day in falling; even from the first dawn unto sunset he went down ere he touched the earth. But before he was let drop, and when on high, he burst into a mocking song on what he saw, and the words were as follows:—

"Kumut kenovek, Telap tumun ek, Stugach' kesenagasikel, Yog wa egen' Yog wa egeno Telap tumen ek Kumut ken ooik' Stuga 'mkudomoos koon."

Our country all lost Seems clearly to us As though it were all spread with boughs. Heigh ho, hay hum! Heigh ho, hay hum! Our country now lost Seems now unto us To be blue like the clear blue sky. Hum, hum—tol de rol!

And when let fall, this graceless jackanapes in nowise ceased his ribaldry; for while pretending to flap with his arms as if they were wings, he imitated with his mouth, mockingly, the wish! wish! of the wide wings of the Culloo. Yet ere he touched the earth he uttered one little magic spell, "Oh, spare my poor backbone!" And with that all the trouble of all the birds went for nothing. Truly he was mashed to a batter, and his blood and brains flew in every direction, like raspberry pudding; but among the remains his backbone lay whole, and this was his life.

And in a few days after his younger brother came by, who, seeing the dire mess, exclaimed, "Hey, what is all this?" [Footnote: The dead body of a sorcerer must lie until addressed by some human being. Then it revives. This is suggestive of vampirism, which is well known to the Indians. There is something strangely ghastly in the idea of the Voice calling separately to each dead limb to come to it. The Culloo is an emblem of the cloud, and Lox let fall from one probably signified fire, or the lightning.] Whereupon a Voice came from the bone, crying, "Nuloogoon, ba ho!" "Ho, my leg, come hither!" and a leg came unto the spine. Then the Voice cried," N'petunagum, ba ho!" "Ho, my arm, come hither!" And when the last fragment had come he arose, the same indomitable Lox as ever, even the Indian Devil, or Wolverine, who never says Die, and whom nothing can kill, and who is hard to put away.

Now the two brothers went on till they came to the top of a high mountain, where there lay a very great round rock, or a mighty boulder. And being full of fun, they turned it over with great sticks, saying to it, "Now let us run a race!" Then it rolled downhill till it stopped at the foot, they rushing along by it all the time. And when it rested they jeered it, and bade it race with them again, when it so listed.

And truly they had not long to wait, for soon after, as they sat cooking their food, they heard a mighty commotion as of something coming with dreadful speed through the forest. And lo! it was the stone in dire wrath, which, having rested a little while, came rushing through the forest, crashing the mighty trees like grass, with a roar like thunder, leaving a smooth road behind it in the roughest wilderness. Up and after the sorcerers flew the stone, and the younger slipped aside like a snake, but the elder had scarcely time to utter his magic charm, "Noo-goon ooskudeskuch!" "Let my backbone remain uninjured!" ere the awful rock rolled down upon him, crushing his bones and mashing his flesh. Yet the spine was unhurt; it remained sound as ever.

And the stone went on and ever on, till the sound of its roar died away in the breeze and afar in the wilderness.

Then the younger brother turned to the Backbone and said, "Cagooee wejismook' tumun?" (M.) "Why are you lying there?" And hearing this charm the Bone called aloud, "Ntenin ba ho!" "My body, ho!" and "Nuloogoon ba ho!" "My leg, ho!" and so with the rest of the members as before, until he that was decomposed was now recomposed; yes, and composed perfectly. And then he that was dead, but was now alive, arose, and said as one awaking, "What have I been doing?" So his brother told him all.

Then he was greatly angered, and when the Wolverine is angry it is not a little. And he said in his wrath, "Shall I that am the devil of the woods himself be slain by birds and stones, and not be revenged?" So they went onwards through the woods till they found the Great Rock: they followed in the path of the broken trees; even by the trees did they track it. Which having found, they built a fire around it; with great stones for hammers they broke it, and ever more and still smaller, till it was all mere dust, for their souls were sore for revenge.

When lo, a great wonder! For the Spirit of the Old Rock, even that which was itself, turned all the dust to black flies, into the stinging and evil things which drive men and beasts mad, so that its hatred and spite might be carried out on all living creatures unto the end of time.

And having had their ill-will of the Rock and seen it become Flies, the two went through the forest, and so on till they came to a village of good, honest folk; and knowing what manner of men they were, Lox resolved to forthwith play them an evil trick, for in all life there was nothing half so dear to him as to make mischief, the worse the better.

And this time it came into his head that it would be a fine piece of wit to go into the town as a gay girl and get married, and see what would come of it, trusting to luck to fashion a sad fool out of somebody. So having made himself into a delicate young beauty, richly attired, he entered the place; and truly the town was soon agog over the new guests. And the young chief of the tribe, wanting her, won her without waste of time. Truly there lieth herein some mystery. I know not what, only this I know: that there are in all towns certain folk who, by means of magic or meddling, always find out everything about everybody, and then tittle-tattle thereof. Now, albeit Lox had utterly abjured all the sinfulness of manhood, and had made a new departure in an utterly new direction, saying not a word thereof to any one, yet in a brief measure of time, one here, another there, Jack in a corner and Jane by the bush, began to whisper of a strange thing, and hint that all was not as it should be, and, whatever the chief might think, that in their minds matters were going wrong in his wigwam.

Now Lox, knowing all this thread as soon as it was spun, began to think it high time to show his hand in the game. And what was the amazement of all the town to hear, one fine evening, that the chief's wife would soon be a mother. And when the time came Dame Lox informed her husband that, according to the custom of her people, she must be left utterly alone till he was a father and the babe born. And when in due time the cry of a small child was heard in the lodge the women waiting ran in, and received from the mother the little one, abundantly rolled in many wrappers, which they took to the chief. But what was his amazement, when having unrolled the package, he found under one skin after another, tied up hard, yet another sewed up, and yet again, as the inmost kernel of this nut, the little withered, wizened, dead, and dried shrivelment of an unborn moose calf. Which pleased the chief so much that, dashing Master Moose into the fire, he seized his tomahawk and ran to his lodge to make his first morning call on the mother.

But Master Lox was now a man again, and expecting this call, and not wishing to see visitors, had with his brother fled to the woods, and that rapidly. And in the rush he came to a river, and, seeing a very high waterfall, thought of a rare device whereby he might elude pursuit. For he with his brother soon built a dam across the top with trees and earth, so that but little water went below. And lying in a cave, concealed with care, he imitated the boo-oo-oo of a falling stream with quaint and wondrous skill. And there he lay, and no man wist thereof.

But verily the wicked one is caught in his own snare, and even so it befell Master Lox. For as he hid, the water above, having gathered to a great lake, burst the dam, so that it all came down upon him at once and drowned him; nor was there any great weeping for him that ever I heard of. So here he passes out of this story, and does not come into it again. But whether he went for good and all out of this life is doubtful, since I find him living again in so many rare, strange histories that it has become a proverb that Lox never dies.

Now the tale returns to the two little Weasels, or Ermines, or Water-Maids, poor souls, who had such a hard life! And it happened that, fleeing from Master Lox, they came at evening to a deserted village, and entered a wigwam to pass the night. But the elder, being the wiser, and somewhat of a witch in the bud, mistrusted the place, deeming it not so empty as it seemed. And beholding by the door, lying on the ground, the Neckbone of a man or some other animal, she warned her sister that she should in nowise offend it or treat it lightly, to which the younger replied by giving it a kick which sent it flying, and by otherwise treating it with scorn and disdain.

Then they laid them down to sleep; but before their slumber came they heard a doleful, bitter voice chanting aloud and shouting, and it was Chamach keg wech, or the Neckbone, bewailing the scorn that had been put upon him, and reviling them with all manner of curses. Then the elder said, "There, truly, I said it. I knew you would be our death if you did not mind me:" it being in all cases an esteemed solace for every woman and most men to say, "I told you so!" But the younger, being well-nigh frightened to a corpse, in a soft whisper implored the elder to let her hide herself in her roll of hair, [Footnote: That is, the elder should retain the human form, and the younger become a weasel.] which the Voice, mocking her, repeated; adding thereto all the reviling and railing that Mitche-hant, the devil, himself ever yet invented, and abusing her so for her past life, and exhorting her so for all the sins, slips, and slaps therein (of which there were many), that even the impenitent little Weasel repented and wept bitterly. Howbeit no further harm came to them beyond this, so that the next morning they went their way in peace; and I warrant you Master Neckbone got no kicks that day from them, departing. [Footnote: This incident of the Neckbone is very much like the common nursery tale of Teeny Tiny, in which an old woman takes home a human bone and puts it in the cupboard. It torments her all night by its cries.]

Then, coming to a river, they saw on the other side a handsome young man holding a bow, and to him they called, making their usual offer to become his wives, and all for no greater thing than to carry them over the ferry. And this man's name was See-witch, [Footnote: A kind of small sea-duck.] and to please them he did indeed pass them over in his canoe; but as for taking them home, he said that he had housekeepers in store, and as many as he needed just then, and that of a kind who kept him very busy. So they went their way onwards.

And coming anon to the great sea, they beheld yet another canoe with two men therein, and these were Kwe-moo, the Loon, and Mahgwis, the Scapegrace. And embarking with them, Loon soon began to admire the girls greatly. And saying many sweet things, he told them that he dwelt in the Wigem territory, or in the land of the Owealkesk, [Footnote: A very beautiful species of sea-duck.] of which he himself was one. But the Mahgwis whispered to them aside that they should put little trust in what he told them, for Loon was a great liar. Now when they came to the land of the Owealkesk, they were amazed at the beauty of the people, and saw that all in that land was lovely, nor did they themselves seem less marvelously fair to the men therein. Indeed, the poor little Weasels began to see the end of their sorrows, for, being water-fairies, these sea-birds were nigh akin to them. And there was a great feast, a great dance, and great games held in honor of their arrival, and the two finest young Sea-Duck men, utterly unheeding the old Loon, who believed indeed that they were his own wives, carried them off, and nothing loath wedded them.

And it was in this wise. There was a canoe-race, and Kwee-moo, being bitterly angry that he was held of so little account in the Sea-Duck land, went forth with the rest, and, paddling far outside, upset his canoe, and making as if he were drowning called to the Weasels to come and save him. But the Sea-Ducks laughed, and said, "Let him alone. Truly he will never drown. We know him." And the race ended they went ashore in peace. [Footnote: Here the Micmac narrative ends. The rest is as it was given to me by Noel Josephs, or Chi gatch gok, the Raven, a Passamaquoddy. It would not be a complete Indian tale if a man having received a slight or injury did not take a bloody revenge for it.]

And that night they danced late, and the Weasels, being better pleased with the two handsome Sea-Ducks than with Loon, forthwith divorced themselves out of hand, and at once married them, going to where their canoe lay, to pass the bridal night. Now Loon had not gone to the dance, but sat at home nursing his vengeance till he was well-nigh mad. And as the Weasels did not return, he went forth and sought them; and this he did so carefully that at last he found all four by the sea, sound asleep. Whereupon he, with his knife, slew the young men, and being in great fear of their friends took his canoe and went down the river to kill a deer. But not daring to return, and being mad for loss of the Weasels, and fearing to fall into the hands of the enemy, he in despair took his knife and killed himself.

Yet the Weasels, who had seen the deed done, did not betray him, for there was at least so much truth left in them. And they lived with the Sea-Ducks, and I doubt me not went on marrying and mischief-making after their wont even unto the end of their days. And their kind are not dead as yet in any land.

* * * * *

This is a fair specimen of many Indian legends. So much of it as is Micmac was told to Mr. Rand by a highly intelligent Indian, named Benjamin Brooks, who was certain that the story was of great antiquity. As I at first heard it, it was limited to the adventure with the Stars, but I was told that this formed only a part of an extremely long narrative. It consists, in fact, of different parts of other tales connected, and I doubt not that there is much more of it. It cannot escape the reader versed in fairy-lore that the incident of the water-maiden captured by her clothes is common to all European nations, but that it is especially Norse; while the adventures of the Wolverine, and indeed his whole character, are strangely suggestive of Loki, the Spirit of mere Mischief, who becomes evil. The fact that both Loki and Lox end their earthly career at a waterfall is very curious. The two also become, in wizard fashion, women at will. But it is chiefly in the extreme and wanton devilishness of their tricks that they are alike. Many other resemblances will suggest themselves to those who know the Eddas.

In the Passamaquoddy version of this tale, it is Seewitch, and not the Loon, who plays the part of the jealous husband at the end. The career of the Weasels seems to set forth the adventures of a couple of Indian Becky Sharps, very much in the spirit of an Indian Thackeray. The immorality of these damsels, the sponging of Marten, the deviltry of Lox, the servile follies and ferocious vindictiveness of the Loon, all seem to impress the composer of the tale as so many bubbles rising and falling on the sea of life, only remarkable for the sun-gleam of humor which they reflect. Outside these tales I know of nothing which so resembles the inner spirit of Aristophanes, Rabelais, and Shakespeare. I do not say that the genius of these great masters is in them, but their manner of seeing humor and wickedness combined. The cause of this lies in the cultivated stoicism with which every Indian trains himself to regard life. The inevitable result of such culture is always in some way a kind of humor, either grim or gay.

A re-perusal of the Eddas has impressed me with the remarkable resemblance of Lox, the Wolverine, to Loki. The story begins with the incident of a bird maiden caught by a trick, and married. This is distinctly Scandinavian. It is known in all lands, but the Norse made the most of it. Then the two girls sit and choose the kind of stars they will have. In the Eskimo (Rink, No. 8), two girls sitting on a beach, talking in the same way, seeing eagles' and whales' bones by them, declare that they would like to marry, the one an eagle, the other a whale, and both get their wishes. In the Norse legends stars are like human beings. Lox is pursued by a giant bird; Loki is chased by Thiassi, the giant, in eagle plumage. Again, in the Edda a giant eagle drags and trails Loki over woods and mountains, till he screams for pity. The Wolverine's race with a stone giant also recalls this race, the eagle being really one of the Jotuns, who were also all mountains and rocks. The Wolverine wizard becomes a girl, merely to make mischief. Loki took the form of a woman in Fensal, where he schemed to kill Balder. This is certainly a strange coincidence; for as in the Edda, Loki's becoming a woman led to all the subsequent tragedy and to his own doom, so in the Indian tale the very same thing caused the Wolverine to be chased to the high waterfall, where, owing to his own tricks, he perished, just as Loki came to grief in Franangursfors, the bright and glistening cataract. But the most remarkable point is that the general immoral character of the Lox, [Footnote: The coincidence of name amounts to nothing, as Lox is not, I believe, an Indian word.] or Wolverine, is so much like that of Loki, consisting of evil or mischief of the worst kind, always tempered by humor, which provokes a laugh. Now to find a similar and very singular character supported by several coincidences of incident is, if nothing more, at least very remarkable.

Loki is fire, and Lox, when killed in another tale, is revived by heat. He is carried off by the Culloo, or cloud, and let fall, typifying fire or lightning coming from a cloud. Again, in another story he dies for want of fire. And he twice dies by drowning; that is, the fire is quenched by water.

In one of the Passamaquoddy versions of this tale, which is, though less detailed, far superior in humor to the Micmac, the Loon is cheated by his two nephews, the Assoops, a species of loon, who steal the Weasels from him. He revenges himself, not by murdering, but by merely frightening them. He fills a bladder with blood, puts it under his shirt, and then stabs himself. They, thinking he is killed, lament, when he grandly comes to life, and is regarded as a great magician.



Of the Wolverine and the Wolves, or how Master Lox Froze to Death.

(Passamaquoddy.)

Of old times it came to pass that Master Lox, the Wolverine, or Indian Devil, he who was slain many times and as often rose from the dead, found himself deeply down in luck; for he was crossing a wide and dismal heath in winter-time, being but poorly provided in any way for travel. The wind blew like knives; the snow fell; sleet, frost, hail, and rain seemed to come all together in bad company, and still Lox was not happy, although he had no blanket or fur coat beyond his own. Yet this evil-minded jolly companion with every vice had one virtue, and that was that of all the beasts of the forest or devils in P'lamkik' he was the hardest hearted, toughest, and most unconquerable, being ever the first to fight and the last to give in, which even then he did not, never having done it and never intending to; whence it happened that he was greatly admired and made much of by all the blackguardly beasts of the backwoods,—wherein they differed but little from many among men.

Now as of all rowdies and rascals the wolves are the worst, we may well believe that it was with great joy Lox heard, as the darkness was coming on, a long, sad howl, far away, betokening the coming of a pack of these pleasant people; to which he raised his own voice in the wolf tongue,—for he was learned in many languages,—and soon was surrounded by some fifteen or sixteen lupine land loafers, who danced, rolling over, barking and biting one another, all for very joy at meeting with him. And the elder, he who was captain, or the sogmo, [Footnote: Sogmo, sagamore, a chief; the word corrupted into sachem.] said, "Peradventure thou wilt encamp with us this night, for it is ill for a gentleman to be alone, where he might encounter vulgar fellows." And Lox thanked him as if he were doing him a favor, and accepted the best of their dried meat, and took the highest place by their fire, and smoked the chief's choicest tomawe out of his best pipe, and all that with such vast condescension that the wolves grinned with delight.

And when they laid them down to sleep he that was the eldest, or the sogmo, bade the younger cover their guest Lox over very carefully. Now the tail of the wolf has broad-spreading, shaggy hair, and Lox, being sleepy, really thought it was a fur blanket that they spread, and though the night was cold enough to crack the rocks he threw the covering off; twice he did this, and the chief who looked after him, with all the rest, admired him greatly because he cared so little for the cold or for their care.

And having eaten after they arose, when in the morning they would wend away, the Wolf Chief said unto Lox, "Uncle, thou hast yet three days' hard travel before thee in a land where there is neither home, house, nor hearth, and it will be ill camping without a fire. Now I have a most approved and excellent charm, or spell, by which I can give thee three fires, but no more; yet will they suffice, one for each night, until thou gettest to thy journey's end. And this is the manner thereof: that thou shalt take unto thee dry wood, even such as men commonly burn, and thou shalt put them together, even as boys build little wigwams for sport, and then thou shalt jump over it. And truly, uncle, this is an approved and excellent charm of ripe antiquity, kept as a solemn secret among the wolves, and thou art the first not of our holy nation to whom it hath been given." So they parted.

Now Lox trudged on, and as he went westwards kept thinking of this great secret of the pious and peculiar people, and wondering if it were even as the Wolf said, or only a deceit; for however kindly he was treated by people, he always suspected that they mocked him to scorn, or were preparing to do so; for as he ever did this thing himself to every condition of mankind or beasts, he constantly awaited to have it done to him. And being curious withal, and anxious to see some new thing, he had not walked half an hour ere he said, "Tush! let me try it. Yea, and I will!" So building up the sticks, he jumped over them, and at once they caught fire and blazed up, and it came to pass even as the Wolf had prophesied.

Now having solaced himself by the heat, Lox went on. And anon it grew cold again, and he began to think how pleasant it was to be warm; and being, like most evil people, wanting in a corner of wisdom, he at once put the sticks together again and jumped over them, and as before there rose a blaze, and he was happy. And this was the second fire, and he had still three cold nights before him before he could reach his home.

And yet this Wolverine, who was so wise in all wickedness and witty in evil-doing, had not walked into the afternoon before he began to think of the third fire. "Truly," he said to himself, "who knows but the weather may take a turn to a thaw, and give us a warm night? Hum! ha! methinks by the look of the clouds the wind will soon be southwesterly. Have I not heard my grandmother say that such a color, even the red, meant something?—I forget what, but it might be a warm change. Luck be on me, I will risk the odds." And, saying this, he set up the sticks again; and this was the last fire, though it was not even the first night.

And when he came after dark to the first camping place it grew cold in earnest. Howbeit Lox, thinking that what was good for once must be good forever, made him his little pile of sticks and jumped over them. It was of no avail. Finally, when he had jumped twenty or thirty times more, there arose a little smoke, and, having his heart cheered by this, he kept on jumping. Now it is said that there can be no smoke without fire, but this time it went not beyond smoke. Then Lox jumped again, and this time the Indian Devil came up within him, and he swore by it that he would jump till it blazed or burst. So he kept on, and yet there came no comfort, not even a spark; and being at last aweary he fell down in a swoon, and so froze to death. And so the Devil was dead, and that was the last of him for that turn; but I think he got over it, for he has been seen many a time since.

In two stories Lox (once as the loup cervier) is intimate with the wolves. Loki was the father of the wolves. Loki is fire: here Lox dies for want of fire. Since I wrote the foregoing, Mrs. W. Wallace Brown has learned that Lox is definitely the king or chief of the wolves, and that many Indians deny that he is really an animal at all, though he assumes the forms of certain animals. He is a spirit, and the Mischief Maker. It will be admitted that this brings the Lox much nearer to Loki.

It is said that when Glooskap left the world, as he took away with him the kings of all the animals, Lox went with him as king of the Wolves. This is an identification of him with Malsum, the Wolf, himself.



How Master Lox played a Trick on Mrs. Bear, who lost her eyesight and had her eyes opened.

(Micmac.)

Don't live with mean people if you can help it. They will turn your greatest sorrow to their own account if they can. Bad habit gets to be devilish second nature. One dead herring is not much, but one by one you may make such a heap of them as to stink out a whole village.

As it happened to old Mrs. Bear, who was easy as regarded people, And thought well of everybody, and trusted all. So she took in for A house-mate another old woman. Their wigwam was all by itself, and the next neighbor was so far off that he was not their neighbor at all, but that of some other folks.

One night the old women made up a fire, and lay down and went to sleep Indian-fashion,—witkusoodijik,—heads and points, so that both could lie with their back to the fire.

Now while they were sound asleep, Lox, the Wolverine, or Indian Devil, came prowling round. Some people say it was Hespuns, the Raccoon; and it is a fact that Master Coon can play a very close game of deviltry on his own account. However, this time it must have been Lox, as you can see by the tracks.

While they were both sound asleep Lox looked in. He found the old women asleep, heads and points, and at once saw his way to a neat little bit of mischief. So, going into the woods, he cut a fine long sapling-pole of ow-bo-goos, and poked one end of it into the fire till it was a burning coal. Then he touched the soles of Mrs. Bear; and she, waking, cried out to the other, "Take care! you are burning me!" which the other denied like a thunder-clap.

Then Master Lox carefully applied the end of the hot pole to the feet of the other woman. First she dreamed that she was walking on hot sand and roasting rocks in summer-time, and then that the Mohawks were cooking her at the death-fire; and then she woke up, and, seeing where she was, began to blame Mrs. Bear for it all, just as if she were a Mohawk.

Ah, yes. Well, Master Lox, seeing them fighting in a great rage, burst out laughing, so that he actually burst himself, and fell down dead with delight. It was a regular side-splitter. When my grandfather said that we always laughed.

In the morning, when the women came out, there lay a dead devil at the door. He must indeed have looked like a Raccoon this time; but whatever he was, they took him, skinned him, and dressed him for breakfast. Then the kettle was hung and the water boiled, and they popped him in. But as soon as it began to scald he began to come to life. In a minute he was all together again, alive and well, and with one good leap went clear of the kettle. Rushing out of the lodge, he grabbed his skin, which hung on a bush outside, put it on, and in ten seconds was safe in the greenwood. He just saved himself with a whole skin.

Now Master Lox had precious little time, you will say, to do any more mischief between his coming to life and running away; yet, short as the allowance was, he made a great deal of it. For even while jumping out his wits for wickedness came to him, and he just kicked the edge of the pot, so that it spilled all the scalding hot water into the fire, and threw up the ashes with a great splutter. They flew into the eyes of Dame Bear and blinded her.

Now this was hard on the old lady. She could not go out hunting, or set traps, or fish any more; and her partner, being mean, kept all the nice morsels for herself. Mrs. Bear only got the leanest and poorest of the meat, though there was plenty of the best. As my grandfather used to say, Mrs. Bear might have fared better if she had used her eyes earlier.

One day, when she was sitting alone in the wigwam, Mrs. Bear began to remember all she had ever heard about eyes, and it came into her head that sometimes they were closed up in such a way that clever folk could cut them open again. So she got her knife and sharpened it, and, carefully cutting a little, saw the light of day. Then she was glad indeed, and with a little more cutting found that she could see as well as ever. And as good luck does nut come single, the very first thing she beheld was an abundance of beautiful fat venison, fish, and maple-sugar hung up overhead.

Dame Bear said nothing about her having recovered her eyesight. She watched all the cooking going on, and saw the daintiest dinner, which all went into one platter, and a very poor lot of bones and scraps placed in another. Then, when she was called to eat, she simply said to the other woman, who kept the best, "Well, you have done well for yourself!"