Chapter V: The æsthetic Faculty in Aboriginal Races (3)

Lieutenant Whipple next describes the carvings found at El Moro inscription rock where, he says, “Spanish adventurers and explorers, from as early a period as the first settlement of Plymouth, have been in the habit of recording their expeditions to and from Zuñi.” He refers for those to Captain Simpson’s report upon the Navajo expedition; but specimens of the Indian drawings are given, which, he says, “are evidently more ancient than the oldest of the Spanish inscriptions.”[101] The latter are, for the most part, regular literal records in the Spanish or Latin language, with names, and, in a few instances, the date of their engraving. But the European epigraphists appear at times to have borrowed the ideographic art of their Indian guides, from the way several of their inscriptions are accompanied with pictorial devices, or rebuses, somewhat after the native fashion of writing. One, for example, which reads _Pito Vaca ye Jarde_, has also the symbol of the _Vaca_, or “cow.” Another group, consisting of certain initials interwoven into a monogram, accompanied by an open hand with a double thumb, all enclosed in cartouche-fashion, is supposed by the transcriber to be, even more than the previous bit of pictorial symbolism, a pictured pun. “The characters,” he remarks, “in the double rectangle seem to be literally a sign-_manual_, and may possibly be symbolical of Francisco Manuel, though the double thumb would seem to indicate something more.” The Provincial Secretary, Donaciano Vigil, after noting for Lieutenant Simpson some data relative to the Spanish inscriptions, adds: “The other signs or characters are traditional remembrances, by means of which the Indians transmit historical accounts of all their remarkable successes. To discover (or interpret) these sets by themselves, is very difficult. Some of the Indians make trifling indications, which divulge, with a great deal of reserve, something of the history, to persons in whom they have entire confidence.”

On the summit of the cliff the ruins of a pueblo of bold native masonry formed a rectangle of 206 feet by 307 feet, around which lay an immense accumulation of broken pottery of novel and curious patterns. At Los Ojos Calientes, Lieutenant Simpson visited the _estuffas_, buildings one story high, called the churches of Montezuma. “On the walls were representations of plants, birds, and animals; the turkey, the deer, the wolf, the fox, and the dog, being plainly depicted; none of them, however, approaching to exactness except the deer, the outline of which showed certainly a good eye for proportion.” These are the work of the Jemez Indians, who worshipped the sun, moon, and fire; representations of which in circular form, and with zigzag barbed lines for lightning, also occur on the walls.[102] Lieutenant Simpson remarks that he asked a Jemez Indian “Whether they still worshipped the Sun, as God, with contrition of heart.” His reply was: “Why not? He governs the World!”

Dr. Hoffman figures and interprets a curious rock-painting, copied by him from a granite boulder at Tulare river, California. It covers an area of about twelve feet by eight; and the largest figure is about six feet in length, and appears to be the work of an advanced party of native explorers, intended for the guidance of those who followed on their trail.[103] Dr. Hoffman also furnishes some interesting illustrations of the reproduction of gesture-language in native pictographs preserved in the Museum of San Francisco. Certain symbols are in very general use. But the description of an Innuit drawing on a slat of wood, as interpreted by a native, partly in his own dialect, but largely supplemented by gestures, will best illustrate this development of a system of picture-writing among a savage people. A human figure directs his right hand to his own side, while, with his left, he points away from him. This is the _Ego_, the personal pronoun _I_. Again, a simple tracing of the like figure, successively with a boat-paddle over his head; his right hand to the side of his head; one finger elevated; his hand stretched out in the direction indicated, with his harpoon, or his bow and arrow, expresses his various actions. A spot enclosed in a circle, and again a blank circle, mark the islands—inhabited or uninhabited,—to which he is bound. A canoe, with two persons in it, defines the number going and the mode of transport; a phoca, or other animal, indicates the prey; and the record closes with an outline of the house, or tent, towards which the canoe is directed. The whole is equivalent to a written memorandum left behind, to inform the members of his family that he has gone in his boat to a particular island, where he will pass the night,—the right hand to the side of the head being a symbol of sleep. From thence he will proceed to another island, where he purposes to catch a seal or sea-lion, and then he will return home. It is in no degree surprising to find that nearly the same symbols are in use by widely different tribes; for, alike in their pictographs and gestures, they naturally aim at the most familiar and literal representations. The Eskimo and Alaskans represent death, in their drawings and bone carvings, by the symbol of a headless body, in nearly the same way as the Iroquois, the Algonkins, and the Blackfeet. To this is added the spear, the bow and arrow, or the gun, to indicate the mode of death by violence. The ordinary symbol of sepulchral memorial is the reversing of the totem and other objects pictured on the grave-post. A succession of lines in rows or columns is the simplest mode of primitive numeration, perpetuated among the Egyptians even so late as the Ptolemaic dynasty. It appears to have been in use among the cave-men of the Vézère in palæolithic times, and is common to all such records. But in the Eskimo and Indian pictographs the elevated hand, with one or more fingers extended, serves for numeration; and where the extended fingers and thumbs of both hands are represented on an exaggerated scale, it signifies _multitude_. The native gestures, drawings, and spoken languages, have indeed to be studied together to understand fully the processes resorted to for the expression and interchange of ideas.

To the philologist, the efforts at supplying equivalent terms for objects and ideas common to the many diverse races furnish a study full of interest. A Chinook or Clatsop word modified to _saghalie_, signifying “above,” or “high,” is compounded with the Nootka _tyee_, as the name of the High Chief, or God. _Elip_, a Chihalis word, signifies “first,” or “before”; _tilikum_, Chinook, is “people, a tribe,” or “band”; but the two words conjoined, _elip-tilikum_, lit. “the first people,” is employed in reference to a race of beings who preceded the Indians as inhabitants of the world, just as we speak of the Antediluvians. _Ipsoot_ is the Chinook word for “to hide,” _ipsoot wau-wau_ is “to hide one’s speech,” _i.e._ “to whisper.” Or, again, _opitsah_ is a modification of the Chinook for “a knife”; _opitsah-yakka-sikha_, literally, “the knife’s friend,” is “a fork.” The same word is also applied to a sweetheart. Such economic use of words is indeed by no means rare. But this branch of the subject lies apart from the aim of the present paper. It may be noted, however, in passing, that many of the jargon words, according to Mr. Gibbs, “have been adopted into ordinary conversation in Oregon, and threaten to become permanently incorporated as a local addition to the English.” Mr. Horatio Hale, long ago, stated as a result of his own observations, at an earlier date: “There are Canadians and half-breeds married to Chinook women, who can only converse with their wives in this speech; and it is the fact, strange as it may seem, that many young children are growing up to whom this factitious language is really the mother-tongue, and who speak it with more readiness and perfection than any other.”[104] As to grammar, the jargon has no more than the inevitable rudiments involved in the necessity for expressing in some way ideas relating to time and number; and in these directions there is frequent resort to signs. But this, which accords with the first stage of picture-writing, is true of the speech of many Indian tribes. Their gesture-language is being reduced to the equivalent of a vocabulary, and is much more copious than that of the Oregon jargon. In 1880 the United States Bureau of Ethnology issued “A Collection of the gesture-signs and signals of the North American Indians”; and although this was only designed as a preliminary step towards the complete elucidation of the subject, it suffices to show how important a part signs and gestures play in the dialogue of many rude tribes. The Arapahoes, for example, according to Burton, “possess a very scanty vocabulary, and can hardly converse with one another in the dark. To make a stranger understand them they must always repair to the camp-fire for pow-wow.”[105] We are not without some due appreciation, even now, of the eloquence of action, as well as of speech, in the effective orator; and Charles Lamb, in one of the _Essays of Elia_, aptly reminds us how much even ordinary dialogue owes to expression for its full effect. Candle-light, “our peculiar and household planet,” is the theme of the quaint humorist. “Wanting it,” he says, “what savage unsocial nights must our ancestors have spent, wintering in caves and unillumined fastnesses! . . . What repartees could have passed, when you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neighbour’s cheek to be sure that he understood it?” And so the grave humorist goes on to picture the privations of a supper party in “those unlanterned nights.”

But the Indian, in many cases, resorts to the pencil, or its equivalent, for the elucidation of subjects in which language fails him. He will take a burnt stick and draw a map indicating the route that has to be taken, the portages on a river, or the trail through the forest, after he has failed by signs and gestures to convey his meaning; and he can interpret with ease the drawings of Indians of other tribes. When camping out on the Nepigon River in 1866, with Indian guides from the Saskatchewan, who were strangers to the locality, they interpreted the drawings or carvings on a soft metamorphic rock overlaid by the syenite of that district; and were able thereby to tell us who had preceded them, and to determine the route we should take. Lieutenant Whipple in the narration of his route near the thirty-fifth parallel, remarks: “Near the Llano Extacado were seen Pueblo Indians from San Domingo. After an introductory smoke they became quite communicative, furnishing curious information as to their traditions and peculiar faith. When questioned regarding the numbers and positions of the Pueblos in New Mexico, they rudely traced upon the ground a sketch from which a map of the country is reproduced in the Government Reports.”[106] The Rev. Dr. O’Meara, for many years a missionary among the Ojibway Indians of Lake Superior, thus writes to me: “The Indians were always pictorial, even in common conversation, _i.e._ they liked to explain what they meant by making figures; and always, if you asked one of them for information as to the route to any place, he would make a rough map of it, either on the sand or on a piece of birch-bark.” This fully accords with my own experience. I have repeatedly seen Indian guides take a piece of birch-bark and indicate on it some idea otherwise inexpressible from our ignorance of any common language. Their map-making must be familiar to all who have travelled much with Indian guides. They delineate with much accuracy the leading geographical features of any familiar locality. I have in my note-books sketches made by Indians, when I have placed the pencil in their hand, and indicated by signs some information I desired to obtain, about game, fishing, or other matters familiar to them; or about their own tribal relationships, which they generally express in totemic fashion by their symbolic bear, deer, beaver, eagle, turtle, or other animal. Such signs of the clan, tribe, or nation are familiar to every Indian, as well as the ideographs of his own and others’ names; and when represented on the roll of birch-bark, painted on the chiefs buffalo robe, or inverted on his grave-post, they can be interpreted with the same facility with which an heraldic student discerns the family history on the painted hatchment or the sculptured shields of some noble mausoleum.

By an alphabet, strictly so called, we understand a series of symbols which have become the conventional equivalents to the eye of the sounds which combine to form the speech of a people. But _alpha_, _beta_, etc., were undoubtedly, in their first stage, pictures, and not arbitrary signs; though they passed undesignedly into the demotic characters of the Egyptian current hand, and were then transformed, from ideographic and syllabic characters, into the true phonetics out of which have come the later alphabets of the civilised world. Egypt is justly credited with the origination of a system of writing which lies at the foundation of all our inherited knowledge, and which, as Bacon says, “makes ages so distant to participate of the wisdom, illuminations and inventions, the one of the other.” Yet the germ of all this lay in the graphic records of the palæolithic cave-men; and the very same process of evolution from pure pictorial representation to picture-writing or ideography, and so to arbitrary hieroglyphic signs, or word-writing, is seen in the graven records of Copan or Palenque, and on the ancient monuments of the Nile.

It is replete with interest thus to turn aside from the Old World, with all its wealth of intellectual progress associated with the letters of Cadmus, and find that in the western hemisphere the human mind has followed the very same path in its struggle towards the light. Longfellow, in his “Song of Hiawatha,” has interwoven Algonkin and Iroquois legends into a national epic, in which the elements of Indian progress are all traced to this mythic benefactor, subsequently identified by Mr. Horatio Hale, in his _Book of Iroquois Rites_, with a wise Onondaga chief of the fifteenth century. But, tracing in legendary fashion the early steps of Indian progress, the poet represents the mythic reformer mourning how all things perish and pass into oblivion. Even the great achievements and the traditions of their people fade away from the memory of the old men. And so he inaugurates the method of recording events, which in reality we recognise as the natural product of the human mind in the exercise of that imitative faculty which the discoveries of comparatively recent years have revealed to us as in full activity among the men of Europe’s remote Post-Glacial era. With his paints of diverse colours he depicts on the smooth birch-bark simple figures and symbols, such as are to be seen graven on hundreds of rocks throughout the North American continent, and are in constant use by the Indian in chronicling his own deeds on his buffalo robe, or recording those of the deceased chief on his grave-post. The result is a simple process of picture-writing, readily translatable, with nearly equal facility, into the language of every tribe. Deeds of daring against Indians or white men are set forth by the native chronicler, and the rivals are clearly indicated by means of their characteristic costume and weapons. Headless figures are the symbols of the dead; scalps represent his own special victims; and in like manner incidents of the chase, or feats against the buffalo or grizzly bear, are recorded in graphic picturings, which are as intelligible as any monumental inscription of ancient or modern times. The description in Longfellow’s Indian epic of the celestial and terrestrial symbols, in actual use as Algonkin and other aboriginal hieroglyphics, would answer, with slight modification, for those still to be seen on the walls of Egyptian temples and catacombs:—

For the earth he drew a straight line,
For the sky a bow above it;
White the span between for day-time,
Filled with little stars for night-time;
On the left a point for sunrise,
On the right a point for sunset,
On the top a point for noontide;
And for rain and cloudy weather
Waving lines descending from it.

The picture-writing of the Aztecs, though greatly improved in execution, and simplified by abbreviations, was the same in principle as that of the rude northern tribes. The recognised signs of the months and days of their calendar are not greatly in advance of Indian symbolism; while some of their pictorial records are as definite pieces of literal representation as the battle of the reindeer from the Dordogne cave, or the peaceful grazing scene recovered from a Swiss grotto near Thayingen. One example of such a pictorial chronicling of an important event has been repeatedly described, and aptly illustrates its practical application. When Cortez held his first interview with the emissaries of Montezuma, one of the attendants of Teuhtlile, the chief Aztec noble, was observed sketching the novel visitors, their peculiar costumes and arms, their horses and ships; and by such means a report of all that pertained to the strange invaders of his dominion was transmitted to the Aztec sovereign. The skill with which every object was delineated excited the admiration of the Spaniards. But however superior this may have been as a piece of art, it was manifestly no advance on the principle of Indian picture-writing; nor can we be in much doubt as to its style of execution, since Lord Kingsborough’s elaborate work furnishes many facsimiles of nearly contemporary Mexican drawings. In the majority of these, the totemic symbols, and the representations of individuals by means of their animal or other cognomens, are abundantly apparent. The specific aim of the artist has to be kept in view. The figures are for the most part grotesque, from the necessity of giving predominance to the special feature in which the symbol is embodied. To the generation for which such were produced, the connection between the sign, and the person or thing signified, would be manifest; and as a mnemonic aid, supplemented by verbal descriptions of the trained official registrars, the record would be ample. But a brief interval suffices to render such abbreviated symbols obscure, if not wholly unintelligible; and within less than a century after the Conquest, De Alva could not find more than two surviving Mexicans, both very aged, who were able to interpret the native pictorial records. Nevertheless a system of picture-writing, originating among the rude forest tribes with the simple employment of the imitative faculty in the representation of familiar objects, with their associated ideas, had advanced on this continent to the very same stage from which, in ancient Egypt, the next step was taken, resulting in the evolution of a phonetic alphabet, and so of all that is implied in letters in the largest sense.

To this grand aim of ideography, or an equivalent of written speech, may, as it appears to me, be traced the earliest efforts at drawing and painting, reaching back to that strange dawn of intellectual vigour revealed to us in the graphic art of the men of Europe’s Palæolithic age. The same effort at written speech underlies all the manifestations of the artistic faculty, common alike to the semi-civilised and to the barbarous native races of this continent; and in the terms by which they express the graphic art in their various dialects, the common significance of drawing and writing is generally apparent. But the æsthetic faculty was thus stimulated into activity with results which tended to develop art in all its forms of carving, modelling, sculpture, and painting. An appreciation of colour, not merely for personal adornment, but in its artistic application—alike as a decorative art, and as the means whereby natural objects can be presented with vivid truthfulness to the eye,—is widely diffused; though the mastery of form by the modeller or sculptor long precedes that of chiaroscuro, or aerial perspective. Aboriginal painting is crude, consisting mainly of colour without tone or shading, even where the drawing is correct. But paints and dyes, both of mineral and vegetable origin, are largely in use by many Indian tribes. The Eskimo execute tasteful patterns on their skin robes in diverse colours; and the northern tribes both to the east and west of the Rocky Mountains dye porcupine quills and grasses, and with them work ornamental patterns on their dresses and in basket-work. The pottery of the Pueblo Indians is elaborately decorated in colours; and in various other ways—as in the colouring of their masks, and the painting of their boats and houses, by the Indians of Oregon and British Columbia,—the native taste for colour is manifested. Mr. Hugh Martin, in a communication of an early date to the American Philosophical Society, gives an account of the principal dyes employed by the North American Indians.[107] The Shawnees obtained a vegetable red, which they called _hau-ta-the-caugh_, from the root of a marsh plant, and largely used it in dyeing wool, porcupine quills, and the white hair of deers’ tails. From another root, the _Radix_ _flava_, a bright yellow was obtained, by mixing which with the red an orange tint is made. But they also extracted a rich orange colour from the Poccon root. A fine vegetable blue is also easily procured, and this was transformed to green by means of a yellow liquor of the smooth hickory bark. Black, which is much in demand, was obtained both from the sumack and from the bark of the white walnut. All the colours thus far named are vegetable dyes, but mineral colours are in general use for painting, and especially for personal decoration, which is no doubt the primary idea associated in the Indian mind with the verb “to paint.” The Lenapes, Dr. Brinton remarks, “obtained red, white, and blue clays, which were in such extensive demand that the vicinity of those streams in Newcastle County, Delaware, which are now called White Clay Creek and Red Clay Creek, are widely known to the natives as _Walamink_, ‘the place of paint.’”[108] The Shawnees applied the name _Alamonee-sepee_, “Paint Creek,” to the stream which falls into the Scioto close to Chilicothe. The word _walamen_, signifying “to paint,” is the Shawnee _alamon_, and the Abnaki _wramann_, the _r_ being substituted for the _l_. Roger Williams, describing the New England Indians, speaks of “_wunnam_, their red painting, which they most delight in,—both the bark of the pine, as also a red earth.” The word is derived from Narr. _wunne_, Del. _wulit_, Chip. _gwanatseh_: “beautiful, handsome, good, pretty,” etc. “The Indian who had bedaubed his skin with red ochreous clay, was esteemed in full dress, and delightful to look upon. Hence the term _wulit_, ‘fine, pretty,’ came to be applied to the paint itself.”[109]

A review of the terms of art in the diverse aboriginal vocabularies would furnish an interesting supplement to the general question of the manifestation of an artistic faculty, and the evidences of appreciation of art among savage races. I note a few illustrations, which the languages of some Northern Indian tribes supply, of the ideas associated in the native mind with terms of art. The Algonkin languages generally have no distinctive words clearly discriminating between painting, drawing, and writing in the sense of ideography; though the inevitable tendency to invent or appropriate words, as equivalents expressive of any novel object or idea, is in operation in those as in other languages. The Ojibways have no generic term for painting the body or face, but express it by some word connected with the specific colour in use. For example, the painting the face black, as is done to a youth on attaining puberty, is _muhkuhdaekawin_. This consists of _muh-kuh-da_, meaning “black,” _eka_, the form which gives it the verbal significance, “he makes himself black,” with the termination _win_, constituting the whole a noun. So _misquah_, “red,” is the root of _misquah-ne-ga-zoo_, “he is painted red”; _misquah-ne-gah-da_, “it is painted red.” _Oozahwah_, “yellow,” gives _oo-zah-we-ne-gah-zoo_, “he is painted yellow”; with the corresponding terminal change for the neuter. But the word _oozahnamahne_, from _oonah_, “the cheek,” is also used for painting the face either red or yellow. _Quahnaiy_, or _gwanai_, the word for “beautiful,” is applied to moral as well as physical beauty, _e.g._ _gwanaienene_ would be used of a fair, honourable dealing man, as well as of one who was handsome or good-looking. But such rhetorical tropes are common to many languages.

I was indebted to the late Silas T. Rand, for upwards of thirty years a missionary among the Micmac Indians of Nova Scotia, for the following illustrative details: “The Micmac is rich in words relating to art, the making and ornamenting of garments, moccasins, snow-shoes, etc., of weapons and implements for domestic use, making pottery and modelling in clay. For building and managing a canoe there are at least seventy-six words. They have words for carving on stone, and also on wood, for marking dressed skins with flower patterns, for carving flowers in stone, for scraping them on birch-bark dishes, for drawing a likeness, making models and patterns, and for working after them. When I was engaged in translating Exodus, and largely dependent on my Indian teacher for the words to express all the parts of the Tabernacle, its coverings and furniture, mortices, tenons, hooks, fillets, loops, bars, pins, sockets, etc., I fully expected to be baffled. What was my surprise to find that there were words in the language by which to express all I needed. Boards, bars, bolts, pillars, poles, rings, everything was made, put together, and my ‘pundit’ an excellent mechanic, when he returned next day to go on with our work, assured me that he had been dreaming about that ‘wigwam’ we had been erecting the previous day, and he was sure he could make such a one. He had the pattern in his head as clearly as Moses had it, after he had seen it up the mountain.” In the Micmac, _aweekum_ is “a drawing,” lit. “I write it,” “I draw it”; _essum_, “I colour it”; _elapskudaaga_, “I am carving,” or “cutting stone”; _elapskudaam_, “I am carving it in stone”; _apsk_, which here denotes “stone,” is only used in composition; _coondow_ is the word for “stone”; _eloksowa_, “I am carving in wood”; _noojeweekuga_, “a painter,” “drawer,” “writer,” lit. “a maker of marks”; _aweegasik_, “a picture,” lit. “it is marked down,” etc.

The Algonkin root _walam_, “red,” is the term employed in the _Walum Olum_, or “Red Score of the Lenape,” which was brought under the notice of the New York Historical Society, in 1848, by Mr. E. G. Squier, as _The Bark Record of the Lenni-Lenape_. His narrative has been more than once reprinted; but the carefully edited version of this curious Indian ideograph given by Dr. Brinton, in his _Lenape and their Legends_, will supersede earlier and less accurate versions. The full translation with which the pictographic record of the _Walum Olum_ is accompanied, abundantly suffices to prove that it may be most correctly described as a series of mnemonic signs employed for the purpose of keeping in memory a national chant, of a class very familiar to the students of primitive history. The ballad-epics of the ancient Germans, and the still earlier lays of ancient Rome, the Abanic Duan, and others of the genealogical and historical poems of the Celtic nations, were all of this class; and analogous traditionary chants have been perpetuated among the Maoris of New Zealand. The system of pictography corresponds to that in use among the Ojibways and other Algonkin tribes, including the totems, or sign-names; but it falls far short of true picture-writing. Section IV. records the conquest by the Lenape tribe, of the northern country, which they call “The Snake Land.” Bald Eagle, Beautiful Head, White Owl, Keeping Guard, Snow Bird, and a succession of other chiefs are named, all of whom are more or less graphically indicated by their totems; but a paraphrastic interpretation accompanies them setting forth ideas that have no pictorial representation. Then comes a horizontal line with ten oblique lines rising from it, and three cross-lines below, with the interpretation: “After the Seizer there were ten chiefs and there was much warfare south and north.” Next follows another succession of chiefs, each symbolised with some associated idea. Thus a group of six small circles, arranged upright in two columns, is surmounted by a larger circle, with three oblique lines rising from the top. This is paraphrased: “After him, Corn-Breaker was chief, who brought about the planting of corn.” It is not difficult to imagine in the drawing the conventional representation of an ear of corn; but the major idea can be no more than one suggested to the memory by association. In some instances the picture-writing is more manifest. A horizontal line surmounted by two _téepees_, or buffalo-skin tents, is “the buffalo land.” In one group, a semicircle with radiating lines, placed on a straight line, is translated: “Let us go together to the east, to the sunrise.” In another case, nearly the same symbol—assumed, no doubt, to represent the sun setting in the ocean,—is rendered, “at the great sea.” It is, indeed, a system of picture-writing; but instead of being abbreviated into word-symbols, it is reduced to mere catch-words or mnemonic signs. Their value would be unquestionable as an aid to memory in the perpetuation of a mythic or historical poem; but, if the tradition were lost, they embody no sufficient record from which to recover it.

Neither the Iroquois nor the Algonkin nation can be pointed to as specially gifted with imitative powers, or in other ways furnishing evidence of any highly developed artistic faculty. They cannot compare in this respect with the Zuñi, or others of the Pueblo Indians, among whom the arts of long-settled, agricultural communities have been developed for purposes of ornament as well as utility; nor is their inferiority less questionable when we compare them with some of the barbarous tribes of the north-west coast, and the neighbouring islands. Their languages confirm this; for while, as Mr. Cushing has shown, the Zuñi language possesses many words relating to art-processes, the Iroquois and Algonkin dialects supply such terms, for the most part, in descriptive holophrasms, and not in primitive roots. Nevertheless, alike in their pottery and carvings, and in their picture-writing, they show a degree of artistic capacity of which few traces are found in Europe’s Neolithic age.

In the Ojibway, _oozhebegawin_ is used indiscriminately for “writing, drawing, painting,” _wazhebeegad_, for “a man who writes, draws.” In combination with _muh-ze-ne_, “figure, form,” such words are in use as _muhzenebeégawin_, “a painting, drawing”; _muhzenebeégawenene_ (M.), _muhzenebeégawequa_ (F.), “a painter, an artist”; _muhzenebeégun_, “a picture.” “To carve,” or “engrave on a rock,” is _muhzeneko_; _muhzenekojegun_, “a sculptor’s chisel”; _muhzenekoda_, “it is carved,” etc. Again with _wahbegun_, “clay,” such holophrasms are obtained as _wahbegunoonahgunekawenene_, “a man who makes earthen vessels, a potter,” _wahbeguhega_, “a worker in clay,” lit. “I work with clay.”[110]

In previous remarks on the main subject of this paper, the development of the artistic faculty has been noted as, in many cases, an exceptional manifestation of intellectual activity, alike in ancient and modern barbarous races. The striking contrast between the richly fluent forms of the language, and the infantile condition of this people in relation to so much else, including metallurgy, and the application of the arts generally to the practical requirements of life, furnishes a no less interesting illustration of intellectual development fostered by special influences in another direction. The habitual practice of oratory made the Iroquois acute reasoners; and their language abounds in abstract terms to a degree altogether surprising in an uncivilised race. The purposes of the rhetorician also encouraged the tropical use of literal terms. It is not, therefore, difficult to understand how the primary sense of the verb “to track” or “trace out” should ultimately yield the meaning of “drawing” or “sketching,” and so finally of “painting.” On the other hand, it abundantly coincides with the instinctive use of the imitative faculty as a means of conveying definite ideas to others, that in the Iroquois, as in other languages, the same terms are used to express the idea of making a mark, drawing, or writing. The primitive hieroglyphics, from whence our phonetic alphabets have come, were first literal drawings, and then their abbreviations employed to express associated ideas. An ideographic purpose appears to underlie the earliest efforts of imitative art.

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[79] _Essai sur les déformations artificielles du Crâne_, p. 74.

[80] _Crania Britannica_, vi. Pl. 15; xiv. Pl. 12; xxxii. Pl. 42.

[81] Vide _Prehistoric Annals of Scotland_, 2d ed. i. 495.

[82] _Trans. Ethnol. Soc._, N.S. iii. 227.

[83] _Prehistoric Annals of Scotland_, i. 495.

[84] _I.e._ the Island of Santa Barbara. See “Remarks on Aboriginal Art,” in _Proc. Davenport Acad. Nat. Science_, iv. 121.

[85] “The Right Hand:” _Left-handedness_, pp. 35, 37.

[86] _Proc. Soc. Antiq. Scot._, ix. 297, 301.

[87] Vide _Prehistoric Man_, 3rd ed. ii. 54.

[88] _Narrative of a Voyage to the Pacific_, i. 241.

[89] _Trans. Anthropol. Soc. Washington_, ii. 140.

[90] _Marchand’s Voyages_, ii. 282.

[91] _Remarks on Aboriginal Art in California and Queen Charlotte Islands_, p. 118.

[92] _The Lenape Stone: or the Indian and the Mammoth_, by H. C. Mercer. New York, 1885, pp. 5, 17.

[93] _Hommes fossiles et Hommes sauvages_, p. 49.

[94] _Hommes fossiles_, etc., p. 46.

[95] _Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge_, ii. 75.

[96] “Aboriginal Monuments,” etc., p. 76.

[97] _Proceedings of Hamilton Association_, i. 54.

[98] _Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge_, xxii. 82.

[99] The Rev. Mark Pattison, according to one biographer, Mr. Althaus, had cultivated a habit of reticence, till it became one of his most marked characteristics. His usual response to any remark was “Ah”; but his biographer adds: “It was interesting to observe of what a variety of shades of meaning that characteristic ejaculation ‘Ah’ was capable. Many times it was his sole answer. Mostly it signified that something had aroused his interest; sometimes it conveyed approval, sometimes surprise, sometimes doubt; sometimes it was said in a way that indicated he did not wish to express himself on the point in question.”

[100] _Reports of Explorations and Surveys for Route for a Railroad to Pacific Ocean_, 1885. Part iii. p. 39.

[101] _Reports of Explorations and Surveys for Route for a Railroad to Pacific Ocean_, 1885. Part iii. p. 39.

[102] _Reports of Secretary of War, U.S._, 1850, p. 67.

[103] _Transactions of Anthropol. Soc., Washington_, ii. 130.

[104] _United States Exploring Expedition_, vii. 644.

[105] _Burton’s City of the Saints_, p. 157.

[106] _Explorations and Surveys, Washington_, 1856, iii. 10, 36.

[107] _Trans. Amer. Phil. Soc._ iii. 222.

[108] _The Lenape and their Legends_, p. 53.

[109] _Ibid._, pp. 60, 104.

[110] See pp. 300, 301 for examples in Iroquois.