moreover, that words addressed to the Indians, when not accompanied by a wampum belt, were considered not important, and that the missionary, who first announced the gospel in a village, always spoke by the "belt of the prayer," which he held in his hands, and which remained to witness his words when the sound had died away. A similar use is made on the Pacific Coast of another variety of shells, called Haiqua (Dentalium), which the natives use mainly for ornaments, but in certain localities also employ after the manner of wampum. "The men did not think their gala-equipments complete, unless they had a jewel of haiqua, or wampum, dangling at the nose." (W. Irving's Astoria, II. p. 87.) Another Indian term still prominent in the organization of great political bodies in America is the name of the presiding officer of the before-mentioned fraction of the Democratic party, their Sachem. This term seems to have been peculiar to Northern Indians, since Captain John Smith calls the head of the Virginia Indians King, and then continues: "His (Powhatan's) inferior kings, whom they call Werowances, are tyed to rule by custom; the commander they call Caucorouse, which is captain" (Hist of Va., I. p. 143), while Beverley says, "a cockarouse is one that has the honor to be of the king or queen's council, with relation to the affairs of government." (Hist. of the Valley of Va., III. 117.) The word, which has a suspicious English sound about it, became, perhaps on that account, a favorite in the South, and was long used to designate a person of consequence among the Red men, although already the Swedish-Indian Dictionary of 1696 calls the chief Saccheeman. This term Sachem and the equally familiar Sagamore, often considered distinct terms, are in reality one and the same; so far from meaning two different things, they are simply variations of the original Sakemo, the name for a chief in all the New England dialects. Captain John Smith explained the meaning thus: "For their government: every Sachem is not a king, but their great Sachems have divers Sachems under their protection, paying them tribute, and dare make no warres without his knowledge, but every Sachem cares for the widowes, orphans, the aged, and maimed." (Hist. of Va., II. p. 238.) The modern poet, for his part, describes his appearance in these words:

"He looks like a Sachem, in red blanket wrapt,
Who 'mid some council of the sad-garbed whites,
Erect and stern, in his own memory wrapt,

With distant eye broods over other sights."

(J. R. Lowell, An Indian Summer Reverie.)

The rule of the Sachem has long since passed away; a Sachemdom, such as the older writers spoke of, when describing the territorial extent of a Sachem's power, cannot be said to exist in our day, yet the word still survives and is in constant use. This is even more strikingly the case, with the Indian's wife, his squaw, a word originating in the Algonquin language, and appearing in the New England dialects as squah or esquah, while in Ojibway it is more simply quah or equah, a form which has led to a comparison with the old English cven (queen), a woman. Her child is strangely disguised under the name of pappoose, which even so great a scholar as Mr. Schoolcraft fancied to be of Indian origin, because papois resembled a root meaning "to laugh." Now, as Indian children alone ever laugh, such an exhibition of glee and mirth being regarded as undignified by older people, the designation appeared to be very appropriate. As such it was used by W. Irving: "Marching fearlessly forward, our valiant heroes carried the village of Communipaw by storm, notwithstanding that it was vigorously defended by some half a score of squaws and pappooses" (Hist. of New York, p. 321); and J. G. C. Brainard sings

of one:

"Here his young squaw her cradling tree would choose,
Singing her chant to hush her swart pappoose.”

More careful researches have, however, led to the discovery that there is no such word in any Algonquin dialect, and that pappoose is nothing more than an imperfect effort to pronounce the English word, babies, as Yankee arose from English. It has, therefore, to take its place by the side of many such words, which 'owe their Indian origin to the imagination of the whites and not to the language of the natives. Such is also the word Pale-face, a great favorite with Cooper and many poets, which probably never was seriously used by an Indian in his own tongue, but makes quite a pretty appearance in such lines as these:

"The brave Tecumseh's words are good:
One league for terror, strife and blood,
Must all our far-spread tribes unite;
Then shall the pale-face sink to-night.”

(Tecumseh, by Colton, XVIII.)

The word Manitou, which is generally held to mean God, has been the cause of much angry discussion. This arose from the fact that the early missionaries, from the zealous Puritan of the North to the pious Lutheran in Delaware and Virginia, used the word as representing the one great God of Christianity. The truth is, however, that Manitou is a word employed to signify the same thing by all Indians from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic regions, and this is simply spirit. Now, the Indians have good and bad spirits. Hence, it was at a great risk that the New England apostle, as well as the unknown author of the "Vocabularium Barbaro-Virgineorum," printed in Stockholm in 1696, could dare say: Manetto: "God." For, the Indians have a Manetou for every cave, waterfall, or other commanding object in nature, and generally make offerings to them at such places. Their bad Manetou differs in no way from our Devil. Hence, Judge Durfee was perfectly right, when he wrote:

"Praying for good, we to Cawtantowit bow,

And shunning evil, we to Chepian cry;
To other Manittoos we offerings owe,

Dwell they in mountain, flood, or open sky."

(What Cheer, Cant. II. B.)

When Father Marquette came to the Indians who directed his steps toward the Mississippi, "they answered," he writes, "that they were Ilinois, and in token of peace they presented their pipes to smoke. These pipes for smoking are called in the country the Calumets." It is not improbable that we owe to these words of the pious and energetic missionary the addition to our language of this word. And yet it is by no means an Indian word, as is frequently believed and quite as frequently stated. Their own word is simply a term meaning pipe. Calumet, on the other hand, is nothing more than the old form of the French word "Chalumeau," from the Latin "Calamus," and was the name given to a pipe by early French settlers, the colonists of New France. It is, therefore, a much more genuine

Americanism, than most of the Indian words which we have simply obtained from the Indians in common with all other nations. The term canoe, on the other hand, has probably a more legitimate Indian pedigree. Although it has reached us only through the same French agency in the diminutive form of canot, there can be little doubt that it is the Carib word canaoa; at least the natives of San Salvador are said to have called smaller boats thus, when Columbus first landed there. The Indian's canoe in the Northwest, it is well known, is made of the Paper or Canoe Birch (Betula papyracea), found in Maine and the whole North, but not in the South. Its thick, glossy, and pliant bark is used by the Indians for the manufacture of baskets, boxes, and trinkets of all kinds, which they ornament with beads and colored straws. It is this bark also which served their ancestors, as it serves them now, in some districts, for the much more important structure of canoes, for, taken whole from the tree, it can be spread open, fashioned into a graceful shape and lined with wooden ribs. They are still used wherever the Indians have an abiding place, and hunters are apt to speak of them briefly as birches. The short oar with a broad blade by which the exceedingly frail and nicely-balanced canoe is propelled, requires no mean skill and close attention; hence the slang phrase of paddling one's own canoe means to be skillful and energetic enough to succeed unaided, as the song says:

Among the articles of personal apparel which distinguish the Indian there are two, which have been and still are so extensively used by the whites also, that their names have become household words and parts of our language. These are the Mocassin and the Tomahawk. The former, in the Massachusetts dialect written " Mocasson," in the Kenisteno dialect and some other offshoots of the Algonquin "Mockisin," is a shoe made of soft leather without a stiff sole, frequently ornamented more or less richly. These shoes have been largely adopted by Western hunters

and all men who have hard work to do in winter. Thus we are told that "the loggers are obliged to take good care of their feet; one of them often wears three or four pair of socks, with a pair of mocassins over them-the mocassins, because they give the foot more freedom and thus render 'them less liable to freeze, are generally preferred to coarse leather boots." (Minnesota Pineries, Putnam's Magazine, July, 1857.) They are, however, no protection against cold or wet; hence S. Kercheval tells us that "in winter they were stuffed with deer's hair or dry leaves to keep the feet warm, but in wet weather it was usually said, that they were only a decent way of going barefooted, owing to the natural spongy nature of the leather of which they were made." (Hist. of the Valley of Virginia, p. 221.) A resemblance, more fancied than real, has given to a poisonous snake (Toxicophis piscivorus), which is brown with black bars faintly marked, like the black marks of wear and tear on the buff leather, the name of Mocassin Snake, while in the South a man made drunk by bad liquor is said to have been "bitten by the snake," or simply to be mocassined.

The tomahawk had in like manner become the familiar weapon of the frontiersman, who handled it with greater skill even than the Indian. In most Algonquin languages the word appears as tahmahgan, consisting of otamaha," to beat," and egan, a term used in the construction of all verbal nouns, so that it literally means "a beating-thing." The name was given by the natives to every form of heavy war-club in use among them, though the most common form was that of a comparatively light axe with a hollow handle, so that it could serve as a pipe also. To the upper part the scalp of the defeated enemy was frequently attached. A favorite game of the early settlers is thus described by Kercheval: "The tomahawk, with its handle of a certain length, will make a given number of turns at a given distance; at five steps it will strike with the edge, handle downwards; at seven and a half it will strike with the edge, handle upwards, etc., a little experience teaches the eye and the hand, and the sport of throwing the hatchet is great.” (Hist. of the Valley of Va., p. 243.) As the Indians performed certain ceremonies with the tomahawk, burying it when they made peace, and digging it up again upon the breaking out of a war, the two customs soon became familiar to the early settlers, and the