The love for mystery and magic which pervades the native ceremonies, has affected the forms of their language. They have given it a power to impart life to dead masses. Vitality in their forms of utterance is deeply implanted in all these dialects, which have been examined; they provide, by the process of inflection, for keeping a perpetual distinction between the animate and inanimate kingdoms. But where vitality and spirituality are so blended as we see them in their doctrine of animal souls, the inevitable result must be, either to exalt the principle of life, in all the classes of nature, into immortality, or to sink the latter to the level of mere organic life. Indian word-makers have taken the former dilemma, and peopled their paradise not only with the souls of men, but with the souls of every imaginable kind of beasts. Spirituality is thus clogged with sensual accidents. The human soul hungers, and it must have food deposited upon the grave. It suffers from cold, and the body must be wrapped about with cloths. It is in darkness, and a light must be kindled at the head of the grave. It wanders through plains and across streams, subject to the providences of this life, in quest of its place of enjoyment, and when it reaches it, it finds every species of sensual trial, which renders the place not indeed a heaven of rest, but another experimental world—very much like this. Of punishments, we hear nothing; rewards are looked for abundantly, and the idea that the Master of life, or the merciful Spirit, will be alike merciful to all, irrespective of the acts of this life, or the degree of moral turpitude, appears to leave for their theology a belief in restorations or universalism. There is nothing to refer them to a Saviour; that IDEA was beyond their conception, and of course there was no occasion for the offices of the Holy Ghost. Darker and more chilling views to a theologian, it would be impossible to present. Yet it may be asked, what more benign result could have been, or can now be, anticipated in the hearts of an ignorant, uninstructed and wandering people, exposed to sore vicissitudes in their lives and fortunes, and without the guidance of the light of Revelation?
Of their mythology proper, we have space only to make a few remarks. Some of the mythologic existences of the Indians admit of poetic uses. Manabozho may be considered as a sort of terrene Jove, who could perform all things whatever, but lived some time on earth, and excelled particularly in feats of strength and manual dexterity. All the animals were subject to him. He also survived a deluge, which the traditions mention, having climbed a tree on an extreme elevation during the prevalence of the waters, and sent down various animals for some earth, out of which he re-created the globe. The four cardinal points are so many demi-gods, of whom the West, called Kabeun, has priority of age. The East, North and South are deemed to be his sons, by a maid who incautiously exposed herself to the west wind. Iagoo (Iagoo) is the god of the marvellous, and many most extravagant tales of forest and domestic adventure are heaped upon him. Kwasind is a sort of Samson, who threw a huge mass of rock such as the Cyclops cast at Mentor. Weeng is the god of sleep, who is represented to have numerous small emissaries at his service, reminding us of Pope's creation of gnomes. These minute emissaries climb up the forehead, and wielding a tiny club, knock individuals to sleep. Pauguk is death, in his symbolic attitude. He is armed with a bow and arrows. It would be easy to extend this enumeration.
The mental powers of the Indian constitutes a topic which we do not design to discuss. But it must be manifest that some of their peculiarities are brought out by their system of mythology and spirit-craft. War, public policy, hunting, abstinence, endurance and courageous adventure, form the leading topics of their mental efforts. These are deemed the appropriate themes of men, sages and warriors. But their intellectual essays have also a domestic theatre of exhibition. It is here that the Indian mind unbends itself and reveals some of its less obvious traits. Their public speakers cultivate a particular branch of oratory. They are careful in the use of words, and are regarded as standards of purity in the language. They appear to have an accurate ear for sounds, and delight in rounding off a period, for which the languages afford great facilities, by their long and stately words, and multiform inflexions. A drift of thought—an elevation of style, is observable in their public speaking which is dropt in private conversation. Voice, attitude and motion, are deemed of the highest consequence. Much of the meaning of their expressions is varied by the vehement, subdued, or prolonged tone in which they are uttered. In private conversation, on the contrary, all is altered. There is an equanimity of tone, and easy vein of narration or dialogue, in which the power of mimicry is most strikingly brought out. The very voice and words of the supposed speakers, in their fictitious legends, are assumed. Fear, supplication, timidity or boasting, are exactly depicted, and the deepest interest excited. All is ease and freedom from restraint. There is nothing of the coldness or severe formality of the council. The pipe is put to its ordinary use, and all its symbolic sanctity is laid aside with the wampum belt and the often reiterated state epithets, "Nosa" and "Kosinan," i.e. my father and our father.
Another striking trait of the race is found in their legends and tales. Those of the aboriginal race who excel in private conversation, become to their tribes oral chroniclers, and are relied on for historical traditions as well as tales. It is necessary, in listening to them, to distinguish between the gossip and the historian, the narrator of real events, and of nursery tales. For they gather together everything from the fabulous feats of Manebozho and Misshozha, to the hair-breadth escapes of a Pontiac, or a Black Hawk. These narrators are generally men of a good memory and a certain degree of humor, who have experienced vicissitudes, and are cast into the vale of years. In the rehearsal of their tales, transformations and transmigrations are a part of the machinery relied on; and some of them are as accurately adapted to the purposes of amusement or instruction, as if Zoroaster or Ovid himself had been consulted in their production. Many objects in the inanimate creation, according to these tales, were originally men and women. And numerous animals had other forms in their first stages of existence, which they, as well as human beings, forfeited, by the power of necromancy and transmigration. The evening star, it is fabled, was formerly a woman. An ambitious boy became one of the planets. Three brothers, travelling in a canoe, were translated into a group of stars. The fox, lynx, hare, robin, eagle and numerous other species, retain places in the Indian system of astronomy. The mouse obtained celestial elevation by creeping up the rainbow, which Indian story makes a flossy mass of bright threads, and by the power of gnawing them, he relieved a captive in the sky. It is a coincidence, which we note, that ursa major is called by them the bear.
These legends are not confined to the sky alone. The earth also is a fruitful theatre of transformations. The wolf was formerly a boy, who, being neglected by his parents, was transformed into this animal. A shell, lying on the shore, was transformed to the raccoon. The brains of an adulteress were converted into the addikumaig, or white fish.
The power of transformation was variously exercised. It most commonly existed in magicians, of whom Abo, Manabosh or Manabozha, and Mishosha, retain much celebrity. The latter possessed a magic canoe which would rush forward through the water on the utterance of a charm, with a speed that would outstrip the wind. Hundreds of miles were performed in as many minutes. The charm which he uttered, consisted of a monosyllable, containing one consonant, which does not belong to the language; and this word has no definable meaning. So that the language of magic and demonology has one feature in common in all ages and with every nation.
Man, in his common shape, is not alone the subject of their legends. The intellectual creations of the Indians admit of the agency of giants and fairies. Anak and his progeny could not have created more alarm in the minds of the ten faithless spies, than do the race of fabulous Weendigos to the Indian tribes. These giants are represented as cannibals, who ate up men, women and children. Indian fairies are of two classes, distinguished as the place of their revels is either the land or water. Land-fairies are imagined to choose their residences about promontories, water-falls and solemn groves. The water, besides its appropriate class of aquatic fairies, is supposed to be the residence of a race of beings called Nibanaba which have their analogy, except as to sex, in the mermaid. The Indian word indicates a male. Ghosts are the ordinary machinery in their tales of terror and mystery. There is, perhaps, a glimmering of the idea of retributive justice in the belief that ghosts and spirits are capable of existing in fire.