They form the comparative and superlative degrees, not as in other languages, by the addition of syllables, but in a different manner. An Abipon would express this sentence. The tiger is worse than the dog, thus: the dog is not bad though the tiger be bad. Nétegink chik naà, oágan nihirenak la naà: or thus, The dog is not bad as the tiger, Netegink chi chi naà ỳágàm nihirenak. When we should say, The tiger is worst, an Abipon would say, the tiger is bad above all things, Nihirenak lamerpëëáoge kenoáoge naà: or thus, The tiger is bad so that it has no equal in badness. Nihirenak chit keoá naà. Sometimes they express a superlative, or any other eminence, merely by raising the voice. Ariaik, according to the pronunciation, signifies either a thing simply good, or the very best. If it be uttered with the whole force of the breast, and with an elevated voice, ending in an acute sound, it denotes the superlative degree; if with a calm, low voice, the positive. They signify that they are much pleased with any thing, or that they approve it greatly, by uttering with a loud voice the words Là naà! before Ariaik, or Eúrenék. Now it is bad! It is beautiful, or excellent! Nehaol means night. If they exclaim in a sharp tone, Là nehaòl, they mean that it is midnight, or the dead of the night: if they pronounce it slowly and hesitatingly, they mean that it is the beginning of the night. When they see any one hit the mark with an arrow, knock down a tiger quickly, &c. and wish to express that he is eminently dexterous, they cry with a loud voice, La yáraigè, now he knows, which, with them, is the highest commendation.

They form diminutives, by adding avàlk, aole, or olek, to the last syllable of the word, thus: Ahëpegak, a horse. Ahëpegeravàlk, a little horse, Óénèk, a boy. Óénèkavàlk, a little boy. Haáye, a girl. Haayáole, a little girl. Paỳ, father, a word for priest, introduced into America by the Portugueze. Payolék, little father, which they used when they wished to express particular kindness towards us. When angry, they only used the word Paỳ. Kàëpak, wood. Kàëperáole, a little piece of wood, by which they designated the beads of the rosary. Lenechì, little, moderate. Lénechiólek, or Lenechiavàlk. They make very frequent use of diminutives, which, with them, indicate either tender affection or contempt: thus, Yóale, a man. Yoaleólek, a little man, a bit of a man. Often with them a diminutive is a stronger expression of love or praise than any superlative: thus, they call a stronger or handsomer horse than ordinary, Ahëpegeravàlk. The Spaniards too express a more particular liking for a thing, when they call it bonito, than when they simply call it bueno, good or pretty.

Most of the American nations are extremely deficient in words to express number. The Abipones can only express three numbers in proper words. Iñitára, one. Iñoaka, two. Iñoaka yekainì, three. They make up for the other numbers by various arts: thus, Geyenk ñatè, the fingers of an emu, which, as it has three in front and one turned back, are four, serves to express that number. Neènhalek, a beautiful skin spotted with five different colours, is used to signify the number five. If you interrogate an Abipon respecting the number of any thing, he will stick up his fingers, and say, leyer iri, so many. If it be of importance to convey an accurate idea of the number of the thing, he will display the fingers of both hands or feet, and if all these are not sufficient, show them over and over again till they equal the number required. Hence Hanámbegem, the fingers of one hand means five; Lanám rihegem, the fingers of both hands, ten; Lanam rihegem, cat gracherhaka anámichirihegèm, the fingers of both hands and both feet, twenty. They have also another method of making up for want of numbers. When they return from an excursion to hunt wild horses, or shoot tame ones, none of the Abipones will ask them how many horses have you brought home? but, how much space will the troop of horse which you have brought home occupy? to which they will reply, the horses placed in a row would fill the whole market-place, or they extend from this grove to the river's bank. With this reply, which gives them an idea of the quantity of horses, they remain satisfied, though uninformed of the exact number. Sometimes they take up a handful of sand or grass, and showing it to the interrogator, endeavour in this way to express an immense quantity. But when number is spoken of, take care you do not readily credit whatever the Abipones say. They are not ignorant of arithmetic, but averse to it. Their memory generally fails them. They cannot endure the tedious process of counting. Hence to rid themselves of questions on the subject, they show as many fingers as they like, sometimes deceived themselves, sometimes deceiving others. Often, if the number about which you ask exceeds three, an Abipon, to save himself the trouble of showing his fingers, will cry Pòp! many. Chic leyekalipì, innumerable. Sometimes, when ten soldiers are coming, the assembled people will exclaim, Yoaliripì latenk naúeretápek, a very great number of men are approaching.

But still greater is their want of numerals, which grammarians call ordinals, for they cannot count beyond first: Era námachìt, the first. So that the Ten Commandments are reckoned in this way: the first commandment, Era námachìt, but as they are unable to express second, third, fourth, in their language, instead of these numbers, they place before the commandments, and another, and another, &c. Cat laháua, cat laháua, &c. They have, however, words signifying first and last, Enàm cahèk, that which goes before, and Iñagehék, that which comes last.

They have only two distributive numerals: each Iñitarapè, and Iñóakatapè, which answers to the Latin, bini. Liñoaka yahat, means twice. Ekátarapek, and sometimes Haûe ken, once. This is the extent of the Abiponian arithmetic, and the whole of their scanty supply of numbers. Scarce richer are the Guarany Indians, who cannot go beyond the number four. They call One, Petey̆. Two, Mokoy̆. Three, Mbohapĭ. Four, Irundy̆. First, Iyipĭbae. Second, Imomokoyndaba. Third, Imombohapĭhaba. Fourth, Imoimrundy̆haba. [[1]]Singuli, Petey̆tey̆. Bini, Mokoy̆mokoy̆. Terni, Mbohápĭhapĭ. Quaterni, Irundy̆ rundy̆. Once, Petey̆ yebĭ. Twice, Mokoy̆ yebi, &c. The Guaranies, like the Abipones, when questioned respecting a thing exceeding four, immediately reply, Ndipapahabi, or Ndipapahai, innumerable. But as a knowledge of numbers is highly necessary in the uses of civilized life, and above all, in confession, the Guaranies were daily taught at church to count in the Spanish language, in the public explanation, or recitation of the catechism. On Sunday, the whole people used to count from one to a thousand, in the Spanish tongue, in the church. But it was all in vain. Generally speaking, we found the art of music, painting, and sculpture, easier learnt than numbers. They can all pronounce the numbers in Spanish, but are so easily and frequently confused in counting, that you must be very cautious how you credit what they say in this matter.

[1]. I give the original Latin in this and other places, where the English does not fully express the meaning.

For the conjugation of verbs, no paradigm can be given; as the singular number of the present tense of the indicative mood differs in almost all words, and is more difficult to learn than the augments of the Greek verbs. The second person particularly takes new letters, not only in the beginning, but also in the middle, and the end, as will appear from the examples which I shall lay before you.

Singular.Plural.
I loveRikapìtWe loveGrkapitàk
Thou lovestGrkàpichìYe loveGrkápichii
He lovesNkàpitThey loveNkapitè
I knowRiáraigeGraáraigèYaraige
I rememberHakaleèntHakaleènchìYakaleènt
Id.ÑetúnetáNichuñütáNetúnetá
I teachHápagřanátřanHapagřanatřařìYápagřanatřan
I hastenRihahagalgèGrahálgalìYahágalgè
I dieRìígàGregachìYígà
I am drownedRiigaráñiGregácháñiYgárañi
I leapRiahatRahachiRahàt
I fearRietachàGretachiNetacha
I desireRihèGrihìNihè
I flyNatahegemNatáchihegemNatahegem
I am drunkRkíhogètGrkíhogichìLkíhogèt
I am slowRiaàlGraalìNaal
I am strongRiahòtGrihochiYhòt
I am wellRioàmkatàGroemkètàYoámkatà
I kickHachàkHachařèRachak
I eatHakeñèKiñigiRkeñe
I vomitRièmaletapèkGremalitápèkNémaletapèk
I sleepAatèAachiRoatè
I am ashamedRipagakGrpágařèNpagàk
I aim at the markHatenetálgèHachínitalgèYatenetalgè
I valueRiápategèGrpáchiigèYapategè
I am whippedHamèlkHamelgìYamèlk
I drinkŘařàmŘařamiNařàm
I makeHaètEichìYaèt
I obeyRiahapètGrahapichiNahapet
I come toŘauèNauichìNauè

But these few are sufficient to show the infinite changes of almost all verbs. I refrain from giving more examples which I have in my head; for it is not my intention to teach you the Abiponian language, but to show you the strange construction of it, and to avoid fatiguing your ears with so many long savage words. From the little which I have written, you will collect that the inflexions and variations of the second person in particular can only be learnt by use, not by rules. The other tenses of the indicative mood, and indeed all the moods of every conjugation, give little trouble to learners, being formed simply by adding a few syllables, or particles, to the present of the indicative: for instance:—

Present tense. Rikapit, I love.