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ful assault in the history of North America.* The Indians had treacher-
ously massacred Zaldivar's brother Juan and his companions , and their
punishment was as just as it was terrible. Three days of hand-to-hand
fighting followed the assault ; and at their end, though every surviving
Spaniard was wounded, Acoma was tamed for nearly a century.

The age of the present town is not known — except that it was already
old in 1540. There is no possible doubt that this is the Acoma of Cor-
onado and Oiiate.

Commercial Eng Co. A FEAST-DAY IN ACOMA. Copyright by C. F. Lummis.

I cannot try to describe in this scant space the simple Quires ; their
impenetrable wall to the stranger, their loyal tenderness to the alien
they learn to love, their strange customs — half prehistoric fetichism,
half earnest Christianity — their interesting and comfortable houses,
their careful little farms, their quaint home industries, the beauty of
the family relations, their wonderful and poetic folklore. Those who
care to read of them may find something in what I have elsewhere
written.! I have known and loved them for many years, these brown
Hano Oshatch, the Children of the Sun ; and though many of those are
gone, now, who were my chief delight in the sky-town — like brave
Martin Valle, the seven-times governor, and Hashti Garcia, the oldest
of the Quires, and Faustino, the most magnificent Mars that ever

♦See The Spanish Pioneers, Chaps. Ill, IV.

t In The Land of Poco Tiempo, The Spanish Pioneers, A Aew Mexico David, etc.


Mausard- Collier Eng. Co.


oyright 1889 by C. F. Lummis

walked in living bronze — my heart turns thither still. They deserve
far more and far better description than has ever been given them ; but
here is no room for the volume they would fill. It is more to my
purpose if by still persevering I may induce a few more Americans to
care to see for themselves a spot as much more wonderful than anything
they can find in Kurope as the Pyramids are greater than a haystack.

When Winter Widows all the North.


When winter widows all the North and folds

Her purple woods, her yellow fields, her plains,

In pallish motley ; when from pleasant lanes
The green he tears, and what of brightness holds
The autumn garden still — wan marigolds,

Late dahlias, — these, he drowns in bitter rains ;

When black storms drag their weight of icy chaii
Across the piteous whiteness of her wolds,
And high winds drive us from the window-seat,

Whilst chimney- voices only moan and hiss —
Still, blossom-crowned, fruit-laden, and replete

With ev'ry gentle thing that makes for bliss,
Her marvelous sweet mouth, and warm as sweet,

The smiling South uplifts for us to kiss.

Fall River, Mass.

I 9 2

The Return of Yates.

\ EVEN years ago the genius of Frederic Yates was an

inspiring force in San Francisco. It is felt there still ;

and his present visit to the coast and to his father's home

in Los Angeles is cause of rejoicing to all Californiaus

who know the artist and his work.

Mr. Yates is English born, and is now settled in

London, but he is still an American in America. Mrs.

Yates is a native of New Haven, Connecticut.

From his very early years, the strong inclination for

art persisted in the face of opposition, and at the age of
twenty-one, a desk in a
mercantile house was
abandoned for the ate-
lier of M. Bonnat in
Paris. Two or three
years afterwards, his
family having come
from England to San
Francisco, the young
man joined them, and
there began the rugged
first stages of his career.
As often as means were
accumulated he re-
turned to England,
France or Italy for a
year or two of work.
When the Art League
was formed by a num-
ber of San Francisco
students, Mr. Yates be-
came their instructor,
and his magnetic en-
thusiasm built up a
colony of earnest work-
ers. He was a well-
loved member of the
Bohemian Club, which
owns several portraits
of his painting.

He painted portraits
in California as good as
those which afterwards
won for him in the
world's art-centers the
full recognition he bad
missed here. It was in




Eng.Co. THE CANON OF CANTERBURY Portrait by Yates.

1889 that the Dowager Marchioness of Downshire, having seen work of
his, sent for him to execute commissions for her, and afterwards intro-
duced him in London. The present visit is his first return to California
since that time. In '94 he came as far as New York, but was recalled to
paint a portrait of the Bishop of Portsmouth for presentation on an
anniversary. He exhibits constantly in the Royal Academy and the
New English Art Club ; also in the Paris Salon.

The climate of England is congenial to Mr. Yates's temperament. The
deep, quiet, satisfying color, the melting grays of that atmosphere are
expressed in his landscapes. In California he avoids the hot sunlight,
but rejoices in the beautiful color of dawn, sunset and afterglow.

The remarkable portrait seen in the photograph of the artist, here
reproduced, was in the Salon of '95. It is that of Mr. G. A. Rogers, a


wood-carver of note, and a member of the Hogarth Club, to which Mr.
Yates belongs.

The gift of portraiture is rare. To grasp the personality of the sitter
and reproduce it so that the canvas seizes upon us with the power of
life itself! Estimate the difference between this and the merely
imitative portrait which reminds us of a friend by a deceptive
resemblance to the features, copied line for line — and we have some
conception of the length and breadth of mental power required to pro-
duce such work as that of Mr. Yates.

What do we wish to preserve of a friend? Not the milliner's view;
not that of the satirist, who deals with superficial peculiarities. We
want the real being. The portrait painter has trained himself to a large
way of seeing — obeying a gift of insight that is divine. All that is
wholesome, true and kind in human nature shines from the canvases of
Mr. Yates. There are subtle intellectual qualities, and there is elemental
force ; the delicate grace of childhood, the strength and sweetness of
age. Count the men of the day who can do such work !

It has all the qualities of great art. Free from mannerism — vigor-
ously original and daring, it never loses repose, and it is delicious in
harmony of color.

Mr. Yates's attitude is indicated in these words of his own: "We
must not approach our work without feeling the absolute master over
all its means of procedure. And yet at the same time to keep humble
in spirit — these seem to me the two absolutely necessary qualities that
must go together if we are ever to do the true work." H. E. c.

Los Angeles.

At Redlands.


Once more among the mountains ! Soul of mine
Drink in their matchless aspect as they lift
Their circling range, obscured by overdrift

Of cloud, or stand out sharply, line on line

Of august shapes, upon whose foreheads shine
The dawn's bright earnest and the late last gift
Of day, the brief empurpled gleams that shift

Through netted vapors at the sun's decline.

Once more among my visions ! Soul, my soul,
Hast wandered from thy Switzerland, but now
Appear on thy horizon, east and west,

Those thrilling shapes ; the mists arise and roll ;
New lustres from some nameless day-spring flow,
And lo ! and lo ! thy dreams are manifest.

Los Angela*.

i 9 7

Songs of the Navajos.


V~^OR many years the most trusted account of the Navajo Indians of
•Hg New Mexico and Arizona was to be found in a letter written by
^ Doctor Jona Letherman of the army, and published in the Smith-
sonian Report for 1856. Doctor Letherman had lived three years at
Fort Defiance, in the heart of the Navajo country, when he wrote this
letter and he acknowledges his indebtedness, for assistance in preparing
it, to Major Kendrick, who long commanded at Fort Defiance. Both
the Doctor and the Major were men of unusual ability. The former,
(having changed the spelling of his name to Letterman) afterwards dis-
tinguished himself as medical director of the Army of the Potomac,
and the latter was, for many years, professor of chemistry at the
National Military Academy.

From this letter, I extract the following statements concerning the
Navajos: "Of their religion little or nothing is known, as indeed, all
inquiries tend to show they have none." " The lack of traditions is a
source of surprise. They have no knowledge of their origin or of the
history of the tribe." " They have frequent gatherings for dancing."
" Their singing is but a succession of grunts and is anything but

The evidence of these gentlemen, one would think, might be taken as
conclusive ; yet, fifteen years ago, when I first found myself among the
Navajos, I was not influenced, in the least, by the authority of this let-
ter. Previous experience with Indians had taught me that such evi-
dence might be of little value, and I began at once to investigate the
religion, traditions and poetic literature of which, I was assured, the
Navajos were devoid.

I had not been many weeks in New Mexico when I discovered that
the dances, to which Doctor Letherman refers, were religious ceremo-
nials and, later, I found that these ceremonials could compare favorably
in allegory, symbolism and intricacy of ritual with the ceremonies of
any people, ancient or modern. I found, ere long, that these heathens,
pronounced godless and legendless, possessed myths and traditions so
numerous and lengthy that I can never hope to collect them all, a
pantheon as well stocked with gods and heroes as that of the ancient
Greeks, and prayers which for length and vain repetition might put a
pharisee to the blush.

But what did the study of the disagreeable "succession of grunts"
reveal? This is the matter in which we are now most interested. It
revealed that besides improvised songs, in which the Navajos are adepts,
they have knowledge of thousands of significant songs — or poems as
they might be called — which have been composed with care and
handed down, for centuries perhaps, from teacher to pupil, from father
to son, as a precious heritage, throughout the wide Navajo nation.
They have songs of traveling, appropriate to every part of the journey,
from the time the wanderer leaves his home until he returns. They


have farming songs which refer to every stage of their simple agricul-
ture, from the first view of the planting-ground in the spring, to the
harvest home. They have building songs which celebrate every act in
the structure of the hut from "thinking about it " to moving into it
and lighting the first fire. They have songs for hunting, for war, for
gambling, in short, for every important occasion in life from birth to
death, not to speak of pre-natal and post-obit songs. These songs are
composed according to established (often rigid) rules and abound in
poetic figures of speech.

Perhaps the most interesting of their metrical compositions are those
connected with their sacred rites — their religious songs. These rites
are very numerous ; many of them are of nine days' duration and with
each is associated a number of appropriate songs. Sometimes there
are, pertaining to a single rite, two hundred songs, or more, which may
not be sung at other rites.

These songs must be known to the priest of the rite and his assist-
ants in a most exact manner ; for an error made in singing a song may
be fatal to the efficacy of a ceremony. In no case is an important mis-
take tolerated and, sometimes, the error of a single syllable works irre-
parable injury. A noteworthy instance of this rule is shown in a song
sung at the beginning of work on the last night of the great ceremony
of the night-chant. The rite is one which may cost the patron two
hundred dollars or more. It has lasted eight days and nights when four
singers, after long and careful instruction by the priest, come forth,
painted, adorned and masked as gods, to sing this song of the Atsdhlei.
Several hundred people — many from the furthest confines of the
Navajo land — have come to sit up all night and witness the public
ceremonies. The song is long and is mostly made up of meaningless
or obsolete expressions which convey no idea to the mind of the singer.
Yet not a single vocable may be omitted, mispronounced or misplaced.
A score or more of critics, who know the song by heart, are listening
with strained attention. If the slightest error is made, it is at once
proclaimed ; the fruitless ceremony terminates abruptly and the disap-
pointed multitude disperses.

The songs all contain significant words ; but these, for poetic require-
ments, are often greatly distorted and the distortions must be kept in
mind. Some of the words, too, are archaic — the}- mean nothing in
modern Navajo; but the priests assign traditional meanings to them —
and this adds to the task of memorizing. But, in addition to the sig-
nificant words, there are, (as instanced above) numerous meaningless
vocables in all songs and these must be recited with a care at least equal
to that bestowed on the rest of the composition. These meaningless
sounds are commonly introduced in the preludes and refrains of the
stanzas, and in the verse endings; but the}- may occur anj-where in the

The preludes and refrains here referred to are found, with rare ex-
ceptions, in every stanza and in every song. Although they are all
either totally meaningless or only partly significant they are the most


characteristic parts of the poems and the singer cons the preludes over,
when he wishes to call to mind any particular composition, just as we
often remember a poem by means of the first line. They are rarely or
never quite alike in any two songs and great ingenuity is often dis-
played in giving them variety.

There is yet another burden laid on the memory of the singer of
sacred songs, and this is the order of their arrangement. The songs of
each ceremony are divided into groups, which must follow one another
in an established order, and each song has, in the group to which it
belongs, a place that must not be changed, under penalty of divine dis-
pleasure. To sing, during the progress of a rite, the Sixth Song of the
Mountain Sheep, before the Fifth Song is sung would be a sacrilege as
great as to chant the syllables ohohoho in place of ehehehe. To
remember this exact order of sequence in a set of two hundred or three
hundred songs is no easy task.

But, it may be said by some of my readers: "Perhaps things were
differenl with the Navajos in Doctor Dethertnan's day. May they not
have learned from other tribes, or have, themselves, invented all this
song and ceremony since he knew them ?" To this I would reply that
it is absurd to suppose that so many and such elaborate rites, with their
accompanying songs, could have grown up among an unlettered people
in the twenty-five years that elapsed between Doctor Letherman's de-
parture from the Navajo country and my arrival there. Besides I have
obtained my information from men of advanced age — sixty to eighty
years old — who practiced these rites and sang these songs in their
youth and who, in turn, learned them from men of a departed genera-
tion. The shamans who conduct these ceremonies, tell these tales and
sing these songs, are scattered widely over the Navajo country. Men
who are scarcely acquainted with one another, and who learned from
different preceptors, will sing any given sacred song in the same words
and to the same tune. All the lore of the Navajo priesthood was un-
doubtedly extant in Doctor Letherman's day and for ages before.

It is remarkable that while the Navajo men are such fruitful compos-
ers of song and such ardent singers, the women as a rule do not sing.
Among the wild hunting tribes of the North, as I knew them thirty
years ago, the women not only had songs of their own, but they took
part in the ceremonial songs of the men. The Pueblo Indian women
of New Mexico, neighbors of the Navajos, have many fine songs — the
song of the corn-grinders, which 1 have often heard in Zufii, being
especially wild and musical — but the Navajo woman is songless. I
tried a long time to find a woman who could sing, and offered liberal
pecuniary inducements, before I got one. She came to me from a dis-
tance of thirty miles. She knew no songs peculiar to her sex, but her
father was a medicine-man, who frequently repeated his songs at home
in order to familiarize himself with them, and she gradually picked up
some of them. She sang in a musical soprano, with much spirit, and
was one of the most pleasing singers I heard in the tribe.

It is probable that all figures of speech known to our poets might be


shown to exist in these simple compositions of the Navajos ; but, in
many cases, the allusions are to matters of symbolism, or incidents in
their m\ r ths, so recondite that they could be made plain to the reader
only by a tedious recital — too long for the limits of this paper. Thus
it would not be easy to make clear in a few words why, when the god-
dess Estsanatlehi, in one of the songs to her honor, is spoken of as
climbing a wand of turquoise, we know the poet means to say she is
ascending San Mateo Mountain in New Mexico ; or why, when he
speaks of her as climbing a wand of haliotis shell, he is endeavoring
to tell us that she is ascending the peak of San Francisco in Arizona.
But some of their metaphors and similes are not so hard to understand.
Here is a translation of the Dove Song, one of the gambling songs sung
in the game of Kesiche :

Wosh Wosh picks them up, (seeds)
Wosh Wosh picks them up,
Glossy Locks picks them up,
Red Moccasin picks them up,
Wosh Wosh picks them up.

Wosh Wosh is an onomatope for the dove; Glossy Locks and Red
Moccasin are figurative expressions for the dove of obvious significance.

Antithesis is a favorite figure with the Navajo poet. Here is an in-
stance of it in a song belonging to the mountain-chant, one of the great
nine-days ceremonies of the shamans :

The voice that beautifies the land,

The voice above,

The voice of the thunder,

Among the dark clouds,

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land.

The voice that beautifies the land,

The voice below,

The voice of the grasshopper,

Among the little plants,

Again and again it sounds,

The voice that beautifies the land.

In these two stanzas the voice of the thunder above is contrasted with
the feeble noise of the grasshopper below ; yet both are voices that
make the world beautiful.

I have noted many cases of climax, but only one now occurs to me ;
(at the present writing most of my notes are not accessible). It is from
the mountain-chant, and I offer it, although there are but two steps to
the ladder.


Sought the gods and found them ;
On the summits of the mountains

Sought the gods and found them :
Truly, with my sacrifice,

Sought the gods and found them.
Somebody doubts it ; so I have heard.

Holy-young- woman

Sought the gods and found them ;
On the summits of the clouds,

Sought the gods and found them ;
Truly, with my sacrifice,

Sought the gods and found them.
Somebody doubts it, so I have heard.


Maid-who-becoines-a-bear (Chike chash-natlehi) is an important char-
acter in Navajo mythology. The last line in each stanza is an instance
of irony.

It will be seen from the examples given that they understand the
value of repetition in poetry. The refrain is a favorite form of expres-
sion ; but they know of other means of giving verbal melody to their
songs as may be seen in the following text of the first stanza of the
Blue-bird (Sialia arctica) song :

Tsi hayilka'i Dola ani,
Ayash dotlozhi biza hold
Biza hozhonigo, biza hold
Biza holonigo whihe inli
Ddla ani. Dola ani.

To appreciate this a translation is not necessary ; but it is given, as
the reader may wish to know it.

Just at daylight Sialia calls.

The blue bird has a voice.

His voice melodious. He has a voice.

He has a voice that flows in gladness.

Sialia calls. Sialia calls.

The regular Navajo name for the blue bird " doli " (changed here to
"dola" for poetic reasons) I translate Sialia to distinguish it from
the descriptive term, in the second line, " ayash dotlozhi," which means
literally blue-bird.

They are not ignorant of the value of rhyme in poetry, but they
more often produce this by the repetition of significant or meaningless
refrains or by the addition of meaningless syllables than by selecting
different words with similar endings. Still we find the latter and more
difficult means employed.

To the casual listener it may appear that there is much sameness in
the music of their songs ; but a more careful study will reveal the fact
that the variety is great. It is remarkable how, with such rude instru-
ments (an inverted basket for a drum and a gourd rattle) to accompany
them, they succeed in producing so many musical changes. In their
sacred songs, where four or more songs of similar import follow one
another, as they often do, the music may be nearly alike (but never
quite alike) in all ; but when the theme of the poetry changes, the
music takes a decided change. But I shall not speak further of the
music ; this subject I shall leave to the accomplished pen of Professor

Washington, D. C.

The vowels have the continental sounds. The consonants are sometimes only
approximations to the Navajo sounds.



The bushes are gray and the grass is yellow,

The trail is red-brown that wanders by ;
The quail can be seen, but here is a fellow

That all but escapes the hunter's keen eye !
The shade of his fur so nicely blending

Makes him a part of the yellow grass,
And only his ears, with black tips ending,

Betray him to them that else would pass !

Stop ! kneel down — your wary creeping

Has not yet told him a foeman nears —
He sits a moment : then softly leaping

He comes down the trail with flopping ears.
Slowly he comes, for oft he's stopping

To reconnoiter — he sees you ? No !
He shakes his head, once more he's hopping

Down the red trail that shall redder grow !

Now, heartless hillman, in ambush waiting,

Over the barrel of cold steel-blue,
Catch the bright sight — eye keen, calculating ;

Your finger is nerved on the trigger, too.
What is poor Jack ? A worthless fellow,

Useful for nothing — save for fries !
Now ! * * And there where the grass was yellow,

But now is red as the red-brown trail.

Jack dies, with a strangely human wail,
And a human look in his big, soft eyes !

French Corral, Ca



STRELLA was in love. And she knew it and gloried in it-
Furthermore the youth she loved had no thought of love and
was as indifferent to her as an ordinary boy could be to Estrella.
Which does not mean that he was very indifferent. Thus circumstanced,
many young ladies would have been melancholy; most of them would
have been secretly tearful. But Estrella was not one of the many and
could certainly not be included in that vast majority which is the most.
She slept soundly, and she smiled more prettily than ever, and she felt
never so well, and she trusted that winsomeness was still a match for
indifference ; that love was still a sweet contagion.

Pacheco worked on the little ranch whose crop of apricots was so small
that the lady of the ranch and Estrella, with now and then some help,
could " pit" it all. He was very tall, with a fine soft beard of black, and
his eyes were very bright in their darkness, and he could smoke a
cigarette like a very Don. When he rested a moment, leaning easily
against some boxes of fruit, Estrella considered that he was well worth
loving. But he never thought of love. He was pleasant and indifferent.


But Estrella never mistrusted her powers ; never doubted that she was
equal to the niceties of bringing things aright. For Pacheco was not
very indifferent.

So she governed well her smiles and her times of nonchalance, as girls
know how to govern them, and she made Pacheco's indifference vanish
as little breezes ruffle still water. She understood how to praise his
quickness with the pitting knife (for he pitted when there was fruit
ahead) ; and when to make a pleasant mock at his smoking so many
brown-paper cigarettes. Also when to decide that she didn't mind being

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