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It may be observed that in this tale the Indian cannot explain to his wife what he nevertheless perfectly understands; that is, the exact nature of a Megumoowessoo. The giant, by speaking of his own kingdom, gives the true key of the whole mystery. He has attained magic power so far as one can exercise it in this life. Like Glooskap he can be, or unlike him prefers, to be habitually, a giant. He has battled with the Chenoo and Kookwess; he has, like Hercules, fulfilled his mission; and now he departs for his own realm, that of the Megumoowessoo, as Arthur went to Fairy-Land, as Buddha to the unknown Nirvana,–that is, to something beyond the conception of poet or theosophist.

I suspect that the period of seven years, and again of three years, had been employed by the Indian in preparing himself by penance for m’teoulin. The respect of the Indians for the number seven is so remarkable, that if it be true that Deus imparibus numeris gaudet, they are in that respect, at least, like deities. Whenever seven or a white bear’s skin occurs in these tales, there always lies hidden a magical mystery.

It is not the least remarkable feature of this tale that it abounds in that quiet small humor which recalls the adventures of Captain Lemuel Gulliver. The Indian, like, the Norseman, was such an implicit believer in his own myths, and he had evolved them so entirely from himself without borrowing,–since we may regard him as one in this respect with the Eskimo,–that no human characteristic detracted from the dignity of the Manitou.

There is a strong suggestion in this story that the giants were whales. This and the incident of their inhabiting a mysterious country beyond the sea and the fog would identify them with the enchanted land of the Eskimo, visited by the Angakok in their trances, and by others in kayaks. This country was named Akilinek, “a fabulous land beyond the sea.” The whole story of Malaise, the man who traveled to Akilinek, is in every detail extremely like an Indian tale. (Rink, page 169.) It has also a Norse affinity. The land of the giants was supposed by both Icelanders and Indians to be in the North Atlantic. There is a Norse tale of a man changed to a whale which indicates a common origin with the one here given.

It is believed that the m’teoulin can, when speaking, make themselves heard to whom they will, at any distance. They, can confer with one another secretly when miles away, or make themselves known to many. I was informed by an Indian in all faith that an old witch who died in 1876, twelve miles from Pleasant Point, was heard to speak in the latter place when at her last. A very intelligent Passamaquoddy told me that when Osalik (Sarah) Hequin died he himself heard all she said, though sixty-five miles distant. I am certain that he firmly believed this. This woman died a strange death, for she was found standing up, dead, in the snow, with her arms extended and “hands sticking out.” It is generally believed that she was killed by other m’teoulin.

There are really very few ideas in modern mesmerism not known to Eskimo or Indian Shamans. Clairvoyance is called by the Passamaquoddies Meelah bi give he.

GLINT-WAH-GNOUR PES SAUSMOK.

N’loan pes-sans, mok glint ont-aven
Glint ont-aven, nosh mor-gun
N’loan sep-scess syne-duc
Mach-ak wah le-de-born harlo kirk
Pes-sauk-wa morgun pa-zazeu.
Dout-tu eowall, yu’ eke ne-mess comall
Dow-dar bowsee des ge-che-ne-wes skump,
Na-havak dunko to-awk w’che-mon wh’oak
No-saw yu-well Mooen nill
Mask da-ah gawank la me la-tak-a-dea-on
Di-wa godamr Kudunk-ah dea-on
Glor-ba dea-on glom-de-nec
Glint-wah-gnour pes sausmok.

THE SONG OF THE STARS.

We are the stars which sing,
We sing with our light;
We are the birds of fire,
We fly over the sky.
Our light is a voice;
We make a road for spirits,
For the spirits to pass over.
Among us are three hunters
Who chase a bear;
There never was a time
When they were not hunting.
We look down on the mountains.
This is the Song of the Stars.

“Ahboohe b’lo maryna Piel to-marcess”
We poual gee yuaa
Mar-yuon cordect delo son
Ne morn-en nute magk med-agon
On-e-est Molly duse-al ca-soo-son nen.

Tumbling end over end, goes Piel to mercess,
With feathers on his eyes.
To the maple-sap ridge we are going,
Our lunch a cod-fish skin;
One est Molly’s daughter goes with us.