CHAPTER XVII.

CONCERNING OTHER PECULIARITIES OF THE ABIPONIAN TONGUE.

At this moment, I am doubtful whether to call the language of the Abipones a poor or a rich one: after I have told you what words they want, and what they abound in, you yourself shall decide on this point. The Abipones are destitute of some words which seem to be the elements of daily speech. They, as well as the Guaranies, want the verb substantive to be. They want the verb to have. They have no words whereby to express _man_, _body_, _God_, _place_, _time_, _never_, _ever_, _everywhere_, &c. which occur perpetually in conversation. Instead of I am an Abipon, they say _Aỳ`m Abipon_, I Abipon; instead of thou art a plebeian, _Akami Lanařaik_, thou plebeian. They often substitute some neuter verb for an adjective and verb substantive, like the Latins, who say _bene valeo_ as well as _sum sanus_. Thus, I am strong, _Riahòt_, thou art strong, _Grihochi_, he is strong, _Yhòt_. I am brave, _Riapòt_, thou art brave, _Grapochì_, he is brave, _Yapòt_. I am fearful, _Riakalò_, thou art fearful, _Grakaloi_, he is fearful, _Yakalò_. Let the Spaniard come, I shall be brave: _Tach hanék Kaámelk, la riapotam_. See how well the Abipones do without the verb _to be!_ as also the verb _to have_. I have many horses: _Ayte yla ahëpega_: many horses mine. I have many fleas: _Netegink loapakate enò! Pop_. I have no meat: _Chitkaeká lpabè_. I have no fishes: _Chigekoà nòayi_. _Hekà_ has the same meaning with the Abipones that _datur_ or _suppetit_ has with the Latins, _es giebet_ with the Germans, and _hay_ with the Spaniards. _Chitkaekà_ is a negative, and signifies that there is no meat, fishes, &c. In the plural number it changes to _chigekoà_. Is there food? _Meka kanák?_

_Neogà_ means a day, and likewise time. _Grauek_, the moon, is taken for a month. _Yñieřa_, the flower of the alfaroba, also denotes a year. Hence, when they wish to ask any one how old he is, they say, How many times has the alfaroba blossomed during your life-time? _Hegem leyera yñiegari?_ which is a very poetical expression. For the body they name the skin or bone, thus taking the part for the whole. _Yoalè_ means only a husband; it is however used to signify a man. In the same way the Guaranies use the word _Aba_, which denotes a husband, and the Guarany nation, as they have no word for man. _Aba che_ has three meanings, I am a _Guarany_, I am a _man_, or I am a _husband_; which of these is meant, must be gathered from the tenor of the conversation. Perhaps there are nowhere more virgins than in the country of the Abipones, yet they cannot express a virgin except by a paraphrase, as _haayè_ simply means a young girl. For never, they say _chik_ or _chit_, thus, I shall never go hence: _Chik rihiukàm_. They more frequently say, _Chitlgihe rihiukàm_. _Chitlgihe_ means, there appears no time in which I shall go hence. They express _eternal_ by interminable, thus: Life eternal, _Eleyřa chit kataikañi_, the life which is not finished. We used the Spanish word for God, whose name they are ignorant of: _Dios_, _eknam Kaógarik_, or _Naenatřanak hipigem, kachka aalò_. God, who is the maker of all things, or the creator of heaven and earth. _Kauè_ signifies to make; _Kaógarik_, a maker. They call eggs _Tetarik l'kauetè_, the hen's work.

They cannot express _everywhere_ in one word, but explain it in this way: God is in heaven, in earth, and there is not a place in which he is not; _Menetahegem quem hipigém, menetañi quen aaloà, ka chigekòr amà, chig enaè_. I omit innumerable other words which they want, but which they make up for in various ways. Many things which we always express with one and the same word, they distinguish with various names, or entirely transform, by clothing the original word with new particles. After having exposed the poverty of this language by examples, I ought briefly to make you acquainted with its richness, in the same manner.

It contains an incredible number of synonymes, thus: _Kachergaik_, _Kameřgaik_, _Kereřaik_, and _Laykamé_, all signify an old man. _Elořaik_, _Egargaik_, _Ahamřaik_, and _Chitkaeka Lach_, dead. _Nahamatřek_, _Nuichieřa_, _Noélakierek_, and _Anegla_, war. _Kiñierat_, _Hanák_, _Nakà_, and _Naek_, food. _Lemařat_ and _Lapañik_, the head. _Hipigem_ and _Ohajenk_, heaven. _Chigriařaik_, _Taagè_, _Uriakà Ntà_, _Chig ñetun_, and _Akamitañi_, I know not, which last is the same as if one should reply to a question, _Thou thyself know'st it_, thus acknowledging his own ignorance. They sometimes repeat the words of the interrogator, to show that they do not know what he asks about. They call a wound generically _Lalaglet_. If it be inflicted by the teeth of a man or a beast, they call it _Naagek_; if by a knife or a sword, _Nichar̂hek_; if by a lance, _Noarek_; if by an arrow, _Nainek_. _They fight_, if the kind of fight be not expressed, would be rendered _Roélakitapegetà_; if they fight with spears, _Nahámretà_; if with arrows, _Natenetápegetà_; if with fists, _Nemarketápegetà_; if with words alone, _Ycherikáleretaà_; if two wives fight about their husband, _Nejétentà_. They signify that a thing is ended or finished in divers ways. The sickness is ended, would be rendered _Láyamini_; the rain, the moon, the cold is ended, _Lánádmreuge neetè_, _grauek_, _latarà_; the war is ended, _Nahálañi aneglà_; the Spanish soldiers are ended, that is slaughtered; _Lanamichiriñi Kaáma yoalirípi_; my patience is ended, _Lanámouge yapik_; the storm is ended, _Layamhà_; he hath ended his office, his magistracy hath expired, _La yauerelgè_; end, or finish thy work, _Grahálgali_, _laamachi graénategi_; now the thing is finished, _Layam ayam_; at the end of the world, _Amla hanamřani_. If a battle is fought with arrows, it is called _Noatařek_; if with spears, _Noaařaranřek_, or _Nahamatřek_; if with fists alone, _Nemarketřek_. This word reminds me of a ludicrous occurrence. A certain Bavarian lay-brother of our's stayed some time in the new colony of St. Ferdinand to build a hut for the Missionaries. Whilst he was employed in building, he daily had the Abipones for spectators, and heard them talk, without understanding a syllable of what they were saying. As he continually caught the words _Nahamatřek_, _Noatařek_, and many others ending in _třek_, one day at dinner he said to Father Joseph Brigniel, an Austrian, with much simplicity, "Never trust me, if the language of the Abipones isn't as like German as one egg is to another; I often hear them say _Trek_, _Trek_."

The Abiponian tongue might not improperly be called the language of circumstances, for it affixes various particles to words to denote the various situations of the subject of discourse: either _hegem_, above; _añi_, below; _aigìt_, around; _hagam_, in the water; _óuge_, out of doors; _alge_, or _elge_, on the surface, &c. The thing will be made plainer by examples: we use the same word _is_ when we say, God _is_ in heaven, _is_ on earth, _is_ in the water, _is_ every where. The Abipones always add some new particle to the verb, to indicate situation, thus: _Dios menetahegem ken hipigèm_, God dwells above in heaven: _menetañi ken aàloà_, dwells below in the earth: _meñetahàgàm ken enařap_, dwells in the water, &c. Here the particles _añi_, _hegem_, and _haganì_ are affixed to the verb _ménetá_. But now attend to something else. How great is the variation of the verb to follow[2]! I follow a person coming, _Hauíretaigìt_. I follow one departing, _Hauiraà_. I follow with my hand what is beneath me, _Hauirañì_, what is above me, _Hauirihegeméege_. I do not follow with my eyes, _Chit heonáage_. I do not follow with my understanding, (I do not comprehend,) _Chig ñetunêtaigìt_. I follow, I hit with an arrow, _Ñaten_. Some going out follow others, _Yáueráatà_, or _Yauirétapegetà_, I have followed, or perceived what another meditates or purposes in his mind, _La hâui larenatřanřek lauel_. I have followed or obtained what I desired, _La hâuì eka kan ahelřanřat kiñi_. Hear other examples: I fear, _Rietachà_. I fear water, _Rietachahagam_. It lightens, _Rkáhagelk_. It lightens afar off, _Rkáhagelkátaigìt_. It shines, _Richàk_. It shines on the surface, _Richákatalgè_. The brightness spreads wide, _Richakataugè_. I open the door towards the street, _Hehòtouge lahàm_. I open the door towards the window, _Hehòtoà lahàm_. If I should open two doors at the same time, _Hehòtetelgè lahàm_. Shut the door, _Apëëgi lahàm_. I die, _Riigà_. I am dying, _Riigarari_, I die of suffocation, _Riigarañi_, &c. &c.

Footnote 2:

_Assequor._

We now come to speak of other particles, the use of which is very frequent amongst the Abipones.

They prefix _là_, now, to almost all words. Now the old woman weeps, _Là reòkatarì cachergayè_. Now I am terrified, _Là rielk_. Now I drink, _Là nañam_.

_Tapek_, or _Tari_, annexed to the last syllable of a verb, denote an action which is undertaken now: _Hakiriogřan_, I plough land. _Hakiriogřanetapek_, now, whilst I speak, I am ploughing. _Haoachin_, I am sick. _Haoachinetari_, I am sick at this very time.

_Kachit_, I make. _Ařaiřaik ahëpegak_, a tame horse. _Ařaiřaikachit ahëpegak_, I make a horse tame. _Riélk_, I fear. _Riélkachìt nihìrenàk_, a tiger put me in fear. _Ayerhègemegè_, a high thing. _Ayercachihègemegè_, I make a thing high, I put it in a high place.

_Řat_, or _řan_ has the same signification as the former in certain verbs. _Rpaè enařap_, hot water. _Hapaeřat enařap_, I heat water. _Laà_, great, large. _Laařařat_, I increase. _Lenechi_, little, small. _Lenechitařat_, I diminish. _Haoatè_, I sleep. _Haoacheřan akíravàlk_, I make a little infant sleep.

_Ken_ denotes custom or habit. _Roélakikèn_, he is accustomed to fight.

_Aagè_ affixed to the substantives _Lahërek_, work, or _Yaářaiřèk_, knowledge, likewise denotes custom. _Nèoga latènk nañametapek_; _gramackka lahërekaage_, or _Mat yaářaiřèk aage_, he drinks all day: this, to wit, is his occupation; it is his knowledge; in a word his custom.

_It_ signifies the material of which any thing is made. _Nichigeherit_ is a cloak made of otters' skins, for _Níchigehè_ is the Abiponian for otter. _Káepèrit_, a place fortified with stakes fixed in the earth, (which the Spaniards call _la palisada_, or _estacada_,) _káepak_, signifying wood.

_Hat_ indicates the native soil of certain trees, or fruits. _Nebokehat_, a wood where palms grow. _Neboke_ is a kind of palm. _Nemelkehat_, a field sowed with wheat, which is called _nemelk_. The Guaranies make use of the same compendious expression, substituting _ti_ for the particle _hat_, thus: _Abati_, maize. _Abatiti_, a maize-field. _Petí_, tobacco. _Petíndi_, a place where tobacco is grown. For the sake of the euphony, to which the Guaranies are particularly attentive, _ndi_ is substituted for _ti_.

_Ik._ The names of almost all trees end in this syllable. _Apèhe_, the fruit chañar. _Apehìk_, the tree. _Oaik_, the white alfaroba. _Roak_, the red. The trees which produce it, _Oáikik_, and _Roaikik_. Though the alfaroba is also called _Hamáp_.

_Řeki_ signifies the vessel, place, or instrument in which any thing is shut up, kept, or contained. _Nařamřeki_, a cup, from _nañàm_, I drink. _Neetřki_ signifies the same thing: for _ñeèt_ and _nañàm_ are synonimous. _Katařanřeki_, an oven, a chafing-dish, from _Nkáatèk_, fire. _Keyeeřánřekì_, a tub in which clothes are washed with soap, for _keyařanřàt_ is their word for soap.

_Laỳt_ has almost the same signification as the former particle. _Yabogék laỳt_, a snuff-box, _yabogék_ being Abiponian for snuff. _Ahëpegrlaỳt_, a fold for horses.

_Lanà_ is a very useful word, and often serves as a sacred anchor, which beginners, slightly acquainted with the language, catch hold of to make themselves understood. It means that which is the instrument, means, or part of performing any thing. This shall be elucidated by examples. The Abipones constantly chew tobacco leaves mixed with salt, and the saliva of old women, calling it medicine. They come at all hours, and say, _Tach kaûe Paỳ npeetèk yoetà_: Father, give me tobacco leaves, my medicine. Having obtained this, they presently add, _Tach kaûe achibiřaik noetà lanà_,: Give me also salt, which serves to compose this medicine. Another comes and says: _Tachkaûe latařan lpahè lanà_: Give me a knife to cut my meat with, or _Tachkaûe këëpe yëëriki lanà_: Give me an axe to build my house with. Persons better acquainted with the language generally abstain from the use of this word _lanà_, in place of which they make noun substantives of verbs, by which the instrument or means of doing a thing is admirably expressed. Thus, _Noetarèn_, I am healed. _Noetarenátařanřát_, medicine. _Noetaranatařankatè_, a medical instrument. _Hakiriogran_, I plough. _Kiriogrankatè_, a plough. _Ñahategřan_, I shear. _Ahategkatè_, scissars, or snuffers, which, as it were, shear the wick. _Géhayà_, I behold. _Geharlatè_, a looking-glass. _Rietachà_, I fear. _Netachkatřanřat_, an instrument of terror. They facetiously call remarkably ugly faces by this name as if they were a terror to the eyes.

_Latè_, indicates the place of action, thus: _Nahamátřalatè_, the place of the fight. _Kiñieřalatè_, the place where one eats, that is, the table.

They ingeniously invented names borrowed from their native tongue, for things introduced from Europe, or made by Europeans. They did not like either to appear poor in words, or to contaminate their language by adopting foreign ones, like the other Americans who borrow words from the Spaniards. Horses, which the Spaniards call _cavallos_, the Guaranies call _cavayù_, and oxen, which the Spaniards call _nobillos_, they call _nobì_. The Abipones, on the contrary, call a horse _ahëpegak_, an ox, _ỳúihàk_, and a bull, _ỳúihàk lepà_, an uncastrated ox, a name derived from their own language, though, before the coming of the Spaniards, they were unacquainted with these animals. They call a church _loakal lëëriki_, the house of images, or _natamenřeki_, where thanks are given to God. A gun is expressed by _netelřanře_, which means a bow from which arrows are cast. Perhaps it is derived from the word _neetè_, a storm, because a gun resembles the thundering of a storm. Gunpowder is called _netelřanřre leenřra_, the flour of the gun; a book, _lakatka_, which means a word, tongue, speech. They call a letter, or any sheet with letters written or printed on it, _elorka_, by which name they also designate the otters' skins painted by women with red lines of various forms, of which cloaks are made to keep out the cold. They call water-melons, _Kaáma lakà_, the food of the Spaniards. They express a soul, a shadow, echo, and an image, all by the same word, _loákal_, or _lkihì_. The Latins also used the word _imago_, for an echo. Valerius Flaccus, in the third book of the Argonautics, says:

_Rursus Hylam, et fursus Hylam per longa reclamat Avia, responsant sylvæ, et vaga certat imago._

Echo is a representation of voice, as an image is that of the figure. Cotton, the material of which cloth is made, they call _aapařaik_, cloth; wheat, _etantà lpetà_, the grain of bread; and bullets, _netelr̃anře lpetà_, the grain of the gun, or _Káamà lanařha_, the arrows of the Spaniards. A lute or harp is called _liûigi_, which means the loins of an animal; all metals, _lekàt_, and silver money, _lekacháole_, little metals; hell, _aalò labachiñi_, the centre of the earth, or _Keevét lëëriki_, the devil's house; a shirt, _yelamřkie_; stockings or boots, _lichil lelamřkiè_; breeches, _ykiemařha_; shoes, _yachrhářlatè_; a hat, _ñoarà_; a fillet, mitre, or any covering of the head, _yetapehè_; glass-beads, _ekelřaye_. I omit the rest.

Metaphors are familiar to these savages. When they have the head-ache they cry _Là ỳívíchigi yemařat_, now my head is angry. When fatigued with manual labour, _Là ỳívíchigi yauigřa_, now my blood is angry, they exclaim with a smile. When in anger, they say, _Là ànahegem yauel_, now my heart hath risen. When impatient at any inconvenience, they vociferate: _Là lanamouge yapìk_, now my patience is ended, now I will bear this no longer.

Although the Guaranies and many other people of America have none but post-positions in their language, the Abipones use prepositions likewise. Thus the Guaranies, in making the sign of the cross, say: _Tuba haè layřa, hae Espiritu Santo rera pĭpe_. Amen. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. For _pĭpe_ means _in_, and _rera name_ with them. The Abipones, on the contrary, say: _Men lakalátoèt Netà, kat Náitařat, kachka Espiritu Santo_. Amen. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, &c. _Men_ signifying _in_, and _lakalátoèt_, a _name_. _Men_, _mek_, _kèn_, or _en kerà_, signifies _in_ or _at_, either with or without motion. _Men aaloa_, _men hipigem_, in the earth, in heaven. _Lahik ken nepàrk_, now I go to the plain. _Là rihi mek Kaáma loetà_, now I remove to the lands of the Spaniards. They are unacquainted with the preposition _with_ which denotes society: they would express the sentence, I will go with thee, in this manner: _Grahauitapekam_, I will accompany thee: or thus, _Là me? Clachkehin_, wilt thou go away? I also. The Lord with thee: _Dios Gnoakàra hiñitařoat_; The Lord is associated with thee. _Haraà_ is a preposition signifying the instrument with which a thing is done. _Yóale yahámat nihirenak naraà lohélete_: The Indian killed the tiger with a spear. _Yágàm_ means, as, or like, _Roahà ỳágàm netegink_: He attacks like a dog.

Adjectives themselves are generally used instead of adverbs; both, according as they relate to past, or future, are variously inflected, like verbs: thus, _ariaik_ and _neèn_ signify both good and well. _Kemen ariaik kàn!_ how good, or how well he was. _Kàn_ is the sign of the past tense. _Ariaekam_, it will be good or well. _Am_ is the sign of the future, and _kitè_ means now. _Kitekàn_, it was now. _Kitàm_, it shall be now presently. If you wish to enquire about a thing past, you must say: _hegmalagè_, when? If about a future thing, _hegmalkàm_. For the past, they will answer, _nehegetoè_, long since; _hákekemàt_, now, at this point of time; _chigahák_, not yet; _kitnéoga_, to day; _kitnénegin_, or _kitnehaól_, this night; _gnaàma_, yesterday. For the future, _amà_, _amlayeřge_, _chitlkihe_, after a long interval of time; _amlà_, afterwards; _am richigni_, to morrow; _amékére láhaua_, the day after to-morrow; _am náama_, in the evening. _And_ is expressed by _Rachka_, _Rack_, or _Rat_, according to the letters that follow. All universally call no, _ynà_: but yes is expressed variously, according to the age and sex of the speaker. Men and youths say, _héé_; all women, _hàà_. Old men affirm by a loud snort, which can only be expressed _vivâ voce_, though you could not do it easily and clearly without danger of hoarseness. The louder the snort the stronger the affirmation.

_Eùrigri_, _eòrat_, and _miekaenegen_, mean why, for what reason. _Miéka énegen nkaué, nauichi enà?_ What was the reason that you came? _Men_ is a particle of interrogation, having the same signification as the Latin _an_. _Men leerà?_ Is it true? _Klerà_, it is certain. _Chigera_, it is not true. Or if they doubt of the truth of the thing, they will reply, _Eùriñigi_. Sometimes, when they suspect another of relating what is not true, they join the past with the future, and ironically say, _Kánigra leeràm_, formerly, that will be true. _Kánigra_ is the past, and _leeràm_ the future.

The letter _M_ prefixed to a word denotes interrogation, thus: _M'ayte nauachieka?_ Are there many soldiers? _M'oachiñi_, Art thou sick? If the first letter following M be a consonant or an H, it is dropped, _M'anekam ena?_ Will he come hither? The H is entirely omitted in the verb _hanekám_, will he come, and it is pronounced _manekám_. _Mauichi kenà?_ Hast thou come hither? The letter _N_ is dropped in the verb _nauichi_, and _M_ substituted, so that it is called _mauichi_. _Mik_ alone, or _mik mich_, are forms of interrogation; as _Mik mich grihochi?_ Art thou in good health? Sometimes an interrogation is expressed by the accent alone, and by the raising of the voice. _Layàm nauichi?_ Art thou come at length? _Origeenu_ and _morigi_ are words of interrogation, expressing, at the same time, doubt: _Morigi npágàk oenèk?_ Perhaps the youth is ashamed? _Hegmi hínnerkam?_ What is it after all? _Orkeénum_, I do not know what it can be.

_Latàm_ means almost. _Latàm riýgerañi_: He was very near being drowned. _Latàm riahámat ỳúihàk_: the ox had almost killed me. _Yt_, or _ych_, means only, alone. _Tachkaûe yt lenechiavàlk_: Give me only a little of any thing. _Mat_, or _gramachka_, means lastly. They use this word, in affirming any thing with serious asseveration, or with boasting. _Gramachka Abipon yapochì_; lastly the Abipones are brave. _Eneha mat yoale_: this, lastly, is the man. _Chik_, _chit_, and _chichi_, are words of prohibition, as _ne_ with the Latins. _Chik grakalakitřani_: Thou shouldst not doubt. _Chichi noaharegřani_: Thou shouldst not lie. _Klatùm keèn_ means although, and _oagan_, yet, however. _Eneha klatùm keèn èúének, oagan netackaik_: Though this man is beautiful, yet he is cowardly. _Tán_ means _because_, and _máoge_, therefore. _Tán aỳte apatáye ken nepark, máoge chik ààtèkan_: Because there are many gnats in the plain, therefore I have not slept. _Men_, _men_, mean as, so. _Men netà, men naetařat_, As the father, so the son.

They have various exclamations of wonder, grief, joy, &c. _Kemen apalaik akami!_ How stingy and tenacious of thy own property thou art! _Kemén naáchik_, or _Kîmilî naáchik!_ Oh! how useful this will be to me! is their way of thanking you for a gift; for neither the Abipones nor Guaranies have any word whereby to express thanks. What wonder, since gratitude is unknown, even by name, among them, that they do not display it their actions? For, as some one observed, they think benefits like flowers—only pleasant as long as they are fresh. One repulse entirely effaces the memory of former benefits from the minds of the Indians. The Guaranies, on receiving a gift, use the same phrase, and say, _Aquiyebete ângà_: This will be useful to me. The Abipones, after obtaining what they ask, sometimes thanked the giver with nothing but the word _Kliri_: This is what I wanted. In wonder or compassion, they exclaim, _Kem ekemat!_ _Ta yeegàm!_ or _Ndřè!_ (which they usually say when astonished at any sudden novelty,) and _Tayretà!_ Oh! the poor little thing!

But these examples are sufficient to show you the asperities, difficulties, and strange construction of the Abiponian tongue. Were I to embrace every thing necessary to the thorough understanding of it, I should fill a volume. Father Joseph Brigniel, the first civilizer of that nation, was also the first to turn his attention towards learning, and afterwards explaining this language. He translated the chief heads of religion, and the regular church prayers, into the Abiponian tongue, for the use of the whole nation. It is incredible what pains he took in this study; and his patience, and the retentiveness of his memory, were absolutely iron. Though he spoke Latin, German, French, Italian, and Spanish, as well as the language of the Guaranies, whose apostle he had formerly been, with elegance and fluency, being well versed in six different languages, yet he found it a difficulty to gain even a smattering of the Abiponian tongue. He left no stone unturned to fish out the names of things, and the inflexions, and force of the words. But though he was extremely eager to obtain a knowledge of the language, and spared no pains in the pursuit, masters and books were both wanting. There were, indeed, Spaniards who, having been taken captives by the Abipones in their boyhood, had learnt the Abiponian tongue, but they had generally forgotten the language of their own country; while those who fell in captivity amongst the savages, after they had grown up, had learnt their language so ill that they scarce spoke a word without blundering. By degrees they forget their own language, but are incapable of properly acquiring any other. The same may be said in regard to the Abipones, who have returned to their own people after being for some time captives amongst the Spaniards. You will, therefore, sooner learn to err than to speak from the captives. But if we were able to hire any one of them to instruct us who was tolerably well acquainted with both languages, Good heavens! what troubles had we not to undergo! When asked what the Abipones called such or such a thing, he would reply in so low and dubious a tone, that we were not able to distinguish a syllable, or even a letter. If we asked him to repeat the same word two or three times over, he grew angry, and would not speak. Scarce was the hour of instruction ended, when he required the reward for the few words he has pronounced: one day a knife; the next a pair of scissars; the next glass-beads; the next something of more value. If we denied him what he asked, he would never visit us again; if we gave it, he was daily emboldened to ask things of still more value. Great is the misery of the scholar when masters are either scarce or too dear. I do not deny that, by daily conversation with the Indians, I learnt the names of those things which are present to the eyes; but invisible things, which relate to God and the soul, can only be learnt by conjecture and very long use. When horses, tigers, or arms, are talked of, you will find any of the Abipones a Demosthenes or a Tully: if the question turn on the affections and functions of the mind, and the practice of virtue, they will either give you answers darker than night, or remain silent.

When we were studying the Guarany tongue, grammars and three dictionaries were published by Fathers Antonio Ruiz de Montoya, and Paulo Restivo, a Sicilian, which saved us a great deal of time and labour. By their assistance our progress was so much accelerated that, at the end of three months, we were permitted to confess the Guaranies by order of four of the older Jesuits, who, at the command of the superiors, closely examined our knowledge in the language. But as the assistance of books was wanting amongst the Abipones, Joseph Brigniel made up for the deficiency by all possible arts and industry. If any new word or elegance could be gathered from the conversation of the savages, he carefully wrote it down, and at length composed a dictionary, which, in course of time, grew to a hundred and fifty sheets. It was afterwards copied out, corrected, and considerably enriched by members of our society. It is easy to add to what is begun; for the successors, sitting on the shoulders of those that preceded them, see farther, and more than they. Pizarro penetrated into Peru, and Cortez into Mexico, but not till Columbus, who first saw America, had shown them the way. The Jesuit Brigniel first discovered the track to be pursued amid the dim shades of a savage language, made himself a guide to the rest, and, to express myself in few words, merits eternal fame for having kindled a light amidst darkness, by pointing out the rude lineaments of grammar rules.

The Abiponian language is involved in new difficulties by a ridiculous custom which the savages have of continually abolishing words common to the whole nation, and substituting new ones in their stead. Funeral rites are the origin of this custom. The Abipones do not like that any thing should remain to remind them of the dead. Hence appellative words bearing any affinity with the names of the deceased are presently abolished. During the first years that I spent amongst the Abipones, it was usual to say _Hegmalkam kahamátek?_ When will there be a slaughtering of oxen? On account of the death of some Abipon, the word _kahamátek_ was interdicted, and, in its stead, they were all commanded, by the voice of a cryer, to say, _Hegmalkam négerkatà_? The word _nihirenak_, a tiger, was exchanged for _apañigehak_; _peûe_, a crocodile, for _kaeprhak_, and _Kaáma_, Spaniards, for _Rikil_, because these words bore some resemblance to the names of Abipones lately deceased. Hence it is that our vocabularies are so full of blots, occasioned by our having such frequent occasion to obliterate interdicted words, and insert new ones. Add to this another thing which increases the difficulty of learning the language of the Abipones. Persons promoted to the rank of nobles are called _Hëcheri_, and _Neleřeycatè_, and are distinguished from the common people even by their language. They generally use the same words, but so transformed by the interposition, or addition of other letters, that they appear to belong to a different language. The names of men belonging to this class, end in _In_; those of the women, who also partake of these honours, in _En_. These syllables you must add even to substantives and verbs in talking with them. The sentence, This horse belongs to Captain Debayakaikin, would be rendered by an Abipon, speaking the vulgar tongue, in this manner: _Eneha ahëpegak Debayakaikin lela_. But in the language of the Hëcheri you must say, _Debayakaikin lilin_. They salute a plebeian with _Là nauichi?_ Art thou come? to which he replies _Là ñauè_, I am come. If a noble person is addressed, he must be saluted in these words: _La náuirin_, Art thou come? and he, with much importance, and pompous modulation of his voice, will reply, _Là ñauerinkie_, I am come. Moreover, they have some words peculiar to themselves, by which they supersede those in general use. Thus, the common people call a mother, _Latè_, the nobles, _Lichiá_. The former call a son _Laétařat_, the latter _Illalèk_, not to mention other instances. Both in the explanation of religion, and in common conversation, we chose to use the vulgar tongue, because it was understood by all.

I have said that there are three kinds of Abipones, the _Riikahes_, the _Nakaikétergehes_, and the _Yaaukanigas_. All of them, however, speak the same language; all understand each other, and are understood. Yet each of these classes has some words peculiar to itself. The Riikahes call gnats _ayte_; the Nakaiketergehes _apatáye_. Both names are extremely suitable to gnats, for _ayte_ means many, and _apatáye_ is derived from _napàta_, a mat, which they use to cover their tents with; and so great is the multitude of gnats in the lands of the Abipones that the inhabitants seem not only covered but oppressed by them. To drink with the Riikahes is expressed by _neèt_, with the Nakaiketergehes by _nañàm_. The latter call a head _Lapañik_, the former _Lemařat_. The Yaaucanigas, in the use of words, sometimes imitate one, sometimes the other; but in a few they differ from both. The rest call the moon _Grauèk_, but they, by antonomasia, name it _Eergřaik_, a star. The rainbow is called by the rest, _Oáhetà_, but by the Yaaucanigas, _Apich_. But this variety creates neither difficulty nor wonder. The Teutonic language is used by many nations, but how greatly does it differ in different provinces, not only in dialect but also in words! How different is Tuscan from the languages spoken at Milan, Savoy, and Venice! How different is Castilian from the languages of Arragon, Andalusia, Navarre, and Valencia!