VERY FEMININE Frmow , IT is just possible that one ofthe
novels: whose • names aregiven. below may not be written by a lady'; its politics are of the kind that. maybeheard: any • night in thesmoking-room of a specially high-and-dry Tory club, whose members are, to do them justice; gentlemen first; and partisans. afterwards. What. wemean_ by • " very feminine fiction;" is fiction. which centres not. only round. women, but round those :motives, actions,. and. characteristics which nine out of ten.men consider especially-feminine. When,in.Theooritus, atuLin the-passage, so delightfullytranslated..by Mr. Arnold, Gorgesays to Praxiuoe5—" Praxinoe, you. can't think how-well thatdressi made full as you'vegot it,.suita you. Tell me, how. muehdid, it cost-P —the -dress, byitself,I mean;". •andPmrinoe answers,.-=" Don't talk of it,:Gorge; more -than eight ,guineas of good: hand money.; and about. the, workon it, I have almost worn. my.life ont,"—the talk. of the two ladies--45 turtles." a provoked male. listener terms them—will be recognised, as. being, according to common.Englishideas, very -feminine.. Similarly, in Some One Elae this sort of chatter mill be-regarded as.very feminine :—" I've nothing; on earth but My old black:grenadine —" It's not half bid by candle-light,!"consualiiigly--" It's .brawn, and all darns.; it's not, decent.7---" ISNiareuseony-lave, you:know you'd look beautiful in brown paper." So, too, is this from Hugh Moore—which may not be written by a lady—very feminine in another way :—" Oh, dear Mr. Moore, don't forget all about me, now you have gone away. 1 shall die if you do I Papa is very unkind to me, and I don't care for any lawn-tennis or anything. I was in bed quite ill for two days, and I am never hungry now." Once more, take this from Betwixt my Love and Me :—" It is true Mr. Kingdou is a musician ; he plays the piano a great deal better than most amateurs, and he lives in what is called a musical set; but he is not a man. to affect artcoloured ties, and wear velveteen coats; indeed, when he takes me to Kensington Gardens I always think he is one of the beetdressed men there ; and his hair is thick and has a wave in it, but it is cut nearly as short as if he were a soldier." There may be pettiness, or even silliness in all this, but it is undeniably— possibly more's the pity—real and everydayish. There is undoubtedly, if also unfortunately, a world in which neither men. nor women have to work for their livelihood, nor have high duties to perform, in which the women seek to do nothing but attract. the men, and the men-deliberately do nothing but hover round the women, a world of small-talk.aud lawn-tennis, of affectation and flirtation. It is not necessarily a bad. world; and as a matter of fact there is nobody in these three novels worse than a deceitful virago of a step-mother, who does a good.deal of mischief in Some One Else: If interiors from this world must be drawn, let them be drawn accurately. And it may at least be claimed on • behalf of the three novels we have bracketedtogether that they picture different aspects of this very feminine world with evident fidelity to truth. They do-not belong to a high order of fiction ; they do not even reveal in action the higher feminine feelings. But they are superior to average works of • the class to which they belong. It ought to be added that they are quite innocent ; they give us nothing more offensive than slang.
It maybe claimed, on behalf of Hugh, Moore, that its straint is occasionally of a higher mood' than the very feminine one we have alluded to: Dorothea. Nevin, ultimately, though not originally, the heroine,. is really a good. girl. Living in the seaside, town of Eastport; surrounded by idlers and %. officers, she has a, religious. creed which she-does not disguise from the societyin which. she mixes, but which she applies conmgeouslyto, the circumstances in. whichshe finds herself. But we shoultl.have preferved that this had been kept more in the background. Not that: the religions:talk of 'Dorothea andsome of herfziends; especially. ef a vicar -who figures as a sort of: general spiritual director-in the story; is insincere or even weak. But it-should have been more of a current and less of a wave: In the case of a girl so placed, and, of such a character as Doro• thee. Nevin, should have-been less-vocal and more of a pervading influence—shoul4 indeed, have found silent -expression in the enrichment of motive. Dorotheais, in fact, most charming when she is most natural; as when•she is snubbing anc unwelcome admirer.A much better portrait is Clara Wilson; the ,half-English, half-Greelvgirl; from one of whose inane letterewe have already quoted: She-is sillyand• almost heartless, as: herfather, a grumpy-Coneul at 'Corfu; admits:. She drives than hero of the story into ••a, quasi-engagement with: her She pun' sues him to England,.wheu:she,learns -that, owing to.the death tofe his elder brother, he, has-become-the heir ,to a peerages Thee best thing:she:does-is to elope withe am Italians artisk-ate eventof which she, informs' her father ins' thise fashion-:—" We were married to-day. He managed it all so beautifully, and :I am so happy. We are just going to start for the Mediterranean, in a big steamer, ever so much-nicer than Mr. Ward's little yacht.. By the by, when you see Mr. Ward, if he comes back before you leave Eastport, do tell him I hope he will find somebody nice to marry-him, and I am sorry was nasty to him. It was al/ Giovanni's fault—and Giovanni's a darling." After Clara, the best photograph in the book—for the art in suchfiction as this-is. photography, or it is nothing—is Nora Fitzgerald, Hugh Moores married, sister, an open-hearted, impulsive, Irish match-maker.. Hugh Mbore himself is " very jolly," and all the rest of it. But he is infirm of purpose, and drifts more than even an Irishman ordinarily does ; and the reader of his history will come to the conclusion that the good-luck which falls to him at the last was • better -deserved .by a very geed, but rather shadowy, Captain Newman, who. never-tells hia love for • Dorothea. Nevin, and consequentlydoes not prosper in it Tlieanthor of.Hugh Moore . endeavours to give a. little polifidal, or at' least electioneering., interest to_ her (or his) 'narrataSis;__ but • the_ effort: cannot_ be described asivsnocess, Nevertheless., under the/limitations-.we
have assigned, Hugh Moore is a good novel. It is not too long, and it is not too full of characters.
Betwixt my Love and Me is a work which, mainly on account of the pains the author has bestowed upon it, it is not very easy to read, and still less easy to criticise. It is essentially an autobiography of an Italian girl, who loses her mother through an accident at Carnival-time, and of whom Roland Kingdon, a good-hearted Englishman, constitutes himself the guardian. She is educated at a boarding-school in England, visits her guardian—we have already given his portrait—and, as a matter of course, falls in love with him. But she drifts into an engagement with Henry Ravenshaw, a shallow, selfish fellow, who turns out a gambler and a fortune-hunter; while Kingdon has a wife abroad who has to be got rid of. The complications of the plot may easily be conceived; and they are, on the whole, very well managed. This book is very feminine in a different sense from Hugh Moore,—in its motives and in its minutia), not in its chatter, or its bustle, or its society. The writer has, as we have said, erred in being too painstaking. Her study of Myrtle, the heroine, constitutes the whole book ; we never seem to get beyond her ; even her lover and guardian is little better than a phantom. But if unconsionably long-drawn-out, detailed, and one-iclea'd, Betwixt my Love and Me has unquestionable excellences of the minor artistic order. There is scarcely a character, even if he or she be subordinate to, or rather absorbed in, the girl Myrtle, that is not a good sketch. At least two of the female fignres,—Aunt Sophia and Madame Roland, the wife of Kingdon, who has to be disposed of before all's well—are good portraits. Myrtle tells her school experiences at Miss Crumpet's in a natural and lively style. Myrtle is, indeed, from first to last a "boarding-school miss ;" and it is, therefore, quite in accordance with the fitness of things that, when her lover speaks of " the Duke of Gloucester " being drowned in a butt of Malmsey, she should correct him and inform him that it was "the Duke of Clarence" who so suffered.
Miss Croker, who writes Some One Else, made rather a hit a short time ago with an essentially Irish story, Pretty Miss Nevin. Her new work is hardly equal to her old one, perhaps because the chief scenes are laid in England. Then it is, perhaps, too feminine. Beside the rather unfortunate heroine, Haidee Brabazon, her bustling chatterbox of a sister, Augusta, and their wicked step-mother, the chief male characters, the Brabazons' brother Teddy, and even the eminently eligiblecouein Miles, seem nobodies, or at the best, tools. So much is this the case, that when poor Teddy, who, floored by examinations and reviled by his step-mother to an intolerable extent, has enlisted in the Army as " Private Brown," dies a hero's death on the battle-field, the reader thinks as little of the incident as does his sister Gussie, who blossoms into yellow when she ought to be wearing black. It must be admitted, too, that the manoeuvres and intrigues by which Miles and Haidee are kept apart, are rather childish, and that the plot of the story seems to be spun out to suit the exigencies of the threevolume system. Yet Some One Else is full of bustle, rattle, and high spirits, and contains at least one good character,—Mrs. Yashon, the Gussie already mentioned, an indefatigable talker, an indefatigable match-maker, and, it must be allowed, no -despicable" eater. But she is terribly real, being a terrible bore, of a kind that is found figuring at every afternoon tea. Miss Croker has esprit and a quick eye for character ; but she has not yet full command of her powers.
THE SNAKE-DANCE OF THE MOQUIS OF ARIZONA.* CAPTAIN BOURKE, the author of the work before us, has enjoyed rare opportunities for investigating the ways and manner of life of some strange people, and he has not thrown his chances away. Having the good-fortune to be specially appointed by Lieutenant-General Sheridan to examine and study the habits and customs of the Indian tribes who dwell in the SonthWestern territories of the United States, he has been able to collect a mass of information possessing a high anthropological and ethnological value. As far as can be judged, his book is a trustworthy account of the peculiar mode of living and religious observances of some of the tribes he has visited. It is a plain and unpretending narrative, without any lofty claim to literary excellence, and even impaired by needless and wearisome repetition, from which it suffers through want of method in the arrangement of its parts. But setting this objection on one
side, it is a most curious and interesting volume, free from any trace of exaggeration either in style or in substance. It presents the latest account of personal observation of and investigation into the ancient and world-wide custom of serpent-worship under a form, at any-rate in these days, most strange and exceptional ; and as it contains a record of detailed and original research, it is well worth the careful attention of the student of comparative ethnology. At the same time, the general reader will find the volume full of interest and entertainment.
The Moquis are a small tribe of Indians who dwell in the north-eastern part of Arizona. They are sedentary, or settled, Indians, and were found in their present position by the Spaniards at the time when they overran this part of America, —viz., about the middle of the sixteenth century—when they were probably in much the same condition as they are now. They inhabit seven different villages or pueblos, situated a few miles apart, and romantically perched each on the top of an exceedingly lofty bluff or promontory of sandstone, whose precipitous sides render them impregnable to any attack from aboriginal foes. The ascent to these pueblos, perched from 500 ft. to 800 ft. above the plain, is most laborious, and tries severely the wind and limbs of white men ; but "the Moquis, accustomed all their lives to this toilsome climb, make light of it, and go up and down at as fast a pace as an American moving on level ground." The whole of the water for culinary and drinking use has to be carried up these giddy tracks from the springs below by squaws, " each bearing upon her shoulders an olla, holding from three to six gallons, a weight of which the strongest man would soon weary." Yet it would be a mistake to infer that women are despised or neglected among these people. On the contrary, they hold a high place in their social economy. The houses, durably built of sandstone rubble, laid in and plastered with mud, have usually three or more rooms, averaging ten feet by eight, whilst in every village there are large underground apartments, called estufas, used for public ceremonies and for meeting-places. The people are dirty in their houses and dress, and the condition of the villages is filthy and unsanitary.
The Moquis, both men and women, are very industrious. They are clever and successful farmers, raising plentiful crops of maize, wheat, beans, and a variety of fruits. They have flourishing peach-orchards. Irrigation is not needed, but they make reservoirs by throwing dams across ravines, close to which they build corrals for sheep and goats, of which they possess vast herds. They also own large numbers of donkeys, and a few cows and horses. Stone implements of many kinds are to be met with in the villages, but they are rapidly giving place to American steel and iron. There are various manufactures carried on, baskets, blankets, and sundry kinds of pottery being among the chief. In disposition the Moquis are peaceable, timid, and vacillating; and Captain Bourke says that " they have not been known to engage in hostilities with whites or Indians since the date of American occupation. Up to a recent time they have been completely isolated ; but railroad extensions have now approached within seventy miles of them.
Like all the tribes of Redskins, the Moquis are divided into clans, each ruled by its own head, and dwelling in its own ward, and a large portion of their social and civic polity is based upon the clan or totemic organisation. Among them the rule which is so widely established throughout the barbaric and savage world prevails; that, namely, of exogamy or marrying-out. All men and women of the same clan are looked on as being brothers and sisters ; hence a man may not marry a woman of the same clan. The female line of descent is the recognised one, as is so frequently the case in the lower phases of civilisation. The Moquis are monogamous, and their women maintain a high position, owning the houses, crops, sheep, and orchards, all that pertains to the comfort of the family ; whilst the men own the horses and donkeys. The right of choosing their own husbands is possessed and exercised by the women; and after marriage, a man goes to his wife's house. It is almost needless to add that the children belong to the mother's clan; and if both parents die, they are looked after by that clan.
The religion of the Moquis is " a curious mixture, something worthy of a life-study. They are extremely superstitious, and possess an elaborate theology and ritual, which is devoutly observed." They worship ancestors; and the elements, plants, and stars come in for a share of adoration. Idols swarm, and sacred shrines are met with, whilst the country is dotted with sacred springs and fountains. Every Moqui has a talisman or
amulet, which is constantly worn ; and the belief in witches and witchcraft is implicit. Phallic rites are observed. The people worship many sacred animals, chief among which are the snake, mountain-lion, bear, mole, and eagle. Among many strange observances, the snake-dance is the most singular. Captain Bourke witnessed it at the village of Hnalpi, where it takes place every two years ; but it seems probable that it is performed in all the villages. Those who join in it are initiated members of the sacred order of the Rattlesnake, although it does not appear that they all belong to the Rattlesnake clan. Captain Bourke succeeded in penetrating into the Estufa, where the preparations were going on, and was impressed with the extreme gravity and sedateness of the Indians who were assembled there. Here he found over a hundred rattlesnakes, which had been collected by the young men during some days previously. These were unconfined, but were guarded by two very old men, who, lying on the ground, tended them with wands of eagles'-feathers, a slight brush of which sent any fugitive reptile back to the general mass. No fear of the snakes was shown by any of the Indians so long as they were uncoiled, and all present handled them readily ; but if one of the reptiles showed fight, the old men's aid was at once called for, and they soon set matters to right. They took them up in their hands with perfect impunity, even in double-handfuls ; and " after a while even carried them suspended between their teeth,—a ghastly thing to look upon." The dance itself consisted of an elaborate ceremony, the dancers at first prancing round a sacred rock, whilst going through a dramatic representation of planting maize, a monotonous dirge being chanted. Then came squaws, who scattered corn-meal abundantly. After a brief interlude, the dancers reappeared, prancing in pairs, the left-hand men carrying the slimy,wriggling snakes, with their heads to the right, in their hands, and between their teeth. The right-hand men held wands of eagles'-feathers, and with these,—
" They tickled the heads, necks, and jaws of the snakes, thus distracting their attention from the dancers, in whose teeth they were grasped so firmly. The spectacle was an astonishing one, and one felt at once bewildered and horrified at this long column of weird figures, naked in all except the snake-painted cotton kilts and red buckskin moccasins ; bodies a dark greenish-brown, relieved only by the broad white armlets and the bright yellowish-gray of the fox-skins dangling behind them ; long elfin locks brushed straight back from the head, tufted with scarlet parrot or woodpecker feathers; faces painted black, as with a mask of charcoal, from brow to upper lip, where the ghastly white of kaolin began, and continued down over chin and neck ; the crowning point being the deadly reptiles borne in mouth and hand, which imparted to the drama the lurid tinge of a nightmare. With rattles clanking at knees, hands clinched, and elbows bent, the procession pranced slowly around the rectangle, the dancers lifting each knee slowly to the height of the waist, and then planting the foot firmly upon the ground before lifting the other, the snakes all the while writhing and squirming to free themselves from restraint. When the snake-carriers reached the eastern end of the rectangle, they spat the snakes out upon the ground, and moved on to the front of the sacred lodge, tree, and rock, where they stamped strongly with the left foot twice, at the same time emitting a strange
try, half grunt and half wail One of the performers, ambitious to excel his fellows, carried two, while another struggled with a huge serpent too large to be pressed between his teeth, which could seize and retain a small fragment of the skin only, the reptile meanwhile flopping lazily, but not more than half-contentedly, in the air. The devotion of the bystanders was roused to the highest pitch ; maidens and matrons redoubled their energy, sprinkling meal not only upon the serpents wriggling at their feet, but throwing handfuls into the faces of the men carrying them. The air was misty with flour, and the space in front of the squaws white as with driven snow."
After some farther ceremonies, the Indians seized the snakes " in great handfuls, and ran with might and main to the eastern crest of the precipice, and then darted like frightened hares down the trails leading to the foot, where they released the reptiles to the four quarters of the globe." None of the Indians were bitten, although Captain Bourke is certain that nothing whatever had been done to render the snakes harmless. He shows plenty of evidence for this, and considers that their quiescence during the dance was owing to the skilful use of the feather-wands. Rattlesnakes seem to have a great antipathy to the feathers of their natural foe, the eagle. The object of the dance appears to be to secure fruitful seasons for the crops of maize ; and Captain Bourke suspects that a minor object has been to perpetuate in a dramatic form the legend of the ancestral snake, from which the Moquis, in common with many other tribes, say they are descended. Captain Bourke adds to his own observations " a brief dissertation upon serpentworship in general," in the course of which he gives extracts from most of the received authorities on the subject. Within his pages will also be found a description of the Tablet-Dance of the Pueblo of San Domingo, New Mexico. This, as well as the account of the Moquis, is accompanied by manifold lithographic drawings, which greatly help to explain the text, and are really admirably executed.
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