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Guide to Life and Literature of the Southwest
by J. Frank Dobie
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GUIDE TO LIFE AND LITERATURE OF THE SOUTHWEST

Revised And Enlarged In Both Knowledge And Wisdom

By J. Frank Dobie

Dallas. 1952

Southern Methodist University Press

Not copyright in 1942 Again not copyright in 1952

Anybody is welcome to help himself to any of it in any way

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 52-11834

S.M.U. PRESS



Contents

A Preface with Some Revised Ideas 1. A Declaration 2. Interpreters of the Land 3. General Helps 4. Indian Culture; Pueblos and Navajos 5. Apaches, Comanches, and Other Plains Indians 6. Spanish-Mexican Strains 7. Flavor of France 8. Backwoods Life and Humor 9. How the Early Settlers Lived 10. Fighting Texians 11. Texas Rangers 12. Women Pioneers 13. Circuit Riders and Missionaries 14. Lawyers, Politicians, J.P.'s 15. Pioneer Doctors 16. Mountain Men 17. Santa Fe and the Santa Fe Trail 18. Stagecoaches, Freighting 19. Pony Express 20. Surge of Life in the West 21. Range Life: Cowboys, Cattle, Sheep 22. Cowboy Songs and Other Ballads 23. Horses: Mustangs and Cow Ponies 24. The Bad Man Tradition 25. Mining and Oil 26. Nature; Wild Life; Naturalists 27. Buffaloes and Buffalo Hunters 28. Bears and Bear Hunters 29. Coyotes, Lobos, and Panthers 30. Birds and Wild Flowers 31. Negro Folk Songs and Tales 32. Fiction-Including Folk Tales 33. Poetry and Drama 34. Miscellaneous Interpreters and Institutions 35. Subjects for Themes Index to Authors and Titles

Illustrations Indian Head by Tom Lea, from A Texas Cowboy by Charles A. Siringo (1950 edition) Comanche Horsemen by George Catlin, from North American Indians Vaquero by Tom Lea, from A Texas Cowboy by Charles A. Siringo (1950 edition) Fray Marcos de Niza by Jose Cisneros, from The Journey of Fray Marcos de Niza by Cleve Hallenbeck Horse by Gutzon Borglum, from Mustangs and Cow Horses Praxiteles Swan, fighting chaplain, by John W. Thomason, from his Lone Star Preacher Horse's Head by William R. Leigh, from The Western Pony Longhorn by Tom Lea, from The Longhorns by J. Frank Dobie Cowboy and Steer by Tom Lea, from The Longhorns by J. Frank Dobie Illustration by Charles M. Russell, from The Virginian by Owen Wister (1916 edition) Mustangs by Charles Banks Wilson, from The Mustangs by J. Frank Dobie Illustration by Charles M. Russell, from The Untamed by George Pattullo



Pancho Villa by Tom Lea, from Southwest Review, Winter, 1951 Frontispiece by Tom Lea, from Santa Rita by Martin W. Schwettmann Illustration by Charles M. Russell, from The Blazed Trail by Agnes C. Laut Buffaloes by Harold D. Bugbee Illustration by Charles M. Russell, from Fifteen Thousand Miles by Stage by Carrie Adell Strahorn Coyote Head by Olaus J. Murie, from The Voice of the Coyote by J. Frank Dobie Paisano



A Preface With Some Revised Ideas

IT HAS BEEN ten years since I wrote the prefatory "Declaration" to this now enlarged and altered book. Not to my generation alone have many things receded during that decade. To the intelligent young as well as to the intelligent elderly, efforts in the present atmosphere to opiate the public with mere pictures of frontier enterprise have a ghastly unreality. The Texas Rangers have come to seem as remote as the Foreign Legion in France fighting against the Kaiser. Yet this Guide, extensively added to and revised, is mainly concerned, apart from the land and its native life, with frontier backgrounds. If during a decade a man does not change his mind on some things and develop new points of view, it is a pretty good sign that his mind is petrified and need no longer be accounted among the living. I have an inclination to rewrite the "Declaration," but maybe I was just as wise on some matters ten years ago as I am now; so I let it stand.

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.

I have heard so much silly bragging by Texans that I now think it would be a blessing to themselves—and a relief to others—if the braggers did not know they lived in Texas. Yet the time is not likely to come when a human being will not be better adapted to his environments by knowing their nature; on the other hand, to study a provincial setting from a provincial point of view is restricting. Nobody should specialize on provincial writings before he has the perspective that only a good deal of good literature and wide history can give. I think it more important that a dweller in the Southwest read The Trial and Death of Socrates than all the books extant on killings by Billy the Kid. I think this dweller will fit his land better by understanding Thomas Jefferson's oath ("I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man") than by reading all the books that have been written on ranch lands and people. For any dweller of the Southwest who would have the land soak into him, Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey," "Ode: Intimations of Immortality," "The Solitary Reaper," "Expostulation and Reply," and a few other poems are more conducive to a "wise passiveness" than any native writing.

There are no substitutes for nobility, beauty, and wisdom. One of the chief impediments to amplitude and intellectual freedom is provincial inbreeding. I am sorry to see writings of the Southwest substituted for noble and beautiful and wise literature to which all people everywhere are inheritors. When I began teaching "Life and Literature of the Southwest" I did not regard these writings as a substitute. To reread most of them would be boresome, though Hamlet, Boswell's Johnson, Lamb's Essays, and other genuine literature remain as quickening as ever.

Very likely I shall not teach the course again. I am positive I shall never revise this Guide again. It is in nowise a bibliography. I have made more additions to the "Range Life" chapter than to any other. I am a collector of such books. A collector is a person who gathers unto himself the worthless as well as the worthy. Since I did not make a nickel out of the original printing of the Guide and hardly expect to make enough to buy a California "ranch" out of the present printing, I have added several items, with accompanying remarks, more for my own pleasure than for benefit to society.

Were the listings halved, made more selective, the book might serve its purpose better. Anybody who wants to can slice it in any manner he pleases. I am as much against forced literary swallowings as I am against prohibitions on free tasting, chewing, and digestion. I rate censors, particularly those of church and state, as low as I rate character assassins; they often run together.

I'd like to make a book on Emancipators of the Human Mind—Emerson, Jefferson, Thoreau, Tom Paine, Newton, Arnold, Voltaire, Goethe.... When I reflect how few writings connected with the wide open spaces of the West and Southwest are wide enough to enter into such a volume, I realize acutely how desirable is perspective in patriotism.

Hundreds of the books listed in this Guide have given me pleasure as well as particles for the mosaic work of my own books; but, with minor exceptions, they increasingly seem to me to explore only the exteriors of life. There is in them much good humor but scant wit. The hunger for something afar is absent or battened down. Drought blasts the turf, but its unhealing blast to human hope is glossed over. The body's thirst for water is a recurring theme, but human thirst for love and just thinking is beyond consideration. Horses run with their riders to death or victory, but fleeting beauty haunts no soul to the "doorway of the dead." The land is often pictured as lonely, but the lone way of a human being's essential self is not for this extravert world. The banners of individualism are carried high, but the higher individualism that grows out of long looking for meanings in the human drama is negligible. Somebody is always riding around or into a "feudal domain." Nobody at all penetrates it or penetrates democracy with the wisdom that came to Lincoln in his loneliness: "As I would not be a SLAVE, so I would not be a MASTER. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy." The mountains, the caves, the forests, the deserts have had no prophets to interpret either their silences or their voices. In short, these books are mostly only the stuff of literature, not literature itself, not the very stuff of life, not the distillations of mankind's "agony and bloody sweat."

An ignorant person attaches more importance to the chatter of small voices around him than to the noble language of remote individuals. The more he listens to the small, the smaller he grows. The hope of regional literature lies in out-growing regionalism itself. On November 11, 1949, I gave a talk to the Texas Institute of Letters that was published in the Spring 1950 issue of the Southwest Review. The paragraphs that follow are taken therefrom.

Good writing about any region is good only to the extent that it has universal appeal. Texans are the only "race of people" known to anthropologists who do not depend upon breeding for propagation. Like princes and lords, they can be made by "breath," plus a big white hat—which comparatively few Texans wear. A beef stew by a cook in San Antonio, Texas, may have a different flavor from that of a beef stew cooked in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but the essential substances of potatoes and onions, with some suggestion of beef, are about the same, and geography has no effect on their digestibility.

A writer—a regional writer, if that term means anything—will whenever he matures exercise the critical faculty. I mean in the Matthew Arnold sense of appraisal rather than of praise, or, for that matter, of absolute condemnation. Understanding and sympathy are not eulogy. Mere glorification is on the same intellectual level as silver tongues and juke box music.

In using that word INTELLECTUAL, one lays himself liable to the accusation of having forsaken democracy. For all that, "fundamental brainwork" is behind every respect-worthy piece of writing, whether it be a lightsome lyric that seems as careless as a redbird's flit or a formal epic, an impressionistic essay or a great novel that measures the depth of human destiny. Nonintellectual literature is as nonexistent as education without mental discipline, or as "character building" in a school that is slovenly in scholarship. Billboards along the highways of Texas advertise certain towns and cities as "cultural centers." Yet no chamber of commerce would consider advertising an intellectual center. The culture of a nineteenth-century finishing school for young ladies was divorced from intellect; genuine civilization is always informed by intellect. The American populace has been taught to believe that the more intellectual a professor is, the less common sense he has; nevertheless, if American democracy is preserved it will be preserved by thought and not by physics.

Editors of all but a few magazines of the country and publishers of most of the daily newspapers cry out for brightness and vitality and at the same time shut out critical ideas. They want intellect, but want it petrified. Happily, the publishers of books have not yet reached that form of delusion. In an article entitled "What Ideas Are Safe?" in the Saturday Review of Literature for November 5, 1949, Henry Steele Commager says:

If we establish a standard of safe thinking, we will end up with no thinking at all.... We cannot... have thought half slave and half free.... A nation which, in the name of loyalty or of patriotism or of any sincere and high-sounding ideal, discourages criticism and dissent, and puts a premium on acquiescence and conformity, is headed for disaster.

Unless a writer feels free, things will not come to him, he cannot burgeon on any subject whatsoever.

In 1834 Davy Crockett's Autobiography was published. It is one of the primary social documents of America. It is as much Davy Crockett, whether going ahead after bears in a Tennessee canebrake or going ahead after General Andrew Jackson in Congress, as the equally plain but also urbane Autobiography of Franklin is Benjamin Franklin. It is undiluted regionalism. It is provincial not only in subject but in point of view.

No provincial mind of this day could possibly write an autobiography or any other kind of book co-ordinate in value with Crockett's "classic in homespun." In his time, Crockett could exercise intelligence and still retain his provincial point of view. Provincialism was in the air over his land. In these changed times, something in the ambient air prevents any active intelligence from being unconscious of lands, peoples, struggles far beyond any province.

Not long after the Civil War, in Harris County, Texas, my father heard a bayou-billy yell out:

Whoopee! Raised in a canebrake and suckled by a she-bear! The click of a six-shooter is music to my ear! The further up the creek you go, the worse they git, And I come from the head of it! Whoopee!

If it were now possible to find some section of country so far up above the forks of the creek that the owls mate there with the chickens, and if this section could send to Congress one of its provincials untainted by the outside world, he would, if at all intelligent, soon after arriving on Capitol Hill become aware of interdependencies between his remote province and the rest of the world.

Biographies of regional characters, stories turning on local customs, novels based on an isolated society, books of history and fiction going back to provincial simplicity will go on being written and published. But I do not believe it possible that a good one will henceforth come from a mind that does not in outlook transcend the region on which it is focused. That is not to imply that the processes of evolution have brought all parts of the world into such interrelationships that a writer cannot depict the manners and morals of a community up Owl Hoot Creek without enmeshing them with the complexities of the Atlantic Pact. Awareness of other times and other wheres, not insistence on that awareness, is the requisite. James M. Barrie said that he could not write a play until he got his people off on a kind of island, but had he not known about the mainland he could never have delighted us with the islanders—islanders, after all, for the night only. Patriotism of the right kind is still a fine thing; but, despite all gulfs, canyons, and curtains that separate nations, those nations and their provinces are all increasingly interrelated.

No sharp line of time or space, like that separating one century from another or the territory of one nation from that of another, can delimit the boundaries of any region to which any regionalist lays claim. Mastery, for instance, of certain locutions peculiar to the Southwest will take their user to the Aztecs, to Spain, and to the border of ballads and Sir Walter Scott's romances. I found that I could not comprehend the coyote as animal hero of Pueblo and Plains Indians apart from the Reynard of Aesop and Chaucer.

In a noble opinion respecting censorship and freedom of the press, handed down on March 18, 1949, Judge Curtis Bok of Pennsylvania said:

It is no longer possible that free speech be guaranteed Federally and denied locally; under modern methods of instantaneous communication such a discrepancy makes no sense.... What is said in Pennsylvania may clarify an issue in California, and what is suppressed in California may leave us the worse in Pennsylvania. Unless a restriction on free speech be of national validity, it can no longer have any local validity whatever.

Among the qualities that any good regional writer has in common with other good writers of all places and times is intellectual integrity. Having it does not obligate him to speak out on all issues or, indeed, on any issue. He alone is to judge whether he will sport with Amaryllis in the shade or forsake her to write his own Areopagitica. Intellectual integrity expresses itself in the tune as well as argument, in choice of words—words honest and precise—as well as in ideas, in fidelity to human nature and the flowers of the fields as well as to principles, in facts reported more than in deductions proposed. Though a writer write on something as innocuous as the white snails that crawl up broomweed stalks and that roadrunners carry to certain rocks to crack and eat, his intellectual integrity, if he has it, will infuse the subject.

Nothing is too trivial for art, but good art treats nothing in a trivial way. Nothing is too provincial for the regional writer, but he cannot be provincial-minded toward it. Being provincial-minded may make him a typical provincial; it will prevent him from being a representative or skilful interpreter. Horace Greeley said that when the rules of the English language got in his way, they did not stand a chance. We may be sure that if by violating the rules of syntax Horace Greeley sometimes added forcefulness to his editorials, he violated them deliberately and not in ignorance. Luminosity is not stumbled into. The richly savored and deliciously unlettered speech of Thomas Hardy's rustics was the creation of a master architect who had looked out over the ranges of fated mankind and looked also into hell. Thomas Hardy's ashes were placed in Westminster Abbey, but his heart, in accordance with a provision of his will, was buried in the churchyard of his own village.

I have never tried to define regionalism. Its blanket has been put over a great deal of worthless writing. Robert Frost has approached a satisfying conception. "The land is always in my bones," he said—the land of rock fences. But, "I am not a regionalist. I am a realmist. I write about realms of democracy and realms of the spirit." Those realms include The Woodpile, The Grindstone, Blueberries, Birches, and many other features of the land North of Boston.

To an extent, any writer anywhere must make his own world, no matter whether in fiction or nonfiction, prose or poetry. He must make something out of his subject. What he makes depends upon his creative power, integrated with a sense of form. The popular restriction of creative writing to fiction and verse is illogical. Carl Sandburg's life of Lincoln is immeasurably more creative in form and substance than his fanciful Potato Face. Intense exercise of his creative power sets, in a way, the writer apart from the life he is trying to sublimate. Becoming a Philistine will not enable a man to interpret Philistinism, though Philistines who own big presses think so. Sinclair Lewis knew Babbitt as Babbitt could never know either himself or Sinclair Lewis.

J. F. D.

The time of Mexican primroses 1952



1. A Declaration

IN THE UNIVERSITY of Texas I teach a course called "Life and Literature of the Southwest." About 1929 I had a brief guide to books concerning the Southwest mimeographed; in 1931 it was included by John William Rogers in a booklet entitled Finding Literature on the Texas Plains. After that I revised and extended the guide three or four times, during the process distributing several thousand copies of the mimeographed forms. Now the guide has grown too long, and I trust that this printing of it will prevent my making further additions—though within a short time new books will come out that should be added.

Yet the guide is fragmentary, incomplete, and in no sense a bibliography. Its emphases vary according to my own indifferences and ignorance as well as according to my own sympathies and knowledge. It is strong on the character and ways of life of the early settlers, on the growth of the soil, and on everything pertaining to the range; it is weak on information concerning politicians and on citations to studies which, in the manner of orthodox Ph.D. theses, merely transfer bones from one graveyard to another.

It is designed primarily to help people of the Southwest see significances in the features of the land to which they belong, to make their environments more interesting to them, their past more alive, to bring them to a realization of the values of their own cultural inheritance, and to stimulate them to observe. It includes most of the books about the Southwest that people in general would agree on as making good reading.

I have never had any idea of writing or teaching about my own section of the country merely as a patriotic duty. Without apologies, I would interpret it because I love it, because it interests me, talks to me, appeals to my imagination, warms my emotions; also because it seems to me that other people living in the Southwest will lead fuller and richer lives if they become aware of what it holds. I once thought that, so far as reading goes, I could live forever on the supernal beauty of Shelley's "The Cloud" and his soaring lines "To a Skylark," on the rich melancholy of Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale," on Cyrano de Bergerac's ideal of a free man, on Wordsworth's philosophy of nature—a philosophy that has illuminated for me the mesquite flats and oak-studded hills of Texas—on the adventures in Robert Louis Stevenson, the flavor and wit of Lamb's essays, the eloquent wisdom of Hazlitt, the dark mysteries of Conrad, the gaieties of Barrie, the melody of Sir Thomas Browne, the urbanity of Addison, the dash in Kipling, the mobility, the mightiness, the lightness, the humor, the humanity, the everything of Shakespeare, and a world of other delicious, high, beautiful, and inspiring things that English literature has bestowed upon us. That literature is still the richest of heritages; but literature is not enough.

Here I am living on a soil that my people have been living and working and dying on for more than a hundred years—the soil, as it happens, of Texas. My roots go down into this soil as deep as mesquite roots go. This soil has nourished me as the banks of the lovely Guadalupe River nourish cypress trees, as the Brazos bottoms nourish the wild peach, as the gentle slopes of East Texas nourish the sweet-smelling pines, as the barren, rocky ridges along the Pecos nourish the daggered lechuguilla. I am at home here, and I want not only to know about my home land, I want to live intelligently on it. I want certain data that will enable me to accommodate myself to it. Knowledge helps sympathy to achieve harmony. I am made more resolute by Arthur Hugh Clough's picture of the dripping sailor on the reeling mast, "On stormy nights when wild northwesters rave," but the winds that have bit into me have been dry Texas northers; and fantastic yarns about them, along with a cowboy's story of a herd of Longhorns drifting to death in front of one of them, come home to me and illuminate those northers like forked lightning playing along the top of black clouds in the night.

No informed person would hold that the Southwest can claim any considerable body of PURE LITERATURE as its own. At the same time, the region has a distinct cultural inheritance, full of life and drama, told variously in books so numerous that their very existence would surprise many people who depend on the Book-of-the-Month Club for literary guidance. Any people have a right to their own cultural inheritance, though sheeplike makers of textbooks and sheeplike pedagogues of American literature have until recently, either wilfully or ignorantly, denied that right to the Southwest. Tens of thousands of students of the Southwest have been assigned endless pages on and listened to dronings over Cotton Mather, Increase Mather, Jonathan Edwards, Anne Bradstreet, and other dreary creatures of colonial New England who are utterly foreign to the genius of the Southwest. If nothing in written form pertaining to the Southwest existed at all, it would be more profitable for an inhabitant to go out and listen to coyotes singing at night in the prickly pear than to tolerate the Increase Mather kind of thing. It is very profitable to listen to coyotes anyhow. I rebelled years ago at having the tradition, the spirit, the meaning of the soil to which I belong utterly disregarded by interpreters of literature and at the same time having the Increase Mather kind of stuff taught as if it were important to our part of America. Happily the disregard is disappearing, and so is Increase Mather.

If they had to be rigorously classified into hard and fast categories, comparatively few of the books in the lists that follow would be rated as pure literature. Fewer would be rated as history. A majority of them are the stuff of history. The stuff out of which history is made is generally more vital than formalized history, especially the histories habitually forced on students in public schools, colleges, and universities. There is no essential opposition between history and literature. The attempt to study a people's literature apart from their social and, to a less extent, their political history is as illogical as the lady who said she had read Romeo but had not yet got to Juliet. Nearly any kind of history is more important than formal literary history showing how in a literary way Abraham begat Isaac and Isaac begat Jacob. Any man of any time who has ever written with vigor has been immeasurably nearer to the dunghill on which he sank his talons while crowing than to all literary ancestors.

A great deal of chronicle writing that makes no pretense at being belles-lettres is really superior literature to much that is so classified. I will vote three times a day and all night for John C. Duval's Adventures of Bigfoot Wallace, Charlie Siringo's Riata and Spurs, James B. Gillett's Six Years with the Texas Rangers, and dozens of other straightaway chronicles of the Southwest in preference to "The Culprit Fay" and much other watery "literature" with which anthologies representing the earlier stages of American writing are padded. Ike Fridge's pamphlet story of his ridings for John Chisum—chief provider of cattle for Billy the Kid to steal—has more of the juice of reality in it and, therefore, more of literary virtue than some of James Fenimore Cooper's novels, and than some of James Russell Lowell's odes.

The one thing essential to writing if it is to be read, to art if it is to be looked at, is vitality. No critic or professor can be hired to pump vitality into any kind of human expression, but professors and critics have taken it out of many a human being who in his attempts to say something decided to be correct at the expense of being himself—being natural, being alive. The priests of literary conformity never had a chance at the homemade chronicles of the Southwest.

The orderly way in which to study the Southwest would be to take up first the land, its flora, fauna, climate, soils, rivers, etc., then the aborigines, next the exploring and settling Spaniards, and finally, after a hasty glance at the French, the English-speaking people who brought the Southwest to what it is today. We cannot proceed in this way, however. Neither the prairies nor the Indians who first hunted deer on them have left any records, other than hieroglyphic, as to their lives. Some late-coming men have written about them. Droughts and rains have had far more influence on all forms of life in the Southwest and on all forms of its development culturally and otherwise than all of the Coronado expeditions put together. I have emphasized the literature that reveals nature. My method has been to take up types and subjects rather than to follow chronology.

Chronology is often an impediment to the acquiring of useful knowledge. I am not nearly so much interested in what happened in Abilene, Kansas, in 1867—the year that the first herds of Texas Longhorns over the Chisholm Trail found a market at that place—as I am in picking out of Abilene in 1867 some thing that reveals the character of the men who went up the trail, some thing that will illuminate certain phenomena along the trail human beings of the Southwest are going up today, some thing to awaken observation and to enrich with added meaning this corner of the earth of which we are the temporary inheritors.

By "literature of the Southwest" I mean writings that interpret the region, whether they have been produced by the Southwest or not. Many of them have not. What we are interested in is life in the Southwest, and any interpreter of that life, foreign or domestic, ancient or modern, is of value.

The term Southwest is variable because the boundaries of the Southwest are themselves fluid, expanding and contracting according to the point of view from which the Southwest is viewed and according to whatever common denominator is taken for defining it. The Spanish Southwest includes California, but California regards itself as more closely akin to the Pacific Northwest than to Texas; California is Southwest more in an antiquarian way than other-wise. From the point of view of the most picturesque and imagination-influencing occupation of the Southwest, the occupation of ranching, the Southwest might be said to run up into Montana. Certainly one will have to go up the trail to Montana to finish out the story of the Texas cowboy. Early in the nineteenth century the Southwest meant Tennessee, Georgia, and other frontier territory now regarded as strictly South. The men and women who "redeemed Texas from the wilderness" came principally from that region. The code of conduct they gave Texas was largely the code of the booming West. Considering the character of the Anglo-American people who took over the Southwest, the region is closer to Missouri than to Kansas, which is not Southwest in any sense but which has had a strong influence on Oklahoma. Chihuahua is more southwestern than large parts of Oklahoma. In Our Southwest, Erna Fergusson has a whole chapter on "What is the Southwest?" She finds Fort Worth to be in the Southwest but Dallas, thirty miles east, to be facing north and east. The principal areas of the Southwest are, to have done with air-minded reservations, Arizona, New Mexico, most of Texas, some of Oklahoma, and anything else north, south, east, or west that anybody wants to bring in. The boundaries of cultures and rainfall never follow survey lines. In talking about the Southwest I naturally incline to emphasize the Texas part of it.

Life is fluid, and definitions that would apprehend it must also be. Yet I will venture one definition—not the only one—of an educated person. An educated person is one who can view with interest and intelligence the phenomena of life about him. Like people elsewhere, the people of the Southwest find the features of the land on which they live blank or full of pictures according to the amount of interest and intelligence with which they view the features. Intelligence cannot be acquired, but interest can; and data for interest and intelligence to act upon are entirely acquirable.

"Studies perfect nature," Bacon said. "Nature follows art" to the extent that most of us see principally what our attention has been called to. I might never have noticed rose-purple snow between shadows if I had not seen a picture of that kind of snow. I had thought white the only natural color of snow. I cannot think of yew trees, which I have never seen, without thinking of Wordsworth's poem on three yew trees.

Nobody has written a memorable poem on the mesquite. Yet the mesquite has entered into the social, economic, and aesthetic life of the land; it has made history and has been painted by artists. In the homely chronicles of the Southwest its thorns stick, its roots burn into bright coals, its trunks make fence posts, its lovely leaves wave. To live beside this beautiful, often pernicious, always interesting and highly characteristic tree—or bush—and to know nothing of its significance is to be cheated out of a part of life. It is but one of a thousand factors peculiar to the Southwest and to the land's cultural inheritance.

For a long time, as he tells in his Narrative, Cabeza de Vaca was a kind of prisoner to coastal Indians of Texas. Annually, during the season when prickly pear apples (tunas, or Indian figs, as they are called in books) were ripe, these Indians would go upland to feed on the fruit. During his sojourn with them Cabeza de Vaca went along. He describes how the Indians would dig a hole in the ground, squeeze the fruit out of tunas into the hole, and then swill up big drinks of it. Long ago the Indians vanished, but prickly pears still flourish over millions of acres of land. The prickly pear is one of the characteristic growths of the Southwest. Strangers look at it and regard it as odd. Painters look at it in bloom or in fruit and strive to capture the colors. During the droughts ranchmen singe the thorns off its leaves, using a flame-throwing machine, easily portable by a man on foot, fed from a small gasoline tank. From Central Texas on down into Central America prickly pear acts as host for the infinitesimal insect called cochineal, which supplied the famous dyes of Aztec civilization.

A long essay might be written on prickly pear. It weaves in and out of many chronicles of the Southwest. A. J. Sowell, one of the best chroniclers of Texas pioneer life, tells in his life of Bigfoot Wallace how that picturesque ranger captain once took one of his wounded men away from an army surgeon because the surgeon would not apply prickly pear poultices to the wound. In Rangers and Pioneers of Texas, Sowell narrates how rattlesnakes were so large and numerous in a great prickly pear flat out from the Nueces River that rangers pursuing bandits had to turn back. Nobody has written a better description of a prickly pear flat than O. Henry in his story of "The Caballero's Way."

People may look at prickly pear, and it will be just prickly pear and nothing more. Or they may look at it and find it full of significances; the mere sight of a prickly pear may call up a chain of incidents, facts, associations. A mind that can thus look out on the common phenomena of life is rich, and all of the years of the person whose mind is thus stored will be more interesting and full.

Cabeza de Vaca's Narrative, the chronicles of A. J. Sowell, and O. Henry's story are just three samples of southwestern literature that bring in prickly pear. No active-minded person who reads any one of these three samples will ever again look at prickly pear in the same light that he looked at it before he read. Yet prickly pear is just one of hundreds of manifestations of life in the Southwest that writers have commented on, told stories about, dignified with significance.

Cotton no longer has the economic importance to Texas that it once had. Still, it is mighty important. In the minds of millions of farm people of the South, cotton and the boll weevil are associated. The boll weevil was once a curse; then it came to be somewhat regarded as a disguised blessing—in limiting production.

De first time I seen de boll weevil, He was a-settin' on de square. Next time I seen him, he had all his family dere— Jest a-lookin' foh a home, jest a-lookin' foh a home.

A man dependent on cotton for a living and having that living threatened by the boll weevil will not be much interested in ballads, but for the generality of people this boll weevil ballad—the entirety of which is a kind of life history of the insect—is, while delightful in itself, a veritable story-book on the weevil. Without the ballad, the weevil's effect on economic history would be unchanged; but as respects mind and imagination, the ballad gives the weevil all sorts of significances. The ballad is a part of the literature of the Southwest.

But I am assigning too many motives of self-improvement to reading. People read for fun, for pleasure. The literature of the Southwest affords bully reading.

"If I had read as much as other men, I would know as little," Thomas Hobbes is credited with having said. A student in the presence of Bishop E. D. Mouzon was telling about the scores and scores of books he had read. At a pause the bishop shook his long, wise head and remarked, "My son, when DO you get time to think?" Two of the best educated men I have ever had the fortune of talking with were neither schooled nor widely read. They were extraordinary observers. One was a plainsman, Charles Goodnight; the other was a borderer, Don Alberto Guajardo, in part educated by an old Lipan Indian.

But here are the books. I list them not so much to give knowledge as to direct people with intellectual curiosity and with interest in their own land to the sources of knowledge; not to create life directly, but to point out where it has been created or copied. On some of the books I have made brief observations. Those observations can never be nearly so important to a reader as the development of his own powers of observation. With something of an apologetic feeling I confess that I have read, in my way, most of the books. I should probably have been a wiser and better informed man had I spent more time out with the grasshoppers, horned toads, and coyotes. November 5, 1942 J. FRANK DOBIE



2. Interpreters of the Land

"HE'S FOR A JIG or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps." Thought employs ideas, but having an idea is not the same thing as thinking. A rooster in a pen of hens has an idea. Thought has never been so popular with mankind as horse opera, horse play, the main idea behind sheep's eyes. Far be it from me to feel contempt for people who cannot and do not want to think. The human species has not yet evolved to the stage at which thought is natural. I am far more at ease lying in grass and gazing without thought process at clouds than in sitting in a chair trying to be logical. Just the same, free play of mind upon life is the essence of good writing, and intellectual activity is synonymous with critical interpretations.

To the constant disregard of thought, Americans of the mid-twentieth century have added positive opposition. Critical ideas are apt to make any critic suspected of being subversive. The Southwest, Texas especially, is more articulately aware of its land spaces than of any other feature pertaining to itself. Yet in the realm of government, the Southwest has not produced a single spacious thinker. So far as the cultural ancestry of the region goes, the South has been arid of thought since the time of Thomas Jefferson, the much talked-of mind of John C. Calhoun being principally casuistic; on another side, derivatives from the Spanish Inquisition could contribute to thought little more than tribal medicine men have contributed.

Among historians of the Southwest the general rule has been to be careful with facts and equally careful in avoiding thought-provoking interpretations. In the multitudinous studies on Spanish-American history all padres are "good" and all conquistadores are "intrepid," and that is about as far as interpretation goes. The one state book of the Southwest that does not chloroform ideas is Erna Fergusson's New Mexico: A Pageant of Three Peoples (Knopf, New York, 1952). Essayical in form, it treats only of the consequential. It evaluates from the point of view of good taste, good sense, and an urbane comprehension of democracy. The subject is provincial, but the historian transcends all provincialism. Her sympathy does not stifle conclusions unusable in church or chamber of commerce propaganda. In brief, a cultivated mind can take pleasure in this interpretation of New Mexico—and that marks it as a solitary among the histories of neighboring states.

The outstanding historical interpreter of the Southwest is Walter Prescott Webb, of the University of Texas. The Great Plains utilizes chronology to explain the presence of man on the plains; it is primarily a study in cause and effect, of water and drought, of adaptations and lack of adaptations, of the land's growth into human imagination as well as economic institutions. Webb uses facts to get at meanings. He fulfils Emerson's definition of Scholar: "Man Thinking." In Divided We Stand he goes into machinery, the feudalism of corporation-dominated economy, the economic supremacy of the North over the South and the West. In The Great Frontier (Houghton Mifilin, Boston, 1952) he considers the Western Hemisphere as a frontier for Europe—a frontier that brought about the rise of democracy and capitalism and that, now vanished as a frontier, foreshadows the vanishment of democracy and capitalism.

In Virgin Land: The American West as Symbol and a Myth (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1950) Henry Nash Smith plows deep. But the tools of this humanistic historian are of delicate finish rather than of horsepower. To him, thinking is a joyful process and lucidity out of complexity is natural. He compasses Parrington's Main Currents in American Thought and Beadle's Dime Novels along with agriculture and manufacturing. Excepting the powerful books by Walter Prescott Webb, not since Frederick Jackson Turner, in 1893, presented his famous thesis on "The Significance of the Frontier in American History" has such a revealing evaluation of frontier movements appeared As a matter of fact, Henry Nash Smith leaves Turner's ideas on the dependence of democracy upon farmers without more than one leg to stand upon. Not being a King Canute, he does not take sides for or against social evolution. With the clearest eyes imaginable, he looks into it. Turner's The Frontier in American History (1920) has been a fertile begetter of interpretations of history.

Instead of being the usual kind of jokesmith book or concatenation of tall tales, Folk Laughter on the American Frontier by Mody C. Boatright (Macmillan, New York, 1949) goes into the human and social significances of humor. Of boastings, anecdotal exaggerations, hide-and-hair metaphors, stump and pulpit parables, tenderfoot baitings, and the like there is plenty, but thought plays upon them and arranges them into patterns of social history.

Mary Austin (1868-1934) is an interpreter of nature, which for her includes naturally placed human beings as much as naturally placed antelopes and cacti. She wrote The American Rhythm on the theory that authentic poetry expresses the rhythms of that patch of earth to which the poet is rooted. Rhythm is experience passed into the subconscious and is "distinct from our intellectual perception of it." Before they can make true poetry, English-speaking Americans will be in accord with "the run of wind in tall grass" as were the Pueblo Indians when Europeans discovered them. But Mary Austin's primary importance is not as a theorist. Her spiritual depth is greater than her intellectual. She is a translator of nature through concrete observations. She interprets through character sketches, folk tales, novels. "Anybody can write facts about a country," she said. She infuses fact with understanding and imagination. In Lost Borders, The Land of Little Rain, The Land of Journey's Ending, and The Flock the land itself often seems to speak, but often she gets in its way. She sees "with an eye made quiet by the power of harmony." Earth Horizons, a stubborn book, is Mary Austin's inner autobiography. The Beloved House, by T. M. Pearce (Caxton, Caldwell, Idaho, 1940), is an understanding biography.

Joseph Wood Krutch of Columbia University spent a year in Arizona, near Tucson. Instead of talking about his The Desert Year (Sloane, New York, 1952), I quote a representative paragraph:

In New England the struggle for existence is visibly the struggle of plant with plant, each battling his neighbor for sunlight and for the spot of ground which, so far as moisture and nourishment are concerned, would support them all. Here, the contest is not so much of plant against plant as of plant against inanimate nature. The limiting factor is not the neighbor but water; and I wonder if this is, perhaps, one of the things which makes this country seem to enjoy a kind of peace one does not find elsewhere. The struggle of living thing against living thing can be distressing in a way that a mere battle with the elements is not. If some great clump of cactus dies this summer it will be because the cactus has grown beyond the capacity of its roots to get water, not because one green fellow creature has bested it in some limb-to-limb struggle. In my more familiar East the crowding of the countryside seems almost to parallel the crowding of the cities. Out here there is, even in nature, no congestion.

Southwest, by Laura Adams Armer (New York, 1935, OP) came from long living and brooding in desert land. It says something beautiful.

Talking to the Moon, by John Joseph Mathews (University of Chicago Press, 1945) is set in the blackjack country of eastern Oklahoma. This Oxford scholar of Osage blood built his ranch house around a fireplace, flanked by shelves of books. His observations are of the outside, but they are informed by reflections made beside a fire. They are not bookish at all, but the spirits of great writers mingle with echoes of coyote wailing and wood-thrush singing.

Sky Determines: An Interpretation of the Southwest, by Ross Calvin (New York, 1934; republished by the University of New Mexico Press) lives up to its striking title. The introductory words suggest the essence of the book:

In New Mexico whatever is both old and peculiar appears upon examination to have a connection with the arid climate. Peculiarities range from the striking adaptations of the flora onward to those of fauna, and on up to those of the human animal. Sky determines. And the writer once having picked up the trail followed it with certainty, and indeed almost inevitably, as it led from ecology to anthropology and economics.

Cultivated intellect is the highest form of civilization. It is inseparable from the arts, literature, architecture. In any civilized land, birds, trees, flowers, animals, places, human contributors to life out of the past, all are richer and more significant because of representations through literature and art. No literate person can listen to a skylark over an English meadow without hearing in its notes the melodies of Chaucer and Shelley. As the Southwest advances in maturity of mind and civilization, the features of the land take on accretions from varied interpreters.

It is not necessary for an interpreter to write a whole book about a feature to bring out its significance. We need more gossipy books—something in the manner of Pinon Country by Haniel Long (Duell, Sloan and Pearce, New York, 1941), in which one can get a swift slant on Billy the Kid, smell the pinon trees, feel the deeply religious attitude toward his corn patch of a Zuni Indian. Roy Bedichek's chapters on the mockingbird, in Adventures with a Texas Naturalist, are like rich talk under a tree on a pleasant patch of ground staked out for his claim by an April-voiced mockingbird. In The Voice of the Coyote I tried to compass the whole animal, and I should think that the "Father of Song-Making" chapter might make coyote music and the night more interesting and beautiful for any listener. Intelligent writers often interpret without set purpose, and many books under various categories in this Guide are interpretative.



3. General Helps

THERE IS no chart to the Life and Literature of the Southwest. An attempt to put it all into an alphabetically arranged encyclopedia would be futile. All guides to knowledge are too long or too short. This one at the outset adds to its length—perhaps to its usefulness—by citing other general reference works and a few anthologies.

Books of the Southwest: A General Bibliography, by Mary Tucker, published by J. J. Augustin, New York, 1937, is better on Indians and the Spanish period than on Anglo-American culture. Southwest Heritage: A Literary History with Bibliography, by Mabel Major, Rebecca W. Smith, and T. M. Pearce, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1938, revised 1948, takes up the written material under the time-established heads of Fiction, Poetry, Drama, etc., with due respect to chronological development. A Treasury of Southern Folklore, 1949, and A Treasury of Western Folklore, 1951, both edited by B. A. Botkin and both published by Crown, New York, are so liberal in the extensions of folklore and so voluminous that they amount to literary anthologies.

Of possible use in working out certain phases of life and literature common to the Southwest as well as to the West and Middle West are the following academic treatises: The Frontier in American Literature, by Lucy Lockwood Hazard, New York, 1927; The Literature of the Middle Western Frontier, by Ralph Leslie Rusk, New York, 1925; The Prairie and the Making of Middle America, by Dorothy Anne Dondore, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1926; The Literature of the Rocky Mountain West 1803-1903, by L. J. Davidson and P. Bostwick, Caldwell, Idaho, 1939; and The Rediscovery of the Frontier, by Percy H. Boynton, Chicago, 1931. Anyone interested in vitality in any phase of American writing will find Vernon L. Parrington's Main Currents in American Thought (three vols.), New York, 1927-39, an opener-up of avenues.

Perhaps the best anthology of southwestern narratives is Golden Tales of the Southwest, selected by Mary L. Becker, New York, 1939. Two anthologies of southwestern writings are Southwesterners Write, edited by T. M. Pearce and A. P. Thomason, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1946, and Roundup Time, edited by George Sessions Perry, Whittlesey House, New York, 1943. Themes common to the Southwest are represented in Western Prose and Poetry, an anthology put together by Rufus A. Coleman, New York, 1932, and in Mid Country: Writings from the Heart of America, edited by Lowry C. Wimberly, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, 1945.

For the southern tradition that has flowed into the Southwest Franklin J. Meine's Tall Tales of the Southwest, New York, 1930, OP, is the best anthology published. It is the best anthology of any kind that I know of. A Southern Treasury of Life and Literature, selected by Stark Young, New York, 1937, brings in Texas.

Anthologies of poetry are listed under the heading of "Poetry and Drama." The outstanding state bibliography of the region is A Bibliography of Texas, by C. W. Raines, Austin, 1896. Since this is half a century behind the times, its usefulness is limited. At that, it is more useful than the shiftless, hit-and-miss, ignorance-revealing South of Forty: From the Mississippi to the Rio Grande: A Bibliography, by Jesse L. Rader, Norman, Oklahoma, 1947. Henry R. Wagner's The Plains and the Rockies, "a contribution to the bibliography of original narratives of travel and adventure, 1800-1865," which came out 1920-21, was revised and extended by Charles L. Camp and reprinted in 1937. It is stronger on overland travel than on anything else, only in part covers the Southwest, and excludes a greater length of time than Raines's Bibliography. Now published by Long's College Book Co., Columbus, Ohio.

Mary G. Boyer's Arizona in Literature, Glendale, California, 1934, is an anthology that runs toward six hundred pages. Texas Prose Writings, by Sister M. Agatha, Dallas, 1936, OP, is a meaty, critical survey. L. W. Payne's handbook-sized A Survey of Texas Literature, Chicago, 1928, is complemented by a chapter entitled "Literature and Art in Texas" by J. Frank Dobie in The Book of Texas, New York, 1929. OP.

A Guide to Materials Bearing on Cultural Relations in New Mexico, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1944, is so logical and liberal-minded that in some respects it amounts to a bibliography of the whole Southwest; it recognizes the overriding of political boundaries by ideas, human types, and other forms of culture. The New Mexico Quarterly, published by the University of New Mexico, furnishes periodically a bibliographical record of contemporary literature of the Southwest. New Mexico's Own Chronicle, edited by Maurice G. Fulton and Paul Horgan (Dallas, 1937, OP), is an anthology strong on the historical side.

In the lists that follow, the symbol OP indicates that the book is out of print. Many old books obviously out of print are not so tagged.



4. Indian Culture; Pueblos and Navajos

THE LITERATURE on the subject of Indians is so extensive and ubiquitous that, unless a student of Americana is pursuing it, he may find it more troublesome to avoid than to get hold of. The average old-timer has for generations regarded Indian scares and fights as the most important theme for reminiscences. County-minded historians have taken the same point of view. The Bureau of American Ethnology of the Smithsonian Institution has buried records of Indian beliefs, ceremonies, mythology, and other folklore in hundreds of tomes; laborious, literal-minded scholars of other institutions have been as assiduous. In all this lore and tabulation of facts, the Indian folk themselves have generally been dried out.

The Anglo-American's policy toward the Indian was to kill him and take his land, perhaps make a razor-strop out of his hide. The Spaniard's policy was to baptize him, take his land, enslave him, and appropriate his women. Any English-speaking frontiersman who took up with the Indians was dubbed "squaw man"—a term of sinister connotations. Despite pride in descending from Pocahontas and in the vaunted Indian blood of such individuals as Will Rogers, crossbreeding between Anglo-Americans and Indians has been restricted, as compared, for instance, with the interdicted crosses between white men and black women. The Spaniards, on the other hand, crossed in battalions with the Indians, generating mestizo (mixed-blooded) nations, of which Mexico is the chief example.

As a result, the English-speaking occupiers of the land have in general absorbed directly only a minimum of Indian culture—nothing at all comparable to the Uncle Remus stories and characters and the spiritual songs and the blues music from the Negroes. Grandpa still tells how his own grandpa saved or lost his scalp during a Comanche horse-stealing raid in the light of the moon; Boy Scouts hunt for Indian arrowheads; every section of the country has a bluff called Lovers' Leap, where, according to legend, a pair of forlorn Indian lovers, or perhaps only one of the pair, dived to death; the maps all show Caddo Lake, Kiowa Peak, Squaw Creek, Tehuacana Hills, Nacogdoches town, Cherokee County, Indian Gap, and many another place name derived from Indian days. All such contacts with Indian life are exterior. Three forms of Indian culture are, however, weaving into the life patterns of America.

(1) The Mexicans have naturally inherited and assimilated Indian lore about plants, animals, places, all kinds of human relationships with the land. Through the Mexican medium, with which he is becoming more sympathetic, the gringo is getting the ages-old Indian culture.

(2) The Pueblo and Navajo Indians in particular are impressing their arts, crafts, and ways of life upon special groups of Americans living near them, and these special groups are transmitting some of their acquisitions. The special groups incline to be arty and worshipful, but they express a salutary revolt against machined existence and they have done much to revive dignity in Indian life. Offsetting dilettantism, the Museum of New Mexico and associated institutions and artists and other individuals have fostered Indian pottery, weaving, silversmithing, dancing, painting, and other arts and crafts. Superior craftsmanship can now depend upon a fairly reliable market; the taste of American buyers has been somewhat elevated.

O mountains, pure and holy, give me a song, a strong and holy song to bless my flock and bring the rain!

This is from "Navajo Holy Song," as rendered by Edith Hart Mason. It expresses a spiritual content in Indian life far removed from the We and God, Incorporated form of religion ordained by the National Association of Manufacturers.

(3) The wild freedom, mobility, and fierce love of liberty of the mounted Indians of the Plains will perhaps always stir imaginations—something like the charging Cossacks, the camping Arabs, and the migrating Tartars. There is no romance in Indian fights east of the Mississippi. The mounted Plains Indians always made a big hit in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. Little boys still climb into their seats and cry out when red horsemen of the Plains ride across the screen.

See "Apaches, Comanches, and Other Plains Indians," "Mountain Men."

APPLEGATE, FRANK G. Indian Stories from the Pueblos, Philadelphia, 1929. Charming. OP.

ASTROV, MARGOT (editor), The Winged Serpent, John Day, New York, 1946. An anthology of prose and poetry by American Indians. Here are singular expressions of beauty and dignity.

AUSTIN, MARY. The Trail Book, 1918, OP; One-Smoke Stories, 1934, Houghton Mifflin, Boston. Delightful folk tales, each leading to a vista.

BANDELIER, A. F. The Delight Makers, 1918, Dodd, Mead, New York. Historical fiction on ancient pueblo life.

COOLIDGE, DANE and MARY. The Navajo Indians, Boston, 1930. Readable; bibliography. OP.

COOLIDGE, MARY ROBERTS. The Rain-Makers, Boston, 1929. OP. This thorough treatment of the Indians of Arizona and New Mexico contains an excellent account of the Hopi snake ceremony for bringing rain. During any severe drought numbers of Christians in the Southwest pray without snakes. It always rains eventually—and the prayer-makers naturally take the credit. The Hopis put on a more spectacular show. See Dr. Walter Hough's The Hopi Indians, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1915. OP.

CUSHING, FRANK HAMILTON. Zuni Folk Tales, 1901; reprinted, 1931, by Knopf, New York. My Adventures in Zuni, Santa Fe, 1941. Zuni Breadstuff, Museum of the American Indian, New York, 1920. Cushing had rare imagination and sympathy. His retellings of tales are far superior to verbatim recordings. Zuni Breadstuff reveals more of Indian spirituality than any other book I can name. All OP.

DEHUFF, ELIZABETH. Tay Tay's Tales, 1922; Tay Tay's Memories, 1924. OP.

DOUGLAS, FREDERIC H., and D HARNONCOURT, RENE. Indian Art of the United States, Simon and Schuster, New York, 1941.

DYK, WALTER. Son of Old Man Hat, New York, 1938. OP.

FERGUSSON, ERNA. Dancing Gods, Knopf, New York, 1931. Erna Fergusson is always illuminating.

FOREMAN, GRANT. Indians and Pioneers, 1930, and Advancing the Frontier, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 1933. Grant Foreman is prime authority on the so-called "Civilized Tribes." University of Oklahoma Press has published a number of excellent volumes in "The Civilization of the American Indian" series.

GILLMOR, FRANCES, and WETHERILL, LOUISA WADE. Traders to the Navajos, Boston, 1936; reprinted by University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1952. An account not only of the trading post Wetherills but of the Navajos as human beings, with emphasis on their spiritual qualities.

GODDARD, P. E. Indians of the Southwest, New York, 1921. Excellent outline of exterior facts. OP.

HAMILTON, CHARLES (editor). Cry of the Thunderbird, Macmillan, New York, 1951. An anthology of writings by Indians containing many interesting leads.

HEWETT, EDGAR L. Ancient Life in the American Southwest, Indianapolis, 1930. OP. A master work in both archeology and Indian nature. (With Bertha P. Dretton) The Pueblo Indian World, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, 1945.

HODGE, F. W. Handbook of American Indians North of Mexico, Washington, D. C., 1907. Indispensable encyclopedia, by a very great scholar and a very fine gentleman. OP.

LABARRE, WESTON. The Peyote Cult, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1938.

LAFARGE, OLIVER. Laughing Boy, Boston, 1929. The Navajo in fiction.

LUMMIS, C. F. Mesa, Canon, and Pueblo, New York, 1925; Pueblo Indian Folk Tales, New York, 1910. Lummis, though self-vaunting and opinionated, opens windows.

MATTHEWS, WASHINGTON. Navajo Legends, Boston, 1897; Navajo Myths, Prayers and Songs, Berkeley, California, 1907.

MOONEY, JAMES. Myths of the Cherokees, in Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, Washington, 1902. Outstanding writing.

NELSON, JOHN LOUW. Rhythm for Rain, Boston, 1937. Based on ten years spent with the Hopi Indians, this study of their life is a moving story of humanity. OP.

PEARCE, J. E. Tales That Dead Men Tell, University of Texas Press, Austin, 1935. Eloquent, liberating to the human mind; something rare for Texas scholarship. Pearce was professor of anthropology at the University of Texas, an emancipator from prejudices and ignorance. It is a pity that all the college students who are forced by the bureaucrats of Education—Education spelled with a capital E—"the unctuous elaboration of the obvious"—do not take anthropology instead. Collegians would then stand a chance of becoming educated.

PETRULLO, VICENZO. The Diabolic Root: A Study of Peyotism, the New Indian Religion, among the Delawares, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 1934. The use of peyote has now spread northwest into Canada. See Milly Peacock Stenberg's The Peyote Culture among Wyoming Indians, University of Wyoming Publications, Laramie, 1946, for bibliography.

REICHARD, GLADYS A. Spider Woman, 1934, and Dezba Woman of the Desert, 1939. Both honest, both OP.

SIMMONS, LEO W. (editor). Sun Chief: The Autobiography of a Hopi Indian, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1942. The clearest view into the mind and living ways, including sex life, of an Indian that has been published. Few autobiographers have been clearer; not one has been franker. A singular human document.

{illust}



5. Apaches, Comanches, and Other Plains Indians

THE APACHES and the bareback Indians of the Plains were extraordinary hombres del campo—men of the outdoors, plainsmen, woodsmen, trailers, hunters, endurers. They knew some phases of nature with an intimacy that few civilized naturalists ever attain to. It is unfortunate that most of the literature about them is from their enemies. Yet an enemy often teaches a man more than his friends and makes him work harder.

See "Indian Culture," "Texas Rangers."

BOURKE, JOHN G. On the Border with Crook, London, 1892. Reprinted by Long's College Book Co., Columbus, Ohio. A truly great book, on both Apaches and Arizona frontier. Bourke had amplitude, and he knew.

BUCKELEW, F. M. The Indian Captive, Bandera, Texas, 1925. Homely and realistic. OP.

CATLIN, GEORGE. Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs and Conditions of the North American Indians, Written during Eight Years' Travel, 1832-39, 1841. Despite many strictures, Catlin's two volumes remain standard. I am pleased to find Frank Roe, in The North American Buffalo, standing up for him. In Pursuit of the Horizon: A Life of George Catlin, Painter and Recorder of the American Indian, New York, 1948, Loyd Haberly fails in evaluating evidence but brings out the man's career and character.

CLUM, WOODWORTH. Apache Agent, Boston, 1936. Worthy autobiography of a noble understander of the Apache people. OP.

COMFORT, WILL LEVINGTON. Apache, Dutton, New York, 1931. Noble; vivid; semifiction.

DAVIS, BRITTON. The Truth about Geronimo, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1929. Davis helped run Geronimo down.

DESHIELDS, JAMES T. Cynthia Ann Parker, St. Louis, 1886; reprinted 1934. Good narrative of noted woman captive. OP.

DOBIE, J. FRANK. The Mustangs, Little, Brown, Boston, 1952. The opening chapters of this book distil a great deal of research by scholars on Plains Indian acquisition of horses, riding, and raiding.

GRINNELL, GEORGE BIRD. The Cheyenne Indians, New Haven, 1923. This two-volume work supersedes The Fighting Cheyennes, 1915. It is noble, ample, among the most select books on Plains Indians. Blackfoot Lodge Tales: The Story of a Prairie People, 1892, shows Grinnell's skill as storyteller at its best. Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk Tales, 1893, is hardly an equal but it reveals the high values of life held by representatives of the original plainsmen. The Story of the Indian, 1895, is a general survey. All OP. Grinnell's knowledge and power as a writer on Indians and animals has not been sufficiently recognized. He combined in a rare manner scholarship, plainsmanship, and the worldliness of publishing.

{illust. caption = George Catlin, in North American Indians (1841)}



HALEY, J. EVETTS. Fort Concho and the Texas Frontier, San Angelo Standard-Times, San Angelo, Texas, 1952. Mainly a history of military activities against Comanches and other tribes, laced with homilies on the free enterprise virtues of the conquerors.

LEE, NELSON. Three Years among the Comanches, 1859.

LEHMAN, HERMAN. Nine Years with the Indians, Bandera, Texas, 1927. Best captive narrative of the Southwest.

LOCKWOOD, FRANK C. The Apache Indians, Macmillan, New York, 1938. Factual history.

LONG LANCE, CHIEF BUFFALO CHILD. Long Lance, New York, 1928. OP. Long Lance was a Blackfoot only by adoption, but his imagination incorporated him into tribal life more powerfully than blood could have. He is said to have been a North Carolina mixture of Negro and Croatan Indian; he was a magnificent specimen of manhood with swart Indian complexion. He fought in the Canadian army during World War I and thus became acquainted with the Blackfeet. No matter what the facts of his life, he wrote a vivid and moving autobiography of a Blackfoot Indian in whom the spirit of the tribe and the natural life of the Plains during buffalo days were incorporated. In 1932 in the California home of Anita Baldwin, daughter of the spectacular "Lucky" Baldwin, he absented himself from this harsh world by a pistol shot.

LOWIE, ROBERT H. The Crow Indians, New York, 1935. This scholar and anthropologist lived with the Crow Indians to obtain intimate knowledge and then wrote this authoritative book. OP.

MCALLISTER, J. GILBERT. "Kiowa-Apache Tales," in The Sky Is My Tipi, edited by Mody C. Boatright (Texas Folklore Society Publication XXII), Southern Methodist University Press, Dallas, 1949. Wise in exposition; true-to-humanity and delightful in narrative.

MCGILLICUDDY, JULIA B. McGillicuddy Agent, Stanford University Press, California, 1941. Dr. Valentine T. McGillicuddy, Scotch in stubbornness, honesty, efficiency, and individualism, was U.S. Indian agent to the Sioux and knew them to the bottom. In the end he was defeated by the army mind and the bloodsuckers known as the "Indian Ring." The elements of nobility that distinguish the man distinguish his wife's biography of him.

MCLAUGHLIN, JAMES. My Friend the Indian, 1910, 1926. OP. McLaughlin was U.S. Indian agent and inspector for half a century. Despite priggishness, he had genuine sympathy for the Indians; he knew the Sioux, Nez Perces, and Cheyennes intimately, and few books on Indian plainsmen reveal so much as his.

MARRIOTT, ALICE. The Ten Grandmothers, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 1945. Narratives of the Kiowas—a complement to James Mooney's Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians, in Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, Washington, 1893. Alice Marriott, author of other books on Indians, combines ethnological science with the art of writing.

MATHEWS, JOHN JOSEPH. Wah'Kon-Tah: The Osage and the White Man's Road, University of Oklahoma Press, 1932. This book of essays on the character of and certain noble characters among the Great Osages, including their upright agent Leban J. Miles, has profound spiritual qualities.

NEIHARDT, JOHN G. Black Elk Speaks, New York, 1932. OP. Black Elk was a holy man of the Ogalala Sioux. The story of his life as he told it to understanding John G. Neihardt is more of mysteries and spiritual matters than of mundane affairs.

RICHARDSON, R. N. The Comanche Barrier to the South Plains, Glendale, California, 1933. Factual history.

RISTER, CARL C. Border Captives, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 1940.

RUXTON, GEORGE F. Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains, London, 1847. Vivid on Comanche raids. See Ruxton in "Surge of Life in the West."

SCHULTZ, J. W. My Life as an Indian, 1907. OP. In this autobiographical narrative of the life of a white man with a Blackfoot woman, facts have probably been arranged, incidents added. Whatever his method, the author achieved a remarkable human document. It is true not only to Indian life in general but in particular to the life of a "squaw man" and his loved and loving mate. Among other authentic books by Schultz is With the Indians of the Rockies, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1912.

SMITH, C. L. and J. D. The Boy Captives, Bandera, Texas, 1927. A kind of classic in homeliness. OP.

VESTAL, STANLEY. Sitting Bull, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1932. Excellent biography. OP.

WALLACE, ERNEST, and HOEBEL, E. ADAMSON. The Comanches: Lords of the South Plains, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 1952. A wide-compassing and interesting book on a powerful and interesting people.

WELLMAN, PAUL I. Death on the Prairie (1934), Death in the Desert (1935); both reprinted in Death on Horseback, 1947. All OP. Graphic history, mostly in narrative, of the struggle of Plains and Apache Indians to hold their homelands against the whites.

WILBARGER, J. W. Indian Depredations in Texas, 1889; reprinted by Steck, Austin, 1936. Its stirring narratives made this a household book among Texans of the late nineteenth century.



6. Spanish-Mexican Strains

THE MEXICAN Revolution that began in 1910 resulted in a rich development of the native cultural elements of Mexico, the art of Diego Rivera being one of the highlights of this development. The native culture is closer to the Mexican earth and to the indigenes than to Spain, notwithstanding modern insistence on the Latin in Latin-American culture.

The Spaniards, through Mexico, have had an abiding influence on the architecture and language of the Southwest. They gave us our most distinctive occupation, ranching on the open range. They influenced mining greatly, and our land titles and irrigation laws still go back to Spanish and Mexican sources. After more than a hundred years of occupation of Texas and almost that length of time in other parts of the Southwest, the English-speaking Americans still have the rich accumulations of lore pertaining to coyotes, mesquites, prickly pear, and many other plants and animals to learn from the Mexicans, who got their lore partly from intimate living with nature but largely through Indian ancestry.

See "Fighting Texians," "Santa Fe and the Santa Fe Trail."

AIKEN, RILEY. "A Pack Load of Mexican Tales," in Puro Mexicano, published by Texas Folklore Society, 1935. Now published by Southern Methodist University Press, Dallas. Delightful.

ALEXANDER, FRANCES (and others). Mother Goose on the Rio Grande, Banks Upshaw, Dallas, 1944. Charming rhymes in both Spanish and English in charming form.

APPLEGATE, FRANK G. Native Tales of New Mexico, Philadelphia, 1932. Delicious; the real thing. OP.

ATHERTON, GERTRUDE. The Splendid Idle Forties, New York, 1902. Romance of Mexican California.

AUSTIN, MARY. One-Smoke Stories, Boston, 1934. Short tales of Spanish-speaking New Mexicans, also of Indians.

BANDELIER, A. F. The Gilded Man, New York, 1873. The dream of El Dorado.

BARCA, MADAM CALDERON DE LA. Life in Mexico, 1843; reprinted by Dutton about 1930. Among books on Mexican life to be ranked first both in readability and revealing qualities.

BELL, HORACE. On the Old West Coast, New York, 1930. A golden treasury of anecdotes. OP.

BENTLEY, HAROLD W. A Dictionary of Spanish Terms in English, New York, 1932. In a special way this book reveals the Spanish-Mexican influence on life in the Southwest; it also guides to books in English that reflect this influence. OP.

BISHOP, MORRIS. The Odyssey of Cabeza de Vaca, New York, 1933. Better written than Cabeza de Vaca's own narrative. OP.

BLANCO, ANTONIO FIERRO DE. The Journey of the Flame, Boston, 1933. Bully and flavorsome; the Californias. OP.

BOLTON, HERBERT E. Spanish Exploration in the Southwest, 1916. The cream of explorer narratives, well edited. Coronado on the Turquoise Trail (originally published in New York, 1949, under the title Coronado: Knight of Pueblos and Plains; now issued by University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque). By his own work and by directing other scholars, Dr. Bolton has surpassed all other American historians of his time in output on Spanish-American history. Coronado is the climax of his many volumes. Its fault is being too worshipful of everything Spanish and too uncritical. A little essay on Coronado in Haniel Long's Pinon Country goes a good way to put this belegended figure into proper perspective.

BRENNER, ANITA. Idols Behind Altars, 1929. OP. The pagan worship that endures among Mexican Indians. The Wind that Swept Mexico: The History of the Mexican Revolution, 1910-1942, 1943, OP. Your Mexican Holiday, revised 1947. No writer on modern Mexico has a clearer eye or clearer intellect than Anita Brenner; she maintains good humor in her realism and never lapses into phony romance.

CABEZA DE VACA'S Narrative. Any translation procurable. One is included in Spanish Explorers in the Southern United States, edited by F. W. Hodge and T. H. Lewis, now published by Barnes & Noble, New York.

The most dramatic and important aftermath of Cabeza de Vaca's twisted walk across the continent was Coronado's search for the Seven Cities of Cibola. Coronado's precursor was Fray Marcos de Niza. The Journey of Fray Marcos de Niza, by Cleve Hallenbeck, with illustrations and decorations by Jose Cisneros, is one of the most beautiful books in format published in America. It was designed and printed by Carl Hertzog of El Paso, printer without peer between the Atlantic and the Pacific, and is issued by Southern Methodist University Press, Dallas.

CASTANEDA'S narrative of Coronado's expedition. Winship's translation is preferred. It is included in Spanish Explorers in the Southern United States, cited above.

CATHER, WILLA. Death Comes for the Archbishop, Knopf, New York, 1927. Classical historical fiction on New Mexico.

CUMBERLAND, CHARLES C. Mexican Revolution: Genesis under Madero, University of Texas Press, Austin, 1952. Bibliography. To know Mexico and Mexicans without knowing anything about Mexican revolutions is like knowing the United States in ignorance of frontiers, constitutions, and corporations. The Madero revolution that began in 1910 is still going on. Mr. Cumberland's solid book, independent in itself, is to be followed by two other volumes.

DE SOTO. Hernando de Soto made his expedition from Florida north and west at the time Coronado was exploring north and east. The Florida of the Inca, by Garcilaso de la Vega, translated by John and Jeannette Varner, University of Texas Press, Austin, 1951, is the first complete publishing in English of this absorbing narrative.

DIAZ, BERNAL. History of the Conquest. There are several translations. A book of gusto and humanity as enduring as the results of the Conquest itself.

DOBIE, J. FRANK. Coronado's Children, 1930. Legendary tales of the Southwest, many of them derived from Mexican sources. Tongues of the Monte, 1935. A pattern of the soil of northern Mexico and its folk. Apache Gold and Yaqui Silver, 1939. Lost mines and money in Mexico and New Mexico. Last two books published by Little, Brown, Boston.

DOMENECH, ABBE. Missionary Adventures in Texas and Mexico, London, 1858. Delightful folklore, though Domenech would not have so designated his accounts.

FERGUSSON, HARVEY. Blood of the Conquerors, 1921. Fiction. OP. Rio Grande, Knopf, New York, 1933. Best interpretations yet written of upper Mexican class.

FLANDRAU, CHARLES M. Viva Mexico! New York, 1909; reissued, 1951. Delicious autobiographic narrative of life in Mexico.

FULTON, MAURICE G., and HORGAN, PAUL (editors). New Mexico's Own Chronicle, Dallas, 1937. OP. Selections from writers about the New Mexico scene.

GILPATRICK, WALLACE. The Man Who Likes Mexico, New York, 1911. OP. Bully reading.

GONZALEZ, JOVITA. Tales about Texas-Mexican vaquero folk in Texas and Southwestern Lore, in Man, Bird, and Beast, and in Mustangs and Cow Horses, Publications VI, VIII, and XVI of Texas Folklore Society.

{illust. caption = Jose Cisneros: Fray Marcos, in The Journey of Fray Marcos de Niza by Cleve Hallenbeck (1949)}



GRAHAM, R. B. CUNNINGHAME. Hernando De Soto, London, 1912. Biography. OP.

HARTE, BRET. The Bell Ringer of Angels and other legendary tales of California.

LAUGHLIN, RUTH. Caballeros. When the book was published in 1931, the author was named Ruth Laughlin Barker; after she discarded the Barker part, it was reissued, in 1946, by Caxton, Caldwell, Idaho. Delightful picturings of Mexican—or Spanish, as many New Mexicans prefer—life around Santa Fe.

LEA, TOM. The Brave Bulls. See under "Fiction."

LUMMIS, C. F. Flowers of Our Lost Romance, Boston, 1929. Humanistic essays on Spanish contributions to southwestern civilization. OP. The Land of Poco Tiempo, New York, 1913 (reissued by University of New Mexico Press, 1952), in an easier style. A New Mexico David, 1891, 1930. Folk tales and sketches. OP.

MERRIAM, CHARLES. Machete, Dallas, 1932. Plain and true to the gente. OP.

NIGGLI, JOSEPHINA. Mexican Village, University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, 1945. A collection of skilfully told stories that reveal Mexican life.

O'SHAUGHNESSY, EDITH. A Diplomat s Wife in Mexico, New York, 1916; Diplomatic Days, 1917; Intimate Pages of Mexican History, 1920. Books of passion and power and high literary merit, interpretative of revolutionary Mexico. OP.

OTERO, NINA. Old Spain in Our Southwest, New York, 1936. Genuine. OP.

PORTER, KATHERINE ANNE. Flowering Judas. See under "Fiction."

PRESCOTT, WILLIAM H. Conquest of Mexico. History that is literature.

REMINGTON, FREDERIC W. Pony Tracks, New York, 1895. Includes sketches of Mexican ranch life.

ROSS, PATRICIA FENT. Made in Mexico: The Story of a Country's Arts and Crafts, Knopf, New York, 1952. Picturesquely and instructively illustrated by Carlos Merida.

TANNENBAUM, FRANK. Peace by Revolution, Columbia University Press, New York, 1933; Mexico: The Struggle for Peace and Bread, Knopf, New York, 1950. Tannenbaum dodges nothing, not even the church.

Terry's Guide to Mexico. It has everything.

Texas Folklore Society. Its publications are a storehouse of Mexican folklore in the Southwest and in Mexico also. Especially recommended are Texas and Southwestern Lore (VI), Man, Bird, and Beast (VIII), Southwestern Lore (IX), Spur-of-the-Cock (XI), Puro Mexicano (XII), Texian Stomping Grounds (XVII), Mexican Border Ballads and Other Lore (XXI), The Healer of Los Olmos and Other Mexican Lore (XXIV, 1951). All published by Southern Methodist University Press, Dallas.

TOOR, FRANCES. A Treasury of Mexican Folkways, Crown, New York, 1947. An anthology of life.

TURNER, TIMOTHY G. Bullets, Bottles and Gardenias, Dallas, 1935. Obscurely published but one of the best books on Mexican life. OP.



7. Flavor of France

THERE IS little justification for including Louisiana as a part of the Southwest. Despite the fact that the French flag—tied to a pole in Louisiana—once waved over Texas, French influence on it and other parts of the Southwest has been minor.

ARTHUR, STANLEY CLISBY. Jean Laffite, Gentleman Rover (1952) and Audubon: An Intimate Life of the American Woodsman (1937), both published by Harmanson—Publisher and Bookseller, 333 Royal St., New Orleans.

CABLE, GEORGE W. Old Creole Days: Strange True Stories of Louisiana.

CHOPIN, KATE. Bayou Folk.

FORTIER, ALCEE. Any of his work on Louisiana.

HEARN, LAFCADIO. Chita. A lovely story.

JOUTEL. Journal of La Salle's career in Texas.

KANE, HARNETT T. Plantation Parade: The Grand Manner in Louisiana (1945), Natchez on the Mississippi (1947), Queen New Orleans (1949), all published by Morrow, New York.

KING, GRACE. New Orleans: The Place and the People; Balcony Stories.

MCVOY, LIZZIE CARTER. Louisiana in the Short Story, Louisiana State University Press, 1940.

SAXON, LYLE. Fabulous New Orleans; Old Louisiana; Lafitte the Pirate.



8. Backwoods Life and Humor

THE SETTLERS who put their stamp on Texas were predominantly from the southern states—and far more of them came to Texas to work out of debt than came with riches in the form of slaves. The plantation owner came too, but the go-ahead Crockett kind of backwoodsman was typical. The southern type never became so prominent in New Mexico, Arizona, and California as in Texas. Nevertheless, the fact glares out that the code of conduct—the riding and shooting tradition, the eagerness to stand up and fight for one's rights, the readiness to back one's judgment with a gun, a bowie knife, money, life itself—that characterized the whole West as well as the Southwest was southern, hardly at all New England.

The very qualities that made many of the Texas pioneers rebels to society and forced not a few of them to quit it between sun and sun without leaving new addresses fitted them to conquer the wilderness—qualities of daring, bravery, reckless abandon, heavy self-assertiveness. A lot of them were hell-raisers, for they had a lust for life and were maddened by tame respectability. Nobody but obsequious politicians and priggish "Daughters" wants to make them out as models of virtue and conformity. A smooth and settled society—a society shockingly tame—may accept Cardinal Newman's definition, "A gentleman is one who never gives offense." Under this definition a shaded violet, a butterfly, and a floating summer cloud are all gentlemen. "The art of war," said Napoleon, "is to make offense." Conquering the hostile Texas wilderness meant war with nature and against savages as well as against Mexicans. Go-ahead Crockett's ideal of a gentleman was one who looked in another direction while a visitor was pouring himself out a horn of whiskey.

Laying aside climatic influences on occupations and manners, certain Spanish influences, and minor Pueblo Indian touches, the Southwest from the point of view of the bedrock Anglo-Saxon character that has made it might well include Arkansas and Missouri. The realism of southern folk and of a very considerable body of indigenous literature representing them has been too much overshadowed by a kind of So Red the Rose idealization of slave-holding aristocrats.

ALLSOPP, FRED W. Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, 2 vols., Grolier Society, 1931. Allsopp assembled a rich and varied collection of materials in the tone of "The Arkansas Traveler." OP.

ARRINGTON, ALFRED W. The Rangers and Regulators of the Tanaha, 18 56. East Texas bloodletting.

BALDWIN, JOSEPH G. The Flush Times of Alabama and Mississippi, 1853.

BLAIR, WALTER. Horse Sense in American Humor from Benjamin Franklin to Ogden Nash, 1942. OP. Native American Humor, 1937. OP. Tall Tale America, Coward-McCann, New York, 1944. Orderly analyses with many concrete examples. With Franklin J. Meine as co-author, Mike Fink, King of Mississippi River Keelboatmen, 1933. Biography of a folk type against pioneer and frontier background. OP.

BOATRIGHT, MODY C. Folk Laughter on the American Frontier. See under "Interpreters."

CLARK, THOMAS D. The Rampaging Frontier, 1939. OP. Historical picturization and analysis, fortified by incidents and tales of "Varmints," "Liars," "Quarter Horses," "Fiddlin'," "Foolin' with the Gals," etc.

CROCKETT, DAVID. Autobiography. Reprinted many times. Scribner's edition in the "Modern Students' Library" includes Colonel Crockett's Exploits and Adventures in Texas. Crockett set the backwoods type. See treatment of him in Parrington's Main Currents in American Thought. Richard M. Dorson's Davy Crockett, American Comic Legend, 1939, is a summation of the Crockett tradition.

FEATHERSTONHAUGH, G. W. Excursion through the Slave States, London, 1866. Refreshing on manners and characters.

FLACK, CAPTAIN. The Texas Ranger, or Real Life in the Backwoods, London, 1866.

GERSTAECKER, FREDERICK. Wild Sports in the Far West. Nothing better on backwoods life in the Mississippi Valley.

HAMMETT, SAMUEL ADAMS (who wrote under the name of Philip Paxton), Piney Woods Tavern; or Sam Slick in Texas and A Stray Yankee in Texas. Humor on the roughneck element. For treatment of Hammett as man and writer see Sam Slick in Texas, by W. Stanley Hoole, Naylor, San Antonio, 1945.

HARRIS, GEORGE W. Sut Lovingood, New York, 1867. Prerealism.

HOGUE, WAYMAN. Back Yonder. Minton, Balch, New York, 1932. Ozark life. OP.

HOOPER, J. J. Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs, 1845. OP. Downright realism. Like Longstreet, Hooper in maturity wanted his realism forgotten. An Alabama journalist, he got into the camp of respectable slave-holders and spent the later years of his life shouting against the "enemies of the institution of African slavery." His life partly explains the lack of intellectual honesty in most southern spokesmen today. Alias Simon Suggs: The Life and Times of Johnson Jones Hooper, by W. Stanley Hoole, University of Alabama Press, 1952, is a careful study of Hooper's career.

HUDSON, A. P. Humor of the Old Deep South, New York, 1936. An anthology. OP.

LONGSTREET, A. B. Georgia Scenes, 1835. Numerous reprints. Realism.

MASTERSON, JAMES R. Tall Tales of Arkansas, Boston, 1943. OP. The title belies this excellent social history—by a scholar. It has become quite scarce on account of the fact that it contains unexpurgated versions of the notorious speech on "Change the Name of Arkansas"—which in 1919 in officers' barracks at Bordeaux, France, I heard a lusty individual recite with as many variations as Roxane of Cyrano de Bergerac wanted in love-making. When Fred W. Allsopp, newspaper publisher and pillar of Arkansas respectability, found that this book of unexpurgations had been dedicated to him by the author—a Harvard Ph.D. teaching in Michigan—he almost "had a colt."

MEINE, FRANKLIN J. (editor). Tall Tales of the Southwest, Knopf, New York, 1930. A superbly edited and superbly selected anthology with appendices affording a guide to the whole field of early southern humor and realism. No cavalier idealism. The "Southwest" of this excellent book is South.

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