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Updated: June 21, 2025
The dwellers in Ka-ni-ga are clothed in the skins of animals, rudely tanned, rudely wrought, and colored with daubs of clay. For the garments of New York, flocks are tended, fields are cultivated, ships sail on the sea, and men dig in the mountains for dye-stuffs stored in the rocks.
The industries of Ka-ni-ga employ stone knives, bone awls, and human muscle; the industries of New York employ the tools of the trades, the machinery of the manufactories, and the power of the sun for water-power is but sunshine, and the coal mine is but a pot of pickeled sunbeams.
The scalping scene is no more the true picture of savagery than the bayonet charge of civilization. Savagery is sylvan life. Contrast Ka-ni-ga with New York. Ka-ni-ga is an Indian village in the Rocky Mountains. New York is, well New York. The home in the forest is a shelter of boughs; the home in New York is a palace of granite.
But the nursery tales of Ka-ni-ga are of the animals, for the savages associate with the animals on terms of recognized equality; and this is what the prattler in Ka-ni-ga says: The poor little bee That lives in the tree, The poor little bee That lives in the tree, Has only one arrow In his quiver.
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