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These kindly and generous and paradoxical, if also enthusiastic, estimates of the average North American savage may fairly be quoted and emphasized, because they are so rare in our voluminous Indian literature. Of quite another tone and strain is the vast bulk of all that has been written about the natives, — certainly by the pens of Englishmen from their first contact here. With a vague intent to regard the savages pitifully and to treat them kindly, our ancestors here — very soon, and largely through their own misdealing, and for the rest under the stress of circumstances — came to hate and loathe the Indian, and to view him and to speak of him as a most hideous and degraded creature. The Indian was to them “the scum of humanity,” “the offscouring of the earth.” When the savage who bore the title of King Philip, and who planned and led the most devastating — well-nigh exterminating — war ever waged between the white and red men on our soil, was drawn out of the miry swamp in which he had been slain, Captain Church, his conqueror, said, “He was a doleful great naked, dirty beast.” This, too, of an Indian monarch! And yet it was of a neighbor chieftain, Iyanough, of the same race, — from whom the town of Hyannis takes its name, and whose bones are preserved in a cabinet in the