Excerpt from Wyandot Folk-Lore, Vol. 1: November, 1899
I stand by our Grandmother in the great Yooh-wah-tah-yoh in the North. She speaks to me of the land of the Little People. She directs us to that land. She says to me, "My son, take this torch of fire. It is made from the brand given by your Grandfather. It is a guide in the darkness - a weapon powerful by the way. These it shall be to you as you journey to that land. And I shall come when all my children are there."
I take the torch. The darkness rolls away. I see afar the land of the Little People. It is the land of our Mother, the Turtle. I come into the land of strange light. The waters are blue as the sky; they sparkle and glitter in the light. They are sweet, and the deer delights to drink them as they tumble among the stones. The rivers run towards the South. At the foot of the tall rock the great stream rolls. The swaying bushes are thick upon its shores. They bend to the breezes of that land. Trees are where I stand, upon a crag which rises from the flat mountain-top. The river is under my feet. A warrior comes to me. He says:
"There is one more trial of your courage. Look beyond the river. There lies the land of the Little People."
Then I looked. There was the bright sunshine on the groves and fields. The land rose in swells. It rolled in gentle hills. Great beams of light shone more strongly at some points. The hills were beautiful. The Little People were there. And a great host stood upon the mountains. They were the Wyandots of old. Then did my courage burn strong within me. Then did I say -.
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