Along the shores of the pond are grouped tribes of Indians from North
America. They live in their primitive huts and tents, and there we see
their rude boats and canoes. New York contributes a council house and a
bark lodge once used by the once powerful Iroquois confederation.

And, poor things! where be they now? Passed away. Their canoes have gone
down the stream of Time, and gone down the Falls out of sight.

But to resoom.

Wall, seein' they wuz right there, we went to see the ruins of
Yucatan--they wuz only a few steps away.

Now, I never had paid any attention to Yucatan. I had always seen it on
the map of Mexico, a little strip of land a-runnin' out into the water,
and washed by the waves on both sides. But, good land! I would have paid
more attention to it if I had known that down deep under its forests,
where they had lain for more than a thousand years, wuz the ruins of a
vast city, with its castles and monuments wrought in marble, and
fashioned with highest beauty and art.

Whose hands had wrought them marble columns, and carved facades?

The silence of a thousand years lays between my question and its true
answer.

I can't tell who they wuz, where they come from, or where they went to.

But the pieces of soulless stun remain for us to marvel over, when the
livin' hands that wrought these have vanished forever.