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THE 
 
 SAVAGE. 
 
 BY PIOMINGO, 
 
 A HEADMAN AND WARRIOR OF THE MUSCOGULGEE NATION. 
 
 KNOXVILLE, TENN. 
 
 REPUBLISHED AT THE "SCRAP BOOK" OFFICE. 
 
 1833. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESK. 
 
 The Savage, it is hoped, will be an acceptable 
 < nt to those who devote a portion of their time to 
 literary amusements. Its aim is not to instruct the must 
 enlightened people in the universe, but merely to afford 
 a novel species of entertainment to that changeable be- 
 ing, who delights in variety. If The Savage find itself 
 incapable of producing that which is original, it will 
 endeavor to place old things in a new light; and if it be 
 defective in a certain quality known by the name of 
 wii) ^ faithfully promises never to have recourse to in- 
 decent ribaldry to supply the deficiency. Those who 
 may feel disposed to retire for awhile from the conflicts 
 of political warfare and seek for relaxation and repose 
 in the wigwam of Piomingo, shall meet with a friendly 
 reception. He will produce the calumet of peace, and 
 bring forth for their entertainment "things new and 
 old." Piomingo is no federalist, no republican, no demo- 
 crat, no aristocrat, in the common acceptation of those 
 terms: but he may boast with the utmost propriety of 
 being an American "indeed, in whom there is no guile." 
 He sprang up in the wilderness far from the haunts of 
 civilized men. He inhaled with his first breath a love 
 for savage independence; and his subsequent acquain- 
 tance with the arts, sciences, and languages of polished 
 nations has not contributed to lessen his original pre- 
 possession in favor of the wild dignity of nature. He 
 enjoys the beauties of the gardens, meadows and fields 
 of a cultivated country; but he would resign them with 
 pleasure for the rivers, rocks and mountains of the 
 desert. It was his fortune many years ago to form an 
 acquaintance with an intelligent and learned citizen of 
 
 M53193G 
 
4 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the United States, who, in consequence of some mis- 
 fortunes in early life, contracted such a distaste for the 
 manners, amusements and pleasures of his countrymen, 
 that he adopted the resolution of seeking oblivion of 
 his cares among the children of nature. He took up his 
 abode in the country of the Muscogulgees, where he 
 became known to Piomingo. A friendship, sincere* 
 and lasting as life, was the consequence of this intimacy. 
 Piomingo gained instruction from the lips of his com- 
 panion. He was soon enabled to read and reflect; and 
 felt himself carried away by an irresistible propensity 
 for investigation. Delightful but fleeting was the period 
 of this intercourse. The friend of Piomingo died; and 
 he has endeavored to console himself for his loss by 
 seeking amusement among that people from whom his 
 former associate had retired with disgust. He has 
 travelled for several years through the United States 
 and at last fixed his residence in Philadelphia. . 
 
 The good people of this republic have long derived 
 amusement from the journals of polished traveller- 
 through barbarous nations: let us for once reverse the 
 picture and see what entertainment can be drawn from 
 the observations of a savage upon the manners and 
 customs, vices and virtues, of those who boast the ad- 
 vantages of refinement and civilization. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 BY PIOMI 
 A HEADMAN AXD WARRIOR OF THE XTSCOGUXGEE XATION 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. I. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF IMFAHCY. 
 
 The existence of things is not strange; but the pow- 
 of perceiving this existence is, beyond comprehension, 
 wonderful. ~ .all we look for the origin of mind ? 
 
 Whence sprang the young idea? Was it produced by the 
 immediate agency of the Almighty One? oris it a ne- 
 emanation from the great fountain of nature, 
 the soul of the universe ? Our first thought has perished 
 forever: no exertion of ours can bring it up from the 
 gulf of oblivion : may awaken the recollection 
 
 long past: we may bid the scenes of childhood 
 in before us; and remember with pleasure 
 \j excursions of the unfledged mind. 
 When we first become conscious of our own existence, 
 every thing is new — every thing delightful. We inquire 
 not whence we came: we rejoice because we are. The 
 brisk circulation of the blood and the kindly riow of 
 the animal spirits impel us to action. We find it impos- 
 sible to control the tumultuous emotions of exultation 
 and joy. We have no power to remain in one place or 
 continue silent: we run, we scream, we leap "like roes 
 jung harts on the mountains of spices." But this 
 lul period passes away as a dream, and visits us no 
 more. Our prospects become suddenly darkened: some 
 faint idea of evil, of sorrow, and of death, passes through 
 the mind. 
 
 The first thought concerning the final period of our 
 and of our existence is inexpressibly distressing. — 
 
U THE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Must I die also?" said I to the sage Oconi-mico — "must 
 I die as well as Quibo?" "Thou must also die," an- 
 swered Oconi-mico. "Shall I no more walk? Shall I 
 no more climb up the mountain of buffaloes? Shall I 
 no more shake the fruit from the beautiful pawpaw tree, 
 or swim in the waters of Tuckabatchee? Shall I no 
 more, dear Oconi-mico, shall I no more see the sun rise 
 among the trees of the forest?" "My dear child," said 
 Oconi-mico, "behold the stalks of maize, do they flourish 
 longer than one season ? O bserve the trees of the forest ; 
 they grow old and become rotten : must a man live for 
 ever? Thou must become old; thy hands must tremble, 
 thine eyes become dim, and death put a period to thy 
 existence." "What is death?" "Deathis the end of life. 
 
 Death is nothing." "I cannot understand that: 
 
 come, let us look at my brother Quibo. Is he asleep? 
 let us awake him. His face is cold : his eyes are closed ; 
 his limbs are stiff: he is dead. If I touch him, he cannot 
 feel me; If I cry, he cannot hear me; should I pull open 
 his eyes, he would not see me: he is dead. Why did he 
 lie down on his bed and die? Why did he fall asleep and 
 die? I will run wild on the hills. I will never lie down to 
 sleep, any more. I will not die" 
 
 "My dear boy, look at Quibo: he has feet, but he 
 cannot walk; he has hands, but he cannot bend his bow, 
 or take an arrow from his quiver; he has eyes, but he 
 cannot see the sun rise among the trees of the forest: 
 the life — the spirit — the thought of Quibo is gone away 
 to the land of souls." Sudden as a flash of lightning 
 from a summer cloud, sprang up a new and delightful 
 idea: Quiboisnota/Zdead; his thought is gone to another 
 country. "Where is the land of souls?" Oconi-mico 
 took me by the hand and led me to the door of our hut. 
 "Raise your eyes, my son, and observe those red clouds 
 in the heavens." "I observe them." "Do you see those 
 blue mountains, whose towering summits are mixed 
 with the descending clouds?" "I see them." 
 
 "Beyond these mountains, there is a wide river; be- 
 yond that river, there is a great country; on the other 
 
THE SAVAGE. 7 
 
 >ide of that country, there is a world of water; in that wa- 
 ter there is a thousand islands: the sun is gone down 
 among them. These islands are full of fruit trees, and 
 breams of water. A thousand buffaloes and ten thousand 
 deer graze on the hills or ruminate in the valleys." 
 "When I die, shall I become an inhabitant of those 
 islands ?" "Love your friends ; become a great warrior ; 
 and when you die, the good spirit will convey you to the 
 land of souls, where Quibo is." "Who is the good spirit? 
 Where is he?" "He is above the stars; he sends down 
 the rain, the hail, and the snow; and he passes by in 
 the wild tornado." "Bad children, like the son of Otto- 
 ma, go down into the earth, to a dark place, where 
 dwell the wicked spirits. My child, your mind is fa- 
 tigued as well as your body. You must go to rest. To- 
 morrow you shall see Quibo." ' 
 
 He took me in his arms and bore me to my couch; 
 he wiped away the tears from my cheeks with the back 
 of his hand, adding, "Rest in peace; the good being 
 will send down his angels to watch over your slumbers." 
 I slept; and sweet was my repose. What can soothe 
 and calm the mind like the protection of a great and 
 benevolent being? The child may repose confidence 
 in the arm of its father; but, to whom shall the father 
 look up for support? He is conscious of his own weak- 
 ness, and feels his dependence on every thing that sur- 
 rounds him. He cannot subject nature to his empire, 
 nor drive the planets from their orbits. Must he submit 
 to the operation of causes and effects? Must he die 
 and be forgotten forever? Or is there any truth in the 
 consolatory invitation: "Come unto me, all ye that arc 
 w r eary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." — 
 ( Christians ! Your religion sounds sweetly in the ears of 
 a weak and erring creature, like man. It speaks to 
 the heart, affords a refuge to the miserable, and pro- 
 vides a remedy for every evil: but I cannot divest my- 
 -elf of my original opinions. How indelibe are the 
 impressions we received in childhood! Fifty summers 
 have browned my visage, and fifty winters have fur- 
 
8 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 rowed my cheek; jet still the maxims of Oconi-mico 
 are deeply engraven on the tablets of my mind. The 
 sun of science has striven in vain to dissipate the dark- 
 ness of my superstition; still I see my god in the black 
 cloud, and listen to "the voice of his excellency" in the 
 thunder; still he reigns in the tempest, and passes by in 
 the tornado. 
 
 Navigators inform me that there is no heaven for In- 
 dians in the southern seas; yetmyfancycan peoplestill 
 a thousand islands with the brave spirits of my forefa- 
 thers. Still I see their shadowy forms chase the fleeting 
 deer over visionary hills, and I sigh for their company 
 and their joys. [To be continued.] 
 
 J.OJVGING AFTER IMMORTALITY. 
 
 The desire of being remembered when we are no 
 more is deeply implanted in the human mind. We all 
 cast "a longing lingering look behind" and desire to 
 know what will be said of us when w*e are no more. "I 
 shall not altogether die!" was the triumphant exclama- 
 tion of a poet of antiquity, when speaking of the pro- 
 ductions of his brain; "I shall leave a memorial of 
 myself" is the idea of the swain who rudely carves the 
 initials of his name on the glossy surface of a beech 
 tree in the forest. 
 
 The idler who cuts letters with his knife on the bench- 
 es in the public walks, the poet who writes verses with 
 his pencil on the boards of the summer houses are 
 equally anxious that at least some part of them may 
 escape the ravages of the gloomy Libitina. 
 
 We do not attempt to condemn this propensity merely 
 because it discovers itself in trifles. No: had circum- 
 stances favored the ambition of these candidates for im- 
 mortality, they might have plundered cities, ravaged 
 kingdoms, established empires, and become "mighty 
 hunters" on the earth. This is the same principle which 
 
THE SAVAGE 
 
 induced men in early ages to say to each other: "Go to, 
 let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach 
 to heaven; and let us make us a name " 
 
 COMMUNICATION. 
 
 Piomingo — As I know that you have perused with 
 considerable attention our sacred books, and frequently 
 attended our places of worship, in your peregrinations 
 through these United States, I cannot resist the inclina- 
 tion I feel to request you to give the public some idea of 
 the impression these things made on your mind. 
 
 Does there not appear to be an immense disparity 
 between the conduct of the primitive and modern chris- 
 tians? Were you not, at first, almost led to form the 
 conclusion, that the latter could not be derived from the 
 former? Or did you suppose it possible that they migh* 
 be the same people in a state of extreme degeneracy 
 and degradation? The principles and practice of the 
 early christians appear to have been consentaneous; but 
 will any person in his senses assert that the conduct of 
 the moderns is conformable with the precepts laid down 
 in their books? 
 
 I do not intend to request you to particularize all the 
 instances in which this disparity is glaringly apparent. 
 That would be an unreasonable request. This is a 
 boundless subject: and were you to engage in it, I know 
 not how you would bring it to a conclusion. Of one 
 thing I am certain; the topic would not easily be ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Should you be fortunate in your present undertaking, 
 I hope you will touch on this subject occasionally. It 
 must be admitted, on all hands, that every man of honor 
 is bound by the professions he thinks proper deliberately 
 to make; therefore, no man, nor set of men, can think 
 it hard that their actions should be compared with that 
 standard which they have deliberately and solemnly 
 
10 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 published to the world, as the rule by which their con- 
 duct is to be regulated. 
 
 I hope, Piomingo, that you will not be backward to 
 take notice of the errors and follies you may observe 
 among us. If we go wrong, we cannot plead ignorance 
 as an excuse or palliation for our errors. We have en- 
 joyed great advantages over your nation and the other 
 aborigines of America. They, alas ! have long wan- 
 dered in the devious paths of error; but I hope the time 
 is not far distant when they who have walked in dark- 
 ness will see a marvelous light. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 "Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of an old man— 
 I am the Lord." 
 
 This benevolent precept is found in the law, which 
 was delivered to Moses. The Jews may, for aught we 
 know to the contrary, observe this commandment; but 
 the christians, we suppose, consider it as a part of the 
 ceremonial law; and therefore not binding on them or 
 their posterity. We have often heard religious sophists 
 discuss this knotty point about the moral and ceremonial 
 laws with uncommon ingenuity. Whenever any of the 
 precepts or commandments found in the five books of 
 Moses or indeed in any part of the Old or New Testa- 
 ment, appeared repugnant to the doctrines of the church 
 or the practices of the faithful, these biblical critics will 
 be sure to inform you that they are a part of the cere- 
 monial law ; and therefore not to be observed by chris- 
 tians under the new dispensation. Now as we have 
 never seen a young christian "rise up to the hoary head 
 or honor the face of an old man," unless his age were 
 supported by wealth or authority, we are necessarily 
 led to suppose that the precept above mentioned is con- 
 sidered as a part of the ceremonial law of the Jews, and 
 imposes no obligation on "the children of the kingdom," 
 
THE SAVAGE. 11 
 
 Among the savages of America age is universally 
 respected. All unite to honor the face of the old man 
 whenever he appears, whether his blanket be old or new, 
 his pipe plain or ornamented with silver. But among 
 the civilized Americans I have always seen age, particu- 
 larly if it exhibited any appearance of poverty or in- 
 firmity, neglected or insulted. 
 
 Does the old man appear desirous to relate any of his 
 boyish exploits; no one is disposed to listen. No one 
 can afford time to attend to the old dotard, who had 
 better be in his bed or in his grave than to be here boring 
 us with his antediluvian performances. 
 
 If the old man be possessed of any property, it is a 
 hundred to one but some finely polished and highly 
 civilized young christian will observe, "Damn the old 
 codger: I wish he was in hell, and I had his money." 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. II. 
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 
 
 A stoical indifference to bodily pain is, among sa- 
 vages, one of the first lessons of youth. Fortitude to 
 bear every evil, and resolution to meet every danger, 
 are inculcated upon us by our teachers, as virtues of the 
 first magnitude. To suffer pain without complaint, and 
 even with cheerfulness, is made the great point of honor. 
 There is no such thing as coercion in the savage system 
 of education. We are proud of doing right, and 
 ashamed of doing wrong. We are taught to consider 
 ourselves as superior to circumstances: at least, we are 
 enabled to preserve a decent tranquility of mind in the 
 midst of the greatest possible adversity. It is known to 
 us, that the vicissitudes of life will expose us to misfor- 
 tunes of various kinds. We must support the burning 
 heat of the summer's sun, and the intense severity of 
 the winter's cold. We must submit to hunger and 
 thirst and a multitude of other privations. We must 
 
12 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 suffer sickness and pain. We may be reduced to a state 
 of servitude. We may become captives, and conse- 
 quently be exposed to every species of torture that hu- 
 man ingenuity can invent, or the most violent animosi- 
 ty can inflict. All these things being known to our 
 philosophic seniors, they exercise our bodies, and dis- 
 cipline our minds, in such a manner, that we are enabled 
 to maintain a diguity of character in every emergency. 
 
 We become patient of heat and regardless of cold. 
 We learn to subdue the cravings of hunger without 
 food; and to allay, without drink, the parchings of thirst. 
 We can indulge in a feast of bear meat and venison, or 
 subsist on the roots of the desert. Untaught by philo- 
 sophy, we enjoy the present moment; uninstructed in 
 Christianity, we "take no thought for the morrow:" we 
 expose our naked breasts to the beating of the storm; 
 and a fearless spirit to every difficulty. 
 
 It is well known to us, that the time of our existence 
 here is a period of exertion. We are taught therefore 
 to meet unavoidable danger with resolution, and to re- 
 move the greatest difficulties by perseverance. We are 
 obliged to climb the highest mountains, leap down the 
 steepest precipice, and swim the widest torrent. The 
 science of hunting engages our earliest attention. We 
 study the nature of our game, the time of the day, and 
 season of the year. We know where to find the buf- 
 faloes in the morning; and where they may be disco- 
 vered in the heat of the day. We know when they 
 visit the low marshy salt springs, and when they descend 
 to cool themselves in the river. We can rouse the deer 
 from his lair in the frosty morning, and trace him over 
 the hills by the newly fallen snow. We surprise the 
 wolf in his gloomy haunts, or destroy him in his foraging 
 excursions. We rouse the bear in his den, and shoot 
 the panther among the rocks. We fix our traps for the 
 fox, and drive, by stratagem, the beaver from his fortified 
 habitation. We find the wild cat on the mountains, and 
 the raccoon in the head of the valleys. We know the 
 haunts of the otter; and the muskrat we shoot as he 
 
THE SAVAGE. 13 
 
 peeps from his hole. We kill the mink on the banks of 
 the stream, and the groundhog on the side of the hill. 
 We know the daily rounds of the turkey; we take him 
 on his roost, or shoot him on the ridges. We shoot the 
 geese in their flight, or kill them when settled in the 
 ponds. We see the slightest traces in the forest : we hear 
 the least rustling among the branches; and we smell the 
 approaches of the serpent. We climb round the rocks, 
 slip through the cane, and skulk along the valleys. — 
 We study the course of the wind in our approaches, or 
 breathe on fire, lest we taint the purity of the gale. — 
 We know the course our game will pursue, before he 
 has been roused from his harbor. We take the opposite 
 direction, and meet him as he turns round the hill. We 
 guide our course through the boundless wilderness, by 
 the sun, moon, and stars, and even by the appearance 
 of the trees of the forest. We perform the most in- 
 credible journeys without fatigue, crossing the widest 
 rivers on the trunk of a tree. Through the immense 
 desert we are familiar with every hill, and at home on 
 the bank of every rivulet. We walk proudly on the hills; 
 and from the towering summits on the Appalachian 
 mountains, we look down, with ineffable contempt, on 
 the brutelike drudgery of civilized life. 
 
 Thus the wild horse snuffs the western breeze, bounds 
 joyously over the hills, laughs at the rattling of the 
 chains, and despises the bridle and the plough. 
 
 We build dams in the rivers; and shoals of fish pour 
 into our baskets. They are arrested in their course by 
 our arrows and our gigs; or they are lured to destruc- 
 tion by the temptation of our bait. We bid them as- 
 semble together, and we scoop them up with our nets. 
 
 We study the face of the heavens, and forctel the 
 changes of the weather. We know when the gust is 
 about to rise in the west, and when the wind promises a 
 continued rain. We can tell when to prepare for snow, 
 and when ice will appear on the waters. 
 
 Do you not suppose, O ye inhabitants of cities, that 
 this system of education, that these pursuits and em- 
 B 
 
11 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ployments, are well calculated to sharpen the faculties 
 and exercise the understanding? Where the mind is 
 accustomed to turn itself to such a variety of vocations, 
 and accommodate itself to such a multitude of circum- 
 stances, must it not become infinitely superior to that 
 sluggish existence, whose ideas are continually occupied 
 with the millhorsc round of domestic drudgery? 
 
 Not only the memory, but every faculty we possess, 
 is improved by exercise: how then can his mind be en- 
 lightened, who is the mere creature of habit, unaccus- 
 tomed to thought and reflection? Can he, whose business 
 leads him from the house to the barn, from the barn to 
 the stable, from the stable to the orchard, from the 
 orchard to the cornfield, and from the cornfield to the 
 house again, possess an elevated understanding? Can he, 
 whose most distant excursion extends not beyond the 
 neighboring market town, have a mind enriched with a 
 multitude of ideas? Such a being is distressed if he 
 wander out of sight of the smoke of his own chimney. 
 His friends are miserable, lest he should never return ; 
 and he, poor soul ! gapes like a fish elevated above the 
 surface of the water by the line of the fisherman. He 
 gazes with surprise on every object he has not been ac- 
 customed to contemplate. He expects some beast of 
 p-rey to start up in every valley, and the devil out of 
 every thornbush. He looks for robbers behind every 
 hedge, savage Indians in every wood. He says his pray- 
 ers before he crosses a bridge, and confesses his sins on 
 the banks of every torrent. But night overtakes him. 
 How deplorable his situation! Every withered bush is 
 a ghost; and every black stump, an imp of darkness! 
 
 But let him get home again. The sight of his barn 
 door, and the appearance of old Towser — the bawling 
 of his black cow, and the smell of his hogsty — the 
 squalling of his brats, and his snug chimney corner — 
 afl in sweet succession — revive, invigorate, and restore 
 him. Having turned off a mug of cider, he "is himself 
 again." And then — and then — the dangers and escapes, 
 the windmills and the giants, the ghosts and the sa- 
 
THE SAVACE. 15 
 
 vages, the thunder and the lightning, the battles and the 
 conquests, astonish and confound the gaping auditors. 
 
 Is this the man you would compare with the savage? 
 Is this the man you would prefer to the lord of the de- 
 sert. 
 
 Man is said to be composed of two parts: body and 
 soul. Now, pray be so good as to inform me whether 
 it be the body or soul of this qnimaly which is possessed 
 of that something, which you honor with the name of 
 civilization. His limbs, you say, are robust and strong 
 by exercise and labor. Does civilization then consist in 
 robustness of body, or brawniness of limbs? He may be 
 strong in his youth, but continual drudgery destroys the 
 harmony of his shape, and the dignity of his motion. 
 The elasticity of his limbs is destroyed, and he degene- 
 rates into a mere beast of burden. His visage becomes 
 the very picture of stupidity and malignity. He is no 
 longer the animal to whom God 
 
 Os — sulilime, dedit, crelumque videre 
 Jussit, et erectos ad 6idera tollere vulto?. 
 
 No: he looks downward to the earth, and offers his back 
 to the rider. His feet become as the feet of a camel, 
 and his hands rough and scaly as the cone thai drops 
 from the top of the pine tree. 
 
 The lower ranks of those who reside in cities, being 
 more confined in their operations, are sunk still lower, 
 in the scale of intelligence, than the inhabitants of the 
 country. Their business being bounded by the shop, 
 and their excursions limited by the market; what should 
 they know but the price of butter, and the time of high 
 water? Can you number the ideas of a muscle, or ia- 
 thom the intelligence of an oyster? If you can, you have 
 a competent knowledge of the intellectual powers of 
 the people that I describe. 
 
 Do not naturalists rank the productions of nature 
 agreeably to their locomotive powers? The animal is 
 more excellent than the vegetable; why? Because it is 
 capable of changing its situation. And man is supposed 
 
16 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to be the most noble of animals, because he can travel 
 from pole to pole, and subsist under every climate. 
 
 Vegetables, admitting they were capable of perceiv- 
 ing, could have but few ideas, being confined by hills 
 and rocks and surrounded by walls and inclosures. 
 
 The things called zoophytes can know very little 
 more than a leaf of plantain, or a sprig of hoarhound; 
 and those animals that remain, during the whole period 
 of their existence, on the same bank or hillock, are 
 scarcely superior, in their intellectual powers, to a poly- 
 pus or zoophytic fungus. What knowledge of the world 
 was possessed by the toad, which was shut up for five 
 thousand years in the solid body of a rock? Men who 
 vegetate in one spot, and have no leisure for reading or 
 reflection, must be limited in their ideas and narrow in 
 their understandings. 
 
 Such are the blessings of civilization; such are the 
 consequences of refinement. 
 
 But we will be told of the polished few, whose minds 
 are expanded by philosophy, and whose happiness is in- 
 sured by a multiplicity of enjoyments. We shall speak 
 of their happiness hereafter; at present we mean mere- 
 ly to consider the paucity of their numbers. 
 
 As refinement progresses, the number of the refined 
 must necessarily be reduced. If you become elevated, 
 you must have supporters. If your elevation be stilt 
 more increased, the quantity of supporting materials 
 must be multiplied in a like proportion. It is absurd to 
 talk of all becoming equally refined, polished, and 
 civilized. How can you dine in state, if there be none 
 to wait at your table? And if we increase your refine- 
 ment, state, and splendor, must not your attendants con- 
 tinue to be multiplied proportionably? Now, if we 
 follow this train of thought, we shall be able to prove, 
 by a chain of incontestable arguments, that, when, 
 civilization is carried to its acme, there will be one man 
 polished into a god, and all the rest of the species will 
 be slaves, parasites, and brutes. [To be continued.] 
 
THE SAVAGE. 17 
 
 ACQUISITION OF WEALTH. 
 
 It appears to us nearly as hard for him who devotes 
 his time to the acquisition of riches to he perfectly up- 
 right and honorable through the whole course of a long 
 life, as for a "camel to go through the eye of a needle." 
 The man who receives a fortune by inheritance has 
 every opportunity to cultivate and cherish his virtuous 
 inclinations: but the man who sets out in life without 
 wealth, is beset by temptations on every side that urge 
 him on to the acquisition of money, by means both illicit 
 and unwarrantable. He sees that property procures 
 pleasure, attention, and respect. He wishes for plea- 
 sure: he wishes for a distinguished situation among his 
 species: and in order to obtain things so desirable, he 
 immediately sets about the business of accumulation. 
 If he be able to subdue his love of pleasure, and think 
 proper to take the plain beaten path of industry, he 
 may get rich; but his temper and disposition will be 
 changed. He acquires his wealth with difficulty; and 
 we always love the product of our attention and labor. 
 He is now a rich man; but the finer feelings and nobler 
 sentiments of his mind are absolutely eradicated: that 
 generous disregard of self, and that enthusiasm in the 
 rause of virtue have disappeared. 
 
 A fortune is not to be made at once by industry; it is 
 made up by the daily accession of small sums. Small 
 sums, therefore, become an object of importance to the 
 industrious man. He values them highly. And the man 
 who sets a high value on small sums may possibly ad- 
 here to the dead letter of honesty; but he has lost that 
 nobility of the heart, for which nothing can be a sufficient 
 compensation. A minute attention to trifles has nar- 
 rowed and contaminated his mind. He must be shut 
 out from the congregation of those who are clothed in 
 fvhe white raiment of pure unsullied honor: he is unclean. 
 B2 7 " 
 
18 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 DISCOVERIES. 
 
 "Wist ye not that such a man as I can certainly poicwowl" 
 
 Our violent desire to know what the world had said 
 and were saying, about our Savage induced us to have 
 recourse to means for gratifying our curiosity which we 
 never resort to unless on extraordinary occasions. 
 
 We once studied the science of powwowing under the 
 celebrated Kaioka. Kaioka was a great man: a priest, 
 a prophet,and magician. He could predictthe approach 
 of comets, and the time when our warriors would return 
 from their predatory excursions. He could prevent the 
 rivers from overflowing their banks, and the moles from 
 destroying the corn. He could foretel the event of a 
 war, and interpret the meaning of dreams. He could 
 surround the moon with a circle, and multiply the num- 
 ber of suns. He could charm away the most malignant 
 spirit, and stop the ravages of the most alarming dis- 
 ease. He formed a treaty of friendship with serpents, 
 and cherished the rattlesnake in his bosom. He could 
 bring on darkness at midday, and call down rain from 
 heaven, by his powerful incantations. He acquired an 
 absolute ascendancy over the spirits that manage the 
 clouds and those that assist the operations of rivers. — 
 The genii of the caves and the inhabitants of the abyss 
 were subjected to his power. 
 
 We took a iew lessons from this wonderful man, which 
 enables us on extraordinary occasions to dip a little into 
 the invisible world. We can "start a ghost" or rouse a 
 goblin, when there happens to be any necessity for 
 such an exertion; but we generally are content with 
 having recourse to dreams, after having made the neces- 
 sary preparations. 
 
 By this last method we made some highly interesting 
 discoveries concerning our Savage, as will be seen in 
 the sequel. 
 
 We fasted and prayed. We took an emetic, and 
 performed the necessary ablutions in the Schuylkill: and 
 
THE SAVAGE. 19 
 
 then, having burned a few leaves of tobacco to propi- 
 tiate the spirits of the air, we lay down and slept. In 
 our dream, a terrific form made its appearance. We 
 cannot undertake to satisfy the curiosity of the public, 
 as to the being that we saw in our dream; for of that 
 we are ignorant. We at first supposed it to be the devil 
 of the civilized world, as he certainly wore on his head 
 something that had the semblance of horns: but, upon 
 the closest inspection, we could perceive nothing that 
 had the appearance of a cloven foot. Upon the whole, 
 we are led to conclude that it must have been some 
 benignant spirit; as no evil one would, we believe, ven- 
 ture to approach us in our purified state. He stalked 
 up with the greatest dignity. His countenance bore the 
 impression of profound wisdom, but mixed with some- 
 thing that had the appearance of contempt for every 
 thing earthly. 
 
 We demanded what the literati of the age thought of 
 our Savage. 
 
 The literati of the age! repeated he, smiling; not 
 many of them have yet had the pleasure of becoming 
 acquainted with your Savage; and but few of them ever 
 will. Can they whose heads are above the clouds observe 
 the motions of an ant upon a hillock ? But there are se- 
 veral other descriptions of readers who are not a little 
 out of humor with the beginning you have made. 
 
 I will give you some account of them, and the recep- 
 tion your Savage is likely to meet with from them. 
 
 Old Jonathan Longhead, the other daj r ,took up your 
 duodecimo and read a few minutes. He then laid it 
 down, lighted a segar, and leaned back upon his chair 
 immersed in deep thought. After remaining in this at- 
 titude for five minutes, he drew the segar from his mouth, 
 and blowing forth the smoke with the greatest delibera- 
 tion, he uttered the following oracle, "Atheistical and 
 deistical." Should they raise the cry of mad dog against 
 you, you had better be a dog in reality. 
 
 Billy Bluster and a few of his associates were mighti- 
 ly taken with the title of your paper. "The Savage ! 
 
20 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Damn me, Tom! this will be a hell of a thundering pa- 
 per,hey ? Then we shall have for a frontispiece a bloody 
 savage with a ferocious countenance, brandishing his 
 tomahawk and scalping knife — ah! a devil of a fine 
 thing! Then, it will be filled with drinking songs and 
 hellish finestories. We'll laugh, like damnation,heyO!" 
 
 "Do you not suppose, Piomingo, that these brave boys 
 were sadly disappointed by the appearance of your 
 sweetly moving peaceable Savage? Were you capable 
 of producing pieces of the most finished composition, 
 do you suppose that they would be relished by these 
 children of Comus? Do you suppose that your delicate 
 irony or classical allusions can excite a roar of laughter 
 over the bowl, or call forth the plaudits of the ground- 
 lings? Sooner will you charm the deaf adder: sooner 
 will the beasts of the forest dance to your music, or 
 cities ascend to the sound of your lyre! No, no Piomin- 
 go, if you be disposed to please these jovial souls, you 
 must have recourse to Joe Miller's Jest-book and the 
 adventures of Fanny Hill. Would you select some en- 
 tertaining stories from the last mentioned work, for the 
 edification of your aunt Jenny, I have no doubt but she 
 would procure, for your paper, a hundred subscribers. 
 
 Could you hire an enterprising genius to skulk about 
 the city, and see what married men frequent the houses 
 of pollution — what heads of families have been known 
 to kiss pretty chambermaids — what modish ladies have 
 been surprised in delicate situations — what rosy misses 
 have retired to the country on account of indisposition 
 — what old men have young wives — who were seen 
 abroad at unseasonable hours,orin equivocal places, &c. 
 &c. &c. I say, if you procure an agent to collect an- 
 ecdotes of this description, and mix them up with sly 
 hints and double entendres, ornamented with a suffi- 
 ciency of A.s, Z.s, dashes, stars, italics, and double 
 pica, take my word for it, there is no paper in the Uni- 
 ted States will have so extensive a circulation as yours. 
 
 As soon as the welcome carrier throws in the Savage, 
 the scandal-loving dame, with watering teeth, will has- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 21 
 
 ten to draw down her spectacles from her withered 
 forehead, adjust them on her sharp pointed nose, and 
 devour the luscious intelligence with more avidity than 
 Amelia Wilhelmina Carolina did the contents of the 
 last novel. And all the little tattling tea-drinking 
 misses will crowd round the old lady's chair on their 
 knees, and stretch their pretty necks, open their love- 
 inspiring eyes and kiss-courting mouths, to catch — some, 
 a part of a line, and others, a broken end of a sen- 
 tence: — while the old gentleman hangs over their 
 shoulders grinning a smile of complacency." 
 
 What, can a savage stoop to such baseness? Shall a 
 headman and warrior of the Muscogulgee confederacy 
 construct and keep in repair a public sewer to convey 
 into the world all the abomination, corruption, and filth, 
 of a populous city? Shall he become common pimp to 
 all the base propensities of human nature? When he 
 shall act thus, 
 
 "Be ready Gods, with all your thunderbolts. 
 Dash him to pieces!" — 
 
 ESQUIRE 
 
 Most of the Indians who live near the frontiers of 
 the United States have become debased and corrupted 
 by theirintercourse with the descendents of Europeans. 
 They are contaminated with the vices and infected 
 with the diseases of civilized nations. They have for- 
 gotten the heroic exploits of their warlike ancestors. 
 They join no more in the war dance, nor raise the song 
 of victory and triumph. They have lost all national 
 pride and dignity of character; and are to be seen, in 
 a state of beastly intoxication, wallowing in the streets 
 of your frontier villages. 
 
 These degraded wretches, when they come among 
 you, are fond of adorning themselves with the cocked 
 hat, or cast off coat of some military officer. You laugh 
 
22 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 at their childish folly; and you are right in so doing: 
 for they deserve both ridicule and contempt. 
 
 But what must be said of the enlightcnzd citizens of 
 an illustrious republic, who are proud to decorate them- 
 selves with the shreds and patches torn from the many- 
 colored and motheaten coat of feudal aristocracy? — 
 They do not attempt to manufacture a garment for 
 themselves, but they search the ditches and alleys and 
 dunghills of corruption, for rags and tatters, wherewith 
 they ornament themselves, and then strut about with 
 the most disgusting pomposity. These people were 
 once slaves, but became unruly, and, by a successful ex- 
 ertion of their powers, emancipated themselves: but it 
 appears that they were unfit for freedom, as they still 
 continue to be proud of the livery which they wore 
 when in a state of servitude. They prate much about 
 the dignity and perfectibility of man; but, an attentive 
 observer may still perceive that they hanker after the 
 golden trappings of servitude. 
 
 If they must have titles of dignity, why do they not 
 select the most honorable? They have as good a right 
 to be dukes, marquises, and earls, as to be esquires. — 
 "His Grace, the Duke of Gooseland" would sound much 
 better than "the honorable John Dolt, esquire." Why 
 should they address one of their governors, with the 
 contemptible appellation of "Excellency," when there 
 are such fine highsounding words in the language as 
 "Majesty," "Serenity," "Sublimity?" Why should they 
 talk of his "honor the judge," when they might make 
 use of the dignified appellation of "Lord Chief Justice 
 of the Supreme Court?" Why should members of the 
 legislatures be described only as "honorable," when 
 there could be added many more adjectives equally 
 expressive of their characters: such as "Sapient, Intel- 
 ligent, Profound;" and they might be addressed with 
 great propriety as "High and Mighty Lords?" Why 
 should justices of the peace, aldermen, &c. be only 
 honored with the title of "worshipful," when we could 
 
THE SAVAGE. 23 
 
 i>ronoune with such sweetness and dignity, "His Serene 
 Ugliness, Alderman Clodhopper; and "His Adorable 
 Greatness, Justice Numskull V Why should the clergy 
 only be known by the appellation "reverend," when 
 there are such words in use as "The Most Holy Father 
 in God, Christopher Overgood?" 
 
 When Constantine, the great, first christianized the 
 Roman empire, he invented a long string of delectable 
 titles. An account of them may be seen in Gibbon's 
 Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. We would 
 advise the citizens of the United States (as they have 
 full right to choose what titles they please in this land 
 of liberty) to adopt the ingenious scale of titles laid 
 down by Constantine; or if these should not appear 
 sufficiently dignified, they may refer to the kingdoms of 
 the east, and select some of the most sonorous, such as, 
 Holy Son of Heaven, Disposer of Kingdoms, Brother 
 of the Sun and Moon, &c. 
 
 If you must adorn yourselves with borrowed feathers, 
 your good taste might lead you to choose those of the 
 peacock, the ostrich, and the bird of paradise, in pre- 
 ference to those of the owl, the buzzard, and the crane. 
 The English language is copious. Select the most har- 
 monious and splendid designations; but do it boldly. 
 Prepare provisions for yourselves. Why should you lick 
 up the crumbs that fall from the table of your former 
 master! 
 
 What ridiculous consequence a plain republican im- 
 mediately assumes upon finding himself addressed by 
 the title of esquire ! He soon conceives that he feels some- 
 thing like noble blood coursing up and down through 
 his veins! He thinks it very possible that he may have 
 sprung from some younger son of a younger brother of 
 some noble house. Some of his ancestors may have 
 lived in some dignified family, as butlers, or house keep- 
 ers, or some other way. Sometimes he even natters 
 himself that certain illegitimate sprinklings of blood 
 royal may have ennobled the plebian current that runs 
 in his veins. He begins to 6tudy the nature of his name, 
 
24 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 decipher its etymology, and claim kindred with every 
 family who may have borne the same appellation. 
 
 Would it not be better for some of these ambitious 
 mortals to endeavor to convert their own name into a 
 title of dignity than to be ambitious of usurping a bar- 
 barous distinction, to which they have no claim. Cesar 
 was the name of a man, but became in time a title of 
 the most dignified nature. Who knows but some en- 
 terprising genius may spring up in the western world 
 and convert his name into a title that will be remem- 
 bered for ever. 
 
 The Indians give names to their children in infancy; 
 hut that Indian would sink into absolute contempt, who 
 should not acquire, to himself, a new name, by his success 
 in hunting or his exploits in war. Now, would the po- 
 lished citizens of the United States condescend to learn 
 something useful from the savage inhabitants of the 
 wilderness, we think they might adopt this custom with 
 the greatest propriety. Let every man be reckoned 
 utterly contemptible who shall not acquire a new name 
 before he be thirty years of age. 
 
 If he have performed any remarkable action, let his 
 name be taken from that. If he have not at all distin- 
 guished himself by any single exploit, it is probable 
 that there will be discoverable some prominent traits in 
 his character, from which he may be designated. The 
 new appellation would become a title of honor to the 
 virtuous, and a mark of approbrium and disgrace to the 
 vitious. 
 
 Exempli gratia: If a man discovered a great inclina- 
 tion to indulge in the pleasures of the table, and this 
 propensity became the leading trait in his character, 
 we see no reason why he should not be denominated 
 "The Glutton." Such should be the name of the man 
 who may be said "to live that he may eat." But should the 
 glutton discover an extensive acquaintance with the 
 art of preparing viands, we think he ought to be hon- 
 ored with the appellation of "Cook." This title should 
 be given to those gentlemen who distinguish themselves 
 
THE SAVAGE. 25 
 
 by learned disquisitions on the nature of custard, or can 
 enumerate the ingredients that enter into the composi- 
 tion of a pudding. Adepts in the science of preparing 
 turtle soup, and those whose intelligence enables them 
 to descant learnedly on the manner of giving to oysters 
 the most exquisite flavor, should likewise be distin- 
 guished by the same designation. 
 
 If such a plan as this were adopted, instead of the 
 unmeaning names now in use, we should hear of 
 "Drunkard," "Swindler," "Romancer," &c. There 
 might likewise be established, under the superinten- 
 dence of government, a college of heralds for the pur- 
 pose of giving appropriate ensigns armorial to every 
 one, on the completion of his thirtieth year; but, nt 
 quid nimis. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. III. 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 
 
 Shall your cooks and your waiters, your carters and 
 your ditchers, be accounted equally civilized with your- 
 selves? Shall they who watch the look, and tremble at 
 the frown, of a superior, be allowed to possess delicacy 
 of sentiment and dignity of character? No: they are 
 deprived of all personal consequence in society. Their 
 own interest is annihilated. They are merely a ne- 
 cessary part of the luxurious establishment of their 
 principal. 
 
 We passed by the residence of Polydore. We saw 
 his gorgeous palace and widely extended fields. We ex- 
 amined his gardens, his park, his orchards; and were 
 struck with astonishment at the splendor of his estab- 
 lishment. And is this all, we inquired, designed for the 
 accommodation of one man? Can one creature, not six 
 feet high, occupy all these splendid apartments? Behold 
 the flocks and herds and fields of corn! can all these 
 be necessary for the sustenance of one? But if all this 
 be the product of his own labor, he has full liberty to 
 C 
 
26 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 enjoy it. Polydore must be a giant. Did he pile up these 
 massy stones, and erect these ponderous buildings? Did 
 he subdue the lordly forest, and cover the fields with 
 waving grain? No: Polydore has done nothing. He 
 owes all this to the labor of others. But how then, we 
 inquired with amazement, did Polydore gain this ascen- 
 dency over others? How did he compel his fellows to 
 cultivate his fields, or labor in his ditches? Polydore did 
 not compel them: they were compelled by their neces- 
 sities. A fortunate concurrence of circumstances, and 
 the laws of the country, have made Polydore rich: but 
 these men are poor. A small portion of the product of 
 their labor goes to the support of themselves and their 
 families; but the far greater part is applied to the ag- 
 grandizement of Polydore's establishment. And as this 
 aggrandizement increases, in like manner increases his 
 ascendency over others. 
 
 We saw through the whole in a moment. It is there- 
 fore absolutely necessary that every rich man should be 
 surrounded by others more indigent than himself. If it 
 were otherwise, in what manner would he induce them 
 to supply his factitious wants, or gratify his luxurious 
 snclinations? Cottages, then, must necessarily be found 
 in the vicinity of palaces: and lordly cities must be sur- 
 rounded by suburbs of wretchedness! Sordiness is the 
 offspring of splendor; and luxury is the parent of want. 
 Civilization consists in the refinement of a few, and the 
 barbarism and baseness of many. 
 
 As the grandeur of any establishment is augmented, 
 servile and base offices are multiplied. Poverty and 
 baseness must be united in the same person in order to 
 qualify him for such situations. Who fill servile and low 
 employments in your Atlantic cities? There are not 
 American minds to be found sufficiently degraded for 
 these contemptible occupations. You find it necessary 
 to have recourse to the more highly polished nations of 
 Europe for suitable drudges to sweep your streets and 
 remove nuisances, to stand behind your carriages and 
 perform degrading duties about your persons. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 27 
 
 Civilized Europeans, when they visit your country, 
 complain loudly, of your babarism. You are little bet- 
 ter, in their estimation, than the savages of the wilder- 
 ness. They cannot meet with that obsequiousness and 
 servility which is necessary to their happiness. They 
 complain, most dolelfully, of the impertinence of their 
 servants, and, indeed, of the difficulty of procuring any 
 one sufficiently qualified for the situation of a menial. 
 You frequently blush for the rudeness and barbarity of 
 your countrymen, when you listen to these complaints 
 of your polished visitants; but do not despair. Theseeds 
 are sown: and the growth will be rapid. The causes 
 have begun to operate, and the effects to be seen. There 
 will soon be a sufficiency of indigence and poverty of 
 spirits to make servants obsequious, and multiply the 
 number of domestics. Let splendor, refinement, and 
 luxury, triumph; and we promise that sordiness, base- 
 ness, and misery, will walk in their train. 
 
 Man was designed by nature to cultivate the fields, 
 or roam in the woods. He has sufficient strength to do 
 every thing for himself that is necessary to be done. He 
 can erect a hut of poles and cover it with bark or skins- 
 without the assistance of another. A small portion of 
 his time procures clothing and food; and the remainder 
 is devoted to amusement and rest. The moment you 
 leave tiiis point, your destination is certain, though your 
 progress may be slow. [7b be continued.] 
 
 VANITY 
 
 Some ingenious author has run a parallel between 
 pride and vanity. The proud man, says he, reposes, 
 with dignified confidence, on the superiority of his own 
 mind; but the vain man depends on the fluctuating 
 opinions of the world. The vain man values himself for 
 his personal qualifications, as long as they continue 
 fashionable: but the moment they cease to be admired 
 by others, they sink also in his own estimation. 
 
28 
 
 THE SAVAGE 
 
 Little Vapid is one of the vainest men in existence: 
 and what can give importance to little Vapid? His fea- 
 tures are diminutive, and his person contemptible. 
 
 Vapid values himself on the cleanness and neatness 
 of his dress. A speck of dirt on his white pantaloons 
 would throw him into an agony of unutterable distress. 
 His shoes must shine with glossy blacking, and his coat 
 be brushed with the utmost care, before he will venture 
 out of the house. He spends an hour in adjusting his 
 cravat, and two hours in giving the hair on his silly, in- 
 significant head the proper direction. One half of his 
 time is spent in scrubbing his teeth and arching his eye- 
 brows. And when he grasps his little cane, and hops 
 into the street, with every plait in proper order, and 
 the indispensable grimace on his countenance, one 
 w r ould suppose that he had broken loose from imprison- 
 ment in a bandbox. 
 
 Fan him gently ye zephyrs! Ye northern blasts, dis- 
 compose not the folds of his garment ! Ye sylphs, watch 
 over his white pantaloons, when he skips over the gut- 
 ters! But may his guardian angel protect him, should 
 he encounter a dray! 
 
 Vapid is not proud: he sets no value on the intrinsic 
 excellence of any quality he possesses: his happiness 
 depends on the breath of mortals as contemptible as 
 himself. 
 
 THE HILL OF LIFE. 
 
 Armine became acquainted with his own existence in 
 the valley of Childhood. His couch was composed of 
 roses, and canopied over by the boughs of the orange 
 and the myrtle. Bubbling springs were seen among the 
 flowers, and the melody of birds was heard amid the 
 branches. The Hill of Life appeared before him, and 
 he set his face toward the summit of the mountain. The 
 ascent is known by the name of Youth : it was easy and 
 delightful. A female form of the most angelic appear- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 mice was his constant companion: her name was Hope. 
 She strewed his path with flowers: and her presence 
 shed abroad the sunshine of cheerfulness and joy. — 
 She led him forward by the hand: and distant- objects, 
 when pointed out by her finger, assumed a supernatural 
 and celestial brilliancy. When he lay down to repose, 
 poppies were strewed on his pillow 5 and when he awoke, 
 his heavenly companion entranced his eyes with her 
 magical mirror of ravishing delights. Sometimes he 
 turned aside into the gardens of pleasure, and bathed 
 in the rivers of sensual delight; but when he heard at a 
 distance the loud but mellow voice of the trumpet of 
 Fame, which sounded on the top of the mountain, he 
 broke loose from the allurements of pleasure, determined 
 to acquire more substantial bliss, by heroic exertions. 
 
 When he had gained the last stages of the ascent, he 
 was met by a restless being, of a dark and forbidding 
 countenance; her name was Care. She pressed him 
 into her company, and attempted to engross his atten- 
 tion. But her familiar approaches were forbidden by 
 Hope; and she contented herself with fliting about in 
 his view at a distance. 
 
 The summit of the mountain is an elevated plain, 
 known by the name of Manhood. It commands an ex- 
 tensive prospect on every side; but these views are not 
 all equally delightful. When you sfand on the moun- 
 tain and cast your eyes backward to the valley of Child- 
 hood, the mind is overpowered by conflicting emotions. 
 You review with delight the wanderings of infancy in 
 the valley of roses; but this enjoyment is mixed with 
 an inexpressible sentiment of sorrow and regret: the 
 thought of joys never to be repeated, and of pleasures 
 forever gone! 
 
 The ascent of Youth is viewed still with less com- 
 placency. The aberrations, in this part of the journey, 
 give to the prospect a bitterness and gloom that cloud 
 the enjoyment. "Sweet humble vale!" said Armine, 
 looking through the long vista of Youth, to the com- 
 mencement of his journey, "Sweet humble vale! your 
 C2 
 
30 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 delights are forever vanished ! jour pleasures can never 
 return ! 
 
 Having thus said, he turned himself around to take a 
 view of *ihe elevated plain on which he stood. The 
 face of the country was various: some parts were covered 
 with thistles and thorns; and others were crowned with 
 proud forests of oak, and groves of towering poplars. 
 In some parts were to be seen "cloud-capt towers and 
 gorgeous palaces;" and in others, the sordid and misera- 
 ble "huts of cheerless poverty.' 1 Some of the inhabitants 
 build houses of marble, as though their residence in the 
 place were never to have an end; while multitudes are 
 crowded in cottages of clay. Dark clouds hang con- 
 tinually over the mountain: some contemplate their ap- 
 pearance with calmness, but others view them with hor- 
 ror and dismay. 
 
 A philosopher, who sat, with the utmost composure, 
 on the point of a rock, and viewed the shifting of the 
 clouds through a perspective, beckoned Armine to ap- 
 proach. He obeyed. "1 perceive," said the philoso- 
 pher, "by your countenance, that you have lately gained 
 the summit of the mountain." Armine assented. "Well," 
 continued the sage, "you will remain here awhile: I 
 have, for my part, been many years a resident on this 
 plain; and must speedily descend on the other side of 
 the hill. 1 obserVed you, just now, looking back on the 
 valley of Childhood; have you. any objection to take a 
 view of the opposite descent?" Armine was silent. — 
 The philosopher took him by the hand and led him to 
 the brow of the hill. "The declivity," said he, "as 
 you may perceive, is much greater on this side than on 
 the other: it is called the Decline of Life.. It has but 
 a dreary appearance. The descent is rapid into the 
 valley of Old Age: .and in that valley, rolls the black, 
 sluggish, and bottomless River of Death." Having thus 
 spoken, he sighed, and immediately began to descend. 
 Armine called after him with a loud voice, saying, "is 
 the river without a shore ? Are there no green fields on 
 the other side, where a weary traveller may find lasting 
 

 THE SAVAGE. 31 
 
 repose?'' The philosopher turned round, and looked 
 upon Armine. There was an expression of sadness up- 
 on his countenance. "No traveller has returned," said 
 he, "to give us any intelligence. There is, without 
 doubt, a country on the other side of the water: I have 
 had a glimpse of it myself; but those who are swallowed 
 up by the River of Death, are, in all probability, carried 
 by the rapidity of the current into the Dead Sea of 
 eternal oblivion." Having thus said, he pursued his 
 way down the mountain. Armine observed him, for 
 some time, in his descent; and took notice that, having 
 proceeded a little way, he found a green place on the 
 side of the hill where there was a spring of water. — 
 Having refreshed himself, he sat down to rest; and im- 
 mediately began to examine the nature of the grass, 
 which was the production of so sterile a soil. He con- 
 tinued this employment for some time, and then took out 
 his pocket perspective, and observed the movement of 
 the clouds, with as much composure as he had formerly 
 done on the summit of the mountain. "Wonderful 
 elasticity of the human mind!" exclaimed Armine, as 
 he turned round from the contemplation of the Decline 
 of Life, "wonderful elasticity of the human mind, which 
 causes it to yield to the pressure of circumstances! — 
 which enables it to support with tranquillity the greatest 
 possible misfortunes!" 
 
 Care now became the constant companion of Ar- 
 mine, though he was still accompanied by Hope. Hope 
 had lost a great part of her magical power, but still was 
 able to soften the influence of Care, and calm the occa- 
 sional perturbations of his mind. He adopted various 
 schemes for passing the time of his continuance on the 
 mount; but the issue of every one was the same — dis- 
 appointment. Sometimes he joined the votaries of 
 pleasure; and sometimes, the lovers of wisdom. Plea- 
 sure ended in smoke; and knowledge w r asthe parent of 
 despair. Sometimes he employed himself in gathering 
 together the glittering stones that may be found on the 
 summit of the mountain: but the exertion, necessary in 
 
32 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 this contemptible pursuit, was painful in the extreme. 
 He then endeavored to derive amusement from dispers- 
 ing abroad what he had collected together: and the 
 issue of the whole was "vanity and vexation of spirit."* 
 
 The Temple of Fame stood on a rugged promontory 
 of the mountain, which was suspended over the black 
 and putrid waters of Infamy. The building was mag- 
 nificent beyond description; its summit was hid in the 
 clouds. The voice of the goddess was heard from the 
 temple, inviting the approaches of all; but the attempt 
 to obey the invitation was attended with danger. Every 
 one was desirous to enter, in order to leave some memo- 
 rial of having performed the journey of life; but few, 
 very few, were found able to surmount the obstacles 
 which impeded the entrance. The daring adventurer, 
 whose heart beat high with the love of glory, pressed 
 forward through dangers of every description. Fright- 
 ful rocks and yawning caverns, giants of tremendous 
 dimensions, and spectres of terrific forms, opposed his 
 progress. Envy, Malice, Hatred, Anger, Slander, Re- 
 venge, and a thousand others, armed with "fire-brands, 
 arrows, and death," stood in array against him. The 
 hero who broke through their ranks and entered the 
 temple covered with blood was received with shouts of 
 joy and the sound of the trumpet. 
 
 Armine essayed to enter: but Poverty, a gaunt and 
 hagard monster, effectually baffled every attempt, and 
 drove him away from the precincts of the building. — • 
 Here he was seized by Disease, who hurried him away 
 to the descent of the mountain. 
 
 As he passed down the Decline of Life, every thing 
 wore a gloom of despondence. Dark clouds hung 
 over his head; and nothing was heard but the screaming 
 of the raven from the "lightning-blasted oak," and the 
 hooting of the owl from the mouldering turret. He 
 entered the valley of Old Age. The air became dark. 
 The funeral cypress overshadowed his path. 
 
 Weary and dejected, he tottered along, until, ere he 
 was aware, he stood on the banks of the River. A thick 
 
THE SAVAGE. 33 
 
 fog, an everlasting cloud, rested on the face of the wa- 
 ters. Nothing was to be seen. Nothing was to be 
 heard. It was the reign of Darkness, Silence, Inanity, 
 Death. While he yet lingered, he received a last visit 
 from the companion of his youth. Hope appeared, 
 arrayed in a robe of resplendent whiteness. She di- 
 rected her hand toward the opposite side of the river. 
 The clouds broke away for a moment. He had, or 
 fancied he had, a glimpse of a brighter region. Time 
 hurried him into the stream; and he was heard of no 
 more. 
 
 
 REMONSTRANCE OF THE LETTER II. 
 
 The letter h begs leave to represent to Piomingo that 
 he labors under many heavy and intolerable grievances, 
 He has suffered injustice both from the ancients and 
 moderns, the learned and unlearned. 
 
 Grammarians have long contended that he is no let- 
 ter; that he is merely a "hard breathing before a word 
 or syllable." They never explain themselves fully on 
 this subject; and it is hard to find out what they mean 
 by the assertion. One of their leaders.has, indeed, ob- 
 served that h requires no conformation of the organs of 
 speech ; and therefore cannot be a letter. This is involv- 
 ing the matter in "clouds of thick darkness." What 
 are the organs of speech? Is the windpipe included in 
 the number? But, without entering into any niceties on 
 the subject, it is simply demanded, Can they give this 
 "hard breathing before a word or syllable," without 
 making any use of the organs of speech? When the 
 organs of speech are at rest, the mouth must be neces- 
 sarily closed. Now, let them pronounce any word, in 
 which h is sounded, without opening the mouth until 
 they have made this "hard breathing:" and the point 
 will be conceded. 
 
 But h is not disposed to contend for a name. Let him 
 be possessed of the substance, and he will never declare 
 
34 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 war for the shadow. Let him enjoy every right, power 
 and emolument, belonging to a letter; and they are 
 welcome to call him a "hard breathing" as long as they 
 please. 
 
 At present, he humbly solicits that he may be relieved, 
 by the interposition of Piomingo, from the galling op- 
 pression and intolerable injustice he suffers from the 
 "organs of speech" of the polished inhabitants of the 
 city of Philadelphia. No people are more ready to 
 complain, of any real or imaginary grievance, than the 
 citizens above mentioned; yet they forget the golden 
 rule, of doing to others, as they would that others should 
 do unto them, when they deprive your remonstrant of 
 his undoubted right and inheritance. 
 
 It has long been known to all the world, that, many 
 years ago, w usurped the station of A, in such words as, 
 when, where, what, &c. which ought to be written hwen, 
 hwere, hwat, &c. H, at first, felt indignant at this treat- 
 ment; but, as a long continued usurpation is said to con- 
 fer a legitimate right, he was, at last, induced to yield 
 the precedency in these words, as he was assured that he 
 would lose none of the power by his acquiescence. It 
 was represented to him, that the king of Great Britain 
 had long used the title of king of France without claim- 
 ing the least right to interfere in the affairs of that king- 
 dom; that the emperor of China was styled "sole go- 
 vernor of the earth," without other princes supposing 
 that their sovereignty was affected by this arrogant as- 
 sumption. These, and various other things, were men- 
 tioned to prove that the condescension of h, in this 
 particular, was nothing remarkable. 
 
 But h observes, with infinite dissatisfaction, that his 
 peaceable disposition has led mankind to suppose that 
 he will submit to every species of injustice that may be 
 inflicted by the world. While he only thought that he 
 was yielding precedence to another letter, he finds that 
 his undoubted and unalienable rights, privileges, and 
 powers, have been suppressed and destroyed. Who now 
 can hear any thing of the sound of h in a numerous 
 
THE SAVAGE. 35 
 
 class of words when pronounced by a Philadelphian? 
 The words what, when, where, wheel, which, wharf, and a 
 hundred others, are pronounced by the unlearned, and 
 alas! by the learned, exactly thus, wat, wen, were, weel, 
 witch, warf, &c. 
 
 The letter h begs leave further to represent that, in- 
 dependent of any personal considerations, this practice 
 introduces unheard of corruption and confusion into the 
 language, as may be seen by the following view of the 
 subject: What and wot, wheel and weal, zuhen and wen, 
 where and were, whet and wet, whetstone and wet stone, 
 whether and weather, whetter and wetter, whey and way, 
 which and witch, whig and wig, while and wile, whin and 
 win, whine and wine; whist and wist, whit and wit, white 
 and wight,whither and wither, &c. are words in the Eng- 
 lish language, expressive of distinct and independent 
 ideas; yet every one in the above list is pronounced, in 
 opposition to the united voice of the orthoepists, exactly 
 in the same manner as its yokefellow. Let this and 
 other grievances be redressed, and your remonstrant 
 will demean himself as a peaceable member of the al- 
 phabet, and as a liege subject of the republic of letters; 
 otherwise, you will be troubled with some "hard breath- 
 ing" occasionally. 
 
 PRUDENCE, 
 
 Of all the qualities of the mind, prudence is the most 
 useful. It is the virtue of civilized nations. What is 
 prudence? It is 
 
 "A sly slow thing with circumspective eyes." 
 
 It takes a full view of the ground, and advances with 
 caution. It subdues all violent emotions, of whatever 
 nature they may be. It forms no friendships but profi- 
 table ones; and these are preserved no longer than they 
 continue so. It studies the character of its neighbor: it 
 marks his dispositions, propensities, and passions; and 
 avails itself of every advantage that may be drawn 
 
36 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 from knowledge thus acquired. It hurries its friend 
 into a paroxysm of rage, and deliberately notes down 
 every extravagance of the moment. It then soothes 
 the irritated passions of its open-hearted dupe, and reaps 
 the full harvest of his returning kindness. It worms 
 itself into the confidence of the unsuspecting, and waits 
 the proper moment to betray it. In fine, its constant 
 business is to mark out the defects of others, and coolly 
 take advantage of every weakness. It digs a pit for the 
 stranger, and lays a stumbling block before the blind. 
 O for "a hundred tongues, and a voice of iron," that we 
 might curse thee Prudence! 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. TV. 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF YOUTH. 
 
 Whence arises the happiness of youth? Is it owing 
 to the novelty of the scenes which surround us, and to 
 the superficial view we take of persons and things? 
 
 Nature clothes her face in smiles; and we enquire no 
 farther, but resign ourselves with enthusiasm to appear- 
 ances. We are susceptible of the impressions of every 
 species of beauty; but repel with impatience the ap- 
 proaches of deformity. 
 
 We rejoice: whether the sun rise in glory, and the 
 leaves of the forest are spangled with the dew of the 
 morning; or whether, setting in the western ocean, he 
 dye, with streaming gold, the summits of the eastern 
 mountains. We rejoice : whether the rushing of the 
 north wind be heard among the hills, or the eastern 
 breeze sigh amid the tops of the pines. We rejoice : 
 whether the south wind breathe on spicy groves, or the 
 gales of the evening curl the glassy bosom of the lake. 
 We rejoice: and we wish to communicate to others the 
 happiness which we feel. 
 
 Nature has been bountiful to us: and our hearts swell 
 with emotions of benevolence too mighty for utterance. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 37 
 
 We would dispense blessings with a hand of unlimit- 
 ed profusion, and pour into every heart the enthusi- 
 asm of our joy. We think that all mankind are pos- 
 sessed of the same innocence, simplicity, and benevo- 
 lence, of which we ourselves are conscious; the young 
 tendrils of our affections lay hold of every object they 
 can reach; and we resign ourselves to the raptures of 
 friendship and of love. Must the dream have an end? 
 Can no charm make the delusion coeval with our ex- 
 istence? Shall the frosts of adversity nip the young 
 shoots of our affections? Shall the mildew of vice blast 
 the fair hopes of a harvest of happiness? or shall the en- 
 emy, in the night, sow the tares of dissension and dis- 
 trust? 
 
 Happy are they, whose life terminates ere the blind 
 confidence of youth is destroyed! Happy are they, who 
 live not to discover the error under which they have 
 labored ! 
 
 Still may we remember the moments when we re- 
 nounced, with anguish of heart and bitterness of soul, 
 the confidence we had reposed in the world. The fair 
 face of nature was deformed; the cup of delight was dash- 
 ed from our lips; and we grew sick of our existence. 
 The impression made on our minds by the treachery of 
 one friend is, in part, effaced by the pleasure we find 
 in confiding in another. But disappointment follows dis- 
 appointment; and perfidy succeeds perfidy. Still we 
 are not easily discouraged. Man cannot be happy 
 alone. The enjoyments of life would be insipid, could 
 we not share them with others. To minds who have 
 exchanged the sentiments of friendship, there is no such 
 thing as solitary pleasure. 
 
 Well then, let another smiling deception approach — 
 we embrace it. Interest or caprice dissolves the en- 
 chantment — we are miserable. But even our uneasi- 
 ness hurries us on to make choice of a new friend. The 
 blind confidence of youth is destroyed; but the social 
 principle remains, and forces us, contrary to the plainest 
 dictates of cool calculating reason, into new intimacies. 
 D 
 
38 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 It is, nevertheless, observable that early friendships 
 possess a charm which is unknown to those formed in 
 maturer years. After having been often disappointed, a 
 portion of fearful distrust mixes itself with our enjoy- 
 ments. We wish to seize the golden fruit; but we re- 
 member the apples of Sodom. We regale ourselves 
 with "honey from the rock;" but it is mingled with gall. 
 In a moment of confidence we give away our souls: 
 and the succeeding instant is imbittered with suspicious 
 forebodings. 
 
 "He that hath ears to hear let him hear." We ad- 
 dress those to whom nature has imparted a portion of 
 ethereal fire: whose lips she has touched with a live 
 coal from her heavenly altar. We address those whose 
 ruling passion in youth, was to reciprocate the delights 
 of friendship; and who have experienced the mental 
 agony and mortification that result from the idea of hav- 
 ing misplaced their early affections. We address not 
 those who have always sailed on a smooth sea, with rea- 
 son at the helm, and whose bark has never been tossed 
 by a storm of tempestuous passions. Their tranquillity 
 is rather owing to constitutional insensibility than to 
 any thing else: they would not understand us. 
 
 An elegant author puts the following words into the 
 mouth of Aristippus, the philosopher: "Friendship is 
 the most sublime and most dangerous of the gifts of 
 Heaven: its enjoyments are delicious, its vicissitudes 
 tremendous; and ought a wise man to expose himself to 
 losses, the bitterness of which would impoison the re- 
 mainder of his life?" A wise man ! No: The mise man 
 of Aristippus, or of Rochefoucault, is as incapable of 
 partaking of the "delicious enjoyments," as he is of ex- 
 periencing the "tremendous vicissitudes" above men- 
 tioned. Such friendships as that of Aristippus are not 
 indeed, uncommon: he would "admit of convenient in- 
 timacies, but banish that friendship, which renders us 
 susceptible of the sufferings of others." "I was in 
 iEgina," says he, "when I learned that my dear master 
 Socrates was condemned; that he was in prison; that 
 
THE SAVAGE. 39 
 
 the execution was delayed for a month; and that his 
 disciples were permitted to visit him. If it had been in 
 my power to have freed him from his chains, I would 
 have flown to his assistance; but I could do nothing for 
 him, so I remained in zEgina." Such may be the friend- 
 ship of a wise man; such may be the dictates of pru- 
 dence; but such are not the sentiments of virtuous and 
 ingenuous youth. Such are not the sentiments of the 
 man who can partake, with us, of the entertainment 
 that is derived from these melancholy retrospections. 
 
 THE DEVIL. 
 
 Posthabui tamen illorum mea eeria ludo. 
 
 Books have been written on the rights of man; and 
 we have heard much of the wrongs which he has sus- 
 tained. In one treatise the rights of woman are explain- 
 ed ; and in another her wrongs are exemplified. 
 
 As we were revolving this subject in our mind, it oc- 
 curred to us that much might be said concerning the 
 wrongs of the devil. As to rights, we will suppose that 
 he has none; but does that justify the children of men 
 in imputing to him crimes of which he is not guilty? If 
 men act right, they arrogate the merit to themselves; 
 but if they act wrong, why then,*forsooth, it was at the 
 instigation of the devil. 
 
 Men in all ages have certainly joined to attribute 
 every thing wicked to the agency of this being: does 
 not this universal consent of mankind speak much 
 against him? True: but it is also to be considered that 
 this is the report of his enemies. 
 
 While these thoughts were chasing each other through 
 our mind, in the de^id hour of the night, we all at once 
 felt a strong inclination to interrogate the devil on the 
 subject, and see whether he had any thing to offer in his 
 own defence. It appeared to us to be but justice to 
 "hear also the other party." 
 
40 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 And whether it were owing to a periodical fit of in- 
 sanity to which we are subject, or whether what we arc 
 about to relatedid actually take place, we will not un- 
 dertake to determine. Let the public judge. If we were 
 mad, there was "method in our madness," as you will 
 perceive when we relate our story. 
 
 And why should it be thought strange that we should 
 see the devil? It is only what thousands of old women 
 have done; and our optics are as good as those of any 
 old woman in the universe. We would not, indeed, wish 
 to have it supposed that we are very intimate with th<> 
 old gentleman, as he bears but an indifferent character: 
 and we are very desirous of supporting the dignity of 
 our character. We should not, we suppose, incur any 
 risk of being burned, at the present day, for holding a 
 short conversation with his infernal majesty; but still. 
 as we could produce no witnesses to testify the nature 
 of the intercourse which might subsist between us, we 
 would rather not have it thought that his visits to us 
 were very frequent, especially about midnight. But the 
 alarm we should experience, even in that case, appears 
 to be without foundation. Has not Satan appeared to 
 prophets, apostles, and holy men in all ages? Did not 
 Michael the archangel treat him with the greatest po- 
 liteness? Indeed, if we remember right, it is written, 
 that Michael "durst not bring a railing accusation" 
 against him. How fhen could it be expected that we 
 should have the heroism to wage war with the devil when 
 he takes it into his head to pay us a visit? No, no: we 
 thought it best to treat him civilly, as Michael did, and 
 thus Jet rid of him as soon as possible: for we will not 
 pretend to assert that we were altogether at our ease 
 during the time of the interview. The serious fact is 
 this, and we may as well acknowledge it, had he ap- 
 peared to us, arrayed in his nightgown of flame and sul- 
 phur, with eyes like two bloody moons, and his mouth 
 open, sputtering hellfire and damnation, we had been 
 confoundedly frightened. We, although savage, have 
 neither tomahawk nor scalping knife; and we should 
 
THE SAVAGE. 41 
 
 have made but a poor defence with our pipe-stem. 
 
 But what did you see? 
 
 Have patience, good reader, (if you be good, which 
 we much question,) we have a way of our own in telling 
 a story, and do not like to be interrupted; but as we 
 perceive your anxiety to learn the issue, we will endea- 
 vor to gratify you as soon as possible. 
 
 In the midst of our nocturnal contemplation, we were 
 alarmed with what seemed to be the rushing of wind 
 through some of the adjoining apartments, and the open- 
 ing and shutting of doors in different parts of the build- 
 ing. We listened. All was silent. Before we had fairly 
 composed our thoughts after this interruption, we were 
 startled at a great noise; it seemed as though it had 
 been occasioned by the falling of some great weight in 
 one of the upper rooms. While we were about prepar- 
 ing, though not without some unaccountable trepidation, 
 (forweare naturally brave) to examine into the matter, 
 we heard, distinctly, a noise like the report of a pistol: 
 and immediately after, our ears were saluted with a low 
 but sweet melody: it was like thc» distant breathing of 
 an Eolian harp. We accidentally turned our eyes to- 
 ward our candle: it sunk down into the socket. The 
 flame was lengthened, but became blue. We smelt sul- 
 phur. A noise like the rustling of silks was heard in 
 our apartment. A shadow seemed to flit by us. W r e 
 raised our eyes, and perceived a form. The outlines 
 were indistinct; but it bore the resemblance of a man. 
 
 "I know," said the form, "the subject of your late 
 contemplations." We continued -silent fors ome time. 
 Had we not been infatuated, we would have made cer- 
 tain cabalistical signs, with which we are familiar, that 
 would have startled our infernal visitant; but it never 
 occurred to us. Nemo omnibus hor is. 
 
 We at last mustered courage to demand "Who are 
 you?" The answer was immediate and explicit, "I am 
 the devil." 
 
 Piomingo. You are! Well, Mister Devil, (for as we 
 knew that titles were delightful to republicans, we con- 
 D2 
 
42 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 eluded that they would be doubly pleasing to the devil, 
 who, if we mistake not, is something of a royalist in hell, 
 though he acted the demagogue m heaven.) Well, Mis- 
 ter Devil, how came you to be acquainted with the sub- 
 ject of my contemplations? You cannot read the heart? 
 
 Devil. No: but in my rambles, moving about "to and 
 fro upon the earth," I have several times met with you. 
 And when you get into a train of thinking, you make 
 so many odd grimaces and contortions, that any devil of 
 common sagacity can tell every thought that passes 
 through your mind. 
 
 Piomingo, Squire Devil, [We were not a little uneasy 
 on account of the proximity of the "roaring lion," there- 
 fore we made use of this soothing expression to smooth 
 down the hairs of the ferocious beast.] Squire Devil, 
 you possess an uncommon share of ingenuity: be so 
 good as to inform me, to what fortunate circumstance 
 1 am indebted for the honor of your present visit? [We 
 had heard these expressions made use of in polished 
 circles, and had no doubt that they would be highly 
 gratifying to the devil, who must be highly civilized, 
 having met with hard rubs enough to wear off the rough 
 prominencies of his original character.] 
 
 Devil. As you are a savage, I have some hopes that 
 you will deal justly even with the devil. Civilized men 
 have a proverb, about giving the devil his due; but that 
 is all. I know very well what their expressions amount 
 to: vox et prceterea nihil, 
 
 Piomingo, My dear sir, (meaning you damned black 
 rascal) My dear szV,you do me great honor: be pleased 
 to proceed — but 1 beg your pardon — Excuse my inat- 
 tention — (handing a chair,) I beg you will be seated. 
 [We shall not be accused of abject servility in showing 
 this attention to the devil, when it is remembered that 
 we were in the presence of a powerful being "the prince 
 of the power of the air," who could in a moment have 
 blown tire enough out of his nostrils to have burned us 
 and our house to a cinder. We have heard that he is 
 in the habit of carrying off half the house in his flight, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 43 
 
 if he be any way dissatisfied with the treatment he re- 
 ceives. It was probably owing to our intercourse with 
 civilized society, that we were able to avert, by a few 
 soothing expressions, (which cost nothing) so dreadful a 
 calamity. The old fellow took the chair we had offered, 
 and, drawing it up close to ours sat down with the great- 
 est composure. We renewed the light: and had full 
 leisure to examine his person and dress. We were 
 amazed at the fairness of his complexion and the white- 
 ness of his raiment, until it occurred to us, all at once, 
 that he had transformed himself into an "angel of light." 
 He observed our tobacco pipe lying on a stand, and, 
 reaching out his hand, took it up, and immediately be- 
 gan to smoke.] 
 
 Devil, (puffing the smoke in our face,) I find much en- 
 tertainment in smoking. 
 
 Piomingo. I am overpowered by the condescension 
 of your majesty, (meaning, damn your familiarity.) [It 
 here occurred to us that we ought to give him his 
 princely titles: and this civilized stroke of ours had the 
 desired effect. He became remarkably cheerful and 
 pleasant; and we pledge our savage word that his coun- 
 tenance, was not disagreeable. However,upon close in- 
 spection (for we have studied Lavater) there appeared, 
 in his countenance, lurking behind a profusion of smiles, 
 something of cunning and malignity. Such visages we 
 have often met with among men of the world.] 
 
 Devil. It is a fact, Piomingo, that men use me very ill. 
 
 Piomingo. I believe they do — but, would your infernal 
 sublimity taste a glass of wine? [Here we arose and 
 brought a decanter and a couple of glasses, saying, 
 aside, (not so loud as they do at the theatre though) 
 "The old scoundrel! I wish it was melted lead for 
 his sake!" but as we did not wish to make the old 
 fellow tipsy, we slyly mixed a little water with the wine. 
 For all which proceedings, we have the best civilized au- 
 thority.] 
 
 Piomingo. (bowing) Your majesty's health, (meaning, 
 May you be roasted on tfic gridiron of damnation /) 
 
44 - THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Devil, (bowing) Your health! I wish you everlasting 
 prosperity! [Non ego credulus illi] 
 
 [Could there be any thing wrong in our showing 
 this attention to the devil? It was a lesson we learned 
 from the men of the world. We have often seen them 
 adulating and caressing men whom they hated much 
 more than we do the devil. If we were wrong, they are 
 doubly so.] 
 
 Piomingo. Men, now, as well as formerly, speak evil 
 of dignities. 
 
 Devil. Yes, men are very wrong in attributing to me 
 the evils which they, themselves, commit. I declare, 
 upon the honor of a devil, that I do not concern myself 
 with the affairs of the world. 
 
 Piomingo. How then did it happen that you seduced 
 our great grandmother Eve, fromthe paths of rectitude, 
 by your subtle devices? 
 
 Devil. O, that was a very different case. Eve was vir- 
 tuous: she was correct in her conduct, and it required 
 all the ingenuity of the devil to set her wrong. Your 
 poet Milton gives a very true account of the trouble I 
 had in that affair. Milton, indeed, is the only writer 
 that gives any thing like a correct idea of diabolical 
 manners. 
 
 Piomingo. But, may it please you tartarean highness, 
 have we not accounts of your interfering in the concerns 
 of the world long since the fa/1 of man: as in the case 
 of Job? 
 
 Devil. O yes, when any thing occurs worthy of my 
 attention, I am not backward, on my part, in furthering 
 the interests of my kingdom. When, once in a thousand 
 years, or so, the world produces a man like Job, I then 
 find it necessary to exert all my infernal talents to de- 
 grade him; lest his example should become destructive 
 to the cause of immorality; but, I protest to you, by the 
 mejesty of Pandemonium, that the world is at present 
 so wicked, that there is not the smallest necessity for the 
 malignant agency of the devil. Job was an object 
 worthy of my ambition: but do you suppose that it was 
 
THE SAVAGE. 45 
 
 through my instigations that his wife acted in the man- 
 ner she did? If you do, you are mistaken. 
 
 Piomingo. Your excellency knows best: I yield full 
 credence to all your assertions. (Meaning, J know you 
 to be the "father of lies" and do not believe a word you 
 say.) 
 
 Devil. But that which displeases me more than any 
 thing else, is their habit of attributing to me the origin- 
 ation of a thousand pitiful, sneaking little criminalities, 
 with which, I swear by the blue blazes of Tophet, I 
 would not dirty my fingers. My concience is, certainly, 
 not very troublesome; but I indubitably would not de- 
 base my infernal dignity so much as to assist in the 
 perpetration of a thousand little meannesses to which 
 men are addicted. 
 
 Does anyone act preposterously and absurdly; some 
 wise head will be sure to observe, "I cannot tell what 
 the man means. He has lost his senses, or the devil is 
 in him." What distraction! Do the children of Adam 
 suppose that they would act wisely were it not for the 
 wiles of the devil? Must all their folly and insanity be 
 laid on my shoulders, as well as their meannesses and 
 wickednesses? 
 
 Then again, they make me a picture of deformity as 
 well as the author of iniquity. Is any one misshapen or 
 hardfavored; some jackanapes will undoubtedly ex- 
 claim, "He is as ugly as the devil!" The puppies! must 
 I be the prototype as well of corporal as of mental ob- 
 liquity! Why should they suppose that 1 had horns 
 like an ox, or a foot like a goat? By the infernal gods! 
 my imperial blood boils with diabolical indignation, 
 when I think of such slanderous aspersions! — But my 
 time may come — they may fall in my power — and then, 
 ye powers of darkness! how I will roast them! [Here 
 the devil fell into a furious passion. He foamed at the 
 mouth; sparks flew in myriads from his eyes; and the 
 smoke rolled from his nostrils! We were terrified.] 
 
 Piomingo. The resentment shown by your majesty is 
 very just; but — 
 
46 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Devil. True, very true; I should not suffer my sereni- 
 ty to be disturbed by their contemptible malignity. 
 [Here he suppressed his agitation, adjusted his robe, 
 and called up the obedient smiles in his countenance.] 
 
 Piomingo. Your sublimity should rather derive a- 
 musement from their folly, than suffer it to give you any 
 uneasiness. Your majesty's glass — 
 
 Devil. Their folly is amusing; (drinking and bowing) 
 very amusing indeed. To hear a fellow call one of his 
 neighbors "a great overgrown devil;" and in the same 
 breath describe another as "a poor puny little devil," is, 
 upon my soul, very amusing — ha ha ha! 
 
 Piomingo. Ha ha ha! [Our laugh was forced; but 
 had we not been diverted by our infernal visiter's wit, 
 we should have offended him eternally. We therefore 
 dragged the unwilling convulsion into our visage, and 
 laughed most obstreperously. We all know that, in the 
 common occurrences of life, it is absolutely necessary to 
 laugh at all the dull jokes and insipid sayings of a rich man : 
 how much more incumbent was it upon us to be titillated 
 by the pleasantry of his majesty of Pandemonium?] 
 
 Devil. Of the magnitude of him who 
 
 "Collecting all his might, dilated stood, 
 Like Teneriffor Atlas;" 
 
 of whom it is said that 
 
 ''His stature reached the sky, and on his crest 
 Sat horror plumed;" 
 
 of the magnitude of such a one, I say, mortals may talk 
 with the utmost propriety. 
 
 Piomingo. With the utmost propriety. [We had 
 learned that, among men, nothing gives greater pleas- 
 ure to one who is ambitiousof makinga display of his ora- 
 torical powers in conversation, than barely to assent to 
 every thing that he says: and if this assent be given by re- 
 peating a few of the orator's own words, the satisfaction 
 will be complete. We concluded that,in all probability, 
 the case was the same among devils; and therefore we 
 played off our civilization upon the "god of this world."] 
 
 Devil. But to talk of a /z7//e devil, is as absurd as to 
 talk of a great man 
 
THE SAVAGE. 47 
 
 Piomingo. Which would be the height of absurdity. 
 [We felt the meanness of our conduct in yielding this 
 point to the old sinner; but as we had put on the paint- 
 ed visor of refined man, we determined not to throw it 
 off.] 
 
 Devil. I have sometimes supposed that your gay ones 
 were like to have correct ideas of infernal beauty, when 
 I have heard them say of a fine girl, "She is devilish 
 handsome;" but I found this merely owing to a strange 
 partiality they had for the word "devilish:" it being 
 applied indiscriminately to beauty and deformity. In- 
 deed, all words, thathaveany relation to my lower domin- 
 ions, appear to be favorites with these mortals. The 
 words certainly are expressive. But the thing that dis- 
 pleases me is this: they use them without any regard 
 to propriety. One man is "damned rich;" another is 
 "damned poor." In summer, it is as "hot as hell;" and 
 in winter, as cold as damnation: the word "damn" 
 and its derivatives, making nearly one half of their vo- 
 cabulary. [The clock struck one. He vanished, leav- 
 ing nothing behind him but a sulphureous stench. Had 
 he taken his leave in an orderly manner, we would 
 have waited on him to the door, and requested the honorof 
 another visit; — but we were extremely well pleased 
 with the manner of his departure. 
 
 After looking cautiously round, and becoming per- 
 fectly satisfied that he was actually gone, we began to 
 abuse him most politely, cursing him and all his gene- 
 ration from the beginning of the world to this day, 
 and imputing to his instigation every error of our life. 
 We called him wicked, mean, black, deformed, cloven- 
 hoofed, horned; and gave him every other opprobrious 
 epithet that we could find in the English and Muscogul- 
 gee languages. We grow civilized.] 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 Excellence in letter writing is allowed by the best 
 judges to be difficult of attainment: and the directions 
 
48 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 that are laid down to guide us in the pursuit of this ex- 
 cellence appear to be defective. We are told that the 
 style must be easy and natural; and that we should use 
 nearly the language of conversation. This is very true; 
 but in conversation we are generally prolix, and it is 
 necessary in writing a letter that we should avoid that 
 prolixity. It requires a considerable portion of ingenui- 
 ty to condense our matter sufficiently, and still retain 
 that ease and simplicity which are indispensable requi- 
 sites in epistolary writing. 
 
 Every appearance of carelessness, in a letter, is an in- 
 sult offered to the person with whom we correspond. 
 When we receive a letter from a person who calls him- 
 self our friend, written in a careless and slovenly man- 
 ner, we are always much more displeased than if that 
 friend had not written at all. 
 
 Letters, on business, may be as short as one pleases: 
 and the shorter the better, if they be sufficiently full and 
 explicit; but letters of friendship ought to be somewhat 
 extended; if they be very brief it is informing our cor- 
 respondent that we do not chose to devote a moment's 
 attention to him or his affairs, more than the cold rules of 
 politeness imperiously demand. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. V. 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Our observations on friendship have led us to re- 
 flect on those institutions of society which are favorable 
 or unfavorable to the existence or continuance of the 
 social affections. 
 
 If friendship frequently meet with interruptions a- 
 mong savages, how much more unfortunate is its fate 
 where* the system of oppropriation is carried into every 
 department of human affairs ; where education, man- 
 ners, amusements, and, in fine, all the concerns of life. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 49 
 
 have a direct tendency to encourage and establish the 
 selfish propensities of the human breast; where the first 
 lessons of youth are calculated to brutalize the mind, ex- 
 tinguish every spark of generous enthusiasm; where 
 every thing is carved out into portions, and mcum and 
 tuum meet the eye every where both at home and 
 abroad; where the earth is divided into sections, the 
 water descends by inheritance, and even the use of the 
 air is appropriated to individuals? 
 
 If friedship be insecure among savages, where there 
 are none rich and none poor; where the earth, the air, 
 and the water are free; where the whole village assem- 
 bles at dances and public feasts, and all unite in amuse- 
 ments interesting to all; where every heart is light, and 
 every tongue utters the effusions of the heart; where all 
 unite, in one body, to praise the God of their fathers 
 with songs and with dances, with the music of reeds 
 and the beating of drums; where the joy becomes con- 
 tageous, and the gladness of the soul is reflected from 
 face to face, until the sick forgets his pain ; the afflicted, 
 his sorrow; and the aged, the approaches of death; 
 where all join in one dance, and all sit down to one feast; 
 where no invidious preferences are shown, no insulting 
 privilege usurped — if friendship, we repeat it, be inse- 
 cure under these circumstances, how precarious must 
 its situation be, where nothing gives importance but 
 wealth, and wealth has no connexion with individual 
 merit: where the higher and the lower ranks never unite 
 in the same amusement; where men never can forget 
 for a moment the inequality of their situations in life: 
 where sordid ignorant bloated wealth must be fed with 
 continual adulation, and indigent merit must shrink 
 into insignificance, or become the object of ridicule and 
 contempt; where every association of individuals is a 
 school of intrigue and a conspiracy against the species 
 at large; where every individual watches his neighbor 
 with an eye of suspicion and distrust; where truth is 
 never heard, unless for some malignant purpose; and 
 where men endeavor to wear the semblance of virtue, 
 E 
 
50 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 but lay it down, as a practical rule, not to be incum- 
 bered with the substance? 
 
 If friendship be insecure among savages, where the 
 spirit of hoarding and the desire of accumulation are un- 
 known, how must it be where every one has his locked 
 coffer which incloses the object of his private adoration? 
 If benevolent affections meet with frequent-interrup- 
 tions where the institutions of society are such that 
 merit exerts its proper influence, and worth finds its due 
 level in the community, what must be their fate, where 
 there is no merit but wealth, no virtue but cunning? 
 
 We are convinced that friendship seldom exists in the 
 civilized world, unless it be among boys at school. — 
 These sometimes draw certain old notions of virtue and 
 justice from books, with which they appear to be cap- 
 tivated for a time; but as soon as they engage in the 
 affairs of the world, they find it necessary to get initiated 
 into that smooth system of specious vice, which goes by 
 the name of prudence and knowledge of the world. — 
 They soon discover that there is but one thing needful* 
 If they can acquire that, they will have every thing at 
 command; but if that be unattained, they will have 
 nothing. Where are now the gay dreams of youthful 
 friendship? They have vanished as the morning dew 
 before the rising sun. 
 
 At school there is some appearance of equality. Boya 
 there form connexions that are known by the name of 
 friendship, and fondly imagine that they will continue 
 for ever. But immediately upon entering into the world 
 this equality disappears; and the friendship, if it should 
 still seem to subsist, degenerates into overbearing des- 
 potism on the one side, and contemptible cringing syco- 
 phancy on the other. [To be continued.] 
 
 LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 Peppermint Canto announces to the public his in- 
 tention of composing the segariad, an epic poem, in 
 
THE SA.VAOE. 51 
 
 twelve books, enriched with notes, critical, historical, 
 political, and philosophical. 
 
 As the author is an enemy to every species of useless 
 innovation in literary matters, he has determined that 
 the segvriad shall have a beginning, a middle, and an 
 end; all which three things are said by the critics, to 
 be indispensably requisite. Had not the opinion of 
 Aristotle been so very explicit on this point, the author 
 had it in contemplation to have written an epic poem 
 without beginning, middle, or end; but it is always 
 safer, in affairs of such consequence, to follow the foot- 
 steps of the ancients. 
 
 He is resolved to launch at once into the middle of 
 the action, as was done by Virgil in the Eneid. He 
 will introduce his readers to a young man, lolling at his 
 ease, with his heels higher than his head, and the smoke 
 ascending in fleecy curls to the ceiling. Hence he will 
 take occasion to describe some of those delightful reve- 
 ries into which the mind, of a man, so situated and so 
 employed, is frequently plunged. Thence he will con- 
 duct the reader, on a cloud of smoke, to the Limbo of 
 Vanity, where he will give an accurate description of 
 those visionary castles which have been erected in that 
 fantastic region by the dreaming smokers, and smoking 
 dreamers of all ages. 
 
 He has this introductory part of the poem already 
 composed, and assures the public that he is extremely 
 pleased with the sweetness and harmony of the versifi- 
 cation and the cloudy obscurity of the meaning, which 
 so happily illustrate those apathetical reveries, when 
 men think very deeply, or think not at all. Pope may 
 talk of the sound being an echo to the sense; but this 
 is an echo of which he had no idea. 
 
 The author has invented a totally new species of ma- 
 chinery, with which he hopes,the reader will be highly de- 
 lighted. Heacknowledgesthistobeadaringexperiment; 
 but he has the satisfaction to think that, if he should fail, 
 it will be said of him, as it was of the son of Apollo, 
 
 magnifl tamen excidit ausia. 
 
52 
 
 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 He has, ready made, a number of finely polished epi- 
 sodes, which he intends to attach to the work as he pro- 
 ceeds. Some of them, indeed, appear at first view to 
 have little or no relation to the action of the poem; but 
 he feels confident that he will be able to weave them so 
 ingeniously into the main zvcb of his work, that they will 
 appear to be quite natural. He has already thought of 
 a method of introducing the wars of the giants in one 
 episode, and the loves of the chivalric Smith and the 
 princess Pocahontas in another. 
 
 He intends to begin with the segar, and keep it as 
 much as possible in sight through the whole course of 
 the work; and has no intention of using it as disrespect- 
 fully as Cowper did his sofa. 
 
 He assures the literary world that he has, on hand, a 
 number of virgin similes, with which he intends to em- 
 bellish the segariad. They are all of his own manu- 
 facture; and he pledges his word that they have never 
 been touched by Homer or any other poet. 
 
 He desires it to be understood that, although the se- 
 gariad will be an epic poem, complete in all its parts, 
 yet, it will hold but a secondary place in the work which 
 he intends to offer to the public. The judicious reader 
 will take notice that the poem is to serve as a medium 
 of conveyance for certain highly interesting observa- 
 tions which he will append to almost every line of his 
 meditated production. He informs the public that he 
 has a vast quantity of literary lore, of the first quality, 
 which he will present to the public in the form of notes 
 on the SEGARIAD. 
 
 If the reader find but two or three lines of the text 
 on a page, he will have no reason to be dissatisfied. Let 
 him peruse the notes: there he will find instruction 
 blended with entertainment. He will be amazed at the 
 critical acumen, political sagacity, historical research, 
 and philosophical profundity, which will be there dis- 
 played. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 The following observations are copied from the American 
 Daily Advertiser. 
 
 Mr. Poulson — A small publication entitled "The 
 Savage." fell into my hands a few days since. I have, 
 read it with careful attention, but I cannot give it the 
 sanction of my approbation. Whatever has a tenden- 
 cy to render man discontented with his condition, and to 
 excite repinings at the dispensation of Providence, must 
 be injurious. The virtuous man would, no doubt, wish 
 to see each individual equally virtuous with himself — 
 but however ardently he may desire it, it is certainly 
 questionable whether he would obtain his wishes by 
 becoming a savage. 
 
 Men of cultivated minds have existed in all times, to 
 whom civilized society has not afforded any gratification. 
 This arises perhaps from too great a sensibility, which is 
 not able to bear 
 
 "The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune." 
 
 — Hence we find the pictures they draw of such society 
 deeply tinged with the melancholy which unhappily 
 preys upon their spirits. 
 
 It is a circumstance much to be regretted; because 
 society loses in every instance the good which those ta- 
 lents properly directed would be capable of producing. 
 The savage, Piomingo, is a present and strong instance 
 of a brilliant imagination and improved understanding 
 thus strangely perverted. What language does he use! 
 How perspicuous! Strength and harmony are blended 
 in his sentences. He strews the paths he treads with 
 flowers of every varied hue: he deludes the judgment 
 with his fascinations. But sir, his views of that happy 
 constitution of things, which has arisen from devine re- 
 velation and the wisdom and experience of ages, will not 
 bear examination. It is true, man is a frail being. His 
 faults are numerous: nor is there one, who can so fat- 
 govern his appetites and passions as to be free from er- 
 ror. Prejudices will prevail over his reason. They grow 
 E2 
 
54 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 with his growth and strengthen with his years, to what- 
 ever society, whether savage or civilized, he may be- 
 long. Must he therefore shut hinself out from all so- 
 ciety? His systems of education may be wrong; but 
 they are improvable. Another direction might be given 
 to his thoughts: his views might be more extended: 
 his imagination raised to heaven. But were he to divest 
 himself of the opportunities he has of acquiring know- 
 ledge; were he to burn his cities and flee to the woods; 
 expose himself to the inclemencies of the seasons, and 
 to a dependence upon the precarious supply which the 
 chase or the snare might procure him — would his er- 
 rors be rectified? 
 
 The picture which Piomingo draws of savage life 
 are executed with a master's hand. They are well cal- 
 culated to lead the unwary into a belief, that whatthey 
 represent is true. But like the paintings of many other 
 disgustful objects, the stench and the tilth are left out. 
 
 "I pity the man," says Sterne, "who can travel from 
 "Dan to Bersheba, and cry, all is barren. And so it is; 
 "and so is all the world to him, who will not cultivate 
 "the fruit it offers." To this observation of Sterne some 
 poetic genius has affixed a few lines which display a phi- 
 losophy in consonance with the sentiment. Allow me, 
 sir, to offer them to Piomingo as a most invaluable pre- 
 sent. Perhaps they may serve to smooth his wounded 
 spirits: completely to tranquillize it, can only be effect- 
 ed by a reliance on that gospel, which he affects to 
 treat with contumely. 
 
 "Away with complaints of distress, 
 
 Induc'd by false notions of life; 
 And reflect— ('twill make trouble seem less,) 
 The endearment of quiet is strife. 
 As the storms of the ocean, which fill with alarm, 
 Give a zest to the pleasure enjoy 'd in a calm. 
 
 "What is it gives nature its grace? 
 
 Why is hope the sweet source of delight? 
 Whence the charm of a beautiful face, 
 Or of Phebus dispelling the night? 
 By contrast alone are their beauties display 'd, 
 Their coloring heighten'd or soften'd by shade. 
 
THE SAVAGE. b'O 
 
 "So the slave, when disburthen'd of toil; 
 
 The culprit who meets a reprieve; 
 The lover, first blest with a smile, 
 And the sceptic when taught to believe: 
 Feel the change in their prospects hath power to bless 
 In proportion exact to the depth of distress. 
 
 "If griefs then your journey pursue; 
 
 If flocks, herds, and fields be laid waste; 
 Recollect bitter aloes and rue 
 Make honey more sweet to the taste: 
 And around you when darkness and tempests appear 
 Think of winter which ushers the spring of the year." A. 
 
 The ingenious author of the foregoing remarks seems 
 to have mistaken the views of the Savage. We enter- 
 tain no presumptuous hopes of effecting a revolution in 
 the minds of men. We are not Quixotic enough to im- 
 agine that we can undo the work of ages, and bring 
 back man to a state of barbarism. This, however de- 
 sirable such a change might be, is impossible, unless by 
 the means of some tremendous convulsion of nature: 
 which Heaven avert — The utmost of our ambition is 
 to afford entertainment by the novelty of our remarks: 
 and we are afraid that even that is not within the lim- 
 its of our power. There are but two species of writing 
 that the men of the present day are disposed to read; 
 something that they can turn to immediate profit, and 
 slanderous aspersions against their neighbors. Now as 
 we are disposed to gratify neither of these propensities we 
 have very faint hopes indeed that our Savage will be- 
 come popular. 
 
 But, if it be asked, what will be the effect of our re- 
 marks in a moral point of view; we answer, that the 
 tendency cannot be immoral. We are the friend of vir- 
 tue, and advocate her cause. We are the enemy of eve- 
 ry species of vice; and we endeavor to draw aside her- 
 veil and show her to men in all her native deformity. 
 
 We have no desire ''to excite repinings at the dis- 
 pensation of Providence;"' nor do we conceive that our 
 remarks can have that tendency. Could we render men 
 discontented with their vices and follies, the concequen- 
 ces could not be deplorable; but we are not led away 
 
56 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 by any such sxtravagant expectations. This sordid cal- 
 culating moneymaking generation would not be distur- 
 bed in their operations even "should one rise from the 
 dead j and we have no hopes that they will attend to"the 
 voice of one crying in the wilderness." 
 
 Of that happy constitution of things which might 
 have arisen from divine revelation, had not the seed 
 fallen among thorns which have sprung up and choked iL 
 we can form some idea; but of the boasted wisdom and 
 experience of ages, we entertain a different opinion. By 
 this wisdom and this exprience men are subjected to 
 dangers, difficulties and misfortunes, of which their sa- 
 vage fathers had no conception. Where are the benefi- 
 cial effects of this knowledge? Have men learned to 
 conquer disease.orretard the approaches of death? Does 
 their refinement give firmness and health to old age, or 
 lengthen out the period of youth? Are the mass of man- 
 kind more benevolent, more just, more enlightened, than 
 they were formerly? A few prejudices, whicji' happened 
 to have no connexion with selfinterest, have been dis- 
 carded; but others, much more pernicious, have been 
 guarded by our teachers as the "apple of their eye." 
 The crimes of the moderns are less glaring than those 
 of the ancients, but all their actions are systematically 
 vitious. They are not the victims of a moral plague or 
 pestilence; but a sordid leprosy has infected the blood; 
 and they are become unclean "from the crown of the 
 head to the sole of the foot." The canker of avarice has 
 poisoned the constitution of society ; and its moral health 
 as far as we can perceive, is irretrievably lost. This one 
 evil smothers every young and generousinclination, and 
 has erected a tomb for all the virtues. This one passion 
 is the source of all the evils which afflict humanity: it 
 has withstood the efforts of the friends of man in every 
 age, and rendered of none effect the revelation of God. 
 It is painful for us to answer the last allegation that is 
 brought against us: "that of affecting to treat the gos- 
 pel with contumely." We never have treated Christiani- 
 ty with contempt. We never have attempted to ridicule 
 
THE SAVAGE. 57 
 
 its rites or its ceremonies, or deny the divine authority of 
 its precepts. We have always expressed our admiration 
 of its maxims of morality; and we revere, with pious 
 enthusiasm, its divine founder; but we are not disposed 
 to eulogize all those who call themselves by his name. 
 We blame not their Christianity, if they have any, but 
 their departure from the line of conduct marked out by 
 the precepts of the gospel. Hereafter, when we say any 
 thing against those who are called christians, let it not 
 be supposed that we oppose the doctrines which they 
 affect to believe: we only complain of the want of con- 
 formity between their professions and practice. It has 
 been said that a historian, in order to be faithful and un- 
 prejudiced should be of no country and no religion; why 
 may it not be suposed necessary for our savage to have 
 the same negative qualifications? 
 
 With Flommgo, personally, the public have no con- 
 cern: he is a savage by nature, and so we suppose, he 
 must remain. His observations are before the world: 
 if they will not "bear examination," let them fall. Pio- 
 mingo is not solicitous about their fate. He once cherish- 
 ed a hope of literary fame, but that hope, with many 
 others, is extinguished. He feels grateful to "A" for 
 the philosophy contained in the verses ; but has no great 
 regard for any observations of Sterne. 
 
 Prudence Hall, Oct. 5, 1809. 
 
 Piomingo, are you a bona fide savage? By my con- 
 science, I -would be glad to see you. Where the devil 
 have you built your wigwam? I have been looking for 
 it, these three or four days, all along the banks of Schuyl- 
 kill, and over in Hamilton's woods; but my labor has 
 been in vain. I went into half a hundred dismal dirty- 
 looking hovels on the Commons, where, by my soul, I 
 saw savages enough, but no Indians. Where have you 
 disposed of yourself? I am extremely anxious to see you ; 
 but not altogether through idle curiosity. If you will 
 
58 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 favor me with an interview, I have something to propose 
 that will prove greatly advantageous to us both. 
 
 I will just give you a hint of my business by letter, 
 that you may be the more readily induced to permit me 
 to explain matters fully in my proper person. 
 
 You are a savage, a coppercolored savage — Good. 
 You are tall and slender, with black eyes and long 
 coarse black hair — Good. You have high cheekbones — 
 Very good. You, without doubt, wear jewels in your 
 nose,and have split and distended the lobes of yourears 
 — Excellent, most excellent? I would rather possess the 
 advantages just enumerated than be emperor of the 
 Gauls. Only make the proper use of the directions I 
 fehall give you, and you will have the wealth of this popu- 
 lous city at command. But it is to be remembered that 
 if you adopt my plan, one half of the profits — you com- 
 prehend — one half of the profits must be appropriated 
 to the use of the original genius who invented the 
 scheme. 
 
 But, before I unfold my plan, permit me to express 
 my astonishment at your conduct. You appear to have 
 some odd kind of intelligence; and you inform us that 
 you are fifty years of age: what then, in the name of 
 common sense, do you mean by preaching musty ser- 
 mons on morals, and prating about virtue and honor, 
 and the like? If you be a fool at fifty years of age, you 
 will be a fool as long as you live, and longer too. But I 
 suppose you are a deep one. You mean to amuse us 
 awhile with your fair speeches, and then make a bold 
 stroke at our pockets. If such be your intention, here 
 is my hand — you will find me a useful associate in any 
 scheme of honorable roguery you may have in contem- 
 plation. For, (do you mark ?) I have too much principle 
 to engage in any dishonest practices that might endan- 
 ger my neck; but I am the very lad that can impose up- 
 on the world in a genteel way, you understand me? The 
 world is overspread with fools; who appear to me like 
 a vast field of grain ready for the sickle. Men of genius 
 have nothing to do but to enter in and reap. The task 
 
THE SAVAGE. 59 
 
 is not difficult; we have only to study their weaknesses, 
 follies, passions, and prejudices, and improve them to. 
 our own advantage. Every man may be gulled some 
 way or other. If he will not bite at a minnow, he may 
 at a worm. Labor omnia vincit improbus: that is my 
 motto; and, let me tell you, I am seldom unsuccessful 
 in my undertakings. But the scheme I am about to pro- 
 pose is liable to no risk. It is an ingenious advantage 
 taken of a universal weakness; and cannot miscarry. 
 Let us come to the point. You shall set up for a phy- 
 scian,and inform she public, in a pompous advertise- 
 ment in all the daily papers, that you studied physic ma- 
 ny years under the celebrated Kaioka; that you are per- 
 fectly well acquainted with the secrets of nature; that 
 you have a profound knowledge of the simples in the 
 vegetable kingdom; that you spent many years in col- 
 lecting, with your own hands, an immense multitude of 
 plants in the Appalachian mountains; that you have 
 dried them with sedulous care, or extracted their vir- 
 tues and preserved their essences as inestimable reme- 
 dies for all the diseases to which the human frame is 
 subject; thatyou are instructed in all the occult sciences 
 and supernatural learning of the ever memorable Kaio- 
 ka; that you are a perfect master of every species of pow- 
 wowing; that you can ease the aking of a tooth, and 
 charm away the "grief of wound;" that you are pro- 
 foundly skilled in venereal complaints, and can afford 
 immediate relief without the assistance of mercury; that 
 you have paid particular attention to the nature of 
 female complaints, and have suitable remedies for all 
 their indispositions — adding, that your secrecy and honor 
 may be depended on; that you have devoted much of 
 your time to the consideration of those diseases that re- 
 sult from dissipated pleasures, immoderate use of spi- 
 rituous liquors, residence in climates unfavorable to the 
 constitution, and juvenile indiscretions, and you feel 
 yourself happy in announcing to the afllicted that you 
 are able to renovate their constitutions and restore their 
 pristine health aud vigor; that you are possessed ofcer- 
 
60 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tain arcana that are absolutely unknown to civilized na- 
 tions, which will enable you to perform cures that will 
 astonish the world ; that you have supernatural cordials, 
 balms, and restoratives, without number: that you have 
 hypersupercarbonated waterproof liquid blacking for 
 boots and shoes, deathdealing poison for rats and mice, 
 imperial unguents for the itch, and worm-murdering 
 lozenges for children; that you have specifics for every 
 disease, and salves for every sore; that you have tinc- 
 tures and lovepowders, eyewaters and cornplasters; 
 that you have cosmetics of supereminent efficacy, ce- 
 lestial perfumes and milk of the roses of Paradise; that 
 you have a beautifying lotion, invented by the princess 
 Onasycocoquahanamahala, which will remove pimples 
 and freckles, and scars, and make the skin white and 
 smooth and soft as the downy feathers on an angel's 
 wing; that you have a tincture of amaranthine flowers 
 that bloomed in the gardens of the lovely Osyona, which 
 being used daily will preserve beauty to the latest pe- 
 riod of life, and even give to wrinkled age the appear- 
 ance of youth. 
 
 When you have enumerated these things and a hun- 
 dred others, you may conclude your advertisement with 
 observing that, from many years extensive and success- 
 ful practice in the capital of the Muscogulgees, you 
 natter yourself that you can more than give satisfaction 
 to those who may apply for your assistance. 
 
 After shis advertisement has been some time in cir- 
 culation, you must publish a list of your soul-relieving, 
 body-restoring and world-astonishing medicines. You 
 must invent new and unheard-of titles for your nos- 
 trums, and express yourself on all occasions in the most 
 bombastic and unintelligible manner. You must de- 
 claim rotundo ore, and tear every subject to tatters that 
 falls in your power. You must outpuff the puffers of 
 this puffing people, and strike dumb the altiloquence of 
 the immortal vendor of the barbal alkahest, and dia- 
 mond paste by the terrisonous explosion of your altison- 
 ant and ceraunic magniloquy! 
 
THE SAVAGE. 61 
 
 You have only to show your olive phiz, utter some 
 Muscognlgee gibberish and heathen Greek jawbreakers, 
 and, by the god of knaves, the whole praetice of the 
 city is your own. Who could withstand such soft majes- 
 tic words, pouring from your sweet old ugly copperco- 
 lorcd mouth, with a damned crowbar run through your 
 nose, a new moon on your breast, and silver pendants 
 dangling from your ears? Money, my dear Piomingo, 
 money will pour in upon you, as the waters pour upon the 
 earth, when the windows of heaven are opened. When 
 life is in danger, men draw forth their reluctant dollars. 
 
 This is the flood of fortune. Can you hesitate? You 
 cannot, certainly, doubt of your abilities to impose up- 
 on the world. In fact, there is nothing necessary but a 
 sufficiency of impudence. 
 
 When you are called to visit a patient, you have only 
 to feel his pulse, bid him thrust out his tongue, and then, 
 laying your forefinger by the side of your nose, pretend 
 to meditate for some time. There is no necessity that 
 you should pay the smallest attention to the sufferer 
 during the few minutes that you stay in the room. You 
 may strut about, look at the curtains, pictures, &c. and 
 examine your own lovely person in a mirror: a physi- 
 cian, having been long conversant with sickness, sorrow, 
 groans, and death, it is not expected that he should 
 discover any symptoms of humanity. When any ques- 
 tions are asked by the relatives of the patient, you must 
 remember to give ambiguous oracular responses: thus 
 your credit wiil be preserved let the case terminate as 
 it may. Should any one demand to be informed of the 
 nature of the disease, you must look learned, mutter 
 something about the cerebrum and cerebellum, cardia 
 and pericardium, obstructed perspiration and the peris- 
 taltic motion: the inquirer will be, not only satisfied, 
 but highly pleased that you considered him capable of 
 understanding your discourse. You must talk much of 
 the number of your patients, of the necessity of attend- 
 ing a consultation, and hurry away, leaving "Kaiokcfs 
 pills" or a "tinctureof life everlasting" 
 
62 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Should the sufferer recover, that recovery will be at- 
 tributed to the efficacy of your vegetable specific; 
 should he die, you may lay the blame on the careless- 
 ness of the attendants in not administering properly 
 your inestimable medicine, or on the obstinacy of the 
 patient in refusing to regulate his conduct by your di- 
 rections; and, after his death, you must remember fre- 
 quently to make some such observation as the following: 
 "Had Mr. Weakly taken my preparation as directed, 
 he would have been a living man at this day." 
 
 Your savage appearance, your outlandish speech, and 
 your consummate impudence, will insure the success of 
 our scheme. Men are always credulous; but when the 
 body is debilitated and the mind enfeebled by long con- 
 tinued sickness, there is nothing they may not be in- 
 duced to believe. A bold impostor may rule them with 
 absolute authority, and, by raising and depressing their 
 spirits as circumstances may require, draw the last cent 
 from their pockets. He must make them feel diseases 
 that never existed, and then administer cures for the 
 complaints of his own creation. He must "speak 
 peace" to the dying, when "there is no peace;' 5 and 
 terrify these who are like to live with imaginary dan- 
 gers. 
 
 Here is a wide field for the exertions of a man of genius, 
 who studies his own interest and pursues steadily the 
 means that are necessary for the accomplishment of his 
 purposes. But he must not be disturbed by any foolish 
 qualms of conscience, or childish sympathising sensa- 
 tions. No: his heart must be stone; his hand, iron; 
 and his face, brass. 
 
 How unlucky it was that I should not have been born 
 black, or red, or even yellow. Had 1 the color of an 
 African, a Hindoo, an Arabian, or a Cherokee, I could 
 carry my plans into operation without the assistance of 
 another; but as it is, I am under the necessity of procur- 
 ing some one to execute that which I am fully capable 
 of projecting. This head, Piomingo, this head of mine, 
 is invaluable. O what great schemes have perished in 
 
THE SAVAGE. 63 
 
 embryo, for want of hands to embody those sublime 
 ideas which have originated in my brain! 
 
 I once endeavored to educate and instruct a great 
 flatfootedknockkneed humpbacked blubberlipped splay- 
 mouthed wpolyheaded negro in the art and mystery of 
 quackery. His person was exactly the thing! wished: 
 and he was uncommonly shrewd, and as impudent as 
 the devil. I meant to have introduced him to the world 
 as a physician from Angola. He appeared well con- 
 tented to be called doctor Quassia, and to have money 
 in his pocket; but when I began to explain the secrets 
 of the profession, he rejected my offers with disdain. 
 He gravely asserted that he could not reconcile it to his 
 conscience (his conscience! only think of that! the 
 black rascal pretended to have a conscience !) to engage 
 in the prosecution of my plan ; that it was cruel to sport 
 with the miseries of our fellow creatures; that it was 
 wicked to take advantage of the weaknesses and follies 
 of mankind; that our medicines would never do good, 
 and might do much harm; that we should prevent the 
 afflicted from applying to those who might be able to 
 afford them relief; that we should destroy the constitu- 
 tions of the healthy, and hurry the feeble out of the 
 world when they might otherwise have lived for years — 
 "What," cried I, "Quassia, are you mad? Is it not a law 
 of nature that the strong should prey upon the weak? 
 that the tiger should lie in wait for the stag? and that 
 the great fishes should devour the small? Dear Quassia, 
 only think of that all destroying animal, man; does he 
 not make a prey of every creature that is subject to his 
 power? But you must know that men not only take ad- 
 vantage of the weakness of all inferior animals; but of 
 the frailties and misfortunes of their own species. Only 
 look through the world and see how they delude, destroy 
 and tyrannize over each other. There is no right but 
 might; there is no law but power." Thus I attempted 
 to reason with him; but in vain. He was stubborn as a 
 mule; and I was obliged to dismiss him. 
 
 Since that time I have never attempted to renew my 
 
u 
 
 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 project until the present moment. You, Piomingo, are 
 advanced in years and consequently know the world. 
 Let us join our forces and go forth to battle. We are 
 sure of victory; and great will be the spoil. 
 I have the honor to be &c. 
 
 Epiiraim Headwork. 
 
 We were struck dumb with astonishment at the im- 
 pudence of the scoundrel in making such a proposal to 
 us. In the first transports of our fury we started up with 
 a full determination to search him out and offer him up 
 as a sacrifice to our insulted honor; but reflection soon 
 showed us the folly of our passion. There was no great 
 probability that we could find him; and if we should, 
 very possibly we might not be able to chastise him. We 
 therefore calmed our agitated spirits, and resolved to 
 rest satisfied with exposing to the world the projects of 
 Mr. Headwork; and this we have fully done by publish- 
 ing his letter. 
 
 The epistle, we have had the honor of receiving, 
 sheds a blaze of light on a subject which, before, ap- 
 peared to us to be involved in the greatest obscurity. 
 We had long observed advertisements in the public pa- 
 pers which announced infallible remedies for every'dis- 
 ease. Cures innumerable, authenticated by the most 
 respectable names, demanded our implicit belief: yet 
 still we heard the frequent tolling of the bells, which 
 proclaimed the daily departure of souls, and we met in 
 the streets the melancholy hearse which conveyed the 
 lifeless body to the grave ! We were amazed at the ob- 
 stinacy of the people. Why should they die, when 
 health and life courted their acceptance? Ephraim 
 Headwork's letter has explained the mystery. 
 
 But is it not strange that an enlightened and civilized 
 people should suffer themselves to be deluded, in a mat- 
 ter of such consequence, by every arrogant pretender? 
 When a watch or any other machine of the like na- 
 ture is damaged by any casualty, it is sent to some skil- 
 ful mechanic who understands its structure, and is there- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 65 
 
 fore qualified to rectify that which iswrcng: and when 
 the human body, a most complex piece of machinery, 
 becomes deranged in its parts, or disordered in its oper- 
 ations, how can we expect to have it regulated by the 
 hand of daring and unprincipled ignorance? 
 
 A multitude of laws is one of the distinguishing cha- 
 racteristics of civilization: why then are there no laws 
 against quackery? Shall property be protected by in- 
 numerable statutes, and life and health be left at the 
 mercy of every one who has the hardihood to assert 
 and persist in a falsehood? 
 
 The following pieces, to wit: — " What is Truth '/" "De- 
 sire of distinction'' and "Theology" should have been in- 
 serted in the first number. But they were torn from the 
 copy of the work with which the printing of this edition* 
 was commenced, and we were unable to procure an- 
 other, until it was too late to insert them in their proper 
 order. The reader, however, will see that this trans- 
 position is unimportant, as the pieces are not connected 
 with any others. Publisher. 
 
 WHAT IS TRUTH! 
 
 What is truth? This inquiry has been made by thou- 
 sands in all ages o( the world, yet still remains unan- 
 swered. We have neither discovered what it is, nor 
 where it may be found. Some of the ancients went down 
 to look for this jewel in the bowels of the earth. They 
 said that truth was at the bottom of a well, probably to 
 signify that it was acquired by immense labor and with 
 great difficulty. These philosophers have thought pro- 
 per to bring up truth from the shades; but a much more 
 numerous class has deduced its origin from above. Was 
 it the angel Gabriel that brought down the leaves of 
 the koran for the illustrious Mohammed? These were 
 •aid to contain the very quintescence of truth, and 
 F2 
 
66 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 teach every thing that was necessary to be known by 
 the children of men. 
 
 How many gods, and how many goddesses, at differ- 
 ent times, have left the starry pavement of the celestial 
 regions and come down for our instruction and enter- 
 tainment? Among the Greeks and among the Romans, 
 how many sages caught inspiration! how many sibyls 
 uttered the oracles of the divinity! Yet, notwithstand- 
 ing all the benevolent exertions of gods and demi-gods, 
 heroes and sages, we still remained enveloped in thick 
 darkness until the "dayspring from on high" shed its 
 
 effulgence on earth and even yet we grope through 
 
 a darkness that may be felt; we wander cheerlessly 
 through the "valley of the shadow of death" where no 
 one can afford us assistance. 
 
 What is truth? and where can it be found? The che- 
 mist expectsHo rind it in his crucible; the mathemati- 
 cian sees it in a triangle, a circle, or a parallelogram; 
 and the metaphysician discovers it in the eternal fitness 
 of things. 
 
 Great was the search, some hundred years ago, for 
 the philosopher's stone, for the alkahest, and lor the 
 elixir of life; but some sceptics assert that there is no 
 philosopher's stone, no alkahest, no elixir of life. 
 
 Some have drawn a comparison between these alche- 
 mists and the investigators of truth: they assert there 
 is no truth in a well; they aver that it is not to be found 
 in the crucible q( the chemist; and they pronounce, 
 without hesitation, that there is no such thing as a cir- 
 cle, a triangle, or a parallelogram in nature. They say 
 that when we follow truth we pursue a phantom of the 
 imagination, and are led away by an ignis fatuus which 
 will entice us forward to swamps of difficulty, to a re- 
 gion of doubts and a land of shadows. They tell us 
 that the theory of the metaphysician is equally erro- 
 neous; that there is no eternal fitness of things; that 
 there is nothing but discordance and opposition in rebus 
 naturae. 
 
 When tired with this sceptical philosophy, we may 
 
THE SAVAGE. 67 
 
 listen to the precepts of another not less gloomy. Truth, 
 they say, may exist, hut is unworthy of* so much labor 
 and fatigue. There mny he such a thing as the philo- 
 sopher's slone — as a universal dissolvent — as tiic elixir 
 of immortality; but the discovery would be productive 
 of the most serious consequences in the great economy 
 of nat'/re. Let us amuse ourselves, say they, with the 
 pleasing delusions of life, and not lose our time in search- 
 ing after realities. Nature has hung out a thousand 
 painted deceptions to hide from our eyes the real nature 
 of things. Is not this a sufficient intimation that that 
 which is concealed is disagreeable? Is there any such 
 thing as colors inherent in bodies? yet without this pleas- 
 ing illusion, what a world of deformity should we have! 
 Nature is the very grave of abomination. Well: tear 
 down the wall of the whited sepulchre, and within you 
 will rind — "rottenness and dead men's bones." O! ye 
 creatures of the moment, let us dance after the rainbow 
 of hope, and revel in the light and airy fields of imagin- 
 ation. Let us skim lightly over the surface of nature; the 
 flowers grow on the surface; and honey may be extracted 
 from flowers. Let us be content with the trimming-, the 
 colorings, the hangings that immediately meet the eye: 
 they are designed to conceal the gloomy walls of our 
 apartment. 
 
 Let us look back upon our past lives and examine our 
 own minds (hat we may see if there be not more happi- 
 ness in error than in reality. Which have be^n our hap- 
 piest moments? those, in which we have searched suc- 
 cessfully into the nature of things? those, in which the 
 light of truth lias beamed upon our heads, and enabled 
 us to discover, with precision, the surrounding objects? 
 I am afraid that the result of our investigation will be, 
 that our days of bliss were days of ignorance; and we 
 shall be led to conclude, with the preacher, that in 
 "much knowledge there is much grief." Should we not 
 rather endeavor to multiply these happy delusions than 
 to clear them away? If light discover nothing but"sights 
 of wo," had we not better remain in darkness? My sick 
 
68 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 brother is asleep; he dreams of light, life and joy. I see 
 a smile on his countenance. Shall I awake him to a life 
 of misery, sorrow and pain? Or shall I not rather re- 
 move every intruding noise, darken the windows, and 
 leave him to repose? 
 
 Children are happy : and were men content to remain 
 children through life, they might be happy also. But 
 when they become infatuated with the desire of know- 
 ledge, and, with a daring hand, attempt to remove the 
 veil with which nature has thought proper to cover the 
 ark which contains her secrets, their happiness is blight- 
 ed. Foolish men! to break the glasses through which 
 their mothers and nurses were content to receive the rays 
 of knowledge! Foolish men! to soar with waxen wing? 
 above the atmosphere of prejudice which surrounds the 
 dwellings of their fathers! Render not, O ye sons of men, 
 the common occurrences of life insipid, by your folly, 
 which you are pleased to d igni fy with the name of wisdom. 
 
 Be as other men. Seize the rattle of folly; dance to 
 the piping of a giddy multitude; write treatises con- 
 cerning eternity in the sand; build pyramids of snow 
 to immortalize your names; erect dams with gray haired 
 children in the mountain torrent; and sport with your 
 brother insects in the sunbeams of the evening. — But 
 should truth present her flambeau to your eyes — the 
 illusion is gone — the "painted clouds that beautify our 
 days" are vanished; and — great God! what a waste — 
 "dark dismal wild" — appears! What a chaos of forms 
 without reality! What myriads of shadows, without 
 substance, fleet through a universe of nonentities! 
 
 Fiction is lovely; O ye sons of men, rejoice in her 
 smiles: but fly from the chambers of Truth; she is a 
 gorgon, a hydra, a fury! — 
 
 What shall we say, when we hear the various opinions 
 of men on these subjects? What shall we do, but mourn 
 over the folly, the imbecility, the insanity of man! 
 
THE SAVAGE. 69 
 
 DESIRE OF DISTINCTION. 
 
 The desire of distinction is so strong in the human 
 mind, that men lay hold of any thing however insigni- 
 ficant (hat may render them conspicuous. Is a man, by 
 some accidentia few inches taller than another; you may 
 immediately perceive that he values himself on his tow- 
 ering figure. Is he well set, and possessed of brawny 
 limbs; you will find him anxiously contending for pre- 
 eminence by measuring round the breast or taking the 
 circumference of the thigb, with his athletic competitors. 
 
 I cannot remember of having observed any of these 
 candidates for fame who were desirous of the distinction 
 arising from the prominence of their bellies; yet nothing 
 is more common than to hear a man boast of having 
 swallowed so many oysters, eaten so many eggs, de- 
 voured so many pounds of beef steaks, &c. What honor 
 do these idiots expect to derive from the strength of 
 their stomachs or the capacity of their paunches? 
 
 Why, they hope to have it said in some tavern or 
 beerhouse that "John Gormand is the damnedest fellow 
 to eat that ever lived. He demolished, the other day, at 
 the sign of the Mousetrap, a whole round of beef, eatten 
 dozen of oysters, ten dozen of eggs, five pound of cheese, 
 drank a gallon of beer, and then refused to pay 25 cents 
 for his dinner, because there was not a sufliciency of 
 provisions." 
 
 I knew two graziers to lay a very considerable bet on 
 who could eat the most lobster. Both eat till they could 
 not walk and then left the matter undetermined. The 
 gentlemen were wealthy: they did not gormandize for 
 the money that was betted, but for the sake of an in* 
 mortal name. Such men appear determined to deprive 
 "Robin a Bobbin the Bigbellied Hen" of his long es- 
 tablished superiority: of whose exploits, in this way, it 
 is recorded in heroic verse that "he would eat more than 
 threescore men;" that 
 
 "A cow and a calf, 
 An ox and a half, 
 
70 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Was Robin a Bobbin's morning bit." 
 
 And afterwards, it is sublimely added, that 
 
 u He licked the ladle, anil swallowed the spoon, 
 And was not full when all was done." 
 
 There are others, who are scarcely less deserving of a 
 statue than those last mentioned, who plume themselves 
 on having drunk bottles of brandy, decanted dozens of 
 madeira, and swilled oceans of port. Such heroes shall 
 have a niche in the Temple of Fame, about to be es- 
 tablisheh under the direction of the savage Piomingo. 
 
 THEOLOGY. 
 
 The ancient Greeks and Romans worshipped a multi- 
 tude of gods: the heavens, the earth, and hades swarm- 
 ed with innumerable divinities. All the virtues and vices 
 of humanity, and all the operations of nature, were un- 
 der the direction of superintending deities: and these 
 gods being unaccountably prolific, there was no space 
 left in nature that did not teem with their progeny. The 
 progress of science and the light of the gospel have con- 
 tributed to lessen the number of immortals. Jupiter has 
 forsaken the Capitol, the thunder has been wrested from 
 his hand, and the father of gods and men is forgotten. 
 Neptune has lost the dominion of the waves, and Pluto, 
 the empire of the shades. The sun is no longer in the 
 chariot of Apollo, nor the moon under the regency of 
 his sister. Paphos and Cyprus are deserted by Venus, 
 and Samos and Argos by Juno. Mercury has lost his 
 wand, and Pallas her egis. Etna and Lemnos remain; 
 but where is the blacksmith of Jupiter? The wind raises 
 the waves without the assistanceof Eolus, and the storm 
 is calmed without the interference of Neptune. Bac- 
 chus is deprived of his thyrsis, and the mysteries of 
 Ceres are secure from profanation. Thetis and the ne- 
 reids are no more; we hear not the shell of the tritons. 
 The dryads and hamadryads have forsaken the woods, 
 and the naiads deserted the fountains. Hippocrene is 
 
THE SAVAGE. 71 
 
 dry; the muses have escaped to heaven. The shepherds 
 have lost the protection of Pan, and the orchards the 
 care of Pomona. Priapus has ceased to "fray away*' the 
 birds,or interrupt the incantation of witches. No longer 
 
 '•Satyrs and sylvan boys are seen, 
 Peeping from fortli their alleys green." 
 
 The harpies are expelled from their kingdom; and the 
 sirens have ceased to practice their allurements. 
 
 Charon has been shipwrecked in the Styx; Ccberus 
 has been deprived ot his heads; and the snakes have 
 been taken from the furies. Minos is no longer judge; 
 Phlcgcthon has ceased to burn; and the frogs of hell 
 have desisted from croaking. The wheel of Ixion re- 
 volves no longer; the Danaides have filled their urns; 
 and Sisyphus rests from his labors. The pythia is not 
 forced to the tripod; the cave of Trophoni us is neglected; 
 and the smoke of the sacrifice has ceased to ascend. — 
 Where is the oak of Dodona? where arc the sibyls of 
 Cuma? 
 
 But there is one of the ancient divinities who has 
 maintained his situation in opposition to the efforts of 
 philosophy and the benign influence of the gospel. He 
 is worshipped with more sincere devotion at this day, 
 than he has been at any former period. His temples 
 are crowded from morning until evening by humble vo- 
 taries of all sexes and ages. They do not serve him 
 with "mere lip service;" for they have "his law written 
 in their hearts." He is not the true God: yet they adore 
 him "with all their heart, and with all their soul, and 
 with all their strength, and with all their mind." They 
 offer up at his shrine, as freewill offerings, every thing 
 that is precious and valuable. He is not Moloch ; yet they 
 make their children pass through the fire for his sake. 
 
 He is a very old god, and has performed innumerable 
 exploits of the most heroic kind. A thousand volumes, 
 in folio, would not be sufficient to contain the thousandth 
 part of the wonders he has effected. What are the la- 
 bors of Hercules, the feats of Samson, the wars of the 
 giants, the building of pyramids, the turning aside of 
 
72 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 rivers, and removing mountains? What are such trifles 
 as these when compared with the stupendous operations 
 of the god of the civilized world? 
 
 Question: Who is he? 
 
 Answer: He was worshipped by the children of Is- 
 rael in the wilderness, when Moses tarried so long in 
 the mount. Do you know him? 
 
 There arc not seven thousand in the United States, 
 who have not bowed the knee to this Baal of the mo- 
 derns, and whose lips have not kissed him. By the an- 
 cients he was called Plutus; in heaven, he is not known; 
 and on earth, he is yclept The Mammon of unrighteous- 
 ness. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. VI. 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 It has already been proved, that the direct tendency 
 of what is called civilization is to create and perpetuate 
 a disparity among men; and, that as civilization progresses 
 the number of the refined is diminished and that of the 
 debased and degraded part of the community increased 
 in the like proportion. The great majority of the people, 
 therefore, never become sharers in this refinement 
 which is so highly eulogized by authors who understand 
 not the subject they have undertaken to discuss. They 
 have said much in favor of the diffusion of knowledge; 
 but knowledge can never be generally diffused under the 
 present constitution of society. How can* men acquire 
 knowledge who are condemned, by their necessities, to 
 neverending labor? Much may be said in favor of those 
 arts which humanize the mind, and soften the ferocious 
 passions of man; but it is not considered that this hu- 
 manized and softened being requires the assistance and 
 servitude of a dozen beings, who are brutalized and de- 
 graded in the same proportion that he is refined and 
 exalted. 
 
 Hereafter we will endeavor to form a proper estimate 
 
THE SAVAGE, 
 
 of the enjoyments of the polished luxurious man who 
 requires that others should be miserable and wretched 
 that he may become splendid and great: at present we 
 will confine our ideas to that immense majority of man- 
 kind, the laboring poor. 
 
 Are they virtuous? 
 
 When a man of this description becomes capable of 
 reflection, he immediately perceives the disadvantages 
 :>f his situation : there are privileges to which he must not 
 ispire; there are enjoyments of which he must not par- 
 take. He linds himself necessitated to labor continually 
 for a wretched subsistence, while others enjoy leisure, 
 amusement and pleasure without any exerton of their 
 )wn. These circnmstances have a natural tendency to 
 -our and imbitter his mind. Envy and malignity take 
 up their residence in his heart; but as he sees no op- 
 portunity of improving his situation, he becomes as stu- 
 pid as an "ass couching down between two burdens." 
 He is despised by the world; and he despises himself. 
 When he sees that he is utterly contemptible in the 
 estimation of others, how is it possible that he should 
 yaule himself, or retain any.ideaof personal importance 
 Dr dignity of character? It is not possible. 
 
 Honoris a powerful incentive to virtuous actions; but 
 
 :ionor has no influnce with the wretch that I describe. 
 
 Shame, in certain societies, will prevent a man from 
 
 falling into vitious pursuits ; but shame has no power over 
 
 victim of relinemert. He is already contemptible, 
 
 -led, miserable: what more can he fear? 
 
 When you have destroyed, by your boasted civiliza- 
 tion, every motive to virtue, and every preventive of 
 vice, in the great body of the people, do you notwith- 
 standing, expect to find them virtuous? We will under- 
 take to say, that you are very unreasonable in your ex- 
 pectations; and that you will most assuredly be disap- 
 pointed. We assert with cnfidence that the great body 
 of the poor, in every civilized society, are not only de- 
 graded but wicked and malignant. Whence arises the 
 multiplicity of your laws, but from the multitude of crimes 
 G 
 
74 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 that are found in the mass of the community? They are 
 necessarily vitious, yet the circumstances of society re- 
 quire that they should be punished. And all this collec- 
 tion of miseries and crimes is created and supported by 
 the sickly and effeminate refinement of a few, who have 
 deserted nature and sought out for themselves factitious 
 and enervating enjoyments, at the expense of the virtue 
 and happiness of millions of their species. 
 
 Those who will not take time to reflect, may suppose 
 that we exaggerate when we affirm that the indigent 
 man is compelled by the circumstances of his situation 
 to practise continual dissimulation. He dare not, he can- 
 not, approach his superior with the easy confidence of 
 virtue. He must not speak what is true, but what he 
 supposes will be agreeable. His neighbor is rich and con- 
 sequently powerful; he must therefore, as far as he is 
 able, endeavor to countervail this ascendency, by flat- 
 tery and dissimulation. He asks justice as a favor, and 
 begs the contemptible pittance he receives for his labor 
 with the whining tone of a mendicant. 
 
 There is no object in nature so disgusting as to see 
 one man crawling to and fawning on another. We may 
 pity the base grovelling wretch, but we must and do de- 
 spise him. Can this creature be virtuous? He may be 
 deterred from atrocious crimes by the terrors of the law; 
 but his mind is necessarily and radically depraved. 
 
 The necessity that the indigent man is under, of re- 
 ceiving favors from the hand of opulence, humbles and 
 enervates the mind. One man may safely receive benefits 
 from another if he have it in his power to make a suitable 
 return; but the moment he incurs an obligation from 
 which he cannot disengage himself at pleasure, that mo- 
 ment he becomes a slave. His mind is brought into thral- 
 dom, and his soul is obliged to acknowledge a master. 
 The supposed benefactor may insult him with impunity. 
 He can turn neither to the right hand nor to the left 
 without sullying the purity of his virtue. If he should 
 resent an injury, he is ungratetul ; if he submit in silence, 
 it is imputed to baseness and cowardice of spirit. And 
 
THE SAVAGE. t *) 
 
 rv thing poverty receives from wealth is accounted a 
 favor. If we lend a rich man a few dollars, it is consider- 
 ed merely as an act of common courtesy, and we think 
 of it no more: but if we lend half the sum to a man who 
 want; what then? Why we conceive that we lay 
 him under an eternal obligation: and should he ever after 
 refuse to comply with our demands, however unjust or 
 unreasonable, we publish to the world his baseness and 
 ingratitude, and extol to the skies our own humanity and 
 beneficence. 
 
 Should an indigent neighbor pass through our field 
 and accidentally do some slight damage to our property; 
 if we do not prosecute him for a trespass, we are loud 
 in the praise of our own lenity and forbearance: but if 
 the trespasser be opulent, though the damage be much 
 greater, we are pleased that he has presumed upon our 
 good nature, and thank him for the liberty he has taken. 
 
 Does a person of figure and genteel address accost us 
 in the street and desire some information concerning a 
 neighboring church or other public building, we attend 
 to his requests with the utmost complaisance, and are 
 highly gratified that he should think us worthy to be his 
 intelligencer; but should a ragged miserable mortal have 
 the assurance to make the same demand, we are aston- 
 ished at his effrontery, and pass him with a glance of 
 the most sovereign contempt — or, admitting that we had 
 just risen from dinner, where we had eaten and drunk 
 freely, and consequently were in that happy disposition 
 of mind which renders us averse to every species of 
 contention — if, from all these causes, we should return 
 a kindly and condescending answer, we would admire our 
 own politeness and urbanity, and conceive the poor de- 
 vil to be under infinite obligations to our good nature. 
 
 Now, how can a man who is continually receiving fa- 
 vors, and feels the impossibility of making suitable re- 
 turns, maintain a proper degree of self respect? And 
 the man who has no respect for himself will be careh ss 
 in the performance of duties that have no immediate 
 connexion with his interest. 
 
76 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 From such considerations as the foregoing we deduce 
 the conclusion, that the progress of civilization is unfa- 
 vorable to the practice of virtue, because it places an 
 immense majority of the human race in a situation 
 which renders them incapable of virtuous exertions — 
 in a situation where they are almost inevitably com- 
 pelled to become villous. [To he continued.'] 
 
 JUSTICE. 
 
 We have somewhere read of a people who asked no- 
 thing, in their prayers to the gods, but justice. In this 
 they appear to have done wisely: for, had they asked for 
 any thing else, can it be supposed that their requests 
 would have been granted? 
 
 Justice is the perfection of virtue: it may be sup- 
 posed to arise from the relation all created beings bear 
 to each other and to their creator. From all these rela- 
 tions there originate certain rights: Whoever acts in 
 conformity with these, acts justly; but whoever violates 
 them, acts unjustly. 
 
 Ovid says that the goddess of justice has deserted the 
 earth; and we believe he is correct in the assertion: 
 
 Virgo casde madentes 
 
 ■ Ultima crelestum terras Astrrra reliquit. 
 
 However, we are inclined to believe that she was the 
 first, and not the last, of the celestials who deserted the 
 earth and winged their flight to the etherial regions. 
 One thing is certain: she is not here. 
 
 There is a strange Protean being who has usurped her 
 name, but possesses none of her qualities, found among 
 us. This pseudo-justice is extremely accommodating 
 to the weaknesses and passions, but most of all to the 
 interests of men. She studies what will be accounted 
 the interest of a nation, or of an individual ; and she says 
 to that nation, or that individual, this is justice. There is 
 one thing observable in her conduct: she always adheres 
 to the strongest side. She is a friend to good order and 
 regular government as long as government is able to 
 support itself: but the moment that its weakness is dis- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 77 
 
 covered, she ranges herself on the side of anarchy and 
 confusion* She assisted at the massacre of the whites 
 in St. Domingo, and is an advocate for the slave trade 
 in Jamaica. In Russia she speaks in favor of despotism; 
 in England she advocates the dominion of the seas; and 
 in France she brings the crowns of the sovereigns of 
 rope and lays them at the feet of Napoleon. She is n 
 nice observer of times, places and circumstances. She is 
 a mahometan, a christian, a pagan, a catholic, a protes- 
 tant, a royalist, a republican, a jacobin, an imperialist, 
 as the power shifts from the hands of one party to those 
 of the other. She worships the rising sun, observes the 
 rourse of the wind, and was never known to row against 
 ihe tide. 
 
 THE GRAVE. 
 
 When Diogenes was about to die, he was asked what 
 should be done with his body. The cynic ordered it to 
 be carried out and left unburied in the fields. "What," 
 said his friends, "shall it be left exposed as a prey to the 
 birds and wild beasts?" "Lay a staff near me," replied 
 the dying philosopher, "with which I may drive them 
 away." "How can you drive them away," demanded his 
 friends, "since you will not perceive them?" "What 
 harm can they do me," said Diogenes, "if when they 
 devour my flesh, I do not perceive them?" 
 
 If Diogenes cared as little about the disposal of his 
 body after death as his words indicate, he had divested 
 himself of a very general weakness; for the most of men 
 show an uncommon solicitude on this subject. Some de- 
 sire to be buried in consecrated ground, supposing, no 
 doubt, that evil spirits will be afraid to disturb them with- 
 in the precincts of the sanctuary. Possibly they desire 
 to rest among the saints, that they may have good com- 
 pany in the grave; or at least may be found among the 
 righteous at the general resurrection. We have some 
 times supposed that they were apprehensive that they 
 might be overlooked by the eye of the Eternal, at the 
 G2 
 
78 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 great day, if they were deposited in any other place 
 than a churchyard. 
 
 The greater part of mankind express a wish to be bu- 
 ried near their relations or friends. This desire is very 
 general, and, we had almost said, natural; but the man 
 who has experienced the perfidy of friends and the cold- 
 ness of relations, would rather be buried in the desert or 
 cast into the ocean. The ancient Jews, who appear to 
 have had very faint ideas of a future state,found a strange 
 consolation in going down to the grave in peace and 
 sleeping^with their fathers. 
 
 Socrates declared it to be a matter of indifference to 
 himhow theydisposedof his body. Another philosopher, 
 being told in a threatening tone by a tyrant, that he 
 should remain unburied, replied, "Fool ! do you suppose 
 that I care whether this body rot above ground or be- 
 low ?" Reason, indeed, informs us all, that it is a matter 
 of no consequence what becomes of the body when the 
 spirit has departed; but we have been so long in the 
 habitof connectinglife and feeling with the human frame, 
 that we can hardly be led to suppose that the carcass is 
 totally destitute of sensation. The custom of digging 
 a deep pit for the reception of the dead, and leaving 
 them as a prey for worms and corruption is excessively 
 disagreeable: the practice of burning the body was much 
 more decent, and had not a tendency to awaken so many 
 gloomy and loathsome ideas. The urn containing the 
 ashes of a deceased relative might be deposited in our 
 chamber to remind us continually of the virtues of the 
 -departed, and of the friendship that had subsisted be- 
 tween us. Who would not rather that his flesh should 
 beconsumed by the action of fire, than undergo an abom- 
 inable fermentation in the grave? Who would not 
 rather his body should be purified by the flames, than 
 become the parent and the nourishment of worms ? Who 
 would not rather ascend in smoke to the clouds, than 
 become an inhabitant of darkness and the grave? Who 
 would not rather be scattered by the four winds of hea- 
 ven than say "to corruption thou art my father and to 
 the worm thou art my sister and my mother?" 
 
THE SAVAGE. 79 
 
 THE STAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 One poet has said that 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players; 
 They have their exits and their entrances; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 
 And another has said, in an imperative style, 
 
 Act well youc part, there all the honor lies. 
 
 Does he mean by this that there is as much honor in 
 acting well in an inferior station as in a superior? Pope 
 was inspired, no doubt, and therefore we might expect 
 him to speak the truth; but we have read of "an evil 
 spirit from the Lord," and of "a lying spirit in the mouth 
 of all the prophets," and we conclude that Pope must 
 have been troubled by one or both of these. 
 
 We agree that the world may be considered as a stage ; 
 but we deny that honor is to be gained by performing 
 well an inferior part. He who enacts a principal charac- 
 ter, if he sustain his part with dignity and propriety, 
 may expect to be rewarded by the plaudits of the au- 
 dience ; but who will applaud the industrious and diligent 
 exertionsoftheprompter,scene-shifter,orcandle-snuifer? 
 The actor who struts his hour in the character of Othel- 
 lo, Macbeth, or Richard the third, receives an honorary 
 as well as a pecuniary recompense ; but the call-boy and 
 lamp-lighter, however perfect in their par*s, can gain 
 nothing but the stipulated hire. Should any thing go 
 wrong through their mismanagement, they may be sa- 
 luted by a hiss; but the thundering voice of applause 
 never awakens their love of glory, or rewards the punc- 
 tual discharge of their servile occupations. 
 
 So it is in life: an Alexander and a Cesar, a Brutus 
 and a Cato, a Trajan and an Antonine, perform their 
 parts on the wide theatre of the world, in the sight of 
 admiring nations, who arc ever ready to raise the song 
 of triumph and sing hosannas to the great. Who would 
 not be a hero, when encouraged by the hopes of such a 
 reward? Who would not press forward in the race, when 
 a crown of glory is in view? Who would not encounter 
 death, for everlasting fame? 
 
80 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 The obscure individual can have no such motives. 
 He is compelled to tread the ensanguined field, to mount 
 the deadly breach, and face the roaring cannon. If he 
 conquer, he is despised; if he die, he is forgotten. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 When five or six men are together, it is curious to ob- 
 serve the anxiety every one has to speak. No one 
 wishes to hear: all he desires is an auditor. Rather than 
 defer telling their respective stories, they frequently all 
 speak at the same time. 
 
 Every one has a subject of his own that he wishes to 
 introduce ; therefore he is miserable until he has an oppor- 
 tunity to drag it in. One is desirous to discuss some re- 
 ligious subject; another would engage in a political dis- 
 quisition. One would talk of the price of stocks; and 
 another would expatiate on the merits of a favorite horse. 
 The glass circulates, and the confusion becomes general. 
 
 The Tower of Babel would be an excellent sign for 
 a modern tavern. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. VIT. 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Was itPlato who said that "the more we live for other«« 
 the more we live for ourselves?" Whether it were Plato 
 or another, the sentiment appears to be founded on a 
 critical acquaintance with human nature. Those emo- 
 tions that carry us out of ourselves and interest us in the 
 concerns of others, are productive of infinitely higher 
 degrees of happiness than a ny personal gratifications can 
 possibly be. Those affections of the mind which are de- 
 nominated benevolence and humanity may be considered 
 as emanations of the divine nature. They make us for- 
 get, in a moment, all those paltry avocations that occupy 
 our days with labor and our nights with thought. They 
 suppress the cold calculations of prudence, the gloomy 
 forebodings of care, the aspiring meditations of ambi- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 81 
 
 tion, and the bewitching delusions of pleasure. They 
 cany us away, above the clouds of mortality, to the third 
 heaven of delight, where .we experience pleasures not 
 to be described, and joys too mighty for our nature. We 
 breathe the air of the celestial regions: the earth and 
 all its evils, sickness, pain, sorrow, and death are forgot- 
 . The ecstacy is short: but, for a moment, we seem 
 to have found what has been so long and so earnestly 
 desired by men — happiness. We are, like Moses, in the 
 ••cleft of the rock" — the glory of the Lord passes by; 
 and we get a glimpse of its brightness. God of nature! 
 remove thy hand, and let the vision destroy us! 
 
 Perfect happiness, if such a thing be designed for 
 man, is reserved for a future state, when we shall be put 
 in possession of the great goou — when we shall forget 
 ourselves in the contemplation of the Author of our ex- 
 istence; but that qualified imperfect kind of felicity, 
 which we are permitted V) taste,'m this feverish state of 
 existence, seems to consist in the exercise of the benevo- 
 lent affections: and we are led to conclude with the 
 author above mentioned that "the more we live for 
 others, the more we live for ourselves." 
 
 The earth is full of misery. We are weary travellers 
 in a strange land. Our path is narrow, and we are griev- 
 ously incommoded by the thorns and briers and thistles 
 that obstruct our passage. 
 
 • Thick darkness is behind us: we know whence we 
 came. 
 
 Heavy clouds hang over us: we are appalled by the 
 voice of the thunder and terrified by the glare of the 
 lightning. 
 
 We hear, on each side, the noise of mighty waters, the 
 howling of wild beasts in the desert, and the rushing of 
 the blast through the trees of the forest. Strange forms 
 pass by us. The air is troubled with meteors: we cannot 
 understand them. We are mocked with deceitful ap- 
 pearances. We drink; but our thirst is not allyed. We 
 are hungry: a tree >'fairtatheeyes" presents itstempting 
 fruit: we seize it with greediness, and— chezv bitter a. 
 
82 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 We are desirous of repose: a couch of roses is at hand; 
 and we lie down among serpents. As we proceed, we 
 meet an "angel of light', who holds out his hand to as- 
 sist us. We rejoice: but ere we are aware, 
 
 -black he stands as night, 
 
 Fierce as tea furies, terrible as hell, 
 And shakes a dreadful dart: 
 
 We start back with horror: a malignant laugh is heard 
 on the right hand and on the left, above and below. — 
 Spirits of darkness! what would ye? 
 
 Before us there is a tremendous precipice, to which 
 we know no bottom. We must make the dreadful 
 leap: and we know not whither we go. 
 
 Such is the situation of men. They are fellow travel- 
 lers and fellow sufferers in this wilderness which we have 
 attempted faintly to delineate. What can alleviate their 
 distresses, or lessen their difficulties? What can serve- 
 as a balm for their wounds, or an opiate for their cares? 
 The world has existed many thousands of years. One ge- 
 neration has passed away, and another has succeeded. 
 They have all been in the search of happiness. What 
 have they learned from the wisdom and experience of 
 ages? We should suppose that by this time they would 
 have discovered the delusive nature of pleasure, the vani- 
 ty of riches, and the misery of ambition. We should 
 have supposed that by this time they would have disco- 
 vered that the more we forget ourselves and become in- 
 terested for others, the more we promote Our own felicity. 
 They have the same common nature. Their hopes and 
 their fears are the same. They must know that evils 
 are lessened by sympathy; and that joy is heightened 
 by sharing it with others. By mutual assistance they 
 mightsmooth the rough path of life, surmount difficulties, 
 and avert innumerable dangers. Why then should they 
 continue to delude, afflict, and destroy each other? 
 
 "If we should betold^'saysthe abbe Barthelemi, "that 
 two strangers, cast by chance on a desert island, had 
 found in the society of each other a pleasure which in- 
 demnified them for being secluded from the rest of the 
 
THE SAVAGE. 83 
 
 world ; if we should be told there exists a family entirely 
 occupied in strengthening the tics of consanguinity by 
 the bands of friendship: if we should be told that there 
 exists, in some corner of the earth, a people who know 
 no other law than that of loving each other, nor any 
 other crime than that of being wanting in mutual affec- 
 tion; who would think of commiserating the lot of the 
 two shipwrecked friends? who would not wish to apper- 
 tain to that family ? who would not wish to fly to the most 
 distant clime to join that happy people?"' 
 
 If we may be permitted to judge of mankind from 
 our own feelings, we should instantly conclude that 
 there is not one man in ten thousand, who would not de- 
 sert, with joy approaching to rapture, the pleasures and 
 amusements of the world, and all the gay dreams of am- 
 bition, to appertain to such a family, or to become one of 
 such a people. If this be the case, it proves that there 
 is something divine in human nature which would point 
 out the path that conducts to happiness. To what then 
 are we to impute those artificial miseries, vices and follies, 
 which distress and debase the children of men? Why 
 should these creatures, whom God has endowed with a 
 portion of the divine mind, which is sometimes known to 
 elevate them above all sublunary cares, be miserable 
 from generation to generation? We feel confident that 
 we are right when we trace the cause to those barbarous 
 institutions of civilized society which cramp, brutalize 
 and distort the human mind. The farther men have 
 strayed from the plain paths of nature, the more vitiout 
 and the more wretched have they become. 
 
 Nearly all the evils that afflict the sons of men flow 
 from one source — wealth, or the appropriation of things 
 to individuals and to societies. Take away this mother 
 curse and all its cursed progeny, and the world would 
 be, comparatively speaking, a paradise! 
 
 Modern philosophers talk much of the advantages and 
 blessings which have flowed from commerce, from the 
 fine arts, from the diffusion of knowledge. They carry 
 their ideas forward to a time, when man will be refined, 
 
84 THE SAVACE. 
 
 polished and enlightened into a kind of terrestrial God, 
 who will have the powers of nature at his command. 
 
 One of these future sages is thus described by the 
 philosophic author of the Columbiad; but we are ap- 
 prehensive that there is more poetry in the passage than 
 any thing else. 
 
 The sage with steadier lights directs his ken, 
 Through twofold nature leads the walks of men, 
 Remolds her moral and material frames, 
 Their mutual aids, their sister laws proclaims. 
 Disease before him with its causes flies 
 And boasts no more of sickly soils and skies; 
 His well proved codes the healing science aid, 
 Its base establish and its blessings spread, 
 With long wrought life to teach the race to glow, 
 And vigorous nerves to grace the locks of snow. 
 
 From every shape that varying matter gives, 
 That rests or ripens, vegetates or li\ 
 
 Hischemic powers new combinations plan, 
 
 Yield new creations, finer forms to man, 
 
 High springs of health for mind and body trace. 
 
 Add force and beauty to the joyousVace, 
 
 Arm with new engines his adventurous hand, 
 
 Stretch o'er these elements his wide command. 
 
 Lay the proud storm submissive at his feet, 
 
 Change, temper, tame all subterranean heat, 
 
 Probe laboring earth and drag from her dark side 
 
 The young Volcano, ere his voice be tried; 
 
 Walk under ocean, ride the buoyant air, 
 
 Brew the soft shower, the labored land repair, 
 
 A fruitful soil o'er sandy deserts spread 
 
 And clothe with cultureevery mountain's head.— Collmb. e. 
 
 These same philosophers, when they look back to the 
 early ages, find man a miserable forlorn and wretched 
 being, exposed to every misfortune and addicted to every 
 vice. 
 
 Frail at first his frame, with nerves ill strung 
 
 Unformed his footsteps, long untoned his tongue, 
 
 Unhappy, unassociate, unrefined, 
 
 Unfledged the pinions of his lofty mind, 
 
 He wandered wild to every beast a prey, 
 
 More prest with wants and feebler far than they; 
 
 For countless ages forced from place to place, 
 
 Just reproduced but scarce preserved his race.— Collmb. e. 10. 
 
 We also can philosophize; but ours is a savage philoso- 
 phy. When we permit our fancy to carry us back to 
 the beginning of time, we think we can discover the 
 
THE SAVAGE. 85 
 
 golden age of the poets. Our savage reason makes the 
 best use it can of those glimmering lights that sparkle 
 through the long night of antiquity: and we discover, 
 or think we discover, a hardy race of longlived savages, 
 who gathered the fruits of the earth in peace, and placed 
 their happiness in mutual love. We do not think it un- 
 reasonahle to suppose that there may have been a time 
 resembling that described by Ovid. 
 
 Aurca prima sata est irtas, quae, vindice nullo, 
 Spopte sua, sine le<;'e, lutein rectumqueoole' at. 
 Poena metusque a' erant: nee vincla minacia collo 
 JEre li^a' auiiir: nee supplex turl a timebat 
 Judicis ora sui: sed erant sine jndice tuti. 
 Nonduni ea^sa suis, perigrinum ut viserot orbem, 
 Montilius, in liquidas pinus dcsrendeiat utidas: 
 Nullaque inortale?, piaster sua, littora norant. 
 Nonduin prascipites rinselant oppida fossae: 
 Non tuba directi, non a?ris rornua flexi, 
 Non galea;, non ensis erat; sine militia usu 
 Malta securio peraizehant otia gent*8. 
 
 And though the time may never have been when 
 "rivers of milk and rivers of nectar" flowed through the 
 plain, in any other way than the land of Canaan flowed 
 with milk and honey; yet, if ever there were a time 
 when men had not commenced the business of accumu- 
 lation; if ever there were a lime when the earth and its 
 fruits were common, when men were uninstructed in the 
 science of hoarding — that time was a golden age. 
 
 It isa tradition common toall nations,of which wehave 
 any knowledge, that these golden days have been : how, if 
 it be not founded on fact, did this tradition originate? 
 Poets may invent: but how en me the poets of all nations 
 to invent the same story? The flowery fictions of the 
 muses may compose a part of the body of the tale; but 
 we feel inclined to believe that there are certain stamina 
 of fact, which are common to the traditions of all the 
 different nations. 
 
 The Indian sage mourns over the depravity of his na- 
 tion, and speaks with regret of the days of brotherlr 
 love that are past: the days when a portion of the holy 
 fire warmed the breast of every warrior, and the beloved 
 speech was in the mouth of every prophet. 
 
86 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 The account given by Moses, of the early ages, cor- 
 roborates our ideas on this subject. He does not describe 
 those antediluvian patriarchs as weak, timid, miserable 
 mortals, with bodies frail, and"nervesill strung." No: we 
 conceive that Cainan, Mahaleel, Jared and Methuselah 
 must have exceeded the men of the present day as much 
 in bodily strength as they did in the number of their years. 
 
 It is also a tradition common to all nations that in 
 former days there were giants upon the earth: such was 
 the opinion of the Greeks and Romans: and such was the 
 opinion of the Jews. And it was also the opinion of the 
 ancients that their heroes or mighty men were descended 
 from the gods: and this notion seems not to have been 
 peculiar to the Greeks and Romans ; for Moses, if we un- 
 derstand him aright, gives it the weight of his testimony 
 when he says, "the sons of God saw the daughters of 
 men that they were fair; and they took them wives of 
 all which they chose ..... There were giants in the 
 earth in those days: and also, after that, when the sons 
 of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare 
 children to them, the same became mighty men which 
 were of old men of renown." In fine, guided by the feeble 
 lights that antiquity affords, and by our own observation 
 of the enervating nature of luxury, we give it as our can- 
 did opinion, that the men of the early ages were infinite- 
 ly superior to those of the present day. They might 
 worship the sun and moon and hear the voice of God in 
 the thunder; but there is no reason to suppose that they 
 trembled in the presence of the lion, or dreaded the ap- 
 proach of the tiger. No: it is owing to civilization, lux- 
 ury, and refinement, that they are become inferior, in 
 bodily importance, to the beasts of the desert; that they 
 find it necessary to have recourse to the mean arts of 
 cunning and dissimulation in all their enterprises against 
 the brutal creation. 
 
 We should be happy to look forward,to the blissful period 
 which is beautifully described by the philosophic poet: 
 
 Green swell the mountains, calm the ocean roll, 
 Fresh beams of beauty kindle round the pole; 
 
TIIE SAVAGE. 87 
 
 Through all the range where shores and seas extend, 
 
 In tenfold pomp the works of peace ascend. 
 
 Rolied in the bloom of spring's eternal year, 
 
 And ripe with fruits tne same glad fields appear; 
 
 O'er hills and vales perennial gardens run, 
 
 Cities unwalled stand sparkling to the sun; 
 
 The streams all freighted from the bounteous plain 
 
 Swell wiU^he load and labor to the main.— Cou.hb. b. 1'). 
 
 Bat, as we are no poet, when we would dart forward 
 on the wings of our imagination, oir flight is impeded 
 by certain prosaic obstacles, which we find it difficult to 
 remove. If we understand the poet rightly, all this hap- 
 piness is to be brought about by the operation ofcommerce, 
 civilization, refinement, &c. but we have already proved 
 that the tendency of these things is to produce luxury, 
 corruption, vice, and misery. Here we are at a full stand. 
 The foundation of the building is gone: and the super- 
 structure must dissolve into thin air. 
 
 In this future world of blessedness^ which is so ele- 
 gantly delineated, we find that men are to dwell in pa- 
 laces: now, whenever men inhabit palaces, they must 
 have slaves, drudges, brutal bipeds, to support their dig- 
 nity. And as the poet raises, to "tenfold pomp," the 
 gay description, our savage eye discovers new scenes of 
 misery and wide extended wretchedness! 
 
 Cities unwalled stand sparkling to the sun! 
 
 A pleasant sight truly! but in our mind it awakens dis- 
 agreeable ideas. We overlook the sparkling walls and 
 glittering roofs,and inquire for the labor which created 
 and sustains this extravagant splendor. Where are the 
 crowds of menials, who wait on the luxurious philoso- 
 phers? and where are the drudges who clean out the re- 
 ceptacles of filth? Who arc to be "hewers of wood and 
 drawers of water" in these New Jerusalems of the 
 bard's imagination? 
 
 Whenever we sec, in any private edifice, productions 
 of labor too great for the exertion of one man, we may 
 safely say, Hare has been slavery: here one man has ex- 
 ercised an undue ascendency over another. Here has 
 been superfluity on one side, and want on the other; 
 {lower and subjection. This is the generation of mis- 
 
88 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ery. Power begat slavery; and slavery begat vice; and 
 vice begal misery. 
 
 Plato in his republic pays no attention to the multi- 
 tude; he devoted all his attention to the formation of a 
 body of sages and of warriors to keep the common herd 
 in order: is that the plan of our modern philosophers? 
 
 The traveller, who examines the pyramids of Egypt, 
 is at first view struck with astonishment at the stupen- 
 dous exertions of man; but the next moment is imbit- 
 teredwith reflections on the miseries and distresses of 
 humanity. "Thousands must have toiled, 1 ' says the 
 melancholy stranger, "thousands must have toiled, un- 
 der the iron rod of arbitrary power, to erect these 
 splendid monuments of ambition and folly." The 
 magnificent edifice which the muse of the author of the 
 Columbiad has erected on the banks of the Nile, to re- 
 ceive the "delegated sires" of all nations, awakens in 
 our mind no other idea, than that of the labor and fa- 
 tigue it must have taken to hew so much marble. 
 
 A spacious dome swells up commodious great, 
 
 The last resort, the unchanging scene of state. 
 
 On rocks of adamant the walls ascend. 
 
 Tall columns heave and skylike arches bend; 
 
 Bright o'er the golden roofs, the glittering spires 
 
 Far in the concave meet the solar fires. 
 
 Four blazing fronts, with gates unfolding high, 
 
 Look with immortal splendor round the sky.— Coi.umb. b. 10. 
 
 One would have supposed that by this time men would 
 have been so civilized as to find no necessity for legisla- 
 tors or laws; — but we had forgot that laws and legisla- 
 tors, crimes and punishments.must increase with increas- 
 ing civilization. One would have supposed that by 
 this time, men, having discovered all the secrets of na- 
 ture, would have found buildings a useless incumbrance 
 on the earth; — but we had forgot that the intention of 
 poetry is to amuse and not instruct. — \_To be continued.'] 
 
 APOLOGETICAL. 
 
 The ancient Greeks, in the pride of their souls, de- 
 nominated all the nations of the earth, but themselves, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 89 
 
 barbarians-, and this name they often bestowed on people 
 farther advanced in (he career of refinement and civili- 
 zation than were the Greeks. It is likewise the custom 
 of polished nations, at thisday, to stigmatize, every people 
 whose language they do not understand, and whose man- 
 ners they will not study, with the degrading names of 
 barbarians and savages. We are not displeased with the 
 names: whether they he descriptive of our customs, or 
 meant merety as a mark of distinction between you and 
 us, we are satisfied. 
 
 We cannot help,however, remarking that you appear 
 to consider the word savage as a name of the greatest 
 reproach. Is a man inhuman, wicked or cruel; you seem 
 to imagine that you give him an appropriate designation 
 when you call him a savage. Now, you will doubtless ex- 
 cuse us if we follow your plan so far as to make the same 
 use of the word civilized that you do of savage. When 
 we wish to give a suitable appellation to a corrupt and 
 degenerate people, we will call them civilized. When we 
 wish to designate one who practices cunning, dissimula- 
 tion, falsehood, treachery, we will call him civilized. We 
 are not, then, the least offended at the abusive epithet* 
 which you hestow on us and our nation; and we hope 
 that you will not deny us the privilege of pointing out 
 those errors, vices, and absurdities, that flow from your 
 ts and institutions. 
 
 
 THE MAN OF THE WORLD 
 
 We have collected a few maxims which maybe 
 found useful, by a youth who intends to make a figure in 
 life: when we find leisure to extend and methodize our 
 ideas on this subject we intend to publish a treatise 
 which shall be intitled the man ofthe world's manual. 
 
 He must always wear a smooth exterior, and conceal 
 his real sentiments behind a mask of impenetrable dis- 
 simulation. He must make the most extravagant pro- 
 fessions of love and attachment, while hatred and ma* 
 lignity are rankling in his heart. He must bend the knee 
 H2 
 
90 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 of submission to the arrogance of power; and feed with 
 neverceasing adulation the weak vanity of fools. He 
 must resolutely dismiss every lingering attachment to 
 virtue, as an incumbrance incompatible with the nature 
 of his pursuits. He will find the appearance of justice, 
 benevolence, mercy, and candor, occasionally useful; but 
 he must take care not to clog himself with this antiqua- 
 ted rubbish, inreality: it would prove an insuperable ob- 
 stacle to his refined operations, and, in the end, prove 
 the means of his destruction. He must appear to be an 
 enemy to injustice, cruelty and dissimulation; but he 
 must remember to be possessed of these vices, in fad: 
 he will find them instruments absolutely necessary in the 
 furtherance of his plans. If he should receive favors, 
 it will be judicious to make professions of the most un- 
 bounded gratitude; but he must observe that his grati- 
 tude be merely professional: for, otherwise it might be- 
 come greatly prejudicial to his personal interests. He 
 may arFect to be a warm and disinterested friend; but 
 he must be at all times ready to sacrifice his friendship 
 when it comes in competition with the success of his 
 schemes. He must put confidence in none, but live with 
 his friend under the expectation of that friend becoming 
 one day his enemy. He must on no occasion express the 
 resentment he may feel; but meet his enemy with eve- 
 ry appearance of respect, under the idea that the time 
 may come when, his enemy's interest and his own be- 
 ing the same, they may act together as friends. He 
 must practice every vice, and descend to every species 
 of meanness, that he may find useful in the progress of 
 his operations; but these things must be transacted as 
 much as possible in the shade. He must assume the 
 garb of piety: beneath the snowy mantle of religion he 
 may erect akennel for the hellhounds of vice, and a har- 
 bor for the monsters of iniquity. He must have honor 
 continually in his mouth; but his honor must be vox ei 
 pmtcrea nihil. He must form a just estimate of the vices, 
 weaknesses and ruling passions of his associates, and make 
 all these things instrumental to his own advancement. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 91 
 
 He must keep his head clear, and his heart cold. 
 
 His own interest must be his polar star to guide him 
 in his voyage through life: and by proper management, 
 every wind that blows, whether "airs from heaven or 
 blasts from hell," may be turned to his own advantage. 
 
 Hcc tibi erunt artes, O child of civilization! by these 
 means you may rise to eminence: and your name shall 
 go down with eclat to posterity. These are the arts, as a 
 polite writer of your own well observes, which give the 
 man of the world an ascendency over the brutal force 
 of the barbarian. 
 
 In the prosecution of our plan, we shall take care to 
 produce no maxims but such as we can support by point- 
 ed authorities from the ethics of the civilized world. 
 
 POLITICS. 
 
 Our savage education and barbarous prepossessions 
 having given us an unconquerable aversion to every spe- 
 cies of political intrigue and tergiversation, we felt it in- 
 cumbent on us, in our preliminary address, to announce 
 *o the public that"Piomingo was no federalist, no repub- 
 lican, no democrat, no aristocrat, in the common accep- 
 tation of those terms:" and in this declaration we were 
 guided by a strict regard to truth, which (notwithstand- 
 ing our intercourse with civilized man) we always have 
 cherished, and shall continue to cherish, as long as the 
 Master of our breath shall permit us to continue on the 
 earth. We were however aware, at the same time, that 
 we were renouncing a subject which would have given 
 life and spirit to our miscellany. Had we engaged in 
 political warfare under the banners of some party already- 
 established, or set up a party of our own, (in that case, 
 we should soon have heard of Muscogulgee influence) 
 we might, if we do not overrate our own abilities, have 
 made considerable noise in the world. Had such been 
 our conduct, we have no doubt but that the fate of our 
 paper would have been different. What is now a poor 
 sickly bantling, might have been animosus infans con- 
 
92 THE SAVAGE* 
 
 tending with serpents in its cradle. That which will, 
 under the present circumstances, support a feehle exis- 
 tence for a short time, and die without a groan, might 
 have enjoyed a long life of honor and prosperity. And, 
 who can tell hut we might have written our savage self 
 into some post of honor, or (which would have been still 
 better) of profit. The papers, in opposition to the party 
 we might have espoused, would, no doubt, have raised a 
 devil (this word devil is very useful in swelling out a pe- 
 riod) of a noise about appointing a foreigner to an office 
 of such great importance; (and we should not have been 
 disposed to have accepted an indifferent situation) but 
 weshould have been ready tohave replied to that charge, 
 by declaring that we were no foreigner, but an indigen- 
 ous American descended from the great Mingo Pa-Ya 
 Mataha, and therefore could not be supposed to be under 
 the influence of any improper prejudice for or against 
 either of the mighty belligerents of Europe who divide 
 the world between them. 
 
 We should have been able to have said so many keen 
 things about the principles and practices of our political 
 opponents that our Savage would have been universally 
 read; and, then, under the mask of patriotism we might 
 have indulged our propensity for slander. We might 
 have collected all the old stories that have appeared in 
 the papers for many years, which, having been retouched 
 by our satirical pencil, and a little fresh coloring added 
 by our skilful hand, would have been exactly to the taste 
 of our newspaper connoisseurs. We might have become* 
 very familiar with the names of great men, and abused 
 most outrageously those whom we had never seen. We 
 might have published extracts of letters from "gentlemen 
 of the first respectability, now in Europe," or from "gen- 
 tlemen high in office," or from "gentlemen in the confi- 
 dence of government." 
 
 A friend of ours appeared to be extremely solicitous 
 that we should engage in politics. We told him that, 
 Gallio like, we "cared for none of those things." "So 
 much the better," said he, "so much the better; if you be 
 
THE SAVAGE. 93 
 
 not tied by political principles, you are at liberty to 
 choose the party from which you may expect to derive 
 the most profit." We told him that he was again mista- 
 ken : that we were not so totally destitude of observation, 
 as not to form an opinion on passing occurrences; but 
 that the intrigue, turpitude, and dereliction of principle, 
 which were discoverable in political concerns, had given 
 us such a distaste to the subject, that the very name had 
 become odious to us. We further added that when a man 
 enters the fields of political warfare under the banners 
 of a party, he must give up all pretensions to indepen- 
 dency of sentiment. He must pass on to the very extremes 
 of rancor and animosity, otherwise he will be rejected 
 aslukevvarm,and become utterly contemptible. Hemust 
 oppose all the measures of the party in opposition to his 
 own, whether he deem them, in his private opinion, to 
 be salutary or pernicious. He must support, totis viribus, 
 every measure of his political friends even though he 
 himself may suppose them to be injudicious and wick- 
 ed. Men whom he knows not, he must condemn. 
 Nor is that all: he must sing the praises of those whom 
 he despises; and villify those who stand high in his esti- 
 mation. Should he, for a moment, in the vanity of his 
 soul, conceive that he guides the political machine, it 
 will only add to the bitterness of his subsequent morti- 
 fication, when he finds that he has prostituted the no- 
 blest faculties of his soul, for the convenience of an un- 
 principled intriguer. Moreover, it is dangerous to be- 
 stow extravagant encomiums on any man during 
 his life; but let him be once fairly dead, and we may 
 commend him with safety: it is out of his power to 
 prove us a liar by the villany of his conduct. It is also 
 ungenerous and unjust to condemn a man too hastily. 
 We have not perhaps a view of the whole ground; and 
 we may not be able to judge of the motives which may 
 have induced him to pursue a certain line of conduct. 
 In fine, we observed, we should not be ashamed, did ne- 
 cessity require it, to dig for our subsistence; but thewo- 
 blcr faculties of our mind we never would debase so far 
 
91 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 as to devote them to the promotion of the views of any 
 man or set of men. 
 
 "All this may be very true," said our friend, "butitis 
 very silly. There is such a thing as a wheel within a 
 wheel. By professing an attachment to the public wel- 
 fare and promoting the views of your political friends, 
 you may substantially serve yourself. You are now in a 
 civilized country, and must learn to act a little like the 
 rest of the world. Politics is the only thing that pleases 
 the taste of the present generation: and even that will 
 not go down unless it be rendered palatable by a little 
 spicery. Nothing pleases a man so much as to hear of 
 the miscarriages of his fellow man. He appears to 
 rise in the same proportion that another is degraded. 
 You must attack some eminent person; it is immaterial 
 whether he be one of those in power, or one of those 
 who wish to be in power: that is left to your discretion. 
 Or, if you had rather, you may let our domestic affairs 
 alone for a while, and plunge into the politics of Europe. 
 You may assist Bonaparte to regulate the affairs of the 
 continent, or take on yourself the management of the 
 English fleet — suppose you were to write a series of 
 essays to prove that Napoleon is the 'beast with seven 
 heads and ten horns,' mentioned in the Revelation. 
 You might comment at large upon 'the heads and the 
 horns and the crowns that are upon the horns." 
 
 We observed, in reply to the last observation of our 
 anxious friend, that so many commentaries had been 
 written on the Revelation by dignified divines and pious 
 laymen, we were apprehensive that nothing new could 
 be elicited on the subject; and that the very thing he 
 now recommended to our consideration had employed 
 many learned heads and ready pens several years ago. 
 
 "Well then," replied he, nothing abashed with ths., 
 repulse we had given him, "suppose you prove England 
 to be the 'great whore that sitteth upon many waters.' 
 Will there not be something new in that?" 
 
 We answered, very gravely, that we w r ould permit 
 France and England to manage their own affairs: that 
 
THE SAVAGE. 95 
 
 we were not disposed to concern ourself with any of 
 those great matters which agitate the civilized world; 
 and that we were an unambitious unaspiring mortal, 
 content with ease and tranquillity. Our friend said he 
 perceived that we wereheadstronginourfolly,and there- 
 fore he would leave us to our contemplations: and so 
 he did. 
 
 It we might be permitted to explain your civilized 
 terms in our own savage manner, we should have no ob- 
 jection to any of your political appellations. 
 
 If federalism consist in a sincere attachment to the 
 principles contained in the constitution of the United 
 States, we are a federalist. 
 
 If by republicanism be meant a strict adherence to 
 those principles which promote the public weal, we are 
 a republican. 
 
 As to democracy — we acknowledge the right of the 
 people to govern themselves: would to God, they posses- 
 sed wisdom enough to enable them to do so with propriety? 
 
 We are the friend of aristocracy; but it is that species 
 of aristocracy which is to be found among the Indian 
 nations; the aristocracy of virtue. Our mind soars far 
 above the petty distinction of party. We can trace po- 
 litical prejudices to their origin, and pity the weakness 
 of humanity. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. Vlir. 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 We have endeavored to prove that happiness is found- 
 ed on virtue: and that savage nations are more virtuous 
 than those that are civilized. If this be done, it will fol- 
 low, as a direct consequence, that those in a state of na- 
 ture are happier than those advanced in the career of 
 luxury and refinement. 
 
 That man who is either raised above, or depressed be- 
 low, his species cannot be happy. He has no society. 
 There are none to whom he can communicate his 
 thoughts; who can participate in his sorrows or his joys* 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 From this consideration, some have deduced an argument 
 in favor of the happiness of the lower ranks in even civil- 
 ized community. "These men have many companions," 
 say they, "why can they not partake of those pleasures 
 that arise from association with their fellows?" We have 
 already shown, in our last number, that the circumstances, 
 of their situation are such as to deprive them of those 
 qualities of the mind that give a charm to the social state. 
 
 Some of your divines assert that the damned in hell, 
 will have a full prospect of the blessed in heaven. This, 
 they very justly allege, will be a great enhancement of 
 the punishment of the former: whether or no they sup- 
 pose it will add any thing to the joys of the hi Iter, we can- 
 not tell. — Such is the situation of the indigent : they not 
 onlvgroan beneath the pressure of evil; but they have the 
 additional mortification of beholding their fellow men in 
 the possession of good. They dare not discover the ma- 
 lice which they feel against their superiors; hut they let 
 loose every malignant passion against their partners in 
 misfortune. Thus malefactors in a dungeon and wild 
 beasts in a cage, when they find it impossible to destroy 
 the surrounding crowd, direct their vengeance against 
 each other, and even against the walls of their prison. 
 
 That this malignity exists in the multitude, we are cer- 
 tain: and that we have given the true cause of its exis- 
 tence, we firmly believe. If any one be disposed to con- 
 tend that the crowd do not cherish these ferocious and 
 vengeful passions, let him take a retrospective view of 
 the situation of France, when the heavy hand of despo- 
 tism was raised from the shoulders of the degraded time- 
 serving populace. Like a mighty torrent, long confined 
 by impassable barriers, they burst forth at once, and 
 overwhelmed the fair fields of society with the waves of 
 desolation. No longer awed by the iron rod of power, 
 they gave full play to their long compressed but never- 
 dying ferocity. Those who:n yesterday they adored, to- 
 day were theobjectsof theirunrelentingfury. Overthose 
 to whom yesterday they cringed as obedient slaves, they 
 brandished, to-day, the bloody poinard of destruction. 
 
THE SAVAGE. V< 
 
 Who can think without horror of the atrocities perpe- 
 trated by the blacks of S f . Domingo? The passions of 
 hatred, malignity, and revenge, so long nurtured and 
 concealed in the hosoms of degraded and dissembling 
 men, bursting forth, spread abroad at once the tremen- 
 dous havoc of murder and devastation. 
 
 Such is the end of civilization. However slow may be 
 its progress, and whatever course it may seem to pur- 
 sue, this is its tremendous conclusion! It nourishes a 
 volcano in its bosom. It places the ingredients, with 
 chemical skill, deep in the bowels of society. — Moun- 
 tains may be heaped on mountains; but the slumbering 
 lire can never be extinguished — every age adds to its 
 strength; and the longer the awful period is deferred, 
 the more dreadful will be the explosion. 
 
 Civilization is a forced s.tate: it is not natural for one 
 man to bend, cringe and creep to another. A noble 
 spirit, a spirit that is inspired by ihe proud dignity of 
 virtue, will bear every evil — sickness, pain, confinement, 
 death — rather than have recourse to the mean arts of 
 the sycophant; but, there are always those, who, willow 
 like, will yield to the arrogant requisitions of adventitious 
 superiority. There are always those who wall kiss the 
 rod of the tyrant, and bend the neck of submission to be 
 trampled upon by the feet of the oppressor. There are 
 always those who will sacrifice the spirit of virtue to the 
 low and sordid interests of the moment: who will practise 
 every species of dissimulation which they conceive will 
 advance their interests or gratify their propensities. But 
 whenever the heavy hand of power is removed, the mind 
 of the oppressed flies back with an elastic force, propor- 
 tioned to the depth of its degradation, to occupy its 
 original situation, and to tyrannize, in its turn, over those 
 whom fortune has accidentally humbled. The appear- 
 ances, therefore, of servility, which are shown by indi- 
 gent wretches to their opulent superiors are almost 
 always accompanied by hatred and envy in exact pro- 
 portion to their pretended humility. 
 
 What happiness can be expected in a state like this; 
 
98 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 where there is continual warfare between the superior 
 and inferior members of the community? and where the 
 debased party, disappointed in their wish of hurling 
 threats of defiance into the faces of their oppressors, vent 
 their malignity against each other? 
 
 Let us illustrate this subject by referring to the affairs 
 of a well known people. 
 
 The Jews, for many centuries, wore the shackles of 
 servitude. They were oppressed by the Babylonians, 
 Persians, Greeks, and Romans. They had long been ac- 
 counted a proud stiffnecked and arrogant nation. They 
 rebelled against all their successive masters, and fought 
 with, what we suppose you would call, savage ferocity 
 against their oppressors ; but, being continually subdued, 
 we find them at last sunk into a state of abject servility. 
 They flattered the pride of the conquerors of the world 
 with every appearance of humility, and proclaimed to 
 the world, "we will have no king but Cesar!" 
 
 Is it supposable that their hatred of the Romans was 
 less at this time than it had been at any former period? 
 Not at all: let the violence, rancor, and fury of their sub- 
 sequent wars bear testimony of their immortal animosi- 
 ty. But that rage, which they could not spend on the 
 heads of their oppressors, they directed against each 
 other: and their sufferings and misfortunes are not to 
 be paralleled in the history of any people. 
 
 Heroes, legislators, sages, reformers! what have ye 
 done? You have been deified for the benefits, it was 
 supposed, you had conferred on humanity. Behold the 
 fruit of your labor! [To be continued,'] 
 
 SERMONS. 
 
 There was a certain clergyman, in a neighboring 
 state, who made choice of the following words for the 
 theme of his discourse, "Thus saith the Lord, make this 
 valley fully of ditches." He divided his subject into a 
 convenient number of heads, and made a very learned 
 and excellent discourse. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 99 
 
 One of his auditors observed to him afterwards, in 
 conversation, that he was amazed that the doctor should 
 select such a portion of scripture for his text: it appear- 
 ing, he thought, to require a great deal of genius to de- 
 duce a suitable discourse from those words. 
 
 The doctor replied, "My dear sir, he must be a poor 
 clergyman who cannot preach Christ from any text in 
 the Bible." "Well doctor," replied the former, "how 
 would you preach Christ from the iron bedstead of Og, 
 kink of Bashan ?" "Why," said the doctor, "the iron of 
 the bedstead is a type of the hardnessofyour heart and the 
 stiffness of your neck; the greatness of its size resem- 
 bles the magnitude of your sins. It requires the pow- 
 er of Chi rst to soften your heart and take away your mani- 
 fold transgressions. The transition is easy and natural." 
 
 Now,however we may admire the ingenuity of preach- 
 ers in making an excellent discourse from an unpromis- 
 ing text, we think they might often make a better se- 
 lection than they do. We have often had occasion to 
 remark that the orator passes over excellent maxims of 
 morality in order to select a passage of scripture, which 
 he conceives he can manage so as to draw certain in- 
 ferences in favor of some contested point of doctrine, in 
 which he supposes the honor of his sect is involved. 
 
 We would recommend it to any clergyman, who may 
 be desirous of addressing an appropriate discourse to 
 the youth of Philadelphia, to make a text of the follow- 
 ing words: 
 
 "Thou shall not curse the deaf, nor lay a stumblingblock before the 
 blind 1 am the Lord." 
 
 These words are found recorded in the nineteenth 
 chapter of the third book of Moses called Leviticus, and 
 fourteenth verse. The discourse may bejdivided into — 
 but we are not disposed to write the sermon. Let the 
 preacher divide it into as many heads as he may think 
 proper. Let him expatiate upon each as long as he 
 pleases; and then apply the whole as the Lord may en- 
 able him. He may draw as many inferences, as may 
 seem "right in his eyes," in favor of abstruse and meta- 
 
100 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 physical doctrines in divinity; but it is our particular re- 
 quest, that he would take some notice of the malignant 
 disposition discoverable, even in children, to insult and 
 torment the deformed, the d run ken, and insane, who oc- 
 casionally appear in the streets of the city. 
 
 We have seen several hundred boys surround a 
 wretched maniac, and torture him to a parox)smof 
 fury by their words and their actions. We have seen 
 them follow a deformed little mortal, with shouts of re- 
 proach and every species of opprobrious language. We 
 have seen them rejoice, "with exceeding great joy," at 
 the discovery of a drunken pauper. The civilized alarm 
 whoop was raised in a moment; and excry polished little 
 savage, within several squares, ran, exulting, to the en- 
 tertainment. 
 
 Is this civilization? is it humanity? or do you call it a 
 savage practice? — Such actions were never known a- 
 mong the savages of the wilderness. But, from second 
 thoughts we believe the sermon should be addressed to 
 the parents, and not to the children. 
 
 EATING. 
 
 Piomingo, the intention of this letter is to request 
 you to inform the public what you mean by talking of a 
 man "living that he may eat." I should like to know 
 what there is equally interesting that he could live for. 
 I, for my own part, am inclined to believe that this is 
 the design of his creation ; and were I allowed to answer 
 the question, "What is the chief end of man?" agreeably 
 to my own private opinion, I would say, "To eat, drink, 
 and sleep." 
 
 Men may affect to despise eating as much as they 
 please; but I believe it has been their principal concern 
 in all ages. Why do they tremble at the idea of poverty? 
 Poverty is not a thing dreadful in itself; but alas! it in- 
 cludes the idea of hunger and starvation. Suppose a 
 painter were to be employed to produce a picture of 
 
THE SAVAGE. 101 
 
 poverty; would not want be discovered in the belly, and 
 famine in the countenance? 
 
 However men may boast of intellectual enjoyments, 
 it is plain they are only considered as things worthy of 
 a secondary consideration; and when they attempt to 
 describe those celestial delights, they do it by some im- 
 age drawn from the science of cookery, or the important 
 business of eating. What are we to understand by "the 
 feast of reason and Jlozc of soul," but that they enjoy a 
 kind of pleasure, which, though infinitely inferior, 
 bears somefaint resemblance to the ineffable delights of 
 eating and drinking. The most ardent desires of the 
 mind are made known by comparing them to hunger and 
 thirst, and the highest and most sublime mental gratifi- 
 cation is likened to a spread table and an overflowing cup. 
 When the wise king of Israel would sum up the felici- 
 ties of life, he declares that "there is nothing better for 
 a man than that he should eat and drink; and he adds, 
 with rapturous exultation, "Who can eat or hasten here- 
 unto more than I?" 
 
 A nice and accurate judge of literary works is said 
 to be possessed of taste; and when the critic boasts of 
 having a relish for the writings of the poets, he feasts his 
 imagination with the sweet savor of viands, and Smoking 
 hot culinary similitudes. 
 
 The happincs of the immortal gods was placed in 
 nectar and ambrosia; and when we contemplate the fleet- 
 ing nature of our own existence, we are ready to ex- 
 claim, "Let us eat and drink; for to morrow we must 
 die!" Idefy any one to think of the maxim of Horace, 
 "enjoy the present moment," without referring imme- 
 diately to the delights of the table and the ecstacies of 
 d( g/utition. 
 
 As feasting with the gods was the reward bestowed 
 upon heroes for their marvellous exploits; so the curse 
 of hunger and thirst was the punishment inflicted upon 
 the wicked for the most atrocious of crimes. O, un- 
 fortunate Tantalus! may I be turned on the wheel of 
 torment, may vultures devour my liver, may I roll up 
 12 
 
102 THE SAVAGE* 
 
 with anguish of heart the still revolving stone, rather 
 than suffer the hundredth part of thy excruciating mi* 
 seryi I seem to see, even at this moment, thy parched 
 lips within an inch of the cooling streams! 1 see misery 
 inthroned on thy famine-stuck visage! I see thy hun- 
 gry eyes turned up with unutterable longing to the fruit 
 that hangs above thy head! 
 
 When the fertile fields of Canaan were promised to 
 the Jews, they were described as "flowing with milk 
 -and honey" and abounding in "corn and wine." 
 
 "Bring it near to me saith the blind but venison-lov- 
 ing Isaac, "bring it near to me and I will eat of my 
 sons' venison, that my soul may bless thee. And he 
 brought it near to him, and he did eat; and he brought 
 him wine, and he drank." What was the great blessing 
 that Isaac had tobestow on Jacob : — "The dew of heav- 
 en, the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine." 
 The wise old patriarchs had too much sense to prefer 
 the hungry pleasures of the imagination to the "feast of 
 fat things full of marrow.' 7 And although the art of eat- 
 ing has of late been carried to a pitch of perfection, 
 of which the ancients had no idea; yet, they had a to- 
 lerable acquaintance with what have been emphatical- 
 ly styled the good things of life. 
 
 I will frankly acknowledge that eating is my principal 
 concern: no other business occupies so much of my at- 
 tention. The time that is spent at the table, and the 
 knowledge that is displayed in the preparation of food, 
 I conceive to be two things which, more than any other 
 characteristics, distinguish civilized men from barbari- 
 ans. To a savage, the sensation of hunger is disagree- 
 able, and he endeavors to remove it as expeditiously as 
 possible; but the man of refinement has reduced eating 
 to a science: it is his business and his pleasure. 
 
 The only thing that gives me any uneasiness is that I 
 cannot always continue the operation of eating. Why 
 was not man so constituted that he might eat from the 
 moment of his birth to the instant of his death? The 
 only remedy I find for this evil is, to fill up the interval 
 
THE SAVAGE. 103 
 
 that occurs between one meal and another, with sleep. 
 Andthisanswers the purpose tolerably well; for,as sleep 
 is a kind of death, I seem to lose my existence when life 
 would be a burden. The early Romans devoured their 
 plain repast in ten or fifteen minutes ; but their luxurious 
 descendents, who enjoyed riches and leisure, lay whole 
 nights round, their table, -feasting like heroes and drink- 
 ing like gods. They were determined to partake of the 
 pleasures of life in opposition to every obstacle: for, if 
 their stomachs were replenished before the end of the 
 entertainment, they hastened todischarge their contents 
 by vomition, and returned with fresh ardor to the feast. 
 In fine, I conceive that the wise in all ages have placed 
 the swnmum bonum in good eating: that, at least, is my 
 philosophy. "Some people," says the great doctor John- 
 son, "have a foolish way of not minding; or pretending 
 not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my 
 belly very studiously and very carefully; fori look upon 
 it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind 
 any thing else." 
 
 This same doctor Johnson is said to have made many 
 wise observations: but this, I suppose to be one of the 
 wisest he ever uttered. What business can stand in com- 
 petition with this? What pleasure has half the allure- 
 ments? Were 1 in the paradise of Mohammed, I should 
 find no other employment for the Houries, but to wait 
 on my table. 
 
 But the hour of dinner approaches. Already the sweet 
 odor of roastbeef assails my nostrils. Hark ! I hear the 
 rattling of the knives and soul-cheering jingle of the 
 plates. The servants pass and repass in the busy haste 
 of preparation. Farewell savage ! by the Fife of Apicious, 
 I would not wait a minute for all the barbarians in the 
 universe. My whole frame trembles with the intensity 
 of desire. 
 
 The world recedes; it disappears, 
 Heaven opens on my eyes. My ears 
 
 Witli sounds seraphic ring 
 
 JOHN GORMAND. 
 
104 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 That man was not designed by nature for it solitary 
 animal appears from that instinctive impulse which one 
 in solitude discovers to seek the society of his species. 
 A cynic, however morose in his disposition, ungracious 
 in his deportment, and violent in his expressions, finds a 
 strange satisfaction in mingling with the crowd. 
 
 Cynophilus, an ancient philosopher, felt no attachment 
 for any creature in existence but his dog. He dwelt in 
 the fields. His food consisted of roots and berries; and 
 his drink was water. Every individual of the human race 
 was an object of abhorrence and contempt; yet he fre- 
 quently walked in the populous city, and pressed 
 through the multitude assembled in the forum: what 
 could be his motive for this extraordinary conduct? — He 
 was governed by the same impulse which compels the 
 sheep to feed in flocks: he was a gregarious animal. 
 
 The hermit, who fixes his residence in the desert far 
 removed from the footsteps of men, feels this innate pro- 
 pensity so strong in his breast, that he finds it necessary 
 to assemble around his rushy couch an innumerable 
 multitude of visionary men, whom he dignifies with the 
 appellation of angels. He holds imaginary communion 
 with prophets and the apostles, and walks the streets of 
 the New Jerusalem with myriads of saints clothed in 
 white, singing songs of praise and exultation. 
 
 "You may drive back nature with violence,'* says Ho- 
 race, "but she will continually return." The hermit has 
 denied himself the pleasures of society in this miserable 
 world, and among a degenerate people; but he promises 
 himself the enjoyment of mingling in a crowd of better 
 men beyond the grave. 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 Propertius, a Roman elegiac poet who died a short 
 time before the commencement of the christian era, 
 contends that he lived in the golden age; and the reason 
 he assigns for this opinion appears to be cogent: 
 
 Aurea nunc vere suntsascula; plurinius auro 
 Venit honos. — 
 
THE SWAGE. 105 
 
 We may say, with as much truth as Propertius, "This 
 truly is the golden age: much honor corneth by gold." 
 
 THE SAVAGE-NO. IX. 
 SLAVERY. 
 
 Slwery — But we will endeavor to discuss this sub- 
 ject without quoting the celebrated apostrophe of 
 Sterne, or the no less celebrated verses of Cowper. 
 Of what species of slavery shall we speak? Shall we 
 take notice of the servile condition of Asia; the drudg- 
 ery of Europe; or the misfortunes of Africa? 
 
 Men are prone to overlook things that are nigh; and 
 fix their eyes on distant objects. They are afflicted by 
 the distresses of those who groan under the rigor of 
 foreign despotism; but, at the same time, they are busi- 
 ly employed in maturing the same sufferings for them- 
 selves and for their children. 
 
 The citizens of the United States lament, with the 
 greatest apparent sensibility, the misfortunes, distresses 
 and grievances of poor oppressed enslaved Europeans; 
 yet they, themselves, are every day hastening, to the 
 extent of their abilities, the time when the people of 
 America will be precisely in the situation of .those 
 whose affairs they now so feelingly deplore. 
 
 The condition of the laborers and peasantry in Eu- 
 rope is miserable enough; but there was a time when 
 they were by no means so unfortunate. There was a 
 time when, comparatively speaking, they were sava- 
 ges; when equality prevailed among the great body of 
 the people; when they were ignorant of the vices, lux- 
 uries, and diseases which have been introduced by the 
 progress of civilization. But those times are changed. 
 Commerce has spread her sails and visited the remo- 
 test corners of the earth. She has poured the dia- 
 monds of the east and the gold of the west into the bo- 
 som of Europe. She has erected magnificent cities; 
 into which she has introduced luxury and pomp — 
 wretchedness and want. She has established manu- 
 factories; which have been productive of riches and 
 
106 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 splendor — poverty, vice, and disease. Well: let the ci- 
 tizens of the United States extend their commerce, and 
 establish manufactories. What will be the consequence? 
 Wealth,prosperity,luxury,magnificence — and ail those 
 other things which we have already proved to be in- 
 separable attendants on luxury and refinement. Do 
 not extensive manufactories and widespreading com- 
 merce produce riches! Does not the possession of rich- 
 es confer power? Is not slavery necessarily coexistent 
 with power? If riches did not confer power on the pos- 
 sessor, they would cease to be an object ofpursuit: they 
 would be totally useless. If they do confer power, they 
 must, necessarily, impoverish others in the same propor- 
 tion that they enrich the possessor. One wealthy man 
 cannot render other men, equally wealthy with himself, 
 subservient to his wishes; but let him increase his own 
 wealth, and then he will be able to extend his influence 
 over those who were formerly his equals: consequently 
 they are impoverished in the same proportion that he is 
 enriched. Every accession of wealth, therefore, toanin- 
 dividual in any community is an accession of poverty or 
 slavery to every other individual within the sphere of 
 his influence. Why should we deplore the existence of 
 that slavery in other parts of the world, which already 
 exists among ourselves, and which we use every exertion 
 within the limits of our power to bring to perfection? 
 Why should we express resentment against an Asiatic 
 or European despot for exercising that power which has 
 fallen into his hands by a train of causes and effects, 
 and yet express no disapprobation of the conduct of the 
 wealthy man who uses, to the utmost, that influence 
 which the possession of riches has given him over soci- 
 ety? The rich man and the prince are equally culpa- 
 ble: there can be no more harm merely in the acquisi- 
 tion of a throne, than there is in making a fortune: and 
 a crown received by inheritance is as much the property 
 of the possessor, as an estate received by the death of the 
 father is the property of the son. He, who sways the 
 sceptre, exercises power: He, who uses the estate, ex- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 107 
 
 ercises power. The cases are in every respect similar: 
 and if it be wrong to acquire a kingdom, it is wrong 
 to accumulate money: the object in both cases being 
 precisely the same — power. The man who aspires to 
 empire removes the obstacles that stand in his way; the 
 man who would amass riches does the same. Villany is 
 sometimes practised by the former; and sometimes, by 
 the latter. We grant that more evil is frequently per- 
 petrated by the great, than by the little, usurper; but if 
 the pursuit of one be justifiable, so is that of the other. 
 
 Three brothers enter the world at the same time. They 
 all resolve to grow powerful: but B is of a more aspi- 
 ring disposition than A : and C is still more ambitious than 
 B. A remains in his native town, and manages his little 
 traffic with infinite cunning and address. He studies the 
 rise and fall of the price of every species of goods; and 
 buys up or sells off as circumstances may require. If he 
 suppose that a certain article will be in demand, he en- 
 deavors to engross it; and afterwards takes every ad- 
 vantage, in his power, of those who were possessed of 
 less cunning or foresight than himself. If he know of 
 some circumstance that lessens the value of goods in his 
 possession, he immediately disposes of them to some ig- 
 norant purchaser, tor as much as they will bring. Thus, 
 through the ignorance, follies and misfortunes of others, 
 he acquires money with considerable rapidity. He is 
 accounted a man of substance. Hiscreditis established. 
 He contracts debts to an immense amount: turns his 
 property into cash; takes the benefit of some act of in- 
 solvency or bankruptcy; and his fortune is made! 
 
 The grovelling baseness, the sordid injustice, the co- 
 wardly cruelties, of A, are forgotten. He has defrauded 
 the fatherless, oppressed the widow, deluded the thought- 
 less, deceived the ignorant, sacrificed his friends, be- 
 trayed his trust, and laid perjury on his soul; but he is 
 rich; and all is forgotten. The industrious families, ru- 
 ined by his ingenuity, are scattered over the world, the 
 victims of sorrow, vice and disease: or, deep in the vale 
 of penury, their tears fall unnoticed; and their groans 
 
108 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 arc not heard. He reaps the harvest of his villanies; 
 becomes an alderman or justice of the peace; enjoys 
 otium cumdignitate; dies in peace, at a good old age-, 
 and his fortune descends to his son. 
 
 B, in the mean time, has been much more expeditious 
 and more fortunate in the acquisition of wealth than 
 his brother. He has gone to the East Indies or to the 
 West, or somewhere else; where he has kindled wars, 
 plundered towns, impoverished provinces, and returned 
 to his country with inexhaustible stores. He astonish- 
 es the crowd with his riches; he wallows in luxury; he 
 indulges his taste for magnificence and splendor; he ex- 
 tends his patronage to literature and the fine arts; he 
 becomes a Mecenas to every man of learning, and the 
 dulcedccus of polished society ; he subscribes to charita- 
 ble institutions, and commands the homage, respect, and 
 adoration of the world? When he dies, his obsequies 
 are celebrated with pomp; and his name is immortali- 
 zed by sculptors and poets. 
 
 But thedaringambitionof C was not content with the 
 acquisition of power by the accumalation of money. — 
 He courted the people; was elected their representa- 
 tive; became their idol ; received the chief command of 
 their forces: seized on the public treasure; and, after a 
 severe battle, in which some thousand lives were lost, 
 he encircled his brows with a diadem. What then ! He 
 is a mild and beneficent prince. He causes punishment 
 to be inflicted upon evil doers; and praise to be bestow- 
 ed on those who do well. He is accounted the father 
 of his people; and transmits his crown with full sover- 
 eignty to his descendents. 
 
 Was not the objects of these three brothers precisely 
 the same? Did they not all, according to thir respective 
 capacities, endeavor to acquire and exercise power? 
 The means employed by one were equally unjustifiable 
 with those employed by either of the others. Every one 
 produced as much slavery as he was able. The ab- 
 solute quantum of good or evil effected by C or B 
 might be greater than that which was produced by 
 
THE SAVAGE. 109 
 
 A: but mforo conscicnticc, they were all equally villains. 
 
 We need not, therefore, look to Africa, Asia, or Eu- 
 rope, for the existence of slavery: the plant nourishes in 
 the United States; but it is not yet in a state of matu- 
 rity. The people partake something still of the nature 
 of savages: when they become perfectly civilized, they 
 will be perfectly slaves. 
 
 A man is not incommoded by a nuisance which ha* 
 long been familiar to his senses; but if he be exposed 
 to the effluvia of a different species of filth, to which he 
 has not been accustomed, he will immediately show 
 signs of disgust and detestation. The inhabitant of Phi- 
 ladelphia perceives not (or perceiving dislikes not) those 
 odoriferous gales that issue from the narrow alleys and 
 sinks of the city; whereas a man from the country, who is 
 conversant enough with abominations of a differentkind, 
 will give manifest indications of loathing and abhorrence. 
 So it is with moral turpitude: the slavery that has be- 
 come familiar to a man's eyes makes no impression on 
 his mind; but that which assumes a different form, or 
 discovers itself in a different manner, cnlls forth his sym- 
 pathetic condolence. Vices or follies to which he has 
 been accustomed give him not the slightest uneasiness; 
 but those of a more uncommon nature, or those which 
 are the consequences of manners and customs different 
 from his own, awaken his pity and contempt. 
 
 We have often heard a Pennsylvania farmer execrat- 
 ing the conduct of a southren planter, in holding the un- 
 fortunate Africans in a state of slavery; yet this man 
 never once reflected that he, himself, was guilty of the 
 same injustice which he reprobated so severely in ano- 
 ther. The Virginia planter exercises authority over 
 his fellow men ; so does the Pennsylvania farmer. There 
 is no difference but this: one possesses more power than 
 the other. 
 
 The Virginian possesses five hundred slaves: ho ac- 
 quired them by inheritance, or purchased them with hi* 
 money. He claims their perpetual services; and the laws 
 of his country sanction his claim. By his powerful ex- 
 K 
 
110 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ertions, or by a fortunate concurrence of circumstances, 
 he has acquired an absolute ascendency overth^se men: 
 consequently they are absolutely his slaves. 
 
 The Pennsylvanian is in possession of a landed estate, 
 worth one hundred thousand dollars. His fields are 
 cultivated by fifty or sixty ragged miserable laborers; 
 to whom he gives twelve dollars a month one year, be- 
 cause they cannot be procured at a cheaper rate. Ano- 
 ther year, laborers are numerous: they range over the 
 country in every direction begging for employment. He 
 now hires them for ten, eight, seven, six, live, four, dol- 
 lars a month, and even sometimes allows them nothing 
 (to make use of a favorite expression of his own) but their 
 victuals for their work. Observe well, that he exercises 
 every power, which his own exertions, or a fortunate 
 concurrence of circumstances, have given him over his 
 fellow men. 
 
 What injustice is discoverable in the conduct of the 
 southern planter, which is not also found in the practices 
 of the northern farmer? They are both tyrants to the ut- 
 most of their abilities. They both hold their fellow crea- 
 tures in slavery as unbounded as their powers. Nor is 
 the condition of the white slave in the northern states 
 much preferable to that of the black slave in the south- 
 ern parts of the union. The laws and the progress of 
 civilization have made the indigent laborer a slave to 
 every man in possession of riches. He may change his 
 master;buthe is condemned to perpetual servitude; and 
 his reward is the reward of every other slave — subsistence* 
 The situation of the white slave is often more unfortu- 
 nate than that of the black: he is probably harassed by 
 domestic cares, and compelled to be a helpless witness 
 of the distresses of his family; or he changes his em- 
 ployer so often, with the vain hope of meliorating his 
 condition, that he becomes sick, infirm, or old, without 
 having had it in his power to secure the friendship or 
 protection of any of his masters. What then is the con- 
 sequence? The wretched outcast, after a life of slavery, 
 is neglected by those who have enjoyed the fruit of bis 
 
THE SAVAGE. Ill 
 
 labor: he may perish in the streets, expire on the high- 
 way, or linger out a miserable existence in some infirm- 
 ary or poorhouse, till death shall relieve him of his pain, 
 and the world of a burden. And the pitiful assistance, 
 which is granted, by the rich, to their sick, decrepid,or 
 superanuated slave, is given as a charity, accompanied 
 with reproaches and expressions of contempt: and the 
 dying pauper must receive it with all becoming humility. 
 He is upbraided with his vices, reproached with his fol- 
 lies, and unfeelingly insulted by every purseproud fool 
 who may manage the concerns, or have the superinten- 
 dence, of the poor. The black slave is compelled to labor; 
 but he is destitute of care. He is not at liberty to change 
 one service for another; but he may, by long and faithful 
 adherence to his duty, secure the affections of his master, 
 and, by assiduous attentions, conciliate his superiors. — 
 When he grows old or infirm, he is sure of being main- 
 tained, without having recourse to the tender mercies of 
 a justice of the peace, overseer of the poor, or superin- 
 tendent of a workhouse. 
 
 Is it not a little strange that the opulent man when he 
 contributes his quota to the necessities of a wretch who 
 has been in every sense of the word, a slave to the com- 
 munity of the rich, considers himself as bestowing a chari- 
 ty; whereas the slaveholder supposes himself bound in 
 justice to support the blacks who are worn out in his ser- 
 vice? — Is it not a little strange that we should hear men 
 in the middle and northern states pour forth reproaches 
 against their brethren to the southward for holding slaves, 
 when they themselves are supported by the labor of 
 slaves? "Thou hypocrite! first cast the beam out of thine 
 own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast the 
 mote out of thy brother's eye." [To be continued.'] 
 
 VITIOUS HABITS. 
 
 Bad habits are with the utmost difficulty eradicated; 
 perhaps, indeed, when they have takin deep root they 
 become altogether unconquerable: because the conti- 
 nual indulgence of any leading propensity has a direct 
 
112 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tendency to weaken the powersof volition,or to enervate 
 the governing powersof the mind. Doctor Johnson says, 
 that those who have contracted bad habits must get rid 
 of them as well as they can: but he seems, at the same 
 time, to consider it as a thing extremely improbable, 
 that the conquest should ever be completely effected. 
 
 Johnson, no doubt, spoke from experience: and if he, 
 whose reasoning powers were so strong and who was so 
 remarkable for forming decided opinions on every sub- 
 ject, found it almost impossible to relinquish practices 
 which had become habitual, what must be the fate of 
 inferior minds? must they resign themselves to despair, 
 and give full way to pernicious indulgences? It is by no 
 means our intention'to inculcate the opinion, that refor- 
 mation is impracticable: few cases of moral disease are 
 so desperate as not to admit of a remedy: we would only 
 caution those, who have never experienced the tempta- 
 tion, not to be too hasty in pronouncing the sentence of 
 condemnation upon one who has fallen into a course of 
 habitual error. Minds of the first order are perhaps the 
 most prone to run into extremes: and it is most true, that 
 the unrestrained indulgence even of virtuous inclina- 
 tions, in this civilized world, has a direct tendency to lead 
 the amiable delinquent into the paths of error and of vice. 
 Cold phlegmatic beings— who never felt the inspirations 
 of genius, the turbulence of passion, or the enthusiasm 
 of virtue — who are unassailable by every motive that 
 might lead them astray — who have pursued'the path of 
 prudent expediency because they were destitute of 
 every species of vivid emotions — such beings are apt to 
 condemn, with envious malignity, the aberrations of 
 superior minds; but they ought to reflect that they are 
 incapacitated by nature for being competentjudges in 
 these affairs. A man of genius says some writer,should 
 have the privilege of being tried by his peers. So a man 
 whose benevolence of character, whose warm and so- 
 cial feelings, and whose amiable eccentricities,have been 
 the causes of his falling into vitious courses, when judg- 
 ment is to be passed on his conduct, is entitled to a jury 
 
THE SAVAGE. 113 
 
 equally as benevolent, humane and virtuous as himself. 
 
 When, by a long course of self indulgence, we have 
 lost that strength of mind which is necessary to enable 
 us to persevere in any particular line of self denial, the 
 only remedy that remains is to dislodge one evil by the 
 introduction of another; and as we are generally under 
 the influence of some leading propensity every change 
 that is effected in our habits must be productive of ad- 
 vantage. The mind becomes unsettled; it is diverted 
 from its vitious career; and there opens a possibility of 
 giving it a different direction. When this is the case, 
 nothing is so advisable as active employment: this is 
 the shield which will defend us from the arrows of 
 temptation; it presents some object which appears wor- 
 thy of our exertions; and insensibly restores a portion of 
 that energy of soul, which appeared to be irretrievably 
 lost. A man who has no employment may find it ut- 
 terly impossible to divest himself of vitious habits; but 
 surely he may resolutely determine to engage in active, 
 pursuits; and then he will find it more easy to curb 
 those morbid inclinations, which have been nurtured by 
 inaction of body and vacancy of mind. The great ex- 
 cellence of active employment consists in this: it diverts 
 our attention from the allurements of evil; and turns us 
 aside from a conflict in which we are sure to be vanquished. 
 
 Let us give an example: An immoderate indulgence 
 in the use of inebriating liquors is productive of conse- 
 quences the most deplorable and distressing: men of the 
 mostshining abilities and virtuous dispositions fall, every 
 day, sorrowful victims to the seductive power of this 
 deleterious vice: yet it is observable that indolence al- 
 ways precedes and accompanies this pernicious indul- 
 gence. A man may resolve a thousand times to refrain 
 from the intoxicating draught; but all in vain as long as 
 he continues in a state of inaction. But should he begin 
 to exercise the faculties of his mind or labor with his 
 hands, this bodily or mental exertion will give energy 
 to his resolution; and he will stand a chance to succeed 
 in his projects of reformation. 
 K2 
 
114 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 To conclude: there are a multitude of destructive 
 habits; but the habit of idleness is the most pernicious 
 of an}\ It relaxes the body and the mind; it engenders 
 and fosters every species of vice, and makes existence a 
 burthen too heavy to be borne. Happy is the man, who 
 never experienced that lassitude, that listlessness, that 
 torpidity, that incapability of every species of mental 
 exertion which — we now feel! We must lay aside our 
 pen, and take our tobacco tube to "puff a way care." Five 
 minutes ago, we resolved never to smoke any more. So 
 much for habits. 
 
 COMPLAINT. 
 
 When we find any thing that appears to stand alone 
 in nature, without bearing any relation to any other thing 
 in existence, we are much more surprised than we are by 
 tracing those wonderful aptitudes and relations that exist 
 among the multitude of objects which we denominate the 
 universe. Judicious philosophers have drawn their most 
 powerful arguments for the existence of a great intelli- 
 gent first cause from this consideration. The sun sends 
 not in vain his rays through the immensity of space: 
 they encounter other substances, and are reflected from 
 them^and convey, through the medium of the eye, to the 
 sentient principle of the human mind, the images of the 
 objects they have visited. Thus, however remote may 
 be the situation of things, they are bound together by 
 certain relations, which show the care and power of 
 some mighty intelligence. 
 
 The eye bears a relation to visible objects; our ears 
 have formed a connexion with things which are not per- 
 ceptible by the eye; our feeling enables us to understand 
 those properties of bodies which are neither discovera- 
 ble by the eye nor the ear; and by the smell, we are 
 assured of the existence, and made acquainted with the 
 nature of those minute parts of bodies that fly off in every 
 direction. Indeed the senses of man are so exactly cal- 
 culated to give information concerning the objects by 
 which he is surrounded, that it is fully evident that na- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 115 
 
 ture had produced and furnished the place of his resi- 
 dence, before she gave existence to man and the other 
 animated inhabitants of the universe. Also the faculties 
 which she has given to every different species of animals 
 are exactly such as are rendered necessary by the mode, 
 or place, of their existence: some inhabit the waters; 
 some dwell on the earth; while others wing their way 
 through the regions of the air: the construction of their 
 bodies and their powers of perception being universally 
 suited to the necessities of their several situations. And 
 we have been so long accustomed to the observation of 
 these existing relations not only between animals and 
 substances inanimate, but also between one animal and 
 another, and between one lifeless substance and another 
 equally lifeless withitself, that we are filled with astonish- 
 ment when we think we discover any departure from 
 these established regulations in the operations of nature. 
 Should we see a shark grazing in the fields, or the tiger 
 chasing the fish through the bosom of the deep; should 
 we find a carnivorous animal with the teeth and feet of 
 an ox, or a graminivorous beast with the claws and teeth 
 of a panther; should a granivorous bird have the talons 
 and beak of an eagle, or a bird of prey have the broad 
 bill and webbed feet of a goose or a mallard; how great 
 would be our amazement? If there were no sounds, 
 what would be the use of the ear? or, to speak more phi- 
 losophically, if the collision or movement of bodies oc- 
 casioned no agitation in the air, or any other fluid, is it 
 reasonable to suppose that nature would have given us 
 an apparatus for hearing? If there were no odors, would 
 she have placed the nose, that mighty promontory, in the 
 most conspicuous part of the countenance? Yet, we 
 think we have discovered something as wonderful as a 
 nose without odors, an ear without sounds, an eye without 
 light, or any of the rest of those wonderful things, we 
 have mentioned. We have observed in man a propensity 
 to complain, but no disposition to listen to complaints. 
 Why did nature, when she gave him that ardent desire 
 of awakening sympathy, render the means he employs, 
 
116 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 for that purpose, totally nugatory by denying him a dis- 
 position to listen to complaints of distress? Arewetosup- 
 pose that man, in the morning of time, being more vir- 
 tuous than the man now existing, had the same inclina- 
 tion to listen to the complaints of others as to give utter- 
 ance to his own; but that, in progress of time, when 
 personal interests became paramount to every moral 
 disposition, he ceased to be affected by the misfortunes 
 of others, although, to promote his private purposes, he 
 still continued to claim their attention to his own tragi- 
 cal details? How this maybe, we cannot tell: but we are 
 satisfied that the disposition of the human mind, under 
 affliction, to bewail its fate, and to endeavor to awaken 
 sympathy is still found to exist, although it certainly an- 
 swers not the purpose for which it appears to have been 
 originally designed. Men still continue to relate their 
 sorrows, wants, and desires, to every one that has com- 
 plaisance enough to pretend to listen to their mournful 
 effusions ; but they ought to know that this is not the way 
 to find consolation in their sorrows, or to effect any other 
 purpose they may have in view. The only way to ar- 
 rive at the completion of their desires is to conceal care- 
 fully the existence of their wants: men, with true ser- 
 vility, will fly to gratify all the desires of those who, they 
 suppose, stand in no need of th^ir assistance. 
 
 Thisproneness to complain, however natural, is only 
 excusable in a youth or in a fool: a man of good sense, 
 who has completed his sixth lustrum, yet still is inclined 
 to whine when any little misfortune assails him, de- 
 serves the contempt he will experience. The character 
 of Cicero is lessened by the complaints he suffered to 
 escape him: and who can read the sad things that were 
 written by the banished Ovid, without despising the man 
 whose misfortunes debased, whereas they should have ex- 
 alted his mind. Men, who have experienced evils which 
 are really of a trivial nature, should be in haste to for- 
 get them. These things may appear important to them- 
 selves; but why should they suppose them sufficiently 
 interesting to engage the attention of others! But if 
 
THE SAVAGE. 117 
 
 the misfortunes be irremediable, the only thing that 
 then remains is to suffer with dignity. 
 
 Such were the observation we once made to Elmore, 
 when he seemed disposed to complain of the severity of 
 his lot. 
 
 "These are the reasonings of a mind of ease," said 
 Elmore; "did I occupy a conspicuous station, I could 
 suffer with dignity; but when I patiently submit to griev- 
 ous and almost intolerable evils, who will look on and 
 applaud my persevering fortitude? Socrates might suf- 
 fer persecution, imprisonment, death: he was sure of an 
 immortal reward. A monument to his name will be 
 found in the breast of every good man till time shall be 
 no more. But what hope can support an obscure in- 
 dividual under the pressure of calamities?" And what 
 will he gain, we replied, by useless repinings? If he 
 have a high opinion of his own intellectual importance, 
 why should he not endeavor to preserve his own esteem? 
 That is a matter of no small consequence. He cannot 
 even esteem himself so highly, after having given way 
 to unmanly complaints, as he would have done had he 
 supported his misfortunes with stoical coolness and re- 
 solution. If he have any regard for the sanctity of his 
 feelings, why should he be solicitous to expose his sor- 
 rows to vulgar minds who are alike incapable of justly 
 appreciatinghis confidence, and of judging of theacute- 
 ness of his sensations? But if he must complain, "ve- 
 rily he shall have his reward:" "Poor Elmore!" the easy 
 fat foolish world will observe, "Poor Elmore! he had 
 some good qualities,^"- — —for the contemptuous"^" 
 is sure to succeed every expression of — = — "Damn the 
 world!" cried Elmore, in a transport of fury, "I want 
 not its pity nor condolence. If I complain, it is owing 
 to the weakness of human nature, and not with the 
 hopes of exciting commiseration. The wretch who 
 dies alone in a dungeon, or in the wilderness a thousand 
 miles from the haunts of men, where there is no eye to 
 pity nor hand to succor, may utter groans of anguish, 
 but he cannot look for pity from the trees of the forest, 
 
118 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 or from beasts of prey." Elmore departed: we had touch- 
 ed his pride; but he was not cured of his error. 
 Elmore was scarcely gone before we received a visit from 
 Tom Rattle. Tom may truly be called an odd king of 
 an animal; for we are inclined to believe that nature 
 never formed but one of the kind. He came in singing: 
 and having danced several times round us and put eve- 
 ry thing out of order he suddenly stopped, and staring di- 
 rectly in our face, exclaimed, "Well, here I am, thank 
 God, safe and sound, after all my hairbreath 'scapes and 
 marvellous adventures! Do you remember the labors of 
 Hercules? I have forgot them all but one — no matter — 
 He went down to hell, (whether by the way of Avernus 
 or not, I cannot tell) for the threeheaded dog Cerberus. 
 The snarling cur saw him approach, raised his three 
 heads, and barked tremendously: all hell resounded 
 with his yelping. Hercules raised his club. The dog 
 retreated, and took refuge under the iron throne of Pluto. 
 Hercules approached — Cerberus snarled — Pluto raised 
 his rusty bident. Let the dog alone, said Pluto. You 
 be damned, said Hercules; and reaching out his hand, 
 he dragged the howling monster forth, and bore him in 
 triumph to the earth. Was that heroic? I have done 
 something greater than that! Samson slew a thousand 
 men ; I have done something greater than that. It was 
 not I that shot Python, slew the Hydra, or killed the 
 boar of Calydonia; but I have done greater things than 
 these! It was not 1 that slew the Minotaur, cut off Me- 
 dusa's head or cleaned the stables of Augeas; but I have 
 done greater things than these ! It was not I that robbed 
 the Hesperian gardens, brought away the golden fleece, 
 or heaped Pelionon Olympus, and Ossaon Pelion; no: 
 but I have done greater things than these! Yet I much 
 fear" continued he, assuming a sorrowful countenance, 
 "that I shall not be deified neither before nor after my 
 death. I shall never become a new star in the tail of 
 Aries; nor shall Cancer draw in his claws for me. No 
 new planet will be christened Tom Rattle; nor shall I 
 drink nectar,with apwrjo/e moi^A, among the gods above. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 119 
 
 This morning I was the happiest of mortals; and pro- 
 mised myself a whole day of felicity. 1 was all life and 
 hilarity; nor did I feel one gloomy presentiment of ap- 
 proaching evil. But now, my spirits have fled, and my 
 joys have vanished forever! 
 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my laughter! 
 Such was the fate of Tom; first he put forth 
 The tender leaves of hope; and soon he blossom'd 
 And bore his smiles and graces thick about him; 
 But, ah! there came a frost, a killing frost, 
 And— when he thought, good easy soul, full surely, 
 His pleasures were eternal,— nipped his root, 
 And then he fell— 
 
 But my soul shudders at the depth of my misfortunes! 
 Thesecurityof my mind on the very brink of destruction 
 is truly astonishing: no flitting bird, no gloomy cloud, no 
 muttering thunders excited any apprehension of the ca- 
 lamity that was about tooverwhelm me! Iwalked,Isang; 
 in the gaity of my he;irt, I danced through the streets; 
 when, whom should I meet but — my aunt Sarah Poorly ! 
 Had I encountered a giant or a lion — had I met the dog 
 of hell, or the triform Chimera, my valor might have 
 been serviceable; but here — what was to be done? 
 
 — As one who sees a serpent in his way, 
 Glistening and basking in the summer's ray, 
 Disordered stops, to shun the danger near, — 
 Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear — 
 
 So did poor Tom! 
 
 But all in vain: at once my highblown pride 
 Broke under me; and all my pleasures ieft me, 
 Sullen and sad and angry, to the mercy 
 Of a long tongue, that must forever haunt me. 
 Vain idle praters of this world, I hate ye, 
 With everlasting hatred! O how wretched 
 Is that poor man, who sits and gapes, and listens 
 To never ending stories!" 
 
 Tom had proceeded thus far before we gave him any 
 interruption; but as we saw no prospect of his bringing 
 his story to a conclusion, we laid aside our papers, and 
 desired him to sit down and let us hear the "story of his 
 woes," adding, that we would endeavor to sympathize 
 with him under his afflictions. "Alas!" said Tom, "1 
 am afraid you can afford me but little consolation ; but I 
 shall at least enjoy the mournful pleasure of pouring my 
 sorrows into the bosom of a friend. 
 
120 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 It is pleasant to look back on troubles that are past; 
 but we contemplate the difficulties, with which we are 
 surrounded, with the utmost impatience. I have already 
 performed wonders, as I told you; but I am yet involved 
 in the greatest misfortunes: hence, these tears. I sat 
 three hours, three long hours, 'like Patience on a monu- 
 ment smiling at grief,' and listened to the complaints of 
 aunt Sarah Poorly. 1 knew that when evils are unavoid- 
 able, there nothing remains for a philosopher, like me, 
 but patient endurance; I therefore summoned my forti- 
 tude, heroism, and stoicism, to my assistance, and deter- 
 mined to suffer, without a murmur, all the rigors of my 
 destiny. I have escaped for once, as you see; but new 
 trials await me. My aunt Sarah Poorly is rich, and she 
 is old. She has been so kind as to flatter me with the 
 hopes of succeeding to her estate, when she shall leave 
 the vanities of this transitory world to partake of the 
 joys of the next. But, though she speaks with rapture 
 of the pleasures that await her when time shall be no 
 more, still she seems inclined to linger in this 'vale of 
 tears' as long as she possibly can. And as long as she 
 favors the world with her presence, she must talk: and 
 ehe must have an auditor. I have neglected her for some 
 time past, and was really apprehensive that I had in- 
 curred her displeasure; but now she has laid her com- 
 mands on me to see her often. What shall I do? If I of- 
 fend her, I know the consequence; and as I am a poor 
 devil, her fortune would be very convenient. If I humor 
 her propensity for talking, alas, I shall never live to 
 enjoy the good things she has promised me! 
 
 A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped: 
 
 A foe, she'll starve— a friend, she'll talk me dead! 
 
 My brother Sam was her first favorite. He listened to 
 her complaints for eighteen months; but could stand it 
 no longer. He ran away, and went to sea. After he had 
 enjoyed the pleasures of navigation for some time, he 
 concluded to pay his court again to my aunt; but in vain : 
 •he was seriously offended, and would never be recon- 
 ciled to him any more. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 121 
 
 Your humble servant has, of late, found grace in her 
 sight: and if 1 attend to her complaints, she is kind and 
 generous beyond measure; but if I show the least im- 
 patience, or even yawn, while she expatiates on her sor- 
 rows, I am sure to awaken her displeasure. 
 
 Would she permit me to join in the conversation, I 
 think that, in time, custom would render my situation 
 tolerable; (for you know, Piomingo, that I am a little ad- 
 dicted to talking myself;) but the only thing she will per- 
 mit is the occasional interjection of groans, assents, and 
 expressions of surprise. Thus you see I am subjected to 
 a double misfortune: I am denied the gratification of 
 talking myself, and compelled to listen to the dull unin- 
 teresting complaints of a whining old woman. Some- 
 times, indeed, when she talks of an obstinate cough, or 
 of an acute pain in the side, I feel myself roused by a 
 momentary attention to the subject of herdiscourse. On 
 such occasions, a faint hope (shall I acknowledge it?) a 
 faint hope, that death will speedily remove her from this 
 troublesome world to those delights that await her be- 
 yond the grave, makes me listen with something like 
 pleasure to her dolorous effusions." 
 
 We had now permitted Tom to go on with his story 
 for a considerable time; and we began to think that we 
 were condemned to listen as long to his complaints, as 
 he was compelled to attend to his aunt's; we therefore 
 thought proper to make an attempt to partake of the 
 discourse. We made several wise observations concern- 
 ing the intermixture of good and evil in this transitory 
 world; mentioned many maxims of the ancient philoso- 
 phers and poets, which inculcate the necessity of submit- 
 ting to fate; dwelt, for a considerable time, on some ob- 
 servations of Seneca, which we thought might be useful 
 to a man in Rattle's situation; strongly recommended that 
 philosophical panacea, patience, as an unfailing remedy 
 for every disease; and concluded bydesiringtobeinform- 
 ep of the particulars of his late rencounterwithhis aunt. 
 
 Tom leaned back on his chair, and stretching out his 
 arm, exclaimed in a theatrical tone, 
 L 
 
1 
 
 122 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 "My friend, what you command me to relate 
 Renews the sad remembrance of my fate: 
 My pleasures from their old foundations rent, 
 And every wo that Rattle underwent. 
 
 No sooner had my aunt espied me, than she exclaimed, 
 "My dear cousin, I'm rejoiced to see you. I was just 
 thinking of you. How can you absent yourself so long, 
 when you know I delight in your company? I have been 
 up to see poor Caty Cackle — her husband sick — five or 
 six poor half starved children — nobody to do any thing 
 — a distressed family, cousin. I did what I could; but 
 there isso much distress in the world — Bless me! don't 
 let us stand here* No: not that way — let us go by Third 
 street. What a full market! Well, how they do push 
 and elbow each other! — every one for himself. Did you 
 observe that man, who just now passed us? I think I 
 should know him. I begin to feel fatigued. We shall 
 soon be home. Ah that wheelbarrow ! — take care of 
 the wheelbarrow, cousin! — there's no walking for 
 wheelbarrows! That's Mr. Zany. Here before us. 
 Well: I have seen his father wheel oisters — a strange 
 world this! such upsand downs! Thank God, no rela- 
 tion of mine Home at last — quite exhausted — no 
 
 place like home. Besey, has Dr. Sanative been here? 
 Cousin, take a chair — sit nigh the fire — the morning is 
 cool. Cold weather is my aversion. How strangely I'm 
 altered: a few years ago, no cold could affect me; but 
 now, if I stir out, I 'm sure to catch cold. All the cloth- 
 ing don't seem to keep me warm ; but my feet get damp : 
 and then I 'm sure of a fresh attack on my breast — hem 
 hem. I hope this walk will do me no injury; but I'm 
 strangely altered of late — I begin to feel the infirmities 
 of old age. A walk used always to revive me; but now 
 — I can't tell how — I think it's rather a disadvantage. 
 Would you believe it cousin? the other day I was taken 
 with akind of dizziness — a singing in my ears — a loss of 
 sight — and if I had not leaned on something (I forget 
 what it was) I should have fallen. Well: I hope these 
 warnings will not be lost on me. Death is a friend to the 
 afflicted ; and I have had, God knows, my share of afflic 
 
THE SAVAGE. 123 
 
 tion. I shall attend the summons with joy — I hope I'm 
 prepared for the change. The doctor says my giddiness 
 was owing to an empty stomach. Indeed 1 had eaten 
 nothing that morning. I have a very poor appetite — 
 sometimes I don't eat an ounce in twenty four hours. 
 Cousin, I can't stand it long. Such a complication of 
 diseases: rheumatism — pain in my side — hacking cough 
 — flatulencies — dizziness — general debility — and then 
 old age. I'm now in my sixty ninth year — no, I shall 
 be sixty eight next christmas. How time slips away ! it 
 seems but yesterday that I was a child — what a romp I 
 was! — my poor old mother used to call me a perfect 
 hoiden. What a change has taken place in a few years! 
 Ithink,somehowor other, I'm very unfortunate. There's 
 old John Stout — he's almost eighty years of age; and 
 walks without a cane. But we must submit to our lot — 
 ay, the Lord teach us submission! Dr. Sanative saysthat 
 mysymptomsare not dangerous. He tells me they are 
 owing to indigestion; and. that the crudities — but I can- 
 not remember now what he said they were owing to; 
 however he made it perfectly plain at the time. He says 
 that nourishing diet and gentle exercise will restore my 
 health — the Lord's will be done! You cant think, cou- 
 sin, how my sight has failed of late! In a few years, at 
 this rate, I shall be quite blind. Lord bless me! it would 
 
 be a great trial to lose my sight; but the doctor " 
 
 Here, as the gods would have it, there was a cry of lire 
 in the street; and I started up and made my escape. 
 She called after me, however, and said that she must see 
 me every other day at the least. You are not to suppose, 
 Piomingo, that I have related the one hundredth part of 
 her discourse. No; I have only mentioned some of her 
 observations: She talked three full hours — what an eter- 
 nity! And during the whole course of the harangue, it 
 is expected that I should sit perfectly still, keeping my 
 eyes fixed continually on the speaker, without taking 
 any other part in the conversation than barely giving the 
 requisite assents and negations; and judiciously inter- 
 posing such expressions of admiration as the following: 
 
124 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 if 
 
 so! indeed! is it posible? strange 1 ! surprising! amazing! 
 good God! who would have thought it? And these in 
 terjectory exclamations are not to be thrown in at ran- 
 dom. No: very far from it; they are to be suited to the 
 changes of the discourse and the emotions of the speak- 
 er. Should I at any time give a nod of assent instead of 
 a sigh of regret, the mistake would be fatal. What shall 
 I do, Piomingo? shall I live or die? shall I have recourse 
 to the bowl or dagger? or shall I precipitate myself into 
 the river? You would not surely have me, in the heyday 
 of youth, to sit, 'with serious sadness,' and listen to the 
 everlasting croakings of this^sorrowbringing raven!" 
 
 Piomingo^ Levius fit patientia, quickquid corrigere 
 esnefas. 
 
 Tom Rattle. Curse your heathen lingo! let us have 
 plain English; but I believe you recommend patience. 
 O yes, it is very easy to give advice, and talk about pa- 
 tience! but if you were in my place I fancy 
 
 Piomingo. Dear Tom, I give you example, as well as 
 precept. 
 
 Tom Rattle. How so? 
 
 Piomingo. Have I not listened to your doleful com- 
 plaints, as long as you did to your aunt's? 
 
 Tom Rattle. Good by. 
 
 Piomingo. Good by, Tom. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. X. 
 SLAVERY. 
 
 Slavery, as established in the West Indies and the 
 southern parts of the union, is only a kind of premature, 
 or forced, civilization. Men who had a taste for the luxu- 
 rious enjoyments of the old world were dissatisfied with 
 the state of society in which they were placed: there 
 was so much savage equality among the people, that they 
 were unable to procure laborers. What was to be done? 
 Must every man work for himself? "Horrible idea!" said 
 an orator, on the foregoing question being asked in one 
 of their legislative assemblies, "Horrible idea! Shall we 
 who came from a civilized country, where the good work 
 
THE SAVAGE. 125 
 
 of refinement had progressed so for that a man might be 
 bought for four pence a day, be under the necessity of 
 maintaining ourselves by our own individual exertion? 
 Shall we who have tasted the sweets of power, have no 
 one to whom we may give directions, and utter the man- 
 dates of authority? We cannot make servants of each 
 other; for our settlement in this barbarous country has 
 brought us to a state of equality. The land is fertile be- 
 yond conception, and repays, with abundant harvests, 
 the careless labors of the most indolent cultivator. — 
 Where men find it so easy to supply all their necessities, 
 there is nothing will induce them to sweat in ourfields, 
 or become assiduous attendants in our houses. Could we 
 deny them the privilege of cultivating the earth, and 
 reduce them to a state of starvation, then, indeed, we 
 might find them suitable instruments for the gratification 
 of our refined propensities, and for the promotion of our 
 sublimated enjoyments; but, under existing circumstan- 
 ces, this is wholly impracticable. Could we content our- 
 selves with meat, drink, and clothing, and be satisfied to 
 dwell in hovels merely calculated to repel the inclemen- 
 cies of the weather, every man might supply his own 
 wants; but we have been used to better things. We 
 must have towering palaces, lordly equipages, and soft 
 luxurious indulgences. Now, as these things cannot be 
 enjoyed without the subjection and distress of a vast ma- 
 jority of the inhabitants of any country, it therefore fol- 
 lows that we must reduce to poverty and wretchedness 
 a multitude of our fellow creatures, that we, a little flock, 
 may be affluent and idle. It appears somewhat unjust, 
 we must acknowledge, that the happiness of the many 
 should be sacrificed, in order that the few may partake 
 of the feverish enjoyments of luxury and power. But 
 why should we moralize on the subject? We must have 
 luxury and magnificence; and as luxury and magnifi- 
 cence cannot be procured or supported without misery 
 and want, we must have misery and want. Could we 
 content ourselves to wait the slow progress of civilization, 
 the necessary quantum of wretchedness would undoubt- 
 L2 
 
126 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 edly be produced. Property will accumulate in the bands 
 of certain fortunate individuals ; others will become poor. 
 The rich will grow proud, luxurious, overbearing; and 
 the poor will become obsequious, degraded, vitious, mis- 
 erable. There will be nothing but arrogance and dis- 
 simulation, oppression and distress, the tyrant and the 
 slave. The seeds of civilization, which we brought from 
 our native shores, have already taken root: and the gol- 
 den fruit of slavery will inevitably be produced. But 
 many centuries must elapse ere it ripen: and life, alas, 
 is short. We must be numbered with the dead long be- 
 fore a sufficiency of poverty will exist to answer our 
 purposes. Can we make use of no artificial heats that 
 will hasten the growth of civilization ! Let us introduce 
 domestic and hereditary slavery: although we live in a 
 barbarous country, we may enjoy all those advantages 
 that flow from the wisdom and experience of ages. This 
 will be compendious civilization." Thus spoke the coun- 
 sellor. The multitude applauded; and made haste to 
 follow his advice. 
 
 Now, although we will not undertake to say that the 
 first settlers in the West Indies, or any where else, made 
 use of such reasonings as the foregoing; yet we have no 
 hesitation in declaring that the true cause of the intro- 
 duction of this species of slavery was the difficulty expe- 
 rienced in procuring those services which are easily 
 obtained in civilized communities. Domestic slavery ne- 
 ver originates but among a barbarous people — but among 
 a people where considerable equality prevails ; but among 
 a people who are neither poor nor rich, and where the 
 disparity of ranks, which is fostered by the arts of refine- 
 ment and civilization, is unknown. A savage people 
 eager to grasp at the luxuries of life have no other way 
 to gratify their desires, but by the introduction of domes- 
 tic slavery. Refined and polished nations never have 
 recourse to this expedient: eight tenths of the population 
 being already in a state of downright slavery. Why has 
 not African slavery been introduced into England and 
 other parts of Europe, as well as into the West Indies 
 
THE SAVAGE. 127 
 
 and the United States? This forbearance, certainly, 
 could not be owing to any religious or moral motive. — 
 To enslave, oppress and destroy a man in one place is 
 as great a crime as to oppress, enslave and and destroy 
 him in another. The labors of the sugar plantations in 
 the islands, and of the gold and silver mines on the con- 
 tinent of America are carried on by African slaves; why 
 then do they not also cultivate the fields of England, 
 France and Spain? For this plain reason: a white slave 
 can be hired for less than would maintain a black one. 
 Hence it is plain, that there is no motive, no temptation, 
 to induce the rulers of a polished nation to permit the 
 introduction of domestic or personal slaves; and there- 
 fore they are entitled to no praise ou that account. We 
 have often been amused with the boasting rant of English 
 poets and orators, on this subject. They declaim with 
 vehement passion concerning the miseries and distresses 
 to which the Africans are subjected in the West India 
 plantations; and at the same time eulogize the English 
 constitution, which gives freedom to every slave who 
 may touch the British shores. Now this is airy nonsense : 
 the price of labor is so low in Great Britain, that a slave, 
 which you would be compelled to maintain in summer 
 and winter, in sickness and health, in youth and old 
 -age, and supply with all the necessaries of life, would be 
 an expensive incumbrance. No, no, the English are 
 much given to encourage domestic manufactures; and 
 the slaves manufactured in the united kingdom are fully 
 sufficient to answer every demand for domestic con- 
 sumption, and furnish a few, as usual, tor exportation. 
 From what has been said, it appears perfectly plain 
 that this species of slavery, which for distinction's sake 
 we have denominated domestic slavery, cannot be in- 
 troduced into a civilized community, because the mar- 
 ket is already overstocked with this same commodity; 
 and when the market is glutted with any article of 
 trade, the merchant will bealoser who transmits a fresh 
 supply. Although a slave may be valuable among the 
 present semisavage inhabitants of the United States, 
 
128 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 yet, if we look forward, through five or six centuries, to a 
 time, when all the western lands, now unoccupied, shall 
 teem with population. When the venerable forests shall 
 be forgotten, and cultured fields and smiling villages be 
 seen in every direction; when fifty Londons shall be 
 found on the seaboard, and a thousand Birminghams in 
 the interior; when laborers may be hired for six cents a 
 day — then who will be willing to give a thousand dol- 
 lars for an African slave? The country will be then so 
 thoroughly civilized, and white slaves will be so numer- 
 ous, that we shall hear no more of fresh importations 
 from Africa. Hence it follows that, when the neces- 
 sary quantum of slavery shall be produced by the pro- 
 gress of refinement and civilization, the Africans will 
 gain their manumission: that is, they will cease to be 
 slaves to individuals, and become slaves to the communi- 
 ty of the opulent. And, after a minute and careful in- 
 vestigation of the subject, we give it as our candid and 
 deliberate opinion, that they will lose by the change. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 A man of about fifty years of age came, the other dayj 
 into our study. He addressed us in a pompous formal 
 manner, and desired to know if we had a family. We 
 thought it a little singular that a stranger should take 
 the liberty to inquire into our private concerns; there- 
 fore we made no direct answer to his authoritative de- 
 mand, but desired to know in our turn, if he were tak- 
 ing the census. "No,sir," said he, "I am a schoolmaster; 
 and as you have lately settled in our neighborhood, I 
 did not know but you might have some children tawhom 
 you might wish to give a christian education. You are, 
 yourself, they tell me, a savage; and it is likely you will 
 not be disposed to give up the gods of your fathers, in 
 youroldage; butcouldform noobjection I should think, 
 to the plan of having your children instructed in the 
 benign principles of the gospel. However, if you are 
 conscientious in these things, I will not undertake to in- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 1*29 
 
 tcrpose with my advice. I am a christian 5 you arc a hea- 
 then: and each has a right to enjoy his respective opin- 
 ions; but we may do each other a good turn noth with- 
 standing. Send your sons to my select academy for young 
 gentlemcm; and I prommise,upon myhonor, thatyou will 
 have no reason to repent that you have placed them un- 
 der my care. Furnish them with a savage catechism con- 
 taining the principles of the Muscogulgee religion; and 
 I shall use the same exertions to have them carefully in- 
 structed in the doctrines of your savage forefathers, that 
 I do to have my other pupils imbued with the princi- 
 ples of Christianity." 
 
 Piomingo. You are very accomodating, indeed, my 
 friend; but will you not find it a little difficult to incul- 
 cate, at one moment, on certain of your scholars, the 
 necessity of believing in the Indian doctrines as the dic- 
 tates of eternal truth; and the next instant, to inform 
 another set of your disciples,that what you had just be- 
 fore been dictating was a mere fiction, and totally un- 
 worthy of credit? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Not at all: I shuld consider myself, in 
 that case, as a mere instrument which you had thought 
 proper to employ for the purpose of infusinginto the minds 
 of your offspring those principles that best pleased you. 
 
 Piomingo, You form a very correct idea of the nature 
 of your employment. Pray what do you teach ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. At my select academy 
 
 Piomingo. Pardon me my dear sir, for the present in- 
 terruption — what do you mean by academy? Do you in- 
 struct your scholars in a place resembling that enclosure 
 where Plato taught philosophy on the banks of the II yssus ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Plato! — 1 have not read Plato since I 
 was a boy — O, now I remember, he was a celebrated 
 schoolmaster: he taught an academy at Athens. Acade- 
 my, sir, is the Latin for school. No genteel teachernow 
 ever makes use of the word school. We have nothingbut 
 academies :dancing,d rawing, riding, fencing,academies; 
 and academies for the instruction ofyoungladiesand gen- 
 tleman in all the branches of polite and useful literature. 
 
130 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Piomingo. Thank you sir: you have satisfied me on 
 that point. You were about to inform me what branches 
 were taught in your select academy for the instruction of 
 young gentlemen. 
 
 Schoolmaster. Yes sir: at my select academy for the in- 
 struction of young gentlemen are taught reading, chiro- 
 graphy,arithmetic,bookkeeping,geography with the use 
 the globes, maps and charts, mensuration of superfices 
 and solids, longimetry, altimetry, gauging, algebra, ge- 
 ometry, trigonometry, surveying, navigation with solar, 
 lunar and astral observations, English grammar, rhetoric, 
 composition, logic, history, chronology, mythology, phi- 
 lology, natural philosophy, astronomy, and, in fine, even- 
 branch of polite, elegant and useful literature. Here 
 is one of my cards. 
 
 Piomingo* You promise very fair: you may consider 
 me as a standing subscriber to your school — your select 
 academy, I mean. I think it my duty to encourage a man 
 of your extraordinary endowments; but — 
 
 Schoolmaster. You may rest assured, my dear sir that 
 every attention, within the limits of my power, shall be 
 paid to the young Muscogulgee gentlemen, your sons, 
 which you are about to enstrust to my care. I promise 
 you sincerely, Mr. Piomingo, that I never will abuse 
 any confidence that is placed in me. I consider it as a 
 sacred duty, which I owe to my patrons, to my country 
 and to myself, that my pupils should be not only en- 
 couraged in the pursuit of elegant and useful learning; 
 but that their manners should be formed in the most 
 genteel style, and ther morals sedulously guarded from 
 every species of contamination — Here is a copy of my 
 rules — How many of the young gentlemen do you pro- 
 pose sending to my select academy'/ 
 
 Piomingo. I have not any to send. 
 
 Schoolmaster. Sir! 
 
 Piomingo. Ifyou think proper to comply with a re- 
 quisition I am about to make, I will consider myself as an- 
 swerable to you for the price of tuition of two scholars 
 as long as we continue neighbors. I wish to learn some 
 
THE SAVAGE. 131 
 
 of the secrets of jour profession: there are, you know, 
 secrets belonging to every trade; and 1 would gladly in- 
 form myself of the nature of the system of education 
 which is encouraged by the illuminati of this flourishing 
 city. No disadvantage can arise from your placing this 
 confidence in me: I give you my savage word, that I 
 will never become your rival. Now, if you feci disposed 
 to gratify my curiosity, you may consider me as one of 
 the most zealous of your patrons. 
 
 Schoolmaster (after a pause.) Sir, you are right, when 
 you suppose that we gentlemen of the abcedarian de- 
 partment of literature have little professional secrets. 
 Such is the fact: but it is to be observed in our favor, that 
 we were forced into this line of conduct by our employ- 
 ers themselves. When we dealt honestly and openly with 
 them, we were in continual danger of starvation; but 
 since we have had recourse to the arts of deception, we 
 find teaching a very profitable business. When men are 
 desirous of being deceived, and hold out a reward for 
 those who become dextrous impostors, why should they 
 not be gratified in so reasonable an expectation! I should 
 be very sorry to be so candid with every one? but as I 
 perceive that you have too much penetration to be de- 
 ceived by a string of highsounding words, and that you 
 already have a tolerable idea of the nature of those arts 
 by which we gull the wise men of the earth, I shall not 
 hesitate to give you every information you may require. 
 
 Piomingo. Will you be so good as to inform me why all 
 the schools or academies in the city are denominated selectl 
 
 Schoolmaster. By that, sir, we intimate to the public, 
 that we teach only the children of the opulent; and in a. 
 country where nothing is found to confer respect or cele- 
 brity but the idea of wealth, it gives an air of gentility 
 to our institutions, which we find highly useful: hundreds 
 will send to Mr. Birch's select academy, who would have 
 treated Thomas Birch and his school with the utmost con- 
 tempt. Multitudes, who, by the mean grovellingarts now 
 in use, have added cent to cent until they have amassed 
 a considerable sum, are eager to shake off and forget the 
 
132 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 vulgarity oftheiroriginbygivingtheir offspring what they 
 call a genteel education. They are straining after that 
 undefinable something called ton: and we find it to our 
 advantage to encourage this propensity in our patrons. 
 
 Piomingo, What is ton ? 
 
 Schoolmaster, The question is easily asked; but I shall 
 find it difficult to give you a satisfactory answer. It is 
 something of which we may forma confused idea; but 
 which we find it impossible to describe. It is like the urim 
 and thummim on the breastplate of the Jewish high- 
 priest: volumes have been written to throw light on the 
 subject; but it is still involved in darkness and mystery. 
 Among the moderns it is always found to accompany 
 opulence and splendor. It is a kind of glory which sur- 
 rounds the head of the golden calf, which is set up as 
 the object of universal adoration. 
 
 Piomingo. The enviable few, who have acquired the 
 high polish you speak of, may be known, I suppose, by 
 their ease of deportment, conciliating address, and sua- 
 vity of manners. 
 
 Schoolmaster, Permit me to set you right there, sir: 
 among us, arrogance,pride, and brutality of manners are 
 reckoned eminently genteel. The graces and courtesies, 
 to which you allude, are absolutely unknown among the 
 gay world of a commercial city. 
 
 Piomingo, How is English grammar taught in the se- 
 lect academies of Philadelphia? 
 
 Schoolmaster, Why sir, it became fashionable, a few 
 years ago to talk about English grammar. We imme- 
 diately took the hint: and since that time English gram- 
 mar has been taught in all our select academies. 
 Piomingo, Do you understand whatyou profess to teach ? 
 
 Schoolmaster, Understand? — not at all: it would be 
 hard indeed, if we were obliged to learn every thing we 
 profess to teach! Why sir, welay it down as a universal 
 rule never to appear ignorant of any thing. You may 
 observe that in my advertisements, I do not profess to 
 teach the Greek and Latin languages: you are not to 
 suppose that I therefore acknowledge myself to be ig- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 133 
 
 norant of those languages. By no means. Should any 
 oneexpressan inclination to have his son instructed in 
 Hebrew, Greek, or Latin, I immediately reply, "My dear 
 sir, I should be very happy to have a class of young gen- 
 tlemen, to whom J might give instruction in those lan- 
 guages; but they have become quite unfashionable of 
 late. Gentlemen of the first respectability in the city, 
 whose sons are of course designed for the mercantile pro- 
 fession, inform me that they find a knowledge of the 
 dead languages altogether useless. They are therefore 
 determined that their sons shall not be impeded in the 
 acquisition of useful information by filling their heads 
 with such antiquated rubbish." Now, as the business of 
 a merchant is the object of universal ambition with this 
 moneyloving people, I always find this answer perfectly 
 satisfactory and decisive. But I believe you spoke of 
 English grammar in particular. 
 
 Piomingo. Yes, sir. 
 
 Schoolmaster. As to grammar, I have taught it in my 
 select academy, these seven or eight years; but if there 
 be any sense in it, I must acknowledge that I have never 
 found it out. I however teach my pupils to repeat a long 
 story about nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, &c. and 
 this answers every purpose. None of my employers are 
 able to detect the imposition. The young gentlemen can 
 tell how many parts of speech there are; talk of nouns 
 common and proper, of transitive and intransitive verbs: 
 -but upon my honor, sir, they have no more idea of the 
 meaningof what they repeat, thanlhave of the language 
 of the antediluvians. And then it is diverting to observe 
 how the fond parents are gratified by this display of the 
 grammatical knowledge of their promising offspring; 
 and how the fame of the teacher is extended by the 
 philological intelligence of his accomplished scholars! 
 Piomingo. Am I to suppose thatyou are equally ignorant 
 of all the other branches taught in your select academy? 
 
 Schonlmaster. No: I can read tolerably well; but it 
 must be granted, at the same time, that I am very apt to 
 make risible blunders in pronunciation. However, where 
 M 
 
134 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 one reads better, five hundred read worse, than I do. I 
 never seem at a loss : and if any intelligent person should, 
 by accident, be present and attempt to correct any of 
 my errors, I laugh at his presumption; and, as there is 
 always a majority of fools in every mixed company, I 
 generally come off triumphant. 1 write a good hand ; but 
 do not spell very correctly. I understand as much arith- 
 metic as is usually taught in schools: and this is the ex- 
 tent of my scientifical acquirements. It must be remarked 
 also, that in the course of a long life 1 have acquired a 
 smattering in various departments of literature, which 
 enables me to put on the appearance of wisdom, and to 
 declaim with the utmost pomposity and assurance. I can 
 talk fluently of fifty different authors, one of which I 
 have never read, and give my opinion of their merits 
 respectively. I know that Homer is the father of poetry; 
 that he gives an account of the heathen gods, and the 
 destruction of Troy ; that he wrote in Greek ; that he was 
 blind : and that seven cities were, each, emulous of being 
 considered as the place of his birth. I know that the Iliad 
 is more animated than the Odyssey; that Achilles was 
 fierce, and Ulysses crafty; that the siege of Troy was 
 continued for ten years; and that the wooden horse 
 proved, at last, the means of its destruction. 
 
 Should any one desire to hear my opinion of the re- 
 spective merits of Homer and Virgil, I give, without hesi- 
 tation, a decided opinion in favor of the former. I assert, 
 with the greatest promptitude, that as to genius — (here^ 
 to display my erudition, 1 interpose a Latin proverb, 
 Poeta nascitur, non fit] for you must know that I have 
 picked up four or five scraps of this kind, which I intro- 
 duce occasionally to the great edification of my hearers,) 
 that as to genius, which is the grand characteristic of a 
 poet, Homer is infinitely superior. Virgil, indeed, I add, 
 is more elaborate and correct: but he is indebted for 
 almost every thing to his great predecessor. 
 
 Piomingo. Butyou certainly do not presume to run a pa- 
 rallel between these poets without having read the 
 originals. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 135 
 
 Schoolmaster. I assure you sir, that I do. Without .hav- 
 ing read the originals ! I have not even read the English 
 translations; and I cannot pronounce, correctly, one in 
 ten of the proper names that must necessarily occur in 
 those translations. 
 
 Piomingo. Are you not afraid, at times, of exposing 
 your ignorance? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Expose my ignorance! To whom? to 
 people more ignorant than myself? Myknowledge,which 
 in reality is not extensive, when compared with that of 
 others, rises into importance: and what is still better, my 
 character, as a man of substance and a profound scholar, 
 is firmly established. Doyousuppose,Piomingo,thatany 
 intelligent animal, who wears a worse coat than I do, 
 would dare to dispute any of my authoritative sayings? 
 I should laugh in his face if he did ; and my laugh would 
 be echoed by every ignorant pretender to knowledge. 
 No: nothing can injure my literary reputation but the 
 appearance of poverty ; and you may believe me, Piomin- 
 go,I endeavor tokeep that at as great a distance as possi ble. 
 
 Piomingo. Although you are continually acknowledg- 
 ing your ignorance, I must confess that I find your con- 
 versation very instructive. You criticise likewise the 
 productions of the moderns? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Certainly: lean talk fluently of the su- 
 blimity of Milton, the majestic march of Dryden, the mel- 
 l i jluousvcrsification of 'Pope, the humor of Swift, the conci its 
 of Cowley, the descriptive pozvers of Thompson, the grand 
 obscurity of Gray, and the sweet simplicity of Goldsmith. 
 
 Piomingo. These are authors you have read. 
 
 Schoolmaster. I have read the titlepages of some of 
 them, and sometimes perused elegant extracts, prominent 
 beauties, and entertaining selections, brought into view by 
 the disinterested care and refined taste of ingenious and 
 learned booksellers. It is by no means necessary that a 
 man should read a poem in order to be able to pronounce 
 sentence on its merits: nothing more isjnecessary than 
 to fall in with the prevailing opinion, and utter every 
 sentence with the appearance of profound wisdom. 
 
136 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 There is Milton's Paradise Lost, for example: I have 
 never read a dozen lines of it, but what I met with in 
 ScotPs Lessons and Burgh's Art of Speaking; yet no man 
 can talk with more fluency of the grandeur of ideas and 
 daring imagination of the immortal bard, than I can. In 
 fine, 1 have discovered an indubitable truth : that knowl- 
 edge is acquired with difficulty ; but, that the appearance 
 of knowledge, which is quite as good, is easily attained. 
 
 Piomingo. You give your opinion likewise of writers 
 in prose. 
 
 Schoolmaster, Readily: I know that the style of Addison 
 isnatural and idiomatic; and thatof Johnson, lofty and ma- 
 jestic — Ex pede Herculem: that is another of my Latin 
 phrases. I have got festina lente and three or four besides. 
 
 Piomingo. Have you ever read the works of Addison 
 or Johnson? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Never. 
 
 Piomingo. Have you any knowledge of dramatic 
 criticism? 
 
 Schoolmaster. I attend the theatre; I have learned the 
 common playhouse slang; and sing hosannas to the great 
 bard of nature. I talk of ancient wit, modern senti- 
 ment, and the pernicious effects of the German drama! 
 
 Piomingo. Your discourse has been so interesting that 
 I found it impossible to interrupt you, though I think we 
 have rather wandered from our subject: 1 believe you 
 intimated a while ago that when you commenced 
 teacher, you pursued a different plan from that by 
 which your conduct is at present regulated. 
 
 Schoolmaster. 'I did: I was, even at that time, able to 
 form a tolerably correct idea of the extent of my own 
 acquirements; and I endeavored, with the utmost assi- 
 duity, to communicate to my pupils the knowledge of 
 which I was possessed, The industrious and attentive, I 
 encouraged and rewarded ; the indolent and vitious I re- 
 primanded and corrected. This plan I followed for some 
 time; but, ere I was aware, my school dwindled to no- 
 thing. Every man conceives that his o w n son is not only 
 a genius of the most exalted order, but also a paragon 
 
THE SAVAGE. 137 
 
 of virtue :now,as I had dared to form a different opinion, 
 it was thought altogether proper that these promising 
 sons of enlightened fathers should be moved from their 
 present situation, and placed under the care of some cel- 
 ebrated preceptor who would be able to form a correct 
 estimate of the brilliancy of their talents. 
 
 Every mother considers her son a hero in miniature, 
 rash daring ambitious; too noble to be controlled by a 
 cold formal pedagogue, and too highspirited to submit to 
 any species of chastisement. She is always heard to ob- 
 serve that her "children may be led but cannot be dri- 
 ven: they have a spirit above it." Now, as I conceived 
 this high spirit to be nothing else than childish obstinacy 
 engendered by the weak indulgence of silly mothers,I re- 
 solved that it should be humbled, and when any of my 
 highminded pupils were not disposed to be led, I imme- 
 diately had recourse to my compulsory process. It is ve- 
 ry possible that I was walking in the path of duty; but 
 I found myself diverging so widely from the line of self 
 interest, that I became rather jneasy. Whatever might 
 be the motives of my conduct, the consequence was pal- 
 pable enough: my school was deserted. I saw my error, 
 and wisely determined to correct it. 
 
 I removed to a central part of (he city, and instantly 
 opened a select academy for the instruction of young 
 gentlemen. My first care was to puff myself in the news- 
 papers in the following manner: 
 
 Mr. Birch has the honor to inform an enlightened and 
 generous public, that he has determined to devote his 
 time to the tuition of a select and limited number of 
 young gentlemen. 
 
 "Mr. B. is possessed of all those advantages that flow 
 from a polite and liberal education ; and he flatters himself 
 that he is fully competent to the task of conveying instruc- 
 tion in the most fashionable and agreeable manner. 
 
 Mr. B. feels a just abhorrence for the old, rigid and 
 compulsory system of education, which has a direct ten- 
 dency to terrify the tender mind and give it a distaste 
 for every kind of instruction ; and he has the utmost plea- 
 M2 
 
138 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 sure in having the honor to announce to the judicious and 
 intelligent part of the community that, by studious atten- 
 tion, he has devised a plan whereby the otherwise irk- 
 some business of education will be rendered agreeable 
 and entertaining." But why should I repeat the whole? I 
 went on in the usual puffing style, and made the neces- 
 sary promises of forming the manners and watching over 
 the morals of my pupils. Everything succeeded agree- 
 ably to my wishes. All the world were eager to have 
 their sons instructed at Mr. Birch's new and fashionable 
 academy, where learning was made so amusing, and the 
 affairs were transacted in a style so genteel and so splen- 
 did. I resolved to give myself no uneasiness about the 
 progress of my scholars in the paths of literature, but to 
 devote my undivided attention to the business of amusing 
 my young gentlemen, and flattering the vanity of their 
 parents. The boys were employed in spouting, writing 
 verses, drawing pictures, and receiving diplomas and 
 certificates: which they carried home and exhibited as 
 testimonials of their proficiency in scientifical pursuits. 
 I instituted quarterly examinations; cards of invitation 
 were sent to my patrons to comeand judgeof the literary 
 acquirements of their children confided to mj care; spe- 
 cimens of writing, prepared for the occasion, were ex- 
 hibited; the young gentlemen were examined in arith- 
 metic, grammar, geography, chronology, mythology; and 
 the entertainment concluded with a spouting match. 
 
 Piomingo. 1 cannot conceive, how you managed the 
 examination. 
 
 Schoolmaster. Nothing easier: by the assistance of a few 
 books, which are easily procured, 1 had prepared my dis- 
 ciples to answer some general questions on each of these 
 subjects; and these were the only questions I asked. 
 
 Piomingo, How did you conduct the spouting match? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Why, we delivered "Sempronius' speech 
 for war," "Lucius' speech for peace," "the diologue be- 
 tween Brutus and Cassius" and "Antony's oration over 
 Cesar's dead body." We sacrificed "Hector and Andro- 
 mache," mangled "a hymn to adversity," and murdered 
 
THE SAVAGE. 139 
 
 an "ode on the passions." I must not forget to mention 
 that one of my most surprising geniuses committed to 
 memory an oration found in the works of a certain author 
 and passed it on the enlightened assembly as his own com- 
 position; but there was nothing remarkable in that: this 
 trick has often been practised before in the seminaries 
 of Philadelphia. O how delightful it was to behold the 
 mouthing, and stamping and sawing the air! the smiles 
 and the grins, and the furious gesticulations! While the 
 fond parents 
 
 Smil'd and look'd, sniil'd and look'd, 
 And smil'd and look'd again — 
 
 each one imagining that he saw, in his favorite son, some 
 future Demosthenes, Cicero, Chatham, Burke, or Fox. 
 
 In faith, 'twas strange 'twas passing strange! 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful! 
 
 The young gentlemen received the unanimous ap- 
 plause of the polite assembly; the most extravagant en- 
 comiums were bestowed on the care and assiduity of the 
 teacher; and the fame of his select academy was ex- 
 tended throughout the city. 
 
 But a great part of my success depends upon the man- 
 ner in which 1 eulogize the children to their respective 
 parents. And, although I firmly believe that some of 
 them have discernment enough to perceive my motive 
 for so doing, still, this flattery is so delightful to every pa- 
 rental ear, that they are universally carried away by the 
 pleasing delusion. "Well, Mr. Birch," says Mrs. Bom- 
 bysine, "what do you think of my Bobby?" "Think, 
 ma'am, I protest I think him the most astonishing child 
 in the world! He is a prodigy of genius! Upon my word, 
 ma'am, he appears to know every thing intuitively. I 
 was taken withhis appearance at first sight. I wasstruck 
 with something uncommon in his countenance, which 
 seemed to prognosticate future greatness. And then he 
 is so irresistibly interesting — I think he very much re- 
 sembles you ma'am." "Do you think so, Mr. Birch? 
 Why 1 do not know: he is said to be like Mr. Bomby- 
 sine." "True ma'am, very true ma'am, in the outlines of 
 
140 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 his countenance; but the genius of his mother beams in 
 his eyes ! You will please to permit me to express my 
 opinion freely on this subject: in these matters I conceive 
 that my judgment is to be depended upon. Your son will 
 one day fill a distinguished place in the republic of let- 
 ters." "What turn do you think he will have for public 
 speaking, Mr. Birch?" "Upon my honor, ma'am, he has 
 a wonderful talent for declamation. Did you observe, 
 ma'am, with what a nobie air he came forward! how 
 fluent his delivery! how natural and easy his gestures! 
 Yes, I can foretel with certainty that his elocution, in our 
 great national council, will fill the world with astonish- 
 ment." "I am pretty much of your opinion, Mr. Birch, as 
 to Bobby's talents for elocution; and I have often puzzled 
 my brain by endeavoring to determine which of the 
 learned professions would best fall in with the bent of his 
 genius. I would rather depend upon your judgment, in 
 this interesting affair, than on that of any other man I 
 know. Mr. Bombysine seems inclined to make him a 
 physician; but it seems to me, that, in that calling, his 
 oratorical abilities would be totally lostto the community. 
 We do not receive talents, Mr. Birch, to hide them in a 
 napkin." "Madam, your ideas coincide exactly with 
 mine. lam satisfied that he would make an eminent phy- 
 sician, should his studies be directed that way; but, as 
 you very justly observe, that employment would not af- 
 ford him an opportunity of displaying his rhetorical pow- 
 ers. The profession of the law opens more pleasing pros- 
 pects: he would be an ornament to the bar, and confer 
 dignity on the bench." "True: yet I always used to think 
 that he discovered a military genius. When he was quite 
 a child, it was with the utmost difficulty that I could 
 keep him in the house on those days when the troops 
 were parading in the streets: he would shoulder his fa- 
 ther's cane and strut across the room with an air so con- 
 sequential and imperious! — you would have split your 
 sides with laughing had you seen him." "Your observa- 
 tions are perfectly correct, ma'am; he has indeed a martial 
 air when he moves; and there is something so majestic 
 
THE SAVAGE. 141 
 
 and commanding in his countenance — I have no doubt, 
 ma'am, but that you will live to see him a general officer." 
 "Well, Mr. Birch, there is one thing certain: you have a 
 wonderful talent for the instruction of youth. Every one 
 speaks highly of your abilities. Do you find the employ- 
 ment agreeable?" "Were all my pupils such as your son, 
 my business would not only be pleasing but honorable." 
 
 These, Piomingo, these are the arts by which I ren- 
 der the vanity, folly, and imbecility of the world the 
 means of my own advancement. Can you blame me? 
 
 Piomingo. Not I truly: I think you are perfectly right. 
 When your scholars have completed their education, 
 what have they learned? 
 
 Schoolmaster. To chatter about every thing, and un- 
 derstand nothing. 
 
 The proposal of Crito has met with a favorable re- 
 ception. We will receive with pleasure, and insert with 
 readiness, his philological remarks. However unimpor- 
 tant they may appear to him, we have no doubt but they 
 will prove instructive to some of ourreaders, and agreea- 
 ble to all. We make this observation with more confidence 
 because we know that few have a more intimate acquain- 
 tance with the nature of the English language, or have 
 studied its analogies more successfully, than Crito. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XL 
 PREJUDICE. 
 
 Irad pursued his journey through the sandy deserts 
 of Africa; oppressed with fatigue and overcome with 
 thirst, his soul died within him. While in this situation, 
 he beheld at a distance a grove of palmtrees; he hastened 
 to the place and found a well of delicious water. He 
 drank and lay down to repose. But ere sleep had closed 
 his eyes, he began to reflect on his present situation: "If 
 Inow proceed on my journey," said Irad, "I shall reach 
 the place of my abode before the close of the day; but if 
 I loiter here, I shall be overtaken by night and devour- 
 
142 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ed by the beasts of the desert. I must not linger here: I 
 must be gone. — But cool is the breeze that plays through 
 the leaves of the palmtrees! A few moments' rest in this 
 delightful shade will not prevent me from performing my 
 journey." While he yet continued to prolong this indul- 
 gence, he fell asleep; nor did he awake till the going 
 down of the sun. Terrified at approaching darkness 
 and the dangers of the night, he mourned bitterly over 
 the folly and infatuation which had governed his con- 
 duct. The horrors which surrounded him deprived his 
 mind of that composure and deliberation, which were 
 rendered doubly necessary by the circumstances in 
 which he was placed. He became confused — he wan- 
 dered from his way — the shades of evening closed in 
 about him — it became dark — he was encountered by a 
 lion in search of prey — alas! poor Irad! — 
 
 Had lrad known the consequences that would result 
 from sleeping beneath the palmtrees, he would not have 
 lain down: the cooling breeze and the refreshing shade 
 would have lost their tempting sweetness. He would 
 have hastened from the fountain as from the abode of 
 death, and pursued his way with vigor and alacrity. 
 
 The case of Irad is not singular. Who is there that 
 travels in the laborious paths of virtue, without ever 
 turning aside into the flowery fields of vice, which lie on 
 the right hand and on the left? Who is there that has 
 constantly resisted the instigations of avarice, the whis- 
 perings of vanity, the suggestions of ambition, the im- 
 pulses of passion, and the allurements of pleasure? 
 Who is there that has looked upon the tree of vice, and 
 seen that it "was good for food, and that it was pleasant 
 to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise," 
 and has not taken the fruit, and eat thereof? Yet were 
 we aware of the evils that must inevitably result from 
 our wanderings; did we know that the voice of the sirens 
 would conduct us to destruction; were we fully sat- 
 isfied that the consequence of eating the "forbidden 
 fruit" would be death! this knowledge would strip 
 vice of all her meretricious charms — and weak hu- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 143 
 
 man nature would be able to resist her allurements. 
 
 Proh superi! quantum mortalia pectora crcca: 
 Noctis habcnt!— 
 
 From these premises it appears that we agree in opi- 
 nion with those who suppose that the vices and follies of 
 man arise from ignorance or intellectual darkness; and 
 could we believe, with these philosophers, that this weak 
 and erring man could be transformed into a god, then 
 we should become a convert to that philosophy which 
 teaches us to believe that the empire of virtue will be 
 established by the diffusion of knowledge. But if man be 
 by nature incapable of receiving that intelligence which 
 is to guide him in the paths of rectitude; if all the light 
 that he can receive serve only to discover to him that he 
 is surrounded by impenetrable darkness; if it only give 
 him a glimpse of proximate objects, and tend to render 
 him discontented with his situation; why should we feed 
 ourselves with the vain hope of making him virtuous 
 and happy by giving him knowledge? 
 
 There is one being who, we are taught to believe, 
 looks through universal nature, and understands all ex- 
 isting relations; who sees through a chain of causes and 
 effects from eternity to eternity; and whose mind is the 
 fountain of truth : this being must necessarily act right; 
 but every inferior existence must be limited in know- 
 ledge, and consequently, liable to error. And what shall 
 we say of man? He is placed so low, so infinitely low, in 
 the scale of intelligence,that any light, which his nature 
 is capable of receiving, rather has a tendency to mislead 
 him, by encouraging him to reason, from the very little 
 that he knows, concerning that universe of things which 
 remains unknown. He looks up and he sees "men as 
 trees walking;" and from this imperfect glimpse, he bold- 
 ly forms a system for universal nature! 
 
 How can he be taught to foresee the consequences of 
 his own actions? How can he be taught to know that 
 his personal interest and the interest of every other be- 
 ing in existence are the same? How can he be taught 
 to know that he cannot injure another without at the 
 
144 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 same time injuring himself? When all his prejudices 
 are eradicated, and when he is enlightened, as much as 
 he is capable of being enlightened, will he not still con- 
 clude that his own interest may be promoted by acts of 
 injustice? But man is so weak, his knowledge so imper- 
 fect, his life so short, that he must always be governed 
 by prejudices : and it is a happy circumstance when these 
 prejudices are of a salutary nature. 
 
 The philosopher, who would make a nation of virtu- 
 ous men, must not expect to do it merely by communi- 
 cating knowledge: he must regulate their conduct by 
 taking advantage of their feelings and passions: he must 
 implant salutary prejudices, and eradicate those which 
 are pernicious: he must make them act uprightly, honor- 
 ably, nobly, from the generous impulse of their minds, 
 withoutany cold calculation, or metaphysical reasonings. 
 Yes, we repeat it, he must establish a system of preju- 
 dice. What influenced Leonidas and his Spartan band 
 to die in defence of their country ? // was prejudice : a glo- 
 rious, heroic, godlike prejudice, implanted in the mind 
 of the nation by its immortal lawgiver. Could we be as- 
 sured of the existence of such a prejudice at the present 
 day, we wouid curse the philosophy that would destroy it. 
 
 We have no intention of entering into metaphysical 
 disquistions, but were led into these thoughts by some 
 observations we lately heard made on the subject of 
 prejudices. 
 
 It was asserted "that all the crimes, vices, and follies, of 
 men were owing to ignorance; that knowledge was pro- 
 gressing slowly through the world, and would finally tri- 
 umph over prejudice, vice, and misery; and that nothing 
 had so great a tendency to destroy prejudices, and render 
 men enlightened,civilized,and munificent,as commerce." 
 
 It appears to us, that truth and falsehood are so inti- 
 mately blended in this statement, that they cannot be 
 easily separated. We have no doubt that vice of every 
 kind is owing to ignorance: no man willingly loses his 
 way, and becomes a wanderer in the labyrinths of error: 
 he must be misled by false appearances. But we contend 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 145 
 
 that the nature of men is such, that they cannot be kept 
 in tie paths of rectitude, or their conduct regulated, 
 merely by enlightening their understandings. We are 
 an enemy to those prejudices which render men bigoted 
 ferocious, or cruel: yet we would tremble at the idea of 
 sweeping from the lace oft lie earth every species of opi- 
 nions which may fall under the description of prejudices. 
 
 Before wo proceed any farther, it might not he amiss 
 to give some explanation of the term. Prejudices are 
 opinions, sentiments, or judgments, which exist in the 
 mindsofmenwilhout being produced byanypreviouspro- 
 cess of reasoning: tiiey may be founded on truth or false- 
 hood ; they may bc*i.ntlieir effects, salutary orpernicious. 
 
 We agree that nothing has so great a tendency to 
 destroy prejudices ol all kinds as commerce. The in- 
 tercourse it promotes among men of different nations, 
 religions, manners, customs, and appearances, must con- 
 tribute directly to annihilate all national peculiarities,. 
 Men will soon find that they all agree m one thing only \ 
 and this one thing will become the sole motive to action 
 in the mind of every enlightened meichant. The ac- 
 cursed love of gain swallows up every thing else in the 
 breast of the trader. Nor is it long confined to the mer- 
 cantile class. It pervades the mass of the community, 
 and exterminates every generous passion, salutary pre- 
 judice, pleasing illusion, and virtuous propensity. 
 
 PotrLtismhs a prejudice which is incompatible with 
 the pursuits of a merchant. •* Where your treasure is, 
 there will your heart he also." He becomes interested 
 as much in the concerns of foreign nations as in those of 
 bis own country. He divests himself of every childish 
 partiality in favor of the soil which gave him birth. The 
 passions that animated the bosom of a Codrus, a Philo- 
 poemen, a Decius, a Cato, or a Brutus, are despised by 
 him as the dreams of a disordered imagination. 
 
 Let it not be said that he becomes a citizen of the 
 world: that his amor patriae is converted into a love of 
 mankind in general — universal philanthropy never flou- 
 rishes where patriotism is destroyed. The whole world i* 
 N 
 
146 
 
 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 too mighty an object for his affections; and the more he 
 knows of the world, the more reason he finds to condemn 
 it: his knowledge of its perfidy and injustice awakens 
 suspicion and hatred. He still loves; but the object of 
 his affections is — self only. He hails national calamities 
 as the greatest of blessings, if they contribute to the suc- 
 cess of his trade: and he willingly plunges his country 
 into war for the proceeds of a profitable voyage. 
 
 National religion, national laws, national manners, and 
 purity of morals are quickly contaminated, and finally 
 destroyed, by the prevalence of commerce. When a man 
 has ceased to love his country, he gradually ceases to 
 love its religion, its laws, its manners, and its morals. 
 When he has ceased to give it the preference over every 
 other country, he soon ceases to love and esteem its dis- 
 tinguishingparticularities. Hebecomesacquaintedwith 
 men of many nations, whose various religions, govern- 
 ments, and manners are as numerous as the continents, 
 islands and territories, they inhabit. He sees them every 
 where breaking through all restraints for the purpose of 
 accumulating riches. His own country and its institu- 
 tions having ceased to be objects of veneration, the salu- 
 tary principles of his education are forgotten or despised. 
 His morals are relaxed ; and he adopts a pliant system of 
 ethics which will not impede his progress in the acquisi- 
 tion of wealth. The love of gain flourishes in his soul, 
 and like the fabled Upas sheds abroad the dew of death 
 on every buddingvirtue. He freights hisship withshriek- 
 ing Africans torn from the bosom of their country and 
 their friends; he takes convenient oaths to evade the pay- 
 ment of duties; and he tramples on the cross of Christ for 
 the sake of a lucrative trade! [To be continued.'] 
 
 FROM CRITO. 
 
 In consequence of your permission, Piomingo, I shall 
 take the liberty occasionally to trouble you with some 
 remarks on language; but you are not to expect any 
 thing like connected dissertations or regular essays. I 
 shall present you, when I find leisure, with casual 
 
THE SAVAGE. 117 
 
 thoughts and desultory observations, on philological sub- 
 jects: if you think them worthy of a place in your mis- 
 cellany, it is well; if not I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Those who left the island of Great Britain, and settled 
 in a wilderness, certainly forfeited none of their rights to 
 the language of their forefathers. If they still had the 
 liberty of speech, they must necessarily have retained 
 the privilege of regulating that speech in the manner 
 most agreeable to themselves. Their removal from an 
 island intimately connected with surrounding nations, 
 and their settlement on an immense continent far distant 
 from the European world must inevitably occasion some 
 slight differences to exist between the language spoken 
 by the people of the United States and that spoken by the 
 inhabitants of GreatBritain. Many words familiar to our 
 ancestors, in their native country, must have fallen into 
 disuse when they settled here; because they were no lon- 
 ger conversant with the things to which these words were 
 applied: and being placed in a new world, surrounded 
 by an infinity of objects of which they had no previous 
 knowledge, they were under the necessity either ofinvent- 
 ing new names for these new things, or of applying to them 
 terms which were already appropriated to other objecte. 
 
 But these are not the only causes which tend to pro- 
 duce a difference: the intercourse that subsists between 
 England and other nations, her foreign possessions, and 
 extensive commerce, keep her language in a state of 
 continual fluctuation, and subject it to changes to which 
 the language of the citizens of the United States is not 
 exposed. From this consideration it appears probable 
 that in the course of a few centuries the English language 
 will be found in much greater purity in America than in 
 the island of Great Britain, taking those authors as a 
 standard, who wrote during that period which has gene- 
 rally been accounted the Augustan age of England. Does 
 it not therefore discover a kind of literary servility in us 
 to receive without hesitation every word which may have 
 been adopted on the other side of the Atlantic, while we 
 use with reluctance any term which has originated 
 
148 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 among ourselves? and, by the indiscriminate reception, 
 we give to these foreign terms, do we imt contribute 
 more to the corruption of our speech, than we would do 
 by the adoption of so many indigenous appellations? 
 
 But it is not only by the admission of lately adopted 
 English words, but also by our readiness to receive Eng- 
 lish modes of pronunciation, that we hasten those corrupt 
 changes which sooner or later take place in every lan- 
 guage. In numerous instances is the pronunciation of the 
 American people more correct and analogical than the 
 fashionable pronunciation in England. We have pre- 
 served the original orthoepy which has been lost by the 
 inhabitants of Great Britain. Must we therefore discard 
 our own sounds, and adopt others less analogical, merely 
 because they may be found in a pronouncing dictionary? 
 
 It must be acknowledged that several causes concur 
 to prevent any thing like purity of language or unifor- 
 mity of pronunciation in the United States: the contin- 
 ual influx of foreigners, (who pervade the interior of the 
 country, and whose several dialects when melted into 
 the speech of the original settlers form a curious and 
 laughable amalgamation) has a tendency to unsettle the 
 language of the uneducated inhabitants. 1 have some- 
 times supposed myself to be engaged in discourse with a 
 native of the north of Ireland, when immediately after 
 he made use of certain expressions, which led me to be- 
 lieve that he wasaGerman: upon inquiry, 1 learned that 
 he was a Pennsylvanian by birth. The emigrants from 
 various counties of England, the Welsh, the Scotch, the 
 Irish, the Germans, the French, when they take up their 
 residence among us and become connected by marria- 
 ges, and otherwise, with the original inhabitants, influ- 
 ence in a small degree the language of the country; but 
 the effects of these connexions, as population increases, 
 become less and less perceptible, and will before long 
 cease to exist. But the greatest enemy to puiity of lan- 
 guage in the United States is the prevalence of, what 
 literary men in England have termcd,the London dialect: 
 this flourishes in our cities, and even in many parts of 
 
THE SAVAGE. 149 
 
 the interior. Since the English have taken up the idea 
 of establishing a uniform system of pronunciation, they 
 have added one pronouncing dictionary to another till 
 they have involved the matter in obscurity and doubt, ten 
 times more perplexing than ever it was before. And 
 our ignorant wordmongers in the United States, having 
 selected their respective favorites among the English 
 orthoepists, and combined these transatlantic materials 
 with their provincial peculiarities, framed their pro- 
 nouncing spelling books; which they have sent forth to 
 regulate the pronunciation of the American youth. 
 
 It is easy to point out evils; but to find suitable reme- 
 dies is a matter of the greatest difficulty. I shall touch on 
 this subject some other time; at present I must conclude 
 when I have made one additional observation. 
 
 Great things have owed their existence to the talents 
 and enterprise of private persons; but in a country like 
 this where there are no national manners, national pride, 
 or national character; where the sordid love of gain en- 
 grosses all +he powers of the soul; where affectation of 
 foreign manners, foreign literature, and foreign follies 
 universally prevails; — in such acountry the exertions of 
 an individual will avail but little. Did Congress possess 
 the will and the power to institute public schools through- 
 out the whole extent of the United States, erect colleges 
 in every state, and estalish a great federal university at 
 the city of Washington; would our legislators unite their 
 talents to devise a liberal^ enlightened and grand system 
 of national education ; then, not only would our literature 
 flourish, but the political consequences would be of 
 infinite importance. Would it cost too much? There was 
 a Greek proverb, which signified that "nothing but the 
 love of gold could conquer Sparta." 
 
 ACADEMY OF WIT. 
 
 Mr. Waggish has the honor to inform the bucks and 
 boys of sport in the city of Philadelphia that he has 
 opened an academy in Monkey hall for the instruction 
 
 N2 
 
150 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 of a select and limited number of young gentlemen in 
 the indispensable and polite accomplishment of wit. 
 
 Mr. VV. has long observed and deplored the scarcity 
 of wit in this western hemisphere, and has at last been 
 happy enough to hit upon an expedient to supply the 
 deficiency. 
 
 That quickness of genius which displays itself in 
 flashes of intellectual fire — brilliant repartees,ingenious 
 allusions, uncommon distinctions, and odd assimilations, 
 is the gilt of nature: not one in a thousand can hope to 
 possess it; but Mr. W. from his long residence in the 
 capitals of England and France, and his extensive ac- 
 quaintance with the gay quizzical and waggish spirits of 
 Europe, has been enabled to arrange and bring to per- 
 fection a system of mechanical zvit, which will be found 
 to answer all the purposes of the genuine article. It 
 provokes as much laughter, and excites more merriment 
 and/un, than the wit of mothernaturc'sown production. 
 
 Mr. W. has observed with pleasure the liberal spirit 
 displayed by the citizens of Philadelphia in the encou- 
 ragement they continue to show to ingenious foreigners 
 of every description, who are busily employed in trans- 
 planting the polite arts, delectable fashions, enchanting 
 manners and enlightened morals of civilized Europe to this 
 new, but rapidly improving, world; andhehopes,by the 
 most unwearied assiduity in the service of his employers, 
 and unremitted exertions in the promotion of wit and 
 hilarity to merit a share of the public patronage. 
 
 Mr. W. begs leave to inform the lovers of fun that 
 nothing shall be neglected at his academy that has a ten- 
 dency to provoke laughter. He will teach how to per- 
 form, in the most fashionable manner, every species of 
 
 Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, 
 Nods and becks and grins and smiles. 
 
 He will teach how to distort every part of the body in the 
 most genteel style: such as rolling the eyes, twisting the 
 mouth, projecting the chin, smacking the lips, shooting 
 out the tongue, distending the cheeks, shrugging up the 
 shoulders, protruding the belly, kicking up the heels, and 
 
THE SAVAGE. 151 
 
 rolling on the floor; togetherwith every kind of winking, 
 blinking, frisking, gaping, wriggling, yelling, whooping, 
 squatting, squeaking, squealing, squalling, screaming, 
 screeching, hissing, groaning, grunting, bawling, bark- 
 ing, braying, baaing, bellowing, growling,snoring, snort- 
 ing, caterwauling, — and various other performances 
 and evolutions which it is unnecessary to enumerate. 
 
 Mr. W. announces, with the greatest satisfaction, that 
 he has made every necessary preparation to teach the 
 genuine art of quizzing as now practised by the highfly- 
 ing bloods of Europe. Any thing of a brisk young gentle- 
 man may, after having taken three or four lessons, ven- 
 ture to quiz the old woman who sells apples and cakes 
 at the corner; in six weeks he may practice upon his 
 mother, sister, maiden aunt, or grandmother; in the 
 course of a quarter, he may attack his father, the school- 
 master or parson; and if he should continue to attend 
 these instructions for six months, he will be entitled to 
 the degree of Master Quizzer from the Academy of Wit. 
 
 Mr. W. is supremely happy to have it in his power to 
 inform the children of Comus that he has constructed a 
 scale for laughing from the lowest maiden simper, to the 
 sidebursting horse laugh ; to which he has appended excry 
 necessary instruction for those who wish to learn scien- 
 tifically the art of cachinnation. 
 
 Mr. W. will have stated days of exhibition, when the 
 parents and guardians of his pupils will have an oppor- 
 tunity of attending to witness the proficiency of the 
 young gentlemen in these charming accomplishments. 
 At which lime Mr. W. will go through all his contor- 
 tions and grimaces for the amusement of his patrons. 
 Towards the conclusion of the entertainment, he and his 
 pupils will unite in a simultaneous exertion of their pow- 
 ers, which will undoubtedly afford a sublime enjoyment 
 to a judicious audience. 
 
 Mr. W. has the honor to inform the public, that he 
 has considered this subject philosophically, and is firmly 
 of opinion that this mechanical or artificial wit is in no 
 respect inferior to the verbal or written productions of 
 
152 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 genius. If original wit, as some authors contend, consist 
 in striking contrasts, ingenious distinctions, and odd asso- 
 ciations, he will venture to assert, without fear of contra- 
 diction, that mechanical wit, as taught in Monkey hall, 
 possesses these advantages in a degree infinitely superior 
 to any other species that ever existed. Was it not said 
 by an ancient philosopher that if virtue could he render- 
 ed visible, all men would adore her? This Mr. W. has 
 done for wit: he has given her a substantial form, and 
 exposed her to the admiring world in all her native love- 
 liness. What can present more striking contrasts than 
 smiles and frowns, laughing and groaning, screams of 
 distress,and shouts of triumph? What can produce a finer 
 effect than the mewling of a cat and the roaring of a lion? 
 What can be more sublime and terrific than the various 
 and discordant yells of men and animals, accompanied 
 by the most tremendous distortions of the visage and 
 every part of the body? What strange associations will 
 be produced by the judicious use of all these means! 
 what discord and harmony! what sublime entertainment! 
 As to the emphatical and ingenious replies, produced by 
 this species of wit, nothing can exceed them: suppose, 
 for example, that A. should attack B. with a threaten- 
 ing look and furious gesticulations,and B. should respond 
 by a gradisonous explosion a posteriori; could there be a 
 repartee more brilliant and impressive? 
 
 Mr. W. presumes it is unnecessary for him to dwell 
 on the indispensable necessity of the divine art of quiz- 
 zing to every one who wishes to support the character 
 of an accomplished gentleman. Quizzing has almost to- 
 tally superseded every other species of wit, in the po- 
 lished nations of Europe, and will ere long do the same 
 in America. The bucks of Philadelphia, who wish to 
 qualify themselves for genteel company, will no doubt 
 hasten to become acquainted with Mr. W's newly im- 
 ported system of boring, smoking, hoaxing and quizzing. 
 
 Mr. W. has with great mental labor and difficulty 
 devised a mode for rendering artificial wit highly useful 
 to authors and publishers of periodical works. He intends 
 
THE SAVAGE. 153 
 
 to apply immediately to the government of the United 
 States lor a patent to secure, to the inventor, the profits 
 arising from this valuable discovery. Nothing of equal 
 importance to literary men has come to light since the 
 invention of printing. He has promised to communicate 
 this wonderful secret to Piomingo, headman and war- 
 rior of the Muscogulgee nation, as a recompense for his 
 politeness in giving this advertisement a place in The 
 Savage. When Piomingo shall become possessed of this 
 art, certain sjns of glee will no longer have reason to 
 complain of the dulncss and insipidity of The Savage: 
 they will meet with wit of their own kind, and quite 
 on a level with their understandings, 
 
 Mr. W. will give private lessons to such grown gen- 
 tlemen as have unfortunately not had the opportunity of 
 acquiring these genteel accomplishments in their youth. 
 
 Air. W, would gladly employ a few ingenious assist- 
 ants to enable him to perform with ease the duties of 
 the academy. Any gentleman who is fortunate enough 
 to have an enormously large nose, an extremely wide 
 mouth, or wall eyes, will be an inestimable acquisition to 
 the institution, and will meet with the most liberal reward. 
 
 Although it is the intention of Mr, W. that his pupils 
 shall exercise their talents on each other, yet he has 
 thought it proper to furnish himself with two or three 
 decrepid old men, several lame and deformed women 
 and children, three or four idiots, as many habitual 
 drunkards, and half a dozen maniacs, who may answer 
 the purpose of huts, on which the young gentlemen may 
 exercise their quizzical talents. This arrangement is 
 not absolutely necessary, yet it answers one valuable 
 purpose: it will serve to destroy those foolish feelings of 
 humanity, which will frequently intrude into the minds 
 of youth, and have been known to render useless the 
 most promising quizzical abilities. 
 
 Medals and other honorary marks of distinction will 
 be awarded such young gentlemen as bring suflicient 
 proof that they have performed any notable net of quiz* 
 zing in the city or the adjacent country. 
 
154 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 For terms of tuition and other particulars apply at 
 the academy in Monkey hall, or at Mr. W's. lodgings 
 No. 99 Apes' alley. 
 
 TRAVELS. 
 
 There are no books more entertaining than well 
 written travels. They charm us with the variety of in- 
 cidents they exhibit to our view, and keep alive our cu- 
 riosity by the hopes they continually excite of more in- 
 teresting particulars. 
 
 Wherever a traveller directs his way, whether among 
 the savages of America, the sable hords of Africa, the 
 slaves of Asia, or the civilized barbarians of Europe, he 
 may, by a judicious selection of incidents, and pertinent 
 observations, render the narrative of his journey amus- 
 ing and instructive. But he ought to remember that 
 nothing but wan can be highly interesting to wan; and, 
 however he may indulge himself occasionally in descrip- 
 tions of inanimate nature, a frequent recurrence of 
 pictures in which no human being is exhibited will sa- 
 tiate and disgust the reader. 
 
 It may be observed that the travels of a man of gen- 
 eral literature are always more amusing than those of 
 one whose studies have been principally directed to 
 some particular branch of science. 
 
 A man who imagines that he possesses a talent for 
 giving his reader sketches of scenery, will be forever di- 
 recting your attention to the misty azure of the moun- 
 tain, the naked rocks, and the jutting promontory. He 
 will continually present to your view the woody valley, 
 the winding stream, and the far extended plain. Now 
 it is to be remembered that all descriptions of scenery are 
 extremely vague, and rarely present to the mind any 
 definite idea. When we have heard of one mountain, 
 one valley, and one plain, we are satisfied. They awa- 
 ken in our minds the ideas of those mountains, valleys 
 and plains which we ourselves have seen; and the re- 
 membrance is pleasing. But if these images continue 
 to be crowded on the mind without ceasing, we strive 
 
THE SAVAGE. 155 
 
 in vain to distinguish one from the other, and finding 
 ourselves incapable of forming any distinct ideas, we 
 grow weary of the book and enraged at the author. 
 
 A connoisseur in the art of painting or statuary is ne- 
 ver happy but among busts or pictures. He has no taste 
 for any thing but canvass or marble. Every species of 
 flesh and blood appears altogether unworthy of his at- 
 tention. While he is examining the respective merits 
 of the Flemish and Italian schools, expatiating on the 
 distinguishing excellencies of Rembrandt or Raphael, 
 enraptured at the sight of the Medicean Venus, writhing 
 in agony with the wretched Laocoon, or expiring with 
 the dying gladiator, every common occurrence of life is 
 disregarded. His reveries may be pleasing to himself, 
 and his longwinded descriptions may gratify the cognos- 
 ced few; but, for our own part, we had rather "ply the 
 Laboring oar" than follow one of these fellows into a 
 pantheon of marble gods or a gallery of pictures. 
 
 The general reader will find but little entertainment 
 in the travels of a botanist. While we are anxious to 
 form some idea of the country to which the traveller has 
 carried us, to be made acquainted with the nature of the 
 soil and climate, and to hear of the manners, customs, 
 language, laws, and religion of the natives, the itiner- 
 ant is in raptures at the discovery of a new species of 
 convolvulus; and were heaven and earth to be shaken, he 
 will not be disturbed until this plant shall be technical- 
 ly described in pure Linnean Latin, and have received 
 its distinctive appellation, grombrobstschmuckiana from 
 the learned author's much honored friend, Dr. Grom- 
 brobstschmuck, professor of botany in the university of 
 Grogenhogen. After we have attended patiently to 
 the class, genus, and species, of this new discovery, we 
 are in hopes of some information that may prove more 
 interesting; and sometimes we are not altogether disap- 
 pointed, but we are in continual danger of having our 
 entertainment interrupted by the shape of a leaf, or the 
 flowering of a shrub. 
 
 Naturalists, who have become habitually attentire 
 
156 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to the minule wonders of creation, are insufferably tire- 
 gome when they find a variety ofwoodlice, caterpillars, 
 or grasshoppers: man and his operations must remain 
 unnoticed while theiraftention is engrossed by the pro- 
 boscis of an insect. 
 
 There are other travellers who arc much too fortu- 
 nate in finding curious shells, beautiful pieces of spar, 
 and elegant specimens of rock crystal. They examine 
 minutely into the different layers of clay, gravel, and 
 loam, of which any eminence is composed; and when 
 they meet with pyrites or rocks of granite, they are ra- 
 ther too tedious in their disquisitions. 
 
 We must however acknowledge that the travels of 
 these gentlemen may be extremely useful; and are of- 
 ten amusing. Wc would only remark, that, if they do 
 not travel for the express purpose of making discove- 
 ries in their own favorite science, too great a share of 
 their attention is devoted to things which are not in- 
 teresting to the generality of readers. They seem to 
 forget that all men arc not exclusively fond of botany, 
 mineralogy, or the Utile wonders of nature. 
 
 But most of our late travellers are of a different kind 
 from any are have yet described* They forsake their plea- 
 sant firesides and other domestic comforts, for the pur- 
 pose of having a peep at the world. The privations to 
 which they must submit, and the difficulties they en- 
 counter, make so strong an impression on their minds, 
 that we hear of nothing but the badness of the roads, 
 the inconvenience of their vehicles, and the wretched 
 accommodation at the inns. Their minds are generally 
 so contracted by the narrowness of the sphere in which 
 they have hitherto moved, that every thing appears to be 
 wrong which is not conducted precisely in the manner 
 they have seen it conducted in their native town or vil- 
 lage. Tlieymakenoallowancefortheoperationofcauses 
 with which they have had no opportunity of becoming 
 acquainted; and they condemn the necessary result of 
 circumstances as a departure from the order of nature. 
 
 They always keep an account of their expenditures^ 
 
THE SAVAGE. 157 
 
 and make the most pitiful complaints of the extortions 
 practised by drivers, guides, ferrymen, and the keepers 
 of turnpike gates. They arrive wet, weary, hungry 
 and cold, at a house of entertainment; but here, alas! 
 unfolds a fresh scene of distress. There is no tire to be 
 found; the apartments are damp and disagreeable; the 
 servants are lazy and inattentive. "How different all 
 these," ejaculates the miserable traveller, "from the com- 
 forts and conveniences to be found at an English inn!" 
 When dinner appears, he hesitates some time whether 
 to die of hunger, or to saliate its cravings with the 
 wretched preparation before him; but, as necessity has 
 no law, he ventures, at last, to come in contact with ma- 
 terials so disgusting to his senses, and abhorrent to hia 
 feelings. lie expatiates largely on the poorness of the 
 bread, and pours forth the most piteous lamentations 
 concerning the toughness of a goose! 
 
 A late celebrated traveller mourns over his fate in the 
 following manner. When he desired to be shown a 
 place of repose, he was conducted to a chamber that re- 
 sembled a dungeon. He lay down on a hard and disa- 
 greeable bed in hopes of procuring a temporary rest; 
 but, the rushing of rats behind the wainscot, the obstre- 
 perous courtship of cats in an adjoining apartment, the 
 ceaseless crowing of a banty cockin a neighboring build- 
 ing, and the furious attack of a troop of hungry fleas, 
 frighted away the drowsy god from the eyelids of the 
 weary guest. 
 
 Such particulars would hardly be tolerated in a pri- 
 vate letter to a friend; but become insufferable when 
 they occupy the greater part of a book designed for the 
 instruction and amusement of the public. Travellers 
 6hould remember that it is not from any interest we 
 take in their personal concerns, that we are disposed to 
 accompany them through the history of their peregrina- 
 tions; but from a desire of being made partakers of the 
 amusements and pleasures of the journey. 
 
 When a traveller pervades any region at an immense 
 distance from the place of his birth — where none of his 
 O 
 
158 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 countrymen have ever been, and where it is not reason- 
 able to suppose any of them ever will be — there is 
 great danger of his meeting with pigmies, giants, and 
 salamanders. 
 
 FROM CRITO. 
 
 I feel inclined at present, Piomingo, to offer a short 
 apology for those who are in the habit of using the verb 
 progress, in their writings or their conversation. 
 
 It is not synonymous with the verb proceed; it signi- 
 fies to proceed with some business, or to advance regu- 
 larly a set of operations. 
 
 It (ills up one of those niches in language which Mr. 
 Walker says should never be empty. The same argu- 
 ments may certainly be adduced in its favor, that the 
 author just mentioned brings forward in support of 
 others in the like situation. 
 
 "I have not found," says Mr. Walker under the word 
 panegyrize, "I have not found this word in any of our 
 dictionaries, but have met with it in so respectable a 
 writer, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting 
 it here, especially as it serves to fill up a niche in lan- 
 guage, which I think never should be empty: I mean, 
 that wherever there is a noun established, there should 
 •always be a verb to correspond to it." Again: under 
 the verb paralize, he observes, "the very general use of 
 this word, especially since the French revolution, seems 
 to entitle it to a place in the dictionaries of our lan- 
 guage, as it not only more forcibly expresses the com- 
 mon idea than to enervate or to deaden, but serves to fill 
 up those vacancies in speech, where there is no verb to 
 correspond to a substantive or adjective. Hence Pope 7 s 
 happy coinage of the verb to sensualize" 
 
 All these considerations speak as much in favor of 
 progress as of panegyrize and paralize; but this verb has 
 yet other and stronger arguments that may be brought 
 forward in its defence. 
 
 It is found in several English dictionaries: and Dr. 
 Ash gives Shakspeare as his authority, "Doth pro- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 159 
 
 gress on thy cheek;" though it may be observed that he 
 places the accent on the first syllable. 
 
 It is admitted that this verb is not to be found in 
 Johnson's dictionary; but that offers no conclusive ar- 
 gument against its antiquity; since it must be acknow- 
 ledged that several words in common use at that time 
 were inadvertently omitted by the greatest ofphilologists. 
 
 ZENO. 
 
 The stoics taught that happiness was only to be found 
 in the practice of virtue. They denied that health, 
 reputation, and riches- were, properly speaking, good; 
 and they contended that poverty, ignominy, and pain 
 were not evils. "Virtue alone," said their founder, "is 
 sufficient to happiness; and the wise man may enjoy it 
 atall times, be his condition whatitmay." 
 
 Zeno is said to have died at the age of ninety-eight 
 years, having never experienced any sickness or indis- 
 position whatever. Had Zeno been the victim of pain, 
 reproach and poverty, would he have taught that these 
 things were not evils? 
 
 PIOMINGO. 
 
 It has been lately asserted that there is no such man 
 as Piomingo in existence. Shall we exhibit ourself to 
 the public on some market day? Or what plan shall we 
 adopt to satisfy the world that there is such a savage in 
 existence; and that he exists in Philadelphia? 
 
 If this report continue to be propagated much longer, 
 we shall be under the necessity of showing our savage 
 self, in our Indian dress, some Sunday afternoon at the 
 Centre Square; when we hope we shall be able to con- 
 vince the most incredulous of the actual existence of 
 the savage, Piomingo. 
 
 We have told our story; and we arc extremely sorry 
 to find that it has not met with universal credence. .We 
 shall not repeat it; but invite those who may be desi- 
 rous of refreshing their memories, to turn once more 
 
160 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to our prospectus. Is the tale improbable? May not 
 such things be? And would not such a one as is there 
 described be capable of comparing the manners and 
 customs of savages with those of civilized nations? The 
 reader is at liberty to believe as much as he pleases; but 
 it certainly requires no great stretch of the imagination 
 to enable any one to enter into the plan of our work. 
 
 CARDS. 
 
 Is it not a little surprising that these painted papers 
 should possess such charms as to be able to captivate all 
 hearts in civilized society? Is there some magical influ- 
 ence resident in the paper or coloring which is elicited 
 by the dexterous motions of the players? Or are we to 
 attribute the power which they possess over the minds 
 of men to some extraneous cause connected with their 
 movements? 
 
 Being lately in a house where several parties were en- 
 gaged at cards we observed among the rest an old man, 
 who, from his appearance, must be advancing rapidly to 
 the end of his earthly pilgrimage. Although his hand 
 trembled, we could not but take notice that he handled 
 the instruments of his amusement with uncommon ease 
 and dexterity. He generally appeared solicitously atten- 
 tive to the operations in hand until he brought some fa- 
 vorite projectto bear, when he would give for a few mo- 
 ments free way to his emotions of exultation and joy. 
 When he had enjoyed his triumph, he always appeared 
 eager to engage in a new contest, and again displayed 
 the same restless anxiety for the victory that he had done 
 before. There was always a small stake depending on 
 the issue of the game, which he frequently eyed with 
 solicitude, and, if successful in play, appropriated to 
 himself with every appearance of gladness and triumph. 
 If he failed in the contest, we could always discover an 
 air of dissatisfaction in his countenance which he en- 
 deavored vainly toconceal; but he continually attributed 
 the cause of his failure to something totally independ- 
 ent of himself — the ungenerous play of his antagonist 
 
THE SAVAGE. 161 
 
 or the unskilfulncss of his partner. The pleasure of vic- 
 tory did not appear to result wholly from the pecuniary 
 acquisition he had made 5 but to proceed also from the 
 display of his own superiority and the discomfiture of 
 his opponent. 
 
 After the most of the players, weary of the diversion, 
 had departed, the old man still continued at the table, 
 holding the cards in his hand, as if anxious for a fresh 
 encounter. We approached the veteran gamester, and 
 endeavored to enter into conversation; but the only re- 
 ply he made to our observations was to demand whether 
 or not we were disposed to take a handixt cards. We as- 
 sented; but as our unskilfulncss at the game afforded 
 him an easy victory, he soon became dissatisfied, and 
 signified his inclination to discontinue the amusement. 
 We readily acceded: and from (his circumstance we 
 drew the conclusion, that a great part of his enjoyment 
 proceeded from a successful exertion of his powers; and 
 that the more arduous the struggle, the greater the gra- 
 tification resulting from the conquest. 
 
 We inquired of the old gentleman if he derived much 
 entertainment from cards. "No,' 1 said he, ^not much: 
 they serve to kill time." "You are not then," we replied, 
 "solicitous for the issue of the game on account of the 
 money that is deposited?" "Damn the money !" said he, 
 in a passion, "I care not for the trash: I play for amuse- 
 ment." "Why then," we ventured to inquire, "should 
 there be any stake at all, since it is an object beneath 
 your attention?" "Because," said he, with a supercil- 
 ious smile, "there must be something betted to render 
 the game interesting." Here, as if ashamed of holding 
 a conversation with a person so ignorant of life as we 
 appeared to be, he turned round to one who had just 
 entered, and began a new game, to kill time — to win 
 money — to exercise his powers — and to triumph over his 
 adversary. 
 
 This occurrence led us to reflect that when wearrive 
 even at the verge of life, time will still hang heavy on 
 our hands, since we are reduced to such miserable exoe- 
 02 
 
160 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to our prospectus. Is the tale improbable? May not 
 such things be? And would not such a one as is there 
 described be capable of comparing the manners and 
 customs of savages with those of civilized nations? The 
 reader is at liberty to believe as much as he pleases; but 
 it certainly requires no great stretch of the imagination 
 to enable any one to enter into the plan of our work. 
 
 CARDS. 
 
 Is it not a little surprising that these painted papers 
 should possess such charms as to be able to captivate all 
 hearts in civilized society? Is there some magical influ- 
 ence resident in the paper or coloring which is elicited 
 by the dexterous motions of the players? Or are we to 
 attribute the power which they possess over the minds 
 of men to some extraneous cause connected with their 
 movements? 
 
 Being lately in a house where several parties were en- 
 gaged at cards we observed among the rest an old man, 
 who, from his appearance, must be advancing rapidly to 
 the end of his earthly pilgrimage. Although his hand 
 trembled, we could not but take notice that he handled 
 the instruments of his amusement with uncommon ease 
 and dexterity. He generally appeared solicitously atten- 
 tive to the operations in hand until he brought some fa- 
 vorite project to bear, when he would give for a few mo- 
 ments free way to his emotions of exultation and jo\ r . 
 When he had enjoyed his triumph, he always appeared 
 eager to engage in a new contest, and again displayed 
 the same restless anxiety for the victory that he had done 
 before. There was always a small stake depending on 
 the issue of the game, which he frequently eyed with 
 solicitude, and, if successful in play, appropriated to 
 himself with every appearance of gladness and triumph. 
 If he failed in the contest, we could always discover an 
 air of dissatisfaction in his countenance which he en- 
 deavored vainly toconceal; but he continually attributed 
 the cause of his failure to something totally independ- 
 ent of himself — the ungenerous play of his antagonist 
 
THE SAVAGE. 161 
 
 or the unskilfulncss of his partner. The pleasure of vic- 
 tory did not appear to result wholly from the pecuniary 
 acquisition he had made; but to proceed also from the 
 display of his own superiority and the discomfiture of 
 his opponent. 
 
 After the most of the players, weary of the diversion, 
 had departed, the old man still continued at the table, 
 holding the cards in his hand, as if anxious for a fresh 
 encounter. We approached the veteran gamester, and 
 endeavored to enter into conversation; but the only re- 
 ply he made to our observations was to demand whether 
 or not we were disposed to take a handnt cards. We as- 
 sented; but as our unskilfulncss at the game afforded 
 him an easy victory, he soon became dissatisfied, and 
 signified his inclination to discontinue the amusement. 
 We readily acceded: and from (his circumstance we 
 drew the conclusion, that a great part of his enjoyment 
 proceeded from a successful exertion of his powers; and 
 that (he more arduous the struggle-, the greater the gra- 
 tification resulting from the conquest* 
 
 We inquired of the old gentleman if he derived much 
 entertainment from cards. "No,' 1 said he, ^not much: 
 they serve to kill time." "You are not then," we replied, 
 "solicitous for the issue of the game on account of the 
 money that is deposited?" "Damn the money !" said he, 
 in a passion, "I care not for the trash: I play for amuse- 
 ment." "Why then," we ventured to inquire, "should 
 there be any stake at all, since it is an object beneath 
 your attention?" "Because," said he, with a supercil- 
 ious smile, "there must be something betted to render 
 the game interesting." Here, as if ashamed of holding 
 a conversation with a person so ignorant of life as we 
 appeared to be, he turned round to one who had just 
 entered, and began a new game, to kill time — to win 
 money — to exercise his powers — and to triumph over his 
 adversary. 
 
 This occurrence led us to reflect that when wearrive 
 even at the verge of life, time will still hang heavy on 
 our hands, since we are reduced to such miserable exoe- 
 02 
 
162 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 dients to while away the lingering hours, and shut out 
 obtrusive thoughts. We were also led to draw the conclu- 
 sion, that, whatever inclination men may discover for 
 play, there is nothing will make the game interesting, 
 but the avaricious hope of accumulating money: avarice 
 is the ruling passion of civilized man. 
 
 While we were occupied with these thoughts, afresh 
 multitude had entered the house. There was much bus- 
 tle and preparation. The tables were filled with players. 
 On one side was a company engaged at loo; on the other 
 was a party at whist. These played cribbage; and these 
 eucrc; and here a set of noisy lads were engaged at their 
 favorite all/ours. At first, universal anxiety pervaded the 
 assembly; and the most strenuous exertions for victory 
 were employed by the parties. But as all could not 
 conquer, suddenly our ears were saluted with shouts of 
 exultation from some, and curses of disappointment from 
 others. We went from one table to the other, and con- 
 templated the various emotions that were visible in the 
 countenances of the players. We admired the ingenui- 
 ty discovered in the cutting of some, and" the dexterity 
 displayed Jn the shuffling of others; but as we had no 
 stake depending, as we felt none of those passions that 
 warmed the breasts of the combatants, in line, as their 
 pursuits appeared to us childish and contemptible, we 
 began to be weary of our situation. We remembered 
 that we had no business there, and made haste to leave 
 the assembly. 
 
 Returning to our lodging at a late hour, we sat down 
 to ruminate on what we had seen. The pursuits of 
 life appeared to bear a striking resemblance to a party 
 at cards. There is the same eager anxiety for the suc- 
 cess of a favorite scheme; and the same momentary ex- 
 ultation when the issue is fortunate. There is the same 
 restless propensity to enter into a fresh contest; and the 
 same marks of anguish and disappointment when we 
 are vanquished. There is the same ambition of dis- 
 playing our powers, the same emulation and strife for 
 superiority, and the same avaricious inclinations. And 
 
THE SAVAGE. 163 
 
 these passions, increasing with our ae:e and infirmities, 
 appear to discover most impetuosity near the close of 
 our days. 
 
 But what shall we say of the melancholy observer, 
 who moves from one scene of contention to another 
 without finding any thing sufficiently attractive to in- 
 terest his passions or awaken his anxiety? What busi- 
 'ness Ulis he in the world to whom the world is a desert? 
 If the pleasures, pursuits and employments of men be- 
 come insipid and vain, it is time to quit the stage and 
 give place to others. 
 
 Oppressed with these disconsolate reflections we fell 
 asleep in our chair,and found ourseli in a green field on 
 the hanks of the Ohio. It was a de :iing;<he 
 
 winds were hushed; the sun was descending in the 
 west; and the clouds were dyed with crimson and gold. 
 The flocks were about to leave their pasture; the hirds 
 were preparing to seek refuge in the neighboring trees; 
 and millions of insects were enjoying the last beams of 
 the departing sun. We were carried from one place 
 to another with a light and easy motion, and the tran- 
 quillity of nature reignedinour bosom; hut our attention 
 was suddenly arrested by the appearance of a young 
 man on the banks of the river. His visage was pale, 
 and his dress disordered. He walked hastily up and 
 down with an air of distraction. While we regarded 
 him with mute astonishment, he exclaimed with a loud 
 voice, "It shall be done!" and plunged headlong into 
 the stream. 
 
 It seems as though we were inclined to do a good ac- 
 tion in our sleep, for we do not remember that we felt 
 any prudential hesitation at that moment. We rushed 
 into the flood and bore him to the shore. He lay some 
 time apparently lifeless. The water gushed from his 
 mouth and nostrils. He opened his eyes, and regarding 
 us with a look of despair and reproach, he exclaimed, 
 "The struggle was past! I had vanquished my adversa- 
 ry — and now again I must endure the fever of life ; again 
 I must taste the bitterness of death — you are also my 
 enemy !" 
 
166 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 should an actor, -in this part, endeavor to exhibit the 
 awkward amazement of a clown who sees a white horse 
 grazing in a country churchyard? 
 
 The sentiments, given to Hamlet by the author, dis- 
 cover dignity of soul, resolution of mind, and contempt 
 of death. Ought not something of all this to appear 
 in his deportment? 
 
 Why, what should be the fear? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 
 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that? 
 
 Being a thing immortal as itself. 
 
 It waves me forth again;— I'll follow it. 
 
 Again — 
 
 My fate cries out, 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
 Still I am call'd; — unhand me gentlemen; — 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me: 
 I say, away:— Go on, — I'll follow thee. 
 
 And he should follow it with a firm step and desperate 
 resolution. What then? Shall the crowd be deprived 
 of a charming spectacle? Shall we no longer be enter- 
 tained with that hopping sliding fantastic movement with 
 which Hamlet has danced after the ghost for ages? The 
 play would be ruined by such savage innovations! 
 
 It is probable this dramatic caper may be traced 
 back to Garrick or some other hero of the stage; but 
 we will give our silvcrmounted tobacco pipe to any Thes- 
 pian critic who will convince us of its propriety, or 
 show any good reason for its longer continuance. 
 
 In our opinion, the character of Polonius was well 
 supported; but the multitude are ever disposed to laugh 
 when Mr. Jefferson appears, whether what he may 
 have to deliver be calculated to excite merriment or 
 otherwise. 
 
 Ophelia was interesting. We were more than satis- 
 fied with the performance of Mrs. Wilmot; but when 
 she approached her brother, saying "I would give you 
 some violets; bat they withered all, when my father 
 died" — we forgot the theatre, the play, and every thing, 
 but the sorrows of Ophelia. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 167 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XII. 
 COMMERCE. 
 
 Is our last number we took some notice of the ef- 
 fects of commerce. We showed, in our opinion, clearly 
 that it has a tendency to weaken local partialities, eradi- 
 cate salutary prejudices, and render every thing con- 
 temptible in the eyes of men but the acquisition of 
 riches. We showed that the generous feelings of pat- 
 riotism were incompatible with the interests and pur- 
 suits of a merchant; and that the laws, religion, and 
 manners of any particular nation must lose all their in- 
 fluence over the mind of him who no longer considers 
 his interest as identitied with the welfare of that nation. 
 If therefore we value the advantages that result from 
 local institutions, how 'should we be a friend to com- 
 merce? 
 
 All the world know that nothing promotes individual 
 wealth with such astonishing rapidity as commerce; 
 and we have heretofore shown the consequences that in- 
 evitably flow from the accumulation of riches in the 
 hands of individuals. If then we feel desirous of seeing 
 our species virtuous and happy, how should we be a 
 friend to commerce? 
 
 In all our lucubrations we have endeavored to estab- 
 lish, in the first place, certain fundamental principles; 
 and from these we have deduced our arguments. If any 
 one, from a partial view of the subject, shall condemn 
 our conclusions without examining the reasonings on 
 which they are founded, we cannot help it: the fault is 
 not in us but in himself. 
 
 When a proposition is established by conclusive ar- 
 guments drawn from general principles, there seems to 
 be no occasion to draw additional aid from adventitious 
 considerations. Whence arises the necessity of wooden 
 props to support an edifice founded on a rock? 
 
 Were the case otherwise, we know of no difficulty in 
 finding collateral arguments to prove the pernicious ef- 
 fects of commerce upon the morals and happiness of so- 
 ciety, and upon the vigor and prosperity of nations. We 
 
168 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 might easily point out the virtues and energies of king- 
 doms and republics while separated from the world and 
 under the influence of their local institutions, and after- 
 wards mark their profligacy and degeneracy when com- 
 merce had made them acquainted with the luxuries, 
 vices, and refinements of the world. There is no period 
 of ancient or modern history from which we could not 
 bring examples to illustrate and confirm our opinions. 
 If we should be told of the superstitions and crime9 
 which sometimes darken and deform the history of iso- 
 lated nations, we might reply that these are not the ne- 
 cessary result of their situation; but,admitting the worst, 
 how much more desirable their condition than that of 
 nations brutalized by the sorceries oi commerce? 
 
 But if it be said that commerce increases the wealth 
 and contributes to the prosperity of a nation, we are at 
 liberty to enquire in what manner this is effected. Does 
 itincrease the number of virtuous and loyal citizens at- 
 tached to their country and devoted to its interests? Or 
 are we to suppose that it enriches (he nation by increas- 
 ing the wealth of a few individuals? Will the nation be 
 great and happy because "merchants become princes" 
 surrounded by crowds of menials and mercenary depen- 
 dents? Does the nation become powerful because its 
 citizens are continually subjected more and more to the 
 influence of men who arc destitute of local attachments? 
 
 Dec, 25, Morning. 
 
 This is Christmas, Piomingo: and I have taken the 
 trouble to write this letter for the express purpose of 
 letting you know it. Although this is a christian festi- 
 val, and you reside at present in a christian country, 
 yet if I had not given you this information, it is more 
 than probable that the day would have passed over with- 
 out your having any knowledge of the circumstance. 
 
 I would give a thousand dollars to be in the interior 
 of the country at this moment, that I might partake of 
 the mirth and festivity that prevail among rustic swains 
 
THE SAVAGE. 169 
 
 who arc not yet too wise to be happy. There, Piomin- 
 go, the young and the old, the rich and the poor, the 
 wise and the foolish, desist from their labors, banish 
 their cares, and give a loose to the joys of the season. 
 
 Five or six years ago, 1 spent a winter much to my 
 satisfaction in the western country; and was rejoiced to 
 find the good people of those parts not so forgetful of 
 the religion of their fathers as to neglect the good old 
 festival of christmas. The old gray bearded patriarchs 
 meet together to eat and drink and laugh and boast of 
 the marvellous exploits they have performed in their 
 boyish days. The young assemble todance and sing and 
 discover their prowess by feats of strength and agility. 
 
 But what pleased me most was a barring-out: do you 
 know what that is, Piomingo? 1 shall be under the ne- 
 cessity ofdesrribingit; for how should a savage like you 
 know any thing about a barring-out? 
 
 Know then, O thou unidcacd barbarian! that in the 
 interior parts of this continent the young men and boys 
 (agreeably to a good old custom transmitted from father 
 to son for many generations) maintain the privilege of 
 barring out their schoolmasters some days previous to 
 the christmas festival. 
 
 They repair to the schoolhousc in the night; and, 
 having laid in a stock of provisions and prepared a 
 great variety of weapons offensive and defensive, they 
 barricade the door and wait the coming of their tyrant 
 with heroic resolution. 
 
 The dreaded hour arrives. The pedagogue appears 
 with his usual importance; and. perceiving the rebelli- 
 ous disposition evinced by his subjects, demands admit- 
 tance with a voice of thunder. lie is repulsed, tie 
 assumes the most terrific countenance, and threatens 
 destruction to every one who shall persist in oppos.tion 
 to the commands of the sovereign. 
 
 Finding menaces ineffectual, he has recourse to en- 
 treaty; and endeavors to gain admittance by stratagem. 
 The rebels are not to be thrown off their guard by spe- 
 cious pretences and professions of amity. He endeav- 
 P 
 
170 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ors to force an entrance by the door and by the win- 
 dows; but being foiled in every attempt, he retreats to 
 the country, and soon raises a posse of fifteen or twenty 
 young men to assist him in reconquering his dominions. 
 
 They approach the fort, armed with cudgels, in mili- 
 tary array, and with flying colors. The drum beats to 
 arms in the garrison: and the flag of defiance is hoisted 
 from the top of the chimney. A summons to surrender 
 is answered by a resolute refusal; and an instant assault 
 is the consequence. 
 
 The assailants attack the door with battering engines, 
 and storm the windows with impetuous fury. But show- 
 ers of fire, stones, brickbats, and wooden spears, are 
 poured from the windows. The pedagogical army is 
 at length repulsed, and retreats in confusion. 
 
 Not however intimidated by a first defeat, they re- 
 new the attack with redoubled resolution. Scaling lad- 
 ders are applied to the walls; and they mount on the 
 top of the building. They tear up the roof, and, throw- 
 ing down shingles with fury, they threaten destruction 
 to the garrison. But showers of missiles from below, 
 and the vengeful points of a hundred spears, oblige 
 them to retreat from their perilous situation. 
 
 Worsted in this second attempt, they recede to a re- 
 spectful distance, kindle fires, and erect tents to repel 
 the inclemencies of the season. The siege becomes a 
 blockade. The besiegers endeavor to intercept the 
 provisions designed for the relief of the garrison; and 
 the besieged, sometimes, make resistless sallies, storm 
 the camp of the enemy, and bear away the whiskey keg 
 and other necessaries of life, in triumph, to the strong 
 hold of rebellion. 
 
 The siege is continued for several days, sometimes 
 for a week. Sentinels are stationed during the night; 
 watchwords are given; and every thing is conducted in 
 military style. 
 
 However, at length, the minds of the belligerents, 
 from various considerations not necessary to be men- 
 tioned, begin to be disposed for an accommodation. 
 
THE SAY AGE, 
 
 171 
 
 Articles of capitulation are drawn up, and signed by 
 the parlies. The rebels engage to return to their alle- 
 giance; and the teacher to grant them a specified num- 
 ber of Christmas holydays, that they may visit their re- 
 lations, and make merry with their companions. The 
 affair is concluded by a plentiful dinner in the school- 
 house. All is harmony. 
 
 What do you think of a barring-out? Is it not a 
 most animating conflict? The xery image of war, 
 nay sometimes war itself; fori forgot to tell you that oc- 
 casionally the pedagogue's party proves victorious. 
 The vanquished boys return to their books with shame 
 and confusion; and are no longer cheered with the 
 prospect of mirth and festivity. 
 
 Upon lookingover what I have written, I think 
 
 Shall I tell you what I think, Piomingo? I think — but 
 I am afraid you will make some satirical observation 
 on my vanity and presumption. However, out it must 
 come. 1 think I have a wonderful talent for composi- 
 tion. I should excel in the description of battles. — 
 Faith, I have a notion to try my hand at an epic poem 
 on this subject. But then I should be puzzled to find 
 a name of sufficient dignity: a great deal depends on 
 the name, Piomingo. 
 
 This is christmas. You must be merry if you can. 
 We cannot treat you with a death song, a war dance, or 
 :i feast of 'new com, in this civilized country; but we will 
 allow you to get drunk in honor of the day, if you have 
 the money requisite for that purpose. 
 
 Farewell. 1 am to dine with my aunt. She has 
 made some extraordinary preparations. The idea of 
 aunt Sarah Poorly cools the fervor of my imagination. 
 I am, dear Savage, 
 
 Yours, T. Rattle. 
 
 As we derived considerable amusement from the pc- 
 rusal of the foregoing letter, we concluded that it might 
 afford a momentary entertainment to the public. The 
 writer has given a faithful description of a barring-out, 
 which will not be destitute of novelty to some of our 
 
172 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 readers. We would not however advise Rattle to write 
 an epic poem on the subject, for several reasons. As 
 he himself justly remarks, it would be almost impossible 
 to find a sesquipedalian title: Bariungoutiad, though 
 a highsounding word, is too ignoble in its origin to an- 
 swer the purpose. The subject itself does not appear 
 to possess sufficient dignity for wwrpopea; and it would 
 require, we are afraid, more genius than our friend pos- 
 sesses to introduce suitable machinery. Who would 
 be the hero of the poem? and what would be the moral 
 tendency of the performance? For it is to be remem- 
 bered that in every heroic poem not only a poetical but 
 a moral object is to be discovered. The poet, though 
 "wild warm" he sings the actions of heroes and the ex- 
 ploits of the gods, calculates with philosophic coolness 
 what maybe the moral effects of his verses on future 
 generations. 
 
 We assure our friend Rattle that we love, as well as 
 he, those joyous festivals, those annual seasons of re- 
 joicing, that break in upon the dull monotony of human 
 life and give variety to existence; — but here, the long- 
 hard pull for worldly superiority is never intermitted. 
 There is nothing but labor, calculation, anxiety; we 
 have not time to be happy. 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 Nothing is equally important, yet nothing so univer- 
 sally neglected as education. The business of enlighten- 
 ing the understandings, and forming the minds of youth 
 is accounted a servile and low occupation, and conse- 
 quently falls into the hands of those who are utterly in- 
 capable of fulfilling the task. 
 
 The most important part of education is not to com- 
 municate knowledge, but to form the mind and give a 
 salutary direction to those constitutional impulses or in- 
 nate propensities which are discoverable in childhood 
 and developed in youth. If these be neglected, all is 
 neglected: and the happiness of millions is left to the 
 guidance of chance. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 173 
 
 But the fact is this: education begins much sooner than 
 is generally supposed. The temper is formed and the 
 character settled, before the child is committed to the 
 care of a teacher; and the only thing that can be expect- 
 ed from him is instruction in a few dry clcmcntsof science, 
 which may quality the pupil to make his way in the 
 world. The greater share of education therefore, falls to 
 the lot of the parent: and they are miserably qualified 
 for the important oitice. They permit vitious habits to 
 take deep root in ihe infant mind, but promise to eradi- 
 cate them when the child shall become sufficiently intel- 
 ligent to understand the design of correction! What 
 deplorable infatuation! Is it not much easier to prevent 
 the formation of evil dispositions than to destroy them 
 after they are formed? Is it not much easier to oppose 
 theingress of vice than to eject it after it has entered and 
 fortified itself in the citadel? Shall the husbandman per- 
 mit noxious plants and weeds of every description to 
 spring up and flourish in his fields, for the purpose of de- 
 stroying them when the roots have sunk deep in the soil, 
 and the task has become impracticable! Shall he make 
 ready to cut down the thistles and briers after they have 
 choked the good seed, and the hopes of the harvest have 
 vanished? 
 
 How often do we hear a father or mother observing, 
 when one of their children has committed a fault, ^Well, 
 well, I shall let you alone now; but when you get a little 
 older, if I find you guilty of such improprieties, I shall 
 certainly correct you." Silly parent! When the period 
 arrives to which you allude, you will find your powers 
 inadequate to effect the reformation intended. You will 
 find the scheme attended with so much vexation and 
 difficulty, that you will assuredly neglect it. By this weak 
 and blind indulgence you may spare your children a 
 momentary uneasiness, but you renderyourself accounta- 
 ble, to the author of your existence, for the follies, the 
 crimes, and the sorrows of their subsequent lives. 
 
 We do not believe in the doctrine of innate depravity. 
 Man is the creature of education: by timely and judicious 
 P2 
 
174 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 management, the mind might be inclined to the practice 
 of virtue, and the necessity of correction prevented; but 
 if evil propensities appear, let them receive immediate 
 attention; every moment of delay will increase the diffi- 
 culty of the task, and lessen the probability of its ac- 
 complishment. 
 
 Another great error in education is the practice of 
 indulging every childish whim and gratifying every ca- 
 pricious inclination. 
 
 "Why, what would the savage advise? Would he 
 have us to turn tyrants, and deprive our children of the 
 innocent amusements and recreations of youth'. 15 By no 
 means, madam; that is not our intention. We would 
 have you encourage, direct, and partake of their amuse- 
 ments: you cannot be more usefully employed. You 
 will thus have an opportunity to cherish every virtuous 
 emotion, encourage every dawning of honorable ambi- 
 tion, and suppress the first rising of inordinate desires. 
 
 "But the dear little things are too young to encounter 
 opposition. When they have acquired a little knowledge 
 and strength of mind, it is time enough to make them 
 acquainted with the necessity of submitting to restraint." 
 But how are they to acquire strength of mind if you in- 
 dulge them at present in all their unreasonable caprices? 
 The time must come when you will find it impossible to 
 gratify all iheirinclinations: and after their passions have 
 become headstrong and their tempers violent by injudi- 
 cious compliances, they will not be disposed to attend 
 to your admonitions or submit to the rigor of your dis- 
 cipline. How much better to habituate their minds to 
 Hie necessary restraints, and prepare them for the diffi- 
 culties and misfortunes of life? The yoke sits easy on the 
 neck which has been long accustomed to bear it. 
 
 Nothing is more desirable than strength of mind. We 
 have many evils to encounter in our journey through life. 
 We have need of perseverance to enable us to surmount 
 difficulties, and of fortitude to bear unavoidable afflic- 
 tions. The world is not a paradise created for our use, 
 and subjected to our wishes: those therefore, who study 
 
THE SAVAGE. 175 
 
 incss of their children, should let them feel 
 from the beginning the necessity of commanding their 
 assions, and restraining their desires. 
 
 But although the greatest and most important part of 
 education falls to the management of parents, yet much 
 might sometimes be done by judicious teachers in giving 
 a salutary direction to those impulses of genius and 
 openings of character which are discoverable among 
 boys at places of public instruction. For although we 
 have given it as our opinion, that man is the creature of 
 education, yet we believe that there are certain constitu- 
 tional dispositions in every child which may be noted by 
 an accurate observer; and these ought to receive the 
 earliest attention from everyone who is entrusted with 
 tin; management of youth. 
 
 Some are naturally anient, enterprising, ambitious; 
 others cold, uua<piring,phlegmatic. Some are sanguine, 
 fearless, resolute; others timid, backward, and prone to 
 despond. Some are remarkable fortheirardent thirst for 
 admiration, and tea r of every species of reproach; while o- 
 theisappear a like insensible of praise and condemnation. 
 
 But all these things are unnoticed by the mercenary 
 teacher; whose only study is what immediate advantage 
 he can derive from his irksome employment, and how 
 soon he may be enabled to engage in some business more 
 honorable and productive of more considerable emolu- 
 ments. 
 
 Young Ardent was a boy of the most shining abilities; 
 but he was ambitious of being distinguished above his 
 fellows in every undertaking. Conscious of deserving 
 applause for his literary performances, he was indig- 
 nant at the preference given to others every way his in- 
 feriors. Disappointed of the distinction he merited by 
 hid laudable exertions, he determined to seek for ano- 
 ther species of preeminence. He became a projector of 
 mischief, a leader of riols, and was continually engaged 
 in souk! conspiracy against the good order of the semin- 
 ary. Ardent was expelled. He engaged in a career of 
 dissipation and extravagance. Supported by his for- 
 
176 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tune and admired for his talents, he shone for awhile 
 with distinguished splendor in the circles of fashion. 
 Ardent was generous, undesigning, and incapable of 
 every species of dissimulation; but his favored associates 
 were artful timeserving parasites. They fed him with 
 adulation till his funds were exhausted; — what then? 
 Deserted by the swarm of admirers, deprived of that 
 applause which had become necessary to his existence, 
 he had time to reflect. But Ardent would not reflect. 
 He had recourse to the intoxicating bowl. Why should 
 we mention the sequel? He fell a victim to his follies. 
 Not a tear was shed over his grave. 
 
 Why did not Ardent enjoy a long life of happiness 
 and honor? Why did he not become an ornamentto his 
 friends and a blessing to his country? Was there no one 
 culpable but Ardent? To whom shall we trace the fault? 
 To those who had the care of his infancy: to the weak- 
 ness of his father and the foolish indulgence of hismother. 
 To those who had the management of his education: 
 who refused to bestow the rewards he had merited by 
 his literary exertions; who treated his errors with rigor- 
 ous severity. In fine, to all those who neglected to give 
 the proper direction to his aspiring disposition. 
 
 MOTHER WIT. 
 
 By this homely appellation we wish to designate that 
 natural superiority of intellect which some men possess 
 over others. 
 
 It is the gift of nature, and cannot be infused by 
 education, or acquired by the persevering exertions of 
 industry. It is often discoverable in men the most un- 
 informed and illiterate; and its absence may be perceiv- 
 ed in others who have received the most finished edu- 
 cation, and whose minds are stored with the greatest 
 variety of scientifical information. It is generally term- 
 ed good natural sense; but is altogether different from 
 that quickness of intellect usually denominated wit. It 
 appears to have no connexion with cunning and dupli- 
 city, but is mostly accompanied by sincerity and candor. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 177 
 
 [t always preserves its possessor from making a ridicu- 
 U9 display of his literary acquirement?, and never 
 ails to observe the first appearance of pedantry in others. 
 
 There are whom Heaven lias blessed with stores of wit, 
 Who want as much a^rain to govern it. 
 
 Whatever may he meant by the wit mentioned in 
 ic first line of this couplet, the thing said to be wanting 
 is the subject of our present remarks. 
 
 Little Vivid is remarkable for saying good t h ings and 
 making lively observations. He knows a hundred cu- 
 rious anecdotes, and tells a most excellent story. Yet 
 an accurate observer may immediately perceive that 
 there is something wanting in Vivid. His good tilings 
 are produced at unseasonable times; .and his spirited 
 observations are frequently misapplied. His anecdotes 
 are sometimes irrelative to the subject of discourse; and 
 he indulges in the repetition of stories which are as 
 well known to the company as to himself. 
 
 Our friend Prolix has read a multitude of books, and 
 possesses a fund of interesting information. There is 
 scarcely any subject but he is capable of treating with 
 ingenuity, and illustrating by appropriate passages from 
 history both ancient and modern. But there is no end 
 to his discussions. The auditors, who attend at first 
 with delight to his masterly disquisitions, at length be- 
 come weary, and exhibit indications of inattention and 
 lassitude; but Prolix perceives it not. He continues 
 his harrangue as long as any one will listen. There is 
 something wanting in Prolix. 
 
 Doctor Worthy was a learned and pious clergyman. 
 He was not only reverenced for the sanctity of his char- 
 acter, but highly respected for his literary acquire* 
 meats. He was distinguished by his propensity for ma- 
 thematical studies as well as his love for the religion of 
 Christ; and never appeared so happy as when engag- 
 ed in theological disputes, or employed in the solution 
 of algebraical problems. Yet we have known a con- 
 temptible and ignorant coxcomb, who had nothing but 
 money and impudence to recommend him, to set this 
 
178 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 worthy man in a ridiculous light before a numerous as- 
 sembly. This animal would put on a grave face, and 
 accost the doctor concerningjustification by faith, or the 
 intrinsic merit of good works, appearing, at the same 
 time, inclined to favor certain heretical opinions. The 
 doctor would answer with a warmth corresponding to 
 the importance of the subject. Mr. Flippant would 
 6tart objections, which would be answered; express 
 doubts, which would be removed ; desire information con- 
 cerning interesting particulars, which would be granted. 
 The whole company perceived the intentions ofMr. 
 Flippant to quiz the parson; every one smiled and par- 
 took of the sport. The doctor saw il not. He was a 
 learned man; but there was something wanting, which 
 his theological knowledge and mathematical acutcness 
 could never supply. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XII I. ^ 
 
 MANUFACTORIES. 
 
 Nothing hastens more rapidly the progress of civili- 
 zation than the establishment of manufactories. They 
 elevate, exercise, and enlighten the "directing mind," 
 which oversees the whole and regulates the complicated 
 movements, but sink and degrade the actual manufac- 
 turer into a necessary piece of machinery. 
 
 There must be but one mind in a manufactory. If any 
 subaltern operator be capable of thought, it must lie dor- 
 mant, and ere long become torpid: for how can any 
 faculty subsist in vigor which is never called into motion, 
 or exercised in the sphere for which it was designed? 
 The same operations are performed sometimes by a man, 
 and sometimes by a wheel: they are both necessary parts 
 of the great machine set in motion by the mind of the 
 intelligent regulator. 
 
 Nature has given man thecapacity of perceiving, re- 
 flecting, reasoning, forming a judgment, and acting in 
 consequence of his judgment when formed; but, if he 
 be not master of his own actions, there is no necessity 
 for his forming a judgment, reasoning, or exercising any 
 
THE SAVAGE. 179 
 
 of the powers of his mind: he feels the influence of the 
 soul of the machinery which impels him to action, in 
 the same manner that the wheel feels the impulse of the 
 water or the force of the stream. 
 
 The more various the employments of any man, the 
 more necessity he finds to exercise his mental faculties, 
 and the greater is the probability of their improvement; 
 but, as manufactories gradually approach to perfection, 
 the operations of the actual laborer become more and 
 more co: fined to a point; and in the same ratio, the man 
 must sink into the machine. 
 
 It may be observed also that this pernicious influence 
 is not confined to the mind of the laborer, but affects 
 also the body: one position and one set of motions must 
 be unfavorable lo the human frame; as some parts re- 
 ceive more than their due proportion of exercise, and 
 others are not exercised at all. We have no intention of 
 dilating at present on the consequences of large manu- 
 facturing establishments upon the health of the laborers: 
 we merely mention this circumstance, as it appears in- 
 timately connected with our foregoing observations. 
 
 Before manufactories can be established to advantage, 
 civilization must have made considerable advancement: 
 there must be a disparity of ranks; there must be luxury 
 ancrpovcrty, masters and slaves. Luxury is necessary to 
 create a demand for the articles manufactured; and po- 
 verty is necessary toquaiify laborers for the employment. 
 But when manufactories are once fairly established, they 
 will support themselves, and help along wonderfully 
 with the good work of civilization. When men are so 
 much depressed by poverty as to be under the necessity 
 of becoming a part of this complex machinery, their 
 destination is settled: they never will be able to extricate 
 themselves from their degraded situation. They are 
 habituated to thciremployment,and disqualified forother 
 occupations; their master becomes rich and consequently 
 powerful; his ascendency over them continually increas- 
 es; their children are brought up to the same occupation ; 
 the price of labor is gradually diminished; and erery 
 
180 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 spark of independence is extinguished in their besoms. 
 
 In any of those trades which can he carried on by 
 one man, the journeyman may hope, that through his 
 persevering cxeriions, the time may come when he shall 
 be able to sot up for himself: and this hope acts as a spur 
 to his industry, and keeps alive the vigor and indepen- 
 dence of his mind; but in a great manufactory, the la- 
 borer is only qualified lo be what he is — a part of the 
 machinery: he is incapable of managing the whole; and 
 if he were, he can never hope to accumulate the sum 
 necessary for a stupendous establishment. 
 
 The thing most to be lamented is the disqualifying 
 nature of these employments, which incapicitate men 
 for any of the common pursuits of life; and if any unfor- 
 tunate casualty should destroy those establishments that 
 afford them a subsistence, they become a burthen to the 
 community and a terror to society in general. 
 
 It ought lo be the great care of a republican govern- 
 ment (if indeed it be possible for a republican govern- 
 ment to subsist for any length of time among civilized 
 men) to preserve equality among its citizens; but the 
 establishment of manufactories has a direct tendency to 
 destroy c\avy trace of equality and extend the influence 
 of one; opulent man over hundreds of those who are 
 poor. Now, if the men subject to this influence be de- 
 prived of the right of suffrage, it follows that a multi- 
 tude are degraded from the rank of citizens, and are no 
 Ion ger suffered to participate in thegovernment of their 
 country. Would not this be preposterous in a repre- 
 sentative democracy? But if they be not deprived of 
 the right of suffrage, the consequence is still more un- 
 fortunate. For their votes are the votes of their opu- 
 lent employer: and the government becomes an aris- 
 tocracy the most odious — the aristocracy of wealth. 
 
 A despotic prince acts wisely when he extends the 
 commerce of the nation, establishes manufactories, and 
 encourages every institution that he conceives will have 
 a tendency to produce inequality among his subjects; 
 because his throne is supported by the attachment of 
 
THE SAVAGE. 181 
 
 those who have extended their power over the inferior 
 ranks of society, and consequently are friendly to ex- 
 isting establishments; but a government designed for 
 the good of the community in general, when it directs 
 its intention exclusively to those objects, is acting di- 
 rectly contrary to the end of its institution. On the 
 contrary all its laws and regulations should be calcu- 
 lated, as much as possible, to produce and preserve 
 equality among the citizens, and to prevent any man 
 or set of men from acquiring and exercising power 
 over others. 
 
 PUNCTUATION: FROM CRITO. 
 
 I have often been amused, Piomingo, at hearing 
 children taught to mind their stops, "This is a comma: 
 at this mark, you must stop till you could count one, — 
 This is a semicolon: here you must pause till you could 
 count one, two. This is a colon, &c." Now if this non- 
 sense were confined to the vulgar, and to the select a- 
 cademies of illiterate pedagogues, it would not excite 
 so much surprise; but when such absurdities are grave- 
 ly laid down by the compilers of dictionaries and gram- 
 mars, it becomes worthy of attention. 
 
 How the characters used in punctuation came to be 
 denominated stops or pauses, I cannot tell; but certain 
 it is, the practice ought to be discontinued by every 
 one who makes any pretensions to accuracy. These 
 marks or characters have no other use than to enable us 
 to understand the meaning of the author, and have no 
 connexion with pauses in speaking or in reading. No 
 good reader was ever regulated in his tones or pauses 
 by the occurrence of a comma or semicolon; he merely 
 considers these as guides to the author's meaning: and 
 having become master of the sense, his own judgment 
 enables him to adjust his pauses without any regard to 
 the place where the comma or semicolon occurred. It 
 is granted that the reading pause frequently is placed 
 where the character used in pointing occurs; but as this 
 concurrence is by no means necessary, these characters 
 Q « 
 
182 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 can never serve as marks to point out the place of paus- 
 Colloquial and reading pauses are perfectly similar; 
 yet we have no commas, semicolons, colons, and peri- 
 ods, to direct us where to make pauses in speaking: nor 
 are they necessary; as it is to be presumed that we un- 
 derstand what we say. And these characters would be 
 equally unnecessary in reading, were we not in danger 
 of mistaking the meaning of the author. 
 
 I shall not attempt to tell how the ancients were able 
 to read without any distinguishing marks of this kind; 
 it is probable they had rules for their direction of which 
 we are totally ignorant: but it may be observed that 
 in the Greek and Lalin languages, the corresponding 
 terminations of the several parts of speech would, for 
 the most part, prevent ambiguity and indicate the mean- 
 ing of the writer. Those, however, who construct sen- 
 tences in the modern languages, find punctuation abso- 
 lutely necessary to point out those relations which sub- 
 sist between qualities and substantives, attributives and 
 verbs; and this necessity arises from the multiplicity 
 and irregularity of our terminations. 
 
 Whoever considers this subject with accuracy will 
 perceive that many improvements may yet be made in 
 the art of pointing; and that it is impossible it should 
 be brought to perfection with the characters only, which 
 are at present in use. From this circumstance arise 
 that confusion and uncertainty in all the rules that are 
 laid down for our direction in punctuation. The pre- 
 sent characters, however, will answer every common 
 purpose tolerably well; but the art of using them can 
 only be acquired by long continued practice, and is 
 not to be attained by merely consulting the rules that 
 are laid down in grammars and dictionaries. Hence it 
 frequently happens that men, who can speak and write 
 with facility, are nevertheless totally ignorant of an art 
 necessary to be known by every one who has occasion 
 to write a letter to his friend. 
 
 Every gentleman, who presumes to write for the 
 
THE SAVAGE. 183 
 
 press, should certainly be capable of pointing his pro- 
 ductions with accuracy and taste; yet this is seldom the 
 case. They say they are in the habit of submitting these 
 little things to the printers. The writer of this article 
 knows that such is their practice: and a judicious one 
 it is; for, printers in general can point more correctly 
 than those learned and ingenious writers who enlighten 
 the world with their luminous productions. 
 
 But are authors aware of the importance of this little 
 thing which they submit to the discretion of the prin- 
 ters? — Before a man can point a work judiciously, he 
 must be perfectly master of the subject and enter fully 
 into the meaning of every sentence. Now, who can 
 know the intention of the writer, but the writer him- 
 self? How can a printer understand an author's manu- 
 script (scrawled as it usually is) without the assistance 
 of those helps which punctuation itself is designed to 
 afford? If a printed book be enigmatical when incor- 
 rectly pointed, how is a manuscript to be deciphered, 
 and its meaning extracted by a printer? And, finally, 
 is it reasonable to expect that a printer should be able 
 to understand every abstruse and scientitical subject 
 that may fall into his hands? 
 
 I will conclude my remarks with mentioning an inci- 
 dent that just now occurs to my memory: Boswell re- 
 presents Doctor Johnson as laughing heartily at a noble 
 author's ignorance of the art of punctuation. "Lord 
 Lyttelton was thirty years in preparing his History; and 
 he employed a man to point it for him: as if another 
 man could point his sense better than himself." 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 Many men expect to derive amusement from a walk; 
 but, upon trial, find themselves unaccountably disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 If they walk out on business, they have an object that 
 engages their attention; and when they have effected 
 their purpose, they return home satisfied with their ex- 
 cursion; but if they go out in pursuit of entertainment, 
 
184 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 novel appearances and unexpected incidents are neces- 
 sary in order to awaken those pleasurable emotions 
 which they hope to experience. Now, when we purpose 
 to take a walk in the city of Philadelphia, what novelty 
 can be expected to occur which will be calculated to 
 excite these desirable sensations? We know, before 
 we set out from the place of our residence, that we shall 
 have brick houses on the right hand and brick houses 
 on the left; and that we- shall encounter a multitude of 
 people 'black brown and fair' all in pursuit of their va- 
 rious avocations: what entertainment can be expected 
 from this dull regularity and insipid uniformity of ap- 
 pearances? And if the walk itself afford so little a- 
 musement,howcan we hope to render a history of that 
 walk interesting to our readers? 
 
 It may be observed, in answer to the foregoing ques- 
 tions, that there is one advantage which may always be 
 expected from walking, unless lost through the indo- 
 lence of the walker: if we march up-one street and 
 down another until we be completely fatigued, rest will 
 become agreeable. Hence it follows that a positive 
 pleasure has resulted from the walk, although it may not 
 have been attended with any interesting occurrences. 
 And something of this nature may also happen to the 
 reader who shall take the trouble to peruse the follow- 
 ing production: if he read with the fond expectation of 
 amusement, and find himself at the last disappointed, 
 he may notwithstanding have the pleasure of throwing 
 down the paper and bestowing a few curses on our sav- 
 age dulness and stupidity. 
 
 As we turned round a corner, we encountered Frank 
 Fluent. We have known Frank several years, and are 
 not ignorant of his faults; but there is something so a- 
 musing in his observations that we are always rather 
 pleased than otherwise when we partake of his society. 
 
 Frank. Which way Piomingo? Have you ventured 
 from your wigwam? I congratulate you on your civilized 
 appearance. Were it not for thatsavage wildness in your 
 countenance, (of which I am afraid you will never divest 
 
THE SAVAGE. 185 
 
 yourself) you might pass for a christian. Do you know 
 that I heard a dispute concerning you the other day? 
 
 Piomingo. Of what nature? 
 
 Frank. Why thus it happened: I was standing with 
 some gentlemen at the southeast corner of Third and 
 Market streets, when Piomingo marched along on the 
 opposite side. "Who is that wild looking man?" said 
 one." "1 cannot tell," said a second; "is he not a Ma- 
 layan?" "No," said a third, "I believe he's an Alge- 
 rine." "An Algerine!" cried the first, "impossible! 
 were he an Algerine, he would wear a turban and mus- 
 taches. This man dresses like a christian: I should 
 rather take him for a Spaniard or a Portuguese." "Do 
 not Spaniards wear mustaches?" said the third. "I have 
 seen that fellow frequently in the streets," said a fourth; 
 "but I cannot tell what to make of him; he hasa damn- 
 ed outlandish appearance." 
 
 Piomingo. And what did you say, Frank? you could 
 not possibly have been silent all this while. 
 
 Frank. I told them I thought you were a spy. 
 
 Piomingo. Did they coincide with you in opinion? 
 
 Frank. Yes: they thought my conjecture extremely 
 probable ; but, some of them said you were in the pay of 
 Bonaparte; others contended that you must be an emis- 
 sary of England: so the discourse became political; and 
 you were forgotten. But, my dear Piomingo, what is the 
 use of walking for ever? Let us make a halt at some of 
 these zoatcring places, and refresh ourselves. 
 
 Piomingo. How shall we refresh ourselves? 
 Frank. Bydrinking,smoking,talking,&c. Come along. 
 Are not savages naturally fond of spirituous liquors? 
 
 Piomingo. No sir: savages are not naturally fond of 
 spirituous liquors. They drank at first out of mere com- 
 plaisance to their christian visitants; but having once 
 experienced the exhilarating effects of ardent spirits, 
 many of them have become addicted to intemperance. 
 They are under great obligation to their civilized neigh- 
 bors for having made them acquainted with the plea- 
 sures of intoxication. However, I have no objection to 
 Q2 
 
186 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 follow you into the temple of Bacchus and worship the 
 presiding divinity, soberly; but I shall endeavor to avoid 
 becoming an enthusiastic devotee in his service. 
 
 This house, said Frank as we entered, is frequented 
 by idlers of every description. Here you may be enter- 
 tained with philosophical disputes, political discussions, 
 and religious disquisitions. Nosubject is too important to 
 be agitated over a bowl; nor is any thing too trivial to 
 occupy attention. See, here is a company this moment 
 deeply interested in the politics of the nation: let us sit 
 downonthe opposite side and watch the issue of the contest. 
 
 Piomingo. I am careless about the issue of the contest 
 — but who is that corpulent man at the end of the table, 
 with the red face and enormous belly? 
 
 Frank, That is Mr. Bluff, a wealthy grazier and a 
 justice of the peace for the county of Philadelphia. 
 
 Piomingo, I knew he was wealthy, by the confidence 
 which appears in his countenance; but how does he ad- 
 mi nister justice ? is he learned in the laws of his country ? 
 
 Frank, I will answer you in the words of the son of 
 Sirach : "how should he get wisdom, whose talk is of bul- 
 locks ?" He knows no more of the law than I do of Sanscrit. 
 Yet he is not more ignorant than his brother magistrates 
 in general. There is not one in a hundred of them who 
 is capable of reading a page of law, even if they thought 
 proper to attempt it. Whenever a man becomes rich 
 and acquires a little influence in his neighborhood, he is 
 immediately created a justice of the peace, without any 
 inquiry being made as to his education or abilities. 
 
 Piomingo. But I thought that respectable citizens 
 were always selected to fill an office of such importance 
 to the community. 
 
 Frank. So they are, I assure you, Piomingo: respecta- 
 ble that is wealthy citizens are always appointed to this 
 office. Yes, yes, they are "all, all, respectable men." 
 
 Piomingo. You do not certainly make those two 
 words synonymous ? 
 
 Frank. With us, they, are perfectly synonymous. 
 
 Piomingo. If wealth make a man a justice of the peace, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 787 
 
 will it not also advance him to a scat in the legislature? 
 
 Frank. Yes: if the man be possessed of sufficient cun- 
 ning to make the most of the means in his possession, he 
 may become a senator without being able to read the con- 
 stitution of the state which he swears to support, or to 
 write one sentence grammatically in the language of 
 the country. 
 
 Piomingo. You ho wever acknowled ge that there is some- 
 thing else, besides riches, necessary to his advancement. 
 
 Frank. Wealth is power: but if a man be an idiot, and 
 make no use of the power he possesses, he then becomes 
 an instrument in the hands of some one who is more en- 
 terprising and ambitious; and that influence, which he 
 has neglected to employ for his own advantage, is exerted 
 in favor of another. We sometimessee an indigent man, 
 who has talents for intrigue, rise rapidly from his original 
 insignificance to the most conspicuous stations in the com- 
 munity; but how is this done? He begins by cringing to 
 theopulent, and is advanced thro' their instrumentality. 
 
 Piomingo. Such a man is no demagogue: I thought 
 it had been necessary, for one who would become emi- 
 nent, in a democratical state, to caress the poor and 
 conciliate the favor of the multitude. 
 
 Frank. When this man has acquired wealth, or the 
 appearance of wealth, he then becomes a demagogue: 
 he then has power to influence the people; whereas, in 
 his original state of indigence, had he attempted to 
 practice any demagogical arts, he would have made 
 himself ridiculous. 
 
 Piomingo. Is it, then, necessary that a demagogue 
 should be rich? 
 
 Frank. Certainly: a poor man is necessarily dependent 
 on the opulent. Who then can influence his decisions — 
 the man who possesses power, or he who possesses none? 
 
 Piomingo. It seems to follow from your reasoning, that 
 the people, notwithstanding their poverty, are possessed 
 of the power, since their support is solicited by thericb. 
 
 Frank. The people may choose their leader, but have 
 no power to pursue any plan of their own. Have you not 
 
188 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 demonstrated, in one of jour Savages, that the indigent 
 man is always a slave; though he has sometimes the 
 liberty of exchanging one master for another? — What 
 the devil do you mean, Piomingo? do you argue in favor 
 of civilization? 
 
 Piomingo. I do not argue: I merely suggest those ob- 
 stacles that occur, lest hereafter there might appear to 
 be some broken links in the chain of your reasoning. 
 Do you not allow that rich men are sometimes governed 
 by those that are not in possession of riches? 
 
 Frank. Yes, in the same manner that a weak prince 
 is governed by his favorites. 
 
 Piomingo. Do not most of your constitutions provide 
 that persons, not property, are to be represented in your 
 legislative assemblies? 
 
 Frank. There are verbal provisions to that effect in 
 some of our written constitutions; yet it is easy to prove 
 that property, not persons, is represented in every assem- 
 bly in the United States. 
 
 Q,uid leges sine moribus 
 Vanre proficiunt? 
 
 Wealth, in the present state of society, exercises a sov- 
 ereign and independent influence and laughs at the laws 
 or constitutions that would circumscribe its power. It 
 may possibly be said that, let a man's possessions be ever 
 so great, he has but one vote at an election. But let us 
 consider the subject a little more attentively: suppose 
 an opulent man can influence the suffrages of fifty men 
 on such occasions, is not that the same thing in reality 
 as if these votes were given by himself personally ? No- 
 thing is more common than to hear politicians talk ofa 
 man's vote and influence : and the influence, in general, 
 is a matter of much more importance than the vote. 
 Yet, although the ascendency of wealth is openly avow- 
 ed, we are told that the voters are perfectly independ- 
 ent; and that persons, and not property, are represented. 
 Piomingo. What appropriate name can we give to 
 your government, since you will not allow it to be 
 purely republican? 
 
THE SAVAGE. 189 
 
 Frank. It is a representative democracy in appear- 
 ance; but in reality, a representative ploutocracy or gov- 
 ernment of wealth. 
 
 Piotnitigo. Really, Frank, you are a perfect savage! 
 I am amazed that any one who has tasted the sweets of 
 civilized society should make use of such arguments. 
 
 Frank. Really, Piomingo, you are mistaken if you 
 suppose that I have any intention of exchanging smiling 
 fields, cheerful villages, and populous cities, for the 
 lonely woods and gloomy caverns of the wilderness. I 
 had much rather have my ears stunned with the "busy 
 hum" of civilized drunkards in a crowded stinking grog- 
 shop, than trust my life to 
 
 -boasts of prey, 
 
 Or men as fierce and wild as they. 
 
 Every thing wild is my aversion : even you, Piomingo, 
 though you were caught young, and appear to be as tame 
 as a lamb, become occasionally an object of horror. — 
 When I observe your red visage and high cheekbones: 
 when I think of your skulking and howling, your pow- 
 wows and war dances, and the number of scalps you 
 have taken; I shrink with involuntary terror, and draw 
 away my chair from the savage. No, indeed, I am no 
 enemy to civilization; but I think it quite necessary for 
 a man who has to make his Way in the world to be able 
 to form a just estimate of things. And I assure you that 
 a cunning enterprising fellow, who is notburthened with 
 much principle or deluded by the bubble honor, may do 
 wonderfully well: by suiting himself to the times and 
 taking advantage of circumstances, he may wriggle in- 
 to places of importance. Why should I object to the 
 power that is attendant on wealth, when I have a pros- 
 pect of becoming wealthy myself? Why should I mourn 
 over the miseries or depression of the poor, since I am 
 resolutely determined to be numbered with the rich? 
 Then, Piomingo, when I shall be rich (let me anticipate 
 the pleasures I shall enjoy) when I shall be rich, my in» 
 fluencc shall be exerted, not for the good of my subjects, 
 but for my own individual emolument. I glial! be re* 
 
190 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 presented in the legislature, or become a legislator my- 
 self, and make laws for the security of property. 
 
 Piomingo. Who is that tall pale man who rails so 
 violently against jacobins and democrats? 
 
 Frank. Why sir, I have the honor to inform you, that 
 neighbor Smoothly is a respectable member of the so- 
 ciety of Friends. 
 
 Piomingo. I have frequently heard the word respecta- 
 ble applied to members of that society. Pray inform 
 me, are they rich? 
 
 Frank. Yes. 
 
 Piomingo. But there must of course be some poor 
 members; are not they also respectable? 
 
 Frank. Certainly not: but I must inform you that 
 there is very little poverty within pale of the society. 
 They are humanely attentive to the necessities offriends, 
 and prevent each other from falling into indigence and 
 distress. It is also said that a poor member must be very 
 careful to walk in the fear of the Lord, and according 
 to the good order established among friends, or they 
 will disown him. 
 
 Piomingo. What is the consequence of that? 
 
 Frank. The ejected member becomes "as a heathen 
 man and a publican;" disowning is a soft word for ex- 
 communication. 
 
 Piomingo. But if a respectable friend should act im- 
 properly, will they not also disown him? 
 
 Frank. Why — not so hastily. They will wink at hi? 
 irregularities a long time, unless he should be guilty of 
 some glaring indecorum which will reflect disgrace on 
 the society: in that case they reluctantly proceed to 
 deal with, and gently admonish, their backsliding bro- 
 ther; and if he prove irreclaimable, they are tinally 
 compelled (when every hope of reformation has vanish- 
 ed) to proceed in the business of disowning the respect- 
 able friend. 
 
 Piomingo. Can you assign any reason why this peo- 
 ple are so opulent? 
 
 Frank. It is in a great measure owing to their regu- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 191 
 
 lar and industrious habits, their avoidance of dissipated 
 pleasures, and their neglect of expensive amusements. 
 They carry an experimental prudence into all the con- 
 cerns oflife, and are seldom led away by any of those 
 visionary speculations winch prove so destructive to the 
 bold and enterprising. Their religious principles for- 
 bid them to engage in political commotions, or to accept 
 of important situations in the government: consequent- 
 ly their minds are never distracted by the callsof ambi- 
 tion; nor is there any thing to divert their attention from 
 the great business of accumulating riches. What ad- 
 vantage their religion will afford them in the world which 
 is to come, I cannot tell; but certain it is, that, in the 
 present state of existence, it has conferred on its vota- 
 ries favors important and substantial. 
 
 Piomingo. Their simplicity of dress probably con- 
 tributes to lighten their expenses. 
 
 Frank. 1 imagine not. Observe neighbor Smooth- 
 Iy's dress: it is composed of the richest materials; and 
 though there appears to be nothing superfluous about 
 him, yet the sum that was expended on those vestments 
 would have bought two suits for Jack Flash or Bobby 
 Chitterling. 
 
 Piomingo. No objection can be made to the dress, but 
 its singularity. However, in my opinion, such little 
 peculiarities discover a species of weakness or affectation. 
 
 Frank. I hate the starched plainness of neighbor 
 Smoothly; but I think the gay quakcrs, at least the fe- 
 male part of them, have hit upon a medium, between 
 flaunting finery and puritanical stiffness, which is ex- 
 tremely becoming: I never see them returning from their 
 meeting but 1 think of the simplex munditiis of Horace. 
 
 Piomingo. Females are pleasing, be their dress what 
 it may. 
 
 Frank. What, in brown bonnets, rusty gowns, and 
 dovccolored handkerchiefs ! 
 
 Piomingo. I haveseensome old gentlemen belonging 
 to this society who, though dressed in the plainest man- 
 ner, had a truly reverend and patriarchal appearance; 
 
192 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 and in their countenances shone such engaging mild- 
 ness and benignity that they commanded my love and 
 veneration ; but there is nothing of this kind in Smooth- 
 ly. I discover, in his countenance, an ostentatious hu- 
 mility and spiritual pride totally at variance with that 
 meekness of spirit and lowliness of mind, which con- 
 ciliates the affections of men, and is said to be pleasing 
 to the deity. But why should he be opposed to changes 
 and revolutions? did not his sect first originate by inno- 
 vations on the established regulations of the country? 
 
 Frank. You know the old adage, "We change with 
 the times." In those days, the Friends were poor op- 
 pressed and discontented; but now "Jeshurun waxeth 
 fat and kicketh." The rich are always averse to inno- 
 vation. Were George Fox to rise from the dead, he 
 would not own more than one out of a hundred of the 
 modern friends for his disciples; nor do I believe that 
 one in a hundred would acknowledge him. They no 
 longer travel from pole to pole to propagate their opin- 
 ions, or proclaim from the housetops the glad tidings of 
 salvation. They no longer strive to make converts of 
 kings, or go forth as apostles to regenerate the world. 
 Their religious fervor has cooled; their contempt of 
 danger is vanished ; and the spirit of martyrdom has 
 evaporated. 
 
 Piomingo. Smoothly is gone. 
 
 Frank. Justice Bluff made so much noise that the 
 friend was ashamed to be seen in his company. And he 
 began to reflect that it was unbecoming in Friend 
 Smoothly to be seen disputing in a tavern. As to this 
 gentleman personally, there is a cause for his irritation, 
 which he will not acknowledge: a deeply rooted preju- 
 dice in favor of things that have been; and a warmer 
 attachment to the land of his fathers than is consistent 
 with the allegiance he owes to the country which affords 
 him protection. 
 
 Piomingo. Are you a democrat? 
 
 Frank. Fray to him "that giveth understanding to the 
 simple," Piomingo, lest you be "destroyed for lack of 
 
THE SAVAGF. 193 
 
 knowledge." You resemble the enlightened citizens of 
 this civilized country, who are swayed by watchwords and 
 names without taking the trouble to enquire into the na- 
 ture of things. It has at last become impossible to dis- 
 course on common occurrences or (o make those obser- 
 vations which are naturally occasioned by circumstances, 
 without causing some wiseacre to demand: arc you a de- 
 mocrat? are you a federalist? And then if you cannot or 
 will not say S/^'6/Wd/i, death istoogoo, Ifor the Epi raimite. 
 
 Piomingo. I begyour pardon, Frank: 1 had forgotten 
 you were a ploutocrat. I have a few more questions to 
 ask concerning ihe friends. — The best and wisest philo- 
 sophers of antiquity were remarkable for the plainness 
 and simplicity of their diet: is it so with the quakers? 
 
 Frank, 1 think not: no people m existence love more 
 "to eat of the fat and drink of the sweet,*' than tie chil- 
 dren of Penn. They are truly learned in the science of 
 eating; and make up by thesumptuousness of their feasts 
 for the absence of other amusements. Should Apicius be 
 told of the luxury of a quaker eutertainment, lie would 
 repine, not without cause, at the malignity of his fate. 
 * Piomingo. What is the reason that fewer schisms hap- 
 pen among the people of this society than among those 
 of other denominations? 
 
 Frank. That question cannot be answered without be- 
 stowing at the same time the highest praise on the wis- 
 dom of the society. Their bond of union consists only 
 in the practice of the moral duties and certain external 
 observances, which are calculated to distinguish them 
 from the world. They are not fettered down, like other 
 denominations, by iron doctrines and an adamantine 
 creed, which they are commanded to believe under per- 
 il of damnation. They puzzle not their heads about 
 the decrees of God, the freedom of the human will, 
 justification by faith, and other knotty points in divinity, 
 which engage and distract the evangelical disciples of 
 Luther and Calvin. If a man preach a good moral dis- 
 course, a quaker audience are satisfied; whereas a pres- 
 byterian congregation must know that his principles 
 R 
 
191 
 
 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 arc sound, and that there is nothing rotten in fundament- 
 als, before they will consent to be edified by his labors. 
 
 Piomiugo. What do you think of the principles of 
 the Friends, in relation to war? 
 
 Frank. However agreeable their opinions, on this 
 point, may he to the doctrines of primitive Christianity, 
 they will not suit the present situation of ihe world. 
 Could our harmh-ss sheep grazein safety surrounded by 
 timers and wolves? Could the little flock rise up and lie 
 down in peace* while the bloodhounds of war are rang- 
 ing the iiekls of creation ? There never was, nor ever will 
 be, a nation of quakcrs: they owe their very existence 
 to the protection of government. They will not fight 
 themselves; but liny have no objection that the arm of 
 flesh should be raised in their defence. Yet there is no 
 doubt they are aware of their own inconsistency in this 
 particular; as no people are more ready to resent person- 
 al insuils. or to defend their possessions from aggressions 
 of injustice or their houses from the intrusion of robbers. 
 tf.it be right to repel a personal or family injury, it may 
 certainly be proved, by a parity of reasoning, that it is 
 equalh right to oppose those injuries which are offered 
 to the community in gcncral.and to defend the great na- 
 tional family from insult and oppression. If we be justi- 
 fiable in boiling our doors to prevent the intrusion of 
 thieves, we are likewise justifiable in erecting forts for 
 the protection of our harbors. If we be justifiable in 
 throwing a robber headlong from a window, who would 
 rob our house and murder our family, we are equally 
 justifiable in assisting to repel an invasion of our country. 
 
 Piomingo. The Friends would probably say, that we 
 may resistifwcdonotendangerthelivesofouropponents. 
 
 Frank. Is not the life of the robber endangered, who 
 is thrown from the window? may not his skull be fractur- 
 ed by the fall? No such line of distinction can be drawn. 
 We are not accountable for the consequences of a justi- 
 fiable resistence: that lies at the door of the aggressor. 
 The thing i? too plain for argument. Nature has implant- 
 ed in man a principle of resentment, which directs him 
 
THE SAVAGE. 195 
 
 to oppose force to force, and retort the injuries that may 
 be inflicted upon him: and this principle is necessary for 
 self preservation, if it be morally right to lift my hand 
 and brush away a fly that has settled on mv nose, it is 
 morally righttodefend myself, my friend, and my country. 
 
 Flamingo, I have understood that they are not disposed 
 to contribute any thing towards the support of an army. 
 
 Frank. They pretend to say that it would be equally 
 as criminal to enable others to light as to fight them- 
 selves; therefore many of them will rather allow their 
 property to be seized and sold for half its value than pay 
 those taxes which are laid for the support of military- 
 arrangements. But it is not to be supposed that these 
 evils, incurred through their own obstinacy, arc imme- 
 diately forgotten. Behold, are they not written in the 
 book of the chronicles of the people called quakers, ex- 
 hibited at their yearly meetings, and preserved from 
 generation to generation as a memorial of the sufferings 
 of friends! I must not, however, forget to mention that 
 many of the more intelligent quakers have recourse to 
 certain ingenious subterfuges to prevent any losses of 
 magnitude on such occasions. 
 
 Piomingo. Their language is not a little curious: I 
 have never been able to account for the origin of so sin- 
 gular a dialect. 
 
 Frank. 1 believe 1 can give you the true cause of its 
 origin and progress: The early quakers, and other pu- 
 ritans, a fleeted to be conscientiously scrupulous of ad- 
 dressing a single person with the pronoun plural "you:" 
 It was a species of lie which they could not reconcile to 
 their conscience ! They were determined to use, even in 
 the common occurrences of life, that solemn mode of 
 expression which had been adopted in addresses to the 
 deity, and in the translation of the bible; but, alas! al- 
 though they were favored with the illuminations of the 
 Spirit, they were too ignorant to distinguish the nomina- 
 tive, from the oblique, case of the pronoun: "thou" and 
 "thee" were there lore used indiscriminately. Butit came 
 to pass in process of time, that this daring intriguing in- 
 
195 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 sinuating"thce , 'notonlymaintainedhislegiti mate rights, 
 but ambitiously usurped the dominions of his brother. 
 "Thou" is totally discarded: and a man would be accus- 
 ed of affectation and pedantry, even among quakcrs, 
 who would attempt to restore the disgraced nominative 
 toits station in the language. Almighty custom has sanc- 
 tioned the production of ignorance; and this unparalleled 
 corruption has become the language of friends. "Hozo 
 does thee do? Ifthe^s cold, thce'd better sit down and zcarfn 
 thee-self; which is just as absurd as to say "MSs zvell, me's 
 cold, and meUl sit down and warm me-self." 
 
 Piomingo. If language serve to convey our ideas, it 
 answers the purpose for which it was designed. 
 
 Frank. Yes: but you must acknowledge, Piomingo, 
 that language has been thought of sufficient importance 
 to engage the attention of the wisest philosophers; and 
 since that is the case, certainly the language, spoken 
 by a large and very respectable society, merits a transient 
 consideration. 
 
 Piomingo. We will however dismiss that subject for 
 the present. Who is that little man whose attention 
 is distracted between smoking and talking? He cer- 
 tainly never has heard of the philosopher who did but 
 one thing at a time. 
 
 Frank. That is a revolutionary character. 
 
 Piomingo. Be more explicit Frank, and inform me 
 what is the signification of this revolutionary character. 
 
 Frank. Why sir, the gentleman is forty or fifty years 
 old; and consequently must have been alive somewhere 
 during our revolutionary contest. He has been, he in- 
 forms us, in every important engagement; and, if we 
 credit his assertions, we must admit that the successful 
 issue of the war was principally owing to his personal 
 exertions. 
 
 Piomingo. Can we believe him? 
 
 Frank. That depends on the measure of your faith. 
 Many years have passed away since the close of the war. 
 Time has involved the eventsof those days in obscurity: 
 and a man may boast, without danger of detection, of 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 197 
 
 exploits which were never performed. Thousands who 
 fought and bled in the war for independence are long 
 since numbered with the dead; yet never were revolu- 
 tionary characters, as they arc called, more numerous 
 than at the present moment. The most of those who 
 suffered the hardships of war and fought the battles of 
 their country have lived in penury and distress, and died 
 neglected and unknown; who then are these, who ex- 
 tol their personal prowess over a bowl, and exhibit 
 their revolutionary scars in the taverns ofPhiladelphia? 
 The heroes of independence resemble the heads of the 
 serpent of Lerna: when death cuts o(F one, a hundred 
 spring up in his place. Observe that smiling redfaced 
 selfconceitcd animal who walks across the floor with an 
 air so important and imposing: that is an Irishman; and 
 an ignorant Irishman. He has no knowledge of histo- 
 ry; he is totally unacquainted with the affairs of his own 
 country; and yet^ although he has not been six months 
 on this side of the Atlantic, he conceives himself fully 
 able to discuss our political concerns and settle the af- 
 fairs of the nation. There is no office in the United 
 States but he has the impudence to demand; and his de- 
 mand, when he thinks proper to make it, will be pro- 
 bably successful. He will grow rich and powerful, and 
 fatten on the gifts of the nation, while the children of re- 
 volutionary heroes pine inobscurity and want. It was to 
 provide a country for such fellows as this, that my father 
 shed his blood in the service of the public, and reduced 
 himself and his family to poverty. Where is he now? 
 
 Cold is the sod that covers his head; 
 And sound isthesleep of his tomb) 
 
 his name is forgotten; his children are unknown; and 
 here comes an ignorant coxcomb to gather the fruit of 
 his labor. 
 
 Piomingo. Would you prohibit the ingress of for; 
 eigncrs? 
 
 Frank. No: but I should like a little modesty in for- 
 eigners. They might live in peace and enjoy the pro- 
 ducts of their industry; but I see no necessity for their 
 R2 
 
198 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 becoming legislators, or enjoying the emoluments of 
 office, while there are thousands of natives fully as capa- 
 ble, and certainly as patriotic, as any insolent foreigner 
 whatever. 
 
 Piomingo. But if a man of genius fix his residence 
 among you, why should his adopted country be depriv- 
 ed of the advantages that may be derived from the ex- 
 ercise of his talents in public affairs? 
 
 Frank. There is indigenous genius enough, if it met 
 with sufficient encouragement; but as long as European 
 impudence bears every thing before it, American geni- 
 us must lie in the shade. Js it not preposterous that a 
 man just broke loose from the land of slaves should pre- 
 sume to regulate the affairs of a people who are said to 
 be free? 
 
 Piomingo. Should they not enjoy the privileges of 
 citizenship? 
 
 Frank, I think not. Their children might become 
 citizens; but why should men born and educated in for- 
 eign countries, influenced by extraneous prejudices, 
 and feeling an invincible attachment to the place of 
 their birth, be admitted to rank with native citizens 
 who love their country "they know not why and care 
 not wherefore?" Love of country is a prejudice: know- 
 ledge may destroy but cannot produce it. And as for- 
 eigners never can feel the operation of this prejudice in 
 favor of the adopted country, they cannot be heartily 
 and wholly attached to its interests. The fact is, they 
 never become more than half citizens. After they have 
 been here thirty or forty years, you may hear them ex- 
 press their regard for their dear native land, and call it, 
 with affectionate tenderness, — home. I blame not this 
 amiable partiality. I should dislike the man who felt 
 it not; but I contend that no one can become wholly at- 
 tached to any other country but that which gave him 
 birth. Piomingo! can you describe the place of your 
 nativity? 
 
 Piomingo, On a gentle eminence, near a rapid stream, 
 •tood a wattled hut, overshadowed by the branches of a 
 
THE SAVAGE. 199 
 
 venerable oak. On the right was the distant prospect 
 of an Indian village; on the left, a narrow path wind- 
 ing down the hill to the banks of the river. Majestic 
 mountains appeared at a distance. 
 
 Frank. Piorningo! do you never repeat, with melan- 
 choly pleasure, 
 
 En unquam patrios longo post tempore fines, 
 Pauperis et tuguri congest um cespiteculmen, 
 Post aliquot, inea regna videns, mirabor aristas? 
 
 Should you return once more after many years' absence 
 and visit the Indian village, the swelling hill, the rapid 
 stream, the winding path, the little hut, and the vener- 
 able oak, would they not excite a thousand ineffable feel- 
 ings? Can you feel the same attachment to any other 
 spot in the universe? Is not that your country? Could 
 you forget the scene of your infant joys, where you first 
 became conscious of existence, where you spent your 
 happiest days, where the bones of your fathers are bu- 
 ried, and where your brethren dwell — could you for- 
 get all these, and attach yourself, exclusively to any 
 other country and people? 
 
 Piorningo, May not a man have reason to hate his peo- 
 ple and the land of his fathers? 
 
 Frank, A man cannot hate his people and the land 
 of his fathers: it is impossible. If lie can, he is utterly 
 incapable of loving any other. 
 
 Piorningo, This civilized uproar fatigues me. I must 
 be going. 
 
 Frank, Stay a moment, till I show you another for- 
 eigner. We have them of all descriptions. That inani- 
 mate being who sits by himself viewing every thing 
 round him with sullen contempt is an Englishman. He 
 has been among us these twenty years, but in all that 
 time has found nothing on which he could bestow the 
 slightest commendation. There are but four things that 
 fall within the range of his abilities: he can eat, drink, 
 love, old England, and hate every other thing.in existence. 
 He never can be induced to taste any species of food 
 which is unknown in England : and of those kinds which 
 
200 TIIE SAVAGE. 
 
 are common to both countries, that which is produced 
 here is, he asserts, infinitely inferior in quality. If you 
 show him the choicest productions of the soil, he will 
 sometimes reluctantly admit they may do, taking care at 
 the same time to add, they are much better in England, 
 He never has been so fortunate, since he crossed the 
 Atlantic, as to meet with a dinner properly prepared: 
 and when he returns to the land of shopkeepers, should 
 he ever return, he will inform his countrymen that the 
 people of Pennsylvania are anthropophagi and blacks. 
 Although he carries the marks of stupid vulgarity in his 
 countenance, he affects to despise the Americans as a 
 nation of rebels, convicts and savages. 
 
 Piomingo. Will he argue on political subjects? 
 
 Frank. Argue! he argues as a dog would argue: he 
 snarls at every thing round him. lie abuses our legis- 
 lative assemblies and curses publicly the officers of gov- 
 ernment. 
 
 Piomingo. It is magnanimous tooverlook these things. 
 
 Frank. I have no opinion of such magnanimity. Sup- 
 pose I should go to England and call the virtuous mem- 
 bers of parliament robbers and villains,and thesapient 
 monarch a fool; what would be theconsequence? Why 
 should strangers be allowed greater privileges amongus, 
 than the citizens of the United States would be allowed 
 in foreign countries? 
 
 Piomingo. This is a free country. 
 
 Frank. A free country ! words withoutmeaning! And 
 because it is a free country, must we allow ourselves to 
 be abused and insulted by every insolent foreigner who 
 lands on our shores? Suppose you had a family, Pio- 
 mingo, and I, when admitted as a visiter, should insult 
 your wife, and curse yourself, the lord and master of the 
 little monarchy; suppose I should ridicule your private 
 arrangements, and laugh at your domestic establish- 
 ment: or suppose, I should finally presume to take in 
 my own hands the regulation of your affairs; would not 
 my conduct be resented? 
 
 Piomingo. The lawyers tell us, you know, that a 
 
THE SAVAGE. 201 
 
 man's house is his castle: I should certainly eject you 
 from my citadel. 
 
 Frank. And may not ourterritories be accounted the 
 great domicil or castle of the nation? Shall the many- 
 headed monster be bearded in his den? Shall one set of 
 foreigners ridicule our laws and regulations, and curse 
 with impunity "the ruler of the people; 1 ' while another, 
 out of pity to our ignorance, would push us from our seats 
 and take upon themselves the management ofour affairs? 
 Upon my veracity, I know not which most to admire — 
 the Irishman's intrusive impudence, the Englishman's 
 haughty stupidity, or the weakness and servility of the 
 American. 
 
 Piomingo. Have you done? 
 
 Frank. No: there is another foreigner present, to 
 whom I wish to call your attention. 
 
 Piomingo, What is he? a Frenchman? 
 
 Frank. No, not a Frenchman. What made you put 
 the French in my head? What could I say of a people 
 that stormed and blustered about liberty and equality 
 till they set the world in an uproar, and then fell pros- 
 trateat the feet of a daring usurper? I have no patience 
 with the French. They excited our hopes, and plung- 
 ed us in despair. They have disappointed the philan- 
 thropist, brought disgrace on the cause of humanity, 
 and established for ages the government of kings. 
 
 Piomingo, How old are you, Frank? 
 
 Frank, Why do you ask that question, Piomingo? 
 
 Piomingo, Because you appear to me to be carried 
 away by a frantic enthusiasm, which I should not expect 
 to find in a man who had arrived at years of maturity: 
 at least, in a man who had made human nature his stu- 
 dy, and observed the passions and motives which govern 
 the actions of men. 
 
 Frank, O, I have gotten out of my swaddling clothes: 
 but 1 must acknowledge that in the early period of the 
 French revolution, 1 felt my full share of the general en- 
 thusiasm, which pervaded the world, and seemed for a 
 season to elevate human nature above every mercenary 
 consideration. 
 
232 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Plomingo. Did you expect a political millennium? 
 
 Frank* The truth is, 1 not only expected a political, 
 but a religious, millennium. I thought 1 saw in passing 
 events the accomplishment of prophecies. I expected po- 
 litical and spiritual regeneration to go hand in hand un- 
 til ail men should become brothers, and justice and peace 
 beestablishod forever. I was ready to exclaim withVirgii, 
 
 Ultima Cmiwei venit jam rarminis irc'as: 
 Ma.'nusa'i inte, f ro seclorum nascitur ordo: 
 Jam redit ct virgo, rcdcmtit Saturnia reigna: 
 J,im nova progenies ca?!o demittitur alto. 
 
 I expected ki the sun of righteousness" to rise upon the 
 earth; and the clouds of darkness superstition and preju- 
 dice to be scattered by "the brightness of his coming." 
 I expected that through the blessings of freedom and the 
 "outpouring of the Spirit," "the wilderness would belike 
 Eden, and the desert like the garden of the Lord!" I 
 prayed without ceasing for the downfal of pagan idolatry, 
 popish superstition, and Jewish infidelity. I read New- 
 ton on the prophecies, studied the weeks and times of 
 Daniel; and meditated profoundly on the heads, horns, 
 trumpets and vials of the Revelation. J expected every 
 moment to see the heavens opened, and the New Jerusa- 
 lem descending on the earth! — But the progress of the 
 French revolution destroyed these gay illusions. These 
 enchanting hopes have "passed away as a vision of the 
 night;" and tin b'adzicss of darkness has succeeded. In- 
 stead of a new heaven and a new enrth, I have nothing 
 to amuse me but this same old dull wicked world. 
 
 Phmingo. I was going to point out the impossibility 
 of this great change taking place in consequence of the 
 French revolution, and to demonstrate the folly of your 
 expectations; but as I find that you supposed these won- 
 ders would be effected by supernatural means, my rea- 
 soning would not be so applicable to the case as I ima- 
 gined. You were certainly right in calling in a heavenly 
 personage to act a part in your great and magnificent 
 drama: nor can the severest critic accuse you of trans- 
 gressing the mixim of Horace: 
 
 Nee Deus intersit, nisi dL r nus vindicc nodus. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 203 
 
 Frank. However lightly you may (rent this subject, 
 Piomingo, (o me it has been a most serious affair. No- 
 thing agitates the passions of men with so much violence 
 as religion and polities: and when these two, at the same 
 time, exert their influence upon a young ingenuous and 
 enthusiastic mind, the consequences are marvellous. — 
 And when the mind, after having been agitated and subli- 
 mated by wild and undelinable emotions, finds itself a- 
 inong the mire and tilth of this sublunary world — how- 
 vapid and tasteless is existence! — But here we arc: since 
 nature lias made us but men, why should we proudly and 
 arrogantly aspire to be gods? Why should we, who gro- 
 vel upon the earth, raise our daring thoughts to heaven 
 and soar beyond the bounds of creation? Is it not strange 
 that such worms as we, should be actuated by passions 
 so strong, ambition so bold, and desires so unbounded? 
 
 C(c!um, ipsuin pelinius stultitia! 
 
 Piomingo. Man is a reptile indeed, and may truly say, 
 with one of your sacred writers, "to corruption, thou art 
 my father; and to the worm, thou art my mother and my 
 sister:"' but that daring .ambition, those ardent passions, 
 boundless desires, and aspiring hopes, which excite your 
 admiration, may lead us to look for another scene of ex- 
 istence, when man shall find objects sufficiently noble 
 to exercise the powers ofiiis soul, and satisfy his subli- 
 mest aspirations. 
 
 Frank. Such reflections may calm your philosophic 
 mind, Piomingo; but one who has been taught to expect 
 certainty in these things views your probaliMits with im- 
 patience. However,! must inform you that 1 have near- 
 ly got rid of these troublesome speculations, which, if in- 
 dulged, would unlit a man for the great and important 
 concerns of this momentary life. 1 endeavor to suit my- 
 self to the station in which nature has placed me, and to 
 teach my mind to be satisfied with things which are at- 
 tainable. 
 
 Piomingo* You endeavor? 
 
 Frank. I must acknowledge it is only an endeavor; for 
 I continually experience vexations in business, troubles 
 
204 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 with my nearest connexions, disappointments in friend- 
 ship; and become more and more convinced of the un- 
 satisfactory natureof every enjoyment. 0,forthatapathy 
 of soul, that sweet a$araxia,o{ which I have heard, which 
 forbids alike the approaches of pleasure and pain, hope 
 and despair! 
 
 Piomingo. That ataraxia is only to be gained — 
 
 Frank. In the grave: "where the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and the weary are at rest." 
 
 Piomingo. So I find you are something of a sceptic: 
 why did you not propose your doubts, in the beginning, 
 to some of your teachers, in order that they might be 
 removed ? 
 
 Frank. Sol did: I went to our ghostly steward, who 
 furnished us on Sundays with our weekly allowance of 
 spiritual food, and modestly propounded certain queries. 
 
 He was astonished beyond measure that such a one 
 as I should presume to doubtof any of those things which 
 he himself believed. He dilated on the heinous nature 
 of the sin of unbelief, and exhorted me to beware of the 
 temptations of Satan. I told him that I was sincerely- 
 desirous of believing; hut that my mind was perplexed 
 with doubts, which I was in hopes his superior know- 
 ledge would be able to dissipate. I protested that I 
 was devotedly attached to the christian religion; that 
 I would not for ten thousand worlds behove it to be a 
 fiction; and that I came with genuine humility, and in 
 the simplicity of my heart, to ask information from my 
 spiritual instructor. I entreated that he would favor me 
 with half an hour's conversation; that he would give me 
 reasons on which to ground my belief; that he would 
 hear my objections patiently; in fine, that he would en- 
 gage in a friendly and familiar discussion of those im- 
 portant points which I had mentioned. 
 
 Piomingo. Well: what reply did he make to this hum- 
 ble solicitation? 
 
 Frank. He began a long and violent declamation, 
 something in the manner of a sermon; he quoted innu- 
 merable texts of scripture, taking for granted, all along, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 205 
 
 the very points I wished to have proved; he poured 
 forth the terrors of the law like a torrent: and concluded 
 with an animated prayer for a hardened and unbeliev- 
 ing sinner. 
 
 Now this might be preaching; but reasoning it could 
 not be termed, with any propriety: and, as it was not 
 exactly preaching which I was desirous of hearing, I 
 ventured to suggest that I had often heard these things 
 from the pulpit; and as they had failed to produce con- 
 viction in my mind on those occasions, it was not to be 
 expected that thoy would have a more decisive effect at 
 present. 
 
 "Do, my dear sir," said I, "consider me, for the pre- 
 sent, as a Chinese or Hindoo. What arguments would 
 you use to convince such a one of the truth of the doc- 
 trines you teach?" "It is the hardness and wickedness of 
 yourabominableheart,"criedhe,"thatoccasionsyour un- 
 belief: I see you are lost." "My heart," said I, innocent- 
 ly, "is not wicked." "You lie!" said he in a fury, "you lie, 
 you reprobate! your heart is deceitful above all things, 
 and desperately wicked.*' 
 
 I was a little abashed, as you may well suppose, with 
 this last argument; however, after some time, when I 
 saw he began to grow cool, I ventured to rejoin, "if I 
 know any thing of my own heart" — "You know nothing 
 of your own heart, poor fool!" said he, "you are in the 
 gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity." 
 
 As I found that no good would spring from this con- 
 ference, I began to think of taking my leave; but, being 
 desirous to know of what nature hisnextargument would 
 be, I added, "When we wish to establish any doctrine" 
 — "Let me have none of your philosophy and vain de- 
 ceit," said he, "I'll hear none of it. I deliver you over to 
 Satan to buffet you. Your blood be on your own head: I 
 have done my duty. You will soon believe and tremble 
 like your father the devil. I shake off the dust of my 
 feet as a testimony against you. I tell you again and 
 again, that it is the wicked malignity and enmity of 
 your heart against God, and every thing that is good, 
 S 
 
206 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 which occasions your unbelief: you will not believe." 
 "If a man be not able," said I, "to see the truth of a 
 proposition, he cannot believe." 
 
 Enraged beyond measure at my pertinacity, he sprang 
 from his chair, and, seizing a flaming brand from the fire, 
 he shook it in my face exclaiming, "Believe, or you'll be 
 damned, you villain! believe or you'' 11 be damned I" 
 
 Piomingo. That was cogent reasoning, Frank: did 
 you reply? 
 
 Frank. No, indeed: I scampered off as fast as my feet 
 could carry me. I was then about seventeen years of 
 age: if any one were to reason with me in that manner 
 at present, I should certainly make use of a species of 
 argument that would not be easily answered. 
 
 Piomingo. Had you ever any further conversation 
 with this pattern of meekness and humility? 
 
 Frank. No. I frequently went afterwards to hear him 
 preach: and whenever he saw me enter the church, he 
 took occasion to denounce the judgments of the law up- 
 on a presumptuous unbeliever. I do candidly believe he 
 was angry with the Lord for permitting me to live upon 
 the earth: for I have seen him turn up his eyes, with an 
 air of angry expostulation, and say "why sleeps thy 
 thunder?*' He would frequently question his Maker con- 
 cerning the propriet}' of showing so much lenity and in- 
 dulgence to the dissolute and profane. You smile, Pio- 
 mingo — May this moment be my last, if he would not 
 address the creator of the world with as much ease and 
 confidence as I do my barber or shoemaker: and this 
 sanctified impertinence or blasphemous impudence he 
 dignified with the appellation of holy boldness. He would 
 threaten the Lord — Why do you stare, Piomingo? — ab- 
 solutely threaten him, and tell him, in a tone of defiance, 
 that he (the preacher) would take the kingdom of hea- 
 ven by storm. Nay, he would command the deity — I 
 »peak truth, Piomingo — as I command my servant; for 
 which he said he had scripture — "Command ye me." 
 
 Piomingo. This was a true member of the church mil- 
 itant. Such clergymen, I hope, are rarely to be found. 
 
PTIIE SAVAGE. 207 
 
 Frank. There arc many such, among the calvinistic 
 societies. He was a celebrated preacher, remarkably 
 orthodox and sound in fundamentals. 
 
 Piomingo. But how did it happen that you connected 
 religion and politics in the manner you have mentioned? 
 
 Frank. Why, it has long been a prevailing opinion, 
 among various religious denominations, that those happy 
 times, which are promised by the prophets, would com- 
 mence about the beginning of the nineteenth century: 
 and we, who found ourselves within a few years of that 
 important period, confidently expected to see at least 
 the morning of that day when holiness to the Lord 
 should be written on the bells of the horses. 
 
 Whenever, by pouring out the curses of the law mixed 
 with a due proportion of the soothing promises of the 
 gospel, any sacred orator was able to excite a little sob- 
 bing and whining and blubbering among his auditors, 
 which was termed "a shaking among the dry bones," he 
 would immediately declare that the night was past, and 
 that he saw the appearance of day. — While we all stood 
 on tiptoe in order to perceive the first streaks of the 
 dawn, behold! we discerned the coruscations of the 
 French revolution! — A shout of joy and exultation was 
 raised by the multitude, 
 
 So wild, so loud, so clear, 
 
 E'en listening angels stooped from heaven to hear! 
 
 The wondering mountains, hills and rocks returned the 
 sound; the beasts of the field forgot to browse, and gazed 
 with astonishment at the madness of the people; the 
 dogs, in every direction, lifted up their voices and joined 
 the melodious howl of their masters! 
 
 One company would sing, "The day breaks, and 
 the shadows (lee away." A second would answer, "Lo! 
 the winter is past; the rain is over and gone." A third: 
 • "The (lowers appear on the earth; the time of the sing- 
 ing of birds is come." A fourth: "The voice of the tur- 
 tle is heard in our land." Then all would unite in full 
 chorus: "Glory to God in the highest; and peace and 
 good will among men." 
 
208 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 While we were thus employed, we were astonished 
 at a bloody appearance in the eastern horizon. What 
 could occasion this singular phenomenon! The incident 
 was unexpected, and threw a damp on our joy. We 
 immediately had recourse to our prophetic books, and 
 without much difficulty discovered sundry oracular in- 
 timations of this wonderful event. For after an event 
 had actually taken place, we were extremely ingenious 
 at adjusting the prophecy t6 the circumstances; but 
 when we attempted, with.no other guide but prophecy, 
 to predict occurrences, we sometimes made little blun- 
 ders in our calculations. But alas! we were plunged 
 into utter despair when we perceived gloomy clouds of 
 infidelity, atheism and oppression to rise from the earth 
 and destroy those faint glimmerings of light which had 
 ravished our senses. "Behold, darkness covered the 
 earth; and gross darkness, tbe people!" 
 
 This dreadful disappointment 1 owe to the French: 
 help me to curse them. 
 
 Piomingo. The French are a gallant people? 
 
 Frank. They are a valiant people. 
 
 Piomingo. Are they not a good people? 
 
 Frank. They make good slaves, but execrable mas- 
 ters: I would as soon trust a madman with a firebrand 
 in a powder magazine, as Frenchmen with the manage- 
 ment of government. 
 
 Piomingo. I am sorry for your religious and political 
 disappointment, Frank; but 1 do not account myself qual- 
 ified to offer consolation. May I ask, in my turn,ifyouhave 
 not treated sacred subjects with rather too much levity. 
 
 Frank. I have not: religion herself I venerate. But 
 if a villain or a fool wrap his unhallowed limbs in the 
 white robes of the goddess, shall his wickedness and 
 folly be unnoticed? I trow not. 
 
 Professors of religion are often ingenious at making 
 distinctions where no difference really exists: I wish 
 they would learn to separate those things which are not 
 very intimately connected — their professions from their 
 actions; themselves from their Maker. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 
 
 209 
 
 Piomingo. Were popular commotions again to take 
 place in France, in England, or in any other country of 
 Europe, would you entertain any such extravagant ex- 
 pectations as you did at the commencement of the 
 French revolution? 
 
 Frank. Indeed I should not. I understand a little bet- 
 ter, than I did in my youth, the nature of the motives 
 thatinfluence the actions of men. I have paid some at- 
 tention to the passions and prejudices and follies of my 
 species. I have studied, as much as my situation in life 
 would allow, the progress of society from barbarism to 
 refinement; and I have been led to conclude that in 
 every country where wealth is the principal object of 
 pursuit, the great body of the people must always be 
 slaves. 
 
 Piomingo. Why then should the termination of the 
 French revolution be mentioned by you in terms of re- 
 gret, since the people would have been equally slaves 
 under a national assembly? 
 
 Frank* Because, in a monarchical government there 
 is but one freeman, or, as an ancient Roman would pro- 
 bably have said, there is but one man; but in a govern- 
 ment where the power is divided among many, there 
 are many who deserve the appellation of men. — Because 
 the minds of men are paralyzed by the iron rod of pow 
 er in the hand of a tyrant, and sink into torpid stupidi- 
 ty; hut in a popular government, the mind of every 
 man, who enjoys a portion of the sovereignty, is incited 
 to action by emulation, ambition, and hope; and the en- 
 ergies of his soul are suffered to expand. 
 
 In order to elucidate this subject, I will produce an 
 example in point: The government of republican Rome 
 was extremely unsettled and fluctuating; there was no 
 end to the changes of its officers, regulations, and insti- 
 tutions; it vibrated continually between the hands of 
 the patrician and plebeian opponents; yet, from this cha- 
 os of contention there arose — heroes, sages, gods upon 
 earth ! Now if we contemplate this same people under 
 the dominion of amonarch, we see nothing but a brutal 
 
 SO 
 
210 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tyrant and degenerate slaves. Who would not rather buf- 
 fet the waves in the tempestuous ocean of liberty, than 
 rot in the putrid waters of the dead sea of despotism? 
 
 Piomingo. I acknowledge the force of your remarks, 
 and willingly subscribe to your opinion on this subject; 
 but I cannot help observing that the degeneracy of the 
 Romans was not occasioned by the imperial government; 
 but, On the contrary, the imperial government owed its 
 existence to the degeneracy you have mentioned. As 
 long as the Romans preserved their national manners, 
 their virtuous poverty, their profound veneration for 
 oaths— in fine, as long as virtue, honor, fame, patriotism 
 were the motives that impelled them to action; so long 
 did the republican government subsist: but as soon as 
 they had shaken off the yoke of salutary prejudices, and 
 lost their original simplicity of manners; as soon as 
 riches became the great object of ambition, and the 
 wealth of Asia was poured into the lap of Europe — as 
 soon as these things had taken place, the Romans be- 
 came necessarily slaves. When one Cesar was destroy- 
 ed, they fell under the dominion of another, and contin- 
 ued to sink lower and lower in the mire of moral turpi- 
 tude and corruption, till they were overwhelmed by the 
 proud energy of restless barbarians. My dear friend, 
 when we consider the poisonous effects of avarice, and the 
 enervating influence of luxury, upon the manners of men, 
 we must despair, I am afraid, of seeing a permanent re- 
 publican government in any civilized nation. — 
 
 Frank. Unless heaven should send down some migh- 
 ty Lycurgus, with the will and the power to raise and 
 educate a nation of republicans. — 
 
 Piomingo, And your heaven-sent Lycurgus must take 
 away the children, as soon as they are born, from their 
 degenerate parents, and educate them in the wilderness 
 far from the haunts of civilized men. 
 
 Frank. What! make savages of them? 
 
 Piomingo. No: make Spartans of them. 
 
 Frank. O, that is the same thing: the Spartans were 
 ignorant and cruel barbarians. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 211 
 
 Piomingo. Our modern Lycurgus must instil into the 
 minds of his young republicans, not the vices, but, the 
 virtues of the ancient Spartans. He must teach them to 
 love their friends and their country, to suffer with pa- 
 tience the evils of life, and laugh at the approaches of 
 danger and death. Let him improve upon the plan of 
 the Spartan lawgiver by forming an enlightened and 
 civilized nation-, but he must take care to prohibit the 
 introduction of personal property. There must be no 
 appropriation of things to individuals or societies: all 
 must belong to the nation. Men must be taught to dis- 
 tinguish themselves by something more generous and 
 noble than the accumulation of riches: they must place 
 their happiness in friendship, love, honor, glory, and the 
 good of their country; and not in the indulgence of sel- 
 iish and sordid propensities. 
 
 But enough of this. I have no intention to turn Uto- 
 pian projector, unless I had power to carry my plans 
 into execution. 
 
 Frank. Suppose you and I steal four or five hundred 
 ragged dirty little savages from the suburbs of Philadel- 
 phia, and establish a republic in the wilderness. The 
 parents will get rid o{ a troublesome burthen; and we, 
 transporting idea! shall immortalize our names. Pio- 
 mingo and Fluent will rank in after ages with Moses, 
 Lycurgus and Numa. 
 
 Piomingo. Did I not tellyou, Frank, that the children 
 must be taken as soon as they are born: before they are 
 twelve months old they have imbibed half the follies of 
 their parents and contracted a thousand civilized vices. 
 
 Frank. Nay, then we may give up the scheme ; for how 
 should we manage five hundred infants squalling like 
 devils; unless indeed, we could have them suckled by 
 goats in a cave, or by wolves in the mountains? 
 
 Piomingo. Frank, if you will not walk, I must abso- 
 lutely leave you. I came out with the intention of walk- 
 ing: instead of which I have been taking a lesson from 
 you in this Academy of Vice. 
 
 Frank. I shall accompany you immediately. I wish 
 
212 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 you had on your Muscogulgee apparel, that we might as- 
 tonish the natives by the singularity of our appearance. 
 
 Piomingo. Come, let us go. 
 
 I am amazed, said Frank, as we came out of the house, 
 how you came to take such a dislike to a tavern, which 
 is of infinite importance in a civilized city. Without 
 these amusements, which you affect to despise, how 
 would the idlers while away the tedious hours of insipid 
 existence? How could politicians meet to discuss the 
 affairs of the nation without the conveniences a tavern 
 affords? Animated by the deity who presides in these 
 temples the patriot is enabled to discover his flame; the 
 wise, to communicate instruction to the simple; and the 
 brave, to fight the battles of his country. Pray, did you 
 never hear that that man of mind, the celebrated John- 
 son, declared a tavern to be the throne of earthly felicity? 
 
 Piomingo, The Mitrctavern, and Turks head, I suppose, 
 offered allurements superior to those of the place we 
 have left: yet if a tavern be the greatest blessing of that 
 civilized society, the moralist so much admired, we can- 
 not be otherwise than amazed at the power of habit 
 over the minds of the wisest of men. It is not, however, 
 strange that a man, who has no endearing domestic con- 
 nexions, should be pleased with (he ease and freedom 
 enjoyed at an inn, and the spirit of accommodation dis- 
 played at a house of public entertainment: such a man 
 (although there may be many who call themselves his 
 friends) will find himself as he advances in life,, a kind 
 of stranger on the earth, and will feel inclined to ex- 
 claim, with the amiable Shenstone, 
 
 Whoe'er hastravell'd life's dull round, 
 
 Where'er his stages inay have been, 
 May sigh to think he still hasfound 
 
 The warmest welcome at an inn. 
 
 Frank. A savage life was the object of Johnson's un- 
 conquerable aversion. 
 
 Piomingo. Johnson was a lion in chains: his strong 
 mind was fettered by invincible prejudices. If a favorite 
 subject lay immediately before him, he would investigate 
 it with vigor and accuracy, and lay open its various and 
 
THE SAVAGE. 213 
 
 minute ramifications; but he could not, or would not, take 
 an extensive view of the nature of things. His education 
 had given his mind a determinate direction: and he was 
 afraid to look to the right lest he should see Gog,or to the 
 left lest he should sec Magog. He took but one view of 
 an object: if the first appearance left a disagreeable im- 
 pression on his mind, he immediately pronounced an un- 
 favorable opinion; and never could be induced to take 
 a side view of the same object, lest he should be under 
 the necessity of changing hissentiments. If any doctrine 
 ran contrary to his prejudices, it was never favored with 
 a critical examination, but was rejected with the same 
 terror and abhorrence that a man would oppose the ap- 
 proaches of a rattlesnake which evinced an inclination 
 to crawl into his bosom. If any one advanced, in his pre- 
 sence, a heterodox sentiment, the presumptuous offender 
 was speedily siienced by coarse language in a thunder- 
 ing voice, and by bold sallies of wit, which, enforced by 
 the terrors o{ his name, there were none who would ven- 
 ture to withstand. Such a man was certainly liable to 
 mistakes: and if he fell into error, in error he would 
 remain; for his sentence, once passed, was like the laws 
 of the Medes and Persians — unchangeable. What 
 were his violent denunciations against the Scots, against 
 sectarians, against infidels, against the Americans, and 
 finally, against the advocates for savage life, but bursts 
 of passion dictated by inveterate prejudices? 
 
 The iniidels, for au^htl know to the contrary, might 
 merit his resentment; the Scots, by their intrusion into 
 places of honor and protit in England, might expose 
 themselves to his fury; the sectarians, by their opposi- 
 tion to the dogmata of the church, might occasion ebul- 
 litions of his zeal; the Americans, by daring to rebel 
 against his king, might provoke his loyal indignation; 
 but the savages — how happened they to awaken his sore 
 <l [.-pleasure, or to merit the disgraceful appellation of 
 brutes? It is probable that Johnson supposed no man to 
 be perfectly civilized who did not live in London, fare 
 sumptuously every day, and enjoy the pleasures of lite- 
 
214 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 rary societ3% He appreciated very highly the pleasures 
 of the table and other luxurious enjoyments, and seems 
 to have preferred the gross gratifications of sense to the 
 more refined delights of the imagination. 
 
 Frank. What is your opinion of Boswell's Life of 
 Doctor Johnson? 
 
 Piomingo. I think it one of the most entertaining 
 books in the English language. Every thing that relates 
 to so great a man as Johnson must be highly interest- 
 ing: and Boswell exposes to our view such an infinite 
 variety oHittle things concerning this illustrious person- 
 age, that the most prying curiosity finds entertainment 
 and gratification. He produces so much of Johnson's 
 sterling intelligence, so many interesting literary conver- 
 sations, interspersed with curious anecdotes, and the 
 whole related in a manner so amusing, that we cannot 
 read without receiving instruction and entertainment. 
 Yet, after having pronounced this eulogy on the work, 
 I must take the liberty to add, that the man who has 
 formed his opinion of Johnson from reading the Ram- 
 blers and Idlers will find the character of the great mo- 
 ralist sink in his estimation in consequence of the peru- 
 sal of Boswell's production. 
 
 Frank. Although I derived much pleasure from this 
 performance, I have often wished that Johnson had been 
 so fortunate as to have repulsed the advances of the 
 creeping, insinuating, intriguing animal that afterwards 
 became his biographer. The indefatigable sycophant, 
 taking advantage of the intimacy he enjoyed, and proud 
 of the ascendency he had acquired over a mind so much 
 superior to his own, pried into every corner, searched 
 out every weakness and folly, and exposed the whole to 
 the eyes of the world, without any regard to the charac- 
 ter of his friend; — and though we are amused with the 
 fruit of his labor, we hate and despise the creature who 
 contributes to our entertainment. 
 
 Piomingo. Should not a faithful biographer relate 
 every thing he knows concerning the man who is the 
 subject of his history? 
 
THE SAVAGE. 215 
 
 Frank. He should relate every circumstance of im- 
 portance: but why should he detail those little weak- 
 nesses which arc rather a disgrace to human nature 
 than any blemish in the character of the individual? — 
 What advantage can the world derive from being made 
 acquainted with the lapses and follies of men eminent 
 for their virtues and admired for their talents? Nay, I 
 believe the consequence may prove extremely unfor- 
 tunate: by lessening the veneration which was felt for 
 the character of moral writers, it weakens the influence 
 of their works upon society. 
 
 Piomingo. But does notBoswell discover great art in 
 relating these trifles in a manner so agreeable as he has 
 done? 
 
 Frank. Not so much art as you may suppose: he dis- 
 covers a patient and laborious assiduity in having col- 
 lected and preserved every Johnsonic particle whether 
 clean or unclean. He discovers, in his own character, 
 a superabundance of folly and vanity, and (which is not 
 at all inconsistent with the foregoing qualities) a consi- 
 derable portion of contemptible cunning. As for art in 
 the arrangement of his materials, it was totally unne- 
 cessary: every thing that had any connexion with John- 
 son must afford entertainment to the public. 
 
 The notice that is taken of the most trifling actions 
 of a man celebrated for his talents is thus pleasantly il- 
 lustrated by an agreeable writer: "Did you see Mr. 
 Tope?" "Yes." "What was he doing? 1 ' "Picking his 
 teeth." Now, Piomingo, you and I might pick our teeth 
 for a month before any one would observe it; but John- 
 son could not change his linen, squeeze an orange, or 
 blow his nose, without Boswell's making a memorandum 
 of the occurrence for the information of posterity. 
 
 My tables— meet it is, 1 set it down. 
 
 Why should we be told that Johnson devoured his 
 food with such voracity as to excite a perspiration in his 
 face, and occasion the veins in his forehead to swell, to 
 the great annoyance of his delicate associates? What 
 benefit is the world to derive from this disgusting picture! 
 
216 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 It may lessen the respect we felt for a man who was an 
 honor to his country; and it may afford us a momentary 
 amusement; but we hate Bos well for having noticed the 
 circumstance. It was observed by Sir William Jones, 
 that the best monument that could be raised to a litera- 
 ry man is a good edition of his works: and I will ven- 
 ture to add, that (whether we consider the fame of the 
 author, or the good of society) the be^t life of Johnson 
 would have been a splendid edition of all his works, ex- 
 cept his political pamphlets. In corroboration of what 
 I have said, it may be observed that Johnson, in order 
 to display his powers in colloquial controversy, frequent- 
 ly advanced and supported opinions which he ventured 
 not to inculcate in his writings. 
 
 Piomingo. Boswell, certainly, did not suppress the foi- 
 hies of his hero; neither did he appear desirous of con- 
 cealing his own. 
 
 Frank. A man is as much to blame for exposing his 
 'own failings unnecessarily as those of another. There 
 are a great many disagreeable things in human nature 
 which ought to be carefully concealed. 
 
 Piomingo. What! do you dislike a man who declares 
 his thoughts openly and freely? do you plead for dissim- 
 ulation and hypocrisy? 
 
 Frank. I am an enemy to every species of imposition; 
 but I see no necessity for exposing disagreeable objects, 
 when no good can result from this exposure, and when 
 no evil can be the consequence of concealment. What 
 a fool that man would be who should proclaimaloudhis 
 vain, wicked, or childish thoughts! Even your blunt and 
 impudent men conceal ten times more than they make 
 known to the world. Nay, it is a common saying, that 
 the only difference between a wise man and a fool is, 
 that the former exercises a sound discretion in this 
 point; but the latter turns indiscriminately his thoughts 
 into words. 
 
 Piomingo. This, like many other common sayings, is 
 far from correct. The wise man and the fool are essen- 
 tially different: the former perceives clearly, reasons 
 
THE SAVAGE. 217 
 
 accurately, and judges soundly; but the latter is incapa- 
 ble of these tilings. 
 
 Frank. I mean not to enter the lists in defence of the 
 saying; but I contend that, should the wisest man in 
 existence give, without reservation, expression to his 
 thoughts, he would soon be confined in a madhouse. 
 
 Piomingo, Whenever any thing is concealed, there 
 is danger of imposition; because we may be led on by 
 a pleasing exterior to form connexions with an object, 
 in consequence of an erroneous estimate of its value, if 
 we be not made acquainted with the internal, as well 
 as the external, qualities. 
 
 Frank, And if we were acquainted with these inter- 
 nal qualities, you speak of, I am afraid that every object 
 in existence would be odious in our sight. 1 express 
 my opinions more freely than most men; and have the 
 reputation of being "a plain blunt man" who "speaks 
 right on" — so much so, that among my neighbors 1 am 
 generally known by the appellation of Honest Frank; 
 yet 1 have a thousand foolish thoughts and ridiculous 
 notions, which I could not be bribed to make known. 
 
 Nature has been blamed for not having put a window 
 in the breast of man that the secrets of his mind might 
 be visible; but she has been unjustly blamed. Since she 
 had resolved to build a receptacle for "all manner of 
 creepingthings,"sheacted wisely in concealingtheplace 
 of her abominations. Could we enter into the recesses 
 of the minds of the most virtuous men, it is probable that 
 we should lind so much selfishness, vanity, and folly, that 
 we should both hate and despise those who are at pre- 
 sent the object of our respect and veneration. Could we 
 become acquainted with the secret thoughts of our most 
 intimate friends, there is little doubt but our love and at- 
 tachment would give place to hatred and indignation. 
 If there be any truth in these surmises, a wise man should 
 be content with externals, when the exterior is pleasing, 
 and not endeavor to pry into those things which are ju- 
 diciously concealed from his eyes. But a principle of 
 curiosity still prompts us to examine, as far as we are 
 T 
 
218 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 able, the secret workings of the mind, though the disco- 
 veries which we make are productive of consequences 
 injurious to our happiness as individuals, and destructive 
 of the regard we should feel for our species in general. 
 
 Piomingo. And did you ever ask yourself the reason 
 why you were notinclinedtodiscloseyour thoughts? Is not 
 this backwardness occasioned by a blind deference to the 
 maxims and customs of the world? Is not this conceal- 
 ment rendered necessary by the vitious disposition of 
 mankind? When you are in a crowd, you think it neces- 
 sary to take care of your pockets; when robberies are 
 frequent, you bolt and lock your doors that you may rest 
 in security; and in civilized nations, you conceal your 
 thoughts, because you are surrounded by men who wait 
 to take advantage of your weaknesses,and who are ever 
 ready to usurp a dominion over your mind and to become 
 masters of your actions by bribing terrifying or other- 
 wise managing your passions propensities and inclina- 
 tions. It is not on account of the wickedness or folly of 
 his own thoughts that a virtuous man thinks proper to 
 conceal them, but because experience has made him ac- 
 quainted with the malignant and ungenerous disposition 
 of the world. And this evil disposition, which I have 
 noticed, is not owing to any inherent depravity, but sole- 
 ly to a vitious education. What else could be expected 
 among a people who are instructed, from their infancy, 
 in the practice of deception; who are taught to wear 
 the semblance of virtue merely for the purpose of con- 
 cealing the substance of vice; who are taught to consider 
 life as a struggle for preeminence, and who, being pro- 
 hibited the use of open force, are under the necessity of 
 having recourse to artifice and fraud? 
 
 This is not exaggeration. The multiplicity of your 
 laws proclaims the corruption of your manners and your 
 attachment to vitious pursuits. Laws are never enacted 
 to punish crimes which there is no disposition in the 
 community to commit. If laws,thcrefore, forbid the com- 
 mission of vice, it would seem to follow that the princi- 
 pal part of education ? in a civilized society, would consist 
 
THE SAVAGE. 219 
 
 in teaching youth how to evade the spirit of the lawf 
 without Craogrcssinjj the Idler. 
 
 I know a person now, who has often boasled in my 
 hearing of having disposed of a horse, not worth twenty 
 dollars, to an ignorant traveller for one hundred and fifty. 
 This man has never been known to practise robbery or 
 theft, according to the legal definition of those terms; 
 but he takes care to enjoy the advantages that flow from 
 a perpetration of those crimes without incurring any of 
 those dangers which environ the robber or the thief 
 who answers the technical description of the law. 
 
 A man would be a fool indeed who would expose the 
 secrets of his mind to civilized sharpers, who lie continu- 
 ally in wait to avail themselves of every favorable op- 
 portunity that fortune may throw in their way. Yet if 
 society were so constituted that man did not prey on man, 
 there would be no necessity for the cautious conceal- 
 ment you seem to recommend. 
 
 Frank, There may be some truth in jour observations; 
 but I am inclined to believe that men, with an education 
 the most salutary that could be devised (by all the wisdom 
 of all the philosophers, savage and civilized) would still 
 tind it necessary to conceal their feelings and their 
 thoughts from each other. I have heard it said that truth 
 was the cement of society; but, in my opinion, men are 
 held together by the means of falsehood and illusion. 
 Could they see each other, as they arc, there would be 
 nothing but mutual abhorrence and contention. 
 
 An ingenious writer has observed that "if our souls 
 had not been united to material substances, they would 
 still have been capable of knowledge, but it is probable 
 they would have loved whatever they knew ; whereas, in 
 the present constitution of things, we scarcely love any 
 thing but that of which we are ignorant.'" All our happi- 
 ness consists in delusive appearances: we search into the 
 nature of things with eagerness and curiosity; but the 
 moment that any subject is thoroughly investigated, we 
 are disgusted and unhappy. The sentient principle and 
 reasoning powers seem to unfit us for the station in 
 
220 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 which we are placed. They enable us to discover a thou- 
 sand imperfections in ourselves, in others, and in the my- 
 riads of objects which surround us. They prompt us to 
 enquire into the nature of our pleasures, and examine 
 the foundation of our momentary happiness; but our de- 
 lights and enjoyments will not bear to be analysed: the 
 instant they are subjected to the scrutiny of reason, the 
 vapors disappear; and we wonder how we came to be 
 pleased. You have said that there is no such thing as in- 
 herent depravity; butifthere be radical imperfection in 
 our nature, where is the difference? We necessarily fall 
 into error; and our minds become the seats of corruption 
 and vice. When we look inward upon this magazine of 
 faults, this workshop of iniquity, we are frightened at 
 our own depravity, and endeavor carefully to conceal it 
 from the world, and, as much as possible, from ourselves. 
 All things are imperfect that fall within the circle of 
 our observation: and if we be not deceived by our pride, 
 we will acknowledge that man is imperfect as well as 
 the rest. Has not nature dressed the surface of things 
 with a profusion of embellishments, and placed in the 
 centre her repository of poisons, her seeds of corruption 
 and death? Is man an exception? Alas! he is not. How 
 often, during our intercourse with the world, arc we 
 captivated by a pleasing exterior, and afterwards have 
 occasion to exclaim, 
 
 O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! 
 
 Piomingo. But all men are not villains. 
 
 Frank. All men do not deserve the appellation of vil- 
 lains; but all have theirfultsfolliesand weaknesses,which 
 they very properly and judiciously conceal. What tho' 
 I be imposed on a dozen limes in my life by specious 
 deceivers — is it not much better so, than it would be if 
 I were able to see, in every one's countenance, the tur- 
 pitude and depravity of his mind? — I should find myself 
 surrounded by monsters, and be obliged to seek a re- 
 fuge among the rocks of the desert. 1 wish every man 
 to hide his faults as ingeniously aspossible. Though 
 men have the hearts of devils, I desire them to wear 
 
THE SAVAGE. 221 
 
 the faces of angels; because their faces fall continually 
 under my inspection, but I have very little concern with 
 their hearts. 
 
 Piomingo. If I were among devils, I should like to 
 know it, that 1 might be on my guard againsttheir wick- 
 ed machinations. Would to God, that every face were, 
 as it ought to be, a picture of the mind! 
 
 Frank. What species of armor would you use for your 
 defence? How wouldyou protect yourselfon every side, 
 at all times, andinall places? Must you be for ever un- 
 easy? If a blind man were in a dungeon among «erpent6, 
 and it were impossible to extricate him from his peril- 
 ous situation, would it not be cruel to inform him of his 
 danger? We are placed upon the earth, and necessarily 
 connected with men; is it not much better that we should 
 remain ignorant of the wickedness and malignity of our 
 associates? 
 
 An agreeable face conceals a vitious mind in the same 
 manner that dress hides the deformities and diseases of 
 the body. When we walk in the streets and press through 
 the market, every one we see makes a tolerable appear- 
 ance; but were it not for dress which envelops the bo- 
 dies of the multitude, we should be continunlly shocked 
 with distorted shapes, "wounds, bruises, and putrefying 
 sores." Let us therefore be thankful to the vestments 
 which cover these deformities of the body; and let us bft 
 pleased with a smiling face that hides from our view the 
 diseases of the mind. 
 
 I mentioned before, that ourinqu'sitive disposition and 
 our propensity to reason on every subject have an imme- 
 diate tendency to render us unhappy. This opinion I will 
 endeavor to illustrate by a sublime comparison, and thep 
 I shall have done: "If the sun breed magots" (why do 
 you laugh? the language is ShakspeareY) *If the sun 
 breed magots in a dead dog," these magots are uncon- 
 scious of the tilth and abomination in which they are im- 
 mersed; they have no idea of any state superior to their 
 own, nor of any happiness greater than that which they 
 enjoy; consequently they cannot be miserable. But man 
 T2 
 
32*2 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 is cursed with the ability of perceiving his degraded situ- 
 ation; he is able to form ideas of perfection to which he 
 can never attain ; he feels an inclination to aspire ; he de- 
 spises the earth which gave him birth, and would ascend 
 to the mansion of the gods; he would subject the universe 
 to his empire, and partake of delights too sublime for his 
 nature — in consequence of which, he is miserable. Up- 
 on the whole I conclude that such an animal as man 
 should hot have been endowed with perception so acute, 
 and with desires so aspiring — Diis alitcr visum est. 
 
 Piomingo. You and jour furious Instructor may prate 
 aboutthe wickedness of the heart as long as you please; 
 but every one must admit that no one is wicked before 
 the commencement of his existence. And as soon as he 
 exists he becomes wax in the hands of society. His infant 
 mind takes the color of surrounding objects: by educa- 
 tion he is exalted to a god; by education he is converted 
 to a devil; or, by education he is degraded to a brute. 
 
 By the customs and institutions of society, by the pre- 
 cepts and examples of seniors and guardians, he becomes 
 initiated in wickedness; and, as advancement and pros- 
 perity in life depend upon the exercise of dissimulation 
 and cunning, he conceals his vitious thoughts till they ri- 
 pen into crimes. Were the mind first subjected to salutary 
 impressions, were the circumstances which influence 
 its earliest decisions favorable to the production of virtue, 
 there would be no necessity for concealment; and the 
 workshop of iniquity, which terrifies your mind, would 
 never be erected. 
 
 You unfortunately attempted to enforce your senti- 
 ments by a reference to dress. Did it not occur to you 
 that your civilized institutions have produced the dis- 
 eases and deformities of the body as well as the errors 
 and vices of the mind? Did you not reflect upon the per- 
 nicious consequences of continual labor and brutelike 
 drudgery? — They have degraded the proudest work of 
 nature to a beast of burden ; they have extinguished the 
 ethereal spark in his breast, and infused into his soul the 
 malignity of a demon. Did you also forget to consider 
 
THE SAVAGE. 2*23 
 
 the eviis produced by intemperance, luxury and sloth! 
 Ala*! it is too true: You need clothing to hide your dis- 
 eased, distorted bodies, and tig leaves to conceal your 
 distempered minds. But savages can dispense with gar- 
 ments to shroud their straight and well turned limbs, 
 and with deceitful smiles to veil their ingenuous hearts. 
 
 Frank. Well, I see we should never agree on this sub- 
 ject, if you be disposed to ramble farther, you may con- 
 tinueyour excursion alone. It isa folly to walk without an 
 object in summer; but the man who will leave a warm tire 
 in the winter, unless compelled by necessity, and expose 
 himself to the blasts of the north, must be wholly insane. 
 
 Piomingo. Your will is my guide; — but Frank, who 
 was that other foreigner to whom you were disposed to 
 direct my attention? 
 
 Frank. Ah, truly, I had totally forgotten. For some 
 months past we have witnessed a prodigy: From the 
 depths of the wilderness, cautibus horrens ; from amid the 
 howling wild beasts of the desert; from the bosom of 
 one of those barbarous hords which infest our frontiers, 
 there has issued — ye will not believe it, posterity! — 
 there has issued a savage, — 
 
 Quale portentum neque militant 
 Daunia in latis aiit esculetis, 
 Nee Juljfc tellus generat.Ieonum 
 Arida nutrix! — 
 
 A savage, whopresumes to instruct the illuminated, the 
 wise,the polished, the civilized, inhabitants of these free 
 sovereign and independent states, which are, I say, and 
 of right ought to be, free sovereign and independent 
 states, — who, (the savage I mean) not having the fear 
 of God before his eyes, nor reverencing the majesty of 
 the American people, but being moved thereto by the 
 instigation of the devil, hath,daringly knowingly wick- 
 edly maliciously malignantly enviously feloniously insi- 
 diously burglariously barbarously savagely and of malice 
 aforethought, presumed to instruct this wonduerful peo- 
 ple, this nation of kings, in the science of morals! Give 
 ear, O heavens! — 
 
 Piomingo. What do you mean? 
 
221 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Frank. Do not, I beseech the. do not interrupt me. — 
 Give ear, O heavens! hearken, O earth! — 
 
 Piomingo. What do you mean? 
 
 Frank. These are savage interruptions, Piomingo. 
 You have ruined a sublime apostrophe; you have snap- 
 ped asunder the chain of my ideas; you have extin- 
 guished my poetical enthusiasm; and now 1 must pro- 
 ceed to give you a dull prosaic detail of circumstances. 
 
 Piomingo. Be as prosaic asyou please, but not tedious. 
 
 Fmnk. This savage, of whom] spake, having thrown 
 aside his tomahawk, scalping knife, and rifle, — having 
 devested himself of his wampum, breechclout, blanket, 
 moccasons.and leggins — having laid aside his buck's tail 
 and feathers, ear rings and nose jewels, half moons and 
 bracelets, beads brochesand gewgaws — having washed 
 the paint from his visage and taken up the pen. produces 
 a weekly phi lj. pic against I he blessings and delights of 
 a civilized life — but, as your barbarous countenance is 
 a picture of your mind, that mind,l see, is considerably 
 agitated. 1 fear it will not be safe to favor you with my 
 opinions on the conduct of this savage; butl will, if you 
 please, give you the sentiments of others. 
 
 Piomingo. Do so. 
 
 Frank. Well then, they say (by they you are to under- 
 stand every body, any body, nobody, the wise, the fool- 
 ish, the world, or any thing you choose) they say — hut I 
 forgot to premise (which would have been a very capi- 
 tal omission) I forgot to premise — 
 
 Piomingo. Frank! your parentheses distract me! By 
 themingo of the skies, \£ you proceed with your cursed in- 
 volutions — 
 
 Frank. Enough, enough, Piomingo. Do not raise the 
 warhoop, lentreatyou. 1 shall proceed straight forward 
 with my story. 
 
 They say, that this savage, having seen our flourishing 
 cities and beautiful fields, having witnessed the state of 
 our agriculture, commerce and manufactures, and all the 
 pleasures that flow from our salutary institutions, and 
 having contrasted these blessings with the miserable 
 
THE SAVAGE. 225 
 
 enjoyments of the naked half starved, shivering Indians, 
 he fell the sap j envious malignity in his breast which 
 Satan is said to have felt when he contemplated the 
 happiness and innocence of our parents in paradise; and 
 he resolved, in imitation of the illustrious personage just 
 mentioned, to disturb that felicity, which he and his 
 brethren were not destined to enjoy. 
 
 Piomingo. What, to introduce Sin and Death among 
 the happy and virtuous in habitants of thecivilized world? 
 Would to God, that the arts and refinements, the vices 
 and diseases, of the children of Europe had remained 
 forever unknown to the savages you despise! Reverse 
 the picture; and the representation will not be wholly 
 destitute of (ruth. But proceed. 
 
 Frank. They say, that this savage resembles the fox 
 in the fable; who, finding himself unfortunately desti- 
 tute of a tail, endeavored to persuade the community of 
 foxes that tails were a useless incumbrance. Now this 
 savage being a barbarian probably indigent — 
 
 Piomingo, You may dispense with the application, 
 and proceed with your intelligence. 
 
 Frank. Th n y say, that your publication (for thou art the 
 man) is a dull and insipid production; but that among a 
 great deal of rubbish there may sometimes be found a 
 sparkling idea. Now as they have always conceived it 
 impossible for a savage to think, they find themselves 
 wholly unable to account for the thoughts that are scat- 
 tered through your writings. For a savage whose brain, 
 or whose mind; [sntybula rasa — for a savage, whose brutal 
 instinct merely enables him to ramble over mountains or 
 creep through the thickets, to manage a canoe wit had roit- 
 nessor take off a scalp with dexterity — for such a one 
 to think, reflect, compare, is altogether unaccountable! 
 
 Can he he fashioned on the social plan, 
 Or hoasi a lineage with the race of man? 
 
 These considerations have induced them to suppose that 
 
 the account you have given of yourself is fictitious: some 
 
 have even proceeded so far as to say you are civilized. 
 
 Piomingo. Who said that? My savage honesty of soul 
 
226 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 no man shall dispute with impunity. I will immediately 4 
 have recourse to the law. An action will certainly lief 
 
 Frank. I think not. 
 
 Piomingo. So, it seems your laws deny me the privi- 
 lege of avenging myself on my enemies, yet point out no 
 other mode of redress. Is that liberty? 
 
 Frank. Let me consider; The words are not action- 
 able pzr se. It may be damnum; but then would be dam- 
 num absque injuria. Prove special damage — action per 
 quod. Provocation — tends to a breach — contra pacem. 
 Libellous — let me see — not true — so much the worse. 
 No hook to hang a quirk on. Headman and warrior of 
 the Muscogulgee nation — scandalum magnatum. To say 
 of a lord — Cro. Car. Cro. Jac. Tom. tit. quint. Eliz. 
 
 Piomingo. What is that? 
 
 Frank. Wisdom, Piomingo, profound wisdom; but as 
 you are a barbarian, you cannot understand it. — It is 
 said that you arc an aristocrat. 
 
 Piomingo. So I am: who would not rather be governed 
 by the best than by the rborst of the community? But I am 
 an enemy to hereditary aristocracy, and still more op- 
 posed to the aristocracy of wealth: I wish virtue, talents 
 and wisdom to assume their proper place in society. 
 
 Frank. It is sometimes said, you are a democrat and 
 leveller. 
 
 Piomingo. I am a friend to the people: may they "get 
 wisdom and seek understanding." May they learn to 
 think fur themselves, and no longer be swayed by the 
 influence of the wealthy, or governed by the cunning 
 of political intriguers. 
 
 Frank. They say you are an atheist and a deist. 
 
 Piomingo. Curious enough! I would not fall down to 
 w r orship the golden image which civilized society has set 
 up, though my disobedience should cast me in the. fur- 
 nace of adversity heated seven times as hot as ever I 
 have found it. 
 
 Frank. They say you are a fool. 
 
 Piomingo. Folly, 1 believe is not peculiar to me; 
 
 . ' et mini dulees 
 
 Igncscp.nt, si quid peceavero stultne, ainici: 
 luque vicem, illorum patiar delictn litenier. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 227 
 
 Frank. The profound and sagacious editor of a politi- 
 cal and literary journal has treated your Savage with 
 rudeness and severity; and, as you have taken no notice 
 of this caustic and witty production, it is supposed that 
 you are unable to answer it. 
 
 Piomingo. The Frenchman and his criticism are 
 equally unworthy of attention. 
 
 Frank, Do you deal in proverbs? 
 
 Piomingo, Not much. Savage as I am, I bow to the 
 opinion ol lord Chesterfield concerning the use of vulgar 
 English proverbs; but as I have in my possession a collec- 
 tion, I believe I will till a few pages of the Savage with 
 them occasionally: they are equal to the best of poor 
 Richard's and excel the wisest apophthegms of Spain. 
 
 Frank. Very right: and sprinkle your pages hereafter 
 with Greek. We always love what we do not under- 
 stand. The hour of dinner approaches. May the mingo 
 of the clouds protect you from evil! 
 
 Piomingo. May the mammon of unrighteousness be 
 propitious to your prayeis! 
 
 PRONUNCIATION: FROM CRITO. 
 
 Doctor Johnson, with his usual good sense, has re- 
 marked, thai "most writers of English grammar have 
 given long tables of words pronounced otherwise than 
 they are written; and seem not sufficiently to have con- 
 sidered, that, of English, as of all living tongues, there 
 is a double pronunciation: one cursory and colloquial; 
 the other regular and solemn. The cursory pronuncia- 
 tion is always vague and uncertain, being made differ- 
 ent, in dilferent months, by negligence, unskilfulness, or 
 affectation. The solemn pronunciation, though by no 
 means immutable and permanent, is yet always less re- 
 mote from the orthography, and less liable to capricious 
 innovation. They have, however, generally formed 
 their tables according to the cursory speech of those 
 with whom they happen to converse, and, concluding 
 that the whole nation combines to vitiate language in 
 one manner, have often established the jargon of the 
 
228 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 lowest of the people as the model of speech. For pro- 
 nunciation, the best general rule is, to consider those 
 as the most elegant speakers who deviate leasl trom the 
 written words." 
 
 Some have been inclined to dispute the justice of 
 these observations; but, to me, they appear correct and 
 judicious. There are so many capricious varieties in 
 the current pronunciation of a living language, that an 
 attempt to establish a uniform standard of orthoepy by 
 any one man's ideas of propriety, must be regarded as 
 a hopeless undertaking. One pronunciation prevails 
 at the theatre; another is sanctioned by the gentlemen 
 of the. bar; and a third is favored by divines. The 
 south and the north, the east and the west, have their 
 respective peculiarities of sound: and all these unfor- 
 tunate localities have their advocates and defenders. 
 Among these conflicting claims, what better plan can 
 we pursue than to lay it down as the golden rule in pro- 
 nunciation, that the most elegant speakers are those who 
 deviate least from the zvritten words. 
 
 Multitudes of spelling books and grammars have ap- 
 peared in the United States; and in the most, if not ail 
 of these, are exhibited long tables of words spelled in 
 one manner, and directed to be pronounced in another. 
 Sometimes a letter is said to be silent, when it might 
 with the utmost propriety be sounded; again, we are 
 gravely informed that one letter usurps the power of 
 another, when we can see no reason why it is not con- 
 tent with its own. Some words, though they have long 
 since become a part of our language, are said to be 
 French: and we are obliged to torture our organs for the 
 sake of producingan outlandish, guttural or nasal twang; 
 which being found utterly impracticable, we generate a 
 word which is neither English nor French, but a ridicu- 
 lous fabrication of our own. What contemptible servili- 
 ty is this! Must there be a numerous class of words 
 which the great body of the people, who understand no 
 language but their own are utterly unable to pronounce? 
 Why should aid-de-camp, envelope, environs, connoisseur^ 
 
THE SAVAGE. 229 
 
 instead of being pronounced agreeably lo the powers of 
 the letters in Ihe English language, be converted into 
 adede caivng, ongvriopc, on$veerons, connossare, which 
 are neither French, English, nor good high Dutch? 
 
 It must be acknowledged, thai since the appearance of 
 orthoepical dictionaries, the solemn pronunciation, no- 
 ticed by Johnson, hasgreatly declined: however solemn 
 the style, however important the subject, the polite orator 
 has adopted the flippant and cursory pronunciation; and 
 minces and aspirates agreeably to the. directions of Slieri* 
 dan and Walker. How long will our lawyers, du ines,and 
 legislating orators, who boast so much of their indepen- 
 dence, regulate their pronunciation according to the ca- 
 prices of the vulgar, great and small, of the city of 'Lon- 
 don? Our universities, colleges, and public speakers, 
 should appoint agents to reside continually in the metrop- 
 olis of the British empire for the purpose of transmitting 
 without delay, to the wilds of America, the polite and 
 fashionable modes of torturing words practised by game- 
 sters, fops and fools at the head quarters of refinement 
 and corruption. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the ridiculous affectation of our 
 fashionable speakers, »t may still be observed that when 
 the emphasis is placed on a word the unaccented vowels 
 receive a sound different from that which they have when 
 the word is not emphatical: how is this variation to be no- 
 ted by the modest orthoepist, who would regulate our 
 pronunciation by that of the circle in which he has moved? 
 
 Mr. Walker appears to have been so sensible of the 
 difficulties of the task he had undertaken, that he can- 
 didly acknowledges "the imperceptible glances of col- 
 loquial pronunciation are not lo be caught and described 
 by the pen;'' but he pleases himself with the reflection, 
 thai, if "he cannot point out the precise sound of unac- 
 cented syllables, he may at least give those sounds which 
 approach the nearest, and by this means become a little 
 more useful than those who so liberally leave every thing 
 to the ear and taste of the speaker." Now 1 should con- 
 ceive that an erroneous guide is worse than no guide at 
 U 
 
230 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 all: we may as well preserve our original errors as to 
 discard them for the purpose of adopting others. 
 
 But even admitting the possibility of conveying to the 
 eye those delicate tones and evanescent sounds which are 
 perceptible by the ear, whom shall we lake as our guide? 
 There are not only many hundred incidental differences; 
 but whole classes of words are subjected to the various 
 rules of our standard writers. One author informs us that 
 the final y in wisely, justly, nobly, truly, and all words of 
 that description, has the sound of long e, as in me; others 
 give it the sound of a in face; and others, again, acknowl- 
 edge that it has an-obscure sound of its own. We are 
 told by some that the e in me, and the i in mill, have pre- 
 cisely the same sound; others contend that they are 
 widely different. Doctor Ash informs us that the c in the, 
 hero, rebuild, adhesion, &e. has a sound peculiar to it- 
 self; but quite distinct from the e in thee, me, &c. Others 
 assert that this is the height of absurdity. But, 
 
 Quirquid dciirant regcs plcctuntur Acliivf: 
 
 While the leaders contend for superiority, we are led 
 astray by their errors. 
 
 1 know a young man who was particularly attentive io 
 pronunciation: on every doubtful occasion, he had imme- 
 diate recourse to the dictionary that happened to be in 
 vogue; and having discovered an odd or curious pronun- 
 ciation, he rejoiced exceedingly, and took care to intro- 
 duce the word into every conversation. But by the time 
 he had made himself perfectly familiar with his favorite 
 sound, behold! another dictionary appeared, more fash- 
 ionable, more orthodox, than the last; and infinitely supe- 
 rior to every other in existence. He now found it necessa- 
 ry to change a pronuciation which had become habitual, 
 and learn anew the pronunciation of his fathers, or ac- 
 quire, with no little pains, one totally different from both. 
 He informed me that he changed the sound of the o in bo- 
 som four several times in compliance with the precepts 
 of different orthoepists: and, at last, after having sailed 
 round the world of changes, he found himself at the place 
 whence he started. From his nurse he learned to say bo- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 231 
 
 zom\ from his schoolmaster, buzzum\ from Sheridan, boo- 
 zum, sounding the oo asw \\\full\ from Walker, boozum, 
 sounding the oo as in /oo; and, finally, a profound critic 
 convinced him the first pronunciation was the best. 
 
 One great objection to most of our pronouncing dic- 
 tionaries is the horrible manner in which they deform the 
 orthography of the language. It is found to be a matter of 
 ix) little difficulty to acquire the art of spelling with pro- 
 priety. I do not believe that one person in a hundred can 
 write twenty lines without misspelling some of the words. 
 And if, before the appearace of pronouncing dictionaries, 
 it was so hard to attain a competent knowledge of ortho- 
 graphy, how much more difficult will it prove when wc 
 cannot open a dictionary without encountering those 
 horrible clusters of consonants, which orthoepists have 
 collected together for the sake of perpetuating sounds. 
 Thus it has happened that these erudite productions have 
 not only unsettled our pronunciation, but have given our 
 language a barbarous appearance, and rendered it more 
 difficult than ever for our children to become acquainted 
 with orthography. 
 
 I would not have it thought that I am opposed to all 
 dictionaries designed as helps in pronunciation: these may 
 be useful in regulating the accentuation of words, arnd 
 displaying the analogies of language. I will even admit 
 that it may be desirable, in a work of this nature, to have 
 some ingenious system of notation, for the purpose of 
 showing the tone and quantity of the vowels; but 1 will 
 boldly pronounce that the practice of deforming the or- 
 thography has been, and will continue to be, productive 
 of consequences pernicious to the purity of language. 
 I would rather, Piomingo, encounter a file of your coun- 
 trymen among the Alleganian mountains, than be stared 
 in the face by words so tremendous, so horrible, astshoo- 
 turidzh, tskootclidzli, tshoonable, tshoomult, ungthoous, 
 spirittshoous, nattshooraU Yet these monstra vocabulorum 
 horrenda are not half as barbarous as some that may be 
 found in Sheridan and YValker. — Would anyone suppose 
 these congregations of letters were desingned to instruct 
 
232 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 us in 1 lie pronunciation of tutorage, tutelage, tunable, tu- 
 mult, unctuous, spirituous, natural? Yet such is the fact 
 We have, in the established orthography, strange assem- 
 blages of words; hut this is perplexing error, and ren- 
 dering confusion still more grievously confounded. 
 
 It is hut justice to lake notice of the many and highly 
 valuable philological remarks with which Mr. Walker 
 lias enriched his dictionary, and the judicious rules he 
 lias given for determining the place of the accent; but I 
 hope the pronunciation of the people of the United States 
 will never be regulated by his authority. I shall hereafter 
 take opport unities to point out what 1 conceive to be er- 
 rors into which he has fallen, partly from his mistaken 
 notions of analogy, and partly from his servile deference 
 to the fashionable corrupters of language in the city of 
 London. 
 
 Mi-. Webster has displayed more. learning and ingenu- 
 ity in ins works than any other American philologist; 
 but he appears resolutely determined to maintain all the 
 New England peculiarities of speech. We might permit 
 him to say danger, stranger, angel, fyc. because in these 
 he is favored by analogy; but we can never aNow the 
 true pronunciation of propitiate, annunciate, associate^ 
 officiate, fyc. to be propishate, annunshate, assoshate qffi- 
 skate, fyc. These words may, for any thing I know to the 
 contrary, be shortened in this manner by that gentleman's 
 friends in Connecticut; but I have never heard ihem so 
 pronounced by any well educated American. I have 
 always supposed that in the words, christian, bastion^ 
 mixtion, fustian, fyc. the i had exactly the sound of y\ 
 but Mr. Webster informs us that these words are to be 
 pronounced, chrischun, baschun, mixchun, fuschun, fyc. 
 
 I have not had an opportunity of paying much attention 
 to this author's dictionary; but I am confident that his 
 spellinghook, which has a very extensive circulation, has 
 contributed greatly to vitiate the pronunciation of the 
 youth of the United States. It is much to be regretted that 
 he is so tenacious of his errors, as otherwise we might 
 calculate on his labors being very beneficial to his eoun* 
 try. 
 
THE SAVAGE 
 
 233 
 
 SATIRE. 
 
 Does there not appear to be some impropriety in the 
 conduct of an author who informs us, in the titlepage of 
 his book, that he lias written a satirical poem? Would 
 he not act more judiciously by selecting some plain and 
 inoffensive title and allowing his satire to be discovered 
 by the reader? The word satire in English conveys a 
 very different idea from the satira of the Romans: which 
 was merely the name of a miscellaneous composition in 
 verse. When an author boldly and dexterously lashes the 
 vices of the world, he is accounted a satirist] when he 
 uses ingenious ridicule as the means of making men a- 
 shamed of their follies, he is said to be satirical', when 
 in a strain of delicate irony he laughs at the errors of 
 his species, the productions of his pen are justly denomi- 
 nated satires) — but we can hardly suppose that verses, 
 merely because they are ill natured, merely because they 
 declare war against the vices and follies of men, are en- 
 titled to the appellation of satire. 
 
 "What is this you appear to have been reading? A 
 satirical poem. Well I must give it a perusal. Doubtless 
 I shall find a great display of imagination and genius, 
 since the writer was so confident of the merit and pun- 
 gency of his remarks as to think them worthy of the 
 epithet satirical. Yes- every line will sparkle with the 
 scintillations of wit, and every sentence be pointed with 
 the sting of an epigram. However, it seems a little sin- 
 gular for an author to have a label in his forehead with 
 this inscription, "I am a fellow of infinite jest, of most 
 excellent fancy:" he should leave that, meihinks, to be 
 said by another. What was the character which a Re- 
 man satirist gave of his predecessor? 
 
 Qmnevafer vilium rklentiFlaccusamico 
 Tangit, et admissuscircum precofdia ladit, 
 Callldua excusso populum susi>cndcrc naso. 
 
 —But here the titlepage appears as a rod suspended in 
 terrorem, not to deter us from evil, but to frighten us from 
 reading the book. The author is too generous to attack 
 us unawares: he wears hay on his horn. Keep at a dis- 
 U2 
 
234 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tance, ye timorous! as for me, I will venture to approach 
 him; l and if I perish, 1 perish.' " 
 
 We read several minutes very attentively, and then 
 continued our observations. "The danger was rather ima- 
 ginary than real. The author might have been as modest 
 as Horace, and given his satires the name of sermones. 
 
 Quid di^ttum tmito feret hie promisscr hi.itu? 
 
 But here are notes! Ah, these will point out the latent 
 beauties of the work; these will elucidate what is ob- 
 scure, and explain the mysterious allusions of the author. 
 But why should a poem that was published yesterday be 
 burthened to day with explanatory notes? In perusing 
 the works of the ancients we may sometimes derive ad- 
 vantage from the labors of the scholiast; but the manners 
 and customs of the world have not, since this work made 
 its appearance, undergone any changes of consequence. 
 Why then should our attention be diverted from the 
 poem itself to the lucubrations of a commentator? Any 
 one who is desirous of displaying his erudition in this 
 way has nothing else to do than publish a new edition of 
 Shakspeare enriched with additional annotations. It is 
 true, that it will not be easy to find any word of the ori- 
 ginal to which he may append observations of his own; 
 but this should not operate as a discouragement on the 
 mind of the commentator: for it must he a consolatory re- 
 flection to him, that there may be such a thing as a note on 
 a note, a wheel within a wheel; and that live hundred 
 notes may yet be written concerning old Vice with his 
 dagger of lath. 
 
 But these notes (may I believe it?) were written by 
 the author of the poem! Lame poetry indeed, that must 
 hobble on crutches of prose! Has it not been an axiom as 
 old as criticism itself that a poem should be complete? 
 that it should have a beginning a middle and an end? that 
 there should be nothing deficient or redundant? 
 
 The notes may be learned, ingenious, profound; "but 
 this was no place for these things." Every poem, we 
 are told, should be 
 
 > simplex duntaxat et iinum. 
 
THE SAVAGE. 235 
 
 No man should make allusions in a poem, which cannot 
 be understood without explanatory notes; or write verses 
 which he finds it necessary to piece out with patches of 
 prose. Must not a poem he very imperfect which stands 
 in need of tlie scholia of the author, before it makes its 
 appearance in the world ? Was he afraid that we would 
 not feel the weight of his poetical remarks, and has there- 
 fore enforced ihem by observations in prose? Was it in 
 pity to our ignorance that he has subjoined these ex- 
 planatory remarks? What would the ancients have said 
 to this plan of an author's furnishing notes for his own 
 composition?" 
 
 "You appear," said my friend, c 'to have formed an er- 
 roneous opinion of the nature of the work. The notes are 
 not to be considered as mere appendages to the poem: 
 far from it — they are an integral, and indeed the principal, 
 part of the composition. The verses may be considered 
 as a cement which consolidates the discordant matter of 
 the notes in a beautiful and harmonious whole. The poem 
 may be considered as the spine with which the various 
 bones of the animal are connected. The lines may —but I 
 do not remember any thing else which would assist "me 
 in my illustrations. Did you never hear of a statue com- 
 posed of different materials — ivory and gold?" 
 
 "I have heard of iron mixed with miry clay: I have 
 heard of the following supposition, 
 
 Ilumano capiti cervicem pictor equinam 
 Jun^ero si relit, et. varias inducere plumas 
 Undiquc collatis membrie, ut turpiter atrum 
 Desinat in piscem mulicr formosa superne: — 
 
 I have heard of centaurs; — but this literary monster bears 
 resemblance to nothing in the regions of fancy, unless it 
 be the Scylla of the poets, or Milton's Sin, who 
 
 seemed a woman to the waist, and fair, 
 
 Hut ended foul in many a scaly fold 
 Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed 
 With mortal sting: about her middle round 
 A cry of hellhounds neverceasing barked 
 With wide Cerberian mouths full loud, and rung 
 A hideous peal. 
 
 What do you think of the similitude? Were it not for 
 the 'woman to the waist and fair,' and the 'mortal sting,' 
 I would say it was an excellent likeness " 
 
236 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Search the poets," said my friend, "no longer for an 
 archetype: you will find nothing like it 'in heaven above 
 or in earth beneath.' 
 
 Satira iota nostra est, was the boast of Quintilian: and 
 we with the utmost propriety may assert that this new 
 species of composition is wholly our own. The ancients 
 would have derided the idea, of a man's writing notes^ 
 explanatory of his own composition, as the height of 
 literary absurdity; but we 
 
 Nil iutentatum r.ostri liquere poetae — 
 
 we have opened a new way to the temple of fame. And 
 you must acknowledge that the scheme is attended with 
 many advantages. 
 
 In the first place, it may be observed that notes add 
 greatly to the dignity of a poem: a work must be impor- 
 tant that attracts the attention of a commentator. But if 
 these annotations be left to be written by posterity, we 
 are denied the happiness of participating in the honors 
 conferred on our book; and who knows whether our 
 addlepated descendents may think the work worthy of a 
 clavis or a commentary. 
 
 Again: Every poet is desirous of producing a volume;- 
 and this, I assure you, is a matter of considerable diffi- 
 culty, admitting the verses to be tolerable. But agreeably 
 to this new plan, nothing more is necessary than to write 
 a few jingling lines, and attach a sufficiency of matter, in 
 the form of notes, to swell out the book to a respectable 
 size. 'O that mine adversary had written a book!' was 
 the exclamation of Job when he reflected on the evils he 
 had suffered throngh the injustice of men. Were Job now 
 alive, he would think of some heavier curse for his ene- 
 mies. The moderns have made so many improvements 
 in book making and other manufactures; they have 
 adopted so many labor saving schemes, that the produc- 
 tion of a book is no longer a matter of difficulty. 
 
 Thirdly: In writing notes, a man has it in his power, 
 with very litle trouble, to make a great display of his 
 reading and erudition. He brings forth the lumber from 
 his literary wareroom, and astonishes the world with 
 

 THE SAVAGE. 237 
 
 the depth of his researches. There is nothing however 
 antiquated, puerile, or ridiculous, but may rind a place 
 in Ike farrago of Ids book. 
 
 Fourthly: The attention of the reader being continually 
 diverted from the verses which give a name to the per- 
 formance, he will be apt to overlook those blemishes 
 which a more critical examination would undoubtedly 
 have exposed. 
 
 Fifthly: In this species of composition, an author may 
 not only acquire celebrity as a poet; but he may exhibit 
 his talents as a writer of prose: he may acquire renown 
 as a ciitic and philosopher. 
 
 Sixthly: Who ha<? not heard of the obscurity of Pindar 
 and Persiu>? Had these poets explained their obscuri- 
 ties in a series of notes, every note would have been a 
 treasure to posterity. If it. be admitted that a commenta- 
 tor should understand the subject of ••is remarks, permit 
 me to ask, who can be able to enter so fully into the 
 meaning of a writer, as the writer himself? 
 
 Seventhly: May not an author of genius think it neces- 
 sary to incase his poetical gems in substantial prose of 
 his own to prevent their being eaten up by 'the com- 
 mentating zeal' of succeeding aunotators? 
 
 Lastly: Although I have asserted that this lame poe- 
 try, leaning on crutches of prose, is a modern invention, 
 yet I have no doubt that the first idea of this species of 
 writing was taken from the sat ire of the Romans; or rather, 
 thai it may boast the same origin with the musa pedeslris 
 of Horace. Now this satire was said to be derived from 
 satira,cibi genus ex varus rebus conditum, Anglice, a hash, 
 But the Romans always supposed that this literary repast, 
 however multifarious its ingredients, must be served up 
 in one poetical dish; whereas the moderns prefer bringing 
 it to the public table in two half dishes; which practice, 
 every one must acknowledge, adds greatly to the variety 
 of the entertainment,'' 
 
238 THE SAYA(JE, 
 
 THOUGHTS*. 
 
 Q.uo-mo cunqiic rapit teuipestas deferoirllospw. 
 
 We cannot pretend to say what passes in the minds 
 of civilized' men; but a savage, if there be nothing to call 
 forth the energies of his soul, sinks into a state of torpid 
 existence, in which, although he is sensible of the evils 
 of mortality, he feels no inclination to partake of those 
 enjoyments Which awaken the desires, and call forth the 
 exertions of the inhabitants of the earth. 
 
 He is unable, of himself, to shake off this stupor of the 
 faculties: it requires some unusual occurrence on the 
 earth, some strange appearance in the- heavens,. or some-. 
 violent commotion in the elements, to give a spring to the 
 mind and break up the gloomy enchantment. 
 
 Heavy black clouds rising in the west, and the loud'. 
 rushing of winds in the mountains, the sudden rise of 
 rivers- and the noise of many waters, eaunot revivify the 
 mind; but they lull it to a state of pleasing repose and 
 banish those feverish dreams which accompany this rest- 
 less sleep, this inertness of soul. But when vivid flashes 
 of lightning are suddenly followed by claps of thunder, 
 "louder and louder still" — when he feels the rocking of 
 an earthquake; when the foundations of the world are 
 shaken — then, heis startled into Z//e, and enjoys the plea- 
 sures of existence. 
 
 Thrs disease of the mind has sometimes been relieved,, 
 though not permanently cured, by a. total eclipse of the 
 sua, the conflagration of a city, or the sight of two ar- 
 mies rushing to battle. Any thing is preferable to this, 
 painful inertia: better to be "chased; as the chaff of the 
 mountain before the wind, or the down of the thistle be- 
 fore the whirlwind P' 
 
 But nature pursues her calm unvarying round: she ef- 
 fects her sublime purposes with infinite ease, and seldom 
 finds it necessary to have recourse to those stupendous 
 exertions which excite the fears, awaken the wonder, and. 
 elevate the feelings of men. Her unceasing operations 
 are continued from eternity to eternity; and cannot be in- 
 terrupted by the repinings of a fool or the ravings of a 
 
THE SAVAGE. 239 
 
 maniac. She is n°.ver in haste: she never employs more 
 force than is necessary for the completion of her designs. 
 It is only when she meets with opposition from the cha- 
 otic tendency of things, or the stubborn inertia of mat- 
 ter, that she arrays herself in terrors and rises up in 
 majesty to confound the opposers of her power. 
 
 It is little, therefore, that man, whose duration is fora 
 moment, can expect to behold of the magnificent com- 
 motions of the universe, yet, of such infinite importance 
 is he in his own estimation, that he would have nature 
 turn actress and go through her principal parts merely to 
 soothe his chagrin and dissipatethe vapors that have risen 
 into his brain. And when he experiences any uneasiness 
 in his contemptible microcosm (which is said to be go- 
 verned by laws in direct opposition t<o the laws of the 
 universe) his heart swells, with rebellious-indignation, 
 against the eternal establishment of things; he looks 
 down upon the earth with contempt and abhorrence; lie 
 looks upward with an air of defiance; and, in a moment 
 of disappointed ambition, this redoubtable Sampson 
 would take hold of the pillars of heaven and bury him- 
 self in the ruins of the universe'! 
 
 Proud insect ! thy rage proves the truth of the proverb, 
 Inest et formicce, bilis: thy pleasures and thy pains, thy 
 sorrows and thy joys, thy hatred and thy love, thy exis- 
 tence and thy nonexistence, are of equal importance, in 
 the empire of nature, with the troubles experienced by 
 an ant in rolling her burthen. 
 
 Who talks of the dignity of human nature? M-an him- 
 self! He is the lord of nature: the earth was created for 
 his use, and heavens for his amusement. Comets appear 
 predicting revolutions in kingdoms, and armies are mar- 
 shalled in the skies portending the destruction of cities. 
 
 We have extracted the following parable from the 
 third book of lddo, the Seer. 
 
 "In those days there stood an anthill in the valley of 
 Mobah. And it came to pass, that on the first day of the 
 week, in the sixth month, and on the sixth day of the 
 month, the inhabitants of the anthill assembled together 
 
240 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to hold a solemn feast in the presence of their god. The 
 ants desisted from their labors, and having purified them- 
 selves according 1o the law of their fathers, they pre- 
 pared to celebrate, with joy and gladness of heart, the 
 anniversary which was kept in honor of 'he day when 
 their empire was established in the valley of Hohah. — 
 But, lo! at the time of offering up the morning sacrifice, 
 a whirlwind passed over the plain; and after the whirl- 
 wind, there were thunderings; and alter the thunderings, 
 there was an earthquake. And the ants were sore afraid, 
 and prayed with a loud voice, and cast ashes on their 
 beads, saying, Wo unto us, what have we done, that the 
 anger of our god is kindled against us? 
 
 Then, stood off Basha the son of Bama in the midst of 
 the congregation, and spake unto the multitude, saying, 
 Give ear, O ye pismires, to the words of my mouth, and 
 lay up my counsels, in your hearts. Ye know that I have 
 given my days to study, and my nights to contemplation; 
 that 1 have observed the rising and the setting of the sun, 
 and the various appearances of the moon; that I have dis- 
 covered thenatuie of the firmament, und considered the 
 course of the stars. Therefore, O ye citizens of Hobab, 
 and inhabitants of the anthill attend to thedictates of wis- 
 dom. When your fathers settled in this valley they were 
 a little band, miserable and poor; but now ye are become 
 as the stars of heaven, which cannot be numbered. But 
 ye have waxed proud and have forgotten the precepts of 
 the law. Know ye not that our fathers have told us that 
 we should push oar burthens before us, and not drag them 
 after us according to the manner of the heathen? Yet 
 notwithstanding this, O ye ants, 1 have seen you turn your 
 hinder parts to the temple of our god, as ye ascended ibis 
 holy mountain which was given to our fathers; therefore 
 the heavens are troubled; therefore the sun has bidder, 
 his face; and the earth is shaken from her centre. 
 
 While be yet spake there came a wild beast from the 
 forest of Lebanon, and trod down the hillock" — — 
 
 But we not only expect that the heavens should 
 be disturbed by the revolutions of empires, we xpect 
 
THE SAVAGE. 241 
 
 ,hat the births and deaihs and little misfortunes of mor- 
 tals should be preceded by terrestrial portents and celes- 
 tial prodigies. This disposition in human nature is finely 
 ridiculed by Shakspeare. 
 
 Glendower. Sit, cousin Percy; sit good cousin Hotspur: 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale; and, with 
 A risinz sigh, lie wisheth you in heaven. 
 
 Hotspur. And yon in hell, asoften as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke of. 
 
 Olend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of horning cressets; and at mxj birth 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shaked like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Why so it would have done 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat 
 Had kittened, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 Olend. I say the earth did shake when I was born. 
 
 Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, 
 If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook. 
 
 Olend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
 And not in feart>f your nativity!- 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again, that, at my birth 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have marked me extraordinary; 
 And all the courses of my life do show, 
 I am not i?i the roll of common men. 
 
 Where is the man who does not think with Glendower, 
 that he is not on "the roll of common men?" We can 
 all readily admit that at the birth of commori men, it would 
 be a preposterous thing for the "front of heaven to be full 
 of fiery shapes" or for the earth to tremble; but at our 
 own nativity, we admit, there might be some few signs 
 in heaven, some little commotions on earth, to mark us 
 extraordinary. 
 
 Who does not suppose that the order of nature might 
 be interrupted to give him intimation of evils that may 
 befal him? Who would not suppose a squadron of angels 
 honorably employed in watching his motions and direct- 
 ing his steps? Who does not think himself worthy of 
 V 
 
242 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 being the peculiar favorite of heaven? Who does not con- 
 ceive himself able to change the unchangeable mind by 
 his prayers. 
 
 But whither have we wandered? We have followed the 
 train of our capricious thoughts and lost sight of the ob- 
 ject we meant to pursue. It is true ihat we discarded me- 
 thod, in the beginning,and proposed to make an excursion 
 through the fields of imagination; yet, it will probably be 
 expected that we should preserve some order in our wan- 
 derings and not be continually changing our course in pur- 
 suit of every meteor that flits through the regions of fancy. 
 
 We intended to have taken a more extensive ramble: 
 and we now see objects at a distance which we would 
 willingly chase for a while, and then desert them for 
 others: but as we are apprehensive that our readers would 
 not choose to follow us in our fantastic flight from one 
 corner of the world to another, we shall hasten to put 
 an end to our excursion. 
 
 SAVAGE CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 We have lately received a number of letters from our 
 Muscogulgee friends, which afford us very little satis- 
 faction. 
 
 The government of tbe United States has been assidu- 
 ously attentive to the business of introducing the arts and 
 improvements of civilized life among the tribes which com- 
 pose our now declining but once potent confederacy. 
 The arms of the warrior are exchanged for the ax and 
 the ho, the hammer and the shuttle. They no longer 
 climb the proud mountains, or traverse the desert: no — 
 they toil with the spade, and sweat at the anvil ! Lands are 
 appropriated; fields are marked out, and permanent build- 
 ings are erected. A monopolizing avaricious accumula- 
 ting spirit has appeared; sordiness meanness selfishness 
 are triumphant; freedom and virtue have vanished forever. 
 
 Personal merit, love of country, and a thirst for glory, 
 have been superseded by a swarm of civilized virtues: 
 creeping caution, cringing servility specious deception, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 243 
 
 sly prudence, and squinteyed cunning. The line and the 
 rule, the lock and the key have madeiheir appearance — 
 have made their appearance among- Indians! — Shades of 
 our fathers! spirits of heroes! look not down on your 
 degenerate children! 
 
 Do some of our readers wish to observe that Christian- 
 ity will be introduced among- the heathen; and that the 
 loss of a savage freedom will he amply compensated by 
 the glad tidings of salvation being published in our land? 
 Yes: ye will make us such christians as ye yourselves are. 
 Pretended disciples of Jesus ! shall we gain by the change? 
 
 We have likewise received a series of letters from a 
 Cherokee warrior: some of which we will venture to 
 lay before the public. 
 
 In order to enable the reader to understand some allu- 
 sions that are made in these letters, it will be necessary 
 to observe that many years ago, our warriors took a num- 
 ber of Cherokee prisoners; among whom was a boy, 
 who has since acquired the name of Chotahowee. We 
 were at liberty to determine the fate of one captive: and 
 we made choice of Chotahowee; who honored us ever 
 after with the appellation of father. 
 
 Chotahowee can express himself in English indiffer- 
 ently well: these letters were dictated by him in that lan- 
 guage, and written by a citizen of the United States who 
 frequents the Indian towns for the purposes of trade. 
 
 In preparing these letters for the press, we have been 
 solicitous to retain, whenever it was possible, the words 
 of our correspondent; and where we have found it ne- 
 cessary to discard his expressions and substitute others, 
 we have been particularly careful to preserve the mean- 
 ing of the sentence. 
 
 In many instances it was altogether impossible to pre- 
 sent to our civilized readers, at the same time, the origi- 
 nal words and the meaning intended to be conveyed by 
 them: the allusions to savage manners customs and opin- 
 ions; the extravagant metaphors, wild similitudes, and 
 abrupt apostrophes, would have been wholly unintelligible. 
 
 We had some thoughts, at first, of civilizing the Ian- 
 
244 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 guage of our friend; but we soon found that it could not 
 be done without destroying that natural simplicity which 
 is its greatest recommendation. And we have consequent- 
 ly endeavored to pursue that golden mean (every good is 
 denominated golden among christians) which is so highly 
 recommended by poets, philosophers and critics. 
 
 We shall make no apology for the sentiments of our 
 friend: our readers are in the practice of expressing their 
 own opinions freely, and, consequently, will never, be so 
 inconsistent as to deny that privilege toothers which they 
 claim for themselves. They find fault with our rudeness 
 and barbarity; we blame the deceitful appearances they 
 exhibit: 
 
 et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim. 
 
 We shall probably be blamed by posterity for not at- 
 taching some explanatory notes to the obscure and curi- 
 ous passages that may be found in these letters; but we 
 will frankly declare that we thought it right to leave 
 many ambiguous expressions merely for the purpose of 
 exercising the ingenuity of our contemporaries and af- 
 fording employment to critics, commentators, and book- 
 makers, not yet in existence. 
 
 The clerical gentleman to whom our correspondent has 
 given the appellation of Blackcoat must be highly pleased 
 with Chotahowee and Piomingo for taking notice of his 
 apostolical labors. His thoughts, we apprehend, are not 
 wholly engrossed by preparing the Indians for the world 
 which is to come: if we be not misinformed, he intends to 
 establish a little Jesuitical empire in the Cherokee nation, 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 From Chotahowee, a warrior of the Cherokee nation, to Piomingo, a headman 
 and warrior of the Muscogulgee confederacy. 
 
 Father! I have prevailed upon Oseii John, a beloved 
 white warrior, to put this speech upon paper and convey 
 it to you. 
 
 Father! You have forgotten your friends and your 
 country; Chotahowee is no longer remembered: shall I 
 also be forgetful of you? — When the sun shall forget to 
 rise, when the wind shall forget to blow, when the Ten- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 245 
 
 nessee shall cease to flow from the mountains; then, will 
 Chotahowee be forgetful of his friend; then, will he 
 cease to remember Piomingo. 
 
 Father! 1 was painted black: I was bound to the stake; 
 the fuel was prepared; and the flames were ready to de- 
 vour me. I had made myself strong to suffer; but, you put 
 forth your hand and preserved me. I became your son. I 
 was happy. But the man of the sorrowful spirit came a- 
 mong us; he turned away your face from your friends, 
 from your country, and from your son Chotahowee. You 
 gave your ear to the wicked talks that were written in his 
 books; and forgot the beloved speech of your fathers. 1 
 wept when I saw that your rifle became rusty, that your 
 bow remained unstrung, and that your arrows continued 
 to sleep in your quiver; - I wept when I saw that your 
 thoughts became deep; and your face became strange to 
 your son Chotahowee. 
 
 Father! When the man of the sorrowful spirit died, I 
 was glad: I said Piomingo will no longer give his ear to 
 the cursed talks that are written in the books; he will at- 
 tend in the council, preside at the feasts, and listen to the 
 beloved songs of his fathers. But the man of the sorrow- 
 ful spirit had poisoned your mind; your countenance was 
 sad; you departed in the night; and we knew not whither 
 you had gone. 
 
 Father! 1 continued a long time with the Muscogulgee 
 warriors; I procured a name by my abilities in hunting; 
 and was honored with a crown for my success in war. 
 After which, I departed, and came into the country of the 
 Cherokees, to the beloved town Chota, where I was born. 
 
 Father, lend me your ear! About sixty or seventy moons 
 ago, there came among us a man dressed in black, icitha 
 bookfull of talks. He spoke to the people at first with a 
 very smooth tongue, and said he had brought them good 
 news from the great spirit who rides in the storm, and 
 who thunders in the clouds that pass over our heads. 
 
 As we are always pleased to hear good news, and 
 were not without hopes that he would make us some 
 V 2 
 
246 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 presents, we assembled at the townhouse to receive his 
 talk and deliver our answer. 
 
 But the man dressed in black with the book of talks in 
 his hand, would not come into the townhouse: he said his 
 good news were not for the chiefs and warriors only, but 
 for all the beloved people belonging to the nation. He 
 went into the public square, and mounted on a bench; but 
 it was not sufficiently high to enable him to overlook the 
 assembl} 7 . And he therefore desired some more elevated 
 place on which he might stand. I sent my two friends, 
 Bloody Bear and Red Jacket, to bring an empty hogshead 
 from my house, which I conceived would answer the 
 purpose of the man dressed in black. 
 
 As soon as the CheroUees of Chota got a sight of the 
 hogshead they concluded that Blackcoat had brought 
 them some rum; and, consequently, they flocked in from 
 every direction. 
 
 Blackcoat having ascended the hogshead with his book 
 of talks in his hand, he told us many wonderful things 
 which, he informed us, might be found in his book. He 
 said the Great Spirit made the earth and the sun and the 
 moon and the stars; and all very good. He made a man 
 and woman out of clay: and he put them in a garden, and 
 gave them a talk; but the man and the woman forgot the 
 beloved talk, and gave ear to wicked spirits who led them 
 astray. The Great Spirit was very angry, and drove a- 
 way the man and the woman from the garden. After this 
 men became very numerous and covered the earth. They 
 became wicked, and learned the crooked ways of the 
 spirit that is cursed. The Great Spirit sent beloved men, 
 who gave them good talks; but they turned away their 
 faces and persisted in evil. The Good Spirit sent a great 
 and beloved chief, who did many wonderful things; who 
 died, and was buried, and rose from the dead. 
 
 Father, attend to my words! Blackcoat made a speech 
 very long and very curious; but we could not understand 
 it. He told us of a place he called hell, full of fire and 
 brimstone, which burns for ever and ever; and of a place 
 
THE SAVAGE. 247 
 
 he called heaven, a very fine place; — but his talk was 
 crooked: and we could not believe it. 
 
 When the young men discovered that the hogshead 
 was empty, they arose and went away; and when the 
 chiefs perceived that Blackcoat had brought them no 
 presents, they turned away their ears from his talk. — 
 However, we sat still and waited the conclusion of his 
 speech. Then the headman of Chota arose and said, 
 
 "Brother Blackcoat! we take you by the hand. You 
 have come a great distance to bring us good news. Your 
 talk is very good: and we thank you. We have pre- 
 pared you a lodging to which you may retire." 
 
 Father, farewell. May the Master of our life preserve 
 you from danger. May he keep you from learning the 
 crooked words of the smoothtongued people, among whom 
 you dwell. Chotahowee. 
 
 THE STATEHOTJSE YARD. 
 
 Do not expect, reader, that we are going to give an 
 account of the proceedings in the Statehouse yard. No: 
 we merely mean to inform you of some of those savage 
 meditations which were occasioned by this assemblage 
 of the people. 
 
 We sometimes walk in search of amusement, but, for 
 the most part, are so unfortunate as to return without 
 having found it. There is such a lamentable paucity of 
 unexpected incidents — such a universal sameness reigns 
 throughout the city — that the mind becomes torpid for 
 want of stimuli to keep it in motion: It is therefore our 
 practice, if, in our perambulations, our ears be saluted by 
 any species of uproar or noise, immediately to repair to 
 the spot, hoping that some novel appearances, odd asso- 
 ciations, or spirited oppositions, will be exhibited, which 
 may conttibute to our entertainment. 
 
 Well: we were moving up Chesnut street, apparently 
 buried in contemplation, but, in reality, not thinking at 
 all, when we were startled by the shouting of many 
 voices in the public square. 
 
 We found a crowd, noisy and restless as the waves of 
 
248 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the ocean, surrounding an elevated platform, on which 
 several men were stationed: one of whom appeared to be 
 reading certain resolutions, to which he seemed occasion- 
 ally to require the assent of the multitude. 
 
 The man on the platform appeared to address himself 
 to us as well as to the others: but as we could not hear 
 the purport of the resolutions, we neither expressed our 
 dissent nor approbation. We endeavored to approach the 
 scaffold, in order to understand the nature of the subject 
 which occupied the attention of the people. We unfor- 
 tunately succeeded too well in our undertaking: we ad- 
 vanced so far into the crowd that we found it almost 
 impossible to return; which we were much more anxious 
 to do than we had been, a few moments before, to pro- 
 ceed. The sovereign people paid no more respect to a 
 Muscogulgee chief than they did to each other. We were 
 jostled, without ceremony, first to one side and then to 
 the other; again we were wedged up immovably, and 
 found it impossible to advance or recede. "Gentlemen, 
 let me pass— Do be so obliging as to permit me to pass!" 
 But we might as well have spoken to the wind, and ad- 
 dressed our solicitations to the tempest. Yet these people 
 call themselves civilized! — "Yes, yes, you may talk of 
 your sovereignty and independence as much as you please: 
 I should feel myself much more independent if I were 
 .out of the crowd." We prayed to the gods; but, as pray- 
 ers alone are generally unavailing, we did not neglect to- 
 make use of our personal exertions; and after being 
 shoved pushed squeezed and bruised for the space of 
 fifty minutes, we found ourself breathing and exhausted 
 in the outer skirts of the assembly. We then very devout- 
 ly exclaimed, "Thank God" — but we were rather too 
 hasty in making our acknowledgments; for a brawny fel- 
 low, in the act of huzzaing, dashed his hat in our face. 
 
 We are remarkably mild and inoffensive; we have an 
 abundant portion of the "milk of human kindness" in our 
 composition; in our intercourse with the world, we "bear 
 our faculties as meekly" as though we were not a head- 
 man and warrior of a great and independent nation; we 
 
THE SAVAGE. 249 
 
 are harmless as a ''sucking dove;" it is almost impossible 
 to irritate or offend us: — but this insult was so sudden, 
 so unexpected, so violent, that it elicited a few scintil- 
 lations of anger. 
 
 We turned round in a rage upon the aggressor; but dis- 
 covering no marks of respectability about him, our indig- 
 nation was converted into pity and contempt. "Friend!" 
 said we, "why art thou so outrageously patriotic? What 
 hastily country done for thee? Does she give thee food 
 to keep thee from starving, or raiment to protect thee 
 from cold?" 
 
 The man muttered something which we did not per- 
 fectly understand; but as he did not mean to offend us r 
 as he appeared to be rather unworthy of our notice, as 
 he was a robust roughlooking dog, and, as we have heard, 
 that in civilized countries, "the better part of valor is 
 discretion," we, influenced by all these considerations, 
 determined to take no further notice of the patriot. 
 
 Having extricated ourself from this difficulty, we were 
 careful to keep at a cautious distance, lest we should be 
 carried once more into the dangerous vortex. During the 
 time that we buffeted the popular waves, our attention 
 was wholly employed in warding off danger and striving 
 to provide for our personal safety; and, now, when we 
 found leisure for reflection, we could not recollect any 
 thing we had heard, save the words, honor, independence, 
 dignity, sovereignty, war: these had indeed made an im- 
 pression on our brain that was not completely erased! 
 but these were fully sufficient to afford us a subject for 
 contemplation. 
 
 Well then, 
 
 Honor is the subject of our story. 
 
 What is honor * What is national honor? Why do these 
 people talk continually of their dignity honor and inde- 
 pendence? Does it arise from a secret consciousness that 
 they are destitute of dignity, that their honor is tarnished, 
 that their independence has vanished forever? 
 
 Captain Bluster boasts much of his honor, his courage, 
 and his power; his conversation is full of swords, pistols, 
 
250 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 blood, murder, havoc, and destruction; yet no one re- 
 gards the vaporing of Bluster: his threats pass by as the 
 "idle wind" which is not regarded. — Captain Bluster 
 will not fight. 
 
 Shall people who continually boast of their warlike 
 abilities, who continually threaten to overwhelm their 
 opponents with war and devastation, yet cautiously re- 
 frain from carrying their menaces into execution, be en- 
 titled to credit? 
 
 Miss Tabitha Testy has made so many false steps in 
 her journey through life — has stumbled so often —has 
 fallen so repeatedly — that her moral vesture is at last so 
 begrimed and soiled that it is impossible to tell what 
 may have been its original color; but Tabitha asserts 
 with the most unblushing confidence that it still is white 
 as the snow which is driven by the northwind along the 
 tops of the mountains. "What, do you presume to cast 
 any aspersions on the spotless purity and unsullied white- 
 ness of my character} Do you dare to insinuate any thing 
 contrary to the dignity of my character? I would have 
 you to know that my character is not to be impeached 
 with impunity! My character, founded on the rocks of 
 innocence and integrity, bids defiance to the puny assaults 
 of slander and the impotent attacks of envious malignity! 
 J\Iy character is clear as the sun, fair as the moon, and 
 terrible as an army with banners!" So saying, Tabitha 
 walks so erectly, moves with so much dignity, that one 
 would be diverted with her petulance, if the neverceasing 
 repetition of the word character did not fatigue and dis- 
 gust us. 
 
 Somebody. Why, savage, what do you mean? Would 
 you compare the people of the United States to Captain 
 Bluster, or Miss Tabitha Testy? 
 
 Savage. Why not? It has long been the practice to 
 compare great things with small, for the sake of illustra- 
 tion. 
 
 Somebody. Are we not a free sovereign and independent 
 nation? Is not that an established incontrovertible fact? 
 
 Savage. If it be so, why do you think it necessary to 
 make so many assertions on the subject? 
 
THE SAVAGE. 251 
 
 Somebody. Because we have been treated as though 
 we were slaves; we have been contemned insulted 
 abused, for a series of years; all which we have borne 
 with unexampled patience; shall we not complain of 
 these grievances? shall we not speak of our slighted ho- 
 nor, violated dignity, and outraged independence? 
 
 Savage Does a man really courageous boast of his 
 spirit? Will a man of honor talk forever of his refined 
 feelings, correct principles, and elevated sentiments? 
 Complain! shall a highminded nation complain? If this 
 be the way that you seek for redress, you deserve the 
 contempt you experience. Complain! no wonder you are 
 treated as slaves. You defend your sovereignty indepen- 
 dence aed honor by complaint*, do you? 
 
 A savage nation manages the business differently: Our 
 warriors in a hunting excursion were insulted and robbed 
 by a party of Chickasaws. We sent, and demanded im- 
 mediate restitution of the property, and punishment of 
 the malefactors. Our demand was disregarded. What did 
 we? complain? No! by the souls of our fathers, no! we 
 burnished our arms, and took vengeance on our enemies; 
 we taught the robbers, by our deeds, to respect the dig- 
 nity honor sovereignty and independence of our nation. 
 Complain! 
 
 The sons of Alknomak will never complain. 
 
 Somebody. The sons of Alknomak are savages; we 
 are a civilized nation. They are barbarous pagans; we 
 are polished christians. Therefore, their conduct can 
 never seriously be proposed as an example for us. Their 
 contests are on too small a scale to bear any resemblance 
 to ours. What comparison can be drawn between the 
 petty squabbles of naked hords, and the mighty battles 
 of conflicting empires? 
 
 Our love of peace, our love of justice, our humanity, 
 have been the causes of our forbearance. We are not cow- 
 ards, O thou ill natured savage! we are not cowards. 
 
 Savage. An avaricious luxurious money-worshipping 
 nation must necessarily be cowardly. — Permit a savage, 
 an American savage, to give it as his opinion that your 
 
252 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 courage is noise; your honor — air; your independence — 
 nominal; your virtue — extinct. Your fathers, indeed, pos- 
 sessed courage; but your fathers were not so highly ci- 
 vilized as their patriotic descendents. Yes, your fathers 
 were courageous: who has not heard of Bunkershill, Sa- 
 ratoga, Guilford, Eutaw, and Yorktown? — but your 
 fathers were virtuous, patriotic, just: when these heroes 
 pledged their fortunes, lives, and sacred honor, iti-ounded 
 as a voice from on high; but you! — far hence, ye profane! 
 Approach not the temple of honor? Wealth is the god of 
 your idolatry ! Ye have but one motive to action — money. 
 Speak rather of things ye are able to understand: of the 
 establishment of banks, of the price of stocks, of policies 
 of insurance, of ledgers, hales, hampers, counters, the 
 art of shaving notes, and the science of calculation. 
 
 Your fathers were independent: one of them proudly 
 declared, when tempted by a bribe, that the wealth of 
 Great Britain could not induce him to forfeit his honor; 
 but you! — your avaricious desires, your luxurious wants, 
 your commercial speculating degrading pursuits, have 
 reduced you to slavery, so low, so contemptible, that you 
 would sell your country and your posterity to George, 
 Napoleon, or the Devil, in order to gratify your sordid 
 propensities. 
 
 Has Britain insulted and maltreated you ever since 
 you were a nation? Did she hold your frontier posts many 
 years in open defiance to positive stipulations? — Has 
 she captured your vessels, impressed your seamen, mur- 
 dered your citizens, attacked your frigates, and insulted 
 your government? Well: what have you done in the mean 
 time? You have uttered piteousand whining complaints, 
 and sometimes indulged yourselves in idle threats, and 
 boasted of your sovereignty independence and valor! 
 Is this the way to be respected among the nations of the 
 earth? If a private man should act in this manner, would 
 he not be universally and justly despised? would not his 
 name be covered with obloquy, and his person insulted 
 wherever it should appear? would such a one talk of his 
 courage, his honor, his dignity? would he lay claim to 
 4he character of a gentleman? 
 
THE SAVAGE. 253 
 
 Somebody. We wish, if possible, to avoid the horrors 
 of war. We would rather submit to many indignities 
 than bring upon humanity the affliction** of war. 
 
 Savage. I am not ignorant of the calamities usually oc- 
 casioned by war. But when a nation becomes the slave of 
 avaricious desires, nothing but some mighty commotion 
 can save her. Any thing which could divert your atten- 
 tion from your present pursuits, — an earthquake, famine, 
 war, pestilence, would be a national blessing. Any thing 
 that would destroy the canker of avarice — any thing 
 that would mow down the rank weeds of luxury — any 
 thing that would give virtue an opportunity to flourish — 
 any thing that would present an object for honorable em- 
 ulation, would be a national blessing. When a patient 
 labors under a painful and dreadful disease, any change 
 is desirable — even death itself. 
 
 We tremble at the evils of war, because they are ra- 
 ther uncommon; but we pass over unnoticed the evils of 
 peace. War prevents the human race from sinking into 
 the lowest state of degeneracy and corruption. War, by 
 interrupting the progress of civilization, prevents the ex- 
 tinction of virtue, and keeps alive the holy fire of honor 
 friendship and patriotism. Has it. not been proved that 
 refinement and luxury increase, with unwearied assiduity, 
 (lie vices and miseries of man? and may it not be demon- 
 strated that they would eventually destroy the human fa- 
 mily from the face of the earth ? One thousand years of calm 
 uninterrupted peace would nearly depopulate the globe. 
 
 Somebody. You are fond of paradoxes: how can war, 
 which destroys men by thousands, operate as the means 
 of their preservation? 
 
 Savage. In the same manner that amputation of a limb 
 may pre vent the mortification of the whole body, and save 
 the life of a man who is wounded. The stroke of light- 
 ning that kills one may preserve the life of a million; 
 and the earthquake which destroys a city may save a 
 continent from desolation. War, by arresting the progress 
 of those arts which brutalize the human family, may 
 stretch out the period of its existence; but the time must 
 W 
 
254 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 come when men shall be no more: and their extinction 
 will be occasioned by the progress of civilization. 
 
 Somebody. Whatever you may say, I cannot conceive 
 that it is your serious opinion, that civilization is really 
 an evil. 
 
 Savage. What is civilization? It would be difficult to 
 give a satisfactory definition of the term: but what I mean 
 by the expression may be easily understood. I use it as 
 a general term to signify the progress of society from the 
 simplicity of nature to the corrupt and factitious refine- 
 ments of art. Were it possible for all mankind to partake 
 of its unnatural enjoyments, it would still be an evil; as it 
 multiplies the miseries even of the superior ranks of so- 
 ciety: but the fact is, its pleasures are confined to thefew^ 
 while it renders the many poor miserable and wicked. 
 
 It is true, that when humanity becomes extremely de- 
 generated, nature generally produces a fermentation 
 which purifies the mass of society, and throws off the 
 dregs of corruption. Men, in a luxurious age, are pre- 
 served from total annihilation by some barbarous convul- 
 sion, some savage agitation, some tremendous commotion, 
 which startles into life the palsied energies of nature. 
 But still something is lost: men never appear to legain 
 the elevation from which they have fallen. Where is the 
 northern hive which formerly emitted swarms of haugh- 
 ty and restless barbarians? Where are the empires of 
 Asia, the kingdoms of Africa, and the millions of Ameri- 
 ca? — They are no more! 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 #rem Chotahowee, a warrior of the Cherokee nation, to Piomingo, a headmaa 
 and warrior of the Muscogulgee confederacy. 
 
 Father! Many of our Cherokees are mad: Blackcoat 
 has taken away their ^enses. They neither plant corn in 
 the fields nor hunt for the deer in the mountains; but spend 
 their time in singing shouting and weeping. When they 
 pray, they fall down on their knees or lie prostrate in the 
 dust. They hold up their hands and turn up the whites of 
 their eyes, whining and begging for mercy. Will not the 
 
THE SAVAGE. 255 
 
 Great Spirit despise them for their meanness? Again they 
 leap on their feet and dance furiously, clapping their 
 hands and singing, "Glory, Jesus! glory! glory! glory!" 
 What are our powwows and war dances? Nothing: they 
 are calm and tranquil when compared with these christian 
 amusements. They say all this uproar is occasioned by 
 the presence of a good spirit in their assemblies. Would 
 a good spirit make people mad? would he take away the 
 senses of men? 
 
 They sing songs of praise, and call the Master of our 
 breath great, good, holy, wise, just, merciful: will not the 
 Great Spirit he displeased with their flattery? The great 
 OEWA can hear the thoughts of their hearts as well as 
 the words of their mouths: will he not be angry at their 
 deceit, fatigued with their noise, and turn away his face 
 from their folly? 
 
 Father! We have had no rain for two moons: no black 
 clouds rise up in the west; nor cool breeze passes over 
 our land. The springs are become dry in the heads of the 
 valleys; the earth is laid open with drought; and the corn 
 that was green droops down and is withered. Our pro- 
 phets, our priests, and holy men, wander over the hills mut- 
 tering prayers to the spirits of the air: they repeat their 
 sacred charms in the morning, and powwow at the close 
 of the day. But all in vain: they cannot awaken a breeze 
 on the river, or call up a cloud in the sky. 
 
 We are no longer the beloved people that we were. 
 Owea has forsaken us; and we are no longer the objeets 
 of his fatherly care: when he returns again to look for the 
 Cherokees, they will not be found. Once we were a pow- 
 erful nation: our warriors were terrible; out hunters re- 
 turned loaded with game; and our prophets brought us 
 rain at the proper season. But now a strange people have 
 crossed the great water, and spread over our country. 
 — They have seized upon our land; they have cut down 
 our woods; they have driven away our buffaloes and deer. 
 They have chased us from mountain to mountain, and 
 from river to river. They have surrounded us with their 
 cities and fields, until they have left us no place to which 
 
256 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 we can fly. They have made us as wicked and as base 
 as themselves: our old men are fools; our warriors are 
 cowards; and our young men are drunkards. Our war 
 dances^e neglected; our sacred songs are despised; and 
 our holy feasts are forgotten. 
 
 Father! Have you read the holy book of which the 
 christians are so proud? Do, I beseech you, take out 
 some of the talks and send them to me. Does it not give 
 directions how to make gunpowder, iron and rum? Does 
 it not teach how to lie, and to steal, and to swear, and to 
 cheat the poor Indians out of their land ? 
 
 Blackcoat affirms that the book leaches truth peace 
 honesty kindness; but this cannot be the case, or we 
 should not find white men to be such liars and villains 
 as they are. 
 
 Father! How do you live amid the smoke and noise 
 and stink of a crowded city? Come to us, and taste the 
 sweet breeze of the forest: we will range together over 
 hills, and lie down to sleep by the fountains. Is not 
 the buffalo superior to the ox? is not the fleet buck more 
 lovely than the goat? and is not the wild Indian of the 
 mountain ten thousand times more noble than the tame 
 man of the town? Piomingo! come away. How can you 
 be contented among the little creamcolored raccoonfoot- 
 ed maulfisted bandylegged bigbellied stoopshouldered 
 hunchbacked wry necked thick lipped woolly haired 
 bleareyed doubletongued people of the town? May my 
 knife become rusty if I do not pay back your white 
 friends a few compliments in return for those they be- 
 stow upon us! Shall they call us savages, heathens, bar- 
 barians, coppercolored brutes, without receiving a few 
 appropriate appellations in return? They call themselves 
 civilized! Why? because they are crammed together in 
 cities, labor like brutes, and burthen their bodies with 
 unnecessary clothes? If we dwell in smoky huts, we do 
 not, like them, live surrounded by filth and inhale the 
 thick odor of corruption. We do not eat poisonous food 
 to make ourselves sick, and then eat poisonous physic 
 to make ourselves well. We do not wear the yoke of sla- 
 
THE SAVAGE. £57 
 
 very nor groan beneath the lash of oppression. We do 
 not live, like white men and fishes, by devouring each 
 other. 
 
 Father, attend! I made a journey last year to the city 
 of Washington in company with several headmen and 
 warriors of the Cherokee nation; and 1 made it my bu- 
 siness to pay particular attention to the appearances and 
 pursuits of the creamcolored people. 1 was, at first, 
 much amazed at the deformity of their shapes and the 
 hideous cast of their countenances; but I, at last, came 
 to this conclusion: that incessant labor and the continual 
 practice of deceit had deformed their persons and im- 
 pressed on their faces that mixture of stupidity and ma- 
 lignity which may be discovered by any attentive ob- 
 server Their unceasing efforts to impose on each other 
 has totally destroyed all the original dignity, candor and 
 simplicity of their nature, and produced a strange com- 
 position of folly, imbecility and cunning. They hate each 
 other, with the most virulent hatred, yet they are mu- 
 tually dependent: no man can live a day, scarcely aR 
 hour, without receiving assistance from his fellows. — 
 Place one of these civilized men in the desert, and he 
 would be as helpless as a child. Indeed they exhibit in 
 their conduct all the properties of childhood but inno- 
 cence: they are made miserable by the most trifling oc- 
 currences; and they are diverted by the most insignifi- 
 cant toys. The least pain imaginable occasions them to 
 utter the most piteous lamentations; and they are con- 
 vulsed with idiot laughter when there is nothing to ex- 
 cite the merriment of a man. Wherever we came the 
 inhabitants discovered symptoms of childish curiosity; 
 our persons excited their awkward astonishment; and 
 our dress was the object of surprise and admiration. 
 Their ignorance is amazing: they appear to have no 
 knowledge of any thing without the bounds of the vil- 
 lage they inhabit. Upon our arrival at a tavern, some 
 rustic booby would be sure to proclaim the wonderful 
 intelligence; and in less than five minutes we would be 
 surrounded by thirty or forty natives who would regard 
 W2 
 
258 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 us with open eyes, gaping mouths, and the idiot stare of 
 mental imbecility. They appear to have no idea of po- 
 liteness: for if they had, they certainly would not treat 
 strangers with such glaring indecorum. But they are 
 not satisfied with gazing: if they meet with the small- 
 est encouragement, they will proceed to handle our 
 arms, ornaments and the different parts of our dress. — 
 Luckily, they are as cowardly as they are insolent: for 
 if one of us chanced to. put his hand to his belt or to 
 take hold of his rifle, the whole troop would start hack 
 with as much precipitation as a man would do at the hiss 
 of a viper or the generous defiance of the rattlesnake. 
 
 When a white man arrives at one of our villages, he 
 is received with attention and respect. He is invited into 
 the nearest hut, and receives the food of friendship and 
 the calumut of peace. We supply his wants, anticipate 
 his desires, and vie with each other in extending to the 
 stranger the duties of hospitality. When w e have offer- 
 ed all those refreshments which his situation requires, 
 we make no inquiries relative to his business, but spread 
 a couch for the weary traveller and invite him to repose. 
 Heis not distressed by a muiiitudeof impertinent ques- 
 tions, "who are you? whence do you come? whither 
 are you going? to wha' nation do you belong? what is 
 your business? and where did you lodge last night?" 
 He is not incommoded by a crowd of insolent loungers 
 pressing around him to examine his person, his dress, 
 his arms, and accoutrements. When he has slept oft 
 his fatigue, he may walk out and examine the village: 
 wherever he goes he will receive the salutation of love 
 and the offerings of friendship: every house is open, and 
 every hand is stretched out to receive him. He sees no 
 fences or walls as impediments to his progress, or bolts 
 or locks which refuse him admittance. 
 
 Piomingo! Mark the contrast! 
 
 When a Cherokee enters any town or village in the 
 United States, he is instantly surrounded by a troop of 
 ignorant, insolent and malignant boys exclaiming, "An 
 Indian! an Indian! there goes an Indian! Indian, what's 
 
THE SAVAGE. 259 
 
 your name? Will you shoot us, Indian ?" The poor In- 
 dian distressed will) this brutal uproar and savage perse- 
 cution, endeavors to take refuge in the first house he can 
 find; hut admittance is sternly refused, and he is rudely 
 thrust away from the threshold. He goes from door to 
 door, but no one is found disposed to show kindness to 
 the stranger, to present the cup of refreshment to his 
 lips, or spread t be couch of repose. The Indian sits down 
 to rest on a stone in the street; and he takes out his knife 
 to terrify the ignorant and cowardly rabble who torment 
 him. At last some one, in whom civilization has not to- 
 tally extinguished humanity, approaches, and points out 
 a tavern to which the Indian may repair. Here he gains 
 admittance; for the devH (Blackcoat has given us a de- 
 scription of the devil) would gain admittance if became 
 properly recommended; but if it be ascertained that the 
 Indian wants the proper recommendation — money — he 
 is hurried with precipitation from the only place that 
 offers entertainment. But even the tavern affords no re- 
 fuge from his persecutors: he is still insulted by stupid 
 gazers, who distress him with their questions and de- 
 vour him with their eyes as though he had fallen from 
 the moon. If he walk out for recreation, he is not al- 
 lowed to enter this man's garden or that man's orchard. 
 He is continually in danger of trespassing on one fel- 
 low's cornfield or the orchard of another. He must not 
 pluck a flower that courts acquaintance with his nose, or 
 stretch out his hand for an apple that hangs over the wall. 
 He may not make free with a turnip or a melon in the 
 field: and is hardly permitted to cut a stick from a hedge. 
 
 Father! You are wise. Tell me, I pray, which people 
 are civilized, — the red or the white? 
 
 Father! I send you a very long talk, and I could make 
 it much longer; but I begin to be afraid that your pa- 
 tience will be exhausted. 
 
 Piomingo! May some kind spirit be your patron and 
 your guide, and preserve you from the clutches of that 
 horrible devil, of which Blackcoat has given us, as he 
 says, a faithful description! 
 
 Farewell. Chotahowee. 
 
260 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 From this letter it appears that savages when passing 
 through civilized countries are not so unobservant as is 
 generally supposed. It would be strange if they should. 
 Shall they whose senses are kept in a state of vigilant 
 activity; whose welfare and life depend on their personal 
 exertions; and who must, inconsequence become remar- 
 kably attentive to passing occurrences — shall they imme- 
 diately lose their habits of observation as soon as they 
 enter the territories of a polished nation? 
 
 The natural and unavoidable effects of civilization are 
 to deprive men of personal importance, and to make 
 them mutually dependent on each other. The whole so- 
 ciety is possessed of strength if it can be brought to act 
 consentaneously; but the parts taken separately are con- 
 temptibly weak and inefficient. Men, in a civilized state, 
 are not allowed to exhibit any characteristic^] appear- 
 ances of individuality: all distinguishing prominencies 
 disappear in consequence of the continual attrition of one 
 man against another. In such a state we can do nothing 
 but what will interfere with the actions and concerns of 
 others: in fact, we Have no longer the liberty to act as 
 individuals, but as members of the community. 
 
 Whatever inclination a man may retain to promote his 
 own particular interest, he finds himself utterly incapa- 
 ble of effecting his purposes without the assistance of 
 others: consequently he must resign all hopes of indepen- 
 dence, and consent to become a member of the great body 
 politic. 
 
 Now we are informed, by poets, philosophers, histo- 
 rians and various other descriptions of persons, that every 
 body must be possessed of several members: there are 
 head feet arms thighs legs and various other organs, all 
 forming component parts of the same individual body. 
 Some fill honorable, and others dishonorable situations. 
 Some aspire upward to the heavens; while others are 
 pressed downward upon the earth. There may some- 
 times, at first, be a struggle whether an incipient part 
 shall be a hand or a foot, an arm or a leg, a nose or a tail, 
 enter into the composition of the brain or form a portion 
 
THE SAVAGE. 261 
 
 of the buttock; but when a member has performed, for 
 any length offline, the duties of one situation, it becomes 
 altogether unlit to undertake those of another. If we 
 assign to the toes the function of fingers, something may 
 possibly be done; but it will certainly be very awkwardly 
 performed. Should we attempt to walk on our hands, 
 some small progress may be made; but what will be the 
 consequence? The afflictions of the degraded members 
 will be too dreadful to be borne; and, the whole body- 
 will suffer inconceivable hardship in consequence of the 
 unnatural and inverted situation of the parts. High things 
 are, not unfrequenily, made low, and low things exalted', 
 the first may sometimes become last, and the last be made 
 first', but whenever this happens in civilized society, the 
 convulsion is tremendous, and the strength of the body 
 politic is destroyed. 
 
 This story is trite, Piomingo: who has not heard of 
 the rebellion of the members against the sovereignty of 
 the belly? 
 
 It is old, we readily acknowledge: but our readers 
 will be so good as to excuse us, when they consider the 
 difficulty oi producing any thing new: and indeed we 
 have heard it reported that "there is nothing new un- 
 der the sun;" all, thercfoje, that can be expected of us 
 is, that we should arrange old things in such a manner 
 as to give the appearance of novelty to our production. 
 We do not pretend to create: all our merit consists in 
 new associations. We do not, however, at present, mean 
 to make the same use of this apologue, that was made 
 of it formerly. 
 
 What then? 
 
 Give us your attention, and you will probably discover 
 the scope we have in view. 
 
 In the tirst place, we would have you observe that 
 every member acquires a habitual aptitude to perform 
 those offices in which it has been long and constantly 
 employed, and becomes totally unqualified for engaging 
 in those which have been assigned toother parts of thQ 
 body, The foot becomes suited 
 
262 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tlic dust to tread; 
 
 the tongue to speak; the eye to watch; and the hand to 
 grasp. So it is in civilized society: the lower ranks be- 
 come excellent drudges; and the higher become quali- 
 fied to direct the operations of their slaves. The man 
 long employed in public speaking delivers his senti- 
 ments with fluency; and he who finds leisure and incli- 
 nation to improve the faculties of his mind is enabled to 
 make many and important discoveries. The sailor can 
 manage a ship; and the soldier can handle his arms with 
 dexterity. One man can furnish the foot with a shoe; 
 another can accommodate the body with a coat. One man 
 can fashion the iron on an anvil; another can form clay 
 into bricks; and another can budd stones into a wall. 
 Some handle the plane and the saw; others turn up the 
 earth with the plough; and others fell the trees of the fo- 
 rest. All these become properly qualified to fill the place 
 they happen to occupy in society; but become, at the 
 same time, altogether incapable of performing the du- 
 ties of any other situation. Were they satisfied with their 
 station, and were the order of society never disturbed, 
 all might be well; but that is not the case: 
 
 Optat cphippia bis piger, optat ararc cahallns: 
 
 But the plough is too heavy for the Arabian courser; 
 and the ox is too sluggish to go under the saddle, to fol- 
 low the hounds and second the ardor of the huntsman. 
 
 U is unnecessary to proceed with thisenumeration: As 
 civilization progresses employments are more and more 
 divided; and the operations of an individual are circum- 
 scribed and contracted. Personal importance is continu- 
 ally diminished; and men become more and more dis- 
 qualified for every/situation but that which they fill in 
 society. Mind becomes less and less necessary to direct 
 them in their pursuits; and they approach nearer and 
 nearer to the nature of machines. 
 
 It has been a standing complaint against comparisons 
 that they will not. go o?i all jours: though we see, at one 
 glance, many points of resemblance, we afterwards find 
 others that are by no means sufficiently similar to an- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 263 
 
 swer the purpose of illustration. We have run a paral- 
 lel between the body of an animal and civilized society: 
 and, although we have found a striking likeness in many 
 particulars, there are others that do not exhibit simili- 
 tude. The hand, the eye, the Coot, appear to be de- 
 signed by nature for the place they occupy in the ani- 
 mal machine; but in a polished community, thousands 
 and tens of thousands are degraded by the progress of 
 refinement to a state of brutality, whom nature designed 
 to he men. 
 
 Dr. Franklin, or somebody else, has given us the com- 
 plaint of the Left Hand. The Left Hand gives an ac- 
 count of the neglect she had experienced from those who 
 had the charge of her education, and of the unjust par- 
 tiality which had been shown to her sister. Just, but 
 unavailing, was her remonstrance: the Left Hand is still 
 suffered to grow up in ignorance; while the Right (to 
 whom nature has not been more bountiful than to her- 
 self) boasts proudly of her cunning and address. Such is 
 the fate of men: probably one in a thousand has the op- 
 portunity of cultivating his faculties and exercising, in 
 their due proportions, the powers of his body and his 
 mind, while the nine hundred ninety and nine are com- 
 pelled, by the absurd and unjust institutions of society, 
 to confine all their exertions to a point, and suffer the 
 other capabilities of their nature to lie dormant or be- 
 come totally extinct. 
 
 Well, Piomingo, so it ought to be: there must be men 
 of different kinds, suited to the various grades of society; 
 and their education should be such as best qualifies them 
 for the station they are destined to occupy in the com- 
 munity. 
 
 My friend, such is not our opinion: we believe that 
 those regulations are cruel and unjust which debilitate 
 the body and cramp the exertions of the mind. Can that 
 system of society be proper for man, which prevents the 
 development of his powers! Are those regulations well 
 suited to direct the conduct of a rational being which 
 confine the energies of his mind to the making of a hob- 
 
264 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 nail or manufacturing the head of a pin? Can a being pos- 
 sessed of reasoning powers, and who seems to have heen 
 designed by nature to vary his conduct aecoiding to cir- 
 cumstances, be properly employed in performing a few 
 mechanical motions, which, becoming habitual, are con- 
 tinued without the trouble of thought or the necessity of 
 reflection? Can a being endowed \\\\\imhul he designed 
 to stand as a statue in a niche of the great budding of so- 
 ciety, without the power of altering its sit nation or chang- 
 ing its position? Would not the constitution of society 
 be infinitely preferable, if it exerted the powers, called 
 forth the latent endowments, and added importance to 
 the individual? Is it enough that a person should become 
 a necessary member of that greatest of monsters, a civil- 
 ized community, without any regard being paid to his 
 dignity as a man — to his perfection as a rational being* 
 
 May not the great body politic sutler a dislocation of 
 its parts? May not a thousand accidents occasion a dis- 
 solution of this unnaturally constructed machine? And if 
 this should happen, the disjointed parts are mere inutile 
 lignum, totally unfit for any valuable purpose, but exact- 
 ly calculated to produce anarchy, horror, destruction. 
 
 From the foregoing observations we infer that those 
 who till the lower ranks of civilized society, however 
 necessary in their places, are less important, as indi- 
 viduals, than savages; and we also infer that savages are 
 better qualified to make judicious observations on pass- 
 ing occurences than are those who compose the mass of 
 the enlightened population of the United States. 
 
 In a savage slate every man depends upon himself: 
 he erects his own hut, manufactures his own dress, and 
 provides for his household the necessary subsistence. 
 His pursuits are various, and well calculated to give 
 strength and pliancy to his limbs, and acuteness of ob- 
 servation to his mind. 
 
 In such a state, no man is compelled by circumstances 
 to become the fool or tail, the drudge or slave, of the 
 community. He becomes important and valuable as an 
 individual; and is qualified to give himself protection 
 
THE SAVAGE. 265 
 
 and support, though every other man in the universe 
 were annihilated. 
 
 We sometimes hear savages described as timid and 
 miserable beings, trembling on account of the roaring 
 of the waters, shuddering at the violence of the storm, 
 and struck wilh horror at the voice of the thunder. They 
 are represented as the slaves of imaginary gods, and the 
 victims of visionary dangers. They are said to fly before 
 the beasts of the desert, and to quake at a rustling among 
 the leaves! Such are the opinions of philosophers; who 
 reside in cities, who write concerning savages they ne- 
 ver have seen, and who stigmatize every nation, whose 
 manners they do not understand, with the name of bar- 
 barians. But where are the reasons on which they are 
 founded? Is the man, who has been long accustomed to 
 contemplate the raging of the waters, easily terrified by 
 the dashing of the waves? Shall he, who has often expe- 
 rienced the utmost fury of the storm, be frightened at 
 the approach of a cloud, shudder at the flashes of light- 
 ning, or tremble at the rolling of the thunder? Shall he 
 who has become acquainted with his own powers, and 
 has been taught to depend on his personal exertions, 
 shrink at the approach of the panther or dread the howl- 
 ing of wolves in the wilderness? Shall he who has 
 been taught to meet every danger with courage, and to 
 suffer every evil with fortitude — shall he shrink from 
 the conflict of war? No: it is civilization makes cowards. 
 Men long accustomed to lean on each other are terrified 
 the moment they lose this support. The least derange- 
 ment in the political machine drives them out of their 
 places, and discovers their weakness and personal insig- 
 nificancy. Shall they who have never learned to depend 
 on themselves face danger with courage, or discover re- 
 solution when surrounded with unusual occurrences? 
 
 Our friend Chotahowee observes in one of his letters 
 
 (which we have thought proper to suppress) that, in 
 
 his travels through the United States, wherever he 
 
 found a man alone, that man was civil, quiet and timid; 
 
 X 
 
266 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 but where he fouud an assemblage of men, they never 
 failed to be noisy, tumultuous and insolent. 
 
 We, savages, delight in society: but we associate as 
 men, free sovereign and independent. We are not bound 
 together by the iron bands of necessity, and deprived of 
 the dignity of our nature. Our friendships are the result 
 of inclination, and not combinations for the propagation 
 of vice. As every one depends on himself, we have no 
 motive to impose on each other. 
 
 Savage society, if considered as a body, has no mem- 
 bers condemned to drudgery and disgrace, no "vessels 
 created for dishonor," no left hand uneducated and ne- 
 glected, no broad flat foot condemned to trudge under 
 the weight of an overgrown, corrupt and luxurious belly. 
 No: l.ke Milton's spirits, 
 
 All heart they live, all Lead, all eye, all ear, 
 All intellect, all sense. — 
 
 Any man, who will travel over this continent and at- 
 tentively observe the inhabitants, will see enough to cor- 
 roborate our remarks: he will find that the laborious in- 
 habitants of populous cities, though expert in their seve- 
 ral professions, are unfit for any other employment but 
 that which they pursue. He will perceive that those who 
 labor in the country in the vicinity of cities are rather 
 more intelligent than the drudges of the city: the sphere 
 of their operations is considerably enlarged, and, con- 
 sequently, their individual importance is increased. 
 When the observer removes to the frontier settlements, 
 he will find man still higher advanced in the scale of in- 
 tellectual importance. He not only attends to the com- 
 mon business of his farm, and prepares subsistence for 
 his family, but he transacts an infinite variety of busi- 
 ness: he makes his instruments of husbandry; he is fre- 
 quently his own tailor, shoemaker, blacksmith and car- 
 penter: his employments are ever varied; and the pow- 
 ers of his mind are exerted in proportion to the multi- 
 tiplicity of his operations. Must not such a man be infi- 
 nitely superior to one who is continually employed in 
 
THE SAVAGE. 267 
 
 throwing a shuttle, threading a needle, beating an anvil, 
 or even driving a quill over parchment? 
 
 Uui if you wish to have a still more favorable speci- 
 men of human nature, you must, take a jaunt to the wil- 
 derness: you must study the languages and customs of 
 savages -but do not eondemn before you understand. 
 
 STORY TELUNC-. 
 
 It requires a considerable portion of ingenuity to tell 
 a story in such a manner as to produce the desired ef- 
 fect on the auditors. Many excellent stories have been 
 murdered by unskilful narrators, who bring forward the 
 different parts at improper times, introduce extraneous 
 matter, dwell on trivial incidents, and sometimes omit 
 the most important circumstances. 
 
 A man, by long practice, may no doubt improve his 
 talent for this species of narration; but we are inclined 
 to believe that, unless nature have given him a genius 
 for the employment, he will never excel as a teller of 
 stories. 
 
 In all tales of a comic description, the narrator should 
 be careful to place the ludicrous incidents in a conspi- 
 cuous situation, and to exhibit advantageously the point 
 on which the humor of the story may depend. For want 
 of attention to these circumstances, a jest intrinsically 
 good, instead of receiving the plaudits and exciting the 
 laughter of the hearers, has frequently been answered 
 by yawning and derision. 
 
 But it may also be observed that much depends on the 
 countenance and gestures, as well as on the words, of the 
 speaker: We heard A. give an account of a laughable 
 occurrence, which had lately taken place. A. was re- 
 warded by reiterated peals of laughter: every one pro- 
 nounced it an excellent thing. Shortly after, we heard 
 the same story told by B. in nearly the same words; but 
 no mirth was occasioned by a detail of circumstances, 
 Which had lately excited such high merriment and com- 
 manded such unbounded applause. We were at first dis- 
 
268 . THE SAVAGE. 
 
 posed to account for these dissimilar effects, by reflect- 
 ing that the tale, at the time it was told by B., did not 
 possess the same novelty that it did when first delivered 
 by A. But having an opportunity, in the course of a 
 lew weeks, to hear A. teli the same story another time, 
 we were as highly delighted as at first: nay, we thought 
 the detail more amusing than ever. 
 
 What were the qualificationsof A. which enabled him 
 so far to exceed B. in telling a ludicrous story? — A hook- 
 ed nose, a peaked chin, and a bushy pair of eyebrows! 
 Let no one, whose countenance is pleasing and whose 
 face is symmetrically formed, aspire to excellence as a 
 retailer of jests. 
 
 But all stories are not of a diverting nature. To many 
 we listen out of mere complaisance to the speaker; and 
 to many we attend for the sake of a little sober informa- 
 tion we are desirous to obtain. In the delivery of these, 
 any one may succeed who is capable of giving a dear 
 and succinct narrative of the principal occurrences, 
 omitting all superfluous explanations, and the tedious de- 
 tail of impertinent circumstances. Few, however, are 
 the number who are posessed of the qualifications we 
 have mentioned. It is as easy to find an epic poet capa- 
 ble of producing a poem that will fix the attention and 
 awaken the passions, as to find a man who can tell a sim- 
 ple story, without introducing unnatural episodes and in- 
 terlarding it with absurd and unnecessary explanations. 
 
 Dick Gabble, when about to ride into the country, de- 
 clared his intention of being in town again on the even- 
 ing of the same day. He did not, however, return till a 
 late hour on the day following. As there had been a 
 considerable fall of rain, we unfortunately happened to 
 enquire if that had been the cause of his detention; and, 
 in consequence, were obliged to listen to the following 
 elegant but tedious reply. 
 
 Detained by the rain! no: I believe not, my boy. I'm 
 neither sugar nor salt: the rain can't melt me. When I 
 set out with a determined resolution, d'ye see! I'm 
 not to be stopped, by wind or tide, d'ye see? I'm the 
 fellow to dash through thick and thin — rain, hail, snow, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 569 
 
 or (Vatjer: ail alike to me, sir. Damnation! d'ye 
 suppose I care for the rain! If it was 10 rain brickbats, 
 pitchfork*, hell tire, and milstones, it would'nt stop me. 
 I rode sixty-eight miles the coldest day we bad last win- 
 ter: a hell of a cold day! Don't you remember it? It was 
 on Monday, I think — no, Tuesday — let me see: On 
 Sunday the snow fell: that great snow, you remember; 
 On Monday I rode to Downingslown; on Tuesday to 
 
 Lancaster; and on Wednesday yes, yes, it was on 
 
 Wednesday, I am certain of the fact now: it was on 
 Wednesday. 
 
 Well, sir, on Wednesday morning, it blew and snowed 
 and hailed and froze like the devil. I opened the door 
 and looked out — by G — I was frightened. ^Damnation," 
 says I lo the landlord, "Mr, Touchpenny! look here, 
 Mr. Touchpenny! What sort of weather's this we have 
 got? Hell's broke loose, Mr. Touchpenny !" 
 
 However, sir, I ordered out my horse, d'ye see? 
 "What! 1 ' said Mr. Touchpenny, u are you mad, Mr. 
 Gabble? you would'nt think of riding such a day as this, 
 Mr. Gabble?" "Yes," says I, "I'll go," says I, "by 
 G — ,*' says I, "damn me if I don't," says I. "Lord bless 
 my soul, Mr Gabble!" says old mother Touchpenny, 
 "would you leave a good convenient house, Mr. Gab- 
 ble? and a warm tiresidc, Mr. Gabble? and every thing 
 comfortable, Mr. Gabble? and go for to think for to go 
 out such a day as this, Mr. Gabble? such a dreadful day 
 Mr. Gabble! My dear child, you can't think of such a 
 thing! You'll be froze up alive. I should not be able to 
 sleep for a week, if you were to leave my house such a 
 day as this, Mr. Gabble. You can't be in earnest, Mr. 
 Gabble?" "I have said the word," says I, "madam," 
 says I; "and my word's as good as my bond," says F. 
 "I'll go," says I, "if ten thousand devils were to rise," 
 says I, '-and spurt the blue blazes of hell in my face," 
 says I, "Tom! fetch out my horse." "Bless my stars, 
 Mr. Gabble!" says Mrs. Touchpenny, "you are the 
 strangest man, Mr. Gabble, that ever I saw in my born 
 days, Mr. Gabble. — But, my dear child, you shall not 
 X2 
 
270 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 stir — I insist upon it — till you have taken a mouthful 
 of something to keep the cold from your stomach. You 
 shall have a cup of warm coffee in a moment, Mr. Gab- 
 ble. Molly, fetch in breakfast." 
 
 I took the old lady's advice. I guzzled a few dishes of 
 coffee, devoured a few pounds of beefsteaks, punished 
 half a dozen of eggs, and was off like a thunder gust. 
 
 Well, sir, d'ye see sir? before sundown sir, and that 
 very same day sir, I was at home in Philadelphia sir — 
 mark that sir! 
 
 "At home!" 
 
 At home, by G — ! 
 
 By this time, as our readers will readily believe, we 
 repented of having asked the imprudent question, above 
 mentioned. We, therefore, endeavored to move off, 
 merely saying, as we started, "Dick, you are a man of 
 resolution. Good bye." But our manoeuvre was unsuc- 
 cessful: as soon as he perceived our intention of decamp- 
 ing, he seized us by the arm, saying, u Stop, sir, I have 
 not yet told you how I was detained yesterday — a 
 damned good thing — make you laugh like the devil." 
 
 "True sir, I had forgotten: please to proceed." 
 
 Well sir, so it was sir, yesterday morning. I set off: 
 you saw me set off. A very pleasant morning — high spi- 
 rits. Always am— always am in high spirits — take the 
 world easy — laugh and grow fat. It's the best way — a'nt 
 it Piomingo? Damn me if I don't think it is. Nothing 
 troubles me, hardly: I was a little fretted, to be sure, 
 when I lost that race on the Hummingbird — five hundred 
 dollars at one slap — a damned hard stroke that, Piomin- 
 go. A few such swings as that would fetch Jack— dam- 
 me if 'twouldn't d'ye see? Well, upon my soul, I never 
 could understand that business perfectly. I still think 
 that the Hummingbird can beat old Turf's mare — by the 
 Lord I do. I'll bet the same money over again — have 
 every thing fair — have "good judges, you .see, and every 
 thing fair and above board, you see: I'll bet the same 
 sum over again — the very same race — by G — I will. 
 
 "But all this is nothing to the purpose, Mr. Gabble; 
 you have not answered my question." 
 
: 
 
 3 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 271 
 
 s, yes, I'll tell you how it was: It's a good thing, a 
 very good thing, Piomingo. I started off in the morning, 
 you know I did, quite briskly — went over the hills in a 
 j>j[y--no accasion for whip or spur to my black filly. 
 She's as good a piece of horse flesh as ever wa&foalded 
 — I'll be teetotally damned if she an't. She's a blooded 
 thing too — one of Bonaparte's best foals — out of colonel 
 Sport's Flycatcher — descended in a right line from the 
 prince of Wale's Arabian mare, Camilla, and the cele- 
 brated Childers. 
 
 "Doubtless, the line of her ancestry may be traced 
 back to one of the prophet Mahommed's best breeders, 
 ut come to the point Dicky: do come to the point." 
 
 Yes sir, I rode like a whirlwind — was up at the Buck 
 
 less than no time — had my my mare put up and fed — 
 always see to my horse. A man that don't take care of 
 his horse should be damned. That's my motion; what do 
 ou say, Piomingo? 
 
 "What, damned?" 
 
 Yes, damned. Pd build a hell myself to damn him in. 
 What! not take care of his horse! a savage! a Turk! an 
 infidel! — I'd send him howling to the north corner 
 of hell; by the god of war I would. I, for my part sir, 
 upon my honor sir, would rather suffer myself than al- 
 low my horse to want that that's good and comfortable. 
 It's my nature sir, my compassionate disposition. If it's 
 a weakness, I can't help it: It's natural to me. 
 
 "I have no doubt of your humanity; but I beseech thee 
 Dick, dispense with these collateral circumstances, and 
 proceed with your story." 
 
 Yes sir, O yes: certainly I shall proceed rapidly. I 
 shall be done in a few minutes. Having disposed of my 
 horse sir, 1 proceeded immediately to business, and a 
 anda and had every thing concluded in a very little time. 
 Well sir, just as 1 was preparing to return home, who 
 should come in but Bob Jockey. You know Bob? 
 
 "No." 
 
 Damn it, you must know him, if you were ever in 
 that neighborhood: he's a stoopshouldered, thickset, 
 
272" THE SAVAGE. 
 
 crosslooking little devil — has little gray eyes, Roman 
 nose, and a hell of a big mouth. He married old Slump's 
 daughter — a cursed old miser, that Stump. If you were 
 to see him, you would think he wasn't worth a cent — 
 looks like a beggar — lives like a hog — damned old brute 
 — rich though — rich as a Jew — wish he was in Abra- 
 ham's bosom, and I had the cash. When Bob Jockey 
 nabbed Peggy Stump, he thought he had made a speck, 
 d'ye see,? — thought to finger some of the old man's ready. 
 But let old Stump alone tor that: hell take care of num- 
 ber one, d'ye see ? Bob got a wife: and that's all. She's a 
 sweet girl though — loves to be squeezed damnably — 
 used to squeeze her myself — kissed her before ever Bob 
 did — shouldn't mind it now if 1 had an opportunity. Old 
 Stump had seven daughters — fine girls — slippery jades 
 some of them — all married but one — she's the oldest — 
 wrinkled as a witch — cross as damnation — knows she 
 must lead apes in hell— fond of cats now — cats fond of 
 her too — birds of a feather — Zounds! how I used to 
 romp with these girls — can tell you a damned good story 
 about one of them: One day 
 
 "O curse the story," cried we, quite exhausted, "Will 
 you never have done with old Stump and his daughters? 
 But Dick, my dear fellow, you must excuse me at pre- 
 sent. Some other time I will hear ihe rest of your ad- 
 ventures: this evening I am particularly engaged." But 
 Gabble seized us by the breast of our coat and swore 
 bitterly we should not move till he had finished his 
 story. 
 
 The gods themselves, some ancient writer observes, 
 are subject to necessity: and a savage, 
 
 — magna si licet coniponere parvis — 
 
 who resides in a civilized country, must learn to dissem- 
 ble his feelings, and wear a smile on his countenance 
 while anguish preys on his heart. We saw the necessity 
 of yielding to circumstances, but could not forbear ex- 
 claiming in the words of Horace when persecuted by an 
 impudent babbler in the streets of Rome: 
 
 Huccine solem 
 Tarn nigrum surrcxe tniuil 
 
THE SAVAGE. 273 
 
 But we reflected on a saying of Socrates, when torment- 
 ed by the humors of his termagant wife: "We all have 
 our respective misfortunes; and he is a happy man who 
 can complain of none greater than this." Having thus 
 sagaciously subdued our rising emotions, we requested 
 little Gable to finish the recitfl of his adventures. 
 
 So sir, as I was preparing to come away, Bob Jockey 
 made his appearance. Not having seen each other for 
 some months, we conversed a few minutes on various 
 matters. He told me that a mad dog had bitten several 
 of his cattle, and 
 
 "Never mind the mad dog. If you wander so often 
 from the track, you never will arrive at the end of your 
 journey." 
 
 Faith sir, the story about the dog is a very curious 
 story, and ought to be universally known; but I'll pass 
 it over for the present. Well sir, Bob called for a glass 
 of brandy and water, and asked me to drink, you see. I 
 complied; for I like to be social and friendly: don't you, 
 Piomingo? 
 
 "Yes. Proceed." 
 
 "When he had finished the glass. 1 called for another 
 — I couldn't be worse than a bad fellow, you see — no, 
 no, that would never do; one good turn deserves ano- 
 ther. Dick Gabble will pay his part wherever he goes. 
 I hate a sneaking, sponging devil: don't you, Piomingo? 
 
 "Certainly. Proceed." 
 
 Well sir, we had three or four glasses — I don't exact- 
 ly remember how many though — probably half a dozen 
 — say half a dozen glasses. Let me see — first we had 
 one, then I had another, and 
 
 "Nevermind: say half a dozen." 
 
 Very well sir: we'll say half a dozen. And so sir, by 
 this time you see sir, we grew pretty warm, you see; 
 and Bob began to brag of his horses. Bob has some little 
 knowledge of horse flesh — not much though — knows 
 enough to be roguish — would be a damned rogue if he 
 could. " Pflere's my little horse at the gate," j-ays Bob, 
 gays he, "he can beat any thing, for a quarter, in the thir- 
 
274 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 teen Untied Sta'es of Pennsylvania, carry weight for 
 size, I'll be dec- doubly damned if lie can't.' 1 'Til run 
 you," says I, u a quarter, my black filly against your 
 horse, for five dollars, not if you will, but if you dare," 
 says I. "Done," says he, "you carry a hundred weight 
 to a catch." "A catch, upon each," says I, "smack my 
 hand if you dare." "Done," says he, "by G — ," says 
 he, — "pony down your dust — fetch out your mare." 
 "Done," says I, "hell to the flincher." Out to the race 
 ground — every thing ready — judges appointed — go — 
 •'The black filly had the start," says one. — "The horse 
 gains," says another — "Ten dollars on the horse," says 
 Tom Siubbs; "say done, and it's a bet." — "Done," says 
 Bill Grubb, "If I don't win I'll be damned. 'She han- 
 dles her feet dacentlyS says Faddy OBlather. — 'Two 
 to one on the mare,' says young Dobbins, "two to one on 
 the mare. I'll give you two hundred dollars for the black 
 filly, Gabble — Gad she's foremost — let's go and see how 
 it is.' 'Judges, how is the race?' 'The filly came out 
 first. 5 'How much?' 'A length.' 'She had the start,' 
 says Bob. 'Only a neck, 7 says I; 'but let the judges 
 determine; we have nothing to say in the business,' says 
 I. That's my way, Piomingo: I'm fair and above board 
 with every thing. I practise none of your sneaking quirks 
 and tricks: I'm above it, you see. 
 
 'Well, what said the judges?' 
 
 They gave it in my favor. O, I won it sleek enough, 
 but what do you think? When I went to the man who 
 held the stakes, 'give me the money,' says I. 'He 
 shan't,' says Bob; 'I didn't lose it,' says he, Til have 
 it, by G — ,' says I. 'Damned if you shall,' says he. 
 'Didn't the judges give it in my favor!' says 1. 'They, 
 were partial,' says he. 'You're a damned rascal,' says I. 
 'You're a damned liar,' says he. Smack 1 took him, 
 between the lug and the horn, as Julius did the bull — 
 down he fell — and I upon him, The damned rascal, to 
 give me the lie! By G — sir, no man shall give me the 
 lie with impunity. I didn't care the hundredth part of a 
 damn for the money, but when a fellow goes to jockey 
 
THE SAVAGE. 275 
 
 me, d'ye see? — and gives me the lie 1o boot, d'ye see? 
 I'd right sir, by the god of war, I'd fight for the thou- 
 sandth part of a cent, I would. My name's Dick Gabble 
 I'm not ashamed of my name. I may be whipped; 
 but 1 can't be cowed — can't can't — damn me, it's im- 
 possible: there's no such thing in nature. I'm but a lit- 
 tle fellow; but I wouldn't turn tail to never a man that 
 broke the bread of life, I wouldn't: not I. 
 
 'Did you flog him?' 
 
 No: they parted us — I'd have kicked him like damnna- 
 tion, if they had'nt parted us — did give him a damned 
 black eye — didn't hurt me at all — didn't get a scratch — 
 takes a damned smart fellow to scratch me. I tell you. 
 
 'You are an active little dog, I dare say.' 
 
 That lam — am indeed — got a strong arm, I tell you. 
 Then, I have such springs — Gad! I'm as quick as light- 
 ning. A fellow has need to have all his eyes about him 
 when he's got me to deal with, you see; if he has'nt I'll 
 be damned. 
 
 'Then you are spirited also.' 
 
 True blue, by G — ! I'd right the devil and all his imps. 
 — Roar thunder, blaze hell, blow damnation! here I am, 
 Dick Gabble for ever! 
 
 'You knocked him down the first stroke, did you?' 
 
 Yes, yes, I did; damme if I didn't, sir; like a shot, 
 sir. Hold here, Piomingo, I'll show you how I took him 
 the first clip. 
 
 'There is no necessity for an example, I understand 
 it perfectly. What! do you mean to strike me?' 
 
 Just give you a light touch, Piomingo, to show you 
 how I. took him — won't hurt you — damn it, don't be 
 afraid — won't hurt you — 'pon my honor — wont, 'pon my 
 soul — wouldn't hurt you lor the world. Just so. 
 
 'Hands off, you puppy! hands off!' 
 
 Beg your pardon, sir — no offence, no offence — meant 
 no harm — damned if I did, you see. 
 
 'Well, what next?' 
 
 Why sir, I'll tell you how it was sir: We agreed to 
 
276 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 leave the whole affair to a reference: and what do you 
 think was the award? 
 
 'I cannot tell.' 
 
 Why sir, they awarded that every man should have 
 his own money; that each of us should pay a dollar for 
 something to drink; and that we should shake hands, d'ye 
 see, and befriends. 'Twas hard — damned hard; but I 
 never bear malice. I'm the best tempered creature in 
 the world: indeed, I'm too good natured: I suifer myself 
 to be imposed upon: it's my weakness: I can't help it: 
 it's natural to me. So sir, you see sir, we repaired to 
 the house sir, and drank like Cesars. Shall I tell you 
 the truth, sir? 
 
 "If you please." 
 
 Well sir, the fact is this, sir: I got drunk, sir — dead 
 drunk — they carried me to bed: and there I lay till this 
 morning. When I got up I felt quite poorlj I assure 
 you sir, damned sort of good-for-nothing like, I don't 
 know how you call it — head aches yet. So sir, you per- 
 ceive that I have endeavored to explain to you the man- 
 ner in which I was detained: which I hope I have done 
 to your satisfaction. 
 
 "Fully." 
 
 Yes sir, I was detained quite unexpectedly; but I have 
 got home at last. 
 
 "Thank God!" 
 
 I say thank God too: I'm very glad to be at home in- 
 deed. 
 
 "You give thanks for one thing, and I for another: you 
 — because you have completed your journey; and I — 
 because your story is ended." 
 
 You should thank me for that. But zounds, how I' spend 
 my time: I have a hundred things to do this very even- 
 ing — indeed I have — upon my word, sir. Next time I 
 see you, I'll explain the business more fully — give you 
 several other interesting particulars. 
 
 So having said, little Dickey strutted off with an air 
 of infinite importance. The everlasting babbler might 
 have answered our question in the following words: "I 
 
THE SAVAGE. 277 
 
 got druntf, and could not return until I became sober.' 
 What think ye, gentle readers, of the civilized Gab- 
 ble? shall we apologize for introducing such a character 
 to your notice? or will you apologize for having such a 
 character among you? Dick Gabble is no creation of 
 ours: perhaps we should make an apology to him, for 
 omitting a multitude of his oaths. 
 
 . 
 
 SCANDAL. 
 
 : ib succus loliirinis, haec est 
 
 JErugd i. 
 
 [y sp 
 
 Scandal is generally spoken of as if she were a fe- 
 male. We cannot give any information concerning her 
 sex; but we havJBroten seen her in male, as in female 
 attire. 
 
 We lately fell into company with a number of gentle- 
 men, with some of whom we had the honor of being 
 acquainted; or, to speak more correctly, some of whom 
 had the honor of being acquainted with us. 
 
 Robert Steady, Frank Fluent, George Toper, Charles 
 Lavish, Jack Flash, Will Braggart, and Timon Crab- 
 tree, were the only persons present of whom we had 
 any previous knowledge; but there were several others, 
 with whose names we became acquainted during the 
 course of the evening: Peter Poison, Simon Specious, 
 Samuel Pliant, and Ralph Penniless. 
 
 We all formed but one company, and were seated 
 very closely together; but, if our conjectures be not er- 
 roneous, it was the pleasing warmth of a fire, and not 
 the attraction of love or brotherly kindness that brought 
 us into contact. Winter calls men together, a«d com- 
 pels them to be social; when it is probable if they were 
 at liberty to consult their own inclinations, they would 
 prefer being separate. Men become more polished and 
 civilized in the winter than they are in the summer: for, 
 being forced into company, their mutual dependence is 
 increased, and their asperities are rubbed off by the 
 continual friction they find it necessary to suffer. Every 
 one assumes the character in which he wishes to appear, 
 Y 
 
278 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 and sedulously endeavors to hide lb*! natural bent of his 
 disposition: nature is banished with violence: and affec- 
 tation is the order of the day. 
 
 Among those whom chance had brought together on 
 the present occasion, there was one who attracted a con- 
 siderable share of our attention. He was about five feet 
 six inches high, well formed; and his features were ra- 
 ther delicate than otherwise. He was extremely com- 
 plaisant to those with whom he conversed: and his vis- 
 age exhibited continually a sickly simpering smile; which 
 was not however sufficient to conceal the characters of 
 malevolence and envy which were written in his counte- 
 nance. His words were smooth as oil: they dropped 
 from his lips as u honey from the^PHi oak," yet we 
 could not help suspecting that the poison of asps was 
 under his tongue. Frank Fluent, who sat near us, per- 
 ceiving who it was that excited our observation, whis- 
 pered in our ear "that is Peter Poison, of Bohon Upas 
 Grove, esq." 
 
 The conversation, as is usual in mixed companies, 
 was of a desultory nature: One subject was scarcely 
 introduced till it was supplanted by another. Sometimes 
 we paid the strictest attention to the speaker; and some- 
 times we interrupted him with observations of our own. 
 Sometimes, in the ardor of disputation, we all spoke at 
 once, and again awed by the importance of the person- 
 age who was delivering his sentiments, we listened, with 
 silent submission, to the wisdom that flowed from his 
 lips. When we say all, we would be understood to ex- 
 cept Simon Crabtree; who continued silent, gnawing the 
 head of his cane and viewing the company with alter- 
 nate emotions of contempt and indignation. Sometimes 
 he smiled; 
 
 but smiled in such a sort 
 As if he mocked himself and scorned Iris spirit, 
 That could be moved to smile at any tiling. 
 
 When Mr. Steady (whose easy manners and elegant 
 habiliments indicated the enjoyment of luxury and the 
 possession of wealth) thought proper to make an obser- 
 vation, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 271 
 
 Conticuere omnes, intentiquo ora tene 1 ant: 
 
 with greedy ears, open mouths, End upraised eyelids, 
 we devoured the sweet intelligence as the Israelites de- 
 voured the quails in the wilderness, or the manna that 
 was sent down from heaven. When he smiled, we smiled; 
 when he attempted to he witty, we were all convulsed 
 with immoderate laughter; and, when he expressed his 
 surprise at any circumstance, Good God! burst simul- 
 taneously from the lips of every one in the assembly. 
 "When he addreseed himself particularly to any indivi- 
 dual, the delighted mortal discovered his felicity by his 
 fidgeting embarrassment, and by the awkward compla- 
 cent-}' which spread itself over his countenance. 
 
 There was a young fellow present who seemed to 
 have formed a high estimate of his colloquial powers, 
 as he frequently evinced an anxiety to join in the con- 
 versation; hut, alas! his coat had suffered by the ravages 
 of time, and his shirt, looked out at the elbows. His 
 waistcoat was threadbare; his linen was none of the 
 eleanest; and his boots appeared never to have formed 
 an acquaintance with blacking: his whole appearance 
 proclaimed, what we are all solicitous to conceal — 
 want. How should such a man make a judicious obser- 
 vation? The thing was impossible. Yet he was not to be 
 discouraged by all these disqualifying circumstances; 
 but continued to take advantage of every pause in the 
 conversation by endeavoring to edge in a word of his 
 own. For a long time, we paid not the slightest atten- 
 tion to his remarks; but some of us, at last, provoked 
 at his intrusive perseverance, turned round and regarded 
 him with a stare of supercilious amazement. 
 
 After some time had been spent in this manner, Mr. 
 Steady, observing that he had some business that re- 
 quired his attention, rose up and took his leave of the 
 company. He was scarcely gone when Mr. Poison in- 
 troduced the following conversation: 
 
 Poison. It may be observed of Mr. Steady, that he 
 never suffers pleasure to interfere with his business. He 
 is a cheerful companion; his countenance is pleasing and 
 
280 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 his manners agreeable. I have known him ever since he 
 was a boy, and I feel for him sentiments of the sincerest 
 and most durable friendship: yet, I cannot but wonder 
 how it happens that he should suppose himself qualified 
 to engage in the discussion of political or philosophical 
 subjects. He may indeed occasionally make a judicious 
 observation; but he never was known to deduce any 
 logical inferences, or to connect together a series of 
 causes and effects. His opinions, as well as his estate 
 have descended to him by inheritance; and it is probable 
 they will be transmitted in the same manner to his son, 
 without their having suffered any waste or derangement 
 in their passage through the mind of their present pos- 
 sessor. 
 
 If man. be correctly defined a reasoning animal, Mr. 
 Steady must no longer lay claim to the appellation: for 
 he never reasons. It must, however, be acknowledged 
 that if he never conquer, he is never overcome in dispu- 
 tation: and although he fails of producing conviction In 
 the minds of others, he always preserves his own opi- 
 nions inviolate. 
 
 Pliant. Your observations are just, Mr. Poison. Stea- 
 dy's mind is so well fortified by prejudice, that he laughs 
 at the clearest axioms with all their host of unavoidable 
 consequences; he despises the tropes and figures of rhe- 
 toric, and bids defiance to all the syllogistic artillery of 
 the schools. 
 
 Poison. True, Mr. Pliant: there he has the advantage 
 of us: our opinions must be supported by reason, other- 
 wise they fall; but this gentleman's upper works are im- 
 pregnable, absolutely impregnable. 
 
 Specious. Notwithstanding his intellectual weakness, 
 his conduct appears to be regulated by the strictest rules 
 of propriety; and he is universally allowed to be just and 
 honorable in his dealings. Alas! what is reason? It is 
 rather a meteor that leads us astray, than a u lamp to di- 
 rect our feet through the wilderness of life!" A man 
 can do as well without it. 
 
 Poison. I do believe, at least I hope, that Mr. Steady 
 
THE SAVAGE. 281 
 
 is perfectly honest; but, a man can hardly be so correct 
 in his conduct, but that there will be some whisperings 
 to his disadvantage. 1 should be sorry to give credence 
 to any story that might be circulated to the injury of Mr. 
 Steady's reputation; but it has been intimated to me, in 
 the way of confidence, that there was some little under- 
 hand work in the settlement of old John Rich's estate. 
 Mr. Steady, you know, was sole executor: I hope the 
 orphans had no cause of complaint, though there appears 
 to be some mystery in the transaction. Indeed, I had all 
 the particulars of the affair from a person who had every 
 opportunity of being acquainted with the circumstances. 
 I am not at liberty to mention the particulars; and I am 
 by no means disposed to promote the circulation of any 
 story that might have a tendency to sully the fair fame 
 of my friend. 
 
 Crabtree. When Mr. Steady were present, gentlemen, 
 you servilely received his sentiments as emanations from 
 the oracle of truth: you praised the acuteness of his per- 
 ception, the correctness of his reasoning, the solidity of 
 his judgment, and the brilliancy of his wit: but the mo- 
 ment he is gone, you pronounce him a fool: and not sa- 
 tisfied with that, you endeavor to blacken his character. 
 How inconsistent such procedure! how dastardly such 
 conduct! 
 
 Poison. If you allude to me, Mr. Crabtree, I cannot 
 do otherwise than express my surprise at what you have 
 said. Mr. Steady, as 1 said before, is my particular friend 
 and I was merely expressing my regret that the censo- 
 ►rious world, you understand me, should cast aspersions 
 of this nature 
 
 Crabtree. Yes, I understand you very well: conscious 
 of your own depravity, you enviously endeavor to dis- 
 parage every thing that has the appearance of excel- 
 lence. 
 
 Poison. Mr. Crabtree, do you mean to insult me? 
 
 Crabtree. Yes. 
 
 Poison. You wrong me, indeed yon do; so far from 
 contributing to injure the fame of Mr. Steady, I would 
 Y2 
 
282 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 willingly defend his character from the attacks of ma- 
 levolence. 
 
 Crabtree. If you be his friend, let him alone; the snail, 
 wherever it crawls, leaves a portion of its slime. 
 
 Poison. Pray, why should you, Mr. Crabtree, who 
 profess to haie all the world, undertake the defence of 
 Mr. Steady? 
 
 Crabtree. It is not respect for him, but detestation of 
 you, which occasions my displeasure. Yes, I hate all the 
 world, but particularly sycophants and slanderers. 
 
 Poison. Do you hate yourself? 
 
 Crabtree. Yes. 
 
 Poison. Why? 
 
 Crabtree. Because I am a man: because I bear the 
 same shape with such a poisonous reptile as you. 
 
 Poison. Rail away, Mr. Crabtree, your snarling makes 
 no impression upon me. 
 
 Crabtree. No? well then I will try to make an im- 
 pression with my cane. 
 
 So saying, he raised his knotty cudgel, and was pro- 
 ceeding to lay it across the shoulders of the delicate 
 Poison; who exclaimed with a loud voice, U I am a jus- 
 tice of the peace: strike me if you dare!" when the 
 company interfered and prevented the perpetration of 
 mischief. 
 
 We could perceive, by their countenances, that 
 Charles Lavish, George Toper, Jack Flash, and Will 
 Braggart, were much dissatisfied with our conduct in 
 quelling the disturbance; fjom which they had promised 
 themselves considerable entertainment: being disap- 
 pointed in their expectation, they thought proper to leave 
 the company and look for amusement in some other 
 quarter. 
 
 Frank Fluent, willingly to see if the late rebuff had 
 effected a reformation in Poison, thought proper to re- 
 new the conversation. 
 
 Frank. Are you acquainted with Lavish, Mr. Poison? 
 
 Poison. I have known him from a child. He once 
 owned a very pretty property; but he has ruined himself 
 

 THE SAVAGE. 283 
 
 by his folly and extravagance. Five years ago, he was a 
 man of substance; but, by his gambling and dissipation, 
 he has reduced himself to beggary. 
 
 Frank. He owns, I think, several houses in the city 
 at present. 
 
 Poison. There are several houses which may some- 
 times be called his; but they are mortgaged for more 
 than they are worth. At present he owns nothing, less 
 than nothing: he has contracted debts which he can 
 ■ever repay. 
 
 Frank. What think you of Toper? 
 
 Poison. Ah, poor George! it makes me melancholy 
 to think on the race he has run! Would you believe it, 
 Mr. Fluent? This man, a few years ago, was respected 
 by every one who knew him. He was well educated, 
 possessed uncommon abilities, and was every way quali- 
 fied to make a figure in life; but now he is a confirmed 
 drunkard, scarcely recovering from one fit of intoxica- 
 tion before he plunges into another. Is it not a great 
 pity, gentlemen? 
 
 Pliant. A great pity indeed, Mr. Poison, 
 
 Specious. A very great pity. 
 
 Crabtree. Damn your pity! Wretches! how dare you 
 pity a man so much superior to yourselves? 
 
 Poison. 1 am really sorry for Toper's misfortune: he 
 is an enemy to nobody but himself. There, too, are Jack 
 Flash and Will Braggart: the first is a handsome fellow; 
 but he bears his whole fortune on his back: and the se- 
 cond is an agreeable companion; but an intolerable liar; 
 he never, unless it were by accident, told a word of 
 truth in his life. 
 
 Crabtree. Mr. Poison, I am going away in order to 
 give you an opportunity of scattering a little more of 
 your venom. 
 
 As soon as Poison perceived that Crabtree had actu- 
 ally departed, he proceeded as follows: "I cannot con- 
 ceive why Crabtree should make me the particular ob- 
 ject of his enmity; but it is, probably, because he knows 
 it is in my power to mention some circumstances which 
 arc not generally known. 
 
284 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Specious. You allude to the affair a that made some 
 
 little noise some time ago a you know what I mean. 
 
 Poison. Yes, ye^, (nodding, and winking, and smiling,) 
 I believe I do: I heard the whole story immediately af- 
 ter (lie transaction took place. 
 
 Pliant. Ah! there was some whispering. 
 
 Poison. It was an ugly affair; but I hope that nothing 
 I have said will be mentioned again. Possibly it was not 
 as bad as it was represented: I should be sorry, how- 
 ever, that any one had it in his power to circulate such a 
 story concerning me. As to Crabtree's rude and unman- 
 nerly observations, I treat them with contempt. 
 
 Pliant. He is a brute. 
 
 Specious. He is not fit to live in a civilized country. 
 
 Having wearied themselves with winks, nods, hints, 
 smiles, shrugs, knowing looks, and a variety of crooked 
 insinuations, Messieurs Specious and Pliant took a cere- 
 monious leave, expressing the highest degree of friend- 
 ship and respect for Mr. Poison; who, on his part, gave 
 them a pressing invitation to visit him at Bohon Upas 
 Grove, assuring them that not only he himself, but Mrs. 
 Poison and all the family would be delighted at such an 
 occurrence; and think themselves honored in contributing 
 to the amusement of gentlemen so dearly beloved and 
 so highly respected. 
 
 Frank. These gentlemen, who have just left you, are, 
 it seems your particular friends, Mr. Poison. 
 
 Poison. Yes: we have long been in habits of intimacy. 
 Specious is a fine man, a very fine man indeed; tosmooth 
 water is deep: he would have no objections to practise 
 a little roguery, if it could be done snugly in a corner. 
 As to Pliant, he is a good sort of a man; but the creature 
 has no opinion of his own: he will accede to every thing 
 you say. Gentlemen, I wish you a good evening. 
 
 Frank. Poison is gone; the whole company has dis- 
 persed; and we have done wisely in keeping our posts 
 until the time of his departure. Had we gone away soon- 
 er, we should hava- suffered from the lash of his malevo- 
 lent tongue; he would have passed some slight commen- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 285 
 
 dations on Piomingo and Frank: and then would have 
 followed his malignant and poisonous But: he never was 
 known to bestow praise on any one save for the purpose 
 of introducing slander. 
 
 Hie niger est: Ilunc, tu Romane, caveto. 
 PEACE. 
 
 "How long," said a pious religionist, "shall the earth 
 be afflicted by war? How long shall man rise up against 
 man, and cover the fair fields of creation with carnage 
 and destruction? When shall the olive of peace extend 
 its branches over the earth, and the sons of men seek 
 repose under its widespreading shade? When shall the 
 time come in which "swords shall be beaten into plough- 
 shares, and spears into pruning hooks, when nation shall 
 not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn 
 war any more!" 
 
 I have seen burned cities, desolated fields, and im- 
 poverished families: I have heard the groans of the fa- 
 ther when deprived of his son, the support of his age: I 
 have witnessed the despair of the mother, when bereav- 
 ed of the delight of her eyes and the joy of her life: I 
 have heard the frantic cries of the widow, and have seen 
 the tears of the orphan: I have beheld the decrepit sol- 
 dier oppressed with age and covered with wounds, beg- 
 ging a wretched support at the doors of the opulent:— 
 "This is thy work, O war! these are thy fruits, O am- 
 bition!" 
 
 What then, we demanded, is peace? 
 
 "Peace," said our friend, "is the absence of war: 
 Where there is no contention, no strife, no opposition, 
 there is peace. Peace is love: it is harmony: it is rest. I 
 cannot tell you what it is; but it is no less excellent on 
 account of my inability to define it. A modern poet has 
 written a beautiful hymn to peace: shall I read it?" 
 
 Do so. 
 
 "Hail, holy peace, from thy sublime abode. 
 Mid circling saints that grace the throne of God! 
 Before his arm, around our cmbryon earth, 
 Stretched the dim void and gave to nature birth. 
 
286 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Ere morning stars his glowing chambers hung, 
 Or son<_'S of gladness wo'<e an angel's tongue, 
 Veiled in the splendors of his teainful mind, 
 In bless'd repose thy placid form reclined, 
 Lived in his life, his inward sapience caught. 
 And traced and toned his universe of thought. 
 Borne through the expanse with his creating voice, 
 Thy presence bade the unfolding worlds rejoice, 
 Led forth the systems on their bright career, 
 Shaped all their curves and fashioned every sphere, 
 Spaced out their suns, and round each radiantgoal, 
 Orb over orb, compelled their train to roll, 
 Fade heaven's own harmony their force combine. 
 Taught all their hosts symphonious strains to join, 
 Cave to seraphic harps their sounding lays, 
 Their joys to angels, and to men their praise. 
 
 Is not this very fine? 1 ' 
 
 Ay, very fine; but it will not enable us to form an idea 
 of peace. Here is a great, show of woids; but the mind 
 is fatigued and distressed when it endeavors to discover 
 the meaning that is intended to be conveyed. D>d peace 
 recline, in blessed repose, veiled in the splendors of the 
 beamfu! mind of God? did it live in his life, catch his 
 inward sapience, trace and tone his universe of thought? 
 — Subject this tinsel to the chemical scrutiny of reason, 
 and, what have we? — Fumumex fidgore. Did peace bid 
 the unfolding worlds rejoice, lead forth their systems, 
 shape their curves, fashion their spheres, space out their 
 suns, and compel their train, orb over orb, to roll? These 
 were more properly the operations of war, the triumphs 
 of the creator over chaos. There is no such thing as 
 peace in nature: Atom is at war with atom; planets con- 
 tend with planets; suns dispute with suns for the empire 
 of comets; and system exerts its influence in opposition 
 to system. Man comes into life fighting, and continues to 
 contend with every thing round him till the last moment 
 of his existence. What is peace? 
 
 "When one nation ceases to carry on against another 
 those operations which are known by the name of war, 
 that cessation is the commencement of peace, which 
 consists in the absence of these operations." 
 
 Peace, then, is nothing: and it is not wonderful that 
 we should find it difficult to give a satisfactory definition 
 
THE SAVAGE. 287 
 
 of a nonentity. Every thing in nature is known by its 
 qualities, by the influence it exerts over other beings, by 
 the war it maintains with surrounding objects. Were 
 there peace in nature, we never should be able to ac- 
 quire any knowledge of the existence of things: the uni- 
 verse would consist of a multitude of isolated beings un- 
 influencing and uninfluenced, unknowing and unknown. 
 
 u Let us lay aside these metaphysical subtilities which 
 are only calculated to perplex the mind and lead it into 
 labyrinths of error; let us use words agreeably to their 
 usual acceptation, unless we mean to speak a language 
 wholly different from that of the rest of the world." 
 
 War then is the beating of drums, the roaring of can- 
 nons, the clashing of swords, the storming of forts, the 
 burning of towns, the shouts of the victors, the despair 
 of the vanquished, and the groans of the dying. 
 
 "Yes: such are the horrid operations of war. Men 
 exist for a moment: and that moment, alas, is employed 
 in destroying each other! The mad tyrants of the world 
 lead forth their armies to destruction, and sacrifice thou- 
 sands after thousands to their restless ambition. Is not 
 war a dreadful thing ? " 
 
 Certainly, very dreadful: War is a tremendous volca- 
 no which desolates the fields with rivers of fire, and 
 overwhelms the cities with oceans of lava; but do not the 
 ashes of this volcano fertilize the earth? Does not the 
 central heat hasten the progress of vegetation? Do not 
 trees bloom and fruit ripen round the base of the burning 
 mountain? In war, every death opens the way for a life; 
 wounds and diseases aflord employment for surgeons and 
 physicians; the meagerness of the half-starved soldier 
 clothes the bones of the commissary with flesh; the wants 
 and distresses of the troops heap the table of the con- 
 tractor with luxuries, and cause his cup to overflow. — 
 While the belligerents are contending for empire, neu- 
 tral nations take advantage of their necessities, and grow 
 rich by their calamities. Traders, sdventurers, specula- 
 tors, hyenas, wolves, vultures, scent the blood from afar, 
 and hasten to gorge themselves with the carnage. The 
 
288 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 cultivator of the earth, whose fields are situsted at a dis- 
 tance from the scene of contention and consequently 
 escape the ravages of war, rejoices that the produce of 
 his labor commands a price corresponding to his avari- 
 cious desires, and devoutly thanks God for the providen- 
 tial occurrence. The merchant pathetically laments over 
 the sufferings of afflicted humanity, but in the mean time 
 supplies the contending parties with the pabulum of war 
 and with the instruments of destruction, and thus enables 
 them to continue the contest. Privateers range the seas, 
 as wolves do the desert, in search of their prey: they 
 plunder the defenceless of every nation that fall in their 
 way; they turn their arms against their country, and rise 
 into consequence by the ruin of their friends. 
 
 When autumnal storms drive the frequent ships on the 
 barbarous coast of some civilized nation, the lawless in- 
 habitants rush forward, destroy the poor mariner while 
 struggling with the waves, seize greedily on the plunder, 
 and praise God as piously for the blessing of a good 
 wrecking season, as does the farmer for the exuberance 
 of a plentiful harvest. When a house is in flames in the 
 midst of some polished city, the civilized thieves of the 
 vicinity, taking advantage of the confusion, appropriate 
 to themselves the property of the suffering owner, and, 
 no doubt, lift up their hearts in thankfulness to the boun- 
 tiful giver of all good for his fatherly kindness. 
 
 "Horrible!" 
 
 Why that exclamation? 
 
 Mutato nomine de te 
 
 Fabula narratur: 
 
 Thou art the man! O child of civilization! thou art the 
 man! When a nation is shipwrecked; when she is torn 
 by intestine confusion; when the frame of society is dis- 
 organized; when the whirlwind of popular commotion 
 has torn her to pieces: when the flames of civil discord 
 rage through her interior: then, the neighboring nations 
 say one to another, "Let us go up to war against our 
 sister; behold, hath not the Lord delivered her into our 
 hands ?" The suffering nation sees herself surrounded 
 by devourers: some menace her with open violence; 
 
Til E 9 A V AGE. 289 
 
 others mock her calamity wilh insidious professions of 
 friendship; take all advantage of her necessities, and en- 
 voi - to aggrandize themselves by her destruction. 
 The plunderers proceed gradually to bring about her 
 ruin: they seize her garrisons, rob her treasury, dispense 
 with her laws, usurp the power of legislation, and, 
 ,ily, enslave her citizens, partition her territory, and 
 blot out her name from under heaven. 
 
 These, my benevolent friend, are a few of the many 
 advantages that flow from those horrible contentions you 
 affect to pursue with execrations. You may continue ta 
 express your disapprobation; but, in the mean time, do 
 not fail prudently to turn these events to your personal 
 emolument. When Lisbon was shattered by an earth- 
 quake, men were seen darting through the ruins with 
 lies in their hands and setting fire to those buildings 
 that had resisted the violence of the shocks, in order 
 that they might be enabled to plunder amid the flames. 
 
 "These were monsters, not men." 
 
 They were men, and therefore monsters. But, my 
 ■i sir, how does it happen that your detestation of war 
 lias risen to such an amazing height within the course 
 of a few years? Do we not remember the time when you 
 not only dwelt with complacency on the successes of a 
 certain belligerent nation, but recounted with delight the 
 thousands slain, the battles won, and the kingdoms con- 
 quered, by your favorite hero? Have you not raised him 
 above the Cajsars and Alexanders of the earth, and 
 bound his brows with the wreath of immortality? Did 
 you not, moreover, celebrate his virtues as well as his 
 military achievements? Tell me candidly, what has oc- 
 casioned this change in your sentiments? What has' 
 made war your aversion, and sunk, in your estimation, 
 the character of heroes? 
 
 "I have reflected coolly on the barbarities practised 
 
 n war, and on the sanguinary career of a conqueror and 
 
 ero: and, as I am advancing in years, indeed am draw- 
 
 ; near the end of my pilgrimage, my soul stands 
 
 hast with horror when I think of those atrocities which 
 Z 
 
 i 
 a ii 
 
290 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 formerly made very little impression on my mind." 
 
 Very well said. You therefore insinuate that you be- 
 come more humane and benevolent as you grow old: a 
 circumstance rather uncommon! We, on the contrary, 
 every year we dwell among civilized men, find ourself 
 more and more hardened in our errors and more and 
 more insensible to the cries of the afflicted: should we 
 not be so fortunate as to die before long, we shall be- 
 come as a wicked as a christian. 
 
 Since you have given us what you deem a sufficient 
 reason for your sudden abhorrence of war, we will en- 
 deavor to believe you; but we must acknowledge that 
 we had previously accounted for it in a different man- 
 ner. We had supposed that not only your former admi- 
 ration of heroic deeds, but your present sympathic suf- 
 ferings, were occasioned by the state of your pecuniary 
 concerns. 
 
 Several years ago, the old world was, as well as ii 
 now is, the scene of contending armies; but then you 
 rejoiced in the prosperity of American commerce; which 
 was nourished by the blood, and flourished through the 
 misfortunes of suffering Europe. If our memory be not 
 treacherous, we heard you declare that they might, if 
 they would let us alone, fight as long as they pleased: 
 "By so doing," said you with a smile of exultation, 
 "they will open a good market for our beef and our 
 flour." But, as the belligerents, by their late restrictions 
 and regulations, have nearly annihilated neutral com- 
 merce, we had uncharitably conjectured that you had 
 been led to conclude that a general peace would be more 
 favorable, than war, to commercial enterprise and en- 
 lightened speculation; and in consequence of these con- 
 siderations, we supposed that you began to experience 
 certain sympathetic sensations, and to mourn over the 
 afflictions of your unfortunate fellow men. 
 
 "I am sorry that you should have supposed me to be 
 swayed by such unworthy motives: but you have as yet 
 mentioned no good that results from war: all those con- 
 
THE SAVAGE. 291 
 
 sequences, of which you have taken notice, are evils of 
 the most serious nature." 
 
 Think of the French revolution: think, as long as you 
 please, of (he rapine, cruelty, and murder, which it occa- 
 sioned: hut at the same lime do not fail to observe the 
 godlike virtues, heroism, honor, friendship, contempt of 
 death and of danger, which it awakened; a thousand 
 years of calm corrupting peace would not have called 
 into life so much active and energetic virtue. It is only 
 in great convulsions and revolutions that the mind of 
 man, having freed itself from the grasp of avarice, and 
 shaken off the yoke of contracted sordid and grovelling 
 passion, discovers something transcendantly great and 
 imposing: we are ready to cry out, as did a people of 
 old, "The gods have come down in the likeness of men!" 
 
 "Those virtues made the nation a poor compensation 
 for the crimes and atrocities of the sanguinary conflict: 
 these faint twinkling stars only rendered visible the 
 gloom and horrors of the revolutionary night. Did 
 France derive any positive good from this ferocious 
 struggle?" 
 
 What good does a patient, borne down to the grave by 
 a painful or loathsome disease, receive from the efficacy 
 of a powerful medicine, or from the bold but skilful 
 operations of the surgeon? France was sick: the supe- 
 rior extremities of her body were weak, bloated, cor- 
 rupt, and incapable of being applied to any valuable pur- 
 pose. Her hands were no longer able to supply her vo- 
 racious jaws and her insatiable stomach with the neces- 
 sary sustenance; and her feet moved heavily beneath a 
 burthen they no longer had the ability to support. The 
 poison of civilization had pervaded every part of her 
 system; the whole mass of her blood was corrupted, and 
 moved aluggishly through her veins; thereicas no sound- 
 tiess in her flesh: there icas no rest in her bones: her 
 whole head xcas sick, and her whole heart faint. But na- 
 ture understood the disease of her child, and adminis- 
 tered the only efficacious remedy: it threw the agonized 
 patient into the most horrible convulsions; unskilful ob- 
 
292 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 servers were ready to declare that the hour of her final 
 dissolution was at hand. These struggles, however, 
 were only the prelude to renewed youth and renovated 
 strength: She arose and shook herself: she went forth 
 like a giant refreshed with wine, and astonished the na- 
 tions with the grandeur of her achievements. She will 
 now go on rejoicing in her strength till she become again 
 civilized and corrupted; till the superior parts of her 
 body become too heavy to be borne by the inferior: then, 
 she must again have recourse to the revolutionary medi- 
 cine, or perish. 
 
 "What are the evils attendant on peace?" 
 We have frequently men'ioned some of the evils of 
 civilized life: and peace is the nurse of civilization. Un- 
 der her fostering care those arts flourish which enable 
 man to impose upon man. We have already said, there 
 is no peace: but we now add, that the deceitful calm, to 
 which you have given the name of peace, is concealed 
 war. 
 
 When Pallas lias laid aside her spear, her helmet and 
 terrific shield, she smiles, and calls herself Minerva: 
 she becomes the patroness of science, presides at the 
 loom, and cultivates the olive! Her nature, however, is 
 always the same; only she is much more dangerous in 
 her pacific robes, than when she brandishes the gleamy 
 spear and presents her snaky egis to the terrified chil- 
 dren of men. She teaches men how to fight in ambush, 
 and carry on their operations in the dark. She instructs 
 her ingenious disciples how to practise the arts of de- 
 ception, to lull their opponents into a fatal security, and 
 to gain their purposes by the exhibition of false appear- 
 ances. She throws round the shoulders of the sly plot- 
 ting villain the snowwhite mantle of piety and religion. 
 She covers intrigue and cunning with the semblance of 
 truth and simplicity; and she veils the face of hatred and 
 malignity with the smiles of innocence and love. She 
 seduces the unwary, from the path of rectitude, by de- 
 ceitful lures and specious courtesy; and she strews with 
 flowers the road that leads to destruction. She mixes 
 
THE SAVAGE 
 
 293 
 
 30T19 in a golden cup, and sweetens the draught with 
 Ilyblean honey. She is a sorceress. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 From Chotahowce, a warrior of the Cherokee nation, to PiomingO, a headman 
 and warrior of the Muscogulgee confederacy. 
 
 Father! My beloved friend Dr. Calomel, who re- 
 sides in our town, writes down this talk. May it reach 
 you in safety! 
 
 Father! Have you learned to love your enemies and 
 hale your friends? 
 
 Have you learned to chatter like a jay about nothing? 
 Do you tell every one you meet that it is a beautiful day, 
 and then listen to some intelligence equally interesting? 
 Every time you encounter an acquaintance, do you say, 
 How d'ye do? or How do you stand it this morning? Do 
 you ask every one you see ichat news there is stirring, 
 and then proceed, without waiting for an answer, to com- 
 municate some important observation of your own? 
 
 Do you sit several hours at dinner and slander your 
 neighbors who are absent, and speak smooth things to 
 those who are present? Do you understand cookery 
 more perfectly than the oldest of our squaws? Can you 
 tell how much cream, how much butter, how much pep- 
 per, how much salt, how much vinegar, and how much 
 of an infinite number of ingredients, for which we In- 
 dians have no name, must enter into the composition of a 
 single civilized dish? Do you begin to carry before you 
 a mountain of guts, and to pant when you walk up a hill? 
 Do you begin to have a comfortable variety of fevers, 
 gouts, consumptions, chachexies, apoplexies, and rheu- 
 matisms? Do you begin to catch cold? Father! inform 
 me, I beseech you, in your next letter, whether or not 
 you begin to catch cold. Do you have what Doctor Ca- 
 lomel calls nervous diseases? Are you occasionally trou- 
 bled with imaginary distempers? Is your nose sometimes 
 converted into edible cheese, or your posteriors into 
 frangible glass? Do you sometimes suppose you are the 
 chieftain of heaven, and able to regulate the motions of 
 
294 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the stars? Have you sometimes the accursed disease 
 which your civilized friends long since made common in 
 our villages? 
 
 Do you read the holy book and keep the holy day? Do 
 you tell the Great Spirit how to govern the world? Do 
 you tease the Great Mingo of heaven with your songs 
 and your psalms and your neverending prayers; with your 
 kneeling and standing, your sobhing and crying, your 
 shouting and howling, your cringing and wheedling? 
 
 Father! Have you made yourself acquainted with the 
 civilized oaths? canyoucurse like a gentleman? can you 
 swear like a christian? can you say God eternally damn 
 your soul to AeZZ, without feeling any savage hesitation, at 
 making use of an expression so impious and profane, or 
 at uttering a curse so malignantand horrible? I had long 
 known that christians made use of these execrations; 
 but I had no idea of the meaning until Blackcoat gave 
 us some interesting information concerning the God of 
 the christians, favored us with an accurate topographical 
 description of hell, and instructed us in the nature of 
 eternal damnation. Piomingo! What, shall we say? Do 
 these white christians believe their own holy talk} If 
 they do, they are the most wicked, the most malevolent, 
 demons that ever the Great Spirit permitted to exist! if 
 they do not, why should they send their missionaries to 
 propagate errors among the children of nature? 
 
 Father! If you can answer all the questions, 1 have 
 asked, in the affirmative, I shall pronounce you in a fair 
 way to be civilized, and advise you to return no more to 
 the hills of the Cherokees or the clear streams of the 
 Muscogulgees. 
 
 Father! I have often admired the importance of the 
 subjects which are discussed by these enlightened and 
 polished whites in their accidental occurrences and so- 
 cial assemblies. In the first place, they take particular 
 care to enquire into the state of each others health: u My 
 dear sir, how do you do? How do you feel this morning? 
 I hope you are well" Piomingo! Why do they ask these 
 preposterous questions? Do they feel any solicitude for 
 
THE SAVAGE. 295 
 
 the health and prosperity of their friends and acquain- 
 tances? — No such thing, they would send each other to 
 the devil in a moment if it were in their power. Do they 
 wish to render each other unhappy by bringing to their 
 respective recollections the frailties, pains, diseases, and 
 infirmities of the body? Do they wish to damp the 
 general joy by calling up ideas of death and the grave? 
 In the second place, they proceed to inform each other 
 seriously and formally concerning the nature of the wea- 
 ther, the temperature of the air, the course of the wind, 
 and the changes of the moon. "Well," says one, "this 
 is a pleasant morning: the rain we had yesterday was 
 extremely refreshing: and this warm sun, following the 
 rain, will promote vegetation with rapidity." If it besum- 
 mer, we hear, "A very warm day this! is it not sir? My 
 God! 'tis excessive hot: it makes me perspire like the 
 devil!" Here I must remark that these polished beings 
 arc very apt to hook God and the devil into the same sen- 
 tence: why they do so, I cannot tell, unless it be merely 
 to embellish their discourse. Father! 1 speak English 
 fluently; but I never could exactly discover when to in- 
 troduce God, or when to have recourse to the devil, in 
 my conversation: indeed, sometimes I am ready to con- 
 clude that those names are used without the least dis- 
 crimination: thus, "Good God! how it rains!" and "It 
 rains like the devil!" seem to convey the same idea pre- 
 cisely. If two friends encounter each other in the street 
 in December or January, after the customary interroga- 
 tions and responses concerning the health of themselves 
 and their families, after having coughed and complained 
 of a cold, and having given a circumstantial detail of the 
 manner in which this cold was unfortunately caught; after 
 having whined about an aking head, a poor appetite, a 
 sick stomach, a miserable digestion, a weakness of the 
 back, a sore shin, a crick in the neck, a pain in the hip, 
 &c. &c. they proceed, U A cold day, sir." "Yes sir, quite 
 cold." "It blows co u founded ly." "Yes sir, a blustry 
 day: a blustry day indeed sir." "Quite a deep snow this." 
 "Yes sir, quite a— quite a snowy day, sir: this is what I 
 
296 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 call winter." Piomingo! What is their purpose (if they 
 have any purpose at all) in relating these circumstances 
 which must necessarily be as well known to one as to 
 the other? Does it arise from habitual garrulity, or from 
 an itching propensity to hear themselves talk? Each one 
 hastens to be delivered of the important intelligence, 
 lest his friend should begin, and consequently deprive 
 him of the pleasure of exercising the organs of speech. 
 Were not the whites an intelligent people, I should cer- 
 tainly suppose they were reduced, by the paucity of 
 their ideas, to the deplorabU necessity of talking non- 
 sense or continuing silent.* 
 
 In the third place, they enquire for news; but, for the 
 most part, they are much more anxious to circulate some 
 story of their own, than to listen to the curious anec- 
 dotes that may have been gathered by others. 
 
 Father! In my next letter I shall give you some ac- 
 count of the progress made by Blackcoat In christianizing 
 the Cherokee women, and send you a tain: which he held 
 with our chiefs and warriors, at which the high priest 
 of the nation was present. 
 
 Piomingo! May the God of our fathers give you pros- 
 perous days and peaceful nights! May your life be long, 
 and your death tranquil! and may you at last find repose 
 in the islads of bliss created by the author of our life for 
 the everlasting abode of the souls of heroes and the 
 spirits of the just! 
 
 Farewell. Chotaiiowee. 
 
 Chotahowee has taken notice of the insipidity and fri- 
 volity of common conversation; but he has not, perhaps, 
 been able to discover the reason why the confabulations 
 of civilized men are generally so dull and uninteresting. 
 
 In our remarks on a former letter, we proved that ci- 
 vilization fits men to fill a place in society, but renders 
 them altogether unable to vary their conduct according 
 to circumsianees: and we now take the liberty to add 
 that a man is not well qualified to discourse on any sub- 
 ject which he does not understand. Hence it happens, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 297 
 
 that when a number of those polished individuals meet 
 tog-ether, every one feels a strong propensity to speak of 
 his own trade profession or employment. 
 
 The farmer would willingly inform you that the season 
 was favorable or unfavorable to the growth of corn, or 
 the culture of tobacco; that the caterpillars had commit- 
 ted ravages on his fruit trees; that his wheat was mil- 
 dewed; that his rye was blighted; and that his sheep 
 were dying with the rot. 
 
 The grazier— (We acknowledge that the business of a 
 grazier is not of sufficient consequence to entitle him to 
 particular notice in this place; but as he belongs to a 
 respectable class of men in the vicinity of Philadelphia, 
 and as we have often been compelled, by the cruel and 
 malignant fates, to sit with "sad civility" and listen to 
 tedious bucolic disquisitions, we think proper to say a 
 few words on this subject.) The grazier can descant in- 
 geniously on the different breeds of cattle; and on the 
 "art and mystery" of fattening a bullock. He can tell 
 exactly how much grass an ox must graze, and how 
 much corn he must devour, in order to Jill up his points, 
 or clothe his frame with a specified quantity of flesh. He 
 can not only tell, while the beast is yet alive, how much 
 it will weigh when slaughtered; but he can discover, 
 with surprising sagacity, what a quadruped, now poor, 
 will weigh when properly and sufficiently fed. He can 
 tell, from the food and attention bestowed on the animal, 
 whether it will dieivellov ill; whether it will rise above, 
 or fall below, an estimate formed from appearances 
 agreeably to the strict rules of art. He discovers un- 
 common acuteness in distinguishing a New England bul- 
 lock from a Virginia steer or a Tennessee heifer. He 
 knows that the Louisiana cattle have long horns, and that 
 they are unable to stand the rigors of our winter. Final- 
 ly, his conversation is replete with information concern- 
 ing the manner of striking a bargain with a butcher, or 
 carrying on a negociation with a drover. 
 
 The soldier loves to talk of battles, sieges, long fatigu- 
 ing marches, and other military achievements. He boasts, 
 
298 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 with pride and pleasure, of the wonders he has per- 
 formed, and exhibits his stumps and scars as testimonials 
 of his veracity. He speaks 
 
 of most disastrous chances, 
 
 Of moving accidents by flood ami fields; 
 
 Of hairbreadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach* 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 
 And sold to slavery. 
 
 The sailor would talk of long and dangerous voyages, 
 of barbarous coasts, of dreadful slorms, of naval engage- 
 ments, of floating ice, of desert isles, of dangerous rocks 
 and sands, interposing occasionally encomiums on his 
 own courage and dexterity, and rendering the whole 
 nearly unintelligible by his nautical phrases and pecu- 
 liar modes of expression. 
 
 The several artificers delight to expatiate on the in- 
 genious productions of their hands, on the tools they 
 employ, and on the craft which produces their wealth. 
 
 Nothing is sufficiently important to be discussed by the 
 merchant but the interests of commerce; the state of 
 the market, the risk incurred, the probable profits, and 
 the rate of insurance. If he grow rich by trade, lawful 
 or unlawful, then his country, of course, is in a prosper- 
 ous situation: and if he make an unfortunate voyage, the 
 nation is pronounced to be on the brink of destruction! 
 
 They, who belong to those professions which are 
 honored with the appellation of learned, have frequently 
 some acquaintance with general literature, and are conse- 
 quently better qualified, than the persons already men- 
 tioned, to join in rational conversation; but it unfortu- 
 nately happens that literary subjects can rarely be dis- 
 cussed unless we mean to exclnde the greater part of 
 every mixed company from taking a share in the collo- 
 quial entertainment. It must, however, be admitted that 
 lawyers, physicians and divines, as well as farmers, me- 
 chanics, merchants, soldiers and sailors, have their fa- 
 vorite subjects of discussion, and are enabled, by the 
 course of their studies, to shine more resplendent ly in 
 those parts which they have frequently rehearsed, and 
 which have become familiar to their minds, than in 
 
THE SAVAGE. 299 
 
 those which are more generally interesting to mankind. 
 The lawyer is ever ready to join issue with lho.se who 
 dispute the infallibility of the lex script a a ut non scripta: 
 he can praise those venerable regulations sanctified by 
 time and confirmed by experience — the accumulated 
 wisdom of ages! If you oppose reason to any of his ax- 
 ioms, he immediately demurs, and objects to the compe- 
 tence or credibility of your witness: for the competency 
 and credibility of a witness are far from being the same 
 in the eye of the law. He informs you that the law is 
 superior to, nay, that it is, itself, the perfection of reason: 
 lex est summa ratio. He can talk wisely of rights, whe- 
 ther appertaining to persons or things: and he can tell 
 what remedy is afforded by the law, when these rights 
 are violated by any tortious offender. But if the injuries 
 be insignificant, (such as assailing a gentleman with 
 abusive and insolent language, insulting the unfortunate, 
 outraging the feelings of the sensitive, ridiculing the 
 poor, aged, and infirm) there is no redress: cle minimis 
 non curat lex. He knows how to bar an entail, and how 
 to confess lease entry and ouster. He knows the difference 
 between de jure and de facto, and discovers vast erudi- 
 tion when the nature of a chose in action is the subject 
 o[ investigation. He can tell when a man may bring de- 
 tinue, and when recourse must be had to trover and con- 
 ion. He knows the difference between corporeal and 
 i poreal hereditaments, and points out, with astonish- 
 ing precision, the distinction between an executory de- 
 vise and a contingent remainder. 
 
 The physician — (But before we proceed any farther, 
 we take the liberty to observe that there is no character 
 we so much love and admire as that of an amiable hu- 
 mane and intellligent physician, who, without medical bi- 
 gotry or professional arrogance, devotes his time and 
 talents to the duties of his profession; who studiously 
 and tenderly endeavors to remove or alleviate the suffer- 
 ings of the body, and soothes with benevolent attentions 
 the anguish of the mind; Who, like the good Samaritan, 
 pours wine and oil into the wounds of the unfortunate 
 
300 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 traveller, while the proud priest and hypocritical Levite 
 pass by on the other side. Such a man resembles one 
 who was greater than the good Samaritan: he resembles 
 the beneficent founder of Christianity; of whom it is said, 
 that he went about doing good.) The physician discusses 
 with pleasure those subjects which affect the minds of 
 other men with consternation and honor: he relates the 
 story of having been in at a death, with the same com- 
 posure and satisfaction, that another will give an account 
 of the occurrences of a ball, or the joyful festivity of a 
 wedding. He talks with the utmost composure of ema- 
 ciated limbs stretched out on the bed of despair, of the 
 heavy hazy eyes, the pallid countenance, the cold moist 
 forehead, the dry cough, the parched tongue, the rat- 
 tling throat, and the convulsive struggle of dissolution. 
 And should the unfortunate mortal, in performing this 
 last scene in the serio-comical drama of life, exhibit any 
 little peculiarities or whimsical weaknesses, he be- 
 comes a subject of ridicule to the philosophic physician, 
 for not dying according to the established regulations of 
 the stage. The physician, moreover, delights to inquire 
 whether the human frame be subject to many diseases, 
 or to one only; whether a complaint be founded in a 
 constitutional predisposition, or indueed by extraneous 
 causes; whether the yellow fever be propagated by a 
 subtile contagion emanating from the bodies of the dis- 
 eased, or engendered by pestifeious miasmata arising 
 from decayed vegetables or putrefying animal substances: 
 and in these cases it may often be observed, that the 
 support and establishment of a favorite theory are ob- 
 jects of much greater importance than the preservation 
 of life. 
 
 The divine — (Did the divine observe the precepts 
 and follow the example of his meek and lowly Master, 
 he would, whatever we might think of his faith, call 
 forth our love and command our veneration: how, then, 
 does it happen, that as soon as we hear the name of a 
 clergyman mentioned, we immediately associate with 
 the man qualities of bigotry, arrogance and spiritual 
 
THE SAVAGE. SOI 
 
 pride? How does it happen, that the)', whose business 
 it is to inculcate benevolence, charity, humility and pa- 
 tience, should be characterized, wherever they are 
 known, by a proud, overbearing, intolerant disposition? 
 We have looked into nature for the cause: and we think 
 we have found it? — We have known a negro in a south- 
 ern state to value himself on the riches and grandeur of 
 his master, and to look down, with infinite contempt, on 
 the slave of a less opulent planter. And {paulo majora 
 canamus) the ambassadors and ministers of foreign na- 
 tions expect to be honored according to the power, 
 opulence and splendor of the princes by whom they are 
 deputed: how then shall we show our respect for the 
 ministers plenipotentiary from the court of "heaven star- 
 paved?" How shall we receive the ambassadors of the 
 Most High? What shall be done to the man whom the 
 Lord of Hosts delighteth to honor?) The divine knows 
 where his own "great strength lieth," consequently en- 
 deavors, in every conversation to mix, with the epheme- 
 ral concerns of this world, the everlasting joys or sor- 
 rows of another, and to call away our thoughts from the 
 business of this life and iix them on the dark futurities 
 of the world which is to come. 
 
 It will readily be admitted, that men are better quali- 
 fied totalkof things that relate immediately to their own 
 professions and employments in life than on any other 
 subject: and, as the pursuits of civilized men are almost 
 infinite in number, it follows that no subject of conver- 
 sation can be introduced which will be interesting and 
 familiar to the whole of the company. 
 
 Should a farmer attempt to engross the attention of 
 an assembly by giving an account of the management 
 of his affairs, he would subject himself to ridicule; 
 should an artificer entertain us with any thing relating to 
 his trade, his conversation would be said to smell of the 
 shop; should a soldier 6r a sailor attempt to communi- 
 cate his exploits and adventures, an attentive observer 
 would perceive a sneer of contempt, or a smile of incre- 
 dulity, playing on the countenances of the auditors; and 
 Aa 
 
S02 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 should any one dare to introduce literary subjects in the 
 presence of illiterate men) who compose the most weal- 
 thy, and consequently the most respectable, portion of so- 
 ciety) he would be branded with the appellation of pe- 
 dant. What then must be done? 
 
 It is reported of Sir Robert Walpole, that he would 
 always introduce lewd or obscene subjects of conversa- 
 tion at his table. Being asked the reason of this con- 
 duct, he replied, "That is a subject in which all can 
 join." Decency forbids the present polished generation 
 to have recourse to sir Robert's expedient, and there- 
 fore they are necessitated to talk of the state of their 
 health, the temperature of the air, or something else 
 equally frivolous. 
 
 Thesavages of America are remarkable for their taci- 
 turnity: they esteem it the height of absurdity and mad- 
 ness to speak, when no valuable purpose can be answer- 
 ed by speaking. But if any subject of conversation be 
 introduced, it is always interesting to all: it relates to the 
 business of the chase, to the operations of war, or to 
 the public concerns of the nation. 
 
 PRONUNCIATION: FROM CRITO. 
 
 There is a great propensity among the vulgar, in Pen- 
 sylvania, to give the sound of oo to the diphthongal u: 
 thus, instead of blue lure lute luminous due duty nusance nudity 
 numerous supine supreme tutor tumor tune tube, $*c. we hear bloo 
 loorloot loominous doo dooty noosance noodity noomerous soopine 
 soopreme toootor toomor toon toob; and this anomalous pro- 
 nunciation is not only tolerated, but defended by many of 
 our American wordmongers. Their orthoepical canons 
 would be unworthy of attention, did not every year wit- 
 ness the emission of some five or six spellingbooks un- 
 der the auspices of eminent booksellers: these productions of 
 genius meet with a ready sale, and are dispersed over the 
 continent to confirm old errors and propagate new ones. 
 Any man is supposed to be qualified to write books for chil- 
 dren: and it seems to be altogether forgotten that these 
 children may one day become men; and that errors plan- 
 ted in childhood are not easily eradicated. Nothing more 
 is necessary than to make a collection of words, invent 
 new rules for the division of syllables, give tables of words 
 
THE S A V A « E . 303 
 
 the same in sound but different in spelling" and significa- 
 tion, and of words spelled in one manner and pronounc- 
 ed in another, not forgetting" to add a compendious system of 
 English grammar; and the business is done. Recommenda- 
 tions of sapient schoolmasters are easily procured; nor is 
 it difficult to find booksellers sufficiently intelligent to dis- 
 cover that the thing may sell. These are trifles, I acknowl- 
 edge; but hoe nuga; seria ducent 
 
 In mala. 
 
 If literary men be honorably employed in correcting a 
 vitious pronunciation, certainly it must be commendable to 
 take notice of those who contribute to the existence of error. 
 
 Sometimes, however, we are too headstrong to be Jed a- 
 way by an American philologist; but if an English author 
 issue his mandates, who will refuse an immediate ac- 
 quiescence] Well then, Sheridan has informed us that we 
 should not say toon toob tootor, nor yet tune tube tutor, but 
 choon choob chootor : and thousands in America have 
 made themselves ridiculous by following Sheridan. 
 
 This orthoepist was long supposed to be an infallible 
 guide:and any one, some years ago,who, in this wilderness 
 of ours, should have had the presumption to oppose his 
 own ideas of propriety to the dicta of Sheridan would have 
 exposed himself to ridicule and contempt. 
 
 But Walker has appeared and convicted his predeces- 
 sor of innumerable errors. Must we revolt from Sheridan 
 and transfer our allegiance to Walker? Certainly: Sheri- 
 dan was an Irishman: he was not born within the sound 
 
 Of merry merry Bow Church bells; 
 
 he had not snuffed up the smoke of the British metropolis 
 for a sufficient lenghth of time; nor had his ear acquired 
 refinement from the harmony of London cries or the musi- 
 cal voice of the cockneys. But Mr. Walker — who will dis- 
 sent from the opinion of a man who was "born within a 
 few miles of the capital"; and who has "resided in the ca- 
 pital almost the whole of his life;" who "understands the 
 tune of the language to which the ear of a native is set;" and 
 who feels that "vernacular instinct" which prevents the 
 possibility of error? What! shall one bred in the wilds of 
 America, who never saw the white cliffs of Albion, or 
 breathed the sweet air of The Capital: who understands not 
 the tune of the language, nor feels that infallible vernacular in- 
 stinct, set up his opinion in opposition to thatoflMr. Walker? 
 I have no desire to detract from this gentleman's merits; 
 but I have promised to point out certain errors into which 
 I conceive he has fallen, and to show that the English pro- 
 nunciation, taking Walker as the standard, is, in many 
 instances, less analogical than the American. 
 
304 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Mr. Walker is so fond of aspirations, as he ealls them, 
 that he says pitck-e-<nis rather than pileous.pelch-u -taut rather 
 than petulant, pleneh-e-mis rather than plenteous, &-e. This is 
 not only contrary to general usage in tlie United States 
 but contrary to the analogies of the language. And this 
 eminent orthoepist is betrayed into repeated inconsisten- 
 cies, by his attempts to establish the coincidence of his 
 theory with the polite usage- of the British metropolis. 
 
 Mr. Walker has laid it down as a rule, that whenever t 
 precedes u, and the accent immediately follows it, then t 
 preserves its simple sound; but when the accent precedes 
 the t, then the t is sounded like ch: consequently, he will 
 not agree to say choon choob chooter choomvlt choonic, &e. 
 with i>Ir. Sheridan instead of tune tube tutor tumult tunic, Sec. 
 nevertheless, he insists upon vachure misforchune fonhunc. 
 virchue ligdckuregignachurt forfeitchure, &c« instead of na- 
 ture misfortune fortune virtue It gaiure signature forfeiture, &c. 
 
 This monstrous pronunciation may prevail in Britain, 
 and it may likewise sometimes be heard in New England, 
 as we find it is countenanced by Webster: but I will ven- 
 ture to affirm that it is not the pronunciation of \he well edu- 
 cated natives of the middle and southern states. And it 
 introduces such horrible irregularity into the language 
 I am surprised that it should be advocated by any one who 
 makes pretensions to literature. That it is not universal, 
 even in England, appears from Scott's pronouncing dic- 
 tionary, and from the writings of several other orthoepists. 
 
 He remarks in one place, that 'if we analyse the u we 
 shall find it commence with the squeezed sound of e, equi- 
 valent to the consonant y. This produces the small hiss be- 
 fore taken notice of, and which may be observed in the pro- 
 nunciation of nature,niu\ borders so closely on naishure, that 
 it is no wonder Mr. Sheridan adopted this latter mode of 
 spelling the word to express its sound." Now if this sen- 
 tence have any signification, it must mean that the true 
 pronunciation of nature adventure, $«c. is hate yvre advent- 
 yure, &c; yet we are directed to say nachure advenchure, &c. 
 We would desire to inquire of Mr. Walker, if it be pos- 
 sible to retain the diphthongal sound of the u when the Hs 
 sounded asc/t: does not the v.. in that case.degenerate into og? 
 
 Again: Mr. Walker lays it down as a rule, that "when 
 lis succeeded by r and another consonant, not in a final 
 syllable, it has exactly the sound of em vermin vernal, <jrc." 
 Therefore it' we choose to follow J>I r. Walker, we must no 
 longer say virtue virgin firkin mirthful, hut vertve, vergin. fer- 
 kin, merthful. We are also directed to say merr mettle mer- 
 midon, &e. instead of myrrh, myrtle, myrmidon, &c. And wo 
 
THE SAVAGE. 305 
 
 must no longer indulge ourselves in saying mirthbirth gird 
 girt skirt whirl girl; but be particular to pronounce these 
 words thuSfmerth, berth, &c. Shall we leave the analogical 
 sound of the i and the y which is habitual to us, and learn 
 the anomalous and barbarous pronunciation of Britain? 
 Who ever heard the word vertue in the United States unless 
 among the lowest of the vulgar? who would dare to say 
 vcrgin in any genteel company on this sideofthe Atlantic? 
 who, that has any ideas of propriety, is heard to say gcrl 
 instead of girl? 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 We awoke. The morning had considerably advanced; 
 and the sun sent his cheerful beams through our win- 
 dow. We raised our head, rubbed our eyes, cast a 
 glance of recognition upon the rusty furniture of our 
 narrow disorderly apartment, and determined to arise. 
 But indolence prevailed: we laid our head again upon 
 the pillow, and sunk into a state of sweet insensibility. 
 We, indeed, still continued so much awake as to be con- 
 scious of existence; but we had fallen so far under the 
 dominion of sleep as to i'vee us from the cares and anxie- 
 ties of life. O enchanting slumber! sweet relaxation of 
 body and mind! How delightful it is to lay aside hopes 
 and fears and solicitudes, to pass the boundaries of life, 
 and 'o wander on the borders of nonexistence! We were 
 roused from our slumber by the sound of the bells: they 
 seemed to give a general invitation to the drowsy inha- 
 bitants of the city to go up to the house of prayer, and 
 return thanks to the Author of Nature for blessings al- 
 ready received and solicit a continuance of his favor. 
 For a moment the illusions of a warm imagination pre- 
 vailed over the cold and disagreeable deductions of rea- 
 son: we said to ourself, "Shall we go up to Mount Zion 
 and worship with the christians? Are we not all children 
 of the same common father? Why then may we not join 
 together in public adoration and prayer?" But short was 
 the empire of feeling: we thought of a vain proud avari- 
 cious intriguing hypocritical multitude, who assemble for 
 the purpose of imposing on each other by a specions afFec- 
 tation of piety and a variety of religious grimaces. The 
 
306 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 reflection was painful. The bells continued their invita- 
 tion: but we heard them no longer: we thought of the 
 errors and miseries of man; we thought of his vices and 
 follies; we thought of the madness of his hopes, the 
 folly of his fears, and the ridiculous nature of his ambi- 
 tion; we thought of death. But, some how or other, our 
 mind was uncommonly ingenious in getting rid of these 
 sorrowful cogitations. The mental depression we had 
 experienced was succeeded by a soothing tranquility: 
 and sleep, a second time, began to creep over our senses, 
 when we were startled by the sound of a well known 
 voice in the adjoining apartment inquiring for Piomin- 
 go: " What," continued the voice, u in bed, do you say? 
 unparalleled laziness!" The sound was familiar to our 
 ears; and without much difficulty we recognised the tones 
 of the intelligent but talkative Frank. We knew that 
 our visitant was not extremely ceremonious; and there- 
 fore, we were not surprised when he bolted into our 
 chamber, exclaiming, "-Thou indolent savage! thou in- 
 tolerable sluggard! how canst thou dream away exis- 
 tence in sloth and torpidity, whilst nature arrayed in her 
 gayest attire invites thee to life and enjoyment?" 
 
 Piomingo. Pretendest thou to be civilized, thou dar- 
 ing intruder? Why shouldest thou presumptuously break 
 into the sanctum sanctorum of the temple of indolence, 
 and thus outrageously interrupt my repose! 
 
 Frank. The object, I have in view, is the promotion 
 of thy happiness: I wish to effect thy reformation: and 
 the end being good, I shall find no difficulty in justify- 
 ing the means. 
 
 Piomingo. I like not thy philosophy. Besides, how 
 canst thou suppose thyself capable of reforming a man 
 whom fifty years have confirmed in his errors: I am 
 surprised at thy vanity! Thou canst only make a few 
 commonplace observations: all which I have heard a 
 thousand times before. 
 
 Frank. Truth is not less true, because it has been fre- 
 quently repeated. 
 
 Piomingo. But it is much less forcible on that account, 
 
THE SAVAGE. 307 
 
 I assure thee. I have been told, even from infancy, of 
 the impropriety of matutinal indulgence: yet thou seest 
 that all these admonitions have had no influence on my 
 conduct: how then canst thou imagine that truths as 
 thou callest it, when delivered by a christian, should 
 have a more powerful effect than when proceeding from 
 the mouth of the sage Oconi-mico, or from the lips of a 
 prince and warrior, my venerable grandfather, Paya 
 Mataha? Besides, is not this Sunday? a day of rest? a 
 day set apart for the express purpose of relaxation and 
 repose? I insist upon it, that I am warranted not only by 
 your scriptures, but by divine example, m resting iron* 
 my labors on this sabbath of the Lord. Do I not keep 
 it holy? Do I profane it with any "manner of work?'* 
 Indeed I should be well satisfied if there were two 
 Sundays in every week: I find this day the most agree- 
 able portion of my time. When I walk out, I am pleased 
 to see the people neatly attired, moving in every direc- 
 tion in search of recreation and amusement. I rejoice 
 to see the odious shops shut up, and to find that the bus- 
 tle of business is suspended for a moment. I rejoice, 
 because my ears are no longer pained by the clinking of 
 the hammer or the grating of the saw, overpowered by 
 the clamor of fools, or stunned by the rumbling of drays. 
 How cruel was the conduct of the French republicans 
 when they sacrilegiously abolished the festivals of the 
 church, and, instead of the seventh, allowed only the 
 tenth, part of time to religion, amusement and rest!' Was 
 this done, that time might be properly decimated? or 
 was it designed to promote industry and labor? The 
 slavery of man, in every civilized nation, is already in- 
 tolerable: and cruel is the legislator who would quench 
 the still smoking flax, or bruise, with a heavy hand, the 
 reed that. i* broken! 
 
 Frank. Thou hast already, I find, been long enough 
 among us to learn the practice, too common with chris- 
 tians, of wresting the scriptures in support of thy opi- 
 nions, and molding them ingeniously to answer thy pur- 
 pose. On this day, we are informed by divines, "we 
 
308 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 should not think our own thoughts or speak our own 
 words," but devote ourselves entirely to religious duties: 
 to singing and reading, to humiliation and prayer. 
 
 Piomingo. I understand thee not. If this day be the 
 legitimate successor of the Jewish sabbath, then is it a 
 day of rest; and I am justified in seeking repose. If it be 
 a festival instituted in honor of Christ's resurrection, 
 then it should be celebrated by moderate indulgences, 
 cheerful amusements, and innocent hilarity. Away with 
 your long faces and downcast looks, ye moping and sor- 
 rowful christians! do ye mourn because your savior has 
 risen from the dead? 
 
 Frank. Piomingo! A New England puritan or Scotch 
 presbylerian, if possessed of the power, would burn thee 
 for heresy. They suppose sabbath breaking to be one of 
 those crying sins, which not only insure the damnation 
 of the offender, but call down the vengeance of heaven 
 upon the nation in general. They walk with sad sobriety 
 straight forward, or sit like statues of despair without 
 looking to the right hand or to the left. Should any one 
 inadvertently make use of a thoughtless expression, or 
 suffer a rebellious smile to rise in his countenance, his 
 tender conscience immediately is alarmed, and he seeks 
 the Lord with tears and lamentations, and entreats him to 
 forgive the corruptness and pervcrseness of a miserable 
 sinner. 
 
 Piomingo. And do they suppose that the Lord will be 
 delighted with their crocodile tears and face of despair? 
 or do they expect to deceive him by their whining com- 
 plaints and cringing servility? Can God be pleased with 
 men 
 
 so faint, so spiritless 
 
 So dull, so dead in look, so wc-begone? 
 
 Frank. Tell me: how do you, savages, worship the 
 divinity? 
 
 Piomingo. We worship the great and good spirit with 
 singing and dancing, feasting, playing on musical instru- 
 ments, and making ourselves merry in his presence: we 
 suppose that he delights to look down on the happiness 
 
 »">f hie fi|»ilf1ro»-i 
 
TUB SAVAGE. 309 
 
 Frank. But, do you nwer endeavor to avert his dis- 
 pleasure by fasting and prayer? Do you never try to 
 atone for your sins by voluntary penances, or by extra- 
 ordinary exertions ol* virtue? 
 
 Piomitigo. Never: \vc do not suppose it possible that 
 he should become the minister ol evil, or direct Ids ven- 
 geance against the creatures of his power. 
 
 Frank. What then is the design of your fasts, prayers; 
 purifications, charms, oblations, &e. of which 1 have 
 frequently heard? 
 
 Piomingo. These are designed to propitiate, conciliate, 
 or inliuence, a multitude of inferior spirits, whose dispo- 
 sitions are supposed to be as changeable and capricious 
 as our own. 
 
 Frank. Travellers, therefore, reporttruly, when they 
 assert that you worship (bedevil? 
 
 Piomingo. They assert a falsehood: we worship no be- 
 ing that any way resembles the devil of the christians. 
 But we believe that numerous spirits exist on the earth, 
 in the waters, and in the regions of the air, who are nei- 
 ther wholly benevolent nor wholly malignant in their 
 nature: these we endeavor to propitiate, when offended, 
 by abstinence and prayer; these we conciliate by offer- 
 ings; and these we sometimes coerce by our charms 
 and incantations. We have been taught to believe that 
 the operations of nature are carried on by an infinite 
 number of beings resembling men in many particulars, 
 but greatly superior in power. Some of these reside in 
 deep valleys, among rocks, or in caverns of the earth: 
 they preside over minerals, regulate the movement of 
 subterraneous waters, kindle volcanoes, and excite, when 
 displeased, convulsions and earthquakes; others feed 
 bubbling fountains, preside over lakes, direct the wan- 
 dering rivulet, impel the majestic march of rivers, and 
 occasion the ebbing and flowing of the sea. Some raise 
 the mountain mists; and others awake the exhalations 
 of the valley. Some skim, in dark nights, over the sur- 
 face of the stream, and terrify the Indian, in his solitary 
 canoe, with their mournful exclamations; others are 
 
310 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 heard to groan in the oaks of the forest, to moan in the 
 thickest recesses of the canebrake, and whisper in the 
 winds that rush through the tops of the pines. Some- 
 times the benighted wanderer in the desert sees a cheer- 
 ful fire on the side of a hill, in the head of a valley, or 
 afar off on the plain amid the towering trees of the fo- 
 rest: he rejoices in hopes of reaching the camp of the 
 hunter: but the deceitful fiend shifts its situation, and flits 
 with its lambent light over dreary swamps and desolate 
 marshes; and having led the unfortunate vagrant for ma- 
 ny a weary mile, through briery dells and thickets of 
 thorn, amid craggy rocks, and over the trunks of fallen 
 trees; having cast him down the dangerous precipice, 
 thrown him into the yawning pit, or conducted him into 
 the middle of the quaking morass, it extinguishes the 
 deceitful flame; and a laugh of triumphant malignity is 
 heard through the gloom of the night! Some of these 
 airy beings are supposed to waken the sun from his night- 
 ly repose, and strew the courts of his palace with roses; 
 others wait his approach in the chambers of the west, and 
 conduct him to the depths of the ocean. Some watch over 
 the nascent herbage, and feed the green maize with sa- 
 lutary juices; others ride on the wings of the ravaging 
 storm, and add fury to the turbulent winds. Some scat- 
 ter thick fogs, and unveil the lace of the sun; others roll 
 together black clouds, and pour down torrents of rain. 
 
 Frank. How do you know when these spirits are of- 
 fended? 
 
 Piomin^o. When the fountains are dried; when the 
 winds are forbidden to blow; when the earth is burned by 
 the heat of the sun; when the corn is blighted; when ar- 
 mies of flies, locusts and caterpillars devour the green 
 herbage, and eat up the verdue of the trees; when the 
 deer have forsaken their haunts, and the buffaloes no 
 longer are found in the forest; when the gun of the war- 
 rior misses its aim, and the fire has forsaken his flint; 
 when the widowed dove complains at the door of the hut, 
 or the nightly whipperwill takes his station on the roof 
 of the cottage; when myriads of buzzards assemble in 
 
THE SAVAGE. 311 
 
 our villages; when dogs raise, at midnight, the howl of 
 lamentation; when the fishes are found dead in the 
 stream; finally, when the beloved people are afflicted 
 with new and terrible diseases: then know we that the 
 gods are offended. 
 
 Frank. In that case, what course do you pursue? 
 
 Piomingo. We inquire into the conduct of our nation; 
 we endeavor to discover if any one have offended against 
 the beloved speech received from our fathers; and, if it 
 appear that any Indian has neglected the accustomed 
 ceremonies, has departed from our ancient simplicity of 
 manners, has been guilty of an action unbecoming a be- 
 loved red man and a warrior, that man is subjected to 
 punishment; he is forbidden to appear, for a limited 
 lime, in the council, and is excluded from those solemn 
 dances and feasts which were instituted in honor of the 
 divinity. If his crime be very great, he is banished. 
 Should it, however, appear upon inquiry that no offence 
 can be imputed to individuals or to the people collec- 
 tively, we are apt to direct our resentment against our 
 prophets and priests: and they, sometimes, answer with 
 their lives for having suffered the nation to incur the 
 displeasure of the gods, by their own negligence in per- 
 forming their religious duties. 
 
 Frank. In what manner do you appease those ill natur- 
 ed divinities when they have, by incontestable signs, 
 evinced the existence of their anger? 
 
 Piomingo. "The eye sees not itself:" Although thou 
 mayest be unable to perceive the follies and absurdities of 
 thy countrymen, thou wouldest, no doubt, be sufficiently 
 clearsighted to discern the errors of Indians; and thou 
 wouldest probably feel inclined to show thy superiority 
 by laughing at our ridiculous modes of expiation. 
 
 Frank. Have you consecrated places, vestments, in- 
 struments, pictures, or images? 
 
 Piomingo. Some tribes represent invisible beings by the 
 means of pictures and images; but this is rather uncom- 
 mon with American savages. We have a house set apart 
 for holy purposes: in which are kept certain religious sym- 
 
SI 2 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 hols; and in which the new fire is kindled at the com- 
 mencement of every year. Our high priest has a dress con- 
 secrated lor solemn occasions. Many places are said to be 
 under the protection of spirits, and consequently are sup- 
 posed to he sanctified by their presence. Mountains, 
 rocks, cataracts, rivers, springs and valleys, are frequent- 
 ly objects of great veneration: and this veneration is oc- 
 casioned either by some traditionary story, or by the 
 uncommon appearances exhibited at these places. When 
 we approach these sacred objects, we adore the invisible 
 beings who are supposed to be present, and solicit their 
 favor and protection. But it may not be amiss 1o remark, 
 that, although the American Indians reverence the gods, 
 they never practise any of those abject grovelling acts of 
 devotion, which are so customary in civilized nations: 
 they never feel that self abasement that prostration of soul, 
 which is so much recommended by christian writers. 
 In the midst of a tremendous thunder storm, when the 
 heavens appeared to menace the earth with destruction, 
 I have seen the savages rush out of their tents, and dis- 
 charge their rifles at the cloud in token of defiance. When 
 their reasons for this absurd conduct were demanded, 
 they replied in the following manner: "Why should he 
 dart his lightning at our heads, and endeavor to frighten 
 us with the voice of his thunder? We are beloved men and 
 terrible warriors: we cannot be intimidated." "But," said 
 some one, "are you not afraid to offend the mingo of the 
 thunder?" "No,° they replied: "why should we fear him? 
 Let him afflict us with pain, and torment us with diseases 
 — we know how to suffer! Let him blast us with his light- 
 ning.or strike us dead with his thunder; death we despise!" 
 Frank. Absurd conduct indeed! But what could we 
 expect from savages, pagans, heathens, idolaters? from 
 men who worship an innumerable multitude of malig- 
 nant or capricious deities? from men who adore caverns, 
 rocks, mountains, winds, and clouds? from men who re- 
 present invisible beings by statues of wood or images 
 of clay? from men who people the universe with imagi- 
 nary gods, and endeavor to control the operations of na- 
 ture by childish and ridiculous charms? 
 
THE SAVAGE. 313 
 
 Piomingo. If these things be absurd, they are not pe- 
 culiar to us. All nations, of which we have any know- 
 ledge, have believed in the existence of beings superior 
 toman, by whatever name they may have been known, 
 angels, genii, spirits, gods. The delightful mythology 
 of the Greeks cheered the face of nature with a charm- 
 ing variety of immortals, and diffused animation through 
 every part of the universe; and your great epic poet, 
 when delivering the traditionary belief of the Jews, as 
 well as christians, has said or sung, 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep: 
 All these with ceaseless praise his works hehold 
 Both day and night: how often from the steep 
 Of echoing hill or thiefcet have we heard 
 Celestial voices to the midnight air, 
 Ho'e or responsive to each other's note, 
 Singing their great Creator? 
 
 It must indeed be acknowledged that men, as soon as 
 they begin to think that they understand the operations 
 of nature, endeavor to account for the various pheno- 
 mena without calling in the aid of these numerous in- 
 telligences: They would rather venerate a blind myste- 
 rious unintelligible something, to which they have given 
 the name of attraction; they would rather attribute the 
 movements and revolutions of things to the necessity of 
 their nature, or to the agency of a fluid, than believe in 
 the existence of intelligent causes. Well: what shall we 
 infer from this? — Nothing but uncertainty, darkness, and 
 error. The same philosophy which has annihilated the 
 iiereids and naiads, the oreads, and dryads; which has 
 wrested the thunderbolt from Jupiter, and the trident 
 from Neptune, — that same philosophy has attempted to 
 destroy our hopes of immortality, and dispense with all 
 intelligence in the government of the universe. 
 
 The philosophers have certainly made discoveries; 
 but they are melancholy discoveries. They have become 
 possessed of a little knowledge: knowledge enough to 
 show the fallacy of those delightful illusions which em- 
 bellished existence: knowledge enough to show that 
 nothing can be known, and to overwhelm us with doubts 
 lib 
 
314 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 and despair. They have shed a little light on the opera- 
 tions of nature: light enough to enable us to discover 
 the darkness and terrors of our situation; light enough 
 to dissipate the blooming creations of fancy, and all the 
 high-wrought pictures of a fervid imagination: light 
 enough to enable us to cast a glance of horror through 
 the desolate regions that surround us! I am sick of your 
 knowledge and your light, of your philosophical inves- 
 tigations and metaphysical disquisitions, of your math- 
 ematical demonstrations and theological contentions, of 
 your astronomical discoveries and analytical wonders. I 
 hate your telescope; and, your microscope I despise. I 
 would gladly, were it possible, obliterate every trace 
 of your unsatisfactory knowledge, and bury myself, 
 where, and where only, happiness can be found — in the 
 lowly vale of contented ignorancel 
 
 You laugh at our folly because we direct our prayers 
 to inferior spirits rather than to the supreme and all-go- 
 verning intelligence. What would you say, should I 
 assert that your practice is more ridiculous than ours? 
 We may hope to conciliate the favor, avert the displea- 
 pleasure, or determine the decisions, of inferior spirits; 
 who are subjected to passions, and governed by disposi- 
 tions, similar to our own: but who can influence the will 
 or sway the mind of an unchangeable God? We may- 
 lay open our thoughts to deities, who are supposed to be 
 ignorant of what passes in our minds; and we may con- 
 vince them, by reasoning, of the justice of our cause: 
 but who can enlighten the understanding of Omniscience, 
 or direct Wisdom how to form a judgment on the sub- 
 ject proposed. 
 
 You may smile at our images of clay: but here, also, 
 we can make, for ourselves, a tolerable apology: and our 
 conduct, when contrasted with that of your religious en- 
 thusiasts, will not appear so laughable as you seem to 
 imagine. We do not worship the wood or clay, of which 
 the statue is composed; but the deity who is supposed, 
 to sanctify it by his presence. We do not adore the ca- 
 vern, the rock, the fountain, the cataract, the wind, or 
 
THE SAVAGE. 315 
 
 the cloud; but the spirits who have taken up their resi- 
 dence there. Does not every one who worships an invi- 
 sible being, form, in his mind, an image of the being he 
 adores? Why then may we not assist hi«a in his concep- 
 tions by visible representations? Is it to be expected that 
 his ideal image will be a more correct likeness than the 
 production of our statuary, however rude it may appear 
 to the eye of a connoisseur? May he not as well take 
 the resemblance of his god from the hands of our inge- 
 nious artificer as worship the monstrous creation of his 
 own distempered and agitated mind? 
 
 Our attempts to control the operations of nature by 
 charms and incantations may appear ridiculous to the 
 philosophic few in civilized nations: but this weakness 
 cannot appear surprising in us, when it may be safely 
 asserted that nineteen twentieths of the most enlightened 
 nation on earth believe in the efficacy of charms as 
 whimsical and cdildish as ours. We are not more super- 
 stitious, in this particular, than were the ancients: 
 
 Carmim dii supcri placantur, carmine manes, 
 
 "By charms," says another poet, "the moon can be 
 brought down from heaven: by charms Circe changed 
 the companions of Ulysses into swine: and the cunning 
 serpent is destroyed by charms. " 
 
 Frank. You have, J understand, among you, many 
 customs and ceremonies, which you religiously observe, 
 although you are unable to give any rational account of 
 their origin or signification, 
 
 Piomingo. Well: is it not better that unmeaning ce- 
 remonies, should occupy our time, and that our religion 
 should consist of a round of external observances, than 
 that we should be continually gasping for heavenly in- 
 spirations, waiting for the illapses of the divinity, or 
 swelling with imaginary afflatus-, until, having deceived 
 ourselves as well as others, we be driven to madness by 
 the illusions of a distempered imagination? 
 
 Besides, every innoeent custom, how frivolous soever 
 it may appear, should be carefully observed. Every in- 
 novation in national manners opens a door for the en- 
 
316 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 trance of vice, and shakes the foundations of virtue. Vir- 
 tue has been often compared to a plant: and, if I may be 
 allowed to poetize a little, I would consider it for a mo- 
 ment, as a beautiful but tender exotic transferred from 
 the mild and benignant climafe of heaven to the bleak 
 and ungenial region of the earth; where it must be pro- 
 tected by the sheltering walls of salutary prejudices, or 
 it will perish. 
 
 Every innovation in national manners is dangerous be- 
 cause it lessens our veneration for the wise institutions of 
 our fathers; it lessens the respect we should feel for 
 ourselves as members of a particular community; it de- 
 stroys nationality; it breaks down the barrier which the 
 wisdom of our ancestors has raised between us and the 
 other nations of the earth; it cuts away the dikes which 
 have defended us for ages from the tempestuous waves 
 which agitate the world: until, finally, we are over- 
 whelmed by an ocean of vices. 
 
 Frank. It is true, those sages, who have acquired im- 
 mortality by the establishment of nations, appear to have 
 thought it necessary to institute national customs and re- 
 gulations, and to instil local prejudices into the minds of 
 the people, who were the objects of their care; but their 
 plans were defective and erroneous, because they were 
 not calculated for extensive empires, and because they 
 had a tendency to originate and perpetuate national an- 
 tipathies and wars. 
 
 Piomingo. It is easy to find fault; but it would be dif- 
 ficult to show how they could have acted more judicious- 
 ly than they did. They were not so vain as to suppose 
 themselves capable of regenerating and reforming the 
 world, but wisely directed their exertions to the promo- 
 tion of the felicity of their countrymen. If a man endea- 
 vor to overturn a mountain, his labor will be lost; but 
 if he exert himself to remove a stone or a piece of tim- 
 ber out of his way, he will probably be successful. 
 
 One of those venerable legislators found himself in a 
 situation which enabled him to influence the decisions 
 of an inconsiderable people, whose happiness he was 
 anxious to secure. To them he issued his commands: 
 
THE SAVAGE. 317 
 
 and, in order that they might make a suitable impres- 
 sion on their minds he called in the assistance of heaven. 
 The precepts inculcated were delivered as the oracles 
 of God: and the transgressor not only suffered the pun- 
 ishment announced by the law, but trembled at incur- 
 ring the displeasure of the divinity. The virtuous cit- 
 izen was not only rewarded by the applauses of his 
 country and distinguished by honorary marks of her 
 favor; but he also felt happy in the idea of having se- 
 cured the favor and protection of heaven. 
 
 The wise lawgiver saw the necessity of raising an 
 insurmountable barrier between his political children and 
 the other nations of the earth. How can he preserve 
 his favorites from contamination? shall lie build a. wall of 
 adamant that cannot be scaled? shall he surroundt hem 
 with mountains, whose impassable summits asscend to 
 the heavens? shall he call around them the waves of 
 some restless and tempestuous ocean? or shall he hide 
 them in the midst of an inhospitable desert? These 
 things exceed his abilities; but he may, by judicious re- 
 gulations, render the objects of his care and the neigh- 
 boring nations reciprocally odious to each oilier. 
 
 It may be observed that these ancienjt lawgivers 
 thought salutary prejudices and an unvarying system of 
 manners necessary for the prosperity of virtue; but mo- 
 dern philosophers endeavor to eradicate all prejudices, 
 whether beneficial in theireffects or otherwise: they are 
 in quest of truth, but they ought to reflect that truth, 
 enough to answer their purpose, will never be jound. 
 Should they even follow Nature to her hiding place and 
 ravish the master secret from her bosom; would the dis- 
 covery be productive of happiness to man? 
 
 Every one now appears desirous to promote the in- 
 tercourse of nations. Were all nations equally vicious, 
 were society every where equally corrupt; were all laws 
 and constitutions of government, equally well calculated 
 to promote the felicity of man, were all customs, opi- 
 nions, and pursuits, equally conducive to the practice of 
 virtue; then, indeed, a philosopher might be well pleased 
 
318 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 to see nations supply each others' wants, reciprocate of- 
 fices of friendship, and maintain a continual intercourse; 
 then, he need not be apprehensive of promoting civili- 
 zation at the expense of virtue and happiness: but, if 
 the laws, constitutions, customs, prejudices, manners, 
 pursuits, of one people, be more desirable than those of 
 another, what will be the consequence of association? 
 All the advantages which the virtuous nation derived 
 from its local institutions will gradually lessen, and final- 
 ly disappear. 
 
 Ancient lawgivers studied the nature of man, and 
 formed his mind to virtue and glory; but the founders of 
 modern republics think mind altogether unworthy of 
 their attention: they take no measures to prevent the 
 existence of vice, but suppose they have fulfilled their 
 duly, when they inflict punishment on the vicious. 
 
 What wouldest thou think of a physician, to whom 
 some prince had committed the care of the health of 
 his subjects, who, instead of recommending temperance 
 and exercise, and using every means in his power to pre- 
 vent the existence of disease; instead of watching the 
 approaches of destemper, and administering, in good 
 time, the necessary remedy; should encourage the objects 
 of his care in every species of excess, and pay no atten- 
 tion whatever to the causes or progress of indisposition; 
 but when the patient should become absolutely incurable 
 would order his head to be taken off by an attendant? — 
 Such is the conduct of modern legislators: they never 
 attempt to form the mind; to give a salutary direction to 
 its energies; to implant the seeds of honor, patriotism, 
 friendship, heroism; to awaken in the breast a love of 
 glory, and stir up the sparks of noble ambition. No: they 
 permit every species of vice to flourish until it have 
 taken such deep root in society, that it cannot be extir- 
 pated. What then? The sapient legislators assemble 
 and make a law against this destructive vice: and in obe- 
 dience to this law, the sword of justice is sent forth to 
 destroy those members of the community who are most 
 deeply infected with the prevailing distemper: a dis- 
 
 temnftr Whir.h. if flip (mvprnmpnf liart rlrtno itc rlnf ir txrrmLrl 
 
THE SAVAGE. 319 
 
 never have existed. Another vice becomes universal; 
 and another law is made against the vicious. Crimes are 
 multiplied, and laws are multiplied also; until men lose 
 the idea of right and wrong in that of lawful and unlaw- 
 ful: and however base, perfidious and unjust their con- 
 duct may be, they account themselves u good men and 
 true" if they do not incur the penalty of the law. 
 
 It is amusing to hear those, who thrive by the vices 
 and follies of others, and fatten on the corruptions of so- 
 ciety, boast of their civilization and adduce the multipli- 
 city of their laws as a proof of their refinement. Where- 
 as, in truth, the multiplicity of their laws proves nothing 
 but the multiplicity of their crimes. 
 
 Frank. Is it not true, that savages have but few laws, 
 and that civilized nations have many? And does not this 
 arise from multifarious businesses and diversified rela- 
 tions on the one hand, and from sameness of life and 
 restricted intercourse on the other? 
 
 Piomingo. It is true, that savages have ^ew laws, be- 
 cause they are governed by a system of manners — because 
 they are virtuous: and it is also true, that polished nations 
 have many laws, because their manners are corrupted — 
 because they are villous. However highly polished a na- 
 tion might be, however various the relations that might 
 subsist among the individuals composing the same, if men 
 were just, there would be no necessity for laws — there 
 would be no laws. Yet we bear the wisest among you 
 boasting of your multiplied statutes: as well might the 
 captive be proud of his chains, or the slave of the whip 
 suspended over his shoulders! But we are also told that 
 your laws are just: and of that you are vain: were the 
 laws unjust, something might, be inferred, from that cir- 
 cumstance, in your iavor; but as they are just, you must 
 be unjust. Thou shall not steals was a very just law: but 
 it proves there were thieves among the Jews. 
 
 Frank. Dost thou suppose that the founders of the 
 American republic should have imitated the conduct of 
 those sages of antiquity to whom thou hast alluded? 
 Piomingo. As far as it might have been practicable, they 
 
320 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 lions as would have had a tendency to give a national 
 charactertothe people of the United States. They should 
 have instituted a grand national system of education, and 
 breathed the spirit of virtuous republicanism into the ris- 
 ing generation. They should have instituted schools, gym- 
 nasia, games, festivals. They should have made it their 
 primary concern to raise citizens for the only republic 
 on earth. They should have considered the youth of both 
 sexes as belonging to the nation, and have taken care that 
 the offspring of the indigent should not be brutalized by 
 drudgery, nor that of the opulent ruined by indulgence. 
 They should have distinguished excellence by honorary 
 rewards and desirable privileges, and have rendered in- 
 dolence, avarice, and selfishness, contemptible. Indeed, 
 any institution, which would have created nationality, 
 would have been attended with an infinity of advantages. 
 But nothing of this nature was attempted: they legisla- 
 ted concerning exports and imports, offices and salaries. 
 They thought nothing worth their attention but the acqui- 
 sition and protection of property — the ways and means 
 of getting rich, and the sweets of luxurious enjoyment. 
 No plan of education has been formed: no grand national 
 work has been undertaken; no glorious enterprise has 
 been achieved; nothing daring and magnanimous has been 
 attempted, which might give the citizens a high opinion 
 of their country, of their government, of themselves; no- 
 thing has been thought of which might divert the attention 
 of the citizens from their avaricious pursuits; nothing has 
 be*en imagined which might share the respect which is 
 now paid solely to riches; no — the image of no new God 
 has been set up, which might divide, with Mammon, the 
 adorations of the good peopl® of the United States ! What 
 will be the fate of a commonwealth governed by such 
 grovelling sordid stattsmen,suchintriguinglow politicians? 
 Itwill become a nation of mercantile adventurers, brokers, 
 shopkeepers, pedlers, usurers, and unprincipled specula- 
 tors. A mercenary spirit will pervade every part of the 
 community: it will influence the actions of the governing 
 and the governed, of the opulent and the indigent, of the 
 
THE SAVAGE. 321 
 
 groaning under the weight of oppression, cowardly, 
 weak, divided, effeminate, base, the nation will become 
 a prey to the first daring usurper or ambitious invader. 
 
 Frank. We wander from the subject, Piomingo. Plato 
 taught his disciples in the shades of the academy; Epi- 
 cures inquired after the sovereign good in the delicious 
 recesses of a garden; Zeno instructed his followers in a 
 portico; Aristotle was the father of the walkers; and thou 
 I suppose, meanest to institue a sect of sleeping philoso- 
 phers, and give lessons, in thy bed, on indolence of body 
 and tranquility of mind. Thou wilt place the summum 
 bonum in a torpor of the faculties. Wilt thou rise vo- 
 luntarily? or shall I exert a little salutary force, and 
 compel thee to obey my commands? If existence be de- 
 sirable, why should we cast away the blessing? A man 
 might as well be dead as continually asleep. 
 
 Piomingo. {stretching and yawning) Mere existence is 
 by no means desirable: therefore, when I see no prospect 
 of pleasure, I grow weary of life, and resorted to that 
 species of temporary death which is vulgarly called sleep. 
 Dead! (yawning) I should like very much to be dead. 
 
 Frank. Die then: there is nothing to prevent thee.- I 
 will, as a friend, endeavor to facilitate thy escape from 
 this troublesome world: I will furnish thee witb a knife, 
 a rope, or a poisoned chalice: I will accompany thee to 
 the brink of a precipice, or to the banks of a stream. 
 Leap boldly: and terrestrial affairs will disturb thee no 
 longer. 
 
 Piomingo. Thou art very obliging: but, at present 1 feel 
 no inclination to trouble thee with commands of that ex- 
 traordinary nature. For dcalhwo. may "devoutly wish;" 
 but dyings I apprehend, must be rather disagreeable. 
 However, to convince thee of my respect for thy advice, 
 I hasten to extricate myself from the embraces of sloth. 
 
 Frank. Thou dost well. Sloth is a most pernicious mis- 
 tress: she smiles, soothes, seduces, and caresses; but, 
 finally, destroys every one who yields to her blandish- 
 ments. Though thou wert Samson, thou wilt lose thy 
 strength if thou laycst thy head in the lap of this Deli- 
 lah! Though thou wert Ulysses, thou wilt sink to a 
 
322 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 state of brutal'ty if thou yield to the solicitations of this 
 Circe! Though thou wert Hercules, thou wilt become 
 contemptible if thou become the slave of thisOmphale! 
 
 Piomingo. Thou speakest well: but did I not feel an 
 inclination for breakfast, I fancy I should be able to re- 
 sist the most potent of thy arguments, and withstand thy 
 most ardent solicitations. 
 
 Frank. I have heard that savages smoke and sleep 
 away their time, and cannot be roused from their state 
 of stupefaction, save by the calls of hunger or a desire 
 of revenge. 
 
 Piomingo. Thou hast not been correctly informed. 
 Friendship, glory, love of country , afford motives suffi- 
 ciently powerful to call forth their ardor, and produce 
 the most heroic exertions. 
 
 Frank. Wilt thou go to church? 
 
 Piomingo. I think not. To what church wouldest thou 
 lake me? 
 
 Frank. Thou art so old that I have small hopes of be- 
 ing so blessed as to witness thy conversion: were it not 
 that I am discouraged by this consideration, I should in- 
 sist upon thy attending some of the calvinistic, reform- 
 ed, doubly refined, and evangelical churches, where 
 thou mighest hear the gospel preached in its purity, and 
 be carefully instructed in the doctrines of grace. 
 
 Piomingo. What are the doctrines of grace? 
 
 Frank. We are commanded not to "cast pearls be- 
 fore swine." Wert thou only in a state of grace and ho- 
 nored with a pair of "newinvented patent" spiritual 
 eyes, thou wouldest be able to discover the beauty of 
 these sublime, man- depressing, and God-exalting doc- 
 trines. Ah! it is a very comfortable thing to be in a state 
 of grace! In that case, my dear Piomingo, thou should- 
 est not need to be under any apprehensions of being 
 eternally damned: thou mightest venture slyly to indulge 
 those corruptions of thy nature which might not be 
 purged away by the process of regeneration; but thou 
 wouldest have to be careful not to bring reproach upon 
 the godly by thy irregular proceedings. There was Da- 
 vid, for instance, the royal nightingale: he made a few 
 
THE SAVAGE. 323 
 
 false steps in his progress through life: but, being one 
 of the elect, his soul was as safe as a guinea in the iron 
 chest of a miser: the Lord never fails to pardon the 
 transgressions of his children. 
 
 Piomingo. Thou bringest to my recollection a man 
 greater than David — the fighting*, praying, canting, hy- 
 pocritical, enthusiastic, daring, cruel, magnanimous, 
 Cromwell; who murdered his master, and committed a 
 few barbarities in Ireland and Scotland. He inquired, 
 towards the end of his life, if it were certain, that the 
 saints could not fall away and be finally lost. Being an- 
 sweied, that nothing was more certain, he exclaimed with 
 ex-ultaiion, "Then I am safe: for I know that 1 was in a 
 state of grace!" — I am afraid tftat these doctrines are 
 unfavorable to the practice of virtue. 
 
 Frank. Virtue! Evangelical christians never men- 
 tion virtue, unless in the way of reproach: it is a hea- 
 thenish kind of a thing — filthy rags — yea, d ### in the 
 sight of the Lord. Any one who hopes to acquire favor 
 with God by promoting the good of l|is fellow creatures 
 is regarded by them with the utmost contempt and ab- 
 horrence, and stigmatized with the odious epithets of 
 legalist and moralist. They feel abundance of love and 
 veneration for that being who from all eternity judiciously 
 selected them as the objects of his beneficence; but they 
 look down with ineffable contempt on a reprobate world 
 — "vessels, of w r rath fitted to destruction!" They have 
 a great antipathy against nature and every thing natural, 
 and are continually striving to have it brought into sub- 
 jection: indeed they have been so far successful as to 
 have brought themselves to think with pleasure of the 
 eternal damnation of a vast majority of mankind. They 
 have constructed a hell, a dreadful hell, in which they 
 hope to see unbelievers eternally punished: Yea, they 
 flatter themselves with the idea that they, the saints, shall 
 be placed on thrones, and will have the sublime happi- 
 ness ct^ pronouncing the irreversible doom, of never- 
 ending torments, upon impenitent millions: among whom 
 they expect to see reprobate fathers, mothers, brothers, 
 sisters, wives and r.hildrpn! 
 
324 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 
 Recollections of Infancy, 
 
 
 5 
 
 Vitioua Habits, 
 
 111 
 
 Longing alter immortality, 
 
 
 8 
 
 Complaint, 
 
 114 
 
 Communication. 
 
 
 9 
 
 The Schoolmaster, 
 
 123 
 
 Old age, 
 
 
 10 
 
 Prejudice, 
 
 141 
 
 ES'ecte of civilization. 
 
 ii 
 
 25 
 
 From Crito, 
 
 146 
 
 Acquisition of wealth, 
 
 
 1? 
 
 Travels, 
 
 li4 
 
 Discoveries, 
 
 
 IS 
 
 From Crito, 
 
 158 
 
 Esquire, 
 
 
 21 
 
 Zeno, 
 
 159 
 
 Vanity, 
 
 
 27 
 
 Piorningo, 
 
 «*. 
 
 The Hill of Life, 
 
 
 28 
 
 Cards, 
 
 160 
 
 Remonstrance of the Letter II 
 
 
 ?3 
 
 The savage at the Theatre, 
 
 164 
 
 Prudence, 
 
 
 35 
 
 Commerce, 
 
 167 
 
 Recollections of Youth, 
 
 
 3G 
 
 Christinas, 
 
 168 
 
 The Devil, 
 
 
 ?,s 
 
 Education, 
 
 172 
 
 Friendship, 
 
 
 48 
 
 Mother Wit, 
 
 176 
 
 What is Truth, 
 
 
 65 
 
 Manufactories, 
 
 178 
 
 Desire of Distinction, 
 
 
 69 
 
 Punctuation: from Crito, 
 
 181 
 
 Theology, 
 
 
 71 
 
 The Walk, 
 
 183 
 
 Virtue, 
 
 
 :2 
 
 Pronunciation: from Crito, 227, 
 
 SOS 
 
 Justice, 
 
 
 70 
 
 Satire, 
 
 233 
 
 The Grave, 
 
 
 77 
 
 Thoughts, 
 
 • £38 
 
 The stage of Life, 
 
 
 79 
 
 Savage Correspondence, 
 
 242 
 
 Conversation, 
 
 
 80 
 
 Letter I— From Chotabowee, 
 
 244 
 
 Happiness, 
 
 to 
 
 95 
 
 The Statehouse yard, 
 
 147 
 
 The man of the World, 
 
 
 89 
 
 Letter 11 — From Chotahowee, 
 
 254 
 
 Politics, 
 
 
 91 
 
 Story Telling, 
 
 267 
 
 Sermons, 
 
 
 98 
 
 Scandal, 
 
 577 
 
 Eating, 
 
 
 100 
 
 Peace, 
 
 ^5 
 
 Society, 
 
 
 104 
 
 Letter III— From Chotabowee, 
 
 293 
 
 The golden age, 
 
 
 ib- 
 
 Sunday, 
 
 30* 
 
 Slavery, 
 
 105, 
 
 184