THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 1 
 
 A 
 
 TBR 
 
 ♦/ 
 
 SAVAGE. 
 
 BT 
 
 
 A HEADMAN AND WARRIOR OF THE MUSCOGULGEE NATION 
 
 8BCOND EOmO!«. 
 
 PnbUfhed l»y John F'erral, 
 
 AT THE OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL LABORBK 
 
 ii9, e S2&oaxaalter Street^ In 8th« below Marlset St. 
 PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 1838.
 
 i^ 

 
 (£> 
 
 /lr& 
 
 1? "^ •$ 
 
 IiNTRODUCTORY ADDRESS 
 
 Thb Savage, it is hopcJ, will be aa accepfa- for the rivers rocks and moantains of the desort 
 bla pveient to those who devote a poriion of their It was his fortune many yoara ago to form an ac- 
 time to literary amiisementB. Its aim is not to quaintance with an intelligent and learned citizen 
 instruct the moxt enlightened people in the uni- of the United States, who, in cons6quen<'e of some 
 verso, but merely to afEn-d u novel species of misfortimes in early life, contracted such a dis- 
 cnlertainment to that changeable being, who da- taste for iho manners, amusements and pleasures 
 lights in var;cly. If The Savage find itself inra- of his countrymen, that he adopted the resolution 
 pahle of producing ihat which is original, it will of seeking oblivion of his cares among the cLil- 
 endeavor to place olJ things in a new light; and dren of nature. Ke look up his abode in the 
 if it be defective in a certain quality known by country of the Muscogulgees, where he became 
 the name of wit, it faithfully proinisas never to known to Piomingo. A friendship, sincere, and 
 have recourse to indecent ribaldry to supply the lasting as lifo, was the consequence of thi:» inti- 
 deffciency. Those v.'ho may (eel disposed to re- macy. Piomingo gsiined instruction from the lips 
 tire awhiia from the conlliccs of political warfare of his companion: He was soon enabled to read 
 and 8^ek for relaxation and repose in the wigwam and reflect ; and felt himself carried away by an 
 o/" i'jowitng'o, shall meet wiih a (rienilly rocop- irresistible propcnsi'.y for investigation. Delight- 
 lion. IIo will proJace the calumet of peace, and ful but fleeting was the period of this intercourse, 
 bring forth (i>r their entertain m(;tit " things new The friend ot Piomingo died; and he has en- 
 and old." Piomi.Tgu is no I'ederaliat, no rejiubii- dnavored to console himself for his loss by sock- 
 can, no democrat, na aristocrat, in the common ing araispment among th;U people from whom 
 acceptation of those termn; but he may boasl his former associiile had rt-iired with disgust. 
 with the utmost propriety of being a:i American He h.is travelled for several years through tha 
 "indeed, in whom there is no guile." lie sprang United States, and at last fixed his residence ia 
 Dp in the wilderness ftr from the haunts of ci- Philadelphia. 
 
 vilized men. Me inhaled with his lirst breath a Tho good people of this Republic have long 
 love for sarage independence; and his subse- derived arausomeni from the journals of polished 
 quent acqaaintanco with tho arts, sciences, and travellers through barbarous nations: let us for 
 langaagcdoi poli.sho 1 nations has not contributed orico revene ths picture and see what entertain- 
 to Ifasen his original prepos3es.-iio:i in favor of the nient can be dra-.vn from the observations of a 
 v/ild dignity of nature. He e.ijoys the bcautios savage upon the manners and customs, vices and 
 t»f iha g irdens, msadowsand fields of u cultivatad virtues, of those who boast tha advantages of i$' 
 •ountry ; but he would rssign theai with pleasure finemeat aai civilization. 

 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 BY PIOMINGO. 
 A Headman and Warrior of the Muscogulgee. Nation. 
 
 THR SAVAGE— NO. I. 
 
 Recollections nf Infancy. TIiou must become old; thy hands must 
 
 The existence of things is not stranre; tremble, thine eyes become dim, and death 
 
 but the power of perceiving thij exist .>'nce put a period lo thy existence.'' " What ia 
 
 is, beyond comprehension, wonderful. Where death ]' -Death is the end of li e. Death 
 
 Ehall we look for the origin of mind? '« aothinor.' "I camot understand 
 
 Whcr.ce sprang the young idea 1 Was it »hat : come, let us look at my brother Quibo. 
 produced by the immediate agencv of the Is he asleep? let us awake him. His face 
 Almighty One 1 or is it a ne.-essarv emana- 's cold; his eyes are rlosed ; hislmibsare 
 tion from the great fountain of na'iure, the «"ff: heis dead. If I toucli him, he cannot 
 soul of ihe univ^erse ? Our first thought has ^-'el me; It I cry, he cannot hear me; Should 
 perished for e^er ; no exertion of ours can I P"'l oven his eyes, he would not see me : 
 bring it up from the gulf of oblivion: yet, he w '^ead Why did he lie down on this 
 we may awaken the' recollection of times bt^'lji" ['''ej Why did he fall asleep and 
 long p,.st ; we may bid the fcceues of child- ^'^ ^ J will run wild on the hill-<. I wi 
 hood pass again before us; and rememl.er "ever lie down to sleep, any more. I will 
 with pleasure the early excursions of the "^' "'^• 
 
 unfledged mind. •' My dear boy, look at Quibo: he has 
 
 When we first become conscicus of our fjet, but he cannot walk; he has h^nds, but 
 own existence, every thing is new— every he cannot bend his bow, or take an arrow 
 thing delightful. We inquire not whence from his quiver ; be has eyes, but he cannot 
 we came; we rejoice because we are. see the sun rise among the trees of the 
 The brisk circulation of the blood and the forest: the life— the spirit — the thought of 
 kindly flow of the animal spirits impel us to Quibo is gone away to the land of souls." 
 action. We find it impossible lo control the Sudden as a flash of lightning from a sum- 
 Jumultuous emotions of exultati< n and j"y. mer cloud, sprang up a new and delightful 
 We have no power to remain in one place idea: Quibo is not aW dead; his thought is 
 or continue sileni : we run, we scream, we gone to another country. " Where is the 
 leap "likQ roes or young harts on the moun- land of souls?" Oconi-mico took me by 
 tains of spices." But this blissful period the hand and led me to the door of our hut. 
 passes away as a dream, and visits us no » Raise your eyes, my son, and observe those 
 more. Our prospeca become suddenly red clouds in the heavens." " I observe 
 darkened : some faint idea of evil, of sorrow, them." " Do you see those blue mountains, 
 and of death, passes through the mind. whose towering summits are mixed with 
 
 The first thought concerning the final the descendmg clouds]" "I see them." 
 period of our joys and of our existence is •» Beyond these mountains, there is a wide 
 inexpressibly distressing. " Must 1 die river ; beyon^l that river, there is a great 
 bIso'?" said I to the sage Oconi-mico — country ; on the other side of that country, 
 "must I die as well as Quibo] "Thou there 'is a. world of loater ; in that water 
 must also die," answered Oconi-mico." Shall there are a thousand islands: the sun is 
 I no more walk? Shall 1 no more climb up gone down among them. These islands 
 the mountain of buffaloes ? Shall I no more are full of fruit trees and streams of water, 
 shake the fiuit from the beautiful pawpaw A thousand buffaloes and ten thousand deer 
 tree, or swim in the waters of Tuckabatchee? graze on the hills or ruminate in the val- 
 Shall I no more, dear Oconi-mico, shall I leys." " When I die, shall I become an 
 no mote see the sun rise among the trees of inhabitant of those islands ?" " Love your 
 the forest?" "My dear child," said Oconi- friends ; become a great warrior; and when 
 mice, " behold the stalks of maize, do they you die, the good spirit will convey you to 
 flourish longer than one season ? Observe the land of souls, where Quibo is." " Who 
 the trees of the forest ; they grow old and is the good spirit ? Where is he ?" " He 
 become rotten : must a man live for ever 1 is above the stars ; he sends down the rain
 
 6 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the hail, and the stiow ; anil he passes by in bottom of a well, probably to signify that it 
 
 the wild tornado." Bid children, like the was acquired by immense labor and with 
 
 Bon of Ottoma, go down into the earth, to a great difficulty. These philosophers have 
 
 dark place, where dwell the wicked spirits, thought proper to bring up truth from the 
 
 My chil I, yonr mind is fiiiigiied «s well as shades; but a much more numerous class 
 
 your body. You must go to rest. To-mor- h^s deduced in origin from above. Was it 
 
 row you shnll see Quibo." the nngol Gabriel that brought down the 
 
 He took mc in his arms and bore me to leaves of the koian for the illustrious Mo- 
 
 my couch: lie wiped away the tears from hammed? These were said to contain the 
 
 my checks with the backof iii.-i ii'.ind, adding, very quintesscrice of tiuth, and teach every 
 
 *' llest in peace : the go:)d being will send th.iug th it was necessary to be known by 
 
 down his angels to watch over your eluiu- the children of men. 
 
 bers." I slept; and sweet was my ro;)ose. Hnw many go is> and how many goddesses, 
 What c;in soothe and calm the mind like at different times, have left ihc t^tarry pave- 
 the proteftiiiii of a gr.'^at and b^nevnlent ment of the celestial regions and come down 
 being? The child miy repose confidence lor our instruction and entettainment .' 
 in the arm (jf iis father: but, to wli.im shall .A.mong the Greeks and amnnir llie Romius, 
 t!)e fitlier look up lor support .' H- is con- how many sasrcs caught insp r.ition ! how 
 eciou.^ of his own weakne.-^s. an I feels his mmy sihy's uttered tho oracles of the di- 
 dependence on every thing that siirrcunds vinify ! Yet. notwith^tan ling all the be- 
 iiim. He c:innot subject nature to his em- nevolent e.xrrt ons < S gods and denii-gods, 
 pire, nrr drive the planets from thf ir orbits, heroes and page?, we still remainr^l en- 
 Must he su'imit to thr; operati m of c.unes velopel in thick dark-'egs until the "day- 
 an I cft';cts? .Mu,-it h ; dip an i be firgut en spring from on high" shed its e.nhlffence on 
 
 forever! Or is there any truth in ihe ctm- theejrth and even yet we srrope- tlirnush 
 
 Bolatory invitation : "C.xne unto me, a 1 ye a darkness that may be fdt ; we wander 
 
 thit are weary an I heivy-i iden, and I will cheerlessly through the '-valley of the 
 
 give you rest." Ch.dstims! Your religion sltadow of death" whers no one cirt aflbrd 
 
 sounds swe2t]y in the ears ofa weak and u.'? a.^-i^tance. 
 
 erring cr.'attire, like man. It speaks to the What is trnlh? and wherecan it he fiuind? 
 
 heart, afliirds a refusre to tiie in's-r ible. and The chemist expects to find it in his criici- 
 
 provido:^ a remedy for fvery evil : I lit I can- blp; the mathematician sees it in a triangle, 
 
 not divest myself of my originil opinions, a circle, vr a parallelogram; acd the meta- 
 
 How indclio e are the impressions we re- physician ditcovcrs it in the eternal fitness 
 
 ceivc in child. lood! Fifiy summers have of tilings. 
 
 browned my visage, and fifty w inters Inve Great was the search, some hundred 
 
 fuiroweJ my cheek; yet still the maxims years ago, for the plulo.-ophei's s!o'ie, for 
 
 of Ocmi-mico are depply engraven on the the alkihest, and fiir the elixr of l.fe; but 
 
 tablets of my mind. The sun of i-cience has some sceptics assert that there is no philo- 
 
 slriven in viin to dissipite the darkness of sophei's stone, no alkahest, ift elixir of 
 
 my superstition ; still I ec- my god in the li:e. 
 
 black clou I, and li-ten to " the voice ot his Some have drawn a comparison between 
 
 excellency" in the thunder; still he reigns these alchemists and the investigators of 
 
 in the tern lest, and p iSiGs by in the torn do. truth: they assert th'^re is no truth in a well: 
 
 Navigatnrs inform me that there is no they aver tliat it is not to be found in the 
 
 heaven lor Indiana in the soutlurn seas ; yet crucible of the chemist; and they pronounce, 
 
 my fncy can people still a thousand islan's without hesitation, that there is no such 
 
 with the brave spirits of my forefathers, thing as a circle, a triangle, or a parallelo- 
 
 Btill I see their shadowy forms chase the gram in nature. They say that when we 
 
 fleo'.ing deer over visionary hills, and I sigh follow truth \vc pursue a phantom of tho 
 
 for their company and their joys. imagination, and are led away by an ignus 
 To be CO it nucd. fuluus which will entice us forward to 
 
 swamps cf difficulty, to a reirion o^d")uh"Si 
 
 What is Truth? and a land of shadows, '-'hev tell us that tho 
 
 What is truth? This inqui'-y has b.'ea theory of the metaphysician is equally er- 
 
 mide by tho isands in all ages ot the world, roneous ; tha^ there is no eternal fitness of 
 
 yet still remiins umnswered. We have things; that there is nothing but discor- 
 
 neither discovered what it is, nor wh' re it dance and opposition in rebus naturae, 
 
 may be tbiini. Some of the ancients went When tired with this seep ical philosophy, 
 
 down to look for this jewel in the bowels of we may listen to the precepts of another not 
 
 the earth. 'J'hey said that truth was at the less gloomy. Truth, they say, may exist,
 
 . THE SAVAGE, 7 
 
 but is tinworthy of so rmich labor and fa- tains her secret?, tlieir happiness is blighted- 
 tigue. There may be such a thing as the Foolisli men ! to break the glasses through 
 philosopher's stone — as a universal diesol- which their mothers and nurses were con- 
 vent — as tlie elixir of immortality ; but the tent to receive the rays of knowledge! 
 discovery would be productive of the mot^t Foolish men! lo soar with waxen winsfs 
 serious consequences in the great economy above the atmosphere of prejudice which 
 of nature. Let us amuse ourselves, say surrounds the dwellings of their fathers I 
 they, with the pleasing delusios of life, and Render not, O ye sons of men, the common 
 not lose our time in searching alter realities, occurrences of liie insipid, by your JbZZy, 
 Nature has hung out a thousand painted de- which you are pleased to digniiy with tlie 
 ceptions to hide from our eyes tjie real na- name of wisdom. 
 
 ture of things. Is not this a sutficient inti- Be as other men. Seize the rattleof folly ; 
 mation that that which is concealed is disa- d;ince to the piping of a giddy multitude; 
 greeable? Is there any such tiling as colors write trciti-^es concerning eternity in the 
 inherent in bodies 1 yet witlicut this pleas- sand; build pyramids of snow to iiumortalize 
 ing illusion, what a world of defoimit\^ your names; erect dams with grayliaired 
 should we have! Nature is the very grave ciiihiren in the mountain torrent ; and sport 
 of abomination. Well : tear down the wall witli your brother insects in the sunbeam* 
 of the whited sepulchre, and within you will of the evening. — But should truth present 
 find — "rottenness and dead men's bones." her flirnbeiu to your eyes — the illusion is 
 O! ye creatures of the moment, let us dance gone — the "painted cloilds that beautify 
 after the rainbow of hope, and revel in the our da^'s" are vanished; and — grenl God! 
 light and airy fields of imTginatioti. Let us what a w^'ste — "dark dismal wild" — ap- 
 skim lightly over the surface of nature : the pears! Whit a chaos of forms without 
 flowers grow on the surface ; and honey reality ! What myriad.s of shadows, with- 
 may be extracted from flowers. Let us be out substance, fleet through a uni\erseof 
 content vviih the trimmings, the colorings, nonentities! — 
 
 the hangings that immediately meet the Fiction is lovely ; O ye sons of men, re- 
 eye : they are designed to conceal the joice in her smiles: but fly from the chani- 
 gloomy walls of our apartment. bers of Truth ; she is a gorgon, a hydra, a 
 
 Let us look back upon our past lives and fury ! — 
 examine our own min;!?, that we may see if What shall we say, when we hear the 
 there be not more happiness in error than various; opinions of men on these subjects ? 
 in reality. Which have been our happiest What shall we do, but mourn over the folly, 
 moments ! those, in which we have searched tlie imbecility, the insanity of man ! 
 successlully into the nature of things! those, 
 
 in which the light of truth has beamed upon y^ . ^ n- ,• ,- 
 
 . , 1 ui J * I- -.u JJesire of JjLslmction. 
 
 our heads, and enabled us to discover, with -^ 
 
 precision, the surrounding objects'* I am The desire of distiisction is so strong in 
 
 afraid that "the result of our investigation the human mind, that men lay hold of any 
 
 will be, that our davs of bliss were days of thing however insignificant tnat may render 
 
 ignorarce; and we shall be led to conclude, them conspicuous. Is a man, by some acci- 
 
 with the preacher, that in "much knowledge dent, a fev/ inciies taUer than an.)ther, you 
 
 there is much grief " Should we not rather may immedi^Jely perceive that he values 
 
 endeavor lo multiply these happy delusions himself on his towering figure. Is he well 
 
 than to clear tl. em away ? If light discover sjt, and possessed of brawny limbs; you 
 
 nothing but "sights of wo," had we not will fin.l him anxiously contending tor pre- 
 
 betler remain in darkne.^s] My sick brother eminence by measuring round ihe breast or 
 
 is asleep; he drexnjs of light, life and joy. taking the circumference of t'le thigh, with 
 
 I see a smile on his countenance. Shall I his athletic competiiors. 
 
 awake him to a life of misery, sorrow and I c\nnot rtimeinbcr of having observed 
 
 pain"? Or shall I nrit rather re-nove every any of these candidates for tamo wiio were 
 
 intruding noise, darken the windows, and desirous of the distinction arising from tho 
 
 leave him to repose ? prominence of their iellies; yet nothing is 
 
 Children are happy: and were men con- more •common than to hear a man boast of 
 
 tent to remain children through life, they having swallowed so many oysters, eaten so 
 
 might be hap[)y also. But w hen they be- many eggs, devoured so many pounds of 
 
 come infatuated with the desire of know- beef steaks, &c. What honor do tiieso 
 
 ledge, and, with a daring hand, attempt to idiats expect to derive from the strength of 
 
 remove the veil with which nature has th-.-ir stomachs or tho capacity of their 
 
 tliought proper to cover the ark wiiioh con- p.xunclios ?
 
 6 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Why, they hope to have it said in some Jtmo. Mercury has lost his wand, and 
 tavern or beerhouse that "John Gorinand is Pallas her egis. Etna and Lemnos remain ; 
 the <Zamne</esMellow to cat that ever lived, but where is the blacksmith of Jupiter T 
 He demolislieil, the other ilay, at the sign of The wind raises the waves without the ae- 
 the Mousetrap, a whole round of beef, eat sistance ot f^olus, and the storm is calmed 
 ten dozen of oysters, ten doz?n of eggs, five without the interference of Neptune. Bac- 
 pound of cheese, drank a gallon of becT, and cluis is de|irived of his thyrsis, and the 
 then refused to piy 25 cents fur his dinner, mysteries of Ceres are secure from profana- 
 because ihere was not a bufficiency of pro- t:on. Thetis and the nereids are no more ; 
 visions." we hear not the shell of the tritons. The 
 
 I knew two graziers to lay a very con- dryads and hamadryads have forsaten iHe 
 aiderable bet on who could eat the most woo Js, and the naiads deserted the fountains, 
 lobster. — Both eat til they could not walk Hippocrene is dry; the muses have escaped 
 and then left, the matter undetermined, to heaven. The shepherds have lost the 
 The gentlemen were wealthy; ihey did not protection of Pan, and the orchards the care 
 gormandize for the money that was betted, of Pomoni. Prinpns has ceased to 'fray 
 but for the sake of an immortal name, away' the birds, or interrupt the inc.intalioa 
 
 Such men appear determined to deprive 
 "Robin a Bobbin the Bigbellied Hen" of his 
 long established superiority : of whose e.K- 
 ploits, in this way, it is recorded in heroic 
 verse that " Ik^ would eat more than three- 
 score men ;" that 
 
 " A cow and a calf, 
 " An ux and a halt. 
 Was Robbiii a Bolubin's morning bit.' 
 
 And afterwards, it is sublimely added, 
 that 
 
 "He licked the ladle, and swallowed the spoon, 
 And was not lull when ail was done." 
 
 There are other?, who are scarcely loss 
 deserving of a statue than those last men- 
 
 ot witches. No longer 
 
 " Satyrs and sylvan boys are seen. 
 Peeping (rom Ibrth their alleys green." 
 
 The harpies are expelled from their king- 
 dom ; and the sirens have ceased to practise 
 their allurements. 
 
 Charon has been shipwrecked in the Styx; 
 Ct rberus has been deprived of his heads; 
 and the snakes have been taken from the 
 furies. Minos is no longer judge ; Phlege- 
 tlion has ceased to burn; and the frogs of 
 hell have desisted from croaking. The 
 wheel of Lxion revolves no longer; the 
 Danaides have filled their urns; and Sisy- 
 phus rests from his labors. The pythia is 
 
 tioned, who p'ume themselves on having not forced to the tripod ; the cave of Tro' 
 drunk bottles of brandy, decanted dozens of phonius is neglected ; and the smoke of the 
 madeira, and swilled oceans of port. Such sacrifice has ceased to ascend. Where is 
 heroes shall have a niche in the Temple of the oak of Dodoual where are the sibyls of 
 Fame, ab.iut to be established under the di- Cuma? 
 
 But there is one of the ancient divinitie's 
 who has maintained his situation in opposi- 
 tion to the cfibrts of philosophy and the be- 
 nign influence of the gospel. He is wor- 
 shipped with more sincere devotion at this 
 • lay, than he has been at any former period. 
 
 rection of the savage Piomingo. 
 
 THEOLOGY. 
 
 The ancient Greeks and Romans worship- 
 ped a multitude of gods: the heavens, the 
 
 e irth, and hades swarmed with innumerable ^ , . . . 
 
 divmities. All the virtues and vices of His temples are crowded from morn mg until 
 
 humanity, and all the operations of nature, evening by humble votaries of all sexes and 
 
 were under the direction of superintending ages. They do not serve him with "inere 
 
 deities : and these gods being unaccountably lip service ;" for they have "his law written 
 
 prolific, there was no space left in nature in their hearts." He is not the true God : 
 
 that did not teem with their progeny. The yet they adore him " with all their heart, 
 
 progress of science and thu light of the and with all their soul, and with all their 
 
 gospel have contributed to lessen the num- strength, and with all their mind." They 
 
 ber of immortals. Jupiter has forsaken the offer up at his shrine, as Ircewill offerings, 
 
 Capitol, the thunder has been wrested from every thing that is precious aqd valuable, 
 
 hi^ hand, and the father of gods and men He is not Moloch : yet they make their 
 
 i.-3 forgotten. Neptune has lost the dominion children pass through the fire lor his sake, 
 
 of the v.ave's, and Pluto, the empire of the He is a very old god, and has performed 
 
 shades. The sun is no longer in tlie chariot innumerable exploitsof the inost heroic kind, 
 
 of .Apollo, nor the moon under the regency A thousand volume^ in folio, would not bo 
 
 of his sister. Paplios and t^ypriis are de- sufficient to certain the thousandth part of 
 
 sorted by Venus, and Samos and Argos by the wonders he has effected. What aretho
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 labors of Hercalfts, the feats of Samson, tite 
 wars of the giants, the building of pyramids, 
 Uie turning aside of rivers, and removing 
 mountains ] What are such trifles as these 
 when compared with the stupendous opera- 
 tions of the god of the civilized world ? 
 
 Question : Who is he ? 
 
 Ansioer : He was worshipped by tlie 
 children of Israel in the wilderness, when 
 Moses tarried so long in the mount. Do 
 you know him"? 
 
 There are not seven tliousand in the 
 United Stales, who have not bowed the knee 
 to this Baal of the moderns, and whose lips 
 have not kissed him. By the ancients he 
 was called Plutus; in heaven, he is not 
 known : and on earth, he is yclept The 
 Mammon of unrighteousness. 
 
 Quid non morlalia pectora cogia. 
 
 Auri sacra fames? » 
 
 Longina; 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 we are no 
 more. " I shall not altogether die !" was 
 the triumphant exclamation of a poet of 
 antiquity, when speaking of the productions 
 of his brain : " I sliall 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 beach tree in the 
 forest. 
 
 The idler who cuts letters with his knife 
 on the bencjies in our public walks, the poet 
 who writes verses with his pencil on the 
 boards of the summer house are equally 
 anxious, that ai least some part of them may 
 escape the ravages of the gloomy Liliiiina. 
 
 We do not attempt to condemn this pro- 
 pensity merely because it discovers itself in 
 trifles. No: had circumstances favored the 
 ambition of these candidates for immortality, 
 they might have plundered cities, ravaged 
 kingdoms, established empires, and- become 
 " mighty hunters" on the earth. This is 
 the same principle which 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 malie us a 
 name " 
 
 (COMMt'NICATION) 
 
 Piomingo, As I know that you have pe- 
 rused with considerable attention our sacred 
 books, and frequently attended our places of 
 worship, in your peregrinations through 
 these United States, I cannot resist the in- 
 clination I feel to request you to give the 
 B 
 
 public some idea of the impression these 
 thingps made on your mind. 
 
 Does there not appear to be an immense 
 disparity between the conduct of the primi- 
 tive and modern christians ] 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 might be the same people in a stale 
 of extreme degeneracy and degradation? 
 The principles and practice of the early 
 christians appear to have been consentane- 
 ous; but will any person in his senses as- 
 sert that the conduct of tlie moderns is con- 
 formable with the precepts laid down in their 
 books] 
 
 I do not intend to request you to particu- 
 larize all the instances in which this dis- 
 parity is glaringly apparent. That would 
 be an unreasonable request. This is a bound- 
 less subject : and were yon to engage in it, 
 I know not how you would bring it to n con- 
 clusion. Of one thing I am certain; the 
 topic would not easily be exhausted. 
 
 Should you be fortunate in your present 
 undertaking, 1 hope you will touch on this 
 subject occasionally. It must be admitted, 
 on all hands, that every man of honor ia 
 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 stand- 
 ard which they have deliberately and solemn- 
 ly published to the world, as the rule by 
 which their conduct 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 Ox- palliaLion for our errors. We 
 have eBJoyed great advantages over your 
 nation and the other aborigines of America. 
 They, a' as ! have long wandered in the de- 
 vious paths of error ; but I hope the time is 
 not far distant when they who have walked 
 in darkness will see a marvellous light 
 
 Old Age. 
 "Thou shall rise up before the hoary head, 
 
 and honor the face of an old man 1 am the 
 
 Lord." 
 
 This benevolent precept is found in the 
 law, which was delivered to Moses. The 
 Jews ma} , for aught we know to the con- 
 trary, 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 cere- 
 monial laws with uncommon ingenuity.
 
 10 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Whenever any of the preempts or command- 
 ments found in the five bonks of Mo?es or 
 indeed in any part of the Old or New Tepta- 
 ment, appeared repugnant to tlie doctrines 
 of the church or tJie practices of Ihe faith- 
 ful, tliese bihlical critics will be sure to in- 
 form you ihat they are a part of the cere- 
 monial law ; and th< refore not to be ob- 
 Berved by ciiristians under the new dispen- 
 Bation. 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 
 jiecessarily led to suppose that the precept 
 above mentioned is considered as a part of 
 the ceremonial law of the Jews, and im- 
 poses no obligation on "the children of the 
 kingdom." 
 
 Among the savages of America age is 
 universally respected. All unite to honor 
 the face of the old man whenever he ap- 
 pears, whether his blanket be old or new, 
 his pipe pliin or ornamenteri with silver. 
 But among the civilized Americans I have 
 always seen age, particularly if it exhibited 
 any appearance of poverty or infirmity, 
 neglected or insulted. 
 
 Does the old jnan appear desirous to relate 
 any of his boyish exploits; no one is dis- 
 posed to listen. No one can afford time to 
 attend to the old dotard, who had better be 
 in his bed or in h^s grave than to be here 
 toring us with his antediluvian perform- 
 ances. 
 
 If the old man be possessed of any pro- 
 perty, it is a hundred to one but some finely 
 polished and highly civilized young chris 
 tian will observe, "Damn the old codger: 
 I wish he was in hell, and I had his mo- 
 ney." 
 
 THE SAVAGE-~NO 11. 
 
 Effects of Civilization. 
 A stoical indifference to bodily pain 13, among 
 savag'cs, one of tJie first lessons of )'outh. 
 Fortitude to bear every evil, and resolution to 
 meet every danger, arc inculcated upon us by 
 cur teachers, as virtues of the first magnitude. 
 To suffer pain without complaint, and even 
 with cheerfulaess, is made the great romT or 
 HONOR. There is no such tliinor as coercion in 
 the savage system of education. We arc 
 proud of doing' right, and ashamed of doing 
 wrong. Wc are tauglit to consider ourselves 
 as superior to circumstances : at least, we are 
 enabled to preserve a decent tranquility of 
 mind in the midst of tlic greatest possible ad- 
 versity. It is known to us, that the vicissitudes 
 of li'e will expose us to misfortunes of various 
 kinds. We must support the burning hc.it 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 suffer sickness ancfpnin. We may 
 be reduced to a state of servitude. Wc may 
 become ca|jtives, and consequently be exposed 
 to every s;)ecies of torture thiit Imman inifc- 
 nuity c:in invent, or the most violent animosity 
 can inflict. All these things being known to 
 our philosophic seniors, tliey exercise our bo- 
 dies, and discipline our minds, in such a man- 
 ner, that we are enabled to maintain a dignity 
 of character in every emergency. 
 
 We become patictit of heat and regardless of 
 cold. Wc learn to subduo the cravings of 
 hunger without food ; and to allay, without 
 drink, the parchings of thirst. We can indulge 
 in a feast of i)car meat and vcni-on, or subsist 
 on the roots of the desert. Untaught by philo- 
 sophy, wc enjov the present moment; unin- 
 strucled in Christianity, we "take no tliought 
 for the morrow :" we oppose our naked breasts 
 to the beating of the storm ; a"d a fearless 
 spirit to every difficully. 
 
 It is well knovpn to us, that the time of our 
 existence here is a period of exertion. Wc 
 are tauglit therefore to meet unavoid ible danger 
 with resolution, and to remove the greatest 
 difRculti- s by perseverance. We are obliged 
 to climb the highest mountain, leap down the 
 steepest precipice, and swim the wildest torrent. 
 The science of hunting engages our earliest 
 attention. We study the nature of our game, 
 the time of the d ly, and the season of the 
 year. We know where to find tlie buffjlocs in 
 the morning; and where they may be disco- 
 vered in the beat of the day. Wc know when 
 they visit the low maishy salt springs, and 
 when they descend to cool themselves in the 
 river. Wc can rouse the deer from his lair in 
 tlie ("rosfy morning, and trace him over the 
 hills by the nev^ly i;>Jlen 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, end drive, 
 by stratagem, the beaver from his fortified 
 habitation. W^e find the wild cat on the moun- 
 tains, and the raccoon in the heads of the val- 
 leys. We know the haunts of the otter; and 
 the muskrat we shoot as he peeps from his 
 hole. W^e kill the mink on tlie banks of the 
 stream, and the groundhog on the s-ide of liie 
 hill. We knovv' the daily rounds of the turkey : 
 we take him on his roosL, or shoot him on iho 
 ridges. Vv^c shoot the geese in their flight, or 
 kill them when settled in the ponds. Wc see 
 the slightest traces in the forest ; we hear the 
 least rustling among the branches; and we 
 S7nell the approaches of the serpent. We climb 
 round the rocks, slip through the cane, and 
 skulk along tlic valleys. We study the course 
 of the wind in our approaches, or breathe on 
 fire, lest we taint the purity of the gale. Wc 
 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,
 
 THE SAVAGE. u 
 
 and stars, and even by the appearance of the But let him get home a^aln. The sijrht of 
 trees of the forest. Wc pcrfjrm the most in- his barn door, and the "appearance of old 
 credible journeys without fatigue, crossing the Towaer— the bawling of his black cow, and 
 widost rivers ou the trunk of a tree. Through the smell of his hogsty— the squallino- of his 
 the immense desert wo are fimiliar with every brats, and his snug chimney corner— all in 
 hill, and at home on tlie bank of every rivulet, sweet succession — revive, invio-oratc, and re- 
 Wc walk p'oudly on the hills: and from the store him. Having turned off a mucr of cider 
 towering sum nits of tlie Appalichian moun- he " is himself again." And then— nn*I then 
 tains, we look down, with ineffible contempt, — the d.mgers and escapes, tlie windmills and 
 on the brutelike drtidgery o^ cw'iWzqA life. the giants, the ghosts and the savages, the 
 
 Thus the wild horse snuff.; the western thunder and the lightning, the battles'jnd the 
 breeze, bounds joyously over the hills, laughs conquests, astonish and confound the gapinw 
 at the rattling of the chains, and despises the auditors. 
 
 bridle and the plougli. Is this the man you would compare with the 
 
 VVe build dams in the rivers ; and shoals of savage ? Is this the man you would prefer to 
 fish pour into our biskcts. Tticy arc arresled the lord of the desert? 
 
 In tiieir course by our arrows and our gigs; or Man is said to be composed of two parts : 
 they are lured to destruction by the temptation body and soul. Now, pray be so good as to 
 of our biit. Wc bid tliem assemble together, inform me whether it be the holy or soul of 
 and wc scoop them up witii our nets. • this animal, which is possessed of that some- 
 
 We study the face of the heavens, and foretcl thin?, which you honor with the name of 
 the channfcs of the weather. We know when civilizition. His limbs, you say, are robust 
 the gust is about to rise in the west, and when and strong by exercise and labor. Does civili- 
 the wind promises a continued, rain. We can zation then consist in robustness of body, or 
 tel' when to prepare for snow and when ice brawniness of limbs ? He mny be strong in 
 will appear on the viMtcrs. his youth, but continual drudgery destroys the 
 
 D.) yon not suppose. O ye inhabitants of harmony of his shape, and the dignity of his 
 cities, that this system of education, that these motion. Tiie elasticity of his limbs is destroy- 
 pursuits and employments, are well calculated cd, and he degenerates into a mere beas*. of 
 to sharpen tlie ficulties and exercise the under- burden. His visage becomes the very picture 
 6t Hiding? Where the mind is accustomed to of stupidity and malignity. He is no longer 
 turn itself to such a variety of vocations, and the animal to whom God 
 accommodate itself to such a multitude of cir- Os— sublime dedit, ccelumqne videre 
 
 cumstances, must it not become infinitely snpe- Jiissit, et ereetos ad sidera tollere vultos. 
 
 rior to that sluggish existence, whose ideas are No : he looks downward to the earth, and offers 
 continually occupied with the- millhorse round his back to the rider. 'His feet become as the 
 of domestic drudgery ? feet of a camel, and his hands rough and scaly 
 
 Not only the memory, but every faculty wc as the cone that drops from the top of the pine 
 possess, is improved by exercise :«isow then tree. 
 
 can his mind be enlightened, who is the mere The lower ranks of those who reside in cities, 
 creature of habit, unaccustomed to thought and being more confined in their operations, are 
 reflection ? Can he, whose business lends him sunk still lower, in the scale of intelligence, 
 from the bouse to the barn, from the barn to than the inhabitants of the country. Their 
 tlie stable, from the stable to liie orchard, from business being bounded by the shop, and their 
 the orchard to the cornfield, and from the corn- excursions limited by the market ; wliat should 
 field to the house again, possess an elevated un. they know but the price of butter, and the tini3 
 derstinding? Can he, whose most distant excur- of hio-b water ? Can you number the ideas of 
 Bion extends not beyond the neighboring mar- a muscle, or fathom llie intelligence of an oys- 
 kct town, have a mind enriched witli a niulti- tcr ? If you can, you have a competent know- 
 tude of ideas ? Such a being is distressed if ledge of the intellectual powers of the people 
 he wander out sio'ht of the smoke of his own that I describe. 
 
 chimney. His friends nrc miserable, lest he Do not naturalists rank the productions of 
 should never return ; and he, poor soul I gapes nature agreeably to their locomotive powers? 
 like a fishelev;itcd above the surfaceof the water The animal is niore excellent than the vegcta- 
 by the line of the fisiierman. He gazes with ble ; why? Because it is capable of changing 
 surprise on every oliject he has not been ac- its situation. And man is supposed to be the 
 customeJ to contemplate. He expects some most noble of animals, because he can travel 
 beast of prey to start up in every valley, and from pole to pole, and subsist under every 
 the devil out of every thorn bush. He looks climnte. 
 
 for robbers behind every he Ige, savage Indians Vegetables, admitting they were capable of 
 in every wood. He says his prayers before he perceiving, could have but few ideas, being 
 crosses a bridge, and confesses his sins on the confined by hills and rocks and surrounded by 
 banks of every torrent. But ni^ht overtakes wafis and inclosures. 
 
 him* How deplorable his situation ! Every The things called zoophytes can know very 
 withered bush is a ghost; and every black little more than a leaf of plantain, or a sprig of 
 stump, an imp of darkness! hoarhound ; and those animals that remain,
 
 12 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 during the whole period of their existence, on 
 the same bank or hilioclr, are scarcely superior, 
 in their intellectual powers, to h. p..lypus or 
 zoophytic funjrus. What knowlcdae of the 
 world was posse.'sed by the toad, which was 
 •hut up for five thousand years in the solid 
 body of a rock? Men who vcijct/ite in one 
 8pot, and have no leisure for reading or reflec- 
 tion, must be limited in their ideas and narrow 
 in their understandings. 
 
 Such are the blessings of civilization ; euch 
 are the consequences of refinement 
 
 But we will be told of the polished few, 
 whose minds are expanded by philosophy, and 
 whose happiness is insured by a multiplicity of 
 enjoyments. Wc shall speak of their happmcss 
 hereafler ; at present we mean merely to con- 
 •ider the paucity of their numbers. 
 
 As refinement progresses, the number of ths 
 refined must necessarily be reduced. If you 
 become elevated, you must have supporters. 
 If your elevation be still more increased, the 
 quantity of supporting materials must be mul- 
 tiplied 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 refinement, stale, and splen- 
 dor, must not your attendants continue to be 
 multiplied proportionably ? Now, if wc 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.) 
 
 Acquisition of Wealth. 
 
 It appears to us nearly as hard for him who 
 devotes his time to the acquisition of riches, to 
 be perfectly upright and honorable through tiie 
 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 unwar- 
 rantable. He sees that property procures 
 pleasure, attention, and respect. Fie wishes 
 for pleasure : he wishes for a distinguished 
 ■ituation among his species : and in order to 
 obtain things so desirable, he immediately srts 
 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 disposi- 
 tion will he changed. He acquires his wcJth 
 with difficulty ; and we always love the pro- 
 duct 'if our attention and labor. He is now a 
 rich man ; but the finer feelings and nobler 
 aentiments of his mind arc absolutely eradi- 
 cated : that generous disregard of self, and that 
 
 enthusiasm in the cause of virtue have disap- 
 peared. 
 
 A fortune is not to be made at once by industry; 
 it is made up by the daily accession of small 
 sums. Sm;ill sums, therefore, become an ob- 
 ject of importance to the industrious man. 
 He values them highly. And the m^n who 
 sets a high value on small sums may poss bly 
 adhere to tho dead letter of honesty; but lie 
 has lost that noUlitij of the heart, for which 
 nothing can be a sufficient compensation. A 
 minute attention to trities has n:irrowed and 
 cont.uninated his mind. He must be shutout 
 from the congregation of those who are clothed 
 in the white raiment of pure unsullied honor : 
 he is unclean. 
 
 Discoveries. 
 
 "Wist ye not that such a man as I can certainly, 
 poivwow?" 
 
 Our violent desire to know what the world 
 liad 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 predict the approach of comets, and 
 the time when our warriors would return from 
 their predatory excursions. He could prevent 
 the rivers froin overflowing their banks, and 
 the moles from destroying the corn. He could 
 forelel the event of a war, and interpret the 
 meaning of dreams. He could surround 
 the moon with a circle, and multiply the 
 number of suns. He could charm away 
 the most malignant spirit, and stop the ravages 
 of the most alarming disease. He formed a 
 treaty of friendship with serpents, and cher- 
 ished the rattlesnake in his bosom. He could 
 bring on darkness at midday, and call down 
 rain trom heaven by his powerful incantations. 
 He acquired an absolute ascend. mcy 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 few lessons from this wonderful 
 man, which enables us on extraordinary occa- 
 sions 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 con- 
 tent with having recourse to dreams, after 
 having made the necessary 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 then, having burned a few 
 leaves of tobacco to propitiate 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,
 
 THE SAVAGE 13 
 
 as to the being that we saw in our dream ; for Hill. Would you select some entertaining 
 
 of that we are ig^norant. We at first supposed stories from the last mentioned work, for tho 
 
 it to he the devil of the civilized world, as he edification of your aunt Jenny, I have no doubt 
 
 certainly wore on his head somcthinjr that had but she would procure, for your paper, a hun- 
 
 thc semblance of horns: hut, upon the closest dred subscribers. 
 
 inspection, we could perceive notliinjj that had Could you hire an enterprising- genius to 
 the appearance of a cloven foot. Upon tho skulk about the city, and see wiiat married 
 whole, we are led to conclude that it must have men frequent the houses of pollution — what 
 been some benignant spirit ; as no evil one heads of families have been known to kiss 
 would, we believe, venture to approach us in pretty chambermaids — what modish ladies 
 our purified state. He stalked up with the liave been surprised in dtlicate situations — 
 greatest dignity. His conntennnre bore the what rosy misses ha/e retired to the country 
 impression of profound wisdom, but mixed with on account nf iiidisposition — what old men 
 something that had the appearance of contempt have young wives — who were seen abroad at 
 for every thing earthly. unseasonable hours, or in equivocal places, &c. 
 We demanded what the literati of the age &c. I say, if you procure an agent to collect 
 thought of our Savage. anecdotes of this description, and mix them up 
 The literati of the age I repeated he, smiling; with sly hints and double entendres, ornament- 
 not many of them have yet had the pleasure of ed with a sufficiency of A.s, Z.s, dashes, star.s, 
 becoming acquainted wilh your Savage; and iiaZics, and double pica, take my word for it, 
 but few of them ever will. Can they whose^ tliere is no paper lu the United States will have 
 heads are above the clouds oliscrve the motions so extensive a-circulalion as yours, 
 of on nnt upon a hillock ? But there are seve- As soon as the welcome carrier throws in the 
 ral other descriptions of readers who are not a Savage, thf scandal-loving dame, with watering 
 little out of humor with the beginning you have teeth, will hasten to draw down her spectacles 
 naade. ^ from her withered forche.-.d, adjust them on 
 I will give you some account of them, and he-" sharp-pointed nose, and devour the luscious 
 the reception your Savage is likely to meet intelligence with more avidity than Amelia 
 with from them. Wilhclmina Carolina did tlie contents of the 
 Old Jonathan Longhead, the other day, took last novel. And all the little tattling teadriiik- 
 up your duodecimo and read a few minutes, ing misses will crowd round the old hidy's 
 He llieri laid it down, lighted a scgar, and chair on tiicir knees, and stretch their pretty 
 leaned back upon his chair immersed in deep necks, open their love-inspiring eyes and kiss- 
 thought. After remaining in this attitude for courting mouths, to catch — some, a part of a 
 five minutes, he drew the scgar fri>m his mouth, line, and others, a broken end of a sentence : — 
 and blowing forth the smoke witli the greatest while the old gentlemnn hangs over their 
 deliberation, he uttered the f(>llou'ing oracle, shoulders grinning a smile of complacency." 
 "Atheistical and deistical." Should they raise What, can a savage stoop to such baseness ? 
 the cry of 7«ac/ c^oo- against you, you had better Shall a lie^dman and warrior of tb.c Musco- 
 be a dog in reality. gulgee confederacy construct and keep in re- 
 Billy Bluster and a .'ew of his associates pair a public sewer to convey into the world 
 were miarhlily taken with the title of your pa- all the abomination, corruption, and filth, of a 
 per. "The Savage I Diunn me, Tom 1 this populous city? Shall he become common 
 will be a hell of a thundering paper, hey ? pimp to all the base propensities of human na- 
 Then we shall have for a frontispiece a bloody ture? W4ien lie shall act thus, 
 savage with a ferocious countenance, brandish- " Be ready Gods, with all your thunderbolt.?. 
 ing bis tomahawk and scalping knife — ah! a Dash him to pieces!" 
 
 devil of a fine thing I Tlien, it will be filled 
 
 with drinkmg songs and hellish fine stories. We are sorry that the in 'ancy of our Savage 
 
 We'll laugh like damnation, hey O 1" has been ofFnnsivc to iSjlomon Simple. Solo- 
 
 " Do you not suppose, Piomingo, that these mon should recollect that everything must have 
 
 brave boys were sadly disappointed by the ap- a beginning. If we speak of a child, we must 
 
 pearance of your sweetly moving peaceable not put in his mouth the vvords of learning or 
 
 Savage? Were ycu capable of producing wisdom: such words, tor example, as Solomon 
 
 pieces of the most finished composition, do you makes use of when he talks of the military 
 
 suppose that they would be relished by these abilities of the archduke Charles, and tiie con- 
 
 children of Comus ? Do you suppose that sequences of the embargo and non-importation 
 
 your delicate irony or classic, il allusions can act. If we speak to a child, we must not pour 
 
 excite a roar of laughter over the bowl, or call out those sesquipedalia which Solo.mon is wont 
 
 forth the plaudits of the groi/ncZ/ings ? Sooner to utter when he delivers his sentiments on the 
 
 will you charm the deaf adder : sooner will the law of nations concerning neutrals and bellige- 
 
 beasts of the forest dance to your mu-^ic, or rents. There is an old book, which Solomon 
 
 cities ascend to the sound of your lyre 1 No, ought to have some knowledge of, which says, 
 
 no, Piomingo, if you be disposed to please these that when one is a child one must " speak as a 
 
 jovial souls, you must have recourse to Joe child, understand as a child, and think as a 
 
 Miller's Jest-book and the adventures of Fanny child." We hope that our Savage, when arriv-
 
 14 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 cd at years of maturity, will "put uwny cliild. 
 ish tilings :" and w e wisli that Soloruon would 
 folJuw l:is cxaiiiple. 
 
 Esquire. 
 
 Most of.thc Indians who live near the fron- 
 tiers of llie United SUites have become debased 
 nnd corruplcd l)y tl)cir intcrcnuisu wiih llie 
 descoodaiUs of Europeans, 'i'hcy arc C(;nlami 
 natud Willi tlic vices and infected with the di- 
 seases of civilized nutions. They have forjrot- 
 ten the heroic exploits of tlieir warlike anccs- 
 tor.-i. 'I'hey join no more in the war dance, nor 
 raise the soii{r of victory and triumph. Tiiey 
 have li:st all national pride and di<rnity of 
 character; and are to be seen, in a t-tale of 
 beastly intoxication, wallowing in the streets 
 oi'your frontier villai^res. 
 
 Tliesc degraded wretches, when tliey come 
 anionfr you, are fond of adorninof themselvcB 
 witli tiie cocked hat, or cast-ofF coat, of some 
 military officer. You lau'jh at their childish 
 folly; and you are rijrht in so doing: for thev 
 deserve both ridicule and contempt. 
 
 Hut what must be said of the enliahtened 
 citizens of an illustrious republic, who are 
 proud to decorate themselves with tlie shreds 
 and patches torn from the many-colored 
 motheatcn coat of feudal ai istocr, cy"? Thry 
 do not attempt to manufacture a garment for 
 themselves, Init they search the ditches nnd 
 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 suceessfnl exer- 
 tion 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 stale of servitude. 
 They prate much about the digy.ity nnd per- 
 fectibility of man ; i>ut, 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 bo dukes, marquises, 
 and calls, us to be esquires. •' His Grace, the 
 Duke r)f Gooseiand" would sound much belter 
 than "the honorable Jolm Dolt esquire." Whv 
 should they address one of their governors 
 with the contemptible appellation of " Excel- 
 lency," when there are sueh fine highsounding 
 Words in the language as " Majesty," " Percnu 
 ty " Sublimity ?" VViiy should they talk of 
 his " honor the judge," when they might 
 make use of the dignified appcllati.m 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 cf 
 their characters : such as •' Sapient, Intelligent, 
 Profound ;" and thev might be addressed with 
 great propiiety as "High and .Mighty Lords?" 
 VN hy should justices of the peace, aldermen, 
 
 itc. be only honored with the title of "worship, 
 ful," when we could pronounce with such 
 sweetness and dignity, " His Serene Highness, 
 Alderninn Clodhopper;" and "H'S Adorable 
 Gieatnes.s, Justi c Numskull?" Why should 
 the clergy only be known by the appellati<n 
 " reverend," when there are such words in use 
 Bs "The Most Holy Father in God, Christoj;hcr 
 Oveigood ?" 
 
 When Constantinc, the great, first cliristianized 
 the l?oman empire, he inve ited a long siring 
 of delectable titles. An account of them may 
 be seen in Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the 
 Roman Em[)irc. Wo would advise 'he citizens 
 of the United Stales (as they have full light to 
 choose what litlu-s they please in this land of 
 liberty) to adopt the ingenious scale of titles 
 Iii'l down by CJonstanliiie ; or if these f-htuld 
 not appear sufficiently dignified, they may 
 refer to tlic kingdoms of the east, i.nd select 
 some of the most sonorous, such as. Holy Son 
 of Heaven, Disposer of Kingdoms, Brother of 
 the Sun and Moon, lic. 
 
 If you must adorn yourselves with borrowed 
 f.>athers, your good taste might lead you to 
 choose those of the pcaeock, the osirieh, and 
 the bird of purariisc, in preference to those of 
 the owl, the buzzard, and the crane. The 
 English language is copious. Select the most 
 harmonious 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 i'orrner master! 
 
 What riiliculous consequence a plain re- 
 publican immediately assumes upon finding 
 iiimself addressed by the title of esquire I He 
 soon conceives that lie feels something like 
 noble blood coursing U|> and down through his 
 veins ! He thinks it very possible tiiat he may 
 have sprung fiom some younger son oi" a 
 younnfcr brother of some noble house. Some 
 of his ancestors may have lived in soincdigni- 
 fied family, as butleis, or housekeepers, or scime 
 other way. Sometimes he even fl.;ttcrs himself 
 that certain illegitimate sprinklings ot blood 
 royal may have ennobled the plebeian cuvr< nt 
 that runs in his veins. He begins to study 
 the nature of his name, decipher its etymology, 
 and el.:im kindred with exery Jamily 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 barbarous dislinctirn, 
 to which th(!y haveno claim. Ceasar was the 
 name of a man, but became in time a title of 
 • he most dignified nature. Who knows but 
 some cnterp.'ising genius may spring up in the 
 western world and convert his name into a 
 title that will be remembered forever? 
 
 The Indians give names to their children in 
 infaney ; but that Indian would sink into ab- 
 solute contempt, who should not acquire, to 
 himself, a nrw name, hy his success in hunting 
 or his exploits in war. Now, would the polish- 
 ed citizens of the L'nited States condescend to
 
 THE SAVAGE. 15 
 
 Varn sometMnaruseful from the savr.ge inhabi- splendid apartments? Behold the flocks and 
 lants of the wilderness, we tliink they nii^ht herds and fields of com ! can all these be 
 adopt this custom with the greatest propriety, necessary for the sustenance of one? But if 
 Let every man be reckoned iilteiiy conlempti- all this be the product ofliis own labor, he has 
 ble who shall not acquire a new name before full liberty to enjoy it. Polydore must be a 
 he be thirty years of ag^e. giant. Did he pile up these massy stones, and 
 
 If he have performed any remarkable action, erect these ponderous buildings ? Did he sub. 
 let his name be taken from tliat. If he have due the lordly forest, and cover the fields with 
 not at all distinguished himself by any single waving grain ? No: Polydore has done no- 
 exploit, it is probible that there will be discov- thing. He owes all this to the labor of others, 
 erablc some prominent traits in his character, But how then, we inquired with amazement, 
 from which he may be designated. The new did Polydore gain this ascendency over others? 
 appellation would become a title of honor to How did he compel his fellows lo cultivate his 
 the virtuous, and a mark of opprobrium and fields, or labor in his ditches? Polydore did 
 diso-race to the vicious. not compel them : they were compelled by 
 
 Exempli gratia : If a man d scovcrcd a great their necessities. A fortunate concurrence of 
 inclination to indulge in the pleasures of the circumstances, and the laws of the country, 
 table, and this propensity became the leading have made Polydore rich ; but these men are 
 trait in his character, we see no reason why poor. A small portion of tlje product of their 
 he should not be denominated " The Glutton." labor goes to the support of themselves and 
 Such should be the name of the man who may their families; but the far greater part is ap. 
 be said "to live that he may eat." But should plied to the aggrandizement of Polydore'a 
 the glutton discover an extensive acquaintance establishment. And as this aggrandizement 
 will) the art of preparing viands, we think he increases, in like manner increases his asccn- 
 onght to be honored with the appellation of dency ove* others. 
 
 "Cook." This title should be given to those We saw through the whole in a moment, 
 gentlemen who distinguish themselves by It is therefore absolutely necessary that every 
 learned disquisitions on the nature of custard, rich man should be surrounded by others more 
 or can enumerate the ingredients that enter indigent than himself. If it were otherwise, 
 into the composition of a pudding. Adepts in in what ni-nner would he induce them to sup. 
 the science of preparing turtle soup, and those ply his factitious wants, or gratify his luxuri. 
 whose intelligence enp.hles them to descant oua inclinations ? Cottages, then, must ncces- 
 learnedly on the manner of giving to oysters s.'rily be found in the vicinity of palaces ; and 
 the most exquisite flavor, should likewise be lordly cities must be surrounded by suburbs of 
 distinguished by the srane designation. wretchedness ! Sordidncss is the ofl^spring of 
 
 If such a plan as this were adopted, instead splendor; and luxury is the parent of wa^nt, 
 of the unmeaning names now in use, we should Civilization consists in the refinement of a /eio, 
 hear of "Drunljard," "Swindler," "Romanc-r," and the barbarism and baseness of ?«ony. 
 &,c. There might likewise be established, As the grandeur of any establishment is 
 under the snpcritifendencc of government, a augmented, servile and base offices are multi- 
 col'ege of hci aids for the purpose of giving ap- plied. Poverty and baseness must be united 
 propriate ensigns armorial to everyone, on the in the same person in order to qualify him for 
 completion of his thirtieth year ; but, ne quid such situations. Who fill servile and low cm. 
 mimis. ployments in your Atlantic cities? There arc 
 
 ■ not American minds to be found sufficiently 
 
 THE SAVAGE NO. III. degraded for these contemptible occupations. 
 
 You find it necessary to have recourse to the 
 Effects of Civilization. more highly polished nations of Europe for 
 
 Shall your cooks and your waiters, your suitable drudges to sweep your streets and re- 
 carters and your ditchers, be accounted equally move nuisances, to stand behind your carriages 
 civilized with yourselves ? Shall they who and perform degrading duties about your per. 
 watch the look, and tremble at the frown, of a sons. 
 
 superior, be allowed to possess delicacy of sen- Civilized Europeans, when they visit your 
 timent and dignity of character? No: they cou"try, complain loudly of your barbarism, 
 are deprived of all personal consequence in so- You are little belter, in their estimation, than 
 ciety. Their own interest is annihilated, the savages of the wilderness. They cannot 
 They are merely a necessary part of the luxuri- meet with that obsequiousness and servility 
 ous establishment of their principal. which is necessary to their happiness. They 
 
 We passed by the residence of Polydore. complain, most dolcfiilly, of the impertinence 
 We saw his gorgeous palace and widely ex- of their servants, and, indt-ed, of the difliiculty 
 tended fields. We examined his gardens, his of procuring any one sufficiently qualified for 
 park, his orchards ; and were struck with as- the situation of a menial. You frequently 
 tonishment. at the splendor of his establish- blush for the rudeness and barbarity of your 
 ment. And is this all, we inquired, designed countrymen, when you listen to these com. 
 for the accommodation of one man? Can one plaints of your polished visitants; but do not 
 creature, not six feet high, occupy all these despair. The seeds are sown : and the growth
 
 16 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 will be rapid. The causes have begun <o 
 operate, and the effects to be seen Tliere will 
 soon bi; a sufTicicimy of indigence and poverty 
 of spirit to make "crvants obsequious, and 
 multiply the niunbtr of domestics. Let splen- 
 dor, refinement, and luxury, Iriumph; and we 
 promise that sordidness, baseness, and misery, 
 will walk in their train. 
 
 I\Ian was designed by mature to cultivate 
 the fields, or roam in the woods. He has suffi- 
 cient strength to do every thing for himself 
 that is necessary to be done. He can erect a 
 hut of poles &nd cover it with bark or skins 
 without the ass!st:incc of another. A small 
 portion of his time jirocures clothing and food ; 
 and the remainder is devoted to amusement 
 and rest. The moment you leave tliis point, 
 your destination is 'certain, though your pro- 
 gress may be slaw. {To he continved.) 
 
 Vanity. 
 
 Some ingenious author has run a parallel 
 between pride and vanily. The proud man, 
 says he, raposes, with dignified confidence, on 
 the superiority of his own iwind ; but the vain 
 man depends on tiie f5uctu;iting opinions of the 
 world. The vain man values himself for his 
 personal quilifications, as long as they con- 
 tinue fashionable; but the moment they cease 
 to be admired t>y otiiers, they sink also in his 
 own estimation. 
 
 Little Vapid is one of the vainest men in ex- 
 istence : and what can give importance to liftle 
 Vapid ? His features 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 bf the house. He spends an hour 
 in adjusting his cravat, and two hours in giving 
 the hair on his silly, insignificant head the 
 propRf 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 indi-pensable grimace on 
 his countenance, one would suppose that be 
 had broken loose from imprisonment in a 
 bandbox. 
 
 Fan him gently ye zephyrs I Ye northern 
 blasL«, discompose not the folds of his gar- 
 Kientl Ye sylphs, watch over his white pan- 
 taloons, when he skips over the gutters ! But 
 may his guardian angel protect him, should he 
 encounter a dray ! 
 
 Vapid is nntprovd: 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 ov;n 
 existence in the valley of Childhood. His 
 
 couch was composed of roses, and canopied 
 over by the boughs of the oranj^e and the myr- 
 tle. Bubbling- springs were seen among the 
 flowers, and tlie 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 de- 
 lightful. A female form of the most angelic 
 appearance was his constant companion : her 
 name was Hope. Siie strewed his path with 
 flowers : and her presence shed abroad tho 
 sunshine of cheerfulness and joy. She led hini 
 forward by the hand : and distant objects, when 
 pointed out by her finger, assumed a supcr- 
 ■iiatural and celestial brilliancy. When he hiy 
 dewn to reposc, poppies were strewed on his 
 pjllow ; and when he awoke, his heavenly 
 companion entranced his eyes with her magi- 
 cal mirror of ravishing delights. Sometimes 
 he turned aside into the gardens of pleasure, 
 and bathed in the rivers of sensual delight ; 
 but when he lieard 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, deter- 
 mined 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 attention. But 
 her familiar approaches were forbid en by 
 Hope : and she contented herself with flitting 
 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 extensive prospect on every side ; 
 but these views are not all equally delightful. 
 When you stand on the mountain and cast 
 your eyes backward to the vallev of Childhood, 
 the mind is overpowered by conflicting emo- 
 tions. You review with delight the wander- 
 ings of infancy in the valley of roses ; but this 
 enjoyment is mixed with an inexpressible sen- 
 timent of sorrow and regret: the thought of 
 joys never to be repeated, and of pleasure! 
 foiever gone ! 
 
 The ascent of Youth is viewed still with less 
 complacency. 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 commencement 
 of his journey, " Sweet humble vale ! your de- 
 lights are forever vanished I your pleasures can 
 never return!" 
 
 Having thus said, he turned himself around 
 to take a view of the 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 SAVAGE. 
 
 17 
 
 the sordid and miserable " huts of cheerless 
 poverty." Some of the inhabitants build houses 
 of marble, as though their residence in the 
 place were never to have an end ; while multi- 
 tudes are crowded in cottages of clay. Dark 
 clouds hang continually over the mountain : 
 some contemplate their appearance with calm-' 
 ness, but others view them with horror 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 perspec- 
 tive, beckoned Armine to approach. He 
 obeyed. " I perceive," said the philosopher, 
 " by your countenance, tliat 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 
 miist speedily descend on the other side of the 
 hill. I observed you, just now, looking back 
 on the valley of Childhood : have you any ob- 
 jection 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 repose ?" 
 The philosopher turned round, and looked upon 
 Armine. There was an expression of sadness 
 upon his countenance. " No traveller has re- 
 turned," said he, " to give us any intelligence. 
 Thsre 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, arc, 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 proceed- 
 ed a little way, he found a green place on the 
 side of the hill,where there was a spring of wa- 
 ter. Having refreshed himself, he sat down to 
 rest; and immediately began to examine the na 
 tureofthegrass,whichwas the production of so 
 sterile a soil. He continued 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 cir- 
 cumstances I — which enables it to support 
 C 
 
 with tranquility the greatest possible misfor- 
 tunes 1" 
 
 Care now became the constant companion of 
 Armine, though he was still accompanied by 
 Hope. Hope had lost a great part of her magi- 
 cal power, but still was able to soften the in- 
 fluence of Care, and calm the occasional per- 
 turbations of his mind. He adopted various 
 schemes for passing the time of his continu- 
 ance on the mount; but the issue of every one 
 was the same — disappointment. Sometimes 
 he joined the votaries of pleasure ; and some- 
 times, the lovers of wisdom. Pleasures ended 
 in smoke ; and knowledge was the parent of 
 despair. Sometimes he employed himself ia 
 gathering together the glittering stones that 
 may be found on the summit of the mountain: 
 but the exertion, necessary in this contempti- 
 ble pursuit, was painful in the extreme. Ha 
 then endeavored to derive amusement from 
 dispersing abroad what he had collected togeth- 
 er : 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 sus- 
 pended over the black and putrid waters of 
 Infamy. - The building was magnificent be- 
 yond 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 at- 
 tended with danger. Every one was desirous 
 to enter, in order to leave some memorial of 
 having performed the journey of life ; but few, 
 very few, were found able to surmount the ob- 
 stacles which impeded the entrance. The 
 daring adventurer, whose heart beat high with 
 the love of gipry, pressed forward through 
 dangers of every description. Frightful rocka 
 and yawning caverns, giants of tremendous 
 dimensions, and spectres of terrific forms, op- 
 posed his progress. Envy, Malice, Hatred, 
 Anger, Slander, Revenge, and a thousand 
 others, armed with " firebrands, 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 th» 
 trumpet. 
 
 Armine essayed to enter : but Poverty, a 
 gaunt and haggard 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 de- 
 scent 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 be- 
 came dark. The funereal cypress overshadow- 
 his path. 
 
 Weary and dejected, he tottered along, until, 
 ere he was aware, he stood on the banks of th«
 
 18 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 River. A thick fog, an everlasting cloud, 
 lested on the face of the waters. 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 resplen- 
 dent whiteness. She directed 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 H. 
 
 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 letter ; that he is merely a '-hard breath- 
 ing before a word or syllable." They never 
 explam themselves fully on this subject; and 
 it is hard to find out what they mean by the 
 assertion. One of their leaders has, indeed, 
 observed that h requires no conformation of 
 the organs of speech ; and therefore cannot be 
 a letter. This is involving the matter in 
 "clouds and 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 de- 
 manded. Can they give this " hard breathing 
 before a word or syllable," without making 
 anv use of the organs of speech ? When tlie 
 orcrans of speech are at rest, tlie mouth must 
 be necessarily closed. Now, let them pro- 
 nounce any word, in which h is sounded, 
 without opening the mouth until Ihey 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 war for the shadow. Let 
 }iim 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 oppression and intolerable in- 
 justice he suffers from the "organs of speech" 
 of the polished inhabitants of the cityof Phila- 
 pelphia. No people are more ready to com- 
 dlain, of any real or imaginary grievance, than 
 the citizens above mentioned ; yet they fbrget 
 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 
 h, in such words as, when, where, ichat. Sec. 
 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 confer a legitimate right, he was, at 
 lasl, 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, witiiout claiming the least right to in- 
 terfere in the .iffairs of that kingdom ; that the 
 emperor of Cliina was styled " sole governor 
 of the earth," without other princes supposing 
 that their sovereignty was affected by this ar- 
 rogant assumption. These, and various other 
 things, were mentioned to prove that the con- 
 descension of A, in this particular, was nothing 
 remarkable. 
 
 But h observes, with infinite dissatisfaction, 
 tliat his peaceable disposition has led mankind 
 to suppose that he will submit to every species 
 of injustice tliat 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, 
 pnd powers, have been suppressed and de- 
 stroyed. Who now can hear any thing of the 
 sound of A in a numerous cla's of words when 
 pronounced by a Philadelphian ? The words 
 what, when, where, toheel, lohich, xcharf, and a 
 hundred otiiers, are pronounced by the un- 
 learned, and alas I by the learned, exactly thus, 
 wat, loen, were, weel, witch, warf, Sec. 
 
 The lette? h begs leave further to represent 
 that, independent of any personal considera- 
 tions, this practice introduces unheard of cor- 
 ruption and confiision into the language, as 
 may be seen by the following view of the sub- 
 ject : What and loot, loheel and tceal, when and 
 wen, ichere and were, whet and wet, whetstone 
 and wet stone, whether and weather, whetter 
 and wetter, whey and way, which and witch, 
 whig and wig, white and wile, whin and win, 
 whine and wine, whist and 7oist, whit and wit, 
 white and wight, whither and wither, (Sic. are 
 words in the English 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 alphabet, and as a 
 liege subject of the republic of letters; other- 
 wise, you will be troubled with some " hard 
 breathing" 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 advancei 
 with caution. It subdues all violent emotions, 
 of whatever nature they may be. It forms no 
 friendships but profitable ones ; and these ar«
 
 THE SAVAGE 19 
 
 preserved no longer than they continue so. It and we wish to communicate to other9 the 
 
 studies the character of its neighbor : it marks happiness which we feel- 
 
 his dispositions, propensities, and passions ; Nature has been bountiful to us : and our 
 and avails itself of every advantage that may hearts swell with emotions of benevolence too 
 be drawn from knowledge thus acquired. It mighty for utterance. We would dispense 
 hurries its friend into a paroxysm of rage,and blessings with a hand of unlimited profusion, 
 deliberately notes down every extravagance of and pour into every heart the enthusiasm of 
 the moment. It then soothes the irritated our joy. We think that all mankind are pos- 
 passions of its openhearted dupe, and reaps the sessed of the same innocence, simplicity, and 
 full harvest of his returning kindness. It benevolence, of which we ourselves are con- 
 worms itself into the confidence of the unsus- scious ; the young tendrils of our affections 
 pecting, and waits the proper moment to betray lay hold of every object they can reach ; and 
 it. In fine, its constant business is to mark we resign ourselves to the raptures of friend- 
 out the defects of others, and cooly take ad van- ship and of love. Must the dream have an 
 tage of every weakness. It digs a pit for the end ? Can no charm make the delusion coeval 
 stranger, and lays a stumbling block before with our existence ? Shall the frosts of ad- 
 the blind. O for " a hundred tongues, and a versity nip the young shoots of our affections ? 
 voice of iron," that we might curse thee Pru- Shall the mildew of vice blast the fair hopes 
 dence ! of a harvest of happiness ? or shall the enemy, 
 — ^ in the night, sow the tares of dissension and 
 To Correspondents. distrust? 
 
 We lately received two communications: .^^fPPy^''^ they, whose life terminates ere 
 one was addressed to " Piomingo Muscogul- ^^^ ^^'^"^ confidence of youth is destroyed i 
 gico, Esq. ; the other, to "Mister Piomin|o." ^^PP^ ^\^ 'hey, who live not to discover the 
 We were so much displeased with the titles, "ror under which they have labored I 
 which had been so courteously bestowed npon ^^'^^ '"^^y 7^ remember the moment when 
 u., that we threw aside the communications ^® renounced with anguish of heart and bit- 
 without so much as readin<r them. '^'""^^^ °^ fr^'r^l"^ confidence we had reposed 
 
 We earnestly entreat ou^'r correspondents to J.» the world. The fair face of nature was de- 
 
 address us bf our name only, without any ^°''T'^' ''^^<="P of delight was dashed from 
 
 gothic addition. , We kt.ly gave our ideas on "^ ^'P' ' ''"^. ^^ &''7 ^^"=^ °^ ^^'l TT""?^' 
 
 that barbarous and unmeaning appendage to a ^''^ impression made on our minds by the 
 
 n^me— esquire. And we noiv add, that no tf^^chery of one friend is, in part, effaced by 
 
 honor can be derived from the prefix, rmsier. ^^^ PJeasure we find in confiding in another. 
 
 It would becommoH to us with the barber, ^^j disappointment follows disappointment; 
 
 the coachman, the chimney-sweeper, and the ^nd perfidy succeeds perfidy. Still we are not 
 
 oysterman : Mr. Razor, Mr. Whip, Mr. Soot, ^f^''^ discouraged. Man cannot be happy 
 
 and Mr. Wheelbarrow. ^.'"If • ^'^^ enjoyments of life would be in- 
 
 ir?" Th^ro ;„ « „ J - 11 • -i T sipid, could we not share them with others. 
 
 li~r 1 here is considerable ingenuity dis- rr- • j i u u j .i 
 
 played in the reasonings of K.; but we are To m.„ds who have exchanged the sentiments 
 
 not disposed to propagate such opinions. "Lasure "^' '' "° ^' ' ' 
 
 THE c A V A r T^ ATO TV Well then, let another smiling'deception ap- 
 
 proach — we embrace it. Interest or caprice 
 
 Recollections of Youth. dissolves the enchantment — we are miserable. 
 
 Whence arises the happiness of youth? Is But even our uneasiness hurries us on to make 
 
 it owing to the novelty of the scenes which choice of a new friend. The blind confidence 
 
 surround us, and to th« superficial view we of youth is destroyed ; but the social principle 
 
 take of persons and of things ? remains, and forces us, contrary to the plainest 
 
 Nature clothes her face in smiles; and we dictates of cool calculating reason, into new 
 
 inquire no farther, but resign ourselves with intimacies. 
 
 enthusiasm to appearances. We are suscepti- It is, nevertheless, observable that early 
 
 ble of the impressions of every species of friendships possess a charm which is unknown 
 
 beauty ; but repel with impatience the ap- to those formed in maturer years. After hav- 
 
 proaches of deformity. ing been often disappointed, a portion of fear- 
 
 We rejoice : whether the sun rise in glory, ful distrust mixes itself with our enjoyments. 
 
 and the leaves of the forest are spangled with We wish to seize the golden fruit; but we 
 
 the dew of the morning ; or whether, setting remember the apples of Sodom, We regale 
 
 in the western ocean, he dye, with streaming ourselves with " honey from the rock ;" but it 
 
 gold, the summits of the eastern mountains, is mingled with gall. In a moment of confi- 
 
 We rejoice : whether the rushing of the north dence we give away our souls : and the suc- 
 
 wind be heard among the hills, or the eastern ceeding instant is iinbittered with suspicious 
 
 breeze sigh amid the tops of the pines. We forebodings. 
 
 rejoice: whether the south wind breathe on " He that hath ears to hear let him hear." 
 
 spicy groves, or the gales of the evening curl We address those to whom nature has im- 
 
 the glassy bosom of the lake. We rejoice : parted a portion of etherial fire : whose lips
 
 20 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ■he has touched with a live coal from her this being : does not this universal censent of 
 heavenly altar. We address those whose mankind speak much ag^ainst him ? True : 
 rulintr passion in youth, was tn reciprocate but it is also to be- considered that this is the 
 the delights of friendship; and who have ex- report of his enemies. 
 
 pericnced the mental agony and mortification While these thoughts were chasing each 
 that rcEiilt from the idea of having misplaced other through our mind, in the dead hour of 
 their early affections. We address not those the night, we all at once felt astrong inclina- 
 who have always sailed on a smooth sea, with tion to interrogate the devil on the subject, and 
 reason at the helm, and whose bark has never see whether he had any thing to offer in his 
 been tossed by a storm of tempestuous passions, own defence. It appealed to us to be but jus- 
 Their tranquility is rather owing to constitu- tice to "hear also the other party." 
 tional insensibility than to any thing else : And whether it were owing to a periodical 
 they would not understand us. fit of insanity to which we are subject, or 
 
 An eleo-ant author puts tlic following words whether what we are about to relate did actu- 
 into tlie rnouth of Arislippus, the philosopher : ally take place, we will not undertake to de- 
 " Friendship is the most sublime and most tcrmine. Let the public judge. If we were 
 dangerous of the gifts of Heaven : its enjoy- mad, there was " method hi our madness," as 
 mcnts are delicious, its vicissitudes tremen- yo>. will perceive when we relate our story, 
 dous; and ouo-ht a wise man to expose himself And why should it be thought strange that 
 to losses, the bitterness of which would im- we should see the devil ? It is only what 
 poison the remainder of his life ?" A wise thousands of old women have done ; and our 
 man I No: Tlic wise man of Aristippus, or optics are as good as those of any old woman 
 of Rochefoucault, is as incapable of partaking in the universe. We would not, indeed, wish 
 of the "delicious enjoyments," as he is of ex- to have it supposed that we are very intimate 
 periencing the "tremendous vicissitudes" above with the old gentleman, as he bears but an in- 
 roentioned. Such friendships as that of Aris- different character : and we are very desirous 
 tippus are not indeed, uncommon : he would of supporting the dignity of our character. 
 " admit of convenient intimacies, but banish We should not, we suppose, incur any risk of 
 that friendship, which renders us susceptible being burned, at the present day, for holding a 
 of the sufferings of others." "I was in -lEgina," short conversation with his infernal majesty; 
 Bays he, "when I learned that my dear master but still, as we could produce no witnesses to 
 Socrates was condemned ; that he was in pri- testify the nature of the intercourse which 
 son; that the execution was delayed for a might subsist between us, we would rather not 
 month; and that his disciples were permitted to have it thought that his visits to us were very 
 visit him. If it had been in my power to have frequent, especially about midnight. But the 
 freed him from his chains, I would have flown alarm we should experience, even in that case, 
 to his assistance; but 1 could do nothing for appears to be without foundation. Has not 
 him, so I remained in iEgina." Such may be Satan appeared to prophets, apostles, and holy 
 the friendship of a wise man; such may be the men, in all ages ? Did not Michael the arch- 
 dictates of prudence; but such are not the sen- angel treat him with the greatest politeness? 
 timents of virtuous and ingenuous youth. Indeed, if we remember right, it is written, 
 Such are not the sentiments of the man who that Michael " durst not bring a railing accu- 
 can partake, with us, of the entertainment that sation" against him. How then could it be 
 is derived from these melancholy retrospec- expected that we should have the heroism to 
 tions. {To be continued.) wage- war with the devil when he takes it into 
 
 his head to pay us a visit? No, no: we thought 
 
 The Devil '*• ^^^^ ^° treat him civilly, as Michael did, and 
 
 * thus get rid of him as soon as possible : for we 
 
 Posthabui tamen illorum mea sena ludo. ^.jn ^^^ pretend to assert that we were alto- 
 
 Books have been written on the rights of gcther at our ease during the time of the in- 
 
 man; and we have heard much of the wrongs terview. The serious fact is this, and we may 
 
 which he has sustained. In one treatise the as well acknowledge it, had he appeared to us, 
 
 rights of woman are explained ; and in another arrayed in his nightgown of flame and sulphur, 
 
 her wrongs are exemplified. with eyes like two bloody moons, and his 
 
 As we were revolving this subject in our mouth open, sputtering hellfire and damnation, 
 
 mind, it occurred to us that much might be we iiad been confoundedly frightened. We, 
 
 ■aid concerning the wrongs of the devil. As although savage, have neither tomahawk nor 
 
 to rights, we will suppose that he has none ; scalping knife ; and \vc should have made but 
 
 but does that justify the children of men in a poor defence with our pipe-stem. 
 
 imputing to him crimes of which he is not But what did you see ? 
 
 guilty? If men act right, they arrogate the Have patience, good reader, (if you be good, 
 merit to themselves ; but if they act wrong, which we much question,) we have a way of 
 why then, forsooth, itwaS at the instigation of our own in telling a story, and do not like to 
 M^"- L be interrupted; but as we perceive your anxiety 
 
 Men in all ages have certainly joined to at. to learn the issue, we will endeavor to gratify 
 Uibute every thing wicked to the agency of you as soon as possible.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 21 
 
 In the midst of our nocturnal contemplation, 
 we were alarmed with what seemed to be the 
 rushing of wind througli some of the adjoining 
 apartments, and tlie opening and shutting of 
 doors in ditferent parts of the building. 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 preparing, though not 
 without a certain unaccountable trepidation, 
 (for we are natuially brave) to examine into 
 this 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 the distant breathing of 
 an Eolian harp. We accidentally turned oTir 
 eyes toward our candle : it sunk down into 
 the socket. The flame was lengthened, but 
 became blue. We smelt sulphur. A noise 
 like the rustling of silks was heard in our 
 apartment. A shadow seemed to flit by us. 
 We 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 
 for some time. Had we not been infatuated, 
 we would have made certain cabalistical signs, 
 with which we are familiar, that would have 
 startled our inferaal visitant; but it never oc- 
 curred to us. Nemo omnibus Jioris. 
 
 V\ e at last mustered courage to demand 
 " Who are you ?" The answer was immediate 
 and explicit " I am the devil." 
 
 Piomingo. You are! Well, Mis/er Devil, 
 (for as we knew that titles were delightful to 
 republicans, we concluded 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 in heaven.) Well, 
 Mister Devil, how came you to be acquainted 
 with the subject of my comtemplations ? You 
 carmot 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," therefore we made use of 
 this Soothing expression to smooth dovi'n the 
 hairs of the ferocious boast.] iS^Mire' Devil, you 
 I possess an uncommon share of ingenuity : be 
 sa good as to inform me, to what fortunate 
 circumstance I am indebted for the honor of 
 your present visit? [We had heard these ex- 
 pressions made use of in polished circles, and 
 had no doubt that they would be highly grati- 
 fying to the devil, who must be highly civil- 
 ized, having met with hard rubs cneugh 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 that their expressions amount 
 to: vox et praterea nihil. 
 
 Piomingo. My dear sir, (meaning you 
 damned black rascal) My dear sir, you do me 
 gieat honor : be pleased to proceed — but I beg 
 your pardon — excuse my inattention — {hand, 
 ing a chair) I beg you will be seated. [We 
 shall not be accused of abject servility in show- 
 ing this attention to the devil, when it is re- 
 mcmbered that we were in the presence of a 
 powerful bei"ng "the prince of the power of 
 the air," who could in a moment have blown 
 fire 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, if he be any way dissatis- 
 fied with the treatment he receives. It was 
 probably owing to our intercourse with civil- 
 ized 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 greatest com- 
 posure. 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 whiteness of his riiinient, until it oc- 
 curred to us, all at once, that he had trans- 
 formed himself into an " angel of light." He 
 observed our tobacco pipe lying on a stand, 
 and, reaching out his liand, took it up, and 
 immediately began to smoke.[- 
 
 Devil. )puffir)g the smoke in our face) I find 
 much entertainment in 'smoking. 
 
 Piomiti'^o. I am overpowered by the con- 
 descension 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 ef- 
 fect. He became remarkably cheerful and 
 pleasant ; and we pledge our savage word that 
 his countenance was not disagreeable. How- 
 ever, upon close inapection, (for we have studied 
 Lavaler) there appeared, in his countenance, 
 lurking behind a profusion of smiles, some- 
 thing 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 tliey do — but, would 
 your infernal sublimity taste a glass of wine ? 
 "[Here we arose and brought a decanter and a 
 couple of glasses, saying, asirfe, (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
 
 22 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the wine. For all which proceedings, wc have little meannesses to which men are addicted. 
 
 tlie best civilized authority.] Does any one act preposterously and absurd- 
 
 Ti- • „„ r}.^-,„i^„\ v„.., .v,„:«ot.,'o iio,i«h ly j somewise head will be sure to observe, 
 Piomiiigo. {bowing) Your majesty s nealtn {' • . n i * .1 u u 
 
 iiT„„ ..„., A« ^^^^4, A ^ ihl /r^.ViVnn i cunnot tell what the man means, lie has 
 
 ^77avmaJn') '°^' '''^ ^""^"^' °^ ''^" ''^"'^ '^ '" '"'"•" ^^^'^* 
 
 Z^irr (fcoi««-) Your health! I wish you 'listraction 1 Do the children of Adam suppose 
 
 everlasting prosperity ! [Non ego credulus that they would act wisely were it not or the 
 
 .... , s, r t: J L b wiles ot the devil? Must all their folly and 
 
 rConld there be any thing wronff in our I'-^^^'^y ^e laid on my shoulders as well as 
 
 shmvin<. this attention te the devil ? It was a "-^^^ meannesses and wickednesses ? 
 
 lesson we learned from the men of the world. . ^h"> again they make me a picture of de- 
 
 We have often seen tliem adulating and caress- ^^^'^''^ ^^ ^^" =^« ^''^ ^"'hor of iniquity. U 
 
 in. men whom they hated much more than ^"7 «»« mi.s-shapen or hard-favored ; some 
 
 wc do the devil. If" we were wrong, they are jackanapes w.U undoubtedly excL.m » He 13 
 
 * V ' ■=' •' as ugly as the devil !" The puppies ! must I 
 
 douijiy oo.j r -.v,«..i„ be the prototype as well of corporeal as of men- 
 
 Piomtmo. Men, now, as well as formerly, , ..F ■,,f'^,v-u u u .1 .7. 
 
 , ..=' ^j. ...' tal obhquity I Why should they suppose that 
 
 speak evil ofdignit.es. j ,^^^ ^^^^^^ ,.^^ ^ ^ ^^ 
 
 Devi . Yes, men are very wrong m attri- „ .. ■ r . . , • ■ 1 . 1 .^. 1 
 
 , /, •, 1- u"»u .u„.v,o„i.,„„ By the internal gods ! my imperial blood boils 
 
 butmo' to me the evils which they, themselves, J 1 i- 1 " j .• '^ . t.u- i *■ 
 
 "• Tj 1 .11 , „r, ^^„;i with diabolical indignation, when I think of 
 
 commit. I declare, upon the honor ot a devil, . 1 j • 1 n ^ 
 
 , T 1 . ~ ir -.1, »u„ o<r.;,o sach slanderous aspersions — But my time 
 
 that I do not concern myself with the aitairs "^ .• ,1 • ^ j 
 
 t h 11 '^^^ come — they may tall in my power — and 
 
 ot t e vyor . then, ye powers of darkness ! how I will roast 
 
 Piommso. How then did it happen triat you . , rij .1 j 1 r u • . r • 
 J , s ,i„, xv„ fr^rr, fi,^ them: [Here the devil fell into a turious pas- 
 
 seduced our gfreat grandmother tive, trom tlie vi r j » .1 .u 1 £ 
 
 , c .-. J 1 i.i„^o„;„^=? '^'^n- "C teamed at the mouth ; sparks flew 
 
 paths of rectitude, by your subtle devices .' . • j <• „ u- j fu 1 
 
 ^ r> •; n .K * ,„,., ^;ff.„r^r,* ^^^^ "^ myriads from his eyes; and the smoke 
 
 Demi. O, that was a very ditrerent case. ,, y,. , . . 1 , ,,r . -,- . i 
 
 T-. '. u^ c\.^,..-cnt ;.. v,or Tollcd trom his nostfils.' We were terrmed.l 
 
 Eve was virtuous : she was correct 111 her u- • m ^ • i_ l •* 
 
 conduct, an.l it required all the ingenuity of ^«»»»"^o- The resentment shown by your 
 
 the devil to set her wrong. Your poet Milton '"^ 7/ ''^'^"^^ ♦ T i, 1^ » «• 
 
 gives a very true account of the trouble I had ^^''^'- ./ [^^^ ^"y ^rue ; I should no suffer 
 
 p ,, . J- n»i, ; J „j :o .!.„ ^.,1,, my serenity to be disturbed by their contempti- 
 in that atf.iir. Milton, indeed, is tlie only / ,■ ■, ru • ji- •• 
 
 • u * • .u- I : I, „„«„....««* ;^<,tL Die malignity. [Here ne suppressed liis aglta- 
 
 writer thjt ffives any thing like a correct idea . ,." , , . ■'• , j m j »i. u 
 
 \- >• 111 tion, adjusted his robe, and called up the obe- 
 
 ofdiaboical manners. j- . 1 ■ u- \ i 
 
 ir.- • r> . •• I . ,t ,„„.., dient smiles in his countenance.! 
 
 Piommso. But, may it please your tartarean i, •• -17- ii- •• u u »i. 
 
 ,. , <=, ' { ^ . r„ „,;„«„,. Piomingo. Your subhmity should rather 
 
 h I crhness. have we not accounts ot your inter- , . ° - .1 • rn .u /r 
 
 '"..'., <-.u„ „. ,1^ i„r,rr =inoo dcrivc amuscmcnt fiom their folly, than suflFcr 
 
 fcnncr m the concerns of the world long since . . . _-." . 
 
 , >,, - • ,u^ „ o„ «r T„K ? It to give you any uneasiness. Your majesty's 
 
 the full of man : as in the case ot Job 7 , y^ J J J J 
 
 Devil. O yes, when any thing occurs worthy ^ "I, •, t,. • /• 11 • • ,j • i- 
 
 of my altentiori, I am not backward, on my f^'^ T^ieir folly is amusing; {drinking 
 
 part, in furthering the interests of my kingdom, ^md bowing) very amusmg indeed. To hear 
 
 Wh^n, once in a thousand years, or so, the a tcllow call one of his neighbors "a great 
 
 ij J , „„ „ ™^v. iiiro tA t tUi,r> finH if overgrown devil;" and in the same breath 
 
 world produces a man like Job, I then rina it , =■ ' , ., „ 
 
 necessary to exert all my infernal talents to describe another as " a poor puny little devil." 
 
 degrade him; lest his example should become »«. "?»" .^y soul, very amusing-ha ha ha/ 
 
 destrux^tivetotheeauseofimmorahty; but, I „ ^T'.TV ?^ ^'^ ''V ^^" Tk "^^ 
 
 protest to you, by the majesty of Pandemofiium, ^"'^^^ ! ''Ut had we not been diverted by our 
 
 that the vvorld is at present so wicked, that {"'^"^''^ '''T'\V^' r"" "i'°"''' have offended 
 
 there is not the smallest necessity for the l'>.m eternally We therefore dragged the un. 
 
 malignant agency of the devil. Job was an wiU'ng convulsion into our visag-e, and laughed 
 
 object worthy of my ambition: but do you """^^ obstreperously. Wc all know that, m 
 
 suppose that it was through my instigations the common occurrences of life, it is absolutely 
 
 that his wife acted in the manner she did? If necessary to laugh at all the dull jokes and 
 
 you do,- you are mistaken. '"«>P^d sayings of a rich man : how much 
 
 Piomingo, Your excellency knows best: I more incumbent was it upon us to be titillated 
 
 yield full credence to all your assertions, by the pleasantry of his majesty of Pandemo- 
 
 (Meaning, /tnowwOM to 6«t/<e "/af/iero/iits," "'"'" J ^- , . , ,,. , 
 
 and do not believe a laord you say.) ■^««*'- ^f the magnitude of him who 
 
 Devil. But that, which displeases me more .. c<,l!ectin? all his might, dilated stood, 
 
 than any thing else, is their habit ot attributing L,ke Teneriffor Alias ; 
 
 to me the origination of a thousand pitiful 
 
 sneaking little criminalities, with which, I of whom it is said that 
 
 swear Ky the blue blazes of Tophet, I would ., ^-^ ^j^^,^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^j^^ ^^ ^^j ^^ ^i^ ^^^^^ 
 
 not dirty my fingers My conscience is, cer- gat horror plumed ; 
 
 taiiily, not very troublesome; but 1 indubitably 
 
 would not debase my infernal dignity so much of the magnitude of such a one, I say, mortali 
 
 as to assist in the perpetration of a thousand may talk with the utmost propaety.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 28 
 
 Piomingo. With the utmost propriety. [We 
 had learned that, amonor men, nothing gives 
 greater pleasure to one who is ambitious of 
 making- a display of his oratorical powers in 
 conversation, than barely to assent to every 
 thing that he says ; and if this assent be given 
 by repealing a few of the orator's own words, 
 the satisfaction will be complete. We con- 
 cluded that, ill all probability, the case was the 
 eame among devils; and therefore we played 
 off our civilization upon the 'god of this 
 world.'] 
 
 Devil. But to talk of a little devil, is as ab- 
 surd as to talk of a ^reai man 
 
 Piomingo. iVhich would be "the height of 
 absurdity. [We felt the meanness of our con- 
 duct in yielding this point to the old sinner ; 
 but as we had put on the pointed visor of re- 
 fined man, wc determined not to throw it 
 off.] 
 
 Devil, I have sometimes supposed that your 
 gay ones were like to have correct ideas of in- 
 fernal beauty, when I have heard them say of 
 a fine girl, " She is devilish handsome ; but I 
 found this was merely owing to a strange par- 
 tlality they had for the word " devilish :" it 
 being applied indiscriminately to beauty and 
 deformity. Indeed, all words, that have any 
 relation to my lower dominions, appear to be 
 favorites with these mortals. The icords cer- 
 tainly 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 de- 
 riratives, making nearly one half of their vo- 
 cabulary. [The clock struck one. He van- 
 ished, leaving nothing behind him but a sul- 
 phureous stencji. Had he taken his leave in 
 an orderly manner, we would have waited on 
 him to the door, and requested the honor of 
 another visit; — but we were extremely well 
 pleased with the manner of his departure. 
 
 After looking cautiously round, and becom- 
 ing perfectly satisfied that he was actually 
 gone, we began to abuse him most politely, 
 cursing him and all his generation from the 
 beginning of the world to this day, and im- 
 puting to his instigation every error of our 
 life. We called him wicked, mean, black, de- 
 formed, clovenhoofed, horned; and gave him 
 every other opprobrious epitiiet that we could 
 find in the English and Muscogulgee lan- 
 guages. We grow civilized.] 
 
 Letters. 
 Excellence in letter writing is allowed by 
 the best judges to be difficult of attainment : 
 and the directions that are laid down to guide 
 us in the pursuit of this excellence 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 ; tut 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 ingenuity to condense 
 our matter sufficiently, and still retain that 
 ease and simplicity which are indispensable 
 requisites in epistolary writing. 
 
 Every appearance of carelessness, in a letter, 
 is an insult offered to the person with whom 
 we correspond. " When we receive a letter 
 from a person who calls himself our friend, 
 written in a careless and slovenly manner, we 
 are always much more displeased than if that 
 friend had not written at all. 
 
 Letteis, 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 corres- 
 pondent that we do not choose to devote a mo- 
 ment's attention to him or his affairs, more 
 than the cold rules of politeness imperiously 
 demand. 
 
 Wc have read, with mixed and undefinablc 
 emotions, certain strictures on our publication 
 which have appeared in Poulson's American 
 Daily Advertiser. That a man, possessing a 
 cultivated mind and a discriminating judgment, 
 should bestow praises on our talents is highly 
 gratifying; but that he should find any thing 
 to blame in the sentiments we inculcate gives 
 us unaffected concern. We are not so savage 
 but that a monitor, who appears in friendly 
 guise, may find a ready access to our heart. 
 
 The observations, alluded to, shall appear in 
 our next number. And we shall take the 
 liberty to add a few resnarks of our own. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. V. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Our observations on friendship have led us 
 to reflect on those institutions of society which 
 are favorable or unfavorable to the existence 
 or fontinuancc of the social affections. 
 
 If friendship frequently meet with interrup- 
 tions among savages, how much more unfortu- 
 nate is its fate where the system of appropria- 
 tion is carried into every department of human 
 affairs ; where education, manners, amuse- 
 ments, and, in fine, all the concerns of life, 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, and extinguish every 
 spark of generous enthusiasm ; where every 
 thing is carved out into portions, and meum 
 and tuum meet the eye every where both at 
 home and abroad ; where the earth is divided 
 into sections, the water descends by inheri- 
 tance, and even the use of the air is appro- 
 priated to individuals? 
 
 If friendship 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 assembles at dances
 
 24 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 find public feast?, and all unite in amusements imagine that they will continue for over. But 
 interestino- to all; where -every heart is light, immediately upon entering into the world this 
 and evcrv^tonffue utters the effusions of the equality disappears; and the friendship, if it 
 heart ; where all unite, in one body, to praise should still seem to subsist, degenerates into 
 tlie God of tlieir fathers with songs and with overbearing despotism on the one side, a"d 
 d;mccs, wi'h the music of reeds and the beat- contemptible cringing sycophancy on the 
 ing of' drums; where the joy becomes conta- other. {To be continued.) 
 
 fl-inus, and the gladness of the soul is reflected ^ 
 
 from face to fice, until the sick forgets his Literary Intelligence. 
 
 pain; the afflicted, his sorrow ; and the aged, Peppermint Canto announces to the public 
 the approaches of death; where all join in one j^jjg intention of composing the segariad, an 
 , dance, and all sit down X.o one feast ; where no gpjc poem, in twelve books, enriched with 
 invidious preferences are shown, no insu.tirig ^otes, critical, historical, political, and philo- 
 privileges usurped— if friendship, we repeat it, gophical. 
 
 be insecure under these circumstances, how ;^g t^g author is an enemy to every species 
 precarious must its situation be, where nothing ^f useless innovation in literary matters, he 
 gives importance but wealth, and wealth has ]^.^^ determined that the segariad shall have a 
 no connection witli individual merit; ^yhere beginning, a middle, and an end: all which 
 the higher iind the lower ranks never unite in j|^,.gg things are said by the critics, to be m- 
 the same amusement; where men never can dispensably requisite. Had not the opinion of 
 forget for a moment the inequality of their Aristotle been so very explicit on this point, 
 situations in life; where sordid ignorant bloat- ^^e author had it in contemplation to have 
 ed wealth must be fed with fontinual adulation, written an epic poem without beginning, mid- 
 and indigent merit must shrink into insignifi- jjg^ qj. q-^-^^ . but it is always safer, in affc(,irs of 
 cance, or become the object of ridicule and such consequence, to follow the footsteps of the 
 contempt ; where every association of indi- ancients. 
 
 viduals is a school of intrigue and a conspiracy jjg jg resolved to launch at once into the 
 against the species at large; where every in- middle of the action, as was done by Virgil in 
 dividual watches his neighbor with an eye of (.he Eneid. He will introduce his readers to a 
 suspicion and distrust; where truth is never young man, lolling at his ease, with his heels 
 heard, unless for some malignant purpose; higher than his head, and the smoke ascending 
 and where men endeavor to wear the sem- j^ fleecy curls to the ceiling. Hence he will 
 blance of virtue, but lay it down, as a practical ^ake occasion to describe some of those de- 
 rule, not to be incumbered with the sub- Jightful reveries into which the mind, of a man 
 stance ? so situated and so employed, is frequently 
 
 If friendship be insecure among savages, plunged. Thence he will conduct the reader, 
 where the spirit of hoarding and the desire of q^ ^ cloud of smoke, to the Limbo of Vanity, 
 accumulation are unknown, how must it be where he will give an accurate description of 
 where every one has his locked coffer vvhich those visionary castles which have been erected 
 incloses the object of his private adoration ? jn that fantastic region by the dreaming 
 
 If benevolent affections meet with frequent smokers, and smoking dreamers of all ages, 
 interruptions where the institutions of society He has this introductory part of the poem 
 are such that merit exerts its proper influence, already composed, and assures the public that 
 and worth finds its due level in the community, \^q jg extremely pleased with the sweetness 
 what must be their fate, where there is no and harmony of the versification and the cloudy 
 merit but wealth, no virtue but cunning ? obscurity of the meaning, which so happily 
 
 We arc convinced that friendship seldom illustrate those apathelical reveries, when men 
 ctists in the civilized world, unless it be among think very deeply or think not at all. Pope 
 boys at school. 1 hese sometimes draw cer- rnay talk of the sound being an echo to the 
 tain old notions of virtue and justice from sense; but this is an echo of which he had no 
 bnolts, with which they appear to be captivated idea. 
 
 for a time ; but as soon as they engage in the The author has invented a totally new epe- 
 affairs of the world, they find it necessary to cies of machinery, with which, he hopes, the 
 ^Ct initiated inty that smooth systerii of speci- reader will be highly delighted. He acknow- 
 ous vice, which goes by the name of prudence ler'ges this to be a daring experiment; but 
 and knowledge of the world. They soon dis- he has the satisfaction to think that, if he 
 cover that there is but one thing needful. If should fail, it will be said of him, as it was of 
 they can acquire that, they will have every the son of Apollo, 
 
 thinor at command ; but if that be unattained, „ - . . ,.. 
 
 , o .„ , ,,'. -^Tu ,1 magnis tamen excidit ausis. 
 
 ihey will have nothing. Where are now the ^ 
 
 gay dreams of youthful friendship? 'J'hcy He has, 7-eady made, a number of finely 
 
 have vanished as the morning dew before rising polished episodes, which he intends to attach 
 
 sun. to the work as he proceeds. Some of them. 
 
 At school there is some appearance of equal- indeed, appear at first view to have little or 
 
 ity. Boys there form connections that are no relation to the action of the goem ; but 
 
 known by the name of friendship, and fondly he feels confident that he will be able to
 
 THE SAVAGE ft 
 
 toeavi them so ingeniously into the main weh good which those talents properly directed 
 of his work, that they will appear to be quite would be capable of produciuf . The savage, 
 natural. He has already thought of a method Piomingo, is a present and strong instance of 
 of introducing^ the wars of the gi<nts in one a brilliant imagination and improved under* 
 episode, and the loves of the chivalric Smith standing thus strangely perverted. What Ian- 
 and the princess Pocahontas in another. g'lage does he use! How perspicuous! Strengtk 
 
 He intends to begin with the sf.gar, and and harmony are blended in his sentences, 
 keep it as much as possible in sight through Bestrews the paths he treads with flowers of 
 the whole course of the work ; and has no in- every varied hue : he deludes the judgment 
 tention of using it as disrespectfully as Cowper with his fiiscinations. But sir, his views of 
 did his sofa. that happy constitution of things, which haa 
 
 He assures the literary world that he has, on arisen from divine revelation and the wisdom 
 hand, a number of virgin similes, with which and experience of ages, will not bear examina* 
 he intends to embellish the segariad. They tion. It is true, man is a frail being. His 
 are all of his own manvfacture ; and he pledges faults are numerous : nor is there one, who can 
 his word that they have never been touched by so far govern his appetites and passions as to 
 Homer or any other poet. be free from error. Prejudices will prevail 
 
 He desires it to he understood that, although over his reason. They grow with his growth 
 the sEOARiAD will be an epic poem, complete and strengthen with his years, to whatever so« 
 in all its parts, yet, it will hold but a secondary ciety, whether savage or civilized, he may be- 
 place in the work which he intends to offer to long. Must he tl«;refore shut himself out 
 the public The judicious reader will take from all society? His systems of education 
 notice that the poem is to serve as a medium may be wrong ; but they are improvable.— 
 of conveyance for certain highly interesting Another direction might be given to his 
 observations which he will append to almost thoughts : his views might be more extended : 
 every line of his meditated production. He his imagination raised to heaven. But were 
 informs the public that he has a vast quantity he to divest himself of the opportunities he has 
 oi literary lore, of the first quality, which he of acquiring knowledge; were he to bum his 
 will present to the public in the term of notes cities and flee to the woods; expose himself to 
 on the SEGARIAD. the inclemencies of the seasons, and to a de< 
 
 If the reader find but two or three lines of pcndence upon the precarious supply which 
 the text on a page, he will have no reason to the chase or the snare might procure him— • 
 bo dissatisfied. Let him peruse the notes : would his errors be rectified ? 
 
 there he will find instruction blended with en- rru -^t u- u t>- • j * 
 
 . 4 • i u 11 1 ^ J ♦ fU« «.;»:„ 1 The pictures which Piominpo draws of 
 
 tertainment. He will be amazed at the critical ,.'- » j -.i ^ x . T j 
 
 ,..■ 1 •. 1,; ♦,;- 1 ,-„„„,„!, savage life are executed with a master's hand, 
 
 acumen pol.ti^ealaagaeityustoricul research ^^^^ ^^^ ^^,, calculated to lead the unwary 
 
 end philosophical profundity, which will be i^to a belief, that what they represent is true. 
 
 there dispLiyed. g^ jjl^^ ^^^ paintings of many other dis. 
 
 The following observations are copied from the Pi^tful objects, the stench and the filth are left 
 
 American Daily Advertiser. O^** 
 
 Mr. Poulson, — A small publication entitled " I pity the man," says Sterne, who can 
 
 • Tfie Savage," fell into my hands a few days travel from Dan to Beersheba, and cry, all is 
 
 since. I have .'•ead it with careful attention, barren. And so it is ; and so is all the world 
 
 but I cannot give it the sanction of my appro- to him.whowill not cultivate the fruit it offers." 
 
 bation. Whatever has a tendency to render To this observation of Sterne some poetic ^e. 
 
 man discontented with his condition, and to nius has affixed a few lines which display a 
 
 excite repinings at the dispensations of Provi- philosophy in consonance with the sentiment, 
 
 dence, must be injurious. The virtuous man Allow me, sir. to offer them to Piomingo as a 
 
 would, no doubt, wish to see each individual most invaluable present. Perhaps they may 
 
 equally virtuous with himself — but however serve to soothe his wounded spirit : completely 
 
 ardently he may desire it, it is certainly ques- to tranquilize it, can only be effected by a reli- 
 
 tion.-ible whether he would obtain his wishes ance on that gospel, which he affects to treat 
 
 by becoming a savage. with contumely. 
 
 MeH of cultivated minds have existed in all 
 
 times, to whom civilized society has not af- " Away with complaints of distress, 
 
 forded any gratification. This arises perhaps , ^'J'^"^''^ ^ /^'"^n""" w° w^' i > 
 
 frnm fnn i,.o<.t oo^noik;!*, u • u • » ui Aiid reflect -( twiU niako tfouble scem loss,) 
 from too great a sensibility, which is not able ^he endearment of quiet is strife. 
 
 ,^u ^'^^ ^ r As the storms of the ocean, which fill with alarm, 
 
 "1 ho stings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Give a zest to the pleasure enjoy'd in a calm. 
 — Hence we find the pictures they draw of 
 
 such society deeply tinged with the melan- "What is ii gives nature its grace? 
 
 choly which unhappily preys upon their wSrii^rhlr^rfr!,:::;^^^^!'^''' 
 ^P'/'. . , , , , Or ofPhebusdispelline the night? 
 
 It 18 a circumstance much to bo regretted ; By contrast alone are their-beauties display'd. 
 k because society loses in every instance the Their coloring heighlen'd or sofYen'd by shade. 
 D
 
 26 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 " So the slare, when disburthen'ed of toil ; 
 The culprit who meets a reprie»e; 
 The lover, first blest with a smile, 
 
 And the s< eptic, 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, herbs, 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 ing;enioas author of the foregoing re- 
 marks seems to have mistaken the views of the 
 Savage. We entertain no presumptuous hopes 
 of effecting a revolution in the minds of men. 
 We are not Quixotic enough to imagine that 
 we can undo the work of ages, and bring back 
 man to a state of barbarism. This, however 
 desirable such a change might be, is impossi- 
 ble, unless by the means of some tremendous 
 convulsion of nature: which Heaven avert! — 
 The utmost of our ambition is to afford enter- 
 tainment by the novelty of our remarks ; and 
 we are afraid that even that is not within the 
 limits of our power. There are but two spe- 
 cies of writing that the men of the present day 
 are disposed to read : something that they can 
 turn to immediate profit, and slanderous asper- 
 sions against their neighbors. Now as we are 
 disposed to gratify neither of these propensities, 
 we have very faint hopes indeed that our 
 Savage will become popular. 
 
 But, if it be asked, what will be the eflFect of 
 our remarks in a moral point of view ; we 
 answer, that the tendency cannot be immoral. 
 We are the friend of virtue, and advocate her 
 cause. We are the enemy of every species of 
 rice ; and we endeavor to draw aside her veil 
 and show her to men in all her native de- 
 formity. 
 
 We have no desire "to excite repinings at 
 the dispensations of Providence ;" nor do we 
 conceive that our remarks can have that ten- 
 dency. Could we render men discontented 
 with their vices and follies, the consequences 
 could not be deplorable ; but we are not led 
 away by any such extravagant expectations. 
 This sordid calculating money-making genera- 
 tion would not be disturbed in their operations 
 even " should one rise from the dead;" and we 
 have no hopes that they will attend to " the 
 Toice 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 
 tfntng up and choked it, we can form some 
 idea ; but of the boasted wisdom and ezperi- 
 «ac« of ages, we entertain a difTerent opinion. 
 By thit wi»dom %ni this Mperienc« men ar« 
 
 subjected to dangers, diiHcuIties and misfor. 
 tunes, of which their savage fathers had no 
 conception. Where are the beneficial effects 
 of this knowledge? Have men learned to con- 
 quer disease, or retard 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 mankind more be- 
 nevolent, more just, more enlightened, than 
 they were formerly? A few prejudices,which 
 happened to have no connection with self^ 
 interest, have been discarded ; but others, 
 much more pernicious, have been guarded by 
 our teachers as the " apple of their eye." 
 The crimes of the moderns are less glaiing 
 than those of the ancients, but all their actions 
 aio systematically vicious. 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 socie- 
 ty ; and its moral health, as far as we can per- 
 ceive, is irretrievably lost. This one evil 
 smothers every young and generous inclina- 
 tion, 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 allega- 
 tion that is brought against us : "that of affect- 
 ing to treat the gospel with contumely." We 
 never have treated Christianity with contempt. 
 We never have attempted to ridicule 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 con- 
 duct marked out by the precepts of the gospel. 
 Hereafter, when we say any thing against 
 those who are called christians, lot it not be 
 supposed that we oppose the doctrines which 
 they affect to believe : we only complain of the 
 want of conformity between their professions 
 and practice. It has been said that a historian, 
 in order to be f^thful and unprejudiced should 
 be of no country and no religion ; why may it 
 not be supposed necessary for our Savage to 
 have the same negative qualifications ? 
 
 With Piomingo, personally, the public have 
 no concern : 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. Piomingo is not 
 solicitous about their fate. He once cherished 
 a hope of literary fame, but that hope, with 
 many others, is extinguished. He feels grate- 
 ful to " A" for the philosophy contained in the 
 versw ; but has no great regard for arty obser- 
 vations of Sterne.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 m 
 
 Prudence Hall, Oct 5, 1809. 
 
 PloMiNQo, are you a bona fide savage ? By 
 my conscience, 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 Schuylkill, and 
 over in Hamilton's woods ; but my labor hag 
 been in vain. I went into half a hundred dis- 
 mal 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 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 in- 
 duced to permit me to explain matters fully in 
 my proper person. 
 
 You are a savage, a copper-colored savage — 
 Good. You are tall and slender, with black 
 «yes and long coarse black hair — Good. You 
 have high cheek bones — Very good. You, 
 "without doubt, wear jewels in your nose, and 
 have split and distended the lobes of your ears 
 — Excellent, most excellent! I would rather 
 possess the advantages just enumerated than 
 be emperor of the Gauls. Only make the pro- 
 per use of the directions I shall give you, and 
 you will have the wealth of this populous city 
 at command. But it is to be remembered that 
 if you adopt my plan, one half of the profits — 
 you comprehend — 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 intelli- 
 gence; and you inform us that you are fifty 
 years of age ; what then, in the name of com- 
 mon sense, do you mean by preaching musty 
 sermons 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 inten- 
 tion, here is my hand — you will find me a 
 useful associate in any scheme of honorable 
 roguery you may have in contemplation. For, 
 (do you mark ?) I have too much principle to 
 engage in any dishonest practices that might 
 endanger my neck ; but I am the very lad that 
 can impose upon 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 is not difficult; we have only to study 
 their weaknesses, follies, passions, and preju- 
 ^ices.and improve them to our own advantage. 
 ^Every man may be gulled some way or other. 
 If he yvill not bite at a minnow, he may at a 
 ^orm. Labor omnia vineit improbus : that is 
 
 mj motto ; and, let me tell you, I *m seldoia 
 unsuccessful in my undertakings. But the 
 scheme I am about to propose 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 physician, and inform the public, in a 
 pompous advertisement in all the daily papers, 
 that you studied physic many years under the 
 celebrated Kaioka ; that you are perfectly well 
 acquainted with the secrets of nature ; that 
 you have a profound knowledge of all the 
 simples in the vegetable kingdom ; that you 
 spent many years in collecting, with your own 
 hands, an immense multitude of plants in the 
 Appalachian mountains ; that you hare dried 
 them with sedulous care, or extracted their 
 virtues and preserved their essences as inesti- 
 mable remedies for all the diseases to which 
 the human frame is subject ; that you are in- 
 structed in all the occult sciences and super- 
 natural learning of the ever memorable Kaioka; 
 that you are a perfect master of every species 
 of powwowing ; that you can ease the aking 
 of a tooth, and charm away the " grief of 
 wound ;" that you are profoundly 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 reme- 
 dies 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 result 
 from dissipated pleasures, immoderate use of 
 spiritous liquors, residence in climates unfavor- 
 able to the constitution, and juvenile indiscre- 
 tions,and you feel yourself happy in announcing 
 to the afflicted that you are able to renovate 
 their constitutions and restore their pristine 
 health and vigor ; that you are possessed of 
 certain arcana that are absolutely unknown to 
 civilized nations, which will enable you to per* 
 form cures that will astonish the world ; that 
 you have supernatural cordials, balms, and re- 
 storatives, without number; that you have 
 hypersupercarbonated waterproof liquid black- 
 ing for boots and shoes, deathdealing poison 
 for rats and mice, imperial unguents for the 
 itch, and worm-murdering lozenges for child- 
 ren ; that you have specifics for every disease, 
 and salves for every sore ; that you have tinc- 
 tures and lovepowders,eyewaters and corn-plas- 
 ters; that you have cosmetics of super-eminent 
 efficacy, celestial perfumes and milk of the roses 
 of Paradise; that you have a beautifying lotion, 
 invented by the princess Onasycocoquanaha- 
 mahala,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 period of life, and 
 even give to wrinkled age the appearance «f 
 jouth.
 
 fiS 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 When yoa have enumerated these things 
 and a hundred others, you may conclude your 
 »dvertisement with observing that, from many 
 years extensive and successful practice in the 
 capital of the Muscogulgees, you flitter your- 
 •elf that you can more than give satisfaction 
 to those who may apply for your assistance. 
 
 After this advertisement has been some time 
 in circulation, yoa mast publish a list of yimr 
 ■oul-relicving, body-restoring and w rid. aston- 
 ishing medicines. You must invent new and 
 unheard-of titles for your nostruins.and express 
 yourself on all occasions in tho most bombastic 
 and unintelligible manner. Yon must declaim 
 rotunda ore, and tear every subject to tatters 
 that falls in your power. You mast outpuff 
 the pufFvjrs of this puffing people, and strike 
 dumb the altiloquence of the immoital vendor 
 of the barbal alkahest, and diamond paste by 
 the terrisonous explosion of your altisonant and 
 ceraunic magniloquy ! 
 
 You have only to show your olive phiz, utter 
 some Muscogulgee gibberish and heathen 
 Greek jawbreakers, and, by the god of knaves, 
 the whole practice of the city is your own. 
 Who could withstand such soft majestic words, 
 pouring from your sweet old ugly copper- 
 colored mouth, with a damned crowbar run 
 through your nose, a new moon on your breast, 
 and great 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 hesi- 
 tate ? You cannot, certainly, doubt of your 
 abilities to impose upon 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 
 ■hould pay the smallest attention to the sufferer 
 during the few minutes that you stay in the 
 room. You may strut about, look at the cur- 
 tains, pictures, &.c. and examine your own 
 lovely person in a mirror : a physician, having 
 been long conversant with sickness, sorrow, 
 groans, and death, it is not expected that he 
 should discover any symptoms of humanity. 
 When any qusstions are asked by the relatives 
 of the patient, you must remember to give 
 ambiguous oracular responses: thus your credit 
 will 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, ob- 
 Btructed perspiration and the peristaltic motion: 
 the inquirer will be, not only satisfied, but 
 highly pleased that you considered him capa- 
 ble of understanding your discourse. You 
 mast talk much of the number of your patients, 
 
 of tho necessity of attending a consultntioRT 
 and hurry away, leaving " Kaioka''s pills" or a 
 " tinctuie of life everlasting." 
 
 Should the sufferer recover, that recoveiy 
 will be attributed to the efficacy of your vege- 
 table specific; should he die, you may lay the 
 blame on the carelessness of the attendants in 
 not administering properly your inestimable 
 medicine, or on the obstinacy of the patient iu 
 refusing to regulate his conduct by your di- 
 rections ; and, after his death, you must re- 
 member frequently to make some such obser- 
 vation 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 de- 
 bilitated and the mind enfeebled by long con- 
 tinned sickness, there is nothing Ihey may not 
 be induced to believe, A bold impostor may 
 rule them with absolute authority, and, by 
 raising and depressing their spirits as circum- 
 stances may require, draw the last cent from 
 their pockets. He must make them feel di- 
 seases that never existed, and then administer 
 cures for the complaints of his own creation- 
 lie must "speak peace" to the dying, when 
 ' there is no peace;" and terrify these who 
 are like to live with imaginary dangers. 
 
 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 ne- 
 cessary for the accomplishment of his pnrpKjses- 
 But he must not be disturbed by any foolish 
 qualms of conscience, or childish sympathizing 
 sensations. 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 
 I the color of an African, a Hindoo, an Ara- 
 bian, or a Cherokee, I could carry my plans 
 into operation without the assistance of 
 another ; but as it is, I am under tlie necessity 
 of procuring 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 em- 
 bryo, for want of hands to embody those 
 sublime ideas which have originated in my 
 brain ! 
 
 I once endeavored to educate and instruct a 
 great flatfboted knockkneed humpbacked blub- 
 berlipped splaymouihcd woolly headed negro 
 in the art and mystery of quackery. His 
 person was exactly the thing I 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 contented 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 bis conscience (his conscience ! only think
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 S9 
 
 of that! the black rascal pretended to have a 
 conscience I) to engage in the prosecution of 
 my plan ; th it it was cruel to sport with the 
 miseries of our tellow crc itures ; that it was 
 wicked to take advintige of the weaknesses 
 and follies of mankind ; that our medicines 
 would never do ffood, and might do much 
 harm ; that wc should prevent the afflicted 
 from applying to those wlio might be able to 
 afford them relief; tiiat we should destroy the 
 constitutions of the healthy, and hurry the 
 feeble out of the world when they miirht other- 
 wise have lived for years — " What," cried I, 
 "QuiBsii, are you mad ? Is it not a law of 
 nature that the strong should |)rey upon the 
 weak ? that the tiger should lie in w.iit for the 
 stag ? and that th-:" great fishes should devour 
 the small ? Dunr Quissii, only think of that 
 all-destroying animal, mnn ; does he not make 
 a prey of every creature that is subject to his 
 power? But you mu-st know that men not 
 only take advantage of the weakness of nil in- 
 ferior animals; but of the frailties and misfor- 
 tunes 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." 
 Thm 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 project until the present moment. 
 You, Piomingo, are advanced in yeirs 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 impudence of the scoundrel in making 
 such a proposal to us. In the first transports 
 of our fury we started up with a full determi- 
 nation 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 wc 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 publishing his letter. 
 
 The epistle, we have had the honor of re- 
 ceiving, sheds a iilaze ot light on a subject 
 which, before, appeared to us to be involved in 
 the greatest obscurity. We had long observed 
 advertisements in the public papers which an- 
 nounced infallible remedies for every disease. 
 Cures innumerable, authenticated by the most 
 respectable names, demanded our implicit be- 
 lief: yet still we heard the frequent tolling of 
 the bells, which proclaimed the daily departure 
 of souls, and we met in the streets the melan- 
 choly hearse which conveyed the lifeless body to 
 the grave ! We were amazed at the onstinacy 
 of tie people. Why should they die, when 
 
 health and lifo courted their acceptance 7 
 Ephraim Hcadwork's letter has explained the 
 laystery. 
 
 But is it not strange that an enlightened and 
 civilized people should suffer themselveis to be 
 deluded, in a matter of such consequence, by 
 every arrogant pretender ? When a watch or 
 any other machine of the like nature is dam- 
 aged by any casualty, it is sent to some skillul 
 mechanic who understands its structure, and is 
 therefore qualified to rectify that which is 
 wrong : and when the human body, a most 
 complex piece of machineiy, becomes deranged 
 in its parts, or disordered in its operations, 
 how can we expect to have it regulated by the 
 hand of daring and unprincipled ignorance? 
 
 A multitude of laws is one of the distinguish- 
 ing characteristics of civilization : why then 
 are there no lawi against quackery? Shall 
 property be protected by innumerable statutes, 
 and life and health be let. .t the mercy of every 
 one who has the hardihood to assert and p^r- 
 sist in a falsehood 7 
 
 THE SAVAGE- NO. VI. 
 
 Virtue. 
 
 It has already been proved, that the direct 
 tendency of what is called civilization is to 
 cri?ate and perpetuate a disparity among mm ; 
 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 auliiors who understand not the 
 subject they have undertaken to discuss. They 
 have said much in favor of the diffusion of 
 knowleds'c ; but knowledge can never be gen- 
 erally difFuseii under the present constitution 
 of society. How can men acquire knowledge 
 who arc condemned, by their necessities, to 
 never-ending labor ? Much may be said in 
 favnr of those arts which humanize the mind, 
 and soften the feiocioos passions of man ; but 
 it is not considered that this humanized and 
 softened being requires the assistance and ser- 
 vitude of a dozen beings, who are brutalized 
 and degraded in the same proportion that he is 
 refined and exalted. 
 
 Hereafter wc will endeavor to form a proper 
 estimate 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 mankind ,. 
 the laboring poor. 
 
 Are they virtuous 7 
 
 When a man of this description becomes 
 capable of reflection, he immediately perceives 
 the disadvantages of his situation: there are 
 privileges to which he must not aspire ; there 
 are enjoyments of which he must not partake. 
 He finds himself necessitated to labor continu- 
 ally for a wretched subsistence, while others
 
 90 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 enjoy leisure, amusement and pleasure without 
 any exertion of their own. These circum- 
 stances hive a natural tendency to sour and 
 imbitter his mind. Envy and malignity take 
 up their residence in his heart ; but as he sees 
 no opportunity of improving his situation, he 
 becomes as stupid as an " ass couching down 
 between twe burdens." He is despised by tlie 
 world ; and he despises himself When he 
 sees that he is utterly contemptible in the esti- 
 mation of others, how is it possible that he 
 should value himself, or retain any idea of 
 personal importance or dignity of character ? 
 It is not possible. 
 
 Honor is a powerful incentive to virtuous 
 actions ; but honor has no influence with the 
 wretch that I describe. Shame, in certain so- 
 cieties, will prevent a man from falling into 
 vicious pursuits ; but shame has no power 
 over this victim of refinement. He is already 
 contemptible, degraded, miserable; what more 
 can he fear ? 
 
 When you have destroyed, by your boasted 
 civilization, every motive to virtue, and every 
 preventive of vice, in the great body of the 
 people, do you, notwithstanding, expect to find 
 them viituous? We will undertake to say, 
 that you are very unreasonable in your expecta- 
 tions ; and that you will most assuredly be 
 disappointed. We assert with confidence that 
 the great body of the poor, in every civilized 
 society, are not only degraded but wicked and 
 malignant. Whence arises the multiplicity of 
 your laws, but from the multitude of crimes 
 that are found in the mass of the community ? 
 They are necessarily vicious, yet the circum- 
 stances of society require that they should be 
 punished. And all this collection 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 them- 
 selvps factitious and enerviiting enjoyments, at 
 the expense of the virtue and happiness of mil- 
 lions 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 cir- 
 •cumstances of his situation to practise con- 
 tinual dissimulation. He dare not, he cannot, 
 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 consequently powerful ; 
 lie must therefore, as far as he is able, endeavor 
 !to countervail this ascendency, by flattery and 
 dissimulation. He asks justice as a favor,and 
 fcegs the contemptible pittance he receives 
 for his labor with the whining tone of a medi- 
 «aDt 
 
 There is no object in nature so disgusting 
 jis to see one man crawling to and fawning on 
 another. We may pity the base grovelling 
 wretch, but we must and do despise him. 
 Can this creature be virtuous? He maybe 
 .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 un- 
 der, of receiving favors from the hand of opu- 
 lence, humbles and enervates his 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 obliga- 
 tion from which he cannot disengage himself 
 at pleasure, that moment he becomes a slave. 
 His mind is brought into thraldom, and his 
 soul is obliged to acknowledge a master. The 
 supposed benefactor may insult him with im- 
 punity. 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 ungrateful; if he submit in silence, it is im- 
 puted to baseness and cowardice of spirit. 
 And every thing poverty receives from wealth 
 is accounted a favor. If we lend a lich man 
 a few dollars, it is considered merely as an act 
 of common courtesy, and we think of it no 
 more; but if we lend half the sura to a man 
 who is in 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 in- 
 gratitude, 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 prose, 
 cute 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 infor- 
 mation 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 misera- 
 ble mortal have the assurance to make the 
 same demand, we are astonished at his effron- 
 tery, and pass ^lim 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 w^ere in that 
 happy disposition of mind which renders us 
 averse to every species of contention — if, from 
 all these causes, we should re* urn a kindly and 
 condescending answer, we wo\ild admire our 
 own politeness and urbanity, and conceive the 
 poor devil to be under infinite obligations to 
 our good nature. 
 
 Now, how can a man who is continually re- 
 ceiving favors, and feels the impossibility of 
 making suitable returns, maintain a proper 
 degree of self-respect ? And the man who has 
 no respect for himself will be careless in the 
 performance of duties that have no immediate 
 connexion with his Latex est.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 81 
 
 From such considerations as the foregoing The Grave. 
 
 we deduce the conclusion, that the progress of ,^, ^. 
 
 civilization is unfavorable to the practice of When Diogenes was about to die, he was 
 
 virtue, because it places an immense majority l^^^^ ^^^'^ ^''°"i4 ^ ,«^°"« ^'^^1 '"s body, 
 
 of the human race in a situation which renders ^ 'V" ^^""l" P'^'^u '1 1^ ^^ ''\'Jr^^ ""^^ ^^^ ^^^ 
 
 them incapable of virtuous exertions-in a unburicd in the fields. "What." said his 
 
 situation where they are almost inevitably com. |"ends, 'shall it be exposed _as a prey to the 
 
 pelled to become vicious. 
 
 Justice. 
 
 [ To be continued. 
 
 We have somewhere read of a people who 
 
 birds and wild beasts ?" " Lay a staff near 
 me," replied the dying philosopher, " with 
 wh'ch I may drive them away." "How can 
 you drive them away," demanded his friends, 
 " since you will not perceive them ?" " What 
 
 asked nothing, in their prayers to the gods, but harm can they do me," said Diogenes, "if 
 
 justice. In this they appear to have done when they devour my flesh, I do not perceive 
 
 wisely : for, had they asked for any thing else, it ?" 
 
 can it be supposed that their requests would If Diogenes cared as little about the disposal 
 
 have been granted ? of his body after death as his words indicate. 
 
 Justice is the perfection of virtue ; it may he had divested himself of a very general 
 be supposed to arise from the relation all ere- weakness ; for the most of men show an un- 
 ated beings bear to each other, and to their common solicitude on this subject. Some de- 
 creator. From all these relations there origi- sire to be buned in consecrated ground, sup- 
 nate certain rights : whoever acts in confer- posing, no doubt, that evil spirits will be afraid 
 mity with these, acts justly ; but whoever to disturb them within the precincts of the 
 violates them, acts unjustly. sanctuary. Possibly they desire to rest among 
 
 Ovid says that the goddess of justice has de- the saints, that they may have good company 
 
 serted the earth ; and we believe he is correct in the grave ; or at least may be found among 
 
 the righteous at the general resurrection. We 
 have some times supposed that they were ap- 
 prehensive that they might be overlooked by 
 the eye of the Etcnal, at the great day, if they 
 were deposited in any other place than a 
 
 in the assertion : 
 
 Virgo cffide madentes 
 
 Ultima coelestum terres Astroea reliquit. 
 
 However, we are inclined to believe that she 
 
 was the/r«t, and not the last, of the celestials churchyard, 
 who deserted the earth and winged their flight The greater part of mankind express a wish 
 
 to the etherial regions. One thing is certain to be buried near their relations or friends, 
 
 she is not here. This desire is very general, and, we had almost 
 
 There is a strange Protean being who has said, natural ; but the man who has experi- 
 
 usurped her name, but possesses none of her enced the perfidy of friends and the coldness of 
 
 qualities, found among us. This pseudo-jus- relations would rather be buried in the desert 
 
 tice is extremely accommodating to the weak- or cast into the ocean. The ancient Jews, 
 
 nesses and passions, but most of all to the in- who appear to have had very faint ideas of a 
 
 terests, of men. She studies what will be ac- 
 counted the interest of a nation, or of an indi- 
 vidual; and she says to that nation, or that indi- 
 vidual, this is justice. There is one thing 
 
 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 indiffer- 
 
 observable in her conduct: she aJways adheres ence to him how they disposed of his body. 
 to the stronger side. She is a friend to good Another philosopher, being told in a tbreaten- 
 order and regular government as long as go- ing tone by a tyrant, that he should remain 
 vernment is able to support itself ; but the mo. unburied, replied, "Fool! do you suppiose that 
 ment that its weakness is discovered, she I care whether this body rot above ground or 
 ranges herself on the side of anarchy and con- below ?" Reason, indeed, informs us all, that 
 fusion. She assisted at the massacre of the it is a matter of no consequence what becomes 
 whites in St. Domingo, and is an advocate for of the body when the spirit has departed ; but 
 the slave trade in Jamaica. In Russia she we have been so long in the habit of connect- 
 speaks in favor of despotism ; in England she ing life and feeling with the human frame, that 
 advocates the dominion of the seas; and in we can hardly be led to suppose that the carcass 
 France she brings the crowns of the sove- is totally destitute of sensation. The custom 
 reigns of Europe and lays them at the feet of of digging a deep pit for the reception of the 
 Napoleon. She is a nice observer of times, dead, and leaving them as a prey for worms 
 places and circumstance-?. She is a mahome^and corruption is excessively disagreeable : the 
 tan, av christian, a pagan, a catholic, a protes- practice of burning the body was much more 
 tant, a royalist, a republican, a jacobin, an im- decent, and had not a tendency to awaken so 
 perialist, as the power shifts from the hands many gloomy and loathsome ideas. The urn 
 of one party to those of the other. She wor- containing the ashes of a deceased relative 
 ships the rising sun, observes the course of might be deposited in our chamber to remind 
 the wind, and was never known to row against us continually of the virtues of the departed, 
 tk« tide. and of the friendship that had sub sistcd betwe«a
 
 82 
 
 THE SAVAGK 
 
 uj Who would not rather that his flesh should face the roarin» cannon. If he oonqtier, he is 
 
 be consumed by the action of fire, than un- despised; if he die, he is/or^o«en. 
 derTo an abominable fermentation in the grave? 
 
 WlTo would not rather his body should be puri. Conversation. 
 fled by the flames, than bccomp the parent and When five or six men are together, it is 
 the nourishment of worms? Who would not curious to observe the anxiety every one has 
 rather ascend in smoke to the clouds, th in be- to speak. No one wishes to hear : all he de- 
 come an inhabitant of darkness and the grave? gires is an auditor. Rather than defer telling 
 Who would not rather be scattered by the four their respective stories, they frequently all 
 winds of heaven than say " to corruption thou speak at the same time, 
 art my father and to the worm thou art my Every one has a subject of his own that he 
 
 wishes to introduce; therefore he is miserable 
 until he has an opportunity to drag it in. One 
 is desirous to discuss some religious subject ; 
 another would engage in a political disquisi- 
 tion. 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 bo an excellent 
 sign for a modern tavern. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. VIL 
 Happiness. 
 Was it Plato who said that " the more we 
 
 aistcr and my mother ?" 
 
 The Slage of Life. 
 
 One poet has truly said that 
 
 All the world's a staee, 
 And all the men and women merely players: 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his lime plays many parts,— 
 
 And another has said, in an imperative style, 
 
 Act well your part, there all the honor lies. 
 Does he mean by this that there is as much 
 honor in acting well in an inferior stition as 
 in a superior? Pope was inspired, no doubt, 
 
 ^ind thuretijro we miorht expect him to speak live for others, the more we live for ourselves?" 
 the truth; but we liave read of " an evil spirit VViiethcr it were Plato or another, the senti- 
 •from the Lord," and of " a lying spirit in the ment appears to be founded on a critical ac- 
 mouth of all the prophets," and we conclude quaintance with human nature. Tliose emo- 
 that Pope must have been troubled by one or tions that carry us out of ourselves and inter- 
 both of these. est ns in the concerns of others are productive 
 We agree that the world may be considered of infinitely higher degrees of happiness than 
 as a stage; but wc deny that honor is to be any personal gratifications can possibly be. 
 gained by pcr:brming well an inferior part. Those affoctions of the mind which are do- 
 He who enacts a principal character, if he sus- nominated benevolence and humanity may be 
 tain his part with dignity and propriety, may considered as emanations of the divine nature, 
 expect to be rewarded by the plaudits of the They make us forget, in a moment, all those 
 audience; but wlio will applaud the industrious paltry avocations that occupy our days with 
 ai.d diligent exertions of the prompter, scene, labor and our nights with thought. They sup- 
 «hifier, or candle-snuffer ? The actor who press the cold calculations of prudenc, the 
 struts his hour in tiie character of Othello, gloomy forebodings of care, the aspiring me- 
 Micbeth, or Richard the third, receives an ditationsof ambition, and the bewitching delu- 
 honorary as well as a pecuniary recompense; sions of pleasure. They carry us away, above 
 but the call-boy and lamp lighter, however the clouds of mortality, to tiie third heaven of 
 perfect in their parts, can gain nothing but the delisjht, where we experience pleasures not to 
 stipulated hire. Sliould any ihincr go wrong be described, and joys too mighty for our na- 
 through their mismanagement, they may be ture. We breathe the air of the celestial re- 
 salutcd by a hiss; but the thnndcring voice of gions: the eartli and all its evils, sickness, 
 applause never awakens their love of glory, or pain, sorrow, and death, arc forgotten. The 
 towards the punctual discharge of their servile ccftasy is short: but, for a moment, we seem 
 occupations. to have found what has been so long and so 
 So it is in life: an Alexander and a Ceasar, a earnestly desired by men — happiness. We 
 Brutus and a Cato, a Trajan and an Antonine, arc, like Moses, in tiie " ceft of the rock" — 
 perform tiieir parts in the wide theatre of the tiie glory of the Lord passes by ; and we get a 
 ■world, in the sight of admiring nations, wiio glimpse of iis brightness. God of nature ! 
 are ever ready to raise the song of triumph remove thy hand, and let the vision destroy 
 and s ng lios,innas to the great. Wlio would us ! 
 
 not be a hero, when encouraged by the hopc^ Pcifect happiness, if such a thing be de- 
 of !«u-ih a reward? Who would not press foW signed for man, is reserved for a future state, 
 
 ward in the r jcc, when a crown of glory is in when we shall be put in possession of the 
 
 view? Who would not encounter death, for great good— when we shall forget ourselves 
 
 everlasting fame ? in the contemplation of the Author of our ex- 
 
 The obscure individual can havo no such istence ; but that qualified imperfect kind of 
 
 motives. He is compollod to tread the insan- felicity, which we are permitted to taste, in 
 
 guiaed field, to mount the deadly breach, and this feverish state of existence, seems to con-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 43 
 
 *ist in the exercise of the benevolent affections: 
 »nd we are led to conclude with the author 
 above mentioned that " the more we live for 
 'Others, the more we live for ourselves." 
 
 The eirth is full of misery. We are weary 
 travellers in a strange land. Our path is 
 narrow, and we are grievously incommoded by 
 the thorns and briers and thistles that obstruct 
 our pissnfre. 
 
 Thick darkness is behind us : we know not 
 whence wc came. 
 
 Heavy clouds hang' over us : wc are appalled 
 "by the voice of the thunder and terrified by 
 the g-|;ire of the liofhtniig. 
 
 We hcnr, on ench side, the noise of mighty 
 waters, the howling of wild heasts in the 
 desert, and the rushing oF tiie bl;ist 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 deceit'ul appearances. We drink; but 
 our thirst is not allayed. We are hun<rry : a 
 tree 'fair to the eyes' presents its tempting 
 fruit : we seize it with greediness, and — chfw 
 bitter ashes. 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 assist us. We rejoice : but ere we are 
 savare, 
 
 black he stands as night, 
 
 Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 
 And shakes a dreadful dart! 
 
 We stirt back with horror : a malignant laugh 
 is heard on the rigiit hand and on the left, 
 above and below. Spirits of darkness I what 
 would ye ? 
 
 Before us there Is a tremendous precipice, 
 to wlii(fh we know of no bottotn. We must 
 make the drqadful leap: and we know not 
 whither we go. 
 
 Such is the situalinn of men. They are 
 fellow travellers and fellow sufferers in this 
 wilderness which we have attempted faintly 
 to delineate. What can alleviate their dis- 
 tresses, or lessen their diiiiculties ? What can 
 serve as a balm for their wounds, or an opiate 
 for their cares ? The world has existed many 
 thousands of years. One generation has passed 
 away, and another has sijceeeded. They have 
 all been in the search of happiness. What 
 have they learned from the wisdom and expe- 
 rience of ages? We should suppose tliat by 
 this time they would have discovered the delu- 
 sive nature of pleasure, the vanity of riches, 
 and the misery of ambition. Wc should have 
 supposed that by this time they would have 
 discovered that the tnorc we forget ourselves 
 and'hpcome interested 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 height. 
 ened by sharing it with others By mutual 
 assistance they might smooth the rough path 
 of life, surmount difHcuities, and avert in-nu- 
 E 
 
 merable dangers. Why then should they 
 continue to delude, afflict, and destroy each 
 other ? 
 
 "If we should be told," says the abbe Barthe- 
 leini, " that two strangers, cast by chance on a 
 desert island, had found in the society of each 
 otJier a pleasure which indemnified them for 
 being secluded from the rest of the wirld ; if 
 we should be told there exists a family entirely 
 occupied in strengthening the ties of eonsan- 
 guinity by the bands of friendship; if we should 
 be told tint 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 affection; 
 who would think of commiserating the lot of 
 the two shipwrecked friends ? who would not 
 wish to appertain to that family? who would 
 not wish to tly to the most distant clime to 
 join that happy people?" 
 
 If we may be permitted tojudge of mankind 
 from our own feelings, we should instantly 
 conclude that there is not one man in ten 
 thousand, who would not desert, with joy ap- 
 proaciiing to rapture, the pleasures and amuse- 
 ments of the world, and all the gay dreams of 
 ambition, to appertain to such a family, or to 
 "become one of such a people. If this be lh« 
 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 con. 
 fident that we are right when we trace the 
 cause to those barbarous ins'titutions of civilized 
 society which cramp, brutalize and distort the 
 human mind. The farther men have strayed 
 from the plain pat,hs of nature, the more 
 vicious and the more wretched have they be- 
 come. 
 
 Nearly all the evils that afflict the sons of 
 men flow from one source — wealth, or the a.p~ 
 propriation of things to individuals and to so- 
 cieties. I'ake away this mother curse and all 
 its cursed progeny, and the world would be, 
 comparativel}' speaking, a paradise! 
 
 Modern philosophers talk much of the ad- 
 vantages 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, 
 polished and enlightened into a kind of terras- 
 trial 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 apprehensive 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. 
 Remoulds her moral and material frames,
 
 84 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Their mutual aids, their sister laws proclaims. 
 Disease before him with iu causes flies 
 And boasts no more of sicklv 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 thai varying matter gives. 
 That rests or ripens, vegetates or lives, 
 His chemic powers new combinations plan, 
 Yield new creations, finer forms to man, 
 Higii springs of health for mind and body trace. 
 Add force and beauty to the joyous race. 
 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, lame all subterranean heat, 
 Probe laboring earth and drag from herdark 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 culture every mountain's head. 
 Columb. b. 10. 
 
 These same philosophers, when they look 
 back to the early apes, 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 tootsteps, long untoned his tongue. 
 Unhappy, unassociate, unrefined, 
 Unfledged the pinions of his lofty mind. 
 He wandered wild, lo 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. 
 Columb. b. 10. 
 
 We also can philosophize; but oars is a 
 tavage philosophy. When we permit our fancy 
 to carry us back to the beginning of time, we 
 think we can discover the 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 
 long-lived savages, who gathered the fruits of 
 the earth in peace, and placed their happiness 
 in mutual love. We do not think it unreasona- 
 ble to suppose that there may have been a time 
 resembling that described by Ovid. 
 
 Aurea prima sata est aetas, quae, vindice nullo, 
 Sponte sua, sine lege, fidem rectumque colebat. 
 Pcena metusque aberant: nee vincla minacia coUo 
 iEre ligabaniur: nccsupplex turba timebat 
 Judicis ora sui : sed erant sine judice tuti. 
 Nondum ccesa suis, perigrinum ut viseret orbem, 
 Montibus, in liquidas pinus descenderat undns: 
 Nu.laque mortales, prseter sua, littora norant. 
 Nondum prsecipites ringebant oppida fosate: 
 Non tuba diracti, non aeris cornua flexi, 
 Non gale», non ensii erat : sine militis usu 
 MoUia iecurte peragebant otia gentes. 
 
 And though the time may never have been 
 ^ I 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 accu* 
 uolation ; if ever there were a time when the 
 
 earth and its fruits were common, when men 
 were uninstructed in the science of hoarding- 
 thai time was a golden age. 
 
 It is a tradition common to all nations, of 
 which we have any knowl'^dge, that these 
 golden days have been: how, if it be not founded 
 on fact, did this tradition originate? I'oets 
 may invent : but how came the poets of all 
 nations to invent the same story? iThe 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 nation, and speaks with regret of the 
 tiays of brotherly love that are past : the days 
 when a poition of the holy fire warmed the 
 breast of every warrior, and the beloved speech 
 was in the mouth of every prophet. 
 
 The account given by Moses, of the early 
 ages, corroborates our ideas on this subject. 
 He docs not describe those antediluvian pa. 
 triarchs as weak timid miserable mortals, with 
 bodies frail, and "nerves ill strung." No : we 
 conceive that Cainaii, 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 ar>> 
 cienfs 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 understand 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. 
 . . . Theie were giants in the earth in these 
 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 anti- 
 quity affords, and by our own observation of 
 the enervating nature of luxury, we give it as 
 our candid opinion, that the men of the early 
 ages were infinitely 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 approach of the tiger. No : it is 
 owing to civilization, luxury, and refinement, 
 that they are become inferior, in bodily im- 
 portance, 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 :
 
 THE SAVAGE 
 
 95 
 
 Green swell the mountaina, calm the oceans roll, 
 Fresh beams of b«auty kindle round the pole ; 
 Through all the range where shores and seas ex* 
 
 tend, 
 in tenfold pomp the works of peace ascend. 
 Robed in the bloom of spring's eternal year. 
 And ripe with fruits the same glad fields appear; 
 O'er hills and vales perennial gardens run. 
 Cities un walled stand sparkling to the sun; 
 The streams ail freighted from the bounteous 
 
 plain 
 Swell With the load and labor to the main. 
 
 Columb. b. 10. 
 
 Bat, as we are no poet, when we would dart 
 forward on the wings of our imag^ination, our 
 flight is impeded by certain prosaic obstacles, 
 which we find it difficult to remove. If we 
 miderstand the poet ricrhtly, all this happiness 
 is to be brought about by the operation of com- 
 merce, civilization, refinement, &c. but we 
 have already proved that the tendency of these 
 things is to produce luxury, co'ruption, vice, 
 and misery. Here we are at a full stand. The 
 foundation of the building is gone : and the 
 superstructure must dissolve into thin air. 
 
 Ill this future world of blessedness, which is 
 so elegantly delineated, we find that men are 
 to dwell in palaces : now, whenever men in- 
 habit palaces, they must have slives, drudges, 
 brutal bipeds, to support their dignity. And 
 as the poet raises, to "tenfold pomp," the gay 
 description, our savage eye discovers new 
 scenes of misery and wide extended wretched- 
 ness ! 
 
 Cities unwalled stand sparkling to the sun : 
 
 A pleasant sight truly! but in our mind it 
 awakens disagreeable 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 receptacles of filth ? Who are to be 
 *' hewprs of wood and drawers of water" in 
 these New Jerusalems of the bard's imagina- 
 tion? 
 
 Whenever we see, in any private edifice, 
 productions of labor too great for the exertion 
 of one man, ice may safely say. Here has bekn 
 SLAVERY : here one man has exercised an undue 
 ascendency over another. Here has been super. 
 Jluity on owe side, and want on the other: power 
 and subjection. This is the generation of 
 misery. POWER begat SLAVERY; aud 
 slavery begat vice ; and vice begat misery. 
 
 Plato in his republic pays no attention to 
 the multitude ; he devoted all his attention to 
 the formation of a body of sages and of war- 
 riors ^ 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 astonish- 
 ment at the stupendous exertions of man ; but 
 the next moment is imbittered with reflections 
 •n the miseries and distresses of humanity. 
 Thousands must have toiled," says the ma- 
 
 lancholy stranger, "thousands mast hare toiled, 
 under the iron rod of arbitrary power, to erect 
 these splendid monuments of ambition and 
 folly." The magnificent edifice which Ih© 
 muse of the author of the Columbiad has erect* 
 ed on the banks of the Nile, to receive the 
 " delegated sires" of all nations, awakens in 
 our mind no other idea, than that of the labor 
 and fatigue 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 spiree 
 
 Far in the concave meet the solar fires. 
 
 Four blazing fronts, with gates unfolding high. 
 
 Look with immortal splendor round the sky. 
 
 Columb. b. 10. 
 
 One would have supposed that by this time 
 men would have been so civilized as to find no 
 necessity for legislators or laws ; — but we had 
 forgot that laws and legislators, crimes and 
 punishments, must increase with increasing 
 civilization. One would have supposed that by 
 this time, men, having discovered all the secrets 
 of nature, would have found buildings a use- 
 less incumbrance on the earth ; — but we had 
 forgot that the intention of poetry is to amuie 
 and not to instruct. [ To be catUinued, 
 
 Apologetical. 
 
 The ancient Greeks, in the pride of their 
 souls, denominated all the nations of the earth, 
 but themselves, barbarians; and this name 
 they often bestowed on people farther advanced 
 in the career of refinement and civilization 
 than were the Greeks. It is likewise the cus« 
 tom of polished nations, at this day, to stigma* 
 tize, every people whose language they do not 
 understand, and whose manners they will not 
 study, with the degrading names of bo^rbarian$ 
 and savages. We are not displeased with the 
 names: whether they be descriptive of our 
 customs, or meant merely as a mark of dis> 
 tinction 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 in. 
 human, wicked or cruel ; you seem to imagine 
 that you give him an appropriate designation 
 when you call him a ravage. Now, you will 
 doubtless excuse us if we follow your plan so 
 far as to make the same use of the word civil' 
 ized 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 practises 
 cunning, dissimulation, falsehood, treachery, 
 we will call him civilized. We are not, then, 
 the least offended at the abusive epithets which 
 you bestow on us and our nation; and we 
 hope that you will not deny us the privilege of 
 pointing out those errors, vices, and absurdi. 
 ties, that flow from your habits and institu* 
 tions.
 
 85 
 
 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 The Man of the World. proper mnnagement, every wind thnt blows. 
 
 We have collected a few maxims which whether "nirs from heaven or bla.ts from hell," 
 
 mav be found useful, by a youth who i.itends may be nined to his own advj,ntaao 
 
 tTmake a fi.ure h. 1 fef when we find leisure ^ iff ''i' ^-"' "^tes, O ch.ld o c.v.h.at.on 
 
 o^ tend a^d methodize our ideas on this by these means you mayr.se to e-n n nre: 
 
 subject we intend to publish a treatise which a"d your name shall go down with eclat to 
 
 Ihal be entitled the man of the wokld's posterity These are the .rts, as a pohio 
 
 ■nail oe enuticu lut writer of your own weU observes, which give 
 
 "'H?m«st always wear a smooth exterior, and the man of the world an ascendency over the 
 conceal his -eal sentiments behind a mask of hrutal force of the barb.nan 
 impenetrable dissimulation. He must make I" he prosecution of our plan, we sj"" t..k° 
 Xe most extravagant professions of love and care to produce n- mnxnns Init such as we 
 itLhmeiit, \v",ilf hatr'ed and malignity arc -" support by pointed nuthorUies from tlie 
 rankling in his heart. He must bend the knee ethics of the civilized world, 
 of submission to the arrogance of power; and ^ 
 
 feed wiih never-ceasing adulation the weak toalics. 
 
 vanity of fools. He must resolutely dismiss ' O'lr savage education and barbarous prcpos. 
 every linaerin<r attachment to virtue, as .m in- sessions having giv. n us »n nnconqnerjihla 
 cumbrance incompatible with the nature of aversion to every species of p.hf.cal intngno 
 hi-! pursuits He will find the appearance of and tcrgivrrsation, we felt it incumbent om us, 
 justice, benevolence, mercy, and candor, occa- i" our prelimmary address, to announce to 
 sionally uselul ; but he mast take care not to the public that Piomiiigo was no federalist, 
 clotr himself with this antiquated rubbish, m no republican, no democrat, no aristocrat, in 
 reaZt<v it would prove an insuperable obstacle the common acceptation of those terms : 
 to his refined operations, and, in the end, prove and >" this declaration we were guided by a 
 the means of his destruction. He mnsl appear strict regard to truth, which (notwithstanding- 
 to be an enemy to injustice, cruelty and dis- our intercourse with civilized man) we always 
 simulation • but he must remember to be pos- have cherished, and shall continue to cherish, 
 eessed of these vices, in fact: he will find as long as the Master of our breath shall per- 
 them instruments absolutely necesssary in the niit us to continue on the earth. We were 
 furtherance of his plans. If he should receive however aware, at the same time, that wc 
 favors it will be judicious to make professions were renouncing a subject which would h.-.ve 
 of the most unbomided gratitude; but he must given life and spirit to our miscellany Had 
 observe that his gratitude be merely piofes- we engaged in political warfare under the 
 eional • for otherwise it might become greatly banners of some party already established, or set 
 nreiudiciarto his personal interests. He may "P a party of our own, (in that ease, we should 
 affect to be a wann and disinterested friend ; soon have heard of Muscogulgee influence) 
 but he must he at all times ready to sacrifice we might, if we do not overrate oui own 
 his friendship when it comes in competition abilities, have made considerable noise in the 
 with the success of his schemes He must world. Had such been our conduct, we have 
 put confidence in none, but live with his friend no donbt but that the fate of our paper would 
 under the expectation of that friend becoming have been different. What is now a poor 
 one day his enemy. He must on no occasion sickly bantling, might have been antmosus 
 express the resentment he may feel ,- but meet »">"» contending with serpents m its cradle, 
 his enemy with every appearance of respect, That which will, under the present circum- 
 under the idea that the time may come when, stances, support a feeble existence for a short 
 his enemy's interest and his own being the time, and die without a groan, might have en. 
 Bame, they may act together as friends. He joyed a long life of honor and prosperity, 
 mu^t practise every vice, and descend to every And, who can tell but we might have written 
 species of meanness, that he may find useful our savage self into some post of honor, or 
 in the progress of his operations ; but these (which would have been still better) of profit, 
 things must be transacted as much as possible The papers, in opposition to the party we 
 in the shade. He must assume the garb of n''?ht have espouseo, would, no doubt, ha\e 
 piety : beneath the snowy mantle of religion raised a devil (this word devil is very useful 
 he may erect a kennel for the hellhounds of in swelling out a period) of a noise about ap- 
 ■vice, and a harbor for the monsters of iniquity, pointing a foreigner to an office of such great 
 He must have honor continually in his mouth; importance; (and we should not have been 
 but his honor must be vox et prater ea nihil, disposed to have accepted an indifferent situa. 
 He must form a just estimate of the vices, tion) but we should have been ready to have 
 iveaknesses and ruling passions of his associ- replied to that charge, by deelarhig that we 
 •fes, and make all these things instrumental were no foreigner, but an indigenous American 
 to his own advancement. descended from the great Mingo Pa-Ya Ma. 
 
 He mustkeep his head clear, and his heart ta^a, and therefore could not be supposed to 
 g„lj_ be under the influence of any improper preju. 
 
 His own interest must be his polar star to dice for or against either of the mighty belliger- 
 raid* him in his voyage through life : and by ^nts of Europe who divide the world betweeB 
 
 th«xa.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 «7 
 
 We slionld have been able to have said so 
 many keen things about the principles and 
 practices oF our politic:il upponents th-it our 
 SiViige would have been uni vers illy read ; and 
 thei, under the mask of patriotism we miffht 
 have indulofed onr propensity for sl.indcr. We 
 iniirht hnve collected nil tlje old stories that 
 h;ive appenred in the papers for tn any years, 
 which, h ivinir been retouched by our satirical 
 poneil, iind a liltle Tresh colorin^j added by our 
 skillil hind, would h ive been evacllv to the 
 tasteofour newsp ipcr connoisseurs. We mitrht 
 have become verv faniiliir with the names of 
 prent men, and abused most outra^enu^'y those 
 whom we hnd never seen. Wo mi^ht have 
 published extrncts of letters from " srentlemcn 
 of ttie first respect ibility, now in Europe," or 
 from " jrentlemen hi^'h in office," or from 
 " g[-entlemen in the confidence of govcrn- 
 menl." 
 
 A friend of ours appeared to be extremely 
 solicitous that we should enjraire in politics. 
 We told bim Ihat, Gallio like, we 'cared for 
 none of those thingfs.' "So mucli the better," 
 said he, "so much the better; if you be not 
 tied by political principles, you are at liberty 
 to choose the party from which you may ex- 
 pect to derive the most jirofit." We told him 
 that he was airiiu mistaken ; that we were not 
 so totnlly destitute of observation, as not to 
 form an opinion on passing' occurrences ; but 
 that the intricrae, turpitude, and dereliction of 
 principle, whicli were discoverable in political 
 concerns, had gfiven 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 preten- 
 siotis to independency of sentiment. He must 
 pass on to the very extremes of rancor and 
 animosity, otherwise he will be rejected as 
 lukewarm, and become utteiJy contemptilde. 
 He must 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 in- 
 judicious and wicked. Men whom he knows 
 not, he must panegyrize ; and men whom he 
 knows not, he must condemn. Nor is that all ; 
 he must sing the praises of those whom he 
 despises; and vilify those who stand high in 
 his estimation. 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 iiis subsequent mortification, when 
 he finds that he has prostituted the noblest 
 faculties of his soul, for the convenienoe of an 
 unprmcipled intriguer. Moreover, it is dan- 
 gerous to bestow extravagant encomiums on 
 any man during his life ; but let bim 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. U is also un. 
 generous and unjust to condemn a man too 
 
 hastily. We have not perhaps a view of tho 
 whole ground ; and we may not be able to 
 judge of the motives which may have induced 
 him to pursue a certain line of condiict In 
 fine, we observed, we should not 1;^ ashamed,' 
 did necessity require it, to dig for our sub- 
 sistence; but the nobler facilities of our mind 
 we never would deb.ise .so far 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,, 
 "but it is verv silly. There .is such a thing 
 as a wheel within a wheel. By professing an 
 attnchment to the puhlie welfare and prorHO- 
 ting 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 palatai.le by a little 
 spicery. Nothing pleases a man so much as 
 to hear of the miscarriages of his fellow man. 
 He appears to lise in the same proportion that 
 another is degraded. You must attack some 
 eminent person ; it is immaterial whethei he 
 be one of those in power, or one of those who 
 wish to be in power: that is left to your dis- 
 cretion. Or, if you had rather, you may let 
 our domestic aff.iirs alone for a while, and 
 plunge into the polities 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 com. 
 ment 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 commenta- 
 ries had been written on the Revelation by 
 dignified divines and pious laymen, we were 
 apprehensive that nothing new could be eli- 
 cited on the subject; and that the very thing- 
 he now recommended to our consideration had 
 employed many learned heads and ready pen* 
 several years ago. 
 
 "Well then," replied he, no'hing abashed 
 with the 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 would 
 permit France and England to manage their 
 own affairs : that we were not disposed to con- 
 cern ourselfwith any of those great matters 
 which agitate the civilized world ; and that we 
 were an unambitious unaspiring mortal, con- 
 tent with ease and tranquillity. Our friend 
 said he perceived that we were headstrong ia 
 our folly ; and therefore he would leave us tO' 
 our contemplations : and so he did. 
 
 If we might be permitted to explain your 
 civilized terms in our own savage manner, W9
 
 38 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 should have no objection to any of your politi- 
 cal appellations. 
 
 If federalism consist in a sincere attach- 
 mciit to the principles contained in the consti- 
 tution of the United States, we are a feder- 
 alist. 
 
 If by republicanism be meant a strict ad- 
 herence to those principles which promote the 
 public weal, we are a n^publican. 
 
 As to democracy — we acknowledge the right 
 ofthe people to govern themselves: would to 
 Gild, they possessed 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 
 distinctions of party. We can trace political 
 prejudices to their origin, and pity the weak- 
 ness of humanity. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO, VIII. 
 Happiness. 
 
 We have endeavored to prove that happi- 
 ness is founded on virtue ; and that savage 
 nations are more virtuous than those that are 
 civilized. If this be done, it will follow, as a 
 direct consequence, that those in a state of 
 nature are happier than those advanced in the 
 career of luxury and refinement. 
 
 That man who is either raised above, or de- 
 pressed below, his species cannot be happy. 
 He has no society. There are none to whom 
 he can communicate his thouglits : who can 
 participate in his sorrows or his joys. From 
 this consideration, some have deduced an ar- 
 gument in favor of the happiness of the lower 
 ranks in every civilized community. "These 
 men have many companions," say they, " why 
 can they not partake of those pleasures that 
 arise from association witli their fellews ?" 
 We have already shown, in our last number, 
 that the circum.^tances, of their situation are 
 such as to deprive them of those qualities of 
 the mind that give a charm to the social 
 Btate. 
 
 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 suppose it 
 will add any tiling to the joys ofthe latter, we 
 cannot tell. — Such is the situation of the indi- 
 gent : they not only groan beneath the pres- 
 sure of evil ; but they have the additional 
 mortification of beholding their fellow men in 
 the possession of good. They dare not dis- 
 cover the malice which they feel against their 
 superiors; but 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 de- 
 stroy the surrounding crowd, direct their ven- 
 geance against each Cther, and even against 
 the walls of their prison. 
 
 That this malignity exists in the multitude, 
 wa ue certain ; and that we have given the 
 
 true cause of its existence, we firmly believe. 
 If any one be disposed to contend that the 
 crowd do not cherish these ferocious and venge- 
 ful passions, let him take a retrospective view 
 of the situation of France, when the heavy 
 hand of despotism was raised from the shoul- 
 ders of the degraded time-serving populace. 
 Like a mighty torrent, long confined by im- 
 passablfi barriers, they burst forth at once, and 
 overwhplmed 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 whom yesterday they adored, to-day 
 were the objects of their unrelenting fury. 
 Over those, to whom yesterday they cringed as 
 tiu' most obedient of slaves, they brandished, 
 to-day, tiie bloody poniard of destruction. 
 
 Who can think without horror of the atro- 
 cities perpetrated by the blacks of St. Domingo? 
 The passions of hatred, malignity, and re- 
 venge, so long nurtured and concealed in the 
 bosoms of degraded and dissembling men, 
 bursting forth, spread abroad at once the tre- 
 mendous havoc of murder and devastation. 
 
 Such is the end of civilization. However 
 slow may be its progress, and whatever course 
 it may seem to pursue, this is its tremendeua 
 conclusion I It nourishes a volcano in its 
 bosom. It places the ingredients, with chemi- 
 cal skill, deep in the bowels of society. — 
 Mountains may be heaped on mountains ; but 
 the slumbering fire 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 state : it is not natu- 
 ral for one man to bend, cringe and creep to 
 another. A noble spirit, a spirit that is in- 
 spired by the proud dignity of virtue, will 
 bear every ev 1 — 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 arro- 
 gant requisitions of adventitious superiority. 
 Tiiere are always those who will kiss the rod 
 ofthe tyrant, and bend the neck of submissioa 
 to be trampled upon by the feet of the oppres- 
 sor. There are always those who will sacri- 
 fice the spirit of virtue to the low and sordid 
 interests of the moment: who will practise 
 every species of dissimulation which they con. 
 ceive 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, pro- 
 portioned to the depth of its degradation, to 
 occupy its original situation, and to tyrannize, 
 in its turn, over those whom foitune has acci- 
 dentally humbled. The appearances, therefore 
 of servility, which arc shown by indigent 
 wretches to their opulent superiors, are almost 
 always accompanied by hatred and envy ia 
 exact proportion to their pretended humility. 
 
 What happiness can be expected in a etate 
 like this: where there is continual warfare be.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 tween the snpcrior 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 Bibylonians, Persians, Greeks, and 
 Romans. They had long been accounted a 
 proud stiff-necked 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 stale of abject servility. 
 They flattered the pride of th» conquerors of 
 the world with every appearance of humility, 
 and proclaimed to the world, " we will have no 
 king but Ccesar I" 
 
 Is it supposable that their hatred of the Ro 
 mans was less at this time than it h\d been at 
 any farmer period ? Not at all ; let the vio- 
 lence, rancor,a"d fury of their subsequent wars 
 bear testimony of their immortal animosity. 
 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 his- 
 tory 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 I 
 [To be continued. 
 
 ' Sermons. 
 
 There was a certain clergyman, in a neigh- 
 boring state, who made choice of the following 
 words for the theme of his discourse, " Thus 
 ■aith the Lord, make this valley full of ditches." 
 He divided his subject into a convenient num- 
 ber of heads, and made a very learned and ex- 
 cellent discourse. 
 
 One of his auditors observed to him after- 
 wards, in conversation, that he was amazed 
 that the doctor should select such a portion of 
 scripture for his text : it appearing, he thought, 
 to require a great deal of genius to deduce a 
 suitable discourse from those words. 
 
 The doctor replied, " My dear sir, he must 
 be a poor clergymen 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, king of 
 Bashan ?" ♦' Why," said the doctor, "the iron 
 of the bedstead is a type of the hardness of 
 your heart and the stiffness of your neck ; the 
 greatness of its size resembles the magnitude 
 of your sins. It requires the power of Christ 
 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 preachers in making an excellent discourse 
 
 from an unpromising text, we think they might 
 often make a better selection than they do. 
 We have often had occasion to remark that the 
 orator passes over excellent maxims of mor- 
 ality in order to select a passage of scripture, 
 which he conceives he can manage so as to 
 draw certain in'erences in favcr of some con- 
 tested 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 appro- 
 priate discourse to the youth of Philadelphia, 
 to make a text of the following words : 
 
 "Thou shall not curse the deaf, nor lav a stumb- 
 ling block before the blind I am the 
 
 Lord." 
 
 These words are found recorded in the nine- 
 teenth chapter of the third hook of Moses 
 called Leviticus, and fourteenth verse. The 
 discourse may be divided 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 be pleases ; and then apply the whole as the 
 Lord may enable him. He may draw as many 
 inferences, as may seem ' right in his eyes' in 
 favor of abstruse and metaphysical doclrinesin 
 divinity ; but it is our particular request, that 
 he would take some notice of the malignant 
 disposition discoverable, even in children, to 
 insult and torment the deformed, the drunken, 
 and insane, who occasionally appear in the 
 streets of the city. 
 
 We have seen several hundred boys surround 
 a wretched maniac, and torture him to a par- 
 oxysm of fury by their words and their actions. 
 We have seen them follow a deformed littlo 
 mortal, with shouts of reproach and every spe- 
 cies 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 
 every polished little savage, within several 
 squares, ran, exulting, to the entertainment. 
 
 Is this civihzation ? is it humanity ? or do 
 you call it a savage practice ? — Such actions 
 were never known among the savages of the 
 wilderness. But, from second thoughts we be- 
 lieve the sermon should be addressed to the 
 parents, and not to the children. 
 
 Edting. 
 
 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
 
 40 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 principal concern in all ages. Why do they 
 tremble at the idea of poverty ? Poverty is 
 not a tliin? dreadful in itself; but, alas! it in- 
 cludes the idea of hunger and starvation. Sup- 
 pose a painter were to be employed to produce 
 a picture of poverty; would not wtnt be dis- 
 covered in the buHy, and famine in the coun- 
 •tenrince ? 
 
 However men may boast of intellectual en- 
 joyments, it is plain thc;y are only considered 
 as ihins^s worthy of a secondary consideration ; 
 and when they attempt to describe those ce- 
 lestial delights, they do it by some image 
 drawn from tiie scitncf. of cookery, or the im- 
 portant business of eating. What are we to 
 understind by '^ihc feast of reason and_^o«J 
 of soul," but that they enjoy a kind of pleasure, 
 which, though iufiiiitcly inferior, bears some 
 faint resemblance to the ineffable delights of 
 eating and drinking. The most ai dent desires 
 of the mind are made known by comparing 
 them to hunger and thirst; and the highest 
 and most sublime ment il gratification is liken- 
 ed to a spread table and an oterjlowincr cup. 
 When the wise king of Israel would sum up 
 the felicities of Hfe, he declares that " there is 
 nothing better for a man than that he should 
 ^at and drink ; and he adds, with rapturous 
 exultation, " Who can eat or hasten hereunto 
 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, be feasts his imagination with tho 
 tweet savor of viands, and smoking hot culinary 
 similitudes. 
 
 The happiness of the immortal gods was 
 placed in nectar and ambrosia ; and when we 
 ■contemplate the fleeting nature of our own ex- 
 istence, we are ready to exclaim, " Let us eat 
 and drink ; for to-morrow we r^ust die 1" I 
 defy any one to think of the maxim of Horace, 
 *' enjoy the present moment," without referring 
 immediately to the delishts of the table and 
 the ecstasies of deglutition. 
 
 As feasting with the gods was the reward 
 bestowed upon heroes for their marvellous ex- 
 ploits; so the curse of hunger and thirst was 
 the punishment inflicted upon the wicked for 
 the most atrocious of crimes. O, unfortunate 
 TantilusI may I be turned on the wheel of 
 torment, may vultures devour my liver, may I 
 Toll up with anguish of heart the still revolving 
 8lone, rather than suffer the hundredth part of 
 thy excruciatmg misery ! I seem to see, even 
 at this moment, thy parched lips within an 
 inch of the cooling stream I I see misery in- 
 thron"d on thy famine-struck visage ! I see 
 thy hungry eyes turned up with unutterable 
 longiig to the fruit that hangs above thy 
 head : 
 
 When the fertile fields of Canaan were pro- 
 tnised to the Jews, they were described as 
 ^•flowing with milk and honey" and abounding 
 in " corn and wine." 
 
 " Bring it near to me," said the blind but 
 venison-loving Isaac, " brin? it near to me, and 
 I will eat of my son's venison, that my soul 
 may bless thee. And he brought it near to him, 
 and he did eat; and he broughf him wine, and 
 he drank." What was the great blessing that 
 Isaac had to bestow on Jacob ? — " The dew of 
 heaven, the fatness of the earth, and plenty of 
 corn and wine." The wise old patriarchs had 
 too nm'ch sense to prefer the hiinrrry pleasures 
 of the im^o-ination to the ^^ feast of fat things 
 full of marrow." And although theartofeat- 
 ing has of late been carried to a pitch of per- 
 fection, of which the ancietits had no idea ; 
 yet, they had a tolerable acquaintance with 
 what have been emphatically styled the good 
 tuings of life. 
 
 I will frankly acknowledge that eating is 
 my principal concern : no other business occu- 
 pies so much of my attention. The time that 
 is spent at the table, and the knowledge that is 
 displayed in the preparation of food, 1 conceive 
 to be two things which, more than any other 
 ch.'iiacterislics, distinguish civilized men from 
 barbarians. To a savage, the sensation of 
 hunger is disagreeable, and he endeavors to 
 remove it as expeditiously as possible ; but 
 the man of refinement his reduced eating to a 
 science : it is his business and his pleasure. 
 
 The only thing that gives me any uneasi- 
 ness is that I cannot always continue the ope- 
 ration of eating. Why was not man so con- 
 stitutcd 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, that occurs between one meal and 
 another, vvilh sleep. And this answers the 
 purpose tolerably well ; for, as sleep is a kind 
 of derith, I seem to lose my existence when life 
 would be a burden. The early Romans de- 
 voured their plain repast in ten or fifteen mi- 
 nutes; but their luxurious descendnnts, who 
 enjoyed riches and leisure, lay whole nights 
 round their table, feasting like heroes and 
 drinking like gods. They were determined to 
 partake of the pleasures of life in opposition to 
 every obstacle: for, if their stomachs were re- 
 plenished before the end of the entertainment, 
 they hastened to discharge 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 summvm bonum in good eating: 
 that, at least, is my philosophy. "Some peo- 
 ple," says the great, doctor Johnson, "have a 
 foolish way of not minding, or pretending not 
 to mind, what thev eat. For my part, I mind 
 my belly very studiously and very carefully; 
 for I 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 sup- 
 jK)se to be one of the wisest he ever uttered. 
 What business can stand in competition with 
 this? What pleasure has half the allurements? 
 Were I in the paradise of Mohammed, I should
 
 THE SAVAGE 
 
 41 
 
 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 
 the soul-cheering jingle of the plates. Tlie 
 servants pass and repass in the busy haste of 
 preparation. Farewell savage ! by the life of 
 Apicius, 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 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring 
 
 John Gormakd. 
 
 Society. 
 
 That, man was not designed by nature for a 
 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. Ho dwelt in tlie 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 con- 
 tempt ; yet he frequently walked in the popu- 
 lous 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 propensity so strong in his 
 breast, that he finds it necessary to assemble 
 around his rushy couch an innumerable multi- 
 tude of visionary men, whom he dignifies with 
 the appellation of angels. He holds imaginary 
 communion with prophets and 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 Horace, " 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 shor^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 sunt saecula : plurimus auro 
 Venit honos. — 
 
 We may say, with as much truth as Proper- 
 F 
 
 tiu9, " This truly is the golden age : muoh 
 honor cometh by gold." 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. IX. 
 
 Slavery, 
 Slavery — but we will endeavor to discuss 
 this subject 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 drudgery of Eu- 
 rope; 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 busily era- 
 ployed in maturing the same sufferings for 
 themselves and for their children. 
 
 The citizens of the United States lament, 
 with the greatest apparent sensibility, the mis- 
 fortunes, distresses and grievances of poor op- 
 pressed enslaved Europeans ; yet they, them- 
 selves, 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 de- 
 plore. 
 
 Tlie condition of the laborers and peasantry 
 in Europe is miserable enough ; but there was 
 a time when they were by no means so unfor- 
 tunate. There was a time when, compara- 
 tively speaking, they were savages; when 
 equality prevailed among the great body of 
 the people ; when they were ignorant of the 
 vices, luxuiies, and diseases which have been 
 introduced by the progress of civilization. But 
 those times are changed. Commerce has 
 spread her sails and visited the remotest cor- 
 ners of the earth. She has poured the dia- 
 monds of the east and the gold of the west into 
 the bosom of Europe. She has erected mag. 
 nificent cities; into which she has introduced 
 luxury and pomp — wretchedness and want. 
 She has established manufactories; which have 
 been productive of riches and splendor — pover- 
 ty, vice, and disease. Well : let the citizens of 
 the United States extend their commerce, and 
 establish manufactories. What will be the 
 consequence? Wealth, prosperity, luxury, 
 magnificence-and all those other things which 
 we have already proved to be inseparable at- 
 tendants on luxury and refinement. Do not 
 extensive manufactories and wide-spreading 
 commerce produce riches ? Does not the pos- 
 session of riches confer power ? Is not slavery 
 necessarily coexistent with power ? If riches 
 did not confer power on the possessor, they 
 would cease to be an object of pursuit : they 
 would be totally useless. If they do confer 
 power, they must, necessarily, impoverish 
 others in the same proportion that they enrich 
 the possessor. One wealthy man cannot ren- 
 der other men, equally wealthy with himself, 
 subservient to his wishes ; but let him increase
 
 43 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 hia own wealth, and then he will be able to ex- The grovelling bnsencss, the sordid rnjus^ 
 tend his influence over those who were former- tice, the cowardly cruelties, of A, are forgotten, 
 ly hie equals : consequently they are impover- He has defrauded the fatherless, oppressed the 
 ished in the same proportion that he is enrich- widow, deluded tlic thoughtless, deceived the 
 ed. Every accession of wealth, therefoa\ to ignorant, sncriticed his friends, betrayed his 
 an inJividual in any community is an acces- tiust, and laid perjury on his soul; but he is 
 sion of poverty or slavery to every other indi- rich ; and all is forgotten. The industrious 
 vidual within the sphere of his influence. Why families, ruined by his i7igenuHy,nre scattered 
 should we deplore the existence of that slavery over tlie world, the victims of sorrow, vice and 
 in other parts of the world, which already ex disease : or, deep in the vale of penury, their 
 ists among ourselves, and which we use every tears fnU unnoticed ; and their groans are not 
 exertion within the limits of our power to bring heard. He reaps the harvest of his vilh.nies ; 
 to perfection? Why should we express re- becomes an alderman or justice of the peace ; 
 sentment against an Asiatic or European des- enjoys otium cum dignitale ; dies in peace, at 
 pot for exercising that power which has fallen a good old age ; and his fortune descends to 
 into his hands by a train of causes and effects, his son. 
 
 and yet express no disapprobation of the eon- B, in the mean time, has been much more 
 duct of the wealtiiy man who uses, to the ut- expeditious and more fortunate in the acquisi- 
 most, that influence which the possession of tion of wealth than his brotlier. He ha. << gone 
 riches has given him over society ? The rich to the the East Indies or to the West, orsome- 
 raan and the prince are equally culpable: there wlicreelsc; where he has kindled wars, plun- 
 can be no more harm merely in the acquisition dered towns^, inipoverishcd provinces, and re- 
 of a throne, than there is in ma'iiing a tortune turned to !iis countiy with inexhaustible stores. 
 and a crown received by inheritance is as He ;:.s(onishes tiie crowd with his riches; he 
 much the property of the possessor, as an es- wallows in luxury ; he indulges his ta-~te for 
 tate received by the death of the father is tiie magnificence and splendor ; he extends his 
 property of the son. He, who sways the seep- patronage to literature and tiie fine arts; he 
 tre, exercises power. He, wlio uses the estate, becomes a Mecenas to every mr.n of learning, 
 exercises power. The cases are in every re- and ttie dulce decus of polished societ)' ; lie 
 spect similar : and if it be wrong to acquire a subscribes to charitable institutions; and corn- 
 kingdom, it is wrong to accumulate money : mauds the homage, respect, and adoration of 
 the object in both cases being precisely tiie the world 1 When he dies, his obsequies are 
 same — power. The man who aspires to em celebrated with pomp ; and his name is im- 
 pire removes the obstacles that stand in his mortalized by sculptors and poels. 
 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 perpetrated 
 by the great, tiian 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 aspiring dispoyilian than A ; 
 and C is still more ambitious than B. A re- 
 mains in liis native town, and manages his 
 little traffic witii infinite cunning and address. 
 He studies the rise and fall of the price of every 
 species of goods ; and buys vp or sells ojf 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 advantage, in his power, of those who 
 were possessed of less cunning or foresight 
 than himself. If he know of some cireum- 
 
 But the daring ambition of C was not con- 
 tent with the acquisition of power by the ae- 
 cumul iticn of money. Ho courted the people ; 
 was elected their representative ; became their 
 idol ; received tiie chief command of thtir 
 forces; seized on the public treasure ; and,, 
 after a severe battle, in which some thousand 
 lives were lost, he incireled his brows with a 
 diadem. What then ? He is a mild and bene- 
 ficent prince. He causes punishment to be 
 inflicte*! upon evildoers; and pi;;ise to be be- 
 stowed on tliosc who do well. He is accounted 
 the laiher of his people ; and transmits his 
 crown with full sovereignty to his descend- 
 ants. 
 
 Was not the object of these three brothers 
 precisely the game ? Did they not all, accord- 
 ing to their respective capacities, endeavor to 
 acquire and exercise power ? The means em- 
 ployed by one were equally unjustifiable t^ith 
 
 follies and misfortunes of "others, he° acquires wjis Produced by A ; hu^m foro conscienti<e, 
 
 money with considerable rapiditj^. He is ae- ^^^^ ^^'"''^ "" ^'^"'^"^ ^"'""''- 
 
 counted a man of substance. His credit is Wo need not, therefore, look to Africa, Asia» 
 
 established. He contracts debts to an immense or Europe, lor the existence of slavery : the 
 
 amount; turns his property into cash; takes plant flourishes in the United States ; but it i^ 
 
 the benefit of some act of insolvency or bank- not yet in a state of maturity. The people 
 
 ruptcy ; and his fortune is made ! partake something still of the nature of savages;
 
 [•HE SAVAGE. 
 
 4S 
 
 "wfeen they become perfectly civilized, they 
 will be perfectly slaves. 
 
 A man is not iricommoded by a nuisance 
 which Ins l.:)ng h.-en f.imiliar to his senses; 
 b"Jt if he i.e exposed to the effluvia of a difff-r- 
 ent species of filth, to which he has not been 
 accustomed, he will iinniediately show signs 
 of disgu.-<t ;,nd detestation. The inh.ibitunt of 
 Philudolphid percci\cs not (or perceiving- dis- 
 liiies not) tiiosc odoriferous g.iles that issue 
 from the narrow alleys and sinks of the city; 
 whereas a man from tiio country, who is cou- 
 versant enough witii abominations of a differ- 
 ent kind, will give manifest indications of 
 loathinjT and abhorrence. — So it is with moral 
 turpitude : the slavery that has become iiimi- 
 liar to a man's eyes makes no impression on 
 his mind; but that which assumes a ditter- 
 cut for;n, or discovers itself in a different 
 manner, calls forth liis symp::tlietie condolence. 
 Vices or follies to which he has been accus- 
 tomed give him not the f-lij;litcst uneai?incss; 
 but those of a more uncommon nnture, or those 
 which are the consequence; of manners and 
 customs different from his own, awaken his 
 pity and contempt. 
 
 We have often heard a Pennsylvania farmer 
 cxeeratin;^ the conduct of a s<iulhtrn planter, 
 in holding the unfortunate Africans in a state 
 of slavery; yet this man never once reflected 
 that he, liimself, was gnilty ot tlie same injus- 
 tice which he reprobated so severely in anotlier. 
 The Virginia planter exercises authority over 
 his fellow men ; so does the Pennsylvania fiir- 
 mer. There is no difference but this : one 
 possesses more power than the otiier. 
 
 The Virginian possesses five hundred 
 slaves: he acquired them by inheritance, or 
 purchas'^d them with his money. lie claims 
 their perpetual services; and the laws of his 
 country sanction his claim. By las powertul 
 exertions, or by ii fortunate concurrence of cir- 
 cumstances, he has acquired an absolute as- 
 cendancy over tiiese men: consequently they 
 are absolutely his slaves. 
 
 The Pennsylvanian is in posssssion of a land- 
 ed estate, worth one hundred thousand dollars. 
 His fields are cultivated by fifty or sixty rag- 
 ged miserable laborers ; to whom he gives 
 twelve dollars a month one year, because they 
 cannot be procured at a cheaper rate. Another 
 year, laborers are numerous ; they range over 
 the country in every direction begging tor em- 
 ployment. He now hires them for ten, eight, 
 seven, six, five, four, dollars 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 be 
 exercises every power,whicl) his own exertions, 
 or a fortunate eoncurreiice 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 ijiorthern farmer ? 
 
 They are both tyrants to the utmost of their 
 abilities. They both hold their fellow cren- 
 tures in slavery as unbounded as their powers. 
 Nor is the condition of the white slave in the 
 northern states nmch preferable to that of the 
 black slave in tiie southern parts of the union. 
 The laws ami the progress of civilization have 
 made the indigent laborer a slave to every man 
 in possession of riches. He may change his 
 ra istor ; but he is condemned to perpetual ser- 
 vitude ; and his reward is the reward of every 
 other slave — subsistence. The situation of the 
 white slave is often more unfortunate than that 
 oft'ie black: he is probably harassed by do- 
 mestic cares, ajid compelled to be a helpless 
 witness of the distresses of hii> family; or he 
 changes his employer so often, with the vain 
 hope of meliorating his condition, that he be- 
 eo.nes sick, infirm, or old, without having had 
 it in his power to secure the friendship or pro- 
 tection of any of his masters. Wliat then is 
 the consequence ? The wretched outcast, after 
 a life of slavery, is neglected by those who 
 liave enjoyed the fruit of his labor : he may 
 perisii in the streets, expire on the highway, 
 or linger oa* a miserable existence in some 
 infirmary or poorhouse, till death shall relieve 
 him of his pain, and the world of a burthen. 
 And the pitiful assistance, which is granted, 
 by tlie ricl), to tlieir sick, decrepid, or super- 
 annu ited slave, is given as a charity, accom- 
 panied with reproaches and expressions of con- 
 tempt; and the dying pauper must receive it 
 with all becoming humility. He is upbraided 
 with his vices, reproached with his follies, and 
 unfeelingly insulted by every purse-proud fool 
 who may manage the concerns,or have the su- 
 perintendence 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 ad- 
 herence 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 maintained, without having 
 recourse to the tender mercies of a justice of 
 the peace, overseer of the poor, or superinten- 
 dent of a workhouse. 
 
 Is it not a little strange that the opulent 
 man when he contributes his quota to the ne- 
 cessities of a wretch who has been, in every 
 sense of the word, a slave to the community of 
 the rich, considers himself as bestowing a 
 charity ,- whereas the slaveholder supposes 
 himself bound in justice to support the blacks 
 who are worn out in his service ? — Is it not a 
 little strange that we should hear men in the 
 middle and northern states pour forth reproach- 
 es against their brethren to the southward for 
 holding slaves, when they themselves are sup- 
 ported by the labor of slaves ? " Thou hypo- 
 crite ! 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 coaUinneJL
 
 44 THE SAVAGE, 
 
 Vitious Habits. ferent direction. When this is the case, no- 
 
 Bad habits are with the utmost difficulty thing is so advisable as active emplottment : 
 eradicated ; perhaps, indeed, when they have this is the shield which will defend us from 
 taken deep root they become altogether un- the arrows of temptation; it presents some ob. 
 conquerable: because the continual indulgence ject which appears worthy of our exertions; 
 of any leading propensity has a direct tendency and insensibly restores a portion of that energy 
 to weaken the powers of volition, or to enervate of soul, which appeared to be irretrievably lost, 
 the governing powers of the mind. Doctor A man who has no employment may find it 
 Johnson says, that those who have contracted utterly impossible to divest himself of vicious 
 bad habits must get rid of them as well as they habits ; ^>ut surely he may resolutely determine 
 can; but he seems, at the same time, to consider to engage in active pursuits ; and then he will 
 it as a thing extremely improbable, that the find it more easy to curb those morbid inclina- 
 conquest should ever be completely effected. tions, which have been nurtured by inaction of 
 Johnson, no doubt, spoke from experience, body and vacancy of mind. The great excel- 
 and if he, whose reasoning powers were so lence of active employment consists in this: it 
 stronf and who was so remarkable for forming diverts our attention from the allurements of 
 decided opinions on every subject, found it evil; and turns us aside from a conflict in 
 almost impossible to relinguish practices which which we are sure to be vanquished. 
 had become habitual, what must be the fate of Let us give an example : An immoderate in- 
 inferior minds ? must they resign themselves dulgence in the use of inebriating liquors is 
 to despair, and give full way to pernicious in- productive of consequences the most deplora- 
 dulgences? It is by no means our intention ble and distressing: rnen of the most shining 
 to inculcate the opinion, that reformation is abilities and virtuous dispositions fall, every 
 impracticable ; few cases of moral disease are day, sorrowful victims to the seductive* power 
 so desperate as not to admit of a remedy : we of this deleterious vice : yet it is observable that 
 would only caution those, who have never ex- indolence always precedes and accompanies this 
 perienced the temptation, not to be too hasty in pernicious indulgence. A man may resolve a 
 pronouncing the sentence of condemnation thousand times to refrain from the intoxicating 
 upon one who has fallen into a course of habi- draught ; but all in vain as long as he contin- 
 tual error. Minds of the first order are per- ues in a state of inaction. But should he begin 
 haps the most prone to run into extremes : and to exercise the faculties of his mind or labor 
 it is most true, that the unrestrained indulgence with hie hands, this bodily or mental exertion 
 even of virtuous inclinations, in this civilized will give energy to his resolution ; and he will 
 VBorld, has a direct tendency to lead the amia. stand a chance to succeed in his projects of 
 ble delinquent into the paths of error and of reformation. 
 
 vice. Cold phlegmatic beings — who never felt To conclude : there are a multitude of de- 
 the inspirations of genius, the turbulence of structive habits ; but the habit of idleness is the 
 passion, or the enthusiasm of virtue — who are most pernicious of any. It relaxes the body 
 unassailable by every motive that might lead and the mmd ; it engenders and fosters every 
 them astray — who have pursued the path of species of vice, and makes existence a burthen 
 prudent expediency because they were destitute too heavy to be borne. Happy is the man,who 
 of every species of vivid emotioiis— such beings never experienced that lassitude, that listless- 
 are apt to condemn, with envious malignity, ness, that torpidity, that incapability of every 
 the aberrations of superior iiiinds ; but they species of mental exertion which — we now 
 ought to reflect that they are incapacitated by feel ! We must lay aside our pen, and take 
 nature for being competent judges in these af- our tobacco tube to "puff away care." Five 
 fairs. A man of genius, says some writer, minutes ago, we resolved never to smoke any 
 ■hould have the privilege of being tried by his more. So much for habits. 
 
 peers. So a man, whose benevolence of char- 
 
 acter, whose warm and social feelings, and Complaint. 
 
 whose amiable eccentricities, have been the When we find any thing that appears to 
 causes of his falling into vicious courses, when stand alone in nature, without bearing any re- 
 judgment is to be passed, on his conduct, is en- lation to any other thing in existence, we are 
 titled to a jury equally as benevolent, humnne much more surprised than we are by tracing 
 and virtuous as himself, those wonderful aptitudes and relations that 
 
 When, by a long course of self-indulgence, exist among the multitude of objects which we 
 ■we have lost that strength of mind which is denominate the universe. Judicious philoso- 
 necessary to enable us to persevere in any par- phers have drawn their most powerful argu- 
 ticular hne of self-denial, ihe only remedy that ments for the existence of a great intelligent 
 remains is to dislodge one evil by the introduc first cause from this consideration. The sun 
 tion of another; and as we are generally under sends not in vain his rays through the immen- 
 the influence of some leading propensity every sity of space : they encounter other substances, 
 change that is effected in our habits must be and are reflected from them, and convey, 
 productive of advantage. The mind becomes through the medium of the eye, to the sentient 
 BDsettled; it is diverted from its vicious career; principle of the human mind, the images of 
 andtheio opem a possibility of givinpf it a dif. the objects they have visited. Thus, howeve
 
 THE SAVAGK 45 
 
 remote may be the situationof things, they arc that man, in the morning of time, being more 
 bound together by certain relations, which virtuous than the man now existing, had the 
 show the care and power of some mighty in- same inclination to listen to the complaints of 
 telligence. otliers as to give utterance to his own ; but 
 The eye bears a relation to visible objects; that, in progress of tmie, when personal inte- 
 our ears have formed a connection with things rests became paramount to every moral dispo- 
 which are not perceptible by the eye ; our sition, he ceased to be affected by the misfor- 
 feeling enables us to understand those proper- tunes of others, altliougli. to promote his pri- 
 ties of bodies which are neither discoverable by vate purposes, he still continued to claim their 
 the eye nor the ear; and by the sm^ll, we are attention to his own tragical details? How 
 assured of the existence, and made acquainted this may be, we cannot tell : but we are satis, 
 with the nature of those ininute parts of bodies fied that the disposition of the human mind, 
 that fly off in every direction. Indeed the under affliction, to bewail its fate, gnd to en- 
 senses of man are so exactly calculated to give dcavor to awaken sympathy is still found to 
 information concerning the objects by which exist, although it certainly answers not the 
 he is surrounded, that it is fully evident that purpose for which it appears to have been 
 nature had produced and furnished the place of originally designed. Men still continue to 
 his residence, before she gave existence to man relate their sorrows, wants, and desires, to 
 and the other animated inhabitants of the uni- every one that has complaisance enough to 
 verse. Also the faculties which she has given pretend to listen to their mournful effusions; 
 to every different species of animals arc exactly but they ought to know that this is not the 
 such as are rendered necessary by the mode, or way to find consolation in their sorrows, or to 
 place, of their existence : some inhabit the wa- effect any other purpose they may have in 
 ters ; some dwell on the earth ; while others view. The only way to arrive at the comple- 
 wing their way through the regions of the air: tion of their desires is to conceal carefully the 
 the construction of their bodies and their powers existence of their wants: men, with true ser- 
 of perception being universally suited to the vility, will fly to gratify al' the desires of those 
 necessities of their several situations. And we who, they suppose, stand in no need of their 
 have been so long accustomed to the observa- assistance. 
 
 tion of thesfi existing relations not only be- This proneness to complain, however natn- 
 twcen animals and substances inanimate, but ral, is only excusable in a youth or in a fool: 
 also between one animal and another, and be- a man of good sense, who has completed his 
 tween one lifeless substance and another equal- sixth lustrum, yet still is inclined to whine 
 ly lifeless with itself, that we are filled with when any little misfortune assails him, deserves 
 astonishment when we think we discover any the contempt he will experience. The charac- 
 departure from these established regulations in ter of Cicero is lessened by the complaints he 
 the operations of nature. Should we see a shark suffered to escape him : and who can read the 
 grazing in the fields,or the tiger chasing the fish sad things that were written by the banished 
 through the bosom of the deep; should we find a Ovid, without despising the man whose mis- 
 carnivorous animal with the teeth and feet of an fortunes debased, whereas they should have 
 ox, or a graminivorous beast with the claws exalted his mind- Men, who have experienced 
 and teeth of a panther ; should a granivorous evils which are really of a trivial nature, should 
 bird have the talons and beak of an eagle, or a be in haste to forget them. These things may 
 bird of prey have the broad bill and webbed appear important to themselves; but why 
 feet of a goose or a mallard ; how great would should they suppose them sufficiently interest- 
 be our amazement ? If there were no sounds, ing to engage the attention of others ? But if 
 what would be the use of the ear? or, to speak the misfortunes be irremediable, the only thing 
 more philosophically, if the collision or move- that then remains is to suffer with dignity, 
 ment of bodies occasioned no agitation in the Such were the observations we once made- 
 air, or any other fluid, is it reasonable to sup- to Elmore, when he seemed disposed to com- 
 pose that nature would have given us on appa- plain of the severity of his lot. 
 ratus for hearing? If there were no odors, "These are the reasonings of a mind or 
 would she have placed the nose, that mighty ease," said Elmore; "did I occupy a conspi- 
 promontory, in the most conspicuous part of cuous station, I could suffer with dignity ; but 
 the countenance ? Yet, we think we have when 1 patiently submit to grievous and almost 
 discovered something as wonderful as a nose intolerable evils, who will look on and applaud 
 without odors, an ear without sounds, an eye my persevering fortitude ? Socrates might 
 without light, or any of the rest of those won- suffer persecution, imprisonment, death : he 
 derfdt things, we have mentioned. We have was sure of an immortal reward. A monu- 
 observed in man a propensity to complain, but ment to his name will be found in the breast 
 no disposition to listen to complaints. Why of every good man till time shall be no more, 
 did nature, when she gave him that ardent But what hope can support an obscure indi- 
 desire of awakening sympathy, render the vidual under the pressure of calamities ?" And 
 means he employs, for that purpose, totally what will he gain, we replied, by useless re- 
 nugatory by denying him a disposition to listen pinings ? If he have a high opinion of his 
 to complaintg of distress ? Are we to suppose own intellectual importance, why should he not
 
 M THE SAVACE, 
 
 endcnvor to preserve his oion esteem ? Tint is I liave done q^reater tliingfs than these ! Yel 
 
 a m;itlor of no stn;ill cun^^iqiicncc. K.? cannot I much fear" continued he, assuming a sor- 
 
 ■evcn cylcfin himsrll" s;j hiriilv, after liuvin.nf rowfu! countenance, " that I siiall not be dei- 
 
 eriviMi \v,.y to ijiim;ui!y conr)l;.ints, :is lie would ficd nei''ier before nor aflcr mydoulli. I Khali 
 
 linvc done li.id lie su;)i>oilcd his inisfortuoes never become a new st.ir in the tiil of Aries ; 
 
 with stnical coolness ;iiid rcsohjtion. If he nor shall Chancer draw in his daws for me. 
 
 have any rcijard for the s.mctily of liis feelings. No new planet will be christened Tom Rattle; 
 
 why shuulil he bo solieilous to expose his sor- nor slmll I drink nectar, with a purple mouth, 
 
 ■rows to vulvar minds who aro ali!;c incupiible amon;r the gods above I 
 
 of ju^stly iipi)reciatinT his coniiJonce, r.nd of This morning I was the happiest of mortals ; 
 
 judging of the iicut.mess of his sensations? and promised myself a wliolc d ly of felicity. 
 
 But ifhe raurJt c:<i!!p!.an, ' verily he sliall have I was all life and liilarily ; nor did I feci cue 
 
 liis rowurd :" *' i'oor Elmore'." the easy fyt gloomy presentiment of approaching evil. But 
 
 foolish world will ■>b'<orvi', " Poor Elmore ! he now, my spirits have fleJ, and my joys have 
 
 had some good <pialities, i«<" for the con- vanished forever J 
 
 tcmpuous " fciit" is sur. to succeed every ex- _, „ , y ,, ,, . , . 
 
 • t 41 n .„„ «i,^ ... -1 1 in „,;„ I Fnrewell, a lonot farswell, to all mv lauchtpr! 
 
 pression ot " D mn the world! cried «,,;,,,,, ,he (bre of To.n; firs he put font, 
 
 Llmorcm a transport o /ury, ' I want not ,ts y^^^ ,g,,,|^., jeaves of hope; and soon he blos- 
 pity nor condolence. Ill eoin|;lain, it is nv;nig 3o.^l'd 
 
 to llie weakness of humr.n nature, and not And bore his smiltis and graces thick about him: 
 
 with the hopes of exciting commiseration. RmJ, ah! there came a frost, a killing Irost, 
 
 The wretch vvho (iies alone in a dungeon, or And when he thought, goad easy soul, full 
 in the wilderness a thousand miles trom the surely, . , . 
 
 haunts of men, where there is no eye to pity 'A^.V.ifi'.^tr'f "f '.'' ^'"^'■'"^' -^"PP^'^ ^'^ """o'' 
 nor hand to succor, miy utter groans of an- 
 
 And then he fell— 
 
 guish, but he ciiinot look tor pity from the But my soul shudders at the depth of my mis- 
 
 trc. s of the forest, or from be.sis of prey." fortunes! The sccu "ity of mj mind on t!ie 
 
 Elmore departed : we had touched liis pride;, very brink of destruction is truly astonishing: 
 
 but he \v;is not cured of his error. no flitting bird, no gloomy cloud, no muttering 
 
 Elmore w.is scarcely gone before we received tlumders excited any apprehension of the ca- 
 
 a visit from Tom Rattle. Tom may truly be limity that was about to overwhelm me I I 
 
 called an odd kind of an animal ; for we are in- walked, T sang; in the gaiety of my heart, I 
 
 clincd to believe that nature never firmed but danced tlirough the streets ; when, whom 
 
 one of the kind. He came in singing; and should I meet but — my aunt Sarah Poorly! — 
 
 having danced several times round us and put Had I encounterefi a giant or a lion — liad I 
 
 every thing out of order, he suddenly stopped, met the dog of hell, or the triform Chimera, 
 
 and staring directly our face, exclaimed, my valor miglit ,have been serviceable; but 
 
 " Well : here I am, thank God, safe and sound, here — wliat was to be done ? 
 
 after all my hairbreadth 'scapes and marvel- \ „,.„„, ,i,„ o«™ „ .,^,,,„.,t ;^ »,;„ .„.. 
 
 , 1 1 nw 111, — As one wiio sees a serpent m his way, 
 
 bus adventures ! Do you remember the labors oiislcnnig and basking in the summer's ray, 
 
 of Hercules? I have forget them all but one Disordered stops, to shun ihe danger near,— 
 
 — no matter — He went down to hell, (whether Then walks with faintness on, "and looks with 
 
 by the way of Averuus or not, I cannot tell) fear— 
 
 for the the three-headed dog C-crbcrus. The So did poor Tom ! 
 
 snarling cur saw him approach, raised his But all m vain : at once my highblown pride 
 
 Ihree heads, and barked tremendously : ..11 hell iir„ke under me ; and all my pleasures left rae, 
 
 jesound'.^d with his yelping. Hercules raised Sullen and sad and angry, to the mercy 
 
 his club. The dog retreated, and took refuge Of a long tongue, that must forever haunt me. 
 
 under the iron throne of Pluto. Hercules ap- Vain idle praiers of this world, I hate ye, 
 
 nroaehed— Cerberus snarled— Pluto raised his ^^ilh everlasting haired ! O how wretched 
 
 rusty hiJent. Let the doer alone, said Pluto }S, ^^^^ P"""" ,"''»"• '^'^'^ ^'.'^ ^""^ g^^P^S' ^"^ ^'^^^"^ 
 
 You be damned, said Hercules; and reaching To neverendmg stones! 
 
 out his hand, he dragged the howling im.nster Tom had proceeded tlius far before we gave 
 forth, and bore him in triumph to the earth, him any interruption ; but as we saw no pros- 
 Was that heroic? I have done soinettiing pect of his bringing his story to a conclusion, 
 greater than that! Samson slew a thousand we laid aside our papers, and desired him to 
 rnen ; I have dime something greater than sit down and let us hear the "story of his 
 4hat. It w.is not I that shot Python, slew the woes," adding, that we would endeavor to 
 Hydia, or killed the boar of Calydonia; but I sympathize with him under his atHictions. 
 have done great things than these! It was "Alas!" said Tom, "I am afraid you can af- 
 not I that slew the Minotaur, cut off Medusa's ford me but little consolation; but I shall at 
 head, or cleaned the stables of Augeas ; but I least enjoy the mournful pleasure of pouring 
 have done greater things than these! It was my sorrows into the bosom of a friend, 
 not I that robbed the Hesperian gardens. It is pleasant to look back on troubles that 
 •brought away the golden fleece, or heaped Pe- are past ; but we contemplate the difficulties, 
 jlion on 01ympus,and Ossa on Pclion ; no : but with which we arc surrounded, with the ut-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 47 
 
 most impatience. I hate already performed 
 wonders, as I toli) you ; but I am yet involved 
 in the greatest milbrlunes : l)ence,t!icse tears. 
 I sat (hree hours, three long hours, "like Pa- 
 tience on a monument smiling at grief," and 
 listened to the complaints of aunt S.ir^h Poorly. 
 I knew that wlien evils are unavoidiible, there 
 nothing remains for a philosopher, lil'.c me, 
 but patient endurance ; I there'bre summoned 
 my fortitude, heroism, and stoicism, to my as- 
 sistance, and determined to snflor, without a 
 murmur, all tiic rigors of my destiny. 1 have 
 escaped for once, as you see ; but new trials 
 await me. My aunt Sarali Poorly is rich, and 
 she is old. She has been so kind as to 11 Iter 
 me with tiie hopes of succeeding to her estate, 
 when she shall leave the vanities of this transi- 
 tory world to partake of the joys of tlie next. 
 But, though she speaks witli rapture of tlic 
 pleasures that await her ivhc;i time shiiU be no 
 more, still she seems inclined to linger in this 
 'vale of tears' as long as slie possibly can. 
 And .as long as she favors the world witii her 
 presence, she must talk ; and she must liavc 
 an auditor. I have neglected her for some 
 time past, and was really appreh(;iis've that I 
 had incurred her displeasure ; but now she has 
 laid lier commands on me to see her oilen 
 What shall I do ? If I offend 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 sliall never 
 live to enjoy the good things she has promised 
 me! 
 
 A dire dilemma! eitiier 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 lier complaints for eighteen months ; 
 but he could stand it no longer. He ran away, 
 and went to sea. After he had enjoyed the 
 pleasures of navigation for some timi , lie con- 
 cluded to pay his court again to my aunt; but 
 in vain : she was seriously oltended, and would 
 never be reconciled to him any more. 
 
 Your humble servant has, of late, found 
 grace in her siglit: and ifl attend to her com- 
 plaints, siie is kind and generous beyorrd mea- 
 sure ; but ifl show the least impatience, or 
 even yawn, while she expatiates on her sor- 
 rows, I am sure to awaken her displeasure. 
 
 Would j?iie permit me to join in llie conver- 
 sation, I think that, in time, custom would 
 render my situation tolerable; (for you know, 
 Piomingo, that I am a little addietedto talking 
 myself;) but the only tiling she will permit 
 is the occasional interjection of groans, assents, 
 and expressions of surprise. Thus j'ou see I 
 am subjected to a double mislbrtune : I am 
 denied the gratification of talking myself, and 
 compelled to listen to the dull uninteresting 
 complaints of a whirling 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 her discourse. 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 beyond the grave, makes me listen 
 whh something like pleasure to her dolorous 
 etfusions." 
 
 We had now permitted Tom to go on with 
 his story for a considerable time; and we be- 
 gan to think that we were condemned to listen 
 as long to his complaints, as he was compell'jd 
 to attend to his aunt's ; we there'bre thought 
 proper to make an attempt to partake of the 
 discourse. V/e made several wise observations 
 concerning the intei mixture of ;iood and evil 
 in this transitory world; mentioned many 
 maxims of the ancient philosophers and pnets, 
 which inculcate the necessity of subniilting to 
 fate ; dwelt, for a considerable time, on some 
 observations of Seneca, which we thouTht 
 might be usefin to a man in Rfittle's situation; 
 strongly recommended th^t philoso[)hical pa- 
 nacoa, putience, as an unfiiling remedy for 
 every disease; and concluded by desirino- to 
 be ini'-.rmed of the parliculus of his hte'ren. 
 counter with his aunt. 
 
 Tom leaned back in his cliair, and stretch- 
 ing out his arm, exclaimed in a theatrical 
 tone, 
 " 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 yon. I was just tiiinsing of you. Hov/ 
 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 fiimily, 
 cousin. I did what I cnu'd ; but there is so 
 much distress in the -a orld — Bless me ! don't 
 let us St I lid 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 mun, who just now passed us ? I tliink I 
 should know him. I beo-i.4 to feel fatigued.. 
 We sliill soon be ho'ne. Aii that w'leelbar'rovv ! 
 
 — take care of the wheelbarrow, cousin I 
 
 there 's no vv;.lking for wheelbarrowsl That's 
 Mr. Ziny. Here before us. Well: I have 
 seen his father wli el oysters — a strange world 
 this I such ups and downs ! Thank God, no 
 
 relation of mine Home at last — quite ex 
 
 h.fusted — no place like home. Betsey, has 
 Dr. Sinative b, en here ? Cousin, take a chair 
 — sit nigh the fire — th^> morning is cool. Cold 
 weathei is my aversion. How strangely I'm 
 altered: a few years aga, no cold couldatfect 
 me; but now, if I stir out, I'm sure to c.itch 
 cold. All the clothing don't seem to keep me 
 warm; but my feet get dump; 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
 
 48 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 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, cnisin ? the other day I 
 was taken with a kind of dizxyness — 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 tliese warn- 
 ings will not be lost on me. Death is a friend 
 to the afflieted ; and I have had, God knows, 
 my share of affliction. I shall at'end the sum- 
 mons with joy — I hope I'm prepared for the 
 change. The doctor says my giddiness was 
 owing to an empty stomach. Indeed I 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, 1 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 
 hoyden. What a change has taken place in a 
 few years! I think, someh<JW or other, I'm 
 very unfortunate. Tiiere's old Jolm Stout— he's 
 almost eighty years of age ; and walks without 
 a cane. But we must submit to our lot — ay, 
 the Lord teaches us submission ! Dr. Sanative 
 says that my symptoms are not dangerous. He 
 tells me they are owing to indigestion ; and 
 that the crudities — but I cannot remember 
 now what he said they were owing to: how- 
 ever he made it perfectly plain at the time. 
 He says that nourishing diet and gentle exer- 
 cise will restore my health — the Lord's will be 
 done ! You can't think, cousin, how my sight 
 has failed of late ! In a few years, at this rate, 
 I shall be quite blind. Loid ble.ss me I it 
 would be a great trial to lose my sight; but 
 
 the doctor " Here, as the gods would have 
 
 it, tiiere was a cry of fire 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 eternity! 
 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: so! indeed ! is it possible? strange ! 
 surprising ! amazing ! good God ! who would 
 have thought it ? And these interjectory ex- 
 clamations are not to be thrown in at random. 
 No : very far from it : they are to be suited to 
 the changes of the discourse, and the emotions 
 of the speaker. Should I at any time give a 
 nod of assent instead of a sigii 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 sorrow-bringing 
 raven !" 
 
 Piomingo. Levius fit patientia, quicquid cor- 
 rigere est nefas. 
 
 Tom Rattle. Curse your heathen lingo! let 
 us have plain English ; but I believe you re- 
 commend patience. O yes, it is very easy to 
 give advice, and talk about patience ! but if 
 you were in my place I fancy 
 
 Piomingo. Dear Tom, I give you example, 
 as well as precept. 
 
 'lom Rattle. How so? 
 
 Piomingo. Have I not listened to your dole- 
 ful complaints, 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 luxurious 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 peo- 
 ple, that they were unable to procure laborers. 
 What was to be done ? Must every man work 
 for himself? " Horrible idea !" said an ora- 
 tor, 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 of refinement 
 had progressed so far that a man might be 
 bought for four pence a day, be under the ne- 
 cessity of maintaining ourselves by our own 
 individual exertions? Shall we who have 
 tasted the sweets of power, have no one to 
 whom we may give directions, and utter the 
 mandates 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 beyond 
 conception, and repays,with abundant harvests, 
 the careless labors of the most indolent culti- * 
 vator. Where men find it so easy to supply 
 all their necessities, there is nothing will in- 
 duce them to sweat in our fields, 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 in- 
 struments for the gratification of our refined 
 propensities, and for the promotion of our sub- 
 limated enjoyments ; but, under existing cir- 
 cumstances, this is wholly impracticable. 
 Could we content ourselves with meat, drink, 
 and clothing, and be satisfied to dwell in hovels
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 49 
 
 merely calculated to repel the inclemencies of 
 the weather, every man might supply his-own 
 wants; but we have been used to better things. 
 We must have towering palaces, lordly equi- 
 pages, and soft luxurious indulgences. Now, 
 as these things cannot he enjoyed without the 
 subjection and distress of a v.ist in^ijority of 
 the inhabitants of any country, it therefore 
 follows that we must reduce to poverty and 
 wretchedness a mult.jtude of our fellow crea- 
 tures, 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 parlake of the feverish enjoyments of 
 luxury and power. But why should we mor- 
 alize on the subject? VVe must have luxury 
 and magnificence; and as luxury and magni- 
 ficence cannot be procured or supported with- 
 out 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 undoubtedly 
 be produced. Property will accumulate in the 
 hands of certain fortunate individuils; others 
 will becosne poor. The rich will grow proud, 
 luxurious, overbearing; and tlie poor will be- 
 come obsequious, degraded, vicious, miserable. 
 There will be nothing but arrogiincc and dis- 
 sirtinlation, oppression and distress, the tyrant 
 and (he si ive. The seeds ofcivilizalion, which 
 we brought from our native shores have already 
 taken root: and the golden fruit of slavery will 
 inevitiibly 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 artifi- 
 cial he ts that will hasten the growth of civil- 
 ization ? Let us introduce domestic and 
 hereditary slavery : although we live in a bar- 
 baroiis country, we m:iy enjoy all those advan- 
 tages that flow from the wisdom and experience 
 of ages. This will be compendious civilization." 
 Thus spoke the counsellor Tl e multitude 
 applauded ; and made haste to follow his ad- 
 vice. 
 
 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 introduc- 
 tion of this species of slavery was the difiicully 
 experienced in procuring those services which 
 are easily obtained in civilized communities. 
 Domestic slavery never originates but among 
 a barbarous people — bat among a people wht re 
 considerable equality prevails — but among a 
 peopleNi^ho are neither poor nor rich, and 
 where the disparity of ranks, which is fostered 
 by thf^ arts of refinement 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 and the United States ? This 
 forbearance, certainly, could not be ow'ng 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 destroy 
 him in another. The labors of the sugar plan- 
 tations in the islands,and of the gold and silver 
 mines on the continent 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 naion to permit the introduction of 
 domestic or personal slaves ; and therefore they 
 are entitled to no praise on that account. VVe 
 have often been amused with the boasting rant 
 of English poets and orators, on this subject. 
 They declaim with vehement passion concern- 
 inor the miseries and distresses to which the 
 Africans are subjected in the West India plan- 
 tations; and at the same time eulogize the 
 English constitution, which gives freedom to 
 every slave who may touch the British shores. 
 Now this is nity nonsense: the price of labor 
 is so low in Great Britain, that a slave, which 
 you would be compelled to maintain in sum- 
 mer and winter, in sickness and health, in 
 youth and old age, and supply with all the 
 necessaries of life, would be an expensive in- 
 cumbrance. 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 consumption ; and furn- 
 ish a few, as usual, for exportation. 
 
 From what has been said, it appears per- 
 fectly plain that tliisepecies of slavery, which 
 for distinction's sake we have denominated do- 
 mestic slavery,cannot be introduced into a civil- 
 ize! c immunity, because the market is already 
 over stocked with this same commodity ; and 
 when the market is glutted with any article of 
 trade, the merchant will be a loser who trans- 
 mits a fresh supply. Although a slave may 
 be valuable among the present semi-savage in- 
 habitants of the United States, yet, if we look 
 forward, through five or si.x centuries, to a 
 time, when all the western lands, now unoc- 
 cupied, shall teem with population. When the 
 venerable forests shall be forgotten, and cul- 
 tured fields and smiling villages be seen in 
 every direction : when fifty Londons shall be 
 found on the seaboard, and a thousand Bir- 
 minghams in the interior ; when laborers may 
 be hired for six cents a day — then, who will be 
 willing to give a thousanil dollars for an Afri- 
 can slave ? The country will be then so 
 thoroughly civilized, and white slaves will be 
 so numerous, that we shall hear no more of 
 fi'esh importations from Africa. Hence- it fol-
 
 50 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 lows that, when the necessnry quantum of Schnolnt aster. At my select academy — — 
 slavery shall be produced by the progress of Piominfxo. Piirdnn me, my dear sir, for the 
 refineitunt and civilizition, the Africans will present intcrruptinn — what do you mean by 
 gain (heir manumission: tliat is, they will academy T D) you instruct your scholars in a 
 cease t ) be slaves to individuals, and become place resembling the inclosure where Plato 
 slaves to the community of the opulent. And, laught philosophy on the banks of the Ilys- 
 after a minute and careful investigation of the sus ? 
 
 subject, we eive it as our candid and deliberate Schoolmaster- Plato ! — I have not read Plato 
 
 opinion, that they will lose bv tlie change. since I was a boy — O, now I remember, he 
 
 [To be continued, was a celebrated schoolmaster: he taught an 
 
 academy at Athens. Academy, sir, is the 
 
 The Schoolmaster. Latin for school. No genteel teacher now 
 
 A man of about fifty years of age came, the ever makes use of the word school. We have 
 other day, into our study. He addressed us nothing but academies: dancing, drawing, 
 in a pompous formal manner, and desired to riding, fencing, academies: and academies for 
 know if we had a family. We tliouglit it a the instruction of young ladies and gentlemen 
 little singular that a stranger should take the m all the branches of polite and useful litera- 
 liberty to inquire into our private concerns ; ture. 
 
 therefore we made no direct answer to his Piomingo. Thank you sir : yon have satis- 
 authoiitative demand, but desired to know, in fied me on that point. You were about to in- 
 our turn, if he were taking the census. "No, form me what branches were taught in your 
 sir," said he, "I am a schoolmaster; and as select academy for the instruction of young 
 you have lately settled in our neighborhood, I gentlemen. 
 
 did not know but you might have some chil- Schoolmaster. Yes sir : ai my select academy 
 dren to whom you might wish to give a chris- for the instruction of young gentlemen are 
 tian education. You are, yourself, they tell taught reading, chirography, arithmetic, book- 
 me, a savage ; and it is likely you will not be keeping, geography with the use of the globes 
 disposed to give up the gods of your fathers, in maps and charts, mensuration of superficies 
 your old age; but you could form no objection and solids, longimetry, altimetry, gauging, 
 I should think, to the plan of having your algebra, geometry, trigonometry, surveying, 
 children instructed in the benign principles of navigation with solar lunar and astral observa- 
 the gospel. However, if you are conscientious tions, English grammar, rhetoric, composition, 
 in these things, I will not undertake to inter- logic, history, chronology, mythology, philolo- 
 pose with my advice. I am a christian; you gy, natural philosophv, astronomy, and, in fine, 
 are a heathen : and each has a right to enjoy every branch of polite elegant and useful litera- 
 his respective opinions; but we may do each ture. — Here is one of my cards, 
 other a good turn notwithstanding. Send Piomingo. You promise very fair : you may 
 your sons to my select academy for young gen- consider me as a standing subscriber to your 
 tlemen ; and I promise, upon my honor, that school — your select academy, I mean. I think 
 you will have no reason to repent that you it my duty to encourage a man of your extra- 
 have placed them under my care. Furnish ordinary endowments ; but — 
 them with a savage catechism containing the Schoolmaster. You may rest assured, my 
 principles of the Muscogulgee religion ; and I dear sir, that every attention, within the limits 
 shall use the same exertions to have them of my power, shall be paid to the young Mus- 
 carefully instructed in the doctrines of your cogulgee gentlemen, your sons, which you are 
 savage forefathers, that 1 do to have my other about to intrust to my care. I promise you 
 pupils imbued with the principles of chris- sincerely, Mr. Piomingo, that I never will 
 tianity." abuse any confidence that is placed in me. I 
 
 Piomingo. You are very accommodating, consider it as a sacred duty, which I owe to my 
 indeed, my friend ; but will you not find it a patrons, to my country and to myself, that my 
 little difficult to inculcate, at one moment, on pupils should be not only encouraged in the 
 certain of your scholars, the necessity of be- pursuit of elegant and useful learning; but 
 lieving in the Indian doctrines as the dictates that their manners should be formed in the 
 of eternal truth ; and, the next instant, to in- most genteel style, and their morals sedulously 
 form another set of your disciples, that what guarded from every species of contamination — 
 you had just before been dictating was a mere Here is a copy of my rules — How many of the 
 fiction, and totally unworthy of credit? young gentlemen do you propose sending to 
 
 Schoolmaster. Not at all: I should consider my select academy? 
 myself, in that case, as a mere instrument Piomingo. I have not any to send, 
 which you had thought proper to employ for Schoolmaster. Sir! 
 
 the purpose of infusing into the minds of your Piomingo. If you think proper to comply 
 offspring those principles that best pleased with a requisition I am about to make, I will 
 you. consider myself as answerable to you for the 
 
 Piomingo. You form a very correct idea of price of tuition of two scholars as long as we 
 the nature of your employment. Pray what continue neighbors. I wish to learn some of 
 do you teach ? the secrets of your profession : there are, you
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 51 
 
 know, secrets belonging to every trade ; and I 
 would gladly inform 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 feel 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 abecedarian department 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 
 employers themselves. When we dealt hon- 
 estly and openly with them, we were in con- 
 tinual 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 dexterous 
 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 deceived by a string of high- 
 sounding words, and that you already have a 
 tolerable idea of the nature of those arts by 
 which we iiwZZ 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 select ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. By that, sir, we intimate to 
 the public, that we teach only the children of 
 the opulent; and in a country where nothmg 
 is found to confer respect or celebrity 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 acade- 
 my, who would have treated Thomas Birch 
 and his school with the utmost contempt. 
 Multitudes, who, by the mean grovelling arts 
 now in use, have added cent to cent until they 
 have amassed a considerable sum, are eager to 
 shake off and forget the vulgarity of their ori- 
 gin by giving their offspring what they call a 
 genteel education. Tiiey are straining after 
 that undefinable something called ton : and we 
 find it to our advantage to encourage this pro- 
 pensity in our patrons. 
 
 Piomingo. What is ton 1 
 
 Schoolmaster. The question is easily asked ; 
 but I shall find it difficult to give you a satis- 
 factory answer. It is something of which we 
 may fb<<m a confused idea ; but which we find 
 itimpossible to describe. It is like the urim 
 and thummim on the breastplate of the Jewish 
 highpriest: 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 ac- 
 quired the high polish you speak of, may be 
 known, 1 suppose, by their ease of deportment, 
 conciliating address, and suavity 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, aie absolutely unknown among the 
 gay world of a commercial city. 
 
 Piomingo. How is English grammar taught 
 in the select academies of Philadelphia ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Why sir, it became fashiona- 
 ble, a few years ago to talk about English 
 grammar. We immediately look the hint: 
 and since that time English grammar has been 
 taught in all our select academies. 
 
 Piomingo. Do you understand what you pro- 
 fess 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, we lay 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 ac- 
 knowledge myself to be ignorant of those lan- 
 guages. By no means. Should any one ex- 
 press an 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 rlass of young gentlemen, to whom 
 I miglit give instruction in those languages; 
 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 profession, inform me that they 
 find a knowledge of the dead languages alto- 
 gether useless. They are therefore determined 
 that their sons shall not be impeded in the ac- 
 quisition 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 money-loving peo- 
 ple, I always find this answer pertectly satis- 
 factory 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 notins, 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 meaning of what t;)ey repeat, than I 
 have of the language of the antediluvians. And 
 then it is diverting to observe how the fond
 
 fi2 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 parents are jrratified by this display of the 
 grammatical knowledge of their promising 
 offspring: ; and how the fame of the teacher is 
 extended by the philological intelligence oi his 
 accomplished scholars! 
 
 Fiomiiipo. Am I to suppose that you are 
 eqii:illy ignorant of all Ihe other branches taught 
 in your select acad( my ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. No: I can read tolerably well; 
 but it must be granted, at the s; me time, that 
 I am very apt to make risible blunders in pro- 
 nunciation. However, where one reads better, 
 five hundred read worse, than I do. I never 
 Feem 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 pre- 
 sumption ; and, as there is always a majority 
 of fools in every mixed company, I generally 
 come off triumphant. I write a good hand ; 
 but do not spell very correctly. I understand 
 as much arithmetic as is usually taught in 
 schools : and this is the extent of my scientifi- 
 cal acquirements. It must be remarked also 
 that in the course of a long life I have acquired 
 a sniattering in various departments of litera- 
 ture, which enables me to put on tlie appear- 
 ance of wisdom,and to declaim with the utmost 
 pompositv and assurance. 1 can talk fluently 
 of fifty diffi'rent authors, one of which I h.ive 
 never read, and g^ive 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 Tmy ; 
 that he wrote in Greek ; that he was blind ; 
 and thai seven cities vvre, each, emulous of 
 being considered as the place of his birth. I 
 know that the Iji^id is more animated than the 
 Odyssey; that Achilles was fierce, and Lllys- 
 ees crafty ; that the siege of Troy was con- 
 tinued for ten years; and that the wooden 
 horse proved, at last, the means of its destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Should any one desire to hear my opinion of 
 the respective merits of Homer and Virgil, I 
 give, without hesitation, a decided opinion in 
 favor of the former, I assert, with the great- st 
 promptitude, that as to genius — (^here, to dis- 
 play my erudition, T interpose a Latin proverb, 
 Poeto nascitvr, non Jit ; for you must know 
 that I have picked up four or five scraps of 
 this kind, which I introduce occasionally to the 
 great e<^ification of my hearers,) that as to 
 genius, which is the grand character stic of a 
 poet, Homer is infinitely superior. Virgil, in- 
 deed, I add, is more elaborate and correct: hut 
 he is indebted for almost every thing to his 
 great predecessor. 
 
 Piomingo. But you certainly do not presume 
 to run a parallel between these poets without 
 having read the originals. 
 
 Schoolmaster. I assure you sir, that I do. 
 Without having read the originals! I have 
 not even read the English translations; and I 
 cannnot 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 igiioraiit than myself? 
 My knowledge, which in reality is not exten- 
 sive, when compared with that of others, rises 
 in impoitancc : and what is still better, my 
 character, as a man of substance and a profound 
 scholar, is firmly csliiblished. Doyuu suppose, 
 Piomingo, that any intelligent anin)al, 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 dio ; and my 
 laugh would be echoed by every ignorant pre- 
 tender to knowledge. No: nothing can injure 
 my literary reputation but the appearance of 
 p)verty ; and you may believe me, Piomingo, 
 I endeavor to keep that at as great a distance 
 as possible. 
 
 Piomingo. Although you are continually 
 acknowledging your ignorance. I must con- 
 fess that I find your convers tion very instruc- 
 tive. You criticise likewise the productions 
 of the moderns? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Certainly: I can talk fluently 
 of the suhlimity of Milton, the majestic march 
 of Dryden, the meUiJluous versification of 
 Pope, tlie humor of Swi ), the covcdts of Cow 
 ley, the descriptive powers of Th( ni?ri)i, the 
 grand obscurity of Gray, and the siceet sim- 
 plicity of Goldsmith. 
 
 Piomingo. These authors you have read. 
 
 Schoolmaster. I hare read the titlcpafres of 
 some o'them, and sometimes perused elegant 
 extracts, promi"ent beauties, and enleriaiiiing 
 selections, brought into view by the disinter- 
 ested care and refined taste of ingenious and 
 learned hooksellers. It is by no means neces- 
 sary th .t a man should read a poem in order to 
 be able to pronounce sentence on its merits: 
 nothing more is necessary than to fall in with 
 the prevailing opinion, and utter every sen- 
 tenee with the appearance of profound wis- 
 dom. There is Milton's Paradise Lost, for 
 example : I have never read a dozen lines of 
 it, but whit I met with in Scott^s 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, I have discovered an in- 
 dubitable triitlt : that knowledge 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 is natural and idiomatic ; and 
 that of Jchnson, lofty and majestic — Ex pede 
 Herculem : that is another of my Latin 
 plirases. I have got festma lente and three or 
 four besides. 
 
 Piomingo. Have you ever read the works 
 of Addison or Johnson ? 
 Schoolmaster. Never.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 53 
 
 Piomingo. Have you any knowledge of 
 dramatic criticism ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. I attend the theatre ; I have 
 learned the common p!ayhou>e shivg ; and 
 sing hosannas to the great bard of nature. I 
 talk of ancient wi , modern sentiment, and the 
 pernicious effects of the German drama ! 
 
 Piomingo Your discourse has been so in- 
 teresting tiiut 1 found it impossible to inter- 
 rupt you, though I tliink we have lather wan- 
 dered from our subject : I believe you intima- 
 ted a while ago that when yon commenced 
 teacher, you pursued a difFerent. plan from 
 thiit by which 3'our conduct is at present regu- 
 lated. 
 
 Schoolmaster. I did : I was, even at that 
 time, able to tbrrn a tolerably correct idea of 
 the extent of my own acquirements ; and I 
 endeavored, with the utmost assiduity, to com- 
 municate to my pupils the knowledge of which 
 I was possessed. The industrious and atten- 
 tive, I encouraged and rewarded ; the indnlent 
 and vicious I reprimanded and corrected. This 
 plan I followed for some time; but, ere I was 
 aware, my school dwindled to nothing. Every 
 man conceives that his own son is not only a ge- 
 nius of the most exalted order,butalso a paragon 
 of virtue: now, as I had dared to form a difFerent 
 opinion, it was thought altogether proper that 
 these promising sons of enli^ihtened fathers 
 should be moved from their present situation, 
 and placed under the care of some celebrated 
 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 forniiil pedagogue, 
 and too highspiriled to submit to any species 
 of chastisement. She is alwa3's heard to ob- 
 serve that her "children may be led but can- 
 not be driven: they have a spirit above it." 
 Now, as I conceived this high spirit to be 
 nothing else than childish obstinacy ingendercd 
 by the weak indulgence of silly mothers, I re- 
 solved that it should be humbled ; and when 
 any of my highminded pupils were not dis- 
 posed to be led, I immediately had recourse to 
 my compulsory process. It is very possible 
 that 1 was walking in the path of duty ; but I 
 found myself diverging so widely from the line 
 of self interest, that I became rather uiiensy. 
 Whatever might be the motives of my conduct, 
 the conscqui nee was palpable enough ; my 
 school was deserted. I saw my error, and 
 wisely determined to correct it. 
 
 I removed to a central part of the city, and 
 instantly opened a select academy for the in- 
 etriK^tion of young gentlemen. My fiist care 
 was to puff myselt' in the newspapers in the 
 follow mg manner : 
 
 Mr. Birch has the honor to inform an en- 
 lightened and generous public, that he has de- 
 termined to devote his time to the tuition of a 
 select and limited number of young gentle- 
 TOen. 
 
 "Mr. B is possessed of all those advantages 
 that flow from a polite ;ind liberal education ; 
 and he flatters himself that he is fully compe- 
 tent to the task of conveying instruction in the 
 most fashionable and agreeable manner. 
 
 Mr. B. feels a just abhorrence for the old 
 riffid and compulsory system of education, 
 which has a direct tendency to terrify the 
 tender mind and give it a distaste for every 
 kind of instruction; and he has the utmost 
 pleasure in having the honor to announce to 
 iha judicious and intelligent part of the com- 
 munity that, by studious attention, he has de- 
 vised a pi. in whereby the otherwise irksome 
 business of education will be rendered agree- 
 able and entertaining." — But why should I re- 
 peat the wiiole? I went on in the usual puff- 
 ing style, and made the necessary promises of 
 forming the minners and watching over the 
 morals of my pupils. Every thing succeeded 
 agreeanly to my wishes. All the world v'cre 
 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 stj^le so genteel and so 
 splendid. I resolved to give myselt no uneasi- 
 ness about the progress of my scholars in the 
 paths of literature, but to devote my undivided 
 attention to the business o? amusing n)y 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 come and judge of 
 the literary acquirements of their children con- 
 fided to my care; specimens of writing, pre- 
 pared for the occasion, were exhibited ; the 
 young gentlemen were examined in arithmetic, 
 grammar, geography, chronology, mytiiology; 
 and the entertainment concluded with a spout- 
 ing match. 
 
 Piomingo. I cannot conceive. how you man-^ 
 aged the examination. 
 
 Schoolmaster. Nothing easier : by the as- 
 sistance of a few bnoks, which are easily pro- 
 cured, 1 bad prepared my disciples to answer 
 some general questions on each of these sub- 
 jects ; and these were the only questions I 
 asked. 
 
 Piomingo. How did you conduct the spout- 
 ing match ? 
 
 Schoolmaster. Why, we delivered " Sempro- 
 nius' speech for war," " Lucius' speech for 
 peace," " the dialogue between Brutus and 
 Cassius" and " Antony's oiation over Ceasar's 
 dead body." We sacrificed " Hector and 
 Andromache," mangled "a hymn to adversi- 
 ty," and murdered an " ode on the passions." 
 I must not forget to mention that one of my 
 most surprisiiig geniuses committed to memory 
 an oration found in the works of a certain a'i~ 
 thor and passed it on the enlightened assembly 
 as his own composition ; but tJiere was nothing'
 
 54 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 remarkable in that: this trick has often been 
 practised before in the seminiiries of Philadel- 
 phia. O )io\v dclijrhtful it was to behold the 
 nioutiiing', and stamping, and sawing- the air ! 
 the smiles and the grins, and the furious ges- 
 ticulations ! While the fond parents 
 Smil'd and look'd, sinil'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, Chat- 
 ham, Burke, or Fox. 
 
 In faith, 'iw.hs strange, 'twas passing strange ! 
 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful! 
 
 The young gentlemen received the unani- 
 mous applause of the polite assembly ; the 
 most extravagant encomiums were bestowed 
 oti the care and assiduity of the teacher ; and 
 the fame of his select academy was extended 
 throughout the city. 
 
 But a great part of my success depends upon 
 the manner in which I eulogize the children 
 to their respective parents. And, although I 
 firmly believe that some of them have dis- 
 cernment enough to perceive my motive for 
 so doing, still, this flattery is so deligiitful to 
 every parental ear, that they are universally 
 carried away by the pleasing delusion. "Well, 
 Mr. Birch," says Mrs. Bombysine, " 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 with his 
 appearance at first sight, I was struck with 
 something uncommon in his countenance, 
 which seemed to prognosticate future great- 
 ness. And then he is so irresistibly interest- 
 ing — I think he very much resembles you 
 ma'am." " Do you think so, Mr. Birch ? 
 Why I do not know : he is said to be like Mr. 
 Bombysine." " True ma'am, very true ma'am, 
 in the outlines of his countenance ; but the 
 genius of his mother beams in his eyes I You 
 will please to permit me to express my opinion 
 fi-eely on this subject : in these matters I con- 
 ceive that my judgment is to be depended upon. 
 Your son will one day fill a distinguished 
 place in the republic of letters." " What turn 
 do you think he will hare for public speaking, 
 Mr. Birch ?" " Upon my honor, ma'am, he 
 his a wonderful talent for declamation. Did 
 you observe, ma'am, with what a noble 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 
 astonishment." "I am pretty much of your 
 <9pi nion, 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 phy- 
 sician; but it seems to me, that, in that calling, 
 
 his oratorical abilities would be totally lost to 
 the fommunity. We do not receive talents, 
 Mr. Birch, to hide them in a napkin." Madam, 
 your ideas coincide exactly with mine. I am 
 satisfied that he would make an eminent phy- 
 sician, should his studies be directed that way; 
 but, as you very justly observe, that employ- 
 ment would not iifford him an opportunity of 
 displaying his rhetorical powers. The pro- 
 fession 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 father's cane and strut across the 
 room with an air so consequential and imperi- 
 ous I — you would have split your sides with 
 laughing had you seen him." "Your obser- 
 vations are perfectly correct, ma'am ; he has 
 indeed a martial air when he moves ; and 
 there is something so majestic and command- 
 ing in his countenance — I have no doubt, 
 ma'am, but that you will live to see him a 
 general officer." " Well, Mr. Birch, tliere 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 em- 
 ployment 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 render 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 understand nothing. — 
 
 O" The proposal of Crito has met with a 
 favorable reception. We will receive with 
 pleasure, and insert with readiness, his philo- 
 logical remarks. However unimportant they 
 may appear to him, we have no doubt but they 
 will prove instructive to some of our readers, 
 and agreeable to all. We make this observa- 
 tion with more confidence because we know 
 that few have a more intimate acquaintance 
 with the nature of the English language, or 
 have studied its analogies more successfully, 
 than Crito. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XI. 
 
 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
 
 THE SAVAGE 
 
 55 
 
 and lay down to repose. But ere sleep had 
 closed his eyes, he began to reflect on his pre- 
 sent situation: "If I now proceed on my 
 journey " said Trad, " 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 devoured 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 I A few moments' rest in 
 this delightful shade will not prevent me from 
 performing my journey " While he yet con- 
 tinued to prolong tliis indulgence, he fell 
 asleep ; nor did he awake till the going down 
 of the sun. Terrified at approaching darkiitss 
 and the dangers of the night, he mourned bit- 
 terly over the folly and infatuation which had 
 governed his conduct. The horrors which 
 surrounded him deprived his mind of that com- 
 posure and deliberation, which were rendered 
 doubly necessary by the circumstances in 
 which he was placed. He became confused — 
 he wandered 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 I poor Irad ! — 
 
 Had Irad known the consequences that 
 would result from sleeping beneath the palm- 
 trees, he would not have lain down : the cool- 
 ing 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 vir- 
 tue,without ever turning aside into the flowery 
 fields of vice, which lie on the right hand and 
 on the left f Who is there that has constantly 
 resisted tlie instigations of avarice, the whis- 
 perings of vanity, the suggestions of ambition, 
 the impulses 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 satis- 
 fled that the consequence of eating the " for- 
 bidden fruit" would be death ; this knowledge 
 would strip vice of all her meretricious charms 
 — and weak human nature would be able to 
 resist her allurements. 
 
 Proh superi! quantum mortalia pectora Cfflcae 
 Nyclis habent! — 
 
 From these premises it appears that we agree 
 in opinion 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 phi- 
 
 osophy which teaches us to believe that the 
 empire of virtue will be established by the dif- 
 fusion of knowledge. But if man be by nature 
 incapable of receiving tiiat intelligence v\ hich 
 is to guide him in the paths of rectitude ; if all 
 the light that he can receive serve only to dis- 
 cover to him that he is surrounded by impene- 
 trable darkness; if it only give him a glimpse 
 of proximate objects, anH 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 know- 
 ledge ? 
 
 There is one being who, we are taught to 
 believe, looks through universal nature, and 
 understands all existing 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 knowlelge, and consequently, liable 
 to error. And what shall we say of man? He 
 is placed so li)W, so ivfinitelij loio, 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 un- 
 known. He looks up and he sees " men as 
 trees walking ;" and from this imperfect 
 glimpse, he boldly forms a system for universal 
 nature ! 
 
 How can he be taught to foresee the con- 
 sequences of his own actions ? How can he 
 be taught to know that his personal interest, 
 and the interest of every other being in exis- 
 tence are the same ? How can he be taught 
 to know that he cannot injure another without 
 at the same lime injuring himself? When all his 
 prejudices are eradicated, and when he is en- 
 lightened, as much as he is capable ef being 
 enlightened, will he not still conclude that his 
 own interest may be promoted by acts of in- 
 justice ? But man is so weak, his knowledge 
 so imperfect, 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 virtuous men, must not expect to do it 
 merely by communicating knowledge : he 
 must regulate their conduct by taking advan- 
 tage of their feelings and passions : he must 
 implant salutary prejudices,and eradicate those 
 which are pernicious; he must make them act 
 uprightly, honorably, nobly from the generous 
 impulse of their minds, without any cold cal- 
 culation, or metaphysical reasonings. Yes, 
 we repeat it, he must establish a system of 
 prejudice. What influenced Leonidas and his 
 Spartan band to die in defence of their country? 
 It was prejudice : a glorious, heroic, godlike 
 prejudice, implanted in the mmd of the nation 
 by its immortal lawgiver. Could we be as- 
 sured of the existence of such a prejudice at
 
 56 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 the present dny.we would curse the philosophy 
 that would de'troy it. 
 
 Wc have no intention of entering- into me- 
 taph3'sical disquisitions; but were led into 
 these thouijhts by some observations we lately 
 heard made on the subjcet of prejudices. 
 
 It was asserted 'that all the crimes, vices 
 and follies, of men were owing; to io^norance ; 
 that knowledcre was progressing slowly through 
 the world, and would finally triumph over pre- 
 judice, vice, and misery ; and that notiiing had 
 so o-reat a tendency to destroy prejudices, and 
 render men enlightened, civilized, and munifi- 
 cent, as commerce." 
 
 It appears to us, that truth and falsehood 
 are so intimately blended in this statement, 
 thnt they cannot be easily separated. We 
 have no doubt that vice of every kind is owing 
 to ignorance : no man willingly h.iscs his way, 
 and becomes a wanderer in the labyrinths of 
 error : he must be misled by false appearances. 
 But we contend that tlic nature of men is such, 
 that tliey cannot be kept in the paths of recti- 
 tude, 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 face 
 of the earth every species of opinions which 
 may fall under the description of prejudices. 
 
 Before we proceed any farther, it might not 
 be amiss to give some explanation of the term. 
 Prejudices are opinions, sentiments, or judg- 
 ments, which exist in the minds of men without 
 being produced by any previous process of 
 reasoning : they may be founded on truth or 
 falsehood; they may be, in their efFects, salu- 
 tary or pernicious. 
 
 We agree that nothing has so great a ten- 
 dcncv to destroy prejudices of all kinds as com- 
 merce. Tlie intercourse it promotes among 
 men of different nations, religions, manners, 
 customs, and appearances, must contribute di- 
 rectly to annihilate all national peculiarities. 
 Men will soon find that they all agree in one 
 thing only ; and this one thing will become the 
 sole motive to action in the mind of every en- 
 lightened merchant. The accursed love of 
 gain swallows up every thing else in the breast 
 of the trader. Nor is it long confined to the 
 mercantile class. It pervades the mass of the 
 community, and exterminates every generous 
 passion, salutary prejudice, pleasing illusion, 
 and virtuous propensitj'. 
 
 Patriotism is a prejudice which is incom- 
 patible with the pursuits of a merchant. 
 "Where your treasure is, there will your heart 
 be also." He becomes interested as much in 
 tlie concerns of foreign nations -as in those of 
 his own country. He divests himself of every 
 childish partiality in favor of tiie soil which 
 gave him birth. The passions tliat animated 
 the bosom of aCodrus, a Philopoemen, a Dccius, 
 !i Cato, or a Brutus, are despised by him as the 
 dreams of a disordered imagmation. 
 
 Let it not be said that he becomes a citizen 
 of the world : that his amor patriae is convert- 
 ed into a love of mankind in general — univer- 
 sal phil .nthropy never flou'ishes where patri- 
 otism is destroyed. Tlie whole world is too 
 mighty an object for his affections ; and the 
 more he knows o' the world, the more reason 
 he finds to condemn it : his knowledge of its 
 perfidy and injustice awakens suspicion and 
 hatred. He still loves ; bu) the (bject of his 
 affections is — self only. He hails national 
 calamities as the greatest of blessings, if they 
 contribute to the success of his trade : and he 
 willingly plunge.** his country into war for the 
 proceeds of a profitable voyage. 
 
 National reliiiion, national laws, national 
 manners, and pvrity of morals are quickly 
 contaminated, and finally destroyed, by the 
 prevalence ot 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 cased to give it the 
 preference over every other country, he soon 
 ceases to love and esteem its dislinguishing 
 particularities. He becomes acqiaainted *vith 
 men of many nations, whose various religions, 
 governments, and manners are as numerous as 
 the ccuiinents, island andterritorics,they inhabit. 
 He sees them every where breaking through 
 all restraints for the purpose of accumulating 
 riches. His own countty and its institutions 
 having ceased to be objects of veneration, the 
 salutary principles of his education are forgot- 
 ten or despised. His morals are relaxed ; and 
 he adopts a pliant system of ethics which will 
 not impede his progress in the acquisition of 
 wealth. The love of gain flourishes in his 
 soul, and like the fabled Upas sheds abroad 
 the dew of death on every budding virtue. He 
 freights his ship Viiith shrieking Africans torn 
 from the bosom of their country and their I'riends; 
 he takes convenient oaths to evade the payment 
 of duties; and he tramples on the cross of 
 Christ for the sake of a lucrative trade I 
 
 [ To be continued. 
 
 From Crito. 
 
 In consequence of your pel mission, Pio- 
 mingo, I shall take the liberty occasionally to 
 trouble you with some remarks on language ; 
 but you are not to expect any thing like con- 
 nected dissertations or regular cssaya. I shall 
 present you, when I find leisure, with casual 
 thoughts and desultory observations, on philo- 
 logical subjects: if you think them worthy of 
 a place in your miscellany, it is well ; if not I 
 shall be satisfied. 
 
 Those wlio 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
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 m 
 
 Ksn an immense continent far distant from the 
 European world, must inevitably occasion some 
 slight differences to exi>:t,bctween the language 
 spoken by the people of the United States and 
 that spoken by th^ inhabitants of Great Britain. 
 Many words familiar to nur ancestors, in their 
 native country, must have fallen into disuse 
 when they settled here ; because they were no 
 longer 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 know- 
 ledge, they were under the necessity either of 
 inventing new names for these new things, or 
 of applying to them terms which were already 
 appropriated to other objects. 
 
 But these are not the only causes which 
 tend to produce a difference : the intercourse 
 that subsists between England and other na- 
 tions, 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 con- 
 sideration it appears piobable that in the course 
 of a few centuries the English language will 
 be found in much greater punty in America 
 than in the island of Great Britain, taking those 
 authors as a standard, who wrote during that 
 period which has generally been accounted the 
 Augustan age of England. Does it not there- 
 fore 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 among ourselves ? 
 and. by the indiscriminate reception, we give 
 to these foreign terms, do we not contribute 
 more to the corruption of our speech, than we 
 would do by the adoption of so many indi- 
 genous appellations ? 
 
 But it is not only by the admission of lately 
 adopted English words, but also by our readi- 
 ness to receive English modes of pronuncia- 
 tion, that we hasten those corrupt changes 
 which sooner or later take place in every lan- 
 guage. In numerous instances is the pronun- 
 ciation of the American people more correct 
 and analogical than the fashionable pronuncia- 
 tion in England. We have preserved the ori- 
 ginal orthoepy whi-ch has been lost by the 
 inhabitants of Great Britain. Must we there, 
 fore 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 lan- 
 guage or uniformity of pronunciation in the 
 United States: the continuijl influx of foreign- 
 ers, (who pervade the interior of the country, 
 and whose several dialects when melted into 
 the speech of the original settlers form a curi- 
 ous and laughable amalgamation) has a ten- 
 dency to unsettle the language of the unedu- 
 cated inhabitants. I have sometimes supposed 
 jBjself to be engaged in disoonrse with a native 
 H 
 
 of the north of Ireland,when immediately after 
 he made use of certain expressions, which led 
 me to believe that he was a German : upon 
 inquiry, I learned that he was a Pennsylvanian 
 by birth. The emigrants from various coun- 
 ties of England, the Welsh, the Scotch, th« 
 Irish, the Germans, the French, when they 
 take up their residence among us and become 
 connected by marriages, and otherwise, with 
 the original inhabitants, influence in a small 
 degree the language of the country ; but tha 
 effects of these connections, as population in. 
 creases, become less and less perceptible, and 
 will before long cease to exist. But the great- 
 est enemy to purity of language in the United 
 States is the prevalence of, what literary men 
 in England have termed, the London dialect: 
 this flourishes in our cities, and even in many 
 parts of the interior. Since the English have 
 taken up the idea of establishing a uniform 
 system of pronunciation, they have added one 
 proneuncing 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 wordmongert 
 in the United States, having selected their re. 
 spective favorites among the English orthoe- 
 pists, and combined these transatlantic mate- 
 rials with their provincial peculiarities, framed 
 their pronouncing 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 remedies 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 the powers of the soul ; where affec- 
 tation of foreign manners, foreign literature, 
 and foreign follies universally prevails ; — in 
 such a country, the exertions of an individual 
 will avail but little. Did Congress possess the 
 will and the power to institute public school) 
 throughout the whole extent of the United 
 States, erect colleges in every state, and estab- 
 lish 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 po- 
 litical consequences would be of infinite impor- 
 tance. Would it cos' too muck 7 — There was 
 a Greek proverb,wl)ich 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 Phila- 
 delphia that he has opened an academy in 
 Monkey hall for the instruction of a select and 
 limited number of young gentlemen in the im.
 
 58 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 dispensable and polite accomplishment of of a. quarter, he may attack his father, the 
 yj,7_ schoolmaster or parson ; and if he should con- 
 Mr. VV. hns lorjfr observed and deplored the tiniie to attend these instructions for six 
 scarcity of wit in this western heniisplierc, and months, he will be entitled to the degfree of 
 has at last been happy enough to hit upon an Master Quizzer from the Academy of Wit. 
 expedient to supply the deficiency. Mr. W. is supremely happy to have it in his 
 That quickness of nfenius which displays power to inform the children of Comus that he 
 itself in Hushes of intellectual fire — brilliant has constructed a scale for laughing from the 
 repartees, ingenious allusions, uncommon dis- lowest maiden simper, to the sideburstivg horse 
 tinctions, and odd assimilations, is the gift of laugh; to which he has appended every neces- 
 nature : not one in a thousand can hope to sary instruction for those who wish to learn 
 possess it ; but Mr. W. from his long residence scientifically the art of cachinnation. 
 in the capitals of England and France, and his Mr. W. will have stated days of exhibition, 
 extensive acquaintance with the gay quizzical when the parents and guardians of his pupils 
 and waggish spirits of Europe, has been ena- will have an opportunity of attending to witness 
 bled to arrange and bring to pi-rfection a sys- the proficiency of the young gentlemen in these 
 tem of mechanical wit, which will be found to ciiarming accomplishments. At which time 
 answer all the purposes of the genume article. Mr. W. will go through all his contortions and 
 It provokes as much laughter,and excites more grimaces for ihe amusement of his patrons, 
 merriment, and fun, than the wit of mother Towards the conclusion of the entertainment, 
 nature's own production. he and his pupils will unite in a simultaneous 
 Mr. VV. has ohserved with pleasure the exertion of their powers, which will andoubt- 
 liberal spirit displayed by the citizens of Phila- edly afford a sublime enjoyment to a judicious 
 delphia in the encouragement they c^tinue audience. 
 
 to show to ingenious foreigners of every de- Mr. W. has the honor to inform the public, 
 Bcription, who are busily employed in trans- that he has considered this subject philosophi- 
 phuting the polite arts, delectable fashions, en. cally, and is firmly of opinion that this me- 
 chanting manners and enlightened morals of chanical or artificial wit is in no respect infe- 
 civilized Europe to this new, but rapidly im- rior to the verbal or written productions of 
 proving, world; and he hopes, by the most genius. If original wit, as some authors con- 
 unwearied assiduity in the service of his em- tend, consist in striking contrasts, ingenious 
 ployers, and unremitted exertions in the pro- distinctions, and odd associations, he will ven- 
 motion of wit and hilarity to merit a share of ture to assert, without fear of contradiction, 
 the public patronai^e. that mechanical wit, as taught in Monkey hall, 
 Mr. W. begs leave to inform the lovers of possesses these advantages in a degree infi- 
 fun that nothing shall be neglected at his nitely superior to any other species that ever 
 academy that has a tendency to provoke existed. Was it not said by an ancient philo- 
 lano-hter. He will teach how to perform, in sopher that if virtue could be rendered visible, 
 the'most fashionable manner, every species of all men would adore her ? This Mr. W. has 
 Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, ^one for wit : he has given her a substantial 
 Nods and becks and grins and smiles. form, and exposed her to the admiring world 
 He will teach how to distort every part of the i" all her native loveliness. What can present 
 body in the most genteel style : such as rolling more striking contrasts than smiles and frowns, 
 the eves, twisting the mouth, projecting the laughing and groaning, screams of distress, 
 chin smacking the lips,shootmg out the tongue, and snouts of triumph ? What can produce a 
 distending the cheeks, shrugging up the shoul- finer effect than the mewling of a cat and the 
 ders protruding the belly, kicking up the heels, roaring of a lion ? What can be more sublime 
 and 'rolling on the floor ; together with every and terrific than the various and discordant 
 kind of winking, blinking, frisking, gaping, yells of men and animals, accompanied by th»^ 
 wriffffling,velling,whooping,squatting, squeak- most tremendous distortions^ of the visage and 
 ine, squealing, squalling, screaming, screech- every part of the body? What strange asso- 
 ing. hissing, groaning, grunting, bawling, ciations will be produced by the judicious use 
 
 unnecessary to enumerate. this species of wit, nothing can exceed theni ; 
 
 Mr. W. announces,with the greatest satisfac- suppose for example, that A. should attack B. 
 
 tion, that he has made every necessary pre- ^^'th a threatening look and furious gesticula- 
 
 paration to teach the genuine art of quizzing tions, and B. should respond by a grandisonous 
 as now practised by the highflying bloods of explosion a ^osfenon; could there be a repar- 
 
 Europe. Any thing of a brisk young gentle- tee m«re brilliant and impressive ? 
 man may, afler having taking three or four Mr. W. presumes it is unnecessary for him 
 
 lessons, venture to quiz the old woman who to dwell on the indispensable necessity of the 
 
 Bells apples and cakes at the corner; in six dmne art o/^wizzin^ to every one who wishes 
 
 weeks he may practise upon his mother, sister, to support the character of an accomplished 
 
 maiden aunt, or grandmother ; in the course gentleman. Quizzing has almost totally su-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 59 
 
 persceded every other species of wit, in the JVavela. 
 
 polished nations of Europe, and will ere long There are no books more entertaining than 
 
 do the same in America. The bucks of Phiia- well written travels. They charm us with the 
 
 dtflphia, who wish to qualify themselves for variety of incidents they exhibit to our view, 
 
 genteel company, will ho doubt hasten to be- and keep alive our curiosity by the hopes they 
 
 come acquainted with Mr. W.'s newly im- continually excite of more interesting partieu- 
 
 ported system of boring, smoking, hoaxing, and lars. 
 
 quizzing. Wherever a traveller directs his way,wheth- 
 
 Mr. W. has with great mental labor and er among the savages of America, the sable 
 difficulty devised a mode for rendering artifi- hordes of Africa, the slaves of Asia, or the 
 cial wit highly useful to authors and publish- civilized barbarians of Europe, he may, by a 
 ers of periodical works. He intends to apply judicious selection of incidents, and pertinent 
 immediately to the government of the United observations, render the narrative of his jour- 
 States for a patent to secure, to the inventor, ney amusing and instructive. But he ought 
 the profits arising from this valuable discovery, to remember that nothing but man can be 
 Nothing. of equal importance to literary men highly interesting to man; and, however he 
 has come lo light since the invention of print- may indulge himself occasionally in descrip- 
 ing. He has promised to communicate this tions of inanimate nature, a frequent recur- 
 wonderful secret to Piomingo, headman and rence of pictures in which no human being 18 
 warrior of the Muscogulgec nation, as a re- exhibited will satiate and disgust tiie reader, 
 compense for his politeness in giving this ad- It may be observed that the travels of a man 
 vertisement a place in The Savage. When of general literature are always more amusing, 
 Piomingo shall become possessed of this art, than those of one whose studies have been 
 certain sons of glee will no longer have reason principally directed to some particular branch 
 to complain of the dulness and insipidity of of science. 
 
 The Savage: they will meet with wit of their ^ „,an ^]^q imagines that he possesses a 
 own kind, and quite on r level 2cith their un- talent for giving his reader sketches of scenery, 
 derstandings. ^^jH be forever directing your attention to the 
 
 Mr. W. will give private lessons to such misty azure of the mountain, the naked rocks, 
 
 grown gentlemen as have unfortunately not and the jutting promontory. He will continu- 
 
 had the opportunity of acquiring these genteel ally present to your view the woody valley, the 
 
 accomplishments in their youth. winding stream, and the far extended plain. 
 
 , „. , , , „ , ~ . . Now it is to be remembered that all descrip- 
 
 Mr. W. would gladly employ a few mgeni- tions of scenery are extremely vague,and rarely 
 ous assistants to enable him to perform with p^gggnt to the mind any definite idea. When 
 ease the duties of the academy. Any gentle- ^^^ j^^^g hg^j.^ ^f o^g mountain, one valley, 
 man who is fortunate enough to have an enor- 
 mously large nose, an extremely v/ide mouth, 
 or wall-eyes,will be ajl inestimable acquisitioH 
 to the institution, and vi-ill meet with the most 
 liberal reward. 
 
 and one plain, we are satisfied. They awaken 
 in our minds the ideas of those mountains, 
 valleys and plains which we ourselves have 
 seen ; and the remembrance is pleasing. But 
 f these images continue to be crowded on the 
 
 Although it is the intention of Mr. W. that mind without ceasing, we strive in vain to dis- 
 
 his pupils shall exercise their talents on each tinguish one from the other, and finding our 
 
 other, yet he has thought it proper to furnish selves incapable of forming any distinct ideas, 
 
 himself with two or three decrepid old men, we grow weary of the book and enraged at the 
 
 several lame and deformed women and chil- author. 
 
 dren three or four idiots, as many habitual connoisseur in the art of painting or eta- 
 *drunkards, and half a dozen maniacs, who may .^ ^^^^^ ^ ^^^ ^ busts or pic- 
 answer the purpose of huts, on which the ^^^^^ ^^ j^^^ ^^^-^^^^^ ^^^ any thing but can- 
 young gent emen may exercise their ^mzztcaZ ^^^^^ ^^. ^^^j^,^_ ^ gj^g of flesh and 
 talents. This arrangement ,s not absolutely ^.j^^j ^s altogether unworthy of his at- 
 necessary, yet itanswers one valuable^ purpo.se : ^g^tion While he Is examining the respective 
 
 •^ merits of the Flemish and Italian schools, ex- 
 
 it will serve to destroy those foolish feelings ( 
 
 humanity, which will frequently intrude into .^^^ ^^ ^^e distinguishing excellencies of 
 
 the minds of youth, and have been known to ^g^^ra^dt or RaphaelT enraptured at the sight 
 
 render useless the most promising qmzztcal ^^ ^^^ Medicean Venus, writhing in agony 
 
 abilities. ^jjj^ ^j^g wretched Laocoon, or expiring with 
 
 Medals and other honorary marks of dis- ^^^ dying gladiator, every common occurrence 
 
 tinctibn wi'l be awarded such young gentlemen ^f ufg jg disregarded. His reveries may be 
 
 as bring sufficient proof that they have per- pjgasing to himself, and his longwinded de- 
 
 formed any notable act o( quizzing in the city ggriptions may gratify the coi^noscent few ; but, 
 
 or the adjacent country. for ^^ own part, we had rather " ply the la- 
 
 For terms of tuition and other particulars boring oar" than follow one of these fellows 
 
 apply at the academy in Monkey hall, or at into a pantheon of marble gods or a gallery of 
 
 Mr, W.'s lodgings No. 99 Apes' alley. pictures.
 
 w 
 
 THE 8ATA<SE. 
 
 Th» general reader will find but little enter- 
 tainment in the travels of a botanist. While 
 we are anxious to form some idea of the coun- 
 try to which the travel. or has carried us, to be 
 made acquainted with the nature of the soil 
 and climate, and to hear of the manners, cus- 
 toms, language, laws, an'l religion of the na- 
 tives, the itinerant is in raptures at the dis- 
 covery of a new species of convolvulus ; and 
 were heaven and earth to be shaken, he will 
 not be disturbed until this plant shall be tech- 
 nically described in pure Linnean Latin, and 
 have received its distinctive appellation, gram- 
 hrohslschnuckinna from the learned author's 
 much honored friend, Dr. Groinbrobstschmuck, 
 professor of botany in the university of Gro- 
 geuhogen. 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 some- 
 times we are not altogether disappointed, but 
 w« are in continual danger of having our en- 
 tertainment interrupted by the shape of a leaf, 
 or the flowering of a shrub. 
 
 Naturalists, who have become habitually 
 attentive to the minute wonders of creation, 
 are insufferably tiresome when they find a 
 variety of woodlice, caterpillars, or grasshop- 
 pers: man and his operations, must remain 
 unnoticed while their attention is engrossed 
 by the proboscis of an insect. 
 
 There are other travellers who are much 
 too fortunate in finding curious shells, beauti- 
 ful 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 rather too tedious in their disquisi- 
 tions. 
 
 We must however acknowledge that the 
 travels of these gentlemen may be extremely 
 useful ; and are often amusing. We would 
 only remark, that, if they do not travel for the 
 express purpose of making discoveries in their 
 own favorite science, too great a share of their 
 attention is devoted to things which are not 
 interesting to the generality of readers. They 
 neem to forget that all men are not exclusively 
 fond of botany, minRralogy, or the little vvori- 
 ders of nature. 
 
 But most of our late travellers are of a dif- 
 ferent kind from any we have yet described. 
 They forsake their pleasant firesides and other 
 domestic comforts, for the purpose of having a 
 peep at the world. The privations to which 
 they must submit, and the difiicultics they en- 
 counter, make so strong an imjjrcssion on their 
 minds, that we hear of nothing but the bad- 
 nesB of the roads, the inconvenience of their 
 vehicles, and the wretched accommodation at 
 the inns. Their minds are generally so con- 
 tracted by the narrowness of the sphere in 
 which they have hitherto moved, that every 
 thing appears to be wrong which is not con- 
 ducted precisely in the manner they have seen 
 
 it conducted in their native town or village* 
 They make no allowance for the operation of 
 causes with which they have had no oppor- 
 tunity of becoming acquainted ; and they con- 
 demn the necessary result of circumstances as- 
 a departure from the order of nature. 
 
 They always keep an account of their eX' 
 penditures, and make the most pitiful com- 
 plaints 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 I unfolds a fresh scene of distress. There 
 is no fire to be found; the apartments are damp 
 and disagreeable ; the servants are lazy and 
 inattentive. " How different all these," ejacu- 
 lates the miserable traveller, " from the com- 
 forts and conveniences to be found at an Eng- 
 lish inn 1" When dinner appears, he hesitates 
 some time whether to die of hungpr, or to 
 satiate its cravings with the wretched prepara- 
 tion before him ; but, as necessity has no law, 
 he ventures, at last, to come in contact with 
 materials se disgusting to his senses, and ab- 
 horrent to his feelings. He expatiates largely 
 on the poorness of the bread, and pours forth 
 the most piteous lamentations concerning the 
 toughness of tlie goose I 
 
 A late celebrated traveller mourns over his 
 fate in the following manner. When he de- 
 sired to bo shown a place of repose, he was 
 conducted to a chamber that resembled a dun- 
 geon. He lay down on a hard and disagreea- 
 ble bed in hopes of procuring a temporary 
 rest; but, the rushing of rats behind the wain- 
 scot, the obstreperous courtship of cats in an 
 adjoining apartment, the ceaseless crowing of 
 a hanty cock in a neighboring building, and 
 the furious attack of a troop of hungry fleas, 
 frighted away the drowsy god from the eyelid* 
 of the weary guest. 
 
 Such particulars would hardly be tolerated 
 in a private letter to a friend y but become in- 
 sufferable when they occupy the greater part 
 of a book designed for the instruction and 
 amusement of the public Travellers should 
 remember that it is not from any interest we 
 take in their personal concerns, that we are 
 disposed to accompany them through the his- 
 tory of their peregrinations ; 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 countrymen have ever been, 
 and where it is not reasonable to suppose any 
 of tliein ever will be — there is great danger 
 of his meeting with pygmies, giants, and sala- 
 manders. 
 
 From Crito. 
 
 I feel inclined at present, Piomingo, to oflTer 
 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 th« verb, procew/ i
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 61 
 
 it sigfuifies to proceed with some business, or 
 to advance regularly a set of operations. 
 
 It fills up one of those niches in lang^uage 
 which Mr. Walker says should never be empty. 
 The same arguments may certainly be ad- 
 duced in its favor, that the author just men- 
 tioned 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 liave 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 estab- 
 lished, there should always be a verb to cor- 
 respond to it." Again: under the verb /?(7»ff. 
 lize, he observes, " the very general use of 
 this word, especially since the French revolu- 
 tion, seems to entitle it to a place in the dic- 
 tionaries of our language, as it not only more 
 forcibly expresses the common 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'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 argu- 
 ments that may be brought forward in its 
 defence. 
 
 It is found in several English dictionaries : 
 and Dr. Ash, gives Shak.speare as hi.s author- 
 ity." " Doth progress 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 argument against its antiquity; 
 since it must be acknowledged that several 
 words in common use at that time were in- 
 advertently omitted by the greatest of philolo- 
 gists. 
 
 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, goorf; and they contended 
 that poverty, ignominy, and pain were not 
 «»i7s. " Virtue alone," said their founder, " is 
 sufficient to happiness ; and the wise man may 
 enjoy it at all times, be his condition what it 
 may." 
 
 Zeno is said to have died at the age of ninety 
 eight years, having never experienced any 
 sickntss or indisposition whatever. — Had Zeno 
 been the victim of pain, reproach and poverty, 
 would he have taught that these things were 
 
 Bot evils ? 
 
 Piomingo. 
 
 It has been lately asserted that there is no 
 such man as Piomingo in%xistence. Shall we 
 exhibit ourself to the public on some market 
 
 day ? Or what plan shall we adopt to satisfy 
 the world that there is suoh a savage in exis- 
 tence ; 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 convince the 
 most incredulous of the actual existence of 
 the savage, Piomingo. 
 
 We have told our story ; and we are ex- 
 tremely sorry to find that it has not met with 
 universal credence. We shall not repeat it ; 
 but invite those who may be desirous of re- 
 freshing their memories, to turn once more 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 compar- 
 ing 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 paint- 
 ed papers should possess such charms as to 
 be able to captivate all hearts m civilized so- 
 ciety ? Is there some magicaJ influence resi- 
 dent in the paper or coloring which is elicited 
 by the dexterous motions of the players ? Or 
 are we to attribute the power which they pos- 
 sess over the minds of men to some extraneous 
 cause connected with their movements ? 
 
 Being lately in a house where several par- 
 ties were engaged at cards, we observed 
 among the rest an old man, who, from his ap- 
 pearance, must be advancing rapidly to the 
 end of his earthly pilgrimage. Although his 
 hand trembled, we could not bat take notice 
 that he handled the instruments of his amuse- 
 ment with uncommon ease and dexterity. He 
 generally appeared solicitously attentive to the 
 operations in hand until he brought some fa- 
 voritc project to bear, when he would give for 
 a few moments 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 suc- 
 cessful in play, ai)propriated to himself with 
 every appearance of gladness and triumph. If 
 he failed in the contest, we could always dis- 
 cover an air of dissatisfaction in his contenanco 
 which he endeavored vainly to conceal ; but 
 he continually attributed the cause of his 
 failure to something totally independent of 
 himself— the ungenerous play of his antago- 
 nist, or the unskilfulness of his partner. The 
 pleasure of victory did not appear to result 
 wholly from the pecuniary acquisition he had 
 mads ; but to proceed also from the display of
 
 ns THE SAVAGE. 
 
 liis own superiority and the discomfiture of tenances of the plaj'crs. We admired the in- 
 his opponent. pcnuity discovered in the cuttimr of some, and 
 
 Alter the most of the ])I;iyers, weary of the the dexterity displayed in the shuffling of 
 diversion, liad departed, the old man still con- others; but as we had no stake depending, as 
 tinned at the table, holding- the cards in his we felt none of those passions that warmed the 
 hand, as if anxious for a fresh encounter. We breasts of the combatants, in fine, as their 
 approached the veteran gamester, and cndea- pursuits appeared to us childish and contempti- 
 vored to enter into conversation ; but the only ble, we began to be weary of our situation, 
 reply he made to our observations was to de- W^e remembered that we had no business there, 
 mand whether or not we were disposed to take and made haste to leave the assembly. 
 a hand at cards. We assented ; but as our Returning to our lodging at a late hour, we 
 unskilfulness at the game afforded him an sat down to ruminate on what we had seen, 
 easy victory, he soon became dissatisfied, and The pursuits of life appeared to bear a striking 
 signified his inclination to discontinue the resemblance to a party at cards. There is the 
 amusement. We readily acceded : and from same eager anxiety for the success of a favorite 
 this circumstance we drew the conclusion, that scheme ; and the same momentary exultation 
 a great part of his enjoyment proceeded from wi.'on the issue is fortunate. There is the 
 a successful exertion of his powers; and that same restless pii)pensily to enter into a fresh 
 the more arduous the struggle, the greater the contest; and the same marks of anguish and 
 jjratification resulting from the conquest. disappointment when we are vanquished. 
 
 We inquired of the old gentleman if he de- There is the same ambition of displaying our 
 rived much entertainment from cards. " No," powers, the same emulation and strife for su- 
 said he, "not much : they serve to kill time." periority, and the same avaricious inclinations. 
 " Your are not then," wc replied, "solicitous And these passions, increasing with our age 
 for the issue of the game on account of the and infirmities, appear to discover most im- 
 money tJiat is deposited?" "Damn the money I" petnowity near the close of our days, 
 said he, in a passion, " 1 care not for the trash : But what shall we say of the melancholy 
 I play for amusement." "Why then," we observer, who moves from one scene of con- 
 ventured to inquire, " should there be any tcTition to another without finding any thing 
 stake at all, since it is an object beneath your snlficiently attractive to interest his passions or 
 attention ?" " Because," said he, with a su- av»'akcn his anxiety ? What business has he 
 pereilious smile, "there n\ust be something in the world to whom the world is a desert? 
 betted to render the game interestin^p." Here, If the pleasures, pursuits and employments of 
 Bs if ashamed of holding a conversation with a men become insipid riid vain, it is time to quit 
 person so ignorant of Z/'/c as we appeared to be, the stage and give place to others, 
 he turned round to one who had just entered. Oppressed with these disconsolate reflections 
 and began a new game, to kill time — to win we fell asleep in our chair, and found oursclf 
 money — to exercise his powers — and to Iri- in a green field on the banks of the Ohio. It 
 umph over his adversary. was a delightfiil evening; the winds were 
 
 This occurrence led us to reflect that when hushed ; the sun was descending in the west ; 
 we arrive even at the verge of life, time will and the clouds were dyed with crinison and 
 still hang heavy on our hands, since we are gold. The flocks were about to leave their 
 reduced to such miserable expedients to while pasture; the birds were preparing to seek 
 away the lingering hours, and shut out obstru- refuge in the neighboring trees; and millions 
 sive thoughts. We were also led to draw the of insects were enjoying the last beams of the 
 conclusion, that,vvhalevcr incli'iatior. men may departing sun. We were carried from one 
 discover ibr play, there is nothing wi 1 make place to another with a light and easy motion, 
 the game interesting, but the avaricious hope and the tranquillity of nature reigned in our 
 of accumulating money : avariee is the ruling bosom; but our attention was suddenly ar- 
 paasion of civilized man. rested by tiie appearance of a young man on 
 
 While we were occupied with these thoughts, the banks of the river. His visage was pale, 
 afresh multitude had entered the house. Tiiere and his dress disordered. He walked hastily 
 was much bustle and preparation. The tables up and down with an air of distraction, 
 were filled with players. On one side was a While we regarded him with umte astonish- 
 company engaged at loo; on the other was a ment, he exclaimed with a loud voice, "It 
 party at jo/nsf. These [)layed cribhage ; and shall be done!" and plunged headlong into the 
 these eucre ; and here a set of noisy lads were stream. 
 
 engaged at their favorite allfours. At first. It seems as though we were inclined to do a 
 universal anxiety pervaded the assembly ; and good action in our sleep, for we do not remem- 
 the most strenuous exertions for victory were ber that we felt any prudential hesitation at 
 employed by the parlies. But as all could not that moment. Wc rushed into the flood and 
 conquer, suddenly our cars were saluted with bore him to the shore. He lay some time ap- 
 shouts of exultation from some, and curses of parently lifeless. The water gushed from his 
 disappointment from others. We went from mouth and nostrils. He opened his eyes, and 
 one table to the other, and contemplated the regarding us with a look of despair and re- 
 yarioHS emotions "that were visible in the coun- proach, he exclaimed, "The struggle was past'.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 63 
 
 1 had vanquished my adversary — and now 
 again I must endure the fever of life ; again I 
 must taste the bitterness of death — you arc also 
 my enemy !" 
 
 Wc attempted to speak ; but he would not 
 hear us. He stood up and compelled us to be 
 silent. 
 
 " My name has perished. I am sick of my 
 existence. Why would you save him who is 
 determined to die ? You are also my enemy I 
 
 I iiave tasted the pleasures of life; but I have 
 found tiicm bitter. I was warm in friendship 
 and enthusiastic in love; but my friends were 
 perfidious, and my n)istress was false. 
 
 I engdg-ed in the [)ursuils of the world; but I 
 was not possessed of cnnnin'.', duplicity, ser- 
 vility, and meanness ; — my attempt was un- 
 successful. 
 
 I said, I will be as a stranger on the earth. 
 I will draw amusement from the |)iirsuits of 
 these mortals that surround me ; but tlieir vice 
 was offensive, and their follies disgusting. 
 
 When the trumpet of fame no longer is 
 heard ; when honor and glory no longer call ; 
 when friendship no longer deludes ; v^hcn 
 passion no longer impels ; when the sunrshine 
 of hope has ceased to illumine our footsteps; 
 what then ? — It is time to die. 
 
 Hark ! I hear even now, through the gath- 
 ering gloom of night, the still small voice 
 which the prophet heard in the wilderness, 
 What dost thou here Elijah? — I do nothing 
 here : I must be gone." So saying, he darted 
 into the flood ; and we saw him no more. 
 
 It had become dark ; the cold winds rushed 
 along the face of the stream ; and the chill 
 damps of the night overcame us. 
 
 Wc awoke; our fire had burned down; the 
 candle had sunk into the socket ; the watch- 
 man was proclaiming '' half past two o'clock ;" 
 and we hastened to our bed, repeating "Thank 
 God, 'twas but a dream !" 
 
 The Savage at the Theatre. 
 
 When we first arrived in this city, we pro- 
 mised ourself uncommon delight from theatri- 
 cal representations ; but we must acknowledge 
 that we were rather disappointed in our ex. 
 pect.ation. The illusion was not so complete 
 as we had fancied it would be ; and we gene- 
 rally left the performance dissatisfied. From 
 these and other considerations it has so happen- 
 ed that we have been rather an unfrequcnt atten- 
 dant at the theatre ; but have occasionally ap- 
 peared there, either from the impulse of the 
 moment, the character of the play, or the fame 
 of the actor. 
 
 On a late occasion we were drawn to the 
 house by the fame of master Payne and the 
 long established celebrity of Hamlet, prince of 
 Denmark. The place was uncommonly crowd- 
 ed ; and it was with no little difficulty that we 
 were enabled to get a view of the perfor- 
 mance. 
 
 " This then is master Payne, the idol of the 
 moment, whom it is fashionable to commend, 
 
 and heresy to condemn, How long will he 
 be distinguished by the breath of public ap- 
 plause ? How long will he delight the world 
 with his talents before some new wonder will 
 arise to supersede him ?" 
 
 Such were our thoughts. We were how- 
 ever pleased with his easy carriage and "race- 
 ful movements. He has imitated successfully 
 the attitudes and gestures of his predecessors 
 on the stage ; and will no doubt become, if 
 the public will permit him, an actor of emi- 
 nence. 
 
 It is vain to look for originality in a per- 
 former, since every thing is conducted by rule. 
 The audience would not tolerate a departure 
 from any of those postures and evolutions 
 sanctified by custom and become necessary to 
 their entertainment. They are pleased with 
 the recurrence of those objects which habit has 
 rendered familiar, and would complain of their 
 omission as a daring and useless mnovation. 
 
 The position taken by Hamlet at the first 
 appear-mceof the ghost struck us as unnatural 
 and painful, but there may be some theiitrical 
 propriety in it of which we can form no idea, 
 therefore wc shall pass it by without further 
 observation. Hamlet h:id come with the ex- 
 press purpose of seeing and accosting the spirit; 
 his mind was agitated by a variety of emotions, 
 and worked up to a state of preternatural 
 energy ; why then should an actor, in this 
 part, endeavor to exhibit the awkward amaze- 
 ment of a clown who sees a white horse graz- 
 ing in a country churchyard ? 
 
 The sentiments, given to Hamlet by the 
 author, discover dignity of soul, resolution of 
 mind, and contempt of death. Ought not 
 something of all this to appear in his deport- 
 ment t 
 
 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 thmg immortal as ilself. 
 
 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 r am call'd ; — unhand me gentlemen — 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me: 
 I say, away : — Goon, — 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 entertained with that 
 hopping sliding fantastic move7nent\v\i\\ which 
 Hamlet has danced after the ghost for ages ? 
 The play would be ruined by such savage in- 
 novations ! 
 
 It is probable this dramatic caper may be 
 traced back to Garrick or some other hero of 
 the stage ; but we will give our silvermounted 
 tobacco pipe to any Thespian critic who will 
 convince us of its propriety, or show any good 
 reason for its longer continuance.
 
 04 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 In our opinion, the character of Polonius 
 was well supported ; but the multitude are ever 
 disposed to l.iugh when Mr. Jefferson ;ippears, 
 •whether what he may have to deliver be cal- 
 culated to excite merriment or otherwise, 
 
 Ophelia was intercstinjr. We were more 
 than satisfied with the pertbrmance of Mrs. 
 Wilmof; but when she approached her brother, 
 saying " I would give you some violets; but 
 they witiiered all, when my fatlier dii;d" — we 
 forgot the theatre, the play, and every thing, 
 but the sorrows of Ophelia. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XII. 
 
 Conunerce. 
 
 In our last nnniber we took some notice of 
 the effects of commerce. We showed, in our 
 opinion, clearly that it has a tendency to 
 weaken local partialities, eradicate salutary 
 prejudices, and render every thing contempti- 
 ble in the eyes of men hut the acquisition of 
 riches. We showed that the generous feelings 
 of patriotism were incompatible with the in- 
 terests and pursuits of a merchant ; and that 
 the laws, religion, and manners of any par- 
 ticular nation must lose all their influence over 
 the mind of him who no longer considers his 
 interest as identified with the welfare of that 
 nation. If therefore we value the advantages 
 that result from local institutions, how should 
 we be a friend to commerce? 
 
 All the world know that nothing promotes 
 individual wealth with such astonishing rapi- 
 dity as commerce ; and we have heretofore 
 shown the consequences that inevitably 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 establish, in the first place, certain funda- 
 mental 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 con- 
 clusive arguments drawn from general princi- 
 ples, there seems to be no occasion to draw 
 additional aid from adventitious considerations. 
 When :e 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 effects of commerce upon 
 the morals and happiness of society, and upm 
 the vigor and prosperity of nations. We might 
 easily point out the virtues and energies of 
 kingdoms and republics while separated from 
 the world and under the influence of their local 
 institutions, and aP.erwards mark their profli- 
 gacy and degeneracy when commerce had 
 made them acquainted with the luxuries, vices, 
 and refinements of the world. There is no 
 period of ancient or modern history from which 
 
 wc could not bring examples to illustrate and 
 confirm our opinions. If we should be told of 
 the superstitions and crimes which sometimes 
 darken and deform the history of isolated na- 
 ti"ns, we might reply that these are not the 
 necessary resultof their situation ; but, admit- 
 ting the worst, how much more desirable their 
 condition thyn that of nations brutalized by 
 the sorceries of commerce ? 
 
 But if it be said that commerce increases 
 the wealth and contributes to the prosperity of 
 a nation, we are at liberty to inquire in what 
 manner tiiis is effected. Does it increase the 
 number of virtuous and loyal citizens attached 
 to their country and devoted to its interests ? 
 Or are we to suppose that it enriches the nation 
 by increasing the wealth of a few individuals? 
 Will the nation be great and happy because 
 " merchants become princes" surrounded by 
 crowds of menials and mercenary dependents? 
 Does the nation become powerful because its 
 citizens are continually subjected more and 
 more to the influence of men who are destitute 
 of local attachments ? [To be continued. 
 
 December 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. Al- 
 though this is a christian festival, 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 without your having any know- 
 ledge 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 who are not yet 
 too wise to be happy. There, Piomingo, 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, I 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 relieion 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 per- 
 formed in their boyish days. The young as- 
 semble to dance 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? 
 I shall be under the necessity of describing it; 
 for how should a savage like you know any 
 thing about a barring-out? 
 
 Know then, O thou unideaed 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
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 6ft 
 
 harring-otit their sehoolmasters some days 
 previous to the Christmas festival. 
 
 They repair to the schoolhouse 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 tlieir tyrant with heroic 
 resolution. 
 
 The dreaded hour arrives. The pedagogue 
 appears with his usual importance ; and, per- 
 ceiving the rebellious disposition evinced by 
 his subjects, demands admittance with a voice 
 of thunder. He is repulsed. He assumes the 
 most terrific countenance, and threatens de- 
 struction to every one who shall persist in 
 opposition to the commands of the sovereign. 
 
 Finding menaces ineffectual, he has recourse 
 to entreaty ; and endeavors to gain admittance 
 by stratagem. The rebels are not to be thrown 
 off their guard by specious pretences and pro- 
 fessions of amity. He endeavors to force an 
 entrance by the door and by the windows ; 
 but being foiled in every attempt, he retreats 
 to the coHntry, and soon raises a posse of fif- 
 teen or twenty young men to assist him in re- 
 conquering his dominions. 
 
 They approach the fort, armed with cudgels, 
 in military 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 ans- 
 wered by a resolute refusal ; and an instant 
 assault is the consequence. 
 
 The assailants attack the door with battering 
 engines, and storm the windows with impetu- 
 ous fury. But showers of fire, stones, brick, 
 bats, 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 renew the attack with redoubled resolu- 
 tion. Scaling ladders are applied to the walls ; 
 and they mount on the top of the building. 
 They tear up the roof, and, throwing 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 peril- 
 ous situation. 
 
 Worsted in this second attempt, they recede 
 to a respectful 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 string 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 bellige- 
 rents, from various considerations not neces- 
 sary to be mentioned, begin to be disposed for 
 
 an accommodation. Articles of capitulation 
 are drawn up, and signed by the parties. The 
 rebels engage to return to their allegiance ; 
 and the teacher to grant them a specified num- 
 ber of Christmas holidays, that they may visit 
 their relations, and make merry with their 
 companions. The aflfair is concluded by a 
 plentiful dinner in the schoolhouse. All is 
 harmony. 
 
 What do you think of a barring-oat ? Is it 
 not a most animating conflict? The very 
 image of war, nay sometimes war itself; fori 
 forgot to tell you that occasionally the peda- 
 gogue's party proves victorious. The van- 
 quished boys return to their books with shame 
 and confusion; and are no longer cheered 
 with the prospect of mirth and festivity. 
 
 Upon looking over what I have written, I 
 
 think Shall I tell you what I think, Pio- 
 
 mingo? I think — but I am afi-aid you will 
 make some satirical observation on my vanity 
 and presumption. However, out it must come. 
 I think I have a wonderful talent for composi- 
 tion. I should excel in the description of bat- 
 tles. 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 a name, 
 Piomingo. 
 
 This is Christmas. You must be merry if 
 you can. We cannot treat you with a death 
 song, a war dance, or a feast of new corn, 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. I 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 comsiderable amusement from 
 the perusal of the foregoing letter, we con- 
 cluded that it might afford a momentary en. 
 tertainment 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 readers. We would not however advise 
 Rattle to write an epic poem on the subject, 
 for several reasons. As he himself justly re- 
 marks, it would be almost impossible to find a 
 sesquipedalian title : Barringoutiad, though a 
 highsounding word, is too ignoble in its origin 
 to answer the purpose. The subject itself does 
 not appear to possess sufficient dignity for an 
 epopea ; and it would require, we are afraid, 
 more genius than our friend possesses to intro- 
 duce 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 remembered 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 exploits 
 of the gods, calculates with philosophic eool-
 
 66 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ne*i what may be 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 rejoicing, 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, culculation, anxiety ; we 
 hdve not time to be happy. 
 
 Education. 
 
 Nothing is equally important, yet nothing so 
 universally neglected as education. The biisi- 
 ness of enlightening the understandings, and 
 forming the minds of youth is accounted a 
 ■ervile and low occupation, and consequently 
 fells into the hands of those who are utterly in- 
 capable of fulfilling the t^sk. 
 
 The most important part of education is not 
 to communicate knowledge, but to form the 
 mind and giv a salutary direction to those 
 constitutional impulses or innate propensities 
 which are discoverable in childhood and de- 
 veloped in youth. If these be neglected, all is 
 neglected : and the happiness of millions is 
 left to the guidance of chance. 
 
 But the fact is this : education begins much 
 sooner than is generally supposed. The tern- 
 per is formed and the character settled, before 
 the child is committed to the care of a teacher ; 
 and the only thing that can be expected from 
 him is instruction in a few dry elements of 
 science, which may qualify the pupil to make 
 his way in the world. The greater share of 
 education therefore, falls to the lot of the pa. 
 rents : and they are miserably quii lifted for the 
 important office. They permit vicious hi-.bits 
 to take deep root in the infant mind, but pro- 
 mise to eradicate them when the child shall 
 become sufficiently intelligent to understand 
 the design of correction ! What deplorable 
 infatuation ! Is it not much easier t(j prevent 
 the formation of evil dispositions than to de- 
 itroy them after they are formed ? Is it not 
 much easier to oppose the ingress of vice than 
 to eject it after it has entered and foitified itself 
 in the citadel? Shall the husbandman permit 
 noxious plants and weeds of every desceiption 
 to spring up and flourish in his fields, for the 
 purpose of destroying 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 hiis com- 
 mitted 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 patent I When 
 the period iirrivas to which ycu 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 render yourself accountable, to the au- 
 thor ot 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 management,the mind 
 might be inclined to the practice of virtue,and 
 the necessity of correction prevented ; but if 
 evil propensities appear, let tiiem receive im- 
 mediate attention : every moment of delay will 
 increase the difficulty of the task, and lessen 
 the probability of its accomplishment. 
 
 Another great error \n education is the prac 
 lice of indulging every childish whim and 
 gratifying every capricious inclination. 
 
 "Wliy, what would the savage advise? 
 Would he have us to turn tyrants, and deprive 
 our children of the innocent amusements and 
 recreations of youth ?" By no means, madam ; 
 that is not our intention. We would have you 
 encourage, direct, and partake of their amuse, 
 ments : you cannot be mor<. usefully employed. 
 You will thus have an opportunity to cherish 
 every virtuous emotion, encourage every dawn- 
 ing of honorable ambition, and suppress the 
 first rising of inordinate desires. 
 
 " But the dear little things are too young to 
 encounter opposition. When they have ac 
 quired 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 indulge them at present in all their un. 
 reasonable caprices? The time must come 
 when you will find it impossible to gratify all 
 their inclinations : and after their passions 
 have become headstrong and their tempers 
 violent by injudicious compliances, they will 
 not be disposed to attend to your admonitions 
 or submit to the rigor of your discipline. How 
 much better to habituate their minds to the 
 necessary restraints, and prepare them for the 
 difficulties and misfortunes of life ? The yoke 
 sits easy on the neck which has been long ac- 
 customed to bear it. 
 
 Nothing is more desirable than strength of 
 mind. VVe have many evils to encounter in 
 oar journey through life. We have need of 
 perseverance to enable us to surmount difficul- 
 ties, and of fortitude to bear unaviodable afflic- 
 tions. The world is not a paradise created for 
 our use, and subjected to our wishes : those 
 therefore, wlio study the happiness of their 
 children, should let them feel from the begin- 
 ning the necessity of commanding their pas- 
 sions, .tnd restraining their desires. 
 
 But : Ithough the greatest and most impor- 
 tant purt of education falls to the management 
 of parents, yet much might sometimes be done 
 by judicious teachers in giving a salutary di- 
 rection to those impulses of genius and open- 
 ings ofcharacter which are discoverable among 
 boys at places of public instruction. For al-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 67 
 
 though we have given it as our opinion, that 
 man is the creature of education, yet we be- 
 lieve that there are certain constitutional dispo. 
 aitions in every child which may be noted by 
 an accurate observer ; and these ought to re- 
 ceive the earliest attention from every one who 
 is entrusted with the management of youth. 
 
 Some are naturally ardent, enterprisinir, 
 ambitious; others cold, unaspiring, phlegmutij. 
 Some are sanguine, fearless, resolute ; others 
 timid, backward, and prone to despond. Some 
 are remarkable for their ardent thirst for ad- 
 miration, and fear of every species of reproiich ; 
 while others appear alike insensible of praise 
 and condemnation. 
 
 But all these things are unnoticed by (he 
 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 
 emoluments. 
 
 Young Ardent was a boy of the most sliin- 
 ing abilities ; but he was ambitious of being 
 distinguished above his fellows in every under- 
 taking. Conscious of deserving applause for 
 his literary performances, he was indignant 
 at the preference given toothers every way his 
 inferiors. Disappointed of the distinction he 
 merited by his laudable exertions, he deter- 
 mined to seek for another species of pre-emi- 
 nence. He became a projector of misciiief, a 
 leader of riots, and was continually engaged in 
 some conspiracy against the good order of the 
 seminary. Ardent was expelled. He engaged 
 in a career of dissipation and extravagance. 
 Supported by his fortune and admired (or 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 asso- 
 ciates were artful time-serving parasites. They 
 fed him with adulation till his funds were ex- 
 hausted ; — 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 liad recourse to the intoxicating bowl. — 
 Why should we mention the sequel ? He fell 
 a vidim 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 be- 
 come an ornament to 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 in- 
 fancy.,: to the weakness of his father and the 
 foolish indulgence of his mother. 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 rigorous severity. In fine, to 
 all those who neglected to give the proper di- 
 lection to bis aspiring disposition. 
 
 Mother Wit. 
 
 By this homely appellation we wish to de* 
 signate that natural superiority of intellect 
 which some men possess over others. 
 
 It is the gift of nature, and cannot be in- 
 fused by education, or acquired by the perse- 
 vering exertions oi industry. It is often dis- 
 coverable in men the most uninformed and 
 illiterate ; and its absence may be perceived in 
 others who have received the most finished 
 education, and whose minds are stored with 
 the greatest varietv of scicntifical information. 
 It IS generally teimedg'^od na ural sense ; but 
 is altogether diflTerent from that quickness of 
 intellect usually denom'inatr-d wit. It appears 
 to have no conii' ction with cunning and dupli- 
 city, but is ino>tly accompanied by sincerity 
 and candor. It always preserves its possessor 
 from making a ridiculous display of his literary 
 acquirements, and never fails to observe the 
 first appearance of pedantry in others. 
 
 There are whom Heaven has blessed with store 
 
 of wit, 
 Who want as much again to govern it. 
 
 VVhatever may be meant by the voit men. 
 tiwned in the first line of this couplet, the iAing' 
 said to be wanting is the subject of our pre- 
 sent remarks. 
 
 Little Vivid is remarkable for saying good 
 things and making lively observations. He 
 knows a hundred curious anecdotes, and tells 
 a most excellent story. Yet an accurate ob- 
 server may immediately perceive that there is 
 somethinq: wanting in Vivid. His good things 
 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 in- 
 formation. There is scarcely any subject but 
 he is capable of treating with ingenuity, and 
 illustrating by appropriate passages from his- 
 tory both ancient and modern. But there is 
 no end to his discussions. The auditors, who 
 attend at first with delight to his masterly dis- 
 quisitions, at length become weary, and ex- 
 hibit indications of inattention and lassitude; 
 but Prolix perceives it not He continues his 
 harangue 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 character, but highly re- 
 spected for his literary acquirements. He 
 was distinguished by his propensity for mathe- 
 matical studies as well as his love for the reli- 
 gion of Christ ; and never appeared so happy 
 as when engaged in theological disputes, or 
 employed in the solution of algebraical pro- 
 blems. Yet we have known a contemptible 
 and ignorant coxcomb, who had nothing hurt 
 money and impudence to recommend him, t«
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 set this worthy maa in a ridiculous ligfht before 
 a numerous assembly. This animal would 
 put on a grave face, and accost tiie doctor con- 
 cerning justification by faith, or the intrinsic 
 merit of good works, appearing, at the same 
 time, inclined to favor certain heretical opin- 
 ions. The doctor would answer with a warmth 
 corresponding to the importance of the subject. 
 Mr. Flippant would start objections, which 
 would be answered; express doubts, which 
 would be removed ; desire information con- 
 cerning interesting particulars,vvhich would be 
 granted. 
 
 The whole company perceived the inten- 
 tions of Mr. Flippant to quiz the parson ; every 
 ODe smiled and partook of the sport. The 
 doctor saw it not. He was a learned man ; 
 but there was something wanting, which his 
 theological knowledge and mathematical acute- 
 ness could never supply. 
 
 O" We are sorry to disoblige our corres- 
 pendent S; but we are under the necessity of 
 refusing admission to his verses. 
 
 We readily agree that some of the lines are 
 " tolerable ;" but we have not yet forgotten the 
 assertion of Horace : 
 
 Mediocribus esse poetis 
 
 Non homines, non dii, non conceasere columnffi. 
 
 The versification is not inharmonious; but if 
 S mean to become a votary of the muses, he 
 must be more particular in the selection of his 
 rhymes ; " swain" and " raan" appear to have 
 little similarity of sound. 
 
 Poets of an inferior rank ought to pay great 
 attention to this point ; as the principal merit 
 of their verses consists in smooth numbers 
 and a jingling close. 
 
 THE SAVAGE— NO. XIII. 
 
 Manufactories. 
 
 Nothing hastens more rapidly the progress 
 of civilization than the establishment of manu- 
 factories. They elevate, exercise, and enlighten 
 the " directing mind," which oversees the 
 whole and regulates the complicated move- 
 ments, but sink and degrade the actual manu- 
 facturer into a necessary piece of machinery. 
 
 There must be but one mind in a manufac- 
 tory. If any subaltern operator be capable of 
 thought, it must lie dormant, and ere long be- 
 come torpid : for how can any faculty subsist 
 in vigor which is never called into motion, or 
 exercised in the sphere for which it was de- 
 signed ? The same operatidhs 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 the capacity of per- 
 ceiving, reflecting, reasoning, forming a judg- 
 ment, and acting in consequence of his judg- 
 ment when formed ; but, if he be not master 
 •f his own actions, there is no necessity for 
 
 his forming a judgment, reasoning, or exercis- 
 ing any of the powers of his mind : he feels 
 the influence of the soul of tfie machinery 
 which impels him to action, in the same man- 
 ner that the wheel feels the impulse of the 
 water or the force of the steam. 
 
 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 confined 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 to 
 the human frame ; as some parts receive more 
 than their due proportion of exercise, and 
 others are not exercised at all. We have no 
 intention of dilating at present on the conse- 
 quences of large manufacturing establishments 
 upon the health of the laborers : we merely 
 mention this circumstance, as it appears inti- 
 mately connected with our foregoing observa- 
 tions. 
 
 Before manufactories can be established to 
 advantage, civilization must have made con- 
 siderable advancement : there must be a dis- 
 parity of ranks ; there must be luxury and 
 poverty, masters and slaves. Luxury is ne- 
 cessary to create a demand for the articles 
 manufactured ; and poverty is necessary to 
 qualify laborers for the employment. But when 
 manufactories are once fairly established, they 
 will support themselves, and help along won- 
 derfully 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 
 themseles from their degraded situation. They 
 are habituated to their employment, and dis- 
 qualified for other occupations ; their master 
 becomes rich and conspquently powerful ; his 
 ascendancy over them continually increases ; 
 their children are brought up to the same oc- 
 cupation ; the price of labor is gradually di- 
 minished ; and every spark of independence is 
 extinguished in their bosoms. 
 
 In any of those trades which can be carried 
 on by one man, the journeyman may hope,that 
 through his persevering exertions, the time 
 may come when he shall be able to set up for 
 himself: and this hope acts as a spur to his 
 industry, and keeps alive the vigor and inde- 
 pendence of his mind; but in a great manu- 
 factory, the laborer is only qualified to be what 
 he is — a part of the machinery : he is incapa- 
 ble of managing the whole ; and if he were, ha 
 can never hope to accumulate the sum neces- 
 sary for a stupendous establishment. 
 
 The thing most to be lamented is the dis- 
 qualifying nature of these employmente,whict»
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 incapacitate men for any of the common pur- 
 suits of life ; and if any unfortunate casualty 
 should destroy those establishments that afford 
 them a subsistence, they become a burthen to 
 the community and a terror to society in gene- 
 ral. 
 
 It ought to be the great care of a republican 
 government (if indeed it be possible for a re- 
 publican government to subsist for any length 
 of time among civilized men) to preserve 
 equality among its citizens ; but the establish- 
 ment of manufactories has a direct tendency 
 to destroy every trace of equality and extend 
 the influence of one opulent man over hundreds 
 of those who are poor. Now, if the men sub- 
 ject to this influence be deprived of the right 
 of suffrage, it follows thai a multitude are de- 
 graded from the rank of citizens, and are no 
 longer suffered to participate in the government 
 of their country. Would not this be prepos- 
 terous in a representative democracy ? But if 
 they be not deprived of the right of suffrage, 
 the consequence is still more unfortunate. 
 For their votes are the votes of their opulent 
 employer : and the government becomes an 
 aristocracy the most odious — the aristocracy 
 of wealth. 
 
 A. despotic prince acts wisely when he ex- 
 tends the commerce of the nation, establishes 
 manufactories, and encourages every institu- 
 tion that he conceives will have a tendency to 
 produce inequality among his subjects ; be- 
 cause his throne is supported by the attach- 
 ment of those who have extended their power 
 over the inferior ranks of society, and conse- 
 quently are friendly to existing establishments; 
 but a government designed for the good of the 
 community in general, when it directs its in- 
 tention exclusively to those objects, is acting 
 directly contrary to the end of its institution. 
 On the contrary all its laws and regulations 
 should be calculated, as much as possible, to 
 produce and preserve equality among the citi- 
 zens, and to prevent any man or set of men 
 from acquiring and exercising power over 
 others. [To be continued. 
 
 Punctuation: from Ciito. 
 
 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 semi- 
 colon : here you must pause till you could 
 count one, two. This is a colon, &c." Now 
 if this nonsense were confined to the vulgar, 
 and to the select academies of illiterate peda- 
 gogues, it would not excite so much surprise ; 
 but when such absurdities are gravely laid 
 doWm by the compilers of dictionaries and 
 grammars, 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 connection with pauses in speakinc or 
 in reading. No good reader was ever reo^u- 
 lated 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 with- 
 out any regard to the place where the comma 
 or semicolon occurred. It is granted that the 
 rending pause frequently is placed where the 
 character used in pointing occurs ; but as this 
 concurrence is by no means necessary, these 
 characters can never serve as marks to point 
 out the place of pausing. 
 
 Colloquial and reading pauses are perfectly 
 similar ; yet we have no commas, simicolons, 
 colons, and periods, to direct us where to make 
 pauses in speaking : nor are they necessary ; 
 as it is to be presumed that we understand 
 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 Latin languages, the corresponding 
 terminations of the several parts of speech 
 would, for the most part, prevent ambiguity 
 and indicate the meaning of the writer. Those, 
 however, who construct sentences in the 
 modern languages, find punctuation absolutely 
 necessary to point out those relations which 
 subsist between qualities and substantives, at- 
 tributives and verbs : and this necessity arises 
 from the multiplicity and irregularity of our 
 terminations. 
 
 Whoever considers this subject with accu- 
 racy 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 arc 
 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 present 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 attamed by merely consulting the rules 
 that are laid down in grammars and dictiona- 
 ries. Hence it frequently happens that men, 
 who can speak and write with facilitv, are 
 nevertheless tt^ally ignorant of an art neces- 
 sary to be known by every one who has occa- 
 sion to write a letter to his friend. 
 
 Every gentleman, who presumes to write 
 for the press, should certainly be capable of 
 pointing his productions with accuracy and 
 taste ; yet this is seldom the case. They say 
 they are in the habit o? submitting these little 
 things to the printers. The writer of this 
 article knows that such is their practice : and
 
 ro 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 a judicious one it is; for, printers in general 
 can point more correctly than those learned 
 and intrenious writers who enlighten the world 
 with their luminous productions. 
 
 But are authors aware of the importance of 
 this little thing which they suhmit to the dis- 
 cretion of the printers V — Before a man can 
 point a work judiciously, he must be perfectly 
 master of the subject and enter fully into the 
 meaniris^ of every sentence. Now, who can 
 know the intention of the writer, but the writer 
 himself? How can a printer understand an 
 autlior's manuscript (scrawled as it usually is) 
 without the assistance of those helps which 
 punctuation itseU is designed to atford ? If a 
 printed book be enigmatical when incorrectly 
 pointed, how is a manuscript to be deciphered, 
 and its meaning extracted by a printer ? And, 
 finnlly, is it reasonable to expect that a printer 
 should be able to understand every abstruse 
 and scientifical subject that may fall into his 
 hands ? 
 
 I will conclude my remarks with mentioning 
 an incident that just now occurs to my mem- 
 ory : Boswell represents Doctor Johnson as 
 lauu-liiiig heartily at a noble authorls ignorance 
 of the art of punctuution. "Lord Lyttelton 
 Was thirty years in preparing his History; and 
 he employed a m:in 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 unac- 
 countably disappointed. 
 
 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 excursion ; but if 
 they go out in pursuit of entertainment, novel 
 appearances and unexpected incidents are ne- 
 cessary in order to awaken those pleasurable 
 emotions which tiiey hope to experience. Now, 
 •when w-e 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 
 siiall have brick houses on the right hand and 
 brick houses on the left ; and tliat we shall 
 encounter a multitude of people 'black brown 
 and fiir' all in pursuit of their various avoca- 
 tions : what entertainment can be expected 
 from this dull regularity and insipid uniformity 
 of appearances? And if the walk itself afford 
 so little amusement, how cau^ve hope to ren- 
 tier a history of that walk interesting to our 
 readers ? 
 
 It may be observed, in answer to the fore- 
 •going questions, that there is one advantage 
 which may always be expected from walking, 
 unless lost tlirough the indolence of the walker: 
 if we march up one street and down another 
 until we be completely fatigued, rest will be- 
 come agreeable. Hence it follows that a posi- 
 
 tive pleasure has resulted from the walk, al- 
 though it may not have been attended with 
 any interesting occurrences. And something 
 of this Hiituru may also happen to the reader 
 wlio sliall talic the trouble to peruse the fol- 
 lowing fifoduction : if he read with the fond 
 expectation of amusement, and find himself at 
 the last distippointed, he may notwithstanding 
 have the pleasuie of throwing down the paper 
 and bestowing a few curses on our savage 
 dullness and stupidity. 
 
 As we turned round a corner, we encoun- 
 tered Frank Fluent, We have known Frank 
 several years,and are not ignorant of his faults; 
 but there is something so amusing in his ob- 
 servations that we are always rather pleased 
 than otherwise when we partake of his so- 
 ciety. 
 
 Frank, Which way Piomingo ? Have you 
 ventured from your wigwam ? I congratulate 
 you on your civilized appearance. Were it 
 not for that savage wildness in your counte- 
 nance, (of which I am afraid you will never 
 divest yourself) you mijjht pass for a christian. 
 Do you know that I heard a dispute concern- 
 ing you the other day ? 
 
 I'iomingu. Of wiiat nature ? 
 
 Frank. Why thus it happened: I was stand, 
 ing with some gentlemen at the southeast 
 corner of Tiiird and Market streets, when 
 Piomingo marched along on the opposite side. 
 " Who is that wild looking man?" said one. 
 "I cannot tell," said a second; "is he not a 
 Malayan ?" " No," said a third, " I believe 
 he's an Algerine." " An Algerine !" cried the 
 first, " impossible 1 were he an Algerine, he 
 would wear a turban and mustaches. 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 has a damned out- 
 landish 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 
 
 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 con- 
 tended that you must be an emissary of Eng. 
 land: so the discourse became political; and 
 you were forgotten. But, my dear Piomingo, 
 wh^t is the use of walking for ever? Let us 
 make a halt at some of these watering places^ 
 and refresh ourselves. 
 
 Piomingo. How shall we refresh ourselves ? 
 
 Frank. By drinking, smoking, talking, &c. 
 Come along. Are not savages naturally fond 
 of spirituous liquors ? 
 
 Piomingo. No sir: savages arc not naturally 
 fond of spirituous liquors. They drank at firat
 
 THE SAVAGK. 71 
 
 out of mere complaisance to their christian or to write one sentence grammatically in the 
 
 visitants ; but havings onee experienced the ex- lan^uag^e of the country, 
 
 hilarating effects of ardent spirits, many of Pioiningo. You however acknowIed<re that 
 
 them have become addicted to intemperance, there is something else, beside riches, neces- 
 
 They are under great obligation to their civil- sary to his advancement. 
 
 ized neighbors for having made them acquaint- Frank. Wealth is power : but if a man be 
 cd with the pleasures of intoxication. How- an i.Iiot, and make no use of the power he 
 ever, I have no objection 1o follow you into the possesses, he then becomes an instrument in 
 temple of Btcchus and worship the presiding the hands of some one who is more enterpri- 
 divinity, soberly; but I shall endeavor lo sing and ambitious; and that influence, which 
 avoid becoming an enthusiastic devotee in his he has neglected to employ for his own ad- 
 service, vantage, is exerted in favor of another. We 
 
 This house, said Frank as we entered, is sometimes see an indigent man, who has 
 
 frequented by idlers of every description, talents for intrigue, rise rapidly from his ci- 
 
 Here you may be entertained with philoso- ginal insignificance to the most conspicuous 
 
 phical disputes, politic:il discussions, and reli- stations in the community ; but how is this 
 
 gious disquisitions. No subject is too impor- done? He begins by cringing to the opulent 
 
 tint to be agitated over a bowl ; nor is any and is advanced through their instrumen- 
 
 thing too trivial to occupy attention. See, tality. 
 
 here is a company this moment deeply inter Piomingo- Such a man is no demagogue: I 
 
 ested in the politics of the nation : let us sit thouarht it had been necessary, for one who 
 
 down on the opposite side and watch the issue would become eminent, in a democratieal state, 
 
 of the contest. to caress the poor and conciliate the favor of 
 
 Piomingo. I am careless about the issue of the multitude. 
 
 the contest — but who is that corpulent man at Frank. When this man has acquired wealth, 
 
 the end of the table, with the red face and or the appearance of wealth, he then becomes 
 
 enormous belly? a demagogue: he then has power to influence 
 
 Frank. That is Mr, Bluff, a wealthy grazier the people ; whereas, in his original state of 
 
 and a justice of the peace for the county of indigence, had he attempted to practise any 
 
 Philadelphia. demagogical arts, he would have made himself 
 
 Piomingo. I knew he was wealthy, by the ridiculous. 
 
 confidence which appears in his countenance ; Piomingo. Is it, then,necessary that a dema- 
 
 but how does he administer justice 7 is he gogue should be rich ? 
 
 learned in the laws of his country ? Frank. Certainly : a poor man is necessarily 
 
 Frank. I will answer you in the words of dependent on the opulent. Who then can in- 
 
 the son of Sirach : "how should he get wisdom, flucnce his decisions — the man who possesses 
 
 whose talk is of bullocks?" He knuws no power, or he who possesses none ? 
 
 more of the law than I do of Sanserif. Yet Piomingo. It seems to follow from your rea- 
 
 he is not more ignorant than his brother ma- soning that the people, notwithstanding their 
 
 gistrates in general. There is not one in a poverty, arc possessed of the power, since their 
 
 hundred of them who is capable of reading a support is solicited by the rich, 
 
 page of law, even if they thought proper to Frank. The people may choose their leader, 
 
 attempt it. Whenever a man becomes rich but have no power to pursue any plan of their 
 
 and acquires a little influence in his neighbor- own. Have you not demonstrated in one of 
 
 hood, he is immediately created a justice of your Savages, that the indigent man is always 
 
 the peace, without any inquiry being made a slive; though he has sometimes the liberty 
 
 as to his education or abilities, of exchangi-ng one master for another? What 
 
 Piomingo. But I thought that respectable the devil do you mean, Piomingo? do you 
 
 citizens were always selected to fill an office of argue in favor of civilization ? 
 
 such importance to the community, Piomingo. I do not argue: I merely suggest 
 
 Frank. So they are, I assueyou, Piomingo : those obstacles that occur, lest hereafter there 
 
 respectable that is wealthy citizens are always might appear to be some broken links in the 
 
 appointed to this oflace. Yes, yes, they are chain of your reasoning. Do you not allow 
 
 " all, all, respectable men." that rich men are sometimes governed by those 
 
 Piomingo, You do not certainly make those that are not in the possession of riches ? 
 
 two words synonymous ? Frank. Yes, in the same manner that a 
 
 Frank. \Vith us, they are perfectly synony- weak prince is governed by his favorites. 
 
 ™*jP^i«^o. If wealth make a man a justice /'TT; ^^ ""* """l* of your constitution, 
 
 of thi peace, will it not also advance him to a P'°;"^" f^J. P''"""'^ "° ^"P^'^V^ ^r *°7 ^° 
 
 eeat in the legislature ? represented m your legislative assorabhes ? 
 
 Frank. Yes : if the man be possessed of Frank. There are verbal provisions to that 
 
 sufficient cunning to make the most of the effect in some of our written constitutions ; 
 
 means in his possession, he may become a yet it is easy to prove that property, not per- 
 
 eenator without being able to read the consti- sons, is represented in every assembly in the 
 
 tion of the state which he swears to support, United States.
 
 72 
 
 THE SAVAfllE. 
 
 Quid leges sine moribus 
 Vaiite proficiunt. 
 
 Wealth, in the present state of society, exer- 
 cises a sovereign and independent influence 
 and laughs at the laws or constitutions that 
 would circumscribe its power. It may possi- 
 bly be said that, let a man's possessions be -over 
 so great, he has but one vote at an election. 
 But let us consider the subject a little more 
 attentiTely : suppose an opulent man can in- 
 fluence the suS'rages of fifty men on such oc- 
 caeions is not that the same thing in reality as 
 if these votes were given by himself personally? 
 Nothing is more common than to hear politi- 
 cians talk of a man's vote and influence : and 
 the influence, in general, is a matter of much 
 more importance than the vote. Yet, although 
 the ascendancy of wealth is openly avowed,we 
 are told that the voters are perfectly indepen- 
 dent ; 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 ? 
 
 Frank. It is a representative democracy in 
 appearance; but in reality, a representative 
 plutoeracy or government of wealth. 
 
 Piomingo. 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 vilages, 
 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 grogshop, than trust my life to 
 
 beasts 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 ob- 
 serve your red visage and high cheek bones ; 
 when I think of your skulking and howling, 
 your powwows and war dances, and the num- 
 ber 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 that a cunning enter- 
 prising fellow, who is not burthened with 
 much principle or deluded by the bubble ho- 
 nor, may do wonderfully well : by suiting 
 himself to the times and taking advantage of 
 circumstances, he may wriggle into places of 
 importance. Why should I object to the 
 power that is attendant on wealth, when I 
 have a prospect of becoming wealthy myself? 
 Why should I mourn over the miseries or de- 
 fsressdoa of the poor, since I am resolutely de- 
 
 termincd to be numbered with the rich t 
 Then, Piomingo, when I shall be rieh, (let me 
 anticipate the pleasures I shall enjoy) when I 
 shall be rich, my influence shall be exerted, 
 not for the good of my subjects, but for my 
 own individual emolument. I shall be repre- 
 sented in the legislature, or become a legisla- 
 tor myself, and make laws for the security of 
 property. 
 
 Piomingo. Who is that tall pale man who 
 rails so violently against jacobins and demo- 
 crats ? 
 
 Frank. Why sir, I have the honor to in- 
 form you, that is neighbor Smoothly, a respec- 
 table member of the society of Friends. 
 
 Piomingo. I have frequently heard the word 
 reepectable applied to members of that society. 
 Pray inform rae, are they rich ? 
 
 Frank. Yes. 
 
 Piomingo. But there must of cotirse 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 at- 
 tentive to the necessities of friends, 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 estab- 
 lished 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 excommunication. 
 
 Piomingo. But if a respectable friend should 
 act improperly, will they not also disown him? 
 
 Frank. Why — not so hastily. They will 
 wink at his 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 
 finally compelled (when every hope of refor- 
 mation has vanished) to proceed in the business 
 of disowning the respectable friend. 
 
 Piomingo. Can you assign any reason why 
 this people are so opulent ? 
 
 Frank. It is in a great measure owing to 
 their regular and industrious habits, their 
 avoidance of dissipated pleasures, and their 
 neglect of expensive amusements. They carry 
 an experimental prudence into all the concerns 
 of life, and are seldom led away by any of 
 those visionary speculations which prove so 
 destructive to the bold and enterprising. Their 
 religious principles forbid them to engage in 
 political commotions, or to accept of important 
 situations in the government : consequently 
 their minds arc never distracted by the calls of 
 ambition ; nor is there any thing to divert their 
 attention from the great business of accumula 
 ting riches. What advantage their religion 
 will afford them in the world which is to come, 
 1 cannot tell ; but certain it is, that, in the
 
 THE SAVAGK. 
 
 71 
 
 present state of existence, it has conferred on 
 its votaries favors important and substantial. 
 
 Piomingo. Their simplicity of dress proba- 
 bij contributes to lighten their expenses. 
 
 Frank. I imagine not. Observe neighbor 
 Smoothly's dress : it is composed of the richest 
 materials; and though there appears to be 
 nothing superfluous about him, yet the sum 
 that Nvas 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 
 quakers, at least the female part of them, have 
 hit upon a medium, between flaunting finery 
 and puritanical stiffness, which is exiremely 
 becoming : I never see them returning from 
 their meeting but I think of the simplex mun- 
 ditiis of Horace. 
 
 Piomingo. Females are pleasing, be their 
 dress what it may. 
 
 Frank. What, in brown bonnets, rusty 
 gowns, and dove-colored handkerchiefs I 
 
 Piomingo. I have seen some old gentlemen 
 belonging to this society who, though dressed 
 in the plainest manner, had a truly reverend 
 and patriarchal appearance ; and in their coun- 
 tenances shone such engaging mildness and 
 benigoity that they commanded my love and 
 veneration ; but there is nothing of this kind 
 in Smoothly. I discover, in his countenance, 
 an ostentatious humility and spiritual pride 
 totally at variance witii that meekness of spirit 
 and lowliness of mind, which conciliates 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 innovations 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 oppressed and discon'ented; 
 but now " Jeshurun waxeth fat and kicketh." 
 The rich are always averse to innovation. 
 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 ac- 
 knowledge him. They no longer travel from 
 pole to pole to propagate their opinions, or pro- 
 claim from the housetops the glad tidings of 
 salvation. They no longer strive to make 
 converts of kings, or go forth as apostles to re- 
 generate 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 dis- 
 puting in a tavern. As to this gentleman 
 
 personally, thors is a cause for hl« irritation, 
 which he will not acknowledge : a deeply 
 rooted prejudioe in favor of things that have 
 been ; and a warmer attachment to the land 
 of his fathers than is consistent with the alle- 
 giance he owes to the country which affords 
 him protection. 
 
 Piomingo. Are you a democrat 7 
 
 Frank. Pray to him "that giveth under- 
 standing to the simple," Piomingo, lest you 
 be " destroyed for lack of knowledge." You 
 resemble the enlightened citizens of this civil- 
 ized country, who are swayed by watchwords 
 and names without taking the trouble to in- 
 quire into the nature of things. It has at last 
 become impossible to discourse on common 
 occurrences or to make those observations 
 which are naturally occasioned by circum- 
 stances, without causing some wiseacre to de- 
 mand : are you a democrat? are you a fede- 
 ralist ? And then if you cannot or will not 
 say Shibboleth, death is too good for the Eph- 
 raimite. 
 
 Piomingo. I beg your pardon, Frank : I 
 had forgotten you were a plutocrat. I have a 
 few more questions to ask concerning the 
 friends. — The best and wisest pliilosophers of 
 antiquity were remarkable for the plainness 
 and simplicity of their diet ; is it so with the 
 quakers? 
 
 Frank. I think not : no people in existence 
 love more " to eat of the fat and drink of the 
 sweet," than the children of Penn. They are 
 truly learned in the science of eating; and 
 make up by the sumptuousness of their feasts 
 for the absence of other amusements. Should 
 Apicius be told of the luxury of a quaker en- 
 tertainment, he would repine, "not withqut 
 cause, at the malignity of his fate. 
 
 Piomingo. What is the reason that fewer 
 schisms happen among the people of this so- 
 ciety than aiHiong those of other denomina- 
 tions ? 
 
 Frank. That question cannot be answered 
 without bestoAving at the same time the high- 
 est praise on the wisdom of the society. Their 
 bond of union consists only in the practice of 
 the moral duties and certain external obser- 
 vances, which are calculated to distinguish 
 them from the world. They are not fettered 
 down, like other denominations, by iron do9- 
 trines and an adamantine creed, which they 
 are commanded to believe under peril 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 discourse, a 
 quaker audience are satisfied ; whereas a pres- 
 byterian congregation must know that his 
 principles are sound, and that there is nothing 
 rotten in fundajnentals, before they will con- 
 sent to be edified by his labors. 
 
 Piomingo, What do you think of the prin- 
 ciples of the Friends, in relation to war ?
 
 74 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Frank. Howerer agreeable their opinions, 
 on this point, may be to the doctrines of pri- 
 mitive Christianity, they will not suit the pre- 
 sent situation of the world. Could our harm- 
 less sheep graze in safety surrounded by tigers 
 and wolves ? Could the little flock rise up 
 and lie down in peace, while the bloodhounds 
 of war are ranging the fields of creation ? 
 There never wa8,nor never will be, a nation of 
 quakers : they owe their very existence to the 
 protection of government. They will not fight 
 themselves ; but they have no objection that 
 the arm of flesh should be raised in their de- 
 fence. Yet there is no doubt they are aware 
 of their own inconsistency in this particular; 
 as no people are more ready to resent personal 
 insults, or to defend their possessions from ag- 
 gressions of injustice or their houses from the 
 intrusion of robbers. If it be right to repel a 
 personal or family injury, it may certainly be 
 proved, by a parity of reasoning, that it is 
 equally right to oppose those injuries which 
 are offered to the community in general, and 
 to defend the great national family from insult 
 and oppression. If we be justifiable in bolting 
 our doors to prevent the intrusion of thieves, 
 we are likewise justifiable in erecting forts for 
 the protection of our harbors. If we be justi- 
 fiable in throwing a robber headlong from a 
 window,who would rob our house and murder 
 our family, we are equally justifiable in as- 
 sisting to repel an invasion of our country. 
 
 Piomingo. The Friends would probably say, 
 that we may resist if we do not endanger the 
 lives of our opponents. 
 
 Frank. Is not the life of the robber endan- 
 gered, who is thrown from the window ? may 
 not his skull be fractured by the fall ? No 
 such line of distinction can be drawn. We 
 are not accountable for the consequences of a 
 justifiable resistance : that lies at the door of 
 the aggressor. The thing is too plain for ar- 
 gument. Nature has implanted in man a prin- 
 ciple of resentment, which directs him to op- 
 pose 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 my nose, it is morally 
 right to defend myself, ray friend, and my 
 country. 
 
 Piomingo. I have understood that they are 
 not disposed to contribute any thing towards 
 the support of an army. 
 
 Fraiik. They pretend to say that it would 
 be equally as criminal to enable others to fight 
 as to fight themselves ; 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 ar- 
 rangements. But it is not to be supposed that 
 these evils, incurred through their own obsti- 
 nacy, are immediately forgotten. Behold, are 
 they not written in the book of the chronicles 
 of the people called quakers, exhibited at their 
 yearly meetings, and preserved from genera- 
 
 tion to generation as a memorial of the suffer- 
 ings of friends '. I must not, however, forget 
 to mention that many of the more intelligent 
 quakers have recourse to certain ingenious 
 subterfijges to prevent any losses of magni- 
 tude on such occasions. 
 
 Piomingo. Their language is not a little 
 curious : I have never been able to account for 
 the origin of so singular a dialect. 
 
 Frank. I believe I can give you the true 
 cause of its origin and progress : The early 
 quakers, and other puritans, affected to be 
 conscientiously scrupulous of addressing a 
 single person with the pronoun plural " you :" 
 It was a species of lie which they could not 
 reconcile to their conscience ! They were de- 
 ter .Tiined to use, even in the common occur, 
 rences 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 ! although they were favored with the 
 illuminations of the Spirit, they were too igno- 
 rant to distinguish the nominative, from the 
 oblique, case of the pronoun : " thou" and 
 " thee" were therefore used indiscriminately. 
 But it came to pass in process of time, that 
 this daring intriguing insinuating " thee" not 
 only maintained his legitimate rights, but am- 
 bitiously usurped the dominions of his brother. 
 *' Thou" is totally discarded : and a man would 
 be accused of affectation and pedantry, even 
 among quakers, who would attempt to restore 
 the disgraced nominative to its station in the 
 language. Almighty custom has sanctioned 
 the production of ignorance ; and this unpar- 
 alleled corruption has become the language of 
 friends. " How does thee do? If thee 's cold, 
 thee''d better sit down and warm thee-self;" 
 which is just as absurd as to say " Me 's well, 
 me 's cold, and me HI sit dtwn 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 certainly 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 in- 
 form me what is the signification of this revo- 
 lutionary 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 informs us, in every 
 importa»t engagement ; and, if we credit hia
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 75 
 
 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 events of those days in obscurity : and a 
 man may boast, without danger of detection, 
 of 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 revolutionary char- 
 acters, as they are 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 extol their personal 
 prowess over a bowl, and exhibit their revolu- 
 tionary scars in the taverns of Philadelphia? 
 The heroes of independence resemble the heads 
 of tkc serpent of Lerna; when death cuts off 
 one, a hundred spring up in his place. Ob- 
 serve that smiling red-faced self-conceited ani- 
 mal who walks across the floor with an air so 
 important and imposing : that is an Irishman; 
 and an ignorant Irishman. He has no know, 
 ledge of history ; he is totally unacquainted 
 with the affairs of his own country ; and yet, 
 although be has not been six months on this 
 side of the Atlantic, he conceives himself fully 
 able to discuss our political concerns and settle 
 the affairs of the nation. There is no office in 
 the United States but he has the impudence to 
 demand; and his demand, when he thinks 
 proper to make it, will be probably successful. 
 He will grow rich and powerful, and fatten on 
 the gifts of the nation, while the children of 
 revolutionary heroes pine in obscurity and 
 want. It was to provide a coimtry for such 
 fellows as this, that my father shed his blood 
 in the service of the public, and reduced him- 
 self and his family to poverty. Where is he 
 now ? 
 
 Cold is the sod that covers his head ; 
 And sound is the sleep of his tomb ! 
 
 his name is forgotten ; his children are un- 
 known ; and here comes an ignorant coxcomb 
 to gather the fruit of his labor. ' 
 
 Piomingo. Would you prohibit the ingress 
 of foreigners ? 
 
 Frank, No : but I sheuld like a little mod- 
 esty in foreigners. They might live in peace 
 and enjoy the products of their industry ; but 
 I see no necessity for their becoming legisla- 
 tors, or enjoying the emoluments of office, 
 whil^there are thousands of natives fully as 
 capable, and certainly as patriotic, as any in- 
 solent foreigner whatever. 
 
 Piomingo. But if a man of genius fix his 
 residence among you, why should his adopted 
 country be deprived of the advantages that may 
 be derived from the exercise 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 genius must lie in 
 the shade. Is it not preposterous that a man 
 just broke loose from the land of slaves should 
 presume to regulate the affairs of a people who 
 are said to be free ? 
 
 Piomingo. Should they not enjc^ the pri- 
 viliges of citizenship? 
 
 Frank. I think not. Their children might 
 become citizens ; but why should me» born 
 and educated in foreign countries, influenced 
 by extraneous prejudices, and feeling an in- 
 vincible 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 : knowledge may destroy but cannot 
 produce it. And as foreigners never can feel 
 the operation of this prejudice in favor of the 
 adopted country, they cannot be heartily and 
 v»4]olly attached to its interests. The fact is, 
 they never become more than half citizens. 
 After tliey have been here thirty or forty years, 
 you may hear them express their regard for 
 their dear native land^ and call it, with affec- 
 tionate 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 attached to any other country 
 but that which gave him birtli. Piomingo ! 
 can you describe the place of your nativity ? 
 
 Piomingo. On a gentle eminence, near a 
 rapid stream, stood a wattled hut, overshadowed 
 by the branches of a venerable oak. On the 
 right was the distant prospect of an Indian 
 village ; on the lett, a narrow path winding 
 down the hill to the banks of the river. Ma- 
 jestic mountains appeared at a distance. 
 
 Frank, Piomingo ! do you never repeat,with 
 melancholy pleasure. 
 
 En unquam patrios longo post tempore fines. 
 Pauperis et tuguri congestum cespite culmen, 
 Post aliquot, mea regna videns, mirabor aristas? 
 
 Should you return once more after many years' 
 absence and visit the Indian village, the swell- 
 ing hill, the rapid stream, the winding path, 
 the little hut, and the venerable oak, would 
 they not excite a thousand ineffable feelings ? 
 Can you feel the same attachment to any other 
 spot in the univere ? 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 buried.and where 
 your brethren dwell— ceuld you forget all 
 these, and attach yourself, exclusively to any 
 other country and people ? 
 
 Piomingo. May not a man have reason to 
 bate his people and the land of his fathers? 
 
 Prank. A man eannot hate his people and 
 the land of his fathers : it is impossible. If he 
 can, he is utterly incapable of loving any 
 other.
 
 70 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Piomingo. This civilized uproar fatigues 
 me. I must be going. 
 
 Frank. Stay a moment, till I show you 
 another foreigner. We have them of all de- 
 scriptions. That inanimate being- who sits by 
 himself viewing every thing round him with 
 sullen contempt is an Englishman. He has 
 been among us thesa twenty years, but in all 
 that time has fouiid 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 exis- 
 tence. He never can be induced to taste any 
 species of food which is unknown in England : 
 and of those kinds which 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 mar/ 
 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 coun- 
 trymen that the people of Pennsylvania are 
 anthropophagi and blacks. Although he car- 
 ries the marks of stupid vulgarity in his coun- 
 tenance, he affects to despise the Americans as 
 a Bation of rebels, convicts and savages. 
 
 Piomingo. Will he argue on political sub 
 jects ? 
 
 Frank- Argue ! he argues as a dog would 
 argue : he snarls at every thing round him. 
 He abuses our legislative assemblies and curses 
 publicly the officers of government. 
 
 Piomingo. It is magnanimous to overlook 
 these things. 
 
 Frank. I have no opinion of such magna- 
 nimity. Suppose I should go to England and 
 call the virtuous members of parliament rob- 
 bers and villains, and the sapient monar«h a 
 fool ; what would be the consequence ? Why 
 should strangers be allowed greater privileges 
 among us, than the citizens of the United 
 States would be allowed in foreign countries ? 
 
 Piomingo. This is a free country. 
 
 FranL A free country I words without mean- 
 ing ! And because it is a free country, must 
 we allow ourselves to be abased and insulted 
 by every insolent foreigner who lands on our 
 shores ? Suppose yoil had a family, Piomingo, 
 -and I, when admitted as a visiter, should in- 
 ■alt your wife, and curse yourself, the lord and 
 naaster of the little monarchy; suppose I 
 should ridicule your private arrangements, and 
 laugh at your domestic establishment ; or sup- 
 pose, I should finally presume to take in my 
 own tands the rej.ulution of your affairs; 
 would not my conduct be resented ? 
 
 Piomingo. The lawyers tell us, you know, 
 that a man's house is his castle : I should cer- 
 tainly eject yoa from my citadel. 
 
 Frank. And may not Oar tenitories be ac 
 counted the great domicil or castle of the na. 
 
 tion ? Shall the many-headed monster be 
 bearded in his den ? Shall one set of foreign- 
 ers ridicule our laws and regulations, and 
 curse with impunity '' the ruler of the people ;" 
 while another, out of pity to our ignorance, 
 would push us from our scats and take upon 
 themselves the management of our 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 pre- 
 sent, 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 blus- 
 tered about liberty and equality till they set 
 the world in an uproar, and then fell prostrate 
 at the feet of a daring usurper '! I have no 
 patience with the French. They excited our 
 hopes, and plunged us in despair. They have 
 disappointed the philanthropist, brought dis- 
 grace 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, Pio- 
 mingo ? 
 
 Piomiogo. Because you appear to me to be 
 Cdrried away by a frantic enthusiasm, which I 
 should not expect to find in a man who had 
 arrived at 3'ears of maturity : at least, in a 
 man who had made human nature his study, 
 and observed the passions and motives which 
 govern the actions of men. 
 
 Frank. O, I have gotten out of my swad- 
 dling-clothes : but I must acknowledge that in 
 the early period of tire French revolution, I felt 
 my full share of the general enthusiasm,which 
 pervaded the world, and seemed for a season to 
 elevate human nature above every mercenary 
 consideration. 
 
 Piomingo. Did you expect a political millen- 
 nium ? 
 
 Frank. The truth is, I not only expected a 
 political, but a religious, millennium. I thought 
 I saw in passing events the accomplishment 
 of prophecies. I expected political and spiritual 
 regeneration to go hand in hand until all men 
 should become brothers, and justice and peace 
 be established forever. I was ready to exclaim 
 with Virgil. 
 
 Ultima Cumoei venitjam carminis astas: 
 
 Magnus ab integro seclorum nascitur ordo: 
 
 Jam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna : 
 
 Jam nova progenies cceIo demitlitur alto. 
 
 I expected ' the sun of righteousness' to rise 
 upon the earth ; and the clouds of darkness 
 superstition and prejudice 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 be like Eden, and the desert like tho 
 garden of the Lord !" I prayed without ceas- 
 ing for the downfall of pagan, idolatry, popisk
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 77 
 
 superstition, and Jewish infidelity. I read 
 Newton, on tiie prophecies, studied the weeks 
 and times of Daniel ; and meditated profoundly 
 on the heads, horns, trumpets, and vials of the 
 Revelation. I expected every moment to see 
 the heavens opened, and the New Jerusalem 
 descending on the earth ! — But the progress of 
 the French revolution destroyed these gay illu- 
 sions. These enchanting hopes have " passed 
 away as a vision of the night;" and the black- 
 ness of darkness has succeeded. Instead of a 
 new heaven and a new earth, I have nothing 
 to amuse me but this same old dull wicked 
 world. 
 
 Piomingo. I was going' to point out the im- 
 possibility 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 wonders 
 would be effected by supernatural means, my 
 reasoning would not be so applicable to the 
 case as I imagined. 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 maxim of Horace : 
 
 Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus. 
 
 Frank. However lightly you may treat this 
 subject, Piomingo, to me it has been a most 
 serious affair. Nothing agitates the passions 
 of men with so much violence as religion and 
 politics : and when these two, at tiie same 
 time, exert their influence upon a young in- 
 genuous and enthusiiistic mind, the con.«e- 
 quences are marvellous. And wlien the minr], 
 after having been agitated and sublimated by 
 wild undcfinahlc emotions, finds itself among 
 the mire and filth of this sublunary world — 
 how vapid and tasteless is existence ! — But 
 here we are : since nature has made us 
 but men,\vhy shoald we proudly and arrogantly 
 aspire to be gods? Why should we, who 
 grovel upon the earth, raise our daring thoughts 
 to heaven and soar beyond the bounds of crea- 
 tion ? Is it not strange that such worms, as 
 we, should be actuated by passions so strong, 
 ambition so bold, and desires so unbounded ? 
 
 Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia' 
 
 Piomingo. Man is a reptile indeed, and may 
 truly say, with one of your sacicd writers, 
 " to corruption, thou art my father ; and to the 
 worm, thou art my mother and my sister :" 
 but that daring ambition, those ardent p.ssioiis, 
 boundless desires, and aspiring hopes, which 
 excite your admiration, may lead us to look 
 for another scene of existence, when man shall 
 find q|)jects sufficiently noble to exercise the 
 powers of his soul, and satisfy his sublimest 
 aspirations. 
 
 Frank. Such reflections may calm your 
 philosophic mind. Piomingo ; but one who has 
 been taught to expect certainty in these things 
 views your probabilities with impatience. How- 
 ever, I must inform joa that I have nearly 
 
 got rid of these troubIe*eme speculations, 
 which, if indnlged, would unfit a man for the 
 great and important concerns of this momen- 
 tary life. I endeavor to suit ^nyself to the 
 station in which nature has placed me, and to 
 teach my mind to be satisfied with things which 
 are attainable. 
 
 Pio?ningo. You endeavor ? 
 Frank. I must acknowledge it is only an 
 endeavor ; for I continually experience vexa- 
 tions in business, troubles with my nearest 
 connections, disappointments in friendship; 
 -and become more and more convinced of the 
 unsatisfactory nature of every enjoyment. O, 
 for that apathy of soul, that sweet ataraxia, of 
 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." 
 
 Pimningo. 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. So 1 did : I went to our ghostly 
 steward, who furnished us on Sundays with 
 our weekly allowance of spiritual food, and 
 modestly propomided certain queries. 
 
 He was astonished beyond measure that 
 such a one as I should presume to doubt of 
 any of those things which he himself believed. 
 He diliited 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 ; but that my 
 mind was perplexed with doubts, which I was 
 in hopes his superior knowledge would be able 
 to dissipate. I protested that I was devotedly 
 attached to the christian religion ; that I would 
 not tor ten thousand worlds believe it to be a 
 fiction ; and that I came with genuine humil- 
 ity, and in the simplicity of my heart, to ask 
 inform;ition 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 engage in a friendly and 
 familiar discussion of those important points 
 which I had mentioned. 
 
 Piomingo. Well: what reply did he make 
 to this liuiiiLle solicit itioij ? 
 
 Frank. He began a lou:; .md violent decla- 
 mation, something in the manner of a sermon ; 
 he quoted innumerable texts of scripture 
 taking for granted, all along, 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 
 unbelieving sinner. 
 
 Now this might be preaching ; but reason- 
 ing it could not be termed,with any propriety : 
 and, as it was not exactly preaching which I
 
 78 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 was desirous of bearing, I ventured to suggest 
 that I had often heard tlicse things from the 
 pulpit ; and as they had failed to produce con- 
 viction in my mind on those occasions, it wa.s 
 not to be expected that they would have a more 
 decisive effect at present. 
 
 " Do, my dear sir," said I, " consider me, 
 for the present, as a Chinese or Hindoo. What 
 arguments would you use to convince such a 
 one of the truth of the doctrines you teach ?" 
 " It is the hardness and wickedness of your 
 abominable heart," cried he, " that occasions 
 your unbelief: I see you are lost" " My 
 hcirt," said I, innocently, " is not wicked." 
 " You lie !" said he in a fury, " you lie, you 
 reprobate ! your heart is deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately iciclced. 
 
 I was a little abashed, as you may well sup- 
 pose, 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 I" said he, " you are in 
 the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity." 
 
 As I found that no good would spring from 
 this conference, I began to think of taking my 
 leave ; but, being desirous to know of what 
 nature his next argument would be, I added, 
 "When we wish to establish any doctrine" — 
 " Let me have none of your philosophy and 
 vain deceit," 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, which oc- 
 casions your unbelief; you will not believe." 
 " If a man be not able," said 1, " 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 ex- 
 claiming, " Believe or you HI be damned, you 
 villain .' believe or you II he damned .'" 
 
 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 ar- 
 gument that would not be easily answered. 
 
 Piomingo. Had you evgr any further con- 
 versation 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 upon 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 expostulatioa, and 
 
 say " Why sleeps thy thunder ?" He would 
 frequently question his Maker concerning the 
 propriety of showing so much lenity and in- 
 dulgence to the dissolute and profane. — You 
 smile, Piomingo — 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 sancti- 
 fied impertinence or blasphemous impudence 
 he dignified with the appellation of holy bold- 
 ness. He would threaten the Lord — Why do 
 you stare, Piomingo? — absolutely threaten 
 him, and tell him, in a tone of defiance, that 
 he (the preacher) would take the kingdom of 
 heaven by storm. Nay, he would command 
 the deity — I speak 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 militant. Such clergymen, I hope, are 
 rarely to be found. 
 
 Frank. There are 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 denomina- 
 tions, that those happy times, which are pro- 
 mised by the prophets, would commence 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 
 btlls of the horses. 
 
 Whenever, by pouring out the curses of the 
 law mixed with a due proportion of the sooth- 
 ing promises of the gospel, any sacred orator 
 was able to excite a little sobbing and whining 
 and blubbering among his auditors, which was 
 termed " a shaking among the dry bones," he 
 would immediately declare that the night wae 
 past, and that he saw the appearance of day. — 
 While we all stood on tiptoe in order to per- 
 ceive 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 th« madness of the people ; the dogs, ia 
 every direction, lifted up their voices and 
 joined in the melodious howl of their mas- 
 ters! 
 
 One company would sing, "The day breaks, 
 and the shadows flee away." A second would 
 answer, " Lo I the winter is past ; the rain ia 
 over and gone." A third : " The flowers ap- 
 pear on the earth ; the time of the singing of
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 79 
 
 birds is come." A fourth : " The voice of the 
 turtle is heard in our land." Then all would 
 unite in full chorus : " Glory lo God in the 
 highest ; and peace and good will among 
 men." 
 
 While we were thus emploj'ed, we were 
 astonished at a bloody appearance in the east- 
 ern horizon. What could occasion this singular 
 phenomenon ! The incident was unexpected, 
 and threw a damp on our joy. Wc immedi- 
 ately had recourse to our prophetic books, and 
 without much difficulty discovered sundry 
 oracular intimations of this wonderful event. 
 For after an event had actually taken place, 
 we were extremely ingenious at adjusting the 
 prephecy to the circumstances ; but when we 
 attempted, with no other guide but prophecy, 
 to predict occurrences, we sometimes made 
 little blunders 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 de- 
 stroy those faint glimmerings of light which 
 had ravished our senses. " Behold, darkness 
 covereth the earth ; and gross darkness, the 
 people !" 
 
 This dreadful disappointment I owe to the 
 French ; help me to curse them. 
 
 Piomingo. The French are a gallant peo- 
 ple ? 
 
 Frank. They are a valiant people. 
 
 Piomingo. Are they not a good people ? 
 
 Frank. They make good slaves, but execra- 
 ble masters : 1 would as soon trust a madman 
 with a firebrand in a powder magazine, as 
 Frenchmen with the management of govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Piomingo. I am sorry for your religious and 
 political disappointment, Frank ; but I do not 
 account myself qualified to offer consolation. 
 May I ask, in my turn, if you have not treated 
 sacred subjects with rather too much levity. 
 
 Frank. I have not : religion herself I vene- 
 rate. But if a villain or a fool wrap his unhal- 
 lowed 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 diiferencc really 
 exists : I wish they would learn to separate 
 those things which are not very intimately 
 connected — their professions from their ac 
 tions ; themselves from their Maker. 
 
 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 expectations as you did 
 at the commencement of the French revolu- 
 tion \ 
 
 Frank. Indeed I should not. I understand 
 a little better, than I did in my youth, the na- 
 ture of the motives that influence the actions 
 of men. I have paid some attention to the 
 passions and prejudices and follies of my spe- 
 cies. 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 m 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 regret, since the people would 
 have been equally slaves under a national as- 
 sembly ? 
 
 Frank. Because, in a monarchical govern- 
 ment there is but one freeman, or, as an an- 
 cient Roman would probably have said, there 
 is but ONE man; but in a government 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 power in the hand of a tyrant 
 and sink into torpid stupidity ; but in a popular 
 government, the mind of every man, who en- 
 joys a portion of the sovereignty, is incited to 
 action by emulation, ambition, and hope; and 
 the energies of his soul are suflfered to ex- 
 pand. 
 
 In order to elucidate this subject, I will pro- 
 duce 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 institutions ; it 
 vibrated contiually between the hands of the 
 patrician and plebeian, opponents ; yet from 
 this chaos of contention there arose — heroes, 
 sages, gods upon earth ! Now if we contem- 
 plate this same people under the dominion of 
 a monarch, we see nothing but a brutal tyrant 
 and degenerate slaves. Who would not rather 
 buflfet 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 ob- 
 serving that the degeneracy of the Romans 
 was not occasioned by the imperial govern- 
 ment ; but, on the contrary, the imperial go- 
 vernment owed its existence to the degeneracy 
 you have mentioned. As long as the Romans 
 preserved their national manners, their virtu- 
 ous poverty, their profound veneration for oaths 
 —in fine, as long as virtue honor fame patriot- 
 isni 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 became necessarily 
 slaves. When one Caesar was destroyed, they 
 feel under the dominion of another, and con- 
 tinued to sink lower and lower in the mire of 
 moral turpitude and corruption, till they were 
 overwhelmed by the proud energy of restless 
 barbarians. My dear friend, when we con- 
 sider the poisonous eflfects of avarice, and the 
 enervating influence of luxury, upon the man-
 
 80 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 ncrs of men, we must despair, I awi afraid, of 
 seeing a permanent republican government in 
 any civilized nation. — 
 
 Frank. Unless heaven should send down 
 some mighty Lycurgus, with the will and the 
 power to raise and educate a nation of republi- 
 cans. — 
 
 Piomingo. And your heaven-sent Lynurgus 
 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 ? 
 Piominso. No: make Spartans of them. 
 Frank. O, that is the same thing : the Spar- 
 tans were ignorant and cruel barbarians. 
 
 Piomingo. Our modern Lycurgus must in- 
 stil into the minds of his young republicans, 
 not the vices, but, the virtues of the ancient 
 Spartans. He must teach fhem to love their 
 frif-nds nd their country, to suffer with pa- 
 tieno; t'u^ evils of life, -tud laugii at the up 
 proaclus (it d .njrer and death. Let him im 
 prove upon the pl^^n of the Spartan law-giver 
 by forming an enlightened and civilized nation; 
 but he must take care to prohibit the introduc- 
 tion of personal property. There must be no 
 appropriation of things to individuals or socie- 
 ties : all must belonij to the nation. Men 
 must be taught to distinguish themselves by 
 something more generous and noble than the 
 accumulation of riches : they must place their 
 happiness in fri'^ndsliip, love, honor, glory, and 
 the good of their country; and not in the in- 
 dulgence of selfish and sordid propensities. 
 
 But enough of this. I have no intention to 
 turn Utopian projector, unless I had power to 
 carry my plans into execution. 
 
 Frank. Suppose you and I steal four or five 
 himdrcd ragged <iirty little savages from the 
 suburbs of Philadelphia, and establish a repub- 
 lic in the wilderness. The parents will get 
 rid of a troublesome burthen ; and we, trans- 
 porting idea I shall immortalize our names. 
 Piomingo and Fluent will rank in after ages 
 with Moses, Lvcurgus and Numa. 
 
 Piomingo. Did I not tell you, 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 hun- 
 dred infants squalling like devils ; unless in- 
 deed, 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 absolutely leave you. I came out with 
 the intention of walking : instead of which I 
 teen taking a lesson from you in this Academy 
 of Vice. 
 
 Frank. I shall accompany you immediately. 
 I wish y«u had on your Muscogulgee apparel, 
 that we might astonish the natives by the sin- 
 gularity 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 dis- 
 cuss the affairs of the nation without the con- 
 veniences 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 inan of mind, 
 the celebrated Johnson, declared a tavern to be 
 the throne of earthly felicity? 
 
 Piomingo. The Mitre tavern nnd Turk^s 
 head, I suppose, offered allurements superior 
 to those of the place we have left : yet if 
 a tavern be the greatest blessing of that civil- 
 ized society, the moralist so much admired, we 
 cannot be otherwise than amazed at the power 
 of habit over tlie minds of the wisest of men. 
 It is not, however, strange that a man, who 
 has no endearing domestic connections, should 
 be pleased with the ease and freedom enjoyed 
 at an inn, and the spirit of accommodation 
 displayed at a house of public entertainment: 
 Such a man (although there be many who call 
 tiicniselves his friends) will find himself, as he 
 advances in life, a kind of stranger on the 
 earth, and will feel inclined to exclaim, with 
 the amiable Shenstone. 
 
 Whoe'er has irayell'd life's dull round, 
 Where'er his stages may have been, 
 
 May sigh to think he still has found 
 The warmest welcome ut an inn. 
 
 Frank. A savage life was the object of 
 Johnson's unconquerable aversion. 
 
 Piomin-^o. Johnson was a lion in chains; 
 his strong mind was fettered by invincible pre- 
 judices. If a favorite subject lay immediately 
 before him, he would investigate it with vigor 
 and accuracy, and lay open its various and 
 minute ramifications; but he could not, or 
 would no^, 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 see Magog. He took 
 but one view of an object: if the first appear- 
 ance left a disagreeable impression on his mind, 
 he immediately pronounced an unfavorable 
 opinion; and never could be induced to take a 
 side view of the same object, lest he should 
 be under the necessity of changing his 
 sentiments. 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 approaches of a rattlesnake which 
 evinced an inclination to crawl into his bosom. 
 If any one advanced, in his presence, a hete- 
 redox sentiment, the presumptuous offender
 
 THE SAVAGE. SI 
 
 >*as speedily silenced by coarse language in a every weakness and folly, and exposed the 
 
 thundering voice, and by bold sallies of wit, whole to the eyes of the world, without any 
 
 which, enforced by the terrors of his name, regard to the character of his friend ; — and 
 
 there were none who would venture to with- thougli we are amused with the fruit of his 
 
 stand. Such a man was certainly liable to labor, we hato and despise the creature who 
 
 mistakes : and if he fell into error, in error he contributes to our entertainment, 
 
 would remain ; for his sentence, once passed, Piomingo. Should not a faithful biographer 
 
 was like the laws of the Medes and Persians relate every thing he knows concerning the 
 
 — unchangeable. What were his violent de- man who is the subject of his Iiistor}' ? 
 
 nunciations against the Scots, against secta- Frank. He should relate every circumstance 
 
 rians, against infidels, against the Americans, of importance : but why should he detail those 
 
 and finally, against the advociites for savage little weaknesses which are rather a disgrace 
 
 life, but bursts of passion dictated by inveterate to human nature than any blemish in the 
 
 prejudices? character of tiie individual ? What advantage 
 
 The infidels, for aught I know to the con- can the world derive from being made ac- 
 
 trary, might merit his resentment ; the Scots, quainted with tiie lapses and follies of men 
 
 by their intrusion into places of honor and eminent for their virtues and admired for their 
 
 profit in England, might expose themselves to talents ? Nay, I believe the consequence may 
 
 his fury; the sectarians, by their opposition to prove extremely unfortunate: by lessening the 
 
 the dosniota of the church, might occasion veneration which was felt for the character of 
 
 ebullitions of his zeal ; the Americans, by moral writers, it weakens the influence of 
 
 daring to rebel against liis king, might provoke their works upon society. 
 
 his loyal indignation ; but the savages — how Piomingo. But docs not Boswell discover 
 happened they to awaken his sore displeasure, great art in relating these trifles in a manner 
 or to merit the disgraceful appellation of brutes? so aareeable as he has done ? 
 It is probable tiiat Johnson supposed no man Frank. Not so much art as you may sup- 
 to be perfectly civilized who did not live in pose : he discoTcrs a patient and laborious 
 London, fare sumptuously every day,and enjoy assiduity in having collected and preserved 
 the pleasures of literary society. He appre- every JoknSonic particle wlietiicr clean or un- 
 ciatad very highly the pleasures of the table clean. He discovers, in his own character, a 
 and other luxurious enjoyments, and seems to superabundance of folly and vanit)',and (which 
 have preferred the gross grntifications of sense is not at all inconsistent with the fi)regfoing 
 to the more refined delights of the imagina- qualities) a considerable portion of contempti- 
 tion. ble cunning. As for art in the arrangement 
 
 Frank. What is your opinion of Boswell's of his materials, it was totally unnecessary: 
 
 Life of Doctor .Tohnson ? every thing that had any connection with 
 
 Piomingo. I think it one of the most enter- Johnson must afford entertainment to the pub- 
 
 taining books in the English language. Every He. 
 
 thing that relates to so great a man as John. The notice that is taken of the most trifling 
 
 son must be highly inttresting: and -Boswell actions of a man celebrated for his talents is 
 
 exposes to our view such an infinite variety of thus pleasantly illustrated by an agreeable 
 
 Zj»?e ^/n'nffs concerning this illustrious person- writer: " Did you see Mr. Pope '" "Yes." 
 
 age, that the most prying curiosity finds enter- " What was he doing ?" " Picking his teeth." 
 
 tainment and gratification. He produces so Now, Piomingo, you and I might pick our 
 
 much of Johnson's sttirlincr intelligence, so teeth for a month before any one would ob- 
 
 many inter.-sting literary' coiiversations, inter- serve it; but Jolnison could not change his 
 
 spersed with curious anecdotes, and the whole linen, squeeze an orange, or blow his nose, 
 
 related in a manner so amusing, that we can- without Boswell's makmg a memorandum of 
 
 not read withsut receiving instruction and en- the occurrence for the information of pos- 
 
 tertainment. Yet, afler having pronounced terity. 
 
 this euloffy on the work, I must take tlie at , li , ■» ■ t . •. j . „ 
 
 ,., , , ^■'., ,, , „ 11.- I My tables — meet it is, I set it down, 
 
 liberty to add, that the man wlio has tormed -^ 
 
 his opinion of Johnson from reading the Ram- Why should we be told that Johnson de- 
 
 bjers and Idlers will. find the character of the Voured his food with such voracity as to excite 
 
 great moralist sink in his estimation in conse- a perspiration in his face, and occasion the 
 
 quence of the perusal of Boswell's production, veins in his forehead to sweH, to the great an- 
 
 Frank. Although I derived much pleasure noyance of his delicate associates? What 
 
 froni this performance, I have often wished benefit is the world to derive from this dis.. 
 
 that Johnson had been so fortunate as to have gusting picture ? It may lessen the respect 
 
 repulsed the advances of the creeping insinu- we felt for a man who was an honor to his 
 
 ating intriguing animal that afterwards be- country ; and it may afford us a momentary 
 
 came his biographer. The indefatigable syco- amusement; but we hate Boswell for having- 
 
 phant, taking advantage of the intimacy he noticed the circumstance. It was observed by 
 
 enjoyed, and proud of the ascendancy he had Sir William Jones, that the best monument 
 
 acquired over a mind so much superior to his that could be raised to a literary man is a good 
 
 own, pried into every corner, searched out edition of his works : and I will ventare to 
 
 K
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 add, that (whether we consider the fame of 
 the author, or the good of society) the best 
 life of Jolinson would Iiave been a splendid edi- 
 tion of all ii^s works, except his political pam- 
 piilets. In corroboration of what I have said, 
 it may be observed that Johnson, in order to 
 display his powers in colloquial controversy, 
 frequently advanced and supported opinions 
 which he ventured not to inculcate in his wri- 
 tings. 
 
 Piomingo. Boswell, certainly, did not sup- 
 press the foibles of his hero; neither did he 
 appear desiious of concealing his own. 
 
 Frank. A man is as much to blame for ex- 
 posing his own failings unnecessarily as those 
 of another. There are a great many disagreea- 
 ble things in human nature which ought to be 
 carefully concealed. 
 
 Piomingo. What I do you dislike a man who 
 declares his thoughts openly and freely ? do 
 you plead for dissimulation and hypocrisy ? 
 
 Frank. 1 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 proclaim aloud 
 his vain, wicked, or childish thoughts I 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 M^ise man and a fool 
 is that the former exercises a sound discretion 
 in this point ; but the latter turns indiscrimi- 
 nately his thoughts into words. 
 
 Pimningo. This, like many other common 
 sayings, is far from correct. The wise man 
 and the fool are essentially different ; the for- 
 mer perceives clearly, reasons accurateljf, and 
 judges soundly ; but the latter is incapable of 
 these things. 
 
 Frank. I mean not to enter the lists in de- 
 fence of the saying ; but I contend that, should 
 the wisest man in existence give, without re- 
 servation, expression to his thoughts, he would 
 Boon 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 con- 
 nections 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 wc were acquainted with 
 these internal qualities, you speak of, I am 
 afraid that every object in existence would be 
 odious in our sight. I expiess my opinions 
 more freely than most men ; and have tlie re- 
 putation of being " a plain blunt man" who 
 ♦' Speaks right on" — so much so, that among 
 my neighbors I am generally known by the ap- 
 pellation oi Honest Frank; yet I have a thous- 
 and foolish thoughts and ridiculous notions, 
 which I could not be bribed to mako known. 
 
 Nature has been blamed for not having put 
 ^ window in the breast of man that ihe secrets 
 
 of his mind niight be visible ; but she has been 
 unjustly blamed. Since she had resolved to 
 build a receptacle for "all manner of creeping 
 things," she acted wisely in concealing the 
 place of her abominations. Could we enter 
 into the recesses of the minds of the most vir- 
 tuous men, it is probable that we should find 
 so much selfishness, vanity, and folly, that we 
 should both hate and despise those who are at 
 present the objects of our respect and venera- 
 tion. Could we become acquainted with the 
 secret thoughts of our most intimate friends, 
 there is little doubt but our love and attach- 
 ment would give place to hatred and indigna- 
 tion. If there be any truth in these surmises, 
 a wise man should be content with externals, 
 whsn the exterior is pleasing,and not endeavor 
 to pry into those things which are judiciously 
 concealed from his eyes. But a principle of 
 curiosity still prompts us to examine, as far as 
 we are able, the secret workings of the mind, 
 though the discoveries which we make are 
 productive of consequences injurious to our 
 happiness as individuals, and desfaructive of 
 the regard we should feci for our species in 
 general. 
 
 Piomingo. And did you ever ask yourself 
 the reason why you were not inclined to dis- 
 close your thoughts ? Is not this backward- 
 ness occasioned by a blind deference to the 
 maxims and customs of the world ? Is not 
 this concealment rendered necessary by the 
 vicious disposition of mankind ? When you 
 are in a crowd, you think it necessary to take 
 care of your pockets; when robberies are fre- 
 quent, you bolt and lock your doors that you 
 may rest in security ; and in civilized nations, 
 you conceal your thoughts, because you aro 
 surrounded by men who wait to take advan- 
 tage 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 otherwise managing your pas- 
 sions, propensities and inclinations. It is not 
 on account of the wickedness or folly of his 
 own thoughts that a virtuous man thinks pro- 
 per to conceal them, but because experience 
 has made him acquainted 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 solely 
 to a vicious 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 concealing the sub- 
 stance of vice ; who are taught to consider 
 life as a struggle for pre-eminence, and 
 who, being prohibited 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 tlie corruption of your 
 manners and your attachment to vicious pur- 
 suits. Laws are never enacted to punish crimes 
 which there is no disposition in the community
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 83 
 
 to Commit. If laws, therefore, forbid tlie com- 
 mission of vice, it would seem to follow that 
 the principal part of education, in a civilized 
 society, would consist in teachingf youth how 
 to evade the spirit of the laws without trans- 
 gressing the letter. 
 
 I know a person now, who has often boasted 
 in my hearing of having disposed of a horse, 
 not worth twenty dollars, to an ig-norant travel- 
 ler for one hundred and fifty. This man has 
 never been known to practise robbery or theft, 
 according to tiie legal definition of those terms; 
 but he takes to care 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 
 tlie 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 continually in wait to avail 
 themselves of every favorable opportunity that 
 fortune may throw in their way. Yet if so- 
 ciety were so constituted that man did not prey 
 on man, there would be no necessity for the 
 cautious concealment you seem to recom- 
 mend. 
 
 Frank. There may be some truth in your 
 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 
 find it necessary to conceal their feelings and 
 their tlionghie 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 are, there would 
 be nothing but mutual abhorrence and conten- 
 tion. 
 
 An ingenious writer has observed that "if 
 our souls had not been united to material sub- 
 stances, 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 igno- 
 rant." All our happiness consists in delusive 
 appearances: we search into the nature of 
 things with eagerness and curiosity ; but the 
 moment that any subject is tiioroughly inves- 
 tigated, we are disgusted and unhappy. The 
 sentient principle and reasoning powers seem 
 to unfit us for the station in which we are 
 placed. They enable us to discover a thousand 
 imperfections in ourselves, in others, and in the 
 myriads of objects which surround us. They 
 prompt us to inquire into the nature of our 
 pleasures, and examine the foundation of our 
 momentary happiness ; but our delights and 
 enjoyments will not bear to be analyzed : 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 inherent deprav- 
 ity ; but if there be radical imperfection in our 
 "-"{ ^^e. where is the difference ? We neces- 
 
 sarily 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 con- 
 ceal it from the world, and, as much as possi- 
 ble, 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 embel- 
 lishments, and placed in the centre her reposi- 
 tory of poisons, her seeds of corruption and 
 death ? Is man an exception ? Alas I he is 
 not. How often, during our intercourse with 
 the world, are we captivated by a pleasing ex- 
 terior, and afterwards have occasion to ex- 
 claim, 
 
 O villain, villain, smiling damned villam ! 
 
 Pioiningo. But all men are not villains. 
 
 Frank. All men do not deserve the appella- 
 tion of villains ; but all have their faults, follies 
 and weaknesses, which they very properly and 
 judiciously conceal. What though I be im- 
 posed on a dozen times 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 turpitude and depravity of his 
 mind ? — I should find myself surrounded by 
 monsters, and be obliged to seek a refuge 
 among the rocks of the desert. I wish every 
 man to hide his faults as ingeniously as possi- 
 ble. Though men have the hearts of devils, I 
 desire them to wear the faces of angels; be- 
 cause their faces fall continually under my in- 
 spection, but I have very little concern with 
 their hearts. 
 
 Piomingo. If I were among devils, I should 
 like to know it, that I might be on my guard 
 against their wicked 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 would you pro- 
 tect yourself on every side, at all times, and in 
 all places ? Must you be for ever uneasy ? If 
 a blind man were in a dungeon among ser- 
 pents, and it were impossible to extricate him 
 from his perilous situation, would it not be 
 cruel to inform him of lus danger ? We are 
 placed upon the earth, and necessarily con- 
 nected 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 vicious mind 
 in the same manner that dress hides the de- 
 formities and diseases of the body. When wo 
 walk in the streets and press through the mar- 
 ket, every one we see makes a tolerable ap- 
 pearance ; but were it not for dress which en- 
 velops the bodies of the multitude, we should 
 be continually shocked with distorted shapes, 
 " wounds, bruises, and putrefying sores." Let 
 us therefore be thankful to the vestments which
 
 84 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 cover tlicse deformities of the body ; and let need clothing to hide your diseased distorted 
 us be pleaded witii a smiling face tliat hides bodies, and fig leaves to conceal your distem- 
 from our view tlic diseases ofllic mind. pcrcd minds. But savages can dispense with 
 
 I mentioned before, that oar inquisitive dis- garments to shroud their straight and well 
 position and our propensity to reason on every turned limbs, and with deceitful smiles to veil 
 subject have an immediate tendency to render their ingenuous hearts. 
 
 us unhappy. This opinion I will endeavor to Frank. Well, I see we should never agree on 
 illustrate by a sublime comparison, and then this subject. If you be disposed to ramble 
 1 shall have done : "If the sun breed maggots" fartlier, you may continue your excursion 
 (why do you laugh ? the language is Sliak- alone. It is a folly to walk without an object in 
 spcare's) " If the sun breed maggots in a dead summer ; but tiie man who will leave a warm 
 doo-," these maggots are unconscious of the fire in the winter, unless compelled by neces- 
 filth and abomination in wliich they are im- sity, and expose himself to the blasts of the 
 mersed ; they have no idea of any state supe- north, must be wholly insane, 
 rior to tiieir own, nor of any happiness greater Piomingo. Your will is my guide; — but 
 than that which they enjoy ; consequently they Frank, who was that other foreigner to whom 
 cannot be miserable. But man is cursed with you were disposed to direct my attention ? 
 the ability of perceiving his degraded situation; Frank. Ah, truly, T had totally forgotten, 
 he is able to form ideas of perfection to which For some months past we have witnessed a 
 he can never attain ; he feels an inclination to prodigy : P'rom the dcptlis of the wilderness, 
 aspire; he despises the earth which gave him cautibus horrens ; from amid tlie howling wild 
 birth, and would ascend to the mansion of the beasts of the desert ; from the bosom of one of 
 gods; he would subject the universe to his those barbarous hordes which infest our-fron- 
 empire, and partake of delights too sublime tiers, there has issued — ye will not believe it, 
 for his nature-^in consequence of which, he is posterity ! — there has issued a savage, — 
 miserable. Upon the whole I conclude that 
 Buch an animal as man should not have been Q"^'^ portentum neque militaris 
 
 J J ..1 ,• 4 J uu IJaiinia m latis alu esculetis, 
 
 endowed with perception so acute, and with ^^^ ^^^^ ,^,1^^ ^^^^^^^ j^^^^^ 
 
 desires so aspiring' — Uiis aliter visu7n est. Arida nutrix' 
 
 Piomingo. You and your furious instructor 
 
 may prate about the wickedness of the heart A savage, who presumes to instruct the illu- 
 
 as long as you please ; but every one must ad- minated, the wise, the polished, the civilized, 
 
 mit that no one is wicked before the commence- inhabitants of these free sovereign and inde- 
 
 mentof his existence. And as soon as he ex- pendent states, which are, I say, and of right 
 
 ists he becomes wax in the hands of society, ought to be, free sovereign and independent 
 
 His infant mind takes the color of surrounding states, — who, (the savage I mean) not having 
 
 objects ; by education he is exalted to a god ; tlie fear of God before his eyes, nor reverencing 
 
 by education he is converted to a devil ; or, by the majesty of the American people, but being 
 
 education he is degraded to a brute. moved thereto by the instigation of the devil, 
 
 By the customs and institutions of society, hath, daringly, knowingly, wickedly, malici- 
 
 by the precepts and examples of seniors and ously, malignantly, enviously, feloniously, in- 
 
 guardians, he becomes initiated in wickedness; sidiously, burglariously, barbarously, savagely 
 
 and, as advancement and prosperity in life de- and of malice aforethought, presumed to in. 
 
 pend upon the exercise of dissimulation and struct this wonderful peojile, this nation of 
 
 cunning, he conceals his vicious thoughts till kings, in the science of morals ! Give ear, O 
 
 they ripen into crimes. Were the mind first heavens ! — • 
 
 subjected to salutary impressions, were the Pioviingo. What do yon mean? 
 
 circumstances which influence its earliest de- Frank. Do not, I beseech thee, do not inter- 
 
 cisions favorable to the production of virtue, rupt me. — Give ear, O heavens ! hearken, O 
 
 there would be no necessity for concealment ; earth 1 — 
 
 and the workshop of iniquity, which terrifies Piomingo. What do you mean ? 
 
 your mind, would never be erected, Frank. These are savage interruptions, Pio. 
 
 You unfortunately attempted to enforce your mingo. You have ruined a sublime apostro- 
 
 Bcntiraents by a reference to dress, Did it not phe ; you have snapped asunder the chain of 
 
 occur to you that your civilized institutions my ideas ; you have extinguished my poetical 
 
 have produced the diseascg and deformities of enthusiasm ; and now I must proceed to give 
 
 the body as well as the errors and vices of the you a dull prosaic detail of circumstances. 
 
 mind? Did you not reflect upon the pernici- Piomingo. Be as prosaic as you please, but 
 
 ous consequences of continual labor and brute- not tedious. 
 
 like drudgery? — They have degraded the Frank. This savage, of whom I spake, hav- 
 
 proudest work of nature to a beast of burthen; ing thrown aside his tomahawk, scalping 
 
 they have extinguished the ethereal spark in knife, and rifle, — having divested himself of 
 
 his breast, and infused into his soul the ma- his wampum, breechclout, blanket, moeensons, 
 
 lignity of a demon. Did you also forget to and leggins — having laid aside his buck's tail 
 
 consider the evils produced by intemperance, and feathers, ear rings and nose jewels, half 
 
 luxury and sloth ? — Alas ! it is too true : You moons and bracelets, beads, broaches and gew^
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 eji 
 
 gaws — having washed the paint from his vi- 
 sag^e and taken up the pen, produces a weekly 
 phiHippic against the blessings and delights of 
 a civilized life — but, as your barbarous counte- 
 nance is a picture of your mind, that mind, I 
 see, is considerably agitated. I fear it will not 
 be safe to favor you v/ith my opinions on the 
 conduct of this savage; bull will, if you please, 
 give yon the sentiments of others. 
 Piomingo. Do so. 
 
 Frank. Well then, they say (by they you 
 are to understand every body, any body, no- 
 body, the wise, the foolish, the world, or any 
 thing you choose) they say — but 1 forgot to 
 premise (which would have been a very capital 
 omission) I forgot to premise — 
 
 Piomingo. Frank! your parentheses distract 
 me ! By the mingo of the skies, if you proceed 
 with your cursed involutions — 
 
 Frank. Enough, enough, Piomingo. Do not 
 raise the warwhoop, I entreat you. I 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, com- 
 merce and manufactures, and all the pleasures 
 that flow from our salutary institutions, and 
 having contrasted these blessings with tlie 
 miserable enjoyments of the naked, half-starv. 
 ed shivering Indians, he felt the same envious 
 malignity ia his breast which Satan is said to 
 liave felt when he contemplated the happiness 
 and innocence of our parents in paradise; and 
 he resolved, in imitation of the illustrious per- 
 sonage 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 inhabitants of 
 the civilized world ? Would to God, that the 
 arts and refinements, the vices and diseases, of 
 the eliildren of Europe had remained forever 
 unknown to the savag-es you despise ! Re- 
 verse the picture ; and the representation will 
 not be wholly destitute of truth. But pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 Frank. They say. that tliis savage resem- 
 bles the fox in the fable ; who, finding himself 
 unfortunately destitute 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 ap- 
 plication, and proceed with your intelli- 
 gence — 
 
 Frank. They say, that your publication, (for 
 thou art the man) is a dull and insipid produc- 
 tion; but that among a great deal of rubbish 
 thei^ 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 scattered through your wri- 
 tings. For a savage whose brain, or whose 
 mind, is a tabula rasa — for a savage, whose 
 brutal instinct merely enables him to ramble 
 
 over mountains or creep through the thiclcets, 
 to manage a canoe with adroitness or take off 
 a scalp with dexterity — for such a one to think, 
 reflect, compare, is altogether unaccountable I 
 
 Can he be fashioned on the social plan. 
 Or boast 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 sava"-e 
 honesty of soul no man shall dispute with im- 
 punity. I will immediately have recourse to 
 the law. An action will certainly lie ? 
 
 Frank. I think not. 
 
 Piomingo. So, it seems your laws deny me 
 the privilege of avenging myself on my ene- 
 mies, yet point out no other mode of redress. 
 Is that libeity ? 
 
 Frank. Let me consider : The words are not 
 actionable perse. It may be damnum; but 
 then would be damnum absque injuria. Prove 
 special damage — action /)er quod. Provocation 
 — tends to a breach — contra parem. Libellous 
 — let me sec — not true — so much the worse. 
 No hook to hang a quirk on. Headman and 
 warrior of the Muscogulgce nation — scanda- 
 lum maiinatum. To say of a lord — Cro. Car. 
 Cro. Juc. Tom. tit. quint. Eliz. 
 
 Piomingo. What is that ? 
 
 Frank. Wisdom, Piomingo, profound wis. 
 dom ; but as you are a barbarian, you cannot 
 understand it. — It is said that you are an aris- 
 tocrat. 
 
 Piomingo. So I am : who would not rather 
 be governed by the best than by the loorst of 
 the community ? But I am an enemy to here- 
 ditary aristocracy, and still more opposed to 
 the aristocracy of wealth : I wish virtue, ta- 
 lents and wisdom to assume their proper place 
 in society. 
 
 Frank. It is sometimes said, you arc a demo-. 
 crat and leveller. 
 
 Piomingo. lama friend to the people : may 
 they " get wisdom and seek understanding.'* 
 May they learn to tliink for themselves, and 
 no longer be swayed by the influence of" the 
 wealthy, or governed by the cunning of politi- 
 cal intriguers. 
 
 Frank. Tiiey say you are an atheist and a, 
 deist. 
 
 Piomingo. Curious enousfh ! I would not 
 fall down to worship the golden image which 
 civil zed society has set up, though my disobe, 
 dicnce should cast me in the furnace of adver, 
 sity heated seven times as hot as ever I have 
 found it. 
 
 Frank. They say you are a fool. 
 
 Piomingo. Folly, I believe is not peculiav 
 to me : 
 
 et niihi dulces 
 
 Ignoscent, si quid peccavero stultus. amici : 
 Inque vicem, illorum patiar delicta libenter. 
 
 Frank. The profound and sagacious editor 
 of a political a.nd lilerart/ joarna.] has ticated
 
 86 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 your Savage with rudeness and severity : and, 
 as you liavc taken no notice of'tliis caustic and 
 wilty production, it is supposed tliat you are 
 unable to answer it. 
 
 Piomingo. Astoj fu-vixi » Bn^ivu. The 
 Frenehman and his criticism are equally un- 
 worthy of attention. 
 
 Frank. Do you deal in proverbs ? 
 
 Piomingo. Not much. Savage as I am, I 
 bow to tlie opinion of Lord Cliesterfield con- 
 cerning the use of vulgar English j>roverhs ; 
 but as I have in my possession a collection 
 Mi;^aijXof A7rocrTo^(« nx^otjA-iuti, I believe I 
 will fill a few pages of the .Savage wiih them 
 occasionally: they are equal to the best of 
 poor Richard's, and excel the Vv'isest apoph- 
 thegms of Spain. 
 
 Frank. Very right: and sprinkle your pages 
 hereafter with Greek. We always love what 
 we do not understand. The hour of dinner 
 approaches. May the mingo of the clouds pro- 
 tect you from evil ! 
 
 Piomingo. May the mammon of unrighte- 
 ousness be propitious to your prayers I 
 
 Punctuation: from Crito, 
 
 Doctor Johnson, with his usual good sense, 
 has remarked that " most writers of English 
 grammar have given long tables of words pro- 
 nounced otherwise tlian they are written ; and 
 seem not sufficiently to have considered, that, 
 of English, as of all living tongues, there is a 
 double pronunciation : one cursory and collo- 
 quial ; the other regular and solemn. The 
 cursory pronunciation is always vague and 
 uncertain, being made different, in different 
 mouths, by negligence, unskilfulness, or affec- 
 tation. The solemn pronunciation, though by 
 no means immutable and permanent, is yet 
 always less remote from the orthography, and 
 less liable to capricious innovation. They 
 have, however, generally formed their tables 
 according to the cur.sory speech of those with 
 whom they happen to converse,and concluding 
 that the whole nation combines to vitiate lan- 
 guage in one manner, have often established 
 the jargon of the lowest of the people as the 
 model of speech. For pronunciation, the best 
 general rule is, to consider those as the most 
 
 . .elegant speakers who deviate least from the 
 
 "♦written words." 
 
 Some have been inclined to dispute the jus- 
 tice of these observations : but, to me, they 
 appear correct and judicious. There are so 
 many capricious varieties in the current pro- 
 nunciation of a living language, that an at- 
 tempt to establish a uniform standard of or- 
 thoepy 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 
 eouth and the north, the east and the west, 
 have their respective peculiarities of sound : 
 and all these unfortunate localities have their 
 
 advocates and defenders. Among these con- 
 flicting claims,what better plaji 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 written loords. 
 Multitudes of spelling books and grammara 
 have appeared in the United States; and in the 
 most, if not all of these, are exhibited long ta- 
 bles of words spelled in one manner, and di- 
 rected to be pronounced in another. Some> 
 times a letter is said to be silent, when it might 
 with the utmost propriety be sounded ; again, 
 we are gravely informed that one letter usurp.s 
 the power of another, when we can see no 
 reason why it is not content with its own. 
 Some words, though they have long siace be- 
 come a part of our language, are said to be 
 French : and we are obliged to torture our or- 
 gans for the sake of producing an outlandish, 
 guttural or nasal twang; which being found 
 utterly impracticable, we generate a word 
 which is neither English nor French, but a 
 ridiculous fabrication of our own. What con- 
 temptible servility 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, instead of being pronounced 
 agreeably to the powers of the letters in the 
 English language, be converted into ade-de. 
 cawng,ongvelo2Je,ongveerons,connossare,which 
 are neither French, English, nor good high 
 Dutch ? 
 
 It must be acknowledged, that since the ap- 
 pearance of ortlioepical dictionaries, the solemn 
 pronunciation, noticed by Johnson, has greatly 
 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 di- 
 rections of Sheridan and Walker. How long 
 will our lawyers, divines, and legislating ora- 
 tors, who boast so much of their independence, 
 regulate their |)ronunciation according to the 
 capricts of the vulgar, great and small, of the 
 city of London ? Our universities, colleges, 
 and public speakers, should appoint agents to 
 reside continually in the metropolis 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 gamesters, fops and fools at the 
 head quarters of refinement and corruption. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the ridiculous affecta- 
 tion of our fashionable speakers, it 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 noted 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 candidly acknowledges, " the imper-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 87 
 
 ceptible glances of colloquial pronunciation are cing dictionaries is the horrible manner in 
 
 not to be caught and described by the pen ;" which they deform the orthography of the lan- 
 
 but he pleases himself with the reflection, that, guage. It is found to be a mutter of no little 
 
 if "he cannot point out the precise sound of ditRculty to acquire the art of spelling with 
 
 unaccented syllables, he may at least give propriet}'. I do not believe that one person in 
 
 those sounds which approach the nearest, and a hundred can write twenty lines without mis- 
 
 by tliis means become a little more useful tlian spelling some of the words. And if, before the 
 
 those who so liberally leave every tiling to the appearance of pronouncing dictionaries, it was, 
 
 ear and taste of the speaker." Now 1 should so hard to attain a competent knowledge oti 
 
 conceive that an erroneous guide is worse than orthography, how much more diliicnlt will it 
 
 no guide at all : we may as well preserve our prove when we cannot open a dictionary with- 
 
 original errors as to discard them for the pur- out encountering those liorrible clusters of con-j 
 
 pose of adopting others. sonants, which orthocpists have collected to-| 
 
 But even admitting the possibility of con- gethcr for the sake of perpetuating sounds^' 
 
 veying to the eye those delicate tones and Thus it has happened that these erudite proJ 
 
 evanescent sounds which are perceptible by ductions have not only unsettled our pronunl 
 
 the ear, whom shall we take as our guide? ciatiun, but have given our language a barbarl 
 
 There are not only many hundred incidental ous appearance, and rendered it more difficoll 
 
 ditferences ; but whole classes of words are than ever for our children to become acquaintej 
 
 subjected to tlie various rules of our standard with orthography. i 
 
 writers. One author informs us that the final I would not have it thought that I am o{> 
 
 y in wisely, justly, nohly, truly, and all words posed to all dictionaries designed as helps Ji 
 
 of that description, has the sound of long e, as pronunciation : these may be useful in regf 
 
 in 7ne ; others give it the sound of a in face; lating the accentuation of words, and displai- 
 
 and others, again, acknowledge that it has an ing the analogies of language. I will cvh 
 
 obscure sound of its own. We are told by admit that it may be desirable, in a workof 
 
 some that the e in me, and the t in mill, have this nature, to have some ingenious svstempf 
 
 precisely the same sound ; others contend that notation, for the purpose of showing the t(fie 
 
 they are widely different. Doctor Ash informs and quantity of the vowels ; but, I will boMy 
 
 us that the e in the, hero, rebuild, adhesion, &c. pronounce that the practice of deforming he 
 
 has a sound peculiar to itselt"; but quite dis- orthography has been, and will continue toi)e, 
 
 tinct from the e in thee, me, &c. Others as- productive of consequences pernicious toihe 
 
 sert that this is the height of absurdity. But, purity of language. I would rather, Piomiigo, 
 
 Quicquid delirant reges plectuntur Achivi : Tu^'Tu^u ^ ^^'^ °^ ^°''' ^T^'"-^!"''" '"^'"^ 
 
 trie Alleghanian mountains, than be stard in 
 
 While the leaders contend for superiority, we the face by words so tremendous, so horifble, 
 
 are led astray by their errors. as, tshooturidzh, tshootelidzh, tshoonaUe, tfioo- 
 
 I know a young man who was particularly mult, ungtshoous, spirittshoous, nattshoral ? 
 attentive to pronunciation : on every doubtful Yet these monstra vocabulorum horrendl are 
 occasion, he had immediate recourse to the not half as barbarous as some that my be 
 dictionary that happened to be in vogue ; and found in Sheridan and Walker. — Woull any 
 having discovered an odd or curious pronun- one suppose these congregations of letterl were 
 elation, he rejoiced exceedingly, and took care designed to instruct us in the pronuncia^on of 
 to introduce the word into every conversation, tutorage, tutelage, tunable, tumult, untuouSy 
 But by the time he had made himself perfectly spirituous, natural? Yet such is th< fact, 
 familiar with his favorite sound, behold I We have, in the established ortho^aphy, 
 another dictionary appeared, more fashionable, strange assemblages of words; but thisls per- 
 more orthodox, than the last; and infinitely plexing error, and rendering confusiii still 
 superior to every other in existence. He now more grievously confounded. I 
 found it necessary to change a pronunciation It is but justice to take notice of thi many 
 which had become habitual, and learn anew and highly valuable philological remaifs with 
 the pronunciation of his fathers, or acquire, which Mr. Walker has enriched his didionary, 
 with no little pains, one totally different from and the judicious rules he has given ff deter- 
 both. He informed me that he changed the mining the place of the accent; but I hope 
 sound of the o m bosom four several times in the pronunciation of the people of th(j United 
 compliance with the precepts of different or- States will never be regulated by his aijthority. 
 thoepists : and, at last, after having sailed I shall hereafter take opportunities to point 
 round the world of changes, he found himself out what I conceive to be errors into fhich h( 
 at th^ place whence he started. From his has fallen, partly from his mistaken rations a' 
 nurse he learned to say bosom; from his school- analogy, and partly from his servile (feferencs 
 master, buzzum ; from Sheridan, hoozum, to the fashionable corrupters of lanjuage h 
 sounding the oo as u in full ; from Walker, the city of London, i 
 fcoozMWi, soon ding the 00 as in «oo; and, finally, Mr. Webster has displayed more [learnirg' 
 a profound critic convinced him the first pro- and ingenuity in his works than ajiy othr 
 nunciation was the best. American philologist ; but he appejrs res)- 
 
 One great objection to most of our pronoun- lutely determined to maintain all (he Nw
 
 83 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Encrlatid peculiarities of speech. We mijrht Omne vafer vitiiim ridenti Flaccus amicO 
 
 nermit )iim to say (Za„o-er,s<rar7irer, a-n{rel, &,c. Tangit, et admissus circum prajcordia ludit, 
 
 Lcause in tlicse he is favored by analogy ; t^=i"'<^"« excusso populum suspeadere naso. 
 
 but we can never allow the true pronunciation — but here the titlepage appears as a rod sus-^ 
 
 of propitiate, annunciate, associate, officiate, &!.e. pended in terrorem, not to deter us from evil^ 
 
 to he propishate, annHnshate,assushate, offishatc, but to frighten us from reading the book. The 
 
 &c. These words may, for any thing I know author is too generous to attack us unawares i 
 
 to the contrary, be shortened in this manner he wears hay on his horn. Keep at a distance, 
 
 by that gentleman's friends in Connecticut ; ye timorous ! as for me, I will Venture to ap- 
 
 but I have nev'er heard them so pronounced by proach him ; « and if I perish, I perish.' " 
 
 iny well educated American. I have always We read several minutes very attentively, 
 
 supposed that in the words, christian, hastion, and then continued our observations. " The 
 
 nixtion, fustian, &,c. the i had exactly the danger was rather imaginary than real. The 
 
 jound of y ; but Mr. Webster informs us that author might have been as modest as Horace, 
 
 hese words are to be pronounced, chrischun, and given his satires the name of sermones. 
 
 aschun, niixchun, fiischun, &,c. ,-•.,• . . r .i- • i- . i 
 
 T 1 » 1 1 *,«•■*. „r ,.„„;..... Q ud dignum tanto ieret hic promissor hiatu ? 
 
 I have not had an opportunity oi paying ^ o f 
 
 nuch attention to this author's dictionary; But here are notes ! Ah, these will point out 
 lut I am confident that his spelling book, which the latent beauties of the work; these will 
 hs a very extensive circulation, has contribu- elucidate what is obscure, and explain the 
 td greatly to viciate the pronunciation of the mysterious allusions of the author. — But why 
 j^uth in the United StEtes. It is much to be should a poem that was published yesterday 
 rioretted that he is so tenacious of his errors, be burthened to day with explanatory notes? 
 as otherwise we might culculate on his labors In perusing the works of the ancients we may 
 bing very beneficial to his country. sometimes derive advantage from the labors of 
 
 the scholiast ; but the manners and customs of 
 
 ' Satire ^^^ world have not, since this work made its 
 
 ..." appearance, undergone any changes of consc^ 
 
 Does there not appear to be some impropri- q„ence. Why then should our attention be 
 etiin the conduct of an author who informs diverted from the poem itself to the lucubra- 
 us in the titlepage of his book, that he has tions of a commentator? Any one who is de- 
 wrtten a satirical poem? Would he not act sirous of displaying his erudition in this way 
 moc judiciously by selecting some plain and \^,^^ nothing else to do than publish a new edi- 
 inofensive title and allowing his satire to be ^■^^^^ of Sliakspeare enriched with additional 
 disovered by the reader ? The word satire annotations. It is true, that it will nut be easy 
 in Inglish conveys a very different idea from ^^ pj^j gny word of the original to which he 
 the atira of the Romans: which was merely j^j^y append observations of his own ; but this 
 the lame of a miscellaneous composition in gbould not operate as a discouragement on the 
 verst When an author boldly and dexterously ,-,,;,-, j of the commentator: for it must be a coin 
 lashc the vices of the world, he is accounted a solatory reflection to him, that there may be 
 satir««; when he uses ingenious ridicule as such a thing as a no^e on a no<p, a wheel within 
 the Hs^ns of making men ashamed of tlioir ^ -wheel ; and that five hundred notes may yet 
 foUief he is said to be satirical ; when in a j,g written concerning old Vice with his dagger 
 strainof delicate irony he laughs at the errors gflafh^ 
 
 of his5pecies, the productions of his pen are gy^ i^ese notes (may I believe it ?) were 
 justly Icuominated satires;— but we can hardly written by the author of the poem! Lame 
 suppoK that verses, merely because they are poetry indeed, that must hobble on crutches of 
 ill natired, merely because they declare war ^^ose ! Has it not been an axiom as old as 
 agains the vices and follies of men, are enti- criticism itself that a poem should be com- 
 tied to he appellation of satire. j.]p,g ? tb^t jt ghould have a beginning a mid- 
 
 " VViat is this you appear to have been die and an end '! that there should be nothing 
 'reading? A satirical poem. Well I must deficient or redundant? 
 
 give it X perusal. Doubtless I shall find a The notes may be learned, ingenious, pro- 
 ?reat display of imao-ination and genius, since found; "but this was no place for these 
 he wribr was so confident of the merit and things." Every poem, we are told, should 
 |ungen(y of his remarks as to think them be 
 
 iorthy ,f the epithet satirical. Yes : every simplex dantaxat et unum. 
 
 ])rte willsparkle with the scintillations of wit, Nq j^^^n should make allusions in a poem, 
 atd eveiy sentence be pointed with the sting ^hich cannot be understood without explana- 
 o!an epgram. However, it seems a little sin- ^ory notes; or write verses which he finds it 
 gllar foi an author to have a label in his fore- necessary to piece out with patches of prose. 
 lifad will this inscription " I am a fellow of jyjust ^gt a poem be very imperfect which 
 injnite est, of most excellent fancy:" he stands in need of the scholia of the author, be- 
 sliuld bave that, methinks, to be said by fbre it makes its appearance in the world ? 
 another. What was the character which a Was he afraid that we would not feel the 
 Rdnan sitirist gave of his predecessor ? weight of his poetical remarks, and has there-
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 fijro clifurced Uiem by observations in prose ? knows whether our addlepated descendants 
 
 Was it in pity to our ignorance that he has may think the work worthy of a clavis or a 
 
 subjoined these explanatory remarks ? What commentary. 
 
 would the ancients have said to this plan of Agjain : Every poet is desirous of producing 
 
 an author's furnishing notes for his own com- a volume ; and this, I assure you, is a matter 
 
 position ?" of considerable difficulty, admitting the verses 
 
 " You appear," said my friend, " to have to be tolerable. But agreeably to this new 
 formed an erroneous opinion of the nature of plan, nothing more is necessary than to write 
 the work. The notes are not to be considered a few jingling lines, and attach a sufficiency 
 as mere appendages to the poem : far from it of matter, in the form of notes, to swell out 
 — they are an integral, and indeed the princi- the book to a respectable size. ' O that mine 
 pal, part of the composition. The verses may adversary had written a book I' was the excla- 
 bc considered as a cement which consolidates mation of Job when he reflected on the evils 
 the discordant matter of the notes in a bcauli- ho had suffered through the injustice of men. 
 ful and harmonious whole. The poem may be Were Job now alive, he would think of some 
 considered as the spine with which the various heavier curse for his enemies. The moderns 
 bones of the animal are connected. The lines have made so many improvements in book- 
 may — but I do not remember any thing else making and other manufactures ; they have 
 whieh would assist me in my illustrations, adopted so many labor-saving schemes, that 
 Did you never hear of a statue composed of the prodnetion of a book is no longer a matter 
 different materials — ivory and gold?" of difficulty. 
 
 " I have heard of iron mixed with miry Thirdly : In writing notes, a man has it in 
 
 clay : I have heard of the following supposi- his power, with very little trouble, to make a. 
 
 tion, 
 
 Iliimano capili cervicom pictor equinam 
 Jungere si volil, et varias inducere pliimas 
 Undiquo collatis inemi)ris, ut tiir|)itcr atruin 
 Dcsinal in piscem raulier fonnosa supurne : 
 
 I have heard of centaurs ; — but this literary 
 monster bears resemblance to nothinnr in the 
 
 great display of his reading and erudition. He 
 brings forth the lumber from his literary ware- 
 room, and astonishes the world with the depth 
 of his researches. There is B«thing however 
 antiquated, puerile, or ridiculous, but may find 
 a j)lucc in the farrago of his book. 
 
 Fourthly : The attention of the reader being 
 
 monster Dears resemoiance to notumn- m tne ^- n i- • j r .1 1 • u 
 
 re , -i I 4i CI 11 c.i contmuallv diverted from the verses which 
 
 regions or tancv, unless it be the ocylia 01 the ■ * .1 r u n i » 
 
 ^. n/i-1. I c!- 1 fjive a name to tiic ijcrtormance, he Will beapt 
 
 poets, or Milton s Sin, who ? 1 1 .1 ui • i 11 • 
 
 •^ ' ' to overlook those blemishes which a more cri- 
 
 secmed a woman to the waist, and fair, tical examination would undoubtedly have ex- 
 
 Rut ended foul 111 many a scaly fold 
 Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed 
 With mortal sting : about her middle round 
 A cry of hellhounds neverceasinir barked 
 With wide Cerberian mouths full loud, and rung 
 A hideous peal. 
 
 What do you think of the similitude 7 Were 
 it not for the ' woman to the vvaist and lair,' 
 and the ' mortal sting,' I wniild say it was an 
 excellent likeness." 
 
 posed : 
 
 Fifthly : In this species of composition, an 
 author may not only acquire celebrity as a 
 poet ; but he may exhibit liis talents as a wri- 
 ter of prose: he may acquire renown as a critic 
 and philosopher. 
 
 Sixthly : Who has not heard of the obscur- 
 ity of Pindar and Persius ? Had these poets 
 explained their obscurities in a series of notes, 
 „ ,, , ,, , „ . , ,. . , every note would have been a treasure to pos- 
 
 Search the poets, said my friend, "no ^^^j^^ j^ -^ ^e admitted that a commentator 
 onger for an archetype : you will find nothing ,i^„^-,j understand the subject of his remarks, 
 like It in heaven above or in earth beneath. p^^mit me to ask, who can be able to enter so 
 Saiira tola nostra est, was the boast of Quin- fnlly into the .meaning of a writer, as the wri- 
 tilian : and we with the utmost propriety may ter himself? 
 
 assert that this new species of composition is Seventhly : May not an author of genius 
 wholly our own. The ancients v,-ould have think it necessary to incase his poetical gems 
 derided the idea, of a man's writing notes ex- in substantial prose of his own to prevent their 
 planatory of his own composition, as the height being eaten up by ' the commentating zeal' of 
 of literary absurdity ; but we — succeeding annotators ? 
 
 ,Ti „ , , . • ,• , Lastly: Although I have asserted that this 
 
 Nil intentatura noslri liquere poets — 1 * 1 • i u r 
 
 ' ^ lame poetry, leaning on crutches of prose, is 
 
 we have opened a new way to the temple of a modern invention, yet I have no doubt that 
 
 fame. And you must acknowledge that the the first idea of this species of writing was 
 
 sche'tHc is attended with many advantages. taken from the satire of the Romans; or rather, 
 
 In the first place, it may be observed that that it may boast the same origin with the 
 
 notes add greatly to the dignity of a poem: a musa pcdestris of Horace. Now tliis satire 
 
 work must be important that attracts the at- was said to be derived from satira, cibi genua 
 
 tention of a commentator. But if these anno- ex variis rebus conditum, Angliee, a hash. 
 
 tations be left to be written by posterity, we But the Romans always supposed that this 
 
 are denied the happiness of participating in litrrary repast, however multifarious its in- 
 
 the honors conferred on our book ; and who ^redicnts, must be served up in one poetical
 
 yo 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 dish ; whereas the moderns prefer bringing it 
 to the public tabic in two half dishes ; which 
 practice, every one must acknowledge, adds 
 greatly to the vai-icty of the tntjrtainment." 
 
 ThougJits. 
 Quo me cnnquo rapit tempestas deferor hospes. 
 
 We eannot 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 unu- 
 sual occurrence on the earth, some strange ap- 
 pearance in the heavens, or some violent com- 
 motion in the elements, to give a spring to the 
 mind and break up the gloomy enchantment 
 
 Heavy black clouds rising in the" west, 3,nd 
 the loiwl rushing of winds in the mountains, 
 the sudden rise of rivers and the noise of many 
 waters, cannot revivify the mind ; but they lull 
 it to a state of pleasing repose and banish those 
 feverish dreams which accompany this restless 
 sleep, this inertness of soul. But when vivid 
 flashes of lightning are suddenly followed by 
 claps of thunder, " louder and louder still" — • 
 when 
 
 Ipse Pater, media nimborum in nocte, corusca 
 Fulmina molitur desira. Quo maxima moiu 
 Terra tremit : fugere ferne ; et mortalia corda 
 Per gentes humilis stravit pavor. Ille flagranii 
 Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia, telo 
 Dejicit — 
 
 when he feels the rocking of an earthquake ; 
 when the foundations of tho world are shaken 
 — then, he is startled into Life, and enjoys the 
 pleasures of existence. 
 
 This disease of the mind has sometimes 
 been relieved, though not permanently cured, 
 by a total eclipse of tiie sun, the conflagration 
 of a city, or the sight of two armies 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 bofore the whirlwind I" 
 
 But natijre pursues her calm unvarying 
 round: sha effects 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 unceas- 
 ing operations are continued from eternity to 
 eternity ; and cannot be interrupted by the re- 
 pinings of a fool or the ravings of a maniac. 
 She is never 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 chaotic tendency of things, 
 or the stubborn inertia of matter, that she ar- 
 
 rays herself in terrors and rises up in majesty 
 to confound the opposers of her power. 
 
 It is little, therefore, that man, whose dura- 
 tion is for a moment, can expect to behold of 
 the magnificent commotions 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 dissipate tlie 
 vapors that have risen into his brain. And 
 when he experiences any uneasiness in his 
 contemptible microcosm (which is said to be 
 governed by laws in direct opposition to the 
 laws of the universe) his heart swells, with re- 
 bellious indignation, against the eternal estab- 
 lishment of things; he looks' down upon the 
 earth with contempt and abhorrence; he looks 
 upward with an air of defiance ; and, in a mo- 
 ment of disappointed ambition, tliis redoubtablo 
 Sampson would take hold of the pillars of 
 heaven and bury himself in the ruins of the 
 universe I 
 
 Proud insect ! thy rage proves the truth of 
 the proverb, Inest etformiccz lilis : thy plea- 
 sures and thy pains, thy sorrows and thy joys, 
 thy hatred and thy love^ thy existence and thy 
 non-exiatence, 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 ? 
 Man himself! He is the lord of nature : the 
 earth was created for his use, and the heavens 
 for his amusement. Comets appear predicting 
 revolutioiis 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 Iddo, the Seer. 
 
 "In those days there stood an ant-hill in the 
 valley of Hobah. 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 inhabi- 
 tants of t!ie ant-hill assembled together to hold 
 a solemn feast in the presence of their god. 
 The ants desisted from their labors,and having 
 purified themselves according to the law of their 
 fathers, they prepared to celebrate, with joy 
 and gladness of heart, the anniversary which 
 was kept in iionor of the day when their em- 
 pire Wu.s established in the valley of Hobah. 
 But, lo 1 at tlie time of offering up the morning 
 saciifice,a whirlwind passed over the plain; and 
 after the wliirlwind, there weie thunderings; 
 and after the thunderings, there was an earth- 
 quake. And the ants were sore afraid, and 
 prayed with a loud voice, and cast ashes on 
 their heads, saying, Wo unto us, what have 
 we done, tiiat the anger of our god is kindled 
 against us ? 
 
 Then stood off Basha the son of Bama in 
 the midst of the congregatien, and spake unto 
 the multitude, saying, Give ear, O ye pismires, 
 to tho 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 con- 
 tcmplatioa ; that I have obseryed the rising
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 91 
 
 *nd the Setting of the sun, and the various ap that at tlie birth of common men, it woald be a 
 pearances of the moon ; that I have discovered preposterous thing for the " front of heaven to 
 the nature «f the firmament,and considered the be full of fiery shapes" or for the earth to 
 course of the stars. Theretore, O ye citizens tremble; but at our own nativity, we admit, 
 of Hobah, and inhabitants of the aHt-hill, attend there might be some few signs in heaven, 
 to the dictates of wisdom. When your fathers some little commotions on earth, to mark ue 
 settled in this valley they were a little band, extraordinary. 
 
 miserable and poor ; but now ye are become as Who does not suppose that the order of na- 
 the sand on the sea shore, or as the stars of ture might be interrupted to give him intima- 
 hoavcn, which cannot be numbered. But ye tion of evils that may befal him ? Who would 
 have waxed proud and have forgotter» the pre- not suppose a squadron of angels honorably 
 cepts of the law. Know ye not tiiat our fath- employed in watching his motions and direct- 
 ers have told lis that we should pusii our ing his steps ? Who does not think himself 
 burthens before ns, and not drag them after us wortliy of being \hc peculiar favorite of heaven? 
 according to the manner of the heathen ? Yet Who does not conceive himself able to change 
 notwithstanding this, O ye ants, I have seen the unchangeable mind bj' his prayers? 
 you turn your hinder parts to the temple of But whither have we wandered ? We have 
 our god, as ye ascended this holy mountain followed the train of our capricious thoughts 
 which was given to our fathers ; therefore the and lost sight of the object we meant to pur- 
 lieavens are troubled ; therefore the sun has sue. It is true that we discarded method, in 
 hidden his face ; and the earth is shaken from the beginning, and proposed to make an ex- 
 her centre. ciirsion through the fields of imagination; yet, 
 
 While he yet spake there came a wild beast it will probably be expected that we should 
 from the forest of Lebanon, and trod down the presen'e some order in our wanderings and 
 hillock." not be continually changing our course in puf-. 
 
 But we not only expect that the heavens suit of every meteor that flits through the re- 
 should be disturbed by the revolutions of em- gions of fancy. 
 
 pires, we expect that the births and deaths and We intended to have taken a more extensive 
 little misfortunes of mortals should be preced- ramble : and we now see objects at a distance 
 cd by terrestrial portents and celestial prodi- which we would willingly chase for a while, 
 gies. This disposition in huinan nature is and then desert them tor others ; but as we 
 
 finely ridiculed by Shakspeare. 
 
 Glendwver. Sit, cousin Percy ; sit good cousin 
 Hotspur: 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster j 
 Doth speak ofyou, his cheeks look pal(»; and.with 
 A rising sigh, he wishetb you in lieaven. 
 
 Hotspur. And you in hell, as ol'len as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke of. 
 
 Glend. J cannot blamo him : at my nativity, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning cressets; and at my birth 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shaked like a coward. 
 
 Hot. V/hy so it would have done , ,.,. ,, , ., -,. , 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's eat iz^a lite among the tribes which compose our 
 
 Had kittened, though yourself had ne'er been now declining but once potent confederacy. 
 
 born. The arms of the warrior are exchanged for the 
 
 Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was axe 'and the hoe, the hammer and the shuttle, 
 born. They no longer climb the proud mountains, or 
 
 Hot. And I say ths earth was not of my mind, traverse the desert : no— they toil with the 
 If you suppose as fearing you, .t shook. ^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^,^g ^^^-^ , ^.^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on rirc, the earth „ • . . r- tj i j .,* „j 
 
 are apprehensive that our readers would not 
 choose to follow us in our fantastic flig^it 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 J\luscoguIgee friends, which afford 
 us very little satisfaction. 
 
 The government of the United States has 
 been assiduously attentive to the business of 
 introducing the arts and improvements of civil- 
 
 did tremble. 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
 on fire. 
 And not in fear of your nativity. • 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell yoH once again, that, at 7ny birth, 
 The front of heaven was fiiU of fiery shapes.: 
 Tiie.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 ©fray life do show, 
 lam not in the roll of common men. 
 
 propriated ; fields are marked out, and perma- 
 nent buildings arc erected. A monopolizing 
 avaricious accumulating spirit has appeared ; 
 sordidness, meanness, selfishness are triumph- 
 ant; 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, sly prudence, and 
 squint-eyed cunning. The line and the rule, 
 the lock and the key have made their appear- 
 ance — have made their appearance among In- 
 — Shades of our fathers .' spirits of 
 
 Where is the man who does not think, with dians I 
 ■Glendower, that he is not on " the roll of heroes ! look not down on your degenerate 
 "ommon men ?" We can all readily admit children ! ^
 
 92 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Do some of our readers wish to observe that 
 Christianity will bo introduced among the 
 heathen ; and that the loss of a savage freedom 
 will be 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 w^e 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 allusions that are made in these letters, 
 it will be necessary to observe that many years 
 ago, our warriors took a number 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 
 indifferently well : these letters were dictated 
 by him in that language, 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 correspcndent ; and 
 where we have found it necessary 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 impos- 
 sible to present to our civilized readers, at the 
 same time, the original wofds and the mean- 
 ing intended to be conveyed by them : the al- 
 lusions to savage manners, customs and opin- 
 ions ; the extravagant metaphors, wild simili- 
 tudes, and abrupt apostrophes, would have 
 been wholly unintelligible. 
 
 We had some thoughts, at first, of civilizing 
 the language 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 consequently 
 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 to others whieli they 
 claim for themselves. They find fault with our 
 rudeness and barbarity ; we blame the deceit- 
 ful appearances they exhibit : 
 —et bane veniam petimusquedamusque vicissim. 
 We shall probably be blamed by posterity 
 for not attaching some explanatory notes to 
 the obscure and curious passages that may be 
 found in these letters ; but we will frankly de- 
 clare that we thought it right to leave many 
 WnbigUQUs expressions merely for the purpoce 
 
 of exercising the ingenuity of our contempora- 
 ries and affording employment to critics, com- 
 mentators, and book-makers, not yet in exis- 
 tence. 
 
 The clerical gentleman to whom our cor- 
 respondent has given the appellation of Black- 
 cant must be highly pleased with Chotahowee 
 and Piomingo for taking notice of his apostoli- 
 cal 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 Piominiro, a headman and tcar- 
 
 rior of the Muscogulgee confederacy. 
 Fatlier : I have prevailed upon Oseii John, 
 a beloved white warrior, to put this speech 
 upon paper and convey it to you. 
 
 Father I 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 Tennessee 
 shall cease to flow from the mountains ; then, 
 will Chotahowee be forgetful of his friend ; 
 then, will he cease to remember Piomingo. 
 
 Father ! I was painted black : I was bound 
 to the stake ; the fuel was prepared ; and the 
 flames were ready to devour 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 sor- 
 rowful spirit came among us ; he turned away 
 your face from your friends, from your coun- 
 try, 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. I wept when I saw 
 that your rifle became rusty, that your bow 
 remained unstrung, and that your arrows con- 
 tinued to sleep in your quiver ; I wept when I 
 saw that your thoughts became deep ; and 
 your face became strange to your son Chota- 
 howee. 
 
 Father I 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 attend 
 in the council, preside at the feasts, and listen 
 to the beloved songs of his fathers. But the 
 man of the sorrowful spirit had poisoned your 
 mind ; your countenance was sad ; you de- 
 parted in the night; and we knew not whither 
 you had gone. 
 
 Father ! I 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 of Chota,where 
 I was born. 
 
 Father, lend me your ear ! About sixty or 
 seventy moons ago, there came among us o
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 93 
 
 man dressed in blach, with a booh full of talks, hk spoech. Then the he;ulman of Chota arose 
 
 He spoke to the people at first with a very and said, 
 
 smooth tongue, and said lie had brought then " Brother Blackcoat ! we take you by the 
 
 good news from the great spirit who rides in hand. You have come a great distance to 
 
 the storm, and who thunders in the clouds that bring us good news. Your talk is very good : 
 
 pass over our heads. and we thank you. We !iave prepared you a 
 
 As we are always pleased to hear good news, lodging to which you may retire " 
 
 and were not without hopes that he would 
 make us some presents, we assembled at tiic 
 townhousc to receive his talk and deliver our 
 
 But the man dressed in black with the hook dwell. 
 of talks in his hand, would not come into the 
 townhouse : he said his good news were not 
 for the chiefs and warrior.s only, but for all tlie 
 beloved people belonging to the nation. He 
 went into the public square, and mounted on a 
 
 Fatlicr, farewell. May the Master of our 
 life preserve you from danger. May he keep 
 you from learning the crooked loords of the 
 smooth-tongued people, among whom you 
 
 Chotahowee. 
 
 The Slate Hov^e Yard. 
 
 Do not expect, reader, Lhat we are going to 
 give an account of the proceedings in tiie 
 
 bench ; but it was not sullicicntly high to Statchousc yard. No : we merely mean to 
 enable him to overlook the assembly. ' And he inform you of some oflho.se savage meditations 
 therefore desired some more elevated place on which were occasioned by this assemblage of 
 which he might stand. I sent my two friends, the people. 
 
 Bloody Bear and Red Jacket, to bring an empty We sometimes walk in search of amuse- 
 hogshead from my liouse, whicli I conceived ment, but, for the most part, are so unfortunate 
 would answer the purpose oi" the man dressed as to return without having found it. There 
 in black. is such a lamentable paucity ot unexpected in- 
 
 As soon as the Cherokees of Chota got a cident — such a universal sameness reigns 
 sight of the hogsiiead they concluded that throughout the city — that the mind becomes 
 Blackcoat had brought them some rum ; and, torpid for want o^ stimuli to keep it in motion, 
 consequently, they flocked in i'rom every di- It is therefore our practice, if, in our peram- 
 rection. bulations, our ears be saluted by any species 
 
 Blackcoat having ascended the hogshead of uproar or noise, immediately to repair to the 
 with his hook of talks in liis liand, he told us spot, hoping that some novel appearances, odd 
 many wonderful things which, he informed us, associations, or spirited oppositions, will he 
 might be found in liis book. He said tiie exhibited, which may contribute to our enter- 
 Great Spirit made the eartli and the sun, and tainment. 
 
 the moon and the stars ; and all very good. ^, Well : wc were moving up Chesnut street, 
 He made a man and woman out of clay : and apparently buried in contemplation, but, in 
 he put them in a garden, and gave them a reality, not thinking at all, when we were 
 talk ; but the man and the woman forgot the startled by the shouting of many voices in the 
 beloved talk, and gave ear to wicked spirits public square. 
 
 who led them astray. The Great Spirit was We found a crowd, noisy and restless as the 
 very angry, and drove away the man and the waves of the ocean, surrounding an elevated 
 woman from the garden. Alter this men be- platform, on which several men were stationed: 
 came very numerous and covered the earth, one of whom appeared to be reading certain 
 Tliey became wicked, and learned the crooked resolutions, to which he seemed occasionally to 
 ways of the spirit that is cursed. The Great require the assent of the multitude. 
 Spirit sent beloved men, who gave them good The man on the platform appeared to ad- 
 talks; but they turned away their faces and dress himself to us as well as to tiie others; but 
 persisted in evil. The Good Spirit sent a great as we could not hear the purport of the resolu- 
 and beloved chief, who did many wonderful tions, we neither expressed our di.isent nor ap- 
 things ; who died, and was buried, and rose probation. We endeavored to approach the 
 from the dead. scaffold, in order to understand the nature of 
 
 Father, attend to my words ! Blackcoat the subject which occupied the attention of 
 made a speech very long and very curious; the people. We unfoitunately succeeded too 
 but we could not understand it. He told us well in our undertaking : we advanced so far 
 of a place he called hell, full of fire and brim- into the crowd that we found it almost impos- 
 stone, which burns for ever and ever ; and of sible to return ; which we were much more 
 a place he called heaven, a very fine place ;. — anxious to do than we had been, a few mo- 
 but his talk was crooked : and we could not ments before, to proceed. The sovereign peo- 
 believe it. pie paid no more respect to a Museogulgee 
 
 When the young men discovered that the chief than they did to each other. We were 
 hogshead was empty, they arose and went jostled, without ceremony, first to one side and 
 away; and when the chiefs perceived that then to the other ; again we were wedged up 
 Blackcoat had brought them no presents, they immovably, and found it impossible to advance 
 turned away their ears from his talk. How- or recede. " Gentlemen, let me pass — Do be 
 ever, we sat still and waited the conclusion of so obliging as to permit mc to passl" But
 
 94 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 we miglit S.3 well have spoken to tlie wind, 
 ari-d addicssed our solicitations to the tempest. 
 Yet tiiesc people call themselves civilized ! — ■ 
 " Yes, yes, you may talk of your sovereignty 
 and independence as much as you please: I 
 should foe! myself much more independent if 
 3 were out of the crowd." We prayed to the 
 ,2^ods; but, as prayers alone are generally una- 
 vailing, we did not neglect to make use of our 
 personal exertions ; and, after jjeing shoved, 
 pushed, squeezed and bruised fir the space of 
 fifty minutes, v.e found ourself breathless and 
 exhausted in the or.ter skirts of the assembly. 
 We then very devoutly exclaimed, " Thank 
 God" — but we were rather too hasty in making 
 our acknowledgments; for a brawny fcllov/, 
 in the act of huzzaing, dashed his hut in our 
 face. 
 
 Wc 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, wc " bear our fa- 
 culties as meekly" as though we were not a 
 headman and warrior of a great and indepen- 
 dent nation; we are harmless as ' p. sucking 
 dove;' it is almost impossible to irritate or offend 
 us : — but this insult was so srdden, so unex- 
 pected, so violent, that it elicited a few scin- 
 tillations of anger. 
 
 Wc tumed round in a rage upon the aggres- 
 sor; but, discovering no marks of respcciabUity 
 about him, our indignation was converted into 
 pity and contempt " Friend I" said we, " why 
 art thou so outrageously patrielio ? What has 
 thy country done for thee ? Does she give 
 thee food to keep thee from starving, or rai- 
 ment to protect thee from the cold ?" 
 
 The man mutteied something which we did 
 not perfectly understand ; but as he did not 
 mean to offend us, as he appeared to be rather 
 unworthy of our notice, as he v.as a robust 
 rough-looking dog, and, as v;e have heard, that 
 in civilized countries, " the better part of vdor 
 is discretion," we, influenced by all these con- 
 siderations, determined to take no further no- 
 lice 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 
 buffti-ted the popular waves, our attention Vv'as 
 wholly employed in warding ofl' 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 
 impression on our brain that was not com- 
 ;pletely erased ; but these were fully sufficient 
 M,o affiard 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 
 "djgnifry, honor and independence ? Does it 
 
 arise from a secret consciousness that they are 
 destitute of dignity, that their honor is tar- 
 nished, 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, blood, murder, havoc, 
 and destruction ; yet no one regards the vapor- 
 ing cf Klustcr; his threats pass by as the " idle 
 wind" which is not regarded. — Captain Blus- 
 ter toill notjigkt. 
 
 Shall people who continually boast of their 
 warlike abilities, who continually threaten to 
 overwhelm their opponents with war and de- 
 vastation, yet cautiously refrain from carrying 
 their menaces into execution, be entitled 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 as- 
 serts with the most unblushing confidence that 
 it still is white as the snow which is driven by 
 the north wind along the tops of the moun- 
 tains. "What, do you presume to cast any 
 aspersions en the spotless purity and unsullied 
 whitenecs of my character ? Do you dare to 
 insinuate any thing contrary to the dignity of 
 TTiy character? I would have you to know 
 that my character is not to be impeached with 
 impunit}' ! My character, founded on]the rocks 
 of innocence and integrity, bids defiance to the 
 puny assaults, of slander and the impotent at- 
 tacks of envious malignity ! My character is 
 clear as 'he sun, fair as the moon, and terrible 
 as an army with banners I" So saying, Ta- 
 bitha walks so erectly, moves with so much 
 dignity, that one would be diverted with her 
 petulance, if the never-ceasing repetition of the 
 word character did not fatigue and disgust us. 
 f Somebody. VVhy,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 illustration. 
 
 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 ne- 
 cessary to make so many assertions on the 
 subject? 
 
 Somebody. Because we have been treated as 
 though we were slaves ; we have been con- 
 temned, insult'cd, abused, for a series of years ; 
 all which we have borne with unexampled pa- 
 tience ; shall we not complain of these grie- 
 vances? shall v;e not speak of our sligiited 
 honor, violated dignity, and outraged indepen- 
 dence ? 
 
 I. Savage. Docs a man really courageous boast 
 of his spirit ? Will a man of honor talk for- 
 ever of his refined feelings, correct priuciplw
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 95 
 
 and elevated eentimentrf ? Complain ! shall a 
 higlmiinded nation complain ? If this be the 
 way that you seek for redress, you deserve the 
 contempt you experience. Complain ! no won- 
 der you are treated as slaves. You defend 
 your sovereignty, indeijendence and honor by 
 complaint! do you ? 
 
 A savage nation manages the business dif- 
 ferently : Our warriors in a hunting excursion 
 were insulted and robbed by a party of Chick- 
 asaws. We sent, and demandcd immediate 
 restitution of the property, and puni:5hment of 
 the ni;)Icfactors. Our demand was disregarded. 
 What did we ? complain ? No ! by tlje souls 
 of our fathers, no ! we burnished our arms, 
 and took vengeance ou our enemies ; we 
 taught tlie robbers, bij our deeds, to respect the 
 dignity, honor, sovereignty and independence 
 of our nation. Complain! 
 
 The sons of Alknomak will never coini)lain. 
 
 Somebody. The sons of Alknomak are sa- 
 vages ; wc arc a civilized nation. They are 
 barbarous pagans ; wc are polished christians. 
 Therefore, their conduct can never seriously 
 be proposed as an example for u;-. Their con- 
 tests are on too small a scale to bear any re- 
 semblance to ours. What comparison can be 
 drawn between the petty squabbles of naked 
 hordes, and the mighty battles of conflicting 
 empires ? 
 
 Our love of peace, our love of justice, our 
 humanity, have been the causes of our for- 
 bearance. We are not cowards, O thou ill 
 natured savage I we are not cowards. 
 
 Savage. An avaricious, luxurious, money- 
 worshipping nation must necessarily be cow- 
 ardly. — Permit a savage, an American savage, 
 to give it as his opinion that your courage is 
 noise ; your honor — air ; your independence — 
 nominal ; your virtue— extinct. Your fathers, 
 indeed, possessed courage ; but your fathers 
 were not so liighly civilized as their patriotic 
 descendants. Yes, your fathers were courage- 
 ous : who has not heard of Bunkers-hill, Sara- 
 toga, Guilford, Eutaw, and Yorktown ? — but 
 your fathers were virtuous, patriotic, just; 
 when these heroes pledged their fortunes, lives, 
 and sacred honor, it sounded as a voice from 
 on high ; but you ! — far hence, ye profane I 
 Approach not the temple of honor I 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 estab- 
 lishment of banks, of the price of stocks, of 
 policies of insurance, of ledgers, bales, ham- 
 pers, 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, 
 tliat ^le wealth of Great Britain could noi in- 
 duce 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 con- 
 temptible, that you would sell your country 
 
 and your posterity to George,Napolton,. or the 
 Devil, in order to gratify your sordid propen- 
 sities. 
 
 Has Britain insulted and mal-treated you 
 ever since you were a nation ? Did she hold 
 your frontier posts majiy years in open defi- 
 ance to positive stipulations ? — Has she cap- 
 tured your vessels, impressed your seamen, 
 murdered your citizens, attacked your frigates, 
 and insulted your government ? Well : what 
 have you done' in the mean time ? You have 
 uttered piteous and winning complaints, and 
 sometimes indulged yourselves in ijdle threat?, 
 and bo.asted of your sovereignty. indL'])cndence 
 and vulor I Is this the way to be respected 
 among the nations of the earth ? If a private 
 man should act in this manner, would iie 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 dignil}'? would he lay claim to the 
 character of a gentleman ? 
 
 Somebody, We wish, if possible, to avoid the 
 horrors of war. We would rather submit to 
 many indignities than bring upon humanity 
 the afflictions of war. 
 
 Savage. I am not ignorant of the calamities 
 usually occasioned by war. But when, a na- 
 tion becomes the slave of avaricious desires, 
 nothing but some mighty commotion can save 
 her. Any thing wliieh could divert your at- 
 tention from your present pursuits, — an earth- 
 quake, lamine, war, pestilence, — would be a 
 national blessing. Any thing tliat would de- 
 stroy the canker of avarice — any thing that 
 would mow down the rank weeds of luxury — 
 any thing that would give virtue an opportu- 
 nity to flourish — any thing that would present 
 an object for honorable emulation, would be a 
 national blessing, VV^hen a' patient labors un- 
 der a painful and dreadful disease, any change 
 is desirable — even death itself. 
 
 We tremble at the evils of war, because they 
 are rather uncommon; but we pass over un- 
 noticed the evils of peace. War prevents the 
 human race from sinking into tlie lowest state 
 of degeneracy and corruption. War, by in- 
 terrupting the progress of civilization, prevents 
 the extinction of virtue, and keeps alive the 
 holy fire of honor, iricndsiiip and patriotism. 
 Has it not been proved tiiat refinement and 
 luxury increase, with unwearied assiduity, 
 the vices and miseries of man ? and may it 
 not be demonstrated that they would eventually 
 destroy the human family from the face of tiic 
 earth ? One thousand years of calm uninter- 
 rupted 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 tiiat amputa- 
 tion of a limb may prevent the mortification of 
 the whole body, and save the life of a man 
 who is wounded. The stroke of lightuiHg that
 
 96 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 kills one may preserve the life of a million; 
 and the earthquake wliich destroys a city may 
 save a eontincnt from desolation. War, by 
 arresting the progress of those arts which bru- 
 talize the human family, may stretch out the 
 period of its existence ; but the time must 
 come when men shall be Jio more : and their 
 extinction will be occasioned by the progress 
 of civilization. 
 
 Somebody. Whatever you majsay, I cannot 
 conceive that it is your serious opinion, that 
 civilization is really an evil. 
 
 Saviiccc. What is civilization ? It would he 
 dillieult to give a satisfactory definition of the 
 term ; butv^hat I mean by the expression may 
 be easily miderstood. I use it as a general 
 term to signify the progress of society from 
 the simplicity of nature to the corrupt and 
 factitious refinements of art. Were it possi- 
 ble 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 society : but the fact is, its pleasures 
 are confined to the few, while it renders the 
 manij poor, miserable and wicked. 
 
 It is true, that when humanity becomes ex- 
 tremely degenerated, nature generally produ- 
 ces a fermentation which purifies the mass of 
 society, and throws off the dregs of corruption. 
 Men, in a luxurious age, are preserved 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 nerer appear to regain the elevation from 
 which they have fallen. Where is the north- 
 ern hive which formerly emitted swarms of 
 haughty and restless barbarians ? Where are 
 the empires of Asia, the kingdoms nf Africa, 
 and the millions of America ? — They arc no 
 morel 
 
 Pronunciation : from Crito. 
 
 There is a great propensity among the vul- 
 gar, in Pennsylvania, to give the sound of oo 
 to the diphthongal u: thus, instead of blue lure 
 lute luminous due duty nuisance nudity numer- 
 ous supine supreme tutor tumor tune tube, ^'c. 
 we hear bloo loor loot loominnus doo dooty noo- 
 sancc nooditynoomerous soopine sooprcme tootor 
 tuomor toon toob ; and this anomalous pronun- 
 ciation is not only tolerated, but defended by 
 many of our American word-mongers. Their 
 orthoepical canons would be unworthy of at- 
 tention, did not every year witness the emission 
 of some five or six spcUingbooks under the au- 
 spices of eminent booksellers: these produc- 
 tions oj genius meet with a ready sale, and are 
 dispersed over the continent to confirm old er- 
 rors 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 planted in childhood are not 
 easily eradicated. NothiDg more is necessary 
 
 than to make a collection of words, invent new 
 rules for the division of syllables, give tabtes of 
 words, the same in sound, but different in 
 spelling and signification, and of words spelled 
 in one manner, and pronounced in another, not 
 forgetting to add a compendious systern of En- 
 glish grammar ; and the^business is done. Re- 
 commendations of sapient schoolmasters arc 
 easily procured ; nor is it difficult to find book- 
 sellers sufliciently intelligent to discover that 
 the thing may sell. These arc trifles, I ac- 
 knowledge ; but, 
 
 ha; nugae seria ducent 
 
 In mala. 
 If literary men be honorably employed in cor- 
 recting a vitious pronunciation, certainly it 
 must be commendiible to take notice of those 
 who contribute to the existence of error. 
 
 Sometimes, however, we arc too headstrong 
 to be led away by an American philologist; 
 but if an English author issue his mandates, 
 who will refuse an immediate acquiescence? 
 Well then, Sheridan has informed us that we 
 should not say toon toob tootor, nor yet tune 
 tube tutor, but choon chooh chootor : and thou- 
 sands in America have made themselves ridi- 
 culous by following Slieridan. 
 
 This orthocpist 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 
 predecessor of innumerable errors. Must we 
 revolt from Sheridan, and transfer our allegi- 
 ance to Walker? Certainly : Sheridan was an 
 Irishman ; he was not born within the sound 
 
 Of merry merry Bow Church bells; 
 he had noi snuffed up the smoke of the British 
 metropolis for a sufiicient length of time ; 
 nor had his ear acquired refinement from the 
 harmony of London cries or the musical voice of 
 the cockneys. But Mr. Walker-who will dissent 
 from the opinion of Mr. Walker? from the 
 opinion of a man who was " born within a few 
 miles of the capital ;" and who has "resided 
 in the capital 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 oferror? What! shall one bred in 
 the wilds of Aaierica, who never saw the 
 white cliffs of Albion, or bieathed the sweet 
 air nf The Capital ; who understands not the 
 tune of the language, nor feels that infalliable 
 vernacular instinct, set up his opinion in op- 
 position to that of Mr. Walker? 
 
 I have no desire to detract from this gentle- 
 man'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 AV'alker as the standard, is, 
 in many instances, less analogical than the 
 American.
 
 THE 8ATAOE. 
 
 «7 
 
 Mr. Walker is bo fond of aspirations, as he but be particular to pronounce these words 
 ■calls them, that he says picA-c-ous rather than thus, merth berth, &,c. Shall we leave the 
 piteous, petch-u-lant rather than petulant, analogical sound of the « and the y which is 
 plench-e-ous rather than plenteous, &c. This habitual to us, and learn the anomalous and 
 is not only contrary to general usage in the barbarous pronunciation of Britain? Who eyer 
 United States but contrary to the analogies of heard the word vertue in the U. States unless 
 the language. And this eminent orthoepist is among the lowest of the vulgar ? who would 
 betrayed into repeated inconsistencies, by his dare to say vergm in any genteel company on 
 attempts to establish the coincidence of his this side of the Atlantic ? who, that has any 
 theory with the polite usage of the British me- ideas of propriety, is heard to say gerl instead 
 tropolis. ofgirll 
 
 Mr. Walker has laid it down as a rule, that 
 
 whenever t precedes u, and the accent imme- 
 diately 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 choo. 
 mult ckoonic, &.c. with Mr. Sheridan instead 
 of tune tube tutor tumult tunic, &c. ; neverthe- 
 
 LETTER II, 
 
 From Chotahoicee, a warrior of the Cherokee 
 
 nation, to Piomingo, a headman and ioar- 
 
 rior of the Muscogulgee confederacy. 
 
 Father ! Many of our Cherokees are mad t 
 Blackcoat has taken away their senses. They 
 less, he insists upon nachure misforchune for- neither plant corn in the fields nor hunt for 
 chune virchue ligachure signachure forfeit- the deer in the mountains ; but spend their 
 chure,tcc. instea.d of nature misfortune fortune lime in singing, shouting and weeping. When 
 virtue ligature signature forfeiture, &c. they pray, they fall down on their knees or lie 
 
 This monstrous pronunciation may prevail prostrate in the dust. They hold up their 
 in Britain, and it may likewise sometimes be hands and turn up the whites of their eyes, 
 heard in New England, as we find it is counte- whining and begging for mercy. Will not 
 nanced by Webster ; but I will venture to af- the Great Spirit diespise them for their mean- 
 firm that it is not the pronunciation of the well ness ? Again they leap on their feet and dance 
 'educated natives of the middle and southern furiously, clapping their hands and singing, 
 states. And it introduces such horrible irregu- " Glory, Jesus ! glory ! glory ! glory !" What 
 larity into the language, I am surprised that it are our powwows and war dances ? Nothing: 
 should be advocated by any one who mak«8 they are calm and tranquil when compared 
 pretensions to literature. That it is not uni- with these christian amusements. They say 
 versal, even in England, appears from Scott's all this uproar is occasioned by the presence of 
 pronouncing dictionary, and from the writings a good spirit in theif assemblies. Would a 
 of several other orthoepists. good spirit make peopSe mad T would he take 
 
 He remarks in one place, that " if we ana- away the senses of men ? 
 
 lyse the u we shall find it commence with the They sing songs of praise, and call the 
 
 squeezed sound of e, equivalent to the conso- Master of aur breath great, good, holy, wise, 
 
 nant y. This produces the small hiss before just, merciful: will not the Great Spirit be dis- 
 
 taken notice of, and which may be observed in pleased with their flattery? The great OEWA 
 
 ^he pronunciation of nature, and borders so can hear the thoughts of their hearts as well 
 
 closely on natshure, that it is no wonder Mr. as the words of their mouths : will he not be 
 
 Sheridan adopted this latter mode of spelling angry at their deceit, fatigued with their noise, 
 
 the word to express its sound." N«w if this and turn away his face from their folly ? 
 
 sentence have any signification, it mast mean Father 1 We have had iso rain for two 
 
 that the true pronunciation of nature adven- moons: no black clouds rise op in the west; 
 
 ture, &c. is nate-yure advent-yure, &c ; yet nor cool breeze passes over our land. The 
 
 we are directed to say nachure advenchure, springs are become dry in the heads of the 
 
 &c. We would desire to inquire of Mr. Walker, vaJleys ; the earth is laid open with drought ; 
 
 if it be possible to retain the diphthongal sound and the corn that was green droops down and 
 
 of the M when the < is sounded as ci- does not is withered. Our prophets, our priests, and 
 
 the u, in that case, degenerate into oo ? holy men, wander over the hills muttering 
 
 .,. J , J •. ,T iwayers to the spirits of the air: they repeat 
 
 AiiQuanao bonus dormitat Homerus. Ii ■ j i ■ il • j 
 
 H xiu uciu» ^j^^^j. g^pjgj ^jharms m the mornmg, and pow- 
 
 Again : Mr. Walker lays it down as a rule, wow at the close of the day. But all in vain ; 
 
 that " when i is succeeded by r and another they cannot awaken a breeze on the river, or 
 
 consonant, not in a final syllable, it has exactly call ap a cloud in the sky. 
 
 the sound of e in veimin vernal, &c." There- We are no longer the beloved people that we 
 
 fore if we choose to follow Mr. Walker, we were. OEWA has forsaken us ; and we are 
 
 mnst no longer B&y virtue virgin firkin mirth, no longer the objects of bis fatherly care : 
 
 ful,hut vertue vergin ferkin merthful. We are when he returns again to look for the Chero- 
 
 also directed to say merrh mertle mermidon, kees, they will not be found. Once we were 
 
 •&C. instead of myrrA myrtle myrmidon, <fcc. a powerful nation : our warriors were terrible; 
 
 And we must no longer indulge ourselves in our hunters returned loaded with game ; and 
 
 iayiR^ mirth birth gird girt skirt tDhirl girl ; our prophets brought us rain at the prooer 
 
 M
 
 m 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 •eason. But now • strange people have cross. 
 ed the great water, and spread over our coun- 
 trj. They have seized upon our land ; they 
 have cut down our woods ; they have driven 
 away our buffaloes and deer. They have 
 chased u3 from mountain to mountain, and 
 from river to river. Theyhave surrounded us 
 with their cities and their fields, until they 
 have left us no place to which we can fly. 
 They have made us as wicked and as base as 
 themselves : our old men are fools ; our war- 
 riors are cowards ; and our young men are 
 drunkards. Our war dances aie neglected ; 
 our sacred songs are despised ; and our holy 
 feasts are forgotten. 
 
 Father I Have you read the holy hook of 
 which the christians are so proud ? Do, I be- 
 seech 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, 
 &nd to cheat the poor Indians out of their 
 land? 
 
 Blackcoat affirms that the book teaches truth, 
 peace, honesty, kindness ; but this cannot be 
 the case, or we should not find white men to 
 be such liars and villians 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 the 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 I come away. How can 
 you be contented among the little creamcolor- 
 ed raccoonfooted maulfisted bandylegged big- 
 bellied stoopshouldered hunchbacked wry- 
 necked thicklipped woollyhairod 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 bestow upon us I Shall they call 
 us savages, heathens, barbarians, 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 pois- 
 onous physic to make ourselves well. We do 
 not wear the yoke of slavery nor groan beneath 
 the lash of oppression. We do not live, like 
 white men and fishes, by devouring each 
 other. 
 
 Father, attend I I made a journey last year 
 to the city of Washington in company with 
 several headmen and warriors of the Chero- 
 kee nation ; and 1 made it my business to pay 
 particular attention to the appearances and 
 puriuits of the ereamcolored people. I was, 
 
 at first, much amazed at the defonnity of their 
 shapes and the hideous cast of their counte- 
 nances ; but I, at last, catne to this conclusion : 
 that incessant labor ond the continual practice 
 of deceit had deformed their persons and im- 
 pressed on their faces that mixture of stupidity 
 and malignity which may be discovered by 
 any attentive observer. Their unceasing ef- 
 forts to itnpose on each other has totally de- 
 stroyed all the original dignity, candor and 
 simplicity of their nature, and produced a 
 strange composition of folly, imbecility and 
 cunning. They hate each other, with the 
 most virulent hatred, yet they are mutually 
 dependent : no man can live a day, scarcely 
 an 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 innocence : 
 they are made miserable by the Hiost trifling 
 occurrences ; and they are diverted by the most 
 insignificant toys. The least pain imaginable 
 occasions them to utter the most piteous la- 
 mentations ; and they are convulsed with idiot 
 laughter when there is nothing to excite the 
 merriment of a man. Wherever we came the 
 inhabitants discovered symptoms of childish 
 curiosity ; our persons excited their awkward 
 astonishtiTent ; and our dress was the object 
 of surprise and admiration. Their ignorance 
 is amazing : they appear to have no know- 
 ledge of any thing without the bounds of the 
 village 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 
 us with open eyes, gaping mouths, and the 
 idiot stare of mental imbecility. They appear 
 to have no idea of politeness : 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 tho 
 smallest encouragement, they will proceed to 
 handle our arms, ornaments and the different 
 parts of our dress. Luckily, they are as cow- 
 ardly as they are insolent: for if one of us 
 chanced to put his hand to his belt or take 
 hold of his rifle, the whole troop would start 
 back 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 re- 
 spect. He is invited into the ne: Test hut, and 
 receives the food of friendship and the calumet 
 of peace. We supply his wants, anticipate his 
 desires, and vie with each other in extendmg 
 to the stranger the duties of hospitality. When 
 we have offered 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. 
 He is not distressed by a multitude of imper- 
 tincnt questions, " who are you ? whence do
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 99 
 
 you come 7 wliitlior are you going ? to what the clutches of that horrible devil, of which 
 nation do you belong ? what is, your business ? Blackcoat has given us, as he says, a faithful 
 and where did you lodge last night ?" He is description ! Farewell, 
 
 not incommoded by a crowd of insolent loun- r-x.*™, «« . ..» 
 
 gers pressing around him to examine his per- 
 son, his dress, his arms, and accoutrements. From this letter it appears that savage* 
 When he has slept off his fatigue, he may when passing through civilized countries are 
 walk out and e.xamine the village : wherever not so unobservant as is generally supposed, 
 he goes, he will receive the salutation of love It would be strange if they should. Shall they 
 and the offerings of friendship : every house is whose senses are kept in a state of vigilant 
 open, and every hand is stretched out to re- activity ; whose welfare and life depend on 
 ceive him. He sees no fences or walls as im- their personal exertions ; and who must, ia 
 pediments to his progress, or bolts or locks consequence become remarkably attentive to 
 which refuse him admittance. passing occurrences — shall they immediately 
 
 Piomingo ! Mark the contrast ! lose tlieir habits of observation as soon as they 
 
 When a Cherokee enters any town or vil- enter the territories of a polished nation ? 
 lage in the United States, he is instantly sur- The natural and unavoidable effects of civili- 
 rounded by a troop of ignorant, insolent and zation are to deprive men of personal import- 
 malignant boys exclaiming, "An Indian ! an ance, and to make them mutually dependent 
 Indian ; there goes an Indian ! Indian, what's on each other. The whole society is possessed 
 your name? Will you shoot us, Indian?" of strength if it can be brought to act consen- 
 The poor Indian distressed with this brutal tancously ; but the parts taken separately are 
 uproar and savage persecution, endeavors to contemptibly weak and inefficient. Men, in a 
 take refuge in the first bouse he can find ; but civilized state, are not allowed to exhibit any 
 admittance is sternly refused, and he is rudely characteristical appearances of individuality : 
 thrust away from the threshold. He goes all distinguishing prominencies disappear in 
 from door to door, but no one is found disposed consequence of the continual attrition of one 
 to shoio kindness to the stranger, to present the man against another. In such a state we can 
 cup of refreshment to his lips, or spread the do nothing but what will interfere with the 
 couch of repose. The Indian sits down to rest actions and concerns of others : in fact, we 
 on a stone in the street ; and he takes out his have no longer the liberty to act as individuals, 
 knife to terrify the ignorant and cowardly but as members of the community, 
 rabble who torment him. At last some one. Whatever inclination a man may retain to 
 in whom civilization has not totally extinguish- promote his own particular interest, he finds 
 ed humanity, approaches, and points out a himself utterly incapable of effecting his pur- 
 tavern to which the Indian may repair. Here poses without the assistance of others : conse- 
 he gains admittance; for the devil (Blackcoat quently he must resign all hopes of indepen. 
 has given us a description of the devil) would dence, and consent to become a member oftha 
 gain admittance if he name properly recom- great body politic. 
 
 mended ; but if it he discovered that the In- Now we are informed, by poets, philoso- 
 dian wants the proper recommendation-mon«y phers, historians and various other descriptions 
 — he is hurried with precipitation from the of persons, that every 6ody must be possessed 
 only place that offers entertainment. But even of several members : there are head, feet, arms, 
 the tavern affords no refuge from his persecu- thighs, legs and various other organs, all form- 
 tors : he is still insulted by stupid gazers, who ing component parts of the same individual 
 distress him with their questions and devour body. Some fill honorable, and others dis- 
 him with their eyes as though he had fallen honorable situations. Some aspire upward to 
 from the moon. If he walk out for recreation, the heavens; while others are pressed down, 
 he is not allowed to enter this man's garden or ward upon the earth. There may sometimes, 
 that man's orchard. He is continually in at first, be a struggle whether an incipient part 
 danger of trespassing on one fellow's corn- shall be a hand or a foot, an arm or a leg, a 
 field or the orchard of another. He must not nose or a taH, enter into the composition of 
 pluck a flower that courts acquantance with the brain or form a portion of the buttock ; 
 his nose, or stretch out his hand for an apple but when a member has performed, for any 
 4U„« I iu- ..._ii pjg j^jjy j^^j. jj^jjjjg length of time, the duties of one situation, it 
 
 becomes altogether unfit 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 peri 
 formed. Should we attempt to walk on our 
 hands, some small progress may be made; 
 
 that hangs over the wall. 
 
 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 but what will be the consequence? The af- 
 
 could make it much longer ; but I begin to be flictions of the degraded members will be too 
 
 afraid that your patience will be exhausted. dreadful to be borne ; and, the whole body will 
 
 Piomingo ! May some kmd spirit be your suffer inconceivable hardship in consequence 
 
 patron and your guide, and preserve you from of tho unnatural and inverted situation of th»
 
 100 
 
 THE Savage. 
 
 part?. High things are, not unfrequently, 
 made lota, and low thino[s exalted ; the Jirst 
 may sometimes become last, and the lust be 
 made ^rst; but whenever this happens in 
 civilized society, the convulsion is tremendous, 
 and the strength of the body politic is de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 This story is trite, Piomingo : who has not 
 heard of the rebellion of the membeis 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 of producing any 
 thino' new : and indeed we have heard it re- 
 ported that " there is nothing new under the 
 sun ;" all, therefore, 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 eonsists In new asso- 
 ciations. We do not, however, at present, 
 mean to make the same use of this apologue, 
 that was made of it formerly. 
 
 What theu ? 
 
 Give us your attention, and you will proba- 
 bly discover the scope we have in view. 
 
 In the first place, we would have yon ob- 
 serve 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 to other parts 
 of the body. The foot becomes suited 
 
 — the 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 become excellent drudges ; 
 and the higher become qualified to direct the 
 operations of their slaves. The man lo«ig 
 employed in public speaking delivers his sen- 
 timents with fluency ; and he who finds leisure 
 and inclination 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 dex- 
 terity. 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 build stoijes 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 forest. All these become properly 
 qualified to fill the place they happen to occupy 
 in society ; but become, at the same time, alto- 
 gether incapable of performing the duties 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 ephippia boa piger, optat arare caballus : 
 
 But the plough is too heavy for the Arabian 
 courser; and the ox is too sluggish to go under 
 
 the saddle, to follow the LouHds and second the 
 ardor of the huntsman. 
 
 It is unnecessary to proceed with this enu- 
 meration : As civilization progresses employ- 
 ments at^e more and more divided ; and the 
 operations of an individual are circumscribed 
 and contracted. _ Personal importance is con- 
 tinually diminished ; and men become more 
 and more disqualified 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 on all fours : 
 though we see, at one glance, many points of 
 resemblance, we afterwards find others that 
 are by no means sufficiently similar to answer 
 the purpose of illustration. We have run a 
 parallel 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 simifitude. The 
 hand, the eye, the foot, appear to be desiorned 
 by nature for the place they occupy in the 
 animal machine ; but in a polished community, 
 thoBsands »nd tens of thousands are degraded 
 by the progress o? refinement to a state of bru- 
 tality, whom nature designed to be men. 
 
 Dr. Franklin, or somebody else, has given 
 us the complaint of the Left Hand. The Left 
 Hand gives an account of the neglect she had 
 experienced from those who had the charge of 
 her education, and of the unjust partiality 
 which had been shown to her sister. Just, 
 but unavailiug, was her remonstrance : the 
 Left Hand is still suffered to grow up in igno- 
 rance ; while the Right (to whom nature has 
 not been more bountiful than to herself) boasts 
 proudly of her cunning and address. Such is 
 the fate of men : probably one in a thousand 
 has the opportunity 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 compelled, 
 by the absurd and unjust institutions of so- 
 ciety, to confine all their exertions to a pnint, 
 and suffer the other capabilities of their nature 
 to lie dormant or become 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 be- 
 lieve that those regulations are cruel and un- 
 just 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 regu- 
 lations well suited to direct the conduct of a 
 rational being which confine the energies of 
 his mind to the making of a hobnail or manu- 
 facturing the head of a pin ? Can a beings 
 possessed of reasoning powers, and who seema
 
 THE SAVA(iii 
 
 10! 
 
 to hare been designed by nature to vary Iiis 
 conduct according to circumstances, be pro- 
 perly employed in performing a few ngcchani- 
 cal motions, which, becoming habitual, are 
 continued without the trouble of thought or 
 the necessity of reflection ? Can a being en- 
 dowed with mind be designed to stand as a 
 statue in a niche of the great building of so- 
 ciety, without the power of altering its situa- 
 tion or changing its position ? Would not tljc 
 constitution of society be infinitely preferable, 
 if it exerted the powers, called forlh the latent 
 endowments, and added importance to the in- 
 dividual ? Is it enough that a person should 
 become a necessary member of that greatest 
 of monsters, a civilized community, without 
 any regard being paid to his ditrnily as a man 
 — to his perfection as a rational iifing ? 
 
 May not the great body politic sufTtr a dis- 
 location of its parts? May not a thousand 
 accidents occasion a dissolution of this unna- 
 turally constructed machine ? And if this 
 should happen, the disjointed parts are mere 
 inutile lignum, totally unfit for any valuable 
 purpose, but exactly calculated to produce 
 anarchy, horror, destruction. 
 
 From the foregoing observations we infer 
 that those who fill the lower ranks of civilized 
 society, however necessary in their places, are 
 less important, as individuals, than savao-cs ; 
 and we also inter that savages are better quali- 
 fied to make judicious observations on passing 
 occurrences, than are those who compose the 
 mass of the enlightened population of the 
 United States. 
 
 In a savage state, 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 gi»e 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 foot or tail, the 
 drudge or slave, of the community. He be- 
 comes important and valuable as an individual ; 
 and is qualified to give himself protection and 
 support, though every other man in the uni- 
 verse were annihilated. 
 
 We sometimes hear savages described as 
 timid and miserable beings, trembling on ac- 
 count of the roaring of the waters, shuddering 
 at the violence of the storm, and struck with 
 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 I 
 SucKare the opinions of philosophers; who 
 reside in cities, who write concerning savages 
 they never have seen, and who stigmatize every 
 nation,whose manners they do not understand, 
 with the name of barbarians. But where are 
 the reasons on which they are founded 7 Is 
 the man, who has been lonjr accustomed to 
 eoitemplate the ragingf of tho waters, easily 
 
 terrified by the dashing of the vyavi-s ? .S'lall 
 he, who has often experienced the utmost fury 
 of the storm, be frightened at tiie approach of 
 a cloud, shudder at the flashes of lightning, 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 oT 
 the panther or dread the howling of wolves in 
 the wilderness ? Shall he who has been tauo-ht 
 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 othcr^ are terrified the 'moment 
 they lose this support. The least derangement 
 in the political machine drives them out of 
 their places, and discovers their weakness and 
 personal insignificancy. Sliall they wlio have 
 never learned to depend on themselves face 
 dinger with courage, or discover resolution 
 when surrounded with unusual occurrences? 
 
 Our triend Chotahowee observes in one of 
 his letters (which we have thought pro()er to 
 supi)ress) that, in his travels through the 
 United States, whcn-ver he found a man alone, 
 that man was civil, quiet and timid ; but where 
 he found an assemblage of men, they never 
 failed to be noisy, tumultuous and insolent. 
 
 We, savages, delight in society : but we as- 
 sociate as men, free sovereign and independent 
 We are not bound together by the iron bands 
 of necessity, and dcfrived of tlie dignity of our 
 nature. Our friendships are the result of in- 
 clination, and not combinations for the propa- 
 gation of vice. As every one depends on him- 
 self, we have no motive fto impose on each 
 other. 
 
 Savage society, if considered as a body, has 
 no members condemned to drudgery and dis- 
 grace, no " vessels created for dishonor," no 
 left hand uneducated and neglected, no broad 
 flat foot condemned to trudge under the weight 
 of an overgrown, corrupt and luxurious belly. 
 No ; like Milton's spirits, 
 
 All heart they live, all head, all eye, all eart 
 All intellect, all sense.-- 
 
 Any man,who will travel over this continent 
 and attentively observe the inhabitants, will 
 see enough to corroborate our remarks : he 
 will find that the laborious inhabitants of popu- 
 lous cities, though expert in their several pro- 
 fessions, are unfit for any other employment 
 but that which they pursue. He will per- 
 ceive that those who labor in the country in 
 the vicinity of cities are rather more intelli- 
 gent than the drudges of the city : the sphere 
 of their operations is considerably enlarged^ 
 and, consequently, their individual importance 
 is increased. When the observer removes to 
 the frontier settlements, he will find man still 
 higher advanced in the scale of intellectual 
 importance. He not only attends to the com- 
 mon business of his farm, and prepares subsis- 
 tence for his family ; but he transacts an infi^
 
 im 
 
 THE savagl;. 
 
 nlte varii'ty of business : he makes his instru- 
 ments of husbandry ; he is frequently his own 
 tailor, siiocniakcr, hl.icksniitli and carpenter : 
 l)is employments are ever varied ; and the 
 powers of his mind are exerted in proportion 
 to the muUi|>licity of liis operations. Must 
 not such a niin be infinitely superior to one 
 who is contiiiudly cmpl.)yed in throwing a 
 shuttle, threadinor a needle, beatinir an anvil, 
 or even drivinjr u quill over pirchmcnt? 
 
 But if you wish to have a still more favora- 
 ble spf^eimen of human nature, you must take 
 a inunt to the wilderness : you must study the 
 lan^ruafjes and customs of savages — hut do not 
 condenm before you understand. 
 
 Story Telling. 
 
 It requires a considerable portion of inge- 
 nuity to tell a story in such a manner as to 
 produce the desired effect 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 cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 A man, by long practice, may ne doubt im- 
 prove his talent for this species of narration ; 
 but we are inclined to believe that, unless na- 
 ture have given him a genius for the employ- 
 ment, he will never excel as a teller of 
 stories. 
 
 In all tales of a comic description, the nar- 
 rator should be careful to place the ludicrous 
 incidents in a conspicuous situation, and to 
 exhibit advantageously t\e point on which the 
 humor of the story may depend. For want of 
 attention to these circumstances, a jest intrin- 
 sically 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 de- 
 pends 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 reward- 
 ed by reiterated peals of laughter: every one 
 pronounced it an excellent thing. Shortly 
 after, we heard the same story told by B. in 
 nearly the same words; but no mirtli was oc- 
 casioned by a detail of circumstances, which 
 had lately excited such high merriment and 
 commanded such unbounded applause. We 
 were at first disposed to account for these 
 dissimilar effects, by reflecting that the tale, 
 at the time it was told by B , did not possess 
 the same novelty that it did when first deliver- 
 ed by A. But having an opportunity, in the 
 course of a few weeks, to hear A. tell 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 qualifications of A. which 
 enabled him so far to exceed B. in telling a 
 JudicrouB storj ? — A hooked nose, a psaked 
 
 chin, and a bushy pair of eyebrows I Let no 
 one, whose countenance is pleasing and whose 
 face is symmetrically formed, aspire to excel- 
 lence 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 mformation we are de- 
 sirous to obtain. In the delivery of these, any 
 one may succeed who is capable of giving a 
 clear and succinct narrative of the principal 
 occurrences, omitting all superfluous explana- 
 tions, and the tedious detail of impertinent 
 circumstances; Few, however, are the number 
 who are possessed of the qualifications we have 
 menli'ijied. It is as easy to find an epic poet 
 capable of producing a poem that will fix the 
 attention and awaken the passions, as to find 
 a man who can tell a simple story, without 
 introducing unnatural episodes and interlard- 
 ing it with absurd and unnecessary explana- 
 tions. 
 
 Dick Gabble, when about to ride into the 
 country, declared his intention of being in town 
 again on the evening of the same day. He 
 did not however, return till a late hour on the 
 day following. As there had been a consider- 
 able fall of rain, we unfortunately happened to 
 inquire if that had been the cause of his deten- 
 tion ; 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 deter- 
 mined 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, fire, or water : all alike to me, sir. 
 Damnation 1 d'ye suppose I care for the rain 7 
 If it was to rain brickbats, pitchforks, hell fire, 
 and millstones, it would'nt stop me. I rode 
 sixty eight miles the coldest day we had last 
 winter : a hell of a cold day ! Don't you re- 
 member it 1 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 Downingstown ; 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 blcvir, 
 and snowed, and hailed, and froze like the 
 devil. I opened the door and looked out — by 
 G — I was frightened. " Damnation," says I 
 10 the landlord, " Mr. Touchpcnny I look here, 
 Mr. Touehpenny ! What sort of weather 'a 
 this we have got ? Hell's broke loose, Mr. 
 Touchpcnny !" 
 
 However, sir, I ordered out my horse, d'ye 
 see ? " What !" said Mr. Touchpcnny, " are 
 you rnad, Mr. Gabble ? you would'nt think of 
 riding such a day as this, Mr. Gabble ?" 
 " Yes," say I, •' I'll go," says I, " by G — ," 
 says I, "damij me if I don't" says I. "Lord 
 bless my soul, Mr. Gabble !" Bay* old mother
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 luS 
 
 Touchpcnny, " would you leave d good convc- board, you see; : I'll bet tlie same sum over 
 
 nient house, Mr. Gabljle ? and a warm fireside, again — the VL'ty same race — by G — I will. 
 
 Mr. Gabble ? and every thing comlbrtablc, Mr. " But all this is nothing to the purpose, Mr. 
 
 Gabble? and go for to tliink for to go out such Gabble; you have not answered my ques- 
 
 a day as this, Mr. Gabble ? such a dreadful ti-.m." 
 
 day, Mr. Gabble! My dear child, you can't ^es, yes, I'll tell you how it was: it's a 
 think of such a thing ! You'll be froze up alive, good thing, a very good thuig, Piomingo. I 
 1 should not be able to sleep for a week, if you started off in the morning, you know I did, 
 were to leave my house such a day as this, quite briskly — went over the hills in a jitfy — 
 Mr. Gabble. You can't be in earnest, Mr. no occasion fb.( whip or spur to my black Hlly. 
 Gabble ?" " I have said the word," says I, She 's as good a piece of horse tlesh as ever 
 "madam," says I; "and my word's as good was foaled — I'll be tee-totally damned if she 
 as my bond," says I. " I'll go," sajs I, '' if an't. Slic's a hlooded ihmgioo — oneof Bona- 
 ten thousand devils were to rise," says I, "and parte's best foals — out of colonel Sport's Fly- 
 spurt the blue blazes of hell in my face," says catch r — desucnded in a right line from the 
 I, " Tom ! fetch out my liorse." " Bless my prince of W:ilus's Arabian mare, Camilla, and 
 stars, Mr. (jrabble 1" says Mrs. Tnuchyjenny, the celebrated Childers. 
 
 " you are the strangest man, Mr, (Inbhle, that " Doubtless?, the line of her ancestry may bs 
 
 ever I saw in my born days, Mr. Gabble. — traced back to one of the prophet Mahommed's 
 
 But, my dear child, you shall not slir — I in- best breeders. But come to the point Dicky ; 
 
 sist upon it — till you have a mouthful of some- do come to the point. ' 
 
 thing to keep the cold from your stomach. Yes sir, I rode like a whirlwind — was up at 
 
 You shall have a cup of warm cotfoe in a mo- the Buck in less than no time — had my mare 
 
 ment, Mr. Gabble. Molly, fetch in break- put up and fed — always see to ,jny horse. A 
 
 fast." man that don't take care of his horse should 
 
 I took the old lady's advice. I guzzled a be damned. That's my notion : ^what do you 
 
 few dishes of coffee, devoured a few pounds of say, Piomingo ? 
 
 beefsteaks, punished half a dozen of eggs, and " What, damned ?" 
 
 was off like a thunder gust. Yes, damned. I'd build a hell myself to 
 
 ,v 11 • J, • 9 u r 1 ■ damn him in. What ! not take care of his 
 
 Well, sir, d'ye see sir ? before sundown sir, !,„,„„, „ ^ „ t rpi , , • --j ,7 V,. 
 
 ,,,'•' , . T X i_ liorse 1 a savage I a 1 urk ! an infidel — I'd 
 
 and that very same day sir, 1 was at home in ,„„ j ■ ■ , . „ .,i;.,„ . *. ^u /■ i i, 
 
 Du-i J 1 u- • 1 .u ^ • 1 ^'^"^ him howung to the north corner of hel : 
 
 Philadelphia sir — mark that sir k„ ♦!,„ i . t u t £- "' 'i^y , 
 
 ^ by the god of war I won d. I, for my part sir. 
 
 At home !" 
 At home, by G — ! 
 By this time, as our readers will readily be- 
 
 upon my honor sir, would rather suffer myself 
 
 than allow my horse to want that that's ffood 
 iiy mis time, as our reaflers will rer'dilv De- ,„j „„.^i' .» ii« th „ * • ^ 
 
 ,. ■' 1 J i-i • 1 J ,, ■ •' ana comfortable. It s my nature sir, mv com- 
 
 heve, we repented of havng asked the impru- i^^.te disposition. If it's a w;akness, I 
 
 dent question, above mentioned. We, there- ^^„,t h,, ■, . ^f^,^ ^^^^^^j ^^ ^^_ 
 fore, endeavored to move off, merely saying, a i ^^.^ „^ ^^^^t ^f your humanity ; but I 
 as we started "Dick, you are a man ot reso- beseech thee Dick, dispense with these colla- 
 lution. Good bye. But our manoeuvre was jerial circumstances, and proceed with your 
 unsuccessful : as soon as he perceived our in- gt^fy " ^ j 
 
 tention of decamping he seized us by the arm; yes sir, O yes : certainly I shall proceed 
 saymg, "Sfop,sir,Ihavenotyettoldyouhow jji i ,,,^^,1 ^e done in a few minutes. 
 I was detained ye«terday-a damned good Having disposed of my horse sir, I proceeded 
 thing-make you laugh like the dev.l." immediately to business, and-a and a and had 
 
 " True sir, I had forgotten : please to pro- every thing concluded in a very litttle time, 
 ceed." Well sir, just as I was preparing to return 
 
 Well sir, so it was sir, yesterday morning, home, who should come in but Bob Jockey. 
 I set off: you saw me set oiF. A very plea- You know Bob? 
 sant morning — high spirits. Always am — " No." 
 
 always am in high spirits — take the world easy Damn it, you must know him, if you were 
 — laugh and grow fat. It's the best way — ever in that neighborhood : he's a stoopshould- 
 a'nt it Piomingo? Damn me if I don't think ^red, thickset; crosslooking little devil — has 
 it is. Nothing troubles me, hardly : I was a little gray eyes, Roman noso, and a hell of a 
 little fretted, to be sure, when I lost that race bigf mouth. He married old Stump's daughter 
 on the Hummingbird — five hundred dollars at — a cursed old miser, that Stump. If you 
 one slap — a damned hard stroke that, Pio- were to see him, you would think he wasn't 
 mingo. A few such swings as that would worth a cent — looks like a beggar — lives like 
 fetch Jack — damme if 'twouldn't, d'ye see ? a hog — <kmned old brute — rich though — rich 
 Well^ upon my soul, I never could understand as a Jew — wish he was in Abraham's bosom, 
 that business perfectly. I still think that the and 1 had the cash. When Bob Jockey nabbed 
 Hummingbird can beat old Turf's mare — by Peggy Stump, he thought he had made a 
 the Lord I do. I'll bet the same money over speck, d'ye sec ? — thought to finger some of 
 again — have every thing fair — have good the old man's ready. But let old Stump alone 
 judges, you see, and every thing fair and above for that : he'll take care of number one, d'ye
 
 104 
 
 THE KAVAGK. 
 
 i!ee? Bob gtit a wife: ar-d that's all. She's a 
 sweet girl though — loves to be squeezed damna- 
 \^\y — used to squeeze her myself — kissed her 
 before ever Bob did — shouldn't mind it now if 
 I h:id an opportunity. Old Stump luid seven 
 d.iu^rhters — line gills — slippery jades some of 
 tliom — all married but one — she's the oldest — 
 wrinkled as a witeh — eross as damnation — 
 knows she must lend apes in hell — 'fond of cats 
 now — eats fond of her ton — birds of a featiier 
 — Zounds I 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 ex- 
 hausted, " will you never have done with old 
 Stump and his dauirhters ? But Dick, my 
 dear fellow, you must excuse me at present. 
 Some other time I will hear the rest of your 
 adventures : this evening I am particularly 
 engaged." But Gabble seized us by the breast 
 of our coat and swore bitterly wc should not 
 move till he had finished his story. 
 
 The gods themselves, some ancient writer 
 observes, are subject to necessity : and a sa- 
 vage, 
 
 — magna si lieet componere parvis — 
 
 who resides in a civilized country, must learn 
 to dissemble 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 exclaim- 
 ing in the words of Horace when persecuted 
 by an impudent babbler in the streets of 
 Rome : 
 
 Iluccine solern 
 Tam nigrum surrexe mihi! 
 
 But we reflected on a saying of Socrates,when 
 tormented by the humors of his termagant 
 wife: "We all have our respective misfor- 
 tunes ; and he is a happy man who can com- 
 plain of none greater than this." Having thus 
 sagaciously subdued our rising emotions, we 
 requested little Gabble to finish the recital of 
 his adventures. 
 
 So sir, as I was preparing to come away, 
 Bob Jockey made his appearance. Nothavino- 
 «een 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 t6 drink, you see. I 
 ■complied : for I like to be social and friendly : 
 <ion't you, Piomingo ? 
 
 " Yes. Proceed." 
 
 When we had finished the glass, I called for 
 another — I couldn't be worse than a bad fellow, 
 you 668— no, no, that would never do: one 
 
 good tui n deserves another. Dick Gabble will 
 pay his part wherever he goes. I hate a sneak- 
 ing sponging devil : don't you, Piomingo ? 
 
 '•Certainly. Proceed." 
 
 Well sir, we had three or four glasses — I 
 don't exactly remember how many though — 
 probably half a dozen — say half a dozen glass- 
 es, f-ct me see — first he had one, than I had 
 another, and • 
 
 " Never mind : 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 — iK)t much though — knows enough to be 
 roguish — would be a danmed rogue if he could. 
 "Theie's my little horse at the gate," says 
 Bob, says he, " he can beat any thing, for a 
 quarter, in the thirteen United States of Penn- 
 sylvania, carry weight for size, I'll be dee- 
 doiibly damned if he can't." "I'll run you," 
 says I, " 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, 
 — " poney 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 
 tlie start," says one, — " The horse gains," says 
 another — " Ten dollars on the horse," says 
 Tom Stubbs ; " say done, and it's a bet." — 
 " Done," says Bill Grubb, " If I don't win I'll 
 be damned." "She handles her feet daeently" 
 says Paddy O'Blather. — "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 fiily. Gabble — 'Gad she's foremost 
 — let's go and see how it is." " Judges, how 
 is the race ?" " The filly came out first." 
 " How much ?" " A length." " She had the 
 start," saj's Bob. " Only a neck," says I ; 
 "but let the judges determine; we have no| ^ 
 thing 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 — 
 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. " I'll have 
 it, by G — ," says I. "Damned if you shall," 
 says he. " Didn't the judges give it in my 
 favor ?" says I. " They were partial," says 
 he. " And you won't pay it ?" says I. "No," 
 says he. " You're a damned rascal," says I. 
 " You're a damned liar," says he. Smack I 
 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 gire me the lie with
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 105 
 
 impunity. I didn't care the hundredth part of 
 a damn for the money ; but when a fellow 
 goes to jockey me, d'ye see ? — and g:ivcs me 
 the lie to boot, d'ye sec ? I'd fi/rjit sir, by the 
 godof war, I'd fijrht for the thousandth part 
 of a cent, 1 would. My name's Dick Gabble 
 — I'm not ashamed of my name. I may be 
 whipped; but I can't be cowed — can't, can't — 
 damn me, it's impossible: there's no such 
 thing in natuie. I'm but a little fellow ; but 
 I wouldn't turn tail to never a man that broke 
 the bread of life, 1 wouldn't: not I. 
 
 " Did you Hog him ?" 
 
 No : they parted us — I'd have licked him 
 like damnation, if they hadn't 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 mc, I tell you. 
 
 " You arc an active little dog, I dare say." 
 
 That I am — am indeed — got a strong arm, 
 I tell you. Then, I have such springs— Gad I 
 I'm as quick as lightning. A fellow has need 
 to have all his eyes about him when he's got 
 rac to deal with, you see ; if he hasn't I'll bo 
 damned. 
 
 " Then you are spirited also." 
 
 True blue, by G — I I'd fight the devil and 
 all his imps. — Roar thunder, blaze hell, blow 
 damnation I here 1 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 cxrtinple, I 
 understand it perfectly. What I do you mean 
 to strike mc ?" 
 
 Just give you a light touch, Piomingo, to 
 show 3'ou how I took him — won't iiurt you — 
 damn it, don't be afraid — won't hurt you, 'pon 
 my honor — won't, 'pon my soul — wouldn't 
 hurt you for the world. Just so. 
 
 " Hands otT, you puppy I hands off I" 
 
 Beg your paidon, sir — no offence, no offence 
 — meant no harm — damned if I did, you sec. 
 
 " Well, what nc.\t ?" 
 
 Why sir, I'll tell you how it was sir : We 
 agreed to 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 dolLr*for something to drink ; 
 and that we should shake linnds, d'ye sec, and 
 be friends. 'Twas liard — damned h.^rd ; but 
 I never bear malice. I'm the best tempered 
 cres^ure in the world : indeed, I'm too good- 
 natured : I suffer nivbtlt'to be inrposed upon : 
 it's my weakness : I cyn't help it : it's natural 
 to me. So sir, you sec sir, we repaired to (he 
 house sir, and drank like CaJsars. Shall I tell 
 you the truth, sir ? 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 Wei! sir, the Jact is this, sir : I ;rot diunk, 
 sir— dead drunk — tliey carried mc to bed ; and 
 N 
 
 there I lay till this morning. When I got up 
 I felt quite poorly I assure you sir, damned 
 sort of good-for-notliing 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 manner in which 1 was detained : which 
 I hope I have done to your satisfaction. 
 
 " Fully." 
 
 Yes sir, 1 was detained quite unexpectedly; 
 but I. have ffot home at last. 
 
 "Thank God I" 
 
 I say thank God too : I'm very glad to bo 
 at ii .me indeed. 
 
 " 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 mc for that. But zounds, 
 how I sp«nd my time : I have a hundred things 
 to do this very evening — indeed I have — upon 
 my word, sir. Next time I see you, I'll ex- 
 plain the business more fully.-givc you several 
 other interesting particulars. 
 
 So having said, little Dickey strutted off 
 with an air of infinite importance. The ever- 
 lasting babbler might have answered our 
 question in the following words : "I got drunk, 
 and could not return until I became sober." 
 
 What think yc, gentle readers, of the civil- 
 izcd Gabble ? shall we apologize for intro- 
 ducing such a character to your notice ? or 
 will 3'ou 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. 
 
 Ilic nigraj succus loliginis, hajc est 
 -iEriigo mera. 
 
 Scandal is £;cncrully spoken of as if she were 
 a female. Wu cannot give any information 
 concerning her sex ; but we have as oflcn seen 
 her in male, as ii\ female attire. 
 
 We lately fell into company with a number 
 of gentlemen, 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 Lavisii, Jack Flash, Will Braggart, 
 and Timon Crabtrec, were the only persons 
 present of whom we had any previous know- 
 ledge ; but there were several others, with 
 whose names we became acquainted during 
 the course of the evening : Peter Poison, 
 Simon Specious, Samutl Pliant, and Ralph 
 Penniless. 
 
 We all formed but one company, and were 
 seated very closely together ; but, if our con- 
 jecturcs be not erroneous, it was the pleasin|f 
 warmth of a fire, and not the attraction of love 
 or brotherly kindness that brought us into con- 
 tact. Winter calls men together, and com- 
 pels them to be social ; when it is •>rob..blo if 
 they were Lt liberty to cuncsult their <<\vn in- 
 clinutions-, they would pre'cr being separate.
 
 100 
 
 THE SAVAGR 
 
 Men become more polished and civilized in the delighted mortal discovered his felicity by 
 the winter than they are in the summer : for, his Jidgetin<r embarrassment, and by the awk- 
 being forced into company, their mutual do- ward complacency which spread itself over his 
 pendence is increased, and their asperities are countenance. 
 
 rubbed off by the continual friction they find There was a young fellow present who 
 it necessary to suffer. Every one assumes the seemed to have formed a high estimate of his 
 character in which lie wislies to appear, and colloquial powers, as he frequently evinced an 
 sedulously endeavors to hide the natural bent anxiety to join in the conversation ; but, alas! 
 of his disposition : nature is banished with his coat had suffered by the ravages of time, 
 violence ; and affectation is the order of the and his shirt looked out at the elbows. His 
 day. waistcoat was threadbare ; his linen was none 
 
 Amonnf those whom chance had brought of the cleanest ; and his boots appeared ncTcr 
 together on the present occasion, there was one to have formed an acquaintance with blacking : 
 who attracted a considerable share of our at- his whole appearance proclaimed, what we are 
 tention. He was about five feet six inches all solicitous to conceal — want. How should 
 high,wcll formed ; and his features were rather such a man make a judicious observation? 
 delicate than otherwise. He was extremely The thing was impossible. Yet he was not to 
 complaisant to those with whom he conversed ; be discouraged by all these disqualifying cir- 
 and his visage exhibited continually a sickly cumstances ; but continued to take advantage 
 simpering -smile; which was not however of every pause in the conversation by endea- 
 sufficient to conceal the characters of malevo- voiing to edge in a word of his own. For a 
 lence and envy which were written in his long time, we paid not the slightest attention 
 countenance. His words were smooth as oil : to his remarks ; but some of us, at last, pro- 
 they dropped from his lips as "honey from the voked at his intrusive perseverance, turned 
 green oak," yet we could not help suspecting round and regarded him with a stare of superci- 
 that the poison of asps wag under his tongue, lious amazement. 
 
 Frank Fluent, who sat near us, perceiving who After some time had been spent in this 
 it was that excited our observation, whispered manner, Mr. Steady, observing that he had 
 in our car *'that is Peter Poison, of Bohon some business that required his attention, rose 
 Upas Giove, esq." up and took his leave of the company. He 
 
 The conversation, ae is usual in mixed com- was scarcely gone when Mr. Poison introduced 
 panies, was of a desultory nature: One subject the following conversation: 
 was scarcely introduced till it was supplanted p^.^^„_ j^ ^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^ g^^^j 
 
 by another. Sometunes we paid the strictest ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^^ j^^^^^^ to interfere with 
 attention to the speaker; and sometimes we j^j^ business. He is a cheerful companion; 
 
 his countenance is pleasing and his manners 
 agreeab'vj. I have known him ever since ho 
 was a boy, and I feel for him sentiments of 
 the sincerest and most durable friendship : yet. 
 
 interrupted him with observations of our own. 
 Sometimes, in the ardor of disputation, we all 
 spoke at once, and again awed by the import- 
 ance of the personage who was delivering his 
 
 sentiments, we listened,with silent submission, t „„„„ , . .,t „, i„» i „ •» u „„„„„ tu^i u^ 
 
 , . ' ii .^ j3 J /■ !_■ 1- tizu 1 cannot but wonder how it happens that he 
 
 to the wisdom that flowed Irom his J ips. When „i„.i^ ..„ „„„ u;.^„„ir „„ i:c„T «„ „ „„„ :« 
 
 ,, , J , J , j\ . should suppose himselt quahhed to engage m 
 
 we say ojt, we would be understood to except ,, .. ^- n i-j- i u-i u- i „„u 
 
 ".J,, '., , ^- 1 -1 ^ the discussion 01 pohlical or philosophical sub- 
 
 ■f imon Crabtree ; who continued silent, gfuaw- • » tt -hi- 4-„; .,„ 
 
 . ' , , , f.,'. , . . ^,'^ lects. He may occasionally make a ludicious 
 
 ing the head of his cane and viewing the com- {observation; but he never was known to de- 
 
 pany with alternate emotions of contempt and ^^^^ , j inferences, or to connect 
 
 indignation. Sometimes he smiled ; together a series of causes and effects. Hi» 
 
 but smiled in such a sort opinions, as well as his estate, have descended 
 
 A.S if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit, to him by inheritance ; and it is probable they 
 
 That could be moved to smile at any thing, ^^u ^e transmitted in the same manner tohi« 
 
 When Mr. Steady (whose easy manners and son, without their having suffered any waste 
 
 elegant habiliments indicated the enjoyment or derangement in their passage through the 
 
 of luxury and the possession of wealth) thought mind of their present possessor, 
 proper to make an observation, If man be correctly defined a reasoning 
 
 Uonticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant: animal, Mr. Steady must no longer lay claim 
 
 with greedy ears, open mouths, -end upraised 
 eyelids, we devoured the sweet intelligence as 
 the Israelites devoured the quails in the wilder- 
 ness, or the manna tiiat was sent down from 
 heaven. When he smiled, we smiled ; when 
 he attempted to be witty, we were all con- 
 vulsed with immoderate laughter; and, wheii 
 
 to the appellation : for fie 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 con 
 viction in the minds of others, he always pre- 
 serves his own opinions inviolate. 
 
 Pliant. Your observations are just, Mr. 
 
 he expressed his surprise at any circumstance, Poison. Steady's mind is so well fortified by 
 
 Good God ! burst s multaneously from tlie lips prcjuciicc, that lie laughs at the clearest axioms 
 
 •of every one in the assembly, 'Wlien he ad- with all tlicir host of unavoidubleconsequences; 
 
 -dressed himself particularly to any individual, he despises tiie tropes and figures of rhetoric ;
 
 THE SAVAGE. 107 
 
 and bids defiance to all the syllogistic artillery Crabtree. If you be his friend, let him alone; 
 
 of the schools. the snail, wheiuver it crawls, leaves a portion 
 
 Poison. True, Mr. Pliant : there he has the of its slime, 
 
 advantage of us: our opinions must be sup- Poison. Pray, why should you, Mr. Crabtree,, 
 
 ported by reason, otherwise they fall ; but this who profess to hate all the world, undertake 
 
 gentleman's upper works are impregnable, the defence of Mr. Steady ? 
 
 absolutely impregnable. Crabtree. It is not respect for him, but de- 
 
 Specious. Notwithstanding his intellectual testation of yoii, winch occasions my displea- 
 
 weakness, his conduct appears lo be regulated sure. Yes, I hate all the world, but particu- 
 
 by the strictest rules of propriety ; and he is larly sycophants and slanderers, 
 
 universally allowed to be just and honorable in Poison. Do you hate yourself 7 
 
 his dealings. Alas ! wliat is renson ? It is Crabtree. Yes. 
 
 rather a meteor ihat leads us astray, than a Poison. Why ? 
 
 " a lamp to direct our feet through the wilder- Crabtree. Because I am a man : because I 
 
 ness of life !" A man can do as well with- bear the same shape with such a poisonous 
 
 out it. reptile as you. 
 
 Poison. I do believe, at least I hope, that Poison. Rail away, Mr. Crabtree,your snarl- 
 Mr. Steady is perfectly honest ; hut, a man can ing makes no impression upon me. 
 hardly be "so correct in his conduct, but t!uit Crabtree. No? well then 1 will try to make 
 there will be some whisperings to his disad- an impression with my cane, 
 vantage. I should be sorry to give ere- So sayings he raised his knotty cudgel, and 
 dcncc to any story that might be circulated to was proceeding to lay it across the shoulders 
 the injury of Mr. Steady's reputation ; but it of the delicate Poison ; who exclaimed with a 
 has been intimated to me, in the way of confix loud voice, "I am a justice of the peace : strike 
 dence, that there was some little underhand ineif you dare I" when the company interfered" 
 work in the settlement of old John Rich's es- and prevented the perpetration of mischief. 
 tate. Mr. Steady, you know, was sole cxccu- We could perceive, by their countenances, 
 tor: I hope the orphans had no cause of com- that Charles Lavish, George Toper, Jack 
 plaint, thouirh there appears to be soMie mystery Flash, and Will Braggart, were much dissatis- 
 iu the transaction. Indeed, I had all the par- iied with our conduct \n quelling the distur- 
 ticulars of the affair from a person who had banco ; from which they had promised them- 
 cvcry opportunity of being acquainted with the selves considerable entertainment; being dia- 
 circumstances. I am not at liberty to mention appointed in their expectation, they thought 
 the particulars ; and I am by no means dis- proper to leave the company and look for 
 posed to promote the circulation of any story amusement in some other quarter. 
 that might have a tendency to sully the lair Frank Fluent, willing to sec if the late re- 
 famc of my friend, bnff h:id effected a reformnlion in Poison, 
 
 Crabtree, When Mr. Steady were present, thought proper to renew the conversation. 
 
 gentlemen, you servilely received liis senli- Frank. Are you acquainted with Lavish^ 
 
 mcnts as emanations from the or.icle of trufli : Mr. Poison ? 
 
 you praised the acuteiiess of jiis iicrceptioii, Poison. I have known him from a child, 
 
 the correctness of his icasoiiing, the solidity of He once owned a very pretty property ; but he 
 
 his judgment, ;ind the brilliancy of his wit; iias ruined himyelf by his fully and extrava- 
 
 but the moment he is gone, you jjronouncc him gancc. Five years ago, he was a man of sub- 
 
 m fool: and not satisfied with that, you endeavor stance ; but, by his gambling and dissipation, 
 
 to blacken his character. How inconsistent he lias reduced himself to beggary. 
 
 such procedure I how dastardly such con- Frank. He owns, I think, several houses ia 
 
 duct ! the city at present. 
 
 Ptison. If you allude to me, Mr. Crabtree, Poison. There are several houses which may 
 
 I cannot do otherwise than express my surprise sometimes be called liis; but they are mort- 
 
 at what you have said. Mr. Steady, as I said gaged for more t!i;in tliey are worth. Af 
 
 before, is my particular friend, and I was present he owns nothing, less than nothing : 
 
 merely expressing my regret that the censori- he has contracted debts which he can never 
 
 OHS world, you understand me, should cast repay, 
 
 aspersions of this nature Franfc. What Uunk you of Toper ? 
 
 Crabtree. Yes, I understand you very well : Poison. Ah, poor George ! it makes me 
 
 conscious of your own depravity, you enviously melancholy to think on the race he has run 1: 
 
 endeavor to disparage every thing that has the Would you believe it, Mr. Fluent ? This man, 
 
 appearance of excellence. a few years ago, was respected by every one 
 
 Poison. Mr. Crabtree, do you mean to in- who knew him. He was well educated, pos- 
 
 suit me 7 sessed uncommon abilities, and was every way 
 
 Crabtree, Yes, qualified to make a figure in life ; but now he- 
 
 Prison. You wrong mc, indeed you do : so is a confirmed drunkard, scarcely recovering 
 
 tar from contributing to injure the fame of Mr. from one fit of intoxication before he plungea 
 
 Steady, I would willingly defend his character into another. Is it not a great pity, gentla* 
 
 from the attacks of malevolence. men 7
 
 106 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 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 your- 
 Belvcs 7 
 
 Poison. I am really sorry for Toper's mis- 
 fortune : 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 
 liis whole fortune on his back: and the second 
 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 actually departed, he proceeded as follows : 
 " I cannot conceive why Crabtree should make 
 me the particular object of his enmity ; but it 
 is, probably, because ho knows it is in my 
 power to mention some circumstances which 
 are not generally known." 
 
 Specious. You allude to the affair a 
 
 that made some little noise some time ago 
 a you know what I mean. 
 
 Poison. Yes, yes, {nodding, and winking, 
 andsmilling) I believe I do : I heard the whole 
 Btory immediately after the 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 
 •gain. Possibly it was not as bad as it was 
 represented : I should be sorry, however, that 
 any one had it in his power to circulate such 
 ft Btory concerning me. As to Crabtrce's rude 
 and unmannerly observations, I treat them 
 with contempt. 
 
 Pliant. He is a brute. 
 
 Specious. }ie is not fit to live a civilized 
 country. 
 
 Having wearied themselvcp with winks, 
 nods, hints, smiles, shrugs, knowing looks, and 
 a variety of crooked insinuations. Messieurs 
 Specious and Pliant took a ceremonious leave, 
 expressing the highest degree of friendship 
 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 be- 
 loved and so highly respected. 
 
 Frank. These gentlemen, who have just left 
 yon, are, it seems your particular friends, Mr. 
 Foison ? 
 
 Poison, Yes : we have long been in habits 
 of intimacy. Specious is a fine man, a very 
 fine man indeed ; but smooth water is deep : 
 he would have no objections to practise a little 
 roguery, if it could be done snugly in a corner. 
 Ab to Pliant, he is a good sort of a man ; but 
 th<p creature has no opinion of his oWri : he 
 
 will accede to every thing you say. Gentle- 
 men, I wish you a good evening. 
 
 Frank. Poison is gone ; the whole company 
 has dispersed ; and we have done wisely iu 
 keeping our posts until the time of his de- 
 parture. Had we gone away sooner, we should 
 have suffered from the lash of his malevolent 
 tongue ; he would have passed some slight 
 commendations 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 in- 
 troducing slander. 
 
 Hie niger est : Hunc, tu Romano, caveto. 
 
 Peace. 
 
 " How long," said a pious religionist, " shall 
 the earth be afflicted by war ? How long 
 shafi man rise up against man, and cover the 
 fair fields of creation with carnage and "de- 
 struction ? When shall the olive of peace 
 extend its branches over the earth, and the 
 sons of men seek repose under its widespread- 
 ing shade ? When shall the time come in 
 which " swords shall be beaten into plough- 
 shares, and spears into pruning hooks, when 
 nation shall not lifl up sword against nation, 
 neither shall they learn war any more ?" 
 
 I have seen burned cities, desolated fields, 
 and impoverished families : I have heard the 
 groans of the father when deprived of his son, 
 the support of his age: 1 have witnessed the 
 despair of the mother, when bereaved 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 be- 
 held the decrepit soldier oppressed with age 
 and covered with wounds, begging a wretched 
 support at the doors of the opulent :— " This 
 is thy work, O war I these are thy fruits, O 
 ambition I" 
 
 What then, we demanded, is peace 7 
 
 " Peace," said our friend, " is the absence 
 of war : Where there is no contention, no 
 strife, no opposition, there is peace. Peace j« 
 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 wrttcn 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 ourembryon eanh, 
 Stretched dim the void and gave to nature birth, 
 Ere morning stars his glowing chambers hung. 
 Or songs of gladness woke an angel's tongue. 
 Veiled in the splendors of his bearnlul 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 v>orlds rejoice. 
 Led forth the systems on their bright career, 
 Shaped all their curves and fashioned every 
 apher*,
 
 THE SAVAGE. lOj^ 
 
 Spaced out their suns, an.l round cac], ra.l.nnt forth their armies to (Jeslriiclion, and sacrifice 
 Orb over od.. eompelled their tr.ia to roll. hZn""'!?!^? thousands to their restless am- 
 
 Bade heaven's own harmonv their force combine, i , • i "''""j ^ 'Jrcadful thin^ ?" 
 
 Taught all tiicir iiosts syinphonious strains lo , ^'^'"i'""'}') very dreadful : Wr.r is a tremcn- 
 join, "ous volcano which desolates the field's with 
 
 Gave to seraphic harps their sounding lay?, rivf>rs of fire, and overwhelm? the cities with 
 
 Their joys to anjfcls, and to men their praise. oceans of lava ; but do not the ashes of this- 
 Is not this very fine ?" volcano fertilize the cart li ? Does not the ccn- 
 
 Ay, very fine ; but it will not enable us to *'"^' ^"^^* hasten the proj^rcss of vctrcl .ition ? 
 form an idea of peace. Here is a great show ^^° "°*^ *^''^^s bloom and fruit ripen round the 
 of words ; but the mind is fatigued and dis- ^^^^ of the burning mountain ? In war every 
 tressed wlicn it endeavors to discover the f'^'ai'i opens the way for a life; wounds and 
 meaning that is intended to be conveyed. Did ''''teases alford employment for surgeons and 
 peace recline, in blessed repose, veiled in tlic P^y^icians; tj)e meairerness of the half-starved 
 splendors of the beamful mind of God? did it ^oj'^it;'' clothes the bones of the commissary 
 live in his life, catch his inward sapience, trace with flesh ; tiie wants and distresses ot the 
 and tone his universe of thought ?— Snbiact ^^f'P'^ heap tiie table of the contractor with 
 this tinsel to the chcniieal scrntiuy of reason, luxuries, and cause his cup to overflow. While 
 and, what have we ? — Fvnum ix fvlpore. Did l''c belligerents are contending for empire, 
 ^cace bid tlie unfolding worlds' rejoie^, l<ad "'^1'^''^' "'''''"ns talu'. ;id vantage of their neccs- 
 forth their systems, shape their curves, fashion f''"^*'' '^''^^ grow rich by their calamities- 
 their ppheres, space out their sans, and compel '^■'aders, adventurers, speculators, hyenas, 
 their train, orb over orb, to roll ? These were ^^"'^'^'C''. vultures, scent the blood from afar, and' 
 more pro])erly the operations of war, the h^**^"^" ^o iTors^*' fiiemselves v.-ith the carnage, 
 triumphs of the creator fovir chaos. There 7"''^ ^"'''^''^^"^/''' the earth, whose fields are 
 is no such thing as ]ieace in nature : Atom is ^''"'^tcd at a flijtancc from the scene of con- 
 at war with atom; planets cor.fcnd witli **-""t*o".^"^ consequently escape the ravagesof 
 planets; suns dispute with suns for the cm- ^^"'■' '"'^J"''^';' 'hat the produce of liis labor com- 
 pire of comets ; and system exerts its influence "^^P^*' ^ P^icc corresponding to his avaricious 
 in opposition to system. Man comes into life "f^"'cs, and devoutly thanks God for the pro- 
 fighting, and continues to contend witli every ^"jcnti^l occurrence. The merehant patheti- 
 thing round liim till the last moment of his /''"j' '".'"cnts over the sufferings of afHictcd 
 existence. What is peace? humanitj-, but in the mean time supplies the 
 
 "When one nation ceases lo carry on against ^""tending parties with tiie pnhulum of war 
 another those operations whieh are known by *"° ^'"' ^^^ instruments of destruction, and 
 the name of war, tiiat cessation is llie com- ^ '.'" <^"ahlcs them to continue the contest, 
 mcnccment of peace, which consists in the ab. • "^'••'t'tr'' range the seas, as wolves do the 
 Bcnce of these operations." desert, in search of their prey : tljcy phmder 
 
 Peace, then, is nothing : and it is not won- "^'"^ defenceless of every nation that fall in their 
 dcrful that we should find it ditficult to give a ^^'"^ ' ^]}^^. *"!"" *'"^"" '"'"'•'' "f-'iiinst their couu- 
 satisfactory definition of a nonentity. Every , >': ''"'' ^^^^ '"^^ consequence by the ruin of 
 thing in nature is known hv its qiialities, by '"•-■''■ '"ends. 
 
 the influence it rxerls over'nther bun-s, by , .^^ ''*"" ""^""in'l '''or'n" drive the frequent 
 the war it maintains with surrounding objeels. '"'P^ "",'', '""-l>"rons const of some cimlized 
 Were there peace in nature, we never should ^! . ' ","^ '''*"''•'•"' inliahitanfs rush forward, 
 be able to acquire any knowledge of the exis- 'r^'^'y ^''^ 1'?"'' ""anner while struggling with 
 tencc of things: the universe would consist of "^".^aves, seize grerdily on the plunder, and 
 a multitude of isolated beings uninfluencing '""'"f , .^'^ P"'"^'^ *"•■ ^'''^ hhssings of a 
 and uninfiucnced, unknowing and unknown. P, ^^reckrng srasov as do,_s the Jarmcr for 
 " Let us lay aside these metaphysical sub- , exuberance of a plentiful harvest. When 
 tilitics which arc only calculated to perplex *'' '7'^ '-^ m f1ame«= in^fhe midst of some 
 the mind and lead it into labyrinths of error : Vf'^^'f. Citj, the ci.»»i«7 thieves of the vicin- 
 let us use words agreeably to their usual ac "^-' . . "^ advantage of the confusion, appro, 
 captation, unless we mean to speak a language P"''^'' *° themselves the property of the suffer- 
 wholly different from that of the rest of the !"? ""f/i^nd. "o doubt, litt, up their hearts 
 ^p^lj 1. 1" tliankfulness to the lountiful gtver of all 
 
 War then is the beating of drums, the roar- ^"f^'^ ^^, ^f,^''"'^^ kindness. 
 
 ing of cannons, the clashing of swords, the tit, ° ,, P * , 
 
 storming of forts, the burning of towns, Uic ^ ''^ *^^^ exclamation ? 
 
 ■hout§ of the victors, t!ie despair of the van- „ "; Mutato nomine de te 
 
 quisheS, and the groans of the dying. * ^^^^^ narralur : 
 
 " Yes : such arc jthc horrid operations of Thou art the man ! O child of civilization ! 
 war. Men exist for a moment : and that mo- tliou art the man I When a nation is ship- 
 ment, alas, is employed in destroying each wrecked ; when she is torn by intestine con- 
 other ! , Tbe mad tjrrants of the world lead fusion; when th^ fraD^()^,.of ,eQciety ;is disor*
 
 no 
 
 THE SAVAGK 
 
 ganized ; when the whirlwind of [lopiilar com- 
 motion lias torn her to pieces ; wlion the flames 
 of civil discord rage through her interior : 
 then, the ncighhoring nations say one to 
 another, " liCt us go up to war ajjainst our 
 sister: hehold, liatii not the Lord delivered her 
 into our hands?" The suffering nation sees 
 herself surrounded by dcvourers: some menace 
 her witli open violence; others mock her ca- 
 lamity witli insidious ]^rofcssions of friendship; 
 all take advantage of her necessities, and en- 
 deavor to aggrantlizc thcuiscives by her de- 
 struction. The plunderers proceed gradually 
 to bring about her ruin : tliey seize her garri- 
 sons, rob her treasury, dispense with her laws; 
 usurp the power of legislation, and, finally, 
 enslave her citizens, partition her territory, and 
 blot out her name from under heaven. 
 
 These, my benevolent triend, are a few of 
 the many advantages that tlow from those 
 horrible contentions you affect to pursue with 
 execrations. You may continue to 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 earthquake, men were seen 
 darting through the ruins with torches in tiieir 
 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 minsters. 
 But, my good sir, how does it happen tiiat your 
 detestation of war has risen to such an amazing 
 height witliin 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 conquered, by your favorite 
 hero T Have you not raised him above tlic 
 Cwsars and Alexanders of the rartli,;m(i bound 
 his brows with the wreath of inirnort ihty ? 
 Did you not, moreover, celebiatc his virtues as 
 Weil a« his military achievements ? Tell me 
 candidly, what has occasioned tliis change in 
 your sentiments? What has made war your 
 iiTcrsion, and sunk, in your estimation, the 
 character of heroes? 
 
 "I have reflected coolly on the birbarities 
 practised in war, and on the sanguinary career 
 of a conqueror and a hero ; and, as I am ad- 
 vancing in years, indeed am drawing near the 
 end of my pilgrimage, my soul stands aghast 
 with horror when I think of those atrocities 
 which formerly made very little impression on 
 my mind," 
 
 Very well said. You therefore insinuate 
 that you become more humane and benevolent 
 as Tou grow old : a circumstance rather un- 
 common ! We, on the contrary, every year 
 we dwell among civilized men, find onrself 
 more and more hardened in our errors, and 
 more and more insensible to the cries of the 
 ftfHicted : should we not be so fortunate as to 
 
 die before long, we shall become as wicked av 
 a christian. 
 
 Since you have given us what you deem a 
 sutReicnt reason tor your sudden abhorrence of 
 war, we v.'ill endeavor to believe you ; but wc 
 must acknowledge that we had previously ac- 
 counted for it in a different manner. We had 
 supposed that not only your former admiration 
 of heroic deeds, but your present sympathetic 
 sufferings, were occasioned by the state of your 
 pecuniary concerns. 
 
 Several years ago, the old world was, as well 
 as it now is, the scene of contending armies ; 
 but tlien you rejoiced in the prosperity of 
 American commerce; which was nourished 
 by the blood, and flourished through the mis. 
 fortunes of suffering Europe. If our inemory 
 be not treacherous, we lieard you declare that 
 tiiey might, if they would let us alone, fight as 
 long as they pleased : " By so doing," said 
 you with a smile cfexultation, " tliey will open 
 a good market fjr our beef and our flour." 
 But, as the belligerents, by their late restric- 
 tions and regulations, have nearly annihilated 
 neutral commerce, we had uncharitablj' con- 
 jectured that you had been led to conclude that 
 a general peace would be more favorable, than 
 war, to commercial enterprise and enlightened 
 speculation ; and in consequence of these con- 
 siderations, we supposed tiiat you began to 
 experience certam S3'mp;;thctic sensations, and 
 to mourn over the afllielions of your unfortu- 
 nate fellow men. 
 
 " I am sorry that you should hare supposed 
 me to be swayed by such unworthy motives i 
 but you have as yet mentioned no good that 
 results from war : all those consequences, or 
 which you have taken notice, arc evils of the 
 most serious nature." 
 
 Think of the French revolution : think, as 
 long as you please, of the rapine, cruelty, and 
 murder, which it occasioned : but at the same 
 time do not fail to observe tlie godlike virtues, 
 heroism, honor, friendship, contempt of death, 
 and of danger, which it awakened : a thousand 
 3-ears of calm corruplingpp ice would not have 
 called into life so much active and energetic 
 virtue. It is only in gr'eat convulsions and' 
 revolutions that tlie mind of man, havingfteed' 
 itself from the grasp of avarice, and shaken off 
 the yoke of contracted sordid and grovelling:- 
 passion, discovers something Iranscendently 
 great and imposing : we are ready to cry out, 
 as did a people of old, " The gods hare come 
 down in the likeness of men !" 
 
 " Those virtues made the nation a poor com- 
 p-ensation 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 strugf- 
 glc ?" 
 
 What good does a patient, borne down to 
 the grave by a painful or loathsome disease, 
 receive from the efficacy of a powerful medi- 
 cine, or from the bold but skillful operations of
 
 THE SAT AGE. 
 
 in 
 
 "ftic slirf^con"? IPrancc was siok : the superior ens the draught with Ilyblean honey. She is 
 extremities of her body were weak, bloated, a sorceress. 
 Corrupt, and incapable of being applied to any 
 
 Valuable purpose. Her bunds were no loHger 
 able to supply her "voraeious jaws and her in- 
 satiable stomach with tlic necessary susten- 
 ance; and her feet moved heavily beneath a 
 burthen they no longer had the ability to sup- 
 port. The poison of civilization had ptrvaded 
 every part of her system ; the; whole mass of 
 
 LETTER III, 
 
 From Chotafioioee,a warrior nf the Cherokee 
 
 nation, to I'ioniingo, a headman and v;ar- 
 
 rior of the Muscogiilgee confederacy. 
 
 Father ! My beloved friend Dr. Calomel, 
 who resides in our town, writes down this talk. 
 
 her blood was corrupted, and moved sluggishly May it reach you in safety ! 
 
 through her veins ; there was no soundness in 
 her Jlesh ; there was no rest in her hones : her 
 whole head fe«rs sick, and her whole heart faint. 
 But nature understood the disease of her child, 
 and administered the only efficacious remedy 
 
 Father I Have you learned to love your ene- 
 mies and hate your friends ? 
 
 Have you learned to chatter like a jay about 
 nothing ? Do you toll every one you meet 
 that it is a leaiitiful day, and then listen t<r 
 
 it threw the agonized patient into tlie most some intelligence equally interesting ? Every 
 horrible convulsions: unskilful observers were time you encounter an acquaintance, do you 
 ready to declare that the hour of her final dis- cry, How d'ye do ? or How do you stand it 
 ■solution was at hand. These struggles, how- this morning ? Do you ask every one you see 
 ■ever, were only the prelude to renewed youth wleat news there is stirring, and then proceed, 
 and renovated strength : She arose and shook without waiting for an answer, to communicate 
 kenelf: she went forth like a giant refreshed some important observation of your own ? 
 with wine, and astonished tiie nations with the Do you sit several hours at dinner and slan- 
 grandeur of her achievements. She will now dcr your neighbors who are absent, and speak 
 go on rejoicing in her strength till she become smooth things to those who are present? Do 
 again civilized and corrupted ; till the superior you understand cookery more perfectly than 
 parts of her body become too Jieavy to be home the oldest of our squaws ? Can you tell how 
 by the inferior : then, she must again have much cream, how much butter, how much 
 recourse to the revolutionary medicine^ or pepper, how mucli salt, how much vinegar, 
 
 and how mych of an infinite number of ingre- 
 dients, for which we Indians have no name,- 
 must enter into tiio composition of a single 
 
 perish. 
 
 " What are the evils attendant on pea<x; ?" 
 We have frequently mentioned some of the 
 evils of civilized life : and peace is the nurse 
 of civilization. Under her fostering care those 
 arts flourish which enable man to impose upon 
 man. We liave already said, there is no peace ; 
 
 civilized dish ? Do you begin to carry before 
 you a mountain of guts, ami to pant when you 
 walk up a hill ? Do you begin to have a com- 
 fortablc variety of fevers, gouts, consumptions, 
 chachexics, apoplexies, and rheumatisms ? Do 
 
 but we now add, that the deceitful calm, to you be^'m to catch cold 1 Father! infoi 
 which you have given the name of peace, is j 1^^^"^,^ {„ y^ur next letter, whe 
 
 concealed war. 
 
 you, in your 
 not you begin to catch ■cold. 
 
 iform me, 
 ether or 
 Do you have 
 When Pallas has laid aside her spear, her "s^'hat Doctor Catomel calls nervous diseases ? 
 helmet, and terrific shield, she smiles, and calls Are you occasionally troubled with imaginary 
 herself Minerva : she becomes the patroness distempers? Is your nose sometimes con- 
 of science, presides at the loom, and cultivates verted into edible cheese, or your posteriors 
 the olive ! Her nature, however, is always into frangible glass ? Do you sometimes sup- 
 the same ; only she is much more dangerous pose you are the chieftan of heaven, and able 
 in her pacific robes, than when she brandishes to regulate the motions of the stars ? Have 
 the gleamy spear and presents her snaky egis you sometimes the accursed (Zrseasc whichyour 
 to the terrified children of men. She teaches civilized friends long since made common in 
 men how to fight in aiMbusb, and carry on our villages ? 
 
 their operations in the dark. She mstructs Do you read the holy book and keep the holy 
 her ingenious disciples how to practise the <lay ? Do you tell the Great Spirit how to 
 arts of deception, to lull their opponents into a govern the world ? Do you tease the Gteat 
 fatal security, and to gain their purposes by Mingo of heaven with your songs and your 
 theexhibitionof false appearances. She throws psalms and your never-ending prayers; with 
 round the shoulders of the sly plotting villian your kneeling and standing, your sobbing and 
 the snowwhito mantle of piety and religion, crying, your shouting and howling, your cring- 
 She covers intrigue and cunning with the scm- ing and wheedling ? 
 
 blance of truth and simplicity; and she veils Father! Have you made yourself acquainted 
 ■the face of hatred and malignity with the with the civilized oaths ? can you curse like a 
 smiles of innocence and love. She seduces the gentleman? can you swear like a christian? 
 unwary, from the path ol rectitude, by deceitful can you say God eternally damn your soul to 
 lures and specious courtesy; .md she sircws ApW, without t'ccling yny Siiv.igo l^e^itatn'n, at 
 with flowers the road that leads to destruction, making use of an expresfion so impious and 
 Sihc mixes poisons in a golden cup. and sweet- profane, or, at utteiing a curse so malijfnant
 
 112 
 
 THE 8AVAGB. 
 
 and so horrible 7 I had long' known that chris- 
 tians tnudc 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, favorpd us with an 
 accurate topographical description of hell, and 
 instructed us in the nature of eternal damna- 
 tion. Piouiingo 1 What shall we say ? Do 
 these white christians believe their owii Jwly 
 talks? If they do, they arc the most wicked, 
 the most malevolent, dcn)ons that ever the 
 Great Spirit [icnnilted to exist ! if they do not, 
 why should they send tiieir missionaries to 
 propagate errors among iiie children of na- 
 ture ? 
 
 Father I If you can answer all the questions, 
 I have asked, in the atfirmative, I shall pro- 
 nounce you in a fair way to be civilized, and 
 advise you to return no mure to the hills of 
 the ehcrokecs or the clear streams of tiic 
 iVInscogulgees. 
 
 Father ! I have often admired the iiui)ortance 
 of tlie subjects which are discussed by these 
 enlightened and polished whites in their acci- 
 dental concurrences and social assemblies. In 
 the first place, they take particular care to in- 
 quire into the state of eacli other's health : 
 " I\Iy dear sir, how do you do ? How do you 
 feel this morning ? I hope you are well." 
 I'iomingo ! Why do they ask these ])reposter- 
 ous questions ? Do they feel any solicitude 
 for the health and prosperity of their friends 
 and acquaintances? — No such thing, they 
 would send each other to the devil in a mo- 
 ment if it were in their power. Do tlx;y wisli 
 to render each other uniiappy 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 ser-ously and foiuially concerning 
 the nature of the weather, the temperature of 
 the air, the comsc 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, vvill promote Tegetation 
 with rapidity." If it .be summer, we hear, 
 " A very warm day this I is it not sir ? My 
 God I '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 sentence : 
 ivhy they do so, I cannot tell, unless it be 
 ^merely to embellish their discourse. Father ! 
 I speak English Hucntly ; but I never could 
 exactly discover wiieu to introduce God, or 
 when to have recourse to the devil, in my con- 
 vcrsitiou : indeed, sometimes 1 am ready to 
 conclude that those names are used without 
 the least discrimination: thus, "Good God! 
 how it rains !" and " It rains like the devil I" 
 sccni to convoy the same idea precisely. If 
 two friends encounter each other in the sslrect 
 in December or January, after the customary 
 
 interrogations and responses concerning the 
 liealth of themstilves and their families, afler 
 having coughed and complained of a coW, and 
 having given a circumstantial detail of the 
 manner in which this cold was unfortunately 
 caught ; at'ter having whined about an aking 
 head, a poor appetite, a sick stomach, a miser- 
 able digestion, a weakness of the back, a sore 
 shin, a crick in the neck, a pain in the hip, 
 &c. &c., they proceed, " A cold day, sir." 
 " Yes sir, quite cold." " It blows conlbund- 
 edly." " Yes sir, a blustry day : a blustryday 
 indeed sir." "Quite a deep snow this" "Yes 
 sir, quite a — quite a snowy day, sir: this is 
 what I CF.11 winter." Piomingo I What is their 
 purpose (if they have any purpose at all) in 
 relating these circumstances which must ne- 
 cessarily be as well known to one as to the 
 other ? Docs it arise from habitual garrulity, 
 or from au itching propensity to hear them- 
 selves talk ? Each orfe 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 tlic whites an intelligent people, I 
 sliould certainly suppose they were reduced, by 
 the paucity of their ideas, to the deplorable 
 necessity of talking nonsense or continuing 
 silent. 
 
 In the third place, they inquire for news ; 
 but, for the most part, they are' mucli more 
 anxious to circulate some story of their own, 
 than to listen to the curious anecdotes that may 
 have been gathered by others. 
 
 Father ! In my next letter I shall give you 
 some account of the progress made by Black- 
 coat in christianizing the Chcrakee women, 
 and send you a talk which he held with our 
 chiefs and warriors, at which the high priest 
 of the nation was present. 
 
 Piomingo ! 3Iay the God of our fathers give 
 you prosperous days and peaceful nights! 
 May your life be long, and your death tran- 
 quil! and may you at last find repose in the 
 islands 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. Chotaiiowes. 
 
 Chotahowee has taken notice of the insipi- 
 dity and frivolity of common conversation ; 
 but he has not, perhaps, been able to discover 
 the reason why the confabulations of civilized 
 men arc generally so dull and uninteresting. 
 
 In our remarks on a former letter,we proved 
 that civilization fits men to fill a place in so- 
 ciety, but renders them altogether unable to 
 vary their conduct according to circumstances: 
 and vve now take the liberty to add that a man 
 is not well <iualificd to discourse on any sub- 
 ject which ho does not understand. Hence it 
 Iiaopt'iis, that when a number of those polished 
 individuals meet together, every one ieels a 
 stronij propensity to speak of his own trade, 
 profession or employment.
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 iia 
 
 The farmer would willingly inform you that 
 the season was favorable or unfavorable to tho 
 growth of com, or the culture of tobacco ; that 
 the caterpillars had committed ravages on hia 
 fruit trees ; that his wheat was mildewed ; 
 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 conse- 
 quence to entitle him to particular notice in 
 this place ; but as he belongs to a respectahle 
 class of men in the vicinity of Philadelfthia, 
 and as we have often been compelled, by tiie 
 cruel and malignant fates, to sit with " sad 
 civility" and listen to tedious bucolic disquisi- 
 tions, we think proper to say a few words on 
 this subject.) The grazier can descant ing<?- 
 ■niouslyon the different breeds of cattle ; and 
 on the "art and mystery" of fattening a h\i\- 
 lock. He can tell exactly liow much grass an 
 ox must graze, and how much corn \\c must 
 devour, in order to Jill tip his •pmnts, or clothe 
 his frame with a specified quantity of flesh. 
 He can not only tell, while the beast is yet 
 alive, how mucli it will weigh when slaught 
 ered ; but he cati discover, with surprising 
 sagacity, what a quadruped, now poor, will 
 weigh when properly and sufficiently fed. Ho 
 can tell, from the food and attention bestowed 
 on the amimal, whether it will die well or ill ; 
 whether it will rise above, or fall below, an 
 estimate formed from appearances agreeably 
 to the strict Tules of art. He Hiscovers uncom- 
 mon acuteness in dislinguisliing a New Eng- 
 land bullock from a Virginia steer or a Ten- 
 nessee heifer. He knows that tlie Louisiana 
 •cattle have long horns, and tliat they are una- 
 ble to stand the rigors of*ur winter. Finally, 
 'his conversation is replete with information 
 •concerning 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 fatiguing marches, and other military 
 achievemente. He boasis, with pride and 
 pleasure, of the wonders ho has perfonncd, and 
 exhibits his stumps and sears as testimonials 
 of hisTeracity. He speaks 
 
 of most disastj'oiis chances. 
 
 Of moving accidents by flood and fie!d ; 
 
 Of hairbreadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly 
 
 breach ; 
 Of being taken by 'the insoleni foe, 
 And sold to slavery. >— 
 
 The sailor would talk of long and danger, 
 ous voyages, of barbarous coasts, of dreadful 
 storms, of naval engagements, of floating ice, 
 of desert isles, of dangerous rocks and sands, 
 interposing occasionally encomiums on his 
 •owiJ courage and dexterity, and rendering the 
 whole nenrly unintelligible by his nautical 
 phrases and prculinr modes of expression. 
 
 The several artificers rft'light torxp- 1i tr on 
 the ingenious prr>Huctifin« n*" their hand^, on 
 4hc tools they employ, and on the craft which 
 |>ruducea their wealth. 
 
 Nothing is sufficiently important to be dis- 
 cussed 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 ia, 
 a prosperous situation : and if he make an an. 
 fortunate voyage, the nation is pronounced to 
 be on the brink of destruction I 
 
 Thcy.who belong to those jirofessions which 
 are honored with the appellation of learned, 
 have frequently some acquaintance with gene- 
 ral literature, and are consequently better 
 qualified, than the persons already mentioned, 
 to join in rational conversation ; but it unfor- 
 tunately happens that literary subjects can 
 rarely be discussed unless we mean to exclude 
 the greater part of every mixed company from 
 taking a share in the colloquial entertainment. 
 It must, however, be admitted that lawyers, 
 physicians and divines, as well as farmers, 
 mechanics, merchants, soldiers and sailors, 
 have their favorite subjects of discussion, and 
 are enabled, by tho course of their studies, to 
 shine more resplendently in those parts which 
 they have frequently rehearsed, and which 
 liaTc become familiar to their minds, than in 
 those which are more generally interesting to 
 mankind. 
 
 Ti)c lawyer is ever ready to join issue with 
 those who dispute the infallibility of the lex 
 tcripta aut non scripta : he can praise thosa 
 venerable regulations sanctified hy time and 
 confirmed by experience — the accumulated 
 wisdom of ages ! Tf you oppose reason to any 
 of his axioms, he immediately demurs, and 
 objects to the competence or credibility at' your 
 witness : for the competency and credibility 
 of a witness arc far from being the same in 
 the eye of the law. He informs you that tho 
 law is superior to, nay, that it "is, itpelf, the 
 perfection of reason : lex est sitmma ratio. He 
 can talk wisely nfricrhts, whether ai>pertaining 
 to persons or thincrs : and he can tell what 
 remedy is afforded by the law, when these, 
 rights are violated by any tortuons offender. 
 But if the injuries bo insignificant, (such a« 
 assailing a gentleman with abusive and inso- 
 lent language, insulting the unfortunate, out- 
 raging the feelings nf the sensitive, ridiculing 
 the poor, aged, and infirm) there is no redress : 
 de minimis non cnmt iex. 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 crudi- 
 tion when the nature of a chose in action is 
 the subject of investigation. He can tell when 
 a man may bring detinue, and when recourse 
 must be had to trover and conversion. He 
 knows the difference between corporeal and 
 incorporeal hereditaments, and points out,with 
 astonishin<r precision, the distinction between 
 an executory devise and a contingent remain- 
 der. 
 
 The phyican — (Put belire we prorcrd rny 
 farther, wc take the liberty to obavrvt: th^t
 
 m 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 there is no character wc co much love and ad- 
 mire as that of an amiable, humane and intci. 
 ligent physician, who, without medical bigotry 
 or professional arrogance, devotep his time and 
 talents to the duties of his profession ; who 
 studiously and tenderly endeavors to remove 
 or alleviate the sufferings 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 un- 
 fortunate traveller, while the pi cud priest and 
 hypocritical Levite pass by on the other side. 
 Such a man resembles one who was greater 
 tlian the good Samaritan : he resembles the 
 beneScert toundcr of Christianity ; of whom it 
 is said, that he uent about doinff good.) The 
 physician discusses v.ith pleasure those sub- 
 jects which affect the niindsof other men with 
 ccnsternetion and horror : he relates the story 
 of having been in at a de:th, with the same 
 composure and s^tisfaction. that another will 
 give an account of the occurrences of a bull, 
 or the joyful festivity of a wt^idmg. He talks 
 with the utmost composure of emaciated 
 limbs stretched out on the bed of despair, of 
 the heavy hazv eyes, the pallid countenance, 
 the cold moist forehead, the dry cough, the 
 parched tongue, the rattling throat, and the 
 convulsive struggle of dissoluticn. And should 
 the unfortunate mortal, in performing this l,-!st 
 Bcenc in the serio-comical drama of life, exhibit 
 any little peculiarities or whimsical weakness- 
 es," he becomes 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 com plaint 
 be founded in a constitutional predisposition, 
 or induced by extraneous causes ; whether the 
 yellow fever be propagated ty a subtile contii- 
 gicn emanating frcm the bodies of the diseased, 
 or ingendered by pestifercus 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 objects 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 wc hear the name of a 
 clergyman mentioned, we immediately sssoci- 
 ate with the man the qualities of bigotry, arro- 
 gance and spiritual pride? How does it happen, 
 that they, whose business it is to inculcate 
 benevolence, charity, humility and patience, 
 should be characterized, wherever they are 
 known, by a pioud overbearing intolerant dis- 
 position ? We have looked into nature for the 
 cause : and we think wc have found it. — We 
 have known a negro in a sourthern state to 
 value himself ou the riches and grandeur of 
 
 his master, rnd to look down^with infinite con- 
 tempt, on the slave of a less opulent planter, 
 (paulo majora canamus) the ambassadors and 
 ministers of foreisn nations expect to be hon- 
 ored according to the power, opulence and 
 splendor of the princes by whom they are de- 
 puted : how then shall we show our respect 
 for the ministers plenipotentiary from the court 
 of " heaven starpavcd ?" How shall we re- 
 ceive the ambassadors of the !\Iost High ? 
 What shall be done to the man whom the Lord 
 of Hosts delighteth to honor ?) The divine 
 knows where hi.« own " great strength litth," 
 and consequently endeavors, in every conver- 
 sation to mix, with the ephemeral concerns of 
 this world, the everlasting joys or sorrows of 
 another, and to c;ill away our thoughts from 
 the business of this life and fix tliem on the 
 dark futurities of the world which is to come. 
 
 It will readily be admitted, that men are 
 better qualified to talk of things that relate 
 immediately to their own professions and em- 
 plovments iu life than on any other subject : 
 and, as the pursuits of civilized men are almost 
 infinite iu number, it follows tliat no subject 
 of conversation can be introduced which will 
 be interesting and familiar to the whole of the 
 company. 
 
 Should a farmer attempt to engross the at- 
 tention of an assembly by giving an account 
 of the management of his affairs, he would sub- 
 ject himselt to ridicule ; should an artificer 
 entertain us with any thing relating to his 
 trade, his conversation would be said to smell 
 of the shvp; sliouiri a soldier or a sailor attempt 
 to communicate hi^ exploits and adventures, 
 an attentive observer would perceive a sneer of 
 contempt, or a smile oi incredulity, playing on 
 the countenances of the auditors ; and should 
 any one dare to introduce literary subjects in 
 the presence of illiterate men {who compose 
 the most wealthy, and consequently the most 
 respertahle, portion of society) he would be 
 branded with the appellation of pedant. What 
 then must be done 1 
 
 It is reported of Sir Robert Walpole, that he 
 would always introduce lewd or obscene sub- 
 jects of conversation at his table. Being asked 
 the reason of this conduct, he replied, "That 
 is a subject in which we all can join." De- 
 cency forbids the present polished generation 
 to have recourse to Sir Robert's expedient, and 
 therefore they are necessitated to talk of the 
 state of their health, the temperature of the 
 air, or something else equally frivolous. 
 
 The savages of America are remarkable for 
 their taciturnity : they esteem it the height of 
 absurdity and madness to speak, when no 
 valuable purpose can be answered by speaking. 
 But if any subject of conversation be intro- 
 duced, it is always interesting to aJl : it re- 
 lates to the business of the chase, to the ope- 
 rations of war, or to the public concerns of the 
 nation.
 
 THE .SAVAGE. 
 
 115 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 We awoke. The morning bad considerably 
 advanced; and the sun sent his (heerful beams 
 throughout window. We raised our head, rub- 
 bed our eyes, cast a glance of recognition upon 
 the ruBty furniture of our narrow disorderly 
 apartment, and determined to arise. But indo- 
 lence prevailed : we laid our head again upon the 
 pillow, and sunk into a state of sweet insensibili- 
 ty. We, indeed, still continued so much awake 
 as to be conscious of existence ; but we had fallen 
 ■o far under the dominion of sleep as to free us 
 from the cares and anxieties of life. O enchant 
 ing 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 
 to wander on the borders of non-eiistence ! We 
 were roused from our slumber by the sound of 
 the bells : they seemed to give a general invita- 
 tion to the drowsy inhabitants of the city to go up 
 to the house of prayer, and return thanks to the 
 Author of Nature for blessings already received 
 and solicit a continuance of his favor. For a 
 moment the illusions of a warm imagination pre- 
 vailed over !he cold and disagreeable deductions 
 of reason: we said to ourself, "Shall we co up 
 to Moiin'. 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 ?" Btit sliort was 
 the empire of feeling : we thought of a vain 
 proud avaricious intriguing hypocritioal multi- 
 tude, wno assemble for the purpo:Je of imposing 
 on each other by a specious affectation of piety 
 and a variety of religious grimaces. The reflec- 
 tion was painful. The bells continued their in- 
 fitation: but we heard them uo longer: we 
 thought of the errors and miseries of man ; we 
 thought of his vices and follies; we thought of 
 the madness o( his hopes, the folly of his fears, 
 and the ridiculous nature of his ambition , we 
 thought of death. But, some how or other, our 
 mind was uncommonly ingenious in getting rid 
 of these sorrowful cogit;itions. Th'' mental de- 
 pression we had experienced was .eticcceded by 
 a soothing tranquility : and slpep. 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 inquiwng for Piomingo : 
 " What," continued the voi.e, "in bed, do you 
 Bay? unparallelled laziness!' The sound was 
 familiar to our ears: and without much difficulty 
 we recognized the tones of the intelligent but 
 talkative Frank. \Ve knew that our visitant was 
 not eitremely ceremonious ; and therefore, we 
 were not surprised when he b<.>lted into our 
 chamber, exclaiming, "Thou indolent savage! 
 thou intolerable sluggard ! how canst thou dream 
 away existence in sloth and torpidity, whilst na- 
 ture arrayed in her gayest attire invite thee to 
 life and enjoyment f" 
 
 Piomineo. Pretendest thou to be civilized, thou 
 daring intruder? Why shouldest thou presump- 
 tuously break into the sanctum sanctorum of the 
 temple of indolence, and thus outrageously inter- 
 rupt my repose ? 
 
 Frhnk. The object, I have in view, is the pro- 
 motion of thy happiness : I wish to effect thy re- 
 formation : and the end being good, I shall find 
 n« difficulty in justifying the means. 
 
 Piomingo. I like not thy phMosophy. Besides, 
 how canst thou suppose thyself capable of re- 
 forming a man whom fifly years have confirmed 
 in his errors : I am surprised ai thy vanity ! 
 
 ThojL canst only make a few commonplace ob- 
 servations : all which I have heard a thousand 
 times be.ore. 
 
 Frahk. Truth is not less true, because it has 
 been frequently repealed. 
 
 Ficmingo. But it is much less forcible on that 
 account, I assure thee. I have been told, even 
 from my infancy, of the impropriety of matutinal 
 indulgence : yet ihou seesl that all these admoni- 
 tions have h.td no lasting influence on my con- 
 duct: how then canst thou imagine that truth, as 
 thou callest it, when deliverfS by a christian, 
 should have a more powerful efl'ect than when 
 proceeding from the mouth of the sage Oconi- 
 rnico, or from the lips of a prince and a warrior, 
 ray venerable grandfather, Paya Mataha ? Be- 
 sides, is not this SSuiiday ? 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 exam- 
 ple, in resting from 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 saiisfied if there were t«o ^Sundays in 
 every week: I find this day the most agreeable 
 (K)rtion of my time. When I walk out, I am 
 pleased to see the people neatly attired, moving 
 in every direction in search of recreation and 
 amusement. I rejoice to see the odious shops 
 shut up, and to find that the bustle 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 oflbols, or stunned by the rumbling 
 of draya. How cruel was the conduct of the 
 French republicans when they sncrilegiously 
 abolished the festivals of the churcli.nnd, insteaii 
 of the seventh, allow ed 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. m every civilized nation, is 
 already intolerable: and cruel is the legislator 
 who would quench the still smoking flax, or 
 bruise, with a heavy hand, the reed that is 
 broken ? 
 
 Frank. Thott hast already, I find, been long 
 enough among us to learn iKe practice, too com- 
 mon with christians, of wresting the scriptures 
 in support of thy opinion3,and moulding them in- 
 geniously to answer thy purpose. On this day, 
 we are inf<3rmed by divines, "we 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. 
 
 Piomhiso. 1 understand thee not. If this day 
 be the legitimatesuccessorof the Jewish sabbath, 
 then is it a day of rest; and I am justified in 
 seeking repo.<e. If it be a festival, instituted in 
 honor of Christ's resurrection, then it should be 
 celebrated by moderate indulgences, cheeirful 
 amusements, and innocent hilarity. Away with 
 your long faces and downcast looks, ye moping 
 and sorrowing christians ! do ye mourn because 
 your saviour has risen from the dead ? 
 
 Frank. Piomingo! .\ New England puritan or 
 Scoteh presbyterian, if possessed of tlie power, 
 would burn thee for heresy. Thev suppose sab- 
 bath-hreaking to be one of those crying siVjs.which 
 no! only insure the damnation of the offender, 
 but call down the vengeance of heaven upon the 
 nation in general. They walk with s id sobriety 
 straight forward, or sit like statues of despair 
 without looking to the right hand or to the !•&
 
 116 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 Should any one inadvertently make use of a 
 Ihoughtless expression, or suffer a rebellious 
 Rmile to rise in his countenance, his tender con- 
 science immediately is alarmed, and he seeks Oie 
 JLord with tears and lamentations, and entrea's 
 him to forgive the corruptness and perverseiiess 
 of a miseraW* sinner. 
 
 Piomingo. And do they SHppose that the Lord 
 will be delighted with their crotodile tears and 
 face of despair? ordt>they expect to deceive him 
 by their whining complaints and cringing ser- 
 vility ? Can God be pleased with men 
 
 so faint, so spiriiless 
 
 So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone ? 
 Frank. Tell rae: howdoyou, savages, worship 
 the divinity ? 
 
 Piomingo. We worship the great and good 
 spirit with singing, dancing, feasting, playing on 
 musical instriiments^aml ntalartp our stlie» merry 
 in his presence : we- suppose that he delights to 
 look down on the happiness oi bis children. 
 
 Frank. But, do you never endeavor to avert 
 his displeasure by fasting and prayer I Do you 
 never try to atone for your sins by voluntary 
 penances, or by extraordinary exertions of vir- 
 tue ? 
 
 Piomingo. Never : we do not suppose it possi- 
 ble that he should become the minister of evil, 
 or direct his vengeance againsi the creatures of 
 his power. 
 
 Frajik. What then is the design of your fasts, 
 prayers, purifications, charms, oblations, &c. of 
 which I have frequently heard i 
 
 Piomingo. These are designed to propitiate, 
 conciliate, or influence, a tnultiiude of inferior 
 spirits, whose dispositions are supposed to be as 
 changeable and capricious as our own. 
 
 Frank. Travellers, therefore, report traly, 
 when they assert that you worship the devil ? 
 
 Piomingo. They assert a falsehood: we wor- 
 ship no being that in any way resembles the 
 devil of the christians. But we believe that nu- 
 merous spirits exist on the earth, in the waters, 
 and in the regions of the air, who are neither 
 ■wholly benevolent nor wholly malignant in their 
 nature : these we endeavor to propitiate, when 
 offended, by abstinence and prayer; these we 
 conciliate by offerings ; 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 pariicnlars, 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, convul- 
 sions and earthquakes; others feed bubbling 
 fountains, preside over lakes, direct the wander- 
 ing rivulet, impel the majestic march of rivers, 
 and occasion the ebbing and flowing of the sea. 
 Some laise the mountain mists; and others 
 awake the exhalations of the valley. Someskim, 
 in dark nights, over the surface of the stream, 
 and terrify the Indian, in his solitary canoe, with 
 •their mournful exclamations; others are heard to 
 groan in the oaks of the forest, to moan in the 
 thickest recesses of the canebrake, and whisper 
 jri the winds that rush through the tops of the 
 pines. Sometimes the benighted wanderer in 
 the desert sees a cheprful fire on the side of a 
 hill, in the head of a valley, or afar off on the 
 plain aroid the towering trees of the forest .- h» 
 
 rejoices in hopes of reaching the camp of thr 
 hunter: but the deceitful fiend shiftai-t." situation, 
 and iViii with its lambent light over dreary 
 swamps and desol.ite marshes ; and having led 
 the unfortunate vagrant for many a weary mile, 
 through briery dells and thickets of thorn, amid 
 craggy rocks, and oveo the trunks of fallen trees ; 
 having cast him down, the dangerous precipice, 
 thrown him into the j'av^niiig pit, o» conducted 
 him into the middle of the quaking niurass, it ex- 
 tinguishes the deceitful llame; and a laugh of 
 iriiimphaiit malignity is heard thsough the gloom, 
 of The iiiyhtl Some of these airy beings are sup- 
 posed to waken the sun from his nightly repose,, 
 and strew the courts of his palnce 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 lierbage, and feed 
 tlw; green maize wilh salufaiy juices ; others ride 
 on the wings of ihe ravaging storm, and add fury 
 to the turbulent winds. Some scatter thick fogs^ 
 and unveil the fiice ol' the sun; others Ktil to« 
 gether black clouds, and pour down torrents of 
 rain. 
 
 Frank. IIow do you know when these spirit* 
 are offended ? 
 
 Piomingo. When the fountains are dried; 
 when the winds are fbibidden to blow ; whea 
 the earth is burned by the heat of the sun ; when> 
 the corn islilighted; when armies of flies, l4)custB< 
 and catterpillars devour the green herbage, and 
 cut up the verdure of the trees: when the deer 
 have forsaken thf ir haunts, and the buffaloes no 
 longer are found in the forest ; when the gun ol 
 the warrior misses its aim, and the fire has for- 
 saken his flint ; when the widowed dove toai* 
 plains at the door of the hut, or the nightly whip- 
 perwill takes his station on the rool of the cot- 
 tage ; when myriads of buzzards assemble in our 
 villages ; when dogs raise, at midnight, the howl 
 of lamentation ; when the fishes are found dead 
 in the strea^m ; finally, when the beloved people 
 arc afflicted vvith new and terrible diseases .- then 
 know we that the gods are offended. 
 
 Frank. In that case, what course do you pur- 
 sue ? 
 
 Piomingo. We inquire into the conduct of our 
 natieu; \\e endeavor to discover if any one have 
 offended against thehtloved speech received from 
 our fathers; and, if it appearthat any Indian has 
 neglected the accustomed ceremonies, has de- 
 parted from our ancient simplicity of manners, 
 has been guilty of an action unbecoming a be- 
 loved red man and a warrior, that man is sub- 
 jected to puni.shmenl : he is forbidden to appear, 
 for a limited time, 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. how- 
 ever, appear upon inquiry that no oflence can be 
 imputed to individuals or to the people collec- 
 tively, we are aptto direct our resentmentagainst 
 our prophets and priests: and they, sometimes, 
 answer with their lives fox having suffered Jb« 
 nation to incur the displeasure of the gods, by 
 their own negligence in performing their religi- 
 ous duties. 
 
 Frank. In what manner do you appease those 
 ill-natured divinities when they have, by incon- 
 testable 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, D*
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 117 
 
 doubt, be sufficiently clear-sighted todisrem fhe 
 eriore of Indians ; and lliou woiildost probulily 
 feel inclined to show thy superiority by laughiug 
 at our ridiculous modes of expiation. 
 
 Frank. Hav* you consecrated pliccs, vest- 
 ments, instrumctus, (tirtures, or imasres? 
 
 Piomivgo. Some tribes represent invisible be- 
 ings by the means of pictures and images; but 
 this is rather unconnnon with American savages. 
 We have a house set ajj.irt for holy purposes ; in 
 which are kept certain reliirioiis symbols: and in 
 which the new fire is kindled at ihe commence- 
 ment of every year. Our high priest lias a dress 
 consecrated for solemn occa^ions. Many places 
 are said to be under the protection of spirits, and 
 coiiseqiienlly are supposed to be sunciilied by 
 their presence. Mouni.-iins, rocks, caiarac's, 
 rivers, springs, and valleys, are trtquently ob- 
 jects of great veneration : an<l tiiis veneration is 
 occasioned either by some traditionary story, or 
 by the uncommon appcjirances exhibued at these 
 places. When we a))proach these sacred objects, 
 we iidore the invisible, beings who ,nre sup|iosed 
 to be present, and solicit their lavor and protec- 
 tion. But it may not l)e amiss to remark, that, 
 although the American Indians reverence the 
 gods, they never practise any of liiose abject 
 grovelling acts of devotion, whicli are so cus- 
 tomary in civilized iialioris: they never feel that 
 snif-ahaxement, that /iruslrutioti of kuiiI, whicli is 
 ■o much recommeudeil by christian writers. In 
 the midst of a 'remendous thunder storm, when 
 the heavens appeared to menace the earth with 
 destruction, I nave seen the savages rush out of 
 their tents, and discharge their rifles at the cloud 
 in token of defiance. When their reasons for 
 this absurd conduct were demanded, ibt-y re[)lied 
 in the Ibllowing manner : " Why should he dart 
 Iiis lightning at our heads, and endeavor to tright- 
 en us with tite voice of bin thund<;r? We are 
 beloved men and terrible warriors: we cannot 
 b« intimidated." ''But," said some one, "are 
 you not afraid to otfend the tiiiimo of the thunder?'' 
 " No," they replied : " why should we fear him ? 
 Let him afflict us with pain, and torment us wilh 
 diseases — we know how to Buf!i?r I Let him 
 blast us with his lightning, or strike hs dead w ilh 
 his thunder — death we despise !" 
 
 Frank. Absurd conduct indeed ! But what 
 could we expect from savages, pagans, heathens, 
 idolaters ? from men who worship nn innumera- 
 ble multitude of malignant or capri'-ious deities? 
 from men who adore caverns, rocks, mountains, 
 winds, and clouds? from men wlio represent in- 
 visible beings by statues of wood or images of 
 clay? from men who people the universe with 
 imaginary gods, and endeavor to control the 
 operations of nature by childish and ridiculous 
 ciianns ? 
 
 Piomingo. If these things be absurd, they are 
 not peculiar to us. All nations, of which we 
 have any knowledge, have believed in the ex- 
 istence of beings superior to man, by whatever 
 name they may haye been known, angels, genii, 
 spirits, gcids. The delightful mythology of the 
 Greeks cheered the lace 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, aa well as christians, has said 
 or sung. 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 Unieen, both when we wake and when we sleep: 
 
 All these with ceaseless praise his works behold 
 
 Both day and night : how ofirn iroiii tlie steep 
 Of echoing hill or thicket have we Jieard 
 Celestial voices to ihc iv.idiiitht air, 
 Sole or responsive to each other's note, 
 Singing their great Creator? 
 
 It must indeed be acknowledged that men, av 
 soon .IS they begin to think that tliey understand 
 the operations of nature, endeavor to account for 
 the various phenomena without calling in the aid 
 of these numerous iiitelligcncos : 'i'hcy would" 
 rather venerate a blind mysterious unintelligible' 
 sonfething, to whi(-h they have given the name 
 ot alirnclion : they would rather attribule the 
 movements and revolutions ofthings to the neeet- 
 .^ilif of their nature, or to the agen<-y of a fluid, 
 llniii believe in the existence of intelligent causes. 
 Well : what shall we infer fiom ihis' — .Nothing 
 but uncertainty, darkness and error. The sarao' 
 philosophy w hn-h has aiiiiiliilutcd the nereids and 
 naiads, the oreads and dryads; which has wrest- 
 ed thetliunderlxill from .lupiler. and the Indent 
 from iXepiune, — that same philosophy has o^ 
 tempted to destroy our hopes of immortality, and 
 dispense wilh all intelligence in the government 
 of the universe. 
 
 The philosophers Invc certainly made discove- 
 ries ; but they are melanthidy discoveries. They 
 have become possessed of a liltir knowledge : 
 knowledge enough to show the fallacy of those 
 delightful illusions which embellished existence : 
 knowledge enough to show that nothing can be 
 known, and to overwiielm us wilh doubts and 
 despair. They have shod a Utile liL'ht on the 
 ojierations of nnturo: liulit enough to enable us 
 to discover the darkness and terrors of our situa- 
 tion: light enough to dissipate the blooming 
 creations of fancy, and all the high- wrought pic- 
 tures of a fervid iiriaeinatioii : light enough to 
 enable us to cast ii glance of horror through the 
 desolate regions that surround us '. I am sick of 
 your knowledge and your light, of your philoso- 
 phical investigations and metaphysical disquisi- 
 tions, of your mathematical demonstrations and 
 theological contentions, of your astronomical dis- 
 coveries and analytical wnnder.i. I hate your 
 telescope ; and, your micro.trope I deitpise. I 
 would gladly, were it possible, obliterate every 
 trace of your unsalisfiictory knowledge, and bury 
 mysel|^ where, and where only, happiness can 
 be found — in the lowly vale of contented igno- 
 rance ! 
 
 You laugh at our folly because we direct our 
 prayers to inferior spirits raiher than to the su- 
 preme and all-governing 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 displeasure, or 
 determine the decisions, of inferior spirits ; who 
 are subjected to passions, and governed by dis- 
 positions, similar to our own : but who can in- 
 fluence the will, or sway the mind of an un- 
 changeable God ? We may lay open our thoughts 
 to deities, who are supposed to be ignorant of 
 what passes in our miiids; and we may convince 
 them, by reasoning, of the justice of our cause : 
 but whti can enlighten the understanding of 
 Omniscience, or direct Wisdom how to form a 
 judgment on the subject proposed. 
 
 You may smile at our images of clay: but here, 
 also, we can make, for ourselves, a tolerable 
 apology : and our cenduct, when contrasted with 
 that of your religious enthusiasts, will not ap>
 
 118 
 
 THE SAVAGK. 
 
 pear 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 sup- 
 posed to sanctify it by his presence. We do not 
 adore the cavern, the rook, the fountain, the 
 cataract, the wind, or the cloud ; but the spirits 
 who have taken up their residence there. Does 
 not every one, who worships an invisible being, 
 foriii, in his mind, an image of the being he 
 adores? Why then may we not assist him in 
 his conceptions 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 lake the 
 resemblance of his god from the hands of our in- 
 genious artificer as worship the monstrous crea- 
 tion of his own distempered and agitated mind ? 
 Our attenvpts to control the operations of nature 
 by charms and incantations may appear ridicu- 
 lous to the philosophic lew in civilized nations: 
 but this weakness cannot appear surprismg in us, 
 when it may be safely asserted that nineteen- 
 twentieths of the most eaUqhiened nation on the 
 earth believe in the efficacy of charms as whim- 
 sical and childish as ours. We are not more 
 superstitious, m this particular, than were the 
 ancients ; 
 
 Carmine dii supen plaeantur, 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, I understand, among you, 
 many customs and ceremonies, which you reli- 
 giously observe, although you are unable to give 
 any rational account of their origin or significa- 
 tion. 
 
 Pinm'ingo. Well: is it not better that unmean- 
 ing ceremonies should occupy our time, and that 
 our religion should consist of a round ef external 
 observances, than that we should be contmually 
 gasping for heavenly inspirations, waiting for 
 the illapses of the divinity, or swelling with ima- 
 ginary afflalns ; until, having deceived ourselves 
 as well as others, we be driven to madness by the 
 illusions of a distempered imagination ? 
 
 Besides, every innocent custom, how frivolous 
 soever it may appear, should be carefully ob- 
 served. Ever\' innovation in national manners 
 opens a door for the entrance of vice, and shakes 
 the foundatio;is of virtue. Virtue ha.s been often 
 compared to a plant: and, if I maybe 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 climate of heaven 
 *o the bleak and ungenial region of the earth ; 
 ■where it must be protected by the sheltering 
 walls of salutary prejudices, or it will perish. 
 
 Every innovation in national manners is dan- 
 gerous, because 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 destroys nation- 
 ality ; it breaks down the barrier which the 
 wisdom of our ancestors has raised between u« 
 and the nations of the earth ; it cuts away the 
 dikes which have defended us (or ages from the 
 tempestuous waves which agitate the world : 
 until, finally, we are overwhelmed by an ocean 
 «f vices. 
 
 Frank. It is true, those sages, who have ac- 
 quired immortality by the establishment of na- 
 tions, appear to have thouglu it necessary to in- 
 stitute national customs and regulations, and to 
 instil local prejudices into the minds of the peo- 
 ple, 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 antipalliiesand wars. 
 
 Fiomingo. It is easy to find fault ; but it would 
 be difficult to show how they could have acted 
 more judiciously than they did. They were not 
 so vain as to su])pose themselves capable of re- 
 generating and reforming the world, but wisely 
 directed their exertions to the promotion of the 
 felicity of their countrymen. If a man endeavor 
 to overturn a mountain, his labor will be lost, 
 but if he exert himself to remove a stone or a 
 piece of timber out of his way, he will probably 
 be successful. 
 
 One of those venerable legislators found him- 
 self in a situation which enabled him lo influ- 
 ence the decisions of an inconsiderable people, 
 whose happiness he was anxious to secure. To 
 tiicm he issued his commands: and, in order that 
 they might make a suitable impression on their 
 minds he called in the assistance of heaven. The 
 precepts inculca'.ed were delivered as the oracles 
 of God: and the transgressor not only suffered 
 the punishment announced by the law, but 
 trembled at incurring the displeasure of the di- 
 vinity. The virtuous citizen was not only re- 
 warded by the api)lauses of his country and dis- 
 tinguished by honorary marks of her favor; but 
 he also felt happy in the idea of having secured 
 the favor and protcciion 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 contami- 
 nation ? shall he build a wall of adamant that 
 cannot be scaled ? shall he surround them with 
 mountains, whose impassable summits ascend to 
 the heavens? shall he call around them the waves 
 of some rest. ess and tempestuous ocean ? or shall 
 ho hide them in the nudstof an inhospital desert? 
 These things exceed his abilities ; but he may, 
 by judicious regulations, render the objects of hia 
 care and the neighboring nations reciprocally 
 odious to each other. 
 
 It may be observed that these ancient law- 
 givers thought salutary prejudices and an unvary- 
 ing system of manners necessary for the pros- 
 perity of virtue; but modern philosophers en- 
 deavor to eradicate all prejudices, whether bene- 
 ficial in their effects or otherwise : they are in 
 quest of truth ; but they ought to reflect that 
 truth, enough to answer their purpose, will never 
 he found. Should they even tbllow Nature to 
 her hiding place and ravish the master secret 
 from her bosom ; would the discovery be produc- 
 tive of happiness to man ? 
 
 Every one now appears desirous to promote 
 the intercourse of nations. Were all nations 
 equally vicious.were society every where equally 
 corrupt; were all laws, and constitutions of go- 
 vernment, equally well calculated to promote the 
 felicity of man ; were all customs, opinions, and 
 pursuits, equally conducive to the practice of 
 virtue ; then, indeed, a jihiiosopher might be 
 well pleased to see nations supply each others' 
 wants, reciprocate offices of friendship, and main- 
 tain a continual intercourse; then, he need not be
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 113 
 
 «pprehen«ive of protnotins: rivllization at the 
 expense of virtue and happiness : but, it the laws, 
 r()t)«titutions, rustonis, prejudiees, manners, pur- 
 suits, t)i one people, be more desirahle than those 
 of another, what will be the c»nseqiience of as- 
 sociation? All the advantages which the virtu- 
 ous nation derived frmnits local institutions will 
 gradually lessen, and finally disappear. 
 
 Ancient lawgivers studied the nature of man, 
 and formed his mind to virtue and L^lor^' ; b»t 
 thfl founders of modern republics think mind al- 
 together unworthy of their attention : they take 
 no measures to prevent the existence of vice, hut 
 suppose they have fulfilled their duty, when they 
 inflict punishment on the vicious. 
 
 What wouldest thou think of a physiciln, to 
 whom some prince had coinmitled tlie care of 
 the health of his subjects, who, instead of recom- 
 mending temperance r.nd exercise, and using 
 every means in hia power to }irevent the exis- 
 tence of disease; instead of watching ilie ap- 
 proachps i>f di.stemper, and adminisierinjif, in guixl 
 time, ths necessary remedj' ; sliould encourage 
 the objects of his care in every species oi excess, 
 and pay no attention whatever to the causes or 
 pi ogress of indisposition; but when the patient 
 Ahoiild become absolutely incurable would order 
 his hend to be taken off l)y an attendant ? — .Such 
 if the coniluct of modern legislators : tlu^y never 
 attempt to form the mind ; to give a salutary di- 
 rection to its energies ; to iin|)iant ihe seeds of 
 honor, patriotism, friendship, heroi.sm; to awaken 
 in the breast a love of glor\ ,aiid slir up the sparks 
 of noble ambition. 7>o: thoy permit every spe- 
 cies of vice to flourish until it h.ive taken .such 
 deep root in society, that it cannot be extirjiated. 
 What then ? The sapient Icgislatorii assemble 
 and make a law «g.iinst this tlesfructive vice: 
 and in obedience to this law, the sword of justice 
 is sent forth to destroy those members of lUe 
 eommunily who are most lieeply infected with 
 the; prevailing distemper : a distemper which, if 
 the government had done ils duty, would never 
 have existed. Another vice becomes universal ; 
 and another law is made aL^^inst the vicious. 
 Crimes are multiplied, and laws are multiplied 
 also ; until men lose Ihe idea of ri^ A^and tirorig 
 in that of lavyful and nnlawful: and however 
 bn^o, perfidious and unjust their conduct may be, 
 they account themselves "good men and true" 
 if they do not incur the penalty of the law. 
 
 It is amusing to hear thos(% w ho thrivo by the 
 vices and follies of others, and fatten on the cor- 
 ruptions of society, boast of their civilization and 
 adduce the multiplicity of their laws as a proof 
 of their refinement. Wliereas, in truth, the mul- 
 tiplicity 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 busi- 
 nesses and diversified relations on the one hand, 
 and from sameness of life and restricted inter- 
 course on the other ? 
 
 Piomingo. It is true, that savages have few 
 laws, because 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 vicious. However highly polished a 
 nation might be, howeyer various the relations 
 that might subsist among the individuals com- 
 posing the same, if men were just, there would 
 be no aecessity for laws — there would be no 
 
 laws. Yet we hear the wisest among you boast- 
 ing of your multiplied statutes : as vvell might 
 the captive be proud of his chains, or the slave 
 of the whip suspended over his shoulders! But 
 we are also lolil that your law? are just : and of 
 that you are vain ; were the laws unjust, some- 
 thing might be inferred, from that circumstance, 
 in your favor ; but as they are just, you must be 
 unjust. ITinti shah nol steal, 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 tk.jse sages of antiquity to whom thou 
 hast alluded; 
 
 Viiimin.^o. As far as it might have been prac- 
 ticable, they certainly ought. Theysh'.uld have 
 formed sucli regulations as would have had s 
 tendency to give a national character to the peo- 
 ple of tiie United States. They should have in- 
 stituted .1 grand national system of education, 
 and breathed the Sj)irit of virtuous republicanism 
 into the rising generation. Thoy should have 
 inslittueJ srhools, gymnasia, games, festivals. 
 They should have made it their primary concern 
 to raise citizens for the only republic on earth. 
 Tliey should have considered the youth of both 
 sexes as belonging to ihe nation, and have taken 
 c;ire ih.it Ihe offsprins; of the indit;eiit should not 
 b<> brutalized by drudgery, nor thai of the opulent 
 ruined by indulgence. They should have A'lv- 
 finguished excellence by honorary rewards and 
 desirable pri vilegcs.and have rendered indolence 
 avarice, and selHshncss. conieniptible. Indeed, 
 any institution, which would have created na- 
 tionality, would have been attended with an in* 
 finify of advantages. 
 
 But nothing of this nature was atlempted : they 
 legislated coueeniing exports and imports, oflicefi 
 and salaries. 'I'huy thought nothing worth their 
 attention but the acquisition and protection of 
 property — the ways and means of getting rich, 
 and the sweets of luxurious enjoyment. No plan 
 of education has keen formed; no grand national 
 work h.as been undertaken; no glorious enter- 
 prise has been achieved; nothing daring andlmag- 
 nanimoiis has been attempted, which might give 
 the citizens a iiigh opinion of their country, of 
 their government, of themselves ; nothing has 
 been thought of which might divert the attention 
 of the citizens from their avarious pursuits ; 
 nothing has been 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 adora- 
 tions of the good people of the United States! 
 What will be the fate of a commonwealth go- 
 verned by such grovelling sordid statesmen, such 
 intriguing low politicians? — It will become a 
 nation of mercantile adventurers, brokers, shop- 
 keepers, pedlers. usurers, and unprincipled specu- 
 lators. A mercenary spirit will pervade every 
 part of the community : it will influence the ac- 
 tions of the governing and the governed, of the 
 opulent and the indigent, of the wise and the 
 foolish. Sunk in luxurious indolence or groan- 
 ing 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 ; Epicurus inquired after the sovereign 
 i^ood in the delicious recesses of a garden ; Zeno
 
 120 
 
 THE SAVAGE. 
 
 insiriicted his followers in a portico; Aristotle hear the gospel preached Itt its purity, and b« 
 was the father of the walkers; and thou, I sup- carefully instructed in the doctrines of grace, 
 pose, meanost to institute a sect of sleeping, philo- Piomingo. What are the doctrines of grace ? 
 aoph'ers. and give lessons, in thy bed, on indolence frank. We are commanded not to "cast pearls 
 of body and tranquility of mind. Thou wilt before swine." Wert thou only in a state of 
 place ihe summnm honum in a torpor of the fa- ^race and honored with a pair of " new-invented 
 culties. Wilt thou rise voluntarily \ or shall I patent" spiritual eyes, thou woulde«t be able to 
 exert a little salutary force, and compel thee to discover the beauty of these sublime, man-de- 
 obey my commands ? If existence be desirable, pressiiii;, and God-fialting dociiinen Ah! it is 
 why stioukl we cast away the blessing ? A man a very comfortable thing to be in a state of grace ! 
 might as well be dead as continually asleep. In that case, my dear Piomingo, thou shouldest 
 
 Piomint^n. fstrelcJnr.g and yawning) Mere ex- not need lo be under any apprehensions of being 
 istence is by no means desirable: therefore, when eternally damned : thou mightest venture slyli/ 
 I see no prospect of pleasure, I grow weary of to indulge those corruptions of thy nature which 
 life, and resort to that species of temporary death might not be purged away by the process of re* 
 which is vulgarly called sleep. Dead! {yawning) generation; but thou wonldest have to be care- 
 I should like very much to b>? dead. ful not to bring reproach upon the eodly by thy 
 
 Frank. Die then : there is nothing to pretent irregular proceedings. There was David, lor in- 
 thee. I will, as a friend, endeavor to facilitate stance, the royal nightingale: he made a few 
 thy escape from this troublesome world : I will false steps in his progress through life ; but, be* 
 furnish thee vvith a knife, a rope, or a poisoned ing one of the elect, his .soul was as safe as a 
 chalice: I will accompany thee to the brink of guinea in the iron chest of a miser: the Lord 
 a precipice, or to the banks of a stream. Leap never fails to pardon the transgressions of hi» 
 boldly : and terrestrial affairs will disturb thee children, 
 no longer. Piomingo. Thou bringest to my recollection 
 
 Piomingo. Thou art very obliging : but, at pre- a niiin greater than David — the fighting, praying, 
 sent, I feci no inclination to trouble thee with canting, hypocritical, enthusiastic, daring, cruel, 
 commands of flmt extraordinary nature. For rnagnaninious CronAvel; who murdered his mas- 
 dcath we may "dovoully wish;" but dying, I ter, and committed a few' barbarities in Ireland 
 apprehend, must be rather disagreeable. How- and Scotland. He inquireil, towards the end of 
 ever, to convince thee of my respect lor thy ad- his life, if it were certain, that the sainU 
 vice, I hasten lo extricate myself from the em- could not fall away and be finally lost. Being 
 braces of sloth. answered, that nothing was more certain, he ex- 
 
 Frank. Thou dost well. Sloth is a most per- claimed with exultation, "Tlien am I safe: for 
 nicious mistress; she smiles, soothes, seduces, I know that I was in a state of grace!" — I am 
 and caresses; but, fin:illy, destroys every one afraid that these doctrines are unfavorable to ih* 
 who yields to her blandishments. Though thou practice of virtue. 
 
 wert Samson, thou wilt lose thy strength if thou Frank. Virtue! Evangelical christians never 
 layest thy head in the lap of this Delilah! Though mention virtue, unless in the way of reproach ; 
 thou wert Ulysses, thou wilt sink lo a state of it is a heatheiish kind of a thing — filthy rags- 
 brutality if thou yield to the solicitations of this yea, d*** in the sight of the Lord. Any one who 
 Circe! Though thou wert Hercules, thou wilt hopes to acnuire favor with God by promoting 
 become contemptible if thou become the slave of the good of nis fellow creatures is regarded by 
 this Omphale! them vvith the utmost contempt and abhorrence, 
 
 Piomingo. TViou speakest well: but did I not and stigmatized with the odious epithets of /c^a/- 
 feel an inclination for breakfast, I fancy I should isl and moralist. They feel abundance of love 
 be able to resist the most potent of thy argu- and veneration for that being who from all eter- 
 ments, and withstand thy most ardent solicita- n'lty judiciously selected them as the objects of 
 lions. . his beneficence ; but they look down with ineffa- 
 
 Frank. I have heard that savages smoke and ble contempt on a reprobate world — " vessels, of 
 sleep away their time, and cannot be roused from wrath fitted to destruction !" They have a great 
 their state of stupefaction, save by the calls of antipathy against nature and every thing natural, 
 Tiunger or a desire of revenge. and are continually striving lo have it brought 
 
 Piomingo. Thou hast not been correctly in- int») subjection : indeed they have been so far 
 formed. Friendsnip, glory, love of country, aflbrd successful as to have brought themselves to think 
 moti'^es sufficiently powerful to call forth their with pleasure of the eternal damnation of a Vast 
 
 ardor, and produce die most heroic exertions 
 
 Frank. Wilt thou go to church? 
 
 Piomingo. I think, not. To what church 
 wouldest thou take me ? 
 
 Frank. Thou art so old that I have small hopes 
 ■of being so bl-e.^ed as to witness thy conversion : 
 were it not that I am discouraged by this con- 
 sideration, I should insist upon ihy attending 
 
 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 happiness of pronouncing the irreversible 
 doom, of never-ending torments, upon impenitent 
 millions: among whom they expect to see re- 
 
 tome of the calvJnJstic, reformed, doubly refined, probate fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wivas 
 nd evangelical churches, where th(Mi mightest and children.' 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 y 
 
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