persceded every other species of wit, in the polished nations of Europe, and will ere long do the same in America The bucks of Philadelphia, who wish to qualify themselves for genteel company, will no doubt hasten to become acquainted with Mr. W.'s newly imported system of boring, smoking, hoaxing, and quizzing. Travels. There are no books more entertaining than well written travels. They charm us with the variety of incidents they exhibit to our view, and keep alive our curiosity by the hopes they continually excite of more interesting particulars. Wherever a traveller directs his way, whethMr. 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 jourStates 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 to light since the invention of print. may indulge himself occasionally in descriping. He has promised to communicate this tions of inanimate nature, a frequent recurwonderful secret to Piomingo, headman and rence of pictures in which no human being is warrior of the Muscogulgee nation, as a re- exhibited will satiate and disgust the reader. compense for his politeness in giving this advertisement a place in The Savage. When Piomingo shall become possessed of this art, certain sons of glee will no longer have reason to complain of the dulness and insipidity of The Savage: they will meet with wit of their own kind, and quite on a level with their understandings. Although it is the intention of Mr. W. that his pupils shall exercise their talents on each other, yet he has thought it proper to furnish himself with two or three decrepid old men, several lame and deformed women and children, three or four idiots, as many habitual drunkards, and half a dozen maniacs, who may answer the purpose of buts, on which the young gentlemen may exercise their quizzical talents. This arrangement is not absolutely necessary, yet it answers one valuable purpose: it will serve to destroy those foolish feelings of humanity, which will frequently intrude into the minds of youth, and have been known to render useless the most promising quizzical It may be observed that the travels of a man of general literature are always more amusing, than those of one whose studies have been principally directed to some particular branch of science. A man who imagines that he possesses a talent for giving his reader sketches of scenery, will be forever directing your attention to the misty azure of the mountain, the naked rocks, and the jutting promontory. He will continu ally present to your view the woody valley, the winding stream, and the far extended plain. Now it is to be remembered that all descriptions of scenery are extremely vague,and rarely present to the mind any definite idea. When we have heard of one mountain, one valley, and one plain, we are satisfied. They awaken in our minds the ideas of those mountains, valleys and plains which we ourselves have seen; and the remembrance is pleasing. But if these images continue to be crowded on the mind without ceasing, we strive in vain to distinguish one from the other, and finding our selves incapable of forming any distinct ideas, we grow weary of the book and enraged at the author. A connoisseur in the art of painting or sta tuary is never happy but among busts or pic. tures. He has no taste for any thing but canblood appears altogether unworthy of his atvass or marble. Every species of flesh and tention. While he is examining the respective merits of the Flemish and Italian schools, expatiating on the distinguishing excellencies of Rembrandt or Raphael, enraptured at the sight of the Medicean Venus, writhing in agony with the wretched Laocoon, or expiring with the dying gladiator, every common occurrence of life is disregarded. His reveries may be pleasing to himself, and his longwinded descriptions may gratify the cognoscent few; but, for our 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. abilities. Medals and other honorary marks of distinction will be awarded such young gentlemen as bring sufficient proof that they have performed any notable act of quizzing in the city or the adjacent country. The general reader will find but little entertainment in the travels of a botanist. While we are anxious to form some idea of the country to which the traveller has carried us, to be made acquainted with the nature of the soil and climate, and to hear of the manners, customs, language, laws, and religion of the na tives, the itinerant is in raptures at the discovery of a new species of convolvulus; and were heaven and earth to be shaken, he will not be disturbed until this plant shall be technically described in pure Linnean Latin, and have received its distinctive appellation, grombrobstschmuckiana from the learned author's much honored friend, Dr. Grombrobstschmuck, professor of botany in the university of Grogenhogen. After we have attended patiently to the class, genus, and species, of this new discovery, we are in hopes of some information that may prove more interesting; and sometimes we are not altogether disappointed, but we are in continual danger of having our entertainment interrupted by the shape of a leaf, or the flowering of a shrub. Naturalists, who have become habitually attentive to the minute wonders of creation, are insufferably tiresome when they find a variety of woodlice, caterpillars, or grasshoppers: 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, beautiful pieces of spar, and elegant specimens of rock crystal. They examine minutely into the different layers of clay, gravel, and loam, of which any eminence is composed; and when they meet with pyrites or rocks of granite, they are 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 seem to forget that all men are not exclusively fond of botany, mineralogy, or the little won 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 difficulties they encounter, make so strong an impression on their minds, that we hear of nothing but the bad. ness of the roads, the inconvenience of their vehicles, and the wretched accommodation at the inns. Their minds are generally so contracted by the narrowness of the sphere in which they have hitherto moved, that every thing appears to be wrong which is not conducted precisely in the manner they have seen it conducted in their native town or village. They make no allowance for the operation of causes with which they have had no opportunity of becoming acquainted; and they condemn the necessary result of circumstances as a departure from the order of nature. They always keep an account of their expenditures, and make the most pitiful complaints of the extortions practised by drivers, guides, ferrymen, and the keepers of turnpike gates. They arrive wet, weary, hungry and cold, at a house of entertainment; but here, alas! unfolds a fresh scene of distress. There is no fire to be found; the apartments are damp and disagreeable; the servants are lazy and inattentive. "How different all these," ejaculates the miserable traveller, "from the comforts and conveniences to be found at an English inn!" When dinner appears, he hesitates some time whether to die of hunger, or to ratiate its cravings with the wretched preparation before him; but, as necessity has no law, he ventures, at last, to come in contact with materials se disgusting to his senses, and abhorrent to his feelings. He expatiates largely on the poorness of the bread, and pours forth the most pitcous lamentations concerning the toughness of the goose! A late celebrated traveller mourns over his fate in the following manner. When he desired to be shown a place of repose, he was conducted to a chamber that resembled a dungeon. He lay down on a hard and disagreeable bed in hopes of procuring a temporary rest; but, the rushing of rats behind the wainscot, the obstreperous courtship of cats in an adjoining apartment, the ceaseless erowing of a banty cock in a neighboring building, and the furious attack of a troop of hungry fleas, frighted away the drowsy god from the eyelids. of the weary guest. Such particulars would hardly be tolerated in a private letter to a friend; but become insufferable when they occupy the greater part of a book designed for the instruction and amusement of the public Travellers 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 them ever will be-there is great danger of his meeting with pygmies, giants, and salamanders. From Crito. I feel inclined at present, Piomingo, to offer a short apology for those who are in the habit of using the verb, progress, in their writings or their conversation. It is not synonymous with the verb, proceed ; it signifies to proceed with some business, or to advance regularly a set of operations. It fills up one of those niches in language which Mr. Walker says should never be empty. The same arguments may certainly be adduced in its favor, that the author just mentioned brings forward in support of others in the like situation. "I have not found," says Mr. Walker under the word panegyrize, "I have not found this word in any of our dictionaries, but have met with it in so respectable a writer, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting it here, especially as it serves to fill up a niche in language, which I think never should be empty: I mean, that wherever there is a noun established, there should always be a verb to correspond to it." Again: under the verb para. lize, he observes, "the very general use of this word, especially since the French revolution, 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 arguments that may be brought forward in its defence. It is found in several English dictionaries : and Dr. Ash, gives Shakspeare as his authority." "Doth 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 inadvertently omitted by the greatest of philologists. Zeno. The stoics taught that happiness was only to be found in the practice of virtue. They denied that health, reputation, and riches were, properly speaking, good; and they contended that poverty, ignominy, and pain were not evils. "Virtue alone," said their founder, "is sufficient to happiness; and the wise man may enjoy it 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 sickness or indisposition whatever.-Had Zeno been the victim of pain, reproach and poverty, would he have taught that these things were not evils? day? Or what plan shall we adopt to satisfy the world that there is such a savage in existence; and that he exists in Philadelphia ? If this report continue to be propagated much longer, we shall be under the necessity of showing our savage self, in our Indian dress, some Sunday afternoon at the Centre Square; when we hope we shall be able to convince the most incredulous of the actual existence of the savage, Piomingo. We have told our story; and we are extremely sorry to find that it has not met with universal credence. We shall not repeat it; but invite those who may be desirous of refreshing 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 comparing the manners and customs of savages with those of civilized nations? The reader is at liberty to believe as much as he pleases; but it certainly requires no great stretch of the imagination to enable any one to enter into the plan of our work. Cards. Is it not a little surprising that these painted papers should possess such charms as to be able to captivate all hearts in civilized society? Is there soine magical influence resident in the paper or coloring which is elicited by the dexterous motions of the players? Or are we to attribute the power which they possess over the minds of men to some extraneous cause connected with their movements? Being lately in a house where several parties were engaged at cards, we observed among the rest an old man, who, from his appearance, must be advancing rapidly to the end of his earthly pilgrimage. Although his hand trembled, we could not but take notice that he handled the instruments of his amusement with uncommon ease and dexterity. He generally appeared solicitously attentive to the operations in hand until he brought some favorite 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 successful in play, appropriated to himself with every appearance of gladness and triumph. If he failed in the contest, we could always discover an air of dissatisfaction in his contenance 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 antagonist, or the unskilfulness of his partner. The pleasure of victory did not appear to result wholly from the pecuniary acquisition he had made; but to proceed also from the display of his own superiority and the discomfiture of tenances of the players. We admired the in his opponent. After the most of the players, weary of the diversion, had departed, the old man still continued at the table, holding the cards in his hand, as if anxious for a fresh encounter. We approached the veteran gamester, and endea. vored to enter into conversation; but the only reply he made to our observations was to demand whether or not we were disposed to take a hand at cards. We assented; but as our unskilfulness at the game afforded him an easy victory, he soon became dissatisfied, and signified his inclination to discontinue the amusement. We readily acceded and from this circumstance we drew the conclusion, that a great part of his enjoyment proceeded from a successful exertion of his powers; and that the more arduous the struggle, the greater the gratification resulting from the conquest. 66 We inquired of the old gentleman if he de. rived much entertainment from cards. No," said he, "not much they serve to kill time." Your are not then," we replied, "solicitous for the issue of the game on account of the money that is deposited?" "Damn the money!" said he, in a passion, "I care not for the trash: I play for amusement." Why then," we ventured to inquire, "should there be any stake at all, since it is an object beneath your attention ?" "Because," said he, with a supercilious smile, "there must be something betted to render the game interesting." Here, es if ashamed of holding a conversation with a person so ignorant of life as we appeared to be, he turned round to one who had just entered, and began a new game, to kill time-to win money to exercise his powers-and to triumph over his adversary. This occurrence led us to reflect that when we arrive even at the verge of life, time will still hang heavy on our hands, since we are reduced to such miserable expedients to while away the lingering hours, and shut out obstrusive thoughts. We were also led to draw the conclusion, that, whatever inclination men may discover for play, there is nothing wil make the game interesting, but the avaricious hope of accumulating money: avarice is the ruling passion of civilized man. While we were occupied with these thoughts, a fresh multitude had entered the house. There was much bustle and preparation. The tables were filled with players. On one side was a company engaged at loo; on the other was a party at whist. These played cribbage; and these eucre; and here a set of noisy lads were engaged at their favorite allfours. At first, universal anxiety pervaded the assembly; and the most strenuous exertions for victory were employed by the parties. But as all could not conquer, suddenly our ears were saluted with shouts of exultation from some, and curses of disappointment from others. We went from one table to the other, and contemplated the warious emotions that were visible in the coun genuity discovered in the cutting of some, and the dexterity displayed in the shuffling of others; but as we had no stake depending, as we felt none of those passions that warmed the breasts of the combatants, in fine, as their pursuits appeared to us childish and contemptible, we began to be weary of our situation. We remembered that we had no business there, and made haste to leave the assembly. Returning to our lodging at a late hour, we sat down to ruminate on what we had seen. The pursuits of life appeared to bear a striking resemblance to a party at cards. There is the same eager anxiety for the success of a favorite scheme; and the same momentary exultation when the issue is fortunate. There is the same restless propensity to enter into a fresh contest; and the same marks of anguish and disappointment when we are vanquished. There is the same ambition of displaying our powers, the same emulation and strife for superiority, and the same avaricious inclinations. And these passions, increasing with our age and infirmities, appear to discover most im petuosity near the close of our days. But what shall we say of the melancholy observer, who moves from one scene of contention to another without finding any thing sufficiently attractive to interest his passions or awaken his anxiety? What business has he in the world to whom the world is a desert? If the pleasures, pursuits and employments of men become insipid and vain, it is time to quit the stage and give place to others. Oppressed with these disconsolate reflections we fell asleep in our chair, and found ourself in a green field on the banks of the Ohio. It was a delightful evening; the winds were hushed; the sun was descending in the west; and the clouds were dyed with crimson and gold. The flocks were about to leave their pasture; the birds were preparing to seek refuge in the neighboring trees; and millions of insects were enjoying the last beams of the departing sun. We were carried from one place to another with a light and easy motion, and the tranquillity of nature reigned in our bosom; but our attention was suddenly ar rested by the appearance of a young man on the banks of the river. His visage was pale, and his dress disordered. He walked hastily up and down with an air of distraction. While we regarded him with mute astonishment, he exclaimed with a loud voice, "It shall be done!" and plunged headlong into the stream. It seems as though we were inclined to do a good action in our sleep, for we do not remem. ber that we felt any prudential hesitation at that moment. We rushed into the flood and bore him to the shore. He lay some time apparently lifeless. The water gushed from his mouth and nostrils. He opened his eyes, and regarding us with a look of despair and reproach, he exclaimed, "The struggle was past! I had vanquished my adversary-and now again I must endure the fever of life; again I must taste the bitterness of death-you are also my enemy!" We 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 have tasted the pleasures of life; but I have found them bitter. I was warm in friendship and enthusiastic in love; but my friends were perfidious, and my mistress was false. I engaged in the pursuits of the world; but I was not possessed of cunning, duplicity, servility, and meanness;-my attempt was unsuccessful. I said, I will be as a stranger on the earth. I will draw amusement from the pursuits of these mortals that surround me; but their 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; when passion no longer impels; when the sunshine 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. We awoke; our fire had burned down; the candle had sunk into the socket; the watchman 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 promised ourself uncommon delight from theatrical representations; but we must acknowledge that we were rather disappointed in our expectation. The illusion was not so complete as we had fancied it would be; and we generally left the performance dissatisfied. From these and other considerations it has so happened that we have been rather an unfrequent atten. dant at the theatre; but have occasionally appeared 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; 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 applause? 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 however pleased with his easy carriage and graceful 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 eminence. It is vain to look for originality in a performer, 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 innovation. The position taken by Hamlet at the first appearance of the ghost struck us as unnatural and painful, but there may be some theatrical propriety in it of which we can form no idea, therefore we shall pass it by without further observation. Hamlet had come with the express 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 ar actor, in this part, endeavor to exhibit the awkward amazement of a clown who sees a white horse grazing in a country churchyard? author, discover dignity of soul, resolution of Why, what should be the fear? My fate cries out, ? 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. |