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you come? whither are you going? to what nation do you belong? what is your business? and where did you lodge last night?" He is not incommoded by a crowd of insolent loungers pressing around him to examine his person, his dress, his arms, and accoutrements. When he has slept off his fatigue, he may walk out and examine the village: wherever he goes, he will receive the salutation of love and the offerings of friendship: every house is open, and every hand is stretched out to receive him. He sees no fences or walls as impediments to his progress, or bolts or locks which refuse him admittance.

Piomingo! Mark the contrast!

When a Cherokee enters any town or village in the United States, he is instantly surrounded by a troop of ignorant, insolent and malignant boys exclaiming, "An Indian! an Indian! there goes an Indian! Indian, what's your name? Will you shoot us, Indian ?" The poor Indian distressed with this brutal uproar and savage persecution, endeavors to take refuge in the first house he can find; but admittance is sternly refused, and he is rudely thrust away from the threshold. He goes from door to door, but no one is found disposed to show kindness to the stranger, to present the cup of refreshment to his lips, or spread the couch of repose. The Indian sits down to rest on a stone in the street; and he takes out his knife to terrify the ignorant and cowardly rabble who torment him. At last some one, in whom civilization has not totally extinguish ed humanity, approaches, and points out a tavern to which the Indian may repair. Here he gains admittance; for the devil (Blackcoat has given us a description of the devil) would gain admittance if he came properly recommended; but if it be discovered that the Indian wants the proper recommendation-money -he is hurried with precipitation from the only place that offers entertainment. But even the tavern affords no refuge from his persecutors: he is still insulted by stupid gazers, who distress him with their questions and devour him with their eyes as though he had fallen from the moon. If he walk out for recreation, he is not allowed to enter this man's garden or that man's orchard. He is continually in danger of trespassing on one fellow's cornfield or the orchard of another. He must not pluck a flower that courts acquantance with his nose, or stretch out his hand for an apple that hangs over the walk He may not make free with a turnip or a melon in the field; and is hardly permitted to cut a stick from a hedge.

Father! You are wise. Tell me, I pray, which people are civilized, the red or the white.

Father! I send you a very long talk, and I could make it much longer; but I begin to be afraid that your patience will be exhausted.

Piomingo! May some kind spirit be your patron and your guide, and preserve you from

the clutches of that horrible devil, of which Black coat has given us, as he says, a faithful description! Farewell. CHOTAHOWEE.

From this letter it appears that savages when passing through civilized countries are not so unobservant as is generally supposed. It would be strange if they should. Shall they whose senses are kept in a state of vigilant activity; whose welfare and life depend on their personal exertions; and who must, in consequence become remarkably attentive to passing occurrences-shall they immediately lose their habits of observation as soon as they enter the territories of a polished nation?

The natural and unavoidable effects of civilization are to deprive men of personal importance, and to make them mutually dependent on each other. The whole society is possessed of strength if it can be brought to act consentaneously; but the parts taken separately are contemptibly weak and inefficient. Men, in a civilized state, are not allowed to exhibit any characteristical appearances of individuality: all distinguishing prominencies disappear in consequence of the continual attrition of one man against another. In such a state we can do nothing but what will interfere with the actions and concerns of others: in fact, we have no longer the liberty to act as individuals, but as members of the community.

Whatever, inclination a man may retain to promote his own particular interest, he finds himself utterly incapable of effecting his purposes without the assistance of others: consequently he must resign all hopes of indepen. dence, and consent to become a member of the great body politic.

Now we are informed, by poets, philosophers, historians and various other descriptions of persons, that every body must be possessed of several members: there are head, feet, arms, thighs, legs and various other organs, all forming component parts of the same individual body. Some fill honorable, and others dishonorable situations. Some aspire upward to the heavens; while others are pressed downward upon the earth. There may sometimes, at first, be a struggle whether an incipient part shall be a hand or a foot, an arm or a leg, a nose or a tail, enter into the composition of the brain or form a portion of the buttock; but when a member has performed, for any 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 per. formed. Should we attempt to walk on our hands, some small progress may be made; but what will be the consequence? The af. flictions of the degraded members will be too dreadful to be borne; and, the whole body will suffer inconceivable hardship in consequence of the unnatural and inverted situation of the

parts. High things are, not unfrequently, made low, and low things exalted; the first may sometimes become last, and the last be made first; but whenever this happens in civilized society, the convulsion is tremendous, and the strength of the body politic is destroyed.

This story is trite, Piomingo: who has not heard of the rebellion of the members against the sovereignty of the belly?

It is old, we readily acknowledge; but our readers will be so good as to excuse us, when they consider the difficulty of producing any thing new and indeed we have heard it reported 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 consists 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 then?

Give us your attention, and you will probably discover the scope we have in view.

In the first place, we would have you observe that every member acquires a habitual aptitude to perform those offices in which it has been long and constantly employed, and becomes totally unqualified for engaging in those which have been assigned 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 long employed in public speaking delivers his sentiments 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 dexterity. One man can furnish the foot with a shoe; another can accommodate the body with a coat. One man can fashion the iron on an anvil; another can form clay into bricks; and another can build stones into a wall. Some handle the plane and the saw; others turn up the earth with the plough; and others fell the trees of the forest. All these become properly qualified to fill the place they happen to occupy in society; but become, at the same time, altogether incapable of performing the 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 bos piger, optat arare caballus : But the plough is too heavy for the Arabian Courser; and the ex is too sluggish to go under

the saddle, to follow the hounds and second the ardor of the huntsman.

It is unnecessary to proceed with this enumeration: As civilization progresses employments are more and more divided; and the operations of an individual are circumscribed and contracted. Personal importance is continually 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 similitude. The hand, the eye, the foot, appear to be designed by nature for the place they occupy in the animal machine; but in a polished community, thousands and tens of thousands are degraded by the progress of refinement to a state of brutality, whom nature designed to 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 unavailing, was her remonstrance: the Left Hand is still suffered to grow up in ignorance; while the Right (to whom nature has not been more bountiful than to 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 society, to confine all their exertions to a point, 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 believe that those regulations are cruel and unjust which debilitate the body and cramp the exertions of the mind. Can that system of society be proper for man, which prevents the development of his powers? Are those regulations well suited to direct the conduct of a rational being which confine the energies of his mind to the making of a hobnail or manufacturing the head of a pin? Can a being possessed of reasoning powers, and who seems

to have been designed by nature to vary his conduct according to circumstances, be properly employed in performing a few mechanical motions, which, becoming habitual, are continued without the trouble of thought or the necessity of reflection? Can a being endowed with mind be designed to stand as a statue in a niche of the great building of society, without the power of altering its situation or changing its position? Would not the constitution of society be infinitely preferable, if it exerted the powers, called forth the latent endowments, and added importance to the individual? Is it enough that a person should become a necessary member of that greatest of monsters, a civilized community, without any regard being paid to his dignity as a man -to his perfection as a rational being?

May not the great body politic suffer a dislocation of its parts? May not a thousand accidents occasion a dissolution of this unnaturally constructed machine? And if this should happen, the disjointed parts are merc 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 savages; and we also infer 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 give strength and pliancy to his limbs, and acuteness of observation 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 becomes important and valuable as an individual; and is qualified to give himself protection and support, though every other man in the universe were annihilated.

We sometimes hear savages described as timid and miserable beings, trembling on account of the roaring of the waters, shuddering at the violence of the storm, and struck 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! Such are 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? Is the man, who has been long accustomed to contemplate the raging of the waters, easily

terrified by the dashing of the waves? Shall he, who has often experienced the utmost fury of the storm, be frightened at the 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 of the panther or dread the howling of wolves in the wilderness? Shall he who has been taught to meet every danger with courage, and to suffer every evil with fortitude-shall he shrink from the conflict of war? No: It is civilization makes cowards. Men long accustomed to lean on each other, are terrified the 'moment they lose this support. The least derangement in the political machine drives them out of their places, and discovers their weakness and personal insignificancy. Shall they who have never learned to depend on themselves face danger with courage, or discover resolution when surrounded with unusual occurrences?

Our friend Chotahowee observes in one of his letters (which we have thought proper to suppress) that, in his travels through the United States, wherever he found a man alone, that man was civil, quiet and timid; but where he found an assemblage of men, they never failed to be noisy, tumultuous and insolent.

We, savages, delight in society: but we associate as men, free sovereign and independent. We are not bound together by the iron bands of necessity, and deprived of the dignity of our nature. Our friendships are the result of inclination, and not combinations for the propa gation of vice. As every one depends on himself, we have no motive sto impose on each other.

Savage society, if considered as a body, has no members condemned to drudgery and disgrace, 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 ear,
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 professions, are unfit for any other employment but that which they pursue. He will perceive that those who labor in the country in the vicinity of cities are rather more intelligent than the drudges of the city: the sphere of their operations is considerably enlarged, and, 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 common business of his farm, and prepares subsistence for his family; but he transacts an infi

nite variety of business: he makes his instruments of husbandry; he is frequently his own tailor, shoemaker, blacksmith and carpenter: his employments are ever varied; and the powers of his mind are exerted in proportion to the multiplicity of his operations. Must not such a man be infinitely superior to one who is continually employed in throwing a shuttle, threading a needle, beating an anvil, or even driving a quill over parchment?

But if you wish to have a still more favora ble specimen of human nature, you must take a jaunt to the wilderness: you must study the languages and customs of savages-but do not condemn before you understand.

Story Telling.

It requires a considerable portion of ingenuity 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 no doubt improve his talent for this species of narration; but we are inclined to believe that, unless nature have given him a genius for the employment, he will never excel as a teller of stories.

In all tales of a comic description, the narrator should be careful to place the ludicrous incidents in a conspicuous situation, and to exhibit advantageously the point on which the humor of the story may depend. For want of attention to these circumstances, a jest intrinsically good, instead of receiving the plaudits and exciting the laughter of the hearers, has frequently been answered by yawning and derision.

But it may also be observed that much depends on the countenance and gestures, as well as on the words, of the speaker: We heard A. give an account of a laughable occurrence, which had lately taken place. A. was rewarded 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 mirth was occasioned 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 delivered 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 Judicrous story?—A hooked nose, a peaked

chin, and a bushy pair of eyebrows! Let no one, whose countenance is pleasing and whose face is symmetrically formed, aspire to excellence as a retailer of jests.

But all stories are not of a diverting nature. To many we listen out of mere complaisance to the speaker; and to many we attend for the sake of a little sober information we are desirous 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 explanations, and the tedious detail of impertinent circumstances; Few, however, are the number who are possessed of the qualifications we have mentioned. 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 interlarding it with absurd and unnecessary explanations.

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 considerable 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 determined resolution, d'ye see! I'm not to be stopped, by wind or tide, d'ye see! I'm the fellow to dash through thick and thin—rain, hail, snow, fire, or water: all alike to me, sir. Damnation! d'ye suppose I care for the rain? 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 remember it? It was on Monday, I think-no, Tuesday-let me see: On Sunday the snow fell: that great snow, you remember; on Monday I rode to 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.

I

Well, sir, on Wednesday morning, it blew, and snowed, and hailed, and froze like the devil. I opened the door and looked out-by G-I was frightened. "Damnation," says to the landlord, "Mr. Touchpenny! look here, Mr. Touchpenny! What sort of weather's this we have got? Hell's broke loose, Mr. Touchpenny!"

However, sir, I ordered out my horse, d'ye see? "What!" said Mr. Touchpenny, "are you mad, 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, "damn me if I don't" says I. "Lord bless my soul, Mr. Gabble!" says old mother

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Touchpenny," would you leave a good conve- board, you see: I'll bet the same sum over nient house, Mr. Gabble? and a warm fireside, again-the very same race-by G— I will. Mr. Gabble? and every thing comfortable, Mr. "But all this is nothing to the purpose, Mr. Gabble? and go for to think for to go out such Gabble; you have not answered my quesa day as this, Mr. Gabble? such a dreadful tion." day, Mr. Gabble! My dear child, you can't Yes, 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 thing, Piomingo. I I should not be able to sleep for a week, if you started off in the morning, you know did, were to leave my house such a day as this, quite briskly-went over the hills in a jiffyMr. Gabble. You can't be in earnest, Mr. no occasion for whip or spur to my black filly. Gabble ?" "I have said the word," says I, She's as good a piece of horse flesh 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," says I, "if an't. She's a blooded thing too-one of Bonaten thousand devils were to rise," says I, "and parte's best fouls-out of colonel Sport's Flyspurt the blue blazes of hell in my face," says catcher-descended in a right line from the "Tom! fetch out my horse." "Bless my prince of Wales's Arabian mare, Camilla, and stars, Mr. Gabble!" says Mrs. Touchpenny, the celebrated Childers. you are the strangest man, Mr. Gabble, that ever I saw in my born days, Mr. Gabble.But, my dear child, you shall not stir-I insist upon it-till you have a mouthful of some. thing to keep the cold from your stomach. You shall have a cup of warm coffee in a moment, Mr. Gabble. Molly, fetch in break. fast.

I,

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I took the old lady's advice. I guzzled a few dishes of coffee, devoured a few pounds of beef steaks, punished half a dozen of eggs, and was off like a thunder gust.

Well, sir, d'ye see sir? before sundown sir, and that very same day sir, I was at home in Philadelphia sir-mark that sir!

"At home!"

At home, by G-!

By this time, as our readers will readily believe, we repented of having asked the imprudent question, above mentioned. We, therefore, endeavored to move off, merely saying, as we started, "Dick, you are a man of resolution. Good bye." But our manœuvre was unsuccessful: as soon as he perceived our intention of decamping, he seized us by the arm; saying, "Stop, sir, I have not yet told you how I was detained yesterday-a damned good thing-make you laugh like the devil."

"True sir, I had forgotten: please to proceed."

"Doubtlesss, the line of her ancestry may be traced back to one of the prophet Mahommed's best breeders. But come to the point Dicky: do come to the point."

A

Yes sir, I rode like a whirlwind-was up at the Buck in less than no time-had my mare put up and fed-always see to my horse. man that don't take care of his horse should be damned. That's my notion: what do you say, Piomingo?

"What, damned ?"

Yes, damned. I'd build a hell myself to damn him in. What! not take care of his horse! a savage! a Turk! an infidel!—I'd send him howling to the north corner of hell; by the god of war I would. I, for my part sir, upon my honor sir, would rather suffer myself than allow my horse to want that that's good and comfortable. It's my nature sir, my compassionate disposition. If it's a weakness, I can't help it: It's natural to me.

"I have no doubt of your humanity; but I beseech thee Dick, dispense with these colla terial circumstances, and proceed with your story."

Yes sir, O yes: certainly I shall proceed rapidly. I shall be done in a few minutes. Having disposed of my horse sir, I proceeded immediately to business, and-a and-a and had every thing concluded in a very litttle time. Well sir, just as I was preparing to return home, who should come in but Bob Jockey. You know Bob?

"No."

Well sir, so it was sir, yesterday morning, I set off: you saw me set off. A very plea. sant morning-high spirits. Always amalways 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 stoopshoulda'nt it Piomingo? Damn me if I don't think ered, thickset: crosslooking little devil-has it is. Nothing troubles me, hardly: I was a little gray eyes, Roman nose, and a hell of a little fretted, to be sure, when I lost that race big 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-damned 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 I 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 see?-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

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