Piomingo. I am sorry for your religious and political
disappointment, Frank; but 1 do not account myself qual-
ified to offer consolation. May I ask, in my turn,ifyouhave
not treated sacred subjects with rather too much levity.
Frank. I have not: religion herself I venerate. But
if a villain or a fool wrap his unhallowed limbs in the
white robes of the goddess, shall his wickedness and
folly be unnoticed? I trow not.
Professors of religion are often ingenious at making
distinctions where no difference really exists: I wish
they would learn to separate those things which are not
very intimately connected — their professions from their
actions; themselves from their Maker.
THE SAVAGE.
209
Piomingo. Were popular commotions again to take
place in France, in England, or in any other country of
Europe, would you entertain any such extravagant ex-
pectations as you did at the commencement of the
French revolution?
Frank. Indeed I should not. I understand a little bet-
ter, than I did in my youth, the nature of the motives
thatinfluence the actions of men. I have paid some at-
tention to the passions and prejudices and follies of my
species. I have studied, as much as my situation in life
would allow, the progress of society from barbarism to
refinement; and I have been led to conclude that in
every country where wealth is the principal object of
pursuit, the great body of the people must always be
slaves.
Piomingo. Why then should the termination of the
French revolution be mentioned by you in terms of re-
gret, since the people would have been equally slaves
under a national assembly?
Frank* Because, in a monarchical government there
is but one freeman, or, as an ancient Roman would pro-
bably have said, there is but one man; but in a govern-
ment where the power is divided among many, there
are many who deserve the appellation of men. — Because
the minds of men are paralyzed by the iron rod of pow
er in the hand of a tyrant, and sink into torpid stupidi-
ty; hut in a popular government, the mind of every
man, who enjoys a portion of the sovereignty, is incited
to action by emulation, ambition, and hope; and the en-
ergies of his soul are suffered to expand.
In order to elucidate this subject, I will produce an
example in point: The government of republican Rome
was extremely unsettled and fluctuating; there was no
end to the changes of its officers, regulations, and insti-
tutions; it vibrated continually between the hands of
the patrician and plebeian opponents; yet, from this cha-
os of contention there arose — heroes, sages, gods upon
earth ! Now if we contemplate this same people under
the dominion of amonarch, we see nothing but a brutal
SO
210 THE SAVAGE.
tyrant and degenerate slaves. Who would not rather buf-
fet the waves in the tempestuous ocean of liberty, than
rot in the putrid waters of the dead sea of despotism?
Piomingo. I acknowledge the force of your remarks,
and willingly subscribe to your opinion on this subject;
but I cannot help observing that the degeneracy of the
Romans was not occasioned by the imperial government;
but, On the contrary, the imperial government owed its
existence to the degeneracy you have mentioned. As
long as the Romans preserved their national manners,
their virtuous poverty, their profound veneration for
oaths— in fine, as long as virtue, honor, fame, patriotism
were the motives that impelled them to action; so long
did the republican government subsist: but as soon as
they had shaken off the yoke of salutary prejudices, and
lost their original simplicity of manners; as soon as
riches became the great object of ambition, and the
wealth of Asia was poured into the lap of Europe — as
soon as these things had taken place, the Romans be-
came necessarily slaves. When one Cesar was destroy-
ed, they fell under the dominion of another, and contin-
ued to sink lower and lower in the mire of moral turpi-
tude and corruption, till they were overwhelmed by the
proud energy of restless barbarians. My dear friend,
when we consider the poisonous effects of avarice, and the
enervating influence of luxury, upon the manners of men,
we must despair, I am afraid, of seeing a permanent re-
publican government in any civilized nation. —
Frank. Unless heaven should send down some migh-
ty Lycurgus, with the will and the power to raise and
educate a nation of republicans. —
Piomingo, And your heaven-sent Lycurgus must take
away the children, as soon as they are born, from their
degenerate parents, and educate them in the wilderness
far from the haunts of civilized men.
Frank. What! make savages of them?
Piomingo. No: make Spartans of them.
Frank. O, that is the same thing: the Spartans were
ignorant and cruel barbarians.
THE SAVAGE. 211
Piomingo. Our modern Lycurgus must instil into the
minds of his young republicans, not the vices, but, the
virtues of the ancient Spartans. He must teach them to
love their friends and their country, to suffer with pa-
tience the evils of life, and laugh at the approaches of
danger and death. Let him improve upon the plan of
the Spartan lawgiver by forming an enlightened and
civilized nation-, but he must take care to prohibit the
introduction of personal property. There must be no
appropriation of things to individuals or societies: all
must belong to the nation. Men must be taught to dis-
tinguish themselves by something more generous and
noble than the accumulation of riches: they must place
their happiness in friendship, love, honor, glory, and the
good of their country; and not in the indulgence of sel-
iish and sordid propensities.
But enough of this. I have no intention to turn Uto-
pian projector, unless I had power to carry my plans
into execution.
Frank. Suppose you and I steal four or five hundred
ragged dirty little savages from the suburbs of Philadel-
phia, and establish a republic in the wilderness. The
parents will get rid o{ a troublesome burthen; and we,
transporting idea! shall immortalize our names. Pio-
mingo and Fluent will rank in after ages with Moses,
Lycurgus and Numa.
Piomingo. Did I not tellyou, Frank, that the children
must be taken as soon as they are born: before they are
twelve months old they have imbibed half the follies of
their parents and contracted a thousand civilized vices.
Frank. Nay, then we may give up the scheme ; for how
should we manage five hundred infants squalling like
devils; unless indeed, we could have them suckled by
goats in a cave, or by wolves in the mountains?
Piomingo. Frank, if you will not walk, I must abso-
lutely leave you. I came out with the intention of walk-
ing: instead of which I have been taking a lesson from
you in this Academy of Vice.
Frank. I shall accompany you immediately. I wish
212 THE SAVAGE.
you had on your Muscogulgee apparel, that we might as-
tonish the natives by the singularity of our appearance.
Piomingo. Come, let us go.
I am amazed, said Frank, as we came out of the house,
how you came to take such a dislike to a tavern, which
is of infinite importance in a civilized city. Without
these amusements, which you affect to despise, how
would the idlers while away the tedious hours of insipid
existence? How could politicians meet to discuss the
affairs of the nation without the conveniences a tavern
affords? Animated by the deity who presides in these
temples the patriot is enabled to discover his flame; the
wise, to communicate instruction to the simple; and the
brave, to fight the battles of his country. Pray, did you
never hear that that man of mind, the celebrated John-
son, declared a tavern to be the throne of earthly felicity?
Piomingo, The Mitrctavern, and Turks head, I suppose,
offered allurements superior to those of the place we
have left: yet if a tavern be the greatest blessing of that
civilized society, the moralist so much admired, we can-
not be otherwise than amazed at the power of habit
over the minds of the wisest of men. It is not, however,
strange that a man, who has no endearing domestic con-
nexions, should be pleased with (he ease and freedom
enjoyed at an inn, and the spirit of accommodation dis-
played at a house of public entertainment: such a man
(although there may be many who call themselves his
friends) will find himself as he advances in life,, a kind
of stranger on the earth, and will feel inclined to ex-
claim, with the amiable Shenstone,
Whoe'er hastravell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages inay have been,
May sigh to think he still hasfound
The warmest welcome at an inn.
Frank. A savage life was the object of Johnson's un-
conquerable aversion.
Piomingo. Johnson was a lion in chains: his strong
mind was fettered by invincible prejudices. If a favorite
subject lay immediately before him, he would investigate
it with vigor and accuracy, and lay open its various and
THE SAVAGE. 213
minute ramifications; but he could not, or would not, take
an extensive view of the nature of things. His education
had given his mind a determinate direction: and he was
afraid to look to the right lest he should see Gog,or to the
left lest he should sec Magog. He took but one view of
an object: if the first appearance left a disagreeable im-
pression on his mind, he immediately pronounced an un-
favorable opinion; and never could be induced to take
a side view of the same object, lest he should be under
the necessity of changing hissentiments. If any doctrine
ran contrary to his prejudices, it was never favored with
a critical examination, but was rejected with the same
terror and abhorrence that a man would oppose the ap-
proaches of a rattlesnake which evinced an inclination
to crawl into his bosom. If any one advanced, in his pre-
sence, a heterodox sentiment, the presumptuous offender
was speedily siienced by coarse language in a thunder-
ing voice, and by bold sallies of wit, which, enforced by
the terrors o{ his name, there were none who would ven-
ture to withstand. Such a man was certainly liable to
mistakes: and if he fell into error, in error he would
remain; for his sentence, once passed, was like the laws
of the Medes and Persians — unchangeable. What
were his violent denunciations against the Scots, against
sectarians, against infidels, against the Americans, and
finally, against the advocates for savage life, but bursts
of passion dictated by inveterate prejudices?
The iniidels, for au^htl know to the contrary, might
merit his resentment; the Scots, by their intrusion into
places of honor and protit in England, might expose
themselves to his fury; the sectarians, by their opposi-
tion to the dogmata of the church, might occasion ebul-
litions of his zeal; the Americans, by daring to rebel
against his king, might provoke his loyal indignation;
but the savages — how happened they to awaken his sore
<l [.-pleasure, or to merit the disgraceful appellation of
brutes? It is probable that Johnson supposed no man to
be perfectly civilized who did not live in London, fare
sumptuously every day, and enjoy the pleasures of lite-
214 THE SAVAGE.
rary societ3% He appreciated very highly the pleasures
of the table and other luxurious enjoyments, and seems
to have preferred the gross gratifications of sense to the
more refined delights of the imagination.
Frank. What is your opinion of Boswell's Life of
Doctor Johnson?
Piomingo. I think it one of the most entertaining
books in the English language. Every thing that relates
to so great a man as Johnson must be highly interest-
ing: and Boswell exposes to our view such an infinite
variety oHittle things concerning this illustrious person-
age, that the most prying curiosity finds entertainment
and gratification. He produces so much of Johnson's
sterling intelligence, so many interesting literary conver-
sations, interspersed with curious anecdotes, and the
whole related in a manner so amusing, that we cannot
read without receiving instruction and entertainment.
Yet, after having pronounced this eulogy on the work,
I must take the liberty to add, that the man who has
formed his opinion of Johnson from reading the Ram-
blers and Idlers will find the character of the great mo-
ralist sink in his estimation in consequence of the peru-
sal of Boswell's production.
Frank. Although I derived much pleasure from this
performance, I have often wished that Johnson had been
so fortunate as to have repulsed the advances of the
creeping, insinuating, intriguing animal that afterwards
became his biographer. The indefatigable sycophant,
taking advantage of the intimacy he enjoyed, and proud
of the ascendency he had acquired over a mind so much
superior to his own, pried into every corner, searched
out every weakness and folly, and exposed the whole to
the eyes of the world, without any regard to the charac-
ter of his friend; — and though we are amused with the
fruit of his labor, we hate and despise the creature who
contributes to our entertainment.
Piomingo. Should not a faithful biographer relate
every thing he knows concerning the man who is the
subject of his history?
THE SAVAGE. 215
Frank. He should relate every circumstance of im-
portance: but why should he detail those little weak-
nesses which arc rather a disgrace to human nature
than any blemish in the character of the individual? —
What advantage can the world derive from being made
acquainted with the lapses and follies of men eminent
for their virtues and admired for their talents? Nay, I
believe the consequence may prove extremely unfor-
tunate: by lessening the veneration which was felt for
the character of moral writers, it weakens the influence
of their works upon society.
Piomingo. But does notBoswell discover great art in
relating these trifles in a manner so agreeable as he has
done?
Frank. Not so much art as you may suppose: he dis-
covers a patient and laborious assiduity in having col-
lected and preserved every Johnsonic particle whether
clean or unclean. He discovers, in his own character,
a superabundance of folly and vanity, and (which is not
at all inconsistent with the foregoing qualities) a consi-
derable portion of contemptible cunning. As for art in
the arrangement of his materials, it was totally unne-
cessary: every thing that had any connexion with John-
son must afford entertainment to the public.
The notice that is taken of the most trifling actions
of a man celebrated for his talents is thus pleasantly il-
lustrated by an agreeable writer: "Did you see Mr.
Tope?" "Yes." "What was he doing? 1 ' "Picking his
teeth." Now, Piomingo, you and I might pick our teeth
for a month before any one would observe it; but John-
son could not change his linen, squeeze an orange, or
blow his nose, without Boswell's making a memorandum
of the occurrence for the information of posterity.
My tables— meet it is, 1 set it down.
Why should we be told that Johnson devoured his
food with such voracity as to excite a perspiration in his
face, and occasion the veins in his forehead to swell, to
the great annoyance of his delicate associates? What
benefit is the world to derive from this disgusting picture!
216 THE SAVAGE.
It may lessen the respect we felt for a man who was an
honor to his country; and it may afford us a momentary
amusement; but we hate Bos well for having noticed the
circumstance. It was observed by Sir William Jones,
that the best monument that could be raised to a litera-
ry man is a good edition of his works: and I will ven-
ture to add, that (whether we consider the fame of the
author, or the good of society) the be^t life of Johnson
would have been a splendid edition of all his works, ex-
cept his political pamphlets. In corroboration of what
I have said, it may be observed that Johnson, in order
to display his powers in colloquial controversy, frequent-
ly advanced and supported opinions which he ventured
not to inculcate in his writings.
Piomingo. Boswell, certainly, did not suppress the foi-
hies of his hero; neither did he appear desirous of con-
cealing his own.
Frank. A man is as much to blame for exposing his
'own failings unnecessarily as those of another. There
are a great many disagreeable things in human nature
which ought to be carefully concealed.
Piomingo. What! do you dislike a man who declares
his thoughts openly and freely? do you plead for dissim-
ulation and hypocrisy?
Frank. I am an enemy to every species of imposition;
but I see no necessity for exposing disagreeable objects,
when no good can result from this exposure, and when
no evil can be the consequence of concealment. What
a fool that man would be who should proclaimaloudhis
vain, wicked, or childish thoughts! Even your blunt and
impudent men conceal ten times more than they make
known to the world. Nay, it is a common saying, that
the only difference between a wise man and a fool is,
that the former exercises a sound discretion in this
point; but the latter turns indiscriminately his thoughts
into words.
Piomingo. This, like many other common sayings, is
far from correct. The wise man and the fool are essen-
tially different: the former perceives clearly, reasons
THE SAVAGE. 217
accurately, and judges soundly; but the latter is incapa-
ble of these tilings.
Frank. I mean not to enter the lists in defence of the
saying; but I contend that, should the wisest man in
existence give, without reservation, expression to his
thoughts, he would soon be confined in a madhouse.
Piomingo, Whenever any thing is concealed, there
is danger of imposition; because we may be led on by
a pleasing exterior to form connexions with an object,
in consequence of an erroneous estimate of its value, if
we be not made acquainted with the internal, as well
as the external, qualities.
Frank, And if we were acquainted with these inter-
nal qualities, you speak of, I am afraid that every object
in existence would be odious in our sight. 1 express
my opinions more freely than most men; and have the
reputation of being "a plain blunt man" who "speaks
right on" — so much so, that among my neighbors 1 am
generally known by the appellation of Honest Frank;
yet 1 have a thousand foolish thoughts and ridiculous
notions, which I could not be bribed to make known.
Nature has been blamed for not having put a window
in the breast of man that the secrets of his mind might
be visible; but she has been unjustly blamed. Since she
had resolved to build a receptacle for "all manner of
creepingthings,"sheacted wisely in concealingtheplace
of her abominations. Could we enter into the recesses
of the minds of the most virtuous men, it is probable that
we should lind so much selfishness, vanity, and folly, that
we should both hate and despise those who are at pre-
sent the object of our respect and veneration. Could we
become acquainted with the secret thoughts of our most
intimate friends, there is little doubt but our love and at-
tachment would give place to hatred and indignation.
If there be any truth in these surmises, a wise man should
be content with externals, when the exterior is pleasing,
and not endeavor to pry into those things which are ju-
diciously concealed from his eyes. But a principle of
curiosity still prompts us to examine, as far as we are
T
218 THE SAVAGE.
able, the secret workings of the mind, though the disco-
veries which we make are productive of consequences
injurious to our happiness as individuals, and destructive
of the regard we should feel for our species in general.
Piomingo. And did you ever ask yourself the reason
why you were notinclinedtodiscloseyour thoughts? Is not
this backwardness occasioned by a blind deference to the
maxims and customs of the world? Is not this conceal-
ment rendered necessary by the vitious disposition of
mankind? When you are in a crowd, you think it neces-
sary to take care of your pockets; when robberies are
frequent, you bolt and lock your doors that you may rest
in security; and in civilized nations, you conceal your
thoughts, because you are surrounded by men who wait
to take advantage of your weaknesses,and who are ever
ready to usurp a dominion over your mind and to become
masters of your actions by bribing terrifying or other-
wise managing your passions propensities and inclina-
tions. It is not on account of the wickedness or folly of
his own thoughts that a virtuous man thinks proper to
conceal them, but because experience has made him ac-
quainted with the malignant and ungenerous disposition
of the world. And this evil disposition, which I have
noticed, is not owing to any inherent depravity, but sole-
ly to a vitious education. What else could be expected
among a people who are instructed, from their infancy,
in the practice of deception; who are taught to wear
the semblance of virtue merely for the purpose of con-
cealing the substance of vice; who are taught to consider
life as a struggle for preeminence, and who, being pro-
hibited the use of open force, are under the necessity of
having recourse to artifice and fraud?
This is not exaggeration. The multiplicity of your
laws proclaims the corruption of your manners and your
attachment to vitious pursuits. Laws are never enacted
to punish crimes which there is no disposition in the
community to commit. If laws,thcrefore, forbid the com-
mission of vice, it would seem to follow that the princi-
pal part of education ? in a civilized society, would consist
THE SAVAGE. 219
in teaching youth how to evade the spirit of the lawf
without Craogrcssinjj the Idler.
I know a person now, who has often boasled in my
hearing of having disposed of a horse, not worth twenty
dollars, to an ignorant traveller for one hundred and fifty.
This man has never been known to practise robbery or
theft, according to the legal definition of those terms;
but he takes care to enjoy the advantages that flow from
a perpetration of those crimes without incurring any of
those dangers which environ the robber or the thief
who answers the technical description of the law.
A man would be a fool indeed who would expose the
secrets of his mind to civilized sharpers, who lie continu-
ally in wait to avail themselves of every favorable op-
portunity that fortune may throw in their way. Yet if
society were so constituted that man did not prey on man,
there would be no necessity for the cautious conceal-
ment you seem to recommend.
Frank, There may be some truth in jour observations;
but I am inclined to believe that men, with an education
the most salutary that could be devised (by all the wisdom
of all the philosophers, savage and civilized) would still
tind it necessary to conceal their feelings and their
thoughts from each other. I have heard it said that truth
was the cement of society; but, in my opinion, men are
held together by the means of falsehood and illusion.
Could they see each other, as they arc, there would be
nothing but mutual abhorrence and contention.
An ingenious writer has observed that "if our souls
had not been united to material substances, they would
still have been capable of knowledge, but it is probable
they would have loved whatever they knew ; whereas, in
the present constitution of things, we scarcely love any
thing but that of which we are ignorant.'" All our happi-
ness consists in delusive appearances: we search into the
nature of things with eagerness and curiosity; but the
moment that any subject is thoroughly investigated, we
are disgusted and unhappy. The sentient principle and
reasoning powers seem to unfit us for the station in
220 THE SAVAGE.
which we are placed. They enable us to discover a thou-
sand imperfections in ourselves, in others, and in the my-
riads of objects which surround us. They prompt us to
enquire into the nature of our pleasures, and examine
the foundation of our momentary happiness; but our de-
lights and enjoyments will not bear to be analysed: the
instant they are subjected to the scrutiny of reason, the
vapors disappear; and we wonder how we came to be
pleased. You have said that there is no such thing as in-
herent depravity; butifthere be radical imperfection in
our nature, where is the difference? We necessarily fall
into error; and our minds become the seats of corruption
and vice. When we look inward upon this magazine of
faults, this workshop of iniquity, we are frightened at
our own depravity, and endeavor carefully to conceal it
from the world, and, as much as possible, from ourselves.
All things are imperfect that fall within the circle of
our observation: and if we be not deceived by our pride,