and we wish to communicate to others the happiness which we feel. preserved no longer than they continue so. It studies the character of its neighbor: it marks 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 pospassions 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 out the defects of others, and cooly take advantage of every weakness. It digs a pit for the stranger, and lays a stumbling block before the blind. O for "a hundred tongues, and a voice of iron," that we might curse thee Prudence! To Correspondents. we resign ourselves to the raptures of friendship and of love. Must the dream have an end? Can no charm make the delusion coeval with our existence ? Shall the frosts of adversity nip the young shoots of our affections? Shall the mildew of vice blast the fair hopes of a harvest of happiness? or shall the enemy, in the night, sow the tares of dissension and distrust? We lately received two communications : Happy are they, whose life terminates ere one was addressed to "Piomingo Muscogul. the blind confidence of youth is destroyed! gico, Esq.; the other, to "Mister Piomingo." Happy are they, who live not to discover the We were so much displeased with the titles, error under which they have labored! which had been so courteously bestowed npon us, that we threw aside the communications without so much as reading them. We earnestly entreat our correspondents to address us by our name only, without any gothic addition. We lately gave our ideas on that barbarous and unmeaning appendage to a name-esquire. And we now add, that no honor can be derived from the prefix, mister. It would be common to us with the barber, the coachman, the chimney-sweeper, and the oysterman: Mr. Razor, Mr. Whip, Mr. Soot, and Mr. Wheelbarrow. There is considerable ingenuity dis. played in the reasonings of K.; but we not disposed to propagate such opinions. are THE SAVAGE-NO. IV. Recollections of Youth. Whence arises the happiness of youth? Is it owing to the novelty of the scenes which surround us, and to the superficial view we take of persons and of things? Still may we remember the moment when we renounced, with anguish of heart and bit. terness of soul, the confidence we had reposed in the world. The fair face of nature was de. formed; the cup of delight was dashed from The impression made on our minds by the our lips; and we grew sick of our existence. the pleasure we find in confiding in another. treachery of one friend is, in part, effaced by and perfidy succeeds perfidy. Still we are not But disappointment follows disappointment; alone. The enjoyments of life would be ineasily discouraged. Man cannot be happy sipid, could we not share them with others. of friendship, there is no such thing as solitary To minds who have exchanged the sentiments pleasure. Well then, let another smiling deception approach-we embrace it. Interest or caprice dissolves the enchantment-we are miserable. But even our uneasiness hurries us on to make choice of a new friend. The blind confidence of youth is destroyed; but the social principle remains, and forces us, contrary to the plainest dictates of cool calculating reason, into new intimacies. Nature clothes her face in smiles; and we inquire no farther, but resign ourselves with 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 fearWe 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 sucwind be heard among the hills, or the eastern ceeding instant is imbittered 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 imthe glassy bosom of the lake. We rejoice: parted a portion of etherial fire: whose lips she has touched with a live coal from her heavenly altar. We address those whose ruling passion in youth, was to reciprocate the delights of friendship; and who have experienced the mental agony and mortification that result from the idea of having misplaced their early affections. We address not those who have always sailed on a smooth sea, with reason at the helm, and whose bark has never been tossed by a storm of tempestuous passions. Their tranquility is rather owing to constitutional insensibility than to any thing else: they would not understand us. An elegant author puts the following words into the mouth of Aristippus, the philosopher: "Friendship is the most sublime and most dangerous of the gifts of Heaven: its enjoyments are delicious, its vicissitudes tremendous; and ought a wise man to expose himself to losses, the bitterness of which would impoison the remainder of his life?" A wise man! No: The wise man of Aristippus, or of Rochefoucault, is as incapable of partaking of the "delicious enjoyments," as he is of experiencing the "tremendous vicissitudes" above mentioned. Such friendships as that of Aristippus are not indeed, uncommon: he would "admit of convenient intimacies, but banish that friendship, which renders us susceptible of the sufferings of others." "I was in Ægina," says he, "when I learned that my dear master Socrates was condemned; that he was in prison; that the execution was delayed for a month; and that his disciples were permitted to visit him. If it had been in my power to have freed him from his chains, I would have flown to his assistance; but 1 could do nothing for him, so I remained in Egina." Such may be the friendship of a wise man; such may be the dictates of prudence; but such are not the sentiments of virtuous and ingenuous youth. Such are not the sentiments of the man who can partake, with us, of the entertainment that is derived from these melancholy retrospec. tions. (To be continued.) The Devil. Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria ludo. Books have been written on the rights of man; and we have heard much of the wrongs which he has sustained. In one treatise the rights of woman are explained; and in another her wrongs are exemplified. As we were revolving this subject in our mind, it occurred to us that much might be said concerning the wrongs of the devil. As to rights, we will suppose that he has none; but does that justify the children of men in imputing to him crimes of which he is not guilty? If men act right, they arrogate the merit to themselves; but if they act wrong, why then, forsooth, it was at the instigation of the devil. Men in all ages have certainly joined to attribute every thing wicked to the agency of this being does not this universal consent of mankind speak much against him? True: but it is also to be considered that this is the report of his enemies. While these thoughts were chasing each other through our mind, in the dead hour of the night, we all at once felt a strong inclination to interrogate the devil on the subject, and see whether he had any thing to offer in his own defence. It appeared to us to be but justice to "hear also the other party." And whether it were owing to a periodical fit of insanity to which we are subject, or whether what we are about to relate did actu. ally take place, we will not undertake to determine. Let the public judge. If we were mad, there was "method in our madness," as you will perceive when we relate our story. And why should it be thought strange that we should see the devil? It is only what thousands of old women have done; and our optics are as good as those of any old woman in the universe. We would not, indeed, wish to have it supposed that we are very intimate with the old gentleman, as he bears but an indifferent character: and we are very desirous of supporting the dignity of our character. We should not, we suppose, incur any risk of being burned, at the present day, for holding a short conversation with his infernal majesty; but still, as we could produce no witnesses, to testify the nature of the intercourse which might subsist between us, we would rather not have it thought that his visits to us were very frequent, especially about midnight. But the alarm we should experience, even in that case, appears to be without foundation. Has not Satan appeared to prophets, apostles, and holy men, in all ages? Did not Michael the arch. angel treat him with the greatest politeness? Indeed, if we remember right, it is written, that Michael "durst not bring a railing accusation" against him. How then could it be expected that we should have the heroism to wage war with the devil when he takes it into his head to pay us a visit? No, no: we thought it best to treat him civilly, as Michael did, and thus get rid of him as soon as possible for we will not pretend to assert that we were altogether at our ease during the time of the interview. The serious fact is this, and we may as well acknowledge it, had he appeared to us, arrayed in his nightgown of flame and sulphur, with eyes like two bloody moons, and his mouth open, sputtering hellfire and damnation, we had been confoundedly frightened. We, although savage, have neither tomahawk nor scalping knife; and we should have made but a poor defence with our pipe-stem. But what did you see? : Have patience, good reader, (if you be good, which we much question,) we have a way of our own in telling a story, and do not like to be interrupted; but as we perceive your anxiety to learn the issue, we will endeavor to gratify you as soon as possible, 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 præterea nihil. In the midst of our nocturnal contemplation, wear off the rough prominencies of his original we were alarmed with what seemed to be the character.] rushing of wind through some of the adjoining apartments, and the opening and shutting of doors in different 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 naturally 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 our 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 infernal visitant; but it never occurred to us. Nemo omnibus horis. We at last mustered courage to demand "Who are you?" The answer was immediate and explicit" I am the devil." Piomingo. You are! Well, Mister Devil, (for as we knew that titles were delightful to republicans, we 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 contemplations? You cannot read the heart? Devil. No: but in my rambles, moving about "to and fro upon the earth," I have several times met with you. And when you get into a train of thinking, you make so many odd grimaces and contortions, that any devil of common sagacity can tell every thought that passes through your mind. Piomingo. Squire Devil, [We were not a little uneasy on account of the proximity of the " roaring lion," therefore we made use of this soothing expression to smooth down the hairs of the ferocious beast.] Squire Devil, you possess an uncommon share of ingenuity: be so good as to inform me, to what fortunate circumstance I am indebted for the honor of your present visit? [We had heard these expressions made use of in polished circles, and had no doubt that they would be highly gratifying to the devil, who must be highly civilized, having met with hard rubs enough to Piomingo. My dear sir, (meaning you damned black rascal) My dear sir, you do me great honor: be pleased to proceed-but I beg your pardon-excuse my inattention-(handing 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 remembered that, we were in the presence of a powerful being "the prince of the power of the air," who could in a moment have blown 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 dissatisfied with the treatment he receives. It was probably owing to our intercourse with civilized society, that we were able to avert, by a few soothing expressions, (which cost nothing) so dreadful a calamity. The old fellow took the chair we had offered, and, drawing it up close to ours, sat down with the greatest composure. We renewed the light; and had full leisure to examine his person and dress. We were amazed at the fairness of his complexion and the whiteness of his raiment, until it occurred to us, all at once, that he had transformed himself into an "angel of light." He observed our tobacco pipe lying on a stand, and, reaching out his hand, took it up, and immediately began to smoke.[ Devil. puffing the smoke in our face) I find much entertainment in smoking. Piomingo. I am overpowered by the condescension of your majesty, (meaning, damn your familiarity.) [It here occurred to us that we ought to give him his princely titles: and this civilized stroke of ours had the desired effect. He became remarkably cheerful and pleasant; and we pledge our savage word that his countenance was not disagreeable, However, upon close inspection, (for we have studied Lavater) there appeared, in his countenance, lurking behind a profusion of smiles, something of cunning and malignity. Such visages we have often met with among men of the world.] Devil. It is a fact, Piomingo, that men use me very ill. Piomingo. I believe they do--but, would your infernal sublimity taste a glass of wine! [Here we arose and brought a decanter and a couple of glasses, saying, aside, (not so loud as they do at the theatre though) The old scoundrel! I wish it was melted lead for his sake!" but as we did not wish to make the old fellow tipsy, we slyly mixed a little water with 1 the wine. For all which proceedings, we have little meannesses to which men are addicted. the best civilized authority.] Does any one act preposterously and absurdPiomingo, (bowing) Your majesty's health ly; some wise head will be sure to observe, (nieaning, May you be roasted on the gridiron of damnation!) Devil (bowing) Your health! I wish you everlasting prosperity! [Non ego credulus illi.] [Could there be any thing wrong in our showing this attention te the devil? It was a lesson we learned from the men of the world. We have often seen them adulating and caressing men whom they hated much more than we do the devil. If we were wrong, they are doubly so.] "I cannot tell what the man means. He has lost his senses, or the devil is in him." What that they would act wisely were it not for the distraction! Do the children of Adam suppose wiles of the devil? Must all their folly and insanity be laid on my shoulders, as well as their meannesses and wickednesses? Then again, they make me a picture of de. formity as well as the author of iniquity... Is any one mis-shapen or hard-favored; some jackanapes will undoubtedly exclaim, " He is as ugly as the devil!" The puppies! must I be the prototype as well of corporeal as of mental obliquity! Why should they suppose that Devil. Yes, men are very wrong in attri. I had horns like an ox, or a foot like a goat? buting to me the evils which they, themselves, By the infernal gods! my imperial blood boils commit. I declare, upon the honor of a devil, with diabolical indignation, when I think of that I do not concern myself with the affairs such slanderous aspersions!-But my time Piomingo. Men, now, as well as formerly, speak evil of dignities. of the world. Piomingo. How then did it happen that you seduced our great grandmother Eve, from the paths of rectitude, by your subtle devices? Devil. O, that was a very different case. Eve was virtuous: she was correct in her conduct, and it required all the ingenuity of the devil to set her wrong. Your poet Milton gives a very true account of the trouble I had in that affair. Milton, indeed, is the only writer that gives any thing like a correct idea of diabolical manners. Piomingo. But, may it please your tartarean highness, have we not accounts of your interfering in the concerns of the world long since the fall of man: as in the case of Job? may come they may fall in my power-and then, ye powers of darkness! how I will roast them! [Here the devil fell into a furious passion. He foamed at the mouth; sparks flew in myriads from his eyes; and the smoke rolled from his nostrils! We were terrified.] Piomingo. The resentment shown by your majesty is very just; but Devil. True, very true; I should not suffer my screnity to be disturbed by their contempti ble malignity. [Here he suppressed his agitation, adjusted his robe, and called up the obedient smiles in his countenance.] Piomingo. Your sublimity should rather derive amusement from their folly, than suffer it to give you any uneasiness. Your majesty's glass Devil. O yes, when any thing occurs worthy Devil. Their folly is amusing; (drinking of my attention, I am not backward, on my and bowing) very amusing indeed. To hear part, in furthering the interests of my kingdom. When, once in a thousand years, or so, the a fellow call one of his neighbors "a great world produces a man like Job, I then find it overgrown devil;" and in the same breath describe another as 66 a poor puny little devil," necessary to exert all my infernal talents to degrade him; lest his example should become is, upon my soul, very amusing-ha ha ha! destructive to the cause of immorality; but, I protest to you, by the majesty of Pandemonium, that the world is at present so wicked, that there is not the smallest necessity for the malignant agency of the devil. Job was an object worthy of my ambition: but do you suppose that it was through my instigations that his wife acted in the manner she did? If you do, you are mistaken. Piomingo, Your excellency knows best: I yield full credence to all your assertions. (Meaning, I know you to be the "father of lies," and do not believe a word you say.) Devil. But that, which displeases me more than any thing else, is their habit of attributing to me the origination of a thousand pitiful Piomingo. Ha ha ha! [Our laugh was forced; but had we not been diverted by our infernal visiter's wit, we should have offended him eternally. We therefore dragged the unwilling convulsion into our visage, and laughed the common occurrences of life, it is absolutely most obstreperously. We all know that, in necessary to laugh at all the dull jokes and insipid sayings of a rich man: how much more incumbent was it upon us to be titillated by the pleasantry of his majesty of Pandemo nium?] Devil. Of the magnitude of him who "Collecting all his might, dilated stood, "His stature reached the sky, and on his crest Sat horror plumed ; sneaking little criminalities, with which, I of whom it is said that swear by the blue blazes of Tophet, I would not dirty my fingers. My conscience is, certainly, not very troublesome; but I indubitably I say, mortals would not debase my infernal dignity so much of the magnitude of such a one, as to assist in the perpetration of a thousand may talk with the utmost propriety. Piomingo. With the utmost propriety. [We had learned that, among 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 repeating a few of the orator's own words, the satisfaction will be complete. We concluded that, in all probability, the case was the same among devils; and therefore we played off our civilization upon the god of this world.'] Devil. But to talk of a little devil, is as absurd as to talk of a great man Piomingo. Which would be the height of absurdity. [We felt the meanness of our conduct in yielding this point to the old sinner; but as we had put on the painted visor of refined man, we determined not to throw it off.] Devil. I have sometimes supposed that your gay ones were like to have correct ideas of infernal beauty, when I have heard them say of a fine girl, "She is devilish handsome; but I found this was merely owing to a strange par. tiality 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 words certainly are expressive. But the thing that displeases me is this: they use them without any regard to propriety. One man is "damned rich another is "damned poor." In summer, it is as "hot as hell;" and in winter, as "cold as damnation :" the word "damn" and its derivatives, making nearly one half of their vocabulary. [The clock struck one. He vanished, leaving nothing behind him but a sulphureous stench. Had he taken his leave in an orderly manner, we would have waited on him to the door, and requested the 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 imputing to his instigation every error of our life. We called him wicked, mean, black, deformed, clovenhoofed, horned; and gave him every other opprobrious epithet that we could find in the English and Muscogulgee languages. 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; but in conversation we are generally prolix, and it is necessary in writing a letter that we should avoid that prolixity. It requires a considerable portion of 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. Letters, on business, may be as short as one pleases: and the shorter the better, if they be sufficiently full and explicit; but letters of friendship ought to be somewhat extended; if they be very brief it is informing our correspondent that we do not choose to devote a moment's attention to him or his affairs, more than the cold rules of politeness imperiously demand. We have read, with mixed and undefinablo 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 remarks of our own. THE SAVAGE-NO. V. Our observations on friendship have led us to reflect on those institutions of society which are favorable or unfavorable to the existence or continuance of the social affections. tions among savages, how much more unfortuIf friendship frequently meet with interrupnate is its fate where the system of appropriation is carried into every department of human affairs; where education, manners, amusements, 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 inheritance, and even the use of the air is appropriated to individuals? If friendship be insecure among savages, where there are none rich and none poor; where the carth, the air, and the water are free; where the whole village assembles at dances |