ters a dance of a most terrific nature, during the exhibition of which remedy he incessantly gnashes his teeth, and howls:- "I am the original physician to Nooker the Umtargartie. Yow yow yow! No connection with any other establishment. Till till till! All other Umtargarties are feigned Umtargarties, Boroo Boroo! but I perceive here a genuine and real Umtargartie, Hoosh Hoosh Hoosh! in whose blood I, the original Imyanger and Nookerer, Blizzerum Boo! will wash these bear's claws of mine. O yow yow yow!" All this time the learned physician is looking out among the attentive faces for some unfortunate man who owes him a cow, or who has given him any small offense, or against whom, without offense, he has conceived a spite. Him he never fails to Nooker as the Umtargartie, and he is instantly killed. In the absence of such an individual, the usual practice is to Nooker the quietest and most gentlemanly person in company. But the Nookering is invariably followed on the spot by the butchering.

Some of the noble savages in whom Mr. Catlin was SO strongly interested, and the diminution of whose numbers, by rum and smallpox, greatly affected him, had a custom not unlike this, though much more appalling and disgusting in its odious details.

The women being at work in the fields, hoeing the Indian corn, and the noble savage being asleep in the shade, the chief has sometimes the condescension to come forth and lighten the labor by looking at it. On these occasions he seats himself in his own savage chair and is attended by his shield-bearer, who holds over his head a shield of cowhide-in shape like an immense mussel shell-fearfully and wonderfully, after the manner of a theatrical supernumerary. But lest the great man should forget his greatness in the contemplation of the humble works of agriculture, there suddenly rushes in a poet, retained for the purpose, called a Praiser. This literary gentleman wears a leopard's head over his own, and a dress of tigers' tails; he has the appearance of having come express on his hind legs from the Zoological Gardens; and he incontinently strikes up the chief's praises, plunging and tearing all the while. There is a frantic wickedness. in this brute's manner of worrying the air, and gnashing out: "O what a delightful chief he is! O what a delicious quantity of blood he sheds! O how majestically he laps it up! O how charmingly cruel he is! O how he tears the flesh of his enemies

and crunches the bones! O how like the tiger and the leopard and the wolf and the bear he is! O row row row row, how fond I am of him!" which might tempt the Society of Friends to charge at a hand gallop into the Swartz-Kop location and exterminate the whole kraal.

When war is afoot among the noble savages-which is always - the chief holds a council to ascertain whether it is the opinion of his brothers and friends in general that the enemy shall be exterminated. On this occasion, after the performance of an Umsebeuza or war song,- which is exactly like all the other songs, the chief makes a speech to his brothers and friends, arranged in single file. No particular order is observed during the delivery of this address, but every gentleman who finds himself excited by the subject, instead of crying, "Hear, hear!" as is the custom with us, darts from the rank and tramples out the life, or crushes the skull, or mashes the face, or scoops out the eyes, or breaks the limbs, or performs a whirlwind of atrocities on the body, of an imaginary enemy. Several gentlemen becoming thus excited at once, and pounding away without the least regard to the orator, that illustrious person is rather in the position of an orator in an Irish House of Commons. But several of these scenes of savage life bear a strong generic resemblance to an Irish election, and I think would be extremely well received and understood at Cork.

In all these ceremonies the noble savage holds forth to the utmost possible extent about himself; from which (to turn him to some civilized account) we may learn, I think, that as egotism is one of the most offensive and contemptible littlenesses a civilized man can exhibit, so it is really incompatible with the interchange of ideas; inasmuch as if we all talked about ourselves we should soon have no listeners, and must be all yelling and screeching at once on our own separate accounts: making society hideous. It is my opinion that if we retained in us anything of the noble savage, we could not get rid of it too soon. But the fact is clearly otherwise. Upon the wife and dowry question, substituting coin for cows, we have assuredly nothing of the Zulu Kaffir left. The endurance of despotism is one great distinguishing mark of a savage always. The improving world has quite got the better of that too. In like manner, Paris is a civilized city, and the Théâtre Français a highly civilized theatre; and we shall never hear, and never have heard in these later days

(of course) of the Praiser there. No, no, civilized poets have better work to do. As to Nookering Umtargarties, there are no pretended Umtargarties in Europe and no European powers to Nooker them; that would be mere spydom, subornation, small malice, superstition, and false pretense. And as to private Umtargarties, are we not in the year eighteen hundred and fiftythree, with spirits rapping at our doors?

To conclude as I began. My position is, that if we have anything to learn from the noble savage, it is what to avoid. His virtues are a fable; his happiness is a delusion; his nobility, nonsense. We have no greater justification for being cruel to the miserable object than for being cruel to a William Shakespeare or an Isaac Newton; but he passes away before an immeasurably better and higher power than ever ran wild in any earthly woods, and the world will be all the better when his place knows him no more.

Complete. From "Reprinted Pieces.»

DENIS DIDEROT

(1713-1784).

ENIS DIDEROT, one of the thinkers whose pens overthrew the Bourbon monarchy in France, was born at Langres, October 5th, 1713. His father, who was a cutler by trade, gave him a classical education and put him in a lawyer's office, where, instead of studying law, Diderot perfected himself in the modern languages and in literature. Quarreling with his father because of this, he was forced into literature as a profession. His first work was translating; but making the acquaintance of D'Alembert, they began together the great French Encyclopedia, the publication of which occupied more than twenty years. The Encyclopedia was chiefly his, and the most important work of his life was done in this connection; but he was also a voluminous writer of criticisms and essays. Catherine of Russia, who was fond of French philosophy until she saw that it threatened royalty, patronized Diderot, and he spent a year (1773-74) at her court. He died at Paris, July 30th, 1784.

I

COMPASSION A LAW OF THE SURVIVAL OF SPECIES

(Suggested by Rousseau's "Discourse on Inequality »)

BELIEVE I need fear no contradiction in granting to man that unique natural virtue which the most outré detractors of human nature have been forced to accord him. I speak of compassion, a state of mind suitable to beings weak and subject as we are to so many misfortunes, a virtue so universal and so useful to man, that it precedes in him the use of all reflection,— and so natural, that even animals sometimes give perceptible signs of it. Without mentioning the tenderness of mothers for their young, and the perils they face to protect them, we notice every day the repugnance horses have to trample under foot a living body. An animal does not pass without uneasiness a dead animal of its own species; there are some even who give them a kind of burial; and the mournful bellowing of cattle in entering the slaughterhouse shows the impression that is made on

them. One sees with pleasure that the author of "The Fable of the Bees" (Mandeville) is obliged to acknowledge man as a sensitive and compassionate being, and that he departs in the illustrations he gives in this connection from his cold and subtle style, offering us the pathetic image of a man under lock and key who sees in the open a ferocious beast tearing a child from its mother's bosom, crushing with its murderous teeth its feeble members, and tearing with its nails the child's palpitating vitals. What dreadful agitation does not the witness of such an event feel, although it is something in which he has no selfish interest; -what anguish does he not suffer at such a sight, feeling himself unable to carry assistance to the mother lying in a faint, or to the expiring child!

Such is the pure movement of nature anterior to any reflection, such is the force of a natural compassion, which the most depraved morals have a hard task to destroy, that we can see every day in our plays men become moved and shed tears who, were they in the place of the tyrant they condemn, would still aggravate the tortures of their enemies;-like the sanguinary Sylla, who was so sensitive to misfortunes he himself had not caused, or like the tyrant who could not be present at the representation of any tragedy, for fear that he might be seen moaning and weeping with Andromache and Priam, though he heard without emotion the shrieks of so many citizens who were murdered daily by his orders.

Mollissima corda

Humano generi dare se natura fatetur,

Quae lachrymas dedit.-Juvenal XV., v. 131.

Mandeville very properly felt that with all their morals men would have been nothing but monsters, if nature had not given them compassion to strengthen their reason; but he failed to see that from that sole quality are derived all the social virtues which he denies them. In reality, what is generosity, clemency, humanity, if not compassion applied to the weak, to the guilty, or to the human species in general? Kindness and friendship themselves, are, after all, the production of a constant compassion, aimed at a particular object; for to wish that some one should not suffer, what else is it than to wish that he should be happy? Were it true that commiseration were a mere sentiment that puts us in the place of him that suffers (a sentiment obscure but alive