THE SMUGGLER. 35 



the heart must be hard indeed, and the mind dull, not to re- 

 ceive confirmation of faith, and encouragement in hope." 



"More, far more, may man receive," replied his companion, 

 "if he be but willing; but that gross and corrupt insect refuses 

 all instruction, and though the whole universe holds out bless- 

 ings, still chooses the curse. Where is there a scene whence 

 man may not receive benefit ? What spot upon the whole 

 earth has not something to speak to his heart, if he would but 

 listen? In his own busy passions, however, and in his own 

 fierce contentions, in his sordid creeping after gain, in his 

 trickery and his knavery, even in his loves and pleasures, man 

 turns a deaf ear to the great voice speaking to him ; and the 

 only scene of all this earth which cannot benefit the eye that 

 looks upon it, is that in which human beings are the chief 

 actors. There all is foulness, or pitifulness, or vice; and one, 

 to live in happiness, and to take the moral of all nature to his 

 heart, should live alone with nature. I will find me out such 

 a place, where I can absent myself entirely, and contemplate 

 nought but the works of God without the presence of man, for 

 I am sick to death of all that I have seen of him and his, 

 especially in what is called a civilized state." 



"You have often threatened to do so, Warde," answered 

 the young officer, " but yet methinks, though you rail at him, 

 you love man too much to quit his abodes entirely. I have 

 seen you kind and considerate to savages of the most horrible 

 class; to men whose daily practice it is to torture with the 

 most unheard-of cruelty the prisoners whom they take in battle ; 

 and will you have less regard for other fellow-creatures, be- 

 cause they are what you call civilized?" 



"The savage is at least sincere," replied his companion. 

 "The want of sincerity is the great and crowning vice of all 

 this portion of the globe. Cruel the wild hunters may be, but 

 are they more cruel than the people here? Which is the 

 worst torment, a few hours' agony at the stake, singing the 

 war- song, all ended by a blow of a hatchet, or long years of 

 mental torture, when every scorn and contumely, every bitter 

 injustice, every cruel bereavement that man can inflict or 

 suffer, is piled upon your head, till the load becomes intolera- 

 ble. Then, too, it is done in a smooth and smiling guiso. 

 The civilized fiend looks softly upon you while he wounds you 

 to the heart; makes a pretext of law, and justice, and equity; 



