PUBLIC LIBRARY R 709936 ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 1916 L SEAL. DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, TO WIT: Be it Remembered, That on the thirteenth day of May in the thirty-fourth year of the Independence of the United States of America, A. D. 1810. THOMAS S. MANNING, of the said district, hath deposited in this office the Title of a Book, the right whereof he claims as Proprietor in the words following, to wit: THE SAVAGE, BY PIOMINGO, A Headman and Warrior of the Muscogulgee Nation. In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, intituled, "An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned." And also to the act, entitled " An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled "An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the time therein mentioned," and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." D. CALDWELL, Clk. Dist. of Pennsylvania. INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. THE SAVAGE, it is hoped, will be an acceptable present to those who devote a portion of their time to literary amusements. Its aim is not to instruct the most enlightened people in the universe, but merely to afford a novel species of entertainment to that changeable being, who delights in variety. If The Savage find itself incapable of producing that which is original, it will endeavor to place old things in a new light; and if it be defective in a certain quality known by the name of wit, it faithfully promises never to have recourse to indecent ribaldry to supply the deficiency. Those who may feel disposed to retire awhile from the conflicts of political warfare and seek for relaxation and repose in the wigwam of Piomingo, shall meet with a friendly reception. He will produce the calumet of peace, and bring forth for their entertainment "things new and old." Piomingo is no federalist, no republican, no democrat, no aristocrat, in the common acceptation of those terms; but he may boast with the utmost propriety of being an American "indeed, in whom there is no guile." He sprang up in the wilderness far from the haunts of civilized men. He inhaled with his first breath a love for savage independence; and his subsequent acquaintance with the arts, sciences, and languages of polished nations has not contributed to lessen his original prepossession in favor of the wild dignity of nature. He enjoys the beauties of the gardens, meadows and fields of a cultivated country; but he would resign them with pleasure for the rivers, rocks and mountains of the desert. It was his fortune, many years ago, to form an acquaintance with an intelligent and learned citizen of the United States, who, in consequence of some misfortunes in early life, contracted such a distaste for the manners, amusements and pleasures of his countrymen, that he adopted the resolution of seeking oblivion of his cares among the children of nature. He took up his abode in the country of the Muscogulgees, where he became known to Piomingo. A friendship, sincere and lasting as life, was the consequence of this intimacy. Piomingo gained instruction from INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. the lips of his companion. He was soon enabled to read and reflect: and felt himself carried away by an irresistible propensity for investigation. Delightful but fleeting was the period of this intercourse. The friend of Piomingo died; and he has endeavored to console himself for his loss by seeking amusement among that people from whom his former associate had retired with disgust. He has travelled for several years through the United States, and at last fixed his residence in Philadelphia. The good people of this republic have long derived amusement from the journals of polished travellers through barbarous nations: let us for once reverse the picture and see what entertainment can be drawn from the observations of a savage upon the manners and customs, vices and virtues, of those who boast the advantages of refinement and civilization. BY PIOMINGO, A Headman and Warrior of the Muscogulgee Nation. THE SAVAGE-NO. I. RECOLLECTIONS OF INFANCY. THE existence of things is not strange; but the power of perceiving this existence is, beyond comprehension, wonderful. Where shall we look for the origin of mind? Whence sprang the young idea? Was it produced by the immediate agency of the Almighty One? or is it a necessary emanation from the great fountain of nature, the soul of the universe? Our first thought has perished for ever; no exertion of ours can bring it up from the gulf of oblivion: yet, we may awaken the recollection of times long past; we may bid the scenes of childhood pass again before us; and remember with pleasure the early excursions of the unfledged mind. When we first become conscious of our own existence, every thing is new-every thing delightful. We inquire not whence we came; we rejoice because we ARE. The brisk circulation of the blood and the kindly flow of the animal spirits impel us to action. We find it impossible to control the tumultuous emotions of exultation and joy. We have no power to remain in one place or continue silent: we run, we scream, we leap "like roes or young harts on the mountains of spices." But this blissful period passes away as a dream, and visits us no more. Our propescts become suddenly darkened: some faint idea of evil, of sorrow, and of death, passes through the mind. The first thought concerning the final period of our joys and of our existence is inexpressibly distressing. "Must I die also?" said I to the sage Oconi-mico"must I die as well as Quibo? « Thou must also die,' answered Oconi-mico. "Shall I no more walk? Shall I no more climb up the mountain of buffaloes? Shall I no more shake the fruit from the beautiful pawpaw tree, or swim in the waters of Tuckabatchee? Shall I no more, A dear Oconi-mico, shall I no more see the sun rise among the trees of the forest?" "My dear child," said Oconimico, "behold the stalks of maize, do they flourish longer than one season? Observe the trees of the forest; they grow old and become rotten: must a man live for ever? Thou must become old; thy hands must tremble, thine eyes become dim, and death put a period to thy existence." "What is death?" "Death is the end of life. Death is nothing." "I cannot understand that: come, let us look at my brother Quibo. Is he asleep? let us awake him. His face is cold; his eyes are closed; his limbs are stiff: he is dead. If I touch him, he cannot feel me; If I cry, he cannot hear me; Should I pull open his eyes, he would not see me: he is dead. Why did he lie down on this bed and die? Why did he fall asleep and die? I will run wild on the hills. I will never lie down to sleep, any more. I will not die." "My dear boy, look at Quibo: he has feet, but he cannot walk; he has hands, but he cannot bend his bow, or take an arrow from his quiver; he has eyes, but he cannot see the sun rise among the trees of the forest: the life-the spirit-the thought of Quibo is gone away to the land of souls." Sudden as a flash of lightning from a summer cloud, sprang up a new and delightful idea: Quibo is not all dead; his thought is gone to another country. "Where is the land of souls?" Oconi-mico took me by the hand and led me to the door of our hut. "Raise your eyes, my son, and observe those red clouds in the heavens.” “I observe them." "Do you see those blue mountains, whose towering summits are mixed with the descending clouds?" "I see them." "Beyond these mountains, there is a wide river; beyond that river, there is a great country; on the other side of that country, there is a world of water; in that water there is a thousand islands: the sun is gone down among them. These islands are full of fruit trees and streams of water. A thousand buffaloes and ten thousand deer graze on the hills or ruminate in the valleys." "When I die, shall I become an inhabitant of those islands?" "Love your friends; become a great warrior; and when you die, the good spirit will convey you to the land of souls, where Quibo is." "Who is the good spi |