Read Ebook: The Trapper's Daughter: A Story of the Rocky Mountains by Aimard Gustave Wraxall Lascelles Sir Translator

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THE KNICKERBOCKER.

THE NOBILITY OF NATURE.

IT has been asserted that all men are created equal. The learned have been called upon to support the declaration, and to furnish reasons accounting for the disparity which is manifest in the different individuals of the human race, as found in the social state. The learned have responded to this call, and said, that it is apparent, that different nations, as well as individuals of the same race, are surrounded by different circumstances, and enjoy unequal means of improvement; and as their external condition is unequal, it is but reasonable to infer, in the absence of any other known cause, that their intellectual disparity is mainly attributable to external circumstances. Now if it can be made to appear, as I think it can, that the difference in the external condition of men and nations is mainly attributable to their mental organization, it will be obvious that the learned, who have undertaken to solve this question, have been so unphilosophical as to substitute the effect for the cause.

But may we not as reasonably expect, that the benefit of this new arrangement will not be confined to man alone, but that the whole vegetable and animal world will participate in the advantages of this novel law of natural equality? We must hear no more of 'the king of beasts,' nor of 'the monarch of the wood.' The lion and the lamb must become a match for each other in ferocity and strength. The ivy will of course cease to entwine itself around the oak; and then what substitute will the poets have for their much-used and lovely emblem of weakness and dependence, when it shall lift aloft its branches among the huge trees of the forest, and, boastful of its newly-acquired strength, shall bid defiance to the whirlwind and the storm! The odious monarchy of the bee-hive must be done away; the queen of bees must doff her robes of royalty, and become a commoner; while the drones, the privileged order of this tribe of insects, will be compelled to assume habits of industry, and will no longer be tolerated in the enjoyment of idleness and luxury, at the expense of their industrious fellow-citizens. The aristocracy of the ant-hill must also be disturbed, and the levelling principle must be carried into a new organization of this interesting little mound of earth. Men will cease to speak of the elephant as a 'half-reasoning animal,' while the ass shall be distinguished for dulness and obstinacy, and the latter must brush up, so that this disparity shall be remedied; while, at the same time, the sagacious dog will be brought, by some nice process, to the level of the 'silly sheep,' and the acute and cruel fox to that of the dull and confiding goose; and among other things, to excite our special wonder, the much-wronged, much-eaten oyster will be regarded as a pure intelligence, consisting of nothing but brain, and its necessary covering! Men will cease to eat oysters.

It would seem to require a wonderful change in 'external circumstances,' to produce results like these; and yet it seems to me, these may as reasonably be anticipated, as that the condition of mankind will ever be equal. Those who attribute men's intellectual nature to their external condition, have never been so fortunate as to demonstrate in what manner the objectionable circumstances of an external nature produced the results which they humanely deplore. The negro is every where inferior to the Anglo-Saxon. Does the former owe his inferior intellect to his swarthy complexion and flattened nose? How can these affect the thinking part? To climate? Behold him in all climes the same! To slavery? View him in his native land a savage. To the contempt of other nations? He is the same as when first known to the European.

But grant that the difference in air, climate, or other external causes, operating for many centuries, could cause an inequality in the intellects of different nations, or tribes of men; why, in the same nation or tribe, is one inferior to another? Suppose sectional causes to account for this disparity; then why are children of the same parents, born and nurtured under precisely the same circumstances, radically different from their birth? Is the fact denied? I appeal to mothers in support of its truth.

But while I do not depart from this clause of the sacred declaration referred to, I perceive that I differ widely from the vociferous patriot and over-zealous philanthropist of the present day, who have contrived to engross much more of the public attention than either their integrity or doctrines seem to warrant.

The former overwhelms the voice of reason with his varied clamor in favor of the equality of meanness with magnanimity--of vice with virtue--of ignorance with intelligence--of vulgar rudeness and barbarity, with taste and elegance; and he demands that in social intercourse, and in the administration of government, the vicious and ignorant shall be entitled to the same consideration and influence as the virtuous and enlightened citizen; because 'all men are created equal!'

The new order of philanthropists increase the clamor of the greedy patriot. They have discovered that the negroes are at least equal to, if not a little better, than the best of the Europeans; and they lead forth their colored favorites, of various hues, and demand their admittance into a well-organized society; a benevolent concession in favor of their equality; an admission that their heads are well formed, their sentiments exalted, their persons delicate, and their odor savory! They invite them to the table of the American citizen, and beckon them to his bed; and this 'because all men are created equal!'

I am far from asserting, that all the distinctions which exist in the social state, are so by the appointment of nature. There is an artificial aristocracy, created by the improper constitutions of some governments, and the arbitrary and unequal laws of all, of the cause of whose greatness nature is entirely innocent. For instance, a man may inherit and enjoy all his life the title and honors of nobility, who, had he depended upon his natural resources for rank and station, might never have ascended in the scale of human excellence, beyond the condition of an agile circus-rider. And it is no less palpable, that a wealthy parent, through the influence of the laws of primogeniture, may transmit to his eldest son an inheritance which may place him high among the aristocracy of wealth, who, but for the fruits of a parent's acquisitiveness, might laudably have earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, and instead of being regarded as an exquisite dandy, might have been celebrated for his mechanical ingenuity, or the excellence of his 'goods, wares, and merchandise.' The same causes may sometimes operate to deprive nature's noblemen of their just station among men. Artificial worth may assume the place of natural; wealth and fashion may displace virtue and intellect; and genius and talent may be compelled to give precedence to a titled nobility, or to the possessors of vast estates.

It is not without emotions of pleasure, that I take leave of false pretension to rank and station, although it be to take up the humblest claim upon our attention made by the sons of genius. And here allow me to observe, that within the last forty years, certain individuals have claimed, that they have traced each particular demonstration of the various faculties and sentiments of the human mind to its source--which they allege to be an organ of the brain--and they have also adopted a nomenclature for the mental faculties, highly convenient, which I beg the privilege of employing, while I ask one farther favor of the reader, that, for the sake of convenience, if for no other reason, he will allow me to suppose each faculty of the mind to have its separate material organ. Even with this liberal concession on the part of the reader, it will be difficult to assign to each child of genius his appropriate rank in the scale of being. It is generally true, that the organs of the faculties and sentiments, which are not called into activity in the constitution of the man of genius, are in point of size at mediocrity or below it. The main strength of his character is derived from the striking fullness of the single organ which gives the bent to his mental inclination; but there is also a full development of certain other organs colleagued with that, which, following its lead, help out its inclinations, and conduct its work. These colleagues are few in number, and with their exception, the remaining mental organs of the man of genius are moderate, small, or inactive. His head is therefore uneven and irregular; that is, the reader is asked to suppose it to be so, for the sake of illustration. How often it is observed, that the man of genius wants that strong common sense, of which a very plain man may justly boast the possession? Does the genius lack the organ of common sense? Unhappily for many of the human family, there is no such organ! This excellent condition of the human mind seldom accompanies an irregular head. It is claimed to be the result of the equable and full development of all the organs of the human intellect and sentiments, and of the moderate and controllable size of all the organs of the passions. But it is otherwise in the man of genius. The size and activity of the main organs, by whose manifestations he is distinguished, render them the master spirits of his mind. In the admiration which genius excites, the useful attributes of the man are not generally looked for--and the most flagrant moral defects are palliated, if not forgiven; nay, oftentimes they are copied by those who, not having the power to dazzle, present the forlorn spectacle of natural dulness bedecked with the borrowed vices of genius.

Above these, but in the same grade of excellence as respects each other, does nature place her more gifted children, the musical composer, the orator, painter, sculptor, and poet; creatures of variously combined faculties, sentiments, and passions, but all so constituted as to be capable of enchanting the eye, delighting the ear, or gratifying the taste. Their works exalt the feelings, interest the heart, or instruct the mind, of man. They blend the happiest influences of the passions, intellect and sentiments. They portray inanimate nature in all her creations of sight and sound, and exhibit living nature in all her varieties of action, emotion, thought, or passion. Nature is their universal theme, and the fruits of their labors compose those intellectual luxuries, to banquet upon which, forms the most characteristic feature which distinguishes polished from civilized life--the accomplished from the merely useful man. But a man may be either of these sons of genius, and come far short of being either a great or a good man. Nay, he may have followed the promptings of his genius all his life, and failed after all to benefit mankind. Whose mental vision has not Byron dazzled? Who did not admire the man? Who has not forgiven his faults, on account of the magnitude of his genius, and the power of his works? And yet who does not know that Byron lived in vain, and died without benefitting himself or his fellow men? On the other hand, it is pleasant to find, that genius, so dangerous in some, may be harmless in others, and that a poet may range through all nature's works, but so judiciously select the theme of his song, and so beautifully adorn it, as that, while he excites the admiration, he improves the heart of his fellow men. The immortal 'poet of the year' concealed all evil, and portrayed all good. His female reaper adorns the lowest field with mingled beauty, chastity, and innocence--and sweet Musidora, in her plight, is seen only by the eye of modest love, abashed and retiring from the view.

Ascending the scale of genius, for the sake of brevity, I pass the architect and mathematician, to say a word of the great mechanical inventor, whom I would place highest of all nature's eccentric and gifted sons. To that beauty or poetry of thought, sound, action, or expression, which constitutes the chief merit of the sons of genius, last under consideration, he adds utility and dignity, and furnishes the means for man's civilization. Could poetry or music be cultivated without mechanical means? Of what avail is eloquence among houseless savages, save to excite to deeds of horror? What leisure would be afforded to attend to and enjoy the efforts of genius, without the use of machinery, which has emancipated the human race from slavery to their necessities, and elevated them to the enjoyment of ease and luxury? The mechanical inventor approaches one attribute of the Divinity; he may almost be said to create; and thus to approximate to the highest exercise of power. And yet the singer, humblest of all the children of genius, oftentimes commands more of the world's admiration than the most extraordinary mechanical inventor. There are those who would listen to the song of the nightingale, although the proud monument of Fulton's genius for the first time burst upon their view, 'walking the waters like a thing of life.' Nay, there are doubtless those in whom a sonnet would excite more interest than the spectacle of a noble ship gliding swiftly into port, propelled by the lightnings of heaven. But that is the only true estimate of mental worth, which ranks highest in the scale of importance those faculties and dispositions of the human mind which best subserve the happiness of men.

'Greatest, noblest, purest of mankind.'

EMBLEMS.

I ASK not of the golden sun, why, when at eventide, His last red glance is cast abroad on the green upland side; I ask not why his radiant glow stays not to bless my sight, Or why his yellow beams should sink behind the pall of night: Day, night, and morn must come and go, along the changing sky, With shadow and with grateful light, to cheer the wakening eye; It is the change which makes them blest; all hold a tranquil power, Whether 'tis morning's orient gleam, or evening's solemn hour.

Thus should the soul in silence gaze, lit by pale Memory's star, Over the heaving tide of life, whose wrecks but bubbles are; And though the light of Joy be dim--though Hope's warm dream hath fled, Though the deep wind hath mournful tones along the slumbering dead, Still let thy spirit look abroad, and onward to the rest, Which comes as twilight shadows steal across earth's verdant breast; And chastened in the night of ill, amid its shadowed gloom, Look to the holy morn which breaks the darkness of the tomb!

STANZAS.

'THERE is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground, yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. But MAN dieth and wasteth away; yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? JOB.

BORN in anguish, nursed in sorrow, Journeying through a shadowy span; Fresh with health to-day--to-morrow Cold and lifeless!--such is man. Scarce produced to light, ere dying-- Like the fancied vision flying; Scarcely budding forth, when blighted 'Dust to dust' again united!

Richly shines the rainbow, glowing, Lightly laughs the morning beam; Sweetly breathes the flowret, blowing, Deeply rolls the mountain stream: But the heavenly bow hath faded, And the morning beam is shaded; And to earth the flower hath hasted, And the mountain stream is wasted.

Yet though passed awhile, these lie not Ever in Destruction's chain; Though the flowers may fade, they die not-- Spring shall wake their buds again: Morning's smile again shall brighten, And the storm the rainbow lighten; And the torrent Roll its waters undiminished.

Man alone, when death hath bound him, Moulders in the silent grave: Of the friends who were around him, None to succor, none to save! Then when night and gloom assail thee, And thy strength and glory fail thee, And thy boasted beauty waneth, Cold--in darkness--what remaineth?

Cheering splendor yet attends us, Mid these scenes of deepest gloom; 'Tis our 'hope in CHRIST' defends us From the terrors of the tomb. When we leave this vale of sadness, 'Tis to share unmingled gladness: O the happy, happy greeting-- JESUS and our friends then meeting!

J. F. H.

NOTES OF A SURGEON.

NUMBER ONE.

THE DISLOCATION.

In a strong man, where the muscles are rigid, and every fibre seems to be converted into a wire to resist the force exerted on them, the ceremony is one of distressing cruelty. The inquisition can scarcely furnish any thing more appalling, and certainly not the practice of surgery. The pain of an amputation may be more acute; but its very acuteness assures you that it will soon be over. The edge of the knife itself is an index, keen as the scythe of Time, and faithful as his march, of the progressive succession of the moments of trial; a fi?ry monitor, which every instant sinks deeper, and will soon, very soon in the reality, but late, as it always must be, in the reckoning of the sufferer, reach its unswerving limits, the bone. And here the pain of the operation in a great measure ceases; for it is hardly necessary to state, that the sawing of this structure is not actually attended by any of the horrors with which vulgar apprehension has invested it. The ligature of the arteries, the dressing of the truncated member, etc., may each occasion a momentary anguish. But as to the mere pain of the operation, it is trivial, in comparison with that which an athletic man experiences in the reduction of a dislocated limb, which has been any length of time displaced.

It was a luxation of the thigh. The patient was a remarkably stout man, and bade fair to put in requisition the whole retinue of the hospital.

'I had better bleed him, probably?' replied I, inquiringly.

'Yes; an hour or so before twelve; and have him kept in the bath until then.'

The person to be operated on, was a man of vigorous constitution, and evinced great anxiety to have his body restored to its symmetry, and his limb to its usefulness. Though, as is usual in such cases, the probable severity of the operation, its duration, and the uncertainty of success, were laid before him in their true light, he was firm in his determination to have it done. Poor man! he could not bring himself to believe that there was a possibility of failure; nor did he suspect that, as strong a man as he was in resolution and bodily powers, he would be compelled, before the ceremonials of reduction were gone through with, to cry out, 'Give me some drink, Titinius, as a sick child.' Yet that such should be the case, shows that necessity is stronger than mortal resolution; and the same individual who asks you to reduce his limb, and then bids you cease your harrowing attempts, will in turn rebuke you if you obey his orders, given in the wildness of despair, and the limb thereby remain indissolubly locked in its distorted posture, an enduring monument of his own weakness, and of your culpable pliancy.

The patient was placed in a warm bath, and bled until faint. The object was to make him a sick man, as a preparatory step to rendering him whole. While superintending this necessary process, I hailed the nurse of ward No. 13, whose duty it was to attend to the regulation of the theatre.

'Nurse, have you seen that every thing is in order in the theatre?'

'I just came from there, doctor. I believe nothing is wanting.'

'We still need a bowl or two, and some warm water. You have the key?'

'Oh yes; I always carry the key of the side-doors. I shall not let any of the students in, doctor, until you say the word?'

'It will be as well to keep them out till the surgeons come. You must stand by, as we may want you to lend a hand.'

'Well, be careful and have every thing ready.'

'Oh, I'll look out, doctor.'

'I say, No. 14, have you carried that water in yet?'

'No, but I will directly,' replied the subaltern.

I stepped down into the apothecary's shop, and procured a couple of drachms of tartar emetic. This I mixed up in a bowl of water, and gave a part of it to the patient, setting the remainder in a convenient place in the theatre. On a side-table, here, was spread out a pocket-case of instruments, containing scissors, scalpels, and every thing else that might be needed on an emergency.

The proper hour having now arrived, the disabled man was taken out of the bath, wrapped in a blanket, and supported into the theatre. On a table, in the centre of the pit, was placed the apparatus for reduction. The patient was extended on it, on his left side, and the young aspirants were called upon to exercise their ingenuity in attaching several silk handkerchiefs above the knee of the dislocated limb, with a clove-hitch. Surgeons are no sailors; and a knot which a cartman puts a hundred times a day over the front post of his cart, puzzles the juvenile professor exceedingly; and great is the honor bestowed on the fortunate achiever of the exploit. Phrenologists might find, in the retentive faculties of this knot, a desirable subject for investigation. The tighter you draw upon the two ends looped together, the more securely is the limb grasped; and a timber-head-hitch, as it is sometimes called, may be fixed to the tapering extremity of a slippery hacmetack log, and it will hold fast with the gripe of a drowning man, and allow you to drag it, for aught that can be averred to the contrary, half way round the globe. The mystery of this knot, unlike that of Gordian, is in the tying, not in the untying.

The patient thus extended upon the table, the bandages were taken from his arms; the bowl was held, and the flow of blood watched, to catch the first signs of failing strength. The vessel was already beginning to brim, when he sickened and vomited. It was now that the extension was put on. The sturdy, iron-armed nurse seized the stick around which the end of the pulley-rope was wound to give a firmer grasp to the hands, and began slowly and leisurely to bring the convolutions of the cord to a state of tension. His force, not trifling of itself, and now tripled, was not an eighth of it expended when its effects became apparent. The cord began to strain--the belt at the head tightened--the patient was lifted from the table, and became suspended between the two fastenings.

''Tis just what we want.'

'Would you like to vomit?'

In the fulness of his stomach, he would have answered 'yes,' but restrained himself and his diaphragm after a moment's rumination.

'We don't want you to do that.'

'But I am exceedingly tired--wearied to death.'

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