Chapter XIX: Part II: Tutor—George—Harry (7)

_Pa._ Well, then—we will turn from them to the _temperate_ regions. You will observe, on looking at the map, that these chiefly lie on the northern side of the tropics; for on the southern side the space is almost wholly occupied by sea. Though geographers have drawn a boundary line between the torrid and temperate zones, yet nature has made none; and for a considerable space on the borders, the diminution of heat is so gradual as to produce little difference in the appearance of nature. But, in general, the temperate _zones_ or _belts_ form the most desirable districts on the face of the earth. Their products are extremely various, and abound in beauty and utility. Corn, wine, and oil, are among their vegetable stores: the horse, the ox, and the sheep, graze their verdant pastures. Their seasons have the pleasing vicissitudes of summer and winter, spring and autumn. Though in some parts they are subject to excess of heat, and in others of cold, yet they deserve the general praise of a mild temperature compared to the rest of the globe.

_Lu._ They are the countries for me, then.

_Pa._ You _do_ live in one of them, though our island is situated so far to the north that it ranks rather among the cold countries than the warm ones. However, we have the good fortune to be a long way removed from those dreary and comfortless tracts of the globe which lie about the poles, and are called the _frigid zones_. In these, the cheering influence of the sun gradually becomes extinct, and perpetual frost and snow take possession of the earth. Trees and plants diminish in number and size, till at length no vegetables are found but some mosses and a few stunted herbs. Land animals are reduced to three or four species—raindeer, white bears, and arctic foxes. The sea, however, as far as it remains free from ice, is all alive with aquatic birds, and with the finny tribe. Enormous whales spout and gambol among the floating ice-islands, and herds of seals pursue the shoals of smaller fish, and harbour in the caverns of the rocky coasts.

_Lu._ Then I suppose these creatures have not much to do with the sun?

_Pa._ Nature has given them powers of enduring cold beyond those of many other animals; and then the water is always warmer than the land in cold climates; nay, at a certain depth, it is equally warm in all parts of the globe.

_Lu._ Well, but as I cannot go to the bottom of the sea, I desire to have nothing to do with these dismal countries. But do any men live there?

_Pa._ It is one of the wonderful things belonging to man, that he is capable of living in all parts of the globe where any other animals live. And as nothing relative to this earth is so important to us as the condition of human creatures in it, suppose we take a general survey of the different races of men who inhabit all the tracts we have been speaking of?

_Lu._ Blacks, and whites, and all colours?

_Pa._ Surely. If a black dog is as much a dog as a white one, why should not a black man be as much a man? I know nothing that colour has to do with mind. Well, then—to go back to the equator. The middle or tropical girdle of the earth, which by the ancients was concluded to be uninhabitable from its extreme heat, has been found by modern discoveries to be as well filled with men as it is with other living creatures. And no wonder; for life is maintained here at less cost than elsewhere. Clothes and fuel are scarcely at all necessary. A shed of bamboo covered with palm-leaves serves for a house; and food is almost the spontaneous produce of nature. The bread-fruit, the cocoa, the banana, and the plantain, offer their stores freely to the gatherer; and if he takes the additional pains to plant a few yams, or sow a little Indian corn, he is furnished with never-failing plenty. Hence the inhabitants of many tropical countries live nearly in what is called a state of nature, without care or labour, using the gifts of Providence like the animals around them. The naked Indian, stretched at ease under the shade of a lofty tree, passes his hours in indolent repose, unless roused to temporary exertion by the passion of the chase, or the love of dancing and other social sports.

_Lu._ Well—that would be a charming life!

_Pa._ So the poet Thomson seemed to think, when he burst into a rapturous description of the beauties and pleasures afforded by these favoured regions. Perhaps you can remember some of his lines?

_Lu._ I will try.

——“Thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow
Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cooled,
Broad o’er my head the verdant cedar wave,
And high palmettoes lift their grateful shade.
O, stretched amid these orchards of the sun,
Give me to drain the cocoa’s milky bowl,
And from the palm to draw its freshening wine!”

_Pa._ Delightful! Think, however, at what price they purchase this indolent enjoyment of life. In the first place, all the work that is done is thrown upon the women, who are always most tyrannized over, the nearer a people approach to a state of nature.

_Lu._ O, horrible! I am glad I do not live there.

_Pa._ Then the mind not having that spur to exertion which necessity alone can give, moulders in inaction, and becomes incapable of those advances in knowledge and vigour which raise and dignify the human character.

_Lu._ But that is the same with lazy people everywhere.

_Pa._ True. The excessive heat, however, of these countries seems of itself to relax the mind, and unfit it for its noblest exertions. And I question if a single instance could be produced of an original inhabitant of the tropics, who had attained to eminence in the higher walks of science. It is their general character to be gay, volatile, and thoughtless, subject to violent passions, but commonly mild and gentle, fond of society and amusements, ingenious in little arts, but incapable of great or long-continued efforts. They form a large portion of the human race, and probably not the least happy. You see what vast tracts of land lie within this division; most of Africa and South America, all the great islands of Asia and two of its large peninsulas. Of these the Asiatic part is the most populous and civilized; indeed, many of its nations are as far removed from a state of nature as we are, and their constitutional indolence has been completely overcome by necessity. The clothing of those who are in a civilized state is mostly made of cotton, which is a natural product of those climates. Their food is chiefly of the vegetable kind and besides the articles already mentioned, consists much of rice.

_Lu._ Are the people all black?

_Pa._ Yes; entirely or nearly so.

_Lu._ I suppose that is owing to the heat of the sun.

_Pa._ Undoubtedly; for we find all the shades from jet black to tawny, and at length white, as we proceed from the equator toward the poles. The African negroes, however, from their curled woolly hair and their flat features, have been supposed an originally distinct race of mankind. The East Indian blacks, though under an equally hot climate, have long flowing hair, and features not different from their fairer neighbours. Almost all these nations are subject to despotic governments. In religion they are mostly pagans, with a mixture of Mohammedans.

_Lu._ I think we have had enough about these people.

_Pa._ Well, then—look again on the globe to the northern side of the tropics, and see what a tour we shall take among the inhabitants of the north temperate zone. Here are all the most famous places on the earth; rich, populous countries, renowned at different periods for arts and arms. Here is the greatest part of Asia, a little of Africa, all Europe, and North America.

_Lu._ I suppose, however, there must be great differences both in the climate and the way of life, in so many countries?

_Pa._ Extremely great. The southern parts partake a good deal of the character of the tropical regions. The heat is still excessive, and renders exertion painful; whence the people have in general been reckoned soft, effeminate, and voluptuous. Let us, however, look at them a little closer. Here is the mighty empire of China, swarming with people to such a degree, that, notwithstanding its size and fertility, the inhabitants are obliged to exert the greatest industry to procure the necessaries of life. Nearly in a line with it are the Mogul’s Empire, the kingdom of Persia, and the Turkish dominions in Asia; all warm climates abounding in products of use and beauty, and inhabited by numerous and civilized people. Here stretches out the great peninsula of Arabia, for the most part a dry and desert land, overspread with burning sands, only to be crossed by the patient camel. Wild and ferocious tribes of men wander over it, chiefly supported by their herds and flocks, and by the trade of robbery, which they exercise on all travellers that fall in their way. A tract somewhat similar, though in a colder climate, is the vast country of Tartary, stretching like a belt from east to west across the middle of Asia; over the immense plains and deserts of which, a number of independent tribes continually roam, fixing their moveable habitations in one part or another, according as they afford pasturage to their herds of cattle and horses. These men have for many ages lived in the same simple state, unacquainted as well with the arts as the vices of civilized nations.

_Lu._ Well. I think it must be a very pleasant life to ramble about from place to place, and change one’s abode according to the season.

_Pa._ The Tartars think so; for the worst wish they can find for man, is that he may live in a house and work like a Russian. Now look at Europe. See what a small figure it makes on the surface of the globe as to size; and yet it has for many ages held the first place in knowledge, activity, civilization, and all the qualities that elevate man among his fellows. For this it is much indebted to that temperature of climate which calls forth all the faculties of man in order to render life comfortable, yet affords enough of the beauties of nature to warm the heart and exalt the imagination. Men here earn their bread with the sweat of their brow. Nature does not drop her fruits into their mouths, but offers them as the price of labour. Human wants are many. Clothes, food, lodging, are all objects of much care and contrivance, but the human powers fully exerted are equal to the demand; and nowhere are enjoyments so various and multiplied. What the land does not yield itself, its inhabitants by their active industry procure from the remotest parts of the globe. When we drink tea, we sweeten the infusion of a Chinese herb with the juice of a West Indian cane; and your common dress is composed of materials collected from the equator to the frigid zone. Europeans render all countries and climates familiar to them; and everywhere they assume a superiority over the less enlightened or less industrious natives.

_Lu._ Then Europe for me, after all! But is not America as good?

_Pa._ That part of North America which has been settled by Europeans, is only another Europe in manners and civilization. But the original inhabitants of that extensive country were bold and hardy barbarians, and many of them continue so to this day. So much for the temperate zone, which contains the prime of mankind. They differ extremely, however, in government, laws, customs, and religions. The Christian religion has the credit of reckoning among its votaries all the civilized people of Europe and America. The Mahometan possesses all the nearer parts of Asia, and the north of Africa, but China, Japan, and most of the circumjacent countries, profess different forms of paganism. The East, in general, is enslaved to despotism; but the nobler West enjoys in most of its states more or less of freedom.

As to the frigid zone, its few inhabitants can but just sustain a life little better than that of the brutes. Their faculties are benumbed by the climate. Their chief employment is the fishery or the chase, by which they procure their food. The tending of herds of raindeer in some parts varies their occupations and diet. They pass their long winters in holes dug underground, where they doze out most of their time in stupid repose.

_Lu._ I wonder any people should stay in such miserable places!

_Pa._ Yet none of the inhabitants of the globe seem more attached to their country and way of life. Nor do they, indeed, want powers to render their situation tolerably comfortable. Their canoes, and fishing, and hunting tackle, are made with great ingenuity; and their clothing is admirably adapted to fence against the rigours of cold. They are not without some amusements to cheer the gloom of their condition: but they are abjectly superstitious, and given to fear and melancholy.

_Lu._ If I had my choice, I would rather go to a warmer than a colder country.

_Pa._ Perhaps the warmer countries are pleasanter; but there are few advantages which are not balanced by some inconveniences; and it is the truest wisdom to be contented with our lot, and endeavour to make the best of it. One great lesson, however, I wish you to derive from this _globe-lecture_. You see that no part of the world is void of our human brethren, who, amid all the diversities of character and condition, are yet all _men_, filling the station in which their Creator has placed them. We are too apt to look at the differences of mankind, and to undervalue all those who do not agree with us in matters that we think of high importance. But who are we—and what cause have we to think ourselves right, and all others wrong? Can we imagine that hundreds of millions of our species in other parts of the world are left destitute of what is essential to their well-being, while a favoured few like ourselves are the only ones who possess it? Having all a common nature, we must necessarily agree in more things than we differ in. The road to virtue and happiness is alike open to all. The mode of pursuit is various: the end is the same.

ENVY AND EMULATION.

At one of the celebrated schools of painting in Italy, a young man named Guidotto produced a piece so excellent, that it was the admiration of the masters in the art, who all declared it to be their opinion that he could not fail of rising to the summit of his profession, should he proceed as he had begun.

This performance was looked upon with very different eyes by two of his fellow-scholars. Brunello, the elder of them, who had himself acquired some reputation in his studies, was mortified in the highest degree at this superiority of Guidotto; and regarding all the honour his rival had acquired as so much taken from himself, he conceived the most rancorous dislike of him, and longed for nothing so much as to see him lose the credit he had gained. Afraid openly to decry the merit of a work which had obtained the approbation of the best judges, he threw out secret insinuations that Guidotto had been assisted in it by one or other of his masters; and he affected to represent it as a sort of lucky hit, which the reputed author would never equal.

Not so Lorenzo. Though a very young proficient in the art, he comprehended in its full extent the excellence of Guidotto’s performance, and became one of the sincerest of his admirers. Fired with the praises he saw him receive on all sides, he ardently longed one day to deserve the like. He placed him before his eyes as a fair model, which it was his highest ambition to arrive at equalling—for, as to excelling him, he could not as yet conceive the possibility of it. He never spoke of him but with rapture, and could not bear to hear the detractions of Brunello.

But Lorenzo did not content himself with words. He entered with his whole soul into the career of improvement—was first and last of all the scholars in the designing-room—and devoted to practice at home those hours which the other youths passed in amusement. It was long before he could please himself with any of the attempts, and he was continually repeating over them, “Alas! how far distant is this from Guidotto’s!” At length, however, he had the satisfaction of becoming sensible of progress; and having received considerable applause on account of one of his performances, he ventured to say to himself, “And why may not I too become a Guidotto?”

Meanwhile, Guidotto continued to bear away the palm from all competitors. Brunello struggled awhile to contest with him, but at length gave up the point, and consoled himself under his inferiority by ill-natured sarcasm and petulant criticism. Lorenzo worked away in silence, and it was long before his modesty would suffer him to place any piece of his in view at the same time with one of Guidotto’s.

There was a certain day in the year in which it was customary for all the scholars to exhibit their best performance in a public hall, where their merit was solemnly judged by a number of select examiners, and a prize of value was awarded to the most excellent. Guidotto had prepared for this anniversary a piece which was to excel all he had before executed. He had just finished it on the evening before the exhibition, and nothing remained but to heighten the colouring by means of a transparent varnish. The malignant Brunello contrived artfully to convey into the vial containing this varnish some drops of a caustic preparation, the effect of which would be entirely to destroy the beauty and splendour of the piece. Guidotto laid it on by candlelight, and then with great satisfaction hung up his picture in the public room against the morrow.

Lorenzo, too, with beating heart, had prepared himself for the day. With vast application he had finished a piece which he humbly hoped might appear not greatly inferior to some of Guidotto’s earlier performances.

The important day was now arrived. The company assembled, and were introduced into the great room, where the light had just been fully admitted by drawing up a curtain. All went up with raised expectations to Guidotto’s picture, when, behold! instead of the brilliant beauty they had conceived, there was nothing but a dead surface of confused and blotched colours. “Surely,” they cried, “this cannot be Guidotto’s!” The unfortunate youth himself came up, and in beholding the dismal change of his favourite piece, burst out into an agony of grief, and exclaimed that he was betrayed and undone. The vile Brunello in a corner was enjoying his distress. But Lorenzo was little less affected than Guidotto himself. “Trick! knavery!” he cried. “Indeed, gentlemen, this is not Guidotto’s work: I saw it when only half finished, and it was a most charming performance. Look at the outline, and judge what it must have been before it was so basely injured.”

The spectators were all struck with Lorenzo’s generous warmth, and sympathized in the disgrace of Guidotto; but it was impossible to adjudge the prize to his picture, in the state in which they beheld it. They examined all the others attentively, and that of Lorenzo, till then an unknown artist to them, gained a great majority of suffrages. The prize was therefore awarded to him; but Lorenzo, on receiving it, went up to Guidotto, and presenting it to him, said, “Take what merit would undoubtedly have acquired for you, had not the basest malice and envy defrauded you of it. To me it is honour enough to be accounted your second. If hereafter I may aspire to equal you, it shall be by means of fair competition, not by the aid of treachery.”

Lorenzo’s nobleness of conduct excited the warmest encomiums among the judges, who at length determined, that for this time there should be two equal prizes distributed; for that if Guidotto had deserved the prize of painting, Lorenzo was entitled to that of virtue.

PROVIDENCE; OR, THE SHIPWRECK.

It was a dreadful storm. The wind blowing full on the seashore, rolled tremendous waves on the beach, while the half-sunk rocks at the entrance of the bay were enveloped in a mist of white foam. A ship appeared in the offing, driving impetuously under her bare poles to land; now tilting aloft on the surging waves, now plunging into the intervening hollows. Presently, she rushed among the rocks, and there struck, the billows beating over her deck, and climbing up her shattered rigging. “Mercy! mercy!” exclaimed an ancient solitary, as he viewed from the cliff the dismal scene. It was in vain. The ship fell on her side and was seen no more.

Soon, however, a small, dark object appeared coming from the rocks toward the shore; at first, dimly descried through the foam, then quite plain as it rode on the summit of a wave, then for a time totally lost. It approached, and showed itself to be a boat with men in it rowing for their lives. The solitary hastened down to the beach, and in all the agonizing vicissitudes of hope and fear watched its advance. At length, after the most imminent hazards, the boat was thrown violently on the shore, and the dripping, half-dead mariners crawled out on dry land.

“Heaven be praised!” cried the solitary, “what a providential escape!” And he led the poor men to his cell, where, kindling a good fire, and bringing out his little store of provisions, he restored them to health and spirits. “And are you six men the only ones saved?”—“That we are,” answered one of them. “Threescore and fifteen men, women, and children, were in the ship when she struck. You may think what a clamour and confusion there were: women clinging to their husbands’ necks, and children hanging about their clothes, all shrieking, crying, and praying! There was no time to be lost. We got out the small-boat in a twinkling—jumped in, without staying for our captain, who was fool enough to be minding the passengers—cut the rope, and pushed away just time enough to be clear of the ship as she went down; and here we are, all alive and merry!” An oath concluded his speech. The solitary was shocked, and could not help secretly wishing that it had pleased Providence to have saved some of the innocent passengers, rather than these reprobates.

The sailors having got what they could, departed, scarcely thanking their benefactor, and marched up the country. Night came on. They descried a light at some distance, and made up to it. It proceeded from the window of a good-looking house, surrounded with a farmyard and garden. They knocked at the door, and in a supplicating tone made known their distress, and begged relief. They were admitted, and treated with compassion and hospitality. In the house were the mistress, her children, and women-servants, an old man and a boy: the master was abroad. The sailors, sitting round the kitchen fire, whispered to each other that here was an opportunity of making a booty that would amply compensate for the loss of clothes and wages. They settled their plan; and on the old man’s coming with logs to the fire, one of them broke his scull with the poker, and laid him dead. Another took up a knife which had been brought with the loaf and cheese, and running after the boy, who was making his escape out of the house, stabbed him to the heart. The rest locked the doors, and after tying all the women and children, began to ransack the house. One of the children continuing to make loud exclamations, a fellow went and strangled it. They had nearly finished packing up such of the most valuable things as they could carry off, when the master of the house came home. He was a smuggler as well as a farmer, and had just returned from an expedition, leaving his companions with their goods at a neighbouring public-house. Surprised at finding the doors locked, and seeing lights moving about in the chambers, he suspected something amiss; and upon listening, he heard strange voices, and saw some of the sailors through the windows. He hastened back to his companions, and brought them with him just as the robbers opened the door, and were coming out with their pillage, having first set fire to the house, in order to conceal what they had done. The smuggler and his friends let fly their blunderbusses in the midst of them, and then rushing forward, seized the survivors, and secured them. Perceiving flames in the house, they ran and extinguished them. The villains were next day led to prison amid the curses of the neighbourhood.

The good solitary, on hearing of the event, at first exclaimed, “What a wonderful interference of Providence, to punish guilt, and protect innocence!” Pausing awhile, he added, “Yet had Providence thought fit to have drowned these sailors in their passage from the ship, where they left so many better people to perish, the lives of three innocent persons would have been saved, and these wretches would have died without such accumulated guilt and ignominy. On the other hand, had the master of the house been at home, instead of following a lawless and desperate trade, he would perhaps have perished with all his family, and the villains have escaped with their booty. What am I to think of all this?” Thus pensive and perplexed he laid him down to rest, and after some time spent in gloomy reflections, fell asleep.

In his dream he fancied himself seated on the top of a high mountain, where he was accosted by a venerable figure in a long white garment, who asked him the cause of the melancholy expressed on his countenance. “It is,” said he, “because I am unable to reconcile the decrees of Providence with my ideas of wisdom and justice.”—“That,” replied the stranger, “is probably because thy notions of Providence are narrow and erroneous. Thou seekest it in _particular events_, and dost not raise thy survey to the _great whole_. Every occurrence in the universe is _providential_, because it is the consequence of those laws which divine wisdom has established as most productive of the general good. But to select individual facts as more directed by the hand of Providence than others, because we think we see a particular good purpose answered by them, is an infallible inlet to error and superstition. Follow me to the edge of the cliff.” He seemed to follow.

“Now look down,” said the stranger, “and tell me what thou seest.” “I see,” replied the solitary, “a hawk darting amid a flock of small birds, one of which he has caught, while the others escape.”—“And canst thou think,” rejoined the stranger, “that the single bird made a prey of by the hawk lies under any particular doom of Providence, or that those who fly away are more the objects of divine favour than it? Hawks by nature were made to feed upon living prey, and were endowed with strength and swiftness to enable them to overtake and master it. Thus life is sacrificed to the support of life. But to this destruction limits are set. The small birds are much more numerous and prolific than the birds of prey; and though they cannot resist his force, they have dexterity and nimbleness of flight sufficient in general to elude his pursuit. It is in this _balance_ that the wisdom of Providence is seen; and what can be a greater proof of it, than that both species, the destroyer and his prey, have subsisted together from their first creation? Now, look again, and tell me what thou seest.”

“I see,” said the solitary, “a thick black cloud gathering in the sky. I hear the thunder rolling from side to side of the vault of heaven. I behold the red lightning darting from the bosom of darkness. Now it has fallen on a stately tree and shattered it to pieces, striking to the ground an ox sheltered at its foot. Now it falls again in the midst of a flock of timorous sheep, and several of them are left on the plain;—and see! the shepherd himself lies extended by their side. Now it strikes a lofty spire, and at the same time sets in a blaze an humble cottage beneath. It is an awful and terrible sight!”

“It is so,” returned the stranger, “but what dost thou conclude from it? Dost thou not know, that from the genial heat which gives life to plants and animals, and ripens the fruits of the earth, proceeds this electrical fire, which ascending to the clouds, and charging them beyond what they are able to contain, is launched again in burning bolts to the earth? Must it leave its direct course to strike the tree rather than the dome of worship, or to spend its fury on the herd rather than the herdsman! Millions and millions of living creatures have owed their birth to this active element; and shall we think it strange if a few meet their deaths from it? Thus the mountain torrent that rushes down to fertilize the plain, in its course may sweep away the works of human industry, and man himself with them; but could its benefits be purchased at another price?”

“All this,” said the solitary, “I tolerably comprehend; but may I presume to ask whence have proceeded the _moral evils_ of the painful scenes of yesterday? What good end is answered by making man the scourge of man, and preserving the guilty at the cost of the innocent?”

“That, too,” replied the venerable stranger, “is a consequence of the same wise laws of Providence. If it was right to make man a creature of habit, and render those things easy to him with which he is most familiar, the sailor, of course, must be better able to shift for himself in a shipwreck than the passenger; while that self-love, which is essential to the preservation of life must, in general, cause him to consult his own safety before that of others. The same force of habit in a way of life full of peril and hardship, must conduce to form a rough, bold, and unfeeling character. This, under the direction of principle, will make a brave man; without it, a robber and a murderer. In the latter case, human laws step in to remove the evil which they have not been able to prevent. Wickedness meets with the fate which sooner or later always awaits it; and innocence, though it occasionally suffers, is proved in the end to be the surest path to happiness.”

“But,” resumed the solitary, “can it be said that the lot of innocence is _always_ preferable to that of guilt in this world?”

“If it cannot,” replied the other, “thinkest thou that the Almighty is unable to make retribution in a future world? Dismiss, then, from thy mind the care of _single events_, secure that the _great whole_ is ordered for the best. Expect not a particular interposition of Heaven, because such an interposition would seem to thee seasonable. Thou, perhaps, wouldest stop the vast machine of the universe to save a fly from being crushed under its wheels. But innumerable flies and men are crushed every day, yet the grand motion goes on, and will go on, to fulfil the benevolent intentions of its Author.”

He ceased, and sleep on a sudden left the eyelids of the solitary. He looked abroad from his cell, and beheld all nature smiling around him. The rising sun shone in a clear sky. Birds were sporting in the air, and fish glancing on the surface of the waters. Fleets were pursuing their steady course, gently wafted by the pleasant breeze. Light fleecy clouds were sailing over the blue expanse of heaven. His soul sympathized with the scene, and peace and joy filled his bosom.