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up in a sort of wicker cradle, some what like one of our chairs, the back of which has been cut at a small height above the seat. This cradle is covered outwardly with dry leather, and lined with furs in the place where the child is to rest. There it is that the little sufferer experiences a sort of continual torture, and all the evils that can be produced by filthiness and confinement. Placed in a sitting posture, with its legs extended, and stuck one against the other, it is covered to the chin by an otter-skin, and tied down, in order to fix it on its bed of pain, by leather straps, which leave it no liberty except for the motions of its head; and most frequently it moves that only to express its suffering. The care which is taken to cover with dry moss the seat on which it sits, and to place some between its thighs, also turns against it: its urine and excrements soon convert this moss into dung; and the fermentation which there takes place produces, in those delicate parts of the body, excoriations, the scars of which it preserves for life. When the unfortunate little creature is taken from its case, in order to be cleaned, an idea may be formed of what it must have suffered all its limbs appear furrowed, by the deep marks imprinted on them by the strong pressure of the straps which bind it, of the folds of the skin which envelops it, and even of the wood of the cradle in which it is carried.

"The effects of this state of continual restraint are manifested in all the children at the breast: their leanne's and weakness sufficiently indicate that, although their mothers are in general excellent nurses, the good quality of the milk which they suck is unable to give to their

fettered members the spring and the strength which motion and exercise can alone maintain and increase. But as soon as, released from the bonds of the fatal cradle, they can crawl on the ground and walk on all-fours, there takes place throughout every part of their body a sudden and rapid expansion: gaiety, that charming gaiety of childhood, soon succeeds to cries and tears; and health, which diffuses over their plump cheeks a brilliant carnation, announces that Nature has again laid hold of her work, in order to bring it to perfection.

"Let us not, however, judge too severely; let us not without inquiry condemn the method, baneful in its effects, which the mothers of Tchinkitânay employ in the rearing of their nurstings; it has its principle in maternal solicitude, and in the fear of exposing them to dangers. If among the people, not yet civilised, who inhabit the burning climates, instinct has suggested to mothers the idea of not swaddling their children, in order to suffer them to enjoy a little coolness, it has in like manner taught those of the frozen climates, that heat can be preserved only inasmuch as it is concentred in a small space; and has pointed out to them to make small cradles; which, by fulfilling this first object, also answers the precautions required by the obligation of carrying their children on journeys through the woods, and on excursions in their canoes. They have perceived that for convenience, and still more to prevent, in these frequent removals, accidents which cannot be foreseen, it was necessary that the child and its cradle should form as it were but one body. They have sacrificed its welfare to its safety and preservation.

preservation.

But have we not seen, at a time which is not very remote from ours, have we not seen in a great nation, civilised for so many centuries past, which cannot plead the same motive of safety, and do we not still see at this day, the rearing of children, abandoned to mercenary women, who cannot have the feelings of a mother; and who, to evade the obligation of being incessantly taken up with their nurslings, and to attend more freely to their family concerns, bind from head to foot these innocent beings, and condemn them to the punishment, of restraint during the whole time of their being suckled? Perhaps in ages to come the north-west part of America will have its Tronchin and its Rousseau. The former, supported by experience and physic, will advise; while the latter, more powerful through his eloquence alone, will direct to be restored to the child that liberty which it cannot itself claim but by unavailing cries and tears, that frequently injustice or barbarity dares impute to the perverseness of a being which is yet neither good nor wicked. The American physician and the philosopher will at least find nature in the enjoyment of part of her rights; they will not have to command mothers to suckle their children.

"But if the Tchinkitânayans have thought proper to restrict Nature in the attentions which they pay to infants, they preserve to her full liberty in the education of adults; and, by daily exercise, hasten the progress ani development of their physical faculties. Male children share the fatigues of the father. Trained from their youngest days to hunting and fishing, it is they who go and harpoon fish in the

river, and there seek, with basins, kettles, and the other vessels which they have obtained from the Europeans, all the water necessary for the consumption of the family. They also go and cut wood for fuel and cooking; and, since the Europeans have made them acquainted with the use and convenience of the flint and steel, they avail themselves of them for obtaining fire *; but it is probable that, before this period, they knew how to procure it by some of those methods practised by savage nations. Here are no little boys even, who, though scarcely yet able to walk, do not begin to exercise themselves with a piece of wood fashioned like a lance, and try the strength of their young arm against the trunk of the trees that are within their reach. The education of the girls allows them not to go far from the habita tion: sedentary like the mother, they share her peaceful labours and occupations; and, in sharing equally with her the attentions which young infants require, they are betimes instructed in the duties that will one day be imposed on them by conjugal union and maternity.

"Our voyagers were not able to learn on what principles the union of both sexes is formed; what ceromonies precede, accompany, and follow it; what contract binds the parties; and whether this bond be indissoluble: but their common. affection for the fruit of their loves, the great number of individuals of which each family is composed, the harmony which reigns among its members-every thing seems to indicate that conjugal union has no other period than that of life: and if we are not certain that its ties are indissoluble, at least we have reason to believe that, in general, they are respected."

*Observations. of Roblet."

STATE

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STATE of SOCIETY in ST. PETERSBURG.

[From STORCH'S PICTURES OF PETERSBURG.]

T is extremely interesting to people of the sudden alteration that has taken place in the style and manner of living among the middle ranks. But those days are past; the good golden times when the prime minister of the Russian empire dwelt in a small wooden house, which at present is tenanted by a merchant as his rural cot! when a placeman thought himself happy if his salary amounted to five-hundred rubles, and when this was quite sufficient for maintaining a family! when the richest banker drove to 'change in his one-horse cabriole, and our ladies paid their visits on foot! Nowhere, perhaps, has luxury kept so equal a pace with refinement of manners; never did a people so rapidly pass on from the utmost simplicity to the highest pitch of polished life.

"Enjoyment is the grand concern, the main object of all activity, the great spur to competition, the pivot on which our daily course of life turns round. One part of the public indeed must work, that they may enjoy; but likewise a very great proportion enjoy without working. Even the labouring Petersburgher would be startled if he could compare his day's work with the burden that in other countries bows the backs of the labouring part of the community.

The day begins with the polite world at different periods. It is still early, says the merchant, stretching himself on his downy couch at nine or ten o'clock in the forenoon; whereas the dangler at court, or the client, has been wait

ing ever since six in the guard-room

of his patron. The bustle in the streets, the business of the common people, is regulated in winter by the break of day; in summer the fine mornings, and the scarcely setting sun, draw many a lazy citizen from his bed at an early hour, and the smoke is rising from the chimnies; whereas in winter, at the same time, all are still buried in profound repose. When the breakfast and the affairs of the toilet

are over, the forenoon begins, the time usually devoted to business. All transactions of this nature must be done in the space between that and dinner. The tumult of the streets, and the stillness of the house, are never greater than during these hours. While the male part of the inhabitants are engaged in their affairs, and the wives of the citizens are looking after household concerns and preparing for the table, the higher classes of ladies are lolling in their carriages through the streets to the confectioners and milleners, or to make their morning visits. The fop, that heteroclite being, not excluded from either sex and belonging to none, promenades in the mean time throught the book-shops, and warehouses for all sorts of goods, to pick up new-fashioned toys, and sentiments for the company of the day. In summer the quays and the public gardens are the places of general resort for people of the higher stations.

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and then every aim and every interest is absorbed in the cosmo political sentiment of feasting and being feasted. Now the numerous tribe of dineurs en ville are all in motion, and the company-rooms fill a-pace. In most houses it is the custom to sit down to dinner at about two o'clock. Some merchants dine before 'change, but the generality after; that is, between three and four o'clock. The English, and such as would pass for English, take their principal meal about five; so shat a man might very commodiously dine at three several houses in one day.-The length of the meal is naturally regulated by the number of courses, the fertility of the conversation, and occasional usage: it seldom terminates, however, under three or four hours, as the conversation is continued for some time over the coffee. The afternoon, or, which is here the same thing, the evening, is seldom, except on urgent occasions, devoted to business. Where the company stays, the cardtables are immediately set out, at which they are engaged till the late supper. It is customary, however, for the dinner-guests to depart presently after rising from table, and afterwards a fresh company comes in to tea and supper. During these hours at least nine-tenths of all the people above the lowest vulgar are employed at cards. About midnight, or, in families where greater regularity prevails, at ten o'clock, supper is served up, consisting of such a profusion of dishes as would sufficiently compensate for having gone without a dinner. The instant that supper is over is the signal for the company to break up. About this time the carriages are heard rolling through the streets, disturbing the profound silence in which,

1801...

particularly in the dark evenings of winter, the town had been for some hours buried.

"Such is the diurnal round of life with those who reckon themselves of the more polished and superior stations. are daily open to visits: in others, Many houses certain days of the week are allotted to company. In these a select circle of friends and acquaintance meet together, where every guest is welcomed that is introduced by one of the former. The person who had company at home yesterday goes to company abroad to-day; one continued vortex of dissipation attracts every one into its eddy that can and is inclined to submit to it: life passes on in a perpetual intoxication, from which if a person wakes for a moment it is only to seize the enchanted cup afresh; and none but he who is contented to pass for an oddity, or the man of severe morals, keeps without the magic circle, and views the general giddiness with pity or surprise.

"Much having been already said in this book concerning the hospitality that here prevails, it will be proper now to add somewhat of the manner in which it is practised, and the source whence it originates. It may be boldly affirmed, that this noble virtue of the days of yore is not carried to such an unlimited extent in any capital of Europe as here; an assertion to which the concurrent voices of all travellers who have staid here a longer or a shorter time bear grateful testimony. The origin of this beneficent custom is doubtless national: but the Petersburgers have emancipated themselves from so many of their native customs and usages, that we may reasonably admit some stronger motive than a reverence for anti

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quity for their having retained so expensive a national virtue. This motive is no other than a disposition to society, which prevails in every Petersburger almost without exception; a characteristic which likewise redounds very much to their honour, it being frequently the source of humane sentiments and generous actions. It would, however, be requiring too much, that this motive should subsist in all its purity in the great multitude as well as in the politer and more refined part of the community. Emptiness of head and heart, unacquaintance with silent mental recreations, thirst of amusement, the pleasure of seeing and being seen, the desire of forming connexions, the propensity to play, and a hundred other views of various kinds, here, as in other places, impel mankind together, because in all places human nature is the same. Strong and cogent however as the call to sociability may be, without the means of corresponding with it, the internal impulse and the outward conduct would operate in vain to its advantage. An affluence generally diffused, at least among most of the classes, facilitates to the Petersburgers the ultimate aim of their existence and exertions, social enjoyment. Without this fortunate circumstance, the virtue of sociability would be like an inanimate beauty, whose charms might excite admiration without inspiring sensibility and participation. Favoured as we are, she is elevated to a deity, on whose altar every one sacrifices, and who in return, with a liberal hand, imparts enjoyment to every mortal. The rich and poor have equal shares; the former give, the latter receive, and all enjoy.

"Sociability is here of a quite

different character from that of the other countries of Europe with the manners and usages whereof we are acquainted. It insinuates itself not merely among friends and inti mate acquaintances, as in England, where there is properly no general sociability at all, though friendship seems to be far more common. It is not merely confined to conversation, as in Germany, where it is the cus tom to part about dinner-time, with satiated minds and hungry stomachs, or where a whole company meets for taking a cup of coffee. Our sociability consists in the social enjoyment of all the comforts of life. A man reserves nothing but his business and his cares to himself and his confidants: all the rest is common property, which seems to belong less to the principal than to his companions. Not only some of those vacant hours which a man would otherwise pass between sleeping and waking; not some few particular holidays, on which avarice decorates herself with the mantle of decent profusion; not the remains of selfish epicurism, are here the offerings made to social enjoyment: no; every moment of exemption from business and care, every festive day, and every dainty morsel, are devoted to liberal participation.

"The particular time when the affluent Petersburger wishes most to be visited is exactly that which in Germany, for instance, is most sedulously avoided: dinner-time and supper-time. Every man here is then easy in mind and open of heart, freed from all business, and disposed to conversation. Whoever has been once introduced to a family has ever after free access, if he be found agreeable. This is usually determined at the first visit; for, if at taking leave no further invitation

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