out a
trunk. _Quod erat demonstrandum._

Then, in the next place, being out here, what sort of a people are we?
This is a very important query. In the eyes of many we are Western
semi-barbarians, without an overplus of manners, means, comforts,
knowledge, or many, if any, of the means of Eastern and refined
enjoyment. We have come hither to make our fortunes, or to care for
those who have, and we are the fit objects of spiritual and temporal
commiseration and missionary operations. That is the idea somewhat
candidly expressed, isn't it? Oh, no! you don't think so poorly of us as
that; but then we are a great ways off, in fact, in a new country, among
strangers for the most part, and of course we cannot expect to find
everything at hand which we enjoyed in our former comfortable homes.

Well, we are, many of us, from the 'far' East, and most of us from
eastward. But we have tried to bring whatever of refinement, manners,
knowledge, proprieties, and comforts we before possessed, such as they
were, with us, and we haven't lost many of them. We do not believe that
contact with the Indians has very much barbarized us. We still read and
write and live in houses which we have built, and conduct mercantile and
other transactions on former equitable principles; and our
communications and intercourse with each other may still be said to be
civilized, at least in great measure. We eat and drink what we formerly
did, not excepting occasional shad and frequent oysters; and you do not
seem to be averse to trying our deer and grouse once in a while--while
we even share with you our wheat, cattle, and pork. We don't wear
moccasons as yet, nor buckskin with Indian trimmings, instead of doeskin
with the latest cut. We try, for the sake of appearances, to wear cotton
and woollen and silk; and beads and trinkets are in no extraordinary
demand. Beavers and furs are seen upon our streets; and the sound of the
piano heard in the land, is not a very unusual disturbance. Our boys, as
of old, smoke cigars in secret, fearful of ancient birch, and gum drops
still adhere to the pockets of our girls in school. We don't see a very
remarkable difference between the children about us and those we knew at
a somewhat early age. Brick and stone rise with us into comfortable and
even aspiring buildings, and the price of board is not less than we have
paid before, nor so very much more. We neither travel nor live on half
fare. And men still drive the horse