Intent on their settled purpose of discovering misery
wherever it could be traced, and inventing it where it could not, they
have found, even in the pure pages of that book, which, they presume to
say, contains their title to peace on earth, and happiness hereafter, a
right to hate, plunder, and murder each other. Here they have been
compelled to exercise an extraordinary share of perverted ingenuity. The
book contains nothing but what is good, and evil must be the minds, and
hard the labour of those evil minds, to extort a tinge from it to colour
their pretensions withal. But mark, in pursuance of their great object,
(the aggravation of general misery), mark how subtilly they have
wrought. They call themselves by various names, to excite passions
suitable to the names they bear. Thus some forbid the perusal of that
book to their disciples, and others assert, that from the exclusive
study of its pages alone, can the hope of salvation be learned or
substantiated. It is singular, however, that with all their ingenuity,
they have never been able to extract a subject of difference from the
_essential_ contents of that book, to which they all appeal--so they
proceed after their manner. “They never dare to dispute that it contains irresistible
injunctions,----that those who believe in it should live in habits of
peace, benevolence, and harmony,--that they should love each other in
prosperity, and assist each other in adversity. They dare not deny that
the spirit that book inculcates and inspires, is a spirit whose fruits
are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, mildness, and truth. On these
points they never presumed to differ.--They are too plain to be denied,
so they contrive to make matter of difference out of the various habits
they wear; and they cut each other’s throats for the love of God, on the
important subject(16), whether their jackets should be red or white--or
whether their priests should be arrayed in silk ribbons(17), or white
linen(18), or black household garments(19)--or whether they should
immerse their children in water, or sprinkle them with a few drops of
it--or whether they should partake of the memorials of the death of him
they all profess to love, standing or on their knees--or---- But I weary
you with this display of human wickedness and absurdity. One point is
plain, they all agree that the language of the book is, “Love one
another,” while they all translate that language, “Hate one another.”
But as they can find neither materials or excuse from that book, they
search for them in their own minds,--and there they are never at a loss,
for human minds are inexhaustible in malignity and hostility; and when
they borrow the name of that book to sanction them, the deification of
their passions becomes a duty, and their worst impulses are hallowed and
practised as virtues.”--“Are there no parents or children in these
horrible worlds?” said Immalee, turning her tearful eyes on this
traducer of humanity; “none that love each other as I loved the tree
under which I was first conscious of existence, or the flowers that grew
with me?”--“Parents?--children?” said the stranger; “Oh yes! There are
fathers who instruct their sons----” And his voice was lost--he
struggled to recover it. (16) The Catholics and Protestants were thus distinguished in the wars
  of the League. (17) Catholics. (18) Protestants. (19) Dissenters. “After a long pause, he said, “There are some kind parents among those
sophisticated people.”--“And who are they?” said Immalee, whose heart
throbbed spontaneously at the mention of kindliness.--“Those,” said the
stranger, with a withering smile, “who murder their children at the hour
of their birth, or, by medical art, dismiss them before they have seen
the light; and, in so doing, they give the only credible evidence of
parental affection.”

“He ceased, and Immalee remained silent in melancholy meditation on what
she had heard. The acrid and searing irony of his language had made no
impression on one with whom “speech was truth,” and who could have no
idea why a circuitous mode of conveying meaning could be adopted, when
even a direct one was often attended with difficulty to herself. But she
could understand, that he had spoken much of evil and of suffering,
names unknown to her before she beheld him, and she turned on him a
glance that seemed at once to thank and reproach him for her painful
initiation into the mysteries of a new existence. She had, indeed,
tasted of the tree of knowledge, and her eyes were opened, but its fruit
was bitter to her taste, and her looks conveyed a kind of mild and
melancholy gratitude, that would have wrung the heart for giving its
first lesson of pain to the heart of a being so beautiful, so gentle,
and so innocent. The stranger marked this blended expression, and
exulted. “He had distorted life thus to her imagination, perhaps with the purpose
of terrifying her from a nearer view of it; perhaps in the wild hope of
keeping her for ever in this solitude, where he might sometimes see her,
and catch, from the atmosphere of purity that surrounded her, the only
breeze that floated over the burning desert of his own existence. This
hope was strengthened by the obvious impression his discourse had made
on her. The sparkling intelligence,--the breathless curiosity,--the
vivid gratitude of her former expression,--were all extinguished, and
her down cast and thoughtful eyes were full of tears. “Has my conversation wearied you, Immalee?” said he.--“It has grieved
me, yet I wish to listen still,” answered the Indian. “I love to hear
the murmur of the stream, though the crocodile may be beneath the
waves.”--“Perhaps you wish to encounter the people of this world, so
full of crime and misfortune.”--“I do, for it is the world you came
from, and when you return to it all will be happy but me.”--“And is it,
then, in my power to confer happiness?” said her companion; “is it for
this purpose I wander among mankind?” A mingled and indefinable
expression of derision, malevolence, and despair, overspread his
features, as he added, “You do me too much honour, in devising for me an
occupation so mild and so congenial to my spirit.”

“Immalee, whose eyes were averted, did not see this expression, and she
replied, “I know not, but you have taught me the joy of grief; before I
saw you I only smiled, but since I saw you, I weep, and my tears are
delicious. Oh! they are far different from those I shed for the setting
sun, or the faded rose! And yet I know not--” And the poor Indian,
oppressed by emotions she could neither understand or express, clasped
her hands on her bosom, as if to hide the secret of its new
palpitations, and, with the instinctive diffidence of her purity,
signified the change of her feelings, by retiring a few steps from her
companion, and casting on the earth eyes which could contain their tears
no longer.