- end_line
- 5784
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.203Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5719
- text
- I once heard it given as an instance of the frightful depravity of a
certain tribe in the Pacific that they had no word in their language
to express the idea of virtue. The assertion was unfounded; but were
it otherwise, it might be met by stating that their language is almost
entirely destitute of terms to express the delightful ideas conveyed by
our endless catalogue of civilized crimes.
In the altered frame of mind to which I have referred, every object that
presented itself to my notice in the valley struck me in a new light,
and the opportunities I now enjoyed of observing the manners of its
inmates, tended to strengthen my favourable impressions. One peculiarity
that fixed my admiration was the perpetual hilarity reigning through the
whole extent of the vale.
There seemed to be no cares, griefs, troubles, or vexations, in all
Typee. The hours tripped along as gaily as the laughing couples down a
country dance.
There were none of those thousand sources of irritation that the
ingenuity of civilized man has created to mar his own felicity. There
were no foreclosures of mortgages, no protested notes, no bills payable,
no debts of honour in Typee; no unreasonable tailors and shoemakers
perversely bent on being paid; no duns of any description and battery
attorneys, to foment discord, backing their clients up to a quarrel,
and then knocking their heads together; no poor relations, everlastingly
occupying the spare bed-chamber, and diminishing the elbow room at the
family table; no destitute widows with their children starving on the
cold charities of the world; no beggars; no debtors’ prisons; no proud
and hard-hearted nabobs in Typee; or to sum up all in one word--no
Money! ‘That root of all evil’ was not to be found in the valley.
In this secluded abode of happiness there were no cross old women, no
cruel step-dames, no withered spinsters, no lovesick maidens, no sour
old bachelors, no inattentive husbands, no melancholy young men, no
blubbering youngsters, and no squalling brats. All was mirth, fun and
high good humour. Blue devils, hypochondria, and doleful dumps, went and
hid themselves among the nooks and crannies of the rocks.
Here you would see a parcel of children frolicking together the
live-long day, and no quarrelling, no contention, among them. The same
number in our own land could not have played together for the space of
an hour without biting or scratching one another. There you might have
seen a throng of young females, not filled with envyings of each other’s
charms, nor displaying the ridiculous affectations of gentility, nor
yet moving in whalebone corsets, like so many automatons, but free,
inartificially happy, and unconstrained.
There were some spots in that sunny vale where they would frequently
resort to decorate themselves with garlands of flowers. To have seen
them reclining beneath the shadows of one of the beautiful groves;
the ground about them strewn with freshly gathered buds and blossoms,
employed in weaving chaplets and necklaces, one would have thought
that all the train of Flora had gathered together to keep a festival in
honour of their mistress.
With the young men there seemed almost always some matter of diversion
or business on hand that afforded a constant variety of enjoyment. But
whether fishing, or carving canoes, or polishing their ornaments, never
was there exhibited the least sign of strife or contention among them.
As for the warriors, they maintained a tranquil dignity of demeanour,
journeying occasionally from house to house, where they were always sure
to be received with the attention bestowed upon distinguished guests.
The old men, of whom there were many in the vale, seldom stirred from
their mats, where they would recline for hours and hours, smoking and
talking to one another with all the garrulity of age.
- title
- Chunk 3