It is a depressing conclusion, but in all essentials the savage and the child of civilization are identical.

I dare say that the highly civilized lady reading this will smile at an old fool of a hunter's simplicity when she thinks of her black bead-bedecked sister; and so will the superfine cultured idler scientifically eating a dinner at his club, the cost of which would keep a starving family for a week.

And yet, my dear young lady, what are those pretty things round your own neck?
-- they have a strong family resemblance, especially when you wear that _very_ low dress, to the savage woman's beads.

Your habit of turning round and round to the sound of horns and tom-toms, your fondness for pigments and powders, the way in which you love to subjugate yourself to the rich warrior who has captured you in marriage, and the quickness with which your taste in feathered head-dresses varies -- all these things suggest touches of kinship; and you remember that in the fundamental principles of your nature you are quite identical.

As for you, sir, who also laugh, let some man come and strike you in the face whilst you are enjoying that marvellous-looking dish, and we shall soon see how much of the savage there is in _you_.
There, I might go on for ever, but what is the good?
Civilization is only savagery silver-gilt.