Such, in other places and times, have been objects of praise. Such is the Glory achieved. Men have extolled what, according to their knowledge or ignorance, they could best appreciate. Nor does this rule fail in our day. The ends of pursuit vary in different parts of the globe and among different persons; and Fame is still awarded to conduct which reason condemns as barbarous. The North American savage commemorates the chief who hangs at the door of his wigwam a heavy string of scalps, the spoils of war. The New-Zealander honors the champion who slays and then eats his enemy. The cannibal of the Feejee Islands, only recently explored by an expedition from our shores, is praised for his adroitness in lying,--for the dozen men he has killed with his own hand,--for triumphant capture, in battle, of a piece of tapa-cloth attached to a staff, not unlike one of our flags; and when dead, his club is placed in his hand, and extended across the breast, to indicate in the next world that the deceased was a chief and a warrior.[194] This is barbarous Glory! But among nations professing Christianity, in our day, there is a powerful public opinion exulting in conduct from which we turn with disgust, as we discern it among the savages of our forest, or the cannibals of the Pacific. The triumphs of animal strength and of brutal violence are hailed as famous. With perverse insensibility to the relative value of human acts, the chances and incidents of war are exalted above the pursuits of peace. Victors from fields moistened with a brother's blood are greeted with grateful salutations, justly due to those only who have triumphantly fulfilled the grand commandments on which hang all the law and the prophets. [194] Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition, Vol. III. pp. 76, 80, 98.