SECTION I.

SOCIETY IN AMERICA

BY

HARRIET MARTINEAU,

AUTHOR OF "ILLUSTRATIONS OF POLITICAL ECONOMY."

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I. (of II)

NEW YORK

SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, ANN STREET,

AND CONDUIT STREET, LONDON.

1837.

INTRODUCTION.

"To seize a character, even that of one man, in its life and secret

mechanism, requires a philosopher; to delineate it with truth and

impressiveness is work for a poet. How then shall one or two sleek

clerical tutors, with here and there a tedium-stricken esquire, or

speculative half-pay captain, give us views on such a subject? How shall

a man, to whom all characters of individual men are like sealed books,

of which he sees only the title and the covers, decipher from his

four-wheeled vehicle, and depict to us, the character of a nation? He

courageously depicts his own optical delusions; notes this to be

incomprehensible, that other to be insignificant; much to be good, much

to be bad, and most of all indifferent; and so, with a few flowing

strokes, completes a picture, which, though it may not resemble any

possible object, his countrymen are to take for a national portrait. Nor

is the fraud so readily detected: for the character of a people has

such a complexity of aspect, that even the honest observer knows not

always, not perhaps after long inspection, what to determine regarding

it. From his, only accidental, point of view, the figure stands before

him like the tracings on veined marble,--a mass of mere random lines,

and tints, and entangled strokes, out of which a lively fancy may shape

almost _any_ image. But the image he brings with him is always the

readiest; this is tried; it answers as well as another; and a second

voucher now testifies its correctness. Thus each, in confident tones,

though it be with a secret misgiving, repeats his precursor; the

hundred-times-repeated comes in the end to be believed; the foreign

nation is now once for all understood, decided on, and registered

accordingly; and dunce the thousandth writes of it like dunce the

first."--_Edinburgh Review, No._ xlvi. p. 309.

This passage cannot but strike upon the heart of any traveller who

meditates giving to the world an account of the foreign country he has

visited. It is the mirror held up before his face; and he inevitably

feels himself, for the moment, "dunce the thousandth." For my own part,

I felt the truth contained in this picture so strongly, before I was

acquainted with the passage itself, that I had again and again put away

the idea of saying one word in print on the condition of society in the

United States. Whenever I encountered half-a-dozen irreconcilable, but

respectable opinions on a single point of political doctrine; whenever

half-a-dozen fair-seeming versions of a single fact were offered to me;

whenever the glow of pleasure at obtaining, by some trivial accident, a

piece of important knowledge passed into a throb of pain at the thought

of how much must remain concealed where a casual glimpse disclosed so

much; whenever I felt how I, with my pittance of knowledge and amidst my

glimmerings of conviction, was at the mercy of unmanageable

circumstances, wafted now here and now there, by the currents of

opinion, like one surveying a continent from a balloon, with only

starlight above him,--I was tempted to decline the task of generalising

at all from what I saw and heard. In the intervals, however, I felt that

this would be wrong. Men will never arrive at a knowledge of each other,

if those who have the opportunity of foreign observation refuse to

relate what they think they have learned; or even to lay before others

the materials from which they themselves hesitate to construct a theory,

or draw large conclusions.

In seeking for methods by which I might communicate what I have observed

in my travels, without offering any pretension to teach the English, or

judge the Americans, two expedients occurred to me; both of which I have

adopted. One is, to compare the existing state of society in America

with the principles on which it is professedly founded; thus testing

Institutions, Morals, and Manners by an indisputable, instead of an

arbitrary standard, and securing to myself the same point of view with

my readers of both nations.

In working according to this method, my principal dangers are two. I am

in danger of not fully apprehending the principles on which society in

the United States is founded; and of erring in the application to these

of the facts which came under my notice. In the last respect, I am

utterly hopeless of my own accuracy. It is in the highest degree

improbable that my scanty gleanings in the wide field of American

society should present a precisely fair sample of the whole. I can only

explain that I have spared no pains to discover the truth, in both

divisions of my task; and invite correction, in all errors of fact. This

I earnestly do; holding myself, of course, an equal judge with others on

matters of opinion.

My readers, on their part, will bear in mind that, in showing

discrepancies between an actual condition and a pure and noble theory

of society, I am not finding fault with the Americans, as for falling

behind the English, or the French, or any other nation. I decline the

office of censor altogether. I dare not undertake it. Nor will my

readers, I trust, regard the subject otherwise than as a compound of

philosophy and fact. If we can all, for once, allay our personal

feelings, dismiss our too great regard to mutual opinion, and put praise

and blame as nearly as possible out of the question, more that is

advantageous to us may perhaps be learned than by any invidious

comparisons and proud judgments that were ever instituted and

pronounced.

The other method by which I propose to lessen my own responsibility, is

to enable my readers to judge for themselves, better than I can for

them, what my testimony is worth. For this purpose, I offer a brief

account of my travels, with dates in full; and a report of the principal

means I enjoyed of obtaining a knowledge of the country.

At the close of a long work which I completed in 1834, it was thought

desirable that I should travel for two years. I determined to go to the

United States, chiefly because I felt a strong curiosity to witness the

actual working of republican institutions; and partly because the

circumstance of the language being the same as my own is very important

to one who, like myself, is too deaf to enjoy anything like an average

opportunity of obtaining correct knowledge, where intercourse is carried

on in a foreign language. I went with a mind, I believe, as nearly as

possible unprejudiced about America, with a strong disposition to admire

democratic institutions, but an entire ignorance how far the people of

the United States lived up to, or fell below, their own theory. I had

read whatever I could lay hold of that had been written about them; but

was unable to satisfy myself that, after all, I understood anything

whatever of their condition. As to knowledge of them, my mind was nearly

a blank: as to opinion of their state, I did not carry the germ of one.

I landed at New York on the 19th of September, 1834: paid a short visit

the next week to Paterson, in New Jersey, to see the cotton factories

there, and the falls of the Passaic; and passed through New York again

on my way to stay with some friends on the banks of the Hudson, and at

Stockbridge, Massachusetts. On the 6th of October, I joined some

companions at Albany, with whom I travelled through the State of New

York, seeing Trenton Falls, Auburn, and Buffalo, to the Falls of

Niagara. Here I remained nearly a week; then, after spending a few days

at Buffalo, I embarked on Lake Erie, landing in the back of

Pennsylvania, and travelling down through Meadville to Pittsburgh,

spending a few days at each place. Then, over the Alleghanies to

Northumberland, on the fork of the Susquehanna, the abode of Priestley

after his exile, and his burial place. I arrived at Northumberland on

the 11th of October, and left it, after visiting some villages in the

neighbourhood, on the 17th, for Philadelphia, where I remained nearly

six weeks, having very extensive intercourses with its various society.

My stay at Baltimore was three weeks, and at Washington five. Congress

was at that time in session, and I enjoyed peculiar opportunities of

witnessing the proceedings of the Supreme Court and both houses of

Congress. I was acquainted with almost every eminent senator and

representative, both on the administration and opposition sides; and was

on friendly and intimate terms with some of the judges of the Supreme

Court. I enjoyed the hospitality of the President, and of several of the

heads of departments: and was, like everybody else, in society from

morning till night of every day; as the custom is at Washington. One

day was devoted to a visit to Mount Vernon, the abode and burial-place

of Washington.

On the 18th of February I arrived at Montpelier, the seat of Mr. and

Mrs. Madison, with whom I spent two days, which were wholly occupied

with rapid conversation; Mr. Madison's share of which, various and

beautiful to a remarkable degree, will never be forgotten by me. His

clear reports of the principles and history of the Constitution of the

United States, his insight into the condition, his speculations on the

prospects of nations, his wise playfulness, his placid contemplation of

present affairs, his abundant household anecdotes of Washington,

Franklin, and Jefferson, were incalculably valuable and exceedingly

delightful to me.

The intercourse which I had with Chief Justice Marshall was of the same

character, though not nearly so copious. Nothing in either delighted me

more than their hearty admiration of each other, notwithstanding some

wide differences in their political views. They are both gone; and I now

deeply feel what a privilege it is to have known them.

From Mr. Madison's I proceeded to Charlottesville, and passed two days

amidst the hospitalities of the Professors of Jefferson's University,

and their families. I was astonished to learn that this institution had

never before been visited by a British traveller. I can only be sorry

for British travellers who have missed the pleasure. A few days more

were given to Richmond, where the Virginia legislature was in session;

and then ensued a long wintry journey though North and South Carolina to

Charleston, occupying from the 2nd to the 11th of March. The

hospitalities of Charleston are renowned; and I enjoyed them in their

perfection for a fortnight; and then a renewal of the same kind of

pleasures at Columbia, South Carolina, for ten days. I traversed the

southern States, staying three days at Augusta, Georgia, and nearly a

fortnight in and near Montgomery, Alabama; descending next the Alabama

river to Mobile. After a short stay there, and a residence of ten days

at New Orleans, I went up the Mississippi and Ohio to the mouth of the

Cumberland river, which I ascended to Nashville, Tennessee. I visited

the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, and spent three weeks at Lexington. I

descended the Ohio to Cincinnati; and after staying there ten days,

ascended the river again, landing in Virginia, visiting the Hawk's Nest,

Sulphur Springs, Natural Bridge, and Weyer's Cave, arriving at New York

again on the 14th of July, 1835. The autumn was spent among the villages

and smaller towns of Massachusetts, in a visit to Dr. Channing in Rhode

Island, and in an excursion to the mountains of New Hampshire and

Vermont. The winter was passed in Boston, with the exception of a trip

to Plymouth, for "Forefather's Day." In the Spring I spent seven weeks

in New York; and a month in a farmhouse at Stockbridge, Massachusetts;

making an excursion, meanwhile, to Saratoga and Lake George. My last

journey was with a party of friends, far into the west, visiting Niagara

again, proceeding by Lake Erie to Detroit, and across the territory of

Michigan. We swept round the southern extremity of Lake Michigan to

Chicago: went a long day's journey down into the prairies, back to

Chicago, and by the Lakes Michigan, Huron, and St. Clair to Detroit,

visiting Mackinaw by the way. We landed from Lake Erie at Cleveland,

Ohio, on the 13th of July; and travelled through the interior of Ohio

till we joined the river at Beaver. We visited Rapp's Settlement at

Economy, on the Ohio, and returned to New York from Pittsburgh, by the

canal route through Pennsylvania, and the rail-road over the

Alleghanies. I sailed from New York for England on the 1st of August,

1836, having then been absent just two years.

In the course of this tour, I visited almost every kind of institution.

The prisons of Auburn, Philadelphia, and Nashville: the insane and other

hospitals of almost every considerable place: the literary and

scientific institutions; the factories of the north; the plantations of

the south; the farms of the west. I lived in houses which might be

called palaces, in log-houses, and in a farm-house. I travelled much in

wagons, as well as stages; also on horseback, and in some of the best

and worst of steam-boats. I saw weddings, and christenings; the

gatherings of the richer at watering places, and of the humbler at

country festivals. I was present at orations, at land sales, and in the

slave market. I was in frequent attendance on the Supreme Court and the

Senate; and witnessed some of the proceedings of state legislatures.

Above all, I was received into the bosom of many families, not as a

stranger, but as a daughter or a sister. I am qualified, if any one is,

to testify to the virtues and the peace of the homes of the United

States; and let it not be thought a breach of confidence, if I should be

found occasionally to have spoken of these out of the fulness of my

heart.

It would be nearly impossible to relate whom I knew, during my travels.

Nearly every eminent man in politics, science and literature, and

almost every distinguished woman, would grace my list. I have respected

and beloved friends of each political party; and of nearly every

religious denomination; among slave-holders, colonizationists, and

abolitionists; among farmers, lawyers, merchants, professors, and

clergy. I travelled among several tribes of Indians; and spent months in

the southern States, with negroes ever at my heels.

Such were my means of information. With regard to my power of making use

of them, I have but a few words to say.

It has been frequently mentioned to me that my being a woman was one

disadvantage; and my being previously heard of, another. In this I do

not agree.

I am sure, I have seen much more of domestic life than could possibly

have been exhibited to any gentleman travelling through the country. The

nursery, the boudoir, the kitchen, are all excellent schools in which to

learn the morals and manners of a people: and, as for public and

professional affairs,--those may always gain full information upon such

matters, who really feel an interest in them,--be they men or women. No

people in the world can be more frank, confiding and affectionate, or

more skilful and liberal in communicating information, than I have ever

found the Americans to be. I never asked in vain; and I seldom had to

ask at all; so carefully were my inquiries anticipated, and my aims so

completely understood. I doubt whether a single fact that I wished to

learn, or any doctrine that I desired to comprehend, was ever kept from

me because I was a woman.

As for the other objection, I can only state my belief, that my friends

and I found personal acquaintance so much pleasanter than any previous

knowledge by hearsay, that we always forgot that we had heard of each

other before. It would be preposterous to suppose that, received as I

was into intimate confidence, any false appearances could be kept up on

account of any preconceptions that could have been entertained of me.

I laboured under only one peculiar disadvantage, that I am aware of; but

that one is incalculable. I mean my deafness. This does not endanger the

accuracy of my information, I believe, as far as it goes; because I

carry a trumpet of remarkable fidelity; an instrument, moreover, which

seems to exert some winning power, by which I gain more in

_tête-à-têtes_ than is given to people who hear general conversation.

Probably its charm consists in the new feeling which it imparts of ease

and privacy in conversing with a deaf person. However this may be, I can

hardly imagine fuller revelations to be made in household intercourse

than my trumpet brought to me. But I am aware that there is no

estimating the loss, in a foreign country, from not hearing the casual

conversation of all kinds of people, in the streets, stages, hotels, &c.

I am aware that the lights which are thus gathered up by the traveller

for himself are often far more valuable than the most elaborate accounts

of things offered to him with an express design. This was my peculiar

disadvantage. It could not be helped; and it cannot be explained away. I

mention it, that the value of my testimony may be lowered according to

the supposed worth of this circumstance.

Much is often said about the delicacy to be observed, in the act of

revealing the history of one's travels, towards the hosts and other

friends of the traveller who have reposed confidence in him. The rule

seems to me a very plain one, which reconciles truth, honour and

utility. My rule is to speak of the public acts of public persons,

precisely as if I had known them only in their public character. This

may be sometimes difficult, and sometimes painful, to the writer; but it

leaves no just cause of complaint to any one else. Moreover, I hold it

allowable and necessary to make use of opinions and facts offered in

fire-side confidence, as long as no clue is offered by which they may be

traced back to any particular fire-side. If any of my American friends

should find in this book traces of old conversations and incidents, let

them keep their own counsel, and be assured that the conversation and

facts remain private between them and me. Thus far, all is safe; and

further than this, no honourable person would wish to go.

This is not the place in which to speak of my obligations or of my

friendships. Those who know best what I have in my heart to say meet me

here under a new relation. In these pages, we meet as writer and

readers. I would only entreat them to bear this distinction in mind, and

not to measure my attachment to themselves by anything this book may

contain about their country and their nation. The bond which unites us

bears no relation to clime, birth-place, or institutions. In as far as

our friendship is faithful, we are fellow-citizens of another and a

better country than theirs or mine.

CONTENTS.

VOL. I.

_Page_

INTRODUCTION i

PART I.

POLITICS 1

CHAPTER I.

PARTIES 8

CHAPTER II.

APPARATUS OF GOVERNMENT 32

SECTION I.--The General Government 35

II.--The Executive 52

III.--The State Governments 64

CHAPTER III.

MORALS OF POLITICS 82

SECTION I.--Office 84

II.--Newspapers 109

III.--Apathy in Citizenship 115

IV.--Allegiance to Law 120

V.--Sectional Prejudice 135

VI.--Citizenship of People of Colour 144

VII.--Political Non-Existence of Women 148

PART II.

ECONOMY 155

Solitaires 162

Springs of Virginia 175

New England Farm-house 193

West Country Life 201

Township of Gloucester 205

South Country Life 212

Picture of Michigan 232

The Northern Lakes 270

CHAPTER I.

AGRICULTURE 291

SECTION I.--Disposal of Land 318

II.--Rural Labour 338

SOCIETY IN AMERICA

PART I.

POLITICS.

" ... Those unalterable relations which Providence has ordained

that everything should bear to every other. These relations, which

are truth itself, the foundation of virtue, and consequently, the

only measures of happiness, should be likewise the only measures by

which we should direct our reasoning. To these we should conform in

good earnest, and not think to force nature, and the whole order of

her system, by a compliance with our pride and folly, to conform to

our artificial regulations. It is by a conformity to this method we

owe the discovery of the few truths we know, and the little liberty

and rational happiness we enjoy." _Burke._

Mr. Madison remarked to me, that the United States had been "useful in

proving things before held impossible." Of such proofs, he adduced

several. Others, which he did not mention, have since occurred to me;

and, among them, the pursuit of the _à priori_ method in forming a

constitution:--the _à priori_ method, as it is styled by its enemies,

though its advocates, with more reason, call it the inductive method.

Till the formation of the government of the United States, it had been

generally supposed, and it is so still by the majority of the old world,

that a sound theory of government can be constructed only out of the

experience of man in governments; the experience mankind has had of

despotisms, oligarchies, and the mixtures of these with small portions

of democracy. But the essential condition of the fidelity of the

inductive method is, that all the elements of experience should be

included. If, in this particular problem, of the true theory of

government, we take all experience of government, and leave out all

experience of man, except in his hitherto governing or governed state,

we shall never reach a philosophical conclusion. The true application of

the inductive method here is to test a theory of government deduced from

the principles of human nature, by the results of all governments of

which mankind has had experience. No narrower basis will serve for such

an induction. Such a method of finding a good theory of government was

considered impossible, till the United States "proved" it.

This proof can never be invalidated by anything that can now happen in

the United States. It is common to say "Wait; these are early days. The

experiment will fail yet." The experiment of the particular constitution

of the United States may fail; but the great principle which, whether

successfully or not, it strives to embody,--the capacity of mankind for

self-government,--is established for ever. It has, as Mr. Madison said,

proved a thing previously held impossible. If a revolution were to take

place to-morrow in the United States, it remains an historical fact

that, for half a century, a people has been self-governed; and, till it

can be proved that the self-government is the cause of the instability,

no revolution, or series of revolutions, can tarnish the lustre, any

more than they can impair the soundness of the principle that mankind

are capable of self-government. The United States have indeed been

useful in proving these two things, before held impossible; the finding

a true theory of government, by reasoning from the principles of human

nature, as well as from the experience of governments; and the capacity

of mankind for self-government.

It seems strange that while politics are unquestionably a branch of

moral science, bearing no other relation than to the duty and happiness

of man, the great principles of his nature should have been neglected by

politicians--with the exception of his love of power and desire of

gain,--till a set of men assembled in the State House at Philadelphia,

in the eighteenth century, and there throned a legitimate political

philosophy in the place of a deposed king. The _rationale_ of all

preceding governments had been, "men love power, therefore there must be

punishments for rulers who, having already much, would seize more. Men

desire gain; therefore there must be punishments for those, rulers or

ruled, who would appropriate the gains of others." The _rationale_ of

the new and "impossible" government is "that all men are created equal;

that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable lights;

that among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to

secure those rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving

their just powers from the consent of the governed."[1] This last

recognizes, over and above what the former admits, the great principles

of indefeasible rights; human equality in relation to these; and the

obligation of universal justice.

These, then, are the principles which the statesmen in the State House

at Philadelphia announced as the soul of their embryo institutions; and

the rule through which they were to work was no less than that golden

one which seems to have been, by some unhappy chance, omitted in the

bibles of other statesmen--"Do unto others as ye would that they should

do unto you." Perhaps it may be reserved for their country to prove yet

one more impossible thing--that men can live by the rule which their

Maker has given them to live by. Meanwhile, every true citizen of that

country must necessarily be content to have his self-government tried by

the test of these principles, to which, by his citizenship, he has

become a subscriber. He will scorn all comparisons, instituted as a test

of merit, between his own government and those of other countries, which

he must necessarily consider as of narrower scope and lower aim. Whether

such comparisons be instituted abroad in a spirit of contempt, or at

home in a spirit of complacency, he will regard them equally as

irrelevant, and proving nothing to the best purposes of true citizens.

He will disdain every test but that furnished by the great principles

propounded in the State House at Philadelphia; and he will quarrel with

no results fairly brought out by such a test, whether they inspire him

with shame, or with complacency. In either case, he will be animated by

them.

If the politics of a country be really derived from fundamental

principles of human nature and morals, the economy, manners, and

religion of that country must be designed to harmonise with these

principles. The same test must be applicable to all. The inalienable

right of all the human race to life, liberty, and the pursuit of

happiness, must control the economical, as well as the political

arrangements of a people; and the law of universal justice must regulate

all social intercourse, and direct all administration of religion.

Politics are morals, all the world over; that is, politics universally

implicate the duty and happiness of man. Every branch of morals is, and

ought to be considered, a universal concern. Under despotic governments,

there is a pretension, more or less sincere, on the part of the rulers,

to moral regards; but from these the bulk of the people are, by common

consent, cut off. If the bulk of the people saw the truth, that the

principles of politics affect them,--are the message of their Maker as

principles are to them, as well as to their rulers, they would become

moral agents in regard to politics, and despotism would be at an end. As

it is, they pay their taxes, and go out to war when they are bid, are

thankful when they are left unmolested by their government, and sorry or

angry when they feel themselves oppressed; and there they end. It is

owing to their ignorance of politics being morals--_i. e._ matters of

equal concern to all--that this truth is not made manifest in action in

every country on the globe that has any government at all.

The same is the case of the unrepresented under governments which are

not called despotic. According to the principles professed by the United

States, there is there a rectification of this mighty error--a

correction of this grand oversight. In that self-governing nation, all

are held to have an equal interest in the principles of its

institutions, and to be bound in equal duty to watch their workings.

Politics there are universal duty. None are exempted from obligation but

the unrepresented; and they, in theory, are none. However various may be

the tribes of inhabitants in those States, whatever part of the world

may have been their birth-place, or that of their fathers, however

broken may be their language, however noble or servile their

employments, however exalted or despised their state, all are declared

to be bound together by equal political obligation, as firmly as under

any other law of personal or social duty. The president, the senator,

the governor, may take upon himself some additional responsibility, as

the physician and lawyer do in other departments of office; but they

are under precisely the same political obligation as the German settler,

whose axe echoes through the lonely forest; and the Southern planter,

who is occupied with his hospitalities; and the New England merchant,

whose thoughts are on the sea; and the Irishman, in his shanty on the

canal-bank; and the negro, hoeing cotton in the hot field, or basking

away his sabbath on the shore of the Mississippi. Genius, knowledge,

wealth, may in other affairs set a man above his fellows; but not in

this. Weakness, ignorance, poverty may exempt a man from other

obligations; but not from this. The theory of the government of the

United States has grasped and embodied the mighty principle, that

politics are morals;--that is, a matter of universal and equal concern.

We shall have to see whether this principle is fully acted out.

Implicated with this is the theory, that the majority will be in the

right, both as to the choice of principles which are to govern

particular cases, and the agents who are to work them. This theory,

obviously just as it appears, as long as it is applied to matters of

universal and equal concern, cannot be set aside without overthrowing

all with which it is involved. We shall have to see, also, whether this

principle is effectually carried out.

Implicated with this, again, is the principle that a mutable, or rather

elastic form, must be given to every institution. "The majority are in

the right." Such is the theory. Few individuals of this majority can act

for longer than two-score years and ten; few for so long. No one can

suppose that his successor will think or feel as he does, however strict

may be the regard of each to the fundamental principles which are to

regulate his citizenship. It is absolutely necessary, to secure

permanence to the recognition of those principles, that there should be

liberty to change the form which contains them. Else, in the endless

variety of human views and interests, there is danger lest men, being

prohibited from producing a correspondence between the principles they

recognise, and the forms they desire, should, because interdicted from

outward change, gradually alter the spirit of their government. In such

a case, men would be some time in discovering that the fair body of

their constitution has become possessed, while they had supposed her

inspired: and, to pass over the mischiefs which might happen during the

period of her possession, the work of exorcism would be difficult and

perilous.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Declaration of Independence.

CHAPTER I.

PARTIES.

"For these are the men that, when they have played their parts, and

had their exits, must step out, and give the moral of their scenes,

and deliver unto posterity an inventory of their virtues and

vices."

_Sir Thomas Browne._

The first gentleman who greeted me on my arrival in the United States, a

few minutes after I had landed, informed me without delay, that I had

arrived at an unhappy crisis; that the institutions of the country would

be in ruins before my return to England; that the levelling spirit was

desolating society; and that the United States were on the verge of a

military despotism. This was so very like what I had been accustomed to

hear at home, from time to time, since my childhood, that I was not

quite so much alarmed as I might have been without such prior

experience. It was amusing too to find America so veritably the daughter

of England.

I looked around me carefully, in all my travels, till I reached

Washington, but could see no signs of despotism; even less of military.

Except the officers and cadets at West Point, and some militia on a

training day at Saugerties, higher up on the Hudson, I saw nothing that

could be called military; and officers, cadets, and militia, appeared

all perfectly innocent of any design to seize upon the government. At

Washington, I ventured to ask an explanation from one of the most

honoured statesmen now living; who told me, with a smile, that the

country had been in "a crisis" for fifty years past; and would be for

fifty years to come.

This information was my comfort, from day to day, till I became

sufficiently acquainted with the country to need such support no longer.

Mournful predictions, like that I have quoted, were made so often, that

it was easy to learn how they originated.

In the United States, as elsewhere, there are, and have always been, two

parties in politics, whom it is difficult to distinguish on paper, by a

statement of their principles, but whose course of action may, in any

given case, be pretty confidently anticipated. It is remarkable how

nearly their positive statements of political doctrine agree, while they

differ in almost every possible application of their common principles.

Close and continued observation of their agreements and differences is

necessary before the British traveller can fully comprehend their mutual

relation. In England, the differences of parties are so broad,--between

those who would have the people governed for the convenience of their

rulers; those who would have the many governed, for their good, by the

will of the few; and those who would have the people govern

themselves;--that it is, for some time, difficult to comprehend how

there should be party differences as wide in a country where the first

principle of government is that the people are to govern themselves. The

case, however, becomes clear in time: and, amidst a half century of

"crises," the same order and sequence become discernible which run

through the whole course of human affairs.

As long as men continue as differently organized as they now are, there

will be two parties under every government. Even if their outward

fortunes could be absolutely equalised, there would be, from individual

constitution alone, an aristocracy and a democracy in every land. The

fearful by nature would compose an aristocracy, the hopeful by nature a

democracy, were all other causes of divergence done away. When to these

constitutional differences are added all those outward circumstances

which go to increase the fear and the hope, the mutual misunderstandings

of parties are no longer to be wondered at. Men who have gained wealth,

whose hope is fulfilled, and who fear loss by change, are naturally of

the aristocratic class. So are men of learning, who, unconsciously

identifying learning and wisdom, fear the elevation of the ignorant to a

station like their own. So are men of talent, who, having gained the

power which is the fit recompense of achievement, dread the having to

yield it to numbers instead of desert. So are many more who feel the

almost universal fear of having to part with educational prejudices,

with doctrines with which honoured teachers nourished the pride of

youth, and prepossessions inwoven with all that has been to them most

pure, lofty, and graceful. Out of these a large aristocratic class must

everywhere be formed.

Out of the hopeful,--the rising, not the risen,--the aspiring, not the

satisfied,--must a still larger class be everywhere formed. It will

include all who have most to gain and least to lose; and most of those

who, in the present state of education, have gained their knowledge from

actual life, rather than, or as well as, from books. It will include the

adventurers of society, and also the philanthropists. It will include,

moreover,--an accession small in number, but inestimable in power,--the

men of genius. It is characteristic of genius to be hopeful and

aspiring. It is characteristic of genius to break up the artificial

arrangements of conventionalism, and to view mankind in true

perspective, in their gradations of inherent rather than of adventitious

worth. Genius is therefore essentially democratic, and has always been

so, whatever titles its gifted ones may have worn, or on whatever

subjects they may have exercised their gifts. To whatever extent men of

genius have been aristocratic, they have been so in spite of their

genius, not in consistency with it. The instances are so few, and their

deviations from the democratic principle so small, that men of genius

must be considered as included in the democratic class.

Genius being rare, and its claims but tardily allowed by those who have

attained greatness by other means, it seems as if the weight of

influence possessed by the aristocratic party,--by that party which,

generally speaking, includes the wealth, learning, and talents of the

country,--must overpower all opposition. If this is found not to be the

case, if it be found that the democratic party has achieved everything

that has been achieved since the United States' constitution began to

work, it is no wonder that there is panic in many hearts, and that I

heard from so many tongues of the desolations of the "levelling spirit,"

and the approaching ruin of political institutions.

These classes may be distinguished in another way. The description which

Jefferson gave of the federal and republican parties of 1799 applies to

the federal and democratic parties of this day, and to the aristocratic

and democratic parties of every time and country. "One," says Jefferson,

"fears most the ignorance of the people; the other, the selfishness of

rulers independent of them."

There is much reason in both these fears. The unreasonableness of party

lies in entertaining the one fear, and not the other. No argument is

needed to prove that rulers are prone to selfishness and narrowness of

views: and no one can have witnessed the injuries that the poor suffer

in old countries,--the education of hardship and insult that furnishes

them with their only knowledge of the highest classes, without being

convinced that their ignorance is to be feared;--their ignorance, not so

much of books as of liberty and law. In old countries, the question

remains open whether the many should, on account of their ignorance, be

kept still in a state of political servitude, as some declare; or

whether they should be gradually prepared for political freedom, as

others think, by an amelioration of their condition, and by being

educated in schools; or whether, as yet others maintain, the exercise of

political rights and duties be not the only possible political

education. In the New World, no such question remains to be debated. It

has no large, degraded, injured, dangerous (white) class who can afford

the slightest pretence for a panic-cry about agrarianism. Throughout the

prodigious expanse of that country, I saw no poor _men_, except a few

intemperate ones. I saw some very poor _women_; but God and man know

that the time has not come for women to make their injuries even heard

of. I saw no beggars but two professional ones, who are making their

fortunes in the streets of Washington. I saw no table spread, in the

lowest order of houses, that had not meat and bread on it. Every factory

child carries its umbrella; and pig-drivers wear spectacles. With the

exception of the foreign paupers on the seaboard, and those who are

steeped in sensual vice, neither of which classes can be politically

dangerous, there are none who have not the same interest in the security

of property as the richest merchant of Salem, or planter of Louisiana.

Whether the less wealthy class will not be the first to draw out from

reason and experience the true philosophy of property, is another

question. All we have to do with now is their equal interest with their

richer neighbours in the security of property, in the present state of

society. Law and order are as important to the man who holds land for

the subsistence of his family, or who earns wages that he may have land

of his own to die upon, as to any member of the president's cabinet.

Nor is there much more to fear from the ignorance of the bulk of the

people in the United States, than from their poverty. It is too true

that there is much ignorance; so much as to be an ever-present peril.

Though, as a whole, the nation is, probably, better informed than any

other entire nation, it cannot be denied that their knowledge is far

inferior to what their safety and their virtue require. But _whose_

ignorance is it? And ignorance of _what_? If the professors of colleges

have book-knowledge, which the owner of a log-house has not; the owner

of a log-house has very often, as I can testify, a knowledge of natural

law, political rights, and economical fact, which the college-professor

has not. I often longed to confront some of each class, to see whether

there was any common ground on which they could meet. If not, the one

might bring the charge of ignorance as justly as the other. If a common

ground could be discovered, it would have been in their equal relation

to the government under which they live: in which case, the natural

conclusion would be, that each understood his own interests best, and

neither could assume superiority over the other. The particular

ignorance of the countryman may expose him to be flattered and cheated

by an oratorical office-seeker, or a dishonest newspaper. But, on the

other hand, the professor's want of knowledge of the actual affairs of

the many, and his educational biases, are just as likely to cause him to

vote contrary to the public interest. No one who has observed society in

America will question the existence or the evil of ignorance there: but

neither will he question that such real knowledge as they have is pretty

fairly shared among them.

I travelled by wagon, with a party of friends, in the interior of Ohio.

Our driver must be a man of great and various knowledge, if he questions

all strangers as he did us, and obtains as copious answers. He told us

where and how he lived, of his nine children, of his literary daughters,

and the pains he was at to get books for them; and of his hopes from his

girl of fourteen, who writes poetry, which he keeps a secret, lest she

should be spoiled. He told us that he seldom lets his fingers touch a

novel, because the consequence always is that his business stands still

till the novel is finished; "and that doesn't suit." He recited to us,

Pope's "Happy the man whose wish and care," &c. saying that it suited

his idea exactly. He asked both the ladies present whether they had

written a book. Both had; and he carried away the titles, that he might

buy the books for his daughters. This man is fully informed of the value

of the Union, as we had reason to perceive; and it is difficult to see

why he is not as fit as any other man to choose the representatives of

his interests. Yet, here is a specimen of his conversation with one of

the ladies of the party.

"Was the book that you wrote on natural philosophy, madam?"

"No; I know nothing about natural philosophy."

"Hum! Because one lady has done that pretty well:--hit it!--Miss Porter,

you know."

"What Miss Porter?"

"She that wrote 'Thaddeus of Warsaw,' you know. She did it pretty well

there."

As an antagonist case, take the wailings of a gentleman of very

distinguished station in a highly aristocratic section of

society;--wailings over the extent of the suffrage.

"What an enormity it is that such a man as Judge ----, there, should

stand on no higher level in politics than the man that grooms his

horse!"

"Why should he? I suppose they have both got all they want,--full

representation: and they thus bear precisely the same relation to the

government."

"No; the judge seldom votes, because of his office: while his groom can,

perhaps, carry nineteen men to vote as he pleases. It is monstrous!"

"It seems monstrous that the judge should omit his political duty for

the sake of his office; and also that nineteen men should be led by one.

But limiting the suffrage would not mend the matter. Would it not do

better to teach all the parties their duty?"

Let who will choose between the wagon-driver and the scholar. Each will

vote according to his own views; and the event,--the ultimate

majority,--will prove which is so far the wiser.

The vagueness of the antagonism between the two parties is for some time

perplexing to the traveller in America; and he does not know whether to

be most amazed or amused at the apparent triviality of the circumstances

which arouse the strongest party emotions. After a while, a body comes

out of the mystery, and he grasps a substantial cause of dissension.

From the day when the first constitution was formed, there have been

alarmists, who talk of a "crisis:" and from the day when the second

began its operations, the alarm has, very naturally, taken its subject

matter from the failure of the first. The first general government came

to a stand through weakness. The entire nation kept itself in order till

a new one was formed and set to work. As soon as the danger was over,

and the nation proved, by the last possible test, duly convinced of the

advantages of public order, the timid party took fright lest the general

government should still not be strong enough; and this tendency, of

course, set the hopeful party to watch lest it should be made too

strong. The panic and antagonism were at their height in 1799.[2] A

fearful collision of parties took place, which ended in the

establishment of the hopeful policy, which has continued, with few

interruptions, since. The executive patronage was retrenched, taxes were

taken off, the people were re-assured, and all is, as yet, safe. While

the leaders of the old federal party retired to their Essex junto, and

elsewhere, to sigh for monarchy, and yearn towards England, the greater

number threw off their fears, and joined the republican party. There are

now very few left to profess the politics of the old federalists. I met

with only two who openly avowed their desire for a monarchy; and not

many more who prophesied one. But there still is a federal party, and

there ever will be. It is as inevitable that there will be always some

who will fear the too great strength of the state governments, as that

there will be many who will have the same fear about the general

government. Instead of seeing in this any cause for dismay, or even

regret, the impartial observer will recognise in this mutual

watchfulness the best security that the case admits of for the general

and state governments preserving their due relation to one another. No

government ever yet worked both well and indisputably. A pure despotism

works (apparently) indisputably; but the bulk of its subjects will not

allow that it works well, while it wrings their heads from their

shoulders, or their earnings from their hands. The government of the

United States is disputed at every step of its workings: but the bulk of

the people declare that it works well, while every man is his own

security for his life and property.

The extreme panic of the old federal party is accounted for, and almost

justified, when we remember, not only that the commerce of England had

penetrated every part of the country, and that great pecuniary interests

were therefore everywhere supposed to be at stake; but that

republicanism, like that which now exists in America, was a thing

unheard of--an idea only half-developed in the minds of those who were

to live under it. Wisdom may spring, full-formed and accomplished, from

the head of a god, but not from the brains of men. The Americans of the

Revolution looked round upon the republics of the world, tested them by

the principles of human nature, found them republican in nothing but the

name, and produced something, more democratic than any of them; but not

democratic enough for the circumstances which were in the course of

arising. They saw that in Holland the people had nothing to do with the

erection of the supreme power; that in Poland (which was called a

republic in their day) the people were oppressed by an incubus of

monarchy and aristocracy, at once, in their most aggravated forms; and

that in Venice a small body of hereditary nobles exercised a stern sway.

They planned something far transcending in democracy any republic yet

heard of; and they are not to be wondered at, or blamed, if, when their

work was done, they feared they had gone too far. They had done much in

preparing the way for the second birth of their republic in 1789, and

for a third in 1801, when the republicans came into power; and from

which date, free government in the United States may be said to have

started on its course.

A remarkable sign of those times remains on record, which shows how

different the state of feeling and opinion was then from any that could

now prevail among a large and honourable body in the republic. The

society of the Cincinnati, an association of officers of the

revolutionary army, and other honourable persons, ordered their

proceedings in a manner totally inconsistent with the first principles

of republicanism; having secret correspondences, decking themselves with

an order, which was to be hereditary, drawing a line of distinction

between military and other citizens, and uniting in a secret bond the

chiefs of the first families of the respective States. Such an

association, formed on the model of some which might be more or less

necessary or convenient in the monarchies of the old world, could not be

allowed to exist in its feudal form in the young republic; and,

accordingly, the hereditary principle, and the power of adopting

honorary members, were relinquished; and the society is heard of no

more. It has had its use in showing how the minds of the earlier

republicans were imbued with monarchical prepossessions, and how large

is the reasonable allowance which must be made for the apprehensions of

men, who, having gone further in democracy than any who had preceded

them, were destined to see others outstrip themselves. Adams, Hamilton,

Washington! what names are these! Yet Adams in those days believed the

English constitution would be perfect, if some defects and abuses were

remedied. Hamilton believed it would be impracticable, if such

alterations were made; and that, in its then existing state, it was the

very best government that had ever been devised. Washington was

absolutely republican in his principles, but did not enjoy the strong

faith, the entire trust in the people, which is the attendant privilege

of those principles. Such men, pressed out from among the multitude by

the strong force of emergency, proved themselves worthy of their mission

of national redemption; but, though we may now be unable to single out

any who, in these comparatively quiet times, can be measured against

them, we are not thence to conclude that society, as a whole, has not

advanced; and that a policy which would have appeared dangerous to them,

may not be, at present, safe and reasonable.

Advantageous, therefore, as it may be, that the present federal party

should be perpetually on the watch against the encroachments of the

state governments,--useful as their incessant recurrence to the first

practices, as well as principles, of the constitution may be,--it would

be for their comfort to remember, that the elasticity of their

institutions is a perpetual safeguard; and, also, that the silent

influence of the federal head of their republics has a sedative effect

which its framers themselves did not anticipate. If they compare the

fickleness and turbulence of very small republics,--Rhode Island, for

instance,--with the tranquillity of the largest, or of the confederated

number, it is obvious that the existence of a federal head keeps down

more quarrels than ever appear.

When the views of the present apprehensive federal party are closely

looked into, they appear to be inconsistent with one or more of the

primary principles of the constitution which we have stated. "The

majority are right." Any fears of the majority are inconsistent with

this maxim, and were always felt by me to be so, from the time I entered

the country till I left it.

One sunny October morning I was taking a drive, with my party, along the

shores of the pretty Owasco Lake, in New York state, and conversing on

the condition of the country with a gentleman who thought the political

prospect less bright than the landscape. I had been less than three

weeks in the country, and was in a state of something like awe at the

prevalence of, not only external competence, but intellectual ability.

The striking effect upon a stranger of witnessing, for the first time,

the absence of poverty, of gross ignorance, of all servility, of all

insolence of manner, cannot be exaggerated in description. I had seen

every man in the towns an independent citizen; every man in the country

a land-owner. I had seen that the villages had their newspapers, the

factory girls their libraries. I had witnessed the controversies between

candidates for office on some difficult subjects, of which the people

were to be the judges. With all these things in my mind, and with every

evidence of prosperity about me in the comfortable homesteads which

every turn in the road, and every reach of the lake, brought into view,

I was thrown into a painful amazement by being told that the grand

question of the time was "whether the people should be encouraged to

govern themselves, or whether the wise should save them from

themselves." The confusion of inconsistencies was here so great as to

defy argument: the patronage among equals that was implied; the

assumption as to who were the wise; and the conclusion that all the rest

must be foolish. This one sentence seemed to be the most extraordinary

combination that could proceed from the lips of a republican.

The expressions of fear vary according to the pursuits, or habits of

mind of those who entertain them: but all are inconsistent with the

theory that the majority are right. One fears the influence in the

national councils of the "Tartar population" of the west, observing that

men retrograde in civilisation when thinly settled in a fruitful

country. But the representatives from these regions will be few while

they are thinly settled, and will be in the minority when in the wrong.

When these representatives become numerous, from the thick settlement of

those regions, their character will have ceased to become Tartar-like

and formidable: even supposing that a Tartar-like character could

co-exist with the commerce of the Mississippi. Another tells me that the

State has been, again and again, "on a lee shore, and a flaw has blown

it off, and postponed the danger; but this cannot go on for ever." The

fact here is true; and it would seem to lead to a directly contrary

inference. "The flaw" is the will of the majority, which might be better

indicated by a figure of something more stable. "The majority is

right." It has thus far preserved the safety of the state; and this is

the best ground for supposing that it will continue to be a safeguard.

One of the most painful apprehensions seems to be that the poorer will

heavily tax the richer members of society; the rich being always a small

class. If it be true, as all parties appear to suppose, that rulers in

general are prone to use their power for selfish purposes, there remains

the alternative, whether the poor shall over-tax the rich, or whether

the rich shall over-tax the poor: and, if one of these evils were

necessary, few would doubt which would be the least. But the danger

appears much diminished on the consideration that, in the country under

our notice, there are not, nor are likely to be, the wide differences in

property which exist in old countries. There is no class of hereditary

rich or poor. Few are very wealthy; few are poor; and every man has a

fair chance of being rich. No such unequal taxation has yet been

ordained by the sovereign people; nor does there appear to be any danger

of it, while the total amount of taxation is so very small as in the

United States, and the interest that every one has in the protection of

property is so great. A friend in the South, while eulogizing to me the

state of society there, spoke with compassion of his northern fellow

citizens, who were exposed to the risks of "a perpetual struggle between

pauperism and property." To which a northern friend replied, that it is

true that there is a perpetual struggle everywhere between pauperism and

property. The question is, which succeeds. In the United States, the

prospect is that each will succeed. Paupers may obtain what they want,

and proprietors will keep that which they have. As a mere matter of

convenience, it is shorter and easier to obtain property by enterprise

and labour in the United States, than by pulling down the wealthy. Even

the most desponding do not consider the case as very urgent, at present.

I asked one of my wealthy friends, who was predicting that in thirty

years his children would be living under a despotism, why he did not

remove. "Where," said he, with a countenance of perplexity, "could I be

better off?"--which appeared to me a truly reasonable question.

In a country, the fundamental principle of whose politics is, that its

"rulers derive their just powers from the consent of the governed," it

is clear that there can be no narrowing of the suffrage. However

earnestly some may desire this, no one hopes it. But it does not follow

that the apprehensive minority has nothing left but discontent. The

enlightenment of society remains not only matter for hope, but for

achievement. The prudent speak of the benefits of education as a matter

of policy, while the philanthropic promote it as a matter of justice.

Security of person and property follows naturally upon a knowledge of

rights. However the aristocracy of wealth, learning, and talent may

differ among themselves, as to what is the most valuable kind of

knowledge, all will agree that every kind will strengthen the bonds of

society. In this direction must the aristocracy work for their own

security. If they sufficiently provide the means of knowledge to the

community, they may dismiss their fears, and rest assured that the great

theory of their government will bear any test; and that "the majority

will be in the right."

If the fears of the aristocracy are inconsistent with the theory of the

government under which they live, so is much of the practice of the

democracy. Their hopefulness is reasonable; their reliance on the

majority is reasonable. But there are evils attendant on their practice

of their true theories which may account for the propounding of worse

theories by their opponents.

Learning by experience is slow work. However sure it may be, it is slow;

and great is the faith and patience required by men who are in advance

of a nation on a point which they feel that they could carry, if they

had not to wait the pleasure of the majority. Though the majority be

right in respect of the whole of politics, there is scarcely a sensible

man who may not be more in the right than the majority with regard to

some one point; and no allowance can be too great for the perpetual

discouragement hence arising. The majority eventually wills the best;

but, in the present imperfection of knowledge, the will is long in

exhibiting itself; and the ultimate demonstration often crowns a series

of mistakes and failures. From this fact arises the complaint of many

federalists that the democratic party is apt to adopt their measures,

after railing both at those measures, and at the men who framed them.

This is often true: and it is true that, if the people had only had the

requisite knowledge, they would have done wisely to have accepted good

measures from the beginning, without any railing at all. But the

knowledge was wanting. The next best thing that can happen is, that

which does happen: that the people learn, and act upon their learning.

If they are not wise enough to adopt a good measure at first, it would

be no improvement of the case that they should be too obstinate to

accept it at last. The case proves only that out of ignorance come

knowledge, conviction, and action; and the majority is ultimately in the

right. Whenever there is less of ignorance to begin with, there will be

less of the railing, which is childish enough, whether as a mere

imputation, or as a reality.

The great theory presumes that the majority not only will the best

measures, but choose the best men. This is far from being true in

practice. In no respect, perhaps, are the people more behind their

theory than in this. The noble set of public servants with which the

people were blessed in their revolutionary period seems to have inspired

them at first with a somewhat romantic faith in men who profess strong

attachment to whatever has been erected into a glory of the nation; and,

from that time to this, the federal party has, from causes which will be

hereafter explained, furnished a far superior set of men to the public

service than the democratic party. I found this fact almost universally

admitted by the wisest adherents of democracy; and out of it has arisen

the mournful question, whether an honest man with false political

principles be not more dangerous as a ruler than an unscrupulous man

with true political principles. I have heard the case put thus: "There

is not yet a sufficiency of real friends of the people willing to be

their servants. They must take either a somewhat better set of men whose

politics they disapprove, or a somewhat worse set of men to make tools

of. They take the tools, use them, and throw them away."

This is true; and a melancholy truth it is; since it is certain that

whenever the people shall pertinaciously require honest servants, and

take due pains to ascertain their honesty, true men will be forthcoming.

Under God's providence, the work never waits for the workman.

This fact, however, has one side as bright as the other is dark. It is

certain that many corrupt public servants are supported under the belief

that they are good and great men. No one can have attended assiduously

on the course of public affairs at Washington, and afterwards listened

to conversation in the stages, without being convinced of this. As soon

as the mistake is discovered, it is rectified. Retribution often comes

sooner than it could have been looked for. Though it be long delayed,

the remedy is ultimately secure. Every corrupt faction breaks up, sooner

or later, and character is revealed: the people let down their

favourite, to hide his head, or continue to show his face, as may best

suit his convenience; and forthwith choose a better man; or one believed

to be better. In such cases, the evil lies in ignorance--a temporary

evil; while the principle of rectification may work, for aught we can

see, eternally.

Two considerations,--one of fact, another of inference,--may reassure

those who are discouraged by these discrepancies between the theories of

the United States' government, and the practice of the democratic party,

with regard to both measures and men. The Americans are practically

acquainted with the old proverb, "What is every body's business is

nobody's business." No man stirs first against an abuse which is no more

his than other people's. The abuse goes on till it begins to overbear

law and liberty. Then the multitude arises, in the strength of the law,

and crushes the abuse. Sufficient confirmation of this will occur to any

one who has known the State histories of the Union for the last twenty

years, and will not be wholly contradicted by the condition of certain

affairs there which now present a bad aspect. Past experience sanctions

the hope that when these bad affairs have grown a little worse, they

will be suddenly and completely redressed. Illustrations in abundance

are at hand.

Lotteries were formerly a great inducement to gaming in Massachusetts.

Prudent fathers warned their sons against lotteries; employers warned

their servants; clergymen warned their flocks. Tracts, denouncing

lotteries, were circulated; much eloquence was expended,--not in vain,

though all sober people were already convinced, and weak people were

still unable to resist the seduction. At length, a young man drowned

himself. A disappointment in a lottery was found to be the cause. A

thrill of horror ran through the community. Every man helped to carry

his horror of lotteries into the legislature; and their abolition

followed in a trice.

Freemasonry was once popular in the United States; and no one seemed to

think any harm of it, though, when examined, it clearly appears an

institution incompatible with true republicanism. The account given of

it by some friends of mine, formerly masons, is, that it is utterly

puerile in itself; that it may be dignified, under a despotism, by an

application to foreign objects, but that it is purely mischievous in a

republic. Its object, of course, is power. It can have no other; and

ought not to have this, where the making of the laws is the office of

the people. Its interior obligations are also violations of the

democratic principle. All this was as true of masonry twelve years ago

as it is now; but masonry was allowed to spread far and wide. One

Morgan, a freemason, living in the western part of the state of New

York, did a remarkable deed, for which various motives are assigned. He

wrote a book in exposure of masonry, its facts and tendencies. When the

first part was printed and secured, some masons broke into the

printing-office where it was deposited, and destroyed as much of the

work as they could lay hold of. Being partly foiled, they bethought

themselves of stopping the work by carrying off the author. He was

arrested for a trifling debt, (probably fictitious,) conveyed hastily to

a magistrate, some miles off, who committed him for want of bail. The

ostensible creditor arrived at the jail, in the middle of the night,

and let him out; four or five men put him into a carriage, which made

for the Canada frontier. On landing him on British ground, the masons

there refused to have any concern in a matter which had gone so far, and

Morgan was shut up in the fort at Niagara village, where the Niagara

river flows into Lake Ontario. There he was fed and guarded for two

days. Thus far, the testimony is express; and concerning the succeeding

circumstances there is no reasonable doubt. He was put into a boat,

carried out into the middle of the river, and thrown in, with a stone

tied to his neck. For four years, there were attempts to bring the

conspirators to justice; but little was done. The lodges subscribed

funds to carry the actual murderers out of the country. Sheriffs,

jurymen, constables, all omitted their duty with regard to the rest. The

people were roused to action by finding the law thus overawed.

Anti-masonic societies were formed. Massachusetts and other States

passed laws against extra-judicial oaths. In such States, the lodges can

make no new members, and are becoming deserted by the old. The

anti-masonic party flourishes, having a great principle as its basis. It

has the control in a few States, and powerful influence in others.

Morgan's disclosures have been carried on by other hands. A bad

institution is overthrown. The people have learned an important lesson;

and they have gone through an honourable piece of discipline in making a

stand for the law, which is the life of their body politic.

Thus end, and thus, we may trust, will end the mistakes of the people,

whose professed interest is in a wise self-government. Some worse

institutions even than masonry remain to be cast out. The law has been

again overawed; not once, but many times; and the eyes of the world are

on the people of the United States, to see what they will do. The world

is watching to discover whether they are still sensible of the sacred

value of unviolated law; whether they are examining who it is that

threatens and overbears the law, and why; and whether they are

proceeding towards the re-establishment of the peace and security of

their whole community, by resolutely rooting out from among their

institutions every one which will not bear the test of the first

principles of the whole.

The other ground of hope of which I spoke as being inferential, arises

out of the imaginative political character of the Americans. They have

not yet grown old in the ways of the world. Their immediate fathers have

done such a deed as the world never saw; and the children have not yet

passed out the intoxication of success. With far less of vanity and

presumption than might have been looked for from their youth among the

nations, with an extraordinary amount of shrewdness and practical talent

shared among individuals, the American people are as imaginative as any

nation I happen to have heard or read of. They reminded me every day of

the Irish. The frank, confiding character of their private intercourses,

the generous nature of their mutual services, the quickness and

dexterity of their doings, their fertility of resource, their proneness

to be run away with by a notion, into any extreme of absurdity--in all

this, and in everything but their deficiency of moral independence, (for

which a difference of circumstances will fully account,) they resemble

the Irish. I regard the American people as a great embryo poet: now

moody, now wild, but bringing out results of absolute good sense:

restless and wayward in action, but with deep peace at his heart:

exulting that he has caught the true aspect of things past, and at the

depth of futurity which lies before him, wherein to create something so

magnificent as the world has scarcely begun to dream of. There is the

strongest hope of a nation that is capable of being possessed with an

idea; and this kind of possession has been the peculiarity of the

Americans from their first day of national existence till now. Their

first idea was loftier than some which have succeeded; but they have

never lost sight of the first. It remains to be, at intervals,

apprehended anew; and whenever the time shall arrive, which cannot but

arrive, when the nation shall be so fully possessed of the complete idea

as by a moral necessity to act it out, they will be as far superior to

nations which act upon the experience and expediency of their time as

the great poet is superior to common men.

This time is yet very far distant; and the American people have not only

much to learn, and a painful discipline to endure, but some disgraceful

faults to repent of and amend. They must give a perpetual and earnest

heed to one point; to cherish their high democratic hope, their faith in

man. The older they grow, the more must they "reverence the dreams of

their youth." They must eschew the folly and profaneness so prevalent in

the old world, of exalting man, abstractedly and individually, as a

piece of God's creation, and despising men in the mass. The statesman in

a London theatre feels his heart in a tumult, while a deep amen echoes

through its chambers at Hamlet's adoration of humanity; but not the

less, when he goes home, does he speak slightingly, compassionately, or

protectingly of the masses, the population, the canaille. He is

awestruck with the grandeur of an individual spirit; but feels nothing

of the grandeur of a congregated million of like spirits, because they

happen to be far off. This proves nothing but the short-sightedness of

such a man. Such shortness of sight afflicts some of the wisest and best

men in the new world. I know of one who regards with a humble and

religious reverence the three or four spirits which have their

habitation under his roof, and close at hand; who begins to doubt and

question, in the face of far stronger outward evidence of good, persons

who are a hundred miles off; and has scarcely any faith left for those

who happen to be over the sea. The true democratic hope cannot coexist

with such distrust. Its basis is the unmeasured scope of humanity; and

its _rationale_ the truth, applicable alike to individuals and nations,

that men are what they are taken for granted to be. "Countrymen," cries

Brutus, dying,

"My heart doth joy that yet in all my life,

I found no man but he was true to me."

The philosophy of this fact is clear; it followed of course from Brutus

always supposing that men were true. Whenever the Americans, or any

other people, shall make integrity their rule, their criterion, their

invariable supposition, the first principles of political philosophy

will be fairly acted out, and the high democratic hope will be its own

justification.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] Jefferson writes, September, 1798, "The most long-sighted politician

could not, seven years ago, have imagined that the people of this wide

extended country could have been enveloped in such delusion, and made so

much afraid of themselves and their own power, as to surrender it

spontaneously to those who are manoeuvring them into a form of

government, the principal branches of which may be beyond their

control."

Again, March, 1801:--"You have understood that the revolutionary

movements in Europe had, by industry and artifice, been wrought into

objects of terror in this country, and had really involved a great

portion of our well-meaning citizens in a panic which was perfectly

unaccountable, and during the prevalence of which they were led to

support measures the most insane. They are now pretty thoroughly

recovered from it, and sensible of the mischief which was done, and

preparing to be done, had their minds continued a little longer under

that derangement. The recovery bids fair to be complete, and to

obliterate entirely the line of party division, which had been so

strongly drawn."--_Jefferson's Correspondence_, vol. iii. pp. 401, 457.

CHAPTER II.

APPARATUS OF GOVERNMENT.

"The true foundation of republican government is the equal right of

every citizen, in his person and property, and in their management.

Try by this, as a tally, every provision of our constitution, and

see if it hangs directly on the will of the people."

_Jefferson._

Though it be true that the principles of government are to be deduced

more from experience of human nature than experience of human

governments, the institutions in which those principles are to be

embodied must be infinitely modified by preceding circumstances. Bentham

must have forgotten this when he offered, at sixty-four, to codify for

several of the United States, and also for Russia. He proposed to

introduce a new set of terms. These could not, from his want of local

knowledge, have been very specific; and if general, what was society to

do till the lawyers had done arguing? How could even a Solomon

legislate, three thousand miles off, for a republic like that of

Connecticut, which set out with taking its morals and politics by

handfuls, out of Numbers and Deuteronomy? or for Virginia, rank with

feudal prejudices and methods? or for Delaware, with its monarchical

martyr spirit? or for Louisiana, compounded of Spain, France, and

America? Though at the time of the framing of the constitution, the

States bore a strong general resemblance in their forms of government,

endless minor differences existed, mainly arising from the different

tenure on which they had been held under the English crown. Some had

been provinces, governed by royal commissions, according to royal

convenience. These were New Hampshire, New York, Virginia, the

Carolinas, and Georgia. Others had been under proprietary government; as

Maryland, held under patent, by Lord Baltimore; and Pennsylvania and

Delaware, held by William Penn. Others, again, were under charter

governments; ruled and altogether disposed of by political corporations.

Such were Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. Within the

memory of middle-aged men, the governor of New Hampshire used to travel

in a coach and six, while the governor of the much more important

Massachusetts went on a horse, with his wife on a pillion. It is within

the memory of living men how Massachusetts rose up in rejection of the

imposition of a clergy by England; while the colonial law of Virginia

ordained parsons to be paid yearly six thousand weight of prime tobacco,

in addition to marriage, burial, and birth-fees; in which days, an

unholy pastor, appointed by Lord Baltimore, was seen to ride about with

the church key in one hand, and a pistol in the other. It is absurd to

suppose that communities, where wide differences of customs, prejudices,

and manners still exist, can be, or ought to be, brought into a state of

exact conformity of institutions. Diversities, not only of old custom,

but of climate, productions and genealogy, forbid it; and reason does

not require it. That institutions should harmonise with the same first

principles, is all that is requisite. Some, who would not go so far as

to offer to codify for countries where they have not get their foot,

are yet apt to ask the use of one or another institution, to which the

Americans seem to be unreasonably attached. It is a sufficient general

answer that institutions are rarely sudden and complete inventions. They

have usually an historical origin, even when renovated by revolution.

Their protracted existence, and the attachment of the people to them are

strong presumptions of their having some use. If their purposes can be

better attained in another way, they will surely be modified. If they

are the result of compromise, they will be abolished, according to the

invariable law by which expediency finally succumbs to principle. That

this will be the fate of certain of the United States' institutions

which no one yet dreams of touching, and few dare to analyze, has been

clearly foreseen, for forty years past, by many of the most upright and

able men in the country. Some of them entertain an agonizing alarm at

the prospect of change. Others, more reasonably, trust that, where no

large pecuniary interests are at stake, the work of rectifying may very

quietly and safely succeed that of reconciling: and the majority have no

idea of the changes which their own hands, or their children's, will

have to effect. The gradual ripening for change may be an advantage in

more respects than one. Political changes which are the result of full

conviction in a free people, are pretty sure to be safe. Time is also

allowed, meanwhile, for men to practice their new lesson of separating

the idea of revolution from the horrors which have no more natural

connexion with it than burning at the stake has with the firm grasp of

speculative truth.

SECTION I.

THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT.

"We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect

union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquillity, provide for the

common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of

liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this

Constitution for the United States of America."

So much for the authority, and the objects of this celebrated

constitution, as set forth in its preamble.

Its provisions are so well known that it is needful only to indicate

them. In Europe, the difficulty is to avoid supposing the state

governments to be subordinate to the general. "They are coordinate

departments of one simple and integral whole." State government

legislates and administers in all affairs which concern its own

citizens. To the federal government are consigned all affairs which

concern citizens, as foreigners from other states, or as fellow-citizens

with all in certain specified relations.

The general objects of the instrument are easily stated; and an

apparently clear case of separation between the general and state

governments drawn out upon paper. But the application of the instrument

to practice is the difficulty.

In this, there are two grand difficulties, among many of inferior

importance. The one is, to construe the instrument; the other is, to

bridge over its awful chasms of compromise.

There has never been a solemn instrument drawn up yet without leaving

room for varieties of construction. There never can be, under our

present use of abstract terms; no two men's abstractions being alike, or

discoverably so. Of course, the profession in this case is, that words

are to be taken according to their just and natural import; that there

is to be no straining; that they are to be judged of according to common

sense; and so on. The old jests against etymologists are enough to prove

how far men are from agreeing what straining is. As to common sense, men

respond in unison to a revelation of it; but they rarely agree, _à

priori_, as to what it is. This difficulty is a wholly unavoidable one.

The refuge under it is in the maxim "the majority are right." If the

case in dispute be one of judicial import, the citizen may appeal to the

Supreme Court. If it be of a different nature, it must be left to that

other kind of supreme court,--the majority,--and the verdict will be

given through the ballot-boxes.

The other difficulty, that of compromise, is declared to have been

equally unavoidable. Concession, large mutual concession, was clearly

necessary. To what extent, may be faintly conceived from the following

extract from the Federalist. To some readers, who are more interested in

the present workings of the government, than in the embarrassments of

its inventors, this extract may appear dull. But it is useful to be

presented with an outline of the difficulties incurred in legislating

for a federal republic, both as a fact in political science; as a means

of forming something like a just judgment of the framers of the

constitution; and as a ground of hope that, so much danger having been

surmounted, that which remains may be also overcome.

"This one tells us, that the proposed constitution ought to be

rejected, because it is not a confederation of the States, but a

government over individuals. Another admits, that it ought to be a

government over individuals, to a certain extent, but by no means to the

extent proposed. A third does not object to the government over

individuals, or to the extent proposed; but to the want of a Bill of

Rights. A fourth concurs in the absolute necessity of a Bill of Rights,

but contends that it ought to be declaratory, not of the personal rights

of individuals, but of the rights reserved to the States in their

political capacity. A fifth is of opinion that a Bill of Rights of any

sort would be superfluous and misplaced; and that the plan would be

unexceptionable, but for the fatal power of regulating the times and

places of election. An objector in a large State exclaims loudly against

the unreasonable equality of representation in the senate. An objector

in a small State is equally loud against the dangerous inequality in the

House of Representatives. From one quarter, we are alarmed with the

amazing expense, from the number of persons who are to administer the

new government. From another quarter, and sometimes from the same

quarter on another occasion, the cry is that the Congress will be but

the shadow of a representation; and that the government would be far

less objectionable, if the number of the expenses were doubled. A

patriot in a State that does not import or export, discerns insuperable

objections against the power of direct taxation. The patriotic

adversary, in a State of great exports and imports, is not less

dissatisfied that the whole burthen of taxes may be thrown on

consumption. This politician discovers in the constitution a direct and

irresistible tendency to monarchy. That, is equally sure that it will

end in aristocracy. Another is puzzled to say which of these shapes it

will ultimately assume, but sees clearly it must be one or other of

them. While a fourth is not wanting, who, with no less confidence,

affirms, that the constitution is so far from having a bias towards

either of these dangers, that the weight on that side will not be

sufficient to keep it upright and firm against its opposite

propensities. With another class of adversaries to the constitution, the

language is, that the legislative, executive, and judiciary departments

are intermixed in such a manner as to contradict all the ideas of

regular government, and all the requisite precautions in favour of

liberty. Whilst this objection circulates in vague and general

expressions, there are not a few who lend their sanction to it. Let each

one come forward with his particular explanation, and scarcely any two

are exactly agreed on the subject. In the eyes of one, the junction of

the senate with the president, in the responsible function of appointing

to offices, instead of vesting this power in the executive alone, is the

vicious part of the organisation. To another, the exclusion of the House

of Representatives, whose numbers alone could be a due security against

corruption and partiality in the exercise of such a power, is equally

obnoxious. With a third, the admission of the president into any share

of a power, which must ever be a dangerous engine in the hands of the

executive magistrate, is an unpardonable violation of the maxims of

republican jealousy. No part of the arrangement, according to some, is

more inadmissible than the trial of impeachments by the Senate, which is

alternately a member both of the legislative and executive departments,

when this power so evidently belonged to the judiciary department. We

concur fully, reply others, in the objection to this part of the plan;

but we can never agree that a reference of impeachments to the judiciary

authority would be an amendment of the error: our principal dislike to

the organisation arises from the extensive powers already lodged in that

department. Even among the zealous patrons of a council of state, the

most irreconcilable variance is discovered, concerning the mode in which

it ought to be constituted. The demand of one gentleman is, that the

council should consist of a small number, to be appointed by the most

numerous branch of the legislature. Another would prefer a larger

number, and considers it a fundamental condition, that the appointment

should be made by the president himself."[3]

It must have cost Mr. Madison some trouble to vary the mode of

expression in putting this host of objections. We cannot but admire the

ingenuity with which he has brought them into view. But what should we

say to the management which should reconcile the differences themselves?

Concessions, various and large, were obviously necessary. I am not about

to give a catalogue of what these actually were. They may be learned

from any history of the period. Suffice it that the general and state

governments not only urged and established claims, but admitted a set of

prohibitions on themselves.

In all this there appears no fatal compromise. But there were some which

made the wisest men of the time tremble for the stability of their noble

work. There seems peril enough in the liability to the occurrence of new

questions, which could not be foreseen, and for which an opening might,

or might not, happen to be left. When, in addition to such, there were

some questions left to be settled by a future government, from the

inability of the statesmen of 1787 to agree upon them, these statesmen

might well be uneasy about the stability of their work. Of the first

order of questions is that which is now debated with great

animosity,--whether Congress has power to abolish slavery in the

District of Columbia: a disputed point of construction, on which it

seems to me that no plain person can be blamed for not anticipating any

difference of opinion. Of the second class is that great question, or

nest of questions, respecting Reserved Rights. It was agreed that all

unforeseen questions which might arise with regard to the respective

powers of the general and state governments, should be settled by the

state governments; but then, there was an indefinite limitation

introduced in the clause, that the general government should have all

powers necessary for the prosecution of such and such purposes. This

vague clause has been the occasion of the Union being shaken to its

centre; and it may be thus shaken again, before the questions arising

out of it are all settled.

Even these, being open questions, are less formidable than the

compromise of the true republican principle which is apparent in some

provisions of the constitution, and in some of the most important

institutions of the country. The northern States, which had abolished,

on principle, a far milder slavery than that of the cotton and

sugar-growing south, agreed to admit slavery in the south as a basis for

direct taxation, and for representation. They did worse. They agreed to

act in behalf of their southern fellow-citizens in the capture and

restitution of runaway slaves, and in the defence of masters against

rebellious slaves. What bitter sorrows of conscience and of feeling this

compromise has cost their children, it is impossible fully to describe.

Of course, the law, being against conscience, _i. e._ the law of man

coming into collision with the law of God, is constantly broken; and

causes of dissension hence arise. I know that slavery is only recognised

by the constitution as a matter of fact; and that it is only twice

mentioned; in connexion with representation, and with the restitution to

their masters of "persons held to labour escaping into another State:"

but the fact remains that a man who abhors slavery is compellable by the

law which his fathers made, to deliver up to the owner a slave whose act

of absconding he approves. It is impossible to estimate the evils which

have proceeded from, and which will yet arise out of this guilty but

"necessary" compromise.

There was difficulty in bringing the greater and smaller States into

union. The smaller States could not agree to such an unequal

representation as should render them liable to be swallowed up by the

larger; while the larger could not consent to be reduced to an equality

with the smaller. The Senate was established to afford an equal state

representation; while the House of Representatives affords a fair

representation of the nation in the aggregate, according to numbers. But

the principle of the general government is, that it governs the entire

people as one nation, and not as a league of States. There ought, in

consistency with this, to be no state representation at all; and the

Senate is an anomaly. An anomalous institution cannot be very

long-lived. A second chamber, on a more consistent principle, will

probably be established in its place, to fulfil its functions as a Court

of Review, and as a check upon the precipitation of the other house,

and, if need be, upon the encroachments of the executive. There is yet

more of compromise involved in this institution of the Senate; as might

be expected, since there is no end of compromise when principle is once

departed from; yet there are statesmen who defend it on other grounds

than that its establishment was necessary to the foundation of any

federal government at all. One observed to me, "Some things look well in

theory, and fail in practice. This may not be justifiable in theory; but

it works well." If this last sentence be true, the well-working of the

Senate is only a temporary affair; an accident. Its radical change

becomes a question of time merely; and the recent agitation of the

question of Instructions seems to indicate that the time is not very far

distant.

The appointment of the judges for life is another departure from the

absolute republican principle. There is no actual control over them.

Theirs is a virtually irresponsible office. Much can be and is said in

defence of this arrangement; and whatever is said, is most powerfully

enforced by the weight of character possessed by the judiciary, up to

this day. But all this does not alter the fact that irresponsible

offices are an inconsistency in a republic. With regard to all this

compromise, no plea of expediency can alter the fact that, while the

House of Representatives is mainly republican, the Senate is only

partially so, being anomalous in its character, and its members not

being elected immediately by the people; and that the judiciary is not

republican at all, since the judges are independent of the nation, from

the time of their appointment.

I was told, on high authority, that the assent of the first nine States

to the constitution, in 1788, was obtained by means not absolutely fair.

What devices were used to procure an apparent majority, I was not

informed; but it is generally supposed that if there had been no

legislatures active on the occasion, if it had been put to the vote

throughout the nation, the ratification would not have taken place when

it did. Chief Justice Marshall gives testimony to this effect in his

Life of Washington. "So small, in many instances, was the majority in

favour of the constitution, as to afford strong ground for the opinion

that, had the influence of character been removed, the intrinsic merits

of the instrument would not have secured its adoption. Indeed, it is

scarcely to be doubted that, in some of the adopting States, a majority

of the people were in opposition."

That a constitution, so framed, and so carried, should have worked as

well as it has done, seems to point out two very encouraging things;

that we may, without rashness, speak of it as Washington did, when he

said, "I was convinced it approached nearer to perfection than any

government hitherto instituted among men;" and that the world may

quietly and hopefully await the further proceedings of the American

people, in their advances towards an uncompromising democracy. There

will be changes, but not therefore convulsion. There will be the change

which Jefferson foresaw, and provided for without dread. "Still," says

he, so lately as June, 1824, "we consider our constitutions not

otherwise changeable than by the authority of the people, on a special

election of representatives for that very purpose: they are, until then,

the _lex legum_. But can they be made unchangeable? Can one generation

bind another, and all others, in succession for ever? I think not. The

Creator has made the earth for the living, not the dead."--"A generation

may bind itself as long as its majority continues in life; when that has

disappeared, another majority is in place, holds all the rights and

powers their predecessors once held, and may change their laws and

institutions to suit themselves. Nothing then is unchangeable but the

inherent and inalienable rights of man."[4]

Nothing can be more striking to a stranger than the experience gained,

after some residence in the United States, of the ultimate ascendency of

the will of the majority--_i. e._ of the right--in defiance of all

appearances to the contrary. The review of what I witnessed of this

kind, in the course of two years, with regard to the conduct of Congress

alone, surprises and cheers me. It is true that I see several wrongs

unredressed; several wounds inflicted on the people's liberties yet

unhealed; but these are cases in which the people do not yet understand

what has been done; or have not yet roused themselves to show that they

do.

In the Senate, the people's right of petition is invaded. Last session,

it was ordained that all petitions and memorials relating to a

particular subject--slavery in the District of Columbia--should be laid

on the table unread, and never recurred to. Of course, the people will

not long submit to this. What has been already achieved in Congress on

this topic is a security that the rest will follow. When I entered the

United States, there was an absolute and most ominous silence in

Congress about slavery. Almost every leading man there told me in

conversation that it was the grand question of all; that every member's

mind was full of it; that nearly all other questions were much affected,

or wholly determined by it; yet no one even alluded to it in public.

Before I left, it had found its way into both houses. The houses had, in

some sort, come to a vote upon it, which showed the absolute abolition

strength in the House of Representatives to be forty-seven. The entering

wedge having been thus far driven, it is inconceivable that the nation

will allow it to be withdrawn by surrendering their right of petition.

When I left, however, the people had virtually no right of petition with

regard to the District over which they--_i. e._ their Congress--have an

exclusive jurisdiction.

Again. There were loud and extensive complaints, last session, of the

despotism of the chair in the House of Representatives, chiefly in

connexion with the subject of slavery. No members, it was said, were

allowed a fair hearing but those who sat in a particular part of the

house. If this complaint arises out of the peevishness of political

disappointment, it will soon be contradicted by facts. If it is true, it

is a grave injury. In either case, the chair will not long possess this

power of despotism. If the favoured are few, as the complaint states,

the injured many will demand and obtain the power to make themselves

heard in turn; and no spirit of party can long stand in the way of a

claim so just.

Again. After the gentlemen of Charleston had disgraced their city and

country, by breaking into the post-office, and burning the contents of

the mail-bags, in their dread of abolition papers, a post-master wrote

to a member of the cabinet, desiring his approbation for having examined

and refused to forward certain papers mailed at his office. The member

of the cabinet, Kendall, gave the desired sanction to this audacious

stoppage of the post-office function, declaring that the good of the

community (as judged of by the individual) is a consideration above the

law. The strangers in the land knew not what to make of the

fool-hardiness of hazarding such a declaration, in a man of Kendall's

wit. It was known that he desired the office of post-master-general;

that the president wished him to have it, and that the doubt was whether

the Senate would confirm the appointment. Soon after this apparently

fatal declaration, he was nominated, and the Senate confirmed his

appointment. The declaration, no doubt, seated him in office. The

southern members were won by it. Kendall calculated rightly for his

immediate object. What is to become of him when the people shall at

length recognise the peril and insult to themselves of one of their

favoured servants declaring the will of an individual to be occasionally

subversive of the law--_i. e._ of the will of the majority--remains to

be seen. Meantime, the continuance in office of the person whose

declaration to the above effect remains unretracted, may be regarded as

one of the deepest wounds which has been inflicted on the liberties of

the nation.

Another attempt, brought on, no doubt, by Kendall's success, to derange

or stop the functions of the post-office, has failed. Mr. Calhoun's

Bill, commonly called the Gag Bill, prohibiting postmasters from

receiving and forwarding any papers whatsoever containing anything

relating to slavery, actually was brought to a third reading by the

casting vote of the president of the Senate. There was fear, at the

time, that this casting vote might ensure the success of the bill, from

the popularity of the vice-president. But the bill was thrown out on the

third reading; and the effect of the casting vote has been, not to aid

the bill, but to injure materially the popularity of the vice-president.

This is so far well. It shows that the people are preparing to grapple

honestly with the great, the hideous question, out of which arise these

minor encroachments upon their liberties.

Out of the slavery question arose the last monstrous usurpation of

Congress, for which the emphatic rebuke of the nation awaits the sinning

members. The story deserves to be told at length, on account both of its

peculiarities, and of its furnishing a fair illustration of certain

relations between the state and general governments.

Great Britain was not very learned in the geography of the new world,

in the early days of her colonies there. She gave Virginia a patent for

lands, including what is now Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan,

Missouri, and on to the Pacific. Other colonies obtained grants of equal

moderation as to size, and wisdom as to disposition. This absurd

partition, it was found, must occasion irreconcilable quarrels among the

members of the confederation; and Washington proposed that all, after

fixing their own boundaries, should throw into the common stock the huge

unoccupied domain. Virginia led the way in making this honourable

sacrifice. She fixed her own boundary; and the articles of compact

between the United States and the people of the territory north-west of

the Ohio river, declared that the territory should be divided into not

more than five, nor less than three States. This was in 1787. The

boundary prescribed for Ohio and Michigan, was found to be "not

convenient." That is, Ohio found it so; and Michigan was not in a

situation, at the time when Ohio was admitted into the Union, to insist

upon the ancient boundary, prescribed at the time of the cession of land

by Virginia. When Ohio was made a State, the boundary she desired was,

among other particulars, ratified by Congress.

In 1816, another portion of land, lying within what Michigan supposed to

be her own territory, was taken from her, and added to Indiana, on the

latter being made a State. An equivalent is offered to Michigan in a

portion of land, to be taken out of Wisconsin, on the western side of

Lake Michigan, which is the natural boundary of the territory. Michigan

alleges that the inconvenience of a part of her territory lying on the

other side of the lake would be so great, that the inhabitants would

prefer belonging to Wisconsin; and the land would be ceded, as soon as

Wisconsin becomes a State. The decision of the right of this case is the

proper business of the Supreme Court, whenever the contesting parties

shall have all come into the Union. Meantime, all parties are interested

in bearing down the claims of Michigan. Ohio and Indiana desire to keep

the lands Congress has authorised them to take. The slave States are

anxious to hinder the increase in number of the free States; and by the

ordinance of 1787, slavery is prohibited for ever, north-west of the

Ohio. The slave States hope, by giving to Michigan a slice of Wisconsin,

to make Wisconsin too small to be hereafter divided into two States. In

this object, the south will be foiled. Even if slavery should exist till

Wisconsin is ready for admission into the Union, there are two ways by

which the desire of the south may and will be foiled. By the re-cession

of the inconvenient portion by Michigan, as mentioned above; and by the

willingness of these northern States to make themselves smaller, and add

one to their number, as, by a _proviso_ in the original compact, they

have power to do, than let themselves be overborne by the south. This

part of the contest, for "a balance of power," arises altogether out of

the slavery question.

Soon after I entered the country, Michigan became qualified to request

admission into the Union. She did so, declaring her discontent with the

boundaries prescribed to her by Congress, and her intention to demand,

in the Supreme Court, on her admission, the re-establishment of the old

ones. I was amused with the different views of the affair presented to

me in different parts of the country. At Cincinnati, in June, 1835, I

was told that the President had just transmitted a threat to Ohio, that

if she did not yield the boundary claimed by Michigan, he would send the

United States troops to fight it out. It was added that the

vice-president had thus far prevailed with the President; it being of

importance to Mr. Van Buren, that Michigan, which he considered in his

interest, should be admitted into the Union in time to vote for him in

the presidential election of 1836. There was much talk at Cincinnati of

the resources of Ohio. The people would turn out, to a man. The

legislature had instantly voted 300,000 dollars to raise troops; and one

hundred and fifty thousand men would immediately be in the field: while

Michigan had neither men nor money;--had absolutely nothing to depend

upon but the six thousand United States' soldiers. This seemed to me to

be too clear a case to be a very true one: and the event belied the

story in almost every particular. Michigan did raise men; (though there

was no war:) she had not the United States' troops: she is not in the

interest of Van Buren; and Ohio could bring no troops into the field.

Michigan proceeded to organise her state government, and sent her

senators to Washington, during the session of 1835 and 1836. They were

allowed to witness the proceedings, but not, of course, to vote. When I

arrived at Detroit, the capital of Michigan, in the middle of June,

1836, the Governor told me that the Michiganians were in the singular

position of having a state government in full operation, while they were

excluded from the Union. The general opinion seemed to be that some

concession must be made about the boundary line; in which case, Michigan

would be admitted, in time to vote at the presidential election. I

pursued my travels through and around the Territory; and when I returned

to Detroit, a month afterwards, I found the place in a state of high

excitement: an excitement fully warranted by the circumstances which had

occurred.

Congress had acknowledged Michigan to be a sovereign State; and had

offered to admit her into the Union, on condition of her surrendering

all claim to the disputed portions of territory.

A grosser usurpation of power can hardly be conceived. Congress here

usurped the function of the Supreme Court in passing sentence against

Michigan: passing sentence, too, without hearing, or having a right to

listen to, evidence on the case. Congress here required of Michigan to

lay down her rights on the threshold of the Union, if she meant to be

admitted. Mr. Adams intrepidly declared in the House of Representatives,

that Michigan had more cause to ply the Nullification doctrine than

South Carolina ever had. A South Carolina nullifier declared in

conversation, that he believed the Michiganians' claims to be just: but

that, sooner than give her the means of summoning another sovereign

State before the Supreme Court, he would vote for her exclusion from the

Union as long as he lives. A strange posture of affairs, where all

justice seemed to be set aside, and the constitution to have become a

dead letter!

The anxiety next was to know what Michigan would do. There seemed too

many symptoms of yielding. It was mournful to those who felt that now

was the time, now the opportunity, so often sighed for in the best

moments of the best men, for making a heroic stand for the right, to

hear the forebodings about the canal shares, the lake trade, the

probable pecuniary loss in various ways, if there should be delay in the

admission of Michigan into the Union. If we spoke of the constitution,

we were answered with the canal. If we spoke of patriotism, we were

answered with the surplus revenue--the share of it that would be lost.

Then, there were fears of war. We were told that the alternative

was--admission, with its advantages, and a surrender of the contested

lands; and exclusion, with war between infant Michigan and Ohio, backed

by the United States. The alternative was rather, admission, with

submission to unconstitutional force; or exclusion, with the lonely

enjoyment of an honest sovereignty. But this was not the only

alternative. Remaining out of the Union did not involve war. Michigan

might remain out of the Union, peaceably, and under protest, till the

people of the United States should become fully possessed of her case,

and aroused to do her justice. It was with heartfelt delight that I

found, at length, that this last honest course is that which Michigan

has determined to pursue. It is so common for communities, as for

individuals, to miss the moment for doing the greatest of their deeds,

to have the bright object of their preceding worship eclipsed at the

critical moment, to pray incessantly that they may be honest, and then

stand aghast, after all, at an honest deed, that the meeting of the

Convention which was to consider of this affair, was watched with deep

anxiety by the friends of Michigan. We, their visitors, gathered hope

from the tone of the Governor, and others with whom we conversed; from

the aspect of the legislators who were assembled to discuss the

Governor's message;--men with earnest and sensible faces, who looked as

if they were aware that their liberties were at stake; and from the

spirited conduct of Michigan from the beginning of the quarrel. Still,

we were doubtful whether the canal, the surplus revenue, and the

probable war, would not be too much for the fortitude of so young a

people. They have shamed our fears, and made a stand for constitutional

liberty, which will secure to them the gratitude of the Union, to the

latest day of its existence. They have refused to enter the Union on the

unconstitutional terms proposed. The people will see that they are

honourably admitted, and that Congress is duly rebuked.

SECTION II.

THE EXECUTIVE.

The principle which is professed in the appointment of a chief

magistrate in the United States is, that his removal is to be as easy as

possible, and effected without disturbing for a moment the proceedings

of government. Under the idea that this last must be impossible, some of

the patriots of 1789 were opposed to the institution of the office of

President altogether; and there are now some who desire that the chief

magistrate should be, as nearly as possible, a cipher; that, for this

purpose, his election should be annual; and that, if this cannot be, the

term should continue to be four years, but without renewal. Such declare

that the office was made for the man, Washington, who was wanted, to

reconcile all parties. They maintain that, though it was, for a

considerable time, well filled, it must become, sooner or later,

dangerous to the public welfare: that it comprehends too much power for

a citizen of a republic to hold, presents too high a stake, occupies too

much thought, and employs too much endeavour, to the exclusion of better

objects.

Some desire that the office should have a duration of six years, without

renewal.

No one dreams of an attempt to hold the office for a third term; and

there is every prospect that, if any President should be ambitious

enough to desire a second re-election, he would fail, and descend from

his high station with a total loss of honour.

Some think so highly of the dignity of the chief magistracy, as to

propose that ex-presidents should be debarred from holding lower

offices. This looks too like an approximation to the monarchical

principle to be, or to become, a popular way of viewing the subject. It

is a proposition of the high federalists. I was far more gratified than

amused at seeing Mr. Adams daily in his seat in the House of

Representatives, while the history of his administration was perpetually

referred to by those who discussed the politics of the country with me.

I am aware that two interpretations may be put upon the fact of an

ex-president desiring a lower office. It may occur from a patriotism

which finds its own dignity in the welfare of its country, or from a

restless ambition to be in the public eye. In either case, it seems to

be no matter for a fixed rule. The republican principle supposes every

man to be at all times ready to serve his country, when called upon. The

rest must be left to the character of the man, and the views of his

constituents.

Others think so much more highly of the dignity of the Senate than of

the executive, as to desire that senators should be ineligible for the

office of President. The object here is two-fold: to exalt the Senate;

and, by making half a hundred offices higher in honour than that of

President, to drain off some of the eager ambition which flows in the

direction of the executive function. But power is more alluring than

honour; and executive offices will always be objects of choice, in

preference to legislative, except with a very small class of men.

Besides, the Senate is already further removed from the control of the

people, than consistency with the true republican principle allows: and

if the people are to be precluded from choosing their chief magistrate

from among the fifty wisest men (as the senators are in theory) that the

States can choose for the guardianship of their interests, the dignity

of both functions would be much lowered. In theory, the people's range

of choice for their chief magistrate is to extend from the

vice-president's chair to the humblest abode which nestles in the rocks

of their eastern coasts, or overlooks the gulf of Mexico. The honour in

which the Senate is held must depend on its preserving the character,

which, on the whole, it has hitherto maintained. A nobler legislative

body, for power and principle, has probably never been known.

Considering the number of individuals of whom it is composed, its

character has, perhaps, been as remarkable as that of the noble array of

Presidents, of which the United States have to boast. If, amidst its

indirect mode of election, and long term of office, it should prove

equally stable in principle, and flexible in its methods of progress, it

may yet enjoy a long term of existence, as honourable as could be

secured by any exclusion of its members from other offices in the

commonwealth.

By far the greatest apprehension connected with the President's office,

relates to the extent of his patronage. It was highly alarming, at

first, to hear all that was said about the country being ridden with

administration-officers, and office-expectants. A little arithmetic,

however, proved very cheering. The most eminent alarmist I happened to

converse with, stated the number of persons directly and indirectly

interested in the bestowment of office by the executive, to be 150,000.

No exact calculation can be made, since no one can do more than

conjecture how many persons at a time are likely to be in expectation

of any one office. But the above may be taken as the widest exaggeration

which an honest alarmist can put forth. This class of interested persons

is, after all, but a small section of the population. There is every

reason to fear that official corruption is abundant under all

governments; and, for some reasons which will be easily apprehended,

remarkably so under the government of the United States; but, when it is

considered how small a proportion of the people is, at any time,

interested in office, and how many persons in office are to be, in

fairness, supposed honest, the evil of executive patronage diminishes to

the imagination so rapidly as to induce a suspicion that many who say

the most about it are throwing a tub to the whale. The watchfulness on

the executive power thus induced is a benefit which will set off against

a great amount of alarm. It will assist the people to find the true mean

between their allowing the President too much power over the servants

who are to transact their business, and their assuming too much control

over the servants who are to transact his.

Difficult as it is to resist impressions on the spot, from all that is

said about the power of the executive, and the character of the

President of the time, the worst alarms are derided by the event. It

does not appear as if the President could work any permanent effect upon

the mind and destiny of the nation. It is of great consequence to the

morals and prosperity of the season, that the chief magistrate should be

a man of principle, rather than expediency; a frank friend of the

people, rather than their cunning flatterer; a man of sense and temper,

rather than an angry bigot; a man of business, rather than a blunderer.

But the term of an unworthy or incapable President is pretty sure to be

the shortest; and, if permitted to serve his eight years, he can do

little unless he acts, on the whole, in accordance with the mind of the

people. If he has any power, it is because the people are with him: in

which case, he cannot be very destructive to their interests. If he does

not proceed in accordance with public sentiment, he has no power. A

brief review of the course of the American Presidents seems to show that

their influence subsides into something very weak and transitory; always

excepting that immeasurable and incalculable influence which is breathed

forth through the remotest generations, by the personal character of

conspicuous individuals.

Washington's influence is a topic which no one is ever hardy enough to

approach, in the way of measurement or specification. Within the compass

of his name lies more than other words can tell of his power over men.

When the British officers were passing up the Potomac, in the last war,

to perpetrate as dastardly a deed of spoliation at the capital as ever

it was the cruel fate of soldiers to be ordered to do, they desired to

be told when they were passing the burial place of Washington, and stood

uncovered on deck as long as they were within sight of Mount Vernon. Any

in England who happen to know how deeply disgraced their country was by

the actors in this expedition, will feel what the power must have been

which, breathing from that shore, humanised for the hour the cowardly

plunderers as they floated by. But it was Washington, the man, not the

President, who moved them to uncover their heads. It is Washington, the

man, not the President, whose name is lovingly spoken, whose picture

smiles benignly in every inhabited nook of his own congregation of

republics. It is even Washington, the man, not the President, whose name

is sacred above all others, to men of all political parties. It was

Washington, the man, who united the votes of all parties in his

presidentship, since, so far from pretending to agree with all, he took

and left, without fear or favour, what convictions he could or could not

adopt from each. The one impression which remains of his presidentship

is its accordance with himself. Had it been, in any respect, a lower

self, there would have been little left of Washington in the people now.

Adams came in by the strength of the federal party. Supported by the

slave States, and all the federalism of the north, he had the means, if

any President ever had, of leaving a strong and permanent impression on

the face of affairs. He filled up his offices with federalists.

Everything during his term of office favoured the influence of the

federalists. The nation was almost beside itself with panic at the

political convulsions of Europe. Yet, notwithstanding all this, and Mr.

Adams's great weight of character, giving influence to his partialities,

the people revealed themselves, in the choice of his successor,

staunchly republican.

Jefferson's influence was greater than that of any other President,

except Washington; and the reason is, that his convictions went along

with the national mind. If Jefferson, with the same love of the people,

the same earnestness of temper, and grace of manners, had been in any

considerable degree less democratic, he might have gone creditably

through his term, and have been well spoken of now; but he would not

have been the honourable means of two successors of the same principles

with himself, being brought in; nor would he have lain, as he now does,

at the very heart of the people. At the outset, his state-rights

principle secured him the south, and his philanthropic, democratic

principles, the north. He was popular, almost beyond example. His

popularity could scarcely be increased; but it has never declined. The

common charges against him, of irreligion, of oppression in the

management of his patronage, of disrespect to his predecessors, are

falling into oblivion, while his great acts remain. As to his religion,

whatever might be his creed, its errors or deficiencies, these are still

matters of disagreement among the wise and good; and it is certain that

Jefferson viewed all the realities that came within his ken, with that

calm earnestness which is the true religious spirit. As to the removals

from office, which are still complained of, it should be remembered that

his predecessor had filled as many offices as possible with high

federalists, many of whom provoked their own discharge by their activity

against the government they professed to serve. There is no evidence

that Jefferson went beyond his own principle; and a principle is no

matter of reproach, though it may be of controversy. He says, "Mr.

Adams's last appointment, when he knew he was naming counsellors and

aids for me and not for himself, I shall set aside as far as depends on

me. Officers who have been guilty of gross abuses of office, such as

marshals packing juries, &c., I shall now remove, as my predecessor

ought in justice to have done. The instances will be few, and governed

by strict rule, and not party passion. The right of opinion shall suffer

no invasion from me."--"The remonstrance laments that a change in the

administration must produce a change in the subordinate officers; in

other words, that it should be deemed necessary for all officers to

think with their principal. But on whom does this imputation bear? On

those who have excluded from office every shade of opinion which was not

their's? or on those who have been so excluded? I lament sincerely that

unessential differences of opinion should ever have been deemed

sufficient to interdict half the society from the rights and blessings

of self-government, to proscribe them as unworthy of every trust. It

would have been to me a circumstance of great relief, had I found a

moderate participation of office in the hands of the majority. I would

gladly have left to time and accident to raise them to their just share.

But their total exclusion calls for prompter corrections. I shall

correct the procedure: but, that done, return with joy to that state of

things, when the only questions concerning a candidate shall be, Is he

honest? Is he capable? Is he faithful to the constitution?"[5]

As to his disrespect to Washington and Adams, it should be remembered

what the party heats of the day were; how Washington's cabinet was

divided between France, war, and general liberty; and neutrality, peace,

and care of the people at home. With such a theme of quarrel, it would

have been a wonder if hasty words had not been sometimes spoken on all

sides. Jefferson's ultimate opinion of Washington, written in confidence

to a friend, in 1814, has happily come to light. At the close, he says,

"These are my opinions of General Washington, which I would vouch at the

judgment-seat of God, having been formed on an acquaintance of thirty

years." One extract is enough: "On the whole, his character was, in its

mass, perfect; in nothing bad, in few things indifferent; and it may

truly be said, that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly

to make a man great, and to place him in the same constellation with

whatever worthies have merited from man an everlasting remembrance."[6]

The friendship in old age between himself and Mr. Adams, and the moral

and intellectual beauty of their close correspondence, are a spectacle

in sight of which all prior party misunderstandings should be forgotten.

There is one infallible test by which to try old men who have had much

to do in the world. If their power and privilege of admiration survive

their knowledge of the world, they are true-hearted; and they occasion

as much admiration as they enjoy. Jefferson stands this test.

His great acts are much heard of. The reduction of taxes and correction

of abuses with which he began his administration; his having actually

done something against slavery; his invariable decision for advocacy or

opposition, in accordance with the true democratic principle, are now

spoken of more frequently than things less worthy to be remembered. His

influence has been greater than that of any other President since

Washington, exactly in proportion to his nearer approach to the national

idea of a chief magistrate.

No great change took place during the administration of his two

successors, Madison and Monroe. They were strong in the strength of his

principles, and of their own characters. Madison's term of office would

have been memorable in history, if he had not immediately followed his

friend Jefferson. Their identity of views, put into practice by Madison,

with the simplest honesty and true modesty, caused less observation than

the same conduct immediately succeeding a federal administration would

have done. Hence the affectation, practised by some, of calling Madison

a tool of Jefferson. Those who really knew Mr. Madison and his public

life, will be amused at the idea of his being anybody's tool.

The reason why John Quincy Adams's administration is little notorious is

somewhat of the same nature. He was a pure President; a strictly moral

man. His good morality was shown in the devotion of his fine powers to

the faithful conduct of evanescent circumstances. His lot was that of

all good Presidents in the quiet days of the republic. He would not use

his small power for harm; and possessed no very great power for

political good.

General Jackson was brought into office by an overpowering majority, and

after a series of strong party excitements. If ever there was a

possibility of a President marking his age, for good or for evil, it

would have been done during Jackson's administration. He is a man made

to impress a very distinct idea of himself on all minds. He has great

personal courage, much sagacity, though frequently impaired by the

strength of his prejudices, violent passions, an indomitable will, and

that devotion to public affairs in which no President has ever failed.

He had done deeds of war which flattered the pride of the people; and in

doing them, he had acquired a knowledge of the people, which has served

him instead of much other knowledge in which he is deficient. He has

known, however, how to obtain the use, though not the reputation, of the

knowledge which he does not possess. Notwithstanding the strength of his

passions, and the awkward positions in which he has placed himself by

the indulgence of his private resentments, his sagacity has served him

well in keeping him a little way a-head of the popular convictions. No

physician in the world ever understood feeling the pulse, and ordering

his practice accordingly, better than President Jackson. Here are all

the requisites for success in a tyrannical administration. Even in

England, we heard rumours in 1828, and again in 1832, about the perils

of the United States, under the rule of a despotic soldier. The cry

revived with every one of his high-handed deeds; with every exercise of

the veto,--which he has used oftener than all the other Presidents put

together,--with every appointment made in defiance of the Senate; with

the removal of the deposites; with his messages of menace to the French

government. Yet to what amounts the power now, at the close of his

administration, of this idol of the people, this man strong in war, and

subtle in council, this soldier and statesman of indomitable will, of

insatiable ambition, with the resources of a huge majority at his

disposal? The deeds of his administration remain to be justified in as

far as they are sound, and undone if they are faulty. Meantime, he has

been able to obtain only the barest majority in the Senate, the great

object of his wrath: he has been unable to keep the slavery question out

of Congress,--the introduction of which is by far the most remarkable

event of his administration. One of the most desponding complaints I

heard of his administration was, not that he had strengthened the

general government--not that his government had tended to

centralisation--not that he had settled any matters to his own

satisfaction, and left the people to reconcile themselves to his

pleasure as they best might,--but that every great question is left

unsettled; that it is difficult now to tell any party by its principles;

that the principles of such affairs as the currency, land, slavery,

internal improvements, &c. remain to be all argued over again.

Doubtless, this will be tiresome to such public men as have entirely and

finally made up their minds on these subjects. To such, nothing can well

be more wearisome than discussion and action, renewed from year to year.

But the very fact that these affairs remain unsettled, that the people

remain unsatisfied about them, proves that the people have more to

learn, and that they mean to learn it. No true friend of his country

would wish that the questions of slavery and currency should remain in

any position that they have ever yet occupied in the United States; and

towards the settlement of the latter of the two, as far as light depends

on collision of opinions, it is certain that no man has done so much,

whether he meant it or not, as President Jackson. The occasional

breaking up and mingling of parties is a necessary circumstance, whether

it be considered an evil or a good. It may be an evil, in as far as it

affords a vantage-ground to unprincipled adventurers; it is a good, in

as far as it leads to mutual understanding, and improves the candour of

partisans. For the rest, there is no fear but that parties will soon

draw asunder, with each a set of distinctive principles as its badge.

Meantime, men will have reason to smile at their fears of the formidable

personage, who is now descending from the presidential chair; and their

enthusiasm will have cooled down to the temperature fixed by what the

event will prove to have been his merits. They will discuss him by their

firesides with the calmness with which men speak of things that are

past; while they keep their hopes and fears to be chafed up at public

meetings, while the orator points to some rising star, or to some cloud

no bigger than a man's hand. Irish emigrants occasionally fight out the

battle of the Boyne in the streets of Philadelphia; but native Americans

bestow their apprehensions and their wrath upon things future; and their

philosophy upon things past. While they do this, it will not be in the

power of any President to harm them much or long.

SECTION III.

STATE GOVERNMENTS.

Never, perhaps, did statesmen begin their task of constitution-making

with so much aid from preceding circumstances as the great men of the

Revolution. A social neighbourhood of colonies, all suffering under

colonial grievances, and all varying in their internal government,

afforded a broad hint of the present system, and fine facilities for

putting it in practice. There was much less speculation in the case than

might appear from a distance; and this fact so far takes away from the

superhuman character of the wisdom which achieved the completion of the

United States' constitution, as to bring the mind down from its state of

amazement into one of very wholesome admiration.

The state governments are the conservative power, enabling the will of

the majority to act with freedom and convenience. Though the nation is

but an aggregation of individuals, as regards the general government,

their division into States, for the management of their domestic

affairs, precludes a vast amount of confusion and discord. Their mutual

vigilance is also a great advantage to their interests, both within each

State, and abroad. No tyrant, or tyrannical party, can remain unwatched

and unchecked. There is, in each State, a people ready for information

and complaint, when necessary; a legislature ready for deliberation; and

an executive ready to act. Many States, in other ages and regions, have

been lost through the necessity of creating their instruments when they

should have been acting. State organisation is never managed without

dispute; and it makes the entire difference in the success of resistance

to aggression whether the necessary apparatus has to be created in haste

and confusion, or whether everything is in readiness for executing the

will of the majority.

Under no other arrangement, perhaps, could the advantage be secured of

every man being, in his turn, a servant of the commonwealth. If the

general government managed everything, the public service would soon

become the privilege of a certain class, or a number of classes of men;

as is seen to be the case elsewhere. The relation and gradation of

service which are now so remarkable a feature in the United States

commonwealth, could never then happen naturally, as they now do. Almost

every man serves in his township in New England, and in the

corresponding ward or section elsewhere; and has his capability tried;

and, if worthy, he serves his county, his State, and finally the Union,

in Congress. Such is the theory: and if not followed up well in

practice, if some of the best men never get beyond serving their

township, and some of the worst now and then get into Congress, the

people are unquestionably better served than if the selection of

servants depended on accident, or the favour of men in power. Whatever

extraneous impediments may interfere with the true working of the

theory, every citizen feels, or ought to feel, what a glorious career

may lie before him. In his country, every road to success is open to

all. There are no artificial disqualifications which may not be

surmounted. All _humbug_, whether of fashion and show, of

sanctimoniousness, of licentiousness, or of anything else, is there

destined to speedy failure and retribution. There is no hereditary

humbug in the United States. If the honest, wise man, feels himself

depressed below the knave, he has, if he did but know it, only to wait

patiently a little while, and he will have his due. Though truth is

equally great everywhere, and equally sure ultimately to prevail, men of

other countries have often to wait till they reach the better country

than all, before they witness this ultimate prevalence, except with the

eye of faith. The young nation over the Atlantic, is indulged, for the

encouragement, with a speedier retribution for her well or ill doings;

and almost every one of her citizens, if he be truly honourable, may

trust to be fitly honoured before he dies.

Another conservative effect of the state governments is the facilities

they afford for the correction of solecisms, the renovation of

institutions as they are outgrown, and the amendment of all unsuitable

arrangements. If anything wants to be rectified in any State, it can be

done on the mere will of the people concerned. There is no imploring of

an uninterested government at a distance--a government so occupied with

its foreign relations as to have little attention to spare for domestic

grievances which it does not feel. There is no waiting any body's

pleasure; nobody's leave to ask. The remedy is so close at hand, those

who are to give it are so nearly concerned, that it may always, and, for

the most part, speedily, be obtained, upon good cause being shown. No

external observance is needed, except of the few and express

prohibitions which the general and state governments have interchanged.

It is amusing to look over the proceedings of the state legislatures for

any one year. Maine amends her libel law, decreeing that proof of truth

shall be admitted as justification. Massachusetts decrees a revision and

consolidation of her laws, and the annihilation of lotteries. Rhode

Island improves her quarantine regulations. Connecticut passes an act

for the preservation of corn-fields from crows. Vermont decrees the

protection of the dead in their graves. New York prohibits the

importation of foreign convicts. New Jersey incorporates a dairy

company. Pennsylvania mitigates the law which authorises imprisonment

for debt. Maryland authorises a geological survey. Georgia enlarges her

law of divorce. Alabama puts children, in certain circumstances, under

the protection of chancery. Mississippi decrees a census. Tennessee

interdicts barbacues in the neighbourhood of camp meetings. Ohio

regulates the care of escheated lands. Indiana prohibits a higher rate

of interest than ten percent. Missouri authorises the conveyance of real

estate by married women. And so on. It seems difficult to imagine how

many abuses can reach an extreme, or be tardy of cure, where the will of

the majority is not only speedily made known, but where the division of

employment is so skilfully arranged that the majority may be trusted to

understand the case on which they are to decide.

It has always appeared to me that much misapprehension is occasioned by

its being supposed that the strength of the general government lies in

the number of its functions; and its weakness in the extent of its area.

To me it appears directly the reverse. A government which has the

management of all the concerns of a people, the greater and the smaller,

preserves its stability by the general interest in its more important

functions. If you desire to weaken it, you must withdraw from its

guardianship the more general and important of its affairs. If you

desire to shield it from cavil and attack, you must put the more local

and partial objects of its administration under other management. If the

general government of the United States had to manage all legislation

and administration within their boundaries, it could hardly hold

together one year. If it had only one function, essential to all, and

impossible to be otherwise fulfilled, there seems no reason why it

should not work prosperously till there are fifty States around it, and

longer. The importance of the functions of the general government

depends partly upon the universality of the interest in them; and partly

upon the numbers included under them. So far, therefore, from the

enlargement of the area of the United States being perilous to the

general government, by making it "cumbrous," as many fear, it seems to

me likely to work a directly contrary effect. There are strong reasons

why an extension of her area would be injurious to her, but I cannot

regard this as one. A government which has to keep watch over the

defence, foreign policy, commerce, and currency, of from twenty-five to

fifty small republics, is safer in the guardianship of its subjects than

if it had to manage these same affairs for one large republic, with the

additional superintendence of its debtors, its libellers, and the crows

of its corn-fields.

Little or no room for rebellion seems to be left under the constitution

of the United States. In the progress of human affairs, familiar evils

expire with worn-out institutions, and new dangers arise out of the

midst of renovated arrangements. Assassinations are the form which

resistance to government assumes in pure despotisms. Rebellion is the

name it bears under governments somewhat more liberal. In the United

States, nothing worse than professed Nullification has yet been heard

of--unless Colonel Burr's secret schemes were indeed treasonable. A

brief account of the South Carolina Nullification may exhibit the

relations, and occasional enmities of the general and states government

in a clearer way than could be done, otherwise than by a narrative of

facts. This little history shows, among many other things, that America

follows the rest of the world in quoting the constitution as a sanction

of the most opposite designs and proceedings: what different sympathies

respond to the word "patriotism;" and of how little avail is the letter

of the constitution, when there is variance as to its spirit.

Georgia laid claim, some years ago, to the Cherokee territory, on the

ground that the United States had no right to make the laws and treaties

by which the Cherokees were protected; that such legislation was

inconsistent with the reserved rights of the sovereign state of Georgia.

Georgia thus acted upon the supposition, that she was to construe the

federal compact in her own way, and proceed according to her own

construction. Congress checked her in this assumption, and rejected her

pretensions by an almost unanimous vote. Soon after the accession of

General Jackson to the presidentship, Georgia, either presuming upon his

favour, or wishing to test his dispositions, began to encroach upon the

Cherokee lands. The Cherokees appealed to the federal government for

protection, under the laws and treaties framed for that very purpose.

The President replied, that Georgia was right in annulling those laws

and treaties, and that the executive could not interfere. The Indian

cause was brought before the Supreme Court. There was difficulty about

the character in which the plaintiffs were to sue, and as to whether

they could sue at all, under that provision of the constitution which

authorises _foreign nations_ to demand justice from the federal

tribunals. The court expressed a strong, opinion however, that the

Cherokees were entitled to protection from the Executive.

The Supreme Court and Georgia were thus brought into opposition, while

the Executive took the part of Georgia. Compassion for the Cherokees was

now swallowed up in anxiety about the decision of the question of state

rights. The Executive had, as yet, only negatively declared himself,

however; and the Supreme Court had not been driven on to deliver a

verdict against the Georgian laws, by which the Cherokees were

oppressed. The topic of the right of a State to annul the laws and

treaties of the federal government was meantime generally discussed; and

reconsideration was forced upon the President.

South Carolina presently followed the example of Georgia. She annulled

the acts of Congress, which regarded such revenue laws as she considered

contrary to general principles, and to her own interests. The President

now perceived that if every State proceeded to nullify the acts of

Congress, upon its own construction of the federal constitution, the

general government could not be secure of its existence for a day. While

the Executive was still in a position of observation, the Supreme Court

pronounced, in another case, a verdict against the unconstitutional laws

of Georgia. In 1829, the legislature of Virginia asserted the right of

each State to construe the federal constitution for itself: and thus

there appeared to be three States already in the course of withdrawing

from the Union.

Congress went on legislating about the tariff, without regard to this

opposition; and the protests of certain States against their proceedings

were quietly laid on the table, as impertinences. The South Carolina

advocates of Nullification worked diligently in their own State to ripen

the people sufficiently to obtain a convention which should proclaim

their doctrine as the will of the State: in which case, they doubted

not that they should secure the countenance and co-operation of most or

all of the southern States. A convention in favour of free trade met at

Philadelphia; another in favour of the tariff met at New York; and the

nullifiers saw reason to turn the discussion of the quarrel as much as

possible from the principle of Nullification to the principle of free

trade. They perceived the strength of the latter ground, whether or not

they saw the weakness of the former; and by their skilful movement upon

it, they eventually caused a greater benefit to the nation, than their

discontent did harm to themselves.

The President was invited to dine at Charleston on the 4th of July,

1831; and in his answer, he thought fit to announce that he should do

his duty in case of any attempt to annul the laws of the Union. This was

a virtual retractation of his encouragement to Georgia. A committee of

the legislature of South Carolina reported the letter to be at variance

with the duties of the President, and the rights of the States. The heat

was rising rapidly. The nullifiers were loud in their threats, and

watchful in observing the effect of those threats abroad. North Carolina

repudiated the whole doctrine of Nullification: other neighbouring

States showed a reluctance to sanction it. The President's next message

recommended a modification of the tariff, which was known to be no

favorite of his; but the modification he proposed had no other bearing

than upon the amount of the revenue.

During the session of Congress of 1832, various alterations were made in

the duties, which it was hoped would be to the satisfaction of South

Carolina: but the complaint of her representatives was, that the

reductions which were ordained were on those articles in which she had

no interest; while her burdens were actually increased. These

representatives met at Washington, and drew up an address to the people

of South Carolina, in which they declared their wrongs, and inquired

whether they were to be tamely submitted to.

The legislature of South Carolina, after the next election, exhibited a

large majority in both houses in favour of Nullification. A convention

was called at Columbia, in consequence of whose proceedings an ordinance

was prepared, and speedily passed through the legislature, declaring all

the acts of Congress imposing duties on imported goods, to be null and

void within the state of South Carolina. It prohibited the levying of

all such duties within the State, and all appeals on the subject to the

Supreme Court. A number of minor provisions were made to hinder the levy

of import duties. The governor was empowered to call the militia into

service against any opposition which might be made by the general

government to this bold mode of proceeding. The entire military force of

the State, and the services of volunteers, were also placed at his

disposal. Arms and ammunition were ordered to be purchased.

This was too much for the President's anxiety about consistency. He

ordered all the disposable military force to assemble at Charleston;

sent a sloop of war to that port, to protect the federal officers in the

discharge of their duties; and issued a vigorous proclamation, stating

the constitutional doctrine, about the mutual relations of the general

and state governments, and exhorting the citizens of South Carolina not

to forfeit their allegiance. Governor Hayne issued a counter

proclamation, warning the citizens of the State against being seduced

from their state allegiance by the President. This was at the close of

1832.

Everything being thus ready for an explosion, South Carolina, appeared

willing to wait the result of another session. This was needful enough;

for she was as yet uncertain whether she was to have the assistance of

any of her sister States. Mr. Calhoun, the vice-president, resigned his

office, and became a senator in the room of governor Hayne: and thus the

nullification cause was in powerful hands in the senate. Its proceedings

were watched with the most intense anxiety by the whole Union. The

crisis of the Union was come.

In the discontented State, the union party, which was strong, though

excluded from the government, was in great sorrow and fear. Civil war

seemed inevitable; and they felt themselves oppressed and insulted by

the imposition of the oath of allegiance to the State. The nullifiers

justified this requisition by saying that many foreigners resident in

Charleston, who did not understand the case, believed that their duty to

the general government required them to support it, while its vessels of

war and troops were in port; however well they might be disposed to the

nullification cause. It was merely as a method of enlightenment, it was

protested, that this oath was imposed.

The ladies, meanwhile, had a State Rights ball at the arsenal, and

contributed their jewels for the support of the expected war. I could

not learn that they made lint--the last test of woman's earnestness for

war; but I was told by a leading nullifier that the ladies were "chock

full of fight." The expectation of war was so nearly universal that I

could hear of only one citizen of Charleston who discouraged the removal

of his wife and children from the city, in the belief that a peaceful

settlement of the quarrel would take place.

The legislatures of the States passed resolutions, none of them

advocating nullification; (even Georgia forsaking that ground;) many

condemned the proceedings of South Carolina; but some, while doing so,

made strong remonstrances against the tariff. Five of the States, in

which manufactures had been set up, declared their opposition to any

alteration of the tariff. It is amusing now to read the variety of terms

in which the South Carolina proceedings were condemned; though, at the

time, the reports of these resolutions must have carried despair to the

hearts of the citizens of the solitary discontented State. The effect of

these successive shocks is still spoken of in strong and touching

language by those who had to sustain them.

While the South Carolina militia were training, and the munitions of war

preparing, the senators and representatives of the State were wearing

stern and grave faces at Washington. The session was passing away, and

nothing but debate was yet achieved. Their fellow legislators looked on

them with grief, as being destined to destruction in the field, or on

the scaffold. They were men of high spirit and gallantry; and it was

clear that they had settled the matter with themselves and with each

other. They would never submit to mere numbers; and would oppose force

to force, till all of their small resources was spent. No one can

estimate their heroism, or desperation, whichever it may be called, who

has not seen the city and State which would have been the theatre of the

war. The high spirit of South Carolina is of that kind which accompanies

fallen, or inferior fortunes. Pride and poverty chafe the spirit. They

make men look around for injury, and aggravate the sense of injury when

it is real. In South Carolina, the black population outnumbers the

white. The curse of slavery lies heavy on the land, and its inhabitants

show the usual unwillingness of sufferers to attribute their maladies to

their true cause. Right as the South Carolinians may be as to the

principle of free trade, no tariff ever yet occasioned such evils as

they groan under. If not a single import duty had ever been imposed,

there would still have been the contrasts which they cannot endure to

perceive between the thriving States of the north and their own. Now,

when they see the flourishing villages of New England, they cry "We pay

for all this." When the north appears to receive more favour from the

general government, in its retrospective recompenses for service in war,

the greater proportion of which service was rendered by the north, the

south again cries, "We pay for all this." It is true that the south pays

dearly; but it is for her own depression, not for others' prosperity.

When I saw the face of the nullifiers' country, I was indeed amazed at

their hardihood. The rich soil, watered by full streams, the fertile

bottoms, superintended by the planters' mansions, with their slave

quarter a little removed from the house, the fine growth of trees, and

of the few patches of pasturage which are to be seen, show how

nourishing this region ought to be. But its aspect is most depressing to

the traveller. Roads nearly impassable in many parts, bridges carried

away and not restored, lands exhausted, and dwellings forsaken, are

spectacles too common in South Carolina. The young men, whose patrimony

has deteriorated, migrate westward with their 'force;' selling their

lands, if they can; if not, forsaking them. There are yet many

plantations of unsurpassed fertility; but there are many exhausted: and

it is more profitable to remove to a virgin soil than to employ slave

labour in renovating the fertility of the old. There is an air of

rudeness about the villages, and languor about the towns, which promise

small resource in times of war and distress. And then, the wretched

slave population is enough to paralyse the arm of the bravest community,

and to ensure defeat to the best cause. I saw the soldiers and the

preparations for war at Charleston, two years after the crisis was past.

When I was to be shown the arms and ammunition, it appeared that "the

gentleman that had the key was not on the premises." This showed that no

immediate invasion was expected; but it was almost incredible what had

been threatened with such resources. The precautionary life of the

community, on account of the presence of so large a body of slaves, may

be, in some sort, a training for war; but it points out the impediments

to success. If South Carolina had, what some of her leading men seem to

desire, a Lacedemonian government, which should make every free man a

soldier, she would be farther from safety in peace, and success in war,

than any quaker community, exempt from the curse of a debased and

wronged servile class. One glance over the city of Charleston is enough

to show a stranger how helpless she is against a foreign foe, if

unsupported. The soldiers met, at every turn, the swarms of servile

blacks, the very luxuries and hospitalities of the citizens, grateful as

these luxuries are to the stranger, and honourable as these

hospitalities are to his entertainers, betoken a state of society which

has no strength to spare from the great work of self-renovation. Those

who remained at home during the winter of 1832 and 1833, might be

hopeful about the conflict, from being unaware of the depressed

condition of their State, in comparison with others: but the leaders at

Washington might well look stern and grave. It is no impeachment of

their bravery, if their hearts died within them, day by day.

The session was within fourteen days of its close, when Mr. Clay brought

in a bill which had been carefully prepared as a compromise between the

contending parties. It provided that all import duties exceeding twenty

per cent. should be gradually reduced, till, in 1842, they should have

declined to that amount; leaving liberty to augment the duties again, in

case of war. This bill, with certain amendments, not affecting its

principle, was passed, as was the Enforcing Bill,--for enforcing the

collection imposed by act of Congress. A convention was held in South

Carolina: the obnoxious ordinance was repealed; the Enforcing Bill was,

indeed, nominally nullified; but no powers were offered to the

legislature for enforcing the nullification; and the quarrel was, to all

intents and purposes, at an end.

The triumph remained,--if triumph there were,--with South Carolina. This

was owing to the goodness of her principle of free trade; and in no

degree, to the reasonableness of her nullifying practices. The passage

of the Compromise Bill was a wise and fortunate act. Its influence on

the planting and manufacturing interests is a subject to be considered

in another connexion. Its immediate effect in honourably reconciling

differences which had appeared irreconcileable, was a blessing, not only

to the United States, but to the world. The lustre of democratic

principles would have been shrouded to many eyes by a civil war among

the citizens of the Union; while now, the postponement of a danger so

imminent, the healing of a breach so wide, has confirmed the confidence

of many who feared that the States remained united only for want of a

cause of separation.

Some ill effects remain,--especially in the irritation of South

Carolina. There is still an air of mystery and fellowship about the

leading nullifiers, and of disquiet among the Union men of Charleston.

But there is cause enough for restlessness in Charleston, as I have

before said; and much excuse for pique.

Meanwhile, these events have proved to thousands of republicans the

mischief of compromise conveyed in vague phraseology, in so solemn an

instrument as a written constitution.

There could not have been a doubt on this case, if the question of

construction had not had place, from the unfortunate clause ordaining

that the general government shall have all powers necessary for the

fulfilment of certain declared purposes. While this provision, thus

worded, remains, the nullification theory will be played off, from time

to time. The good consequence will arise from this liability, that a

habit will be formed of construing the constitution liberally, with

regard to the States, wherever there is a doubt as to the exercise of

its powers; but this collateral good is no justification of the

looseness of language by which the peace and integrity of the Union have

been made to hang on a point of construction. The people of the United

States will probably show their wisdom in henceforth accepting the

benefit by shunning the evil.

In the privacy of their houses, many citizens have lamented to me, with

feelings to which no name but grief can be given, that the events of

1832--3 have suggested the words "use" or "value of the Union." To an

American, a calculation of the value of the Union would formerly have

been as offensive, as absurd, as an estimate of the value of religion

would be to a right-minded man. To Americans of this order, the Union

has long been more than a matter of high utility. It has been idealised

into an object of love and veneration. In answer to this _cui bono_,

many have cried in their hearts, with Lear, "O reason not the need!" I

was struck with the contrast in the tone of two statesmen, a chief

nullifier and one of his chief opponents. The one would not disguise

from me that the name of the Union had lost much of its charm in the

south, since 1830. The other, in a glow, protested that he never would

hear of the Union losing its charm.

But the instances of carelessness, of levity about the Union, are very

rare; and this is the reason why more show of attachment to it is not

made. The probabilities of the continuance of the Union are so

overwhelming, that no man, not in a state of delusion, from some strong

prejudice, can seriously entertain the idea of a dissolution within any

assignable period. I met with one gentleman in the north, a clergyman,

who expects and desires a dissolution of the Union, saying that the

north bore all the expense of the war, and has had nothing but

obstruction and injury from the south. I saw, also, one gentleman in

South Carolina, who sees no use in the Union, but much expense and

trouble. He declares the only effect of it to be the withdrawing of the

best men from each State to dawdle away their time at Washington.

Another, who desponds about the condition of England, and whose views

are often embellished, and sometimes impaired, by his perceptions of

analogy, expressed his fears that his own country, an offset from mine,

would share the fate of offsets, and perish with the parent. But these

are examples of eccentricity.

There are many among the slave-holders of the south who threaten

secession. Such of these as are in earnest are under the mistake into

which men fall when they put everything to the hazard of one untenable

object. The untenable object once relinquished, the delusion will clear

away with the disappearance of its cause, and the Union will be to them,

with good reason, dearer than it has ever been. The southern States

could not exist, separately, with their present domestic institutions,

in the neighbourhood of any others. They would have thousands of miles

of frontier, over which their slaves would be running away, every day of

the year. In case of war, they might be only too happy if their slaves

did run away, instead of rising up against them at home. If it was

necessary to purchase, Florida because it was a retreat for runaways; if

it was necessary, first to treat with Mexico for the restitution of

runaways, and then to steal Texas, the most high-handed theft of modern

times; if it is necessary to pursue runaways into the northern States,

and to keep magistrates and jails in perpetual requisition for the

restitution of southern human property, how would the southern States

manage by themselves? Only by ridding themselves of slavery; in which

case, their alleged necessity of separation is superseded. As for their

resources,--the shoe-business of New York State is of itself larger and

more valuable than the entire commerce of Georgia,--the largest and

richest of the southern States.

The mere act of separation could not be accomplished. In case of war

against the northern States, it would be necessary to employ half the

white population to take care of the black; and of the remaining half,

no one would undertake to say how many are at heart sick and weary of

slavery, and would be, therefore, untrustworthy. The middle slave

States, now nearly ready to discard slavery, would seize so favourable

an opportunity as that afforded them by the peril of the Union. The

middle free States, from Pennsylvania to the Mississippi, having

everything to lose by separation, and nothing to gain, would treat the

first overt act as rebellion; proceeding against it, and punishing it as

such. The case is so palpable as scarcely to need even so brief a

statement as this. The fact which renders such a statement worth making

is, that most of those who threaten the dissolution of the Union, do it

in order to divert towards this impracticable object the irritation

which would otherwise, and which will, ere long, turn against the

institution of slavery. The gaze of the world is fixed upon this

institution. The world is shouting the one question about this anomaly

which cannot be answered. The dwellers in the south would fain be

unconscious of that awful gaze. They would fain not hear the

reverberation of that shout. They would fain persuade themselves and

others, that they are too busy in asserting their rights and their

dignity as citizens of the Union, to heed the world beyond.

This self and mutual deception will prove a merely temporary evil. The

natural laws which regulate communities, and the will of the majority,

may be trusted to preserve the good, and to remove the bad elements from

which this dissension arises. It requires no gift of prophecy to

anticipate the fate of an anomaly among a self-governing people. Slavery

was not always an anomaly; but it has become one. Its doom is therefore

sealed; and its duration is now merely a question of time. Any anxiety

in the computation of this time is reasonable; for it will not only

remove a more tremendous cause than can ever again desolate society, but

restore the universality of that generous attachment to their common

institutions which has been, and will be, to the American people,

honour, safety, and the means of perpetual progress.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] The Federalist, vol. i. p. 277.

[4] Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 396.

[5] Jefferson's Correspondence, vol. iii. pp. 467-476.

[6] Jefferson's Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 236.

CHAPTER III.

MORALS OF POLITICS.

"'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends

Upon that law as on the best of friends;

Whence, in a state where men are tempted still

To evil for a guard against worse ill,

And what in quality or act is best,

Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,

He fixes good on good alone, and owes

To virtue every triumph, that he knows."

_Wordsworth._

Under a pure despotism, the morals of politics would make but a very

short chapter. Mercy in the ruler; obedience in his officers, with,

perhaps, an occasional stroke of remonstrance; and taxpaying in the

people, would comprehend the whole. Among a self-governing people, who

profess to take human equality for their great common principle, and the

golden rule for their political vow, a long chapter of many sections is

required.

The morals of politics are not too familiar anywhere. The clergy are apt

to leave out its topics from their list of subjects for the pulpit.

Writers on morals make that chapter as brief as if they lived under the

pure despotism, supposed above. An honest newspaper, here and there, or

a newspaper honest for some particular occasion, and therefore

uninfluential in its temporary honesty, are the only speakers on the

morals of politics. The only speakers; but not the only exhibitors.

Scattered here and there, through a vast reach of ages, and expanse of

communities, there may be found, to bless his race, an honest statesman.

Statesmen, free from the gross vices of peculation, sordid, selfish

ambition, cruelty and tergiversation, are not uncommon. But the last

degree of honesty has always been, and is still, considered incompatible

with statesmanship. To hunger and thirst after righteousness has been

naturally, as it were, supposed a disqualification for affairs; and a

man, living for truth, and in a spirit of love, "pure in the last

recesses of the mind," who should propose to seek truth through

political action, and exercise love in the use of political influence,

and refine his purity by disinfecting the political atmosphere of its

corruptions, would hear it reported on every hand that he had a demon.

Yet one who is aware of the enthusiasm with which the Germans hail the

words of Posa at every representation of Don Carlos; one who has seen

how American officials are supported by the people, on the supposition

that they are great men, (however small such men may really be,) one who

has watched the acceleration, within our own time, of the retribution

which overtakes untrustworthy public men, whatever may be their talents

and their knowledge, in contrast with the comparative stability of less

able, but more honest men, can doubt no longer that the time is at hand

for the advent of political principle. The hour is come when dwellers in

the old world should require integrity of their rulers; and dwellers in

the new world, each in his turn a servant of society, should require it

of each other and of themselves. The people of the United States are

seeking after this, feebly and dimly. They have retained one wise saying

of the fathers to whom they owe so much; that the letter of laws and

constitutions is a mere instrument; with no vitality; no power to

protect and bless; and that the spirit is all in all. They have been far

from acting upon this with such steadiness as to show that they

understand and believe it. But the saying is in their minds; and, like

every other true thing that lies there, it will in time exhibit itself

in the appointed mode--the will of the majority.

SECTION I.

OFFICE.

I was told two things separately, last year, which, if put together,

seem to yield an alarming result. I was told that almost every man holds

office, some time during his life; and that holding one is the ruin of

moral independence. The case is not, however, nearly so bad as this.

There is a kind of public life which does seem to injure the morals of

all who enter it; but very few are affected by this. Office in a man's

own neighbourhood, where his character and opinions are known, and where

the honour and emolument are small, is not very seductive: and these are

the offices filled by the greater number of citizens who serve society.

The temptation to propitiate opinion becomes powerful when a citizen

desires to enter the legislature, or to be the chief magistrate of the

State. The peril increases when he becomes a candidate for Congress; and

there seems to be no expectation whatever that a candidate for the

presidentship, or his partizans, should retain any simplicity of speech,

or regard to equity in the distribution of places and promises. All this

is dreadfully wrong. It originates in a grand mistake, which cannot be

rectified but by much suffering. It is obvious that there must be

mistake; for it can never be an arrangement of Providence that men

cannot serve each other in their political relations without being

corrupted.

The primary mistake is in supposing that men cannot bear to hear the

truth. It has become the established method of seeking office, not only

to declare a coincidence of opinion with the supposed majority, on the

great topics on which the candidate will have to speak and act while in

office, but to deny, or conceal, or assert anything else which it is

supposed will please the same majority. The consequence is, that the

best men are not in office. The morally inferior who succeed, use their

power for selfish purposes, to a sufficient extent to corrupt their

constituents, in their turn. I scarcely knew, at first, how to

understand the political conversations which I heard in travelling. If a

citizen told another that A. had voted in a particular manner, the other

invariably began to account for the vote. A. had voted thus to please

B., because B.'s influence was wanted for the benefit of C., who had

promised so and so to A.'s brother, or son, or nephew, or leading

section of constituents. A reason for a vote, or other public

proceeding, must always be found; and any reason seemed to be taken up

rather than the obvious one, that a man votes according to the decision

of his reason and conscience. I often mentioned this to men in office,

or seeking to be so; and they received it with a smile or a laugh which

wrung my heart. Of all heart-withering things, political scepticism in a

republic is one of the most painful. I told Mr. Clay my observations in

both kinds. "Let them laugh!" cried he, with an honourable warmth: "and

do you go on requiring honesty; and you will find it." He is right: but

those who would find the highest integrity had bettor not begin their

observations on office-holders, much less on office-seekers, as a class.

The office-holder finds, too often, that it may be easier to get into

office than to have power to discharge its duties when there: and then

the temptation to subservience, to dishonest silence, is well nigh too

strong for mortal man. The office-seeker stands committed as desiring

something for which he is ready to sacrifice his business or profession,

his ease, his leisure, and the quietness of his reputation. He stands

forth as either an adventurer, a man of ambition, or of self-sacrificing

patriotism. Being once thus committed, failure is mortifying, and the

allurement to compromise, in order to success, is powerful. Once in

public life, the politician is committed for ever, whether he

immediately perceives this, or not. Almost every public man of my

acquaintance owned to me the difficulty of retiring,--in mind, if not in

presence,--after the possession of a public trust. This painful

hankering is part of the price to be paid for the honours of public

service: and I am disposed to think that it is almost universal; that

scarcely any man knows quiet and content, from the moment of the success

of his first election. The most modest men shrink from thus committing

themselves. The most learned men, generally speaking, devote themselves,

in preference, to professions. The most conscientious men, generally

speaking, shun the snares which fatally beset public life, at present,

in the United States.

A gentleman of the latter class, whose talents and character would

procure him extensive and hearty support, if he desired it, told me,

that he would never serve in office, because he believes it to be the

destruction of moral independence: he pointed out to me three friends of

his, men of remarkable talent, all in public life. "Look at them," said

he, "and see what they might have been! Yet A. is a slave, B. is a

slave, and C. is a worm in the dust." Too true.

Here is a grievous misfortune to the republic! My friend ascribes it to

the want of protection from his neighbours, to which a man is exposed

from the want of caste. This will never do. A crown and sceptre would be

about as desirable in a republic as caste. If men would only try the

effect of faith in one another, I believe they would take rank, and

yield protection, with more precision and efficacy than by any

manifestation of the exclusive spirit that was ever witnessed. Of

course, this proposal will be called "Quixotic;" that convenient term

which covers things the most serious and the most absurd, the wisest and

the wildest. I am strengthened in my suggestion by a recurrence to the

first principles of society in the United States, according to which I

find that "rulers derive their just powers from the consent of the

governed;" and that the theory is, that the best men are chosen to

serve. Both these pre-suppose mutual faith. Let the governed once

require honesty as a condition of their consent; let them once choose

the best men, according to their most conscientious conviction, and

there will be an end of this insulting and disgusting political

scepticism. Adventurers and ambitious men there will still be; but they

will not taint the character of the class. Better men, who will respect

their constituents, without fearing or flattering them, will foster the

generous mutual faith which is now so grievously wanting; and the spirit

of the constitution, now drooping in some of its most important

departments, will revive.

I write more in hope than in immediate expectation. I saw much ground

for hope, but very much also for grief. Scarcely anything that I

observed in the United States caused me so much sorrow as the

contemptuous estimate of the people entertained by those who were bowing

the knee to be permitted to serve them. Nothing can be more disgusting

than the contrast between the drawing-room gentleman, at ease among

friends, and the same person courting the people, on a public occasion.

The only comfort was a strong internal persuasion that the people do not

like to be courted thus. They have been so long used to it, that they

receive it as a matter of course; but, I believe, if a candidate should

offer, who should make no professions but of his opinions, and his

honest intentions of carrying them out; if he should respect the people

as men, not as voters, and inform them truly of his views of their

condition and prospects, they would recognise him at once as their best

friend. He might, notwithstanding, lose his election; for the people

must have time to recover, or to attain simplicity; but he would serve

them better by losing his election thus, than by the longest and most

faithful service in public life.

I have often wondered whether a gentleman at Laporte, in Indiana, who

advertised his desire to be sheriff, gained his election. He declared in

his advertisement that he had not been largely solicited, but that it

was his own desire that he should be sheriff: he would not promise to do

away with mosquitoes, ague, and fever, but only to do his duty. This

candidate has his own way of flattering his constituents.

A gentleman of considerable reputation offered, last year, to deliver a

lecture, in a Lyceum, in Massachusetts. It was upon the French

Revolution; and on various accounts curious. There was no mention of the

causes of the Revolution, except in a parenthesis of one sentence,

where he intimated that French society was not in harmony with the

spirit of the age. He sketched almost every body concerned, except the

Queen. The most singular part, perhaps, was his estimate of the military

talents of Napoleon. He exalted them much, and declared him a greater

general than Wellington, but not so great as Washington. The audience

was large and respectable. I knew a great many of the persons present,

and found that none of them liked the lecture.

I attended another Lyceum lecture in Massachusetts. An agent of the

Colonisation Society lectured; and, when he had done, introduced a

clergyman of colour, who had just returned from Liberia, and could give

an account of the colony in its then present state. As soon as this

gentleman came forward, a party among the audience rose, and went out,

with much ostentation of noise. Mr. Wilson broke off till he could be

again heard, and then observed in a low voice, "that would not have been

done in Africa;" upon which, there was an uproar of applause, prolonged

and renewed. All the evidence on the subject that I could collect, went

to prove that the people can bear, and do prefer to hear, the truth. It

is a crime to withhold it from them; and a double crime to substitute

flattery.

The tone of the orations was the sole, but great drawback from the

enjoyment of the popular festivals I witnessed. I missed the celebration

of the 4th of July,--both years; being, the first year, among the

Virginia mountains, (where the only signs of festivity which I saw, were

some slaves dressing up a marquee, in which their masters were to feast,

after having read, from the Declaration of Independence, that all men

are created free and equal, and that rulers derive their just powers

from the consent of the governed;) and the second year on the lakes,

arriving at Mackinaw too late in the evening of the great day for any

celebration that might have taken place. But I was at two remarkable

festivals, and heard two very remarkable orations. They were represented

to me as fair or favourable specimens of that kind of address; and, to

judge by the general sum of those which I read and heard, they were so.

The valley of the Connecticut is the most fertile valley in New England;

and it is scarcely possible that any should be more beautiful. The

river, full, broad, and tranquil as the summer sky, winds through

meadows, green with pasture, or golden with corn. Clumps of forest trees

afford retreat for the cattle in the summer heats; and the magnificent

New England elm, the most graceful of trees, is dropped singly, here and

there, and casts its broad shade upon the meadow. Hills of various

height and declivity bound the now widening, now contracting valley. To

these hills, the forest has retired; the everlasting forest, from which,

in America, we cannot fly. I cannot remember that, except in some parts

of the prairies, I was ever out of sight of the forest in the United

States and I am sure I never wished to be so. It was like the "verdurous

wall of Paradise," confining the mighty southern and western rivers to

their channels. We were, as it appeared, imprisoned in it for many days

together, as we traversed the south-eastern States. We threaded it in

Michigan; we skirted it in New York and Pennsylvania; and throughout New

England it bounded every landscape. It looked down upon us from the

hill-tops; it advanced into notice from every gap and notch in the

chain. To the native it must appear as indispensable in the

picture-gallery of nature as the sky. To the English traveller it is a

special boon, an added charm, a newly-created grace, like the infant

planet that wanders across the telescope of the astronomer. The English

traveller finds himself never weary by day of prying into the forest,

from beneath its canopy: or, from a distance drinking in its exquisite

hues: and his dreams, for months or years, will be of the mossy roots,

the black pine, and silvery birch stems, the translucent green shades of

the beech, and the slender creeper, climbing like a ladder into the

topmost boughs of the dark holly, a hundred feet high. He will dream of

the march of the hours through the forest; the deep blackness of night,

broken by the dun forest-fires, and startled by the showers of sparks,

sent abroad by the casual breeze from the burning stems. He will hear

again the shrill piping of the whip-poor-will, and the multitudinous din

from the occasional swamp. He will dream of the deep silence which

precedes the dawn; of the gradual apparition of the haunting trees,

coming faintly out of the darkness; of the first level rays,

instantaneously piercing the woods to their very heart, and lighting

them up into boundless ruddy colonnades, garlanded with wavy verdure,

and carpeted with glittering wild-flowers. Or, he will dream of the

clouds of gay butterflies, and gauzy dragon-flies, that hover above the

noon-day paths of the forest, or cluster about some graceful shrub,

making it appear to bear at once all the flowers of Eden. Or the golden

moon will look down through his dream, making for him islands of light

in an ocean of darkness. He may not see the stars but by glimpses; but

the winged stars of those regions,--the gleaming fire-flies,--radiate

from every sleeping bough, and keep his eye in fancy busy in following

their glancing, while his spirit sleeps in the deep charms of the summer

night. Next to the solemn and various beauty of the sea and the sky,

comes that of the wilderness. I doubt whether the sublimity of the

vastest mountain-range can exceed that of the all-pervading forest, when

the imagination becomes able to realise the conception of what it is.

In the valley of the Connecticut, the forest merely presides over the

scene, giving gravity to its charm. On East Mountain, above Deerfield,

in Massachusetts, it is mingled with grey rocks, whose hue mingles

exquisitely with its verdure. We looked down from thence on a long reach

of the valley, just before sunset, and made ourselves acquainted with

the geography of the catastrophe which was to be commemorated in a day

or two. Here and there, in the meadows, were sinkings of the soil,

shallow basins of verdant pasturage, where there had probably once been

small lakes, but where cattle were now grazing. The unfenced fields,

secure within landmarks, and open to the annual inundation which

preserves their fertility, were rich with unharvested Indian corn; the

cobs left lying in their sheaths, because no passer-by is tempted to

steal them; every one having enough of his own. The silvery river lay

among the meadows; and on its bank, far below us, stretched the avenue

of noble trees, touched with the hues of autumn, which shaded the

village of Deerfield. Saddleback bounded our view opposite, and the

Northampton hills and Green Mountains on the left. Smoke arose, here and

there, from the hills' sides, and the nearer eminences were dotted with

white dwellings, of the same order with the homesteads which were

sprinkled over the valley. The time is past when a man feared to sit

down further off than a stone's throw from his neighbours, lest the

Indians should come upon him. The villages of Hadley and Deerfield are a

standing memorial of those times, when the whites clustered together

around the village church, and their cattle were brought into the area,

every night, under penalty of their being driven off before morning.

These villages consist of two rows of houses, forming a long street,

planted with trees; and the church stands in the middle. The houses, of

wood, were built in those days with the upper story projecting; that the

inhabitants, in case of siege, might fire at advantage upon the Indians,

forcing the door with tomahawks.

I saw an old house of this kind at Deerfield,--the only one which

survived the burning of the village by the French and Indians, in 1704,

when all the inhabitants, to the number of two hundred and eighty, being

attacked in their sleep, were killed or carried away captive by the

Indians. The wood of the house was old and black, and pierced in many

parts with bullet-holes. One had given passage to a bullet which shot a

woman in the neck, as she rose up in bed, on hearing the tomahawk strike

upon the door. The battered door remains, to chill one's blood with the

thought that such were the blows dealt by the Indians upon the skulls of

their victims, whether infants or soldiers.

This was not the event to commemorate which we were assembled at

Deerfield. A monument was to be erected on the spot where another body

of people had been murdered, by savage foes of the same race. Deerfield

was first settled in 1671; a few houses being then built on the present

street, and the settlers being on good terms with their neighbours. King

Philip's war broke out in 1675, and the settlers were attacked more than

once. There was a large quantity of grain stored up at Deerfield; and it

was thought advisable to remove it for safety to Hadley, fifteen miles

off. Captain Lothrop, with eighty men, and some teams, marched from

Hadley to remove the grain; his men being the youth and main hope of

the settlements around. On their return from Deerfield, on the 30th of

September 1675, about four miles and a half on the way to Hadley, the

young men dispersed to gather the wild grapes that were hanging ripe in

the thickets, and were, under this disadvantage, attacked by a large

body of Indians. It was afterwards discovered that the only way to

encounter the Indians is in phalanx. Captain Lothrop did not know this;

and he posted his men behind trees, where they were, almost to a man,

picked off by the enemy. About ninety-three, including the teamsters,

fell. When all was over, help arrived. The Indians were beaten; but they

appeared before the village, some days after, shaking the scalps and

bloody garments of the slain captain and his troop, before the eyes of

the inhabitants. The place was afterwards abandoned by the settlers,

destroyed by the Indians, and not rebuilt for some years.

This was a piteous incident in the history of the settlement; but it is

not easy to see why it should be made an occasion of commemoration, by

monument and oratory, in preference to many others which have a stronger

moral interest attaching to them. Some celebrations, like that of

Forefather's Day, are inexpressibly interesting and valuable, from the

glorious recollections by which they are sanctified. But no virtue was

here to be had in remembrance; nothing but mere misery. The

contemplation of mere misery is painful and hurtful; and the only

salutary influence that I could perceive to arise from this occasion was

a far-fetched and dubious one,--thankfulness that the Indians are not

now at hand to molest the white inhabitants. Then occurs the question

about the Indians,--"where are they?" and the answer leaves one less

sympathy than one would wish to have with the present security of the

settler. The story of King Philip, who is supposed to have headed, in

person, the attack on Lothrop's troop, is one of the most melancholy in

the records of humanity; and sorrow for him must mingle with

congratulations to the descendants of his foes, who, in his eyes, were

robbers. With these thoughts in my mind, I found it difficult to

discover the philosophy of this celebration. A stranger might be

pardoned for being so slow.

One of the then candidates for the highest office in the State, is

renowned for his oratory. He is one of the most accomplished scholars

and gentlemen that the country possesses. It was thought, "by his

friends," that his interest wanted strengthening in the western part of

the State. The people were pleased when any occasion procured them the

_éclat_ of bringing a celebrated orator over to address them. The

commemoration of an Indian catastrophe was thought of as an occasion

capable of being turned to good electioneering purposes.--Mr. Webster

was invited to be the orator, it being known that he would refuse. "Not

I," said he. "I won't go and rake up old bloody Indian stories." The

candidate was next invited, and, of course, took the opportunity of

"strengthening his interest in the western part of the State." I was not

aware of this till I sometime after heard it, on indisputable authority.

I should have enjoyed it much less than I did, if I had known that the

whole thing was got up, or its time and manner chosen, for

electioneering objects; that advantage was taken of the best feelings of

the people for the political interest of one.

The afternoon of the 29th we went to Bloody Brook, the fearfully-named

place of disaster. We climbed the Sugar-loaf; a high, steep hill, from

whose precipitous sides is obtained a view of the valley which pleases

me more than the celebrated one from Mount Holyoke, a few miles off.

Each, however, is perfect in its way; and both so like heaven, when one

looks down upon the valley in the light of an autumn afternoon,--such a

light as never yet burnished an English scene,--that no inclination is

left to make comparisons. The ox team was in the fields, the fishers on

the banks of the grey river,--banks and fishers reflected to the

life,--all as tranquil as if there was to be no stir the next day.

On descending, we went to the Bloody Brook Inn, and saw the strange and

horrible picture of the slaughter of Lothrop's troop; a picture so bad

as to be laughable; but too horrible to be laughed at. Every man of the

eighty exactly alike, and all looking scared at being about to be

scalped. We saw, also, the long tables spread for the feast of

to-morrow. Lengths of unbleached cotton for table cloths, plates and

glasses, were already provided. Some young men were bringing in long

trails of the wild vine, clustered with purple grapes, to hang about the

young maple trees which overshadowed the tables; others were trying the

cannon. We returned home in a state of high expectation.

The morning of the 30th was bright, but rather cold. It was doubtful how

far prudence would warrant our sitting in an orchard for several hours,

in such a breeze as was blowing. It was evident, however, that persons

at a distance had no scruples on the subject, so thickly did they throng

to the place of meeting. The wagon belonging to the band passed my

windows, filled with young ladies from the High School at Greenfield.

They looked as gay as if they had been going to a fair. By half-past

eight, our party set off, accompanied by a few, and passing a great

number of strangers from distant villages.

After having accomplished our drive of three or four miles, we warmed

ourselves in a friendly house, and repaired to the orchard to choose our

seats, while the ceremony of laying the first stone of the monument was

proceeding at some distance. The platform from which the orator was to

address the assemblage was erected under a rather shabby walnut-tree,

which was rendered less picturesque by its lower branches being lopped

off, for the sake of convenience. Several men had perched themselves on

the tree; and I was beginning to wonder how they would endure their

uncomfortable seat, in the cold wind, for three hours, when I saw them

called down, and dismissed to find places among the rest of the

assemblage, as they sent down bark and dust upon the heads of those who

sat on the platform. Long and deep ranges of benches were provided; and

on these, with carriage cushions and warm cloaks, we found ourselves

perfectly well accommodated. Nothing could be better. It was a pretty

sight. The wind rustled fitfully in the old walnut-tree. The audience

gathered around, it were sober, quiet; some would have said dull. The

girls appeared to me to be all pretty, after the fashion of American

girls. Every body was well-dressed; and such a thing as ill-behaviour in

any village assemblage in New England, is, I believe, unheard of. The

soldiers were my great amusement; as they were on the few other

occasions when I had the good fortune to see any. Their chief business,

on the present occasion, was to keep clear the seats which were reserved

for the band, now absent with the procession. These seats were

advantageously placed; and new-comers were every moment taking

possession of them, and had to be sent, disappointed, into the rear. It

was moving to behold the loving entreaties of the soldiers that these

seats might be vacated. I saw one, who had shrunk away from his

uniform, (probably from the use of tobacco, of which his mouth was

full,) actually put his arm round the neck of a gentleman, and smile

imploringly in his face. It was irresistible, and the gentleman moved

away. It is a perfect treat to the philanthropist to observe the pacific

appearance of the militia throughout the United States. It is well known

how they can fight, when the necessity arises: but they assuredly look,

at present, as if it was the last thing in their intentions:--as I hope

it may long be.

The band next arrived, leading the procession of gentlemen, and were

soon called into action by the first hymn. They did their best; and, if

no one of their instruments could reach the second note of the German

Hymn, (the second note of three lines out of four,) it was not for want

of trying.

The oration followed. I strove, as I always did, not to allow difference

of taste, whether in oratory, or in anything else, to render me

insensible to the merit, in its kind, of what was presented to me: but,

upon this occasion, all my sympathies were baffled, and I was deeply

disgusted. It mattered little what the oration was in itself, if it had

only belonged in character to the speaker. If a Greenfield farmer or

mechanic had spoken as he believed orators to speak, and if the failure

had been complete, I might have been sorry or amused, or disappointed;

but not disgusted. But here was one of the most learned and accomplished

gentlemen in the country, a candidate for the highest office in the

State, grimacing like a mountebank before the assemblage whose votes he

desired to have, and delivering an address, which he supposed level to

their taste and capacity. He spoke of the "stately tree," (the poor

walnut,) and the "mighty assemblage," (a little flock in the middle of

an orchard,) and offered them shreds of tawdry sentiment, without the

intermixture of one sound thought, or simple and natural feeling, simply

and naturally expressed. It was equally an under estimate of his

hearers, and a degradation of himself.

The effect was very plain. Many, I know, were not interested, but were

unwilling to say so of so renowned an orator. All were dull; and it was

easy to see that none of the proper results of public speaking followed.

These very people are highly imaginative. Speak to them of what

interests them, and they are moved with a word. Speak to those whose

children are at school, of the progress and diffusion of knowledge, and

they will hang upon the lips of the speaker. Speak to the

unsophisticated among them of the case of the slave, and they are ready

to brave Lynch-law on his behalf. Appeal to them on any religious or

charitable enterprise, and the good deed is done, almost as soon as

indicated. But they have been taught to consider the oratory of set

persons on set occasions as a matter of business or of pastime. They

listen to it, make their remarks upon it, vote, perhaps, that it shall

be printed, and go home, without having been so much moved as by a dozen

casual remarks, overheard upon the road.

All this would be of little importance, if these orations consisted of

narrative,--or of any mere matter of fact. The grievance lies in the

prostitution of moral sentiment, the clap-trap of praise and pathos,

which is thus criminally adventured. This is one great evil. Another, as

great, both to orators and listeners, is the mis-estimate of the people.

No insolence and meanness can surpass those of the man of sense and

taste who talks beneath himself to the people, because he thinks it

suits them. No good parent ventures to do so to his youngest child; and

a candidate for office who will do it, shows himself ignorant of that

which it is most important he should know,--what fidelity of deference

every man owes to every other man. Is such a one aware that he is

perpetually saying in his heart, "God! I thank thee that I am not as

other men are?"

The other festival, to which I have alluded, was the celebration of

Forefathers' Day;--of the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock. I

trust that this anniversary will be hailed with honour, as long as

Massachusetts overlooks the sea. A more remarkable, a nobler enterprise,

was never kept in remembrance by a grateful posterity, than the

emigration of the Pilgrim Fathers; and their posterity are, at least, so

far worthy of them as that they all, down to the young children, seem to

have a clear understanding of the nature of the act, and the character

of the men. I never beheld the popular character in a more cheering

light than on this occasion; and, if I happened to be acquainted with a

misanthrope, I would send him to Plymouth, to keep Forefathers' Day.

Every fact that I review, every line that I write, brings back

delightful feelings towards some of the affectionate and hospitable

friends through whose kindness I saw and learned whatever I learned of

their country; but to none am I more thankful than to those who took me

to Plymouth, and those who welcomed me there. It was an occasion when

none could be on any other terms than pure brotherhood with all the

rest. It was the great birth-day of the New England people; and none

could fail to wish the people joy.

My party and I reached Plymouth from Hingham the day before the

celebration. As we drew near the coast, I anxiously watched the

character of the scenery, trying to view it with the eyes of the first

emigrants. It must have struck a chill to their hearts;--so bare, so

barren, so wintry. The firs grew more and more stunted, as we approached

the sea; till, as one of my companions observed, they were ashamed to

show themselves any smaller, and so turned into sand. Mrs. Hemans calls

it, in her fine lyric, a rock-bound coast; naturally enough, as she was

told that the pilgrims set their feet on a rock, on landing; but that

rock was the only one. The coast is low and sandy. The aspect of the bay

was, this day, most dreary. We had travelled through snow, all the way

behind; snowy fields, with here and there a solitary crow stalking in

the midst; and now, there was nothing but ice before us. Dirty, grey

ice, some sheeted, some thrown up by the action of the sea into heaps,

was all that was to be seen, instead of the blue and glittering sea. A

friend assured me, however, that all would be bright and cheering the

next morning; informing me, with a smile, that in the belief of the

country people, it never did rain or snow, and never would rain or snow,

on Forefathers' Day. This is actually a superstition firmly held in the

neighbourhood. This friend pointed out to me, in the course of the

afternoon, how the green grass was appearing through the snow on Burial

Hill, on whose slope the descending sun, warm for December, was shining.

We mounted Burial Hill; and when I trod the turf, after some weeks'

walking over crisp snow, I began to feel that I might grow superstitious

too, if I lived at Plymouth.

Upwards of half the pilgrim company died the first winter. Fifty-one

dropped in succession; and the graves of most of them are on this hill.

Burial Hill was probably chosen to be a _memento mori_ to the pious

pilgrims; its elevation, bristling with grave-stones, being conspicuous

from every part of the town. But, lest it should exhibit their tale of

disaster to their foes, the Indians, the colonists sowed the place of

their dead with corn; making it, for honest purposes, a whited

sepulchre. From this eminence, we saw the island in the harbour where

the fathers landed for service on the first Sunday after their arrival;

also, the hill on which stood a wigwam, from whence issued an Indian to

hold the first parley. A brook flowed between the two hills, on which

stood the Indian and the chief of the intruders. Governor Winslow

descended to the brook; bridged it with stepping-stones, in sight of the

Indian; laid down his arms, and advanced. The meeting was friendly; but

there was so little feeling of security, for long after, that when half

the colonists had perished, the rest were paraded round and round a hut

on Burial Hill, to conceal the smallness of their numbers from the

vigilant Indians.

We went to the Registry Office, and saw the earliest records of the

colony,--as far back as 1623,--in the handwriting of the fathers. Among

them is a record of the lots of land appointed to those who came over in

the Mayflower. (Little did the builders of that ship dream how they were

working for immortality!) Sometimes a cow is appointed, with a lot, to

six families. Sometimes a black goat. The red cow is ordained to be kept

for the poor, to calve.

The rock on which the pilgrims first landed, has been split, and the top

part, in order to its preservation, removed within an iron railing, in

front of Pilgrim Hall. The memorable date of the landing, 1620, is

painted upon it; and the names of the fathers, in cast-iron, are

inserted into the railing which surrounds the rock.

Within the Hall, a plain, spacious building, erected within ten years,

to serve as the scene of the festivities of Forefathers' Day, and also

as a Museum of Pilgrim curiosities, is a picture, by Sargent, of the

Landing of the Pilgrims. Samosat, the Indian chief, is advancing, with

English words of greeting,--"Welcome, Englishmen!" Elder Brewster, and

the other fathers, with their apprehensive wives and wondering children,

form an excellent group; and the Mayflower is seen moored in the

distance. The greatest defect in the picture is the introduction of the

blasted tree, which needlessly adds to the desolation of the scene, and

gives a false idea, as far as it goes. I could not have anticipated the

interest which these memorials would inspire. I felt as if in a dream,

the whole time that I was wandering about with the rejoicing people,

among the traces of the heroic men and women who came over into the

perilous wilderness, in search of freedom of worship.

Forefathers' Day rose bright and mild. I looked out towards the harbour.

Every flake of ice was gone, and the deep blue sea rippled and sparkled

in the sun. The superstition was fated to endure another year, at least.

All Plymouth was in a joyous bustle, with lines of carriages, and groups

of walkers. After breakfast, we proceeded to the church, to await the

orator of the day. We were detained on the steps for a few minutes, till

the doors should be opened; and I was glad of it, for the sun was warm,

and the _coup d'oeil_ was charming. There was one long descent from the

church down to the glittering sea; and on the slope were troops of gay

ladies, and lines of children; with here and there a company of little

boys, playing soldiers to the music of the band, which came faintly from

afar. Of real soldiers, I saw two during the day. There might be more;

but none were needed. The strangest association of all was of a Pilgrim

Ode sung to the tune of "God save the King!" an air which I should have

supposed no more likely to be chosen for such an occasion than as an

epilogue to the Declaration of Independence. It did very well, however.

It set us all singing so as to drown the harmony of the violins and

horns which acted as instigation.

The oration was by an ex-senator of the United States. It consisted

wholly of an elaboration of the transcendent virtues of the people of

New England. His manner was more quiet than that of any other orator I

heard; and I really believe that there was less of art than of weakness

and bad taste in his choice of his mode of address. Nothing could be

imagined worse,--more discordant with the fitting temper of the

occasion,--more dangerous to the ignorant, if such there were,--more

disgusting to the wise, (as I know, on the testimony of such,)--more

unworthy of one to whom the ear of the people was open. He told his

hearers of the superiority of their physical, intellectual, and moral

constitution to that of their brethren of the middle and southern

States, to that of Europeans, and all other dwellers in the earth; a

superiority which forbade their being ever understood and appreciated by

any but themselves. He spoke especially of the intensity of the New

England character, as being a hidden mystery from all but natives. He

contrasted the worst circumstances of European society, (now in course

of correction,) with the best of New England arrangements, and drew the

obvious inferences. He excused the bigotry of the Pilgrim Fathers, their

cruel persecution of the Quakers, and other such deeds, on the ground

that they had come over to have the colony to themselves, and did not

want interlopers. He extenuated the recent mobbing practices in New

England, on the ground of their rarity and small consequences, and

declared it impossible that the sons of the pilgrims should trust to

violence for the maintenance of opinion. This last sentiment, the only

sound one that I perceived in the oration, was loudly cheered. The whole

of the rest, I rejoice to say, fell dead.

The orator was unworthy of his hearers. He had been a senator of the

United States, and had, I was told, discharged his duty there; but he

was little fit for public life, if he did not know that it is treason to

republicanism to give out lower morals in public than are held in

private; to smile or sigh over the vanity of the people by the fireside,

and pamper it from the rostrum; to use the power of oratory to injure

the people, instead of to save. In this case, the exaggeration was so

excessive as to be, I trust, harmless. No man of common sense could be

made to believe that any community of mortal men has ever been what the

orator described the inhabitants of New England to have attained. I was

deeply touched by the first remark I heard upon this oration. A lady,

who had been prevented from attending, asked me, on my return, home, how

I liked the address. Before I could open my lips to reply, her daughter

spoke. "I am heart-sick of this boasting. When I think of our

forefathers, I want to cry, 'God be merciful to us sinners!'" If the

oration awakened in others, as I believe it did, by force of contrast,

feelings as healthful, as faithful to the occasion as this, it was not

lost, and our pity must rest upon the orator.

I am aware,--I had but too much occasion to observe,--how this practice

of flattering the people from the rostrum is accounted for, and, as a

matter of fact, smiled at by citizens of the United States. I know that

it is considered as a mode, inseparable from the philosophy of politics

there. I dissent from this view altogether. I see that the remedy lies,

not wholly where remedies for the oppression of severe natural laws

lie,--in a new combination of outward circumstances,--but in the

individual human will. The people may have honest orators if they

choose to demand to hear the truth. The people will gladly hear the

truth, if the appointed orator will lay aside selfish fears and desires,

and use his high privilege of speaking from the bottom of his soul. If,

in simplicity, he delivers to the people his true and best self, he is

certain to gain the convictions of many, and the sympathies of all; and

his soul will be clear of the guilt of deepening the pit under the feet

of the people, while trying to persuade them that they are treading on

firm ground. What is to be said of guides who dig pitfalls?

The day closed delightfully. Almost everybody went to pay respect to an

aged lady, then eighty-eight, a regular descendant of one of the

pilgrims. She was confined to the sofa, but retained much beauty, and

abundant cheerfulness. She was delighted to receive us, and to

sympathise in those pleasures of the day which she could not share. I

had the honour of sitting in the chair which her ancestor brought over

from England, and of feeling the staple by which it was fastened in the

Mayflower.

The dinner being over, the gentlemen returned to their several abodes,

to escort the ladies to the ball in Pilgrim Hall. I went, with a party

of seven others, in a stage coach; every carriage, native and exotic,

being in requisition to fill the ball-room, from which no one was

excluded. It was the only in-door festival, except the President's

levee, where I witnessed an absolutely general admission; and its aspect

and conduct were, in the highest degree, creditable to the intelligence

and manners of the community. There were families from the islands in

the bay, and other country residences, whence the inhabitants seldom

emerge, except for this festival. The dress of some of the young ladies

was peculiar, and their glee was very visible; but I saw absolutely no

vulgarity. There was much beauty, and much elegance among the young

ladies, and the manners of their parents were unexceptionable. There was

evidence in the dancing, of the "intensity" of which we had heard so

much in the morning. The lads and lasses looked as if they meant never

to tire; but this enjoyment of the exercise pleased me much more than

the affectation of dancing, which is now fashionable in the large

cities. I never expect to see a more joyous and unexceptionable piece of

festivity than the Pilgrim ball of 1835.

The next day, the harbour was all frozen over; and the memory of the

blue, rippling sea of Plymouth, is therefore, with me, sacred to

Forefathers' Day.

I was frequently reminded by friends of what is undoubtedly very true,

the great perils of office in the United States, as an excuse for the

want of honesty in officials. It is perfectly true that it is ruin to a

professional man without fortune, to enter public life for a time, and

then be driven back into private life. I knew a senator of the United

States who had served for nearly his twice six years, and who then had

to begin life again, as regarded his profession. I knew a representative

of the United States, a wealthy man, with a large family, who is

doubting still, as he has been for a few years past, whether he shall

give up commerce or public life, or go on trying to hold them both. He

is rich enough to devote himself to public life; but at the very next

election after he has relinquished his commercial affairs, he may be

thrown out of politics. I see what temptations arise in such cases, to

strain a few points, in order to remain in the public eye; and I am

willing to allow for the strength of the temptation.

But the part for honest men to take is to expose the peril, to the end

that the majority may find a remedy; and not to sanction it by yielding

to it. Let the attention of the people be drawn towards the salaries of

office, that they may discover whether they are too low; which is best,

that adventurers of bad character should now and then get into office,

because they have not reputation enough to obtain a living by other

means, or that honest and intelligent men should be kept out, because

the prizes of office are engrossed by more highly educated men; and

whether the rewards of office are kept low by the democratic party, for

the sake of putting in what their opponents call 'adventurers,' or by

the aristocratic, with the hope of offices being engrossed by the men of

private fortune. Let the true state of the case, according to each

official's view of it, be presented to the people, rather than any

countenance be given to the present dreadful practice of wheedling and

flattery; and the perils of office will be, by some means, lessened.

The popular scandal against the people of the United States, that they

boast intolerably of their national institutions and character, appears

to me untrue: but I see how it has arisen. Foreigners, especially the

English, are partly to blame for this. They enter the United States with

an idea that a republic is a vulgar thing: and some take no pains to

conceal their thought. To an American, nothing is more venerable than a

republic. The native and the stranger set out on a misunderstanding. The

English attacks, the American defends, and, perhaps, boasts. But the

vain-glorious flattery of their public orators is the more abundant

source of this reproach; and it rests with the people to redeem

themselves from it. For my own part, I remember no single instance of

patriotic boasting, from man, woman, or child, except from the rostrum;

but from thence there was poured enough to spoil the auditory for life,

if they had been simple enough to believe what they were told. But they

were not.