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it a very clever thing to sneer at our bad English, and to insinuate that a people who spoke unauthorized vocables, must, of necessity, make bad laws. He forgot Whitechapel, and never dreamed of the barbarisms in speech that are sometimes found on the west side of Temple-bar. But let him talk of "Britishers" again!

If we mistake not, we have succeeded in showing that the plausible theories of the British economists have been contradicted by every part of our national history. "Free trade" is a phrase that has a fine sound; and as a great part of mankind are influenced by words rather than by facts or ideas, the doctrine has made converts of many persons solely by its name. This free trade we enjoyed while we were colonies of Great Britain, and when it was a crime to make a hat or a hob-nail in Massachusetts, and New York, and Virginia. Such free trade is enjoyed at the present day by the inhabitants of the British colonies of Canada and New Brunswick. Does any one wish to know whether of the two, the British or the American system, operates most for the benefit of the people, let him stand upon the boundary line and look to the right and the left; the contrast in favor of our own side, is the remark of every observer, British or AmeriLook then, we say, once more upon this picture, and upon this. If John Bull really thinks us so badly off, would not he do well for his beloved subjects to keep them on his own side of the line, where there will be no paying 95 per cent. on window glass, if they are so happy as to get any?

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no resources beyond those accomplishments
which are said to constitute the devil's
beauty-youth and health; we had our
own hands to labor with, and we had noth-
ing more. If the protective system could
have ruined any nation under the sun, it
surely would have ruined us. So far from
this, the reviewer confesses that we have
thriven wonderfully under its influence,
though he is at his wit's end to find some
other cause for our prosperity, inasmuch
as the American system ought not to have
prospered, according to his theory.
like the sturdy old Calvinistic dame, he
"won't give up total depravity." The no-
tion that protection will cause ruin is ste-
reotyped on his brain, and we are assured
that the ruin is coming by and by. Doctor
Johnson, who thought "taxation no tyran-
ny," argued somewhat differently.
We
did not lay the burden on your back," said
he, "when you were a calf, but we do it
now because you have grown
to be an ox."
This was sensible enough in the abstract,
on a question merely of the ability to bear
burdens; but here is a reasoner who tells us
that the calf has borne the burden, but the
ox cannot !

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But away with this nonsense about burdens; it is a mere fallacy of speech. man is burdened by what oppresses him, and he is disburdened by what relieves him. Call your revenue arrangements by what name you will, they must be judged by these results, and by these alone. If the American protective system gives the American citizen better and cheaper goods, a wider range of occupation, better pay for labor, a more extended, more active and The reviewer finds it in his theory that more steady and certain market for his lathe system with which America is bur- bor and his merchandise; if it augments dened" would be "ruinous to countries of national wealth and private wealth, makes less energy and resources." Let it be re- the country independent and the individmarked in the first place, that the resour- ual independent, brings more abundant ces of this country have for the most part supplies of everything needful for life, to grown up under the fostering care of this every man's door, and gives him more very system; that they have become devel- money to purchase those supplies; if the oped and augmented and spread, not only protective system does this to a greater exover the New England States, but over the tent than any other system that has yet Middle States and the mighty West, just been tried, the man does but abuse lanin proportion as this system has been ap- guage who calls this system a burden. The plied. So much for the fact. Now let us enemies of American industry on this side of see what plausibility this assumption of the the Atlantic and on the other side, may reviewer (for argument it does not even pre-ring the changes upon the words “tariff," tend to be) carries on its own face. When we set out with the protective policy, we had

"burden" and "high duties," and deceive by empty sounds those who can under

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In the four quarters of the world, is there a nation better clothed, housed, governed, educated, manned, horsed, and wived? Will any one among us pretend that he believes there is? Well, we have got to be all this under the system that protected American labor, and nobody can deny it. Will the American people then cast aside this system, because a few dreaming pedants in political economy talk to them of a theory of free trade? Surely not, unless their perverse infatuation passes everything that has been put upon record of a people in their senses. But we are advised to try the new system; for although the present may be a good one, the other may prove better still. We confess, that when it comes to this we are about done arguing. We are well, we wish to be better; we take John Bull's nostrum, and we shall be—just

as we deserve.

In the anticipation of what such a change of policy might end in, should this absurd counsel be listened to, let us look at the picture which is now given to the world of our country, under the full influence of the protective system-a picture drawn, not by a friend of that system, but by an uncompromising opponent-no less a personage than the identical Edinburgh reviewer, in the identical article which has so painfully made out by ingenious theorizing that our domestic industry is all a "delusion"

politically worthless and economically false" and that we stand in a "false position," ready to be "cast at the feet of our enemies!"

"There are few phenomena so striking to our eyes, or so suggestive of reflection among all the great social occurrences of this age, as the continuous emigration which takes place to the American Continent. * * * *

* * *

Justice and freedom-not freedom as understood by a political theorist, or a philosophical poet, or a wandering Arab, but simply the license to do as nearly as possible what a man pleases, provided he do not interfere with the rights of neighbors in similar circumstances with himself, of

all this he is certain from the moment he touches American soil. What has Continental Eu

rope to compare with this ?"

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Nothing, indeed, except theories. And thus does this writer, breaking away from the cobwebs of his closet speculations, and looking at the practical and living facts, give utterance to a truth which dashes his own theory to atoms. American industry under the protective policy has moved onward, to copy his own words, " East to West, without regard to the counsels or prophesies or speculations of statesmen. "What does it care for theories of free trade ?" But we cannot refrain from quoting the reviewer still further; he is a reluctant witness in favor of the American system, and therefore the more valuable:

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"Let us not deceive ourselves: America is

still to the bulk of our population the land of requital and redress; the distant country in which oppressions cease, and poverty grows full-fed and bold, in which fortune opens her arms to the courageous, and the least adventurous looks forward to the achievement of independence and contentment before he die."

And this is the land which, we have just been told, is laboring under intolerable burdens, where the people pay 95 per cent. (alas!) upon window glass, maintain those terrible scourges of humanity, steam revenue-cutters, and pamper themselves with a "delusion" that they are well off. This land, where poverty grows full-fed and bold, is the land "worked with taxed iron," where the hard hands of peasants are chained to the plough, "simply that the world may admire the factory girls of LowThe end-ell, and that a few Yankee speculators may get rich in the towns of New England!!!" The reader, doubtless, will ask, "Why these astounding contradictions ?" The answer is plain. This writer was laboring at two distinct points. In the one instance he had facts to specify. As his theory was but a a theory to vindicate, in the other he had theory, and proved to be unsound-“ litically worthless and economically false"

less procession moves ever from East to West, without regard to the counsels or prophecies or speculations of statesmen. What do these multitudes care for theories of civil government? *They seek the land of promise, and in nine cases out of ten they find it a land of performance. America is at this day more than ever a great providential blessing to our over-peopled world, because it offers nothing except to the industrious and energetic.

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the facts came in direct collision with it. That he held fast to his theory after his own facts had falsified it, is more to his credit as a sworn champion than as a practical philosopher; but his faith in it, if faith he has, must be of that sort that will remove mountains.

However, let it not be forgotten that John Bull has compassionate bowels, and that we are the special objects of his pity. He pities us that we have no king; he pities us that we have no House of Lords; he pities us that we have no church establishment; he pities us 95 per cent. on window glass, and he pities us fore and aft on steam revenue-cutters. "These be good

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humors," but his "quality of mercy" seems to us a little "strained," and we are thoroughly inclined to the opinion that such compassion as he is in the habit of bestowing on his customers, "blesses him that gives more than him that takes." In parting, we will give him one word of advice, and that shall be, to spin out no more fine theories of political economy on the topic of this country before he has looked well to the facts. If he will lay this advice to heart, and act accordingly for the future, we will do him the favor to forget that joke of his about the "Britishers," and we will laugh as little as possible at his stupendous mare's nest of the "steam revenue-cutters."

THE ANGELS.

Nor always in tumultuous sea,

Our aims and passions madly heave; Sometimes, the winds sleep peacefully, And the torn billows cease to grieve.

And thoughts there are of loftier birth, Than this poor pageantry of dreams; When, lifted from the shadowy earth,

The soul an hovering angel seems—

Beholds, on earth's maternal breast,
Her children all together laid,
Lulled, slumbrous, into peaceful rest,
And veiled in star-attempered shade.

The striving heart no more exults
Beneath the decent folds of pride;
Joy, the sad eyes of grief insults
No more; and silent, side by side,

Fierce altercations, breathing deep,

Dream, now, of ancient truce renewed; Hands grasp hands, but for gentle sleep, Unknown to love's sweet habitude.

Night! festival of banded stars!
Mild empire of the kindly elves!
Remoulding all that passion mars,

Lost souls restoring to themselves;

The calmness of the utmost sphere-
Where angels, on eternal thrones,
All silent rest, serene, severe-

With Night full near communion owns.

Pure bliss the empyreal air instills;
Not raised from flushed emotion's deep,
That now with after-sorrow fills,

But like to thine, O sacred Sleep!

On sapphire thrones, eternal they ;-
Informing suns, or through the whole,
Glide viewless, in ethereal play,

Through beauteous earth, and weightless soul.

They know the secret of the vast,

Nor time, nor force their will denies ; No future dread they, grieve no past,— Theirs are the twin eternities.

Great Sons of Eld! ye hear our voices,
Outcries of woe, and bursts of mirth,
That, mingled with insensate noises,

Thrill in the trembling veil of Earth.

Though piteously we strive and cry,
Like plumeless birds; alike to you,
The flickering light of mortal joy,

The quivering flame of mortal woe!

EPIGRAM.

ALONE, above the war of things,
Her aimless way the spirit wings;
So flies the sea-bird o'er the foam,
Nor knows what shore may be her home.

CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN.

THE name of Brockden Brown had ac- | perhaps, fixed itself permanently in the quired an attractive sound to our ear, be- hearts of many ages; but this is a rare fore ever we read a line of his writings. composition, far above the rank of "WieThe honorable distinction which was award- | land." ed to him, as a novelist, by the British press, at a period when it was almost certain that every book with an American imprint would only be mentioned to be carped at, and which, perhaps, more than any other single circumstance, prepared the way for the Transatlantic fame which Irving and others of our countrymen have since so abundantly enjoyed, contributed not a little to impress our boyish imagination with reverence for this remarkable man. As a nation, we have been accused, by the great critics across the water, of an insensibility to the genius of this writer, and the sole glory of duly appreciating his merits has been strongly claimed in the same quarters. We suspect, however, that this charge, and the pretensions with which it is coupled, are somewhat groundless that the chief fault of our ancestors was, that, while they appreciated and liberally patronized one of the most brilliant of the men of letters in their day, they would persist that Barlow's Columbiad and Dwight's Conquest of Canaan were true poems, and might very properly be placed on the same shelf with, at least, the "Last Judgment," and "Leonidas." Brown was eagerly read in his time; obtained a considerable income from his novels; and received flattering attentions from the learned and the influential of our land. But that since his death he should have fallen into comparative neglect, was nearly unavoidable, from the very character of his writings. We do not mean to be understood that such works are useless or trivial. We will not go so far as to say, with some whose judgment we respect, that, from its own nature, it is impossible for a novel to live; but we do say that, in the main, every generation will have its own favorites, and that one novelist will, in ordinary cases, succeed to another with a tolerably rapid movement. The Vicar of Wakefield has,

It is plain that the novel has a place provided for it among the literary wants of man. Little intervals of businessodd ends and fragments of time-such as would otherwise almost inevitably be given to idle musing, or still worse, to melancholy self-reflection, are, by the aid of these products of the fancy, made to give an agreeable relaxation and refreshment to the mind, with a secret impulse onward and upward in spiritual culture, to be found nowhere else. Neither is it altogether foolishly, we think, that some persons make these books the companions · of a tedious voyage, or of a temporary stay at an inn, seeking from them a sort of oblivious exhilaration, that shall for a moment stifle all the vexations of the present circumstances, and remove every anxiety and disquietude of life: just as one sometimes takes an opiate before submitting to a painful surgical operation, or inhales the sulphuric ether when about to take due vengeance on a mutinous tooth. In short, we may easily discover a thousand different ways, in which this species of literature becomes an important provision for the human mind. Among all these circumstances, however, we find no occasion for admitting "Pelham" to the brain of a miss at school, nor the "Sorrows of Werter" to the meditations of a youth desperately in love with himself. We suppose that nobody under the sun is justified in reading, or blessed in being suffered to read, a romance of any kind, who is not fully competent to understand that a pretty story is not a history of the whole world, and that a fine piece of sentimental philosophy is not the sum of human wisdom and genius.

This department of literature has a distinct character, and a plainly marked boundary, that divides it from all others. The author of a novel, no less than the

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