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Title: The American Quarterly Review, No. 18, June 1831 (Vol 9)

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THE

AMERICAN
QUARTERLY REVIEW.

No. XVIII.

JUNE, 1831.

Philadelphia:
CAREY & LEA.

SOLD IN PHILADELPHIA BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART.
NEW-YORK, BY G. & C. & H. CARVILL.

LONDON:—R. J. KENNETT, 59 GREAT QUEEN STREET.
PARIS:—A. & W. GALIGNANI, RUE VIVIENNE.

Art. I.—College-Instruction and Discipline
Art. II.—The Life and Times of His late Majesty, George the Fourth
Art. III.—Essay on the Hieroglyphic System
Art. IV.—Iron
Art. V.—The Siamese Twins
Art. VI.—Europe and America
Art. VII.—Webster's Speeches and Forensic Arguments
Art. VIII.—Poland
Art. IX.—History of Maryland

Art. X.—Peale's Notes on Italy
Index—Volumes 1 and 2

AMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.
No. XVIII.

JUNE, 1831.

Art. I.—COLLEGE-INSTRUCTION AND DISCIPLINE.
1.—Journal of the Proceedings of a Convention of Literary and Scientific
Gentlemen, held in the Common Council Chamber of the City of New-York.
October, 1830. New-York: pp. 286. 8vo.
2.—Catechism of Education, Part 1st, &c. By William Lyon Mackenzie.
Member of the Parliament of Upper Canada. York: 1830. pp. 46. 8vo.
3.—Address of the State Convention of Teachers and Friends of Education,
held at Utica. January 12th, 13th, and 14th, 1831. With an Abstract of the
Proceedings of said Convention. Utica: 1831. pp. 16. 8vo.
4.—Oration on the advantages to be derived from the Introduction of the
Bible and of Sacred Literature as essential parts of all Education, in a
literary point of view merely, from the Primary Schools to the University:
delivered before the Connecticut Alpha of the ΦΒΚ Society. On Tuesday,
September 7th, 1830. By Thomas Smith Grimke, of Charleston, S. C. New-
Haven: 1830. pp. 76. 8vo.

5.—Lecture on Scientific Education, delivered Saturday, December 18th,
1830, before the Members of the Franklin Institute. By James R. Leib, A. M.
Philadelphia: 1831. pp. 16. 8vo.

The subject of practical education has always been one of intense interest
with every reflecting individual in this Union. It is a universally received
axiom, that the foundation of a republic must be in the information of its
people; and that whilst the monarchical governments of other countries may
be successfully administered by an oligarchy of intelligence, a government
like our own cannot be carried on without an extensive diffusion of
knowledge amongst those who have to select its very machinery. The
political circumstances of a country will also modify, most importantly, the
course of instruction; and that system which is adopted in the old
Universities of Oxford, Cambridge, and Dublin, in a nation in which the
law of primogeniture exists, where wealth is entailed in families, and where
the colleges themselves are richly endowed, may be impracticable or
impolitic in a country not possessing such incentives. Education must,
therefore, be suited to the country; and a long period must elapse before we
can expect to have individuals as well educated as in those universities,
although the mass of our community may be much more enlightened. We
have no benefices, no fellowships with fixed stipends, to offer for those
who may devote themselves to the profound study of certain subjects. In
England and Ireland, it is by no means uncommon for a student to remain at
college until he is twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, in the
acquisition of his preliminary education, or of those branches that are made
to precede a professional course of study—the whole period of his
academic residence being consumed in the study of these departments. In
this country, such a course would be as unadvisable as it is generally
impracticable. The equal division of property precludes any extensive
accumulation of wealth in families. The youth are compelled to launch early
into life: the more useful subjects of study have to be selected, and the
remainder are postponed as luxuries, to be acquired should opportunity
admit of indulgence.
In no country are the colleges or higher schools so numerous, in proportion
to the population, as in the United States.

In France there are three universities; in Italy, eight; in Great Britain, eight;
in Germany, twenty-two; and in Russia, seven: whilst in the United States,
we have thirteen institutions bearing the title of universities, and thirty-three
that of colleges; making in all forty-six higher schools capable of conferring
degrees: yet a very wrong inference would be drawn, were we to affirm that
the education of a nation is always in a direct ratio with the number of its
higher schools. Such would be the fact, did these institutions assume an
elevated standard in the distribution of their highest honours, and were the
condition of the intermediate schools such that the youth could be sent to
the university so prepared as to be able to cultivate his studies there to the
greatest advantage. Unfortunately, in many parts of the United States the
condition of the intermediate schools and academics has been grievously
neglected; and the authorities of the universities have been compelled to
lower their standard, and to admit students totally unprepared for more
advanced studies. In this way many of the higher schools have degenerated
into mere gymnasia, or ordinary academies. This circumstance, with the
multiplication of institutions capable of conferring degrees, has been
attended with the additional evil, that, in some, the highest honours have
been, and are conferred for acquirements, which would scarcely enable the
possessors to enter the lowest classes in others.
It seems, indeed, that the real or fancied insufficiency of most of our
existing institutions, gave occasion to the proposition for establishing a
university in New-York, and to the Convention, a review of whose
proceedings will enable us to offer some practical considerations and
reflections, deduced from some experience and meditation on this
momentous subject. "Much as our country," observes the Rev. Dr. Mathews,
in his opening address in behalf of the committee of the university, "owes to
her excellent colleges, the sentiment seems to be general, that the time has
arrived when she calls for something more; when she requires institutions
which shall give increased maturity to her literature, and also an enlarged
diffusion to the blessings of education, and which she may present to the
world as maintaining an honourable competition with the universities of
Europe." p. 14.
The establishment of a university in the city of New-York having been
determined upon, and "an amount of means" pledged to the object, which
would place the institution at its commencement on a liberal footing, its

friends, "believing it to be desirable, and that it would prove highly
gratifying to all who feel an interest in the important subject of education,
that a meeting should be convened of literary and scientific men of our
country, to confer on the general interests of letters and liberal education,"
appointed a committee, with powers to invite, as far as practicable, the
attendance of such individuals in behalf of the university. Accordingly, on
the 20th of October last, a number of literary and scientific gentlemen
assembled from various parts of the United States, when President Bates, of
Middlebury College, Vermont, was appointed president of the convention;
and the Honourable Albert Gallatin, and Walter Bowne, Esq. Mayor of the
City, were named vice presidents. The convention sat daily until the 23d
inclusive, when it adjourned sine die; but not without having provided for
the perpetuation of its species at a future period.
In an assemblage so constituted, it was not to be expected that, excepting
the notoriety occasioned by it, any great advantage could accrue to the
university or to the public from its deliberations; the most discordant
sentiments on almost all points of discipline and instruction;—the views of
the experienced and inexperienced—the experientia vera, and the
experientia falsa—of the contemplative and the visionary, were to be
anticipated; but we must confess, that humble as were our expectations
from the results of its labours, the published record of its proceedings
proves that we had pitched them too high. The committee appear to us to
have had no definite object—no system—in bringing many of the subjects
before the convention; every discussion is arrested, without our being able
to decide what was the conclusion at which the meeting arrived: and
"Like a man to double business bound,
They stand in pause where they shall first begin,
And both neglect."
Of these debates the "Journal" is, doubtless, a faithful record, so far as
regards their succession; the brevity, however, of the minutes, published by
the secretary, renders the work very unsatisfactory; and scarcely elevates it
above the character of a log-book, if we make exception of one or two
excellent addresses—such as that of Mr. Gallatin—which are reported at
length; and of some (generally indifferent) communications transmitted by
their authors.

The first topic presented for the consideration of the convention, was:—"As
to the universities of Europe; and how far the systems pursued in them may
be desirable for similar institutions in this country." On this subject, Dr.
Lieber read a communication of interest in relation to the organization,
courses of study and discipline of the German universities, which was
referred to the committee of arrangements. Mr. Woolsey, of New-York,
gave an account of the French colleges; their system of instruction and
discipline; a few desultory observations are next made by Mr. W. C.
Woodbridge. Mr. Hasler flies off at a tangent, and offers "a few remarks on
the appointment of professors," and is followed by Professor Silliman on
the same subject. Mr. Sparks presents a few observations and alludes to the
organization of Harvard College. President Bates gives the plan of choosing
professors adopted at the college over which he is placed; and Mr. Keating,
of Philadelphia, puts a finale to the proceedings of the day and to the
question at the same time, by the expression of his views. After this, we
hear no more of this "topic," and we are left in the dark whether the system
or any part of the system of the universities of Europe be desirable for
similar institutions in this country.
It is a mere truism to remark, that the success of an institution must be
greatly dependent upon the character of its professors; hence, in all
universities, the best mode of selecting them has been a point of earnest and
careful inquiry. In some countries, they are appointed by the government; in
others, the office is obtained au concours. The candidates being required to
defend theses of their own composition, and the most successful receiving
the office; whilst in others, the faculty have the power of supplying
vacancies in their own body. In our own country, no uniformity exists on
this point. Harvard, by the scheme of organization, is under the supervision
and control of two separate boards, called the Corporation, and Board of
Overseers. The former is composed of seven persons, of whom the
president of the college is one, by virtue of his office; the other six being
chosen from the community at large. The board of overseers consists of the
governor and lieutenant-governor of the state, the members of the council
and of the senate, the speaker of the house of representatives, and the
president of the college ex-officio; and, also, of fifteen laymen and fifteen
clergymen, who are elected, as vacancies occur, by the whole board. This

board has a controlling power, which, however, is rarely exerted over the
acts of the corporation.
The professors are all chosen, in the first instance, by the corporation, or
rather nominated for the approval or rejection of the board of overseers:
"but as a case has rarely, if ever been known, in which such a nomination
has been rejected by the overseers, the election of all the professors and
immediate officers, may be said to pertain in practice to the corporation
alone. It is probable, however, that this is seldom done without consulting
the members of the faculty into which a professor is to be chosen." Journal,
p. 82.
In the generality of our institutions, the appointing power is vested in a
board of trustees, who have no controlling body placed over them. In
almost all, however, we find from the Journal of the Convention—that the
faculty are consulted—"that" according to Dr. Bates, "experience had
proved the wisdom of consulting the faculty on any contemplated
appointment of a professor; and that, in fact, though not professedly, yet in
effect, professors are appointed by the instructers or faculty,—and thus by
securing their good will towards the new incumbent, amity was enforced."
P. 83.
The great difficulty exists in becoming acquainted with the qualifications of
the candidate, especially if he has not been previously engaged in teaching.
There can be no better mode of testing the capacity of a teacher, than in the
class room; but if this be not available, the recommendation of sufficient
individuals, with us, has always to be taken; and in this, a certain degree of
risk must necessarily be incurred. It is never, however, a matter of so much
moment to procure a professor, who is pre-eminently informed upon the
subject of his department, as one that is capable of communicating the
knowledge he possesses, is systematic, has a mind that can enable him to
improve and to take part as a member of the faculty in the management of
the university, in which the greatest firmness, good sense, and ability are
occasionally demanded. "A man," says the illustrious Jefferson, "is not
qualified for a professor, knowing nothing but merely his own profession.
He should be otherwise well educated as to the sciences generally; able to
converse understandingly with the scientific men with whom he is
associated, and to assist in the councils of the faculty on any subject of

science in which they may have occasion to deliberate. Without this he will
incur their contempt and bring disreputation on the institution."[1]
Young professors are, on the above accounts, cæteris paribus, preferable to
old. They have not had time to acquire any bad system; are energetic in the
acquisition of information, and become attached to the occupation. In
institutions where the faculty live within the same walls, it is, likewise,
important that the disposition of the individual should be taken into the
account, in order that every thing may go on harmoniously. A kind,
conciliating deportment, will also gain the respect of the student, and tend
materially to discipline.
The best system for the appointment of professors, perhaps, would be—that
the faculty should nominate, and the trustees approve or reject. It is
improbable, that they would ever be guided by any feelings which would be
counter to the prosperity of the institution; whilst they would generally have
better opportunities of becoming acquainted with the qualifications of
individuals than the board of trustees. This course appears to us less
objectionable than any other; and we are glad to find that it was suggested
by Mr. Sparks, in the convention.—
"No good policy," he remarks, "would introduce an efficient
member into a small body, where such a step would be likely to
endanger the harmony of feeling and action. For this reason, it may
be well worthy of consideration, whether, in the scheme of a new
constitution, it is not better to provide for the nomination of a
professor by the members of the faculty, with whom he is to be
associated. Such a body would be as capable as any other, to say the
least, of judging in regard to the requisite qualifications of a
candidate, and much more capable of deciding whether his personal
qualities, traits of character, and habits of thinking, would make him
acceptable in their community. It seems evident, therefore, that
something is lost and nothing gained by referring this nomination to
another body of men, who have no interest in common with the
party chiefly concerned. It is enough that the electing or sanctioning
power dwells in a separate tribunal." P. 83.

Much diversity of opinion has prevailed on the subject of remuneration to
professors. In some universities they are paid entirely by fees from the
students. The objection urged against this, is, that the professor is too much
dependent upon the student, and that this feeling may materially interfere
with discipline. To those who consider that there ought to be no discipline
in our universities—and strange as it may seem, such views were expressed
in the convention—this plan of remuneration can be liable to no objection.
Nor to institutions in which there are no resident pupils, like the one
proposed in New-York, would the objection apply. On the contrary, the
mode in which the professor receives his remuneration entirely from the
students, the stimulus which is thus excited, and the feeling that his
emoluments may be proportionate to his energy and success in conveying
instruction, may have the most beneficial effect upon his exertions.
Accordingly, we find the most meritorious application on the part of the
professors in our great medical schools; and a degree of enthusiasm
aroused, which might not be elicited were the mode of recompensing them
other than it is.
On the other hand, it has been maintained, that the professor should be in no
wise dependent upon the student; that he should receive no fees, but be paid
by a fixed salary. The objection urged against this system is, that there is
here no stimulus, and that as the professor feels his income altogether
independent of his exertions, he will relax in his efforts, neglect his duties,
become inattentive to his own improvement, and uncourteous in his
behaviour to the pupil. This is plausible in theory, and doubtless, has
occasionally been found to be the fact. It is not likely to occur, however, if
the professor be held rigidly responsible, and if the tenure of his office be
on good behaviour, instead of for life. It is to be calculated, likewise, that
every professor is a gentleman, and that the honour of the situation is a part
of the emolument. These should be a sufficient guarantee that his duties will
be performed energetically, and that his behaviour will be courteous. Should
this not be the case, he is unfit for his situation, and the trustees should have
moral courage enough to remove him. Experience, too, has, we think,
sufficiently proved, that the evils of fixed salaries, under the tenure dum
bene se gesserit, are more imaginary than real: some of the very best
institutions are conducted upon this system, in various parts of Europe and
of this country. On the whole, perhaps, where the students reside within the

precincts, a combination of a fixed salary, of a sufficient amount to enable
the professor to be, to a certain extent, independent of the student, with the
payment of a fee from the student for tuition, is the most politic and
satisfactory mode of remuneration. In this manner, he receives a certain
stimulus to exertion, whilst other objections to both exclusive systems are
obviated. Experience, however, shows, that although the zeal and industry
of a professor may occasion a slight fluctuation in the numbers that resort to
his school, this influence is very limited in its action. It is the character of
the study which attracts followers; and whilst one department will be
crowded to excess, independently of the merits or demerits of the professor,
others will be almost entirely neglected. This will occur in all institutions in
which professional, or extremely advanced, or unusual studies are taught.
Every student, whether he may be intended for one of the learned
professions, or for any other pursuit, considers it absolutely necessary to
attend certain academical departments;—those of ancient languages and
mathematics for example;—whilst comparatively few can be expected to
attend the professional chairs, or the higher branches of study,
notwithstanding the subjects may be taught in the most attractive and
sufficient manner. Unless the manners of a professor are strikingly
obnoxious, but little effect will be produced in the numbers frequenting his
school: and if they are so, it is a sufficient ground for removal.
In those universities in which the professors are remunerated by a fixed
salary, this inequality of attendance is not felt; but it is a serious evil, where
the emolument accrues wholly or in part in the form of tuition fees. The
greatest inequality may prevail in the compensation; and those teachers who
are engaged in the most abstruse departments, will necessarily be worse
paid than those who are engaged in superintending the elementary branches.
Suppose the department of mathematics to be divided into the elementary
and transcendental: if each be remunerated by an equal fee from his
students, the latter cannot expect to have an income of more than one-
twentieth part of that of his colleague. This we know is a ground of much
dissatisfaction in many institutions, and attempts have been made to obviate
it. Meiners,[2] a reflecting writer on the subject of universities, thinks it
would be proper to correct this inequality by making a portion of the fees
received common stock: but if we admit that the abilities and attention of
the professors are equal, and that the same number of hours is employed in

teaching the various branches, there seems to be no reason why the
remuneration of one professor should be permitted to exceed that of his
colleague. On this subject, some pertinent remarks were made by Dr.
Lieber, in which he agrees, in many respects, with his countryman, Meiners.
"Now I ask," says he, "how much even Professor Gauss, le plus
grand des mathematiciens, as La Grange called him, has realized
from his lectures? Mathematics, at least the higher branches of
them, never can be very popular; I mean, it is impossible that they
should be generally studied, and it would be to consign a professor
to absolute indigence, if government should leave professors of
mathematics dependent on the honorarium paid by their students. I
studied mathematics under the celebrated Pfaff at Halle, whom La
Grange called un des premiers mathematiciens, and we were never
more than twenty in his lecture room, of whom I fully believe not
much more than half paid the honorarium, which was very small."
P. 58.
And again,—
"Yet I believe, that generally speaking, it is better for professors and
students to have fees paid for their lectures, for various reasons,
although it would be unsafe to let professors be solely or chiefly
depending upon them, for it would be unsafe to settle such annuities
upon persons intended to live for science, or guarantee them,
forever, an easy life. It has besides been found, that generally,
students attend those lectures more carefully for which they pay.
With the different branches of instruction, the principle upon which
professorships are to be established, ought to vary. In a city, in
which many students of medicine always will be assembled, it may
be safe to let the professor greatly depend upon the fees of the
students, whilst a professor of Hebrew ought to be provided for in
such a way, that he may follow the difficult study of Oriental
languages, without the direct care for his support, in case the
number of students would be too small for this purpose, as it
generally will prove." P. 65.

In most of our colleges, the president has some control over the course of
education in the schools of the institution; and, consequently, over the
professors. Such a plan is, however, impolitic. No control whatever ought to
be exerted over the teacher. If qualified—and if not he is not fitted for his
situation—he ought to be left to himself, and to follow that system which he
conceives best adapted to develop the intellect of his pupils; at the same
time he should be held rigidly responsible for his free agency. In the
University of Virginia, as well as in other of the higher schools of the
country, the professor is required to send in a weekly report of the number
of lectures he has delivered; the daily examinations instituted; the length of
time occupied in each; and this report of the mode in which his duties have
been executed, is laid before the board of visitors at their next meeting. In
this manner delinquencies can be detected, and the appropriate corrective be
applied.
Occasionally, however, it may happen, that a professor may be indolent, and
inaccurate in his reports; and it may be a question, whether it is not
advantageous that the presiding officer should have authority to attest how
often a professor really does meet his class, with the length of time
expended, and the precise course of instruction adopted; and then to report
to the trustees, but not to interfere himself in the rectification of abuses.
In the discussion of this subject in the Convention, Mr. Keating has
committed a blunder, regarding the University of Virginia.
"He would like to see the president, in truth, the head of the
university, occupying a distinguished station in the board of trustees,
controlling all the faculties, superintending all the departments. It
should be a situation such as an experienced and retiring statesman
would be proud to fill. A good example had been set by the new
University of Virginia." P. 86.
Now, the rector of that institution is merely a member of the board of
visiters, chosen from out the body to preside over them, has no delegated
authority, but meets the other visiters once a year, and presides over their
deliberations, without, however, having a casting vote. The chairman of the
faculty, chosen annually by the board of visiters, from amongst the
professors, is the real president, and possesses the powers usually granted to

the presidents of colleges. We are surprised, by the bye, to observe from the
journal of the Convention, that the University of Virginia was entirely
unrepresented there. It has now been established six years, and has been
proceeding on a tide of successful experiment. It is the first effort that has
been made in this country to cast off the trammels that have fettered
practical instruction; to suffer each to take the bent of his own inclination in
the selection of his studies, requiring for the attainment of its highest
honours, qualifications only, and rejecting time altogether. Although the
first attempt in this country on a large scale, the plan has been long adopted
in other countries, particularly in Germany, which has been so justly
celebrated for the novelty and excellence of its academic instruction; yet in
no country can such an experiment be regarded with more interest than in
the United States, where, for the reasons already assigned, the youth are
compelled to attain, if practicable, the strictly useful, and to strive for their
own support at a very early period of their career.
In the debates of the Convention, we find few allusions to that institution,
and wherever it is referred to, the most lamentable ignorance of its economy
is exhibited, and the greatest errors are committed. In it there is an entire
separation of the legislative from the executive power; the board of visiters
exercising the former—the board of professors, or faculty, the latter. This
has its advantages and inconveniences. In many of our colleges for resident
students, the president is, ex officio, presiding officer of the board of
visiters, so that he forms a part of the two powers. Where the president is at
the same time a professor this is apt to create heart burnings and jealousies,
and gives him a decided, and often unfair preponderance in any dispute
with his brother professors, in which the decision of the board of trustees
may be requested; whilst, if the executive power have no voice in the
deliberations of the superior board; and especially if the visiters reside at a
distance from the institution, laws are apt to be enacted, which create great
dissatisfaction and confusion, which have not been suggested by
experience, and which, consequently, are either wholly inoperative,
unfeasible, or impolitic. To obviate these evils the executive might have a
delegate at the meetings of the legislative body, who, even if he had no
vote, might be expected to take part in those deliberations which regarded
the rules and regulations of the university, or the interests of the body to
which he belonged; but in the discussion of other topics, his attendance

might be dispensed with. In this manner, the legislative body would have
the advantage of the voice of experience, and the faculty, by choosing their
own delegate, could always be represented, should discussions arise
between them and their presiding officer. Nothing is more certain, than that
laws which seem easy of execution, and admirably conceived, are often
found, in practice, to be wholly unavailable and injudicious. But the
mischief does not end here. The respect of the student is any thing but
increased towards the board that conceives, or the executive which attempts
to fulfil such regulations. By the enactments lying before us, of almost all
the well regulated institutions of this country, we find, that the board of
professors are requested by the trustees to suggest to them such laws as
experience may indicate; this is wise; the faculty are unquestionably the
best judges, and no non-resident can possibly have the necessary
experience.
Well adapted rules are the best safeguards for the success of any university,
where the students reside within the precincts especially. They should be
simple, yet not trivial; efficient, yet not unnecessarily rigorous, and should
be drawn up, if not perspicuously, at least intelligibly. What shall we say to
such cases as the following, which we copy from the published laws of one
of the oldest colleges of this Union?
"No person, other than a student or other member of the college, shall be
admitted as a boarder at the college table. No liquors shall be furnished or
used at table, except beer, cider, toddy, or spirits and water!"
"No student shall be permitted to lodge or board, or without permission
from the president or a professor, go into a tavern."
And again,—
"If offences be committed in which there are many actors or
abettors, the faculty may select such of the offenders for punishment
as may be deemed necessary to maintain the authority of the laws,
and to preserve good order in the college, &c."
It is always found more easy to make laws, than to have them well
executed. This is, in fact, usually the great difficulty, and formed, very
properly, a subject of deliberation in the Convention. No light was,

however, shed upon it, and the most visionary sentiments were elicited,
denying the necessity of any discipline whatever in the higher schools.
Whenever a number of youths are thrown together within a small compass,
other rules become necessary besides those of the land. The esprit du corps,
the influence of bad example afforded by a few, lead to the commission of
offences that demand interposition; accordingly, in every intelligent and
sound thinking community, certain transgressions, such as gambling,
drinking, disorderly behaviour, habits of expense and dissoluteness, and
incorrigible idleness, have been esteemed to merit serious collegiate
reprehension.
Of the different kinds of government adopted in universities, we shall
mention those only which prevail in the United States. The authority is
generally vested in a president and faculty, the former having the power of
inflicting minor punishments; the major punishments requiring the sanction
of the latter. With the president the power is vested of deciding whether any
case is deserving the one or the other. An objection has been urged against
this system, that if the president be of a timid, vacillating disposition, he
may keep every case from the faculty, and in this there is some truth; he is,
however, responsible to the trustees, and hence it can rarely happen that he
will exercise ill-judged lenity; this danger too, is greatly abated, provided
the faculty be allowed collateral jurisdiction, and can act on cases of which
he has not taken cognizance. If he has already acted, it would be obviously
improper that any additional jurisdiction should be exercised—in
accordance with the common law maxim—that no man can be put in
jeopardy twice for the same offence.
If such discretionary power be not granted to the presiding officer, he will
have to carry every case before the faculty; and thus his office will be
merely nominal, for it would be utterly impracticable to define, with any
accuracy, the cases that must fall under his dominion, distinctly from those
to be assigned for the animadversion of the faculty.
It has been fancifully presumed, that the students themselves might be
induced to form a part of the government—to constitute a court for the trial
of minor offences, and to inflict punishment on a delinquent colleague; and,
further, that their co-operation might react beneficially in the prevention of
transgressions. The scheme has a republican appearance, but experience has

sufficiently shown that it is impracticable. In the first printed copy of the
enactments of the University of Virginia, (1825) we find the following.
"The major punishments of expulsion from the university, temporary
suspension of attendance and presence there, or interdiction of residence or
appearance within its precincts, shall be decreed by the professors
themselves. Minor cases may be referred to a board of six censors, to be
named by the faculty, from among the most discreet of the students, whose
duty it shall be, sitting as a board, to inquire into the facts, propose the
minor punishment which they think proportioned to the offence, and to
make report thereof to the professors for their approbation or their
commutation of the penalty, if it be beyond the grade of the offence. These
censors shall hold their offices until the end of the session of their
appointment, if not sooner revoked by the faculty." But in the next edition
of the enactments, (1827) we find that no such law exists; hence we
conclude, that the experiment had met with the usual unsuccessful issue. So
long, indeed, as the esprit du corps or Burschenschaft prevails amongst
students, which inculcates, that it is a stigma of the deepest hue to give
testimony against a fellow-student, it is vain for us to expect any co-
operation in the discipline of the institution from them. This "loose
principle in the ethics of schoolboy combinations," as it has been termed by
Mr. Jefferson, has indeed led to numerous and serious evils. It has been a
great cause of the combinations formed in resistance of the lawful
authorities, of intemperate addresses at the instigation of some unworthy
member, and to repeated scenes of commotion and violence, and cannot be
too soon laid aside. Sooner or later, it must yield to the improved condition
of public feeling; and we cannot but regret to see the slightest and most
indirect sanction given to it in the regulations of a university, which has
made so many useful innovations in systems of instruction and discipline,
that have been perpetuated by the prejudices of ages. The law to which we
allude is the following:—"When testimony is required from a student, it
shall be voluntary and not on oath, and the obligation to give it, shall be left
to his own sense of right."
No youth hesitates to depose in a court of justice touching an offence
against the municipal laws of his country, committed by a brother student.
The youth and the people at large, are, indeed, distinguished for their ready
attention to the calls of justice. Yet it is esteemed the depth of dishonour to

testify when called upon by the college authorities, against the grossest
violator not only of collegiate but municipal law, as if it could be less
honourable to give the same testimony before one tribunal than another; or
the morality of the act differed in the two cases.
This erroneous principle, which leads to the separation of so many
promising individuals from the universities, threatens their reputation and
prosperity, injures the cause and saps the very foundation of education,
prevails in some countries, and in some portions of this country more than
in others. In some of the most respectable of our own colleges, it is made a
duty to give evidence under pain of the highest punishments; and in some of
those in which the esprit du corps has prevailed to the greatest extent, it has
given occasion to the adoption, by the faculty, of the monstrous alternative
of selecting persons on bare suspicion, or at random, and punishing them
under the expectation that the real delinquent might exhibit himself. A law
of this kind prevails in the college of William and Mary, in Virginia. "In any
case of disorderly conduct within the college, in which students are
concerned, every student in college at the time, whether he be a resident
therein or not, shall be considered as a principal and treated accordingly,
unless he can show his innocence." It has also been proposed to get over
this difficulty, with regard to testimony, by establishing a law court at the
university, of which the law professor, for example, might be judge, and the
jury be constituted of the inhabitants of the vicinity. This tribunal to possess
the ordinary jurisdiction of courts of law, and of course, empowered to
require testimony on oath from the student. Such might be a valuable
adjunct to the powers ordinarily possessed by the faculties of our colleges.
The majority of the convention, seem manifestly to have been in favour of
what they term Parental Discipline; but we are left to conjecture how much
this embraces. If it be meant, in the language of Meiners, that "the
academical authorities should bear to the students the relation of fathers as
well as of judges; that they should not only punish, but entreat, admonish,
advise, warn, and reprove"—no one will dispute the propriety of the
system. It is, in fact, that which is introduced into our best institutions.
"The governors and instructors," say the laws of Harvard, "earnestly desire
that the students may be influenced to good conduct and literary exertion,
by higher motives than the fear of punishment; but when such motives fail,

the faculty will have recourse to friendly caution and warning, fines, solemn
admonition, and official notice of delinquency to parents or guardians; and
where the nature and circumstances of the case require it, to suspension,
dismission, rustication, or expulsion." But important as may be the
reformation of an offender, and interesting as it is to see the wild and the
thoughtless restored to the paths of rectitude, it is obvious, that the prime
object of discipline is less such reformation than the advantage to others;
and if in the collegiate, as in the corporeal economy, an offending member
should endanger the safety of the whole fabric, it will have to be removed.
A man is not sent to the penitentiary merely because he has stolen a sheep,
but in order that sheep may not be stolen. The term parental discipline, in
fact, is most undefined; it includes the most discrepant and the most
heterogeneous modes of correction. Solitary confinement, sitting in a
corner, whipping, are used according to circumstances; but we presume
none of these punishments were contemplated by the Convention.
Most of the speakers seem to have been of opinion, that the parental system
of intercourse, such as a wise father would maintain with his son, is best
adapted for instruction and discipline in our colleges. Such a course would
be manifestly impracticable where the number of students is considerable,
and is of doubtful policy in all. The professor should, indeed, be kind,
courteous, and affable; conciliating and ready to afford every information;
but we doubt whether either discipline or instruction is aided by constant
and familiar intercourse. There should be a certain distance maintained
between pupil and preceptor; but no presumption, no affected dignity on the
part of the latter; and under such circumstances every thing will be better
effected than where the communication is closer and less unrestrained.
But the great dread entertained by these gentlemen, has been towards the
infliction of disgrace; yet no punishment, whatever, can be awarded,
without more or less of this. It is a disgrace to an offender to be
reprimanded; to be dismissed from the schoolroom for a time; to be sent
away from the institution; the good, however, of the rest requires it, and it is
pseudo-philanthropy to repine. One point canvassed in the Convention and
connected with this subject, requires notice. "Whether a student who has
been dismissed from one institution ought to be refused admittance into any
other? There is a general understanding amongst the colleges of the United
States, that no student thus separated from one, shall be received into

another, unless he be so far restored to favour as to be able to obtain from
his college what is termed a regular dismissal." (Journal, p. 145.)
Unconditional refusal to admit, appears to us to be a rule which can allow
of but little justification. Meiners observes, that "those who come from
other universities ought to bring certificates that they have not been
expelled. If merely dismissed, they may be admitted,—but then they should
be narrowly watched." It would, however, be barbarous to exclude even an
expelled student, provided he could produce satisfactory evidence of his
return to rectitude. It is a good practice to make the matriculation, under
such circumstances, difficult; and to require a sufficient period of probation
before he is permitted to join the university. The University of Virginia, has
no comity in this respect with the other institutions of the Union. It has
followed the only rational plan; ordaining—"that no person who has been a
student at any other incorporated seminary, shall be received at that
university, but on producing a certificate from such seminary, or other
satisfactory evidence, to the faculty, with respect to his general good
conduct." A no less important regulation would be, to exclude those of
notoriously idle or dissolute habits, and yet who had never been at any
incorporated seminary.
But Mr. Hasler is of opinion, and in this he is joined by Dr. Wolf, and, so far
as we can judge, from the published speech of Mr. Woodbridge, by that
gentleman also,—that little or no control is necessary over the students who
resort to universities. The paper from the pen of that gentleman, in the
Journal before us, bears the stamp of visionary enthusiasm; exhibits, we
think, clearly a total deficiency of experience, and is
"A fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call rigmarole."
"Against this liberal discipline," he remarks, "the example of the
Virginia university has very erroneously been alleged by way of
disapprobation, or as a failure: it affords no proof of that kind. The
erroneous system of collegiate life has been preserved in it. The
locality is insulated, and the constant sameness of the company, of
fellow-students only, produces the bad results of tedious and too
close influence between the student, even with the professors.
Besides that, the architect of that building, the well informed,

philosophical, and amiable Jefferson, died before it was finished; for
the construction of such an institution is not finished, with the walls
that enclose its lecture rooms, or the dwellings; the organization can
only be the result of several years actual activity of the institution,
particularly when the plan is novel in the place where it is
established. To this is still to be added, that the professors appointed
there, were all accustomed to the collegiate life, and therefore not
likely of such dispositions as to be proper secundents to the liberal
plans of the original founder." P. 265.
Without pointing out the numerous minor errors that pervade this
paragraph, we may remark, that Mr. Hasler is manifestly uninformed
regarding the condition of the institution to which he alludes. We have
every reason for believing, that the discipline of the University of Virginia,
is equal to that which prevails in any institution of the Union. The evils of
bad discipline, occasioned by the want of sufficient and efficient rules, were
speedily experienced there. The objections felt by the board of visiters to
over-legislation, led to an opposite error; whilst undue dependence was
placed upon the effect that might be produced from the participation of the
students themselves in the judicial power. Accordingly, we find, from the
supplement to the printed enactments, that it became necessary to tighten
the reins of authority during the very first session.
It has often been remarked, that owing to the feeble domestic discipline
which ordinarily prevails in the United States, the youth, particularly of the
southern parts of the Union, require a different mode of management from
those of other countries. There does not appear to be the slightest
foundation for this vulgar error. Young men, as well as adults, are much
alike over the whole civilized globe; and if it be found that mild measures
are ineffectual, recourse must be had to more severe every where: and in all
cases, the laws, where needed, must be executed temperately,
unhesitatingly, and firmly.
It has been said, that certain offences are esteemed as such in all
institutions: of these, perhaps the most fatal are gambling and drinking.
Both exert their baneful effects upon the morals, habits, and application of
the student; and it is difficult to say, which is the most to be deprecated. The
general evils produced upon society by their indulgence, it is as

unnecessary as it would be out of place, to depict. It is only as regards their
influence on college life and discipline, that they concern us at present.
Habits of gambling should lead to immediate separation of the offender;
they are rarely abandoned; whilst they are as pernicious to the student
himself, as they are likely to be by evil example to others. Gaming is one of
the offences that require a collegiate, in addition to the municipal law.
Under this head are included all those, which, from their seductive
character, are apt to engross the time of the student, or to lead to parental
loss and inconvenience, as cards, dice, billiards, &c.
Serious, however, as we must necessarily esteem the offence of gambling, it
is, if possible, less so than habits of drinking. The latter is not an evil which
entails with it so much pecuniary difficulty, but it is apt to lead to the
former, and to every other loathsome vice. Few professed drunkards are
reclaimed; and even should they be, the valuable time lost in youth in these
indulgences, renders the youth subsequently unfit for the reception of moral
and intellectual culture; hence he remains in after life debased and vicious,
exhibiting merely the wreck of his previous intellect. Both these weighty
offences may, in some measure, be checked by wisely devised sumptuary
laws. In all well regulated universities, such endeavours have been directed
to restrain the expenditure of the students.
The Credit Gesetre of Göttingen occupy a space of twenty-two octavo
pages in the work of Meiners. At Harvard, (and we take this in our
references to institutions on the old system of instruction, as being one of
the longest established of those that receive resident students,) every student
who belongs to places more than one hundred miles distant from
Cambridge, is compelled to have a patron, appointed by the corporation,
who has charge of all his funds, and disburses them under the regulations of
the establishment. For this duty, he receives from the student six dollars a
year as a compensation. In the University of Virginia, the proctor is the
patron; and it is enacted, that "no student, resident within the precincts,
shall matriculate, till he shall have deposited with the proctor all the money,
checks, bills, drafts, and other available funds, which he shall have in his
possession or under his control, in any manner intended to defray his
expenses whilst a student of the university, or on his return from thence to
his residence." On this the proctor is allowed a commission of 2 per cent. To

ensure a more faithful compliance with this and other enactments on the
subject, each student, about to leave the university, is required to sign a
written declaration that he has made such deposit; or if not, to state the sum
withheld, and the proctor is entitled to the same commission upon that sum
as if it had been deposited. But if the student refuses to give such written
declaration, the proctor is entitled to demand and receive from him so much
as, with the commission on the money actually deposited, will make the
sum of twelve dollars. Moreover, in all cases in which the student fails to
make such written declaration, or in which it may appear that he has not
deposited the whole of his funds with the proctor, that officer is required to
report the fact to the chairman of the faculty, in order that it may be
communicated to the parent or guardian of the student, be laid before the
faculty and visiters, and otherwise properly animadverted upon.
The contraction of debts by students has, also, been made liable to the
severest collegiate penalties; but, notwithstanding, the offence is always
committed to a greater or less extent. The tradesman will give credit, and
the student escape detection. The last and best resource is in the public spirit
of the parent or guardian, who ought, unhesitatingly and firmly, to refuse to
discharge any debt of an unauthorized nature, which his son or ward may
have contracted, and especially those of the tavern-keeper or confectioner.
The censures which he may incur from the exercise of his public spirit, can
proceed only from the interested and sordid; whilst he will receive the
applause of all those, whose favourable opinion it is desirable to possess.
He will, moreover, have the gratifying conviction, that, by such a course, he
is contributing to the annihilation of a system which is the cause of much
public and domestic mischief.
The legislature of Massachusetts, to aid in the prevention of expense and
dissoluteness, have patriotically enacted "That no inn-holder, tavern-keeper,
retailer, confectioner, or keeper of any shop or boarding-house, for the sale
of drink or food, or any livery-stable-keeper, shall give credit to any under-
graduate, of either of the colleges within the commonwealth, without the
consent of such officer or officers of the said colleges, respectively, as may
be authorized to act in such cases, by the government of the same, or in
violation of such rules and regulations as shall be, from time to time,
established by the authority of said colleges respectively."

The example might be advantageously followed in other states. The
objection, that, in a free country, every one ought to be protected in the
exercise of his avocation, provided it be honest, is nugatory. They who are
receiving their education at our universities, are to form the future strength,
—and, in many cases, the pride and ornament of the state; and the
pecuniary detriment that might accrue to a few individuals by the enactment
of such a law, must be reckoned as nothing, compared with the
overwhelming evil which results where unlimited indulgence is permitted.
One of the most prevalent sources of expense is in the article of dress. They,
whose pecuniary means will admit of ostentatious display, will frequently
attempt to exceed others in this fancied evidence of superiority. This excites
a spirit of emulation in such as are but ill able to afford it, and is the origin
of much idle extravagance.
To rectify this evil, as well as to aid in the more ready detection of offences,
a uniform style of dress has been adopted in many of the universities of this
country, and of Europe.
In some, this consists merely of a gown thrown over the clothes: which
latter may be as costly as the wearer chooses.
In others, as in the universities of Harvard and Virginia, cloth of the
cheapest colour, and of a determinate quality, has been selected; and the
uniform dress, made from this, has been directed to be worn, whenever the
student is out of his room. The plan pursued at those colleges, is the most
advantageous, both in a sumptuary and penal point of view: the fashion of
the dress being such as to distinguish readily the student from others, and
thus to admit of the discovery of transgressors.
As a general system, the adoption of a uniform is attended with the most
beneficial results: although, in particular cases, it may clearly and
necessarily add to the expenditure, where, for instance, the student purposes
to remain at an institution for a single session only. He leaves home
provided with his ordinary apparel, which he is compelled to abandon, on
becoming a matriculate. The prescribed uniform must, of course, be laid
aside, on his quitting college at the end of the collegiate year; and, by this
time, his ordinary apparel has become too small for him. For this reason, a
law requiring a uniform dress, is obviously more beneficial in such

institutions as prescribe a particular course and term of study, than where no
such regulations exist. In the laws of the University of Virginia, we find that
boots are proscribed, and this may seem to be descending to unnecessary
minutiæ; but they who are practically conversant with university discipline,
are aware that this article of dress is objectionable on other grounds than
expense. It is one of the contraband methods, often had recourse to, for the
introduction of forbidden liquors. The boot is sent apparently to the
shoemaker, containing an empty bottle, which returns, by the same
conveyance, filled with the prohibited article.
On the important topic of practical instruction, the Convention appear to
have entered at some length; but, seemingly, with the same discursive
irregularity, that characterizes all their other deliberations. We observe no
method,—no lucid exposition, and no evident conclusion. A great part of
their discussion was connected with the question, "whether students should
be confined to their classes, or allowed to graduate, when found prepared,
on examination?" On this subject, again, we find the most discordant
sentiments. The majority, perhaps, are in favour of what they term
"classification," and adherence to "tried and well-known courses;" whilst
others, from the same premises, have arrived at opposite conclusions:—the
courses having been, in their opinion, tried and found inadequate.
The most conflicting sentiments have been indulged on this point for ages:
whether, for example, it be advisable to permit a student to select his own
studies, or to compel him to enter and proceed with his class: to pass a
definite period at college, if desirous of attaining honours, and to offer
himself for graduation only in company with his class.
Most of the older universities adhere to the system, which requires a fixed
course to be followed, and for a certain time. Many of the more modern, on
the other hand, permit a free choice; and some allow the student to become
a candidate for graduation, whenever he feels himself competent to offer.
In the United States, with but one or two exceptions, we believe, the
antiquated system, with more or less modification, is adopted; and, in most,
the distinctions into freshman and sophomore, junior and senior classes,
prevail: the sciences only becoming predominant objects of the student's
attention in the two last. The course of study in each of these continues for a

year, and is the same for every student, whatever may be his capacity or
tastes. To be received into any of those upon the old system, it is made
indispensable, that he should be acquainted, to a certain extent, with the
Greek and Latin languages.
"No boy," says Mr. Gallatin, in an address characterized by the same
comprehensive and enlightened views, which we mark in every thing
emanating from that distinguished individual—"who has not previously
devoted a number of years to the study of the dead languages; no boy, who,
from defective memory, or want of aptitude for that particular branch, may
be deficient in that respect, can be admitted into any of our colleges. And
those seminaries do alone afford the means of acquiring any other branch of
knowledge. Whatever may be his inclination or destination, he must, if
admitted, apply one-half of his time to the further study of those languages.
It is self-evident, that the avenue to every branch of knowledge is actually
foreclosed by the present system, against the greater part of mankind."
Journal. P. 175.
Mr. Gallatin does not seem to have been aware that there is one university
in the Union to which his strictures do not apply—the University of
Virginia. In it the student, except in the schools of ancient languages,
mathematics, and natural philosophy, is subjected to no preliminary
examination; and, moreover, he is required to pass through no definite
course or term of study; to attend no particular classes, but is left free to
select his own studies. When he has once embraced them, however, he is
not permitted to relinquish them, unless by request of his parent or
guardian, and by the permission of the faculty; and whenever he esteems
himself sufficiently informed on the subject taught in any one of his
schools, he is permitted to become a candidate for graduation in it. This
system, which, so far as it goes, will bear the test of rigid and philosophical
examination more than any other, prevails more or less in the German
universities, and has been adopted, we believe, in the new London
University.
Professor Vethake of Princeton, New-Jersey—a communication from whom
was read to the convention, and which exhibits sound practical sense, and
ingenious and discriminating reflection—has exhibited the prevalent
inaccuracy of information, regarding the system adopted at the southern

university, to which, from its novelty, we have so frequently alluded. "I see
no objection," he remarks, "to render it obligatory on them (the students) to
attend at the same period of time, a certain number of courses, unless
specially exempted for sufficient reasons, as is now the arrangement in the
University of Virginia." Journal, P. 30. No such arrangement exists in that
institution. The professor has been guilty of an error loci; the plan is
pursued at the old college of William and Mary, in Virginia.
In canvassing the comparative merits of the two systems, and, indeed, of
every point of college discipline and education, it is necessary to take into
consideration the age at which the students are received. In most of our
colleges they are admitted when mere boys, and the course of instruction is
necessarily made more elementary. In the University of Virginia, on the
other hand, no student is received under the age of sixteen, and when,
whatever may be the fact, it is to be presumed, that the more elementary
portion of his education has been completed, and that he is now prepared
for the prosecution of more advanced academic, or for professional, studies.
To adopt a rigid rule, that students of this age should be compelled to pass a
period of four or more years at college, before they can offer themselves for
honours; or that they should be confined to classes, with boys, to whom a
few years is a matter of comparatively little moment, would be manifestly
unreasonable. This much is certain, that in this country few can spare the
time in the mere attainment of academical or preliminary information. The
truth is, our universities are, like those of Scotland now, and Oxford and
Cambridge in former times—both schools and colleges. The under graduate
course, in those venerable seats of learning, seems at first to have
corresponded precisely, in point of age, with that of the modern schools.
Many of the statutes, still in force at Oxford and Cambridge, respecting the
discipline of students, sufficiently attest the boyhood of those for whom
they were enacted. One of these directs corporal chastisement for those who
neglect their lessons. Another, at Cambridge, prohibits the undergraduates
from playing marbles on the steps of the senate house. In process of time,
excellent schools arose, at which the ordinary preliminary education was
obtained, and the period of resorting to college became thus postponed. The
dislike to innovation, which augments in intensity according to the age of
the establishment, prevented, however, any modification in the course of

scholastic instruction, and thus it would seem was occasioned the length of
time consumed there in preliminary education.[3]
It will be manifest, that the objections to the system of classification are not
so numerous or so weighty in those colleges into which mere boys are
received. It has been repeatedly urged, that by such a system they are
compelled to study subjects foreign to their inclinations and capacities; but,
until the age of sixteen or seventeen, the mind cannot, perhaps, be better
employed than in the acquirement of such knowledge as forms part of the
course prescribed in the generality of our universities. The great objection
is, that those of all ages are subjected to the same restrictions.
The opposite course, as it at present prevails at the University of Virginia, is
also liable to animadversion; the less, however, as the students are not
received under sixteen years of age. It will most generally happen, that
neither the youth, nor his parent nor guardian, is sufficiently acquainted
with the course he ought to adopt with the view of being well educated; and
if the youth be left solely to the exercise of his own discretion, which is
often a negative quantity, he will be apt to select those schools that require
the least application, and are the most interesting, to the exclusion of more
severe and elementary subjects. The best system is that which turns out the
greatest number of well instructed individuals, or which holds out the
greatest amount of incentives to regular study. This cannot be accomplished
by any plan which leaves the student, or the parent or guardian—often less
competent than the student—to be the sole judge of what should be the
course of instruction in all cases. The University of Virginia, which admits
this system to the full extent—in no wise controlling the choice of the
student—affords us some elucidation of the comparative value attached to
different subjects of university instruction, by the student, or by parents and
guardians, and of the disadvantages of this unrestricted plan. From the
report of the rector and visiters of that university for 1830, we find that
there were attending the
School of Ancient Languages - 52
Mathematics - 60
Natural Philosophy - 47
Moral Philosophy - 16

We have selected those subjects only, which constitute the usual course of
academic instruction; and which, we think, ought to constitute it. The
school of chemistry we have omitted, because it was composed of both
academic and professional students, with the ratio of which to each other
we are unacquainted. The probability also is, that some of those attending
the departments of natural and moral philosophy, were students of law or
medicine. From this list we find, that whilst the schools of ancient
languages, of mathematics, and of natural philosophy were well attended,
that of moral philosophy—one of eminent importance in forming the
youthful mind—was comparatively neglected. The two first departments, as
taught in most of our colleges, are the subject of the first years' attention;
the latter are esteemed more advanced studies, and, where free agency is
allowed the pupil, he will generally prefer the study of matter, with the
advantage of the beautiful and diversified elucidations afforded by the
advanced state of physical science, to that of mind, with all its arid, but by
no means sterile investigations.
We have said that, in the University of Virginia, the selection of studies by
the student is free and uncontrolled. An indirect influence is, however,
exerted by the graduation of the fees paid to the professors. If the student
attends but one professor, he is required to pay $50; if two, $30 to each; if
three or more, $25 to each. A similar effect is produced by the enactment
which requires that the student shall enter three classes, unless his parent
and guardian shall authorize him, in writing, to attend fewer. Such
regulations are favourable only to diffusion of studies over three subjects;
the evil remains—of permitting the student to employ his own unassisted
judgment in the choice. Such a rule must, however, be generally
inoperative. If the collegiate regulation be known, the student will take care
to provide himself with the necessary authorization from his parent or
guardian; and if not known, it would be hard that the rule should apply. But
let us suppose that he arrives at the university without any such
authorization, and desires to join the elementary departments of ancient
languages and mathematics. When he discovers that he is required to attend
three schools, he will necessarily select one that may afford the greatest
attractions, and the attention to which may be esteemed recreation rather
than study. In such a case, the law, independently of being productive of no
clear advantage except that of adding to the emolument of a greater number

of professors, has the evil of compelling an elementary student to adopt a
more advanced subject of study, or, at all events, an additional study to the
disadvantage of the main object for which he joined the university. Less
objection would have existed, if the regulation had required the student to
attend two schools under such circumstances. He might then devote himself
exclusively to elementary studies; or, if more advanced, he could readily
find a collateral subject, which would not distract his attention from the
main department, and might form an agreeable and useful alternation.
The truth is, however, that the law is liable to all the objections which apply
to the old collegiate regulations, which make time the only element of
qualification for distinction. The board of visiters of that university should
have gone a step further, and instead of stating the number of schools which
a pupil should be compelled to attend, unless his parent or guardian wished
otherwise, they should have recommended, not enforced, a particular
system of study for those desirous of attaining high literary distinction, or of
becoming well educated; still retaining the valuable feature, that they,
whose opportunities, tastes, or capacities, do not admit of their following
the recommendation, may choose their own subjects.
What this system ought to be, we will now inquire into. It will enter
naturally into the consideration of the latter part of the question canvassed
before the Convention—"ought students to be confined to their classes, or
allowed to receive degrees when found prepared on examination?" The
affirmative of the proposition, as regards graduation, seems to be the natural
view; yet there are few institutions at which this course is permitted. If the
pupil be constrained to follow a prescribed and unbending series of studies,
as is the case in most of the universities of this country and of Europe, it
would appear to result as naturally that the negative view should be
adopted.
In the Convention, the most opposing sentiments were here again elicited;
and, as on other topics, they seem to have arrived at no fixed conclusion; all
that we are informed being, that "the discussion of the topic was
discontinued."
As regards the requisites for graduation in the different colleges of the
Union, they are as various as the colleges themselves. This circumstance

has, indeed, given occasion to the little estimation in which the degrees are
in general held. It often happens, in truth, that the degree of Bachelor of
Arts is conferred at one institution, on such as would be utterly incapable of
acquiring it at another; and, at the close of his college career,—which
differs in length in different institutions,—every individual receives the first
degree in the arts: the examinations instituted being a matter of form, and,
too often, of farce. We cannot be surprised, then, that a degree, thus
obtained, should be contemned; and that, even in legislative assemblies,
members should be found to declare themselves totally unworthy of the
honours thus conferred upon them. This is not the case in the universities of
Europe. In the English universities, the Baccalaureate is made the test of
severe devotion to particular studies; and, whatever objections may be made
to the plan followed in those institutions, of requiring accurate classical and
mathematical knowledge, to the exclusion of every thing else, the degree is,
at all events, an evidence that the possessor is unusually well instructed in
those matters. Hence, we find in that country the initials B. A. and M. A.
proudly appended to the names of the Bachelor or Master, and received by
all as emblems of literary distinction. How rarely do we see the title thus
added in this country? This comes from the causes already alluded to;—the
degree is too easily attained; and, when attained, is such an insufficient
evidence of learning, that it is discarded; and the parchment and the seal
and riband, and the pomp and ceremony of the day for the distribution of
honours, which excited so much juvenile exultation, are, in after life,
esteemed no criterion of literary distinction. We cannot, then, be surprised,
that one of the topics which engaged the Convention, was, "whether the title
of B. A. should be retained?"
To the title Bachelor of Arts, unmeaning as it derivatively is, we have but
little objection, provided certain definite ideas are attached to it. In the
University of Virginia, the term graduate seems to be considered more
appropriate. We do not think it an improvement upon the ancient
appellation:—
"Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well—
Weigh them, it is as heavy."
But few appellatives, in their received acceptation, would be found to
correspond with their derivative meaning. The French have their

"Bachelors" and "Masters of Sciences," but these terms are not more
significant; whilst "Doctor" too often means any thing rather than doctus
—"Qui dit Docteur ne dit pas un homme docte, mais un homme qui devrait
être docte."
Every well devised system of education should combine an attention to
language; to the sciences relating to magnitude and numbers; and to those
that embrace the phenomena of mind and of matter.
Little doubt, we think, can exist in the minds of the intelligent, that the
ancient languages should form one element. Much has been said, and much
will continue to be said, on both sides of this question, into which we do not
propose to enter: admitting, however, that the Latin language, for example,
is less necessary now than when it was the exclusive language of the
learned, and that the modern languages have emerged from their then Patois
condition, and risen in relative importance, a certain knowledge of that
tongue, as well as of the Greek, ought still to form part of the education of
every gentleman. The mind of youth cannot be better engaged, during the
early period of their university career, than in becoming acquainted with the
classic models of antiquity, and practised in the habits of discrimination
which the study engenders. Whether it should be prosecuted to the extent
inculcated at the English universities, and to the comparative exclusion of
other subjects, is another question. In this country, at least, the course would
be injudicious and unfeasible, and has been canvassed by Mr. Gallatin with
that gentleman's usual felicity of exposition. The illustrious founder of the
University of Virginia appears, however, to have had different views on this
subject from those we have expressed; and views which appear somewhat
inconsistent with freedom of graduation in the separate schools.
In the earliest copy of the enactments, (1825,) we find it stated, amongst
other matters relating to the attainment of honours, that "the diploma of
each shall express the particular school or schools in which the candidate
shall have been declared eminent, and shall be subscribed by the particular
professors approving it. But no diploma shall be given to any one who has
not passed such an examination in the Latin language as shall have proved
him able to read the highest classics in that language with ease, thorough
understanding, and just quantity. And if he be also a proficient in the Greek,
let that too be stated in the diploma; the intention being that the reputation

of the university shall not be committed but to those, who, to an eminence
in some one or more of the sciences taught in it, add a proficiency in those
languages which constitute the basis of a good education, and are
indispensable to fill up the character of a 'well educated man.'"
Without dwelling on the unreasonableness of denying a diploma to one who
has sufficient knowledge of mathematics, or chemistry, or of natural or
moral philosophy, because he may not be thoroughly acquainted with Latin,
we cannot avoid expressing our surprise that it should not have struck that
philosophic individual, and his respectable colleagues, as being a total
prohibition to graduation in certain departments. To be able "to read the
highest classics in the Latin language with ease, thorough understanding,
and just quantity," would, of itself, require as much time as the majority of
our youths are capable of devoting to their collegiate instruction.
Accordingly, we find, from the printed enactments, that the faculty
judiciously suggested a modification of the rule relating to graduation,
which was confirmed by the board of visiters. As it now stands, it merely
requires that every candidate for graduation, in any of the schools, shall
give the faculty satisfactory proof of his ability to write the English
language correctly.
For a university degree, then, the subject of ancient languages should
certainly be one element. This, we believe, is conceded in all colleges: at
least, the only exception with which we are acquainted, is that of William
and Mary, in Virginia.
As little doubt can there be, with regard to mathematics; which has, in some
institutions, been esteemed the study of primary importance. The utility of a
certain acquaintance with numbers and magnitude, is obvious in every
department of life; but the greatest advantage from the study, is the
precision and accuracy which it gives to the reasoning powers. When the
student has attained this more elementary instruction, he is capable of
undertaking, satisfactorily, the study of physics, and of becoming
acquainted with the bodies that surround him, and the laws that govern
them, as well as of entering upon the science of moral philosophy, and of
comprehending the interesting subject of his own psychology.

These seem to be the only departments that need be acquired for a
university degree. They embrace an acquaintance with the ancient classics,
and the philosophy of language, as well as with mathematical, physical, and
metaphysical facts and reasonings; and their acquisition enables the student
to enter upon professional or political life with every advantage.
We have said nothing, it will be observed, of the modern languages. The
valuable stores to be drawn from these, especially from the French and
German, are, of themselves, attractions which render unnecessary collegiate
restraint or recommendation. No one can now be esteemed well educated,
who is thoroughly ignorant of them.
It has been remarked that the student is permitted, in the University of
Virginia, to graduate in the separate schools; and that an evil exists there, in
no course of study being advised. The consequence of this is, that few can
be expected to remain, for any length of time, at that institution. We would
by no means interfere with this graduation in the schools; but, in addition to
this, there ought, we think, to be some goal of more elevated attainment,
which might excite the attention and emulation of those whose
opportunities admit of their being well educated. Let it bear the title of
Bachelor of Arts, or Master of Arts, or graduate, and, if a definite meaning
be affixed to it by the college authorities, it cannot fail to be as well
understood as the unmeaning terms, sophomore, freshman, senior-wrangler,
&c. and let the requisites for this higher honour be graduation in, or a
sufficient knowledge of ancient languages, mathematics, natural
philosophy, and chemistry and moral philosophy. If this plan were
universally adopted, a certain degree of uniformity might exist amongst the
different colleges: the degree would be received as the test of literary merit,
and the possessor be proud of appending the title to his name. At present, as
Mr. Sparks has correctly observed, the "diplomas of this country, as they are
now estimated in the United States, appear to be of little value."
The only other topic on which we shall pause, relates to the mode in which
instruction should be conveyed, and to the examinations to be instituted,
with the view of ascertaining comparative merit, and of exciting emulation.
On this subject, as is well known, the English universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, and that of Dublin, differ essentially from the Scotch and many
others: the latter teaching, solely, by lectures delivered orally. The most

successful plan is that which combines both lectures and examinations. It is
but rarely, that a text book can be found to suit the views of the professor,
and no student pays the same degree of attention to a written composition.
Even in the departments of ancient languages and mathematics, where the
combination of lectures with examinations would appear most difficult, a
prælection, explaining the various points of the subsequent examination,
may be, and often is, premised with striking effect. In the ordinary method
of teaching the classics, little attention is paid, except to the vocabulary; and
many a student has thumbed his Horace for the fourth or fifth time, without
being aware of the import of the philological, geographical, historical, and
other allusions, with which the inimitable productions of the satirist abound.
The vocabulary is but the key, that unlocks these various treasures. In a well
devised prælection, things can be thought as well as words. We do not,
indeed, know any department of science or literature, in which a union of
prælections and examinations may not be employed with advantage. There
is, however, another and a more serious objection to confining a student, in
most branches at least, to a text book:—the professor is not stimulated to
keep pace with the rapidly improving condition of science. If indolent and
devoid of enthusiasm, he confines the youth closely to the text,—takes no
pains to advance him farther,—and the student leaves the institution with
the most insufficient instruction on the subject. The text books which are
used at this time, in some of our colleges, and have been so for the last fifty
years, are melancholy evidences of the imperfect mode in which particular
studies are taught there, and of the absence of all progress on the part of the
teachers.
We believe the very best system of instruction, where it can be adopted, is:
—to recapitulate the subject of the preceding lecture, and, after the lecture
of the day, to examine the class thoroughly on the last lecture but one. In
this manner, the facts and theories of a science are impressed three times,
upon the memory of the pupil; and if, after this, he is unable to retain them,
he must be pronounced incorrigible. This plan we conceive to be the
superlative; and to this conclusion we are led, not from theory simply, but
from practice.
The nature of certain subjects, and the shortness of time appropriated, in
some institutions, to lecture, may, occasionally, preclude its fulfilment: the
nearer it can be accomplished, the better. Under this plan, the text book

becomes a matter of comparatively trifling moment,—as the student will, of
course, be understood to come prepared for examination on the subject of
the lecture, as delivered ex cathedrâ.
With regard to public examinations, we need not dwell on the question of
their policy. All well-regulated universities in this country and Great
Britain, at least, have a system of rewards, as well as of punishments; and
this uniformity may be esteemed a fair criterion of the opinions of the wise
and reflecting of those countries on this topic. However desirable it may be,
that mankind should do their duty without fear or expectation, every day's
experience testifies that the hope of reward, or the dread of punishment,
powerfully influences their exertions, not only for temporal, but eternal
purposes.
In the German universities, there are neither daily, nor semi-annual, nor
annual examinations; and, accordingly, we are not much surprised to find
them objected to by some who had received their education in that country.
The difference, however, which prevails upon this point in the best colleges
of different parts of the globe, ought to have suggested some slight
qualification of the sweeping censures that were passed upon the system in
the Convention. "The semi-annual examinations," says Dr. J. Leo Wolf, "as
recommended by some of the gentlemen of the Convention, lower the
student to the rank of a schoolboy, while, being a man, as he ought to be,
they are useless, for he will know that it is for his own good, to be
assiduous in his studies. Moreover, the result of his studies is proved at the
time when he desires to graduate, and to be licensed for the practice of his
profession. Then he must pass a strict rigid and public examination; and this
I should warmly recommend. In Prussia, these examinations are particularly
severe, but quite impartial and recorded." P. 251. So far as we can judge
from the involved and almost unintelligible twaddle contained in the
address of Mr. Woodbridge on the subject of discipline, we should conceive
him opposed to these as well as to all other means, which would excite the
emulation of the student; thus discarding, on faulty metaphysical
speculation, one of the most powerful stimuli to all literary and honourable
distinction; and which, if rightly directed, can never, in collegiate life, act
otherwise than beneficially. Granting, then, that annual, or semi-annual
public examinations are of excellent policy in all higher schools, it remains
to inquire into the best mode of conducting them. The oral system is that

received into most of our colleges. In it the students are necessarily
interrogated on different subjects, so that it becomes a matter of difficulty,
nay of impracticability, to determine, with any accuracy, their relative
standing. Added to this, if the class be numerous, it is impossible to put a
sufficient number of questions to each individual; and the bold and
confident, will ever exhibit a manifest advantage over the timid and retiring.
In every respect, the oral, seems to us to be inferior to the written
examination, where either is practicable. In the departments of the
languages—ancient and modern—an admixture of the two would always be
requisite, for the purpose of determining the student's acquaintance with
quantity or accent, etymology, syntax, &c.
The plan universally adopted into the higher schools of England, is that by
written answers. The students of a class are all furnished with the same
questions; and the answers to these are written in the examination room. All
communication between the examinants is prevented; and no book allowed
to be brought into the apartment. After the expiration of a certain time the
answers are collected.
The English method has, so far as we know, been received into one of our
universities only—the University of Virginia. It has now been practised
there for five years; and, we have reason to believe, the results have been
such, as to satisfy the faculty of its pre-eminence over the methods usually
practised. The following is its arrangement as published in the Virginia
Literary Museum.
"1. The chairman of the faculty shall appoint for the examination of
each school, a committee consisting of the professor of that school,
and of two other professors. 2. The professor shall prepare, in
writing, a series of questions to be proposed to his class, at their
examination, and to these questions he shall affix numerical values,
according to the estimate he shall form of their relative difficulty,
the highest number being 100. The list, thus prepared, shall be
submitted to the committee for their approbation. In the schools of
languages, subjects may also be selected for oral examination. 3.
The times of examination for the several schools shall be appointed
by the chairman. 4. At the hour appointed, the students of the class
to be examined shall take their places in the lecture room, provided

with pens, ink, and paper. The written questions shall then, for the
first time, be presented to them, and they shall be required to give
the answers in writing with their names subscribed. 5. A majority of
the committee shall always be present during the examination; and
they shall see that the students keep perfect silence, do not leave
their seats, and have no communication with one another or with
other persons. When, in the judgment of the committee, sufficient
time has been allowed for preparing the answers, the examination
shall be closed, and all the papers handed in. 6. The professor shall
then carefully examine and compare all the answers, and shall
prepare a report, in which he shall mark, numerically, the value
which he attaches to each: the highest number for any answer being
that which had been before fixed upon as the value of the
corresponding question. For the oral examinations, the values shall
be marked at the time by the professor, with the approbation of the
committee, but the number attached to any exercise of this kind
shall not exceed 20. 7. This report shall be submitted to the
committee, and if approved by them, shall be laid before the faculty,
together with all the papers connected with it, which are to be
preserved in the archives of the university. 8. The students shall be
arranged into three separate divisions, according to the merit of their
examinations as determined by the following method. The
numerical values attached to all the questions are to be added
together, and also the values of all the answers given by each
student. If this last number exceeds three-fourths of the first, the
student shall be ranked in the first division; if it be less than three-
fourths, and more than one-fourth, in the second; and if less than
one-fourth, in the third."
This scheme combines the advantages of affording both the positive and
relative standing of the pupil. And as those in the separate divisions are
arranged alphabetically, it does not necessarily expose the lowest in the
third division to the degradation and mortification, to which, however, they
are often richly entitled.
The plan of examinations for honours and prizes, in the University of
London, resembles the above essentially; differing from it, indeed, in few
particulars. It comprises one regulation, however, which might be

advantageously appended to the other. We copy it from the printed
"Regulations"—Session, 1828-29.
"The paper containing the answers must not be signed with the student's
own name, but with a mark or motto; and the name of the student using it,
inclosed in a sealed envelope, inscribed with the mark or motto must be left
with the professor, to be opened after the merit of the answers shall have
been determined." This prevents the possibility of favouritism, in all
classes, which are so large that the professor does not become acquainted
with the autographs of his students. The examinants are there also placed,
according to the merits of their answers, in classes, denominated the first,
second, and third; provided the sum of their answers be equal to a certain
amount; all below this point are not classed.
We have now touched upon the most important topics presented by the
committee for the consideration of the Convention. Several others were
propounded, but they seem to have fallen still-born from their authors. As
regards the 11th, 12th, and 14th, "whether any religious service, and, if any,
what may with propriety be connected with a university?"—"Whether any
course of instruction on the evidences of Christianity will be
admissible?"—And, "Is it proper to introduce the Bible as a classic in the
institutions of a Christian country?" We shall gladly follow the example of
prudence exhibited by the Convention, and pass them over. The affirmative
view of the last topic, meets with an enthusiastic supporter in the author of
one of the works, whose titles are placed at the head of this article.
One proposition only remains, on which, in conclusion, we may indulge a
few remarks:—"The importance of adding a department of English
language, in which the studies of rhetoric and English classics shall be
minutely pursued." This subject, we regret to see, experienced the fate of
others, more deserving of neglect, and was not discussed.
We have long felt impressed, that the organization of our colleges is
defective in this respect. Into many of them the student is received, after
having been employed in scraping together a few Greek and Latin words
and phrases; yet lamentably ignorant of the literature, structure, and even of
the commonest principles of the orthography of his own tongue. Such a
chair ought to be established in all our universities, and a certain degree of

proficiency in the subjects embraced by it, should be a preliminary to every
collegiate attainment. It would be an instructive and delightful study to
trace back, as far as possible, the language of Britain to its aboriginal
condition, and to follow up the changes impressed upon it, by the Celtic,
Gothic, Roman, Saxon, Belgic, Danish, and Norman invaders; the
investigation being accompanied with elucidative references to the
literature of the different periods. The poetry, romances, and the drama
would constitute inquiries of abundant interest and information. To these
might be added didactic and rhetorical exercises for improving the student
in the practice of writing—not merely accurately, but elegantly and
perspicuously.
Such a professorship has been wisely established in the University of
London; and we trust the new University of New-York will follow the good
example. If we may judge, indeed, from the ungrammatical and inelegant
Journal of the Convention, an attention to this subject is as much needed
there as elsewhere; and were the professorship in the hands of an
accomplished individual, it could not fail to improve the literary taste and
execution of the community.
[1] Memoir, Correspondence, &c. Vol. IV. P. 387.
[2] Ueber die verfassung und verwaltung deutscher universitaten. Göttingen, 1801-2.
[3] Quarterly Review, Vol. XXXVI. P. 229.

Art. II.—The Life and Times of His Late Majesty, George the
Fourth: with Anecdotes of distinguished Persons of the last fifty
years. By the Rev. George Croly, A. M. London: 1830.

C'est un métier que de faire un livre comme de faire une pendule—it is a
trade to make a book just as much as to make a watch—is a remark which
was never better exemplified, than by the manner in which the craftsmen of
the book-making trade in London, have compressed the Life of His Late

Most Sacred Majesty, within the two covers of a volume. That exalted
personage may have descended to the tomb unwept and unhonoured, in
reality, however numerous the tears shed upon his bier, or gorgeous the
ceremonies attending his interment; but he certainly has not gone down to it
unsung, as the above work is only one of several, if we are not much
mistaken, in which his requiem has been chanted with becoming loyalty.
We have seen none of its fellows, though the advertisement of them has met
our eye. Judging, however, from the reputation of its author, there is not
much literary boldness in pronouncing it the best which has appeared about
its kingly subject.
Mr. Croly is well known as a candidate of considerable pretensions, as well
for the honours of Parnassus, as for those which an elevated seat on the
prosaic mount, whatever may be its name, can confer. But, in concocting
this last production, it is beyond doubt, that the main object he had in view,
was one of a more substantial kind than a mere increase of fame. "The Life,
&c." is, in fact, a bookseller's job, executed, we allow, by a man of genius.
There are evident marks about it of hasty and careless composition,—of a
desire to make a book of a certain number of pages, with as little trouble
and delay as possible. The style is often deficient in purity and correctness,
and overloaded with glittering tropes and ornaments, not always in good
taste; the arrangement wants consecutiveness and perspicuity; and attention
is sometimes bestowed upon topics comparatively unimportant, to the
detriment of such as are of more moment. But it is, on the whole, a work of
undeniable talent, containing much powerful writing, richness and beauty of
diction, graphic delineation of character, interesting information, and
amusing anecdote. Some of the author's sentiments are obnoxious to
censure, and we shall venture to disagree with him, occasionally, as we
proceed.
It was on the 8th of September, 1761, that His Majesty, George the Third,
espoused Sophia Charlotte, daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg Strelitz;
and, on the twelfth of August, in the following year, she presented him with
a son and heir, to his own great delight, and the universal joy of the British
empire. Ineffable as is the contempt which is expressed at the present day,
for the superstitious trust reposed in omens by the heathen ancients, yet
nothing of any consequence occurs, without being attended by signs in
which the Christian multitude discern either fortunate or disastrous

predictions. It has thus been carefully recorded and handed down, that the
birth of the royal infant happened on the anniversary of the Hanover
accession, and that the same day was rendered trebly auspicious, by the
arrival at London of wagons containing an immense quantity of treasure,
the fruits of the capture of a Spanish galleon off Cape St. Vincent, by three
English frigates. A few days after his appearance in this world, His Royal
Highness was created Prince of Wales, by patent, and would have been
completely crushed under the load of honours that devolved upon him, had
their weight been of a kind to be physically felt; Duke of Cornwall,
hereditary Steward of Scotland, Duke of Rothsay, Earl of Carrick, and
Baron of Rothsay, were his other titles,—being those to which the eldest
son of the British throne is born. There is no harm in this, perhaps, as things
are constituted in England, but we have never been able to think of one of
the titles to which the second son is heir, without feeling an inclination to
smile;—the Duke of York is Bishop of Osnaburgh;—nothing more
ridiculous than this, can be discovered even amid the nonsense that is
inseparable from regal institutions;—born a bishop!
At the time of the Prince of Wales's birth, George the Third was at the
height of popularity,—the reasons for which, Mr. Croly has detailed at some
length. In depicting the character of this monarch, he certainly has not
employed the pencil with which it was darkened, as our readers may
recollect, by Mr. Coke of Norfolk, on a recent occasion, who thus brought
upon his own head a torrent of abuse. It was shocking, was it said, to
disturb the repose of one who had so long been slumbering in the tomb, in
the same way as it had been pronounced monstrous to say aught in
disparagement of His Majesty, when he had just been gathered to his
forefathers; as if kings were like private individuals, the effects of whose
acts either expire with themselves, or are of contracted influence. It is far,
however, from our wish, to dispute the fidelity of Mr. Croly's portrait; and
we are perfectly willing to believe, that "no European throne had been
ascended for a hundred years before, by a sovereign more qualified by
nature and circumstances, to win golden opinions from his people, than
George the Third," though, we must be allowed to think, that circumstances
did not qualify him to win "golden opinions" from us Americans. "Youth,
striking appearance, a fondness not less for the gay and peaceful
amusements of court life, than for those field sports, which make the

popular indulgence of the English land-holder, a strong sense of the national
value of scientific and literary pursuits, piety unquestionably sincere, and
morals on which even satire never dared to throw a stain, were the claims of
the king to the approbation of his people;" but all these claims were
neutralized, by the appointment of Lord Bute, as his prime minister. The
odium that resulted from this measure, was carefully fomented by the arts
of demagogues, the most conspicuous of whom was Wilkes. It was ascribed
to an unworthy passion entertained for the handsome nobleman by the
princess dowager, and to arbitrary principles in the monarch; and, such was
the effect produced upon the latter, by the opposition and virulence which
he encountered, that he is said to have conceived the idea of abandoning
England, and retiring to Hanover. At one time, his inclination to take this
step was so great, that he communicated it to the Lord Chancellor Thurlow,
who honestly told him, that, "though it might be easy to go to Hanover, it
might be difficult to return to England."
In December, 1765, when not quite three years of age, the Prince of Wales
received a deputation from the Society of Ancient Britons, on St. David's
day, and, in answer to their address, said,—"he thanked them for this mark
of duty to the king, and wished prosperity to the charity,"—an early
development of that talent for public speaking, which he is said to have
possessed! In the same year, he was invested with the order of the garter,
along with the Earl of Albemarle, and the hereditary Prince of Brunswick.
When the Prince had attained an age at which it was deemed necessary for
his education to commence, it was determined that it should be conducted
on a private plan; and Lord Holdernesse, "a nobleman of considerable
attainments, but chiefly recommended by dignity of manner and knowledge
of the court," was appointed his governor, and Dr. Markham, subsequently
archbishop of York, and Cyril Jackson, were named preceptor and sub-
preceptor. This measure excited a violent outcry; it was said that the heir to
the throne should receive a public education at one of the great schools; and
this opinion Mr. Croly strenuously advocates. It did not, however, produce
any effect, and the whole course of instruction which the Prince underwent
was private, though the preceptorship was twice changed. The Duke of
Montague, Hurd, Bishop of Litchfield, and the Rev. Mr. Arnold, formed the
last preceptorial trio.

In January, 1781, when the Prince was but a little more than eighteen, he
was declared of age, "on the old ground that the heir-apparent knows no
minority;" and a separate establishment, on a small scale, having been
assigned to him, he now became, in a measure, his own master. In 1783,
when about to take his place in the legislature, arrangements were
commenced for supplying him with an income, and at the instigation of the
king, the parliament voted him an annual revenue of £50,000, besides an
outfit of £100,000. The sum of £60,000 for the outfit had been originally
proposed by the king, but it was increased in consequence of the demand of
the cabinet, known by the name of the Coalition Cabinet, some of the
members of which, especially Fox, insisted for a time upon making the
grant £100,000 a year. This, however, the king resolutely refused to allow,
"for the double reason of avoiding any unnecessary increase to the public
burdens, and of discouraging those propensities which he probably
conjectured in the Prince." He accordingly demanded "but" the sums we
have mentioned. Can any one read the sentence just quoted from Mr. Croly,
without a smile? The precious fruits of royalty!—they even reduce a man of
sense to write what is ludicrous from its absurdity. It is, without doubt, an
admirable method of avoiding any unnecessary increase of the public
burdens, and discouraging the evil propensities of a young man, to deprive
the people of five hundred thousand dollars at once, and half that sum every
year, in order to bestow it upon the individual who has no other use for it
than to gratify those propensities. But, we shall be told, the heir to a throne
must support his dignity. In that phrase is comprised as unanswerable an
argument against royal institutions, as can be desired. The people must be
heavily burthened, to enable the person by whom they are to be governed,
to indulge in all sorts of excesses, and thus disqualify himself for that duty,
in order that he may support the dignity of his station! Thank Heaven we
live in a land in which there is no such dignity to be supported,—where the
time of the great officers of state is never occupied in wrangling about the
extent of the facilities which shall be afforded the successor to the
administration of affairs, of bringing disgrace upon himself, and the
country,—where the people are infinitely better governed, at an infinitely
less expense, both of money and honour!
"Now, fully," says Mr. Croly, "began his checkered career,"—which,
properly interpreted, means, that now he fully plunged into that reckless

course of profligacy and folly, which terminated only with his life, and
which should render his name odious to all who are friends of decency and
virtue. We were afraid when we saw the announcement of the work we are
reviewing, that its author would allow himself to be blinded by the regal
blaze which surrounded its subject, and would endeavour to palliate those
violations by a king, of the most sacred ordinances of the religion of which
he is a minister, which he would have branded with indelible infamy in a
private individual. Our fears, unfortunately, have not proved groundless.
"There are no faults that we discover with more proverbial rapidity, than the
faults of others,—and none that generate a more vindictive spirit of virtue,
and are softened down by fewer attempts at palliation, than the faults of
princes in the grave. Yet, without justice, history is but a more solemn libel;
and no justice can be done to the memory of any public personage, without
considering the peculiar circumstances of his time." Such is the sophistry
with which he enters upon the task of extenuation. The first part of the first
period in the above extract, is certainly undeniable—"fit nescio quomodo,"
says Cicero, "ut magis in aliis cernamus si quid delinquitur, quam nobismet
in ipsis;" but, though the second part may also be indisputable as a general
position, it is not at all applicable to this case. The historian or biographer,
who is discussing the character of a monarch long since "fixed in the tomb,"
will doubtless find it an easy matter to make
"His virtues fade, his vices bloom,"
should he be so inclined: no other considerations but those of conscience
operate then to influence his pen. But the case is quite different when he is
writing about a king scarcely yet cold in the grave, when a species of
popular infatuation commands that grave to be strewn with flowers, when it
is necessary, as it were, to sail with the stream or sink; and when the brother
of the deceased monarch has just ascended the throne, and, for the sake of
appearances, may deem himself called upon to consider every thing said
concerning his predecessor as touching himself. How many motives
combine here to warp the judgment and the conscience, and convert sober
history into funeral panegyric! Thus, if Mr. Croly had undertaken the task of
delineating the moral features of Richard the III., or of James the II.—we
adduce James the II., because our author seems to regard Catholicity as so
monstrous a crime that this prince would, we are sure, not be drawn by him
in the most flattering colours—he would have found, to use his own words,

that there are no faults which generate a more vindictive spirit of virtue,
than those of princes in the grave; but in depicting George the IVth., he has
proved the reverse of this to be the fact. It is amusing, although at the same
time melancholy, to contrast the virtuous indignation with which he pours
out his anathemas against those who committed the tremendous crime of
advocating and effecting the emancipation of the Catholics, with the gentle
terms in which he comments upon the wanderings of the Prince of Wales
from the proper path, and the glosses with which he softens their obliquity.
One might be induced to suppose that his creed holds religious liberality as
the crime of deadly dye, and dissipation of the lowest kind as a vice merely
venial in its character.
"Without justice," he continues "history is but a more solemn libel, and no
justice can be done to the memory of any public personage, without
considering the peculiar circumstances of his time." This remark is true
with regard to those public personages whom he has so severely taken to
task for their conduct respecting the Catholic question; had not his mind's
eye been covered with a film, he would have perceived that the "peculiar
circumstances of the time" fully warranted that change in the course
pursued by Mr. Peel, the Duke of Wellington, and others, with reference to
that important question, which has drawn from him such expressions of
horror; but it is far from being equally admissible where he has applied it.
That less tenderness should be extended towards the vices of princes than to
those of subjects is, we think, undeniable, when the weightier (secular)
reasons they have for keeping a strict control over their passions, are
considered,—reasons which should completely counterbalance any greater
temptations they may be obliged to undergo.

"A sovereign's great example forms a people;
The public breast is noble or is vile,
As he inspires it."

"The man whom Heaven appoints
To govern others, should himself first learn
To bend his passions to the sway of reason."

Surely these two considerations—the potent effect of his example, and the
almost impossibility of governing others when not able to govern himself—

without referring to that paramount one which operates for all men alike,
ought to have been sufficient to counteract the tendency of "the peculiar
circumstances of his time," to inflame the "propensities" of the Prince; or, at
least, should be enough to prevent an extenuation on that ground, of his
unrestrained indulgence of them, by the historian of his life. What those
circumstances were, we will let Mr. Croly relate.
"The peace of 1782 threw open the continent; and it was scarcely
proclaimed, when France was crowded with the English nobility. Versailles
was the centre of all that was sumptuous in Europe. The graces of the young
queen, then in the pride of youth and beauty; the pomp of the royal family
and the noblesse; and the costliness of the fêtes and celebrations, for which
France has been always famous, rendered the court the dictator of manners,
morals, and politics, to all the higher ranks of the civilized world. But the
Revolution was now hastening with the strides of a giant upon France: the
torch was already waving over the chambers of this morbid and guilty
luxury. The corrective was terrible: history has no more stinging retrospect
than the contrast of that brilliant time with the days of shame and agony that
followed—the untimely fate of beauty, birth, and heroism,—the more than
serpent-brood that started up in the path which France once emulously
covered with flowers for the step of her rulers,—the hideous suspense of the
dungeon,—the heart-broken farewell to life and royalty upon the scaffold.
But France was the grand corruptor; and its supremacy must in a few years
have spread incurable disease through the moral frame of Europe.
"The English men of rank brought back with them its dissipation and its
infidelity. The immediate circle of the English court was clear. The grave
virtue of the king held the courtiers in awe; and the queen, with a pious
wisdom, for which her name should long be held in honour, indignantly
repulsed every attempt of female levity to approach her presence. But
beyond this sacred circle, the influence of foreign association was felt
through every class of society. The great body of the writers of England, the
men of whom the indiscretions of the higher ranks stand most in awe, had
become less the guardians than the seducers of the public mind. The
'Encyclopédie,' the code of rebellion and irreligion still more than of
science, had enlisted the majority in open scorn of all that the heart should
practise or the head revere; and the Parisian atheists scarcely exceeded the
truth, when they boasted of erecting a temple that was to be frequented by

worshippers of every tongue. A cosmopolite, infidel republic of letters was
already lifting its front above the old sovereignties, gathering under its
banners a race of mankind new to public struggle,—the whole secluded, yet
jealous and vexed race of labourers in the intellectual field, and summoning
them to devote their most unexhausted vigour and masculine ambition to
the service of a sovereign, at whose right and left, like the urns of Homer's
Jove, stood the golden founts of glory. London was becoming Paris in all
but the name. There never was a period when the tone of our society was
more polished, more animated, or more corrupt. Gaming, horse-racing, and
still deeper deviations from the right rule of life, were looked upon as the
natural embellishments of rank and fortune. Private theatricals, one of the
most dexterous and assured expedients to extinguish, first the delicacy of
woman, and then her virtue, were the favourite indulgence; and, by an
outrage to English decorum, which completed the likeness to France,
women were beginning to mingle in public life, try their influence in party,
and entangle their feebleness in the absurdities and abominations of
political intrigue. In the midst of this luxurious period the Prince of Wales
commenced his public career. His rank alone would have secured him
flatterers; but he had higher titles to homage. He was, then, — one of the
handsomest men in Europe: his countenance open and manly; his figure
tall, and strikingly proportioned; his address remarkable for easy elegance,
and his whole air singularly noble. His contemporaries still describe him as
the model of a man of fashion, and amusingly lament over the degeneracy
of an age which no longer produces such men.
"But he possessed qualities which might have atoned for a less attractive
exterior. He spoke the principal modern languages with sufficient skill; he
was a tasteful musician; his acquaintance with English literature was, in
early life, unusually accurate and extensive; Markham's discipline, and
Jackson's scholarship, had given him a large portion of classical knowledge;
and nature had given him the more important public talent of speaking with
fluency, dignity, and vigour.
"Admiration was the right of such qualities, and we can feel no surprise if it
were lavishly offered by both sexes. But it has been strongly asserted, that
the temptations of flattery and pleasure were thrown in his way for other
objects than those of the hour; that his wanderings were watched by the
eyes of politicians; and that every step which plunged him deeper into

pecuniary embarrassment was triumphed in, as separating him more widely
from his natural connexions, and compelling him in his helplessness to
throw himself into the arms of factions alike hostile to his character and his
throne."
Our readers may compare the above portrait of his royal highness, with that
which Mr. Jefferson draws of him in one of his letters.
In 1787, the Prince had involved himself in debt to such an amount, that it
was found necessary to solicit Parliament, not only for a sum sufficient to
liquidate his obligations, but also for an increase of his income, the salary
first granted having proved quite inadequate for his royal propensities. The
following account of his debts and expenditure was laid before the House of
Commons, and furnishes a teeming commentary on the blessings of
hereditary government. In considering this matter, one might be tempted to
regard Parliament as a species of eleemosynary institution, for the relief of
insolvent royalty.
Debts.
Bonds and debts, £13,000
Purchase of houses, 4,000
Expenses of Carlton House, 53,000
Tradesmen's bills, 90,804
£160,804
Expenditure from July 1783, to July 1786.
Household, &c., £29,277
Privy purse, 16,050
Payments made by Col. Hotham, particulars delivered in to his
37,203
majesty,
Other extraordinaries, 11,406
£93,936
Salaries, 54,734
Stables, 37,919
Mr. Robinson's, 7,059
£193,648

The debate upon the grant was of a highly animated character, and in the
course of it the Prince was not spared. He was befriended by the opposition,
with Fox at its head, having thrown himself into the arms of that party, who
were endeavouring in every way to drive Pitt from his ministerial seat. But
in this instance, as in most others, the latter succeeded in carrying his point;
in consequence of which, £161,000 were issued out of the civil list to pay
the Prince's debts, and £20,000 for the completion of Carlton House, but no
augmentation of his income was allowed. "Hopeless of future appeal, stung
by public rebuke, and committed before the empire in hostility to the court
and the minister, the Prince was now thrown completely into Fox's hands."
Perhaps the two most interesting chapters in Mr. Croly's book, are those
entitled "the Prince's friends," in which he has brought into review most of
the principal characters of that period of intellectual giants, whose renown
continues to shed increasing lustre around the political and literary horizon
of England. The world is never tired of reading whatever has reference to
those personages, and a book that professes to speak respecting them, may
be said to possess a sure passport to public favour at the present day. Well
may the old man now living in England, the prime of whose life was passed
in that time, be allowed to be a "laudator temporis acti," without having it
imputed to the fond weakness of senility. We shall make copious extracts
from this portion of our author's work.
"England had never before seen such a phalanx armed against a minister. A
crowd of men of the highest natural talents, of the most practised ability,
and of the first public weight in birth, fortune, and popularity, were nightly
arrayed against the administration, sustained by the solitary eloquence of
the young Chancellor of the Exchequer.
"Yet Pitt was not careless of followers. He was more than once even
charged with sedulously gathering round him a host of subaltern politicians,
whom he might throw forward as skirmishers,—or sacrifices, which they
generally were. Powis, describing the 'forces led by the right honourable
gentleman on the treasury bench,' said, 'the first detachment may be called
his body-guard, who shoot their little arrows against those who refuse
allegiance to their chief.' This light infantry were of course, soon scattered
when the main battle joined. But Pitt, a son of the aristocracy, was an
aristocrat in all his nature, and he loved to see young men of family around

him; others were chosen for their activity, if not for their force, and some,
probably, from personal liking. In the later period of his career, his train was
swelled by a more influential and promising race of political worshippers,
among whom were Lord Mornington, since Marquess Wellesley; Ryder,
since Lord Harrowby; and Wilberforce, still undignified by title, but
possessing an influence, which, perhaps, he values more. The minister's
chief agents in the house of commons, were Mr. Grenville (since Lord
Grenville) and Dundas.
"Yet, among those men of birth or business, what rival could be found to the
popular leaders on the opposite side of the house,—to Burke, Sheridan,
Grey, Windham, or to Fox, that
"'Prince and chief of many throned powers,
Who led the embattled seraphim to war.'"
Without adopting the bitter remark of the Duke de Montausier to Louis the
Fourteenth, in speaking of Versailles:—'Vous avez beau faire, sire, vous
n'en ferez jamais qu'un favori sans mérite,' it was impossible to deny their
inferiority on all the great points of public impression. A debate in that day
was one of the highest intellectual treats: there was always some new and
vigorous feature in the display on both sides; some striking effort of
imagination or masterly reasoning, or of that fine sophistry, in which, as
was said of the vices of the French noblesse, half the evil was atoned by the
elegance. The ministerialists sarcastically pronounced that, in every debate,
Burke said something which no one else ever said; Sheridan said something
that no one else ought to say, and Fox something that no one else would
dare to say. But the world, fairer in its decision, did justice to their
extraordinary powers; and found in the Asiatic amplitude and splendour of
Burke; in Sheridan's alternate subtlety and strength, reminding it at one time
of Attic dexterity, and another of the uncalculating boldness of barbarism;
and in Fox's matchless English self-possession, unaffected vigour, and
overflowing sensibility, a perpetual source of admiration.
"But it was in the intercourses of social life that the superiority of
Opposition was most incontestable. Pitt's life was in the senate; his true
place of existence was on the benches of that ministry, which he conducted
with such unparalleled ability and success: he was, in the fullest sense of

the phrase, a public man; and his indulgences in the few hours which he
could spare from the business of office, were more like the necessary
restoratives of a frame already shattered, than the easy gratifications of a
man of society: and on this principle we can safely account for the common
charge of Pitt's propensity to wine. He found it essential, to relieve a mind
and body exhausted by the perpetual pressure of affairs: wine was his
medicine: and it was drunk in total solitude, or with a few friends from
whom the minister had no concealment. Over his wine the speeches for the
night were often concerted; and when the dinner was done, the table council
broke up only to finish the night in the house.
"But with Fox, all was the bright side of the picture. His extraordinary
powers defied dissipation. No public man of England ever mingled so much
personal pursuit of every thing in the form of indulgence with so much
parliamentary activity. From the dinner he went to the debate, from the
debate to the gaming-table, and returned to his bed by day-light, freighted
with parliamentary applause, plundered of his last disposable guinea, and
fevered with sleeplessness and agitation; to go through the same round
within the next twenty-four hours. He kept no house; but he had the houses
of all his party at his disposal, and that party were the most opulent and
sumptuous of the nobility. Cato and Antony were not more unlike, than the
public severity of Pitt, and the native and splendid dissoluteness of Fox.
"They were unlike in all things. Even in such slight peculiarities as their
manner of walking into the house of commons, the contrast was visible.
From the door Pitt's countenance was that of a man who felt that he was
coming into his high place of business. 'He advanced up the floor with a
quick firm step, with the head erect, and thrown back, looking to neither the
right nor the left, nor favouring with a glance or a nod any of the
individuals seated on either side, among whom many of the highest would
have been gratified by such a mark of recognition.' Fox's entrance was
lounging or stately, as it might happen, but always good-humoured; he had
some pleasantry to exchange with every body, and until the moment when
he rose to speak, continued gaily talking with his friends."
* * * * *

"Of all the great speakers of a day fertile in oratory, Sheridan had the most
conspicuous natural gifts. His figure, at his first introduction into the house,
was manly and striking; his countenance singularly expressive, when
excited by debate; his eye large, black, and intellectual; and his voice one of
the richest, most flexible, and most sonorous, that ever came from human
lips. Pitt's was powerful, but monotonous; and its measured tone often
wearied the ear. Fox's was all confusion in the commencement of his
speech; and it required some tension of ear throughout to catch his words.
Burke's was loud and bold, but unmusical; and his contempt for order in his
sentences, and the abruptness of his grand and swelling conceptions, that
seemed to roll through his mind like billows before a gale, often made the
defects of his delivery more striking. But Sheridan, in manner, gesture, and
voice, had every quality that could give effect to eloquence.
"Pitt and Fox were listened to with profound respect, and in silence, broken
only by occasional cheers; but from the moment of Sheridan's rising, there
was an expectation of pleasure, which to his last days was seldom
disappointed. A low murmur of eagerness ran round the house; every word
was watched for, and his first pleasantry set the whole assemblage in a roar.
Sheridan was aware of this; and has been heard to say, 'that if a jester would
never be an orator, yet no speaker could expect to be popular in a full house,
without a jest; and that he always made the experiment, good or bad; as a
laugh gave him the country gentlemen to a man.'
"In the house he was always formidable; and though Pitt's moral or physical
courage never shrank from man, yet Sheridan was the antagonist with
whom he evidently least desired to come into collision, and with whom the
collision, when it did occur, was of the most fretful nature. Pitt's sarcasm on
him as a theatrical manager, and Sheridan's severe, yet fully justified retort,
are too well known to be now repeated; but there were a thousand instances
of that 'keen encounter of their wits,' in which person was more involved
than party."
* * * * *
"Burke was created for parliament. His mind was born with a determination
to things of grandeur and difficulty.
"'Spumantemque dari, pecora inter inertia, votis

Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem.'"
Nothing in the ordinary professions, nothing in the trials or triumphs of
private life, could have satisfied the noble hunger and thirst of his spirit of
exertion. This quality was so predominant, that to it a large proportion of
his original failures, and of his unfitness for general public business, which
chiefly belongs to detail, is to be traced through life. No Hercules could
wear the irresistible weapons and the lion's skin with more natural
supremacy; but none could make more miserable work with the distaff.
Burke's magnitude of grasp, and towering conception, were so much a part
of his nature, that he could never forego their exercise, however unsuited to
the occasion. Let the object be as trivial as it might, his first instinct was to
turn it into all shapes of lofty speculation, and try how far it could be
moulded and magnified into the semblance of greatness. If he had no large
national interest to summon him, he winged his tempest against a turnpike
bill; or flung away upon the petty quarrels and obscure peculations of the
underlings of office, colours and forms that might have emblazoned the fall
of a dynasty."
* * * * *
"Erskine, like many other characters of peculiar liveliness, had a morbid
sensibility to the circumstances of the moment, which sometimes strangely
enfeebled his presence of mind; any appearance of neglect in his audience,
a cough, a yawn, or a whisper, even among the mixed multitude of the
courts, and strong as he was there, has been known to dishearten him
visibly. This trait was so notorious, that a solicitor, whose only merit was a
remarkably vacant face, was said to be often planted opposite to Erskine by
the adverse party, to yawn when the advocate began.
"The cause of his first failure in the house, was not unlike this curious mode
of disconcerting an orator. He had been brought forward to support the
falling fortunes of Fox, then struggling under the weight of the 'coalition.'
The 'India Bill' had heaped the king's almost open hostility on the
accumulation of public wrath and grievance which the ministers had with
such luckless industry been employed during the year in raising for their
own ruin. Fox looked abroad for help; and Gordon, the member for
Portsmouth, was displaced from his borough, and Erskine was brought into

the house, with no slight triumph of his party, and perhaps some degree of
anxiety on the opposite side. On the night of his first speech, Pitt, evidently
intending to reply, sat with pen and paper in his hand, prepared to catch the
arguments of this formidable adversary. He wrote a word or two; Erskine
proceeded; but with every additional sentence Pitt's attention to the paper
relaxed; his look became more careless; and he obviously began to think the
orator less and less worthy of his attention. At length, while every eye in the
house was fixed upon him, he, with a contemptuous smile, dashed the pen
through the paper, and flung them on the floor. Erskine never recovered
from this expression of disdain; his voice faltered, he struggled through the
remainder of his speech, and sank into his seat dispirited and shorn of his
fame.
"But a mind of the saliency and variety of Erskine's, must have
distinguished itself wherever it was determined on distinction; and it is
impossible to believe, that the master of the grave, deeply-reasoned, and
glowing eloquence of this great pleader, should not have been able to bring
his gifts with him from Westminster-hall to the higher altar of parliament.
There were times when his efforts in the house reminded it of his finest
effusions at the bar. But those were rare. He obviously felt that his place
was not in the legislature; that no man can wisely hope for more than one
kind of eminence; and except upon some party emergency, he seldom
spoke, and probably never with much expectation of public effect. His later
years lowered his name; by his retirement from active life, he lost the habits
forced upon him by professional and public rank; and wandered through
society, to the close of his days, a pleasant idler; still the gentleman and the
man of easy wit, but leaving society to wonder what had become of the
great orator, in what corner of the brain of this perpetual punster and story-
teller, this man of careless conduct and rambling conversation, had shrunk
the glorious faculty, that in better days flashed with such force and
brightness; what cloud had absorbed the lightnings that had once alike
penetrated and illumined the heart of the British nation."
The following investigation of the authorship of Junius will be read with
interest.

"The trial of Hastings had brought Sir Philip Francis into public notice, and
his strong Foxite principles introduced him to the prince's friends. His rise
is still unexplained. From a clerk in the War-office, he had been suddenly
exalted into a commissioner for regulating the affairs of India, and sent to
Bengal with an appointment, estimated at ten thousand pounds a-year. On
his return to England he joined Opposition, declared violent hostilities
against Hastings, and gave his most zealous assistance to the prosecution;
though the house of commons would not suffer him to be on the committee
of impeachment. Francis was an able and effective speaker; with an
occasional wildness of manner and eccentricity of expression, which, if
they sometimes provoked a smile, often increased the interest of his
statements.
"But the usual lot of those who have identified themselves with any one
public subject, rapidly overtook him. His temperament, his talents, and his
knowledge, were all Indian. With the impeachment he was politically born,
with it he lived, and when it withered away, his adventitious and local
celebrity perished along with it. He clung to Fox for a few years after; but
while the great leader of opposition found all his skill necessary to retain his
party in existence, he was not likely to solicit a partisan at once so difficult
to keep in order and to employ. The close of his ambitious and disappointed
life was spent in ranging along the skirts of both parties, joining neither, and
speaking his mind with easy, and perhaps sincere, scorn of both;
reprobating the Whigs, during their brief reign, for their neglect of fancied
promises; and equally reprobating the ministry, for their blindness to
fancied pretensions.
"But he was still to have a momentary respite for fame. While he was going
down into that oblivion which rewards the labours of so many politicians; a
pamphlet, ascribing Junius's letters to Sir Phillip, arrested his descent. Its
arguments were plausible; and, for a while, opinion appeared to be in favour
of the conjecture, notwithstanding a denial from the presumed Junius;
which, however, had much the air of his feeling no strong dislike to being
suspected of this new title to celebrity. But further examination
extinguished the title; and left the secret, which had perplexed so many
unravellers of literary webs, to perplex the grave idlers of generations to
come.

"Yet the true wonder is not the concealment; for a multitude of causes might
have produced the continued necessity even after the death of the writer;
but the feasibility with which the chief features of Junius may be fastened
on almost every writer, of the crowd for whom claims have been laid to this
dubious honour: while, in every instance, some discrepancy finally starts
upon the eye, which excludes the claim.
"Burke had more than the vigour, the information, and the command of
language; but he was incapable of the virulence and the disloyalty. Horne
Tooke had the virulence and the disloyalty in superabundance; but he
wanted the cool sarcasm and the polished elegance, even if he could have
been fairly supposed to be at once the assailant and the defender. Wilkes
had the information and the wit; but his style was incorrigibly vulgar, and
all its metaphors were for and from the mob: in addition, he would have
rejoiced to declare himself the writer: his well-known answer to an inquiry
on the subject was, 'Would to Heaven I had!' Utinam scripsissem! Lord
George Germaine has been lately brought forward as a candidate; and the
evidence fully proves that he possessed the dexterity of style, the powerful
and pungent remark, and even the individual causes of bitterness and
partisanship, which might be supposed to stimulate Junius: but, in the
private correspondence of Junius with his printer, Woodfall, there are
contemptuous allusions to Lord George's conduct in the field, which at once
put an end to the question of authorship.
"Dunning possessed the style, the satire, and the partisanship; but Junius
makes blunders in his law, of which Dunning must have been incapable.
Gerard Hamilton (Single-speech) might have written the letters, but he
never possessed the moral courage; and was, besides, so consummate a
coxcomb, that his vanity must have, however involuntarily, let out the
secret. The argument, that he was Junius; from his notoriously using the
same peculiarities of phrase at the time when all the world was in full chase
of the author, ought of itself to be decisive against him; for nothing can be
clearer, than that the actual writer was determined on concealment, and that
he would never have toyed with his dangerous secret so much in the manner
of a school-girl, anxious to develop her accomplishments.
"It is with no wish to add to the number of the controversialists on this
bluestocking subject, that a conjecture is hazarded; that Junius will be

found, if ever found, among some of the humbler names of the list. If he
had been a political leader, or, in any sense of the word, an independent
man, it is next to impossible that he should not have left some indication of
his authorship. But it is perfectly easy to conceive the case of a private
secretary, or dependent of a political leader, writing, by his command, and
for his temporary purpose, a series of attacks on a ministry; which, when
the object was gained, it was of the highest importance to bury, so far as the
connexion was concerned, in total oblivion. Junius, writing on his own
behalf, would have, in all probability, retained evidence sufficient to
substantiate his title, when the peril of the discovery should have passed
away, which it did within a few years; for who would have thought, in
1780, of punishing even the libels on the king in 1770? Or when, if the peril
remained, the writer would have felt himself borne on a tide of popular
applause high above the inflictions of law.
"But, writing for another; the most natural result was, that he should have
been pledged to extinguish all proof of the transaction; to give up every
fragment that could lead to the discovery at any future period; and to
surrender the whole mystery into the hands of the superior, for whose
purposes it had been constructed, and who, while he had no fame to acquire
by its being made public, might be undone by its betrayal.
"The marks of private secretaryship are so strong, that all the probable
conjectures have pointed to writers under that relation; Lloyd, the private
secretary of George Grenville; Greatrakes, Lord Shelburne's private
secretary; Rosenhagen, who was so much concerned in the business of
Shelburne house, that he may be considered as a second secretary; and
Macauley Boyd, who was perpetually about some public man, and who was
at length fixed by his friends on Lord Macartney's establishment, and went
with him to take office in India.
"But, mortifying as it may be to the disputants on the subject, the discovery
is now beyond rational hope; for Junius intimates his having been a
spectator of parliamentary proceedings even further back than the year
1743; which, supposing him to have been twenty years old at the time,
would give more than a century for his experience. In the long interval
since 1772, when the letters ceased: not the slightest clue has been
discovered; though doubtless the keenest inquiry was set on foot by the

parties assailed. Sir William Draper died with but one wish, though a
sufficiently uncharitable one, that he could have found out his castigator,
before he took leave of the world. Lord North often avowed his total
ignorance of the writer. The king's reported observation to Gen.
Desaguiliers, in 1772, 'We know who Junius is, and he will write no more,'
is unsubstantiated; and if ever made, was probably prefaced with a
supposition; for no publicity ever followed; and what neither the minister of
the day, nor his successors ever knew, could scarcely have come to the
king's knowledge but by inspiration, nor remained locked up there but by a
reserve not far short of a political error.
"But the question is not worth the trouble of discovery; for, since the
personal resentment is past, its interest can arise only from pulling the mask
off the visage of some individual of political eminence, and giving us the
amusing contrast of his real and his assumed physiognomy; or from
unearthing some great unknown genius. But the leaders have been already
excluded; and the composition of the letters demanded no extraordinary
powers. Their secret information has been vaunted; but Junius gives us no
more than what would now be called the 'chat of the clubs;' the currency of
conversation, which any man mixing in general life might collect in his
half-hour's walk down St. James's Street: he gives us no insight into the
purposes of government; of the counsels of the cabinet he knows nothing.
The style was undeniably excellent for the purpose, and its writer must have
been a man of ability. If it had been original, he might have been a man of
genius; but it was notoriously formed on Col. Titus's letter, which from its
strong peculiarities, is of easy imitation. The crime and the blunder together
of Junius was, that he attacked the king, a man so publicly honest and so
personally virtuous, that his assailant inevitably pronounced himself a
libeller. But if he had restricted his lash to the contending politicians of the
day, justice would have rejoiced in his vigorous severity. Who could have
regretted the keenest application of the scourge to the Duke of Grafton, the
most incapable of ministers, and the most openly and offensively profligate
of men; to the indomitable selfishness of Mansfield; to the avarice of
Bedford, the suspicious negotiator of the scandalous treaty of 1763; or to
the slippered and drivelling ambition of North, sacrificing an empire to his
covetousness of power?"

Mr. Croly has recorded a quantity of the "good things" that were said by the
wits of the day at the table of the Prince, who used the facilities which his
rank afforded him, of collecting around him all that was most distinguished
in intellect, with praiseworthy zeal. Had his companions been chosen only
from among that highest class, we might have quoted with regard to him,
the sentence of Cicero—"facillime et in optimam partem, cognoscuntur
adolescentes, qui se ad claros et sapientes viros, bene consulentes rei
publicæ, contulerunt: quibuscum si frequentes sunt, opinionem afferunt
populo, eorum fore se similes quos sibi ipsi delegerint ad imitandum"—but
unfortunately his intimacy was habitually shared by far less worthy
associates—persons whom it was contamination to approach. Many of
these jeux d'esprit are of respectable antiquity; we transcribe a few which
are attributed to the Prince himself, as specimens of royal humour.
"The conversation turning on some new eccentricity of Lord George
Gordon; his unfitness for a mob leader was instanced in his suffering the
rioters of 1780 to break open the gin-shops, and, in particular, to intoxicate
themselves by the plunder of Langdale's great distillery, in Holborn. 'But
why did not Langdale defend his property?' was the question. 'He had not
the means,' was the answer. 'Not the means of defence?' said the prince; 'ask
Angelo: he, a brewer, a fellow all his life long at carte and tierce.'"
"Sheridan was detailing the failure of Fox's match with Miss Pulteney. 'I
never thought that any thing would result from it,' said the prince. 'Then,'
replied Sheridan, 'it was not for want of sighs: he sat beside her cooing like
a turtle-dove.'
"'He never cared about it,' said the prince; 'he saw long ago that it was a
coup manqué.'"
"Fox disliked Dr. Parr; who, however, whether from personal admiration, or
from the habit which through life humiliated his real titles to respect—that
of fastening on the public favourites of the time, persecuted him with
praise. The prince saw a newspaper panegyric on Fox, evidently from the
Dr.'s pen; and on being asked what he thought of it, observed, that 'it
reminded him of the famous epitaph on Machiavel's tomb,'—
"'Tanto nomini nullum Par elogium.'"

"If English punning," says Mr. Croly, "be a proscribed species of wit;
though it bears, in fact, much more the character of the 'chartered libertine,'
every where reprobated, and every where received; yet classical puns take
rank in all lands and languages. Burke's pun on 'the divine right of kings
and toastmasters,'—the jure de-vino—perhaps stands at the head of its class.
But in an argument with Jackson, the prince, jestingly, contended that trial
by jury was as old as the time of Julius Cæsar; and even that Cæsar died by
it. He quoted Suetonius: 'Jure cæsus videtur.'"
In October, 1788, George the III. was afflicted with a mental disease, which
totally incapacitated him for the duties of government. We do not wish to be
unjustly harsh, but when we consider the irritability which, as may be
inferred from the anecdote we have related of the King's intention to retire
from England, must have formed a prominent trait in his character, and the
displeasure he could not help manifesting in his communications to
Parliament respecting the Prince's debts, it is impossible to reject the idea
that the conduct of the latter was a main cause of his affliction.
He recovered, however, before the preliminary arrangements for the
entrance of the Prince upon the regency had been completed. From this
period up to the moment when the King became again a victim of the same
dreadful malady, from whose grasp he never afterwards was freed, the
Prince mixed no more with politics, but "abandoned himself," in the words
of our author, "to pursuits still more obnoxious than those of public
ambition." The course of his life was only varied by his disastrous marriage
with the unfortunate Caroline, Princess of Brunswick. One of Mr. Croly's
chapters is headed "the Prince's Marriage," the next, "the Royal
Separation." We need not occupy much space with a subject which must be
familiar to all of our readers, and of which the details are as disgusting as
they are pitiful. Of all the foul stains upon the character of the royal
profligate, it has stamped the foulest. Every principle of honour, of virtue,
of humanity, was violated in the grossest manner.
That the Prince of Wales was morally guilty of the crime of bigamy in
marrying the Princess Caroline, we have no hesitation in asserting. No one
can doubt that Mrs. Fitzherbert had the claims of a wife upon him
previously to his entering into this second engagement, however it may be
attempted, as has been done by Mr. Croly, to deny such claims, upon the

ground that the connexion was void by the laws of the land, although the
ordinances of religion may have been complied with. If it can be supposed,
that the Prince was determined, whilst binding himself at the altar of God
by the most sacred vows, to take advantage of the laws of the land to cast
aside the solemn obligations he thus assumed, as soon as it suited his
convenience, in what a despicable situation is he placed! Deceit, perjury,
sacrilege, would be terms too weak for the act. But Mr. Croly's own words
are sufficient to prove that the lady was, and is, considered to have been
connected with him by other ties than those of a mistress. He says, "she still
enjoys at least the gains of the connexion, and up to the hoary age of
seventy-five, calmly draws her salary of ten thousand pounds a year!"
Would that salary be continued to a mistress? It is evident from the English
papers that Mrs. Fitzherbert is treated with the greatest consideration by the
present king and royal family, and that she is received by them on the most
intimate footing; her name is recorded amongst those of the constant guests
at the royal table and social assemblages of every kind. On what other
ground can this circumstance be accounted for, than that she is regarded as
a sister-in-law by the sovereign, and as a reputable relative by his family?
It is singular enough that Mr. Croly seems to consider a violation of the
laws of God less reprehensible than a violation of the laws of man. Such at
least is the unavoidable inference to be drawn from his remarks on this
matter. He is quite indignant at the idea of his Royal Highness having
married a woman of inferior rank, and a Roman Catholic (there is the horrid
part of the affair,) by which he would have been guilty of a sin against the
state, and evinces great anxiety to prove that the crime was one of a much
lighter dye—merely an adulterous connexion, by which he transgressed one
of the Divine Commandments. This Mr. Fox also attempted to do in
Parliament, when it was hinted by a member that the liaison was not of the
character which usually subsists between individuals in the relative rank of
the Prince and the lady, and the attempt was disgraceful enough even in a
statesman—but in a minister of religion!—we leave it however to speak for
itself.
In 1811, George the III. was a second time a lunatic, and the Prince
ascended his throne, though only with the title of Regent, which he did not
change for that of King until 1820, when the nominal monarch died, having
survived his reason for nearly ten years. Ten years longer did the Fourth

George sway the sceptre of the noblest empire in the world; and then he too
mingled with the same dust as the meanest of his subjects. "C'est ainsi," in
the words of Bossuet, "que la puissance divine, justement irritée centre
notre orgueil, le pousse jusqu' au néant, et que, pour égaler á jamais les
conditions, elle ne fait de nous tous qu' une même cendre."
During the last years of his life, George the IVth was the prey of various
maladies, with which a remarkably strong constitution enabled him to
struggle until the spring of 1830. His corporeal sufferings may have been
one cause of his almost entire seclusion at Windsor Castle, where he was
like the Grand Lama of Thibet, unseeing and unseen, except by a chosen
few, but it cannot be doubted that the knowledge of the unpopularity under
which he certainly laboured, had some effect in producing the slight
communication which took place between him and his subjects. So
notorious was his aversion to making an appearance in London, that when
he was first announced, last April, to be seriously indisposed, it was
rumoured for a time that the sickness was fictitious—a mere pretence to
avoid holding a levee which had been fixed for a certain day in that month,
and which was in consequence deferred. But before the period had arrived
to which it was postponed, there was no longer a doubt that the angel of
death was brandishing his dart, and that there was little chance of averting
the threatened stroke. The bulletins which the royal physicians daily
promulgated, though couched in equivocal and unsatisfactory terms,
shadowed out impending dissolution. The reason of their ambiguity was
currently believed to be the circumstance, that the King insisted upon
reading the newspapers in which they were published; whilst the medical
attendants were anxious to withhold from him a knowledge of his true
situation.
Besides being in the public prints, these bulletins appeared, in manuscript
copies, in the windows of almost every shop, and were likewise shown
every day at the Palace of St. James, by a lord and groom in waiting, richly
dressed, to all of the loving subjects who preferred repairing thither for the
satisfaction of their affectionate solicitude. It was rather amusing to watch
the manner in which this satisfaction was obtained. The bulletins were
thrust into the faces of all as they entered into the great hall where the
exhibitors were stationed, with laudable earnestness and zeal, and most of
the visiters looked with great interest—upon the paintings with which the

apartment was adorned. The multitudes of persons, however, of both sexes,
and often of high distinction, who filled the rooms that were thrown open,
during the fashionable hours of the day, rendered it an entertaining scene.
The most anxious faces were those of the owners of dry-good shops, by
whom the recovery of the monarch was indeed an object devoutly desired,
as they had already laid in their varieties of spring fashions, which the
universal mourning that was to follow the demise of the crown, would
convert almost into positive lumber.
At length, on the 26th of June, intelligence was received that the monarch
of Great Britain had been conquered by a still more powerful king. What
mourning without grief! what weeping without a tear! The papers
immediately commenced a chorus of lamentation and eulogy, in which but
one discordant voice was heard. This was the voice of the "Times"—the
only leading journal which had independence and spirit enough to vindicate
its character as a guardian of the public morals, by disdaining to prostitute
its columns to the purposes of falsehood. One paper affirmed, among other
fulsome and mendacious remarks, that the royal defunct must have taken
his departure from this world with a clear conscience, as he had never
injured an individual! After such an assertion
"Quis neget arduis
Pronos relabi posse rivos
Montibus, Tiberimque riverti?"
Did the shades of an injured wife and an injured father never rise before the
imagination of the dying man? did the injury inflicted by a life of evil
example never appal the recollection of the dying King? Yes, a life of evil
example; we repeat the phrase. Look at his whole career, from the moment
when it first became free from control, to its close. Does it not afford an
almost uninterrupted series of the most scandalous violations of the rules
which a king especially should hold sacred—the rules of religion, of
morals? When young, he countenanced by his deportment the extravagance
and profligacy of all the youth of the kingdom—when old, contemplate the
avowed, the flagrant concubinage he sanctioned—see one adulteress openly
succeeding another in his favour, and say whether his declining years
furnished a more exemplary model for imitation than those of his boyhood.
Worse than all, behold by whom, amongst others, his very death-bed, we

may say, is surrounded—the mistress who had last sacrificed her virtue and
honour, and the husband and the children of that woman, who were
occupying places in the royal household, as the price of the wife and the
mother's shame. It is well known that it was not until after the accession of
the present sovereign, that Lady Conyngham, and the man from whom she
derives the right of being so entitled, together with their offspring, received
an intimation that their presence was no longer desirable at Windsor Castle,
from which they departed, in consequence, amid the ridicule and scorn of
the empire.
It was an interesting period for an American to be in London, that of the
death of one king, and the accession of another; and, as such events are not
of every-day occurrence, we esteemed ourselves particularly fortunate in
being on the spot at the time. The various ceremonies consequent upon
them,—the lying in state,—the obsequies,—the proclamation,—the
prorogation of Parliament, and so forth, were well worth witnessing; but, by
far the most interesting result they produced, was the general election which
followed the dissolution of the legislature. We were enabled, through the
kindness of a gentleman who was a candidate, to study the whole process of
an election in a free borough, having accompanied him, at his invitation, to
the scene of political strife, and remained there until the contest was
brought to a close. By occupying a few pages with an account of it, we may,
perhaps, communicate some degree of information and pleasure to a portion
of our readers, without being guilty of too wide a digression.
The two first days subsequently to our arrival in the town, were spent in
visiting those persons whose suffrages were not ascertained at the time
when the candidates made their canvass, two or three weeks before, that is
to say,—called personally upon every one who possessed a vote, and
requested his support. In this, there is no mincing of the matter in the least,
—the suffrage is openly asked, and as openly promised or refused; but it is
only among the more respectable class, that this ceremonial is sufficient,—
the others "thank their God they have a vote to sell." On the third day, the
election commenced. Two temporary covered buildings had been erected
near each other in the principal part of the town, in one of which were the
hustings and the polls, and the other was employed for the sittings of a
species of court, where the qualifications of suspected voters were tried.
About nine in the morning, the candidates, three in number, proceeded to

the former booth, if we may so term it, and, after the settlement of the
necessary preliminaries, were proposed and seconded as representatives of
the borough, in the order in which they stood on the hustings. These were
partitioned into three divisions,—one belonging to each of the opposing
gentlemen,—which were crowded with their respective friends. Directly
below the hustings, which were considerably elevated, was a table, round
which were seated the poll clerks, and others officially connected with the
election. This was separated by a board running across the building, from
the polls, which were also divided into three parts, or boxes, corresponding
with the divisions of the hustings. All the proposers and seconders made
speeches, as well as the candidates,—and nothing could surpass the
amusing nature of the scene during the discourses of two of the haranguers,
who were particularly obnoxious to a large portion of the assembled crowd.
They were saluted with a vast variety of gentle epithets, and almost every
method of annoyance and interruption was put in practice. After the
speechification was concluded, the polling commenced. It was done by
tallies. The committee of each candidate, marshalled in succession ten of
their friends at a time, who appeared in the box belonging to their party,
and, on being asked, one after another, for whom they voted, gave, vivâ
voce, either a plumper for one, or split their vote amongst two of the
candidates. This system was regularly prosecuted, until the diminished
numbers of one of the parties, rendered it difficult to collect ten men in
time, when as many as could be brought together, were sent in. On the last
day of the election, not more than one vote was polled in an hour in one of
the boxes.
The candidates were obliged to remain in their places on the hustings, day
after day, from the opening until the closing of the polls, and thank aloud
every one who gave them a vote. At the end of every day's polling, the three
gentlemen made speeches, all pretty much of the same purport, expressing
their thanks for the support they had received, and their perfect confidence
of ultimate success. There were not more than six or seven hundred voters
in the town; and yet, for eight days, was the contest carried on. On the
ninth, one of the parties retired from the field, and the other two were
declared duly elected; after which they were chaired. The reason of this
protraction, was owing in part to the unavoidable slowness of vivâ voce
voting, but chiefly to the number of votes objected to, by persons whose

occupation it was to point out every flaw they could discover in the
qualifications of those who appeared at the polls. One of those persons was
in the employ of each candidate, and, as the struggle was close and
somewhat acrimonious, objections were made on the slightest possible
grounds, which were furnished in abundance, by the variety of
circumstances that disqualified a man for voting in that borough. Whenever
an objection was made, the objector stated the cause of it; and, having
written it down on a piece of paper, handed it to the voter objected to, who
repaired with it to the other booth. Here, having shown it to the assessor, or
judge, who was invested with unlimited power to decide upon every
question of qualification, he was tried in his turn. This was by far the more
interesting and amusing of the two booths. The trial was conducted in
regular form. The accused, so to call him, was placed at the bar of the court,
where he was cross-questioned, and confronted with friendly and adverse
witnesses; and then the lawyers in attendance, who had been respectively
largely feed by the several candidates, pleaded for, or against his
qualifications, according as he was a friend, or not, of their employer. When
the arguments were finished, the assessor either rejected his vote, or sent
him back to the polls with a certificate of qualification, which he exhibited,
and had his suffrage recorded. In some instances, the trials were speedily
despatched; but, generally, they occupied a considerable space of time, so
that when the polls were finally closed, there were at least a hundred names
on the books of the court, of persons who were yet to be arraigned.
It would require more space than is at our disposal, to enter into any detail
of the odd speeches which were made, and the various scenes, laughable
and serious, that occurred during the course of the election. For the same
reason, we cannot dwell upon the observations which are naturally excited
by the whole matter; but, we may remark, that we became fully satisfied,
that frequent Parliaments, with the present election system, would be one of
the greatest evils which could be inflicted on England. The seldomer,
certainly, that such sluices of varied corruption are opened, the better. Here
was a whole town for weeks in a state of the worst kind of commotion,—
almost all the usual labours of the lower classes were suspended;
unrestricted freedom of access to taverns and alehouses, at the expense of
those who were courting their sweet voices, was afforded them; and some
idea may be formed of the use that was made of it, from the fact that the bill

brought to one of the candidates, by the keeper of an inn, for a single night's
debauch, amounted to nearly a hundred pounds sterling. At the bar of the
court where the qualifications were examined, abundant evidence was
given, that this indirect species of bribery was not the only kind which was
in operation. The intense eagerness manifested by the greater part of those
to whose votes objections had been made, to obtain a decision of the
assessor in their favour,—the quantity and grossness of the falsehoods they
uttered, in order to effect that object, rendered palpable the existence of
some very potent motive for desiring the possession of a suffrage. That
these evils are to be attributed mainly to the vivâ voce mode of voting, we
have little doubt, and, assuredly, the tree which produces such fruit, cannot
be sound. But, we feel no desire to involve ourselves in a discussion
concerning the best system of election, which has been debated usque ad
nauseam, and we shall therefore return to our proper subject.
There are various pictures afforded by the different portions of the career of
his late Majesty, which it may be of the highest benefit for republican
Americans to contemplate. It was beautifully said by Sheridan, in one of the
most brilliant of his speeches, that Bonaparte was an instrument in the
hands of Providence to make the English love their constitution better; cling
to it with more fondness; hang round it with more tenderness: and in the
same way we may affirm that such kings as George IV. are eminently
calculated to strengthen our attachment to the republican institutions of this
country. The history of their lives furnishes that gross evidence of the
absurdities involved in the doctrine of hereditary right, which cannot fail to
disgust and revolt. It presents the spectacle of a ruler the least fitted to rule.
It proves that princes, from the very circumstance of being princes, are the
least likely to be able to execute those duties which devolve upon them,
with efficiency or conscientiousness—that the situation in which they are
placed by their birth, nullifies the very reason for which their order was first
established, and renders them a curse instead of a blessing. What was the
source from which royal privileges and authority first flowed? Was it not
the superiority in various ways of the persons who were invested with them,
and which caused them to be considered as pre-eminently qualified to
discharge the functions incumbent on a king? And is not the name of king at
present, a by-word for inferiority in every respect in which inferiority is
degrading? Every deficiency indeed of talent, knowledge, virtue, is

regarded so much as a matter of course in a personage of royal station, that
the slightest proof of the possession of either, which in an humbler
individual would just be sufficient to screen him from remark, is cried up as
something wonderful. Think of a king being able to quote a Latin line, or
make a speech of ten minutes in length!—the boast of Mr. Croly with
regard to George IV. Such an unusual occurrence is deemed almost
incredible, and many persons, even among his own subjects, will firmly
believe that neither feat was performed in consequence of original
information and faculties, but resulted from the suggestions of another.
But by far the most important light in which we republicans can
contemplate the career of George IV. in connexion with the object of
increasing our love for the institutions under which we live, is that of
morality and religion. The point may be conceded, which is always
advanced as the main argument in support of hereditary monarchical
government—that it is better adapted to preserve the peace of a country by
keeping the succession free from difficulty and doubt, though a reference to
history may perhaps warrant the denial even of this position, by exhibiting
the various usurpations, murders, unnatural rebellions of children against
parents, and other heart-sickening crimes, the consequences of the right
invested in one family of exercising sovereign rule, which have so often
plunged whole nations into misery and blood;—but this point may be
acknowledged; we may admit that elections of chief magistrates are more
likely to be the source of frequent troubles. If it can nevertheless be shown,
that there is that in the very essence of monarchical institutions which is in
any way hostile to virtue, the question ought to be considered as settled in
favour of the system that is free from this insuperable objection; for it
cannot be denied, that any principle at all tending to aid the propagation of
immorality, is the worst which can be admitted into the social and political
compacts by which men are united together, and should most be deprecated
and eschewed. No matter what apparent or real beneficial results may flow
from it, they cannot counterbalance the detriment it may inflict upon the
surest guarantee of permanent good to man, both in his individual and
aggregate capacity—both with regard to his temporal and eternal interests.
National happiness and prosperity of a durable character, are inseparable
from national virtue. The evils produced by dissensions concerning the
chief power in a state, are in a degree contingent and temporary; those

engendered by immorality are certain and lasting. Let then the pages, not
merely of the book which tells the story of George IVth of England, but of
all history be consulted, and who will deny that they furnish overwhelming
evidence that the moral atmosphere of courts has been at all times tainted
and baleful; that they have been ever the centres of corruption and vice, and
that they must ever be so? They must ever be so, we assert, because the
natural and unavoidable result of raising any collection of persons above the
opinion, as it were, of the rest of the world, and of surrounding them with a
species of prestige which prevents their vices and follies from being viewed
in their real hideousness, is to ensure amongst them the sway of immorality.
They thus form a sanctuary for corruption, which can never be established
in a country where no factitious distinctions exist; there profligacy can have
no refuge when hard pressed by public opinion, no ramparts behind which
to protect itself from the assaults of that potent enemy; and it will never in
consequence be able to obtain there any other than individual dominion.
If we turn our eyes upon the condition of the English court as it now exists,
although it may be less exceptionable than when George was at its head, we
shall find sufficient justification of the foregoing remarks. The present
sovereign, it is well known, is unfortunate in possessing a mind of that
nervous description, which renders any considerable excitement a thing to
be avoided; it was the effect produced upon it by his appointment to the
Lord High Admiraltyship during his brother's life, which occasioned his
removal from that post. His moral character is certainly less disreputable
than that of his predecessor; but who can witness, without feelings akin to
disgust, the spectacle of a family of illegitimate offspring exalted in the
palace, and following him in all his perambulations? It is far from our wish
to cast any reflection upon those unfortunate persons, who are in no way
accountable for the ignominy and guilt connected with their birth. The
shame and the reproach are for the author of the stain, who exposes himself
to double reprehension, by the countenance he virtually lends to the cause
of immorality. William IV., however, is a paragon in comparison to his next
brother, the Duke of Cumberland, a person, who, if he has given any
warrant for the tenth part of the imputations which rest upon him, can only
have escaped the penalties inflicted by the law on the greatest offences,
because he is the brother of the king. We cannot convey a better idea of the
estimation in which he is held in London, than by stating, that in all the

caricatures where an attempt is made to embody the evil spirit, his person is
used for that purpose.
"What poor things are kings!
What poorer things are nations to obey
Him, whom a petty passion does command!"
These considerations, we repeat, are well adapted to promote the important
object to which we have alluded, of causing our institutions to be properly
appreciated and loved by ourselves. This is the great desideratum with
respect to them—the chief thing necessary for their preservation. Our
situation now is more enviable than that of any country of the earth; and all
which is requisite is, that we should be aware of our own happiness, and
rightly understand the source from which it springs—the republican form of
government. Let us be thoroughly impressed with the conviction of the
superior efficacy of this system over every other, in promoting the end for
which political societies were instituted, and we are safe. We will then be
furnished with the best defence against the principal enemy from which
danger need be dreaded,—we mean that propensity to change, which is one
of the common infirmities of the human breast,—that restlessness which
renders the life of man a scene of constant struggle, tends to prevent him
from estimating and enjoying the blessings he possesses, and often causes
him to dash away with his own rash hand, the cup of happiness from his
lips. "Our complexion," says Burke, "is such, that we are palled with
enjoyment, and stimulated with hope,—that we become less sensible to a
long-possessed benefit, from the very circumstance that it is become
habitual. Specious, untried, ambiguous prospects of new advantage,
recommend themselves to the spirit of adventure, which more or less
prevails in every mind. From this temper, men and factions, and nations too,
have sacrificed the good of which they had been in assured possession, in
favour of wild and irrational expectations." To be satisfied, is, indeed, we
fear, difficult for human nature, even where there is no good to be reached
beyond what we already have obtained. A great object, in such case, is to be
convinced that there is no such good to be acquired—to suppose that we
have arrived at the utmost boundaries of mortal felicity.
Nothing, however, that we have advanced as fitted to aid that object,
inasmuch as it respects our political condition, is of such influence for its

accomplishment, as the contemplation of the actual state of the European
world. When the tempest howls without, the domestic hearth is invested
with a doubly inviting aspect; we gather round it with eagerness, in
proportion to the dismal appearance of external nature, and bless it for the
security which it affords from the rage of the heavens. Should we not, in
like manner, embrace with redoubled fondness, the institutions which
maintain us in prosperity and peace, now, especially, whilst we are enabled
to behold the fearful operation of the consequences of monarchical rule—
the horrors in which they are involving the fairest and most civilized
portions of the globe; and when we know, too, that the motive which
inspired the inhabitants of those countries with courage to encounter the
storm, by which they are tossed about on the sea of revolution, was the
hope of being driven by it into some haven like that which shelters us from
the fury of winds and waves? When, if ever, they will attain to the
possession of the blessings which we enjoy,—how all the troubles by which
they are agitated will end, is what no human ken is competent to discern;
but the philanthropist and the Christian need never despair. Out of chaos
came this beautiful world; and the same Being who called it into existence,
still watches over its concerns,—is still as potent to convert obscurity into
brightness, as when He first said, "Let there be light," and there was light!

Art. III.—Essay on the Hieroglyphic System of M. Champollion, Jr.
and the advantages which it offers to sacred criticism. By J. G. H.
Greppo, Vicar-General of Belley. Translated from the French by
Isaac Stuart, with notes and illustrations. Boston: pp. 276.

In former numbers of this journal, there are several articles devoted to the
subject of Egyptian hieroglyphics, particularly as connected with the
labours of Mons. Champollion. Every day seems to give opportunity of
additional observation, by furnishing new and interesting facts. How much
further the investigations may be carried, it would be unsafe even to
conjecture; but, in the present state of things, we are fully authorized to

consider the problem of hieroglyphics as at last solved, and such general
principles established, as must render subsequent investigations
comparatively easy. Every age seems to be productive of some great genius
peculiarly adapted to the accomplishment of some great design, connected
either with the advancement of learning, or the melioration of the moral
condition of mankind. The present appears fruitful of great men, and
France, particularly favoured, whether we regard the great political events
which have called out the most gigantic exhibitions of practical wisdom, or
look at the onward march of science, which seems in no wise impeded, by
convulsions which scatter every thing but science, like the yellow leaves of
autumn. Let us not, however, be diverted from our object,—the sober
investigation of a sober subject, alike deeply interesting to the philologer,
the student of history, and the inquirer into the sacred truths connected with
divine revelation.
The work which stands at the head of this article, purports to be an
investigation of the hieroglyphic system developed in the published works
of Mons. Champollion, Jr. and the advantage which it offers to sacred
criticism. It is the performance of a clergyman of the Roman Catholic
Church, J. G. H. Greppo, Vicar-General of Belley. The original work,
however, is not before us. We examine it through the medium of a
translation made by Mr. Isaac Stuart, son of the Rev. Moses Stuart, one of
the most eminent scholars of our country, who vouches for the accuracy of
the translation, having inspected the whole, and compared it with the
original. Dr. Stuart has added some notes, where he has seen occasion to
differ from Mr. Greppo, on some points of Hebrew philology and criticism.
The reasons for his difference of opinion are given with that candour for
which the writer is distinguished, and the intelligent reader is left to judge
as to the merits of the question.
It is well known to the learned, that Mons. Champollion, the younger, has
been spending several years in the uninterrupted study of the Egyptian
hieroglyphics. In his capacity of Professor of History at Grenoble, he found
his labours embarrassed by the immense hiatus which occurs in Egyptian
history, and, to the filling up of this, he set himself to work with all the zeal
and energy which genius could inspire. In this work, he had the advantage
of youth, and a very superior education in the Coptic and other oriental
languages, connected with a patience of investigation, which appears almost

miraculous. He had the advantage of knowing, moreover, that, if ever any
just conclusion was to be gained, he must seek it by getting some starting
point, different from that whence all his predecessors had set out. There had
been a variety of learned men whose investigations were directed to this
point, such as Father Kircher the Jesuit, whose different works on Egyptian
antiquities had been successively published in Rome, from 1636 to 1652—
Warburton, the highly gifted author of the Divine Legation of Moses, the
learned Count de Gebelin, and others of equal and less name. But these had
all confessedly failed, and the learned almost gave up the subject in despair,
so much so, that Champollion himself, states it as the only opinion which
appeared to be well established among them, viz. "that it was impossible
ever to acquire that knowledge which had hitherto been sought with great
labour, and in vain."
In the midst of these discouragements, a circumstance occurred, familiar
probably to our readers, but to which we allude merely to observe, that it
seemed at once to open a new era of investigation, and is among the many
evidences of the fact, that events of apparently the most inconsiderable
description, are connected with results whose magnitude cannot be
estimated. At the close of the last century, while the French troops were
engaged in the prosecution of the war in Egypt, it is well known, that a
number of learned men were associated with the expedition, for the
prosecution of purposes far more honourable than those of human conquest,
—we mean the exploration of a hitherto sealed country, with the express
design of advancing the arts and sciences. One division of the army
occupied the village of Raschid, otherwise called Rosetta; and, while they
were employed in digging the foundation for a fort, they found a block of
black basalt, in a mutilated condition, bearing a portion of three
inscriptions, one of which was in the Egyptian hieroglyphics. The fate of
the military expedition, lost to the French the possession of this stone, as it
fell into the hands of the British, by the capitulation of Alexandria; it was
afterward conveyed to London, and placed in the British museum.
Previously to the termination of the war, however, the stone and its
characters had been correctly delineated by the artists connected with the
commission, and then, through the medium of an engraving, placed in
possession of the learned. This is a brief history of the Rosetta stone, as it is
called, but still it baffled the investigations of the learned. They had gone

upon the supposition, that the hieroglyphic method of writing must, of
necessity, be ideographic, i. e. figurative or symbolical, and that each of
these signs was the expression of an idea. Here appears to have been the
great root of all their mistakes on the subject, mistakes naturally fallen into
by the moderns, inasmuch as the few incidental passages left on the subject
in the writings of the ancients, all recognized this as a fact. Except Clement
of Alexandria, one of the fathers of the church, not a solitary writer had left
on record any other opinion; and the passage of Clement has itself never
been understood, until since the discoveries of Champollion. It seems to be
one of those curious facts connected with the history of the human mind,
that it requires a great intellect to seize on the simplest element of truth. It is
easy to speculate on data, which are assumed without a rigorous
examination, and then to make an exhibition of learning which may
astonish the world; but, it is the province of the greatest genius to lay hold
of simple truth, and establish a foundation utterly immoveable, before there
is any attempt at a superstructure. This was the business, and this the
achievement of Champollion. Now that the discovery is made, we are
amazed at the want of previous penetration. It struck the mind of
Champollion, that, if the Egyptian hieroglyphics were ideographic, there
must be exceptions, for two substantial reasons: first, because proper
names, or names of persons, do not always admit of being expressed by any
sign, that is, proper names have not in all cases a meaning; and, second,
because foreign names, or those which have no relation to any particular
spoken language, could not be represented by conventional signs. These
principles appear now to be self-evident, and this is the basis of
Champollion's discovery. On this he built the idea, that there must exist
among the Egyptians alphabetic characters, which should express the
sounds of the spoken language; and, in order to test this principle, he set
about the investigation of the celebrated Rosetta stone. This stone, let it be
remembered, had on it three inscriptions in different characters. One of
these inscriptions was written in Greek, and of course easily decyphered; of
the other two, one was written in hieroglyphics, and the other in the
common character of the country. The course pursued by Champollion, was
exceedingly simple, and, on that account, may be considered masterly. In
the Greek text, the name of Ptolemy occurred, together with some names
which were foreign to the Egyptian language. In the hieroglyphic
inscription, there were certain signs grouped together and frequently

repeated; and, what rendered them remarkable was, that they were enclosed
in a kind of oval or ring, called a cartouche, and maintained a relative
position which seemed to correspond with the Greek word Ptolemy.
Champollion conjectured, that there must be some connection between the
signs clustered in these rings, and the name of Ptolemy expressed by signs,
which would sound like that word; and this led him to expect, that he would
get at what he was persuaded was the truth, viz. that the hieroglyphic
writing was alphabetic, rather than exclusively ideographic. With the view
of testing this, he went into a close analysis of the group of signs which he
supposed designated the name of Ptolemy; and, as the result of this
analysis, obtained what he considered the equivalents to the letters in the
name of this prince.
In order to give our readers an idea of his process of investigation, we will
state the signs which he found in the group surrounded by a ring on the
Rosetta stone. These are the following: a square—half circle—a flower with
the stem bent—a lion in repose—the three sides of a parallelogram—two
feathers, and a crooked line. The square, Champollion considered the
equivalent of the Greek letter Π—the half circle, Τ—the flower with the
stem bent, Ο—the lion in repose, Λ—the three sides of the parallelogram,
Μ—the feathers, Η,—and the crooked line, Σ. This gave the name Ptolmês.
At this stage of his investigations, Champollion supposed that he had
obtained seven signs of an alphabet; but, could he have gone no further, he
would have established nothing, and his researches would have passed off
with the labours of the learned who had preceded him. To test his principle
further, it was necessary, therefore, that he should be able to get at some
other monument, on which there should be recognized some name also
known by some Greek or other connected inscription. Such a monument
was found in an obelisk discovered in the island of Philæ, and transported
to London. On this was discovered a group of characters also enclosed in a
ring, and containing more signs than the former, some of them similar. On a
part of the base which originally supported the obelisk, there was an
inscription in Greek, addressed to Ptolemy and Cleopatra. Now, if the basis
of Champollion was correct, there ought to be found in the name Cleopatra,
such signs as were common to both, and they must perform the same
functions which had been previously assigned them; and this was precisely

the result. We have this strikingly set forth in a note of the translator, which
is here presented.
"To prove that the conjectures of Champollion were true, the first sign in
the name of Cleopatra should not be found in the name of Ptolemy, because
the letter Κ does not occur in ΠΤΟΛΜΕΣ. This was found to be the fact.
The letter Κ represented by a quadrant.
"The second sign (a lion in repose which represents the Λ), is exactly
similar to the fourth sign in the name of Ptolemy, which, as we have already
seen, represents a Λ.
"The third sign in the name of Cleopatra is a feather; which should
represent the single vowel Ε, because the two feathers in the name of
Ptolemy represent double Epsilon, which is equivalent to the Greek Η. Such
is its import. As Greppo remarks in a note, and as has been fully proved by
subsequent investigations of Champollion, the sign which resembles two
feathers, corresponds also with the vowels Ε, Ι, and with the diphthongs ΑΙ,
ΕΙ.
"The fourth character in the hieroglyphic cartouche of Cleopatra,
representing a flower with a stalk bent back (or a knop), corresponds to the
Ο in the Greek name of this queen. This sign is the very same with the third
character in the hieroglyphic name of Ptolemy, which there represents Ο.
"The fifth sign is in the form of a square. It here represents the Π, and is the
same with the first sign in the hieroglyphic name of Ptolemy.
"The sixth sign, corresponding to the Greek vowel Α in Cleopatra, is a
hawk; which of course ought not to be found in the name of Ptolemy (as it
has no letter Α), and it is not.
"The seventh character is an open hand, representing the Τ; but this hand is
not found in the hieroglyphic name of Ptolemy, where Τ, the second letter in
that name, is represented by a half circle. The reader will see in Note G,
why these two signs stand for the same letter and sound.
"The eighth character in the name of Cleopatra, which is a mouth, and
which here represents the Greek Ρ, should not be found in the name of
Ptolemy, and it is not.

"The ninth and last sign in the name of the queen, which represents the
vowel Α, is the hawk, the very same sign which represents this vowel in the
third syllable of the same name.
"The name of Cleopatra is terminated by two hieroglyphic symbolical
signs, the egg and the half circle, which, according to Champollion, are
always used to denote the feminine gender."
These were great advances, and our readers will now easily understand the
process by which the distinguished discoverer arrived at his results. Step by
step, he has thus been able to form his phonetic alphabet. In September,
1822, he gave an account of his discovery, and of the principles of his
system, in a letter to Mons. Dacier, perpetual Secretary of the Academy of
Inscriptions, and of Belles Lettres. In 1824, Champollion published the first
edition of his work, "Précis du système hièroglyphique des anciens
Egyptiens, ou recherches sur les elémens premiers de cette ecriture sacrée,
&c." This is the work which is reviewed in the number of this journal for
June, 1827, p. 438. In the year 1828, a second edition of this work was
called for, and this second edition is rendered more valuable, by having
appended to it the letter to Mons. Dacier.
It is not the purpose of the present article, to go into an account of the
results of Champollion's labours;—this has been amply done in preceding
pages of this journal. The essay of Mons. Greppo, gave us a favourable
opportunity, following the course of the author, of stating in brief, the
process by which Champollion arrived at his most valuable and interesting
conclusions. The object of the essay is to show the advantages which this
discovery gives to the study of sacred criticism. This is the special aim of
the work; and, in relation to this, the author has observed:;—
"Some of the numerous facts, which the study of Egyptian monuments with
the aid of the hieroglyphic system has developed, will be applied to the
Holy Scriptures in some of those portions which relate to Egypt, and they
will shed much light upon these passages of the sacred annals. We shall
endeavour to accomplish this work with all the precision and simplicity
possible in researches which are necessarily scientific, but which are of
high interest on account of their tendency; and it is on this account only,
that we present them with such confidence.

"A religion whose origin is from above, is without doubt safe from the vain
attacks of a few blinded men; and, while it has been defended for so many
centuries by the most powerful minds that have shed a lustre upon the
sciences and upon literature, it scarcely needs our weak defence. Yet it is
consoling to a Christian, to witness the amazing progress of human
knowledge. The mind is ever attaining to new truths, and is confirming the
remark so often quoted from a celebrated English Chancellor, (Bacon) a
remark which applies as well to revealed as to natural religion, of which
Christianity is but the development; Leves gustus in philosophia movere
fortasse ad atheismum, sed pleniores haustus ad religionem reducere: i. e.
superficial knowledge in philosophy may perhaps lead to atheism, but a
fundamental knowledge will lead to religion."
The Essay of Mons. Greppo is composed of two parts, the first of which is
an explanation of the hieroglyphic system of Champollion; and the second,
the application of the hieroglyphic system to the elucidation of the sacred
writings. The relations of the Hebrews with the Egyptians were such, that
the history of the latter cannot be otherwise than most intimately connected
with the religion of the Bible. In fact, there was no country in the world,
foreign to Judea, whose name is so conspicuous in the Bible, as that of
Egypt; beginning at the time of Abraham, and going down to the very
Apostolic age; and it hence follows, that he who would study in detail, the
historic annals of the Hebrews, ought to be as fully acquainted with those of
ancient Egypt, as the largest means will allow. In carrying out his intention,
M. Greppo has gone deeply into philological, historical, chronological, and
geographical considerations. By making the "précis" of Champollion the
basis of his argument, and bringing in to his assistance the labours of the
elder Champollion, called by way of distinction Champollion Figeac, from
the place of his residence; he has investigated the history of the Pharaohs,
as connected with the accounts given in the books of Genesis and Exodus,
and the later historical writings.
In the fourth chapter of the second part, there is an interesting discussion
relative to the difficulty of reconciling the position taken in Exodus, as to
the perishing of Pharaoh, with the conclusions drawn from the
investigations of Champollion. The last Pharaoh of the Exodus, is
ascertained to be the King Amenophis Ramses. According to Manetho, he
reigned twenty years; viz. from 1493 B. C., to 1473 B. C., so calculated also

by Champollion Figeac. But the departure of the children of Israel took
place about the year 1491 B. C., consequently in the second or third year of
this Prince. If this Prince perished in the Red Sea, how can this be
reconciled with the fact, that Manetho states him to have reigned twenty
years, and this is confirmed by the calculations of the elder Champollion.
M. Greppo goes into an interesting discussion, to prove that the text of the
Book of Exodus does not state that Pharaoh perished in the Red Sea. His
examination of the sacred text will be interesting to many of our readers:
"Scripture does not compel us to believe that the Pharaoh with whom we
now are concerned, participated in the fatal calamity of his army. And first,
Moses says not a word to this effect, when he relates the miracle performed
by the Lord in favour of his people. He informs us, it is true, that Pharaoh
marched in pursuit of the children of Israel; And he made ready his chariot
and took his people with him. And he took six hundred chosen chariots, and
all the chariots of Egypt, and captains over every one of them. And the Lord
hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued after the
children of Israel (Exod. xiv. 6-8.). A little further on he says; And the
Egyptians pursued, and went in after them, into the midst of the sea, even
all Pharaoh's horses, his chariots and his horsemen (v. 23.). Finally he
adds; And the waters returned, and covered the chariots, and the horsemen,
and all the host of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them; there
remained not so much as one of them (v. 28). Such are the principal features
of the narrative which Moses gives of this Egyptian expedition, and of the
terrible event in which it resulted. But in the circumstantial account of this
disaster, he does not name Pharaoh personally except when he speaks of his
departure. Now if the persecutor of Israel entered the Red Sea with his
army, and was swallowed up with it, is it probable that the chief and
legislator of the Hebrews would have been silent about such a circumstance
as the tragical death of this prince? an event more important, perhaps, than
even the destruction of his army, and surely very proper as a striking
illustration both of the protection which God extended to his people, and of
the chastisements his justice inflicted upon the impious. And further; to
strengthen the faith of this people when in a state of distrust and
murmuring, Moses often recounts to them their deliverance from Egyptian
bondage, their passage through the Red Sea, and the other miracles which
God had wrought for them; and on all these occasions, when the allusion to

the death of an oppressive prince would have been so natural, he conveys
no such idea.
"The circumstance related by Moses, that no one escaped, there remained
not so much as one of them, proves nothing relative to the supposed disaster
of Pharaoh. It refers to those who followed the Hebrews into the sea, among
whom Moses does not enumerate this prince. We remark also, that the
sacred historian seems designedly to leave room for making exceptions to
the general disaster, by the precise manner in which he announces, that the
waters covered the chariots and the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh
that came into the sea after them; this literally signifies that the waters
covered only the chariots and horsemen which entered into the sea, and
leaves us to infer that all did not enter. The incidental expression in verse
28, that came into the sea after them, seems then to modify the more
general expression in verse 23, even all, and authorizes us to understand it
with some latitude, rather than to restrain it to its rigorous sense. All these
circumstances of the narrative accord with the presumption, not only that
Pharaoh did not enter into the Red Sea, but perhaps even that some of his
infantry, if he possessed any, did not enter; and at least, that this is true of
some principal chiefs who surrounded him, and who formed what we now
call a body of staff-officers.
"In relating the miraculous passage of the Red Sea, the book of Wisdom,
which describes so often and in such an admirable manner, the wonders of
the Lord in conducting his people, and which celebrates the illustrious men
whom he made his instruments, makes no mention either of Pharaoh or of
his tragical death. It is limited to the remark, that in his wisdom he
precipitated the enemies of Israel into the sea (Wisdom of Solomon, x. 19)."
Mons. Greppo appears to be aware, that there are difficulties attending his
interpretation, arising out of the apparent positive declarations contained in
other parts of the sacred volume: for instance, in Ex. ch. xv. 19th v., as also
Ps. cxxxvi. 15th v. His answer to these objections, and some collateral
arguments by which he endeavours to support his theory, are too long to be
here introduced. Professor Stuart, in a learned note, part of which we feel
compelled to quote, dissents from the reasoning of Mons. Greppo, and takes
the safer course of leaving to further discoveries, what, in the present state
of the researches, may not yet be considered as definitely settled.

"The modesty and ingenuity which M. Greppo has exhibited, in the
discussion which gives occasion to the present note, certainly entitle him to
much credit and approbation. Still it seems to me very doubtful, whether the
exegesis in question can be supported. When God says, in Exod. xiv. 17, 'I
will get me honour upon Pharaoh, and upon all his host, upon his chariots,
and upon his horsemen;" and when he repeats the same sentiment in Exod.
xiv. 18; the natural inference seems to be, that the fate of Pharaoh would be
the same as that of his host, his chariots and his horsemen. Accordingly, in
Exod. xiv. 23, it is said, 'The Egyptians pursued, and went in after them [the
Hebrews] into the midst of the sea, every horse of Pharaoh and his chariot,
and his horsemen, into the midst of the sea.' It is true, indeed, that ‫כל סוס‬
‫ פרעה ורכבו‬may mean, all the horses of Pharaoh and all his chariots, viz.
all those which belonged to his army. But is it not the natural implication
here, that Pharaoh was at the head of his army, and led them on? And when
in Exod. xiv. 28 it is said, that of all the host of Pharaoh that came into the
sea after the Israelites, there remained not so much as one of them, is not the
natural implication here, that Pharaoh at the head of his army went into the
sea, and perished along with them?
"In the triumphal song of Moses and the Hebrews, recorded in Exod. xv.,
the implication in verses 4, 19, seems most naturally to be, that Pharaoh
was joined with his army in the destruction to which they were subjected.
"But still more does this appear, in Ps. cvi. 11, where it is said, 'The waters
covered their enemies [the Egyptians]; there was not one of them left.' How
could this well be said, if Pharaoh himself, the most powerful, unrelenting,
and bitter enemy which they had, was still preserved alive, and permitted
afterwards to make new conquests over his southern neighbours? This
passage M. Greppo has entirely overlooked.
"In regard to Ps. cxxxvi. 15, the exegesis of our author is ingenious; but it
will not bear the test of criticism. For example; in Exod. xiv. 27, it is said,
'And the Lord overthrew the Egyptians, in the midst of the sea; where the
Hebrew word answering to overthrew is ‫ וינער‬from ‫נער‬. But in Ps. cxxxvi.
15, the very same word is applied to Pharaoh and his host; 'And he
overthrew (‫ )ונער‬Pharaoh and his host. In both cases (which are exactly the
same), the word ‫ נער‬properly means, he drave into (hineintreiben,
Gesenius.) Now if the Lord drave the Egyptians into the midst of the sea,

and also drave Pharaoh and his host into the midst of the sea, we cannot
well see how Pharaoh escaped drowning. Accordingly, we find that such an
occurrence is plainly recognized by Nehemiah ix. 10, 11, when, after
mentioning Pharaoh, his servants, and his people, this distinguished man
speaks of the 'persecutors of the Hebrews as thrown into the deep, as a stone
in the mighty waters.'
"As to any difficulties respecting chronology in this case, about which M.
Greppo seems to be principally solicitous, it may be remarked, that the
subject of ancient Egyptian chronology is yet very far from being so much
cleared up, as to throw any real embarrassments in the way of Scripture
facts. More light will give more satisfaction—as in the famous case of the
zodiacs, so finely described in the last chapter of M. Greppo's book."
The fifth and sixth chapters of the work of Mons. Greppo, are devoted to
the examination of the history of the Pharaohs mentioned in the sacred
writings, down to the time of Solomon, and of the other kings of Egypt,
who are distinguished by proper names.
The seventh chapter is devoted to the chronology of Manetho, the official
historiographer of Egypt; and several questions are discussed, which relate
to the difference between him, and the scripture chronologers. In the close
of the chapter, the author draws two conclusions, which we are disposed to
think entirely justified by the present state of the investigations—these
conclusions will be better stated in the author's own words:—
"From the remarks which we have communicated to our readers, we infer
that there is no foundation for that fear about the advance of Egyptian
studies, which the religious zeal of some estimable men has led them to
cherish; neither is there any occasion to distrust the data transmitted by the
historian of the Pharaohs. Nothing can authorize such a distrust. On the
other hand, every thing conspires to prove, at the present time, that the new
discoveries and their application to chronology, will disclose more and
more the truth and exactness of the historic facts in Scripture. We believe
that men are too apt to form a judgment of systems when they hardly
understand them; and perhaps they are too prone to forget that if true faith is
timorous, it is not distrustful, like the pride which is connected with the vain
theories of men; because it views the basis, upon which the august edifice

of divine revelation reposes, as immoveable. Inspired with this thought, we
have adopted, from entire conviction, all the satisfactory results elicited by
the labours of the Champollions; and we wait, with impatience and with
confidence, the new developments which they promise, persuaded
beforehand that revealed religion cannot but gain from them."
In the eighth chapter of his essay, Mons. Greppo applies the discoveries of
Champollion to the Egyptian geography, so far as the scriptures are
concerned. If it be true, as he conceives, that the city of Rameses occupied
the site of the Arabian city, now called Ramsis, there seems to be an
irreconcilable difference with some of the scripture relations; for this city,
Ramsis, is on the western side of the river Nile, and not less than one
hundred and fifty miles from that position on the Red Sea, where it is
believed that the passage of the Israelites was made. However the question
may eventually be settled, it appears to us, that this location can in no sense
consist with the text of the sacred writings; for, in the first place, it would
have required that the Israelites should have crossed the Nile, on their
journey towards Palestine. Of this there is no account; neither had they any
means; and it would have required a miraculous interposition to enable
them so to do. But, second, the sacred text informs us, that, at the close of
the second day after the departure of the Israelites from Rameses, they
reached the borders of the Red Sea. It is utterly impossible that they could
have crossed the Nile, and travelled one hundred and fifty miles in two
days. It is beyond all rational calculation to suppose that they could have
travelled at the rate of more than twenty miles per day, and, consequently,
we must look for the situation of Rameses at a distance not greater certainly
than forty miles from the Red Sea, and on the eastern side of the Nile. If the
integrity of the sacred writings is to be preserved, the idea that the Rameses
of the Bible, and the Ramsis of the Arabians are identical, must be
abandoned, or, at any rate, not adopted until something far more conclusive
shall be found, than has yet been given. Professor Stuart, in a note which we
have above condensed, refers to a previous work of his, where this subject
is more largely discussed, and which, as it may not be familiar to the mass
of our readers, being a work distinctly connected with theological studies,
will be referred to for a moment. In this work, the Professor enters largely
into the examination of the location of Rameses, which stands also for
Goshen. He considers, and with vast power of argument and illustration,

that the royal residence of the Pharaohs at the time of Joseph and Moses,
was at Zoan, and not Memphis, as has been generally supposed. There can
be no question, that Zoan was one of the oldest cities of Lower Egypt, and
situated on the eastern shore of the second or Tanitic mouth of the Nile, and
this was but a little distance from the Pelusiac or eastern branch, on which
the residence of the Israelites has generally been supposed to have been. It
was an extensive city, and its ruins in the time of the French expedition,
occupied an extensive country. Champollion has remarked that the word
signifies, "mollis, delicatus, jucundus," which would make Zoan to mean
Pleasant town. The reader will be interested to observe, that, in Ps. lxxviii,
the writer alludes to Zoan, as the scenes of the miracles of Moses: also Ps.
v. verse 12, and also lxxii. verse 43. In the time of Isaiah, it is quite clear,
that Zoan was the place where the Egyptian court resided, at least for a
time. See ch. xix. verse 11. There are objections to this view of Professor
Stuart, but not stronger, than to others; and the most probable is, that the
kings of Egypt had different places of royal residence, as is still customary.
We know that Cyrus, after conquering Babylon, spent part of his time there,
and part at the capital of his native country.
Contrary, therefore, to the opinion of Mons. Greppo, Professor Stuart
considers Rameses or Goshen, to be decidedly on the eastern side of the
Nile, and this is rendered more certain, if, as the Professor has attempted to
prove, Zoan was frequently a royal residence of the Pharaohs. The opinion
taken by Mons. Greppo, that Rameses was on the western side of the Nile,
in what may be called Lower Eastern Egypt, without the delta, is refuted in
Michaelis Supp. ad Lex. Hebraica, p. 397. We make no pretentions to the
ability of settling these disputed points, and consider it perfectly safe to
abide by the present general idea, as to the location of Rameses, especially
as there is nothing yet in the shape of positive testimony against it. The
reader who is particularly interested in Biblical Archæology, will be highly
gratified by consulting the work of Dr. Stuart, entitled—"Course of Hebrew
Study." In the ninth chapter of his Essay, the author has made use of the
discoveries of Champollion, to defeat certain objections to the genuineness
and authenticity of the Books of Moses, which were started by Voltaire and
others of his time. The high antiquity of the Pentateuch was doubted, on the
ground that writing in the common language could not then have been
known. Champollion has decyphered a manuscript, which contains an act of

the fifth year of the reign of Thouthmosis III. This prince governed Egypt at
a time when Joseph was carried there as a slave, and this was at least two
hundred years previous to the time in which Moses wrote the Pentateuch.
An objection to the truth of the history of the Pentateuch, also, arose out of
the circumstance, that the magnificence and excellence of the work said
there to have been put upon the ark and its furniture in the wilderness, was
utterly beyond the state of the arts at the time challenged in the relation. The
discoveries of Champollion have overthrown a supposition which had been
held almost indisputable, viz:—that the arts of Egypt had been indebted for
their progress, to the influence of those from Greece under the domination
of the Lagidæ kings. He has established the contrary, beyond doubt, and has
proved that the most brilliant epoch of the arts in Egypt, was under a
dynasty contemporary with the sojourn of the Israelites in Egypt.
The only remaining objection which is noticed by the author, is one which
he considers as capable of receiving the same satisfactory solution.
It is objected that the name of Sesostris is not mentioned in Scripture, nor
any feature of his history recognised. To this, the investigations made by
Champollion and the calculations of Champollion Figeac are made to
answer. The commencement of the reign of Sesostris is fixed by these, in
the year 1473, B. C.; consequently, this was seventeen or eighteen years
after the departure of the Israelites from Egypt. While they were wandering
in the wilderness, Sesostris overran Palestine, which was then in possession
of its primitive inhabitants, and before the Israelites reached that land, the
expedition of Sesostris had long passed, for Diodorus tells us, that it
terminated in the ninth year of his reign. The silence of Scripture, therefore,
as to Sesostris, is in no wise remarkable, as the people of Israel had no
connexion with him, either as friend or foe.
The tenth chapter of the Essay, relates to the Egyptian Zodiacs. To our
readers who have examined the subject at all, the history of these is now
familiar,—the curious may turn to the Number of this Journal for
December, 1827, p. 520, where will be found an ample description.
We have thus given a detailed description of the Essay of Mons. Greppo,
and we cannot resist the pleasure before we close, of presenting the few
remarks with which he concludes his discussion.

"We come now to the conclusion of our undertaking. With the aid of the
new discoveries in Egypt, we think that we have shed some light upon
various passages of the sacred annals, and that we have resolved, in a more
satisfactory manner, certain difficulties which were opposed to their
veracity. We have attentively examined the resources which the writings
and monuments of Egypt afford, in the interpretation and defence of a
religion, whose lot has been, in all ages, to meet with enemies, when it
should have found only admirers and disciples. But the researches to which
we have been attending very naturally, as we think, give rise to a thought
consoling to the Christian.
"Providence, whose operations are so sensibly exhibited in the whole
physical constitution of the world, has not abandoned to chance the
government of the moral or intellectual world. By means often
imperceptible even to the eye of the man of observation, and which seem
reserved for his own secret counsel, God directs second causes, gives them
efficiency according to his will, and makes them serve, sometimes even
contrary to their natural tendency, to accomplish his own immutable
decrees, and to propagate and support that religion which he has revealed to
us. It is in this way that, consistently with his own will, he delays or
accelerates the march of human intellect; that he gives it a direction such as
he pleases; that he causes discoveries to spring up in their time, as fruits
ripen in their season; and that the revolutions which renew the sciences, like
those which change the face of empires, enter into the plan which he traced
out for himself from all eternity.
"Does not this sublime truth, which affords an inexhaustible subject of
meditation to the well instructed and reflecting man, but which needs for its
development the pen of a Bossuet,—does it not apply with great force to the
subject that we have been considering?
"Since the studies of our age have been principally directed to the natural
sciences, which the irreligious levity of the last age had so strangely abused
to the prejudice of religion, we have seen the most admirable discoveries
confirming the physical history of the primitive world, as it is given by
Moses. It is sufficient to cite in proof of this fact, the geological labours of
our celebrated Cuvier. Now that historic researches are pursued with a
greater activity than ever before, and the monuments of antiquity illustrated

by a judicious and promising criticism, Providence has also ordered, that
the writings of ancient Egypt should in turn confirm the historic facts of the
holy books: facts against which a systematic erudition had furnished
infidelity with so many objections that were unceasingly repeated, though
they had been a thousand times refuted. We cannot doubt that human
knowledge, as it becomes more and more disengaged from the spirit of
system, and pursues truth as its only aim, will still attain, as it advances, to
other analogous results.
"Thus, as has been often said, revealed religion has no greater foe than
ignorance. Far from making it her ally, as men who deny the testimony of
all ages have not blushed to assert, she cannot but glory in the advance of
the sciences. She has always favoured them, and it is chiefly owing to her
influence, that they have been preserved in the midst of the barbarism from
which she has rescued us. Thus the progress of true science, the progress of
light (to use a legitimate though often abused expression,) far from being at
variance with revealed religion, as its enemies have represented,—far from
being dangerous to it, as some of its disciples have appeared to fear, tends,
on the contrary, each day to strengthen its claims upon all enlightened
minds, and to prove, in opposition to the pride of false science, that this
divine religion, confirmed as it is by all the truths to which the human mind
attains, is the truth of the Lord which endureth forever."
We have ventured upon this protracted notice of the Essay of Mons.
Greppo, because the subject itself is one of gratifying pursuit even to the
mere scholar, but still more because it is vitally connected with the
evidences of revealed religion in which we hope that none of our readers
are altogether uninterested. There is in the Essay, no question as to any of
the minor points of the Christian faith,—there is here nothing but what all
may peruse with satisfaction. The question is one entirely connected with
evidence; and science and literature are pressed fairly into the service of
truth. The work is peculiarly valuable, because it is the only work connected
with the labours of Champollion which has been made to wear an English
dress. The works of both the Champollions are locked up in a foreign
language from most of our readers; and we fear that the time will not soon
come when there will be sufficient encouragement either to translate or
publish in this country the splendid volumes of these brothers, who are, by
their discoveries, raising up for France the gratitude of the world. Until

there shall be liberality enough in our republic of letters, to enable us to
possess these works, with all their riches of illustration, and thus have
ancient Egypt brought to the inspection of American eyes, we would
recommend the work of Mons. Greppo, as the best, and indeed only
substitute at present known, always excepting the pages of our own journal.
It is needless to say, that the merits of the translation cannot be questioned,
after the testimonials furnished by the learned Dr. Stuart; without the
advantage of comparing it with the original, we can speak of its excellence
relatively, for the style is clear, concise, and classical.

Art. IV.—IRON.
1.—Memorial of the workers in iron of Philadelphia, praying that the
present duty on imported iron may be repealed, &c.
2.—Report of the Select Committee (of the Senate of the United States,) to
whom was referred "the petition of upwards of three hundred mechanics,
Citizens of the City and County of Philadelphia, employed in the various
branches of the manufacture of iron," and also, the petition of the
"Journeymen blacksmiths of the City and County of Philadelphia, employed
in manufacturing anchors and chain cables."
3.—Report of the minority of the Select Committee on certain memorials to
reduce the duty on imported iron.
4.—Remarks of the majority of the Select Committee on the blacksmiths'
petition in reply to the arguments of the minority.
5.—Manuel de la Metallurgie de fer par C. I. B. Karsten, traduit de
l'Allemand, par F. I. Culman, seconde edition, entierement refondue, &c. 3
vols. 8vo. pp. 504, 496, & 488. Mme. Thirl: 1830: Metz.
6.—Voyage Metallurgique en Angleterre, par MM. Dufrenoy et Elie de
Beaumont. 1 vol. 8vo. pp. 572. Bachelier: Paris: 1827.

The discussion contained in the petitions and legislative reports which we
have prefixed to this article, is one of the most powerful interest, not merely
to those concerned in the manufacture of iron, and the articles of commerce
of which it is the material, but to the whole community. Iron, if the cheapest
and most abundant, is intrinsically the most valuable of the metals. It may
supersede, and gradually has, in its applications, superseded the greater part
of the rest, and has taken the place of wood and stone in a great variety of
mechanical structures; it is indispensable in the modern arts of the attack
and defence of nations; and its possession is the distinctive difference
between civilized man and the savage. Well was it said to Crœsus exhibiting
his golden treasures, that he who possessed more iron, would speedily make
himself master of them, and the truth of the maxim was even more
powerfully verified, when the accumulated riches of the Aztecs and Incas
were acquired at the cost of a few pounds of Toledo steel.
When we compare the state of manners and arts of the Mexicans and
Peruvians with that of their Spanish conquerors, we are almost compelled to
admit, that the possession of iron was perhaps the only real superiority in
civilization which the latter possessed. Gunpowder played but a small part
in the contests where handfuls of men routed myriads; the courage of the
Indian warrior is not less firm than that of the descendant of the Goths.
The sciences and arts which are now the boast of European civilization,
were then but awakening from a slumber of ages; in the latter, the
workmanship of Europe was in many instances inferior to that of the new
world, and in the former, to take as an instance that which occupies the
highest place, astronomy, the civil year of the Mexicans was intercalated
and restored to the solar, by a process more perfect than that we even now
employ; and the latter was not introduced into Europe until half a century
after the throne of Montezuma fell. The bloody human sacrifices which
excited to such a degree the abhorrence of the conquerors, were not greater
marks of savage cruelty, than were their own auto da fes, and the tortures
inflicted on Guatemozin. Yet if not superior in bravery, in the arts, the
sciences, and the more distinctive attribute of civilization, humanity, the
possession of iron was sufficient to ensure the triumph of the Spaniards.
Of all the metallurgic arts, that by which iron is prepared from its ores,
demands the greatest degree of practical skill, and is the most difficult to

bring to perfection. Although ages have elapsed since it first became an
object of human industry, its manipulation and preparation are yet receiving
improvements, while those of the other ancient metals appear hardly
susceptible of modification or advancement. Copper and its alloys, tin, lead,
and mercury, were as well and as cheaply prepared by the ancients as by the
moderns; and the reduction of the precious metals has received no
important change, since the process of amalgamation was first applied to
them,—while the preparation of iron is daily improving under our eyes, and
its cost diminishing. It may even be doubted whether the iron we first find
mentioned in history, was an artificial product, and not obtained from the
rare masses in which it is found existing in the native state, and which are
supposed to be of meteoric origin.
The original use of iron is ascribed in the sacred writings to Tubal Cain,
who lived before the flood;—but we have no proof that he did not employ a
native iron of this description. Be this as it may, the united testimony of
antiquity exhibits to us an alloy of copper used for the purposes to which
we apply iron, and the latter metal as comparatively scarce, and of high
value. The qualities of iron were known and appreciated, but the art of
preparing it was not understood. The reason is obvious; those ores of iron
which have an external metallic aspect, are difficult of fusion and reduction,
those which are more readily converted, are dull, earthy in their appearance,
and unlikely to attract attention,—while gold and silver manifest in their
native state their brilliant characters, and the ores of copper and lead exhibit
a higher degree of lustre than the metals themselves.
If, then, history does not show us the ancient nations employing iron for
their arms and instruments, it is because they were unable to prepare it.
Even in the middle ages, we find copper in use for arms, because the
nations that employed it, could not conquer the difficulties that attend the
preparation of iron.
The books of Moses, however, show that iron was known at that era to the
Egyptians, and the distinction he draws between it and brass, seems in
favour of our view of the origin of that which was then employed. The
stones of the promised land were to be iron, but brass was to be dug from
the hills. Twelve hundred years before Christ, if we receive the testimony of
Homer, who, if he be rejected as an historian, must still be admitted as a

faithful painter of manners. The Greeks used an alloy of copper for their
arms, but were unacquainted with iron, which they estimated of much
higher value.
Αυταρ Πηλειδης θηχεν σολον αυτοχοωνον,
Ον πριν μεν ριεπτασε μεγα σφενος Ηεβιωνος.
Αλλα ητοι τον επεφνε ποδαρχος διος Αχιλλευς,
Τον δ αγετ εννηεσσι συν αλλοισιν χτεατεσσιν.
Στη δ ορθος χαι μυθον εν Αργειοισιν εειπεν.
Ορνυσθ, οι χαι τουτου α εθλου πειρησησθε!
&c. Iliad, Book XXIII, 1. 826.
From this passage and the following lines, we learn the two-fold fact: 1.
That a mass of iron of no greater weight than could be used as a quoit, by a
man of great strength, was esteemed of sufficient value to be cited as an
important article in the spoil of a prince: 2. That its use was confined to
agricultural purposes, and not applied in war. Hence the more valuable form
steel, and its tempering, were unknown.
Five hundred years later, Lycurgus attempted to introduce the use of iron, as
money, into Sparta. The reasons usually cited for this act, do not seem to
apply; and we ought not to accuse that lawgiver of the want of knowledge
in political economy that is usually ascribed to him, in endeavouring to give
a base material a conventional value to which it was not entitled. The iron
was still, probably, more costly than brass, and the error of Lycurgus did not
lie in ascribing to it a value beyond its actual cost, but in depriving it of the
property of convertibility to useful purposes, which was necessary to
maintain its price.
In the construction of the temple by Solomon, 130 years before the æra of
Lycurgus, iron was employed in great abundance; and, from the cost
lavished upon that building, we are almost warranted in considering it as
still bearing a high value, even in that country, so far in the advance of
Greece in the arts of civilized life.
Herodotus ascribes the discovery of the art of welding iron to Glaucus of
Chio, 430 years before the Christian æra. But, before this period, the Greeks
had carried the art of working it into Italy, Spain, and Africa; and the

famous mines of Elba, that are still worked, were probably opened 700
years before Christ.
It is from the working of these mines that we are to date the introduction of
iron in such abundance as to reduce its price, bring it into general use, and
finally cause it to supersede wholly the alloys of copper. This ore is of
extremely easy reduction, by processes of great simplicity, which furnish
iron of excellent quality, and are, as we shall hereafter see, still in use. We
cannot, indeed, infer with certainty, that these were the processes used by
the ancients; but their simplicity is a strong argument in favour of their
remote invention.
Steel seems to have been known as different in qualities from iron, at a very
remote period; that is to say, it was understood that there were varieties of
iron, which when tempered, became hard, whilst others remained soft. The
intentional preparation of it, as a different species, seems to have taken its
rise among the Chalybes, a people of Asia Minor, and it was afterwards
obtained from Noricum. We still find in the latter country, (Styria,) an ore
that furnishes steel, by processes as simple as those by which the iron is
obtained from the ore of Elba, and hence can form some tolerable guess at
the mode in which the steel of the ancients was obtained.
The third form in which we find iron as an article of commerce, namely,
cast iron, is of far more recent origin. It has been traced to the banks of the
Rhine, and it is certain that stove-plates were cast in Alsace in A. D. 1494.
From this epoch, then, dates the great improvement in the preparation of
iron, by which its price has been so far lessened, as to render it available for
innumerable purposes, from which a small addition to its present cost
would exclude it.

Iron, as may be inferred from what has been stated, is known in commerce
in three distinct forms—wrought or bar iron, cast or pig iron, and steel. The
received chemical theory on this subject is, that the former is metallic iron
nearly in a pure state, and that the two latter are chemical compounds of
iron and carbon. How far this is true will be examined in the sequel.
When wrought iron is nearly pure, it has, when in bars of not less than an
inch square, or plates not less than half an inch in thickness, a granular

structure. From the appearance of these grains, an estimate may be had of
its quality; grains without any determinate form, neither presenting, when
broken, crystalline faces, nor arranging themselves in plates; and which, in
the fracture of the bar, exhibit points, and even filaments, manifesting the
resistance they have opposed, are marks of the best quality. If, when
broken, a crystalline character is exhibited, the quality is bad, and will,
according to a disposition difficult to describe in words, either break under
the hammer when heated, or be subject to rupture when cold. These two
opposite defects are, in the language of our manufacturers, called red and
cold short, or shear. The former fault unfits it for being easily worked; the
latter destroys its most important usefulness. When the manufacture has
been badly conducted, crystals will appear mingled with tenacious grains,
and a want of uniform consistence will render it unfit for being cut and
worked by the file. Iron of the latter character may, notwithstanding,
possess great tenacity.
In still smaller bars, good iron, in breaking, exhibits filaments like those
shown by a piece of green wood when broken across; this is technically
called nerve; and as it does not show itself in larger bars, it has been
supposed that it is the result of the process of drawing out the bars. This is
partially true, although the iron that presents a crystalline structure will not
acquire nerve, however frequently hammered. To obtain nerve in larger
masses, it is necessary to form them of bundles of smaller bars, a process
known under the name of faggoting.

Iron contains in its ores many impurities of different natures, according to
circumstances, and is in its preparation exposed to several others; by these
its quality is frequently much affected. Its valuable ores all contain the iron
in the state of oxide. The oxygen, it is generally believed, is not wholly
separated even in the best malleable iron, but enough still remains to impair
in some degree its good qualities. In its manufacture it is exposed to the
action of carbon, with which it is capable of combining. Much iron appears
to contain some of the combinations of this sort, existing in the form of hard
particles, technically known by the name of pins.
Of inflammable bodies, sulphur and phosphorus are frequently contained in
the ores of iron; and when pit coal is used in the manufacture, the former

substance is present, and may influence the product. The union of sulphur,
in very small quantities, with the iron, creates the defect called red short,
although it is probably not the only substance that produces the same fault;
but when it is caused by sulphur, all the good properties of the iron are
impaired, which is not always the case when it arises from other impurities.
The defect of breaking when cold, has been attributed to the presence of
phosphorus by high authority. There are, however, ores in this country,
containing a phosphate of lime, which yield iron of excellent quality.
A mixture of sulphur and carbon deprives iron of its property of welding,
and in the highest proportion gives the opposite defects of being both red
and cold short.
Ores of iron contain the earths, silex, alumina, lime, and magnesia. With the
bases of these earths the metal is capable of forming alloys; those of the
three first are often thus combined. Silicium has been discovered combined
with iron to the extent of 3-1/2 per cent. It has been found to render this
metal harder, more brittle, and more similar in structure to steel; so small a
quantity as 1/2 per cent. has been sufficient to render it liable to break when
cold; and it appears probable, that by far the greater part of the cold short
irons owe this fault to the presence of silex, rather than to that of
phosphorus. Iron obtained from the ores by means of coal, is, under
circumstances of equality in other respects, more likely to be combined
with silicium than when made with charcoal. Karsten infers that a
combination with aluminum produces similar defects, and denies the
assertion of Faraday, that the good qualities of a steel brought from India
are due to an alloy with this earthy base. A combination with the metallic
base of lime, lessens the property that iron possesses of being welded, but
does not render it more liable to fracture, either under the hammer or when
cold.
Of the metals proper:—
Copper renders iron red short.
Lead combines with iron with great difficulty, so that its presence in the
ores can hardly be considered dangerous, but when the combination is
formed, the iron is both liable to break when red-hot and when cold.

A very small quantity of tin destroys the strength of iron in a great degree
when cold, but still leaves it fit to be forged.
Wrought iron does not appear to unite with zinc, but its presence in the ores
is injurious to the manufacture, for a reason that will be hereafter stated.
Antimony renders iron cold short, the alloy is harder and more fusible, and
approaches in character to cast iron.
Arsenic produces a great waste in the manufacture of iron, and when
alloyed with it, injures or destroys its capability of being welded.
Ores which contain titanium, according to universal experience in this
country, give an iron inclining to the defect of red short, but possessing the
highest degree of tenacity. Such are several of the ores of the northern part
of New-Jersey, and of Orange County, New-York.
Manganese in small quantities renders iron harder, but injures none of its
good qualities. Many of our ores contain manganese, but when carefully
manufactured the iron appears to contain but an insensible trace of this
metal.
Nickel unites with iron in all proportions, and gives a soft and tenacious
alloy; no good property of the iron appears to be injured by it. United with
steel it gives an alloy of excellent quality. Nickel is rare among the ores of
iron that are not of meteoric origin. But native malleable iron is
occasionally found in large masses alloyed with this metal, and its extrinsic
source has been fully ascertained. The masses are sometimes of very great
size; we have already expressed our opinion that the iron that first came into
use was derived from this source, and had been employed for ages before
the processes for preparing it from its more abundant ores were discovered.
Cast iron is distinguished into two varieties, which are obviously distinct in
character, the grey and the white; a mixture of the two forms that which is
called mottled. It is generally believed, and usually stated in the books, that
both of these are combinations of iron with carbon, and that their difference
in appearance and quality grows out of the difference in the proportions in
which the two substances exist; that the grey iron contains the greatest dose
of carbon, and the white the least. There is, as will be seen, good reason to
question the latter part of this statement.

The grey iron requires the greatest degree of heat for its fusion, is more
fluid when melted, is softest, best fitted for castings which require to be
turned or filed, and for those that must be thin; the white iron is very hard
and brittle; the greatest degree of strength and tenacity is due to the mixture,
or mottled iron, and to that variety of mottled in which the grey rather
predominates.
The different varieties are readily convertible, for the grey iron when melted
and suddenly cooled becomes white, when cooled more slowly is mottled,
and when carefully preserved from rapid loss of heat, retains its colour. On
the other hand, experiments on a small scale have shown, that white cast
iron, subjected to a heat equal to that at which the grey melts, and allowed
to cool slowly, becomes grey. Hence their difference can hardly be ascribed
to chemical constitution. Neither can the presence of a greater or less
quantity of oxygen, as is sometimes supposed, produce the difference, for
under circumstances in all other respects similar, except the rate at which
they are cooled, iron of the three different varieties may be produced, We
therefore feel warranted in rejecting the usual theory, particularly as the
reception of it has rather impeded than advanced the manufacture of iron.
The theory of Karsten is far more consistent with the facts, and is directly
applicable to the practical purposes of the iron master. We shall endeavour
to give a succinct exposition of this theory, introducing all that is necessary
for its full explanation.
The ores of iron, which are all oxides, are reduced by exposing them to the
action of carbonaceous matter, at a high temperature. The carbon first
separates the oxygen from the ore, which becomes metallic, but as it has for
the carbon a high affinity, that substance tends to combine with it. The iron
combined with carbon is rendered far more fusible than it is when pure, and
thus readily melts; when the heat of the furnace is little more than is
sufficient for effecting this fusion, the two substances are uniformly mixed,
and probably form a compound analogous to a metallic alloy; this is the
white cast iron. When the compound is exposed to a heat higher than is
sufficient to melt it, a separation appears again to take place, the carbon
tending to assume in part the form of plumbago, the iron to retain no more
of carbon than is sufficient to keep it liquid at the new temperature, and thus
passes from the state of cast iron to that of steel, and finally approaches to

that of malleable iron. If the cooling take place slowly, the carbon, obeying
its own law of crystallization, arranges itself in thin plates, and the iron,
consolidating afterwards, fills up all the interstices with grains or imperfect
crystals; and thus the mass assumes a dark grey colour, partly owing to the
natural colour of the iron, but in a greater degree to the plumbago. When the
cooling is rapid, the carbon still disseminated throughout the mass, does not
crystallize separately, but the two substances again form an uniform
compound.
Thus, according to the theory, there is no essential difference in the
proportion of carbon between grey and white cast iron, but the former is a
mechanical mixture of crystals of carbon, nearly pure, with iron containing
a less proportion of carbon than the white, while the white iron is a
homogeneous alloy of carbon and iron.
Upon this theory may be explained all the facts which have been found
wholly irreconcilable with the other.
1. The more intense the heat of the furnace, the deeper the colour, and
consequently the higher quality of the cast iron.
2. The changes that take place from grey to white cast iron, merely by
difference in the rate of cooling.
3. The reconversion of the white variety into grey, by simply heating it
above its melting temperature, and allowing it to cool gradually.
4. The formation of imperfect crystals of plumbago (kish) on the surface of
grey iron.
5. The approach to malleability of the grey iron, which is utterly
irreconcilable with its being a homogeneous compound, more charged with
carbon than the white.
The basis of white cast iron, appears to be a definite chemical compound, of
two atoms of iron to one of carbon, and is therefore analogous in its
chemical constitution to carburet of hydrogen and carburet of sulphur, but
like all metallic alloys it is capable of containing an excess of one of the
substances in a state of mixture during fusion, and which does not separate
on rapid cooling. The iron alone is found in excess in this substance.

Steel appears to contain but half the quantity of carbon in its chemical
proportions that white cast iron does, but, like it, is susceptible of a variety
of mixtures; if the proportion of carbon amount to three per cent., it loses
the property of malleability, if the proportion fall as low as one per cent. it
can no longer be tempered, and is identical with the harder varieties of bar-
iron. As the carburets of iron, whether in the form of pig or of steel, may be
considered as alloys, if they be presented to other metals, the results must
necessarily be different from what occurs when pure iron is exposed to the
same substance. The union that may take place in the one instance may not
occur in the other. It may often happen, that when the iron is pure, a true
chemical combination will occur, while in the other case, no more than a
mechanical mixture can be effected. For the same reason, the consequence
may be totally different when the third substance is presented to the iron
when first deoxidated, in the presence merely of an excess of carbon, and
when the combination with that substance has actually occurred.
If reduced at the same time with the iron, the other metals will unite with it
more readily than with the carburet, and they may afterwards prevent its
union with carbon, for there are few, if any metals, besides iron, which have
any affinity for carbon.
Cast iron may contain the bases of the earths that form a part of its ores. Of
these, silicium is the most usual, and there is probably no cast iron that does
not contain a portion of it. It appears to render this form of the metal harder
and less suitable for the purposes of the moulder, but is separated almost
wholly when it is converted into wrought iron.
We have seen a parcel of pig iron that was marked with a species of white
efflorescence, ascertained on examination to be silica; this was rejected for
its hardness by the founder, but on being manufactured by the process of
puddling, gave bar iron of good quality.
From what has just been stated, it appears that the other metals more
generally exist in cast iron, in a state of alloy with pure iron, which is
intimately mixed with the carburet. Thus as a general rule, the pig which
contains them, will be more likely to be grey in colour than that which does
not, but it may, notwithstanding, be injured in quality. The exact effect of
such alloys upon cast iron, does not appear to have been fully examined.

The ores whence iron is obtained, are all oxides, with the exception of a
carbonate whence steel is in a few places obtained directly. They contain, in
combination with the iron, or forming parts of a heterogeneous aggregate, a
variety of earthy substances. In the reduction of these ores, two objects are
to be accomplished, the separation of the oxygen, and the fusion of the
earthy mass. Carbon, in some one of its native or artificial forms, is used to
effect the former purpose, upon the same principle that it is applied to the
other metallic oxides. Thus a furnace in which a fire of carbonaceous matter
is kept up and urged to the highest possible degree of intensity by blowing
machines, is necessary. When the earths are pure, even the highest heat of
furnaces is incapable of fusing them, and although the oxides of the ancient
metals, and among the rest, the oxide of iron, increase the fusibility of one
of the earths; still, if but one earth be present, it is only in a few cases that
the simple ore will furnish the means of its own fusion. We are therefore
compelled to make use of the property possessed by the earths, of rendering
each other more fusible.
Silica is the earth to which we have referred, as being susceptible of fusion
when mixed with the oxide of iron. Silica, also, when mixed with the other
earths, renders them more fusible than is its own mixture with oxide of iron.
Hence it may be stated as a general rule, that ores which do not contain
silica, cannot be decomposed without the addition of that earth. The most of
our American ores contain silex in sufficient abundance; hence it is usual to
add to them, in the process of reduction, carbonate of lime, which is called
flux. Did not the ore contain silica, this would not produce its effect, and a
due admixture of the three earths, silica, alumina, and lime, appears to be
necessary to cause the most advantageous results.
The remarks of Karsten on this head are new and worthy of attention.
"It is upon the choice and the just proportion of the flux, that the profit of
the manufacturer in a great degree depends. Employed in too great
quantities they fail in the important purpose of giving to the scoriæ a proper
consistence. It is very difficult to fix their proportions exactly, and, in truth,
these ought to vary with the manner in which the furnace works; but a
proportion determined for a state of the furnace when the temperature is
neither too high nor too low, is usually adopted.

"Chemists and metallurgists, have endeavoured to determine the degree of
fusibility of the earths when mixed with each other; but their researches
have shed but little light upon the management of blast furnaces. We are, in
spite of them, still compelled to have recourse to experience. Far, however,
be it from me to depreciate the attempts of Achurd, Bergman, Chaptal,
Cramer, &c.; they are valuable at least, in pointing out the road that is to be
pursued in the experiments.
"It follows, in general terms, from these experiments, that lime, silica,
alumina, and magnesia, are infusible when not mixed with each other; that
no mixture of earths is fusible without the presence of silica; that the fusion
of the oxides of iron cannot take place by the addition of any simple earth
other than silica; that ternary mixtures are more fusible than binary; that
quaternary mixtures vitrify even more readily, and that the oxide of
manganese promptly determines the liquefaction of all the earths.
"The theory of the vitrification of oxides, aided by trials on a small scale,
points out the kind of earthy mixture which ought to be employed, but it
cannot fix the exact proportion of the different earths that ought to be
adopted; nor does it teach the means of replacing an earth by its chemical
equivalent, as, for instance lime, by magnesia. The solution of the question
will depend rather upon the properties of the silicates of lime and magnesia
at high temperatures, than upon the action of these silicates upon iron. It is
hardly probable that the iron obtained from all ores, could be equally good,
even if the most proper fluxes could be added to these ores. Those who
have maintained this opinion, have erroneously imagined that the reduction
of the ore could always be effected under the same circumstances, which
would not be the case, even if these fluxes were ascertained and made use
of."
Most of the ores of iron require, before they are subjected to the process of
reduction, a preparatory operation called roasting. This consists in exposing
them to a comparatively low heat. The more important use of this process is
to render the mass more susceptible of mechanical division, but it also
serves in many cases to separate the sulphur and arsenic that may exist in
the ore. There are some ores, as, for instance, those of a number of mines in
Morris and Sussex counties, New-Jersey, which are so free from impurities,
and which yield so readily to the mechanical means employed for

separating them, that this process is wholly unnecessary; but such ores are
rare, and the process of roasting must, generally speaking, be performed.
The mechanical division, which exposes a larger surface to the action of
heat and of the chemical agents, is called stumping; this is usually
performed by appropriate machinery, but was in the infancy of the art
effected by hand.
The reduction of rich ores of iron, such as are almost wholly made up of its
oxides, and contain but little earthy matter, may be performed in a common
smith's forge. The reduction in this case takes place immediately in the blast
of the bellows, where the intensely heated ore is in contact with the burning
charcoal; and if a carburet be formed, it is immediately decomposed, and
pure iron is the result. Such is probably the more ancient of all the processes
for obtaining malleable iron, and it is still used to a certain extent even at
the present day. The hearth in which the operation is at present performed,
differs from the forge of a common smith only in its greater size, and in the
increased power of its bellows. A cavity is prepared, in which a charcoal lire
is lighted, and to which the nozzle or tuyere of the bellows is directed; ore
in minute fragments is thrown upon the ignited fuel, fresh coal and ore are
added from time to time, and the latter being reduced to the malleable state
descends, as the charcoal burns away, to the bottom of the cavity. Here the
successive portions, still kept hot by the fuel above them, agglutinate, and
form a porous mass, containing in its cavities a black vitreous substance,
which is composed of the earthy matter rendered fusible by the metallic
oxide. This porous mass is called the Loup.
It would be unsafe to subject the loup immediately to the action of heavy
hammers of iron. It is, therefore, after being withdrawn from the fire, beaten
with wooden mallets, to bring its parts into closer contact, and press out the
vitreous matter. While this is performed, it cools so much as to require to be
again heated, which is done in the same fire. Indeed, the same forge is used
in all the successive heats that the iron in this process requires.
After the loup has been again heated, it may be subjected to the hammer.
This unquestionably was anciently one moved by hand; but now, in all
manufactories of this character, a heavy mass of case hardened iron is
employed for the purpose; this is lifted by machinery impelled by a water

wheel, and permitted to fall upon the loup. The loup is again heated, and
again beaten into an irregular octangular prism, called the cingle; this, after
a third heat, is formed into a rectangular block, called a bloom; and the
whole, or a proper proportion of this is drawn into a bar, at three successive
heats; the middle being beaten out first, and the two ends in succession.
Thus, in addition to the heat employed in the original reduction, the iron
must be at least six times reheated before it becomes a finished marketable
bar.
In this manner the ore of Elba is still manufactured in Catalonia and
Tuscany, and there can be little doubt that it is identical with the original
rude process, by which the iron of that most ancient of known mines was
prepared to be an object of commerce. The processes in these two districts
differ from each other in some minute particulars, and are known on the
continent of Europe as the processes à la Catalane and à l'Italienne. This
method is known in the United States by the name of blooming.
Bloomeries are frequent in the United States, being found in many parts of
the primitive country, where the magnetic ore of iron is abundant. The iron
manufactured by blooming is, generally speaking, remarkable for its nerve,
being strong and tenacious in the highest degree, unless the ore be in fault.
It is not, however, homogeneous, being liable to contain what are called
pins, or grains that have the hardness and consistence of steel.
Blooming is comparatively an expensive process. It requires, indeed, little
original capital, but the product in proportion to the capital employed is but
small. It is wholly impracticable with poor ores, and demands a great length
of time and expenditure of fuel, unless the ore be very fusible. Another
objection to it is common to a process we shall hereafter describe, that of
refining, and lies in the numerous successive heats, which the small extent
of fire, and the slow process of hammering render necessary, before the bar
is finished. It has been attempted in New-Jersey to lessen the expense
attending these heats, by performing them in reverberatory furnaces. A
saving of fuel to a small amount would probably thus be effected, but the
number of heats would still remain the same. A more important and useful
improvement has superseded the last; the process of rolling, which will be
hereafter described, has been introduced, and by means of it a bar may be
drawn out at a single heat, and at far less expense of manual labour. Such

establishments exist at Dover and Rockaway, New-Jersey, which receive
the iron completely reduced from the neighbouring forges, and fashion it
into bars.
A forge fire, and, consequently, the process of blooming, is insufficient to
convert poor ores, or those that contain much earthy matter, into iron.
Treated in this way, those ores, if fusible at all, would become a mass of
slag, as the earth would require, at the temperature of a forge fire, the
whole, or the greater part of the metallic oxide for its fusion.
Iron being introduced, and its valuable applications known, it became
necessary, in those countries that do not afford rich ores, to discover a
method by which the poorer might be reduced. This could only be effected
by giving such a degree of heat, as would render the earthy matter capable
of melting, at a less expense of metal. To increase the mass of fuel, by
increasing the depth of the cavity, and actually forming it of walls, thus
enabling it to contain a greater quantity, would be obvious means of
attaining this end. The ore must be added in smaller proportions, and, being
longer in contact with the heated charcoal, would become carbureted; the
carbon must therefore be finally burned away, before malleable iron could
be attained. A rude but efficient process of this sort, is described by Gmelin
as in use among the Tartars; an analogous method, whose use has been
superseded by iron imported from Europe, was found among the nations of
Guinea; and Mungo Park saw a more perfect application of the same
principle at Camalia, on the Gambia. Furnaces of similar character, but
more skilfully constructed, are still used in some parts of Germany, and are
called stuckoffen.
As a carburet, or actual cast-iron, must be formed in these processes, and, as
the separation of carbon at the bottom of a deep cylinder, and where the
metal would probably be covered by a vitreous liquid, is difficult, the iron
might sometimes resist the efforts made to render it malleable, and run from
the furnace in a liquid form. It might therefore have readily occurred, that it
would be less costly to finish the process in a forge. The stuckoffen were
therefore converted into flossoffen, or melting furnaces, whence the liquid
carburet was withdrawn, and afterwards converted into bar iron. Such was
probably the cause that led to the original discovery of cast iron, a

discovery that cannot be traced further back than the end of the fifteenth
century.
The uses of cast iron for purposes to which wrought iron is inapplicable,
and the readiness with which it is fashioned, by pouring it into moulds, led
to the increase of the size of the flossoffen, and in the power of the blowing
apparatus, which has caused the introduction of the blast furnace. This
forms the basis of the methods by which iron in all its forms is chiefly
prepared at the present day, and is hence worthy of particular consideration.
The difference between the blast furnace proper, and the ancient fires from
which it gradually took its rise, consists wholly in its superior height, and in
the greater power of the blowing machines, by which its combustion is
supplied with air.
This increase of height adds to the mass of the contained combustible,—
additional air is therefore required for effecting its complete inflammation,
and the joint effect is, that a much higher temperature is generated. By this,
the earthy matters either contained in the ores, forming portions of the
combustible, or added as fluxes, are rendered fusible at a less expense of
oxide of iron; the carburet formed, becomes more fluid, and the product is
more likely to assume the character of grey pig-iron.
Charcoal, as in the other processes, was the fuel originally employed, and is
still principally used in most countries. But coal deprived of its volatile
parts, and charred or converted into coke, has been substituted in some
regions, as will hereafter be stated. Each of these combustibles requires a
furnace of appropriate character, and demands a difference in the mode of
management.
A blast-furnace is a hollow chamber enveloped, generally speaking, in a
mass of masonry, of the form of a truncated pyramid. The chamber is
composed essentially of three parts; the upper has the figure of a truncated
cone, whose greatest base is lowest: this may be called the body of the
furnace; the middle portion has also the figure of a truncated cone, whose
greater base is uppermost, and is common to it and the upper portion: this
contraction is called the boshes of the furnace; the lower position is called
the hearth, and is usually enclosed on three sides by walls of refractory
substances, on the fourth it is bounded by two stones, one serving as a

lintel, which is called the tymp, the other resting on the foundation, and
known by the name of the dam. Such at least is the shape of the blast
furnaces in common use, and which will suffice for our present purpose.
The blast is introduced into the hearth, at a small distance above the level of
the upper edge of the dam, and is now generally performed by means of two
tuyeres; in the more ancient furnaces, there was but one. The furnace being
completely dried, a fire is lighted in the hearth, and fuel gradually added,
until the whole is filled to the trundle head, which is the open and lesser
base of the truncated cone that forms the body of the furnace. The blast may
then be applied, slowly and gently at first, and increasing gradually, until it
reach its maximum of intensity. As the blast proceeds, the charcoal
gradually burns, and descends; its place is supplied at top by fresh fuel, by
ore, and by the earthy matter used as a flux. This is styled charging the
furnaces. The earlier charges often contain no ore, but are wholly composed
of charcoal and flux, and, in all cases, the proportion of ore and flux is at
first small, and is gradually augmented. The charges are made as often as
the mixed mass in the furnace descends sufficiently low to admit the
quantity that is chosen as the proper amount. The charcoal is thrown in first,
and the ore and flux are spread and mixed upon its surface. The principles
which govern the amount of the charge, are as follows:—
"The volume of the charges depends upon the capacity of the furnace. If
they be too large, they cool the upper part of the furnace, which will cause
great inconveniences, particularly if zinc exist in the ore. On the other hand,
small charges of charcoal will be cut or displaced by the ore, which will
occasion a descent by sudden falls, in an oblique direction, or in a confused
manner. It follows that the volume of the charge, although proportioned to
the volume of the furnace, must be augmented: when the charcoal is light
and susceptible of being displaced; and with the friability, the weight, and
the shape of the fragments of the ore."
"The heat, considered in any given horizontal section of the furnace, will be
intense in proportion to the thickness of the layer of charcoal that reaches it.
It follows, that the fusible ore requires smaller charges of charcoal than one
that is more refractory. If the beds of charcoal and mineral are too thick, the
upper part of the furnace will not be sufficiently heated. Hence it is obvious,
that there must be a maximum and minimum charge for every different

dimension of furnace, and for every different species of ore and fuel."
Karsten.
The charge of charcoal being determined upon such principles, it is added
by measure, and always in equal quantities, while the proportion of ore and
flux is made to vary, not only by a gradual increase at the beginning of the
operation, but according to the working of the furnace. The manner in
which the furnace is working can be inferred, even before its products are
ascertained, by the appearance of the flame at the trundle-head, and at the
tymp, by the manner in which the charge descends, and more surely still, by
the appearance of the scoriæ. By a strict attention to these circumstances the
proportion of the charge of ore may be regulated. A fortnight usually
elapses from the time of the first charge until it reaches a regular state of
working, and variations will occur even after that period, in consequence of
the greater or less moisture of the combustible and minerals, the continual
wearing away of the sides of the furnace, the variations in the state of the
atmosphere, and in the play of the blowing machines, the greater or less
attention of the workmen, and numerous other accidental circumstances.
The mode of proceeding when coke is the fuel employed, rests upon the
same principles, but the dimensions of furnace that are best suited to the
different combustibles are different. As a general principle, the height of
furnaces must depend upon the force of the blast and the density of the fuel.
If the fuel be dense, and the blowing machine weak, the furnace must not
have a great height; and even if the blast can be made strong, too high a
furnace is disadvantageous for light charcoal. Coke, on the other hand, may
be used in furnaces of greater height than any species of charcoal, provided
the blast be of sufficient power. So long as the imperfect bellows were used
in blowing, the height of the furnace was limited wholly by their action.
More powerful apparatus in the form of cylinders, analogous in form and
arrangement to those of steam-engines, and like them, either single or
double acting, have now been introduced; the intensity of the blast is in
them only limited by the moving power, which is applied to them, and
when this is the steam engine, it may be said, that no limit can arise from
the want of blast. We may, therefore, at the present day, regulate the height
of furnaces by the nature of the fuel that is consumed in them.

The greater part of the furnaces in our country still retain the ancient and
imperfect form of bellows, hence their height is restricted to the limits of
from eighteen to twenty-four feet, and rarely or never reaches thirty. But
when the apparatus is such as to supply a proper quantity of air, it has been
found that even with light and porous charcoal, such as is given by white
pine, the height ought not to be less than thirty feet, and when hard woods
are used should be as great as thirty-six feet. Furnaces of even forty feet
have been found to answer an excellent purpose, where the charcoal was
prepared from oak. When coke is used, furnaces have been made as high as
fifty, or even as seventy feet; but experience in England has shown, that
from forty-five to forty-eight feet is the proper limit. This height is not at
present exceeded in that country, even when the furnace has the greatest
dimensions in other respects, and has been found efficacious, even when the
vast quantity of eighteen tons has been furnished daily by a single furnace.
The force of the blast will depend upon the nature of the fuel, the volume of
air, the quantity of mixed material the furnace holds; and thus furnaces in
which coke is used, will require the most powerful blast, whether we have
regard to the volume or the intensity. The latter may be measured by a
column of mercury adapted in a syphon tube to the air pipes, exactly as the
gauge is adapted to the pipes of the steam engine.
The reduction and liquefaction of the metal take place progressively, as the
charges descend in the furnace. The separation of the oxygen is due to the
presence of carbonaceous matter at high temperatures, begins at the surface
of the pieces of ore, and proceeds gradually inwards; the earthy parts of the
ore, of the fuel employed, and the flux, unite and melt; they are thus
separated, and being sooner fused than the metal, make their way through
the charcoal, and descend first to the hearth. The reduced metal, continuing
in contact with the burning carbon, acquires a greater or less portion of that
substance, becomes fusible, melts, and follows the liquified earths.
Dropping into the hearth that already contains the liquid vitrified earths, it
passes by its superior gravity to the bottom, and is protected by them from
the blast. Even at the bottom of the hearth, the heat is sufficient to retain the
carbureted metal in a liquid state, and this is permitted gradually to
accumulate, until it rises nearly to the level of the dam.

It now becomes necessary to withdraw or cast the metal. This is done by
forcing a way through a channel left beneath the dam in the masonry of the
hearth, and closed with clay; the inner portion of this is baked hard, and
requires to be broken through with a steel point. As soon as the passage is
opened, the metal runs out, and is received in a long trench formed in the
sand floor of the moulding house, to which are adapted a number of less
trenches, at right angles, each containing about one hundred weight of
metal. The metal in the longer trench is also broken into pieces of the same
size, and the ingots thus formed are called pigs, whence the term for this
variety, pig iron.
From one to three days will elapse from the time of the first charge until the
furnace can be tapped, and pigs cast. From that time the casting succeeds
with tolerable regularity, according to the working of the furnace, and at
intervals depending upon the volume of the charge, and the capacity of the
hearth.
It appears probable that the fusion of the iron is effected always by a direct
chemical union of that metal with carbon, in the proportion of two atoms of
the former to one of the latter. This constitutes, as we have seen, the white
variety of pig iron. But as it continues, generally speaking, in the furnace,
long after its fusion takes place, it acquires a temperature higher than its
proper melting point, and a tendency to separation takes place, the iron
retaining in combination no more of the carbon than is necessary to
maintain it in a fluid state at the increased temperature. Thus the grey
variety of pig iron is formed; and on casting it, the carbon, in a form similar
to that of plumbago, is disseminated throughout the mass, or forms on its
surface the efflorescence that is called kish, and which is always a sign of a
high quality in the iron it accompanies.
In conformity with this theory, we find that a high temperature in the
furnace always produces grey cast iron; and that a low temperature, from
whatever cause it may arise, renders the iron more or less inclining to white.
So also if the metal be not exposed to the heat for a sufficient length of
time, it becomes white.
Karsten classes these several causes of whiteness in the product, in the
following order:—

"In conformity with the observations that have hitherto been made, white
cast iron is obtained:
"1. By the use of ores that are too easily fusible, or which is the same thing,
by an excess of flux, by a want of density in the charcoal, and by too strong
a blast, even when the working of the furnace is regular.
"2. By a surcharge of ore, which deranges the action of the furnace, and
produces impure cinder, containing uncombined iron.
"3. By boshes of too rapid a slope, and a blast of too great a velocity; and
this may occur even where the cinder is pure.
"4. By too low a temperature, even when the cinder is pure, and the furnace
works regularly.
"5. By a derangement in the action of the furnace, arising not from a
surcharge of ore, but from an irregularity in the descent of the charge.
"6. By the substances contained in the body of the furnace exercising too
great a pressure upon those beneath; the heat in this case, concentrated in
the hearth, cannot reach the boshes, and the upper part of the furnace; the
working may be regular, the cinder and flame may in this case give no sign
of derangement.
"7. By too great a breadth in the furnace.
"8. When coke is used, it may arise from too great a quantity of ashes, or of
fossil charcoal, (anthracite,) being contained in it. The presence of these
will keep down the heat of the furnace. An excess of ashes may be
remedied, by using the ore and flux in proper proportions to fuse them, but
a diminution in the charge must be made; the cinder becomes viscid, and
likely to obstruct the descent of the charges.
"9. By an accidental cooling, arising from humidity, and other similar
causes."
Among the last may be reckoned the presence of zinc in the ore. This metal,
although volatile, is not separated at the temperature given in the process of
roasting, nor does it sublime in the upper and cooler parts of the furnace.

But, as the ore descends, it passes into the state of vapour, and requires for
its conversion, great quantities of heat that becomes latent. It hence cools
the lower part of the furnace far more rapidly than even wet coal, or moist
ores. The cooling thus caused, may not be effected until the melted metal
reach the hearth, and may there cause it to become solid. Thus the solid
mass called a salamander, may, in some cases, be formed; and thus may be
explained the fact, that ores of iron that contain the more easily fusible
metal zinc, are more liable to interrupt the action of the furnace in this
manner, than others. The volatilized zinc rises to the upper part of the
furnace, where the heat is often insufficient to retain it in the state of
vapour, and is then deposited on the sides. In this position, it will also
disturb the action of the furnace.
Coke being more dense than charcoal, will, in its combustion, furnish a
more intense heat;—hence it is hardly possible to obtain by a charcoal fire,
iron of as deep a colour as may be procured by the use of the former fuel. It
will also resist the pressure of far greater weights than charcoal, and hence
the proportion of ore may be much greater when it is used; containing more
and less fusible earthy matters than charcoal, it requires a greater quantity
of flux.
In the manufacture of cast iron then, coke gives iron better suited for small
castings, for those which require turning or filing, and yields a far greater
quantity from a furnace. Hence arises the very great superiority which Great
Britain has, until recently, possessed over most other countries, in those
fabrics in which these qualities are valuable; and hence it has been found
until lately, in this country, hardly possible to manufacture fine machinery
that requires workmanship after it is cast, without the aid of the higher
qualities of Scotch iron, which, in these qualities, exceeds even the English.
Recently, however, iron fully equal to the best Scotch, but like it wanting in
tenacity, has been manufactured at the Bennington furnace in Vermont:—so
also at the Greenwood furnace in Orange county, N. Y., and at West Point,
iron approaching to the Scotch in softness, but very superior in strength, has
been produced. In these cases, the height of the furnace has been carried up
to the limits we have before laid down, and powerful blowing cylinders
substituted for the ancient bellows.

When the pig iron is to be used for re-casting, every effort ought to be used
to obtain it of the deepest possible colour. This, as may be seen from what
has been already stated, will be effected by keeping the furnace at the
highest possible temperature, and exposing the metal to it a sufficient length
of time. In effecting this, however, certain defects may arise:—thus a longer
exposure to a high heat, will cause the reduction of other oxides that may be
present, as of manganese and the metallic bases of the earths; and the iron
in becoming more soft, and approaching in fact more nearly to the form of
the pure metal, will combine and form alloys with these bases. In this way,
it will, as has been stated, become cold short; and to this may be attributed
the want of strength in the greater part, if not all, of the British iron. The use
of coke as a fuel, tends to increase this defect, in consequence of the great
quantity of earthy matter it contains.
When the ores are pure, cast iron manufactured by charcoal, is not liable to
such a fault. Hence the cast iron of Sweden and the United States,
manufactured from the magnetic iron, or, in some cases in this country,
from rich hæmatites, has very superior tenacity, insomuch that these two
nations have alone been able to use this material in the construction of field
pieces. When white iron is obtained from a furnace, it may have two
different qualities. The first arises from a mere defect of heat, where all
other circumstances are favourable, and the ore is completely reduced. The
second arises when the reduction is not complete, and the separation of the
earths and other oxides has not been fully effected. Of all the varieties of
cast iron, this latter is by far the worst. It is indeed more easily converted
into wrought iron than the other species, but the product is always of very
inferior quality; it is rarely or never produced by furnaces fed with charcoal,
but may be obtained by accident or design in those where coke is used, by a
surcharge of ore, or by too great a proportion of flux, and sometimes cannot
be avoided in warm and moist weather, where the air is rarefied and
charged with vapour.
The grey iron obtained by the use of each of the different kinds of fuel, has
its own peculiar advantages; that made with coke possessing, as a general
rule, when melted, a higher degree of fluidity which adapts it for more
delicate castings; being softer and better suited for fitting; while that
manufactured with charcoal, possesses a greater degree of strength. One
solitary instance has been quoted, in which a manufacturer of great

intelligence has obtained by the use of charcoal, from a very pure ore, a
union of both these valuable properties, and another, in which iron as soft as
that made with coke, has been produced by means of charcoal.
In spite of this apparent balance in the properties of the two fuels, the
introduction of coke into the art of reducing iron has been attended with the
most important advantages. These lie in the superior economy of the
process, and in the enormous quantity of the product. The manufacture of
iron by charcoal is limited, by the growth of the forests, which replace
themselves only at distant periods, by the large space they occupy, and the
consequent labour of transportation; by the cost of cutting the wood and
preparing the coal; and finally, even when the fuel can be obtained in
abundance, and at small cost, the burden of the furnace, and the heat
obtained in a given space are less than when coke is used, and the quantity
of metal yielded is in consequence comparatively small. The coke furnaces
of Great Britain, have therefore supplied cast iron in such abundance and at
such diminished prices as to have brought it into use for a great variety of
purposes, to which, until recently, it was hardly considered applicable.
In England, as in other countries, charcoal was the only fuel at first used;
and after bloomeries had been in vogue for centuries, the blast furnace was
introduced from the shores of the Rhine. For many years the growth of the
forests proved sufficient to supply the demand, but at length the increase of
population caused them to be encroached upon by cultivation; the growth of
the manufacture was first prevented, and finally, almost extinguished.
The method by charcoal appears to have reached its acme of prosperity, at
the close of the reign of the First James, when the furnaces of the kingdom
yielded 180,000 tons of pig iron. About this period, Dudley first proposed
the use of pit coal; but the time had not yet arrived in which it was
absolutely necessary to seek for a new process, in consequence of the
failure of the old one.
In 1745, or in the course of one hundred and thirty years, the forests had
been so far encroached upon, that the product of the furnaces had fallen to
17,000 tons per annum, and in 1788, the quantity made with charcoal had
dwindled as low as 13,000 tons. At this epoch, coke was introduced into

blast furnaces, and in eight years the whole quantity produced by both
methods had mounted up to 150,000 tons, or increased more than tenfold.
At nearly the lowest ebb of the British manufacture, the art of preparing
iron was introduced into her then provinces, the present United States; and
in 1737 it was attempted to obtain permission to introduce the product into
England. The attempt failed, and in 1750 an act was passed to protect the
exportation of English iron to America, and to prevent the establishment of
forges. Had the other policy prevailed, England would probably have seen
her manufacture of iron transferred to the United States, and with great
immediate advantage both to herself and her then most valuable colony; but
she would probably have seen herself at the present day degraded from her
high stand in the scale of nations, to the secondary place in which the extent
of her territory would keep her, were it not for the superiority of her
manufacturing industry, of which iron is the basis. The quantity of iron now
produced in England, exceeds that furnished by the rest of the world united,
and does not fall short of 800,000 tons. It has a value even in its raw state of
near four millions sterling, and is of far greater intrinsic worth, in
consequence of the spur which its abundance gives to every other branch of
industry.
Bar iron is at the present day principally manufactured from the pig. The
process originally used for this purpose is called refining. The fire in which
it is performed is a forge, similar in form and character to that employed in
blooming. In blooming, the iron must be reduced, combines with carbon,
and is subsequently decarbureted; while in the refining, the latter part of the
operation alone remains. In this last process, while the carbon is burning
away, the metallic bases of the earths are then oxidated, combine with oxide
of iron, and form a vitreous substance. Hence, when it is carefully
conducted, by far the greater part of the impurities contained in the cast iron
may be removed. Refined iron, if made from ore of equal purity, is not
inferior in tenacity to bloomed, and is superior in other respects, being more
homogeneous, free from pins, and more easily treated by the smith. As a
general rule, it is also less costly, that is to say, the same quantity of
charcoal and workmanship will furnish a greater quantity of refined iron. It
requires, however, a much greater capital, and the labour of transporting the
coal from the greater distances which the increased consumption of a single
blast furnace and several refineries will demand, may swell the cost of that

article. A bloomery fire does not require more than 2000 acres of woodland,
while a blast furnace will use the charcoal of 5000. Thus it happens, that it
may be more advantageous to spread a number of bloomeries over a given
district of country, than to unite a blast furnace and an equal number of
refineries in a single place. The celebrated iron of Sweden and Russia is
refined, and our country furnishes iron prepared in the same manner not
inferior in quality. The principle objection to the process is the great
expense of the fuel employed, in the successive heats to which the iron
must be exposed in drawing it into bars, after the processes of conversion
and the separation of impurities have been effected.
As charcoal became scarce in England, it was attempted to employ coke in
lieu of it, in the refineries. This, however, constantly failed, in consequence
of the great intensity of the heat, by which the pig was melted suddenly
instead of being exposed to the blast, long enough to burn away the carbon.
Reverberatory furnaces were next tried, and with partial success, but a
combined process has finally been introduced which has been successful
and which is called, from a part of the operation, the method of puddling.
The manufacture of wrought iron, by means of bituminous coal, is executed
at three successive processes, and is facilitated by very great improvements
in the machinery. Where hammers are still used, they are much increased in
weight, and driven with greater velocity; but by far the greater part of the
operation of drawing the bars is effected by means of rollers. The plan of
these is in some measure borrowed from the slitting mill, in which bar iron
is reduced into rods and thin rolls for various uses. These rollers are in sets,
composed each of two of equal diameter, lying in a horizontal position, and
placed one vertically above the other. Grooves corresponding to each other
are cut in the two rollers, between which the heated iron is drawn by their
revolution, and forced to assume a section that just fills up the two grooves.
By passing in succession through grooves gradually decreasing in size, any
form or magnitude may be given to the bars; and the operation is so rapid,
that the bar may be drawn from the loup at a single heat.
The first operation to which the pig iron is subjected, consists in melting it
in a fire called a finery, similar in form and character to the bloomeries and
refineries of which we have spoken, but in which the fuel is coke. The
melted metal is drawn off by tapping the furnace from beneath, and is cast

into thin plates. In this way it assumes the characters of the white cast iron,
which has been described as formed, when the reduction of the metal is
complete, a form that cannot be given when the blast furnace in which it is
made is supplied with coke. The rapidity of the cooling is increased, by
throwing water on the surface of the plates. It thus appears, that this
operation is adopted in order to bring the cast iron into a slate that it may
often assume when manufactured by charcoal, and which cannot be given
to it by coke. In conformity with this view of the subject, it has been found,
that when wrought iron is manufactured by puddling, from American pig
prepared by charcoal, this preliminary operation is unnecessary.
The fine metal, obtained in the manner we have described, is next broken
into pieces, and subjected to heat in a reverberatory furnace. A rapid heat is
given at first to liquefy the iron, and is then diminished by means of
dampers; the melted mass is violently stirred to expose it to the action of air
and heat, by which the carbon is burnt away, and a part of the oxides of iron
and the earthy bases combined and vitrified; as the carbon is separated, the
metal gradually loses its liquidity, and finally dries, or assumes the
consistence of sand: this shows that the carbon is separated, and the iron has
assumed its malleable nature. The addition of water aids the oxidation of
the several substances, and facilitates the process. The heat is again
increased, and the metal collected under it, and rolled together into parcels
suited to the action of the drawing machinery, and to the size of the bar that
is to be made; these are pressed together, and a partial union takes place
among their particles. When they have attained a white heat, they are
withdrawn in succession. In some cases, where the number of puddling
furnaces is great, they are immediately carried to the rollers and drawn
down. But where quality is more regarded than quantity, they are first
subjected to the action of the hammer, and finally rolled. The latter process
has the advantage of separating more completely the vitrefied oxides, than
can be done by rolling alone, but it will often require a second heat, which
is given in a forge fire called the chaffery. When rollers are used alone, a
minute and half is sufficient to form the bar; and a power of thirty houses
will roll two hundred tons per week.
The iron in this state is still of very inferior quality, although its external
appearance may be good. It is, notwithstanding, sometimes thrown into the
market, and this has given rise to the impression that prevails in this country

of the bad quality of English rolled iron. It may, however, be used in some
cases, where it need not be fashioned by forging; thus, where it requires no
more than to be cut into lengths, or where the original bars will answer the
purpose, its cheapness may recommend it. Iron for rail-roads is of this
quality; and the punching of holes, by which it may be fastened down, is
effected by a simple addition of steel teeth, at proper distances, to the last
groove through which it is passed. In this form, ready to lay down, rail-road
iron may be shipped from England at the low price of 7l. 10s. sterling per
ton; and a similar quality in the simple bar may probably be afforded at
about 7l. We have never heard of its being sold so low as is stated in the
evidence before the Committee of Congress, say 5l. 5s. There was,
however, a period, when an excess of production, caused by a competition
between the manufacturers of Wales and Staffordshire, entailed ruin on
many of them, and their articles were sold far below the price of production.
The price which we have stated is lower than that which has recently been
paid in England for rail-road iron, and is that of some shipped from
Liverpool, 1st March, 1831, when a considerable fall had taken place.
In order to render the iron which has undergone this process merchantable,
it is subjected to the third of the operations which we have enumerated. For
this purpose, the bars are made from three to four inches in breadth, and
half an inch in thickness. These are cut into lengths, proportioned to the
weight of the bar of finished iron that is to be made, and piled together by
fours, in a reverberatory furnace, similar in character to the puddling
furnace. Here they are exposed to a white heat, by which the four pieces of
each pile are made to adhere; they are then withdrawn, and subjected to
rollers similar to those used after the puddling process, but of more careful
workmanship. The cost of finishing bar iron in this way, when the pig is
made by the manufacturer himself, as ascertained upon the spot by
Dufrênoy and de Beaumont, is, in Wales, 8l. 15s., in Staffordshire, 9l. 12s.
The cost of making pig iron in Wales is 4l. 7s., or about half that of the
finished bar iron, and in Staffordshire 5l 2s.
The iron prepared by the three processes of which we have spoken,
although merchantable, and suited for various common purposes, is still far
from good. We give the characters by which it is distinguished, from the
work of Karsten:—

"The iron prepared in the English manner, appears dense and
exempt from cracks and flaws. But this goodness is only apparent;
the uniform pressure to which the bars are subjected at every point,
masks their defects. If a piece of this kind be taken, that in its
fracture appears dense and homogeneous, and it be heated in order
to be drawn out under a common forge hammer, it dilates and
exhibits numerous flaws, that sometimes increase to such a degree,
that the bar will fall to pieces under the hammer. It is probable that
the cause of this phenomenon is due to the scoriæ, which, in this
mode of working, remain mixed in the mass."
The translator adds:—
"It is not however true, that the English method of itself, injures the
quality of iron,—experience has proved the contrary: it appears that
soft irons lose their harshness in this operation, and become better
for many uses."
It may therefore be inferred, that, when the English method is applied to pig
iron, that would produce a good wrought metal by the process with
charcoal, it will produce one that is equally good by means of coal, but that
the latter is capable of hiding the apparent defects of even the worst iron.
The inferiority of the puddled iron is well understood in England, and
therefore when it is to be used for chain cables and anchors, it is again
heated, and rolled a third time, its price will be then raised to 10l. 10s.
Another quality still superior, is made by uniting scraps of the better
qualities that we have mentioned, into loups in the puddling furnace,
drawing it in the puddle rolls, balling or piling, and again rolling. Its cost
will thus be raised to 12l. Even this is yet inferior to Swedes and Russia
iron, which sell in the English market from 13l. to 15l. sterling per ton. For
particular purposes in the fabrication of machinery, charcoal is still used in
England, in manufacturing a very small quantity of iron, but of very
superior quality; this, we have recently understood from good authority, is
sold as high as 22l. per ton.
Thus it appears that the manufactories of England produce five different
descriptions of wrought iron, four of which bear a lower price, and are
therefore inferior in quality to those of Sweden and Russia, and,

consequently, to the best American iron. No more than one of these, and
that the lowest in quality, is usually shipped to this country, and it was the
influx of this cheap and almost worthless material, which in 1816 and '17,
completely prostrated the American manufacture. Under a protecting duty,
it has again revived, but has not reached its former level. New capital has
been invested in it under this protection, and it would be a breach of faith
suddenly to withdraw it. Still sound policy would dictate that this protection
should not be perpetual, provided it can be incontestably proved that it
bears so hard upon other branches of industry, as to injure the country
through them to a greater extent, than the benefit it derives from the
manufacture of iron. But this is far from being the case. The manifest and
habitual policy of our government, is to derive its revenue indirectly
through the custom house, instead of seeking it in direct taxation. When
these duties descend to a level with the minimum expenditure, they cannot
be considered burthensome, because they in fact replace revenues that must
be drawn from other sources. If, for instance, the iron employed in a
specific object, appear to cost more than in some other country, that object
may yet be afforded cheaper with us, in consequence of its maker being free
from other burthens, which the repeal of the duty on iron, would throw
upon him as a necessary substitute. If then our furnaces and forges, when a
sufficient capital shall be invested in them under a protecting duty, can
afford iron as cheap as it can be imported from other countries, under a
minimum of duty, it cannot in truth be said, that this raw material will
enhance the price of the articles manufactured from it. Let us see whether
there be any reasonable prospect that we shall have iron produced in our
own country, which will compete with foreign iron of equal quality, paying
a duty of 25 per centum. If this be the case, the profits arising from the
present protection, must, in a few years, call forth such production as will
reduce the price to a proper level.
The best grey pig iron of American manufacture, superior in strength, and
equal in all other respects to the Scotch, is now sold in the New York
market at $45 per ton. Good grey iron of the usual character, is worth $35
per ton, and there is no question that forge pig could be obtained by the
manufacturer of bar iron, for $25. If it were even to cost $30, it is still
cheaper than Staffordshire iron, far less fit for the purpose, can be imported.
The Muirkirk iron, so valuable for the casting of machinery, used to cost to

import it, at the present rate of duty, $55 and $56. The Bennington furnace
commenced the competition with it at this rate, but has been compelled,
after driving the Scotch iron from the market, to sell at $45, which is as low
as the foreign could be imported at a minimum duty.
Taking the cost of forge pig at $25, the price of converting into bars by
charcoal, would be, according to the Philadelphia memorial, $18, and the
ton of wrought iron ought to cost no more than $43. We however believe
that this cost is far underrated, and that even by the aid of rollers in a part of
the process, iron of the best quality could not be produced under $50. This
is as cheap as merchantable English puddled iron can be imported, paying
25 per cent. duty. But, even if the pig cost $35, and the wrought iron, $60, it
is still cheaper than the English iron, worth in that market 10l. 10s. can be
imported; and the latter is the cheapest which can be obtained in that
country, suitable for the manufacture of anchors and chain-cables. At the
present moment, however, iron cannot be produced so cheaply, for the
forges and furnaces may be considered as in a great measure new, and
undergoing all the difficulties of new establishments. Capital above all is
wanting, from a want of confidence in the success of the enterprize,
growing out of a fear of the repeal of the duty, and the recollection of the
former catastrophe; and even credit, so essential where capital is deficient,
is at a low ebb. Hence, if profit be made, it rather centers in the capitalist
who makes the advances, than in the maker. Thus we have known iron in
the bloom, sold at $45 per ton; and, when finished for the market by rolling,
bring $100. The latter price, however, could not long be maintained, and
has descended to $75 and $80, which still leaves the greater part of the
profit to the capitalist.
But we are of opinion, that the manufacture of iron by charcoal is not that to
which our country should look for its final supply. It is at best a precarious
resource, and its production must diminish with the advance of agriculture,
and the consequent demand, while every increase in the price of land must
raise the cost. It is then to a total change in the seat and mode of
manufacture, that we are to be hereafter beholden for the supply of this first
necessary of civilized life. A change will first take place in the sites of the
two branches; pig iron will continue to be manufactured by charcoal, and
the bar converted by coal. For this the great coal field of Pennsylvania will
afford the earliest facilities. No doubt can be entertained that the more

freely burning varieties of anthracite will work well in the puddling furnace,
as they have been successfully employed in the rolling and slitting of bar
iron. When the same species of coal is mixed with charcoal in the blast
furnace, it produces excellent forge pig, and thus the two species of fuel
may be advantageously united, although the coal alone will not answer the
purpose. The value of this coal in the mine and the cost of raising it, is as
yet less than that of bituminous coal in any part of Europe, and thus we
cannot avoid concluding that when it shall be brought into use, our
manufacturers might compete with the English even if unprotected by duty.
Our fields of bituminous coal are yet too distant from dense population, and
too far removed from easy communication, to be looked to at present, but
unless modes be invented by which the anthracite coal can be used without
mixture in the blast furnace, these will become the ultimate seats of the
manufacturing industry of the United States.
But for reducing the price of iron, by competition within our country, to a
level with that of other countries, capital is required, and to divert it to this
purpose, the capitalist must feel assured that he shall derive a certain profit
from its investment, and that he shall be subjected to no fluctuations in
price and still more in demand, from a vacillating course in the government.
The establishment of works so perfect as to compete in their manipulations
with the English, is a serious business, and till they be established in
numbers, we must be dependent on foreign countries for no small
proportion of the important article of iron that we consume. A forge for
manufacturing puddled iron cannot be profitable unless its machinery be
kept in regular employ, for the cost of that will be the same in all cases. This
constant employment cannot be given by fewer than eighteen reverberatory
furnaces, and the first cost of the works will not be less than $100,000, of
which the machinery alone costs $50,000. To supply an establishment of
this magnitude with pig, would employ three blast furnaces working with
coke, or six with charcoal, the cost of which would reach at least $120,000.
The value of the manufactured article would not fall short of a million of
dollars, and would require to carry it on a floating capital of not less than
$250,000. Thus it appears that a system of works for the manufacture of
iron, which should compete to advantage with those of England, would find
employment for a capital of half a million of dollars, even with the
advantage of credit, and the ready conversion of its securities into cash

through the banks. So long, then, as the policy of our government is
unsettled, we can hardly expect that so vast an operation can be undertaken
either by individual or by corporate funds. A division of the business has
been indeed attempted; there is more than one puddling forge in the United
States that relies upon the purchase of pig for its supply. These
unquestionably do a fair and profitable business, but do not act to the same
advantage as they would were the two branches of the manufacture united.
The chief difficulty under which they labour is, that they must consult, in
their location, convenience in the supply of the raw material, and must
therefore neglect what would in the abstract be the most important
consideration, the supply of fuel. Thus, at least one of the puddling forges
of which we have spoken, is compelled to use imported fuel, and none are
situated where alone the nation could derive essential benefit from them,
immediately over a rich bed of coal.
It is not pretended to maintain that the present duties on iron are not too
high in general for a permanent rate, and that the distribution of their rates
is not injudicious. All that we would contend for is, that there shall be no
sudden change in the principle, by which a valuable branch of industry
would be at once destroyed beyond the possibility of re-establishment. We
have been able to discover no argument in the blacksmith's petition, or in
the report of the majority of the committee of the Senate, in favour of an
entire repeal of duty on raw iron, that does not apply equally to the articles
manufactured from it; and we presume that those useful and respectable
mechanics would think their principles carried a step too far, should they be
made to bear upon the fabrics of their own industry. We are willing, in
addition, at once to admit that where the scale has been founded upon
improper principles, it ought to be instantly changed.
To attain the first object, as we presume it will not be contended that iron
shall ever be imported free of duty, while the nation needs a revenue to
meet its current expenditure, let a minimum be fixed beyond which it shall
not descend, and which will, evidently, when correctly viewed, place our
consumers of iron on an equal footing with those who pay direct taxes in
other countries; to this minimum, after a certain definite period, let the duty
be gradually and almost insensibly reduced. Less than twenty-five years
would probably be insufficient to effect this without incurring a wanton
waste of property. We are aware, indeed that our national legislature can

perform no act which its successors may not annul, but a hearty
concurrence on the part of Mr. Dickerson and Mr. Hayne, representing, as
they do, the two great opposing interests in this question, would be a pledge
that might be acted upon by capitalists. The expediency of investment
would then become a subject of strict calculation, and we do not fear the
result.
As to the injudicious adjustment of the scale, the higher rates of duties fall
upon articles, which under present circumstances are not capable of being
protected, except by actual prohibition. These are the small forms of rod
and round iron, hoops and sheets. The introduction of the joint operations of
puddling and rolling, has altogether changed the manner of manufacturing
these in Europe; they are now, with the exception of sheets, made directly
from the pig, by as few operations as common bars; our own puddling
forges are adopting the same method, and so soon as they are capable of
supplying the market, must drive out the articles of these descriptions, made
by those who use merchantable bar iron, and roll it down or slit it. The
slitting and rolling mills which are conducted on this last principle, are
therefore beyond the reach of support. The inequality in the duty too, is
more than the cost of performing the additional operation upon the bar, and
is hence rather injurious than otherwise, to the interest of the producers of
the raw iron, while it bears with great severity upon those consumers who
are themselves manufacturers of hardware. The duty upon these articles
should then be adjusted so as to bear the proportion to that upon bar iron,
which their values do in the foreign market whence they are derived.
On the other hand, there are certain articles, of which the price of the raw
material, whether cast or bar iron, forms the chief value, and which are
actually convertible to the same purposes with their base. On these, there
can be no question, that every consideration of policy and justice requires
that the duty should be raised. Several articles of this description are
enumerated by the Philadelphia memorialists, where the fabric is of
wrought iron; and it is obvious that there are others, made at a blast furnace
from the metal at its first reduction, which might be used as a substance for
pig. Such articles, however, cannot be numerous; for iron is, after all, a
material of such low price, that it can be hardly wrought into any important
species of goods, in which the value of the workmanship will not exceed
the cost of the raw article. The ad valorem duty must, therefore, in most

cases, be an efficient protection, both to the maker of iron and the
manufacturer of hardware. Where however it is not, an easy principle will
restore the irregularity; for it is only necessary to collect the duties by
weight, and affix to them the same rates which the raw iron pays.
The plan we have proposed, of continuing the present duty for a limited
time, is consistent with the policy of all civilized nations, who do not
hesitate to grant monopolies for definite periods to the inventers of new
processes in the arts, and most of whom give equal encouragement to those
who merely introduce them. Our government, indeed, has never adopted the
latter principle, but it may well be questioned whether it have not in this
way prevented the introduction of many important branches of
manufacture. The former has been adopted in its full extent, and its utility is
unquestioned. If, then, it be sound and highly profitable policy, to grant a
monopoly to individuals for limited periods, thereby excluding our own
citizens from advantages which in most cases lie open to foreign countries,
much more will it be politic and profitable, to protect a whole class of our
own artificers from external competition for a similar period, leaving the
price to be lessened by the competition that security, from a change of
system, will infallibly create. The usual limit of a patent right having been
found efficient in drawing forth inventive talent, an equal duration of
protecting duty might be depended upon as sufficient to induce the
investment of capital in a business whose processes are understood, and in
relation to which strict calculations can be made. But these protecting duties
must not suddenly cease; for if they do, a spirit of speculation, both on our
part and on that of foreign merchants, would infallibly throw into the
market an excess of the article from abroad; and although the importer
might not be exempted wholly from the ruinous consequence of the over
trade, infallible destruction would visit our own establishments. Such was
the case in 1816 and 1817. The losses on the iron trade were not confined to
our own manufacturers, but visited the importers, whether British or
American, and reached in their remote consequences, but with diminished
effect, the forges and furnaces of England. The latter were, however,
protected by the whole capital of the merchant, which was annihilated
before the ruin could reach them, while the American establishments were
directly exposed to it. The adventurous spirit of British commerce, in fact,
produced on this occasion an effect similar to that which the people of the

continent have erroneously ascribed to the government of that country. New
markets are no sooner opened, than loads of British fabrics are thrown in,
and necessarily sacrificed; those who see no more than their own domestic
misfortunes, naturally ascribe to the policy of the nation, what is in fact the
misjudged enterprise of rash individuals. The effect has, however, been in
many cases the same, as if the act had been the result of a deliberate
national system; for the foreign industry has been often prostrated, while
the capital of the British has enabled it to bear the momentary shock, and
then to replace its losses by the undivided enjoyment of the disputed
market.
Having proposed that the duty on imported iron, after remaining for a
limited period at its present rate, should thereafter be gradually reduced to a
minimum, it remains that we should examine at what rate this minimum
should be fixed. This we conceive may be adjusted merely as a question of
revenue. Raw iron being a material of great weight, in proportion to its
value, cannot be smuggled; it will therefore bear, among all articles, nearly
the highest rate of impost, in proportion to its cost. This rate of duty should
be calculated upon the higher qualities of wrought and bar iron, and be
applied equally to all the different shades of each article. For a wise policy
would dictate that the import of the inferior sorts should be more impeded
than that of the best descriptions. This is analogous to the system at present
sanctioned by law, and is dictated by sound views. Fixing then the
minimum duty at about twenty-five per cent, on the value of the better
qualities of the two varieties of raw iron, it will amount to about seven and
a half dollars on the pig, and fifteen dollars on the bar. To this limit we
believe that the duty may be finally reduced, without causing injury to our
own trade, provided the present duties remain in force for fourteen years,
and be then gradually lessened to this assumed minimum.
It will be seen, that our views neither go the whole length of those of the
sticklers for either system, the tariff or the anti-tariff,—and we fear, that, at
the moment, they will be equally objectionable to the advocates of both. We
however cannot but believe, that they are founded upon sound and just
principles. We give the fullest meed of praise to that policy which has
recalled into existence by a protecting duty, the most important of
manufactures, because the basis of all the rest. But, we cannot see that it
would be judicious to continue this duty, after it shall have produced its

whole vivifying effect. While, therefore, on the one hand, it appears to be
no more than a fulfilment of a solemn contract, that the manufacture of iron
shall be protected, we cannot urge that that protection should continue
forever; and, in relation to the diminution of duty, we conceive that it ought
to be gradual, and not sudden. Modified in conformity with such principles,
we conceive that a "judicious tariff" might be rendered popular in all parts
of the Union.
In the northern and eastern states, the tariff policy has no opponents, except
in the merchants engaged in foreign commerce; in the western States, the
opinion in favour of the present system, is almost unanimous. The southern
states, and a portion of the mercantile interest of the north, are alone in
direct opposition to protecting duties. The agricultural interest of the north
and west, seeing and feeling directly the benefits which the establishment of
manufactures confers upon it, has given what is called the American
system,—which is in principle, if it err occasionally in detail, the sound and
true policy of the nation—its full and undivided support. We cannot but
hope to see the day arrive, when the mist raised by designing politicians,
and soi disant economists, shall be dissipated, and when the southern states
will see that they are not merely indirectly, but as directly benefited by the
creation of manufacturing industry in the northern districts of the Union, as
they have been by that part of the system which has secured them a
complete monopoly of the home market for their own products. Of all the
states of the Union, Louisiana has derived the most immediate and
important advantages from protecting duties, but they have also been shared
by her neighbours; and we cannot hesitate to conclude, that, next to
Louisiana, South Carolina has been most benefited. The cotton of India,
which would have been preferred, from its low price, for the manufacture of
the coarse articles with which our factories have in all cases commenced
their business, is in fact prohibited; the creation of the growth of sugar has
occupied land and capital, which, if applied to the culture of cotton, must
have driven the whole upland staple from the markets of the world; and,
more than all, a growing domestic demand has arisen, which foreign
interference cannot controul or diminish. In return for such advantages, it
might fairly have been expected that some burthen would fall upon the
southern states, and no doubt it might appear to be capable of plausible
proof, that a portion of the increased duties amounted to an actual tax. But

this appearance on which so much stress has been laid, is only upon paper,
and does not exist in reality, for we believe that they may be challenged,
and must fail if they attempt, to prove that the cost of the production of any
one staple has been in the slightest degree increased. We believe that it has,
on the contrary, diminished. It would lead us too far to show how this has
been the natural result: we appeal therefore to the fact alone.
And so in respect to the clamour which it has been attempted to excite
among importing merchants, we might appeal to the growing prosperity of
that interest, as a proof that the clamour has no foundation. We however
believe that the obvious cause lies, in the latter instance, upon the surface,
and exists in the plan of credit duties, the wise conception of the illustrious
Hamilton, by which, so long as the limit at which smuggling would be
profitable, or consumption diminished, is not reached, every addition of
duty increases the effective capital, and adds to the net profits of the
importer. In illustration of this view of the subject, we may cite the well-
established fact, that most of the great mercantile fortunes of our
commercial cities, have owed their more important increase to the judicious
employment of the capital, thus in effect loaned by the government without
interest.
To use the words of the majority of the Committee of the Senate of the
United States, quoted at the head of this article:
"Of all the metals, iron contributes most to the wealth, the comfort,
and the improvement of society. It enters most largely into the
consumption of all ranks and constitutions of men. It furnishes the
mechanic with his tools, the farmer with the implements of his
husbandry, the merchant with the means of fitting out his ship, and
the manufacturer with the very instruments of his wealth and
prosperity."
The wisdom of Europe draws very different conclusions, from a similar
view of the importance of iron, from those which are deduced by the
majority of the Committee of the Senate.
"The preparation of iron has become the most essential branch of
industry, in consequence of the immediate profit it produces to the
masters of forges, of the general good that society draws from it,

and of the advantages it offers to governments. No other occupies so
many arms, produces so active or so constant a circulation of
money, or exercises so direct an influence on the riches of the state
and the ease of the people. It is therefore the particular interest of
every government to favour it, to sustain it by the most efficacious
measures, and to carry it to the highest degree of prosperity."
Karsten—(Introduction.)
The measures proposed for this purpose, include bounties, the advance of
capital, and the prohibition of foreign iron. Such is the uniform practice of
by far the greater part of the nations of Europe. The governments receive
the most advantageous returns for such protection.
"In the imposts of all kinds, that it derives directly or indirectly from
the establishments themselves, the workmen employed, and the
numerous personnel whose existence is linked to that of the
manufacture of iron. But that which ought most particularly to fix
the attention of government, consists in the precious advantages
which are derived from it by rural economy, by other branches of
industry, and which it affords for internal security and external
defence." Karsten.
It has been seen, that we cannot consider that measures of such extent are
required in our own country. Still, were we, as all European nations are, in
direct contact with rival or hostile powers, their necessity would be
imperative.

Art. V.—The Siamese Twins. A Satirical Tale of the Times, with
other Poems, by the Author of Pelham, &c. J. & J. Harper: New-
York: pp. 308.

This production furnishes one of the most remarkable instances to be found
in the history of literature, of the wide difference between notoriety and

merit. No work ever came from the press whose anticipated excellence was
more loudly proclaimed, and none, we are persuaded, ever more
disappointed high-wrought expectation. That the author of Pelham was
about to favour the world with a great poetical production of a satirical
character, was announced in the different periodical works, with all that
elation and pomposity which indicated the assurance that some important
addition to the poetical literature of England, was about to take place.
Prophetic eulogy was strained to the uttermost. Public anxiety for the
appearance of the mighty work, became all that the booksellers could wish.
Every one was not only eager to read, but prepared to admire, and impatient
to praise—for the fashion of praising this author, whether he wrote well or
ill, had set in; and who in this age of polite pretensions, would dare to be
unfashionable?
Nor has the attentive author himself been deficient on this occasion, in the
fatherly duty of bespeaking public opinion in favour of his offspring. In a
preface remarkable for that startling species of modesty by which a man
becomes the trumpeter of his own greatness, he predicts that, if not
immediately, at least in eight or ten years hence, his works will make such
an impression, as to occasion a revolution in the poetical taste of mankind,
and become the model of a new school in the "Divine Art." The confidential
puffers to whom the idea was imparted, in despite of whatever doubts they
might entertain on the subject, scrupled not to give publicity to the
prediction. A work destined to such an illustrious career, could not fail to be
endowed with an exalted and overpowering excellence of some kind, and
also of a kind different altogether from any that had hitherto given
satisfaction to the readers of poetry. The poetical tastes and habits of our
nature were, in fact, to be entirely changed by the influence of this mighty
satire. No wonder, therefore, that curiosity respecting the work was
sufficiently awakened to occasion for it a large demand on its first
appearance.
Many of the conductors of the periodical press, who gave publicity to this
exaggerated strain of praise, were, no doubt, sceptical as to its being
altogether merited, and must have acted from motives either of interest or of
courtesy. Yet there may have been some who believed in the possibility of
the wonders which were predicted. Indeed, in this strange age, when
miracles are scarcely to be accounted wonders—when ships are propelled

without wind, and carriages without horses—when schoolboys and
journeymen printers overturn governments and make and unmake kings
with almost as much facility as the manager of a play-house casts the
character of a drama; what extraordinary things may not with propriety be
credited? Even philosophy may now, without reproach, believe in absurdity;
and thoughtless paragraphists, without being laughed at, may be permitted
to suppose that an adventurous rhymester may speak truth, when he asserts
that he is about to revolutionize the principles of poetical taste and
composition!
When mutation is the order of the day, why may not human nature itself be
changed? When all physical obstructions to locomotion, and all
impediments to the march of mind, are yielding to the ingenuity and activity
of man, why may not his own natural feelings and dispositions also yield,
and become changed? But hold—the author of this Siamese satire has
discovered that they have already changed! Not merely have the opinions
and pursuits of society taken a new direction, and the habits and views of
the present, become different from those of the past generation—this would
be readily admitted—but a much more important alteration in the
constitution of man, he affirms, has taken place. It is not only the condition,
but the nature of the species that he asserts to be changed. With the last
generation, all the old impulses of the heart—all susceptibility of love or
hatred, friendship or enmity, pity or revenge—all feelings of pride, avarice,
ambition, or love of fame—all emotions of joy, grief, anger, remorse—all
generosity, charity, desire of happiness, and self-preservation—all, all are
passed away!
"Has not a new generation," our author asks, in his odd and hardly
intelligible preface, "arisen? Has not a new impetus been given to the age?
Do not new feelings require to be expressed? and are there not new readers
to be propitiated, who sharing but in a feeble degree the former enthusiasm,
will turn, not with languid attention, to the claims of fresh aspirants."
These are some of the changes which have brought about, as he imagines—
the circumstances that call for the new and "less enthusiastic" school of
poetry, which, founded by him, is to secure the admiration of at least part of
the present, and the whole of the ensuing generation. "A poet," he says,
"who aspires to reputation, must be adapted to the coming age, not rooted to

that which is already gliding away." He admits that "the worn out
sentiments, the affectations and the weaknesses of our departed bards, may,
by the elder part of the community, be still considered components of a
deep philosophy, or the signs of a superior mind." But, for this unfortunate
circumstance, which militates so much against the immediate success of his
new school, he consoles himself with the persuasion that "the young have
formed a nobler estimate of life, and a habit of reasoning, at once founded
upon a homelier sense, and yet aspiring to more elevated conclusions."
What this, as well as many other equally awkward sentences in this
presumptuous preface, exactly means, it is not easy to say. Our sons, on
whose admiration of his poetry, Mr. Bulwer depends for the success of his
new system, are, in order to qualify themselves for relishing its beauties, to
form a nobler estimate than we entertain of life, while their habits of
reasoning are to be founded on a homelier sense; and yet, homely as they
are to be in their reasoning, they are to aspire to more elevated conclusions!
If, indeed, such inconsistencies are to characterize our sons; if their
intellects are to be so utterly confused and perplexed as is here predicted,
they may possibly become admirers of the new school, of which the
redoubtable satire before us is to be the origin. But we hope better things of
our posterity. We cannot think that their natural feelings will vary so very
far from our own, as to induce them to prefer insipid verbosity and
unintelligible doggerel, to the animating strains of genuine poetry, or the
sprightly wit and stinging ridicule of true satire.
Since the work which was to perform such miracles has appeared, and has
been found so egregiously to disappoint expectation, why do those who
puffed it on trust, still continue to extol it? The expression of their
favourable anticipations might be excused; for they may have believed all
that they asserted. But their eyes must now be open. The most prejudiced,
on perusing the work, must be convinced of its imbecility as a satire, and its
insipidity as a poem. Why, then, persist in error? Complaisance to the
prevailing fashion, and a desire to swim with the current, may be the
feelings which generally prompt to such conduct. But they are poor
apologies for wilfully deceiving the public in a matter so essential to the
interests of poetical literature. The critic who knowingly recommends an
undeserving poem, ought to be aware that he is contributing to destroy the
public confidence in all new poetry; for when men find that tame and

uninteresting works are so freely recommended, they very naturally
conclude that the times produce none others worthy of recommendation.
We should think, indeed, that experience had, by this time, taught the world
the little reliance which ought to be placed generally on contemporary
criticism, particularly that description of it usually found in newspapers.
But the wide diffusion of this species of periodical work, gives them an
influence which no experience, however palpable, of their erroneous
judgments in literary matters, has yet been able to counteract. The public, in
truth, has hitherto had its attention but little drawn towards this subject. The
fate of a new book seems to be a matter so uninteresting to any but the
author and the publisher, that whether editors speak of it favourably or
unfavourably, or pass over it with entire neglect, is considered of no
importance. It is forgotten that good literature forms the chief and most
permanent glory of a country; that its prosperity is, therefore, of much
national value, and ought, for the public benefit, to be assiduously
promoted. But the chance of good literature being properly encouraged, will
be ever extremely small, so long as worthless productions are forced into
even temporary eclat, by those ready and often glowing commendations of
careless editors, which must always, more or less, give direction to public
patronage.
There is an erroneous opinion, unfortunately too prevalent among all
classes, that no book can become generally noticed and much praised in the
periodical works, but in consequence of its merit. To those who hold this
opinion, the system of reverberating praise from one journal to another,
must be unknown. In this country this system is, at present, carried to a
great extent. It is chiefly produced by indolence or want of leisure,
preventing our editors from carefully reading and judging for themselves,
aided by a desire which actuates many of them to be thought fashionable in
their opinions. The literary idol of the day is generally set up in the English
metropolis. Of course, the fashion of worshipping him commences there.
We soon hear of him on this side of the ocean. We wait not to examine
whether he be entitled to homage. We take that for granted, since we are
told that he is considered so in London. With slavish obsequiousness, we
hasten to follow the capricious example of the great metropolis, and shout
pæans for the fashionable idol, with as much zeal as if we really discerned
in his works merit sufficiently exalted to entitle him to such applause,

although the probability is, that, while we are bestowing it, we have
scarcely glanced over his productions.
Now all this is, on our parts, exceedingly ridiculous and irrational. It not
only exposes our servility, but it betrays our ignorance of many of the
temporary excitements in favour of certain authors and their works, which
take place in London. It shows that we are not aware of the fact, that, in the
majority of cases, the rage for a new book, is owing to circumstances not at
all connected with its merit. An influential and enterprising publisher,—a
striking or a popular subject,—a sounding title,—a bold,—a wealthy or an
eccentric author,—and, above all, a continued series of well-managed puffs,
invariably do much more towards making a new book fashionable, than any
excellence it may possess; and the inducement to purchase it is more
frequently the knowledge that it is fashionable, than the conviction that it is
good. Hence, it is to their title-pages, rather than to their nature or quality,
that new books are mostly indebted for their immediate success. Their
permanent success—that is, their enduring fame—is another matter. Merit,
and merit only, can secure that; for it is the result of the cool and deliberate
approbation which is awarded by the judgment of mankind, when the
adventitious circumstances which first excited attention towards the book,
have passed away, and can operate no longer on curiosity. The history of
literature amply proves this. Books have often had, for a time, great
mercantile value, and been highly profitable to the booksellers, that have
been utterly worthless in a literary point of view. Of this fact the book-
dealers are so well aware, that, rather than risk the expense of publishing
the most beautiful composition of an unknown author, they will pay largely
for manuscripts of the merest trash, from the pen of one to whom some
lucky accident has already drawn public attention. Many of our well-
meaning echoers of the London puffs of new books, are certainly ignorant
of this circumstance, or they would not lend their aid to give circulation and
temporary repute to much of the vile literature, which, under the names of
novels, poems, travels, &c. the press of London has so largely poured forth,
during the last eight or ten years, to the great deterioration not only of the
literary taste, but of the manners and morals of the age.
It is indeed a sad mistake to suppose, that nothing but the literary excellence
of a new book, renders it saleable. Yet it is a mistake so very general, that
the booksellers find that the most effectual mode of recommending a new

work, is, to allege that it sells rapidly. Who does not know, when a book
with the reputation of being in great demand, comes amongst us, the
eagerness with which it is sought after? No matter how dull it may be, while
it is considered saleable, it is perused with delight. A thousand beauties are
discovered in it, which cool and unprepossessed judgment could never
discern; and, as to faults, although they should stare the deluded reader in
the face, as thickly and visibly as trees in a forest, he will doubt the
accuracy of his own sensations, rather than admit that he perceives them.
Such, over weak minds, is the magic influence of a fashionable name,—
nay, such is the influence, when the name is only supposed to be
fashionable.
That the work before us would sell well, at least for a season, let its poetry
be ever so bad, was to be expected, from the circumstances under which it
appeared. Its publishers, Colburn and Bentley, are now the most fashionable
in London, and are considered to possess more influence over the periodical
works, than even the magnificent Murray; its author is a man of bustle,
boldness, and notoriety, who has acquired considerable repute as the writer
of three or four novels, which got into extensive circulation by professing,
however untruly, to give genuine and unsparing delineations of fashionable
life. To speak technically, his name was up; and, by the aid of this lucky
elevation, his active publishers could not fail to dispose of an edition or two
of his satire, in despite of its worthlessness as a literary performance.
We have thus, we imagine, satisfactorily shown that it is possible for a work
to be, for a time, noted, saleable and fashionable, without possessing any
great share of literary merit. We may, therefore, be allowed to deny, that the
present demand for this poem, which, we believe, will be of but brief
continuance, is any evidence of its deserving that unlimited homage which
its author claims for it. That it will ever effect the great poetical revolution
which he so modestly anticipates, we imagine that, by this time, few are
more inclined to believe, than ourselves. From its appearance, therefore, we
feel no alarm for the stability of that reputation which our favourite bards
have gained by those immortal works, to whose noble and animating
strains, the hearts of millions have so often responded!
But, it is time that we should enter into some examination of the character
of this work, and show our reasons for the disapprobation of it as a poem

and a satire, which we have so freely expressed.
It will be admitted, we presume, that, when an author does not succeed in
accomplishing his design, his work is a failure. The design of the author of
this poem was, as we are informed by the title-page, to write a satire, has he
done so? Those who are loudest in commendation of the poem, have
acknowledged its satirical portions to be feeble, and without point. But they
contend that it contains a sufficiency of good poetry of another description,
to atone for this defect. We confess that we have not been fortunate enough,
after a careful perusal, to discover this redeeming poetry. Whether it be of
the sentimental, descriptive, or ethical species, we therefore cannot tell.
Perhaps it is an ingenious mingling of them in one mass, in which the
beauties of each, conceal those of the others from view? If so, how many
disinterested readers will submit to the trouble of extricating them from the
confusion in which they lie, so as to see them distinctly, and become fully
aware of their latent splendour? We attempted, as in duty bound, to hunt for
these gems. We discovered a few that sparkled a little,—but they were
indeed so few, and their lustre so faint, that we could not consider them
worth the labour of exploring one moiety of the abundance of rubbish in
which they are buried. We believe that the generality of readers will be
equally disappointed; and that the book will be almost invariably laid down
with a feeling that it is tedious, awkward, and dull,—in short, in respect to
its poetical as well as its satirical character, a failure without redemption.
But the author calls it a satire. It is therefore as a satire, that it ought to be
judged. In our opinion, it is no more a satire than a sermon; nay, we have
read sermons in which the satiric thong is wielded with much more effect
against wickedness and folly, than in this production. We need not enter into
a philological explanation of the term satire,—the word is common enough,
and we presume that every reader who understands plain English, knows its
meaning. To render vice disgusting, and folly ridiculous, is the legitimate
office of the satirist. Sarcasm and wit are his most usual and effectual
weapons. Ridicule and reprobation are also used; the former when the
intention is to excite derision, and the latter when the arousing of
indignation is the object. The great aim of the satirist ought always to be the
reformation of depraved morals, corrupt institutions, absurd customs, or
offensive manners. The contemporary prevalence of such, is what excites
his indignation, or provokes his ridicule; and, if he possesses power and

dexterity to apply the lash, he performs a real service to society, and
acquires a deserved and enviable name among the useful and agreeable
writers of the day.
Has Mr. Bulwer applied the lash in this manner? Against what vice does he
awaken the indignation of his readers, or what folly does he expose to their
contempt? We ask for information, for we have not, with our best efforts,
been able ourselves to make the discovery. It is true, that, in the perusal of
his work, we met with some awkward attempts to be witty at the expense of
Basil Hall, the Duke of Wellington, Thomas Moore, Joseph Hume, and two
or three others of the conspicuous characters of the times. But, if satire
never launches keener arrows against these men, than are to be found in this
book, we fear that, whatever may be their faults or foibles, no dread of her
power will induce them to reform. The only feelings they can experience
from the harmless missiles of Mr. Bulwer, are pity for his vanity, and
contempt for his weakness.
There is but one passage in this long poem which contains upwards of eight
thousand lines, that deserves to be called satirical. It is in relation to the
missionary Hodges. In this some tolerable hits are made at the union of
selfishness and prejudice which too frequently characterize the religious
missionaries of all sects, who are employed by the zeal of the wealthy and
pious at home, to convert to Christianity the heathen inhabitants of foreign
countries. The missionary in question, who is the only character in the work
drawn with any power of dramatic conception, is represented as haranguing
the people of Siam on the inferiority of their institutions to those of
England, (in which, by the by, neither Americans nor Englishmen will be
apt to discover much satire,) and threatening, in language as coarse as that
of the canting Maworm, to reform them, whether they will or not, from the
evil ways of their ancestors. We shall quote part of the passage, and as it is
unquestionably the cleverest satirical portion of the whole poem, the friends
of Mr. Bulwer cannot accuse us of doing him injustice by the selection.—
"Accordingly our saint one day,
Into the market took his way,
Climbed on an empty tub, that o'er
Their heads he might declaim at ease,
And to the rout began to roar

In wretched Siamese.
'Brethren! (for every one's my fellow,
Tho' I am white, and you are yellow,)
Brethren! I came from lands afar
To tell you all—what fools you are!
Is slavery, pray, so soft, and glib a tie,
That you prefer the chain to liberty?
Is Christian faith a melancholy tree,
That you will only sow idolatry?
Just see to what good laws can bring lands,
And hear an outline of old England's.
Now, say if here a lord should hurt you,
Are you made whole by legal virtue?
For ills by battery or detraction,
Say, can you bring at once your action?
And are the rich not much more sure
To gain a verdict than the poor?
With us alike the poor or rich,
Peasant or prince, no matter which—
Justice to all the law dispenses,
And all it costs—are the expenses!
Here if an elephant you slay,
Your very lives the forfeit pay:
Now that's a quid pro quo—too seri-
Ous much for beasts naturæ feræ.
* * * * *
* * * * *
These are the thing's that best distinguish men—
These make the glorious boast of Englishmen!
More could I tell you were there leisure,
But I have said enough to please, sure:
Now then if you the resolution
Take for a British constitution,
A British king, church, commons, peers—
I'll be your guide! dismiss your fears.
With Hampden's name and memory warm you!
And, d—n you all—but I'll reform you!

As for the dogs that wont be free,
We'll give it them most handsomely;
To church with scourge and halter lead 'em,
And thrash the rascals into freedom."
This fine speech, it appears, had much the same effect on its auditors, that
we believe Mr. Bulwer's poem will have on nine-tenths of his readers;—it
produced a sensation of disdain for the understanding as well as the
principles of its author. Under the influence of this feeling, the men of Siam
could not forbear executing a practical joke on the orator. They elevated
him in a palanquin, raised by means of tall poles, to a great height above
their heads; from which altitude, after parading him in mock triumph
through the streets of their chief city, they, with little regard to
consequences, tossed him into the air. The poem says—
"So high he went, with such celerity,
It seemed as for some god-like merit he
Carried from earth, like great Alcides,
To Jupiter's ambrosial side is.
But, oh! as maiden speakers break
Down when their highest flight they take;
Ev'n so, (while fearing to be crushed
Each idler from beneath him dodges),
Swift, heavy—like an avalanche—rushed
To earth the astonished form of Hodges.
He lay so flat, he lay so still,
He seemed beyond all farther ill.
They pinched his side, they shook his head,
And then they cried, 'The man is dead!'
On this, each felt no pleasing chill;
For ev'n among the Bancockeans,
A gentleman for fun to kill,
Is mostly punished—in plebeians.
They stare—look serious—mutter—cough—
And then, without delay, sneak off;
Nor at a house for succour knocked, or
Thought once of sending for the doctor."

The twins, Chang and Ching, remain behind, and taking pity on the
maltreated missionary, convey him to their father's house, which was
convenient. Here he is treated with kindness, and soon recovers of the
contusions and a broken leg, occasioned by his fall.
A notable scheme now seized the fertile brain of the money loving
missionary. The lusus naturæ which connected the bodies of the twins, he
conceived would render their exhibition profitable in England. He obtained
the consent of their father to carry them to Europe, by stipulating to allow
them one-half of the earnings of their exhibition. The acquiescence of the
youths themselves he easily procured by inflaming their curiosity to witness
the glory and happiness of England, which he described in the most
glowing terms of national panegyric.
The twins, however, resolved to consult one of the magicians of the country
relative to the result of their intended enterprise, before they should commit
themselves to the care of an absolute stranger who was to convey them so
far from home. The account of this consultation—the temple of the
magician—his manner of consulting the fates, and the mystical style of his
addressing the twins, form by much the most fanciful and readable portion
of the book, and would certainly entitle the author to some credit for wild
and weird conceptions, were it not for the unfortunate circumstance, that the
whole is a palpable imitation of the celebrated incantation scene in Der
Freischutz. It is also infested with the besetting sin of the whole poem,
prolixity. Mr. Bulwer too plainly shows in this work, that he is a bookmaker
by profession, and if the faculty of hammering a given number of ideas into
as many words as possible, be a useful branch of the craft, it is one in which
he has assuredly few competitors.
The arrival of Hodges and the twins in London, is at length announced in
the newspapers, and then begins what the author unquestionably intended
should be the principal business of the poem—namely, the quizzing of
London life and manners—or to use his own phrase, satirizing the times.
The idea of bringing Oriental strangers to Europe in order to exhibit their
surprise at witnessing customs and manners totally different from those of
their own country, is rather stale, and the humour of it, if there be any
humour in it, has been exhausted by much finer writers than Mr. Bulwer has
as yet shown himself to be. Various essayists, both of France and England,

have had recourse to this method of exposing the vices and absurdities of
their respective countries. Turkish spies, Persian envoys, and Chinese
philosophers, have all been brought into requisition for this purpose. No
novelty, therefore, can be claimed for the employment of our Siamese
adventurers on such trodden ground. It is, indeed, sufficiently apparent, that
the idea of making them a vehicle for satire upon the English, was
suggested by Goldsmith's Citizen of the World. To try his strength with such
a writer as Goldsmith, especially in the walks of satire, was at least
courageous on the part of Bulwer; and if any circumstance could, in our
estimation, atone for his woful failure, it would be the hardihood which
induced him to make the attempt. We believe no reader ever became
wearied of perusing Goldsmith's Citizen of the World. But how any reader
can toil through this Siamese production, without becoming exhausted, we
own is beyond our comprehension.
In London, the twins meet with various adventures, which, no doubt, the
author intended should be extremely amusing to the reader. To us they
appear extremely jejune and silly. For instance, Lady Jersey sends one of
them a ticket of admission to Almacks, without recollecting to pay the same
compliment to the other. On appearing for entrance, the door-keeper refuses
to admit him who had been neglected. This obstacle, of course, prevents the
other from availing himself of his right to enter. Lady Cowper, however,
very soon sets all right by furnishing them with another ticket. Now what
there is either facetious or satirical in this, we confess we cannot conceive.
Equally silly is the incident of the one brother being seized by a recruiting
sergeant who had enlisted him, while the other is arrested by a bailiff for
debt. But as the brothers cannot be separated, they get clear, the recruiting
officer not daring to carry off Ching who had not enlisted, and the bailiff
being equally afraid of the consequence of imprisoning Chang against
whom he had no writ—an old joke.
Now such bungling inventions appear to us insufferable. In the first place,
there is no emotion whatever, either of surprise, merriment, or pity,
awakened by the narrative, and in the next, the occurrences are so contrary
to all probability, that even poetical license, in its fullest range, will not
sanction their introduction. The deformity of the twins would render either
of them ineligible to be enlisted. The bailiff's writ might, it is true, authorize
the arrest of one only; but even that is inconsistent with the statement

previously made that their earnings and expenses were all in common. We
should suppose, therefore, that no creditor would make such an invidious
distinction between partners so closely connected. These inconsistencies,
however, might be pardoned, if the stories were told with sufficient
sprightliness and vigour to make them interesting. But when an ill-contrived
tale is drowsily told, the reader must possess an immense fund of good
nature not to scold the author in his heart.
We shall pass over the rest of these dull adventures, which rebuke no vice,
and satirize no folly, and shall give a very brief outline of the remainder of
the poem. The brothers, unlike the real twins from whom the title of the
poem is borrowed, are represented as of entirely different characters.
Chang's disposition is grave, contemplative, and sentimental, while Ching is
light-hearted, gay, and volatile. Their protector, Hodges, has a handsome
daughter, with whom the meditative Chang falls in love; but, without any
apparent cause, he imagines that she has given her heart to Ching. He
becomes exceedingly jealous, and absurdly enough, considering the nature
of their connexion, meditates the murder of his brother. He however
discovers his mistake in time to prevent the deed, and feels a reasonable
share of remorse. In the meantime, Mary, the lady in question, who
commiserates their condition, contrives, while they are asleep, to introduce
a surgeon and his assistant, who successfully cut through the connecting
bond of flesh, and, to the great joy of Chang, who had long felt much
mortification at the unnatural union, they are separated. Chang now
cherishes strong hopes of becoming acceptable to Mary, which are destined
soon to be blasted for ever. By an incident which detracts much from the
sentimental dignity with which he has been hitherto invested, for it
represents him as an eavesdropper, he discovers that she is irrevocably
engaged to her cousin, who is called Julian Laneham. This discovery
arouses him to a certain fit of magnanimity. He understands that Mary's
father objects to her union with Laneham, on account of the young man's
poverty. He suddenly disappears; and four days afterwards, two letters are
received, one by Hodges, and one by Ching, which, as the author says,
"shows the last dénouement of the story." The public curiosity had rendered
the brothers rich; and in his letter to Hodges, Chang generously bestows on
him his share of their property, on condition that he will give his daughter to
Laneham.

The old gentlemen agrees to the compact; and if the reader should have
patience enough to carry him so far through the book, he will, towards its
conclusion, be rewarded with a marriage, according to the old established
laws of romance writing. Why did Mr. Bulwer so far forget the "originality
of matter and of manner," in other words, the new school of poetry, which
he promised us in the preface, as to put us off with so trite a conclusion?
In a passage towards the close of the poem, the indomitable egotism of our
author appears, in a curious allusion which he makes to the failure of his
efforts to become a member of parliament at the last general election. His
hero Laneham, for he is the true hero of the work, had been a more
successful candidate for the people's favour. The poet says, without
jealousy, we presume,—
"Moreover in the late election
He won a certain Burgh's affection.
Dined—drank—made love to wife and daughter,
Poured ale and money forth like water,
And won St. Stephen's Hall to hear
This parliament may last a year!
The sire's delight you'll fancy fully—
He thinks he sees a second Tully;
And gravely says he will dispense
With Fox's force and Brinsley's wit,
So that our member boast the sense
Of that great statesmen—Pilot Pitt!
For me, my hope lies somewhat deeper;
We'll now, they say, be governed cheaper!
So Julian, pour your wrath on robbing,
And keep a careful eye on jobbing.
If you should waver in your choice
To whom to pledge your vote and voice,
You'll waver only, we presume,
Between an Althorpe and a Hume.
But mind—one vote—o'er all you hold,
And let the Ballot conquer Gold.
Don't utterly forget those asses,—
Ridden so long,—the lower classes;

But waking from sublimer visions,
Just see, poor things! to their provisions.
Let them for cheap bread be your debtor,
Cheap justice, too—that's almost better.
And though not bound to either College,
Don't clap a turnpike on their knowledge.
* * * * *
And ne'er forget this simple rule, boy,
Time is an everlasting schoolboy,
And as his trowsers he outgoes,
Be decent, nor begrudge him clothes.
* * * * *
In these advices towards your policy,
Many, dear Julian, will but folly see;
Yet what I preach to you to act is
But what had been your author's practice,
Had the mercurial star that beams
Upon elections blessed his dreams,
Had—but we ripen with delay,
And every dog shall have his day!"
From the last couplet, it appears, that our author has not yet relinquished his
expectations of being gratified with a seat in St. Stephens.
In the following concluding lines, which succeed those we have just quoted,
the Twins are finally disposed of. We insert them here as a notable instance
of long efforts to kindle a blaze, at last dying away in the suffocation of
their own smoke.—

"And Ching?—poor fellow!—Ching can never
His former spirits quite recover;
Yet he's agreeable as ever,
And plays the C——k as a lover.
In every place he's vastly fêted,
His name's in every lady's book;
And as a wit I hear he's rated
Between the Rogers's and Hook.

But Chang?—of him was known no more,
Since, Corsair like, he left the shore.
Wrapped round his fate the cloud unbroken,
Will yield our guess nor clew nor token.
He runs unseen his lonely race,
And if the mystery e'er unravels
The web around the wanderer's trace—
I fear we scarce could print his travels.
Since tourists every where have flocked,
The market's rather overstocked—
And so we leave the lands that need 'em
Throughout this 'dark terrestrial ball,'
To be well visited by freedom,—
And slightly nibbled at by Hall!"

Art. VI.—Europe and America; or, the relative state of the Civilized
World at a future period. Translated from the German of Dr. C. F.
Von Schmidt-Phiseldek, Doctor of Philosophy, one of his Danish
Majesty's Counsellors of State, Knight of Dannebrog, &c. &c. By
Joseph Owen. Copenhagen: 1820.

Although the translator of this book professes in his Preface to have been
principally induced to undertake the task by "the desire of being the humble
instrument of imparting to the American nation, that picture of future
grandeur and happiness, which the author so prophetically holds out to
them," we believe it is but little known among the readers of this country.
Yet it is in every respect a very interesting and curious work. It will be seen
by the title-page, that it was not only translated into, but printed in English,
at Copenhagen, with the view of disseminating a knowledge of its contents
among the people of the United States. Yet we do not recollect that it was
noticed at the time of its publication in any of our critical journals, and the
only copy that has ever fallen under our notice is that now before us, which

has been in our possession many years. Nevertheless, it is the work of a
man of very extensive views, and of deep sagacity. His speculations on the
state of the different kingdoms of Europe, in relation to the past and the
present, seem to us equally just and profound; and the predictions which ten
years ago the author announced to the world, are every day, nay, almost
every hour, becoming matters of history.
It has been said, and said reproachfully, that the people of the United States
are somewhat boastful and presumptuous. One reason doubtless is, that they
have had to bear up on one hand against much obloquy and injustice, and
on the other against certain airs of affected superiority on the part of the
nations of Europe, equally offensive. Those who are perpetually assailed,
are perpetually called upon to defend themselves; and what in other cases
would be an offensive pretension, is, in ours, simply self-defence. It is not
boasting, but a manly assertion of what is due to ourselves, in reply to those
who take from us what is our right. But even if the charge of national pride
were true, we are among those who rather approve than lament it. National
pride is a commendable and manly feeling; it is the parent of virtue and
greatness—the foundation of a noble character; and if the nation which has
led the way in the bright path of freedom—which, young as it is, has
become already the beacon, the example, the patriarch of the struggling
nations of the world—has not a fair right to be proud, we know not on what
basis national pride ought to erect itself.
For these reasons, we feel no hesitation in calling the attention of the people
of the United States, to a work eminently calculated to awaken the most
lofty anticipations of the destiny which awaits them. Nothing but good can
come of such contemplations of the future. They will serve to impress upon
the nation the necessity of being prepared for such high destiny; of fitting
herself to maintain it with honour and dignity; of attaching herself, heart
and hand, body and soul, to that sacred union of opinions, interests, and
reflections, which alone can lead us steadily onward in the path of
prosperity, happiness, and glory.
"The 4th of July in the year 1776," observes Dr. Von Schmidt,
"points out the commencement of a new period in the history of the
world. Not provoked to resistance by the intolerable oppression of
tyrannical power, but merely roused by the arbitrary encroachments

upon well earned, and hitherto publicly acknowledged principles,
the people of the United States of North America declared
themselves on that memorable day independent of the dominion of
the British Islands, generally speaking mild and benevolent in itself,
and under which they had hitherto stood as colonies, in a state, not
of slavish servitude, but of partial guardianship, under the protection
of the mother country."
The author has here marked the nice and peculiar feature which
distinguishes the American Revolution from all others, and confers on it a
degree of philosophical dignity. It was not a ferment arising from
momentary impatience of existing and operating hardships; nor the result of
extensive distresses pressing upon a large mass of the nation. When the
people of the United Colonies rose in resistance to the mother country, they
were in possession of a greater portion of all the useful means of happiness,
than the mother country itself. It was not therefore a revolution originating
in the belly, but the head; it was a revolution brought about by principles,
not by distresses. The early emigrants to the new world, brought these
principles with them from England;—every year added to their strength,
and every accession of strength, brought the crisis nearer to maturity. The
annals of each one of the colonies, exhibit every where evidence of the
existence of this leaven of freedom, which was perpetually rising and
agitating the surface; and, although like the eruption of a volcano, it broke
forth at first in one particular spot, it was only from accidental causes. The
whole interior was equally in a ferment, and the boiling mass must have
forced a vent somewhere, and soon. It had long been evident, that, wherever
the pressure should be greatest, there would be the point of resistance.
That the American revolution, though unquestionably precipitated, was not
produced by a sudden excitement originating in any particular measure of
the British government, we think must appear to all those who read with
attention the early records of our colonial history. As long ago as the year
1635, representations were made to the government of England, touching
the disloyalty of the people of Massachusetts.
"The Archbishop of Canterbury," says Hutchinson, "the famous
High Churchman Laud, kept a jealous eye over New England. One
Burdett of Piscataqua, was his correspondent. A copy of a letter to

the Archbishop, wrote by Burdett, was found in his study, and to this
effect: 'That he delayed going to England, that he might freely
inform himself of the state of the place as to allegiance, for it was
not new discipline which was aimed at, but sovereignty; and that it
was accounted perjury and treason in their general court, to speak of
appeals to the king.'"[4]
But to return to the immediate subject before us. Dr. Von Schmidt-
Phiseldek, after stating the result of this declaration in the establishment of
our independence, proceeds to notice the second war between the United
States and England, in which the former successfully maintained the
positions she had assumed, as the grounds of hostility:—
"By these occurrences," he says, "which we have only cursorily
touched upon, the North American confederacy had tried her
strength, preserved her dignity by the rejection of illegal
pretensions, and vigorously proved and maintained her right as an
active member in the scale of nations, to take part in the grand
affairs of the civilized world. From that moment, the impulse to a
new change of events, ceased to proceed exclusively from the old
continent, and it is possible that in a short time it will emanate from
the new one."
The author then proceeds to deduce the attempts of the South American
Provinces, which, however, at that period, had not been consummated, from
the example of North America, which had inspired them with the desire of
emancipation:—
"This word, as intimating the resistance of a people feeling
themselves at maturity, to their wonted tutelage, and desirous of
taking upon themselves the management of their own affairs, most
suitably expresses the spirit of the times, which, being called to light
in 1776, has spread itself over the new and old world."
Having indicated his belief, that the South American States will acquire
independence, Dr. Von Schmidt-Phiseldck gives it as his opinion, "that the
similitude of their constitutional forms, and an equal interest in rejecting the
European powers, will unite these new states in a close compact with the
North American confederacy; and, if a quarter of a century only elapsed

before North America began to act externally with vigour, it may be
presumed that the younger states of the Southern Continent, endowed with
more ample resources, and more ancient culture, will require a shorter
period to arrive at a state of respectable force."
Having traced a rapid sketch of the situation and prospects of the new
world, the author next turns his attention to the old governments of Europe,
of which he gives a masterly analysis:—
"The new spirit which had been called to life on the other side of the
Atlantic, and the universal fermentation it caused, happened at a period in
which the most excessive laxity reigned predominant on the old continent.
The political existence of the people was for the most part extinguished;
their active industry had been directed abroad, and the governments finding
no opposition or dangerous collisions internally, followed with the stream.
Commerce, exportations, colonial systems, every means of acquiring
money, were cherished and protected,—riches presenting the only
possibility of investing the low with consideration and influence, and the
high with power and inordinate dominion. The maxims by which the
nations were governed, lay less in the ground pillars of an existing
constitution, than in the changeable systems of the cabinets, and the
character of their rulers; there remained, for the most part, nothing for the
great body of the people, but to be spectators.
"Germany, the grand heart of Europe, presented now nothing more than the
shadow of a political body united in one common confederacy; the imperial
governments, as also the administration of the federal laws, were without
energy, and united efforts to repel invasions from abroad, had not been
witnessed since the fear of Turkish power had ceased to operate. The larger
states had outgrown their obedience, and often ranged themselves in
opposition to the head, which was scarcely able to protect either itself or the
weaker states against injuries.
"The internal affairs of the individual vassal states, were exclusively
conducted according to the will of their regents; the energy and importance
of the representative popular states, were become dormant, and the standing
armies which had been introduced by degrees even into the smallest
principalities, since the peace of Westphalia, being perfectly foreign to the

hearts and dispositions of the people, threw an astonishing weight into the
scale of unlimited sovereignty. Being mercenary soldiers recruited from
every nation, modelled upon a system of subordination, and raised by
Frederick of Prussia to the highest pitch of perfection, they had been
accomplices in diffusing this system of despotism over all the relations of
the state, and in leaving the people who were freed from military services,
nothing but the acquisition of gain.
"Agriculture, agreeably to the direction given it, had been improved, and
with a population increased; industry supported by the progress of the
mechanical arts, had also been considerably extended. But each separate
state had its own little jealous feelings of aggrandisement, its own petty
internal policy, viewing its neighbour with a jealous eye; and the whole of
Germany never reaped any beneficial result from a system, which, had it
been general, would have conduced highly to the wealth and power of the
confederated states, of which it was composed. All these various
institutions, at the same time that they conflicted with each other, were
reared on loose foundations, and it was evident must fall together, on the
first external shock,—circumstances like these were incapable of producing
an universal national character. There, where no reciprocal tie binds the
individuals of a state together, who, living under the equal laws of one
community, ought to form one solid whole, the spirit of the nation loses
itself in different directions; the attainment of individual welfare is possible
in such a state of things, but never will a sense of what is universally good
and great, be promoted.
"If in Germany," proceeds the author, "where the imperial crown
represented a mere shadow, deprived of power and consequence, the mighty
vassals were all; in France the crown was every thing, after it had subdued
the powerful barons of the country. The people represented, indeed, one
body, but were deprived, like the several German states, of all political
weight, and were arbitrarily subjected to every impulse of the government.
The same was the case with Spain and Portugal, where religious intolerance
more powerfully suppressed every utterance of contrary opinions, and every
doctrine which might lead to a deviation from the maxims of the state, so
intimately connected with those of the priesthood. The latter, chained since
Methuen's celebrated treaty, to the monopoly of England from which it had
vainly attempted to free itself under Pombal's administration, was nearly

sunk to the condition of a British colony working its gold mines in the
Brazils for the benefit of the proud islanders.
"Italy, parcelled out amongst different powers, presented upon the whole,
the same political aspect as Germany, only with this difference, that it was
totally divested of the shadow of unity, which the latter at least appeared to
present. Upper, and a great part of middle Italy, being dismembered, were
entirely subservient to foreign impulse. The lower part, with the fertile
island on the other side of the Pharos, presented, to be sure, since 1735, the
outward appearance of one national whole, but was too weak to withstand
the fate of the more powerful Bourbon families, from which, according to
treaties, it had derived its sovereigns. There reigned in the papal state alone,
which could not derive its weight from its worldly sovereignty, but from the
spiritual supremacy of its ruler, the ancient maxims of the Romish
pontificate, with the economical state faults of a clerical government. But
the consideration and the power of the former were visibly sunk; the
journeys of the pope of that period to Vienna, were like the contemporary
ones of the Hierarch of Thibet to China, rather prejudicial, than favourable
to spiritual dignity; and the faulty internal administration of the state
seemed to invite every attempt at innovation. The republics on the east and
the west of the Adriatic Gulf, were, since the rise of the other great naval
states, only the ruins of past glory, sinking daily into insignificance. But
notwithstanding this, neither was the image of former greatness blotted
from their memories, nor a proper feeling for it extinguished in the minds of
the inhabitants of the luxuriant peninsula. The pride of the more noble, fed
itself on the sublime remains of lionian antiquity; and the monuments of the
golden age of the family of Medicis indemnified a people given to the arts,
and full of imagination for the loss of present grandeur, and kept up a lively
anticipation of a better futurity, founded on the merits of its ancestors.
"Helvetia, hemmed in between Italy, Germany, and France, by its
mountains, continued in the peaceable enjoyment of its liberties through the
respect its venerable age had universally diffused. Nevertheless, the
disturbances at Geneva, and the increased spirit of emigration, were
sufficient to indicate that a people who become indifferent to the present
order of things, would willingly have recourse to a system of innovation,
and that the ancient ties which had held the Swiss nation so many centuries
together, were gradually relaxing.

"The dissolution of the existing form of government, in the north-western
Netherlands, which ought never to have been separated from the German
corporation, was more visibly approaching. The unwieldiness of their
disorganized union had no remedy to administer to the decline of their
commerce, and naval power, which became more and more felt, being a
natural consequence of the daily concentration of the larger states; and it
was evident that the fate of the republic would be decided by a blow from
abroad.
"The British islands, at that time the only country in Europe which united
under a monarchical head, moderate, but on that account more solid
principles of freedom, with an equal balance of the different powers of the
state, were at the commencement of the American disturbances in a
progressive state of the most flourishing prosperity. For this happy
condition they were indebted to their freedom and eligible commercial
situation, together with the inexhaustible treasures nature had deposited in
their mines of coal and iron, on the existence of which the industry of their
diligent inhabitants is principally founded. Political ebullition existed in no
higher degree than was necessary to give proper life, and less, perhaps, than
was necessary to preserve it in all its purity, a constitution which, long since
acquired after the most bloody struggles, was more deeply rooted in the
modes of thinking, and in the manners and customs of the nation, than it
was imprinted on them by the letter of the law. The government had
sufficient leisure to direct its attention abroad, and by means of hostile
enterprises, and political treaties, which must sooner or later give a naval
power a decided ascendency, held out a helping hand to the commercial
spirit of the people who aimed at making (and with increasing hopes of
success) the remainder of the world tributary to it, for the productions of its
fabrics and manufactures.
"The plan of supporting commerce upon territorial acquisitions, and of
forming an empire out of the conquered provinces of India, whose treasures
should flow back to the queen of cities on the Thames, was already fully
developed, and the exasperation against the western colonies was to be
attributed as much to a mistaken commercial interest as to a spirit for
dominion. The ingredients of the British national character, ever more
coldly repulsive than amiable or attractive in its nature, had produced an
almost universal antipathy not alone of the public mind, but also of the

individual affections, against a people in so many points of view so highly
respectable, and being unceasingly fed by that envy which every species of
superiority involuntarily creates, produced the most conspicuous influence
in the development of subsequent events."
The author then proceeds to notice the proceedings of Russia, Austria, and
Prussia, in relation to Poland, until its final dismemberment in 1795:—
"It is unnecessary," he says in conclusion, "to give a further
exposition of the leading principles of the three courts which began
this work of annihilation, and still persevered in it, contrary to the
solemn stipulations of treaties lately entered into, just at the moment
when a new constitution, enthusiastically received, had offered
every guaranty of security, the want of which had served to give an
air of legitimacy to the first spoliations. External aggrandisement in
the acquisition of territory and population, and internal
considerations, so far as they afforded means of attaining the object
in view, are, in short, the features of these unnatural principles. This
economical digestion of an administration merely of things, not
persons, may be termed excellent in its kind. Taken in this point of
view, the Prussian government gave the most splendid proofs of the
beneficial results which may be attained by military organization.
Austria and Russia had followed this example; and it required later
events to prove, that the calculation is not always correct, that a
standing army, forming a state within the state, is the only support
and rallying point of a government, and that no system is safe, but
that which is founded on the internal strength and unanimity of the
people."
Having sketched the political situation of Europe, at the commencement of
the American revolution, the author proceeds to notice the interference of
France and Spain;—the situation in which the colonies of North America
were left after the acknowledgment of their independence;—the adoption of
the new constitution;—the extraordinary prosperity which followed;—the
immense acquisitions of territory, and the accession of wealth and numbers.
He then traces the effects produced in Europe, and most especially in
France, by a participation in the struggle between England and her colonies,
and the contemplation of their subsequent prosperity and happiness. The

spirit of emancipation was caught from the new, and was fast spreading
itself over the old world. This spirit first produced its practical effects in
France, whence it reached England, and almost all the states on the
continent of Europe, begetting a revolution of ideas at least, if not leading to
the revolution of governments, as it did in France.
The spirit of conquest which was perhaps forced upon France, by the
necessity of giving to the enemies of the new order of things, employment
at home, in order to prevent their interference abroad, was fatal to the
beneficial results of the revolution. The rapid conquests achieved by
Napoleon, drew the eyes and hearts of a people fond of glory, and full of a
military spirit, from their internal affairs, to foreign conquests; and, while
they were subduing a world, they were themselves subdued by the same
power. Then came the empire of Napoleon; the confederacy of nations,—
not merely of kings and their armies, but of nations, instigated partly by
their own wrongs, and partly by the promises of their rulers, to rise in mass,
and do what neither their kings nor their armies had been able to perform. It
was the people of Europe that at length overthrew Napoleon.
When, after this great event, it became necessary to reorganize Europe,
which had been cast from its ancient moorings, by the gigantic power, and
gigantic mind of the child of democracy, who had devoured his mother,
there arose a schism between the people and their sovereigns. The former
expected the fulfilment of those promises, which the latter had made in the
hour of extreme peril, in order to rouse them to effectual resistance against
the French. These promises in Germany, Prussia, the Netherlands, &c.
consisted principally in the establishment of representative governments,
which would leave the sovereign in possession of a hereditary power,
checked by a body elected by the people. On the other hand, the sovereigns,
unmindful of the preservation of their thrones, which they owed to the
people, refused to fulfil their solemn stipulations. In the hour of success,
they as usual forgot the hour of adversity, and insisted upon the
unconditional re-establishment, if not of old boundaries, at least of the old
political regime. Hence we may trace the origin of what is called seriously
by some, in derision and scorn by others, the Holy Alliance, which
originated in the fears and the weakness of kings, who, being unable to
maintain singly their antiquated pretensions at home, sought in a close
union of policy and interests, the means of doing that, which each one alone

was inadequate to achieve. By this alliance, Europe was dismembered—
millions of acres, and millions of people, were parcelled out among the
different sovereigns, and the balance of Europe was either believed, or
affected to be believed, restored by placing whole nations under a dominion
which they abhorred. It is obvious that such an unnatural state of things
could endure only while cemented by a mutual fear of the powers which
had constituted it; which fear would subside immediately, or very soon after
the dissolution of the great confederacy. A large portion of Europe had been
fermenting for nearly fifteen years, under the oppressions of this union of
despots, and the moment of its separation, would naturally be that of the
downfall of the system they had attempted to impose on mankind. But we
are anticipating our brief analysis of the work before us:—
"After twenty-three years of blood and revolution," continues the
author, "Louis was again seated on the throne of his forefathers, and
the principles of monarchy seemed firmly established in Europe.
But the principle of government was in reality no longer the old one,
and the spirit of the relation in which the ruled stood to the rulers,
although it had not yet been brought to light in visible forms, and
specified limits, was materially changed. Mutual struggles of kings
and their people against foreign aggression, and mutual sufferings in
consequence of the division between the people and their rulers, the
latter of whom owed esteem and acknowledgment for services
rendered by the former, laid the foundation of a relation between
them mutually more honourable. For centuries, indeed, the
monarchs of Europe had not been identified and interwoven with
their people; nor had they shared as now, the privations and
humiliations, the domestic and public calamities, of the nations they
governed; nor had they fought by their sides, and conquered by their
efforts, as they had lately done in the late stormy period of the
world."
Mutual suffering had taught them to feel a community of interests they had
not before recognised. Calamity brings all ranks to a level, and the monarch
exiled from his throne, can sympathise with the peasant driven from his
hovel.

In this state of feelings, one would suppose Europe might have reposed in
peace. But the elements of internal discord, lay buried deeply in her bosom,
and the internal relations of the different powers had been so altered, as to
present ample materials for dissension abroad. With the necessity of
appealing to the patriotism of their people, by promises of privileges and
immunities, expired the disposition to comply with them. This breach of
faith, produced on one hand indignation and discontent, on the other,
jealousy and apprehension. The discontents of the people, caused their
rulers to depend more on the support of their standing armies, than on the
attachment of their subjects, and these armies were accordingly augmented
to such an extent, that the unfortunate people were at length impoverished
by the very means used in enslaving them. At this moment, nearly the
whole of Europe, including the British islands, constitutes a mass of
military governments. Every where the civil power is inadequate to the
preservation of order, the enforcement of obedience to the king and the
laws, and every where a standing army under some form or other presides
over the opinions and actions of the people. Hence results the curious and
ominous, not to say awful spectacle of the rights of property at the mercy of
a mob; and on the other hand, the rights of person, the liberties of the
citizen, subject to the arbitrary domination of the bayonet. At this moment,
such is the state of every monarchy in Europe.
Such a juxtaposition of kings and their people, must of necessity alienate
them from each other every day; and thus by degrees, the feeling of loyalty
towards the one, and of parental affection towards the other, will be finally
extinguished in mutual fears and mutual injuries, that will for ever disturb
their repose, until the people are either perfectly satisfied, or totally
subdued.
Another fruitful source of the discontents now agitating all Europe, is the
state of the labouring classes, not only manufacturing but agricultural. The
means of producing the necessaries and luxuries of life have been
multiplied by the increase of paper capital and artificial expedients, until the
supply exceeds the demand, and the price of labour, even where labour can
be procured, bears no proportion to the price of bread. During fifteen years
of peace, America and Europe have augmented their powers of supplying
their own wants and those of the rest of the world, by means of
improvements in arts, sciences, machinery, &c., to an extent which cannot

be estimated. The whole world is glutted with the products of machinery,
and exactly in the proportion that these increase upon us, is the increase of
the poverty of the labouring classes. Millions of people in Europe, the
largest proportion of whom are inhabitants of the richest country in the
world, and one producing the greatest quantity of the results of industry,
want bread, because they either have no employment, or their wages will
not obtain it for them. Let political economists reason as they will, this is
the state of the labouring classes of Europe, and this state is aggravated
precisely in the proportion that the facility of supplying the necessities and
luxuries of life by artificial means is increased.
The cause of this singular state of things to us is sufficiently obvious. The
powers of wealth, the force of example, opinion, authority, laws, of every
concentrated influence that can be brought to bear upon human affairs,
have, all combined, been directed to a reduction of the price of labour, and
consequently to diminishing the consumption of the products of human
industry; for the great mass of mankind have nothing but the fruits of their
labour to offer in exchange for those products which are necessary to their
subsistence and comfort. In vain may it be urged, as we have seen it done
repeatedly, and most especially in an address of a clergyman of England to
the labouring classes of that country—in vain may it be urged, that the
decrease of the price of labour has been met by a corresponding decrease in
the price of the necessaries of life, and that, therefore, the labouring classes
are no worse off, nay better off, than before the vast increase of machinery
either threw them out of employment, or forced them to labour for almost
nothing. This comfortable gentleman, who, we understand, has a good fat
living, and will probably be made a bishop if he can only stop the mouths of
the sufferers with reasons instead of bread, asks these poor people if they
don't get their hats, shoes, &c. one half cheaper in consequence of the
perfection of machinery, the improvements of the arts, &c. But he takes
care not to ask them if the difficulty of earning this half price is not
increased in a much greater proportion, in consequence of the diminution of
their wages, and whether bread, meat, beer, and all the essentials of human
existence, are not enhanced rather than diminished in price. We could
illustrate the theory of the reverend gentleman, by an honest matter of fact
story, which we can vouch for, as it happened to a near relative of ours.

He had a gardener named Dennis, an honest fellow, full of simplicity, and a
dear lover of Old Ireland, as all Irishmen are, at home or abroad. One day
he was dilating with much satisfaction on the difference between the price
of potatoes in this country and Ireland. "In Ireland, your honour, now I
could git more nor a barrel of potatoes for a pishtareen, but here it costs as
much as a dollar and a half." The gentleman asked him good naturedly why
he did not remain where potatoes were so cheap. Dennis considered a
moment, and answered with the characteristic frankness of his country
—"why to tell your honour the honest truth, though the potatoes were so
cheap, I never could get the pishtareen to buy them."
Here is the solution of the whole enigma. Every thing is cheap we will say;
but labour, which is the only equivalent a large mass of mankind have to
offer for every thing, is cheaper than all. Evident, as we think this will
appear, still it seems to have no influence on those who govern mankind.
And how should it? Their emoluments, their means of expenditure, are
derived, not from their own physical labour, but the labours of others. The
cheaper they can procure this, the deeper they can revel in luxuries. With
them, the relative proportion between the remuneration of toil, and the
means of living is nothing. Hence the rulers of nations, hence capitalists,
and all the brood of monopolists, are stirring their energies abroad, to
increase the supply of the products of labour, at the same time that they take
from the labourer the due rewards of his labours, and thus prevent the
consumption of the vast accession of manufactures, &c. occasioned by the
increase and perfection of machinery. Inanimate powers are daily
substituted for human hands, and productions continue to multiply in an
equal ratio. This is a benefit to a single nation, while it possesses all the
advantages of superiority, and is enabled to supply a portion of the rest of
the world. But when other nations, as is the case now, adopt the same
system, and avail themselves of the same means of supply, a glut takes
place in the market, at home and abroad, and poverty and distress among
the labourers are the inevitable consequence.
Such seem to us the principal elements of combustion now at work in
Europe. Political disgust, and physical distresses are co-operating with each
other, and in order to quiet these disturbances, it is not only necessary to
give them more liberty, but more bread. But to return once more to the
speculations of our author,—

"If we turn our view to the present state of agriculture," continues
Dr. Von Schmidt, "in many countries of Europe, it will appear
evident, that even the paternal soil in many districts, is becoming
too confined to afford nourishment to those who have remained
faithful to its bosom. If in the mountainous countries, as for
example, in the west and south of France, on the Alps, and along the
Rhine, every spot is occupied, and the very earth and manure have
for centuries been carried aloft upon the naked rock attended with
the most boundless labour, in order to furnish soil for the vine, the
olive, and for the different species of cerelia, and at present no
further room exists for a more extended cultivation; it is not possible
for a more numerous growing generation to find nourishment in
these districts, whose productions are not susceptible of increasing
progression. The too frequent practice of parcelling out common
lands, and large estates, originally beneficial in itself, has produced
similar consequences in other states. It was undoubtedly a wise and
humane plan to transform commons, and extensive pastures into
fruitful fields, and by dividing large estates which their owners
could not overlook, into smaller lots, thus ensure more abundant
crops, and an increasing population, by a more careful cultivation.
But if, as is the case at the present day, in many places, useful lands
have been split into so many small independent possessions, as to
render it hardly possible for families occupying them, to subsist in
the most penurious manner, by cultivating them; whence, then, is
sustenance to be obtained for their more numerous posterity, and
from what source is the state to derive its taxes? It is evident, that
this condition of things must lead to the most poignant distress, and
that a breadless multitude, either driven by irretrievable debts from
their paternal huts, or voluntarily forsaking them on account of an
inadequate maintenance, will turn their backs upon their country;
and it may be considered a fortunate resource if they, as has
frequently occurred in later times, carry with them the vigour of
their strength to the free states of America, which stand in need of
no one thing but human hands, to raise them to the highest degree of
prosperity. Those governments in which such an unnatural
distension of the state of society prevails, ought not, most assuredly,
for their own advantage, and for the sake of humanity, by any means

to throw obstacles in the way, but rather favour such emigration, and
render it easy and consolatory for all, since they have it not in their
power to offer a better remedy for their present misery. By doing
this, they will prevent dangerous ebullitions and unruly disaffections
of a distressed and overgrown population; they will lighten the
number of poor which is increasing to a most alarming extent, and
put an end to that angry state of abjectness and misery which is felt
by every honest heart, and under which thousands have sunk down,
who, with numerous families in hovels of wretchedness, prolong
their existence upon more scanty means than the most common
domestic animals, and who appear only to be gifted with reason in
order to be more sensible to their forlorn and pitiable fate."
From the foregoing premises, the author deduces the conclusion, that the
free states of North America will increase in population more rapidly than
any other country has ever done, partly from emigration, and partly from
the unequalled facility of obtaining the comforts of life, by which the
numbers of mankind are regulated. The people, equally free from political
oppression, and the evils of abject poverty, such as scanty nourishment, and
crowded habitations, will at first make a rapid progress in the useful, and
subsequently, in the elegant arts, and more abstract sciences. The freedom
of their institutions will continually offer every stimulus to the development
of the features of independence, and animate that spirit of intelligence,
which always increases in proportion to the freedom with which the human
faculties are exercised. Thence he proceeds to the supposition, that the
states of South America having attained to independence, will establish
constitutional governments similar to those of the North, whose example
first stimulated them to resistance to the mother country,—that this
similarity will naturally produce a close union of interest and policy among
all the states of the Western Continent, and that such a union will give a
death blow to the colonial system of Europe, at no distant period.
The discovery and colonization of America, led to consequences which re-
modelled all Europe; and her emancipation from European thraldom will, in
like manner, force upon that portion of the world a new state of things.
Europe, in her present situation, cannot do without America,—while, on the
other hand, America has no occasion for Europe. America can, and will,
therefore, become independent of Europe; but, in the present state of things,

Europe cannot become independent of America. That almost universal
empire which Europe attained by the superiority of her intelligence,—by
the tribute she exacted from every other quarter of the globe, and by the
superiority of her skill as well as of her industry, cannot be sustained for a
much longer period.
Wrapped up in a sense of his superiority, the European reclines at home,
shining in his borrowed plumes, derived from the product of every corner of
the earth, and the industry of every portion of its inhabitants, with which his
own natural resources would never have invested him, he continues, as the
author observes, revelling in enjoyments which nature has denied him;—
accustomed from his most tender years, to wants which all the blessings and
donations of the land and the ocean, produced within the compass of his
own quarter of the globe, are unable to satisfy. While, therefore, the rest of
the world has become tributary to him, he, in return, has become dependent
on it, by those wants,—the supply of which, custom and education have
made indispensably necessary.
America alone furnishes in a sufficient quantity those precious metals,
which constitute the basis on which the existing relations of all the different
classes of society, and indeed the whole concatenation of the civil
institutions of society in general, have been formed, and retained to the
present time. All the elements of modern splendour were derived from her,
—and it was her gifts to Europe, which changed almost all the constituents
of social life. The costly woods of the new world, banished the native
products of the old;—her cochineal and indigo furnish the choicest
materials for the richest dyes;—her rice is become an article of cheap and
general nourishment to the European world;—her cotton, tobacco, coffee,
sugar, molasses, cocoa and rum;—her numerous and valuable drugs;—her
diamonds and precious stones;—her furs, and, in time of scarcity, the rich
redundant stores of grain she pours forth from her bosom, constitute so
large a portion of the wants and luxuries of Europe, that it is not too much
to say, the latter is in a great measure dependent upon America. A great
portion of these cannot be domesticated in the former, or produced in such
quantities, as to supply the demand which custom has made indispensable,
nor upon such terms, as would enable the people of Europe to indulge in
their consumption. On the contrary, experience has demonstrated, that all
the natural productions of Europe, its olives, and even its boasted vines, can

be naturalized in some one of the various regions of this quarter of the
globe, which comprehends in itself every climate and every soil. There is
not the least doubt, that, when the habits of the people, or the interests of
the country point to such a course, all these will be produced in sufficient
quantities, not only for domestic use, but foreign exportation.
America, thus standing in need of none of the natural productions of
Europe, and possessing within herself much more numerous, as well as
precious gifts of nature, than any other quarter of the globe, will soon be
able to dispense with the products of foreign industry. Whenever she can
command the necessary stock of knowledge, and a sufficient number of
industrious hands, which emigration, aided by her own increasing
population, will soon place at her disposal, this will inevitably take place.
Where there exist materials, and understanding to use them, the freedom of
using them at pleasure, and security in the enjoyment of the fruits of labour,
the spirit of enterprise is inevitably awakened into life and activity, and with
it must flourish every species of industry:—
"North America," observes the author, "at the commencement of her
revolution, found herself nearly destitute of all mechanical resources
and means of resistance,—whereas now she possesses fortifications,
and plenty of military supplies of all kinds, with the means of
multiplying them, as occasion may require. She has already formed
an efficient, spirited and increasing navy, which will before long
dispute the empire of the seas; she is complete mistress of the
several branches of knowledge, and contains within herself all the
mechanical institutions requisite for the increase and maintenance of
these things. She can equip an army or a navy, without a resort to
Europe, for the most insignificant article."
The author then goes on to express an opinion that the complete
emancipation of South America, which he anticipates as soon to happen,
will lead to similar results, in that portion of the continent, and produce an
entire and final independence, political as well as commercial. He does not
pretend to designate the precise period in which this will take place, but
confines himself to the assertion, that in the natural and inevitable course of
things, it must and will happen, after a determined opposition from
European jealousy.

An inquiry is then commenced, into the possibility that Europe will be
enabled to supply the loss of America, by means of new connexions with
the other quarters of the globe. If she cannot procure a new market for her
surplus manufactures, how is she to acquire the means of purchasing those
productions of the new world, which have become indispensable to her
existence, in the sphere she has hitherto occupied? To do this she must not
only retain in their fullest extent, all the remaining branches of her
commerce, but obtain others, by entering into new connexions with Asia
and Africa, and colonizing new regions. To do this, not only does the
necessary energy seem wanting, but Europe will have to encounter the
competition of America, with all our unequalled celerity of enterprise, and
all our rapidly increasing powers of competition. She is much more likely to
lose her remaining colonies than to acquire new ones; and it approaches to
an extreme degree of probability, that she will be driven from many of her
accustomed branches of commerce, by the superior energy and enterprise of
America, rather than obtain new marts for her manufactures. Already the
North American cottons are finding their way to India, and banishing the
productions of the British looms from the markets of the southern portion of
this continent. The trade to China is already assuming an entire new
character, and will probably before long be carried on without the
instrumentality of Spanish dollars.
We think the positions of our author are eminently entitled to consideration.
The situation of a part of the continent of America, south of the Isthmus of
Darien, is much more favourable to a commercial intercourse with Asia,
western Africa, than that of Europe. The coast of Guinea can be much more
easily visited from Caraccas, Cayenne, and Surinam, than from any portion
of Europe; and the Cape of Good Hope, lying directly to the east of the
great river La Plata, is much better adapted to an intercourse with Rio
Janeiro, and Buenos Ayres, than any of the Dutch or English colonies. The
Isles of France, Bourbon, and Madagascar, situated between the Cape of
Good Hope, and the eastern coast of Africa, are much more suited to a
communication with the new states of South America, than with the mother
countries. Such is the case with the Philippine islands, New-Holland, the
Marquesas, the Friendly and Society islands. The geographical relations
between all these, and different portions of South America, sufficiently
indicate that when the reins shall have fallen from the hands of Europe, the

intercourse will in a great measure change its course, and centre in the new
instead of the old world.
The principle, we are aware, has been assumed, that whatever state supports
the most powerful navy for the protection of its commerce, will always take
the lead. But it hardly now remains a question, whether the states of the
new world will not be able ere long, to direct trade into the free channel
which nature herself seems to point out for all nations, but which the
exorbitant naval power of one has forced into artificial and circuitous
directions.
Europe will not for ever be able to wield the trident of the seas, nor sway
the sceptre of intellectual superiority. There is a time for all things. There
was a time when she borrowed her arts, her literature, her refinements, and
her civilization, from Asia. These are for ever passing from one nation, and
from one continent to another. The descendents of Europeans in the new
world, have not degenerated, and possessing as they do as many advantages
of situation as were ever enjoyed by any people under the sun, with as great
a field for their exercise as was ever presented for human action, it would
be departing from the natural order of things, and the ordinary operations of
the great scheme of Providence; it would be shutting our ears to the voice of
experience, and our eyes to the inevitable connexion of causes and their
effects, were we to reject the extreme probability, not to say moral certainty,
that the old world is destined to receive its impulses in future, from the new.
Already we see the bright dawnings of this new relation, in the universal
diffusion of the spirit of emancipation, first sought in the wilds of America.
It was there that was first lighted that spark which is now animating and
stimulating the nations of the old world to become free and happy like
ourselves. The unshackled genius of the new world is now exerting itself
with gigantic vigour, aided by the infinite treasures of nature, to strengthen
its powers, increase its commerce, its resources, and its wealth. No other
quarter of the globe, much less a single nation, will eventually be able to
dispute the empire of the seas, with the new world.
We shall devote the remainder of this article to a consideration of events
which have occurred in Europe since the publication of the work before us,
which richly merits a better translation, as well as a republication in this
country. This course is necessary to our purpose, although it is our humble

opinion, that the writers and publications of this country, give a
disproportionate attention to the affairs of other people, and of consequence,
neglect our own. Let us look to ourselves; preserve the purity of the
national manners and institutions—foster our natural and accidental
advantages, and observe, and gather lessons of wisdom as well as
moderation from the folly and excesses of rulers and people in the old
superannuated world. Above all, let us ever bear in mind and continue to act
upon the sentiment of Daniel Webster, and be careful that "while other
nations are moulding their governments after ours, we do not break the
pattern."
The present state of Europe, we think, offers additional probabilities to the
theory laid down in the work of the Danish philosopher. Two great
principles are now approaching to a struggle, which will, in all human
probability, ere long, produce not only wars, but the worst of wars, internal
dissensions, aggravated by external struggles with foreign powers.
Although the principle of emancipation is common to the revolution of
America, and the revolutionary spirit now at work in Europe, all other
circumstances are essentially different. With us, it was throwing off a
dominion seated at a vast distance beyond the seas, and only known among
us by its representatives. In Europe, on the contrary, it is a central power
existing in the heart, and pervading every portion of the body politic. A
revolution then, must overturn thrones, church establishments, standing
armies, hereditary orders, and prejudices hallowed by ages of reverence and
submission. The whole frame and organization of society must be
dissolved, changed into new elements, and be arranged into new forms.
The enemies of statu quo, and the genius of change, are now arraying their
respective powers, and in proportion as the people have been debarred from
all participation in the government, will be their ardour to govern without
controul. Such a struggle cannot end in a day, or in a year,—nor will it be
decided in all probability, except through a long series of gradations, which
will finally rest at last on a basis suitable to the present state of the human
mind. We cannot, therefore, but anticipate heavy times for Europe. A long
course of internal and external wars, is fatal to the great interests of a state.
Commerce decays, and seeks other more peaceful climes—agriculture is
robbed of its labourers, and of the products of labour, to recruit and feed the
armies,—and manufacturers are deprived of their foreign purchasers. The

powers of the intellect, too, are diverted from the pursuits of science and
literature, into the bloody paths of warfare,—and thus it has ever happened,
that a long continuance of national struggles, produces a neglect of the arts
of peace, and an approach to barbarism.
Insecurity of property is one of the inevitable consequences of civil wars.
The products of the land are the common stock of plunder for both parties,
and the land itself becomes a prey to confiscation. At this day, a vast portion
of the wealth of Europe is vested in stocks, which are still more fatally
operated upon by civil wars. Their value, in fact, becomes, in such a state of
things, merely nominal; and it depends upon the success of one or other of
the parties in the struggle, whether they again attain to their original prices,
or become worthless. Such a crisis seems fast approaching in Europe. When
once the conflicting elements of anarchy and despotism commence their
warfare, who shall say where and when it will end? Prophecy, in this case,
would be presumption,—when it does end, the result will be equally
uncertain. Whether a chastened freedom, guarantied by a fair representation
of the people in the governments, a despotism without limits, or an anarchy
without controul, is beyond the reach of human foresight to predict.
One thing, however, we think, is certain. This unsettled state of life, liberty
and property, in Europe, will produce a vast accession of wealth and
population in the new world, and accelerate its progress to the sceptre of
intellect and power, hitherto, for so long a time, wielded by the old. The
neighbouring nations of Europe, being all nearly in the same state of
internal insecurity, afford no safe refuge to fugitives or property, from each
other—even if their national antipathies did not present a barrier to
emigration. The United States, on the contrary, with nothing to disturb their
tranquillity, but the peaceable struggles of an election, and stretching out a
hand of welcome to all nations, and all ranks of mankind, from the exiled
monarch to the mechanic or peasant, coming in search of employment and
bread, will present a safe deposit for the wealth of Europe,—a sanctuary
where the persecuted, the harassed, and the timid spirit, may find repose
from the storms that vex his native land.
Thus, to our native energy, intelligence, and resources, will be added a large
portion of those of the other quarter of the world, and the united result, in
all human probability, must be the fulfilment of the great prophecy, that the

empire of the world was travelling towards the setting sun. The sceptre will
depart from the east, and be wielded by the west. Power, dominion, science,
literature, and the arts, hitherto the satellites of despotism, will become the
bright and beautiful handmaids of a brighter goddess than themselves, and
the glory of Europe, like that of Asia, be preserved in her history and her
traditions.
The anticipation is as rational as glorious to an American. Look at the state
of Europe once more, and separate it into its constituent parts. Let us begin
with France. What has she gained by her revolution of July but a branch of
the same tree, in the room of the rotten trunk? Has she won freedom or
repose? Not even the freedom of complaint,—nor any other repose, but the
repose of the National Guards. What is the cry of the people of Paris? Not
liberty alone, but "give us employment and bread." Thus irritated by a
feeling of disappointment on one hand, and goaded on by hunger, can they
stop where they are? Certainly not; it is not in the nature of man, nor the
nature of things. Two such impulses can only be satisfied by the grant of
their demands, and only quelled by force.
Look at the great rival of France on the opposite side of the channel. The
same mighty evils are at work there—discontent aggravated by hunger. At
the moment we are writing, a question is depending in the Parliament of
England, which agitates the island to its centre, and the decision of which,
either one way or other, is acknowledged by both parties to amount to the
signal of a revolution. The opponents of the Bill of Reform maintain, that, if
carried, it will destroy the basis of the government; and the advocates
assert, that, if not carried, it will produce a revolution, originating in the
disappointment and indignation of the people.
Will the aristocracy of England—the most wealthy and powerful aristocracy
in the world—voluntarily, and without a mighty struggle, divest themselves
of one of their chief sources of power in the state. Will they sacrifice their
parliamentary influence, which constitutes one of the regular modes and
means of providing for younger sons and poor relations? Nay, which
enables them to dictate to their sovereign? We believe not. Will the people
remain quiet under the disappointment of their newborn hopes, aggravated
as it will be by poverty and distress, among so large a number? Perhaps
they will, so long as there is an army of sixty or eighty thousand men,

disposed so happily for the protection of order in the United Kingdom, that
every breath of discontent is met by a bayonet. But let the monarchs who
maintain order in Europe, by means of standing armies, recollect the lesson
of history, which teaches us, that throughout all ages, and countries, the
power which sustained the throne by force, in the end by force overthrew it.
There is but one solid permanent support of power, and that is, the
attachment of the people.
In the present state of Europe, we incline to the opinion that the safest
course for kings to take, would be to identify themselves with the people,
and become the organs of their wishes. We see no other means for the
present King of England to make head successfully against the weight of
the opposition of the church and nobility, in case he decisively sustains the
present ministry in their plans of parliamentary reform, than to make
common cause with his people, and say to them honestly, "I have become
your champion, do you become my supporters." The government of
England is acknowledged on all hands to be a mixed government of king,
lords, and commons. Who represents the commons of England? The House
of Commons. But can it do this effectually, while a large portion of the
members are returned by the House of Lords? We should think not. The
spirit and purity of the system can only be preserved by the commons, and
the commons alone, selecting their representatives in their own house, and
not the nobility. Does the House of Commons interfere in the same way in
the creation of the members of the House of Lords? They have no voice or
influence in the business. Why, then, should the House of Lords interfere in
the election, or appointment rather, of the members of the House of
Commons? In this point of view, therefore, we can perceive no sort of
foundation for the argument of the opponents of reform, that the measure
will operate to destroy the balance of the government. We rather think it
will restore the balance, and bring it back to the true old theory of three
distinct powers—king, lords, and commons.
We believe that the people will be satisfied with this reform for a time, if it
take place. When they shall see, as no doubt they will see, that the burthens
of the state, and consequently their own, remain the same, or perhaps
increase with the increase of those who require relief, and the decrease of
those who are able to bestow it; when they shall find that a reform in
Parliament will not give them liberal wages, or feed their suffering families,

then will they become more dissatisfied than ever. Then, too, will the result
disclose where the shoe of reform pinched the opponents of reform. The
increased representation of the people will then enable the people to make
themselves heard and felt, and to force the government into measures that
may indeed destroy the constitution of England, if there be any such
invisible being. Whichever way we look, therefore, we perceive the same
causes of discontent, the same spirit of emancipation at work, that agitates
the continent of Europe; and so long as this state of things continues, it
requires no spirit of prophecy to predict, that England, so far from
advancing in power or intelligence, will, in all probability, invincibly slide
from the summit of power, and become the victim of internal weakness at
last.
The state of Holland and Belgium, of Italy and Germany, and Russia and
Prussia, and Spain and Poland, is still more unfavourable to arts, science,
commerce, literature, and agriculture. The rulers are employed in schemes
for keeping the people in subjugation, and the people in wresting the
promised privileges from their rulers. In such a state of things, the one party
has no time to devise schemes for enriching or enlightening the people, but
is employed, on the contrary, in placing them, as far as possible, in
ignorance and poverty. The other is so taken up with politics, that its habits
of economy, steadiness, and enterprise, are forgotten by degrees in the
whirlpool of turbulent excitement. Each and all of these countries, with the
exception perhaps of Russia, instead of advancing, will gradually recede in
wealth and intelligence, not only from internal dissensions, but on account
of the large portion of both, that will from time to time, as long as this state
of things shall last, direct its course to the new world.
The change from old to new times; from the inapplicable maxims of the
past, to the practical truths of the present, has, every where, and in all past
ages, been a period of suffering to the human race. The approaches to this
state of regeneration, are marked by turbulent disaffection on one hand,
inflexible severity on the other; its progress is marked by the dissolution of
the social ties, and its crisis with blood and tears. The people have to
encounter the most formidable difficulties, under which they probably sink
many times, before they rise at last and make the great successive effort.
These evils are aggravated and perpetuated as long as possible, by the stern
inflexible rigidity of old-established institutions, worthless in proportion to

their obstinacy, aided by the blind besotted pride of kings, who seem never
to have learnt the lesson of yielding to the changes produced by time and
circumstance, and sacrificing gracefully, what will otherwise be taken from
them by force.
But all that is great, or good, or valuable, in this world, must be attained by
labour, perseverance, courage, and integrity. Liberty is too valuable a
blessing to be gained or preserved without the exercise of these great
virtues. It must have its victims, and its charter must be sealed with blood.
A people afraid of a bayonet, are not likely to be free while Europe swarms
with standing armies, having little or no community of interests or feeling
with those who maintain them by the sweat of their brow. When the
oppressed states of Switzerland, sent forth patriots who made a breach in
the forest of German bayonets opposed to them, by circling them in their
arms, and receiving them into their bosoms, they deserved to be free—they
became free, and their liberties are still preserved. But so long as a host
often thousand brawling and hungry malcontents, can be quieted and
dispersed by the sound of a bugle, the clattering of a horse's hoofs, or the
glittering of a musket barrel, can such people expect to be free? Assuredly
not, we think. No where will despotism or aristocracy peaceably resign their
long established preponderance without a struggle, and like our own
revolution, the contest will at last come to the crisis—"we must fight, Mr.
Speaker, we must fight," as said the intrepid Patrick Henry,—and we did
fight. So must Europe if it expects emancipation. All the governments of
that quarter of the globe, are now sustained by a military force—and by
force only can they be overthrown or modified, to suit the great changes
which have taken place in the feelings and relative situation of the different
orders of society.
That the present state and future prospects of that renowned and illustrious
quarter of the globe, are ominous of a continued succession of storms and
troubles, we think appears too obvious. The night that is approaching, will
be long and dark, in all human probability—it may end in a total
regeneration—in a confirmed and inflexible despotism; or in that precise
state of things which characterized what are called, the dark ages of Europe
—in the establishment of a hundred petty states, governed by a hundred
petty tyrants, eternally at variance, and agreeing in nothing but in
oppressing the people. Great standing armies are at present the conservators

of the great powers of Europe, and public sentiment is no longer the sole or
principal cement of empires; when these are gone, as they must be, ere the
nations which they oppress can be free, then all the little sectional and
provincial jealousies and antipathies, every real or imaginary opposition of
interests, and even feelings of personal rivalry, will have an opportunity of
coming into full play, and the result may very probably be, the erection of a
vast many petty states, which will never be brought to act together in any
great system of policy. Thus situated, they will never be able to make head
against the growing power of the vast states of the new world, which
whatever may be their minor causes of difference, will naturally unite in
those views of commercial policy, which being common to all, will be
sought by a common effort.
The South American states, it is true, have not yet realized the blessings of
emancipation, partly owing to their inexperience in the practical secrets of
civil liberty; partly to the want of public virtue in the people, and their
rulers, and partly, as we are much inclined to suspect, to the secret intrigues
of more than one European power. But their natural and inevitable tendency
is, we believe, towards a stable government, combining a complete
independence of foreign powers, with such a portion of civil liberty as may
suit their present circumstances and situation. They are serving their
apprenticeship—they will soon be out of their time, and may safely set up
for themselves.
But, however doubtful may be the final result of the great struggle between
the kings and the people—or of the aristocracy and the people—for this
seems to be the real struggle after all—whatever may be its final result, one
thing is certain as fate. While it continues, it must inevitably arrest the
prosperity of Europe, such as it is, and force it to retrograde for a time.
Instead of devoting their attention to the interests of the nation abroad, and
encouraging the industry and intelligence of the people at home, kings will
be employed in watching and restraining their subjects. Fearing the
intelligence and wealth, as the means of increasing their discontents as well
as their power, they will seek to diminish both by new restraints or new
exactions; and thus the best ends of government will be perverted to
purposes of ignorance and oppression. This is the history of the
degradation, and consequent internal weakness of all nations, and a
perseverance in such a course in Europe, will only afford another example,

that the same effects proceed from similar causes, every where, and at all
times.
In the mean while, as oppression, civil wars, internal disaffection, anarchy,
and expatriation of wealth and numbers, all combined, are gradually
undermining the strength of Europe, and draining her veins, the new world
will be, in all human probability, every day acquiring what the old is losing.
If she once pass the other, if it be only by the breadth of a single hair, it is
scarcely to be anticipated that age and decrepitude will ever be able to
regain the vantage ground, against the primitive energies of vigorous youth.
Once ahead, and the new world will remain so, until the ever revolving
course of time, and the revolutions it never fails to accomplish, shall
perhaps again transfer to Asia the sceptre of arts, science, literature, power,
and dominion, which was wrested from her by Europe.
To realize these bold anticipations, nothing seems necessary but for the
people of the United States to bear in mind, that they are the patriarchs of
modern emancipation—that the spark which animates the people of Europe
was caught from them—that they led the way in the great common cause of
all mankind—that the eyes of the world are upon them—and that they stand
under a solemn obligation to do nothing themselves, to suffer their leaders
to do nothing, which shall bring the sacred name of liberty into disgrace, or
endanger the integrity of our great confederation. "While other nations are
moulding their governments after ours, may we not destroy the pattern."
[4] Hutchinson's History of Massachusetts, Vol. I, pages 84, 85.

Art. VII.—Speeches and Forensic Arguments, by Daniel Webster:
8vo. pp. 520. Boston: 1830.

It has often enough been objected to books written and published in the
United States, that they want a national air, tone, and temper. Unhappily,
too, the complaint has not unfrequently been well founded; but the volume

before us is a striking exception to all such remarks. It consists of a
collection of Mr. Webster's Public Addresses, Speeches in Congress, and
Forensic Arguments, printed chiefly from pamphlets, already well known;
and it is marked throughout, to an uncommon degree, with the best
characteristics of a generous nationality. No one, indeed, can open it,
without perceiving that, whatever it contains, must have been the work of
one born and educated among our free institutions,—formed in their spirit,
and animated and sustained by their genius and power. The subjects
discussed, and the interests maintained in it, are entirely American; and
many of them are so important, that they are already become prominent
parts of our history. As we turn over its pages, therefore, and see how
completely Mr. Webster has identified himself with the great institutions of
the country, and how they, in their turn, have inspired and called forth the
greatest efforts of his uncommon mind, we feel as if the sources of his
strength, and the mystery by which it controuls us, were, in a considerable
degree, interpreted. We feel that, like the fabulous giant of antiquity, he
gathers it from the very earth that produced him; and our sympathy and
interest, therefore, are excited, not less by the principle on which his power
so much depends, than by the subjects and occasions on which it is so
strikingly put forth. We understand better than we did before, not only why
we have been drawn to him, but why the attraction that carried us along,
was at once so cogent and so natural.
When, however, such a man appears before the nation, the period of his
youth and training is necessarily gone by. It is only as a distinguished
member of the General Government,—probably in one of the two Houses
of Congress, that he first comes, as it were, into the presence of the great
mass of his countrymen. But, before he can arrive there, he has, in the vast
majority of cases, reached the full stature of his strength, and developed all
the prominent peculiarities of his character. Much, therefore, of what is
most interesting in relation to him,—much of what goes to make up his
individuality and momentum, and without which, neither his elevation nor
his conduct can be fully understood or estimated, is known only in the
circle of his private friends, or, at most, in that section of the country from
which he derives his origin. In this way, we are ignorant of much that it
concerns us to know about many of our distinguished statesmen; but about
none, probably, are we more relatively ignorant than about Mr. Webster,

who is eminently one of those persons, whose professional and political
career cannot be fairly or entirely understood, unless we have some
acquaintance with the circumstances of his origin, and of his early history,
taken in connection with his whole public life. We were, therefore,
disappointed, on opening the present volume, not to find prefixed to it a full
biographical notice of him. We were, indeed, so much disappointed and felt
so fully persuaded, that neither the contents of the volume itself, nor the
sources of its author's power, nor his position before the nation, could be
properly comprehended without it, that we determined at once to connect
whatever we should say on any of these subjects, by such notices of his life,
as we might be able to collect under unfavourable circumstances. We only
regret that our efforts have not been more successful,—and that our notices,
therefore, are few and imperfect.
Mr. Webster was born in Salisbury, a farming town of New-Hampshire, at
the head of the Merrimack, in 1782. His father, always a farmer, was a man
of a strongly marked and vigorous character,—full of decision, integrity,
firmness, and good sense. He served under Lord Amherst, in the French
war, that ended in 1763; and, in the war of the Revolution, he commanded a
company chiefly composed of his own towns-people and friends, who
gladly fought under his leading nearly every campaign, and at whose head
he was found, in the battle of Bennington, at the White Plains, and at West-
Point, when Arnold's treason was discovered. He died about the year 1806;
and, at the time of his death, had filled, for many years, the office of Judge
of the Court of Common Pleas, for the state of New-Hampshire.
But, during the early part of Mr. Webster's life, the place of his birth, now
the centre of a flourishing and happy population, was on the frontiers of
civilization. His father had been one of the very first settlers, and had even
pushed further into the wilderness than the rest, so that the smoke sent up
amidst the solitude of the forest, from the humble dwelling in which Mr.
Webster was himself born, marked, for some time, the ultimate limit of
New England adventure at the North. Undoubtedly, in any other country,
the sufferings, privations, and discouragements inevitable in such a life,
would have precluded all thought of intellectual culture. But, in New
England, ever since the first free school was established amidst the woods
that covered the peninsula of Boston, in 1636, the school-master has been
found on the border line between savage and civilized life, often indeed

with an axe to open his own path, but always looked up to with respect, and
always carrying with him a valuable and preponderating influence.
It is to this characteristic trait of New England policy, that we owe the first
development of Mr. Webster's powers, and the original determination of his
whole course in life; for, unless the school had sought him in the forest, his
father's means would not have been sufficient to send him down into the
settlements to seek the school. The first upward step, therefore, would have
been wanting; and it is not at all probable, that any subsequent exertions on
his own part, would have enabled him to retrieve it. The value of such a
benefit cannot, indeed, be measured; but it seems to have been his good
fortune to be able in part, at least, to repay it; for no man has explained with
such simplicity and force as he has explained them, the very principles and
foundations on which the free schools of New England rest, or shown, with
such a feeling of their importance and value, how truly the free institutions
of our country must be built on the education of all. We allude now to his
remarks in the Convention of Massachusetts, where, speaking of the
support of schools, he says:—

"In this particular we may be allowed to claim a merit of a very high and
peculiar character. This commonwealth, with other of the New England
states, early adopted, and has constantly maintained the principle, that it is
the undoubted right, and the bounden duty of government, to provide for
the instruction of all youth. That which is elsewhere left to chance, or to
charity, we secure by law. For the purpose of public instruction, we hold
every man subject to taxation, in proportion to his property, and we look not
to the question, whether he, himself, have or have not children to be
benefited by the education for which he pays. We regard it as a wise and
liberal system of police, by which property, and life, and the peace of
society are secured. We seek to prevent, in some measure, the extension of
the penal code, by inspiring a salutary and conservative principle of virtue,
and of knowledge, in an early age. We hope to excite a feeling of
respectability, and a sense of character, by enlarging the capacity, and
increasing the sphere of intellectual enjoyment. By general instruction, we
seek, as far as possible, to purify the whole moral atmosphere; to keep good
sentiments uppermost, and to turn the strong current of feeling and opinion,
as well as the censures of the law, and the denunciations of religion, against
immorality and crime. We hope for a security, beyond the law, and above
the law, in the prevalence of enlightened and well principled moral
sentiment. We hope to continue and to prolong the time, when, in the
villages and farm houses of New England, there may be undisturbed sleep,
within unbarred doors. And knowing that our government rests directly on
the public will, that we may preserve it, we endeavour to give a safe and
proper direction to that public will. We do not, indeed, expect all men to be
philosophers, or statesmen; but we confidently trust, and our expectation of
the duration of our system of government rests on that trust, that by the
diffusion of general knowledge, and good and virtuous sentiments, the
political fabric may be secure, as well against open violence and overthrow,
as against the slow but sure undermining of licentiousness." pages 209, 210.
"I rejoice, Sir, that every man in this community may call all property his
own, so far as he has occasion for it, to furnish for himself and his children
the blessings of religious instruction and the elements of knowledge. This
celestial, and this earthly light, he is entitled to by the fundamental laws. It
is every poor man's undoubted birth-right, it is the great blessing which this
constitution has secured to him, it is his solace in life, and it may well be his

consolation in death, that his country stands pledged, by the faith which it
has plighted to all its citizens, to protect his children from ignorance,
barbarism and vice." p. 211.
How Mr. Webster's education was advanced immediately after he left these
primary schools, is, we believe, not known. It was, however, with great
sacrifices on the part of his family, and severe struggles on his own. At last,
when he was fifteen or sixteen years old, after a very imperfect preparation,
he was entered at Dartmouth College; at least, so we infer, for he was
graduated there in 1801. What were his principal or favourite pursuits
during the three or four years of his academic life, we do not know. We
remember, however, to have met formerly, one of his classmates, who
spoke with the liveliest interest of the generous and delightful spirit he
showed among his earliest friends and competitors, in the midst of whom,
he manifested, from the first, aspirations entirely beyond his condition, and,
when the first year was passed, developed faculties which left all rivalship
far behind him. Indeed, it is known, in many ways, that, by those who were
acquainted with him at this period of his life, he was already regarded as a
marked man; and that, to the more sagacious of them, the honours of his
subsequent career have not been unexpected.
Immediately after leaving college, he began the study of the law in the
place of his nativity, with Mr. Thompson, soon afterwards a member of
Congress; a gentleman who, from the elevation of his character, was able to
comprehend that of his pupil and contribute to unfold its powers. But the
res augustæ domi pressed hard upon him. He was compelled to exert
himself for his own support; and his professional studies were frequently
interrupted and impaired by pursuits, which ended only in obtaining what
was needful for his mere subsistence.
Circumstances connected with his condition and wants at this time, led him
to Boston, and carried him, when there, into the office of Mr. Gore. This
was, undoubtedly, one of the deciding circumstances of his life. Mr. Gore
was a lawyer of eminence, and a gentleman, in the loftiest and most
generous meaning of the word. His history was already connected with that
of the country. He had been appointed district attorney of the United States
for Massachusetts, by Washington; he had served in England as our
commissioner under Jay's treaty; and he was afterwards governor of his

native state, and its senator in Congress. His whole character, private,
political, and professional, from its elevation, purity and dignity, was
singularly fitted to influence a young man of quick and generous feelings,
who already perceived within himself the impulse of talents and the
stirrings of an ambition whose direction was yet to be determined. Mr.
Webster felt, that it was well for him to be there; and Mr. Gore obtained an
influence over his young mind, which the peculiarly kind and frank
manners of the instructer permitted early to ripen into an intimacy and
friendship that were interrupted only by death.
Mr. Webster finished the study of his profession in Boston, and was there
admitted to the bar in 1805;—Mr. Gore, who presented him, venturing, at
the time, to make a prediction to the court respecting his pupil's future
eminence, which has been hardly more than fulfilled by all his present
fame. At first, he began the practice of his profession in Boscawen, a small
village adjacent to the place of his birth; but in 1807, he removed to
Portsmouth, where, no doubt, he thought he was establishing himself for
life.
As a young lawyer, about to lay the foundations for future success, his
portion could, perhaps, hardly have been rendered more fortunate and
happy than it was now in Portsmouth. He rose rapidly in general regard, and
was, therefore, almost at once, ranked with the first in his profession in his
native state. Of course, his associations and intercourse were with the first
minds. And, happily for one like him, the presiding judge of the highest
tribunal in New-Hampshire was then Mr. Smith, afterwards governor of the
state, whose native clearness of perception, acuteness, and power, united to
faithful and accurate learning in his profession, and the soundest and most
practical wisdom in the fulfilment of his duties on the bench, and in his
intercourse with the bar, gave him naturally and necessarily great influence
over its younger members. Mr. Webster, as the most prominent among
them, came much in contact with him, and profited much from his
sagacious foresight and wise and discriminating kindness. He came, too,
still more in contact with Mr. Mason, afterwards a senator in Congress, and
then and still the leading counsel in New-Hampshire. Mr. Mason was his
senior by several years, but there was no other adversary capable of
encountering him; and the intellect with which Mr. Webster was thus called
to contend on equal terms was one of the highest order, of ample resources,

and of the quickest penetration; whose original reach, firm grasp, and
unsparing logic, left no safety for an adversary, but in a vigour, readiness
and skill, which could never be taken unprepared or at disadvantage. It was
a severe school; but there is little reason to doubt, Mr. Webster owes to its
stern and rugged discipline much of that intellectual training and power,
which render him, in his turn, so formidable an adversary. He owes to it,
also, notwithstanding their uniform and daily opposition in court, the no
less uniform personal friendship of Mr. Mason in private life.
It was in the midst, however, of this period, both of discipline and success
as a lawyer, in New-Hampshire, that he entered public life. In the
government of his native state, we believe, he never took office of any kind;
and his first political place, therefore, was in the thirteenth Congress of the
United States. He was chosen in 1812, soon after the declaration of war;
and as he was then hardly thirty years old, he must have been one of the
youngest members of that important Congress. His position there was
difficult, and he felt it to be so. He was opposed to the policy of the war; he
represented a state earnestly opposed to it; and he had always, especially in
the eloquent and powerful memorial from the great popular meeting in
Rockingham, expressed himself fully and frankly on the whole subject. But
he was now called into the councils of the government, which was carrying
on the war itself. He felt it to be his duty, therefore, to make no factious
opposition to the measures essential to maintain the dignity and honour of
the country; to make no opposition for opposition's sake; though, at the
same time, he felt it to be no less his duty, to take good heed that neither the
constitution, nor the essential interests of the nation, were endangered or
sacrificed—ne quid detrimenti respublica accipiat. This, indeed, seems to
have been his motto up to the time of the peace; and his tone in relation to it
is always manly, bold, and decisive. When Mr. Monroe's bill for a sort of
conscription was introduced, he joined with Mr. Eppes, and other friends of
the administration, in defeating a project, which, except in a moment of
great anxiety and excitement, would probably have found no defenders. But
when, on the other hand, the bill for "encouraging enlistments" was before
the house, he held, in January 1814, the following strong and striking
language, in which, now the passions of that stormy period are hushed, all
will sympathize.

"The humble aid which it would be in my power to render to
measures of government, shall be given cheerfully, if government
will pursue measures which I can conscientiously support. If, even
now, failing in an honest and sincere attempt to procure a just and
honourable peace, it will return to measures of defence and
protection, such as reason, and common sense, and the public
opinion, all call for, my vote shall not be withholden from the
means. Give up your futile projects of invasion. Extinguish the fires
that blaze on your inland frontiers. Establish perfect safety and
defence there by adequate force. Let every man that sleeps on your
soil sleep in security. Stop the blood that flows from the veins of
unarmed yeomanry, and women and children. Give to the living
time to bury and lament their dead, in the quietness of private
sorrow. Having performed this work of beneficence and mercy on
your inland border, turn, and look with the eye of justice and
compassion on your vast population along the coast. Unclench the
iron grasp of your embargo. Take measures for that end before
another sun sets upon you. With all the war of the enemy on your
commerce, if you would cease to make war upon it yourselves, you
would still have some commerce. That commerce would give you
some revenue. Apply that revenue to the augmentation of your navy.
That navy, in turn, will protect your commerce. Let it no longer be
said, that not one ship of force, built by your hands since the war,
yet floats upon the ocean. Turn the current of your efforts into the
channel, which national sentiment has already worn broad and deep
to receive it. A naval force, competent to defend your coast against
considerable armaments, to convoy your trade, and perhaps raise the
blockade of your rivers, is not a chimera. It may be realized. If,
then, the war must continue, go to the ocean. If you are seriously
contending for maritime rights, go to the theatre, where alone those
rights can be defended. Thither every indication of your fortunes
points you. There the united wishes and exertions of the nation will
go with you. Even our party divisions, acrimonious as they are,
cease at the water's edge. They are lost in attachment to the national
character, on the element where that character is made respectable.
In protecting naval interests by naval means, you will arm
yourselves with the whole power of national sentiment, and may

command the whole abundance of the national resource. In time,
you may be enabled to redress injuries in the place where they may
be offered; and, if need be, to accompany your own flag throughout
the world with the protection of your own cannon."[5] Speech, pp.
14, 15.
Later in the same Congress, the subject of the establishment and principles
of a national bank came into discussion, and the finances of the country
being then greatly embarrassed, this subject rose to paramount importance,
and absorbed much of the attention of Congress up to the moment when the
annunciation of peace put a period, for the time, to all such debates. On the
whole matter of the bank and the currency, Congress was divided into three
parties. First, those who were against a national bank under any form. These
persons consisted chiefly of the remains of the old party, which had
originally opposed the establishment of the first bank in Washington's time,
in 1791, and in 1811 had prevented the renewal of its charter. They were,
however, generally, friends of the existing administration, whose position
now called strongly for the creation of a new bank; and, therefore, while
they usually voted on preliminary and incidental measures with the
favourers of a bank, they voted, on the final passage of the bill, against it;
so that it was much easier to defeat the whole of any one project, than to
carry through any modification of it. Second, there was a party consisting
almost entirely of friends of the administration, who wished for a bank,
provided it were such a one as they thought would not only regulate the
currency of the country, and facilitate the operations of the government, but
also afford present and important aid by heavy loans, which the bank was to
be compelled to make, and to enable it to do which, it was to be relieved
from the necessity of paying its notes in specie;—in other words, it was a
party that wished to authorize and establish a paper currency for the whole
country. The third party wished for a bank with a moderate capital,
compelled always to redeem its notes with specie, and at liberty to judge for
itself, when it would, and when it would not, make loans to the government.
The second party, of course, was the one that introduced into Congress the
project for a bank at this time. The bill was originally presented to the
Senate; and its main features were, that the bank should absorb a large
amount of the depreciated public debt of the United States, and grant to the
government heavy loans on the security of a similar debt to be created; that

its capital should consist of fifty millions of dollars, of which five millions
only were to be specie, and the rest depreciated government securities; and
that the bank, when required, should lend the government thirty millions. At
the time when this plan was brought forward, all the numerous state banks
south of New-England had refused to redeem their notes, or, as it was called
"to ears polite," had "suspended specie payments," in consequence of
which, their notes had fallen in value from 10 to 25 per cent., and specie, of
course, had risen proportionally in value, and disappeared from circulation
entirely. To afford the contemplated national bank any chance for carrying
on its operations, or even for beginning them, it was to be authorized "to
suspend specie payments," which meant, that it was to be authorized never
to begin them; for, without this authority, their specie would be drained the
moment their notes should be issued equal to its amount. On the other hand,
all the taxes and revenues of the government were to be receivable in the
paper of the bank, however much it might fall in value. In short, the whole
scheme was one of those vast Serbonian bogs, where, from the days of
Laws's Mississippi Company, armies whole of legislators and projectors
have sunk, without leaving even a monument behind them to warn their
followers of their fate.
We must not, however, be extravagantly astonished, that a project which we
now know was in its nature so wild and dangerous, should have found
favourers and advocates. The finances of the country were then in a critical,
and even distressing position; and all men were anxious to devise some
means to relieve them. A large part of the nation, too, sincerely entertained
the chimerical notion, now universally exploded, that it was practicable to
establish and maintain a safe and stable paper currency, even when not
convertible into specie at the pleasure of the holder; and the example of
England and its national bank was referred to with effect, though, from its
history since, the same example could now be referred to with double effect
on the other side of the discussion. After an earnest and able debate, then,
the bill, on the whole, passed the Senate, and it was understood that a
considerable majority of the House of Representatives was in its favour.
When brought there on the 9th of December, 1814, it excited a very
animated discussion, which, with various interruptions from the forms and
rules of the House, references to committees, and occasional adjournments,
was continued till the 2d of January. In this protracted debate Mr. Webster

took a conspicuous part; and his efforts, of which the speech now published
is but an inconsiderable item, did much to avert the threatened evil, and to
establish his reputation, not merely as an eloquent and powerful debater,
which had already been settled in the previous session, but as a sagacious
and sound statesman.
His principal opposition to the bill was made on the last day of its
discussion. He then introduced a series of resolutions, bringing the bank
proposed within the limits of the specie-paying principle, and taking off
from it the restraints, which placed it too much within the power of the
government to make it useful as a monied institution, either to the finances
or to the commerce of the country. The objections to the plan then before
Congress, and the disasters that would probably follow its adoption, he
portrayed in the following strong language, which none, however, will now
think to have been too strong.
"The capital of the bank, then, will be five millions of specie, and forty-five
millions of government stocks. In other words, the bank will possess five
millions of dollars, and the government will owe it forty-five millions. This
debt from government, the bank is restrained from selling during the war,
and government is excused from paying until it shall see fit. The bank is
also to be under obligation to loan government thirty millions of dollars on
demand, to be repaid, not when the convenience or necessity of the bank
may require, but when debts due to the bank, from government, are paid;
that is, when it shall be the good pleasure of government. This sum of thirty
millions is to supply the necessities of government, and to supersede the
occasion of other loans. This loan will doubtless be made on the first day of
the existence of the bank, because the public wants can admit of no delay.
Its condition, then, will be, that it has five millions of specie, if it has been
able to obtain so much, and a debt of seventy-five millions, no part of
which it can either sell or call in, due to it from government.
"The loan of thirty millions to government, can only be made by an
immediate issue of bills to that amount. If these bills should return, the bank
will not be able to pay them. This is certain, and to remedy this
inconvenience, power is given to the directors, by the act, to suspend, at
their own discretion, the payment of their notes, until the President of the
United States shall otherwise order. The President will give no such order,

because the necessities of government will compel it to draw on the bank
till the bank becomes as necessitous as itself. Indeed, whatever orders may
be given or withheld it will be utterly impossible for the bank to pay its
notes. No such thing is expected from it. The first note it issues will be
dishonoured on its return, and yet it will continue to pour out its paper, so
long as government can apply it in any degree to its purposes.
"What sort of an institution, sir, is this? It looks less like a bank, than a
department of government. It will be properly the paper-money department.
Its capital is government debts; the amount of its issues will depend on
government necessities; government, in effect, absolves itself from its own
debts to the bank, and by way of compensation absolves the bank from its
own contracts with others. This is, indeed, a wonderful scheme of finance.
The government is to grow rich, because it is to borrow without the
obligation of repaying, and is to borrow of a bank which issues paper,
without liability to redeem it. If this bank, like other institutions which dull
and plodding common sense has erected, were to pay its debts, it must have
some limits to its issues of paper, and therefore, there would be a point
beyond which it could not make loans to government. This would fall short
of the wishes of the contrivers of this system. They provide for an unlimited
issue of paper, in an entire exemption from payment. They found their bank,
in the first place, on the discredit of government, and then hope to enrich
government out of the insolvency of their bank. With them, poverty itself is
the main source of supply, and bankruptcy a mine of inexhaustible
treasure." Pp. 224-5.
The resolutions proposed by Mr. Webster, and supported in this speech,
were not passed. Probably he did not expect them to pass, when he
proposed them; but the same day, the main question was taken upon the
passage of the bill itself; and, as it was rejected by the casting vote of the
speaker, there can be no reasonable doubt, that without his exertions this
portentous absurdity would not have been defeated. It is but justice,
however, to the supporters of the measure, to say, that the mischievous
consequences of its adoption, were by no means so apparent then as they
are now. We have since had no little experience on the whole matter. It
required all the power and influence of the general government, and of the
present sound and specie-paying Bank of the United States, acting
vigorously in concert for several years after the war, to relieve the country

from the flood of depreciated notes of the state banks with which it was
inundated, and to restore a safe and uniform currency. When or how this
evil could have been remedied, if, at the very close of the war, it had been
almost indefinitely increased by the establishment of a vast machine,
issuing every day as much irredeemable paper as would be taken at any and
every discount, and thus co-operating with the evil itself, instead of
opposing it, is more than any man will now be bold enough to conjecture.
We should, no doubt, have been in bondage to it to this hour, and probably
left it as a yoke upon the necks of our children.
But, at the time referred to, the necessities of the government were urgent;
and, on motion of Mr. Webster, the rule that prevented a reconsideration at
the same session of a subject thus disposed of, was suspended the very next
day, and a bill for a bank was on the same day, January 3, recommitted to a
select committee. On the 6th, the committee reported a specie-paying bank,
with a much diminished capital, which was carried in the house, with the
fewest possible forms, on the 7th; Mr. Webster and most of his friends
voting for it. It passed the senate, too, though with some difficulty; but was
refused by the president, on the ground, that it was not sufficient to meet the
exigencies of the case, which, indeed, we now know, no bank would have
been able to meet. This project, however, being thus rejected, another was
immediately introduced into the senate, the basis of which was to be laid,
like that of the first bank proposed, in a paper currency. It passed that body;
but on being brought into the house met a severe and determined
opposition, which ceased only when, on the 17th, the news of peace being
received, the bill was indefinitely postponed.
Mr. Webster's exertions, however, on the subject of the currency, did not
cease with the overthrow of the paper bank system. He was re-elected to
New-Hampshire for the fourteenth Congress, and sat there during the
sessions of 1815-16; and 1816-17. The whole state of things in the nation
was now changed. The war was over, and the great purpose of sound
statesmanship was therefore to bring the healing and renovating influences
of peace into the administration and finances of the country. The present
bank was chartered in April 1816, and was placed, substantially on the
principles maintained in Mr. Webster's resolutions of the preceding year.
But still it seemed doubtful whether this institution, however wisely
managed, would alone have power enough to restore a sound currency. The

small depreciated notes of the state banks south of New-England, still filled
the land with their loathed intrusion; and, what was worse, the revenue of
the general government, receivable at the different custom-houses, was
collected in this degraded paper, to the great injury of the finances of the
country, and to the still greater injury of the property of private individuals,
who, in different states, paid, of course, different rates of duties to the
treasury, according to the value of the paper medium in which it happened
to be received. Mr. Webster foresaw the mischiefs that must follow from
this state of things, if a remedy were not speedily applied. He, therefore, in
the same month of April 1816, introduced a resolution, the effect of which
was, to require the revenue of the United States to be collected and received
only in the legal currency of the United States, or in bills equal to that
currency in value.
In stating the nature of the evil, after showing by what means the paper of
the state banks south of New-England had become depreciated; he says,—
"What still farther increases the evil is, that this bank paper being
the issue of very many institutions, situated in different parts of the
country, and possessing different degrees of credit, the depreciation
has not been, and is not now, uniform throughout the United States.
It is not the same at Baltimore as at Philadelphia, nor the same at
Philadelphia as at New-York. In New-England, the banks have not
stopped payment in specie, and of course their paper has not been
depressed at all. But the notes of banks which have ceased to pay
specie, have nevertheless been, and still are, received for duties and
taxes in the places where such banks exist. The consequence of all
this is, that the people of the United States pay their duties and taxes
in currencies of different values, in different places. In other words,
taxes and duties are higher in some places than they are in others, by
as much as the value of gold and silver is greater than the value of
the several descriptions of bank paper which are received by
government. This difference in relation to the paper of the District
where we now are, is twenty-five per cent. Taxes and duties,
therefore, collected in Massachusetts, are one quarter higher than
the taxes and duties which are collected, by virtue of the same laws,
in the District of Columbia." Pp. 233-4.

A little further on, after showing that if this state of things is not changed by
the government, it will be likely to change the government itself, he adds,—
"It is our business to foresee this danger, and to avoid it. There are some
political evils which are seen as soon as they are dangerous, and which
alarm at once as well the people as the government. Wars and invasions
therefore are not always the most certain destroyers of national prosperity.
They come in no questionable shape. They announce their own approach,
and the general security is preserved by the general alarm. Not so with the
evils of a debased coin, a depreciated paper currency, or a depressed and
falling public credit. Not so with the plausible and insidious mischiefs of a
paper money system. These insinuate themselves in the shape of facilities,
accommodation, and relief. They hold out the most fallacious hope of an
easy payment of debts, and a lighter burden of taxation. It is easy for a
portion of the people to imagine that government may properly continue to
receive depreciated paper, because they have received it, and because it is
more convenient to obtain it than to obtain other paper, or specie. But on
these subjects it is, that government ought to exercise its own peculiar
wisdom and caution. It is supposed to possess on subjects of this nature,
somewhat more of foresight than has fallen to the lot of individuals. It is
bound to foresee the evil before every man feels it, and to take all necessary
measures to guard against it, although they may be measures attended with
some difficulty and not without temporary inconvenience. In my humble
judgment, the evil demands the immediate attention of Congress. It is not
certain, and in my opinion not probable, that it will ever cure itself. It is
more likely to grow by indulgence, while the remedy which must in the end
be applied, will become less efficacious by delay.
"The only power which the general government possesses of restraining the
issues of the state banks, is to refuse their notes in the receipts of the
treasury. This power it can exercise now, or at least it can provide now for
exercising in reasonable time, because the currency of some part of the
country is yet sound, and the evil is not universal. If it should become
universal, who, that hesitates now, will then propose any adequate means of
relief? If a measure, like the bill of yesterday, or the resolutions of to-day,
can hardly pass here now, what hope is there that any efficient measure will
be adopted hereafter?" pp. 235-6.

The doctrine of this speech is as important as it is true. A sound and uniform
currency is essential, not only for the convenient and safe management of
the fiscal concerns of a government; but, no less so, for the security of
private property. It is, indeed, at once the standard and basis of all transfer
and exchange; and, whenever the circulating medium has become much
deranged in any country, it has been found an arduous, and sometimes a
dangerous task, to restore it to a sound state. The effort almost necessarily
brings on a conflict between the two great classes of debtor and creditor,
into which every community is divided,—the creditor claiming the highest
standard of value in the currency, and the debtor the lowest; and the results
of such a conflict have not unfrequently been found in changes,
convulsions, and political revolution. From such a conflict we were saved in
this country, by the defeat of the paper-currency bank proposed in 1814,—
by the establishment of the present specie paying bank, and by the adoption
of Mr. Webster's resolution, which was approved by the President on the
30th of April, 1816.
It was at this period, however, that Mr. Webster determined to change his
residence, and, of course, to retire for a time at least, from public life. He
had now lived in Portsmouth nine years; and they had been to him years of
great happiness in his private relations, and, in his relations to the country,
years of remarkable advancement and honour. But, in the disastrous fire,
which, in 1813, destroyed a large part of that devoted town, he had
sustained a heavy loss, which the means and opportunities offered by his
profession in New Hampshire were not likely to repair. He determined,
therefore, to establish himself in a larger capital, where his resources would
be more ample, and, in the summer of 1816, removed to Boston, where he
has ever since resided.
His object now was professional occupation, and he devoted himself to it
for six or eight years exclusively, with unremitting assiduity, refusing to
accept office, or to mingle in political discussion. His success corresponded
to his exertions. He was already known as a distinguished lawyer in his
native state; and the two terms he had served in Congress, had placed him,
notwithstanding his comparative youth, among the prominent statesmen of
the country. His rank as a jurist, in the general regard of the nation, was
now no less speedily determined. Like many other eminent members of the
profession, however, who have rarely been able to select at first what cases

should be entrusted to them, it was not for him to arrange or determine the
time and the occasion, when his powers should be decisively measured and
made known. We must, therefore, account it for a fortunate accident, though
perhaps one of those accidents granted only to talent like his, that the
occasion was the well known case of Dartmouth College; and, we must add,
as a circumstance no less fortunate, that the forum where he was called to
defend the principles of this great cause, and where he did defend them so
triumphantly, was that of the Supreme Court of the United States, at
Washington.
There is, indeed, something peculiar in this grave national tribunal,
especially with regard to the means and motives it offers to call out
distinguished talent, and try and confirm a just reputation, which is worth
notice. The judges themselves, selected from among the great jurists of the
country, as above ignorance, weakness, and the temptations of political
ambition,—with that venerable man at their head, who for thirty years has
been the ornament of the government, and, in whose wisdom has been, in
no small degree, the hiding of its power—constitute a tribunal, which may
be truly called solemn and august. The advocates, too, who appear before it,
are no less a chosen few, full of talent and skill, and eager with ambition,
who go there from all the ends of the country, to discuss the gravest and
most important interests both public and private,—to settle the conflicts
between domestic and foreign jurisprudence, or the more perilous conflicts
between the authority of the individual states, and that of the general
government;—in short, to return constantly upon the first great principles of
national and municipal adjudication, and take heed, that, whatever is
determined shall rest only on the deep and sure foundations of truth, right,
and law. And, finally, if we turn from the bench and the bar, to the audience
which is collected around them, we shall find again much that is
remarkable, and even imposing. We shall find, that, large as it is, it is
gathered together from a city not populous, where every thing, even the
resources of fashion, must have a direct dependence on the operations of
government; and where the senators themselves, and the representatives of
foreign powers, no less than the crowds collected during the session of
Congress, by the solicitations of an enlightened curiosity, or of a strenuous
indolence, can, after all, discover no resort so full of a stirring interest and
excitement, as that of the Supreme Court, into whose arena such practised

and powerful gladiators daily descend, rejoicing in the combat. Taking it in
all its connexions, then, we look upon this highest tribunal of the country,
not only to be solemn and imposing in itself, but to be one of peculiar
power over the reputations of these jurists and advocates, who appear
before it, and who must necessarily feel themselves to be standing
singularly in presence of the nation, represented there as it is, in almost
every way, and by almost every class, from the fashion and beauty lounging
on the sofas in the recesses of the court-room, up to the eager antagonists,
who are impatiently waiting their time to contend for the mastery on some
great interest or principle, and the judges who are ultimately to decide it.
Mr. Webster had already appeared once or twice before this tribunal;—but
not in any cause which had called seriously into action the powers of his
mind. The case of Dartmouth College, however, was one that might well
task the faculties of any man. That institution, founded originally by charter
from the king of Great Britain, had been in successful operation nearly half
a century, when, in 1816, the Legislature of New Hampshire, from some
movements in party politics, was induced, without the consent of the
college, to annul its charter, and, by several acts, to give it a new
incorporation and name. The trustees of the college resisted this
interference; and, in 1817, commenced an action in the state courts, which
was decided against them. A writ of error was then sued out by the original
plaintiffs, to remove the cause for its final adjudication, to the Supreme
Court of the United States; and it came on there for argument in March,
1818.
The court room was excessively crowded, not only with a large assemblage
of the eminent lawyers of the Union, but with many of its leading
statesmen,—drawn there no less by the importance of the cause, and the
wide results that would follow its decision, than by the known eloquence of
Mr. Hopkinson and Mr. Wirt, both of whom were engaged in it. Mr.
Webster opened it, on behalf of the college. The question turned mainly on
the point, whether the acts of the Legislature of New-Hampshire, in relation
to Dartmouth College, constituted a violation of a contract; for, if they did,
then they were contrary to the Constitution of the United States. The
principles involved, therefore, went to determine the extent to which a
legislature can exercise authority over the chartered rights of all
corporations; and this of course gave the case an importance at the time,

and a value since, paramount to that of almost any other in the books. Mr.
Webster's argument is given in this volume at p. 110, et seq.; that is, we
have there the technical outline, the dry skeleton of it. But those who heard
him, when it was originally delivered, still wonder how such dry bones
could ever have lived with the power they there witnessed and felt. He
opened his cause, as he always does, with perfect simplicity in the general
statement of its facts; and then went on to unfold the topics of his argument,
in a lucid order, which made each position sustain every other. The logic
and the law were rendered irresistible. But, as he advanced, his heart
warmed to the subject and the occasion. Thoughts and feelings, that had
grown old with his best affections, rose unbidden to his lips. He
remembered that the institution he was defending, was the one where his
own youth had been nurtured; and the moral tenderness and beauty this
gave to the grandeur of his thoughts; the sort of religious sensibility it
imparted to his urgent appeals and demands for the stern fulfilment of what
law and justice required, wrought up the whole audience to an extraordinary
state of excitement. Many betrayed strong agitation; many were dissolved
in tears. When he ceased to speak, there was a perceptible interval before
any one was willing to break the silence; and, when that vast crowd
separated, not one person of the whole number doubted, that the man who
had that day so moved, astonished, and controlled them, had vindicated for
himself a place at the side of the first jurists of the country.
From this period, therefore, Mr. Webster's attendance on the Supreme Court
at Washington has been constantly secured by retainers, in the most
important causes; and the circle of his professional business, which has
been regularly enlarging, has not been exceeded, if it has been equalled, by
that of any other lawyer who has ever appeared in the national forum. The
volume before us contains few traces of all this. It contains, however, two
arguments upon constitutional questions of great interest and wide results.
One is the case of Gibbons vs. Ogden, in 1824, involving the question, how
far a state has authority to grant the exclusive right of navigating the tide-
waters within its territorial limits; refusing that right to all persons
belonging to other states, as well as to its own citizens. This question struck,
of course, at the great steam-boat monopoly granted by the state of New-
York, from motives of public munificence, to Mr. Fulton, the admirable first
mover of that national benefit, and Chancellor Livingston, its early and

adventurous patron. The case was argued by Mr. Webster and Mr. Wirt
against the monopoly, and by Mr. Oakley and Mr. Emmet for it; so that
probably as much ability was brought into the discussion on each side, as
has been called for by any single cause in our judicial annals. The result
was, that the monopoly was declared to be unconstitutional; and thus
another great national blessing was obtained, hardly less important than the
original invention,—that of throwing open the right to steam-navigation to
the competition of the whole Union.
There were circumstances which gave uncommon interest to this cause,
independently of its great constitutional importance, and the wide
consequences involved in it. It had been litigated, during a series of years,
in every form, in the state courts of New-York, where the monopoly had
triumphed over all opposition. And it need hardly be said, that the state
courts of New-York have maintained as proud a reputation for learning,
research, and talent, as any in the Union. What lawyer has not sat gladly at
the feet of Chancellor Kent, and Chief Justice Spencer? And what state, in
relation to her jurisprudence, can so boldly say—
"Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?"
Mr. Webster's argument in the opening of this case,—which was closed with
great power by the Attorney-General, Mr. Wirt,—furnishes, even in the
meagre outline still preserved, p. 170-184, a specimen of some of the
characteristics of his mind. We here see his clearness and downright
simplicity in stating facts; his acute suggestion and analysis of difficulties;
his peculiar power of disentangling complicated propositions, and resolving
them into elements so plain, as to be intelligible to the simplest minds; and
his wariness not to be betrayed into untenable positions, or to spread his
forces over useless ground. We see him, indeed, fortifying himself, as it
were, strongly within the narrowest limits of his cause, concentrating his
strength, and ready at any moment to enter, like a skilful general, at all the
weak points of his adversary's position. This argument, therefore, especially
as it was originally pronounced in court, we look upon, as a whole, to have
been equally remarkable for depth and sagacity; for the choice and
comprehensiveness of the topics; and for the power and tact exhibited in
their discussion. Yet we are carried along so quietly by its deep current, that,
like Partridge in Tom Jones, when he saw Garrick act Hamlet, all seems to

us so spontaneous, so completely without effort, that we are convinced, nay,
we feel sure, there is neither artifice nor mystery, extraordinary power nor
genius, in the whole matter. But, to those who are familiar with Mr.
Webster, and the workings of his mind, it is well known, that, in this very
plainness; in this earnest pursuit of truth for truth's sake, and of the
principles of law for the sake of right and justice, and in his obvious desire
to reach them all by the most direct and simple means, is to be found no
small part of the secret of his power. It is this, in fact, above every thing
else, that makes him so prevalent with the jury; and, not only with the jury
in court, but with the great jury of the whole people.
The same general remarks are applicable to his argument in the case of
Ogden against Saunders, in 1827, which we notice now, out of the regular
series of events, in order to finish at once the little we can say of his
professional career as a lawyer. The case to which we now refer, involved
the question of the constitutionality of state insolvent laws, when they
purported to absolve the party from the obligation of the contract, as well as
from personal imprisonment, on execution. In a legal and constitutional
point of view, this has always been thought one of Mr. Webster's ablest and
most convincing arguments. With the court he was only half successful;
there being a remarkable diversity of opinion among the judges. But, taken
in connexion with the opinion of Chief Justice Marshall, delivered in the
case, with which Mr. Webster's argument coincides, both in reasoning and
in conclusion, it seems absolutely to have exhausted the whole range of the
discussion on that side, and to furnish all that future inquirers can need to
master the question.
But, during the years we have just passed over, Mr. Webster's success was
not confined to the bar. In the year 1820-21, a convention of delegates was
assembled in Boston, to revise the constitution of Massachusetts. As it was
one of those primary assemblies, where no office disqualifies from
membership, and as the occasion was one of the rarest importance, the
talent and wisdom, the fortunes and authority of that commonwealth were,
to a singular degree, collected in it. The venerable John Adams, then above
eighty-five years old, represented his native village; Mr. Justice Story, of
the Supreme Court of the United States, was a delegate from Salem; Judge
Davis, of the District Court of the United States, and the greater part of the
judicial officers of the state were there, as well as a large number of the

leading members of the Massachusett's bar, and a still larger number of its
wealthiest or most prominent land-holders and merchants. No assembly of
equal dignity and talent was ever collected in that commonwealth. Mr.
Webster was one of the delegates from Boston. What influence he exerted,
or how beneficial, or how extensive it was, can be entirely known only
there where it was put forth. But, if we may judge from the important
committees on which he served; the prominent interests and individuals his
duty called him occasionally to defend, to encounter, and to oppose; and the
business-like air of his short remarks, which are scattered up and down
through the whole volume of the "Journal of Debates and Proceedings" of
this convention, published soon afterwards, we should be led to believe,
that, though he was then but a newly adopted child of Massachusetts, he
had already gained a degree of confidence, respect and authority, to which
few in that ancient commonwealth could lay claim. The fruits of it all, in the
present volume, are, a short speech on "Oaths of Office;" another on "the
removal of Judges upon the address of two-thirds of each branch of the
Legislature;" and a more ample and very powerful one on the "Principle of
representation in the Senate." They are all strong and striking; and it would
be easy to extract something from each, characteristic of its author; but we
have not room, and must content ourselves with referring, for a specimen of
the whole, to the remarks on the free schools of New-England, from the
speech in the Senate, which we have already cited; adding merely, that, to
this remarkable speech of Mr. Webster, and to another of great beauty and
force, by Mr. Justice Story, was ascribed, at the time, a change in the
opinions and vote of the convention, which, considering the importance of
the subject, and the long discussion it had undergone, was all but
unprecedented.[6]
While this convention was still in session, a great anniversary came round
at the north. The two hundredth year from the first landing of the Pilgrims
at Plymouth, was completed on the 22d of December, 1820; and every man
born in New-England, or in whose veins stirred a drop of New-England
blood, felt that he had an interest in the event it recalled, and demanded its
grateful celebration. Preparations, therefore, for its commemoration, on the
spot where it occurred, were made long beforehand; and, by the sure
indication of the public will, and at the special invitation of the Pilgrim
Society, Mr. Webster was summoned as the man who should go to the Rock

of Plymouth, and there so speak of the centuries past, as that the centuries
to come should still receive and heed his words. Undoubtedly he amply
fulfilled the expectations that waited on this great occasion. His address,
which opens the present volume, is one of the gravest productions it
contains. He seems to feel that the ground on which he stands is holy; and
the deep moral sensibility, and even religious solemnity, which pervade
many parts of this striking discourse,—where he seems to have collected
the experience of all the past, in order to minister warning and
encouragement to all the future,—is in perfect harmony with the scene and
the occasion, and produced its appropriate effect on the multitude elected,
even at that inclement season, from the body of the New-England states, to
offer up thanksgivings for their descent from the Pilgrim fathers. The effect,
too, at the time, has been justified by a wider success since; and the
multiplied editions of the printed discourse, while they have carried it into
the farm-houses and hearts of the New-England yeomanry, are at the same
time ensuring its passage onward to the next generation and the next, who
may be well satisfied, when the same jubilee comes round, if they can leave
behind them monuments equally imposing, to mark the lapse and
revolutions of ages.
It would not be difficult to select eloquent passages from this discourse. We
prefer, however, to take one containing what was then a plain and
adventurous prediction; but what is now passing into history before our
very eyes. We allude to the remarks on the principle of the subdivision of
property in France, as affecting the permanency of the French government,
which Mr. Webster ventured to call in question, on the same general
grounds, on which he undertook to prove the permanency of our own.
"A most interesting experiment of the effect of a subdivision of property on
government, is now making in France. It is understood, that the law
regulating the transmission of property, in that country, now divides it, real
and personal, among all the children, equally, both sons and daughters; and
that there is, also, a very great restraint on the power of making dispositions
of property by will. It has been supposed, that the effects of this might
probably be, in time, to break up the soil into such small subdivisions, that
the proprietors would be too poor to resist the encroachments of executive
power. I think far otherwise. What is lost in individual wealth, will be more
than gained in numbers, in intelligence, and in a sympathy of sentiment. If,

indeed, only one, or a few landholders were to resist the crown, like the
barons of England, they must, of course, be great and powerful landholders
with multitudes of retainers, to promise success. But if the proprietors of a
given extent of territory are summoned to resistance, there is no reason to
believe that such resistance would be less forcible, or less successful,
because the number of such proprietors should be great. Each would
perceive his own importance, and his own interest, and would feel that
natural elevation of character which the consciousness of property inspires.
A common sentiment would unite all, and numbers would not only add
strength, but excite enthusiasm. It is true, that France possesses a vast
military force, under the direction of an hereditary executive government,
and military power, it is possible, may overthrow any government. It is in
vain, however, in this period of the world, to look for security against
military power, to the arm of the great landholders. That notion is derived
from a state of things long since past; a state in which a feudal baron, with
his retainers, might stand against the sovereign, who was himself but the
greatest baron, and his retainers. But at present, what could the richest
landholder do, against one regiment of disciplined troops? Other securities,
therefore, against the prevalence of military power must be provided.
Happily for us, we are not so situated as that any purpose of national
defence requires, ordinarily and constantly, such a military force as might
seriously endanger our liberties.
"In respect, however, to the recent law of succession in France, to which I
have alluded, I would, presumptuously, perhaps, hazard a conjecture, that if
the government do not change the law, the law, in half a century, will
change the government; and that this change will be not in favour of the
power of the crown, as some European writers have supposed, but against
it. Those writers only reason upon what they think correct general
principles, in relation to this subject. They acknowledge a want of
experience. Here we have had that experience; and we know that a
multitude of small proprietors, acting with intelligence, and that enthusiasm
which a common cause inspires, constitute not only a formidable, but an
invincible power." Pp. 47-8.
In less than six years from the time when this statesman-like prediction was
made, the King of France, at the opening of the Legislative Chambers, thus
strangely and portentously echoed it,

"Legislation ought to provide by successive improvements, for all
the wants of society. The progressive partitioning of landed estates
essentially contrary to the spirit of a monarchical government
would enfeeble the guaranties which the charter has given to my
throne and to my subjects. Measures will be proposed to you,
gentlemen, to establish the consistency which ought to exist
between the political law and the civil law; and to preserve the
patrimony of families, without restricting the liberty of disposing of
one's property. The preservation of families is connected with, and
affords a guaranty to political stability, which is the first want of
states, and which is especially that of France after so many
vicissitudes."
But the discovery came too late. The foundations, on which to build or
sustain the cumbrous system of the old monarchy, were already taken away;
and the events of the last summer, while they would almost persuade us,
that the "Attendant Spirit" so boldly given by the orator in this very
discourse to one of the great founders of our government, had opened to
him, also, on the Rock of Plymouth, "a vision of the future;"[7]—these
events, we say, can leave little doubt in the mind of any man, that the
speaker himself may live long enough,—as God grant he may!—to witness
the entire fulfilment of his own extraordinary prophecy, and to see the
French people erecting for themselves a sure and stable government, suited
to the foundation, on which alone it can now rest.
In 1825, Mr. Webster was called to interpret the feelings of New-England,
on another great festival and anniversary. Fifty years from the day, when the
grave drama of the American Revolution was opened with such picturesque
solemnity, as a magnificent show on Bunker's Hill, witnessed by the whole
neighbouring city and country, clustering by thousands on their steeples, the
roofs of their houses, and the hill-tops, and waiting with unspeakable
anxiety the results of the scene that was passing before their eyes,—fifty
years from that day, it was determined to lay, with no less solemnity, the
corner stone of a monument worthy to commemorate its importance. An
immense multitude was assembled. They stood on that consecrated spot,
with only the heavens over their heads, and beneath their feet the bones of
their fathers; amidst the visible remains of the very redoubt thrown up by
Prescott, and defended by him to the very last desperate extremity;[8] and

with the names of Warren, Putnam, Stark, and Brooks, and the other leaders
or victims of that great day frequent and familiar on their lips. In the midst
of such a scene and with such recollections, starting like the spirits of the
dead from the very sods of that hill-side, it may well be imagined, that
words like the following, addressed to a vast audience,—composed in no
small degree of the survivors of the battle, their children, and their
grandchildren,—produced an effect, which only the hand of death can
efface.
"We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most
safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We
know, that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it
reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could
still contain but part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath
already been spread over the earth, and which history charges itself
with making known to all future times. We know, that no inscription
on entablatures less broad than the earth itself, can carry information
of the events we commemorate, where it has not already gone; and
that no structure, which shall not outlive the duration of letters and
knowledge among men, can prolong the memorial. But our object
is, by this edifice, to show our own deep sense of the value and
importance of the achievements of our ancestors; and, by presenting
this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments,
and to foster a constant regard for the principles of the Revolution.
Human beings are composed not of reason only, but of imagination
also, and sentiment; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied which
is appropriated to the purpose of giving right direction to
sentiments, and opening proper springs of feeling in the heart. Let it
not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate national hostility, or
even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We
consecrate our work to the spirit of national independence, and we
wish that the light of peace may rest upon it for ever. We rear a
memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit, which has
been conferred on our own land, and of the happy influences, which
have been produced, by the same events, on the general interests of
mankind. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must for
ever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish, that whosoever, in all

coming time, shall turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is
not undistinguished, where the first great battle of the Revolution
was fought. We wish, that this structure may proclaim the
magnitude and importance of that event, to every class and every
age. We wish, that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection
from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may behold it,
and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. We wish, that
labour may look up here, and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We
wish, that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come on all
nations, must be expected to come on us also, desponding patriotism
may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of
our national power still stand strong. We wish, that this column,
rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples
dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a
pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the
last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the
first to gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall
remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till
it meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning
gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit." Pp. 58-9.
The last formal address delivered by Mr. Webster on any great public
occasion, was unexpectedly called from him in the summer of 1826, in
commemoration of the services of Adams and Jefferson;—an occasion so
remarkable, that what was said and felt on it, will not pass out of the
memories of the present generation. We shall, therefore, only make one
short extract from Mr. Webster's address at Faneuil Hall—the description of
the peculiar eloquence of Mr. Adams, in giving which, the speaker
becomes, himself, a living example of what he describes.
"The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character, and
formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and energetic; and
such the crisis required. When public bodies are to be addressed on
momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong
passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther than it is
connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness,
force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction.
True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be

brought from far. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will
toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but
they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and
in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of
declamation, all may aspire after it—they cannot reach it. It comes,
if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or
the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original,
native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments,
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when
their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their
country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their
power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even
genius itself, then feels rebuked, and subdued, as in the presence of
higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is
eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic,
the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on
the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and
urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object—this, this
is eloquence; or rather it is something greater and higher than all
eloquence, it is action, noble, sublime, god-like action." page 84.
During a part, however, of the period, over which we have thus very
slightly passed, Mr. Webster was again in public life. He was elected to
represent the city of Boston, in the seventeenth Congress, and took his seat
there in December, 1823. Early in the session, he presented a resolution in
favour of appointing a commissioner or agent to Greece; and the resolution
being taken up on the 19th of January following, Mr. Webster delivered the
speech, which usually passes under the name of "the Greek Speech." His
object, however, in presenting the resolution, did not seem, at first, to be
well understood. It was believed, that, seeing the existence of a warm public
sympathy for the suffering Greeks, and solicited by the attractions of the
subject itself, and of the classical associations awakened by it, his object
was to parade a few sentences and figures, and so make an oration or
harangue, which might usher him, with some éclat, a second time, upon the
theatre of public affairs. The galleries, therefore, were thronged with a
brilliant and fashionable audience. But the crowd was destined to be
disappointed;—Mr. Webster, after a graceful and conciliating introduction,

in which he evidently disclaimed any such purpose, addressed himself at
once to the subject, and made, what he always makes, a powerful, but a
downright business speech. His object, instead of being the narrow one
suggested for him, was apparent, as he advanced, to be the broadest
possible. It was nothing less, than to take occasion of the Greek revolution,
and the conduct pursued in regard to it by the great continental powers, in
order to exhibit the principles laid down and avowed by those powers, as
the basis on which they intended to maintain the peace of Europe. In doing
this, he went through a very able examination of the proceedings of all the
famous Congresses, beginning with that of Paris, in 1814, and coming
down to that of Laybach, in 1821;—the principles of all which were, that
the people hold their fundamental rights and privileges, as matter of
concession and indulgence from the sovereign power; and that all sovereign
powers have a right to interfere and controul other nations, in their desires
and attempts to change their own governments:—
"The ultimate effect of this alliance of sovereigns, for objects
personal to themselves, or respecting only the permanency of their
own power, must be the destruction of all just feeling, and all
natural sympathy, between those who exercise the power of
government, and those who are subject to it. The old channels of
mutual regard and confidence are to be dried up, or cut off.
Obedience can now be expected no longer than it is enforced.
Instead of relying on the affections of the governed, sovereigns are
to rely on the affections and friendship of other sovereigns. They
are, in short, no longer to be nations. Princes and people no longer
are to unite for interests common to them both. There is to be an end
of all patriotism, as a distinct national feeling. Society is to be
divided horizontally; all sovereigns above, and all subjects below;
the former coalescing for their own security, and for the more
certain subjection of the undistinguished multitude beneath." page
249.
But, as he says afterwards,—
"This reasoning mistakes the age. The time has been, indeed, when fleets,
and armies, and subsidies, were the principal reliances even in the best
cause. But, happily for mankind, there has arrived a great change in this

respect. Moral causes come into consideration, in proportion as the progress
of knowledge is advanced; and the public opinion of the civilized world is
rapidly gaining an ascendency over mere brutal force. It is already able to
oppose the most formidable obstruction to the progress of injustice and
oppression; and, as it grows more intelligent and more intense, it will be
more and more formidable. It may be silenced by military power, but it
cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepressible, and invulnerable to the
weapons of ordinary warfare. It is that impassable, unextinguishable enemy
of mere violence and arbitrary rule, which, like Milton's angels,
'Vital in every part,
Cannot, but by annihilating, die.'
"Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is vain for power to talk either of
triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are desolated, what fortresses
surrendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces overrun. In the history
of the year that has passed by us, and in the instance of unhappy Spain, we
have seen the vanity of all triumphs, in a cause which violates the general
sense of justice of the civilized world. It is nothing, that the troops of
France have passed from the Pyrenees to Cadiz; it is nothing that an
unhappy and prostrate nation has fallen before them; it is nothing that
arrests, and confiscation, and execution, sweep away the little remnant of
national resistance. There is an enemy that still exists to check the glory of
these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to the very scene of his
ovations; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet
indignant; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory is a barren sceptre;
that it shall confer neither joy nor honour, but shall moulder to dry ashes in
his grasp. In the midst of his exultation, it pierces his ear with the cry of
injured justice, it denounces against him the indignation of an enlightened
and civilized age; it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds
him with the sting which belongs to the consciousness of having outraged
the opinion of mankind.
"In my own opinion, Sir, the Spanish nation is now nearer, not only in point
of time, but in point of circumstance, to the acquisition of a regulated
government, than at the moment of the French invasion. Nations must, no
doubt, undergo these trials in their progress to the establishment of free

institutions. The very trials benefit them, and render them more capable
both of obtaining and of enjoying the object which they seek." page 253.
How completely does the mighty drama now passing before our eyes on the
great theatre of Europe, justify these hold and sagacious predictions! A
great revolution has just taken place in France, and a distinguished prince,
out of the regular line of succession, has been invited to the throne, on
condition of governing according to the constitution prescribed by the
representatives of the popular will. Belgium is doing the same thing.
Devoted Poland has attempted it. Italy is in confusion,—and Germany
disturbed and uneasy;—so that, it seems already no longer to be in the
power of any conspiracy of kings or Congresses, to maintain permanently
in Western Europe, a government not essentially founded on free
institutions and principles. We will only add, that Mr. Webster has, on
hardly any other occasion, entered into the discussion of European politics;
and the consequence has been, that, if this speech has found less favour at
home than some of his other efforts, it is one, that has brought him great
honour abroad; since, besides being printed wherever the English tongue is
spoken, it has been circulated through South America, and published in
nearly every one of the civilized languages of Europe, including the
Spanish and the Greek.
In April, 1824, he took a part in the great discussion of the tariff question;
and his speech on that occasion, as well as the one he delivered on the same
subject in May, 1828, are both given in the volume before us. But the whole
matter is so fresh in the recollections of the community, and Mr. Webster's
constant defence of a tariff adapted to the general interests of the country,
encouraging alike the cause of American manufactures and the interests of
commerce, are so well known, from the first tariff of 1816, to the present
moment, that it cannot be needful to speak of them. We would remark,
however, that, in the speech of 1824, two subjects are discussed with great
ability;—the doctrine of exchange, and the balance of trade. Both of them
had been drawn into controversy in Congress, on previous occasions, quite
frequently, calling forth alternately "an infinite deal of nothing," and the
crudest absurdities; but, from the period of this thorough and statesmanlike
examination of them, they have, we believe, hardly been heard of in either
house. The great points involved in both of them, have been considered as
settled.

We have thus far spoken of Mr. Webster almost entirely as a public orator
and debater, or as a jurist. But there is another point of view, in which he is
less known to the nation, but no less valued at Washington. He has few
equals in the diligence of the committee-rooms. Reputation in and out of
Congress, is, in this respect, very differently measured. Nothing is more
common in either House than moderately good speakers, prompt in
common debate, and sufficiently well instructed not to betray themselves
into contempt with the public. Because they can speak and do speak; and
especially because they speak often and vehemently, they obtain a transient
credit abroad for far more than they are worth, and far more than they are,
at last, able to maintain. It may, indeed, be said, as a general truth, that those
who speak most frequently in Congress are least heeded, and least entitled
to distinction. Members of real ability speak rarely; and, when they do
speak, it is from the fulness of their minds, after a careful consideration of
the subject, and with a deference for the body they address, and a regard to
the public service, which does not permit them to occupy more time than
the development of their subject absolutely requires. They are, therefore,
always heard with attention and respect; and often with the conviction, that
they may be safely followed.
But there is another class in Congress, less known to the public at large, and
yet whose services are beyond price. We speak now of those excellent men,
who, as chairmen and members of the committees, in the retired corners of
the capitol, are doing the real business of legislation, and giving their days
and nights to maturing schemes of wise policy and just relief; men who are
content, week after week, and month after month, to sacrifice themselves to
the negative toil of saving us from the follies of indiscreet, meddlesome,
and ignorant innovators, or from the more presumptuous purposes of those
who would make legislation the means of furthering and gratifying their
own private, unprincipled ambition. Such business-men,—who should be
the heads of the working party, if such a party should ever be formed,—are
well understood within the walls of Congress. They are marked by the
general confidence that follows them; and when they speak, to propose a
measure, they are listened to; nay, it may almost be said, they are obeyed.
Mr. Webster has long been known as an efficient labourer in these noiseless
toils of the committee-rooms and of practical legislation; and we owe to his
hand not a few important improvements in our laws. The most remarkable

is, probably, the Crimes-Act of 1825, which, in twenty-six sections, did so
much for the criminal code of the country. The whole subject, when he
approached it, was full of difficulties and deficiencies. The law in relation
to it remained substantially on the foundation of the first great Act of 1790,
ch. 36. That act, however, though deserving praise as a first attempt to meet
the wants of the country, was entirely unsuited to its condition, and
deficient in most important particulars. Its defects, indeed, were so
numerous, that half the most notorious crimes, when committed where the
general government alone could have cognizance of them, were left beyond
the reach of human law and punishment;—rape, burglary, arson and other
malicious burnings in forts, arsenals, and light-house establishments,
together with many other offences, being wholly unprovided for. Mr.
Webster's Act, which, as a just tribute to his exertions, already bears his
name, cures these gross defects, besides a multitude of others; and it was
well known at the time, that he wished to go much further, and give a
competent system to the country on the whole criminal code, but was
deterred by the danger of failure, if he attempted too much at once. Indeed,
the difficulty of obtaining a patient hearing for any bill of such complexity
and extent, is well understood in Congress; and it is not, perhaps, an unjust
reproach upon our national legislature to confess, that even the most
experienced statesmen are rarely able to carry through any great measure of
purely practical improvement. Temporary projects, and party strifes, and
private claims, and individual jealousies, and, above all, the passion for
personal display in everlasting debate, offer obstacles to the success of mere
patriotism and statesmanship, which are all but insurmountable. Probably
no man, at that time, but Mr. Webster, who, in addition to his patient habits
of labour in the committee-room, possessed the general confidence of the
House, and had a persevering address and promptitude in answering
objections, could have succeeded in so signal an undertaking. Sir Samuel
Romilly and Mr. Peel have acquired lasting and merited reputations in
England for meliorations of their criminal code. But they had a willing
audience, and an eager support. Mr. Webster, without either, effected as
much in his Crimes-Act of 1825, as has been effected by any single effort
of these statesmen, and is fairly to be ranked with them among those
benefactors of mankind, who have enlightened the jurisprudence of their
country, and made it at once more efficient and more humane.

At the same session of Congress, the great question of internal
improvements came up, and was vehemently discussed in January, on the
appropriation made for the western national road. Mr. Webster defended the
principle, as he had already defended it in 1816; and as he has defended it
constantly since, down to the last year and the last session, without, so far
as we have seen, receiving any sufficient answer to the positions he took in
debate on these memorable occasions. Perhaps the doctrine he has so
uniformly maintained on this subject, is less directly favourable to the
interests of the northern than of the western states; but it was high-toned
and national throughout, and seems in no degree to have impaired the
favour with which he was regarded in New-England. At any rate, he was re-
elected, with singular unanimity, to represent the city of Boston in the
nineteenth Congress, and took his seat there anew in December, 1825.
In both sessions of this Congress, important subjects were discussed, and
Mr. Webster bore an important part in them; but we can now only suggest
one or two of them. As chairman of the Judiciary Committee, he introduced
the bill for enlarging the number of judges of the Supreme Court of the
United States. His views in relation to it are contained in the remarks he
made on the occasion, and had great weight with the House; but the bill was
afterwards lost through an amendment of the Senate. So, too, on the
question of the Panama mission, involving the points that were first moved
in 1796 in the House of Representatives, on occasion of the British Treaty,
Mr. Webster has left on record his opinions, doctrines, and feelings, in a
speech of great beauty and power, which will always be recurred to,
whenever the right of the House of Representatives to advise the executive
in relation to the management of foreign missions may come under
discussion. But we are compelled to abstain from any further notice of them
both, by want of room.
In 1826, he had been elected, we believe, all but unanimously, to represent
the City of Boston, in the House of Representatives; but, before he took his
seat, a vacancy having occurred in the Senate, he was chosen to fill it by the
Legislature of Massachusetts, of which, a great majority in both its
branches, besides the council and the governor, belonged to the old
republican party of the country. He was chosen, too, under circumstances,
which showed how completely his talents and lofty national bearing had
disarmed all political animosities, and how thoroughly that commonwealth

claimed him as her own, and cherished his reputation and influence as a
part of her treasures. There was no regular nomination of him from any
quarter, nor any regular opposition; and he received the appointment by a
sort of general consent and acclamation, as if it were given with pride and
pleasure, as well as with unhesitating confidence and respect.
How he has borne himself in the Senate during the four sessions he has sat
there, is known to the whole country. No man has been found tall enough to
overshadow him; no man has been able to attract from him, or to intercept
from him, the constant regard of the nation. He has been so conspicuous, so
prominent, that whatever he has done, and whatever he has said, has been
watched and understood throughout the borders of the land, almost as
familiarly and thoroughly as it has been at Washington.
But though the eyes of all have thus been fastened on him in such a way,
that nothing relating to him can have escaped their notice, there is yet one
occasion, where he attracted a kind and degree of attention, which, as it is
rarely given, is so much the more honourable when it is obtained. We refer
now, of course, to the occasion, when, in 1830, he overthrew the Doctrines
of Nullification. Undoubtedly, in one sense of the word, Mr. Webster was
taken completely by surprise, when these doctrines, for the first time in the
history of the country, were announced in the Senate; since he was so far
from any particular preparation to meet or answer them, that it was almost
by accident he was in his place, when they were so unexpectedly, at least to
him and all his friends, brought forth. In another and better sense of the
phrase, he was not taken by surprise at all; for the time was already long
gone by, when, on any great question of national interest or constitutional
principle, he could be taken unprepared or unarmed. We mean by this, that
the discussion of the most important points in the memorable debate alluded
to, came on incidentally; or rather that these points were thrust forward by a
few individuals, who seemed predetermined to proceed under cover of
them, to the ultimate limits of personal and party violence.
Mr. Foot's resolution to inquire respecting the sales and the surveys of
western lands, was the innocent cause of the whole conflict. It was
introduced on the 29th of December, 1829; and was not then expected by its
author, or, perhaps, by any body else to excite much discussion, or lead to
any very important results. When it was introduced, Mr. Webster was absent

from Washington. Two days afterwards he took his seat. The resolution had,
indeed, called forth a few remarks, somewhat severe, the day after it was
presented, and then had been postponed to the next Monday; but, apparently
from want of interest in its fate, or from the pressure of more important
business, it was not called up by the mover till January 13. From this time, a
partial discussion began; but it lingered rather lifelessly, and, in fact, really
rose even to skirmishing only one day, until the 19th, when General Hayne,
a distinguished senator from South Carolina, in a vehement and elaborate
speech, attacked the New-England States for what he considered their
selfish opposition to the interests of the West; and endeavoured to show that
a natural sympathy existed between the Southern and Western States, upon
the distribution and sales of the public lands, which would necessarily make
them a sort of natural allies. With this speech, of course, the war broke out.
While it was delivering, Mr. Webster entered the Senate. He came from the
Supreme Court of the United States; and the papers in his hands showed
how far his thoughts were from the subjects and the tone, which now at
once reached him. As soon as General Hayne sat down, he rose to reply; but
Mr. Benton of Missouri, with many compliments to General Hayne, and
apparently willing the Senate should have all the leisure necessary to
consider and feel the effects of his speech, moved an adjournment; Mr.
Webster good naturedly consented. Of course, he had the floor the next day;
and in a speech, which will not be forgotten by the present generation,
poured out stores of knowledge long before accumulated, in relation to the
history of the public lands and to the legislation concerning them; defending
the policy of the government towards the new states; showing the
dangerous tendency of the doctrines respecting the Constitution, current at
the South, and sanctioned by General Hayne; and repelling the general
charges and reproaches cast on New-England, especially the charge of
hostility to the West, which,—if there was meaning in words or acts,—he
proved to be distinctly applicable to the language and votes of the South
Carolina delegation in the House of Representatives in 1825. The war was
thus, at once, carried into the enemy's country.
The next day, January 21, it being well known that Mr. Webster had urgent
business, which called him again into the Supreme Court of the United
States, one of the members from Maryland moved an adjournment of the
debate. It would, perhaps, have been only what is customary and courteous,

if the request had been granted. But General Hayne objected. "The
gentleman," he said, "had discharged his weapon, and he (Mr. H.) wished
for an opportunity to return the fire." To which Mr. Webster having replied;
—"I am ready to receive it; let the discussion go on;"—the debate was
resumed. Mr. Benton then concluded some important remarks he had begun
the day before; and Mr. Hayne rose, and opened a speech, which occupied
the Senate the remainder of that day, and the whole of the day following. It
was a vigorous speech, embracing a great number of topics and grounds;—
calling in question the fairness of New-England, the consistency of Mr.
Webster, and the patriotism of the State of Massachusetts;—and ending
with a bold, acute, and elaborated exposition and defence of the doctrines
now, for the first time, formally developed in Congress, and since well
known by the name of the Doctrines of Nullification. The first part of the
speech was caustic and personal; the latter part of it grave and
argumentative;—and the whole was delivered in presence of an audience,
which any man might be proud to have collected to listen to him.
Mr. Webster took notes during its delivery; and it was apparent to the
crowd, which, for two days, had thronged the senate-chamber, that he
intended to reply. Indeed, on this point, he was permitted no choice. He had
been assailed in a way, which called for an answer. When, therefore, the
doors of the senate-chamber were opened the next morning, the rush for
admittance was unprecedented. Mr. Webster had the floor, and rose. The
first division of his speech is in reply to parts and details of his adversary's
personal assault,—and is a happy, though severe specimen of the keenest
spirit of genuine debate and retort;—for Mr. Webster is one of those
dangerous adversaries, who are never so formidable or so brilliant, as when
they are most rudely pressed;—for then, as in the phosphorescence of the
ocean, the degree of the violence urged, may always be taken as the
measure of the brightness that is to follow. On the present occasion, his
manner was cool, entirely self-possessed, and perfectly decided, and carried
his irony as far as irony can go. There are portions of this first day's
discussion, like the passage relating to the charge of sleeping on the speech,
he had answered; the one in allusion to Banquo's ghost, which had been
unhappily conjured up by his adversary; and the rejoinder respecting "one
Nathan Dane of Beverly, in Massachusetts,"—which will not be forgotten.
The very tones in which they were uttered, still vibrate in the ears of those

who heard them. There are, also, other and graver portions of it,—like those
which respect the course of legislation in regard to the new states; the
conduct of the North in regard to slavery, and the doctrine of internal
improvements,—which are in the most powerful style of parliamentary
debate. As he approaches the conclusion of this first great division of his
speech, he rises to the loftiest tone of national feeling, entirely above the
dim, misty region of sectional or party passion and prejudice:—
"The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina,
by the honourable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets
my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honourable
member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or
distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the
honour, I partake in the pride, of her great names. I claim them for
countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the
Sumpters, the Marions—Americans, all—whose fame is no more to be
hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of
being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and
generation, they served and honoured the country, and the whole country;
and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose
honoured name the gentleman himself bears—does he esteem me less
capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than
if his eyes had first opened upon the light of Massachusetts, instead of
South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina
name, so bright, as to produce envy in my bosom? No, Sir, increased
gratification and delight, rather. I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little
of the spirit which is able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I
trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be
found, Sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public
merit, because it happens to spring up beyond the little limits of my own
state, or neighbourhood; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause,
the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere
devotion to liberty and the country; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of
Heaven—if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South
—and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up
here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!

"Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections—let me indulge in refreshing
remembrance of the past—let me remind you that in early times, no states
cherished greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than
Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again
return! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the revolution—hand in
hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own
great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation
and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since
sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never
scattered.
"Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts—she
needs none. There she is—behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is
her history: the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There
is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill—and there they
will remain forever. The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for
independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New
England to Georgia; and there they will lie forever. And, Sir, where
American liberty raised its first voice; and where its youth was nurtured and
sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood and full of its
original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it—if party strife and
blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it—if folly and madness—if
uneasiness, under salutary and necessary restraint—shall succeed to
separate it from that union, by which alone its existence is made sure, it will
stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked:
it will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigour it may still retain, over
the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst
the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its
origin." pages 406, 407.
The next day, Mr. Webster went into a grave and formal examination of the
doctrines of nullification, or the right of the state legislatures to interfere,
whenever, in their judgment, the general government transcends its
constitutional limits, and to arrest the operation of its laws. Four days had
hardly elapsed, since this doctrine had been announced with an air of
assured success in the Senate; and these four days had been filled with
active debate and contest. Of course, here again, there had been neither time
nor opportunity for especial preparation. Happily, too, there was no need of

it. The fund, on which the demand was so triumphantly made, was equal to
the draft, great and unexpected as it was. Mr. Webster's mind is full of
constitutional law and legislation. On all such subjects, he needs no
forecast, no preparation, no brief;—and, on this occasion, he had none. He
but uttered opinions and arguments, which had grown mature with his years
and his judgment, and which were as familiar to him as household words.
We have, therefore, no elaborate, documentary discussion,—no citation of
books or authorities. It is with principles, great constitutional principles, he
deals; and it is in plain, direct arguments, which all can understand, that he
defends them. There is nothing technical, nothing abstruse, nothing indirect,
either in the subject or its explanation. On the contrary, all is straight
forward—obvious—to the purpose. For instance, after stating the question
at issue to be, "whose prerogative is it, to decide on the constitutionality or
unconstitutionality of the laws?" he goes on:—
"This leads us to inquire into the origin of this government, and the
source of its power. Whose agent is it? Is it the creature of the state
legislatures, or the creature of the people? If the government of the
United States be the agent of the state governments, then they may
control it, provided they can agree in the manner of controlling it; if
it be the agent of the people, then the people alone can control it,
restrain it, modify, or reform it. It is observable enough, that the
doctrine for which the honourable gentleman contends, leads him to
the necessity of maintaining, not only that this general government
is the creature of the states, but that it is the creature of each of the
states severally; so that each may assert the power, for itself, of
determining whether it acts within the limits of its authority. It is the
servant of four and twenty masters, of different wills and different
purposes, and yet bound to obey all. This absurdity (for it seems no
less) arises from a misconception as to the origin of this government
and its true character. It is, Sir, the people's constitution, the people's
government,—made for the people,—made by the people,—and
answerable to the people. The people of the United States have
declared that this constitution shall be the supreme law. We must
either admit the proposition, or dispute their authority. The states
are, unquestionably, sovereign, so far as their sovereignty is not
affected by this supreme law. But the state legislatures, as political

bodies, however sovereign, are yet not sovereign over the people.
So far as the people have given power to the general government, so
far the grant is unquestionably good, and the government holds of
the people, and not of the state governments. We are all agents of
the same supreme power, the people.—The general government and
the state governments derive their authority from the same source.
Neither can, in relation to the other, be called primary, though one is
definite and restricted, and the other general and residuary. The
national government possesses those powers which it can be shown
the people have conferred on it, and no more. All the rest belongs to
the state governments, or to the people themselves. So far as the
people have restrained state sovereignty, by the expression of their
will, in the constitution of the United States, so far, it must be
admitted, state sovereignty is effectually controlled. I do not
contend that it is, or ought to be controlled farther. The sentiment to
which I have referred, propounds that state sovereignty is only to be
controlled by its own "feeling of justice;" that is to say, it is not to be
controlled at all; for one who is to follow his own feelings is under
no legal control.—Now, however men may think this ought to be,
the fact is, that the people of the United States have chosen to
impose control on state sovereignties. There are those, doubtless,
who wish they had been left without restraint; but the constitution
has ordered the matter differently. To make war, for instance, is an
exercise of sovereignty; but the constitution declares that no state
shall make war. To coin money is another exercise of sovereign
power; but no state is at liberty to coin money. Again, the
constitution says that no sovereign state shall be so sovereign as to
make a treaty. These prohibitions, it must be confessed, are a control
on the state sovereignty of South Carolina, as well as of the other
states, which does not arise "from her own feelings of honourable
justice." Such an opinion, therefore, is in defiance of the plainest
provisions of the constitution." pages 410, 411.
Again, what can be more sure and convincing than such plain reasoning as
this:—
"I maintain, that, between submission to the decision of the
constituted tribunals, and revolution, or disunion, there is no middle

ground—there is no ambiguous condition, half allegiance, and half
rebellion. And, Sir, how futile, how very futile it is, to admit the
right of state interference, and then attempt to save it from the
character of unlawful resistance, by adding terms of qualification to
the causes, and occasions, leaving all these qualifications, like the
case itself, in the discretion of the state governments. It must be a
clear case, it is said, a deliberate case; a palpable case; a dangerous
case. But then the state is still left at liberty to decide for herself,
what is clear, what is deliberate, what is palpable, what is
dangerous. Do adjectives and epithets avail any thing? Sir, the
human mind is so constituted, that the merits of both sides of a
controversy appear very clear, and very palpable, to those who
respectively espouse them; and both sides usually grow clearer as
the controversy advances. South Carolina sees unconstitutionality in
the tariff; she sees oppression there, also; and she sees danger.
Pennsylvania, with a vision not less sharp, looks at the same tariff,
and sees no such thing in it—she sees it all constitutional, all useful,
all safe. The faith of South Carolina is strengthened by opposition,
and she now not only sees, but resolves, that the tariff is palpably
unconstitutional, oppressive, and dangerous: but Pennsylvania, not
to be behind her neighbours, and equally willing to strengthen her
own faith by a confident asseveration, resolves, also, and gives to
every warm affirmative of South Carolina, a plain, downright,
Pennsylvania negative. South Carolina, to show the strength and
unity of her opinion, brings her assembly to a unanimity, within
seven voices; Pennsylvania, not to be outdone in this respect more
than others, reduces her dissentient fraction to a single vote. Now,
Sir, again, I ask the gentleman, what is to be done? Are these states
both right? Is he bound to consider them both right? If not, which is
in the wrong?—or rather, which has the best right to decide? And if
he, and if I, are not to know what the constitution means, and what it
is, till those two state legislatures, and the twenty-two others, shall
agree in its construction, what have we sworn to, when we have
sworn to maintain it? I was forcibly struck, Sir, with one reflection,
as the gentleman went on in his speech. He quoted Mr. Madison's
resolutions, to prove that a state may interfere, in a case of
deliberate, palpable, and dangerous exercise of a power not granted.

The honourable member supposes the tariff law to be such an
exercise of power; and that, consequently, a case has arisen in which
the state may, if it see fit, interfere by its own law. Now, it so
happens, nevertheless, that Mr. Madison deems this same tariff law
quite constitutional. Instead of a clear and palpable violation, it is, in
his judgment, no violation at all. So that, while they use his
authority for a hypothetical case, they reject it in the very case
before them. All this, Sir, shows the inherent—futility—I had
almost used a stronger word—of conceding this power of
interference to the states, and then attempting to secure it from
abuse by imposing qualifications, of which the states themselves are
to judge. One of two things is true; either the laws of the Union are
beyond the discretion, and beyond the control of the states; or else
we have no constitution of general government, and are thrust back
again to the days of the confederacy." pp. 416, 417.
This is a striking fact about Mr. Madison; but one still more striking
occurred after the publication of the speech. His great name and authority
had been constantly and confidently appealed to, not only in this debate, by
General Hayne, but, on previous occasions, by other favourers of the South
Carolina doctrines, until at last it began to be almost feared, that Mr.
Madison sustained the positions of the nullifiers. But as he had already
shown that the tariff law was quite constitutional, so, now, with no less
promptness and power, he came out against the whole doctrine of
nullification, and showed that his resolutions of 1798, on which its friends
had rested the wild fabric of their argument, as its main pillars, had nothing
to do with it; and thus, in conjunction with what had been done in the
Senate, brought down the whole temple they had built with such pains and
cost, upon the heads of their uncircumcised presumption and extravagance.
His letter, indeed, on this subject, is one of the most characteristic efforts of
his great wisdom, and one of the most important results of this discussion,
since it took from the advocates of nullification all the support of his
authority—the magni nominis umbra—the shade and shelter of his great
name.
But to return to Mr. Webster; the general tone of the last half of his speech
is uncommonly grave and imposing; but there is one passage in which a
lighter accent is assumed. It is that in which he runs out General Hayne's

nullifying doctrine into practice, and sets him, as a military man, to execute
his own nullifying law. The argument of this passage is the more
efficacious, because it is concealed under so much wit and good-humour.
"And now, Mr. President, let me run the honourable gentleman's doctrine a
little into its practical application. Let us look at his probable modus
operandi. If a thing can be done, an ingenious man can tell how it is to be
done. Now, I wish to be informed, how this state interference is to be put in
practice. We will take the existing case of the tariff law. South Carolina is
said to have made up her opinion upon it. If we do not repeal it, (as we
probably shall not,) she will then apply to the case the remedy of her
doctrine. She will, we must suppose, pass a law of her legislature, declaring
the several acts of Congress, usually called the Tariff Laws, null and void,
so far as they respect South Carolina, or the citizens thereof. So far, all is a
paper transaction, and easy enough. But the collector at Charleston, is
collecting the duties imposed by these tariff laws—he, therefore, must be
stopped. The collector will seize the goods if the tariff duties are not paid.
The state authorities will undertake their rescue; the marshal, with his
posse, will come to the collector's aid, and here the contest begins. The
militia of the state will be called out to sustain the nullifying act. They will
march, Sir, under a very gallant leader: for I believe the honourable member
himself commands the militia of that part of the state. He will raise the
Nullifying Act on his standard, and spread it out as his banner. It will have a
preamble, bearing that the tariff laws are palpable, deliberate, and
dangerous violations of the Constitution! He will proceed, with his banner
flying, to the custom-house in Charleston;
'All the while,
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds.'
Arrived at the custom-house, he will tell the collector that he must collect
no more duties under any of the tariff laws. This, he will be somewhat
puzzled to say, by the way, with a grave countenance, considering what
hand South Carolina herself had in that of 1816. But, Sir, the collector
would, probably, not desist, at his bidding. He would show him the law of
Congress, the treasury instruction, and his own oath of office. He would
say, he should perform his duty, come what might. Here would ensue a
pause: for they say that a certain stillness precedes the tempest. The

trumpeter would hold his breath awhile, and before all this military array
should fall on the custom-house, collector, clerks, and all, it is very
probable some of those composing it, would request of their gallant
commander-in-chief, to be informed a little upon the point of law; for they
have, doubtless, a just respect for his opinions as a lawyer, as well as for his
bravery as a soldier. They know he has read Blackstone and the
Constitution, as well as Turrene and Vauban. They would ask him,
therefore, something concerning their rights in this matter. They would
inquire, whether it was not somewhat dangerous to resist a law of the
United States. What would be the nature of their offence, they would wish
to learn, if they, by military force and array, resisted the execution in
Carolina of a law of the United States, and it should turn out, after all, that
the law was constitutional? He would answer, of course, treason. No lawyer
could give any other answer. John Fries, he would tell them, had learned
that some years ago. How, then, they would ask, do you propose to defend
us? We are not afraid of bullets, but treason has a way of taking people off,
that we do not much relish. How do you propose to defend us? 'Look at my
floating banner,' he would reply, 'see there the nullifying law!' Is it your
opinion, gallant commander, they would then say, that if we should be
indicted for treason, that same floating banner of yours would make a good
plea in bar? 'South Carolina is a sovereign state,' he would reply. That is
true—but would the judge admit our plea? 'These tariff laws,' he would
repeat, 'are unconstitutional, palpably, deliberately, dangerously.' That all
may be so; but if the tribunal should not happen to be of that opinion, shall
we swing for it? We are ready to die for our country, but it is rather an
awkward business, this dying without touching the ground! After all, that is
a sort of hemp-tax, worse than any part of the tariff.
Mr. President, the honourable gentleman would be in a dilemma, like that of
another great general. He would have a knot before him which he could not
untie. He must cut it with his sword. He must say to his followers, defend
yourselves with your bayonets; and this is war—civil war." pp. 421, 422.
After this his tone becomes even more grave and solemn than before, until,
when he approaches the conclusion, he bursts forth with the expression of
feelings of attachment to the Union and the Constitution, which it seemed
no longer possible for him to suppress. We should quote the passage, but
that it has been quoted every where, and is familiar to every body.

We forbear to pursue this debate any further. Mr. Hayne replied in a short
speech, which he afterwards expanded in the newspapers into a long one;
and Mr. Webster rejoined with a syllogistic brevity, exactness, and power,
which carried with them the force and conclusiveness of a demonstration;
and thus ended the discussion as between these two. It was afterwards
continued, however, for several weeks, and a majority, or nearly a majority,
of the whole Senate took part in it; but whenever it is now recollected or
referred to, the contest between the two principal speakers, from the 19th to
the 23d of January, is, we believe, generally intended.
The results of this memorable debate are already matter of history. The vast
audience that had contended for admission to the senate-chamber, till
entrance became dangerous, were the first to feel and make known its
effect; for, with his peculiar power of explaining abstruse and technical
subjects, so that all can comprehend them, Mr. Webster there expounded a
great doctrine of the constitution, which had been powerfully assailed, so
that all might feel the foundations on which it rests, to have been
consolidated rather than disturbed by the attempt to shake them. Their
verdict, therefore, was given at the time, and heard throughout the country.
But since that day, when the crowd came out of the senate-chamber
rejoicing in the victory which had been achieved for the constitution, nearly
twenty editions of the same argument have been called for in different parts
of the country, and thus scattered abroad above an hundred thousand copies
of it, besides the countless multitudes that have been sent forth by the
newspapers, until almost without a metaphor, it may be said to have been
carried to every fire-side in the land. The very question, therefore, which
was first submitted to an audience in the capitol,—comprising, indeed, a
remarkable representation of the talents and authority of the country, but
still comparatively small,—has since been submitted by the press to the
judgment of the nation, more fully, probably, than any thing of the kind was
ever submitted before; and the same remarkable plainness, the same power
of elucidating great legal and constitutional doctrines till they become as
intelligible and simple as the occupations of daily life, has enlarged the jury
of the senate-chamber till it has become the jury of the whole people, and
the same verdict has followed. What, therefore, Chancellor Kent said in
relation to it, is as true as it is beautiful;—"Peace has its victories as well as
war;"—and the triumph which Mr. Webster thus secured for a great