It may be admitted that we are yet somewhat behind the foremost nations of Europe in the higher walks of philosophy, and certainly in the practical application of true social principles, which, as yet, we do not fully comprehend, even if they do. But the conclusion of this author cannot be sound. However moderate may be our standard of knowledge in the United States, this knowledge, such as it is, is more widely diffused among the people who are to profit by it, than in any other country. If our attainments be comparatively small in philosophic statesmanship, the whole population partakes more or less in such progress as we have made; for education is universal, and whatever ideas are generated in the highest order of minds, soon become the familiar possession of all to the extremities of the land. Government yields with little opposition or delay to the interests and intelligence, and it may be, to the ignorance of the people: there is no other nation on the globe in which social forms and institutions are so plastic in the hands of wise and energetic men. By means of universal education and the perfect distribution of knowledge, we are laying the broadest possible basis on which the noblest structure may be raised, if we can only command the wisdom to build aright. The question, therefore, is, whether a whole people thoroughly educated and with the most perfect machinery for the diffusion of knowledge, though starting from a moderate condition of enlightenment, will outrun or fall behind other nations in which the few may be wiser, while the multitude is greatly more ignorant, and in which the forms of government and of social, organization are more rigid, and inaccessible to change or improvement. To answer this question will not cause much hesitation, at least in the mind of an American; and if we are not altogether what we think ourselves, the wisest and best of mankind, we may at least claim to be on the way to the highest improvement, with no serious obstacles in our path.



OUR FRIENDS ABROAD.

Two souls alone are friends of ours In all the British isles; Who sorrow for our darkened hours And greet our luck with smiles. "And who may those twain outcasts be Whose favor ye have won?" The first is Queen of England's realm, The other that good Queen's son.



WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

'Do but grasp into the thick of human life. Every one lives it—to not many is it known; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.'—Goethe.

'SUCCESSFUL.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'—Webster's Dictionary.

CHAPTER IX.

DIAMOND CUT—PASTE.

Elihu Joslin belonged to that class of knaves who are cowardly as well as unscrupulous. He never hesitated to cheat where he had an opportunity, trusting to his powers of blustering and browbeating to sustain him. When these failed, that is, when he encountered persons who were not imposed on nor intimidated by his swaggering, bullying mien, he showed his craven nature by an abject submission. From being an errand boy in an old-established paper house in the city, he had himself become the proprietor of a large business in the same line. He had but a single idea—to make money. And he did make it. His reputation among the trade was very bad. But this did not, as it ought to have done, put him out of the pale of business negotiations. Every merchant knows that there are many rich men in business, whose acts of dishonesty and whose tricks form a subject of conversation and anecdote with their associates in trade, yet who are not only tolerated, but are by some actually courted. Joslin, when quite a young man, had been the assignee of his employer, who hoped to find in him a pliant tool. He soon found his mistake. He had put himself completely in the power of his clerk, and the latter took full advantage of it. The result was, his principal was beggared, and Joslin rose on his ruins.

It was a favorite practice with Joslin to discover men who were short of money, lend them what they wanted, and thus, after a while, get control of all they possessed. When Joslin first met Mr. Burns, he hoped to entangle him as he had his friend. But the former was too good a merchant and in too sound a position to be brought in this way into his toils. He was therefore obliged to have recourse to sheer knavery to compass his object. The fact of Mr. Burns living so far from the city, the great expense which would be entailed on him by a litigation, and the natural repugnance he thought Mr. Burns would have to a lawsuit, emboldened him to employ the most high-handed measures to cheat him. The fact was, Mr. Burns's paper had become well known in the market, and commanded a ready sale. The manufacture was even—the texture firm and hard. There was a continually increasing demand for it. Joslin determined on—even for him—some audacious strokes. He sent a lot of the paper to an obscure auctioneer, one of his tools, and had it bid off in the name of a young man in his store. He thereupon reported the entire consignment to be unsalable, and credited Mr. Burns with the whole lot at the auction prices, less expenses. In this way he claimed to have no funds when Mr. Burns's drafts became due, and called on the latter for the ready money. The previous consignment he pretended to have sold in the city, at a time when paper was much lower than usual, but he had returned for this the then market price. Really he had not sold the paper at all. Knowing it was about to rise, he simply reported a sale, and kept the paper on hand to take advantage of the market, and he was now selling it at an advance of ten per cent, on the previous rates.

Mr. Burns had never before encountered so desperate a knave. As we have said, the affair troubled him greatly. True, he was determined to investigate it thoroughly, but he could not well afford the time to go himself to New York. His chief man at the paper mill had failed to accomplish anything; so it was a great relief when Hiram volunteered his services. Mr. Burns could not tell why, but he had a singular confidence that Hiram would bring the matter out right. He was up to see his confidential clerk off in the stage, which passed through Burnsville before daylight, and which was to call at the office for its passenger. From that office a light could be seen glimmering as early as three o'clock. Hiram, after an hour or two in bed, where he did not close his eyes, had risen, and taking his valise in his hand, had gone to the office, and was again deep in the accounts. He would make memorandums from time to time, and at last wrote a brief note to Mr. Burns, asking him to send forward by the first mail a full power of attorney. At length the stage horn was heard. Hiram rose, opened his valise, and placed his papers within it. The stage wheeled rapidly round the corner, and drew up at the office door; Hiram extinguished the light, seized his valise, stepped quietly out, and was in the act of turning the key—he had a duplicate—when Mr. Burns arrived.

'I thought,' he said, 'I would see you off. You will have a fine day, and reach New Haven in ample time for the boat.'

'I have left a brief note on your table,' responded Hiram, 'to ask for a power of attorney. I think it may be important.'

'You shall have it. Good luck to you. Write me how you get along. Good-by.'

He shook Hiram's hand with an enthusiasm which belonged to his nature. The latter extended his cold, dry palm to his employer, and said, 'Good morning, sir,' and got inside. He did not in the least enter into Mr. Burns's cheerful, sympathizing spirit. If the truth must be told, he had not the slightest sympathy for him; neither did any desire to extricate him from this awkward business induce the present adventure. He cared no more for Mr. Burns than he did for Mr. Joslin. But he did enjoy the idea of meeting that knave and circumventing him. It was the pleasantest 'duty' he ever had undertaken. On it his whole thoughts were centred. What did he care whether the day was fair or foul—whether the roads were good or bad? He longed to get to work at Joslin.

The stage door closed, and the vehicle rolled swiftly away. Mr. Burns stood a moment looking after it. He had felt the entire absence of responsive sympathy in his clerk, and his old feeling returned, as it invariably did at times. He walked slowly toward his house.

'Why is it that I so often wish I was rid of that fellow, when he serves me so effectually?'

Mr. Burns turned before entering, and cast his eyes over the horizon. Daylight was just streaking the sky from the east. Joel Burns paused, and directed his glance over the town—the town he had founded and made to flourish. Tears stood in his eyes. Wherefore? He was thinking of the time when, after Mr. Bellows's death, he had, step by step, carefully travelled over this locality, while laying plans for his future career. Here—just here—he had marked four trees to indicate the site for his house, and here he had built it.

'Oh, Sarah, why had you to leave me?'

The words, uttered audibly, recalled him to himself. He opened and passed through the gate, and stepped on the piazza.

'Is that you, father?' It was his daughter's voice. He looked up and saw her at the window. 'I heard you go out, and I have been watching for you ever since. Did Mr. Meeker get off?'

'Yes.'

'Wait, father, and I will come down and take a walk with you. Wouldn't you like it?'

'Yes, dear, very much.'

They walked on together in silence. Presently Sarah perceived they were going in the direction of the burying ground. Mr. Burns entered it with his daughter, and soon stood by his wife's grave.

'She left us early, my child. You do not forget her?'

'Oh no, father!'

'Do you remember all about her—all?'

'Yes, everything.'

'I know it—I know you do. Why is it, Sarah, that lately I feel more solitary than usual?'

'Do you, father?'

'Yes, since—' He paused, unwilling, it would seem, to finish the sentence.

'You know, father, I have not been quite so much with you since Mr. Meeker came. You are more in the office.'

'So I am. I wish—' He hesitated again. Evidently something oppressed him.

Just then the first slanting rays of the morning sun gleamed over the place—pleasant rays, which seemed to change the current of Mr. Burns's thoughts, lighting up his soul as they were lighting the universe.

He spoke cheerfully: "Let us run home, now. And, Sarah, won't you see that we have a very nice breakfast? Early rising has given me an appetite."

CHAPTER X.

All this time the stage was conveying Hiram Meeker toward his goal—toward Elihu Joslin. He reached New Haven in time for the boat, and early the following morning was in New York. At this date the town had not assumed its present magnificent proportions. Broadway, above Canal street, was lined with private residences instead of stores, and Bleecker street was one of the most fashionable in the city. Nevertheless it was already imposing, especially to a young man from the country.

Hiram had visited New York on two several occasions when a boy, in company with his mother, but latterly had not found any opportunity to do so. Lauding from the boat, he made his way to the then leading hotel, 'The Franklin House,' and entered his name, and presently went in to breakfast. After he had finished, he stepped out on the sidewalk. He beheld a continuous stream of human beings pouring along this extraordinary thoroughfare. Omnibuses, carts, wagons, and vehicles of every description already filled the way.

Hiram stood and regarded the scene. 'What a field here!' he said to himself. 'Look at this mass of people. Every other man an idiot—and of the rest, not one in a thousand has more than a medium share of brains. What a field, indeed, to undertake to manage and direct and control these fellows! What machinery though! Not too fast. This is the place for me. Burnsville-pho! Now, friend Joslin, * * * *

Hiram made his way to the store of H. Bennett & Co., in Pearl street. Mr. Bennett was in; glad to see Hiram, but wonderfully busy. He invited his relative to dinner—indeed, asked him why he had not come direct to his house. Then he turned away to business.

All this did not fluster Hiram in the slightest. He waited a few minutes; then took occasion to interrupt Mr. Bennett, and say he wished to speak with him on something of importance.

'Certainly,' replied the other. 'What can I do for you?'

'I come to New York on special business,' said Hiram. 'It is necessary I should know just what kind of a person Elihu Joslin is—the large paper dealer in Nassau street. I have not your facilities for ascertaining, and I ask you, as a particular favor, to find out for me.'

'Joslin!' exclaimed Mr. Bennett. 'I hope none of your people are in his clutches. He is a very hard case to deal with, so they say.'

'Is he rich?'

'Yes, worth a couple of hundred thousand, easy.'

'How does he stand with the trade?'

'Oh, unpopular enough, I should imagine. Can't tell you particularly—is not in my line, you know; but if the matter is really pressing, you shall learn all you wish to in an hour.'

'Thank you. I must know all about him prior to a personal interview, which I am to have.'

'I see. Call in at twelve o'clock, and the information will be ready for you.'

'One word more. Do you know the house of Orris & Tweed, auctioneers?'

'Orris & Tweed? Never heard their name before.'

'It is in the directory.'

'I dare say. That don't amount to anything.'

'Please let me know something of them, too. I am sorry to give you this trouble; but I am a greenhorn in New York, and have a difficult matter on my hands.'

'No trouble—at least, I don't count it such to help a friend in the way of business. Besides, if you are a greenhorn, you act as if you know what you are about.'

H. Bennett, of the prosperous house of Bennett & Co., would not have devoted five minutes extra to his namesake in the way of social chat; regarding such conduct in business hours, and in the busy season, as worse than superfluous; but as a matter of business, though purely incidental and profitless, he would have given the whole day to Hiram's affair, if absolutely necessary.

Mr. Bennett here gave some special directions to one of his numerous clerks, a sharp, active-looking fellow, with a keen eye and an air like a game cock, who vanished as soon as they were received.

Hiram left the store, and turning into Wall street, walked on till he reached Nassau street, in which was the establishment of Elihu Joslin. He strolled on without any special purpose, till his attention was arrested by an obstruction on the sidewalk. It was simply the ordinary circumstance of the delivery of goods. In this instance a dray was backed up to the curbstone, with paper. Hiram looked at it carefully. It was of Mr. Burns's manufacture. He glanced up to see the name of the house. It was not Joslin.

A new thought flashed on him. Actuated by it, he commenced to speak with the carman, but checked himself, and walked boldly into the store, and back to the counting room.

'I see you have Burns's paper. I want to purchase a small quantity of it.'

'We couldn't supply you, to-day—have just got this in to fill an order. His paper stands so high that it is scarce in the market. How much do you want? We may get some more in by Thursday.'

'Only a few reams to make out an assortment. I suppose I can buy of you on as good terms as of Joslin.'

'For a small lot, I am sure, better; indeed, I have this direct from him, which is the same thing as if sent from the mill. You know the manufacturers will sell only to jobbers. You are in the retail line, I presume?'

'I am; and I wish you would spare me a couple of reams out of this lot, and send them round to H. Bennett & Co.'s, Pearl street.'

The merchant recognized in Hiram a young country storekeeper, and, desirous as all merchants are to make new acquaintances, was willing to accommodate him. H. Bennett & Co. was a first-class name, and this decided him to break into the lot, which was already sold to somebody else.

Hiram paid for his purchase, called up a carman instanter, and never took his eye off the paper till it was delivered at Mr. Bennett's store.

That gentleman was standing at the door, saying good-by to a first-rate customer, when Hiram came up with his cart, and directed his two reams of paper to be deposited inside.

'Well, youngster, what's all this? said Mr. Bennett, good humoredly.

'A little speculation of mine,' quoth Hiram, quietly.

'Well, men do sometimes buy their own paper, I know—that is, when there is a promise to pay written on it; but this is a blank lot.'

'It will prove a prize to me, unless I am mistaken.'

Mr. Bennett caught the general idea on the instant. The two exchanged looks, such as are only current between very 'cute, knowing, sharp-witted men. Hiram was betrayed into returning Mr. Bennett's leer before he was aware of it. It was a spontaneous recognition, and he felt ashamed at being thus thrown off his guard. He colored slightly, and said something about his duty to his employer.

'There's where you're right,' replied Mr. Bennett. 'A man who does not serve his employer well will not serve himself well in the long run; that you may be sure of.'

The conversation ended here. Hiram strolled out again for half an hour; and when he returned, Mr. Bennett was able to give him a daguerreotype of Elihu Joslin's character, which agreed with that with which we have already favored the reader. As to 'Orris & Tweed, auctioneers,' they were not much better than Peter Funks—lived by acting as stool pigeons, and cheating generally.

Hiram left the store rejoicing at this intelligence, and took his way direct to Joslin's place. Inquiring if that personage was in, he was told yes, but specially engaged. Hiram sat for a full hour, waiting patiently: then he was told to go into the private counting room.

Entering, he beheld a large, overgrown, rough-looking man, about five and thirty, with black hair and eyes, and a coarse, florid complexion, who looked up and nodded carelessly on his entering.

'This is Mr. Joslin, I presume?'

Yes.'

'My name is Meeker, I come from Burnsville—am in the employ of Mr. Burns.'

'Well?'

'I have come down to take a look at York, and knowing you owned half the paper mill, guessed you was a friend of Mr. Burns, and might not object to let some of your folks show me about a little.'

'You don't belong in the mill, then?'

'No; but I've been all over it. It's curious work—paper making.'

'How long are you going to stay here?'

'Well, I want to make a little visit and see the place. In fact, I've a notion to come here by-and-by, and I would like to look about first. Don't you want a clerk yourself?'

'What can you do?'

'I can tend store first rate.'

'What do you want to leave Burns for?'

'I didn't say I wanted to leave him. He's a first-rate man, if he was only a little sharper—got too many soft spots: that's what I hear folks say. But I think I should like New York.'

'Well, Nicker—'

'Meeker, if you please.'

'All right, I say, Meeker; we are pretty busy now, but if you want to see the elephant—and I suppose you do—I will introduce you to one of my boys, who will give you a chance.'

He stepped out, beckoning Hiram to follow.

'Hill! Tell Hill to come here, some of you. Hill, this is Mr. Meeker, in the employ of our particular friend, Mr. Burns, of Burnsville. He wants to see something of the city. You must do what you can for him. I would not wish to slight any one, you know, who belongs with Mr. Burns.'

'All right, sir,' said Hill, a jaunty, devil-may-care looking fellow, with a sallow, sickly face, evidently the result of excess and dissipation.' If the young gentleman will tell me where he stops. I will call for him this evening.'

'At the Franklin House,' responded Hiram.

'The devil!' exclaimed Joslin. 'Tall quarters, I should say.'

'Ain't it a good place, sir? I was told it was a good house on board the boat.'

'Good! I should think it was. The best in New York. A dollar and a half a day: did you understand that?'

'No, sir; I did not ask the price.'

'Green, that's a fact,' said Joslin to himself.' Never mind,' he continued, 'Hill will recommend you to his boarding place, if you like. Good day;' and Hiram took his leave.

'I say, Hill, I want to find out how matters stand with Burns. You've got just the chance now. Put this chap through generally. His mother don't seem to know he's out. Don't mind a few dollars: you understand? And recollect, pump him dry.'

'Dry as a sandbank,' said Hill, who was already chuckling over the sport in prospect.

Mr. Joslin continued his instructions, which, as they were of a strictly private nature, we should be violating confidence to record.

Hiram occupied himself the remainder of the day in looking about the town. He took one of Brower's omnibuses and rode to the end of the route in Broadway, opposite Bond street. Here he descended and retraced his steps. Broadway was then the general promenade. Hiram's pulse beat quick as he gazed on the beauty and fashion of the metropolis moving magnificently along. Susceptible as he was, he had never before been so impressed with female charms. He thought of the belles of Hampton and Burnsville with a species of disgust. His own costume, which he regarded as so perfect, he perceived had a provincial, country look, when contrasted with that of the gentlemen he encountered. Now in business matters, Hiram was as much at home and as self-possessed in New York as in Connecticut. But when it came to the display he now beheld, he felt and acknowledged his inferiority.

Here Hiram was green. He did not stop to reflect that fine feathers make fine birds, so suddenly was he confronted with the glittering panorama. He continued to mingle with the crowd which swept along, and sometimes the blood would rush swiftly to his brain, causing him to reel, as dark eyes would be turned languidly on him, exhibiting, as he was ready to believe, an incipient interest in his destiny.

Below Canal street the character of the current began to change, till gradually Hiram was freed from the exciting trial he had been subjected to. He collected his thoughts and brought his mind back to his work—and his work Hiram Meeker never neglected. Slowly the old current drove out the new. Gradually his mind returned to its even tenor. He walked through the custom house. He entered the exchange. He visited the shipping; and when he got back to the hotel, he was tired and hungry enough. But, tired and hungry as he was, he proceeded at once to open his valise and take out a bundle of papers. Glancing over certain account sales, his eye fell on the name of HILL as purchaser. A peculiar gleam of satisfaction passed over his face as he replaced the papers in his valise and went down to dinner.

CHAPTER XI.

At the appointed hour, the young gentleman whom Mr. Joslin had addressed as 'Hill' waited on Hiram at the Franklin House. He sent up his card, and Hiram descended to meet him. He could scarcely recognize the young man before him, dressed in a ridiculous extreme of fashion, and covered with rings, pins, and gold chains, as the clerk hard at work with coat off, superintending the stowing away of a lot of merchandise. But Hiram was in no way deceived or taken in by the imposing manner in which Mr. Hill had got himself up. He saw quickly the difference between the real and the flash fashionable. But he did not betray this by word or sign, and continued to maintain the character he had assumed of an unsophisticated, verdant country youth.

Mr. Hill at the outset proposed they should take a drink, to which Hiram readily assented. They proceeded to the bar, when the young man asked his companion what he would have.

'A glass of lemonade,' replied Hiram.

'Lemonade!' exclaimed the other. 'You don't call that drinking with a fellow, do you?'

'I can't take anything stronger,' answered Hiram. 'I belong to the temperance society.'

'Temperance society!' retorted Hill, a good deal chapfallen that he was to lose his chief weapon of attack. 'I thought the pledge didn't hold when you were away from home?'

'Oh, yes it does; our minister says it holds everywhere. Still, I wouldn't mind taking some soda and sarsaparilla, though Dr. Stevens says there's alcohol in the sarsaparilla.'

Hiram was impracticable. Hill could not induce him even to take a little wine. He was so much chagrined that he poured out for himself a double portion of brandy, and, before he had finished it, regained his good humor.

'Well, what do you say to another glass? I think I can stand the brandy, if you can the lemonade.'

Hiram had no objections.

Hill lighted a segar. Hiram did not smoke.

'I hope you are not going to refuse my next invitation,' said Hill. 'I have got tickets for the theatre: what do you say?'

Hiram had often discussed the theatre question, both at the lyceum and on other occasions. It was to be condemned—no doubt about it. But the Rev. Mr. Goddard had once remarked in his hearing that he thought if a good opportunity was presented for a young man to visit the theatre, he had perhaps better do so, than feel an irritating curiosity all his life about it.

Seeing Hiram hesitate, Hill proceeded to urge him. 'You had better go,' he said. 'Lots to be seen. You don't know what you are losing, I tell you.'

Hiram was not influenced by his companion's importunity, but he decided to go, nevertheless. The elder Kean was then in New York, and the old Park Theatre in all its glory. That evening Kean was to play Shylock in the 'Merchant of Venice.' Hill, greatly pleased that at last he had made some headway, took another glass of brandy and water, and the young men proceeded to the theatre. The house was crowded from galleries to pit. The orchestra was playing when they entered.

Hiram was blinded by the brilliancy of the gaslights. His heart beat fast in spite of his effort to be composed.

The play began with some second-rate actors, who went through the first scene with the usual affected stage strut and tone. Hiram thought he never witnessed anything more unnatural and ridiculous. Even in the second, where Portia and Nerissa hold a dialogue, he was rather disgusted than otherwise. The machinery had scarcely been adjusted for the third scene, when a storm of applause burst from all parts of the house; clapping of hands, stamping of feet, bravos, and various noises of welcome commingled, and Hiram beheld an old man enter, somewhat bent, dressed in a Hebrew cap and tunic, having a short cane, which would serve either for support or as a means of defence. As he advanced, he cast sidelong, suspicious, and sinister glances from beneath bushy, beetling eyebrows.

At first Hiram was inclined to believe it was a real personage, so natural was his entrance—so destitute of all trick, or of anything got up.

'That's Kean,' whispered Hill.

Hiram held his breath as the words of the Jew broke distinctly on the house:

'Three thousand ducats—well.'

He entered at once with the deepest interest into the play. With head leaning forward, eyes open wide and fixed on the speaker, he drank in every word. From the first he sympathized with the main character. When Shylock went on to say: 'Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tipolis, another to the Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves—I mean pirates; and there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is notwithstanding sufficient:'—Hiram unconsciously shook his head, as if he doubted it.

His whole soul was now centred in the performance. When it came to the trial, in the fourth act, he turned and twisted his body, as if he could with difficulty abstain from advising Shylock to accept the offer of Bassanio: 'For the three thousand ducats here is six.'

It does not appear that Hiram felt any sympathy for the merchant who was to lose the pound of flesh; but for Shylock, when turned out of court stripped of all he had, it was intense. When at last he exclaims:

'Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live:'

Hiram leaned back, and exclaimed audibly: 'It's too bad, I declare!'

All this time, Hill sat as quietly as he could. He laughed whenever Launcelot Gobbo appeared; and tried hard to get Hiram to go out and take more lemonade between the acts. Hiram would not move. He offered to introduce him to lots of pretty girls whom he pointed out in the distance; but it was useless. Hill began to think he would not make much of Hiram, after all. The evening was past, and he had as yet accomplished just nothing.

The play was over. The farce had been performed. It did not interest Hiram. He thought everything over-strained and unnatural. It was now late, Hiram had declined various seductive invitations of Hill, when the latter finally insisted they should have some oysters. Hiram assented, and the two descended into Windust's.

'Well, old fellow, what are you doing here?' was Hill's exclamation to a young man with notebook and pencil, seated at one of the small tables, on which already smoked an oyster stew and some brandy toddy.

'Hallo, Hill, is that you? Sit down. What will you have?' was the reply.

Hiram regarded the speaker curiously. He was twenty-two or three years old—serious looking, with black hair, dark eyes, and pale, bony features. He had the easy, indifferent air of one careless of opinion, or independent of it.

'My friend, Mr. Meeker, from Connecticut.'

'Mr. Meeker, Mr. Innis.'

After these salutations, the parties sat down, and orders were given.

'Excuse me,' said Innis; 'I am not quite through my work.'

'Go ahead,' replied Hill; whereat the other proceeded with his pencil and notebook, scratching away in a most rapid manner.

Seeing Hiram look as if he did not exactly comprehend the employment, Hill remarked, 'Innis is item man and reporter for the Clarion, and you will see his notice of Kean's performance, which he is just finishing, in to-morrow morning's paper.'

This struck Hiram as rapid work, considerably increasing his respect for the stranger, and led him to regard Innis still more critically. His appearance had impressed him favorably from the first.

Suddenly he exclaimed, 'Wern't you at Newton Academy?'

'Yes; and so were you. I remember now. You were a little fellow. You took the first prize in bookkeeping.'

'And you learned shorthand of Chellis.'

'Which counts now, at any rate. I should starve without it.'

During this colloquy Hill sat in utter amazement.

'You a Newton boy?' he exclaimed at last.

'Yes,' said Hiram.

'And you know him, and no mistake?' to Innis.

Innis nodded.

'Then old Joslin may go to the devil. I—'

'He'll go soon enough, and without your permission; and if you are not careful, you'll go with him,' interrupted Innis, rising. 'I am all right now,' he continued. 'I've but to step a block and a half and back. I will be with you again in three minutes;' and he darted off to hand in his evening's report.

Hill sat looking at Hiram, who, with all his impenetrability wore a surprised and puzzled expression.

'You don't remember me,' he said.

'No.'

'Why, I am Deacon Hill's son, of Newton. I quit the academy, I guess, just about the time you came. Innis and I were there together. Well, I declare, your innocent look threw me off the track; but I have seen you many a time in Hampton. You used to be with Jessup, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'You've been coming possum over Joslin; isn't it so?'

'I don't understand you.'

'Oh, never mind; he's a cursed knave, anyway. I shall quit him first of January—keeps me on promises and the lowest kind of a salary, and no end of the dirty work—'

'Such as sham sales of my employer's paper sold A.H. Hill,' interrupted Hiram, dryly.

'Hallo! where did you get hold of that?' said Hill, laughing.

Hiram made no reply; and Innis entering at this moment, the subject was changed.

Hill, who had already imbibed more than was good for him, ordered a brandy toddy; and Hiram, true to his temperance principles, partook of a cup of hot coffee. Before the toddy was half finished, Hill, who was already illustrating the proverb that 'children, fools, and drunken men speak truth,' commenced again about his employer, Joslin.

'Really, Mr. Hill, I don't think you ought to refer to your confidential relations with your principal,' said Hiram, gravely. He knew, cunning fellow, it would only be adding fuel to the fire.

'You be——,' said Hill. 'I tell you what it is, Innis: here's a sell. I'm fairly come over. He is on Joslin's track—I know it, and I'll own up.' He thereupon proceeded to give a general account of Joslin, and how he did business, and what a cowardly, lying knave he was.

Innis laughed. Hiram was quiet, but he did not miss a word. The little supper was finished, and the trio rose to depart.

'I had no idea it was so late,' said Innis.

'Have you far to go?' said Hiram.

'Yes, to Chelsea; and the omnibuses have stopped.'

'Come and stay with me: I have a very nice room.'

Innis saw Hiram was in earnest, and after a little hesitation he assented. Hill bid them good night, and hiccoughed off toward his own quarters; and Hiram with Innis went to the Franklin House.

When these young men reached their room, they did not go to bed. They sat up for an hour or two. What this conference led to we shall see by-and-by.

CHAPTER XII.

Hiram rose early, notwithstanding the late hours of the previous night. Innis breakfasted with him and then took his departure. On going to the post office, Hiram found a letter from Mr. Burns, enclosing a full power of attorney, as he had requested. He then went to H. Bennett & Co., where he took up at least an hour of that gentleman's time, apparently quite to that gentleman's satisfaction. Thence Hiram proceeded to the office of a well-known counsellor at law, who had been recommended to him by Mr. Bennett.

The day was spent in preparing certain ominous-looking documents. I am told that on the occasion Hiram exhibited a breadth and clearness of comprehension which astonished the counsellor, who could not help suggesting to the young man that he would make an excellent lawyer, which compliment Hiram received with something very like a sneer. That evening Hiram went to bed early. He slept well. His plans were perfected—his troops in order of battle, only waiting for the signal to be given.

He awoke about sunrise, and rang his bell. A sleepy servant at length replied to it.

'Bring me a Clarion,' said Hiram.

'The papers won't be along, sir, for half an hour.'

'Well, let me have one the moment they come. Here's a quarter; bring a Clarion quick, and I shall ask no change.'

I record this instance of an impatient spirit in Hiram, as probably the last he ever exhibited through his whole life. What could cause it?

Presently the waiter came back. The Clarion was in his hand. Hiram took it eagerly, turned swiftly to the 'City Items,' and nodded with intense satisfaction as his eye rested on one paragraph.

* * * * *

At ten o'clock precisely, Hiram presented himself at the counting room of Elihu Joslin. Again he was forced to wait some time, and again he waited most patiently.

[I ought to state that Hill, in order to keep up his credit with his employer, his bravado being sensibly cooled the following morning, had made up all sorts of stories about Mr. Burns's affairs, which, as he reported, had been pumped from Hiram, whom he professed to have left in a most dilapidated state at the hotel.]

At length Mr. Joslin would see Hiram. The latter entered and sat down.

'Well, my young friend,' said the merchant, 'what do you think of New York? Equal to Burnsville, eh? Did Hill do the polite thing by you?'

'Mr. Joslin,' said Hiram, seriously, and quite in his natural manner, while he fixed his quiet but strangely searching eyes on him, 'I have an important communication to make to you?'

'Well?'

'I am not what I appear to be!'

'No? What the devil are you then?'

'I am the CONFIDENTIAL CLERK of Joel Burns, sent here by him to ferret out and punish your rascalities. Stay,' continued Hiram—perceiving Joslin was about to break forth in some violent demonstrations. 'Sit down, sir, and hear me through quietly. It is your best course. It is your ONLY course. Now listen. You have undertaken to cheat my employer. You have rendered false accounts of sales, using your own clerks for sham purchasers, and employing stool-pigeon auctioneers. You have attempted to swindle him generally. I have the whole story here. You are in my power.'

'By——! that's more than I'll stand,' shouted Joslin, 'from any d——d Connecticut Yankee.'

'Stop,' said Hiram, authoritatively. 'A word more, and you are ruined past all redemption. Read that,' and he handed him the Clarion, placing his finger on a particular paragraph. Joslin took the paper. His hand trembled, but he managed to read as follows:

'Some extraordinary disclosures have reached us, involving a wholesale paper house in Nassau street in large swindling transactions. We forbear to give the name of the party implicated, but understand that the police to-morrow will be in possession of the facts.'

'Here,' said Hiram, showing a bundle of papers, 'are the documents. Outside there on the curbstone stands an officer. I mean to make short work of it. Will you behave rationally or not?'

Joslin sat down.

'What do you want?' he said at length.

'I want nothing but what is HONEST, sir—that I mean to have,' said Hiram, in a mild, but very firm tone. 'Here is the account as it ought to be rendered. Look it over, and put your name to it.'

'Really, this will take time—a good deal of time,' said Joslin, recovering from his stupor. 'I must consult my bookkeeper.'

'You will consult nobody, and you will settle this account before I leave the room.'

Joslin took the document. He trembled from head to foot. He saw himself completely circumvented.

Hiram proceeded to show him just how the account ought to stand. Very coolly and very accurately he went through the whole.

'I suppose you are right,' said Joslin, moodily, and he affixed his signature to the paper, and began to think he was getting off easy. 'Now, do you want anything more of me?'

'Yes,' said Hiram, 'considerably more. You own one half of the paper mill with Mr. Burns. You must sell out to him. Here is an agreement to sell, drawn ready for your signature.'

'D——d if I will do it for all Burnsville! You've settled with me, and you can't stir a peg farther. Outwitted yourself this time!' said Joslin, triumphantly.

'Not quite so fast. You have settled with Mr. Burns by signing that paper, which gives the lie to your other accounts, and is so much evidence for me before a police court; but Mr. Burns has not settled with you, and won't settle with you till you bind yourself, by signing this document, to sell out to him, on reasonable terms.'

Joslin was again struck dumb.

'You will receive,' continued Hiram, 'just what you paid for it, less my expenses, and charges for my time and trouble in coming to New York, counsel fees, and so forth; and you may think yourself fortunate in falling into conscientious hands!'

Not to pursue the interview farther, Hiram accomplished just exactly what he undertook to do before he entered Joslin's store that morning. The accounts were made right, and Hiram turned to leave the store with the agreement to sell in his pocket. He stopped before going out.

'Mark you,' he said; 'when Joel Burns gets a clean deed of your half the paper mill, according to this agreement, I will tear up these little documents'—exhibiting some law papers. 'Don't forget. You have undertaken to settle with me. I shan't have settled with you till I get the deed. Good morning.'

It was only twelve o'clock when all this was concluded. Hiram marched out of the store triumphant. His impulse on touching the pavement was to jump up and down, run, kick up his heels, and shout all sorts of huzzas. He did none of these, but walked up to the Park very quietly, and then into Broadway. But his heart beat exultantly. A glow of absolute satisfaction suffused his mental, moral, and physical system. It was just the happiest moment of his life. The day was fine—the air clear and bracing. Broadway was filled to overflowing. How he enjoyed the promenade! It was when turning to retrace his steps, after reaching the limits of fashionable resort, that his feelings became so buoyant that it seemed as if he must find some outlet for them. The exquisite beauty of the ladies, the richness of their dresses, and the air and style with which they glided along, put new excitement into his soul.

'One of these days I shall make their acquaintance. Oh! what a place this is,' he muttered.

Unconsciously he stopped quite still, almost in an ecstacy.

At that moment his attention was attracted by a hearse, which, having accomplished its task, was proceeding at a rapid rate up Broadway. Careening this way and that, it jolted swiftly over the pavement. The driver, either hardened by habit, or, it may be, a little tipsy, exhibited a rollicking, reckless air, as he urged his horse along. As he came opposite Hiram, their eyes met. Influenced by I know not what, perhaps for a joke, perhaps to give the young fellow who was so verdantly staring at him a start, he half checked the animal, as if about to pull up, and gesturing to Hiram in the style of an omnibus driver, motioned him to get inside!

Never before, never afterward, did Hiram receive such a shock. Dismay was so evident on his face, that the man gave vent to a coarse laugh at the success of his experiment, applied the lash to his brute, and dashed furiously on.

What sent that hearse along just then and there? It gave you a ghostly reminder, Hiram. It made you recollect that you were not to lose sight of the other side.

That morning Hiram forgot, yes, forgot to say his prayers. So entirely was he carried away by the Joslin business, that for once he neglected this invariable duty. Now this was not singular under the circumstances. To a genuine spirit the omission would have been followed by no morbid recollections. As Hiram, after the affair of the hearse, took his way to the hotel, the fact that he had not sought God's blessing on his morning's work suddenly presented itself. He was persuaded the shock he received was providential. Arrived at the Franklin, he mounted to his room, and read three or four times the customary amount in the Bible, and prayed longer and more energetically than he ever did before in his life. He was now much more calm, but still a good deal depressed. It was not till after he had partaken of an excellent dinner that he felt entire equanimity.

That evening Hiram was to spend at Mr. Bennett's. True to his rule, which he applied with severity, not to let pleasure interfere with business, he had declined all his cousin's invitations. Now he was at liberty to go and enjoy himself. Mr. Bennett lived in a very handsome house in a fashionable street. His daughters were all older than Hiram, but still they were very pretty, and by no means passee. Mrs. Bennett was quite a grand lady. Mr. B. received Hiram very cordially, and asked immediately how he had got along. Hiram replied briefly. Mr. B. was delighted. Mrs. B. received Hiram very graciously, but with something of a patronizing manner, very different from what she exhibited when spending several weeks at Hampton. The two girls were more cordial. Hiram's country-bred politeness, which omitted not the least point required by books of etiquette, amused them much as the vigorous and very scientific dancing of a country belle amuses the city-bred girl who walks languidly through the measure. Notwithstanding, Hiram managed to make himself agreeable. It was not till two or three young gentlemen of the city came in that they showed slight signs of weariness, and Hiram was transferred to mamma. Our hero was not slow to perceive the disadvantage under which he labored. He was not one whit discouraged. He watched his rivals closely. He smiled occasionally in disdain while listening to some of the conversation. 'They are almost fools,' he said to himself. 'The tailor has done the whole.' Never mind, I can afford to wait.

* * * * *

The next morning Hiram took the boat for New Haven, and on the following morning reached Burnsville. He had written but a line to Mr. Burns, to acknowledge the receipt of the power of attorney, and had given his employer no inkling of what he was attempting to do.

As the stage, a little after sunrise, drove into that beautiful village, Hiram felt glad to get back to its quiet, charming repose. He thought of the glare and hustle and excitement of New York with no satisfaction, contrasted with the placid beauty of the scene he now witnessed. The idea of being welcomed by Louisa and Charlotte Hawkins filled his mind with pleasure, and Sarah Burns did not at that moment suffer in comparison with the Miss Bennetts.

'It is a happy spot!' said Hiram. 'Can I do better than stay in it?'

It was an instinct of his better nature which spoke. He had given way to it for a moment, but only for a moment. The next, the old sense returned and was triumphant.

* * * * *

The stage whirled on, and soon Hiram was driven up to the house of Mrs. Hawkins. How rejoiced they all were to see him! The widow Hawkins had missed him so much! As for Louisa and Charlotte, they were ready to devour him.

Hiram hurried through his breakfast, hastily adjusted his toilette, and walked over to Mr. Burns's house. He rang the bell. The door was opened by Mr. Burns himself. He greeted Hiram most cordially.

'I did not expect you back so soon. Come in; we are just sitting down to breakfast.'

'I have already breakfasted,' said Hiram, 'and am going to the office. Please look these papers over,' he continued. 'By them you will see precisely what I have been able to do.'

Mr. Burns took the papers and turned to go in. He thought Hiram had accomplished little, and he did not wish to mortify him by asking what.

Just then Sarah Burns came tripping down stairs, and, passing her father, extended her hand to Hiram, and said:

'Welcome back! What have you done?'

'Do not forget your promise,' replied Hiram, in a low, distinct tone. 'I have WON!'



AURORA.

'For Waterloo,' says Victor Hugo, 'was not a battle: it was a change of front of the universe.'

Great events are developed by nearness. "To-day," says Emerson, "is a king in disguise." Probably half the soldiers of Constantine's army regarded their leader's adoption of the Cross as his sign of hope and triumph as of small account. Their pay and rations, their weapons, their officers, were the same as before; the enemy before them, their duty to beat him, were unchanged. What availed a symbol more or less on the imperial banner? Even admit that it indicated the emperor's personal rejection of the old and adoption of the newer faith, what of that? Would not everybody else abide by the religion of his own choice, whatever that might be? Away, then, with all theological babble, which plain people can never half understand! Rome and the emperor for ever! Yet in that despised symbol, announcing that the Empire had become the protector instead of the persecutor of the Christian faith, was the germ of a greater transformation than was wrought by the Deluge.

The Proclamation of Freedom by President Lincoln is doubtless open to criticism. Why did he not declare all slaves emancipated? Why not make such legal manumission operative at once? Why intimate that certain States should (or might) be excepted from its operation? Why not declare the slaves liberated because of the essential, inevitable wrong of holding them in bondage? Why not appeal to God for His blessing on the cause henceforward inseparably identified with that of Right and Liberty? Such questions may be multiplied indefinitely; but to what end? What matters that the Proclamation might or should be different, since we have practical concern only with the Proclamation as it is?

For more than a lifetime, slavery has been accepted and regarded as a national institution. The American in Europe was "perplexed in the extreme" by the questionings and criticisms of humane, intelligent observers, who could not comprehend how a country should contain Four Millions of slaves by the official census, yet not be a slaveholding country. With our capital a slaveholding city; with our fortresses in good part constructed by the labor of slaves; with our flag the chief shelter of the African Slave Trade, and our statute book disgraced by the most arbitrary and inhuman Fugitive Slave Law ever devised, it was a nice operation to prove this no slaveholding country, but only one wherein certain citizens, by virtue of local laws, over which we had no control, were permitted to hold Blacks in slavery. And, when it is notorious that the active partisans of slavery filled every Federal office, even in the nominally free States, and excluded rigorously from office every opponent of the baleful system, it is certain that the shrug of the polite Frenchman who listened to our demonstration that ours, after all, was not a slaveholding country, was an indication of complaisance rather than of conviction. To prove this nothing of the sort, while Brazil was placed at the head of modern slaveholding countries, was to overtax the resources of human sophistry.

The Proclamation is an immense fact. If it were no more than a recognition from the highest quarter of the deadly antagonism between slavery and the Union, it would have inexhaustible significance. The American republic, bleeding at every pore while fighting desperately for life, arraigns slavery as her chief enemy and peril. The truth was long since clear to every candid mind; but truth gains force by recognition. Thousands realize a fact thus proclaimed, who have hitherto ignored and resisted it.

For thirty years, the charge of disloyalty has borne heavily on the American champion of Universal Liberty. True, as to a very few, who could not obtain the assent of their consciences to compacts which bound them to aid the oppressor against his victim, they were made a weapon of offense against all. Abolitionists were execrated and hooted by the mob as champions at once of Negro Equality and of National dissolution.

The times are bravely altered. The partnership between Slavery and Unionism is absolutely dissolved. Like most divorces, this involves a deadly quarrel. Not even the soaring platitudes of George Francis Train can longer evoke cheers for the Union blent with curses on Abolition. In a strictly, sternly real sense, "Liberty and Union" are henceforth "one and inseparable!"

For thirty years, our great seaboard merchants, our shippers, our factors, have given their patronage to pro-slavery journals and their votes to pro-slavery politicians, with intent to preserve the Union and lay the red spectre of civil war. Their recompense is found in the repudiation of the immense debts for merchandise due them from the South, and a gigantic war waged by the Slave Power for the overthrow of the Union. The profits of a lifetime of obsequious pandering to the master crime of our era are swept away at a blow, and the arm that strikes it is that of the monster they have made such sacrifices of conscience and manhood to conciliate. Was ever retribution more signal?

To-day, the American Union, through the official action of its President and Congress, stands distinctly on the side of Liberty for All. Its success in the fearful struggle forced upon it involves the overthrow and extinction of American slavery. The sentiment of nationality, the instinct which impels every people to deprecate and resist the dismemberment and degradation of their country, the impulse of loyalty, are all arrayed against the traitorous "institution" which, after having so long bent the Union to its ends, now seeks its destruction. It once seemed to the majority patriotic to champion slavery; it is now a sacred duty to resist the bloody Moloch unto death.

The very hesitation of the President to take the decisive step gives weight to his ultimate decision. The compromisers have never tired of eulogizing his firmness, his candor, his patience, his clearness of vision, his independence, and his unsectional patriotism. His associations were largely with the Border State school of conservatives. His favorite counsellor was the most eminent and sturdy Republican opponent of an emancipation policy. His decision in favor of that policy, like the Proclamation which announces it, is entirely his own. The "pressure" to which he deferred was that of an urgent public necessity and the emphatic conviction of the great mass of our loyal citizens.

And, though few days have elapsed since the Proclamation was uttered, the evils predicted by its opponents are already banished to the limbo of chimera. Those officers who threatened to resign in case an emancipation policy were adopted make no haste to justify their menaces. As yet, not one of them has done so; in time, a few may screw their courage to the sticking-point. There are enough who can be spared; and they are generally those who deprecate and denounce an "Abolition war." May they yet prove men of their word!

Outside of the army, the general feeling is one of wonder that this act of direst portent to the rebellion has been so long delayed. Even the rebels share in this amazement. When secession was first openly mooted at the South, every Unionist argued that secession was practical abolition. It has puzzled them to comprehend the weary months through which their prophecies were left unfulfilled. They will be perplexed no longer.

The Opposition in the loyal States is manifestly weakened by the Proclamation. Their dream is of wearing out the Unionists by disappointments and delays, restoring a Democratic ascendency in the government, and then buying back the rebels to an outward loyalty by new concessions and guaranties to slavery. Hence torpid campaigns, languid strategy, advances without purpose, and surrenders without necessity. But the policy of emancipation brings the quarrel to a speedy decision. The rebel States must promptly triumph or brave a social dissolution. Every Union advance into a rebel region henceforth clears a broad district of slaves. The few are hurried off by their masters; the many escape to a land of freedom. How signally this process will be accellerated after the first of January, few will yet believe. Let the war simply go on, with fluctuating fortunes, for a year or two longer, and the new slave empire will be nearly denuded of slaves. The process is at once inevitable and irresistible. Whether the able-bodied slaves thus escaping to the loyal States shall or shall not be used in whatever way they may be found most serviceable against the cruel despotism which so long robbed them of their earnings while crushing out their manhood, is purely a question of time. There are thousands who would last year have revolted against the employment of Blacks in any way in our struggle, who are now ripe for it: every week, as it transpires, adds to their number. Loyal men hesitated at first, believing that the rebellion would easily and speedily be put down. These have now discovered their mistake and amended it. An aristocracy of three hundred thousand generally capable, energetic persons, accustomed to rule, and recognizing a deadly foe in every opponent of their wishes, surrounded by twice so many shrewd and skilful parasites, and wielding the entire resources of ten millions of people, are not easily conquered. The poor Whites fill the ranks of their armies; the Blacks grow the food and perform the labor essential to the subsistence of those armies and of their families. Slavery unassailed is the strongest natural base of a gigantic rebellion: it easily adapts all the resources of a people to the stern exigencies of war. Slavery resisted and undermined is a very different affair, as the annals of this struggle are destined to prove.

Let no doubts, then, vex the mind of a single hearty Unionist as to the issue of our great contest. The Proclamation has not added a thousand to the number of our enemies, while it has supplied four millions with the most cogent reasons for being henceforth our friends. These millions are humble, ignorant, timid, distrustful, and now grinding in the prison-house of the traitors. They are not, let us frankly admit, the equals in prowess, capacity, or opportunity, of four millions of Whites; but they are, nevertheless, human beings; they have human affections and aspirations, and they feel the stirrings of the universal and indestructible human longing for liberty. "Breaking in a nigger" is a rough and pretty effectual process: it crushes down the manhood of its subject, but does not crush it out. Should the republic say to-morrow to its Black step-children, "We want one hundred thousand of you to aid in this struggle against the slaveholding rebels, and will treat you in every respect as human beings should be treated," it would not have to wait long for the full number. Hitherto a low prejudice, studiously fostered by Democratic politicians for the vilest party ends, has repelled and expelled this abused race from the militia service of the Union. The exclusion is absurd where its impulse is not treasonable, and must share the fate of all absurdities. "Would you," asked a Unionist of a Democrat, "refuse the aid of a negro, if you were assailed and your life threatened by an assassin?" "Yes," replied the Democrat; "I would rather be killed by a White man than saved by a nigger." Who does not know that this man at heart sympathizes with the rebellion, and deprecates the War for the Union as unnecessary and ruinous?

That war will go on. Our new and vast levies, our new iron-clads, our new policy, will add immensely to the strength already put forth in vindication of the rightful authority of the Federal government and the integrity of the Union. Yet a little while, and the immense superiority in every respect of the moral and material forces of the loyal States will make themselves felt and respected. Yet a little while, and the authority of the Nation will be acknowledged by its now revolted citizens, and the rebellion will subside as suddenly as it broke upon us. Yet a little while, and ours will again be a land of peace, returning joyfully to the pursuits of productive industry and radiant with the sunlight of Universal Liberty.



HOW THEY DID IT.

The magnates of Richmond all swore out of hand, That the war must go in the enemies' land; And it did: when they crossed to the Maryland shore They turned all into foes who were friendly before!



FROM MOUNT LAFAYETTE, WHITE MOUNTAINS.

Silence and light and scenes stupendous greet My wondering sense and sight! Here midway meet Those rocky splendors where th' embracing clouds Above, below, wrap them in misty shrouds.

Our mules with cautious feet the sharp ascent Accomplish; and, the steep o'ertopped, all spent Our strength, we look wild nature in the face, Some features of the human soul to trace.

A phantom drap'ry betwixt sky and earth, Of blending tints, spans in impulsive birth Th' entranced view! A heav'nly arch it forms— It seems suspended by some seraph's arms!

Ethereal Rainbow! Daughter of the Shower! Thy beauty lends enchantment to the hour. The seraph arm grows weary—now is furled The gleam in dreamy vapor from the world!

And now in purple shadows stand the hills: The night winds beat their stony sides, and trills From hidden rivulets, and stealthy creep Of some lone reptile down the grooved steep,

Divert the eye and ear—th' restricted breath Of each rapt soul is heard—and still as death Stand the dumb mules. Homeward we turn our eyes, And leave the region of the naked skies.



INDEPENDENCE.

[1776.]

Freeman! if you pant for glory, If you sigh to live in story, If you burn with patriot zeal; Seize this bright, auspicious hour, Chase those venal tools of power, Who subvert the public weal.



THE HOMESTEAD BILL.

After a severe struggle of more than a quarter of a century, from March, 1836, to May, 1862, the Homestead bill has become a law. We quote its main provisions, as follows:

'That any person who is the head of a family or arrived at the age of twenty-one years, and is a citizen of the United States, or shall have filed his declaration of intention to become such, as required by the naturalization laws of the United States, and has never borne arms against the United States government, or given aid and comfort to its enemies, from and after the 1st January, 1863, shall be entitled to enter one quarter section or a less quantity of unappropriated public land, upon which said person may have filed a preemption claim, or which may at the time the application is made be subject to preemption at $1.25 or less per acre, or eighty acres or less of such unappropriated land at $2.50 per acre, to be located in a body in conformity to the legal subdivisions of the public lands, and after the same shall have been surveyed, &c.

'SEC. 2. That the person applying for the benefit of this act shall, upon application to the register of the land office in which he or she is about to make such entry, make affidavit before the said register or receiver that he or she is the head of a family, or is twenty-one years of age or more, or shall have performed service in the army or navy of the United States, and that he has never borne arms against the government of the United Stales, or given aid and comfort to its enemies, and that such application is made for his or her exclusive use and benefit, and that said entry is made for the purpose of actual settlement and cultivation, and not either directly or indirectly for the use or benefit of any other person or persons whomsoever: and upon filing the said affidavit with the register or receiver, and on the payment of ten dollars, he or she shall thereupon be permitted to enter the quantity of land specified,' &c.

Settlement and cultivation for five years required, when the patent issues—the land secured in case of the settler's death, to the widow, children, or heirs—the settler must be a citizen of the United States before the patent is given—the land is subject to no debt incurred before the emanation of the patent. As the title remains for five years in the government, and until the patent issues, the land, in the meantime, could scarcely be subject to taxation. The land is substantially a gift, the $10 (L2. 0. 16.) being only sufficient to pay for the survey and incidental expenses.

Whilst natives are included in this act, Europeans already here, or who may come hereafter, participate alike in its benefits. The emigrant can make the entry and settle upon the land merely on filing the declaration of intention to become a citizen, and it is only after the lapse of five years therefrom, that he must be naturalized.

This law should be widely circulated, at home and abroad, and especially in Ireland and Germany. It should be published in all leading presses, and distributed in printed circulars. By law, two sections (1,280 acres) are reserved in each township of six miles square, from the sale of which to establish free schools, where all children can be instructed, so that our material progress may be accompanied by universal education and intellectual development.

This great domain reserved, as farms and homesteads for the industrious masses of Europe and America, is thus described by the Hon. Joseph S. Wilson, in his great historical and statistical report, as commissioner of the General Land Office of Nov. 29, 1860:

'Of the 3,250,000 of square miles which constitute the territorial extent of the Union, the public lands embrace an area of 2,265,625 square miles, or 1,450,000,000 of acres, being more than two thirds of our geographical extent, and nearly three times as large as the United States at the ratification of the definitive treaty of peace in 1783 with Great Britain. This empire domain extends from the northern line of Texas, the gulf of Mexico, reaching to the Atlantic ocean, northwesterly to the Canada line bordering upon the great lakes Erie, Huron, Michigan, and Superior, extending westward to the Pacific ocean, with Puget's sound on the north, the Mediterranean sea of our extreme northwestern possessions.'

'It includes fifteen sovereignties known as the 'Land States,' and an extent of territory sufficient for thirty-two additional, each equal to the great central land State of Ohio.

'It embraces soils capable of abundant yield of the rich productions of the tropics, of sugar, cotton, rice, tobacco, corn, and the grape, the vintage, now a staple, particularly so of California; of the great cereals, wheat and corn, in the western, northwestern, and Pacific States, and in that vast interior region from the valley of the Mississippi river to the Rocky mountains; and thence to the chain formed by the Sierra Nevada and Cascades, the eastern wall of the Pacific slope, every variety of soil is found revealing its wealth.

'Instead of dreary inarable wastes, as supposed in earlier times, the millions of buffalo, elk, deer, mountain sheep, the primitive inhabitants of the soil, fed by the hand of nature, attest its capacity for the abundant support of a dense population through the skilful toil of the agriculturist, dealing with the earth under the guidance of the science of the present age.

'Not only is the yield of food for man in this region abundant, but it holds in its bosom the precious metals of gold, silver, with cinnabar, the useful metals of iron, lead, copper, interspersed with immense belts or strata of that propulsive element coal, the source of riches and power, and now the indispensable agent not only for domestic purposes of life, but in the machine shop, the steam car, and steam vessel, quickening the advance of civilization and the permanent settlement of the country, and being the agent of active and constant intercommunication with every part of the republic.'

Kansas having been admitted since the date of this report, our public domain, thus described officially, now includes the sixteen land States, and all the Territories.

Of this vast region (originally 1,450,000,000 acres), there was surveyed up to September, 1860, 441,067,915 acres, and 394,088,712 acres disposed of by sales, grants, &c., leaving, as the commissioner states,'the total area of unsold and unappropriated, of offered and unoffered lands of the public domain on the 30th September, 1860, 1,055,911,288 acres.' This is 'land surface,' exclusive of lakes, bays, rivers, &c., 1,055,911,288 acres, or 1,649,861 square miles, and exceeds one half the area of the whole Union. The area of New York being 47,000 square miles, is less than a thirty-fifth part of our public domain. England (proper) has 50,922 square miles, France 203,736, Prussia 107,921, and Germany 80,620 square miles: The area then of our public domain is more than eight times as large as France, more than fifteen times as large as Prussia, more than twenty times as large as Germany, more than thirty-two times as large as England, and larger (excluding Russia) than all Europe, containing more than 200 millions of people.

As England (proper) contained in 1861, 18,949,916 inhabitants, if our public domain were as densely settled, its population would exceed 606 millions, and it would be 260,497,561, if numbering as many to the square mile as Massachusetts. But if, contrary to the opinion before quoted of the commissioner, one fourth of this domain was unfit for agriculture, grazing, mining, commerce, or manufactures, the remainder would still contain 195,373,171 inhabitants (if as densely settled as Massachusetts), and with every variety of soil, climate, mineral and agricultural products. Its average fertility far exceeds that of Europe, as does also the extent of its mines, especially gold, silver, coal, and iron.

These lands are surveyed at the expense of the government into town-ships of six miles square, subdivided into sections, and these into quarter sections (160 acres), set apart for homesteads. Our system of public surveys into squares, by lines running due north and south, east and west, is so simple as to have precluded all disputes as to boundary or title. This domain reaches from the 24th to the 49th parallel, from the lakes to the gulf, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Its isothermes (the lines of equal mean annual temperature) strike on the north the coast of Norway midway, touch St. Petersburg in Russia, and pass through Manchooria to the coast of Asia, about three degrees south of the mouth of the Amour river. On the south, these isothermes run through northern Africa, and nearly the centre of Egypt near Thebes, cross northern Arabia, Persia, northern Hindostan, and southern China near Canton. No empire in the world of contiguous territory possesses such a variety of climate, soil, forests, and prairies, fruits, and fisheries, animal, vegetable, mineral, and agricultural products. It has all those of Europe, and many in addition, with a climate, as shown by the international census, far more salubrious, with a more genial sun, and millions in other countries are already fed and clothed by our surplus products.

Of this vast domain, less than two per cent. is cursed by slavery, which is prohibited by law in ten of these land States, and in all the Territories. Indeed, when the present rebellion shall be crushed, and this vast territorial region (accelerated by the Homestead bill) shall be settled and admitted as States, three fourths of the States will then be free States, and thus authorized by the Constitution to amend that instrument. Thus we can by just and lawful measures make emancipation universal. From the progress of events, we shall probably celebrate the 4th of July, 1876, our first centennial, now less than fourteen years distant, as a nation, of freemen, with slavery abolished or rapidly disappearing. State will then have succeeded State in unbroken column, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, united by imperial railroads traversing the continent. Adjacent regions, geographically connected with us, will then consummate the political union designed by Providence, The Homestead bill, having accomplished its great work within our present limits, will then commence a new career, and carry our banner in peaceful triumph, over the continent. Our Review, then, is called CONTINENTAL, as prefiguring the destiny of our country.

Now, however, within our present vast domain, not only the poor, but our own industrious classes and those of Europe may not only find a home, but a farm for each settler, substantially as a free gift by the government. Here all who would rather be owners than tenants, and wish to improve and cultivate their own soil, are invited. Here, too, all who would become equals among equals, citizens (not subjects) of a great and free country, enjoying the right of suffrage, and eligible to every office except the presidency, can come and occupy with us this great inheritance. Here liberty, equality, and fraternity reign supreme, not in theory or in name only, but in truth and reality. This is the brotherhood of man, secured and protected by our organic law. Here the Constitution and the people are the only sovereigns, and the government is administered by their elected agents, and for the benefit of the people. Those toiling elsewhere for wages that will scarcely support existence, for the education of whose children no provision is made by law, who are excluded from the right of suffrage, may come here and be voters and citizens, find a farm given as a homestead, free schools provided for their children at the public expense, and hold any office but the presidency, to which their children, born here, are eligible. What does England for any one of its toiling millions who rejects this munificent offer? He is worked and taxed there to his utmost endurance, or pressed into military service. He has the right to work, to fight, and pay taxes, but not to vote. Unschooled ignorance is his lot and that of his descendants. If a farmer, he works and improves the land of others, in constant terror of rent day, the landlord, and eviction. Indeed, the annual rent of a single acre in England exceeds the price—$10 (L2. 0. 16)—payable for the ownership in fee simple of the entire homestead of 160 acres, granted him here by the government. For centuries that are past, and for all time to come, there, severe toil, poverty, ignorance, the workhouse, or low wages, impressment, and disfranchisement, would seem to be his lot. Here, freedom, competence, the right of suffrage, the homestead farm, and free schools for his children.

In selecting these homestead farms, the emigrant can have any temperature, from St. Petersburg to Canton. He can have a cold, a temperate, or a warm climate, and farming or gardening, grazing or vintage, varied by fishing or hunting. He can raise wheat, rye, Indian corn, oats, rice, indigo, cotton, tobacco, cane or maple sugar and molasses, sorghum, wool, peas and beans, Irish or sweet potatoes, barley, buckwheat, wine, butter, cheese, hay, clover, and all the grasses, hemp, hops, flax and flaxseed, silk, beeswax and honey, and poultry, in uncounted abundance. If he prefers a stock farm, he can raise horses, asses, and mules, camels, milch cows, working oxen and other cattle, goats, sheep, and swine. In many locations, these will require neither housing nor feeding throughout the year. He can have orchards, and all the fruits and vegetables of Europe, and many in addition. He can have an Irish or German, Scotch, English, or Welsh, French, Swiss, Norwegian, or American neighborhood. He can select the shores of oceans, lakes, or rivers; live on tide water or higher lands, valleys or mountains. He can be near a church of his own denomination; the freedom of conscience is complete; he pays no tithes, nor church tax, except voluntarily. His sons and daughters, on reaching twenty-one years of age, or sooner, if the head of a family, or having served in the army, are each entitled to a homestead of 160 acres; and if he dies, the title is secured to his widow, children, or heirs. Our flag is his, and covers him everywhere with its protection. He is our brother, and he and his children will enjoy with us the same heritage of competence and freedom. He comes where labor is king, and toil is respected and rewarded. If before, or instead of receiving his homestead, he chooses to pursue his profession, or business, to work at his trade, or for daily wages, he will find them double the European rate, and subsistence cheaper. From whatever part of Europe he may come, he will meet his countrymen here, and from them and us receive a cordial welcome. A government which gives him a farm, the right to vote, and free schools for his children, must desire his welfare. And well has this been merited by our immigrants, for, side by side with our native sons, have they ever upheld our banner with devoted courage.

Of all the epidemic insanities which occasionally afflict nations, none exceeded in folly the recent frenzy, which, by diminishing immigration, would have retarded our progress in wealth, power, and population, Nearly all our railroads and canals have been constructed mainly by immigrants, thus rapidly improving our whole country, and furnishing profitable business, employment, and augmented wages in all the pursuits of industry. Simultaneously with the homestead, Congress has provided the means for constructing the imperial railway which will soon unite the Atlantic with the Pacific. Passing, as it will, for several thousand miles, through our public domain, it will add much to the value of the homestead lands. It should be remembered, especially by the Irish and Germans, who are asked in the South to fight the rebel battles, that, but for the opposition of Mr. Calhoun and the secession leaders, this bill would long since have been a law.

It was first proposed by Robert J. Walker, in October, 1830, and again, in a speech made by him against nullification and secession, at Natchez, Mississippi, on the first Monday of January, 1833, and then published in the Mississippi Journal. From that speech we make the following extract: 'The public lands are now unincumbered by the public debt: no more sales are necessary, unless (to settlers) at a price required to pay the expenses of survey and sale. This is the period for the new States to produce this beneficial change in the policy of the Government, (instead of) the present onerous system, which arrests the cultivation of our soil, and growth of our country.' Here the Homestead bill was recommended by a Union man, in a speech against secession; and as the opponent of that heresy, he was elected to the United States Senate by Mississippi, on the 8th of January, 1836.

In the United States Senate Journal, of 31st March, 1836, will be found the following entry: 'Agreeable to notice, Mr. Walker asked and obtained leave to bring in a bill to reduce and graduate the price of the public lands in favor of actual settlers only, to provide a standing preemption law, to authorize the sale and entry of all the public lands in forty acre lots, &c. On motion by Mr. Calhoun, that this bill be referred to the Committee on Public Lands, ayes 19, nays 25. On motion by Mr. Walker, ordered that this bill be referred to a select committee of five, to be appointed by the Vice-President. Mr. Walker (chairman), Ewing of Ohio, Linn, Prentiss and Ewing of Illinois, are appointed the committee.' And now, that we may understand the motive of the hostile motion made by Mr. Calhoun, I make the following extract from Gales & Beaton's Congressional Register, vol. xii., part 1, page 1027, March 31, 1836, containing the debate, on this bill: 'Mr. Walker asked and obtained leave to introduce a bill to reduce and graduate the price of public lands to actual settlers only, &c. The bill having been read twice, Mr. Walker moved that it be referred to a committee of five. Mr. Calhoun opposed the bill, and moved a reference to the Committee on Public Lands. Mr. Walker rose and said:

* * 'He had heard with regret the actual settlers denounced in the Senate as squatters, as if that were a term of reproach. Our glorious Anglo-Saxon ancestry, the pilgrims who landed on Plymouth rock, the early settlers at Jamestown, were squatters. They settled this continent with less pretension to title than the settlers on the public lands. Daniel Boone was a squatter; Christopher Columbus was a squatter.

* * They are the men who cultivate the soil in peace, and defend your country in war, when those who denounce them are reposing upon beds of down. These are the men who, in the trackless wilderness and upon the plains of Orleans, carried forward to victory, the bannered eagle of our great and glorious Union. These are the men with whom the patriot Jackson achieved his great and glorious victories; and if but one thousand of these much abused squatters, these Western riflemen, had been at Bladensburg beneath their great commander, never would a British army have polluted the soil where stands the capitol of the Union. They would have driven back the invader ere the torch of the incendiary had reached the capitol, or they would have left their bones bleaching there (as did the Spartans at Thermopylae), alike, in death or victory, the patriot defenders of their country's soil, and fame, and honor. [Here Mr. Walker was interrupted by warm applause from the crowded galleries.] It is proposed to send this bill to the Committee on Public Lands, that has already reported against reducing the price of the public lands, against granting preemptions to settlers, against every other material feature of this bill—to send this bill there, to have another report against us. No, said Mr. Walker; we have had one report against the new States, and the settlers in them, and now let them be heard through the report of a select committee: let argument encounter argument, and the question be decided on its real merits.'

The opposition of Mr. Calhoun to this measure, was based upon the idea, originating with him, that, selling the public lands, only in small tracts, and at reduced prices, exclusively to actual settlers, would be hostile to large plantations, prevent the transfer of slavery to new Territories, and the multiplication of slave States. This view was gradually adopted by nearly all the advocates of secession, and delayed for years the success of the homestead policy. The measure also encountered then serious opposition from the supporters of the bill (opposed by Mr. Calhoun), distributing among the States the proceeds of the sales of the public lands. A majority of the Committee of Public Lands of the Senate favored then the distribution policy, and therefore Mr. Calhoun's motion to refer the Homestead bill to that committee was designed to defeat the measure.

Mr. Walker's bill granted a homestead of a quarter section to every settler on payment of twenty dollars, after three years' occupancy and possession.

The special committee, to which this bill was referred, would not go so far, but authorized Mr. Walker to report 'A bill to arrest monopolies of the public lands and purchases thereof for speculation, and substitute sales to actual settlers only, in limited quantities, and at reduced prices,' &c. This report will be found in vol. 5, Sen. Doc., 1st session, 24th Congress, No. 402. 'In Senate of the United States, June 15, 1836, Mr. Walker made the following report:'

Extracts.—'The committee have adopted the principle that the public lands should be held as a sacred reserve for the cultivators of the soil; that monopolies by individuals or companies should be prevented; that sales should be made only in limited quantities to actual settlers, and the price in their favor reduced and graduated.' * * The old system 'is throwing the public domain into the hands of speculating monopolists. It is reviving many of the evils of the old feudal system of Europe. Under that system, the lands were owned in vast bodies by a few wealthy barons, and leased by them to an impoverished and dependent tenantry.'

A bill based on this principle, and reported by Mr. Walker at a succeeding session, passed the Senate, but was defeated in the House. In each of his annual reports as Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Walker strongly recommended the homestead policy, which encountered the continual opposition of Mr. Calhoun.

In his inaugural address as Governor of Kansas, of the 27th May, 1857, Mr. Walker thus strongly advocated the Homestead policy:

'If my will could have prevailed as regards the public lands, as indicated in my public career, and especially in the bill presented by me, as chairman of the Committee on Public Lands, to the Senate of the United States, which passed that body but failed in the House, I would authorize no sales of these lands except for settlement and cultivation, reserving not merely a preemption, but a HOMESTEAD of a quarter section of land in favor of every actual settler, whether coming from other States or emigrating from Europe. Great and populous States would thus be added to the Confederacy, until we should soon have one unbroken line of States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, giving immense additional power and security to the Union, and facilitating intercourse between all its parts. This would be alike beneficial to the old and to the new States. To the working men of the old States, as well as of the new, it would be of incalculable advantage, not merely by affording them a home in the West, but by maintaining the wages of labor, by enabling the working classes to emigrate and become cultivators of the soil, when the rewards of daily toil should sink below a fair remuneration. Every new State, beside, adds to the customers of the old States, consuming their manufactures, employing their merchants, giving business to their vessels and canals, their railroads and cities, and a powerful impulse to their industry and prosperity. Indeed, it is the growth of the mighty West which has added, more than all other causes combined, to the power and prosperity of the whole country; whilst, at the same time, through the channels of business and commerce, it has been building up immense cities in the Eastern Atlantic and Middle States, and replenishing the Federal treasury with large payments from the settlers upon the public lands, rendered of real value only by their labor, and thus, from increased exports, bringing back augmented imports, and soon largely increasing the revenue of the Government from that source also.'—See Doc. Vol. I., No. 8, 1st Sess. XXXVth Congress.

It will no doubt be remembered how much this address was denounced by the secession leaders, and with what fury Mr. Walker was assailed by them for insisting on the rejection of the Lecompton Constitution, by which, it was attempted, by fraud and forgery, to force slavery upon Kansas, against the will of the people.

In June, 1860, a Homestead bill was passed by Congress, securing to actual settlers a quarter section of the public lands, at twenty-five cents per acre, which was vetoed by Mr. Buchanan. The veto message says: 'The Secretary of the Interior estimated the revenue from the public lands for the nest fiscal year at $4,000,000, on the presumption that the present land system would remain unchanged. Should this bill become a law, he does not believe that $1,000,000 will be derived from this source.' It would thus seem that Jacob Thompson, then Secretary of the Interior, was permitted to dictate the financial portion of this veto. He is now in the traitor army; but before leaving the Cabinet, he communicated to the enemy at Charleston important information he had received officially and confidentially. Whilst still Secretary, he was permitted by Mr. Buchanan to accept from Mississippi, after she had seceded, the post of her ambassador to North Carolina, to induce her to secede; which public mission he openly fulfilled, still remaining a member of the Cabinet. Such was the abyss of degradation to which the late Administration had then fallen. Indeed, Thompson (like Floyd and Cobb), was never dismissed by Mr. Buchanan, but resigned his office, receiving then, after all these treasonable and perfidious acts, a most complimentary letter from the late President.