Muhlenberg took very decided ground in favor of the most radical amendments, and that in direct opposition to the inclinations of the people of Berks county upon the subject. The German population, averse to changes, regarded with veneration a system under which they had prospered, and were willing to endure its defects rather than submit the remedy of them to the innovating temper of the times. His zealous advocacy of reform, under these circumstances, is but another illustration of the independence of his character as a public man.

After the inauguration of Mr. Van Buren, in 1837, he tendered to Mr. Muhlenberg a seat in the cabinet, as Secretary of the Navy, and subsequently the mission to Russia, both of which the state of his affairs at that time compelled him to decline. Upon the creation of the mission to Austria, in 1838, the President selected him, as peculiarly fitted to discharge its duties; and upon his nomination to the Senate, he received the unanimous confirmation of that body. In the latter part of March he sailed for Europe, taking with him his wife and only daughter.

The opening of diplomatic relations with Austria had for its principal object the introduction of American cotton and tobacco into the dominions of that vast empire, from which they have heretofore been excluded. An insuperable difficulty in the way of any negotiation is the fact that tobacco is extensively cultivated in Hungary, and is, besides, a government monopoly. The fixed condition of things in the old, overpopulous, and indebted states of Europe, renders them slow in changing their mercantile policy or in hazarding any experiment. It may be years before our diplomatic agents in this mission succeed; but whenever the correspondence of Mr. M. shall be published, it will be found that he laid the foundation of that success.

Whilst he was abroad, he visited all the more interesting parts of Italy, Germany, and Switzerland. His descriptions of the men and manners of those countries, with which he was wont to delight and instruct his friends, evinced the closest and most accurate observation. Always intent upon the cultivation of letters, he was constantly engaged during his travels in making additions to his fine collection of booksthe rich accumulation of the learning

and taste of several generations. He remained abroad nearly three years, and was at last recalled at his own request.

On his return home in December, 1840, he had the inexpressible gratification to find that absence had in no wise diminished the affectionate regard in which not merely the Democracy, but the whole people, of Berks county, had been used to hold him. An immense concourse of his fellow citizens awaited his arrival, which they greeted with every mark of lively and tumultuous joy.

Freed from the cares and the distractions of public employment, revered by the people, surrounded by an amiable and accomplished family, of which he was the idolized father, his society courted by the wise and good, his house the centre of elegant and liberal hospitality, he fondly hoped that he had now reached the limit of political service, and that his declining years might claim for him an exemption from farther duty. But it was not so to be. As the time approached for making the gubernatorial nomination of 1844, his name largely attracted the popular consideration. The writer of this well knows with what hesitating reluctance he at last gave way to the instances of his friends, and allowed himself to be regarded as a candidate for the Democratic nomination. His own county-Berksthe well-named "tenth legion of the Democracy," formally and by her unanimous voice presented him to the state. The public choice was most equally divided between himself and another distinguished and honored citizen. The canvass of their respective friends, though animated beyond example, was, with insignificant and unworthy exceptions, on either side, conducted in a temper of honorable rivalry. On the 6th of March, Mr. Muhlenberg received the nomination. The Democracy responded to it with an enthusiasm that demonstrated their confidence in the chosen chief, and that afforded the most unerring presage of brilliant victory. He entered upon the duties of his eminent position, devoting to them constant thought and action. Time wore on. Every advancing day but seemed to make him dearer to the people-to bring him nearer to their hopes. Alas! for the vanity of all earthly honor-all human expectation! On the

In all communities there is a pervading theory of life, a set of principles which guide the mass, a few permanent ideas that actuate society. The English, for example, driven by a humid atmosphere to look within doors for cheerful associations, gather about them with profusion, the means of physical wellbeing. Continental visitors to Great Britain are astonished at the perfection of domestic machinery, and the ingenious devices to secure ease and warmth, and render the dwelling a castle and a home. They at once recognize in such arrangements the idea of Comfort as the chief element in the philosophy of life. People on the other side of the channel, instead of concentrating their means of enjoyment, go abroad in search of them. The Parisian finds the glare of a public café more agreeable than the snug fire-side of a private room; he reads his gazette under the trees in a public garden, and finds no difficulty in making a companion of his neighbor at the theatre, piquing himself all the while more on being one of the French nation than for any individual qualities or possessions. By temperament and habit he directly seeks Pastime, as the end of his existence. If we pass to Italy, we discover a passion for music, great local pride in the fame of genius, universal taste and enthusiasm for imaginative excitement of all kinds, and realize how largely Art enters into their system of life. The Chinese trustfully refer you to "Old Custom," and the Turks to Fate, as the principles by which they regulate their being. It may be a fanciful notion, but I think the ordinary salutations of a people indicate in a measure, their philosophy of living. The French greeting is literally-how do you carry yourself?"- -a query suggestive of egotism; that of the Italians

"how do you stand?" which breathes of an existence in the immediate-so characteristic of the South; while our favorite phrase is "how do you get along?"-at once calling up an external and distant goal-success.

New England opinions and enterprise are so interwoven with the social agencies of the whole country and so constantly eulogized on public occasions, that they may be justly deemed the active and prominent element of American life. It has become so much a practice, when any reference is made to the habits, manners and principles of our nation, to indulge in self-congratulation, that not a few shrink from the hazardous experiment of dwelling otherwise than complacently upon the social traits of the people. Indeed, one's patriotism is liable to be called in question if he acknowledge any other creed than implicit belief in the superiority of existent motives of action and modes of life. Such a feeling cannot obtain, however, among the candid and inquiring among those whose love of country is intelligent and sincere. To such the chief value of political liberty is the scope it affords for social improvement. They revert to a brave ancestry not alone to glory in their laurels, but to emulate their fidelity and add to the trophies of national renown. No man flatters the woman he truly loves, and that is a questionable devotion to country or friends which is evidenced rather by blind partiality than affectionate insight, and bold recognition of truth. If any people are bound by honor and wisdom to self-criticism, it is ourselves, for we have it in our power more than any other to carry out new principles of action, to improve upon the results of experience, and immediately appropriate, as individuals, all the light that comes to us.

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What then are the ultra tendencies in our social system, taking New England philosophy, so generally quoted with admiration, as the basis of inquiry? What elements must we individually furnish to render our culture generous? Wherein are we liable to be perverted by the theory of life which prevails?

Republics have ever been accounted peculiarly favorable to the development of character. The absence of external domination has been deemed the best guarantee for personal independence. The general confidence in this idea seems to me to have produced results of a directly contrary kind. Nowhere is the force of public opinion stronger than here. The very faith we place in our own institutions is calculated to blind us as individuals. Noble-minded men in the old world turn upon their own resources, cultivate their peculiar tastes, and rely upon their personal convictions, with the more determination, from the very despotism which surrounds them. Our countrymen pass through Southern Europe, and casually survey the apathy which broods over human existence, the abject misery of the lower orders and the frivolous dissipation of the higher, and turn away from the spectacle in disgust. But if they could enter the apartments of some of the true spirits, scattered through those densely populated cities, they would frequently pause in admiration of the scene. They would find minds living, as it were, in the very atmosphere of heroism, holding constant communion with the good and great of past ages, and cherishing in solitude purposes worthy of the most eminent of our race. I have known young men in Italy subsisting upon the scantiest incomes rather than live upon the wages of despotism, withdrawing from the gayest society rather than countenance the levity of a court, feeding their aspirations at the fountain of hallowed literature and elevating companionship, and thus atoning for their untoward lot by a quiet bravery more impressive than the most gallant achievements. Such characters have given me a more vivid sense of human worth than the lives of successful heroes. I have thus been made to realize how much of sacredness there is in the individual, how much he can accomplish within himself, what courage and power he may display and what energies he may unfold

by manly and philosophic endurance. With us the case is so widely different that the tendency is to spread outward from ourselves and become identified with the mass. There is a cant of reverence applied to man in the abstract, but as an individual he is seldom appreciated except under a professional aspect. The true end of freedom is to develope manhood and womanhood, not to make authors, mechanics or statesmen. First let us have the human attributes in their completeness,—the broad intelligence that no vocation can bound, the heart which no sect or party can absorb! Let the personal characterthe living aggregate of qualities which each represents, not mere aptitudes or condition-win our interest and enlist our sympathies! It is owing to an estimate the opposite of this, that, except in the West and South, the surface of life is so level that there is little material in the way of original character, in our young land,-so few compared to the monotonously energetic mass, who stand in bold relief, distinct, consistent, individual men, living for a great idea like Columbus, or enduring with brave selfreliance like Dante. The danger is ever with us that we refer our actions, thoughts and feelings, to the idolized standard of public opinion. We believe too much in associations and too little in ourselves. We are not inclined to concentrate mind, sentiment and activity, but to dissipate them in generalities. Now, the actual good which the individual derives from associations is very limited. They are doubtless useful in a certain way and to a certain extent; but they ought not to blind us to nearer obligations, nor to the truth that even the cause of philanthropy may often be best promoted by personal fidelity. "Over the time, thou hast no power; to redeem a world sunk in dishonesty has not been given thee; solely over one man therein thou hast a quite absolute, uncontrollable power; him redeem, him make honest; it will be something, it will be much, and thy life and labor not in vain."

Next to the danger of subserviency to society, the unhealthy prominence of the idea of thrift is the most baneful feature in our philosophy of life. That it should be prominent in a young and commercial republic is to be expected. The great error is that there is little desire to restrain its expression within

due bounds. Let it have free scope on the exchange and in the mart, but let it not continually deform our fireside discourse and usurp the inner sanctuary of the soul. There, at least, let not all be "base respects of thrift and none of love." Pecuniary ability is the established criterion of the value of life; circumstances are almost deified; success is exclusively desired, or rather grossly misunderstood; for if there be a single established principle of human well-being, it is that which defines the successful man as him who is true to himself to his powers, tastes, and actual needs. It is time we not only coldly acknowledged, but instinctively felt, that it is as barbaric to reverence wealth as to overload the limbs with ornament. The philosophy of life with us seems based on the faith that man lives by bread alone. Trade and politics completely overshadow literature and art. Invention exhausts itself upon machines and finance; our trophies may be found chiefly at the patent office. Yet the real end of all these is to procure time, and what is time if unprovided with the resources which shall dignify and adorn it? "Poetry," says a beautiful writer, "and the principle of self, of which money is the visible incarnation, are the God and Mammon of the world."

What intelligent mind can doubt the truth of this observation? Yet how opposed to such an idea is the spirit of our community! A New England merchant, upon leaving a picture-gallery abroad, was observed by his companion to be very thoughtful. Presently he exclaimed, "I have been thinking of nothing but making money all my life. How much there is to learn and to enjoy, in this world! Henceforth no thought of business shall enter my mind, until I recross the Atlantic. I will study painting, and sculpture, and music: I will commune with nature; I will ponder the works of departed genius; I will cultivate the society of the intellectual and the gifted"-at this point of his harangue, he suddenly left his friend's side, and darted into a shop they were passing, apologizing, upon resuming the walk, by saying he had merely stopped to inquire the price of tallow! Leisure with us is still an anomaly. Now far be it from us to gainsay the advantages of industry, to deny that labor is man's

appropriate sphere, or to lament, for a moment, the spectacle of universal activity, and consequently, of prosperity around us. Let us only contend that all labor is not obvious and tangible; that no man who thinks, deserves to be called an idler; that the absence of any obvious employment or specific profession does not necessarily make any one amenable to the charge of inactivity. How much of our boasted industry is profitless! To how many social ambition or extravagant tastes, instead of necessity, form the true motives of business! How much of the so called occupation about us is void of any higher result than that of keeping its votaries out of mischief! How seldom do those who have acquired a competency, retire upon it to scenes of domestic improvement! With what reluctance do the fortunate yield the arena to the young and penniless, even when age and infirmity warn them to retreat! It is time we learned, not to underrate business, but to appreciate leisure. A man who is miserable when his hands are unemployed or his mind unabsorbed in affairs, confesses to an evil which mere physical activity cannot remove. Where then are the results of our boasted education? Of what avail are prosperity and freedom? Doubtless activity is the true destiny of man, an essential condition of his being; and much of it must be outward and absorbing. But this is no reason for the horror of leisure which is so common; it is no reason why a man who is not ostensibly busy should be regarded as some strange animal, or that the mere idea of repose should prove alarming. One of our artists designed a family group, and submitted it to his wealthy patron for approval. "Sir," exclaimed that personage, highly indignant; "do you think I would have my wife painted with a rose in her hand? Let her be employed about something." Thus was spurned, even in fancy, a little dalliance with the passing moment, over one of those flowers which a benignant Creator seems to have furnished, as it were, to lure us sometimes to linger and to muse upon the highway of life. "Never less idle than when idle," was the motto which the admirable Vittoria Colonna wrought upon her husband's dressinggown. And may we not justly regard