THE

SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS.

HE eulogium pronounced on the character of the State of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumters, the Marions — Americans, all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honored the country, and the whole country; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the gentleman himself bears-does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom? No, sir-increased gratification and delight, rather.

Sir, I thank God that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own State or neighborhood; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of Heaven - if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South- and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished

greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution, hand in hand they stood round the Administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist - alienation and distrust are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered.

Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none. There she is - behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history- the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State from New England to Georgia and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sureit will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin!

TH

1

THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE.

THERE is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not possess a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That I cannot-I have not the courage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested- a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for my country's

good-to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a threat, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good.

Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firmness, himself! The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism, which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism, which, catching its inspirations from the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable distance below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sac-rifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself—that is public virtue; that is the noblest, the sublimest of all public virtues!

G

THE BEST SEWING-MACHINE.

OT one? Don't say so! Which did you get?
One of the kind to open and shut?

Own it or hire it? How much did you pay?
Does it go with a crank or a treadle? S-a-y.
I'm a single man, and somewhat green;
Tell me about your sewing-machine."

"Listen, my boy, and hear all about it -
I don't know what I could do without it;
I've owned one now for more than a year,
And like it so well that I call it 'my dear;'
'Tis the cleverest thing that ever was seen,
This wonderful family sewing-machine.

"It's none of your angular Wheeler things,
With steel-shod back and cast-iron wings;
Its work would bother a hundred of his,
And worth a thousand! Indeed it is;
And has a way—you need not stare -
Of combing and braiding its own back hair!

"Mine is not one of those stupid affairs

That stands in a corner with what-nots and chairs,
And makes that dismal, headachy noise,
Which all the comfort of sewing destroys;
No rigid contrivance of lumber and steel,
But one with a natural spring in the heel.

"Mine is one of the kind to love,

And wears a shawl and a soft kid glove;
Has the merriest eyes and the daintiest foot,

And sports the charmingest gaiter-boot,

And a bonnet with feathers, and ribbons, and loops,
With an indefinite number of hoops.

"None of your patent machines for me,
Unless Dame Nature is the patentee;
I like the sort that can laugh and talk,
And take my arm for an evening walk;
That will do whatever the owner may choose,
With the slightest perceptible turn of the screws!

"One that can dance, and — possibly — flirt;
And make a pudding as well as a shirt-
One that can sing without dropping a stitch,
And play the housewife, lady, or witch
Ready to give the sagest advice,

Or to do up your collars and things so nice.

"What do you think of my machine?
A'n't it the best that ever was seen?
'Tis n't a clumsy, mechanical toy,

But flesh and blood! Hear that, my boy?
With a turn for gossip, and household affairs,
Which include, you know, the sewing of tears.

"Tut, tut, don't talk. I see it all

You need n't keep winking so hard at the wall: I know what your fidgety fumblings mean: You would like, yourself, a sewing-machine! Well, get one, then - of the same design There were plenty left where I got mine!".

HOW THE MONEY GOES.

OW

HO

goes the money ? Well,

I'm sure it is n't hard to tell;

It goes for rent and water-rates,

For bread and butter, coal and grates, Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hoseAnd that's the way the money goes!