factures, they have helped to carry the triumphs of our arts to the remotest corners of the globe. It was from their ranks that our Statesmanship recruited Gallatin, Morris, and Hamilton,--that the Law acquired Rutledge, Wilson, and Emmett,-that the Army won its Gates, its Mercer, and its Montgomery, -the Navy its Jones, Blakeley, and Barry, the Arts, their Sully and Cole, -Science, its Agassiz and Guyot,— Philanthropy, its Eliot and Benezet, and Religion its Witherspoon, its White, its Whitfield, and its Cheverus.

The adopted citizen, no doubt, preserves a keen remembrance of his native land; but "lives there on earth a soul so dead" as not to sympathize in that feeling? Let us ask you, oh patriotic Weissnicht, all fresh as you are from the vociferations of the lodge, whether you do at heart think the less of a man because he cannot wholly forget the play-place of his infancy,-the friends and companions of his boyhood,-the old cabin in which he was reared,-and the grave in which the bones of his honored mother repose? Have you never seen two long-separated friends, from the old world, meet again in the new, and clasp each other in a warm embrace, while their conversation blossomed up, from a vein of common memory, in

"Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth," and did you not love them the more, in that their eyes grew liquid with the dear old themes? Or is there, in the whole circle of your large and respectable private acquaintance, a single Scotchman to whom you refuse your hand because his affections melt under the Auld lang syne" of Burns, or because his sides shake like a falling house when Halloween" or "Tam O'Shanter" is read! Can you blame even the poor Frenchman, if his eyes light up into a kind of deathless glow, when the "Marseillaise," twisted from some wandering hurdy-gurdy, has yet power to recall the glorious days in which his fathers and.brothers danced for liberty's sake, and with gay audacity, towards the guillotine? We venture to say for you, No! and we believe, if the truth were told, that often, on the lonely western plains, you have dreamed over again with the German his sweet dream of the resurrection and unity of the Fatherland? We have ourselves seen

you, at the St. George dinners, oh Weissnicht, swell with a very evident pride, when some flagrant Englishman, recounting, not the battles which his ancestors for ten centuries had won. on every field of Europe,-but the better trophies gained by Shakespeare, Milton, Bacon, or Cromwell, — told you that a little of that same blood coursed in your veins ! The blood itself, as it tingled through your body and suffused your cheeks, confessed the fact, if your words did not! How, then, can you, who gaze at Bunker Hill with tears in your eyes, and fling up your hat of a Fourth of July with a jerk that almost dislocates the shoulder, retire to your secret conclave, and chalk it up behind the door, against the foreigner, that he has a lingering love for his native country? Why, he ought to be despised if he had not, if he could forget his heritages of old renown, —for it is this traditional tenderness, these genial memories of the immortal words and deeds and places, that constitute his patronymic glories, which show that he has a human heart still under his jacket, and is all the more likely, on account of it, to become a worthy American. Do not you delude yourself, however, into the shallow belief that the aliens, because of these sentimental attachments, will be led into the love of their native governments, which, having plundered them and their class, for years, at last expelled them to our shores. Ah! no-poor devils-they have not been so chucked under the chin, and fondled and caressed-and talked pretty to, and fed with sweetcakes, and humored in all sorts of selfindulgences, by the old despotisms, as to have fallen in love with them, forever and ever. On the contrary, if the reports are true, quite other endearments were showered upon them—such as cuffs and kicks-with a distinct intimation, besides, as Mr. Richard Swiveller said to Mr. Quilp, after pounding him thoroughly, that there were plenty more in the same shop-a large and extensive assortment always on handand every order executed with promptitude and dispatch." Now, these are experiences that are apt to make republicans of men, and to fill them with other feelings than those of overweening attachment to oppressors!

But this is a slight digression, and we return to the main current of our

argument, to say--what we esteem quite fatal to all schemes for excommunicating foreigners, or even greatly extending their minority-that the best way, on the whole, for making them good citizens, is to make them citizens. The evils of making them a class by themselves, we have already alluded to, and we now speak, on the other hand, of the benefits which must accrue to them and to us from their absorption into the general life of the community. It is universally conceded by the liberal writers on government and society, that the signal and beneficent advantage of republican institutions (by which we mean an organized series of local self-governments) is, that their practical influences are so strongly educational. They train their subjects constantly into an increasing capacity for their enjoyment. In the old despotic nations-as we are all aware-where the State is one thing and the people another-the State is in reality a mere machine of police, even in its educational and religious provisions-maintaining a rigid order, but acting only externally on the people, whom it treats either as slaves or children. It does not directly develop the sense of responsibility in them, nor accustom them to self-control and the exercise of their faculties. But in free commonwealths-which abhor this excessive centralizing tendency, and which distribute power through subordinate municipalities, leaving the individual as much discretion as possible-the people are the State and grow into each other as a kind of living unity. Thrown upon their own resources, they acquire quickness, skill, energy, and self-poise; yet, made responsible for the general interests, they learn to deliberate, to exercise judgment, to weigh the bearings of public questions, and to act in reference to the public welfare. At the same time, the lists of preferment being open to them, they cultivate the virtues and talents which will secure the confidence of their neighbors. Every motive of ambition and honor is addressed to them, to improve their condition, and to perfect their endowments; while a consciousness, of their connection with the State imparts a sense of personal worth and dignity. In practice, of course, some show themselves insensible to these considerations, but a majority do not. The consequence is, that the commonalty of the republic are

vastly superior to the same classes abroad. Compare the farmers of our prairies to the boors of the Russian steppes, or to the peasants of the French valleys! Or compare the great body of the working men in England with those of the United States! Now, the American is not of a better nature than the European-for he is often of the same stock-nor is there any charm in our soil and climate unknown to the soil and climate of the other hemisphere; but there is a difference in institutions. Institutions, with us, are made for men, and not men for the institutions. It is the jury, the ballot-box, the free public assemblage, the local committee, the legislative assembly, the place of trust, and, as a result of these, the school and the newspaper, which give such a spur to our activities, and endow us with such political competence. The actual responsibilities of civil life are our support and nutriment, and the wings wherewith we fly.

If, consequently, you desire the foreigner to grow into a good citizen, you must subject him to the influences by which good citizens are made. Train him as you are yourselves trained, under the effective tutelage of the regular routine and responsibility of politics. He will never learn to swim by being kept out of the water, any more than a slave can become a freeman in slavery. He gets used to independence by the practice of it, as the child gets used to walking by walking. It is exercise alone which brings out and improves all sorts of fitnesses-social as well as physical-and the living of any life alone teaches us how it is to be best lived. Nor will any one work for an end in which he and his have no part. They only act for the community who are of the community. Outsiders are always riders. They stand or sit aloof. They have no special call to promote the internal thrift and order, which may get on as it can, for all them. But incorporate them into it, and it is as dear as the apple of their eye. Choose a person selectman of the village, and he conceives a paternal regard for it instantly, and makes himself wondrously familiar with its affairs, and their practical management. Show a rude fellow the possibility of a place in the police, and he begins to think how important the execution of Hang the awful dignity of

the law is.

a seat in the Justice's bench before the ambition of the country squire, and straightway he looks as wise as Lord Eldon, and will strive to become so, rather than otherwise. How the prospect, too, of a winter at Albany or Washington stimulates all the local notables into a capacity for it, as well as desire. Thus, our whole political experience is an incessant instruction, and should no more be withdrawn from any class in society than the atmosphere. It is prettily told, in that book of Eastern fables which delights our youth and enriches our manhood, that the father of Aladdin Abushamat, lest he should be hurt by the world, kept him under a trap-door, where he was visited only by two faithful slaves. But, pining and weary, the young man one

day stole from his retreat, and running to his father, who was syndic of the merchants, said, "Oh, my father, how shall I be able to manage the great wealth thou hast gained for me, if thou keepest me here in prison, and takest me not to the markets, where I may open a shop, and sit among the merchandise, buying and selling, and taking and giving?" The father thought for awhile, and said, "True, my son; the will of God be done; I will take thee to the market-street and the shops," and we are told that Aladdin Abushamat became, though not without some slips, a very rich man, as well as the right hand of the great Caliph, Haroun Alraschid, Prince of the Faithful, whose name be ever exalted!

URING this time his thoughts were

would be difficult to give any account of them, except that, it is safe to say, his cousin Lucy was never once out of his mind. And when he found himself sitting at the table right opposite to her, I verily believe, that if the liquid in his cup had been a strong decoction of mayweed and thoroughwort, sweetened with molasses, instead of being, as in fact it was, an infusion of fragrant young hyson, mingled with rich cream and with a lump of loaf sugar dissolved in it, John would never have perceived the difference; albeit herb-drink, from his boyhood, had been a beverage most distasteful to his palate.

"Cecil, a coxcomb," I think it was who was cured of his fancy for a handsome German lady, by beholding her devour sour-krout, carrying the morsels to her pretty lips with a steel knifeblade blackened with vinegar. And there are many over-nice gentlemen whom I have heard to aver, that to see a lady eat, has at all times a potent disenchanting influence. It dissolves the charm, they say, to be obliged thus to

take actual notice that these delicate creatures, as Othello calls them, have their appetites, and live by consuming bread and meat, and by the exercise of physical functions common to man and other lower animals. But, I warrant you, if any of these squeamish gentlemen had seen Lucy Manners at the teatable that afternoon, though she ate with a traveler's appetite, he would have longed, as John in fact did, to be transformed into a biscuit, a doughnut. a slice of loaf-cake, or even a pickled cucumber, so that he might have stood a chance of touching her rosy lips, and of being pressed by the little pearly teeth that showed themselves between them. Be that as it may, I can say of John Dashleigh, that his admiration, instead of being diminished, was sensibly augmented and hightened by witnessing the spectacle before him, and his love waxed more violent during cach moment of the repast.

When it suddenly occurred to him that the tea-cup, which for the occasion was appropriated to his particular use, had, doubtless, before that time, been hallowed by the contact of Lucy's lips,

he carefully drank from each segment of the rim, so that no portion of the consecrated surface should escape his touch. Inspired by a similar idea, he bestowed numberless kisses upon the bowl of his teaspoon, and the tines of his unconscious fork. Thus he drank in love, as it were, with each draught of tea, and, whereas, by reason of the expedients which I have mentioned, he neglected the solids of the meal, but imbibed a most unusual quantity, it will be readily believed that when at last he rose from the table, with the perspiration starting from every pore in his face, he was, like Solomon of old,

full of love.

After tea the laborers came in from the fields to their supper, and the boys drove the cows in from pasture. John took his pail and went out to the barnyard, but no sooner had he seated himself on a three-legged stool beside a stately red cow, and the streams of milk had begun to patter upon the bottom of the pail, than Lucy and Ellen appeared at the gate, and came tripping towards him, holding their frocks so high that John, who, though one of the most modest young men in the world-as I have said before-was, after all, no hermit, could not help again observing the fashion of Lucy's dainty ankles.

The red cow pricked up her ears, stopped chewing her cud, and gazed steadfastly at the unwonted visitors.

"So, so, boss!" said John soothingly. "Stand still, now."

"Oh! oh! that's Cherry!" cried Lucy; Cherry, my own heifer, that I taught to drink out of a pail when she was a little speck of a calf! I've helped to milk her many a time. Let me try now, cousin John, to see whether I've forgotten how!"

"I wouldn't, Lucy, you'll spoil your nice dress;" remarked prudent little Ellen.

"And soil your hands," added John, looking at Lucy's white, taper fingers, sparkling, like every school girl's just returned home, with many keepsake rings; and as Cherry herself remonstrated with an angry toss of the head, and a start forward that came near upsetting the milk-pail, Lucy was forced to relinquish the attempt. So she contented herself with looking on, standing with Ellen as near to John as Cherry would permit, and talking with him while he continued his task.

Cherry is like all the rest of the

world," said Lucy, pouting in the most bewitching manner. "She forgets her friends after a little time of absence."

"They've only just taken away her calf," said Ellen, "and it makes her cross, poor thing."

"She is usually very gentle," added John.

"She is my own heifer," said Lucy. "She was born on my birth-day, six years ago, and papa gave her to me for my own."

Ellen thought this circumstance a most wonderful matter, and John was conscious of an increased esteem for his favorite cow.

"When I am married, papa says I am to have Cherry as a part of my setting out," said Lucy; at which remark John's hand trembled so that he milked all over his knees.

"Maybe Cherry will be a very old cow by that time," said Ellen.

"Oh, no! I fear not," replied Lucy with a rueful laugh (if one may say so). "Dear me! Don't you think papa told me the other day, that I am to be married next Thanksgiving day!"

"To Joab Sweeny, I suppose ?" said Ellen, while John held his breath and tightened his gripe on Cherry's teats.

"Yes, to cousin Joab," replied Lucy, with a shrug and grimace. "It's been a settled thing, you know, for ever so many years; and papa is set upon it. But, just to think of it-to marry my cousin! It's just as if I should marry you, John!"

John thought he could perceive a distinction, not without a difference, between the two cases; but held his peace and kept on milking.

"I wouldn't marry Joab Sweeny for a thousand dollars," remarked Ellen; "no, not for the whole world!" she added in a positive tone, after a pause. "Hush! Nelly !" murmured poor

John.

"And I am sure," cried Lucy, passionately, as she remembered, with a shudder the odious, leering simper with which Joab had uttered his gallant speech, on the occasion of Andrew's wedding; "and I am sure I wouldn't, if I could help myself. God knows Í don't wish to marry him, for I hate him as I do a snake. And mamma, tooI truly believe she would be glad if the match could be broken off without making papa outrageous. She never liked Aunt Axy, nor Joab either; and what papa sees to like in him is more than I can tell. Cousin John! I'll take

back what I said. Marrying Joab would not be like marrying you. I'd rather have you a thousand times!" she added, impetuously, at which John looked up from his pail for an instant, and Lucy's flashing eyes fell as they met his glance, and the glow of excitement on her cheek deepened into a crimson blush.

At this moment, Susan appeared at the gate, and delivered a message from the matrons in the house, admonishing the young ladies of the lateness of the hour, and that the dew was beginning to fall. So Lucy bade John good-night, and gave Cherry a timid pat on the side, which the ungrateful brute resented with a whisk of her tail that knocked John's hat over his eyes, and effectually prevented his watching Lucy's retreat, as she ran laughing towards the gate.

The most trivial circumstance sometimes has a momentous influence upon the destinies of men and of nations. I cannot stop here to cite instances of this truth; and, indeed, it would be needless, for everybody knows that it is so. Now, if it had not been for the untying of the knot of Susan's garter, I verily believe that Lucy Manners would have been to-day Mrs. Deacon Joab Sweeny. For, as Susan was crossing the yard, while on her way to do the errand wherewith she was charged, she suddenly felt her garter slip. So, first having glanced quickly about in every direction, lest some of the men might be within eye-shot, she stooped, and modestly lifting her skirts, tightened the piece of listing that encircled her plump and shapely limb, and went upon her way. But the brief delay caused by this lucky accident gave Lucy time to reply to Ellen, as is hereinbefore set forth. If that reply had never been uttered, or if Lucy and John had not exchanged glances in the way I have just described. But I must not anticipate. I fear I shall never learn to tell a story according to the rules of the art.

When, that night, John went up into his little chamber in the attic of the widow's gable-roofed cottage, there was not. I am very sure, in any one of the United States of America, a young man more thoroughly in love than he. Though he was a plain, unsophisticated young farmer, bred in the wilds of the Genesee country, and unaccustomed to read novels and romances, or the poetry of my Lord Byron, I dare take it upon

The

myself to say that, throughout the length and breadth of the Republic, there was not a dry-goods clerk or eke a college student more intensely or heartily in love. Instead, therefore, of going straight to bed, as was his habit at this busy season of the year, or, as was sometimes his wont, when not too weary with the toils of the day-sitting down by the side of his table to read awhile until he grew sleepy, he at once blew out his light, drew the curtain of his narrow, eight-paned, dormer window, and seated himself beside it, on the foot of his humble bed. For awhile, the tumult of his thoughts was too violent to permit reflection. blissful consciousness of being so entirely in love filled his soul completely. The accustomed sway of reason was suspended. Once only in a lifetime does the lover experience the delicious emotions with which John Dashleigh was overwhelmed. After the first passionate ecstasy of new-born love, came doubts, and fears, and jealousies. The lustre of the new life becomes dimmed, like the brightness of metal. Once only in a man's life, then, is he completely happy, happy without alloy, when, forgetting the fear of misfortune, pain, and disease, and the ever-present dread of death, he remembers only that the world contains the beloved one, and so is better and brighter than even the abodes of the angels.

John's nerves had not yet ceased to thrill with the rapture of Lucy's kiss, and once he was at the pains even to re-light his candle, and go to the little looking-glass that hung against the chimney, where he gazed for the space of five minutes at the reflection of his own lips, which, that day, had met those of his cousin Lucy in that memorable salute. Then he again put out his candle and resumed his post at the window. There was a light in one of the chambers of the big house over the way. It shone in Lucy's room, and on the muslin curtains of the window he could perceive the shadow of a slight form, which sometimes seemed to move about the room, and then anon, for awhile, would stand at rest. He could even guess, with great precision, what, from time to time, Lucy was doing. Now he felt convinced that she was standing at the mirror, arranging her hair. After that, it was evident that she was tying on her night-cap. Presently, she came to the window, and, drawing the curtain