cipled men, who, in attaining temporal power and advantage, are unscrupulous as to the means employed, — who will cringe before power, and support party and friends at the expense of virtue and the public good. This is, happily, not the universal or the necessary character of the editor. The profession contains many true men, who fully appreciate the magnitude of their duties and opportunities. Such is the superstitious reverence of the people for everything that is called free, that they are jealous of any even necessary limitations to the freedom of the press. When Thomas Jefferson wrote that "All men are born free and equal," if he had foreseen the mistakes and delusions that were to be strengthened by appealing to these words, he probably would have mutilated the Declaration of Independence, or would have given it to us with an explanatory footnote. In many senses, men are not born free and equal. It is just as absurd to claim the immediate and forcible emancipation of the slaves, as to demand an equal and forcible distribution of property among rich and poor. The idea of perfect freedom and equality is, in reality, though not professedly, based on the supposition that men are actuated only by good motives, and have wisdom to foresee without mistake the results of their actions. But only perfect beings are fit for perfect freedom. Man's judgment is fallible, and his motives often impure and selfish. As he is by nature a social being, restrictions must be placed upon his freedom. All our government, both domestic and civil, is an example of such restriction. Why should the press be the only anomaly? A perfectly free press is just as dangerous to society as no press at all. The people naturally cherish a free press as the corner-stone of their liberty, for they know that the silence of the press is the distinguishing mark of a despotism. But in setting up the newspaper to guard our rights, let us not, like the horse in the fable, call in too powerful an ally. Let us make sure that the newspaper does not destroy what it is set to guard. Especially in our present condition must the freedom of the press be limited. If the law does not act, the mob will, and a mob is far from being rational. It is an excellent sign that the newspapers, in general, firmly condemn the resort to violence, though often pleased with its work. It is well to bear in mind the opinions of distinguished men on such a subject. The following extract is taken from the opinion of Judge Story.

"That this amendment was intended to secure to every citizen an absolute right to speak or write or print whatever he might please,

without any responsibility, public or private, therefor, is a supposition too wild to be indulged in by any rational man. This would be to allow to every citizen the right to destroy at his pleasure the reputation, the peace, the property, and even the personal safety, of every other citizen. A man might stir up sedition, rebellion, and treason even against the government itself, in the wantonness of his passions or the corruption of his heart. Civil society could not go on under such circumstances. Men would then be obliged to resort to private vengeance to make up the deficiencies of the law. It is plain, then, that the language of this amendment imports no more than that every man has a right to speak, write, and print his opinions upon any subject whatever, without any prior restraint, so always that he does not injure any other person in his rights, property, or reputation; and so always that he does not thereby disturb the public peace, or attempt to subvert the government."

The remedy for past evils and the security for the future is in the hands of the educated class. On their action rests, in a great measure, the stability of our institutions. If the educated look not beyond themselves and their own class, if they confine their attention to the pursuit of knowledge or wealth, and leave the control of society and government to those who are unfitted to exercise it, science and commerce may advance, but liberty and man will decline. It is not only the duty, but the interest, of this class to extend their education to the people; for unless the people are intelligent, the educated man will be looked upon with distrust, and will have even less influence and respect than the ignorant and cunning. Our editors must not be men of one idea, men who only look on one side of a question. We need whole men, men of liberal education, men able to think and act for themselves, and therefore fitted to think and act for others.

AN OBSERVER OF MEN AND THINGS.

ONE fine August morning, a student might have been seen engaged in taking observations at a gibbet-like erection, called a station, in the middle of Concord River. He thus became an humble instrument in the arbitration of a quarrel which had raged between mill-owners and land-owners ever since A. D. 16-, when the an

cestor of a Groton editor, migrating from New Zealand for the purpose, is said to have set this ball in motion. This student desires, after the manner of European sovereigns, to preserve a strict incog., by stating that, out of half a dozen students, he was the only Junior. He makes bold to speak for the crowd, relating the pleasures and hardships of our situation, the entertainments and visits which rendered the last three weeks so pleasant.

The long days were monotonously alike. Ab uno disce omnes. It seems dreary work to leave a warm bed for the doubtful luxury of a five-o'clock observation; to walk to your boat,

"Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,"

to find cold oars and a wet boat; to search for your station through a fog too thick for your dim lantern to penetrate; and finally, mounting the platform on which the night-dews stand as rain-drops, to shiver as you think of the old polar bear in the menagerie, who mopes away his life on a block of ice. Six o'clock surprised one in a yawn which not even the glories of a Concord sunrise piles of tinted clouds, its softened reflections in the pure, bright water, its beams driving the mist in reluctant masses over glistening fields could wholly repress. We were never fully awake until

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we had achieved a warm breakfast, a bath, a brisk pull, perchance a warble at the hill-side rendezvous, and a visit to the post-office and railway-station. We were only bland when our letters had informed us of the throbbings of the Cambridge world, when we had chuckled over the journal which told us of the capture of Hatteras, and of the banishment of rebels from the Potomac, by an arbitration of shells more effectual than Grecian ostracism. Morning hours beheld us basking in the sterns of our boats, perusing with calm content select library volumes, musing over the keen, sad irony of Potiphar Papers and the chronicle of gentle Amyas Leigh. Laughing voices coming round the bend rouse us from our dreams, as a boat, with glistening oars and merry freight, sweeps up to the station. How lazy it seems to become a useless passenger, while whiter hands manage the oars and tiller! to be carried in derisive helplessness by the stations of laughing comrades, to be threatened with immediate sprinkling and prospective immersion on the slightest signs of mutiny, to give up all thoughts of dignity once for all, to sing matins from a husky throat, to take your observation from the boat of your fair captors, to gather water-lilies and rouse the inmates of other stations with

agonized and agonizing shouts! Commissioners at such times avoid troubling one with business, and younger officers pass in envious silence.

Who pulled stroke for that gayly tyrannical boat-crew? It would never do to state under whose instruction that stroke had proved itself so steady and so strong, to hint at cool mornings and shady afternoons spent in mastering the mysteries of rowing, to let the imagination revel in pictures of gliding boats, piles of water-lilies, laughing waters around answering to gayety on board. Now, although Mr. Higginson's description of Worcester boating seems somehow very natural, be it known that only the incentive of example raised the standard of Concord boating during our stay, though some ladies rowed their wherries better than we could. The writer has found, to his chagrin, that pleasant pictures of the fancy are personally applied by those who have yet to learn, what Dr. Russell has so clearly proved, that description is only vivid when distance lends enchantment, and judgment is not warped by a knowledge of the facts.

Philosophy lent a charm to those genial summer days; many a fine afternoon we lay under the shady elms, discussing the economy of Ruskin, with a running fire of anecdotes and comments which caused resistless peals of laughter, and brought to our rescue astonished young-lady artists, who grieved over their inability to sketch a laugh. It would be hard to explain why our visit was so pleasant. To say that refined society received us in our Alma Mater's name; that formalities were considerately overlooked; that, since we could not go to the mountain, the mountain came to us, was carried in lovely fragments in our boats all over the river,- may give some idea of it. Listen to a description of a few of many bright scenes. At the junction of the Concord and the Assabet rose, through overhanging trees, rugged Egg Rock. A picturesque hut in the grove behind was the residence of a most arbitrary ruler, with side-whiskers, a broad grin, and a culpable fondness for puns. His castle was in a state of perpetual siege, and all went on rowingly, until the consequent exhaustion compelled him to set apart a portion of the day for repose and reflection. Accordingly, visitation was renewed with great vigor.

Imagine the liveliest picnic scene in the world. Light dresses are seen through the trees, in full possession of Egg Rock and its palace. The routed monarch, in the negligé costume of an exile of Erin, is

ferrying across a merry cargo. Boats from other stations are pressed into the service. There are enough to fill them, and "the cry is still, They come." Soon a smoke rises through the trees, an iron pot is slung over the fire for the reception of green corn. Leaves, branches, and stumps, collected with uncalculating zeal, almost conceal the prime mover of all jollity, who rises occasionally from his labors to beam upon us over the ramparts. Through the crowd, with winning smile and a slight mitigation of the Hibernian costume, moves the host, firing destructive puns with the regularity of minute-guns. The admirers of Ruskin dash in at intervals, spend a few minutes in rational conversation, and then, as the rustic feast is nearly ready, rush off in a double-scull to take the ever-impending observation. They return to find their repast quite cold, with the exception of those ears of corn saved by thoughtful hands; which corn they hereby acknowledge. Time would fail to tell of boat-rides up shady North Branch, when boats run upon sunken rocks, and catch in snags, with the great dismay of the passengers; of the wanderings after cranberries and flowers; the mutinies against the ruler, resulting in the ransacking of his hut and the setting at naught of his authority; while now and then a shower of acorns drives him to self-defence, and a tumultuous contest ensues.

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And now the sun goes down, and night comes on from the ocean. The lanterns of the absentees glimmer across the fields, nearer and nearer, like will-o'-wisps. They come in to find a merry group the rosy glow of a camp-fire, delighted with this novel entertainment. Jolly as a party of young vivandières, they tumultuously declare that they are waiting for a song. Observe a strange phenomenon. When strangers are supposed to be absent, our present auditors can warble like birds. But in our presence they are silent, and we must make up the deficiency. The night-air bears our voices over the fields and through the branches, and the squirrels are roused by an agonizing medley, ranging from "Beautiful Star" to "Noah." We have learned that we cannot disgust our friends by the longest catalogue, or by utterances like the groans of Inquisition. So we are soon wound up and set in motion. And thus, as the fire warms the circle and lights up the woods around, blazing up now and then with a handful of leaves, throwing sparks over jackets and dresses, with smoke enough to be pleasant, we send out our voices as never before, till the boats on the river float in wonderment, and the old owl up North VOL. VIII. NO. 68.

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