...„. *fi IS . l.. • ), ......,..,:.:;..,,..,,,." .. ~ •. ~. I' , . I - ‘ . S,t 1 • . • 1 • ~... , . . v. , -:-.- fite r r ..,.. 27 ROB2RT WZITE L=LETOIT.] THE GARLAND. —"With sweetest flowers enrich'd, From various gardens cull'd with care." FOR TITS GETTY/3EIEIIOIi STAR AND DARNER. MRS. OILLEYIS LAMENT [Dv 1 , 1118. LYDIA JANE PEIREION.] GREAT GOD! where shall I fly! Where shall I seek relief? Where can this broken, writhing heart Find solace for its grief? Earth, with Its glorious sun-light, Is dark and cold to me ; My soul is stricken with the blight Of hopeless misery! Thou wast my love, my all, •''l'hc husband of my youth!'• noun,' whom my young affections twln'd With ever-during truth ; My heart and hand were wedded In happiness to thine, And not a solitary joy. Or sorrow has been mine. Yet thou wilt comp no more With thy bright smile to me; And broken-hearted widowhood Nly weary lot must bel Oh, bow can it be possible That thou wilt never return! That I shall never bear thy voice Forbidding me to mourn! And 21 the bitterest dreg ' In this deep cup of wo, Is that the life is thrown away Which my heart valued so! Ah! made o bloody sacrifice To win the meed of (nine, From the foul demon who usurps Pure honor's holy name! And came there to thy breast No tender thought of home? Where fond hearts counted every day Till him they lov'd should come') Came there no pang of anguish Like fire across thy brain, Of how these hearts would agonize When thou wert basely slain? AO yet if thou lunrst fall'n In our dear country's cause, cduht with less of agony Have borne my grievous loss. That country then had honor'd thee, And fame had told thy deeds, Till I had almost gloried in My tears and widow weeds. But no approving words Now greet my weary ear, And I must blush beneath my tears Thy much lov'd name to hear; "He died as the fool dieth!" I hear my country say; This is the honored weed for which Thou 'at cast thy life away ! And he who laid thee low. What honor has ho gain'd? A withering curse is-on his bent His hund with blood Is stain`d; • And MURDERER is written Upon the wreath ho wears— • The blooms of which are wet with blood, Its verdure gem'd with tears! Ihd him come here and see The misery he has wrought, The desolation ho has made In this once happy spot ; Where now is heard the wailing Of mingled deep distress ; And sobbing infants asking why I call them fatherless ! There is the piercing point Of this deep agony— I could forgive the madden'd brain Tat disregarded roe— But how could he, a father. Forget that sacred name? And leave his orphan little ones Expos'd to wo and shame! I gaze no more with pride Upon his favorite boy ; Tears for his fallen father's fate O'erfloiv the fount of joy. In vain ye check your wailing., And seek to soothe my wo; It is for you, my guileless ones, My bitterest sorrows flow! My Country! there's a blot, A foul blot on thy name ; A tarnish on thine honor, and A blood spot on thi, fame; While thus thy foremost children, Even before thine eyes, May offer up to Lucifer The human sacrifice ! The stricken widow's tears Thine honor's annals stain ; And he who lists thy plaudits, hears The orphan's wail of pain ! Oh! must this fearful mania Continue still to spread? And must thy right band ever be With thine own heart's blood red? Is there no blessed hand The poniard to arrest? E'er it impale the writhing heart In many a gentle breast? For Inc, any heart is broken ; Swee• one, thou say'st in vain "Don't cry so, ma! Pa soon will comel—" Oh! he'll nc'cr come again ! VUIIII MaIUDIIii`C)EaVo FROIK THE LADY'S BOOK. ALTHEA VERNON. 3 THE EMBROIDERED HANDKERCHIEF [CONTINUED FROM OUR LAST] CHAPTER IN. Mr. Dimsdule had written for accommoda tions, and the ladies were met in the hall by a chambermaid, who immediately conduct. ed them to their rooms. After they had taken off their bonnets and arranged their hair, they descended to the tea table which had been set for their party at one end of the refectory—the general tea being over long before their arrival. The gentlemen joined them; and conver sation was proceeding very gaily,when they were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Conroy, the sister of Mrs. Dimsdale. This lady, with her husband and daughters, had been already more than a fortnight at Recite , way—Mr. Conroy going backwards and for ' •!girds according as business required his presence in the city. Althea, notwithstanding her acquaintance 'with the Dimsdale family, had hitherto seen but little of the Conroys, who lived in a dis• tent part of the town and visited in a different circle—Though nearly related, and always an amicable terms, the habits and disposi tions ofthe twn families were sn difibrent that there was no great intimacy between them —the Dimedales being plain, unpretending people, and the Conroy's-- but we will let them speak for themselves. "I have but tins moment heard of your arrival, sister Dinisilnle—l lefl the company in the saloon,nnd came to you immediately" —said Mrs. Conroy, taking a seat near the tahlo,nnrl accepting an invitation to jolt) them in ~lmir tea. "How are the girls?"—enquired Mrs. Dimsdnle. "Perfectly well"—replied Mrs. Conroy— "and so extremely delighted with Rocka way that there is no getting them away from it—which, however, is not to be wondered at—for to tell the truth they are excessively admired here. Between ourselves,the Miss' Conroys are considered the belles of the pince—Ofcourse I would not say this to every one,but you know very well that my daugh ters have always been rather celebrated, though their styles are so different, and it must be confessed that the dignified softneds of Abby Louisa, and the piquant vivacity (if Phebe Maria are too strikingly contntste:d ; not to produce effect. They have just turned from an evening walk on the beti: with some others of the young , peoplar Abby Louisa, having been inadvertantl led by Mr. Draglington reiher to near : surf, (quite into it, I believe,) has got: er dress sadly splashed, and has goneAtOstairs to change it. And I left PhetieNaria in the saloon,so surrounded withibeaux that I could not get at her to apprize her of your arrival. I know one ought not to tell these things of one's own daughters, but, suppress it as we may, maternal affection will peep out—and for my part, .I cannotbe otherwise than na tural." Politeness restrained the young gentlemen from exchanging looks at this assertion of one of the moat' artificial women they had ever met with, but who fortunately had not depth to he dangerous. Being the sister Of his uncle's wife, to Lansing Mrs. Conro_y was no stranger, but to Selfridge who" had only seen her at Rockaway, she Wes both new and amusing. From Lansing he had heard the origin of the incongruous `double names that distinguished her daugh ters. They were called Abigail and Phebe after two rich old aunts of Mrs. Conroy's, who considered herself their favorite niece, and who expected from them a large legacy for each of her daughters. Aunt Abby died when the children were eight and nine years old,leaving her whole fortune without reser vation to her sister--Aunt Phebe soon after was married by a young spendthrift of twenty-two, on condition that she Made over to him all her property. These two successive disappointments sere severely felt by Mrs. Conroy; and just ly incensed at having given her children old fashioned names for nothing:, she addeci to them the more genteel appellation of Louisa and Maria. Mr. Conroy was a man of bit siness,and little else; allowing his wifii sover eign sWay'over the famil3 and all other con cerns, except those of the counting house. "This is our first visit to Rockaway since the erection of the.new hotel"—said Mr. Dimsdale"ly.4.oith aecor modo t tons vcr y infertot to the present We have formerly found it a pleasant place, and no doubt we shall enjoy it exceedingly." "Of course you will"—replied Mrs. Con• roy—"there is a great deal of genteel com pany here; and r have not seen better dres sing at any watering place. We have now at Rockaway a large proportion of the peo ple one meets in society, with, to be sure, some sprinkling of persons whom nobody knows—but that is the usual alloy to al; places of public resort, as untortunately in our republican country those that have mo ney to pay their way, can gain admittance any where. But I assure you our saloon has been extremely brilliant. We have had three judges—one bishop—two ex-governors— five members of congress—one captain in the navy—two colonels in the army—four teen lawyers—and merchants 'too tedious to mention.' 'And then there is the new Eng lish traveller." "I did not know there was a new one"— remarked Mr. Dimsdale. "ig it possible! Why there has been not h- ing else talked of since the arrival oldie last packet. But though you do live so out of the world (excuse my saying so) it is too strange that you should not have heard of Sir Tiddering Tattersall." "That sounds like a thing of shreds and patches"—observed A It hea,aside to Selfridge, who had taken care to sit next to her. "Miss Vernon"—said Mrs. Conroy—over hearing her—"give me leave to Inform you t hat Sir Tiddering Tattersall's clothes are al ways of regular make, and perfectly whole, and (whatever latitude he may indulge in among Americans) I have no doubt that in his own country he is always Brest scrupu• lously according toihe fashion, and that he has costumes for every possible occasion— as is the case with all English gentlemen still more when they are noblemen." "Pardon me, my dear Nfrs. Conroy"— said Lansing-- - - ,, a baronet (ifsucl• is the rank of Sir Tiddering) is not exactly a nobleman —you forget that a baronetcy comes next to the peerage, but does not belong to it." Mrs. Conroy did not forget, for she had never remembered—being extrTiaely ill versed in the grades of European' title; a species of ignorance very common among my country women, notwithstanding their fondness for novels of fashionable hie. "1 do mit know that he Is a baronet"—re sumed Mrs. Conroy—"he may be something of still higher rank--perhaps a knight-1 arts quite sure that knights have Sir before their names, for I have read of them when a girl. He may be a Knight of the Garter." "Very probably"—said Lansing -who thought that further argument might make "confusion worse confounded." "That ho is a man of consequence there can be no doubt"—pursued Mrs. Conroy. "What is his bilsiness in America?" en quired Mr. DinAdalo. "Do you suppose nny body would be so rudelis to ask him"—replied Mrs. Conroy. "His ostensible business is to buy a trot ting horse"--said Lansing—"his redone is probably to write n book." "I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF lelY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION. -..—SHAR eitzworazmumaat, ipac. te(Paattgarce 42a)zaw2) avg a.aam "There I disagree with you"—answered Lansing—"lt is after our taste is somewhat formed and has had time to improve and re• fine, that our imaginations,generally speak ing., are most susceptible et the picturesque and the imposing. Children are rarely struck with fine natural.scenery, and to coarse and uncultivated minds (whether of the vulgar little or the vulgar great) it seldom affords much pleasure. I do not believe that a .•,Swiss peasant is aware of the magnificence of his glorious Alps. To him they are only high • mountains: dangerous, slippery, il and difficult to cultivate. Do you think when the Italian that grinds his hand-organ afro' the streets of New York, looks back to the land of his birth, that he grieves for the marble promontories,nnd flowery glades,and myrtle thickets, and clear blue waves of his Mediterranean home? No—his regrets are Sir Tidderilig Tattersall write a book"— said Selfridge, contemptuously. .V!*Why not"—resumed Lansing—"no doubt facould write as good a one as the renown ed Frederick Fitzgerald de Roos—rind could equally enlighten his compatriots on the ever o scure subject of society and manners in A rica—a country which they always seem fo kat through a blanket." r'"Say rather a mist—or a veil"—observ ed Selfridge--"either of which would be quite as Shakspearian—certainly more ele gant—and perhaps more just." "No"—replied Lansing—"l will persist in my. blanket—for homely as the image may be it is nut too strong !o express the opa queness oft he unaccountable somethin ,, that seems always to interpose between their per ceptions of America and the truth." "It is a wilful obtuseness"—said Mr. Dimsdale--"none are so blind as those that will not see." "I am very sure that Sir Tiddermg Tat- tersall is no author"—said Mrs. Conroy-- "for he has n valet,and he brought with him a cart load of baggage,and never gets up till noon, and it is evident that money is no ob- ject to him. He wnnted a parlour to him• self, and a dressing room, but being unable to obtain them, and equally unable to con• form to what he justly calls the barbarous hours of the hotel, he pays extra for having his dinner alone ►n his own chamber at eight o'clock." "I suppose, thee."--said Mr. Dimsdale-- "he is now luxuriating in the enjoyment of his solitary meal." "Exactly so"--replied Mrs. Conroy— "let me see (looking at her watch) he must be just now em4aged in taking his wine." "Quite likely"—said Lansing, as he rose from the table,which the party, having con cluded their repast, were now quitting. Between Lansing and Mrs. Conroy there had always been a sort of disinclination to like each other—and though she was the sister of his uncle's wife, neither of there ever acknowledged the least approach to any thing like auntshin or nephewship. - Still she was in the main very unwilling to quarrel with him, prudently judging that when a wo• man has daughters to marry,she should con trive to keep on good terms with all manner of men; ns there is no telling what may hap• pen, or which may eventually be found le plus hon para. A council was now held as to the most eligible mode of finishing the evening,which was already far advanced. It was debated whether the ladies should prepnre for ailing into the saloon, or whether they should take a walk on the beach, the night being moon. light. To the surprise of Selfridge, Althea Vernon, though she had expressed an im patient _desire ru t a near view of tue ocean, was now evidently in favour of their debut in the drawing room. But Mrs. Conroy feeling some apprehension lest the beauty of Miss Vernon should eclipse that of her Own daughters (notwithstanding their styles were so happily contrasted) adroitly assured the young ladies that they could not possibly ap pear in the saloon without making such au entire change in their dress as must occupy a very considerable time, and would over fatigue them after a ride of twenty miles, and might cause them to look pale and hag gard, "which you know"—said she "is not at all desirable." Also, that their hair had been so blown about by the wind that it would not be presentable till after a fresh pinning up. She ended by counselling them to re. mir immediately to bed. This last advice, however, (which was delivered in an nailer tone) our young ladies wore by no means inclined to follow, and even Mrs. Dimsdale declared her disincli- 'moon to retire so early. So it was decid ed that the juveniles, as Mr. Dimsdalo call ed them, should take a walk on the strand, while MN. Dinisdale (for whom it was only necessary to change her cap and collar) ac companied her husband and Mrs. Conroy into the saloon. CHAPTER V When Althea and Julia had gone up stairs for their bonnets, and the two young geriile men were promenading the portico while waiting for them—"l must coniel.s"—said Selfridge—"that I was disappointed at Miss Vernon's being so unsentimental, or so un• poetical, or so unpictorial (I know not what to call it) as to evince a preference of the noise and glare of a crowdeddrawing•room to a walk on the margin of the Atlantic— ' and by moonlight too" "Now"—replied Lansing—"l think that preference perfectly natural to a very young and sprightly girl. Let me console you with the homely proverb that you must not expect to find old heads on young shoulders —an adage, I foro•see, you will often have occasion to recollect in the course of your present engouement." "But surely"—said Selfridge—"youth is the age for romance and poetry, and it is then that our feelings aro most vividly a wake to the beauties and sublimities of na• lure." for objects more closely connected with him. self, or for enjoyments in which mind has but little association. Nay—have you not heard of persons who living within ten miles of Niagara never visited the stupendous cat aract until they found it had become a place of public resort. And even now how many go thither that are satisfied with a mere cur sory glance, and leave it without retaining one additional idea of its wonders." "But what is all this with reference to Miss Vernon"—said Selfridge—"you can• not persuade me that hers is a light and friv olous mind, when there is so much intelli gence in her looks." "She looks as I believe she is"—replied Lansing—"that Miss Vernon is a girl of quick capacity ,I have not the slightest doubt, nor also that she has sense, imagination and feeling. There now—you need not grasp my hand so delightedly. But remember our conclusion on the general inconsistency of human nature, and do not be surprised if this beautiful star that has just risen on your horizon should occasionally diverge from her orbit,and recreate herself with an erratic excursion into the fields ofair. Also, if you intend commencing lover in earnest, you must conquer this habit of considering things too deeply. But here come the ladies—l suppose I must kindly and unprofitably take charge of good little Julia, who is not only my own cousin, but more than suspected of having exchanged rings and lockets with a certain naval officer now cruising in her Pacific. The poor dear girl is ashamed to acknowledge the interest she takes in the ocean and its appurtenances." The alertness of Selfridge in offering his arm to Althea left indeed no choice to his friend; who followed him with Miss Dims dale. They had walked but three or four yards on leaving the portico, when the tufts of grass became "few and far between," till they were reduced to a solitary blade here and there, struggling with the deep and chocking sand,through which our little par ty proceeded; their feet sinking in at every step. But with the true American disposition 'o make light of petty inconveniences, they laughed gaily at the difficulty of their pro• gress—though more than once the ladies stepped out of their shoes in lifting their feet. These sands, though now dry, were at high tide usually covered with water; and in a few minims our little party reached a fine smooth beach sloping into the darli.rolling ocean. It was one of those nights when "The moon is in her summer glow nut hoar.° and high the breezes blow." She laid climbed above a mass of dark va• pours that curtained the east,and was touch• ing with silver the edges of the flying clouds that.‘:-.-c,•;; warred aernsstier face by the sea• wind as it swept over thia heaving waves, ruffling their glittering heads into crests of foam. "The art of man"—said Selfridge—"tho' it has drawn lightning from the clouds, and cut passages through mountains, levelled rocks, and converted forests into cities, can effect no change in the stern and unconquer able ocean. This surf,that throws its broad white ridge along the sandy beach, is roar• ing now as it has roared since the creation of the world; and so will it continue, warring ngainst the shore in restless and unending strife till time is lost in eternity " He then, while they paced the shadowy strand in the moonlight, described with gra phic eloquence some of the ocean scenery that he had witnessed in his voyage to in• dia particularly a tremendous tempest in the latitude of the Mauritius. And to Al- thea's eager inquiries if they saw the island of Paul and Virginia, he replied that they had discerned one of its mountains looming dimly through mist and storm. There was a silence—and as Selfridge glanced nt the expressive countenance of Althea and saw the tear drops trembling on "the fringed curtains of her eyes," he felt that her thoughts were dwelling on St. Pier re's beautiful and affecting story. The young lover could scarcely refrain from, at that moment,making-her an offer of his hand and heart. "She is all truth and nature"—thought he—"full of fancy and feeling, and too art less to be capable of concert ling her emottons, or even her foibles—if indeed she has any." The pause was first broken by Althea, who did not pursue the subject of the storm, but said with brightening eyes—"l know not a more striking description of moonlight on tho sea-beach than that of Oberon, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, when he is about to send Pack in search of the enchant ed flower. Has this charming scene never been transferred to canvas?" "The immortal poet"—replied Selfridge —"has made it so beautiful and vivid thnt in has 101 l nothing for the genius of the painter. Many of the best artists havoshrunk from the task of illustrating the finest and most popular passages of Shakspeare—fear• ing their inability to paint up to the picture he has presented in a few magic touches to the mind's eye of his readers. "The man who life with nature's pencil drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new"— may well dispense with assistance from the material pallet and canvas." "To•night, however"—continued Selfridge atter a pause—"there are too many drifting clouds, and the wind is too high, and the water in too much agitation, to give me ex actly the idea of the calm and lovely sea-side picture sketched by the fairy king." Selfridge then began to repeat the lines in question, and ut those that depict "Fly ing between the cold - moon and the earth, Cupid all armed," Althea whose eyes were now involuntarily turned towards the wander ing planet that shone down on her beautiful face,' prompted him with a naievete that he found bewitching. And at the words "a sudden nim he took," the lover could not re frain from slightly pressing the hand that rested en his arm. IVhellior she perceiv. ed it or not I leave to the sagacity of my lady readers. "Young as she is,how correct is her taste —how lively her perceptions of grace and beauty"—thought Selfridge, as they turned their steps to the hotel—it being near ten o'clock. When they passed the windows, and saw by the light of the chandelier sus pended from the ceiling, the gay groups that promenaded the saloon, or chatted on the sofas around it, Althea exclaimed— " What a bright and animated scene! A mong the company, there may be (accord. ing to Mrs. Conroy) some people whom no. body knows—but the general effect is cer tainly that of fashion and elegance; I wish I had passed the evening in the saloon." Selfridge felt again disappointed,and made no reply. "After all"—said he to Lansing, when they had conducted the young ladies to the stair-case and taken leave of them for the night—"l think I will profit by your ad % ice, and know more of Miss Vernon ham) I carry my admiration of her too far." "Then you have not yet proposed"—said Lansing. "Nonsense"—replied Selfridge—"Jo you take me for the hero of a comedy, that falls in love at the first interview, offers himself at the second, and is married at the third." "Let us finish the evening in the saloon" —said Lansing. "Will you go in with me." "No"—answered Selfridge—"l am not in the vein for fashion and elegance. I will walk in the portico awhile. The air is cool and refreshing. "Cool,indeed!" said Lansing—"with this brisk north wester,which would hove blown little Julia into the sea if! had not kept her steady. But I leave you to your meditation.' There would be too much sameness in saying that our heroine meditated also. We will only hint that she spent a remarkably long time in transferring some of the con• tents of her trunk to the shelves of the coin • mode; and she must have been somewhat abstracted when on opening the embroider• ed handkerchief her perception of its beau ties was rather less distinct than usual. In shortothe "pottered and dawdled an immensi ty," and "put out things," and put them i❑ again, till all was still throughout the hotel. Flaying extinguished her lamp,she sat down at the window to rest herself after her fa• tigue, and looked out at the strand and the ocean till "The wan moon wag setting behind the white wave it is not to be supposed that through the Venetian shutters Miss Vernon could identi ly the figure of the solitary gentleman,who, till a late hour, continued to perambulate the portico, or that she observed the g race of his attitude, when at times he folded his arms, and stood leaning musingly against one of the pillars. [TO BF. CONTINUED.] THE RULING PASSION. BONAPARTE died in his military garb,his Field Marshal's uniform and his boots,vvhidh he had ordered to be put on a short tame previous to his dissolution. AUGUSTUS CESAR chose to die in a stand ing position, and was careful in arranging his person and dress for the occasion. SEWARD, Earl of Northumberland, when at the 'point of death, quitted his bed and put on his armour, saying—"that it became not a man to die like a beast." A more remarkable instance is that of Man Loutsa ,of Austria, w ho,a short time before she breathed her last, having fallen into a slight slumber, one of the ladies in at tendance remarked that her Majesty seem• ed to be asleep. "No," said she, "I could sleep if I would indulge in repose, but I am sensible of the near approach of death,and I will not allow myself to be surprised by him in my sleep; 1 wish to meet my dissolution awake." Such are the eff)rts of poor expiring mor• ality—still clinging to earth—still labo►ing or the breath of posterity, and exhausting tself in efforts to rise with "gracefulness at he last." An Irish tailor made a gentleman a coat and waistcoat too small, and had orders to tnke them home and let them out. Some days after, the gentleman enquiring for his garments, was told by this ninth part of an Irishman, that the coat and waistcoat hap pening to fit a countryman of his, he had let them out at eighteen pence a week. ANECDOTE.-At a late Temperance con vention in one of our towns,the hotels being somewhat crowded, a couple of gentlemen called at a private dwelling to get accommo• dated for the night. The man of the house (coming in soon liner they had departed, in. quired of his active and bustling helpmate ' the cause of so much unusual preparation and bustle. "Why, lay," replied she "don't you think we're going to have a couple of total absent Aligators, here to supper, and , "Aligators!" exclaimed the old man, "why you mean delegates, don't you?" 0, yes, "tis delegates," replied she, "but no matter—if all magnifies the same meaning, you know." A NEW MODE FOR PARSING GRAMMAR —Mr. Hurd the celebrated teacher of Gram mar, once on a time (at Hopkinton, Mss.) set his class to parsing the following lines of Pope: "Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate-- All but the page prescribed," &o. The word all, in the second line had been parsed—when coming to the word but, and directing his eye to the next pupil, the mas• ter said, "But! the next." No sooner was the word nut, than—plump went the bead of the pupil into the bread basket of his neighbor. "Boo! hoot hoo!" routed the latter most lustily. •"%Vhat are you about there," said the master to the former. "I am butting the next,•str, 119 you told me to," replied Ow 1,1(1.[N. 1. Tricwrript. [VOL. 9--NO. 3. THE CURRENCY. From the National Gazette. ' Letter from Air. Diddle, to the 1 lion. John Quincy .11dams. MY DEAR SIR;--1 propose to say a few words on the question whether the Banks should resume specie payments in May next. I do this because my position seems to jes lily, if not require it. For nineteen years I have been connected with the Institution which caused the last resumption,and during all that period my efforts have been directed to secure to the country the benefits of a sound currency, and to banish from circula tion every thing but the precious metals and notes always convertible into them. 1 think that no other currency is safe or tolerable; and that we should now return to it at the first moment it can be done permanently.-- For this purpose the Institution to which 1 belong has made great efforts. Since the suspension in May last, it has bought and added to its vaults nearly four millions ofdol la rs in gold and silver; and now with a capi tal of thirty-five millions,its notes in circula tion are six millions, while its specie, after paying more than half a million to the Gor ernment of the United States,amounts to four millions, and it has eight or ten millions of funds in Europe. Our prirciples therefore incline us to an early resumption; our prepa rations would justify it—and if we were at all influenced by the poor ambition ofdoing what others cannot do so readily,or the still poorer desire of profiting by the disasters of others, the occasion would certainly be tempting. But the Bank of the United States makes common cause with the other Banks,and the character and prosperity of the country are identified with its banking system. They must. stand or fall together—and tt is of vital importance that the banks should act wisely and act harmoniously,and above all that they should not suffer themselves to be driven,by the dread of being thought weak, into rash and hazardous enterprizes. The great pre rogative et strength is not to be afrqid of do. ing right, and it belongs to those who have no fear that prudent counsels will be mistak en for timidity, to examine calmly whether. the general interests of the country recom mend the voluntary resumption of specie payments in May next. I say the voluntary resumptiof, because .there is not now, nor has there ever been, any legal suspension of specie payments as there was for more than twenty years in England. The suspension is wholly conventioned between the banks and the community, arising from their mu tual conviction that it is for their mutual benefit. In truth the banks are but the mere agents of that community. They hair° no funds not already lent out to the people, of whose property and industry they are the representatives. They are only other names for the farms, the commerce, the factories, and the internal improvements ofthe country —and the enquiry whether the banks are ready to resume is only another form of ask. ing whether the people are ready to pay their debts to the banks. The true questiOn then,afler all,is,whether the time has arrived when the banks should announce that the causes of the suspension, which then satisfied the community, have ceased to exist,and that the suspension Itself, with all its necessary attendants of restric tion, need no longer be continued. To that enquiry I now proceed. And 1. W hat where the causes of the suspen sion? They were the Specie Circular,which forbade the receipt of any thing but gold or silver at the Land Offices—the mismanage ment of the deposits, which scattered them to the frontiers—the clamor raised by the Executive against bank notes,which alarm- ed the people for their safety, and caused a run upon the banks for specie. Now, has any of these causes ceased? On the contra ry, have they not acquired ten fold force?— The Specie Circular is not repealed. On the contrary, it has been extended,for bank notes are proscribed, not merely from the land offices, but from kll payments of every description to the government. The distri bution of the surplus is over, because there is no longer any surplus to distribute; but the great disbursements on the Southern and Western frontiers, operate as injuriously by requiring the transfer of so much revenue from the points where it recollected. Lastly and mainly,the alarm about bank notes prop agated by the government, has been deeply spread throughout the countrv,till what was at first a passing outcry, has settled into an implacable hostility. No man, I think, can doubt for a moment, that the Executive of the U. States seeks to maintain his power by exciting popular passions against the cred it system—and that the whole influence a, e government is employed to infuse into the minds of the people, distrust and hatred of all banks. For this purpose, the most insane ravings are addressed to the cupidity of the ignorant,who are taught that gold and silver are the only true riches,and above all, thtit these shrewd metals would enable us to outwit the paper dulness of England.— "Sir," said lately one of these politicians in the Senate of the United States, "Sir, a man loses all by any circumstance that but for that circumstance he would have made. Al though England is a paper country, yet if we were exclusively a metallic country we should make more out of our intercourse with her. And why should we, because she choose to maim herself by her paper system, follow her example?". The government, it may be said, is comparatively harmless, cause its dxpenditures exceed its income. Its regular income, no doubt—but while it ma pledge tho public credit for treasury notes at a high rate of intorest,by which every man's property is mortgaged, and buy specie with t lieni,llTro can nevel be wanting the means ofoppressing the banks. There is,therefore. no ono eircurn,Nnee which occaitnned the
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