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Terms, $2 Per Annum, in Advance. “ Second Year, No, 44—Whole No., 94.
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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
WHAT IS BEAUTY?
BY WM. C. RICHARDS.
What is beauty 1 Ask the blushing rose !
“ Heauty,” it answers, “ is my dower,
In every leaf that folds my heart it glows.
Hut withers in an hour!”
What is Beauty 1 Ask the bubble bright!
“ Than mine,” it answers, “ none was erst
Vet while the glittering vision gives delight,
The airy thing lias burst.
What is Beauty 1 Ask the seveu-hued bow!
“In me,” it answers, ‘ see its form !”
Brief-while the p.igeant glads our sight below,
Born of the .Sun and Storm !
What is Beauty I Ask the dolphin dying ;
“Beauty?” it gasps—“my fading hue;”
Bach shade the rose or rainbow tints outvieing,
Fades swiftly from the view !
What is Beauty 1 Ask the dew-drop gem :
“ In me,” it says, “ behold its dawn
“\o pearl more bright on eastern diadem:”
The sun breaks forth—’tis gone !
What is Beauty 1 ’T is a fading rose,
A bubble bursting on the sight;
A rainbow ever paling while it glows,
The dolphin’s hues amid its dying throes;
A dew drop in the light.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
LOVE’S REVERSES.
Written, half prospectively, for California Fever
Times.
BY CHARLES WORTH.
A a splendid ship sailed out of a New
England port, bound for California. More
than a hundred men were on board, all
eager for the newly-discovered land of
gold. They had left wives, employments,
conditions, positions, relatives, and were
associated for the one purpose of making
themselves rich, in a land where gold
could literally be dug from the earth in im
mense quantities. Was the fortune which
those men sought, an end ? Nay ; each
one had an end beyond that. To this
point they had all converged, from many
points; and they could diverge to as many
more.
A long story, more or less interesting,
might be written of each one, embodying
the whole history, in minute detail, of this
long, perilous, uncertain enterprise. Some
‘vent there and died ; some remained, and
became a pan of the population : some re
turned to their home and friends—some
“ith fortunes—some penny less; some, who
departed with much nobleness and good
ness of character, came back bankrupt in
everything that makes life desirable, but
money; while very few realized their
hopes of wealth, and found themselves at
home again, better off’ in every way than
when they started.
But we will confine ourselves to two of
all these hundred men, George and Charles.
Both were lovers. Each had left behind
what was dearer than all the land whither
•hey were going. They were strangers
when they went on board the vessel; but
they were among the first to establish a
deep-matured friendship. At first, they
were drawn together, as if by a magnetic
attraction, and their friendship was cement
ed by sympathies of feelings, coincidences
of opinions, and similarities of tastes; and
both were lovers.
During the long voyage, they delighted
to be together, in as retired a part of the
vessel as could be found, and spend the
long moonlight or starlight evenings, tell
lng each other, in an under tone, of their
beautiful ladies, left behind, and of their
dfeams of happiness in the future. In
this manner, each assisted the other to be
guile the dull hours of a long sea voyage,
and prevented the ennui each would have
suffered, were it not for the other. Then,
the beauty and grandeur of ocean scenery,
of which both were enthusiastically fond,
inspired within them many poetic moods,
which were expressed in conversation to
gether. Thus the voyage was very pleas
ant to both.
George was a young man of large,
strong, erect figure, with a lofty, majestic,
rather ponderous, beating. His features
were marked, and stamped with a nobility
surpassing common men. His eye was se
vere and strong, and looked as if it never
had quailed, and never could. His voice
was of a deep, rich, bass lone, which sent
out its words distinctly, coining his thoughts
into finished, rounded sentences, of an elo
quence unique and powerful. His person
al presence always gave weight to an oc
casion,, as if no occasion, wherein he fig
ured, could he trivial. Indeed, he was the
most imposing, in appearance and influence,
of all on board.
Charles was different in person and char
acter. He was tall, rather slender, and
supple, yet compact, and graceful as an
elm tree. The elm was his arborescent
type ; the oak was George’s. His face
was one of those transparent ones, which
always attract attention and inspire in
terest. It had a better chiselling than
George’s, and a more artistic finish. His
eye was keener than that of George, and
could flash more vividly and easily. His
brow was lofty and clear, as if no low
thought could emanate therefrom. His
mouth looked pure, as if no unchaste or
vulgar expression could find utterance
through it. His voice was more musical,
bdt less powerful, than George’s. Charles
was of the lonic order of architecture;
George, Doric. George was a strong em
bodiment of the masculine element; Charles
was a true feminine man, i. e. a man with
just enough of the feminine in his compo
sition. Charles was independent and no
ble-minded, yet retiring ; George was proud
at times, and always dignified—demeaning
himself in such a way, that no one would
dare infringe upon his l ights, oi attempt to
impose on him an arbitrary law.
George loved a noble woman, who lived
in her affections most, but was endowed
with an intellect of superior order, and
moral sentiments highly developed and
cultivated. She could be depended on for
ever, through flood or fire, or both togeth
er. Her name was Laura.
Cynthia, the betrothed of Charles, was
more beautiful and brilliant, and had a
more universal than particular love. One
would wonder that she could he particu
larly devoted to one man. She was of a
buoyant, assimilating nature, which charm
ed and captivated at once'. She was prac
tically unacquainted with the world, and
had never experienced or beheld much sor
row. Her friendship could be trusted; but
her moral nature could not, in a trial hour.
Laura had been involved in affliction,
till her nature was of a deep current.
Had she and Cynthia appeared together, at
a party, for instance, Laura, who was a
woman of more calibre than Cynthia,
would he in a corner, conversing with a
few, on some deeply interesting subject,
while Cynthia would shine before the
whole company, and give direction to the
popular tide. Cynthia would outdazzle;
Laura would outweigh.
George and Laura had loved each other
many months. He had never done well in
life, as the world would say; he had never
found a place which he thought was his;
and he was not one to accept of what
Fate doled out to him. Now he was bent
on amassing a fortune, at all events.—
When he first named his project to Laura,
she disliked it, and besought him to aban
don it; but he said so much, that she final
ly yielded. He was resolute and hopeful
in the prospect; she fearful and sad, yet
unrepining, unobjecting, since he was so
determined.
The hour of parting came. He bore it
as the oak bears a storm; but she—she
was a woman! and she knew how terribly
money will sometimes despoil a man ; and
who could assure her that her lover was
invulnerable ? ’Twas terrible to part with
him for so long; and heavier woes might
come. But was he not noble? Could
she not trust him ? Was not her love an
aegis over his heart ? Would not the god
within him preserve him ? Did she doubt
him? If so, did she love him? Does
love admit of doubt ? But she did love
him; and she trusted him Still, fears
would gather, as they do about the fancy
of a child who has just heard ghost sto
ries: though he knows better , yet, when
he goes to his bed, will not dare to look
into the dark, lest he should see something
that— is not. The moment of parting came.
She flung her arms around his neck, as if
it was for the last time, and gave her blanch
ed lips to his; and when that long embrace
was ended, she sank into an arm-chair —
closed her tearless eyes, and bowed her
whirling head; and for a long time, felt
more as if she were a conscious statue than
a human being. When again she raised
her head, and looked around, he was on
his way; he might never return; if he
should, it might not be him, as he then
was. The light, the room, seemed differ
ent from before. She looked out of the
window ; the scenery was changed, as if
an element had been destroyed ; the world
was different—life another thing, hence
forth, with her. Days afterwards, she
heard the ocean’s voice. She had heard it
before ; but how different. Then, it was
a voice of courage, of strength, grandeur,
eternity, to her; now it moaned a sad
foreboding ; it told of hope and trust in
danger. She listened if she might hear in
telligence from him who was far away on
its bosom: hut the roar was hollow; his
voice was unmingled with it.
“ O God!” she cried, “keep my George.”
And he, all this while. When he clasp
ed her to his bosom that last time, he tried
to magnetize her with courage, and forti
tude, and hope, and went from her pres
ence with triumph in his mien, and went
on board the ship with his nerves full of
will, and his soul pulsing a sublime de
fiance to all Fate. He felt a purpose with
in him, which would not be balked—a
power which would not be baffled. Eve
ry swell of that great water lifted him to a
mightier self-reliance. The thought of her,
and her love, so deep, so eternal, hallowed
every feeling in his breast.
She became calmer, and seemed the same
to those around her; she even was cheer
ful, when with others, but whenever she
was alone, the dark side of the world
would turn towards her.
Charles and Cynthia had been betrothed
but a short time. He had not met with
worldly success, because he deemed the de
velopment of character of more importance
than the acquisition of wealth, and to that
he had devoted all his energies. The
world laughed at him for refusing to im
prove opportunities which it called excel
lent. But he was able to bear that, and
poverty too. But now he was a lover—
another’s destiny was linked to his, and
he wished for means to make a home for
himself and his beloved; and who knew
but he might legitimately obtain it in Cali
fornia ? He had long regarded himself as
doomed never to be rich, do what he would:
but he resolved to go and try it; Fortune
might change with him. And, if he should
not succeed, he would acquire a discipline,
and a test of inward resources, which
would be valuable. He would be paid for
going, in any case; and if he should bring
back a bag of gold, that would be so much
better still. Added to all this, he was not
fully at rest with regard to Cynthia’s love.
A vague whisper from afar bade him look
to it. He was willing to go away for a
year or two, or three, and exercise no in
fluence over her, and forego her’s on him,
which was very essential to his happiness,
and if she could forget him whilst away—
if anything could separate them, they be
longed not to each other, and ought to sub
mit to the test. He loved as few men can
love, and he foresaw that if aught should
interrupt it, it would nearly or quite de
stroy him. Therefore, it was with the
soul of a hero that he left tier.
He went to take leave of her. Few
were their words; but her manner, her
look and one word of love, and his own
faithful heart, assured him. Their parting
embrace was tender and ardent; and he
left her in good spirits. But as the ship
dropped down the harbor, and out to sea,
and the land receded from his sight, and he
was, beyond return, embarked on an un
known fate, a sadness came upon him.—
Before him rose a vision of hardship, sick
ness, failure; and then he should return, if
ever, in disappointment. But he indulged
not long in this : he trusted in the powers
above, if not in her, or himself. Yet, many
times, while lying awake in the lone night,
these fears would steal into his heart, and
make him wretched.
But when he became acquainted with
George, who was always hopeful, and they
talked of their loves, their hopes, &c., the
world would assume her brightest hues,
and no cloud of doubt or fear would mar
Ins firmament.
Months rolled away, like waves upon
the sea —slowly and pleasantly with George
and Charles, swiftly and gayly with Cyn
thia, and slowly and deeply with Laura.—
Yet Laura forgot the weariness in her
weariless accomplishment of the duties of
life. The young men did not weary of the
everlasting sea; it was ever a source of
grandeur and omnipotence to them; but
when their voyage ended on the golden
shore, they were glad, independently of
their wish for gold, or other considerations.
Soon after landing, the company disband
ed, not being able to agree upon their
course, plans of operations, &c.. and the
country presenting various inducements, in
different directions. Our two friends sep
arated, and saw each other seldom after
wards.
And now they were in the universal
scramble for the glittering dust. Think of
a land whose veins are filled with the pre
cious metal, whither :he world’s reckless
adventurer’s flock, without order or law.
Think of the state of morals, of spiritual
life there. Think of the honesty where
the love of gold is the all-ruling, all-ab
sorbing passion ! Can any one withstand
such corruptinginfluences ? Were George
and Charles equal to a coping with such
temptations? We shall see.
George at first tried the mines; but did
not succeed according to his wishes. He
found he might expend his strength with
out being sure of finding a fortune ; or he
might spend a fortune in a lottery, and
draw no prize. So he turned to specula
tion. He did not believe this a legitimate
way of acquiring wealth, but he found no
other method so sure, and quieted his scru
ples by reasoning of the necessities of the
case. He very soon yielded to temptations
to dishonesty, reasoning that that was the
mode of proceeding adopted by all; every
body expected it of everybody; and it was
not deceiving to be so. He found he could
deceive more skilfully than the most of
those he dealt with ; and he abandoned
himself to such modes of trade as every
one else used.
He received letters from his dear one.—
They were filled with sentiments of purity,
and principles of devoted virtue. She
magnetized her words with all the noble
ness and high sense of right she could
summon. As he read them, he was not
insensible to their worth ; and he would
say to himself, “ 1 will be worthy of all
this when 1 am done with this hateful
place; but w-hile lam here, destiny rules
that l must compromise. There is no alter
native.”
So he forgot, for the time, the impres
sions her communications made, and rush
ed into the effort for money. Fortune was
attentive to him—much more so than he had
expected; and when the appointed time
for his return home drew near, he found
himself the possessor of ten times the
wealth which would have satisfied him
when he started.
Not long before he was to embark for
New England, where he was determined
to be true and just, he found a man out one
night, with a large bag of gold. He knew
the man : he was a worthless villain. It
was daik—they were alone. George rea
soned thus to himself:
“ This man has no high ideas, motives,
or aspirations; his thought stops with the
acquirement of money; his life is sordid
to himself, and valueless, and a curso to
the world. I wish to return to love and a
life of usefulness. After this once, I will
be a true man.”
He hesitated—a wild impulse roused—
he yielded. That night, he added that
man’s bag to his own heap, and burned
his vest, which had blood on it. In a
week, he was on board a steamer, on his
way home.
And now he was alone—without the
constant excitement of business—and his
conduct for the last two years rose before
him. He found it would not do to think
of it in any ordinary way. He must jus
tify it to himself. He looked at his yellow
pile: that would not excuse it. He finally
stilled his conscience, as a physician puts
a sleepless patient to rest, by sudorific*,
which is not a healthy sleep by any means.
He talked like this :
“It was not me, the essential me. I did
not love such a course; it was not inmost,
but a very external matter. I will be
great enough now to stand erect, as if it
had never been. It is a hiatus in my true
life. That life was an external one, taken
on for the occasion. Now I cut it off.”
When Charles arrived in California, he
saw the terrible profanation of all that is
divine in man ; how every base faculty
was roused; how every noble one was
prostituted. He had expected to find it
so, but he had had no idea of the extent
and degree of it. Instead, of yielding to
it, he turned from it with unutterable dis
gust. He found no chance for him to get
money, and retain his moral self-respect;
he must sell all, if he would buy gold; and
what were life, love, worth, if gold were
the only treasure ? He dug in the mines a
while, but found he could not do that
alone. He sold his labor for wages, but
he was brought into continued contact
with rascals—with men who would pass
for refined, moral, and pious, at home; but
there, they utterly abandoned themselves
to all kinds of vice, and became what the
vilest were at home. He could not stay
in such a place, and returned before half
his allotted time expired, pennyless, but
uncorrupted. He had beheld scenes of
vice and rascality, among men who were
esteemed the best at home, till his soul be
came sick, sick, with disgust. Oh! how he
though of his beloved then, and pictured
to himself, in contrast, the beautiful, noble
life he would live with her, unstained b T
the world’s corruption. He saw that a
soul crushed under a pile of gold, is dead.
He received but one letter from Cynthia
during his absence. It contained words of
endearment, accounts of her pursuits and
studies, which pleased him—wolds of cheer
and hope to himself, and noble purposes
for her future. But its magnetic air was
chilly: it lacked the electric ardor which
he wished. It made him sad—and a fear,
which he dared not utter to himself, would
haunt every vision of love he contemplated.
But he trusted the best, and would not
doubt till the last moment. He thought
her noble enough to tell him that her love
had ceased, the instant that it was so.—
Yet, if her love should cease, O God ! avert
the consequences to him.
Through all that long voyage, he had
feared more than hoped, and sometimes
suffered as much as if he already knew the
worst; but as lie approached home, he be
came more cheerful, and felt sure that she
still loved him; yet he wanted to be as
sured; and he dreamed of happiness in
soon meeting her, and in her approval of
his coming home without the gold, so long
as his soul retained its dignity and purity.
He dreamed—yes, he dreamed. He met
her at her home. She simply shook his
hand, as with an ordinary friend. He at
tributed this unmanifestation to her re
straint in the presence of the family. Her
talk with him was general—avoiding aught
particular—and her manner reserved. He
wished the family away —he scanned her
features : she looked in good spirits, as if
satisfied with herself. He thought her in
capable of deceit for a moment. She had
engaged to accompany a party to the thea
tre that even! ig, and she desired him to
attend her. He consented—and now his
hopes and fears were mingled together, as
oil and watc- are mixed by being shaken
violently. While they were sitting to
gether, witm sing an interesting perform
ance, she was absorbed in it; he— he satv
not what was before him ; his attention
was otherwise occupied, as his wild eye
and convulsive motions testified. He half
looked like an insane man. After return
ing home, and they were alone, they sat in
silence for half an hour—he with his face
covered. An occasional sigh escaping him,
told that the work of agony was being
wrought within him. At last, he raised
his eyes, and looked at her; her face in
dicated a strange perplexity. Now, he
was fully awakened to the fact that his
love had been thrown away, wasted upon
one who could not appreciate it. He said,
in a voice which was not Aft:
“ Cynthia, you do not love me. This
fact is the grave of all my hope ; and now
the world is a desert, with here and there
a mournful monument of my dreams ot
love. On them I may rest from my weary
wanderings, which now commence. You
have found that you can dazzle many eyes
—and that gratifies more of your nature
than such a love as mine. 1 see I was
mistaken. I resign myself to my fate. I
have loved you with all the force and pas
sion of my nature. That love is sunk, as
if in the bottom of that ocean I have just
crossed, and I am all alone again, a thou
sand fold more alone, in a dark world.”
And he bowed himself upon the sofa,
and felt himself encased in a dark, dense
cloud of despair, floating in abyssmai space
a million miles from any planet. The cold
grief of his heart made his teeth chatter,
and his whole frame tremble, as in an ague
fit.
“O! agony ! .*harp agony!
For trusting heart to find,
That vows believed were vows conceived,
As light as summer wind.**
She came to him —took his hand in
her’s, and said,
“Do not give up thus; life will yet be
bright. Do not give way to grief, if you
have any regard for me : it will kill me.
thought you were stronger than this. I
know you feel an agony, and I am the
cause of it; but I cannot help it. Do not
be bowed with despair, if you care aught for
me.”
What heartless egotism that! Those
words pierced him like so many cold dag
gers ; and when she pronounced them, he
wondered that he lived. As if he must,
or could forget that awful disappointment,
right in the midst of it, out of regard to her
who had wrought it. In after times, when
he thought of it, he wondeTed he hail not
felt like plunging a dagger into his hal
lowed heart. A'et, at tile time he forgave
her, and felt kindly towards her; and
when she asked him if he blamed her, he
said no; but at another hmc4ie recalled it
and answered it again;
“No ! I blame nobody, for anything.”
This word of bitter scorn, accompanied
with an indignant flash of his eye, all
wrung out by her utter lack of genuine
feeling in the matter, would have wound
ed her more than all else he said, that for
giveness, wrung out of a loving, forgiving,
trusting nature, by such cool sympathy,
would have sent a sting of remorse into
her soul forever, had she possessed the
heart of a true woman. When he retired
from her that night, she asked him to be
her friend, and she would be his. What
wanted he of friendship, made of such ma
terial ? Can a heartless freak of love (?)
end in friendship ? She thought it could ;
but he found, after long trying to make it
so, that it could not he. And he was obli
ged to yield to hatred.
And he turned back to a dreary world,
to try to forget his disappointment and
mistake, and make them minister to his
development of character. And when his
grief was sufficiently calmed to look at her
as she was, and not with the intoxicated
eyes of a lover, he saw her to be like a
magnificently finished room, splendidly fur
nished, and decorated with brilliant attrac
tions, purchased by such brilliant beauty,
and graces of conversation, as her’s, but
with no fire in it. Love could not abide
there. Whoever goes in to admire it, will
freeze before he can see it all; and no one
can ever think of sitting there in quiet and
comfort.
Afterwards, whenever they met, she
could never comprehend his deportment to
her. He could hardly give her any treat
ment. She thought he cherished a vindic
tive spirit; but far from that, he strove to
wipe all recollections and effects of the
aftaii out of memory and existence, as if
no such thing had ever happened. But he
found he could not do it, and he doubted if
it were in the nature of things to be done.
In process of time, George again trod
the path to Laura’s dwelling. What emo
tions thronged around his heart, as he came
near to that noble woman, whose was
unstained and stainless. She could have
gone to California, or anywhere, without
being corrupted. He had not been equal
to it: he had been and brought back wealth
—of gold—but had bartered for it his wealth
of moral character, his spiritual life. He
assumed his former erectitude, his noble
air, and for a moment he felt noble, as he
firmly resolved he was going to be now—
and entered the abode of her he loved.—
{Loved! —Had he not temporarily spurned
her love, in a time when it gathered all the
voices of a higher world, and whispered
warnings and brave resolves into hisheart ?)
She sprang into his arms, before looking at
him, and lost herself in his embrace. She
felt a stiffness in that embrace, which al
most made her relax her’s. He had hug
ged a bag of gold, till he could not give
the embrace of love. He strove to feel as
noble, as pure, as once he did, that he
might look so to her —but in vain. When
she looked into his face, it looked as if it
had been squeezed in the clutch of a mi
ser’s fist, during all his absence. It was
the face of a sordid, distased, bloated soul.
Her eye looked into his, with a look like
the dead eye of hope, and she clung to him
the closer, as she said, in plaintive tones,
“O, George ! this world is full of tempt
ations for some, and woe for others. You
are lost in one —I in the other. Where is
your innocence of youth, your nobility of
manhood ?”
And she fainted, or died, he knew not
which. He ran for water and assistance.
As he stood over her, trying to restore her,
the serpent of remorse sprung up alive in
his bosom, and nestled there among his
vitals forever afterwards. He would have
given all his gold, but it was too late ; he
had pawned all for money, and now had
nothing to redeem it with. And love! —he
could not ask that lovely soul to love him
any more. He felt infinitely unworthy.
‘He saw her revive to consciousness, but
such a consciousness ! O God ! why must
woe attend the pure and true? We ask
not in infidelity : we wish to see the har
mony of which it is a part. But even that
is impious—we forbear— we trust. He
tried to comfort her, but saw that all the
comfort he could give, could only torture
her; and he withdrew.
Another day he went to bid her a last
farewell. He found her in a mournful
state, as if her heaven had been changed
to eternal night. She saw him to be the
living petrifaction of a man; as if
his soul once loyal to love, and a high
law of right, had been changed to gold.
He asked her what he could do for her.—
She answered—
“ Leave me to die, and never see me
more.” And as she pressed his hand to
her heart once more, she added, “ And may
God yet bless you !”
He turned away, feeling as if the atoms
of his body were crumbling apart, and
soon went back to the scenes of his down
fall, where he forgot his former self, the
ruined Laura, and his God, ill a whirl of
dissipation and money-getting.
Charles heard of this, after George had
departed. Then he thought of Laura—
how she must suffer, far more than he,
laying aside that he was a man, and she a
woman ; for, all other things being equal,
woman can suffer more keenly than man.
He met her, ami they assisted each other
with a help neither could have had else
where. He had withstood the worst tempt
ation man is ever subjected to, and surviv
ed that terrible trial. She had passed
through the deepest woe that can come
upon woman, perhaps with an exception.
Had he been her husband, and the father
of her children, the affliction would have
been harder.
But both became greater and better for
these experiences. Some years afterwards,
their destinies were united in marriage.—
Their young love had been blighted; but
who \#ill say that manhoods love, after
disappointment and trouble, though less
romantic and enthusiastic, is less deep and
ardent, and not more valuable, in this
stage of man's development, when nothing
is certain till it is severely tried—when no
metal is known to be pure till it passes
through the fire?
George is a hanker and. distinguished
politician, without purity of purpose or
nobleness of aim, in California. Cynthia
is an authoress, who has a popular repu
tation in the fashionable world, but with
out heart, or chastity of soul. She is the
legal wife of an unprincipled lawyer.
Charles and Laura live in a retired part
of the country, rearing a noble family, and
living a true poetic life, in rural occupa
tions and enjoyments—sometimes appear
ing in the literary world, giving lessons of
sublime virtue, and gloriously laboring for
the advancement of mankind.
Tf'aSMiiMßA&'Y.
From Mackaj’i “Western World.”
REAL SOURCE OF ENGLISH &
AMERICAN POWER.
“In estimating our own position amongst
the nations of the earth, we are too little
in the habit of taking the glowing power,
wealth, and influence of America into ac
count. We think we do enough, when we
measure ourselves against the nations of
Europe, and take steps to maintain oursu
premacy amongst them. America is too
far away to have much influence upon our
political arrangements, and we accordingly
attach but little consequence to her in any
light. J'his is a great mistake. America
is the only power on earth which we have
to dread. We have not to fear her politi
cally, for reasons already mentioned; we
have not to apprehend any military chas
tisement at her hands, for in that respect
we know both how to avenge and to de
fend ourselves; but we have to fear the co
lossal strides which she is taking in indus
trial development. We have less reason to
dread the combined armaments of the world,
than the silent and unostentatious operations
of nature, and the progressive achievements
of art on the continent of America. We be
gird ourselves with fleets, and saturate the
community with military and police, and
think that we have done all that is needed
for the perpetuation of our influence and
the maintenance of our power. But in all
this we mistake the leal source of our pow
er. What is it but our material wealth ?
Napoleon confessed that it was the gold
more than the arms of England that hum
bled him. Our wealth is the result of our
industry. It may be humiliating to confess
it, but it is not by surrounding ourselves
by all the pomp and panoply of war that
we can maintain our position, but by the
steady promotion and encouragement of our
industry. Let our industry flag, and our
unemployed capital will find investment