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is a

fourth of July oration. There were the usual allusions to Greece and

Rome, between the republics of which and that of this country there

exists some such affinity as is to be found between a horse-chestnut

and a chestnut-horse; or that, of mere words: and a long catalogue of

national glories that might very well have sufficed for all the

republics, both of antiquity and of our own time. But when the orator

came to speak of the American character, and particularly of the

intelligence of the nation, he was most felicitous, and made the

largest investments in popularity. According to his account of the

matter, no other people possessed a tithe of the knowledge, or a

hundredth part of the honesty and virtue of the very community he was

addressing; and after labouring for ten minutes to convince his

hearers that they already knew every thing, he wasted several more in

trying to persuade them to undertake further acquisitions of the same

nature.

 

"How much better all this might be made," said Paul Powis, as the

party returned towards the Wigwam, when the 'exercises' were ended,

"by substituting a little plain instruction on the real nature and

obligations of the institutions, for so much unmeaning rhapsody.

Nothing has struck me with more surprise and pain, than to find how

far, or it might be better to say, how high, ignorance reaches on

such subjects, and how few men, in a country where all depends on the

institutions, have clear notions concerning their own condition."

 

"Certainly this is not the opinion we usually entertain of

ourselves," observed John Effingham. "And yet it ought to be. I am

far from underrating the ordinary information of the country, which,

as an average information, is superior to that of almost every other

people; nor am I one of those who, according to the popular European

notion, fancy the Americans less gifted than common in intellect;

there can be but one truth in any thing, however, and it falls to the

lot of very few, any where, to master it. The Americans, moreover,

are a people of facts and practices, paying but little attention to

principles, and giving themselves the very minimum of time for

investigations that lie beyond the reach of the common mind; and it

follows that they know little of that which does not present itself

in their every-day transactions. As regards the practice of the

institutions, it is regulated here, as elsewhere, by party, and party

is never an honest or a disinterested expounder."

 

"Are you, then, more than in the common dilemma," asked Sir George,

"or worse off than your neighbours?"

 

"We are worse off than our neighbours for the simple reason that it

is the intention of the American system, which has been deliberately

framed, and which is moreover the result of a bargain, to carry out

its theory in practice; whereas, in countries where the institutions

are the results of time and accidents, _improvement_ is only obtained

by _innovations_. Party invariably assails and weakens power. When

power is the possession of a few, the many gain by party; but when

power is the legal right of the many, the few gain by party. Now, as

party has no ally as strong as ignorance and prejudice, a right

understanding of the principles of a government is of far more

importance in a popular government, than in any other. In place of

the eternal eulogies on facts, that one hears on all public occasions

in this country, I would substitute some plain and clear expositions

of principles; or, indeed, I might say, of facts as they are

connected with principles."

 

"_Mais, la musique, Monsieur_," interrupted Mademoiselle Viefville,

in a way so droll as to raise a general smile, "_qu'en pensez-vous?_"

 

"That it is music, my dear Mademoiselle, in neither fact nor

principle."

 

"It only proves that a people can be free, Mademoiselle," observed

Mrs. Bloomfield, "and enjoy fourth of July orations, without having

very correct notions of harmony or time. But do our rejoicings end

here, Miss Effingham?"

 

"Not at all--there is still something in reserve for the day, and all

who honour it. I am told the evening, which promises to be

sufficiently sombre, is to terminate with a fete that is peculiar to

Templeton, and which is called 'The Fun of Fire.'"

 

"It is an ominous name, and ought to be a brilliant ceremony."

 

As this was uttered, the whole party entered the Wigwam.

 

"The Fun of Fire" took place, as a matter of course, at a later hour.

When night had set in, every body appeared in the main street of the

village, a part of which, from its width and form, was particularly

adapted to the sports of the evening. The females were mostly at the

windows, or on such elevated stands as favoured their view, and the

party from the Wigwam occupied a large balcony that topped the piazza

of one of the principal inns of the place.

 

The sports of the night commenced with rockets, of which a few, that

did as much credit to the climate as to the state of the pyrotechnics

of the village, were thrown up, as soon as the darkness had become

sufficiently dense to lend them brilliancy. Then followed wheels,

crackers and serpents, all of the most primitive kind, if, indeed,

there be any thing primitive in such amusements. The "Fun of Fire"

was to close the rejoicings, and it was certainly worth all the other

sports of that day, united, the gingerbread and spruce beer included.

 

A blazing ball cast from a shop-door, was the signal for the

commencement of the Fun. It was merely a ball of rope-yarn, or of

some other similar material, saturated with turpentine, and it burned

with a bright, fierce flame until consumed. As the first of these

fiery meteors sailed into the street, a common shout from the boys,

apprentices, and young men, proclaimed that the fun was at hand. It

was followed by several more, and in a few minutes the entire area

was gleaming with glancing light. The whole of the amusement

consisted in tossing the fire-balls with boldness, and in avoiding

them with dexterity, something like competition soon entering into

the business of the scene.

 

The effect was singularly beautiful. Groups of dark objects became

suddenly illuminated, and here a portion of the throng might be seen

beneath a brightness like that produced by a bonfire, while all the

back-ground of persons and faces were gliding about in a darkness

that almost swallowed up a human figure. Suddenly all this would be

changed; the brightness would pass away, and a ball alighting in a

spot that had seemed abandoned to gloom, it would be found peopled

with merry countenances, and active forms. The constant changes from

brightness to deep darkness, with all the varying gleams of light and

shadow, made the beauty of the scene, which soon extorted admiration

from all in the balcony."

 

"_Mais, c'est charmant_!" exclaimed Mademoiselle Vielville, who was

enchanted at discovering something like gaiety and pleasure among the

"_tristes Americains_," and who had never even suspected them of

being capable of so much apparent enjoyment.

 

"These are the prettiest village sports I have ever witnessed," said

Eve, "though a little dangerous, one would think. There is something

refreshing, as the magazine writers term it, to find one of these

miniature towns of ours condescending to be gay and happy in a

village fashion. If I were to bring my strongest objection to

American country life, it would be its ambitious desire to ape the

towns, converting the ease and _abandon_ of a village, into the

formality and stiffness that render children in the clothes of grown

people so absurdly ludicrous."

 

"What!" exclaimed John Effingham; "do you fancy it possible to reduce

a free-man so low, as to deprive him of his stilts! No, no, young

lady; you are now in a country where if you have two rows of flounces

on your frock, your maid will make it a point to have three, by way

of maintaining the equilibrium. This is the noble ambition of

liberty."

 

"Annette's foible is a love of flounces, cousin Jack, and you have

drawn that image from your eye, instead of your imagination. It is a

French, as well as an American ambition, if ambition it be."

 

"Let it be drawn whence it may, it is true. Have you not remarked,

Sir George Templemore, that the Americans will not even bear the

ascendency of a capital? Formerly, Philadelphia, then the largest

town in the country, was the political capital; but it was too much

for any one community to enjoy the united consideration that belongs

to extent and politics; and so the honest public went to work to make

a capital, that should have nothing else in its favour, but the naked

fact that it was the seat of government, and I think it will be

generally allowed, that they have succeeded to admiration. I fancy

Mr. Dodge will admit that it would be quite intolerable, that country

should not be town, and town country."

 

"This is a land of equal rights, Mr. John Effingham, and I confess

that I see no claims that New-York possesses, which does not equally

belong to Templeton."

 

"Do you hold, sir," inquired Captain Truck, "that a ship is a brig,

and a brig a ship."

 

"The case is different; Templeton _is_ a town, is it not, Mr. John

Effingham?"

 

"_A_ town, Mr. Dodge, but not town. The difference is essential."

 

"I do not see it, sir. Now, New-York, to my notion is not a _town_,

but a _city_."

 

"Ah! This is the critical acumen of the editor! But you should be

indulgent, Mr. Dodge, to us laymen, who pick up our phrases by merely

wandering about the world; or in the nursery perhaps, while you, of

the favoured few, by living in the condensation of a province, obtain

a precision and accuracy to which we can lay no claim."

 

The darkness prevented the editor of the Active Inquirer from

detecting the general smile, and he remained in happy ignorance of

the feeling that produced it. To say the truth, not the smallest of

the besetting vices of Mr. Dodge had their foundation in a provincial

education, and in provincial notions; the invariable tendency of both

being to persuade their subject that he is always right, while all

opposed to him in opinion are wrong. That well-known line of Pope, in

which the poet asks, "what can we reason, but from what we know?"

contains the principle of half our foibles and faults, and perhaps

explains fully that proportion of those of Mr. Dodge, to say nothing

of those of no small number of his countrymen. There are limits to

the knowledge, and tastes, and habits of every man, and, as each is

regulated by the opportunities of the individual, it follows of

necessity, that no one can have a standard much above his own

experience. That an isolated and remote people should be a provincial

people, or, in other words, a people of narrow and peculiar practices

and opinions, is as unavoidable as that study should make a scholar;

though in the case of America, the great motive for surprise is to be

found in the fact that causes so very obvious should produce so

little effect. When compared with the bulk of other nations, the

Americans, though so remote and insulated, are scarcely provincial,

for it is only when the highest standard of this nation is compared

with the highest standard of other nations, that we detect the great

deficiency that actually exists. That a moral foundation so broad

should uphold a moral superstructure so narrow, is owing to the

circumstance that the popular sentiment rules, and as every thing is

referred to a body of judges that, in the nature of things, must be

of very limited and superficial attainments, it cannot be a matter of

wonder to the reflecting, that the decision shares in the qualities

of the tribunal. In America, the gross mistake has been made of

supposing, that, because the mass rules in a political sense, it has

a right to be listened to and obeyed in all other matters, a

practical deduction that can only lead, under the most favourable

exercise of power, to a very humble mediocrity. It is to be hoped,

that time, and a greater concentration of taste, liberality, and

knowledge than can well distinguish a young and scattered population,

will repair this evil, and that our children will reap the harvest of

the broad fields of intelligence that have been sowed by ourselves.

In the mean time, the present generation must endure that which

cannot easily be cured; and, among its other evils, it will have to

submit to a great deal of very questionable information, not a few

false principles, and an unpleasant degree of intolerant and narrow

bigotry, that are propagated by such apostles of liberty and learning

as Steadfast Dodge, Esquire.

 

We have written in vain, if it now be necessary to point out a

multitude of