The spirit of democracy. [volume], November 15, 1844, Image 1

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" PBIWCIPLES AlfD MEASURES, AND MEU THAT WILL CARRY THOSE PRINCIPLES AND MEASURES INTO EFFECT.
VOLUME I. NUMBER 37.
WO'onSFIRLD, OHIO, FBI DAY, NOVEMBER -15, 1811.
BY JA.MES It. 31 ORRIS.
' THE SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY
M rpBLIS'HED EVERT FRIDAY MOBISISC,
BY J. It. MORRIS.
TERMS: $1,60 per annum in advance; $2,00
if paid within six mouths; 2,50 if paid within the
year, and $3,00 if payment be delayed until after
the expiration of the year. '
03" No paper will be discontinued, except at the
option of the editor, until all arrears are paid.
CO-All communications sent by mail must be
post-paid.
Advertisembhts inserted at the usual rate.
NIGHT, OH, THE NIGHT FOR ME!
BY J. 8. DU SOI.LE.
I love not the care-footed hours
Of dv. llinucrh thev beautiful be:
For night with its dew-drinking flowers,
Is lovelier far to me.
The earth is then hushed in its gladness,
And mirth, like a wild bird, goes free;
It hath no room in it for sadness
So night, oh, the night for me!
The sunlight hath too much of brightness;
. Its shadows too deeply are thrown;
.i.. i.- v. i:i.
J II I M llllllf llic licdri B miiiu iiiiiiti.caa,
And dimming its musical tone.
The day is for toil and for treason,
For wickedness wide as the sea;'
But night is love's own gifted season,
So night, oh, the night for me!
From Hood's Magazine.
THE GAMBLER'S LAST STAKE.
A SCENE IX MADRID. .
In an inner room his counting-house, which
occupied a whig of hid splendid mansion in the
Calie Alcala, sat Don Jose Solano, one of the rich
est bankers in Madrid, ruminating with much self
complacency upon the profitable results of a recent
speculation. He was interrupted in his medita
tions by the eutrance of one .f his clerks ushering
in a stranger, who brought a letter of introduction
from a banker at Mexico, with whom Don Jose
had had occasional transactions. The letter slated,
that the bearer, the Count do Valleja, was of a
h'ghly respected family of Mexican nobility, that
he was desirous of visiting Europe, and more es
pecially the country of his ancestors, Spain; and it
then went on to recommend In in in the strongest
terms to the Madrid banker, as one whose intimacy
and friendship could not fail to be sought after by
all who became acquainted with his many excel
lent and airrecablo qualities.
The appearance of the count seemed KS"ulify,
as far as appearance can do, the high terms in which
he was spoken of in bis letter. He was about
eight-and-twenty'years of age, djrk coinplexioiicd,
. with a high, clear forehead, shoit, crisp, curling
hair, an intelligent and regular countenance, and
a smile of aineular beauty and fascination. His
ejyes were the only feature which could be pro
tiounccd otherwise than extremely plea ing; al
though large, black, and lustious, lliey had a cer
tain fixity and hardness of expression that produced
an unpleasant impression upon the beholder, and
would, perhaps, have been more disagreeable, had
not the mellow tones of the count's voice, and his
suavity and polish of manner, served in a great
measure to counteract the effect of this peculiarity
' Doing due honor (o the strong recommendation
of his esteemed correspondent, Don Jose welcom
ed the young Conde with the utmost hospitality;
insisted on taking possession of him fur the whole'
of the day, and, without allowing him to return to
his hotel, dragged him into the house, presented
him to his son and daughter, and charged tliem to
use their utmost exertions to entertain their guest.
while he himscll returned to his occupations till
dinner-time. At one o'clock the old banker reap
peared in the sala, where he found Rafael and
Mariquila Solano listening with avidity to the
agreeable conversation of the count, who, in his
ricD ana cnaractcnstic Mexican spauisn, was giv
' ing them the most interesting details concerning
the country he had recently lett. ine magnin
cence of the Mexican scenery, theipcculiaiilies of
the Indian races, the gorgeous vegetation and
atrange animals of the tropics, formed the subjects
ol ms discourse, not a little interesting too young
man of tbree-and-twenty, and a girl of eighteen,
, who bad never is yet been fifty leagues away from
Madrid- Nor had the strangei 's conversation less
charms for the old banker. Valleja had been at the
Havana; was acquainted with scenes, if not with
persons, with which were associated some of Don
Jose's most agreeable reminiscences; scenes that
he had visited in the days of his youth, when he
laid the foundation of his princely fortune. To
be brief: the agreeable manner and conversation of
the count so won upon lather, son, and daughter,
that when at nightfall he rose to lake his leave, the
banker put his house a tu dispoiition, and follow
ed up what is usually a mere verbal compliment,
by insisting upon Valleja's taking up his abode with
him during his stay in Madrid. Valleja raised
many difficulties on the score of the inconvenience
or trouble he might occasion; but they were all
overruled, and the contest of politeness terminated
in the count's accepting the hospitality thus cordi
ally pressed upon him. The very next day he was
installed in a splendid apartment in the house of
Don Jose.
Several davs. even weeks elansed. durinir which
Valleja continued to be the inmate of the Casa
Solano, He appeared very well pleased with bis
quarters, and on the other hand, his hosts found no
reason to regret the' hospitality shown him. He
soon became the spoiled child of the family; Don
Jose could not make a meal without Valleja was
there to chat with him about the Havana. Rafael
was the inseparable companion of his walks, rides;
and out door diversions; while the blooming Mar
quita never seemed so . happy as when the hand
otn'i Mexican was sealed besii'e her embroidery
frame conversing with her in his low soft tones,
or singing, to the accompaniment of her guitar.
some of wild melodies of his native country. In-1
deed, so marked were the count's attention to the
young girl, and so favorably did she receive them,
that more than one officious or well-meaning friend
hinted to Don Jose the propriety of instituting
some inquiry into the circumstances and antece
dents of a man, who it seemed not improbable might
eventually aspire to become his son-in-law. But
the banker's prepossession in favor of Valleja was
so strong that he gave lit'le heed to these hints,
contenting himself with writing to his correspon
dent at Mexico, expressing the pleasure he had had
iu making the count's acquaintance, and receiving
him as an inmate to his house; but without asking
for any information concerning him. In fact the
letter Valleja had brought was such as to render
any further inquires nearly superfluous. It men
tioned the count as of a noble and respected family,
and credited him to the amount of ten thousand dol
lars, a sum of sufficient importance to make it pre
sumable that his means were ample.
Belore Valleja had been three days at Madrid he
had obtained his entree to a house at which a num
ber of idlers and fashionables were in the habit of
meeting to play monte, the game of all others most
fascinating to Spaniards. Thither he used to repair
each afternoon accompanied by Rafael Solano, and
there he soon made himself remarked by his judg
ment in play, and by the cool indifference with
which he lost and won very considerable sums. For
some time he was excerdin gly successful. Every
stake he put down doubled itself; he seemed toplay
with charmed money; and the bankers trembled
when they saw him approach the table, and after a
glance at the state of the game, place a pile of gold
en ounces on a card, which almost invariably won
the very next moment. This lasted several days,
and he began to be considered invincible, when
suddenly bis good fortune departed liim, and he lost
as fast, or faster, than he had previously won; so
that after a fortnight of incessant bad luck, it was
estimated by certain old gamblers who had taken an
interest iu watching bis proceedings, that he had
lost not only all his winnings, but a very considera
ble sum in addition. Rafael, who rarely played,
and then only fur small stakes, urged his friend to
discontinue a game which he found so losing; but
Valleja laughed at his remonstrances, and treated his
losses as trilling ones, which a single day's good for
tune might retrieve. Gambling is scarcely looked
upon as a vice in Spain, and young Solano saw
nothing unusual or blameable in the count's indulg
ing in his afternoon jego, or his losing his money
if it so pleased him, and if ho thought au hour or
two's excitement worth the large sums which it
usually cost him. Indeed, the circumstance of
their visits to the gaming room appeared to him so
unimportant, that it never occurred to him to men
tion it to his father or sister; and they, on their
part, never dreamed of enquiring in what way the
young men passed the few hours of the day dur
ing which they absented themselves from their so
ciety. The monte-table which Valleja was in the habit
of frequenting was situated on the third floor of a
house in a narrow street leading out of the Calle
Albala, within two or three hundred yards of the
Casa Solano. Amongst the persons to be met
there were many of the richest and highest in Mad
rid; generals and ministers, counts and marquises,
and even grandees of Spain were in the habit of re
pairing thither to while away the long winter even
ings, or the sultriness of the summer day; and the
play was proportionate to the- high rank and great
opulence of most of the players. The bank was
held, as is customary in Spain, by the person who
offered to put in the largest sum, the keener of the
room being remunerated by a certain tax upon the
cards; a tax which, in this instance, was a heavy
one, in order to compensate for the luxury display
ed in the decoration and arrangements of the estab
lishment. The three rooms were fitted up in the
most costly manner; the walls lined with magnifi
cent pier glasses; the floor covered in winter with
rich carpets and in summer with the finest Indian
matting; the furniture was i f the newest French
fashion. Splendid chandeliers hung from the ceil
ing; musical clocks stood upon the side tables; the
gilt balconies were filled with the rarest exotics and
flowering plants. Two of the rooms weredevoted
to play; in the third, ices and refreshments awaited
the parched throats of the feverish gamblers.
On a scorching June afternoon, about, a month
after? Valleja arrived at Madrid, the Mexican and
Rafael left Don Jose's dwelling.and bent their steps
in the usual direction. While ascending the well
worn stairs of the gaming-house, young Solano
could not forbear addressing a remonstrance to his
friend on the subject of his losses. Although the
count's perfect command over himself and his coun
tenance, made it very difficult for so young and in
experienced a man as Rafael to Judge of what was
passing in lib mind, tholatter, nevertheless, fancied
that for three or four days past there had been a
change in his demeanor denoting uneasiness and
anxiety. It was not that he was duller or more si
lent; on the contrary, his conversation was, per
haps, more brilliant and varied, his laugh louder
and more frequent, than usual, but there was hoi
lowness in the lauh, and a more strained tone in
the conversation, as if he were compelling himself
to be gay in order to drive away painful thoughts
intoxicating himself with many words and forced
merriment. Rafael attributed this to the annoyance
caused by bis heavy losses, and now urged him to
discontinue his visits to the monte-table, at least for
a time, or until bit luck became better. The count
met the suggestion with a smile.
'My dear Rafael," cried he gaily, "you surely
do not suppose that the loss of a few hundred mis
erable ounces would be sufficient to annoy me for a
moment As to abandoning play, we should be
puzzled to pass the Idle hour or two following the
siesta. Besides that, it amuses me. But do not
make yourself uneasy. I shall do myself no harm;
and, moreover, I intend this very day to win back
all my losings. I feel in the vein."
'I heartily hope you may do as you intend,"
said Rafael, laughing.quite reassured by his fn'eiid'j
careless manner; and, aahe uttered the words, the
....... , . t ... , . i
count pushed open the door, and they entered the
monte-room.
The game was already in full activity, and the
play very high; the table strewed with the showy
Spanish cards, on which, instead of the spades and
diamonds familiar to most European cardplayers,
suns and vases, sabres and horses were depicted in
vaiious and brilliant colors An officer of the roy
al guard, and a dry, snuffy old marquis, held the
bank, which had been very successful. Large
piles of ounces and of four and eight dollar pieces
were on the green cloth before them, as well as a
roll of paper nearly treble the value of the specie.
Twenty and thirty players were congregated round
the table, while a few unfortunates, whose pockets
had already been emptied, were solacing themselves
with their cigars, and occasionally indulging in Sn
oath or impatient stamp of the foot when they saw
a card come up which they would certainly have
backed had they had money so to do. Two or
three idlers were sitting on the low sills of the long
French windows, reading newspapers and enjoying
the fragrance of the flowers protected from the
reflected glare of the opposite houses, on which the
sun was darting its rays, by awnings of striped linen
that fell from above the windows, and hung over
the outside of the smill semi-circular balconies.
After standing for a few minutes at the table, and
staking a doubloon, which he instantly lost, Rafael
Solano took up a paper and threw himself into an
arm chair, while Valleja remained watching with
keen attention the various fluctuations of the card.
For some lime he diJ not join the game, rather to
the astonishment of the other players, who were ac
customed to see him stake his money, as soon as he
entered the room, will) an unhesitating boldness and
confidence. Half an hour passed in this manner,
and the presence of Valleja was beginning to be for
gotten, when he suddenly threw a heavy roleau of
gold from his pocket and placed it upon a card.
The game went on; Valleja lost, and with his usual
"Mg J roi't saw his stake thrown into the bank,
Another followed, and a third, and a fourth. In
four coups he had lost tin ce thousand dollars. Still
not a sign of excitement or discomposure appeared
upon the handsome countenance of tho Mexican;
only an officer who was standing by him observed,
that a pacMif the thin Spanish card.', which he had
been holding in his hands, fell to the ground, torn
completely in half by one violent wrench.
The four high stakes so boldly played and so
rapidly lost, riveted the observation of the gamblers
upon Valleja's proceedings. Every body crowded
round the table, and even the slight buzz of convcr
satian that had before been heard, totally ceased.
His attention attracted by his sudden stillness, Rafa;
el rose from Ins chair and joined his friend, A
glance at the increased wealth of the bank, and the
eagerness with which all seemed to be awaiting
Valleja's movements, made him conjecture what
had occurred.
"You have lost," said he to the count, "and
heavily, I fear. Come, that will do for to-day.
Let us go."
"Paha." replied tho Mexican, "a mere trifle,
which you shall see me win back." And then
turning to the banker, who was just commencing
a deal,
"Cnpo," said he, "the king against the ace."
For the uninitiated in the mysteries of monte,
it may be necessary to state, that by uttering these
words Valleja bound himself, if an ace came up be
fore a king, to pay an equal amount to that in the
bank, as well as all the winnings of those who had
backed the ace. If, on the other hand, the king
won, the whole capital of the bank was his, as well
as the stakes of those who bet against him.
There was a general murmur of astonishment.
The bank was the largest that had been seen in that
room since a certain memorable night, when Fcrdi.
nand himself, being out upon one of his nocturnal
frolics in which he so much delighted, had come up
in disguise with an officer of his household, and had
lost a sum that had greatly advantaged the bankers,
and sorely diminished the contents of his Catholic
Majesty's privy purse. There were at least thirty
thousand dollars on the tablo in gold and paper; and
besides that, scarcely had the Mexican uttered the
name of the card he favored, when, on the strength
of his ill luck, some of the players put down nearly
as much more against it. The two bankers looked at
each other; the guard-man shrugged his shoulders
and elevated his eyebrows. Iloth movements were
soslightas to be scarcely perceptible; but they were,
nevertheless, excellently well observed and under
stood by his partner, the high-dried old Marquis,
sitting opposite to him, who laid the pack of cards
upon the table, their face to the cloth, and after
placing a piece of money on them to prevent their
being disturbed by any chance puff of wind, opened
his gold box, and took a prodigious pinch of snuff.
Having done this with much delibeiation, he let
his hands fall upon his knees, and lent back to Ins
chair with a countenance expressive of inexhaust
able patience. The players waited for nearly a
minute, but then began to grow impatient of de
lay. At the first question put to the Marquis,
as to its motive, he waived his hand towards Val
leja. "I am waiting for the Senor Conde," said he.
"For me?" replied Valleja. "It is unnecessa
ry." "There were about (wenty thousand dollars in
the bank," said the Marquis, leaning forward, and
affecting to count the roleaus lying before him, and
some eight thousand staked by these gentlemen.
Will your Senoria be pleased to place a similar sum
upon the table?"
Several of the gamblers exchanged significant
glances and half smiles. . The rule of the game
required the player who endeavored, as Valleja was
doing, to annihilate the oauk at one fell swoop, to
produce a sum equal to; that which he had a chance
of carrying off. At the same time, in societies
like this one, where the players were all more or
less, known to each other, all men of rank, name
and fortune, it was not usual to play this sort of
decisive coup upon parole, and if lost, the money
was invariably forthcoming the same day. i
Valleja smiled bitterly.
"I thought I had been sufficiently known here,"
said he, "to be admitted to the same privilege as
other players. Rafael," he added, turning to his
friend and handing him a key, "your father's ten
thousand have melted, but I have a packet of notes
and considerable securities to considerably more
than the needful amount, in the brass bound box
in my apartment; will you have the kindness to
fetch them for me? I do not wish to interrupt my
observations of the game-"
"With pleasure," replied Rafael, taking the
key, and eager to oblige his friend.
"And, perhaps," continued Valleja, smiling and
detainiug him as he was about to hasten out of
the room "perhaps you will not object to tell
these gentlemen that until you return with the
money, they may take Louis Valleja's word for the
sum he wishes to play."
"Most assuredly, I will," answered the young
man hastily, "and I am only sorry that the Senor
Marquis should have thought it advisable to put
any thing resembling a slight upon a fiiend of
mine and my father's. Gentlemen," he continued
to the bankers, "I offer you my guaranty for the
sum Count Valleja is about to play."
The old Marquis bowed his head.
"Tliat is quite sufficient, Don Rafael," said he
"I have the honor of knowing you perfectly well.
His Senoria, the Count Valleja, is only know u to
me as Count Valleja, and I am certain that, on
reflection, neither he nor you will blame me for
acting as I do, when so heavy a sum is at stake."
Don Rafael left the room. The formal Marquis
removed the piece of money from off the pack,
and took up the cards with as much dry indifference
as if he were no way concerned in the result of
the important game that was about to be played.
Valleja sauntered to the window, humming a tune
between his teeth, and, stepping out, pushed the
awning a little aside, and leaned over the balcony.
The banker began to draw (he cards, one after
the other slowly and deliberately. Nearly half
the pack was dealt out without a king or an ace
appearing. The players and lookers on were
breathless with anxiety; the fall of a pin would
have been audible; the tune which the count
continued to hum from his station on the balcony,
was heard in the stillness that reigned, as distincly
as though it had been thundered out by a whole
orchestra. Another card, and another, were
drawn, and then the decisive one appeared.
The silence was immediately changed for a tumult
of words and exclamations.
" Que eg eso7" said Valleja, turning half round,
and smelling as he spoke at a superb flower, which
he had just plucked from the balcony. "What's
the matter?"
The ace " said the person nearest the win
dow, who then paused and hesitated.
"Well!" said Valleja with a sneer, "the ace
what then? It has won I suppose?"
"It has won."
"Mut bkn! It was to be expected it would,
since I went on the king." And turning round
again, he resumed his tunc and his gaze into the
street.
"Hit de ser rko," S3it the Spaniard to another
of the players. "He must be lich. It would be
difficult to take the loss of thirty thousand dollars
more coolly than that "
Five minutes elapsed, during which the bankers
were busy counting out their bank, in order to see
the exact sum due to them by the unfortunate
loser. When the jingle of money and rustle ,f
paper ceased, Valleja looked round for the second
time.
"How much is there, Senores?" cried he.
"Thirty thousand four hundred and thirty dol
lars lost. Senor Conde," replied the old Marquis,
with a bow of profound respect for one who could
bear such a loss with such admirable indifference.
"Very good," was the Count's answer, "and
heie comes the man who will pay it you."
Accordingly, the next minute a hasty step was
heard upon the stairs. All eyes were turned to
the door, which opened, and RafaeljSohno entered.
"Where is the Count? exclaimed he, in a hur
ried voice and with a discomposed countenance.
Again every head was turned towards the win
dow, but the Count had disappeared. At the same
moment, from the street below, which was a quiet
and unfrequented one, there arose an unusual
uproar and noise of voices. The monte players
rushed to the windows, and saw several persons
collected, round a man whom they were raising
from the ground. His scull was slightly fractured
and the pavement around sprinkled with his blood
Rafael and some others hurried down; but before
they reached the street, Count Louis Valleja had
expired. The gambler's last stake had been his
life.
When young Solano reached his father's house,
and, repairing to his father's apartment, opened
the desk of which Valleja had given liim the key,
he found that it contained neither notes nor any
thing else of value, hut merely' a tew worthless
papers. Astomsnea at tins, anu, in spite ol his
prepossession in favor of the Count, feeling his
suspicions a little roused by what he could hardly
consider an oversight, he hurried back to the
monte room, where his arrival served as the signal
lor the catastrophe that has been related.
The same evening tho amount lost was paid by
Rafael Solano into the hands of the winners. The
following day, the body of the Count was privately
interred.
After the lapse of a few weeks there came a
letter from Mexico, in reply to the one w hich Don
Jose Solano had written to announce the arrival
of Valleja. His Mexican correspondent wrote in
all haste, anxious, if still possible to preserve Don
Jose from becoming the dupe of.i swindler. The
Conde de Valleja, he said, was the last and un
worthy scion of a noble and once respectable
family. From his early youth he had made himself
remarkable, as well for the vb;es of his character
as for the skill with which he concealed them
under a mask of agieeuble accomplishments, and
fascinating manners. His father, dying; shortly
after be became ot age, had left him the uncontrol
led master of his fortune, which he speedily squan
dered; and when it was gone he lived for some
time by the exercise of his wits, and by preying
on all who were sufficiently credulous to confide
in him. At length, having exhausted every re
source when no man of lienor would speak to
him, and no usurer lend him a inarvedi at any rate
of interest he had, by an unworthy artifice, dup
ed the very last person who took any interest in
him, out of a few hundred dollars, and taken ship
at Vera Cruz for Europe.
It is scarcely necessary to add, that the letter of
credit was a forgery.
From the Philadelphia Public Ledger.
PROSPECTIVE GRANDEUR OF
AMERICA.
The future population, strength and resources
of this country have been subjects of speculation
with staticians and poets. Calculation and rhap
sody have not been wanting to determine or fore
shadow its destiny. But neither the one nor the
other, as far as we have seen, has adequately
compassed the prospective grandeur of America.
The calculations have fallen short of what might
be anticipated; and the prophetic imaginings have
been too vague to convey any definite impressions
of absolute results. This, however, is a question
which statistics can exemplify, and in such a man
ner as to render a prospective fact more brilliant
and marvellous than the widest range which
imagination has taken in regard to it. We shall
endeavor to explain our views on this subject,
confining ourselves to rigid calculations and fair
deductions.
In the increase of population in this country,
two things are remarkable: its rapidity, and its
uniformity. Nearly a century ago, Franklin stated
that population nearly doubled itself once within
every twenty-five years. The process of redupli
cation has been going on ever since; and, accord
ing to the last census, it appears that it is now
doubled in about every twenty two years. This
is an important fact, and renders the calculation of
the population for future exact periods, a thing of
clear certainty. Where population has doubled
itself so rapidly for such a length of time, it is
evidence of the working of a principle. It ceases
to be accidental, and hence uncertain iu its nature.
The population of France has doubled itself
within a hundred and twenty years, and that
of England iu sixty. Either psricd is lor.g
in itself, and the anterior periods required f r
the reduplication of the population of each of
these com, dies so uncertain, that a satisfactory
statement of their future increase of population
may hardly be afforded. But, for the reasons we
have (stated, no such impediment to reasonable
calculation on the subject applies to this country.
The results of continuing the calculation of the
increase of population in this country, in geomet
rical ratio, are so vast, and of so distant a period,
that it would seem safe and prudent not to venture
slating them exactly. It would appear that Chan.
cellor Kent must have been under the influence of
this sober feeling when he spoke of their beit g
three hundred millions of people in it in the course
of ages. So far from many ages being required
for this, the child is now born in this country who
will see in il a population of more than three hun
dred millions. It may be argued that populatirn
here ceases to double itself at its present ratio,
when it reaches a high point suppose one hun
died millions. But this consideration is of no
avail; for if we look at the means of the incre
ment of population, we shall find that it goes
beyond numbers, the M.illhusian theory to the
contrary notwithstanding. Two things establish
the augmentation of population, a liberal form of
government and national integrity being always
secured. These things are improving agriculture
and mechanics. Now 'it is ascertained that agri
culture has just begun to improve. It is a fact not
les3 mcmorablo than disgraceful, that agriculture
has remained stationary from the age of Augustus
Ca:sar almost to our own immediate time. Eigh
teen hundred years had not mended its rules or
practice. Any one who will read Virgil's Geor
gics and compare it with ordinary farming practice
will satisly himself of this. Though gunpowder
and inquisitorial tortures, heraldry and alchemy,
cruelties and follies, occupied men's mind; though
printing had been long discovered, and society
had taken a civilized character, yet, strange to
sayt the fundamental art, the great necessity, the
support of life, the. production of food, was left
rude as antiquity had known it. Had agriculture
been as glorious as war, it would long since have
fructified the four continents. But this great art
is now rendered susceptible of indefinite improve,
inent. Chimislry, the creation of a few years,
analyzes soils and their productions their di.-tinct
characters and mutual adaptabilities. Willi a
beauty and certainty that exhaust admiration, it
places agiicullure beyond the evils of ignorance
and waste, and displays a sublime economy in its
operations. Machinery, with ingenious forms and
thundering prowess, comes to supersede or fortify
human hands. These united agencies will give to
the science and practice of agriculture a magnifi
cent scope and effect, a perennial power of life
sustentatinn, that surpass alike the bounds of sober
consideration, or rhapsodical fervor. The genius
of mechanics, which has been started into new
proportions by the Ithuriel touch of the age, whose
stature litcrully reaches to the clouds, has, inde
pendently, the second great effect ou national
destiny. Like the whirling spheres, it multiplies !
forms infinite iu numbers and beauties. It begins
with necessity and ends with luxury; it embraces
every ministration to bodily comfort, every artifice
to extend spiritual cultivation. These two great
forces, which have just had their new birth, ars iu
the hands of posterity for devclopemetit.
Their influence will be to quicken the growth
of nations not to retard the in at this or that point,
of numerical strength. We cannot then admit
that there is going to be any retardation in the
increase of population up to that period when it
surpasses the supply of food a period not ncces-
iry for us to anticipate; and whose difficulties it
will be competent for our enlightened successors
in the world's business to manage. The great
science of the wealth of nations, as discovered by
Adam Smith, being developed abroad, will react
on the prosperity of this country, accelerating itn
ratio of production, and consequently of increase
of population. Immigration, which, up to this
time has merited consideration i:i these calcula
tions, for the future need not be minded, the doub-
ling process being so vast in its results as to
diminis'i the fo'ce of Such influence.
If, tUen, it be allowed that population will go
on to double itself for many years, as we have
endeavored to show, it will produce much greater
results than aro anticipated. 5
The population in the United States was, in
1840, 17,000,000; in 1862 it will be 33,000,000;
in 1881, 73,000,000; in '.906, 152,000,000; in 1928,
308,000,000; in 19jO,ClC,000,000; in 1993, 1,200,
000,000. It is not necessary to extend this calculation.
We have not yet ascertained the limits of this
country; we do not know its resources in all the '
arls which contribute to the support of life". But
with such a population, all national and municipal
efforts and achievements would be of correspond
ing extent. Cities, whose grandeur and glory
defy parallel, will be ppread over it. Design,
aided by intellect and' wealth, fortified by every
conceivable means, and Working for the highest
ends of communities, will take the place of acci
dent poverty or ignorance, which now rule.
Magnificence and economy of plan, rapidity of
creation, immensity of detail and aggregated splen
dor of multiform combination, will mark public or
municipal works. Millions of men, with hearts
bent on some good and great purpose, can at once
be concentrated. Aided by incalculable riches,
enthusiastic efforts, and the o s iraixe f experi
ence, they may set our precedents . it defiance in
the same n ay we set at defiance those of the first
settlers. The wonderful ii!vor lamp of the necro
mancer is but an allegory of the power of riches
commanding great agents. The work of a centu
ry now cm in (he future be thrown into a few
years. Great capitals and their tributaries can
then be reared by force; rapidly and certainty. A
greater than ancient Rome, which took seven
hundred years to build, cim. ay, will be built in
seven years. All sense and work being devoted
to peace, intercourse, sin J production, society will
be like the swelling ocean tide, casting up "pearls
on the shore. Its riches and beauties ill suppress
our circle of present inferences. We must take
the principle of extension.; and fearless of its re
sults, we shall solve this problem.
The dogma of distance i.s it affects the mind, is
already annihilated in the magnetic telegraph. An
acnt which circles the woild several limes each
second is now to be made the common carrier of
thought. It neither sweals nor pants, breaks down
nor explodes, but, like an ethereal spiiit, it bears
far and wide its immortal message. An empire
of twelve hundred millions will be bound iu such
a chain of love and lig' t.
From an English Periodical.
HORRORS OF WAR.
Nobody sees a battle. The soldier fires away
amid a smoke-mist, cr hurries on to (he charge in
a crowd which hides every thing from him. The
officers are too nnxiou3 about what they are
specially charged with to mind what others aro
d.jing. The commander cannot be present every
where, and see tvery wood, watercourse or ravine
in winch his orders are carried I ito execution.
He learns from reports how the work goes on. It
is well; for a battle is one of those jobs which men
do without duiiug to look upon. Over miles of
country, at every field fence, in every gorge of a
valley, or entry in:o a wood, there is murder com
mitted wholesale, continuous, reciprocal murder.
The human form God's image is mutilated,
deformed, lacera;cd in every possible way, and
vvi th every variety of torture. The wounded are
jolted off in carts to the rear, their bared nerves
crushed into maddening pain at every stone or rut;
or the flight and pursuit tiample over them, leaving
fhcin to writhe and roar without assistance; and
fever and thirst, the most enduring of painful sen
sations, possess tliem entirely. Thirst, too, has
seized upon the yet able bodied soldier, who, with
bloodshot eyes and tongue lolling out, plies his
trade blaspheming, killing with savage delight,
callojs when the brains of his best loving comrade
aro spattering over him. The battlefield is, if
possible, a more painful object of contemplation
than the combatants. They are in their vocation,
earning their bread what will not men do for a
shilling a day? Rut their work is carried on amid
the field, garden and homestead ol man unused to
war. They who are able have fled before tho .
coming storm, and left their homes, with all that
habit and happy associations have made precious,
to bear its brunt. The poor, the a;cd,tbe sick, are
left in tho hurry to be killed by ft -ay shots, or beat
en down as the charge and counter charge go over
them. The ripening grain is trampled down; the
garden is trodden into a black mud; the fruit trees
bending beneath their luscious load, are shattered
by the cannon shot. Churches and private dwel
lings are used as fortresses and ruined iu the con
flict. Barns, and stack yards catch fire, and tlie
conflagration spreads on all sides. At tii-Iit tho
steed is stabled beside the altar, and the weary hom
icides of the day complete the wrecking of houses
to nuke their lairs for slumber. The fires of the
bivouac complete what the fires kindled by the bat
tle have left unconsumed. The surviving soldiers
march on to act the same scene over again else
where; and the remnant of the scattered inhabitants
return to find the mangled bodies of those they had
loved amid the blackening ruins of their homes,
to mourn with fhore agonizing grief over the miss
ing, of whose fate they are Uncertain to feel them
selves bankrupts of the world's 6tres, and look
from their children to tha de.ol tte fields and gar.
dens, and think of famine and pestilence engender,
ed by the rotting bodies of th luli'-huiied myriads
ofsl.iin.