vation, whether attempted on the part of the Crown or of the Commons.' Upon another occasion Adams, the second President, observed : Purge the British Constitution of its corruption, and give to its popular branch equality of representation, and it would be the most perfect Constitution ever devised by the wit of men." To which Hamilton replied: "As it stands at present, with all its supposed defects, it is the most perfect form of government that ever existed.” Perhaps those who urge us to copy American institutions would do well to weigh these words, expressed by two of the most eminent of the fathers of that Republic.

We agree with those who, apart from incurable defects inherent in the circumstances, admire the general excellence of the Constitution; and we consider it unquestionable that it rendered important service to the country at the period of its adoption. Our view is, that circumstances are so widely altered, that it suits them no longer, even if fairly interpreted. We believe, also, that the Union has greatly accelerated the rate of national progress. But it does not follow, by any means, that this has been a real advantage. There are none who have not observed that there is such a thing as growing too fast. In the words of Channing, "Noble growths are slow." The growth of the poplar is rapid, when compared with the growth of the oak; but we know that its value is proportionately small. There is always a ratio

between growth and durability, and a law exists that whatever grows with great rapidity will as rapidly decay. There is also a natural rate of growth, and one that may be stimulated; and all experience teaches that the natural rate will prove

the better in the end.

We shall be the more inclined to doubt whether excessive rapidity of material growth be any lasting advantage, if we find it accompanied by a continuous decline in the character and ability of public men, and in the general standard of political morals. It was observed by De Tocqueville, twenty-five years ago, "It is a well-authenticated fact that at the present day the most talented men in the United States are very rarely placed at the head of affairs. The race of American statesmen has evidently dwindled most remarkably in the course of the last fifty years." And if this observation could be made by an acute observer, at a period when Webster, Clay, and Calhoun were still upon the stage, it would appear as if there were some impoverishing and exhaustive principle at work, when, at the present day, we search in vain for one single name that may be termed that of a statesman. Politicians cover the land, statesmen seem to have become extinct. At the commencement of its history, no country produced a larger proportion of men, of the highest order of ability; indeed, it would be difficult to find elsewhere the record of so large a number in an equal population. The fact was commented upon by

Chatham and Burke, in terms expressing admiration and surprise. The names of Washington, Franklin, Hamilton, Madison, Marshall, and Jefferson are universally classed amongst the names of men of eminent ability. They have been succeeded in our day by the names of Filmer, Van Buren, Tyler, Polk, and Pierce. The contrast is too obvious to need any comment; and when we inquire into its causes we shall find, accompanying this decline in the talent of public men, a similar decline in the standard of political morals.

In a conversation that occurred shortly after the Constitution was framed, Washington expressed the hope that they had succeeded in forming a "respectable" government. To apply the term respectable to the government, would be regarded by an American of the present day as an indignity. In the mind of Washington the standard of excellence was worth-something that men should respect. His own greatness, indeed, was moral grandeur. It was not in martial genius, nor the sparkle of brilliant deeds, but in selfdenying endurance of toilworn years-in struggling with unexhausted patience, under extinguished hope-against cold, and poverty, and meanness-against jealousy and rancour-in seeking no fame, and desiring no reward-but adopting, like one of our own time, and contented to adopt, that most rare of military watchwordsduty.

Unhappily, as it seems to us, the standard of the public mind is widely altered. The vast dimensions of the Union, and its incessant growth, have filled the national mind with conceptions of size, of amplitude, with the desire to excite astonishment rather than to command respect. Magnitude has become the standard, in place of worth. We shall be able to trace the effects of this alteration in the standard of excellence, and we shall find it extending its baneful influence over many features of the national character.

And first, what has caused this remarkable decline in the ability at the head of the State? There is no reason to believe that there exists, at the present day, less intellectual power than at a former period. All evidence tends to produce an impression quite the reverse of this. Why, then, does it remain latent, inactive, politically lost to the community as fully as though it had ceased to exist?

Originally, when the Constitution came into action, the population of the United States amounted but to three millions, and they occupied only that portion of the Union now known as the Atlantic border. Within these moderate dimensions it was not difficult to discern superiority of talent, or to select men of eminent acquirements. It was considered by all to be a primary object to obtain for the State the advantage of the highest attainable ability; and the men chosen as the earliest Presidents were the ablest men of the

time. But the Union has outgrown all this. It stretches now from the Atlantic to the Pacificfrom Maine to Mexico. Spread over so vast a surface, it has become physically impossible for its citizens, dwelling thousands of miles apart, to attempt the selection of the President on the ground of merit. It may, indeed, be said that the renown of the orator will extend far and wide, without much heeding the obstacle of space. But this may not apply to that of the statesman, of whom the very ablest may be without any gift of words. Jefferson observes, in his Memoirs: "I served with Washington in the legislature of Virginia, before the revolution, and during it, with Franklin in Congress. I never heard either of them speak ten minutes at a time, nor to any but the main point, which was to decide the question." And Jefferson's pretensions to oratory were no greater. Upon this point we find at once a remarkable change in the national character, for in modern times a senator has been known to speak for three whole days. The most valuable of all the gifts of the statesman is assuredly judgment, or that which, when combined with knowledge, may be termed wisdom: it was the characteristic of the men of Washington's age. It is clearly one that may exist with very little noise.

That ability should no longer form the ground of selection for the presidential office appears injurious enough; but the evil extends much beyond