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MR. LINCOLN AT THE ASTOR
HOUSE.
MR. LINCOLN,
the President-elect, arrived at New York on Tuesday, 19th, as announced in the
programme of his journey. An enormous crowd lined the streets to gaze at him as
he passed. When he reached the Astor House there must have been some five
thousand people assembled at the door, and they soon gave audible evidence of
their wish to hear the distinguished visitor. With his usual good nature,
Mr.
Lincoln stepped out of a window, in company with a member of the Common Council,
and, standing on the balcony, ad-dressed them as follows :
"FELLOW-CITIZENS,—I have stepped
before you merely in compliance with what appeared to be your wish, and with no
purpose of making a speech. In fact, I do not propose making a speech this
afternoon. I could not be heard by any but a very small fraction of you at best,
but what is still worse than that is, that I have nothing just now to say worth
your hearing. [Loud applause.] I beg you to believe that I do not now refuse to
address you through any disposition to disoblige you, but the contrary. But at
the same time I beg of you to excuse me for the present."
Mr. Lincoln then bowed again to
the several gentlemen who were then presented to him, all of whom he cordially
received.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, MARCH 2, 1861.
EUROPEAN OPINION UPON OUR
TROUBLES.
WE have published, from time to
time, articles from the leading journals of France and England upon the
lamentable events which have lately occurred in this country; we now publish, in
the news columns, an extract from the Queen's Speech, just sent to the British
Parliament, and an extract from the debates of one of the most authoritative
bodies in France—the French Academy. Both, as will be seen, breathe the kindest
spirit and the most earnest wish for a peaceable settlement of our difficulties.
An idea has long prevailed in
this country that foreign governments were anxious to see this Union dissolved.
A design to bring about disunion has been familiarly imputed to the British
aristocracy in particular ; and many per-sons, otherwise well-informed and
sound-minded, have seriously and honestly believed that the British House of
Peers was so solicitous for the dismemberment of the Confederacy of the United
States that their influence and their means were at the service of any traitors
who proposed to effect this result. The events of the past few weeks—calamitous
as they have been in other respects—have, at all events, had the effect of
exploding this delusion, and teaching us sounder views on the attitude of
foreign countries toward the United States.
No Power in Europe—not even
excepting the Papacy—really desires to see the calm and successful career of
this nation cut short by intestine broils. It is the interest of every foreign
nation in the world that the United States should thrive, should remain united,
and should increase steadily. For the United States have grown to their present
magnitude by the cultivation of peace, commerce, and industry ; by establishing
with all countries commercial relations as beneficial to them as to us ; by
offering a safe home to exiles of all sorts ; by relieving overcrowded European
countries of their surplus population ; and by setting a memorable example of a
peaceful government carried on exclusively for the benefit of the governed.
Forty years ago, perhaps, in the
days when the Tories ruled in England, when the divine right monarchy flourished
in France, and when Holy Alliances met at Laybach and elsewhere to enforce
popular submission to despotic theories, the success of the system pursued in
the United States might have provoked jealousy and even opposition in Europe.
But men's minds change a good deal in forty years. At the present time England
is as democratic in sentiment as this country; France has established universal
suffrage as the corner-stone of of her Empire ; Russia is liberalizing her
institutions ; Italy is consolidating a constitutional monarchy on a popular
basis ; Germany is steadily growing more and more democratic. All the nations of
Europe are treading in our foot-steps. British, French, German, Italian,
Spanish, and Swedish journals, while taking sides pretty plainly in our domestic
quarrel, all sympathize warmly with us in our trouble, and hope that it may be
settled without war.
It is said that this sentiment is
not wholly disinterested. A civil war in this country would no doubt derange our
trade with all the nations of Europe, and put all of them to some inconvenience.
But it would be unjustifiable to ascribe all the sympathy we receive to the
interested impulses of European traders. Trade is not paramount in Europe, as it
is here. Many expressions of good feeling have reached us from sources far
beyond the control of the counting-house. The mercenary instinct has had its
influence, no doubt ; but beyond and above it, a friendly voice, proceeding from
the open heart of our friends across the ocean, reaches us through such channels
as the Queen's Speech,
and teaches us a lesson of
international good feeling and fraternity which ought not to be forgotten.
METROPOLITAN CROWDS.
IF New York had no other claim to
the rank of the metropolis of America, her crowds would establish her right to
the title. In no other city in this country can a truly metropolitan crowd be
gathered together. Large numbers of people occasionally assemble in other
cities, and impede the thoroughfares; but a genuine crowd, numbering 50,000,
75,000, 100,000, or 150,000 individuals, all animated by the same purpose, all
conscious of their responsibilities, and all keenly alive to their rights, is a
sight which can only be seen in three cities in the civilized world—Paris,
London; and New York.
The greatest crowd ever gathered
together in the streets of New York was undoubtedly that which greeted the eye
of the Prince of Wales on his arrival here. It is probable that 250,000 people
were afoot that day, in
Broadway, the Fifth Avenue, and the adjacent streets,
bent on seeing " the Prince." This is, of course, a small assemblage in
comparison with the crowd which assembled on Kennington Common and the vicinity,
in London, on 11th April, 1848 ; and with the crowds which
Napoleon the Third
occasionally summons to the Champ de Mars, or the Champs Elysees. In London and
Paris it is supposed that half a million of people can be collected by an
extraordinary attraction. Still, considering the size of New York, 250,000
people is a very large muster. It is nearly one-third the total population of
the city, and when we remember how many individuals must re-main at work, how
many must stay at home, how many are under age and sick, an actual muster of
one-third the aggregate population in a few streets evinces a genuine
metropolitan love for sight-seeing.
It is supposed that, next to the
Prince of Wales' crowd, the assemblage which gathered to see the Japanese land,
and that which was collected to inaugurate the Atlantic telegraph, were the
largest ever seen in New York. After these the greatest crowd ever gathered in
Broad-way was assembled on Tuesday last to see
Abraham Lincoln, President-elect.
The last, though a very large
crowd—probably exceeding 100,000 persons in number—was far less than those which
went forth to stare at the Prince of Wales and the Japanese Princes, mainly from
the fact that it contained few or no women. It would seem that the ladies, who
suffered martyrdom to see the British Prince, and endured some hardships to look
at "Tom-my," did not care about seeing Mr. Lincoln. Whether the absence of
military display had any thing to do with the fact we will not under-take to
decide.
It is gratifying to notice that
our crowds, like those of Paris, and unlike those of London, are generally
orderly and peaceable. In the British capital, a crowd always fills the police
stations and the hospitals. In Paris, a few more pickpockets than usual are
arrested, but fights seldom occur. In this city, our recent crowds have been
quite orderly ; the only acts of violence noticed have been committed by
over-zealous and brutal policemen ; even the Bowery boys have latterly behaved
themselves quietly.
A metropolitan crowd is
intelligent, quick-witted, and though (outside of London) naturally peaceable,
easily roused to fury. A Paris mob of three hundred thousand people will divert
itself a whole day in the sunshine without a single blow struck ; but if you
once rouse them, they fall to barricades naturally, and no-thing short of
copious doses of grape will quiet them. We rather think that, as New York grows,
its crowds will develop similar characteristics. Large masses of men are
dangerous bodies. Our rulers should watch our crowds and study them.
PATRIOTISM.
"PATRIOTISM," says the
Dictionary, "is love of country." "Patriotism," said Dr. Johnson, the Tory, " is
the last refuge of a scoundrel." "A man devoid of patriotism," says a leading
philosopher, " is capable of the greatest crimes." Sings Walter Scott :
"Lives there a man with soul so
dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ?"
This subject of patriotism is in
a fair way of being more thoroughly ventilated than it ever was before. Every
body appears to admit that patriotism is a virtue, and that a man should love
his country. But the question arises at every corner—What is our country ?
Smith, in South Carolina, says that the United States is his country, and that
he loves the
stars and stripes ; for which expression of opinion he is instantly
exiled from the State under pain of a prosecution for treason. On the other
hand, Jones, born in Georgia, but in the service of the United States, declares
that the secession of Georgia requires him to resign his commission, and to
proceed forthwith to Milledgeville to pre-pare for war against the United States
; for which proceeding he is denounced at the North as devoid of patriotism, and
by many as an absolute
traitor. Jones protests that he
is the purest kind of patriot, and that he will lay down his life for Georgia.
The question seems to be—How much country must a man love to be a genuine
patriot?
Smith says—You must love your
whole country as represented by and included under the national flag. Jones
says—No, it suffices to love your own State. Upon this Robinson starts up and
says that, in his opinion, it is sufficient to love your own county. Brown is of
opinion that he fulfills his duty by loving his town. And Thomson fiercely
claims the title of patriot because he loves his native farm.
It is pretty clear that Thomson,
at all events, is wrong. His patriotism is mere selfishness, and has no merit at
all of a public nature. It is also clear that Smith is right—though it may be
pretended by Jones and the others that he demands too much--when he claims the
title of patriot for loving his whole country. The question is—Can a line be
drawn between them? If a man is no patriot for merely loving his farm, is he a
patriot for loving his town and neglecting the rest of his county? Is he a
patriot if he loves his county, and despises the rest of his State? Can he claim
the title of patriot if he loves his State only, and confesses no obligation to
the rest of the Confederacy? These are questions which will engage some
attention in the course of the pending revolution.
About thirteen years ago the
people of Italy were unanimous in favor of national independence, and the
overthrow of the Austrian power. Every Italian wanted the same thing. In those
days Charles Albert, King of Piedmont, the only Italian Potentate who had both
an Italian soul and an Italian army, said to the people of the peninsula: "Join
me, and we shall free Italy." There were people throughout Italy who were for
responding heartily, Yes. But when it came to the fighting-point, the Venetians
said they were Venetians, the Tuscans said they were Tuscans, the Parmese said
they were Parmese, the Romans said they were Romans; the Neapolitans said they
were Neapolitans, the Sicilians said they were Sicilians : and lo ! there were
no Italians in all Italy. So Charles Albert's appeal failed, Austria triumphed,
and for thirteen years more Italy groveled in chains. It would seem that the
event—which is in every one's memory--sheds some light on the law of patriotism.
THE LOUNGER
PRESIDENTIAL.
IF any enterprising newspaper
could have se-cured Ariel as its special reporter during the last two or three
weeks we should have had some striking and spirited reading. For Mr. Ariel would
have seen three great processions in the three great cities of modern times,
each in honor of the progress of the chief of the nation to address the nation
upon its intimate and important relations. The Queen of England, the Emperor of
France, and the President of the United States have each marched in state to the
seat of their several Governments.
The contrast of the marching is
instructive. The Queen, as the chief of an aristocratic class, surrounded by
every kind of pageantry, in which the military is most conspicuous, gives London
a holiday. The Emperor, a General, and the wise head of a military despotism,
marches to his Assembly through his bright camp of Paris. The President, the
plainest and simplest of citizens, without badge or decoration, without a
soldier or a drum, with a band of constables to clear the way, and another to
restrain the pressing crowd, rides quietly with bare head in an open barouche,
followed by a dozen other barouches, and saluted from sidewalk and window and
balcony, by the earnest sympathy of thousands of hearts and voices loyal to
their country and its Government, and quickened to deep enthusiasm by the proud
flag—the symbol of national greatness and renown—which floated at intervals down
the long vista of the street.
The contrast of the spectacle was
the difference of the political systems. Ours rests upon opinion, upon rational
conviction : the others, upon the military arm. With us, the sword is the
unsheathed defense of the necessary rights of every government, which represents
the popular will lawfully expressed ; in the others, it is the emphasis and
argument of a governing will, which may or may not be that of the nation. Other
systems presuppose two powers—the government and the people. In our system they
are one; and the antagonism is between the people and discontented or rebellious
individuals. And our system secures to each of those individuals an absolute
right to persuade all the other citizens of the justice of their opinions, and
therefore the opportunity of making them legally prevail.
The wit of man could not devise a
plan more perfect ; and the event of the last week was the entry of the
lately-elected representative of that will into the city of New York. A simple,
earnest, sincere-looking man, gazing curiously at the noble street and the vast
crowd that filled it, he bowed at intervals with natural dignity, yet
abstractedly, as if he were instinctively conscious, as he has so frequently
said, that it was not he, but the majesty of the nation visible in his person,
that aroused the profound interest of the people. It was a very striking
contrast to the Japanese wonder and the pageant that welcomed the Prince of
Wales. They were pretty spectacles, in which nobody had any particular interest
; but the intent interest of every citizen of the country at this moment made
the curiosity with which the new President was regard
ed significant and solemn. There
was the same kind of hushed intensity of feeling as he passed which one may
imagine in the crowds that watched Washington.
The Lounger, like his
fellow-citizens, has seen more than one Presidential progress. He saw the
acting-President Tyler as he drove through the streets of Boston to hear the
oration of Daniel Webster at the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument: and
before that he saw, with all New York, the entrance of President Van Buren as he
passed up Broadway from the Battery—the occasion which is also memorable for the
advent of Jenkins in New York journalism : for the town was favored next day
with a description of the President's bedchamber and dressing-room. But neither
of these scenes was of more than superficial interest. The entry of President
Lincoln will be always memorable; for we were looking upon a man to whom greater
and more trying duties have been intrusted than to any President since
Washington: and all that he has said and done, all that is told of his life,
certifies the deep sincerity of his words when he says that he relies for the
just performance of those duties upon the favor of God and the support of the
people.
CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH.
THE man of sixty, as he waits for
his wife in the dressing-room, and hears the throbbing beat and passionate
movement of the dancing music be-low, looks with a half-sighing, regretful
curiosity upon the eager youth around him, buttoning their gloves and surveying
their neck-ties, and sympathizes with them in his heart, that they are born too
late, and that all the high festival of life was ended before they arrived to
enjoy it.
He recalls the dances of other
days, the belles that were belles, the sweet tingle of excitement in the nerves,
the fine delirium of love and youth, and pities those who think that the ball
to-night can be what the ball was in -'20, when Mrs. Ptolemy Philadelphus, who
is now chiefly intent upon terrapin at supper, was the superb Cleopatra of
universal homage. The play is done, his musing, melancholy glance seems to say
to the impatient youth of to-day : The lamps are put out ; they only smoke now
and smell unpleasantly; the lovely partners are grandmothers and unmarried aunts
in the corner ; 'tis all a mistake of yours, young gentleman: this but fun; this
is only a carnival of spectres—a ghastly satire.
The light rustle and sweep of
airy dress floating down the staircase into that warm gulf of music and flowers
and gems and beaming faces below, does not disturb the fidelity of his faith in
the past. He pities the whole ; he disbelieves iii it; he can not persuade
himself that they are truly happy as he was happy, long ago. Could some kind
fairy whisper that when he was young, and eager, and hopeful, there were also
the musing, melancholy men of sixty, who disbelieved as heartily in his
enjoyment, he might pause a moment and wonder; and as his wife appeared, no
longer a sylph in muslin, but a brocaded, diamonded dowager, the conviction
might slowly steal into his mind that it was he, and not human nature, that had
changed; that twenty is as blithe and hopeful as ever twenty was before; and
that the skepticism of sixty may be largely made up of a secret, sad regret that
the heart kindled and the foot bounded no more with the passionate persuasion of
"the dancers dancing in tune."
It was with the same skepticism
of sixty that a gentleman whom the Lounger saw upon the late festival of good
Bishop Valentine scolded as pretty and merry a group of school-girls as was ever
seen. It was in a small village, and afternoon school was out. Not less than
forty or fifty eager little faces and forms, from five and six years up to
fifteen, were packed in a shouting, gabbling throng around the window of the
post-office, all pushing and straining to be in front; and when the most
energetic reached the spot, and the grave-faced boy of seven-teen asked the
name, there was such blushing forgetfulness of her own name in every case, that
the impatient expectants behind all shouted it in chorus of childlike treble,
and the bashful girl in the woolen hood evidently wished she had not been so
energetic and successful. There was the most gleesome babble, and nobody thought
of doing any-thing but opening the tender missive upon the spot, and reading
then and there. "Ain't you ashamed, Almiry Jane, to stop up the way so?" " Emma
Hutchin! Emma Hutchin! let us up." "Oh! Hannah, it's too bad! It's real selfish
to stand there !" Then a general, merry, wrangling hub-hub and squeezing; and
the delivery of letters for the purposes of trade was then and there
suspended."What infernal nonsense!" said the neighbor of the Lounger--waiting,
like him, for a chance to get near enough to drop in a letter. "Here, children,
get out of the way! Don't make such a noise! What are you doing here? Why don't
you go home and behave yourselves !" The gleesome noise died before this rough
exorcism as the cooing of cloves in the sun stops in the shadow of the hawk. The
little faces were turned up in timid doubt; the throng parted, and the gentleman
dropped his letter and departed. Why do we so easily forget that we have been
young, and that youth is always the same? The instinctive feeling of each
bright-eyed child in that pretty crowd was, of course, "How glad I am that I am
not that man's child!" Yes, and how sorry they would have felt, if they had been
as old as the Lounger, for that man's children! Let us hope that his oldest boy
has sent that beautiful valentine over which Almiry Jane is blushing, and that
his next vows that never Fate shall sever his heart from the clutchin' of Emma
Hutchin; while his third declares in capital letters that his heart is a banner
engraved with Hannah, which ne'er shall be furled in this dreary world, but
through every hap continue to flap.
That would be poetic justice.
Their pleasure should thus come out of his pocket, if not out of him heart.
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