No Steamboats — A Vision

Original American Translator’s Note:

From ‘Le Livre Des Cent-et-un,’ Vol. IX. Paris, 1832. This ‘Vision’ was written in French, by our distinguished countryman, and has never, we believe, been published in America. We trust the high-toned, patriotic feeling with which it is imbued, will make it a favorite with our readers, even through the disadvantages of our imperfect translation. The French editor allows it to be an exquisite irony on the European ideas of America and our institutions.

 

FIFTY centuries have passed away, and yet the noblest designs of Providence remain concealed from human understanding. Creation changes its forms, — the world decays with time — the foundations of the earth are shaken, and a race disappears before the deluge. The creature of ocean’s depths is drawn from its caverns and hermetically sealed in the heart of the solid rock. Generations are born, die, and are forgotten. Empires arise, pass away, and leave only their remembrance. Cyrus and Alexander, the Ptolemies and Solomon, Greek and Roman, Confucius and Zoroaster, perform their parts, and quit the stage. But the last, the most sublime of all the acts of the Drama, is yet to come.

Earthquakes swallow up kingdoms; volcanoes bury palaces, towers, and cities; the fertility of Africa withers beneath the heat of a scorching sun. Hills are formed where lakes once spread; the plains are cumbered with fragments of mountains; and rivers are lost in burning sands. Animals yield to the influence of Time. The mastodon is known only by his bones; the ferocity of the wolf is lost in the docility of the dog; the bounding zebra becomes an ass. And the veil remains before the eyes of man!

Art, knowledge, power, pass from the East to the West. Barren deserts occupy the places once revered as the seats of science; the tiger prowls in the school of the philosopher; lizards sport on the noblest monuments of art; and the serpent leaves his slime in the halls of kings. The moment arrives, the signal is given, Columbus is born, and the East acknowledges the existence of the West.

There is joy from the pillars of Hercules to the North Sea! Heaven has given to Europe a rich tributary. The head of the church distributes the New World with a liberal hand; the nobles of the earth rejoice in the acquisition; America will be an inexhaustible treasure. Christians of every nation go with the sword, the blood hound, and the cross. The sun of civilization rises upon the Western hemisphere. Montezuma is laid upon his bed of roses. and the soil is enriched with the blood of the Incas. The gold of Peru and Mexico flows like water, and Brazil yields her precious stones. There is joy from the pillars of Hercules to the coasts of Norway!

The mysteries of God are inscrutable. A dark cloud overshadows the land of the Powhattans and the Metacoms. Neither prince, nor count, nor baron, nor even a sire de Coucy, will there couch his lance. No gold glitters there!

A bark, bearing the colors of Christ, departs, enters the cloud, and is seen no more. A century and a half passes away, and Europe has forgotten the existence of these simple and devoted Pilgrims. The march of time is ever onward; the mines of Mexico have become exhausted. — Peru yields only blood. Europe begins to awaken, and gazes upon America. The seed cast upon that unknown shore has taken root; the shrub has become a tree. A nation has arisen there, strong by its position, its labors, its principles. The world is agitated, examines, is alarmed, and ——

 

There is heard a low murmur in the rue Saint Dominique. The sound approaches and stops before the court of the hôtel Villermont.

In the little study reigns a tranquil silence; the fire blazes in a chimney truly Parisian; the red hangings, the gildings of the style of Louis XV, — the laughing Cupids, the tableaux vivants, are revealed by the mysterious light. The violin of the worthy M. Alerme of the grand Opera, lies upon the table. The door is opened by the faithful Swiss François Emery,

‘Messieurs de Trois-Idées-Européennes wish to come up’

‘And all this racket caused by an Idea!’

‘Monsieur is mistaken: — there are three of them.’

‘Oh! they are quarrelling. I understand. What sort of a people are these gentlemen?’

‘Ma foi. I cannot say. Their footmen call them abstractions,’

‘Oh! they have footmen then! They come in a carriage?’

‘Although Monsieur has travelled a great deal, I do not think he has ever seen such a droll vehicle! It is nothing but an enormous wheel, which is pushed forward by a multitude of people on foot, who get along as they can, through thick and thin; while these three gentlemen, seated astride the beam, guide the wheel.’

‘And this goes on well?’

‘Pretty well. — For better, for worse, as it may be.’

‘How old are these Ideas!’

‘They have the appearance of gentlemen a little worn, and fitted up with new wigs.’

‘And their names?’

François Emery likes to display his knowledge. Examining closely the cards he was carrying, he answered

‘One is called M. de Portefeuille, the second M. de l’Hérédité, and the third M. Blouse. The last is a great talker.’

‘Let them come in...... but if they have arrived in this manner are not their feet dirty?’

‘Do not worry, Monsieur, about the carpet. They are sitting securely on the beam; if it were a matter of their hands, it would perhaps be different.’

‘I didn’t think they came on all fours. Have them come up.’

The strangers entered and greetings were exchanged. At the first glance there appeared a striking resemblance between M.M. de Trois-Idées. But there was as striking a difference in their dress; though all three wore robes which concealed their true proportions. The head of one was deeply buried in a portfolio which he wore like a three cornered hat; another had his head adorned with a well powdered periwig, and nothing else — and the third was mostly in plush, (blouse.) but I perceived that beneath this he wore silk stockings and fine linen.

‘Gentlemen, I am happy to see you, and regret only that my study is not more worthy of receiving such guests. But as you have the appearance of being very obliging, I hope to be able to entertain you.’

M.M. de Trois-Idées arranged themselves like tight-rope walkers, with infinite grace.

‘M. Cooper,’ — returned M. Blouse, ‘we are not persons who allow ourselves to feel incommoded in any situation whatever. You see how admirably we agree together; we are like fluids which always find their level.  The purpose of our. visit is noble, grand, vast — in a word truly IDEAL. I wait your permission to explain myself more clearly.’

‘The clearer the better, Monsieur.’

M. Blouse then arranged three armchairs so as to form a platform. He climbed up, and as he accidentally touched the head of M. de l’Hérédité with his finger, a little bell seemed to sound. The speaker extended his arms like a Cicero, and began:

‘M. Cooper,’ continued M. Blouse, ‘we are Messieurs de Trois-Idées-Européennes. The study of the great interests of man constitutes our occupation, their improvement our duty as well as our pleasure; we are true philanthropists devoted to the general interest. We are not like you Americains who think only of yourselves; but after paying suitable attention to our own affairs, we are at the disposal of the world. We have thoroughly examined every question, discovered every truth, and drawn all the just and profound consequences that logic, philosophy, grammar, geography, in a word, the seven sciences, and all that the arts, individual politics, and human knowledge can obtain. But, M. Cooper, what a dreadful picture of your unhappy country has been brought to light by our philanthropic investigations! In America we see the people in possession of powers which naturally belong to the nobility; the consequences are frightful; corruption stalks undisguised; selfishness reigns supreme. A social chaos confounds all classes; the Christian is a savage; the savage a Christian. The blacks are whites; the whites mulattoes, and the water itself is changed to rum!’

Here M. Blouse seemed almost overcome with his emotions; M. de l’Hérédité covered his eyes with his hand. and gave a condoling bow; M. du Portefeuille disappeared for an instant at the door. I learned afterwards that this short absence was only to despatch couriers to the different courts with intelligence of the profound effect produced by this first coup parlementaire. Order returned.

‘M. Cooper.’ resumed M. Blouse, laying his hand upon his heart, like a man deeply convinced of the truth of his own words; ‘we are not of the prejudiced class; we have abandoned the opinion of the natural inferiority of America to Europe; in this matter we are more than philosophic — we are just.’

‘Then you do not believe us to be negroes?’

‘We do even now, throwing aside all diplomatic reserve, declare in the face of the universe, that the ancient European writers were in the wrong; that in America men have really beards, fishes scales, monkeys tails, and tigers claws. Yes, in all cases we must be just; if there be any difference between these embellishments and those which are found in our old Europe, it is only the natural difference which exists between the productions of a new hemisphere and one already experienced. Yes, we must be just. America, in this matter, has only her youth to blame. Time will relieve her of all these embarrassments.’

‘M. Blouse, the unexpected liberality of this concession convinces me that I have the pleasure of speaking to enlightened men.’

‘Yes, we must be just. The monkeys of America have really tails. This impartiality demonstrates the spirit in which we have pursued all the other investigations. But, M. Cooper, my very dear, very esteemed, and too well beloved friend, we are touched to the heart by the danger of a people possessing but one idea; an idea so selfish that it confounds an entire nation with itself. We see your perils, moral, social, and pecuniary, and have resolved not to abandon you to your own movements without one effort to show you the gulf into which you are about to fall. We directed our agents in America to send us, without loss of time, the documents necessary for a complete exposé of the mournful state of your dear and unhappy country. We can speak with authority; we have just received from New-York a multitude of these documents, by the last steamboat which arrived at Havre.’

‘M. Blouse. I breathe again. As there is no steamboat which navigates the ocean between Europe and America, it is possible that you are deceived with regard to facts more important to my country.’

‘No steamboats!’ cried M. Blouse, casting upon me a look of pity mingled with grief. ‘M. Cooper, your patriotic spirit is too easily alarmed.  I had not the slightest intention of making any unpleasant allusion, although these steamboat enterprises are eminently republican. By a moment’s reflection you will see the impossibility of disproving a fact recognised by all Europe from the Mediterranean to the White Sea.’

‘It is precisely because the evident falsehood of what you call a fact is seen, so to speak, in your own ports, that I am induced to believe you may be mistaken with regard to things less evident.’

‘M. Cooper, you are a seaman.’

‘Enough of one to know the difference between a steamboat and a ship. M. Blouse, you may be assured that the packets between Europe and America are not steamboats.’

‘No steamboats!’ exclaimed M. de l’Hérédité.

‘Pray do not suffer yourself to be disturbed on account of a denial arising from a transport of patriotism,’ said M. Blouse. ‘It is of no consequence. Here, M. Cooper, are the documents which concern your country in whatever way they have arrived.’

Here the gentlemen of ‘The Three Ideas’ emptied their pockets of a quantity of books, pamphlets, and newspapers. I observed the names of Buffon, Balbi, Basil Hall, Saulnier, Jeffrey, the British Review, Quarterly Review, and the work of Mrs Trollope, among a hundred others.

‘We have here,’ continued M. Blouse, ‘proofs, mournful and incontrovertible proofs of the condition of your wretched country. At least one fourth part of these documents is from the United States of North America, themselves.’

‘M. Blouse, there is no country which is called the United States of North America.’

‘You deny facts, so to speak, consecrated in the mind of all Europe! And you think it possible to reason in this strange manner!’

‘It appears to me that all the merit of our discussion must depend upon facts. You bring forward heavy charges against my country; I think it important to prove that you are misinformed respecting a very familiar subject, and that you are ignorant of its very name.’

‘Monsieur, you attach a very undue importance to facts; you, the champion of rational liberty, to circumscribe the bounds of logic in this manner! However, we are not to be driven from our position by dogmatic assertions. Where is our last European work on the subject? Oh, here it is! You see, Monsieur Cooper, there is no mistake. It is the edition of 1832, of 1832, my dear Sir. Hear the words of the author when he speaks of your miserable country:— ‘Thus then, this confederation is known by the four names of the ‘Anglo-American Confederation,’ which appears to us the least improper, because it can be applied to no other federative state; — of the ‘United States of North-America;’ — of the ‘Union’ par excellence, and of the ‘United States,’ properly so called; the last is the official name, and is employed in all political transactions.’

‘I find myself obliged to deny all four of these names. It is true that we often call our country the United States, by way of abbreviation. As to the ‘Anglo-American-Confederation,’ and the ‘United States of North America,’ these names are entirely unknown in my country. We say ‘the Union,’ as you say ‘the Kingdom,’ in Europe.

‘But, M. Cooper, you forget our high authority!’

‘It is weighty! I see the necessity which I am under of meeting you armed with an authority, at least as valid, or of yielding the ground.’ Here putting my hand in my p0cket, I drew forth the ‘Constitution,’ and read the first clause with the boldness of a man at least half assured of his fact:— ‘The title of this confederation shall be the United States of America.’

‘Well, now!’ exclaimed M. Blouse; ‘that is inconceivable — very strange! Oh, the Constitution is wrong! Many honorable Americans have assured us that there are innumerable mistakes in the Constitution.’

‘No Steamboats! M. Blouse.’

‘M. Cooper, you appear to be very much concerned about that trifling mistake we made respecting steamboats.’

‘I beg you wont think of it. Ideas that come in direct male line are often as absurd.’

‘It is clear the Constitution is wrong.’

‘As you will, Monsieur.’

‘Being then agreed concerning these preliminary facts, let us pass to the main argument. It is evident from the interesting documents received by the last steamboat from the United States of North America, that your Republic sleeps upon a volcano, and that you pay in taxes just six dollars and eighty-two cents and a half, each man.’

‘Volcanoes are natural phenomena; and respecting the taxes, as they come from ourselves, it is hardly probable that we pay more than is necessary for our own benefit.’

‘A fatal error! The tendency of every popular movement is to excess; and if we leave with the people the right of taxing themselves, the people will tax themselves to the last cent. Is it possible, my dear M. Cooper, that you have not read the work we have lately published on this interesting subject,- the development of a spirit of finance entirely abandoned to itself!’

‘Monsieur. I have given some attention to that ingenious development.’

‘Very well; and I doubt not that a man of your intelligence will understand it as clearly as the author did. But I have the honor to propose to you still further research in these political axioms. At the present day there are but two great systems of government — the first, which rests upon the slender and unstable foundation of the people; the other, which depends upon three consequent and well-balanced ideas. It is difficult to believe that you do not see the immense difference between these two categories.’

‘It appears to me to be the same difference as that between a man who stands upon his feet, and a man who stands upon his head.’

‘No North America!’ exclaimed M. l’Hérédité.

‘My dear M. l’Hérédité.’ continued M. Blouse, ‘all the questions have been decided in our favor. Let us proceed to facts. Behold, M. Cooper, a truly popular oppression. What dreadful tyranny! What a dreadful effect of the supremacy of a people over itself. You chain up the streets on Sunday; and this in a country which calls itself free! Poor streets! How wretched you must be! Would that you were European streets, so clean, so wide, so dry, so well furnished with side-walks; in short, so free! Poor American streets! — how cruelly you are oppressed!’ And M. Blouse wept sorrowfully, and the tears gathered in one eye of M. du Portefeuille; he never permitting more than one half of any human sympathy to appear.

‘Dry your tears, gentlemen, I beseech you; the injury to the streets is not fatal. We are Protestants, and the service of our religion demands quiet; during certain months of the year, on account of the climate, the windows of our churches are left open, and to prevent the rumbling of carriages, a chain is stretched across the street in places where the noise might create disturbance. But no person is prevented from travelling on foot wherever he pleases; and even carriages draw up to the doors of all without exception. Besides, this custom is rather Protestant than American, and is found even in countries most favored by the government of the “Three Ideas.” You chain up your streets, too, very often with swords and bayonets, that the courtiers may come easily to pay their respects to princes; — we stretch a chain over our streets that the pious may worship God in tranquillity. Our sentinels eat nothing, and compared with your soldiers, we think, at least, our chains most economical.’

‘It has required an insurrection of the people to make your steamboats run on Sunday. — Poor. oppressed steamboats! poor strangled streets!’

‘M. Blouse, your amiable tenderness of feeling for streets and steamboats transports you beyond the bounds of reason. The government of the United States being truly republican, (I demand the floor, interrupted M. du Portefeuille, heatedly.) our laws are only the reflection of public  opinion; and an insurrection of the people is by no means necessary to alter them. It is true that a controversy has been carried on respecting the employment of steamboats on Sundays. I recollect a caricature representing clergymen and zealots endeavoring to hold one of these steamboats by the means of cords, and the people pushing it on. Perhaps. M. Blouse, you have taken this little engraving for a well authenticated fact. Will you have the goodness to examine your documents, it is possible you may find the caricature among them?

‘No Sunday in the United States of North America!’

M. du Portefeuille took the floor.

‘Messieurs,’ said he, ‘our principles have been attacked. It has been said that we are not representative ideas, but absolute ones. I shall include the entire theory of our ideas in a Protocol No. 7896, and in the meantime I do here, before God and man, make a solemn protest against the accusation.’

‘Messieurs, it is difficult for a man to support a thesis, when every fact he establishes becomes an accusation against his adversaries. I am here on the defensive, and if the explanation of the theory and practise of my country injures some other systems, the fault is certainly not mine.’

Here M. du Portefeuille came down from the three-armchair platform, and M. Blouse went up again.

‘Look on this picture!’ said M Blouse. ‘See the degradation to which the principle of universal suffrage has reduced even the fair sex among you.’ He reached me an engraving; it represented a very ugly old woman, a mirror, and upon a chair some articles of dress at present useless.

‘M. Blouse, this looks like the Palais Royal.’

‘Not at all, — it has been furnished from the personal observation of a delicate and refined lady, well imbued with the “Three Ideas.” She lately made the tour of your country, and you see what she has discovered! This is not all. She states that your women pass their evenings in drinking tea with spruce young missionaries, while their stupid husbands are engaged with newspapers at their reading rooms. When the ladies are sufficiently intoxicated with tea, they go to the Dorcas Societies, and stay till midnight, making shirts for the poor! Think of the immorality of these Dorcas Societies!’

‘And all these philosophical truths come from this lady?’

‘There are many such truths. She was called an ‘old woman,’ even to her face.’

‘Perhaps that insult is the cause of her misrepresenting my fair country-women in this manner.’

‘Your suspicion is unjust. The impartiality of Madame Trollope is above all reproach. Hear her own words.— “The Ladies of America are the most beautiful in the world, but the least interesting.”’

‘As there is a striking contradiction between the engraving and the assertions of this excellent and impartial observer, and as you have allowed to me all the dignity of a man with respect to the beard, it seems to me we should do well to allow this portion of the controversy to be settled by the contrast which exists between the book and its embellishments.’

‘Horrible infamy! A Dorcas Society of shirts!’’ exclaimed M. l’Hérédité.’

‘I entreat you, M. l’Hérédité, not to interrupt me any more!’ — said M. Blouse.

‘Be indulgent, M. Blouse,’ said I. ‘When we speak before empty vaults we must always, by the laws of acoustics, expect a response; and an Idea like you ought to know that echoes always lose a certain portion of what is said.’

‘Of what consequence is a word more or less to the subject?’ inquired M. Blouse. ‘There are many other circumstances against your country. For example, such is the false delicacy of your ladies, that they refuse to dance the dos-a-dos in quadrilles; here you see the fact formally stated by a very refined Englishman, who is but too indulgent towards you.’

‘I demand the floor for a point of personal privilege,’ cried the Violin of the worthy M. Alerme, of the Grand Opera.

M. Blouse left the platform, and the violin mounted it. Several chords were heard, and the last sounded harmoniously.

‘Gentlemen, the assertion of M. l’Angloise is an infamous folly. The traveller was ignorant of the customs of ball rooms. The dos-a-dos is already Gothic; having been out of fashion six weeks before the departure of this Vandal for America!’

Here the Violin executed a finale in great style, and left the platform. M. Blouse resumed his place.

‘M. Cooper,’ — said M. Blouse, not in the least disconcerted.— ‘attend now to a decisive fact. Two members of the American Congress fought with swords and pistols, on horseback, in the senate chamber. It is even  stated that the batteries were prepared by the respective friends of the combatants, and that three pieces of cannon, with ammunition, had just reached the lobby, when the speaker succeeded in establishing order.’

‘The fact is a little exaggerated. It is true that a man who is not a member of Congress, did make an attack with his cane upon another who was a member; this happened at a short distance from the Capitol, in the open air. It is likewise true that the aggressor, finding himself at the mercy of his insulted adversary, did fire a pistol. Both the actors in the affair were immediately brought to justice. But respecting the two members of Congress, the swords, the cavalry, the cannon with ammunition, all that is merely one of those rumors which always follow great combats.’

‘The mortal strife of two members of Congress, is a fact already consecrated in the minds of Europeans!’

‘Of course, Monsieur. The minds of Europeans are very acute when Americans are the objects of their contemplation. You have heard the extraordinary way in which your colleague, the honorable M. de l’Hérédité, distorts your own words on the subject.’

‘At any rate, there was a pistol fired, and against a real member of Congress. You acknowledge that fact, M. Cooper, and that is a great deal’

‘Unfortunately, that is but too true, and that is a great deal. Nevertheless, similar outrages often happen under the influence of the “Trois-Idées-Européennes.” In England, the country most idealized, according to your system, king George III. was twice fired at. M. Percival, prime minister of the same country, was killed in the passage to the House of Commons. King William IV. was lately hit by a stone on the forehead. M. Calemard de Lafayette was assassinated while leaving the Chamber in the Square of Louis XV. about three years ago.’

‘Give yourself time to breathe, my dear M. Cooper, I entreat you. Let us forget this unlucky pistol shot. We have a multitude of overwhelming facts against your unhappy country. We are assured that you are altogether without taste. You have neglected, with a truly anarchical spirit, to build magnificent castles, and lay out beautiful parks along the banks of the Columbia river, and even upon those of the charming lake of the Woods. What delightful sites thus suffer by your low, grovelling selfishness.’

‘Time will remedy these evils!’

‘You have no politeness.’

‘That will come with the castles.’

‘You are ignorant of the rules of good-breeding.’

‘We shall learn them hereafter.’

‘You are rotted before you are ripe.’

‘It is the precocity of a rich nature.’

‘Your ancestors were only European felons.’

‘It is a pity there are no more of the same sort.’

‘Your merchants are cheats.’

‘What would you have them be?’

‘Magnanimity, honesty, and all the noble quantities are wanting in your people.’

‘They are doubtless ideal monopolists.’

‘You are eminently low and vulgar.’

‘Lend us some of your high polish.’

‘Were it not for the pure virtues of simplicity, your social compact would be broken tomorrow.’

‘Our virtues, then, do us good service.’

‘You are eternally employed in disseminating your opinions.’

‘Truth is always so.’

‘Our agents, even to those who are but eighteen years old, and who are entirely qualified to decide the question, write us from Washington, that your “Union” will be broken up next Monday, at three quarters after two, by the clock.’

‘It will last a week longer.’

‘It is said, moreover, that your government is nothing but a compromise.’

‘So is every government — or something worse.’

‘Your institutions are ideal.’

‘There is something to your taste.’

‘You are devoted to common facts.’

‘There is something to ours.’

‘You love General Lafayette!’

‘We have our reasons for this.’

‘You are young.’

‘So much the better.’

‘You will never become old.’

‘Better still.’

‘You have only one idea, instead of having three.’

‘But that idea!’ —

‘You are not refined like us.’

‘No — thank heaven!’

‘You are laughed at by good society.’

‘Very true.’

‘You are found to be plain speakers.’

‘We shall be feared the more.’

‘You reason without sententiousness.’

‘It is our way.’

‘Nobody loves you.’

‘I am sorry for that.’

‘You obstinately refuse, against all reason, to make the amiable General Jackson your Emperor, he who has served you so well, and, moreover, you continue, from generation to generation, in the same institutions.’

‘Our originality is the cause.’

‘Monsieur, you are’ — here M. Blouse collected all his powers to pronounce the word— ‘a Republic!’

‘And every means of depreciating that is righteous in your estimation.’

‘A pause ensued. The colleagues of the orator hastened to congratulate him, and pay their compliments with tears in their eyes. — I remained with folded arms, like a deputy under a volley of hisses.

M. Blouse, after sipping with dignity, a little sugared water, recommenced his search among his documents. He spoke again, but with less warmth.

‘After my excellent speech, my dear M. Cooper, my speech, so truly pathetic and philanthropic, and which must astonish a man like yourself, born and educated in a society so rude, justice demands that I produce the articles which support some of my propositions, which are not, perhaps, yet established with sufficient clearness. Do me the favor to examine that document, and I expect from your candor, that you will pronounce it truly disgusting.’

I cast my eye over the article. It was the proof of a journal entitled the New York American, bearing date June, 1832. My glance was arrested by a criticism on the Bravo, a novel of which I bore the opprobrium. The review was written, of course, in English, and the writer speaks as an American, par excellence; the following are some of his words,— ‘If Mr. Cooper would avoid the contempt of his fellow-men, let him write no more books like The Bravo. If this work is successful, I shall blush for my country!’ I felt myself lost; how dreadful to be the cause of disgrace to twelve millions of innocent souls, to fourteen even, including the slaves! But I recovered a little and taking courage examined the article again. I soon found the ornaments of the ‘Academy.’ I found. also, certain foreign idioms, very badly rendered in our language; farther on, some English words of the most common kind, and perfectly idiomatic, marked as quotations, although it would be difficult to say from what author these had been taken. All this has the appearance of a translation very badly performed. I then examined the title of this work, the name of the publisher, &c, and found  the following: ‘The Bravo, a Venetian Story. By J. Fennimore Cooper. Baudry rue Coq Saint-Honoré, Paris.’ Doubtless this little contre-temps arose from the ignorance on the part of the writer that the art of printing in English was understood in the United States of North America.

I returned the paper to M. Blouse.

‘Monsieur, there is some little mistake in this. One of your arguments on the financial controversy has slipped, perhaps by chance, among the newly arrived documents.’

At this observation the gentlemen of the ‘Three Ideas’ were agitated in such a manner as caused the violin to believe they desired to dance; this amiable and complying instrument immediately began to play the air, ‘Bon Voyage, mon cher Du Mollet,’ and my guests disappeared with a crash, altogether worthy of their high commission.

 

The violin ceased — the Present passes away — the Future approaches! By degrees the dark cloud which covers the land of the Powhattans and the Metacoms is dissipated, and the world begins to see clearly. The age of miracles is over; man is there with his weaknesses, his passions, and his vices;- but man is there with his best powers and faculties in action. The progress of free principles is mighty. Ideas return from their long pilgrimage towards the West, simple and purified, devoid alike of extravagance, and meanness. Now begins the reign of one Idea — and that Idea is — the happiness of all! Man no longer expects what is impossible; he no longer denies that the sun shines in heaven. He now begins to know himself, — the two hemispheres embrace, — the world is in reality but one common country.

I awoke and my vision was ended.

 

I put out my hand to grasp the documents from Messieurs the “Three Ideas,” as precious relics. They had disappeared. Nothing of them remained.

 

‘François Emery!’

‘Monsieur.’

‘Bring me my coat and boots.’

‘Are we leaving for America.’

‘Soon, my friend.’

‘Do you intend to go by coach, or by steamboat?’

‘The stages are too long for the first, — as to the second, there isn’t any.’

‘Monsieur must be joking?’

‘Obviously.’

‘That would be very strange — no steamboats!’

J. FENIMORE-COOPER.