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Sundays and holy days, or lie neck and heels that night, and be a slave to the colony the following week; for the second offence, he shall be a slave for a month; and for the third, a year and a day."

"Good," says an anonymous Commentator of that day on this document, in a work published in London,-" Good are these beginnings wherein God is thus before; good are these laws, and long may they stand in their due execution."

And if the “divine and moral" part be thus, what must the "martial" be?

NOTE P. Page 226.

American Democratic Pet Names of Public Men. Although this note is not particularly applicable here, and was, in fact, designed for another place, but accidentally omitted; yet as it involves a notice of Webster, and brings out a feature of American society not unworthy of regard, we are tempted to introduce it in this place, rather than omit it.

The most popular title of his Excellency, Joseph Ritner, Governor of Pennsylvania, are "Old Joe," "Farmer Joe," and "The Old Waggoner." The Honourable Charles Naylor, member of Congress from Philadelphia, is most popular, and gains most in the feelings of his constituents, under the pet cognomen of "Charley, the Comb-maker," and the Journeyman comb-maker." Daniel Fitler, candidate for Sheriff of the City and County of Philadelphia, appears on the electioneering placard, as "Old Dan, the Butcher." These names refer, of course, to what have been, or now are, the honourable occupation of these gentlemen. Governor Ritner has done driving a Pennsylvania six-horse

waggon between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, a trip of some 400 to 500 miles: but it is understood, that such was the foundation of his greatness. He has now retired to the dignified employment of a German farmer. An imposing and attractive lithographic print has been published, representing the Governor following and guiding the plough in shirt-sleeves, in the act of stopping—if stopping be an act— and hat thrown upon the ground to cool his perspiring brow, which he seems to be turning to give answer to a messenger on State affairs. We have seen no print to show him off as "the Old Waggoner."

To show that "Charley, the Comb-maker," is not unworthy the pride bestowed upon him by his democratic constituents, and that he can well defend the honour of his craft, and of all kindred pursuits, we would offer the following extract from his maiden speech on the floor of Congress, at the special session of 1837. Mr. Pickens, of South Carolina, had thrown out a taunt at Northern labourers, pronounced them mercenaries, put them on a level with Southern slaves, and threatened to go and preach insurrection to them, as the Northern Abolitionists were trying to do to the slaves of the South. Whereupon, Mr. Naylor, "the Journeyman Comb-maker," started to his feet, and among other things, said as follows:

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I am a Northern labourer. Ay, Sir, it has been my lot to have inherited, as my only patrimony, at the early age of nine years, nothing but naked orphanage and utter destitution. Houseless and homeless, fatherless and pennyless, I was obliged, from that day forward, to earn my daily bread by my daily labour. And now, Sir, when I take my seat in this Hall, as the free representative of a free people, am I to be sneered at as a Northern labourer, and degraded into a comparison with the poor, oppressed, and suffering negro slave? Is such the genius and spirit of our institu

tions? If it be, then did our fathers fight, and bleed, and struggle, and die in vain!

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But, Sir, the gentleman has misconceived the spirit and tendency of Northern institutions. He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to Northern labourers! Preach insurrection to me! Who are the Northern labourers? The history of your country is their country; the renown of your country is their renown; the brightness of their doings is emblazoned on its every page. Blot from your annals the deeds and the doings of Northern labourers, and the history of your country presents but a universal blank!

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Sir, who was he who disarmed the Thunderer, wrested from his grasp the bolts of Jove, calmed the troubled ocean, became the central sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his brightness and effulgence on the whole civilised world-whom the great and mighty of the earth delighted to honour; who participated in the achievement of your independence, prominently assisted in moulding your free institutions, and the beneficial effects of whose wisdom will be felt till the last moment of recorded time? Who, Sir, I ask, was he? A Northern labourer-a Yankee tallow chandler's son-a printer's runaway boy!

"And who, let me ask the honourable gentleman-who was he, that in the days of our revolution, led forth an army -yes, an army of Northern labourers, and aided the chivalry of South Carolina, in their defence against British aggression, drove their spoilers from their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders-who was he? A Northern labourer-a Rhode Island blacksmith-the gallant General Greene-who left his hammer and his forge, and went forth to do battle for our independence! And will you preach insurrection to men like these?

"Sir, our country is full of the glorious achievements of

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Northern labourers. Where is Concord and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker's Hill, but in the North? And what, Sir, has shed an imperishable renown on the never-dying names of those hallowed spots, but the blood and the struggles, the high daring and patriotism, and the sublime courage of Northern labourers? The whole North is an everlasting monument of the freedom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable independence of Northern labourers. Go, Sir, go, preach insurrection to these!

"I appeal to the representatives from Pennsylvania. I ask you, Sirs, who is Joseph Ritner, the distinguished man, who at this very moment fills the executive chair of your great State-a man, who, in all that constitutes high moral and intellectual worth, has few superiors in this country-a man who has all the qualities of head and heart necessary to make the great statesman, and who possesses in the most enlarged degree, all the elements of human greatness—who, Sir, is he? A Northern labourer! a Pennsylvania waggoner -who for years drove his team from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, over the mountains and over the moor,' not whistling as he went,' no, Sir, but preparing himself then by deep cogitation and earnest application, for the high destiny, which the future had in store for him. And who, let me ask the same gentleman-who is James Todd, the present Attorney General of Pennsylvania, distinguished for the extent of his legal acquirements, for the comprehensive energy of his mind, for his strength of argument, and vigorous elocution-who, Sirs, is he? He, too, is a Northern labourer, a Pennsylvania wood-chopper-in early childhood a destitute, desolate orphan, bound out by the overseers of the poor as an apprentice to a labourer! These, Sir, are some of the fruits of Northern institutions-some of the slaves, to whom the honourable gentlemen will have to preach insurrection!"

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Roger Sherman, Esq., the eminent Connecticut lawyer, the distinguished American senator, and the sage, began life as an humble protégé of St. Crispin. Daniel Webster was a farmer's boy, in the State of New Hampshire, whom his father had to rebuke for his absent-mindedness, so much like a scholar, and scold him to his task in the field. Whereupon Daniel said, "Father, my scythe hangs badly." His father endeavoured to fix it; but still the boy complained, that it was not right. "Hang it yourself, then," said the father, Daniel smiled, walked off with an arch look directed to his father, hung his scythe on a tree, and said: "There, father, it hangs to suit me now." And the father sent Daniel to Exeter academy, and next to Dartmouth University. What Daniel Webster is now, the world is sufficiently advised. Such the spirit, the pride, and aspirations of American Democracy. It claims not high birth; but looks to high things-things, which, it cannot be denied, in such examples as these, dignify humanity.

THE END.

London: Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES and SONS, Stamford Street.

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