Perhaps in her periodical literature, more than elsewhere, America excels. Her leading quarterlies and literary magazines are scarcely inferior to the best we get from Europe; while their number and circulation are matter of astonishment. The masses in America read far more than in other countries. They patronize 11,403 different periodicals, that have an aggregate circulation of 31,177,924. Of these 3,637,224 are received daily, making 148,451,110 papers a year. There are 19,459,107 papers published weekly, making 97,295,535 a year. Others are published semi-weekly, monthly, semi-monthly, or quarterly.—Abridged from American Cyclopædia.
For when a man is brought up honorably, he feels ashamed to act basely; every one trained to noble deeds blushes to be found recreant; valor may be taught, as we teach a child to speak, to hear those things which he knows not; such love as the child learns he retains with fondness to old age—strong incitements to train your children well.—Euripides.
UNITED STATES HISTORY.
THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR.
For twelve years after the defeat of the French, the English colonists in America, though suffering many things, prospered. A patriotic, vigorous race had possession of the new world—men who loved liberty, knew their rights, and dared maintain them. Their civil institutions were founded on liberal principles, and the sovereignty of the people recognized. Time and conflicting interests had somewhat weakened the ties that bound them to the mother country. Already numbering near two millions, though nominally subject to the crown they had, for generations, managed their affairs with more hindrance than help from the ruling class in Great Britain. Agriculture was the chief industry, and the products had become extensive; but commerce hampered by many restrictions was carried on awkwardly, and often with little profit to the producers. Manufacturing enterprises were discouraged and hindered by arbitrary enactments respecting them. The colonists felt the wrongs they suffered, but endured them till the hindrances and burdens became intolerable. Their complaints unheeded and their petitions spurned, nothing could longer delay the bold, defiant assertion of their rights, or quell the spirit of indignant resentment. The most thoughtful had reluctantly come to regard war as inevitable, and resolutely prepared to meet the demands that would be made on them. The differences between the home government and the colonists were of long standing and about matters of such vital interest to the latter, they could make no compromise. The king and his ministers claimed the right to tax, at their pleasure, two millions of British subjects who were allowed no representation in Parliament. This was denied steadily and with emphasis—every attempt to enforce, however indirectly, the claim was watched and defeated. Enactments that were regarded oppressive were either evaded or openly set at naught. The duties required could not be collected. No matter how plain the law, governors who held office by the appointment of the king could not enforce it, and the recusant merchants and manufacturers, if arrested and tried, were not convicted. Applications to the courts for warrants to seize goods were resisted—and neither search nor seizure was found quite safe for those who attempted it.
In 1763 officers were directed to confiscate all merchant vessels engaged in what was declared unlawful trade, and English war ships were sent to the American coast to enforce the order. This exasperating measure ruined for a time trade with the West Indies, but failed to intimidate. The next year the odious Stamp Act was passed requiring all deeds, articles of agreement, notes, receipts, checks and drafts to be written on paper bearing the government stamp, and taxed from three pence to six pounds sterling, according to the purpose for which it was prepared. Franklin, who labored hard to prevent the passage of the act, was sadly disappointed and wrote to a friend at home: “The sun of American liberty has set—we must now light the lamps of industry and economy.” “Be assured,” said the patriotic friend in reply, “we shall light torches of another sort.” And they did. The paper was manufactured and sent over in large quantities, but no market was found for it. In New York and Boston much of it was seized and publicly destroyed, while whole cargoes were carried back to England. The people were thoroughly aroused and indignant. Crowds of excited men collected in the towns, and acts of violence were committed against any who proposed submission. The ringing words of Patrick Henry in the Virginia legislature, and the resolutions sent out from that body boldly declaring that the colonists, as Englishmen, would never submit to be taxed without representation, startled the people. Some were alarmed, but most expressed hearty approval. About the same time similar action was taken by the New York and Massachusetts legislatures, and the question of an American Congress, suggestive of a separate nationality, was agitated. The patriotic society known as “The Sons of Liberty” was now organized, the members being pledged to oppose tyranny and defend, with their lives, if necessary, the sacred rights of freemen. Merchants in the principal cities bound themselves to buy no more goods from English houses until the offensive act was repealed, while the people with wonderful unanimity resolved to deny themselves all imported luxuries. The storm that was seen to be gathering caused some hesitation in Parliament. The English manufacturers and merchants, whose products and merchandise remained in their storehouses, became alarmed, while a few eminent statesmen as Lord Camden, and Pitt in the House of Commons, espoused the cause of the colonists and denounced the folly of the administration. “You,” said Pitt in a powerful speech, “have no right to tax America. I rejoice that Americans have resisted.” The result was the necessitated repeal of the unwise measure. To cover their retreat from the position taken, and to conciliate the Tories, the act to repeal was accompanied with a declaration of “right to bind the colonists in all things whatsoever.” Nobody seemed to care much for their harmless declaration, and for a brief space there was quiet, if not peace.
A year later there was a change in the ministry, and, in an hour of unparalleled folly, another scheme was brought forward to levy a tax in a slightly different form—a duty on sundry specified articles, such as glass, paper, printers’ colors and tea. The resentment was immediate and indignant. It seemed like adding insult to injury, and denunciations of the attempt, both in popular assemblies and by the press, were prompt and bitter. Early in 1768 the legislature of Massachusetts adopted a circular calling on the other colonies for assistance in a determined effort to have redress. This, more than all that orators or editors could say, exasperated the British lords, who in the name of the king enjoined the legislature to at once rescind their action, that was pronounced treasonable, and to express regret for such hasty proceedings. The sturdy Massachusetts men, who had counted the cost, were not in a temper to do anything of the kind, but instead they almost unanimously re-affirmed their action; nor would they disperse at his bidding when the Tory governor, with authority dissolved the Assembly. They knew the peril of the situation, and their great disadvantage in having among them and over them civil officers appointed by the king, while his armies held all the forts and arsenals of the country. But there was no alternative. They must accept a servile condition or offer manly resistance and take the consequences. For this they were ready, and the people ready to sustain them. In opposition to the governor’s edict they communicated to their constituents and to the other colonies their unchanging determination to resist the unjust demands of their lordly oppressors. This hastened the crisis. The exasperated governor invoked the aid of the military. And his friend General Gage, commander of the British forces in America, ordered from Halifax two regiments of regulars to strengthen the governor’s police. It seemed a large force for the purpose, but even they were not sufficient to squelch the spirit of freedom. The civil authorities promptly refused to provide supplies or quarters for the troops for whose presence they had no occasion or need. They were encamped on the common, and, for the purpose of intimidation, a great display was made, but it only imbittered the feelings of the citizens. Mutual hatred between them and the hired soldiers, aggravated by insults and injuries on both sides, soon led to open hostilities. A small company of soldiers were attacked by a mob, and fired, killing some and wounding others. The rage of the people at the occurrence knew no bounds. They became so violent that it was thought advisable to withdraw the troops from the city. The squad implicated in the massacre was indicted for murder and had a fair trial. This was magnanimous. The keenest sense of the injuries received did not make true patriots forgetful of the personal rights of those who were the instruments of the oppression they suffered. At the trial of the soldiers John Adams and Josiah Quincy, both well known as stanch advocates of the people’s cause, appeared for the defense, and showed that the evidence could only convict of manslaughter, and as it seemed in self-defense, the punishment should be light.