"There are certain signs, perhaps it might be said of the times, rather than of their peculiar political arrangements, which should make men pause in their judgment of the social state in America. The people are emancipated from the thraldom of mind and body which they consider consequent upon upholding the divine right of kings. They are all politically equal. All claim to place, patronage, or respect, for the bearer of a great name is disowned. Every man must stand or fall by himself alone, and must make or mar his fortune. Each is gratified in believing that he has his share in the government of the Union. You speak against the insane anxiety of the people to govern—of authority being detrimental to the minds of men raised from insignificance—of the essential vulgarity of minds which can attend to nothing but matter of fact and pecuniary interest—of the possibility of the existence of civilization without cultivation,—and you are not understood! I have said it may be the spirit of the times, for we see signs of it, alas, in Old England; but there must be something in the political atmosphere of America, which is more than ordinarily congenial to that decline of just and necessary subordination, which God has both permitted by the natural impulses of the human mind, and ordered in His word; and to me the looseness of the tie generally observable in many parts of the United States between the master and servant—the child and the parent—the scholar and the master—the governor and the governed—in brief the decay of loyal feeling in all the relations of life, was the worst sign of the times. Who shall say but that if these bonds are distorted and set aside, the first and the greatest—which binds us in subjection to the law of God—will not also be weakened, if not broken? This, and this alone, short-sighted as I am, would cause me to pause in predicting the future grandeur of America under its present system of government and structure of society."
In the sentence beginning, "I have said it may be the spirit of the times, for we see signs of it, alas, in Old England, but there must be something," &c. Mr. Latrobe has involved himself in a contradiction. By the words, "but there must be something in the political atmosphere of America which is more than ordinarily congenial to" insubordination, he implies (although unintentionally) that our natural impulses lead us in this direction—and that these natural impulses are permitted by God, we, at all events, are not permitted to doubt. In the words immediately succeeding those just quoted, he maintains (what is very true) that "subordination was both permitted by God in the natural impulses of the human mind, and ordered in His word." The question thus resolves itself into a matter of then and now—of times past and times present—of the days of the patriarchs and of the days of widely disseminated knowledge. The infallibility of the instinct of those natural impulses which led men to obey in the infancy of all things, we have no intention of denying—we must demand the same grace for those natural impulses which prompt men to govern themselves in the senectitude of the world. In the sentence, "Who shall say but that if these bonds are distorted and set aside, the first and the greatest—which binds us in subjection to the law of God—will not also be weakened, if not broken?" the sophistry is evident; and we have only a few words to say in reply. In the first place, the writer has assumed that those bonds are "distorted" and "set aside" which are merely slackened to an endurable degree. In the second place, the "setting aside" these bonds, (granting them to be set aside) so far from tending to weaken our subjection to the law of God, will the more readily confirm that subjection, inasmuch as our responsibilities to man have been denied, through the conviction of our responsibilities to God, and—to God alone.
We recommend "The Rambler" to the earnest attention of our readers. It is the best work on America yet published. Mr. Latrobe is a scholar, a man of intellect and a gentleman.
THE SOUTH-WEST.
The South-West. By a Yankee. New York: Published by Harper and Brothers.
This work, from the pen of Professor Ingraham, rivals the book of which we have just been speaking, in degree—although not in quality—of interest. Mr. Latrobe has proved himself a man of the world, an able teacher, and a philosopher. Professor Ingraham is an amusing traveller, full of fun, gossip, and shrewd remark. In all that relates to the "Mechanics of book-writing," the Englishman is immeasurably the superior.
Mr. I. in his "Introduction," informs us that his work "grew out of a private correspondence, which the author, at the solicitation of his friends, has been led to throw into the present form, modifying in a great measure the epistolary vein, and excluding, so far as possible, such portions of the original papers as were of too personal a nature to be intruded upon the majesty of the public—while he has embodied, so far as was compatible with the new arrangement, every thing likely to interest the general reader." The aim of the writer, we are also told, has been to present the result of his experience and observations during a residence of several years in that district of our country which gives the title to the work. It is, indeed, a matter for wonder that a similar object has never been carried into execution before. The South-West, embracing an extensive and highly interesting portion of the United States, is completely caviare to the multitude. Very little information, upon whose accuracy reliance may be placed, has been hitherto made public concerning these regions of Eldorado—and were the volumes of Professor Ingraham absolutely worthless in every other respect, we should still be inclined to do them all possible honor for their originality in subject matter. But the "South-West" is very far from worthless. In spite of a multitude of faults which the eye of rigid criticism might easily detect—in spite of some inaccuracies in point of fact, many premature opinions, and an inveterate habit of writing what neither is, nor should be English, the Professor has succeeded in making a book, whose abiding interest, coming home to the bosoms and occupations of men, will cause any future productions of the same author to be looked for with anxiety.
The "Yankee," in travelling Southward, has evidently laid aside the general prejudices of a Yankee—and, viewing the book of Professor Ingraham, as representing, in its very liberal opinions, those of a great majority of well educated Northern gentlemen, we are inclined to believe it will render essential services in the way of smoothing down a vast deal of jealousy and misconception. The traveller from the North has evinced no disposition to look with a jaundiced eye upon the South—to pervert its misfortunes into crimes—or distort its necessities into sins of volition. He has spoken of slavery as he found it—and it is almost needless to say that he found it a very different thing from the paintings he had seen of it in red ochre. He has discovered, in a word, that while the physical condition of the slave is not what it has been represented, the slave himself is utterly incompetent to feel the moral galling of his chain. Indeed, we cordially agree with a distinguished Northern contemporary and friend, that the Professor's strict honesty, impartiality, and unprejudiced common sense, on the trying subject which has so long agitated our community, is the distinguishing and the most praiseworthy feature of his book. Yet it has other excellences, and excellences of a high character. As a specimen of the picturesque, we extract a passage beginning at page 27, vol. i.