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can't make them to suit ourselves? We might as well be a Territory again, instead of a sovereign State, if we are a-going to legislate to favour the people of other States, at the expense of our own people. I don't approve of the plan of creditors from other States coming here to take away our property. Folks are very fond of talking about honesty and good faith, and all that. As to faith, they may talk, but I'm more for works; and the man that works hard and can't pay his debts, is the one that ought to be helped, in my judgment.

"They'll tell you that the man that sues for a debt is owing somebody else, and wants his money to pay with. Now, I say, he's just the man that ought to feel for the other, and not want to crowd him hard up. Besides, if we pass exemption laws, don't we help him too? Isn't it as broad as it's long?"

A murmur of applause.

"Then as to honesty; where'll you find an honest man, if not among the people? and such measures are on purpose to relieve the people. The aristocracy don't like 'em perhaps, but who cares what they like? They like nothing but grinding the face of the poor."

Here a shout of applause, and a long application to the tumbler. "Gentlemen," continued Mr Rice, "some people talk as if what debts were not paid were lost, but it is no such thing. What one man don't get, t'other keeps; so it's all the same in the long-run. Folks ought to be accommodating, and if they are accommodating, they won't object to any measures for the relief of the people; and if they don't want to be accommodating, we'll just make 'em, that's all!

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"Some say it's bad to keep altering and altering the laws, till nobody knows what the law is. That's a pretty principle, to be sure! What do we have a legislature for, I should be glad to know, if not to make laws? Do we pay them two dollars and fifty cents a day to sit still and do nothing? Look at the last legislature. They did not hold on above two months, and passed rising of two hundred laws, and didn't work o' Sundays neither! Such men are the men you want, if they'll only carry the laws far enough to do some good. 'Now, gentlemen, I see the poll's open, and I s'pose you want to be off, so I will not detain you much longer. All I have to observe is, that although I am far from commending myself, I must give you my candid opinion, that a certain person, who has thrust himself before the public on this occasion, is unworthy of the suffrages of a free and enlightened community like this. He's a man that's always talking about doing justice to all, and keeping up the reputation of the State, and a great deal more stuff of the same sort; but it's all humbug! nothing else; and he has an axe of his own to grind, just like the rest of us. And worse than all, gentlemen, as you very well know, he's one of these tee-totallers, that are trying to coax free-born Americans to sign away their liberty, and make hypocrites of 'em. I'm a man that will never refuse to take a glass of grog with a fellow-citizen because he wears a ragged coat.

Liberty and equality, I say—Hurrah for liberty and equality! three cheers for liberty and equality, and down with the tee-totallers !"

The orator had been so attentive to the tumbler, that the sincerity of the latter part of his speech at least could not be doubted; and, indeed, his vehemence was such as to alarm Seymour, who felt already somewhat ashamed of the cause he was bound to advocate, and who feared that a few more tumblers would bring Tim to a point which would render his advocacy unavailing. He therefore sought an opportunity of a few moments' private talk with the candidate, and ventured to hint that, if he became so enthusiastic that he could not stand, he would have very little chance of sitting in the legislature.

Now, Mr Rice liked not such quiet youths as our friend Seymour, and especially in his present elevated frame did he look down with supreme contempt upon anything in the shape of advice on so delicate a subject; so that Seymour got an answer which by no means increased his zeal in Mr Rice's service, though he still resolved to do his best to fulfil the wishes of Mr Hay.

Rice's conduct throughout the day was in keeping with the beginning which we have described; and such was the disgust with which it inspired Seymour, that he at length concluded to quit the field, and tell Mr Hay frankly that it was impossible for him to further the interests of so unprincipled a candidate.'

ELIZA LESLIE, sister of the eminent painter C. R. Leslie, is a lively and sarcastic sketcher of manners. Her Pencil Sketches give some remarkable instances of the power of an easy and fluent style in carrying the reader through a story of which the incidents are very trivial. For example, in the sketch of 'That Gentleman,' the passengers on a liner bound for New York are curious to learn the name of a reserved individual, and the captain refuses to give it. At last, after many pages of suspense, when we hope for some striking explanation of the mystery, we find nothing more than the fact, that the name is Sir St John St Ledger, and that it was kept secret because its sibilation offended the ears of the captain. In caricatures of vulgarity and affectation, Miss Leslie writes with great zest and liveliness, as may be seen in the sketch of Mrs Washington Potts;' but ridiculous traits should be contrasted with the better features of society, in order to make satire truthful and wholesome.

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The story of Mrs Marsden's ambition to become acquainted with Mrs Potts, a vulgar woman of fashion, is a fair satire on the petty worship of aristocracy which prevails here and there in the United States. As this feature in American society has been frequently ridiculed, it should not be forgotten that it is the genuine growth of the old country. Our British homage, paid, in season and out of season, to the distinctions of rank and title, is a

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Their zeinaiveness excites the ambition of Mrs Marden, vis employs a possible means of causing ther At last the cresta, and the dangushed mavelers WINS, we wiazka. Among other arrangements for the terment of the party, a certain homespun and rather moonth, madire of the Marviens-Art Quinly—is set aside or måned 1 Lex con chamber. Be in the midst of all the charming taix of high life, this original old lady escapes from her room, and introdasa beneif to the guests. Miss Lesãe must warrate the seed

At this juncture to the great consternation of Mrs Marsden and her daughter- who should make her appearance but Aunt Quimby, in the calico gown which Albina now regretted having persuaded her to keep on! The old lady was wrapped in a small shawl and two large ones, and her head was secured from cold by a black milk handkerchief tied over her cap and under her chin. Whe smiled and nodded all around to the company, and said: "How do you do, good people? I hope you are all enjoying yourselves. I thought I must come down and have a peep at you. For after I had seen all the ladies take off their hoods, and had my ten, I found it pretty dull work sitting up stairs with the mantua maker, who had no more manners than to fall asleep while I was talking"

Mrs Marsden, much discomfited, led Aunt Quimby to a chair between two matrons, who were among the "unavoidably invited," and whose pretensions to refinement were not very palpable. But the old lady had no idea of remaining stationary all the evening between Mrs Johnson and Mrs Jackson. She wisely thought that

"she could see more of the party" if she frequently changed her place; and being of what is called a sociable disposition, she never hesitated to talk to any one that was near her, however high or however low.

....

"And now," said Albina starting, "I will shew you a far worse mortification than the failure of the ice-cream. Only look-there sits Aunt Quimby between Mr Montague and Mrs Washington Potts!"

"How in the world did she get there?" exclaimed Mrs Marsden. "I daresay she walked up, and asked them to make room for her between them. There is nothing now to be done but to pass her off as well as we can, and to make the best of her. I will manage to get as near as possible, that I may hear what she is talking about, and take an opportunity of persuading her away."

As Mrs Marsden approached within hearing distance, Mr Montague was leaning across Aunt Quimby, and giving Mrs Potts an account of something that had been said or done during a splendid entertainment at Devonshire House.-"Just at that moment," said he, "I was lounging into the room with Lady Augusta Fitzhenry on my arm (unquestionably the finest woman in England), and Mrs Montague was a few steps in advance, leaning on my friend the Marquis of Elvington."

Pray, sir," said Mrs Quimby, "as you are from England, do you know anything of Betsy Dempsey's husband?"

"I have not the honour of being acquainted with that person," replied Mr Montague after a withering stare.

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'Well, that's strange," pursued Aunt Quimby, “considering that he has been living in London at least eighteen years-or perhaps it is only seventeen. And yet I think it must be near eighteen, if not quite. Maybe seventeen and a half. Well, it's best to be on the safe side, so I'll say seventeen. Betsy Dempsey's mother was an old schoolmate of mine. Her father kept the Black Horse Tavern. She was the only acquaintance I ever had that married an Englishman. He was a grocer, and in very good business; but he never liked America, and was always finding fault with it; and so he went home, and was to send for Betsy. But he never sent for her at all; and for a very good reason, which was, that he had another wife in England, as most of them have no disparagement to you, sir."

Mrs Marsden now came up, and informed Mrs Potts in a whisper, that the good old lady beside her was a distant relation or rather connection of Mr Marsden's, and that though a little primitive in appearance and manner, she had considerable property in bank-stock.'

Among the writers who have employed fiction to convey moral lessons, Mrs STOWE, the author of the celebrated tale of Uncle Tom's Cabin, has been eminently successful. Harriet Beecher Stowe is the daughter of Dr Lyman Beecher, an able

congregational minister. Her early writings, including tales and sketches of New England life, published under the title of The Mayflower, gave promise of the graphic powers of narrative which appeared more fully in Uncle Tom's Cabin. We shall not attempt to criticise a book so well known all over the world. Its pathos, and rich variety of scenes and characters, have recommended it to unnumbered readers.

The success of the work was very remarkable. In the course of less than a year after its publication, more than 200,000 copies were sold in the United States. To supply the demand, 'the publishers kept four steam-presses running night and day, Sundays alone excepted, and at double the ordinary speed, being equal to sixteen presses worked ten hours a day at the usual speed.' The several editions printed in nine months consumed 75 tonweights of paper, and 200 hands were constantly employed in binding. In England, the sale was still more extraordinary, and the statistics of the several reprints would be curious; but we cannot give them with accuracy. It has been stated that thirty editions were issued in London in the course of six months. One was recommended by a preface written by the Earl of Carlisle. The rights of the author were forgotten in the warmth of zeal for the liberation of slaves. A small percentage of the profits derived from the several reprints, would have enabled Mrs Stowe to purchase the freedom of many negroes; but we have not heard that any share of these funds was devoted to that purpose.

The popularity of the book, arising, in the first place, from its own merit, was increased by the efforts of persons who had an interest in spreading the epidemic. Lecturers, who had failed to attract by other themes, found crowded houses ready to listen to the tale of Uncle Tom, illustrated in coarse paintings. Vocalists of a commonplace order were encored when they sang ballads written by poets whose existence had been revealed by Uncle Tom. Children cried for printed handkerchiefs, as memorials of the 'Cabin.' Mozart and Beethoven were set aside to make room for 'Uncle Tom's Polka.' The theatres assisted in maintaining the furor: even the itinerant circus was compelled to assume a moral and anti-slavery tendency; and Uncle Tom' might be seen careering in the arena, and appealing to the sympathies of the spectators.

In this place, the names of several female writers of descriptive sketches and other light papers may be mentioned, though they do not belong to the class of novelists. The Trap to Catch a Sunbeam, by Miss PLANCHE, is partly allegorical, and, like so many other tales by female writers, is made a vehicle of moral

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