The Old Thirteen are stable; let them rest! Together they make a great country, and they will be greater yet But here is the Ohio--la belle Riviere, the Frenchmen call it.

And beyond and below the Ohio, through all the gigantic valley of a river so great that it seems a fable, south to New Orleans, and westward to the undiscovered lies the country that is to be! And Napoleon, in order that he may brandish over England one thunderbolt the more, sells it for a song!--and we buy it for a song--and not one man in fifty guesses that we have bought the song of the future! The man who bought it knows its value--but Mr.Jefferson cares only for Done lays.

He'll not have the Phrygian.

He dreams of cotton and olives, of flocks and herds, rock salt and peaceful mines, and the manors of the Golden Age,--all gathered, tended, worked, administered by farmers, school-teachers, and philosophers! The ploughshare (improved) and the pruning-hook, a pulpit for Dr.Priestley, and a statue of Tom Paine, a glass house where the study of the mastodon may lead to a knowledge of man, slavery abolished, and war abhorred, the lion and the lamb to lie down together and Rousseau to come true--all the old mirage--perfectibility in plain sight! That is his dream, and it is a noble one.

There is no room in it for the wicked man.